Chapter Text
A cold breeze ran through the damp gaol, chilling the sole inhabitant to the bone. The jangling of chains, the occasional footsteps of a passing guard, the squeaking of rats who shared the cell with her, rummaging for the scraps of whatever meol she was served; these were all the girl heard. Otherwise, there was naught but silence. She wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders, the thin fabric tattered and stained, but it was all she had to keep her warm. How many nights since her awakening had her sapphire eyes wet this cloth with tears? How many days had passed since she last saw the light of day? The girl was always told that being the Oracle of Light was a blessing, a gift. To bear the name Minfilia meant shouldering the hope of the realm. But to her, it felt more like a curse.
She was just one girl.
Just one young girl who had barely seen ten summers.
One young girl who could never live a normal life, who could only ever walk the path of her predecessors.
It was hell, and she could never escape, locked away forever like a bird in a cage.
She jolted upward, gripping on tightly to the hem of her dress. Having spent so many years trapped in this gaol, she had learned how to identify who was coming just by the sound of their footsteps alone. This wasn’t the loud, heavy footsteps of Lord Vauthry, who often came to view her like a prize, no, like livestock. Nor was it the clack of the jongeleurs’ heels, coming to bring her daily meol. No, these footsteps, the ones so silent she could barely hear them coming, belonged to her greatest source of fear.
“Ran’Jit…” she choked.
Her nails dug into her palms almost hard enough to draw blood. This man, her so-called “guardian,” approached her cell, his sunken, silver eyes staring daggers at her. His face was expressionless, nigh impossible to read, a reflection of his stone cold heart.
“Girl,” the man growled.
“H-hello, Ran’Jit,” Minfilia swallowed hard.
The man didn’t respond. Minfilia stood at attention, hearing the sound of keys jangling, of the cold steel of her cell unlocking. The man stepped inside, dropping a pair of daggers at her feet. Her heart nearly stopped as the man stood poised for brawling, a dragon familiar hovering over his shoulder.
“Prepare yourself!” the man shouted, “I will not see you grow sloppy on your training!”
The girl scrambled to grab the daggers, her fingers closing around the hilts just in time to parry his blow. This was unfair. How could such a frail little girl be able to stand up to such a demon of a man? Yet the girl had learned the hard way that these sparring sessions were an inevitable part of her life, and if she wanted to avoid going to bed uninjured, she needed to try her best to defend herself.
The girl darted around her cell, trying to avoid Ran’Jit’s punishing blows. Even though his opponent was just a child, the man refused to hold back. Minfilia could hardly counter his attacks, resorting only to dodging and parrying until their “training” was over.
“Fight, Oracle!” Ran’Jit snapped.
“I don’t want to fight you!” she cried, “I’m scared! I hate this!”
“Cowardice! Ill-befitting of the Oracle of Light!”
He kicked the girl in the stomach, making her fly across the room and slam against the cold, stone walls. Minfilia could practically hear the crack of several of her ribs, snapping as easily as twigs. She doubled over in pain, tears spilling from her eyes as she hugged what would form into a terrible wound.
“It hurts…” she cried.
“Stand up, girl,” he hissed, “Stand and fight!”
“I don’t want to do this anymore! Ran’Jit, please stop this!”
The girl was met with a sharp kick to the face, blood now pouring from her nose. She whimpered in pain, curling up as the deep red stained her white dress. Ran’Jit sighed in disappointment, stepping out of the cell and locking it behind him.
“To bed, Minfilia,” he scolded, “And no supper until you can fight without crying.”
Ran’Jit headed down the hallway, leaving the poor girl alone in the cold, dark cell. As soon as she was certain he had left, Minfilia wept, her tears flooding like water from a ruptured dam. She loathed this. She didn’t care if Ran’Jit’s goal was to make her stronger. It hurt. It heaved far too much stress onto her for a ten year old to bear. Her eyes darted to the daggers scattered across the cell floor.
Many a time had she considered turning them on herself, slitting her wrists or her throat to end this suffering. But she was scared, terrified of the fate that awaited her after death. Minfilia wasn’t her own person. Should she take her own life, her burden would simply be passed onto another girl. Somewhere across the realm, another child would be born with her platinum blonde hair, her eyes that twinkled like sapphires…
And that would be the beginning of their end.
They too would have to endure this abuse, hidden behind the thinly veiled claims of love and compassion. They too would be locked away from the rest of the world, never to see their birth parents, their siblings, their dear friends, ever again. Minfilia herself couldn’t even remember her mother’s face, or recall the sound of her father’s voice. She had even forgotten her own name, her name before she became Minfilia. This was a fate she wouldn’t wish upon her worst enemy, let alone another innocent child.
Thus for that reason, did she persevere.
She crawled onto her small cot, the mattress hard as stone and sheets so thin and damp, they almost made her feel colder. It could be midday or the middle of the night for all she knew, but she was tired, and her body ached with freshly forming wounds. Perhaps some sleep would ease her pain. She closed her eyes tight, hoping, praying that sleep would take her.
