Why was it always with this woman? Why was it always about Ul'dah? Something about Roen and that wretched hive always brought out the worst in him. The subject had come up often; often they were clashing about their ideologies, but such things weren't new to him. What was it about her in particular that made him so vehement in his methods? Whenever she tried to instill some idea about justice in him, gone was his usual smirking pirate routine, the mask he had thought he'd solidly affixed to his face. What was it about her that made him so determined to prove his own ideals, as dark as they were?
Nero took a deep breath, searching his memory. The smuggler never enjoyed talking about his past. The very last thing he wanted was pity or sympathy. The things that he suffered were not unique or special or of note; they were things that others were suffering right this very moment. The only difference between him and those unfortunate souls enduring those hardships right now was that he had endured before them. His past should remain exactly where it had always been: behind him.
Yet now it seemed, to make this maddeningly stubborn paladin understand, he would have to agitate the ghosts.
"This is a story about hope, and bright future. This is the story about someone who believed that they could overcome all odds and reach an opportunity for a better life," Nero began, his arms still folded. "This is the story about a young girl, full of that same hope, that same aspiration for a more prosperous life. This young girl lacked in material goods, but she was not lacking in spirit, or strength of heart."
"Every day, she was confident that an opportunity would come where she could grasp a better future. Our young girl was raised by the prostitutes, but she was not unhappy. They were kind to her, and it was among them that she found many other children. She saw that they were unhappy, and full of sadness and pain. Above all else, the only thing our young girl wanted was for them to believe in the same bright future that she did."Â
It was always dangerous for him to be skirting on such memories. He was careful to omit any mention of his involvement, but Nero knew he teetered on the edge; these bitter recollections had a bad habit of setting him off. He kept his voice tight and controlled, his tone somber. Instead of looking at Roen, he looked at the crates behind her, focusing on anything but the woman standing in front of him.
"On some days, she would sweep in front of stores, and occasionally the merchants would see fit to flick a disdainful coin at her. On other days, she would brush boots with a ragged cloth until her hands bled. On good days, the less scrupulous alchemists would test their experimental concoctions on her. The effects were always thoroughly unpleasant, but often they gave enough gil for her to buy food."
"Even with all of this, she never gave up. She never let the city break her. One day, a kind man saw the brightness in her, and that determined luminosity inspired some generosity in him. He gave her many coins--a paltry sum, but to her, he may as well have given her all of the wealth in the world. 'Take that to the other children,' he told her. 'Show them the prosperous future they might achieve, if they but believed in hope as you do.'"
"With boundless joy and happiness she returned to spread her good fortune to all those she cared about. First she race to the prostitutes. Her smile and her beliefs did not waver as she watched the bandits drag them out of the brothel one by one. Her hope did not crack even the slightest as they kicked and screamed, insisting that they had paid their dues. She was not colored by a single inkling of despair as they beat the faces of those who resisted and broke the legs of those who tried to run."
"Undaunted, she ran to the merchants, eager to show them that she could buy some of their wares. Her smile never broke as they threw the street rat out of their stores, as the Brass Blades they had paid to be enforcers snatched some of her gil as they tossed her into an alley. As she ran, they played a common game, testing their marksmanship with rocks. Some of them found their mark, but she did not waver."
"And so, with great joy she found the children, her precious friends, and her hope in their future did not diminish by even a fraction as they stole everything she had, hoping for themselves that they could buy some food for the evening."
"And so she was left in the streets, alone, with naught but bruises and shattered legs and nothing to grasp, nothing to hold but her hope for that better future. She died as she clasped onto that tiny light of opportunity, prosperity, and happiness, and her body was taken to the mass grave behind the city, the one used for the poor and nameless, for the worthless and scorned."
Nero breathed in, keeping his emotions in check. "And as the next sun rose, another child awoke, full of that same hope, ready to face the challenges of a new day."
How many years had it been? No...it didn't matter. That was not the point. The entire reason he had dug up that recollection was because within him lay the desire to shove the city's cruelty at Roen's face. To yell and shout at her, to berate her. You believe that you can change this city peacefully? That you can change things if you simply try hard enough? Nero knew that she had more substantial plans, but as his mind entered another tirade, he did not care. He bit his lip to prevent any more of his thoughts from flying free.
He glanced at Roen and saw the sparkle of tears run unbidden down the side of her face. When he had concluded his statement, she blinked, and wiped them away. "How do you know such horrors..." It was almost a whisper, full of disbelief.
Nero's expression changed to a melancholy smile. It was knowing, as if he understood what she was feeling, and tinged with the smallest hint of despair. "This is a city that is merciless, and so I will show it no mercy. And for the sake of that brighter future that so many have died believing in...I will not hesitate to do anything."
The smuggler sighed, tapping the boxes. "Hand these out to the rest of the refugees. I will stop by Stonesthrow and make sure they receive their share." With no more words, Nero began to pile several of the crates back into the wagon, along with the rectangular ones they had retrieved before. He rubbed the neck of the chocobo as he clambered onto the wagon.
