Archive of Our Own ^beta

February 16th, 1800

…

My uncle asked if I could go buy his medicine. I said yes.

He was ill in bed and... He couldn't move at all because of the disease. A leg disease. No, he was not an invalid, in fact, he exercised by just walking around the... Around the house. That's as far as he could get in his condition. So, I left home to buy his medicine, and before I came back... I wanted to go home, but the attack had already begun.

If I knew it was an attack? No. Only now that I know. Only now that I've lost everything I cared for.

I know I'm exaggerating. I am fortunate enough to have some living relatives, though, so I guess I shouldn't be, you know, sad, but it still hurts. Not hurt, like, a very intense pain, it's just... I don't know. My cousin lost one of his fingers, he still has both hands. No, it's nothing related to the war. It was his own fault, that idiot. He thought he could fix the dinner table with a hammer by himself. Idiot. I'd say I feel indifferent to everything that happened, the way I feel with my cousin, but that wouldn't be fair.

I could care less about my cousin or his lack of a finger. I know his wife doesn't mind it, either.

Now, if you ask me about, uh... The war, how it began... I have no idea.

It came out of nowhere. Like a tidal wave, it just came. I saw people running against my direction. I was in the market when it happened. A lot of people were in the market, and those people who were running... They looked so desperate and panicked. One of them had massive burns around their back and... I'll say, they did not look like people, at all. They ran like animals. Like rats.

There were no soldiers. No arrows, no swords, I... I couldn't see clearly. The crowd panicked and soon everything came down. After the explosion, the woman who was in front of me collapsed beneath a pile of bricks. Me, two royal guards and five other people helped take the woman out. She couldn't even scream, she was in shock due to the pain and the guards… They took her away from the chaos. With my uncle's medicine in hand, I had no time to waste. I left the market as quickly as possible. Not everyone was lucky. Like that woman, she wanted to go home. To this day, I pray she's alright and back at home.

I saw kids hiding in apple containers, hoping they did not get noticed by whoever was invading. The creepiest looking dolls I have ever seen, as I heard from a passerby. He told me they burned every single thing on their path, and we could hear them utter the word "kill" nonstop. Like kill kill kill kill kill! It did not feel like a word anymore. Just noise. The last your ears would be hearing when you came across the yellow-eyed devils. I was curious, but not foolish enough to wait on the street to see one of them. One of the Black Mages.

Yes, the Black Mages. That's how the Alexandrian soldiers called them. There were quite a few Alexandrians for a supposed mass invasion. Of course, they relied on the power of the Mages to do the dirty job of destroying buildings and the lives that inhabited them.

I had to go home. Lock myself in it, allow no one to enter, give my uncle the medicine and we'd be safe at home. No, we wouldn't. Most of the Burmecians who stood at home were killed as well. But was there anywhere else I could go? I was not given any choice, and besides, my uncle was sick. I had high hopes he'd get better by next week, because... He would get his medicine and he wanted to work so badly. He said stuff like "I got a job, I have to work. I need to. It's what I like to do", he said everyday.

He grew up in a different Burmecia. Perhaps it never looked different. It's all but ruins, and this is where I found my uncle's leg... Within the ruins of what used to be his house, the one he worked so hard to build at the cost of his health. Now I am living with my other relatives who moved on to Lindblum. They asked if my uncle's leg could be buried, and I said sure, okay. Let's bury what's left of him. For respect, and because, to be fair, we had no use for his leg.

February 20th, 1800

...

Today I feel- I feel about the same as I did yesterday.

I-I'm trying to feel a little better. I don't think I have a headache, it's my back, it hurts. It hurts a lot.

I had a bad night of sleep, it happens, and I'll be better soon. I feel a lot better, in fact. Way better than when I was buried in the sand of Vube, a sinking sand taking away every wreckage and corpse of what was left from Cleyra. Taking me away, my children, my husband, everything.

I did not expect to be rescued by Lindblum's airship force. Not at all. Why me? I-I'm not important. My husband wasn't either when he was incinerated by a... a Black, er... One of those awful things. They did not know Dan was my husband, they did not care to get rid of him, I did not care at the moment as I... I survived, somehow. Of all people, I survived, and I don't feel like I should have.

Why was I spared, but not my children? I ask but no one answers. I guess no one can. They just can't.

They also think I'm too weak to do anything. They treat me like they did when I was pregnant, you can't do this, you can't do that. It's impossible to live like that. I can't even say that I'm living, I'm surviving... I'm a survivor.

The King is also dead. He was there when it happened, the big explosion, everything collapsed and- I don't remember the rest. People screaming, maybe. Sometimes I don't want to remember, it's not like I have to.

Oh, Burmecia... I spent a lifetime working on you and you won't even talk to me.

February 25th, 1800

...

There are many villages out there in the world, but none of them, I'd say, compares to the village of Dali.

To be fair, I don't know any of them, but I know Dali because I have lived here ever since I was born, and so did my father, and his father before him. They never left this place. I've seen quite a lot of people from my family and the neighbor's family members leave to go somewhere else. In search of adventure, in search of money, in search of love, they had their reasons and we understood very well.

A friend of mine, Jonathan, had a son who got ill. Pneumonia, he said. A very unfortunate disease for a boy at such a young age, and he had no potions or elixirs at home. Usually they're brought by outsiders, but Jonathan couldn't wait because his son's condition got worse, so he eventually left town with his family to seek treatment. One day he'll be back, as he wrote to me in a letter, and his son will feel the country air. I hope so.

I too wanted to leave once, but I decided to stay and work on the corn farm, like my father when he was alive and able to hold a pitchfork with his both hands.

Then, everything changed when Queen Brahne's fleet arrived and her men built an underground factory. At first, we did not know what they were making, but as soon as everyone was getting paid to do what they told us to do, nobody cared. It was a very profitable job, I got a lot more gil than I earned monthly by working on the harvest and taking the crops to airships who would fly to the faraway lands I never stepped into. I was well-paid and I have no regrets. Well, only a few.

Some of the villagers who were still working on the farms were concerned about this sudden change. Alexandria said they were not taking their jobs away, but rather offering new opportunities for us to try and that we could still work on the farm if we wanted.

It was a lie. There was no time for the farm anymore, given the pressure, the deadlines, the machines that had to be fixed very often, it wasn't pleasant, but we were getting paid, we couldn't refuse the offer. It was neither a choice nor an opportunity, but something in between. We wanted money but none of us could ever leave Dali because we had to work on their project everyday. We had lost control of our lives, we couldn't tell any outsiders about the secret below, that we... We made weapons. Weapons of mass destruction, or at least, that's how Alexandria treated those Black Mages as.

They had consciousness, a few of them, but they kept growing aware of their surroundings. Queen Brahne was pleased to know it was a rare occurrence and that the majority of "dolls" was at her command. They were given no choice, they refused to give one as they were put in barrels and the cargo ship took them to Alexandria, and as we know, Alexandria took advantage of them in combat.

With the Black Mage's magic and lack of understanding for what they were doing, Burmecia was conquered, Cleyra smoldered to ashes and Lindblum surrendered after most of its people, I still can't believe it, were sucked into the void of a monster. The Queen could just summon those eidolon things and unleash them at people anytime. At day, or night, when you're at work, at home... One person given too much power only to threaten others with said power, that's horrifying.

Days later, the factory was later dismantled by the very people who worked on it and we got back to the farms. The official Alexandrian reports say it was due the lack of Mist, who vanished all of sudden. It was something unexpected and out of their control, though I heard rumors of the factory's closure related to Queen Brahne's passing, and the power she had in hands being responsible for that. An eidolon turned against her and destroyed her fleet and... She's dead. The Queen is dead and I remember fondly the days she used to be a good person, even though most of us forgot it, and I don't blame them, it was ages ago, when the King of Alexandria was still alive.

Now, I look back at the war and I wonder whose fault is it, ours for creating the Black Mages? Is Queen Brahne solely to blame for abusing the power she had in hands? Or, is it the Burmecians for killing her husband in battle? Maybe I'll never know. Alexandria and Burmecia fought many wars in the past, each side earned a victory and a loss as well. They fought for generations until they forgot what they fought for. They just remembered yesterday's hostilities and fought back, again and again, as we stood in the middle, watching everything unfold before us.

That's all I know.

March 5th, 1800

...

Thousands of innocent lives were lost during the invasion.

It began with a misunderstanding... One of those stupid, pointless, lousy things that just seem to happen sometimes. We thought our men positioned at Melda Arch had control of the situation. Certainly, the King of Burmecia took pride in his men, he said that our army was strong enough to defeat anything.

They all perished. Years of training lead to nothing but their deaths. As the troops marched across Gizamaluke's Grotto, no one was left but the badly injured. A Moogle sent us a message written by a soldier before the casualties. He too may be dead, or paralyzed on the legs, or unable to move any of his limbs, we don't know. The letter had no name, it was written in a rush and had slight burn marks on the edges.

Our Majesty, however, declared that no one would invade his domains as long as he had enough of his men available to protect it. He was wrong, utterly wrong, but we did not question any of his words. The King was very well-known to exile people who opposed his opinions, and thought it was a rare occurrence, it only happened when he was put on the edge and we did not want to upset him at the cost of living the life of a hermit.

They arrived at Burmecia's main gates on January 19th. They went to the markets, to the suburbs, to our homes, to the churches, to the parks, they spared no one and killed everyone. Men, women, children... It did not matter to them. Our fountains gushed blood, the deceased floated above the river's surface, I saw bodies everywhere. I still see them whenever I'm awake or about to sleep. They were not satisfied with just killing our people, but our culture, our customs, our arts, our entire legacy left by our ancestors, efforts of generations reduced to nothing. I saw very few Alexandrian soldiers and more of those Black Mage abominations roaming around, uttering the word "kill" as if we were deaf.

When I stabbed a few of them with my partisan, their last breath sounded painfully human, but I did not mind.

Meanwhile, with our side suffering the majority of losses, the King ran away like a coward. I heard rumors that he dressed himself like a woman to not be noticed in the crowds, but with everyone yelling and the world falling apart, why would he do that? We know he fled to the village of Cleyra, located atop a giant tree on Vube, a desert west of Burmecia. Well, it used to be. All that remains of Cleyra is a hole in the ground. The Black Mages were only a sample for Alexandria's real power.

They summoned Odin, a single blow of the Eidolon enough to wipe out the Cleyrans from existence. It's like they left Burmecia with ruins and corpses around as a sick joke. I did not have time to grieve because I had to accomplish a mission. Burmecian lives were at stake. My personal feelings were irrelevant to the matter. I felt irrelevant as a whole, like dust drifting in a wind that I had no control over its direction.

After several days, when I heard about Alexandria losing control over their precious Eidolons, Bahamut's attack on their kingdom, the same Bahamut who turned against the Queen and mortally wounded her, I almost said, Reis forgive me... Well, they deserved it. What are a few dead civilians compared to a genocide of millions?

It was inevitable, but someone else said it to me. The feelings conveyed by most of my people are those of scorn, contempt, revenge, eye to eye punishment, and I regret ever having to borrow these, even for a split second.

March 25th, 1800

...

A month ago, Doyle and I made it to Lindblum.

It was quite a long trip, but so far, we've made it to the castle. There, we met Freya and I believe we haven't talked with each other for years. Damn, it's been so long. We knew each other since childhood, it was quite the nostalgic reunion. The gang all-together, me, Freya, Doyle, Dan... Oh, Dan wasn't there. It's a shame. I wish Dan was there with us, not only in spirit. He always wanted to be a soldier, just like his old man, and now that he passed away, it just feels hollow, you know. Like, I can name more dead comrades than living ones. A shame, indeed.

Poor Learie... I can't tell how devastated she is. I had to go to Lindblum for her, and all of the wives that lost their husbands, fathers who lost their sons, sisters whose brothers were slayed, I just had to try, and well, I hoped that Freya would join us in rebuilding our homeland, but she decided to join Zidane's party to search around the world for Kuja. From what I heard, he was responsible for the destruction of Burmecia and other kingdoms.

