After the Fall Prelude to Hope

by edgarmash79

A year after the calamity wracked the world into ruin, Celes woke from her sleep to begin her search and reunite everyone. But what were the others up to during the year before Celes's awakening? These are tales of fallen returners searching for meaning in a broken world, following their own personal journey until the day they are reunited with Celes and the others.

1. Cyan & Gau

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 6, its characters, and all other Final Fantasy titles are all owned by Square-Enix and its affiliates. Please support the official games.

Final Fantasy VI

After the Fall/Prelude to Hope

Cyan & Gau

"Look, pretties!" said Gobbledygook 1. "Fresh meat!"

"Fresh meat!" chanted the other three. The imp-like denizens of Zozo all salivated over the man they discovered among a section of rubble cast off from the armor shop. The far northwest corner of the town had not seen much activity, even less so since the calamity left the world unraveled. Nevertheless, Zozo's dissident inhabitants relished in it, discovering new treasures, new visitors, and new loot to obtain.

The gaggle of Gobbledygooks searched the remnants of the armor shop, long since abandoned and forgotten. Yet the scraps and dregs of humanity remained, nestled in the cozy confines of a rain-soaked sanctuary of misery.

"Quick, harvest the flesh before the Gigas arrives!" Gobbledygook 3 shouted, brandishing his knife. Another pair emerged from the shadows to join their brethren, each wielding a weapon of their choosing, varying from knives to wrenches to hammers. They were still cautious in approaching the body on top of the debris, paranoid about making the first move. Yet if they failed to work in haste, the Hill Gigas would eventually stir from his sleep and wonder what the commotion was about.

The gaggle hopped and danced around the body, anticipating who would strike first. When he began to stir, they all jumped back at once, screeching and hissing in response as though threatened.

"He moves!"

"He moves!"

"Kill him before he moves again!" shouted Gobbledygook 1. He hopped and skipped forward, ready to stab when the body's eyes opened beneath a mane of black hair that was matted to his face from the rain. Without thinking, the body unsheathed a short blade and pierced the Gobbledygook through the chest, leaving it hanging in the air. Blood oozed from his mouth before he went limp.

Staggering to his feet, the man flicked his blade to toss the dead Gobbledygook aside unceremoniously. The gaggle watched it tumble and roll down lumber and stone until it stopped along the paved street. They screeched and hissed again, ready to attack.

"Kill him!"

"Kill him!"

"Our meat!"

"Our flesh!"

They continued chanting and waving their knives until the man staggered forward, forcing them to step back with a single look. Water dripped freely from his hair and mustache while the blood of the Gobbledygook washed off his blade. He sheathed it behind his back, readying the katana at his side to engage the rest.

"Eeeee!" they screeched in unison, hopping and dancing. The man nudged his blade out of its sheath with a thumb, grasping the hilt in his other hand. He circled the gaggle, albeit still shaken from where he had lain.

They moved to flank him, assuming that their numbers were enough to overwhelm him. Yet, without warning, they found themselves sliced, skewered, and dismembered in quick successive motions until they were a mess of body parts littering the cold, damp street beneath them.

Staggering a few steps, the man waited until the blood washed off his katana before sheathing it. Brushing the hair away from his face, his attempts to shake the water off proved pointless. He needed to seek shelter from the downpour.

While under shelter from the rain, he could see no reprieve from it. Instinct continued to nag at his brain, screaming to get out of this place. He searched around, trying to determine where it was he fell.

Falling.

Fragments of memory were starting to sort themselves in his mind. There was an airship, that much he could remember. As he tried to conjure more, a wave of pain throbbed from the back of his head. He reached with his hand but what he felt was thicker than water. He could not conceal his shock when his hand revealed blood, his blood.

"Wherefore did I land?" he whispered, ignoring the wound for now. He wanted to investigate but was interrupted by the loud impact of feet along the ground, splashing water. He sought a pile of wooden crates to hide, watching from behind until he could see who was making those footsteps.

A Hill Gigas stomped into view, curious about the commotion that took place a moment ago. A three-story hulking mountain of muscle and chains with a mane of hair, it examined the dead Gobbledygooks, nudging and rolling some over with a flick of his finger. He breathed a loud sniff from his nose before grunting a sigh.

The man waited until the Gigas began walking away to gauge more of his surroundings. He examined his body for more injuries, looking back at where he landed. The debris from the building he crashed into must've cushioned his fall, albeit barely if it left a gash in his head.

With nothing dry enough to clean and dress his wound, nor a healing potion of sorts, he searched for the bag he had on him. He scoured the debris, only to find nothing essential or valuable. All he could see on him were the two sheathed blades along with a single green stone that shone a mysterious glow tucked in his pocket.

The stone triggered a memory from not too long ago. Trying to remember through the fog of pain was like trying to push a large boulder blocking the entrance separating the outside from the dark recesses of his mind plagued by a constant throbbing. Yet, after thinking hard enough, the word Magicite eventually formed in his head to give a name to the crystal. Whatever else he could piece together would have to wait until he sought a dry location to settle and recover so he could at least figure out what had happened.

Rising to his feet was still a struggle. He lost a considerable amount of strength from crashing into that building, using all he could to fend off the gaggle. If he could avoid the Gigas entirely, he'd be able to seek a clear path out of this rain-soaked town.

Another memory forced its way through the crevice, adding to the pain. Each memory that returned only added to his headache.

"Zozo," the man whispered. "Malcontents, rainfall, creatures at the ready to pillage and pilfer thee. My eyes doth not deceive."

Now that he knew where he was, he desperately needed to leave to find shelter. The closest town he could manage through this annoying headache was Jidoor, in name only. However, there was something else just as unsettling as the environment he found himself in. He looked up at the sky and felt a sense of foreboding that sent a chill through his body, far colder than the chill of the rainfall. The blackened clouds that produced this rain were rolling around unnaturally. Equally disturbing was the lightning that forked from them. One bolt stopped, frozen in the sky until it resumed to strike its intended target.

Sprinting from behind the crates, he hoped he had enough strength in his legs to move fast enough to avoid the Gigas, only to round a corner, nearly colliding into a group of thugs facing away from him. He immediately sidled along the wall, peeking over the corner to eavesdrop. The thugs had begun moving again, only towards the Hill Gigas. He perked his ears, listening to them.

"Why the long face, chum?" said one of them.

"GOBBLES BROKEN," said the Gigas. "GOBBLES IN PIECES."

"Wuzzat, then? Something happened to the Gobbledygooks?" asked another. The Gigas belted a low rumble, slamming his fist through a brick wall.

Watching the Gigas's violent outburst made him gulp. He'd not want to find himself at the receiving end of that.

"A'ight ya big oaf! Calm yer britches!" said the first thug. "Show'em to us."

The Gigas stomped forward, leading the thugs to the street where the man had slain the gaggle. He felt a gentle gust of air from the Gigas brushing past him, followed closely by the thugs. He counted at least four of them, all gnarled and ugly-looking as the Gobbledygooks. Zozo's inhabitants were never one for outward appearances.

"Well lookit-that, someone sure did a number on 'em," said the thug. "All slicey-dicey they went."

"We's got an uninvited guest, we has," said the second thug, licking his lips as he unsheathed his knife. "Keep yer eyes peeled."

They spread out, knives drawn, searching for the one responsible. The man sidling along the wall needed this moment to make a run for it while they were in the middle of their search. It didn't help that his legs had the consistency of a flan monster, the aching gash making him think he'd taken a thousand punches to the head, and his body soaked to the bone, risking illness.

No sooner than he was a few steps out in the open that one of the thugs caught sight of him. "Hey! You there!" he cried.

"Confound it all," the man said. The thugs and Gigas gave chase, pursuing the man through the streets, splashing water everywhere. Zozo was like a maze if you didn't know where you were going or where you started. The man had no clue where he had landed, only able to remember enough what town this was. He rounded corners until he stumbled upon more Gobbledygooks and thugs, surprised at the unfamiliar face. He was considerably outnumbered now.

Backed into an isolated section of the street near a rear building, the man unsheathed his katana once more, ready to fight back.

"Let mine blade strike true and swift," his low voice said to his blade. Moving another few steps back, he inched closer to the building.

He might have had a fair chance at surviving had he not seen a second Hill Gigas emerge from the rocky hills to his left. It leapt and landed with a resounding crash, sending water and paved stones flying. The man cleaved one of the stones in half before the Gigas stampeded towards him.

Redirecting his katana to the hulking brute, he could only see one opening that he could exploit. Engaging the Gigas, he ran until he made two quick slices along the Gigas's legs to fell the beast, tripping it forward until it face-planted itself into the building where the man once stood back-to-back. He only had so much room to maneuver until his eyes caught sight of someone hiding behind a bundle of crates away from the mob of Zozo freaks, ready to tear into him.

"This way! Hurry!" the stranger shouted, rising from his hiding spot. He waved the man to follow him, leading him to the building ahead. He jumped to grab one of the railings above, using one of the crates as leverage to give him a boost. He reached down with his arm. "Grab on! I'll pull you up!"

Instinct once again told the man to trust this stranger. Sheathing his katana, he boosted himself off the crate and took the stranger's hand. After he was pulled up safely, the stranger began running up the stairs. "Follow me!" he shouted.

Ascending several flights of stairs until they reached the top, the stranger produced a set of keys, selecting the one he needed. The thugs and Gigas were not far off, catching up to the building to pursue them up the stairs. The Gigas used its strength to create foot and handholds to climb faster than the thugs, but by the time they all reached the top, both the man and the stranger were long gone with the door locked again.

Navigating the mountain trails through a series of inter-connecting tunnels, the stranger kept moving, not stopping once. The man followed but was still weakened from his ordeal. Everything began to blur in his vision until it faded to black.

He awakened to find himself under a thick blanket on a worn-out sofa overlooking a fire. His clothes were hung before it to dry, leaving him bare underneath. A wave of pain seared into his skull, jolting the memory of the gash he had suffered when he first regained consciousness. Bandages were now tied firmly around his head.

He rose, holding the blanket close. The sensation of a warm fire reminded him of many occasions back home of reading from a book to his son as he sat on his lap. Stories of brave warriors fighting hundreds of men to defend the castle or tales of a mighty dragon slain by the king. Each adventure that he read lulled the boy to sleep until he was carried to his bed, nestled comfortably beneath a quilt his mother had woven for him, the crest of his kingdom sewn into the front.

Dark flashes of pain illuminated his mind. The sight of the sweet child nestled into his bed shifted to him collapsed on the floor, blood leaking slowly out of his nose and mouth. The mother, who had just tucked him in, lay not far off, succumbed to the same condition.

A river of poison flowed through his kingdom, sweeping all under its wake. An incurable concoction of murder only a madman could craft.

The dark flashes resumed until they were engulfed by laughter. His laughter.

He reached for his katana but panicked when he could not detect it nearby. He scanned the room, only to see it nestled beside his short blade on a mantle above the fireplace. It was relieving to at least recognize something familiar in this strange room.

He bolted to his feet the moment the door swung open to reveal the stranger who had helped him escape the mob in the rain-soaked streets of Zozo. He eyed his katana, ready to defend himself if needed. Perhaps the rest from losing consciousness had returned some degree of strength to his body, affording him enough speed to retrieve his blade.

"If you plan on standing there naked as the day you were born, my friend, best make use of the fire to keep you from catching cold," the stranger told him, motioning to the dancing flames confined within the fireplace. He jostled the logs to rekindle the fire, adding another to keep it fed. He then deposited a bag onto a table, clearing several items that the man could see were floral designs of some kind. "You must be hungry, fella. I scavenged a few items from downtown."

Wrapping the blanket around himself, he sat back down on the sofa. The stranger did not give off a threatening aura, not with the manner of which he spoke. Instead, he waited silently until the stranger began emptying the bag of its contents.

"Not much to go around, I'm afraid," the stranger said, offering a loaf of dried bread that he was sure was still edible with some sticks of jerky. "Dried meat's about all the protein you're going to find here unless you want to gander at one of the bears that dwell in the mountains past the door."

"Bears…?"

"Mugbears, more specifically," the stranger said. "Annoying creatures who have a thing for shiny objects. The glint of gil sets them on a frenzy, and they won't stop until you're pilfered dry. But I'd say you have the look of a man capable of handling such a beast if that sword of yours is any indication."

He offered his hand. "I'm Paul, by the way. I'm a scavenger by trade and the only honest person you'll ever meet in Zozo. Of course, you're welcome to stay as long as you need to until you're well enough to head to wherever you need to go. But I should warn you about the world you'll find yourself in once you travel outside of Zozo."

