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Greetings mostly dead community of Legend of Dragoon fans. How is everyone? I come to you today with a fanfiction that I have been working on for some time on the off chance that someone still hanging about might like to read it. I brought the prologue with me, and I'll leave it here with you. If you enjoy it or not don't hesitate to say so. If you enjoy it I'll gladly keep posting it here, or you can hop over to my journal where the unofficially complete first chapter is sitting waiting for editorial approval.

Also, Insomnia! Whoo!

Title: This Time Imperfect
Chapter: Prologue
Fandom: Legend of Dragoon
Genre: Action/Adventure
Word Count: 1,097
Rating: T - for violence also suggestive adult themes at some point maybe I think.
Disclaimer: Sony pretty much owns The Legend of Dragoon, however the majority of the characters which will arise in this story belong to me.
Summary: 2,362 years after the destruction of the Moon That Never Sets the world of Endiness is again in dire peril. The Dragoon Spirits awaken to offer their aid, but is it enough to save a dying world?

This Time Imperfect

All things created exist to be destroyed. That is the fate of things that live. Life is powered only by death; they exist together as part of a cycle, a wheel that spins round and round through space and time never ending until one day all stops, and the cycle begins again.

A tiny light...a breath in the darkness...a pulse...a heartbeat. All that was planned will come to fruition. This is my purpose. Not to destroy, but to give life.

I walk in the footsteps of Soa.


A platinum haired man stood tense against a richly decorated guard rail. His pale hands, once clenched tightly about the hilt of a sword, now held on to the rail like a vice. From the room at his back there came a scream that sent dread through him. Like a shock wave it propelled his body away from the rail. For a moment he struggled, instinct against reason, and finally he willed himself back to the railing. Again from the room a scream echoed, and he clung to the rail as though it could save his own life and that of the woman behind the door. As much as he wanted to, he could not go to her. He knew better, especially in this country that was governed by women. It was taboo for a man to be present at the birthing of a child.

“Please,” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as to her he sent all his strength. “Take courage.”

Moments later, a final, weakened cry issued from behind that locked door. Then nothing. He strained to hear: the sound of a baby’s cry, a mother’s wail of loss, the midwife shouting orders, anything! But there was nothing. There was only a dreadful silence that seemed to pass into a gaping eternity that echoed round the confining walls of an ageless, empty heart.

The door opened behind him, and he spun around. The nurse, Setie, looked at him with tears in her large doe eyes. With those eyes she spoke to him of loss and whispered apologies without ever saying a word, and he would have none of it! He refused to believe what he saw in their depths! He pushed past the woman in a flurry, so quickly she did not even realize until he was already in the room.

“No! Don’t!”

“Setie, you fool! Get him out of here!”

The voice that spat the order was as sharp as the pain that washed through him, twisting his insides. It pierced his heart with cold, wicked talons that forced the breath from his very lungs. There on the bed lay his love and his life. Her soft blonde hair was splayed across the pillow. It stuck together in clumps and plastered itself to her forehead by sweat. The sheets around her legs, her soft pale thighs, the skirt she’d been wearing, all were soaked with blood, the dark secret blood of a woman’s womb, the blood that had nourished their child, and more blood, the blood of her whole body.

He took all this in, even as the women scrambled to cover her, to hide her from his eyes. Finally, they alighted on a small, carefully wrapped bundle placed on the small table where rightly their baby should be.

Nothing. Her struggle, for nothing. Her devotion, for nothing. Her death… Nothing.

He buried his face in his hands, his tainted hands that could create nothing, that could only hold a sword and follow the misguided deeds of others. Hands that should never have held her! He felt like screaming. He must have screamed. But he knew only the hollow ache in his chest where his heart should have been.

“Please,” Setie begged as she tugged on his arm, “come away.”

He dropped his hands and stared down at Setie with empty eyes, not really seeing her or feeling her small weight attempting to pull him away. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he understood and turned to follow her when from the table there came a small strangled noise. The room froze. The noise was followed immediately by the long anticipated sound of a baby’s wail. Everyone turned, and for a moment no one moved. Finally, the father approached it and unwrapped it with careful hands.

A girl.

She lashed out at the world with tiny limbs and screamed with a voice much larger than her body. Screamed for the mother she had killed.

And in that instant, he understood.

Nearby were the doors to the balcony. With one arm he roughly scooped the child up and with his free hand he threw open the doors. Before any of the nurses could stop him he had the child over the railing, holding her by only one limb.

“Stop,” Cried the midwife, the First Sacred Sister of Mille Seseau. “You don’t have to do this! It is not the child’s fault. I you must blame someone blame me for not being able to save her!”

He ignored the woman’s plea, his attention focused instead on the child. “Abomination,” he growled as the child’s wails grew louder. “Neither human nor Wingly. In ancient times, in this very palace, you would never have been born. I should let you plummet to the ground, should destroy that which was never meant to be,” he paused, the room drew its breath, “but would I then save you? Would you save yourself?”

Slowly he drew the child back and gently curled his arms around her. The tension in the room ebbed. The nurses exhaled in relief, but slowly began to gather together. Miranda was talking in her most soothing voice, but he didn't have ears for her for the baby quieted and opened her eyes to blearily gaze up at him. Her eyes. They were red violet, like all Wingly babies. In fact, her coloring lent nothing to her human heritage.

“We’ll find her a nurse,” Miranda was saying. “Leave her here in Mille Seseau, we will raise her as a Sacred Sister.”

“No,” he replied softly. “She will have a Wingly nurse. She will be raised as a Wingly.” He turned his crimson eyes to the darkening sky where the night’s first stars and the remnants of The Moon That Never Sets sparkled. “Welcome to the world my daughter…”

The hum of magic reverberated thought the room as his wings of light blossomed from his back. Effortlessly, the Wingly lept from the balcony and into the eternal sky.



Welcome to the world my daughter.

Welcome to Endiness.



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