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At the shoreline between Eulmore and her decrepit harbor stood a shard of Azem.
Rare though it was for him to even recognize a shard of that once-brilliant soul, Emet-Selch had long ceased his efforts to reconnect with their broken, drifting pieces.
Yet, something about the shard caught his attention. Perhaps it was the timing. He’d just finished gifting the Eulmoran pair a Lightwarden for a child, and fancied a short break before he returned to the Source and completed Solus’ performance. Perhaps it was the place. On a world so stagnate with Light, the Darkness surrounding the shard drew his interest. Perhaps it was merely its lack of a corporeal form. Once upon a better time, he would have been the one to usher a lost soul to its proper resting place in the Underworld.
Once upon a better time, the shard would have been a soul both complete and splendid…
Nevertheless, the principles between shard and soul care remained the same.
The shard did not react to his approach. Upon inspection, Emet-Selch realized its sorry state. Upon whim and a burst of nostalgia for a job much simpler than his current responsibilities, he set to fixing it.
Brushing off the guilt heavy upon its shoulders, the underlying sorrow fell in thick coils around their feet. Taking each of its hands in turn, he cracked through the feelings of uselessness and scrubbed the helplessness from between its fingers. As he worked, a hyur emerged from beneath the gloomy muck. That it came complete with its body’s favored clothing and weaponry betrayed not only its former profession of adventurer, but its residual willpower. For a single shard, it had quite the sense of self.
That was very fitting for one of their shards.
“You just needed a little reminder of yourself, hm?” Emet-Selch hummed, tussling the hyur’s hair free of its overwhelming loneliness. “If only it were as easy to open the eyes of all your kind.”
Speaking of...
As a last touch, he wiped the regret from its gaze. Thus freed from the last of its post-humourous miasma, grey-blue eyes slowly focused on him.
“Who…?” it-- he- breathed. Fascinating that he recalled the instinct to do so. Most shards forgot their old bodies’ needs within moments of their deaths. But then, most shards also knew enough to return themselves to the Underworld, so Emet-Selch supposed he shouldn’t give the thing more credit than it was due. “You can see me…”
“I can do far more than simply see you,” Emet-Selch sniffed. “What reason have you for wandering this broken world, shade? Surely it cannot be worth the price.”
Clearly taken aback by either his regard or his question, the shard pulled away from him. Emet-Selch cocked his head at his reticence, then supposed he shouldn’t have been too surprised. Some shards, twisted and confused as they were from what they lacked, preferred becoming ghosts. This one certainly had enough gloom to manage a good, old-fashioned haunting. Perhaps it had hoped for revenge upon a being that had never made it back to the harbor.
The shard at last reigned in his reluctance and answered, “If I’d been given a choice, this would hardly be my state.”
Ah. So he had retained some sense.
An olden part of him desired to know what had transpired so as to trap one of Azem’s shards in limbo. It was a desire easily ignored.
Still, he wasn’t entirely without a heart. As compared to their flesh-bound counterparts, souls - no matter how broken - continued to inspire in him some measure of compassion.
“Allow me to offer you that choice, then.”
The shard stared at him.
Slowly, obviously, Emet-Selch offered him a hand.
The shard stared at it, then back at him.
After a pause far lengthier than Emet-Selch thought deserved, he finally drifted a step closer.
Rather than the acceptance he expected, however, he asked, strangely tentative, “What do you mean?”
“I can escort you to where you belong.” While the shard processed that in another bout of silence, Emet-Selch turned and waved a hand toward the plains beyond Eulmore’s shores. “Truly, you’re fortunate the sin eaters haven’t noticed you. Any one of them would enjoy the bite-sized snack that you make.”
“You offer me a place of rest.” The shard seemed to think the notion funny. Emet-Selch didn’t see what made it amusing, but he allowed the dead to take their entertainment where they could. “Where might that be, if not through a sin eater’s jaws?”
Had he not been clear before? Must he be a broken record?
“It would be where all souls long to return upon their body’s passing. The great aetherial sea, the ever-kind Lifestream, the Underworld… whatever name you wish to give it. That final resting place, where your memories may be purged and your soul reborn somewhere new.”
“That would be nice.” The shard took another step closer. It was far steadier than his last. “It has been some time since I have been able to find rest.”
“I imagine. You were in quite the state.”
The shard coughed.
After a moment, Emet-Selch realized it was meant to be a laugh. Frowning, he asked, “Would you like to share what you find amusing?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “I’d like to rest.”
“Hm. Suit yourself.”
Emet-Selch beckoned with his out-stretched hand.
With a twisted, humorless smile, the shard reached out to take it.
Just as his fingertips grazed the glove of his palm, burning Light singed the edges of Emet-Selch’s aether. Startled, he snapped his hand back and drew himself to his form’s fullest height. Upon scrutiny, he saw then what had been hidden from him: Hydaelyn’s Blessing, cursing the shade to remain in its unnatural state. Though it hadn’t hampered his harmless aid to the other’s outermost aether, it barred him from truly touching his soul.
The shard looked unsurprised. His hand dropped back to his side, his gloom returning to weigh down his shoulders and bow his head.
“So even someone like you can’t do anything for me...” he muttered, apparently to the ground. “It figures. I was just surprised you were willing to offer.”
“You know my ken.”