The man took Paul's hand. A welcomed handshake with a firm grip. "I am Cyan. I once was the retainer to my liege in Doma."

Paul's face lit up. "A Doman? A real-life Doman, here in my dwelling? Is, is this surreal?"

Cyan looked back, confused. "Doth my guise perplex thee?"

Paul waved his hands. He took a gander back at the drying clothes and katana, only now piecing together what he had just rescued. "No. Forgive my outburst. I heard rumors that the Empire wiped out everyone in Doma, leaving no survivors."

"That the Empire would disperse such rumors doth not surprise me," Cyan said. "I and one other had the grace of the gods bless us with the fortunate luck of not consuming the poisoned water. I only wished that grace hath been extended to his excellency and my family."

"Well, looks like you were blessed with survivor's luck again, it seems," Paul told him. "Though I can't say the same for the rest of the world, however."

Cyan could sense the lingering fear in Paul's voice as it teetered on the brink. The scavenger strolled to a separate door, opening to reveal a path leading to a cliff. He leaned against the door frame. "You were out since yesterday when I rescued you. So I'd say today marks the third day since the great calamity," he began to explain.

The news came as a surprise to Cyan initially. Then the memories poured in as if from a broken dam's sluice. The airship he was on was torn apart by ravaging storms of unnatural might. He had companions, yet they were all scattered across the winds, disappearing out of sight. Sizeable pieces of the continent that floated eerily in the sky broke off and fell to the planet. Some crashed in the oceans while others collided into the land, sundering the ground as it cracked and bubbled with flames and earthquakes. The clouds darkened to a blackness Cyan had never seen before, only to have one of its lightning bolts narrowly strike past him to ignite a forest below. The heat and power of the electricity were enough to knock him back, sending him on a one-way trip to the ground. The shockwave then knocked him out before he could gauge where he would land, free-falling to what eventually would be Zozo's armor shop.

"When the skies blackened, the first thing I heard was the horrifying screams of birds and land mammals. I was on my way back from Jidoor with a fresh set of supplies so I could restock my pantry. The next thing I knew, I was running as I had never run before, dodging and weaving past debris and balls of fire as they struck the ground everywhere. I gunned for Zozo only to find the storm clouds above twist and convulse, changing into something indescribable. It hasn't stopped raining above Zozo since. If what has been said was true, magic has indeed returned to the world after the War of the Magi, and we're now caught in the wake of its foul remnants. Magic unraveled the world, and whoever was still alive after the initial destruction would have to piece together what remained."

Paul spotted the piece of Magicite beside the katana on the mantle and examined it in his hand. "This crystal looks like one of those whatchamacallits the Auction House was selling."

He casually tossed it to Cyan. "Aye, 'tis a piece of Magicite. The essence of an Esper after their life expires and shuffles off the mortal coil," he said to Paul. Cyan turned it around in his hand. The soft green glow concealed within its emerald casing centered his sight onto its red sphere. He could almost see an image forming inside the sphere, that of one of the Espers. It was still an unshapen silhouette, however, yet Cyan continued studying it until he concluded that it hadn't taken a proper shape. If only making use of Magicite was more straightforward than handling machines.

"Espers, Magicite, Magic," Paul recited, shaking his head. "If you ask me, I think those creatures caused all this destruction."

"No," Cyan replied quickly. "The unraveling of the world is not the work of Espers. Blame layeth only at the hands of the entity responsible." His eyes then narrowed. "Kefka," he hissed through his teeth.

"Kefka…!" Paul whispered. "Geez…!"

"The very machination of madness that is Kefka orchestrated the destruction of the world as you hath seen before you," Cyan added, eyes burning with hate.

"I see how that would make sense," said Paul, turning to face him fully. "The magic that ravaged the planet had affected some of the people as well. You've seen first-hand the change in the people in Zozo?"

Cyan nodded.

"A town of thieves and liars, now degenerated to vigilantes and cannibals. Some are still normal enough to cough a fib or two, but the gaggles who nearly had you for dinner were never this vicious. At least the Gigases of this area aren't all that different. Lumbering brutes still too stupid to conjure a string of words."

Paul breathed a sigh. He slumped into his chair, exhausted from speaking, and reached behind him to retrieve a bottle with a stopper. "I figure a drink is in order for the both of us."

Paul then grinned when recognition hit Cyan's face once he saw what kind of bottle it was. "I knoweth such a shape. Doman rice-wine."

Pouring two small glasses for himself and Cyan, they clinked them together. After downing the contents, Cyan's mood had slightly ebbed from its morosity. He set the glass down to examine his clothes for dryness.

"Oh, by all means, if you need to get dressed, I'll leave the room," Paul told him, standing up. "I believe they should be dry enough by now."

After Cyan secured everything on again, Paul returned to the room, only to stand at the doorway. "The view's still nice out back if you want to take a look?" he told him. Cyan took him on his offer and exited to the cliff-like exterior. A sinister blood-colored hue lingered in the sky, masking what little sunlight could be seen in the skyline. Reds, oranges, and yellows painted the mountainous landscape before Cyan, yet there was still some degree of serenity he could make from his vantage point.

Cyan drank in the view. The mountain air was still crisp, yet the stain of magic had saturated it with a lingering staleness. While his breathing had not been labored, the staleness had left its mark regardless. This was the world now, tainted by Kefka's hand. As content as this view was, it did little to ease what Cyan had come to grips with.

The pain in his head was still an issue. However, the additional emotional scars of losing his loved ones still ached in his heart. The longer he stared at the scene of a scarred planet, the worse his guilt was until Paul noticed Cyan's bottom lip quivering.

"Are you okay?" Paul asked.

"I hath invited dishonor in my heart, sir Paul," Cyan said, shielding his eyes from conveying its agony to Paul. "I could nay protect them. My kingdom, his excellency. Oh, Elaine…Owain…!"

He sank to his knees. "How could I bear the burden of a warrior if I cannot protect what matters most? I failed to protect Doma. I hath failed to protect my friends. Not even the world hath been spared."

He unsheathed his short blade. Laying it on his lap, he watched his tears fall onto the metallic surface. "Leave me, Sir Paul. I thank thee for the hospitality, but I cannot continue to bear this burden. I should at least spare you the sight."

"Hey, what are you planning?" Paul asked. Cyan's eyes were still fixed on the blade. "I must reclaim my honor. I hath no place in a world destroyed by magic. I stand before forces which no mere blade forged hath the power to strike against. Leave me so that I may reclaim what I hath lost in silence."

Paul quickly laid his hands on the blade, suppressing it. "I know this is a lot to take in, Cyan. But you didn't have the look of a man who was ready to end his life a moment ago. So what's with this change in attitude?"

"I hath no home to return to, sir Paul," Cyan said. He gripped the blade in his hand until the edge cut into his skin. He stared at the fresh blood that trickled off his hands and onto the metal. "No kingdom. What honor is there in a warrior doomed to roam the wasteland that was once a beautiful planet? What good doth it make to dwell among the living when my wife and son await me on the other side?! My home is there, in the great beyond. I shan't keep them waiting longer. If my companions are yet among the living, they surely hath better fortune to slay Kefka than I do. My soul is as broken as my blade, and only in death do I have the means to reforge it."

"No," Paul said, snatching the blade out of Cyan's hands. "I won't allow someone eager to throw his life away so quickly."

"Please? Give this tired, aging face his reprieve?" Cyan pleaded. Paul stared defiantly until he cast the short blade off the cliff, watching it fall below. It clattered a few times against the jagged rocks until it disappeared out of sight.

"Look, Cyan. Had I known you were so desperate to throw your life away, I'd have left you back there in the streets. But I ain't that kind of guy, alright?"

Cyan still stared disbelievingly at the blade Paul had thrown over the cliff. He reached for his katana, only to have Paul's hands stop him. "Look at me, friend."

Paul's face softened. "Your loved ones will still be there waiting for you when you eventually do pass on. But can they honestly look at you as that same hero who fought for his people, knowing that you'd come to them a broken shell of a man who gave up? Go to them as they remembered you."

Paul pulled Cyan to his feet. "So you can't retain a kingdom anymore. That doesn't mean there's not some other town or kingdom out there worth retaining. Even if you couldn't protect your friends from some crazed lunatic, it doesn't mean there isn't someone out there that needs protecting. If your friends survived, then they're still worth protecting once you find them."

It was as if a fog had been lifted in Cyan's mind. Could Elaine and Owain truly accept him if he had done the deed and ritually killed himself? Another question haunted his realization even more. What if the others were still alive? What would they say if they heard Cyan of all people had given up on life? The shame of knowing how they'd view him for eternity if he went through with it rather than fight alongside them against Kefka made him shiver.

"I wish you hadn't unceremoniously tossed my blade, sir Paul," Cyan said, glancing over the cliff. "It was finely crafted Doman steel."

"Sorry I had to do that to you, friend. But at least it got your head out of the clouds," said Paul, clapping Cyan on the back.

"Indeed."

When they went back inside, Cyan eyed the floral designs that Paul set aside on a box. "Your craftmanship hath piqued my curiosity, sir Paul. Might I inquire on these?"

"Certainly," Paul said. He picked one of them up to show Cyan. "Silk bouquets. Found out there's a lot of silkworms crawling around the caves. So I scavenged a few supplies from Jidoor and Zozo to craft dyes so I could make these flower bouquets. I figure a little sprucing up wouldn't hurt this daft, dusty old place."

"You hath quite a talent, sir Paul," Cyan said, admiring the delicacy at which the flowers were made. Paul then set it aside to rummage through his chest, fishing out a pair of bottles with stoppers on them. He handed them to Cyan. "Before I forget. Healing Potions."

There was a considerable measure of relief in Cyan's face once he saw the potions in Paul's hand. He downed one immediately. The pain in his head and hands vanished just as fast as he drank, breathing a sigh once he set the bottle back down. "I thank thee for all that you hath done, Sir Paul. I am in your debt."

"Go find your friends, Cyan. That's all I ask in return," Paul told him. Cyan nodded. "It shall be done. I suppose the residents of Jidoor might supply some needed information," he told him.

Paul dusted an old leather bag from the chest. It looked remarkably intact and sturdy for a bag, which Paul began to fill with extra healing potions, antidotes for poison, eye drops, and food that he wrapped in a cloth. "That should last you on your journey. The world has since settled after the calamity. I've no doubt your katana will aid you and keep you safe."

"Indeed it will, Sir Paul," Cyan said. They clasped hands at the forearm. "My home is always welcome to you should you ever return, Cyan. You needn't call yourself a man without a home anymore."

"I thank thee for the generous offer, Sir Paul," Cyan said. "I shall return one day in the hopes that I shan't return alone."

Cyan was ready to leave via the front door when Paul cleared his throat, opening the back door. "Instead of going back through Zozo, I have a better route," he said. Cyan nodded and followed him out back.

"Climb up this ledge, and the way forward will be flat enough for you to trek safely out of Zozo's region without navigating the maze of streets. Plus, you'll stay dry," Paul explained. "You can descend from there and walk a straight path to Jidoor from then on. Good luck. It's a dangerous world now. But, I have faith you'll brave it."

Cyan said nothing else, only giving Paul a nod of appreciation. As he climbed to the top of the mountain range, Cyan could only think of his moment of weakness, harboring resentment at his most vulnerable moment. If Paul had not been there to speak sense to him, he'd likely cast himself down the ravine below after gutting himself with his blade. Sir Paul is a braver soul than most, Cyan thought.

The way forward was exactly as Paul explained it. Most of the monsters he killed along the way were of the avian variety, yet other land-dwelling foulness that infested this new world did not last long either against Cyan's katana, of that he was certain.

Jidoor was a half-day's worth of trekking, giving him all that he needed to witness once he had a chance to drink in the scenery. Lush greenery had decayed and torn from the magic that rained down on the world. Nothing but a barren wasteland of charred trees and ground. It did not dampen Cyan's resolve, however. He dared not allow the morbidity to erode his soul. The pain of what he had lost spurned him on, fueling his desire to find them. If anything, they'd have to be equally determined.

By the time he arrived, Jidoor was a welcome sight, or so he thought. An open landscape with no guards or barricades to speak of. Nothing looked much different than his first visit sometime before the calamity. The first thing that struck Cyan as odd was that the Chocobo stable was boarded up.

