[FFML] [fic][Dark Cloud] DARK CORONA: Days -1 through 5

[The Eternal Lost Lurker]

(The formatting is going to look a little screwed up. Probably more screwed
up even than before I posted it, after Outlook and my mail server get
through with it. For that, I apologize. There's only so much I can expect
out of this software. -_-)

(C&C welcome and appreciated.)

(And no, I haven't abandoned FitW or Moonshadow.)

----------------------------------------------

  I look out the window and face the morning sun as it rises over the cliffs
surrounding my village.

  The modern world's influence is slowly creeping through the town. The
elders speak of times when there were but a half-dozen rough stone huts with
slate roofs and two or three sturdier dwellings in this small valley. I see
no evidence of that today, in the face of the fine brick and plank edifices
that shine in the light of day. On the hill at the south end of town, where
the mayor once lived, now stands the combination school and mission, an
imposing white stone monument built by travelling merchants from the coast.
The massive clock atop the mission tolls the hour; services will begin soon.

  As the day brightens, the sunlight catches on the items I have spent the
night contemplating. Passed down through three generations of my family,
they once belonged to my great-grandfather...whose name I have begun to
curse on a daily basis, for the burden which has been handed down to me from
my mother.

  The cursed sword, its demonic hilt snarling, its dark, flanged
silver-and-black blade drinking in the light like a parched man at an oasis.

  The innocent-looking blue stone, its highly polished surface glistening in
the morning sun.

  I want to bury them both in the depths of the cave on the edge of town. I
want to forget I ever saw them. I want to escape the burden that has been
passed on through generations.

  I want to, but I can't. Not only would my parents never allow it, but I
know what would happen if I did. I'm fully aware of the dangers both the
sword and the stone pose--and why they must remain within the family.

  Why I must be cursed with them both.

  Sighing, I strap the armlet bearing the Atlamillia back onto my wrist, and
slide the cursed sword into the harness on my back. I then stand, dust
myself off, and prepare to face the day.

  For today, I am to leave the confines of Norune for the first time, and
continue the work of my parents, and theirs before them.

  You'd think we'd be done rebuilding the world by now...



                     --Brandt's Journal

                        Morning, Day One

----------------------------------------------

DARK CORONA


A Studio ELL Production

Based on Dark Cloud and Dark Chronicle

(Dark Cloud and Dark Chronicle are trademarked property of Sony Computer
Entertainment and Level-5, Inc. Used without permission.)



----------------------------------------------

[Day -1, Night]

The smell of roasted meat and vegetables filled the small, comfortable house
as the sky outside deepened to the inky velvet of early nightfall.

A sigh from the sole occupant of the supper table wafted the steam from the
serving dishes. The teenager rested his chin morosely on his folded arms,
gazing at the steaming joint of roast beef on the table as though expecting
to find some deep, profound answer to the mysteries of life in its dripping
juices.

A platter of sliced bread clanked onto the table, and an irritated grunt
broke the silence. "It's for eating, Brandt, not for staring at."

Brandt looked up at his mother, stormy grey eyes dull with the brand of
listless angst that teenagers have mastered since time immemorable. "We're
not eating until Pa comes in from work, so I'll stare at it until then,
thanks."

The door chose that moment to open. Brandt's mother smirked. The teenager
rolled his eyes and sat up straight, brushing a lock of reddish-brown hair
out of his face.

"Hey everybody! Mmm, dinner smells great, hon. Heeeey Brandt! How's the
birthday boy?"

"Fine, Pa," Brandt mumbled into his water glass as he took a long sip.

A moment later, Brandt's parents had both seated themselves, and his mother
began serving the meal. Brandt toyed idly with a boiled potato, pushing it
around in the thin gravy on his plate.

After consuming several mouthfuls of beef and vegetables, Brandt's father
cleared his throat. "So...son. Tomorrow's the big day."

Brandt looked up. "Oh. Right. The 'big day'." He sighed, continuing to toy
with his food.

"Brandt..." His mother frowned at him. "You're going to be sixteen tomorrow;
do you really want me to have to tell you not to play with your food?"

Brandt glanced up at his mother. "Do you really think I have much of an
appetite? Did YOU? The night before your parents sent you off on that
foolish qu--"

He paused. His mother was glaring at him, and his father had stopped eating.
He sighed, ducking his head. "Sorry."

"Brandt." His mother stood and walked over to him, then crouched beside him
and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I know how you feel. You're
right...it's not an easy thing. But it's important. It's the single most
important thing you will ever do with your life. It would've been the single
most important thing I ever did with *mine*, if you hadn't come along." She
smiled. "But for the six years I spent out there, unsealing the Atla,
rebuilding towns and forests and..." She trailed off. "Believe me when I say
it's a wonderful experience."

"And we know you'll do a great job," his father put in. "It took me a while
to get used to the whole idea. The Atlamillia, the sword...it was a lot to
take in." He sipped his water. "But you've got the blood of a great
hero--no, a whole family of great heroes in you, son. I'd take the burden
off your hands and do it myself, but...I don't share in your destiny."

"Don't say that," his mother chided, returning to her seat. "You DO share in
his destiny. You're his father. He wouldn't *have* a destiny without you."

Brandt smiled fondly at his parents. "Yeah, I know...I know all of this.
And...I know how important it is. And really, I'm..." He paused, finally
taking a bite of his dinner, realising that he was, in fact, quite hungry.

"I understand perfectly, dear," his mother said. "I was right where you are
once, and I know exactly how it feels. Heck, it was harder on me. I'm not a
man, and the idea of women warriors is still pretty far-fetched to most
people in the world."

Brandt blinked. "I never even thought about that. Mom..."

She smiled at him. "Eat up, and try to get some rest tonight. Tomorrow IS a
big day, for all of us."

Brandt nodded, and dug into his meal with gusto.

After all, it'd be the last time he truly got to eat his mother's home
cooking for a long, long time...