Doyle was disappointed, he said that a Dragoon's help would be appreciated, though I understood Freya's concerns and we both agreed that we had different missions to accomplish, one thing was no more important than the other. She told us to take care of things until her return. Man, I do really wish Dan was there to hear that too. Not only Dan, but that other guy with the iron tail, the one that was at Cleyra like Dan, but he survived... Fratley, is it? Well, both men were very supportive of Freya back when she trained to be part of the Dragon Knights.

To think a random kid would turn out to be one of the strongest warriors of Gaia... It's something not everyone can accomplish. Something to be proud of, I'd say.

So, as Freya went after that Kuja bastard, me and Doyle and the remaining citizens of Burmecia were willing to rebuild everything from zero, if needed. It's been a few days since that meeting and things are doing mostly fine. The Palace and the more devastated areas of the kingdom were given priority, Freya came back to our aid and despite losing his memories, Fratley is driven by his duty as a Dragoon and is also helping with the reconstruction.

Many of our people are still scattered around the continent, some of them will never come back and I comprehend. Home isn't just where you were born, but the place you are fine to live at. I wish them luck, whenever they are.

April 13th, 1800

...

Three soldiers were pinned against that wall.

They had their weapons taken by the enemy. Helpless and vulnerable, almost naked, they were assassinated without any mercy, in front of their familiars even. One of them was my brother who had just married a few days before the invasion.

On that very wall, there used to be a beautiful mural dedicated to Lord Gizamaluke, from his birth until his death and reincarnation as a monster. He remained loyal to our country despite his soul being caged within a ferocious creature, as legend says, and like everything I stand upon, Gizamaluke and his soldiers were decimated.

The artwork of that mural transcended for generations. It took the handcraft of a hundred men to build that wall that stretched for miles. Sadly, their efforts have been reduced to rubble. The labor of so many workers, simply gone. How tragic.

Two decades were needed to erect those walls, and a single day for them to fall apart. Pieces of marble and stone crumbled as if they had never existed, and the story of Lord Gizamaluke, once known by many since childhood, is left forgotten. While building homes may be a simple task, restoring ancient artworks is impossible when there is nothing in your hands but dust and blood. We often fail to appreciate the treasures we hold dear... We barely notice them until they are lost to us forever.

April 18th, 1800

...

I woke up late at night.

I heard an explosion. BOOM! It was loud like that.

I tried to sleep again and then another BOOM! My house was on fire after that one.

It began with the kitchen. I went downstairs and I saw the kitchen on fire, a hole in the wall and two beings with yellow eyes and point hats, no faces, they were black like the night. They had no faces and they felt no pain as they walked in the middle of the flames.

I went to mom and dad's bedroom, I had to tell them about those things I saw in the kitchen. They moved slowly, like they wanted to give us the chance to escape while knowing we wouldn't. I know because I... I poked her many times, but there was no reaction.

They were dead. They died in bed, in their sleep. Without pain... Without feeling anything. I did not hear them yell.

That BOOM! I heard before... It made a big hole in their bedroom, but I just did not care. I had no time to care. See these burns? It's what I got by trying to care. The things I saw in the kitchen came upstairs and they... You know what they did, look at my fingers. Only six out of ten. I know how to count, I saw two things and they did this to me, to mom, dad... They did not care.

Yesterday, I saw the Queen of Alexandria on the main avenue. I heard from people that she went here to talk with the King in person, and I could tell with the only eye I've got that she was sad, like, so sad about us and she was going to compensate for our losses with a big reward. I don't know how big it is because I haven't seen it yet. I could have seen so many things with both eyes, places where mom and dad could take me to... Somewhere better than this rainy shithole.

May 1st, 1800

...

Fear is fascinating.

It's something that has been brought to our hearts ever since we're children. You refuse to go to bed? Well, let your father or mother or whoever is taking care of you to convince yourself that it's good to sleep or else the boogeyman will come to you. What will it do to you? Who knows. It'll eat you alive, it'll devour your soul, it'll take you away in the middle of the night... It needs to be frightening, unsettling, you show some concern to your child as much as you terrify them too.

Why do we do this? I have no idea. Is it because the very things our parents and caretakers told us when we're little could happen to us right now? I've visited Burmecia once or twice in my life, and during my visits, I have witnessed all sorts of unspeakable horrors.

The first was somewhere in 1780's. I was young when my father brought me to Burmecia. He was an airship engineer and the Regency of Lindblum had sent him and hundreds of men, architects, masons, plumbers and other engineers to establish an airship factory somewhere in the kingdom of eternal rain.

A lot happened during the troubled construction period. From what I remember, the rain made it difficult to work, even with an improvised ceiling. A few Burmecian families offered us shelter, which was good, although their kindness wasn't enough to solve all problems. My father worked tirelessly for 12 hours a day, and I wonder how he managed to stay sane. He didn't smoke like the others. One day, a friend of his was left paralyzed after a heavy slab of metal fell on his right leg, while five other men lost their lives in work-related accidents, and then there was the incident with the Burmecian guard, whose child was caught stealing parts from the airship to impress other kids, resulting in fifteen injured and one death.

Worse of all, the Regency's plans were met with failure as King Oberon no longer invested his treasure with the new technologies. The Burmecian council was divided between following their rooted traditions and providing safety for their nation's future. As a result, my father, as well as the other men, were disbanded. Their efforts did not matter as the price of progress was paid in blood and tears.

Not everything was in vain, though, as the alliance between the nations of Lindblum and Burmecia remained intact and a few neighborhoods have benefited from the renovations carried out by the workers. I even made a few friends and, lucky me, I had time to say goodbye to each of them.

Years later, 1791... I grew up and it feels like something has changed. Outsiders from all over the continent were allowed to visit Burmecia only to be met with their eyes of disdain and sorrow. Perhaps nothing has changed.

During that time, I realized that half of Burmecia's male population was composed of guards, sons of merchants and fishermen and other guards who had preceded them. It's how their society works ever since its foundation, dating centuries. One guard dies, another comes to replace them. Grandpa is too old? His son comes. He marries, has children, and one of their children replaces him when their father is too old or injured. It's not different from Alexandria or Lindblum at all, but you see, it's different because they are rats and no reason is ever given.

Just rats, it's how the rest of the world sees them as.

I reunited with a few friends who recognized me after all of this time. Jeremy was surprised to see me doing well, his sister Ingrid told me about Dan and how he recently got married with Learie, that Gidd became a soldier like his old man, Cicely moved on with her family to Alexandria, this Fratley I haven't heard about in ages became a Dragoon or something and other things that happened when I was out. Later, I went to the market and bought some almonds sold by an old Burmecian lady.

Time passes. It's March 1800, and once again, I came back to Burmecia only to see it in ruins. Lots of dead bodies belonging to guards lying in the streets. I wish they were only guards...

The market was one of the few populated areas, or at least a place where I saw people breathing and walking. Not a crowd as it used to be, but there was some movement. The old lady selling almonds was nowhere to be seen. Instead, her daughter took the business and she was fine, selling a lot of almonds and other seeds. When I asked about her mother, she said she died of an aneurysm years ago, nothing related to the war. For whatever reason, that made me feel sad even though I barely knew her.

The next week, I found myself working on the reconstruction. Lindblum is currently undergoing reconstruction as well, pretty much all nations are and everywhere I go feels the same except for Burmecia. Here, the people look terrified all the time, the walls have colors but it all looks gray from a distance. The old lady's daughter, her name is Isabell, told me that I could stay at her home and I became her lodger, I pay for the rent, mine and her own, while I also help rebuild her neighborhood.

"Why do you do this if you aren't one of us?", she said. I was not even sure why I was doing this. "Maybe to feel better about myself", that was my answer. Maybe it's something I would do too, no matter the place I was.

Isabell's right, I have no ties to Burmecia, I'm not one of them, but I made a few friends during my few visits and I too have witnessed the worst of humanity. If there was anything I could do to repair the damage, then I would. Anything but bring back the dead.

I heard no news of Cicely. Fratley was diagnosed with amnesia but is still working as a Dragoon. Gidd is presumably dead, so is Dan. Learie sought refuge at Cleyra and is one of the few survivors of the massacre. Isabell had a sister called Lorena who also fled to Cleyra when the invasion began. She doesn't like to talk about it very much. "The Cleyrans had no way of defending themselves, it was but an act of cowardice", that's all she has to say and nothing else.

Dear Lord, when did everything turn sour?

Well, I do what I can. Tomorrow, I'll help with the reconstruction of an orphanage and a bakery, then I'll feel better about myself. I'll make my day and someone else's too.

May 6th, 1800

...

"A war is about to happen... A war between humans and Burmecians, only an idiot can't see!"

I told them years ago. My friends, familiars, the Dragoons, the Council, everyone I knew was aware of said rumors spreading through the entire Burmecia and it was a matter of time until they reached the King. In his statement, he proclaimed that our nation was properly equipped to deal with any kind of calamity, public or external.

The King, as we know, was one of the first to flee during the invasion, leaving behind the men who swore to protect his life. Was it worth it to serve a kingdom without a ruler? Was it needed to sacrifice their lives to save someone who offered no gratitude in return?

My father was one of those men. My brother followed my father's footsteps. Was this even a war? One side had more power than the other. We were at a disadvantage, but it didn't matter. None of this matters! This neighborhood and the buildings in it, standing in here for a hundred years, it didn't matter whose families lived inside them, it didn't matter who could run or who could not, it did not matter if we were living our lives when everything happened, they just did not care!

"Only an idiot can't see", I said. Sir Fratley was not an idiot, he knew very well that the tension was unbearable, yet he was foolish enough to believe he could prevent a massive conflict all by himself, and what he got from his efforts? A memory loss, a lack of identity and people who remind him of what a great person he was and everytime it feels like they're talking about someone else. I know it because he saved my life once, and he doesn't even know.

It was during a riot years ago. A nest of Ironites was found below some abandoned houses and they were everywhere soon afterwards. Like, everywhere, one of them almost bit my arm if it was not for a javelin thrown right in the creature's jaws. I got one of their teeth as a memento, and how I wish it was worth to be used as a weapon against one of those Alexandrian bastards. I was out of home when it happened, it simply happened and somehow I'm alive, the troops were occupied with the more populated areas and I just had visited my aunt before hell broke loose.

My aunt is doing fine, though I can't say the same about the other relatives.

I know we did a lot of awful things too, the Burmecians are not victims at all. We did worse, we invaded Alexandria a couple of times, we destroyed their homes and slew their people too, but we're talking about soldiers from centuries ago, not my mother who was sewing some clothing for her soon to be born nephew, not my cousin who had just bought a new house to live with his wife, not my great uncle whose left eye had gone completely blind, they had nothing to do with this!

And yet, this is what we get for the sins of our fathers.

The only noise I hear comes from the rain. Everything's so quiet tonight, a lot of people used to walk those streets and now they're either in hiding or yet to be found or buried in the graveyard or they're gone. Completely gone. Disintegrated, no sign of flesh or bone or whatever makes a Burmecian.

May 13th, 1800

...

It was too easy.

Before, wars lasted for months, they were fought in the open fields and we did not know how many casualties would be enough for them to end. Now, one person has enough power to end a conflict within seconds, taking as many lives as they can as a "mere demonstration of power".

We have conquered Burmecia, and our Majesty planned Cleyra's siege the following day

Our troops, with the aid of the Black Mages deployed in strategic areas, took over Cleyra in a day. The giant sandstorm, which made Cleyra's trunk a natural and impenetrable fortress for centuries, was nowhere to be seen. Some bad omen for their people, from what I heard, but to General Beatrix, it was the perfect opportunity for her to reach the cathedral in order to retrieve the Desert Star, a fragment of Alexander's jewel split in four by our ancestors, who deemed it too powerful to be taken control of, and so it was over. Or so I thought.

