Trial and Tribulation, Latter Altepa

[Nautilus]

Chapter 1: Altepa

Voices.
"He's dead. Load him up."
"They got Naut? Damn. I thought he'd last longer than that. Just got back a week ago."
Something is jarring my already blurred sight. A faded image of what appears to be a brown helmet of some kind takes shape in the darkness. An Antican head.
"Gah!" I bolt upright, shouting from a combination of shock, realization, and a rush of pain. I'm leaning. I can't stand up straight. My sight and senses clear, revealing to me my location and time of day. I'm in a giant, sandy basin. There are others standing on the walls of the basin, busy with something. I look up at the starry sky and the position of the moon. I had been unconcious for nine hours.
The white mages freeze at my sudden standing. Two of them. Males. A bewildered Elvaan with straight, silvery hair slicked back and ending in a long ponytail stood over a mangled corpse a few yards behind a less traumatized Hume who's face was adorned with tribal markings.
"Man, aren't you lucky," exclaimed the Hume. His accent suggested he'd lived in San d'Oria all of his life. "We passed by you earlier. You weren't breathing and when we tried to move you, you were stiff as a board. Cold as ice, too." He kicks a dead Antican off of a corpse of a Galka. His face twisted in agony. That one succumbed to Antican poison.
"Let's try and save this one," he shouted back to the Elvaan. "Blood's clotted."
"Huh?" I sputter. He points at my side, at my nearly serrated innards exposed to the night air. The gash must have been at least seven inches wide. An obvious explination to the excruciating pain and my awkward lean.
"Get that checked out. I'm running low on magic and need to try to Raise this Galka before it's too late. Frankly, I'm still surprized that you lived through that Tornado. By the looks of it, the winds narrowly missed your liver."
"I guess my soul's stamped with a Return-to-Sender," I chuckle half-heartedly.
"Heh, I bet they're glad their souls aren't. I wouldn't want to live through that."
I tilt my head questioningly at the mage. He nods to my left and goes back to preparing for the Galka's Raise. I turn slowly. There are bodies in various conditions scattered everywhere, allied and beastmen. Other white and red mages busied themselves with examining and Raising cadavers that could be saved. They must have Cured and cleared the injured earlier. The rest are Tractored off the field en masse for burial.
Then I see them. Just behind me, bodies of soldiers had been ripped apart and diced like hare meat. There was gore everywhere, as if the chunks of meat and blood had erupted from a gyser. Bones were exposed and glistened red with the departed's blood. The sand was soupy and very sticky. I hope they died instantly. The mage was right, living through -that- would be worse than any of circle of hell.
The shredded, unidentifyable parts of bodies clustered in the epicenter of the Tornado's wake. Creating a giant mass of fetid gore. The desert sun and plagues the Antican brought with them wreaking havoc on the exposed meat.
It got to me instantly. A gyser opened up in my own body. I threw up all over the fallen Antican. Damned take him. I stagger as I start seeing double. I grab my knees , close my eyes and try fruitlessly to regain my composure. The Elvaan with the silver hair is saying something to me as I watch the dead Galka rise from eternal slumber. He'll be okay.
An ear-splitting shriek. Someone behind me has been Raised into a world of pain. She must have died by poisoning; the toxins still havent left her body. "You'll live," I grumble as I straighten myself. I hadn't noticed the mage working in a Cure IV over all the noise.
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I work my way into Rabao an hour later. Exhausted and woozy, I stumbled pass the chocobo renter and through the oasis trees, paying no heed to the nomad Moogles. I find a spigot towards the auctioneers and have a long drink. I'll have to go back to the company for a bath.
"I thought the bulk of the worrrld's beastmen were clearrred up during the Crrrystal Warrrs." I'm too thirsty to look up and see who the voice belonged to. Judging by the rolling r's, it must've been a Mithra. I continue drinking, silent.
"Tell me, samurrrai," she tapped me with her rapier. "How many of the buggerrrs were there this time?"
I stop drinking and look at her. It's too dark and I'm too tired to see her face, but her Windurst Warrior serjeant's badge shown clear enough. Windurstian, but still a higher rank than I. In the interest of keeping required diplomatic respect for my superiors, I tell her about the Antican's constantly swelling numbers. Four hundred fought today. I kept our numbers a secret.
"Fourrr hundred..." she tasted the words.
"Bastards are bugs. They'll have twice the number by this Firesday." By this point I'm not too particular about rank. I may only be a corporal, but to hell with formalities. I almost died, my abdomen was killing me, and I'm tired as hell. I salute her and make my way to the chocobo rentals. I'm not walking the western expanse of the desert by myself.

