Lunar Song Chapter One: The Advent

The Advent

Above and below extended a universe of swirling galaxies, spirals of colors in a world of inky blue-black. Light, however, rippled across the surface, pulsating waves of light against the smooth crystal surfaces of the wall, floor, and ceiling. The light emanated from a large, prismatic jewel that sat upon an altar, blue as a sky, frozen in place forever.

At the foot of the altar knelt a man, his hands folded in prayer, two guards standing stoically by his side. He was an older man with brilliant red hair, resilient against the gray of age, wrapped in the folds of a massive cloak, a gnarled oaken staff resting on the floor by his side.

The perfect silence he was steeped in was all at once shattered by a battering ram, which shook the foundation of the room, causing the crystal to flicker. The two Magi guards beside the Elder turned their heads to stare at the doors, trembling under the force, and then looked back to the kneeling man, who now stood, his staff grasped in white knuckled hands. His timing was perfect, for as he stood, the door gave a last, great groan, and fell to a floor with a resounding thud.

Into the room walked a demon.

He was garbed in armor filled with the taint of darkness, black as hell, his helm the image of a monster from the deepest depths of the Underworld, adorned with monstrous and unwieldy horns. The sword he held in his right hand was the size of a dragon's fang, obsidian black and dripping deep crimson droplets, defiling the sacred altar of The Crystal. His armor made a soft clinking noise as he advanced, amplified into a harsh grating noise through the dead silence of the chamber.

He was followed by a small group of fair-haired, pale skinned men, garbed in red tunics and body armor, which barely made a noise as they drifted behind their leader.

"Relinquish the Crystal or face the same fate as your brethren," demanded the man in the black body armor.

The young white mage recoiled in shock at the sound of his voice, his pale blue eyes widening in response. It was not so much the demands he made, those were only to be expected of pirates, but the sound of his voice that had caught the young man off guard. It was not a harsh voice at all; in fact, it was calm and rather pleasant to listen to, a kind sort of voice. On top of this, the voice was young, and the white mage realized with a jolt that this pirate was just a kid, younger than himself. The white mage exchanged a glance with his sister, and he could clearly see an expression on her face that mirrored his thoughts.

When no one spoke, the pirate continued, "please. I'd rather not shed any more unnecessary blood."

No one moved. No one even breathed.

Sighing sadly, the man raised his sword and took a threatening step forward, though none of his subordinates moved to assist him. The White Magi's sister began to cast a spell, but the black clad man had eagle eyes. He raised his sword over his head and slashed in a downward arc, facing the casting Black Magi. The White Magi would have laughed at him had a sinister looking wave not bloomed from the tip of the sword, sending his sister hurtling into a wall and knocking her unconscious.

"Will you surrender?" he asked, and now that he was closer the Magi could hear how hollow his voice sounded, even from behind his mouth plate.

The Elder, his dark brown irises grim, stared this Dark Knight in the eyes ", I will never surrender. Not as long as I still draw breath."

The brigand 'tsk'ed, raised his left hand, fingers outstretched, and said in a cold, angry voice, "sleep."

Like a snake, a sleek, black gas uncoiled from his open palm, weaving around them both and sending them into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Eyes leaden, the white Magi fell to the ground, his last sight as he drifted off into slumber was that of the Dark Knight's blood stained hands gripping the Crystal and snuffing out its light. As he finally closed his eyes, he could have sworn he heard the Dark Knight mutter to the Elder, "Forgive the transgressions of the Red Wings."

XXX

Everyone in the kingdom of Baron knew of Cecil Harvey.

Sir Baigan, Captain of the Royal Guard, said he was a celebrity among the women, an ideal of perfection for the men, and an idol to admire for the children. Really, they only knew him because of his positively outlandish appearance and his blood stained and darkened armor.

Cecil hated the attention.

His greatest ambition in life was to quietly serve King Thomas XVI of Baron, his savior and his Lord. He wanted to spend his days with his two best friends, or up in the air with the Red Wings. He wanted to live a quiet life away from the public eye, but Fate had not dealt him such a pleasurable hand. Thus, he had been unwillingly thrust into awkward celebrity.

The sound of his armor striking the stone floor resounded through out the hallway as he climbed the steps, ascending to the very top of the Northwest Tower. It was here that Cecil had taken residence since he was old enough to be able to dress himself without the aid of a maid. It overlooked the lake and had a view of the twin moons, which Cecil relished because he felt somehow more at ease closer to the sky. The room was not large, but it was the only home Cecil could remember.