------------------------------------

[Sixteen Years Ago]

The infant, wrapped in a midnight blue blanket, wailed at the top of his
tiny lungs as the midwife handed him to his mother. She looked down at the
red, cranky face and smiled, sweat and tears mingling on her face.

"Hello, my little one..."

Arrak placed his hand tenderly upon his wife's, gazing at their newborn son
with pride and wonder. "My lord, he's beautiful. Just like his mother."

The new mother sniffled, reaching up to squeeze Arrak's hand briefly before
returning it to securely hold the infant, who had ceased his loud cries and
was now making simple gurgling noises of irritation. "He's as cranky as you
are," she said, giggling.

Arrak snorted. "So...any idea what to call him?"

The young woman's grey eyes drank in the wrinkled, red appearance of the
newborn in her arms, and she nodded. "There's a word in the Lunic language I
learned from Osmond, when I was still travelling. It's part of the legend of
my grandfather...it's an old Lunic word for brightness." She paused, then
adjusted the infant in her arms, wiping a damp hand across his face.
"Brandt."

The newly christened child's eyes, half-closed with the sleepy fatigue of
birth, fixated upon the shining blue gemstone on his mother's left wrist as
he drifted off into the first slumber of his life...

------------------------------------

[Day -1, Late Night]

Brandt lay on the ground beside his family's meager vegetable garden, arms
folded behind his head, gazing up into the starry night sky. High above, the
twin moons shone brightly, the yellow moon obscuring the softer, dimmer glow
of the smaller blue moon as it had since before the time of man.

He heard soft footsteps beside him, and the shuffling of cloth as someone
sat down. "Shouldn't you be asleep, O Mighty Hero?" a light, lilting
feminine voice asked.

Brandt cast an eye to his left lazily. "Shouldn't you, Kara?"

Kara, Brandt's neighbor since childhood, shrugged, the soft cream-coloured
shawl she wore shifting on her shoulders. "Can't. Been thinking about
tomorrow, and how..." She paused. "How much I'm gonna miss you."

He snorted. "Miss making me look stupid, you mean."

"You do just fine by that on your own," Kara retorted. "No...seriously,
Brandt. I'll miss you. I..." She swallowed. "I don't know if you'll ever be
able to come back to Norune, but--"

"Of course I will," Brandt said. "Great-Grandpa Toan came back, Grandpa Seda
came back, Mom came back...it's what we do. We go out, we save a little bit
of the world, we come back, we have a kid, we start the whole thing all over
again."

Kara swallowed. "But...your mother wasn't born in Norune. And Master Seda
didn't come back until your mother was fourteen. And--"

"And it doesn't matter, because I'll come home. Trust me."

Kara sighed. "Alright. I trust you, Brandt. Just...don't forget me out
there, okay? I mean, I know you could meet all kinds of people, and--and
maybe even fall in lo--" She stood up, brushing herself off. "Just don't
forget about the people who care about you back here, alright?"

Brandt grinned lazily up at her. "Don't worry. I'll get out there and get
homesick and pine away for you, and then I'll fight through armies of
monsters to come home, and you'll be married to that oaf Claudio with a half
dozen butterball kids running around..."

"Don't even joke like that!" Kara huffed indignantly. "Claudio?
He's...he's...and he smells like cheese!"

Brandt laughed, and after a moment, Kara joined in. Brandt stood and placed
a hand on Kara's shoulder. "Don't worry, Kara. I'll always remember the
people I care about. No matter what happens."

They stood silently for a long moment, then silently parted, returning to
their own homes and their own beds, to await morning.

------------------------------------

[Day 0, Morning]

The villagers gathered in the town square, chatting excitedly amongst
themselves, as the sun rose high above the cliffs surrounding and sheltering
the Norune valley. Festive decorations adorned the homes, shops, and trees,
as well as the wooden railing around the raised stone platform at the
foundation of Dran's Windmill. The Windmill itself was, of course,
unadorned; even the most holy of celebrations in Norune would not be cause
to desecrate the most sacred landmark of the village.

A second, more ornate platform, festooned in coloured streamers and
balloons, had been erected at the base of the mission steps. A tent of
finest silk occupied the rear half section of this platform, its flap closed
to conceal the activity within from the crowd.

The great bronze bell of the mission tolled ten times. The crowd fell into
an expectant hush.

The mayor of Norune emerged from the tent, followed by the Shaman of Dran,
the highest spiritual leader in the valley, and the priest from the mission,
a less recognised figure than the Shaman, but still highly respected; the
introduction of the coastal religion to Norune had been shaky, but with the
combined efforts of the great hero Toan and his trusted and wise comrade,
Ruby, the villagers had agreed to allow a standing mission in Norune, and
the traditional and modern faiths had learned to respect one another and
share a common flock.

Which, especially on this day, was very important, as both spiritual leaders
were required to bless the journey which was about to be undertaken.

The mayor stepped forward to address his people. "Our forefathers spoke of a
time when this simple village was razed to the ground by a great evil, as
was the rest of the world. Little survived the devastation, and it was very
nearly the end of mankind.

"But a Hero stepped forth from the ruins of Norune. Guided by the gods
themselves, aided by mighty warriors from as far away as the Moon, the Hero,
Toan, a simple village boy, bore the sacred Atlamillia and took upon himself
the burden of reshaping the very earth itself, one village at a time, and
defeating the great evil which had wrought such devastation.

"This was, alas, not the end of the Hero's burden. The Spirit Elder, the
mighty god who made it possible to restore the world, expended so much of
his power in aiding the Hero that he was no longer capable of unsealing the
Atla he himself created. Now, the only power in the world which remained
that could unseal the Atla was the Atlamillia. Thus it was that the Hero's
quest continued for many long years.

"Though the Hero had done deeds great and numerous, he despaired of ever
completing the task set before him, and grew weary of a life of questing
without end. The Spirit Elder took pity on the man who had sacrificed so
much for such selflessness. With his last remaining power, he created new
Atla, sealing away those few poor, lone souls in the far corners of the
world who had not been touched by his desperate magic at the time of the
End.

