The first step onto the soil was heavier than Sirius expected. The clearing he had chosen with the help of the twenty Black Mages was tucked away in a shallow valley north of the Twelveswood. The canopy opened just enough to let in sunlight, but the edges were sealed by thick woods and stone ridges that would dissuade wandering adventurers. A brook trickled nearby, its sound crisp in the quiet morning air. The twenty mages followed close behind, their yellow eyes glowing faintly beneath their hats, their cloaks brushing across the grass like whispers.
Sirius turned, his cloak shifting as he raised his hand toward the land before them.
"This," he said simply, "is where it begins."
The Black Mages exchanged glances. Some tilted their heads, others clutched their staves tightly as if afraid the dream would vanish the moment they spoke aloud. One stepped forward—the same mage who, weeks earlier, had asked Sirius what it meant to live beyond the battlefield. His voice was hesitant, yet edged with wonder.
"Our… home?"
Sirius nodded. "Not mine. Yours. A place to grow—not as weapons, not as tools—but as people. If you accept it."
---
The mages shuffled forward, curiosity growing bolder. One knelt and pressed a gloved hand to the soil.
"It is soft," he murmured. "It can hold roots."
Another tapped his staff against the brook. "Water flows. Clear. Not poisoned like the marshes."
Slowly, their murmurs spread. Soon they were pointing, measuring with gestures, debating with halting words where huts might rise, where fields could grow. Sirius let them speak, only interjecting when their uncertainty stalled them.
"Shelter first," he advised. "Even the smallest hut gives shape to belonging."
At his suggestion, the group divided naturally. Some wandered into the woods, testing their magic against weak trees. Others began marking the soil with simple runes, an instinct born of their design as spellcasters. Sparks of Fire melted away stubborn roots, while Frost chilled insects too quick to swat. It was clumsy—these were not builders, but soldiers who had never known the patience of creation. Yet in their fumbling, something fragile and new bloomed.
One mage toppled a tree too large and stumbled back in panic, expecting rebuke. Instead, another laughed, the sound high and awkward but genuine. "Too strong," he teased, "save it for monsters."
The first mage's glow brightened with something almost like pride.
---
Not all were convinced. As the work stretched on, a few lingered by the brook, staring at the flowing water with unease. One finally voiced what weighed on them all.
"Why here? Why now? We were made to fight, to die. What right have we to… this?"
The question stilled the group. Sirius, watching from the shade, did not answer immediately. Instead, he walked to the mage and knelt so his gaze met those glowing eyes.
"You were made, yes. But you live now. Living gives you the right to choose. The right to shape your own ending."
The mage tilted his head. "But will the world let us?"
"No," Sirius admitted. "Not easily. But no world ever gifts freedom. It must be claimed, one act at a time. Even standing here, planting the idea of a village, is defiance. And sometimes… defiance is enough."
The mage lowered his gaze, then gave a small nod. Around them, the others resumed their work with renewed focus. The seed of doubt remained, but so did the choice to move forward.
---
By midday, the mages had cleared a rough circle. The heat of the sun pressed heavily against them, their robes sticking with sweat, though none complained. It was then that a sharp cry echoed from the treeline. A scouting pair who had wandered too far stumbled back, chased by a beast no taller than Sirius's shoulder but twice as broad—a tusked boar with jagged fangs dripping foam.
The creature charged.
Instinct flared. Three mages raised their staves, Fire blossoming in panicked bursts. The flames seared the beast's flank, but it kept coming, barreling through the clearing toward the workers. One mage froze, staff slipping from trembling fingers.
"Move!" Sirius barked.
But before he could intervene, two others leapt forward. Thunder cracked, Blizzard hissed, and the beast staggered, its momentum broken. Then, with a final cry, one mage released a perfectly formed Fire spell, the explosion echoing through the valley. The boar fell, smoke curling from its hide.
Silence followed. The mages stared at the fallen creature, their breaths ragged, their hands trembling. Then one began to laugh—not in cruelty, but in stunned relief.
"We… killed it."
Another added, voice rising with wonder: "Not because we were ordered… but because we wanted to protect."
The words rippled through them. For the first time, their magic had not been forced into war. It had been used for survival—for home. Pride glimmered in their glowing eyes.
---
That night, the clearing flickered with light as the mages built their first fire. They gathered in a circle, robes rustling, the smell of roasted meat rising from the boar they had slain. Few spoke at first, unused to conversation not bound to commands. But gradually, voices broke the quiet.
"I thought I would stop moving before I saw this."
"Do you think… do you think we can raise children here? Ones not made for war?"
"I… I want to try."
Their murmurs blended into something warmer, heavier than silence but lighter than fear. Sirius, seated apart, watched them with careful eyes. He did not speak, but his presence was steady, an anchor in their uncertainty.
When the fire dimmed low, one mage stood, clutching his staff.
"Today, we worked. We fought. We lived. Perhaps tomorrow, we build."
The others nodded, their glowing eyes reflecting the embers.
---
As the mages drifted to sleep, Sirius remained awake, staring at the stars. His thoughts turned to Vivi, to 288, to the small chocobo egg hatching in the quiet of the other village. He thought of the threads of fate, and how these sparks of choice could burn into something greater.
"They are not soldiers anymore," he murmured to himself. "They are children learning to walk again. And walking… is the first step toward freedom."
The brook whispered in reply. Sirius closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long while, allowed himself to believe.
This valley, hidden from the world's gaze, was not yet a village. Not yet a home. But it was the beginning.
And beginnings, however small, carried power enough to reshape destiny.