I do not own Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles. These are not meant to be long chapters, merely glimpses at a caravan. A chronicle, if you will.
The First Lesson
I'm sure the world was as beautiful once as it is now, long before miasma and monsters and terrified people crouching within the crystal's shadow. I'm sure the sky was blue and the grass was green and even the Yukes had smiles on their faces. I'm sure there was something worth living for in that world.
I was a caravanner. You look at me now as if I have gone senile, but know that I am far from it. In my glory days I could swing a weapon just as well as anyone, and oh, those were the days.
You wouldn't understand that now. Miasma is only a myth to you, monsters rare and exciting beings that only appear once every few seasons or so. You've never experienced a time when the world was a frightening place, where grandmothers were slain by goblins and children suffocated in their sleep because there was no myrrh for the crystal that year. Don't look at me as if I've suggested something awful. Yes it was horrible, but that was the way it was. At the time, we didn't know you could change it, though there were countless who tried. Countless.
They were the greats, the ones who tried. De Nam the brave, Amidatty the Eccentric, the Black Knight. I knew them before the titles. Yes, even Queen Fiona, when she was still only a princess. One day I will take you to meet her, and then you can ask if your old gran really was one of those fabled caravanners.
Go ahead and roll your eyes. You've finally joined the realm of the teenage years, of course you know everything. After all, what I know of the world has only come from battle after battle, desperate save after desperate save, and year after year of endless searching and constant wandering. I have seen all that is despicable and evil and horrible in this world, and I have seen all that is good and pure and wonderful. I have lived a thousand lifetimes, I have died a thousand deaths, I have followed a thousand caravans, yet none will follow me. Go ahead and roll your eyes.
In the end, child, you're going to realize something. In the end, I am nothing and no one. I am everything and everyone. I am anyone who has lifted a blade to do battle and anyone who has lived in peace all their lives. I am someone you have known all your life and someone you have passed but once on the long road home. You see, in the end it doesn't matter who you are.
You know my story, though you may not realize it. It has been told a thousand times around the campfire, beside the hearth, before the battle. It is used for both warning and inspiration. It is the story of the lessons that take a lifetime to learn.
The things I know you would do well to learn also.
You don't have to be a hero to change the world. You just have to be willing to fight for something.
That was the first lesson I learned, one gifted to me by my own comrades. For they were heroes, in their own way. They will not be remembered in songs or tales, in legends or myths. They were ordinary, and in time I will be the only one who remembers them.
But you will remember me, and so we live on.