Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy, this is just for fun.

Final Fantasy: Chosen of the Dawn

By Waging Wonder

Sole Expedition

A clammy mist hung in air, a tension mixed with it.

It was cold up here in the rocky foothills, inclining ever upward toward the southern mountains. It is here that the knight decided to rest.

His elaborate plate armor caught and held the chill, but fortunately his royal blue cloak was lined with plush ermine, helping to grant him a semblance of warmth.

Mainly, however, it was his discipline that kept him going.

He had no choice. The vision had come to him one night with a sense of urgency that had made him pant. There was no denying the impending sense of doom that hung over the world, but of which only a handful were aware. The knight had informed the other three members of the Pact, but not anyone else, not his lady wife, not his young son, not even his cousin, the King.

No, he had chartered a simple merchant's wind-spinner, a modest - and discrete - mode of travel, to come this far south of the White City. What the small airship had lacked in luxury and comfort, it had made up for in speed, and the knight had required this above all else.

So here he sat upon a smooth boulder, his cloak wrapped about him tightly. He barely felt the weight of his white-enameled plate-and-mail, since he had been donning and fighting in it for years, but the cold it fostered made him shiver every now and then...

That is what he tried to tell himself anyway, that it was the chill in the air, not the foreboding in his soul. If it were only the chill, the knight would have been happy - elated even.

He shook his head...

The world was slowly sliding into darkness, the balance unraveling. Vinter Loftlan felt it, even if many others did not... or pretended not to. A sinister change was spreading over the land, a change that brought with it a twisting of natural feelings and inclinations.

Vinter knew this to be true. His cousin and friend was not the same man he had once known. The king was a different person now, still a great commander and orator, but ambition was driving him, an unnatural predilection to conquer. The knight had discerned this during his last meeting among the Knight Grand Masters as they met with the king. His Majesty Highland VI had decreed that the all the old brotherhoods were to be subsumed into the Royal Knighthood, led by Knight-General Garland of the Dark Sword. Powerful nobles in their own right, several masters had refused, though more had agreed. The king could not abolish those that refused, but he did declare them contrary and their popularity had waned quickly over the last year.

In consolidating the knights with regular forces, the king had granted himself a powerful standing army, which had aided in the overall drop in influence amongst the brotherhoods that had defied his 'vision'.

Many had seen this as a progressive step forward, but the knight knew better. The royal coffers had also been expanded with increased taxation over the last year, the basis for a raise in military spending. The Royal Knights, trained heavily under Garland like his own personal regiment, and the regular forces both were taught new tactics and maneuvers under grizzled mercenary captains.

Vinter could only see one outcome to all this sudden mobilization...

War was in the offing. The Kingdom of Highland was arming itself in order to wage war upon the Dragon Empire to the north. The two nations had a shaky history at best, but had enjoyed relative peace for several centuries. The knight had read between the lines of these events and rooted out his cousin's ambition. However, His Majesty had made it seem as if all this was simply concern for his realm's security; proclaiming that the Empire was secretly girding itself to invade Highland.

Everyone remembered the tales of the old wars between the two countries. The Empire's dragoons were potent and merciless foes that had battered Highland's knights and regular forces alike. Only the old hero, Dulahan, and his band had driven them back by slaying their leader... though he and most of his friends had died for it.

The king had skillfully reminded the masses of these grisly foes, and the people had been convinced by and large. Fear had garnered their consent, along with their now misplaced trust in their ruler. The knight had seen them thus convinced.

The man suddenly stood, his armor clinking as he did so. He was the Grand Master of the Order of Sacred Dawn, and his plate-and-mail was suitably elaborate, reflecting the great wealth of his house. Enameled white, the armor was banded with gold along its edges, the pauldrons shaped like the head of a bull with golden horns pointing out to the side. An armored gorget covered the man's neck and chin, the symbol of a golden sunburst at its largest upon his breastplate so that none who looked upon him could possibly doubt his affiliation.

The knight took up his white shield where it rested, banded about the edges in plain steel and showing off the golden sunburst upon its face with detail commensurate to the one on his breastplate. He then drew his fine steel broadsword through the slit of his fur-lined cloak, its long hilt wrapped in blue-hide and topped with a sapphire the size of a child's fist. The four-foot blade itself was tempered steel inscribed with old runes upon its length, proclaiming the virtue's of a Knight of the Sacred Dawn: Courage, Dedication, Temperance, Forthrightness, and Strength.

Vinter had given his solemn oath to uphold these virtues, and it was his forthrightness that had brought the current tension between him and his cousin.

Ignoring the chill, which clung to the rocky path with the mist, the he moved forward. There was no wind here, and the sun set earlier in the mountains, so darkness was coming on quickly.

None of it felt right.

