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World of Ruin
What do you think you've found? Here in this dying world? – Kefka Palazzo.
It was near dusk when a pale green haired woman reached the near deserted village of Mobliz, her torn cloak trailing behind her as she walked, pointed boots caked with mud, her green eyes staring ahead into eternity. There the ravaged remains of a town greeted her, buildings barely standing, open crevices in the ground where anyone can fall into and not a soul anywhere in sight. She stood in the entrance to town, dropped her sword with a clatter and stared.
Slowly through the dust and rubble, several small weary faces emerged. They eyed the newcomer with a mix of curiosity and fear. She slowly took in their pale faces, noting the lack of adults among them. Several children slowly yet bravely ventured out near her. "It's ok, it's not a monster," she heard one small boy say to a little group hiding behind a half-demolished shed. "It's just a lady."
More children emerged, at least seven or eight in total, their faces covered with soot and their clothes singed from the burnt buildings. They crept closer to the young woman. One little girl extended her hand. "I'm Molly. Who are you?"
"Terra."
"Terra." The word was repeated, passed from one young mouth to another as though they were testing it out to see how it fit. Several more children emerged, slowly making their way towards the green haired lady who now stood before them.
1
A silver haired man sat in a bar in the ruins of a northwestern town and lifted a tankard in mock solute to the warring gods before having a generous gulp. He set down the almost finished drink and settled back in his seat with a sigh. Today was a day of drinking and relaxing as yesterday had been and tomorrow would surely be. His wings were officially clipped, his thirst for adventure and danger gone. Whatever money he had salvaged would manage his thirst as he chased oblivion in a ruined world.
Yet it had not always been like this. Once there had been a ship, as fast as the skies could take, and a girl in a ship of her own, her eyes bright with the lust for daring deeds. That too had been long lost, put to rest so long ago that her face seemed like little more than a dream. But what a dream it had been.
He finished his drink and signaled for another. As he did a second girl appeared in his mind suddenly, tall and statuesque, her long hair a rich gold and her eyes a deep royal blue. She was a fine warrior with the looks of a queen. She could be rotting somewhere for all he knew of this crazy world. Or she could be alive, crazy though it seemed.
More crazy thoughts, namely that anyone could really survive long in this tattered travesty of a world. Beautiful girls, however strong they may be, did not suit this horror show of a dying world.
"I knew the world's most beautiful woman," he told the bartender as his drink was refilled. "She had hair like gold down to her waist and her body…" He trailed off and lifted his tankard. Frowning he took a long drink.
"Nothing that beautiful lasts in this world."
2
It was becoming routine. Stop in a town, ask questions, get roped into helping with repairs and leave. He had the right build for it, tall and sturdy with muscles to spare. He patched up a house here and a shop there. The people thanked him but were unable to give him much besides their thanks. Occasionally a little food was given his way. It's alright though, he never wanted for much. His years of training had prepared him to take little that was not essential to survival.
"It's alright," he told a bent old woman after he fixed her door. "I am not looking for anything but say, have you seen a man who looks kind of like me but with longer hair?"
She had not. Onward it went, another town to go to, a few odd jobs to do, more questions to ask, a little sustenance to acquire. He had been through this before.
He would be fine with only a little food, he had his discipline to sustain him. He was used to the cold, the rain and the wind in even the thinnest of garments and the days left to manage with the meagerest of fare, a far cry from his pampered childhood with rich abundance. But how had the others fared in this world of ruin and desolation?
No one, not a black shrouded man, nor a green haired girl, or a man with a mustache and a strange speech pattern had been spotted. Then came the truly frightening thought, was that because he was all that was left?
No. He would never think that. Tomorrow would be another day, and another place to look. He would not be so discouraged that easily.
3
The colors on the palette mixed richly together, forming just the shade of blue she needed. The little girl smiled in satisfaction.
It was not everyone who got a job at the ripe age of eleven, but she was nothing if not a steady worker, her hands her best recommendation to success. She could paint marvels, creating works that had the wealthy and elite in this snobbish town clamoring for more. Her boss, though a little odd as of late, was more than satisfied.
