//------------------------------// // Setting Sail - (0) // Story: To Lands Unknown // by Latch //------------------------------// Now, I suppose you're wondering, "what could possibly happen to us from there after the Calamity," right?  Well... look where we are now, that would be the answer to your question. ... You’ve already met me, Zia, Zulf, and the Kid, when we all first came here on that "floating island" which we call the Bastion. ... The Kid may have a name, much like you or I, but I still refer to him by what he still is: just a kid.  You can sit and stay while the day is still young if you’d like, I can tell you of how we came to this land and of how we ended up where we are now. ... Now... it all began a little over a month ago when we first sailed into The Boundless Sea to the Northwest, leaving Caelondia to places unknown.... It was still just the four of us around that time.  We still had the mementos the Kid had collected from all over Caelondia, reminding us of the times that once were, and provided a little bit of research into our culture’s past.  We also had the creatures that the Kid had found as well - the ones that shy friend of yours are looking after - they provided the company none of us could for each other every now and again. I still remember those days over the sea... nothing but the birds and sea to stir us from our own thoughts.         The Kid sat idly on the rims of the Bastion, his legs hanging over the side as he watched the shores of Caelondia starting fade at the edge of the horizon.   Their new journey had just begun it seemed.         Rucks had told him and the rest of the group that they were going to travel to wherever the winds would take them, across The Boundless Sea, and into the beyond.  Sure, he’d mentioned that there was civilization beyond the great body of water, but none of them knew for certain on where to find it. They lacked the most basic of charts that could help them navigate or gauge their distance across to them.   Though as much as it was the fault of Zulf who’d done his best to sabotage the Bastion quite a while ago, he was now with them to the end from here on.  He himself had long since forgiven the poor guy, knowing that he’d been acting on impulse and raw emotion when he discovered the truth.  Even if he was distancing himself from the rest of them from the guilt of his actions, despite of what he’d done, they were the only ones willing to take him back.         Caelondia... Their home, now annihilated because of the Calamity; its people, all but gone... ashen statues were what remained of them, caught in the midst of living their lives...         They never saw it coming...         More than often since it happened, he’d always come back to that very same thought, of what was lost there... of what could’ve been, and of the life he’d lived there.         A mason: his first job, one that was both tough and honest.  He’d worked as one on the Rippling Walls for five years at first; the structure, a border to Caelondia itself, and The Wild Unknowns.  He learned of how to build during his time there, and of how to break.           The job itself, was for his mother.  Frail and ill, he’d sent what he earned to her, hoping to support her for as long as possible as he was her only son... but then one day, she was gone just like that.  Death had taken her without him knowing, and the money which he’d been sending to her was now in someone else's possession.  He’d signed up for another term on the walls then.  There was no longer a reason for him to stay in the city.         Through his choice, his skills, and tenacity for going in for a second term, he soon gained the attention of the Marshalls, a group which he’d sought to join after his time on the Walls were done.  They let him in without question once it was time, and soon after, allowed him to go on solo patrols into the Wild Unknowns.  They’d trusted him to go further than any man ever did... and that’s what saved him.         He was never around when the Calamity struck, but he definitely witnessed the land tear itself asunder because of it...         He’d hastened his return to Caelondia then, wondering if anyone else had survived.  His greeting was the sight of the once lively pioneering city now lying in rubble and ruin.  His goal was clear then: he had to head to the Bastion, it was the one place everyone agreed to go when things went south. ...And in the end, it turned out that just the four of them survived that fateful day, including most of the Ura. He’d lost everything that day when the Calamity struck, even if there wasn’t much else to lose...  He was already distant to many of the people there, primarily remaining independent from the rest of the world, often relying on himself as a means of staying alive.  Having inherited his mother’s unusual white hair didn’t help him much either, it only brought about unnecessary attention his way which furthered his distancing from society. Having left his mother some time before he was born, he’d never got the chance to see his father growing up either.  As it was, somewhere on one of the many floating isles now making up Caelondia, his ashen remains were there… somewhere, hidden amongst the many others.  As somber as the thought was, he’d taken solace in the fact that his mother had told him he was much like his father: hardworking, and honest. But in the end, even after all he’d been through to get the Bastion running, a question always seemed to beg at his thoughts... was it all really worth it?         He could’ve fixed the Calamity.  