It was over. It had to be.

Our soldiers were tired, but the Queen only cared about the Black Mages. In fact, I've seen more mages than soldiers during the siege. They killed people so easily, not caring whether they carried weapons or not, if they were running away in fear, they had absolutely no mercy or pity for their souls. Nothing could stop them, unless the Queen ordered them to.

The Desert Star was ours, there was no excuse for thoughtless slaying. We were told to leave immediately, and the last thing I remember is jumping through a portal that led us aboard the Red Rose airship and we saw it happen. It happened before our eyes, it could not be true. The Queen unleashed Odin out of a Dark Matter she had in hands, and in a matter of seconds, the entire settlement of Cleyra was decimated by an eidolon.

We saw it all happen from above. Everyone was aware of what had just happened. For a second, that explosion was heard around the world.

That day, I heard all sorts of comments. People were concerned, and rightly so. They said things like "Dear God..." and "Was it really us who did it?" and "Is this the kind of power Brahne has in hands?", while others were somewhat astonished about it. Wonderful, splendid, amazing... Not everyone looked terrified, or perhaps they were and the only thing our Majesty wanted to hear were compliments. "Victory to Alexandria!", as phrased by one soldier.

"Why do we need more power than we already have?", I dared to ask. No one answered, they looked at me in doubt. I had more to say, of course, because it felt like no one wanted to do it in my place. I said stuff like "The Burmecians fought well, but the Cleyrans did not resist, they had no way to do it so!", to which a fellow soldier asked me if I pity them. I said no, but it was no justification for murder. I had the same feelings about Burmecia and somehow I've managed to bury them until that day.

A cathedral, of all places, was hit by Odin's spear first. "There were people inside the cathedral!", I said, aware that some of my comrades didn't recognize the Burmecian refugees and Cleyrans as people, or victims of any kind. They had their prejudices and others were in utter shock, like myself.

They thought I was going insane because I was focusing too much on the people inside the cathedral, the people inside those houses, the people who chose not to flee when they were given the chance, and was there any way to flee other than the portals we went through? I had no idea at the time. There are a few survivors, but very few compared to the people who used to live in the settlement.

I didn't know any of them, but I knew them very well to know they had families, they had clothing, they had culture, the same things I do and more. Now they are dead, and what use is there for a culture if it belongs to no one? I began to rant once more, my words fueled with the kind of anger I never felt before, and I was about to question Queen Brahne's orders when General Beatrix came in.

"The power of the eidolons shall belong to Alexandria and only Alexandria, as foretold centuries ago. No other nation will pose a threat against us", she said. Everyone stood quiet in her presence except me, the fool. I'd usually be afraid of saying anything deemed subversive to my superiors but it felt like a demon had just possessed me to tell the naked truth.

"The Cleyrans were not a threat to be eliminated!", I replied, to which Beatrix said something about the Cleyrans owning knowledge of the gemstone and that made them more than enough of a threat for Alexandria.

"Their only knowledge of the gemstone was used as a means of self-defense to forge a sandstorm that used to surround their home", I said back. "We had no business breaking into their home and wreaking havoc!", I also added, feeling my heart on my throat. I was going to be dismissed after that one, for sure, but despite her looks, Beatrix had a heart and a big consideration for the personnel under her command. She told me I was exhausted and that I needed to rest. It was a long day. A long, painful day.

The Queen had two fragments of Alexander's gemstone in her possession, and she was about to search the continent for the other two. It was yet to be over. She, like so many civilians, died before even getting to see all fragments reunited, how sad. As for Alexander, he was summoned one time to protect Alexandria from Bahamut's offense, which resulted in the destruction of my kingdom and some losses. It'll take a few more months for us to recover and heal the wounds.

Now, think about a wound that'll never heal. It's what remained of Cleyra, its legacy for the future generations yet to come.

May 15th, 1800

...

As a refugee, I had nowhere to go.

I thought I'd be safe at Cleyra. It's where they went next.

The same soldiers and Black Mages who decimated my home... And their ugly majesty... All of them went to Cleyra.

When I woke up the morning after, half of my body was covered in third degree burns. One side is dry, deep red skin. The other seems fine. It seems fine, but it's not the same when the other half is, uh... Deteriorating, it's what the doctor said. That and... I should have died. The explosion should have killed me. Even the doctor agrees.

I can't feel anything on the left side of my body. It feels wrong to move. I could stab my arm with a knife and I would not feel its tip. Not that I ever tried, I... I don't really want to know if I can still feel that much pain on my left. It hurts, yes, it does. Whenever I wake up, it hurts. Sometimes, it feels like I'm still burning from the heat of the flame that should have consumed me as a whole, body and soul, but it did not.

I should have died, that's a fact.

June 7th, 1800

...

I work at the Summit Station 12 hours a day, from Monday to Friday.

Someone else takes my place during weekends. It's always a different person, so I don't bother to know their names.

Salary isn't great, but it's enough to live on, I suppose. Hell, it's better than fixing those cable car engines, and there's not enough money in the world that can compensate for that ordeal.

As a conductor, I've met a lot of people from around the continent. Different people wearing different clothing and talking in different languages. They go to the station and then somewhere else. No one stays, they're always moving around, left to right, Lindblum to Alexandria, Dali to Alexandria, Alexandria to Treno, and recently, I've seen that some folks just go nowhere. No clear destination, it's something vague as grasslands, or forest or the lands below, I heard that one very often. The lands below... There are no towns, no cities, no villages, no farms, no kingdoms, nothing there.

It was a rare occurrence, but ever since the Mist's disappearance, there's been an increase in these kinds of people around the station, most of them peasants and a few nobles in between. And lots of money involved, too. You see, there are large portions of unclaimed land below us and no one owns them, not even the state has control over them. I mean, they lie within each nation's territory, but no one has lived in those lands for centuries. They belonged to our ancestors before the fear of the Mist forced them to leave to higher places.

Only a few mad lads dared to cross the Mist in the past, the rest were too afraid of what they'd find in there. All kinds of monsters, some of them not even documented in bestiaries. I can't tell if it's true or not, I have only heard rumors so far, but the world we live in is too big. Our continent, as well as the others, remains largely unexplored, and because our world revealed itself to be more empty than we thought, suddenly everyone wants to claim a piece of land as their own. "I'll build my own town!", a farmer from Dali said. Last thing I heard about him is that he went to Lachenta Wetlands and I don't know anything else, I heard no news of him or his town.

There are people who've lost everything in war and are throwing themselves in the wild, hoping they'll get a second chance. Refugees of Burmecia looking for anything but ruins, people of Lindblum and Alexandria who have witnessed the eidolons destroy their homes, the rich from Treno who were funding both sides of the conflict with their resources... Everyone is in. Except me, I'm still here.

I think those continents should be renamed. Forgotten, Lost, Outer... Even the one we're in. It's been months and I still hear people call this place "Mist Continent", despite there being no sight of anything that resembles fog or haze for a while. It's like those people are craving for its comeback, or because no one wants to rename an entire continent, it's not as important as discussing what to do with the rise of land disputes.

The rulers of each nation are currently discussing the land reform, and so far, there has been no agreement and nothing else has been done. They sit, they talk while people just die for no reason, but I suppose it's more complicated than that.

June 9th, 1800

...

Crying is a cathartic relief.

But I'll never stop crying. Through months, it's always the same, at one moment I'm doing fine and, all of sudden, my eyes are leaking against my will and it simply won't stop. It happens again when I least expect it, but I suppose it's fine because everyone else feels the same way.

The sky is crying, and so are the people living below the clouds. Some of them do their best to shed a smile instead of tears, like my aunt Agatha, who I visited today and I haven't seen her since I was a child. I was four, five, maybe six years-old when I saw her and then we met again after all of these years... I never thought I'd see her again, she's so old she could fit in a coffin. That would be a lot better than losing her life in the invasion.

During my stay at her home, if you could call an improvised shelter without a ceiling by home... I told her everything I could remember about Cleyra. I had to, it's something no one wants to speak about, they want to put the past behind and how I wish, I truly wish I could do the same so easily.

I can't just forget it all like it never happened. I'm not a fish, I remember it vividly. Well, sometimes I do. My memories are foggy at times, but I remember, the screams, the silence, the explosion, the flames... It's starting to get repetitive. Sometimes, I don't want to remember it, at all. I want to live a new life where I'm not attached to any of these events. I wouldn't even go to Burmecia if not to visit my aunt, so what am I doing in here if there's nothing else left?

Death and chance took away my husband and children. Though, I'm less concerned about Dan and more about the kids. I mean, Dan had a sword and years of training, not that these things could mean he'd still be around, but at least he had a chance to fight back. Meanwhile, all I did was run and hide. I was supposed to protect Adam and Jack and I... I let them die. They're dead, and if you tell me to move on without knowing what I've been through, then go to hell. Go to where I'm already in and see it for yourself.

June 14th, 1800

...

A great knight once said: "To be forgotten is worse than death."

This is why I'm very grateful to Zidane for rescuing me and my husband, Kal. I'll never forget him, as much as I won't forget the people who died in my homeland. Nothing could be as ever terrifying as dying, but if someone as despicable as Brahne gets to be mourned to this very day, to be remembered as this great person by many, then what about the others? Will they get the same treatment? Were they important? Of course they were. It's because they're gone that you notice how important they were, even if it did not mean much.

Something similar to what happened in Burmecia also happened here in Lindblum, but they had the benefit of working on the reconstruction a few days after the tragedy. As for my people, we are still doing it and we don't know if it'll ever end. It's like a sin, you know. We're paying for it, even if we do not deserve this. I only hear news about the folks who are doing the best they can at home, while a few survivors and I have established ourselves in a small neighborhood we like to call "Little Burmecia". It keeps growing and more people are coming to stay rather than visit their relatives or people they thought to be dead but are actually alive and doing well, like me and Kal.

Sometimes I do want to go home, but I don't know if it's safe anymore. I don't want to raise my children in a world of violence, yet it feels like that's all there is to see. I heard from my friends about the Regent Cid and Prince Puck's plans to retrieve the Desert Star back to their owners. Who wants to claim ownership of a gemstone shard responsible for so many deaths? What if it all happens again because of it or whatever reason?

There was no reasoning behind the massacre, come to think of it. No reason ever was given, and we do try to think otherwise.

June 26th, 1800

...

Among us, there is a belief that plants, inanimate objects and natural phenomena have one thing in common, that each of them has its own distinct spiritual essence.

That's why we value objects, not in the same way that the outside world views the amount of material possessions one has as a way of achieving status or wealth. We do not consider an object, by itself, to be more important than the spiritual values they hold in themselves. We have great respect for the rain of Burmecia because, without it, life would not even be possible. We would be constantly exposed by the Mist and its side effects if there was no rain, we would starve to death if the rain did not feed our crops, we would not be here if it was not for the rain, the land below the rain and the great respect some of us have for both.

The Cleyrans shared the same belief when they used to live on top of a giant trunk. They knew the trunk, as well as the sandstorm that surrounded it, would keep them safe from war or any disturbance occurring at the world at large. None of them were safe when the forces of nature were perverted to abide to a creator's desires, resulting in so many deaths. It saddens me, not only the loss of life, but so much destruction was left behind. Destruction of what can be seen and what is unseen. That trunk where the Cleyrans used to live at stood there in the desert for centuries. Now, in its place lies a crater, a sinking void of despair and failure.

Here at Burmecia, seeing neighborhoods in ruins, so many broken instruments and the dead who held them dearly... Not only war is disrespectful to the living, but for the spirits beyond the mortal world.

June 28th, 1800

...

It's been months since the war brought us here.

That's how we call it, "the war", like no other will ever compare.