Underneath his footsteps was an echo, another pair of leather clad feet following him up the winding staircase to the very precipice of the tower. They belonged to Cecil's cohort since that hot summer's day almost eleven years ago, when the two had finally settled their differences to rescue a head-strong young lady from the monster infested woods outside of Baron Castle. Cecil had been nine, his companion, Kain Highwind, ten.

"I want the details from you," Kain ordered in his mature voice, his words suggesting this was not a request but a command.

"And you shall," Cecil replied, "but away from hungry ears and prying eyes," he added promptly as they passed a gaggle of maids undoubtedly on their way from cleaning Cecil's bedchamber; he was well-known for his prowess with a blade, not his cleanliness. They whispered while casting the pair furtive glances.

"Indeed," Kain snorted derisively as Cecil at last thrust open the heavy wooden door to his chamber, stepping into the deeply shadowed room.

"So, tell me of 'The Red Wings ferocious atrocities,'" Kain began, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Is that what the Mysidians are calling it?" Cecil asked, his voice high and forcefully conversational, as he began to unbuckle his plate armor which, though difficult to remove alone, was not impossible.

Kain stared at him, patiently waiting for his friend to continue speaking.

"It was awful," Cecil said in a rush after a painful pause. He removed his shirt, which was soaked with blood; though there were no dents in his chain mail to indicate that he had suffered any kind of blow. "I had to … to kill women, Kain. Many we… slew… were no older than I was when I received my first true Dark Sword."

"Only fifteen," Kain asked, aghast.

Cecil nodded stiffly, and then spoke again, his voice full of barely contained anger, a monster seething just beneath the surface, "those damn Mysidians… So determined to protect that foolish Crystal that they-they jumped in the way of our blades just to serve as obstacles. One would think that if your village was being raided you would have the good sense to hide – Pirates aren't known for their mercy."

Cecil had taken a roll of gauze from the old oak wardrobe that sat at the foot of his bed, the only other piece of furniture in the room. He began to carefully wrap his torso, which was covered with hundreds of pale, white lines that must have once been very sinister lacerations. Lacerations much like the ones that now lined his arms and pectorals. They were not deep cuts, but Kain and Cecil both knew what they were, and their shallow appearance bellied a sinister nature. These wounds were the self-inflicted curse wounds of a Dark Knight.

"You had to use it," Kain said coldly, staring at the blood soaked bandages that now crisscrossed Cecil's chest.

Cecil was not sure Kain had ever truly forgiven the King for making him take up the Dark Sword, not after the reaction Cecil had to one the first time he had wielded one in battle. It had been against enemies of Baron, the same enemies who had kidnapped Cecil and killed Kain's parents, but nonetheless; there were two months of Cecil's fifteenth year that he was wont to remember. Kain told him he had been catatonic, and when Cecil had at last woken up he had been sitting in a bath of ice-cold water, feeling as if his soul had shattered and surrounded by the concerned faces of all the people most important to him.

"I did," Cecil admitted bitterly; he had only done his job. Kain should know he would do anything for the King.

His mood lightened considerably when Kain was practically bowled over by a large form slamming itself into the door with all of its might. It was only Kain's Dragon Knight reflexes that prevented him from having the heavy door slammed into the back of his head.

"By the hair of Gaelach, Cid!" Kain cursed, his eyes narrowed at the man who had so urgently forced his way into the room.

Cecil's lips twitched into a smirk at the embarrassed look on Cid's face. The grizzled man rubbed the back of his head and muttered, "didn' see ya' there, Kain."

Cid was a man who had probably been quite fit in his youth, but now he had a large gut, protruding to accompany his barrel chest. He was only five feet and six inches, but filled smaller rooms with his great width and uncanny warmth. Much as his spirit dominated a group, so his large, bushy, auburn beard dominated his face; with the brilliant exception of his two, tiny black eyes, which always shone with explicit kindness. All Cecil's life Cid had been there, a support system for the man with no proper family.

His two calloused hands took Cecil by the shoulders and he began to violently shake the young Knight, "say it ain't so! Say they didn' give my babies to some ruffian who don't know his aft from his port!"

Cid quickly ceased his playful shaking when he saw the look on Cecil's face.

"Aw, geez, kid," he muttered sympathetically in his gruff voice. "Man… Don' cha'

worry! You'll be gettin' back on my girls in no time flat! I don't trust those goons of yours without you!"