Something else tingled in the back of Cyan's head. Not quite the sensation of remembering the gash he suffered when he crashed, but the feeling that something was amiss at the far north section of town. Up ahead, he could see the most prominent mansion ever constructed.

Once Cyan's head had cleared from the effects of the healing potion, he remembered everything leading to when the floating continent fell. His companions had been here before. Terra, the girl who could wield magic, had bought Magicite from the famed Auction House, namely the one Cyan had on him.

Retrieving the Magicite from his bag, it glowed with a familiar resonance, as though its connection to Jidoor was still strong. Terra bragged about spending a great deal of gil to acquire it. "The Esper half of me was drawn to this place," she told the group afterward.

Cyan's top priority was to secure a room at the inn before interrogating the citizens about whether they've seen his friends or not. Gil acquired from the monsters along the way afforded him an overnight stay with a rejuvenating bath and a comforting bed. The haute-couture aesthetic of Jidoor would have to provide quality food, if anything. At least he would've hoped for that if the world was not as it was. He'd have to make the best of it.

It would've also been a peaceful sleep had the nagging feeling before entering Jidoor not woken him up in the middle of the night. That mansion wouldn't relent on its sense of foreboding, drawing Cyan to the window.

"A foul presence," he whispered. Seated on the windowsill, he casually cleaned and sharpened his katana while watching the mansion. Despite the illumination of the lanterns along the streets leading to the grand stairway, the lights surrounding the mansion cast an ominous shadow about it, an unnatural shadow.

Sheathing his katana, Cyan felt compelled to investigate. In the dead of night, he was the sole pedestrian along the streets. The closer he approached the stairs leading to the mansion, the more chilling the air tickled his mustache. He climbed the stairs, hand at the ready on his hilt.

GO BACK.

Cyan's heart jumped at the voice, halting him mid-way. "Where art thou? Show thyself!" Cyan shouted, drawing his blade. It was unmistakeably female from its sound, yet it carried with it an intense feeling of malice while still sounding melodious.

GO BACK.

The voice resonated more loudly, adding another layer of frost to it. It was enough to force Cyan to take a step back without realizing it until he discovered that he was back at the bottom of the staircase.

YOU DO NOT BELONG. GO AWAY.

Cyan often did not have to swallow out of concern, yet that troublesome excursion on the Phantom Train some time ago had given him pause to reflect on how dangerous these spiritual creatures were. Sighing, he sheathed his katana, walking back to the inn. He decided to dismiss the situation altogether for the rest of the night, falling to sleep without thinking of anything else. The last thing he heard from the voice was a playful chuckle.

Once he exited the inn, he was nearly run over by a young male in tears. "Slow thyself, sir!" Cyan cried, grabbing him.

"Leave me alone!" shouted the young man through sobs, shoving Cyan away before leaving the town. Pursing his lips, Cyan shook his head until he was able to flag one of the aristocrats strolling down the street with an umbrella in her hand.

"Pardon me, madam," Cyan said. The woman eyed him suspiciously, obviously dressing him down with her eyes as Cyan had expected of these people. The shift in the air was still there, not specifically from the voice that forced him back, but the overall feel of this town. Even the innkeeper was reluctant to provide a room had Cyan not given him extra gil to compensate.

The woman harrumphed, turning her nose away and strolled onward without even giving Cyan a second glance.

He noticed the demeanor of the upper-class citizens was similar to that of the snobbish woman. Many turned their noses upward, ignoring him. Some commented on his manner of dress, critiquing his appearance as a "man of filth and degradation of culture."

"Hath the calamitous magic affected them here, too?" Cyan asked himself. There had to be someone in this town able to help him with some information.

A gentleman in a tailored outfit descended the staircase from the mansion ahead. Cyan hoped that at least he was capable of aiding him without turning his nose upward. Yet on closer inspection, something was off about the way the gentleman looked and moved. His gestures were quick, as if in a hurry. His eyes were shifty, and his face was paler than most. Moreover, while the aristocrats had enjoyed some degree of sunlight that tanned their skin a slight shade darker, the gentleman in question was nearly white as a ghost.

He belted a scream when Cyan approached him, holding his hands. "Please don't hurt me, sir! Let me be on my way! Master Owzer is rather grumpy when impatient!"

"Pray tell, good sir, what hath spooked thyself so?" Cyan asked. The shifty gentleman, whom Cyan assumed was this Owzer's butler by the mention of "master," kept directing his sights onto the item shop. "I have been instructed not to interact with anyone other than the shopkeeps!" the butler told him before brushing past him.

"Wait!" Cyan shouted, chasing the butler down. The snobs he passed by kept casting sneers and grimaces his way, but Cyan ignored them. The butler had to be aware of something or at least knew someone who passed by.

"Wait, I say!" Cyan repeated before sprinting past the butler to block his way to the item shop door. "What manner of fearful tripe is this? Cannot a man be inquiring about the current state of this town?"

The butler said nothing. In his panic, he forced himself past Cyan to open the door, but all Cyan did in response was jab the end of his hilt in the butler's stomach to wind him. He collapsed on his knees, gasping and clutching his midsection.

"I ask that you simmer down, good sir," Cyan said politely but firmly, squatting down. "No harm shall visit thee."

The butler's eyes continued searching everywhere except directly at Cyan, forcing him to grab him by the lapels of his overcoat. "I say that's enough!" Cyan shouted, giving the hapless fool a good slap.

"I'll allow thee the courtesy of acquiring what you need from this shop on the condition that you explain what befell this town. I also hath need of information about any recent travelers that visited here since the calamity."

Cyan waited to see whether anything he had done had brought the butler back to his senses. He rose, rubbing the side of his face. "Thank you for that, sir. I have been quite restless, as you can see," he said.

The butler was then led into the shop to make his purchases. The shopkeep leered at Cyan the entire time he was inside until he left with the butler. Through the window, Cyan could see that the shopkeep's face no longer had such a distrust to it.

"Have these citizens and shop owners always behaved in such an odious manner, sir butler?" Cyan asked. The butler shook his head. "Not before the calamity, sir."

"Dear me," Cyan said, his face going flush. "Could Kefka's madness hath infected the populace?"

"I cannot say for certain, sir. They regard themselves indifferently, yet when outsiders visit, they are met with the same looks as you have most certainly been privy to," said the butler, watching the townspeople give Cyan a dirty look before turning back to converse naturally.

"I was nearly toppled by a weeping lad earlier. He seemed to have fled from the mansion above," Cyan said, pointing at Owzer's mansion. The butler sighed.

"Another rejection of Master Owzer's doing," he said. He led Cyan to the staircase, yet Cyan could not bring himself to move further. The same chill from the night before brushed past his face to prevent him from ascending the first step. Cyan was sure he heard an echo of the voice last night telling him to go back.

"Hath odd occurrences been happening at the mansion, sir butler?" Cyan asked. At first, the butler said nothing, only clutching the bag in his hands until his knuckles went white.

"I can only say this much, sir," said the butler. "Master Owzer has been obsessing over a crystal I recently acquired at the auction house on his behalf. He sends me to commission artists who will paint him a portrait of the crystal's representation of the goddess Lakshmi. However, I sensed nothing but darkness and ill-gotten fortune once the crystal was in his possession."

He glanced back as though caught off-guard. "Yes, I understand. I'm sorry," he said. Cyan arched an eyebrow, confused as to whom the butler was addressing. "Pardon me. I must go," the butler added, climbing up the stairs without looking back.

Cyan narrowed his eyes at the mansion. He gripped his katana hilt, ready to assault the specter that he suspected was haunting the place. "Mayhap this fiend took the town and cursed the citizens?" he wondered.

When he spun to leave, he found himself facing a group of the aristocrats staring back. Cyan dared not engage these people, knowing they have done nothing untoward to anyone. "Thou needst not worry about my blade. I shall instead take my leave," he told them. It seemed to have relaxed their faces immediately when those words left his mouth since they began to scatter and mingle as if nothing happened. Something indeed has taken hold of Jidoor, yet Cyan was both clueless and powerless at the moment to take matters into his own hands.

"I mustn't dwell on this further. Finding my friends is more important for now," Cyan told himself.

The way forward out of town led him south along the coast. There was significantly lesser landscape than there was before, rearranged after the calamity. Cyan noticed monster activity had continued challenging him until he reached a certain point where they kept their distance.

Cyan's danger senses escalated when the ground beneath stirred and shook. Cracks appeared from the middle of the earth, producing a scaly, ridged head with rows of small horns on top. Its eyes opened to stare at Cyan before they closed, its head then disappearing underground.

With his katana still unsheathed, Cyan searched the ground for the source of this head and where it was aiming to emerge next. "What manner of beast is this?" he asked himself.

The earth then began to swell directly beneath his feet. Had Cyan not launched himself at the last moment, he would've found himself legs deep in the creature's mouth. It burst from the ground as Cyan tumbled forward, slowing himself to spin around so he could face the beast head-on. His eyes widened at the sight of the creature once its whole body was visible. "A dragon?!"

A memory then flashed in Cyan's head.

"Eight mighty dragons sealed a fearsome warrior," read Owain as he paced in the room before the fireplace. "Why would they seal a fearsome warrior, Dad?" he asked Cyan.

"He was fearsome because they deemed him so powerful and destructive he could not distinguish friend from foe," Cyan said. He closed the book in Owain's hands and placed it back in its bookshelf.

"Will you read me more of the legend?" Owain asked. Cyan tucked him into his bed, sliding Elaine's quilt up to his neck. "Some other time, son," Cyan told him, kissing the boy's forehead. "Sleep well and dream good dreams."

"I will, Dad. I love you," Owain whispered, stifling a yawn.

"I canst say for certain whether you are of the legendary lineage, Sir Dragon, but I shall give thee the courtesy of tasting my blade!" Cyan said with a grin. He cycled the dragons in his mind. Earth, Red, Storm, Ice, Blue, Holy, Gold, and Skull. Deducing that this might indeed be the Earth Dragon of legend, Cyan's light footwork and quick movement gave him enough leverage to at least score a slice against the beast before it swiped back at him, grinding its claws against his blade.

"Perhaps a small taste, instead!" Cyan shouted, dancing back by side-stepping and deflecting the incoming claw swipes from the dragon. Each stomp from the dragon's powerful legs caused the ground to shake, nearly knocking him off-balance. The dragon did not stop there, however. It began increasing its land speed, forcing Cyan to sprint away.

It chased him until he saw a building ahead. Could this be the famous Opera House he heard stories about when his excellency spoke of attending the world-renowned "Maria and Draco" production?

Cyan ran past, yet the dragon halted its pursuit to eye the building instead. It sniffed the air before it decided to climb the back of the House, digging into its foundation with its claws.

"Dear me," Cyan whispered. He then turned back.

It was still calm inside when he entered. Stagehands and actors were hauling items, ready to set the stage, while the Opera Impresario was in the middle of arguing with one of the crewmen.

"No, no, no! Adjust the light fixtures at this angle, not that! How else can Maria bask in the spotlight with her Draco if their shadows are misaligned! Oh, this is just awful!"

Cyan couldn't believe his eyes and ears. Were they not aware of the dragon that was on the building? Could they not hear the commotion outside? He breathed a sigh.

"Evacuate, all of you!" Cyan shouted. "A dragon hath latched itself onto the building!"

All movement ceased and turned to him. The Impresario arched an eyebrow but merely grinned and burst into applause. Everyone else joined in as he greeted Cyan with open arms.

"What a splendid performance! And already dressed for the part! I say that prop sword of yours is remarkably crafted. Where do you hail, sir? Figaro? Kohlingen? Jidoor? It must be Jidoor if your tailor has exquisite taste!"

"Confound it all," Cyan grunted. "I am not an actor, sir. I am the last warrior of Doma, engaged in battle with a dragon who is about to descend upon all who remain! I implore thee, gather your people and escape before it tears this building apart!"

"Oh, come now," the Impresario said, wrapping his arm around Cyan's shoulder. "You needn't regale me further. I could use an understudy for Draco. Can you sing, mister warrior?"

Cyan furiously shrugged the Impresario's arm off. "Hath the lot of you been stricken with madness as well? Hath thou not seen the calamity which befell the world only less than half a Fortnite?"

"Calamity?" the Impresario said, tapping his cheek. "Calamity. Well, we did sense disturbances from outside, but we only dismissed them as passing storms. There was a rather big one if you ask me. It had not halted our work, however, for the show must go on!"

