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Final Fantasy VI: The Sands of Time

Book 2: The Goddess War

Chapter 10 - Dragon and Star

Part 10.3 - Old Ghosts

Dear Giorgio,

It is with a heavy heart I have to inform you that your nephew, Paolo, was tried and executed as a traitor to the King of West Jidorik a week ago, at the time of this letter. His two daughters, Julia and Vera, were found dead the next day, apparently attacked by wild monsters in their father's absence. With the death of your niece only a few months ago, I know this must be an unspeakable blow to you. I urge you to stay strong and not lose sight of your life's work, even as the world goes to hell around us. Remember who your friends are, and do not hesitate to call on my services if needed. I will keep in touch. I have also enclosed a keepsake of Paolo's that I believe may help in this time of grief.

Giorgio Gabbianni clenched the letter in his fist, shaking with a smoldering rage he had tried his best to keep under control these long years. The old man stood alone in his study, having just received the fateful letter by carrier pigeon that morning. He had expected the letter to be from Paolo himself, confirming his departure from the increasingly dangerous West with his children. After his niece, Paolo's wife, had been killed inadvertently by the East's own primitive missile attacks several months ago, Giorgio had urged his nephew to return to the East before it was too late. Paolo was supposed to have arrived in a few days, safe and sound.

Instead, a letter from his unknown contact in the West arrived, revealing the true barbarity of the West to Giorgio's eyes more clearly than ever. With a sweep from his powerful arms, several piles of blueprints and mathematical formulas went flying from his cluttered work desk. A cloud of dust rose from his discarded plans for glory and fame and hung in the early morning light like tiny ghosts. He sputtered and cursed, half-choked with dust, tears, and wrath. Several wooden models of boats and birds crashed to the floor and shattered to pieces as he continued to vent his wild emotions.

It was not right for an old man to outlive his entire family. Giorgio Gabbianni was the greatest shipwright in the East, perhaps the world now, but at the moment, he felt like a feeble, useless fool. People called him a genius, a visionary...so how had he failed so miserably at predicting this particular tragedy? What could he have done differently to avoid the deaths of everyone he cared about?

I could have finished what I started. I had cursed Prince Ralse as a warmongering demon, and stopped working on his warship the moment he was dethroned. The man was a monster, but he was right. The West did pose more of threat than any of us believed, and now I have paid the price for my lack of loyalty.

Giorgio stopped his lament for a moment, opening his fist. His nails had dug into the flesh of his palm, and the letter was now stained with his own blood. Something metal glinted inside the crumpled letter. Along with the bloody missive, the mysterious sender had also sent Paolo's and Anna's wedding rings, attached by a thin necklace of silver.

The rings had been fashioned by Giorgio himself, in the ever-burning furnaces of the Eastern foundries where he did his work. Two gold rings inlaid with faint mythril lines that made them glow with that strange blue aura. Around the edges of the rings the proud uncle had inscribed the newlywed's names, along with a sun and moon with beautiful star patterns to surround them, each star twinkling with its own mythril light. Both rings contained a large diamond, cut to a perfection the jewelers of the West could only dream of. Yes, these rings were the finest things Giorgio had ever fashioned, each worth a kingdom, and he had happily given them to his nephew and niece, the last remaining heirs to the Gabbianni family line. He would happily throw the rings back into the pit they came from to see their faces one more time.

But he would keep these treasures now, and wear them always as a reminder of what the West had taken from him. With steadying hands, Giorgio placed the necklace around his own sagging neck and looked wearily at his desk. In front of him the sun was rising slowly, as it always did, day in and day out. The rays of light lazily fell through the window onto the one remaining blueprint on his desk. It was the massive flying warship Prince Ralse had asked, no, demanded he build. The final weapon in the war against the West, the Prince had said. The Ascalon it was called, and when completed, would have filled the skies of the West with dread at the mere sight of it. It would have ended the war in a single blow.

But that blow never came. Ralse had gotten impatient, and launched his newly fashioned missiles at the West, hoping for the best. The missiles were the latest batch of new technology stolen from Narsille and were only barely understood by the ignorant Jidorikan machinists. Giorgio could tell at a glance that it was crazy to use such weaponry without testing them first, but had kept his peace. Up until that point, the shipwright had remained relatively aloof from political affairs, and focused solely on his work. The war in the West was a distant thing, not to be concerned with. All that mattered was the great machines he was building. Machines with no equal outside of the cloistered Narsille. His family in the West, Paolo's family, was supposedly safe and far from the fighting. Supposedly.