Not the greatest of all wars, because wars aren't great. I heard that technological advances only happen at the end of a conflict, but I may be mistaken. I only saw death and ruins on our side. I mean, there were losses on both sides, but I just happened to be on the side where millions of people were killed and no such thing as fancy flying technologies were made. It's why many of us live here, the Regent assured us that if we helped rebuild his kingdom, we would have a place to live and that's how Little Burmecia saw its rise.

We call it little, but this neighborhood is as big as some of Lindblum's main districts. How many people live here? I don't know, half a million is my guess. I'm not good at math, you see, and a lot of people move in and out everyday, so it's hard to keep the count of those who stay, but there's no doubt that you can find a lot of people in here, most of them refugees from the war. It's heavily guarded, and yet it's one of the most dangerous places where one could live. Not so different from the original Burmecia, I'd say.

I wonder how the guards didn't notice an apple this big in my pockets. Maybe they think I bought it legitimately instead of opting for unorthodox ways of acquiring food, which just means I stole it at the market when no one was looking. I'm doing them a favor, with so many apples lying around and no one buying them because the price is going up like crazy everyday, they would rot and people would still be hungry, and out of all places in Lindblum, it's here at Little Burmecia where hunger prevails. It's like a punishment for all of us, even for those who work and do everything right in order to get a few bucks from the factory owners who swim in a pool of gil at the expense of our plight.

Out of nowhere, moved by my heavy consciousness, I decide I am a good person who, despite leading a rough life, I get to aid the local economy with the few earnings I got honestly at the cost of my sleep. There's a pharmacy on my way home, funny how I never noticed it before squeezed between two residential buildings. I see what I can afford to buy and, to my surprise, I got two potions, four ethers and... The hell was that? I asked the lady at the balcony.

"Echo screen", she said, looking at the bottle, and then proceeded to explain for what felt like an hour that it was a tonic extracted from some native herbs found within the Evil Forest that are used to treat illnesses associated with silence.

"Interesting", I said, despite not being interested in any conversations at the moment. I asked if it would work for a sore throat, since my daughter got a cold and hasn't spoken for three days because it hurts a lot everytime she does. The lady, who's a survivor of Cleyra, she briefly commented on it even if I did not ask, said that many people buy Echo Screens during winter, when the air is dry and respiratory diseases are more frequent.

I mean, it smells awful, probably whoever has to drink it might scream and if that's not a cure for silence, I don't know. Well, as my mother used to say, "the more awful the medicine tastes, the better it will be for you." I bought the Echo Screen anyway, and spent 3000 gil on a single day. Dear Lord... But whatever, the lady in the pharmacy, whose name is Nina, wished my daughter well. How sweet.

I find my daughter to be annoying at times, but to not hear her speak is so wrong. It's a pain I can't explain, like we feel the same thing but we don't, it's weird but whatever, I got her an apple and a bottle of Echo Screen. Apples are her favorite.

July 8th, 1800

...

Smoke rises.

A big, thick smoke in the afternoon. Could it be a fire on the market? I asked myself.

It's hard to see, it hurts to breathe, then I hear people yelling, but with the smoke obscuring my view, all I see are figures running past me, they're being followed by yellow-eyed creatures with no face. There is but a void for their faces, they got no expression behind those haunting eyes.

There's no time to do anything but run away. I couldn't even help my people, I had to escape from that pandemonium as soon as possible, so I left the street as quickly as I could. My parents must be at the gates, I thought, because their house lies near the kingdom's boundaries and it's a heavily guarded neighborhood. To my surprise, When I arrived at the main gates, I found nothing but thousands of dead guards and I felt a strong smell of burnt flesh coming from the houses within the neighborhood.

A while later, I'm at home, but everything feels different. The smell of rain is no longer the same, the smoke of that day follows me everywhere. Somehow... I made it through alive at the cost of leaving everything behind.

July 11th, 1800

...

I saw a few birds playing in the drinking fountain outside of the church.

That sight brought me joy like no other. I wish that joy could last forever, but sadly it doesn't. Today is the day Adam and Jack would have turned six years old. They were born on the same day in the morning and the skies looked gray as they do right now. I remember that, and despite the great pain I've gone through, I swore I'd protect those little things I held dearly in my arms.

I've met other parents who have lost their children and most of them feel the same as I do. They'll never feel the same thing, but they have experienced the same kind of pain that, if I could describe it, which I can't, but if there was a way I could tell that anyone could understand, it's like stepping on glass that you thought you would never break, or better, to think about walking on broken glass when you don't really want to but your mind teases it to the point it forces you to do so and when you realize your feet are bleeding, you don't feel a thing.

I have no idea, it's the same as staring at the clouds and saying "my soul is up there". I don't really like to talk about it very often, I have other things to do in life other than spend the days reminiscing about faces I'll never see again. By chance, I saw Gray working in the synthesis shop, and he told me about how he is no longer a full-time soldier and has been thinking about doing odd jobs until he finds out what he wants to do that offers less risk to his life.

It was supposed to be a short visit, just a friendly chat, neither short or drawn out, followed by a "see you later", but then Gray commented about the Council's decision of honoring the lives of soldiers and civilians lost in the war by building a memorial wall. That took me by surprise, since most of the population's efforts are aimed towards rebuilding the damaged neighborhoods, so I asked where the wall was being built, and Gray said the site chosen is around the palace, the place where most of the casualties took place.

Leaving the synthesis shop, I went to see the memorial wall so far, in search of names I know. There are so many, and while I try to find my husband's name written on the stone, I think about that day, how everything was normal until I found myself running for life. I used to live in a neighborhood on the west side of the palace. Dan was on duty and he escorted me and our children away from home when it happened. "Close your eyes," he said to us halfway through, as if that would stop our ears from hearing the screams of the panicked crowd and our noses from smelling the horrible scent of blood on the floor,a blood as thick as ink dripping from our toes as we ran away from whoever caused that loud explosion.

I'd know days later, when those Black Mages followed by Alexandrian soldiers invaded Cleyra to do the same atrocities they've committed here on Burmecia in that place. As a result, Cleyra is gone and my old house is nowhere to be found. There are no ruins, all of my goods were consumed by the fire or stolen by robbers who took the chaos that followed as an opportunity to get rich and not all of them succeeded, some of them ended up being killed anyway.

After a while, I found his name. Daniel Caius Estheim... It's when I realized I rarely spoke his full name, Dan was just fine. He was a great person. Not perfect, but great. A nice company, a well-trained soldier, someone you could have a decent conversation with and I never thought I'd find myself in here. I never thought I'd feel the rain getting lighter as the days go by, almost as if its essence is vanishing before my eyes, but it could be a result of the lack of Vube's dust around this time of the year, or the lack of Mist, I'm not so sure and it doesn't matter to me, a drought is the least of things I want. Enough death, at least for today.

I was never fond of rain, yet somehow I miss it, not in the same way I miss my family, but it was part of my life as well. It rained the day I was born, when my grandfather died, when I met Dan, when we laid under a willow tree, when we married, when our kids were born... Not seeing any rain feels wrong, to walk around Burmecia and not feel it is just plain wrong, it's like touching a dead body growing colder and colder and you don't feel the heat going out because it's been like this for centuries.

It's cold outside, so I better go home now. Three miles to go, it'll be quite a long walk.

July 16th, 1800

...

For nine generations, I lived in that house.

Now, what's left of my house and the people who lived in it is dust that crumbles between my fingers.

And, as I wait in here, sitting under the rain until the day my house is rebuilt, I learned nothing. And I shall not learn anything. There's nothing new to learn, I have no desire to learn and I prefer to be this way.

And I don't even remember my name, who I used to be, the kind of life I had before everything came down... Oh, who am I kidding, the person I look at in the puddle beneath my toes is supposed to be me, which doesn't mean it's the better half of me I'm staring at. I wish I was dumb. It's not something you hear others wish to be, but that's what I want to be, loud and clear. I want to be dumb so I can forget I no longer have a tail, and a Burmecian without a tail is an abomination of nature. I don't want to drink to forget like many do, I don't smoke and I hate staying near those who do it. I can't stand the scent of alcohol and tobacco, they make me feel sick but no one else seems to mind, and who else with their minds somewhere else would in such conditions?

I am tired of running, I'm tired all the time. A burnt skin can heal with time, but only lizards can grow their tails back. As for mine, it's gone forever alongside my dignity, my humility, my shame.

July 20th, 1800

...

My father is a retired Dragoon.

Twenty-five years of service, then came the war and I thought he should stop risking his life for once.

No, I was wrong. He likes hunting. Every weekend, we travel outside of Lindblum's boundaries in search of any wild beasts and their skins as a reward. Not just skin, but their flesh rich in nutrients, their scalps, their feathers, anything that can be later sold in the market for a few bucks. Rarely do we go on a hunt to get some food, but there are days my father and I find ourselves distant from any known civilization. A few ruins once hindered by Mist are seen in the way and we make our camps near those when it's necessary.

"Never eat raw meat in the wild. It's either poisoned or filled with vermin, always fry it", it's one of my father's pieces of advice he learned during war. Not just a single war, but he's been in many conflicts since young. He chose to be a Dragoon so he did not have to move away from Burmecia everytime the army summoned him to follow his soldier obligations. Whenever I ask about if we will return to Burmecia, my father either ignores me or looks away to say "do it yourself, follow the way home. Follow your brothers and sisters. You are no longer a child, you can take care of your own", but I think, despite his bitterness, that he too wants to go home.

One gray morning, when I was removing the tent, I heard my father from a distance. "Behind you!", he shouted, and when I looked back, for an instant I saw a giant Serpion who had been following us for a while. Never encountered one before, and I wish I did not. I ran like hell when I saw it roaring at me. My father's reaction was to reach for his javelin and throw it right on the beast's heart. The Serpion took the hit as it fell on the ground, completely dead, and when father came near its body, he took the heart out, it was torn in two perfect halves.

"I wish I could do that to the bastard who took your mother's life away", he said, the first time in months he ever spoke about the invasion. Or mother.

She was at Cleyra when it happened. Nothing else to comment on. If you ask how I feel, then fuck off. It's been months and I'm still trying to process everything, so does my father. He honestly believes that it was a soldier who killed her instead of Odin, because it's easy to blame a nameless person rather than an eidolon who knows no cruelty or suffering.

Late at night, as we walked through the main avenue of Lindblum, both of us carrying the Serpion's body wrapped around a leather bag, that horrible stench of rotten meat and iron leaking out of a hole and filling everyone's noses, I thought about how I'd feel better as soon as I took a bath.

"Father... What if you could change your past?", I asked as we delivered the body to the local butcher.

"But would that kill the hopes and dreams that could still be your bright future?", he answered as he looked upon to see a moonless sky. Not different from Burmecia's sky, except for the lack of clouds. I thought for a while about how the future offers endless possibilities, that no matter how tempting it may be, the past is something that can never be changed.

On my way home, I saw Kal and Wei playing with their children. Wei gave birth to four healthy siblings and later adopted some of the orphans she found wandering in the streets. Burmecians and humans, it did not matter if she and her husband got plenty of love to share. I believe this is where change truly begins.

July 22nd, 1800

...

"Bird strikes are rare", the captain said as soon as tragedy followed.

He did not seem shocked or anything, and he was the one who nearly got hit by the flying creature. What happened is that we were taking the airship from Lindblum to deliver supplies to Burmecia when a large Zuu collided against the cockpit's windshield, which forced us to land immediately. I'm glad no one got hurt, but I feel sorry for that poor Zuu who died instantly after the impact. It was quick like a heart attack, I saw its life passing before my eyes, it took a second and, well, it was gone. Quite sad, isn't it? I was the one who asked the captain if we could bury it, and his reply was that he did not want that fallen carcass on the deck.