Cyan stared dumbfounded at the Impresario before everyone became alerted to screams from the back. "No!" he shouted. Darting up the stairs, he swept past the curtains to the stage where the dragon had broken through from the back wall. Members of the Orchestra dropped their instruments and scattered like rats at the sight of the dragon as it roared and snapped its jaws. The conductor had no chance to escape as he became the dragon's first unfortunate victim.

Cyan scoffed. Searching above for a rope, he sheathed his katana, using the sheath to glide down along the rope while holding both ends. When the Impresario emerged from the stairs, his face faded into several shades of white. "Wh-wh-wh-wh-what is the meaning of this?!" he howled.

Before the dragon could snag another, Cyan launched himself feet first into the dragon's head, kicking it back. It fell onto its side as Cyan landed, drawing his blade once more. "Begone, foul beast! Back to the earth that spawned thee!"

The dragon got its bearings together, rising back onto its feet. However, it regarded Cyan differently this time. Rather than roar in his face, the dragon let out a yawn before it sprawled itself onto the stage and rested its head onto its hands, closing its eyes.

"What manner of trickery is this?" Cyan muttered as it approached the dragon, katana in hand at the ready. He nudged the dragon's head, but it did nothing to force the dragon to move. He tried poking it with his katana, but the beast's thick hide only repelled it. Cyan realized that his blade had done minor damage from the first slice earlier and instead stared at the dragon before sheathing it. "What an odd creature you are," he sighed.

The dragon subtlely cleaned the blood off its mouth and teeth with its tongue, relaxing into a slumber. Cyan did what he could to move the dragon off the stage, yet even his strength was insufficient to budge it. "Had Sir Sabin been here, he would have the means," he concluded to himself. He glanced over at the frightened stagehands and Impresario.

Returning to the lobby, Cyan took a seat on the bottom steps of the central staircase, exhausted from several attempts to move the dragon. The Impresario descended upon him like an oncoming storm.

"What manner of creature have you brought upon my House?!" he screamed. "I demand you remove it at once!"

"I cannot," Cyan sighed. "No feat of man is strong enough to move such a fiend."

"How are we to proceed with the performance? What of the ticket holders? We have patrons arriving less than a month from now!" the Impresario cried. He sighed heavily with the back of his hand to his head, moaning and groaning.

"Have you not seen what hath befallen the planet, sir?" Cyan queried, now annoyed by this man's constant belly-aching. He could see the uncertain looks from everyone around him. "I beseech thee! Venture outside and see for yourselves!"

It was a bittersweet relief for Cyan to see how much of their ignorance washed away when the reality of what happened hit. Then, one by one, they all exited the building to the horrors before them.

"What happened?"

"Where did all the grass and trees go?"

"Where is the garden?"

"By the gods…!"

Several dropped to their knees, weeping at the sight, while others emptied their stomachs around the side. Cyan eventually led the Impresario to join them, where even he was not spared the shock.

"I, I don't understand," he whispered. "Why does it look so barren? What of the vegetation? The animals? The trees? What could have stripped the land of its beauty? Oh, Maria! She was not here when this happened! What could have befallen my Maria?!"

"If she were among the casualties, then you hath my condolences, Sir Impresario," Cyan told him, hand on the man's shoulder.

"What of the woman who bared a striking resemblance? The lady Celes?" he asked. Cyan's face darkened at the name. "I hath naught a clue," Cyan told him flatly. Celes was the last person Cyan thought about when considering who had survived the calamity. All he could hope for now was that Sir Sabin and Sir Gau had survived.

"What are we to do, Impresario?" asked one of the stagehands. "With the world looking like this, is anyone still alive to attend the performance?"

"Dogged by horrific sights, yet ye still endeavor to entertain?!" Cyan bellowed, rounding on the group. Those still weeping flinched at his voice, unable to cope with the sight any longer to remain outside.

"You cannot blame our selfish nature," said the Impresario with a sad grin. "The show must still go on. A world devastated like this should still be allowed to smile once in a while. I know not of what happened to Maria or Celes, but if it takes until the end of time itself, we will still give the paying customers a show to remember! Come! Let us ponder a way to remove that foul dragon from our sights so production may continue!"

Cyan threw his arms in the air, shaking his head. "So be it! If I should find my friends, we will return to slay that dragon should it be so stubborn to take up residence."

His words fell on deaf ears as stagehands comforted the aggrieved. At least these people were not affected by the chaotic magic, it seemed. He knew he could do no more for them and decided to venture onward, searching for the next town.

It was frightening to see how much of the land had shifted from magic alone. It was all Cyan could conclude as he trod the wasteland. Finding a place to set up camp for the night was awkward since there was no real clear place he could settle. It would have to be a random section of ground to build a fire and sleep for the night.

Despite the hard ground, Cyan was still able to get in a whole night's rest. The skies above still had the tainted look of blood and decay yet could still welcome the sun peeking through the unnatural clouds. Casting a haze along the ground, it trailed off to what Cyan saw was a desert.

"Strange," he said. "A desert near Jidoor and the Opera house? If my intuition were to be correct, naught but Figaro and Kohlingen had such terrain."

New world, new discoveries. All Cyan could do was approach anything with caution now. If the dragon was any indication, there was no telling what he'd encounter while crossing the desert. Something had to lie beyond.

Another effect of the magic spread across the world was the unbearable heat accompanying Cyan once he trekked across the sands. The lack of water did not help either. He'd have to secure some from the cacti ahead.

When he approached one of the patches, his eye caught something moving. It stopped when Cyan began staring at it. It resembled a cactus, yet its form looked like it had arms and legs.

Cyan opted to ignore it for now. Slicing the top of the large cactus, he could get in some of the water that flowed naturally. Warm to the taste, it was better than traveling while parched.

The small cactus that Cyan eyed earlier was now facing him. It had three holes, two of which looked like eye sockets, while the third beneath them could be interpreted as a mouth. Cyan poked a hole into the large cactus with the tip of his katana to draw more water, filling the hollowed bowl so he could consume more of the cactus's water. He lifted the bowl to his mouth, ready to drink. Instead, he let out a yelp as his hand was struck with a sharp needle.

"What in blazes?!" Cyan said as the impact caused him to drop the bowl. Pulling it out of his hand was more painful than he realized, with the tip causing blood to trickle out of the hole. Tossing the needle aside, Cyan couldn't believe his eyes as the small cactus was moving closer. It had an unusual pattern to the way it walked. When one arm swung down, the other swung up. When one leg bent down, the other bent upward in the same position. It let out what could only be described as a hollow chirping noise.

"Thou art such an odd creature," Cyan noted but quickly reacted to block another incoming needle shot from the cactus's arm when it reached back and let its arm snap downward, deflecting the projectile off of the flat end of his katana.

He deflected more projectiles as he moved to attack. Each swipe of his katana missed the cactus completely. It had nimble reflexes, unlike anything Cyan had seen before in an adversary. "Thou art agile, for sure!" Cyan shouted as each slice struck nothing but air.

He realized fighting off this tiny creature was not going to lead him to victory. With a swipe of his katana, he swept up sand from below to distract it enough for him to sprint away, hopefully in a direction that would lead him to the other side of the desert.

The cactus sped through the cloud of sand in pursuit of Cyan. It was comical to watch it flap its arms up and down like levers as it chased him. The flapping arms then began shooting more needles in his direction, striking him along his legs and back. He growled from the impact, catching up to another patch of cacti to dive behind it, enough to avoid the remaining needles that pierced the cactus, adding more decorative projectiles to what it already had.

Cyan hissed and growled at the wave of stings that were on his body. "It moves far too swiftly for my blade to strike!" he breathed.

The hollowed chirping reached a fevered pitch. Cyan expected another shower of needles that would've likely skewered him to death, but this cry was more out of fear. The sands began to shift and shake near him, drawing him to a mound that glided underneath.

"What now?" he wondered. Helping himself to his feet via his katana, Cyan only had a moment to worry about the needles in his skin before the mound changed direction to streak towards him.

Rather than run in fear of this thing, Cyan unleashed a warrior's cry. He charged forward, dismissing the needles that were painfully embedded in his body. He didn't care whether they were poisonous or not. He had no desire to let whatever this was get the better of him.

"Formation Five: Dragon!" he shouted. His movements were more graceful as he danced with his blade, ready to strike. The creature that burst through the sands was a worm with sharply pointed mandibles at the head. Cyan leaped forward, thrusting with his katana proper into the creature. It was enough to cause some damage, but it was what he needed to siphon its energy to rejuvenate himself. He continued to sprint past the sandworm, searching for a way out.

As fast as he could run, the sandworm was gaining on him once it dove back underground. He had to be close to the exit for sure.

"Formation Four: Flurry!" Cyan said, moving into his following sword technique. He darted in a blur, conjuring afterimages of himself to distract the worm as it burst above once more. Each afterimage cut into the creature until it was distracted enough for Cyan to escape.

He bought himself enough time to see a town in the distance. "An exit!" he exclaimed in relief. The haze of the sun's rays cleared once he reached the end of the desert back to solid ground. The worm abandoned its chase and burrowed back into the sands, leaving Cyan alone to nurse his body.

Once he extracted every last needle he could find, Cyan collapsed from the shock, lying on his side. "I would certainly hope the people of the town ahead hath not traversed this desert," he said through labored breaths.

He downed another potion before he was back on his feet. The trek across the desert left his mouth dry, despite the potion healing the holes the needles had caused. Cyan hoped that the desert heat had not left him delirious and that the town ahead was not a mirage, except it wasn't on closer inspection. Rather, the location itself was something he recognized immediately by the set of stairs along the entrance.

"Maranda? But how could this be?" he wondered. Maranda should have been located on a different continent altogether. It was once a great haven for visitors to marvel at the beautitious architecture until the Empire invaded. Had the world been rearranged this much?

More importantly, have the citizens of Maranda also been affected by the strange magical energy? Have these people not suffered enough?

That last question fed into Cyan's consciousness. The suffering and death of his people and his family. The suffering of the cities along the southern continent as Gestahl's imperial generals laid siege. The suffering of the world at the hands of Kefka. Cyan's heart ached.

Maranda overlooked the edge of the landmass. Nothing but ocean could be seen for miles beyond the city limits. He found another town, praying that someone familiar had made their way here too.

There was no love for the Empire when Cyan entered the city. Despite their withdrawal, signs and graffiti decorated the walls with various phrases, displaying how much hatred the citizens still had for Imperial soldiers. One sign posted near the front caught Cyan's attention the most, which only made his heart sink even more at the depressing sight.

"Abandon Hope."

An elderly gentleman offered a drink of water to a man seated by a pile of boxes, his head hunched forward to hide behind his knees. The man's face was drained of life even though he was still alive, catatonic to the world. Cyan wanted to bless his luck, yet he could not forget the initial chaos when the storm tore the airship apart.

The catatonic man did drink from the cup the elder offered, which was poured in his stead. The elder then patted the poor man on the head before gasping at the sight of Cyan approaching him.

"Wh-who are you?!" the elder shouted, backing away. Cyan stopped himself. "I intend no harm unto thee, good sir. Whilst thou welcome a fellow into thy haven?"

The elder arched an eyebrow. "You've a strange manner of speech. You do not hail from this continent?" he said. Cyan bowed formally, hand to his heart.

"I am Cyan, former retainer to the kingdom of Doma," he said, introducing himself. The elder's face softened, only to reach out to him with his hand.

"Doma? A Doman arrives? I see. That would explain your eloquence, sir knight," he said. Cyan took the man's hand in good faith. "News doth travel o'er ocean and sky, friend. I and one other hath survived the Imperial menace, though naught could be said of the kingdom, nor my fellow countryman's whereabouts after we fled." Cyan quickly changed the subject. "How hast thou fared these last few days, friend?"

"Enough to wish another Imperial occupancy compared to the horrors we've seen, sir knight," the elder said. He nodded to the man by the boxes. "He is one of many left traumatized by the calamity's effects."

"My apologies," Cyan said. The elder led him across another set of stairs to show Cyan what had become of Maranda. "Quite a few have not recovered, as devoid of life as that poor fellow. Some deny what happened, while others gather around the town square to pray for a miracle, as though they angered the gods. The madman who dared declare himself God since the destruction eased has not made things any simpler for us."

Cyan's face hardened. "Kefka."

The elder's eyes immediately darted to him, nearly covering his mouth. "Please, do not say his name! I fear it only invites misfortune, now."

Cyan eased the elder's hand back down. "Surely thou doth realize what he did to the world?" His words were only met with a hasty nod and a sigh from the elder.