Neither Kain nor Cecil could bring themselves to tell Cid that Cecil regaining control of the Red Wings was not what worried them. That the two of them would have to go off again on the morrow to slay a beast in a distant cave, surely just a plot to get them away from the Castle so a new Lord Captain of the Red Wings could be selected.

"Well, you better hurry," Cid suddenly said, tactfully changing the subject in hopes of lifting Cecil's mood. "Yer' both expected to be at the banquet celebrating the Crystal's conquest, ya' know."

Cecil almost groaned. He wished he could take supper in his room. He hated any social event, most significantly those that required him to wear court dress; fortunately, tonight's event was not one of the later.

"You two ought to be going," Cecil told his companions. "I'll join you once I've finished dressing my wounds."

Cid smiled encouragingly and shuffled off. Kain was a bit longer, pausing at the threshold to cast Cecil a meaningful last look before he swiftly descended the stairs, shutting the door behind him.

True to his word, Cecil dressed his wounds and selected a new shirt to wear. It was not a difficult task. Cecil had made a point of limiting his worldly possessions as part of his pay for his Knightly duties was room and board. Clothing, admittedly, was not a priority of his. Cecil had never particularly cared for appearances and found favorable first impressions to be a waste of his time. He quickly pulled on his only pair of decent boots beside his riding boots, carefully inspected his pants for signs of blood, and replaced the tiny silver ring he usually wore on his left hand's middle finger. Satisfied with his appearance, he decided to descend himself and (reluctantly) attend the banquet.

He grabbed his sword from off of his bed, strapping it to his belt and dashing out of the door, taking the stairs two at a time. He nearly collided with several of the staff on his way to the sprawling Banquet Hall, but was spry enough to dodge them. He scampered into the Hall, finding Rosa and Kain both waiting for him.

Kain had shed his grim expression from earlier to favor his usual cocky half-grin. His hair, customarily in pony tail high atop his head, was falling around his shoulders. Cecil, who had known the late Sir Richard well, was oft stunned by how much Kain resembled his straight-nosed, stone-faced father, except that his hair was ashen blonde, a trait he had inherited from his mother.

Rosa drifted over to Cecil, looking radiant as always, her form dripping with an appeal Cecil could not explain even to himself. "Come on, let's go sit down," she urged, taking his hand and dragging him along.

He cast Kain a pleading look, but the Dragon Knight ignored him, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. He followed them to their customary seats at the end of the Hall, closest to the doorway and useful for quick getaways. Rosa, as usual, sat between them. Kain had Cecil, though best friends, were also rivals, and their discussions could get quite heated at times. It fell on Rosa, the neutral party, to play the referee.

"Who is that?" Cecil suddenly hissed to his two friends.

Rosa's pale green eyes lighted on the hulking man who had entered the room, biting her lower lip in disdain. Kain's eye's narrowed into dangerous amber slits, and made a noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Cecil took this to mean he was bad news.

The man was massively tall, even among the Baroni, whose men averaged at six feet. His skin was the same smooth, luminescent cloud pale as Cecil's, but it stretched over an inhumanly tall frame. Hair unnaturally wavy was tamed into staying away from his eyes through what could only be a feat of magic; it was the color of ash and tumbled down his back in lustrous waves. His eyes were cold and hard, the color of two amethyst jewels, glinting cruelly from his broad face. He was talking with forced civility to Baigan, who appeared to be very animatedly explaining something.

Then his eyes locked with Cecil's, and ice slid down the Dark Knight's spine. He momentarily forgot where he was, his body shivering violently as old, familiar and half-forgotten fear crept into the back of his mind, along with a deep feeling of personal betrayal.

He shook his head to dispel the feelings and break eye contact, trying to push the nagging feelings to the back of his mind. He didn't know this man.

Did he?

"That's Lord Golbez," Rosa answered his forgotten question, "but everyone in Court except His Highness thinks he's…"

"A creep," Kain said bluntly.

Cecil was too distracted for the rest of the meal to properly respond to his comments and queries. Instead, he spent the entire banquet avoiding this Lord Golbez's stare, picking nervously at his food, finding he'd lost his appetite.

After supper he muttered words of excuse, stating that he was much too exhausted for dessert, and that he must rest for his journey tomorrow. Rosa and Kain both stared after him, but they had known him long enough to realize that he just needed to be left alone.

Once in the darkness of his bed chamber, Cecil threw his shirt onto the floor, unfastened his belt and cast it to the ground, and removed his boots. Exhausted, he closed his heavy, cotton curtains to block out the waning daylight and flopped onto his bed, closing his eyes to at least try to feign sleep.