***
Minfilia awoke to the sound of steel clashing against steel, to the cry of soldiers falling one by one. Could this be a raid on Eulmore? From what she had heard through the passing chatter of guards, Eulmore was hardly beloved by any other city-state across Norvrandt. Yet their military prowess prevented any uprisings, knowing the rebellion would be crushed like an ant beneath a steel-toed boot. Was some poor fool finally deciding to stand up to this nation’s tyranny?
She rushed to the steel bars of her cell, trying to get a better look, or at the very least be in earshot of the action. Minfilia was never wont to fight, but she feared for the fate of these dissenters. She had seen horrible, unspeakable things happen to any and all would be resistance. The screams of those that Ran’Jit had tortured still rang in her ears, and she could only imagine the atrocities the soldiers of Eulmore would commit against their families. For her own sanity, she had to hope for the best, yet after all these years, she had come to expect the worst.
The sound of fighting grew closer to her cell, and though it strained her eyes, she could barely make out a silhouette. She recognized the familiar forms of the Eulmoran guards, their helms casting a distinct shadow. Based on the sounds she heard, Minfilia was expecting at least a light party’s worth of resistance, yet amidst the silhouettes, she could only make out one unfamiliar one. The shadow stood taller than the others, and brandished a broadsword and shield against the guards. From outline alone, the sole resister appeared to be an Elven man, clad in heavy plated armor. Even as he fought against the powerful forces of Eulmore, he seemed to fend them off, cutting down guard after guard.
But why was he coming down to the gaols of Eulmore?
If he was an assassin, wouldn’t he be heading skyward, towards Vauthry’s canopy to end his tyranny once and for all? Maybe he was an infiltrator, come to free some jailed comrades to before they could be tortured and slain. As his shadow came closer, she began to make out more of his features. The man was indeed an Elf, and easily twice her height if not more. He was clad from head to toe in shining, silver armor, royal blue coattails emerging from underneath. His silver hair hung slightly past his shoulders, tied back into a low ponytail for good measure, and a well-trimmed beard sprouted from his cheeks.
He walked past each cell, quickly glancing into each one before moving onto the next. So he was here to find a prisoner and free them. Minfilia wanted to call out to him, to beg him to let her free, but doing so could jeopardize his infiltration efforts, landing him in one of these very cells. Yet to her surprise, the man stopped in front of her cell, his golden eyes locking with her sapphire ones.
“At last,” he smiled, “I have found thee.”
He pulled out a set of keys, clearly filched from one of the guards, and unlocked the door to her cell. Minfilia couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. This man was here for her? He got down on his knees, looking her in the eyes as he held out a hand.
“Art thou well, Minfilia?” he asked gently.
Minfilia couldn’t muster the words to respond. She could hardly process what was going on. This man had risked life and limb to fight back against one of the strongest military forces on their star… just to rescue her. She cleared her throat, finally finding the courage to speak to this hero.
“Who…” she stammered, “Who are you?”
“I haven’t the time to explain,” he replied, “Pray, takest mine hand milady. We must make haste to escape before reinforcements arrive. Art thou capable of standing?”
Minfilia nodded her head, standing up and grabbing his hand. His palm alone was larger than her entire hand, but even under the cold metal of his gauntlets, it felt warm and comforting. No sooner had she grabbed his hand did the Elven man pull her out of the cell, running for an exit. Minfilia ran with him as fast as her legs could carry her, trying to keep up with her savior. Her breathing was ragged and pained, no doubt her shattered ribs enfeebling her. It was difficult to maintain this pace, but she had to run, for both of their sakes.
They turned down the corridors, a light cracking out of the end of the hall. Minfilia squinted as they approached it, finally finding themselves in the derelicts outside of Eulmore. The light of the never changing sky was blinding, but she had to keep running, through the slums, past the moored ships, far, far away from Eulmore. As they were about to reach the Glory Gate, their final obstacle before her freedom, a giant, lion faced Sin Eater descended from above, bearing its fangs and gnashing its claws at the Elven knight.
“Twas foolish of me to think they would let us escape so easily,” he said, drawing his weapon, “Behind me, child! I will see no harm come to thee.”
The Elf charged at the Sin Eater, parrying its blows with his shield. He overpowered the beast, the steel of his blade ringing out against the marble-like carapace of the Eater. Yet the beast refused to go down without a fight. It opened its maw, firing a beam of pure light at the Elf.
“Look out!” Minfilia shouted.
The Elf raised his shield, the light reflecting off of it to protect him from its lethal blast. He powered through, leaping at the beast and slicing into the weak flesh of its wings. The Eater let out a growl of pain as it collapsed onto the ground, slowly dissipating into aether.
“Worry not, Minfilia,” the man assured, “For I shall ‘ere be thy shield.”
He held out his hand, guiding her through the rubble-ridden pathway and past the Glory Gate. The derelicts of Gatetown were still, the poor families looking for a better life nestled away inside their homes. It was difficult to tell by the sky, but it must be the middle of the night.
