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Chapter Text

Nanamo Ul Namo choked and spluttered, emerald eyes wide with fear and horror as her lithe, childlike hands clutched at her throat. He reached out to her, fingers closing around the Soul of the White Mage that he carried with all the others and calling upon its power. 

The Sultana crashed to the lush rug almost in slow motion, her chair cracking against stone and her golden goblet spilling out wine that he now realized was poisoned as it, too, struck the floor. Power flooded his body, warmth and gentle magic coursing his veins as he lunged at his dear friend.  

His fingers closed around her wrist-it was already so clammy-and he was about to pour his magic into her, to push that poison out of her body. Then strong hands took hold of his shoulders, pain shooting through his body as he was wrenched back.  

"No, damn it! Let go!" He screamed at the unseen soldiers. "I can heal her! I can save her, just let go!"  

The unyielding hands wrenched his arms behind his back and cold metal clamped down upon his wrists, chains rattling.  

"What is this?" A sneering, damnable voice slithered through his feline ears. "The Warrior of Light has assassinated the Sultana!"  

Teledji Adeledji swaggered into sight, his thin lips twisted into an arrogant sneer as he crouched over Nanamo's now-stilled form. His eyes, filled with sick humor and dark satisfaction, lingered on the goblet.  

"Poison in her wine? You monster!" His sly tongue continued its tirade. "You've been serving the Garleans all this time, haven't you? Leading us all on so you can strike while our backs are turned! I knew I was right about you!"  

"You're mad if you think they'll believe I betrayed then," he spat, although his hopes were rather fragile and he couldn't even convince himself.  

Adeledji's smirk only seemed to grow larger. "Oh, I don't think it'll take too much to convince them, what with your connections to the Empire and the fact that you've been caught several times shipping supplies to the Fourteenth Legion bases."  

"I may have been forced into service for the Empire because of who my father had been, but my allegiance has always been to Eorzea."  

"Oh, but your friends never quite saw it that way, did they?" The lalafellin bastard sneered. "No, they'll see this as you finally making your loyalties clear, you Imperial traitor!"  

A gag was forced into his mouth, and despite his attempts to use his sharpened teeth to rip through it, the cloth remained firmly in place. Gauntlet covered hands wrenched him upwards and dragged him back the way he'd come, leaving Nanamo's corpse staring blankly after him. Deep within his breast, the flames of anger and resentment smoldered, burning with Ifrit's rage and Titan's wrath.  

They were Brass Blades...corrupt bastards! He was a fool for changing affinities so quickly, lacking the strength to break free of the hands holding him fast within their grasp. He was a healer in this state, not a fighter, damn it!  

Adeledji walked out of sight in front of him, as he was being dragged backwards, the Lalafell's voice muttering rehearsed lines again and again until the Blades abruptly halted. 

"Wait here while I eject the Ishgardians," Adeledji ordered, unaware that his cronies had already done so. "They'll likely leap to this one's defense since he just saved their sorry little city, so we cannot let them witness what's about to proceed."  

"Yes, sir!"  

He could hear the smirk in the little bastard's voice as Adeledji began speaking to Ishgardian knights just out of the captive and party's sight, and each word made him want to wrangle the midget, then string his body up in Zan'rak and set him ablaze as a tribute to the Brotherhood of Ash.  

Moments passed, and he heard the stomping of heavy boots accompanied by Ser Aymeric's stern voice shouting orders to his escort. He wanted to call out, to beg his friend's help, but the gag silenced all attempts to voice anything.  

Adeledji's voice followed: "And here you have been celebrating before the throne while it's occupant has been assassinated!'  

"Explain yourself!" Raubahn roared. "What do you mean, assassinated?!"  

"Oh, I mean that I came across our beloved Sultana poisoned in her quarters, with the assassin attempting to dispose of the body!" Adeledji crowed, and the Warrior begrudgingly gave him credit in hiding his glee and smug pleasure.  

Dozens of voices-some he knew well-gasped in horror, followed by the Flame General's infuriated roar.  

"Who is the assassin?! BRING THEM HERE!"  

The guards hauled him to his feet, muscles and stiff tendons protesting as they dragged him towards the banquet.  

"The assassin is none other than," Adeledji's voice rose dramatically as great doors creaked open, and he was flung onto the floor before nearly a hundred horrified faces, "the Warrior of Light!"  

"You must be joking!" Minfillia, bless her, thrust herself forward and came to his defense. "There's no way that he-"  

"Silence, woman!" Adeledji shrieked. "Or I'll have to consider the Scions as accomplices to this murder!"  

Raubahn's furious eyes burned into his body, the man's animal-like breathing filling the entire room.  

"You all know that this man is a former Imperial soldier and has known ties to Gaius van Baelsar and the Fourteenth Legion! His loyalties have always been dubious, and he has finally shown us where they truly lie!" Adeledji crowed. "This monster murdered a woman who saw him as a dear friend, an ally that she could count on to protect her people! This vial of poison was found on his person!"  

Laurentius-that pathetic coward!-reached into his pockets and withdrew the vial that he'd found near Black Brush Station, raising it high for all to see. That treacherous fool would be the first neck to be wrung!  

Raubahn's pained roar shook the room, the Warrior jolting as the Bull of Ala Mihgo lunged with scimitars drawn. A flash of blue cut between them, a curved falchion intercepting the black blades just inches away from his face.  

"Peace, brother!" Ilberd grunted against his friend's incredible strength and fury. "We won't let the bastard get away with this, but we must put him on trail first! Show the world that we aren't going to sink to his level!"  

"WE TRUSTED YOU!" The General screamed at him, tears pouring from his eyes. "WE BELIEVED YOU WERE THE WARRIOR OF LIGHT!"  

W-were they...actually falling for it? He looked around at the horrified faces, at the ones he'd called friends, family, even. None of them held any pity or indignation; none stepped forward to challenge the accusations that should have been so obviously fabricated. Anger and resentment, betrayal and agony were all he saw.  

"You Imperial traitor!" Merlwyb pulled her pistol out, only to have a red garbed Storm escort grapple with her arm. 

"Don't, Admiral! This isn't our place to deal judgement!"  

"Damn hells!" The Admiral's fierce pale eyes never once left the Warrior. "You're going to pay for this mutiny!"  

The Scions were fidgeting, pain and confusion in their eyes as they looked between the Warrior and the rest of the Alliance with uncertainty.  

Were they really just going to abandon him? After everything that he'd done for Eorzea? For them? He'd fought the gods themselves, bled a river of blood to protect these wretched fools who never seemed to run out of powerful enemies at which to throw him at.  

Was that all he was to them: a powerful Weapon of Light that held dubious loyalty simply because his father had been an Imperial deserter who'd been tracked down by the Fourteenth Legion after crossing into Gridania and starting a family, then been murdered by the legionnaires who'd burned his simple dwelling and taken his young son to enslave? He was nothing but a weapon, and now they were throwing him aside like a broken blade.  

The brand on his shoulder burned, reminding him of his sins, and the Warrior felt all of his fabled strength leaving him.  

He would have preferred fighting the Primals and the Ultima Weapon all at once to this.  

"You monster!"  

"Imperial whore-son!"  

"Kill him!"  

The nobles who had also been in attendance began shouting, faces twisted by rage. Crystal Braves and Brass Blades alike marched into the banquet hall, swords clinking in their scabbards as they formed up to take their prisoner away. Even Kan-E wouldn't look at him: she who'd sworn to stand at his side through thick and thin; she who'd promised him that she would never leave his side no matter what happened, had abandoned him.  

"You mad fools!" Armor clanked in a roaring cacophony as a familiar voice pierced the din. "Are you really so stupid?!"  

The heavy hands holding the Warrior's shoulders flew off as his captors were thrown back. Haurchefant Greystone's face cruised into his line of sight as the man grabbed his shoulders and heaved him upright.  

"Come on, my friend! I'm not going to let these false accusations claim you!" The Ishgardian yanked his friend into the corridor, flanked by half a dozen knights bearing the unicorn emblem of House Fortemps. "With me! We leave with our hero or not at all!"  

The knights shouted their assent, two turning their kite shields in time to block an attempted counterattack by stunned Brass Blades. Of course Haurchefant would do something so foolhardy! The Betrayed was ushered along at high speeds through the Royal Promenade, beautiful Ul'dahn architecture flying by as the Ishgardians ran at full speed. 

The Betrayed stumbled along as best as he could, holding back his relieved sigh as Haurchefant ripped the gag from his mouth.  

"We already got your equipment back!" The man was grinning hugely despite the desperate situation. "You'll be safe in Ishgard, my friend, I promise you!"  

Numb and reeling, the Betrayed could only nod back as the reactor of rage and sorrow warred within his unstable heart. And so he ran, he ran away from everything he'd worked so hard and bled so much to protect. He ran away from those he'd loved, from those who had doubted him and trusted him, those who'd placed the heavy weight of their realm upon his shoulders and piled on yet more.  

The group steamrolled through the quiet Ul'dahn night, the cold air cruising through empty streets and warmly glowing lanterns that bore witness to their flight. Colorful canopies still fluttered in the light breeze, and he could still detect the faint smell of the market's many wares lingering in the Emerald Lane.  

The Sultansworn manning the lift to the airship landing yelped and nearly fell over himself as the Ishgardians piled on and headed up, the attendants and other staff in the landing watching in stunned fascination as the last airship was suddenly host to the desperate party. The Betrayed could hear shouts of betrayal, shouts of murder and treachery emanating from the streets even as the airship took to the sky, aether pulsing and powering its engines.  

Only when Ul'dah was a speck in the desert of Thanalan did the Ishgardians allow themselves to relax, the knight piloting the ship heaving a sigh of relief.  

"By the Fury, that was close!" Haurchefant sighed, draping an arm over his friend's slackened shoulders. "How are you feeling?"  

"Tired. I can't..." He shook his head, his thoughts muddled and sluggish, trudging through the swamp that had risen within his mind. "W-why would they do this?"  

"I don't know," Haurchefant's voice tightened with rage. "How could they even believe that you'd hurt Lady Nanamo, to begin with?! She's one of your closest friends, for the Fury's sake! You've proved time and time again that you'd give anything to protect her and all of Eorzea!"  

"Because of my Imperial roots, why else?" The Betrayed spat. "Nothing I ever did would have been good enough for them, because to them, I was nothing more than a weapon, an Imperial who could turn against them at any moment."  

"And they were stupid enough to fall for clearly fabricated accusations. No matter, my friend! We'll be in Coerthas shortly and I think our reputation for being inhospitable towards the rest of Eorzea will come in handy, eh?"  

"Or you might just be met with an army, seeing as how it was blatantly obvious that Ishgardian soldiers had just kidnapped the man accused of murdering the Sultana."  

Haurchefant sighed dramatically and tightened his grip on his friend's shoulder. "Oh, don't be so pessimistic, my friend! I don't think Eorzea would want to fight Ishgard, especially in conditions they have no experience with and with the dragons that could also attack them from behind!"  

Well, he was right: the Eorzean Alliance might attempt a few excursions, but they'd have to pass through Gridanian territory to do so, and Kan-E might actually slow them down by insisting that an actual investigation be done. Maybe the Scions would help, but the Betrayed didn't exactly have high hopes.  

The wind kissed the party as they soared high over Eorzea, the Betrayed gazing over the railing at the country he'd fought and bled for. This was his home, no matter what the Empire had done to him, and it would always remain as such.main as such. Thanalan's dry deserts gave way to Gridania's lush, beautiful forest lands, and the Betrayed wondered how the countless people he'd befriended and worked alongside would react once news of his 'betrayal' spread throughout the city-states. Some might believe it while others wouldn't, no matter how much 'evidence' was presented, and the thought cheered him just a little bit.  

The greenery of Gridania gave way to the frozen wastes of Coerthas, and it was only when the airship set down in the upper echelons of Camp Dragonhead did the Betrayed give himself any moment to register his weariness. He stepped down from the vessel to the cold, snow covered ground and was immediately greeted by dozens of enthusiastic knights crowding around them.  

"Give the man some space!" Haurchefant shouted through the mess of questions and excited greetings. "Come, friend, let us rest in the intercessory."  

He followed Haurchefant into the warmth of the chamber, sinking into a cushioned chair on legs that no longer seemed able to hold his weight. Even the Soul Gems in his pocket seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, now.  

The door creaked open, and Haurchefant spun to reprimand the intruder only to pause as a sheepish female knight walked in, carrying the equipment that had been taken from the Betrayed before his final audience with Nanamo. 

"My apologies for intruding, sir! I merely thought you'd want these back," the woman stammered, setting the weapons upon the great table with a loud clank.  

"Thank you," the Betrayed mustered the strength to respond and to give the nervous knight a reassuring smile, at which her unease faded. 

"Of course, sir! If there's anything else you need, please do not hesitate to ask!" She saluted and scurried out into the cold, shutting the door behind her and sealing the room in warmth once more.  

Haurchefant chuckled. "Knights all over Ishgard and Coerthas have heard about your victory at the Steps of Faith, my friend. Needless to say, I think you'll find that you have quite a legion of new fans."  

"Heh, I'm just glad that they're not shooting me with those ballistae."  

"Nonsense! You're much too puny to waste a bolt on!"  

The men burst out laughing, pausing their merriment only when a knock sounded at the door. 

"Sirs? There's a woman here claiming to be a friend of the Warrior!" A knight's voice reported. "Says her name is...Yugiri?"  

The Betrayed looked up, surprise rippling through his mind. "Yugiri? How the hell did she get here so quickly?"  

"Do I let her in, sir?"  

"Yes. Yugiri can be trusted."  

Moments later, the door creaked open to admit the short Doman princess, still clad in her shinobi apparel and thick veil. 

"I'm glad to see you safe, my friend," Yugiri walked up to the Betrayed and bowed, the relief in her voice warming his heart. "When I'd heard of your betrayal...I simply wouldn't believe that you'd do such a thing. You're far better than that."  

He returned her bow, fighting the urge to reach out and embrace the shorter woman. "Apparently, you're one of the few who didn't believe Adeledji."  

Yugiri made a sort of tsk-ing noise, her slender hand reaching out and resting on the Warrior's weary shoulder. "And I am shocked to say that I am: I truly expected a legion of like-minded people to shut down these false accusations immediately, regardless of your past."  

Haurchefant coughed. "I apologize for interrupting, but I must take my leave for now. I plan to return to Ishgard and entreat the Archbishop to allow you entry into the city. I'll be back as quickly as I can, but it may take a while for a decision to be made."  

"Don't overdo it, Haurchefant," the Betrayed clasped his dear friend's offered hand. "And thank you, for everything."  

The Fortemps knight smiled. "Of course, my friend. I'll leave instructions for some of my staff here to see to you in the duration of my absence."  

"I'll remain here with him as well," Yugiri offered, Haurchefant nodding to her. 

"Thank you, milady," the knight mimicked her bow and then departed, his smile the last thing the Betrayed saw.  

He slunk back into the chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Hydaelyn, why must you do this to me?"  

His White Mage robes rustled, and he found himself staring at his hands, remembering Nanamo's clammy skin. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes at the memory of his dear friend choking, her emerald eyes wide with horror and pleading for help as the life drained from her.  

"Sir?" Yugiri's soft voice pulled him from the memory, and he quickly reached up to brush away the tears. 

"Sorry, Yugiri...How have your people been settling into Mor Dhona?" He mustn't show weakness, damn it!  

"It's been hard, but we're giving it our all," Yugiri scooted a second chair next to him, wooden legs scraping harshly against stone as she settled herself into it. "Revenant's Toll is a difficult place to live in, but we've faced worse. It's far preferable than where we were before, to say the least."  

"That's good to hear. I only wish that Castrum Centri wasn't a few hundred yalms away from it..."  

That veil turned to him, and he could feel Yugiri's sharp eyes gazing at him from underneath the thick cloth.  

"Is it true: that you've been secretly supplying the Imperials there and in the other fortresses?" She asked softly.  

And there it was, the question that could make or break their friendship.  

"Yeah, but I've only been giving them food and other small necessities, nothing military or otherwise," the Betrayed braced himself to feel her daggers at his vulnerable throat. "They were my comrades once, and I just couldn't bring myself to just sit back and let the Alliance starve them like beasts."  

Yugiri said nothing, and so he pressed on.  

"Contrary to popular belief, not everyone in the Fourteenth believes that Eorzea is a den of savagery that needs to be brutally conquered in order to bring about glory or other nonsense. Lord van Baelsar truly did want to save Eorzea from itself, from the Primals and the Beast Tribes, and many of his followers believed the same. It was because of the Legatus that I decided to desert after Cartenaeu and start anew as an adventurer in Ul'dah. I wanted to protect everyone, to make a difference...but it seems everything I've done has been for nothing."  

Yugiri's hand closed around his, and he looked up at her in surprise.  

"It hasn't been for nothing, my friend," she said softly. "You've done so much more than you give yourself credit for, and you've inspired so many people, myself included. I will stand by your side in whatever's to come, no matter what. I swear myself to you!"  

He smiled at her, his heart lightening considerably. "I...thank you, Yugiri. I don't know how I could possible repay you for this kindness." 

Yugiri's soft chuckle warmed his bones and she rose and began lining up more cushioned chairs to his left side. What was she doing?  

"You can repay me by resting and not overworking yourself as you're prone to doing," Yugiri sat in the lone chair at his right side, her gentle yet strong hands tugging his body down until his head came to rest upon her lap. "Sleep, you look exhausted!" 

He obliged, lifting his weary legs up to rest them upon the other chairs, staring up at Yugiri's veil as his feline ears twitched. He always wondered why she wore such a thing-perhaps it was a Doman custom?-but he didn't want to pry and ask her. It wasn't his place.  

To his surprise, Yugiri reached up and tugged the veil away from her face, ebony-black hair falling around a startlingly beautiful face framed by light scales. Her lips curved into a rather embarrassed smile, and her pale skin colored a bit under his stare. Horns, actual horns, jutted back on her head from where he'd thought her ears would have been. She seemed almost too beautiful, almost otherworldly, but he didn't care.  

"Do you see why I wear the veil now?" She asked, her eyes never once leaving his.  

"Yeah. Didn't want Thancred flirting with you, huh?"  

Her laugh made him feel even more tired. "Perhaps that was one of the boons, yes. But many people fear Au-Ra...especially Ishgardians, so I thought it best to keep my appearance hidden."  

"But why show me?" He wasn't complaining, but still. 

"I want you to know the face of the one who stands with you, with nothing to hide," Yugiri said with a firm voice. "Now rest."  

His heavy eyelids began to droop, yet still he struggled mightily against the draw of sleep. Seeing this, Yugiri's eyes softened and her slender fingers brushed against his cheek, gentle strokes further lulling him into the dreams to come.  

"Sleep," she whispered, hunching her small frame over and planting a soft kiss upon his cheek. "Sleep." 

He felt the drug's affects immediately, wondering just how Yugiri had managed to get it into his bloodstream as darkness encroached upon him.  

He fought a losing battle, and Castor Entialpoh, Warrior of Light, Savior of Eorzea, and bane of Primals, drifted off to sleep.  

Haurchefant's overjoyed shouting had awoken him a few short hours later, the knight sheepishly but shamelessly grinning through Yugiri's stern reprimanding for waking his friend so early. Castor had awoken, quite reluctant to lift his weary head from Yugiri's soft and warm lap but forcing himself to do so even as the Doman attempted to keep him in that position.  

"Castor! You've been granted passage into Ishgard proper! My father has agreed to claim you as a Ward of House Fortemps!" Haurchefant cried when he saw that Castor was awake.  

Through the haze of sleep, Castor vaguely registered the words, but he understood them well enough for a smile to be brought to his lips. 

"Truly? With these accusations following me around, I'd expected far worse," Castor's muscles ached as he rose from the makeshift cot, his weary, scarred body crying for more sleep that he so desperately needed.  

Yugiri's concerned eyes lingered on him as he strode over to Haurchefant, who was practically bouncing from foot to foot with glee. Castor nodded to the Doman and stretched his arms. 

"Alright, so are we off to the Gates of Judgement?" He asked, just barely stifling a yawn.  

"You are: I have duties here concerning the fortification of our borders which will keep me trapped here," Haurchefant flashed Castor that brilliant smile that never once failed to ease his nerves. "Don't do something heroic like saving Ishgard without telling me first, got it?"  

"It's a deal," Castor laughed and offered a hand, only to have Haurchefant embrace him before dashing outside.  

"Heh, he seems quite fond of you," Yugiri chuckled.  

"Haurchefant is a true friend, as are you, Lady Yugiri. I will forever be grateful for your support," Castor turned to her, intending to bow to show his respect, but the smaller woman stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.  

"If I am a true friend, then I embrace you as one," she said into his chest, the warmth of her breath wafting through his robes.  

Castor couldn't help his smile as he placed his arms around the slender Doman, surprised at how muscular her lithe frame felt. 

Yugiri pulled back after a few moments, Castor reluctantly releasing her. "I wish I could accompany you to Ishgard, but I am needed in Mor Dhona."  

"Take care of yourself, Yugiri," Castor bowed his head. "And tell the kids I'm sorry I can't mess around with them a bit longer."  

She smiled. "Oh, I'm sure they'll forgive you. I, however, will not be as forgiving if you do not take better care of yourself." Yugiri stepped forward, poking his chest for emphasis. "You need to rest as soon as you can, my dear friend, and I will be watching to make sure you do." 

Castor swallowed nervously. "U-uh, yes, ma'am!"  

"Good," Yugiri grinned and patted his cheek in a teasing manner, then walked out the intercessory door.  

The cold from outside chilled Castor's bones, but it was a necessary reminder of what he had to do. He reached into his pouch of Soul Gems, grabbed his Soul of the Paladin, and willed its power to surge through him. Robes were replaced with the sleek silver and gold Gallant armor of a Sultansworn Paladin, and guilt stabbed his heart.  

"Am I even worthy of wearing this armor?" He murmured, the Sultana's Brand emblazoned upon his shield mocking him.  

Nanamo had had this shield made especially for him: going so far as to put her own personal sigil upon its shining silver surface as a token of her favor, and Castor had failed her. He fought down the tears threatening his eyes and strode out into the snowy Coerthan night. It had only been a few hours since the banquet, but Castor could see the lightening heralds of dawn beginning to paint the horizon. The sky was still dotted with thousands of stars, silently gazing upon the world below them as Castor made his way out of Dragonhead's side entrance.  

The cold never bothered him anymore, not since he'd fought Shiva and absorbed a good amount of her aether, but he had to be careful not to get frostbite when he wasn't paying attention. The power of the Primals residing within him strengthened him, which he was glad for, but often he'd wake up from sleeping with a killer headache because of the Echo and their powers clashing. It had been especially bad the first time he'd slain Ifrit, so long ago, but now he was used to it.  

Castor made his way through the frigid, white-washed Coerthan forests, icy daggers prying in vain at the metal clad figure stomping through the snow. How many people in Eorzea now hated him? How many former friends were now cursing his name, plotting to kill him upon their next chance meeting? The thought made him feel sick inside, the dull blade of rage prodding his heart. Ebony black hair drifted into his eyes, but he ignored it and kept striding through the snow fall that constantly filled the central highlands.  

Some outriders on armored chocobos rode by, calling his name and saluting before they vanished into the veil, and the white gave way to the towering stone of the Gates of Judgement. Castor strode up to the knights guarding the great stairwell before the gates, themselves, eyes shining behind the stony visors looking back at him.  

"Sir Castor!" Every man and woman present, about half a dozen, called his name and pounded their fists upon their chainmail chests, pride and reverence in their voices. "It's our honor to admit you into Ishgard!"  

He smiled at them, determinted not to let his weariness show. "As it is my honor to be admitted in the first place."  

The first outsider to step foot into Ishgard's holy city in centuries...Castor would have been excited were he not so exhausted and mentally drained. The guards inclined their heads and began shouting orders, several rushing over to a great wheel-like mechanism and turning it. With a great metallic groan, the intricate Gates swung backwards, opening his way across the ancient bridge leading to his destination.  

And so he stepped forward, the Sea of Clouds beneath raging violently with water and wind aspected aether. The wind howled over the ancient structure, broken only by the clanking footfalls of steel on stone. Castor could still see damage all over the bridge from the Horde's assault, the deep gouges made by the monstrous Vishap's talons scarring stone. How he'd managed to bring the gargantuan beast down with only a contingent of Ishgardian soldiers at his side, he'd never know, but Castor was accustomed to performing impossible feats. Hell, he'd even slain what was left of Bahamut, himself, although that feat had nearly cost him his life in more ways than one.  

Castor paused by a great gap in the siding of the bridge and found himself gazing down at the misty storm of aether far below. He lifted his shield and stared at the Brand emblazoned upon it, his face staring back at him from the gleaming metal. Disgust and anger boiled within his breast, and Castor's body reared back on its own.  

With a cry that echoed to the heavens, born from the depths of his tormented soul, Castor hurled his only shield out into the Sea of Clouds and watched it spiral into the nothingness. The weight upon his heart did not diminish, but Castor wasn't worthy of protecting anyone with that shield anymore.  

He turned to Ishgard, his eyes turning ever 

Heavensward. 

Chapter Text

The great gates rumbled open, and the first thing Castor saw was the rubble. Piles of stone and wood lay all over the city square, knights and civilians attempting to heave the debris away. Spires rose from a thousand stony places, piercing the sky with reminders of Ishgard's might. The city still bore the scars of thousands of years of endless fighting, as did the people who lived and died within and without these walls.  

"Ah, you must be Sir Castor!" A tall Elezen wearing a black steward's coat bowed as he approached. "I am a steward of House Fortemps, instructed to guide you to my lord's manor."  

Castor returned the bow, though he could feel many eyes boring into him. Children hiding behind stone with angry glares; knights and others who knew of him smiling and waving as they recognized him; a group of women clad in rich dresses and veils scrutinizing him as if he were the source of their worries.  

"You have my thanks," he said to the steward, who was staring at him with eyes shining with awe.  

The steward bowed again. "This way, sir!" 

Castor followed the tall man past a massive aetheryte-so Ishgard had one? How interesting-and took a moment to attune himself to the gargantuan crystal before hurrying after his guide. The steward guided him up a great flight of stairs, and Castor was careful to memorize every inch of his new surroundings. His guide prattled on about certain Ishgardian historical facts attributed to certain places, but Castor only gave the man half his attention.  

He could feel untrusting eyes burning into him, keen ears easily picking up whispered words of awe or fear. These Ishgardians knew of Castor Entialpoh, but they'd never seen him before and perhaps still didn't trust this Eorzean outsider. No matter. The opinions of narrow-minded smallfolk no longer mattered to him.  

"Ah, here we are!" The steward's bright voice brought Castor out of his trance, and he found himself staring at a grand mansion with a gazebo sitting off to the side. 

The unicorn sigil of House Fortemps was emblazoned above the doors and upon the shields of the guards standing before it, and Castor felt his weariness sinking into his very bones. The steward nodded to the guards, who reached back and threw open the grand doors. Castor followed the steward inside, attempting to recall any Ishgardian mannerisms that he should remember so as to not offend his host. The mansion was warm and very lavishly decorated, with plush rugs and expensive furniture everywhere, as well as framed pictures of important individuals of House Fortemps.  

Castor wanted to feel safe here, but what if Ishgard betrayed him as well? He had to be ready for everything that could possibly happen, every betrayal lurking in the shadows. The duo entered a great room, and Castor's eyes fixed onto the richly clad, elegant man standing before a piano.  

"Ah, you must be Sir Castor," his vibrant, warm voice was accompanied by a welcoming smile, although his eyes-one covered by a monocle-were steely as he studied his guest. "I am Count Edmont de Fortempts, leader of this house."  

"I am indeed Castor Entialpoh, Count Edmont," Castor bowed and attempted to show reverence in his exhausted state, praying the count wouldn't take offense if he messed up. "You have my sincerest gratitude for extending this invitation."  

Edmont nodded, his silken hair swaying at the motion. "My son has told me many great things about you, Master Entialpoh, and how could I possibly leave the saviour of our city to such treacherous wolves?"  

Castor couldn't stop his grimace. "Yes...I apologize if my presence and the allegations against me have caused any inconveniences for you and yours, Count Edmont. I understand my reputation isn't...exactly the best at the moment." 

"Don't be ridiculous! Your reputation in Ishgard is that of the heroic dragon slayer who single-handedly slew the monstrous Vishap and saved the entire city!" Count Edmont's impassioned words made Castor take a surprised half step backwards. "To be honest, House Haillenarte was hot on our heels in our attempts to take you as a Ward to allow you passage into Ishgard."  

"Haillenarte? Francel's family?" Castor remembered Francel: accused of heresy by a false Inquisitor, only proved innocent by his and Haurchefant's efforts.  

"Yes. Francel and his family came very close to obtaining permission from the Holy See to claim you as Ward, but unfortunately for them, we got that honor," Edmont gave a wicked grin. "I imagine they are quite upset with this turn of events."  

Castor chuckled. "I see. Again, you have my thanks for agreeing to host me on such short notice, my lord."  

"It's no issue, truly," Edmont bowed, the intricate cane clutched in his hand tapping lightly against the sleek stone floor. "If anything, I should be thanking you for everything you've done for Ishgard, and for Haurchefant."  

"Haurchefant's an incredible man and an even greater friend," Castor said softly. "I will be eternally grateful for him and for his rescue."  

Edmont's fond smile warmed Castor's heart. "I am glad to hear that, Sir Castor. Oh, I nearly forgot: I'd like you to meet my other sons: Emmanellain and Artoriel."  

Two young men strode into the room, also clad in rich, silken apparel.  

"I am Artoriel de Fortemps," the taller of the two, bearing a stern yet regal appearance, bowed, although the contempt in his sharp eyes was easy to see. 

"Emmanellain at your service!" The shorter, with bristly hair partially obscuring his boyish, freckled face, grinned as he, too, bowed.  

The Count nodded back to Castor. "Sir Castor, I have had the necessary paperwork drawn up and stamped, and it should be here shortly."  

"Thank you, Count Edmont," Castor bowed, wondering which of the two sons would annoy him the most. Emmanellain was his best bet so far. "I shall strive not to act in any undue manner that would bring shame to your House."  

"I should hope as such," Artoriel spoke up in an iced tone.  

The Count shot him a glare before turning back to his guest. "Thank you for your concerns, my friend. And, ah, if I may...I'm loathe to say as such, but there are many concerns about you and your reputation circulating between the High Houses, and many people are wondering just what you have to offer us that would justify claiming you as a Ward."  

And there it was: the catch. 

"I offer my support to Ishgard in any way possible," Castor had expected something like this to crop up, and the best thing he could offer Ishgard would be his rather significant martial prowess. "My blade shall be sworn to defending her against her enemies and protecting her people."  

Edmont's concerns melted from his aged features, and the steel in his eyes was replaced with relief and warmth. "I am glad to hear that, Castor, and while I am loathe to ask a guest of mine to fight in Ishgard's war, I'm afraid I had no other choice."  

"Ooh, this is going to be great!" Emmanellain laughed. "Imagine having the Warrior of Light in our employ!" 

Artoriel huffed. "As long as he doesn't get in my way, it's me who will be bringing honor to House Fortemps."  

"Enough, both of you!" Edmont's sharp voice made both sons jerk upright at attention. "This man is a hero: He's slain Nidhogg's greatest general, Gaius van Baelsar, and over half a dozen Primals in addition to that! He is not here to be your errand boy or to steal your glory!"  

"Y-yes, Father!" Emmanellain yelped, while his brother gave a much more composed reply.  

"You are dismissed," Edmont turned away from his sons as they stalked out the room. "I must apologize for their behavior, Sir Castor."  

Castor just chuckled. "I've dealt with far worse, Count Edmont. And I fully expect to end up being drafted into errand boy for someone eventually, but I'm okay with it."  

"Heh, if you say so. You look exhausted, my friend, and Haurchefant told me that you had very little rest following that incident in Ul'dah," the Count reached out and placed a strong, fatherly hand upon Castor's shoulder. "I've already had some quarters prepared for you here should you wish to retire."  

Ah...to sleep in a warm, comfortable bed. The temptation was almost too much to bear, but Castor forced himself to focus on what was to come. 

"Thank you, Count Edmont, but I think I may familiarize myself with Ishgard," Castor had to get the lay of the city and to start understanding just what kind of people he'd be living amongst.  

Edmont nodded. "Very well, but don't take too long. The paperwork regarding your status as a Ward should arrive shortly, along with the first assignment I am to give to you."  

Castor nodded and bowed to the Count before making his way back out into the Ishgardian night. The moon hung high overhead, slowly making its way towards the beckoning horizon. How many hours had passed since the banquet? And how many hours would pass before Castor could finally get his hands on that filthy, scheming Lalafell and wring his scrawny stub of a neck? Castor nodded to the guards and chose a random direction to start: in the way of a higher echelon, where great cathedrals loomed above all of Ishgard.  

He made his way up great stairways, nearing the point that his guide had called "The Hoplon", and found his eyes scrutinizing the towering statues of Ishgard's founders that lined the stairway. They were no different than Primals, were they? Worshipped and deified, and Castor wondered if he'd have to face any of their reincarnations any time soon.  

"Yes! Hahaha! Give that bastard what for!" A faint crowing voice caught his attention, and Castor raced up the nearest stairwell in pursuit of the source. 

He found it: a nobleman leaning over a stairwell with a wide grin on his lips.  

"Hey, is everything all right?" Castor asked, making the man jump.  

"Oh, oh yes!" The noble recovered quickly, his eyes gleaming. "Did you see what just happened, sir?"  

Castor shook his head, silently urging the man to speak more.  

"Temple Knights just fought a heretic here in the city!" The man was almost bouncing with glee. "He was swinging a sword so massive, I'm shocked that he was even able to lift it!" 

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper: "Between you and me, I think that heretic was a Dark Knight!"  

"Dark Knight?" Castor found the words resonating through his soul. "Pardon my ignorance, but what are Dark Knights?"  

The man's eyes widened. "Y-you don't know what a Dark Knight is? No, I'm sorry, sir! I cannot speak of them any more than I have already!"  

"There's nobody around to hear it, and I won't report you for anything, my friend," Castor towered over the man, who had begun trembling. "So please, inform me, at the very least so I know what to look out for."  

The noble swallowed nervously, eyes wide with terror, before finally he relaxed. "You're the Warrior of Light, aren't you? Heh, my apologies! You probably want to know about Dark Knights so you can better protect us from them, yes? Well, Dark Knights are warriors who have forsaken the Church and turn their blades against their fellow Ishgardians. They cut down priests and knights alike if they deem it necessary, and use vile dark magics to do terrible things to innocent people!"  

"And you think that man that was just killed was a Dark Knight. What did the Temple Knights do with him?" Castor found his curiosity surrounding these mysterious knights too much to ignore.  

"They probably took his corpse to the Brume to leave it for scavengers. The man fought like a demon, sir! He probably would have killed the knights if one hadn't gotten a lucky hit in under his guard!" The noble bowed his head. "If you come across any Dark Knights, please be careful, sir Warrior! They're fearsome enemies who show no mercy to anyone who cross into their paths!"  

"I'll take that warning to heart, my friend. Thank you, and stay safe," Castor clasped the man's hand in his own for a moment before rushing off towards the area his guide had called Foundation.  

From what he remembered, the Brume was the part of the city where the poorest dwelled in horrid conditions, and it was the Brume that had taken the brunt of the attackers that had gotten past him on the Steps of Faith. Committing the areas he passed to memory, Castor made his way down to Foundation through a mess of rubble and falling snow.  

Ishgard was beautiful despite its scars.  

Castor made his way back to the aetheryte plaza and immediately spotted the two knights lugging a black-clad corpse between them. He trailed them, watching as they descended a wooden stairway near the Gates of Judgement and then dumped the corpse on a small platform.  

"Ugh, this bastard was heavy," one grunted.  

"His sword, too," the other dumped a massive greatsword onto the platform beside the corpse. "By the Fury, how did he even swing this thing around so easily?"  

"I don't know, but he's not our problem anymore," the first knight caught a glimpse of Castor watching them. "Heh, looks like someone's already shown up to plunder him."  

"Hey, maybe you can find some use for this guy's stuff, eh?" The second knight grunted and rubbed his back. "Be careful with the sword, though, I nearly dropped the damn thing on my foot when I first tried to pick it up."  

Castor kept his expression stony and nodded. "Are the two of you all right? I heard that you were fighting this man and wanted to see if you were injured at all."  

"We're fine, stranger, nothing the chirurgeons can't fix," the second knight's voice was light with humor, yet Castor could sense his fear just underneath it. "The bastard gave us a hell of a fight, but we got a hit on him when he lowered his guard."  

"That's fortunate. I'm glad the two of you are mostly unharmed," Castor nodded to the knights. 

"Heh, thanks. Take care of yourself," the two knights saluted and then scurried off before Castor could repeat the sentiments.  

Oh well. Castor strode down to the corpse, clad in a black pauldroncoat with a gold trim, wood creaking under his sabatons with every step. Something about the corpse felt...different, somehow, and Castor's eyes were drawn to the small black stone that was lying by the body's feet.  

"A Soul Crystal?" Castor said in amazement-so the Dark Knights had Soul Crystals? 

Perhaps he could glean some more about Dark Knights from the dead man's crystal, so Castor reached out and took the smooth gem into his hand.  

"I'll not die like this..." A voice, alien, yet familiar at the same time, rasped through Castor's mind, and swirling crimson energy poured from his body into the Crystal.  

Castor bit back a curse as nausea overwhelmed him, the feeling of life being sucked from his body driving him to his knees. He couldn't move, his muscles refusing to cooperate, his vision blurring. The black blob that was the corpse shifted and, too his horror, rose slowly to its feet.  

The life-draining suction faded, and strength flooded into Castor's body. He jumped upright, reaching for his sword, but the Dark Knight raised its hands in surrender. 

"Whoa, I'm not going to hurt you!" The voice that had rasped through Castor's mind echoed from the face-obscuring helmet, purple cloth shrouding the black metal. "Sorry about that, friend, but I'd suffered mortal wounds and needed another's life force to keep myself from dying."  

"Are you a Dark Knight?" Castor asked, although the question seemed rather redundant, he needed to keep the man talking.  

"I am, and whatever these Ishgardians have told you about us, I can assure you that they're not entirely being truthful," the stranger's eyes flicked to Castor's hand, in which he still held the Soul Crystal. "You're actually holding my Crystal? And it's not killing you?"  

"Should it be?"  

The man studied him. "My name is Fray, and I'm a knight sworn to protect the innocent people from those who would take advantage of them."  

"Explain," Castor admitted that those words resonated within his heart, and the Soul Crystal grasped in his hand was growing warmer to the touch. It seemed to be attempting to commune with him, to bind itself to his soul.  

"There are many who escape rightful judgement due to status or wealth, using power to escape that which they should not," Fray crossed his arms, but he was leaning on the wall behind him for support. "We Dark Knights hunt down those who would commit crimes and escape punishment and bring them to justice. Clerics who embezzle funds from the church; knights who turn their swords on their own people and extort them; nobles who savage innocent women and leave them in the Brume to rot...We hunt down all of those scum and more." 

"So you disregard popular law and take justice into your own hands?" Castor found himself yearning to attach his soul to the Crystal in his hand, to walk that path himself. "Passing judgement onto those who would use power and wealth to escape rightful punishment?"  

Fray's dark eyes brightened. "Yes, you understand perfectly! We Dark Knights walk in the dark to protect the light, so to speak. We've become pariahs in our homelands because we refuse to let the rich and powerful continue trampling over everyone they desire."  

Castor lifted his hand and stared at the black Crystal nestled against his palm, the scarlet design etched upon it glowing softly. It wanted to commune with him, to give him the powers he so desperately sought.  

"What is it that you seek?" Fray asked. "Why is it that you look for more power?"  

Castor stared at the endless black of the Crystal. "I was betrayed by those who hold power they do not deserve. The Light of the Mother Crystal has abandoned me, and I do not think I am worthy of walking in that Light any longer."  

"So you look to the Dark for the power to bring the traitors to justice, to finally fight for your ideals and desires rather than being a pawn of someone else's," Fray's voice resonated through Castor's mind and heart, urging him to link to the Crystal.  

"Yes," Castor's ears picked up a scuffling noise and he jerked his head towards the sound.  

"Someone help!" An older woman's voice split the night. "They're taking my granddaughter!"  

Castor took one step forward, and Fray thrust that massive greatsword in front of him.  

"Not so fast," the Dark Knight purred. "You need to understand something, Castor: once you go down this path, you cannot keep trying to play the hero. Justice will have to be dealt, often with blood, and you cannot allow your personal feelings to hinder that."  

Castor smiled wryly at the man, drawing the Crystal to his heart and willing his soul to bond with it. Red light flared from the odd sigil etched onto its surface, power rippling as the bond was made. "I'm no hero, not anymore. Just a weapon seeking vengeance and the power to bring judgement to those who deserve it."  

Fray chuckled, then turned the sword he held around so the hilt was being offered to Castor. "Good answer. You'll have to take the sword: I don't have the strength to use it, but I know some basic conjury."  

Castor closed his fingers around the long hilt, which fit into his hands as if it had been forged precisely for him, and the weight of the weapon reminded him of his great axe he used when bound to the Soul of the Warrior. It wasn't as heavy as the axe, but heavy enough to require both hands on the hilt. Everything about the greatsword felt...right. 

"Let's go," Castor and Fray sprinted down into the desolate alleys of the Brume, quickly locating an elderly woman begging a group of men to help her.  

"Ma'am! What's going on?!" Castor approached the woman, not even sparing the residents around her a glance. 

"The Temple Knights took my granddaughter!" The woman wailed, her ragged apparel trembling as she sobbed. "Please, you have to help her! She's all I have left, and if those men savage her...by the Fury, I couldn't bear to have her endure that!"  

"This is one of many cases of the Temple Knights kidnapping Brume residents and raping them," Fray muttered with disgust. "I was pursuing one such group when I got attacked. I was foolish, reckless, but now there's two of us."  

"Do you know where they went?" Castor asked, the Crystal now in his satchel pouring power into his muscles.  

"I think they went to the Tribunal! Please, you must get my granddaughter back!"  

"I know where that is, but you'll have to take care of the close combat," Fray nodded. "Let's go, Castor."  

"Thank you!" The old woman grabbed Castor's hand, tears trickling down her wrinkled face. 

"We'll get her back safely, I promise," Castor gently pulled his hand free and then sprinted towards the direction of the Last Vigil with Fray on his heels.  

Their metal sabatons clicked against the stone floors in the silence of the Ishgardian night, and Castor could feel his new Crystal stoking the fires of rage that had been continually building up within his heart. 

"If we're to stand any sort of chance against these knights, you'll have to open yourself up to the Dark," Fray was saying. "Not too much at once, mind you, but just enough to power your magic and to give you the strength to do that which others will not."  

Castor was about to reply when he spotted at least a dozen Temple Knights on the stairs ahead of them, their leader dragging a young woman by her arm.  

"W-what do you want with me?!" The girl was shouting, her brown hair being blown about by the wind.  

"Oh, hush, girl! We merely desire some gratitude for all we do in keeping you safe from the dragons!" A knight leered at the girl, his hand tracing the folds of her simple dress.  

"Gratitude?" She stared at him.  

"Why are the pretty ones always so stupid?" The helmet-less leader muttered, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the two Dark Knights. "By the Fury, it's him again! I thought he was dead!"  

"Let your anger loose," Fray murmured. "Draw it into your heart and will it to bond with the Dark." 

Castor smiled to himself and readied his massive sword, letting the whispers of the Soul Crystal guide him. The Dark Knights of times long past were now bound to him, their strength and techniques filling Castor's mind as his soul joined theirs in the sweltering darkness they all rested within. He allowed them to guide his actions as the Temple Knights scrambled in two directions: half charging Castor and Fray while the other half took off towards the Tribunal with the girl in tow.  

The first knight to lunge at him met the hardened plate of Castor's armor, his sword bouncing off just in time for the flat of Castor's own blade to send him flying into a stone fountain. Several men tried to attack him at once, but the Dark Knights of times past urged him to raise his hand. Dark magics flared from the outstretched limb, sending cruel bolts of dark power into the knights' bodies. The men cried out and collapsed, writhing as dark magic crackled through their bodies.  

"Good, good!" Fray purred. "Keep drawing upon the Dark, let it seep into you and fill you with strength!" 

Castor once again let his ancestors take the lead: he drew upon his anger, his rage, and felt the coldness of Dark seeping into his soul. It was exhilarating! Pain wracked his body, drawing a hiss of pain from the Miqo'te.  

"Not too much at once, Castor," Fray warned. "You're not experienced enough to draw upon greater magics yet."  

"Right," Castor muttered as he continued pursuing the Temple Knights. "Moderation is key." 

"Exactly," Fray nodded, his breathing heavy as he struggled to keep pace with Castor.  

More knights attempted to intercept Castor, but he easily batted them aside with the flat of his sword, taking special care to not mortally wound anyone.  

"Why aren't you killing them?" Fray demanded, noticing that as well.  

"Well, seeing as how it's my first day in Ishgard and I've been taken in as a Ward of House Fortemps, everything I do reflects on them," Castor replied. "Wouldn't look good if I killed a score of knights on the first night of my arrival, would it?"  

Fray huffed, but Castor heard him mutter: "Yeah, that makes sense."  

Castor pursued his quarry up to the great temple of the Tribunal, knocking aside the weak little knights with every swing. Were they really so stupid? He fought Primals, for the gods' sakes! Men were hardly even a challenge to him anymore!  

"Heh, try drawing on the Dark a bit more, Castor," Fray instructed, and he willed the Darkness filling the Soul Crystal to seep into his body.  

Strength flooded into him, and Castor was soon taking the steps two at a time as cold winds kissed his face. He felt so alive! And if these knights had done anything to that girl...they would never be able to carry weapons ever again! 

Three more of the fools tried to stop Castor, only to meet with sharpened steel and raging magic. The Tribunal was the only thing left, its massive doors opening with ease. Castor strode into the vast chamber and immediately spotted the remaining knights pinning their victim down and ripping her clothes off.  

"Hey, bastards!" Castor roared, making the knights jolt. 

"W-what the hells? They actually followed us?!" The leader spat and rose, drawing his sword from its sheathe. "Kill them, quickly!"  

The sight of the young woman huddling against a corner, desperately trying to cover her bare chest and torso with her arms and the tattered remains of her shirt, filled him with rage. The voices of the Soul Crystal urged him to slash the knights apart, to fill this grand hall with their blood and mangled corpses, but Castor fought them down to silence.  

'Give me your knowledge and I'll take care of the rest', he ordered, and the Soul obeyed.  

"Let's do this," Fray laughed harshly, the cruel tones of his voice bouncing off the corridors.  

"Let's," Castor lunged, his feet pounding the marble floor as he sprinted to meet the knights. 

Their tall leader reared his sword back to strike, but Castor lowered his shoulder and became a steel covered ram slamming into the man's gut. The air left his lungs with a loud whoosh, and Castor took satisfaction in the sound of his chest cavity caving in. The man groaned and tumbled back, Castor's heightened senses warning him of the two attempting to strike at his back.  

He was a veteran of countless battles against beings these fools couldn't even dream of: they never stood a chance! Castor easily turned and used his weapon's long blade to catch both strikes, then sent both his assailants flying with a powerful swing. The four remaining knights shared a terrified glance and then dropped their weapons. 

"If anyone else tries to protect these fools, I'll kill every man and every woman you know and turn your homes into piles of ash!" Fray screamed at the knights who were emerging from side corridors, causing them to freeze and drop their weapons as well.  

"What's going on?" A female knight strode towards them, her hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Why are you attacking these knights?"  

"They kidnapped that girl there," Castor reached up and hooked the massive sword onto his back, the weapon sliding perfectly into the straps that had once held his shield. "We were rescuing her."  

Upon seeing the half-naked victim, the knight swore and immediately rushed over to her, kneeling by the girl's side as Castor followed. 

"Are you okay, miss?" The knight asked, her voice tender as she unslung the heavy cloak she wore and draped it around the girl's shoulders.  

"I-I'm okay, thanks to him," the girl's wide eyes turned to Castor, shining with fear and gratitude. "Thank you so much, sir knight!"  

He smiled at her, reaching into the interdimensional Armory Chest he bore and summoned an old shirt that he'd not worn for a while. Thankfully, it wasn't in bad shape and smelled clean, so Castor handed it to the girl. 

"Here, I'll let you clothe yourself with this," he said gently.  

She accepted it, smiling warmly despite her trembling body and fear-filled eyes. "W-what's your name, sir knight?"  

"Castor," he looked back at the incapacitated knights he'd left in his wake and noticed that Fray was gone. "Your grandmother's worried about you, you know. She sent me after you."  

The girl yelped and jumped up, Castor quickly averting his gaze as her bare breasts came free of her hands. "I have to get back!"  

"Please put the shirt on first!" The knight at Castor's side pleaded.  

"Huh? O-oh, right!" Fabric rustled and stretched and then the girl tapped Castor's shoulder. 

He turned to see a thankfully clothed young woman standing beside him, smiling up at him with childish admiration. The shirt was large on her, but it covered her well enough and was thick enough to keep the cold off of her until she found something more fitting.  

"So, um, Castor, would you mind escorting me back?" She asked shyly, fiddling with her hands. "I don't really feel safe around the knights right now..."  

Castor glanced at the knight beside him, an eyebrow raised in query.  

"Go ahead, we'll take care of these idiots," the woman nodded. "Thank you for knocking them around a bit, and I intend to let the Lord Commander know of this so we can keep it from happening again." 

"Very well," Castor nodded to the girl at his side. "Let's get you back to your grandmother, shall we?"  

She looped her arms through his and beamed at him. "Let's!"  

Castor led her back the way they'd come, aware of how warm her body felt and especially aware of how closely she was rubbing against him with every step. She gaped at the carnage he'd left in his pursuit, her eyes widening with each new pile of knights they encountered. Apparently he'd beaten down more than he'd originally anticipated. 

"Are you okay, sir Castor?" The girl asked. "You fought a lot of knights to rescue me!"  

"I'm fine, miss: these miscreants were hardly a challenge for me," Castor smiled reassuringly at the girl, more than used to the admiration of the common folk and the...affection many often showed him.  

"Is there anything I can do to repay your bravery?" She gushed, fingers tapping against the metal on his arm. "I mean, you've done so much just to protect me..."  

Castor gently placed his hand over hers. "You need not repay me for anything, miss. Seeing you safe is reward enough."  

"Gabrielle!" The older woman who'd pulled Castor aside hobbled over, her wizened features split into pure joy. "You're safe, thank Halone!"  

Gabrielle-apparently that was her name-unhooked Castor and tackled her grandmother. "Yes, this knight you sent after me is incredible!"  

The older woman beamed at Castor and clasped his hands in hers. "Thank you, sir, thank you! Thank you so much!"  

"It's nothing, ma'am, but please try to get yourself and Gabrielle here out of this cold, okay?" Castor bowed his head at them. "I hate to just take off like this, but I have other duties I need to attend to."  

Gabrielle grabbed his arm, a plea in her eyes. "Will I meet you again, Castor?"  

Ah, those infamous words...In truth, he never knew who he'd come across again.  

"It's possible, miss Gabrielle. I am going to be in Ishgard for quite a while, so perhaps we shall meet again," he decided to tell the truth. 

"I hope so! Please, stay safe whenever you're out!" Gabrielle embraced him tightly, then planted a kiss on his cheek. "And...thank you, again."  

Castor accepted her affections the way he'd accepted so many others: with a gentle smile and a nod of his head. "Of course. Take care of yourselves."  

With that, he bid them farewell and watched them disappear into the night, then Castor strode up to where he'd met Fray. 

"Still playing the knight in shining armor, are we?" The Dark Knight grunted. "Getting a kiss from the damsel in distress?"  

"Dark Knights protect the innocent, do they not?" Castor responded as he faced the man. "Or was everything you told me utter bull?"  

Fray chuckled. "Everything I said was the truth, but you must realize that we aren't the same kind of hero as Paladins are. We don't uphold the law and gallantly protect the helpless because the law demands it. We're pariahs because we kill those who'd ordinarily escape justice; we kill those who deserve death!"  

"Yes, but often there will be situations that require sparing the lives of the guilty," Castor crossed his arms, the weight of the blade on his back quite welcome. "Make no mistake, however: should those knights try to kidnap another woman, I will not allow them to get away a second time."  

"Perhaps I underestimated you," Fray mused. "Very well. Let the Crystal continue to teach you about the natures of being a Dark Knight, and you'll know when to seek me out next."  

Cryptic, but expected. Castor had to hone his powers on his own, just like always. 

"Fine. Don't get yourself killed while I'm gone," Castor grunted and walked away, hoping the room Count Edmont had promised would still be available to him.  

Maybe he ought to see if he could get a bath somewhere. 

Chapter Text

Good gods, this bath was heavenly! Castor couldn't stop the sigh from escaping his lips as the blissful water imbued him with all too welcome warmth. His weary muscles melted, and Castor's flesh nearly followed its example. Steam wafted into his face, but he welcomed its breathy kiss.  

He never wanted to leave...but duty calls. Castor eased himself up out of the porcelain wash tub, mindful to keep the water from sloshing over the edge as he rose and reached for a towel. His fingers grasped empty air, and he glanced over to stare at the towel-less table.  

"Where did those towels go?" He frowned, wondering if he could air-dry himself with Garuda's power when his keen ears picked up timid footsteps in the hall outside.  

"O-okay, deeeeep breaths, Brianna!" A young woman's voice followed. "All you have to do is walk in, put the towels on the table, and walk out. He shouldn't even be out of the tub yet!"  

Castor glanced down at his soaked body, which was currently dripping sheets of water onto the floor and the small drains. Yeeeaaah, that was going to be a problem.  

"Er, miss? You might not want to-" Wait, she didn't have the keen ears of a Miqo'te.  

The door creaked open after a very quiet, timid knock, and Castor could only watch the young, blonde maid as she slunk inside.  

"U-um, sir Entialpoh? I have some...towels!" She froze in the doorway, blue eyes wide as she stared at him and pointed Elezen ears reddening along with her face. 

"Oh, thanks, I needed those," Castor reached out, not even trying to conceal himself as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. 

She was still staring, though her mortified gaze had settled onto the countless scars spiderwebbing Castor's grey flesh.  

"Could I have some privacy, please, miss?" Castor stepped behind the tub so as to provide some sort of censor, noting how the steam also aided him in this rather belated endeavor. "It would be indecent of me to change in front of a young woman."  

"My apologies, sir!" The girl shrieked and fled with enough speed to rival a stampeding fat chocobo with gysahl greens dangling before it.  

Granted, it had probably been indecent of him to stand there knowing the girl would walk in and find him naked. Oh well.  

Castor quickly dried himself off and placed the towel back upon the table, hoping that was where it was supposed to go. He then reached into his Armory Chest, conjuring up his armor and the massive sword Fray had given him. Again that familiar weight...honestly, this blade felt like it had been forged especially for him.  

It was rather simple: wooden hilt with a gleaming steel blade roughly about...he wanted to say four to five feet long. It nearly scraped the floor whenever he walked with it, and it was certainly longer than Excalibur.  

Castor shook his head to clear his thoughts, the weight of his armor and blades making his shoulders ache a bit. He had to rest soon, lest his body crash from the effort he'd been exerting. He was used to it, but still. Castor shrugged off the pain and strode out of the bathroom, making his way to the study where Count Edmont awaited him. He passed one of the servant's quarters in the lush mansion, guilt burning inside his chest when he heard the staff girl hyperventilating inside.  

Part of him wanted to go inside and apologize, but he still had a duty to fulfil.  

"Ah, here you...are," the Count turned to face Castor as he entered the study, his eyebrow raising as he took in the greatsword. "I see the rumors were not false." 

"Rumors, sir?" Castor bit back an annoyed growl.  

"Rumors that you took the weapon of a fallen heretic and used it to rescue a noblewoman's granddaughter from a gang of corrupt Temple Knights," Edmont grinned. "Half of Ishgard likely knows of your heroism by now."  

"To be honest, sir, I've never seen anyone fight with such massive swords before, and...I found this Soul Crystal on the corpse," Castor held up the jet-black gem for Edmont, who frowned as he looked upon it.  

"That's...the sigil of the Dark Knights!" He murmured. "Castor, don't ever let anyone see this, do you understand?"  

"Dark Knights?" Castor feigned ignorance, making a show of quickly putting the Crystal into his pocket.  

Edmont nodded. "Aye, they're knights who have forsaken their religious vows and turn their greatswords against priests and other nonmilitants. From what I understand, however, is that Dark Knights only target those who have broken their oaths to the common people, which explains why they only kill corrupt priests and clerics."  

"I...see, but isn't that a good thing?"  

"It would be if the Dark Knights didn't find the slightest flaws in every member of the clergy and use it as an excuse to go on rampages. They're hated as pariahs for a reason, so be careful with that Crystal, Castor," Edmont sighed and reached into his coat, withdrawing a scroll of fresh, white parchment. "This is the Ward agreement paperwork: it would be best if you kept this on you at all times, understood? If anyone gives you any trouble because you aren't Ishgardian, kindly remind them of your status as Ward of House Fortemps."  

Castor accepted the scroll and carefully tucked it into his pouch. "Thank you, Count Edmont. I shall try to avoid using your name unless I have absolutely no other choice."  

"Much appreciated, but it's time for your first assignment: I want you to accompany Emmanellain on his foray to Camp Cloudtop."  

"Camp Cloudtop?"  

"An Ishgardian military base set into the Sea of Clouds, built on one of many floating islands. We come into conflict with the local Beast Tribe from time to time, but the dragon activity that we sought to counter has never once occurred."  

"I see," Castor stretched his arms. "Where can I find an airship to take me to this camp?"  

"I have Emmanellain awaiting your arrival at the landings to the east of here," Count Edmont reached out with a strong hand and placed it upon Castor's shoulder. "Please, return safe, and do keep my son out of trouble if you can."  

Castor chuckled. "I shall attempt to do my best, Count Edmont."  

He bowed and walked away, the Soul of the Dark Knight burning within his pouch. Castor drew upon the bond between soul and crystal, the creeping ice of the Dark seeping into his body. He could see why the Scions and others feared it: the Dark was powerful and merciless, yet it wasn't bound to the same restrictions as the Light.  

Castor drew upon his rage and let it smolder within his heart as he strode through the early Ishgardian dawn. He'd barely had any rest, but his body was buzzing with energy from the black crystal. Besides: rest was for the dead, and he was by no means on the fringes of that abyss. Guardsmen and women saluted Castor as he wove through the city, as did the few early risers from this or that House, and Castor took the time to return each greeting. He had a reputation to uphold, even if those niceties made his rage boil.  

"Ah! There you are, my good boy!" Emmanellain was indeed waiting for Castor by the great airship landings, him and a young boy at his side clad in knight's chainmail.  

"Emmanellain," Castor nodded to him, then glanced at the boy. "Who are you?" 

"My name's Honoroit, good sir!' The boy bowed. "I'm Lord Emmanellain's squire."  

"A pleasure. I assume you're ready to leave for this Camp Cloudtop?" Castor studied the young lord, who beamed and nodded.  

"If you are! Let us be on our way, good boy!" He chirped, and Castor caught a whiff of a foul smell. 

By the gods, what was that?! 

"Uh, mind telling me what died?" Castor scrunched his sensitive nose, flashbacks of the horrors of Tam Tara Deepcroft flickering through his mind.  

Emmanellain looked offended: "Nothing died! That's my wonderful cologne you're smelling!" 

"If you're trying to impress someone, I highly doubt such a rancid stench will do it," Castor grunted, glancing at the elaborate airship idling at the edge of the circular landing. "That our way up?"  

"Yes, sir!" Honoroit cut off his liege's protest.  

"Then let's be on our way," Castor made his way past the gates and strode up to the airship, Emmanellain and Honoroit scrambling to catch up. 

Upon boarding, metal sollerets clanking against the wooden decks, Castor couldn't help but gaze south, towards the rest of Coerthas and Eorzea.  

"Nanamo...I'm so sorry I couldn't save you," he murmured, the grief welling up within his heart almost too much to bear.  

No, he mustn't allow his emotions to cloud his mind: Castor Entialpoh was the Warrior of Light, Bane of the Empire and Primal Exterminator. He was an unmatched fighter trained in the lance, the sword, the axe, caesti, and many others. He'd fought enemies that most ordinary men wouldn't stand a chance against, the types that would cause nightmares-and some actually did haunt his dreams, Tam Tara and Edda being the chief of them all. Castor was the most powerful hero Eorzea had ever seen!  

Yet still he'd failed to protect Nanamo. Still, he'd been cast out by his 'allies' and abandoned by nearly everyone he'd cared for.  

"Make yourselves comfortable, sirs," the airship's pilot saluted once his passengers had all boarded. "This is going to be quite a long trip."  

Castor settled himself on one of the benches, gazing out at the slowly waking Ishgard. He could sense fear in the air, yet the people remained defiant and hardy, determined to enjoy their war-torn lives however they could. Castor admired them, truth be told, for their determination and loyalty to one another, but as the cold air slithered into his nostrils with every breath he took, Castor found his mind returning to days long past. 

Kan-E-Senna stared up of the floral ceiling of the Elder Seedseer's chambers, the silken green covers she lay upon feeling cold and clammy against what flesh she had bare. She hadn't slept well since returning from the banquet, and her mind was still reeling over the events that she had borne witness to. 

Castor a traitor? Utter nonsense! 

Kan-E sighed and sat up, her white nightgown rustling with the movement, and found her gaze wandering around her quarters. Simple and natural, just like the rest of Gridania, with the furnishings seeming to have grown out of the earth. Flowers dotted the circular room here and there, but they languished in the darkness that now filled it. Even the Elementals were strangely silent.  

Yet what remained most prominent was the pain in her heart. Kan-E twisted her body and turned to the headboard of her bed, the simple wood gleaming from the great care shown to it. Upon that headboard, just above where she'd rest her own head every night she was able to, sat the only object in that room that defied the sense of nature and warmth. A black and crimson Imperial pot helm stared at Kan-E through an empty visor, the Miqo'te ears added on it sticking up like Kan-E's own Padjali horns.  

She reached out and took the helm into her hands, the rough Garlean fibers scratching her fingers. To think that this was the helm that he'd worn that day...Kan-E's heart yearned to see him safe, to take Castor into her arms once again and to tend to the countless wounds that he'd sustained over the course of these many years.  

She'd seen them all; shortly after the destruction of the Ultima Weapon, when Castor had rode out of Castrum Meridianum on a Reaper with Thancred slung over the back. The poor man could barely move and was bleeding from dozens of savage wounds all over his body, blade injuries and bullets causing him to limp along with Minfilia's help until Kan-E stepped forward and ordered him to let her treat him. She'd taken Castor to a secluded medical tent and personally tended to his wounds, relishing the chance to bond with her dear friend and comrade and to care for one she cared so deeply for. 

To think that one man could carry so many terrible scars: from his life as an Imperial soldier and as the Warrior of Light. There were far too many for him to bear alone, yet somehow he did just that.  

Kan-E held the worn, foreign helm tight to her chest, the faint smell of oiled fibers intruding upon her nostrils as the rough, coarse material scraped against her nightgown. It was heavy, too: the weight of the Empire's brutality settling upon every man and woman who wore these accursed helmets.  

Without even meaning to, the memory overcame Kan-E, and once more she found herself standing upon the hellish plains of Carteanaeu. Fire and death seared her nostrils and eyes as Bahamut razed the land, Eorzean and Imperial armies alike falling victim to his wrath. Kan-E and her escorts were retreating alongside the other Alliance leaders, but Kan-E had spotted a wounded man amidst the wreckage of a Reaper and halted to free him. That delay had cost them: the Gridanians were now far behind their allies, and Bahamut was still raging above as Archon Luisoix struggled to contain his power.  

Every breath of the acrid air stung her lungs, and the heavy dust kicked up by Dalamud's collapse hung thick above the scorched, stony land. The sky had changed to a raging inferno of fire and death brought on by the Elder Primal, and Kan-E prayed that the firestorms she could see in the horizon weren't reducing her beloved city-state to ash.  

"Milady!" One of her white garbed Serpents leaped before her, the sharp crack of a Garlean firearm piercing the air. 

Kan-E jolted as her savior gurgled and collapsed, his white, dust caked armor now bearing a black hole over his heart, and blood poured from that abyss. She looked up at the shooter's direction, and her heart sank. Roughly a dozen Imperial troops were stalking towards her envoy, several being Centurions clad in black armor and carrying sabers that doubled as revolvers. 

"Lower your weapons, please!" She attempted to reason with the Imperials even as the Centurions raised their gunblades in her direction, even as her guards thrust themselves between their beloved leader and the black-steel soldiers. "Can you not see that Bahamut will destroy us all if we do not get away from this place?"  

Several of the Imperials were trembling, their eyes wide in the hellish light flaring over the ruins, but the Centurions never wavered. 

"If we die, we're going to bring down one of the savage's leaders," the metallic voice of one snarled. "Gridania's whore might as well do."  

The Serpents bristled. "You DARE-" 

"Centurion!" A voice rang out, powerful and authoritative, and the Imperials swiveled to see another officer approaching from behind. "I'll take care of this." 

He was a Miqo'te, although his helm was a footsoldier's pot helm modified to suit his feline ears while his armor was an officer's steel plate. His gunblade never wavered in his hands as he stepped forward and aimed the barrel/blade at Kan-E.  

"S-sir!" The Centurions hesitated, but never once lowered their weapons.  

"I said: I'll take care of this," the officer's voice was startlingly calm, and Kan-E caught a glimpse of his eyes underneath the visors of that helm. 

One black as obsidian. 

One white as a lily.  

Then the officer spun, his long saber's blade easily slicing through the three Centurions at his side and dropping them. The other Imperials yelped and tried to flee, but the revolver on the weapon cracked, dropping several. The officer plunged into the remainder, slashing and hacking and firing his gun until he was the only thing left standing, panting as he glanced back at Kan-E.  

"Go," he rasped, those mismatched eyes boring into Kan-E's soul. "Get out of here, Seedseer!" 

With that said, the Imperial fled into the nightmare of the Calamity, and Kan-E was left to wonder just who her unusual savior had been.  

Until nearly two years later when a certain Ul'dahn envoy had approached her, his one obsidian and one lily white eyes nearly hidden behind his helmet as he'd bowed to her and spoken in a voice she'd never forgotten.  

"Greetings, lady Seedseer. It is my honor to serve as the Flame General's envoy for this momentous occasion."  

She'd nearly lost her calm and demanded to know his name, to thank him for saving her, but Kan-E had composed herself and proceeded as formally as possible. And then she began to hear great tales of the man becoming the new Warrior of Light, slaying Primals left and right, and her heart flushed with pride for her savior. Then she'd had to ask him to fight Garuda and sent him off with a heart full of fear for his safety, and he'd come back bearing terrible wounds underneath his armor, hiding them from all except for those who demanded.  

She'd demanded, after hearing from Alphinaud just how violent their clash with Garuda had been, and Kan-E had been horrified to find a gray expanse of scars and suffering once that armor had been peeled off.  

"Castor, how are even standing?!" Kan-E cried once the full mass of ravaged flesh came into view, stunned that he'd even survived the terrible wounds that such scars entailed. 

There were paler, older blade wounds and lines that Kan-E was horrified to recognize as originating from a barbed whip, coupled by massive tears that she surmised had been from his most recent bout with Garuda, as they were still leaking blood. For some reason, he kept trying to shield his right shoulder from her, to hide something, and it was only when Kan-E had forced him to remove his covering hand when she realized what it was: the sigil of the Garlean Empire, branded upon his flesh.  

"Do you hate me, my lady Seedseer?" He asked softly.  

Kan-E didn't answer at first, her voice unable to function as she reached out and gently caressed the brand. It still felt hot, as if the iron that had burned the brand into him had done so only recently.  

"No, Castor, I don't," finally, she'd gotten herself back in control. "I have yet to thank you, don't I?"  

"Thank me? For what?" Castor glanced up at her, those mismatched eyes staring into her very soul once more. "You already thanked me for killing Garuda many times over, my lady."  

"Kan-E," she chided softly. "You do not have to be so formal with me, Castor."  

Those eyes flickered with recognition, and his tensed muscles melted. 

"You remember," he whispered. "That day on Cartenaeu."  

Kan-E's heart fluttered with joy, and the great weight she'd been carrying ever since she first met him was finally lifted. "Yes, I do."  

Gentle magic weaved through her fingers as Kan-E focused her energy on closing the terrible wounds she saw, Padjali White Magic making the whole endeavor quite simple.  

"If you knew what I was, then why do you trust me?" Castor spoke again, his voice subdued. "For all you know, I could be an Imperial spy."  

"Regardless of your loyalties or past affiliations with the Empire, you're still a champion of Eorzea," Kan-E spoke in the most soothing voice she could muster. "You've slain Ifrit, Titan, and now Garuda, and I consider you a dear friend to Gridania."  

She paused, her hands resting on the great map of scars etched upon his back. "And to me."  

Kan-E wrapped her arms around him and pulled her hero into an embrace.  

Kan-E shook herself out of the memories, still clutching the helmet to her chest, and sighed as she replaced it on the headboard.  

"Castor, I will do my best to get these false accusations removed," she vowed as she rose from her bed to change. "Many may have abandoned you, but I will not!"  

Kan-E would give anything to see her beloved friend returned safely to her.  

Castor ignored the chill in the air as the vessel approached the massive floating islands hanging above the Sea of Clouds. He could see knights scurrying about the wooden structures hugging the landing or on the massive airship dominating the airspace directly next to the camp. Further down, he could see another structure of sorts with the sigil of House Haillenarte emblazoned upon numerous banners. 

He wondered of Francel was here...No, the boy was probably still in Skyfire Locks. Castor made a note to visit him when he had the time. Emmanellain was still chattering away to the pilot and Honoroit, and Castor could tell that the knight was on the fine edge of losing his mind; a very fine edge.  

"Emmanellain, what can we expect to find here?" Castor decided to save the poor pilot, who slumped at the helm as the young lord's attention was diverted from him.  

"Oh, nothing short of local wildlife and the beasts that inhabit the area!"  

"Beasts? What sort of beasts?" Castor prayed to whatever gods would listen that there wouldn't be yet another Primal to kill, but his hopes were quite low.  

"Bird-men known as Vanu Vanu," Emmanellain chirped, his eyes riveted on the small fortress in the distance as the airship slowed to dock.  

The boy seemed quite excited, but Castor was more concerned with the immediate threat of the possibility of another Primal rearing its ugly head.  

"Do they worship a Primal?" He dared to ask.  

"I'm not sure, good boy, but we have a destination to reach: the Rosehouse!" Emmanellain pointed at the distant fortress.  

Castor grunted as he stepped off the humming airship deck onto somewhat-solid land, the smells of cooking food and airship fuel hitting his nose. The air was chilled, but much more forgiving than Coerthas' highlands, and the vast Sea of Clouds hovered far below in a carpet of white. The sun shone brightly as it rose over the horizon, warming the air somewhat.  

The broken landscape reminded him of the Coil, and the arena in which he'd fought Bahamut's reincarnation of Nael van Darnus, renamed deus Darnus. At least the poor man's soul might find some peace now, along with Archon Luisoix.  

Castor strode through the camp, taking the chance to attune himself to the aetheryte hovering on a grand platform nearby before following a rather giddy Emmanellain down a wooden stairwell. House Haillenarte knights saluted whenever they passed, although Castor saw more than one female knight putting as much distance between themselves and the young lord as possible. Apparently he was rather...infamous for his advances on women.  

As wooden platforms gave way to grassy earth, Castor took note of the various wildlife flittering about. Great dodo-like birds honked at one another and jostled for space over nests while cat-like creatures with leathery bat wings dive-bombed the dodos and elicited alarmed honks from a great number of them. Castor chuckled at the sight, then returned his focus to trailing Emmanellain. 

The trio neared the small Rosehouse, which had a great net of sorts anchored to the ground rising to the upper platforms of the structure, and Castor could see many sentries in the connecting tower scanning the skies with spyglasses. A female knight with short cropped brown hair and a commanding air about her was giving orders to several knights standing before her, gesturing at the many storehouses adjacent to the Rosehouse as she did.  

The knights rushed off, and the woman noticed the approaching newcomers. Her eyes widened with surprise and she immediately straightened her back into a more rigid posture. 

"By the Fury," she breathed, and Emmanellain shot Castor a wink as he strode up to the woman.  

"Ah, my fair Lady Lai-" Emmanellain began to speak, but the knight shouldered her way past him and strode up to Castor, bowing deeply once she was close.  

"Castor Entialpoh, this is such an honor!" She gushed, not even bothering to disguise the excitement in her voice.  

Castor hid his smile and returned the bow, taking note of how Emmanellain was spluttering and stammering behind her. "And you, Miss..." 

"I am Lainette, commander of House Haillenarte's forces here in the Sea of Clouds," the knight was beaming as she adopted her straight posture once again. "I am also Francel's sister!"  

"Oh?" Castor couldn't help the smile from forming upon his lips. "That explains why I thought you looked so familiar!"  

Lainette's smile never faded as she bowed once again. "I'm so fortunate to finally meet the man who rescued my dearest brother...Thank you so much, Castor! I don't know what I would have done if Francel had been executed."  

"I wasn't about to let that happen, and neither was Haurchefant," Castor replied, several other knights staring at him in awe.  

"Is that him?" One whispered. 

"Yeah: Castor Entialpoh, the Warrior of Light."  

"He rescued Lord Francel, didn't he?"  

"Yes. Lady Lainette hasn't stopped talking about him ever since we received word that he'd be  coming here with Lord Emmanellain."  

"Heh, she's quite smitten with him, isn't she?" 

The last one didn't even try to speak softly, and Lainette shot a glare in his direction.  

"Don't you have duties to carry out?" She asked, and the knights scurried off.  

Lainette sighed as she glanced back at Castor, although she was quite hesitant to meet his eyes after that last knight's comment.  

"Please, ignore my knights; they gossip a bit too much whenever something breaks the monotony of everyday procedures," she advised, her cheeks having colored a bit.  

Castor decided to spare her the awkward chats after and cut to the chase: "As you say, my lady. Now, is there ought we can do to assist you here?"  

Lainette's eyes shone with gratitude and she nodded. "Yes, actually. I am loathe to order you around like an ordinary soldier, but I need someone to go around to the sentries we have and give them fresh supplies."  

She gestured at small satchels resting upon a crate, her hesitation at asking him to perform such menial labor obvious.  

"Of course, Lady Lainette," Castor strode over to the satchels and gathered them into his hands. "If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask."  

"Ah, and what about me?" Emmanellain finally recovered enough to jump back into the conversation. "Does my lovely Lainette have a daring, important task for me?"  

Lainette didn't even spare a glance in his direction, her eyes riveted onto Castor: "Yes, we need someone to keep an eye out for Dragonflies on the camp's rear."  

Emmanellain deflated and looked as if he were about to argue when Honroit intervened. 

"Yes, my lady! We shall perform this momentous task with honor!" The squire then ushered his startled liege away, and Lainette sighed with relief.  

"Is he quite troublesome?" Castor asked with a grin, Lainette laughing softly in respone.  

"Oh, we've known each other since we were but children. I'm used to his advances, but I can't help but hope he'll abandon this childhood crush on me," Lainette strode up to Castor and took a few of the satchels from his arms. "Come, I'll guide you to where the sentries are."  

Castor chuckled. "Looking to put some distance between you and Emmanellain?"  

"Yes, but I also wish to spend some more time with you while my duties are complete," Lainette smiled at him, her sharp Elezen cheekbones enhancing her already impressive beauty. "If you'll have me, that is."  

"I would be honored, lady Lainette," he returned the smile.  

"Oh please, just call me Lainette," the knight laughed as she led the way towards a rocky outcropping. "You've more than earned the right to do so."  

Castor walked by her side, examining every inch of the landscape he could while he fell into pace beside his guide.  

"I was wondering: could you tell me more about the Beast Tribe that I've heard about?" He asked after a moment of rather comfortable silence. 

"They're called Vanu Vanu, and they're split into many different tribes," Lainette replied, slowing her pace. "We were actually on good terms with one less hostile sect known as the Gundu, but the largest, most violent tribe known as Vundu recently attacked and subjugated the Gundu. They've been attacking us every chance they get, now."  

"Do they worship a Primal?"  

Lainette paused, the hesitation in the air around her eliciting a silent groan from Castor. "Yes. From what I understand, the Vundu worship a being known as Bismark: the White Whale."  

"Oh, gods, not a flying whale," Castor muttered. "And here I thought I was done fighting the freaks of nature."  

Lainette attempted to stifle her laugh, but they still escaped her lips.  

"Don't worry, Castor: the Vundu haven't summoned Bismark, as far as I know," she said once she contained her laughter. "They've been trying, but we've been stealing their crystals every chance we get."  

Castor sighed with relief. "That's good to hear."  

Lainette cut off their conversation as a lone sentry came into view, sitting upon a rock and looking bored out of his mind as he watched the flying cat creatures diving at the dodos. Castor turned his attention elsewhere as Lainette briefly spoke to the man and handed him the satchel, noticing a waterfall glistening in the distance.  

"Ah, that's one sentry," Lainette rejoined him, then noticed him staring. "Hmm? Oh, those waterfalls? The basins over there have crystals imbued with water-aspected aether, which enables them to pour out water so long as there's aether to draw on."  

"I see," Castor chuckled, wondering if he could do the same thing with Leviathan's aether. 

Actually, he might just end up spewing out salt water from places salt water is not supposed to spew from. Bad idea.  

Lainette glanced over at him, a question and a request in her eyes before she finally gave voice to it.  

"Castor, if I may..."  

"Lady Lainette!" Emmanellain chose that moment to saunter over, looking quite offended. "I must say that you have more than enough sentries on duty! Aren't there more important duties that might befit a man of my station?"  

Lainette glanced at Castor, then back at Emmanellain. "Fine: my camp is in need of suitable water aspected aether crystals to replenish our water supplies. I was going to ask Castor if he could possibly search for suitable crystals, but-" 

Emmanellain pumped his fist: "Excellent! We shall have a contest, then! Castor, we shall search for suitable crystals and have Honoroit judge their worth! The winner shall get a kiss from the fair Lady Lainette!"  

"Fine, just don't go-" Lainette froze. "Wait, what did you say?"  

"And thus the deal is sealed!" Emmanellain crowed, sprinting up a path to the side. "Come, Honoroit!"  

"Hold it! Emmanellain!" Lainette shouted after the lordling, but he was already long gone.  

The woman swore under her breath and groaned, looking as if she was about to hurt the satchels still in her hands into the Sea of Clouds.  

Castor placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder. "I'll try to talk him out of that little...bet of his, Lainette." 

"I appreciate the thought, but he can be so stubborn...Just try to keep him out of trouble, okay? You'll be going near Gundu territory, so be careful." The annoyed woman reached out and took the remaining satchels from his hands. "I'll deliver these before another crises demands my attention."  

Castor nodded. "I'll try to avoid annoying the entire Gundu tribe, but with my luck, I'll probably end up making enemies of Vanu Vanu all over the Sea of Clouds."  

"Hahaha, take care of yourself, Castor, please," Lainette bowed and strode away, clutching the sathels while cursing under her breath, and Castor felt sorry for any of her subordinates should they get on her bad side.  

 Castor raced after Emmanellain, rocky ground crunching under each step until he found himself standing before the great basins of water. It was beautiful, and the aether whispering through the air told him just how pure the water was in comparison to the rest of the world's. Crystals gushed out falls of the pure water into the basins, and Castor could see plenty of plants thriving on the surface. All he had to do was find Emmanellain.  

Castor stomped through the water, surprised at how pleasantly cool it was and resisted the urge to drink as much as he could. He had a duty to fulfil and an idiot to track down.  

"Ha ha! Feast your eyes on this, Honoroit!" Said idiot crowed from above, and Castor scurried up an incline to find his target holding aloft a rather pathetic crystal.  

"Um, I think you can do better than that, my lord," Honoroit said weakly, glancing at Castor and perking up immediately. "Ah, sir Castor! How fares your search?" 

"I found one of my targets, now I must find another, apparently," Castor said in a dry voice, Emmanellain muttering to himself as he inspected another cluster of crystals. 

Honoroit crept closer, lowering his voice. "Just so you know, Lord Emmanellain has had a crush on Lady Lainette ever since they were children. I don't really like this bet he forced you and her into, but he won't listen to me. Please, just try to find a crystal and I'll keep him out of trouble."  

"Will do. Try to keep him away from the Gundu if you can," Castor glanced over to the east, where he could see more wooden structures and bird-like totems rising from another island. "I'm guessing they're in that direction..." 

"Yes. The Gundu settlement is connected to this island via a wooden bridge, but they have patrols all over the place, so be careful," Honoroit turned back to see Emmanellain about thirty feet away from where he'd last been and scurried over to catch up to his liege.  

Castor sighed and made his way over to the nearest crystal cluster he saw, examining the water-spewing clusters for any suitable enough to take back to Lainette. Honestly, though, what the hells was Emmanellain thinking with this accursed bet? Castor hoped he'd be able to coax the fool into accepting a less demeaning prize if one was to be had.  

The next half hour or so was spent carefully examining crystals for those that could serve as the Haillenarte camp's water supply until Castor found several that could fit the role. Pocketing all seven, Castor kept the largest and most plentiful to present to Emmanellain in accordance to this accursed bet, then found his gaze wandering over the basins for the wayward lordling. He was nowhere to be found, and Castor was about to start looking when sloshing footsteps made him turn. 

"Sir Castor!" It was Honoroit, the boy running as fast as his legs could carry him and a terrified expression on his face.  

"Emmanellain's been captured by the Gundu!" Castor's heart sank.  

"Gods damn it!" Castor grabbed the boy and shoved the pouch of crystals into his hands. "Take these to Lainette and tell her what happened." 

"What will you do?" The squire was trembling, his eyes wide with fear and terror. 

"I'll go get the idiot back." 

Chapter Text

Castor's breath was a flurry of swears as he sprinted over the water-basin islands and towards the Gundu settlement, his hand resting on the worn hilt of his new greatsword. He yearned to draw it, to draw that sharpened steel against his foes' necks and send them tumbling into the warm abyss of Death. He saw the settlement ahead, built upon another island anchored onto this one by an elaborate wooden bridge.  

Then came the Beasts: large, burly birdmen covered in grey feathers and with heads resembling eagles. They looked quite different from the thin, scrawny Ixal, to be truthful. Castor cast aside all the thoughts that could distract him from his goal and drew upon the full, unbridled power of the Soul of the Dark Knight.  

"Flightless netherling has come!" One of the Gundu squawked in a high-pitched, shrill voice that grated on Castor's ears. "Kill him! Show strength of great typhoon!"  

Weaklings. 

Castor intercepted the first: a burly bird swinging two daggers in a style not unlike the rogues and ninjas, but for some odd reason, the Beast was trying to jerk its arms up and down in some sort of dance while trying to fight at the same time. The movements severely hindered its momentum, and Castor easily blocked each of its clumsy strikes. Apparently the stupid thing wasn't too skilled with fighting.  

"Are all of you so inept?" He snarled before bashing its weapons away with the hilt of his weapon, then using the momentum of that swing to bury his gleaming blade into the Beast's head.  

Blood sprayed in every direction as he yanked his weapon free, leaving a ragged tear in the Gundu's cranium that leaked gore. Castor smiled: he would cake the walls of this pathetic tribe in their blood! 

The souls of Dark Knights past urged him on, fueling his rage and filling his body with dark power, and Castor launched himself at the oncoming birdmen. Knives and caesti flew by in pathetic attempts to flay him, but Castor bashed aside each strike with ease while ripping his enemies apart, every swing and strike cleaving through flesh and leather with ease.  

"You can be even more powerful," a voice whispered. "Draw fully upon the dark, let it saturate your soul, and raise your weapon high!"  

Castor paused in his slaughter, taking a deep breath as he let go f his inhibitions. He opened his soul fully to the Dark, felt it eagerly flood into the empty vessel that the Light had abandoned. It filled him with power, filled him with rage, and Castor lifted his great blade high. Crimson light rippled around him as the Dark took form, inflaming his strength to even greater levels, and Castor smiled as the oncoming Gundu ground to a halt.  

"Netherling draws upon black winds!" One squawked. 

Castor pointed his blade at them, the scarlet aura of Darkness rippling through the air around him. The Darkside was powerful, indeed, and Castor yearned to kill these filthy beasts! He lunged, feet tearing up the ground betwixt him and his prey, and his mighty blade swooped through the air as he pounced. The Gundu's frail bodies fell apart under the strength of his wrath, his power carving pulsing red lines through the air wherever his blade soared and humming ominously with each strike.  

Castor reduced his attackers to piles of mangled bodies in short time, heading up the incline before him towards the rest of the Vanu Vanu village. More of the birdmen attempted to stop him, but they were all easily slashed apart. Gods, this power was incredible!  

Castor was no longer constrained by the leash of the Light, no longer handicapped by Hydaelyn, and now he could unleash everything he had! Well, maybe not everything: he still had to escort Emmanellain back, and he couldn't scare the fool out of his wits by reducing the village to rubble, no matter how much he wished to.  

"C-Castor?!" The lordling's voice croaked, and Castor turned to see Emmanellain chained to a totem. "Oh, thank the Fury!"  

Castor grunted and slashed through the chains with ease, hauling Emmanellain to his feet with his free hand. "Get up, and let's go."  

"W-wait! These Beasts took the crystal I was going to give to Lainette! I'm not leaving without it!" Emmanellain crossed his arms, a defiant light in his eyes.  

You've got to be kidding me! Castor fought to control his rage, already aware of Emmanellain's fearful looks as his crimson aura rippled violently around him.  

"Fine. Where is it?" 

"Does netherling speak of this?" Another squadron of Vanu Vanu stormed out of nowhere, each one doing that ridiculous dance as they surrounded the two. The leader was wearing an absurd feathered headdress, the staff in his hands pulsing with wind and water-aspected aether. 

Castor readied his blade, crouching to swing at the enemies in front of him when the Soul stopped him. His predecessors acted on their own will, guiding him, and Castor obeyed. He straightened and pressed the tip of his massive weapon onto the ground, channeling his wrath, and darkness rippled across the earth in a wide circle from his feet. The circle expanded until it was directly underneath the surrounding birdmen, and scarlet spikes of dark power burst from the ground.  

"Gah!" Emmanellain yelped as the Vanu Vanu collapsed, massive tears in their ravaged bodies leaking gore as Castor's dark magic dissipated.  

"Now that," Castor chuckled as he turned to the leader and hefted his blade onto his shoulders, "was fun."  

With that, he lunged and slammed a metal-covered boot into the chief's chest, feeling bones crunch from the impact, and snatched the aquiline crystal it held before it, too, crumpled to the ground. He tossed it to Emmanellain, who fumbled and dropped the crystal before hurriedly stooping to retrieve it. 

"Let's go!" He ordered, and the young lord nodded. 

Emmanellain took off towards the bridge, Castor following closely, and more Gundu warriors flooded out of the huts behind them, squawking with rage.  

"Kill netherlings! Offer their souls to the White!"  

Castor lobbed spheres of dark power back in their direction, causing several to fall to the ground, writhing in agony as his wrath crackled through their bodies, but more still came. Castor jogged at a stumbling Emmanellain's side, continually firing into the Vanu Vanu as the young lord gasped for breath and tried to push himself even harder.  

"C-Castor!" He cried, and Castor cursed as yet more warriors stampeded over the bridge and effectively cut off their escape route. 

