Chapter Text
Crackles of thunder engulfed Ultima Thule as the battle waged on between the Warrior of Light and the Endsinger. Emet-Selch paced around in unease and Hythlodaeus had just run out of popcorn.
“They will be fine,” his friend said, tossing the empty snack into the fire.
Emet-Selch drew in a big breath through his nose. “They are weak.”
“Has it ever stopped them?”
“... and stubborn.”
Hythlodaeus gazed at him with wistful eyes. “Ever been the worrier.”
Emet-Selch rubbed the side of his face before sinking back to the ground.
Then, the star looming above flashed crimson. Cracks of light emerged from its centre and a boisterous wind drove by, extinguishing their fire.
His mouth went dry as his eyes followed the wind’s direction. Without a thought, he leapt and glided through the air.
The wind left trickles of aether in its wake, allowing him to trail behind.
Hythlodaeus clutched the hem of his robe, hitching a ride until they arrived at what looked like an arena, their souls hovering above, watching the clash before something caught his eye.
“Who is that dragon?”
Emet-Selch focused on the fight before him, his eyes zoning in on the WoL clanging her sword against the Planetes. He heard his friend, and knew the answer, but somehow, talking about it would make the lavender-haired man more unbearable than he already was.
“Ah, is that your great grandson?”
He sighed. Was it so easy to figure out? He remained silent, but it only roused more commentary.
“Quite a family you’ve made for yourself, honourable Emet-Selch. Yet I see you are far from finished.”
He jerked his head to the side, scowling at Hythlodaeus. “I don’t intend to make matters worse, whatever you are insinuating.”
“Hm, you might think that now...”
His eyes narrowed, but before he could reply, Hythlodaeus directed his attention below, pointing with his index finger.
“She is taking quite heavy damage.”
The glare of orange surrounded her body like a shield, ironic for the purpose it served.
A sweat trickled down his cheek. “Ugh. The half-wit dodged nothing. At this rate, she would die.”
WoL stood in one corner auto-attacking…
He slapped a hand on his forehead. How did this dummy beat him again? By cheating. But now, even that won’t save her.
“16? Are those stacks?”
“She is doomed,” said Emet-Selch, turning away from the spectacle.
“The bird is casting Oblivion, again.”
He withdrew from the scene, looking around, as if determining a location before vanishing into the air. Hythlodaeus tagged along.
—
Emet-Selch emerged inside the Ragnarok, finding the Scions lying on the ground, half conscious. Hythlodaeus dusted his robe.
Alisaie had her arm outstretched before she curled her fingers to a fist, pressing it against her chest. “You idiot…”
Leaning against a railing, close to her, was Alphinaud, his hand rubbing the side of his head, while one of the Elezen men gathered his cards to rest on his thighs.
Y’shtola took notice of his arrival and greeted him with a face full of concern, almost as if hoping for him to offer help. Estinien leaned against the wall, his eyes weary and forehead creased.
In a corner, G’raha Tia sobbed, gaze reflecting worry as he wiped his cheeks. “I must save her,” he said in a weak voice.
Emet-Selch pressed his lips together, his fist tightening. “Quit moping around and do something. She needs you now more than ever.”
The scions looked up at him with surprise, except Y’shtola, who furrowed her brows in determination. “He speaks true. We cannot falter now.”
“That’s rich coming from one who placed her in this situation.” Thancred lifted himself from the wall he had his back on, his fists clenched and voice thick with accusation. “Was it not your doing that put her at this disadvantage?”
The words pricked the corners of Emet-Selch’s chest and his lips twitched in annoyance. Thancred wasn’t wrong, but he would dissipate in the aetherial sea before admitting that.
“‘Tis all but certain our comrade shall endeth—”
Hythlodaeus covered the Astrologian’s mouth before shaking his head and leaning in to whisper. “Not now.”
Emet-Selch turned to Thancred, eyes bearing no expression, arms crossing tight against his chest. “Alright, then. Let us hear what your brilliant mind has to offer.”
Thancred seethed, his gaze like daggers aiming for the other man’s translucent form, but he said nothing.
G’raha Tia rose, his features determined. “Let us cast all these aside. We have but one course of action, that is to pray for our friend’s…” he paused, his eyes teary again, before he cleared his throat, “... safe return. And pray we must.”
Alisaie rose to her feet next, her eyes glinted with hope. “Our prayers will reach her.” Her smile spread to her comrades as they pressed their heads down, clutching their hands together, or pressing them to their chests.
