“Peasantry within royalty…”
By Elvis Cabrera, ‘Locke Cole’.

     “You’re highness! You’re highness! YOU’RE HIGHNESS!”
     “WHAAAAT! Damn you chancellor what could be of such importance?” Edgar exclaimed angrily. His 
voice echoing across Figaro’s castle walls with a low hum. 
     “You’re majesty! The meeting begins at 9, and the speech isn’t even done yet! And we have 
ambassadors from the Empire arriving this evening for our opening of the weaponry exchange. Sir, you’re 
absolute attention is needed here!” the young chancellor said nervously. Edgar could see he was a total 
wreck. A disheveled pile of goo within a nobleman’s suit.
     “I’ll be there soon chancellor, I am busy right now with the lady.” He said and looked back upon the 
beautiful woman. Peasant was she the passerby knew. But Edgar was far from the traditional king’s choices 
in women. She blushed as he kissed her hand. Sighing sweetly as she looked into the king’s beautiful blue 
eyes.
     “You’re highness, I insist you please follow me. We are late, it’s almost 6 o’clock…”
     “And like you said, the ball is at nine…” Edgar said and proceeded to kiss up the woman’s arm, she 
giggled uncontrollably and blushed furiously. Edgar could only help but grin as he nipped on the woman’s 
skin lightly with his lips.
     “You’re highness, there seems to be an emergency…” a soldier said, coming out of nowhere. Frustrated, 
Edgar looked up at the soldier’s face. The young but determined looking soldier was breathing heavily. His 
face covered in sweat, and seems to have been in some sort of fight.
     “What is it…?”
     “There seems to be someone at the gate. We refuse to let him in, but he seems very upset and says that 
he was supposed to see you. He was not on you’re list sir and we didn’t let him in. He attacked the front 
guard and is now attempting to enter the castle gates.” He said, a bit embarrassed at the sound of it all. 
Edgar sighed and thought. What useless defenses at such an urgent time.
     “Who is this knave…?”
     “He says he is called Locke…Locke Cole sir.”
     Edgar stood up, tall and aware. His mind a total blank at the sounding of his name. My gods, it’s him. 
Locke Cole, the agent of the Returners. They were not planning for tonight to be, the night. Locke was an 
agent for a resistance group called The Returners. The Returners are forming a group against the harsh and 
unworldly deeds of the Empire. Rulers of an intense portion of the planet. And secretly behind it’s 
corruption. The Empire has scarred the earth with weaponry and war.
     More importantly, the Empire has enslaved thousands, and has killed dozens more. Witnessing the 
corruption of the planet, Edgar is tired of having to receive orders of such a dark and unworthy council. 
     Treason you might call it, duty for his people is what he knows it is. As a king, as a man, he could not 
allow this to happen. Not now or ever. And so, with great risk to his country, and to himself. And the 
throne. Edgar has joined the resistance group, the Returners, to make a difference for once, in this battle for 
justice.
     “Tell him I will be right there.” Edgar said and kissed the woman lightly on the cheek. “And you my 
pretty, you hold that thought…” he said, and lightly kissed her on the forehead as he walked away. She 
sighed, lying back on the table from which she sat on. The soldier now walking out of the room, and Edgar 
followed. The chancellor was almost to tears; the council meeting was about to commence!

     “Well hurry up!” Locke yelled out, gripping the soldier by the front of his mail. The soldier stared at 
Locke straight in the eyes in fear, unarmed, he was totally within control of the unknown man. Locke 
grinned, and brought a dagger up to the mans face, the tip lightly playing across his cheek.
     “He’s coming sir! They’re calling him now!” the soldier said, his voice hoarse and his cowardly nature 
was so strong Locke was on the verge of boredom.
     “You better hope so, or ya see this scar…?” Locke showed a scar on the side of his face. It looked like 
the fine slash of a blade. It was stricken white, and was barely noticeable. But it went down from under his 
eye to the center of his cheek. Small, but it looked deep. “I’m gonna try to emulate it, on your face…”
     “You will do nothing of the sort.” A deep, yet soft voice said from behind. Locke smirked, and let the 
man go, resheathing his dagger and turning, slowly, very slowly. His gaze came upon the King of Figaro. 