His grasp on the reins was tight, his knuckles pale as he gripped them with far more force than he should have. "Hya," he called out, lashing the reins, as the wagon began to lumber its way out of the cave.
Nero took a deep breath, searching his memory. The smuggler never enjoyed talking about his past. The very last thing he wanted was pity or sympathy. The things that he suffered were not unique or special or of note; they were things that others were suffering right this very moment. The only difference between him and those unfortunate souls enduring those hardships right now was that he had endured before them. His past should remain exactly where it had always been: behind him.
Yet now it seemed, to make this maddeningly stubborn paladin understand, he would have to agitate the ghosts.
"This is a story about hope, and bright future. This is the story about someone who believed that they could overcome all odds and reach an opportunity for a better life," Nero began, his arms still folded. "This is the story about a young girl, full of that same hope, that same aspiration for a more prosperous life. This young girl lacked in material goods, but she was not lacking in spirit, or strength of heart."
"Every day, she was confident that an opportunity would come where she could grasp a better future. Our young girl was raised by the prostitutes, but she was not unhappy. They were kind to her, and it was among them that she found many other children. She saw that they were unhappy, and full of sadness and pain. Above all else, the only thing our young girl wanted was for them to believe in the same bright future that she did."Â
It was always dangerous for him to be skirting on such memories. He was careful to omit any mention of his involvement, but Nero knew he teetered on the edge; these bitter recollections had a bad habit of setting him off. He kept his voice tight and controlled, his tone somber. Instead of looking at Roen, he looked at the crates behind her, focusing on anything but the woman standing in front of him.
"On some days, she would sweep in front of stores, and occasionally the merchants would see fit to flick a disdainful coin at her. On other days, she would brush boots with a ragged cloth until her hands bled. On good days, the less scrupulous alchemists would test their experimental concoctions on her. The effects were always thoroughly unpleasant, but often they gave enough gil for her to buy food."
"Even with all of this, she never gave up. She never let the city break her. One day, a kind man saw the brightness in her, and that determined luminosity inspired some generosity in him. He gave her many coins--a paltry sum, but to her, he may as well have given her all of the wealth in the world. 'Take that to the other children,' he told her. 'Show them the prosperous future they might achieve, if they but believed in hope as you do.'"
"With boundless joy and happiness she returned to spread her good fortune to all those she cared about. First she race to the prostitutes. Her smile and her beliefs did not waver as she watched the bandits drag them out of the brothel one by one. Her hope did not crack even the slightest as they kicked and screamed, insisting that they had paid their dues. She was not colored by a single inkling of despair as they beat the faces of those who resisted and broke the legs of those who tried to run."
"Undaunted, she ran to the merchants, eager to show them that she could buy some of their wares. Her smile never broke as they threw the street rat out of their stores, as the Brass Blades they had paid to be enforcers snatched some of her gil as they tossed her into an alley. As she ran, they played a common game, testing their marksmanship with rocks. Some of them found their mark, but she did not waver."
"And so, with great joy she found the children, her precious friends, and her hope in their future did not diminish by even a fraction as they stole everything she had, hoping for themselves that they could buy some food for the evening."
"And so she was left in the streets, alone, with naught but bruises and shattered legs and nothing to grasp, nothing to hold but her hope for that better future. She died as she clasped onto that tiny light of opportunity, prosperity, and happiness, and her body was taken to the mass grave behind the city, the one used for the poor and nameless, for the worthless and scorned."
Nero breathed in, keeping his emotions in check. "And as the next sun rose, another child awoke, full of that same hope, ready to face the challenges of a new day."
How many years had it been? No...it didn't matter. That was not the point. The entire reason he had dug up that recollection was because within him lay the desire to shove the city's cruelty at Roen's face. To yell and shout at her, to berate her. You believe that you can change this city peacefully? That you can change things if you simply try hard enough? Nero knew that she had more substantial plans, but as his mind entered another tirade, he did not care. He bit his lip to prevent any more of his thoughts from flying free.
He glanced at Roen and saw the sparkle of tears run unbidden down the side of her face. When he had concluded his statement, she blinked, and wiped them away. "How do you know such horrors..." It was almost a whisper, full of disbelief.
Nero's expression changed to a melancholy smile. It was knowing, as if he understood what she was feeling, and tinged with the smallest hint of despair. "This is a city that is merciless, and so I will show it no mercy. And for the sake of that brighter future that so many have died believing in...I will not hesitate to do anything."
The smuggler sighed, tapping the boxes. "Hand these out to the rest of the refugees. I will stop by Stonesthrow and make sure they receive their share." With no more words, Nero began to pile several of the crates back into the wagon, along with the rectangular ones they had retrieved before. He rubbed the neck of the chocobo as he clambered onto the wagon.
His grasp on the reins was tight, his knuckles pale as he gripped them with far more force than he should have. "Hya," he called out, lashing the reins, as the wagon began to lumber its way out of the cave.