"The Atla would remain as they were, undisturbed by time or touch, until one
bearing the Atlamillia unsealed them. With the whole of the world not yet
rebuilt by the Hero locked safely away, unfettered by age or decay, it
became possible for the Hero to finally rest from his long journey. He
returned to Norune, wed his childhood friend, and not long after, the two
brought into the world a son.

"At this time, the Elder appeared once more unto Toan. He decreed that,
though Toan's work was finished, the work of his descendants had yet to
begin. The gods had placed the trust and care of the Atlamillia, and of the
world itself, into the hands of Toan and his descendants.

"Sixteen years passed. At the time of his coming of age, the son of the
Hero, Seda, took up the Atlamillia and his father's sword, and set out into
the world to continue the noble and sacred quest. In time, Master Seda
returned to the village, as did his father before him, and he brought with
him a daughter, a spirited and fiery girl named Marcia. Two years later,
Marcia reached her sixteenth birthday, and set forth on the holy quest of
her father and grandfather before her.

"Six years later, Marcia returned to Norune a mother. Her son by the hunter
Arrak of Matataki, Brandt, today celebrates his sixteenth birthday. For this
reason have we gathered. Today, we celebrate not only the birth of a kind,
friendly, intelligent young man who has brought joy to the lives of all who
dwell here, we celebrate the advent of the Fourth Hero of the Atlamillia.
Today, Brandt, descendant of Toan, will take up the Atlamillia and the sword
of his ancestors and venture forth into the world, bearing the epic burden
of those who bore the Sacred Stone before him. Today, in the sight of the
Godbeast Dran and the God of Light, we bless the continuation of the
grandest adventure the world has ever known."

The crowd cheered wildly. With a short bow, the mayor stepped back, allowing
the spiritual leaders to step forward and lead the villagers in prayer.

------------------------------------

"These rituals are ridiculous," Brandt muttered as he adjusted his belt,
checking the large leather pouch tied there.

"It is a bit silly, but it's important," Marcia chided, smiling.

"Mom...YOU didn't go through all this crap, did you? Seriously?"

Marcia paused. "Well...okay, I'll admit that the whole fasting and
purification thing is something the Shaman came up with at pretty much the
last minute. Oh, honey...it's all symbolic, you know? The whole Hero legend
has been built up so much, and become such a religious icon here in the
village--"

"I know, I know. Every few years we invent some new rite, blessing,
talisman, icon, or ceremony about it," Brandt said, groaning. "But really,
it just seems...unnecessary. I could just take the stupid rock and the
stupid sword, hop a merchant's wagon, and...what?"

Marcia fixed a hard, piercing gaze on her son. "Do NOT call the Atlamillia a
'stupid rock', Brandt. It is the single most powerful and holy artefact in
all existence. And you'd do well to show a little respect for the sword,
too. It's a dangerous sword, and ONLY the bearer of the Atlamillia can even
TOUCH it."

Brandt frowned. "It's cursed, right? Isn't it kind of stupid to take a
cursed sword on a *HOLY* quest?"

Marcia pursed her lips...then laughed softly. "Actually? I asked your
grandfather that very question, when I was a little girl. His answer was..."
She paused, tilting her head back. "I think he said that using the power of
evil to accomplish great good strikes a cosmic balance. I know, it sounds
like rubbish to me too, but..." She shrugged. "You'll need the power of the
sword on your quest, Brandt. It's dangerous out there, and that sword is the
only thing that'll keep you *alive*."

Brandt cast a dubious glance at the bundle which lay atop a barrel beside
his mother. "Well...I guess you'd know more about it than I would. I mean,
you've gone through this whole thing already..."

Marcia smiled. "That's right. So hurry up and finish getting ready--it's
almost time."

------------------------------------

Marcia and the Shaman stood across from Arrak and the Priest of Light as the
mayor addressed the crowd. "And now, it is time for the Rite of
Inheritance."

The tent opened behind him, and the crowd cheered as Brandt strode forward,
his gait smooth and his head held high despite the unease and tension on his
face. A light breeze picked at his untamed red-brown hair, blowing stray
locks across his face; the wind also stirred the silver-threaded hem of the
high-collared coal black longcoat he had chosen to complete his travelling
ensemble: dark grey breeches, suede boots, an indigo tunic with silver
fastenings, and supple black leather gloves. A braided leather belt, from
which hung a large equipment pouch and a smaller money pouch, rested around
his waist.

Brandt scanned the crowd, his grey eyes gleaming like polished steel in the
bright morning sun. He smiled slightly as he picked out Kara, then focused
his attention on the words the priests were speaking.

"By the grace of the Spirit Elder, the Godbeast, and the God of Light, let
this brave young lad, Brandt, son of Marcia, daughter of Seda, son of Toan,
today take upon himself the mantle of Bearer of the Atlamillia, the
responsibility of Warden of the Cursed Blade, and the duty of Restorer of
the World, as proscribed in times past by the wisdom of the gods. May his
quest be blessed, and may he be returned to us one day, safe in body and
spirit, to continue the legacy of his bloodline."

The crowd cheered in a more subdued manner. Arrak stepped forward, a
cloth-wrapped bundle resting across his arms. Marcia approached him, peeling
back the royal blue oilcloth to reveal to all assembled the two objects
which lay within. She then took the entire burden from her husband, and
presented it to Brandt.

"Take now, my son, the sacred stone that has passed through generations of
our family, the holy relic through which the world will be resurrected. Take
now, Brandt, the Atlamillia."

It lay at the top of the unfolded bundle; a smooth, glossy blue stone, no
greater in width than a teacup, set into a gold disc which had, in turn,
been bound to a broad armband comprised of several interwoven strips of
boiled, black-dyed leather. Brandt hid a smile at this; Kara had spent two
whole weeks weaving the armband especially for him, and it had taken his
mother the better part of a day to reset the Atlamillia into the new
setting. He reached forward, hesitating only for a moment, and grasped the
armband, raising it high into the air for all to see before pushing back the
left sleeve of his coat and strapping it onto his wrist. A blue glow
surrounded his arm briefly, travelling across his entire body before fading
from view with a faintly audible shimmer. The audience made a collective
gasp of appreciation at the minor light show. Brandt examined the stone for
a moment, wonder evident on his face.