Edgar Roni Figaro. His face was exactly like that in all of his portraits. Long beautiful blonde hair, and 
dazzling blue eyes which gave him an almost angelic look. But Locke sensed a sort of strength emanating 
from him. It was the strength of a king.
     “May you explain to me why you attack my guards, demand to see me without any notice whatsoever, 
and don’t even have the decency to kneel in the presence of a king…?” Edgar said to the offender. He saw 
that the man let go of the guardsman and walked backwards, looking up into his eyes. He was thin, with 
broad upper body and random scars on his bare arms and neck. His hair, a bleached silver and his eyes a 
charcoal gray. He sure did look shabby, but the long dagger in his hand looked deadly.
     Locke grit his teeth, he had to kneel. He was in royal territory. Damn this guy. The king knows why 
Locke is here, and there was nothing about him having to kneel. But he did, slowly dropping to one knee, 
but his eyes never left Edgar’s. Never.
     “Your highness, I came with a message. For your eyes only.” Locke said, and reached behind him, 
pulling out a rolled up paper. It seemed like a scroll. He stood to his feet, and handed it to the king. Edgar 
took it, and attempted to open it.
     “It is for your eyes only you’re majesty. I do not think the guards are necessary for this. I’m going…” 
Locke said, and turned. Already he didn’t like the guy. Empire trash, they never change. All of them are 
scum. He knew this king was not going to change, but Banon “Has a feeling about this one…” he says. 
Damn Banon, damn Edgar. Damn it all he thought
     “Once again knave, you forget to kneel…” Edgar said with a light smirk as Locke turned around to walk 
away into the now setting desert.
     “Piss off…” Locke said and kept on walking. Immediately, the guards behind Edgar began to dash 
forward at him, blades drawn. Locke didn’t even turn.
     “Halt, enough. It’s fine…” Edgar said, and turned to once again enter his castle.
     “But sir, he dares…”
     “I know, let him be…he’ll find the fault in his answers by himself. The desert is not friendly to those of 
no honor…” And he walked in, leaving Locke Cole to his journey.


     “It’s hot…”
     “You’re telling me. We’ve been here, like, how long?” The tired soldier said. Guarding the front 
entrance bay of the large steel airship, The Iron Gauntlet. The capital airship owned by the Emperor 
himself. It’s rendevouz point, Figaro castle. And it’s sight has never been more disgusting.
     It was a large metal blister in the sky. Beutifully crafted as it was, it symbolized everything the Empire 
was hated for. Greed, control, and power. A weapon so potent, it lives in the heavens.
     “Well, I am telling ya’ this Wedge. As soon as we get off this thing I am gonna take a long, and well 
deserved drink.”
     “Ya got that Vicks. Boy, ya got it right.” Wedge said and grinned, shaking the hand of his comrade in 
agreement.

     The motor hummed steadily. A low groan of iron and flame, passing through the giant engine of the 
airship. Beyond it’s walls was that of the officials. The high ranks of the Empire stayed here in luxury. 
Wrapped in a sound proof enviroment, and beautiful décor. In these rooms were the officials of the world. 
All sort of Generals, and Noblemen. And on top of which, was Ghestal himself. Standing tall and proud 
with two well known generals. They talked while awaiting to arrive at their destination point. Drinking, 
laughing, and some actually talking buisness.
     There was one who didn’t like anything about the laughter at all. And cared less for the ignorance of his 
peers. Draped in near royal-like robes, and with a face and attitude rude enough to make a child cry was 
Kefka. Ghestal’s right hand man. Kefka was a very…well known General. His succeses were 
extraordinary. Causing total defeats of the enemies he faced. But he was not known for his victory, he was 
known for the slaughter he caused. A line of bloodshed he left. Many of which were friendly casualties. His 
motto that life is dear, and if you fight, you fight to win. He cared little of his own casualties as long as the 
mission was a success. He was obviously the least liked of the Empire. But never the less, the most 
employed.
     “Ha ha! Kefka! Come drink with us! We have plenty of time before arriving to Figaro.” Ghestal called 
out to his subordinate.
     “That, was what I was afraid of.”
     “Oh come now Kefka, don’t be such an annoyance and drink already. Come now, have some fun.”