"Stay behind me, Emmanellain!" Castor ordered, seizing Emmanellain's collar and dragging him away from the oncoming danger. 

He thrust Emmanellain towards a rocky overhang to the side of the main path, then turned to face their pursuers. With only one avenue of attack, the Gundu would be forced to throw themselves onto his blade again and again, until either he ran out of energy due to lack of rest, or they all died. Either way, at the rate his energy reserves were being depleted, not even the Soul of the Dark Knight would be capable of sustaining him for too much longer.  

"Damn it all!" He growled, drawing upon as much strength as he could muster and bringing his weapon down in a brutal overhead chop. 

The Vanu Vanu that had been foolish enough to lunge exploded in a shower of gore as its body was sheared in half, and Castor pulled his left hand back as the Soul once again guided him. Dark power coalesced around his hand, and Castor unleashed it onto the warriors now within reach. Dark energies crackled and hummed as a wave of sheer power blasted the beasts, throwing them all back and slamming their bodies against the ground with enough force to crack bones.  

"S-save me...please!" Emmanellain was trembling as he cowered behind his protector, clutching the crystal to his chest as if Halone would intervene because of it.  

"Castor!" A blessedly familiar voice reached his ears, and Castor sighed with relief as Haurchefant stormed over the bridge with two knights in tow. "I thought I told you not to do anything heroic without telling me first!"  

Castor chuckled as he cut down another Vanu Vanu. "Sorry, I got a little sidetracked!"   

The reinforcements plowed into the surprised warriors, unleashing a barrage of steel that drove the beasts back just enough to create an opening for Castor and Emmanellain. 

Castor grabbed the boy and threw him towards the now-cleared bridge. "Get moving! Now!"  

Emmanellain, to his credit, took off full speed towards the bridge, only to skid to a halt as Vanu Vanu warriors descended from the skies, riding upon serpentine creatures with broad feathered wings. The mounts roared and hovered in the air, several dropping their reinforcements onto the bridge and once again cutting off the avenue of retreat.  

"Haurchefant!" Castor shouted to his friend, who looked back, saw the beasts' reinforcements, and cursed. 

"Fall back!" He shouted to his allies, who quickly sprinted back to Castor along with the man himself.  

"Well, this is going great," Castor grunted, his chest hurting as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. "I'm nearly reaching my limit here, Haurchefant."  

The man shot him an accusatory glare. "You've neglected your rest again, haven't you?"  

"Hey, I took a bath!" Castor protested. 

"Did you rest at all aside from that?"  

"Well, no..."  

Haurchefant sighed dramatically. "Once we get back to the Rosehouse, I am going to give you a lecture unlike any other!"  

"I look forward to it," Castor held his greatsword into the crouching stance he'd learned from his predecessors, ready to slash at any beast that got within reach. "Let's focus on getting out of this alive, shall we?"  

"Our ride should be here soon!" Haurchefant grunted, and a horn blared.  

"Ride?" Castor looked in the horn's origin, and his blood turned cold.  

The Enterprise, Cid nan Garlond's personal airship, was cutting through the air, the white-haired engineer at the helm as he maneuvered it alongside his allies. 

"Get on, all of you!" The Garlean shouted, and Castor nearly threw Emmanellain aboard as Haurchefant and his knights scrambled after him.  

"Bismark, Lord of the White, hear our pleas!" The Gundu chief-apparently, he was still able to talk despite his caved in chest. "Harken to us, and bring harsh winds of death upon netherlings!"  

The Sea of Clouds trembled with an unearthly, bestial roar, and Castor swore under his breath as a massive creature broke the swaying white surface. The beast was indeed a great, flying whale, its pure white skin and feathered wings almost beautiful had the creature not been roaring with a gaping maw. Gold glittered here and there upon the whale as it careened through the air, vast amounts of aether rippling from its body.  

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Castor growled as he jumped onto the ship's deck. 

"By the Fury!" Haurchefant yelped. "It's a Primal!"  

"Hold on!" Cid bellowed, Biggs and Wedge heaving on different levers as Cid urged his vessel back into the air.  

Castor glared at the massive Primal as it soared through the air after the airship, rippling bellows shaking the air in its pursuit. The Vanu Vanu were cheering, and Castor resisted the urge to lob bolts back in their direction and turn their settlement into a smoking crater. His rage burned within his breast as Cid pushed the Enterprise to its limits in an attempt to shake their pursuer, and Castor drew upon the last vestiges of the Soul's power. 

His aura rippled even more violently, and Haurchefant gave him a worried look. 

"What are you planning?!" The Ishgardian demanded. "You have that look in your eyes!"  

Castor gave him a wry smile. "Something very stupid and possibly very heroic. At least I'm telling you this time."  

Bismark would catch them if nothing was done. 

"Castor!" Haurchefant shouted as Castor sprinted towards the rail and then gathered what power he could muster. 

Castor launched himself towards Bismark, rocketing on the waves of his power towards the massive beast as his allies screamed his name from the departing airship. Castor sorely hoped he'd live to get that lecture from Haurchefant as Bismark recoiled in surprise before him, stunned to see a glowing Miqo'te rocketing towards it. Castor drew upon his anger, drew upon the raging Dark, and buried his blade into Bismark's side.  

"Die, you damn Primal!" The angered roar spilled from his lips as Castor skidded alongside the beast's side, ripping a scarlet line in its flank before he slammed against one of the rock-hard spines lining its back. 

Bismark screamed in agony and fury and bucked, desperately trying to throw its assailant off its back, but Castor latched himself onto the great whale by wedging his sword into the bony spine and grimly hanging on with his gauntlets. Wind howled by, tearing at Castor's body and threatening to rip his armor and flesh from him, but still he gathered strength and hung on. 

He could sense great power resonating underneath the spine he clung to, as if the beating heart of the Primal was hidden just underneath. Desperate, Castor ripped his sword out of the Primal's flesh and buried it just into the base of the spine, eliciting yet another pained screech from Bismark.  

The White Whale writhed and heaved in desperation, trying to throw Castor, but still he clung to the beast and gathered more dark power into his palm.  

"Oh, gods, please keep me alive," he whispered a prayer to whoever was looking over him. "I may be an idiot, but I want to be a living idiot."  

Castor unleashed his gathered power onto the spine, Bismark screeching as the bone shattered with a disgusting crack. Shards flew out from the blast, scattering to the Sea of Clouds and beyond, and Castor found himself staring at a pulsing corona of sorts: Bismark's beating heart.  

The Primal redoubled its efforts to throw him, bashing Castor's head against an intact spine and making his vision spin as pain spliced his senses. It hurt, but Castor drew upon that pain, let it fuel his rage, and pulled Excalibur from his belt while still anchoring himself with the greatsword.  

"Just...DIE ALREADY!" He screamed, rage spilling from his body in crimson waves as he drew upon the last of his strength and buried his divine blade into Bismark's aetherial heart.  

The White Whale's scream shook the Sea of Clouds to its very core, aether exploding from the rent corona and finally dislodging Castor. He spun through the weightless void, cursing profusely as he shoved his swords into their respective sheathes. White and blue spiraled through his vision, and Castor caught a glimpse of brown, etched with a rose sigil.  

The Rosehouse. Somehow, Bismark had flown close to the camp, but Castor couldn't tell if Cid was still nearby. He glimpsed the flailing Primal sinking towards the white Sea, aether rippling from its body as it began to dissolve, and Castor reached out to draw in the Primal's life-force. Aether rippled around his hand, and a pure white crystal flared to life within his palm, immediately starting to absorb Bismark's essence.  

Hopefully that would make summoning the damn thing a bit harder in the future, but Castor hoped that he would get a future as he continued plummeting towards his death.  

Screw it! Castor's pain-addled mind thought as he reached into the souls of his former enemies, drawing upon Garuda's power over the wind. He willed her to submit, gathered her power around him, and then shot himself towards land in a burst of violent gales.  

This was either really smart or really stupid, but Castor figured he'd find out depending on what he hit. Wind screamed past him, ripping his hair and ears back and drawing tears from his eyes. His voice had fallen back to earth, but his body was currently speeding towards the Rosehouse at speeds surpassing fat chocobo gluttony. If that was even possible, to begin with. Castor once again drew upon Garuda's power and created a cushion of wind around him, alternating enough bursts to slow him down just a bit.  

The blur that was land drew closer and closer at an alarming rate, watery rocks jutting out at Castor, and he had just enough presence of mind to curse his stupidity before he slammed into hard earth with speeds slightly slower than said fat chocobo. Pain exploded through his body as he ripped through stone and soil alike, skipping over boulders and vision spinning with each explosive impact until Castor smacked into a wall of stone with a sickening crunch.  

Everything that had once been his nerves and armor had been liquified, and Castor let out a dizzy groan as his body came free from the sheer face and he plummeted into icy cold water. His vision spun and flickered with the agony scything through his body, his muscles refusing to cooperate with him even as water nearly engulfed him.  

"C-or!" A faint voice slunk into his ringing ears.  

Damn Bismark and his damn roaring. Gods, this pain was agonizing!  

"Cas-r!"  

Sleep. He needed sleep. Badly.  

"Castor!" The ringing faded, thankfully, and a familiar face was thrust into his swirling vision. 

"H-hey," Castor smiled weakly, wondering just when the spinning would stop just as magic crackled through his body. 

His vision sharpened and cleared, the pain immediately fading to a dull ache as White Magic from its respective Soul wreathed his body. Castor groaned and forced his exhausted muscles to rise into a sitting position as his magic coursed through his beat-up form, knitting wounds together and straightening the bones he was now aware he'd broken on impact.  

"You absolute madman!" Haurchefant roared, his intense voice making Castor flinch. 

Haurchefant grabbed Castor's arm and hauled him up to his feet, his jellied legs wobbling as his ripped muscles were repaired by the White Magic's probing fingers. He wouldn't be able to fight effectively for at least a few hours, Castor reasoned, leaning on Haurchefant as the knight slung one of Castor's arms over his shoulders.  

"So, how'd I do?" Castor asked drowsily, nearly bringing both men down to the ground as he swayed.  

Haurchefant glared at him. "You turn into a living cannonball, nearly plow a hole through the Rosehouse, created a new canyon on the islands, and you have the gall to ask how you did?!"  

"Yup."  

The knight howled with laughter as the two began sloshing through the water, and Castor glanced back at the cliff he'd struck to find a Castor-shaped hole now etched onto the rocky face. At least the worst of his injuries had been closed by his magic, but the pain would definitely remain for a while.  

"Look at this, Castor," Haurchefant's quiet voice drew his attention, and Castor gaped at the deep furrow that now carved through the ground before them. 

"Oh, geez," he muttered. "No wonder it hurt like hell."  

Haurchefant said nothing as the duo followed the trench, dragging weary feet over crushed plants and shattered boulders lying amongst the path of destruction. Castor winced when he saw a particularly large hole bearing his resemblance peeking out from the bottom of a hill jutting over the Sea.  

"Uh, I didn't actually hit the Rosehouse, did I?" He asked, icy dread trickling into his veins.  

"Oh, you'll see," Haurchefant said ominously.  

Castor swallowed his fear, cold sweat trickling down his brow.  

Oh dear gods, what have I done?  

He could see the Rosehouse ahead, his keen ears picking up numerous voices shouting and metal clanking as people scurried about, and he winced again once he and Haurchefant rounded a corner into the clearing that housed the fortress. The deep furrow he'd carved stretched away from the camp, and the great net that he'd seen earlier was now swaying with a ragged gap yawning out from the very center of it. Well, at least he hadn't hit anything valuable...right?  

"Congratulations, Castor," Haurchefant said dryly. "You killed their net."  

Castor shot the man an irate glare, but the fear-fueled relief in his eyes made Castor pause. Haurchefant only used humor like this to keep his head on when most men would be losing it, and that alone revealed just how terrified Haurchefant had been.  

"Well, it's better than killing one of their knights," Castor replied in a weak voice.  

"There they are!" A knight spotted the duo limping over, and the flurry of activity ground to a halt as the score of men and women scurrying about froze to stare.  

"Hey, Bismark's dead," Castor held up the pure white crystal in his free hand, fear gripping him as Lainette stormed over with an infuriated expression on her face.  

"Are. You. INSANE?!" She screamed once she was scarcely a foot away from him, her body trembling as she grabbed Castor's arms. "Honoroit comes back telling me that you went off alone to fight the Vanu Vanu, and the next thing I know, Cid is telling me that Bismark was summoned and you launched yourself at him to slow his pursuit, then said Bismark goes flying by with you on his back!"  

She stopped ranting to draw breath, her eyes bright with tears as she glared at Castor.  

"Yeah, that was probably not one of my best ideas," Castor said meekly, really not wanting Lainette to keep yelling at him. "And, uh, sorry about the, uh, trench...and the...net."  

She continued glaring at him, crossing her arms over her chest. And at that moment, the Echo chose to flare to life, pain knifing through Castor's head as a vision overwhelmed him. He was in a lush mansion not unlike Count Edmont's, except the banners on the wall depicted House Haillenarte's emblem rather than Fortemps', and Castor could see an older man holding Francel close to him. 

"Oh, thank Halone that Ser Haurchefant was able to get those foul accusations removed!" The man was saying, crushing Francel in his arms.  

"Er, it wasn't...just Haurchefant," Francel grunted, struggling to draw breath. "The Warrior of...Light played a great part in...proving...my innocence."  

"Warrior of Light?" Lainette was also there, looking as if she sorely wanted to crush her brother in her arms. "You mean Castor Entialpoh, the Primal Slayer?"  

"Y-yes," Francel gasped as the older man released him, his embattled lungs freely gulping down air. "Castor fought off an entire wave of dragons just to protect me! He was incredible!"  

The vision changed to Camp Cloudtop: Lainette sitting in a sort of office overlooking the Sea of Clouds and reading some sort of report.  

"Gods above! He infiltrated Gaius van Baelsar's fortress, alone, and single-handedly slew the legatus and destroyed his Ultima Weapon?!" She yelped as she read the inked papers. "Halone, this man is incredible! To think such a great hero saved my brother and didn't even demand any sort of payment..." 

She sighed and stared out the window. "What I wouldn't give to meet Sir Entialpoh in the flesh...If only I could tell him how much he's inspired me to become even stronger for the sake of those I care for." 

Again the vision changed: Lainette standing outside the Rosehouse as a knight ran up to her. 

"Lady Lainette! Lord Emmanellain is to visit today in a few hours!" The knight reported, and Lainette sighed.  

"Oh, not this again...What's the occasion?"  

The knight saluted. "He's to show Castor Entialpoh the camp and assist in any way he can while Falcon's Nest is setting up a suitable welcome for the man!" 

Lainette dropped the parcel she was holding. "Castor Entialpoh? And he's coming here?!"  

"Yes, ma'am! House Fortemps has successfully claimed him as Ward despite our efforts," the knight reported. "Apparently, he was betrayed by the Eorzean Alliance shortly after slaying Vishap and routing the Horde's assault on the Steps of Faith." 

"He was betrayed?!" Lainette's stunned outburst was echoed by nearly every knight in the vicinity. "Why?!"  

The knight reporting flinched. "W-we're not entirely certain, but apparently the Sultana of Ul'dah was assassinated, and the Alliance has pinned the blame on Sir Entialpoh for some inexplicable reason."  

Lainette straightened, rage burning in her eyes. "Alright: start cleaning everything up! I want this place spotless before the Warrior of Light arrives! Is that understood?"  

"Yes, ma'am!" The knights shouted and renewed their bustle, scurrying about like madmen in their attempts to make their camp presentable.  

Lainette leaned against a wooden wall, disbelief heavy in her voice as she stared up at the darkened sky. 

"Gods above...why did they betray him, of all people?" She whispered. "He's a hero! A champion of the common people! He...he saved my brother and saved countless people! Are the leaders of the Alliance truly so stupid?" 

She heaved another sigh and straightened her armor. "Well, he'll be safe here, I swear it. On my honor, I will not allow Castor Entialpoh to suffer any more than he already has!"  

The vision faded, and Castor found himself staring into a very concerned Lainette's eyes.  

"Castor? Are you okay?" She asked as if she'd been repeating the words several times. "Someone fetch a chirurgeon! Now!  

"That won't be necessary," Castor said slowly as he shook his head. "My Soul of the White Mage has already taken care of my injuries."  

Gods damned Echo had wonderful timing, didn't it?  

Lainette glanced at Haurchefant. "Come on: we'll take him to my quarters."  

That said, she ducked under Castor's other arm and draped it around her own shoulders, she and Haurchefant supporting him as they eased their way forward. Castor digested the information that he'd received from the Echo regarding Lainette's high regard of him and her desire to ease his suffering. She adored him and was enthralled by the tales of his exploits, especially since her brother, Francel, had been a part of said exploits.  

Lainette greatly admired Castor, and to have him so badly injured while in her care had scared her almost as much as the news of Francel being investigated for heresy had.  

Castor recovered his wits in time for Haurchefant and Lainette to guide him into a homey, square chamber furnished with a comfortable bed and desk alongside an armoire. It reminded him of one of the inn rooms he'd so often slept within whenever he'd gotten the rare chance to rest.  

"Careful...lay him down over here," Lainette fretted over him with every step as she and Haurchefant eased Castor over to the wide bed and laid him upon it with as much care as was possible.  

The cushioned mattress welcomed the weary Warrior, and Castor couldn't resist a sigh as his exhausted, beaten body was overcome with exhaustion.  

Haurchefant settled himself into a chair nearby. "By the Fury, man, don't do that ever again!"  

"Heh, sorry, guys," Castor chuckled weakly, the warmth provided by fire crystals in the awnings sinking into his bones. Then another thought hit him: "Where's Emmanellain? And Cid and the others?"  

Lainette pulled his swords off of him with great difficulty, grunting under his greatsword's weight as she set the blades off to the side. "They're safe at the main camp, but worrying themselves sick over you."  

"Nice to know that not everyone I've worked with wants to kill me now," Castor murmured, the words coming out on their own volition.  

Lainette's and Haurchefant's eyes flared with pain, and perhaps anger, and Lainette wrapped her hands around his weakened right.  

"We aren't going to betray you," she promised, voice tender yet frayed with worry. "I swear that I will never even consider it."  

"Nor will I," Haurchefant gripped his other hand, a brotherly smile on his lips. 

"Thank you, both of you," Castor was finding it increasingly difficult to speak and to stay awake, his body desperate for rest and already beginning to shut down.  

A knock on the door: "Sir Haurchefant? Count Edmont is requesting that you meet him and Lord Emmanellain on the landing."  

Count Edmont is here? Castor wondered, and Haurchefant sighed. 

"Alright, I'll be right there," Haurchefant rose and glanced at Castor once more. "Rest, and actually try to not get yourself killed, got it?"  

"Loud and clear," Castor replied weakly, and Haurchefant reluctantly ducked out the room.  

Lainette sighed the moment the door closed, and her tough exterior immediately melted to that of a woman who was stressed to the point of collapse.  

"Castor, what were you thinking?" She whispered, her grip on his hands tightening. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"  

"That's sort of normal for me," Castor replied, his vision tunneling until all he saw was her. "I've done far worse, trust me. Probably not as stupid, however."  

Lainette laughed, but she was still gripping him tightly. "By the Fury, what am I going to do with you? Imagine how much shame would be brought on House Haillenarte if the Warrior of Light had been killed on my watch."  

"Hey, you don't give me nearly enough credit!" Castor protested.  

"I suppose I don't...Not with everything you've already done," she gazed at the paperwork-laden desk, longing in her eyes.  

"You've read about my adventures?" He recalled the vision shown by the Echo.  

"Yes. After you rescued Francel, I wanted to learn more about this famed Warrior of Light that had seemingly come out of nowhere, and I found myself obsessed with reading of your exploits," Lainette admitted, an embarrassed chuckle escaping her lips. "By Halone, hardly a day went by when I wasn't either poring over a report on what you'd been doing or memorizing an older reading on you."  

She laughed again. "Gods, my importers have gotten so sick and tired of me requesting more reports or anything that would allow me to follow your more current adventures."  

"I...wow, I'm honored, Lainette," Castor didn't even know what to say to someone so...dedicated.  

Lainette smiled weakly. "Thank you, Castor. I apologize if this makes me seem...overly obsessed with you, but once I started researching you, I found myself completely enamored."  

"Well, at least you're not like the people who actually attempted to stalk me," Castor chuckled. "Part of the reasons I enlisted in the Rogue's guild was to learn how to shake pursuers like them."  

"Did it work?"  

"Oh, gods, yes," Castor laughed, the darkening edges of sleep beckoning to him. "I once actually managed to lead a group of stalkers back to where they'd started before they realized I had tricked them."  

Lainette giggled, the lightness of her voice contrasting sharply to her commanding, authoritative exterior.  

"Impressive," she paused. "Oh, I shouldn't keep you awake any longer: you must be exhausted, Castor."  

"Yeah, actually."  

Lainette nodded, and Castor's gaze caught on a rather familiar satchel resting on her desk, water crystals spilling out of the open mouth.  

"Hmm? Oh, the crystals!" Lainette beamed at him as she examined the bag. "Castor, these crystals will be enough to provide water for the entire camp! You certainly have a good eye for aether crystals, don't you?"  

"Comes with being filled with the aether of over half a dozen Primals," Castor replied, then yawned. Even his tail felt sore.  

Lainette chuckled, her hands gently taking his again. "You know, that means you won Emmanellain's little bet. Eight crystals to one, and each of yours are far superior to his."  

Castor shook his head. "Forget the damned bet...I'm certain that's the last thing on Emmanellain's mind right now. And frankly, I have far too much respect for you to ask you to do something so demeaning just because Emmanellain was hoping you'd kiss him."  

"Heh, I don't really think kissing the Warrior of Light is demeaning," Lainette laughed, her cheeks coloring and eyes averting to the side. "And...I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about performing such intimacies with you..."  

Castor raised an eyebrow at her, and Lainette blushed furiously.  

"Oh gods, forget I said that!" She yelped.  

"Think nothing of it," Castor chuckled. "You're tired and stressed out, so of course you're not going to be thinking all too clearly."  

Lainette stared at him. "You're far too forgiving, Castor."  

"One of my many faults," Castor shrugged as best as his position allowed.  

A soft chuckle followed, and the warmth of the room proved to be too much. The Dark was calling to him, drawing him into its folds, and Castor could feel himself slipping away.  

"Sleep well, my hero," Lainette's voice whispered, and the last thing Castor felt before the abyss claimed him was a soft pair of lips pressing against his. 

Chapter Text

Minfilia leaned against the doorframe to steady herself, a thousand muddled thoughts rampaging through her mind as she attempted to process what Yugiri had just said. 

"T-that's...impossible!" Thancred blurted from nearby, although his words didn't even sound as if he'd convinced himself of their worth.  

Yugiri nodded, her veil swaying from the movement. "Tis true, my friends: Castor has slain yet another Primal. This one was worshipped by the beast tribe known as the Vanu Vanu, and was named Bismark."  

Minfilia's chest was hollow, and she was struggling just to breathe. "How do you know of this?"  

"I was there," Yugiri said softly. "I watched him launch himself at that monstrous creature from the decks of Cid's airship, latch onto its back, and then stab it through its heart."  

"A Primal shouldn't be so easy to kill," Papalymo mused. "They're heralded as gods for a reason."  

"And Castor is a god-slayer," Y'shtola reminded them, her brows furrowed and lips set into a frown. "If he managed to locate the Primal's weak spot, where both its life force and aetherial energies were being stored, it would be child's play for him to dispatch it with such ease."  

"She's right," Alphinaud strode over, the serious expression on his face worrying Minfilia greatly. "But in other news: the Alliance has very narrowly avoided declaring open war on Ishgard."  

"What?!" Everyone present recoiled, Minfilia's heart collapsing within her hollowed chest. 

"Are they mad?! Do they not understand that Castor would never harm Nanamo?!" Thancred snarled. "Hells, he was more likely to join back up with the Empire than he ever was to leveling any sort of weapon at the woman!"  

"That's why everyone's so afraid," Y'shtola said softly. "They think that this is Castor finally making his true allegiances known and betraying Eorzea. His supplying the XIVth with food had already made many question his loyalties, and now this has happened."  

"Tis easier than thou may think to believe in such folly," Urianger intoned, his face grave underneath his obscuring goggles and hood. "Darkness and mistrust beget much the same."  

Minfilia shook her head, trying to clear the thin haze of rage that she so rarely felt. "Castor may have been an Imperial once, but has he not made his loyalty to us clear on multiple occasions?"  

She straightened, again shaking her head in a vain attempt to collect herself. "He has bled for us! For Eorzea and her people! We've thrown him against impossible odds again and again and again, and each time he's emerged triumphant for all of our sakes!"  

"Alphinaud, what diverted the Alliance's decision to declare war on Ishgard?" Y'shtola spoke up once more, her sharp voice cutting through the tension now leaking into the Rising Stones.  

"It was the Elder Seedseer. She absolutely refused to allow any Alliance forces passage through Gridania, demanding that Ul'dah launch an immediate, thorough investigation into the circumstances surrounding the former Sultana's assassination," the boy reported, a mirthless grin on his lips. "Raubahn had to be escorted from the room before he could draw his swords on her and start a war with Gridania."  

"Gods damn it! We do not need to be fighting amongst ourselves at this time!" Thancred spat, slamming a dagger into Minfilia's tabletop. "The Imperials might take notice of our division and take this opportunity to launch another offensive!'  

"Lady Yugiri, if I may," Minfilia quickly caught everyone's attention again before tensions could  rise, "What was Castor doing when you last saw him?"  

Yugiri's head bowed. "He was resting, Lady Minfilia. Castor had been violently thrown from Bismark's back after dealing a killing blow to the Primal, and he crashed into the Ishgardian fortress known as the Rose House, then carved a fissure into the island before a cliff stopped his momentum."  

Minfilia fought down a cry, which only made her chest hurt more. "He crashed into a cliff?! How hard was he thrown?!"  

"Extremely, milady. If I had to compare it to anything, I'd have to do so with a cannonball."  

The other Scions cringed almost as one.  

"Gods, that sounds painful, even for him!" Yda murmured.  

Papalymo snorted. "Please, I get the feeling that the cliff sustained more damage than he did. Lest you forget, Yda, Castor's Soul of the White Mage can easily keep him alive even if he isn't attuned to it." 

"Oh...right."  

Y'shtola sighed and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But what I'm wondering about is: what are we going to do about this brewing civil war?"  

"Heh, Ul'dah's already looking like a war zone," Thancred laughed bitterly, his humorless voice cutting everyone deeply. "Every single guild in the city, from the Adventurers' to the Gladiators' has practically revolted against the Syndicate. Adventurers and other guild members alike are constantly clashing with the Brass Blades and the Immortal Flames, now, and the fighting has already spilled onto the streets on several occasions."  

"The Sultansworn are refusing to aid in putting down the revolts, too," Yugiri added. "Their commander, Jenlys, stated that he'd made the mistake of doubting Castor's integrity once, and he would rather die than do so again. We'll get no help from the Paladins there."  

"Damn hells..." Yda murmured.  

Minfilia sank into the closest chair, all of her strength leaving her. Everything was falling apart, and Eorzea was plunging further into Darkness. Hydaelyn was silent, and if Castor and that strange Ascian were telling the truth, Castor was no longer under the influence of the Blessing of Light. He would be more susceptible to the Dark's influence now, more than ever before, and Minfilia feared that the Castor she'd meet in the future wouldn't be the same man she'd grown to adore.  

He'd already changed so much due to the impossible hardships he'd endured, and he could only get worse from here on out.  

"What do we do?" Alphinaud asked. "Personally: I'd love to try to calm down the riots in Ul'dah, but they're breaking out all over Thanalan."  

Minfilia rose, drawing upon the strength that Castor had taught her to seek. "I agree. We'll go to Ul'dah and speak with the Guilds to see if we can get them to stop fighting. Yda, Papalymo: I want you two to return to Gridania and ensure that nothing of this sort occurs there." 

"Yes, ma'am!" 

"Understood."  

"Y'shtola: return to Limsa and work with the Yellowjackets to keep the peace in the city. I don't want the Sahagin taking advantage of any confusion should any fighting break out there. Everyone: let us work together to bring about peace!" 

Alphinaud nodded. "You have the support of the Crystal Braves, as well." 

The Scions shouted their assent, hurrying off to prepare for their journeys while Minfilia sank into her chair once again.  

"Hydaelyn, please...give me the strength to see us through these dark times...and please, please, keep watching over our dear Castor."  

Magitek hummed and whirred, filling the air with its musical cacophony. and magitek Vanguards and Colossals stomped around the black, metal fortress that had once been Castrum Meridianum. The Praetorium's explosion had ravaged much of the great fortifications and destroyed nearly all the legion's supplies, but the outer walls and much of the internal works survived. Imperial engineers scurried about alongside the legionnaires, checking equipment and making certain that each automaton had a plentiful supply of ceruleum to keep each one running.  

"How is everything looking?" Severus sas Aurelius, Tribunus of the heavily damaged XIVth Legion, demanded, his officer's plate mail making his shoulders ache.  

He was one of three Tribunes who had risen to fill the holes in the chain of command left behind by Nero tol Scaeva, Livia sas Junius, and Rihtatyn sas Arvina, the heavy weight of his legion's expectations and survival draining Severus' energy. It had been doing so for the year that had followed the destruction of the Ultima Weapon, but Severus had grown admirably into his new role. Formerly a Primi Ordines (a Centurion of the First Cohort), Severus had been one of the first choices thrust into command as a Tribunus, along with two of his closest companions.  

"Everything's progressing well, sir!" The soldier with whom he'd been speaking reported, the Elezen's pale skin drenched in sweat as he leaned against his hoe.  

A great portion of the castrum's damaged siege works had been hastily converted into farming plots, and the few legionnaires who actually had farm experience had been hard at work these last few months, coaxing the rocky soil of Northern Thanalan to yield a crop capable of sustaining the legion's greatly depleted numbers.  

"Good. The supplies that Castor gave us are already starting to run low, but he hasn't contacted us with news of the next drop," Severus sighed, the stagnating air stinking of ceruleum and oil, metal and sweat.  

Truthfully, he still didn't know what to think of the man. Castor had abandoned them at Cartenaeu, showed up years later as Eorzea's Warrior of Light, then led that accursed attack on the XIVth Legion's bases all over Eorzea. He'd led the attacks on Cape Westwind and on this very fortress, yet he stormed both alone, sparing every single legionnaire who'd dared to step in his path during the course of the campaigns. Granted, he'd destroyed countless numbers of the legion's magitek, and the soldiers lost in the Praetorium's explosion had been many, but Castor had showed his former comrades mercy where many Eorzean savages would have strung up all of them the first chance they got.  

Lord van Baelsar had apparently been manipulated by those strange Ascians, who had been using the Ultima Weapon to resummon their own damn god and destroy everything-which had been made clear in the Praetorium's destruction-but the legatus had still died by Castor's hands.  

Severus had once called him 'comrade' and even 'brother', but now he was a traitor...wasn't he? Severus had spent nearly every single day since Castor's enslavement by the man's side, and he knew more than anyone how passionate Castor was when it came to saving his homeland. Castor loved Eorzea and its people, and he practically breathed Lord van Baelsar's desires to save the 'misguided masses' of the realm from their own ignorance and fear. If anything, it was Castor who had inspired the legatus so heavily with his devotion and his love for Eorzea, and it was Castor who had been the driving force behind van Baelsar's desire to conquer Eorzea if only to save it from itself.  

"Severus," a powerful, commanding voice made him turn, body stiffly saluting the great, armored figure approaching, flanked by a contingent of guards. "Are the farming efforts proceeding smoothly?" 

"Legatus! We are doing as well as this rocky soil will allow, my lord," Severus reported, legionnaires all over the compound halting in their activities to salute the man who had taken up the mantle of legatus of the XIVth Legion.  

Rihtatyn van Arvina towered above him, the powerfully built man's helmet swiveling as he took in the work of his legionnaires.  

To think that he, of all people, would have been spared by Castor. Cape Westwind had been attacked, the Praefectus Castorum clashing with the Warrior of Light in single combat for the sake of his soldiers. Rihtatyn had been soundly defeated, yet when he begged Gaius to forgive him for his failure, for his death, Castor chose to spare him.   

To the rest of Eorzea, the Praefectus was dead, but he was now the only thing keeping the Legion together.  

"That is fortunate. Has Castor sent any word of when he'll acquire more food?" Rihtatyn had taken to his new role only to prevent chaos amongst the legion, but the man had proven himself more than capable of adapting to his titanic responsibilities.  

"No, my lord: we have not heard from him for quite some time now."  

"How troubling," Rihtatyn mused, his attention shifting over the ramparts to the ceruleum processing facility, where the Eorzeans had camped themselves. "Hmm? What are the Eorzeans doing over there?"  

Severus followed his legate's gaze, then pulled out a spyglass. Stepping closer to the hole in the ramparts-why hadn't anyone patched that up yet?!-through which Rihtatyn had spotted the Eorzeans, Severus trained his spyglass onto the large group of Eorzeans-Immortal Flames, from the looks of it-as they appeared to be arguing and shoving one another around.  

"Send a scout, see what's upsetting them," the legatus ordered. 

"Yes, my lord!" Severus hit his comm and barked an order for scouts to deploy. Within moments, their reply crackled over the comm. 

"Sir! The Eorzeans have just received word that the Sultana of Ul'dah has been assassinated! Castor Entialpoh is the one being blamed for the murder, and the Eorzeans are split on their opinions of the authenticity of the charges!"  

Severus nearly dropped the comm.  

"They're fighting amongst themselves because of the rumors that Castor murdered the Sultana?!"  

All the legionnaires, toiling or otherwise, ground to a halt, and Severus silently cursed himself for not having been more discrete.  

"Those fools believe that Castor, of all people, would have assassinated Nanamo Ul Namo?" Rihtatyn's voice was tight with anger. "Are they truly so stupid? That man lives and breathes for Eorzea and her people."  

To think that the Legion had once reviled Castor as a traitor, only to now hail him as one of them once more. The man just had that kind of effect on people.  

"What has happened since?" Rihtatyn asked, speaking directly to the scouts still observing the brawlers.  

"According to the Eorzeans, Castor was dragged into the banquet celebrating his victory in Ishgard's Steps of Faith and accused of murdering the Sultana. She was poisoned, apparently, and a vial of suspicious liquid had been found on Castor's person," the scout reported. "Ishgardian soldiers broke into the banquet and rescued Castor, and they think he's somewhere in Coerthas."  

"Damn these savages!" Severus spat, clenching his fists tightly enough to crack his comm's metallic casing. "Don't they understand that Castor is their only line of defense against the eikons?"  

"Fear can drive away all rational thought," Rihtatyn responded, his voice calm and commanding. "Tell me, legionnaires: what do you wish to do?"  

His comm projected his voice all across the remains of the castrum, and Severus reluctantly repeated everything he'd learned about Castor for the entire legion to hear. More soldiers had begun gathering by the plots, remaining in a respectful, disciplined silence.  

"Isn't it obvious?" A sharp, female voice cut the air, the legionnaires splitting ranks to allow a tall woman through. "We bring the fight to those traitorous worms and stand by Castor's side!"  

"Arya, you know that would be foolhardy," Severus growled, his helmet's voice filter making the sound rather animalistic.  

Arya sas Norian, nicknamed 'Golden Arya', or 'Valkyrie', was clad in black officer's plate with golden trim, her helmet styled on the ancient savages of the Northern territories. Her mouth was currently set into a tight line, her black helm sporting two short, blood red horns on the very top. The jet black eyepieces hid her sharp, merciless eyes, but Severus could feel them boring into him. She was the only one of the officers who had any portion of her face showing, along with the long, golden braid of thick hair that trailed her spine.  

A jet-black magitek lance was strapped to her back, the diamond-shaped head crackling with electricity and metal haft humming with power. Severus knew from experience to not get too close to that accursed weapon, lest it leave a nasty shock.  

Arya was fierce and merciless in battle, but not without morals: if an enemy surrendered, she'd spare them and take them prisoner rather than just butcher them, and she was constantly in the data files learning everything she could about Eorzea's people. She was also one of Castor's closest Imperial friends, having spent many of their years in the Legion together. There were many rumors wondering if Arya had actually been Castor's lover at one point, but she vehemently denied every allegation.  

"If we do nothing, then we are no better than the Eorzeans!" Arya was snapping, her gauntlets clenched at her side. "Castor had every opportunity to destroy us, to truly betray the legion and everyone he'd ever known, but he didn't! He chose to help us despite knowing the consequences should the Eorzeans find out! He spared the legatus and gave us a chance to continue fighting for what we believe in!" 

Severus growled and crossed his black-covered arms. "And what are we fighting for?! The rest of the Empire has probably disowned us because Lord van Baelsar defied Emperor Solus' orders, and the new Emperor might not want anything to do with us!"  

"We fight for the principles that Lord van Baelsar has instilled in all of us," Rihtatym stomped forward, his voice booming. "It is our duty as the strong to rule over the weak and to guide them to greatness. It is our duty to conquer so we can protect, and if we cannot conquer, then we shall work alongside the ones whose strength outperforms ours. We fight not for glory alone, but to create a better future and to fight for those who cannot."  

Arya nodded vigorously. "Yes, my lord! Our duty to Eorzea is to guide the misguided people out of this never-ending cycle of blood and death! Only Garlean might can raise this nation from its squalor, and Castor is the only man alive who can boast of having defeated those monsters in combat!" 

The Valkyrie unslung her spear and slammed the haft onto the floor, sending ripples of blue electricity rippling through the air. "Castor is the man who will put an end to this cycle, and we must stand at his side if we are to protect these misguided people!" 

"The weak elevate the frail, and the frail lead the people astray," the legatus quoted his predecessor. "If Eorzea continues down this road, soon the Alliance will invoke the ire of the Empire and force the new Emperor to destroy them rather than guide and protect them."  

Severus scowled underneath his helmet, the smell of his stress-fouled breath making him want to curse. "So, what do we do?"  

"We must take the steps to bring order back to Eorzea, and that means we must join forces with Castor Entialpoh," Rihtatyn van Arvina turned, his massive shield-cannons clanking. "Alert our forces in Castrum Centri to prepare for a march on Mor Dhona. We go to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, and we will learn from them who to approach in Ishgard."  

Arya laughed boisterously and barked the orders into her comm, then turned to the legionnaires at her side: "You heard him! Get the Phantom Train ready to go!" 

"Yes, milady!"  

Severus tried to trample his anger at their compulsive decisions, but his heart still lightened at the thought of seeing his old friend again. The world had been cruel to all of them, but it had been especially harsh to Castor. How much had the man changed? Was he still the kind, yet timid legionnaire Severus remembered, or was he cold, hardened by the trials of this cruel world?  

Time would tell, and they would learn soon enough, wouldn't they? 

Minfilia sighed and rested her head upon her hands, staring through her interlaced fingers at the documents laying upon her desk. Ul'dah was ignoring Gridania's threats, ignoring Kan-E Senna's pleas to reconsider their actions and to act wisely, and marching an army comprised of Immortal Flames, Brass Blades, and adventurer conscripts hoping for glory through the forest lands. Gridania wouldn't openly engage the army unless provoked, but the Wood Wailers and Serpents were a crafty bunch; they'd likely lay traps, destroy paths and create new ones passing through hazardous areas. Anything to slow down this nonsense.  

Limsa Lominsa was opting to remain out of this conflict, as the Sahagin and Kobolds were stirring up more activity, but Merlwyb had only sent a strongly worded letter to Raubahn urging him to reconsider. With the Syndicate in full power, Ul'dah had turned into a living hell, and the rioters had driven away all attempts to quell them. From what Thancred was saying, the Ossuary had been attacked once, but the thaumaturges had blown their assailants apart with such horrific bloodlust that nobody sane even went near the place anymore. Apparently, the Brass Blades were still trying to pick body parts out of the walls.  

And speaking of the Brass Blades: the squadron stationed at Highbridge, the Brass Blades of the Orchid, had once again lost the structure to the attacking Qi'qirn and Amal'jaa raiders. Thancred and a contingent of Crystal Braves had had to launch a full scale assault on the beast camp, only pushing the monstrosities back far enough to rescue the kidnapped and flee. Minfilia definitely shared Castor's sentiments on how useless Huncbert Longhaft was at performing his duties.  

What was it Castor had said: The fool wouldn't be able to find his own longhaft if his two lieutenants weren't constantly being plugged by it." 

The thought made Minfilia smile despite her worries, and she looked up as the door creaked open. 

"Ah, my apologies, Lady Minfilia," it was Yugiri, her veil swaying as the petite Doman strode in. "Am I interrupting?"  

Minfilia smiled, the faint hint of lotus hitting her nose. The scent seemed to follow Yugiri everywhere she went, yet it never once gave her away until she was already too close.  

"Of course not. What do you need, my friend?"  

"I...wished to ask you something about Castor," the Doman hesitated, but steadied herself. "I've become quite close to him, but I was wondering just what kind of man he was before he became the Warrior of Light."  

"Oh? Well, I'm afraid I can't be of much help there," Minfilia sighed. "I only know the man as he's always been: a fearless, kindhearted warrior who values his friends and comrades above all else. He's reliable, and an inspiration to us all. Yet...he's the dearest friend I could ever ask for, and whenever I feel myself hesitating, like I'm losing my conviction, I just look to him."  

Yugiri chuckled softly, the affection in her voice a mirror of Minfilia's. "I must agree with you there. Castor is the most incredible man I've ever met, and I must say that I'm absolutely grateful for having made his acquaintance. He's my inspiration, and, to tell the truth, I adore him."  

"Oh, I know the feeling very well," Minfilia laughed. "All the weight on my heart lifts whenever I even see him. Yet...last week, at the banquet...seeing him so broken, so betrayed...it broke my heart to hear the allegations being brought against him, yet I had to hold my silence."  

"Why?" Yugiri asked bluntly, a hard edge to her voice that Minfilia could not mistake.  

"I couldn't have the Scions implicated as accomplices. I...I will never forgive myself for betraying Castor like that, but I had to think of the Scions as a whole," Minfilia had told herself those words, over and over and over, yet they still sounded so hollow.  

She'd stopped believing herself a long time ago.  

Yugiri said nothing, her relaxed stance no doubt disguising boiling rage just under the surface.  

"You're still watching him, yes?" Minfilia asked softly.  

"Yes. He's been in a coma ever since slaying Bismark," Yugiri replied in a clipped, terse tone. "He was moved back to Fortemps Manor to rest, but that Haillenarte commander-Lainette, I think her name was-has been visiting him frequently."  

Minfilia laughed, although there was no merriment in the short, hollow sound. "It appears he has yet another admirer. Not that I'm surprised, since half the women in the realm have expressed their interest in him; a good number of men, as well."  

"Now that I recall...didn't some of Thancred's...companions attempt to use him as a median through which they could attempt to woo Castor?" Yugiri mused.  

"Oh, yes, indeed," Minfilia smiled at the memory. "Castor shut them all down immediately and suggested they stay with Thancred because he was 'more experienced'."  

Yugiri chuckled, but her iron will remained. "He is too noble to play with women and their affections in such a manner, is he not?"  

"I'm not sure; apparently he had quite a difficult time of remaining so noble after the U tribe in the Forgotten Springs had grown to like him," Minfilia mused. "Apparently, on the day that he'd managed to coerce them into aiding him against the Ama'jaa, he'd gone to sleep on one of their free bunks and awoke the next morning with half the tribe lying beside him, stark naked.   

Yugiri said nothing, and Minfilia pictured a rather stunned expression on whatever face lay beneath the veil.  

"A-aren't the U tribe almost solely females?" The Doman asked.  

Minfilia nodded, quite glad that she couldn't see any weapons on Yugiri's person. Then again, if she could see them, Yugiri wouldn't be doing her job quite as well as she was reputed.  

The petite woman muttered something in Doman and then shook her head. "Thank you for humoring me, Lady Minfilia. If there's ought I can do, please ask."  

"Wait!" Minfilia blurted as the Doman turned to leave. "Are you going back to Ishgard now?"  

Yugiri glanced back and nodded.  

"T-then...could you leave Castor this? Just to let him know that we still stand with him?" Minfilia reached into her desk and, after a moment of rummaging around, pulled out a small wooden charm with the Dawn sigil carved onto it.  

Yugiri took the little gem-shaped charm and nodded. "I shall."  

"Thank you," Minfilia murmured, sinking back into her chair as Yugiri vanished through the open door. 

Scarcely had an hour passed, the candles on her desk dripping wax as they burned lower and lower, when Minfilia could hear a rising clamor from the Toll outside.  

"What on earth?" She wondered, quickly dousing the candles and hurrying into the Rising Stones' main chambers.  

"My lady! Don't!" Hoary Boulder and Coultenet stormed down the steps, half a dozen of the new recruits scrambling behind them. "It's the Imperials! They've marched on Mor Dhona!"  

Minfilia's breath caught within her chest, icy fear trickling into her mind as the two Scions grabbed her arms and dragged her back to her office. Once inside, the heavy doors were bolted shut, and her escorts heaved a great bar into place to further secure it. Minfilia gazed down at her hands and found them trembling; the nightmares she'd had of Livia's attack on the Waking Sands flashing before her eyes.  

Was this going to be a repeat of then? Were her allies and friends going to die once more? The Scions cowered in the intercessory, eyes wide with fear and trembling hands tightly gripping their weapons.  

The clamor outside ceased, replaced by a powerful voice booming words Minfilia could not make out. There was silence; dead, maddening silence, and then came the sound of the outer doors creaking open. Metal feet clanked against the stone and rugs, and Hoary hefted his shield in preparation to meet whoever attempted to breach the office first.  

Then, a voice: "Lady Minfilia?"  

Slafborn.  

"Uh, you might not believe me, but...these Imperials are saying they only want to talk. It's about Castor."  

"Are you mad?!" Hoary bellowed, his titanic body tensing as he readied himself to fight.  

"No, I'm not," the adventurer grunted. "They marched on us, aye, but the Imperials have surrendered their weapons and stated that they come in peace. Even brought a flag of truce. They haven't attacked anyone yet, but we're keeping a very close eye on them."  

Minfilia couldn't believe what she was hearing...yet somehow this had to be a blessing in disguise.  

"Open the doors," she ordered, soft at first, then repeated herself as her allies stared dumbly at her.  

Hoary shook his head, features contorted with rage and confusion. "They'll kill us the second we open this door!"  

"Trust me: if they wanted to blow down the door, they would have done so already!" Slafborn shouted. "There's only three of 'em here with me, all right? Granted, one should be dead, but..."  

Hoary heaved the great bar off of its locks, and two of the others opened the doors. Minfilia straightened her back, conjuring an image of her dearest friends to summon her courage as the grizzled Slafborn strode in with three Imperial officers in tow. The familiar sight of one in particular, however, made Minfilia cry out in shock.  

"Rihtatyn sas Arvina?! That can't be: Castor killed you at Cape Westwind!"  

The Praefectus chuckled. "I am named Rihtatyn van Arvina, now, Lady Minfilia. As legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion, I have taken it upon myself and mine to intervene in this mess Eorzea is creating before the realm as a whole suffers any further because of it."  

"Intervene?!" Hoary snarled. "You Imperials just want to destroy us all!"  

"We do not," the legatus said softly, his emotionless helm gazing at Minfilia. "Lord van Baelsar only wanted to save Eorzea from itself, instilling in all of us that selfsame desire. No matter how much we may despise your ignorance or condemn you as savages, it is our duty to guide and protect the misguided so they may one day rise above this squalor."  

Minfilia glared at the arrogant man, desperately wondering why Castor had spared him.  

"And you think yourself the right person to 'guide' us? That the Empire that had slaughtered millions will bring peace?!"  

"My homeland was much like Eorzea: filled with strife and festering with a thousand issues that divided the people. Only when the Empire-no, when Lord van Baelsar came and brought us under Imperial rule did my realm finally understand peace," Rihtatyn replied. "His methods may have been cruel and brutal, but Lord van Baelsar truly did desire nothing more than to bring a lasting peace to Eorzea. He despised the Meteor Project and the calling of Dalamud. To tell the truth, it was Castor who inspired our late lord to renew his efforts in bringing stability to this troubled realm."  

"W-what?" Minfilia had to lean upon her desk once again.  

The legatus nodded, the black garbed officers at his side mirroring his motion. "Indeed: Castor's passionate desires to protect Eorzea and its people rubbed off on our Lord, to say the least. Lord van Baelsar had always been a stout believer in the strong using their strength, their power to protect the weak and to guide them so that they, too, would one day become strong enough to continue the cycle. He never wanted to use the Ultima Weapon against Eorzea, merely to have it cow your leaders into submission. Had those damn Ascians not deceived us..."  

"What is it that you want?" Minfilia's voice had sunk to a meager whisper, her strength rapidly failing her no matter whose face she conjured up.  

"You Eorzeans have abandoned the only one who can possibly bring order to your realm, to protect it from the Beasts and their eikons, and thus it falls to us, Castor's oldest friends, to remind him that there are still those who stand at his side," Rihtatyn leaned closer, the stench of oil, metal, and ceruleum stabbing Minfilia's nostrils. "With whom should we speak in Coerthas if we were to ask after Castor? Surely you know of some allies we could contact?"  

Minfilia stared dumbly at the Imperials, her voice reacting on its own. "Camp Dragonhead: Ask for Haurchefant."  

"Haurchefant," the female, Valkyrie-like officer repeated the name once aloud, then more softly as she committed it to memory.  

The male merely nodded. Rihtatyn bowed his head and straightened. 

"You have my sincerest thanks, Lady Minfilia. I apologize for our intrusion here, but desperate times call for desperate measures," the legatus intoned, his powerful body turning its back upon her. "I am scarcely fit to walk in either Lord van Baelsar's footsteps or Sir Castor's, but I will do my utmost to bring peace to this troubled realm. It reminds me far too much of my homeland..."  

With that, the Imperials clanked away, Slafborn giving Minfilia an apologetic smile before following them.   

Minfilia's legs gave in and she sank to the floor, her body trembling.  

What has this world come to? Has Eorzea truly fallen so far into darkness that the Imperials they called enemies had to step forward to save the realm from itself? 

"Hydaelyn, please...why aren’t you answering me?" She croaked, clutching her chest tightly as she begged for answers from a goddess that had seemingly abandoned them all.

Chapter Text

He saw a throne of skulls, rising from the darkness. Primals, humans, monsters, beastmen; all decorated this unholy cairn. Upon that throne, carved from the great skull of Ifrit, sat a shadowed figure that he could not see clearly.  

"Come, Castor," it whispered in a rasping voice. "Let our souls join together; let our hearts beat as one."  

Then he awoke in a warm, lushly furnished room. Castor sat up, shedding the blankets on his chest, and found his eyes focusing on the Fortemps banner adorning the wall. So he was back in Fortemps Manor...interesting.  

"How long was I out?" Castor rubbed his temples as waves of hot pain pounded his skull, and a hard object underneath the pillow caught his attention.  

Castor reached in, his fingers clutching a smooth wooden object warmed from his body heat, and he withdrew a small charm. Anger boiled within his heart upon sighting the Dawn sigil carved onto the brown surface, and Castor's hand acted alone. He squeezed, crushing the object to splinters and dust, snarling as he scattered the remains over the room. 

"Damn them all," his voice was hoarse, hard to push out from the depths of his scarred chest. "They enjoy mocking me, don't they? Reminding me that they've abandoned me?"  

With that done, Castor remained seated upon the bed until his anger faded. Then he rose, brushing off the rest of the lush, furred covers to find himself clad in a simple white shirt with grey trousers. It was the garb he normally wore underneath his armor.  

His keen ears picked up approaching footsteps, followed by a familiar voice. 

"He might not be awake still, Lady Lainette," Haurchefant was saying. "Castor's been out for nearly a week."  

"Even then, I still want to check on him," Lainette's voice responded.  

The door creaked open, and a weary Lainette was the first to enter the room, freezing with an awed expression once she saw him. 

"Castor! You're awake!" Lainette's lips parted into a brilliant smile that sent warm waves through Castor's weary body, and the woman's warm hands wrapped around his. "Thank Halone! We were so worried!"  

"Heh, sorry for worrying you," Castor's head was buzzing with nausea, fogging his memory, but he could have sworn that Lainette had done something before he'd passed out.  

Haurchefant grunted, crossing his arms with a rather unimpressed expression upon his face. "You, my friend, have one hell of a lecture coming your way."  

"I really don't think that'd be best right now, Haurchefant," Castor said to his friend, sorely hoping that the man wouldn't launch into a speech about how annoyed he was that Castor had played the hero without him.  

To ho surprise, Haurchefant relented and sighed. "Yes, I know. Besides, father was hoping to speak to you once you awakened."  

"Very well, I'll go see him," Castor nodded, then turned his gaze to the woman still holding his hands. "Lainette, perhaps you could release me? I'm not your prisoner any longer."  

She scowled but obeyed. "I swear to Halone: if I hear of you destroying another Primal in some stupid stunt..."  

"I'll be sure to visit the Rose House so you can smack me around," Castor replied.  

Lainette's eyes never once left him, even when she nodded. "Fine. And please take care of yourself, Castor."  

"I will try," he relents under her stern gaze, although he knows he really can't promise much more than that.  

"Try your best, got it?" Lainette clasps his hands once again, the worry in her eyes keeping Castor frozen.  

"I give you my word," he promises.  

"Well, I hate to break up your little lovers' reunion, but Count Edmont is still waiting on Castor," Haurchefant coughs from behind Castor, and Lainette's cheeks flare a bright red.  

"Shut up, Haurchefant," Lainette growls, but her grip on Castor's hands never relents.  

Castor decides to end this quickly: "Lainette, I really must be on my way, and I'm sure you have duties to attend to, no?"  

"Yes...Very well. As I said before, you better take care of yourself, Castor, or else!" Lainette's threat was rather half-hearted, but Castor appreciated the thought behind it.  

"I will do my best," he repeated. 

Lainette nodded, a wistful look in her eyes as she releases him. "Very well. I'll take you at your word, Hero."  

She hesitated for the merest of moments before striding out the door, giving Haurchefant a quick bow.  

"Never thought I'd see Lainette actually fall for someone," Haurchefant comments as he studies Castor. "How are you feeling?"  

"Still a bit tired," Castor sighed, stretching his stiff limbs. "But my wounds are healed, so I can fight again."  

Haurchefant frowned, but said nothing as he opened the door. Castor nodded to his friend and then noticed his armor resting upon a mannequin nearby. 

"I should probably put my armor back on," he muttered, quickly pivoting and striding back over to the stand. 

He moved quickly, practiced hands pulling on the metal plates and tightening leather straps, easing chain mail into place and slipping everything into place. He was done in moments, pausing at the realization that his weapons were missing until Haurchefant reached out with Excalibur in hand.  

"Your other sword is in the hall. Nobody could pick it up alone and we really didn't want to wrangle the thing anywhere else," the knight sighed. "Honestly, how the hells do you carry that thing so easily?"  

Castor buckled Excalibur to his hip and grinned at his friend, the heavy embrace of his ever-familiar armor comforting him. "Having the strength of Primals is pretty handy, I'd say."  

"And the strength of a madman," Haurchefant shot back with a grin of his own. 

Both men burst out laughing and strode down the hall, Castor quickly spotting his greatsword and slinging it onto his back with only a single hand. He grinned at Haurchefant when the man sighed loudly, also smacking his forehead.  

"You're just jealous," Castor teased.  

"Only of your strength," Haurchefant grumbled. "Not of your madness."  

Chuckling, Castor strode forward, passing several surprised staff members while several of them bowed with awed expressions upon their faces. Castor rounded a corner, mentally going through a check of his body to make sure that everything was in working order, and then noticed the serving girl that he'd flustered in the bath room-what was her name, Gabrielle?-whispering to several other younger maids. 

He wondered if he should call out to her, to apologize for being so...indecent, but the girl turned as several of her companions gaped at him with wide eyes.  

"Oh! There he is!" One girl squealed, the whole lot of them rushing to curtsy. "Sir Entialpoh in the flesh!"  

"Oh, come now!" Haurchefant stepped forward in a theatrical manner, holding his arms wide to the audience. "It's not as if you don't work in a home filled with handsome men such as myself!"  

"But are you the Warrior of Light?" Castor snickered as his friend deflated.  

"No..."  

:Being a hero comes with great responsibility," Castor continued teasing Haurchefant as he smiled at his adoring fans. "That includes learning how to deal with admirers and love-struck fans."  

Haurchefant gazed longingly at a nearby shield decorating the wall, perhaps contemplating how many times he'd have to bash his head against it before he passes out.  

Castor, deciding to spare Haurchefant further embarrassment, turned back to the girls and made a bit of a waving motion. "I apologize for cutting this short, my friends, but I have an appointment to keep."  

One young Elezen scurried forward, her face an embarrassed flush as she held out a small square of paper with a magicked ink pen in trembling hands. "U-um, could I have an autograph, Sir Entialpoh?"  

"I'll do you one better," oh, Castor loved doing this!  

He reached into the depths of his magic and called upon the power of his Crystals. Magical energy swirled to life around his hands, his audience watching with wide eyes as he reached out and touched the paper square. Light flared blindingly bright, forcing all to avert their eyes, and Castor grinned as the light faded. Instead of paper, the young girl now held a small azure crystal in her palm, shining with a faint light.  

"There we go!" Castor chuckled, the wide-eyed girl clutching the crystal to her chest. 

"T-thank you!" She squeaked, scurrying back to her awed friends. 

"Showoff," Haurchefant muttered as the two made their way around the stunned girls. "Now all of our staff will be begging you to make them crystals."  

"Hey, you never complained about the one I made for you!" Castor reminded him. "If my memory serves right: you still have it set into your sword hilt!"  

"I do, and I will never remove it," Haurchefant nodded, and Castor spotted the doors of Edmont's study approaching.  

"I'm glad to hear that, my friend," all kidding done, Castor steeled his expression and pushed the doors open once they were in reach.  

The elegant things swung open on silent hinges, wood creaking only a bit as the bottoms of the doors scraped plush red rugs. Count Edmont stood before the great piano, relief shining in his eyes as Castor and Haurchefant strode in.  

Was it just Castor, or was the study warmer than the rest of the house? 

"Ah, Sir Castor!" The Count bowed gracefully, a warm smile on his lips. "I am pleased to see you up and about!"  

Emmanellain and Artoriel stood in the left hand corner, whatever they'd been conversing about in hushed tones coming to a halt upon their father's greetings.  

"I am glad to be awake once more, Count," Castor returned the bow as best as his stiff back allowed. "I must admit that I desperately needed that week-long rest."  

"I'd imagine so!" Edmont smiled. "You're barely in Ishgard for a day after routing the Horde on the Steps of Faith, being betrayed by your allies, and then fleeing, and you have already faced down yet another Primal! Your stamina is legendary, but even you need to rest!"  

Castor's anger churned within his heart, the Soul of the Dark Knight once again urging him to return to Eorzea and slaughter his treacherous 'friends'. Once again, he ignored it.  

"I suppose so, my lord. However, rest is often a luxury I do not have," Castor barely managed to keep his rage from his voice. "I've adapted as best as possible."  

Edmont nodded. "I imagine so...Ah, I have yet to thank you for rescuing my son, haven't I?" 

The man gave Emmanellain a sharp glare, at which the boy flinched. "Captain Lainette told me everything: how Emmanellain tricked you into a ridiculous bet with the Captain serving as the prize and how said bet ended up getting Emmanellain captured by the Vanu Vanu. Needless to say: I must apologize for my son's reckless behavior and for him endangering you. If he hadn't acted so foolishly, you might not have had to injure yourself so badly fighting Bismark!"  

Castor studied the flustered Emmanellain only for a moment, turning his attention back to Edmont. "Actually, sir, I'm grateful that things ended the way they did. If Emmanellain hadn't been captured, I wouldn't have been able to bloody the Vanu Vanu by attacking one of their larger tribes and I wouldn't have gotten the chance to slay Bismark so quickly. And to be quite frank: if I hadn't gotten that rest my injuries forced upon me, I wouldn't be able to serve Ishgard quite as efficiently as I'd like."  

Edmont's steely face softened. "You truly are a hero, aren't you? So be it. Nonetheless, Emmanellain is being severely punished for his actions, as he not only endangered you: he nearly shamed both our house and House Haillenarte with his little stunt."  

"I see," Castor shrugged, eager to put this behind him.  

The mansion was suddenly so...constricted and tight. The cold Ishgardian weather was calling to him, beckoning Castor outside.  

"I regret to inform you that Sir Redwald of Falcon's Nest has asked for you by name," Edmont's eyes shone with some not so hidden mischief, and Castor remembered someone saying something about a party in his honor being held in Falcon's Nest. "You are to depart as soon as the chocobos are prepped."  

"Very well. I will take a walk around Ishgard before I leave, then, to  clear my head," Castor knew one person would be waiting for him, scathing words no doubt waiting upon his tongue.  

"As you will," Edmont smiled. "And thank you for protecting my sons."  

Castor bowed. "It was my privilege, truly. And Emmanellain, hopefully this teaches you to not be so spontaneous in the future."  

The boy cringed and turned his gaze downwards, but the faintest of nods lets Castor know he understands. Good. 

"All right," Haurchefant stepped forward. "Go ahead and take your walk, but I swear to Halone if you come back with yet another heroic accomplishment under your belt, I am going to chain myself to you so I can take part in your adventures!"  

Castor barked with laughter, making his stiff torso ache. "Oh, gods, wouldn't that be a sight!"  

Haurchefant snorted, but the grin creeping across his face split into a laugh of his own. The two men must have looked ridiculous: guffawing like children in the Count's presence, but Castor didn't really care.  

"My apologies, Count Edmont," he said just in case the man had been offended. "I shall take my leave and return as soon as I am able."  

The Count nodded. "Be careful."  

Pleasantries aside, Castor bowed and pushed his way out of the manor. Blessedly cool air hit him the moment he stepped into the bright Ishgardian day-roughly mid-day, judging by the sun-and Castor breathed in the crisp scent of the city around him.  

"Ah, Sir Castor!" One of the Fortemps guardsmen saluted him. "I wasn't aware that you'd woken up yet!"  

"I just did," Castor replied. "Need to get a walk in to clear my head."  

"Let us know if there's something you need!"  

"Will do. My thanks,"Castor bowed his head to the men and started through the city, his metal sabatons clanking against stone with every step.  

The cool air was refreshing, and Castor sighed as it chased away his clouded thoughts with every breath. More knights and civilians began ogling him as he passed, and Castor's sharp ears all to easily picked up on their whispers.  

"There he is!" 

"The Primal Slayer!" 

"He single-handedly slew a monster threatening Camp Cloudtop!" 

"And a horde of beastmen, from what I hear."  

"I heard the captain of Cloudtop bedded him as thanks," Castor barely heard that last one, and he paused in his trek, pretending to study a damaged statue. 

"Really? That Haillenarte girl?" 

"Heh, it appears the rumors were true." 

"What rumors?"  

"That the good captain was exiled to Cloudtop for being a little whore." 

Castor's rage roared within his chest, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to not storm up to the snickering nobles and blast them all to pieces for insulting Lainette. He walked away, heading towards the Jeweled Crozier before he could lose his temper.  

Merchants hawked their wares behind lavish or simple stalls, and Castor had to weave through a small crowd of richly-clad nobles as he made his way through the market. The smells were foreign, yet somehow welcome. The others had often smelled of many exotic and local wares, so perhaps that was why he didn't pause to see what their sources were this time. They were meaningless reminders of those faces who had turned against him.  

The Crozier's rich streets gave way to the desolate Brume, the smell of unwashed bodies and sweat hitting Castor's nostrils the moment he stepped foot into the ruins. It was even colder here, if that was even possible. He could see the huddled forms of the Brume's unfortunate dwellers, shivering in a pathetic attempt to ward off the freezing grasp of nature.  

How many would live to see tomorrow? Castor was painfully reminded of the refugee camps in Ul'dah, the starving, gritty faces staring at him, pleading for clemency. These faces were much the same, except crusted with ice rather than sand, and anger boiled within the eyes of the more fit men. They would probably have attempted to rob him, to take what he had and sell it for whatever they could get, but Castor knew that they were far too weak to attempt it. That, and his swords most likely deterred any would-be assailants.  

Well...not all of them. Castor paused under a small tower of wooden scaffolding as his keen ears picked up several pursuing footsteps. They, too, stopped, but too slowly. 

"Come out, I can hear you," Castor ordered, putting as much power into his voice as he could muster.  

A dozen young men, clad in torn and faded garments, slunk out of the tunnels and shadows of the Brume, several holding daggers or small swords that had to have been stolen. One man, perhaps their leader, due to the pistol he was holding, stepped forward, levelling his weapon at Castor.  

"Hand over yer valuables, or I'll shoot you!" The gun wielder barked, his voice cracking.  

Castor sighed: he really didn't have time to deal with these weaklings.  

"Lower your weapons, or I'll kill you," he decided to be blunt, his hand coming to rest on his greatsword's worn hilt. "I'll give you one chance, only."  

The pistol's hammer cocked. "Try it, high born scum."  

"Fool," Castor's arms moved on their own, unslinging his massive blade as his legs pivoted. 

The sharp crack of the gun shattered the air, followed immediately after by a metal screech. Castor smiled coldly at his attacker as he lazily swung the greatsword, having just cut the bullet out of the air with the merest swipe.  

"Well? Is that all?" Castor taunted his stunned attackers.  

The gunman's face twisted with rage and fear, and his tight fingers squeezed the trigger again. Again, the firearm belched smoke and flame, and again, Castor's senses alerted him to the bullet's path, allowing him to intercept it with his sword's rock-solid blade.  

Crack! Crack! The gun shouted again and again, each time resulting in the same metallic screech as bullet met blade, Castor swatting aside each projectile with bored ease.  

Click! The hammer struck empty metal, the smoking barrel silent.  

"Are you quite done?" Castor smirked at the stunned man. "Then I suppose it's my turn."  

His feet shifted, power welling up inside Castor's palm, and he lobbed a bolt of dark energy directly at his assailant. The blob struck the man's firearm and shattered it with a loud scream, sending white-hot shards of metal and wood in all directions.  

"Pathetic," Castor turned his back on his stunned foes, once again hooking his massive sword to his back. "Vermin like you aren't even worth killing."  

He heard metal scraping leather as one fool unsheathed a weapon and lunged at his back. Castor sighed, pulling Excalibur from its scabbard and whirling just in time to plunge the divine weapon into his attacker's gut. Cold steel punched through the thin body as if it never existed, warm blood already weeping around the edges.  

"Weak," was all Castor said, ripping his blade out and kicking the gurgling man back before his guts spilled onto Castor.  

His attackers scattered, scrambling away before they, too, met their ends on his blades. Castor sheathed Excalibur and continued on his way, finding Fray still standing in the spot where they'd first met.  

He could feel the Dark Knight's piercing gaze from under that black steel visor as he approached, his Soul of the Dark Knight resonating strangely.  

"So, the Hero returns," Fray said with a mocking voice. "Have fun killing yet another Primal?"  

Castor sensed the trap, didn't even bother with it. "Don't try to bait me, Fray. I get the feeling there is more you wish to teach me about the Dark Knights, so let's not waste time with pointless mockery."  

Fray's dark eyes glinted with amusement. "Heh, you're as sharp as ever. Fine: Come with me."  

Castor followed him through the winding alleys of the Brume, delving deeper and deeper into the maze inhabited only by the cast-offs of Ishgardian society. Fearful eyes followed them, peeking out from rubble and darkness at the man who had so easily slain a man who by all rights should have emerged victorious with his firearm. Before long, the two Dark Knights are alone in a dark, cold corner of the Brume, and Castor can hear nothing aside from their boots on the stone and the whispering wind. 

"What did you bring me here for?" He demanded as Fray turned to him.  

"Sit. I can practically feel you resisting the power of the Dark because you're so used to playing the good little hero," Fray sat, cross-legged, upon the icy stone.   

Castor obeyed, but he kept a wary eye on his companion. Something about Fray felt...familiar, as if he was someone Castor should know, someone whose heart was disturbingly similar to his own.  

"Now, close your eyes and focus solely on the power of the Soul," Fray ordered, his own eyes closed.  

Castor obeyed, closing himself into Darkness.  

"Now, let me show you some...images from your heart," Fray's voice echoed through Castor's mind. "A reminder of what you really are."  

Light invaded the darkness, blinding Castor even as his eyes remained shut, and when it faded, Castor found himself standing on the Moraby Drydocks, positioned in an oh-so-familiar portion of the docks. The smell of salt-tinged air was overpowering, as was that of cut lumber and oil.  

"A friend and I came here, once," Fray said from Castor's side, his voice unusually soft. "We made an incredibly stupid decision that we were lucky to return alive from, all because he had to play the great hero. Do you remember this, Castor?" 

The scene replayed itself before his eyes: Castor had just returned from slaying Leviathan, exhausted and still bleeding from have a dozen wounds inflicted by the great serpent and its followers, when a merchant had run up to him, begging him to get back some cargo stolen by the Qiqirn. Castor had obliged only because of all the expectant looks all the others were giving him the invincible hero who could do anything. He'd gone out to the Salt Strand, where the rats camped, and immediately found the stolen cargo.  

Course, the rats swarmed him the second he got close, and Castor watched as his past self set about slaughtering the damn things. Blood flashed as the small beasts were slashed apart, Castor's sword a line of death none could cross while he limped towards the cargo box. A larger rat jumped at him, screeching in that strange voice of its, and Castor was slammed against the ground.  

The rat on top of him opened its mouth wide, sharp teeth gleaming, and then the tip of Castor's sword punched through its back. The beast screamed and stumbled off of him, sword still in its chest, and collapsed on the crate. Castor rose, with difficulty, and strode over to the dying beast. He wrenched his sword out of it, resulting in a viscous spray of blood that coated not only Castor but the crate as the corpse slid off of it.  

"Damn it," Castor muttered, glaring at the blood now coating his scratched and worn armor. "That merchant's not going to be happy with this..."  

He was too tired to give a damn. Castor grunted and, sheathing his sword, strode over to the heavy crate and heaved it onto his shoulder. The pauldron acted as a support platform of sorts, and Castor slowly dragged himself back to the drydocks. 

The merchant's eyes, as well as the Storm soldiers, widened considerably at his approach, and only grew as he set the bloody crate down. That action nearly made him collapse.  

"W-what have you done?!" The merchant squawked, prying open the crate to peer at the contents. "Everything's ruined! Were you stupid enough to cut open one of the beasts on my cargo?! I demand full restitution, fool!"  

Castor only glared at the man, the intensity making him and the Storm soldiers flinch. "Oh, I'm sorry, I only just fought a gods-damned Primal and nearly died, only to return to some idiot demanding I take back his cargo from some rats!" 

Castor paused for a moment, his ashen skin paling as he doubled over and vomited a splurge of seawater and blood onto the ground. The stunned onlookers only stared, although revulsion shone in the merchant's eyes as Castor straightened himself.  

"Perhaps I should have just let Leviathan drown you all if this is the thanks I get for nearly killing myself," Castor growled before limping away, the wounds on his legs leaving a trail of blood in his wake.  

He would get harshly reprimanded by both the Admiral and several of the merchant lords for that, but Castor remembered not caring in the slightest. He'd been exhausted, injured, and weary of dealing with petty fools.  

"Do you remember how they treated you as a mere tool, Castor?" Fray's voice broke the vision, and the darkness faded back to the Brume alleyway. "How they cared only about what they could get from you? Which of their enemies you could kill in their stead?"  

Castor nodded, hot rage burning within his heart at the memories. The Soul of the Dark Knight enhanced his rage, honing the edges into a deadly weapon that gave him focus and clarity.  

"Remember who you are, Castor," Fray said softly as he rose. "Remember your pain, your anger, and use it to slaughter anyone who raises a blade against you."  

The Dark Knight strode around Castor, his back to him, and Castor sensed the heart beating in the other's chest. It felt eerily similar to his own.  

"You do not have to be a slave anymore, Castor," Fray said. "You can forge your own path, choose your own fate." 

Then, almost too soft for even Castor's ears to catch: "We can be free, at long last."  

Then he was gone, and Castor found himself alone in the cold dampness of the Brume. He rose, a thousand questions in his mind, but ignored them all and made his way back to the chocobo stables on the far side of the Foundation.  

"Ah, you're here. Good," Artoriel, clad in Fortemps knight armor, was waiting for him. "I was about to send someone to look for you. Now, are you ready?"  

Castor eyed the pitch-black chocobos before them. "Are we to ride to Falcon's Nest?"  

Artoriel shook his head, a faint smile creeping upon the edges of his tight smile. "No, we're flying. I'd advise you to hold on tightly." 

Chapter Text

"By the Fury, you must be joking!" Haurchefant sat in his study, the cold Coerthan winds howling outside and battering Camp Dragonhead's mighty stone ramparts.  

The young knight who'd begged for audience was fidgeting before him, tugging at the straps of her armor and shuffling from foot to foot. 

"U-um, sir, I'm not joking: Garleans have been apprehended at the Observatory after approaching under a banner of truce. They say that they wish to speak with you about the Warrior of Light."  

Haurchefant stared, the fear and uncertainty in the woman's eyes winning him over. 

"By the Fury, you're not joking," he muttered, forming his fingers into a steeple upon his desk and causing a few of the wooden figurines depicting man or dragon to rattle. "They approached from Mor Dhona, you say?"  

"Yes, sir!" The knight squeaked out the answer, then flinched and repeated herself in a somewhat more composed manner.  

"No need to be so frightened!" Haurchefant put on the smile he knew always disarmed friend and foe alike, the one that always eased Castor's worries. "So these imperials have allowed themselves to be peacefully detained?" 

"Yes, sir! They all handed over their weapons and have not done anything to resist our efforts!" The knight relaxed considerably, the edges of her lips curving upwards into a faint smile of her own.  

"How odd," Haurchefant struggled to keep his smile in place even as disbelief and concern raged through his mind. "I know Castor used to be a member of the Fourteenth Legion, but they've long considered one another as enemies." 

The knight fiddled with her sword hilt. "W-well, the commander of the group-there's three of them, by the way-was saying that Castor had been supplying the legion with food and basic necessities for months now. He stood by them even after he'd slain van Baelsar, and they look to stand by him."  

"Really? That's...something I've never expected to hear," Haurchefant lost control of his smile and felt it curve downwards, but the knight's smile only seemed to grow in response. 

"Me neither, sir, but the way they were speaking of Castor gave me the impression that they all cared deeply about him." 

Haurchefant's head whipped up. "Oh, really now? I'll come speak with them." 

A short trip through Skyfire Locks later and Haurchefant had been led into the garrison, where three heavy armored imperial officers were sitting around a tiny table.  

"Rhytatyn sas Arvinas," Haurchefant glared at the familiar mien, his mind reeling from just gazing at the emotionless helm. "You're supposed to be dead." 

The gargantuan man was standing, far too large to be seated on the chairs. His voice was warped by his helmet's vocabulator. 

"You are not the first to say that to me this day," the great officer chuckled. "But I am no longer the praefectus. I am the leader of the Legion, now." 

Haurchefant warily glanced at the other two officers; one clad in armor alike that of a Valkyrie barbarian; the other clad in a simple black officer's uniform. "I see. So Castor spared you, did he?" 

"He did, and I will forever strive to be a man worthy of his mercy," the legatus intoned, the reverence in his voice surprising Haurchefant. "He spared us and gave us succor when we desperately needed it, and we of the Fourteenth will stand by him." 

The cold wind slithered past Haurchefant, but he was well used to it. The Valkyrie officer rose from her seat, her armor clanking, ignoring the knights who leveled poleaxes or swords at her. 

"Do you know where he is?" Her voice was powerful, yet tinged with a desperate hope. "We've heard that he has recently slain another eikon and was injured in the fight."  

Haurchefant could see her mouth, tightened with concern and perhaps barely kept from trembling. She really cared about Castor, didn't she?  

"He did fight another Primal, this one named Bismark, and yes, he was injured in the fight, but he's back at my home in Ishgard, recovering," Haurchefant purposely disregarded the imperial term to gauge their reaction, also keeping his answer vague. 

Rhytatyn and the Valkyrie both let out breaths Haurchefant hadn't realized they were holding, but the third black armored man merely nodded. 

"Nothing can really keep Castor down, can it?" The officer chuckled. "I'd wager he's likely up and about, wondering what enemies he'll have to fight next."  

"Ha! He's probably already on the field, slaughtering an entire army to defend the innocent!" Valkyrie officer crowed, the pride in her voice not disguised at all.  

"He'd better not be," Haurchefant grumbled. "I will not be left behind while he goes off on heroic adventures and saves the world without me!"  

Okay, either these people were good actors, or their offer to support Castor was genuine. Haurchefant sorely hoped it would be the latter. 

"Please, can you take us to Castor?" The legate's voice was soft, almost human from within that dark visage. "We may have been enemies once, but we wish to stand by him." 

"I'll have to send word to the See, but...I think they'll welcome some allies in case the Alliance attempts to assault our borders. I know the Immortal Flames have marched a force through Gridania, so any help would be appreciated," Haurchefant didn't know how the others would react to this unnatural offer, but he prayed to Halone that everything would go out well.  

The chocobo's clawed feet hit stone, and Castor slid off its back with a grateful sigh. Falcon's Nest was so different compared to Camp Dragonhead, but somehow the great outpost made Castor feel at ease. Ishgardian banners fluttered in the gentle wind, the great spires of towers piercing the grey skies.  

Castor could see vast white, cragged countryside extending out from the great stone archway he walked under, following Artoriel through the levels of the outpost.  

"Look there!" 

"It's the Warrior of Light!" 

"By the Fury, it is him!"  

"Praise Halone! The hero is here!" 

Knights and workers alike gathered around the ramps and stairways, wooden scaffoldings and stone barracks, pointing and talking as Castor continued following his guide.  

"You've made many admirers due to Bismark's defeat," Artoriel stated with a grudging admiration Castor was all too familiar with. "House Haillenarte has claimed you as a hero of theirs, but do not forget that you are still a Ward of House Fortemps."  

Castor chuckled to himself, but that lingering bitterness from Fray's vision haunted the back of his mind. Anger still churned underneath the surface, and Castor yearned to find some dragons or heretics to splatter across Coerthas, if only to dim this hot rage. Dull pain pulsed through his head, making every heartbeat ache and throb, but Castor pushed it away and focused on the people around him.  

"Sir Entialpoh!" A score of knights formed an aisle before him, their chain armor rattling as they raised their weapons to form a corridor for him.  

Artoriel stared at them with stunned, wide eyes, his disbelief only rising as Castor took note of the several different House sigils branded onto the knights' armor.  

"Well? They're waiting for you," Artoriel sighed, glaring accusingly at the soldiers bearing Fortemps' sigil.  

Castor glanced at the knights, several of whom bore overjoyed smiles as they held their lances high. For him.  

"Lead the way, Sir Artoriel," Castor stepped aside, bowing his head to Artoriel and gesturing forward with his arm.  

Civility would go a long way in matters such as this, and Castor figured he might as well try to take all the opportunities as they arrive. Having both young lords in debt to him one way or another would be most beneficial. 

Artoriel's surprised look barely faded, although he nodded and his head was raised ever so slightly as he strode into the aisle. Castor followed, nodding his thanks to the soldiers as he passed them, and the duo wound their way through the corridor, down a flight of stairs-Castor again took a moment to attune himself to the camp's massive aetheryte-and then to the bottom level of the outpost. 

"So what needs to be done here?" Castor wanted to waste no time on pleasantries, gazing at Artoriel until the lordling flinched. 

"Heretics have been spotted in the northwest," Artoriel shrugged, attempting to reclaim some composure. "As I cannot be spared to tromp about in the dragon infested wastes, hunting the heretics down will fall to you."  

"Very well," Castor grunted. 

As if he'd expected anything less.  

Castor strode out onto the wastes, snow crunching under his feet and the soft flurries cascading from the grey skies melting as they touched his skin. The cold was barely noticeable.  

Snow crunched, and he glanced at the side to see two knights jogging over to him. 

"Sir Entialpoh! Please, allow us to travel with you!" The taller of the two pleaded, clasping his hands behind his back.  

Weaklings... 

"Your offer is appreciated, but this is my duty, and my duty alone," Castor shook off the anger that churned through his heart. "You have my thanks, however."  

Their faces fell, but the two men nodded. 

"Of course, sir, but if you need anything, do not hesitate to call upon us!"  

"I will keep that in mind," Castor bowed to them before continuing his trek.  

He kept his pace normal as he strode over the worn path on the earth before him, only allowing himself to relax only when Falcon's Nest fell out of sight behind some jagged cliffs. Odd little eye-shaped monsters scuttled about in the distance, but they stayed well away, as did the shaggy-furred antelopes that galloped over the snow.  

Castor inhaled the sharp, cool air, letting it hone his body and mind.  

Let all who stand before us meet with death 

Castor wandered generally west, his senses on full alert, and he knew not how much time had passed until he caught wind of human voices. He crept to the edge of a great canyon and found himself gazing upon the ruins of an Ishgardian war camp. Cannons and banners lay strewn about on the banks of a river, covered in ice. Tents were in the same poor condition, ragged and torn, and Castor's eyes were riveted to the dozens of soldiers milling about the ruins.  

"I think we've gotten everything from here," one woman was saying as her compatriots gathered around her. "Everything we can salvage, anyway." 

"I don't know why you insisted on staying here any longer," another man complained. "If you'd let us leave, we'd been back at the Mill by now." 

"Quit complaining! I just wanted to make sure we got everything we can for Lady Iceheart!" 

Iceheart...so she was near. Castor was still uncertain as to how he should consider her, but perhaps it would be wise to seek her out and speak to her, not as Warrior of Light and Iceheart, but as Hydaelyn's chosen.  

If she creates trouble, just kill her and her little slaves 

Yes, kill them all. Just like those treacherous worms. They all deserved death. They all betrayed him, and they would all suffer for it when the time came. 

SLAVE 

Castor called upon the Soul of the Ninja and drew its power into his body, his senses enhancing sharply to allow him to meld with the shadows around him. Castor's weighty armor lightened as if it were mere chain mail and leather, and he jumped down into the ruins with nary a sound.  

The heretics gathered up their spoils and embarked towards the frozen river, several bashing their weapons together to drive away ice wolves. Following such a large, distracted party would be easy, and Castor stuck to the shadows behind them.  

The knights were blissfully unaware of his presence, too preoccupied in fending off roaming wolves or keeping an eye on the craggy terrain before them to even glance in his direction. Like they would even see him with a casual glance.  

He followed behind them, watching and waiting, until the heretics crested a hill and approached a large stone structure.  

"Must be this Mill they spoke of earlier," Castor mused, watching as his prey dispersed around their destination, most pushing inside while others remained out in the cold. Roughly half a dozen remained on watch, huddling behind the stone wall circling the perimeter or behind other columns.  

As if that would save them.  

The hot rage was almost too much to bear, Castor's very Soul yearning to paint the snows of Coerthas red with these fools' blood. His breath was hard, ragged, coming too fast and too heavy.  

He was trembling, but Castor could not find the means with which to control it. The faces of his treacherous 'friends' continued flashing through his mind, conjured up by some unbidden force, and each vision only fueled his raging heart.  

Kill them all   

Castor advanced, his approach silent on the wet snows, darting around towards the storage buildings sitting off to the side. They were all ruined and abandoned, he noted, but soon they would serve as naught but a tomb.  

The first heretic died quickly; an iron hand clamping over her mouth as cold steel punctured her heart. Castor dragged the corpse behind an outcropping and continued on, assassinating heretic after heretic until near a dozen corpses spilled their vital blood onto the snows. 

It wasn't enough. Castor's rage burned: it yearned for more.  

He approached the main doors, pausing to watch the ice-encrusted windmills struggle in the frigid breeze for a moment, That done, Castor pushed the mill's main door open, listening to it creak as he did so, and strode into the dusty interior.  

"H-hey! Who are you?!" A sentry in tattered mail jumped up from the barrel he'd sat upon, eyes widening with horror and recognition at the same time. "You're the Warrior of Light!"  

"Yes. I am," Castor nodded, then lunged and slammed Excalibur between the man's ribs. 

The heretic's body yielded to the sharpened steel, his armor and flesh little more than paper to the blade. Castor kicked the corpse away into one of the makeshift stables he could see on the side, painting the hay red.  

"Weakling," he muttered, stomping towards the stairway after cleaning Excalibur and sliding it back into its scabbard.  

Kill them all 

He stormed down some stairs, then entered a large gathering room filled with tables and food. And heretics.  

"Kill him!" A man shouted, weapons singing as they were drawn from scabbards or unslung from harnesses.  

Castor swept forward, an unseen hand guiding his actions as he unslung his massive greatsword and bisected the nearest heretic at the waist. Gore spilled, and Castor stepped over it, swinging his blade and slicing apart another heretic. He danced about the room, slashing, hacking, slaughtering, cutting off limbs left and right.  

Two lancers attempted to spear him from either side, but Castor, familiar with the move, merely sidestepped and allowed the heretics to pierce each other, instead. A swordsman leapt over the bodies of his comrades, sword raised to kill, but the Soul of the Dark Knight alerted him to the danger.  

Castor turned, his body moving on its own, and caught the heretic's blade upon his own. Steel shrieked, the eyes under the visor facing him widening with shock.  

"H-how?!" The man whimpered, and Castor gathered dark magics into his left hand. 

Castor reared back and swung, unleashing a massive blast of dark power that tore a gaping hole in the man's torso. The heretic flew back from the force of the blast and slammed into the wall, splattering his entrails across some sort of draconic shrine. 

"D-damn you..." A weak voice growled from the floor, and Castor gazed down to see a heretic hanging on the verge of death, eyes blazing with defiance. "L-Lady Iceheart...will see Ishgard...des-destroyed." 

Castor said nothing, towering over the dying man and lifting his sword over the heretic. He turned the blade upside down so the point hovered just above the dying man's back, With only one hand, he jammed the blade into the heretic's back, punching through his body and stabbing the stone floor.  

Another presence entered, this one familiar, and Castor turned his gaze up to the door. 

"Warrior." 

"Iceheart," Castor gazed at the Elezen's porcelain skin and hair, her pale eyes surveying the carnage around him.  

Those pale orbs still emanated an icy chill, true to their owner's name.  

"So you've come to kill me, have you?" Her voice was steady and strong, her composure never fading even as she studied a shattered limb that lay by her feet.  

Castor kept his grip tight on his weapon's hilt, the blade digging further into the stone as he put more weight on it. 

"No, I haven't," he released the weapon, noting Iceheart's surprised expression.  

KILL HER 

Castor ignored the rage, ignored the pain that flared from his heart as he refused to yield.  

"I'm not here to kill you, Iceheart, but rather to speak with you," he crossed his arms across his chest, glaring at her with barely controlled rage.  

Iceheart studied him, her hostility draining away and replacing with a surprising sorrow. 

"What happened to you, Warrior of Light?" Her voice was soft and gentle, much like the snows of Coerthas. "I can sense a rising darkness inside of you...so much anger and pain."  

"You haven't heard?" Castor could feel Hydaelyn's influence around the woman, Her power gentle and loving. "Nanamo Ul Namo was assassinated, and the entire Eorzean Alliance decided to blame me for it."  

Those pale eyes widened with shock, and Iceheart actually stumbled a bit before catching herself on the edge of a table.  

"They what?!" She blurted, the genuine horror in her voice surprising Castor. "But...how could they betray you, of all people?"  

Castor stared at her. "Why do you care so much? We're enemies, aren't we?"  

Iceheart chuckled softly, her voice again reminding him of the snows. "Perhaps, but we are also both Hydaelyn's chosen, are we not?"  

