Chapter Text
He slammed his fist down as the tea threatened to spill. "Preposterous! Utterly preposterous." Emet-Selch left no room for argument as silence filled the hall. The weight of Rachel's revelation hung tightly in the air, threatening to swallow everyone present.
"Not exactly the words I would choose, but I, too, have my doubts. They border on the incredulous." Hythlodaeus confessed. His brows furrowed as he carefully considered his next words. Suddenly, the door slammed shut, and the seat beside him was empty. "Emet-Selch, wait." His words echoed through the hallway before he disappeared in pursuit.
The Warrior of light sat motionless, staring at the half-empty cup before the voice of her remaining companion broke her reverie. "He will come around," the Ancient assured her with a soft pat on her shoulder. "Mm," the Warrior mumbled—more to herself than anyone. "Shall we take a breather, then, and reconvene on the morrow," Venat finally suggested, seeing her guest still fixated on the deserted tea. "A walk in the woods, perhaps?" At this, a sigh escaped the Warrior's lips, and she nodded in acknowledgement. "That... may be essential."
After gulping down what remained of her own drink, Rachel made her way to the door. Glancing in her friend's direction, she wore a grateful smile. And then she was gone.
--
"I find it personally offensive to be portrayed as this megalomaniacal madman." Emet huffed as the leaves crunched beneath his feet in surrender.
"Surely, it was not her intention to do so. Had you not seen the weight in her eyes as she was telling her story?" Hythlodaeus matched his friend's steps as they slowly approached a colossal tree, casting a shadow over them, mirroring the burden borne of Rachel's tale.
"Still, it's intolerable!" The convocation member raged in defiance as he gauged the tree's strength, feeling the branches with his palm and pushing lightly.
"Personal nuances aside, if what she claimed had any truth, wouldn't it be remiss of us to do nothing?"
Satisfied that the branch could hold his weight, Emet pushed himself up against it and found himself in a comfortable sitting position. He knew the other made a fair point yet could not bring himself to admit it. In response, he settled with a scowl. To which, Hythlodaeus simply shrugged.
"And what do you suggest, pray tell?"
"Come now. Surely, you have already arrived at the same conclusion as I."
"If her story is to be believed, our people's greatest minds—not to mention your sharp eyes—committed to the pursuit of a solution, could only resort to sacrificing half of our brethren to the summoning of this Zodiark." The colour drained from Emet's lips almost imperceptibly as the words continued flowing. "And even then, we still managed to fail. Hence, her travelling back through time to find a solution as the calamity once again threatens mankind."
Hythlodaeus nodded as he leaned against the tree trunk. "The only possible explanation is if the nature of the catalyst was so inexplicable that even we failed to perceive it."
"And what better fits that description than the invisible, intangible dynamis?" Emet continued.
"Right you are. And with that, I believe I have a course of action to take. I shall see what I can find on Hermes' whereabouts." The purple-haired Ancient dusted his robe as he regarded his friend carefully, who's now slumped against the tree's limb. "In the meantime, do give Rachel the benefit of the doubt. I trust this short respite will clear your thoughts." Hythlodaeus gave him a hopeful smile before he walked back to the facilities.
--
The wind was chilly against her cheek as she walked aimlessly amidst the large trees looming over the fields of Poieten Oikos. Emet's earlier outburst was not unexpected, but still, his words were daggers to her heart. Less so about him not believing. No, it was the sense of dread writ plainly on his face that made her heart wrench. And as her thoughts raced with guilt and trepidation, she clenched her fists as a sign of protest against fate.
Unable to resist the built-up frustration, she succumbed to momentary despair and let herself fall to the ground as she rested her head against a tree. Her eyes blurred with tears, oblivious to her surroundings. Were she not in such a state of turmoil, she would have noticed a man resting in one of the nearby branches, whose gaze was fixed on the spectacle unfolding before him.
Her arms wrapped around her like a shield—whether it was against the winds or her storm of thoughts—she could not decide. The tale of a man who carried the hopes of thousands of souls, friends and loved ones for millennia, only to face a fatal blow in her hands, was not something she wished to revisit. "Fate had a twisted sense of humour," she spat as the urge to rewrite history in the atonement of her sin increased with her every breath. The sights she had seen in Elpis, of creations, brought to life for the betterment of man, of people devoting their lives for generations to come. Every moment spent in this Utopia is a dent threatening to break the walls she built to hide her remorse since that day at the Tempest. And the more involved she got with Amaurot's recreator, the heavier her burdens weighed.
Emet-Selch watched with a mask of indifference as she hugged her knees and buried her face quietly. Occasional sobs reached his ears, but he continued to lay still, eyes set in observing her. And though he felt his neck burn from craning down, he could not bring himself to look away. The colour of Azem's soul was hard to miss, but that of hers shone with a slight yet distinctively different hue. "So alike, yet so different." The words of Hythlodaeus echoed through his lips in a murmur as he studied the woman. He frowned as the thought made him realise how things would have been far less complicated had she remained a familiar.
The Ancient was disrupted from his musings when he felt the cold winds against his nose. And to his wonder, the subject of his thoughts remained unmoving through the oppressive weather. Finally deciding to sit up, he leaned forward for a closer look and heard something faint coming from her. A frown took over his countenance as he realised Rachel had fallen asleep on the ground.
While still unconvinced of her account, it is beyond Emet-Selch to abandon someone vulnerable, especially when it's within his power to do otherwise. The hostile Gryps within yards, eyeing the Warrior, did not escape his notice.
With a soft thud, he was beside her figure. But to his vexation, she was still sleeping soundly. The peaceful expression she wore was a stark contrast to what he had witnessed just moments ago. And surprisingly, he found it a pleasant sight. That would change soon, however. As she stirred in her trance-like state, the word escaping her mouth was the last thing Emet could have guessed. "Hades..."