[OOC] Breaking Point

[gypsymothdance]

The story of how Jean escaped the Cult and joined the Caravan.


[Note: Opening sequence based on a scene from the game.]

"YOU'RE WRONG!"

It was the first thing Jean could remember saying.

After years of living in a dark haze, there had finally come a moment where the fog broke, a beautiful, clear light had flooded her world. At first she did not fully understand it. It ignited her blood with a burning feeling she could not name. It spurred her to run and she could not grasp the reason why.

But now it was all starting to make sense. Something inside her had woken up and oriented itself, to give her bearings and correct her course, so she could finally pull herself free of the darkness. For the first time in her life, she could feel the beating of her own heart pounding in her chest. This was what it felt like to be alive. No one was going to take it from her again.

But the world was cruel. Only at this moment had she fully broken free of the brainwashing of the cult. And at this moment, she found herself standing with her back to a cliff. On all other sides, she was surrounded. Two cultists to the left. Two to the right. And in front of her stood her master, dressed in a black robe, with a large wooden mask upon his face. All five were inching closer to her.

All she could think to do was scream, releasing the pain and anguish she had silently accepted for years: "You're a liar! You've lied since the beginning! The Shadow Dragon Fist isn't an art of strength! It's an art of death, smeared in the blood of the innocent!"

The voice of her master came from behind his mask, like the rumbling growl of a monster. "Have you already forgotten my teachings, Jean? Strength means nothing unless it is wielded. The Shadow Dragon Fist is not the art of death... it is the art of ultimate strength!"

"Shut up!" Jean screamed back. "Your words are lies, and your heart is black! I won't do your bidding any longer!"

"Why do you run from us, Jean? Wherever you may go, you will take our teachings with you."

Jean froze, fists and teeth still clenched. Despite outwardly showing nothing but her rage, a sick feeling of dread overcame her senses. She did not understand what he meant, but for once, he sounded completely honest.

"Your soul now thirsts for blood, and your body aches to quench it."

The meaning hit her with full force: Her life itself would hold her back from freedom. She could never escape the Cult, because she could never escape herself.

"Come to me, Jean. Come to me and accept your destiny within the Cult of the Shadow Dragon."

She was silent. She knew destiny was something inevitable, something that could not be fought. Resisting would be meaningless, changing it would be impossible. But, despite all reason, her heart was undeterred by the thought. It still urged her to escape.

But where could she escape to now? Her foot started to move, and she stepped back towards the cliff.

The master spotted it. His response was a fast, brief flash of movement. In the blink of an eye, he lunged forward, and struck Jean hard on the side of the head. The girl screamed in pain, and was sent reeling backwards, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. Before she fell off, however, she collapsed onto one knee. Something wet and warm was starting to run down the side of her face, and a familiar smell filled her senses.

The master now stood before her, looking down at her. "Are you angry, Jean? Are you angry enough to strike me? Stand up and use what I have taught you! Allow the anger to infiltrate your soul!"

The pain was blinding. Her head was spinning. But she wasn't ready to give up. Slowly, she rose to her feet. "I..."

She wanted to strike him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted him to suffer everything she had suffered, for the years that he had raised her.

But, more than anything else, she wanted to be free of him. And since he had taught her to kill, the first thing she would teach herself was mercy.

In a low but firm voice, she said, "I won't fight you. I won't use the Shadow Dragon Fist." Jean raised her head to look at him again, defiant. "You don't control me anymore."

There was a long silence as the weight of these words hung in the air. Finally, the master decided on his response.

"Not true, Jean. I control your life..."

He raised a hand.

"... and I summon your death."

For a moment, she saw it. For just a moment, she saw his attack coming. But in that moment, she already knew she was helpless to stop it.

"No-!"

Something black erupted from his hand, and it struck her with such force that she flew over the edge of the cliff.

Jean's shriek pierced the heavens. Below, hell awaited her.

For a long time, her mind was blank.

The girl was not even aware she was still alive. If someone had asked her, and she had been able to answer, she would have said that she was dead.

