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She is young the first time she sees him. She has just been accepted at Anyder; she is celebrating at a gathering with the rest of the new students. There are many she does not know in attendance, but he manages to stand out. He lounges against a wall, his hood thrown back and face bare. Neither of them are old enough for masks, not yet, and his golden eyes follow her.
She tugs at her mother’s sleeve until she lowers her head. “Who is that?”
Her mother turns, sees the boy, and smiles. “A very talented builder, if the rumours have any truth to them. I hear he’s a candidate for next year’s apprenticeships.”
The boy has turned away, disappearing in the crowds. She stands on tiptoe, trying to see him past the large bodies of her elders, but he has gone. “It was rude of him to stare.”
Her mother pats her head. “Ah, well.” She has spotted a colleague and is already turning to leave. “Perhaps young Hades wants to be friends.”
She snorts as she’s left alone. Friends? She doesn’t need another friend, especially not one so rude. She shakes her head, putting the strange boy from her mind, and follows after her mother.
**
She is almost an adult the first time he speaks to her. She is in the laboratory she shares with the other students, perfecting what she hopes will become her thesis. Her trial run had ended in a mess of feathers and beaks but she has begun to fix her calculations, to reform the idea.
The door to the laboratory opens and his head appears, robed and masked but she’d recognize him anywhere. He’s made waves with his talent, is already short-listed to join the Convocation, has charmed every single one of their teachers. She has no time for him; she does not acknowledge him even as he steps into the room.
“Have you seen Emet-Selch?” he asks. The eldest member of the Convocation, Hades has become Emet-Selch’s favourite pupil. “We are to meet this evening to discuss -” His voice trails away; she can tell his eyes have spotted the mess on her desk. “What is that?”
She scowls at him. “An experiment.” Her tone is discouragement and disapproval wrapped in ice, but if he hears he does not care. Though he’s passed out of her field of view she can hear him coming closer, his boots tapping against the paneled floor.
“A bird?”
She shrieks and jumps from her chair. He is behind her, hovering over her shoulder. How did he get so close? Does he not understand the concept of personal space? She glares at him, hoping he can sense the anger under her mask. “Leave.”
“You were accepted here because of your birds, weren’t you? A dove and a - what was it…?”
“A hawk.” How does he know? How does he remember? She’d created those years ago. She watches him lean over her desk and jumps forward in alarm. “What are you doing? Don’t -”
He pokes one of the beaks and it vanishes into aether; both of them stop to watch the small motes of light twirl up into the air, disappearing before they reach the vaulted ceiling.
“You were close,” he says, but she interrupts him by shooing him with her hands.
“Go! Get out! I’m doing just fine on my own, thank you!” She’s embarrassed, humiliated - a mistake like this is not to her standards. She only needs to rework the calculation, reform the image, and this bird will emerge just like the others.
He moves out of reach; she can see his grin under his mask as he heads for the door. “Needs more feathers, I think,” he mentions over his shoulder as he pulls open the door. He slides through and closes it behind him before her thrown book reaches that far; it hits the door and falls to the floor with a quiet thump.
She grits her teeth. She knows it needs more feathers. She doesn’t need him telling her that. Frustrated with everything, she waves her hands. The mess disappears, but she can’t resume again that night - she’s far too aggravated. She gathers her books and papers together in her arms and turns to the door to leave, only to find him back, holding the book she’d tossed his way.
“Needs less beaks, too.”
She shrieks at him but he’s already gone, his laughter echoing through the laboratory.
**
She has been a student for decades when her instructor steps down from the Convocation of Fourteen. Speculation regarding his replacement runs wild through Amaurot; the city seems to focus all its energy on the three most-likely apprentices - one of which is her.
“I know you can do this,” Hades says, hands flat on the lab table as he stands opposite her. Both of them are surrounded by so many feathers - a multitude, a magnitude, a hilarious and terrifying mountain of yellow feathers - but he is so serious. “ You know you can do this.”
She swallows hard. The examination is only a month away; she must present her thesis to the entire Convocation. If she only had more time!