He also ordered half of the crew to repair the ship while the other half had to go on foot to Burmecia with the supplies being carried on our backs. Five miles under heavy rain, I was beyond exhausted after taking that herculean task, but when I noticed a dozen Burmecians raising an entire building from scratch in a single day, I thought to myself... "Well, it could be worse."

That Zuu could have made a big bloody mess if it had flown against one of the propellers instead of the window, and I could've lost my family, which I did when Bahamut ravaged through Alexandria's streets on that horrible night, but I'm glad I'm not a Burmecian. We all suffer, but no one suffers like the Burmecian people, who are looked down upon since the day they're born and their existence wiped from the face of this stinking world like they were never here, like they never existed or had the right to do so. They don't even bleed elegantly when they die.

It's days like this where I realize our minds are as naked as the paradise we stripped. I heard folks comment about how many bodies were lying in the streets, but I see none of them. All I see are the living, or perhaps the dead disguised as living, it's hard to tell when no one faces you directly, as if to avoid any contact between us or themselves. It would be foolish if the Burmecians were to isolate their kingdom from the rest of the world after all of the help we've offered. An antidote given by the snake that bites, that's how I see the kind of help we're providing to them. Kind of hypocritical, you know? We do war, we kill almost their entire population, we rape their nation as we've done for centuries and then, after all of this, we offer a gentle hand to settle things down.

Eh, it's better than more annihilation and carnage. I admire Queen Garnet's decision to rectify her mother's wrongs, it's more than I could ever do on my own.

August 3rd, 1800

...

I'm no longer a Forest Oracle.

And I do not deserve to be if I could not predict the fall of Cleyra.

By the power of gods, the sandstorm wasn't enough to protect the paradise men has stripped from this desolate Gaia.

Before me stands a barren land filled with sorrow and dunes as far as the weeping eye can see. A corrupt, deformed creation of antinature... Each and every day, the endless void where once Cleyra stood upon grows in size. It'll eventually consume the whole desert if no one does anything.

What did we do to deserve this? Are we responsible for our very tragedy? All that we wanted was to live in our own world, to build a community whose ideals stood far away from our inherited greed. I saw the life of Cleyra and its people vanish before my eyes. There were no soldiers on the streets, only refugees and their wives, their children, the flesh of their flesh, all of them burnt by the same wicked flames that stole their souls from a world that is yet to redeem itself from its sins.

They say violence is part of our nature, that it comes from our knowledge of pain inflicted on others... But empathy is also born the same way. If I did not feel anything for Cleyra, my homeland, then why would I stand here?

It doesn't matter the place or time, I'll always be fascinated by how life always find its way to grow. The roots of Cleyra lie under the dirt, waiting for the proper conditions to grow anew.

During my stay at the Library of Daguerreo, I did research on regenerative spells. From one source, all things depend, and if we're able to attain a great power through that source, a power that can destroy... Could it also be created as well? How much healing does a tree need to return to its original self? A tree like Cleyra, whose trunk stood taller than any fortress or palace built by men... How many years, how many people, how much effort is needed?

Freya taught me how to cast Regen and other healing spells that I mainly use to seal minor wounds and restore ruined crops. She was very polite and offered to help, despite the difficulty that arises when you're assigned to lead a team of Dragoons, veterans and newcomers. I said that I could do it on my own after months of training, and so far I've figured out how to speed up the germination process of the seeds and to make small plants grow bigger, which takes a lot of energy and so I can only do it a few times a day.

Will I be able to do the same with Cleyra? My plans to cultivate a green desert may have results beyond my lifetime. If this is the case, how will I know that my efforts were not in vain after my death? I'm only a Cleyran... I'm alone until I find myself lying in a soft bed of evergreen grass that I helped grow.

August 9th, 1800

...

A cane is a disabled man's best company.

Some would say family is the most important of all, but in my case, the cane is all there is to offer support.

To this day, I wonder how come I ran so fast away from home. With a cane in hand. I never had to, but the loud explosions, the strong scent of blood, the... The adrenaline was all over my body. My instinct told me to run and do nothing else but run. I couldn't think clearly, the only thing I had in mind, back then, is that I... I wasn't going to survive, so I had to run. Very fast.

Not everyone was lucky. They did not make it to the entrance to go elsewhere. Some of my dearest friends passed away before they reached Lindblum in safety. It's a heartbreak that never quite heals, you know, like all of my past experience at combat didn't mean anything, it was worthless and... I feel worthless, the invasion made us feel that way, like we're nothing to them. Nothing unique, nothing special, so it was easy to eradicate most of us like we were some sort of plague, because if they could tell humans and rodents apart, there would be less casualties.

Man, woman, child... All of us were targets of the Burmecia Obliteration Program that envisioned the systematic destruction and complete annihilation of our kind. We're all rats, all the same, so why would a soldier bother to tell us apart if they've been told to kill everyone. Their orders weren't to take any prisoners or spare civilians in the crossfire, just kill... Kill, and kill this, kill that, kill their culture, kill their trees, kill their beliefs, kill it all until there is nothing left of Burmecia but an old legend of a civilization long forgotten by the rest of the world, including its own people who are nothing but bones littered in a wasteland.

You know, things could've been different if we had control of airships. Not just as a weapon, but as a means to escape from this place. Back then, we accepted Lindblum's peace treaty, but we always refused their technologies. After the so-called Airship Revolution, the years that followed led to a gradual worsening of relations between Burmecia and the other nations of the world. Our King took pride in its denial, and that very pride cost his life, if not a million lives.

The decision was already made, there's no way to change that. Meanwhile, all that is left for us to do is... It is... I don't know, when Alexandria invaded our homeland, they stole not only our past, but our future as well, leaving us adrift in a sea of uncertainty. At times like these, I wish I had the optimism and desperation of a young man like my nephew, who is digging for gold in the desert. He has not found anything yet, but he swears he'll find something. Well, I hope so, he's been away from home for two months.

August 12th, 1800

...

Imagine two carriages.

Each running in the opposite direction, one towards the other.

The impact is inevitable, it seems almost impossible to escape the pull of a first encounter with death.

A frontal kiss takes away the lives of both drivers, who didn't make a sound as soon as they collided, but someone in the crowd unleashed a scream from the depths of their soul, a sound so horrible and inhuman I can't put into words.

It wasn't me, though. I stood quiet as people gathered near the accident. What an awful sight! I didn't know anyone involved in it, but there was an awful lot of blood pouring out of the wooden remnants of the two carriages. It's been a week and I haven't heard any news from the passengers, I'm not sure if they're alive or not and, you know, there is something wrong about seeing Chocobos bleeding out, it's the kind of thing a child refuses to imagine at any cost, but since I'm no longer a child, I guess seeing such wonderful creatures of nature suffer is part of my routine.

Just another day in the life of a Lindblum citizen, I guess. I hate suffering, from people and animals. I think animals suffer a lot more because, well, it's so unfair what we do with them. We force them to do hard work, we injure them, we hurt them as much as we hurt this kingdom, and you know, they kill a lot of animals, or beasts, because a beast from the outside world sure is different from your beloved pets.

As much as I know plenty of people who agree with me, to cancel the Festival of Hunt won't do anything to end this violence. Others will complain that they need to be entertained and that our bravest soldiers need to test their skills by bringing this carnage disguised as competition to our kingdom, and after all of this is done, we still feel empty inside.

To be fair, our world is like this. So empty, so dull, even civilization is scarce, and now that the majority of Burmecians perished in the conflict, it seems even emptier than before. I can't wait until I move on to live in Gunitas Basin. That area used to be important for the ice trade within the continent, but since the Mist's disappearance, the Ice Cavern began to melt and now most of the ice is harvested from the northernmost continent.

I don't have enough gil to pay for an intercontinental trip, much less to a place with a cold climate. Still, the Evil Forest nearby contains some rare plant specimens that are used to make ailments and a lot of money is invested by the upper class in hiring people specialized in finding these hard-to-reach plants. I wonder if I can do that equipped with my leather boots and a single machete. It seems hopeless, but at least I'm not holding a sharp carrot for a blade.

August 16th, 1800.

…

I saw mom and dad in the living room.

They were lying on top of each other like lovers. They didn't move at all.

I knew they wouldn't move, but I still watched them, wanting to believe otherwise.

They did not breathe, they did not blink, they did not speak.

They were not playing dead for the enemy to be confused. Rather, they got killed before they could do anything.

Under the kitchen table is where I felt safe, but what if the enemy found me there? What would they do with me if killing wasn't the only bad thing they did? I could not stay any longer, so I ran away from home. Many did. My friends did too. Some of their moms and dads were alive, but not all of them, and those who were alive helped us.

I never thought I'd be crossing enemy lines by running down the streets where I used to play hopscotch.

We didn't know where to go. The enemy knew we weren't fighting, but running away from them, so they hid near the gates and began killing the people who were running away in plain sight. They did not care who they killed. If they cared, they would leave us alone.

My friends and I stood still in the grass until the adults took care of the bad people. After a while, we did not hear any sound. To be sure, I crawled quietly to see what happened. Then, I saw it. I was scared. I couldn't move. Both the enemy and the adults were like mom and dad, except they didn't love each other.

I can't remember for how long I hid in the grass until it was over. Whenever I go home, I see someone in the corner, but I don't know who. They disappear so quickly, as if they weren't there. As if they didn't want to be seen.

August 21th, 1800

...

This is outrageous.

You should stay at home. Mom's not well and she needs you.

No, she doesn't. What she really needs is a doctor, or one of my siblings, but not me.

It's been like this for weeks. What else do they want me to do other than keep her company? Right now, I'd rather be on my own. I got away from home and I won't go back until I can listen to my own thoughts without hearing someone else's voice over mine. It's my life, my mind, my body, but they don't care to listen. They just don't care!

As long as I am the daughter of my mother, flesh of her flesh, it's my obligation to offer support, manage the finances, buy ailments, water the garden and all these routine tasks are wearing me out. Enough is enough, and today, I have reached my breaking point. I won't go back home, not empty-handed. The first thing I do as soon as I arrive in the market area is to enter the synthesis shop. There, I'm received by Gray, who is surprised that a young maiden like me has made an appearance in a place like that. To be fair, he did not say any of those things, but the way he looked at me gave the impression that he wanted to say something he'd regret saying for his entire lifetime.

Besides, most of his clients are women who lost their husbands, their children, their friends, their dignity, everything during war. I should be glad I still got mom, as long as she is alive because I don't know if she will make it to tomorrow. The doctor said that he had drained enough water from her lungs to fill two buckets, and I don't know why he had to inform me of such unpleasant details. Sometimes I wish I were ignorant enough not to understand what's going on, but I also wouldn't like to be brainless enough to allow others to manipulate me so easily.

"I want to kill an Ironite", I said, to which Gray just nodded at me.

"Alright. Where did you get these?", he asked as soon as I gave him a gauntlet and a pair of boots he seemed familiar with. "Battle Boots and a Venetia Shield. You'd have to kill someone to get one of these."

"Freya gave them to me", I told the truth and everything that happened in my life so far, from renting a new house to mom getting sick and in a desperate attempt to balance the income and my will to live altogether, I became a Dragoon.

Or, I could have just said that Lady Crescent felt pity for me, perhaps she saw a bit of herself in me, and decided to offer some of her equipment to such a nobody. She also suggested that I visit the synthesis shop, and so I did. Gray listened to my ramblings and he said it would take half an hour until my new item got completed, so I waited patiently while looking at the weapons hanging on the walls. Swords, javelins, arrows, and none of them are cheap. After a while, I paid 24,000 gil for a cold Bracer to be worn in my left arm. It looks so silly, but it might be useful to enhance my throwing ability, as Gray explained.

How come we use magic in all sorts of ways and yet so many people die? It makes no sense, and such are the thoughts of a young talking rat trying to make sense of things far too beyond her comprehension. Eh, whatever, when I become a full-time Dragoon, I want to fight for this country, not for my own insanity.

August 30th, 1800.

...

It happens every time I take public transport.

