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Looking out from a cliff on Kudik Peaks, Marche could see the all of Ivalice laying out before him like a quilt, patches of grasslands and bustling towns all woven together to make the land. The wind picked up and blew through Marche’s hair, carrying the smells of all of Ivalice on it: fresh-backed Sprohm bread, the leafy smell of the Giza plains, and even the cold odor of death from the Jagds. Marche closed his eyes and took it in, inhaling deeply through his nose, outstretching his arms and leaning forward into the wind.
For a brief moment, he felt like he was in heaven’s embrace.
After a few minutes he opened his eyes again and gasped as he saw the patchwork landscape of Ivalice burning. There was no noise to accompany the bright dancing flames; the whistling wind was the only sound. Marche took a nervous step backwards and felt something wet seeping through his gloves. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were soaked through with blood. His eyes went wide and he spun around to run, but ran headlong into the chest of steel-clad judge. It was off its chocobo and had its sword held down by its side.
In a swift, fluid movement, the judge thrust the sword into Marche’s gut, crimson staining his armor. Marche staggered back, but didn’t feel any pain. He looked down at the sword and opened his mouth to scream, but no noise could be heard. The world stayed mute, even as the judge lifted Marche painlessly up off the ground and spun around to whip him off of the cliff. Marche kept his mouth open as he flew through the air, unable to scream or serve any kind of verbal emotion as he watched the strings of blood follow him down.
He fell for what felt like eternity, just tumbling through the air, not moving, not breathing, not anything. When he landed he felt nothing, but saw the orange flames around him start to engulf him. He started to close his eyes, but looked back up at the cliff and saw the judge standing on its peak. It stuck its sword into the ground and removed its helmet, making Marche’s eyes go wide with panic.
Ritz stood in the judge’s armor, a expression of pure contempt painted on her face.
Marche reached a hand up at her in a feeble attempt to communicate. He opened his mouth and spoke two words that rang out clear, breaking the tense silence.
“Ritz, why?”
Ritz shook her head and mouthed some words before putting the judge’s helmet back on and walking out of Marche’s sight. Marche tried to get up, to go after her, but his body was fixed to the ground, his wounds starting to ache. Suddenly feeling tired he relaxed his muscles and took a breath, the first one in what felt like forever. He fell into a sleep against his will, the heat of the flames around him. He slipped into darkness and heard Ritz’s words come to him.
“You had no right to steal this from me.”
And then Marche lost consciousness completely, drifting into what he felt was a dreamless sleep.
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