“Light the way!”
Hythlodaeus bobbed his head, as if listening to something; a loporrit came through the door, bringing pudding, which he happily took before the bunny left.
Emet-Selch shook his own head, not bothering to understand what’s going on. He sank in a corner, observing the scions, then sighed. Despite their incompetence, they find a way.
After some time, silence filled the room once again. There was nothing to do but wait.
Hythlodaeus settled on the floor. His plate had no trace of pudding left. Alisaie pressed a hand on her chest, her forehead wrinkling, and Alphinaud had a faraway look in his eyes.
Emet-Selch leaned against the wall, lost in thought. The twins weren’t so bad. What were the odds of WoL bearing twins? What would he name them?
Hythlodaeus beamed at him, as if reading his mind. Heat rose to his cheeks. Then he scowled at his friend before turning away.
Suddenly, Meteion materialised, her feathers now blue.
Everyone’s eyes were on her, and she fidgeted. “I… she defeated my sisters, and I tried to get her back, but…”
Emet-Selch stood, observing her, aching to hear what happened.
“The dragon—man. He is fighting with her.”
“I must see her,” G’raha Tia said, rushing to the door. “Would you lead me to her?”
“I… cannot. She sent you here for your safety and the dragon man wished to fight her alone. And she… accepted.”
“Quite an interesting grandson you have.”
Emet-Selch sighed. Zenos was a troublesome boy, but if WoL agreed to battle him, there was little he could do. He massaged his temples, his breathing heavy, convinced that everyone around him was created solely to test his patience.
“Regardless, I will still see her and lend my aid.” G’raha Tia stood undeterred, holding Meteion’s gaze.
Alphinaud studied him before exhaling audibly.
“If this is the same man who helped her chase and pin the Endsinger down, I believe she had struck a bargain with him. To intrude upon such an agreement would do ill to our friend. That said, I cannot help but worry…”
But the baby…
“But the baby,” G’raha Tia said, reflecting Emet-Selch’s thoughts.
“I shielded her with my own Dynamis. Worry not. Your hopes and prayers are enough to bring them both safe.” Meteion’s eyes sparkled with hope.
The cat man walked back to his corner, bringing his knees to his chest before looking up to meet Emet-Selch’s gaze.
“I will take care of her… and the child.”
“What.”
“You may leave now.”
“Excuse me?”
G’raha shifted, finding himself in front of the ancient, his neck craning up to match his glare with his own. “This is our time, Emet-Selch.”
“What nonsense. That is my child in her belly. Not yours.”
G’raha blinked, unable to respond. He walked back to his corner, dejected.
“Such impudence.” Emet-Selch massaged his temples again.
Suddenly, something lit up in the middle of the room and they all covered their eyes, except the ghost men.
Emet-Selch’s lips hung open, his eyes scanning her form and her belly before a sigh of relief escaped him.
G’raha Tia’s ears wiggled; Thancred’s shoulders sank, and he wore a half smile. The twins looked at each other in joy and Y’shtola pressed a hand on her chest. Estinien grunted, but no one heard. The other Elezen flipped a card and his face brightened.
WoL landed gently on the floor, not a single scratch on her body. But she was unconscious, and the Scions frowned.
G’raha took her hands to his as he whispered words of prayer, tears streaking down his face.
Alisaie brushed her fingers through WoL’s hair, her free hand clutching her chest. “Please, wake up.”
Hythlodaeus stretched his arms, crossing them against his head and leaning back on a wall. “What a joyous reunion.”
“Joyous? The simpletons think she’s dead.”
She wasn’t, of course. Just moments later, she woke up and their joyous reunion ensued, tearful laughter slowly filled the room.
G’raha Tia still held her hands and Emet-Selch frowned.
“Tell me, would you still have need of Emet-Selch if,” he asked before pausing in hesitation, “let’s say, I take the responsibility for his actions?”
Emet-Selch grimaced. How dare he?
But hearing WoL laugh brought a warm sensation in his chest. He watched her pat the cat’s head affectionately.
Then, she met Emet's gaze curling her lips into a smile. He smiled back.
When she brought her attention back to G’raha Tia, there was a gleam in her eyes. “I do… need him by my side.”
Emet-Selch's heart threatened to burst and Hythlodaeus grinned like a fool.
G’raha Tia beamed through tears. “Well, there’s that.” Then he released her hands, his smile now small, but sincere. “We are glad to see you back.”