This was it. This was real. This was the moment. It was all true, and he
could feel it now. The weight of his destiny had settled onto his shoulders
amid the cerulean aura of the Atlamillia's magic.

He was now the savior of the world.

Marcia coughed lightly to recapture his attention. "And now," she said with
a small, knowing smile, "accept you, my son, the Cursed Blade, the Shadow in
the Light. Accept, safeguard, and resist always the evil power of the sword
of death, and use it only to protect life. Accept now this ancient blade,
Dark Cloud."

With great trepidation, Brandt reached for it. Even sheathed, the sword
radiated menace, its scabbard drawing the daylight into itself like a void.
No part of the sword itself was visible, save for the onyx pommel and the
blood-red grip, the ominous crimson steel seeming to dare him to touch it...

He grasped the hilt of the sword with his left hand and supported the
sheathed blade with his right, lifting it free of the thick oilcloth.

And absolutely nothing happened.

With absolutely no fanfare or ceremony, he attached the scabbard of Dark
Cloud to the harness strapped to his back, where it was quickly obscured
from view as his longcoat settled back into place.

A collective breath was released by the crowd. The entire village knew the
story of the one time Dark Cloud's curse had been unleashed.

The priests still periodically treated the bones of its victims with holy
water, just to be sure.

The mayor stepped forward, smiling. "I give you Brandt, Fourth Hero of the
Atlamillia!"

Festive music filled the air, and a lighthearted mood of celebration arose.
Now that the most important ritual was clear, the rest of the day would be a
party in true Norune fashion.

"Best to enjoy it while you can," Marcia whispered to Brandt. "You've got
three hours, then you have to begin the meditation rites."

Brandt groaned.

------------------------------------

[Day 0, Night]

The party was still raging in the streets, though the sun had long since
set. Brandt sat, alone, in a small room at the very top of Dran's Windmill,
dark save for two small candles and the dim starlight filtering through the
window.

He glanced at the Atlamillia, then at the still-sheathed sword which lay
across his lap.

His mother's warnings from weeks past filled his mind:

"Now Brandt, remember...do not unsheathe Dark Cloud at any point during the
ceremony or festival. You're not to touch the sword until you're sequestered
in the Windmill. It's not an especially good idea to free the sword from its
slumber in the middle of a village full of innocents."

That warning had left him ill at ease. Moreso when, on later reflection, he
had realised that he had never actually SEEN Dark Cloud. He'd asked once or
twice about the sword, and had always been told simply that leaving it alone
until it was needed was for the best.

He glanced down at the jet black scabbard, drew a deep breath, and carefully
unfastened the snaps that held the sword at bay. Nervously, he parted the
leather closure at the throat of the sheath, and slowly, carefully drew the
Dark Cloud.

And very nearly screamed in horror at the demon which beheld him.

"What...what is this...? WHAT THE HELL *IS THIS?!*"

He knew now why his mother admonished against drawing Dark Cloud in public.

The sight of it alone would cause widespread panic.

Above the blood-red grip, the hilt resembled nothing so much as the
slavering maw of a devil. Sharp, jagged ivory fangs formed a grotesque
mouth, the impression made all the worse by the darkly glittering ruby set
dead center in the crossguard, for all the world like the unholy eye of a
hell-spawned fiend.

The blade itself was slender and tapered from the base to the midpoint,
where it widened briefly before narrowing again, flaring into a broad
arrowhead at the tip; the overall shape gave the distinct impression of an
ornate clock hand. The core of the blade was a flat, lustreless silver; the
wickedly sharp edges were blacker than the stormiest night, deeper than the
most impervious shadow. Crimson designs were etched from the midpoint to the
tip of the blade in what, Brandt was almost certain, was blood. From the
tapered section between the midpoint and tip, two black flanges, like
stylised batwings, emerged from the sword, each as cruelly sharp as the main
blade itself.

This, Brandt knew, was a sword which was meant for bloodlust. This sword was
meant to tear life asunder, to drink the very blood of its victims even as
it consumed the soul of its wielder.

He tried to picture his mother wielding such a blatantly evil weapon, and
shuddered.

Laying the naked blade in his lap, he gently removed the Atlamillia from his
wrist and lay it atop the sword. Dark Cloud seemed to recoil painfully from
the touch of the holy stone, but certainly that was simply a trick of his
own imagination...

Sighing, Brandt stared at the two objects which sealed his fate long into
the night, as the sounds of celebration faded into silence in the village
below.

------------------------------------

[Day 1, Morning]

Brandt emerged from the windmill to be greeted by a crowd of well-wishers.
His mother stepped forward and hugged him. "This is so hard," she said
softly, sniffling.

The teen beheld his mother, the woman who had done her best to raise him to
be an upstanding, righteous youth, and had prepared him as best she could
for the arduous task ahead of him.

"You could have warned me about the teeth," he said simply.

Marcia blinked--then made a small 'oh' of understanding. "I wasn't sure
you'd believe me. And if you did, I was afraid you might be too scared
to..." Shaking her head, she laughed softly. "It is a hideous thing, isn't
it?"

"Hideous is too mild a word. I hate this thing already. And I know it hates
me more than I hate it."

His mother nodded. "The sword...it will hate you. Sometimes, you'll feel
like it might try to kill you. But you bear the Atlamillia...and the blood
of the great hero who first mastered the power of the sword. So long as you
remember these two things, Dark Cloud cannot harm you."

Brandt swallowed. "A--alright. I'll try."

Marcia hugged him again. "All your provisions packed?"

The teen nodded. "Bread, water, cheese, antidotes, and one bar of gold for
money."


"Good. A merchant wagon's waiting to take you to the port in Queens." She
reached into her pocket, and handed him a rolled parchment. "A map I got of
the Northern continent from Osmond. I've marked the place the sages think
you should start from."