I take my time getting back to the garrison grounds. I'm sure the mages told my commanding officers of my condition, so I'm in no rush. I don't want to hear the squad master's voice, or anyone's voice for that matter. In the cool night air I can give myself time to heal both physically and mentally. The wind blew through my hair, cooling my head. It wasn't bitterly cold due to the fact that I wasn't sweating. My body ran out of the stuff for today. Despite my turning stomach, the chocobo's momentum doesn't make me ill. It's very soothing. If I'm not careful, I'll fall asleep on the bird and fall off into the jaws of a scorpion or antlion. A pitiful end to my luck-filled day.
Maybe there -is- one voice I want to hear. I can't wait for her angelic lips to say...

"Where have you been?!" she barks, half in tears. Jayne's throat is as hoarse and parched as anyone else's, yet between her sobs and scolding, between the dry desert air and unforgiving sands, between my weariness and mental anguish, her words blanket me like a soothing flame. She is the only thing that can make a blood soaked desert feel like home.


Chapter 2
You learn to cherish your loved ones in times of stress. I've always been a slow learner...

We're in Rabao. Our company is on temporary stasis today, so we've headed to the vendors to grab some solid food and cool drinks. Jayne and I have secluded ourselves from the rest of the group in the shades of the palm trees. She's wearing a yukata from last year's summer festival, her silvery hair tied in a tight bun. I keep my Royal Knight's gear on; a fresh set. It doesn't weigh as much anymore. Between the trees, we have some catching up to do.
"What's wrong? You're awfully quiet," she cooed as she sat on my back, combing through my dry hair with her fings.
"Two of our friends were killed in last week's battle. One of them right in front of me..." I groan. I was laying on my stomach, facing the water's edge. I was in one of my moods; self-centered, broody, thick-headed. My mind was completely lost in the last battle's events.
I recalled Regmenaeu's silent scream as the axe cleaved through his heck, his head hanging by the few tendonds and ribbons of muscle left behind. As the Antican that slew him was met with a barrage of arrows, a clammy hand grabbed mine, forcing me out of my stupor. I turned to the injured red mage to my left we'd been escorting out of the battlefield and I saw her pale face, eyes round with terror, the poison paralyzing her throat.
I only caught a glimpse of the antican on the edge of an overhead dune as it finished casting Tornado...
It was later that night that Jayne had told me Gwen had been hit with a poisoned arrow below the heart and had died slowly as the antican's scorpians draggered her off the field behind enemy lines. Antican feed the captured to their troops.
"It wasn't your fault," she said consolingly. "You didn't know-"
"I gave him the orders to run ahead and make a clearing to get that mage out of there. If he hadn't obeyed, I would have been able to intercept the Antican that doomed us," I snapped. "I couldn't follow orders to bloody stay together."
She fell silent.
Jayne. The one person that I should have softened up to, I couldn't. The war had taxed both of us. She had lost the one-prevalent bounce in her step and had calmed down considerably. She was always worried about me. But when I had lost my optimism, and possibly my zest for life, she retained hers.
This I loved her for. Paladin have it rough, possibly rougher than any of us. White mages keep them alive in the front just so they can take more damage later. Truth be told, us damage dealers don't see half the combat they do.
She bent over and rubbed her cheeks against mine and whispered, "Everything will be okay, I'm sure. After this, we'll go back to San d'Oria and I'll cook so much food, you'll be as big as a ram!" She dug her fingers into my side and made little "baa's".
I bolted upright with her on my back, eyes gleaming. "Alright, alright! I believe you! Let's grab some drinks, sheep-woman. Rarab stew would be nice after this war, by the way."

Come to think of it, that was probably the last time we laughed together. Time waits for no man, no matter what his condition. If I'd known the horrors we'd endure during the final next months, I would have spent every second of our togetherness savoring our final moments...


Chapter 3
It's been three months since I went AWOL and deserted the garrison frontlines. Let the Knights deal with the region themselves...

