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“I feel sadness coming from you.” The voice said as Marche clambered over some rubble, “Are you feeling regret, coming back here with such a purpose?”
Marche stayed quiet and hopped down from the rubble and started walking along the road again. His bruises were starting to throb with pain, more and more every so many steps and it was starting to slow him down.
“Maybe it isn’t regret at all, but rather sadness at the realization that there is no answer here.”
“The answer is here,” Marche muttered. “It has to be. I’ll find it and return Ivalice to my friends and make things better.”
“And what about you? You’ll be stuck here with them, lost away from your home.”
“It’s the price I’ll pay.” A wind picked up and blew through Marche’s hair. He stopped walking and let it blow over him and carefully rubbed at his bruise. It was hurting a lot more now; almost to the point where Marche would have to stop and bandage it.
“Who are you, Mr. Mystery Voice?” He asked, looking around.
“I am . . . I am simply a observer.”
Marche rolled his eyes, “Please don’t be cryptic. Just tell me who you are. Tell me your name, at least.”
“Hmm . . . my name is Ajora.”
“Ajora?” Marche wrinkled his nose, “That’s a weird name.”
“It is simply a name to me.” The voice said in a flat tone, “its only purpose is identification.”
Marche smiled slightly. “Nice to meet you.”“Likewise, I suppose.”
Marche took a deep breath and started walking again, swallowing hard at the aches from his side.
***
Ritz woke up with something tickling her eyelids. She opened her eyes slowly and saw strands of red fluttering across them. She sat up quickly and ran a gloved hand through her hair, pushing all of her bangs down to see that her hair was no longer the snow-white it was just moments ago, but rather the cherry-red from her past.
“You look good, Ritz.”
She bit her lip and turned to see Mewt, sitting against a stone wall across from her. His hair and demeanor was unchanged, but he was in a green suit of plated armor with brown gloves and a red-sheathed sword at his side.
“So do you . . . ?” she said, biting her lip.
Mewt laughed. “Yeah, I don’t know why I’m in this getup.”
“Maybe we should start moving a look for answers.”
Both Ritz and Mewt looked at Doned to the right of them, feebly trying to get his balance on his two legs, hands pressed against a nearby broken pillar for support.
“Do you need help?” Mewt asked, standing up, looking around. They were in what looked like ruins, some kind of old castle or stone village, rubble strewn around over grass and dirt, with the occasional stone walk.
“No,” Doned said bluntly. “I can do this. It’s just . . . been awhile, is all.”
“More visitors? My, my . . . busy today.”
The voice came from everywhere all at once and was airy, thin, like it was whispering and not knowing it.
“What?” Ritz asked, confused.
The voice went on. “Well, come on. I think I may be of some help to you.”
The wall behind Mewt crumbled, sending dust into the air. Mewt spun around and took a cautious step backwards. He looked through the dust as it thinned and saw a stone walk then went on for what looked like forever. He bit his lip and turned to look at Ritz and Doned, both of which shrugged in confusion.
“Well . . .” he said, “let’s go.”
“You want me to help?” Ritz asked Doned again as she walked past him. He shook his head and started walking alongside her, wobbly, but he was walking.
Ritz rolled her eyes and started after Mewt, down the road.
***
Marche growled as he looked up at his newest obstacle: an old broken wall stretching up roughly twenty feet. It was collapsed enough so he could scale it, but was tall enough to be a pain in his side . . . literally. He shook his head in aggravation and took hold of the first loose brick he saw. He was about to pull himself up when he heard (and felt) another crash and shaking from behind him. He turned to see a Judge, similar to the one before, with the shiny steel armor and smoke where skin should be exposed. It raised its axe high into the air and kept its iron, expressionless face pointed right at Marche.
The axe came down and Marche dodged. The blade collided with the wall and shook it violently, knocking out bricks and dust. Marche dashed around the judge and while he had the chance, he withdrew his sword, letting go of his wound. He took a deep breath and scowled. He really didn’t have it in him to fight anymore, he wasn’t even sure why he was fighting . . . he just took it in stride with what he had to do.
The Judge started to turn and Marche growled, running forward to drag his sword across the back of it’s knees, causing him to stagger forward. Marche took his new chance and drove his sword into the back Judge’s already wounded left knee. The Judge fell to his knee and Marche ran around to the front of it and hopped up its body to deliver the coup de grace to the neck, like before. The armor went limp and collapsed, the smoke vanishing and the armor falling apart in fifty pieces.
Breathing heavy, Marche sheathed his sword and held his side again. He turned to go back to climb the wall, but a thrill of fear and aggravation ran down his spine when another crash was heard behind him, followed by two more, subsequent ground-shakes with them. He turned around and saw three Judges, each one slowly encroaching on him.
“I won’t let you stop me,” he said, unsure if he could keep his word.
