Final Fantasy XII 1. Sacred Sword

1. Sacred Sword

Migelo showed me the storeroom today, for the first time. It was really cool. I think Penelo maybe saw it before; he likes her a lot and has a soft spot for her, I'm sure. He's always giving her little candies and drafts of happy water when no one is looking, but I know she secretly hides them away in her little spot in the city. I've tried one or two once, just for kicks, but I got nervous after thinking she might know I know her place so I stopped going.

Saw Bucco today. The little toadie is still asking for money to tell ridiculous made-up stories about the city. I gave him a coin just to hear his new story, and because I felt a little sorry for him. Don't know who his parents are or if he even has some. I don't know why he hangs around the central downtown district so much. It's possible his parents might be drunks at the Sandsea and that's the only way he gets to eat. I've seen a lot of those kinds of kids come through Rabanastre.

The imperials are holding some fancy parade today, welcoming the new consul from Archadia. Politics bore me, but everyone is excited to attend and see our new representative. Maybe the imperials will calm down a bit and get a bit more lazy.

I really hate them. It's pretty close to the day I lost him to them, but nothing seems to help. I've held that pain for a long time and really have no desire to let it go. The imperials can be the object of my wrath any day, for all I care. They are bastards who took my life from me, and I'll show them someday.

Anyway, yeah, I saw the storeroom today. Migelo has some old stuff in there. He had a suit or armor that apparently was too rusted to wear. He says that in his younger days he used to wear it and go hunting, when he was young enough to march off with a sword and shield. Looking at him today it's hard to imagine Migelo was anything besides a shopkeeper. And I joked with him, but it's hard to imagine him inserting his snout into anything as heavy and compact as metal armor. Whatever, the thing was totally busted. It made me laugh.

His sword was beyond, though. It looked like it was in top shape. Migelo said he tries to polish it every week, just to keep the sheen on the tip. It was long, like the tooth of some giant beast, and really sharp. He showed me how he could cut a piece of wood across the edge just like paper. Amazing. What was even greater was that Migelo told me I could take it out to the desert when I got my permit from the local guild to go on sanctioned hunts. He said I was about the right age for it, and he didn't have no more use for it.

-Vaan


	2. Different Worlds

2. Different Worlds

The plains are quiet today. You can hear the pounding of the slavens as they criss-cross the desert. I've never seen one up-close until today. When Dad used to bring me here before, he was always careful to avoid the slavens and the sleipnir groves. I remember him telling me, "Penelo, the slavens are from a different world, never forget that. We allow them to live here, and they do not bother us." While I've seen some merchants in the city selling the slaven hide, it usually does not go for much money. People around here seem to feel at ease with the giants.

Up close, they are intimidating. They look like walking pillars or some ancient ruin come to life. But their eyes - so deep. Still, I would not want to get on their bad side, and I did stay far enough away… this time. I've heard that the slavens and the wolves have a kind of agreement, but then the gossips of a hunter are often some of the worst kind.

I rushed out here as soon as I heard from Migelo. Vaan's such a foolish, little kid. He needs to grow up and take some mature responsibility. I'm sure Migelo would be open if he actually ever offered to watch the shop or take more interest acting like an adult, instead of running off on and doing whatever he pleases whenever he wants. He doesn't realize the sacrifice we made for him; he never really did. At least Reks had the maturity to join the order and make something of himself. Vaan's just a stupid street kid who continues to harbor hate in his heart.

The people in the village are nice. They raise cockatrices here. I've often seen wild cockatrices being used in fights in Lowtown, but actually seeing the birds here following orders and fluffing their feathers and eating dead things is a bit of a relief. After all the stories, it's nice to see people taking care of them like living things instead of hunting them to extinction.

The sunstones are glowing in the distance. For thousands of years we have used the sunstones, unaware of their power. I hope to one day study them in some depth and really understand them, because it seems my people have become so accustomed to them as a source of power, we rarely resort to anything else now. While the Gizan people who have devoted their lives to the study of these things are very open when it comes to visits from the city every now and then, there's no doubt it handicaps us. But how else could we exist in the middle of a desert, without them?

Where is Vaan? He must have gotten carried away with something else. It feels like I've been waiting forever for him. There's a moogle who's tried to set up shop here at the village, but it looks like business has been really poor for him in that last few days. He came over to talk to me. Moogles really freak me out though. Their slanted little beady eyes and those huge ears - almost like they were a more evolved rabbit. But where do they come from and how could a rabbit learn to speak? Their language is so strange, and they speak our language even stranger. I kind of hope the village gets some customers, because the moogle merchant keeps making eyes at me and "smiling" at me, if you could call it that. Different world, totally. Maybe I should go talk to one of the slavens and ask him if he'd set up shop at the village too.

-Penelo


	3. The Great Escape

3. The Great Escape

I'm not letting go. Not this close.