"Yes, yes, I know what he's done. He was proud of it too," the elder said. "He wasted no time declaring himself as such, using his newfound power to subjugate us by unleashing a light of sorts. I know not where he sent it, only that I feared whatever it hit may have eradicated it."

He motioned to the praying citizens. "They've been calling it the Light of Judgment. A fitting name if you ask me."

Cyan could not help but regard the faithful with sorrow, closing his eyes. "Do you perchance believe such scribblings on the front? 'Abandon Hope?'" he asked the elder, who only grunted, waving him off.

"Rubbish left by those who left not long after the Light of Judgment," the elder said. "They left that sign to revere him as their new God, declaring to us they intend to spread the word of his new glory in chaos. Then, they took all the boats to traverse the ocean, not to be seen since."

"Misguided fools," Cyan said in a huff. Then, amid the activity in the town square, there was a house along the upper east side where a woman of fair complexion and sandy blonde hair exited, wearing a flowing light blue dress. She tended to her planter box hung from the window sill of her house, only to remove several dead flowers. A few white birds were perched along a pole, preening their feathers. The woman approached each one, inspecting their pouches, only to pet them afterward before going back inside her house.

"Lola," the elder said. "If anyone in Maranda personified those who had not lost hope, she would be them. She yearns to hear back from her beloved in Mobliz, but each day a carrier pigeon returns empty-handed."

Cyan stayed with the elder, watching the people pray. He was tempted to join them, offering prayers of his own. Yet all he could think of praying for was forgiveness from Elaine, Owain, his excellency, and the people of Doma. Even the fellow Doman soldier he left behind when rage filled his heart at the sight of his slain family.

The elder produced a pipe and a small box of tobacco from his pockets. After lighting his pipe, he puffed away slowly. "The only thing I hate the most about all of this is how quiet the air has become. The air always brought pleasant songs sung by the birds other than the carrier pigeons. If often also told us when new Imperial soldiers would relieve the platoon that occupied the city. It's been too quiet since the world broke." He then extinguished his pipe, tapping out the burnt tobacco. "If I could offer a prayer, it'd be for music to fill the air once more."

Cyan nodded quietly. The elder suddenly broke into a smile. "Perhaps I don't need to. Excuse me," he said, strolling towards Lola's house.

The elder called in through the window. "Lola, dear, would you be so kind as to play one of your records from your player?" he asked.

The woman emerged from inside, poking her head out. "Which one? I have several," she told him. "It matters not. I could use some pleasant music to lift the spirits of these people," the elder replied.

"I'll find something for you," she said with a giggle, only to spot Cyan behind the elder. "Oh! Hello there." She exited her house once more to introduce herself with a curtsy. "I'm Lola. I was not expecting visitors. Not since, well, you know."

"Still nothing from your boyfriend, Lola?" the elder asked. Lola forced a smile, though Cyan could tell it was teeming with a sense of urgency. "Not today. I'm just about finished another letter, though."

"Still a bright shining star in a dreadful black starless sky, dear Lola," said the elder, patting her hand. "I must retire to my residence. Pardon my asking, Cyan, but might I inquire whether you intend to stay here for a while?"

"Thou needst not worry about a hasty repose, Sir Elder," Cyan said. "If I could offer aid, thou art welcome to it."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Lola cried, clasping her hands together. "Maranda could use some sprucing up. The quakes did a number on some of the buildings back there if you'd like me to show you. An extra pair of hands is always welcome to help rebuild."

She offered her hand. "Here, let me bring your things inside. You must be eager to lighten your load." Her eyes lit up when she saw something protrude from the back of Cyan's rear. "Oh, dear. Pardon me."

She quickly reached around before Cyan could gauge what she was up to and let out a yelp when Lola pulled out one of the needles that was still stuck to him. "Cactuar needle," she told him.

"Cactuar?" Cyan said.

"The creatures of the southwestern desert. I guess since you're new here, you must have traveled across there?" Lola inquired, tossing the needle aside. Cyan only nodded, rubbing his posterior. "The quakes unearthed a desert, awakening all manner of nastiness. So a few of us ventured out to discover how bad the world had become, only to come back covered in needles."

"Dear me," Cyan said. He stared at the needle. "Thou must have been fortunate to survive such an excursion."

"Oh, I didn't go, if you were wondering. But I did help nurse the men back to health when they returned. The news has not been good since. Each attempt to regrow our vegetation has met with failure. Something in the air and the soil has tainted the crops, preventing them from sprouting. Not even flowers will bloom anymore, and those that were planted before wilted and died. Each day I visit this planter to remove what has withered."

Despite the grim tone, Lola still surprised Cyan with a smile. "Come, the buildings are this way."

She led him to a row of houses and shops that crumbled to the ground. A group of citizens was hard at work casting aside loose planks of wood, broken off bricks, and shards of glass, among other items. Cyan glanced between the group and Lola, nodding. "Allow me," he offered to one of them, helping them haul a large plank of wood. While surprised to see a new face, they immediately welcomed him into the group to aid them.

Cyan busied himself for the next few months aiding the clean-up efforts to rebuild Maranda as much as possible. In addition, they salvaged any materials still useful for the rebuild.

The elder secured a room for Cyan in his house, allowing him use of the spare room. The dwindling food supply proved challenging to find a new mouth to feed, yet they could still scrounge together enough to go by. Cyan knew, however, that rationing everything was essential and that the people should not overwork themselves if needed.

He even began dressing like the townspeople, integrating himself among them. A simple loose shirt with breeches, Cyan had every bit the look of simple countryfolk rather than a battle-hardened knight. His warrior's garb was left neatly hung in the closet of his room, along with a change of clothes the townspeople provided.

Each day, Lola's routine had not changed. She attached a letter to the carrier pigeon and sent it off, only for the bird to return some time later with an empty pouch. Someone in Mobliz must be receiving the letters, yet no reply had been attached. Still, Lola's face remained stoic.

One day, Cyan knocked on Lola's door. "Good morning, Cyan," Lola said as she opened the door. "Did you sleep well?"

"Thou hast quite the habit of asking, Miss Lola," Cyan said with a grin. "I do, yes. And you?"

"Same," she replied. "What can I do for you?"

"I hath an odd request if thou wouldst lend me your time?" he asked. He realized the phrasing of his request unintentionally colored Lola's cheeks. "Oh! Pardon! My words doth confuse thee!"

"No!" Lola cried. "I'm sorry for reacting like that. What would you like?"

"I hath a friend in Zozo I wish to send a letter to via carrier pigeon. May I perchance borrow your writing implements?"
"Certainly. Be my guest," Lola told him, opening the door for Cyan to step through. He could see that the interior had been kept tidy and presentable to guests. The bookcase by Lola's writing desk was decorated with small paper flowers that Lola crafted, hung along the border. A record player sat on top of a small shelf in the corner between the sofa and bookcase, where records were stored and organized in alphabetical order. Lola then retrieved a few blank sheets of paper along with a bottle of ink to set them on the desk for Cyan. She laid the open bottle beside a delicately plumed quill at the ready in its placeholder. Cyan could see several pages had been balled up and crumpled on the side in a waste bin, likely discarded attempts at letters Lola felt weren't strong enough to convey how she felt for her beloved.

"I'll make a stop at the bakery if you'd like anything," she told him. "Take all the time you need to write your letter, Mr. Cyan."

"I thank thee," Cyan said with a short bow. Then, sitting at the desk, he dipped the quill's tip in the ink bottle. He took a moment to decipher what he wanted to write Paul, choosing his words carefully.

Sir Paul,

I am well. Art thou well? I regret not writing sooner to inform thee.

Cyan frowned at the sight of the page and breathed a sigh. "Elaine was always the better script," he mumbled to himself. He continued.

I hath found residence in the city of Maranda to the south of Jidoor. The world hath reshaped much of the land, rearranging the continent, it would seem.

I know not of what befell Jidoor, yet my visit there was met with a most unpleasant foulness that hath e'er bewitched the populace. I was regarded a threat and left not long after I hath arrived. Something is amiss there. I only hope that should you venture there, that you do it discreetly.

All manner of beasts migrates the wasteland, now. However, should you decide to venture south, avoid the desert. Nearly half a dozen of our fellow city dwellers were slain by the Cactuar and Sandworm menace that plagues the area.

There hath been no word or sign of my companions since I took residence. I know not whether they still live or not. Therefore, I hath all but abandoned my search. Instead, my efforts hath redirected itself to aid in the rebuilding of Maranda.

Should this letter find you, Sir Paul, I ask that you do no send a reply. Instead, keep the carrier pigeon if you so choose.

I hath entertained the idea of teaching these young citizens the art of the blade once reconstruction hath completed. I endeavor to impart a piece of Doman legacy to reignite what hope remaineth in them.

Cyan

Folding the letter carefully, he sealed it with wax, using the crest of Maranda - a pair of Lilies. He could see how often Lola coveted lilies by how the paper flowers were shaped. Then, remembering when he saw Paul's arrangement of silk flowers, he laughed at himself at the notion he forgot to request a bouquet.

Taking the sealed letter, he secured it in the pouch of one of the pigeons and brought the bird to his mouth. "Find a man named Sir Paul in Zozo's mountains. There will be an opening to his residence along the back. Fly well, my friend."

Releasing the pigeon, it flapped its wings. Watching it leave Maranda reminded Cyan long ago of traveling the skies in Setzer's airship. How was the man faring after losing his vessel? How were the others? Was there any chance he'd ever see them again after so long?

"Are you okay?" said Lola from behind. Cyan composed himself, turning to face her. "I am well, Miss Lola."

"I hope your letter finds its recipient," she said, staring at the sky. The pigeon was long gone now, leaving the pair staring in its direction before Lola presented a loaf of bread in her hands. "Freshly baked, Mr. Cyan."

She split the loaf in half, handing one to him. As they ate, they could hear a commotion coming from downtown. "That's odd," Cyan said.

"I just came from there," Lola said, worried.

Lola joined Cyan as they ran to the source of the commotion. The baker was in the middle of chasing someone, a child from the looks of it. Cyan watched the event unfold, only to see who it was the baker was chasing. "Could it be…?" he asked himself.

The child climbed up several boxes to hang off the awning above the front door, a freshly baked roll in his mouth. He continued climbing until he was leering at the baker from the second floor, staring at him while tearing into the bread.

"Get down!" the baker shouted. "Don't make me go up there!"

"What's going on?" Lola asked when the pair caught up to him. "How did I not see that boy earlier?"

"Arrgh," the baker growled, staring at the boy. "No sooner did you leave, this dirty brat grabbed several of my rolls, knocking the rest to the ground!"

He went inside to retrieve a broom. At least the floor above was not too high off the ground where the baker could not reach. He readied the broom, staring at the boy.

"Get down from there, you brat!" the baker shouted, swinging at him with the bristled end. The boy danced to the side to avoid it, blinking back. He continued to eat the roll until he was done, digging into a second one he had grabbed. "Those aren't for you!" the baker continued shouting. He tried in vain to hit the boy but to no avail.

"Simmer down, sir!" Cyan shouted, grabbing the broom handle to halt the baker's movement. "A hungry child is no incentive to cause harm."

"It's okay," Lola said, handing a few gil to the baker. "I'll buy the rest on his behalf."

"Wouldst thou allow me to coax the boy down from on high?" he asked. The rotund man sighed in a huff, winded from swinging the broom so much. "Do what you need to do, Cyan. Had we the means, I'd have the boy locked up for theft."

Cyan's mouth tightened, but recognizing the boy did soften his face. "Sir Gau! You needn't remain where none can reach! Come, no one shall harm thee!"

The boy named Gau jumped skillfully from the roof to land on all fours, roll still in his mouth. He eyed Cyan cautiously. Taking the bun out from his mouth, he stayed low, still squatted as if ready to pounce at a moment's notice. "Mr. Thou…?"

"Aye. Well met, Sir Gau. There is much relief in my heart to see you alive!"

Cyan could not avoid the joy on his face, blinking back tears. Gau ate the rest of the roll, staring daggers at the baker. "You bad man! You try hurt Gau!" he shouted, growling at him.

"At ease, Sir Gau," Cyan said with calming motions. He turned to Lola. "Perhaps some space is needed to assuage the situation and alleviate tension among the citizens. The sight of Gau might unnerve them."

"I understand. It's a pleasure to meet you, Gau," she said, waving at Gau. The boy tilted his head to the side, curious. "Who pretty lady, Mr. Thou?" he asked.

"This is Lola, one of this town's residents," he explained. "She has graciously offered to purchase more food for you. Come, thou must have much to regale."

