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You had me played for a fool, pawned and paid. Between the clutches of those dainty little fingers; at the behest of that maliciously scheming mind…
Moved across a stage of black and white. Where my foot lands, there be carnage. For bloodied merriment do you command me to the front. Of fleeting lives and scorched earth do I long for a change of heart.
Never once did I find joy, nor pleasure, nor release, as I was made to reap another soul. But ever have I loathed you and your ways, your will, invincible as steel unbending.
You robbed me of everything and everyone, stole me away at my tender most age—as you did millions of other children alike—and still you dare call yourself a saviour?
Your death should’ve been my delight. Yet, now that you lay nailed down within your coffin, I could not find within me even an ounce of joy. Like a fire fickle, all out of its heat to burn, all that remained is the bitter cold resentment. What with regrets haunting me both in wake and sleep, I am sure that never again shall I find peace. Though your shadow is gone from these halls, your legacy yet stands.
You and your kin are all of the same cloth. A grandson like his grandfather, and a great-grandson like his great-grandfather. Truly, the lot of you perplex me with your twisted, perverted ambitions—all that only conciliates through bloodshed.
Once more I find myself far from being a player. Once more am I made to set my foot upon the stage. Whether it be to further your conquest or feed upon your thirst for blood, I am ever ready for your use.
Like a puppet dangling on its strings…
Far, too far away for reach…
Far, too far gone for redemption…
Lost in this boundless darkness. With no one, nothing else I could ask for direction, I trust in my heart. Yet every step I take only bears me further into the unending abyss.
Perhaps this is my destiny. To toil ceaselessly in this folly, my own deepest desires never to be. One day, one night, my last breath would be torn out of my throat, and that day would be a cause for celebration for countless people in Eorzea. My death: a renewal of hope.
All that when once, I all but dreamed to be a hero for the good people… