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To all of my children in whom Life flows abundant
To all of my children to whom Death hath passed his judgement
The soul yearns for honor, and the flesh the hereafter
Look to those who walked before to lead those who walk after
(Final Fantasy XIV - Answers)
——-
There at the edge, they look over into the crimson void.
Floating in the red and violent sea of crystals, there is a place where they exist, in that sphere, or the netherworld in-between called Barian. Above the planes of black stone and violent crystal, it may appear surreal, the beauty of this world of conglomerates and structures of violet crystals etched in by the acid rain drawing white veins over their surfaces as Mizael looks at Durbe watch solemnly.. The Throne Room, it had already collapsed just a few seconds or minutes away, one cannot tell. It is not like they had any use for it anymore. They don’t care. It makes dumb and scratching and clawing sounds as stone rubs on stone, breaking apart and falling into the Sea of Ill Omen…
It had been an exquisite place that they called their home. Beneath the clear iridescence and hardness of stone and the memory of storms.They had gathered close to listen to the cracking crystal just like animals..
Maybe it will hurt less, then.
Dying
(another time without hope).
He remembers their birth, cracked out of a sharp translucent crystal, and had been the only times they had heard crystal crackle - a new beginning, a question in the blank mind - would it make them less alone? They, those who walk down the path between the humans and the afterlife, they who wander… And he had watched nearly all his companions aside from Durbe, and it always stuck him as…soothing, when a Barian Lord had been born. In all their twistedness, now in retrospect he can see the images floating in his head, and he remarks it as oddly beautiful. He supposes it is because it had a been a sign that there was birth, birth in death.
That justice could prevail.
I hear that joyous hymn—-
To birth
(a birth in death).
To Don Thousand, to Don Thousand ghosting above the tower wailing, there go the last prayers of souls lost in the great battle of the sea. The last Barians. They wail in a rhythm as their souls march through the red storms. Mizael doesn’t understand, can’t grasp the ancient sadness, and yet…Durbe only watches, and it occurs to him they still haven’t found their good end.
It is regrettable.
Too late…
…it’s too late.
The devil among the fallen-
he who does not seek judgement.
Initiating…
When Mizael approaches, Durbe evokes no sign of movement except for a curt nod that he has heard. Registered.
“Durbe.”
“I’m tired.”
Durbe turns around, and Mizael widens his eyes at the sight. Between the inhuman regeneration of his skin and the faster corroding of the acid rain, there is something terrifying about it. It is not so much resignation or raw anger tearing at his flesh, or the realization that their world is in the process of falling into these red clouds they first saw when they had entered this world or even the process of burning skin itself- It is turning, spinning, in a dazzling motion that makes him feel small, in this crumbling world…It is…there is something about this sight - Durbe peacefully turning around with an even gaze with robes and skin half-dissolved by the acid rain - that makes Mizael tremble.
A question
(it has no answer).
“Why are we here?”
Between the raging of storms and crystal shards detaching themselves from the ornamented walls they are existent. The diffuse light flickers, perfect refraction angle destroyed by the splitting glass. They are. Mizael touches a wall of the corroding crystals. He looks up into the glooming red and violet in contrast to the midnight blue of the sky (or whatever is their roof) - and it is then that it comes to him that that is what it must look like…the world collapsing in itself. It is what holds and reaches out a pathetic hand towards those who get to live on. It is the selfish yearning for another chance grown out of justice without end—- a story of those who are orphans of this falling world.
And finally it is what creaks, the stone heart that pulsates in their hands, just as if they could just hold it in their hands, and realize its pumping motions fighting and struggling - for life itself…!
Of the past
we are. Not anymore.
“Our mission has ended,” Durbe answers, and he stares over the edge again.