“Come - try again.” He uses his arms to wipe a clear space on the lab table, a futile gesture as feathers cover the table and floor almost to their shoulders. “Concentrate on the rest of the bird this time.”
“I am trying,” she replies through gritted teeth. She isn’t mad at him - maybe a little - but her frustration at herself is growing. How foolish she was to think she could do this! How confident, how cocky! This creature is the work of decades, and she has mere weeks to perfect it.
“Stop trying . Do you want to be a member of the Convocation or not? Create, or leave.”
She looks away, bites her lip. She does, oh, she dreams of it, has dreamed of it ever since she was old enough to understand what and who the Convocation of Fourteen are. Everything she’s done until now has been to lead her to this moment - but she thought she’d have more time! She thought she’d have more warning! She thought she’d be so much older!
“I can do this,” she says quietly. “I must.”
“Good.” He pushes back from the table, turns to go, and hesitates. He waves his hand with a sigh and the feathers vanish. Both of them stare at the desk, at the miniscule remains left behind. He bends down to take one between forefinger and thumb and holds it up to his eyes with a look of great concern. “Feathers, and...feet?”
She covers her face with a groan.
**
She is amazed, astounded, speechless as the announcement is made: she shall be the next member of the Convocation of Fourteen! Her beautiful bird, her wonderful creation, stands beside her on stage as they call her name. She rests a hand on its flank to steady herself as applause thunders through the auditorium.
Through the cheers and whistles, the stomping feet and hollars, she finds his mask in the crowd. As amazing as this moment is, the smile on his face almost surpasses it.
**
She is making too much noise, drawing too much attention, but she can’t be bothered to care. As he pushes her against a wall, breath heavy against her neck, she pulls him even closer, moans as his hips grind against hers. She tries to catch his mouth with hers but their masks collide and they recoil. Cursing, she flings hers aside. He stops, taken aback.
“What?” She glares at him, already regretting her actions. Her face has not been bare in decades; no one has seen it since she began her apprenticeship. Knowing he can see her - truly see her - makes her want to squirm.
“You -” he says, his voice low. “You are breathtaking.”
She flushes, embarrassed and grateful and confused all at once. Before she can think of a reply - “thank you” seems wildly inappropriate - his hands move to his own mask. She gapes at him as he slowly lowers it, revealing the face behind. It is reminiscent of the boy she saw so many years ago, but time turned youthful features and molded them into grace. It takes her a few moments longer than it should to realize she is staring.
Even as she averts her eyes she catches his grin. He drops his mask and brings his hands up to her face, his soft palms lifting her jaw up, up, up towards him. “You are mine.”
**
She’s been a member of the Convocation for years when she learns of Emet-Selch’s approaching retirement. She comes home to find Hades in his workshop, focused so intently he doesn’t hear her enter. She takes a seat on one of the stools near him, tilting her head to watch him work. He has always focused on creating things , inanimate objects, machines, buildings - wood, metal, and stone. She has no interest in it herself - give her something with a beating heart any day - but she can’t help but be intrigued.
“What are you building?”
“They’ve assigned us tasks,” he says, his voice distant, his mind elsewhere. “For the examination. The first two are simple; I have those already.” He waves his hand to a table in a corner of the room, as though his new creations did not take him years of hard work. “This last task, however…” He scoffs and shakes his head. “They want a container.”
She tilts her head to one side, puzzled. “A - container? For what purpose?”
“That’s what makes it so frustrating! It has to hold something that cannot be held any other way - a unique function, they said.” She can sense his ire from across the room. “A container with a unique function! I have nothing of the sort! I have never built boxes, or glasses, or cases, or -” He makes a noise of frustration and swipes a pile of papers off his desk, scattering them across the floor.
She lets him work out his anger as she mulls the idea over. Historically the examinations and thesis requirements are different for each position on the Convocation; she has never looked into what might be required for the role of Architect. “They are assessing problem solving?”
“Creative thinking as well,” he mutters. “As if my other ideas lack ingenuity! I have decades’ worth of patents, blueprints, and designs, and none of them meet the qualifications!”