According to the Brehan – the people of this land - these mountains had, until recently, always been a source of mineral wealth and jobs for the many mining towns that had once dotted the foothills. The Brehan, however, had spoke of a subtle curse falling over the mountains, and, in time, the mining towns had been abandoned. There was talk of a horrific plague. Many mountain settlements had been abandoned, but not all. Now it seemed no one ventured up here, and the people that had stayed had not been seen since the murky mists had come.

His elaborate armor notwithstanding, the knight wore no helmet; his noble features and rugged countenance born to the world, his emerald eyes sharp. His rich brown hair was graying at the edges, worn long and tied back into a tail. Upon his left cheek was a scar he had gained during the Second Goblin War in his youth, which tugged slightly at his lip. With night coming on and the mist reducing visibility, the knight could not afford a helm and its stifling of his sight. He knew he would need his senses at their keenest as he ascended the trail.

As the knight climbed, he spotted sources of tawny light in the distance. He thought they might be lanterns at first, but was surprised to see that as he went farther up, small plinths of glowing crystal stuck up from the rocky ground. Their light waxed and waned, providing an aura he could only be described as... sickly.

As the sun disappeared, it was these lights that lit the path with enough illumination so that the knight did not have to make use of the torch he had brought with him – a great convenience since he could keep his shield at the ready without tripping over his own feet.

A strange sense of timelessness enfolded the mountain path as the knight continued. The world was reduced to a bare twenty feet all about, the mist thickening and diffusing the light of the crystal plinths until it seemed the whole world glowed with their soft tawny aura.

As he came up, the crystal growths became larger and more frequent, and within some, their light seemed to writhe, which instilled an unnerving sensation. Indeed, it seemed as if the entire atmosphere took on a weight of its own... an aloof sense of disintegration coiling about everything.

The glowing night swallowed sound; the knight's steps and the minimal clinking of his well-fitting armor. As he went up he felt more and more dislocated from everything around him, as if he were cautiously navigating the surreal. Soon, he had to fight against a lulling sensation that made him almost slothful...

This place was filled with the unnatural.

Soon Vinter stopped, as he saw the beginnings of a mining village at the edge of the mists. The crystals continued to sprout between the simple wooden houses and their stone foundations, and the knight saw quickly the shriveled bodies of the dead lying all about. He winced at their sickly pallor, aided-and-abetted by the ghastly light of the crystals.

Yes, a most deadly plague had ravaged this place indeed.

The knight picked his way through the village, very careful of where he put each step. He stopped every now and then to study a body – though not very closely. He quickly moved on, nodding to himself, grateful he had taken his friend's advice before coming here.

He did wear the ensorcelled ring; bound with a helpful spell the mage had gifted him. It would activate with but a single word, convenient since the knight knew as much about magic as his friend knew about blades.

However, it would be used under one circumstance only.

The man crept on, willing his movements to silence. He felt there was something here he should not disturb – that he should turn right now and withdraw. The calling of the vision pulled him on, however, along with duty and curiosity both...

He had to see it with his own eyes.

The knight eventually came to follow a line of rail, dilapidated mining carts lined together in a train before the gaping maw of a mighty cave. The knight went in, skirting one wall. The sickly yellow-brown light continued to illuminate everything, the shards and plinths bigger than ever in the cave. The mist was also thicker here, and the knight fought the urge to cough several times.

Suddenly he turned as a shadow eclipsed the misty backlight and a huge bristly black spider the size of a mastiff stared at him with several pairs of alien eyes – before leaping with fangs bared!

The man reacted instantly. With uncanny timing, he knocked the monster out of mid-air with a shield-bash. The beast struck the ground to writhe about, momentarily stunned. The knight gave it no chance to recover, going up swiftly and thrusting his tempered steel through its thorax. The creature shrieked once, brackish ichor pulsing from its wound. The knight twisted the heavy blade and the monster's legs quickly folded up, signifying its death.

Dour, the knight pulled his sword free and wiped it off as best he could on the carcass. He scanned the cave thoroughly afterward, and then took up his trek again.

Ever peering forward, the knight quickly noticed that the tawny light became stronger farther in, and soon he found that the rock walls of the cave gave way completely to a corridor of crystal, the malignant yellowish light very bright now.

Soon it hurt the eyes, especially when the mist suddenly thinned and the knight entered an enormous cavern, its circumference so broad that it should have disappeared into darkness.

In the center of the prodigious cavern was a vast pillar of brackish crystal that pulsed in time with the man's heartbeat. Gaping, the knight walked up, utterly dwarfed by it. It arose from the cavern floor below, reaching up to the ceiling high above. The walls, the ceiling; every facet of the cavern was made of this sickly crystal...

And it beat in time with his pulse.

Vinter dropped his sword and shield, falling to his knees. Tears sprang into his eyes, as he looked upon the desecrated artifact, spoken of in so many legends, though the one in legend was noble, proud, the very pinnacle of life. This thing was misshapen, destitute, dying; a malignant growth that was spreading slowly to displace the natural rock of the mountain. How long until it reached the bulk of the Brehan settlements below?