As suspected, many of the missiles veered wildly off course. Some made it to the front lines as intended, but many more screamed over the Western soldiers' heads, landing miles away in fields, forests...and homes. Countless innocent civilians died that night, among them Anna, Giorgio's niece.

Ralse had been defeated and forced to vanish into the northern hills shortly afterwards, his own over-reaching ambition catching up with him. The letter informing Giorgio that his niece Anna, his last true blood-relative, had been killed in the missile attacks came only a few days before word of Ralse's defeat. Immediately all work on the Ascalon was halted, and the workers sent home. The war had finally reached Giorgio Gabbianni, and it hit him hard.

For nearly a month Giorgio did nothing, did not even leave his study. Apathy had been replaced with a deep sorrow. In one fell swoop, Giorgio was sick of the war. Everyone thought it was over with Prince Ralse gone, but Giorgio had his suspicions, even then. He pleaded with his nephew to take what was left of his family out of the West and join him within the much stronger walls of the East, but Paolo was stubborn like the rest of the West and refused to leave his home.

Why was everyone in the West so stubborn? Why did they refuse to submit against our superior forces, and why did Paolo stay? And why now do they still haunt us with tidings of a new, even greater war? What will it take to bring them to their senses?

The Ascalon's grim skeleton peered up at him silently from its blueprints. Tossing the cursed letter aside, Giorgio put his hand flat on the curling paper, straightening it. A few drops of blood from his palm stained the blueprints as well. It seemed a fitting signature, and the old shipwright made no attempt to wipe the blood away. With a grim smile, Giorgio studied the plans to what would have been his second greatest creation, behind the unparalleled craftsmanship of the twin rings he now wore around his neck.

Is this it? Will this put a stop to this madness? Or will it only make things worse? Does it even matter now? I have no heir, no one to carry on the Gabbianni name. This thing...this "airship" is all I have left to my name now.

"So be it." he intoned gravely, folding the Ascalon's blueprints back up and tucking them under his arm. With a swift step he left his study and returned to the outside world a changed man. The Prince may be gone, but his spirit still dwelled in the might of the East, and Giorgio Gabbianni would see to it that the Prince's final order was obeyed. If only he had moved sooner, if only he had listened...

"Master Giorgio! Where are you going this early?" a young man dressed in the fine robes of the East said, surprised to see his master out of his study before breakfast.

Giorgio brushed past his assistant, his sights set on only one person now. "To finish what I started," he said gruffly, leaving his assistant baffled.

The path to his destination was a long one, and one the aging man did not usually make without a carriage, or more recently, one of the smoky self-propelled machines that filled the air of the capital city of East Jidorik with a perpetual haze. The "chocobo-less carriage" the vehicle was hailed as, and it had been Giorgio that had fashioned the first of them, based off more of that wonderful stolen Narsillian machinery. They were ugly, squat things that chugged along set paths throughout the major cities of the East like giant, wheeled beetles on rails, spewing dangerous fumes everywhere they went. Giorgio hated them, but they made travel much easier. And he had to admit, the smell wasn't that much worse than a chocobo.

Now, though, Giorgio felt like walking. No, he felt like running, but his weak legs would not let him work off his boiling anger that easily. It was five miles from his quiet private workshop in the outlying hills to the squirming mass of pipes and steel that made up the soot-stained heart of East Jidorik - Castle Ralse. He was sure the coal-laced steam that poured out from the castle's outer structure would be the death of him someday, but not today. Old King Ralse would see him today, and work on the Ascalon would begin again, with a vengeance.

The walk was long and hard, and Giorgio was panting by the time he reached the iron gates of Castle Ralse several hours later. The castle itself was as depressingly black and gritty as the majority of the industrialized regions of the East, and looked more like a great quivering mountain of metal, with various pieces of machinery hanging off it or rising in twisting shapes up into the sky. It was a marvelous work of mechanical genius, almost fully automated, but it was ugly and dirty. Giorgio hated it, despite being responsible for many of its innovations. Why did everything modern have to be so unpleasant to the eyes? Did Narsille look like this inside its mighty mythril gates, before its destruction?

As he grimaced at his own grime-laced work around him, the iron doors whined, and opened themselves. Giant gears spun above and beside the doors, pulling and pushing the iron slabs apart. Giorgio coughed at the smoke that was exhaled in the effort, but pressed on into the castle. Metal walls, metal floors, metal ceilings, everything gleamed with a ruddy, oily light as Giorgio passed through the winding halls of Castle Ralse. Gas lighting, another parlor trick snatched from Narsille's bag of marvels. The almost magical technology of electricity was still years away from being perfected, and perhaps would never be fully realized now that Narsille was gone. For now, the smelly gas lights filled the halls and homes of the East. They made most places smell like a swamp, and Giorgio hated using them unless he had to. There was nothing but simple candles and fireplaces in his secluded study. No gears, no gas, no grime.