From station to station, each hour a day, I've become so used to listening to others' conversations that I almost feel as if I'm part of their lives. And yet, I feel like a stranger, the sole Burmecian in the crowd of humans.

They look at me and I look back at them. Some of them want to get rid of me, but they won't say the words or actually do anything. They really want me to leave this place, to jump out of the window even, but without me and people like me, who else would rebuild a large portion of Lindblum? It's as if they refuse to acknowledge our importance to the constitution of their kingdom, as if only they exist in their small little world and we, well, we're just here taking up space, taking their jobs, eating their food and marrying their wives.

No, I'm not alone. Or maybe I am. I see no one else like me in this air cab. The walls are closing in as more people get inside and I can't even breathe right. All I want is to go home, but I hear everything, all the miseries.

These days, everyone wants to buy a piece of land and they fight like street dogs, it's a bloody mess, but living in the city isn't great either. Someone's cousin got stabbed in the main square, he lost his wallet and almost a kidney, god. A person wearing an overcoat comments on how filth the streets of Little Burmecia are, and I agree with him, although he also said that our women should be castrated because they only give birth to criminals and whores, which makes me want to leave my seat to cover his face with a beating until his white skin turns red, but that would prove the bastard's point so I refuse to leave my seat. In silence, I offer my condolences to a nine years old child I never heard about, but a sobbing woman struggling to stand up says that they died of tuberculosis. Damn, at such a young age...

When I get to my stop, a fat man with a big pimple on his nose enters the air cab and talks enthusiastically about the Hilda Garde IV and how said airship will be powered by an enhanced steam engine, but I honestly don't care if I'll never ride it.

September 6th, 1800

...

My greatest fear is that one day I'll wake up and become one of them.

You know, one of those people you see on streets and you pity them every time you have to look at them because there's nothing much you can do but feel sorry for them. It's what I do, I'm always sorry for those people who have lost their sight, their smell, their families, some of them have lost everything. I can't imagine losing everything, that would be the end of me.

Where else would I be without my fortune? Who else would be here to support me if not my family? If I lost everything... If I was one of them, one of those people, I don't know, I can't, I just can't be like them because... I'm not one of them, and I'll never be.

Those are the kind of people you hear about in conversations and everyone, I swear, everyone says the same thing, it's like they don't know what else to say. It's all the same, they feel sorry for them, they pity them, they give them money and food and prayers, I guess it's what all of us should do because there are those, I won't name them, but you know there are people who do not offer anything to, uh, those people, and I can't blame them for being, well, who they are.

If you want to help one of the unfortunate ones, then you should. Just do it if you can. We talk and talk and talk, but none of our words do much to ease the other's suffering. We try, even if we don't have to. I guess it's because we can sort of relate to the Burmecian tragedy, or whatever it was that took place in their homeland and not ours, because that wasn't war. My husband agrees, it wasn't war, it's something that ran out of control and it left both sides of the conflict with a sour taste in the mouth.

There was no victory for anyone, only losses; countless losses, so why is it that we insist on keep fighting if it won't solve anything? We're trapped in this vicious circle and there's no way out. I don't understand, but maybe there's nothing to be understood. It's just how things are since the beginning. You could say that if God, in his omnipotence, is watching us from afar yet so close, then maybe he enjoys what his children do here on Gaia, he mocks his creation by letting us destroy each other, but I disagree. God weeps at his children who ravel in bloodshed. He weeps at those who prefer sorrow over joy, he sheds a tear whenever we choose suffering instead of happiness.

But we refuse to listen, as much as it feels like God himself won't listen back to us.

September 14th, 1800

...

It was his birthday.

Everyone was here to celebrate it. Well, not everyone. We've lost so many people on our way to Lindblum, but those who have survived were all here in our new home.

New home, new life. Yet, there are some things that have not been left behind as we had hoped.

My husband lost his mind... On his birthday, of all days. It had nothing to do with the fear of aging by each day, no, it was worse than I thought. I should have noticed when he came back. After we parted our ways in Burmecia, I heard that Jonathan was captured by the Alexandrian forces and they did something to him. Since then, he's been acting so cold, so different, so... Quiet. He spent most of his days staring at nothing. There was nothing in that corner for him to worry about, or so I thought.

He was so unlike himself when he screamed under the table.

He screamed, very loudly. He begged for his life. He scared the children. His brother tried to calm him down, his uncle ran to the street to call for help and all I did was watch. My sister, followed by my aunts, told me to sit down on the chair as I saw my husband being dragged away from the door to the hospital. Those Alexandrian soldiers did the same thing. Three of them came to our old house, uninvited, and my husband tried to protect me as I ran away. He stood behind and carried no weapons, only his bare fists, which did nothing to protect him.

As I ran, I heard the scream, very similar to the one I heard today. The rain didn't drown out the noise coming from the house. I could hear and feel all the punches Jonathan had taken to the chest. He was punched several times, more than necessary, and the soldiers, those animals, dragged him off somewhere and they did something to him. Something that hurt him deeply. They went after his body and sought to do the same damage to his mind.

I'll never forget that day... As much as I won't forget today. I didn't understand much of what he said, but he kept telling his relatives not to touch him, not to cover his face, not to cut him, it was horrible. Before, he was so calm, so serene, he even talked to the children this morning and then he suddenly became irrational. It came out of nowhere. He wasn't reliving the war, it felt more like he became war itself with all the screaming.

Who could ever do such a thing to my husband? I knew he wasn't doing very well, but it was his birthday. I don't blame him, it's not his fault.

Poor Martin, it must be hard for him and his siblings to see their father behave like that... How do I explain this to them? Or maybe there's no need to explain, they understand what just happened. So young, but they understand the evil that men do and how it consumes the soul of a good man.

September 19th, 1800

...

The rich people of Treno sicken me. Look at them, living in their own private world of auctions, away from everyone's sight and totally divorced from the greater reality around them.

They live and ponder whether they can buy all things for an affordable price. So much money is spent in those auctions, let me tell you, that it almost feels like the whole of Gaia is in the palm of their hands, and that's true to some extent. They own the land, they own the houses, they own the weapons, they have brave little soldiers, high-ranking generals and sycophants with no sense of pride and self-worth in their pockets.

On second thought, and thinking isn't something these people do very often if they speak a lot more with their gil than with reasoning, I see that those bourgeois pigs are so pathetic. How powerless they are without their possessions! They are so helpless, in fact, that they'd prefer us to wage war against ourselves here on the outside, because they know we are strong. We are part of the great mass, whose force is equivalent to a tidal wave that could engulf and sweep away the island of tranquillity on which the rich think they live without any worries.

Behind their vanity appearances and pristine wine glasses and empty laughters, they hide the fragility of being alive beneath their oily skins. Years of accumulated fat in their veins provide the right conditions for a stroke, and despite my ironic tone, this is something that brings me no pleasure. I'd rather hope to see a rich person in prison than witness the death of yet another one of them, I can't bear seeing them get all sorts of homages and tributes. They may be the worst of the worst, the lowest of the low, but people will talk about them as if they were heroes, helpers of the community, dear friends, father figures taking care of their sons, philanthropists creating a better future by enforcing us that only those with enough wealth and buying power can do the big changes, while people like me are here to watch them prove their point, again and again.

Don't we have any say anymore in our lives? At least I am honest with myself, that's why I live on a pile of rubble and destruction. Hell, I'm not a Burmecian, I'm not from Lindblum either, so I don't have the right to be like this, but I am because I'm not one of them. It's us and them, always. I have a miserable life. Yes, I work a lot and earn a pittance that isn't even enough to buy capers that last a month, but I swear I will never be one of them. I'd hate to become someone I hate so damn much, and yeah, I have no place to say if I have self-love, maybe it's just the way I put up with my own insignificant existence that keeps me alive until now.

What's with those auctions, anyway? Today, a new batch of rat tails are being sold, and once more, nobody inside the building bothered to ask about their origin. Instead, Treno's elite members only acted according to the amount of money within their big, filthy wallets. I mean, why should they ask where those tails came from if they already know about the corpses of Burmecian soldiers, their wives, their comrades, their children even... But they don't care if it's illegal or immoral to have them. They simply don't care, they just want to own them and that's it. Forget the law, forget the moral, forget everything. The world is theirs, after all. They dictate the rules and how much they will pay for adding an item in their massive collections.

That's all they see in those tails, they're items. They have absolutely nothing to do with the people to whom these body parts belonged before, and those people can't complain because they're dead.

September 25th, 1800

...

I should leave the city.

No warnings, no farewells, no ceremony, I need to leave this place. Soon.

Got to start a new life, become a new me. Out there somewhere, that is.

For many years, I've lived in Alexandria. I had nowhere else to go, the city, the kingdom, the state, all these prisons we came to accept as home at such a young age, they kept me from leaving. That, and the fear of going insane.

It's the "Mist poison" that kept me safe during all these years. A tale as old as time, one of the first things you hear as soon as you're able to listen to your old folks. Ma and pa, they told me that Mist is bad. Very bad. Breathe the country air, stay out of home for too long and you'll go insane, stuff like that.

Wars plagued this world because the soldiers fought in the Mist, but as I grew up, I learned that most of the soldiers didn't want to be there at all. I know because I was a soldier too, spent some time in the military. Actually, I was a Knight of Pluto, who, unlike a soldier, follows his duty within the kingdom. Fortunately, I was never called to any large-scale conflict, but some of my friends did and not all of them came back.

Well, some came back with a missing limb or two, but the visible wounds were nothing compared to the mental scars. To be in war is draining, both for the enemy and us, the enemy of our enemy. We were not so kind to them as much as they were not kind with us back.

You can't be kind when you're carrying a weapon. You know, with the slice of a sword, dreams end. Memories end. Life ends.

It's not an easy job. It never was. I remember when a great fire spread throughout Alexandria's vicinity in 1770. At the time, Alexandria was at war against Burmecia and it is not yet known who actually caused the fire, whether it was a random accident or if it was related to the conflict. It doesn't seem to matter for me, I was there to rescue people and I, alongside a few comrades, did the best we could.

I wish I had words of comfort to say to a lonely child I found buried in the wreckage, but I had other people to help. People who were alive, that is, which wasn't very many, much to my misfortune. The silence that fell that night was not victorious, it was a horrible vacuum in which not a single scream was heard. The next morning was filled with widows and their tears that flowed and seemed to have no end, just like the suffering I went through in that agonizing search for bodies that were still breathing.

It wasn't all sadness, though. Some people lived and kept on living. I once met a knight called Adelbert, his determination was a remarkable feature of his character even in his earlier years and, over time, he became a knight and has been serving for many years since then. He told me that he owes his life to a knight who rescued him when he was a kid. It couldn't have been me, could it be? It happened so many years ago and, besides, there were so many boys like him that day, and who can I be to know the fate of them all?

But those days are over. They are behind me. Now I'm retired and leaving Alexandria. However, that doesn't mean my life is over. It's only over until my last breath is drawn out of my lungs. I still have my sword, if necessary. Perhaps I won't encounter as many wild beasts as people used to when the Mist was all over the continent, but I'm not willing to face them head-on, as I'm not in as good a shape to fight as I was in my youth.

September 29th, 1800

...

Body after body after body after body after body after body after body...

My fingers weren't enough to count them all. Piles and piles of bodies beyond my reach.

It seems like every time I turn around, I'm standing at a crossroads. A whole bunch of nothing stretches out as far as the right eye can see. I can't see clearly with the left one, something to do with, uh... It's not cataract, I thought it was cataract but the foreign doctor said the issue was with my retina, that it detached as a result of glaucoma, which my father also had and the doctor tried to splice it together, but... They could not fix it. They could never seal it and I was told that I'd lose my eyesight, perhaps sooner, perhaps later, because of this disease, this retinal detaching, uh... Detachment.