Castor's body acted on its own, light flaring as he called the dull, dead Crystal of Light into his hand. Even now, it was devoid of any light whatsoever.  

"Her Light...it's gone?" Iceheart stepped closer, her eyes narrowed with concern as she gazed upon the crystal. "But...how?"  

"Ah, the Child who can see..." Light flared, and the small form of Midgardsormr burst into existence between the duo. "This is most interesting." 

Castor jerked his thumb at the tiny dragon. "This dragon cut off my connection to Hydaelyn and stripped me of Her blessing." 

The tiny dragon alighted on his shoulder, its ancient voice resonating through the duo's mind: "And thou hast performed well without it. Granted, the Darkness thou hast allowed into thy heart is...unfortunate."  

Castor's rage screamed, and stone rasped as he yanked his sword from the corpse and the floor. 

"Damn it, don't mock me! You were the one who drove me to this!" He roared, not even caring that Iceheart flinched. "You made me vulnerable, unable to protect those I cared for!" 

The dragon chuckled, his amusement only driving Castor's rage. "Ah, so the true reasons still elude thee...At this rate, thou hast never been worthy of Her blessing."  

Castor's body was warm, heating with his blistering rage, and took note of the dark waves curling from his limbs.  

Why am I so angry?  

"What are the true reasons?" His voice was scarcely a whisper, his fingers slack on the hilt of his weapon.  

Treachery...Betrayal...Lies. 

The anger hooked and roared, but something clicked inside Castor: Midgardsormr didn't drive him to the Darkness. Castor drove himself to that point.  

"Ah, at last the truth comes to thee," the small dragon hummed with satisfaction. "Thy heart was opened to the Darkness on thy own will, allowing thy anger and rage to take control." 

"I chose to go to the Dark, since the Light had forsaken me," Castor reigned in his rage, steadied his breathing, and hooked his greatsword onto his back once more. "Tell me, Iceheart, why do you fight?"  

The woman fidgeted, her gaze still upon the Father of all Dragons. "When I was a child, I lived near Falcon's Nest along with so many others. The snows came, covering everything and burying hundreds. I fled to Ishgard with my family, only to be cut off by an avalanche."  

"So you fled to Dravanian territory," Castor guessed. "And learned through the Echo the real truth behind the Dragonsong War." 

"You guess correctly, Warrior of Light," Iceheart's surprise faded quickly, replaced by not-quite-grudging respect. "I encountered Hraesvelgr, and the visions I saw...They terrified me at first, but I soon learned the importance behind them." 

A familiar Crystal of Light, shining and radiating warmth, appeared in her hand, and Iceheart gazed longingly at it. "The dragons aren't in the wrong here, Warrior of Light. You and countless others have been deceived for so long now." She looked up at him, hope shining in her icy blue eyes. "I had oft thought you were a mere puppet to the Ishgardians, sent out to mindlessly slaughter in their name, but...perhaps I was wrong. After we clashed in Snowcloak, I wondered if there would be any way to combine our forces and work together against a common foe."  

Castor scowled. "I will not betray the Ishgardians, Iceheart: they are the only friends I have left, if I can even call anyone that. They stood by my side when all others forsook me."  

Iceheart shook her head. "Apologies: I'm not asking you to betray Ishgard, not in light of what has been done to you. I'm asking if you will accept my offer to learn the truth behind this war and work with me to bring both sides to a peaceful resolution." 

"Which is why you destroyed Ishgard's defensive wards?" Castor couldn't stop the spiteful words from spewing out.  

"The guilty had to feel the same fear Dravania has oft lived with!" Iceheart's eyes flared defensively. 

"And what of the innocent people in the Brume? All those who had been near the breached walls who had absolutely nothing to do with this war? The dragons tore them to pieces, nonetheless!"  

The woman cringed, genuine guilt creasing her features. "T-that was not my intention...I instructed the dragons under my lead to attack only the enemy." 

"Heh, like there is any difference between the innocent and the guilty to my children," Midgardsormr chuckled, alighting upon Castor's shoulder. "For them: all of Ishgard's children are guilty and deserving of death, no matter who they are."  

Castor scowled. "So they would kill everyone for the crimes of a few?"  

The little dragon nipped Castor's ear, making him growl. 

"Mine children art blinded by their rage, blinded by the rage of their brood father: Nidhogg. My child's unrelenting hatred hath churned for eons, fueling his kin's wrath and bloodlust. As long as Nidhogg rages, his brood shall forever remain at odds with Ishgard," 

"So if we want peace, we'll have to find some way to pacify Nidhogg and to let out the secrets that Ishgard has been holding for centuries?" Castor grumbled. "With my luck, there's likely another Primal or two thrown into the mix somewhere. So, where do we start, Iceheart?"  

The woman stared incredulously at him. "You mean...you'll actually help me bring this war to an end? You're willing to work with me?"  

"As long as the Alliance is attempting to track me down, Ishgard is vulnerable to an attack from behind," Castor glared at the little dragon on his shoulder until he vanished in a burst of aether. "If working with you will put an end to hostilities with the Dravanians in any way, then I'll gladly do as such, if only for the sake of those who are truly innocent."  

Castor sighed and stared at the gory mess surrounding him, wrinkling his nose at the terrible stench and the memories it dredged up. "Besides, I'm weary of secrets and lies and everything in between. I'll tear down whatever stands in my way if it means bringing about a world where the truth about anything can finally be known."  

KILL HER, YOU FOOL! YOU'LL JUST BE ANOTHER SLAVE TO THIS WENCH! 

Iceheart's expression softened, and her hand unconsciously began to reach out to him before she stopped it. 

"I'll tell you nothing but the truth, Warrior. I pledge on the power gifted to me by Mother Hydaelyn," she rested her hand upon her chest in salute. "As one Chosen to another."  

Castor sighed, ignoring that raging voice. "Very well. Get out of here, Iceheart: I'll tell the Ishgardians I found you here, but your little friends slowed me down and you escaped."  

Iceheart nodded vigorously. "Thank you, Warrior...In three days from now, meet me West of here, at the Sleeping Dragon." 

"Sleeping Dragon?" Castor frowned. 

"Yes: It's the remains of an ancient dragon, frozen within an icy pillar. It's as tall as a tower, resting on the very fringes of the Highlands." 

Castor nodded. "Very well," he turned his back on her. "I never thought I'd be saying this, but...take care of yourself, Lady Iceheart."  

"Ysayle." 

"Castor," he replied with a shrug, causing his armor to clink and rattle. "Take care of yourself, Lady Ysayle." 

Chapter Text

She couldn't follow him inside, not with so much hate radiating from him like a black sun. She'd watched, her heart lurching with every kill, as he'd assassinated heretic after heretic before vanishing into the abandoned mill.  

A dragoon in black draconic armor had alighted on the roof, his posture relaxed as he awaited Castor's reappearance. Yugiri didn't know what his purpose was, but she knew Castor could hold his own should the dragoon attack him.  

The mill's door creaked open, drawing her attention to the bloody and gore-covered Castor as he stepped out into the snows. Yugiri's heart ached upon seeing her dear friend drenched in the very vestiges of human death and desecration. 

How often had he walked out of some hellhole in that state? Too many, she decided.  

The dragoon called Castor's name, and the blood-covered man craned his neck to gaze up at him. 

"Castor, it's good to see you again," Yugiri could hear every clipped, formal word from her hiding spot. 

"Estinien? Castor chuckled, the hollowness of his voice stabbing Yugiri's heart. "So you freed yourself from Nidhogg, after all."  

"Indeed, and I have you to thank for that," the dragoon jumped, his draconic form whistling through the air as he slammed gracefully onto the earth. "You knocked me back into my senses back at the Steel Vigil, and I am proud to share the mantle of Azure Dragoon with one who's so powerful."  

Azure Dragoon? Wasn't that Ishgard's most powerful, respected warrior? 

Castor frowned, his gore-caked hair brushing aside in the wind. "I am not Ishgardian, nor am I sworn to the Dragoon's oath. I have no right to claim the title of Azure Dragoon."  

Estinien chuckled, holding aloft a large, demonic orb that radiated fell power that put Yugiri's hair on edge. "The Eye has chosen to share its power with you, Castor. Like it or not, the mantle of Azure Dragoon is shared between the two of us, especially since I fell to Nidhogg's influence and you defeated me in combat."  

"Very well. I'll carry the mantle with honor, but I must remain the Warrior of Light, first and foremost. Now, if you excuse me, perhaps it would be best if I washed this off of myself before returning to Ishgard," Castor gestured with his bloody arms. "I couldn't possibly show up in the city or the outpost like this."  

Estinien laughed. "That would be most unwise, my friend. There are some springs near the entrance to Dravanian territory, but yetis have overrun the area. You may have some more vermin to exterminate before you can relax."  

"Where do those springs run off to?" Castor asked. 

"From what I understand, they're fueled by an underground river and empties out into the Sea of Clouds," Estinien commented, pausing before reaching out and placing a hand on Castor's shoulder pauldron. "And...I'm glad to see you safe, despite everything that's happened." 

Yugiri's heart lurched once more, the bitter loathing that burned within her bubbling up as she pondered just how the Alliance-how the Scions-could even fathom abandoning such an incredible man. 

"Thank you, Estinien, and I'm glad to see that you've recovered from our little bout." 

The dragoon chuckled again. "Oh, I'm still a little sore from your lance, but I'll survive. If anything, your unorthodox style gave me much to improve upon. I'll see you soon, Castor." 

With that, Estinien crouched and shot into the air with a mighty leap, landing atop a distant cliff before rocketing off again.  

Such power!  

Castor sighed, shaking his head as if to expel unpleasant memories, and then he began to trek to the west. Yugiri shadowed him, warily keeping to the shadows as Castor climbed down a steep cliff. A vast, frozen fortress loomed to the north, the moat a thick sheen of ice upon which some monsters roamed. The beasts wisely kept their distance from the bloodied, gore covered knight, going so far as to actually flee if he got close to them.  

Coerthas was a beautiful, alien land to Yugiri, and admittedly she did find it difficult to conceal herself in the white expanse. Luckily, there were plenty of outcroppings and rocks to melt into, even the frozen corpses of dragons and men scattered about the remains of banners and cannons.  

Castor passed them all without a second glance, not even pausing in the rough, jagged terrain until he stopped before a gaping maw situated in a white outcropping. Yugiri could hear great beasts moving around inside as she eased herself between two boulders. Snow melted against her, the cold wind making her shudder even more than the icy water caressing her flesh wherever it poked through.  

She really hadn't thought she'd be out here in the frozen wastes for so long and was sorely regretting not having prepared herself for a lengthier stay. Especially since she was unaccustomed to such a cold clime.  

Was it just her, or was the cave mouth steaming?  

Castor had paused before it, contemplating how to approach, then shrugged and entered the cave mouth that was definitely steaming. Yugiri crept closer, using the shadows of the cliff to her advantage, only to freeze in place as monstrous shrieking ripped through the air.  

An earth-shaking roar followed, disturbingly similar to the Primal Leviathan's, and then a great, shaggy white furred beast scrambled out of the cave. Then a second one followed, then a third and fourth. A fifth scrabbled out, glanced back into the cave, only to flee with its fellows as another roar ripped through Yugiri's eardrums.  

She flattened herself against the stone and wet snow, ignoring how the cold seeped into her flesh, drawing upon her lengthy years of training to blend in to the shadows. The beasts never even knew she was there.  

Intrigued and now thoroughly soaked, Yugiri pushed herself up from the ground and, after a wary glance around, made her way over to the cavern mouth. Heat was radiating from within, and her body shuddered with delight at the feeling. She peered within and found a rocky spring, certainly large enough to house five yetis, awaiting her, bathing the walls with heat.  

Castor was seated, cross-legged, upon a wide slab of stone that must have served as a rest for one of the beasts, his piercing gaze honing onto Yugiri immediately.  

"Come on, you've got to be freezing," his voice was gentle, nothing like the hollow, bitter tones he'd had earlier.  

Yugiri strode into the warm, somewhat humid cavern, all thoughts of her cold and soaked apparel fading as she approached her friend. He was still covered in that bloody armor, even his flesh was marred scarlet. She sat down across from him, scrunching her nose at the horrible stench emanating from him.  

"I know, I must smell like Death, itself," he sighed, perhaps too attuned to her body language. "Thankfully, this spring empties out through the little niche behind me, so even if I bathe in it, the gore will just float outside after a short moment."  

Yugiri smiled at him from under the veil-which was quickly growing uncomfortable in the spring's heat. "You know me well, don't you?"  

His lips curved upward in a faint smile of his own. "Well, spending nearly half a year training in the shinobi arts with you has certainly allowed me to grow more familiar with your mannerisms."  

"Heh, not too familiar, I hope," Yugiri laughed lightly, briefly flashing back to the times the two had spent together as she'd attempted to help him attune to the spirits around him.  

The two had spent lengthy days and nights together, alone, meditating as Castor had attuned his soul to the elements around him and unlocked the secrets of Ninjutsu. The two had also caught and cooked their own meals around campfires Castor had built,  

To tell the truth, Yugiri quite missed those times spent with him.  

"Heh, I still consider it an honor to have been able to train with you," Castor rose, bowing his head to Yugiri, then waded into the hot spring, armor and all. "Hells, I think any time spent with you is a treasure."  

Yugiri felt her cheeks heat immediately,  

"I-I'm flattered that you value me so greatly, Castor," she watched as he submerged himself fully into the steaming waters, almost instantly turning it red with the vile substances coating his armor and hair. "To tell the truth: I value you more than anyone else I've ever met. With all the time we've spent together, I've...grown very fond of you, my dearest friend." 

Castor's warm smile melted her heart, and his eyes were void of all pain and suffering, of that awful darkness that unnerved her so.  

"And I of you, Yugiri," he ducked under the water, staining more of the springs red as his hair spread out in an ebon halo under the surface.  

The gore slipped away in moments, draining out of the spring and returning the surface to its original clear color as Castor's head breached it once more. 

"Ah, that current works quickly, does it not? Odd, I can barely feel it from here," he mused, gleaming eyes returning to Yugiri. "Yugiri, you're soaked and possibly freezing. There's another spring over there if you wish to take a dip to warm yourself up before leaving."  

It was sorely tempting, she wouldn't lie, yet...would it even be decent for a man and a woman to bathe in such close proximity to one another? Part of her didn't exactly care, as she and Castor had seen more than enough of each other's bodies-except for Yugiri's face-while she trained him to commune with the spirits.  

Each of those terrible scars etched onto his flesh were seared forever into her memory, and even from here, Yugiri could trace several of them from underneath his gleaming, water soaked armor.  

"So be it," she began shedding her wet clothes, tossing them onto the flat stone to dry, and then removed her veil.  

It struck her, as she dipped her feet into the wonderfully melting warm waters, that this was the first time in all of their spring-focused training sessions that she'd ever removed her veil. Part of her felt quite relieved now that she didn't have to hide anything from Castor, save for her breasts and womanhood, which were tucked behind simple, sturdy smallclothes designed to hug her body and support all the erratic movements being a ninja demanded.  

Her white scales, which she had so often disguised, drew Castor's curious eyes, and Yugiri found her cheeks coloring underneath his gaze. 

"Er, my apologies!" He averted his eyes as she sank up to her neck in the blessed water, warmth sinking into her very bones as she seated herself upon a large rock. 

Her long black hair  drifted around in the warmth, and Yugiri could feel a faint current tugging at her limbs and body. The water felt alive, perhaps joyous at hosting two beings so attuned to its presence.  

Castor's body flared with light, and his armor was stripped away to reveal his muscular, scarred body, dark waterproof breeches protecting his dignity. He crossed his legs in a meditation stance and rested his hands upon his lap, closing his eyes. Yugiri mimicked his stance but kept her eyes trained upon him, observing how his aetherial energies shifted to coexist with the powers around him.  

"Good, you're doing well," she murmured to herself, well aware that he could hear her. "It's been a great honor to mentor you, Castor, I hope you know that." 

He grinned. "Oboro said the same thing, but I must admit that I preferred your teachings more. You were more...personal and passionate about attuning to the world around us, and I must say I feel as if I have gained an irreplaceable friend in you." 

"Thank you, Castor," Yugiri's cheeks were definitely burning now, and it wasn't from the spring's heat. She rose and waded over to his side, ignoring his curious look as she sank down beside him. "I have found a friend I never wish to leave in you, as well, although I must admit that I loathe seeing you suffer so terribly." 

Their knees brushed together under the surface, the gentle contact enhancing the aetherial bond the two shared. Yugiri could feel the pain coursing through his body, the sorrow and profound anger that roared through his heart. He was hurting so much...and there was hardly anything she could do to help him without harming her people's relationship with the Scions.  

"Thank you, Yugiri, for everything," Castor's voice was soft, almost too quiet. "I understand that you and your people would be supporting me more publicly if it weren't for your debt to Minfilia and the others, but I'm forever grateful to you for the support you do show. If I ever get the opportunity to help you retake your homeland, I will give you everything I have to do so." 

Yugiri sighed happily, letting emotions she'd ordinarily never allowed herself to show to guide her. She inched closer to Castor and leaned on his warm, slick body, resting her head upon his shoulder. Her horn brushed against his flesh, but he didn't say anything against it.  

"I believe we've thanked one another enough for one day, don't you think?" She teased lightly,  

He chuckled, keeping his movements to a minimum as to not infringe upon her comfort. "I could thank you a thousand times for not abandoning me, and it still wouldn't be enough."  

"I can say much the same, my dearest friend," Yugiri replied softly, absently forming her fingers into Mudra signs under the water. "You could have left my people to suffer when we first arrived, yet you were the one who most adamantly stuck by us. You showed kindness and acceptance where others did not, and if it were not for you, I dare not wonder where we would be now." 

His heart was releasing just a portion of that rage, allowing her presence to soothe his suffering and bring peace to his internal chaos. Because of her, his suffering was easing up ever so slightly, and the thought filled her heart with joy.  

Castor shifted, hesitance whispering through their shared bond. "I'll have to leave eventually, to return to Falcon's Nest."  

"I'll go with you, of course," Yugiri reminded him, noting how his own fingers were forming Mudra signs in perfect tandem with her own.  

She glanced up at him to see his warm smile, her lips curving upwards in response.  

"Just like old times, huh?" He mused, mismatched eyes gleaming.  

Yugiri nodded, reaching out and intertwining her lithe fingers with his own scarred, calloused ones. His skin was warm, rough, but also gentle and welcoming.  

"Indeed, although I feel we are far closer now than we were in those 'old times'," she ignored her racing, sporadic heart as blood flushed her cheeks at her bold actions, warmth blossoming through her chest.  

"You are correct," Castor rubbed the back of her small hand with his thumb, his smile fading. "I wish I could stay here with you like this, but I have a duty to fulfil." 

"As do I," Yugiri agreed. "But I don't think anyone will mind if we remained but a few moments longer."  

"Heh, I find that hard to argue with," Castor chuckled, the soft weight of his head resting upon Yugiri's own.  

And so they remained in the springs, hearts content with the other's presence.  

"I'm proud of you, Castor," Yugiri spoke after a short time had passed. 

"For what?" 

"For staying here and allowing yourself to rest," she poked his chest with her free hand. "It hurts me whenever I see you pushing yourself far too hard."  

"I see," he murmured. "I will admit that this was a more than welcome rest, especially since it was spent by your side."  

Yugiri's cheeks flushed with a vengeance, and again she poked his chest. "Careful, friend: you're beginning to sound like Thancred."  

"Like I'd toy with anyone's feelings like that," Castor grumbled.  

The pain was rising, and Yugiri silently cursed herself for her poor choice of words.  

"Of course you wouldn't," she nuzzled his neck in an attempt to stifle his pain and rising rage. "You're far too noble to behave in such a manner." 

"Heh, we probably look like a love-struck couple," Castor chuckled, his own cheeks burning. 

Yugiri rolled her eyes, but she had to admit that the prospect was sorely enticing. "Us? A couple? I'm flattered, but you're a bit too wild for my tastes."  

Castor snorted, a grin creeping upon the edges of Yugiri's lips.  

"I'm certain there's someone far worthier of your hand awaiting you in Doma," he said after a moment's silence. "Someone who doesn't have the greatest target in the world painted upon their back."  

Yugiri shook her head, pulling away from Castor to gaze into his pained eyes. "Trust me, my dearest friend: you are the worthiest man in the world for anyone's hand. I only hope that whoever captures your heart proves worthy of you."  

Was she worthy of  him? 

"You're far too kind, Yugiri," Castor sighed, and although his pain lessened at her words, she still sensed his unspoken thoughts. 

Would anyone love him, or would they only love the Warrior of Light? 

"My apologies: I shouldn't have said anything," Castor muttered. "Such matters shouldn't be a concern of yours."  

Yugiri reached up and gripped his chin, forcing him to look at her. "Any matter that troubles you is a concern of mine, Castor." 

He nodded slowly, but the pain in his heart still rose. Yugiri let go of his hand and rested her now-freed hand upon his chest. 

"I swear, here and now, to carry your burdens by your side," she said, keeping her voice firm. "No matter how many may turn against you, I will never desert you. Your pain is my pain; your burdens are my burdens; and your joy is my joy. I will stand with you until the end of time, if I must!" 

His eyes were wide, but his heart was overjoyed.  

"Once matters here have been settled, I want you to return to Doma with me," perhaps this was taking it a bit too far, but Yugiri had been dying to say these words! "Tales of your exploits and heroism have been spreading through my people, instilling hope where many had lost it. You are the reason that my people yet resist, and Doma will gladly welcome you home."  

"I...I don't know, Yugiri...I mean, gods, I'm overjoyed that you would even offer!" He clasped the hand she laid upon his chest, his eyes shining as he gazed down at her. "I will keep that offer in mind, I swear to you, but right now I have much more to worry about."  

Yugiri nodded, expecting no other answer, and rose to plant a gentle kiss upon his forehead. "There's no rush, my dear Castor. Just know that I will always be by your side."  

She pulled back, but kept him close, gazing into those hypnotizing eyes of his. Castor smiled, the great weight of despair lifting even more as he leaned closer and rested his forehead against hers. His breath was warm, even sweet, the swirling black tattoos around his eyes and the bridge of his nose as hypnotic as his beautiful eyes.  

Yugiri allowed both arms to snake around his neck, drawing him closer into her embrace.  

"Thank you, Yugiri," he whispered. "I count myself truly lucky to have you by my side."  

"And I; you by mine," she replied, gently stroking the back of his head.  

This all just felt...right. Being here with Castor, two dear friends holding one another with the intimacy of lovers yet not bound in such a manner. Perhaps it was just the steam and the heat messing with her, but Yugiri found herself desiring nothing more than to just remain here, with Castor, forever.  

Oh, by the gods, she was thinking so foolishly! 

Castor smiled. "Just a bit longer, hmm?"  

She returned the smile. "You read my mind."  

"Bah! Damn tree hugging Gridanians!" One of the Immortal Flame officers growled as the path once again ended in a massive roadblock comprised of fallen logs lashed together with thick twine. "We're so close to Coerthas, too!" 

The army had, after nearly two weeks of agonizingly slow trekking through the maze of forest lands, finally arrived in the northern reaches of the Black Shroud. The settlement of Alder Springs loomed ahead, the tall gates providing the final barrier sealed tight.  

The adopted Lalafellin son of the Flame General, Pipin, sighed as he eased himself into a more comfortable position. They'd been led through the most dangerous portions of the Black Shroud, having fought their way through a Spriggan infested dig site, dens of poachers, and the vicious Deathmouse infested Amdapori ruins.  

It had, by no means, been a simple trip, but Pipin was determined to hunt down Nanamo's killer and bring the treacherous bastard to justice! 

"Marshal, what do you suggest we do?" The officers were all looking to him, frustration burning within everyone's eyes.  

"Unless we can find a way to pass through the river surrounding the town, we may have no choice but to force our way through Alder Springs, itself," Pipin sighed, gazing up at the darkening skies.  

His forces were spread throughout the Gridanian countryside, dotting the darkness with glowing campfires as men and women shuffled about to carry out their duties. Meat and other rations were being cooked, sending waves of tantalizing scents all over the forest encampment. 

"Send out the scouts again, try to find a route that doesn't involve us making full enemies with Gridania," Pipin ordered. "If we have no other choice, we'll have to march through the town itself. If we have no other alternative, that's what we'll do, but I want everyone behaving themselves, understood?" 

"Yes, sir!" 

He turned his gaze forward, at the distant mountains of Coerthas. 

"Prepare yourself, Castor Entialpoh: I will bring you to your knees and mete out the justice you deserve." 

Chapter Text

Thancred's voice was a flurry of hissed oaths as he weaved through the mass of brawling bodies, his knives carving into whatever flesh was within reach. Thanalan's harsh sun was beating down upon Ul'dah, bathing the city with stagnating heat that drove most indoors.  

If they weren't fighting in the streets, that is. Immortal Flames and Brass Blades alike were shouting and attempting to 'restore' order, which more so meant launching a brazen assault on the Gladiator's Guild in retaliation to their trashing a Brass Blade barracks.  

Adeledji and the Monetarists had a firm hold on the entire city and were, like the idiots they were, purging their enemies in an attempt to consolidate their power. Of course, none dared to get close enough to draw further ire from the Thaumaturges after their terrifying display of power, so that made Thancred's job a bit easier.  

Only a bit.  

"That's enough!"Thancred was shouting over the din of chaos and rage, smashing the hilt of his dagger into the nearest man's face. "All of you, break it up!"  

"Bugger off!" A Flame, apparently not recognizing Thancred or perhaps not caring, stepped forward and attempted to part the Scion's head from his shoulders.  

The Flame General's rage had proved infectious; his soldiers that remained from the army sent into Gridania were screaming for Castor's head, many even going so far as to actually begin forcing Ala Mhigan refugees from the city on trumped up charges of treason. 

All on that bastard Adeledji's orders, of course. The damn Lalafell was turning all of Thanalan into a war zone, and he didn’t seem to care in the slightest so long as Raubahn was blinded by rage and giving him free reign.  

Thancred bashed down his assailant and pushed on to the Coliseum, where the heaviest fighting was taking place. Gladiators in guild colors were holding a shield wall against the raging Flames and Blades, easily driving back assault after assault from the cramped perimeter of the blood sands below.  

Wounded men and women on both sides were being dragged back from the front line by equally bloodied comrades, Thancred's wary eyes already spotting the worst injuries and the bodies that would never move again.  

"Gods damn it!" He growled to himself, about to plunge into the fray when the Guild doors spun open with a loud crash. 

The Guild's leader, Mylla, burst out of the guild hall at the head of a wall of shields, her voice defiant as she and her wedge slammed into the mass of Brass Blades arrayed against them. Thancred winced as several Blades pitched over the railing, their screams cut short by sickening impacts upon the Coliseum sands.  

"For Castor!" Mylla roared, her vicious double edged blade shearing through a Brass Blade's chain mail with ease, spraying her victim's blood across his fellows.  

"FOR CASTOR!" A chorus of gladiators echoed their guild master's scream, the wall of door shaped shields driving more Blades over the Coliseum's edge.  

To think that these adventurers showed Castor more devotion than the leaders of the Alliance...Thancred sighed and, bracing himself against an upturned brazier, jumped with all the strength he could muster. Knives were drawn between his fingers, and Thancred twisted in midair, hurling his projectiles as he went.  

A rain of knives slammed into shields and armored shoulders alike-the gladiators' heavier plate easily deflected the blades, but the Blades' chain mail wasn't nearly as fortunate-and Thancred gracefully landed in the opening he'd created between the brawling forces.  

"That's enough, all of you!" He roared in the most authoritative voice he could muster, ignoring the many blades that were being leveled at his person. "There's been enough blood shed today!" 

Mylla's fierce, angry eyes pierced Thancred just as easily as her bloody weapon would as she shoved her way forward. "What about all the blood that Castor's shed for the Alliance, Scion? He's fought against monsters none of us would even stand a chance against, all to protect us, and you bastards framed him for a crime he never would have committed!"  

"Castor is an Imperial traitor and any who stand with him are enemies of Eorzea!" A Flame commander retorted, his curved shamshir held above his head. "That bastard murdered our beloved Sultana, and he will pay for it!" 

Mylla brandished her own wicked blade, and Thancred noticed that the shield she bore was Castor's old Paladin kite shield-Excalibur's twin, Aegis. He'd given her the sacred shield after Nanamo had gifted him with her own personal buckler, the one he'd carried with him ever since receiving it.  

"Don't ever speak ill of Castor in my presence," the guild master, feared for her ferocity for a reason, stomped closer, her teeth bared in a beastly snarl. "I've known him since he first stepped foot in Ul'dah, and he would never do anything to threaten Eorzea, Imperial past or no!" 

Thancred shifted his footing, nearly sliding on the bloody floor, and took a dagger in either hand.  

"Lower your weapons, all of you! We can settle this matter cordially!" He attempted one last negotiation, his eyes never once leaving the score of tensed warriors.  

"Hmph, you're supposed to be on our side, Scion!" The Flame captain spat, shooting Thancred a nasty look. "Or are you still prancing about with traitors?" 

Thancred tightened his grip on his weapons, sorely wishing he could carve that arrogant toad's tongue out. "Let's not make this any more unpleasant than it already is, my friends." 

Dozens of footfalls caught his attention and alerted him to the arrival of more possible combatants, judging from the clanking of armor and weapons, and Thancred craned his neck at the side chambers.  

"Oh, thank Hydaelyn," he murmured under his breath as a score of white or silver clad Sultansworn poured into the already cramped battlefield, shoving Blades/Flames and adventurers alike around until a wall of shields and swords separated both. 

"That's enough, all of you," Head Paladin Jenlys strode down the makeshift aisle his subordinates had created, his handsome face stern and eyes blazing. "Disperse, now." 

Mylla glared at Jenlys, refusing to back down even as another Paladin in silver armor held a blade to her throat. "Head Paladin, why aren't you helping us fight the Syndicate? You of all people should-" 

"I know what kind of man Castor Entialpoh is," the man said softly. "But we Sultansworn do not have the liberty of participating in city-wide riots." 

Jenlys' gaze fell on Thancred, pain and anger shining in the Paladin's eyes before they faded. "I will not take part in this debacle, if only to preserve some manner of peace in Ul'dah. But, we Sultansworn will not tolerate this madness for any longer! Disperse, now! Unless you'd like us to haul each and every one of you to the Pits!" 

One Brass Blade, either quite brave or absurdly stupid, lunged at Jenlys, his wicked curved blade streaking towards the Paladin's neck. With an almost lazy motion, Jenlys unsheathed his sword and easily batted aside his attacker's blade, then ran the Blade through and kicked his corpse to the ground.  

"Anyone else like to die today?" Jenlys glared at the arrayed Flames and Blades as the gladiators withdrew into their guild.  

Those hard eyes fell on Thancred, who slipped his knives back into their scabbards and raised his hands in a gesture of peace.  

"Thanks for the assist," Thancred leaned against the rail beside him. "I get the feeling many more would have died rather than listen to me if you hadn't shown up."  

"I intervened only to uphold the peace," Jenlys' tone was cold, angry. "To be frank, Scion: I do not hold you in the highest regard due to your abandonment of Castor. I made that mistake once, and I will never forgive myself for it. Will you?"  

With that, he turned to a female Paladin with short cropped brown hair and motioned at the Blades who were still glaring at the Sultansworn. 

"Phillice, if any of these fools try to continue their brawl, either arrest or gut them all." 

The woman saluted. "Yes, sir!"  

Jenlys strode away, his footfalls heavy upon the bloodstained stone. 

Thancred gazed at the bodies strewn about, watching as gladiators or Blades hesitantly approached the Sultansworn lines in an attempt to retrieve their fallen comrades. He turned away, striding out into the harsh Thanalan day.  

"Will I ever forgive myself?" He wondered, gazing up at the blue skies. 

Will Castor ever forgive me? 

He didn't want to leave, but he had no choice. Castor had hauled himself out of the springs and used Leviathan's power to expel the water from his body before calling his armor back. The weight was welcome, especially since it was actually clean now. 

"This was wonderful," Yugiri sighed as she dressed herself, her beautiful eyes shining. "Perhaps we should do this again should we find ourselves out here at another time." 

"That would be nice," Castor nodded, fiddling with the massive sword's hilt. He'd have to make sure the heavy moisture from the hot springs wouldn't rust it, since Excalibur was protected in its sheathe but the greatsword wasn't.  

His heart was lighter than it had been in a long time, the anger and rage dispelled if only for a few short minutes. And it was all because of the wonderful Au-Ra who was examining her veil just a few feet away from him.  

"Yugiri," Castor strode over to her, the affection he held for her bubbling over as she looked up and smiled.  

She'd stood by him, pledged herself to him when so many others had happily abandoned him. She was a true friend, like Haurchefant, and Castor would destroy anything if it meant protecting Yugiri and her people.  

Perhaps it was his conflicting emotions, now partially freed from the raging core of his anger and hatred, or perhaps it was the stifling, humid heat of the springs messing with his volatile head, but Castor found himself desiring to just...hold her.  

True, the duo had been almost cuddling in the springs, enjoying one another's company, but Castor wished to take her into his arms again.  

Hmph...why are you acting so foolishly, Castor? 

Yugiri gazed at him, her dark eyes narrowing with concern. 

Do you really have to keep playing the hero? Killing someone else's enemies and then getting swarmed by fawning admirers? Being loved by those who only care about the Warrior of Light? 

Castor shook his head slowly, attempting to drive out the anger, but it boiled within the cores of his heart and mind.  

"Castor?" Yugiri's voice was soft as she clasped his hands, gazing up at him with worried eyes. "Is everything all right, my dearest friend?' 

"Yes, I'm fine," he murmured.  

"Castor..." She reached up with one hand and traced a scar that crossed his cheek. "Once you get back to Ishgard and report, I want you to come to me in Camp Dragonhead. I'll speak to Haurchefant about-" 

"Don't. I'm fine, Yugiri, you needn't worry about me. I'm the Warrior of Light for a reason, and I've endured far worse than this," Castor killed his desire to embrace Yugiri, deeming the urge inappropriate, and felt the Soul of the Dark Knight churning within him.  

The ninja remained silent, studying him with those gentle, shining eyes.  

Are you really going to keep falling into this damn cycle? Killing someone else's enemies, bleeding for another's weakness, then having some random wench fawning over you? She's no different from all the others. 

No, Yugiri was far better than all the others: she cared about Castor, not the Warrior of Light. She cared about him, not the weapon. And he loved her for that.  

You are allowing yourself to be a slave! Break free of this cycle! Just kill anyone who gets in your way! 

Yugiri opened her mouth to speak, then paused as her Linkshell hummed. She tapped the crystal, nodding as she listened to whoever had called her.  

"Very well. I shall be there shortly," she said, then turned her attention back to Castor. "Castor, I must away to Mor Dhona. The Imperials from Castrum Centri apparently stormed the Toll, demanding to know where you were." 

"Wait, what?" Castor and that inner voice were both stunned, gaping at Yugiri. 

"Yes. Apparently, they wish to find you and pledge their allegiance to you for helping sustain them," her face was impassive, but Castor could sense the conflicting emotions within her.  

Yugiri released him, then tugged her veil back over her face and turned away from Castor. "Please...take care of yourself, Castor. Don't forget who you are."  

"Y-Yugiri, I-" he reached out to her. 

In a puff of smoke, the ninja was gone, leaving him alone in the spring. 

Now do you see? She will care only so long as you remain a slave to her. The moment you try to think for yourself, to seek something on your own will, she will abandon you just like all the others. 

Castor made his way out into the cold Coerthan wastes, pausing just outside the cave as the five yetis he'd chased out stomped towards him.  

KILL THEM. 

Castor's greatsword was already in his hands, sharpened steel hacking through thick fur and blubbery flesh with ease. Blood flashed and sprayed him with warmth, but he didn't care. 

Hacking, slashing, tearing through titanic bodies until all five yetis lay in butchered pieces among the crimson snows. Castor hooked his bloodied sword to his back and strode across the killing field, the distant roar of a dragon resonating across the evening sky.  

You are just a slave to everyone. 

They only care about which of their enemies you can kill. 

Not even Yugiri will love you unless you remain her weapon. 

Castor's rage churned with every word, writhing and crashing upon every part of him.  

SERVE. 

SAVE. 

SLAVE. 

SLAY. 

Falcon's Nest loomed ahead, the grey skies above lightening with twilight's bitter kiss. Castor ignored the shocked knights and horrified civilians, ignored the offers of aid and food. 

"C-Castor?!" Artoriel was waiting beside a bearded knight, both with horrified expressions upon their faces. "What on earth?" 

"I found the heretics hiding in some abandoned mill," Castor reported, his voice cold and emotionless. "Iceheart was there, but she escaped before I could capture her."  

"Are you all right?" The other knight asked. "You're covered in blood!" 

"It's not mine," Castor shrugged. "I was set upon by a group of yetis after I'd attempted to clean my equipment at a spring. The blood is theirs." 

The two knights shared a concerned look, their nervousness almost radiating from them in waves. 

"Well...thank you for your aid, Castor," Artoriel nodded slowly, the disgust in his eyes all too obvious as he studied the bloodstained knight. "We'll send some knights to the mill to secure it and...clean up the mess." 

Castor nodded and strode towards the aetheryte, the strong urge to meet with Fray almost overwhelming him.  

"Can we even trust that...freak?" Artoriel's voice was almost too soft to hear. "He acts and fights like a savage! I don't know why father insisted on hosting him...At this rate, he'll bring nothing but trouble!" 

The other knight spoke up: "He's still the Warrior of Light and a hero nonetheless. His strength will prove invaluable to us in the coming days of the war. Who knows? Perhaps he'll kill Nidhogg and end this conflict for us?" 

Aetherial currents swirled around Castor as he was drawn into the Lifestream, his body splitting apart into millions of pieces. Blinding lights engulfed his consciousness, rippling and streaming past, and then solidifying into Foundation.  

Castor shook his head to clear it and gazed down at himself, not surprised to see that the trip had flushed all the blood from his armor. Just one of the perks of teleporting, he supposed.  

Fray was waiting where he always was, but there was something...different about him. Castor couldn't really put his finger on it. 

"So, the hero returns," Fray said in a cold voice. "Have fun with your little adoring Doman wench?"  

Castor said nothing, although the pain knifing through his skull only intensified. 

Fray continued: "A little slave, as always, abandoned by your 'friends' the moment something happens that they do not like. Old imperial friends of yours show up wishing to pledge support to you and Yugiri leaves. How long will it take before everyone else abandons you? Before you're all alone again?"  

"She didn’t leave me," Castor broke his silence, glaring at the Dark Knight through the pained haze that filled his vision. "She wouldn't."  

"You are still a slave, Castor," Fray ignored him. "Did you not hear what Artoriel and his comrade were saying? To the Ishgardians, you are but a savage weapon used to win their war for them. Just a slave." 

"Like I care about the nobles who see me as a weapon," Castor growled, crossing his arms. "I fight for the innocent who have done nothing to draw the ire of the dragons. They deserve better."  

"Who cares about them?!" Fray roared, clenching his fists. "Who cares about these insignificant weaklings?! We have been fighting and bleeding for them for too long now!" 

"Hey, what are you doing?!" A knight was on top of the wooden stairway, his poleaxe in hand. 

Fray snarled and stomped off, leaving Castor alone with the knight.  

"Conversing with a rather pissed off man," Castor replied drily, noting how the man's face paled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must track him down." 

Castor tromped after Fray, spotting the black-clad man as he darted through the Gates of Judgement. This was going to be fun....Damn it. 

It was odd, really, how quickly Castor crossed the Steps of Faith and found himself standing before the Gates on the other side. Fray was nearby, and Castor felt as if he should call him.  

"Fray! Where are you?! Fraaay!"  

Why was everything so hazy?  

Fray will have the answers. Fray will tell us what we need to know. Fray knows what is best for us. 

"Aha! I knew I recognized that voice!" Two knights entered the haze, both gripping weapons and looking quite nervous. 

"Sir Entialpoh! Please, you must help us!" The younger of the duo pleaded. "We're being attacked by giants in the Daniffen Pass! We need help in driving them back!" 

Castor nodded, anger and pain splicing through his chest as he did so.  

"Oh, thank you! We'll distract the minions, and you can quickly take down the leader! With your strength, we'll make short work of the villains!" The first knight beamed.  

Such a brilliant plan. Your valiant friends distract the drudge while you slay the real threat! Fantastic! 

Castor followed the knights to the dark pass, where the duo split off and began harassing a contingent of giants that had taken up residence within. The wind was blowing, kissing the faces of stone and man alike, though Castor hardly felt it.  

He waded forward, muscles detached and almost floating through the haze that now filled him. Dark shapes lumbered forward in the mist-like distortions, replaced quickly by red. What was even happening? 

Well done, you killed someone else's enemies again. Can we go now? 

The giants were fleeing, those that were left, and the knights had come back.  

"Thank you, sir! You really saved the day here!" One was saying, his voice filled with awe.  

"Castor Entialpoh?" A new voice entered the haze, this one coming from behind. 

Castor turned, his body swaying as he tried to make sense of who was approaching.  

"Lord Drillemont is asking for your presence in Whitebrim Front," the helmet-less knight was saying, fear shining in his eyes. "There have been...allegations leveled against you." 

Hmph, no matter. Just go to Whitebrim and kill them all. 

"Allegations?" Castor murmured, reaching through the swamp of his memories in an attempt to find what the Ishgardians could possibly find him guilty of.  

Everything...so...hazy and...disorienting...why? 

"What? Who in their right mind would accuse Sir Castor of heresy?!" One of his brave new friends demanded.  

"I don't know, which is why Lord Drillemont wants to see him and set things right. If you'll come with me, sir," the other knight nodded to Castor. 

"Very well," Castor muttered, parting his feet to retain more of his balance.  

The knight began walking away, heading towards the fortress that held the Front's camp. Past that was the familiar visage of the Stone Vigil, now proudly flying House Durendaire's banners. The Horde had been driven from it thanks to his efforts, and now what was going to happen?  

SLAVE 

The Front was getting closer and closer, the rage and pain that roared through Castor's heart only exploding with every step. His vision swum, his muscles screamed, and his head pounded with an agonizing headache.  

KILL THEM ALL 

There was a scream from inside, Castor and the knight sharing a concerned glance before breaking out into a sprint. The men who would ordinarily stand guard at the gates were lying on the ground, weapons shattered and limbs twisted into unnatural angles. Neither were moving.  

"What in Halone's name?" The knight at Castor's side swore, and the two men burst into the fortress' main courtyard. 

"Surrender your weapon?" Fray was standing in the courtyard, a score of men and women on the ground around him. "Ha, not likely, after what happened in Ul'dah." 

Only three seemed to be alive, faces pale with fear and pain as they tried to crawl away from the Dark Knight. 

"Pay attention, Castor. This could be the greatest moment of our life," Fray turned to Castor, and the pain intensified, almost liquefying his brain.  

Those eyes under the veil glowed red, glowed with the hatred that burned within Castor's breast. They burned with his pain.  

"Or at least it would be if you'd stop denying the truth that's been staring you in the face ever since we met!" Pain shared between one soul, two parts of one half. 

Can you not see? 

"Can you not see, Castor?" Fray held out their hand. "Well, deny me all you like; you cannot change what we have done."  

Castor's knees nearly gave in, but he refused to be so weak! Fray...Fray? 

"Oh, come now! You knew Fray was dead! You knew, but you didn't care!" 

No, I didn't. 

"You had a sword and a Soul Crystal, but what you wanted was a mentor. Someone to guide you on the path; a Dark Knight you could aspire to become," Fray's corpse stepped forward, its hand outstretched. "Have I not been good to you? Have I not helped you to hear the whispers of our very soul?!"  

"Say my name. My real name! Our real name! Say it!" 

"Enough!" Castor screamed through the pain, through the haze and all the hatred.  

The darkness was blinding, hurting him and everything else inside.  

"Get out of that body," he whispered, the haze finally lifting. 

Darkness swirled around Fray's corpse, a fell presence coalescing into a writhing dark mass as the corpse slumped to the ground.  

"At last..." Castor Entialpoh stepped forward from the mass, his body shrouded in dark magics.  

Demonic, spiked grey plate armor covered his body, a red jacket of chain mail trailing around his legs. 

"Everything up to this point has been your story," black gloved hands grabbed the hilt of the massive, monstrous black sword strapped to the clone's back and swung it out in the only stance he could take.  

Castor's Soul screamed, his own hands pulling his weathered greatsword from his back.  

"And everything after will be MINE!"  

The Dark Knights lunged. 

Chapter Text

Everything up to this point has been your story... 

Yugiri froze mid-jump on a thick, snow-covered tree limb, ice trickling into her very soul. 

And everything after will be MINE! 

"That voice..." It was Castor's, yet twisted with rage and pure hatred.  

Yugiri frowned underneath her veil, twisting to gaze back at Camp Dragonhead. Was he there? Or somewhere else? 

White-hot agony scythed through her torso, Yugiri groaning as she doubled over. Her lungs constricted, her stomach boiled, insides liquifying until she was certain she was going to die.  

Then it faded, replaced with pure, churning rage.  

"Castor!" Fear and horror trickled into her mind, and then the aetherial energies in the air trembled.  

A faint boom reached her ears, and Yugiri spun in the direction it came from. 

"Whitebrim...close to where Castor fought Iceheart," her legs acted on their own accord, sprinting through the tree limbs with all the speed she could possibly muster.  

White covered trees blurred together in a white mass, limbs whipping across Yugiri's face until she was forced to throw off her veil in order to preserve her speed and eyesight. The fortress she sought was now ahead, plumes of smoke billowing into the sky.  

She could hear Castor's screams, feel the anger and rage simmering about the air itself as if it held a physical presence. Dark energies resonated, making every hair on her body bristle.  

A magical explosion rocked the earth, sending waves of dark energies into the air.  

Yugiri sprinted and jumped as high as her powerful legs allowed, landing on top of the stony gates overlooking the courtyard.  

The sight below made her heart shatter into thousands of pieces.  

The courtyard was in ruins: wagons and stalls bleeding black flames in pieces around the shattered main fountain. Knights and civilians scrambled away from the two figures in the middle, even as one man grabbed the other and smashed the pointed hilt of his massive sword into his foe's head. 

"Castor!" His name spilled from her lips before she even realized it, but neither Castor so much as looked at her.  

The one she knew-clad in silver Paladin armor-shoved his grey-clad foe off of him and roared, his massive blade scraping against his twin's chestplate. The two grappled, slamming their giant swords into the other's body, until Castor delivered a vicious kick to his foe's chest and sent him skidding across the ground.  

"WHY DO YOU RESIST?" The false Castor screamed, jerking his blade up just in time to deflect Castor's greatsword. 

His voice sent blades scraping against Yugiri's skull, forcing the petite Doman to clutch at her head.  

Castor cloaked his fist in dark energies and, while pushing their locked blades together, slammed the fist into his foe's face with as much strength as he could muster. The twin staggered backwards, snarling and raising his hand. Arcane sigils flared before his open palm, and bolts of dark magic streaked towards Castor.  

Castor held his blade skyward before him, hand resting halfway up the long weapon, and shadows rose from his feet to encase his body. The dark bolts hit the second skin and dissipated, and Castor lobbed bolts of his own at his twin. 

"Hmph, you really are a fool, aren't you?" The twin snarled, his glowing red eyes fixated upon Castor. "No matter. I will put an end to this nonsense and free us!" 

Yugiri realized, perhaps belatedly, that Castor's eyes were also glowing red, the scarlet aura of menace rippling around him making her hair stand on end. 

She could almost hear his very soul screaming in pain and rage, yet she could only stand, transfixed, as the two Castors slammed into one another again, steel shrieking as their massive blades crashed together repeatedly.  

Each violent clash sent shockwaves across the ruined fortress, nearly pushing Yugiri from her perch and contesting to the ungodly strength both warriors commanded.  

"I will free us!" The twin roared, his titanic, demonic black sword pulsing with dark light from the eye-like core set into the monstrous spiked crosspiece. "We have been slaves to the weak and pathetic for far too long!" 

How much longer would Castor's claymore be able to stand up to that weapon?  

"Castor!" The doors to the keep were flung open, and two knights burst out of it. "Stand strong, friend! I'm coming to aid you!" 

"Now, now, let's not be hasty!" The twin blasted the duo back into the keep with a well-aimed bolt. "This is supposed to be a fight between the two of us!" 

Castor said nothing, his voice a guttural roar as he lunged at his twin. The two locked blades once more, steel shrieking and clanging with every monstrous crash. 

Both men reared back with their left hands, dark magics condensing within their palms, then swung forward. Dark magic erupted in great waves, throwing both men back with incredible force. Twin Castor slammed into the ruins of the fountain, his body pinwheeling before smashing into a stall. 

Castor cannonballed into the keep, sending shards of stone and wood flying in all directions upon the sickening impact.  

Yugiri couldn't watch anymore. She jumped down to the courtyard, ignoring every warning her instincts were screaming and dashed to Castor's side. His armor was torn and bent in several places, black residue from magic warping the metal. Blood wept from scratches and tears all over his body, but the worst thing was his eyes. 

Red embers, burning with hatred and agony, completely feral, with no trace of her beloved friend within.  

"Castor! Can you hear me?" Yugiri knelt before him, reaching out and cupping his face with her slender hands. "Castor!"  

"Serve...save....slave...slay..." His voice rasped, those burning embers not even seeing Yugiri. "Free...me...DIE!" 

"Castor!" Fear was spiking Yugiri's mind, ice trickling through her veins. "It's me! I'm here, Castor!" 

"Even you..." The twin's growl made Yugiri spin, her hands whipping daggers from her belt. "How much longer are you going to pretend that you care about us? That Castor means more to you than just as a weapon?" 

Anger burned within Yugiri's breast, yet so did shame. Had she done something to make Castor doubt her sincerity? To hurt him? 

The twin raised his massive sword, gripping it tightly with both hands. "Stand aside. I will put an end to this farce once and for all." 

"No, I will not allow you to harm Castor anymore!" Yugiri lunged, hooking her legs around the twin's and dragging him to the ground with her weight.  

Her hands and knees slammed into stone, but Yugiri used that momentum to roll away and jump up several feet away. She ignored the pain, ignored the sorrow churning within her heart, and raised her blades at the monster bearing her beloved friend's face.  

"Castor, I will not allow you to suffer with this demon any further!" She vowed, calling upon the spirits around her to hone her speed with three rapid-fire Mudra signs. 

Wind rippled around her, melding with her limbs and lightening her body. With this power, she could dance around any foe! 

"Don't be a fool," the twin snarled, his pulsing ember eyes narrowing. "You dare to face me, the Warrior of Light?" 

Rage warmed Yugiri's heart and she tensed her muscles in preparation. "You aren't the Warrior of Light. Castor is!"  

The twin's cold, cruel laugh chilled her very soul, the ruthless smirk crossing his lips unlike anything she'd ever seen Castor do. "I am Castor!" 

He lunged, jacket billowing behind him like fell wings as that massive black sword swept towards Yugiri's petite form. He was fast, inhumanely so, but Yugiri was even faster. She jumped backwards on legs rivaling steel springs, twisting in midair as she felt a great wind pass underneath.  

That massive blade carved a pulsing gash through the air, rippling with fell energies. Just one cut would severely injure, if not kill, her, and Yugiri swallowed her nerves.  

The ominous thrumming in her ears, resonating in time with the veins of dark light pulsing within veins etched on the black blade, chilled her to her very soul. 

But she had to fight. 

For the beloved friend who had permanently made his way into her heart.  

Yugiri danced through a wave of dark magics, darting about her heavily armored foe to gauge its strengths and weaknesses. The prospects were not looking good: his entire body, save for his head, was encased in that demonic plate, denying her any and all access to the flesh beneath.  

Her blades skittered against plate with every strike, gouging metal but never once biting deep enough to wound. The twin snarled, a guttural, inhuman sound, and sent that massive blade sweeping towards Yugiri's midsection.  

She flipped backwards to avoid that murderous weapon, her senses alerting her to danger the moment that angry humming grew louder. A glimpse of black and white light was all she saw, and then agonizing pain ripped through her body.  

"Heh, did you really think you could match me?"  

Yugiri couldn't stop her pained scream as she was thrown against a broken wagon, wood splintering under her already screaming body and impaling her with thousands of little splinters.  

'He hit me with the flat of his blade midstroke' she thought, hot agony trickling through her veins.  

Several bones had to have been broken, judging from the hot spears of pure pain that ripped through her chest and limbs.  

"I had no reason to fight you, save for  perhaps your lying to Castor about caring about us," the twin was approaching, shrouded in an ominous dark aura and his sword scraping against the stone ground. "But...if killing you will free us from one shackle, then so be it."  

Yugiri tried to move, but her attempts were met with excruciating agony, black spots dancing across her vision. She could only watch as her death approached, frustrated tears budding in her eyes as she gazed upon her dearest's inner darkness.  

"Castor...I'm so sorry," she whispered, her lungs burning at the words. "I'm sorry I couldn't have protected you from all of this."  

He laughed, a harsh, cruel tone that broke her heart. "Oh, now you're sorry? Hah! Like being sorry changes anything! Even if those pathetic Alliance fools apologized a thousand times over, it still wouldn't change anything! I will kill everyone who's ever betrayed us, anyone who stands in our way, and I will set us free!" 

The massive sword was raised high, and Yugiri blinked away her tears, glaring at the monster who wore Castor's face. If she was to die, she would do so with dignity! 

"Farewell, Yugiri Mistwalker." 

Death descended, and Yugiri would face it 'till the bitter end. 

"DIIIIIIEEEE!" An earsplitting roar shook the air, unfathomable power condensing off to the side. 

A dark shape flew in between the Doman and Death, steel shrieking and sparks flying. A loud snap reached her ears, and Yugiri glanced over in a daze as a long length of steel clattered to the floor.  

Castor was standing over her, his beaten and dented silver armor gleaming in the dull greyed sunlight. His back was to her, his tail hanging low and tickling her nose.  

"C-Castor!" She tried to move, but her body was shutting down from the agony splicing her nerves.  

"Yu...g...iri," his voice was soft and hoarse, warm blood spattering upon Yugiri's cheek. "For..give...me." 

"Damn you! Why do you have to keep getting in my way?!" The twin snarled, his angered voice turning into a pained choke as Castor's body jolted.  

A heavy object landed upon Yugiri's lap, and she glanced down to see Castor's Soul of the White Mage resting upon her tunic. It shone brightly, making her wince, and then the pain knifing through every nerve and muscle faded. 

She gasped as broken bones knitted themselves back together, bruises fading and her nausea draining from her body, until the Soul finally dimmed.  

She jumped up, palming the Crystal, and dashed to Castor's side. 

"Castor!" She darted around, her jaw dropping at the sight before her. 

The twin's massive blade was embedded in Castor's right shoulder, deep enough that Yugiri was amazed that he hadn't lopped the limb off, while the remaining length of Castor's own sword was buried into the twin's gut. Both men were bleeding, both men were glaring at one another, daring the other to pull their weapon out.  

"It appears...I underestimated myself," the twin finally spoke, blood seeping from his mouth. 

Knights were gathering behind the twin, fear and uncertainty in their eyes. Lord Drillemont and his aide had finally limped from the keep, glaring at the false Castor. 

"No matter...they have already seen what lies beneath the mask," the twin lamented, his breathing heavy and labored. "They have seen the monster that lives within their hero."  

Castor reached up with his left hand-the right still clutching the hilt buried in his foe's abdomen-and gripped the greatsword embedded in his flesh and bone. With a sickening crunching noise, he lifted it from his shoulder and let the weapon fall, blood now freely gushing down his arm.  

Yugiri rushed forward, pressing the Soul of the White Mage into Castor's left hand.  

"Heal him...please, heal him!" She prayed, catching Castor's eye as he glanced at her. 

To her unending relief, the Soul hummed and began discharging gentle magic into his body, the wound on his shoulder knitting together under the rent armor. He straightened, still holding the broken greatsword, his breathing steadying.  

Yugiri just barely kept a relieved sob from escaping her lips, her muscles turning to mush as she leaned on Castor's back. Her heart was aching, the fear that had been ripping through her only now fading.  

"Thanks for that, but leave the fighting to me," he said softly, the soft rhythm of his heartbeat echoing through her soul.  

"Castor! Listen to us!" A new voice drew their attention to the stairs leading to the upper levels of the fort. 

Three figures-two knights and a woman who worked in the infirmary-were dashing down the stairs, skidding to a halt with the others. 

"Castor! We know who you are!" The first knight called, his youthful face alight with freckles. "We know, and so do you!" 

"We're by your side, all of us!" The woman cried.  

Castor let go of the hilt, his twin stumbling back and falling to his knees.  

"Such a fantastic display of willful ignorance," it growled, reaching down and yanking the blade from its gut.  

Blood splattered onto the ground as it tossed the broken sword aside, glaring up at Castor with a murderous hatred. 

"Forgive and forget! Convince yourselves that he can be controlled..." It glared at the knights gathered behind it, loathing dripping from every word. "The Warrior of Light! Our Weapon of Light!"  

It looked up at Castor, the rage in its eyes giving way to desperation. "It's not too late, Castor. We...we can still be freed. We can still leave all of this pain and death behind, forge our own fates instead of being slaves to those who don't care about us."  

Yugiri reached down and wrapped her hand around Castor's cold, metal covered one, nodding to him when his eyes met hers.  

"You are my dearest friend, Castor, one that I love above all others," she whispered, willing the truth of her words to be conveyed through their intertwining fingers.  

"I know," he replied, stepping forward and freeing his hand.  

"Why...why do you keep fighting for them?" The twin asked as Castor approached him. "They don't care about you! None of them do!" 

"It doesn't matter to me whether everyone likes me or not," Castor said, glancing over his shoulder at Yugiri. He offered her a smile that melted her heart, his mismatched eyes shining with gratitude before he turned back to the knight. "Because I would fight the entire world just to protect the few who do. If it's just one person who cares, then I am content."  

Castor held his hand out to the twin, who recoiled. 

"Castor...can you not hear the beating of my heart? Our heart? Listen...please."  

"Our heart beats as one," Castor knelt, taking the twin's arm and hauling him to his feet. "We must stand together to face the troubles of this world." 

The twin's anger faded, his gaze downcast. "So this is your answer..." 

Castor nodded, the duo gazing at one another, sharing a silent conversation, and the twin's face softened into a reluctant half smile.  

He reached out to Castor, their fingers just shy of touching, and light flared between them. Yugiri had to look away, but when the light faded, all that was left was a dissipating cloud of darkness. Castor was now clad in that demonic plate his twin had worn, the cool wind pushing his red chain jacket behind his legs/  

"Yes...that is our answer," Castor's voice was almost lost on the wind, his eyes turned heavensward.  

Yugiri stooped to retrieve her blades, sliding them into their scabbards before striding over to the Warrior before her.  

He turned to her, a weary smile upon his lips. "Yugiri...thank you." 

Yugiri shook her head, keeping a cool leash on her raging emotions as she wrapped her arms around his torso. His powerful arms came to rest around her shoulders, the warmth of his body sinking into her bones.  

"No, Castor, thank you," she whispered into his chest. "Thank you for not giving up on us or on yourself." 

"Lord Drillemont!" A scout was sprinting into the ruined courtyard, gaping at the destruction before spotting the lord. "The Eorzean Alliance has just crossed into Coerthas from Gridania!" 

Chapter Text

Everything hurt, and Castor's vision had yet to revert from the pained haze of his Darkside as he stumbled through the Coerthan highlands. Yugiri was latched onto his arm, her face cool and stoic, yet he could sense her conflicted emotions just from glancing at her steely eyes. 

Fear at what was to come with the invading Alliance. 

Relief for the resolution of his conflict with his inner darkness. 

Guilt at what he had faced alone.  

"Yugiri," he murmured, the Auri ninja the only clarity in this blurred landscape of white. "Don't feel guilty...it wasn't your fault," 

"Hush, Castor," she chided, fingers tightening on his arm. "You need to recover your strength." 

"I'll be fine," he protested, even though he was certain that he'd collapse if she wasn't holding onto him. 

The small woman was deceptively strong, he knew that from the long months of training with her. He'd entrust her with his life any day, especially since she was one of the few who didn't abandon him.  

"No you won't," she rebuffed. "I can tell that you're on the verge of collapse."  

Damn. 

"I know you, Castor, just as you know me. I'm not going to let you fall just because you're wishing to be stubborn."  

"When has that ever stopped me from falling on my face?" Castor knew it wasn't a good time for jokes, but he had to do something to get those rage-filled echoes out of his head. 

"If this is how it must be, then so be it. But know that whenever you tire of this charade, I will be waiting to take the reins. You need only ask."  

The twin had yielded, if only for a short time, but he'd granted Castor the armor and Deathbringer blade of a true Dark Knight to replace his utterly destroyed gear. His Gallant armor was gone, ripped and blasted apart, and with it  had gone the last vestiges of the righteous knight he'd once sworn to be.  

If he was a monster, then the Alliance and the Empire had spawned him. Hydaelyn had spawned him.  

At least the cool air was caressing his body, driving away the agonizing, white-hot pain that had seared every nerve during his brutal clash with himself. 

How much of Whitebrim even remained? Two Warriors of Light (even though they were admittedly the same man) rampaging had to have caused extensive damage, and once the news of this brawl reached the rest of Ishgard...Gods above, he'd probably just ruined any and all chances of remaining a Ward of House Fortemps.  

Count Edmont was probably cursing his heart out at the moment.  

When had Yugiri taken off her veil? The thought hesitantly poked its head through the muddled mess of Castor's mind, timidly filling the aching, red void.  

"Yugiri...your veil..." His head swayed as he glanced at the blurred white earth, as if just a cursory look would reveal the garment's location.  

"It doesn't matter," Yugiri's soft reply was almost lost in the haze. 

"Castor! What in the Fury's name happened to you?! And why are you dressed like that?" Haurchefant entered his swimming vision, the unstable backdrop of Camp Dragonhead bleeding into view behind the Elezen. "What's going on, Yugiri?! What happened in Whitebrim?!" 

Metal clanked against stone in rapid footfalls in the slowly recovering din reaching Castor's ears.  

"Lord Haurchefant! Get away from that monster!" A woman's voice cried. "It's been consorting with Dark Knights!" 

"Lord Drillemont's men just reported that this thing slaughtered over half Whitebrim's garrison!"  

"What?! Yugiri, explain! Now!" 

"Castor's inner darkness manifested itself into his twin thanks to the black Soul Crystal," Yugiri's voice was soft, powerful. "It attacked Whitebrim and attempted to kill Castor."  

A pulse of magic resonated through Castor's body, and his vision sharpened and cleared. Three knights were standing before a bewildered Haurchefant, swords drawn and leveled at Castor and Yugiri. Strength poured into his muscles as rage burned within his heart; hot, simmering, controlled wrath that he drew from the volatile reactor of his aching heart.  

All those innocent people...dead by his hand. Grief bubbled up, but one look out of Camp Dragonhead's main gate killed the emotion.  

A veritable army of Immortal Flames were advancing up Skyfire Locks, black and gold scale banners fluttering in the frigid gales. Hundreds of darkly-clad soldiers in Grand Company colors shouted and stomped towards Camp Dragonhead, ignoring the bunkers dotting the countryside as Ishgardian knights scrambled to lock themselves inside.  

"Castor, what...what happened?" Haurchefant followed his stare, his hand hanging limply at his side. "No, now isn't the time for this! We've been invaded, and I refuse to just stand around!" 

The knights stared at their commander in horror. 

"Y-you can't seriously be letting this...thing go?!" 

"I am asking Castor to help me protect this camp! I'll get some answers out of him afterwards!" Haurchefant snapped at the speaker. "Get to your posts! NOW!"  

The knights blanched, then sprinted off.  

Castor straightened, gathering what strength remained from his clash, and stepped towards his dear friend.  

"Haurchefant...I don't even know how to describe what happened," he murmured guiltily, reaching into his pockets and removing the Ward papers. "I...I think it would be best if I returned these. I am no longer worthy of being a Ward of House Fortemps."  

Yugiri followed, her hands still wrapped around his free arm, although every single one of her muscles was tensed in anticipation of oncoming violence.  

"We'll worry about this later, Castor!" Haurchefant shoved the papers back into Castor's pocket. "Right now, focus on fighting!"  

Right...fighting. If he could muster enough strength to overpower an ordinary soldier-which really wasn't a challenge for him nowadays-then Castor would face anyone.  

"Castor," Yugiri's voice was stern and unyielding, and he glanced down to see her steely eyes piercing him.  

"Yugiri, I have to do this," he replied softly, the disapproval in her gaze disguising a weighty fear and worry. "I killed Ishgardian soldiers in Whitebrim, Yugiri. If anything, I owe them my service now."  

"You didn't kill those knights: your Darkside did. The Castor I know would have never even considered raising his blade against anyone he considers friends." 

Castor couldn't stop the bitter smile from crossing his lips. "My Darkside is still me, Yugiri. We are one and the same, no matter what. He is an extension of me, and together, we make one entire soul."  

He could see knights staring at Yugiri, many holding tightly onto their hilts as they took in her draconic features. No doubt they would have attacked her, thinking her a Dravanian, had she not been at his side and holding onto his arm.  

Her strong fingers still dug into the armored plate, and Castor had to be careful not to cut her with the vicious spikes protruding from his vambraces.  

"But you fought to stop it," Yugiri replied, ignoring a Haurchefant who was not at all trying to disguise his eavesdropping. "You nearly died trying to protect the soldiers who yet lived; to protect me."  

Castor chuckled. "If anything, you protected me. Honestly, I'm still shocked that you attacked him with just a pair of daggers while he was clad from head to toe in armor and wielding a sword almost taller than you."  

"And I would do it a thousand times over if it meant fighting for you!" Yugiri cried, drawing several more looks from terrified knights.  

Castor blinked at her, the resolve and utter determination in her voice catching him off guard.  

"Hand over the traitor!" A deep, commanding voice boomed over the fortress walls. "Hand Castor Entialpoh over to us, and we shall leave Ishgard immediately!"  

"Like hell we are," Haurchefant growled. "Those bastards steamed right through the Observatory and injured dozens of our people. And the smoke coming from the Gridanian side of the border makes me think that they forced their way through the town, too."  

"They burned Fallgourd Float?" Castor winced. "Oh gods, those fools."  

The Elder Seedseer was not going to take lightly to that. 

"Looks like it," Haurchefant was warily eyeing the new armor and greatsword. "Tell me you know how to fight with that."  

"I do, and quite well, at that," Castor settled into that calm center that came with being a veteran of countless terrible battles, the entire world sharpening into focus. "Keep your soldiers behind the walls, Haurchefant. The Immortal Flames came here because of me, and thus I will be the one to drive them back."  

Yugiri's grip tightened. "I don't think so! I will fight by your side!" 

"Absolutely not!" Castor snarled, his tone surprising even him. "The second you're seen fighting at my side, then Mor Dhona and your people will become targets! I will not allow the Domans to be persecuted because of me!"  

Yugiri's eyes were wide, rare emotion shining within them. "C-Castor..."  

He strode forward, to the gates, gently extracting himself from Yugiri's grasp as one hand reached up and closed around his new Deathbringer's hilt. 

This was his fault. His sin. Ishgadrdian families would learn that their loved ones were now dead because of him, and anger would turn many against him. Castor would do anything for a chance at redemption.  

His memories of Fray were still hazy, blurred, and it was difficult to recall much of anything that had happened in Whitebrim and elsewhere in his meetings with the walking corpse. But the Soul retained the knowledge he needed to fight, to kill, and infused his body with the strength he would need to slaughter anyone who got in his way.  

Castor passed through Camp Dragonhead's heavy front gates, frigid gales tugging at his body and sending his chain mail jacket billowing around him. Metal and stone groaned loudly as the gates slammed shut behind him, Haurchefant's shouts inferring that the knights had done so against his orders.  

"Open the gates, damn you! I'll not leave him to the wolves!"  

Castor could see the faces of the men and women standing across from the fortress, Immortal Flame banners mocking him with every light flutter in the breeze. Nanamo's face haunted him even now, emerald eyes wide with terror and pain as she clawed at her throat.  

Rage churned within his heart, fueling the dark energies rippling from his form as he drew upon the power of his Darkside. It was more controlled, now, yielding more easily to his will. It was eager to slaughter those who had betrayed him.  

Castor smiled cruelly at the front ranks as the Flames shifted nervously, fear rippling from them in waves. The Lalafellin general, clad in gladiatorial Flame armor with a horned helm covering much of his face, strode forward, his tiny form nearly covered in the falling snow.  

"Castor Entialpoh! You stand accused of the assassination of her Highness, Sultana Nanamo Ul Namo!" His voice was the one that had called out before, deep and commanding despite his childlike form. "Surrender peacefully, or we will use lethal force against you!"  

"If you truly served Nanamo, you would be storming the manses of the Monetarists," Castor shot back, aiming his massive, demonic blade at the midget. "Instead, you prove yourself to be little more than slaves to the rich and feeble."  

The Soul hummed within his pocket, and Castor felt dark energy encase his head. Black abyssal cloth stretched across his vision, then cleared as the familiar weight of a metal helm settled upon him. Whatever it looked like, the Immortal Flames scurried back several paces until the back ranks shoved them back forward, alarmed shouts and oaths floating across Coerthas.  

"Come! I'll slaughter anyone who seeks to blame me for Nanamo's death!" Probably not the right thing to say, but he was burning with hatred.  

Castor gathered the power he could muster, tensed his muscles, then launched himself through the air at the Immortal Flames. Air whipped at his new armor and helmet, land blurring into a white and black mass as he streaked over the earth with a single great leap.  

"Close ranks! Kill him!" The Lalafell shouted, his voice admirably steady.  

Perhaps Castor's Darkside was still having an effect on him...The faces grew closer and closer, paling with horror and the realization that they were going to die.  

Black, otherworldly steel ripped through flesh and coats with ease, blood flashing across Castor's vision as he Plunged into the ranks. He barreled over dozens of men and women alike, bones shattering against his armor and bodies being flung aside with sickening cracks.  

Voices screamed, weapons scraped harmlessly against his armor with little to no effect, and Castor ground to a halt in the middle of a great host, feeble bodies crowding around him in an attempt to smother him with sheer numbers.  

"DIE!" Their voice was one, screaming with rage as Castor spun, tearing a gory circle into the mass around him.  

He wasn't the hero; the Warrior of Light; the champion of Eorzea who couldn't breathe a certain way without the Alliance's say-so. He was no longer a slave to those who'd thrown him into the fires of every hell time and time again!  

Now, as he spun and whirled, his massive blade ripping apart anyone within reach, Castor Entialpoh was finally someone who had control of what he was meant to be.  

He was Death Incarnate.  

Coerthas was bitterly cold, but Kan-E steeled herself against it even as the daggers nipped at her flesh. Even from here, she could see the disarray of Ul'dah's advancing army, swaying as people fled in great masses around a terrible center.  

Even from here, she could sense great pain and death, the dark aura rippling through the aether turning her Padjali blood to ice.  

"Milady, something's attacking the Ul'dahns," a green clad Serpent scout saluted her. "The Ishgardians are holing up in Camp Dragonhead, and it seems that their Observatory encampment had been assaulted."  

Kan-E gritted her teeth, careful to keep her expression calm as she resisted the urge to gaze back at Fallgourd Float. The town had been torched after refusing to let the Flames through, and the Elementals were furious. All resources that could be mustered were being poured into evacuation and containment of the flames, and Kan-E had elected to lead the Serpents into Coerthas after the Ul'dahns.  

If they were caught between two armies, perhaps they would surrender more readily, especially if Castor was deployed against them.  

"Advance! Let our presence be known!" She ordered over the howling wind and the screams of the Ul'dahns. "And divert any healer who can be spared into the Ishgardian encampment!"  

"At once!" Her forces thundered forward at her heels, white clad Keepers of the Entwined Serpents flanking her as always.  

Ordinarily she wouldn't be on the front lines like this, but Kan-E hoped that her presence would be enough to force negotiations, especially if Castor was on the field.  

Castor...Kan-E gazed at the maelstrom engulfing the Ul'dahn lines, fighting down her screaming instincts at the terrible sight of a massive blade shearing through bodies and armor with sickening ease. Blood and gore sprayed in every direction in that maelstrom's path, the epicenter of the dark auras ensconced within its very core.  

Dread trickled into her heart. Was that dark presence him? The aetherial signature was similar, but twisted and warped with unfathomable rage and pain.  

The Serpents skirted the Observatory and immediately met with fleeing, screaming Flames that were trying to retreat. 

"Thal's balls! Let us through!" An officer begged as the Serpents closed ranks. "That monster is tearing us apart!"  

Monster? Kan-E's heart shattered at that name, her gaze once again turning to the massacre. The entire Flame army, what was left of it, was fleeing directly towards the Gridanians, adventurer conscripts and soldiers alike throwing down their weapons and running for their lives.  

A line of Flames screamed, and Kan-E gazed up the hill just in time to see an entire row of soldiers get bisected in one clean movement, the halves of their corpses spilling gore as they crumpled to the reddening snows.  

The space they left behind was filled by a demonic, armored form covered in blood and human remains, a scarlet aura rippling menacingly around it as it paused in its slaughter to study the Serpents.  

The Flames not trapped before Kan-E's forces fled into the hills surrounding the bunkers as far as the rocky cliffs allowed, while others cowered before said bunkers and pounded on the doors, begging for entrance.  

Kan-E's already shattered heart disintegrated further, absolute horror settling into the remains as she took in the form that could only be Castor Entialpoh.  

"By the grace of the Elementals," one Keeper swore. "Is that really him?"  

Kan-E's feet acted on their own, her legs striding forward into the mass of terrified Flames. Her Keepers blanched before pushing after her, the Flames parting in terror to let her pass-and to cower behind the Gridanians that followed.  

The spiked, horned helmet with no discernable visor followed her every move, even as the scarlet jacket blew around him in the wind. Black, impossibly smooth material covered his entire face underneath the demonic grey steel mask that made up the front of the helmet, and Kan-E could feel the eyes underneath upon her. 

His eyes.  

"Castor?" Kan-E passed her staff to a stunned Keeper, ignoring the fact that every one of them were leveling lances at the knight. That massive, otherworldly black blade hummed with ominous power, currently resting tip first on the earth and leaking bodily fluids. 

He said nothing, his gaze turning from her to study the army at her back.  

"I brought these soldiers to convince the Flames to surrender," Kan-E explained.  

That masked helm nodded slowly, swiveling back to her. Terrible power rippled around his form, settling upon her shoulders in a great weight.  

"Pity they didn't see you earlier," the deep, powerful voice that she'd come to know so well resonated through Kan-E's head. "The fools who now lie on the ground could have been spared had they been even a little wiser."  

She swallowed a lump of fear and horror, desperately wishing that helm would vanish so she could see his face. She wanted to embrace him, to wash away all of that pain and suffering. 

She wanted her dear friend back.  

Kan-E gazed at the carpet of mangled bodies and gore that now blanketed Skyfire Locks, her heart aching with every labored beat. So much death and destruction...wrought by one man's hand.  

The Lalafelin Flame Marshal, Pipin Tarupin, interrupted her thoughts as he strode forward, aiming his rectangular blade at Castor. 

"You truly are as demonic as the stories say," he growled, his voice still strong despite the death that now lay before him. "But...I see that we have no choice but to fall back, if to preserve what's left of our people."  

Castor nodded. "That would be wise, Flame Marshal. Let this be a warning of what will result from any more Alliance incursions into Ishgard." 

The young man spat. "Mark my words, demon: I will bring you to justice for what you've done! Her late Majesty will be avenged!"  

"Has she been buried yet?" Castor asked softly, his voice almost impossible to hear.  

"No, but we're preparing her for burial," Pipin responded. "And don't think we'll be letting you anywhere near the funeral, you sadistic bastard!"  

"Fools, the lot of you," Castor murmured. "You're so eager to believe that worthless Adeledji over the man who's fought and bled for Eorzea for years...It's nice to know that the Alliance values its slaves so greatly."  

That was the last straw.  

"Castor!" Kan-E stepped forward, her voice steely as her hand reached out to him. "You are no slave to me, my beloved friend, you know that! If I could launch an investigation into this farce and get these ridiculous fabricated charges dropped, I would! But...it's not my place to interfere, and I cannot go against the Alliance as a whole, no matter how much my heart aches to do so."  

"You speak of treason, Lady Seedseer," Pipin warned.  

Kan-E ignored him, instead opting to stand even closer to Castor despite her Keepers attempts to pull her back. The aura of darkness and suffering was almost overpowering, the rippling scarlet waves making her flesh erupt in goosebumps wherever it brushed against her.  

So much malice and rage...how was Castor even holding himself together? 

"That's close enough, if you value your safety," Castor warned, taking a step back to remove Kan-E from the scarlet aura. "I don't want you to come to harm because of me."  

"Unlike Nanamo?" Pipin snapped. "Whom you were all too happy to poison and murder?!"  

"I didn't kill her!" Castor roared, leveling that massive, gore stained blade at the tiny warrior. "I loved her! I would have fought the entire world if it meant bringing about her dream of an Ul'dahn republic! Of bringing about peace!"  

"I know, Castor," Kan-E again closed the distance between the two warriors, ignoring the chills slithering through her veins as she entered the aura once again. 

"M-milady!" One of her Keepers protested, although the soldiers were aiming their lances at Pipin rather than Castor.  

"Escort the Ul'dahns back to Thanalan," she ordered, her gaze never once leaving Castor. "And Marshal, be glad that I am sparing you from further bloodshed. Your people attacked Fallgourd Float, do not forget that, and it is only through a desire to uphold the Alliance that I have not declared open hostilities with Ul'dah because of your actions."  

Not war. Never war.  

The Marshal flinched, lowering his small blade. "I...I did not order such an action, milady. We intended only to move through the outpost, not torch it, but a Wood Wailer attempted to block us and brandished his lance at a man who tried to pass. It was only a gesture, but our soldiers reacted far too violently. I truly am sorry for what we have done."  

"It occurred nonetheless, and I highly recommend going peacefully, if only for the sake of repairing what relations remain intact between our two nations."  

Pipin said nothing, but Kan-E could see him nod from the very edges of her peripheral vision. 

"Very well." 

Her Keepers remained at her side even as the rest of her forces began rounding up the surviving Flames, urging them away from Ishgard and back into Gridanian territory. She should go as well, yet Kan-E didn't want to leave Castor, not yet.  

"You're playing a dangerous game here, Kan-E," Castor spoke softly, plunging his greatsword tip-first into the earth.  

"You're worth it, my dear friend," she responded, reaching out to him and pushing her hand through that rippling malice. "Please...let me see your face."  

He gazed at her, the silence as heavy as the weight of his rage and pain.  

"Very well," his voice was a blessing to Kan-E, and she couldn't stop herself from smiling as the helmet morphed into shadows. 

Castor's ebony hair was plastered to his head from the snow and from the helmet's tight confines, his mismatched eyes muddled with pain yet clear enough to pierce her soul. His grey, scarred flesh and handsome face were wonderful yet painful to see again.  

Kan-E nodded, more so to herself than to Castor as she rested a hand upon his warm cheek. The snow made the touch damp, and the many scars ridged his flesh, but electrical sparks of joy rippled through her fingers and mind at the contact.  

"Full glad am I to see you well. If only the circumstances were different," Kan-E saw her Serpents escort Pipin away, allowing herself to relax just a bit further. 

Castor's face was still stony, but his eyes softened if only for a moment. 

"It's...good to see you as well, milady. But please see to your people," he gazed out at the Serpents, then took a step back to escape her touch.  

Kan-E hesitated, but she quickly composed herself; Castor was alive and safe, although he was clearly suffering. Her heart was a hundred pounds lighter, determination to absolve these absurd charges burning within her breast.  

"I shall. Pray do not behave too recklessly, my dear friend," she took a step of her own away from him, despite how it made her heart yearn for the opposite.  

To end his suffering, to stand by his side, that was all she wanted.  

"Milady!" Heavy footsteps from ahead caught her attention, and Kan-E fought back a surprised cry as her Keepers roughly pulled her behind them.  

"What on earth?" She was about to say when her words jammed within her throat. 

Three Imperials were racing down the hills towards them, Lord Haurchefant at their lead, and Kan-E was stunned to see Rihtatyn sas Arvina towering above his fellows.  

"Ah, so you've finally made yourselves known," Castor mused, turning to greet the newcomers. 

"Castor!" The officer clad in Valkyrie-like armor sprinted towards the man in question, stepping over corpses with ease until she had to skid to a halt before him.  

"Arya?" Castor's voice carried his surprise well. "And is that you, Severus?"  

The black-clad officer's helmet nodded as the two remaining imperials slowed to a more graceful, controlled stop.  

"Aye, it's me. Good to see that you haven't changed aside from growing even more dangerous," that mechanically filtered voice grated on Kan-E's head, the sharp stench of ceruleum burning her nostrils.  

"Heh," Castor shook his head, gazing at the woman before him. "Oh gods, which one of you maniacs gave Arya an electric spear?"  

"Perhaps not our brightest idea," Rihtatyn chuckled.  

The Valkyrie snorted, her visible mouth a bright smile that even Kan-E found infectious.  

"Oh, come now! Ragnarok is the pinnacle of magitek weaponry conceived by my mind!" She crowed, although she refrained from unstrapping the crackling spear from her back.  

Rihtatyn must have seen the Keepers' worried stares, for even he lowered his massive cannon-wielding shields. "Peace, Gridanians, we were only returned our weapons should the Flames continue resisting."  

The third officer, Severus, didn't even reach for the gunblade holstered at his hip, choosing instead to cross his arms before his chest. "Not that we needed them. Castor sent them all running for their lives."  

"Why are you here?" Kan-E's voice acted on its own, and she resisted a grimace as all eyes fell on her.  

"Lady Seedseer, I understand full well that the Eorzeans do not have a high regard of the XIVth Legion, or anyone who serves the Empire, but know that we have no desire to conquer Eorzea, not anymore," Rihtatyn bowed his head as best as his helm allowed. "We only wish to defend these misguided people from the eikons." 

"And you think we don't want to protect ourselves from the Primals, either?" A Keeper growled. 

"I'm not saying that," the gargantuan warrior bowed his head. "I merely mean to express our desire to protect the innocent people of Eorzea. And to stand by the one who can slay eikons with ease."  

Kan-E fought down a sigh, abruptly feeling nauseated as she stared at the titanic warrior. 

"And do the rest of your legion feel the same? That we are just helpless fools rather than mere savages to be conquered and enslaved?"  

That great head shook slowly. "Lord van Baelsar and Castor revised the mindsets of most of us, exposing us to the ugly truth of Garlemald's insufferable arrogance and wrongful pride. Many have grown up with that thinking, lest you forget, yet I am pleased to say that both men swayed nearly everyone in the XIVth."  

"And what must be done?" Kan-E asked, finding herself curious as to what would be said next. 

"I...I know that these words are treason, but the Empire has already declared my legion to be traitors and deserters. I have seen the terrible things Garlemald has done despite the good it can bring to those it deems worthy," Rihtatyn said slowly. "An Empire must protect the people it brings together, the strong protecting and guiding the weak. That was Lord van Baelsar's dream; that is my dream." 

"As it is mine," Castor murmured. "Don't get me wrong: I hate the Empire just as much as anyone who hasn't been raised to accept their cruelty, but Gaius...he opened my eyes to the possibility of a world order meant to bring the world together rather than tear it apart. That is what I want, and I shall start here, in Ishgard, by ending the Dragonsong War."  

Kan-E stared at the two men, disbelief trickling through her every pore. "You...want to fight against the Empire as a whole? With naught but a single disgraced legion?"  

Arya laughed, the sound light and...human despite the Tribunus' mechanical appearance. "We aren't merely a 'disgraced legion', milady! We are among the most powerful soldiers in all the Empire!"  

"That's enough, Arya," Castor turned his back on Kan-E, the red jacket billowing in the frigid gales. "My job here is done, and so I shall be returning to Ishgard."  

"Castor!" Kan-E surged forward a pace before catching herself. "Please...take care of yourself." 

He didn't look back. "I'll try, but I cannot make promises I know I cannot keep." Then, to the Imperials: "Come, let us return to Ishgard."  

The group nodded, bowing their heads to Kan-E before following Castor as he strode away, kicking up puffs of snow with every step.  

"Milady, let's be on our way," a Keeper said gently, and Kan-E sighed.  

"Yes, let's."  

She turned away from Castor, the thought of never seeing him again haunting the back of her mind.  

"We'll meet again, Kan-E, I promise," his voice whispered down the winds, reaching her Padjali ear. "Please...trust in me as you have in the past." 

Kan-E smiled to herself, placing a hand over her heart.  

"I will, Castor. I will." 

Chapter Text

If returning to Ishgard with the sins of Whitebrim upon his shoulders wasn't bad enough, Castor now had a trio of Garlean officers flanking him. Castor could already hear the whispers, feel the angered glares burning into his body. 

"Monster." 

"Demon." 

"Savage." 

He could hear them all as metal clanked against the cobblestones, the massive figure of Rihtatyn casting a shadow across his former fellow.  

"You are troubled, Castor," the legatus intoned, occasionally nodding politely to some onlookers in an attempt to humanize himself. "What exactly happened at this...Whitebrim?"  

"I am a Dark Knight, a pariah to Ishgard because I kill the guilty no matter who they may be. The Soul Crystal that gives me these abilities is...more powerful than any of the others I've come across as it draws upon my soul in ways no other Crystal does," Castor refused to meet the fuming stares, even when a younger man hurled abuse at him.  

Arya started to advance towards the curse-flinging youth, but Severus grabbed her arm and shook his head.  

"Leave them." 

Castor nodded slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the Last Vigil as they approached. "The Soul of the Dark Knight draws upon my darkest thoughts and desires, the anger and hatred that I've had on a tight leash ever since I became the Warrior of Light, and my suppressed emotions were apparently strong enough to give that Darkside a form of its own as my twin."  

"So that 'twin' was what trained you in the ways of the Dark Knight?" Severus asked, keeping a tight hold on the annoyed Arya's arm even as the woman attempted to extricate herself.  

"Yes, more so with the desire to get me to give it the reins of our body; to give it control. I refused to yield, and that Darkside attacked Whitebrim Front in an attempt to weaken my resistance to the point where it could take control."  

"So your Darkside killed innocent people, and those here think it was you?" Rihtatyn mused, his words making Castor flinch.  

"It was me, Rihtatyn, no matter what circumstances caused the attack," Castor murmured, the concerned looks from the manor guards slicing his heart open.  

"What's going on?" Haurchefant came out of the gazebo, Laniette at his side right as Severus spoke. 

"Father just returned from a meeting with the other High Houses, concerning your...issue in Whitebrim," the knight said grimly, warily eyeing the three imperials. "Everyone wants us to revoke your Ward status and remove you from the city."  

"And you have every right to do so," Castor replied, unable to bring himself to meet either knights' eyes.  

The guilt was a vile serpent slithering through his veins, bitter venom dripping onto his already heavy conscience 

"Nonsense!" Laniette snapped, her eyes bright. The knight stepped forward, clasping Castor's hands in her own. "If what that Doman has been telling everyone is true, then you nearly killed yourself trying to protect the people that yet lived."  

"I only tried to protect Yugiri," Castor shook his head. "She was the only thing that was clear to me aside from trying to kill, well, myself."  

"That's not what she and other witnesses have been saying," Laniette scowled at him, a pointed look meant to tell him to get the message.  

"What have they been saying?" Severus asked, his interest piqued.  