Lola couldn't help but blush at being called a "pretty lady." She gave the pair a curtsy and returned to her house to check on the pigeons, only to be met with empty pouches yet again.

"Uwaoo…tasty bread…," Gau mumbled as he ate more of the rolls. Cyan marveled at how much the boy stuffed his face before finishing half of the loaf Lola gave him. They both ate quietly before Gau began crawling around the town square, eyes searching everywhere.

"Hast thou come across our friends along thy travels, Sir Gau?" Cyan asked. His mind pleaded that Gau must have at least encountered someone he knew. "Sir Sabin, perhaps…?"

"Gau not find anyone. Only find Mr. Thou," the boy said. To say he looked well was an understatement. The calamity must have roughed him up even more by the looks of his tattered hides and dirt-clogged skin and scalp. "Gau miss Mr. Muscle."

Even though he knew them both, Mr. Muscle had been Gau's way of saying Sabin without usually calling him by name. Cyan adjusted to the pseudonym for Gau's sake, despite how vexed it made Sabin.

"I suppose not," Cyan said, his face sinking. "Thou art the first face I hath seen in months."

"Gau feel same way," the boy said. "Gau happy see Cyan alive."

"Wherefore dost thou hail, Sir Gau? How did you find your way here?" Cyan asked. Gau's eyes searched, likely trying to find an answer. "Gau…forget…."

Cyan chuckled. "'Tis alright."

Discovering Gau still alive was the most welcomed sight Cyan had seen since the calamity. That surely meant the others must be alive somewhere, only he couldn't say for sure how long it would take to find them. Maybe this was a sign that now was the time to venture out and search for the others?

The houses and shops had eventually been rebuilt to something closely resembling what they used to look like. It wasn't much, but at least people had homes they could go back to. Machines were still working, producing clean water to drink from the ocean. Cyan continued avoiding such contraptions until the elder gave him some literature that Cyan kept on his person to read at night. It gradually began ebbing away his aversion to machines overall.

He felt compelled to inform Lola that his chance meeting with Gau was a sign that he'd have to leave Maranda to begin searching for his friends again. However, it wasn't until he reached the door to her house that he could hear her sobbing inside. Rather than knock, he laid his hand on the door.

Gau approached from behind, only to be halted by Cyan, who shook his head. Leaving the door, he led Gau back to his room at the elder's house. "I hath unintentionally aggrieved the woman with our reunion. She yearns for the love of her life to return from Mobliz, yet not a single message arrived in response to what she hath written."

"Gau not like see people sad," Gau said, looking back at Lola's house. "Gau want see petty lady happy."

"I know thou wishes of it, Sir Gau," Cyan said. His face sank once more. "I hath such yearning, myself."

He knew not what came over him when those words left his mouth. The sounds of grief from a woman dedicating so much of her time to share her happiness with the people of Maranda lit a fire in his heart and mind. As strong as his desire to find his friends, he could not bear the thought of this woman writing day after day, receiving no reply. Something had to be done.

"Mr. Thou?" Gau asked, tugging at Cyan's trousers. "Cyan…okay…?"

"Hm? Quite fine, Sir Gau. Quite fine," said Cyan immediately. "The time has come for us to journey onward."

He wasn't too sure of the details of the plan he began forming in his head, but something told him it needed to involve Paul in some way. For that, he'd have to return to Zozo, albeit reluctantly.

Cyan offered his bed for Gau to sleep on later that night, only for the boy to nestle himself on the floor instead. He had been so used to sleeping on the ground at the Veldt that the concept of a comfortable mattress was as much an enigma as machines were to Cyan.

While sitting at the head of the bed, pondering over his plan, he heard a knock on the door. Gau immediately sat up and hissed at the door. "Simmer down, Sir Gau. Enter!"

It was Lola, dressed modestly in a shawl draped around her shoulders. Candle in hand, she laid it at the small end table by the door. "I hope I did not wake you, Mr. Cyan," she said bashfully, casting a cautious eye at Gau, who was still rattled by her presence.

"I brought some dried meat for the both of you. I've been preserving it in the pantry to share with my beloved once he returned from Mobliz. I don't think he'd mind if I shared it with you, instead."

"I thank thee," Cyan said. The sight of dried meat brought him back to his first encounter with Gau on the Veldt with Sabin. When she gave each a portion, she sat at the foot of the bed, eyes downcast. "I probably shouldn't keep you too long," she said.

"Thou need not concern one's self with the length of stay, Miss Lola," Cyan said. "Allow Sir Gau and I to entertain thee for a while."

"Thanks," Lola said, glancing to her side. Cyan could tell how often she avoided looking at him to spare the look of pain in her eyes from earlier. "I'm sorry," she added.

"For what?" Cyan asked.

"I'm kind of embarrassed to say, actually," Lola said, brushing her hair away from her face. "But all I can say is that it's good that you were able to find one of your companions, even though he does come across as rather eccentric," she said, eyeing Gau. The boy lifted himself on his hands and began walking across the room, surprising her. "Goodness! You're quite acrobatic!"

"Gau special walk!" Gau shouted, though he eventually lost control and sped along the floor until he crashed into the wall. Lola and Cyan both gasped in response before she rushed to him. "Oh my gosh, are you okay?"

Gau flipped back on all fours, shaking it off. "Gau okay! Gau not good at special walk yet!"

Lola giggled as Gau went back to walk on his hands, only this time he looked more stable. Gau then tumbled and rolled around the room before he finally settled back in his spot to curl up on the floor. Lola sat back on the bed, clapping at Gau's acrobatics until he tired himself out.

"How did you come across Gau, Mr. Cyan?" Lola asked once Gau was fast asleep. Cyan lowered his eyes. He often spoke of Doma but was careful to avoid divulging much of the fate that befell his wife and son. As much as Lola awaited word of her boyfriend, he felt it would be selfish on his part to share his grief so as not to worry her so much about his well-being. At least until tonight. He knew he was going to leave with Gau first thing tomorrow morning.

He began retelling her the version of events regarding Doma and what happened, making sure to include the deaths of Elaine and Owain this time. "I apologize if I hath cast aside certain details."

"I understand. I'm sorry for your loss," Lola said, giving Cyan's hand a gentle squeeze. "It'd be selfish of me to hope for my beloved's survival, knowing that you must still mourn yours."

"I do not mind, Miss Lola. Wouldst thou permit me to lend an ear to your tale? A story of youth at the height of love?" Cyan inquired. He was thinking himself crazy for asking this, but the more he knew about this gentleman Lola had given her heart to, the more authentic it would be for his plan to come to fruition.

"Oh. Well, there's not much to tell, really. He and I grew up together in Maranda before he was conscripted to serve in the Empire. He was always shy, but I could tell by how he looked at me that he would do whatever he could to make me happy. He had the heart of a poet, a certain way with words that makes my heart skip a beat. Gosh, I remember the night before he left, we traveled to the Opera House to watch 'Maria and Draco.'"

She continued telling Cyan everything she could remember of him before she had to stop herself once her voice began to shake. "Please, you need not speak further if it pains thee," Cyan said, halting her with a hand.

"I'm sorry. Each day adds to the ache in my heart when I can't see his face. Seems we both have that problem, don't we?" she said with a sad chuckle. She rose from the bed. "I should return home before the candle burns out."

"Before you depart, there is something you must be privy to, Miss Lola," Cyan said as he rose to his feet. "Sir Gau and I intend to leave Maranda to search for our friends in the morning."

Lola paused. "Oh."

He took a seat on the windowsill, overlooking Maranda. The room the elder allocated to him on the second floor of his house gave him a breathtaking view of the town that he often found himself sitting on the sill to observe. "Thou hast welcomed me openly. The company of good people hath ebbed my desire to search for my traveling companions these last few months. It was only the chance meeting with Sir Gau here that hath likely renewed that desire."

Lola took careful consideration of those words once Cyan approached her. As he laid his hands on her shoulders, she wrapped her arms around him. "I understand. It'll be sad to see you go," she said against his chest.

"It will sadden me too, Miss Lola, but I shan't forget thee, nor the people of Maranda," Cyan replied. Lola quickly separated herself, taking the still-burning candle that wore itself down to a sliver on its holder. "We'll pray for your safety while you search for them," she told him, giving him a curtsy before leaving the room.

One last night spent in Maranda was still met with a blemished sky that hid the moon from view. Nights used to be beautiful, showing the stars in a clear sky. Now it was anything but. Darkness would sweep in waves across the sky, moving as if water was rushing down a river. Cyan retrieved the piece of Magicite from his bag and placed it on the end table beside his bed. It continued giving off a mysterious green glow whenever he looked at it, but at least it was a source of light in the unnatural darkness.

As Cyan drifted to sleep, he could hear whispers in the air. The more his eyes fluttered shut, the more frequent the voices whispered. "Come home, my love," they would say.

"Come home, Cyan."

"Elaine? Is it really you?" Cyan asked. He looked everywhere for Elaine, only to have a finger tap him from behind on the shoulder. He spun to face the woman who gave him her heart, her soul, her very being. The mother of his son, Owain.

"Elaine…!"

"Come home, my love," she told him again. Never had such a fairer maiden been more lovely than before Cyan in this very moment. Each intricate feature of her delicate face was etched in memory, yet Cyan's hands still shook as he reached to touch her. "Oh, Elaine," he said, caressing her face. "How I've missed thee!"

"Owain waits for us, my darling," Elaine said, taking his hands to lead him. "He waits for us back home. Our excellency will be most pleased to see you alive and well after driving the Imperial troops back. They shan't be invading Doma any longer."

"Yes," Cyan said. "I did fell their Commander, did I not?"

"I await thy arms at my side, beloved. I await your embrace."

"Elaine…."

He pulled her in. His coarse and rough hands welcomed the touch of such delicate locks as he glided them down her hair. Her warmth and comfort eased the pain he had not been able to cast aside. She was in his arms again.

"Let us take a shortcut," Elaine said. Cyan thought this odd, pointing ahead. "A shortcut? The castle is naught but a short stroll. No shortcut is needed."

Elaine continued pulling at his arm, beckoning him to follow. "Not if our shortcut takes us through the forest. Do you remember many walks through the trees, my love?"

Cyan laced his fingers through Elaine's. "Aye, that I have. I could name every tree studied from nature books when I was a lad. Should we not take Owain?"

"There is no need. Owain waits for us there," Elaine told him. Her smile was contagious. Her eyes were gorgeous. Cyan could ask for no other. Yet how could Owain be in the forest when he was waiting for them back home? Each time Cyan had a questioning look in his eyes, Elaine would silence him with hers. He wanted to stop and hold her again. Forget the forest and castle for now. He yearned to hold Elaine in his arms until the end of time.

Elaine ran, leading Cyan onward. Everything was as he remembered. Grass, trees, skies as blue as the cerulean in her eyes. It was beautiful.

The forest ahead had a layer of mist that Cyan and Elaine swept aside as they entered. Something felt off about the way the trees looked, darker than they should have been. Elaine continued leading Cyan until they reached a clear crystal lake, where it was said that the water contained healing properties to those who drank it. Elaine pulled Cyan down with her until she cradled his head upon her lap. Untying the silk cord around his hair, she fluffed his black mane and ran her fingers through it. "My beautiful knight," she whispered.

Cyan cherished the moment. His wife's fingers glided through his smooth locks until they caressed his face. Yet, there was still something odd that he couldn't ignore. "Hast thou seen Owain? Was he not to be among us?"

"Dad!" came his son's shout as he ran into view as if responding to Cyan's call. Cyan quickly sat up. "Son…."

Owain ran and tackled Cyan to the ground, laughing. Cyan sighed happily, one arm wrapped around the boy. "Owain," he whispered through near sobs. He was with his family, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that some time had passed since he last saw them even though he had only left the castle recently to engage the Empire's troops.

"Dad, look what I can do!" said Owain as he was back on his feet. In his hand, he had a practice wooden katana. He planted his feet on the ground and took up a fighting stance that Cyan remembered teaching him. "Formation One: Fang!" Owain shouted and lunged forward with a downward slash that was true to form. Elaine clapped. "Fantastic, Owain! You did that perfectly!" she cried.

"I mastered your first sword technique, Dad!" Owain said as he rushed back to him. Cyan ruffled the boy's hair. "I applaud your skill, son. You hath done well to master the first of many, true to my lineage. You will carry on our legacy without fail."