He could’ve turned back the clock and made things go back to the way they were, of when everyone else was alive and well.  Things could’ve been back to what they were of him living his life as a part of the Marshalls... ...but who was to say that the Calamity wouldn’t happen again?         If the Bastion could indeed set things back to a bygone time, what’s to say the outcome would be any different in the end?  The Mancers could bring about their devastation again with the Calamity, and history would repeat itself over and over until the very end of time if it were true.  The demise of their people would be eternal... over and over it would replay.           It was a simple inevitability to choose Evacuation over Restoration.  Restoring Caelondia to its former glory would be something that’d only last for perhaps a few weeks, months, or years at best.  Eventually, something would have to change to make him choose Evacuation instead.         Sighing heavily beneath his breath, he set aside the thoughts to the very back of his mind.  Zia told him the past was something to not to be caught up in, it’d only fuel a life of regret if he kept coming back to it.           “Never forget it,” she’d said back then, “but don’t center your life around past mistakes and old memories, you have to move on and worry about the present - of who you are now, that’s more important.”         And yet here he was, getting lost in such somber memories...         Rousing him from his thoughts, he felt something small brush up against his side.  Averting his attention to the source, he spotted the Squirt he’d found in the Workman’s Ward staring up at him.  The little guy always seemed to have a stronger liking to him than anyone else after he brought it back in that ragged hood. They were as simple as they come, the Windbags.  A Squirt was just the early stages of one, but it was unknown if this little guy was raised back in Windbag Ranch itself, or was growing up in the Squirt’s Steps of the Ward. A Gasfella would be its next and middle stage.  Hardworkers is what they were.  They were the brawn behind most of the cores found throughout Caelondia and of the once many structures that made up Caelondia, including the Rippling Walls themselves. A Scumbag would be its last.  Being a collection of bloated waste material, they dealt with the city’s trash, eating it and storing it for transportation to either the city’s Scrapyard, or to the Grady Incinerator.   It’d be quite a time before it’d age into a Gasfella though, at least a dozen years or so at best.  Still, at this point in its life, there was no denying how adorable they looked with the slight glimmer of happiness evident in their eyes.  It was something contagious, mainly to a soul such as his own.         His features softened as the hints of a smile formed on his face.  Reaching over, he stroked the top of its head to provide the attention it so sought from him. In response, the little guy emitted a lone tone whine and spun in place, its eyes quickly narrowing upon finishing.  It was just enough so its edges would be raised, showing a sense of happiness about it just from the look in its eyes. "It'll be quite some time before we see land again, you know," a voice from behind spoke, aged and wise.           Turning to meet the voice, he saw Rucks standing some ways behind him, leaning on his cane as he stared unto the horizon.  He looked more thoughtful than ever at that moment.         Aged eyes then met his.         “I don’t resent you for the choice you made, Kid.  I may have been the one who dreamt this whole place up, but you’re the one who made it true - you did all the heavy lifting to get this thing going.”  His attention then became focused on the vanishing shores of Caelondia.  “Still, I wonder what could’ve been... if things actually went back to they way they were before, you know?”           He heard Rucks let out a heavy sigh as he held his head low.  “It makes sense though that we should just move on; no sense living in the past if you’re certain that you can’t change it, right?”         He nodded in affirmation to Rucks’ observation and gazed back in the direction of Caelondia, watching the many distant isles of land bob and waver in place in its skies.   He then felt a hand place itself onto his shoulder.         “C’mon, Kid.  I know you’ve already done a lot for all of us here on the Bastion, but it’ll be awhile until we do come across land.  Best keep yourself busy ‘till then.”  The hand left his shoulder and soon enough, Rucks’ footsteps became distant into the background behind him. Flying blind… There was no absolute way to tell for certain how long they’d be at sea.  But now was a better time than any to do some reforging with some of his weapons, and of dishing out some repairs to some of the buildings in the meantime. He patted the Squirt beside him on the head and pulled himself away from the ledge, brushing the dirt and grass off his clothing as he stood back up.  Giving one last look towards Caelondia, the weighted thought of all the lives that were lost there came back to him briefly. He’d never forget its people’s faces and the lives they’d lived.  He was among the last legacy of hardworking and honest Caelondians, now officially holding those traits to his namesake.  There would’ve been many who were more suited for this than he, but fate had brought him down along this path.   And so along this path he'd travel. There was no one else for the job, and it was a burden that was left solely for him. He was the last true Caelondian to survive.