     “If being in the drunken stupor, like you no less, is considered fun then you must be the entertainment 
on this flying death trap.” Kefka said, and with that stood and walked out of the room. Slamming shut the 
door so hard it caused the entire meeting room to go silent, They all looked at the Emperor, who was 
staring at the door with a blank face. He thought, and within seconds he burst into fits of laughter. The 
entire room began to laugh along with him. All wondering why.
     “Idiots…” Kefka said as he walked through the hallway and down to his room. “All of them driveling, 
drooling old farts’ with absolutely no wit.” He muttered to himself all along his way. Cursing, and dragging 
remarks of hatred of his superiors. He thought them all to be wastes, of breath, of space, of time…
     He closed the door and sat on his desk. The lighting was low as the evening arrived, and he could see 
out the side of the armored ship. The sky looked as if it were in flames. The stars were lit, but the horizon 
bled the orange glow of the setting sun. The clouds a deep hue of black and purple. He stared at the sky and 
smiled weakly, awaiting the evening to come.
     “And what of you…” he said as he stared down at a picture. Edgar, smiling like a child along with a 
squad of knights. The king was dressed as one of the soldiers. He looked just like the rest of him except for 
his long blonde hair and his gleaming smile. Even in the guise of the filthy, lower ranks, he still looked like 
a king. “Another idiot I suppose…what’s next Edgar, gonna go milk cows along with the other maiden?” 
after careful thinking. He agreed that Edgar was an idiot. He’d do that without a second thought.
     “You waste time trying to be the perfect king, while the world around you is cast in the flames of war. 
You can’t think you are an angel Edgar. You make the weapons that are tearing this world apart…under my 
hands.” He laughed a bit, a chilling laugh that scratched against the back of his throat. It sounded like a 
shrill. An evil laughter that can only come from him.
     “Just you wait till you get a load of this. Just you wait till you see what I got in store for you…King 
Edgar.”

     “There it is Banon!” a man called from atop the roof of a house. He yelled out, clutching for dear life on 
the walls of the chimney tower. Banon walked out of a door which was erected at the roof and stared up 
into the purple sky. It was there, The Iron Gauntlet. A black form which eerily floated toward the northwest 
with no change in speed.
     “They are punctual, I’ll give them that.” Banon said and quickly turned into the house. He went down a 
flight of old wooden stairs and into a battered hall which smelled of thinner. The house was definitely in 
need of work. But he was not to complain. It ain’t his home. It is of the citizens of Southern Figaro. A calm 
village under the regiment of the king of figaro, but very distant from the royal castle.
     He arrived to the livingroom. Amazingly, it was filled with a group of soldiers. Most sitting by the 
fireplace, watching a little girl play with her dog. An old woman walked out of the kitchen, after serving 
the Returner soldiers drinks and food.
     “Once again, I thank you for your…”
     “Please, no thank you’s…” the old woman said. She stared into Banon’s middle aged eyes with a calm, 
clear kindness that Banon has never seen. In the fog of battle, and the screen of bloodshed, he sometimes 
forgets to remember what he is truly fighting for. What he’s trying to save. This woman’s eyes told him 
what, and more.
     “You are all too kind for letting my men stay here. Beileve me, it will not be long before we move out. 
Tonight we perform the mission. And hopefully we won’t have to invade your home again.”
     “Pity, I will miss you all so dearly....” She said and turned around, heading toward the kitchen to get 
another round of drinks for the soldiers. She did this as a habit. For days she helped the Returner’s secretly 
within her large home. Keeping them shelter and safety from the Empire’s prying eyes.
      “One day, we won’t have to hide…” Banon said, and turned his eyes to the fireplace. The little girl was 
laughing and was climbing up a soldier’s leg. They all laughed and played with her. She obviously was 
very charismatic as she got the soldiers singing, and some of them telling stories. “One day we can live 
peacefully, in a place like this.”
     “And when is that Marcus…? Hmm…? When will that fateful day be…?” the old woman called out 
from the kitchen. Immediately the soldiers moved their attention onto Banon and the woman. Someone just 
said Banon’s real name. But strangely, Banon was not angered. Or even surprised. He kept looking at the 
small child. Who in turn stared at him back.
     Banon was quiet, it was all quiet. And Banon looked up toward the roof. He began to think deeply, what 
was in his mind. What was in his heart. And suddenly he lowered his gaze on the old woman’s. She looked 
at him with concern. But Banon merely smiled. And clenches his fist. Looking onto the captain of his 
squadron….