You see, I was having problems with my superior's attitudes towards the Galkan reinforcements we were recieving from Bastok (seeing as how the fighting's so close to Bastokan soil, they have been giving us additional troops to help the war effort). They are immediately sent to the front lines, regardless of their job types. And since those bastard Humes in the capitol dont give half of a rat's ass about them anyway, they will stay in the front lines. Add to the fact that the Windurstian council is formulating spells that use our fallen commerade's blood as batteries, I was not in a good mood. Since this -is- a full-scale war, Windurst has it's people in the mosh pit as well.
And so, I voice my complaints, get into an arguement with my commander, the so-called decorated "war-hero" Galbineaux, nearly get the teeth smacked out of me, and am further humiliated by the proud Windurstian Warrior elites as they make light of my complaints.
I went back to my quarters, my mind in a storm of rage. "I can't believe this shit!" I scream, knocking over charts and crates filled with papers. Jayne's in the corner, sympathetically observing my banter. "Our lives mean nothing to these people! WE do the fighting, WE bear the wounds, WE put OUR lives on the line and they sit on their asses all day, sipping tea and telling US what to do! And when it is our turn to make a few suggestions, they laugh in our faces, spewing chicken bones and sheep fat!" I slam my fist into a crate, the wood splinters and tears through my skin.
Jayne was used to my sudden temper tantrums. This time is no diifferent. She waits for my heavy breathing to subside and calmly walks over and holds my injured hand when I've run out of energy."Yes, I know it isn't fair, but we can't change anything. You're paying too much attention to what the nobles aren't doing and not enough attention to what we have to do to make it through the turbulence," she sighs as she works a Cure on my fingers. "There. How does that feel?" I instinctively flex my hand, but my eyes are on her.
After I apologized for my behavoir and we spent the next dozen or so minutes laughing about Sarga's earlier struggle with a dhalmel. At the hight of the discussion, a cadet came into my tent and spoke, "I've been given orders to tell Nautilus that he's currently needed for a quick patrol through Eastern and Western Altepa. Lady Jayne, you're needed in a surveillance team for the Quicksand Caves in three hours." Disgruntled, we got to our feet and saluted him, then she kissed me and went back to her tent as I gathered my things.

Fourteen. I comment to myself. Why would a patrol team need fourteen members clustered so tightly? Something is amiss... Our chocobos raced through the sands and desert heat. Seven damage dealers, three tanks, and various mages, we alone could take down a small group of Antican. Maybe that was the point. There's just enough of us that at least a few could survive an ambush. A squak was the only warning we had.

End of rising action



Climax. Strength through isolation.