There were days when her young mind would wander back to the past, to cozy days in a little house in Thamasa, to a bustling little old man and home cooked meals and a town seeped in the very essence of magic she could almost taste it. There everyone knew her magical abilities and had their own to nurture. Here magic was a sparce thing to be guarded.
She found the mixing of colors relaxing. It was wonderous seeing what she could already visualize in her mind's eye appear before her on canvas, its own brand of magic in essence. There was plenty to paint here, she could almost forget that outside there was a dying world that had probably long consumed her friends.
Almost.
Frowning slightly, she eyed the picture more critically. Death was a big topic for paintings now, and she had gotten her requests. Onto the canvas went a tiny bit of her every time, a lone survivor in this dying world. In her minds eyes the old man still stood waiting, his smile bright.
Her mind a mix of thoughts she put down the brush for a moment and scowled. The rest would not come to her now but maybe tomorrow…
4
It was easy killing. Though there was a time when it had not been that was many years ago. Many years of killing one's emotions had the effect of making one into an excellent killer, cold as the grave and nearly as silent. Even in this world there were those who would pay their price for a little death and then silence.
His mind's eye saw bloodshed as none of his companions could and that was why he was still here wasn't it? Why he outlived so many and continued to exist in a world that was barely alive itself.
The monsters were desperate things, barely able to put up a fight against him as he passed from village to village, craving a fresh kill themselves but unable to deliver. He was putting them out of their misery. Anything that died was in the long run put out of its misery.
In his dreams he saw Baram and heard his call, knew that anything dying must be at least put out of its misery from now on. It was the least he could do. Wasn't the eternal slumber of the grave the easier of the two anyway?
It was this thought he had in mind as his mind unwillingly tried to go back to a small blonde child, a question in her eyes for him, and Interceptor by her side.
No! Better dead than in the hell that had become this world. There was no time for thoughts like that. When his time came he would not run from it but embrace it warmly, as though death were but an old friend who had been kept waiting.
5
He would get strong on the Veldt.
It was like a mantra going through his head. He would get strong on the Veldt. He would…and then Mr. Thou and the others would come for him. They would bring tasty meat and they would come for him with their strange talk and their weapons and they would take him to Kefka. He would smash Kefka and it would be over. Everybody would be happy again. In his minds eye a tall blonde man and a dark-haired man with a moustache waited with smiling faces. They welcomed him in his dreams. "Work harder Gau," they would say, "and then let's get Kefka. Let's smash Kefka!"
He would get strong on the Veldt.
6
It was here somewhere in this cave. He could almost feel the power as he wandered deeper and deeper inside. Too many people had decried the idea that it should exist, but the young man knew better. Phoenix was here and he was going to get it and bring it back to Rachel.
In his mind's eye he saw her, lovely as ever, her blue hair framing her beautiful pale face, her eyes just as blue and looking sweetly at him. She would come back to him, and he would never doubt, never fear again.
At least that is what he told himself. Climbing over rocks and through ditches, dodging monsters as fierce as he'd ever faced, he told himself that it was all for a good cause. In his minds eye he could see her, blue eyes and lovely, except in his dreams she was for some reason taller, and she was blonde.
But that one was dead as well or at least he believed so. Well no more would there be dead girls in his life. Phoenix was here and it would save her or save them both if its powers were so great. He just needed to search a little longer, go a little bit deeper. Into the tightest of crevices he crawled, past more monsters, down slippery slopes.
For every girl who ever needed him who he had failed this was his chance to shine, his redemption so to speak. He could not fail now.
"I won't leave here without you Phoenix," he whispered as he crawled onwards.
7
He had been marching for he knew not how long, had kept in time with the others. In his minds eye was the same sight of his granddaughter falling off of that airship. It replayed itself over and over again as he marched, his eyes staring straight ahead, his steps measured to the others.
She is dead…she's dead…she is dead…and over and over in his head. His feet move but he doesn't feel them, doesn't acknowledge the others marching with him, has no idea what they are marching for or where. Time ceases to have meaning. The only thought that ever mattered is that she is dead and will not be coming back.
The other cultists chant as they circle the tower and he mindlessly chants back as they take their turns around the tower. Step by step they wander, no thought beyond the mindless devotion to Kefka and tower.
Dead. There is nothing beyond this to consider. Dead. He marches on, lost to sense and time.