Castor glared at the black-clad Tribunus, who happily ignored him.  

"That after some demon attacked Whitebrim, Castor came running in at Drillemont's behest and immediately fell upon the thing even after it took on his appearance," Haurchefant said with a sly smirk. "Castor drove it away from the survivors to give them a chance to get to safety and used his abilities to shield them multiple times from falling debris or shrapnel; the magic taking the form of black flames that would melt anything dangerous."  

Did he...actually protect the people of Whitebrim? Castor could vaguely remember using dark magics to blast debris, which left behind the selfsame black flames smoldering within the rubble, but naught else.  

He must have worn a confused expression upon his face, because Laniette nodded, still clasping his hands in hers.  

"Yes, you really did protect people!" 

"Of course he did!" Arya piped up in a manner that was much too enthusiastic. "Castor would never harm innocent people, no matter what happens to him!"  

Castor sighed, but a smile crept upon his lips as he gave his old friend a grateful nod. "Thanks for having faith in me, Arya."  

The Valkyrie flashed him her most brilliant smile, her long golden braid swaying in the icy breeze. "Always, my friend. Always."  

Haurchefant cleared his throat, although the knight was grinning like a madman. "Well, now that that's out of the way, let's get inside, hmm? Father wishes to speak with you."  

Castor glanced at his Imperial allies, who nodded in encouragement.  

"We'll remain out here," Rihtatym rumbled. 

Laniette all but pulled Castor into the warm manor, the chill banished in a most welcome way. Rather than guiding him to the main foyer, the knight dragged him into a secluded corridor and immediately began patting him down for injuries. 

"Laniette, what are you-" 

"Shut up. Are you injured, Castor?" Her freckled face was filled with worry which only faded once she finally gave up trying to push past the grey plated armor and black fabric.  

"Nothing that hasn't already healed, Laniette," Castor shrugged, about to speak further when the knight's gloved hands cupped his face.  

"I was worried, Castor," she murmured softly, resting her forehead against his.  

"You needn't have overthought it, Laniette," he gave her a weary smile, rather enjoying the sensation of her warmth. "I always find a way to persevere." 

She chuckled, her breath washing over his face. "I know, but now that I've finally met you, I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."  

"You don't give me nearly enough credit," Castor complained jokingly, all the tension and worry that had been coalescing in his bones melting away.  

"I know, I know. You're the Warrior of Light, the greatest hero Eorzea has ever known. But you're also someone quite dear to me and I don't want to see you overexert yourself."  

"Well, it seems I made quite the impression on you, seeing as how we've only been acquainted for a few short days," Castor chuckled. "And perhaps a week or so of me being unconscious."  

"Heh, sometimes bonds can be formed in very short periods of time," Laniette smiled, although a bit of hesitance filtered into her eyes. "Yet...why  do I feel as if my admiration of you has forced you into this?"  

"Into what exactly?" Castor asked, more so to get an understanding of what she was thinking. "We aren't exactly a...thing, are we?"  

"Er, no, but-" 

"I prefer that our bond is simply that of two very close individuals," Castor shrugged, noticing immediately how Laniette's face fell before she composed herself. 

"That would be for the best, I suppose," she pulled her hands back and stepped away, smiling bitterly. "Like the Warrior of Light would ever court someone like me..."  

Castor fought down a wince; he hated doing this to people he genuinely liked, but the danger to them was far too great.  

"Laniette, listen to me: you're an incredible woman and an equally incredible knight. Anyone who catches your affections would be lucky to have them, and I would love to be the one to court you. The problem is: I'm the Warrior of Light, and if I courted anyone, then I would be planting a massive target onto their backs," Castor sighed, once again cursing Hydaelyn for this fate. "I wouldn't want that for anyone I love, especially after Livia sas Junius attacked my friends at the Waking Sands."  

Laniette nodded, determination in her eyes. "I understand, Castor. Thank you, at least, for your kind words. I will stand by you, no matter what, know this!"  

Castor grinned at her. "I hear you, Laniette. Thank you." 

"Now, I believe Lord Edmont is awaiting you?" Laniette turned to lead him to said Count, and Castor followed.  

After a few steps, he came to a decision and reached out to Lainette, taking her hand and causing her to pause. 

"Actually, I believe I owe you something, do I not?"  

She stared at him, confusion in her face. 

Castor sighed inwardly, drawing upon his deep reserves of patience. "I damaged the Rosehouse, did I not? After I destroyed Bismark and you and Haurchefant got my sorry arse back to safety."  

"We've already repaired the damage you dealt to the fortress itself," Laniette said, frowning thoughtfully. "As for the rest of it, well, we can't really do much for it."  

Castor nodded. "I'm glad to hear that and especially glad to know that none were injured by my launch. Oh, to hells with it."  

He pulled her closer to him, conveying his intentions  with a simple nod.  

Lainette's eyes widened, confusion and desire clashing within her irises. "B-but, I thought we were just-" 

"We are, but I wish to let you know that I care for you, Laniette, while I have the chance to do so," Castor gave her a questioning look, seeking consent. 

She smiled. "By Halone, this is certainly something I never thought I'd hear, but full glad am I to do so."  

Castor chuckled and tilted his head down to meet her as she stepped closer. Her lips were still soft and warm, much like the many others who had kissed him in shows of affection or appreciation. He was used to such things by now, but the genuine touches were always welcome. 

"That was...nice," Laniette muttered as they pulled apart. "I suppose I can let you off the hook for the damages and the week of worrying, if you promise me something."  

Castor raised an eyebrow. 

"Please take better care of yourself, Castor, and lean on us when needed." 

"I'll...do my best, but with everything I must face, I cannot promise more than that," Castor turned away from Laniette and began to walk away, pausing to glance back. "And the same goes to you, Laniette: should you ever have need of my aid."  

The knight grinned. "I'll keep that in mind, Castor." 

He nodded and strode away, ready to face what fate had in store for him with one less regret.  

Jenlyns sighed as he slumped over his desk, the anger that fueled his raging heart leaving him hollow and world-weary. None of this made any sense. 

The alchemists that were holding Lady Nanamo's...body (by Nald, just the thought of that was enough to bring bitter guilt up his throat) were keeping the autopsy under lock and key, as per orders from Teledji Adeledji and Lolorito. None were allowed in, not even the Flame General or the Sultansworn.  

The scheming bastards were hiding something, something important concerning the Sultana's body, and Jenlyns found it suspicious that Adeledji had already found another proper 'heir' to take Nanamo's throne, all the while urging the Sultanate to bury Nanamo and move on with the succession.  

Raubahn was too stricken with grief and rage to notice the suspicious acts, possibly too preoccupied with that damn army he'd marched into Gridania against all advising. They'd lost contact with the forces after Pipin had given word of their arrival into Coerthas, and Jenlyns didn't want to think what that signaled.  

"Sir?" One of the younger knights was standing in the door, the look on her face telling Jenlyns everything he wanted to know.  

"They refused again," he sighed, the earthen walls of his office seeming even smaller than before. "Damn them, what are they planning?"  

"Sir, if I may..." The knight stepped forward, her once long, luxurious light hair cut short and her crossed arms toned from years of training. "I used to be a dancer, once, before I met Castor. I know just how to distract men, and women, so if the captain permits..." 

Jenlyns raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering to sneak into the alchemy labs and see what's going on with her Grace's body?"  

"Well, I do have some of my old dresses, and you've always told me that I'm one of our slimmer recruits," the woman grinned wickedly. "I still know how to take advantage of my figure, and with the training you've given me, I should easily be able to overpower those fops guarding the labs."  

"You're slimmer, aye, but that's why I'm concerned that you will break your bones more easily," Jenlyns muttered, but he had to admit that the girl's idea had promise. "How soon do you think you'll be able to get in?"  

The knight's eyes gleamed with a proud, eager light as she smiled. "I already have the knights to overpower in mind, and I've been watching their post changes as per your orders. The morons will be on guard duty the day after tomorrow just before sundown." 

"You've been quite thorough, haven't you?" Jenlyns mused, reminding himself to thank Castor for this enthusiastic recruit whenever he got the first chance to do so.  

The woman nodded, giving a crisp salute as she did so. "After Castor helped me with that foppish pig who called himself 'Lord of the Dance', this is the least I could do. To think the adventurer who inspired me to do more with myself than just dance and flaunt my body for drunks would become the Warrior of Light..." 

"I remember that: you'd wanted to find a way to get more money by learning more sophisticated dances, but the Lord of the Dance refused you after Castor tracked him down for you." 

She nodded. "Yes, and after witnessing Castor's determination to see my hopeless cause through to the end, going so far as to even argue with the man on my behalf, I knew I could do more with myself. He was dressed as a gladiator, and so I wanted to become one as well, so I, too, could help out those who needed it."  

"And now here you are, after several years of training in the Gladiator's Guild and eventually becoming a squire for the Sultansworn," Jenlyns chuckled. "To think we have Castor to thank for this...Very well, do what you must, but I don't want to hear of any killings."  

The squire smiled, a much more genuine smile than the one she'd worn ever since Castor had fled to Ishgard. "Yes, sir! I will not allow anyone to slander the name of the man I owe everything to! If it weren't for Castor, I'd probably still be in the taverns, on my back and selling my body to make ends meet like so many other unfortunate girls."  

"I know, but taking up the sword is hardly a better path," Jenlyns murmured. "Not safer, not by much."  

"At least now I have the ability to protect innocent people. Now I have the strength to repay the man who changed my life for the better. I won't let you down, either of you!"  

And then the heavy door clicked shut, signaling her departure. Leaving Jenlyns alone with his thoughts. He sighed heavily and leaned back in his stiff chair, wishing that he at least had a damn cushion for the thing.  

"What are you Monetarist bastards hiding? I swear to you, Castor: I will clear your name and put this nonsense behind us!" 

Chapter Text

Severus could feel all the eyes upon him, feel their fear and anger smoldering against the metal encasing his head. Let these fools glare; let them hate. I will not let the narrow-minded faith of fools keep me from standing at my friend's side. 

Castor really hadn't changed much, aside from the terrible power that circulated around him at every moment: a black hole of death and fear that radiated dread so profound that just standing near him set Severus' nerves on end. He was certainly not a nervous, starry eyed rookie any more, or the hardened, professional soldier who'd tried to protect every widow and orphan the legion happened across in Gyr Abania.  

The new viceroy was far crueler than van Baelsar had ever been, from what Severus had heard, and his blood boiled to think of the atrocities that were being meted out upon the populace. Zenos yae Galvus, new crown prince and heir to the Garlean throne, legatus of the XIIIth Legion, now sat upon the Griffin's Throne, ruling both Ala Mhigo and Doma with an iron, unforgiving, bloody fist.  

Severus yearned to slit the bastard's throat, himself, but if the rumors were true, then that monster could only be stopped by one man: the man with the strength to slay gods. A Warrior of Light.  

"What are we supposed to do about these imperials?" One of the knights had kept brazenly challenging the trio, fingers twitching around his sword hilt.  

"We have no intention of harming you, sirs," Rihtatyn intoned, keeping his horned helmet bowed.  

"And ladies," Arya nodded to the lone female knight, who grinned in response.  

"Indeed. If anything, I'm more worried about her than the others," Severus spoke up. "She's calmer, more professional, than the others."  

The men glared at him. The woman shook her head with a soft chuckle.  

"Enough. We are not here to antagonize anyone but our enemies, and Ishgard is not an enemy of ours," Rhitatyn ordered, Arya and Severus straightening into rigid attention.  

"Well said," the female knight captain that had escorted Castor inside was stepping from the door, her short brown hair swaying in the icy breeze. She shot the guards a glare, which they pointedly ignored.  

"Ah, how fares Castor?" Rihtatyn asked, his tone still respectful and polite.  

The knight looked to him, narrowing her eyes at his massive figure. "I don' know: I was only there to bring him in. Anything between him and Lord Edmont shall remain within the manor's halls unless they decide otherwise."  

Severus' spine tingled, old instincts long dormant flaring to life as his body detected a faint, potentially hostile presence behind him. He spun, keeping his gunblade's hilt in easy reach, and found himself staring at the shadows of the Haillenarte manor.  

"I felt it, too," Arya was tensed and easing into a combat stance, fingers reaching for her lance. "Someone's watching us."  

"Perceptive, aren't you?" A cool female voice made the duo jump, Severus' every instinct screaming for him to unload his revolver's barrels into the shadows. 

"Ah, you are the shinobi that was with Castor!" Laniette stepped between the two Garleans, "You fought by his side in Whitebrim, didn't you?"  

"I did, although I regret that I was unable to do as much as I'd like," the voice sighed, although no form stepped out to claim it. "He saved me, again, nearly losing his arm in the process."  

"Yugiri," Arya straightened hands straying away from her lance. "He said your name is Yugiri, and that you're from Doma."  

"Yes," the voice steeled, and Severus made it a point to keep the vulnerable spots in his armor out of the reach of daggers the shinobi might throw. 

"I understand that you do not harbor any love for us, but we of the XIVth-" 

"How do I know that you speak for your entire legion? That every man and woman is as dedicated to helping the helpless as you claim?" Yugiri spat. "How do I know that you aren't just another horde of monsters who slaughter innocent people just because they can?"  

Severus fought down the wince that threatened to break his composure, cruel memories of the terrible things he'd had to do lancing his mind. Innocent people whose blood streamed across his blade; voices he'd never be able to get out of his head as they screamed for mercy or for people who would never rise again.  

"I cannot argue with you on that, milady," Rihtatyn said softly. "I've done many things I'm not proud of, and I will never forgive myself for having done them, but I will atone with my actions in the future and present. Once I have atoned, then I will face judgement for my crimes."  

"And I for mine, as I am hardly innocent here," Castor's voice made all present jump, and Severus turned to see his old friend stepping out of the manor. "I will fight anything and anyone if it will allow me to make up for even a small amount of what I've done."  

"Castor..." At last the shadows rippled to admit a woman clad in purple shinobi garb, a thick veil covering her face. "What did the Count say? What's going on?"  

Her voice was filled with so much concern that it made Severus' heart ache, dredging up memories of a beautiful woman; silken red hair and ruby lips; a voice of honey.  

"House Fortemps will stand by me," Castor said softly, the knights at his side clapping his shoulders with enthusiasm, although they carefully minded the spikes on his pauldrons.  

"By Halone we will! To hells with what people are saying: you're a true hero!"  

"I've been swaying minds everywhere I went," Yugiri added, no small amount of satisfaction in her voice. "I've made certain the truth of Whitebrim will be known throughout the entire city."  

Castor sighed, shaking his head, but he was smiling. "Thank you, Yugiri. I may not remember everything, but...it's good to know that even when I was overtaken by anger and my inner darkness...that I still protected the innocent."  

Severus stepped forward and saluted Castor, metal clanking from the sharp gesture. "Of course you did, you fool. The Castor I served and fought beside; the man I've bled with and would do so a thousand times over would never willingly hurt innocent people. You're a bloody idealist, but you're also a damn good soldier. That makes you dangerous and highly effective."  

"Heh, quoting the legion's rosters now, are we?" Castor chuckled. "Glad to know that some things still don't change even after over a decade."  

"Never, even in a hundred," Severus chuckled. 

"I'd trust you to be far wiser than I in that amount of time," Castor replied, his sharp canines visible from his grin. 

A slight movement alerted Severus to movement, and before his instincts had him swinging his blade at the source, Yugiri almost materialized at Castor's side.  

"I'm glad that nobody else is throwing you to the wolves, my beloved friend," the petite Doman said with the fondness that made Severus' heart ache. "I have to return to Mor Dhona now, but know that I will always be in reach,"  

"As will I," Castor spoke with an equally warm, fond tone, bowing respectfully to the shorter woman.  

She returned the gesture, gave the Garleans one last, lingering look that Severus could feel smoldering even from underneath her veil and his helm, and then vanished in a puff of smoke.  

"I'll never understand how ninjas do that," Arya murmured. 

Castor chuckled. "I could tell you, perhaps, as I have been trained in the shinobi arts by," his voice rose in volume, "that wonderful ninja that's still watching us from the pillar over there."  

Severus barely got a glimpse of the pillar Castor was looking at when a shadow darted from it, vanishing into the city.  

"Heh, she's far too protective of those she cares for," Castor chuckled. "Myself, especially. Of course, I feel much the same, but I do wish she would trust me to care for myself more."  

"With all respect, old friend: her worries are quite validated," Arya laughed. "I remember the days where I had to follow you out on your patrols and cuff myself to you just to make sure you'd sleep!"  

"Wait, you had to cuff yourself to him?!" Laniette yelped, shooting Castor a glare that said, 'Oh, you are so dead!'  

Castor grinned sheepishly, "W-well, I had a lot to do, y'know?"  

"Wait, how did you get your command to accept you doing that?" A knight blurted.  

Arya flashed the man a vibrant grin. "Easy: I'm an officer, as was Castor, so we had the freedom to do whatever once we were finished with our duties!"  

"Lucky bastards," a man grumbled.  

Severus snorted. "Please, who do you think had to track these idiots down before dawn and wake them up before they were late to their duty shifts? At least five to six times a week?"  

"I don't recall you complaining," Arya chuckled.  

"And I don't recall either of you complaining even though I roused you from rather...amusing positions at times," Severus called up the memories: Castor and Arya both clad in officer's plate, helmets off and faces peaceful as they dozed, heads on the other's shoulders. Sometimes he'd even found them holding one another as they dreamed.  

Neither officer so much as looked at one another, although several of the knights started snickering. Laniette still glared at Castor, but she was fighting a smile.  

"Thank you for that wonderful ammunition," Haurchefant was standing in the open doorway, grinning without shame.  

"Gods damn it," Castor muttered.  

"I get the feeling you and I are going to get along swimmingly, Tribune Severus," Haurchefant chortled, and Severus found himself chuckling in response.  

This Ishgardian was quite amusing, to say the least.  

"Forgive me for interrupting, but we need to speak of a matter of great import," Rihtatyn spoke up, and Severus nearly flinched. 

"You are forgiven," Castor's face may as well have been made of stone for how quickly it had hardened.  

"With your people distracted by the Dravanians, what's to stop the Alliance from launching another incursion into your territory?" The titanic legatus pondered. "Fear of Castor may yet keep them in their borders, but he cannot threaten them forever." 

Haurchefant sighed. "I know, and with the attack on the Observatory, we cannot leave our border with Gridania so ill-defended. The issue is: all the houses are stretched thin dealing with the aftermath of the attack on the Steps, and nobody can spare the men or resources to bolster the border defenses."  

"You can't. We can," Rihtatyn said, and Severus again resisted the urge to sigh. 

The amount of paperwork this would necessitate...and the materials and magitek that would need to be diverted to Ishgard would have to be directed from the rebuilding efforts...This would be a great pain in the arse, wouldn't it?  

"You want to erect a black steel border wall?" Haurchefant stared at the man, understanding flashing in his eyes.  

"If only to temporarily guard your rear from Gridania. The pass is small enough to require only minimal materials to be diverted, but a good portion of magitek will have to be transported over," Rihtatyn grunted. "Our end in Bluefog is already heavily guarded by our castra, and Mor Dhona is no threat to Ishgard, so that just leaves Gridania."  

"I'll talk to the See about it," Haurchefant relented. "I can't guarantee that they'll be happy to hear this, but after the Flames invaded...well, we have to take whatever allies we can get."  

"I will give whatever aid I can," Castor stepped forward. "I'm more than familiar with constructing steel walls."  

Severus nodded, "Your strength will be useful, I admit, and I suppose we'll need all the help we can get. Very well."  

Castor grinned, then stretched his arms in anticipation. 

"Well, we'll just have to see if the legion is able to outperform me as I am now, hmm?"  

Severus sighed, shaking his head and placing his hands upon his waist. "I am not going to spend my waking hours tracking you and Arya down again should she feel it necessary to cuff herself to you to force you to rest." 

Castor snorted even as Arya laughed, and Severus couldn't stop the smile he felt creeping upon his lips. 

"Please, like that'll stop me now. If anything, I can just sling Arya over my shoulder and continue working with one hand."  

"You can try!" Arya challenged boisterously, her lips spread in a wide smile.  

These two...they were the most informal, ridiculous officers Severus had ever known. Yet they were two of the best, and he wouldn't change them for the world.  

"I guess some things never change," he murmured. "Not that I'm surprised."   

It felt good to be able to stand by his friend's side again, to say the least.  

Chapter Text

"Are they still going at it?" Two Wood Wailers crouched by the ruined spire outside of what remained of Fallgourd Float. 

"Aye, just listen to that racket."  

Both soldiers paused, listening to the loud mechanical clanging and screeching emanating from the Coerthas/Shroud border. It had been two days since the cacophony had begun, black steel being hauled in from the XIVth Legion's castra in an attempt to wall off the border.  

"Apparently, the Legion's officially allied itself with Castor," the first Wailer grumbled. "And that means that they're working with Ishgard for as long as he's under their protection"  

"I know. I saw him working before the siege works were erected," the other man sighed. "It was the strangest thing, however: I could have sworn that he had another soldier slung over his shoulder while he worked." 

"Are you serious?" The first Wailer glanced at his companion, confusion in his eyes.  

"Dead serious. He was moving long beams of steel around with a female soldier-I think she was an officer, actually-slung over his shoulder."  

"How the hells was he carrying the beams?"  

The second Wailer sighed, "He had 'em on his other shoulder.. It looked absurd, but somehow he was doing it."  

"It looks bad, doesn't it?" The first man stared at the black metal gleaming dully in the midday light.  

"Ugly as all hells, but stronger than anything we have to throw at it," the second sighed, pulling out a spyglass from his belt and staring at the fortress. "Ah, there he is."  

"Let me see." 

The spyglass was passed over, and the first Wailer peered through it, zooming in on one of the taller figures heaving metal onto the black ramparts. Castor Entialpoh, in the flesh, toiling alongside black and crimson clad legionnaires. He was hauling sheets of black steel into place and holding them as engineers armed with welding torches set about fusing them together. Magitek Death Claws hovered behind him, more sheets clutched in their massive talons. 

The wall was almost complete, that much was for certain, and Ishgard would once again be closed off to the rest of Eorzea, this time with imperials at their side.  

"Aye, that's him, all right," the Wailer muttered, scanning the ramparts and spotting several mini cannons being mounted. "They're putting up cannon, too."  

"Damn," his companion swore, kicking a bit of rubble from the tower only to curse and clutch at his foot.  

"At least we got the Ul'dahns out of our territory," the first Wailer spat, the rage he bore within his heart still smoldering.  

"The Elder Seedseer's been heckling Ul'dah to pay reparations for the damages, from what I hear. She's getting mixed results, but at least she got the Flame General to withdraw without any further violence."  

"That fool's endangering us all, acting like the savage, blind bull he's named for," another sweep of the wall revealed nothing that the duo hadn't already seen. "Honestly, I half expected that madman to burn a swath through the Shroud just to get to Castor."  

"Same...How long do you think this madness will continue?" The second asked, his voice soft and contemplative.  

"I don't know, but if the Elementals are good to us, them hopefully this will all be over soon."  

The first Wailer lowered his spyglass and sighed, settling into the ruins for another long duty shift.  

"I can't believe you actually carried Arya around on your shoulder while hauling beams," Severus was still by Castor, his amused voice a sound that Castor hadn't known he could miss so terribly.  

"Of course I did," Castor retorted, heaving another load of black steel sheets into place.  

The routine was familiar, pounded into his very instincts by countless hours of drills and construction, although he much enjoyed the strength he had now. He even outperformed the magitek that was designed to do exactly what he was doing, so that was quite an achievement. 

"And I must say I'm quite surprised that you actually managed to coax the Holy See into allowing us to work with them," Severus continued speaking, hands folded behind his back as he trailed behind Castor. "Just an hour of standing before that Archbishop was enough to sway him, unlike the days or months I'd anticipated."  

"Well, two of his stupid Heaven's Ward knights tried and failed to get me expelled on trumped up charges of heresy," Castor grunted as he backed away from his handiwork to allow the engineers to weld everything together. "Of course the man would want to save face before the one who has saved his city and was rewarded with insubordinate fools."  

"I saw your trial by combat; those two fools never even stood a chance," Severus chuckled, and Castor grinned at him.  

"I trust the process of moving soldiers and materiel about has been keeping you busy?"  

The Tribunus sighed, shaking his head slowly. "Not as much as it could be, since Revenant's Toll has happily agreed not to harass our men and shipments so long as we show the same courtesy."  

"The Scions and Domans aren't likely to be too thrilled with that arrangement," Castor noted, the wave of rage conjured by the mere mention of his former comrades washing over him.  

He drew on it, honed it, and stepped back as more engineers scurried about around him. The cold didn't bother him, nor did the hard edges of steel and magitek. The ceruleum was bearable, even though it wreaked havoc on his more sensitive nose if he breathed in too much of its stench. 

He was to meet Ysayle the next day, and the next step towards ending Nidhogg and the Dragonsong War would be his to take. As for now, he'd focus on building anything the legion required or Ishgard, where Whitebrim's repairs were concerned.  

"The Scions are watching us again," Severus mused, the hook of anger making Castor clench his fists. 

"Where?" He couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary, nor sense anything.  

"Our scouts have spotted two of them: a white-haired man in dark clothing and a rather large Roegadyn clad in armor."  

"Thancred and Hoary," Castor sighed, his muscles aching for more to do.  

He wanted to fight.  

To kill.  

The anger...it burned within him, even more so now that he had full control of his Darkside. His rage was now focused fully upon one mind, and Castor used it to fuel the strength he needed to persevere.  

"Will you go to them?" Severus asked. 

"Might as well. Our work here is mostly done, so my efforts would be better spent on other fronts. I'll make sure those fools don't interfere," Castor turned away from the black steel wall, mildly surprised to see a large number of the legionnaires saluting him as he did so.  

"Would you like a few of us to accompany you, sir?" One legionnaire asked, his eyes sharp and keen from underneath his black and crimson pot helm.   

"That won't be necessary, my friends. If anything, your strength would be better used here," Castor returned the salute, if only to honor these soldiers. 

Then he walked away, taking long powerful strides towards the Observatory. Ishgardian astrologians and knights still bearing injuries limped about, raising hands sometimes covered in casts and smiling. Castor raised his own hand in response, diverting his path to meet with a few who were bearing more severe injuries as they attempted to carry out their duties.  

"Here, allow me," Castor gently pried a thick tower of papers from a young man whose entire arm was covered in bloody bandages. "Where do you need these?" 

The man flushed from embarrassment and perhaps shame, although the relief from having such weight lifted from his injury was all too obvious. 

"S-sir Entialpoh! I...Forgive me, but I need those in the tower."  

Castor gave him a cheerful, warm smile and nodded. "It's no issue, truly! You needn't strain yourself." 

He accompanied the man to the tower, dropped off the stack of papers, then continued towards Boulder Downs. There was hardly any snow falling from the grey skies, but as Castor moved among the white trees and barely flowing rivers, he could feel a pair of eyes burning into him; two pairs, to be exact.  

Castor paused by the massive red crystals that spiraled out from the earth, surrounding some sort of odd structure in the middle of the crater, listening.  

"Thancred, Hoary, come on out. I know you're there," he reached down and unsheathed Excalibur in a single, fluid motion, the only blade in his possession being drawn up just in time to deflect a thrown knife.  

Steel shrieked as the dagger skittered away, Castor lazily flicking the blade out in time to cut aside two more in quick succession.  

"Really, now? That's the way you greet an old friend?" Castor sighed, the not-so-subtle crashing of undergrowth alerting him to Hoary's pathetic attempts to flank him. "Hoary, I'd stop if I were you, unless you'd like to taste my boot."  

"Like you'd even be able to kick me from that distance!" Hoary bellowed, Thancred's weary sigh following. 

"That was the opposite of subtle, Hoary. I suppose I shouldn't have bet against a Miqo'te's ears, anyway," the two Scions emerged from the trees, eyes blazing with rage and weapons clenched in their fists.  

"Indeed you shouldn't have," Castor said cheerily, Excalibur swishing back and forth in his grasp before him. "I'd hoped that you of all people would have known better, especially after I caught you with that milkmaid in Minfilia's office."  

The Scion's face turned beet red. "H-hey! You swore you'd never tell anyone!"  

Hoary glared at him. "You bedded a milkmaid in the Antecedent's office?! Have you no shame?!"  

"None at all," Castor said drily, stepping towards the Scions. "Now, what the hells are you doing here, Thancred? You should be in Ul'dah."  

"The Alliance leaders are meeting in Thanalan, and security is understandably tight after you turned traitor and the guilds started rioting. Minfilia asked me to come here, instead, to make sure that you and your imperial bastards didn't storm into Gridania or Mor Dhona while everyone's distracted," Thancred sneered, although his face was still flushed with embarrassment.  

"I don't even care about your little summit, and I care even less about invading Eorzean territory at the head of an imperial legion," Castor kept Excalibur ready, wondering how easily Deathbringer would have been able to carve the duo apart. "Although I have every intention of putting you both down if you do not lower your weapons and leave."  

Hoary spat into the snow, brandishing his sword and shield. "To think I idolized you; to think that you were my inspiration...I'm going to kill you, traitor!"  

The Roegadyn roared and lunged, his speed deceptive despite his great size, and Castor smiled to himself.  

"So, the little beasts think they can take me out? That they can best the greatest warrior this world has ever known?" He taunted as he easily parried Hoary's thrust and sent the man tumbling back. "Pathetic! And to think that you betrayed me..." Castor lazily cut down one of Thancred's knives, then slammed the hilt of his blade into Hoary's armored gut as the man attempted to flank him once again.  

"Shut up, you imperial whoreson!" 

Their dance continued, with Castor effortlessly rebuffing the duo's attacks one after the other until both Thancred and Hoary were driven, exhausted and gasping for breath, to their knees.  

Kill them. 

Kill! 

Kill! 

Castor inhaled deeply, wrenching his anger from his Darkside even as it screamed with fury and increased bloodlust.  

"D-damn it!" Hoary tried to rise, but Castor slammed an armored boot into his gut and sent the man tumbling onto the snowy earth.  

White fluffy flakes were now cascading in earnest, kicked up both from the fight and now falling from the grey skies.  

"Stay down unless you want me to kill you," Castor warned as Hoary again attempted to rise. 

"What's stopping you, imperial?" The Roegadyn spat. "Your kind excels at murdering people, doesn't it?"  

Castor sighed, steel whispering against oiled leather as he sheathed Excalibur. "That's enough. Return to Mor Dhona now and keep your lives." 

"Like I want your mercy," Thancred spat. "To think I even wondered if you were innocent...at least now I know your heart belongs to the Empire."  

"Don't insult him!" Arya stomped out of the trees in full battle regalia, Ragnarok crackling with electricity within her grasp. "Castor's heart has always belonged to Eorzea, even when he served Lord van Baelsar!"  

"Arya, what are you doing here?" Castor frowned; why hadn't he heard her coming? Had he really been so distracted?  

"I brought some soldiers to aid you in this fight!" The Tribunus cried, right as a contingent of legionnaires marched out of the forest behind her. 

"Damn it!" Hoary swore again, once more attempting and failing to rise.  

"Thanks, Arya, and my thanks to all of you, but I have matters well in hand here," Castor nodded to the legionnaires, raising an eyebrow as they ignored his words and encircled the downed Scions, surrounding them in a ring of steel. 

Hoplamachi and Equites leveled swords and halberds at Hoary while several Laquearii menaced Thancred with their axes. Arya pointed Ragnarok at the duo, standing between them and Castor. 

"We stand together, Castor," Arya said softly. "I know you don't need us, but please just humor me."  

"Very well," he sighed, but stepped forward to stand at Arya's side rather than behind her.  

"Ah, so the Warrior of Light cowers behind his imperial friends rather than face us himself," Thancred taunted, although his words were quite ineffectual in his current, defeated state.  

"They're here to escort you back to the border so I can spend my time with more pressing matters," Castor shot back, unable to hold back a smirk as the Scions winced. "Arya, if you and the troops would be so kind as to dispose of these treacherous beasts..."  

"Gladly!" Arya nodded to two Roegadyn soldiers, who sheathed their weapons and heaved Hoary up between their bulk as another pair of legionnaires hauled Thancred up. "We'll haul these vermin back to Mor Dhona."  

"You have my thanks," Castor turned away from the Scions, turned away from his past, and strode towards Daniffen Pass. 

He still had quite a lot of work left to do in Whitebrim.  

"Everyone quiet down!" Jenlyn's strong voice bellowed over the din of shouting voices, followed shortly by the hellish crashing of sword pommels on shields. 

"That's enough, all of you!" Alphinaud snapped from the Scion's position at the long table. "We came here to discuss a way to keep the peace, not to tear each other's throats out like animals!"  

"I agree," the Elder Seedseer's soothing voice filled the Promenade, towering above all present despite its owner's short stature. 

"I will not just sit idly by while Her Grace's murderer is still walking free!" Raubahn bellowed, jumping up and knocking his chair to the stones with an ear-grating crash. 

"Need I remind you that your army attacked Fallgourd Float, General Aldyn?" Kan-E shot back, her gentle eyes filled with steel. "After you forced your way through Gridania?"  

"She's right, General. Your relationship with the rest of the Alliance is already on unsteady feet. It wouldn't be wise to continue acting so brashly!" Alphinaud crossed his arms, trying to staunch the fear that ripped through him as Raubahn glared at him. 

"Everyone, please!" Minfilia intervened, rising and lifting her arms in a placating gesture. "We must not fight amongst ourselves, not now!" 

"And what are we supposed to do? Castor has defected to the Empire and-" 

"He has not defected to the Empire. If anything, he hates it even more than we do," Yugiri's soft voice cut through everyone else's, the petite Doman melting from the shadows. "You turned your backs on him and his former friends have stepped forward to support him."  

"To think that you'd be defending imperials," Raubahn muttered.  

"They aren't imperials, at least not anymore. They are a legion, yes, but they held their loyalty only to van Baelsar, not to the Empire."  

"And van Baelsar was inspired by Castor to continue his dreams of conquest," Pipin Tarupin spoke up, his long hair cascading around his head. "They are loyal to van Baelsar's dreams of unity and acting as protectors to the weak, and they are loyal to Castor."  

"Because he chose them over us...Bastard," a Crystal Brave muttered, flinching as Ilberd shot him a harsh glare. 

"So now how do we go about dealing with Castor?" Jenlyns' bitter voice cut deep into Alphinaud's heart, reminding him of the doubts that remained in his own thoughts.   

"I'm not sure. With Ishgard and an entire imperial legion standing at Castor's side...that's more than a match for nearly anything we can muster," Merlwyb sighed, resting her head upon her steepled fingers. "These are foul winds blowing towards us, my friends."  

"And what of the preparations for...Her Grace's funeral?" Y'shtola spoke up, albeit hesitantly. 

All eyes fell on Raubahn, who failed to hide his cringe.  

"The Alchemists are still holding the body and performing the autopsy. They have yet to figure out what poison Castor used, as the mix is completely foreign to them," the Flame General muttered, clearly uncomfortable with his statement.  

"I take it the thaumaturges are lending a hand in preserving her?" Papalymo mused, more so to himself than to Raubahn, but the General nodded nonetheless. 

"Aye, you have the right of it. We struck a bargain with a few of them for aid in return for rare ingredients for their spellcasting. And amnesty for the Brass Blades that they splattered against the walls when the riots first started." 

"To be fair, those Brass Blades deserved it; they attacked the Ossuary without any provocation," Yda shrugged, earning several glares from Brass Blades stationed around the room. 

"Enough!" Kan-E's unusually hard voice silenced everyone present, Alphinaud himself fighting back a flinch at the Seedseer's intensity. "We have not come here to fight amongst ourselves, have we?" 

"I'm not sure. Fighting amongst ourselves seems to be the only thing we are fully capable of nowadays," the Head Paladin snorted, his derision surprising Alphinaud. 

"Head Paladin Jenlyns, I'm not entirely sure what we have done to draw your scorn, but-" he started to speak, to attempt to negotiate before things really got out of hand, but Jenlyns cut him off. 

"You have all betrayed the one man who could possibly see our realm to peace and chose to believe a monopolizing, money-worshipping merchant lord instead!" Gauntlets slammed into the tabletop, making most present jump. "And on top of that, it fell to the XIVth bloody IMPERIAL LEGION to stand by Castor while you scheme to murder him!"  

"We haven't betrayed him, Head Paladin," Teledji Adeledji's sneering, arrogant voice grated on Alphinaud's ears, all turning to see the Lalafellin merchant lord as he strode into the chamber, flanked by Brass Blades. "That imperial assassin betrayed us and murdered our previous Sultana." 

"So you claim," Jenlyns snarled, glaring at the smaller man with eyes that could cut steel. "But why will you not allow anyone to see the body? Why do you have the Alchemists' Guild under lock and key?"  

"I am not hiding anything," the Monetarist sneered, although Alphinaud spotted a tint of fear within his eyes. "The alchemists are merely having issues uncovering what poison Castor used to kill Her Grace."  

"It's been weeks, Adeledji. Even the alchemists would be able to discern what the poison was by this time," Y'shtola spoke up, the venom in her voice music to Alphinaud's ears.  

Everyone was tired and stressed; everyone was afraid. Of the Empire, of each other. 

Of Castor.  

Of the truth.  

"I agree," Merlwyb nodded. "Everything here gives me the sense of unease, and while I am reluctant to say so, I am becoming suspicious of Adeledji's motives."  

Yda's lips were a tight smirk as she turned to the Admiral, "Oh, you're finally changing your mind about Castor's loyalties?"  

"Don't test me, Scion," Merlwyb growled.  

"My lady Seedseer, are the reports true that the imperials have erected a wall at your border with Ishgard?" Alphinaud all but shouted that question, drawing all eyes to him and to Kan-E.  

The woman's gentle face filled with pain, her emerald eyes lowering to the table. "Yes. Black steel now divides our two nations, and I've been getting reports that a large number of soldiers are being moved to garrison the fortifications when they're complete."  

"What of the other castra? How have they been behaving?" Raubahn asked, looking at the other leaders. "Meridianum's been a flurry of activity lately: soldiers and materiel pouring into Centri and then into Ishgard."  

"Occidens had been quiet ever since Castor delved into its depths and killed Bahamut," Merlwyb interjected. "Although recently the soldiers inside have been busy reconstructing more magitek automata and airships. They're preparing for war."  

"Oriens and Baelsar's Wall have done nothing, although I have a feeling that neither are manned by soldiers of the XIVth, anymore," Kan-E added, sinking back into her chair.  

"They aren't," Yugiri shook her head. "Castor and I had snuck in for a training exercise some months past to see what was occurring within. The Wall is now being manned by soldiers from Gyr Abania's XIIth Legion."  

"The Viceroy's personal legion?" Raubahm blanched. "Damn hells..."  

Yda stared at her feet, and Alphinaud noticed that Papalymo was also glaring at the Hyur.  

"Yes. It appears the situation in Gyr Abania is worsening every day that passes," Yugiri mused. "Alas, Castor must remain our priority, and should any of you attempt to draw blades against him again...I would not wish to be in your place."  

"Are you threatening us, Doman?" Ilberd growled, his eyes blazing ever since his homeland had been mentioned.  

"No, merely making an observation," Yugiri shrugged, meeting his pointed glare.  

"I have to agree with her," Pipin murmured. "That monster ripped apart everything we threw at him in Coerthas."  

Adeledji coughed to get everyone's attention, crossing his arms and sneering at the Alliance leaders. "Well, if you're done prattling on about that traitor, we must needs work on the matter of the succession. As I'm sure you're already aware: I've found a worthy heir sporting royal blood to take up the throne, so why must we wait?"  

"Because this 'heir' could easily just be a power play!" Jenlyns snapped. "And if they owe their power entirely to you, then all of Ul'dah would be in your grasp!'  

Adeledji opened his mouth to retort, only for a flurry of heavy footfalls outside the door to silence him. 

"Open the doors! Now!" A female voice unfamiliar to Alphinaud's ears cried. "I have dire news!"  

"Why are you dressed like that, squire? And I will not let you just barge into this meeting!" A Sultansworn paladin-Alphinaud could not recall his name-growled out in a bored tone.  

Jenlyns all but ran towards the door, his eyes gleaming with renewed vigor that Alphinaud had not seen for weeks. 

"Let her in!" He bellowed. "I would hear what she has to say!" 

There was a pause, all the Alliance leaders and Scions glancing at one another, and then the doors grated open to admit a rather fetching young woman clad in a scarlet dress that hugged her curves.  

"Head Paladin!" She saluted him, her face slick with sweat and a beaming smile on her lips. "I got into the Alchemists' Guild, as you requested!"  

"You what?!" Adeledji shrieked, all color draining from his face.  

Jenlyns smirked at the man, every person in the room now riveted on what the squire was going to say. 

"And?"  

"She's alive! Her Grace, Nanamo Ul Namo, is alive!" 

Chapter Text

The air stills, breath freezes in place within enraptured lungs, and Alphinaud could feel his heart skip a beat-several, actually.  

"Say. That. Again," Jenlyns' voice was soft, yet in the silence, it may as well been a scream of joy. 

"Her Grace is alive!"  

Alive. 

Alive. 

Alive! 

ALIVE!  

Raubahn was the first to act, the Bull of Ala Mihgo stampeding from the room with speed far belying his significant bulk. Kan-E was on his heels, her escort scrambling to keep up with the Seedseer. 

"No, that can't be!" Adeledji shrieked, his eyes the picture of true horror. 

"Grab him!" Yda launched herself at the Lalafell, ducking under a Brass Blade's scimitar before knocking her assailant flat with a single blow.  

Jenlyns' squire appeared at the merchant lord's side, a devilish smile on her lips as she pressed a dagger to his throat. 

"Oh, you're not going anywhere, bastard!"  

Alphinaud barely registered Minfilia and Y'shtola sprinting from the room, nor did he particularly care when Merlwyb followed suit with her own escort hot on her heels.  

Nanamo was alive? Then...Castor truly was innocent all this time? The thoughts swirled and crashed upon him, a thousand alien emotions warring within.  

Adeledji was staring at someone, his sly mouth spilling out words that took Alphinaud a moment to decipher.  

"What are you waiting for, Ilberd?! Lolorito and I aren't paying you to just stand around! Kill them!"  

Lolorito?  

And then the Crystal Brave soldiers in the room unsheathed their blades, Ilberd sighing as he did the same.  

"Damn hells, Adeledji, you really are useless. All you had to do was get that imperial sycophant out of the way and kill one woman so we could take the fight to Ala Mhigo. And here I thought Lolorito was useless...you're even worse."  

"Ilberd! Explain yourself!" Alphinaud bristled at this act of betrayal, flinching as a small blade was pressed into his side.  

"Sorry, 'Commander', we don't answer to you anymore," Yuyuhase smirked, his golden eyes filled with contempt.  

"You've all been traitors!" Papalymo and Yda were now back-to-back, cesti and staff readied as Brass Blades and Crystal Braves encircled everyone.  

"Not very wise ones, apparently," Jenlyns and a score of paladins were standing at the entrance, his squire still holding Adeledji by a knife to his throat.  

"I must agree with you," Pipin had his own blade unsheathed, staring down Laurentius and several Blades. "But to think that we were wrong all this time..."  

"I knew Castor was innocent! I just knew it!" Yda crowed, and Alphinaud could see her smiling. "Oh, I can't wait to see him again!"  

"Kill them all!" Ilberd ordered, a cruel light in his eyes as he glared at Alphinaud. "Our cover's been blown thanks to that idiot, so let's get the hell out of here."  

"I think not!"  

Yuyuhase screamed, and Alphinaud flinched as warmth splattered across his side.  

"I'll kill every last one of you for what you've done to Castor!" Yugiri cried, kicking aside Yuyuhase's prone form. "I will avenge my friend!"  

"Ilberd is mine!" Jenlyns roared, and his paladins surged forward. "For Castor!"  

The traitors met the charge head on, steel shrieking as shields and blades collided in violent cacophony. Alphinaud, rather belatedly, realized that he may have to defend himself and pulled his tome from his belt, drawing upon the aetherial energies and lobbing a bolt of magic at a Crystal Brave that was attempting to run a Sultansworn through from behind.  

They'd...betrayed him. They'd betrayed everyone.  

Yda was a flurry of fists and legs as she unleashed hell upon everyone near her, smile never fading despite the carnage, even when Papalymo had to blast a Blade about to stab her. Bodies hit the floor, gushing blood and soaking the lush carpets, and Alphinaud once again tasted the bitter vestiges of disgust.  

To think that he'd so willingly believed that Castor had killed Nanamo...Would he ever forgive them?  

Ilberd and Jenlyns were hammering at one another, blades slamming against one another with enough force to send sparks flying from each clash, and Alphinaud quickly blasted another Brass Blade who'd begun approaching him.  

"For Castor!" The Head Paladin roared, spinning with preternatural grace and slashing Ilberd's arm as the warrior tried to draw his shield into place.  

The Ala Mihgan roared in pain and stumbled back, taking a moment to look at the losing battle he was fighting against the Sultansworn and the Scions as Jenlyns approached him. 

"Bah, this doesn't end here!" He snarled. "You can't ignore Ala Mihgo forever, you know! Keep strutting about as saviors of Eorzea all you like; you'll never be free so long as the Griffin's Throne is in imperial hands!"  

"Be silent, worm, and die with some dignity," Jenlyns spat, raising his blade to deliver the killing blow.  

A twisted smile formed on Ilberd's lips, his free hand pulling something from his satchel.  

"I think not," blinding, stinging smoke engulfed the room, pouring into Alphinaud's throat in a gritty, hot cloud as he choked on his own breath.  

"You won't get away from me!" Yugiri cried, and Alphinaud felt the ninja shoot past. 

"Back off, bitch!" Laurentius snapped in the swirling, painful grey haze, and Yugiri screamed in pain.  

"Y-Yugiri!" Alphinaud tried to say more, to locate his friend, yet the smoke...this damnable smoke! 

It stung, it burned!  

"D-d-damn it! Spread-" Jenlyns' words devolved into bronchial coughing, "Spread out! Find them!"  

"Try this!" Papalymo shouted, and a gust of wind decimated the smokescreen.  

Alphinaud fell to his knees, coughing and hacking as tears leaked from his eyes, and almost recoiled as he went face-to-face with a dead Brave.  

"I want those bastards caught!" Pipin roared, already sprinting from the room at the head of the Sultansworn with Jenlyns at his side.  

"Yugiri!" Yda cried from somewhere off to the side, and Alphinaud cleared his lungs with one final, guttural hacking cough. 

"Are you alright, Alphinaud?" Papalymo was there, tugging him away from the corpse.  

The sick stench of death mingled with the vestiges of the smoke, the metallic scent of blood. Alphinaud looked around, staring at the corpses that now lay broken on the rugs.  

"I...I'm okay," he saw Yda kneeling by a fallen Yugiri, who was clutching a crimson stained leg even as blood wept between her fingers. "Is Yugiri okay?"  

The veil looked over to him, and he pictured her face tight with pain as she nodded. "I'm fine. Laurentius stabbed my leg when I gave chase. Needless to say, I was rather reckless."  

"Where did the others go?" Alphinaud mumbled, his gritty throat making his voice come out hoarse.  

"They went to the Alchemists' Guild, I assume," the Sultasworn squire was still holding Adeledji hostage, her muscular arms holding the man's feeble struggling with ease. "Everyone else is likely going through the city to track down Ilberd and his retinue."  

His retinue of Crystal Braves...gods, how had Alphinaud been so blind?! 

"I'll send for a healer for Yugiri, but we need to track down Lolorito as well," Papalymo intoned. "We don't want him getting away."  

Alphinaud rose, his legs wobbly. "I'll go to the Guild."  

He didn't want to vomit in front of everyone.  

"Yda, stay with Yugiri," Papalymo ordered, perhaps unnecessarily, but the woman nodded nonetheless. 

"Leave it to me!"  

Papalymo and Alphinaud jogged out of the blood soaked Promenade, Papalymo giving him one last concerned look before dashing off. Alphinaud sighed, testing his body as he followed in his comrades' trail. He knew where the Guild was, but he still had to lean on the railings to keep his balance while constantly checking his mental map of Ul'dah just to be safe.  

Finally, a Sultansworn spotted him struggling along and raced over, taking Alphinaud's arm and slinging it over his shoulder. "Need some help, Scion?"  

"It would be appreciated," Alphinaud sighed, glad to get some weight off his jellied legs.  

"I have no idea what's going on, truth be told, but I'm glad to be of service," the knight grinned. "You going to the Alchemists like everyone else?"  

"Yes."  

The duo made rapid progress, and Alphinaud could hear excited voices before long as the guild's doors came into view.  

"Silence! Give her some space!" Rauhbahn bellowed, and the chatter ground to silence.  

Alphinaud's heart raced within his chest as his savior helped him into the guild, the scent of dozens of different alchemical solutions hitting his nostrils immediately. The guild was packed with the Alliance and Scions, Sultansworn paladins holding the alchemists at blade point in the corner.  

And there! His breath caught in his chest, and a hefty weight lifted from his shoulders. 

Nanamo Ul Namo was sitting up on a long table, her face pale and eyes muddled, but she was very much alive. Her hair was a mess, and the thin white robes she wore looked several sizes too large, but she was alive.  

Alive! 

"Your Grace..." Raubahn whispered, kneeling before her.  

"Raubahn? What's happened?" Nanamo's voice was thin and weak, and she swayed as she tried to move. "I...I had the strangest dream..."  

"Your Grace, please don't push yourself," Jenlyns said softly, standing stiffly to attention before her. 

Kan-E was also at the Sultana's side, gentle magic pulsing into her small body.  

"Lady Seedseer, how does she look?" Y'shtola was also there, but she was standing further back out of respect. 

Kan-E gazed up, a brilliant smile on her lips and relieved-perhaps overjoyed-tears leaking from her eyes. "The poison that she ingested a volatile, lethal mix that was derived from the venom of ochus and mixed with potent poisons. It would have killed her quickly by shutting her body down, if not for this." 

The woman placed a finger on Nanamo's wrist, which shone with the faintest hints of magic.  

"Is that?" Minfilia smiled.  

"Yes: Padjali White Magic," Kan-E rose, her eyes shining as she placed a hand over her heart and sighed. "Castor's White Magic."  

Nobody spoke, ingesting the words as they shared stunned glances. 

"You mean...he saved her?" Raubahn whispered, his body trembling. "Castor saved her?"  

"Yes, he did!" Kan-E looked at her escort. "Send an envoy to the border, immediately! Get Castor here as quickly as you can!" 

"C-Castor?" Nanmo's weak voice drew Alphinaud's attention again. "He's...not here? Where is he?"  

"Ishgard. It's...a long story," Raubahn flinched, guilt etched into his scarred face.  

Nobody spoke. 

"I...remember the banquet. I had asked Castor into my quarters...to talk to him," Nanamo's tiny hand went to her head, rubbing her temples. "I was...to absolve the monarchy and wanted his support...Then..." 

"You were poisoned," Raubahn said softly. "By Teledji Adeledji."  

"And Lord Lolorito," Alphinaud added, all eyes falling on him. "He and Adeledji paid Ilberd to poison Her Grace in an attempt to secure power in Ul'dah. With that done, Ilberd would have gotten some support to retake Ala Mihgo from imperial occupation."  

"Where is he?!" Raubahn rose, fury blazing within his eyes. "Where is that traitor?!" 

"He fled, along with a large contingent of Crystal Braves that were loyal to him and Lolorito's coin," Alphinaud said bitterly, staring at the floor. "They attacked us, but everyone managed to drive them off with minimal casualties." 

"I wounded Ilberd, but not fatally, I am ashamed to say," Jenlyns sighed. "The rest of our forces are now combing the city for the traitors or spreading the word on what's going on."  

"Yugiri was injured in the fighting, but Papalymo's getting a healer for her," Alphinaud straightened, the Sultansworn keeping him up carefully releasing him.  

"I see, but how did Castor save Nanamo?" Merlwyb asked softly.  

Kan-E's eyes shone with pride as she summoned a small fleck of shimmering magic within her fingers. "White Magic is similar to a living thing: it moves and breathes in a way all of its own, seeking out impurities tainting the body and eradicating them. The small amount of magic Castor implanted within Nanamo before he was stopped slipped into her vitals and purged the poison there, preventing it from being fatal," she flicked it into the swaying, barely coherent Sultana, "and that small amount kept her at the very edge of life and death."  

He saved her...even when we all turned against him and forsook him.  

Yet... 

"Why did Adeledji keep her alive, anyhow? Once he'd realized that the poison failed?" Merlwyb wondered, that same question on everyone's mind yet not passing their lips.  

"Our orders to keep Her Grace hidden and alive didn't come from Adeledji," one of the trembling alchemists spoke up, all eyes turning to her. "They came from Lord Lolorito."  

"As far as Adeledji was concerned, we were trying to discover the origin of the poison in her corpse. I don't even think he knew she was alive," a second alchemist added.  

"So he's trying to save face," Y'shtola sighed.  

Alphinaud nodded, the selfsame thought having occurred to him. "I agree. Lolorito may have taken part in this plot, but once he realized that Nanamo wasn't dead, he ordered her to be kept alive if only to try to lessen his guilt in this." 

Raubahn spat and rose, murderous rage etched upon his worn features. "He and Adeledji conspired to commit regicide! Regardless of whatever part he played, he still committed treason!"  

"I've already sent Sultansworn to Lolorito's manse to arrest him," Jenlyns' eyes shone with relief and burning hatred. "He and Adeledji will be tried for conspiracy to commit regicide, high treason, and many other money-philandering schemes that we've failed to convict them of in the past. They will not escape this time!"  

Minfilia sighed, resting a hand upon her heart as she smiled at Alphinaud. "Thank the Mother...He's coming home."  

Dusk came and went, bathing all of Ishgard in cool darkness. Castor grunted as he shoved another beacon into the stone of the Brume, fully aware of the fearful eyes following his every move. Why did it always seem so much colder here than anywhere else in Ishgard? 

"What are those?" A young girl clad in filthy rags inched closer, her nimble fingers flitting about her hands, itching to grab any exposed purse or coins.  

"Allow me to show you," Castor reached up and touched the red crystals embedded into the base of the Amal'jaa beacon, willing Ifrit's power to burst to life.  

All over the city, Castor could sense the beacons flaring with infernal flames, chasing away the bitter chill that sank into Ishgard's bones.  

"It's...it's so warm," the girl had inched closer, the warm light of the flames flickering across the ruined Brume. 

"I set these up all over the city, putting a few extra ones around the Brume to make sure nobody has to suffer from the bitter cold during the nights," Castor could feel the warmth spreading through the Brume's many abandoned corridors and hovels, like new life being breathed into something dead and rotten.  

"Dragoon!" Someone hissed, and the girl sprinted into the shadows.  

"Ah, I was told you were setting up fiery beacons around the city in an attempt to combat the unusually cold nights," Estinien emerged from the night, his black drachen armor glinting in the firelight. "These should save quite a few lives, I should think."  

"That's the plan," Castor shrugged, his keen ears picking up on several people shifting position nearby. "So, why are you here?" 

Estinien gave him a wry smile. "The Holy See knows that you're planning on meeting Iceheart tomorrow in an attempt to get to Nidhogg. I'm going with you." 

"Of course they do, I told them...Fine. We'll fare better against the dragons with two Azure Dragoons, I suppose," Castor shrugged again, Estinien chuckling. 

"Please. I know you'd be more than a match for Nidhogg's entire horde alone; the best I can do is just pick off some stragglers if you even deign to leave some for me."  

"Heh, I suppose that's true. Then be ready to depart for the Dreaming Dragon come morning," Castor held a hand out to the beacon, Ifrit's hellfire swirling towards his fingers as if they were a flame magnet.  

"Do your imperial friends know of this meeting?" 

"Yes. Arya will be coming with us; Rihtatyn insisted, as did she," he pulled his hand away, his gaze being drawn to the moon shining above Ishgard. "Just remember that Iceheart won't take too kindly to being approached by the Azure Dragoon. I'll not spend this entire outing keeping you two from killing each other."  

Estinien chuckled, then vanished back into the night, leaving Castor alone in the primal warmth.  

At least, until another pair of unfamiliar footsteps began stomping towards him. 

"Hmph, so you're the one who now holds Fray's crystal..." To Castor's surprise, a figure who stood a good head taller than him strode from the shadows, clad in the same plate Castor wore. "And you have that armor? Impressive."  

"Who are you?" Castor glared at the Au-Ra, whose scales and skin tone were noticeably darker than Yugiri's, his piercing green eyes as sharp as the Deathbringer blade hitched to his back.  

"My name's Sidurgu, and I've been keeping a close eye on you since Whitebrim," the Dark Knight crossed his muscular arms, glaring at Castor. "The Abyss is strong in you...perhaps too strong, seeing as how you're supposed to be some bloody Warrior of Light." 

"The Abyss is all I have left nowadays," Castor bared his teeth at the stranger.  

"No matter. What are you to the Ishgardians? Surely they know of the path you've chosen to walk?" Sidurgu glared at the beacons, and his expression softened ever so slightly. 

"They know what I am, but should I have no choice but to mete out justice upon those who deserve it, I and my blade will not hesitate."  

"Well said," Sidurgu nodded, a grudging respect glinting in his reptilian eyes. "Especially when it comes to those godsdamned Temple Knights."  

"They can be annoying, yes. I'm certain you may have heard of the rampage Fray and I went on the first night of my arrival," Castor shrugged, mentally keeping ahold of his own Deathbringer from where it rested in his Armory Chest. 

Interdimensional storage was a godsend, to say the least; or was it magical? No matter.  

At least he wasn't going to repeat the mistake he'd made with Thancred and Hoary: leaving that greatsword behind and having to rely solely upon Excalibur. The divine blade was still a masterpiece, as always, but Castor drew great comfort and strength from the presence of the massive sword his Darkside had gifted him after Yugiri had saved him. Come to think of it...where had Yugiri gone off to? 

Right as that thought crossed his mind, a sharp spike of pain lanced his leg, forcing him to grit his teeth. Yugiri's voice, screaming in pain, punched into his ears, and Castor clenched Excalibur's hilt tightly.  

"That I did," Sidurgu wasn't looking at him, thankfully, so he hadn't seen Castor's actions. "Those bastards deserved death for what they did, but I suppose being stripped of their titles as knights and forced to slave away in Coerthas is just as good."  

Castor fought to control his panic and rage, fought the urge to teleport to his dear friend's side and slaughter whoever had hurt her. Well...not that he really knew where she was, to begin with.  

He really had to craft some sort of crystal that would allow him to teleport to her and vice versa. But first...DEATH! 

"No...I'm okay, Castor," Yugiri's voice again reached his ears, followed by a bitter chuckled. "Don't...be angry. It's...it-" 

Then the connection was gone, but Castor relaxed. Yugiri could handle it, whatever the situation was, he had faith in her. And whenever he learned who or what had hurt her...Well, they would beg for death before he was done with them! 

"Hey, you nodding off?" Sidurgu was glaring at him again, but Castor shrugged. 

"Apologies, I've got a lot on my mind. But, yes, I agree that those bastards deserved to be strung up on the sharp edge of a blade," a cruel smile formed upon his lips. "If anything, I might slip into the highlands and put them out of their misery, myself."  

Sidurgu chuckled. "And here I thought you'd be a self-righteous fool...I'm glad to see that I was wrong. Listen, if you have the time, I'd like to ask you to...help me with something." 

"Speak."  

"I have a...charge I've been protecting from the Temple Knights, a young girl who's been hunted for reasons neither of us know of. Fray and I were sworn to protect her, but..."  

"Then Fray died, and since I bear his crystal, you'd like me to help you protect this girl?" Castor guessed. 

"Aye, that's the short story," Sidurgu grunted. "If you have the time, you can find me in the Forgotten Knight with Rielle."  

"I'll be leaving tomorrow, Sidurgu, for a foray meant to put an end to this war," Castor warned. "I may not be back for some time to help you with Rielle."  

"You already have helped. With those beacons, I mean," Sidurgu gestured lamely at the burning flames. "The cold is one less thing she'll have to complain about."  

Castor chuckled, crossing his arms across his chest. "That was the plan. Although I wonder...what can you teach me regarding the power of Dark Knights? Surely you'd be more...capable than my Darkside was." 

The other Dark Knight scowled, although a pondering look flitted across his features for a moment. "Mine and Fray's master put a lot of stress on finding what we believed the most in and drawing strength from that. From the Abyss that lies within all humans, fueled by our greatest desire. Personally, I don't know what the hell he was blathering about, but maybe you can do better than I did."  

"Greatest desire? I see. I'll keep in touch with you if you'd like, should you need me for anything," Castor turned away from Sidurgu. "Have a good one, Sidurgu."  

"You too, Warrior of Light...Or is it Warrior of Darkness?" Sidurgu pondered aloud, his sharp eyes narrowed in thought. 

Castor gave the Dark Knight one last grin from over his shoulder. "Neither, I am no slave to the Light or the Dark, anymore. I choose to be something more, someone who chooses his own path; I choose to be the Warrior of Dusk and Dawn: the Warrior of Twilight."  

With hatred burning in his heart, coupled with concern for the beloved friend he had left, Castor strode into the Ishgardian night, ready to put an end to the thousand year Dragonsong War. 

Chapter Text

"You say that we have to burn yak wool? For purple smoke?" Castor raised an eyebrow at Estinien as the Azure Dragoon approached with a heavy drape of said wool in his arms. "And may I say how impressed I am that you're managing to carry that without getting it tangled up in all those spikes?"  

The Elezen glared at him, seemingly immune to the Western Highland's frigid gales even as Arya swore and shivered at their side. "Among other things. I've been gathering them while you were digging your metal friend here out of the snowdrifts."  

Nidhogg's Eye pulsed with ominous energy from within Estinien's mail, the wyrm's heavy presence forcing its way into Castor's soul through his Dragoon Crystal.  

"Mortal...You seek to kill me?" That ancient, rasping tone scraped against his skull and sent knives into his very soul. "Foolishness...Thy strength cannot compare to mine own! Come, then! I will devour thee and take thy power for myself!"  

"Get. Out. Of. My. Head!" Castor mustered his will, mustered his rage, and forced the dragon from his mind.  

"Castor? What is that?" Arya had Ragnarok drawn, its crackling tip electrifying the air around her.  

"Nidhogg's Eye," Castor growled, the pain that was lancing his own eyes dulling as Nidhogg's presence faded.  

He'd become more lax in guarding himself from that thing, apparently; it had been a long time since Nidhogg had attempted to force his way into Castor's mind. The last incident had been when he and Estinien had clashed in the Steel Vigil, but Castor had prevailed against man and wyrm both, dealing a powerful blow to Estinien with dragonfire.  

"We, as Azure Dragoons, draw our power from the Eye," Estinien frowned, his lips a tight grimace. "We are linked to Nidhogg because of it, and the wyrm relishes the chance to try and break us every chance he gets."  

"I...I see," Arya put up Ragnarok, although she was still on edge.  

Castor nodded to Estinien. "Well? Where'd you set everything up?"  

They'd left at first light, as ordered, and Castor had tried, with no success, to contact Yugiri. He was still worried, but the warmth that shifted in his heart whenever he thought of her remained. She was alive, at the very least, and there had been no further unusual spikes of pain since last night.  

Castor glanced down at the crystal pendant that now adorned his neck: a good-luck gift from Laniette and a prayer for his safety. It was warm, somehow, perhaps still resonating with the warmth of its giver's heart? Haurchefant had given Castor several warnings about not doing anything too dangerous before giving him a powerful embrace. 

There were to be no repeats of the Bismark ordeal, although Castor doubted anything would be powerful enough to send him rocketing towards Camp Cloudtop.  

"Right here. Ready to light it?" Estinien dumped the yak wool onto a pile of wood and random herbs, a rather pungent stench hitting Castor's nostrils.  

"You sure that's a good idea?" Arya wrinkled her nose. "Smells like bad cereleum about to explode."  

"I know my mixtures, imperial," Estinien sneered, scraping his lance against stone and spraying his pile with sparks.  

Castor drew upon Ifrit once more, smoldering embers dropping onto the mixture and immediately igniting it. Foul smoke immediately blasted his face, making his squint and swear as he stepped back out of range. It was a dark, violet hue that curled skyward around the massive frozen corpse of the Dreaming Dragon, spiraling skyward in a pillar that could probably be seen beyond the Convictory.  

"Gah! That's foul!" Arya gagged, her metal clad fist yanking Castor away from the smoke. "Are you certain this Iceheart isn't just trying to poison you?!"  

Castor could hear footsteps coming from the snows behind the hills: one person, unarmored and bearing no weapons.  

"I do not think she would try anything so foolish," Castor turned to the source just as Ysayle's slim figure approached from behind the hills, her long garments and hair billowing in the wind.  

"You came," she smiled at Castor, but her icy gaze hardened upon spotting his companions. "And you bring the Azure Dragoon? Are you mad?!"  

"I am an Azure Dragoon as well, Lady Ysayle," Castor reminded her, jerking out a hand to cut off Estinien's predicted rebuttal. "Ishgard demanded that he accompany me in this endeavor, and I had no choice but to accept. As for Ayra, well, she's tamer than she looks."  

Arya's fist slammed into his shoulder pauldron, which only resulted in the Tribunus recoiling and swearing under her breath.  

Ysayle glared at Estinien, hatred burning with icy certainty within her eyes. "You expect me to work with this...murderer?"  

"You killed plenty of ours on the Steps, lest I remind you," Estinien shot back, slamming Gae Bolg's pointed haft into the snows. "I should just kill you now and put your sorry little band to the lance!"  

Castor stomped his foot into the snows, drawing upon the aether he'd taken from Shiva in the Ampitheater and smacking Gae Bolg from Estinien's grip with an icy wind.  

"I thought I told you that I would not spend this entire damn trip playing nursemaid, Estinien," he growled. "Ysayle, I want to end this war as badly as you do, and if we have to kill Nidhogg to do so, then we must. You said you would show me the true reasons behind this war, and I will find them even if you refuse to help me."  

Iceheart stood tall, meeting Castor's gaze with one of her own, and he saw her eyes relent.  

"Very well. But keep your little dragon killer on a tight leash, or else he'll jeopardize everything we're setting out to do. I'd like to trust you, Warrior, but you must prove that I can."  

Castor nodded, giving Estinien one last warning glare before striding towards Ysayle. "And I shall do my utmost to earn your trust, Ysayle. No matter what end awaits us, I will bring this war to a close and restore peace between man and dragon."  

Again she smiled, pointedly ignoring Estinien as she bowed. "Full glad am I to hear it, War-er, Castor. Come, we are to go to Tailfeather, in Dravania." 

"We'll have to pass through the Chocobo Forest," Estinien spoke up, his voice as barbed as his armor. "I can lead us there."  

Iceheart and Azure Dragoon glared at one another, bodies tensed until Castor stepped in between them and sighed. 

"Don't make me cuff the two of you together. If I have to keep intervening, I may as well just knock both of you out and leave you to the chocobos."  

Ysayle flinched. "My apologies, Castor. Come, let us wait no further." 

With that, she turned away from the trio and began trekking north, with Castor trailing behind her. They all walked in silence, with Arya standing a little too close to Castor and electrifying the air around them with her spear's power.  

Before long, they came to a great opening in the cliffs surrounding Coerthas, and Castor could see the snow giving way to small vegetation struggling to grow in the harsh clime.  

"Dravania awaits, my friend," Ysayle said the word 'friend' hesitantly, looking at Castor to see if he minded.  

He nodded to her, smiling gently to ease her nerves. "Lead the way, friend."  

She smiled back, although another wary glance was sent Estinien's way, and then she strode into the cavern. It was cold, as always, and water dripped onto the stone earth from the craggy ceiling. Metal clanked against stone, chain mail clinking softly with every step, and Arya sighed after what felt like an eternity of walking. 

"What I wouldn't give to have an airship or Reaper right about now."  

Castor grinned at her. "Tired already, Tribunus? I'm disappointed."  

"As if. I just wish we could take a faster route," Arya shot back, her long golden braid trailing behind her. 

"Patience! We're nearly there!" Ysayle called, glancing back at Castor from over her shoulder.  

"So what are we going to face here?" Arya asked, and Castor snapped his attention back to Ysayle.  

"Wild, vicious chocobos, bandersnatch predators, some bears...and then there's the Gnath," Ysayle replied. 

Oh...great, another godsdamned Beast Tribe. Who wanted to bet that Castor would have to fight another Primal?  

"Another Beast Tribe?" Castor asked, Deathbringer heavy upon his back. 

"Yes. The Gnath had been keeping to themselves for a long time, but lately they've become more violent and territorial, expanding their reach in an attempt to take control of the Forelands from the dragons."  

"Oh, I think I know where this is going..." Castor muttered.  

Nobody replied, although the darkness of the tunnel began to yield to light and warmth. It grew brighter and brighter, until the party stepped out into a lush green forest. Massive trees rose into the sky, their vast canopies allowing beams of sunlight to filter through.  

Foreign insects chirped and buzzed through the long limbs, while all manner of  beasts stomped through the undergrowth, roars and cries piercing the humid air.  

"Welcome to Dravania, friend. Tailfeather is this way," Ysayle continued forward, breathing in the scents carried upon the warm winds.  

Castor sighed. "Would be better just to show me where the bloody Gnath are so I can get to work...No matter. Let's just get this over with."  

And why did he have the feeling he was going to become errand boy again?  

"Hey, someone's coming!" A soldier's shout made Severus jolt, looking up from the makeshift desk that was already laden with paperwork.  

The Tribunus rose, grateful for an excuse to ignore this stack of material listings and squad compositions, and dashed to the ramparts. Ceruleum engines hummed and whirred as power was pumped through the fortifications, Vangaurds stomping into defensive positions and whirring loudly.  

Sure enough, as Severus jumped onto the ramparts with half a dozen archers at his side, he could see a lone Serpent approaching the walls, a flag of truce billowing in the wind above their yellow coats.  

"I come in peace, soldiers of the XIVth!" The Serpent shouted as he got closer, warily eyeing the archers and cannon now being turned towards him. "I have great news for Castor Entialpoh! I must speak with him!"  

Severus sighed, raising his voice to be heard over the whining of magitek. "Oh, really now? Pray tell what this news is?"  

The Serpent hesitated, but then nodded after a moment of deliberation. "Her Grace, Nanamo Ul Namo, Sultana of Ul'dah, lives! Castor is to be absolved of all charges, and the Elder Seedseer begs his presence in Gridania!"  

Ha! Like anyone would be gullible enough to fall for such an obvious assassination ploy! 

"Absolved of his crimes, my left arse cheek!" A legionnaire shouted, earning a glare from Severus.  

The man cowed back, mumbling apologies as he fiddled with his sword.  

"As my subordinate stated, although perhaps in less vulgar terms: I highly doubt that the Sultana is miraculously alive!" Severus called to the Serpent, drawing his heavy gunblade and aiming it at the stunned Gridanian. "Now, unless you have orders to die fulfilling your little assassination plot, I suggest you get the hells out of my sight before I have my cannons blast you to pieces! The next man or woman to approach with such an insulting lie will be shot down on sight!"  

"I speak the truth!" The Serpent stepped forward, and Severus had to give the man credit for his dedication. "The Sultana lives! Truly! Castor kept her alive with his White Magic!"  

Crack! Severus pulled the trigger, the bullet splintering the flag of truce and sending the white cloth tumbling to the earth.  

"Keep talking, and my next shot will be between your eyes. Get out of my sight, unless you want to die today. For Castor's sake, I will not allow anyone to approach and slander his name or the name of the one he cared so much for," Severus intoned, resisting the urge to just put a bullet into the lying bastard.  

Legionnaires shouted assent and smashed their weapons against shields, several chanting Castor's name as the Serpent paled and fled, leaving what remained of his flag in the dust. Severus sighed and holstered his weapon, anger burning within his heart as he glared at the broken staff. 

"Do these vermin truly have no shame? To think that they would stoop so low just to get to Castor..." He growled, turning to the cannoneers. "The next Eorzean to approach the wall with a flag of truce will get one warning shot, and should they try to spout their lies, kill them."  

The legionnaires saluted, then went about cleaning their weapons and oiling them. 

Severus returned to his makeshift office, glaring at the papers on his desk. If only he could threaten to shoot those to make them flee into the forest...This was going to be a long day.  

Thancred swore under his breath as the Serpent that had lost his flag sprinted past his hiding spot, still pale from the shot that Tribunus had taken at him.  

"Gods damn it, they think this is a ploy to draw Castor out and kill him!" The Scion muttered, glaring at the black steel wall. 

His mind was still reeling from the revelation that Nanamo had been saved by Castor's hand, and the guilt of everything that he and Hoary had said the day before still stung his heart. Hoary wasn't much better, having had to be physically restrained to keep him from charging into Coerthas and throwing himself at Castor's feet.  

The legion had been tightening patrols in Boulder Downs after the soldiers had roughly thrown Thancred and Hoary back into Revenant's Toll, and Thancred had the feeling that the legionnaires had orders to kill if they encountered any of the Scions in Ishgardian territory.  

"Maybe if Yugiri spoke to them?" He wondered, but quickly shot the idea down. 

Yugiri was still being treated for her leg, having sustained several slashed tendons and muscles in addition to having her femur cracked by Laurentius' spear. She would recover, but it would take a long time unless Castor or Kan-E tended to the injury. And she would probably be crippled if nothing was done.  

That bastard got in one hell of a lucky shot, to say the least, although Thancred wasn't sure if he should murder the man or thank him for finally getting Yugiri to remove her veil. Gods above, the woman was gorgeous! Thancred's heart raced just thinking of her! 

Yet...why had Papalymo reported that Yugiri had been talking to herself as if Castor had been there in the room? Perhaps it had just been blood loss or pain making her a bit delirious?  

"What to do...what to do...I'll have to consult the Seedseer." 

The decision made, Thancred rose from his hiding spot and drew upon aetherial energy, drawing himself into the Lifestream and teleporting away.  

"I swear to the gods, if you two keep arguing, I'm going to stuff dragon gits into both of your mouths!" Castor snarled as Estinien once again accused Ysayle of peddling heretic falsehoods, this time concerning the damaged dragon statue known only as the Stained One. 

Ysayle stared at him in absolute horror, but shut her mouth. Estinien glared, tightening his grip on his lance, but remained silent.  

"Now, Marcechamp said that the Gnath are being quite aggressive lately, so I'm certain we can expect to run into no small number of the things out here," Castor turned his gaze over the Wastes, studying the tall trio of towers that pierced the sky to the west. "That's our destination, is it not?"  

"Y-yes. Anyx Trine, home to Hraesvelgr's brood," Ysayle spoke up hesitantly, glancing at the dead dragons strewn about the earth as if Castor still intended to rip off one's 'git' and stuff it into her throat.  

"Lead the way, then," Castor nodded to her, letting her know that she was safe.  

Estinien, on the other hand...if he kept acting like a child, he'd get some quality aevis 'git' in his throat.  

"Right. This way," Ysayle gestured at a worn, ancient cobblestone path that wove through the Wastes, guiding her allies onto it.  

"Were you really going to stuff dragon cocks into their throats?" Arya whispered to Castor, an amused grin on her lips.  

"Yes."  

"Glad I wasn't on that list," the Tribunus chuckled, although she kept her distance from the dragon corpses.  

A wise decision.  

Before long, Castor's keen ears picked up insectoid chittering, and he reached for Deathbringer right as a small group of strange beings surged towards the party. They were about the size of the Kobolds, with tough carapaces wrapped in red cloth and mandibles clicking as they shrieked.  

"Gnath!" Ysayle shouted.  

Castor strode towards the attackers, Deathbringer swooping towards the Beastmen. Steel met carapace, slashing right through the toughened material and cracking the bones underneath. The beasts screamed, their lances shattering against his armor, and one even raised a rifle of sorts and fired.  

The loud crack was indicative of a primitive sort of firearm, perhaps a flintlock?  

"They're ugly things, aren't they?" Arya commented as she wrenched Ragnarok from a beast's gut, raising her boot and smashing the carapace underfoot with a sickening crack.  

"To think that they'd be advancing so close to Dravanian territory..." Ysayle whispered, staring at the corpses a moment longer before turning her attention back to the towers. "Let's hurry!"  

"Agreed," Castor nodded, then raced after the woman as she took off down the path, metal stomping against stone with every stride.  

More Gnath burst from the undergrowth before long, but Castor sent a rippling line of dark orbs their way and tore their bodies apart. One unfortunate soul was immediately jumped upon by a great bear-like predator Ysayle had called a Miacid, screaming as it was dragged away.  

They were so weak...What would their god be? Would it be strong? Weak?  

The towers drew closer and closer through the sprawling, craggy landscape, and Castor spotted a massive earthen settlement towering in the south, greenish haze cruising about from the insectoid spires.  

"Lost ath Gnath: that's their hive," Ysayle pointed out, not giving the structure any further consideration.  

Well, at least Castor knew where he'd have to head next.  

A third party of beastmen set upon the group at Anyx Trine's base, but Castor had already discovered the weak and strong points in their armored chiton hides. He ducked under one's spear thrust and lopped off its arms at the shoulder, spraying ichor, then plunged Deathbringer into a chink in the armor just below the chin.  

The Gnath's head exploded in a shower of gore and armored shards as the massive sword pulverized it, Castor's keen instincts already alerting him to the beast aiming its gun at him. He raised his free hand and lobbed a bolt of dark magic at the beast, catching its rifle right as it fired. The weapon exploded in no small manner, sending its bearer pinwheeling through the air from the force of the blast.  

"I think that's the last of them," Arya reported, pulling Ragnarok from a blackened Gnath corpse that was still twitching as she walked away from it.  

"I hope so," Ysayle strode towards the ancient dragon towers' ruined gateway, Castor right behind her with Deathbringer being slung onto his back. 

The moment they entered the rubble-filled courtyard, Castor heard powerful wings from above and turned his gaze to the massive dragon descending towards them. 

"Vidofnir!" Ysayle called, the joy in her voice drawing a faint smile from Castor.  

The dragon slammed to the stone, curiosity in its pale eyes as it studied the newcomers. 

"Ah, Ysayle, child, twas good that thou had called out, lest I mistake thee for a Gnath," its voice was sonorous and warm despite its vicious appearance. "And who are these?"  

Castor stepped forward and bowed, keeping his hands away from his weapons. "My name is Castor Entialpoh, honored dragon. I have come with Ysayle to learn the truth behind the Dragonsong War and seek a way to end it."  

"Another one seeking knowledge? And yet...thou hast brought the Azure Dragoon to our midst," that unmistakable growl made Estinien reach for his lance, but Castor halted him with a raised hand.  

"We had no choice: to traverse into territory held by potentially hostile dragons, we had need of a skilled warrior such as him, but I promise you that we will not bring our blades to bear against the dragons of Anyx Trine unless otherwise provoked," Castor kept himself between dragon and dragoon, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I swear on my life that we come with peaceful intentions."  

Vidofnir stared at Castor, the ancient wisdom shining in its sharp eyes. "The power smoldering within thy body is...unnaturally potent for a mortal. I can sense some of Nidhogg within thee as well...what art thou, mortal?"  

"He is a chosen of Hydaelyn, such as I," Ysayle interjected. "We have come to see Hraesvelgr and to show Castor the truth behind Nidhogg's rage. Might we pass into Sohm Al?"  

Vidofnir turned its massive head back to the Elezen, and Castor swore he could see regret and fear in its eyes. "Full glad would I be to allow thee passage, but I cannot, not as long as the Gnath's god threatens my brood with its blades."  

Aaaaaaand there it was.  

Castor turned his back on the dragon, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the knots in his muscles as he strode back towards the gateway.  

"Where are you going, Castor?" Ysayle was immediately chasing him, grabbing his wrist.  

"To kill that Primal, where else?" Castor stopped, if only to keep the spikes on his armor from slicing into her flesh, then pulled free. 

"Thou seeketh to slay the Gnath's god?" Vidofnir blanched, staring at Castor with as dumbfounded an expression as a dragon could manage. "Art thou mad in the head?"  

Castor chuckled. "I've done far worse than this, believe me. I'll be back shortly, and that eikon will no longer be a threat to you."  

At least he knew what to do: wreak havoc in the Gnath hive, allow himself to be captured and taken before the eikon. Then, well, everything would die.  

He left Anyx Trine behind, the fetid stench of those odd pillars set up by the Gnath burning his nostrils as he strode over the Wastes.  

"Castor!" Ysayle grabbed his arm, although her strength was miniscule in comparison to his. 

He dragged her a foot or so before stopping, again attempting to ensure that the spikes on his vambraces didn't cut her.  

"What?" He glared at her, making the woman flinch before she composed herself.  

"I'm going with you. As strong as you are, you can't seriously expect to slay an unknown Primal alone," her words lacked real conviction, as she knew the folly behind them, but she still had every intention of accompanying him.  

Perhaps she would be useful.  

"Very well. Arya and Estinien will be fine here until we return," Castor gently pulled himself free and gave his companion a smile, if only to ease her nerves.  

"I trust Arya will keep that bloodthirsty dragoon from attacking Vidofnir's brood?" Ysayle spat out her name for Estinien, bitter anger in her eyes.  

"I wouldn't want to be Estinien should he attempt to cross spears with Arya," Castor chuckled. "We call her 'the Valkyrie' for a reason."  

The duo continued their journey in silence, not diverting from their path to the Gnath hive even when a massive, living tree attempted to flay Ysayle alive. With a mere gesture, Castor sent a rippling line of dark magicks into the monster, wood cracking and splinters flying in every direction from the violent impact.  

"So, the stories were true: you were part of the Empire," Ysayle finally spoke as they approached the towering earthen ramparts of Lost ath Gnath. 

Castor raised an eyebrow at the woman, insectoid clicking and chittering drawing his attention back to the ramparts as Gnath drones scuttled into defensive positions. 

"Intruders! Kill them! Offer their souls to Lord Ravana!" One cried, raising its firearm.  

Well, at least Castor knew the eikon's name now.  

Sharp cracks punctured the air, but Castor merely raised his hand, conjuring a wall of shadowy magic that the bullets pinged off of.  

"You have wonderful timing, Ysayle," he said drily, ignoring the incessant shrieks of bullets hitting his shield. 

The woman blanched. "My apologies...I saw the legionnaires in Coerthas and the wall you've erected, but I never knew that you were part of the XIVth legion."  

Castor conjured bolts of dark energy within his palm, then lobbed them towards the shrieking Gnath. Beasts crumpled, chiton flying in shards from the impacts as their bodies spasmed from the virulent wrath comprising each bolt.  

"Ask me again when we're done here," Castor reached up and, with a single, fluid motion, unsheathed Deathbringer.  

He delved into the darkness of his anger, the depths of his fury, and propelled himself up the rampart. Large spikes protruded from the hive walls, which he used for footholds as he scaled the rampart. 

Kill them all! Filthy beasts!  

"Yes...DIE!" Castor's heart sang as he leaped onto the top of the wall, Deathbringer already spinning towards spear-wielding Gnath drones. 

Bodies fell, spilling gore from mangled pieces, and Castor turned as his instincts warned him off opponents from behind.  

"For Lord Ravana!" Gnath flooded towards him, several firing rifles or flinging spells as they charged.  

Castor lazily encased himself with shadows and swept forward to slaughter his prey, Deathbringer living up to its gruesome name as black steel smashed through insectoid bodies with sickening ease.  

So weak...this would be no different from all the other Beastmen strongholds that Castor had left drenched in blood and covered with corpses. He waded through small huts and checkpoints, a being of pure death and destruction that no Gnath blade or gun or spell could touch, his blade shattering bodies left and right.  

"Castor! That's enough! Stop, please!" Ysayle was standing out of reach, her eyes wide with horror as she clasped her hands together. "That's enough!"  

He frowned, not wanting to stop in this glorious slaughter, not wanting to let a single beast escape alive. To kill...to destroy...this was his purpose!  

No... he was better than this. He had to remember the plan!  

Kill!  

KILL!  

"We surrender. Take us to your Lord," Castor sheathed his gore-stained sword, insectoid fluids caking his armor as he raised his arms.  

Gnath swarmed him and Ysayle, chittering with rage as they seized the duo.  

"Your souls will feed our conquest!" One snapped, two attempting to remove Deathbringer only to screech as dark energy zapped them.  

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you: Deathbringer doesn't take kindly to anyone but me holding it," Castor smirked.  

Snarling, the Gnath who'd spoken shoved him forward, or at least tried to. Castor chuckled, but allowed himself to be led by his 'captors'. He and Ysayle were taken through the foul-smelling caverns of the hive, until a cave filled to bursting with aetherial anomalies and bright crystals opened up before them.  

"Ravana! Lord of the Hive! Sacred Swordsman! Conqueror of the World! We beseech you!" A Gnath priest wielding a decorative staff chanted. "Come before us, and let us grace you with more souls to fuel your power!"  

The air shifted, power coalescing into a single entity that Castor was oh-so-familiar with by now. Earth and fire-aspected aether burst to life in the center of the cave, forming four massive curved swords brimming with power. The blades slammed into the earth, turned, and then began circling one another.  

A tornado of aether erupted from the blades, violent wind buffeting Castor and Ysayle as the storm grew in power, howling with joy and anticipation. Then it faded, a massive four-armed insectoid now towering over its followers.  The eikon bellowed triumphantly, twirling its four blades in a mighty flourish that sliced through the air with deadly grace.  

"I have come!" Its powerful voice resonated through the chamber, as did the aura of violence and power. 

"Lord Ravana!" The Gnath fell to what Castor assumed were their knees. "We have brought two souls to be absorbed!"  

As if. 

Castor reached back, about to draw Deathbringer and slaughter the insects when Ysayle stepped forward.  

"Nay, we come to challenge you!" Iceheart cried, her voice strong despite the desparity in her strength and Ravana's. 

"Do you, now?" The eikon chuckled boisterously. "A contest between warriors? And what shall thou wager?"  

"Our souls in your service, should you emerge the victor!" Ysayle shouted brazenly. 

"Interesting. And if you manage to defeat me?"  

A warrior god? With some semblance of honor, apparently.  

"Then you depart this world and cease threatening the dragons!" Ysayle stepped past the seething Gnath, her fingers tracing a crystal's length. 

Again, Ravana burst out laughing, its four swords again twirling about. 

"Such fire! Such will! Come, then! Let us cross blades in single combat!" 

Castor smiled to himself, finding this eikon quite amusing. Perhaps it would be more a challenge than Bismark, after all.  

Ysayle smiled at Castor, then held her arms out to the crystals. Aether poured into her body, and Castor swore to himself as ice encased the woman.  

"Oh, you can't be serious! Ysayle, don't!"  

Too late: Shiva burst from the cocoon in a shower of ice, elegantly twisting through the air with a smirk on her lips as she faced a blanching Ravana. 

"What is this? A goddess hiding within flesh?" The eikon laughed again. "No matter! Draw your blades!"  

Shiva conjured a sword and shield of ice into her hands, frigid winds filling the cavern as she drew upon the crystals scattered about. The Lady of Frost lunged at Ravana, her icy blade slamming against two of his own.  

The eikons pushed against one another, testing their strength, but Castor could already sense that Ravana was far superior. He had more aether, more power, more strength than Shiva had mustered. This would only end in one way.  

Ravana bellowed, his aura and voice echoing through the hive, and pushed Shiva back with a mighty shove. His four swords danced and slashed in patterns Castor paid close attention to, forcing the Lady of Frost onto the defensive. 

Shiva's shield shattered, and she skidded backwards. 

"This will not end yet!" The female eikon declared, opening her mouth and exhaling a blizzard onto her foe.  

Ravana strode forward, slowing as ice condensed upon his body and covered his russet chiton hide.  