Chapter 4: Abandonment

Arrows sliced through the hot air, burrowing into the lead chocobos' taut breast. The bird went down with a crash, tumbling on the ground and making small gurgles as its neck bones shattered under its own weight. The lead paladin was thrown off and was nearly trampled to death by our own startled birds.
I instantly jumped off my chocobo and spanked its flank, commanding it to flee from the area of combat and find someplace safe. As others did the same, I drew my sword as the first few Antican that had been hidden beneath the desert sands burst forth like vampires that had been disturbed from a two thousand year slumber. They carried nasty, battle damaged war axes.
The warriors ran right into the Antican, their own great axes gleaming in the merciless sun. I drew my bow and notched an arrow, firing it into an Antican's chest that had parried and counter attacked a warrior's strike, nearly biting through the hume's armor. The Dark Knight to my right casted Stun on the Antican closest to the dazed paladin and two Ninja ran in and hauled him away from the skirmish. As they did so, more Antican erupted from the sands, several of them with arrows at the ready. I activated my Third Eye as I observed this and ducked as an Antican behind me swung at my head. Without even turning around, I brought my zanbato back and pierced his lower abdomen. I then brought it up and sliced his torso down the middle and chose a new target. A White mage that had forgotten to cast Stoneskin was shot through the side of his face. His jaw dislodged and flew freely in the open air as he tumbled to the dirt. I swore and charged into the line of archers along with a fellow Samurai and two Dragoon.
Things happen so fast. As I caught the wrist with the oncoming beastman's sword, I cleaved into an Antican's side that was to my right and swung my katana back into my already engaged opponent's spine, dragging it across its caracass and severing the nerves that held it up. The Antican fell with a loud grunt as the one I injured to my right was tackled by a Dragoon's Super Jump. I stabbed it in the head and quickly leaned back and swung up, severing a striking Antican's hands from its body. I hit it with a Tachi: Jinpu and its ripped, limp body joined its fallen commerade's. An arrow wizzed by my head right as my Third Eye wore off, taking the Dragoon's wyvern out of the sky.
The battle raged for only an hour or so. Five had died and in the end we had slain eleven of the Antican attackers. The last two ran off, being trailed by me and a monk. We got a few hundred feet from where the battle had taken place when the air got thick and super heated. The monk tackled the Antican and delivered a One Inch Punch to the back of its head when intensely hot objects burrowed into my back. I was instantly hoisted into the air and thrown spiraling onto the ground. I crashed into the ground and tumbled onto my stomach.
Out of breath and in pain, I turn my head to look at what had ambushed me and saw a vile looking Ifrit melting the sand under his feet. Its skin was mottled and eyes withdrawn as if it were a corpse. It was so large that it walked over to me in two steps. I could do nothing to defend myself or tell the Monk to run. A dark haired mithra walked in from behind his immense frame, her yellow eyes boring into my skull. "What have we herrre? Samurrrai...," she let the word slide from her mouth like bile. Ifrit placed one giant clawed foot on my back and I felt its molten skin eat through my armor and meld my flesh. A soundless scream came from my mouth. The beast stopped as she cackled and waved her hand. Hopelessly, I mouthed the words 'please stop' as she strolled over. She placed a hand on her hip and sneered before kneeling down. She placed a frigidly cold, soft hand on my face and ran her fingers over my skin.
"Yes, I rememberrr you... that cocky little snot-faced warrior, darrrting thrrrough ourrr beastmen. I bet you thought you werrre bad shit with yourrr little spearrr," she spoke with venom in her voice. "You look hurrrt!" mockingly rubbing my head. "Don't worrry, mommy will take good carrre of you. But firrrst, I need to know what went thrrrough yourrr little head when you decided to stab my poorrr Garrrudy..."
She placed her hand firmly on my head and smiled. Magic flowed from her hands and sent little hooks into my brain. I gasped as she probed my mind, trying to stifle my will to fight. My breathing grew short and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I felt a warm trickle run down my face that I knew was blood from my nose. I heard a sharp snap that I felt had been the Monk's spine. After an eternity of her violation of my innermost thoughts, she suddenly stopped. I closed my eyes, panting. Every breath I took seemed to take energy out of me. My chest was on fire, my head was throbbing under what felt like daggers. Thankfully my back was already numb.
I managed to open one fuzzy eye. The sun's rays were intensified in my blurry eyes. I saw her fuzzy form stand up as the Ifrit lumbered back over to her. I heard her muffled voice as I began to lose consciousness.
No, it cant end like this. I'm too weak to stand! Where is everybody? Why haven't they sent help? Jayne, help me! I wearily fought for consciousness. I didn't want what I though would be inevitable to happen.
She must have sensed my struggle, for she began to speak again, though I couldn't make out any of her words. Then I saw the Ifrit disperse and she began casting Warp. When she left, the Monk I prayed was still alive hadn't come to my side. I knew I was alone.

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I was laid out in the sun for what seemed like hours. Time was an abstract thought brought on only by the occasional gust of wind that blew more hot sand into my eyes. My world was a frozen portrait. I was a mere flurry of lines by an artist that had stolen the essence of the universe’s spirit and had embodied it in a grand picture that encompassed both the land and the sky.