There is a time that stays in their recollection. Sometimes it vibrates in his core, the memories. Images fading like old paper and yet so stark in his vision like fresh images from an age too advanced for them to understand - to grasp! Whatever it is…! It resonates in their hearts and mind like a pulse defying extinction even after the forfeit for their human memories…! Memories of swords clashing and dragons majestically gliding against the sunset of the Chinese mountains - memories of the white pegasus and the small country by the sea…of warmth and compassion and hate, the volition of revenge and the sweetness of aspirations growing bitter with defeat—-
Of having been human.
“Again, the story ends before its time,” Durbe smirks just a bit, “This time I saw my King to victory.”
Mizael flinches a bit at that, staring down the red abyss where the molt fused with the still solid crystals dissolving, too, themselves…
“And…what’s with you…?”
“I shall stay, the captain doesn’t leave his ship, does he, Mizael?”
“But…Durbe…!”
Hands reached out
(they cannot see).
Mizael only gives a tired sigh.
“I…….! I accept it.”
Is this…
(Is this the human emotion called ‘love’…?)
Durbe turns around, and he cocks a brow, and for the first moment he appears genuinely perplexed.
“Mizael…?”
Durbe turns around, expression too composed not to tuck at that word, melancholy…. And he doesn’t look like the unwilling leader or the knight of their Emperor Nasch anymore. He looks - Mizael is at a loss for words because…since Durbe had always been the one who suffered most, who was most reluctant to kill and yet the one to wipe the blood, Mizael suddenly becomes afraid at this look. For all the pretended hate and pathetic notion, Durbe looked…vunerable.
“My King jumped down there and become one with the living consciousness of Barian. He found peace in chaos.”
Durbe looks sad for a moment, and he clutches himself and looks up in the rain at the human world and down into the void at where his king rests. Not at himself who is trapped in-between Heaven and Earth.
Never at himself.
“Huh…Mizael? Why don’t you join them then, if I may inquire.”
“I will stay with you!” Mizael replies first indignantly, and then with a gentle smile, “I know of the sacrifice that must be taken to close the rift between the worlds…I know after us there are no more!”
“You are forfeiting your chance…at reincarnation…!”
“Durbe, you too.”
“Mizael…?”
Mizael looks down, one hand enclosing the elbow of the other when he looks down and flinches at the drops of acid landing on his bare neck.
“Why…did we come here in first place? I think it is because we are lonely.”
“That’s correct, Mizael. In death, everyone is alone.”
I…
“I know…I know!” Mizael replies and whines for a bit and he clutches Durbe’s robe for a moment, and he is chuckling darkly and crying when indignant tears stream over his white mask, hot and stinging and every bit the humiliation he had felt when…He remembers; when people turned away from him in his human life, and he remembers the arrows piercing through the dragon and himself…! And it is at this…that he fears! The only difference is…is that there is no second chance this time. It’s another beat of stone on metal! And he hears it, resonates inside him!
Like a melody accompanying the premonition of death.
And yet, he knows the decision is final- already made in his mind and his core (his heart). Pathetic, isn’t it? In the last moment…Clutching it at the sheer fear what was going to happen - claws on stone hard skin and he knows…knows!-
He can’t…! He can’t! And yet…here he is. “In the end…in the end I’m just as afraid…as…these….pathetic humans!…I remember the first time I wasn’t, because I believed there was a purpose…a value behind what I…what we did! And this time I know there is, and still…”
Durbe rubs his back, doesn’t ask either of them to change their opinion anymore.
“And still there will be no end for us, my dear friend.”
“Will you…shall we accept it, then?” Durbe asks again.
I am…
Mizael looks up at Durbe from his collapsing knees once, and the rain burns, and he laughs. Holds out a hand. His neck falls to place, waiting to snap when his bones gave in under the corrosion.
“We shall, my leader.”
I am…Am I…? It just resonates in my core.
…
I am…human.
…
…….
Now the world falls
and we shall be here
I shall fulfill
my part in the great mosaic
…
to change fate.
What we can hold in our hands…
—-
Let’s be reborn again after the worlds die.