All at once, itclicked: Azem’s shard, Hydaelyn’s Blessing, a Chosen which had drawn his eye, of course this was the poor creature which Elidibus had decided to make into the First’s shepherd.
“I do,” the shard murmured, gaze yet downcast. “Considering my bad luck and your immortality, I can’t ever seem to be rid of your kind.”
Emet-Selch laughed. He’d at last found the source of the other’s amusement, and discovered he agreed on how the whole situation was, in fact, quite funny
“My, oh my. You’re this world's sordid Ascian slayer and false savior both, aren’t you! Dear me, your lot certainly hasn’t improved since then.” He made a point to size up the other’s insubstantial state, not at all shy to show off his delight at the other’s misery. “T’is the hazards of working both sides of the fence, or so I can only assume. Where is the rest of your motley group? I’ve never known you to travel without companions.”
Azem had never traveled without companions.
Elidibus had mentioned something about a group, too.
“Gone,” Azem’s splintered ghost informed him. His voice was flat, time and death having tempered him into placidity. “Laid to rest in that great aetherial sea, as you so eloquently put it.”
“My condolences that you could not follow.”
Mouth twisting, the other crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. Bitterness crept into the lines around his eyes, though the regret very near drowned it out.
“Yeah.” While Emet-Selch expected him to drift away in resentment, the shade held his ground. “That part wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own.”
“And Hydaelyn’s, presumably.” At his uncertain glance, Emet-Selch shrugged. “It’s Her Blessing keeping you here. The dots aren’t difficult to connect.”
“I just wish I knew why.”
To stymy the questions swimming in the other’s look, Emet-Selch turned away. “Hm, well. Yes, that likely would be helpful to getting you out of your little situation. In any case, you’d have a better idea at why than I.”
“...”
That he didn’t press came as a pleasant surprise.
Poor, confused creature. Emet-Selch almost felt bad for him. That olden part made known its foolhardy desires again: to not only shoo away the darkness but to actively alleviate the suffering, to support and soothe the countless hurts of the shard’s lonely existence, to have and hold his precious sliver of a soul, no matter the Blessing’s burn. Ignoring the desire put a pang in the remnants of his heart, making it almost difficult to leave.
Key word: almost.
He cast his last words over his shoulder, the edge of his hood and mask blocking his view of the other’s faint form.
He said, “Best of luck, shade. It sounds like you’ll need it.”
“-- Wait!”
A portal opened ilms before his nose. It would take him to Garlemald, where he would ensure the aging Emperor’s hier ultimately remained obscured.
One step more, and he’d be where he was meant to be.
“Don’t go!”
One step more.
“Please.”
…
He stalled on that last step, and refused to think about why.
“‘Please?’ For what?” He did not turn around. “I can’t help you.”
“But you did… For whatever reason you had.” The shard sounded utterly pathetic. “I haven’t been this aware of my surroundings in-- ages. Certainly, I’ve not had someone to speak with for even longer than that.”
He blew out a noisy sigh, tossing his hands up and itching, extremely, to take that final step into his portal.
“Even so, none of that speaks as to why I should remain here.”
“... It doesn’t,” he admitted, quiet, “and I’m not sure I could give that reason. I’m not sure if I’d like to thank you or not for pulling me back to the present, either, considering it changes nothing for me.”
“It sounds as if you’re not sure of much.”
“Admittedly, I’m not.”
“But you are certainly very candid.”
“Honesty’s always been my best policy. Originally because I’m a terrible liar, and now because there’s no reason for me not to speak plainly.” Though there were no sounds of footsteps or shift in air, he sounded as if he’d drifted closer. “And plainly put, if you’re not done with the First, I’d like to know why.”
Azem’s shards always felt the need to ask that.
Why, Emet-Selch? Why must we sacrifice anyone?
How… droll.
He murmured -- or, more honestly,grumbled -- “Ever the hero’s prerogative, hm.”
“What?” A beat, then a small, tight sigh. “You think I’d like to know so that I might stop you? Perhaps once I would have, but really, as I am, how could I? None have been able to see or hear me… I can touch nothing. I feel nothing. Except, apparently, you.”
“That’s true,” Emet-Selch agreed, “but still no reason for me to stay. ‘Ta, shade.”
“Hold on--!”
He stepped through the portal.
The elden piece of him which had bled its desires into his thoughts remained silent. Nonetheless, the remnants of his heart ached, and ached, and ached.
Let it ache. Azem’s fleeting shards were never worth their trouble.
- - -
At the base of the Crystarium's Syrcus Tower, the Fourteenth's shards gathered in the greatest number yet, such that they almost -- almost -- resembled a sliver of what they had been. The first time Emet-Selch met the Warrior of Darkness, née Light, was thus actually closer to the thousandth time, but more specifically, it was the second time.
The urge rose in Emet-Selch, unbidden, to again clean the misery from the shimmering shade lingering five paces back from Lahabrea's slayer. Unlike the Warrior, née Azem, he had no motley group to surround himself with. He clung stubbornly to his independence from his soul's counterpart, looking foremost as if he wished only to dig himself a deeper hole within which he might wallow.
Briefly, Emet-Selch contemplated handing him a shovel that he might dig faster, and pulling him out.
... The latter desire was, of course, easily crushed.