But then something started to stir her senses. Her consciousness returned to her, and a question formed in her mind.

Strangely, she did not wonder at all if she had survived, or how she had survived, or if she was free, or what she was going to do next.

Instead, she was wondering what was on her nose.

Never before had opening her eyes seemed so painful and difficult, but she forced them open to see what was bothering her now. It took a moment for them to focus on the end of her nose...

It was a bee.

Her first reaction was to crush it. After all, if you did not kill bees, they would sting you. This was common sense. And so, she started to raise her hand-

Pain. A blinding, shooting pain flooded her body. It was worse than anything she had ever felt before. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but her voice failed her and she could not manage a sound. Tears stung at her eyes, falling from her eyes from sheer distress.

She had no choice but to remain where she lay. Her muscles relaxed, and the pain subsided. The bee remained on her nose, undisturbed.

For a moment, she was relieved. If she could still feel pain, she was still alive. It wasn't much hope to hang onto, but it was something.

Her eyes rolled to the right side, trying to see what had caused such a terrible pain. It was out of sight. But she had to see. With all of her willpower, she started to turn her head, even though she could feel small, sharp pains all over her face and neck as she did. It was a slow movement, and so the bee remained, refusing to fly away.

The bracer that had protected her arm was gone; she could faintly recall seeing it fly off after that final strike from her master. And the arm itself...

It was not supposed to bend there.

Not there. Not at that angle. That bend was unnatural. Looking at it made her feel sick, and for a moment her eyes blurred with dizziness, making her struggle to hold onto consciousness. She had broken the bones of others before, but never before had she felt this for herself.

She tried to shift her focus. Her eyes moved away from her own flesh to what was beneath it, and beside it, and all around it: vines. Great curling vines, that supported her like springs. Apparently, she was laying on some sort of bush. She could see a beautiful red color, and guessed that it was a rosebush. But didn't rosebushes have thorns?

This bush, too, had thorns. She realized that she could feel countless sharp thorns piercing into her skin. That was the small, sharp pains that came whenever she moved any muscle at all. She was completely entangled in thorns.

When she tried to get a better look at the red blossoms, she realized that this was not a rosebush. It was merely briars. That beautiful red color was drops of her own blood, splattered on the thorns.

With this, her hope extinguished. Her master had won. She had lost, and the penalty was death, just as he had said it would be. It was just as well. If what he said had been true, what reason did she have to live? If her only choices were to kill or die, then she would humbly accept her defeat.

The last of her strength was used to turn her head back towards the sky. It was a golden sky that shined down through the canyon, with a hint of red starting to creep into it. A strange, serene feeling she had never known before filled her heart, and something she couldn't describe flickered in her mind. Had she ever looked at the sky before? It was beautiful. She wondered what it was like up there, and if those clouds were as soft as they looked...

There was a faint buzz, and she realized that the bee was still on her nose. And for some reason, it had still not decided to sting her. She realized that she did not want to harm it, either. Instead, she felt a strange gratitude to the little companion, who stayed with her in this darkest hour.

With this came the regret was that she had never known this peace sooner. There were so many beautiful things in this world that she could never see before. And once the darkness settled upon her eyes, she would never see them again.

Was that something to fight for?

Well, then, that would be her last battle. Not against her master, who did not deserve the pleasure, but against death itself. She would see how long she could keep her eyes open, fighting the pain and darkness that tried to overtake her senses, just so she could take in the beauty of the world around her for a little longer.

Time passed. She didn't know how long, but she could see it passing as the sky grew darker and darker. It was getting harder to stay conscious. She focused on the feeling of the little bee on her nose. When the bee flew away, she focused on a faint sound, which if she could turn her head to look she would see was the bleating of goats and sheep in a distant field, being herded in for the night.

The sky reached a pitch black, heralding the endless sleep, but still she refused to succumb to it. A full moon came out to shine brightly above the canyon. On its surface, she could see the faint silhouettes of moths and bats and other night creatures flying past. The nighttime choir of crickets filled her ears.