     “The time…is NOW!”

     The Iron Gauntlet touched down a few minutes ago. The desert winds were harsh and cold at night, and 
only the bright lights of Figaro’s airfield made the giant airship visible. The horizon however, was total 
blackness. King Edgar was outside along with a squadron of soldiers. Dressed in a heavy, thick trench coat, 
and mask to shield himself from the harsh winds. Surprisingly, the winds were dying down. Which was 
good, because Edgar didn’t want anymore damage to be done to Figaro’s outer walls.
     Out began walking the officials. Edgar knew them all. Constantly having to listen to their garbage and 
pretend like he’s interested. He wouldn’t b surprised however…if they all did the same.
     He noticed Gehstal. And he definitely noticed Kefka, whom was walking behind him cordially and 
gallantly. His face a clean sheen of utter filth. Although Kefka physically looked like a deity. He was dirtier 
than a swamp sucker.
     “Aha! Edgar, so nice to see you!” Gehstal said as he walked off the ramp and onto the field. He smiled 
and grabbed hold of King Edgar in a tight hug which sent Edgar into automatic spasms of escape. Soon, 
Edgar broke free and brushed off his coat. Staring at Gehstal, who seemed stranger than usual.
     “He’s drunk…” Kefka said. You could hear the irritation in his voice.
     “Ah, I see.” Edgar chuckled and bowed. Kefka looked at him, it almost made him ill. “There will be 
many drinks and laughs this eve, but first let us leave this storm. The atmosphere is not as welcoming as it 
is inside.”
     Gehstal walked beyond Edgar and followed an escort of his own soldiers. Each carrying a rifle with a 
bayonet on it’s tip. They sorrounded the airfield and gangway, escorting the groups of Empirian generals 
and officers into the large castle. Empire soldiers flooded out of the ship in files. Each under their own 
orders and leaders. Although they were also escorted in. Edgar looked around, the night surely was cold, 
and the storm was dying but was still relentless in the onslought. And the empire had a very strong 
presence now. The amount of soldiers that didn’t belong to him on the field chilled him. This was the 
enemy he welcomed into the castle. A very strong one.
           It was 8:30. The twin moons were hovering in the air, shining down on the earth with it’s milky 
glow.  All was in order, with his guards on the outside, ‘hand in hand’ with the Empire’s soldiers. He saw 
to his advantage that the Empire’s soldiers seemed cocky, but intimidated by his own soldiers. Which made 
him feel more at ease. Food was served and a banquet comenced, with no drink as to not cloud the mind but 
cider was served. Meats and soups and the lot, and was even given to the soldiers to their posts. The 
evening was warm within the castle despite the presence of a foreign army. And all seemed well, until he 
saw HIM again. Staring at him from the far wall like a ghost. Expressionless, he wasn’t suppose to be there. 
And dressed in a blue vest and brown trunks…he should have stook out like a sore thumb. But only Edgar 
saw him.
     What was he doing here? Edgar thought as he left his seat and walked into a hall. That silver hair and 
thin frame, it had to be him. The Returner fellow. Locke Cole. How did he get in here.  He passed by two 
of his men and asked if they saw someone pass by, but received a ‘negative’ as a reply.
     Maybe he was seeing things, but no, he continued walking. Walking out of the hall and into the plaza in 
the center of the castle. Empty.
     The promenade. Empty.
     The mess hall, many soldiers, but he wasn’t present. It was almost time for the meeting. Maybe he 
wasn’t feeling too well.  He entered his throne room, a sudden chill came through him as he remembered 
what was to happen tonight. And decided to collect his weapon. A long crystal staff made out of prehistoric 
tree sap. Amber. A staff meant for a king. He saw it besides his throne, standing on it’s end eerily without 
tipping.
      The torches were out, and the room was empty. So the squeak of footsteps startled him as he grabbed 
his staff. He quickly turned his staff in his hands with sudden alertness.
     “Alas, lord Edgar! Fear not my presence.”
     “And who might you be! Show yourself!!” Edgar shouted, his voice soaked with authority.
     “My name is Banon. I am the one whom you knew before being king as Marcus Chancey. I was an 
engineer. But forget about the past, for the present is in a state of turmoil.”