“Oh my god! Naut!” I could hear the clanging of heavy armor as Kalista ran towards my battered body. Something warm touched the side of my sweating neck, shaking. “He’s still alive...” she whispered to herself. “Link, get over here now! Hurry!”
As I was fighting to remain awake, I didn’t notice too much after those words. Then everything around me got dark and cool as Link’s Elvaan visage blocked the sun’s glare. “Goddess!” he swore. “What happened to him?” He attempted to cure some of my wounds, but the magic wouldn’t stick. It rubbed off my back like running water. “What the hell? He must be diseased... Kalista, watch him while I go get help!”
As the Paladin ran off, Kalista began to inspect the extent of my wounds. The Elvaan spoke to herself in low, hushed tones as if hearing how bad I was would somehow kill me. “Poor baby... I can see your spine... What put you through this?”
More hurried footsteps. The sounds that met my ears were my whole world. I couldn’t move, the pain was too great. I could barely breathe as sand flew into my lungs with each labored breath. My only friend was the sound of the world.
I was defenseless, utterly helpless. I greatly depended on my allies to save me; they held my life in their hands. The thought of this filled my mind with great despair. The next minute or two didn’t help to calm me.
“What’s this?” a small voice snapped. “You drag us out here to view a corpse when there are others dying behind us?” I recognized the voice belonged to a Windustian lieutenant Tarutaru that had witnessed the insubordinate argument I had with Galbineaux. That definitely did not put me on good terms.
To make matters worse, the flaming bastard himself was there. “Indeed. We’ll not waste our time on recruit scum like him. He alone will drain our resources,” He stops talking and a gun is loaded, then cocked. “Put him out of his misery.”
My heart sank. I painfully turned my head and watched in horror as the Hume stalked towards me, rifle in hand.
Like a motherly lioness, Kalista stood and instantly swerved to meet the Hume. She held her intimidating black scythe low at her side, preparing to split the man up the middle if he took another step. “Come near him and I’ll make you wish that was you lying across the desert floor!” She spoke with a threatening voice. It was a little stunning that someone so calm and cool as Kalista could sound like that. Then again, Dark Knights have their tempers.
Link stepped in front of her, his voice serene. “I’ll set him up in my tent. I’ll use my rations of medicine and bandages to keep him alive. Sir, I refuse to let a comrade and a friend perish like this!” The captain shot him a scowl and turned with a wave of his hand. “As you wish.”
Praises to Link and Kalista. Galbineaux’s hatred covers all of Vana’diel, and I had earned part of his hatred. Yet they stood over me, shielding me from his wrath. I owe them my life, for he would have let my wounds take mine.
As the trio walked away, the two picked me up and began carrying me back to the tents. I no longer had the strength to stake awake. As my eyelids closed, I watched a single cloud in the featureless, blue sky lazily float by. I still envy that cloud to this day.

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[Nautilus]

"He doesn't seem to be recovering," Link.
"Maybe it would have been best if we had let that Bastokan shoot him. Then he could have died in peace..." Kalista...?

Peace. A state of tranquillity or serenity. Untroubled; tranquil; content.

There is no way I could have died in peace, even if my nerves were nonexistant. After the things I've done... No, there's only one place for me.

Hell. The place or state of punishment of the wicked after death; the abode of evil and condemned spirits. A place completely devoid of peace.

I could not allow myself to die. There were too many sins to account for, and the only way I could even begin to redeem myself is to stay alive and carry out my sentancing here on earth.

I laid there in Link's cot for what felt like years. I barely slept, I didn't eat, there was no music to be heard outside the tent. They thought I was too sick to try and communicate with. I was in a perpetual void. No coming, nor going. There was only the here and now.

I had placed myself in that position. I was the creator of my own punishment. It wasn't the improper dosage of medicine, it wasn't the resistance of the disease, it was my own doing. I did not want to get better. My mind was so completely absorbed in hatred that my body reflected what was on the surface of my mental psyche. Sickness, corrosion, impurity.

And I bathed in my own imperfections. I enjoyed using up my company's medical supplies. I enjoyed exhausting our mages. Most of all, I enjoyed the thought of Galbineaux spending more and more gil to cover our ever-growing need for medicine.

I began to hate my fellow countrymen. They took our sacrifices for granted. They complain about the war effort moving too slowly while we die entrenched in eachother's entrails, paranoid that every little skittering insect we heard was a prelude to an Antican onslaught that would inevitably be our destruction.

And they complained, the maggots.

Even in my discomfort, it was impossible for me to keep my well-deserved anger. Impure thoughts gave way to sadness, hate gave way to loneliness, and rancor gave way to sorrow and depression. I was at a total loss of what I should do. I was stuck in a war with no way out. The punishment for treason is death. At this point, I was in no mood to die.

Fear plagued my bedside. I was so enthralled in it that I actually was unable to register the sound of a person's voice. My eyes were brimming with mortal dread. I was panicking.

I soon retreated within the depths of my mind, like I had taught myself to do long ago. There, within the folds of my consciousness, I could reflect in solitude. I found my inner countenance flawed, unsure. I was confused on the inside.

No, I wasn't confused. I had dealt with this feeling before. Anticipation.

Anticipation.

I knew what I had to do before the thought even surfaced. I wasn't ultimately afraid of death, no, I was afraid that I would die here in this tent and be unable to perform the task my mind had set before me.

The confusion, the rage, was adrenaline's way of preparing myself. I was going to throw my life away and knew it. I was ready for it.