The guards are talking, joking with each other. Their voices echo through the empty hall. The sounds of the fete are dim now, the music like a soft chorus. The palace surrounds me; it feels like it will collapse on me at any moment, and I will be discovered, left to rot for the rest of my natural life in the dungeons of Nalbina.

I would have preferred to come here under different conditions. A victory banquet for Reks, or even being awarded myself for bravery in battle. But that is long gone, no chance of that now.

There is a slight draft. I shut the door behind me and feel the stillness of the air. I have little time; surely the guard I snuck past has realized what has happened, and is racing up the stairs.

I dash forward, feeling the blood pound in my head. Too quick, the guards are walking in this direction. In the hallway ahead there is a crest; perhaps that is what I seek. I tumble forward, landing without a sound on the other side of the hall and stop. They don't seem to have noticed.

The crest on the floor is engraved like a hawk. The design is so beautiful, but everything from Dalmasca is beautiful. I have no time for appreciating this beauty. I take the stone from my pocket, the one Old Dalan gave me. I hold it to the crest, but nothing.

Footsteps from behind me. I have no time.

I race ahead, hiding in a nearby nook.

"So what'd you do, to get stuck with this shift?"

A laugh in reply.

"Spilling tea on the captain's table," he muttered.

"That's it?" A deep-throated chortle.

I don't stay to hear the rest of the conversation. I hear a lull in their conversation and use the timing to slip past them.

There are guards everywhere, but none are looking in my direction. I am a shadow, I am the wall, I am a memory. These are the words I use in the streets, but they are even more important here.

You are a fool, Vaan. A treasonous, idiotic fool. Penelo is talking to me, though she is not here. Her voice echoes in my head. She never did like my thieving; she was the one who got me the job to clean the sewers in Lowtown. It was good money, but not as good as this is going to be. The pride of Dalmasca, mine.

Another crest. My eyes are blurred now, lids heavy with sweat, arms tired from carrying Migelo's sword. The lines on my arm are faint now, after inscribing the healing runes on them, but the pain returns now as my body weakens. I've hardly stopped running since I entered the palace, and the injuries I suffered earlier in my search for the palace entrance have still been untreated.

Slipping into an ante-room, I draw up the pants over my left leg. Still battered and bleeding. I sigh, shake my head for being the fool. Kneeling down, I touch the runes on my skin; they begin to glow, the words twisting around on my skin. I can feel the skin twist and turn above the bone; the letters burn white, and then my body feels the sudden relief of pain. The bleeding stops, but I am left vacuous, empty if. I have no time to gain back my energy though. The sounds of the fete are getting louder, which means they must be heading towards the finale of the evening.

Peeking past, I notice the guard has moved away. Another crest is on the ground, the shape of a lion. I might as well try it. Placing the stone over the crest, I feel a warmth flow through my body. The sunstone energy of the crest vanishes, turning the stone into a blackened lump. There is a flash in my mind, and part of the energy surges through me; the hidden room. I see it now, and race toward it.

The guards hear my footsteps and race after me. I turn a corner and run as fast as my feet can take me down another hallway, then stop. The guards in their heavy armor fade down the hallway. They know there is an intruder in the palace. I have no choice no, no exit but my goal.

Before me is the glimmering light I saw in my vision. I approach it, and see part of the frame of the window has been illuminated. I place my hand over the frame, and hear gears moving and grinding. The frame raises into the ceiling, and I see a darkened hallway. Not wanting to make any noise, I quietly step over the wall and slip into the black room. The frame immediately closes behind me.

I am alone once again. My heart races, but I feel the pulse of life, one that I've never felt before. This is definitely a turning point.

-Vaan


	4. The Princess and the Sewer Rat

4. The Princess and the Sewer Rat

The boy is anything from simple.

Indeed, I rather find myself taking a liking to him, as obscene as that sounds. But Fran tells me I should take into account all living things, regardless of their stature, so I find myself taking a liking to him. The things I do for her, you know.

He is a tall boy, lanky and lacking muscle. He walks as if he has never been trained how to dance, and yet he was able to steal into the palace and grab his country's most prized possession before even I was able, a trained thief and villain, to find the entrance to Dalamasca's most fabled treasure horde. And I went under the cover of a coup, which says something of the boy's abilities. I doubt he would have had any trouble stealing into the palace whenever he'd like, so far as he was stupid enough to do so. Lucky for him I was there, and saved him from utter destruction. Or so I tell myself. Looking at myself now, you'd hardly know it was me, covered in sewage and grime and walking through mist-infected tunnels. But let us out of this place and find ourselves in a better place. The boy's treasure will do us fine, and perhaps I will even allow him a glance at my ship which he seems so fond of.