She could feel tears starting to sting at her eyes again. This time, it was not out of pain. It was out of the sincere sadness that she would have to leave such a beautiful world.

But it was getting blurry, and even the bright moonlight was growing dim...

"Wark!"

What was that? Another animal? It sounded close. But if it was on the ground, she could not look at it. Instead, she listened.

And when she did, another sound came to her ears. It was a human voice. A man? Yes, a man, only a few feet away from Jean.

"Come on, Natori! What is it you're fussing about now? What's..." A horrified gasp came from the man, and then his voice raised to shout: "Everyone! Please, come quickly! And bring a medical kit!"

Not a moment later, she could feel the briars around her move, and she emitted the faintest whimper of pain as the thorns shifted in her wounds. Above her, she could see the blue feathers of an enormous bird come into view.

The man spoke again: "Just hang on, little girl! We're going to get you out of there!"

She could feel tears starting to sting at her eyes again. This time, it was not out of pain. This time, it was not out of sadness. It was out of relief, and the unexpected feeling of victory. By refusing to give up, and hanging on to the bitter end, she had defeated death.

And now, for the first time, Jean was going to live..

The rest of the night was nothing but feverish nightmares. But after the night came the morning.

Jean awoke to the feeling of a dry burning in her throat. She tried to sit up, but her sore muscles cried out in protest, and her head swam with dizziness, and so she collapsed back onto the bed.

Her arm was tightly bound, and had been folded across her chest. She could feel bandages wrapped around other parts of her body as well. None of them were comfortable, but she did not dare complain or try to take them off, because they were a far better alternative to the pain she had endured to gain them.

"You're awake, already?" A man turned towards her with a warm smile. It was the same man who had found her the night before. "You should probably keep resting. You need to give yourself a chance to recover."

Sleep sounded good, but her throat was still protesting. In a faint, raspy voice, she mumbled, "W... water... please." Would they give her that, here? She had done nothing to earn it.

But the man nodded. "Of course! Just a moment." He left, and a moment later he returned with a bowl. Rather than letting Jean drink it herself, he raised the rim of the bowl to the weak girl's lips. A stream of clear, cool water hit Jean's throat, relieving her thirst.

"... thank you." These few words didn't fully express her gratitude. But even saying just that took an immense effort.

"Not at all," the man said, setting down the bowl on a table beside the bed. "So, you can talk, can you? What's your name, girl?"

"J... Jean."

"Jean? My! That's a pretty name. Pleased to meet you, Jean. You can call me Giban." He turned away to work on something that Jean couldn't see, but he continued to talk: "You're quite lucky, you know. I don't think you could have survived the night in that condition. If we hadn't found you when we did, you would have been a goner!"

"Lucky... ?" She had never considered herself lucky before. In fact, in the Cult, luck was never discussed much at all, except as something that the weak relied on. Karma and fortune were no substitute for true power. A real warrior never won by accident.

... the Cult. Fear returned to her mind. She couldn't stay here, wherever 'here' was. She had to get up and run, before the Cult found her and killed her. That was the only path to freedom. Again, she tried to sit up, and found pain and exhaustion still hindering her as much as before.

"Hey, now! Stop that!" Giban chided Jean with an amused smile on his face. "You'll never heal unless you rest."

Jean looked at him with a fearful expression. "But I... but I must run..."

He laughed. "Run? You can't run in this condition! If you tried to stand up, you would just fall over!" He shook his head. "To be honest, I'm impressed you're even awake now. You've got a strong spirit."

Strong? That was a funny thing to say. After losing to her master, and being so helpless that she couldn't raise her hand against a bee, she felt very weak. But then she had beaten death after, hadn't she? Maybe she still had strength after all.

"But you really do need to rest, Jean." His smile turned a little sad with concern. "Even the strongest of us need to take the time to heal. Don't worry, all right? We'll take care of you."

"We?" It occurred to Jean that not only did she not know where she was, but she did not know who had saved her. "... who... ?"