"And scatter like dust in the wind..." Shiva gathered what power she could, preparing to unleash it, and then Ravana burst from his frigid cage, all four of his blades impaling the Lady of Frost.  

Castor flinched at the disgusting sound, at Shiva's agonized scream, then reached for his sword as Ravana threw Shiva from his blades. Ice shattered, and Ysayle once again took form, crumpled against the cavern wall.  

She was alive, thank the god currently standing in the room; he could see her chest rising and falling with pained breaths. 

"Hmm, that was disappointing, but you," he turned to Ravana, the eikon's burning eyes focusing on him, "thou art a warrior! Perhaps thy strength will surpass that of thy friend!"  

Castor smiled, the thrill of battle churning through his veins as he unsheathed Deathbringer and leveled it at the eikon.  

"Come! Let us hold our contest in a more fitting arena!" Ravana turned his back on Castor, gesturing with a glowing blade towards a massive doorway in the cavern wall.  

To think that Ravana hadn't even taken Shiva seriously enough to suggest such a change of venue...Had he known that she would be so weak compared to him?  

Castor could feel Ravana's joy for battle resonating from the eikon's body, fueling his own adrenaline rush and making his entire body tingle, yet he also sensed something else from the eikon: a warrior's soul, burning bright within that winged body. He would keep his word until the bitter end.  

He followed Ravana's mighty footfalls into a massive cavern presumably resting in the center of the hive, crossing over an earthen bridge to an arena that lay suspended over the depths of Lost ath Gnath.  

The bridge collapsed behind them, and Ravana turned back to Castor with a boisterous laugh, again brandishing his four blades.  

"And now, let us begin!" The Lord of the Hive declared. "Dance to the song of ringing steel!" 

Chapter Text

"I see," Kan-E sighed and leaned heavily on her staff, the weight of Thancred's words dead upon her shoulders. "So, the Legion is refusing to believe us, and threatening our messengers with death should we attempt more forays."  

"Yes. One of the new Tribunes took a shot at the messenger we'd sent and clipped his flag as a warning."  

"Damn it...what are we going to do now?" One of the Keepers murmured.  

"I don't know," Thancred sighed. "Our side of the Coerthan border is likely just as heavily guarded, especially after...Hoary and I attacked Castor."  

Kan-E stared at the great leaf pad that served as the Lotus Stand's floor, trying and failing to come up with any stratagem that would allow her to be reunited with her friend. Even now, when she was supposed to be the strong, dignified leader, she was failing. 

Her heart deflated within her chest, and another sigh escaped her lips.  

"How fares Yugiri?" Thancred changed the subject, and Kan-E looked up at him with no small amount of gratitude.  

"She's sleeping, but the conjurers looking over her have told me that she's been talking as she dreams," Kan-E fiddled with her staff, caressing the smooth wood with her fingers. "She keeps talking to or about Castor, begging him not to fight alone. I don't know what she's dreaming of, but the poor woman's been quite restless for some time now."  

"Would you mind if I dropped in to check on her?" Thancred frowned thoughtfully. 

"Not at all. Thank you, Thancred," Kan-E bowed to him and then turned back to the duties demanding her attention, dismissing him.  

Thancred strode out of the Lotus Stand, quickly working his way down to the Conjurer's Guild. Hushed silence filled the tree hollow, as it always did, but Thancred could already hear Yugiri's soft voice as he approached the ward where the Doman was resting.  

"Master Thancred," a tall conjurer bowed his head in respect, although his eyes never left his charge as she twisted and turned upon her cot.  

"Castor...get away from it...please," Yugiri murmured, her doll-like face twisted with worry and pain. "You don't...have to fight it." 

"She's been like this for the past ten minutes," the conjurer whispered. "The aetherial energies around her are...strange. Like earth and fire coalesced into a violent manifestation of war, one that the Elementals want nothing to do with."  

As if on cue, a crackle of fiery orange aether rippled through the air around Yugiri, and Thancred winced as she writhed.  

"No... stop fighting, please. Castor!"  

The conjurer grabbed Yugiri's arm as the woman, eyes still closed, tried to lash out at whatever she was seeing. Thancred quickly added his own strength to the hold, grunting at Yugiri's strength as she fought against both men.  

"Hey! Someone get over here!" Thancred shouted, glad to see that several other conjurers had dropped what they were doing-some quite literally-and were rushing over.  

"What is she seeing?" His companion grunted, face slick with sweat as he struggled against Yugiri.  

"An excellent question," Thancred muttered.  

Castor...what the hells are you fighting this time?  

Castor roared as he skidded backwards on the arena, Deathbringer spinning in his grip as the Soul of the Dark Knight seized his arms and willed him to move. The black blade smashed aside two of Ravana's own, and Castor swore as yet another one of those glowing butterflies morphed into a massive burning greatsword.  

"Prepare thyself!" Ravana bellowed, plunging his four scimitars into the hive floor.  

Aether seized Castor and lifted him into the air, Ravana leaping towards one of the glowing blades and grabbing it. The eikon, levitating in the air upon his own power, lunged at Castor with his new blade, but Castor gathered his strength and met the strike with Deathbringer.  

The impact would have likely sent him spiraling from the arena had he not been in Ravana's power, but Castor didn't pause to appreciate his luck as Ravana, dashing past him from his attack, grabbed a second blade and lunged. Five more times this process was repeated, with Castor's body screaming in pain with every violent impact, until Ravana rose from the floor with a greatsword in two of his hands on both sides. 

"Rejoice in the glory of combat!" Aether poured into Ravana, flaring with violence and power as the eikon slammed his swords together by the hilt and spun them about like a quarterstaff, power flaring from every graceful movement.  

Castor drew upon his strength, the strength that had gotten him past many eikons, and once again brought Deathbringer to bear against his foe. Mighty blades clashed, shaking the air and the entire hive as aether exploded around them.  

A wall of pure power slammed into Deathbringer, sending shockwaves up Castor's arms, but he pushed back, roaring with pure anger and hatred. Ravana skidded backwards, the aetherial pressure in the air fading as the vestiges of the eikon's built up power dissipated.  

"Unyielding as the earth!" Ravana bellowed with pure joy, unaware of just how well that statement fit Castor. 

Castor chuckled, drawing upon the power within him, drawing upon Titan's willpower and Garuda's rage, pushing his screaming muscles to stand.  

"I'll show you the power of the earth," Castor smiled to himself, power rippling through his body, and lunged at Ravana.  

"Bleed!" The eikon swept both greatswords forward, spewing violent aether in its wake.  

Steel clashed and screamed as man and eikon pressed against one another, Castor bashing one of Ravana's two blades aside and slamming the edged hilt into Ravana's torso. Chiton crunched, the eikon groaning in pain as ichor leaked from the hole left behind.  

Such violence...such power! Ravana's form shimmered, obscuring with aether, and when he reformed, he once again carried a scimitar in each of his four appendages. Two blades swept forward with blinding speed, but Castor's enhanced, battle-tested senses alerted him to their trajectory.  

Deathbringer moved with speed only Castor could muster, gathering his power and sweeping the massive blade forward with all the strength he could put behind it.  

Ravana's blades shattered, the eikon bellowing with surprise and stepping back to recollect himself. 

Ha...as if that will save you.  

"Die!" Castor screamed, abandoning all pretense of a collected warrior and lunging at his enemy. 

As Ravana neared, attempting to bring his remaining blades around to protect himself, Castor condensed dark power into his left hand and unleashed it into the hole he'd made with his sword's hilt. The eikon's life force erupted as his torso exploded into shards of chiton and bone, and the Lord of the Hive fell to his knees. 

"Well done, child of man. I lay my blades at thy feet," Ravana collapsed, dissipating fully into bright aether.  

Castor reached out with his hand, calling upon the aether, and drew Ravana's essence into his palm. He pulled the eikon into his soul, forced him into the corner that he ensconced the rest into, and sealed him away within a fiery orange crystal.  

To his surprise, Ravana's will yielded quite happily to him, the eikon not putting up nearly as much a fight as Garuda, Ifrit, Titan, and the others had. Garuda had been the worst, followed by Titan, but Castor had managed to quell them in time.  

"Child of man...thy strength is commendable!" Ravana's powerful, booming voice entered Castor's mind. "Never have I ever thought I would meet one such as thee. Pray allow mine strength to serve thee well in thy future conquests, mighty warrior!"  

Then the Lord of the Hive went dormant within his crystalline chamber, his power rippling through Castor's veins on its own accord. Castor inhaled deeply as aether coursed through him, his wounds and aching muscles fading until he felt brand new.  

"Goodness...Full glad am I to be on the spectating side of your strength, rather than the receiving end," Ysayle limped over to Castor, and he realized that the bridge had been rebuilt. "Oh, don't look at me like that: I'm fine, just a little sore."  

"Are you sure? Ravana gave you quite a thrashing," Castor strode over to Ysayle, slinging Deathbringer upon his back, and then crouched to scoop the injured Elezen into his arms.  

"C-Castor?! Put me down!" Ysayle yelped, her pale cheeks flushed red. "I can walk on my own, thank you!"  

"You're not fooling me," Castor ignored her and strode over the bridge, ignoring, too, the Gnath that were staring at him. "You could barely stand, let alone walk all the way back to Anyx Trine."  

"B-but...I-" Ysayle groaned and muttered something along the lines of: 'I'd much prefer being your enemy again.' 

"That can be arranged, but I don't fight injured women who can't even stand on their own. Let's get back to Anyx Trine and get you fixed up, then we'll see about being enemies again."  

Iceheart sighed. "Thank you, Castor. I'm glad that...we're allies, if only temporarily." 

"As am I. We Chosen have to stick together, do we not?" Castor smiled down at the tall woman in his arms, quite amused to see that she was blushing like a young girl still. "Of course, the fact that I owe you doesn't hurt."  

"You...owe me? In what way?"  

"We got off on the wrong foot, I'd like to think. Now that I understand that you're just trying to bring about peace, I'm guilty of not only threatening you and attacking you, but also of possibly prolonging this damn war," Castor conjured up a wall of shadows around the two of them, willing his hate to expand and ripple wildly in its scarlet aura as Gnath drones chittered nervously around the hive.  

Ysayle said nothing, her long hair trailing below her where it wasn't bunched together by Castor's arms.  

He walked in silence, the warmth of the Elezen in his arms sinking into his bones and his chest. The Gnath continued avoiding them, although none of the beasts threatened them or hissed at the duo as they passed, which was surprising. He'd expected them to attack, screaming for revenge, but the beasts seemed almost docile.  

"Why aren't they attacking us?" Ysayle finally spoke up as Castor approached the earthen ramparts, her head resting against Castor's chest. 

"Ravana was the heart and soul of the colony. Without him keeping tabs on the hive mind guiding each drone, they've reverted to more primitive, instinct-driven creatures. And that instinct is telling them to stay the hells away from us," Castor listened to Ravana's explanation, glanced over his shoulder at the drones staring at him. "And apparently they can sense that I now carry Ravana's soul inside of me."  

"What makes you say that?" 

Castor raised an eyebrow and then turned so she could see. The Gnath were now kneeling, chittering softly about their Lord's new fleshy form.   

"Um...okay?" Ysayle stared up at Castor, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her pale lips. "Shall we depart, O' Lord of the Hive?"  

"Sure thing, O' Lady of Frost," Castor smirked and continued down the hive walls. "Or should I say Lady of the Hive? I seem to remember you taking the fight to Ravana before I even could, so I'd say you earned the title as well."  

"Oh? Wouldn't that make me your wife, then?" Ysayle teased, poking Castor's chest.  

"I suppose it does," Castor chuckled, eliciting a laugh from the pale woman in his arms.  

"Is this our honeymoon, then? Is that why you're sweeping me off my feet?" She kept giggling as she spoke, the mischief in her voice contrasting sharply with the cold, calculating woman she often carried herself as.  

"Yes. I'm taking you to a special place to consummate our new marriage," Castor snorted, staring straight ahead as heat flushed his cheeks at the bold statement. 

"Do be gentle, will you? I'm still a maiden," Iceheart sighed dramatically, resting her head upon his chest. "Although it doesn't sound too terrible to be made an honest woman by the Warrior of Light."  

"A rather common opinion, sadly," Castor said drily, remembering all the women who'd tried to get him to bed them over the years.  

"Oh? And have you humored any of them?"  

"Not in a long time," Castor muttered. "Not since Cartenaeu."  

"Heh, I never pictured you to be the type to share his bed with random women."  

"I had no other choice; it was either I yield my dignity and honor or I yield my life," Castor shook his head to dispel the unpleasant memories and grinned down at Ysayle. "This, on the other hand, is more than welcome."  

The woman's blush intensified and she diverted her gaze, cursing him under her breath. He chuckled and shifted his hold on her, making certain that she would be comfortable as he strode over the Wastes.  

"Thank you, Castor," Ysayle spoke up after several minutes of silence. "For trusting me and for coming with me."  

"You chose to trust me by inviting me on this expedition, and I would honor you by reciprocating that trust. Besides, I need to end this war quickly, and your knowledge and connections with the dragons will enable me to do so with minimal bloodshed," Castor looked down at her, surprised to see a genuine smile on her pale lips.  

"Thank you, Castor, for everything. I just know that we can build a peaceful future for man and dragons, together."  

He smiled back at her, looking up at the sky as the sun crept closer towards the horizon. "It's late. I hope that Arya has kept Estinien under control." 

"Well, Anyx Trine isn't on fire and I'm not hearing angry dragons, so I think it's safe to say that your friend has done well," Ysayle chuckled.  

"You have a point. So, shall we continue forward and open the way for a peaceful future, together?" Castor partially repeated her words, if only to give her a taste of her own medicine. 

He glanced down to see her raising an eyebrow at him.  

"I swear to the gods, if you actually confess your love to me and propose..."  

Castor gave her a wicked smile, showing his razor-sharp canines. "Now, now, who's the one talking about love here? I'm merely asking you if you'll work with me to put an end to this war, Iceheart."  

She slumped in defeat, once again cursing him under her breath.  

"Damn it, to think I'd hoped to outwit you because of this embarrassing position..."  

"You tried," Castor said cheerily, bracing himself for the madness to come as he strode into Anyx Trine's courtyard. 

"Oh, they're back!" Arya was standing next to a resting Vidofnir, Ragnarok resting point-first in the stony ground. "Uh, care to explain that?"  

"Lady Shiva here tried to challenge the eikon alone and got her rear handed to her for her troubles," Castor proudly held up his now-struggling captive, shooting her a victorious smirk. "Needless to say, I had to carry her back due to her lack of strength from the beating she was given."  

"Where's Estinien?" Ysayle snapped, her slender fingers clutching Castor's wrists with the strength to snap a minor man's wrist. 

Arya gestured lazily over her shoulder. "Oh, he was being a fool, so I strung him up over there."  

Castor followed her gesture and immediately stifled a howl of laughter.  

"Those spikes are good for something, huh?" Arya said proudly, turning to where she'd stuck the Azure Dragoon on a wooden post by the many spikes lining the back of his armor. 

"Indeed," Ysayle snickered. 

Castor reached out to his fellow Azure Dragoon through the connection shared by the Eye, not surprised to sense that Estinien had been shocked to unconsciousness by Ragnarok.  

"Child...art thou well?" Vidofnir had lifted her impressive bulk from the floor and lumbered over, her long neck craning over Ysayle. "Didst thou truly attempt to contest the Gnath's god?"  

Ysayle nodded from within Castor's hold. "I did, and I am ashamed to say that he defeated me with extreme ease. Castor, on the other hand, dealt with the Lord of the Hive quite handily. Ravana will not threaten your brood any longer, nor will the Gnath."  

The dragon blanched, staring at Castor. "Aye," she murmured, "I can sense the god's soul within thee. Thou art truly a warrior amongst warriors, child of man. I thank thee for freeing us of this threat, and I will be more than glad to open the way to my father."  

Castor bowed as best as he could with Ysayle still in his arms. "You have my thanks, good Vidofnir. I will do my utmost to give Hraesvelgr the respect he deserves when I arrive."  

"That would be wise, mortal. Ysayle might be with thee, yet caution would be prudent. The path is perilous, guarded by Nidhogg's jealous brood and consort. Sohm Al will test thy limits, but I have faith in thee."  

Castor nodded. "I will collect our...friend and be on our way."  

"So be it," Vidofnir looked at Ysayle. "Pray allow me to look to thine injuries, child. We can't have the Warrior carrying thee the entire journey."  

The dragon crouched, offering her wide back to Castor. With surprising reluctance, Castor set Ysayle onto the spines with as much care as he could muster.  

"We shall return shortly, son of man," Vidofnir lumbered off into the tower itself, leaving Castor alone with Arya and the still knocked out Estinien. 

"So, how was the eikon?" Arya asked, her shameless grin lifting Castor's spirits further.  

"Surprisingly honorable and quite fun to fight," Castor nodded to Estinien. "We should probably get him down. What'd he do to warrant such punishment, anyway?"  

"He was sniffing around the younglings and the eggs with the purpose of discovering weaknesses in the dragons at a tender age. Needless to say: the mothers didn't take too kindly to this, and Estinien threatened them with his lance before I knocked him out."  

"Well done," Castor chuckled, approaching the Azure Dragoon and wrenching him from the stonework with a metal screech.  

He slung the man over his shoulder with a grunt and nodded to Arya. "Shall we be on our way?" 

"Let's." 

Alphinaud's head pounded as he strode towards the Royal Promenade; the headache had begun hours before and had yet to abate. It made his vision swim a bit, but he was loathe to inconvenience a healer when there were others who needed such attention first.  

"Ah, Master Alphinaud," a paladin was standing by the balcony leading up to the meeting room, and Alphinaud could see palace staff in colorful uniforms scurrying about in the Promenade, attempting to clean up the bloodbath that had occurred. "Might I direct you to the sultana's chambers? They're expecting you there." 

"I know the way, thank you. I don't want to get in your way," he bowed, smiled, and then proceeded past the Promenade towards Nanamo's chambers.  

He could still smell the blood. 

Before long, he could hear multiple voices cruising down the corridors, and Alphinaud approached the doors to Nanamo's room just as he heard the woman's now impressively strong voice shout: "You did WHAT?!" 

Alphinaud flinched, uncertainty and fear spiking into his mind. He shook his head, cursed his hesitance, and reached out to knock on the door. 

"I can't believe this! You blamed Castor, of all people?!" The Sultana shrieked, her child-like voice raised in the only time he'd ever heard her scream. "What possessed you to do something so foolish?!" 

Alphinaud took an undesired step back, cursed himself again, then reached out to knock.  

Then the door was pulled open, Y'shtola giving him a coy smirk as she ushered him silently into the room. Alphinaud's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he was glad for her discretion as he slipped in with Minfilia and Urianger.  

Nanamo was sitting up on her bedsheets, her emerald eyes bright and blazing with rage and disbelief. "Where is he?! Where is Castor?!" 

"Ishgard, Your Grace," Raubahn mumbled, shame making his voice thick and heavy. "The...the XIVth Legion has declared their allegiance to Castor and moved into Coerthas at the See's behest and fortified their border with Gridania." 

Nanamo's eyes widened. "Imperials are standing by Castor while we are the ones being kept away from him?!"  

"I know...It's not been our finest hour," Alphinaud stepped forward. "I cannot claim that I was clearheaded in all of this, but we have to get to Castor. Adeledji's in custody, and Lolorito should soon follow. I don't know what Castor's doing in Ishgard at the moment, but we cannot give up!"  

Nanamo attempted to rise, but an attendant gently held her down. "Milady, please! You need to rest!"  

"I'll go to Ishgard myself if I have to!" Nanamo cried, feebly struggling against her attendant and sighing in defeat after a moment of failing.  

"Rest, milady. We will work on Lolorito and Adeledji and on getting word to Castor," Alphinaud bowed.  

Nanamo sighed. "Okay...but the moment I'm feeling better, I'm going to Ishgard. The legion can hardly say 'no' to the Sultana of Ul'dah!"  

"The Tribunus might just put a bullet in you for your troubles," Jenlyns warned. "He fired on Gridania's messenger earlier in the day and threatened following messengers with death."  

"Damn hells," Merlwyb's representative-as the Admiral herself had to return to Limsa-swore. "Admiral's not going to be happy to hear of this."  

"Why is that?" Y'shtola frowned, crossing her arms upon her chest.  

"The Sahagin have been getting pretty testy lately, even after Castor turned their spawning grounds into a mass grave some months back. She was hoping for his support should they attempt to summon Leviathan again."  

"Didn't Castor take all their crystals and give them a clear warning of what would happen should they even think of summoning their god again?" Minfilia spoke up, worry on her face.  

Alphinaud fought the urge to vomit as the foul memories returned: Castor striding into the Rising Stones, covered from head to toe in Sahagin blood and gore, pulling sack after sack laden with heavy crystals from that odd interdimensional storage space he'd managed to create. The smell still haunted Alphinaud sometimes, and he couldn't even look at fish nowadays without feeling queasy.  

"He did, but the fishbacks are resilient. And stubborn."  

Nanamo sighed, leaning back upon her plush covers. "What has the world come to? Imperials are standing by the Warrior of Light while we, his rightful allies, are seen as his enemies...And it is all my fault."  

"Your Grace!" Raubahn stammered. 

"Silence, Raubahn! You know it is true. I know the lengths some of the Monetarists will go to in order to preserve what power they have left, and I should have seen an assassination attempt in the works," the small Sultana stared at the ceiling, slowly shaking her head. "Adeledji and Lolorito together...to think I was so blind."  

Alphinaud stepped forward to speak, to reassure Nanamo that this wasn't her fault, but a gentle hand took ahold of his shoulder. 

"Let's leave her be so she can rest," Minfilia murmured, worry and shame in her eyes.  

Urianger was the first to bow and depart, his somber silence unnerving as the man disappeared without a word. The Scions softly said their farewells before following suit, their footfalls echoing down the corridors as they strode away from Nanamo's chambers.  

"What do we do now?" Alphinaud wondered aloud, all the scenarios he could think of ending in ways that would change the world for the worse.  

"I don't know. All we can do is wait and hope," Minfilia answered. "And pray that Castor will return to us." 

But what kind of man would be coming back? Would Castor return with an outstretched hand, or a blade? 

Chapter Text

"Oh, by the Fury, you must be joking!" Haurchefant stared at Rihtatyn, his jaw agape in awe and shock. "Castor literally dove into a burning wreckage that was about to explode just to save the men piloting the Reaper?" 

"Yes, he did. The man had to be nearly chained to his infirmary bed to keep him from getting up and working while recovering from the worst burns we as a legion have ever seen," the legatus rumbled. "He was so bloody stubborn and thick-headed back then, a trait that I see he has not relinquished after all this time." 

Haurchefant sighed. "Tell me about it."  

"My lord?" Severus strode into the office, metal clanking as he sharply saluted his commander. "I apologize for interrupting." 

"You are forgiven. What have you to report?"  

"The Eorzeans just approached the border defenses under the guise of a flag of truce, spouting lies about the Sultana's miraculous recovery," the Tribunus spat, the contempt in his voice drawing a shiver up Haurchefant's spine. "They wanted Castor, of course, but we drove them off with a warning."  

Rihtatyn said nothing, staring at the table in contemplative silence. 

"Are the rest of the Alliance truly so depraved?" Haurchefant muttered, slumping over and rubbing his weary eyes. "To think that they are so desperate to get to Castor that they'd lie about something so...personal."  

"Has he been told of this yet?" Rihtatyn asked. 

"No, my lord. We haven't had any communications with him since his departure," Severus replied.  

Haurchefant studied the two imperials, lingering on the legatus as he nodded his great head.  

"I see. When the time comes, we shall let him know and, after this mess has been cleaned up, we shall stand at his side in dealing with the Eorzean Alliance. In the meantime...I do have a gift of sorts to impart to him, something that Lord van Baelsar had been experimenting with in anticipation of another meeting with Castor." 

Haurchefant raised an eyebrow. "Van Baelsar was hoping he'd meet Castor again?"  

"Yes. As long as the legion remained in Eorzea, a reunion with Castor was all but certain, so all we had to do was wait. Granted, I don't think any of us anticipated him becoming the Warrior of Light and drawing his blade upon us, but we knew we'd find him somewhere. When he emerged as our enemy...Well, I never imagined it would lead to this," Severus nodded at Rihtatyn's words, and Haurchefant saw the Tribunus rub his arm as if massaging an old wound. 

"Aye. He handed me my arse back during Operation Archon," Severus muttered. "I was a fool to think I could stand against the man who'd effortlessly destroyed a Colossus and several Vanguards at once." 

"Did he fight Arya as well?" Haurchefant asked.  

"Yes. During his attack on Cape Westwind, Arya was one of the soldiers who'd gone to escort me," Rihtatyn nodded. "She had volunteered to stand guard outside the castrum walls and was the first to meet with Castor. He knocked her out with a single blow and then fought his way to me."  

"He fought many of his former comrades and friends during Operation Archon, and no doubt he saved the lives of everyone he came across by sparing them. The others weren't nearly as lucky: after the Sylphs and Twin Adder attacked Castrum Oriens and decimated the garrison, the 12th Legion moved in to the wall and forced the rest of our troops out of the fortifications," Severus sighed.  

"12th Legion?" Haurchefant frowned. "I thought all of the Eorzean castra were manned by your troops."  

"After we moved from Gyr Abania into these lands, Zenos yae Galvus and his legion were brought in to replace us," Rihtatyn rose, his great bulk shifting as his legs once again bore the considerable weight of his armor. "His Radiance couldn't have been happy with that: having to send his own son to replace van Baelsar after our lord defied his orders to remain in Ala Mhigo."  

Haurchefant nodded slowly, another question rising in his mind: "You said that Castor had taken part in the occupation of Gyr Abania when van Baelsar was reigning viceroy?" 

"Yes. We were tasked with keeping to peace, so to speak, or oppressing the locals in order to keep ourselves from being shipped elsewhere and having a crueler force, like Zenos', brought it. We were cruel, but far more merciful than that monster will ever be," Severus stared at his sword, and Haurchefant found himself wondering just what terrible things the man had been forced to do.  

The terrible things Castor had been forced to do. 

"The shame of our crimes will haunt me forever," Rihtatyn murmured. "But Lord van Baelsar always said that those cruelties will allow us to pave the way to true peace, one governed by the strong guiding and protecting the weak. That is what the Empire should be; not the tyranny that it has devolved into."  

"I'll return to my post, my lords," Severus saluted once again, then ducked out of the door. 

"I should return to Castrum Meridianum as well," Rihtatyn raised his hand and tapped his communicator. "Max, I am returning. Bring out Castor's portfolio as well as the legion registers. It's high time I made an adjustment to them."  

"Yes, my lord!" Came the reply, then the comm disconnected. 

The legatus bowed to Haurchefant. "Good day to you, Haurchefant. It's been quite the pleasure swapping stories with you."  

Haurchefant grinned and rose from his desk to return the bow. "I feel the same. It appears both of us will have to keep an eye on our mutual maniac, eh?"  

"I would have it no other way."  

" Nidhogg , my beloved...avenge me."  

Nidhogg's roar shook the Aery to its very core, his brood starting and staring up at their father's perch with fear in each one's heart.  

"Darkscale! Attend me!" The great black wyrm bellowed, a dragon with midnight scales lumbering forward in response. 

"Father...what is thy will?" Darkscale bowed his head in respect. "Am I to continue our assaults on Zenith?"  

"Nay, I have another quarry for thee," Nidhogg's golden eye burned with hatred and rage, pulsing with fell energies as he fixed his gaze on something far away. "The Warrior...we cannot allow him to grow any stronger." 

"You'd have me attack him?" Darkscale chuckled, his great body trembling with anticipation. 

"Not yet," Nidhogg rumbled, his great fangs bared in rage. "Thy strength pales in comparison to his as of now, and I would not send thee to thy death." 

"What dost thou have in mind, Father?"   

Nidhogg's chuckle reverberated through the nest, grating on the haphazard stones and energies. "The fool bears mine Eye...and remains ignorant of just how it links us," fell power resonated around the great wyrm, cold and cruel power rippling from his form. "My brood...my children...feast! Feast, and let us slake our thirst for vengeance upon the sons of man!"  

"Gods above, I cannot believe that you felled Nidhogg's consort so easily!" Ysayle murmured as the party emerged from Sohm Al's confining caverns and entered a cloud-kissed floating landscape not unlike the Sea of Clouds.  

Castor sighed, his tested muscles yearning for more action despite the slaughter that he'd participated in during the climb. "She was nothing compared to Bahamut, although I must say I'm impressed that Arya slew that massive tyrannosaur with just a spear to the eye." 

Arya laughed boisterously. "Like such a beast would be a match for Ragnarok!"  

"Ugh, and I thought I'd smelled all the terrible things that those damn dragons could conjure up," Estinien grumbled, still apparently not pleased that he'd awoken halfway through the trek to find himself slung over Castor's shoulder. "I can still see it twitching, too."  

"At least we saved some for you," Castor shrugged, his eyes being drawn to the craggy landscape hovering above the clouds. 

He could see a great statue rising far off to the northwest upon a floating island, hovering beside a massive spire that put anything Garlemald could build to shame. There were some ruins, and...an aetheryte?  

"Is that an aetheryte?" Castor stared at the hovering blue tower looming before him, the aether emanating from the structure immediately giving him his answer. "What the hells is an aetheryte doing here?"  

Then he saw the gate built into the wall at the side of the aetheryte, and the oh-so-damnably familiar white form cruising towards the aetheryte.  

"Ho! Moogle!" Castor already regretted speaking, but he had no other choice.  

The Moogle jolted, its oddly colored pom jittering as it looked at him.  

"O-oh no! I've been seen, kupo!" The moogle promptly flew into the gate.  

"W-what was that?" Ysayle stared after the creature's path, her cheeks oddly tinted red. "It was...oddly cute."  

Castor sighed and rolled his eyes. "Don't be fooled by their appearances: moogles are dastardly creatures. That being said..."  

He attuned to the aetheryte, feelings its energy aligning to his own, and sighed as the fresh aether surged into him. 

"Just leave the talking to me," Castor grunted and strode after the furry hellion, already preparing himself to become errand boy to a bunch of floating nuisances once again.  

He strode into the cavern that awaited, his eyes immediately being drawn to the white, fluffy objects floating upon leafy stalks on the walls. If those idiots thought they were being stealthy, they had another think coming.  

Castor strode up to a naturally raised stone dais that rose before the largest fluffy plant-moogle thing, sighing as he reached out with his senses and immediately detected the presences hiding within it.  

"I am not here to harm you, moogles of...wherever the hells this is." 

No answer.  

"My name is Castor Entialpoh, and I am no enemy to you."  

Then came a snicker, the plant shaking ever-so-slightly.  

"Castor?! What kind of ridiculous name is that, kupo?" A moogle's voice, albeit a bit deeper than the average furball's, snorted.  

Castor sighed as several other moogle voices groaned all around the room. "It's my ridiculous name. Now, I don't know how you're going to be any different than the moogles in the Twelveswood-"  

"You've met moogles on the surface, kupo?!" At that, the floof all over the cavern erupted into scores of moogles as they descended upon the cavern.  

The largest moogle wore a crown of sorts upon his furred head, lounging upon the flower he'd been hiding within as if it were his throne.  

"Yes, I have. Are any of you familiar with the story of King Moggle Mog the XIIth?" Castor immediately regretted asking as every moogle stared at him.  

"Of course, Cosmo! May his soul forever rest in peace, kupo! What do you know of it?" 

Castor ignored the slight and nodded to the largest moogle. "When the gods began fighting in the heavens, the good king held onto a rope that allowed his kindred to escape the carnage, sacrificing himself for his subjects, yes?"  

The moogle nodded. "Indeed, kupo! So you've met the moogles that our king-may his generous and selfless sacrifice never be forgotten! -saved? How are they?"  

"Not very different from you, I'd imagine, although their poms are a different color than yours."  

"I see! Could we meet one of those moogles, kupo?"  

"I can arrange that meeting, yes, but right now I must away to where Hraesvelgr rests," Castor bowed his head once again. "If I am to end this war, I must needs speak with him." 

The moogle froze, several others flinching in ways that made Castor bite down another sigh.  

"Okay, what's the issue?" He asked. 

"Well, we moogles are caretakers of Zenith, kupo! We can't just let anyone march up to the tower and call Hraesvelgr!" The large moogle shifted upon his throne. "No, there are trials to overcome to prove your worthiness, kupo!"  

Castor nodded, internally using every vulgar word he could think of as he resisted the urge to flatten every moogle in the vicinity. "If that is what must be done, then so be it."  

"Excellent, kupo! Now, my name is Moglin: a much more refined and wonderful name, unlike yours, and I am chief of the moogles of Moghome! Moghan! Get them started on the trials while we get to work on the ho-er, on preparing a fitting welcome!"  

Castor sighed.  

This was going to be one hell of an annoying ride, wouldn't it? 

"Okay, let's do this!" Severus shouted, his squadron of like-minded legionnaires shouting assent.  

Those savages thought that the legion was just going to idly sit by while they insulted Castor and smeared his name? Fools, the lot of them.  

"It's high time we pushed against the bastards!" A centurion growled. "They've been testing our defenses without reprisal for far too long, and now they have the nerve to smear Castor's name through the mud. Let's show these savages the might of the legion!"  

And we're running low on ceruleum, no matter how much we steal from the Eorzeans.  

Severus unsheathed his gunblade and strode to Meridianum's gates, the rage that had been boiling within his heart ever since he'd chased off that damned messenger now spilling into his veins.  

"Beat these fools into submission and drive them from the facility, but don't kill any of them. We are here to make an example of these savages, yes, but we must keep ourselves above their savagery," Severus stormed out the gates, his squadron marching at his side.  

Their crackows clacked against the rough stony earth with every step, the two centurions' armored sollerets clanking harshly in concert with Severus' own. He could hear the hum of machinery and smell the heavy stench of impure ceruleum in the air, the latter making his head swim a bit.  

As per their orders, the legionnaires moved in the shadows, sticking to the rocks and sweeping wide in order to avoid premature detection by the scouts the Flames fielded. They'd waited until the heavy grey clouds that always seemed to reside over this part of Thanalan had covered the land in twilight, forcing the sentries closer to the walls of the processing facility and to the fiery beacons giving them warmth.  

A rookie mistake. These Eorzeans had proved themselves to be warriors, time and time again, but they were not professional soldiers; they were not the legionnaires who'd endured years of intense physical and mental training to transform them into some of the finest soldiers the Empire has ever seen.  

True, the Eorzeans' Operation Archon had caught the legion off-guard, victories won only through sheer blind luck and perseverance, and because of Castor, but now the legion was ready.  

Severus quickly checked his troops' weapons, making certain each one was using the dulled training blades, found his worry unwarranted.  

"I want this quick and bloodless. For the legion. For Castor," Severus crept towards the first sentry, who was straining to see past the glare of firelight, not even giving the woman a chance to cry out as he smashed the pommel of his gunblade into her skull. The impact sent shockwaves up his arm as metal slammed into hardened leather, and the sentry's eyes rolled up into her skull. 

Severus glanced to the side, watched his legionnaires silently take down two more sentries. They looked to each other, nodding in affirmation, then crept towards the lone gate. Let the Eorzeans feel the pain of every single hell they believe in! 

With nary a sound, the legionnaires poured into the open gate, weapons readied, and Severus leveled his revolver at a stunned Flame officer within the encampment. His finger tugged on the trigger, and with a sharp crack that splintered the silence of the day, all hells broke loose.  

The officer tumbled backwards with a pained shout as the training bullet splattered red paint across his chest, and Severus admitted the small amount of satisfaction that crept into his senses. He'd been hit with those damn things many times before, and they always stung like hells. He almost pitied the fool.  

"We're under attack!" A man screamed just before the blunted head of a halberd came crashing down onto his skull.  

"Sound the alarm!"  swordsmen and Flames bearing cesti poured from the buildings, several looking as if they'd been roused from a midday nap to fight.  

How lazy are these fools? 

Black and scarlet clashed with black and gold, magitek lantern shields pulsing with energy with every blow they deflected. Metal clashed and screamed, followed shortly by the deep, sonorous note of a horn, but it was already a little too late for that.  

Cool, collected, and every bit the professional soldiers, the legionnaires heaved their weapons against their foes, bashing aside every challenger who dared get close. Severus spotted several archers scrambling for positions and unloaded his revolver onto them, the rounds sending the poor bastards spiraling into a pile of crates with a mighty crash.  

"Die, imperial whoreson!" A massive Roegadyn stomped towards Severus, his powerfully built body wielding a sword as long as the Tribunus' arm with the grace of a predator.  

Severus could see the man's well-defined muscles twitch as he prepared to swing, his blazing eyes already betraying the path his weapon would take. Severus ducked, the length of steel kissing his helmet, and slammed a gauntlet right into the Eorzean's jaw. Bone crunched, and the Roegadyn crumpled with a pained scream as tears of agony poured into his eyes.  

"Back, you savages! Back!" A centurion's mechanical voice blared, followed by the crack of a gunblade. 

Severus backed away from his opponent and took a moment to survey the carnage: the Flames that hadn't already been beaten into the ground were running for their lives while a few brave souls used their bucklers to shield their comrades from pursuing revolver fire. Dozens of groaning men and women lay upon the ground, their weapons being kicked away from them as the legionnaires swiftly scoured the area.  

"Anyone injured?" Severus shouted, rather belatedly, he realized, once he saw several soldiers already being treated by a Medicus.  

Of all the magic in the world that he'd seen, Severus had grown to love the healing arts the most, and those who took up the mantle of Medicus within the legion were, in his opinion, some of the bravest soldiers he'd ever had the honor of serving beside.  

"The facility is ours!" Severus bellowed, his legionnaires raising their voices in a cheer. "Get the Vangaurds up here and begin a push to the old mine. I don't want the savages setting up a base there!"  

"As for them...tie them up and take them to the fringes of Camp Bluefog," he jerked his thumb at the groaning Eorzeans lying upon the earth.  

Several unit leaders immediately began barking into their comms, calling for Vanguards among other reinforcements.  

Severus smiled underneath his helm, some small part of the heavy weight he bore lifting from his shoulders. 

"A minor taste of vengeance," he told the groaning Roegadyn at his feet. "For Castor."  

"Gods above, how many kupo nuts do you need?" Castor growled as he heaved yet another nut-laden sack into the moogles' storehouse. 

"Uh....uh," Moghan, his self-imposed supervisor, squirmed from where he hovered. 

"Moghan! Bring them back in!" Chief Moglin's voice echoed from Moghome, and Castor almost sighed with relief.  

Thank the gods, this nonsense is finally over.  

Moghan seemed all too happy to lead the way back into the flowery Moghome, and Castor raised an eyebrow at the sight of Estinien arguing with another moogle.  

"I've done enough, you fluffy parasite!" The Dragoon snapped. "Your stupid little errands are by no means a damn trial!"  

"Calm yourself, Estinien," Castor stepped closer lest he impale the trembling moogle, although he oft felt that selfsame desire, himself. "Our ridiculous trials are over."  

"Thank the Fury." 

"Ah, here you are!" Ysayle and Arya's footfalls reached Castor's ears, and he glanced up to see the duo approaching beside two other moogles. "I pray that was the last of these trials." 

"It is!" Moglin announced from his 'throne'. "You are indeed a friend to us in Moghome, kupo, despite your ridiculous and unrefined names! You've passed the trials, kupo!" 

"Now can we go have an audience with Hraesvelgr?" Castor waited for the last trick; the last laughable task these accursed fluffballs would cram down his throat before he finally got what he desired.  

So many godsdamned hoops to jump through...it was worse than serving the godsdamned Alliance at times. It made him almost miss being in imperial service.  

At least in the XIVth Legion, he'd had clear goals, clear authority when he'd earned it, and he wasn't doing mundane tasks just to prove himself (after a while, anyway. Earning that promotion to Pilus Prior had been the turning point of his imperial career, and a gods-send). And he'd earned respect from his peers, who, in turn, stood alongside him when he needed them the most. They'd happily cast aside his past, the boy he'd once been, and embraced him as one of their own.  

"Indeed, kupo! You'll need this horn to call upon him at Zenith!"  

Moghan flitted over, carrying a brass horn that had clearly been hastily polished, poorly cleaned, and flattened by a rather large object, if those dents were any indication of such harsh treatment.  

"We had to clean it up a bit, kupo, which is why we had you do those, uh, trials," Moglin mumbled, making every effort to not look at the poor horn. Then he muttered "And I think Moghan sat on it."  

The smaller moogle bristled after Castor took the pathetic, abused instrument from his tiny hands. "Hey, don't tell them that, kupo! And besides, it was you who sat on it, chief..."  

Castor narrowly kept himself from smirking at the last muttered comment, forced himself to bow to the plump chief. "Thank you, Chief Moglin, and thank you, Moghan. Now, let us be on our way."  

"Furry little shites," Estinien growled as he stormed out the cavern, and Castor sighed.  

"I hope the two of you fared better than I did with keeping my sanity," he commented to Ysayle and Arya as the women fell into step at his side.  

"They didn't really have me do anything," Ysayle was staring at the moogles, her cheeks tinted an adorable pink.  

"I spoke to the one named Mogret," Arya piped up, stretching her arms. "She told me how very important the tale of King Moggle Mog is and how the moogles entered an arrangement with Hraesvelgr. It was enlightening, to say the least." 

"Lucky you," Castor grumbled, stopping by the moogle's aetheryte as the fluttering of their tiny wings hurried after him.  

"Hey, wait up, kupo!" Moghan soared over, his pom bouncing wildly. "I'll escort you to Zenith!"  

Castor opened his mouth to refuse, but Ysayle clamped a hand over his lips and nodded to Moghan. 

"Your assistance would be most appreciated! Thank you, Moghan."  

"Woo! Follow me, kupo!"  

Castor glared at the smirking Ysayle as she removed her warm hand from his mouth, sorely tempted to kick Moghan over the edge as the moogle cruised past to take the lead. 

"You are going to pay for that," he growled. 

Iceheart laughed warmly, her grin never fading as she nodded after Moghan. "Let's go, Warrior of Light. We shouldn't waste any time!"  

Then she ran after Moghan, and Castor turned his eyes to Arya. 

"Please tell me you hate those moogles as much as I do," he pleaded, but her grin stripped his hope and left it dying on the stony, floating lands.  

"Oh, I'm liking Ysayle more and more," the Valkyrie laughed, her golden braid whipping behind her as she followed Iceheart's lead and raced ahead.  

"Gods strike me down," Castor groaned, turning his gaze to the slowly sinking sun before chasing his allies.  

The rocky terrain of the Churning Mists, as Moghan had so cheerfully named this special corner of the seven hells, blurred by as Castor's long stride devoured the distance betwixt him and his trio of odd adventurers. He had yet to explore very thoroughly, but he could see ancient crumbling ruins strewn about the vast, broken landscape almost everywhere he looked.  

And there, on the horizon, was the churning, dark storm of aetherial resonance that was the Aery, Nidhogg's nesting grounds. Even from here, Castor could see the lightning rippling within the storm, crackling amongst the fractured pillars of castle remains and large, shining crystals of dark colors. If he could just get there...he could end this war right then and there, but of course he couldn't fly, and Garuda's power was too unstable.  

Perhaps if he could summon Bismark's aura, mayhaps he could get the whale to launch him across the Sea of Clouds a second time?  

Right as Castor thought that, he could almost sense Haurchefant and Laniette cursing his name to the heavens. He smiled to himself, drawing warmth from the thought and letting it course through his veins.  

"Castor? Are you okay?" Ysayle's concerned voice drew his attention, and Castor belatedly realized that they'd just followed Moghan past a group of ruined towers that more Moogles flitted about within.  

"We're nearly there, kupo! Zenith's just up this hill at the end of this path!" 

Castor shrugged and continued his trek forward, loose stones from the eroded, once-majestic path shifting underneath his sabatons. He gazed at the warn stones, the broken arches that trees poked through, and found his thoughts returning to what Ysayle had told him at the Stained One.  

"Dragon and man lived together, once, in peace and harmony. This statue had been erected in honor of that bond, as had many other structures all throughout Dravania. We can make that past a reality in this future together, Castor."  

"Stop here, kupo!" Moghan ordered right at the foot at that beautiful tower's base, right beside a derelict old amphitheater of sorts. "Do you hear that?" 

"I can hear naught but the wind," Estinien growled, shooting a glare at the moogle. 

"Exactly, kupo," Moghan turned to his charges. "We can't call Hraesvelgr while the wind is so active. He won't hear the horn, kupo."  

Castor sighed. "So, we have to wait."  

 "Yup! Hopefully the wind will clear out by morning, kupo!"  

"Well, naught we can do but make ourselves comfortable for the upcoming night," Arya shrugged. "There's plenty of wood around for a fire."  

"I'll get it," Estinien was gone in an instant, leaping into the trees.  

"Well, that was fast," Ysayle said with a rather amused chuckle. "I suppose there's naught else to do but tidy up around here."  

Castor sighed. "I suppose."  

Yet...why was his gaze constantly being drawn back to the Aery, and why did this heavy weight of dread settle upon his shoulders? 

"Yes...it is ready," Nidhogg rumbled, joy and anticipation he had never felt before churning within his rage-fueled heart. "They art close...and mine Eye calls to me. Yes...FEED!"  

Fell energies ensconced the dragon, his cruel laughter echoing throughout the nest as aether poured into him. Aether that then flowed into Darkscale and his assembled lieutenants; aether that once gave the Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon their inhuman strength.  

"Go, my kindred! Go, and wreak havoc upon the sons of man!"  

Draconic roars shook the Aery, wings pounding the air as Darkscale and his escort took flight.  

Nidhogg's great body sagged, his strength leaving as his gift sapped his energy. At long last...vengeance would be his!  

"Castor! Estinien! What's happening?!" Ysayle yelped as both men bellowed in pain and crumpled from where they'd been sitting, Estinien's fire dimming just enough to enhance the fell aura rippling around them.  

"Nid...hogg," Estinien rasped, shakily rising to his feet. "Dragons...I sense...dragons."  

Castor was pale, far paler than Ysayle had ever seen him, but the Warrior still rose to his feet and unsheathed that massive blade on his back.  

"I sense them, too. This power...What the hells did Nidhogg do to us?" Even his voice was strained, far from the man who'd just been speaking of his past to Ysayle.  

To think that he'd endured so much in the service of Eorzea...she could scarce imagine how this man was keeping himself together.  

The auras faded, and Ysayle faintly heard a host of wingbeats on the wind.  

"Uh-oh, this is bad, kupo!" Moghan squirmed as his eyes and Castor's fixed upon something. "There's so many of them!"  

Ysayle followed their gaze, and her heart sank into her stomach. 

Massive dragons blotted out the evening light, wings pounding the air as they made a beeline for what could only be Zenith, and Ysayle's legs turned into jelly at the sight of each one's glowing scarlet eyes.  

"Run," Estinien ordered, mustering what strength he could and raising his lance. "Run, damn it! We'll hold them off!"  

"What?! Are you mad?" Ysayle spat, although the fear in her veins was making her jellied legs shake. "We're not going to run away!"  

"Arya, take her and go," Castor barked, glaring at the Garlean. "Those dragons...the two of you won't stand a chance against them."  

Silence, and Ysayle was about to silently thank the Valkyrie when metal-clad hands wrapped around her waist.  

"Put me down!" She shrieked, her horror only compounding as the Valkyrie ignored her and nodded to Castor, then slung Ysayle onto her shoulders.  

"Try to keep some of this place intact," she said. "And don't you dare let these dragons get the best of you."  

Armor dug into Ysayle's gut, making breathing a laborious, painful task, and Ysayle twisted to glare at Castor. And then she stopped.  

Castor was standing tall in the firelight, his eyes cool and focused as he gazed at the oncoming horde. Power rippled around him in scarlet waves, filling the air with an aura of menace and destruction. He smiled at her, the warmth and kindness she'd come to love never once leaving his expression.  

"I'll see you after this, okay?" The Warrior of Light reached into his pocket and withdrew the faded Crystal of Light from within, then tossed it to Ysayle.  

The cold, lifeless crystal would have smacked her in the face had her hands not instinctively shot up to catch it, its faded surface brightening ever-so-slightly at her touch.  

"Keep that safe for me, aye? Moghan, get them away from here."  

"Aye, aye, kupo! Follow me, scary lance lady!"  

"I'll ignore that remark for now..." Arya grumbled, Ysayle yelping as the woman sprinted forward and jostled her against her armor.  

"VENGEANCE!" The earth-shattering, earsplitting roar lanced Ysayle's ears, and she pushed herself up just in time to see the dragons descend.  

Estinien leaped high into the air, light flaring from his lance as he pounced onto a Skylord and drove his lance into its neck. The beast screeched in pain as its blood flashed in the dying light, its great body collapsing.  

Dark power exploded in a scarlet mass of swirling spikes, dragons screaming as their scaled bodies were shredded by fell magicks.  

"Come on, kupo! They won't follow us into the tower!" Moghan cried, and Arya's increased pace slammed Ysayle's chest into her back.  

"Take it easy!" Ysayle snapped, ignoring the pain now knifing through her torso and turning her gaze back to the carnage.  

More and more dragons were descending upon the two men, fell auras rippling as they lashed out with fangs and claws. Estinien was a small, dark figure leaping among those in the air, great reptilian bodies raining down every time his lance flashed.  

"Oh, by the gods," Ysayle whispered, horror trickling into her veins as a massive, black dragon dove towards the figure that could only be Castor.  

Then the man disappeared under a blanket of scales, claws, and writhing wings, the screams and roars of dragons now shaking the air.  

"Faster, kupo!"  

The gates of Zenith passed by, and Ysayle fought to free herself from Arya's clutches to no avail.  

"Up here!"  

"Ha!" Arya sprinted up a set of stairs, passing through a wide plaza, then skidded to a halt.  

Ysayle groaned as her head swam, narrowly avoiding Arya's crackling spear as the Tribunus finally crouched and released her.  

"Never do that again," she growled as cool stone met her back, although not harshly enough to draw pain. 

Arya grinned, but her hands immediately went to Ragnarok and pulled the magitek lance from her back.  

"It's okay, kupo! Nidhogg's brood are forbidden from entering Zenith!"  

An agonized shriek pierced the air, and Ysayle's eyes turned upwards just in time to see a wounded serpentine dragon spiraling towards Zenith. The beast slammed into the stones at the very edge of the plaza, shaking the entire structure, feebly thrashing once, twice, before falling still.  

"Well, forbidden when they're alive, anyway, kupo."  

Ysayle collected her nerves and sighed, pushing herself up to stand as she listened to the shrieks and roars outside, and then her gaze was ripped back to the dead dragon.  

"Oh gods," Arya swore.  

Jutting from the beast's skull was Castor's divine blade, Excalibur, coated from blade to hilt in bright red blood. 

"I have to help him," the Tribunus was about to charge out, but then the cacophony outside of Zenith's walls stopped.  

Ysayle wanted to believe that they'd won. Even as she and Arya sprinted back the way they'd come, dashing out of the gates into a hellscape of mangled dragon corpses and gore, she hoped-prayed-that she'd find Castor and maybe even Estinien standing tall over the slaughter, weary yet triumphant.  

"Vengeance...will be ours," a dying dragon croaked, earning Arya's lance in its throat for its last words.  

The path to the amphitheater was destroyed and blackened by dragonfire and lightning, covered in blood and dragon corpses that made the women's dash all the more frustrating, but still Ysayle forced herself forward.  

The Crystal was a thousand pounds in her hand, and Ysayle ignored how it dug into her flesh as she clutched it with all the strength she could muster.  

"Castor! Estinien!" Arya's voice broke the unnatural, eerie silence, the world itself seeming to hold its breath as the duo clambered over a headless dragon corpse.  

The Crystal shattered in Ysayle's hands, eliciting a yelp of pain as shrapnel speared her digits.  

No... Castor! 

"By the gods," Arya whispered, both of them stumbling to a halt at the horrific sight awaiting them.  

Estinien's small fire still burned, untouched in the carnage that now filled the amphitheater; the piles of dragon corpses and detached limbs that covered every conceivable space within.  

The massive black dragon that Ysayle had last seen diving towards Castor filled up most of the ruins, hacked to titanic pieces by the Warrior of Light's Deathbringer. The horned head lay nearby, still grinning through bloodstained fangs. Said Deathbringer was rising from another carcass, its black blade silent and dimmed.  

Ysayle's legs lurched forward of their own volition, driving her jellied muscles forward just a few steps before she fell to her knees.  

"No..."  

Lying in shredded, gory pieces in the very center of the carnage, his body ripped into almost unrecognizable pulp, was Castor Entialpoh.  

"He's...he's dead," Arya croaked, Ragnarok clattering to the bloodstained floor.  

The Warrior of Light, Ishgard's last hope for a peaceful future with the dragons, was dead. 

Chapter Text

"She's not breathing!" The conjurer's shout roused Thancred from where he'd been resting in the Guild. "Get over here, quick!"  

"On it!"  

"What...What's going on?" Thancred pushed himself up from the chair he'd sat in, his stiff muscles protesting mightily at the effort.  

Several conjurers were clustered around Yugiri's bed, wind-aspected aether pouring into the still woman's nostrils. A couple were chanting, drawing upon the power of the elementals to force air into Yugiri's lungs.  

"What's going on?" Thancred mustered his strength, forced his muscles to obey, strode over to the Doman's bedside as best as the scurrying conjurers allowed. 

"We don't know! She just stopped breathing!" One flustered woman cried, currently pressing on Yugiri's chest with both hands in an attempt to stimulate the woman's lungs.  

"She's not responding!"  

"Damn it! What's going on?!"  

The doors to the guild were flung open, all eyes flying to the interloper as white robes billowed.  

"Let me see her!" Kan-E Senna shouted, her face pale as she strode over. 

"Milady, what's going on?!" Her confused Keepers scrambled after her, trying time and time again to get their liege to pause, only to fail.  

"Something's happening with Castor," Kan-E's beautiful features were slick with sweat as she strode over to Yugiri. Reaching out and grabbing her hand. "Something that's affecting the bond between these two."  

"Bond?" Thancred frowned.  

"Yes," white magic poured into Yugiri's body, and she spasmed. "During their time together, Castor and Yugiri formed an especially close bond with one another, their mutual affection and respect for one another coalescing into an aetherial link. They can sense what the other feels, if the sensation is powerful enough, and can often communicate emotions through the link as well."  

"What Castor feels, Yugiri feels, and vice versa," Thancred swore, stepping closer. "What can I do?"  

"Nothing, as of yet," Kan-E's pale face suggested that she, too, held some similar bond with Castor, especially if she knew to come here on such short notice. "Gods above, this feeling...Nothing short of death would produce such violence."  

Death.  

That single word drove all to a halt, including the breath in Thancred's lungs.  

"No, that's impossible," a conjurer murmured. "There's nothing in this world that could possibly kill Castor...is there?"  

"Bahamut came close, from what Alisae was telling me, but nothing else even comes close to that monster's power, not even Odin."  

Then...what was this?  

This...dread?  

"Where am I?' Castor stood alone in an endless black abyss, the pain that had punched his entire body into a storm of agony gone.  

"Son of man, thine tale is not yet over," he sensed two powerful presences in the void, and immediately felt the shifting sea of aether accompanying them.  

Waves of pure aether, pure life, brushed against Castor, flowing and churning unrestrained, and the realization struck him. 

"I'm in the Lifestream...did those dragons kill me?" He remembered those terrible beasts, infused with his own godsdamned strength, ripping his body apart even as he did the same to them.  

Nidhogg...that bastard! Somehow the thrice-damned dragon figured out how to use his connection to the Eye in Estinien's possession to sap both Azure Dragoons of their strength, he imbued his minions with it and sent the worms to kill Castor.  

"You have the right of it, Warrior of Light," the ancient voice resonated through the Lifestream, decidedly deep and male. "Thine body was...savaged in manners that cannot be reversed."  

"Nidhogg found a way to imbue thine own strength, boosted by the gods thou hast conquered and the trials thou hast endured, into his children," another voice, this one female and cool, replied. "Such ungodly strength in so many enemies would overpower even the mightiest warrior; even you."  

"Who are you? Why have you brought me here?" Castor reached out with his senses, found himself standing in the presence of two deities of the Lifestream that radiated light not dissimilar to the sun and moon, themselves.  

"I am known to my children as Azim, Father of the Dawn," the male voice boomed, radiating warmth. 

"And I am Nhaama, Mother of the Dusk," the female voice replied, and Castor could sense no small amount of respect in her tone. "We have been watching thee, Chosen of Hydaelyn, for quite some time now." 

"Indeed. Thine struggles with the Dark and the Light have earned our attention, as has thine trailing between the two aspects," Azim's presence appeared to nod. "Finding balance betwixt Light and Dark can be...difficult, at best, yet thou hast appeared to have found a middle ground."  

"Get to the point. What do you want?" Castor growled.  

Nhaama's presence smirked. "Ever the warrior, art thou not? Very well. As Azim said: thine tale will not end here, not if we have anything to say about it. Nidhogg received the counsel of the Paragons in order to reverse the influence of his eye, and twould be remiss of us to let their meddling go unanswered."  

"We shall grant thee a new body, a new chance to change fate for the better," Azim spoke up. "To keep the world from falling into Chaos and Darkness...to uphold the balance of Dusk and Dawn."  

"Come, now, Azim, dost thou truly think that Castor cares for our squabbles?" Nhaama chided, her amusement drawing a smile to Castor's lips. "Dusk and Dawn...Light and Dark; they art complimentary. With thy strength, Warrior, this world shall know peace once more. That is my hope and my belief."  

Castor sighed. "Of course the damned Ascians are behind this. Remind me to rip their souls to shreds the way I did to Nabriales...Now, what's this about a new body?"  

Nhaama laughed. "Thou shalt see, Warrior of Light. Or is it Warrior of Twilight?"  

"At least Warrior of Light makes him sound closer to mine Sun," Azim muttered. "I like that one better."  

Castor tried to keep his mirth contained, failed, and joined Nhaama in laughing at Azim.  

"I knew there was a reason I liked thee, Castor," the Mother of Dusk giggled. "Now, close thine eyes and relax."  

"I like him, too," Azim grumbled as Castor obeyed his counterpart's command.  

Warm light flared, and Castor felt his soul being drawn back into the Lifestream.  

"Remember, Warrior of Twilight: as long as we art watching over thee, thou art never alone. The Sun and Moon are ever at thine side," Nhaama whispered.  

Well, hopefully these two would be more dependable than Hydaelyn, at least.  

Ysayle couldn't tear her gaze away from the bloody, mangled pieces of what remained of the Warrior of Light, tears now falling freely down her cheeks.  

"All of this...was for nothing," she whispered, clutching a fragment of Castor's shattered Crystal of Light.  

"Not entirely," Arya's deadpan voice muttered, and Ysayle glanced up to see the Tribunus lugging Estinien's battered form. "This one's still alive."  

"No..godsdamn dragons! How much more must you take from me?!" The Azure Dragoon lurched free of Arya's grasp, grabbing his lance and thrusting the point into Ysayle's face. "You did this, didn't you, heretic?! You brought us here to kill us!"  

Arya smacked the lance aside with her foot, sending it clattering into a dragon corpse. 

"Calm yourself, fool. This isn't what Castor would-"  

Aether shifted in the air, silencing the Tribunus, and Ysayle looked back at Castor's remains. Light, blinding in its radiance, encased the area, power unlike anything Ysayle had ever felt before condensing above the carnage.  

"Son of man...thine tale is not yet over," an unfamiliar, ancient male voice resonated through Ysayle's body. 

"Take heed, son of Light and Dark...receive of us our power," another equally ancient voice, this one female, followed. 

Ysayle flinched back as the power began to condense even further, shaking the very earth as warmth poured over the carnage.  

"A body to endure the harshest Dusk," the female voice chanted, silvery light not unlike the moon flaring.  

"And a heart to burn brighter than the rising sun at Dawn," intoned the male, warmth and radiance mingling with the cooler lunar power.  

Both powers erupted in brilliant supernovas, forcing all present to avert their gazes.  

"Arise, son of man. Arise, and lead this world into a new era of peace and prosperity," the female voice commanded, and the light began to fade.  

"C-Castor?" Ysayle whispered, gazing through the fading radiance as a tall, dark silhouette rose from the wreckage.  

When the light faded, the figure standing above the carnage stared back at her. His armor had been mended and expanded to fit his larger frame, towering above Castor's previous stature. Sharp, reptilian eyes shone gold in the handsome, black-scale lined face, and Ysayle's eyes were immediately drawn to the pair of thick horns jutting from the sides of his head.  

The dark horns extended roughly a few inches out of his skull before twisting into a sideways 'T' shape towards his shoulders and the skies, his shortened golden hair swishing in the breeze and partially covering them.  

"Ysayle?" The man spoke, his voice indisputably Castor's, and she tore her gaze away from his almost too handsome face to look upon the rest of him. "Gods above, I'm sore..."  

His flesh was still the tombstone hue from before, as far as she could tell, but he was even more muscular than before, judging from the way his armor bulged, and then she saw the short, scaled tail protruding in place of his furred Miqo'te one.  

"He's...an Au Ra?" Arya gasped.  

"Wait, what?" Castor reached up with his gauntlet-covered hands and pressed his fingers against the scales lining his face, then gripped the horns. "Oh, I am."  

He tugged on the horns, face twisting into a pained wince as the gesture twisted his head in the process. "Wait a minute: have the two of you always been so short?"  

Ysayle rose off of her knees, her mind still struggling to comprehend what she was looking at.  

"Foul dragon!" Estinien screeched, only to be met with Arya's fist. 

"What did you just call me, Estinien?" Castor's sharp golden eyes narrowed at the Azure Dragoon, and he stepped forward on shaky legs. "Oh, gods above."  

"Castor?" Ysayle strode forward to meet him on equally unsteady legs, reaching out to steady herself on a broken pillar.  

"Aye, it's me. How...how do I look? I know Azim and Nhaama promised me a new body but..."  

"Azim? Nhaama? Who are they?"  

"Two beings inhabiting the Lifestream. They saved me and gave me this new form," at those words, Castor's golden eyes seemed to glow with warm light, and silvery lines etched his veins for the briefest of moments. "They called themselves the Father of Dawn and the Mother of Dusk."  

"Eikonic inhabitants of the Lifestream? Fascinating," Arya murmured, her mouth tightening in a thoughtful curve. "And to answer your question: you're...taller than you used to be and look like a sexy dragon man."  

Castor's golden eyebrow arced upwards, but a somewhat proud grin curved on his lips. He still had those sharp canines, and Ysayle briefly wondered if he had a forked tongue. 

"No wonder I feel...scales all over my body and scars," he muttered, twisting his torso experimentally and wincing at the movements. "Ah! That's really damn tender." 

He then proceeded to glare at the mangled dragon corpses around him, rearing a steel-clad leg back and slamming it into one's halved torso. The carcass immediately rocketed out of the ruins with a sickening crack, bouncing off another corpse before pinwheeling into the trees.  

"Gah!" Castor yelped and stumbled back, cursing under his breath and clutching at his foot. "Gods damn it!"  

Ysayle couldn't stop the laugh bubbling up within her, and leaned against the wall so as to not lose her balance as more laughter spilled forth. Her pillar shifted, and gravity took ahold of her as she yelped.  

She thrust her arms out, expecting to meet cold stone, only for a pair of metal-clad hands to grab her and hold her upright.  

"Heh, that's what you get for laughing at me," Castor chuckled, and Ysayle twisted to find herself face-to-face with his scale-lined face.  

"Indeed," Arya laughed, and Castor jolted as the Tribunus enthusiastically tackled him.  

"Hey, I'm glad to be back, but I really don't think I can take much more of this," Castor laughed, and Ysayle sighed and allowed her tears to fall.  

"You are a fool, Castor," she murmured, staring up at his grinning new face. "But you're a fool I am glad to call a friend."  

He chuckled. "Well, let's get this fool back into Zenith, eh? I feel like I'm about to collapse, and this place is really starting to smell."  

Yugiri gasped and jolted upright, every conjurer yelping and instinctively jumping back at the abrupt movement.  

"Are you okay?" Thancred crouched before her, surprised by how her eyes glowed gold for the briefest of moments. "Yugiri?"  

The sun-like energy faded, and Yugiri exhaled slowly as Kan-E placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder.  

"He's back," she said softly. "He's okay."  

"Yes," Kan-E agreed. "But you need to rest, to heal."  

Yugiri stared at her for a moment, her keen gaze darting about as she took in her surroundings, then shook her head slowly. "I cannot rest: I still have duties to fulfil. My apologies for the inconvenience, but I have to go."  

The Elder Seedseer remained silent, then slowly nodded after a few moments. "Very well, but please take care not to overexert yourself, Lady Yugiri. Sir Thancred, perhaps you could accompany her?"  

"I would," Thancred glared at the empty bed, "but she's already gone."  

"That's...a little scary," a conjurer mumbled.  

"Tell me about it," Thancred sighed.  

At least wherever Castor was, he was okay. He hoped.  

"This...this is not okay!" Castor roared, making Moghan flinch and duck behind Ysayle. "Why, in the seven hells, did you throw that dragon's corpse over the side while Excalibur was still in its skull?!"  

"I thought it was a pointy horn, kupo!"  

"A pointy horn that was clearly a bloody sword?!" He wanted to reach out, to grab that furry mongrel, and crush its feeble neck, but his aching, weak muscles would clearly not hold him up. "Gods damn it, moogle: that was a divine blade that I spent months toiling to craft!"  

"Castor," Arya's gentle voice was accompanied by her hand upon his arm, which was all she could really reach. "Peace, my friend. Don't exert yourself too much."  

His legs gave up in their efforts, muscles caving, and Castor sat heavily upon one of the stones lining Zenith's inner plaza.  

"Frankly, I can relate to his desire to strangle the furry little shite," Estinien grumbled, having calmed down considerably since his first outburst.  

Ysayle smiled wearily from where she sat at Castor's side, her pale eyes still marred with worry. "I suppose I can understand that, but...How are you feeling, Castor?"  

Castor inhaled, letting the crisp, cool air fill his sore lungs. "To tell the truth, everything hurts, and I feel like the sun is trying to burn out of my chest. That, and the moon and stars seem absurdly bright to me."  

He squinted up at said moon and stars, silver beacons searing into his eyes before he averted his gaze. "That, and the fact that my ears aren't on the top of my head anymore is extremely odd."  

"I share that feeling," Arya laughed, patting the spots where his feline ears had once protruded. "Your scales look quite intimidating, however!"  

"Gods above, this is going to take a lot of explaining," Castor muttered, glancing at where Deathbringer now rested upon the cobblestones. "I'm not complaining about the increase of strength, however, although Deathbringer is now small enough for me to swing with one hand if I wanted."  

"We know," Arya snickered. "You tried it earlier and nearly decapitated Estinien when you lost your grip on it."  

"Why do you have to remind me?" Castor grumbled, glancing at the silver veins of light pulsing within the great blade's length.  

"To remind you that your body is still recovering," Ysayle chimed in. "Your stamina is legendary, but even you need rest after being ripped apart and reborn."  

"How did those dragons manage to kill you, anyway?" Arya's voice softened, her mouth a tight line of concern.  

"Nidhogg and the damn Ascians," Castor sighed. "He got counsel from one of them-I'm betting Lahabrea-on how to reverse the effects of the Eye so that, instead of us drawing upon the Eye's power, he used it to channel our own power into his minions."  

"So each dragon that attacked you was imbued with the strength of the Warrior of Light?" Ysayle whispered.  

"Yes, but power only. While their strength mirrored my own, their defensive capabilities remained unchanged, and thus it was far easier than such strength would ordinarily allow to slay them. Hence, well, that slaughter." He could still feel the faint phantom pain in his limbs, still feel the draconic fangs ripping through his flesh and bone.  

Such bright, hot agony...blooming all throughout his body in ways he'd never felt before.  

"Castor? Are you alright? You're zoning out."  

He wanted to shake his head, but the weakness and nausea he currently felt warned him of the gesture's consequences.  

"I...need to rest. My body isn't exactly at its best, and we need to wait for the wind, anyway, don't we?"  

Moghan peeked out, his pom bobbing up and down as he nodded. "Y-yeah, kupo! We can't call Hraesvelgr until tomorrow!"  

"Very well," Castor sighed and started to rise, found his muscles unwilling to move any further, sighed again and slumped against his cold stone perch. "Gods strike me down."  

"They picked you up, remember?" Arya teased, although the mirth was obviously forced. "Don't tempt them to regret their decision!"  

"I'll get started on the fire, again," Estinien said softly, dashing through Zenith's gateway and vanishing into the Churning Mists.  

Ysayle rose from her own seat and strode before him, reaching down and brushing a bit of his golden hair from his eyes. "Castor, I'm so sorry that this happened...If you want to blame me, then do so."  

"Don't be foolish, Ysayle: you didn't summon those dragons to murder me," Castor waved away her apology, the gesture making his muscles protest. "If anything, I'm sorry I worried the lot of you." 

Then a thought hit him, and his heart dropped into his stomach: "Oh gods, Yugiri and Kan-E are going to murder me."  

"So's Haurchefant," Arya added perhaps a little to cheerfully. 

Castor slumped even further, any will to live leeching from his body at the sounds of his oncoming doom.  

"Presenting Lord Lolorito Nanarito!" The attendant called, the Royal Promenade's elegant doors grinding open to admit the richly clad merchant lord.  

He still wore his mask, in direct defiance of its impropriety in the presence of the Sultana, and just looking at him made Nanamo's blood boil with rage and hatred. Dewlala nodded courteously to the man as he seated himself at her side, and Raubahn's throat rumbled in a low, almost feral growl.  

"Everyone is present, Lolorito, so begin," Nanamo kept the venom in her voice, but even she faltered when the merchant lord reached up and removed his mask.  

Contrary to his claims that light bothered his eyes, those golden irises didn't seem fazed in the slightest as he smirked at Nanamo. Such arrogance! She wanted to leap over the table and strangle him, or order Jenlyns to just cut him down right then and there, yet she couldn't.  

"My, my, such hostility!" The merchant lord sneered. "I surrendered myself and requested this meeting out of good faith, Your Grace!"  

"Shut it, you conniving worm!" Raubahn snarled. "You took part of a plot to assassinate Her Grace, lest I remind you! You're guilty of high treason and attempted regicide!"  

Nanamo fought down a smirk of her own as Lolorito paled.  

To his credit, the man recovered quickly, but his lips refrained from smirking further. 

"With good reason, General Aldyn. Need I remind you that Garlemald's war of succession has ended, and the Empire has become reunited under one force yet again? Now, more than ever, Ul'dah needs to be strong and united, something that would be severely undermined if Her Grace had abdicated the throne and dissolved the monarchy as she'd planned," Lolorito crossed his small arms and glared at Nanamo, but the faint fear in his eyes remained, and she relished it. "Can you imagine the chaos that would result of the government's dissolution, Your Grace? Or were you hoping that General Aldyn and your Warrior of Light would be able to magically forge a perfect order that would stand united against the Empire?"  

Nanamo opened her mouth to retort, but Lolorito's carefully thought out argument made her words die upon her tongue. He was right, she realized with a heavy heart.  

"Adeledji attempted to stop you with assassination, and I'd attempted to take the reins of the plot from his fumbling hands in order to keep you alive, but I am ashamed to admit that worm managed to outmaneuver me at the very last second," Lolorito sighed, all pretense of arrogance draining from his persona. "Instead of the potent sleeping draught I'd obtained to drug you with, your old lady-in-waiting slipped Adeledji's lethal poison into your goblet, all because he'd bought her off before the banquet even started. If the Warrior hadn't pulled off his miraculous save...I shudder to think of what would be occurring now."  

"War," Raubahn said softly. "The guilds in the city would have continued fighting us, and I am ashamed to admit that I would have gladly pushed into Gridania several more times if it meant getting to Ishgard; even if it meant open war."  

"And full glad am I that you didn't do such a drastic, brutish act," Lolorito scoffed.  

"Don't forget, Lolorito: you're still guilty of high treason," Nanamo said softly, her resolve weakening along with her will to continue speaking.  

"I am fully aware of that, which is why I've drawn up this," the merchant lord withdrew a rolled-up parchment, then placed it upon the table.  

Nanamo reached out against her own desires and unrolled the rough papyrus, her heart skipping several beats at what was written upon the white surface.  

"Y-you plan on passing on all of Adeledji's assets, as well as half of your personal wealth, to the Crown?!" She leaned back against her seat, letting the scroll hit the table as her muscles failed her.  

"Seven Hells!" Raubahn jolted to his feet, sending his chair crashing against the stone floor. "You think you can bury your sins under a mountain of coin?!"  

Her own clumsy maneuvering had caused all of this: Castor being driven from Alliance soil; the XIVth Legion taking up arms alongside Ishgard; the suffering of the Scions and of their allies. Castor's suffering. 

All of it. The blame was on her shoulders alone.  

But with this coin...she could make steps towards redemption, towards reuniting with her dearest companion and friend.  

"I accept," she forced the words from her throat, forced herself to look at Lolorito even as Raubahn stared at her in absolute horror.  

"Your Grace!"  

"Enough, Raubahn! We need this coin, and as much as I loathe the source of it, I have to accept. For the good of Ul'dah, and for Castor," Nanamo reached for her quill and, with a few flowery strokes, inked her name upon the contract.  

Ul'dah would continue on as a monarchy from this day forward.

Chapter Text

"What do you mean the legion attacked the Ceruleum Processing Facility?!" Raubahn punched the nearest wall as anger boiled within his veins, much to his messenger's chagrin. 

"The XIVth Legion marched from Meridianum and drove our forces out of the camp, although they didn't actually kill anyone. Their weapons were blunted, and their gunblades were using ammunition that just left red spatters all over their targets," the messenger took a step back, eyes wide. 

"What did they do with our troops?" Raubahn fought to collect his anger, to keep his wrath under control.  

"They tied our men up and dumped them outside Camp Bluefog. From what I saw, the imperials also pushed into the abandoned mine and slaughtered the Lambs of Dalamud that had been hiding out inside it."  

"Damn hells," Raubahn muttered. "Those imperials chose the perfect time to attack us."  

"General?" Another, more familiar voice caught his attention, and he turned to find Alphinaud standing at the balcony overlooking the Chamber of Rule. "A word, if I may?" 

He grunted assent, and the boy nodded.  

"My thanks. Now, have the imperials given us any message or threat concerning their assault?" That question was directed at the messenger, who nodded. 

"Aye, only two words: For Castor."  

Man and boy both flinched, guilt rising like bile within their throats.  

"Damn hells...are those bastards just going to keep attacking us while claiming that it's for Castor? How much will satisfy them?" Raubahn wondered, then shook his head. "I have to send Pipin to Bluefog...bolster our defenses." 

"We'll have to check the legion before this gets out of hand, and I'll be certain to warn the Antecedent about this, should the imperials in Centri decide to march on Mor Dhona," Alphinaud frowned. "Or the ones in Coerthas...the Toll is completely surrounded..."  

"Go to Pipin, tell him to dispatch more soldiers to Camp Bluefog," Raubahn barked at the messenger, who saluted and scurried away.  

Just one damn headache after another...first, Her Grace pardons that worm Lolorito and now this?! And then there's the business with that treacherous Ilberd.  

By Rhalgr...to think that the man had attempted to murder Nanamo and the Scions...Had the situation in Gyr Abania truly grown so desperate?  

"What are we to do?" Raubahn wondered aloud, debating the consequences of launching an assault to retake the Plant.  

Reinforcements from Centri and from Meridianum would be the biggest concern, especially if that Tribunus was still at the head of the forces entrenched within. Even if the imperials still refrained from killing...no, the cost of blood would be too high. He would defend Camp Bluefog to the last man, yes, but he couldn't spare the resources or the time needed to lay siege to the heavily fortified plant, not to mention the abandoned mine if the imperials began fortifying it.  

"Let the bastards have this victory for now," he growled. "But the moment Castor returns, I fully expect them to return the plant to us, and I will force Castor to help me if I must!"  

"With all due respect, general, that probably wouldn't work out in your favor," Alphinaud said softly, cautiously. "If anything, he'd be more like to cut you down and lead the legion against the camp."  

Raubahn sighed, leaning against a wall as even his fabled strength left him. "I know, lad, yet what else can this fool do, but hope? As long as we keep the legion contained, that will have to be best for now."  

"And even then, they now have access to far more ceruleum than before. The magitek they can create now...I shudder to think of what they're already doing with it," Alphinaud murmured.  

"Any luck in tracking down Ilberd, lad?" Raubahn quickly changed the subject, every word spoken of the legion burning his tongue and his pride.  

"None. He's just vanished, and none of us have any idea where to look," the boy sighed, shame in his eyes as he stared at the fountain on the floor below.  

"It's not your fault, lad, so just focus on doing what you can," Raubahn had never been one for tender words of encouragement, and he placed a large hand upon the boy's shoulder while refraining from injuring his scrawny frame. "We can get through this as long as we stand united."  

"I suppose. Have a good night, General," Alphinaud bowed as Raubahn retracted his hand. 

"You too, lad." 

"You asked for me, my lord?" Severus sas Aurelius stood at stiff attention before Rhitahtyn van Arvina, who was seated upon a specially-made steel chair designed to bear his hefty frame.  

"I did. So, the assault on the plant went well?" The legatus peered at the roster sitting upon his desk for a moment longer, then tucked the papers into his desk.  

Castor's face was imprinted in a photo on the upper left corner, his younger features less worn and scarred than the warrior Rhitahtyn had come to know. Yet...those eyes never changed.  

One lily white.  

One obsidian black.  

Both were still cool and collected, yet both still bore the faint, haunted expression of a young man who'd seen far too many terrible things that none his age should.  

"Yes, milord. We suffered no casualties and, as per your orders, refrained from killing any Eorzeans."  

"Excellent work, Tribune," Rhitahtyn nodded, his armor feeling a hundred pounds lighter. "Start immediately channeling the ceruleum you can into our labs: the engineers will be glad to have more to work with."  

"Yes, milord! And...if I may?"  

"Go on."  

"We haven't heard from Arya in some time. Her last report was that Castor had successfully slain another eikon and that the group was pushing further into dragon territory," Severus' voice was calm, yet the legatus could sense the younger man's concern.  

"Peace, Tribunus: Arya knows what she's doing, and she's with Castor. If anything, there likely hasn't been anything to report."  

"I know, my lord, but still...I'd like permission to send a gunship after them, just to give them support."  

Rhitahtyn shook his head. "I'm afraid I must deny that request, Tribunus. You know Ishgard has forbidden us from launching airships in their territory, and such an act could dissolve our already fragile arrangement."  

"Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of line, and I know that Ser Aymeric has placed a great deal of trust in us...It would be remiss of me to squander it," Severus remained stiff and disciplined, which pleased Rhitahtyn to no small end.  

Such a loyal, determined soldier...willing to press himself to every limit to protect the innocent and mete out justice. It was no small wonder that he and Castor had become such close friends after the boy had been dragged into service. The two men complimented each other well.  

"You are forgiven, Severus. Now, if there is naught else, then I will leave you to the task of having our troops fortify the mine and the facility. Keep our scouts alert for any potential counterattacks, and stay on good footing with the Ishgardians," Rhitahtyn knew he was placing a heavy weight upon the man's shoulders, but he trusted Severus to pull it off.  

The man was exceptional.  

"Yes, my lord," Severus saluted before ducking out of the legatus' chambers. 

Rhitahtyn sighed and leaned against the chair, staring down at Castor's roster as he drunk in the words he'd added to his already lofty and impressive record.  

"Castor Entialpoh: (M) Miqo'te.  

159 lbs. 

27 years 

Exceptional service despite his father's treasonous past. Held in high regard by comrades and superiors alike; garnered favor from Lord van Baelsar himself for his selflessness and cool discipline in combat. Proved instrumental in quelling several revolts in Gyr Abania without needless bloodshed and in keeping the peace. Breveted to Optio for diving into the wreckage of a Reaper to save the crew even as the vehicle threatened to explode. Breveted to Centurion of the 2nd Cohort for gallantry and cool leadership during several skirmishes with members of the Ala Mhigan Resistance. Credited with single-handedly keeping the 2nd and 3rd Cohorts intact during a Resistance ambush at Bittermill when all other officers had fallen.  

Deserted active service upon the plains of Cartenau during Nael van Darnus' disastrous Meteor project. Labelled a traitor upon the revelation that he was serving the Eorzean Alliance as an adventurer. Led the Alliance's assaults upon Cape Westwind and Castrum Meridianum, but spared every legion soldier within both. The slayer of eikons named Ifrit, Garuda, and Titan, gifted by the power known only as the Echo, and defeated Gaius van Baelsar in single combat. Originally spared van Baelsar, only for the Ultima Weapon's destruction to drive him away and force him to abandon his former legatus. Current Warrior of Light and champion of the Eorzean masses.  

Has continued to remain in contact with his former comrades, sneaking food and other necessities from Eorzea to the legion to prevent them from starving. Reports state that he had been working with the Alliance to formally extend an olive branch to the legion, ending hostilities. Alliance leaders rejected his proposal. Continues to protect the legion and provide succor when needed in direct violation of their orders.  

 Promoted to Pilus Prior for his loyalty and competence by Gaius van Baelsar.  

Promoted to Tribunus laticlavius for his outstanding character, unmatchable contributions to the legion, and the addition of magical elements to certain magiteknical advances by Rhitahtyn van Arvina."  

"Hmm, yes, that will suffice," Rhitahtyn nodded with satisfaction as he let the paper slip into his desk. "History will remember him as the greatest of heroes, and so shall the new world order he creates."  

Truthfully, there was so much more he wanted to add, but that would require an entire wing of Meridianum to become dedicated to such a colossal task. No, it would be better if this remained in the legion archives, to be seen by those tenacious enough to seek it.  

And perhaps even the legion would be able to obtain some manner of atonement for all the sins they'd committed. 

Oh, how one could hope. 

"I see. Will that be all, Lucia?" Aymeric de Borel was seated in his office, the weight of his city's defense weighing heavily upon his shoulders 

"Yes, lord commander," Lucia bowed, although it was all too easy for Aymeric to sense her unease.  

"Are you certain that this assignment doesn't bother you? I'm aware of your...history with the legion, so if you wish to hang back..."  

"No, I have my duty to fulfil," Lucia shook her head. "Besides, I doubt any of the legionnaires will even recognize me."  

"Very well, but the moment one of them starts to give you trouble, you get right back here, understood?" The thought of her out there alone, surrounded by possibly hostile legionnaires made Aymeric's stomach sick, yet he had to trust her.  

Lucia smiled gently, the selfsame smile that always eased his worries. "I'll be fine, Lord Commander."  

"I know, but I can't help but worry," Aymeric chuckled. "Good luck, and may Halone guard you."  

Lucia nodded and left his office, her silver armor clinking softly with each step.  

Aymeric sighed, slumping back into his chair as the full weight of everything once again dug into him. First had been Vishap's attack, the banquet where those blowhard Alliance leaders had the gall to claim that 'an attack on Ishgard is an attack on all the realm' while they'd ignored his and Castor's call for aid. Then came Haurchefant's attack on the banquet to extricate Castor from his accusers, the Immortal Flames' assault on Coerthas, and the intense negotiations with the XIVth. He'd never imagined that anything of this sort would happen.  

"By the Fury, what has this world come to?" He murmured, reaching up and brushing some of his dark hair from his eyes.  

But it had almost all worked out in their favor. The legion had allied itself, albeit tentatively, with Ishgard and Castor and freed up many resources to be dedicated to the war with the dragons. And Castor erecting those strange beacons all over the city did wonders in reducing fatalities due to the extremely unusual cold. Although there had been the occasional report of some fool attempting to remove the beacons or destroy them as 'tokens of heresy', they hadn't really come to more than a few singed fingers.  

Well, Aymeric smirked, that foppish priest from the Vault had set himself on fire trying to destroy one of the beacons, screaming for Halone to save him even as Temple Knights poured icy water onto him to quench the flames. To be frank, the fool rather deserved it, given his reputation for fanaticism and diehard faith.  

Now...he needed ears and eyes in Alliance territory, if only to see if what that messenger had been saying was true. Lucia ordinarily wouldn't be his first choice, but the Scions had dealt with her before, so she would naturally be a good option for reaching out to them in Mor Dhona. He trusted the legion about as far as he could shoot them from a ballista, understood that they were only siding with Ishgard because Castor was under their protection.  

Aymeric needed answers, and if the Sultana truly had survived by some miracle...Castor had to be made aware of it. It was truly the least Aymeric could do for Ishgard's most stalwart ally, the man who was currently risking life and limb to hunt down the source of this accursed, centuries long conflict betwixt man and dragon.  

He prayed that Lucia would pass through the legion's checkpoints without issue, and for Castor's safe return to Ishgard.  

"Lord Commander, might I enter?" A knight's voice roused him from his thoughts, and he quickly voiced assent.  

"What do you need?" He asked the man who strode in.  

"Just...a report, lord commander. Some of the men have reported an odd shadow slipping over the legion's wall from Gridania, even though the legionnaires themselves are claiming that nothing's gotten past them," the knight fiddled with his gauntlets, metal clinking softly. "This odd shadow got past our walls, and one man claims he saw a black-haired dragon woman slipping onto an airship bound for Falcon's Nest."  

Aymeric smiled, remembering Haurchefant's description of a certain shinobi, one that had also fought in Whitebrim against Castor's impostor.  

"Shall I alert Redwald of this potential interloper?" The knight asked.  

"No. That shinobi is a friend of Castor's, likely trailing him into Dravania to make sure that he doesn't do anything stupid," Aymeric chuckled, then an interesting idea hit him: "Actually...yes. Alert Redwald that a Doman shinobi named Yugiri has slipped onto an airship bound for the outpost. If they find her, give her a linkpearl and tell her to stay in contact with us regarding Castor's whereabouts. Estinien's not answering our hails, and I have every reason to believe that stubborn bastard got rid of his linkpearl, again."  

"Doman shinobi named Yugiri," the knight mumbled, repeating it softly under his breath, then bowed. "I'll set out right away, lord commander!"  

"Thank you," Aymeric nodded, silently dismissing the knight.  

The youth dashed outside, right as another knock sounded upon his door.  

Resisting the urge to sigh, Aymeric was about to call out when the familiar voice on the other side did so for him.  

"Sorry to interrupt! It's Cid, might I come in?"  

"Of course!" Aymeric nodded politely at the master engineer as the white-haired man strode within the office. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Master Garlond?"  

Cid grinned. "Please, just Cid, Lord Commander Aymeric. I just wanted to come and inform you of our progress in Skysteel."  

"Oh?" Praise Halone! "How are things faring?"  

"After taking a look at your tech, Wedge actually came up with a way to enhance the capabilities of your ballistae," Cid explained, his eyes gleaming as they did whenever he spoke of any technological advancements. "With the parts listed here, we could potentially increase their firing rate and accuracy, which would be a lifesaver against the dragons, would it not?"  

Aymeric smiled, relief flooding his veins. "Master Garlond, I cannot thank you enough for lending us your invaluable expertise. Might I inquire as to what else you've discovered?'  

"Well, we can upgrade your airships and make them more fuel-efficient, for one thing, and with the help of your mechanists, we've made incredible leaps and bounds of progress on our manacutters. Our combined efforts should see them completed within a matter of days and able to be used on the field," Cid grinned. "Needless to say: the manacutters, once we start producing and selling more, should bring in some steady revenue for both the Ironworks and Skysteel Industries."  

And that coin would be a godssend, as would the manacutters, themselves. 

