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"Excuse me! You're the Warrior of Darkness, aren't you?"
A child asks, looking up at you with the same bright azure eyes as your own. You wanted to smile in return, but something about the child stirred a nervous reaction, a heavy in your chest of something akin to dishonesty, as if your secrets and lies were bubbling over into the light for all to see. But you kept no secrets, told no lies, not really.
But this child stands before you and his appearance mirrors your own. The boy seems completely unaware of your similarities, and you wonder whether or not you're overthinking this when he asks;
"Where did you come from, really? And how did you get to become so strong?"
It's asked in such a genuine voice that you want to feel ashamed by your silence, and you hesitate as you build an appropriate response.
It’s a secret. As the boy leaves you to your thoughts, you consider the realm simply to be mocking you, to have you stand witness to something abstract, something you can't remember having of your own.
You hardly even longed for it at that, until Thancred had asked you once, at the smallest celebratory meal after the defeat of Leviathan. Seemed ages ago now, the younger Scions and you, still learning about one another and you slowly but surely let each member etch themselves into your heart. Y'shtola and Minfillia had teased Thancred about his past as a Limsan thief and you had quietly laughed.
"What of you, hero? Where was home for you?" Thancred had asked later in passing, and you thought it only fair to oblige in an answer until your mind draws to a blank, and this heavy feeling had first made itself known. Y'shtola and Thancred had exchanged small looks, and your lingering silence was answer enough.
"Forgive me, it's hardly my business. I'm sure I speak for all us scions when I voice my gratitude that you've found your way to us."
You had realized then, that at no other point, not even with the gift of the Echo, to peer into the past of others, had you even considered you had a past of your own. Somehow, you hadn't thought of the city-state you truly reigned from as Thancred spoke of his upbringing, and searching for F'lhaminn had brought upon the realization you couldn't recall the faces of your parents, or even their names. The harder you focused on these blurred periods of your life, the less answers accumulated, and that heaviness remained fixed within you, and a strange voice coaxing you into dropping it altogether. As the world needed you time and time again, you didn't have much time to yourself to investigate as it was. And as curious as you naturally were, this became a topic in which your silence became crutch.
And then, Emet-Selch.
"Not that you'd remember any of this."
Never before had one indicated knowing you, and your heart somehow swelled as well as broke simultaneously. It was painful, so very painful and you couldn't understand why. As if the Ascian knew you, and between steady visitations and seemingly wearing his intentions and convictions on his sleeve, Emet kept a specific distance from you. He carried a sadness with him in his words when he spoke of Amaurot and the world that once stood, as though you were there with him. As if it was all to jolt your memory, but watched from afar as to keep safe his heart, in case you forgot it all again. In case he couldn't get you back.
"You are of the Source, seven times rejoined."
Did it mean something more?
Wandering the ruins of Amaurot and something within you wanted to remember this, as you hated the Ascian, but Gods if you didn't want to remember a home.
And you hear Alphinaud make a passing comment to you, something about the architecture of the city, and Alisaie teased him, reminding him to stay focused. You appreciated it, the momentary distraction from your thoughts. The twins and Urianger walk with you, Y'shtola and Ryne monitor your aether in a quiet manner, careful that you're not to notice, and Thancred keeps a watchful eye over your unfocused footsteps. They all worry for the overabundance of light within you, that they feared threatened to take you away from them.
You understand that they have been your home, and you know you wouldn't trade that family for any realm, and suddenly you feel selfish for hoping for a home here that Emet-Selch seemed to dangle over you. You have your family, and you were here to save them. And when the underwater city stirred very little within you, you decided you could once more abandon the thought.
Until, a tall figure of the name Hythlodaeus had spoken with you. As he'd admitted that the true Amaurot was long gone, as well as the ghosts that wandered around you, you make the connection that of course, this Amaurot couldn't be that familiar, it wasn't real.
And as you turned to leave, the hooded figure had spoken in a soft tone.
"My new, old friend."
Once more, an odd thing to say, and you're reminded by the uncomfortable heaviness in your heart. Another who claimed to know you from before, and the longer spent in this reconstruction, this memory of a city, the more your heart ached, finally getting to you. Your fists tighten, and your eyes close. Now, you felt you know this place better than you've ever felt a familiar attachment to any of Eorzea. Which was selfish, wasn't it? You stayed this quest in order to save the homes you've created for yourself, only too long for the world long gone?
And the idea of home now enraged you.
And despite Emet-Selch threatening to take everything away from you, and you attempt to pull all of this confusion and rage into a challenge against the Ascian, despite it all; Emet had looked to you and asked you to remember, to remember that we'd once lived, and it took everything not to cry.
As if you understood now.
As if the way the Scions were your home now, Hades and Hythlodaeus were once home too.
Meteor Survivor, you had called yourself. Vaguely recalling the last Calamity as though you'd been there to survive it. Your earliest memory you could clearly see was Hydaelyn. There was nothing, an abstract of nothing. Then she was there.
You were never a boy. Never a child at all.
You came from the abyss and became the Warrior of Light, plucked from oblivion for something of a destiny. An ancient, ancient Primal's thrall, animated to enact her will, nothing more. Coming into the world you watched be ripped apart from one another, and your soul was spared the most, multiplied the least, its truest form, at least in a long time.
Hear. Feel. Think.
Instructions.
You truly came from nothing before becoming this Hero.
You turn back to the crowd below you for a moment, searching for each one of the scions and the exarch. Safe.
This overwhelming loneliness, and you wonder for a moment if Ardbert had ever felt this too, and you miss him dearly. Just to ask him again, the only other who could understand.
Eight times rejoined.
Starting toward your room, you realize just how tired you are, with so much to think on.
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