8
There had to be some way to get to the people in Figaro Castle. He was not known for being crafty for no reason, he would figure it out. In the meantime, he was cooling his heels in this little town. The town seemed secure, the barmaids still cute. There was a lot to be thankful for. He accepted a drink with a thanks and settled in, his eyes on several cut throats seated not far away. They were drinking and loudly lamenting the loss of their recent boss.
"Everyone seems to have their own problems," he muttered to himself. He took a sip of his drink, grimacing as he did so. Lousy. Would it kill for a little quality ale at this time? But everywhere was all the same, nothing worth eating or drinking, lucky if the women halfway worth looking at.
"A ruined world," he said to himself. "Yet even the thieves are still managing to get by. They might have much to teach me."
With that thought in mind came an inspired idea.
It was only a few adjustments before their replacement leader showed up. The thieves were restless by themselves and ready to take orders from someone. The whole thing will work brilliantly if you think about it.
"Hey boss when do we break in?" one of his men asked.
"Soon," he told them. "I have to make sure everything is right." He couldn't afford to screw this up.
"But how soon?"
"I'll tell you the answer to that soon." Irritating they were but necessary. It was all necessary. Yet he wished he were doing this with his old group. What he wouldn't give to have Sabin back with him right now.
With a sigh he retired for the night. Tomorrow he would think more on it and make his final plans.
9
They were all gone. That was his first thought when he got back to the mine. All the other moogles that he had grown up with, fought with, played with, were gone. He had felt poorly enough seeing his human companions fall apart following the end of the world only to now come back and find his friends, his more than family gone.
It wasn't fair Kupo! Ramuh never said it would be like this. That they would all be gone and he would be left all alone, not sure where they had gone, not sure where everybody in turn had gone. Was it worth it all in the end? He wasn't sure he thought so anymore. He was now trapped in a new world all alone and he hated it. Were his human friends all gone too? Was he destined to fade away all by himself as the world got sicker and sicker?
"Kupo where is everyone?"
10
In the year following the end he got to know a lovely young lady named Lola. She had a boyfriend who had been injured and who sadly died. Yet he did not have the courage to tell her this. Instead he sent her messages through pigeon, pretending to be that boyfriend. Handmade flowers accompanied these letters, for real flowers would not grow in a dying world.
His conscience smote him for what he was doing but he liked to think that it eased her heart a little to find those letters and the flowers. Evidence that someone out there still cared.
"In a dying world it is not much we can do," he said softly. To her he wrote: "My love, how are thou today? Art thou resting as thy ought? I hope so, for thy health is most precious to me. I have sent thee more silk flowers. I hope thou likes them."
Smiling he sealed the note and after tying the small bouquet of flowers and note onto a waiting pigeon sent it off. Lola would be pleased, he reasoned, and that made it all worth it. In his minds eye he could still see his Elayne as she had been in life, blonde and beautiful and always smiling, filled with love for him and their son. He could see his son Owain and imagine the fine man he might have grown to become. All of that was in the dust now thanks to Kefka.
"Let Lola keep her hope," he said softly. "Everyone needs hope in this world as it is today." He went out to the cliff and stared outwards, staring at the brightness of the sun, the cold breeze that hit his body lightly. It was truly a marvelous day for such a world.
11
A young woman moaned slightly from her place in bed, her hands moving slightly on the covers. A middle-aged man dressed in yellow glanced up hopefully from a table where he had been busy writing, Nothing. She settled in again. It was the same all the time, she moved slightly or tried to say something and then settled back into bed and was quiet. Yet the man hoped. He had to cling to hope, everyone else was gone and his own condition was getting precarious. If she did not wake up soon…
Yet onwards the woman slumbered, her blonde hair spread out on the pillow around her, her young face peaceful in sleep. Occasionally a nightmare would mar her beautiful features and the man who go to her and try and chase away the dreams, hope that she would awaken and fulfill the task he knew lay ahead of her.
Occasionally words would come from her lips, Locke the most likely one, but for now she was silent. He went back to writing.
There was a world out there and it was waiting for her. He knew this as surely as he knew how little time he had left in it.
So she slept until one day she didn't. Her eyes opened and it was then that everything changed.
The End