“Your ‘elevator’ could be considered a container -”
He shakes his head. “They can’t count it - Mitron and I worked on that idea together. I need an idea which is wholly my own.” He finally turns his head to her; there is a bitter little smile playing around his mouth. “You cannot help me, love. I cannot even voice my ideas to you.”
She had assumed as much; Lahabrea had hinted that she would not be allowed to participate in the examination process at all. It rattled her that he would assume she would demand to participate, that she would not realize the need to excuse herself, but she is doing her best not to let the Speaker faze her. There are more important needs.
“How long have they given you?”
He sighs and pushes himself away from his desk, pulls her from her stool and wraps his arms around her. “Three months.”
Not much time at all, not nearly enough time to perfect a brand new design. “You will be home every day?”
She feels him nod. “I must. I cannot focus on anything but this task. There is no telling how long it will be before another position is available, and this - this I want, with all my heart.”
“They would be fools to disregard you.” Her conviction is unshakeable. Hades is exactly what the Convocation is missing, the strong voice and vision that will lead them into the future. “You have the ability to change the world. They must see it.”
“They will,” he says quietly. “They will.”
**
She is tired when Hythlodaeus stops by to visit. Part of her cannot wait for the examination to be over with, but the rational side of her wishes they had more time.
“He is busy?” Hythlodaeus asks as she welcomes him in.
“Always,” she responds, unable to keep a touch of regret from her voice. “He refuses to let me see, of course - though I will not be a judge on the final day, he feels my opinion could sway how he moves forward.” She gives their friend a crooked grin. “I do understand, but it is like an itch I cannot reach, knowing he is working so hard on something without me.”
Hythlodaeus smiles. “Ah, but what a moment the reveal shall be!”
The door to the workshop opens before she can reply; Hades’s rumpled head appears in the gap. His mask is askew, his hood down; presentation is so far from his mind she is sometimes impressed he remembers to robe himself every morning. Though he is tired, his smile is genuine. “I thought I heard your voice! Whatever brings you to our humble abode, my friend?”
“You, of course, and your newest creation. I had hoped for a peak.”
“Ah.” Hades’s head swivels back and forth between her and Hythlodaeus, clearly unsure how to proceed without insulting one or the other.
She can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of her at the ridiculousness of it. “Go, go! Show it off if you must! I’ll see it in due time.”
She’s surprised when he comes out of the room to wrap one arm around her waist and kiss her, dipping her back in his arms. Their masks almost catch, but he is becoming adept at fitting them together. “Hades!” She pushes him back with a laugh, half-mortified that their friend should witness such an open show of emotion.
Hythlodaeus merely waves a hand and shrugs. “Youngsters, the both of you. Now, may I please see the work of our future Architect, or must I use my imagination?”
Hades lets her go with a laugh. “Confident, aren’t you! Follow me to bask in the glory that is my container.” He rolls his eyes at the word but leads the other man into the workroom with a grin, waving his thanks to her before he shuts the door. Their muffled voices continue on the other side, but she makes no attempt to overhear.
As curious as she is, she will learn when he is ready.
**
She feels very young when Hades sweeps her off her feet and takes her to their bed. Both of them are exhausted from celebrating; dawn approaches but neither of them are quite ready for sleep. He rids them both of robes and masks before he tumbles her onto the mattress, following behind like a creature stalking its prey.
“Emet-Selch,” she whispers, pulling his mouth to hers. The new name, the new title, sends whispers of excitement through her. She is so proud, so ecstatic, so madly in love.
“Say it again,” he murmurs as he sits back, shifts her onto his lap, holds his hands against her thighs.
“Emet…” she says slowly, pressing her bare chest against his, tilting her head so she can whisper in his ear. “...Selch.”
“I am not sure why,” he says, his voice low as his fingers trail up and down her back. “But that name from your mouth sounds sweeter than any other.”
She smiles down at him and pushes his hair away from his golden eyes. “I’ll be sure to say it often.”
“Every day?”
“For eternity.”