Suddenly, as if liquid, one of the crystal's many facets seemed to bubble out, and then lengthen. It sounded like molten metal boiling as it grew - a new malignant limb reaching, most desperately, for the one that had come to it as bidden.

The knight did not move back, knowing instinctively that the crystal had something to impart, something utterly indispensable to the world beyond it's caves. He merely knelt there in solemn reverence and waited as the sickly limb made its way to hover before him.

Then there was a sudden flare of radiant power, which flowed down the limb granting it a coruscating effect that banished the sickly glow as it came through. This light traveled down the length of the limb until something small fell out of the limb's edge, directly into the knight's uplifted hands. He brought it down to look...

It was a small orb of what seemed glass; clear, unblemished, and fitting perfectly in the palm of one hand.

Afterward, the extended limb quickly solidified to the point where it broke off, crashing to the ground. It struck and shattered into a hundred shards. The mighty crystal's pulse slowed, no longer in syncopation with the knight's own.

Vinter could sense its weariness... its weakness. He felt words flit through his head, a desperate woman's plea: ...You must... find the one chosen light... or all is lost...

The knight cupped the sacred orb reverently in his gauntleted hands and nodded silently. Without a word, he placed the orb into a secure pouch strapped to his neck, tucking it as best he could beneath his breastplate. He then turned, heading back the way he had come...

He knew the Crystal of Earth had nothing more to say.

Vinter regained his composure when he left the crystal chamber behind, moving forward resolutely. He knew his mission with utter clarity now, coming up to the maw of the mine that led out to the village. The mists had dispersed somewhat, broadening the knight's field of vision, and he stopped just outside the cave by the mining carts and nodded. Every plague-ravaged body he had noticed coming in was gone.

It had happened, just as the oracle said it would, and Vinter raised his sword before him, until his eyes peered just passed the cross-guard. "Enwreathe," he intoned.

The plain iron ring on his finger evaporated as a blazing orange snake of fire spiraled up to enveloped the blade of his sword. He did not feel its heat, but he knew his foes most assuredly would.

His sword now a torch that burned the mist away, the knight went forward slowly, readying himself when the first knot of undead appeared. They came up awkwardly, shambling and moaning. It was a pitiful chorus: those beyond the grave crying out for the one thing that could satiate their tortured un-lives; the flesh of the living.

The knight gave a salute to the poor souls, knowing it was his duty to release them from their cursed existence. He then charged in among them.

The gangly creatures tried to grasp at him, but Vinter blunted such attempts easily. Much stronger than they looked, the corpses were still no match for his fiery blade. He slashed one across the chest and it was quickly consumed in flame, falling apart in seconds. A reverse slash saw another headless, both pieces igniting with the magic flame consuming their diseased flesh greedily.

Of course, there were no cries of pain from the fire, only the lingering need for flesh and their pitiful moans. The knight ignored their sullen bellows, hardening himself with years of training and discipline, and he fought through the droves that came at him in their broken gaits.

Keeping his back to a wall, Vinter let them come on, striking out when they ambled close, setting those ablaze. They were slow and attacked awkwardly, and the man trimmed their numbers until it was safe enough to burn a corridor through the remaining throng.

The last zombie died with when the knight thrust his blazing sword through the creature's exposed entrails. All that was left afterward were the remains of burnt bones, the smell of char heavy in the air.

Vinter moved off nearly clear of the village, when he suddenly felt a strong backward tug that ripped apart the clasping brooch; his cloak suddenly pulled away. The knight turned to find a taller, gaunter creature, cadaverous with pale distended flesh, dropping his cloak to the ground. Its skull-like face was angular, its rheumy eyes actually focused, quite unlike the previous undead.

The man saw it clearly as it crouched, grinning its skull-grin at him, its eyes widening maliciously...

Shortly after, the blazing enchantment upon the knight's sword sputtered and died. All that was left was the tawny light of the crystals. The clammy mists crept in again.

There was no roar or shriek to announce the attack, but the monster did pounce. It leapt out of the mist, bringing one bony fist to slam against the Vinter's sun-emblazoned shield before disappearing back into the brume.

The man had slid back two feet from the force of the blow. He knew the device on his shield was cracked, though the armor itself still held. He quickly took a defensive stance, and moved slowly away to put his back to a large outcrop of crystal.

Nothing happened as his eyes darted about. Silence was the world.

He suddenly heard a scratching sound and immediately looked up...

The monster peered down at him, crouched upon the top of the crystal plinth before leaping down to launch a straight-armed punch at the knight. The man caught it with his shield, but the creature did not cease, pummeling the shield until it cracked, its steel face splitting. It quickly fell in two halves to the ground.