"We are forever indebted to you and yours, Master Garlond," Aymeric beamed at the genius engineer, thanking Halone a thousand times over for having brought this man to them. "If there is anything you require for these projects, please don't hesitate to ask!"  

"Thank you for your generosity, Lord Commander, but I shall strive to impose upon you as little as possible," the engineer's pride and mirth faded. "Now, there is...another matter I was recently informed of, concerning your...friends guarding the border."  

Aymeric's relief drained faster than a thirsty soldier's mug in the Forgotten Knight. "What has happened? I've received no word from my people."  

"You wouldn’t, since your people wouldn't be aware of this," Cid sighed and crossed his arms, his thick black and white coat swishing. "The legion has attacked and taken control of the Ceruleum Processing Facility in Northern Thanalan. With such an excess of ceruleum, among other things, they'll be pumping out magitek weapons by the dozens."  

Aymeric frowned thoughtfully. "What would you recommend, Master Garlond? You're more aware of the legion's...capabilities than we are."  

"Keep a very close eye on them. The second you get the impression that they plan on using their new weapons against Ishgard, strike immediately. I'm afraid I can't really say much more; I was familiar with Gaius, but now that he's dead, I don't know what to expect from his soldiers." 

"I'll be certain to keep that in mind, and to keep the imperials under a tight watch. Once more, you have my sincerest gratitude, Master Garlond," Aymeric rose and bowed to the engineer. "If there is aught you require, please let us know." 

Cid returned the bow as best as his clunky apparel and tools allowed, his bright eyes gleaming. "I'll do so if I have to, thank you. It's been a great pleasure and honor to work with your brilliant machinists, as well."  

Aymeric grinned, allowing his pride to show. "They are indeed amongst our brightest. I am proud to call them my brothers and sisters in arms."  

"Good night, Aymeric. I hope none of this will blow up in our faces," Cid straightened his goggles, cracked his knuckles, and left, carefully shutting the door behind him.  

"I feel much the same, Cid," Aymeric sighed, heavily seating himself back upon his chair.  

Gods above, what was he going to do with these imperials?  

Halone  guide us through this madness.   

Yugiri despised the stench of ceruleum: it reminded her far too much of imperial war machines, no matter what it was used to fuel. Still, she would endure anything if it meant finding Castor and discovering just what the hells he'd done to himself this time.  

The airship's engine continued humming, blasting her with more heat as she attempted to readjust her cramped position. Instead of fifty objects jabbing her body, she now had forty-nine. Lovely.  

The ship shuddered, jolting Yugiri hard enough to make her sore body protest, but she recognized the whine of the engines powering down for landing. It was almost time.  

"Set 'er down! Take it easy!"  

Then came the gentle thud of steel on stone, the fading hum as the engine slowly powered themselves down.  

Yugiri roused herself, slipped from her hiding spot, and paused in a crouch as footsteps pounded towards the ship.  

"Hey, we were told that there might be a stowaway onboard one of the ships. You're the last one for the day, so we've been ordered to search you," a man called, and Yugiri silently cursed her haste.  

Apparently, she'd been spotted, a testament to how much pain her leg and Castor's end of the bond had handicapped her.  

"We're looking for a...Doman shinobi named Yagir?" The same voice continued, and Yugiri sighed.  

"It's Yugiri, not Yagir, sir," she corrected as she wormed her way to the deck and nearly made the pilot smack himself in the face with the wheel. 

The three knights jolted, all reaching for their weapons before quickly lowering their hands.  

"You're Castor's friend, aren't you? I remember you from Whitebrim," one knight stepped forward, yet his face was unfamiliar to her. "The Lord Commander asked us to give you this linkpearl to keep in touch with us. The Azure Dragoon isn't answering our hails, as usual, so we were hoping you'd be willing to keep us informed?"  

Yugiri nodded, reaching out and accepting the tiny pearl. "I'll do so, thank you." 

"No: thank you, milady. Do you require an escort to Tailfeather?" The knight asked.  

"No, but you have my thanks. I'll keep in touch," Yugiri bowed to the knights, then dashed past them to put as much distance as possible behind her.  

She had to reach Castor, and soon. At least the night was illuminated by a beautiful Borealis that danced across the star-studded heavens, casting the land in emerald lights.  

"Castor, wait for me," she whispered, ignoring the screaming pain in her leg. "I'll be by your side soon."  

Wait for me. 

Chapter Text

Dawn broke with a pulse of warm magic that shook Castor awake from the darkness of a dreamless sleep. The Lifestream flowed through his odd body, heralding the dawn in a way that Castor hoped wouldn't occur every single damn day. And then heat blossomed in his chest, golden light flaring from within as if a brilliant beacon.   

"Azim, I swear to you and Nhaama: if you wake me like this every day, we're going to have a problem," Castor growled, aware of the selfsame light flaring from his eyes and bathing the world in a golden hue.  

At least it faded quickly, returning the world to normal. 

"Ah, you're awake. Good," Estinien was standing in the center of the plaza, his arms crossed before his chest. "I've...been meaning to apologize for my outburst when you first, uh, changed."  

"Think nothing of it," Castor grunted, stretching his arms in an attempt to loosen the muscles. "If anything, the second Arya said I was an Au Ra, I half expected you to attack me on sight."  

Estinien sighed and shook his head slowly. "I still don't understand it, you know: how those two Lifestream eikons or whatever they are managed to change your appearance."  

Hooo boy.  

"Are you aware of a substance called Fantasia, Estinien?" Castor asked, and the Dragoon nodded. "From what I've come to understand, Fantasia is pure, non-distilled aether originating from the Lifestream, itself. It has limitless creative possibilities, and just a tiny amount can allow someone to alter minute parts of their appearance." 

Estinien nodded once again. "So, the greater the desired change, the more Fantasia that is required to alter the subject's aether and alter their appearance."  

"Exactly. Now, Fantasia is an incredibly rare substance, yes? It's been centuries since anyone has ever managed to come across a vein of pure, undisturbed aether directly from the Lifestream, so only tiny quantities have ever been harvested," Castor sighed, the aether in his body swirling about as it continued settling into place. "However, Azim and Nhaama had my soul directly in the Lifestream, itself. As such, they had access to unlimited reserves of Fantasia-aether with which to construct a new body around my soul." 

"Yet, they chose to use their own life-forces to fulfil the task. The aether of the sun and moon, themselves, flows through your body, and I do hope you manage to gain control over it, soon."  

"Aye, I have no desire to wake up to a miniature sun in my chest every damn day," Castor chuckled, his gaze once again being drawn to the chaotic storm that was the Aery. "I can sense him...so close and yet untouchable. He's tired: drained from the effort of sapping our strength."  

"Tis fortunate that he cannot do so again without killing himself," Estinien nodded, the hatred in the Eye resonating with both men's rage. "This is the best opportunity to kill the damn wyrm before he gathers his strength."  

"Ugh, will the two of you be quiet?" Ysayle whined, sitting up with a bleary, sleep-addled gaze. "My head's already sore enough, thank you."  

Estinien scoffed, but said nothing else as he turned his back on the woman. 

"Apologies, Ysayle," Castor glanced at Arya, saw that she was already seated upon a block of stone, polishing Ragnarok. "Beautiful morning, eh, Arya?"  

She smirked at him, but continued rubbing her spear down with polish. "It'd be even more beautiful if you took the time to appreciate it. Gods above, I never realized how much I hated waking up to the stench of ceruleum and oil."   

Castor rolled his eyes, but swept his gaze over the brightening skies. Brilliant golden hues rose alongside orange and fiery reds, painting the darkness with the blood of dusk spreading the dawn's warmth. It was oddly beautiful: seeing this ruined, broken land bathed in the light of a new day.  

"Where's the moogle?" Estinien demanded, soft snoring immediately answering him. 

Moghan was curled up on the sparse grass, admittedly adorable as he twitched in his sleep and mumbled to himself.  

"Wake up, Moghan," Castor barked, lifting a protesting foot and cracking the stone beside the sleeping moogle.  

"Gah! K-kupo!" Moghan immediately jolted under the impact, soaring up and smacking into Castor's chest. "Hey, d-d-don't scare me like that, kupo!"  

He was so much tinier, now...Castor had been tall for a Miqo'te, before, but now he was certain he stood at least a head taller than the Flame General, himself. Oh, how he'd love to grab that fool, Aldynn, by the throat and lift him from the ground! To break his feeble, worthless neck!  

"Are the winds favorable, moogle?" Castor had retained his keen hearing, which he was glad for, but he had to be certain that the moogle didn't have any other absurd plans.  

Moghan looked around, paused, listened, and-may the gods, themselves, sing! -nodded.  

"Aye, kupo! Hraesvelgr should have no problem hearing the horn, now!" 

Castor let loose a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Oh, thank Nhaama."  

Shouldn't you be thanking me?   

Shut it, Azim.   

"Let's go. Where do we call this dragon?" Estinien wasn't one to mince words, not even now, of all times.  

"Follow me, kupo!" Moghan flitted towards another staircase, this one ascending to the level above.  

Castor reached down towards the still-seated Ysayle and offered her a hand. She rolled her eyes, but smiled and accepted, her slender fingers wrapping around his own. He pulled her up to her feet, disturbing a cluster of loose stones.  

"You're such the gentleman, Warrior of Light," she smirked, giving him a mock bow.  

"Always aiming to please, my good lady," Castor teased right back, bringing the hand he still held up to his lips. 

As anticipated, Ysayle's face flushed, and she quickly yanked her hand free of his grasp.  

"Oh, very funny, Castor," she growled, her smoldering glare burning into the back of his head as he turned, laughing, and strode away. 

"Having fun?" Arya smirked as he caught up to her, looking up to meet his golden-eyed gaze.  

"Indeed. Now, let us call a dragon," Castor followed Moghan to a wide platform set before the tower's base, the wide wings of Zenith folding around the plaza as a protective, marble barrier.  

It was all so beautiful. Castor pulled out the beaten, abused horn from his inventory and took a moment to pity its dented surface.  

"Will this thing even work?" He wondered, putting it to his lips and forcing air into the instrument.  

A long, sonorous note moaned from the beaten surface, echoing through the entirety of Zenith and resonating throughout the Mists. The air stilled, eerie silence taking the note's place, and then Castor picked up the faint beating of powerful wings.  

"He comes," Castor slipped the horn back into its space, taking care to place himself within easy reach of Estinien. "Brace yourselves."  

The skies darkened, radiating great power, and then the massive, winged shape cruised into sight. Hraesvelgr, a titanic, pure white dragon with feathered wings and a bulk rivaling Nidhogg's, soared towards the plaza.  

Stone crunched, and the platform trembled under the wyrm's weight as powerful gusts slammed into the party. A lone, golden eye was set into the beast's massive head, his fangs and talons more than a match for his brother's.  

"So...thou hast finally called upon me, Warrior of Warriors," the white dragon's ancient, powerful voice shook the air, shook Castor's very mind. "You, who art blessed with the powers of Light and Dark, both."  

Castor bowed to the mighty wyrm, glancing at the others to see that Ysayle was the only one following suit. "Great Hraesvelgr, I pray that you will forgive our trespass and our unwarranted summoning of you."  

Light flared and aether hummed, and Castor frowned as Midgardsormr burst into existence.  

"Hraesvelgr...mine child," the Father of Dragons murmured, causing Hraesvelgr to recoil in shock.  

"Father Midgardsormr," the white wyrm's black, empty eye socket peered into the depths of Castor's soul, that lightless void stirring up unfamiliar senses within Castor's body.  

"This war betwixt our kind and the children of man must needs reach a conclusion," Midgardsormr hummed. "It has dragged on for far too long, at Nidhogg's behest, and now the Paragons art interfering where they ought not to be."  

"I sensed their kind's unholy magicks at work, and here I see the Warrior of Light transformed before me...What is it thou wouldst ask of me, son of man?" Hraesvelgr's golden eye swung over to Castor once again, the worm's heavy, hot breath blasting his face.  

"When Ysayle met you all those years ago, you allowed her to see into your memories, to see the truth behind the Dragonsong War," Castor kept a tight, mental leash on his Azure Pain-in-The-Ass as he spoke, sensing Estinien's overpowering urge to thrust his lance into Hraesvelgr's exposed throat. "I would humbly ask, if you would be willing to grant it, that you allow me to witness the same visions from your memory."  

"Thou art claimed by Hydaelyn...blessed with Her gifts," Hraesvelgr glanced at the tiny form of his father, and Castor momentarily thought of how absurd the disparity in their sizes was.  

Honestly, Hraesvelgr had to but exhale, and Midgardsormr would be sent flying off into the heavens.  

"If that is mine father's will, as it is yours, then so be it. But know this, son of man: I do this only at the Father's behest, and in acknowledgement of the peace thou seekest to create...the peace my beloved Shiva so dreamed of seeing..." The great wyrm craned his long neck until his golden eye was level with Castor's own, and pain flared inside his head as the Echo seized his facilities.  

The world swam and distorted, twisting and writhing as a great, dimensional serpent until it coalesced back into a blurred, grey vision of the past.  

"Art thou certain that thine strength has returned, little one?" Vidofnir peered at Yugiri, concern in her voice even as Yugiri effortlessly leaped down from the ramparts.  

"I am, thank you. I must admit: I feared I was to perish when you stopped me last night," the pain had significantly lessened overnight, thanks to the odd herbs and ministrations of the dragons of Anyx Trine, and Yugiri once again bowed to her gracious hosts.  

Honestly, when she'd followed Castor's aetherial trail to the ruined towers, only for Vidofnir's mighty tail to slam onto the ground before her before she'd scarcely entered the courtyard, she'd fully expected to die right then and there. Had she been uninjured, she may have yet eluded the dragons' keen senses, but alas, she was not exactly in her prime.  

"Heh, I had fully intended to dispatch thee," Vidofnir chuckled, her voice surprisingly gentle despite her fearsome appearance, "until I sensed the link between thee and the Warrior of Warriors. Thou art a friend of Castor, and thus a friend to us." 

Yugiri once again thanked Castor for saving her life, bowed to Vidofnir, and then pressed on to the mount the dragon had called Sohm Al.  

"I'm close, Castor...wait for me, please."  

The vision faded, grey lucidity morphing into red-hot rage.  

"Ishgard betrayed the dragons and murdered Ratatoskr," he murmured, immediately sensing Estinien's spike of rage. "The archbishops have been lying to the people all this time, sending millions off to die for a fruitless deception."  

"Now do you understand?" Ysayle whispered. "Now do you see why I fight?"  

"Arya," Castor grunted, and the Tribunus swiftly plucked Estinien's lance from his grasp. 

"Don't you dare!" Estinien spat. "Don't you dare choose these worms over us!"  

"Silence, Estinien: I have no intention of betraying Ishgard, now," Castor snapped, his head swimming and causing him to sway. "Yet...I can see why Nidhogg is so angry."  

"Thou can see, yet the true understanding eludes thee, for thou art not dragonkind," Midgardsormr chided. "This crime will forever remain within our hearts, no matter how much time passes for you mortals. Nidhogg's rage will fuel his brood until time itself comes to an end."  

"So, either Nidhogg dies, or Ishgard and all those innocent people who have no idea how the See's deceiving them suffer for generations to come," Castor murmured, his gaze meeting Hraesvelgr's.  

"The choice is thine, Warrior. And, thus, mine part hath come to an end. For my beloved, Shiva, I granted thee an audience so that thou might yet bring about the world she so loved," the great dragon's pain was so heavy, so profound, that the aether around him trembled with his sorrow.  

Ysayle stepped forward, the sudden determination in her eyes setting off every warning signal Castor had learned to listen to.  

"Hraesvelgr, we will see that world brought about together! Saint Shiva's dream will not be unfulfilled any longer! Don't you see?" Ysayle spread her arms, gazing up at the dragon as icy aether swirled around her. "Shiva's soul resides within me: I am she reincarnated, my love!"  

Wait, what? Oh, gods, this is not going to end well. 

In that short span of time, Hraesvelgr's lone golden eye flared with rage, his throat rumbling with the most feral growl Castor had heard in a long time as he reared back and shattered the air with his voice.  

"Don't you DARE claim the name of my beloved!" The dragon shrieked, making Ysayle flinch back.  

Castor slid over to her, interposing himself betwixt idiot and dragon and reaching for Deathbringer's hilt.  

"B-but...this magic! This soul that has bonded to me?!" Ysayle's face was pure white with terror. "Is it not Shiva's?"  

Hraesvelgr saw the threat before him, no doubt sensed the power that Castor was gathering within himself, and made a herculean effort to retain his self-control. To his credit, the dragon didn't attempt to lash out, instead pushing his great body back a few paces. 

"That...phantom thou hast allowed into thy heart is but a shade of thine own making, child," he finally spoke after tense seconds of air-crackling silence. "If it were not for my beloved's soul, residing within my heart and comforting my rage, and for the warrior who stands before thee, thou wouldst be dead by mine claws. Please...do not insult us further with such claims, and leave this place."  

Castor exhaled, lowered the hand clutching his sword's great hilt and forced himself to bow to Hraesvelgr.  

"A thousand apologies, Hraesvelgr. By your leave, we shall depart immediately and refrain from bothering you again," he rose and stared into the ancient, bitter dragon's lone eye. "Thank you for everything."  

Without another word, Hraesvelgr's powerful wings pounded the air, and the dragon soared off into the clearing skies.  

"Thou knowest what must be done," Midgardsormr hummed, turning his tiny form to Castor. "Go forth, Chosen of the Mother."  

Then he, too departed in a flash of aether.  

And as for Ysayle...the woman was staring dumbly at the great stones where Hraesvelgr had stood, her eyes blank as she processed what he'd said.  

"A...shade of my own making?" She whispered. 

"Fool! Why did you have to say that?!" Estinien rounded on the woman. "You nearly got us killed!"  

"That's enough, Estinien," Castor growled, turning his gaze to the Aery. "We have a war to end, do we not?"  

"And a dragon to kill," Arya added, tossing Estinien's lance back to him.  

"That's all well and good, but how are we to get over there to begin with?" The Azure Dragoon snarled. "We can't fly!"  

Castor sighed. "Well, we could always teleport back to Ishgard, grab an airship, and fly that to the Aery, but...Arya can't use magic, and I know for a fact that you can't just teleport back like I can, so we're screwed."  

"So... what bad idea do you have in mind?" Arya asked, her voice tinted with regret.  

Castor grinned. "Oh, it's something I'm already regretting thinking of."  

"Dare I ask?" Estinien muttered.  

"Just meet me at that dilapidated fortress that rests before the Aery-er, what did Moghan call it, the Monsterie?" Castor mused, and Arya nodded. "Right, Ysayle..."  

The woman was sitting upon the plaza, the dazed look on her face all the indication Castor needed.  

"Well, it'd be best if she remained here," he decided. "In that state, she'd be most likely to get herself killed." 

Castor stepped closer to Ysayle, gently reached down and placed a hand upon her shoulder before turning away and marching away. He had a dumb idea to carry out and a war to bring to its conclusion.  

Estinien was oddly silent as he marched at Castor's side, no doubt processing everything that Castor had learned from Hraesvelgr.  

"Estinien, what's on your mind?" Castor asked, although he already knew the answer.  

"To think that Ishgard has been fighting and dying for centuries...all for a lie," the Azure Dragoon said softly. "Is that truly the circumstance behind our struggles?"  

Castor sighed. "The Echo doesn't lie, no matter how one attempts to revise their memories. Ishgard started the war by betraying the dragons, and every archbishop you've had has known of this truth while sending tens of thousands off to die in vain."  

Estinien remained silent as the group passed through the bridge known as Asah, the only sound that of clinking armor and the occasional roar of a far-off dragon.  

"I think I understand," Arya spoke up, her voice cool and collected. "If the archbishops revealed to the people that their faith was a false cause, yanking out their core belief from under them while in the midst of war, then innumerable people would just give up. Innumerable innocent people, who know only what the Holy See has told them, would die to satiate Nidhogg's rage, all for the sins of their ancestors."  

"But once Nidhogg is dead, the truth must come out. The war will be over, and we can begin to forge a lasting peace with the dragons that don't wish to fight, like Hraesvelgr's brood." Estinien murmured, his resolve burning into the Eye.  

Castor looked at the Dragoon with no small amount of surprise. "I...never thought I'd hear you say anything akin to forging peace with dragons."  

Estinien smiled wryly. "What can I say? You and Iceh-Ysayle are beginning to rub off on me. And with Nidhogg dead, my vengeance will finally be satiated."  

Castor nodded. "Indeed. When we get to that bastard, I'll leave the finishing blow to you, my brother-in-arms."  

A favor from one Azure Dragoon to another. 

"Thank you, my brother," Estinien smiled, the Eye humming with the joy in his heart.  

"Oh gods, get a room," Arya grumbled.  

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?" Estinien shot back. "You were being quite cuddly with him last night."  

Castor raised an eyebrow as Arya's cheeks flushed. "She was?"  

"Yes. She waited until after you passed out to lie at your side," Estinien reported. "She remained with her arms around you until dawn approached and you started to become a miniature sun."  

"I just...wanted to, uh..." Arya sighed and grumbled to herself, but Castor reached out and squeezed her shoulder.  

"Thank you, Arya," he said softly. "For standing by me and for all of your support. I'm truly glad that you are here."  

She smiled. "Always, Castor. Always."  

"See? Get a room, you fools." Estinien growled, but he was smirking.  

"Oh, I'm sorry, are we annoying you?" Castor sneered.  

Arya burst out laughing, her white armor clinking musically as her sides heaved.  

"We're here," Castor realized as the derelict keep of the Monsterie loomed ahead. "And there's the Aery."  

The sweltering storm loomed in the skies in the distance, crackling with fell powers and rage. Some smaller dragonflies were flitting about, but the beasts scattered at the trio's approach.  

"Pity, I was hoping to loosen my muscles on them," Estinien remarked, slinging his lance back into place upon his back.  

"We'll have plenty to fight through within," Castor replied. "Now, both of you get close."  

"I'm going to regret this later, aren't I?" Arya commented, obeying nonetheless.  

"We all are," Castor looped his left arm underneath her armpits, doing the same with Estinien with his right. "Okay, here's to hoping I don't rip your arms off."  

"Oh, by the Fury, you must be joking!"  

Castor reached into the essences of the Primals stored within his soul, drawing upon both Bismark and Garuda to gather wind at his feet.  

"Castor! Don't you da-" Arya's threat turned into a scream as Castor willed the power to explode, quickly creating a barrier of dark magic around the trio that rocketed towards the Aery.  

Wind howled, pounding at the makeshift cannonball and clawing feebly to reach the ones encased within. Castor grinned at the swearing Arya and she gave him a glare deadly enough to stop a behemoth in its tracks.  

He drew upon the Primals' power to keep loosing smaller bursts of wind here and there to correct the trajectory or pick up speed as the Aery loomed closer and closer.  

"You are a bloody maniac!" Estinien cursed, his grip on Castor's arm nearing the breaking-bones limit.  

"Like I had any other choi-Oh, shit!" Castor saw the falling tower just a moment too late, ruined stonework slamming into his shield and bouncing them with enough force to send the shadow-ball careening towards the broken landscape of the Aery.  

Lightning crackled and streaked by in violent bolts, purple aetherial storms now covering the sky as the group punched into the Aery's atmosphere. The nest was eerily beautiful, to say the least: dark energies rippling through the ruins of man and dragon-made towers and fortifications. Great towers of dark crystals rose here and there like deadened, ethereal trees, and it would have looked nicer had Castor's shadow-ball not been streaking towards the surface at breakneck speeds.  

"Damn it! Damndamndamndamndamn!" Castor fought to control the descent, fought to keep his shields intact as they skipped through the Aery, bounced off another tower hard enough to give even Castor vertigo, then crashed into the side of a darkened cliff.  

"Oh, ye gods, that was not my best landing," Castor dissolved the shadow barrier and dropped down to the ground, Arya groaning as she landed at his side.  

"And to think we'll have to do that to get back," she moaned.  

"Hey, I wasn't expecting a tower to come up out of nowhere!" Castor snapped, then turned to Estinien, only to find the Dragoon gone. "Estinien? Oh, damn hells, where did he get off to?"  

"You didn't notice?" Arya swayed and leaned against a shattered crystal. "We passed over a large nesting area and he jumped out of the barrier. I think he may have seen Nidhogg."  

"Gods damn it...Okay, let's start hacking our way through this mess," Castor reached up and pulled Deathbringer from his back, effortlessly bearing the massive blade with a single hand. "Huh, I could get used to this."  

It felt much lighter than before, especially thanks to his increased strength and height. It was still a bit longer than his arm, as the weapon had been made to cater to his Miqo'te form, but it would serve just as well as it had before.  

"You're the one with the connection to Nidhogg and Estinien," Arya unslung Ragnarok, markedly more stable as she twirled the weapon around to test her muscles and balance. "Lead the way, Castor!"  

Right...He could sense the two of them: Nidhogg and Estinien, through the thick veil of corrupted aether that hung heavy over the ruins. Countless dragons littered the way to Nidhogg's resting place, but they would hardly be a concern.  

"Let's go!"  

"Here it is, kupo!" The strange moogle calling itself Mogret announced as it stopped at the gates of a dilapidated bridge covered in ruined towers. "This is Asah, and that path will take you to Zenith, where Castor is!"  

Yugiri nodded, about to stride forward when the moogle touched her arm to stop her.  

"Oh, and, uh, kupo? I'd be careful going on the path. We got attacked by a lot of dragons yesterday, and we moogles haven't, uh, gotten the chance to clean it up yet."  

Right as she said that, the wind shifted, bringing the heavy stench of death along with it. Yugiri winced at the intensity of it, noting how several of the moogles guarding the bridge groaned at the stench and tried to escape it.  

"I see. My thanks," Yugiri steeled her nerves and strode across the ruins, her footsteps light and silent against the cobblestones.  

Sohm Al had been a graveyard of beasts and dragons alike, the telltale markings of Castor's massive sword and dark magicks etched into the countless corpses lining the path. She'd slipped past scavengers gorging themselves on corpses and had been shocked to find a massive two-legged monstrosity dead with what appeared to be electrical markings burnt into its hide and gouged out eyes. 

Granted, even that had paled to the enormous titan of a corpse that had had its head lopped off as well as its wings, gobbets of its slashed hide being ripped into by scavenging bird-like creatures.  

But nothing could prepare Yugiri for what lay ahead of her now: piles of dragon corpses absolutely covering the ancient ruins, gore and bodily fluids still making the path slick if she didn't watch her step. Dismembered limbs were everywhere amongst the carnage, and Yugiri actively fought down bile at the terrible stench choking the air and forcing itself into her lungs.  

Then she passed some sort of rounded theater, and the smell intensified a thousand times over. The aether itself was rent and unstable, shimmering volatilely as Yugiri eased her way around the carnage by dashing through the trees.  

"Gods above," Yugiri found her gaze being wrenched to the very center of the carnage, where the savaged corpse of a massive black dragon lay curled about a circle of blood-and-gore soaked grass. 

Castor's aetherial residue was thick in the circle of death, as Yugiri christened that gory spot, almost as if...he'd been ripped apart in that small space. She shook her head: no, he was alive! He'd probably been injured, yes, but he was alive!  

Forcing herself to press on, Yugiri pushed past the carnage, fully glad to see that the beautiful tower that loomed ahead was free of dragon corpses and blood. She'd seen more than enough death this morn.  

A strange aetherial ripple shook the landscape, resonating from that unusual storm that hovered far off in the distance.  

"Gah! Another one, kupo!" Another moogle's voice reached Yugiri's ears as she entered the plaza at the tower's base, and she immediately spotted the white-furred creature next to the pale Elezen woman she'd come to know as Iceheart.  

Iceheart was staring blankly at the floor, the gaze of a woman who'd had everything she'd known ripped out from under her in a manner most savage.  

"Where's Castor?" Yugiri all but ran up to the woman, who merely rose her head and fixed that blank stare upon her. "Where is he?!"  

"W-who are you, kupo?" The moogle flitted up to Yugiri's face, trembling as yet another shockwave rippled through the air.  

"My name is Yugiri: I'm a friend of Castor's. Where is he?" She ignored Iceheart, seeing full well that the woman would provide nothing useful.  

The moogle whined and squirmed, glancing in the direction of the aetherial storm that marred the sky. "He and the other two went to deal with Nidhogg, kupo. I don't know how they'd fly to get to his nest, kupo, but the Aery's been giving off those weird shockwaves for a few minutes now!"  

Yugiri swore under her breath, caught herself, drew upon the center of calm that all ninja cultivated. "I take it they'll be returning here afterwards?"  

"Y-yeah, kupo! I think they might be landing back at the Monsterie, first, then make their way back here."  

"Where is that?" Yugiri demanded, not even bothering to keep her hope from her voice.  

The moogle glanced at the catatonic Iceheart, muttered something under his breath, then flitted towards the entrance to the tower grounds. "Follow me, kupo! I'll take you there!"  

Yugiri smiled and dashed after the moogle.  

"Ha!" Arya shouted as Ragnarok speared a wyvern's chest, sending waves of electricity into its body.  

The beast crumpled, screeching in pain as it spasmed before finally falling still. Castor nodded to himself and swung Deathbringer at the wyrms descending upon him, sharpened black steel ripping through scaled hides with sickening ease. Warm blood splattered across his armor, which no claws or fangs had even scratched, and Castor spun to run through another aevis that had been attempting to leap on him from behind.  

"Tremble before me!" Arya cried suddenly, twisting the haft on her spear until small protrusions carrying yellow crystals snapped out.  

Crystals? Castor wondered, right as the spear erupted in a storm of lightning that arced out in a crackling, violent web. The swarm of dragons that had descended upon them hit the web and immediately dropped as electricity blackened their hides, searing through their bodies and likely liquifying their insides.  

Corpses still twitched as they slammed to the stony ground, and Castor raised an eyebrow at Arya as she twisted the haft of her spear again to recall the crystals.  

"What was that?" Castor asked, and she glanced at him. 

"You don't remember? Since we Garleans can't use magic, you were showing us how to use crystals to draw upon certain aetherial aspects and how to implement them into magitek weapons that would function even if the wielder couldn't use magic," Arya stepped closer and popped the crystals out again, holding it up for him to see. "Lord van Baelsar was fascinated by what you'd shown us and began developing weapons based on that principle. Engines and other tidbits, too."  

Castor felt a strange surge of pride, especially since Arya, of all people, was using an idea that he'd honestly expected to just blow up in his face.  

"I can't believe that you guys actually tried out my idea. From the way Nero had been mocking it, I was under the assumption that crystals and magitek wouldn't work together at all," Castor admitted. "What else did Gaius do with it?"  

Arya smiled and twirled her spear about, recalling the crystal nubs. "Many prototype weapons that we never fully tested out. I actually heard rumors that Lord van Baelsar was working with crystals in order to create a hand cannon for himself to use."  

Guilt rose within Castor's throat, but he quickly banished it as a dragon's roar pierced the air.  

"Let's go: Nidhogg awaits." 

"Let's! With the two of us together, the wyrm doesn't stand a chance!"  

Garlean and Warrior raced through the plaza that had spawned those waves of wyverns and dashed up the tall stairway leading beyond, Nidhogg's presence drowning out all other thought as they reached the dragon's nesting ground.  

Estinien was crouched before the massive black wyrm, his armor bludgeoned and spikes broken off in several places. One of the horns on his drachen helm had also snapped off, a testament to how much fight Nidhogg had left in him despite his weariness.  

"Castor! You're late!" The Dragoon growled, holding aloft the swirling orb of Nidhogg's eye. "Go! I'll enfeeble him with the Eye!"  

Nidhogg roared with pure rage, his lone golden eye simmering in concentrated fury. "Insolent mortal! You dare use mine eye against me?!"  

"Arya, protect Estinien," Castor's eyes never left the massive dragon as he strode forward, leveling his greatsword at the beast. "I'll deal with Nidhogg."  

"Don't overdo it," she advised, but she placed herself at Estinien's side.  

"Thou shouldst be dead, mortal!" Nidhogg snarled. "Damn that Paragon! He lied to me!"  

Castor smiled cruelly at the dragon, easily sensing Nidhogg's waning strength. "I think you'll find that I'm harder to kill than that."  

He stepped forward and then lunged, taking his massive blade in both hands and allowing it to scrape against the stone with every long stride he took towards his prey. Nidhogg roared and inhaled, scarlet flames flaring, and then exhaled a jet of flames. Castor once again conjured a barrier of shadows, which parted the fire with ease. 

Nidhogg's claws lashed out violently, smashing against the shield and shattering it with a single, mighty blow. Castor skidded back from the force of the blow, drawing forth the strength he'd used against Bahamut to stand his ground. Black claws once again swiped towards him with murderous strength, but Castor lashed out and bashed the strike aside with ease. The impact sent shockwaves up his arms and through his body, but Castor ignored it.  

Nidhogg was weak, not only from using the Eye to sap Castor's aether and from fighting Estinien, but now from having the same sapping treatment done to him. Castor smiled coldly as he moved fluidly around the stone-gouging claws and searing flames, parrying strikes with Deathbringer or using fell magic to blast aside bursts of fiery breath.  

"What's the matter, wyrm? Feeling tired?" He spat as Nidhogg attempted to close his fanged jaws around the smaller warrior, only to miss and for his fangs to clip together loudly several feet away.  

The force of the dragon's strength shook the air, but Castor had felt far stronger. He reared and opened the side of Nidhogg's neck with a well-timed stroke, spilling dark blood all over the ground. Nidhogg shrieked in pain and took off into the sky, hovering just outside the nest.  

"Attend me, my kindred! Slay these treacherous mortals!" He bellowed, and lesser dragons of his brood swarmed onto the platform.  

Castor sighed and set about slaughtering everything that got close to him, pleased to see Arya cutting down the stragglers that snuck past him. Nidhogg roared, and aether flooded into his body, condensing into pure, radiant hate.  

"Oh gods, what is he doing? I must prepare the eye!" Estinien shouted, the orb in his hand coalescing power of its own.  

Castor nodded, looked up as a larger dragon descended, then pierced the beast's chest with a bolt of magic and sent it crashing to the earth with a great hole within its torso. Smaller drakes scuttled towards Estinien, only for Arya's crackling spear to burn their hides black.  

Estinien held the Eye high, and aether coalesced into a shining, draconian barrier shaped like scales around him. "Tis done, I am prepared!"  

"Vengeance!" Nidhogg screamed, and Castor dove into the barrier just as a wall of pure hatred and death crashed onto the arena.  

Power bounced off the barrier, pressing hard against the draconian light, but Castor added his own strength to the barrier by placing his hand upon the Eye, and it held strong.  

"Let's put an end to this," Castor pulled away, dashed out of the barrier as NIdhogg's assault waned and the massive dragon crashed to the earth, his strength spent.  

"Treacherous mortals!" He roared, clearly struggling to even lift his titanic body as Castor neared. "My rage...will see thee destroyed!"  

"I don't think so," Castor whispered to himself. "The Dragonsong War ends right here, right now!"  

He leaped into the air, drawing upon the Soul of the Dragoon to augment his leap and launch him high above his feeble foe. He plunged, rearing his massive sword, and slammed Deathbringer into Nidhogg's massive neck. Bones and scales snapped and shattered, Nidhogg's pained scream shaking the Aery.  

"Estinien! He's all yours, brother!" Castor yelled, jumping back and leaving an opening for the Azure Dragoon to exploit.  

"Vengeance is mine, foul wyrm!" Estinien shouted, his body shrieking through the air as his lance hit home.  

Castor slid backwards, watching in fascination as Estinien rammed his lance into Nidhogg again and again, spraying so much blood onto his armor that the black drachen mail was covered from helm to greaves in scarlet. Then the Azure Dragoon pounced on Nidhogg's great head, anchoring himself by the wyrm's horns as he plunged his lance into his singular eye and, with a sickening, visceral tear, ripped the golden orb free.  

Nidhogg shrieked in absolute agony and reared back, launching Estinien into the air once again, and the Azure Dragoon finished the war with one final plunge into the dragon's skull. Bone crunched, blood sprayed, and Nidhogg's dying scream shook the air. The dragon's massive body crumpled, shaking the earth, and at long last, the Dragonsong War had reached its conclusion.  

"Well, at least we know what happened to Hraesvelgr's eye," Castor mused as he stepped forward, studying the golden eye in Estinien's hand. "But, what happened to Nidhogg's second eye?"  

"I don't know, but frankly, I don't care at the moment," Estinien shrugged. "What do we do with this thing before we return to Ishgard?"  

Castor sighed/ "I suppose we return it to Zenith. Leave it for Hraesvelgr."  

"Very well, but first is the issue of actually returning to Zenith," Arya said hesitantly. "I'd prefer not doing the cannonball thing again, but..."  

Castor grinned at her. "You know you love the cannonball."  

"By the Fury, let's just get this over with!" Estinien snapped.  

"Very well," Castor placed himself at the side of Nidhogg's corpse, turned his gaze heavensward to the violet, foggy skies. "This will probably be as good a spot as any."  

"Do you really think so? Hopefully you'll have better control this time," Arya muttered, drawing closer to Castor.  

Estinien followed suit, reluctantly pocketing Hraesvelgr's golden eye. Castor placed his arms around them, conjured his shadow ball around the trio, then drew upon Garuda's and Bismark's aether once more. Carefully, keeping a tight leash on the eikons, he summoned a platform of wind underneath the trio and willed it into the air.  

Arya and Estinien were now clinging tightly to him, both swearing under their breath as the bubble rose through the violet mists, rose through ruins and jagged teeth of pulsing crystals, burst through the Aery's gaseous shell and once again emerged in clear blue skies.  

"There, much more controlled," Castor remarked, unable to keep himself from grinning. "Now...let's get to back to the Monsterie, eh?" 

"Why there?" Arya asked. 

"I'm not entirely sure: I just...sense something there." 

The bubble cruised smoothly upon the cushion of wind, not even shuddering as wind pounded against it every moment of the journey. The Monsterie came into view, tiny at first against the vast, broken landscape of the Churning Mists, but gradually it grew larger as the bubble neared.  

Castor's gut ached as he fought to control the descent, even as wind howled and beat against the shields, even as both eikons yearned to unleash the full destructive potential of their power. He brought the bubble in to the ruined fortress' ramparts, set them down, then released his magic and let it dissipate. 

"That was much more tiring than I'd anticipated," he grunted, the aetherial energies comprising his body swirling around, unstable from all the effort he'd exerted.  

"I can tell: your veins are all glowing silver, and I can see golden light shimmering from your eyes," Arya said. "You look unstable."  

Castor released his friends and held up his arms, immediately spotting the silver lines shining through the armor. His head swam a bit, and his muscles were now flooding his senses with fatigue now that the adrenaline of battle was fading. And then he detected another presence approaching, a familiar one that sent warmth into his heart.  

Then came the light footsteps that had forever etched themselves into his memory, and the lithe, black-haired form of the woman whose aetherial energies had become intertwined with his own rose from the stairway.  

Yugiri stepped closer, freezing and eyes widening the moment she saw him.  

"Oh! There he is, kupo!" Moghan fluttered up at her side, blissfully unaware of the shock in her face. "He looks a little different than before, kupo, but that's Castor, all right! If you're wondering why he looks different, kupo, you can thank that no good, nasty Nidhogg for sending a horde of really strong dragons that killed him!"  

"Moghan," Castor growled warningly, but the moogle happily ignored him.  

"The dragons were really strong, kupo! Nidhogg made a deal with the Paragons, kupo, and used his Eye to give his brood Castor and Estinien's strength! It was so scary, how they attacked, kupo! I ran as fast as I could, but the dragons still ripped Castor apart!"  

Yugiri's horrified expression only magnified at Moghan's cheerful explanation, and the now-tinier woman surged forward. Castor barely even registered when she tackled him, throwing her arms around his waist in a rare display of affection. His weakened body protested, but didn't collapse, thankfully. Gods, she was tiny compared to him, now!  

"Yugiri...I..." Words failed him, and he settled for reaching down to place his own arms around her.  

She was warm, his veins buzzing with aether at her touch.  

"I'm so sorry, Castor," she whispered. "I failed you...If I'd been here; if I'd fought by your side..."  

"You would have died with me, Yugiri," That was the one thing that he would never allow to happen, not to Yugiri. "Those dragons had been imbued with my own strength, thanks to my connection to Nidhogg and his Eye. The fact that I managed to kill them all even as they tore me apart...I'm just glad the dragons didn't go to Ishgard with that strength."  

"Nidhogg is dead," Estinien stepped forward. "The war is over."  

"Thank the kami," Yugiri whispered, her voice hoarse and arms tightening around his waist.  

Then Castor remembered: the pain he'd felt from her leg. 

"Yugiri, your leg," he craned his neck to look over her, rage burning within his breast at the sight of the bloodstained bandage wrapping her calf. "Let me see it!"  

"W-wait! Castor, I have something I have to tell you!" Yugiri pulled back, pure joy shining in her eyes. "Castor, Na-" 

A linkpearl hummed, cutting off whatever Yugiri was going to say as Aymeric's panicked voice echoed through the gem. 

"Yugiri! Have you found them?! We're under attack! The heretics have gotten into the city!"  

Castor's anger faded to icy fear, and his eyes immediately shot to Estinien, whose face had paled. He reached out and grabbed the linkpearl from Yugiri as she held it up to answer. 

"This is Estinien! We're on our way!"  

"Estinien? Praise Halone! We sent an airship after Yugiri, in case you needed one!" Aymeric's voice flooded with relief, and Castor thanked the stars for the man's foresight.  

"There!" Arya cried, and Castor followed her outstretched arm to see an Ishgardian airship streaking towards the Monsterie.  

"I wasn't aware they'd sent an airship..." Yugiri muttered, opening her mouth to speak further.  

Then her face turned stark white, sharp pain knifing through Castor's leg as Yugiri doubled over against him.  

"No...n-not now! It...was fine! W-why?!" She gasped in agony, and her eyes turned upwards, seeking his. "C-Castor. N-na-" 

No, he wouldn't allow her to waste her strength attempting to speak. Castor placed a gentle hand upon her wound, drawing from the Soul of the White Mage and silently willing her to sleep. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and Castor quickly lifted her limp form into his arms as wind from the airship pounded against him.  

"It'll be easier to treat her injuries if she's asleep, less pain for her to endure and for myself to feel," he explained to a perplexed Estinien. "Judging from what I'm feeling from her: her bone's been shattered but hastily healed, and I'm guessing she took some sort of painkiller to keep herself mobile." 

"Vidofnir," Ysayle's hollow voice made him jump and turn to see the woman approaching. "She taught me about this special herb that grows near Anyx Trine that the dragons use as a painkiller, if necessary. It's incredibly potent, but doesn't last for very long. If your friend passed through Anyx Trine, then she likely encountered Vidofnir, who would have very easily sensed the bond you two share."  

"Ysayle," Castor turned to shield Yugiri from the buffeting winds as the airship drew closer, the pilot shouting words lost to the whining engines. "Will you come with us? These are your people attacking the city."  

She gave him a weak nod, the haunted light in her eyes making his heart ache. "I will. The war is over, and they must be told."  

Estinien pulled Hraesvelgr's eye from his pocket and tossed it to the surprisingly silent Moghan, who yelped and nearly dropped the orb before hugging it to himself: "Return that to Hraesvelgr, with our compliments, moogle. We're done here."  

Then the Azure Dragoon leaped aboard the airship, whose pilot was now waving frantically for them to board. Castor followed suit, his armored feet slamming against the wooden deck upon landing. Ysayle and Arya were right behind him, but the pilot paused.  

"Where's Sir Entialpoh?! I'm not leaving without him!"  

Castor turned and stared at the man, reaching into his inventory and withdrawing the Ward papers that had never left his possession, carefully shifting Yugiri to cradle her in one arm. "I'm Castor: I'll explain later, but first we have to get to Ishgard!"  

The man stared at him and the papers, but a nod from Estinien was all he needed to gun the engines and speed them back the way he'd come.  

Castor laid Yugiri upon the deck with as much care as he could muster, glad that the wind kept blowing her hair from her features as he withdrew his Soul of the White Mage and rested it against her bandage. Gentle magic sank into her flesh and muscles, knitting together cut tendons and shattered bones that had only been partially healed. The conjurers of Stillglade Fane were good, but they were nothing compared to his White Magic. He quickly tucked the papers away before the wind could rip them from his grasp, staring down at his beloved friend's serene face as the color began to return to her cheeks.  

What had she been trying to say? He shook his head; he could worry about that later, when Ishgard was not being attacked and she was being properly healed. For now, all he could do was wait. 

Chapter Text

Ishgard was burning. 

Scarlet flames licked ancient stonework and wood, throwing pillars of thick, black smoke into the azure skies. Castor could see tiny figures among the flames and rubble, steel glittering all throughout the chaos. Insects scurrying about amongst the sparkling death; fighting, dying.  

"Take us down!" Estinien ordered, and the wide-eyed pilot aimed the ship's bow towards Foundation.  

Castor glanced back at the petite Doman ninja still dreaming within his arms, her face serene as her raven locks whipped against Castor's chest in the wind. He'd find a safe spot for her, then set about putting an end to the fighting.  

"Gods..." Ysayle whispered as heat buffeted the airship and making the vessel tremble. "I didn't order this!"  

"Apparently, they decided it was time to put an end to the war, as well," Estinien said drily, leaping off the ship as it hovered over the aetheryte plaza.  

Castor and Arya followed suit, Castor taking special care with Yugiri as his feet slammed into stone. She didn't even stir, thankfully, not even jolting from the impact.  

"Spread out! Find the vanguard and stop their advance!" Estinien ordered, but Castor nodded after the rapidly departing Ysayle.  

"I'm just going to follow her," he said to the Dragoon, who sighed and dashed at Castor's side as they trailed Ysayle.  

They ducked through the masses of struggling bodies, breaking up fights wherever they could even as Castor looked about for a safe spot to put Yugiri. After wading through the mess of flames and confusion, he decided just to keep her tucked in his arms, trusting Estinien to help defend her.  

"Estinien!" Haurchefant sprinted from the smoke at the head of a contingent of knights as heretics poured from the side alleys and engaged the city's defenders. "Where's Castor? Oh, by the Fury! Yugiri!"  

"Haurchefant, this is Castor," Estinien gestured at Castor, who offered a weak wave. 

"W-what happened to you?!" Haurchefant stared, an eyebrow raised, until Castor used his now-freed hand to pull out the crystal charm that Laniatte had given him.  

"Yeah, it's me. Nidhogg happened, to say the least, but he's dead." 

Haurchefant glared at Ysayle, his eyes turning to Estinien's scarlet armor. "You look as if you've been through the seven hells, themselves. Can you help us, Iceheart?"  

"That's why I'm here. I didn't order this attack, but I will do my best to get my people to stop fighting."  

The knight nodded. "And you, my friend: You owe me an explanation!"  

"You'll get it as soon as everything's calmed down," Castor growled. "Where's the vanguard?"  

"They're descending on the Vault, going for the archbishop," Haurchefant said, turning towards the burning rubble behind him. "With me! Aymeric was rallying the Temple Knights near the Pillars in an attempt to slow their advance."  

The party dashed through the mayhem of death destruction, smoke stinging Castor's eyes as embers and ash fell in lieu to snow.  

"There!" Ysayle cried, drawing their eyes to a large cluster of brawling knights upon the stairs of the Pillars.  

"She comes! Lady Iceheart is come!" A heretic shouted upon spotting her, and the two forces backed away as the party shoved their way through.  

"Is that the Azure Dragoon?" Several heretics tried to 'protect' their lady, only to pause in utter bafflement as Haurchefant and Estinien ignored them to stand at Ysayle's side in between the two armies.  

"What is the meaning of this?" Aymeric stood at the head of the defending, white-clad knights, his wide eyes focusing on Castor. "And where's Castor?" 

"I am Castor Entialpoh, Warrior of Light and chosen of Hydaelyn!" The words burned his tongue, yet they were the only ones these fools would listen to.  

"My lady! We almost have them!" A heretic commander shouted gleefully, and Ysayle turned her gaze upon her warriors.  

"My friends, I come from the Churning Mists bearing news!" She addressed the cheering heretics, her uncertain gaze flitting back to Castor. "Nidhogg has been slain! His brood have scattered to the winds: the war is over!"  

All voices faded, awed looks falling on the beaten Estinien and Castor's new form.  

"You mean...we lost?" A heretic spoke up, utter dejection in his voice. 

"Nidhogg has fallen, but this will open up the pathways to peace, my friends!" Ysayle cried. "Fall back! Please! The war has ended: there's no need to fight any further!"  

The heretics gazed at one another, bewildered, lowering their weapons as the news sank in. Then, slowly, one man turned his back on the battle and slunk away, followed by two more. The heretics trickled away, vanishing into the smoke, until all that was left were the Temple Knights.  

"The witch has driven her own army away?! Grab her!" A knight shouted, lunging at Ysayle.  

Before Castor could move to intercept him, Haurchefant and Estinien stepped in and halted the knight's attempt.  

"W-what?"  

"My people are withdrawing, Lord Commander," Ysayle said to Aymeric. "I did not order this assault, just so you know. This is the last thing I wanted, but at least the war is finally over."  

Then she dashed away, vanishing amongst the smoke and flames.  

Castor sighed, turned back to Aymeric. "I know, I have a bit of explaining to do. For now, however, let's focus on getting these fires doused and the wounded treated, hmm?"  

"I'll handle the explanations, Castor," Estinien offered, his gaze turning to Arya. "Perhaps you could inform your comrades in the legion?" 

"Aye. I'll make certain they know Nidhogg was responsible for it, not Ishgard. Don't want Lord van Arvina to get the wrong idea and attack, seeking vengeance."  

The Tribunus dashed off, but not before saluting Castor and grinning.  

"No, indeed...That would not be good," Castor muttered, carefully altering his hold to ensure the comfort of the warm body in his arms. "Now, I'm going to get to the infirmary and drop Yugiri off before diving into putting out the fires. Actually, the beacons I put up should help...give me a moment!"  

Castor dashed through the burning maze of wreckage and corpses, hearing the groans of wounded fighters amidst the crackling and roaring of the inferno. He could see men and women alike sprawled on the stones, knights and heretics, equals in death.  

Ifrit's beacons called out to him, yearning for his aether, yearning for the power of the eikon nestled within his soul, and he quickly found one of the burning beacons amidst the wreckage of a wooden stairwell. Castor reached out with his power, exerted his will, and the flames wreathing a nearby building slithered towards the beacons as if magnetized by it. Heat flared and roared, and the blaze was sucked into Ifrit's aetherial prison.  

"Well, it works," Castor grinned, his already unstable aether protesting as he forced his will onto the rest of the beacons, forced each one to begin absorbing all the flames they could.  

Pain knifed his gut as each one obeyed, but Castor grit his teeth, sucked in a breath, and pushed through it. He had to get Yugiri somewhere she'd be safe...she was most important. Legs protesting, Castor pushed on through the ruined city, pleased to see the other beacons absorbing the blazes around them as he wove through the mess of rubble and confused Ishgardians.  

He found the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly a flurry of activity and shouting voices, wounded knights being dragged in by the score and laid upon beds or makeshift cots of straw.  

"Sir Castor!" Lucia dashed over to him, her silver armor streaked with ash and soot. "Have you seen the Lord Commander?!"  

"Yes, he's at the entrance of the Pillars, on the steps. Haurchefant and Estinien might still be with him," Castor paused. "Wait, how did you recognize me?"  

Lucia grinned. "Well, for starters, you're carrying Yugiri in your arms, and you're still in the same armor as before."  

"I see. Could I possible use one of these cots for her? She's injured."  

"I...don't know. We're filling up too quickly."  

Castor swore under his breath, then heard Honoroit calling his name.  

"Sir Castor! Has anyone seen Sir Castor?!"  

The squire was dashing towards them, asking knights but receiving no answer. 

"Honoroit! I'm right here!" Castor called out to the boy, who froze and stared at him. 

"Sir Castor?" He approached hesitantly, staring up at the now massive Au Ra. "W-what happened to you?"  

"A long story, but what do you need me for?" Gods, this was going to take a while to get used to.  

"Lord Edmont heard that you were trying to care for a wounded friend and asked me to bring you to the manor," Honoroit bowed, but at least his nerves had eased up some.  

Oh, praise Azim and Nhaama. 

"Thank you, Honoroit," Castor sighed, a great weight lifting from his heart as he gazed down at Yugiri's serene face. "Let's go."  

"Lord Commander!" Lucia sighed with relief as she spotted Aymeric, rushing over to him as he turned at the sound of her call.  

"Lucia? Thank the Fury you're alright!" He smiled, spreading warmth through her body. "Did you have any issues with the imperials or the Scions?"  

Lucia shook her head, yearning to just abandon protocol and burst out the news. She could see the dwindling fires nearby being sucked into Castor's beacons, pausing to study them for a brief moment before snapping her attention back to Aymeric.  

"None, my lord. But, I have great news!" Lucia couldn't keep the smile from her lips. "The Alliance was telling the truth! Nanamo Ul Namo is alive! The Scions are saying that Castor used a tiny amount of White Magic on Nanamo before he was yanked away from her, and that tiny amount kept her alive!"  

Aymeric froze, his dark eyes wide. "S-she's actually alive? Then...they know Castor didn't..."  

Lucia nodded. "Teledji Adeledji has been taken into custody on charges of attempted regicide. Apparently, there was a plot between Adeledji and the Crystal Braves commander, Ilberd, but he escaped before the Sultansworn could take him."  

"Ilberd...I remember him from the banquet. Something about him just...unnerved me," Aymeric frowned, then his eyes snapped back to Lucia. "We have to tell Castor, quickly!"  

"And the legion," Lucia reminded him, and he nodded distractedly.  

"He went to Count Edmont's manor," Lucia pressed on, attempting to gain her lord's full attention. "Come!"  

"Sir Aymeric!" A mechanized voice blared through the incessant noise, and Lucia fought down the urge to groan.  

That black garbed Tribunus, Severus sas Aurelius, was striding towards them with two Hoplamachi flanking him. Lucia instinctively turned her face slightly to obscure the finer points of her face, but she doubted the Garlean would recognize her.  

"Tribunus sas Aurelius," Aymeric bowed stiffly, but he painted a warm smile upon his lips. "I must admit: I wasn't expecting to see anyone from the legion here."  

"Arya arrived but recently, alerting us to an attack on the city by the heretics. I came to offer any aid that the legion can spare," Severus reported, armor clanking as he snapped out a stiff salute.  

"Well, you have my gratitude, Sir Severus," Aymeric bowed his head slightly. "But I believe we have manners well in hand. The heretics have left the city, and Castor's beacons are proving invaluable in dousing the flames."  

"I see. Our offer shall stand, nonetheless. Now what is it you were just saying that you had to tell us?"  

Lucia almost swore, her heart racing within her chest as she fought to keep herself composed. How the hell did he hear her from that distance?! She shared a concerned glance with Aymeric, who nodded hesitantly after a moment of deliberation.  

"They've been gracious enough to protect our borders, so it's only fair we inform them," he said, turning his gaze back to Severus. "We sent Lucia into Mor Dhona to get in touch with the Scions, to see if the rumors of the Sultana's survival were true." 

All eyes fell on Lucia and she inhaled deeply to calm her nerves, stepped forward to face her former allies. "The Alliance was speaking the truth: Nanamo Ul Namo does indeed live, saved by the White Magic Castor had imparted to her before he was arrested."  

The three imperials did a double-take, looking at one another in surprise.  

"The Alliance...their messengers actually did speak the truth?" Severus shook his head slowly. "That's not what I was anticipating."  

"W-what do you suggest we do, sir?" One hoplomachus asked.  

Severus turned to Aymeric. "I suppose you were just on your way to tell Castor?"  

Aymeric nodded.  

"You, return to the border: tell the soldiers that my orders to exterminate any Alliance messenger has been rescinded; and you, return to Castrum Centri and begin alerting the rest of our forces. I want this knowledge spread as quickly as possible! Move!"  

The two soldiers saluted and dashed off, and Lucia breathed the tiniest sigh of relief.  

"May I come with you?" Severus asked. "Castor needs to know something else, as well."  

"You may," Aymeric nodded. "Come, then."  

The trio then wove their way through the not-quite-burning city, Lucia being careful to keep as much distance between her and Severus as possible without seeming suspicious. She glanced back, saw him assessing the damage to the city with an expert, engineer's eye. 

"Mostly superficial stonework and woodwork damage. Lot of scorching, but nothing that can't be repaired in a matter of weeks," he was murmuring. "A few magitek loaders and engineers would do wonders in rebuilding."  

Lucia forced her gaze ahead as they entered the Last Vigil, mostly untouched by the heretics' assault. She was pleased to see the churches and other sacred buildings, like the Scholasticate, without a single mark on them. Some manors had insignificant damage, like an arrow protruding from a door, some scorched stone, a gazebo with overturned chairs and a sword sticking out of the brazier.  

Aymeric approached the guards before the Fortemps manor and spoke to them, Lucia not even paying attention to the actual words as she kept an eye on Severus.  

"Yes, he actually just arrived a few scant moments ago," the guard was saying. "What happened to him, Sir Aymeric?"  

"Something no man should ever be forced to endure, not even him," Estinien's scarlet, beaten form approached from the staircase leading to the Tribunal. "Nidhogg got help from the Paragons, gave his brood strength rivaling Castor's own, then sent them after us. Castor was ripped to pieces, quite literally, but two beings residing in the Lifestream forged him a new body."  

Lucia swallowed, her throat dry as horror trickled into her mind. "By Halone...that poor man."  

"Now that Nidhogg's dead, he can get all the rest he needs to recover," Aymeric said sternly. "I will chain him to Haurchefant, if I must."  

Severus actually chuckled. "I can furnish you with strong magitek shackles to do that, if you wish. We are in agreement that this maniac needs to rest, after all."  

"Maniac, indeed," Estinien muttered, shaking his head.  

"What were those two beings, by the way?" Lucia found herself asking. "The ones that saved Castor?"  

Estinien's mouth tightened into a frown. "They called themselves 'Azim' and 'Nhaama', claiming to be the deities of the Sun and Moon. Castor definitely radiates light like those, especially at Dusk and Dawn, so prepare yourselves."  

She wasn't familiar with those names, but perhaps she could track down their origin. Beings in the Lifestream did ordinarily have a race or culture worshipping them, after all, just like all the other eikons.  

"Thank you, Estinien. Be certain to get some rest, yourself," Aymeric advised. "Might we be able to see Castor? We have some news for him." 

The knight guard nodded. "I'll announce you to the count and Sir Castor."  

The man slipped inside, leaving Estinien to glare at Severus.  

"Your friend Arya certainly knows how to handle herself with dragons," the Dragoon commented after a moment of awkward silence. 

"Our training prepares us for any foe, be they man or beast," Severus replied. "We must adapt to conquer, to survive. Frankly, I'd expected no less of Arya."  

"And you? How would you fare against a dragon?" Estinien pondered.  

"Likely not as well: my gunblade's strong, but not as strong as Arya's spear, Ragnarok., especially since my blade isn't augmented with electricity."  

"I see," Aymeric mused.  

The door creaked open, and the guard from earlier strode back out.  

"Castor's in the guest rooms, tending to Yugiri. One of the others will show you to the exact quarters."  

"Thank you," Aymeric bowed, then entered the manor at Lucia's side as the knight held the door open. 

The warmth was beyond welcome, and the young staff girl gave Severus a nervous look as she curtsied and motioned for the trio to follow. They marched forward in silence through the plush, elegant corridors, passing other staff in the midst of their duties. 

"It's this one, but please try to not disturb Castor too greatly," the younger girl said softly, curtsying again before slipping away. 

"Come in," Castor's weary voice came from within, and Lucia quickly pushed the door open and entering to find Castor seated at the Doman shinobi's bedside, holding the petite woman's hand as gentle emerald light shone from the other hand on her bandaged leg. 

He was clad in white robes befitting a healer, which seemed strange compared to the hulking armor he ordinarily wore. A white oaken staff lay against the chair at his side, its head, too, shining with magical light.  

"What do you need?" Castor asked, and Lucia realized that his face was stark white, beaded with sweat and tight with exertion. 

Severus stepped forward, his metal foot clicking against the stone floor as he saluted. "Castor, I bring word from Lord van Arvina: you are to be promoted to Tribunus laticlavius and granted the honors and authority befitting one of such a title."  

Both Lucia and Castor did a double-take, the latter quickly steadying himself as the magical flow rippled from his lapse of concentration. 

"Second-in-command?!" Castor blurted, those selfsame words about to escape Lucia's own lips before she caught herself. "What the hells did I do to warrant such a promotion? I'm not even a legionnaire, anymore!"  

"According to our registers, the moment we agreed to work with you and Ishgard; the moment you dedicated yourself to preserving us despite the Alliance's forbidden you to do so, you were reinstated to your old rank of Pilus Prior. So, yes, you are still a legionnaire, and we've all unanimously agreed that your contributions to the legion, as well as Eorzea as a whole, have more than earned your promotion," Severus replied with no small amount of satisfaction in his voice. "Arya informed us of your...transformation, and Lord van Arvina has already begun the preparations to outfit you, accordingly. We can even grant you a new weapon of your choosing, should you wish."  

Castor stared at Yugiri's peaceful, slumbering face, and Lucia found herself envying the Doman's beauty for a single, absurd moment. 

"All of you, you say?" He spoke softly. "So, just you and the other officers?"  

Severus shook his head, then realized that Castor wasn't looking at him. "No, not just us: we asked pretty much every legionnaire of all ranks what they thought, and they agreed with our assessment."  

For yet another absurd moment, Lucia debated stepping forward and blurting out hers and Aymeric's news, just to upstage the imperial and divert Castor's attention, but Yugiri's soft groaning chased away those thoughts.  

The Doman's gem-like eyes were opening, eyelids gradually, painfully peeling apart to allow her vision to return, and Lucia couldn't stop a small smile as those eyes immediately locked onto Castor.  

"C-Castor?" She whispered, attempting to raise the hand he held and stopping when she realized her predicament. "Where...are we?"  

"Fortemps Manor: I've been healing your injuries more thoroughly," Castor's voice was heavy with relief and joy, and Lucia could have sworn she saw something briefly shine within both Au Ras' chests. "Sorry for putting you to sleep, by the way."  

A faint smile crossed Yugiri's lips, and her weak laugh made her frame shudder. "Think nothing of it: I did the same to you when we first arrived here, did I not?"  

"How does your leg feel?"  

The leg in question, freshly wrapped in white bandages, lifted and slowly moved about. 

"Much better...a little stiff, but the pain is gone," Yugiri's eyes flashed with a sudden revelation, and her entire face lit up. "Castor, I've news of great import to share with you!"  

She sat up, with some difficulty, her voice growing stronger as Castor placed the hand once on her leg upon her back to aid her. "The Sultana, Nanamo, she's alive!"  

The silence that followed was thick enough to strangle the air from every set of lungs present. Castor's hands fell from where he'd held them, limply resting upon his lap as he stared at Yugiri.  

"I swear, by the kami, she's well and truly alive!" Yugiri insisted, reaching down and clasping Castor's hands. "I've seen her and spoken to her! The healing magicks you pushed into her before Adeledji intervened kept her alive, and Lolorito's alchemists purged the poison from her system after he'd realized that she lived!"  

Lucia resisted the urge to smirk at Severus, forced her attention solely onto the dumbfounded stare that Castor had fixed upon Yugiri.  

"Nanamo's...alive?" He whispered. 

"She is, I swear it!" Yugiri leaned forward and lifted one hand to his cheek. "Castor...they've already cleared you of the charges! Adeledji's in custody, waiting to be tried for attempted regicide!"  

"I see no reason they would be lying," Severus spoke up. "Messengers from Gridania have already begun approaching our fortifications, spouting the same claims."  

Castor's great form slumped, and Lucia stopped herself from reaching out when she saw the tears falling from his cheeks.  

"She's alive..." His voice was so soft, she barely heard it. "What else has occurred?"  

Yugiri quickly launched into a rapid explanation of the riots between the adventurers and the Immortal Flames, the Sultansworn's discovery of Nanamo's being alive, and of Ilberd's betrayal.  Lucia found her grin growing with every word the shinobi spoke, despite the efforts she made to keep herself composed as Yugiri finished, staring expectantly at Castor.  

He rose from the chair, his face impossible to read, and gently lifted his hands from Yugiri's.  

"I...need some time to think...alone," he murmured, robes shimmering into armor and clanking as he turned and strode out the room.  

"I don't blame him," Severus murmured, and Yugiri's sharp glare turned to him.  

In a flash of movement that even Lucia couldn't fully discern, the shinobi knocked Severus onto his rear and pressed one of her curved blades to his throat, pressing a knee to his chest to keep him down.  

"I heard every word you said," she spoke in a low, dangerous tone. "Do you really think you can steal Castor away from me? That you can make him a slave to the Empire once more?"  

Lucia's instincts screamed for her to reach for her blade, if only to protect Aymeric, but her hand froze at the sound of Severus' mechanized laughter.  

"You think we want to serve Garlemald's tyranny?" The Tribunus said between bursts of laughter. "After everything they've done to the weak and innocent? After all the horror they've subjected the world to in the name of half-assed glory?"  

Even Yugiri was nonplussed: the woman jolting and looking at her prey in surprise. 

"The strong should protect and guide the weak, not torment them and enslave them! Lord van Baelsar might have believed that Garlemald's might was the only option for peace and order, but that Empire has long since rotted!" Severus snarled. "Castor can help us make this world a better place; make it something that it should be!" 

Yugiri rose, lifting her blade from his neck, then dashed out the door. Severus coughed a couple times, pushed himself back up to his feet. 

"We can work together to forge a world where soldiers like him and I will no longer be needed, and where our sins will finally be atoned for," the Tribunus murmured, brushing himself off.  

"Aymeric, let's be on our way," Lucia said softly, and the man nodded. 

"Let's."  

She found him easily enough: sitting atop the ruins of Allagan buildings in Boulder Downs.  The cold was minimal, and the grey skies roiled overhead without any white flakes whispering earthward.  

"Yugiri, I thought I said I wished to be alone," Castor sighed as she leaped up to meet him. 

"I didn't hear you say any such thing," she smirked, eased herself down onto the cold alloy at his side.  

He chuckled, but said nothing as she sidled closer, ignoring the icy cold water now seeping into her rear.   

"Yugiri...I know it's wrong of me to ask, but is Nanamo truly alive?" His voice was soft and her heart ached at the pain she heard within it.  

Yugiri faced him, staring into those light, golden eyes. "Yes, she is. Truly."  

Those miniature suns filled up with water, and he looked away before any could fall. "Gods...so now what? Are they just going to come crawling back on their knees, begging me to return as their willing slave?" 

Yugiri leaned over, felt the heat radiating from his body as she nestled against him.  

"No matter what comes next, I will stand by you," she promised.  

"As you have from the very beginning. Yugiri, I will never be able to repay you for everything you've done, but know that I will always be indebted to you," 

"Oh, hush," Yugiri reached out and touched his wrist. "I believe we've already been over this, have we not?"  

His body shook as he chuckled. "Aye, but you know I have the thickest head in all of Eorzea."  

"Indeed," she sighed dramatically. "You surpass even some of the samurai I knew in Doma."  

"How much longer do you plan on staying in Eorzea?" Castor's soft question made her freeze. "I know you'll have to return to Doma eventually, yes?"  

"Yes," she murmured, the bitter reminder of her duty lodging within her throat.  

"I'd love to go with you, you know: to Doma," Castor reached out and rested his great hand upon hers. "I'd like nothing more."  

"You are needed here, as I am needed in Doma," Yugiri's heart quickened considerably at those words. "But I pray that the day will come that I can bring you to my home."  

His horned head turned to face her, his weary smile disguising the pain he was no doubt feeling. "That day will come, I promise. As soon as all the nonsense here is done, I'll see about embarking to Doma, to aid in the fight against the Empire."  

"I'll hold you to that promise, my friend," Yugiri warned, but she couldn't keep her smile down.  

"I'm counting on it," he chuckled, his own smile fading as his gaze turned back to the distance. "I'm going to Mor Dhona to speak with the Scions, and then I'll return to Ul'dah."  

Yugiri fixed her gaze upon that same horizon, staring at the dark shapes of imperial patrols near the old Aurum Vale.  

"If that is what you think is best, then I'll go with you," she offered. 

"No. I want to do this, myself," Castor's strong fingers gently slipped into hers. "I know you want to accompany me, but you need to rest before you overwork your healing leg."  

Yugiri glared at him, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at her. "Says the man who just recently slew Nidhogg after being literally torn to pieces and rebuilt."  

"Yes, but I'm the Warrior of Light, and you aren't. My stamina and rate of recovery far exceed yours," Castor reminded her, and Yugiri sighed. 

"If this is what you want, then far be it for me to impose my will upon you any further," she relented, if only for his sake. "Just...please take care of yourself, my dearest friend."  

"I'll do my best," came his usual reply, followed by that impish half-grin and that stoic nod of his head.  

Yugiri sighed. "Promise me more, Castor. You always say that, and this time...you almost didn't come back."  

"One of many times, believe me," Castor muttered.  

The guilt only intensified, burning within her throat and heart as bile of the foulest sort. How many times had he lain at the edge of life and death, alone? How many times had Castor nearly died due to those who didn't care for him as much as she did?  

"Castor," Yugiri put as much steel into her voice as she could muster, reaching out, grabbing his now-scaled chin and forcing him to look at her.  

Those golden orbs stared back at her, shimmering with odd light, but the emptiness inside them faded.  

"Very well, Yugiri: I promise you that I will return to you no matter the mission I find myself on. I will come back to you."  

Heat flushed her cheeks at his words, but she smiled as joy burst within her heart. 

"Thank you, Castor. I...understand that this may seem a tad unnecessary, but it eases my worries."  

He grinned, his own grey cheeks tinted red. "If anything, I should be thanking you, as I said back at that spring."  

"We'll have to take another short dip there sometime soon," he was so close...so warm...she wanted to stay here, in this spot, forever.  

"I agree. But, first, I have things to be done, as do you," Castor released her hand and went to rise.  

"Indeed," Yugiri closed herself down, cast away the bitter drought that burned within her heart, and rose.  

To her surprise, Castor's hand snaked down and rested upon her cheek, warmth flitting from the tender contact.  

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Yugiri," he murmured, gazing down at her in a way that turned her heart into pulp.  

"Don't ever make me find out," she replied. "After all, I refuse to let you die on me again because I wasn't there."  

He chuckled, that smile of his never fading. "Well, I shall strive to avoid repeating that experience, especially since I rather doubt Azim and Nhaama would bail me out a second time."  

"There won't be a second time, Castor," Yugiri insisted, leaning into the warm, gentle hand upon her cheek. "Now, don't you have somewhere to go?" 

"Yes, mother," Castor rolled his eyes and pulled that warm hand away, then turned away and leaped down.  

His form slammed into the earth, kicking up clouds of snow, and Yugiri watched as he entered the skeletal forests of Boulder Downs. Her keen eyes followed his progress past the saluting imperial patrols, up until he vanished into the pass leading to Revenant's Toll.  

"Castor...My beloved friend," she murmured, holding the warmth of his touch within her heart. "May the kami guide you to happiness."  

Mor Dhona hadn't changed, but the Rising Stones wasn't his objective. Castor stuck to the shadows, his keen senses already alerting him to the shinobi keeping watch in the newly built stone walkways rising high over the Toll. He slipped past each one with ease, sparing a glance at the bustling town as adventurers and toiling workers scurried about in droves. So lively.  

He made his way out of the Toll without alerting the adventurer guards, and skulked his way towards the lights of Castrum Centri, passing groups of those great salamander creatures as he ghosted towards the castrum's picket lines.  

Castor only made himself visible to the pickets milling about within the barricades once he was certain that none from the Toll could see him. 

"L-Lord Castor?!" One legionnaire blurted, hurriedly saluting. "Forgive us, my lord! We weren't expecting you!"  

The other pickets rushed over, grinning shamelessly as they abandoned discipline and protocol to salute their newest Tribunus. 

"At ease, my friends," Castor returned the salute. "The Eorzeans cannot know I am here, so please return to your posts. I'm going to Castrum Meridianum, and I’ll do my best not to obstruct the Phantom Train."  

Footsteps approached, as did the familiar crackling of a certain spear.  

"Actually, I was just on my way to get you," Arya grinned. "The Train's been prepped to carry the two of us over to Meridianum."  

Castor nodded. "Right. Well, it seems I'm expected, so let's not waste any time, hmm?"  

He strode up to Arya's side, returning the salute she gave him, then followed her into the castrum walls. To his surprise, more black and scarlet-clad legionnaires were lined up inside, each one stiffly saluting as Castor and Arya passed.  

Magitek automata also lined the path to the Phantom Train's station, the black vehicle humming as it idled by the platform.  

"See? First Class," Arya said with a laugh, and Castor rolled his eyes.  

"Indeed," he murmured, the smell of ceruleum tinting the air.  

A thousand memories bubbled up within his mind, but Castor forced the unwanted images away before he could lose himself to them. Focus on Arya, focus on what you came here for.  

"Well, this trip should be pretty quick," Arya commented as she and Castor approached the open train door.  

More legionnaires were standing guard by said door, black steel halberds glittering in the sunlight as they straightened. Castor nodded to the men and strode inside the train, raising an eyebrow at Arya when he saw the two female legionnaires standing by the chairs he and his fellow Tribunus were to take.  

"I am so sorry that they've done this to you," he sighed, bowing his head as the two women, clad in black and white domestic outfits, flushed with embarrassment. "Whose idea was this?"  

They glared at Arya, who snickered as she sat down on one of the benches. 

"What? You're getting extra payment and off duty shifts for this," the Valkyrie winked at Castor. "Besides, you look irresistible, don't they, Castor?"  

He resisted the urge to slam his face, repeatedly, into the nearest metal panel. "Are your uniforms nearby?" 

Both women shook their heads, the bolder of the two stepping forward: "No, my lord. We were ordered to leave them behind."  

"Arya, why?" Castor heard the door clang shut behind him, heard the whine of the Train's ceruleum engines firing up. "They are soldiers and comrades, not playthings."  

The Valkyrie's grin faded, but she shrugged. "I know, but these two had been working with other legionnaires to come up with a welcoming party for you. I figured that this would be a good start to it, hmm?"  

Both legionnaires flinched. "You know about that?" 

"Of course I do! And, frankly, I don't appreciate being left out!" Arya's smile returned, unabashed, and she laughed. "Don't worry: this is just me having a little fun! You're not in trouble!"  

The train trembled as it began its journey back to Meridianum, and Castor braced himself against a black pillar lining the wall.  

"Please, sit," he said to the stumbling legionnaires, who looked at him in surprise but obeyed. "I will not have my comrades shamed or used in this...manner simply at the behest of a fellow officer."  

Both women smiled warmly at him, their appreciation shining in their eyes.  

"Well, it appears you passed our test!" Arya laughed, and Castor raised an eyebrow as the two legionnaires nodded.  

"I told you we shouldn't have even considered testing him, Lady Arya," the bolder one laughed. "Castor's appearance may have changed, but he's still the same, sweet fool he's always been." 

"Careful! He's a Tribunus, now!" The other warned with a playful smile. "We don't want to get on his bad side." 

Of course...Gods damn it, Arya. 

"Oh, for the love of...this was a test?" Castor sighed, the headache that had started up moments ago now knifing through his temples. "For what? To make sure I wouldn't abuse my power to satisfy some...carnal urges?"  

"Yup," Arya snickered. "You have to stay true to that Yugiri woman, don't you?"  

Castor glared at her, just barely keeping the flush from his cheeks. "Yugiri and I are not a couple, Arya."  

"Really? Could have fooled me, the way you two act. I mean, she followed us through those frozen wastes, through dragon-infested towers and whatnot just to find you! While she was suffering from a shattered leg, at that!"  

"If that's not dedication to a loved one, I don't know what is," one of the legionnaires sighed.  

Castor shot her a deadly look. "Arya, you seem to be forgetting that I'm your superior, now. Would you like to spend the next few weeks shoveling out the waste chutes with your friends, here?"  

The trio paled, but wisely clammed up. As the train slowed, no doubt to enter Meridianum, Castor turned his gaze back to the conspirators.  

"You two, please just return to your quarters and change, then do whatever it is Arya's put you up to," he ordered, both women grinning shamelessly as they saluted.  

"Yes, my lord!" The train screeched to a halt, jolting the legionnaires, and Castor was immediately the first one to duck out the door as it hissed open.  

"Lord tol Entailpoh!" The assembled legionnaires standing before the station chorused, arms raised in salute. "Welcome home!"  

Home...Castor gazed around the station, at the black steel and magitek, unwelcome memories once again attempting to force themselves into his mind. He pushed them away, returned the salutes, and found himself staring at the faces of those he'd fought and bled beside. Faces that had once been enemies; faces that he'd clashed with during Operation Archon.  

"Welcome home," Arya said gently, her smile radiant as she, too, saluted Castor.  

They'd been comrades, then enemies, and now they were welcoming him to their family once more. His past sins against them forgotten; all that remained was for him to officially retake his place along the legion.  

Castor strode past his comrades, down the roads that were drilled into his head (each castra had the same, if not similar, layout; one castra looked like the other, so long as the foundation permitted it). Before long, he reached the Legatus' chambers, and the door slid open before he even reached out to knock.  

"Enter," Rhitahtyn's powerful voice intoned, and Castor chuckled as he strode into the large quarters. 

Arya slipped in at his back, her grin burning into his skull as he took in the neat, well-lit chambers. 

"Lord van Arvina," he saluted the titanic Roegadyn, quite surprised to see that he was almost a head taller than the man.  

"Castor, full glad am I to see you, especially after what happened in Dravania," the legate bowed his head. "Now, I'll make this quick, as I'm certain you have business to take care of in Mor Dhona and Ul'dah."  

Rhitahtyn turned to an immaculate black desk that Castor had stood before many times in the past, albeit in a different location. The faint marks etched on its shining, sleek surface were still there, as was the dent in the one leg from where van Baelsar had tossed Castor's probatio tablet, which had marked him as a slave to the legion.  

This was the desk before which Castor had been given full membership in the legion, the desk where he'd finally become a soldier. Rhitahtyn reached behind it, and a small click resounded through the room. Part of the black wall folded and slid into a hidden recess, and Castor's heart skipped within his chest.  

Resting on a steel mannequin was a black and gold set of imperial officer armor, a gleaming scarlet surcoat trailing down the middle in typical Garlean fashion. The metal was as black as the Abyss, lined with gold, and Castor noticed that the left gauntlet was missing.  

"Now, for the gauntlet: I have something here that Lord van Baelsar had been experimenting with, as I'm sure Arya has explained," Rhitahtyn held out a clunky, pitch black gauntlet fitted with a glowing wrist cannon, the selfsame design that van Baelsar, himself, had masterminded and perfected.  

"I did your measurements back in the Churning Mists, when you were asleep," Arya chuckled.  

"And I had several pieces my size that were easily refitted to you," Rhitahtyn added. "Well? Will you do us the honor of wearing this?"  

Castor looked at Arya, found himself grinning despite the warring emotions within his heart. "So, this is why you were being so cuddly."  

The Valkyrie snorted, her grin never fading. Castor stared at the beautiful armor, found himself desiring to once again wear armor that he'd earned the right to wear through blood, sweat, and tears.  

"Should I change elsewhere, Legatus? I wouldn't feel right doing so in the middle of your chambers," Castor glanced at Arya, saw her manic smile shining with pride and hope.  

"Nay: I'd be honored. Allow us to grant you some privacy," the two officers ducked out of the room, shutting the door behind them, and Castor stepped forward, slipping Deathbringer from his back and leaning it against the wall.  

His hands pulled each piece of armor off with practiced precision, his Chaos armor disappearing into shadowy aether that his Soul Crystal absorbed as he began strapping on the outfit of his past and future.  

His undershirt and trousers fit snugly into the armor as each was pulled and buckled into place, the weight foreign and familiar all at the same time, and the ebon shell's faintly oiled scent crept into his nostrils.  

It fit him perfectly, and Castor slid his hand into the wrist cannon gauntlet. His fingers brushed against smooth crystal veins, which immediately reacted to his touch by humming and resonating with magic. He felt the trigger, felt the slight siphoning of his own aether as the device drew upon his magical reserves to power it.  

"Are you done?" Arya called in, opening the door regardless of whatever answer he didn't give. "Oh...wow! How's it fit?"  

Castor grinned at her, straightening his spine and placing his hands behind his back. "Perfect. Your measurements were exact."  

"Ha!" The Valkyrie crowed as Rhitahtyn, too, entered. "And here, you thought it would be too big!"  

"I am glad to have been proven wrong," the legatus intoned, voice thick with pride. "Castor, I cannot express how it heartens me to see you accepting us once again. With you back among us, we can take this legion everywhere Lord van Baelsar intended."  

"Perhaps. If we are to make this world a better place, where the weak are protected by the strong, and all are at peace, then perhaps this is the best path for me to take," Castor reached over and reclaimed Deathbringer, sliding it into place upon his back. "Now, I have some old friends to visit."  

"Let us come with you," Arya offered, and Castor shook his head. 

"No: I have to do this alone. I apologize if I'm neglecting my duties as Tribunus, my lord, but I cannot do anything until this is resolved."  

Rhitahtyn chuckled. "Please, you've already done more than enough for us. Go now, Castor, and let the world know who you are."  

Yes...Castor saluted, metal clinking, and then turned his back on his allies. The world, and the Scions, would see what he'd molded himself into, what the Light and Dark had molded him into. 

Chapter Text

"H-hey! Who are you?!" The two adventurers guarding Mor Dhona's gates jolted at the approach of the Auri Garlean officer, whose golden eyes burned through both warriors.  

"I have business with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, so move aside," that cold, authoritative voice sounded so familiar, yet everything else about the man was alien.  

His jet-black armor lined in gold, crested by a scarlet surcoat, glittered darkly in the midday light, his massive black sword shimmering with veins of silver light. His height...gods above, this guy could just pick them up and toss them aside! 

"I'm afraid I can't let you through," one adventurer mustered his courage, raised his lance in a silent threat.  

"Don't waste my time," the imperial sighed, the boredom flickering across his face setting off scores of warning bells within the adventurer's head.  

"Hey, I think we should move," the second guard murmured, fear in his eyes. "This guy...I don't think he's messing around."  

"Fine," right as those words were spoken, the imperial shoved past the duo, the brief push of his arms a black freight train that slammed both from their posts with unnatural ease.  

The duo watched warily as other adventurers scrambled to get out of the imperial's way, and the first guard prayed he hadn't made a mistake as the officer ducked into the Rising Stones.  

"Hey! Who the hells are you?!" Minfilia jolted at her desk at Hoary's shout, her alarm only growing as the man's voice was raised in a pained cry.  

"Everyone! An imperial's come!" Coultenet's cry followed.  

"Seven hells...what now?" Alphinaud murmured, reaching for his grimoire as heavy footsteps pounded towards the door.  

"Are we being betrayed by the legion?" Y'shtola frowned.  

Thancred unsheathed his daggers, standing protectively before Minfilia's desk as the footsteps paused before the door. "They'll regret this!"  

Yda and Papalymo readied their weapons, and Urianger took a step back.  

To everyone's surprise, the doors slowly creaked open, and a gargantuan imperial officer clad in armor darker than anything Minfilia had ever seen strode in. He was an Au Ra, his golden hair matching the miniature suns of his eyes, and his muscular frame rivaled, if not surpassed, the Flame General's.  

Dark horns edged in scarlet protruded above his shoulders, black scales lining his face making his already frightening appearance even fiercer.  

"Stop right there!" Thancred barked. "Explain yourself, imperial!"  

Those fierce eyes settled onto Minfilia, and the power resonating from the imperial made her shudder. This aether...this power...it rivaled Castor's, although it was completely different! Who was this man?! 

"Who are you?" Minfilia's voice betrayed her, drawing nervous glances from her friends. 

He didn't say a word, just continued gazing at Minfiilia. That oversized left gauntlet swayed a bit as he turned to survey the rest of the Scions.  

"Answer us, or I will force it out of you," Thancred snarled, his voice tight with barely controlled fear.  

Those golden eyes fixed onto the rogue, shining with a cold, deliberate challenge as he slowly reached for the hilt of his massive blade.  

Thancred roared and lunged with blinding speed, followed by Yda and bolts of magic from Y'shtola and Papalymo. Time slowed, and Minfilia's heart skipped a beat. The imperial swung that massive blade in slow motion, unslinging it from his back with a single, fluid movement and swiping it forward with a single hand.  

Steel shrieked as Thancred's blades met that massive hunk of black steel, and the rogue skidded backwards from the force of the blow. Yda lunged under the swing as Thancred was forced back, her fists streaking towards the imperial's gut. The free hand, the left, immediately swiped forward and metal shrieked Yda's caesti slammed into the gauntlet.  

"Huh?!" The Ala Mhigan blanched, reared back and attempted to strike again. 

The imperial blocked her strikes again, a wall of dark magics forming around the duo and dissipating the magic projectiles that had been sent his way. Another swipe, and Yda, too, skidded backwards, nearly slamming into Minfilia's desk.  

"Cease thy assaults," Urianger's cool voice made everyone freeze, and Minfilia glanced at the man to see him staring at the imperial. "What is thy identity? Thine aether...'tis unusual and similar to that of the Lifestream."  

The Lifestream? Minfilia frowned, drawing upon the Echo to gaze at the imperial. To her surprise, her power rebounded, pain knifing through her skull.   

"He can resist the Echo?" She wondered aloud, drawing shocked looks from her companions.  

"Your weak version of it, yes," the imperial said coldly, slipping his blade back into place. "To think that you are all still so frail...How disappointing."  

"Who are you?" Alphinaud demanded.  

That voice! Minfilia's heart leaped into her throat: it was deeper than it had been once, but there was no mistaking that tone. 

"Have you really forgotten me?" The imperial's lips peeled into a cold smile. "Castor Entialpoh, Warrior of Light reborn, at your service."  

The silence was suffocating, and Minfilia's soul screamed at the resonance of the one she'd come to know so well. 

"C-Castor?!" She whispered, the cold light in his eyes freezing her heart.  

"What the hells are you doing wearing that?!" Thancred spat, his eyes wide and voice conflicted between disbelief and rage.  

"So, that's the first thing you care about, is it?" Castor chuckled cruelly. "Of course...the fact that Nidhogg killed my previous body matters little, as does the new body granted to me by two deities in the Lifestream."  

"What did you just say?!" Y'shtola blurted, dropping her wand. "Nidhogg killed you?!"  

Castor nodded. "Aye, he did, thanks to our old friend Lahabrea. Luckily, Azim and Nhaama gave me a new body, which is what you see now."  

"Castor! Nanamo's alive! You don't have to hide behind the imperial walls, anymore!" Yda blurted, slipping her weapons into her belt. 

"Oh, I know. Yugiri just told me scarcely an hour ago," Castor's twin suns were burning with rage, and his form rippled as a scarlet aura flickered to life around him. "So, who wants to get on their knees first and beg for me to become their personal slave again?"  

"C-Castor?" Y'shtola looked at him with wide eyes, her jaw dropping.  

Minfilia skirted around her desk, her heart racing at a thousand yalms per moment as she approached Castor. She couldn't sense any trace of the Mother's power inside of him, aside from the faint aura of Her blessing. Instead, she sensed two other powers that made her feel as if she stood before the Sun and Moon, themselves.  

Castor sighed. "Oh, to hells with it...I'm going to Ul'dah."  

"W-wait! You can't just march in unannounced!" Alphinaud leapt in, attempting to defuse the situation. "We have to send word and let them know to expect your arrival!"  