The Serpent Throne, the great seat of Eastern power, was empty when Giorgio arrived in the throne room. He expected as much these days. It was almost noon, but old King Ralse rarely sat in his throne unless to conduct official business for the public. Most of the time, the country was ruled from the ailing king's bedside. King Ralse was only ten years older than Giorgio, but life had taken its toll on the man, and despite being in his seventies, he looked and acted like he was a hundred. Constantly worrying if your own son would murder you in your sleep would do that to anyone, Giorgio supposed. He wouldn't know, since he had never found the time to marry or have kids of his own.

Giorgio staggered up the small, stepped rise that led to the throne's stage. Two soldiers with guns stood in attendance, guarding the abandoned block of marble and gold. They drew their rifles at the sight of the brazen intruder, but lowered them when they recognized the famed shipwright.

"Where is King Ralse? I must speak to him at once." Giorgio said curtly.

The soldiers looked at each other, then shrugged. Giorgio was an honored guest in Castle Ralse, and the King always made time for him. "Lord Ralse is sitting with Advisor Barden and Lord Dunn-Raven, in the war room."

Giorgio laughed, a hacking sound rising in his throat as he breathed in the unhealthy air. The "war room" was nothing more than a secondary bedroom, set up only a few paces from King Ralse's actual bedroom. It was larger, and had a great oaken table for meetings, but the king never sat at it. Instead, he had a small mechanical bed that he used as transport from one room to another in the castle. It was a sad sight to see the king wheeled around like a broken-down cart, but his health would not allow any strenuous activity. Giorgio wondered if the stifling air of the castle had something to do with the king's worsening condition. He felt he lost a year off his life every time he visited the castle, and couldn't imagine anyone living here.

When Giorgio found the King, he was slightly startled by his gaunt appearance. It had been almost a year since he had seen the man, but once again, it looked like the man had aged ten years for every one of his own. His long, stark white hair was thin and balding, and his skin was a sickly yellow, like old paper. The once proud and firm features of the Ralse line now sank beneath folds of jaundiced skin, seeming to vanish into his skull at points. The rich red robes hung off his bony frame like an oversized coat, and Giorgio could see to his dismay that the king's feet were bare, and he only wore a night gown under the regal robes. The movable bed seemed to swallow his fragile body in its covers, and the smell of medicine filled the entire room. The King's advisor, Barden, stood over him like the loyal son he never had, making sure he was still breathing. It was a sad sight, and Giorgio knew the king was at death's door.

The king may have looked like death, but the strange man standing on his other side looked even worse. Only his one hand and part of his face were visible, with the rest of his body covered by dirty-looking rags the color and texture of a funeral shroud. Stray bits of the cloth swayed and flitted around him, despite there being no breeze in the stuffy war room. The man's exposed flesh was even whiter than the king's hair and impossibly emaciated, and unless Giorgio was imagining things, it looked like he only had the one arm. His face was a death mask, with almost no skin visible at all. Just a thin membrane stretched over a skull with a sunken, abyssal gaze that showed no signs of life. It was the most horrible-looking human being Giorgio had ever seen, dead or alive.

"I, ah..." Giorgio struggled, his voice lost at the sight of the unpleasant man hovering over the king like Death itself. "King, I must speak with you immediately. It is about the Ascalon..."

"Not now, Giorgio," Barden whispered angrily from the king's side. "We have an important matter to discuss with Lord Dunn-Raven, and your toys can wait."

Giorgio turned to the skeletal man hanging silently on the other side of the king's bed. "Lord Dunn-Raven, I presume?"

"I am," the man said in a raspy voice that rattled through the air and seemed to fall apart as it reached Giorgio's ears. He slowly turned an indifferent eye to Giorgio, then back to Barden. "Please tell this man to leave us, Barden..."

"Now wait a minute!" Giorgio spluttered. "I will be heard! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Please, Giorgio, Lord Dunn-Raven is a respected guest here. He has been in close contact with the West, and has been filling us in on what has been happening over there."

"Is that so? I can tell you what's been happening over there just as well as this ghoul can!" Giorgio said with rising anger. "I just received word that my entire remaining family has been murdered by that tyrant Christophe, and I demand an audience with the king!"