**
She is much, much older when the news arrives from across the sea. The Convocation is mute, shocked beyond speech as Lahabrea takes his seat. She feels Hades’s hand reach for hers under the table and she grasps it, holds on as tight as she can.
Together they will think of a solution. They must.
**
She is frantic when she catches Igeyorhm after a meeting, pulls the other woman aside as the rest of the Convocation departs.
“They cannot possibly agree with this, can they?” she asks as the door closes, leaving the two women alone. “They are not going to actually move forward with this plan?”
Igeyorhm stands stiff-backed in front of her, arms crossed over her chest. Though the mask hides most of her face, her mouth is turned down in a scowl. “We are as one. There are no other avenues to take and precious little time left to think of them.” She shakes her head with disgust. “You call for delay but you present no new ideas, no reason to wait. The longer we debate the more of our world is ruined!”
“What Hades proposes is murder,” she seethes, leaning forward. “Murder of untold innocents! Are we not the pinnacle of civilization? Are we not the result of millenia of study, of learning, of betterment? Surely - surely! We can create a better solution!”
“Have you not been listening?” Igeyorhm springs forward, her finger stabbing at her chest. “Have you not sat in the same chamber as the rest of us? We are out of time! Emet-Selch brought forward the only idea with the slightest chance of saving our people, and you are the lone voice of dissent!”
“We are not murderers!”
“We will be whatever we must needs be to save this star! And if that must mean acting without you, then so be it!” Igeyorhm brushes past her but stops before she opens the door, twists her head to speak over her shoulder. “You are either with us, or you are against us. Your lover is committed - why aren’t you?”
She stares after the other woman long after she has departed, long after the sound of the door closing has echoed around the chamber and faded away. She knows not what to make of the growing ache in her chest, the anxiety coiling in her stomach.
It was not supposed to happen like this.
**
She feels every single one of her years the day she is forced to walk away.
They argue almost every day, but they are not unique in that. As panic grows, as the destruction and devastation come ever closer, tempers run high among everyone. The difference, however, is that they stand on the Convocation. They hold the fate of all their people in their hands; the stress is insurmountable.
Still - it is no excuse.
“We mean to go public with our solution on the morrow,” Hades says, his gold eyes on hers. He is wary; he stands across the room, hands behind his back. His mask is off, lying on a table nearby, but the expression on his face is alien to her.
She knew this was coming, could see the conclusion days ago, but the words hurt no less. She loves him - she will always love him - but she cannot, will not, follow him on this path. She shakes her head, tears clouding her eyes, and steps away from him.
His face twists at her obvious rejection. “There is no other choice! Why can you not see that?”
“I will not sacrifice half our people in the hopes that the rest will live! You are reducing our salvation to mathematics , to a crude and callous solution that is ultimately baseless! You do not know that this god will save us! You do not know that the end result will justify the cost! You ask us all to rely on trust - on hope! - and I can not accept that! I will not!”
He is across the room in a breath, his hands gripping her arms as he holds her in place. “Do not throw my own thoughts back at me! Do not assume I am ignorant of the risks! If you cannot tell me a better solution, do not presume to judge me for mine!” He shakes her, lowering his head to hers. The desperation in his golden eyes takes her breath away. “I do this for you! I do all of this, for you! So that you might live to see another day! The world means nothing to me without you in it, and if that must mean I drown the land in blood to keep you alive do not think I will hesitate! You are everything to me!”
Horror creeps over her, sinks into her, etches itself into her veins. She shakes her head mutely as words desert her completely. He sees her fear and lets her go, steps back as he withdraws into himself. Her silence speaks for her.
“You would still stand against me?”
“Yes,” she whispers. The look on his face breaks her heart; she cannot stand to be near him. She turns with a moan and flees into the dark streets of Amaurot. Though she can hear him calling her name, she does not look back.
**
She is alone the day the Convocation carries out its plan. Amaurot has fallen, devastated by fire and beasts, and she has fled to the countryside. The sky above is hellfire, the land molten. The air is heavy with smog and smoke, ashes and sparks. Corpses litter the road.