He sighed, and his smile dropped completely, replaced with concern. "If you must know, we're gypsies. My caravan found you. ... I know the stories you may have heard about us. But I swear to you, we only want to help you."

Jean didn't understand. "... what's a gypsy?"

"Oh? You don't know?" He relaxed, since that made it easier for him. "We are people who travel the world freely, working together with nature, unbound by anyone's law. People usually think we're bad, nothing but thieves and cheats, but... actually, our troupe wants nothing more than to spread happiness, peace and love wherever we go."

Freedom. Unbound by law. Nature. Peace. A warm feeling started to rise up in Jean's heart. If she could be free of the Cult anywhere, then surely, it was here.

The gypsy man continued, smiling warmly. "I don't know how comfortable you are with us, but please do not worry. We aren't planning on kidnapping you. Once you're feeling better, we can take you home."

Jean shook her head, slowly. "No... you can't. I don't have a home."

"You don't?" He looked concerned. "You poor thing, what happened to you?"

Jean couldn't bear to answer that. Instead, she smiled weakly but sincerely, and asked, "Could I... maybe... stay with you?"

Giban paused, taking this in, and then responded with a tender smile. "Of course! You're free to join the caravan. We would be glad to have you as a part of our family, Jean."

Her smiled brightened. "Thank you... thank you!"

He reached forward, putting a hand on Jean's head affectionately. "Now, please, will you get some rest? You don't even have the strength to stand yet. Let your body heal!"

She accepted with a weak nod. And this time, she gratefully succumbed to sleep.

A few days later, Jean found the strength to stand. Her legs were still weak, enough that she practically tripping over her feet, and her arm was still bound tightly in order to heal. Most of the little cuts from the thorns had healed over quickly, but a few of the bandages had to remain on, including the one on her head.

The other gypsies questioned where she had come from, and what could have caused her fall. A few jokingly suggested that she was an angel who had fallen from heaven. However, while Jean opened up to the gypsies about other things, she did not mention a word about her past to any of them. They showed her a love and kindness she had never known, and she feared if they knew the person she had once been, they would never accept her as one of their own.

More than that, she was determined to forget who she had been, as if she had indeed appeared out of nowhere like an angel falling from the sky. The truth would be left behind, and maybe, she hoped, it would one day disappear entirely.

For now, she was a daughter of the gypsies. That was all she had to be.

The weeks passed, and Jean's strength returned to her. Even while her arm was still healing, her legs now supported her with their full strength. Some of the other gypsies noticed how quickly and nimbly the girl could move on her feet, and so they began to teach her the first steps of the art of dancing. This was the first thing she found to be truly fun. For once, no one was ordering her movements, and she was encouraged to jump and twirl freely. She picked it up quickly, and it soon became her favorite thing in the world to do.

They also taught her many other things, and were astonished at how little she knew. After a childhood of being raised as a mindless killer, everything was new to her. And so, as they waited for her arm to heal, they began to teach her. They taught her the basics of how to read, and to write, and to count, and to cook, and to sew, and how to use tools to repair the wagons. They taught her about the world around her, and little secrets about the animals and flowers they saw on their journies. They taught her the first of their special gypsy tricks, including how she could survive in any town even if she had no money, and how to read palms and cards, and a special hypnotism called gypsy magic that could bend the minds of others to her will. And at night, they taught her stories and legends, and they taught her folk songs that they had learned from all over the land. She learned everything they taught her with a youthful curiosity, and along the way she learned how to smile.

A month passed, and then came the day that the fracture in Jean's arm had healed and she was ready to use the limb again. The tight bandage was removed, and she found she could once again stretch and flex the muscles without any pain. The arm was as strong and quick as it had been before the break. And with the arm free, it felt as though her entire body had been freed with it. She wanted to run and leap with joy.

More than anything else, she had the desire to test her arm out again, putting its strength and speed to use just to make sure it was working at full power. On the other hand, she had no interest in fighting with it, as she had primarily done for years before.

