Prologue: The Empty Chalice

It was pouring rain the day the caravan from Marr's Pass arrived with the empty chalice.

The steady downpour hid the sound of the paopaopamus wagon, rattling across the cobblestone paths to stop in front of our cottage door. The sharp rap on the wood startled Ma, who was repairing a pair of Pa's tattered trousers in front of the warm fireplace, and she dropped her needle in dismay. She glanced at Pa.

Sunken into his favorite armchair, he looked over his glasses at the worn door, and a worried look crossed his face. It was late, and no one would be out in this kind of storm unless it was an emergency.

I was perched on the edge of the bench at the dining table, inspecting the various fabric in my hands, but when Pa rose to his feet, I stood too, my eyes fixed on him as he shuffled to the door. "Who is it?" he called loudly through the door, and we all held our breath.

"It's Rolf Wood, sir—of the Leuts of Marr's Pass," the voice replied, shouting to be heard above the storm.

Pa quickly opened the door to see two familiar Lilties, the tops of their heads barely grazing his chin and clad in their characteristic armor, but drenched in water and shivering on our doorstep. He quickly ushered them in and steered them towards the fireplace as Ma sprang to her feet and scurried off to find towels. They moved towards the hearth seemingly in a daze, oblivious to the pools of water they were tracking into the cottage.

My eyes immediately fell to what one of the unexpected visitors was cradling in his arms: a heavy-looking basin, carved out of enchanted wood, that sloped downward into a sturdy base to stand upright—as we call it, a crystal chalice. As he stood in front of the fire, I instantly recognized the carvings and patterns adorning the sides and base of the basin, and something like a rock fell from my throat to the pit of my stomach. Ma was busily wrapping a towel around his shoulders when she looked down and saw it. She froze, her hands still gripping the ends of the towel.

It wasn't until Pa cleared his throat that she snapped out of her frozen state and dropped the towel, stepping back, but I could see her hands were shaking.

Rolf Wood, the one holding the chalice, said somberly, "Well…there's no easy way to say this." He swallowed, overcome with emotion, but managed to hold Pa's gaze. "Your caravan…Tipa's caravan…we heard…they didn't make it." He set the chalice down with a resounding thunk on the hearth rug, stepping back and folding his hands in a mournful posture. His companion behind him hung his head, the rainwater dripping off his hair, but none of us made a sound. We all stared at the chalice, the heaviness of this truth settling upon the room, replacing our initial disbelief, threatening to swallow us up in all of its unspoken meaning, all of its tragic foreboding.

Pa finally said, his voice low and thick, "Do you know what happened? Did anyone…survive?"

Rolf shook his head. "We found out from the Alfitaria caravan…they arrested a band of marauders and confiscated their stolen goods. The chalice was among their hoard…all the myrrh was gone, along with the crystal shard. Sold on their black market, I would think."

"So they were attacked by marauders?" Pa said, incredulous.

"No, I doubt it," Rolf said. "A band of brigands isn't strong enough to overtake a seasoned caravan. In detainment, they told the Alfitarians that they looted an abandoned wagon for weapons and provisions, but that doesn't explain the chalice."

We all knew what he meant. No crystal caravanner would abandon the chalice—not only because of its sacred importance to their village, but because without its protection, the light of its crystal, they would die. Rolf gestured with a gloved hand to his companion, saying, "We think that maybe the monsters that got to them, left the chalice behind, and then…" He paused, before finishing quietly, "And then took them deeper into the forest, deeper than any caravan can go."

I shuddered at the image, and sank down onto the bench, tears pooling in my eyes.

Pa and Ma looked at each other, their expressions filled with shock and grief. Pa was the first to rally, holding out his hands in a sympathetic gesture to the Lilties. "You've come a long way to deliver this news. Please rest tonight. We'll get a fire going in the guest cottage and make sure your paopaopamus is taken care of."

The Lilties nodded in gratitude. Pa looked at me, a lump in his throat as he instructed, "Rebbeca, run and get Samuel to help you put up their animal."

Quickly, I rose to put on my coat and shoes, and Ma moved to find them warm blankets and clean covers. Pa and Rolf began to speak in hushed tones. Before I could leave, the other caravanner who had not yet spoken, whose name I knew to be Lyne Dott, approached me.

"Pardon me, Miss Rebbeca, but there's something we found that we think might belong to you." He reached into his pocket for a small, folded package and handed it to me. "The Alfitaria caravan found this in the marauders' hoard, and they thought it could be yours."

At this, even Pa stopped his conversation to look over at us in surprise. Baffled, I slowly unfolded the soft, worn cloth. Nestled inside was a single, delicate golden chain with a shiny, star-shaped ornament. I looked up at Lyne, startled. "This isn't mine."

He returned my look with a puzzled expression. "Are you sure? I mean, when you open it…"

I followed his gaze and saw what he meant - inspecting the side of the ornament revealed a minuscule clasp, evidence that it was not just a pretty necklace ornament, but in fact a locket. My heart began to pound in my ears. I angled towards the fireplace to see the contents more clearly.

The clasp didn't give way at first, so I applied gentle pressure with my thumb until it clicked open. Set into one side was a small but detailed drawing of a little girl, cropped blonde hair and pink cheeks, wearing an expression like sunshine. I had never seen it before, nor did I know of anyone who had the talent to create such a striking likeness—but it was unmistakably an image of…me. Or rather, the way I looked eight years ago, my features still round and soft as a child, complete with one of the missing front teeth that I distinctly remember of that age.

The other side of the star locket had an inscription, in a tiny but elegant script:

My darling, Rebbeca.


This is a work of fanfiction based on the video game Final Fantasy: Crystal Chronicles and no profit is being made. Although the characters are made up by me, the character designs, setting and related elements are owned and developed by Square Enix and Game Designers Studio. Any artwork I post related to the game are owned by Square Enix that was published as their marketing materials. It is simply a game I enjoyed very much when it was first released in 2004, and when the remastered edition came out in 2020, I felt inspired to write a story set in its whimsical world. I very much hope you enjoy it.