Limit Break - Final Fantasy IX - PG
Fandom: Final Fantasy IX
Title: Limit Break
Rating: PG
Word Count: 287
Notes: General. Freya. Posted July 20, 2006.
Summary: Limitations are important things.
True magic had been lost to the Burmecians. What little magic they possessed was not a skill to harvest, nor could it be classified into colors. It was an old magic, a magic borrowed by their gods and stolen from dragons. A magic forged into weapons and rings, called upon in prayer. It was not an endless chasm of magic, but like magic in many bottles, used in small quantities many times over.
Freya was unsure if that was a bad thing.
To her, true magic was terrifying. She had watched what the power of fire could do, guided only by will and leisure. She had seen the gift of healing, given sparingly and unjustly and to some not at all. There was no true guidance to colored magic, no limitation to its master to protect him from his own carelessness. There was no control. For Freya, for all Burmecians, lack of control lead to the desecration of honor, the most noblest, most treasured ideal of their race.
Not having honor was the one thing in the world Freya would never allow for herself, or anyone for that matter.
And so, when Vivi or Garnet or little Eiko would cast their spells, Freya would watch them, protect them, keep them safe as best she could, for magic was a battle outside and within. She would smile and shake her head and think of them fondly and tenderly, with pride.
For Magic, magic of flame and holy, of good and evil, was a power of god given to mortals, a power made for one beyond mortal capabilities, a privilege few if any should have.
For Freya, it was not magic she admired, but those who used it right.
Title: Limit Break
Rating: PG
Word Count: 287
Notes: General. Freya. Posted July 20, 2006.
Summary: Limitations are important things.
True magic had been lost to the Burmecians. What little magic they possessed was not a skill to harvest, nor could it be classified into colors. It was an old magic, a magic borrowed by their gods and stolen from dragons. A magic forged into weapons and rings, called upon in prayer. It was not an endless chasm of magic, but like magic in many bottles, used in small quantities many times over.
Freya was unsure if that was a bad thing.
To her, true magic was terrifying. She had watched what the power of fire could do, guided only by will and leisure. She had seen the gift of healing, given sparingly and unjustly and to some not at all. There was no true guidance to colored magic, no limitation to its master to protect him from his own carelessness. There was no control. For Freya, for all Burmecians, lack of control lead to the desecration of honor, the most noblest, most treasured ideal of their race.
Not having honor was the one thing in the world Freya would never allow for herself, or anyone for that matter.
And so, when Vivi or Garnet or little Eiko would cast their spells, Freya would watch them, protect them, keep them safe as best she could, for magic was a battle outside and within. She would smile and shake her head and think of them fondly and tenderly, with pride.
For Magic, magic of flame and holy, of good and evil, was a power of god given to mortals, a power made for one beyond mortal capabilities, a privilege few if any should have.
For Freya, it was not magic she admired, but those who used it right.