For Cecil Harvey, however, sleep seemed impossible.

His mind whirred with too many questions, accompanied by an unexplained feeling of rage at this Golbez individual. Still, that was not what most bothered him. What haunted him, the foremost thought in his tumultuous mind, was Mysidia.

Blood had already stained his hands before Mysidia, but those he had killed had been pirates and vagabonds. His victims in Mysidia had been innocents, and worse, he'd led others to murder as well. And what had it all been for? What had been the justification? A Crystal. A jewel that shone with a gentle light, harmlessly floating in the Magi village. What right did Baron have to do this? What kind of man was he to let them? And now he wasn't even in a position to do anything about it…

Hours passed and Cecil could not sleep, the same questions, the same guilt surfacing within him again and again. He could only come to one conclusion about himself. At last, he ripped off his sheets and tore open his curtains to let the light of the twin moons flood over him, spilling into his stone room, illuminating every corner. Still frustrated, he began to undress his wounds, uncaring that they were cursed wounds which still seeped blood. So deep within his own thoughts was he that he only realized he had company when two, delicate, yet strong, hands pressed to his chest and a warming sensation rushed through his body.

"Rosa-!"

Before him stood the white magi, her long, blonde hair free from its usual restraints, falling about her shoulders in golden waves. She was clothed in her archery garb, a sign she had gone out to the range to clear her head and vent her frustrations. Cecil favored her this way, found her to be her most attractive, outside of the arraignments of court; when she was her natural, tom-boyish self; was it not the reason she alone could run with Kain and Cecil?

"When these wounds happen, you need to come to me," she chided, but then added more gently. "I wish you wouldn't use that terrible sword at all."

"You know I must," he reminded her.

She nodded, but bit her lip, a sure sign she was worried.

"Rosa-," he began, but to no avail, she cut him off.

"Cecil, what happened in Mysidia? How did-"she paused, took a deep breath, and them spoke "-how did you lose the command of the Red Wings?"

He turned from her, and she marveled at the way his naked skin shown in the moonlight, almost as if he, himself, were a crystal. She wondered if he realized it, or if he was just as oblivious about this as he seemed to be about everything else concerning himself.

"I killed them, Rosa. I killed them all. I- we stole what was theirs. Where is my King, I wonder, the man who saved me from death and kindly raised me here, at no gain to himself? He would not have ordered this," Cecil sat upon his bed and cradled his head in his hands, staring at his bare feet. "And I am such a fool, Rosa, for following these orders. I'm so dark now – so corrupt that I have become a coward, unable to disobey orders that should not be followed."

"You are no coward!" Rosa objected, but he ignored her anguished comments, staring into her eyes instead.

"What is this armor doing to me, Rosa? When…" he trailed off, and when he spoke again his voice was very small, "when did I become a murderer?"

She kneeled before him, took his calloused, but somehow graceful, hands in her own, and placed them over her heart, "this heart would not beat for a villain, Cecil. You are a good man."

They stared at one another for a very long time, deep emotion stirring behind his emerald eyes, as if he wanted to speak, but he did not.

At last he pulled away, the battle within him ceasing to rage as he stood and opened the door for her, speaking softly, "you should go. It's late, and we both must sleep."

She hesitated, and then spoke, "why must you go away again when you've only just arrived?"

Cecil sighed tiredly," it's just to slay a beast, Rosa. Kain will be with me, so all will be well. We'll be back before you know it," he assured with a weary smile.

She took what she could get, squeezed his hand reassuringly, and then ran from the room.

Cecil, shutting the door behind her and drawing shut his curtains, sunk to his bed and finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

XXX

The Cecil who woke the next morning was different from the Cecil who had fallen asleep the night before. Perhaps it was because he had resolved in his heart to be loyal the king. Perhaps it was because he no longer cared.

Whatever the reason, Cecil Harvey was soundless metal suit of armor who walked down the hallways of Baron to meet his friend. He bore this punishment with silence, making no noise, giving to indication that he even cared to all the guardsmen who stared at him with their curious eyes.

He met Kain, equally silent, and the two, sword and lance in hand, made their way from the castle into the pre-dawn hours before sunrise.

XXX

With the advent of airships man's greatest dream has been realized, but he is a creature seldom sated, and so he set his sights upon heights higher still.

Stripped of his position, the Dark Knight Cecil and his companion, Master Dragon Knight Kain, set out to slay a monstrous beat and deliver a ring to distant Mist.

What lies behind these goings on?

If the crystals know, they share no answers; only shed their pure and silent light…