She knows when it happens, knows the exact moment they summon their god. The aether around her coalesces, consumes, shines - she cannot breathe, cannot move, cannot even think. At the height of it, at the moment when she thinks she can take no more, can go no further, when she would rather die than be caught a single second more - the feeling is gone.
She falls to her knees, her chest heaving as she struggles to draw breath. The world is still aflame; the horror around her has not changed. The only difference - the only sign that anything has happened - is the change to the aether. It no longer broils, twists, fabricates nightmares. It is calm, as it was before.
But - but the land - !
She forces herself to her feet, resumes her slow, staggering walk through the remains of the land she has always called home. Somewhere in this blasted, destroyed world she will find somewhere to rest. She must needs only look.
**
She is exhausted the day Hades finds her. He comes alone into the refuge she and a few others have created; though he is masked and robed she recognizes him immediately. She isn’t sure what to call the emotion coursing through her as he approaches; she loves him still with all her heart, but knowing what he has done - knowing the oceans of blood on his hands - it is hard to look upon him as she once did. The others, sensing their need for privacy, depart.
He stops a few feet away from her. “You survived.”
“As did you.”
He tilts his head in acknowledgement. “By the grace of Zodiark.”
The chill that runs down her spine has nothing to do with the breeze running through her shelter. “That is your god?”
“Our god, yes.”
She does not want to argue about gods and faith, does not want to be having this discussion. “Why are you here?”
“To see you. To - to offer you a place with us, if you’d have it.”
She shakes her head. “I am needed here. Your grand plan did not cure the world of its ills, alas, and our creation magic is much limited. We are only just beginning to make this settlement safe again, and until the walls are secure I will not leave it.”
“We have a plan,” he says quickly, taking one step towards her. “We know how to fix this.”
“Does it involve more death?”
His silence is immense - and telling. She shudders and turns her back to him, shaking her head from side to side. “Leave me.”
“You will not even hear me?” His voice is so, so quiet; the sorrow cuts through her heart. “I do this for us - for you. Will you not at least listen?”
“You do this for yourself!” She catches herself, realizes she is yelling, reins in her anger. When she speaks again she is quieter but no less fervent. “I do not want to know. I care not for your plans, Emet-Selch.” The title escapes her mouth like a curse and she flinches. She had not meant to say it quite like that.
He is quiet for a long time, so long that she almost wonders if she missed hearing him leave. When he finally speaks his voice is very soft. “I will see you again.”
She waits until she can no longer hear his footsteps before whispering, “I hope so.”
**
She is crying, though she cannot say what emotion moves her so. Sorrow, for all those she has lost. Joy, for the new life that wanders the land. Intense relief, that their star is slowly recovering. Hades’s second plan worked just as well as the first, though she would never find it in her to approve of his methods. Knowing that another half of their people have died only adds more weight to her own existence - guilt upon guilt upon guilt.
They were chosen to lead, but who remains to follow?
She hears footsteps behind her and turns. Hythlodaeus takes small, careful steps up the rocky hillside below her. He is one of the few who still wear their masks and robes, but he has always been a traditionalist. Beyond him lies their small settlement of wood and stone single-story homes. It is not much, but she is still proud of how far they have come.
“You’ve been crying again,” he says quietly as he reaches her. He moves past her to look out at the land below them. “If you wore your mask -”
“I am done with masks,” she says softly. She turns to follow his gaze, to watch the open fields. Green lands stretch as far as the eye can see, blue skies seeming as open and everlasting as they had before the Final Days. It will take many long centuries before the forests recover, but the change is already promising.
“I have news for you.”
Trepidation worms through her heart. “Your tone suggests I will not like it.”
“I cannot deny that.” He pauses as something in the field below catches his eye. “Ah, are those chocobos? I do love those birds. They were your creation, were they not?”
A laboratory full of feathers, tiny feet in his hands, the cheering of thousands as they call her name for the Convocation - and the look in his eyes before he kissed her.
A lifetime ago.
“Yes, they were mine.”