But the other gypsies in the carnival had given her an idea. She had seen one man doing juggling tricks, and another practicing knife-throwing, and even the clowns who practiced by hurling pies at one another. With her strong arms, she was confident that she could learn to do the same sorts of throwing tricks.

Before she could try that, though, she had chores to do as part of the troupe. And first among those was to tend to the Chocobos. The birds were the faithful companions of the gypsies who pulled the wagons, and sometimes would even be used in the carnival shows. One stood out among the others: Natori, a chocobo with bright blue feather. Jean had bonded quickly with the bird as well as the other gypsy chocobos, and until she could learn to perform, one of her main jobs in the caravan was helping to raise them. And so, she had been given the task of feeding them gysahl greens every morning.

When she approached Natori, the desire to use her newly freed arm became overwhelming. She had seen this Chocobo running across the fields, and she knew how quickly and freely it moved. And part of her had envied it for the long month she had been in the troupe.

Now that her arm was free, she wondered if she could move like it did. And there was only one way to find out. The answer would be found in the open fields around them, the land in which the gypsy troupe had stopped the night before.

When the animal wrangler of the troupe wasn't looking, Jean unfastened the reins on Natori. The bird was free. For the moment, however, it stood in place, staring curiously at Jean. Then reared back, stretching his neck and feathers, before settling down and chirping a cheerful, "Kweh!" at Jean.

The girl grinned, and then, she started to run away from it, sprinting into the open fields.

She could never remember running this fast. Indeed, the Cult had trained her to run fast, and so sprinting at a fast pace was nothing new to her. But while speed was important, so was stealth, and thus her movements had to be both quick and restrained. Now, with no one controlling her, she could put her whole body into this wild dash at top speed, moving so quickly that the landscape blurred and her long green ponytail whipped in the wind behind her.

Meanwhile, the chocobos hadn't gotten the message. Natori was still standing back at the caravan. And so, she twirled around mid-step, running backwards, and held the gysahl greens high above her head. She called back, "Well? What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

Natori stared back, then sprinted after her to catch its breakfast. Jean jumped in mid-step to twirl around again and charge forward, giving the bird a target to chase.

The chocobo was not the only ones that Jean had caught the attention of. The entire gypsy troupe had overheard, and they all turned to watch the little girl trying to outrun Natori. They all started shouting at each other out of surprise and amazement.

"Is she insane?! What does she think she's doing?!"

"Would you look at that? I've never seen any child run like that! How in the world..."

"Did you see her spin around?! She didn't slow down or lose her balance at all!"

"She's incredible! So quick and graceful! Where did she learn to move like that?"

"What is she?! That speed... that's not human! Giban, are you sure this is not some sort of imp or devil-child you've picked up?!"

"No, she's human, all right. Look at that smile on her face, and tell me she's a devil!"

Jean had started to turn, to make a wide circle around the caravan, and they could all see the smile on her face. It was sweet and bright, a perfect expression of innocent joy. And, for the first time since she had joined the caravan, they saw a beautiful change in that expression. In fact, for the first time that she could remember, a wonderful feeling was bubbling up in Jean's chest. It was something she had done when she was an infant, perhaps, but it was something she had forgotten long ago...

She had learned how to laugh. It was nothing more than a soft, musical giggle, but it was the first time the girl had laughed in years.

The chocobo, too, seemed to be enjoying the chase, and it "Wark!"ed and "Kweh!"ed behind her cheerfully. Still, while Jean was doing a good job keeping ahead, the fact remained that she was just a human girl and this was a chocobo, and the distance between them was quickly closing. Natori would be upon her in only a few more moments, and it would snatch the gysahl greens from her hand.

"All right!" she said, pulling her arm back. She stopped suddenly, and with a tremendous force, she hurled the vegetables forward. They went soaring far out in front of her. She cried, "Go get it, girl!"

And so, Natori went into a mad sprint to catch the greens, but the throw was even faster than it could run.

More to be added later.