Lehee Rock Ver.
FFXIV - [Artist] - ! Frioniel !
Original Soundtrack by Masayoshi Soken
Square Enix Co, [[I own NO rights to this video or music]]
... pls enjoi ! ! !
FFII Labyrinth of Nightmares, Part 2: Hunters of Transient Dreams, Chapter 4
A flickering green face was the only light in the suffocating darkness. A wound, inflicted by a sword, was prominent upon its forehead. The wound seemed to laugh at Firion before inhaling him and spitting him out into a different dimension.
Firion didn't have nightmares; he had been orphaned at such a young age that he had no memory of his father or his mother. His waking moments were too full of terrors for him to indulge in fear, and he had no time to bring them with him into his dreams. For example, if he was surprised by a monster in the forest he did not shrink away from the great beast. Instead he would follow it and try to gauge his fear of the creature.
He was accustomed to doing things on his own. He had no one to rely on and solve his problems for him, or break through his obstacles, or coddle him in his sleep. Fear had always been something that Firion had rejected before it could gain a foothold in his unconsciousness and therefore manifest itself as a nightmare.
But now, surrounded by a gloomy darkness and confronted with a green face with its gaping, laughing wound, Firion couldn't repress his fear. He had exhausted his strength trying to banish this nightmare from his mind. The face remained, the wound changing its expression from moment to moment. First it would giggle then morph into mocking laughter, looking down on Firion the entire time.
"Count Borghen!" Firion spat the name of his hated nemesis like a curse. "Borghen! Count Borghen!"
The laughing wound tore itself apart, spewing a miasma that filled the gloomy dark with a poisonous green. Firion choked on it as his brain slowly stopped functioning. A voice filtered through, encouraging his soul even if he didn't know where the voice was coming from.
Spirits of Heaven, Spirits of Earth
Touch upon this soul of the deceased
And return it to its rightful body
Do not err and do not linger
There is no time to lose
This is no farewell, Spirits of Heaven and Earth
At first, Firion thought the voice was reciting a requiem for his lost life. But as light flooded his vision, he realized it was a supplication of grace to free him from the terror of his first nightmare.
"Has he come to?"
There was an old mage looking at him. Like all the mages from Mysidia, he gazed at Firion with a limitless kindness in his eyes.
"Who are you?" Firion asked the old man.
"My name is Minwu."
It was not the old man who introduced himself as Minwu. Behind him another man, presumably Minwu, nodded in the direction behind him and stepped back silently. A beautiful woman with cold eyes stepped forward to look over Firion.
"Minwu is the last surviving Mysidian mage," she said. "I have only been to your village once. During the evening of the Beltane festival."
Firion sat up halfway, realizing that he was in the basement of what had to be a royal palace. "How did you know I'm Mysidian? Where is Maria? Where is Guy?" He stood up in front of the woman. "Where are my friends?"
"Don't worry. They're alive and waiting for you to recover."
Firion felt relief wash over him, and then quickly felt out of sorts under this woman's perusal. Her whole body emitted an elegant perfume, and as her eyes raked over his body, noting his dismay, he found he wasn't uncomfortable by her gaze. Rather, he took solace in the intimidation her obvious nobility granted her. For the first time in his life, Firion felt submissive toward someone of the opposite gender.
"This is the country of Deist," she informed him. "Well. Rather, I suppose it's more accurate to say this is where the country of Deist used to be."
Firion, going with his gut, calmly ventured, "Are you, my lady, perhaps Her Royal Highness Princess Hilda of Fynn?"
The woman smiled, her noble heritage shining through before correcting herself toward something more resolute. "That is who I used to be."