Brandt unrolled the map briefly, gave it a cursory glance, then rerolled it
and tucked it into his pouch. "Alright. Then...I guess...this is goodbye."

Marcia smiled. "Take care of yourself, my precious boy."

"Mom..." Brandt grumbled, flushing slightly. Then, he smiled slightly. "I
expect to have a little brother or sister I don't know anything about when I
come home."

Marcia turned scarlet. "Oh, you...! Get going already!"

Chuckling, Brandt hugged his mother one last time, then turned toward the
gates leading out of the valley. "Alright...it's time."

------------------------------------

[Day 3, Evening]

Brandt leaned against the railing of the deck, utterly bored. "So this is
the great legendary quest of the Atlamillia," he muttered to nobody in
particular.

A low chuckle from behind him drew his attention. "Part of questing, I've
found, is long stretches of doing nothing while you go from one place to
another."

The teen turned to face the weather-beaten, ruddy-faced captain of the small
ship. "It'd be a lot easier if I could travel like my great-grandfather
did," he said.

"Oh?"

"Grandpa says he had a magic map. Just touch it where you wanted to go, and
there you were."

The sailor laughed. "Hah, that'd be a sight now, wouldn't it? But then
there'd be no need for old salts like me, so I'll stick to trustin' the wind
and my sails, thanks all the same."

Brandt snorted, then returned his gaze to the water. "So, what do you know
about--"

"LAND HO!"

The two men glanced up at the crow's nest. The lookout was facing to the
north, and waved down at the deck. "LAND, DEAD TO PORT!"

"Well, lad," the captain said, lighting a cigarette, "Looks like we're about
there. We'll have you on the barren continent by sunup."

Brandt walked around to stand on the port side of the ship, and watched the
setting sun slowly sink behind the gently rising hills just visible in the
distance.

------------------------------------

[Day 4, Morning]

Gulls cawed softly into the still, humid morning air as the ship lightly
anchored itself in a small cove on the south lip of the continent. The crew
lowered Brandt and the first mate in a rowboat, and within minutes, the
teenage adventurer was standing on the shores of a land that feet had not
trod in almost eighty years.

"Well," the mate said, "Here you are. Good journey to you. Careful out
there." Without waiting for a response, he reversed course, rowing back to
the ship. Brandt stood and watched for a while as the ship set sail again,
then turned to face northward, inland, as the sun rose fully over the hills.
A thin, chill mist wafted over him, and he drew his longcoat more tightly
about him as he began to hike.

------------------------------------

[Day 4, Afternoon]

Brandt frowned thoughtfully, idly tapping the fingers of his left hand
against his right arm as he stood, arms folded, in the center of a valley
with sparse yellow grass, a smattering of large rocks, a few narrow trees,
and many sloping, rolling hills.

His trek north from the cove had led to this peaceful, quiet place, but the
more he examined his surroundings, the more a sense of wrongness filled him;
an unnatural stillness that felt like...like...

...like something was missing.

There was a humble river which ran through the center of the valley; once
he'd found the highest vantage point the hills offered and the morning mist
had cleared, he'd just barely been able to make out a lake on the opposite
side. There was also a large, jagged uptrusion of craggy rock not far from
the lake, which looked as though the face of it had been gouged--an
unnatural scar in the rockface, not caused by the elements.

The east end of the valley terminated rather abruptly at the rim of a deep
canyon through which the river ran; from here, Brandt supposed it emptied
into the sea. The opposite side of the canyon consisted of tall, sheer
cliffs dotted with natural cave openings.

The more he'd explored the valley through the course of the day, the more
the disturbing feeling had increased. Idly worrying at the hem of his
longcoat, Brandt picked his way along the bank of the river, hoping to find
a shallow, narrow point at which to cross, or perhaps...

A sudden, sharp contact with an unseen obstacle made Brandt lose his
footing. He narrowly avoided tumbling headlong into the river, instead
planting himself face-first in the earthy bank and taking in a double
mouthful of grass and dirt. As he clambered to his knees and coughed out his
unexpected taste of the deserted continent, his eyes fell upon the cause of
his stumble...and widened.

There was a broken bit of wood poking up from a hole in the ground. The wood
itself looked quite rotten, and the grass had grown up so high around it
that it wasn't visible unless you looked carefully, but the smooth, even
shape of it--and of the hole it had been planted in--left absolutely no
mistake as to what it was...or rather, what it had once been.

"There was a bridge here," he said aloud wonderingly. "There was..."

Scrambling to his feet, Brandt turned and dashed back to the hill he had
viewed the lake from earlier. As he crested it, he turned his gaze upon the
rocky outcropping near the river, and the unnatural gash on the rockface.

No, not a gash...a blast crater. A shallow one, yes, but...he'd seen similar
damage wrought to the cliffs encircling Norune by the mining and expansion
teams. Someone had used explosives to start a cutting project, probably for
a mine shaft.

Unconsciously, Brandt's eyes drifted to the Atlamillia on his wrist. "There
were people here," he said softly to it. "That means...there must be Atla
somewhere nearby. That's how it works, isn't it? That's what Mom always
said..." He frowned. "But...where?"

After a long moment, he began following the river again, in the direction of
the canyon. He wasn't sure why; it was just as likely that the Atla would be
hidden on the other side of the river, or perhaps even farther away. But
hadn't his mother always told him that Atla were never found very far from
the place their contents belonged?

*Besides,* he told himself, *Mom says Atla are usually found in some kind of
dungeon or secluded, bounded area...a canyon is certainly bounded, and I do
see caves over there.*

A half-hour later, the sky was just beginning to tinge faintly orange-red
with the setting sun, and Brandt was picking his way down the rocky, eroded
slopes that led down from the river into the canyon. The river itself
terminated rather sharply in a waterfall; down below, it joined a second,
broader river which flowed out to sea. The gently graded hills, though an
arduous climb, were manageable; however, by the time he reached the canyon
floor, night had fallen, and the teen found his stamina flagging.