     “Marcus? You served my father…..The Returners…”
     “Silence, for all will be fortold in due time. Meet us in the cellar when the time is right.” Banon said, 
and he quickly walked out of the room. A silluette to Edgar’s eyes as he simply vanished.
     “Wait! …when is the time right?” Edgar called out. But the whine of the wind was his only reply. The 
time. The time!!! It was 9:00! With urgency he dashed out of his throne room and into the grand hall. 
Running swiftly toward the banquet room. Banon will have to wait! Business is business.

       “Hahahaha! There you are! Sit Edgar, we have much to discuss.” The heavy laughter of Gestahl 
thundered throughout the hall. Edgar strode in, his eyes darting left and right at faces he has never cast eyes 
on. Kefka sat 2 seats away from him, he was sure to watch the guy carefully. Who knew what the little rat 
could do.
     “I am sorry that I am late.” Edgar apologized as he sat. “I lost track of time.”
     “Pish posh! Nothing of the sort, you ARE on time Edgar. For the future of your country, and the 
unveiling of the future of the world.” Gestahl said and pointed at the wall. The lights suddenly went out, 
but a screen began to glow and hum before them, showing pictures of what seemed to be military camps. 
Edgar looked at it, the camps were full of soldiers and tents. Guns and fires were randomly left around. 
Showing activity that might, or might not be there. Such camps were everywhere now adays. “As you 
know, there is a word we once refrained from saying. For a long time now lord Edgar here has been in the 
dark of our new Tek forces.”
      Edgar, upon hearing the new word stood up. He wondered what information gehstal was to bring that 
day. And was deeply curios. “What of these Tek forces?” Edgar said, alert and authorative.
     “Tek forces sire, are the highest of Technology, straight from Vector capital. You are already aware of 
Magitek technology.” A man said by the screen. Dressed in a long yellow robe and cap. A scientist no 
doubt. Edgar nodded at the comment. “Then you are also aware of Magitek infused knights. Such as 
General Kefka and General Celes Chere.”
     “I do, and…?”
     “Tek forces however is totally beyond that. From the coming of a new technology, we have managed to 
create a driver which can take Magitek and infuse it for all kind of different applications. Warfare and 
comercial. We…-“
     “Pardon me…your name?”
     “Cid sire…”
     “Cid, ahem, may you please get to the point?” Edgar said, a grin slowly showed on his face, though his 
expression was forgiving.
     “Oh, y-yes sire. More to the point, we have found a way to recreate magic.”
     Edgar pushed his seat back and stood. His eyes were wide with shock as he quickly scanned the table, 
the faces looked at him in surprise and some in mockery. Magic!? Preposterous.
      “Wait one minute, did you say magic or is my hearing off a line…?”
      “No, I did say this. I am sorry it is of such a shock. But for a long time now we have had the ability to 
cast, what one could call ‘spells’ or ‘sorceries’. This is merely composed of tricks, such as igniting 
elementals like wind and fire. But even healing capabilities. I am sure you have enough imagination to see 
the posibilities of such a force.” Cid allowed a smile.
     Oh yes, Edgar could imagine. The devils were going to rip the earth asunder as their ancestors did 1000 
years ago. Where the power of magic joined the minds of humanity. There is only chaos. His eyes stopped 
on Kefka who was nearly to tears with laughter. The General obviously saw something funny in Edgar’s 
display of disbelief, and Edgar was not in the mood to be ridiculed in his own castle.  “Shut up you 
miserable prick!” Edgar said and spat on Kefka. The General quickly stood and glared at Edgar, rage in his 
eyes suddenly.
    “How dare you spit at an officer of the Empire!” Kefka said with a shrill in his voice.
    “How dare you mock the actions of a King in his own kingdom! You fool!” Edgar roared. His voice 
echoed across the castle halls and shook Kefka’s very soul. Gestahl was speechless and Kefka felt it was 
time to leave. He made a quick exit and ran, like a startled child. Edgar sighed and looked up at the ceiling. 
This isn’t good, and his attention was drawn to a flickering on the screen. What was that? A drawing. There 
was a machine on the screen, or at least the blue prints of one. It was huge, intense. It looked like a demon 
made of steel. “What in heaven’s name is that…?”
     “That Edgar… “ Gestahl began. “Is the future of our civilization. The Magitek soldier.”