***
The road stopped suddenly at a brick wall, just ending. Ritz scratched her head in confusion and turned to look at Mewt and Doned, who she had walked ahead of. Doned was walking fine now and Mewt was sweating, probably because of the armor he was in.
“Now what?” Doned asked, looking at the wall that stretched endlessly in both directions.
“I don’t know.”
“Ah, you made it.” The voice said, but this time it was deeper, clearer, coming from close by. The three friends turned their heads to see a rift start to appear in the air from the wall Ritz was close to. She gasped and backed off, putting her hand on her sword.
“Now, now,” the voice said, “I’m not here to fight.”
A body stepped out of the rift; the owner of the voice they’d been following. It was an elderly man, dressed in an ankle long cloak, white in color with two black stripes going down from each shoulder. He had silver hair and wrinkled skin, both of which brought out his ice-grey eyes that were shining like diamonds.
“Ritz Malbeur.” He said, smiling at her, “Welcome back.”
***
Marche dove to the ground to avoid the trio of axes that all crashed to the ground behind him. He flipped to his feet and took out his sword, letting go of his now-burning bruise to take a fighting stance. He ran towards the group and nimbly wove left and right, avoiding the slew of axes, fists and kicks, to leap up and bound off the iron chest of the closest Judge. He propelled himself and his sword into the throat of the Judge in his path. The judge went silent and fell. Marche landed neatly on his feet but fell to his knees, his bruise from before throbbing worse then ever now.
Can’t stop.
He rose to his feet and turned around, sword at the ready. The left of the two remaining judges started into a run, dashing at Marche while his partner backed off. The Judge’s speed became much more then Marche was expecting, and he barely avoid the polished blade of the axe by a half-inch as it wisped by, going straight into the ground. He took a deep breath and swung high, aiming for the chest. His sword clanged off of the iron and rattled Marche, but also stunned the Judge long enough for him to hop up onto the handle of the axe that was in the ground. He was in the air and was about to deliver the killer blow when the Judge swung out his left fist into Marche’s stomach, recovering from the chest-blow sooner then Marche expected. The Judge’s fist sunk deep, cracking Marche’s armor and launching waves of pain that coursed through his body. He soared backwards and crashed, hard into the wall. He fell forward onto his face, the taste of blood oozing in his mouth.
Can’t fail.
Moving slowly, Marche got back to his feet.
***
“Who are you?” Mewt asked, keeping his hands at his side and his senses alert.
The man looked from Ritz over to Mewt. “Mewt Randell. Hello.”
“Who are you?” Mewt asked again, his voice hinting anger. “What is your name?”
“Ajora.” The man said, “That’s the second time I’ve been asked that today.”
“Who asked you first?” Doned said, speaking up. Ajora turned to look at him and a look of concern came onto his face.
“Doned Radiuju,” he said. “You . . . you came here because you care for your brother.”
“Huh?”
Ajora shook his head, “Your brother is here. He’s fighting his demons.”
“What do you mean?” Doned asked with worry in his voice.
“Take a look.” Ajora turned to face the wall and waved his hand in front of him. A split appeared in the bricks and the wall rippled, like water, and then vanished, revealing Marche in combat.
“Marche!” Doned ran forward towards his brother, fending off what looked like Judges. He stumbled and tripped as he approached where the wall used to be and fell forward, smacking head-long into something.
“What . . . ?” he asked as he got back to his feet. He held out a hand and felt the invisible barrier in front of him.
Ajora spoke up, “Your brother came here with the intent of finding something. He is determined to do it alone . . . and thus, you won’t be able to get near him.”
“What do you mean?” Ritz asked.
Ajora turned from watching Marche to look at Ritz. He sighed and closed his eyes.
“This world, this Ivalice, is a world built with the wills of its users. You came here with the intent of finding Marche and this is what the world gave you. You, Ritz, imagined this is what you’d look like in Ivalice . . .” He reached out and, much to Ritz’s dismay, ran a few fingers through her hair. “So this is how it made you look. Mewt no longer longs for a mother and was ready to fight, so here he is . . . and Doned…your dreams of walking seem to always be in your mind, so-”
“Enough,” Doned said. “We get it. How can we help Marche?”
“He’s blocking all help off. His feelings are keeping everyone away . . . unless he accepts help, accepts forgiveness, you can’t help him.”
Doned slammed a fist into the invisible wall, yelling.
“Damn you, Marche!” he screamed. “We just want to help you!”
Marche rolled out of the way of the judge and brought his sword up to efficiently lop off a arm, black smoke protruding from the armor.
“Why are judges attacking him?” Mewt asked.
“Marche is looking for a answer,” Ajora said. “But he’s also trying to cope with the guilt he feels. Those judges are a physical representation of his guilt.”
“Guilt? What guilt?”