The plan was there in the depths of my mind all along: Abandon San d'Oria, fight under a rebel banner. Win this war on my own terms.
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There it was, laid out in front of me, the clearest path my eyes could see. I was so sure of it that I surfaced from my mental safehouse almost completely healed. My will to enact this plan had caused me to get better. I could feel the strength slowly returning to my shocked limbs. Each breath of desert air was rejouvenating, as though I was inhaling Regen.

"You're awake! Thank Altana!"

Who?

I cast my eyes upward and saw Link staring back at me.

I tried and found myself unable to respond. I guess I had assumed too much of myself and my level of recovery.

"We almost lost you for a second there. You had begun to spasm and pour out bucketloads of sweat," he shook his head and let out a thoughtful sigh. I could feel his fingers tapping my arm. I also noticed the considerably large bags under his eyes.

"Hang here one moment. I'll go fetch a White Mage and have them take a look at you."

From there, I could only go uphill. My strength had tripled in the few days since my revelation. I could even move my back with little or no pain or irritation.

Perfect.

One night by myself, after I stopped second-guessing my condition, I got out of the cot and stretched. None of my joints were stiff, I wasn't dizzy when I stood up, and my stomach had settled. I was in prime condition to carry out my plans.

I waited two more days in thought. On the night of the second day I clothed myself and made the preparations for my journey. I found some paper and ink in Link's tent and wrote a thank you note to him and Kalista. I also told them not to come looking for me and to tell Jayne that I was sorry I couldn't meet her and speak with her face-to-face.

Jayne. In all of my planning I had forgotten her, the single most important person to me. It may have been asking too much of her to simply turn the other cheek and act like nothing happened. I fought with myself on whether or not I was doing the right thing. Yet, what kind of person would I be if I let the war continue at this deadly pace? It would only be a matter of time before...

I made up my mind. I peeked out the tent to ensure that nobody was looking and bolted for the closest cover. Keeping my profile as low as possible I finally made my way to my quarters. Inside, I took any maps of the region I could find and carry, along with plenty of managable provisions for the trek. I took four weapons and my bow, slinging it across my back and all of my arrows. Donning a white cloak and desert mask to protect myself from the harsh rays of the sun, I slipped out the tent and made my way to the chocobo area.

I was almost apprehended twice on my way, but I made it relatively undetected. Those two I encountered were uninterested in my affairs or thought nothing of a garbed soldier. I went to the holding pens for resting chocobos and selected one while the keeper busied herself with another one's wounds.

Luckily the bird made almost no sounds as I was strapping a harness onto it. Military chocobos are made to obey and I could tell that this one was a veteran of its kind.

I can look back on that night and say that I threw caution to the wind as I rode out of the camps. I was thinking of anything but getting caught. That just didn't concern me. The thing that did concern me was-

"Nautilus!"

Somehow she managed to see that it was me from leauges away. I had no choice but to ride up to her and speak.

"I can see that you're moving again. Does anything hurt? Why are you dressed like this... And where are you going with those arrows?" She pelted me with questions of concern until I gave in.

"I'm leaving," I said simply. I did not let my emotions betray me. "Far away. I'm leaving the army for good. I'm leaving San d'Oria...for good." She just looked at me like I burned a cake. I thought for a moment that she had accepted my decision.

"Go," she said just as simply. I couldn't leave like this. "I have to fight this war on my own terms. If things continue at this rate, more people will die. There is almost no way out," I proceeded to lay my entire plan out to her. I never skipped a detail. I told her everything.

After I finished, she gave me the same passed over expression. "Didn't you hear me? Go," she spoke as though she'd given up hope. I could see in her eyes that I had said the wrong thing. She didn't wait for a retort as she turned around and walked back to the camps. "This is for the best!" I shouted. My plan was perfect. I hadn't anticipated rejection. "This is for our future!"

She stopped. Pain shot through my heart as the world slowed to a near stop and she turned around. Tears had just begun to fall when she smiled and shook her head, "No, this is for everyone else's future but our own. I don't need to be saved. Go on, 'hero,' your people suffer."

I ran out of things to say. I was abandoning her and she knew it. No matter which way I said it, that's what it all came down to. I could only stare as she made her way back to the camps. I sat there for a few more minutes until I broke out of my trance and turned my chocobo toward the cold, lifeless desert, heedless of any dangers.

That was the last I saw of her for more than three months. The next time we met was filled with anything but happiness.