The local healer was more optimistic, they said that, with their healing spells, my eyesight can be restored. I can still see with both eyes, but the good eye, the right one, is the only one I have whose retina isn't detached or anything.

So what if I went blind? How would I feel if I lost my good eye? Well, there are things I wish I could never see again. It's something I can't forget, the sight of the dead, the strong smell of rotten meat and the rain's smell isn't enough to take it away from your mind. It stays with you, no matter what. My clothes are clean, but once your hands are soaked in blood, it can never be washed off. Guts are supposed to be inside of people, not spread around like an open-air butcher's shop.

There's something, uh, I don't know, vulgar and supernatural about the dead, the behavior they exhibit soon after their lives are gone, like they're free and that kind of freedom is horrifying to the flesh that used to be the cage of their souls, right?

It's disgusting. It was, it is and it will always be utterly disgusting to remember it. The view of so many bodies, because that's all there was to be seen, just bodies. Brutally beaten, kicked, cut, smashed, all sorts of, uh, wounds. Yes, wounds, that word seems to have lost its meaning to me, it can't be used to properly describe what I saw. What I had to touch. What I had to put my hands into because that was my job, I had to move those bodies elsewhere. I had to carry their scent along with me as well to the graveyard, a place where at least they would be dignified in their rest.

I've seen a lot through life. A lot of violence and hope that it would end for good, but it never does. The late King Oberon looked so young and promising as a leader during his coronation, and indeed, he had input in what he did, he had the shape of a warrior, but sadly... Unfortunately, for every aqueduct built and restored, some neighborhood flooded and more than lives were lost on those floods. That wasn't Oberon's fault, uh, he couldn't be everywhere, but I agree that the protests and riots that took place during the great drought have ruined his reputation as a great leader.

He was unable to contain the masses and many people ended up injured, killed or resentful following those events. We never returned to normality, we just pretended that things were normal, since we had enough food to eat and some of us were satisfied with what we had, but others wanted, and still want, to end the monarchy, based on the idea that it is obsolete and backward and of no use to future generations.

Had he lived, Oberon would be 50 today. His son, Puck, may as well be the last King of Burmecia, but I don't have a crystal ball to predict what's to come, I just hear what people say on the streets. The same streets where many voices have been silenced forever.

October 3rd, 1800

...

It was like a fire. A fire that fell from the sky.

I remember it, now and then. I don't want to remember, but people always remind me that I should. I listen to what others have said and I know I've been through the same kind of perils. Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong. Sometimes I still feel the impact of Odin's spear clashing against the cathedral and the heat that follows.

Lightning flashes, yet there's no rain. The settlement of Cleyra, once teeming with life, now had become a hollow husk of its former self. Dust scatters in the air, making it hard for me to breathe or form any coherent thoughts as I trudge through the ruins looking for my children. They are fine, I swore to myself. We were in the cathedral, under God's watch. No harm would be brought to us if we stood on holy ground.

Outside, the skies turned red and, before I knew it, my clothes were burnt. My skin was burnt. Everything around me burned, even my tears.

I cried out for help, but no one heard me. There was pain, but no feeling. After a while, it dawned on me what had happened, a revelation that struck me with dread. Everything ran out of control like some kind of bad dream, except nobody I knew and loved was there to awaken me.

I was alone. Abandoned. I may have seen one or two people crawling out of the rubble, but I can't recall them saying anything. No words were spoken, no gestures were exchanged, no hope was brought in return.

Then, I saw lights. Thousands of them. They floated aimlessly around my sight. For a moment, I thought I was dead, but it didn't seem right. It wasn't the afterlife I've been told as a child, Mother Reis wasn't there to guide me across the river and those words I've heard, while comforting, came not from a saint, but a human being instead.

"Listen, everything will be fine", they said. I don't know who said it, I passed out before knowing his or her name. Truth is, I owe them a lot and, whoever they are, I wish them a place in heaven. I really do.

Months have passed since these events occurred. I'm trying to live life and, despite a few setbacks, I'm managing to do it very well. I can't help myself but wonder what's worse, having more friends inside the graveyard or having been here so many times that I know how to find each and every one of them in the dark? But enough nasty thoughts, I need to go elsewhere, to visit a friend and see how she's doing.

As I leave the graveyard, I find myself holding an empty basket while standing on the corner with my feet soaking wet. The first thing I do as I go to the market is to buy some fruits, apples, tomatoes, onions, potatoes and a gift for little Aisha. Like, it must be great for Myrna to know that she's a grandmother, something I don't think about very much. These days, I have no reason to think about family as I used to, yet when I first held Aisha in my arms, my worries seemed to have disappeared and what a wonderful feeling it was. How I wish it was eternal.

I'm not planning to raise any children. I've already lost my own and there isn't a single day I don't miss Adam and Jack. Losing Dan still hurts, but not as much as losing our children. They were learning so many things about themselves and the world around them, but now they're dead and there's nothing you can teach to the dead, you can only teach the living about what they should do before it's all over.

October 6th, 1800

...

I believe in muscle. Belief hardens into muscle.

Without muscle, you're nothing. Without belief, you're hopeless. Bones can't stand on their own if there's no muscle, and muscle needs to be attached to the bones, any fighter knows that. A heart is a muscle that shrinks and swells against your will, its movements can't be controlled, but the rest of the body can be modified if you try hard enough.

Take care of yourself. Be strong, be hard. Flex your muscles. It's what I tell myself each day. My body is muscle and muscle is belief.

When Lindblum was put on martial law, I stood against the Alexandrian authority. It's been months, and for someone whose life was unusually beset by tragedy, I'm in pretty good shape. Back then, though... It was different. I didn't have as much muscle as I do now, but I had enough strength to keep on living. The muscle didn't change, but the philosophy behind its use has changed.

Well, while some folks simply refused to obey orders, others took a less subtle approach when it came to our invaders. A man called Justin formed a rebel group called the Vigilantes, and I was one of them. Our acts of defiance boiled down to foiling the enemy's plans and some of us seemed quite keen to do this in the most violent way possible. A fist in the face first, ask questions later. Justin himself wasn't in favor of violence, but he couldn't deny that it was something to be expected from a group that named themselves the Vigilantes.

I'll admit, I was tempted to go down the road of hatred. One day, I hit a guard on the face, broke his jaw, blood splattered on the floor and he complained about how he lost some of his teeth before falling unconscious. He had every reason to complain about his loss, but all I could think of was how those were insignificant losses compared to a man who had just seen the entire turf where he used to live being swallowed by that big mouth in the sky.

It was a sordid night. The streets were unusually quiet, despite being littered with so many familiar faces. The next morning, I met Fogwell and Edward at The Doom Pub. Seeing two former friends who cared so much for their well-being drowning their sorrows and oblivious to the alcohol ruining their bodies has motivated me to grow some muscle, to put my body to good use. It was painful in the beginning, I haven't trained so much in my lifetime, never had any reason to do so.

I was out of reason, couldn't think straight and making the pain big made me feel big, made my revenge feel big, but in the end, it meant nothing. Anger didn't make me stronger. On the contrary, all I did was to hurt a man that could have been easily killed if I didn't show some restraint, and that disgusts me. I was turned into some sick joke, but nobody laughed, least of all me. Now that I'm getting my body back into top form, maybe my mind will follow.

October 11th, 1800

...

"Evil spirits can't stand the sound of bells"; that's what I've been told since I was young.

When a Burmecian newborn is conceived, a bell is rung before its first cry. At weddings, bells are tolled to mark the union between two people for the rest of their lives. Before their last breath, the bells cleanse the body of a dying man. Soon afterwards, the silence of a funeral on a cold morning is broken by the church bells.

It's not surprising to see that our country's defenses are built around bells as keys and protections. They are the glue that holds our culture together. There used to be a ceremony for the handing over of the sacred bell that used to open the doors of the Royal Palace. Now, there's no more bell, no King to deliver it, no soldier to receive it, no sense of honor for being given such a noble task and what's left of the Palace makes me want to shed a tear, despite it being rebuilt every day.

No, I'm not afraid of ghosts. Even so, I made a habit of avoiding my old neighborhood, or at least what was left of it following the invasion.

The remains of collapsed buildings and residences have been left untouched, perhaps out of neglect or fear of what lies in those ruins. The place where I used to live now gives me an inexplicable air of intimidation, as if something, a force beyond gravity, were pulling me in that direction, no matter how much I deny it.

It did not happen just with me, but I heard similar accounts from people who saw and felt all sorts of things, ranging from shapes that quickly vanished in thin air, the wind whispering on their ears, a pair of green eyes in the dark, laughter emanating from an empty room but no one actually being there... We couldn't explain what was happening, or if it was happening at all.

After a turbulent week, someone said that these phenomena we've witnessed could only be the works of multiple entities. Nobody saw them at first, but soon the belief spread and everyone agreed that something unusual was going on. Well, almost everyone. Those are signs of dementia, some people said, and although I may not be sick, I can't say for sure that I'm feeling okay.

It was then that a frightened mother reported seeing her 4-year-old daughter strolling in the neighborhood at night, but that it wasn't possible because the child passed away from drowning months ago. Many children were killed during the massacre, and it is said that their restless spirits are gathered in one place, perhaps waiting for the day when they'll finally leave this mortal plane of existence.

If you feel nauseous, uncomfortable or anything strange when you approach the cursed neighborhood, then it means that they already set their eyes on you. To get rid of the growing discomfort in your chest, the best you can do is to come back later and leave a bowl of rice under the trunk of the sycamore tree found in the old square and then you pray for Mother Reis to guide the souls of the young through the afterlife. It's what I and others have done, and so far, we feel a kind of peace.

October 24th, 1800

...

The year is 1782.

A lovely year, some would say. I was 30 and got stabbed in the spleen.

Sure, sure... It was the golden age of the so-called Airship Revolution, which's still going strong today, but back then, it was something else. Something that this world hasn't seen in a while. Like peace, right? Yeah. No such a thing.

Or what, that blue fat queen blowing up rat families was meant to be some kind of pest control?

Anyway, let's pretend that, back then, all nations put their differences aside when they signed a treaty promising not to wage war against each other. They swore to never use airships for warfare purposes, instead only relying on them as a method for transportation and trade between cities.

So, the airships... They were a dream come true. A dream for the rich. And what better place to host the richest people of Gaia than the Dark City of Treno?

Yes, that's right. I was aboard an airship and, for whatever reason, I looked down and I saw those bright lights belonging to a city that never sleeps, and that was the only time I ever felt that rush of amusement in my heart.

Indeed, Treno is beautiful, everyone who's anyone goes to that place, but pay close attention to the desolation from the ruins near roads paved with gold. Don't be fooled by the happy smiles and well-fed stomachs of the nobility, there are workers who weep in silence and starve while working to obtain the tiniest amount of caviar that only a few will ever have in their hands.

Well, as soon as you arrive in Treno and realize how alone you are, it's best to keep your guard up. You could get hurt if you end up on the wrong street. Like me.

It happened near the Auction House, which stands there proudly like the fourth heaven, except you're not invited. Not unless you got a big wallet, then you can try your luck at wasting yours and everyone else's time in a feeble attempt at acquiring rare items, because that's what rich people do, they love to waste theirs and everyone else's time with such trivial matters.

What was I saying? Oh, yes, the Auction House. The stabbing. The tip of the knife pierced my spleen, it's a miracle I survived. As for the one who did it, they ran away, and how do you follow a guy who's so fast they're already gone?

A kid stabbed me. Boy, girl, freak, addict, I don't know, and it didn't matter. For the local guards, a thief was a thief, and everyone was treated the same, regardless of age. Well, except if they happened to be rich beyond belief, which the kid wasn't. They were young, but had grown some muscle. I could see the desperation in their eyes, but no hesitation when they stabbed me, and they took away my sack full of gil and melted like a ghost in the night.

Oh, and their skin was blue, but skins don't matter if we all bleed the same red blood.