A moment's searching bore out a level rock to sit upon; after taking a
moment to catch his breath, he reached into his pouch and broke off a banana
from a bunch he'd purchased in Queens just before setting sail. They'd been
green then; now, three days later, they were nice and ripe, and the soft,
slightly sweet fruit tasted perfect as he slowly ate it. Once he finished,
he removed a flask of water from his pouch and quaffed it in three gulps.
Frowning at the empty bottle, he glanced over at the river, then shrugged,
stood, walked down to the water, and dipped the empty bottle in. He waited a
moment for it to fill most of the way, then pulled it out and recapped it,
drying it off on his coat before replacing it in his pouch.

He examined the area for a long moment before issuing a heavy sigh. "I
really should've packed camping gear," he muttered. He spent several minutes
rearranging himself and his gear, trying to find a comfortable sleeping
position, then stretched out and, gazing wearily up at the twin moons,
drifted off into a light, dreamless doze.

------------------------------------

[Day 5, Morning]

Brandt stretched, groaning as he rubbed at some sore spots where the rocky
ground had been less than kind to him.

He hadn't slept the night through; he'd woken up several times, shifted
around, made sure none of his belongings were missing, then settled back
down for another nap. When he last opened his eyes, it was only to be
greeted by the bright, glittering reflection of the sun's rays off the
flowing waters of the river. At that, he'd picked himself up, gathered and
re-adjusted his gear, and began walking upstream along the bank, idly
scanning his surroundings.

The sun was high in the sky when he saw it: a sloping chasm dead ahead, a
broad gap in the canyon floor as deep as a grown man, jutting perpendicular
to the river and impeding further upstream progress. He knelt by the side of
it, and saw that where it met the river, a collection of heavy, moss-covered
stones had formed a dam. This had been a branching creek at some point,
then; it descended into the hillside, cutting a dark hole whose depths were
unfathomable.

*...a deep, dark hole? Wait a second...*

A half-hour's work had produced enough dry grass and deadwood to light a
small fire and make a serviceable torch. It probably wouldn't last more than
an hour, but it should at least let him see if anything of note was down
that hole.

Drawing a deep breath, and loosening the snaps on his sword's sheath, Brandt
descended into the blackness.

Several meters in, the torchlight glinted off something along the wall.
Raising the torch to examine it, he found an old, somewhat rusted lantern
hanging there. He blinked. "A lantern? What?" Further up, he could just make
out the base of yet another lantern.

With a puzzled frown, he lit the lanterns; the oil was old, but still good,
and a thick, pungent smoke roiled out of the ancient lamps as they bathed
the tunnel in a dim orange glow. He advanced several more meters into the
tunnel, finding more lanterns and lighting them. After what felt like a half
hour of walking, there were no more lanterns; finding a spare torch in a
rusted iron rack on the wall, he stuffed it into his belt, then carefully
picked his way through the gloom.

A rustling overhead alerted his attention. Something small and fast-moving
darted out of the blackness, a flurry of wings beating against his head. He
backed up, nearly dropping his torch as he unsheathed the sword. In a flash,
the ebon blade lashed out toward the source of the sound; a high-pitched
screech of pain rent his ears as the sword parted leathery flesh, and he
stared down at the very dead bat lying at his feet.

"I hate bats," he grumbled. Ever since he was ten, his mother had been
training him to fight in the cave on the edge of Norune, and one of the more
persistent annoyances therein had been the poisonous cave bats. It seemed
he'd have to be extra-vigilant here, as he had a rather limited supply of
antidotes.

Further into the gloom, a glittering of eyes in the dim torchlight set him
on edge. Something was coming...

He darted back as he felt a rush of air across his front. Briefly, he caught
a flash of a mining pick. Instinctively, he parried it with his sword, then
stabbed out, striking whatever had swung at him. A wet, gurgling squeal met
his thrust, and when he drew back his blade, glistening with blood, he
thrust his torch forward to illuminate the dead body of an oversized rat
with its tail tied around a mining pick. He blinked. "Ooooookay..."

Deeper he went, until the passage dead-ended in a round cave. In the center
were three spheres, floating serenly in midair. The spheres were half
copper-red and half greenish-gold, split down the middle by a curving seam.
Though he'd never seen one in person, he knew there was one and only one
thing they could be.

Atla.

Cautiously stepping forward, sheathing his sword and shifting his torch to
his right hand, Brandt touched the nearest Atla with his left hand. The seam
flared with a blinding white light, and he stepped backward as it split
violently open, a brilliant green shower of sparks rising out of its center
and floating forth to surround his arm. As the verdant magic dissipated into
the Atlamillia, he felt a fleeting sensation of...vision?

An image. Fuzzy, indistinct, but...definitely the image of a man.

He frowned at the blue stone on his wrist. "Is this...?"

With a shrug, he moved on to the second Atla, opening it. This time, the
image of a house filled his mind as the contents of the sphere were
absorbed. The third Atla yielded a confusing image of wheels and ropes.

Brandt's torch began to gutter, and he didn't feel particularly inclined to
waste his spare just now, so he turned and began to make his way back to the
entrance.

------------------------------------

[Day 5, Afternoon]

The sun beat down harshly on the valley above the canyon, sparkling on the
clear, tranquil waters of the river. Brandt sat near the riverbank, arms
folded, contemplating the Atlamillia.

"Okay, I opened Atla. I put stuff in you. Now what?"

He tried to remember what his mother had told him:

"Concentrate. Focus. Think about the place you are, and the things taken
from there. Picture yourself putting them back..."

Brandt closed his eyes, and began forming a mental image of the valley.
Unbidden, images of a house, a man, and a set of ropes and wheels--no, a
pulley system--formed in his mind, and he began imagining them by the river.

He opened his eyes...and stared.

"Hey now, who the bleedin' hell're you?"

Brandt stood slowly, blinking. Before him stood a round wooden house, beside
which stood a tall, barrel-chested man with matted black hair and a bushy,
tangled black beard. He was dressed in canvas work pants, thick leather
boots, and a suede jerkin; his arms were crossed and he was glaring
menacingly at the teenager.

