Just an intro, but I added the beginning of the story. A Hope centred story, written in a similar style to a Final Fantasy.
I suppose it was. Those who dwelled in Cocoon now resided on Gran Pulse, salvaging what they could from their new home. Now there were cities to rival the ancient Gran Pulsian civilizations, lead by Governor Bartholomew Estheim.
Now Cocoon was suspended by two l'Cie in crystal sleep. Both came from the village of Oerba, as I remembered. And they had saved many lives in their journey so long ago. The citizens of Gran Pulse hadn't died; they'd started hiding. And now they could come out from beneath the ground, beneath the rocks and dirt, and walk in the light again. Now many would awake from crystal sleep, to live in supposed harmony with the Cocoon dwellers.
Oh, how I wished it wasn't so. But there was friction between the two factions: those hailing from Gran Pulse, and those hailing from Cocoon. They lived in the same cities, but not all were happy. And some would sooner bring the sky down than release their life long hatred.
Ok, so Dad was now the new Primarch. Well, Governor, we'd left behind the old ways. He took a much more hands-on approach than the old Sanctum. When he could, he'd leave the stuffy offices and walk through the streets, promoting the need for peace we all felt but could never act on.
Almost every day, Cocoon natives and the awoken, unbranded l'Cie and cave dwellers of Pulse would clash. Neither side hade the morale advantage: they just held huge rallies, yelling slurs and attacks on the 'pets' from Cocoon, or the 'savages' from Pulse. Well, Gran Pulse.
"Stop this now!" Dad strode through the crowd, hands held high. The advisers had tried to get him to wear special robes like Dysley had, but he wasn't having that. He stuck with his normal suit, wearing a gold ring as a symbol of his Governorship. The ring had, etched onto it, a stylized representation of Cocoon held eternally aloft by Fang and Vanille.
The crowd yelled, spitting and screeching. I kept my distance, watching from the fringes of the crowd as Dad split the crowd. He made his way on to a raised platform, taking the microphone from the pro-Cocoon leader denouncing the 'savages'.
Dad opened his mouth as if to speak into the microphone. And for that instant, it looked like everything was going to be fine, like it had been all those times before.
But then all hell broke loose.
An explosion roared, ripping the podium up through the ground and sending splinters of wood through the air. I pushed my way past the crowd, watching Dad be flung several metres into the air in the forceful bang. "Dad!" I yelled, voice sounding more like the child I was the four years ago during the l'Cie incident. "Dad!"
"It's the savages, you hear me?!" some idiot in the crowd was already blaming it on Gran Pulse. There was a roar of assent, but by now I didn't care. I was focusing on something else.
"Dad!" my shouts quietened as I reached where he lay, bruised and bleeding on the stone ground. He opened his eyes weakly, peering at me.
"Someone get him to a hospital!" I looked around, frantic, shouting. The crowd looked at me as if I was mad.
"You fools! Listen to him!" a woman ran from behind the wreckage of the stage destroyed by the bomb.
"Your kind ain't welcome here" an indistinct face snarled at the newcomer. "Savage."
It was then I looked at her; she had slightly tanned skin, and spoke with an odd accent, like Vanille. She was from Gran Pulse: not the best person to be in this crowd of Pulse-haters.
"Savage or not" she stayed calm, speaking quickly and quietly into the attacker's face, "I'm not the one about to let an innocent man die. So if you want to go on hating, feel free. But remember, that makes you a murderer. That makes you the savage, not me" she turned, walking towards me and away from the speechless Cocoon activist.
"You sure showed him" I whispered, as she helped me stop Dad bleeding while the people in the crowd huddled up, some calling a hospital presumably.
"Your Dad's been helping us a lot. I guess it's time we returned the favour" she smiled up at me, still bandaging dad's arm with a ripped sleeve.
I paused momentarily, thrown. I looked nothing like Dad: I had silver hair rather than brown. But I guess she would've seen the papers. I wasn't a common photo feature, but it was nice to know I wasn't completely ignored.
"What's your name?" I asked, pausing as I looked at her.
"Oerba Dia Asura, Asura if you want to save time" she gave a small chuckle before exclaiming, "there!" she sat back, watching as Dad's blood slowed its trickle, slowing the growth of the pool on the ground. "I hope he lives…Hope"
"We live in hope" I nodded, smiling at the pun, back.
She was called Oerba Dia?
I shook off the thought, hearing the ambulance arrive to transport Dad to the hospital. I guess I wouldn't be able to talk to Asura again; after all, in a city this big what were the chances of meeting up again?
Believe it or not, this will be continued. The current plan is to give it 13 parts, so stay tuned!