“Much do I wish that we couldst walk at our leisure,” the knight sighed, “Alas we are still far from safety. Pray tell if thy legs grow too heavy to walk. I shall carry thee if tis what thou desirest.”
As they marched through the cliffs of Kholusia, Minfilia looked back to the city-state behind her. She had spent most of her life in Eulmore, but had never really seen much of it outside of the gaol. The fact that the city itself looked like the pinnacle of luxury while the slums and prisons were completely desolate was quite telling of Lord Vauthry’s reign. If she had it her way, she would never set foot in this foul city again, and hopefully this kind stranger would take her far, far away.
“Where…” she wondered, “Where are we going?”
“To mine dismay I cannot tell thee yet,” the knight admitted, “I know not whose ears may be listening to our conversation, and were I to tell thee the name of our haven, we may find ourselves followed by unsavory company. Prithee, have faith in me, milady. For I only wish to grant thee thy rightful sanctuary.”
Minfilia nodded her head in understanding. Even though she had just barely met this man, he had showed more kindness to her than Ran’Jit had in years. He could be taking her to the bottom of the ocean for all she cared. This kind stranger was taking her away from her personal hell, and anywhere could be better than that cold, damp gaol. As they approached the coastline, Minfilia could make out a group of soldiers and countless amaros in wait. She gripped onto the knight’s arm tightly, fearing that they were walking right into another Eulmoran ambush, but as they approached the convoy of troops, something seemed different. Their armor was a different color and shape from the Eulmoran soldiers, and the closer they got, the more soldiers she could see smiling and waving at them. A Viis dancer was the first to approach them, running up and bowing to the knight.
“Urianger!” she beamed, “Thank goodness you’re well!”
“Tis good to see thee too,” the knight, or rather, Urianger, replied, “Aside from a run in with a Sin Eater, everything went according to plan.”
“Are you injured?”
“Naught but a few minor cuts and bruises.”
Urianger turned to Minfilia, ensuring she was ok.
“But what of thee, child?” he asked, “Art thou injured?”
“I…” Minfilia stuttered, “I might have a few broken ribs… but it wasn’t because of you. I had them before you…”
“Then we shall see thee attended to by the finest chirugeons. Lyna, pray send a missive to the Crystarium that I have the Oracle in mine custody and she doth require medical aid upon our return.”
The Viis, Lyna, saluted him, raising her hand to her ear to make a call on her linkpearl. Now that the dust had settled, Minfilia finally got the opportunity for a good look at her savior. He looked relatively young, probably no more than 29 or 30 summers old, but still had a mature air about him. Seared into his cheek was a black tattoo, a symbol that she could not recognize, but a part of it felt familiar. Maybe it was connected to a previous Minfilia, a core memory that all of the Oracles past retained. The knight caught the girl’s gaze, smiling gently to her and patting her head.
“Thou needst not worry ‘ere longer, milady,” he cooed, “Thou art safe now.”
“You…” Minfilia asked, “Your name is Urianger, right?”
The knight kneeled down, taking her hand. It was almost as if to swear his fealty, a knight pledging undying loyalty to his mistress.
“Tis proper time I introduced mineself, milady,” he bowed, “I am called Urianger Augurelt, and I am a Scion of the Seventh Dawn.”
Scion of the Seventh Dawn. That too felt familiar. It was as if the original Minfilia inside her soul recognized him as an ally, or rather an old friend. But that couldn’t be possible. After all, the original Oracle of Light gave her life roughly a century ago. How could she have possibly known this man?
“I feel like…” she started, “Like we’ve met before. It’s quite strange… inexplicable even.”
The knight’s expression grew slightly somber. She didn’t mean to bring up a painful memory for him, but still, Urianger seemed to shrug off his melancholy, as not to give her cause to worry.
“Mayhap our Minfilia still sleeps within thee,” Urianger said.
“So you did know her… the original Minfilia,” she asked.
“Aye. For she was a trusted friend of mine.”
“But… how is that possible? Are you really over a hundred years old?”
The knight looked to the amaro launch, noticing Lyna signaling to them to come board their mounts for departure.
“I fear it is a rather long story milady,” Urianger replied, “One which I will gladly share with thee once we arrive in the Crystarium and thou hast received thy treatment.”
He held out his hand once more, coaxing Minfilia to join him, to return with him to a place he swore she would be safe. The thought of this sanctuary, this taste of freedom, it almost felt too good to be true. If fate was as cruel as she had grown accustomed to it being, she would awaken back in the cold gaol, the knight standing before here disappearing as naught but a fleeting dream. But she had to trust him. She had to have hope that this was real, that she would finally be able to walk her own path.
“Pray, take my hand, Minfilia,” he smiled, “Thy haven awaits.”
She grabbed onto his hand, a twinkle of hope in her eyes. Who knew when this opportunity would arise again? That poor canary would remain locked in her cage no longer, for now she could spread her wings and fly towards the future.