"Where th' hell is everybody?" the man rumbled, staring around wildly. "An'
what th' hell happened to th' town?"

Brandt cleared his throat. "Um...long story," he said.

The man peered suspiciously at him. "I ain't never seen you around before,"
he said.

"I'm not from around here. I'm from Norune, on the continent to the south."

"From across th' sea, huh?" the man asked. "Alright...now answer some
questions. Just what th' hell's goin' on around here?"

Brandt swallowed. "Why don't we go inside," he said, gesturing at the house
with a nod of his head. "We can talk there."

"Inside? There?" The man looked offended. "Boy, that's neither my house nor
yours. That's th' fishmonger's house, an' I doubt he an' his wife would take
kindly to uninvited guests--"

"That's not likely to be a problem," Brandt interrupted. "For starters,
neither of them are home, nor are they likely to be for some time. And under
the circumstances, I'm sure they wouldn't object to us resting inside their
house while I try to explain what's going on around here."

The man frowned, but eventually let out a long sigh. "Alright," he said,
"but if they get pissed, it's on your head."

"Whatever you say," Brandt replied. The two of them entered the house.

------------------------------------

Several minutes later, they were seated comfortably; against the large man's
protests, Brandt had helped himself to some of the stored food and water
there, and eventually his own hunger had overriden his manners and
propriety, and he had taken a meal for himself as well.

"So," he rumbled. "Exactly who are you, an' what are you doin' here?"

"My name's Brandt," the teenager replied. "And you are...?"

"Blackstone," the burly man said. "Leon Blackstone. Blacksmith, inventor,
an' chief mining engineer for this here town o' Brinks. Or...what's left of
it. Which ain't much."

Brandt nodded. "I'd expect not. That's why I'm here, actually." He took a
long drink of water. "What's the last thing you remember, before you saw
me?"

Blackstone frowned. "Not much. It was night, I'd just finished settin' up to
blast a side tunnel, an' I decided to call it a day. I was headin' to th'
pub for a pint, an' then th' whole sky lit up with fire, an' things started
explodin', and people started screamin'. Then there was this light, and..."
He paused. "I felt like I was stuck in some kinda bubble for a bit, and then
I woke up out in th' middle o' town in broad daylight, only there weren't no
town."

Brandt nodded. "That's about what I expected. Alright...bear with me. This
is the first time I've actually had to explain this, and the story's always
sounded far-fetched to *me*, and I've known it was true my entire life, so I
know it's gonna sound like total bullshit to you." He took a deep breath...

For the next fifteen minutes, he related the story of the Dark Genie, the
Atlamillia, and his family's legacy as saviors of the world. When at length
he paused for breath, Blackstone gave him a skeptical look. "You're right.
This does sound like bullshit. You're one messed up kid, makin' up a story
like that."

Brandt glowered at him. "I'm not making it up, mister. And I didn't save
your sorry hide from that cave down by the river just to have you tell me
I'm crazy."

"Okay, okay. So you're sayin' I spent near to eighty years locked in a ball
down in me own mine?"

"That's about the size of it."

Blackstone shook his head. "Kid...I'm pushin' forty as it is. I don't know
many people that even *live* to see eighty--"

"Time doesn't pass for people and things sealed in Atla," Brandt replied.
"That's why it was okay for my great-grandpa to go home and have a family.
The job's too big to do in one person's lifetime anyway." He shrugged. "It's
not like anything can happen to the people sealed away. Time, magic,
monsters--nothing affects the Atla or their contents except this." He
gestured at the Atlamillia. "I know how it sounds, and yeah, it kinda sucks
to say 'they can wait until we get around to them', but that's just the way
it works."

Blackstone took a moment to digest this. "Okay...I'm not sayin' I believe
you, but...if it's true that all th' people I know, th' whole town,
everythin' that matters to me--if it's all stuck in magic balls down in th'
mine--then I guess all I can do is help you out however I can. But I need to
see this with my own eyes before I'll believe a word of it."

Brandt grinned. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

------------------------------------

[Day 5, Evening]

With the aid of an oil lantern borrowed from the fishmonger's house, and a
flask of spare lamp oil Blackstone had on hand, the duo returned to the mine
entrance Brandt had explored earlier.

Blackstone stared around in dismay at the dimly-lit tunnel. "What th'
blazin' hell happened t' me mine?"

Brandt shrugged. "Things get this way when monsters move into a place.
Especially if people haven't been in it for a long time."

"But--th' whole flippin' place is changed around! I didn't cut THAT tunnel!
An' there should be--over HERE..."

"When the Dark Genie attacked, he spread a lot of evil magical power
around," Brandt said. "Even with the Genie gone, that power is still in the
world. It creates monsters, and they infest places like this. When enough of
that dark magic seeps into a place, it starts changing around. Sometimes
it'll seem to change completely overnight. I've seen this before, in the
Godbeast's lair back home. The evil magic was purged from his cave, but Dran
himself is able to recreate the effect so those of us stuck with this quest
know what to expect."

The gruff old miner looked at the teenager like he'd grown a second head.
"Boy, you don't make much sense, you know that?"

"I guess not," Brandt agreed, chuckling. Then, suddenly, he tensed up.
"Something's--"

He leapt away suddenly as a white knife passed through the space where his
head had been, clattering off the cave wall and landing on the rock floor
with a dull clack. Blackstone blinked, bending to pick up the object. "This
looks like...a bone?"

"Shit," Brandt hissed, eyes darting around warily. "That means..."

With slow, rattling steps, a skeleton ambled into the circle of faint
lantern light. Tattered strips of faded red and blue cloth clung to its
bleached, chipped bones, and it idly tossed a knife made of bone from hand
to hand. The maniacal grin of the empty-eyed skull, atop which was perched a
frayed blue jester's hat, unnerved the old miner.

"What th' HELL?!"