THE GAZETTE OF ALEXANDRIA

BLESSED BE OUR COUNTRY - OUR COUNTRY AND ITS PEOPLE ENLIGHTENED BY DIVINE GRACE

…

Vol. xv, No. 1,750

ALEXANDRIA, SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 2RD, 1800.

Mathias Finn Lydon, editor.

…

Assassination attempt on General Beatrix's life results in the death of Leobald, former Knight of Pluto.

…

Yesterday, on a Saturday afternoon, General Beatrix, a notable figure amongst the female-army of Alexandria, has attended the court of justice, where she was put on trial for the atrocities committed under her command during the occupation of Burmecia, lasting from January 19th until February 3rd, with the withdrawal of troops from Burmecian territory, and the siege of Cleyra, carried out over the course of January 23rd and which ended with the summoning of an Eidolon that completely obliterated the small settlement once found atop a giant trunk.

Among the many charges brought by the public prosecutor against the general are the omission of aid to the citizens of Burmecia affected by the war; failure to exert her authority in order to diminish the damage caused by human and Black Mage units; the unnecessary destruction of private properties, as well as civilian casualties, both directly or indirectly influenced by the Alexandrian troops; allowing the perpetuation of repugnant, inhuman and cruel criminal behavior other than the killing of citizens at her behest.

Hearing these severe accusations, General Beatrix did not deny them, although she defended herself before the jury and then declared that she was only following orders from Her Majesty, the late Queen Brahne Raza Alexandros XVI, whose passing at the age of 39 marked the end of a military campaign initiated with an unexpected assault on Burmecia's frontiers.

Furthermore, Beatrix has stated that she later acknowledged the error in her ways and stood against Queen Brahne's goals of expanding the Alexandrian Empire throughout the entire world. After a brief and tense recess, the judge of the court decided that defending superior orders was not enough for the general to escape legal punishment, but that could only be used to mitigate it, and before the trial was over, two Burmecian individuals advanced in front of the general in an attempt to execute her.

The jury watched the events unfold with horror when Leobald, a Knight of Pluto on duty, intervened to ensure that there was no violence against the defendant in court. One of the Burmecians, out of their reasoning, made a desperate move and stabbed the knight on his chest, right in the heart. General Beatrix promptly knocked down the two offenders without injuring them and rushed to Leobald's aid, as did other people moved by the situation, but unfortunately the wound the knight suffered was fatal and led to his immediate death.

Three days of mourning were declared by Queen Garnet following Leobald's demise. Regarding the two Burmecians who were arrested, a subsequent investigation conducted by the defense council revealed that both were part of the Blind Youth, a dissident group of recent origin, whose members seek revenge and retaliation against the hostilities inflicted by the Alexandrian army.

When Adelbert Steiner, Captain of the Knights of Pluto, made a public statement concerning the attempt on General Beatrix's life and the death of Leobald, he said that it was "something regrettable that should have never happened" and the loss of one of his soldiers "pained him greatly, as a knight and as a man". He also condemned Blind Youth's methods of seeking justice by declaring that "true justice can't be sought in the most barbaric and cowardly way possible", adding as well that "you can't break the cycle with more violence, you'll end up continuing it".

November 1st, 1800

...

First day of the month, we're about to set sail. The Forgotten Continent is our destination.

All those people at the harbor, waving goodbye... I don't recognize any of them. Passing faces, withered smiles. In the middle of the crowd, I see someone that looks like my wife, but then I remember I don't have a wife at all. I must be drunk, but that can't be, I'm the captain of this darling who has crossed the whole world. The known world, it's what I mean.

Anyway, we're ready. Me and my crew have been given a chance of a lifetime to see new horizons, so we wave goodbye in return. We do so to people we know and we don't know. Will they know us after we return? Who knows.

A lifetime ago, I fell in love with the sea. Now that I've grown a beard and my face is covered in scars, I still think I love it in the same way as when I didn't have a beard at all. As for the scars, I wish I didn't have them, but that's what you get when you let the penetrating, freezing, harsh winds of Esto Gaza mess up with your inside and out.

In the morning, five days later, food ran out and our ship came ashore. I wasn't at all surprised to realize that we hadn't reached any villages or towns, nor had we been welcomed by the locals, because there weren't any. Nobody is living in the Forgotten Continent, and how could anyone live under these abysmal conditions?

Hell... Well, most certainly, this is hell. Large amounts of sweat leak out of every single pore in my skin, taking away my life and youth. I imagine this was one of the first thoughts the explorers from a distant past had when they ventured upon those badlands.

I must admit, the landscape around the Blairsurpass Plains is spectacular. No artist could ever replicate it on their works, they may try their best and they still won't be able to create anything gorgeous like what I see, what I saw only here and haven't seen anywhere else. The world is full of wonders, but goddamn, I wish this place had more shadows. Or maybe trees that weren't dry and very close to dying.

Although there are a few ruins left of civilizations and settlements that once existed here, which suggests that life was possible here, everything in this land seems to be clinging on to survival these days. Not at all different from the mainland, except the grass there is green. Here, it's sort of yellow but pale green nonetheless, and I don't like grass that much either, but I do miss the color green, or anything that resembles my home.

The land that belongs to the Forgotten Continent is, indeed, teetering on the brink of existence, with scarce resources and harsh conditions making it a challenging environment for any form of life to thrive. And yet, somehow, life seems to make its way even here. How is that possible? Maybe anything is possible as long as we're willing to live.

We are not the first to have come here, and we certainly won't be the last. Our children and their children will walk through this land years after we all have perished.

November 4th, 1800

...

He was no saint. He was no deity. He was no human.

He was a son, a brother, a husband, a father.

He was an ordinary man deprived of his sight, stripped of his family, robbed of his goods, seized of his dignity.

Nobody knows his name. Even that was taken from him.

They took away his heart, but his spirit remained high. They kicked his flesh until it hurt, but his will remained intact. They beat him, mistreated him, stabbed him, cut him, left him to die alone, but his existence still had one last meaning to give.

He traveled halfway around the world to seek foreign aid, and in the end, after delivering a final message, he found the peace of eternal rest here in Lindblum. The tomb in which he was buried is respected even by those who previously showed no respect for his people.

Of whom am I speaking? Well, you don't know? Then you should know he was here, the Burmecian soldier. The one with no name. The victory of life. The Nobody who became Somebody. If it hadn't been for him, the tragedy of Burmecia would have been unheard by the world at large. Many would have died. Many would have been denied help.

The people of Gaia are shuddering, and forever will shudder, in face of the bloodshed that took place in Burmecia, Cleyra, Lindblum and Alexandria. Throughout the continent, extermination under the guise of retaliation and conquest was employed in several ways, severing and damaging people to such an extent that many will never be able to recover for a long time.

Everyone has their grievances. Some more than others. Being a Burmecian, I've lost a lot of things, but I'm still breathing and thinking and spreading the word about that soldier's existence. I believe he would have done more in life than in death, but if there's anything I can do for him when he has done so much for my kind, then so be it.

You can still hear his footsteps echoing through these streets... You can see the path he took, despite there being no blood where he once marched.

November 15th, 1800

...

A shadow etched on the wall.

To whom it belonged? I don't know. It belonged to someone, that I'm quite sure of.

Months after the invasion, some people came to study the consequences of the war in detail, like painters looking for missing textures. What struck them most were the shadows. One young man who spent months researching told me that they were the result of the intense heat caused by the Black Mages when they burned people alive.

He explained in complicated words, but I still remember them. I have to. Once he told me them, I shared them with everyone I know. Everyone who is alive, I mean.

So, the young man said that the Black Mages cast Fira at their targets, which could be people, buildings, but buildings don't feel pain, only people who are alive and see what's left of them do.

Well, he mentioned the buildings too because not only did it happen to people, but also to our buildings. What happened? Well... I still remember what he said... Something about the duration of the high-temperature burn being so short that it didn't have time to diffuse or be dissipated by thermal diffusion, whatever that means, which caused the surface of the affected objects to be raised to its extremes, while there was very little temperature rise below its surface, resulting in those... Those... Yes, those shadows, in the walls, in the roads, in any place you can imagine.

There are a thousand similar shadows scattered across Burmecia. The rain washed most of them away, but some of them simply refused to disappear. It's a very unnatural phenomenon, I know. One that terrifies me, a lot.

It could have been me. I could have died that way, but I... You could say I'm lucky. I don't think so.

Those Black Mages who roamed the streets, looking for their next victims, gathering them between closed walls and burning them straight away with no regard for their cries... I still see their yellow, inhuman eyes glowing in my lonely walks and restless nights.

The heat of the flames, those things, uh... They possessed enough power to... To... Dear Reis... Some say it's impossible for any amount of heat to disintegrate a whole body. What happened here was impossible. The impossible, right?

After it was all over, many burnt bodies were found within homes, on these very streets, killed without regard and decency. It was hard to tell if they belonged to a person or an animal, I'll tell you.

What if it happens again? What will be of the few of us who remained?

November 19th, 1800

...

Let me tell you about what happened months ago, when I was in hell.

An explosion is heard. A building collapses into the crowd. No one knows what is happening, whether it is beginning or ending.

I hear cannons firing, but I don't see them. One of the cannonballs hits a building. Some debris falls on two lovers who died silently as they kissed for the last time.

Another explosion, but this one isn't heard because everyone is deafened and confused by the first, which was so loud and deafening that, I swear, some people's ears began to bleed.

At this moment, the Black Mages arrive at the market area. It takes five seconds for dozens to be killed.

The smoke rises, it's hard to see, and what we see is something we don't want to see. Everyone we know and have loved or just met with a sideways glance is lying on the ground, either unconscious or dead. There's no time to check for their heartbeats, and those who do are not spared.

As I ran away, I didn't even know where to, anywhere far from the carnage was what I wanted... I saw some soldiers try to close a gate, but they are killed right away by the Black Mages on the other side. 

A basket of fruits is knocked over. A little girl cries out for a mother whose body won't offer any warmth. One block away, an old man swears loudly, chokes on his words, and dies. To my right, a drunkard prays to God... And also dies.

In a square, a Burmecian woman with a baby in her arms cries and begs for mercy, but her cries are silenced as her very being disappears amid bright blue flames.

On the sidewalk near a pub, a confused man, unaware of the danger and conflict around him, shouts a warning against a Black Mage in vain, as if he were not talking to a devil, but to a troubled child. He dies cursing.

Above, an airship is hit directly by one of the Black Mages. The pilot doesn't even know what hit them, and what's left of the airship crashes onto a neighborhood, spreading a wicked fire that consumes many lives.

Next to me, a burning man staggers on the ground, but I am in a hurry and unfortunately cannot see if he manages to extinguish the flames on his clothes. A fishmonger yells something, shows resistance and manages to tear open the skull of a Black Mage with his cleaver, revealing the absence of a mind on its own.

I walk two blocks without looking back, and when I dare to look, I see a young lad rushing into a house about to fall down in an attempt to salvage his family's furniture. On the next corner, I see the same scene, but less heroic, as a thief takes advantage of the chaos to rob an inn after the guests have abandoned it on a whim.

I go as far away from the slaughter zone as I can, and from a distance, I see bodies writhing violently like dancers afflicted with tetanus.

But nothing compares to the true horror I saw in the sky. That thing... It appeared out of nowhere, opened its damn mouth, and sucked everything into the void that lied within. Windows shattered, walls collapsed, and everything and everyone was sucked into the creature. People, soldiers, buildings, even Black Mages. I almost got pulled in because I held on to a lamppost. Luckily for me, because I saw someone else try to do the same, but the lamppost she grabbed onto was old and fragile, and she was also swallowed by that thing's mouth.

The worst part was when that thing closed its mouth, and the people who weren't sucked in simply fell from above, without making a sound.

And after seeing all that, I try to live my life, but I shall never forget what happened here in Lindblum.