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As happy as everyone was at the news of the First's salvation, the Warrior of Light knew she was no longer the same. And she knew it was only a matter of time that those around her--those here, in this time, in this world--would realize the truth. She was... tired. Horribly tired. So tired, in fact, that she did not even offer to help Tataru or any of the other Scions left on the Source. When asked if she had any plans to visit "old friends", she only shook her head, secretly reeling at the words.
"Old friends."
After several days, she noticed Tataru eyeing her as she sipped tea at one of the round tables in the Rising Stones' common area, fingers flipping through her (now) very worn journal. Perhaps, she wondered, she may have repeated the scene one too many times since her return to her "home" star. What was she supposed to say? Certainly not the truth: that she for once regretted winning the battle. That she could not forget the last moments, the last words, of a man they called villain... the smile he had given her as he faded? No one would understand.
No one would understand that the horrors he had shown her, the truth of why he was so adamant to see his people returned, spoke not just of his past, but hers as well. And, when she finally had heard his voice... his true voice... she knew they had been more. That in his smile was that his goal was not to revive his people, but to see them survive... to see her survive, to remember him and the people she once was part. She, who had walked onto the stage of Amaurot, led by his play, thinking him villain... only to find that the man who she had decried had done all he did out of love. All to save her... A man from a past she did not remember, but who had set the stage for her salvation.
As Y'shtola had said, though she misunderstood the meaning...
Emet-Selch had been the Darkness to her Light.
And as light must always leave shadows, she felt lost without him. Felt regret that she had not seen the truth in his subtle ways. She knew she had done the right thing, but she could not shake that she wished she had seen through the layers of each encounter shared between them. How his eyes were always on her, how every word he spoke was meant for her.
Never did she think that of all the people she wished returned from the abyss... It would be Emet-Selch. Hades. A man whose pain went back eons, whose work was not so different from hers, but who did so with his eyes opened. Was he a villain? Of course, given that life of those in the present meant little to him... but he had given all that up, didn't he? Given it all up, even his very life, for her.
No, Tataru was going to notice at some point. Even if she hadn't been the most clever woman in Eorzea, the Lalafell would have noticed eventually, world-weary as the Warrior of Light was. No matter how bravely she tried to put on a smile, at some point it would be hard to ignore.
So, when Tataru approached her--the tea before her long having gone cold--the 'hero' knew better than to pretend.
"Is aught amiss?" the Lalafell began, staring up at the warrior's gold eyes. (Emet-Selch's eyes had also been gold, she remembered in that moment. A different shade, but still gold.) "You do not seem... yourself, lately. Anything I can do to help?"
The Warrior of Light shook her head, sighing.
"I am tired, but you needn't worry yourself over me," she replied, shutting her journal to hide the scrawled words, so many pages dedicated to the man who haunted her. As if it would make much of a difference.
"Perhaps," Tataru tilted her head, "you miss the First? I am sure the others miss you already. You know, since time is different here than there."
"I think so," was all she said, hoping Tataru would not pry further.
"Oh, I am sure a short visit would not be so bad! There is not much to do around here and I have everything in order." She curtsied, a bright smile accompanying. "I will tell your... fae friend... to summon you if aught changes."
The warrior woman nodded, breathing in air with the relief that she did not need to explain. Not that she had needed the permission, but she had always tried to be polite to her fellow Scions. They did care for her... It was she who was uncomfortable with trying to explain that their most recent victory was not a victory at all to her. Such opinions would only hurt their cause. And it was certainly a worthy cause, the lives of so many stars counting on their work. (As Urianger had once put it: one life for the life of a star. How could she be so selfish to sacrifice it all for the sake of a man who would easily destroy those lives for the sake of much fewer?)
And so, she stepped back into the rift between worlds, that place between time and space.
This time, however, the sea of nothing was more akin to a hallway than the torrential ocean-like wave that had pulled her the last time. Perhaps G'raha Tia had perfected his summoning ability. In a way, to be between the worlds with no others... it was peaceful. As such, she slowed the pace of her walk to more of a stroll, appreciating the time for her thoughts. What might be an hour, after all, might be a second outside the rift. Such was the nature (and mystery) of aether.
At what she presumed to be the halfway point of this shapeless hallway, she paused, feeling a presence behind her. Just as she had that day in the Crystarium, after destroying Lakeland's Lightwarden...
Immediately, she turned on her heel. Her eyes wide and her heart racing in her chest. Tears sprung like a broken dam, spilling down her cheeks.
He was there. Whether a trick of her mind or a phantom, she didn't care. Emet-Selch was there!
He pulled back the cowl, that soft smile he had left her with on his lips. The white lock of hair haphazard against his skin, a stark contrast to the chocolate brown of the rest.
"So you did remember, after all," he stated, his gold eyes almost glittering with warmth. "I never thought it possible."
"If this be a dream," she choked out, tears continuing down her face as she walked towards him, her hands to her heart, "please do not wake me."
"It was always for a dream that we lived."
He held out his arms and, without a thought, she ran into them, burying her face in his chest.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so so so sorry that I didn't see..."
"'Tis not your fault," he sighed, his breath in her hair. "Or, rather, we are both to blame. Me in my single-mindedness and you... for well... being you."
"Please don't leave me," she sobbed, her arms holding tightly onto him, afraid that if she were to let go, he would dissipate as he had in that place built from his memories. "I want you to live. My heart and soul knows the truth... I do not feel whole without you."
"Ironic," he half-laughed, a touch of bitterness laced in the sound, "in that I did not believe you could be whole without the worlds rejoined. And, here you are, saying that you are not whole without me."
Holding her to him, he cooed softly into her hair. The tragic comedy that Zodiark and Hydaelyn had made champions out of them, two who had--in a time of innocence--loved one another. The Darkness and the Light pitting two beloveds against each other. The gods were indeed cruel. With a gentle touch, he turned her face to look up at him, gold eyes against gold. Out of impulse, she twirled his streak of white hair between her fingers, her touch light and gentle.
As her tears dried, he dipped down, pressing his lips against hers in a way she knew was both familiar and... simply... right. She returned his kiss, hoping against hope that this was not the figment of her exhausted mind. He felt real enough, as she had never imagined him like this before, so busy she was in her melancholy and mourning. She could never even imagine the heart that could hold the pain of eons, that could hold fast to a memory to recreate an entire city to every detail possible. Still, she was uncertain...
"Is this real," she breathed out, tears prickling in her eyes again. "If I have gone mad, then I understand... but... please..."
"I am here... though it is a long story, my love." He looked towards the gate to the First in the distance, a wry smile--half-sarcastic (as was his wont)--on his lips, one arm still holding her fast to him. "One in which I think your dear Exarch might hold against me when we walk through that 'door' of his. He might try to kill me on sight. It wouldn't surprise me, really."
Taking her hand, he walked forward, his gait even. When he turned back to look at her, he smiled with all the emotions he had that bitter morning.
"Come, let's test our luck, shall we? I do so like a gamble."
She smiled back at him, her tears now of relief and happiness. Maybe there was a reason for everything and, perhaps, she could fight her own fate just as she did for those who could not. If Emet-Selch taught her anything... it was that anything was possible.