The empire has not been kind to this city. I have that much to say about my homeland, and their tearing through the rest of the world in their vain search for glory. I left for good reason; good riddance I say, for I'd have no part in their ludicrous plan to conquer the world and leave their old beliefs scattered across the corpses of every person they come across. The ghosts of Rabanastre are plenty, and the mist has elevated their concern, turning the dead of this city into ravaging spirits. I am not used to these sorts of things: I prefer, being elsewhere, you know. Our bodies, especially Fran's is especially poor as of using this much of our magic. The hairs on my arms have been singed once or twice, and I can feel the cold of Fran's spells seeping into my boots. Mist is an unnatural thing, and it is a pity we must use it to fight for our lives. The abilities it gives us, while wondrous, would be much better left in the places they were birthed, and not among us, living inside of us. I don't have a good feeling about it.

The boy is headstrong but foolish. Fran has cared for his wounds on more than one occasion since we've been tracking through this endless underground. She does not talk about it, but I know she has also taken a liking to the boy. He has something the rest of us do not: drive and energy. I suppose we've been professionals for so long, we've forgotten what it felt like to bet your life on the next moment.

The princess is another story.

* * *

But I should tell another tale first.

Fran died earlier today. Or so she looked dead, but I could not tell immediately, due to her not having any breath. Fran, being a viera, does not breath as humans breath. She has an intimate connection with mist, and being down in these infested tunnels, it causes her to sometimes wander off and stare at random objects or become fixated upon some minor, inconsequential detail. Her breathing is slower than us, and when she stopped breathing it was minutes before I realized what was going on. When I finally collected myself from my own wounds and saw her motionless on the ground, I jumped to my feet and rushed to her side and saw that the blood was beginning to draw away from her face.

I was beside myself. Most of my supplies I had left on the bike when we took out of the palace and had little on my body. The boy, however, took out a handful of feathers, and quite clumsily began to extract each feather and let the drops of fire contained within drip onto her face. I recognized the feathers for what they were: the prime feathers of a downed phoenix bird, a mythological creature that I've only seen twice during my travels. How the boy had amassed so much of the medicine and his utter lack of knowledge of how to use it was quickly apparent.

I took the feathers from him, pushed him aside, and gently let the tincture drip into her throat. The blood on her face was still being drained, but as the solution found its way into her body, she stood up with a jerk, sucking in air almost unnaturally and her eyes wide with fear.

"What." She said, exasperated. "Was that."

"You died, love," I try to say with as much concern in my voice for her as possible.

"I would have preferred to remain like that, rather than this." Fran often surprised me as she spoke much more like a man of many hardened years than the most beautiful viera I had ever across.

"Nonsense. Vaan, come here and help me get her up."

The boy approached, but Fran shoved me off, scowling and standing, albeit shakily. "You still haven't learned, Balthier. The importance of life and death, the balance of things." I suppose she was in a bad mood, and most likely would be for quite some time. It always takes Fran time to work herself out of these moods.

"Those are the most useful tools of any hunter in the field," the boy said, quite innocent in his beliefs.

"Yes," I reply, carefully choosing my words before I reply, "but Fran here is a viera, and she sees the world quite differently from you, Vaan. Where did you find such a collection of phoenix downs?"

The boy shrugged and looked away, as if the question were unimportant and he did not trust me yet. "Places."

He surely must have stolen them, but they were so expensive usually only the high-end medicinal shops frequented by nobility with a lot of money and paranoia, or hunters who valued death over life, and who used them constantly in order to revive themselves using the power of the golden birds to wrench themselves back into the living world. In many circles of civilization, using them is seen as an abomination. During my short time with the viera, even I came to that understanding, though I am not above their use in cases of extreme conscience.

For the sewers to have such horrors that could kill my Fran, we must have angered the spirits in a very bad way.

The princess arrived not five minutes later, leaping from a ledge into our young sewer rat's arms, being chased by a battalion of imperials. All so very dramatic. And unnecessary.

I've heard tale of her in the Sandsea and other hunter locales. Rumors of the rebellion against the empire have been festering for months, but I'd never have thought it myself to see the risen from the dead with my own eyes.

I will say nothing for now. I doubt even Fran knows of her or cares much, and the boy is such an innocent, he only thinks her a cute girl he gallantly caught in his arms. Maybe he thinks that makes up for his life of petty crime.

* * *

We are moving on through the tunnels. The mist is getting heavier, and I've heard the wail of creatures I'd rather not face without proper weapons and protection getting closer as we move with the flow of the water. The princess does not seem to have noticed my realization of her, and continues to walk with us between myself and Fran, with the boy scouting out in front.

The stink of the dead soldiers is still on me. This silly war has been going on for far too long, and too much blood has been spilt. But as the bodies pile up, they do not seem to stop and think about what they are doing. The guards that had been following the princess were mere peons, with only their beat-up armor and military-issued swords that had long been overused and poorly cared over, as drafted soldiers wont to do. They had a few healing tinctures on them, but most were broken in the battle. We left their bodies back in the stink of the flow as a reminder to pursuers and as a lure for creatures who might prey upon us in our escape.

-Balthier


End file.

Final Fantasy XII