Ajora frowned. “He thinks he destroyed your paradise. He blames himself for taking away everything you loved here in Ivalice.”
Ritz, Mewt and Doned all looked down at their feet, understanding now why Marche was acting so strange back in real Ivalice.
“Stupid Marche.” Doned muttered.
***
The armless Judge was moving faster then ever now, swinging his axe with speed that Marche could just barely keep up with. It zipped through the air again and again, each time getting closer to it’s target. Marche jumped backwards and bounded off the wall, to push himself forward. The axe came up from the ground while Marche was in the air, and Marche swung his sword, clashing with the axe and sending back towards the ground. The force also knocked the sword out of Marche’s hand, sending it flying to stick it the wall. Thinking quickly, Marche shot out a fist and slammed it into the side of the Judge’s head. He felt his fingers compress and pain shoot through his arm. It had no effect on the metal giant and Marche fell down to the ground, quickly scurrying away to avoid the next axe attack.
Sword.
He turned and ran to get his weapon, but moved too slowly and felt a slash of pain go down his back, cutting down from his left shoulder bone. He cried out and kept moving. He got to the wall and grabbed the hilt and began to pull at it. It came free with a few tugs and when he turned around the judge was right behind him. It dropped the axe and threw out a fist to catch Marche on the left cheek, pushing him to the ground and effectively shattering his jaw.
Can’t die . . .
Marche pulled himself to his feet and readied his sword.
***
“NO!” Doned yelled and hit the wall over and over again, scratching and bruising his knuckles.
“If he dies here . . .” Ajora said, “he will die in your real world.”
Ritz looked confused as she pressed her hands up against the wall. “Why?”
Ajora closed his eyes, “The Gran Grimoire ties itself to the users soul and mind. Die here, and it will effectively crush your mind. You don’t live through that.”
“What’s the Gran Grimoire?”
“You don’t know?” Ajora asked, puzzled
Ritz shook her head.
“It’s the book.” Mewt said, “It has to be.”
Ajora nodded, “That’s right.” He sighed, a long sad sigh, “The Gran Grimoire is a gateway that was made by the old inhabitants of real Ivalice . . . your Ivalice. Back when I was a living, breathing person, many copies of these books were made to try and hold that time forever by making a Ivalice that could shift to it’s user’s whim.”
“Nothing but a feeble attempt to be remembered,” Ritz said.
Ajora shrugged, “I suppose that’s what everything humans do is.”
Marche slammed into the wall, his back bloody and battered. The judge in front of him was now joined by another one and they both were throwing iron punches at him. Marche was able to avoid most of the punches by wearily dodging, but a few were still hitting home.
Doned screamed again, yelling in aguish as he kept pounding the wall. Tears were coming from his eyes and his cheeks were getting red with anger.
“We have to help him!” Ritz said, “Marche!” she yelled his name as loud as she could, “Marche! We came to help you! You need our help!”
***
Marche tried to open his mouth to yell but he couldn’t. His body was too tired to go on. The Judge’s were relentless in their attack, hitting him again and again.
Then, he heard a voice. It was soft and small, but he heard it.
It was his brother, crying. Crying for him.
Sorry, Doned. I didn’t find your paradise . . .
In his mind he saw a flash of Ritz and her white hair, smiling beautifully at him. He saw Mewt with his hands in his pockets, smiling at him slightly.
And he saw his brother in his wheelchair, shaking his head playfully.
I’m sorry I came here . . . Marche thought. It IS regret . . .
Another punch came and broke Marche’s shoulder, followed by another one smashing into his leg.
His vision was going black and before he passed out he thought one last thought, one last desperate plea.
Help me . . . someone . . .
The wall behind him suddenly disappeared and he fell backwards, going into a dreamless sleep.
When the wall vanished, Doned was the first to run and try to pull Marche away from his attackers. Ritz drew her sword and with fury she dove at the two judges. Mewt followed her lead, and despite never having fought before, took out his sword and joined the fray.
“Marche! Marche . . . !” Doned cradled his brother in his arms, “Come on Marche! Don’t die!”
Ritz skidded along the ground to avoid axe and then thrust upwards with her rapier, right into right beneath the helmet. She flicked her wrist and flipped the helmet off, revealing a shadowy orb of a head beneath it.
The hell? She thought and flipped the sword in her hand to hold it backwards. The Judge punched at her again and she dodged and reared her arm back. With one more stare at the shadow, she javelined her sword as hard as she could. She took a step back and watched it zip straight and true through the shadow head of the judge. The shadow blew away, like ashes from a fire. It went dead, collapsing, and Ritz went to get her sword, looking over at Mewt stumbling over himself avoiding the second Judge.
Can’t get hit, Mewt thought, knowing that his pain threshold was very low. One wrong attack and he would be out for the count. The Judge was fast though and Mewt had no choice but to dodge . . . there was no chance for attack.