Hythlodaeus turns to her. She takes a deep breath, knowing she will not enjoy what comes, and faces him. “What news?”
“There is a third part to the Convocation’s plan.”
**
She is utterly committed on the day she dies.
It was not hard to find people for her cause. Though the majority wanted her to succeed, some few were simply tired: tired of the death, the pain, the constant need to change and adapt. She could not blame them, could not fault them, so she accepted their help.
In the end, she needed every single piece of aether offered to create her new god.
She is the last one left, the last one molding the immense power into the shape she needs. She pours all her heart, all her knowledge, everything she loves about the world and the beings she cares for into it. Though she had to use Hades’s idea to create her god, she will not let the cycle continue: this creation will demand no more death.
She feels it taking shape, feels the bindings she’s placed upon it lock into place, hold , and she lets out a sob. What she’s doing is terrifying, astounding, beyond anything she has ever tried. To make a god! To create such a thing with her own mind and magic! It is the epitome of her life’s work - all her training, her education, her practice and skill: it all has led to this.
Time is not on her side. Unlike the Convocation, she will not survive to see her work completed. She will not let others make the ultimate sacrifice so she can reap the rewards: she shall share in their fate.
She leans against a wall, slides to the ground as her legs crumple beneath her. It is not a very dignified way to leave this world, but she does not have the strength to move. Even opening her eyes is beyond her, but there is nothing to see, not yet. Her god has not yet taken Her form.
Hands suddenly grip her, push her upright, cup her cheeks. Someone sobs her name and her heart may as well have been torn from her chest. As hard as it is, she forces her eyes to open.
He is so ghostly pale as he kneels in front of her. She has no idea how he found her, who might have given her hiding spot away, but she can’t find the energy to be angry. He is distraught, destroyed, devastated. His hands can’t stop touching her as though looking for wounds, but he knows - he has to know - what she has done. His golden eyes are so, so wide.
“Why?” he croaks, his voice shattering on that one lonely word.
“For life .” It is so hard to draw breath, so hard to move her lips, but she cannot leave it like this. Not with him.
“Why would you do this?” His voice is a whisper, but she hears every sound. She hears everything he does not say. “Why now, after all we have gone through? All we have sacrificed?”
She shakes her head, gasps as she feels her heart flutter. Not yet. “You did it - for us. I did it - for them.” She is able to catch one of his hands in hers, pulls it close to her chest. “All life deserves to live, Hades. Every being, from the mightest person to the simplest creation.”
He doesn’t understand. She can see it in his eyes, can see the confusion and pain carved into his face. She shakes her head and smiles. “You never made a creature with a heartbeat, did you?”
The aether around them begins to shimmer. He roars with frustration, his denials echoing around the room, and though she hates seeing him this way, would give anything for things to be the way they were, she has chosen her path - just as he chose his.
“You’re going to live! We’ll stop this, Zodiark will fix this - I can bring you back! With the rest! I promise you, we’ll be together again!”
She tightens her grip on his hand. “Create a bird, Hades. For me.”
“A - a bird?” He’s flustered, confused. “What does a bird have to do with -”
“Hades.” The aether shifts, spikes, spins. She is losing shape, losing sensation. Her god is nearly complete; she has moments left. “I love -”
“No, no! Stay with me!” He lets go of her hands and pulls her into his arms, cradles her against his chest. “Please - please don’t leave me alone!” His sobs shake them both but there is nothing left for her to hold on to; she is already gone.
His howls fade slowly, replaced instead by a lovely, wonderful voice, a calming voice, a voice she knows as well as her own. It resonates throughout her, lifts her, cradles her. She gives in to it, lets the creation consume the creator as the voice brings her home.
Hear.
Feel.
Think.
**
She is impossibly anxious as Hades presents his final creation. She stands in the wings of the auditorium, watching the immense crowd hold its breath as the examiners question him. She hears them ask the name of this new invention.
“I call them coffins, sir.”
If she feels a shiver of apprehension, it is overshadowed as the examiners make their decision and Hades becomes Emet-Selch.