Cyan embraced his wife and son, closing his eyes. Something was still amiss about the whole situation, however. It was apparent once he opened his eyes that neither Elaine nor Owain were there. "Elaine? Owain?" Cyan said, feeling around yet touching nothing but the cold air. It had become colder now as the mist along the ground spilled from the thicket of trees to reach him.

"Where art thou?!" Cyan shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Elaine! Owain!"

"Come home, Cyan," Elaine said, but Cyan could not see where she was speaking from. It sounded as if it came from all directions. "Dad! We're waiting for you!" Owain said. Once again, Cyan could not find the source of the voices.

"Elaine! Owain! Please, show thyselves!" Cyan cried, panic in his voice. "Don't leave me again!"

Those words echoed in his mind. He had said something to that effect before. "Don't leave!" Cyan's voice echoed back to him.

The fog was building up and rising, surrounding him. Cyan swept the mist away with his hands, only to reveal specters in ragged hooded sheets with hollowed eyes staring back at him.

"Come home, Cyan," the specter whispered to him before vanishing.

"Who art thou?! What hath been wrought of Elaine and Owain?!" Cyan bellowed. He reached for his katana, but there was nothing at his side. No weapon to defend himself.

"They're home, Cyan. Come and join them," said another voice, only this time it was deeper and more threatening, coming at Cyan like a loud thunderclap. Cyan's face twisted in agony and rage, searching with urgency. "Elaine! Owain! If my voice reacheth thee, respond!"

The mist cleared, swept away in one strong gust, revealing a set of train tracks framed by an array of trees that stretched as far as he could see. Cyan sprinted forward, yet as far as he ran, the scenery hadn't changed.

"Show thyself, fiend! Return them to me!" Cyan cried before stopping.

"I told you, they're waiting for you. Come home, Cyan," said the booming voice, only it came from behind. Then, after a moment of disturbing silence, other noises began to reach his ears. Once Cyan focused his hearing, he detected the sounds of a train moving fast along the tracks. Something was closing in, but from which direction? Cyan did not want to stay long enough to find out and attempted to leap off the tracks, yet each side showed no actual ground to land on. Instead, blackened voids stretched eternally in the abyss, leaving Cyan trapped on the tracks, watching the oncoming Phantom train barrel its way towards him.

"Your family awaits you!" the voice howled as though coming from the train itself. "Come join them…IN HELL!"

Cyan could do nothing but stare at the oncoming locomotive, petrified with fear. The train's whistle screeched the blood-curdling cry of thousands of departed souls as it rushed the tracks towards him…

He sat upright on the bed, lungs pleading for oxygen. A cold sweat matted the hair to his face, forcing him to hold his chest. He could almost hear his heart beat furiously against his ribcage. The sudden movement had not stirred Gau from his sleep, thankfully.

Tapping his body, Cyan reassured himself that he was whole and awake. Yet, the fear that this may be the first of many horrific dreams gnawed away at his mind.

While wiping the sweat off his face and scalp with the blanket, Cyan lay back down on the pillow. He drifted back to sleep, praying he'd never have to encounter that infernal machination of terror.

After gathering all of his belongings in his bag the following morning, Cyan and Gau were ready to depart, but not without the people of Maranda to see them on their way. He was back in his warrior's garb, looking every bit the man he was when he first arrived.

"Take these with you," the elder said, handing two full containers of water to Cyan. "Travel safely."

"I thank thee, Sir Elder," Cyan told him, graciously accepting the gifts with a bow. He was able to conceal last night's terrifying experience from the people. Of that, he was glad. To have his face betray him at the wrong moment when he was ready to leave would have left them more worried about his safety than hopeful. He assured himself that the nightmare was only an isolated incident and often dismissed stressful experiences as "water under the bridge."

Lola attached one of her paper flowers to his lapel, patting it. "For luck," she told him. Cyan expressed his gratitude yet was intrigued by watching her attach another paper flower to Gau's hair, using a few strands to secure it. Gau regarded the object with an eagerness to dislodge it.

"I hope you find them, Cyan," Lola said. "Don't let your wait last as long as mine."

"Sir Gau and I can attest to our desire for finding them. We shan't need a lengthy repose in our search. We intend to see this to the end and deliver justice unto the world."

Cyan gave a deep bow to the Marandans and led Gau outside. Gau gave one last glance at Lola before the pair were beyond their sights. One last thing Cyan did was unsheathe his katana to slice that reprehensible "Abandon Hope" sign in half, leaving only the word "Hope" in its stead.

As they approached the desert, Cyan halted Gau. "Sir Gau, as a precaution, it would be in our best interest to navigate a lengthier path to avoid the dangers that befell travelers in the past."

"Gau agree. Gau sense many strong monster in desert," Gau noted. "Gau want more training in Veldt. Gau go train in Veldt, become stronger to fight bad magic man."

Cyan chuckled to himself, kneeling to ruffle the boy's head. "Thou surely speaketh truth, Sir Gau. Come, let us hasten our pace to compensate for the long route."

Breaking to the left, they circled the desert, watching mounds of sandworms crawl and burrow their way underneath the sand. Gau continued to fumble with the paper flower in his hair, grunting that it kept pulling as he tried to dislodge it.

"Gau like pretty lady, but pretty lady put flower in hair Gau not like," the boy said, using his foot as if he were a dog scratching his ear with his hind leg. Cyan examined the paper flower on his lapel and soothed the boy's motions. "Allow me."

After detaching the flower from his hair, Cyan placed it in his bag, careful to preserve the quality of Lola's craftsmanship.

The trek along the border to the desert took up most of the day rather than when it would have taken them to travel straight through. Cyan wanted no part of the Cactuar and sandworm threats, assured that Gau would've expressed the same aversion. Setting camp for the night, Cyan shared some bread and dried meat with the boy before downing half of their water. At least the long route had not left them begging for something to help them stay hydrated. Seems the magical effect was isolated more to the desert than anywhere else.

The following day had the pair make their way to the Opera House. He knelt to touch the ground, anticipating activity from the Earth Dragon, but it was still oddly quiet. He decided to investigate further by knocking on the front door.

It creaked open a crack before Cyan could see one of the stagehands poke their face in the opening. "Y-yes?"

"It is I," Cyan said. "Dost thou remember me from some time ago?"

The door opened, yet before Cyan could walk in with Gau, the stagehand's head burst out, searching the area. "That dragon hasn't followed you, has it?"

"I daresay no sight of the foul beast hath been seen, good sir," Cyan replied. "Thou speaketh as though the beast left the premises."

"I'll let the Impresario fill you in. I need to get back to work," the stagehand hastily replied, ushering Cyan and Gau in before he slammed the door behind them.

"Uwaoo, Gau remember place with pretty song!" Gau exclaimed, hopping and bouncing around the lobby. "Sir Gau!" Cyan shouted after him, which proved awkward now that stagehands and actors felt compelled to run away from him.

"Gah! What is this child doing here?!" said the Impresario as Gau ran up to him on all fours. "Gau remember face! Face of man who show pretty song people!"

"Sir Gau!" Cyan shouted again, catching up to the boy. "Do stand down and come back, would you?"

"Well, I never!" grumbled the Impresario, dusting his suit as if Gau tracked dirt all over it. "First a dragon, now a filthy urchin? What manner of rubbish do you intend to bring to my Opera next?!"

"Forgive the boy's actions, Sir Impresario," Cyan said, motioning Gau to move behind him. "Hast thou seen the foul dragon amidst your environs?"

"It's baffling, to say the least," said the Impresario as he paced along the stairs. "It comes and goes. When we saw it leave after waking up, we were assured that it had returned to its nesting ground. Yet not barely a month goes by when it comes back! It covets the stage often as it lies there and slumbers until it leaves. Four times, this dragon has stopped to occupy the stage since you left! What good does it do us to give the people a stunning performance when that dragon leaves us in a state of panic?!"

Cyan lowered his eyes. "Such a burden should naught be placed upon thy shoulders, Sir Impresario. Yet, I am ill-equipped to slay such a dragon."

"Gau help! Gau help!" the boy said, jumping up and down. Cyan could only shake his head. "It is not within our skill, Sir Gau. A dragon among the legendary eight require might beyond recognition to slay it for good. I know of such people, and I shall return thusly with them in tow."

Another stretch of the truth Cyan had forced from his mouth, leaving him angered with himself for doing this. He made a vow to Lola. It was a grim decision to abandon his search for the others in the hope that they would find him instead, whether they were still alive to do so or not. "If this dragon hath only interest in your stage, good sir, without thyself regarded as its source of food, then thy fears may be assuaged."

The Impresario grumbled. "Fah! Out of my sight, then! If you can't kill this beast, then no one can, and we'll have no means to perform any longer! We haven't even a conductor to lead the orchestra!"

He spun, crossing his arms and turning his nose up at Cyan and Gau. Cyan said nothing as he led Gau back outside. "A knight's word is his bond, Sir Impresario. Might and justice will fell any foe."

The moment the pair were outside, the doors slammed shut behind them. Cyan sighed annoyingly. "I hath wrought unfortunate misery upon these performers, Sir Gau. Another burden I hath thrust upon myself."

"Uwaoo…."

By the time nightfall came, Jidoor was further ahead. The sensation of darkness was still in the air from what he could see of the town, yet it had not been as prominent as it used to be. Something must have changed or reduced its influence, yet Cyan cared more about returning to Paul than he would about visiting such a place. Gau spent most of the night staring out at the sea as the waves crashed against the shoreline.

"Uwaoo…," he mumbled to himself again. Cyan broke from assembling the fire to join the boy. "Something troubles thee, Sir Gau?"

"Gau sense familiar monsters," he said. "Remember monster smell."

"Are you certain?" Cyan asked, narrowing his sight to where Gau was staring. Recognition finally hit the boy as he hooted and hollered, jumping up and down. "Gau know! Gau see Veldt! Veldt that way!"

"Sir Gau!" Cyan said, halting the boy. Gau looked ready to jump into the water and swim across to where he believed the Veldt was located. "You intend to swim all the way?"

"Gau good swimmer! Prove it before at strong river underwater!" Gau shouted, eyes full of eagerness with a smile to match. Cyan shook his head with a chuckle. "Aye, thou surely had done so."

"Gau leave Cyan, return to Veldt! Gau get stronger in Veldt!" he shouted. Cyan could see that no manner of speech or coaxing would deter the youth from journeying back to familiar territory. It was a decision Gau made with conviction and one Cyan needed to respect.

Gau took a few steps forward but stopped himself from diving into the water. Instead, he turned to glance at Cyan. "Gau happy see Mr. Thou again! Gau wait for friends to come to Veldt!"

"I am happy to see you too, son," Cyan said. After waving at the boy, he only realized that he let slip referring to Gau as one of his own offspring. In some fashion, Gau reminded him much of Owain in the way the boy's eyes shone with determination, innocence, compassion, and blossoming intelligence.

Once Gau had left, Cyan was alone again. But not without a sense of purpose that he needed to fulfill once he returned to the mountains behind Zozo. He remembered the shortcut back to the mountain path that led him to the back of Paul's residence, climbing up footholds to lead him to the narrow trail.

He was glad to see that the landscape had not changed over the last few months since his departure. So much of what he remembered was still intact save for the back door that was slightly open when Cyan approached it.

"Sir Paul?" Cyan asked, knocking on the door. No answer. "Sir Paul, it's Cyan, if thou hath still not forgotten?"

He opened it to peek inside. No sign of Paul anywhere when Cyan stepped through. "Wherefore art thou…?"

Laying his bag on the floor, Cyan examined the place for any sign of disturbance or trouble. The carrier pigeon Cyan had sent was perched atop a makeshift pole, pecking away at a small bowl full of bird seeds. It was clear that Paul still lived here if the pigeon had been sharing living arrangements, which left him to wonder where the scavenger had run off to.

Until the man returned, Cyan would have to make do with settling himself in. Then, taking his katana with him outside, he unsheathed it to begin practicing his swordwork, slashing horizontally and vertically until his arms were burning with soreness, screaming at him to sheathe it back in its hilt.

He spun around, nearly taking a swipe at Paul when the man jumped from the top of the cliff to the ground near the door. "Ah!" Paul screamed, nearly finding himself decapitated.

Cyan stood, out of breath and sweating profusely from all the exercise he had done. Paul needed a moment to compose himself before his eyes lit up with recognition. "Cyan! You're back!"

Cyan returned the gesture with a breathy smile, sheathing his katana. "Well met, Sir Paul! I hath doubted your safety when I came across an empty dwelling."