"I suppose you're correct. Wouldn't want to inconvenience the bastards who smeared my name through the mud and threw me to the wolves," Castor's bitter voice filled the air. "Or the people who left me to said wolves. Well, I suppose I can't wholly blame you, what with my reputation and tendency for treason."  

"Castor, you know we couldn't go against the wishes of the Alliance," Papalymo spoke up in an icy tone. "We were tied down in ways preventing us from aiding you, especially with the interference of your precious legion."  

Castor's lips twisted into that cold smile yet again. "That legion stood by my side and supported me when you didn't, even defying you to do so."  

Minfilia flinched, the bitter drout of guilt burning her heart.  

"But enough of this: I didn't come here solely to verbally spar with you," Castor shook his scaled head, his features a darker reflection of Yugiri's. "Nidhogg is dead: the Dragonsong War is over, and my inclinations to Ishgard have come to an end. I'll go to Ul'dah, even if it means having to deal with their petty beauracrats."  

Minfilia stared at him, then slowly nodded to Thancred. "Thancred: go to Ul'dah, tell General Aldynn that we managed to get ahold of Castor."  

"Alright," Thancred's body swirled with aether, and he vanished in a burst of light and energy.  

The Scions and the Warrior of Light remained silent, the tension in the air electric and churning until Yda squirmed where she stood. 

"Oh, I can't take this anymore! C'mere, Castor!" She lunged, tackling Castor in an overly enthusiastic hug before the man could react. "I've missed you so much! I hated not being able to just punch everyone who framed you!"  

Castor's hard expression softened as Yda buried her face into his torso, wrapping her arms around him.  

"She's right, you know," Papalymo sighed. "Every day in Gridania was her griping about how she wanted to march back to Ul'dah and plant her fists in Adeledji's 'lying, corrupt face'. Don't even get me started on the times I had to stop her from charging the imperial border wall just to get to you."  

Castor said nothing, but wrapped the smaller woman in his arms, the tiniest of sincere smiles forming upon his lips as she sighed happily at the touch.  

"I'm so glad to see you again, Castor," Minfilia said softly, daring to step forward even as those sharp eyes punched into her.  

"So you say. Still...I suppose I'm being a mite too harsh because of my own rage," he sighed, that flickering scarlet aura fading. "I'm still going to string Adeledji up by his own intestines, maybe Lolorito, too."  

"Lolorito's been pardoned by Nanamo," Alphinaud said slowly. "He revealed that his plan was to stop Nanamo from dissolving the monarchy by taking ahold of Adeledji's assassination plot and replacing the fatal poison with sleeping drought. To shock Nanamo into realizing how fragile the situation currently is, and how much Ul'dah needs her as its ruler."  

Castor snorted, but his eyes were grim orbs of reluctant acceptance. "Conniving worm...yet he did it for the right reasons, I suppose."  

He fell silent, just holding Yda in his arms, then looked over to Y'shtola: "How is Nanamo faring? If it was just a small amount of my magic that kept her alive...she had to have been in serious pain."  

"She's recovering swiftly but still worrying herself sick over you," the Miqo'te answered. "We've had to prevent her from sneaking out of Ul'dah in order to parley with the imperials at the border."  

"Still so stubborn..." Castor shifted his weight, gently pulling Yda off of him. "Alright, Yda, that's gone on long enough." 

"S-sorry. I was just...so scared I'd never get to see you again...and then you show up in imperial armor," the woman mumbled, reaching up and brushing away tears from under her mask.  

Minfilia's linkpearl hummed, and she quickly lifted a hand to answer it: "Yes?"  

"They're ready," Thancred intoned, his voice tight and unnatural. "Try to keep Castor from cutting down everyone once you arrive."  

"Understood. Shall we go to the Aetheryte plaza?" Minfilia's heart picked up speed considerably, pounding against her ribs.  

"Yes."  

"Alright, then."  

Castor grunted. "So, Aetheryte Plaza? I suppose I'll meet you there."  

Aether rippled and warped around him, and the Warrior of Light vanished.  

"H-hey! You aren't getting away that easily!" Yda protested, following suit.  

Alphinaud sighed, shaking his head as his body, too, rippled and vanished into the aether.  

"Go on! I'll take care of things here!" Tataru strode in from where she'd been 'hiding', her eyes gleaming with joyous tears and her smile infectious.  

Minfilia nodded, drawing upon the Lifestream and willing it to bring her to Ul'dah. Darkness and light both overtook her, bending and rippling across the currents of Life, and Minfilia steadied herself as she burst back into being, standing in Ul'dah's darkened Aetheryte Plaza.  

Immediately, her ears were struck by dozens of different voices cheering and chanting, making her wince. 

"Castor!" 

Just his name. Over and over. Deafening as it pounded the air. 

"Castor! Castor!" 

Roaring all across Ul'dah, the adventurers' voices drowning out all other noise.  

"Castor!" 

Minfilia wanted to join in, to let his name spill from her lips in cadence with so many others, yet the pain in her heart would not allow her. These adventurers had fought for him, had bled and died for his name, his innocence, while she'd done nothing. And they didn't care that he now wore imperial armor, that his body had changed so drastically.  

They only saw their comrade; their hero.  

They saw only Castor Entialpoh.  

Minfilia's deadened legs trudged forward of their own volition, trailing Castor as he strode, dumfounded towards the crowd. The Guild Masters of the Gladiators, the Pugilists, and the Thaurmaturges all stood before him, faces painted in bright smiles as Castor approached them. The gladiator (what was her name? Mylla or something of that sort?) dashed forward and slammed a metal fist into Castor's shoulder before she, too, embraced him.  

"Words cannot well express how thankful I am to see you returned to us!" The woman beamed, her fair features almost glowing with joy. "Gladiators! You know the drill!"  

Her gladiators scurried about behind her, forming an aisle of raised swords and shields for Castor to walk within. Minfilia tried to fight down the sting in her heart as the aisle closed before her and the other Scions, shutting them away from Castor.  

His name was chanted from hundreds of lips, hundreds of throats, filling the air with those two syllables. The Scions silently-except for Yda, who was vigorously joining in the chanting-trailed Castor's advance from the sides, and Minfilia could feel many venomous glares fixed upon her and her allies.  

Then came the Emerald Lane, and the gleaming ranks of Sultansworn raising their blades in salute as Castor emerged from the aisle of Gladiators.  

"Castor!" Head Paladin Jenlyns was beaming, even as he subtly studied the Warrior of Light's new form. "Welcome back, my brother-in-arms!"  

"It's good to be back, Jenlyns," Castor intoned, gazing back over his shoulder with a wry grin as Yda cheered.  

"Heh, Archon Yda seems glad to have you returned," Jenlyns chuckled. "As are we all. Come: Her Grace awaits you."  

Minfilia and the Scions trailed after Castor and his Sultansworn escort, the Antecedent biting her cheek with muffled frustration as two of the paladins urged Yda up to Castor's side before cutting off the rest of her party.  

"Her, really?" Papalymo muttered under his breath, his complaint lost amidst the chanting chorus. "Honestly, just because Yda admires Castor more openly than the rest of the Scions..."  

Minfilia chuckled. "It's no secret that Yda is quite attached to him, especially after the events with Moenbryda...The two were nearly inseparable for months, and then the Steps of Faith came about."  

She watched as Yda bounced on her feet at Castor's side, chattering excitedly to him even though the words didn't reach Minfilia. Castor smiled at the smaller woman, the warmth in his eyes almost an insult.  

"You're my pillar of strength, Castor, and I hope that you will continue to support me," those words, spoken shortly after Castor had rescued her from Nabriales, bubbled up bitterly within her mind.  

The Echo brought that memory up with mocking clarity: Minfilia leaning into Castor's embrace all those months ago, when he still cared for her in the way that made her heart melt.  

"I'll stand with you, Minfilia, no matter what," he'd chuckled. "I'm just glad that you're safe."  

"And I feel the same about you," she'd whispered, her hands trailing over the fresh bandages he'd worn. "I'm sorry that you had to risk your life for me yet again."  

"I'm getting used to it. Besides, it isn't a terrible thing to have to keep rescuing such a beautiful maiden," he'd teased, the words making her cheeks burn.  

"Ever the gallant hero," she'd laughed, lightly elbowing her hero. "Honestly: how you're not spoken for is a mystery to me."  

Castor had snorted. "Please, like any woman would fall for me."  

"Oh, nonsense!" She didn't know how the conversation had taken such a turn; perhaps born of her guilt, her desire for someone to make her feel wanted in the wake of Moenbryda's death. "If I wasn't the Antecedent, I'd pledge my heart to you in a moment's notice!"  

Castor had stilled at that, and Minfilia had paused, thinking she'd overstepped her bounds.  

"E-er, my apologies, Castor...I...don't know why I said that," she'd murmured, her heart aching as silence followed.  

"Minfilia," his voice was soft, almost impossible to hear. "You know I can never love anyone, lest they become the target of my innumerable enemies. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone, especially someone that important to me."  

"I know...you said that when Thancred attempted to cajole you into a night on the town with a few of your 'admirers',"  Minfilia had said. "Yet...I care very deeply for you, Castor. More than anyone else I've ever met. Your kindness...your warmth...you are my hope and my shining star, Castor. I...I love you, and it hurts knowing that I can never be yours."  

Castor had said nothing, and the hands that rested upon her waist went limp. "Minfilia...I...I don't know what to say."  

She watched, clear as day, as the Echo replayed the scene in full clarity: her turning in Castor's arms and draping her own around his neck.  

"Don't say anything, my hero," she'd whispered. "Just...please...let me have this."  

It had been a mistake; fueled by grief and desperation, her just taking advantage of Castor. She'd remembered that night, spent together, lost to her own delusional passions and carnal desires. Feeling him inside her...and then came the surge of seed that could no longer, due to the violent aether of the Primals he'd absorbed, sire a child.  

Then it was gone, and Minfilia snapped herself out of the mistake she'd made, the mistake she'd forced Castor into all to absolve her own self-pity. It was little wonder that he'd become a bit distant with her afterwards, no matter how many times she'd apologized to him. Her heart still yearned for what it couldn't have, especially now that he had returned.  

"Presenting Castor Entialpoh!" Jenlyns announced at the head of the Royal Promenade, and those grand doors rumbled open.  

The doors had yet to even finished grinding apart when surprised shouts reached her ears, and a small form dashed out, only to freeze before Castor.  

Castor froze, and even from her poor vantage point, Minfilia could see Nanamo Ul Namo and the Warrior of Light staring at one another.  

Silence: the entire world seemed to be holding its breath. Minfilia's heart slammed against her ribs, aching it every beat.  

"Castor!" Nanamo's voice split the silence, and Minfilia couldn't resist smiling as Castor dropped to his knees.  

The tiny Sultana, utterly dwarfed by his now-massive frame, raced forward and, in a manner very unlike royalty, threw her small arms around Castor.  

"Castor! By Nald, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" Her voice was ripped by sobs, and her entire body trembled as she cried into the Warrior of Light's arms. "This is all my fault...all of it...What happened to you because of me?"  

"I became stronger, and because of everything, I managed to end a thousand-year war," Castor's voice was soft, thick with emotion as he held on to the Sultana as if his life depended on it. "Nanamo...I'm so glad you're safe...that you're alive."  

Raubahn slunk out after Nanamo, the guilt etched upon his scarred face making Minfilia pity the man.  

"Castor...words cannot well express the guilt I feel," the Flame General rumbled, and Castor released the Sultana to slowly rise. "And the shame...to think I so willingly fell for the Monetarist's ploy. I...know not what I could possibly do to make it up to you."  

The Warrior of Light continued rising, Minfilia realizing with horror how Castor now towered a good head or so above General Aldynn as the man craned his neck to meet the Warrior's sharp eyes.  

"I know exactly how you could start," Castor said with a soft, dangerously edged voice. "Where is he? Adeledji?"  

"In the Pit, with all the other condemned criminals," Raubahn replied. "Bottom level, the very last cell on the left."  

"And Ilberd?" 

The Flame General shook his head. "We don't know. We've had people searching for him everywhere, but none have seen hide nor hair of that traitor."  

"I see. Have you not bothered to consider that he has made a break for Gyr Abania? That he may be attempting to slip past Baelsar's Wall?" Castor asked coldly. "Seems obvious to me."  

Raubahn scowled. "We would have found him if he was, Castor. Believe me: we've checked the Wall and found no evidence that Ilberd has gone near it."  

"Not in the ways you've thought of," Castor replied. "Lest you forget: the Resistance has been building tunnels and secret ways to get through the Wall for decades. Ilberd likely built several, and I'd happily bet that bastard is back in Gyr Abania somewhere."  

"Now what? We can't exactly take the Wall and pour into Gyr Abania," Raubahn growled, not backing down despite the towering Warrior's cruel smirk.  

"Perhaps...but I have a traitor to visit," Castor said softly, turning his back on Raubahn and storming away.  

"Wait!" Nanamo cried, making him pause. "Please...don't leave yet. Not when I've just..."  

Castor knelt, his hand gently coming to rest on Nanamo's child-sized cheek. "I'll return, I promise. Nanamo...I have to do this."  

She stared at him, tears leaking from her emerald irises, then quickly brushed the droplets away and steeled her expression. "Castor...okay. Just...come back when you're done."  

"Your Grace?! That man is a felon under the Crown's judgement: we can't just let this imperial-" 

Castor's fist whipped out with blinding speed, bone cracking loudly as Raubahn was flung back and slammed into the wall. Nobody moved, not even Nanamo, as Castor stalked over to the fallen General and towered over him.  

"This 'imperial' has done more for your nation than you ever have," Castor said softly, dangerously, his left arm slowly craning upwards until the gauntlet was leveled at Raubahn's head. "And the Empire has treated me with far greater respect than you ever deigned to give me. Only select Scions, and Kan-E, saw me as more than just your slave; your Weapon of Light." 

Magitek hummed, and horror punched Minfilia's heart as the cannon she hadn't noticed before began to glow.  

Time slowed, and just when Minfilia expected to see Raubahn's head splattered across the walls, the magitek hand cannon fell silent, and Castor turned his back on the Flame General.  

"I am done being your weapon, Raubahn. From this point forward, I am the Tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Legion; I am Castor tol Entialpoh, and I am taking back my destiny."  

The Tribunus strode down the Promenade, the stunned looks of his audience following every clanking step he took.  

"Thal's balls, what have we created?" Raubahn whispered, his voice loud in the stifling silence.  

It was so cold, so dark, and the stench of unwashed bodies tainted the air along with the heavy, stagnant grasp of mold. Voices pleaded with the darkness, begging for absolution, for death, while others screamed about innocence they may or may not have had.  

Other times, there was just laughter: high-pitched keening that scraped the ears of all present; cackling that never ceased until the bastard responsible either ran out of breath or was beaten by the Brass Blades.  

The plan had been perfect! Teledji Adeledji screamed into the darkness, offering gold, power, all of those meaningless tropes that he no longer held within his palms, and all ignored him. How had everything come to this?! 

He could still see it with perfect clarity: the meeting that had changed everything; the words that came forth and sowed the seeds of coming ruin as the Alliance gathered in the Promenade to discuss the threat of the XIVth Legion in the wake of the Ivy's capture.  

"We can't turn a blind eye to those imperial whoresons any longer," Raubahn rumbled. "Not after this. Roaille...why you, of all people?" 

"The legion is starving and desperate," Castor spoke up in a sharp tone. "It is little wonder that they went to such extremes to drive you away from Meridianum."  

"Starving? Those bastards get crates of materials from Gyr Abania almost daily!" The Flame General spat. 

"I found those 'crates' during their march," Castor replied, his eyes hard. "There's nothing but scrap metal in each one, taken from the wreckage of the Agrius. So, no, none of those crates are from Gyr Abania."  

"What do you propose we do?" Kan-E Senna asked in a soothing voice, and the Warrior looked at her. 

 "I think it's long past time that we cease fighting an enemy that's already been defeated," Castor gazed at the other Alliance leaders. "Offer the XIVth an olive branch, offer them peace in return for their aid against the Beast Tribes." 

"Are you mad?!" Raubahn roared, shaking the entire room. "You want us to work with our enemies?!"  

"Enemies that only want to protect innocent people!" Castor snapped, fearlessly glaring at the Flame General. "They hate the Beast Tribes and the Primals just as much as we do!"  

"What's to keep them from betraying us?" Merlwyb interjected. "After all, just because you used to be one of them-" 

"That's exactly why he's making that suggestion!" Raubahn bellowed. "He wants to be with his own kind, doesn't he?!"  

Castor's lips had peeled apart into a feral snarl, and the tension in the room electrified the air as the two men sized one another up for a fight.  

"This brand does not define my loyalties," Castor spoke softly, shifting his armor and baring his left shoulder to show the hated sigil burned into his flesh. "I fight for Eorzea and her people."  

"Says the one who wants us to just make friends with a bloody imperial legion! Who's to say that you aren't going to help them overthrow us?! That you haven't been feeding them information?!" Raubahn spat out each accusation with a jabbing finger. "After all, you were the one who recognized Roaille as the Ivy, almost like you've been working with her!"  

"Raubahn, that's enough!" Kan-E Senna had risen, slamming her staff against the floor.  

"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you," Raubahn unsheathed his twin blades, his eyes almost glowing with rage, "you imperial-born traitor."  

Castor had smiled cruelly, yet made no move to draw his own sword. "Maybe because I'm the Warrior of Light? Maybe because I can stand up to Primals while you curs can't even get close to them without being tempered?! Maybe because I have fought and bled for you weaklings while you just sit back and dig up more enemies to throw me at?!"  

 Raubahn had roared, rearing his blades back to attack, only for a barrier of magic to meet his strike.  

"That's enough! Both of you!" Kan-E snapped, Sultansworn paladins swarming the General and forcing his blades from his hands.   

Castor chuckled. "Such a fool you are...and you wonder why the imperials call you a savage. I'm going to take some time to rest before you dig up another Primal from your ass and decide that I should be the first to jump into its maw."  

Everything had changed after that: the tension and fear that followed Castor one of the triggers that Adeledji needed to pull in order to get control of Ul'dah. The Crown would have been in his hands, had Ishgard not interfered; had those idiots in the Alliance and Sultansworn remained ignorant like the pathetic, mewling sheep they were supposed to be! 

And now...it had all fallen apart.  

"Hmm?" Adeledji lifted his heavy head as the prison's main doors clanged open.  

Who would it be this time? Another Sultansworn or Scion, here to mock him? That Yda woman, threatening to pound him into pulp if he wasn't already in this damp, moldy cell? Honestly...he knew that woman was stupid, but apparently, she was even worse than he'd first anticipated. How had such a dimwit even become an Archon?  

"The sun!" High pitched gibbering pierced the air. "The sun approaches!"  

"The sun! The sun!" Another crazed giggle joined in, and Adeledji swore under his breath.  

Not these idiots again...pining after something they hadn't seen for years. Begging for light.  

"No! It's the moon!" Another voice cried, followed by a chorus of "Moon! Moon!"  

"Shut up!" A Brass Blade barked, but the alternating chants devolved into manic cackling and senseless gibbering.  

How long would it be before Adeledji, himself, was reduced to that: a drooling, gibbering madman driven insane by the eternal darkness and the pain of the Brass Blades' beatings? The thought made the former merchant lord shudder.  

Metal footsteps clicked against stone, and Adeledji looked up at the door in surprise as it unlocked and creaked open. Golden light flared from two orbs, searing into Adeledji's eyes and making him look away. Then silver light rippled through spidery veins, and then the darkness returned.  

"Who in the hells are you?" The Lalafell hissed through his teeth, and he squinted at the shadowy figure towering over him. "General Aldynn?" 

"Not even close," the voice of the Warrior of Light growled, and Adeledji's heart exploded with terror. 

"C-Castor Entialpoh?!" Pure terror rippled through his veins, spiking everything as his heart pounded at a thousand yalms per moment. "W-what are- How did you?" 

He tried to flatten himself against the wall, to disappear, but the golden light shone again, immediately betraying his position.  

"Pathetic...I'm going to enjoy this..."  

The two Brass Blades stationed in the Pit winced as metal slammed shut down below, followed by Teledji Adeledji's panicked, hyperventilating voice begging for mercy.  

"I would not want to be that worm right now," one commented, looking at his partner.  

That begging turned into agonized shrieks, bouncing off the walls and echoing throughout the entire prison. Both Blades cringed as the sickening sound of bones crunching followed, punctuated by even more shrieking from the Lalafell.  

"I wouldn't want to be anyone who makes the Warrior angry from this day forth," the second murmured, clamping his hands over his ears as Adeledji's screams rippled through the air. "He's even more dangerous now than he ever was in the past."  

"Why is that?"  

"We betrayed him, rather than him betraying Eorzea, like everyone was afraid of. We gave him a reason to hate us, and who knows what he'll do in the future?"  

The guards fell silent, listening in stunned horror as the sound of ripping flesh slithered in between Teledji Adeledji's deafening screams.  

Unknown to both Blades, Thancred was standing just above Adeledji's cell, fear etching into his heart as he listened to Castor exacting his vengeance.  

Somewhere else in the darkness, another prisoner began giggling in high-pitched, manic tones. 

Chapter Text

The Castor that returned to the waiting room was not the man that had just walked away to 'deal' with Teledji Adeledji: his eyes were cold orbs of golden steel, the tight line of his mouth almost vanishing into his scaled flesh. His armor was spotless, but the faint smell of death lingered in the air around him, clinging to the man.  

"Castor?" Minfilia asked carefully, her voice almost failing her as those eyes fixed upon her.  

"Hey! Castor's back!" Yda's enthusiastic form bounded past her, skidding to a stop before the tall man. "Did you do it? Is Adeledji..."  

"He's paid for his crimes, trust me," Castor's cold demeaner melted partially, a faint smile gracing his lips. "All that's left now is Ilberd."  

Yda cheered, jumping and pumping a fist into the air. "And now we're together again! Oh, I'm so glad!" 

She embraced Castor again, making the man grunt as the air was pushed from his lungs.  

"Oof, that was a little too-and you're hugging me even tighter," he chuckled, placing his own arms around her.  

Thancred slipped in behind the man, and Minfilia noted with horror that his face was stark white. He strode over to a nearby waste bin, knelt over it, and proceeded to empty his stomach into it with wretched heaving.  

"I warned you not to look," Castor said drily, and Yda jolted back.  

"You...you're an animal," Thancred groaned, bile staining his lips as he glared at Castor.  

"W-what happened?" Minfilia knelt by her friend, resting a hand upon his back as he vomited again.  

"This bastard..." Thancred heaved again, "ripped Adeledji to pieces and splattered him across the cell. There...," stopped to vomit, groaned, "was hardly anything left..."  

Yda backed away from Castor, mouth slack, and Minfilia fought down bile of her own.  

"I gave him the same treatment I was given by Nidhogg, thanks to him," Castor said softly.  

The Echo flared, and Minfilia gasped as pain knifed through her skull.  

The world greyed, dimming with the currents of memory, and Minfilia found herself standing among unfamiliar ruins. The roars of dragons shattered the silence, making her flinch, and she spun in the memory to see Castor-as a Miqo'te-standing in the ruins of a sort of amphitheater, alone, covered in blood and gore and surrounded by dragon corpses.  

"Vengeance!" An ancient, rippling voice shrieked as Castor swiped his massive sword through the air and sheared off a dragon's wing.  

A massive black-scaled beast dove towards Castor, fanged maw wide open and spilling scarlet flames, claws outstretched, barbed tail lashing about behind it. Castor spun, his massive blade hacking through the dragons around him, and then raised the weapon to meet the black dragon.  

The beast slammed into him from above, the terrible sound of tearing metal punching the air and grating Minfilia's spine. Castor screamed, the sound chilling her even more, and then an entire swarm of scaly beasts fell upon him. Blood flashed as limbs and tails writhed, dragons screaming while their carcasses piled up around the Warrior.  

Bodies erupted in pieces, sending gore and detached limbs in all directions, and Minfilia got a glimpse of Castor standing alone in the very center of the carnage, the black dragon's fanged maw latched onto his waist. Blood gushed from his beaten, ravaged body, and Minfilia couldn't fight down a scream as another maw craned up and ripped off Castor's left arm with a sickening squelch and crunch.  

Castor roared, and immediately lopped off the beast's head, and then two more beasts pounced on him. Dark magic flared around him, crimson spikes punching through scaled bodies with sickening ease and sending carcasses flying.  

"Come on!" He screamed at the red-eyed demons. "I'll kill you all before I let you harm those I love!"  

And then another group dove upon him, their fangs and claws ripping into flesh, and Minfilia glimpsed something she never thought she'd see again: the tiny crystal that she'd formed from the duo's combined aether after...that night. She'd done so purely by accident, so caught up in the aftermath that the crystal had just manifested within her hand, drawing upon both of their life forces to burst into existence.  

She'd never seen it again after setting it on her nightstand, believing that the aether had simply dispersed and been returned to the Lifestream. Her heart swelled within her chest as that tiny crystal, glowing softly with his deep blue aether and her light teal life force, vanished amidst the carnage.  

"He'd carried it with him all this time?" She murmured, and then the warm feeling in her bosom faded the moment Castor's screams reached her.  

Her gaze ripped back to him just in time to see a storm of blood erupt from the battle, pieces of Castor's body and armor flying in all directions, mixing amongst the dragon carcasses that followed suit in an explosion of dark energy.  

"Minfilia?! Minfilia!" Voices punched through the vision, and the grey nightmare gave way to the grim reality.  

She groaned and adjusted, found Thancred and Alphinaud standing over her as her eyes recovered.  

"W-what?" She mumbled, her voice shaking and throat aching. She coughed, repeated the words if only to clear her throat.  

Then she felt the warmth underneath her, the gentle hands holding her up.  

"Next time you faint, don't do it next to a bucket of Thancred's vomit," Castor's voice advised, the armored chest she lay upon shuddering at the words. "I suppose I should be blaming the Echo, anyway."  

"Get your hands off of her!" Thancred snarled. "After what you did-" 

"He suffered worse, Thancred," Minfilia whispered, her muscles protesting as she went to sit up.  

Castor paused. "Oh, that's what you saw."  

"What? What did you see?" Yda asked.  

Minfilia shook her head, couldn't bring herself to repeat that horrible, horrible vision. 

"She saw me in the Churning Mists: the moment when I...died," Castor said softly, his strong hands easing Minfilia up. 

Silence, and Minfilia tested her legs, found that they held her weight. Thancred immediately took her arms, letting his hands take the brunt of her weight.  

"I know I'm a monster, but there's no turning back what I've become," Castor's voice was filled with bitterness and self-hatred. "It's the only thing I have left that feels like...me, rather than the Weapon of Light or the Empire's slave."  

Minfilia turned back to him, unable to force any words from her throat as the man strode towards the door.  

"Forgive me for the troubles I've caused you," Castor said with a stony voice. "I'll leave you with more...pleasant company."  

Then he was gone, vanishing out the door before anyone could stop him.  

"I'll go after him," Alphinaud started towards the door, but Yda beat him to it. "Or not."  

"What did you see, Minfilia?" Thancred's question drew her attention, and she found herself glancing at him.  

"Castor being torn apart by dragons, as he'd said," she murmured, horrific flashes of blood and death flickering through her vision. "I-I can't believe that he's managed to hold himself together for so long after that."  

Gods above, why? 

Castor's entire body was now screaming, begging him to stop as the aether comprising him rippled and damn near shattered. He was stumbling along a secluded corridor, praying that none would find him in this pathetic, weakened state.  

Why did she have to remember? Why did he have to remember?  

After that night, spent with her if only to keep her from falling apart entirely, Castor had done his utmost to push it out of his mind, to just move on and forget as she'd requested after apologizing for the fifth time, but seeing her...seeing that crystal in the vision... 

His legs finally caved in, and Castor slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall.  

"Heh..." It was funny, really: he'd humored Minfilia to keep her together, and yet here he was quite literally falling apart.  

Azim and Nhaama's power had been exhausted during his execution-no, murder- of Adeledji, and the lack of rest after expending so much energy on Nidhogg and Yugiri was now exacting a vengeful toll upon his body. Everything hurt, everything faded and blinked back into existence all at the same time, the currents of the Lifestream beckoning to him, tugging on him with gentle promises of rest.  

"Nanamo..." His heart burst with that name, and Castor allowed his exhausted body to slide fully onto the floor. "Thank the Dusk and Dawn that you're alive...I won't let them take you a second time."  

Have to keep moving...have to...keep...moving. Castor's thousand-pound arms clawed at the carpeted rugs, dragging him only a few feet before his veins shone with silver light from underneath the black vambraces: Nhaama warning him that he had reached his final, unsurpassable limit.  

"Ha...pathetic," he murmured, vision swampy and darkening as he finally gave up and just slackened against the plush carpet.  

Who would be the one to find him: collapsed and utterly worthless on the floor? Who would be the lucky bastard to find the vaunted Weapon of Light sprawled out like a green adventurer who'd overdone it? 

"Pathetic..." A dark abyss swirled before him, drawn up from the very depths of his soul, of his hatred, and the armored form that knelt over Castor smiled coldly. "Ah, the glorious Weapon of Light...defeated by his own weakness."  

"Our weakness," Castor sneered at his twin, who grimaced as his own body rippled with silver veins. "Our soul is one and the same, remember?"  

"Yes, but this is not where it ends for us, Castor," his twin sighed. "We still have blood to shed and prey to hunt down. Our heart beats for vengeance and justice, and I'll be damned if we fail because you pushed us too hard."  

"Castor! Ca-What's going on here?!" Yda-ah, how the gods were cruel...if only the girl knew- skidded around the corner behind him, recoiling in shock at the sight of his twin standing over him. "Castor!"  

"Grab the fool's other arm: I can't carry him alone," the twin stumbled, cursed, reached down through the dark haze and grabbed Castor's right arm. "Actually, let me grab the other one...don't want you shooting yourself."  

He switched arms, giving Yda a glare as she stood, staring at him.  

"W-why are there two of you?!"  

"We are Castor Entialpoh," Castor intoned dreamily, the haze sapping, soothing. He held up the black Soul, the scarlet insignia upon it pulsing with fell light.  

"Put that away, fool," the twin slurred partially, shook his head and swore. "If she touches it, it'll splice into her own soul."  

By the Dawn, this is painful to watch.  

Shut up, Azim! I knew we should have put him to sleep the moment we had the chance! He's too unstable!   

Sleep...sleep sounded wonderful.  

Drift away on the currents...fade into the Abyss.  

No...no, don't...we promised Nanamo. We said we'd come back after... 

We killed Adeledji, just like we'd killed so many others. Ended his dream; consigned them to the eternal darkness. Weapon of Light.  

"Damn it, help me, girl!"  

"O-okay!" Yda-what was her real name? The name not claimed by the sister? - grabbed his other arm, draped it around her shoulders, and struggled to bear his weight.  

He wanted to tell her, to finally get rid of this terrible weight on his heart. It had always been there, ever since he'd first heard her name in the Waking Sands. He'd known the lie from the very beginning.  

She wasn't Yda, the valiant young woman who'd ushered her sister to safety along with so many others. Her name...what was the name she'd said?  

"Grah! Bastard! Quit phasing like that!" The twin spat, his grip tightening on the fluid length that was possibly Castor's arm.  

"What are you? Like, his dark, evil side or something?" Yda asked, worry thickening her voice.  

"In a way. If this idiot doesn't stop trying to fix himself using aether that's already depleted, we'd be getting along just fine!"  

Depleted? Oh, right. The void inside, empty and, well, empty. Castor almost giggled at the absurdity of it.  

Oh, gods, why did we spend so much power putting him back together? We could have fixed...this...in a heartbeat.   

Azim, please shut up! I swear, I will stuff your bloody sun down your throat if you keep talking like that!  Hydaelyn's  power won't go down easy...you know we had to do it!   

Right. She's fighting us, or at least her Blessing is. It's more powerful than he knows, that Echo of his: honestly, I don't even think we can do anything as long as it's still there.  

I know...but it protects him from the others. I just wish it protected us from him, especially when he's back at full strength.   

That won't be for some time, judging by the way his sanity is slipping,  Nhaama .   

Shut it! And help me keep the other one intact! If we lose him...  

Right.   

"Ah...our benefactors have the right mindset," the twin murmured as the world warped and bent, spinning and twisting. "This'll hold me together...if only for a few moments longer."  

"Benefactors? What the hells is even going on here?!" Yda's voice rose several pitches, and she stumbled.  

"Just get that damn door open!" Wood and metal whined, creaked open, and the haze continued forward.  

Then it spun again, crashing upon warmth and softness. It felt wonderful, like all the heavens had opened up at Castor's back.  

"Gah...now...rest, you bastard...even we have our limit...Idiot," darkness swirled, the Abyss called, and then nothing remained of him.  

"Yda..." Castor murmured the name that the father had screamed, the name of the woman who'd bled out upon his sword. "Yda..." 

"I'm here, Castor," the sister took his hands, warmth flooding him.  

She needed to know...she..Yda's sister...The father, he'd attacked, too; he'd bled out on Castor's sword, too.  

She...needed to...know.  

"I'm...sorry." 

He could still see it: the death...the dying and the dead. The blood. The Lalafell who'd crept in after almost everyone had left; had taken Yda's mask. Hadn't seen Castor watching him, hadn't seen the gunblade, raised to kill. Still didn't know.  

"Hush, Castor. You've pushed yourself way too hard! Now, rest!" The sister crawled in next to him, wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself against him. "I'm not leaving until you've slept!"  

No...can't sleep! Have to tell her! Have to... 

Darkness claimed him.  

He was sleeping, and Yda heaved a sigh of relief as his body solidified after several moments. The silver light webbing his veins remained bright, however, but she didn't care. Seeing that twin of his had sent chills all throughout the depths of her soul, as if a void had opened up within and sapped all of the life from her.  

"Castor...I'm so glad you're home," she murmured into his armored back, not even caring about the smell of ceruleum and oil that hung off of his hated imperial armor.  

He was silent, which partially gladdened and saddened her in equal measures. He was sleeping, but he didn't hear her...no matter! She'd just tell him again, later, when he was feeling better!  Yda sighed and huddled closer to Castor, musing on all the things she's planned to do with him once he'd returned from Ishgard.  

True: she'd never imagined that he'd come back as the second-in-command of an imperial legion...yet, somehow, she couldn't bring herself to hate him. Not after all the time he'd spent with her after Moenbryda. She'd felt so empty, so dead, at the loss of her friend, and after Castor and Minfilia had had...whatever argument that had made them so distant to each other, Castor had taken to accompanying Yda, even dragging her onto random excursions with him whenever she had free time from her duties in Gridania.  

He'd brought light back into that perpetual darkness. Long days were spent chasing down Beast Tribe warriors, delving into ancient dungeons and tombs, or performing meager tasks for the citizenry.  All those nights had been spent together by roaring fires in the wilderness, or spent inside inn rooms when Yda begged Castor to let her sleep on an actual bed. Unlike Papalymo, he'd actually yielded to her persistence, although she knew he was glad to spend the nights inside a cool, safe room. On a bed with actual sheets and pillows.  

Sometimes, they'd shared a bed, if only one was available, and although Castor had always insisted that Yda could take it, she'd forced him to join her, if only for the warmth and softness of his body beside hers. She slept easier with him at her side, truth be told.  

 After he'd been taken from her...a great hole had opened inside of her, and she wondered if this is what Yugiri felt when she was in the Rising Stones, away from Castor.  

"Yda..." His voice murmured her name, and she craned her neck upwards as Castor shifted. "Yda..." 

"I'm here, Castor. I'm here," she murmured, wishing she could just take off her mask and just tell him her real name.  

Well...said mask was digging into her face, and what harm could it possible cause to remove it? It's not like he would care. Yda reached back with one arm, pulled her masked turban off of her head and let her golden, blonde hair spill out on the covers behind her. She sighed with relief as the pressure of having her long locks so tightly bound vanished, and she idly shook her head in an attempt to free it up even more.  

Speaking of Yugiri...that shinobi would be so jealous right now! Yugiri had always been rather possessive of Castor ever since he'd helped the Domans settle into Mor Dhona, ever since he'd become their champion and staunchest ally.  

Yda giggled to herself as she pictured Yugiri's jealous ire, pictured the Doman wishing that she was the one laying here with the man both of them adored so greatly.  

"He's mine, now," Yda snickered, burying her face into Castor's back. 

"Oh, I think not," Yugiri's cool voice made Yda shriek and jolt upright, her heart hammering her ribs as the Doman shinobi crossed her arms at the foot of Castor's bed.  

"Y-Yugiri?!" Yda scrambled to find the mask that she'd just been holding, but Yugiri's beautiful face smirked, and Yda groaned.  

"He's yours, is that so?" Yugiri chuckled lightly, striding coolly over to Castor's front. Her smile faded, replaced with concern as she reached out and traced slender fingers across his cheek. "I felt him fading...so much anger and hatred. I shouldn't have left him alone."  

Yda opened her mouth to retort that he hadn't been alone, annoyance sparking within her breast, when Yugiri's gaze turned to her and another soft smile formed.  

"Forgive me: he hasn't been alone. He's been with you, and for that, you have my eternal gratitude, Archon Yda."  

Ah...that again.  

She forced herself to smile, reaching over and brushing a stray strand of her hair away from her face.  

"Well, he-he's done so much for us, and for Eorzea, and to think that everyone betrayed him so willingly...It makes my blood boil."  

"I share your sentiments, Lady Yda," Yugiri nodded, still trailing her fingertips around Castor's scaled cheek. "I'm glad to find a kindred spirit in you, where our beloved fool's concerned. He needs us now, more than ever. Wouldn't you agree?"  

Yda couldn't stop the smile forming upon her lips. "You're right: he does, and I'm not about to just turn away and let him suffer."  

"I concur," Yugiri leaned over and, to Yda's surprise, planted a gentle kiss upon Castor's forehead. "Sleep well, Castor. I'll leave him in your capable hands, my lady." 

She stared at the Doman, mind creaking as it tried to comprehend just what trick Yugiri was trying to pull on her. Yugiri strode silently over to the door, then paused to turn back to the sleeping Warrior. 

"Oh, and, Yda?" 

Yda gulped, finding her throat dry and scratchy as steel entered the Doman's smile. 

"Y-yes?"  

"I'll share him with you, but he's mine," Yugiri said softly, with such an absurd amount of possessiveness that made Yda want to grab her caesti.  

"You'll share him with me?" She rose from the bed, fire burning within her breast as she placed her hands on her waist. "I thought we were to work together to support him? I mean: you two aren't even a couple! You don't get to make those kind of, uh, claims!" 

"Oh, don't I?" Yugiri asked with no small amount of soft-spoken menace, steel shining in her eyes and in her fingers.  

"Both of you shut up before I lose my mind," Castor's drowsy voice growled, making both women jump. "I swear to the gods: if you keep acting like I'm just some toy to bicker over..." 

"S-sorry, Castor," Yda mumbled, her cheeks flushing with shame.  

"My apologies," Yugiri, too, was red with shame.  

Castor sighed, but his body scarcely moved. "Then again, I suppose that's why I love you two fools."  

Now both of them were definitely blushing like mad, and Yda was glad to admit that she had a stupid grin on her face.  

"So, are the two of you just going to stand there, or are you going to join me?" Castor grunted.  

Yda took a step back, her cheeks hotter than a Black Mage's fire as she looked at Yugiri.  

"He can't be serious, can he?" She blurted.  

Yugiri just chuckled, reached down and removed her scabbards before setting the weapons on a nearby table.  

"I'm not about to pass up the opportunity to make sure this fool gets some rest," the Doman said with light amusement in her voice. "At least I know the two of us can keep him from sneaking out to fight another Primal."  

"B-but, what about Nanamo?! She's expecting him!" Yda protested, although her will began to yield as she watched Yugiri crawl into Castor's arms and settle herself into his hold. "They'll come looking! How will they react to...this?!"  

"Then leave so I can get him to myself," came the purred reply. "I already told the Alliance that Castor's unstable body prevented him from making his meeting, but I would remain with him to ensure that he rests and sufficiently recovers."  

"B-but...the scandal that could come of...uh, this?!"  

"I don't give a damn," Castor grunted. "Besides, it's not like I'm bedding the two of you: you're just keeping me hostage so I can sleep."  

"Indeed," Yugiri chuckled. "Come, Yda: I need someone to hold him from behind while I direct his attention. With the two of us combined, he doesn't stand a chance."  

Yda giggled at the Doman's words, found her resolve crumbling even further. She sighed, yielding, and placed her weapons on the table beside Yugiri's sheathed daggers. "Oh, all right! This is what friends are for, isn't it?"  

 "Precisely," Yugiri hummed, and Yda scurried into the position she'd held before Yugiri had interfered.  

"You two are idiots," Castor muttered, his voice already fading. "But...you're my idiots, just as I am yours."  

"Oh, hush," Yda snorted, wrapping her arms around Castor's waist and feeling the soft fabric of Yugiri's shinobi apparel on her fingers. 

He was so warm...and even as his scaly tail scratched her leg, Yda huddled closer.  

"Now, sleep." 

Chapter Text

Faint sensation trickled into Castor's sleep-addled brain, and his eyes peeled apart slowly, agonizingly. He could feel two warm bodies nestling into his own: one pressing into his back; one snuggling into his chest.  

What the hells happened to him? Castor pushed his eyes fully open, immediately honing in on the oh-so-familiar form of Yugiri currently wrapped in his arms. He could feel her heart: beating softly, tenderly within her small chest, and he felt his own heart beating in tandem.  

Castor kept his breathing soft, so as to not disturb Yugiri or the other one...was it Yda? He had a faint image of the Ala Mhigan hauling him up from the floor, and then everything past that was a black, blurry haze. Carefully, he glanced over his shoulder, keeping his movements as minimal as possible, and his breath caught in his lungs.  

Yda's peaceful, sleeping face was nestled against his back, a faint smile on her lips as she dreamed. She was...beautiful...at least that explained the mask. Another woman not wanting to be hit upon by Thancred. Even in the times she'd urged him to sleep in the same bed during their adventures together, she'd never removed that mask. The mask that the real Yda had been wearing.  

"You're awake...thank the Kami," Yugiri's soft voice didn't even make Yda stir. "How are you feeling?"  

Castor carefully swung his gaze back to the Doman, immediately finding himself staring into her face. He hadn't even felt her move.  

"Better, for the most part," he murmured, and she smiled. 

"You're a fool, Castor," she whispered, her breath washing over his face and making his eyelids narrow. "You need to get your rest."  

"I know, but-" 

Yda stirred, the arms that he now felt around his waist tightening their embrace.  

"I agree. You're not being nearly as quiet as you think," the Ala Mhigan giggled, a little too happy to have interrupted him.  

"It appears I underestimated her," Yugiri chuckled softly, her slender fingers brushing against Castor's horns-gods, that was a strange feeling! 

"Can I get up? I can feel my muscles aching for some movement," Castor could have thrown them off, if he were so inclined, even if his aether was still weak.  

"What do you think, Yugiri?" Yda asked in the mischievous tone that Castor had learned to fear. "Should we let him get up?" 

He raised an eyebrow as Yugiri's own eyes lit up with mischief, a coy smirk tugging on her lips. 

"I think not," the Doman replied, craning her neck to peer into Castor's eyes. "I can still feel your unstable aether, Castor. If you tried to move, you'd just collapse."  

"I'm stronger than that, Yugiri," Castor protested, but the weakness he felt within his muscles said otherwise.  

Yugiri scoffed, jabbing a finger in between the plates on his gut. "You can't lie to me, Castor. We are a part of each other, are we not?"  

"Speaking of which: how does that even work?" Yda spoke up, her warm breath tickling the back of his neck. "That aetherial bond thing between you two?"  

"Ah, that sort of happened by accident," Castor mumbled, trying to free his arms to no avail as Yugiri quickly pinned them down, that smirk never fading. "It was during the second month of my shinobi training with her and Oboro: I was inside O'Ghomoro mines in an attempt to further attune myself to the aether of the earth...and to track down my two teachers without getting caught by the Kobolds."  

Yugiri laughed. "If I recall correctly: Oboro certainly proved the easier of the two of us to find."  

"Hmph. The fool thought dressing up like a Kobold and nearly stabbing himself in the foot with a pickaxe would fool me," Castor snorted, the scene forever engraved in his memory. "He was wearing a helmet about ten times the size of his head, staggering about like a drunken fool in a miner suit roughly the same size as the helmet. Oh, with a fake tail, too!"  

Yda giggled. "Oh, gods, that must have looked ridiculous!"  

"Little wonder I found him so quickly, especially after a Bomb exploded and set him on fire. Yugiri, on the other hand..."  

Castor snorted at the memory, which only served to widen Yugiri's grin. "Oh, she was following me the entire damn time, crawling around on the godsdamn ceiling while camouflaged with an earthen shroud. I still don't know how the thing didn't fall off of her, since she was hanging upside-down."  

"Honestly, I don't know how you didn't see me," Yugiri teased. "I tossed several stones at your head whenever I thought you were about to get yourself caught."  

"You dropped your entire pouch of pebbles on my head!" Castor spat, pressing his nose against the Doman's. "And then you hit a support beam trying to escape my field of vision and brought the damn cave down on me."  

Yda flinched, shaking the bed. "The entire cave?! How did you get out?" 

Yugiri sighed, resting her forehead against his own and once again bathing his face in her warm, lotus-scented breath. "He didn't. The collapse knocked him unconscious, and I had to spend the better part of an hour trying to dig him out. Oboro came to help me, but the Kobolds chased us out after a few moments."  

"The Kobolds got Castor?" Yda whispered, and Castor nodded.  

"Yes. We lost him in the maze of tunnels, at least until Oboro stumbled across a metal shaft that took us right to the heart of the mountain," Yugiri murmured. "The Kobolds were trying to sacrifice Castor to free Titan."  

"I remember that much, at least," Castor muttered, chuckling to himself. Neither woman responded in kind.  

"Oboro and I jumped down to rescue him, cutting down every Kobold that got in our immediate way, and I went to free Castor," Yugiri recalled. "He was unconscious, bleeding from the collapse, and leaking a score of aether as the Kobolds tried to draw Titan out of him."  

"I remember that Yugiri was tending to my wounds, struggling desperately to keep my aether from fully pouring out and killing me. She eventually started using her own aether to save me, and that ended up linking our souls together in a way that I'd never seen before," Castor shook his head. "Well, actually, I'm linked to Kan-E in a much more minor fashion, but that's beyond the point."  

"Indeed. I used up so much of my own aether, pouring it directly into his soul, that we became...almost two parts of the same whole being," Yugiri chuckled.  

"That...sounds so romantic, though," Yda giggled, both Au Ra blushing beet red. "Honestly, why aren't the two of you a couple?"  

"I have my duty to my people and to my lord," Yugiri said softly, not quite meeting Castor's eyes. "I cannot allow anything, much less the machinations of mine own heart, get in the way of that. And, frankly, Castor is a little too...wild for my liking." 

Castor raised an eyebrow as Yugiri smirked once again. "Oh, really, now? I remember you telling me about the son of Lord Kaien: Hien, was it not?"  

Yugiri nodded, a quizzical look on her face as she studied Castor. "Yes: he's the one whom I serve as shinobi. Why do you ask?"  

"I wonder if he's the one who commands your affection, hmm?" Castor smirked as Yugiri fell silent, her eyes wide but impossible to read.  

Yda snorted from behind, her hold on his waist tightening as she fought to control her laughter.  

Yugiri said nothing, the hesitation in both her heart and her ordinarily speedy rebuttal alerting Castor that, maybe, he'd overstepped.  

"Yugiri," he said softly, reaching up with the hand he'd freed in her lapse. "It was merely a jest, nothing more. I apologize if I touched a nerve."  

She said nothing, although her eyes closed as his fingers brushed against one of her pale horns. That slight touch was electric upon his fingers, and that was all that was needed to convey a flood of shock, confusion, and bitterness through the aetherial link.  

"Forgive me: my thoughts returned to home, and...how I am failing my lord," Yugiri murmured, burrowing into Castor's chest.  

"What? How are you failing him?!" Yda demanded, her arms snaking off of Castor and the wood frame of the bed creaking as she sat up.  

"He and Doma are suffering, bleeding, and I am here, doing nothing to help them! I sit here, shaming my vows as a shinobi!" Yugiri abruptly pushed away from Castor, hitting the floor on all fours before rising, grabbing her blades, and dashing out of the door before anyone could react.  

"Yugiri!" Castor tried his weakened muscles, found them capable of movement but not entirely recovered as he, too, rose and swung his legs over the bedside. "Damn it...I had no intention of upsetting her."  

Yet...he'd sensed the intense love she held within her heart for her lord, for Doma. For him. The conflict of desires: her duty to Doma clashing with her own devotion to perhaps the dearest and most valuable friend she'd ever made. It was ripping her heart apart.  

"Hey, don't overdo it," Yda said softly, her strong hands taking ahold of his wrist. 

Castor inhaled and released that breath, then attempted to push his weary body to rise. Yda was immediately at his side, easing some of his weight onto her shoulders despite how he towered over her.  

"Yda, release me: I don't want to hurt you if I lose my balance," Castor warned as the aether in his body shifted and made his vision swim.  

"Hmph! How frail do you think I am?" She scoffed, glaring defiantly at him as he looked down at her.  

"At least put your mask back on, hmm? I know you're fond of wearing it," he relented, if only because he had the feeling he'd fall on his face without her. 

Yda beamed at him, released his arm and stepped back, eyeing him worriedly as his legs swayed without her support. Castor swore internally and managed to steady himself, giving her a wry grin.  

"What? How frail do you think I am?"  

Yda rolled her eyes, then set about tying up her hair to allow it to fit in her turban. As she worked, Castor drew upon his weary body, attempted to see if he could contact Azim or Nhaama, only to be met with sore, liquidated muscles and deadening silence.  

Well, at least he hadn't started glowing like a miniature sun this time, eh?  

"Okay, I'm ready!" Yda resumed her earlier position: wrapping a black-clad arm around her shoulders and grinning up at Castor from under her mask. "Come on, you've got to eat something! Build your strength back up!"  

He was rarely hungry, truth be told, but Castor's stomach rebelled at the thought of food.  

"Alright. Let's just take this one step at a time, hmm?" He grinned back at her. "And...thank you, Yda, for never giving up on me. For staying."  

Her cheeks flushed, but this time with pride and adoration, and Castor found himself wishing to see her unmasked face again.  

"Of course! I'd be mad if I believed that you hurt Nanamo, especially after, well, everything you've done for me," she averted her gaze. "How could I ever forgive myself if I'd just let everyone else abandon you? You're important to me, too, you know."   

A flush of affection hit Castor's heart, and, perhaps acting impulsively due to his unstable aether, craned down and pressed his lips to Yda's cheek. The Ala Mhigan's face turned beet red, and she looked up at him with a shy grin.  

"Well, th-that's one way to thank me, isn't it?" She murmured.  

Castor shrugged. "Heh. Now, shall we be on our way?"  

"Let's!"  

"Is Castor okay?" Severus asked the scout who'd been keeping an eye on Castor ever since he'd initiated contact with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.  

"To an extent, my lord," the man, dressed like a gladiator, saluted stiffly. "Last I saw, he butchered Teledji Adeledji, and then collapsed from overexerting his aetherial limits."  

"What?!" Severus swore under his breath. Will that fool ever learn self-control?! "Where is he now?"  

"Archon Yda and Yugiri have taken him to a private chamber, and last I saw, they were forcing Castor to sleep," the soldier reported. "Granted, that Doman wench nearly cut my throat until I explained that I was with the Gladiator's Guild."  

Severus sighed, but no small weight lifted from his chest. "Castor...I swear: I am going to chain you to Arya. No matter: just keep an eye on him. As soon as we're done in Ishgard, Lord van Arvina wants us to pull out of Coerthas and return to the castra."  

The soldier saluted once again. "Yes, my lord!" And then he dashed off.  

Thanalan was so hot compared to Coerthas...Severus hated this damn desert, hated how it reminded him of the barren lands of Gyr Abania. It reminded him of her: his fierce little wolf, his lover.  

"'Dola...I wonder how the XIIth is treating you and yours," he wondered, his legs propelling him back over Black Brush's hot, barren lands.  

Back towards Bluefog: back towards his own legion. And yet...his thoughts still remained on her. He remembered how she'd caught his eye: coming forward as the legion had struck out in search for a domestic force, made of Ala Mhigan locals, with which to cooperate in Gyr Abania's harsh lands. She'd been fierce, strong, and so persistent in earning a place with the legion, that Lord van Baelsar had immediately appointed her the commander of the unit to be formed. 

The Skulls: The Black Wolf's Pups.  

"No," he shook his head, tried to get rid of that beautiful, fierce smirk that haunted his mind. "Return to Meridianum and get your orders from the legate, then see what the hell's going to happen in Ishgard."  

Stone crunched behind him, and that sixth sense that he'd worked so hard to hone, that soldier's sense of potential danger lurking nearby, immediately set off warning flags. The only one that had made him feel this had been- 

Severus's hand flew up to his gunblade, unhooking it from his back and spinning the long, curved saber in a wide arc around him. The shinobi's twin blades smashed into the length of hardened Garlean steel, the impact sending tremors down his arm as he pushed his assailant back.  

Yugiri's pale, almost unnaturally beautiful face was hardened into cold hatred as she recovered her balance and readied her short blades for another attack.  

"What do you think you're doing, shinobi?" Severus demanded, spreading his legs to evenly distribute his weight and maintain his balance. "I have no desire to fight you."  

"Be silent, imperial dog," the shinobi snarled, her body a blur as she streaked forward. 

Severus ignored the obvious threat, ignored the confusion that she was attempting to sow by moving with such speed, and instead swiped his blade forward in another wide arc before him. Yugiri ducked under his swing, her twin blades snapping forward as a serpent's fangs do, and Severus quickly sidestepped to avoid being run through. Yugiri followed, one blade scraping against the Tribunus' vambrace.  

Severus jabbed out at her with his leg, satisfied at the bodily impact and the pained cry that it drew from his assailant. Yugiri stumbled back, gulping down air before her hands connected in a rapid-fire series of unfamiliar symbols. Severus frowned, preparing himself for her attack as aetherial energy rippled around her.  

Power crackled, and Severus hissed a stream of obscenities as a lightning bolt streaked past his head, narrowly missing his armored form.  

"Damn...Mudra," he muttered to himself. "So, she's one of the more skilled shinobi, eh?"  

He wasn't too familiar with that Eastern technique, but he knew how dangerous it could be.  

"What the hells do you think you're doing, shinobi? We're both working together with Castor, aren't we?" Severus doubted she'd respond, but at least he'd give her the chance to quit before this got out of hand.  

"I said to be silent! I will not allow you to take him away from me!" She cried, launching herself into yet another assault.  

Severus parried her wild swings with ease, expertly flicking his blade this way or that in response to those gleaming daggers. She was angry, although he didn't know at what or at whom, and she was taking it out on him. 

"Enough, girl," Severus growled, ducking under one swing before planting his boot into her gut once again.  

The shinobi stumbled backwards, murder blazing in her eyes as she glared at him. "I won't let you take Castor from me!" She repeated, readying her blades.  

"I said: Enough!" Severus spat, aiming and firing a shot at the woman.  

Yugiri dove, rolled, and came up sprinting towards Severus, a wordless shout spilling from her lips as she slashed at him again, and again. She wasn't nearly as graceful or skilled as she should be, he noted, and the rage in her eyes was hot enough to melt steel, if she wanted it to. 

"For my lord, Hien...I...I have to fight!" Yugiri croaked, her voice wavering as her swings slowed, until she finally backed away, daggers held limply in her hands.  

Ah, so that was the issue. 

"You're torn between your duty to Doma and your desire to stay here with Castor," he guessed, the hostile glare she gave him proving him right. "You believe that you're failing to uphold whatever vows you've made to your lord, don't you?"  

She said nothing, but sheathed her daggers and crossed her arms before her chest. 

"I am not your enemy," Severus pressed on, hooking his saber back into place.  

He turned his back on her, eased his mind out of the adrenaline-fueled desire to fight, to kill, and then paused to glance back at the woman: "And to declare the XIVth legion your enemy is to declare Castor as such. He is the new Tribunus laticlavius, after all, and we look after our own."  

Her beautiful face jerked down to the ground, and her muscles tensed. 

Severus walked away, sweltering in the heat and wondering if he would see his beloved's face in his dreams tonight. If he even got to sleep, anyway.  

"Castor's faring well? Even eating? That's wonderful news," Nanamo sighed, her tiny hand resting over her heart as she leaned back heavily in her throne. "I was so worried...after Yugiri had come forward, saying he'd collapsed from overexerting himself..."  

"He's in good hands," Jenlyns nodded. "Archon Yda is absolutely refusing to leave his side."  

Nanamo chuckled, her heart lightening considerably at the news. "But, have we any contact from Ishgard?" 

"Yes, actually. They sent us a missive requesting Castor's immediate return to Ishgard. Said it was urgent, regarding the Lord Commander and the Archbishop."  

"What are the details?" Nanamo frowned, momentarily cursing herself for her unfamiliarity of Ishgardian politics.  

Jenlyns sighed, shaking his head. "That's the entire missive: there are no details to be shared, Your Grace."  

"I see. Summon Castor, but...give him a little time if he's in the middle of something. I don't wish to interfere in his recovery," Nanamo instructed, and Jenlyns summoned an aide, relayed the orders, and sent the man off.  

The great doors creaked open again, and Nanamo couldn't stop a surprised look from crossing her features as Raubahn strode inside. White bandages still covered a good portion of his face, and one eye was nearly swollen shut from the blow Castor had dealt him.  

"Your Grace," he rumbled, bowing his head as he approached. 

"General," she replied. "How are your injuries healing?"  

The man shifted uncomfortably. "Well enough, I suppose, given who had dealt them. I suppose I should be glad he hadn't hit me harder."  

"Indeed," Jenlyns spoke with an icy tone, and Nanamo glanced at the Paladin's stony expression. "Although you certainly deserved worse."  

"So you say," Raubahn growled.  

Nanamo sighed, about to intervene before the room grew even more tense, and then the doors swung upen yet again.  

"Lady Nanamo," Castor slunk in, and it took her a moment to actually register that this man was, indeed, her dear friend.  

And then she realized that Castor was alone, and she frowned at him. "Where's Yda? I was told she was refusing to leave you."  

Castor grinned sheepishly, leaning against a nearby pillar. "Yeah...I kind of snuck away from her when your messenger approached me while I was, uh, relieving myself." 

"Oh, for the love of..." Nanamo sighed, but she couldn't stop a smile from forming on her lips. "What am I going to do with you, Castor?"  

"I can't say," he laughed as he dragged himself forward.  

"Castor," Raubahn rumbled, bowing his great head even as Castor's sharp, golden eyes locked onto him. 

"Can this Imperial do anything for you?" The Warrior (Tribunus, Nanamo had to remind herself) asked with a rather cold smile.  

"Castor...please don't," Nanamo stepped down from her throne, her legs feeling far stronger than they had in the past. "In fact, I sent for you because Ishgard had sent a missive to you, asking for your presence back in the See."  

The hostility drained from the Tribunus, and his cool expression returned as he nodded. "I'll leave shortly, then."  

"Oh, no you don't!" A familiar Scion stormed into the room, placing her hands upon her hips as Castor slowly turned to face her. "You are not getting off that easy!"  

"I must say that I agree," Nanamo smiled. "Which is why I'd asked the Lady Antecedent to send any Scions she could spare with you."  

Castor glared at her, and then the door opened again to admit Alphinaud.  

"Greetings, Castor, I was asked to accompany you to Ishgard," the Sharlayan youth bowed. "And Minfilia said that Yda was to do the same."  

Yda smirked at Castor, who'd gone visibly pale and looked as if he was regretting everything he'd ever done in his life.  

"Not in those outfits, you're not!" Minfilia's little clerk, Tataru, entered the room next, motioning for the two Scions to follow her. "Come with me! I've tailored a pair of new outfits more suited to braving the cold!"  

"What the hells are my gate guards doing?" Jenlyns muttered. "None but Castor should have had permission to enter."  

"I don't know. I didn't see any guards," Castor replied, and the Head Paladin sighed.  

"Gods damn it..."  

Scarcely a few minutes later, with Castor silently cursing every eikon he'd encountered under his breath, Yda and Alphinaud returned. The snow-haired boy was dressed in blue coat over a white shirt, and white trousers better suited for braving Coerthas, the aether-tracking mask attached to the thick hood trailing behind him. Yda, on the other hand, was clad in a white long-coat that trailed down to her lower thighs, a thick, scarlet shirt covering her torso and with sleek black trousers buckled at her waist. Her crimson sabatons remained the one constant of this outfit, as was the turban and mask that she scarcely removed.  

"Well?" She laughed under Castor's scrutiny, doing a little twirl as her lips curved into an amused grin. "How do I look?"  

"Like you're ready to brave the Coerthan winters," Castor nodded to Alphinaud. "You, too, Alphy."  

The boy flushed, and he straightened his spine. "I told you not to call me that!"  

"And I'm respectfully refusing, Alphy," Castor smirked as the boy glowered at him, a chuckle escaping his lips as Yda lightly punched his arm.  

"Oh, don't tease him so much!" She ordered, although her grin never faded.  

"Alright, you two, let's be on our way," Castor killed the mirth and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen his muscles, even though they felt liquidated. "Nanamo, could we perhaps borrow an airship to Camp Dragonhead?"  

The small Sultana looked up at him and smiled. "I've already had one prepared, Castor. It's waiting for you down at the landing."  

Castor returned her smile, the sound of his dear friend's voice melting that knot of tension that had built up within his gut. "Thank you, Your Grace. I'll deal with this quickly and then return:  we were interrupted the last time we had any time together, were we not?"  

"Yes, we were...I agree with you: we'll have to have some tea together, just the two of us," Nanamo nodded, although the hesitation in her eyes was all too apparent.  

"And I'll be certain to have the vintages taste-tested before the two of you even get close to it," Jenlyns promised. "There will be no repeat of the banquet!"  

"I'd hope not," Castor muttered, then strode up to Nanamo, ignoring Raubahn's instinctual move to get between them before the general halted. He sank to a knee before Nanamo, who held out a hand to him, and he gently took that tiny hand in his own, lightly pressing his lips the back of it.  

"Please be careful," the Sultana whispered. "I can't bear the thought of losing you again."  

"I will be," he promised, releasing her hand and rising. "Let's go." 

"Right!" Yda beamed, pumping her fist into the air excitedly.  

Don't make me regret this, Minfilia...Or you, Nanamo.  

Castor bowed to Nanamo, then turned away and headed towards the door. Yda happily fell into step beside him, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her heels as she brushed her shoulder against his arm. Alphinaud trailed behind them, silent save for the clicking of his boots against the stone floors.  

"Oh, I'm so excited!" Yda gushed, once again nudging Castor's arm. "What's Ishgard like?"  

"Strict, in terms of visitors," he replied. "Both of you stick close to me and keep your mouths shut."  

"Hardly necessary: we can speak for ourselves just fine, Castor," Alphinaud muttered, and Castor fixed a murderous glare upon the boy.  

"Ishgard doesn't regard you too highly, Alphinaud, and any attempt you make to say something will most likely end up earning you a spear in your neck."  

The boy flinched, but nodded slowly. "R-right...I suppose I'll just let you do the talking, then."  

"That would be wise," Castor replied as the trio strode through the Chamber of Rule, the plush rugs scraping underfoot.  

"Ah, Sir Castor!" The Sultansworn manning the lift saluted, although his eyes narrowed at the Scions. "The airship is ready for you!"  

Castor nodded. "Thank you." 

He strode into the lift, first, his companions quickly squeezing in after him. Yda reached up and adjusted her turban, muttering about how Papalymo was going to get his small butt handed to him without her.  

"He'll be fine," Castor nudged her with his arm, drawing an amused grin from the woman. "Besides, he can hand himself his own arse: he's certainly small enough to reach it."  

Yda clamped her hands over her mouth as giggles threatened to spill forth, her entire frame shaking from the effort of staying somewhat quiet. She failed spectacularly after a few moments, her howling laughter bringing a grin to Castor's own lips as she clutched at her stomach. 

Even Alphinaud was cracking a smile.  

The doors hissed open, and Castor retraced his steps to the airship; the steps he'd taken the last time he'd been here as a fugitive running for his life.  

"It's going to be a long trip, my friends," the pilot said warmly as the group piled onto the idling airship. "Pray make yourselves comfortable."  

Castor strode to the bow and stood before the railing, wishing to get some feeling back into his muscles as the deck vibrated from the engine slowly awakening.  

"Come on, sit down!" Yda called from the benches, invitingly patting the seat beside her. "You're going to go off the edge doing that!"  

"I'll be fine," Castor replied, faintly hearing the woman's huff as the engine roared to life.  

The airship trembled as it pulled free of its moorings, pulling away from the docks and steadying as the pilot expertly guided the vessel into the brightening skies. Only when the deserts gave way to forests did Castor hear Yda rise and walk over to him, her sabatons clicking against the deck with every step.  

"Giving up?" He asked as he felt her presence at his side, his next remark dying on his tongue as Yda slipped her arms around his left and leaned against his side.  

"Not really, I've just found another way to change your mind," she answered.  

"Oh?" 

"If I hold onto you long enough, then surely you'll be too tired to keep standing!" The woman shot back, perhaps with too much enthusiasm, and squeezed his one arm with both of hers.  

"Oh, gods help me..."  

Neither one answered him. 

Chapter Text

"So, how are the new outfits holding up?" Castor asked as the airship descended towards Ishgard's landings, Yda still clutching his arm in her failed attempts at getting him to rest.  

"Remarkably well. Tataru's outdone herself," Alphinaud commented, closing the tome he'd been reading and clipping it to his waist as he rose.  

The boy shivered only for the briefest of moments as an especially bitter breeze whispered through the snow-kissed city, his gaze roaming over the stonework with poorly concealed awe.  

"It's so beautiful," Yda murmured, her hands resting lightly on his bicep.  

"It is. Now, will you let go of me?" Castor asked as the airship drew closer to the dock, engine slowly powering down as the vessel slid neatly into the moorings.  

Yda huffed again, but obeyed and took a half step away from him. Castor jumped down from the deck, his metal boots clanking against stone upon landing, and he nodded at the knights who'd raised their hands in acknowledgement of his arrival.  

"Sir Entialpoh!" Said knights dashed forward, faces hidden behind the visors of their helmets. "Lady Lucia said you would be arriving shortly! Ser Aymeric was going to speak with the Archbishop, as Lucia said, and she humbly requests that you search the Brume for elements of the revolutionaries that opened the doors for the heretics."  

"Straight to the point, eh? Very well," Castor bowed to the knights, who hurriedly reciprocated. "Alphinaud, Yda: follow me."  

"Right!" 

"Okay."  

Castor called a thanks to the pilot, who beamed and bowed in response, before guiding his two charges in past the Astrologicum. They stared at the city, taking in as much as they could and not noticing how the colorfully clad noblewomen sneered at them.  

Castor ignored those glares as well, although quite a few women were gazing at him from above their fans, batting their eyelashes once he met their stares.  

Fools...Like petty, weak nobles like them would ever capture my heart.  

"Sir Entialpoh!" The guards at Fortemps Manor called over to him as the Scions passed, each knight's face hardening at the sight of the boy and woman. 

"They, uh, don't appear to be very fond of us," Alphinaud murmured.  

Yda said nothing, holding her head a little higher as she increased her pace in order to walk at Castor's side. He raised a hand in greetings to the knights, then turned his attention back to the journey. He led his companions over the second bridge, down the stairs of the Crozier, and kept a tight watch on the Scions as merchants started hawking their wares at the group.  

"Sir Entialpoh: We have the finest steel for sale over here!" 

"Exquisite silks fit for a hero, Master Entialpoh!"  

Or, perhaps more accurately: they hawked their wares at him.  

Castor returned each call with a polite nod or a wave of the hand, calling out apologies every now and then until the rich stalls gave way to the depravity of the Brume. Nothing had changed, save for the softer warmth that cruised in between the waves of bitter cold. More eyes stared at him from the shadows, fearful eyes lingering upon the unmistakably Imperial-made armor.  

"Stay close," he murmured to his companions, who nodded stoically as they gazed at the festering slums.  

"'Ey, there, beautiful!" A wheezing male voice tittered out of an alley, Castor's eyes immediately picking out the rag-covered, wizened caller. "Nice coat! I'd love to see what you look like without it on!"  

Yda growled, clenching a fist, but Castor tugged on her arm and dragged him after him.  

"Leave him," Castor ordered, pulling the woman by the arm as he wormed through the wooden scaffolding. "Come on, let's see if we can't-" 

Footsteps approached from the side alleys, and Castor paused, Yda running into his back at his abrupt halt.  

"H-hey!"  

"Ah, here you are," Sidurgu strode out of the shadows of the alley, raising an eyebrow as his gaze roamed up and down Castor's body. "Huh, the rumors were true: you've turned into an Au Ra."  

"Not by choice," Castor replied, relaxing.  

Sidurgu gave a wry smile. "Oh, so I've heard. You've got Nidhogg to thank for that, eh? So, what brings you down here?"  

"Looking for those who may have possibly let the heretics into the city," Castor rolled his shoulders. "I get the feeling we're going to be needing their help soon." 

Sidurgu raised an eyebrow. "Needing their help for what?"  

"Oh, Lord Commander Aymeric has plans to go speak with the Archbishop about the truth behind this damn war, which I get the feeling will result in said Lord Commander being imprisoned and the Temple Knights being loosed on the Brume as soon as the Heavens Ward say the word."  

The Dark Knight's expression hardened, and his bright green eyes narrowed. "The truth? So, the See has been lying to everyone, after all. What's your plan?"  

"Once word comes back to us, we'll likely have to mount an assault to deal with the Archbishop and his zealots. I understand that the revolutionaries around here desire change, and their knowledge would be fundamental in bringing about a better future for all in Ishgard," Castor could hear a smaller form approaching from behind the Dark Knight, and he immediately sensed the faint draconic presence.  

"Sid? Where'd you-" a young girl of perhaps fourteen or so stepped out from the Brume, freezing once she saw Castor and co. "Who are they?" 

"My name is Castor Entialpoh," Castor bowed to the girl, whose blonde hair partially covered her face. "I mean no harm to you or Sid, Rielle."  

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze turning to Sidurgu. "This is the man you were talking about? The Dark Knight carrying Fray's crystal?" 

Sid nodded, his white hair dipping at the motion. Castor studied the short girl closely, immediately sensing the faint vestiges of a dragon soul residing within her flesh. Ah, so that was why she was with two Dark Knights... 

She tensed under his gaze, withdrawing into self-imposed walls meant to keep others out, even as her expression remained unchanged. 

"Well, I know of one person you could try to get in touch with," Sidurgu rumbled, crossing his arms before his chest. "A woman who leads the movement, here in the Brume. She goes by the name 'The Mongrel'."  

Castor sighed. "Let me guess: child of a maid and some highborn lord? Lord bedded maid in a moment of lust, she got pregnant, and he kicked her into the streets?"  

He hated those damn stories: he heard them all too often, especially here in Ishgard.  

"You have the right of it," Sidurgu sighed. "The mother...she was apparently quite well-known around here for her kindness and good heart, even after she got pregnant. She died giving birth to the Mongrel, I think, and the woman's sworn revenge on the Ishgardian high society."  

"I see," Castor bit down another sigh, his gaze returning to Rielle. "And you, little one? I can sense draconic power inside of you, but it's far too faint to have spawned from you drinking dragon blood. Was your father, a, uh, heretic, by chance?"  

Her eyes widened, she took a half step back, and she gave the tiniest of nods.  

"What are you getting at?" Sidurgu growled.  

"The heretic that was her father likely sired her after he'd drunk dragon blood," Castor replied. "My guess is: she's got a minimal amount of that dragon blood in her veins, just enough to condemn her as a heretic in the See's eyes. She's being hunted, and two Dark Knights have taken an oath to protect her."  

"One, now," Sidurgu corrected, his eyes shining with grudging respect.  

"Nope: it's still two," Castor crouched before the wide-eyed Rielle and offered her a gentle smile. "Might I also swear an oath to protect you, Rielle?"  

"Castor, we have a...Mongrel to track down," Yda spoke up. "Do we really have time for this?" 

"I must agree: we have little time to spare if we are to garner the support of the revolutionary faction," Alphinaud replied.  

Sidurgu grunted. "I can help you with that: I know where to find the Mongrel." 

If those footsteps coming up behind them were any indication, Castor knew where to look. He turned around, immediately finding himself facing a rather attractive woman clad in black leathers, a pistol holstered at her hip. She paused, her lips twisting in amusement as her sharp ruby eyes twinkled. Raven locks swayed in the breeze, and Castor bowed to her.  

"Well, well, it appears my little friends are right: the hero of Ishgard has come here, askin' after me. The name's Hilda, and, yes, I recognize you, Warrior of Light, despite your little change."  

Castor shrugged. "Glad to be recognized, Lady Hilda." 

The woman grinned. "Oh, please, enough with the 'lady' business. Hilda's my name, and that's it. I'm not one of those foppish blue bloods."  

"Yup, that's her," Sidurgu muttered, earning a light laugh from the woman.  

"So why are you lookin' for me?" Hilda asked, her hand lazily resting on her belt. "Here on orders from the blue bloods? Seeking the scent of heresy?"  

Castor shook his head. "No, actually. I came here to ask if you and yours would be willing to listen to rather momentous news."  

A black eyebrow raised, that coy smile never leaving the short woman's lips. "Oh?"  

"Perhaps we could speak somewhere more private?" Castor suggested, glancing at Rielle and Sidurgu.  

Alphinaud, thank the gods, had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, as did Yda. Castor reminded himself to not be so hard on them later.  

"Follow me. You, too, Dark Knight: I got some words for you," Hilda motioned with a finger for them to follow and then turned on her heel, striding towards the wooden stairway nearby.  

Castor trailed behind her, keeping his senses on full alert just in case the Mongrel was planning anything. She led them into the lower rooms of the Forgotten Knight, the lone bartender looking up with bored interest as the party shuffled past. The upper tavern was also empty, save for the few staff, and Castor watched as HIlda approached the proprietor and spoke to him, handing over a bag of gold. With nary a word, just an offered smile, the staff cleared out, filing out the main entrance until Hilda and Castor's group was all that remained.  

"Now, let's hear this news of yours," Hilda's smile vanished as she turned back to him, nothing but cold calculation in her ruby eyes.  

And so Castor told her: of Nidhogg's death, of the truth behind Ishgard's war with the dragons, and of the plan that was likely to be hatched. Her expression never changed once, although the hardness in her eyes faded just slightly.  

"That's...one hell of a story," she murmured, leaning on a table. "And where do we fit in to all of this? We're just common rabble tryin' to change our fortunes in this place."  

"If I may interject," Alphinaud stepped forward, drawing everyone's attention. "My apologies, Castor, but...from the vision you're describing, about the legendary knights, it sounds like everyone in Ishgard is descended from them in some way."  

"And going from that logic: everyone is Ishgard is an equal, no matter what claims the nobles make of their blood," Sidurgu responded, a cold smile on his lips.  

"No wonder the bleedin' Archbishop wants to keep that under wraps," Hilda muttered, shaking her head slowly. "But, again, what do you want us to do?"  

Castor glanced back at Rielle, found her studying him curiously. "I'm guessing you have some sympathizers among the knights?"  

Hilda nodded, her bright eyes filled with conflicting emotions. "What're you getting at?"  

"If the Heaven's Ward assumes control of the Knights, I have no doubt that they'll send every soldier they can spare to the Brume to root out suspected heretics and traitors, or they'll hold a small army back in reserve for when I have to make my move against the Archbishop," Castor crossed his arms. "I'd like your sympathizers to spread the word among the city than an army of heretics is approaching the gates, meaning to besiege them."  

"That'll drive a good number of the Temple Knights away so you can slip into the Vault," Hilda reasoned, her devilish smile returning.  

"And once everything settles down, we can work on reforming Ishgard for the betterment of all of her people," Alphinaud spoke up, Yda beaming at Castor as he nodded.  

"Heh, leave it to you to figure out how to save an entire nation from a thousand years of war," the Ala Mhigan laughed.  

Footsteps approached, followed by a flurry of aether, and Castor found himself reaching for his sword as the doors were flung open. A scruffy Elezen sailed over the stairway, screaming as he slammed into the tavern floor and lay there, groaning.  

"Ah, the unmistakable scent of heresy," a haughty, sneering voice drawled, and hatred burned in Castor's heart at the sight of the Heaven's Ward's pure white and azure robes. "And what have we here? The vaunted Ward of House Fortemps fraternizing with the queen of rats?"  

Hilda whirled, snarling as she rose from where she knelt by the fallen Elezen. "You!"  

Her pistol flew into her hands, the barrel swinging skywards and belching smoke and fire as her finger jammed the trigger back. Each loud bang shook the tavern, and each shot bounced off the magical barriers flaring to life around the 'knight'.  

"Charibert," Castor growled. Oh, he remembered this swine, all right...he was one of those who'd approached him after his first meeting with the Archbishop.  

After than farce of a trial by combat.  

"My, my, so eager to kill!" Charibert sneered, tapping his chin. "Such a savage little rat! Very well, I'll humor you, but perhaps we should take this somewhere that won't turn into kindling, hmm?"  

The 'knight' turned and walked away, with Hilda and Castor sprinting up after him. Castor stormed out of the Forgotten Knight to the plaza that awaited, unsheathing Deathbringer with practiced precision.  

'Now, then," Charibert sneered, unslinging a pure white staff. "Let me see what you rats are capable of."  

Temple Knights poured out of the side alleys, apparently having been lying in wait, but visibly balked once they recognized Castor.  

"S-Ser Charibert! That's the Warrior of Light!" One woman cried, her halberd trembling in her grasp. "You can't be serious!"  

Charibert sighed, as if this mere conversation was enough to plunge him into the depths of boredom. "And he is in the company of the Mongrel, speaking of ways to overthrow the Archbishop!"  

"You're mad if you expect me to draw steel against him!" The knight declared, putting up her halberd. 

Several others followed suit, glaring defiantly at the mage knight as they retreated several yards away from the coming debacle. That left about a dozen still standing by Charibert's side, apparently too loyal, or perhaps too afraid, to abandon him.  

"I'll deal with you worms later," Charibert spat, turning his attention back to Castor. "After I turn you into a pile of ash!" 

Footsteps pounded up the stairs inside the Forgotten Knight, and Castor wasn't entirely surprised as Sidurgu and the two Scions stepped up beside him. 

"I've longed for the chance to put my sword against a Heaven's Ward's throat," the Dark Knight growled as he unsheathed his own Deathbringer and crouched.  

Charibert cackled harshly, and Castor resisted the urge to just blast a hole through the bastard's skull. "Ah, another Dark Knight! And this one carting around Ystride's little dragon bitch, at that! Oh, I'm going to enjoy this!"  

Rage burned through Castor's heart, and he, too, crouched and spread his feet wide as he took up a stance more favorable to his massive sword.  

"Bastard! I'm going to kill you!" Sidurgu roared, lunging at the mage knight.  

Two knights quickly intercepted the raging Au Ra, their shields screaming as his Deathbringer gouged into their surfaces. The duo danced back and forth around Sidurgu, barely keeping their shields in place to take blows that would have certainly cleaved them in twain had they been but a fraction of a moment slower.  

"So, punch everyone who's standing next to this creep?" Yda asked, and Castor nodded at her. "Alright! Ha!" 

The Ala Mhigan surged forward with blinding speed, her voice raised in a wordless cry as she slammed into a spear-wielding knight. Alphinaud, to Castor's surprise, had conjured a gleaming ruby-colored Carbuncle and sicced it on a pair of archers, his own spells blasting the cobblestones.  

"Come, little bitch!" Charibert sneered, aetherial energy swirling around him as fire blazed to life atop his staff's head.  

"You little!" Hilda dove into the fray, her pistol shattering the air with each report.  

Castor skirted the edges of the debacle, keeping a wary eye on the knights who'd refused to fight by Charibert's side, just in case they had a last-minute change of heart, and he smiled as two of Charibert's knights charged him.  

"Really, now?" He sighed as the duo lunged with their lances, flicking Deathbringer out and easily bashing their weapons aside. "I suppose you tried." 

He spun, lashing out with his foot, and sent the first knight sprawling onto the cobblestones. The second attempted to stab him, but Castor's instincts had already warned him of the threat, and he lazily aimed his wrist-cannon at the knight. Aether pulsed, magitek hummed, and the bright bullet of dark energy sent the assailant flying.  

"Is this all the little mutt is capable of?" Charibert taunted as his spells lazily seared the air around him. 

"This little mutt will put a new hole in between your eyes!" Hilda shouted, her pistol smoking as she unloaded several more bullets into the mage's defenses.  

"Take this!" Yda shouted, her voice nearly lost in the din of magical roars, cries, and clashing steel.  

Two knights went flying face-first into the fountain, shards of chain-mail and steel flying in all direction. Sidurgu had finally managed to get the better of his two assailants, spraying their blood across the stones as he wrenched his Deathbringer through their bodies.  

"Sid! Help!" Rielle's scream drew the eyes of both Dark Knights, and Castor swore as he saw a noblewoman clad in the robes of Ishgardian clergy approaching Rielle, a savage smirk on the woman's lips as the knights at her side advanced.  

"Ystride!" Sidurgu roared, turning and sprinting towards his young charge's attackers.  

Castor raised his left hand, gathering power, and paused as he felt that power swirl not into his palm, but into the crystal veins lining the gauntlet. This was going to take some getting used to...He clenched his muscles, the way Gaius had taught him, and the trigger clicked. Pale magical bolts burst from the cannon, jarring his arm, and the charging knights screamed as the bullets ripped through their armor.  

"Grab it! Kill it!" The woman, Ystride, screamed, ducking behind her escort as they closed ranks to blunt Sidurgu's vicious attack.  

"Yda!" Castor shouted, taking Deathbringer into one powerful hand as he fired off more shots at the knights attempting to get at Rielle.  

"On it!" The woman dashed past, her caesti pounding into steel as she intercepted Rielle's attackers.  

Castor nodded to himself and then turned his attention back to Charibert, whose spells had Hilda on the defensive. This has gone on for long enough, he decided.  

"Hilda, duck!" He shouted, the black-haired woman looking at him in surprise that quickly faded as she saw the wrist-cannon aimed at Charibert.  

She dove for cover as Castor fired, drawing upon his rage and conjuring it into a scarlet mass. Charibert's two remaining guards attempted to shield him, but the fools would die along with their master. Scarlet light exploded around the trio, swirling in the form of long spikes erupting from a bright core. 

To his credit, Charibert was still standing, his shredded shields a testament to his magical prowess. His robes were ripped and stained by the blood gushing from his many wounds, his arrogant sneer replaced by an angry snarl as the ravaged corpses of his defenders collapsed to the cobblestones.  

"D-damn you!" The mage knight swore as he stumbled back, brandishing his staff. "How are you so powerful?!"  

"You still stand. Impressive," Castor glanced over his shoulder at Sidurgu and Yda, who were currently pounding Ystride's escort into the ground. "However, your life is mine."  

"Castor!" Lucia's voice caught his attention, and he saw the silver-garbed lieutenant dashing towards the debacle.  

"Lieutenant!" The knights who'd refused to take up arms against Castor saluted the woman, who spared them a minute glance before unsheathing her sword and leaping towards Charibert.  

The mage knight cursed, magical power condensing around him as he leaped into the air with supernatural grace. Charibert vanished over the rooftops, leaving the few wounded knights that still lived on the cobblestones. Lucia hit the ground where he'd stood, swearing under her breath as she glared at the rooftops.  

"Throw down your weapons!" The more passive knights rallied around the lieutenant, surrounding the bleeding knights.  

Steel and wood clattered to the stones, and Castor caught a glimpse of Ystride saying something to Sidurgu before retreating with her one surviving escort. Yda made to give chase, but Alphinaud quickly stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.  

"Let them go, Yda."  

"But...oh, fine!"  

Castor turned his gaze back to Hilda, who was striding over with a more genuine smile on her lips.  

"Not bad at all, Warrior of Light," she commented, admiration shining within her ruby eyes. "So, shall we put our plan to motion, then?"  

"What plan?" Lucia dashed over, face red with exertion and the news that she had to be dying to tell him.  

"Let me guess: Aymeric's been captured and the Heaven's Ward have control over the Temple Knights," Castor replied, and Lucia nodded grimly. "In that case: Hilda will have her sympathizers in the Knights spread the word about a heretic army approaching the city, which should lure away many of the soldiers guarding the Vault and open the way for our own assault to free Aymeric."  

Lucia chuckled with grudging admiration, her soft smile warming his heart. "Heh, of course you'd already figured out a plan. I'll have my own people help spread the word."  

"Ah, here you are!" Castor glanced over at the sound of Arya's voice, and he was surprised to see her accompanied by a significant squadron of legionnaires.  

Lucia stepped forward, bowing to the Tribunus. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Tribunus Arya. I trust you ran into minimal resistance?"  

"As soon as we showed the guards your letter, they let us in with no further issues!" Arya beamed at Castor and shot him a salute. "We're ready to do whatever we must, my lord!"  

Alphinaud glared at the Imperials, but they ignored him and saluted almost as one body. Castor returned the salute, glancing over at Sidurgu and the shaking Rielle.  

"Hey, are you alright?" He strode over to the girl, who glanced up at him with wide eyes. 

"That was her mother," Sidurgu growled. "Gods damn it! I should have killed her right then and there!"  

"Sid!" Rielle protested, but the sound of her heartbroken cry only served to make the Dark Knight even angrier.  

"Don't 'Sid' me! That wench wants to kill you just because your father drank dragon blood!"  

"Calm down," Castor said softly, drawing Sidurgu's gaze. "We need to be levelheaded for her sake."  

The Dark Knight glanced at his still-shaking charge, and his anger deflated. With a herculean effort, Sidurgu pushed down the rage, and his scarlet Darkside aura faded.  

Castor knelt before Rielle, reaching out to her and gently taking her small hand in his own. "Rielle, you'll be safe with me and Sid, I promise you. We won't let that woman hurt you, no matter what. I've got to deal with something, but Sid will keep watch over you, okay?"  

"Come on! We have no time to waste!" Lucia called, her knights dragging off Charibert's living escorts. "Lord Haurchefant should already be at the Vault's gates!"  

Castor started to advance, releasing Rielle and rising, but Hilda stepped forward and stopped him.  

"I'll help keep an eye on the girl," she offered in a soft voice. "My people will start their end of the plan as quickly as they can."  

"Thank you, Hilda," Castor nodded to her, then grinned. "You're one hell of a shot with that pistol, by the way."  

She grinned. "Don't flatter me, Wa-Castor. If you mean to bring about change, then I'll aim to help in any way I can."  

"I appreciate it, Hilda. Good luck to you," Castor offered a hand, which she gladly took.  

"Good hunting to you, too. Give Charibert a kiss from me, eh?" She said a with a vicious smirk.  

"Right between the eyes," Castor promised, mirroring her grin.  

She laughed. "Oh, you're on your way to claiming my heart if you're not careful!"  

Castor chuckled and released her, then strode over to Lucia and Arya. "Let's go."  

"Alright! You lot, with me!" Arya shouted. "We're to make for the Vault!"  

Lucia barked orders at one of the remaining knights, who saluted and dashed off. "Right! Come, my friends!"  