Barden shuddered at the grief-stricken Giorgio's words. He knew the truth of them as well as anyone, having been forcibly removed from Draco Christophe's hall upon the king's return from Narsille. There was no doubt King Christophe had returned a new man...if that's what he even was now. Barden had seen Draco crash into the Dragon Hall that night, and would never forget the monstrous dragon and his rage. Now, his only contact with the West was through this pale stranger, Lord Dunn-Raven. The man had proven invaluable in gauging the power of the West, and the stories he was bringing back were terrifying. Monsters were running amok in West Jidorik, and this self-styled Lord claimed he could ensure the East's survival when Draco...no, Bahamut finally decided to unleash his bestial horde on their people. Looking into Giorgio Gabbianni's face, though, Barden knew survival was not enough for this man anymore. There was a familiar look of bloodlust in the normally calm face of Giorgio now. Barden had seen that look before, in the face of Prince Ralse.

"Wait..." a tiny voice floated up from the heap between the two aides. It was the king, struggling to be heard. "Let him speak."

No one spoke. The king's voice was so frail everyone was afraid if they tried to talk, they would miss anything else he might have to say. And they all knew he did not have much left to say before he was silent forever.

"Giorgio, what has happened?" King Ralse's voice spoke faintly, but clearly.

"King, the West has gone too far, and is killing off anyone even remotely connected with the East." Giorgio said after a moment. "They must be stopped before it is total genocide. I request a formal renewal of construction on the Ascalon flying warship."

The king coughed, and tried to turn his head to look at Giorgio. Barden saw his intent and gently turned the king's bed so he could face the shipwright.

More coughing, and then, "Giorgio...you must not let your anger and pride control you. I will be dead soon, and there will be no one to sit on the Serpent Throne when I am gone...because of the anger and pride of my son. I, too, am the only one left of my line, and I know your despair. If you do this thing, if you complete Chad's flying herald of death...it will be the end of both nations..." King Ralse's voice broke, and he was racked with a series of blood-flecked coughs.

"Sire!" Barden said, reaching for the king and holding him steady. Giorgio rushed to the king's side as well, worried that his demands would kill his king. Lord Dunn-Raven remained motionless where he stood, studying the dying king with an intensely unsettling fascination.

"Enough...I must rest." King Ralse said with effort after he had recovered himself. "All this talk of death and war is more than I can bear." The King turned his head slightly in Lord Dunn-Raven's direction. "Lord Dunn-Raven...I will not agree to an assassination attempt on the West's King. Even if he has become a monster as you and Barden say, he is still king, and I will not follow in my son's misguided footsteps and slay another ruler in cold blood." The King turned his tired head to Giorgio next. "And Giorgio, I cannot agree to let you finish your warship. It is an abomination and must not be allowed to exist. These are strange times we are living in now, but we must remain human. Do you hear me, Giorgio? We must not become monsters ourselves in order to defeat monsters. Where is the man who made those rings around your neck? Remember him, Giorgio, before you decide to tread the path of my poor, poor Chad."

Tears filled the ancient king's eyes, and he was far too weak to wipe them away. He merely sank back into his bed and sighed, flicking his hand to leave. "Take me to my room, Anton."

Barden snapped to attention, tears in his eyes as well. "Yes, Sire."

"We will talk again later, I hope?" Dunn-Raven said casually as Barden wheeled his dying king away.

"Unless something changes with our relations with the West, then no, we will have no further use of you or your services, Lord Dunn-Raven." Barden said for the king, glaring at the unmoved Dunn-Raven. The man did not even seem human at times.

"That is unfortunate, quite unfortunate," Dunn-Raven said with an idle flip of his one arm. He stood in place and watched Barden and the King vanish into the adjoining bedroom. When the doors were slammed shut, he turned to Giorgio and studied the man with those sunken dead eyes.

Apparently seeing what he was looking for, he moved over to the man with a gliding step that did not seem to quite reach the floor. The stench of rotting flesh rose up into Giorgio's nose, and he instinctively backed away. The more he watched Dunn-Raven, the less human the man seemed.

"Do not fear me, Giorgio Gabbianni." Dunn-Raven said softly. "We have much in common, you and I. We would very much like to help you, if the King will not."

"And who is this 'we', eh? Just where are you from? Who are you really?" Giorgio said as sternly as he could, but inside, he was frozen with an unnamed fear. There was a crackling aura emanating from the ghostly Lord, and he felt that if the man came any closer, Giorgio would faint from the powerful presence surrounding the man.

