Work Text:
Most of his "brethren" were fond of duplicity. Lies. He, the oldest and most powerful among them, always thought it charming that they were arrogant enough to believe that forcing the hand of man would do much anything. Maybe at first, but never in the long run. Really, he couldn't understand how incredibly (infuriatingly) short-sighted they were. This was why he much preferred working alone. They were eternal, godsdamnit, so why were they such fools? Then again...
Emet-Selch waxed poetic, but he never used lies to get his way. Perhaps he was sentimental, being one of three who had survived the sundering of the star, the death of his people. His home. Older than time. He knew the truth of the universe simply because he had lived it. Why then should he lie? Honeyed words, to him, were easiest to swallow--sweeter to the palate--when laced with truth. After all, if he never lied, then he would never be wrong.
And he was never wrong.
Yet, he couldn't help but feel disappointment at the sight of her, struggling as she was to contain the Light. The vaunted hero of the Source. Even if it had worked in his favor, a part of him had wanted her to succeed... He knew why, of course. Why he always spoke the truth in front of her. Why he offered her sanctuary after he spoke such cruel words to her. He had hoped... Well, he knew "hope" never led to much, in the end.
Neither did love.
And still, she came. He knew she would, oh great hero that she was. To fight him, even though it would not stay the corruption of her soul. Futile and useless. Stupidly brave until the end.
Then again, she had always been that way.
"Half-broken" he called her, but part of him did not mean it. Truth be told, the more his eyes met hers, the harder his conviction became. He told them everything, confirmed the words of his brethren's phantoms. (His fault, he realized belatedly, as creating one friend meant thinking of another loved one... and she...) He even lost his temper, something he would have never done if it had not been for the "Warrior of Light" who stood before him. If only she had succeeded! If she had become whole... if she had... if, if, if...
A constant reminder of both his duty and his failures.
In the end, what he had tried to deny ended up only being the truth. The truth he had omitted--even to himself--had been his way of lying to himself. Of trying to persuade himself to hold fast to his purpose, the pain and sorrow of eons clinging desperately against the idea of "hope". Standing there, barely holding on to some semblance of a form, he gazed towards the hero of the Source. A testament to his strength, but also his endurance. He needed... he needed to speak to her one last time. He needed her to know, even if he would say it indirectly. (Even in death, part of him was too proud to say the truth in his heart.)
"Remember us. Remember that we lived."
Gazing at her, knowing what he did and that she had done him proud in the end... He only smiled, even if sorrow threatened to take a hold of him. Sorrow not that his immortality was at an end, but that he saw--for the first time--that at least she would go on, even as fragmented as she was. His parting gift: to make her whole. Mend her soul so that perhaps she may know his heart in that way.
There were tears in her eyes as she watched him, his body and soul slowly draining out into aether and, thus, to oblivion. And still, she nodded with her silent vow, to keep his request. To remember him as he was, of what they had been before duty had worn him down.
And, for once in his everlong life... he felt peace.
-#-
The Warrior of Light had never been one to partake in festivities, particularly festivities thinly veiled as to not appear as a celebration for what she had done for those around her. Yet, somehow, this time was different. Of course, she was happy for this outcome, but there still lingered a certain sadness. As much as she smiled--for she was, indeed, happy for the lives she could save--a part of her felt... loss. A deep loss that she had never thought to even know to expect.
And, so, she let the tears fall. She allowed herself the indulgence, the ability to linger on the pain she felt, even if she barely understood it as it was. In that quiet place, a soft breeze filtered against her skin and through her hair. Though the tears seemed never-ending, she could feel arms around her, even if ephemeral, the feeling both foreign and familiar all at once. Through time and space, she remembered these arms, this gentle touch. Could even feel his breath in her hair, the soft kiss he placed on her crown as he slowly faded from existence once and for all.
"Even if this is goodbye," she whispered up into the heavens, whether or not it might not reach him, "I will always remember... Remember what we were. May the stars guide you, Emet-Selch. My first love."