“Mewt, keep it’s attention!” he heard Ritz yell. He couldn’t look over to see her; the judge was forthcoming still. Mewt dodged left and right, avoiding the fists as well he could. The judge then stopped cold and fell forward, Ritz riding it down with her sword planted in its back.
“Thanks.” Mewt said. Ritz chuckled.
“No problem.” She said, and put her sword back in its thin sheath. As soon as it clicked into place she noticed Doned on his knees cradling Marche in his arms. She gave Mewt a glance, then walked quickly to them.
“Marche! Wake up and talk to me! Wake up and tell me what’s wrong!” Doned was hunched over Marche and sobbing fully.
“How bad is it?” Ritz asked, not sure who to expect an answer from.
Ajora responded. “He is in extreme pain. His body is battered and beaten . . . he is not long for this world.”
“No . . .” Mewt said. “If he dies here, he’s gone everywhere, right?”
Ajora nodded. “That’s the sad truth.”
“Doned.”
Everyone looked down at Marche, who was speaking weakly. He strained and lifted his arm to reach his hand up to his brother’s cheek.
“I never did find my answer . . . find . . . your paradise . . .”
“Idiot!” Doned yelled through tears, “I was happy with you in the real world! I had friends and you! It was perfect!”
Marche’s hand dropped and he closed his eyes to fall into a sleep, his breathing shallow.
“There has to be something we can do…” Mewt said and then turned to Ajora, “Can you heal him?”
“No.”
Ritz stomped her foot. “Who are you, old man? You show up and act like we’re all old friends of yours and prattle on with cryptic speeches about the old Ivalice . . .who are you?”
Ajora sighed and turned to look out across the land of debris.
“I am the arbiter here. I am Ajora of Gran Grimoire Virgo.”
“Virgo? The zodiac sign?” Mewt said.
“Let me explain,” Ajora said. “Ten thousand years ago, your Ivalice was much like this Ivalice: swords, magic and gods. But there were wars, a great many of them. During one of the last and longest ones, the higher-ups in the world governments decided that Ivalice, as they knew it, wouldn’t exist much longer. So they used ancient relics, the Zodiac Stones, to create twelve books, twelve Gran Grimoire, to encase the nature of Ivalice in them. Whoever read the words on the books would be drawn inside, to a world like Ivalice, but shaped to the user . . .”
Ajora waved his hand out, showcasing the landscape.
“When you came here before, each of you had a dream while reading the words: Ritz wanted adventure and red hair, Mewt wanted a mother and a respectable father, and Doned wanted friendship and to be able to walk. Marche . . . Marche wanted to stay in his world, so the Grimoire gave him the binding crystals as a escape.”
“You still haven’t said who you are,” Ritz said.
“Back in old Ivalice . . .” Ajora smiled a little, but it quickly shifted back to a frown. “I was a noble who took the name of a defunct savior, that’s all. I was put inside this Grimoire to keep watch and control . . . I can read everyone’s past who enters here and I try to help them build their world.”
He shook his head. “But enough is enough. No more talking of the past. I might have a way to help Marche.”
Ritz clenched her fists, “How?”
“I can put you into his psyche directly but melding you with the world temporarily. Once in there, you can try and help him with his problems and . . . and you need to get him to accept his problems and get over his guilt.”
“I get it,” Doned said, through whimpers. “Once he accepts that he didn’t hurt us and clear his mind, then we can take him home-”
“Leaving this body here and returning to his real one, right?” Mewt asked.
Ajora nodded, “But . . .”
“But what?”
Another sigh escaped Ajora’s lips. “Doing that will cause the extinction of both this Grimoire and me. I will perish during the process.”
“You’d be willing to sacrifice that much for Marche?” Doned asked.
“I’ve been here for ten millennium. Trapped in a world that has always been shaped by its user.” He smiled. “It will feel good to do something that gives me self satisfaction and . . . and will free me from here.”
“So all we have to do is knock some sense into Marche?” Ritz asked.
“Yes.”
Mewt punched his palm. “Then let’s go!” He looked at Ritz and Doned, who both nodded.
“Once I meld you and the world, you will only have until his body here dies. And judging by his condition . . . he doesn’t have long left. Are you still will-"
“Don’t ask us if we have doubts.” Doned said, “It’s Marche, our friend . . . my brother! If we don’t succeed, then we might as well die.”
“I agree,” said Ritz, and Mewt nodded.
“All right,” Ajora said and lifted his hands. “God speed, then.”
The ground and sky and everywhere around them blinked away instantly to blackness and Marche’s body started glowing, brighter and brighter until all that could be seen of him was a grey silhouette.
Mewt turned to look at Ajora and the last he saw of him was the old man smiling as the light enveloped everything and sent them to sleep.
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