"I am no one." Dunn-Raven said darkly. As he spoke, the rags fluttered more violently, but there was still no wind in the room. "We can help you finish the Ascalon, and with my master's help, it will be more powerful than you could ever imagine."

"I don't need anyone telling me how to do my job, thank you." Giorgio said angrily. If there was one thing he knew, it was that the Ascalon was a perfect killing machine. Nothing short of magic could make it any more destructive than it already was, and that was fine with him. The King was right, the Ascalon was an abomination. The only question was whether it was a necessary one.

"Giorgio, Giorgio...you are blinded by your own brilliance."

The voice that answered him was not the ghastly Dunn-Raven. Giorgio spun around and watched as a shadowy figure stepped out from behind one of the curtains with an arrogant flourish.

"Prince Ralse? But how...?" Giorgio faltered, dumbstruck.

The young prince stepped around the meeting table and stood next to Lord Dunn-Raven, his vigorous youth positively glowing next to the decaying wight. "My friend here is very adept at getting me where I want to go. He is adept at a great many things that might interest you, Giorgio." Prince Ralse held out his hand to Giorgio like an old friend. "Won't you join us? The Ascalon is my dream too, you know. My father is too weak to do what needs done, but I can help you. I have power, and I know how to use it. I conquered the West once, and I intend to do it again. With your help, it will happen. Come, Giorgio, realize your dream. It's all you have left now."

Giorgio did not know how to respond to this unexpected turn of events. He wanted vengeance for the death of his family, but he hated the prince, and blamed his arrogant recklessness for Anna's death. There were devils on both sides of Jidorik, and he was looking into the eyes of one right this moment.

Draco Christophe will pay for what he has done. Even if I have to make a deal with this fiend to do it, I will pay him back blood for blood. The Gabbianni's will not be forgotten, ever!

"Chad Ralse, I hate your guts," Giorgio burst out in an odd, strangled voice. The Prince only smiled.

"But...," Giorgio said, struggling for each word, "I hate the Dragon of the West even more. He is a mad hound, and must be put down, for all our sakes."

"Yes, yes, I am glad you see the bigger picture, Giorgio." Prince Ralse said in rapid tones. "Shall we go, then? I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry. There are many things to take care of today. Many people to meet."

"Go? Go where? Back to my workshop?" Giorgio asked.

"Why, to the north, of course. As much as I would like to, I can't kill my father now and take the reigns of the kingdom yet, not with my reputation what it is here. For now, I must bide my time with the brutes of the Zozo mountains. I assure you that everything you need to complete the Ascalon is there, however. I have been very busy."

Giorgio shuddered at the Prince's flippant attitude towards murdering his own father. Was he really going to let this man help him? Just how far was he willing to go for his goals?

"I see you still have your doubts. Fine. Think things over for a few days. I will keep in touch." Prince Ralse moved closer to Dunn-Raven, and put one hand on the deathly man's shoulder, like an old friend. "Look at what you have left, Giorgio. How do you want the Gabbianni name to be remembered? Follow my father, and you will cease to exist, a forgotten man in a forgotten time. Follow us, and you will be legend. The things I have seen, Giorgio...endless halls of gold...an entire world at our feet, and nothing to stop us...not even the gods themselves. Think about it, Giorgio. Think about what you want. Until then..."

With a sweep of the strangely flowing rags that surrounded them both, Prince Chad Ralse and Lord Dunn-Raven vanished from Giorgio's sight. He nearly collapsed at the shock of it, but quickly recovered. What had the Prince meant? Just what was lurking beneath the city he had helped build? Giorgio must find out what the deposed Prince intended to do. There were depths he was willing to lower himself to for the death of his family, but having a hand in the murder of old King Ralse was not one of them. There was only one king he intended on removing at the moment.

Giorgio Gabbianni had been asleep for too long, and he felt completely out of his depth with these new times. It was time to wake up. Feeling like he was just climbing out of some surreal dream, Giorgio blinked and walked slowly out of the war room. He fingered the two rings at his neck absently, wondering what Anna would say about allying himself with her murderer. What would Paolo and his children say if he let their murderer run free, to devour more innocent lives? There was blood on all sides of this pointless conflict, and Giorgio sighed heavily as he left the castle. There was blood on everyone's hands now, so why not his?

He looked at the curled up plans in his hands, and he could see where he had stained the Ascalon's blueprints with blotches of red. Yes, blood for blood. There would be a tidal wave of blood coming soon. He could either ride it, or be drowned by it.