I.
The March of the Black
Queen
It was over four hundred years ago.
In those days, recall, that our
continent of Loar largely consisted of a kingdom that we then also
called Ivalice; a kingdom separated into six regions all too soon to
be unified by the great hero who began Ivalice's next “golden age.”
In the continent's center lay
Lesalia, the royal seat; the others branched from that center, be it
Fovoham to the north, proud Gallione to the west, broken Zeltennia to
the east, or Limberry and Lionel to the south west and south
respectively. These were political divisions, rather than
geographical; but in spirit if not in deed they all carried three
great similarities: they answered to the Royal City of Lesalia and
their king Ondoria III, they all knelt before the Church of Glabados,
and they were all desperately poor. For in that time, the kingdom had
not yet recovered from the scars of The Fifty Years' War with
Ordallia to the east.
This last fact was held in
contention for some years, as written documents of the era were
largely recorded by learned men and the nobility – and there was no
greater time to be noble than in the wake of a war. Coffers were
overstuffed in the case of those who sent others to fight. One
particularly noteworthy example was just months before the official
declaration of the end of hostilities—the church, a wealthy body
itself, hosted an opulent baptism ceremony for the newly-born royal
baby, and it seemed all of Ivalice's ruling class was in attendance,
even as many fields lay fallow and bones bleached in the dried Lake
Poescas beds.
***
The wheels turned, and the goldleaf
herald, the twin lions, emblazoned on the carriage's door was
spattered with mud. Inside, a powerful woman brushed her long blonde
hair back behind her without tipping her crown; she prepared to seize
her destiny, unknowing that it would seize her instead.
The War of the Lions began and ended
each with a miracle.