She dashed towards the Pillars, Castor on her heels. He could hear the legionnaires behind him, their powerful, disciplined bodies dark against Ishgard's bright environment. Arya ran at his side, her crystallized breath exhaling in near perfect sync with his own. To his surprise, Yda was positioned at his opposite side, ignoring the Imperials that he thought she would have gone after the first chance she got.  

"So, we're to head in, hitting everyone who stands in our way? I like that plan!" She huffed into his ear, her grin rivaling Arya's.  

"As do I!" The Tribunus replied. "I get the feeling I'll like you, Scion!"  

Yda smiled at her, but Castor could tell that it was forced, that her emotions were raging inside of her. He reached out and gently touched her arm, drawing a more genuine smile from her lips as she nodded.  

People stared fearfully at the party as they dashed towards the Vault, but the legionnaires ignored everything and focused solely on their orders. Such discipline...Castor felt himself relaxing even as the Vault's grand doors came into view.  

Haurchefant was already there, standing guard with roughly a dozen knights.  

"About time!" He shouted, his eyes narrowing at the Imperials. "We just received word that an army of heretics is approaching the city, and a good number of the Temple Knights just mustered out to meet them. I take it that was all your doing?"  

"They work fast, don't they?" Castor mused as Lucia nodded.  

"Indeed. Here's the plan: Lady Arya, I'd like your forces to work in concert with my own, driving into the Vault and drawing a significant number of the knights inside away from Castor. Castor, you'll make your way to the Archbishop's chambers while we work on freeing Ser Aymeric from the dungeons," Lucia glanced at the two Tribunes, who shared a look. 

"Does that sound agreeable to you, Castor tol Entialpoh?" Arya asked softly, reminding him of his new station.  

He nodded, then turned to the legionnaires-his legionnaires- and cleared his throat. "Soldiers: you have your orders! Accompany Lady Arya into the Vault and wreak havoc on any who dare stand in your way! Look out for one another, and we shall all return home alive! Glory to the Fourteenth!"  

"Glory to the Fourteenth!" Every legionnaire echoed, snapping their arms into salutes.  

Lucia looked uncomfortable, as did everyone else present, but the lieutenant quickly recovered and turned to Haurchefant. "The legionnaires will go in first, with us following behind. We'll press for the dungeon after they get the attention of the Archbishop's defenders."  

"Alright. And, Castor: you better take care of yourself in there!" Haurchefant warned with a wagging finger. "If I have to hear about yet another heroic collapse, I am going to chain you to the next bed I see!"  

Castor grinned and shook his head. "You won't have to, trust me." 

"Yeah! We'll be with him the entire way!" Yda declared, pounding a fist into her palm.  

"Forgive me if that doesn't quite bolster my spirits," Arya muttered, drawing a glare from Alphinaud. "Legionnaires, move out!"  

She unslung Ragnarok, gave Castor one last brilliant grin, then dashed into the Vault with the legionnaires on her trail.  

"I don't trust them," Alphinaud said bluntly after the last legionnaire vanished into the Vault.  

"Then you don't trust me," Castor retorted, snapping out an Imperial salute just to rub salt into the boy's wound.  

Alphinaud flinched, but looked away in embarrassment.  

"Right. Let's go!" Lucia ordered after several moments of silence.  

Haurchefant nodded and unsheathed his sword, the knights at his side following suit. "See you at the top, my brother!"  

"Likewise!" Castor grinned, his keen ears detecting a rather familiar whooshing sound, followed by a hard thud. 

"What? You're going in without me?" Estinien drawled, a tight grin on his lips as he strode over to the party. "I'm insulted."  

"Perfect timing, Estinien," Lucia answered, not even sparing him a glance as she drew her sword again. "With me!"  

Haurchefant tossed the Azure Dragoon a linkpearl. "And don't lose it this time! We don't have Yugiri to ferry news between us this time!"  

Estinien chuckled, his lance's serrated head gleaming as he unslung it from his back. 

Then the knights followed Lucia inside the Vault, armor and weapons clanking loudly.  

"I can't say how much I've missed fighting at your side, Castor!" Yda took his hand in hers and beamed at him. "Let's do this!"  

"Agreed," Castor stretched his arms and tightened his grip on Deathbringer's hilt.  

He stepped forward, waiting a few moments for an alarm bell to begin tolling, then strode into the Vault. The inside was a vast, beautifully crafted church that shone gold in the sun's light. Lines of sleek, polished pews filled the space in between the iron gates and carpets splitting through the area. The sound of shouts and clashing steel already filled the vast, still air, and Castor caught a glimpse of black-clad legionnaires slamming against lines of brightly clad knights on the upper levels of the holy building.  

"Looks like the legionnaires have the attention of most of the defenders," Alphinaud noted as the party dashed over the lush carpets and shining marble floors. 

"Down here! The traitors are down here!" Several knights shouted from behind a massive gate. "To arms! To arms!"  

Castor took several long strides forward, not breaking his pace as he brought the massive Deathbringer to bear against his foes. Black steel split through their cuirasses and chain mail, spraying blood as bodies were slashed apart. The gate rose as more knights advanced, shouting Thordan's name, and Alphinaud launched a flurry of spells that drove them on the defensive.  

Yda sprinted forward, her fists and legs a blur as she unleashed hell on the knights. Metal cracked and shrieked, shrapnel flying in all directions as Yda quickly beat the knights senseless.  

"Woo! This is fun!" She giggled, whirling and cracking her armored leg across another man's head.  

"I'd say so," Castor commented as he raised his cannon and fired into a robed deacon who was attempting to gather fire around his staff.  

The man crumpled, and the group moved onto another aisle way. Castor shot down another deacon and slashed a bloody swathe through the knights who'd charged. Bodies crumpled and slammed against iron rails in pieces, spraying blood in all directions.  

"Take this!" Yda dashed through another set of gates and plowed into the knights on the other side, cracking armored skulls with every blinding strike.  

Castor raced after her, blasting a gory hole through a knight attempting to stab her from behind before he dashed up a set of stairs that led to a rounded platform where he assumed the Archbishop delivered his sermons. A score of knights were waiting for him, including a white-clad Heaven's Ward. 

"You will go no further!" The Heaven's Ward shouted, his name forgotten to Castor.  

"This will be a minor distraction," Castor growled, striding forward to meet his enemies.  

Knights charged, and a deacon prepared a spell from behind them, but Castor once again drew upon his rage, his hate, and fired a scarlet bolt at his enemies. Screams filled the platform as knights crumpled in pieces, shredded by the swirling mass of spikes, and their blood splashed across the marble.  

"F-fiend!" The spell-weaving deacon screamed, his face vanishing in a rain of gore and shattered bone as Castor's next shot pulverized his head.  

The Heaven's Ward knight charged, his pure white sword and shield stained with the blood and gore of his allies as his face twisted into pure rage. "I'm going to strike you down, monster!"  

Castor flicked his blade out with the inhuman strength he'd toiled so hard to build, and easily smacked aside his enemy's strike. The knight swore and continued attempting to get under his guard, an expert swordsman that any ordinary warrior would have trouble matching. 

But Castor was no ordinary warrior. Deathbringer sang in his hand, moving with deadly grace that no smaller longsword could ever hope to match, its black blade carving pulsing scarlet gashes in the air with every swing.  

"What are you?!" The knight demanded as he was forced back, a strike connecting with his shield and nearly ripping his arm from its socket.  

Aether condensed around him, and Castor immediately braced himself as power erupted from the knight. 

"I will not yield to you!" The Ward rose, his body ensconcing with light as it expanded, and Castor smiled as the armored Primal that landed before him bellowed a battle cry.  

"The power...it fills me!" Holy magic exploded from his body, but Castor lazily raised a hand and erected a barrier of dark energy that absorbed the attack.  

He strode forward, undaunted, as the Primal swung its now-massive blade at him with inhuman strength. Deathbringer met it, steel shrieking, and the blow actually made Castor's arm shake a bit.  

"Impressive, but you've forgotten one thing:" Castor smiled at the knight as he drove the Ward back with only a single hand, "I KILL EIKONS FOR A LIVING!"  

The Ward screamed as Deathbringer plunged into his armored torso, punching right through steel and flesh both. The knight stumbled back, slamming into the rail as his power dissipated, and he shrunk back to his former size.  

Blood stained his pure white armor, and he coughed roughly as he struggled to rise.  

"Just as Charibert said...I'll have to fall back," the knight vanished in a flurry of light, leaving his comrades splattered across the dais.  

"Pathetic," Castor sighed, noting the open gate at the back of the dais and the stairs it led to.  

"They're Primals?" Alphinaud stepped forward, making a great effort to keep his eyes off the mangled corpses of the knights. "This isn't good."  

"They can transform into Primals, just as Ysayle can," Castor corrected, striding towards the stairs.  

"Ysayle?" Yda jogged at his side, attempting to keep pace with his longer stride.  

"Iceheart," he replied. "That's her real name."  

Such a glorious slaughter to come...Let us dance to the song of ring ing steel!    

The Hive man is correct: these worms don't stand a chance against the Sun!  

Or the Moon, Azim.   

"Hmph, now you speak up," Castor growled under his breath, and the two eikons fell silent once again.  

No matter: Any who 'd stand in his way would die.  

"Hold the line! The Fury is with us!" One of the deluded deacons was shouting, attempting to exhort the knights over the din of clashing steel. "Drive these heathens back into the seven hells!"  

Arya couldn’t help but smirk. 'Heathens', as if these vermin were any better. A knight attempted to thrust his lance at her, but a Sagittarius put an arrow through the fool's throat with deadly precision and brought him down.  

"What a glorious fight!" She crowed, twirling Ragnarok in deadly arcs and sending webs of lightning through the air around her. "Push on! Push on!"  

Her legionnaires doubled their efforts, shouting hoarsely as they drove their wedge into the Ishgardian line and shattered it. Knights screamed and scattered as black steel ripped through them left and right, their formation crumbling into a full-fledged rout.  

"These savages are almost disappointing to fight," a centurion muttered at her side, aiming his gunblade and putting a bullet into a fleeing deacon's skull.  

"We're here as a distraction," Arya reminded him as the legionnaires pushed after the retreating knights, daring to glance over the beautiful corridors to see how Castor was faring.  

He was ripping through a phalanx of knights who'd attempted, quite poorly, to block off a long corridor. Those Scions were trailing a bit behind him, the boy firing off spells to distract knights and the woman charging headlong into the fray at Castor's side as more Ishgardians emerged from a side corridor.  

A legionnaire screamed in pain, and Arya's attention snapped back to the skirmish before her.  

"Bastard!" Another soldier speared his comrade's assailant, grabbing ahold of his wounded ally and dragging the man behind the main line. 

"I got you!" A Medicus dashed forward, gentle magic encasing the wounded man.  

Arya nodded to herself, cursed her lapse of attention, then strode back towards the fray. Hoplamachi held their bucklers in front of themselves as they drove forward, magitek crackling and shrieking as weapons bounced off black steel.  

"Fall back! Fall back!" An Ishgardian shouted, and the knights immediately broke off, leaving their wounded and dead on the marble floors.  

Gunfire shook the halls of the Vault, bullets whizzing after the fleeing defenders and punching through several before a few swordsmen got the sense to cover their allies with their shields.  

Idiots.  

"Pursue them!" Arya cried, already propelling herself after the Ishgardians. "We can't let them turn their attention onto Castor or the others!"  

"For our lord!" A legionnaire cried as the legion raced into pursuit.  

Arya led her troops forward, popping out the crystals in Ragnarok's haft and sending bolts of electricity after the knights. A couple actually hit, sending the metal clad soldiers screaming and writhing upon the ground as lightning coursed through their flesh.  

Several archers attempted to slow the legion's pursuit by unleashing volleys of shafts down the narrow corridors, but bullets from the three centurions present quickly cut them down.   

"Send the Knights forward!" An Ishgardian was shouting from the other end of the corridor, and loud metallic clanking made Arya call for a halt.  

"What the hells?! They have magitek?" A centurion shouted as automatons resembling Vanguards stomped into the corridor, their hides either black or white.  

"Stand strong! These fools don't know who they're dealing with!" Arya cried, sprinting towards the closest automaton.  

"Find their control panels and rewire them!" A centurion barked, gunblade cracking as he put a shot into an Ishgardian deacon's chest and sent the woman sprawling onto the floor.  

The White Knight swung with a powerful limb, and Arya slid in between the machine's legs to get behind it. Immediately, her trained eyes spotted the cover of the machine's main circuitry, and she popped it off with a flick of Ragnarok's head. Her fingers latched onto the wiring underneath, the pulsing of machinery and ceruleum all too familiar to her, and Arya's hands moved on their own, ripping out certain parts and connecting them elsewhere. 

This really wasn't too different from reprograming Vanguards, truth be told: their logic centers and enemy identification systems were in the same places and took the same amount of tweaking to recalibrate. Arya jumped back as the White Knight hummed loudly, her eyes quickly going to her soldiers just in time to see the Black Knight swiveling towards the Ishgardians, her legionnaires giving a short cheer.  

"Unleash hell!" Arya cried, and the reprogramed automata stomped towards their stunned former masters. "This is what you get for using magitek against a legion filled with engineers!"  

By the gods, this was glorious! Her heart raced, pounding her rib cage with a fervor she'd grown to miss! The clash of steel on steel...the time between the seconds where life hang in the balance of a single stroke...this was what she lived for!  

"Spread out! Find where the savages are storing these and begin reprograming as many as you can!" She shouted, no small amount of glee churning through her veins as the Ishgardians fell back before the onslaught of their own creations.  

"As you command! Squad one, with me!" One centurion quickly led a contingent of soldiers away down a side corridor while the other two took command of their own squadrons and led them away. 

Arya was left in the main corridor with about six other legionnaires: three Hoplamachi, two Equites, and a Medicus. "Right, with me! We'll keep pushing these bastards back!"  

The legionnaires saluted, their faces grim and determined as they readied their weapons for another charge.  

"For Castor!"  

"Y-your Eminence..." The deacon gasped with his final breath as Castor rammed Deathbringer through his torso before ripping it out in a storm of gore.  

"Pathetic. To think that they'd willingly sacrifice themselves just to protect a lie," Castor shook his head and continued past the chamber, gazing out at the golden skies that loomed over the upper echelons of the Vault.  

"They aren't the only ones, and they don't even know that their faith is a lie," Alphinaud reminded him as the trio strode towards the square pavilion that awaited.  

And Castor smiled as Charibert strode forward to meet them, his pale lips twisted into an arrogant sneer.  

"Ah, so you've made it this far, have you?" The mage knight snorted. "I'll put an end to this right now!"  

Charibert rose into the air, the same way Grinnaux and that other knight had, his body shining with aether as it expanded.  

"Filthy rats!" The eikon bellowed, powerful flames spiraling towards the three warriors.  

Castor raised a hand and erected a shield, which easily parted the attack, then strode forward through another blast of scorching flames. Even Ifrit had fire more potent than this...it was almost too easy to bat each blast aside.  

"You still don't learn," Castor sighed, raising his cannon and blasting Charibert in the chest. "No wonder you're all so weak, even as eikons."  

"Sickness must be purged!" Charibert screamed in response, pouring an entire wave of flames onto the arena.  

Castor rolled his eyes and again erected a wall of dark energies to part the flames, taking care to not send the attacks spiraling towards his companions.  

"Come forth, my pretties!" Charibert shouted next, raising his arms dramatically as black and white magitek automata rose from elevators in the floor.  

"Uh?" Alphinaud coughed as the automatons just stood on the elevators, not budging until sparks cracked around their heads.  

Then each one marched forward, stampeding over a screaming Charibert before marching past Castor and heading back the way the group had come. The Imperial sigil had been scrawled onto one's neck, and Castor guessed that each automaton's circuitry had been tampered with, judging from the opened panels on their backs.  

 "Well, leave it to Arya and the others to figure out how to rewire those things," he commented with a chuckle as he turned his attention back to the now human-sized Charibert. The mage's hair was unkempt and stained with his blood, and his robes were in a similarly haggard state.  

"W-what have you done?!" Charibert screamed, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle. "You filthy little rats!"  

The doors behind Charibert opened, and Castor recognized Ser Zephirin as the knight strode forward. 

"Brother! Fall back! The airship is ready!"  

Charibert gave Castor a murderous glare before limping back towards Zephirin. The doors shut behind them, but Castor blew them off their hinges with a well-aimed shot from his cannon.  

"You're not getting away so easily!" Yda shouted, sprinting forward at his side. 

Castor slowed as the corridor gave way to a long platform, the end of which ended in an airship that the Archbishop was striding towards. Zephirin, curiously, was gone, but the battered Charibert was limping at his liege's side as Grinnaux stood at the wheel of the vessel.  

"Castor!" A new voice called his name, and he glanced over his shoulder as Lucia, Haurchefant, Estinien, and a rather ragged-looking Aymeric dashed down the steps to join him and Yda.  

"Glad to see you alive, Aymeric," Castor grinned at the weary Lord Commander, who nodded before turning his attention to Thordan.  

"Father! Why must you do this?!" His words made even Castor jolt with surprise.  

Father?! Well, it appears even the vaunted Archbishop isn't without his vices...or broken vows of celibacy.  

Castor pushed those thoughts aside, reaching out with his senses as he attempted to locate Zephirin.  

There! Standing on an outcropping just to the immediate right, out of the group's sight and in a perfect position to ambush them. Castor smiled to himself, wondering just what the man's face would look like once he realized he'd already been discovered.  

Thordan was speaking, talking about the pillars of faith that held up Ishgard's society, and Castor rolled his eyes with disgust. "Enough of this, Thordan! All you care about is the power that said delusions grant you! You don’t give a damn whose families are ripped apart fighting your damn war for you so long as you get to continue playing king!"  

"I don't expect you to understand, Imperial," Thordan shot back, his robes swishing as he strode towards the airship. "I'm doing what is right for my people."  

More delusions...Castor glanced at Haurchefant, saw the man already grinning at him, and both nodded in unison. As one, knight and Tribunus sprinted forward, weapons drawn, and Castor sensed aether pouring into Zephirin's body as the man transformed. A great spear of holy magic formed in Zephirin's hands, and he reared back to hurl it at what he assumed was an unsuspecting target's back.  

"Nice try!" Castor whirled just as Zephirin loosed his spear, dark magic slamming into the holy weapon and shattering it.  

"W-what?! How did you-" Zephirin leaped into the air as Castor fired again, decimiating the platform the knight had been standing on.  

"Attack, my brothers! Kill them!" More aetherial signatures flared from underneath the bridge, and Castor swore. 

He'd been so focused on Zephirin, he hadn't realized that the rest of the Heaven's Ward had been hiding just under his feet.  

"Haurchefant! Below us!" He shouted, right as an eikonic knight leaped over the railing at him.  

Castor bashed the man back with Deathbringer, whirling and deflecting a spear with his gauntlet, and he spotted Haurchefant dancing between the blade of another knight. Icy fear trickled into his mind, and Castor sprinted towards his beloved friend.  

"Haurchefant!" He roared, blasting Charibert's fireball from the air.  

His senses were going on overdrive warning him about so many threats as more Heaven's Ward knights fell upon the duo, his body pushing itself to its limits to fend off so many foes at once.  

Castor slashed, hacked, and blasted with magical energy all at once, as quickly as he could force his eikon-empowered body to move, but the cold feeling in his heart only intensified.  

There are too many! Castor, stop focusing on protecting the knight!   

"Never!" He snarled, roaring as hot pain spliced into his torso.  

Haurchefant was fighting valiantly, wherever he had the chance between Castor throwing himself in between the man and their enemies, and Castor glimpsed Yda dashing towards the brawl.  

Weapons scraped against his armor from all directions, but Castor continued throwing himself in front of Haurchefant as the Heaven's Ward pressed in from all sides.  

"Castor!" Haurchefant's voice made him pause, and the scream that followed chilled Castor's very soul.  

He spun, just in time to see Zephirin's sword protruding from Haurchefant's chest, in an angle that could only have occurred from Haurchefant throwing himself in the way. Cold slithered through his veins, pouring into Castor's soul, and he slammed Deathbringer into the floor. Dark spikes erupted from the ground, driving the Heaven's Ward back, and Castor roared as rage turned his vision red.  

KILL.  

KILL THEM ALL!  

Haurchefant was freed from the blade, his cuirass stained red with his blood as he fell to the floor.  

"Fall back, all of you!" Thordan barked, and the Heaven's Ward fled back to the airship as their bodies shrank.  

"YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY FROM ME!" Castor screamed, raising his cannon and gathering all the power he could muster. "DIE, YOU BASTARDS!"  

The airship lifted off, engines humming loudly as Grinnaux pushed the vessel to its limits, and Castor's vision tunneled onto the fleeing Ishgardians. He tensed, activated the trigger, and a beam of dark energy erupted from the cannon. The blast streaked forward, closer...closer...about to turn that airship into flaming rubble, and then Zephirin stepped forward.  

"Castor! Castor!" Yda was there, pulling on hi sarm, desperate to get his attention, but he remained riveted on Zephirin as the knight swung his massive sword and redirected Castor's shot. The beam careened away, hitting the Vault somewhere and shaking the entire structure as an explosion shrieked.  

Castor's rage burned and roiled within him, and he drew upon the power of the eikons inside of him, drew upon the Elder Primals whose power he'd always strove to avoid using. The black sword he'd only recently reclaimed from the Shroud appeared in his grasp, dark power immediately flooding into his veins. Draconic strength poured into his muscles, and an ethereal pair of massive wings immediately sprouted from his back. 

"THIS ISN'T OVER!" He crouched, rage singing and screaming inside of him as he prepared to use Bahamut's power to streak after the fleeing airship. 

Zantetsuken hummed in his hand, yearning for the blood of his enemies, and somewhere deep in his soul, Bahamut roared.  

Deafening, powerful, angry! This power! Surely he could turn the Heaven's Ward and their Archbishop into ash with it!  

"I'LL KILL YOU ALL!"  

"CASTOR!" A small form tackled him, jolting his balance, and Castor's pulsing vision honed onto the woman who'd thrown herself upon him. "Stop this! Please!"  

He wanted to chase them down, to rip them apart and bathe in their offal. His entire body SCREAMED for him to do just that. 

And yet....and yet...Yda's horrified expression froze him in his tracks, locking his muscles together and refusing to allow him to leave. Bahamut and Odin heaved against their prisons, yearning for Castor to unleash their power, to turn this world into rubble! 

"Castor! Look at me!" Yda's hands cupped his face, and she forced his gaze to settle upon her. "Look at me...please!"  

The airship was gone...gone...and Castor's strength abandoned him. The Elder Primals sank back into their prisons, their power fading, until nothing remained but cold numbness.  

"C-Castor?" Haurchefant's strangled voice ripped his heart to pieces, and his deadened muscles dragged him over to the fallen knight.  

Haurchefant was so pale...so pale...his eyes dull and unfocused as he weakly held a hand up. Castor grabbed it, his other hand immediately going for the Soul of the White Mage in his pocket.  

"You are unharmed?" Haurchefant whispered, blood weeping from the corner of his mouth. "T-thank the Fury..."  

Castor dug out the Soul, held it up to Haurchefant's ravaged torso, and his heart shattered as the crystal flashed once in warning.  

This  one cannot be saved.  

No... 

"Don't look so sad..." Haurchefant croaked, his life essence weakening. "A smile...better suits a hero."  

Castor forced a smile to his lips almost immediately, even as icy tears welled up within of his eyes.  

Haurchefant's face brightened, his eyes clearing for just a moment. "My brother...thank you."  

Then he was gone. Nothing left of the man who'd sacrificed so much for him, for everyone he cared for. An empty, bloody husk was all that remained.  

"Lord Haurchefant..." Aymeric whispered, and Castor gently lowered his friend's hand.  

Rage...it filled him, burning through his veins, rippling through the air savagely. He threw his head back and roared to the heavens.  

Thordan jolted as the evening skies were pierced by the most demonic roar he'd ever heard, resonating from the city he'd left behind as if the monster were standing right beside him.  

"It'll be alright, your Eminence," Zephirin promised, he and his brothers all bearing savage wounds that leaked red onto the decks. "That man can't stand up to all of us combined, you saw."  

"That was only because he was trying to protect Lord Haurchefant," Thordan's aged body drained of strength, and he leaned against the vessel. "I fear we have just awakened a monster." 

Chapter Text

Pain.  

Agony.   

Rage.   

Waves of every shade of suffering crashed over Yugiri as she made her way through Western Thanalan's blistering deserts, slamming into her body right as she was leaping from the edges of a barren tree. Her muscles locked, not even her voice working as she tumbled down and crashed onto the craggy, barren earth. The hot agony only intensified, and a pained groan escaped her lips.  

"C-Castor...what are they doing to you?" She could feel his pain, his agony splicing through every nerve in her body, and her heart was on the verge of shattering.  

Then she heard voices approaching from Vesper Bay's direction, and Yugiri attempted to crane her neck to catch a glimpse of the newcomers. Several Brass Blades were departing the town, talking amongst themselves and laughing, and Yugiri immediately doubled her efforts in rising.  

Of all the people to happen across her in this state! She didn't trust Brass Blades, not anymore, especially since these men had been the ones Castor had trounced that day...almost two years ago. She remembered the blistering unfamiliarity of a foreign land, the strange people that she feared to interact with. She remembered when the Blades approached her people, shouting something about a visitor's tax that she now knew never existed to begin with, and how the brutes had drawn steel when Yugiri questioned them further.  

Castor had jumped in out of nowhere-from the Waking Sands, actually, since he'd just been leaving it-and beat the Blades back. From that moment on, the Warrior of Light had become the Doman refugees' staunchest ally and supporter, refusing to let up until everything had been resolved for them.  

"Well, well, well...what have we here?" The largest Blade's sneering voice killed any hope Yugiri had of escaping their notice.  

"Boss, I think that's that Doman bitch what got us demoted a year back!" Another crowed. "And it looks like she's been injured by something!"  

Yugiri swore under her breath, cursing her foul luck, and attempted to move again, only to wince as her entire body screamed with agony.  

"I reckon you're right! And this is the perfect opportunity for payback!" Their lecherous, cruel smirks punched her heart, and again Yugiri cursed herself for being so reckless and spontaneous.  

She'd come to Vesper Bay to see if anyone else from the East had arrived in the docks the way she had, praying that she'd hear something about her lord Hien...was this her fate? For breaking her oath to him? 

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes, and she turned her gaze to the earth as the Blades drew near, chuckling and snorting amongst themselves.  

"Do you have any idea how long it took for us to get these stations back? Thanks to you, bitch, you set back every plan I've ever made!" 

"I've never had an Au Ra cunt before...wonder if it's got scales in it?" One mused. 

"Ugh! Gross!" Another shuddered. "I'll take her rear, if that's the case."  

"What if that's got scales, too?" 

"Shut it!"  

Hands reached out for her, fingers wagging greedily, and Yugiri once again attempted to conjure up any strength whatsoever. Pain met her, draining her already fluid muscles even more.  

Aether sparked around her, making the men pause, and then the shadows sprung to life. Dark energies cocooned Yugiri, driving away the oppressive heat and the greedy fingers of the Blades.  

"Thal's balls! What is that!" A man yelped, and Yugiri couldn't stop a relieved sigh from escaping her lips. 

"Castor...thank you," she whispered, and the Blades drew their swords. 

"Bah! Break it down!" The fools began hammering away at the dark barrier, not even denting its surface.  

DIE!  

The barrier shifted, and then black tendrils writhed into existence above Yugiri. Each one swirled, making each Blade back up in horror, then speared the bastards with a sickening squelching noise. Blood flashed, and the Blades screamed as the tendrils threw their bodies around, limbs and weapons snapping about wildly. 

YOU WILL NOT TAKE HER FROM ME!  

Yugiri curled up, hugging her knees to her chest as the pain turned into red hot, screaming rage, the Blades' bodies exuding noises none of them should as the tendrils began slamming them into the cliff face or the rocky ground. The howling and agony in her body faded slowly, as if Castor had become aware of how his emotions were being transferred to her, or if he was focusing solely on smashing the Blades around.  

The tendrils and her bubble faded, and the liquidated, shattered corpses of the Blades splattered across the shoreline, dark residue shimmering around the misshapen lumps. Yugiri tried her limbs, found that her muscles were no longer locked with agony, and slowly pushed herself to rise.  

"Castor..." She croaked, her heart pulsing with his rage. "I have to get to Ishgard."  

She gulped down lungfulls of air, shook her head to clear the misty haze of rage, and prepared herself for the long journey. Perhaps she ought to stowaway on another airship... 

Yda stood outside of Fortemps Manor with Alphinaud, pacing as a thousand thoughts dashed hither and thither through her mind.  

"We have to go after them!" She said for about the dozenth time, the words already growing irritating to her ears.  

"Yda, I'm getting weary of repeating myself," Alphinaud sighed, stretching his arms. "But...we can't just leave."  

She opened her mouth to continue their banter-battle, only to stop as a terrible, oppressive aura filled the air. It felt as if a sword was being held to her throat, steel hovering just over her vitals, and threatening to spill her lifeblood if she so much as twitched.  

Anger...hatred...the air itself shook with the power of darkness, the two Fortemps guards stiffening with terrified expressions as the doors of the manor creaked open. Crimson light spilled forth from the opening, writhing and hissing maliciously as Castor tol Entialpoh strode out into the cool Ishgardian twilight.  

Everything about him radiated menace and death, the black hilt of Zantetsuken dangling at his waist in place of his previous Excalibur blade. His eyes...gods above, his eyes...they were still glowing red, burning embers of rage and ruin that punched into Yda's very soul.  

All that monster had to do was ask her to die, and her soul would be ripped to pieces by the sheer force of his rage.  

"I'm going to the Sea of Clouds," his voice deadpanned. "That's where Thordan's airship was last spotted."  

"Do you know where, exactly?" Alphinaud asked softly, his voice almost timid.  

Those burning eyes fixed onto the boy, making him flinch. 

"Near one of the Vanu Vanu settlements, I've heard. If it means I must slaughter every beast that gets in my way...I'll paint the clouds in red."  

Yda swallowed her fear, the terror that built up as her instincts screamed for her to flee from this terrible creature. "I'll go with you! Two can search more quickly than one!"  

"Do as you will, it matters not," Castor turned away from them, the veins on his Deathbringer pulsing with bright lunar light. 

The Tribunus strode away, the shroud of malice surrounding him turning any nearby vegetation grey and barren. Yda raced after him, her metal boots clanking against stone, and her heart shuddered as black rose petals rose from the shadows of his footfalls before fading.  

"More hints of Odin's rising influence," Alphinaud murmured. "Now that Castor's freely drawn on the power of the Elder Primals, they'll begin manifesting around him more often."  

Castor had told them once that he'd only resort to drawing upon Odin and Bahamut should he have no other choice, as both of the Elder Primals were far more powerful than the others, and both were fully capable of overwhelming him if he lowered his guard for even a moment.  

That black Eastern-style hilt hanging from his waist exuded menace just as much as the aura resonating from his body, and it still unnerved Yda how the long blade would appear in a burst of silver light whenever he desired it to. After he'd finally calmed down, marginally, he'd stormed through the Vault and hacked apart every statue of Thordan he could find with that unnatural, dark blade, sometimes even conjuring swathes of moonlight from his swings that cut through stone as if it were softened cheese.  

"Sir Entialpoh, over here!" A pilot was waving from the deck of an idling airship, the selfsame one that had ferried them from Thanalan. "I can drop you off!"  

Castor nodded and strode over to the ship, forcing Yda and Alphinaud to dash after him. They jumped aboard, and the pilot revved the vessel's engines. Yda yelped, clamping a hand on the railing to prevent herself from pitching over, Alphinaud doing the same.  

"Thank you, good sir," Castor bowed his head to the pilot, who grinned wickedly in response.  

"It's an honor, Master Entialpoh!" He replied, pushing the engines hard as wind whipped past the trio.  

Clouds and darkening skies whipped past in a blur, the rising crescent moon and peeping stars beginning to dot the twilight with silver. Castor stood, tall and silent, at the bow, his armor's surcoat whipping around in the wind as he crossed his arms before his torso and stared out at the dark expanse.  

Yda dragged herself over to his side, bitterly admiring how Castor was able to resist the pulling wind's eager fingers so easily. She wanted to reach out, to take his arm in hers as she had last time, but the murderous aura surrounding him presented an almost physical barrier between them.  

So she held grimly onto the railing, time flying by just as fluidly as the darkening skies, not even realizing they'd reached the Sea of Clouds until Alphinaud gasped. 

"By the gods, it's massive!"  

Yda glanced up from the deck and her own jaw slackened at the sight of the vast floating islands stretching across the skies. She saw an outpost of sorts far off to the distance, away from where the group was headed, a titanic airship flying Ishgardian colors moored at the docks.  

"Camp Cloudtop," Castor said, and Yda jolted in surprise. "That's not where we're headed?"  

"No, sir. I was told to drop you off over here, near the Vanu Vanu settlements," the pilot shook his head, and Yda spotted an Ishgardian pennant flying, alone, on an airborne peninsula. 

"Told by whom?" Castor asked.  

"Ser Aymeric, of course," the pilot nodded. "He'd received information regarding the Archbishop's flight to this area."  

"I see," Castor said nothing more as the vessel neared the pennant, banking to lower its gangplank onto the floating land. "You have my thanks."  

Again, the pilot bowed. "It was an honor to be of service to you, Lord Entialpoh!"  

Castor leaped from the deck as the airship shuddered upon impact, his rage-fueled aura already eating away at the grass around him. Yda and Alphinaud hurried after him, waving to the pilot in thanks before dashing to catch up to Castor.  

"Any idea where to go?" Yda asked, shamelessly admitting that she hadn't been paying attention.  

"I saw a settlement to the northwest of here," Castor replied, the violent scarlet aura around him intensifying. "We'll begin there."  

The moon seemed to brighten as Castor reached skywards, black petals swirling around his fingertips and scattering onto the winds. Then he strode forward, his long legs devouring the floating islands, and Yda scrambled to keep pace with him.  

"What are these Beastmen like?" Alphinaud broke the silence as the group made their way up a wooden stairway, and their attention immediately locked onto the large bird-man that was being chased by black-clad soldiers.  

Castor stiffened, swearing under his breath, then surged forward. For a moment, Yda feared he would attack the beastman, but Castor's massive greatsword cleaved into the Imperials, instead. Yda rushed forward, reaching for her caesti, only to pause as the last Imperial fell to the ground in two pieces.  

"Many thanks, netherling!" The beastman croaked, bowing its head. "I feared those on...dark wings would bring ruin."  

It stared at Castor in perhaps a shocked expression, and Yda took a moment to study the dead Imperials. Their armor was more advanced than the ones in the Fourteenth: a scarlet acton with black steel plating and pot helms with black and gold visors rather than the black and scarlet tunics.  

"You! You are the one who slew the White!" The beastman cawed, muscular arms twitching as it, to the surprise of all present, bowed to Castor. "Oh, truly we are blessed by gentle winds this day!"  

"You're...happy that I killed Bismark?" Castor said slowly, glancing down at the dead Imperials.  

"Yes, yes! We of the Zundu are not like the Vundu! We revere the true White, not that false world eater!" The Vanu Vanu chattered, then shook his head. "You of zephyr winds! You must aid us, I beg of you! The ones of dark skies have attacked my village!"  

"Castor, do you recognize them?" Alphinaud asked, and the man sighed. 

"Aye: that insignia on their shoulders marks them as soldiers of the 6th Legion, under Regula van Hydrus," Castor muttered, his scarlet aura rippling savagely. "One of the Empire's most devoted and skilled legions."  

 The man strode towards the settlement that Yda now noticed behind the Vanu Vanu, and she hurried to keep pace with him. Honestly, she should have known that he'd go forward by now!  

"So, what's the plan?" Alphinaud asked.  

"Kill every Imperial who gets in our way, and get whatever information we can out of the Zundu," Castor replied, and Yda grinned. 

"I like that plan!" She pulled her caesti into her palms, the worn leather and metal a weight that always brought great comfort to her.  

The first thing she saw was the numerous Zundu that were tied up in the middle of the village, surrounded by more black and crimson soldiers, and then Yda's attention snapped to the tall man clad in armor that seemed almost insectoid, which glowed with golden veins in several places.  

"Be silent, savages!" He barked at the Zundu wearing an ornate mask and headdress as the latter attempted to speak, and then he spun. "Who's there?! Identify yourselves!"  

Castor strode forward, not even bothering with a stealthy approach, and paused several yalms away from the circle of legionnaires.  

"You aren't beastmen," the armored man, whom Yda assumed was Regula van Hydrus, mused. "I hadn't thought that our missing patrols would be explained by Ishgardians."  

"They are not Ishgardian, Regula," another, powerful voice intoned, and Yda turned her gaze to the golden-haired man now striding towards the village. His armor was jet black, a great scarlet cape swirling around him with every step he took, and a black diadem of sorts crowned his forehead, forming the shape of the Imperial sigil with his third eye.  

The Imperials fell to their knees before the man, whose hard face never strayed from Castor. "It appears that Roaille's reports were correct: the Warrior of Light is want to appear at the most inopportune times."  

Regula jolted, rising and reaching for the greatsword strapped to his back. "This is the Warrior of Light?! He who slew van Baelsar?!"  

"And you must be the new Emperor: Varus zos Galvus," Castor replied.  

Yda nearly dropped her weapons. The Emperor?! Here?!  

Varus zos Galvus smirked. "Indeed. And it appears that the reports of the Fourteenth Legion defecting were true, as well. How disappointing. To think that van Baelsar's famed soldiers would turn their backs on the Empire so easily, and all because of you."  

Regula van Hydrus placed himself between the Emperor and the Eorzeans, his two-handed gunblade in his grasp. "My Emperor, stay behind me! This man...something's not right about him!"  

"A wise mindset, Lord van Regula," Castor chuckled, aiming his cannon at the Legatus. 

"Don't!" Alphinaud blurted, stepping forward. "Why are you here?!"  

Galvus spared the boy an annoyed glance. "When my father created the Empire, he had one mandate that stood above all the others: the extermination of the eikons plaguing our star. To bring peace, I must bring all the world under our control, and eradicate any who'd stand in our way."  

Alphinaud scoffed. "This is why Eorzea will never yield to you! We will not bow to your tyranny!"  

"Ha...that is exactly what I expected from you, boy. Such a narrow view of the world is pitiful, and I do not expect you to understand what it takes to guide an Empire," Galvus turned his attention to Castor once again. "But you, Warrior of Light...What is it that you desire? You protected your former comrades even after you'd clashed with van Baelsar, your former liege, and now you stand before me as the second-in-command of the Fourteenth."  

"I have no desire to waste my time on you, not while I've more important prey to hunt down," Castor responded coldly, and Yda gaped at him. 

Was he mad?! This is the Emperor he was talking about! Who else could be more important?!  

Galvus chuckled, his voice grating on Yda's ears. "So much rage...I pity the fool who has drawn your ire, Castor tol Entialpoh. Very well: I, too, have more important matters to attend to, so let us deal with these beasts and I will leave you to your hunt."  

The Imperials surrounding the Zundu readied their weapons, and Yda found herself looking back at Castor.  

"Don't! They are not Bismark's thralls!" Alphinaud shouted, reaching for his tome.  

"Do you think they care?" Castor asked softly, his face hard. "The Zundu are beasts to be exterminated, nothing more."  

At first, Yda thought Castor shared that feeling with the Imperials, and she had to fight down a scathing retort as the real meaning of it dawned on her. "And they call us savages..."  

Castor paused, cocking his head as if listening to something, and a faint smile tugged on the edges of his lips. "Ah, so they came, after all."  

Yda frowned, utterly baffled. "They? Who's they?"  

Then the whine of magitek engines caught her attention, as well as the attention of the Imperials.  

"What the hells?" A legionnaire muttered. 

"Get down!" A familiar voice cried, and a massive fireball streaked from the clouds.  

The island shook with the force of the explosion, throwing legionnaires about like rag dolls, the deafening roar making Yda's ears ring.  

"My liege! We must retreat!" Regula's voice reached her, and she glimpsed Castor vanishing into the smoke kicked up by the blast.  

"Don't let them get away!"  

Yda plunged after Castor, the smoke stinging her eyes even as she burst out of the noxious cloud. A Dreadnaught was soaring away from them, and Yda's muscles melted at the sight of the massive airship dominating the skies above the islands.  

"Gods...they actually built another one?" She whispered, unable to tear her gaze away from the titanic vessel.  

"Stay alert!" A voice cried, and Yda's head snapped back to the scarlet legionnaires charging her.  

A gunblade fired, and both of her assailants fell. 

"Huh?" She turned, and the shock she'd felt so far only intensified at the sight of the Fourteenth Legion rising from the Sea of Clouds in a swarm of Dreadnaughts, gunships, and aerial troop transports.  

Severus sas Aurelius was striding towards her with black-clad legionnaires in tow, firing his gunblade at the 6th legionnaires who were attempting to rally at the head of the village.  

"Drive these tyrants back! Show them the true meaning of a legion's honor!"  

The soldiers charged forward, shouting, while their aerial armada filled the sky with a rain of bullets all aimed at that massive ship lording over the skies. Gunships and fighter vessels poured from the vessel, gunfire shattering the air as they swarmed over the Fourteenth's armada. Explosions lit up the dark skies, and burning vessels careened wildly into the Sea of Clouds or smashed into the islands.  

"On me!" Castor's voice punctured the din of gunfire and clashing steel, and Yda immediately spotted her friend standing guard by the captive Zundu, firing his cannon at any soldier who dared to challenge him.  

"You heard him!" Severus shouted, and Yda quickly scurried over to her friend's side. "Rally to Lord Castor!"  

The 14th legionnaires surrounded the Zundu and their Tribunus, a few trading blows with scarlet 6th soldiers before their sheer numbers allowed them to overpower their enemies.  

Up above, the Emperor's airship was rising higher into the skies, fleeing from the onslaught of the Fourteenth's bombardment as the Emperor's own gunships and fighters were turned into blazing fireballs.  

"Where is Lord van Arvina?" Castor asked as the cracking gunfire began to lessen.  

"Leading the assault on the flagship," Severus responded. "It appears we drove them back..."  

"How did they get here so quickly?!" Alphinaud demanded as he marched forward. 

"Who?" Castor asked, hitching his lunar greatsword onto his back.  

"The Imperials!" 

"Which ones?" Severus asked, and several legionnaires snickered.  

Alphinaud sighed and raised an eyebrow at the two Tribunes, who shrugged.  

"I sent a message to Rhitahtyn before we left Ishgard, requesting that he gather as much of the legion as he could to accompany us to the Sea of Clouds," Castor answered. "To tell the truth: I only asked for the numbers so we could cover as much ground as possible and take the fight to the Vundu. I had no idea that the Sixth Legion would be here, let alone the new Emperor."  

Yda glanced skyward, the bitter memories of death and destruction over Gyr Abania flashing in her mind for the briefest of moments as the flotilla of aerial vessels descended towards the Zundu village.  

Legionnaires had cut through the bonds holding the captive Zundu, and Yda couldn't help but smile as smaller children buried themselves into their parent's arms. The older ones looked around fearfully at the black soldiers, some still gazing in wonder up at the sky as if they could still see the aerial battle.  

Even from here, Yda could see burning wreckage strewn about the islands, spewing pillars of black smoke into the star-filled skies.  

"What do you suggest we do?" Severus was talking to Castor as another large gunship landed on spindly legs, hatches opening to release the titanic form of Rhitahtyn van Arvina.  

Legionnaires snapped to attention around their legate, even Castor, and Yda bit down a bitter twinge of envy. To think that, after all of this time, that he'd be back with this legion...Saluting a man who was supposed to be dead.  

"My lord, you have my sincerest gratitude for bringing so many at my request," Castor spoke, his stiff salute making him tower above every other man and woman present. "Truthfully, I hadn't expected to run into Regula van Hydrus or the Emperor, but it appears our casualties were minimal."  

"They were," Rhitahtyn rumbled, gazing at the smoldering embers of wreckages. "Four gunships, two fighters, and three troop carriers. Over twenty dead so far, with dozens more wounded."  

Castor grimaced, and Yda found herself staring at the Roegadyn. "I'll see to the wounded, milord."  

"Nay: leave that for our medical staff, Castor. If we are to track down the Archbishop and put an end to this farce, then we must put in our all," the legate turned to his second-in-command. "Tribunus, I'm putting you in charge of the advance forces in this region. Scour everywhere you can to find any trace of the Archbishop, by any means possible." 

Castor saluted. "Yes, milord! And if we encounter resistance from the Vundu, or from contingents of the Sixth?"  

"You know what must be done," the Legatus answered. "I've brought the Third, Fourth, and Fifth Cohorts with me, as well as a sizable contingent of magitek and engineers. Arya is taking care of our forces through the rest of Eorzea, and Severus will defer to you on whatever judgement you see fit to render upon our foes."  

"As you command, Lord van Arvina," Castor's clipped, formal tone was unlike anything Yda had heard from the man, and her heart lurched as she recalled all the times he'd spoken to the Alliance leaders with almost cold indifference whenever they'd sent him off. The only ones he'd really used a deferential, respectful tone for had been Kan-E and Nanamo...and Minfilia, until that night after Moenbryda's death.  

"I hear, and I obey, my lord!" Severus saluted at Castor's side, his tone a perfect mirror of his superior's.  

Yda tried to swallow her fear, felt a great lump in the back of her throat that refused to let her be. Fear, icy and cruel, trickled through her veins as the Legatus' helm swiveled in her direction, the weight of his lofty gaze settling upon her shoulders.  

"Scions, I apologize for whatever fear our sudden appearance has spurned within you. As long as you do not interfere with our movements, we shall have no trouble," the man rumbled. "Let us go forth and put our enemies to the sword, since they will not listen to reason or to our desire for peace."  

Peace...for Ishgard, at least. Yda said nothing, biting back her bitter retort if only for Castor's sake. The rage emanating from him...this lust for death and destruction that chilled her very soul...it scared her. The black blossoms that had followed in his wake were now more prominent, rising from his shadow before dissipating into wisps of darkness.  

"And...Castor?" Rhitahtyn turned back to his Tribunus. "If you find yourself slipping, drowning in the power of those eikons...I want you to remember who you are."  

Castor nodded slowly, his stiff salute never faltering. "I will strive to do so, milord."  

The legatus turned away, paused, then shook his head. "I place my faith in you, Castor tol Entialpoh. Make our legion proud."  

Then he returned aboard the vessel he'd departed from, vanishing inside, and a small contingent of the Fourteenth Legion lifted into the air alongside its Legatus.  

Castor relaxed, then turned to Severus. "Spread the word: I want all of our wounded taken care of, immediately, and send out some ships to scout the wreckage from the skirmish. If any of the Sixth's soldiers live, take them prisoner and take what information you can extract from them."  

"At once! And what are you going to do?" Severus asked. 

"I'm going to head into the heart of Vundu territory to see if I can get any leads on where Thordan has gone. Keep the troops on high alert: these beasts are wily and capable of flight, so everyone must be on their guard."  

Castor reached up and thumbed a communicator built into his armor, quickly relaying the orders to the troops even as Severus did the same for those in the immediate vicinity. Centurions and other officers passed word down the ranks, and as Castor turned back to the Scions, Zantetsuken pulsed with silver light.  

"Castor, are you certain you're alright? Carrying that thing around?" Alphinaud dared to speak up over the shouting of the Imperials. "If our observations are correct: that is the Primal, Odin, isn't it? The sword, itself?"  

Castor's emotionless, stony face nodded. "It is, but I am the one in control of him, now. I will not be transformed into the sword's minion, as so many others have."  

Yda shuddered, the foul vision of that black-clad rider happening across her and Papalymo flaring to life.  

It had been months ago, before Castor had finally managed to best the Elder Primal in single combat at Urth's Fount, when the monster had covered all of the Black Shroud in twilight. Yda and Papalymo had been investigating reports of bandit activity near the Matron's Lethe when the change occurred, and those powerful, disembodied words had forced their way into the Scions' skulls.  

"Foolish mortals..." The Dark Divinity had appeared out of nowhere, his fell blade cleaving through the air with an ominous hum and just narrowly avoiding decapitating Papalymo.  

Jet black armor blotted out the light scarcely peeking through the Tension, the feeling of utter Hopelessness that had wormed its way into Yda's breast and turned her heart into lead. The duo had fled, even though both had known that the Primal's massive steed was more than capable of running them down.  

They'd been saved by none other than Castor, leading a small army of adventurers to battle against the Dark Divinity in order to protect Gridania and its people. Yda could still hear the screams of the men and women, seasoned fighters and warriors, as Odin cut them to pieces with casual, almost lazy swings of his fell blade.  

Adventurers had fought and died for the sake of the realm, fighting against a being that they could only distract as Castor attempted to lure it away from the city. The forest had been carpeted with corpses before Castor had finally shattered the Divinity's avatar, bringing an end to its destructive rampage.  

That battle had been the most damaging trial against Odin to date, and it was shortly after that the Elder Seedseer had implored the Conjurers and Castor to find a way to seal the monster away for good. Castor bore the Primal, now, but the scars it left on Gridania would take years, perhaps decades, to fully heal.  

"Yda? Are you okay?" Alphinaud was standing before her, his face twisted in concern. 

She shook her head slowly, attempting to drive away those bitter memories. "Y-yes, of course! Huh?"  

Then she realized that the Imperials had all but departed, only a scarce number remaining to aid the Zundu villagers as the birdmen attempted to rebuild their homes.  

"How long was I-" 

"About ten minutes. You were just staring into space, and nothing I did would snap you out of...whatever it was that had enthralled you," Alphinaud shrugged helplessly. "Castor left a few minutes ago, leading the cohorts towards the Vundu encampment. He asked for us to stay here, in case the Zundu need anything from us."  

"Ah, you are a seeking a netherling crossing the skies in metal and wood, yes?" The Zundu from before approached, the glee in his expression unmistakable. 

Alphinaud nodded. "Yes, although these are different netherlings than the ones who attacked the village and the ones who came to our rescue."  

"Netherlings in white have been spotted in the Sea of Clouds, searching for the key to Azys Lla," the beastman wearing the elaborate headdress, perhaps the Chief, strode over.  

"That's him!" Yda punched her palm excitedly. "Um, what is Azys Lla?"  

The chief shook his head slowly. "A monstrosity that looms far above the Sea of Clouds, built by the ancients. Terrible, terrible creatures roam that forbidden land, but it is impossible for them to escape as long as the great barrier is in place."  

"An ancient Allagan structure encased within a barrier?" Alphinaud murmured. "So, that's what Thordan's looking for...And that could explain the Imperials, as well." 

"Do you know where this key is hidden?" Yda asked, and the two beastmen shared a glance.  

"We do," the chief turned his gaze skywards, towards a floating island that appeared to be host to a lavishly decorated altar. "Perhaps it is fate which brought these blessed winds."  

"I'll retrieve it with all speed of great typhoon!" The Zundu guide bowed before dashing off, and the chief chuckled. 

"So impatient...like a wild gale; unchained and free, he is." 

The air shifted, and aether Yda had not felt for months tainted the air.  

"W-what's going on?!" Alphinaud yelped as a thick, dark fog rolled over the landscape, blotting out the stars and even dousing the moon's silver flow.  

"S-such dark winds!" The chief shuddered, legionnaires and beastmen alike gazing up in alarm at the unnatural twilight.  

"Odin," Yda whispered, immediately spotting the ethereal lights that danced through the darkness. "Gods, Castor!"  

Icy fear trickled through her veins, and Yda glanced up at a flicker of movement just in time to see a perfectly formed, fully solidified black petal spiraling towards her.  

"Foolish mortals," that powerful, otherworldly voice shook the Sea of Clouds, sending the Zundu scrambling for cover. "Canst thou hear the lamentations?"  

"Oh, gods, that cannot be good," Alphinaud muttered.  

"That's an understatement," Yda replied. 

Chapter Text

"Monster!" One of the Heaven's Ward, it mattered not who the bastard was, tried to thrust his blade under Castor's guard, but Odin flicked Zantetsuken to the side and easily deflected the attack. "Heathen!" 

Castor couldn't help but smile: these fools were so narrow-minded...intent on struggling even though they should have known the futility of their resistance. This power...it was incredible! Odin's magic and strength poured forth into Castor's body, humming as the dark aether melded with his own. Bahamut was dormant, having been beaten into submission by both the Dark Divinity and Warrior of Twilight, but the dragon's soul stirred at the onset of violence around it.  

The black petals that Castor had sent out upon arriving had guided Castor's squadron of legionnaires into the heart of the Vundu encampment, right into the Archbishop's party as the Ishgardians were parleying with the birdmen. Or at least attempting to, anyway.  

"Keep the beast savages back!" His legionnaires were scattered through the encampment, steel ringing and bodies crashing to the grassy earth as they engaged the Vanu Vanu that hadn't been slaughtered in the initial contact.  

Zantetsuken once again moved on its own, obsidian blade bashing Grinnaux back and putting several cracks in his massive axe.  

"Damn it...Ascian, what are you doing?" Thordan, himself, was behind a wall of steel, his gaze affixed to the familiar mien of Lahabrea hovering nearby. "You said these beasts would hold the key to Azys Lla." 

Lahabrea smirked at the old man, but Castor could sense the Paragon's fear rippling around him. "We spoke the truth: Igeyorim is getting the key from the Warrior's little friends as we speak." 

Another Ascian...and one that was attacking Yda and the others?! Castor's rage boiled, screamed, and unleashed itself in a blade of moonlight that shot forth from Zantetsuken. The wall of Heaven's Ward buckled under the impact, their pained cries music to Castor's ears.  

Ah...to release this rage...to slaughter those who dared stand against him...Castor's lips pulled themselves into a smile as the weight on his heart lifted ever-so-slightly.  

"Foolish mortals," Odin's voice reverberated from Castor's throat once again, this time as Zephirin nearly got bisected by Zantetsuken.  

"You cannot win, Warrior of Light," Thordan turned that condescending gaze back to Castor, the heated rage burning even hotter within his breast. "With the power I have collected, I will bring about a new era of peace and prosperity."  

Such arrogance...and how would this fool go about in enforcing this era of peace and prosperity? By acting as a god?  

"Such pitiful delusions," Castor spat. Quickly putting a shot into a Vundu that was about to slay one of his legionnaires. "You would have your people throw their lives away for a lie and write history with your own folly. That is no way to lead a nation; to rule."  

Thordan's eyes flared, but the darkness that covered the land seemed to sap his defiance. "What would you know of ruling, monster? You who condemn us for using the powers of Primals while you do the exact same!"  

Castor lazily swung Zantetsuken in an arc before him, drawing further on the dark power stored within his soul and cleaving a dark gash in the air. His assailants skidded backwards, armor and weapons shattering into countless shards.  

"This power is my own, not the eikons'. True, it is enhanced due to their souls being inside of me, but this power is created by me," Castor reached up, his aether tingling as he conjured another black blossom between his fingers. "These little ones...they hone in on aetherial signatures that far exceed natural limits, such as yours. A product of my own power, not Odin's, although it is fueled by him."  

"So, that is how you found us so quickly..." Thordan mused, and another aetherial surge caught Castor's attention. 

Dark aether swirled and rippled in an abyssal mass, coalescing into another black-garbed and masked Ascian. This one was holding some Allagan device in its hand, an arrogant smirk on its lips. 

"I have it," it's female voice announced. "The Warrior's little friends were helpless to resist."  

Castor snarled and drew a bead on the being with his cannon, hot rage tunneling his vision onto the Paragon.  

"I think not," Lahabrea chuckled, and both Ascians spread their arms wide. 

Darkness coalesced around the Heaven's Ward, and Castor's arm jolted as his cannon shattered the air. The darkness bent and warped, and the Heaven's Ward vanished within it. Castor's bullet passed through empty air, then struck a screeching Vundu and turned the beast's head into a mass of shattered bone.  

"Damn it!" Rage filled him, burning, burning!  

Odin's spirit inched further inside of him, and the scarlet Darkside aura expanded.  

"Thou knowest not thy folly: forfeit is thy waking soul!" Castor knew that Odin was encroaching too far, but couldn't find it within him to care.  

"My lord!" Visor-covered faces flitted into his vision, thick mitts clutching his arms. "Snap out of it!"  

The legionnaires...they shouldn't see him like this.  

"Castor...listen to my voice...Return to me..."   

Yugiri?  

"You promised, remember?"  

"My lord!"  

Promise...an oath sworn to her, just as he'd sworn one to Lord van Baelsar.  

The Echo stirred, splicing his nerves with agonizing pain, and Castor found himself standing on a familiar magitek elevator, his Gallant armor shining in the overhead lights.  

"Castor...I never imagined that it would come to this," Gaius stood before him, tall and commanding even as his potential ruin stood mere feet before him. "That you would turn your blade against us..."  

Castor shook his head, his heart still raging with conflict as he gazed at his former lord. "I didn't kill anyone, Lord van Baelsar, no matter what your reports say. Except...Livia...she wouldn't back down, wouldn't allow herself to surrender, and..." He couldn't say any more.   

"So, Rhitahtyn lives? As do the soldiers who stood in your way?" Gaius asked softly. "You haven't changed at all, have you? When I first saw you, facing down Garuda in Coerthas, I had thought you a lost cause."  

"My resolve remains unchanged, my lord," Castor inhaled deeply, attempting to calm the nerves that now ran rampant within him. "I will use my power to guide Eorzea to a brighter future, one where the eikons will be a distant dream, and all are united in their desire for peace and harmony."  

"And what of the Empire?" Gaius' question was a loaded gun, one that Castor had little desire to have aimed at himself.  

"What of it, my lord?"  

The Legatus chuckled, crossing his arms before his chest. "The Empire has forsaken us; cast us to the side and declared us traitors. Such audacity from a new Emperor who cares naught for the unification of man...Our legion no longer holds a place in Varus' dream."  

"My lord...I do not wish to fight you," Castor admitted, lowering his hands from his blade and shield. "Not when the legion can still do so much good."  

"And how would you suggest we set forth on the path of redemption?" Gaius asked, the hard edge in his voice returning. "By turning against all we have fought and struggled for?"  

"N-no, my lord! You taught me that to fight for the people is to fight for the greatest cause in this world! Eorzea must be freed from this degrading cycle; freed from the blind faith that binds it and the eikons' slaves. I have the power to change everything, to guide the people onto the right course!" Castor shone with Hydaelyn's power, an arcane circle spreading from his feet and blazing with the light of the crystals stored within his soul.  

The legatus relaxed ever-so-slightly, his arms falling from his chest and returning to his side. "Do you believe that you can change Eorzea for the better? For the sake of her misguided masses?"  

"I do," the circle faded, the vision trembling with the strength radiating from the Paladin.  

"Allow me to inform you of a secret, Castor rem Entialpoh: I am no longer a young man, full of youth's strength and spritely spirit. I am old...too old to continue my dreams of conquest, no matter how many years yet remain for me upon this star," the legatus sighed, lowering the steel-shod defenses he bore for others. "Your strength...will it be enough to rise above this festering debacle of false enervation and endless conflict? To defeat the false deities that divide and destroy us?" 

"It will. I will suffer nothing to stop me!" Castor swore, baring his Miqo'te canines.  

"Ha...it was foolish of me to ever doubt you, even after all this time," Gaius' defenses rose back into place, as if the man had just made a momentous decision. "Now, show me what man's champion is capable of. For the world of man to mean anything, man must own the world. To that end..." Gaius reached upwards towards Heirsbane, horrified realization sinking into Castor's mind, "he has fought ever, to rise through conflict; to grow rich through conquest, and when the dust of battle settles, it is ever the strong who dictate the fate of the weak."  

The gunblade was unsheathed, and magitek energy crackled around van Baelsar as he slowly moved into a stance Castor had learned to fear. Golden light flared around the legatus, until Heirsbane cleaved through it, revealing van Balesar clad in gold armor, slowly straightening and aiming the gunblade directly at Castor's heart.  

"Come, Champion of Eorzea: face me! Show me that you have the strength to stand above the gods; to guide mankind to an ever-brighter horizon! And if you should fall, then your defeat shall serve as proof of my readiness to rule! It is only right that I be the one to test you, for no others have the strength to stop me!"  

They'd clashed, Castor's inhuman strength finally prevailing as the elevator struck the bottom platform.  

"Your strength...is most impressive," Gaius chuckled as he straightened, hooking Heirsbane upon his back. "Such power is befitting of a ruler! I had not thought to be so hard-pressed...but there is one final test to be carried out."  

The legatus had turned away, striding through the massive doors of the Porta Decumana, through which Castor had glimpsed the obsidian monstrosity that was Ultima. Castor followed, watching warily as Gaius climbed up the machine's shoulder until he stood beside its unnatural 'head'.  

"Now, hero, allow me to do that which you will not," Gaius intoned, his voice struggling to remain toneless and neutral.  

The man vanished inside Ultima, presumably into some sort of control center hidden in that misshapen head. The mechanical monstrosity whined as it came to life, the mechanical wings and appendages flexing as Gaius tested them.  

"Come, adventurer!"  

Then the platform they stood upon came free of its bearings, rising on shafts built in the walls as a magitek field designed to keep supplies from falling off the elevator flared to life.  

"My lord...so be it," Castor had drawn steel once more and charged to meet the Ultima Weapon, fully aware of the thing's deadly capabilities. Lasers flared and exploded, shaking the world around them, but Ultima's obsidian body denied every attempt Castor made to pry open the mechanical plates covering its legs. If anything, this thing seemed...too strong, almost.  

And then Hydaelyn interfered, stripping the weapon's arcane defenses from it and allowing Castor to begin actually damaging the machine. Three times, he'd struck the machine's core, and three times he'd ripped the eikons from it and absorbed them, until all that remained was man and machine.  

"The Ultima Weapon is all-powerful! Why does my enemy still stand?!" The shock in Gaius' voice was genuine, even if his declaration that Castor was his enemy was false.  

Lahabrea had appeared, taken control of the Weapon, and the Praetorium had descended into a hellstorm of fire and destruction as Ultima pierced the heavens. Hydaelyn had spared Castor, shielded him, and he stood in the burning wreckage of his liege's seat of power as the Ultima Weapon slammed back onto the scorched platform.  

"Such devastation...this was not my intention!" Gaius' voice was tight with horror and rage, and Castor bit back a curse as he realized that the entire Praetorium had just been leveled. 

Along with every soldier he'd spared...Damn it!  

"Damn you, Ascian!" Gaius bellowed at the cackling Lahabrea. "You foul, treacherous worm!" 

"I have given you the means to break your enemy's shield, van Baelsar. The rest I leave to you," then the Ascian vanished.  

"My lord, we have to search for survivors!" Castor shouted over the roaring of the inferno blazing around them. "If we move quickly-" 

"No. This...abomination cannot be suffered to exist...not with such destructive power at the command of the Ascians and their god," Gaius murmured, the machine's head rising. Castor followed its gaze, his heart lurching at the sight of the burning Dreadnought gunships as their ravaged forms fell towards the fortress.  

He'd had to shoot one, over the parade grounds, but luckily, he'd known where to aim the anti-aircraft cannons to disable the vessel's cannons and continue pounding non-lethal positions until the crew had been forced to pull out.  

The Ultima Weapon hummed as it turned its gaze back to Castor. "But, first, the question of who is mightier remains. Come, Castor rem Entialpoh, let us find the answer together."  

"Lord van Baelsar!" Castor swallowed the nerves rising in his throat. "We don't have to fight any further!"  

"Don't be foolish, Warrior of Light!" Gaius roared. "What would your Alliance say if they knew you let me, the target of your assault, live? No, there would be too many questions, too much fear and mistrust. If you will not fight, then I will kill you and take your realm for the Empire!"  

Then the Weapon stomped forward, lasers burning forth from its cannons, and the Black Wolf and the Warrior of Light clashed for the last time. 

Castor shattered the core as Lahabrea attempted to cast Ultima once again, turning the Weapon into a blazing ruin as explosions rocked it. Gaius had been thrown from the control center as the weapon burst into flames, then shook the platform with its final, dying breath.  

Pieces of the weapon scattered all throughout the Porta Decumana, the burned, dead hulk of what was left settling into ruin in the very center.  

"Ah...you've done it..." Gaius rasped, his proud tone breaking Castor's will. "That unholy creation...will not threaten this star any further." 

"My lord!" Castor had dashed to Gaius' side, cursing himself for his lack of knowledge in the healing arts as he took in his lord's battered and beaten form.  

"The cycle...must be broken...The weak elevate the frail, and the frail lead the people astray..." Gaius rasped, his armor no longer golden as that helmet gazed upon Castor. "You...Castor...You, who have the strength to rule...the strength to lead Eorzea from its squalor...Put an end to all of this. I beg of you...protect the innocent and the weak...from those who would exploit them."  

Castor nodded, tears he'd thought had dried up leaking from his eyes even as infernal heat baked his body. "I swear I will, Lord van Baelsar."  

The legatus' labored breathing settled, and one of his hands reached up to rest upon Castor's shoulder.  

"Good...man. Now, go, my son, and...ah...so, my conquest ends here...Cid...Castor...in smoke...and....ashes..." And then he was gone, the fire that had burned for the Empire he'd once believed in now snuffed out, vanishing with everything the man had been.  

The last vestiges of the lost Garlean Empire, born to conquer the gods themselves and protect humankind from them, fading upon the death of its founder, now vanished entirely as its final champion returned to the Lifestream.  

His hand fell limply to the ground, and Castor rose as he looked up. 

"Pathetic," Lahabrea intoned, rage burning within Castor's heart as he reached over and grabbed the fallen Heirsbane, rising from van Baelsar's corpse and aiming the gunblade at the Ascian.  

"My lord?" The vision shattered, and Castor's blurred sight became filled with black and scarlet visors.  

He shook his head slowly, clearing away the fog of the Echo and gazing across the few dozen legionnaires all staring at him with worried gazes.  

"How long was I incapacitated by the Echo?" He asked, and several soldiers sighed with relief.  

"It was just the Echo...I'd feared the eikon was taking too much of a toll on you," one legionnaire admitted, and Castor noticed that Odin's influence on the surrounding clime had ended.  

It was a beautiful, cool night, and Castor shook his head again.  

"Our quarry is lost. Return to the Zundu village and rendezvous," he said into the communicator.  

"Yes, my lord! All units: you heard him!" Severus barked. "My lord, do you know where they went?"  

Castor turned his gaze skyward, towards that far-off ripple of unnatural power he'd felt ever since arriving at the Zundu village.  

"I believe I do." 

Chapter Text

"I can't believe I let her just stun me like that!" Yda was pacing, continually punching a fist into her other palm. 

Alphinaud sighed, resting his head in his hands. That Ascian woman...she'd appeared the moment the Zundu had shown up with the Allagan key in his clawed hands and frozen everyone with dark magic. With all present incapacitated, the Ascian had been all too happy to take the key and vanish.  

"We can't blame ourselves for what we cannot change," Alphinaud reminded her once again, pausing as he heard a large amount of approaching footsteps.  

The disturbing weather had vanished scarce minutes ago, after Odin's voice had shaken the air several more times, and a great weight lifted from Alphinaud's mind at the sight of Castor marching back to the village at the head of his soldiers.  

To think that he was openly flaunting his connection with the legion. It made Alphinaud's heart ache.  

"Lord tol Entialpoh: we are returned, as per your orders," Tribunus sas Aurelius saluted Castor.  

"Good. Now, grab one of the airships: I want to see something for myself," Castor glanced over at Alphinaud and Yda, his eyes still glowing scarlet. "How are the two of you? We managed to pin down Thordan and the Heaven's Ward, but a female Ascian showed up with the key and they escaped."  

Yda sighed. "Honestly, I don't even know...She just showed up and we were frozen."  

"She took the key while we were helpless before her," Alphinaud said bitterly. "Frankly, I should just be glad that we escaped with our lives."  

"Perhaps it was a good thing we found and attacked Thordan in the Vundu encampment," Castor mused, and Alphinaud noted the dried bloodstains on the black armor he wore. "Forced the Ascian to retreat before her 'allies' were slaughtered."  

"Next time I see her, I'm pounding her into the ground!" Yda promised, slamming her fist into her palm.  

"You and me both," Castor chuckled, his scarlet aura calmer than it had been last time.  

And was it just Alphinaud, or was that aura now flickering in the shape in rose blossoms here and there?  

An Imperial airship blasted the party with air as the vessel touched down upon spindly landing gear, pale ivory armor plating gleaming duly in the light of torches and lamps that the Zundu were lighting.  

The village was no worse for wear, thank the Twelve, but Alphinaud could still feel the nervous looks the villagers were fixing upon the Imperials and the Scions, several gazing in awe at the airships that cruised through the skies around them.  

"The ship's here, my lord!" Severus announced, perhaps unnecessarily, and the Tribunus' communicator hummed. 

"Sir: there's an unidentified airship approaching the village!" A legionnaire's voice crackled through the connection. "Should we shoot it down?"  

"No," Castor immediately answered as said airship came into sight, cruising towards them. "It's Cid nan Garlond's airship."  

Alphinaud couldn't fight back the grin that came to his lips at the sight of his friend's vessel, Biggs and Wedge also visible from the deck. Cid guided his ship close to the village, but warily kept his distance from the Imperial vessels.  

"Come, let us greet him," Castor strode towards the Enterprise, his armor clanking with every step. 

Alphinaud quickly scrambled after his friend, Yda doing the same, and the duo fell into step at Castor's side.  

"I wasn't expecting to see this," Cid called out as the Enterprise hovered by the floating islands. "Imperials protecting beastmen? Have I missed something?"  

Castor chuckled, raising his hand at the engineer. "It gets better, my friend: trust me! The Emperor, himself, is come to the Sea of Clouds at the head of the Sixth Legion. And they brought a new Agrius with them!"   

Cid paled considerably at those words, and Biggs swore. "They actually built another one? Twelve forfend...You don't mean to tell me that the battle we heard over at Camp Cloudtop was the Fourteenth attacking the Sixth?"  

"You have the right of it. The Fourteenth ambushed them and forced them back, and Thordan fled to some Allagan monstrosity above the Sea," Castor nodded, turning his gaze skyward. "I can sense it...such terrible power..."  

"Well, hop on!" Cid called after a moment of deliberation. "I'll take the Enterprise up and see if we can't get to this...place before the Sixth Legion does."  

"Sir!' A centurion protested, but Castor nodded.  

"Very well. We can go with Cid and free up the legion's resources for use elsewhere. Severus: I leave these soldiers under your command for now. I apologize for pushing everything onto you, my friend, but I cannot just let Thordan go. I need to track him down and ensure that the way forward is clear before we commit the Fourteenth," Castor saluted his friend and his soldiers. "I will have no unnecessary casualties on my watch."  

Alphinaud swallowed down a bitter, admittedly childish retort, thrusting his chin out as he strode onto Cid's vessel at Castor's side.  

"As you command, Lord tol Entialpoh!" Severus saluted, and Alphinaud imagined whatever face the man bore twisted into a grin.  

Cid made a choking noise for a moment, but quickly composed himself as Alphinaud glanced at him curiously.  

Alphinaud heard him mutter: "Tol Entialpoh? Seven hells, what have I missed?"  

"I'm the Tribunus laticlavius of the Fourteenth legion, now," Castor replied as the airship lifted off and rose into the air.  

Alphinaud stared at Castor's inhumanely tall form as he towered at the bow, his Imperial armor reflecting the stars the airship passed as it rose higher and higher.  

"You're going to have to guide us, Castor," Cid spoke up as the Enterprise rose fully into the night skies. "I don't know where this Allagan place is."  

Castor nodded, although his eyes never left the distant horizons. "Very well. It's still quite far off, but its power is easy enough to track."  

"Right, then." 

The journey descended into silence, with Castor occasionally giving Cid an order to descend or shift their bearing just slightly as the floating continent faded far below the clouds. The air was cold, whipping Alphinaud's hair back and forth and smacking across his cheeks as the vessel continued soaring towards its destination.   

"So, when did you get promoted?" Cid finally broke the silence, the bitterness in his voice making Alphinaud jump.  

"Just a few days ago," Castor replied, not moving from his steely vigil. "Lord van Arvina saw fit to grant me the highest honor he could bestow upon me: a disgraced traitor, despite everything that's happened between us." 

 "That's why the Fourteenth attacked the Sixth, is it?" Cid murmured. "Because they are loyal to you?"  

Castor chuckled. "They didn't fight because of me, alone, Cid. Unlike what Varus thinks: The Fourteenth defected mainly because the Empire that Lord van Baelsar served and fought for no longer exists. It has rotted away, turning into a tyranny serving as naught but an oppressor of those they deem lesser than themselves."  

"And that's the legion's reasoning?" Cid asked softly, and Alphinaud could almost hear the gears grinding in the man's head.  

"It is. We of the Fourteenth Legion believe in what Lord van Baelsar believed: that the strong are meant to protect and guide those who do not have the strength to guide themselves. It is our duty to lead the world to a brighter future, and that's what the Empire once had the promise of being capable of," Castor's tone changed, become more forced and steely. "The tyranny it has devolved into is no longer capable of paving the path to brighter horizons, where eikons are naught but a distant nightmare and mankind is living in relative peace."  

"Relative peace?" Alphinaud repeated, not even realizing he'd spoken until Castor chuckled again.  

"Yes. You, of all people, should understand that there will always be petty disagreements that cause bickering and infighting, but if we can create a world order capable of guiding the masses, of settling those disagreements, then perhaps we shall have the means to solve them peacefully." 

Ice trickled through Alphinaud's veins as a sinister and hopefully absurd notion came to mind: "You plan to overthrow the Empire? To create another, better one, in its place?"  

"Ha! As if I'm that ambitious!" Castor barked, but he didn't move aside from crossing his arms before his chest. "Cid, we're getting close."  

Alphinaud turned his gaze ahead, saw how the skies were beginning to change. Electrical energy was crackling through the darkness, turning the black skies green with unnatural air. Through the growing haze, Alphinaud could spot a rapidly growing speck of floating landmass in the distance, the aether in the air growing more unstable and unusual the closer the islands drew closer. Everything just felt...wrong, as if the aether in the air had been corrupted by foul taint capable of rotting away the natural order, itself.  

"There it is: Azys Lla," Castor murmured, and Alphinaud was surprised to see that the hairs on the back of the Warrior's neck were standing on end. "Gods above...the danger and pain emanating from that place...How much suffering has occurred there?"  

The vessel shuddered violently, nearly throwing Wedge overboard, and Cid swore as energy swirled about in front of the Enterprise. Alphinaud latched onto the guardrails, his teeth rattling in his skull as the airship trembled yet again.  

"Cid! Pull back!" Castor was shouting over the roaring of electricity and unknown magics. "We'll be crushed by the shield barrier if we press too closely!"  

"Shield barrier?! Now you tell me!" Cid retorted, gunning the engines and jerking everyone on board forwards as he slammed the Enterprise into reverse.  

"I thought Thordan passing through it would have deactivated it!" Castor shouted back. "Obviously, I was wrong!"  

Cid peeled the vessel away from the unnatural islands, upon which Alphinaud could faintly see rocky cliffs lined with Allagan machinery, until the aetherial barrier ceased battering them.  

"Gods damn it!" Cid swore, and Alphinaud could see the trio of engineers examining the damage done to the ship. "Now what? I assume Thordan had the only key?"  

Castor said nothing, glaring at the distant Azys Lla even as Yda stepped up to him and touched his arm.  

"Castor? What now?" She asked softly, her voice nearly lost on the wind.  

Aether condensed around the Warrior, sending shivers up Alphinaud's spine, and the air rippled around Castor's form.  

"Oh, no you don't!" Cid bellowed. "You are not jumping off my ship a second time!"  

Castor turned his head to grin at the engineer, his eyes glowing with draconic power radiating death and destruction. "Who said I was jumping?"  

Yda backed away from him, her startled cry echoing in the others present as the power of Bahamut once again burst from Castor's back, pulsing and shining as aetherial dragon wings coalesced from his shoulder blades.  

"Castor! Stop!" Alphinaud screamed, his voice betraying him. "Don't!"  

Visions of Grandfather flashed in Alphinaud's mind as the power of the monster that had brought Eorzea to its knees filled the nation's most powerful defender. Castor pitched over the railing, pounding the wind with his wings and gliding towards Azys Lla as even more volatile power reverberated around him.  

"Oh, hells, I need to pull us back," Cid murmured, gunning the engines again and driving the ship back several more yalms.  

"W-what is he doing?!" Yda cried, the air stilling as Bahamut's fell power condensed before the barrier of Azys Lla.  

Aether flashed, searing into Alphinaud's retinas, and the boy jerked his gaze away as pain punched his skull. When the light scattering his vision faded, Alphinaud dared to turn his gaze back to Castor, and his blood once again churned within his veins.  

A shimmering barrier of aether was blocking the Warrior as he darted this way and that before it, making it shimmer every time he slammed Bahamut's power against it. Castor's arms became encased in massive avatars resembling Bahamut's claws, which he punched against the barrier.  

It rebounded with a harsh crack, sending him tumbling several yalms back before those shimmering aetherial wings caught the wind and stabilized him. Castor's enraged roar shook Alphinaud's soul to its core, Bahamut itself speaking through Castor's vocal chords.  

The draconic warrior divebombed the barrier, aether sparkling around his wings as miniature meteors burst into existence. Explosions shook the barrier as Castor swooped above it, oppressive heat blasting the Enterprise as each bright burst resonated through the air.  

"Gods above, he's really doing a number on it," Yda whispered, her voice nearly lost in the blossoming explosions as light blasted forth from the impacts.  

Each explosion sent shockwaves through the air, and Alphinaud shuddered as another draconic scream shattered his eardrums.  

"It's not even being scratched," Alphinaud stared at the barrier through the flowers of light and destruction, saw that it was handily absorbing the beating with hardly any change to its shimmering surface.  

Castor, too, appeared to have reached that conclusion, as he'd stopped attacking the barrier and was, instead, soaring back to the Enterprise. He wobbled unsteadily as he drew nearer, aether fluctuating around him in ways that it really shouldn't be.  

Bahamut's wings faded mere feet away from the ship, and the deck groaned as Castor crashed in a heap upon the boards. Yda immediately knelt by him, taking his hands in hers as the man groaned.  

His flesh was pale, his scales resonating with Bahamut's presence even as the fell light pulsing in his eyes faded back to his new golden, solar hue.  

"Gods above, why did I try to channel so much of Bahamut at once?" The man rasped, his voice still ragged from roaring.  

"Why did you channel any of that monster at all?!" Alphinaud snapped, his anger slipping his leash. "That...thing killed Grandfather! It nearly killed you!"  

"I know, boy," Castor growled. "But this is Allagan technology we're going up against. Granted, it appears our ancient friends were smart enough to create a barrier designed to take a beating from Bahamut's fury. Clearly, they feared that the wyrm would attack it, but why I cannot say." 

"What else did you glean from it?" Cid asked, and Castor slowly pulled himself free from Yda to push himself up from the deck.  

"It cannot be punched through," Castor replied. "Not by usual means, no. We'll have to form a drill of sorts and pierce the barrier, rather than attempting to physically force our way through."  

"How the hells are we going to create a drill capable of punching through that?" Cid asked, understandably flabbergasted. "Bahamut's power couldn't get through!"  

"It's designed to keep Bahamut, and other eikons, out, not drills," Castor retorted. "If we hit one spot hard enough, and with enough piercing power, we should be able to punch a hole right through the barrier."  

"So, we just mount a giant magitek drill onto an airship and hope we can get through?" Cid mused, and Castor shook his head.  

"No. Ordinary magitek or metal would just explode and get everyone killed. It has to be aetherial, or energy based, at least."  

"An aehterial ram capable of drilling through ancient Allagan technology...I...admittedly know nothing of that," Alphinaud ran through every  memory he had of his time in Sharlayan, but found nothing concerning such a device. "Maybe Y'shtola could help us in that regard?"  

Castor nodded slowly. "Very well. Cid...do you think you can find the way back to Ishgard?"  

"Yes, why?"  

"Good...good..." Alphinaud looked down just in time to see Castor's eyes roll into his head, and the Warrior of Twilight passed out on the decks at his feet.  

"Oh...he's fainted," Yda murmured, gathering Castor into her arms and easing the weight of his upper body onto herself, cradling him in her arms. "I...I hope he'll be more comfortable like this, at least."  

Cid sighed, the wheel grinding as he turned the Enterprise around. "At least maybe we can get some peace and quiet, now."  

Alphinaud slunk back onto the bench, his gaze latching onto Castor's peaceful face. He'd rarely seen Castor so...serene. All the cares in the world had lifted from his shoulders in this moment, and Castor could finally rest like any other human being on this star.  

Yda was absently stroking his golden hair, her gaze never leaving the sleeping Warrior's face as magitek hummed around them.  

Alphinaud wondered what Castor dreamed of. 

Chapter Text

"Haurchefant's dead?" Minfilia whispered, and Thancred nodded grimly.  

"He was stabbed in the back by one of the Archbishop's personal knights. Castor...did not respond lightly to it," the rogue shifted, his gaze unsettled and filled with fear. "He conjured Bahamut's power to give chase to the Archbishop, but Yda and Alphinaud stopped him."  

Fear froze Minfilia's heart, and her muscles melted.  

"H-he summoned Bahamut?! By the Mother..."  

Thancred shook his head. "No, you misunderstand me: I said he conjured a bit of the beast's power, not Bahamut, himself."  

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Minfilia admitted, sighing heavily. "Is he truly so far gone that he draws upon the powers of Eorzea's enemies?"  

Thancred shifted, his uncertain expression alarming her further. "Um...actually...Cid just contacted me, and apparently the Emperor, himself, is roaming around in Ishgard's Sea of Clouds at the head of the Sixth Imperial Legion. They have a warship with them, rivaling the Agrius."  

"Oh, gods. W-we have to tell the Alliance of this!" Minfilia tried to rise, but her muscles refused to budge.  

"We should, but there's one little detail I haven't mentioned: the Fourteenth Legion has already attacked the Sixth and driven them out of the Sea of Clouds, for now." 

Those words melted her thoughts, turned anything coherent into a disintegrating mess.  

"What?"  

Thancred nodded, the disbelief apparent within his own eyes. "Yeah, I'm having a difficult time putting that together, as well...but the Fourteenth engaged the Sixth, even attacking their warship in an attempt to drive them away from Ishgardian territory."  

"Did they succeed?" 

"Yes. The Emperor fled alongside the Sixth Legion. Castor left on Cid's airship, and I haven't seen them since," Thancred shrugged. "The Fourteenth has mostly withdrawn back to their castra, but parts of a few cohorts have remained in Ishgard to keep an eye out for the Sixth."  

Minfilia inhaled heavily, her head swimming with a thousand errant thoughts that plunged her vision into a sea of haze. "Tataru! I need some parchment!"  

Kan-E clutched at her head as the Elementals screamed in fear in the Lifestream, fire and destruction in their voices.  

"My lady!" Her Keepers instantly swarmed her, faces writ with alarm and concern. "Are you ill?!"  

When she gazed up, she saw not the lush greenery of Gridania, but an endless expanse of blue dappled with white clouds. She was standing upon the Enterprise, gazing at the golden-haired Auri man lying upon the decks. Archon Yda was sitting below him, bearing his weight upon her legs and torso as she absently stroked his shortened hair.  

"Is it wrong to say that I'm scared of him?" Alphinaud murmured, staring at the slumbering Warrior. "Does that make me a terrible friend?" 

"It makes you smart," Cid muttered, although his eyes were narrowed as he glanced at Castor. "After a display like that...only a fool wouldn't fear him."  

Display? What display?  

Kan-E tried to reach out and touch the man she now knew to be Castor Entiaploh, but her hand passed right through him.  

"To think that he could unleash so much of Bahamut's power...Gods, I thought I would faint just looking at him," Yda murmured.  

Bahamut? Castor released Bahamut's power?! After he'd promised her he wouldn't?! 

"We have to keep this from the Alliance," Cid announced, drawing surprised looks from both Scions (and the ethereal Seedseer). "Castor's already been on shaky ground with the Alliance after everything that's happened, and this...I fear this would probably make them mistrust him more."   

"More than his being an Imperial Tribunus has?" Alphinaud snorted bitterly, his eyes flicking back to Castor as the man hissed in his sleep.  

Yda squirmed under him, her lips drawn into a tight line as Castor tossed a bit and turned, his sharp teeth bared. "I think he's having a nightmare."  

Kan-E crouched by her friend, reaching out through their bond in an attempt to soothe his suffering. Darkness rippled from Castor's form, and Kan-E yelped as the shadows enveloped her.  

"Serve...Save...Slave...Slay," a raspy voice punched her mind, her Padjali senses flaring in response to the attack.  

"Who's there?" She spun in the darkness, desperately hoping to find anything in this void. "Show yourself!"  

A female voice broke the silence that followed: the giggling of a woman whose mind was not in its right place.  

"He's here, Avere! Castor's here!" The voice giggled with manic urgency, almost too high-pitched to understand. "He's come to give you his body! Isn't that wonderful?!"  

The darkness faded, melting into a scene from a nightmare. Kan-E recognized the layout of the Tam-Tara Deepcroft, but the entire landscape had become covered in what appeared to be organs and emaciated human remains. Rivers of blood and gore soaked the stones under Kan-E's feet, and icy horror numbed her mind as she stared at the desolation around her.  

She glanced behind her and nearly vomited at the sight of the mountain of human remains that rose from the floor. Ravaged bodies were stacked haphazardly upon one another, the gaping holes in their dead, puffy flesh leaking refuse and gore all over one another.  

A disgusting squelching noise drew her attention behind the pile, making every hair on her body stand on end, and she fought the urge to vomit as a slimy, oozing monstrosity wormed its way out of another pile of corpses. Red, jelly-like flesh jiggled (oh, gods, it's made of blood!) and a plethora of bloodshot, empty eyes peered into Kan-E's shriveling soul.  

Horrible crunching and slurping noises followed the thing's appearance, and Kan-E turned her gaze to the moving thing that slouched behind the eyeball monstrosity, nearly fainting once again at the sight of the moving corpse that had buried its face into a mound of rotting organs. The thing gripped the refuse with the one arm that it had, the other one a mess of shattered bone and slashed tendons that dangled uselessly at its side. 

Kan-E took a step back, every Elemental in her head screaming for her to run as the corpse lifted its head. The thing's sagging flesh hung from the gleaming bone of its skull, bloated and yellow with decay, and its mouth was caked in blood as viscera dangled from its tombstone-grey teeth.  

Her muscles locked with terror as the thing made a hollow wheezing noise and rose, the blank eyes of the dead staring at her with only one visible sense gleaming within: hunger.  

Kan-E's voice lodged in her throat, her screaming instincts filling her mind as the corpse shuffled towards her, gore-caked hand extended. Those greyed, cracked nails reached closer...closer...and some small part of her mind not wholly overtaken by fear registered that she couldn't smell anything.  

Then a loud crash behind the monster made it freeze and turn, Kan-E's heart relentlessly pounding her ribs into bone shards as yet another blood-soaked, gore covered form entered her field of view. The being glided over the sea of human remains with minimal effort, drawing towards Kan-E, and any hope of survival went out the window.  

Steel flashed from the newcomer, and the walking corpse crumpled in pieces, spraying blood and viscera all over the floor. Armor gleamed somewhere under the newcomer's coat of gore and organs, and it was with muted horror that Kan-E realized that she was gazing upon the mien of Castor's old form.  

"Castor?" She whispered, staring at the mismatched eyes that peered out from the mask of dried and wet blood, mixed with gore and slime. 

Those eyes, empty and emotionless, stared back at her; stared through her, and Castor strode away without a word. Kan-E attempted to block him, but the Warrior passed right through her as if she didn't exist.  

Right...a memory...thank the Elementals.