The skeleton drew back its arm and threw the knife at Brandt. He dropped to
a crouch, and two loud snaps echoed off the walls as he quickly unbound his
sword. In a flash, Dark Cloud was whistling through the air, cleanly
deflecting the knife. Before the skeleton had time to react, Brandt darted
forward, blade held perpendicular to his body. He severed the undead
creature's spine, slashed upward through its sternum, then drew back his
sword and, with a yell, drove an overhead stab straight through its skull.
The skeleton collapsed to the ground, a faint clatter of bone on stone its
only response as it slowly crumbled to dust.

Blackstone stared at the teenager as Brandt took a deep breath, sighed, and
straightened up. "I dunno what scares me more, kid: you, that thing you just
killed, or that sword."

Brandt chuckled. "Oh, we're bound to see a lot worse things than some
walking pile of bones." He opted not to resheathe Dark Cloud, instead
allowing it to dangle loosely at his side as he turned to examine the
surrounding tunnels. "Incidentally, can you fight at all? I'll protect you
while we're down here, of course, but it'd be helpful if you're able to
defend yourself in case we get surrounded or ambushed."

The old miner blinked. "Well, I ain't much for fightin', but..." He
shrugged, crossing his thick, muscular arms. "I reckon seein' as I've been
minin' an' blacksmithin' since I could pick up a hammer, I can probably look
after meself."

The teen nodded. "Yeah, you don't exactly look helpless. We do need to find
you a weapon, though." Suddenly, he smirked. "Ask and fate provides."

"Hm?" Blackstone looked in the direction Brandt was facing, and his eyes
widened. "Okay, what th' hell's THAT?"

"Pick rat," Brandt replied, settling into a combat stance. "I killed one a
little while ago, the first time I came down here."

"Pick rat?"

"Well, it's a great big rat and it's carrying a mining pick. What else would
you call it?"

"I'd call it being drunk off me ass," the miner replied gruffly. Brandt
chortled.

The rat charged, and Brandt easily parried its pick with his sword, then
cleanly split it in two with one slash. As it fell dead, squealing, Brandt
sliced through the knot on its tail, picked up the mining pick, and tossed
it to Blackstone. "Here you go, perfect weapon for a miner."

The older man caught it, nodding. "Thanks."

------------------------------------

"So what IS with th' bleedin' sword, kid?" Blackstone asked as they made
their way down a narrow side tunnel.

"Family heirloom," Brandt said tersely, scanning the darkness for any sign
of bats or other unfriendly creatures. "My great-grandfather used it to
fight the Dark Genie, and it's been in the family ever since. It's cursed,
so we're the only ones who can touch it, because we have the Atlamillia."

"What happens if someone else touches it?" Blackstone asked curiously.

The teen shuddered. "Don't ask. You really don't wanna know."

A skeleton suddenly darted out of a side tunnel. Reacting quickly,
Blackstone drove his pick through its skull, then rammed the head through
its rib cage, shattering it. The undead monster collapsed into a pile of
dust, leaving only a small pouch of coins which had been tied to its pelvis.

"Nice work," Brandt said, nodding approvingly.

"Thanks." Blackstone bent to pick up the money. "Why would a bag o' bones
have money, anyway?"

Brandt shrugged. "Monsters like to pick up shiny things and hoard the--" He
paused, peering down the tunnel over the miner's head.

"What is it?" Blackstone asked.

"Atla," Brandt replied, stepping around and past him. The miner watched as
the boy approached something he had not seen before, as the skeleton had
been blocking his view: a strange orb floating in midair.

As Brandt approahced it, he reached out to touch it with his left hand. The
orb split open, and a shower of green light flowed into the blue stone on
his wrist. "An anvil," he murmured absently.

"What about an anvil?"

"That's what was in the Atla," Brandt replied. "Don't ask how I know, I just
know."

Blackstone shrugged. "I'm startin' t' get t' th' point I'll believe anything
you say, kid." He paused. "An anvil...that's probably mine, from me forge."

Brandt nodded. "Probably. So your house might be close by."

"I hope so. I'm not keen on usin' other peoples' houses without a
by-your-leave."

------------------------------------

For two hours, Brandt and the miner explored the mines, constantly on guard.
They encountered several more skeletons, three more pick rats, and a half
dozen bats. However, they had only found four more Atla, none of which
contained further houses or people. At last, they reached a dead end, where
an explosive charge had been fastened securely to a rockface. Blackstone
studied it, frowning. "The blastin' cap's missin'," he said.

Brandt scratched his chin. "One of those skeletons dropped something weird."
He fished around in his pouch, and pulled out an object, holding it up for
Blackstone to inspect.

"Well I'll be damned." The miner took it from him, examined it for a moment,
then walked over to the rockface. "Stand back," he cautioned.

A minute later, a tremendous explosion collapsed the dead end, revealing a
tunnel that led deeper into the mine.

Brandt and Blackstone looked at one another.

"Now what?" Blackstone asked.

"Now, we go back topside to rest."

The miner frowned. "But...what you said earlier...this'll be gone when we
come back down, won't--"

"This is a Gate," Brandt replied, shaking his head. "Gates don't go away.
We've opened it, so we'll be able to go through it the next time we come
down here." At Blackstone's doubtful expression, the teen shrugged. "Like I
said, these places follow their own rules." He stretched. "Besides, I don't
know about you, but I'm getting a little tired."

The miner sighed. "Yeah, you're right. We'll come back in th' mornin'."

DISCLAIMERS:
"Dark Cloud", "Dark Chronicle", and all related names and trademarks are the
copyrighted property of Sony Computer Entertainment and Level-5. These
properties are used without permission. This work of derivative fiction is
not intended for profit, and is not to be reposted without permission of the
author. This work is absolutely not to be used in any for-profit purpose
whatsoever. Original characters appearing in this work are the intellectual
property of the author. Please do not use them without permission.



Post-Notes:

The last segment of Day 5 will probably be retooled at a later date. It's a
bit rushed, and I'm aware of this.

================================
The Eternal Lost Lurker
www.lurkerdrome.com