With this the creature grinned wickedly again and went left - immediately lost in the writhing brume.

The knight moved back down the mountain trail, keeping his back to the sheer wall along the right of the path, moving from pool of light to pool of light. He took up his sword two-handed, for there was no reason not to, and inched slowly down the rocky trail. He stumbled a bit in the poor visibility, but his eyes never lowered from their vigil.

The creature attacked him in the damp grayness between pools of light, clutching at him now. Nearly face-to-face, Vinter could smell the monster's rancid breath, its powerful long-fingered hands pinning his arms to his sides... and squeezing. He could feel the pressure through his armor, but the plate was holding.

The man snarled in defiance, even though the eerily human eyes of the creature unnerved him, set in that unholy skull-face. He weathered through the smell of rotting meat that pervaded the creature and forced a challenge into his gaze.

The monster responded by inching closer, opening its distended jaw and allowing a mottled tongue to writhe out. Gray-green, the thing dripped a viscous black ichor.

The knight waited until he was certain the creature was ready to feed, and then smiled.

"Ignite," he said, and the creature's eyes widened. Suddenly, it let go of his arms and Vinter swept his blazing blade up, taking both the creature's arms off at the elbows.

Black ichor flowed from the severed limbs, and the undead did shriek now, backing away. The knight kept on, however: "My friend knows well the power of fire, monster. Rest in Heaven's Embrace!" He charged up and brought his blade down in a heavy slash, chopping the ghoul from shoulder to navel. Its undead flesh burst into flame as it was split in twain and it was rapidly consumed, bones and all.

Only a little sore, Vinter turned and moved down the mountain path more quickly after. He had kept the bronze ring in reserve just in case, and had waited to use it when the ghoul had displayed the knack for toying with him. Intelligent, the creature would not have come at him if he held a blazing sword. He had had to lure it in, since it was cunning and much faster than a man in full-plate. The ruse had worked and the knight had survived the encounter.

But the true test had not yet begun; a trial that would not be his. He had gathered his orb, as the others of the Pact had hopefully gathered theirs. He had to meet with them as soon as possible and then the true search could begin; the search for the ones of prophecy.

The knight felt such urgency that he stopped being cautious, moving through the night as fast as visibility and his armor would allow. The airship was in the valley below, and he could see the fuzzy lights of its distant lanterns as he came below the line of the mountain's concealing mists. His blazing sword allowed him enough light to see by when the crystal growths tapered off, and he was winding down the final stretch through the foothills when its light sputtered and died.

The man coughed a bit in the cold night, now reaching about to sheathe his sword. He had lost little, merely a cloak and shield, but he had gained the salvation of all life. He felt it tucked beneath his breastplate.

Coughing again, Vinter rushed up to the vessel amidships. With a flat keel so it could land on earth, the wind-spinner was indeed much smaller than a normal merchantman, but it had served his purpose.

The knight stopped, looking up at a young sentry, a boy that was trying to warm himself under a plain brown cloak. "Shipman, I am ready to depart. Rouse the captain."

The boy said nothing, knuckling his forehead and heading astern toward the cabin.

A broad man in a slightly better cut navy cloak came out; his head bald, though he sported thick black mutton-chop sideburns afore the ears and had eyes like chips of flint. "Eh, Sir Knight, you finished your quest?"

Vinter shook his head. "No, good captain, I have yet to finish it. I will grant you and your crew double the charter rate if you can get me back to the White City in a week's time."

He saw the captain's beady eyes widen appreciatively at that. Sometimes greed was good for something. "Aye, Lord Knight, I'll make it happen as certain sure." He then turned and began bellowing orders as the crew began to come up from the forecastle.

The cabin boy rolled down the rope ladder and knight began to climb it. Once on deck, he felt exhausted and leaned on the side rail, until the crew's activities forced him back toward the cabin. Vinter was no engineer so he wasn't sure how an airship accomplished lift, though he had seen the twin props situated where the rudder of a sailing ship was, which he knew provided thrust. Once the vessel was powered up, the crew worked on extending the broad wings from the side of the vessel. Growing out from amidships, the devices were built of retractable wooden frames covered in sturdy canvas, which helped the vessel to glide and maneuver but were not the main components of lift.

The vessel quickly arose thirty feet in the air and turned forty-five degrees, its prow pointing north. It started forward slowly, heading low over the valley, but rising up ever higher until it was near cruising altitude.

The knight coughed into his fist, before he looked out over the dark starlit world. The airship's operation was pure cacophony; noise divided between the working engines and the shouts of the crew. It didn't matter, however, the man felt peace up here amongst the ebon serenity.

He just prayed he could make it back in time to convince his cousin to delay the war for at least another two years. That was now his first priority. The Pact needed time to search, and Vinter needed time for his son...

The boy would come of age in two years time.