     Edgar swallowed hard. “When is it done…?”
     “We have a proto-type ready. But this is for you to create, your facilities and machinery is perfect for 
it’s construction. Once the airships have been finalized, we will begin full production of these machines, 
and carry them through Figaro and Vector by air. This is the future of the world as we know it King Edgar. 
And it all comes down…to this.” 
     Edgar looked up at Gestahl, who slid a long sheet of royal paper at him. A feather and ink fountain was 
beside it, waiting for someone to pick it up. It was all Edgar needed to do, take the feather and sign. And it 
would be done. The future, literally would change. Edgar knew his history, and he was sure they knew it 
too. And this wasn’t the future of the world, this was the past. And he be damned if he was going to be a 
part of it. “If you’ll excuse me. I need some fresh air.”


    Sometimes he hated being king. It wasn’t all fun and games, glamour and furnishing, riches and 
pleasures abound. It was work. And a hard an important one as he has learned in many occasions. Under 
such stress he wondered how he hasn’t caved in yet. Is he a good king…he wished to think so. But this 
wasn’t a decision meant for a king, it was meant truly to him, Edgar Roni Figaro. Should he, the king of a 
nation, ruler of hundreds of lives, be the influence to the corruption of the entire world. That great tragedy, 
The war of the Magi.
     His signature, his castle. Does the Empire really need his support in this…no, he finally agreed. His 
services, and his facilities would be great support, but Vector and the capital towns down south would be 
more than enough for their needs. They would go on, even without his signature…so, even if he didn’t 
sign, what would he truly be doing? He would be preventing Figaro, from being reduced to a puppet 
state…that’s what. He would be being, a king to his nation. To his people.
    But, was that enough? He asked himself. Only one man could say…
     “Banon, for the love of all that is worthy, I will help you stop the empire, but not at the price of my 
people.” He said as he walked into the cellar. Banon, waited by a dark corner, concealed like the shadows 
themselves, stepped out and stretched out his hand. “You are a great man Edgar.”
     “I know. And so are you. What’s the plan Marcus.” Edgar said and gave him a hearty shake. Oh my, the 
Chancellor will be shittin’ puppies when he hears about this. 
     “Returners.” Banon said, and the room suddenly became alive with activity. Scurrying from the halls 
and windows, men and some women alike revealed themselves to the newest Returner. They all stared at 
the king, their faces dirty, their weapons chipped and rusted. Their armor worn by the fury of the sand and 
sun. But their eyes gleamed with the light of freedom. And their hearts carried the flames of justice. “We 
have everything under way. You heard of their new MagiTek Droid.”
     “Yes, that contraption.”
     “It needs no human involvment. The machine is a generator of magic energy. It can run for hours, but 
the more it uses it’s energy, the weaker it becomes.”
     “You mean it runs on it’s own?!”
     “Yes, the Empire has managed to create a contraption even beyond your standards Lord Edgar.”
     “Well, what is your purpose here?”
     Banon walked over to a large barrel. “Snitch, the map…” A skinny young lad came up and set the map 
onto the barrel. He looked at the king nervously and grinned. Edgar nodded his head and grinned back, 
leaving the young soldier to his duties. “If you didn’t know, then now you do. The Proto-type is here.”
     Edgar nodded. 
     “The proto-type is going to be shown to you after the signing is completed.”
     “I won’t be signing…” Edgar said solemnly.
     “Very well, as you may have guessed, the Emperor will be insistent, but eventually will acknoledge 
your decision. His trip here is to keep you under his wing, in order to keep you a lower government. He 
beileves nobody can stand up to his Empire. He is wrong.” Banon coughed loudly. “We will be waiting 
outside, with 2 recruitments under your soldier’s guise.”
     “Is that wise, involvment with my country must not be known.”
     “Of course not, they will expose their Returner Identity, just ask dumb and don’t worry, your soldiers 
won’t even remember them come by.” Edgar nodded. “At that point all you have to do is continue to talk, 
ask questions, and carry your weapon. We will handle the rest.”
     “What do you intend to do?”
     “Show them what a few men can do.”
     “But it won’t stop their production.”
     “But it will show them we are something to be feared. They will learn we can bite back, also…”
     “It will be bloody.”
     “Hopefully, in our favor…”