"You must've missed me on an errand," Paul said. He led Cyan back inside, setting his bag on the table. "I can't come in the front door anymore because all the doors in Zozo are rusted shut. So I've been gathering a few things to craft a solvent to take care of the rust so I can open them again."

Paul emptied the bag full of bottles and canisters containing liquids and chemicals Cyan could not recognize. "I could make a profit selling these to the creeps in Zozo if they ever want to go back inside to dry off."

Cyan lifted one of the canisters and read the label, arching an eyebrow. "I know nothing of these concoctions, Sir Paul, but I am troubled at the sight of the storm clouds above Zozo. Hath the rain not ceased once since my departure?"

Paul shook his head. "The storms won't stop. Magic played its hand at blanketing Zozo in an endless deluge. Even the creeps are pleading for a break. I almost feel sorry for them."

"Thou hath received my letter in good faith?" Cyan asked, straight to the point.

"Ah yes," Paul said, rummaging through his chest to retrieve the letter. "I've been taking care of this little fella here since, but I haven't the faintest clue why you'd want me to keep a carrier pigeon of all things."

"Should you ever need aid, e'er trouble begot Zozo or its environs; the bird would speed your request to one who would be inclined to fly at your side," Cyan said.

"Zozo is lost to the world, Cyan," Paul said grimly. "I abandoned hope for the town. I spend most of my scavenging at Jidoor while avoiding Zozo as often as I can. I give them something to help them survive, but even I'm at my limit."

"Jidoor?" Cyan queried. "Thou hath not been turned away?"

"I was compelled to investigate the strange phenomenon that you described in your letter, yet the town was as I remembered it. No one looked at me differently or gave me the stink-eye. I did see a considerable amount of artwork decorating the town, but other than that, nothing struck me as out of the ordinary."

Cyan was astonished to hear Paul speak so casually of Jidoor. "Curious. Thou encountered no resistance, you say?"

"None."

"Even more curious," Cyan pondered, taking a seat on the sofa. "I could still sense a foulness at play within. I dared not investigate for fear of antagonizing the citizens. Yet if thou art unblemished by the curse I still hold to be true, then either thou art immune or thou are not deemed a threat to what hath possessed the townspeople."

Paul tightened his mouth. Breathing a sigh, he pulled out more items from his bag, namely writing supplies. "I know you wrote that you didn't want me to reply, but I figure, why the hell not? Gotta make sure you knew I was alive and well, too, you know?"

"I appreciate the sentiment, Sir Paul," Cyan said warmly. He retrieved one of the silk bouquets from the floor and did a once-over of its design. "Hast thou any desire to court a young maiden with such creations?" he asked.

"Why? You got a lady in mind?" Paul asked.

Cyan shook his head. "Nay. I dare not cast aside the importance of what Elaine and Owain hath brought to this old fool. In my stay at Maranda, I hath met a maiden aching for her beloved to return from Mobliz. She writes, and writes, eager for a reply, yet none hath arrived."

"Did you say Mobliz?" Paul asked, going pale.

Cyan's face hardened as he stood. "What hath been wrought upon Mobliz, dare I ask?"

"Word reached Jidoor of Kefka's power. It did not take long for everyone to recognize him as a God who rules over the world with fear. So he used some sort of magical attack that fired a beam of energy."

"The Light of Judgment," Cyan said flatly. His eyes narrowed as his hand tightened its grip on the silk bouquet. "The people of Maranda hath witnessed a flash of light as Kefka declared himself. They know not what intent he possessed."

"Well, I do. Mobliz was the first to go, sort of an example Kefka wanted to set for the world to acknowledge his magical might and revere the decay and misery that would erode the planet. Who's to say anyone survived the attack?" Paul said. He took out a bottle of wine from his chest and pulled the cork to drink from it. He then grimaced, spitting it back out. "Ugh. Terrific, the wine has gone and turned to vinegar on me."

Even Cyan knew of odd occurrences involving food and drink at Maranda. For example, there were times when the fresh batch of bread the baker made had gone stale within minutes, mold growing along the bottom. Some of the wine tasted like vinegar, dried meat went soggy with a slimy residue, and some of the produce began moving on its own, crawling along the floor like rats. While most of the food and drink was still intact when Cyan and the Marandans ate, the phenomena that struck Maranda was now believed to be the world over if Cyan was to accept Paul's explanation.

Paul left outside to toss the bottle over the cliff. Cyan loosened his grip on the bouquet, bringing it to his face. When Paul returned, he showed him the bouquet. "May I request instruction on how to assemble these, Sir Paul?"

"You wanna learn how to make silk flowers? Be my guest. You want to send some of them to that girl in Maranda?" Paul offered.

"Aye, but not from me. She waits still for his reply. I shall do so, as the lad in question," Cyan said, which surprised Paul.

"Seriously? Why would you deceive her? Would it not make more sense to correspond as yourself? Surely the both of you have something in common you could share between each other?" Paul suggested, but Cyan shook his head.

"I hath come across many like myself who hath lost something vital to them, even before the calamity. I shan't allow Lola to share in that grief. The world left us without hope. If but a single person holdeth onto it, then hope shan't be lost upon thee."

"Alright. You better know what you're getting yourself into, Cyan. I won't stop you or anything," Paul said. "In any case, I'll start showing you how to make one of those while I work on the rust solvent."

"A noble gesture, Sir Paul. I thank thee for your aid," Cyan said.

"So, how long do you plan on maintaining this deception, if you don't mind me asking?" Paul asked coyly once he took a few strips of pre-assembled colored silk ribbons. Cyan wiped his face with his hand. The more he thought about it, the more Paul's words made sense. What was he getting himself into, doing this? What would Elaine and Owain think, watching him impersonating a dead lover to convince Lola he was still alive? There was a foul taste in his mouth that reminded him of the tainted ale he once drank at the Marandan pub while entertaining guests with stories of fighting off a regiment of Imperial troops at Doma before Kefka poisoned the kingdom. "I know not," was all Cyan said.

Paul and Cyan worked in silence, with Cyan mimicking Paul's craftsmanship. Assembling the flowers wasn't as tricky as Cyan had believed. He managed to create a near-replica of Paul's bouquet, which impressed the scavenger.

"You catch on quick," Paul said. He finished mixing liquids and placed a rusted key inside. Both watched the rust melt off the key, restoring it to its former metallic sheen. Then, with a gloved hand, Paul retrieved the key and dried it off on a rag, examining it for any rust he might have missed. "Works as good as I hoped. I can get those doors open again," he said, pocketing the restored key.

Now that Cyan had assembled a silk bouquet on his own, he took a sheet of paper and opened a bottle of ink. Then, dipping the tip of a quill in the liquid, he paused before he began to write.

"Dear Lola," Cyan dictated. "Nay, it shan't begin so simply. Dearest Lola, I believe it should start with."

"Can't think of what to write?" Paul asked, watching over Cyan's shoulder. Cyan sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. "Why not write to her as if you were writing to your wife?"

Cyan paused, glancing back at him. "That it were true, Sir Paul, thought naught a single letter hath been written to Elaine. My words convey'd were not by page, but by mouth when I dictated how my heart belonged to her."

"Then write how you would speak," said Paul, clapping him on the back. "If this guy loves her as you loved your wife, then what you write needs to reflect that."

"Aye. How should one open such verbiage?" Cyan wondered.

"Well, since she hasn't heard from him in a while, perhaps tell her right away that he is indeed alive and well. I'm sure something will come up as you write, but I'd tone down the thees and thous if I were you. If you were talking like that a lot while in Maranda, she might mistake him for you, and you'd not want that," Paul explained. Cyan frowned at the page.

"I read more often than I write," Cyan said in a huff. "Many passing bards would entertain Doma with songs of war and battle while occasionally singing a tune of lost love for the maidens. 'Away the hero goes' was one of Elaine's favorites."

"Perhaps you should start thinking more like a bard and not a warrior," Paul suggested with a smirk. He retrieved his bag, heading to the back door. "I'm going on a food run. Hope nothing goes bad on me when I come back."

Cyan nodded. As he sat alone at the table, he thought over how to approach his letter to Lola. Humming the melody of "Away goes the Hero," he finally put pen to paper. He wrote, piecing together every bit of information Lola provided about the boyfriend until he finished with the man's name at the bottom. Re-reading the letter, he breathed a sigh. "Dear me, I hope this doth not arouse suspicion."

He then folded and sealed the letter, tying one of the silk bouquets to it. He brought the carrier pigeon out with him and placed the letter and bouquet in the pouch, closing the latch to secure it. "Find Lola in Maranda, my friend," Cyan whispered to the bird. "May your flight be true and swift."

Releasing the pigeon, it flew high in the air before leaving his sight. All he could do now was wait for a reply from Lola, hoping that his words were convincing enough.

The pigeon returned with a letter in its pouch two days later while Cyan practiced his sword techniques. Finally, the moment of truth had arrived. Opening the pouch, he pulled the sealed letter and brought both it and the bird back inside. Tearing the seal off, he unfolded the letter nervously.

Dearest beloved,

Words cannot express what a breath of fresh air it was to see your letter arrive!

I feared the worst. That due to the nature of your wounds, you had not made it. So I wrote day after day with a single wish that you would one day reply.

I'm sorry, I'm having trouble thinking about what to write. Our friends must think I've gone delirious with emotion once I saw your letter.

Did you learn how to write in a different style? Your writing reminds me of someone, yet I can't put my finger on it. Oh, listen to me second-guessing myself! My heart is beating like crazy seeing your words before me once more!

I didn't lose hope. That's the important part. So I'll wait for your following letter and the many more after that until you're well enough to return to me, and Mobliz is up and running again.

Lola

P.S. – The silk flowers you made are beautiful.

Cyan gulped. Now he'd done it, and there was no turning back. The jig was almost up when she wrote how different the letter looked, but seeing the emotion conveyed through her writing brought a smile to his face.

The next few months had Cyan and Lola exchange letters back-and-forth. Cyan took to the role of the soldier as accurately as he could, even convincing Lola that he must have met Cyan in passing if he started talking like him, in jest.

Paul's presence had diminished over time, returning only to drop off what he had scavenged in Zozo and Jidoor. Then, one day, Paul stopped with a fresh stack of pages and bottles of ink, along with a book tucked under his arm.

"I stumbled upon this beauty while at the Auction house," he said, handing Cyan the book. Cyan's eyes went wide at the title. "Bushido in the bedroom?" Cyan asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I figured, why not? You're up here all by yourself writing letters to Lola. This book should add some spice to your words, don't you think?" said Paul, opening to the middle of the book, which revealed a rather provocative piece. Cyan gulped before closing the book quickly.

"The art of the blade and warrior is not one to be perverted as such, Sir Paul," Cyan said, coughing into his fist. He tossed the book into a chest, locking it with a key.

"If you don't mind me asking, when are you going to tell Lola the truth?" Paul said. It wasn't the first time Cyan had heard Paul hang such a question over his head. It gnawed at his conscience until Cyan let out a heavy sigh.

"We approacheth a year since the calamity happened," Cyan said. He had carved lines in his sheath with each passing day until he began doing that in his room, counting the days. Nearly a whole year without a single sign of his friends. Not even Gau had returned from the Veldt, or so he hoped. The boy must be dedicated to his training if he chose to remain in wait for Cyan to reach out to him. Writing to him was pointless since he was sure the boy did not read or write. And not knowing where the others were meant it was pointless to write to them, either. So all he could do for now was write a single number on the bottom corner of each letter he'd write to Lola as a reminder of how much time has passed. The numbers were written so small that Lola had not noticed. "I intend to resume my search once a full year passes. As for Lola, I do intend to confess my deception."

"Do what you gotta do, I guess," said Paul. Once he was gone, Cyan took a blank sheet of paper and breathed a heavy sigh. This would be the most difficult letter he'd ever have to write.

Dear Lola,

I am writing to beg your forgiveness. I am guilty of perpetuating a terrible lie. I have only now realized the error of my ways, and taken up this quill in hopes of correcting a great wrong.

Your boyfriend, who you believed to be in Mobliz, passed away some time ago. I have been writing to you in his stead.

We humans have a tendency to become trapped in the past and refuse to move on. I implore you not to let this happen. Now is a time to look forward, and rediscover love and all the other joys of life…

Cyan

He set the page aside on the table. That letter would stay open and unsealed as a reminder there was no turning back for him. There would be no turning back for anyone. If his friends are still alive, they all had the same goal.

He then grabbed a blank page to write another letter to Lola in the meantime.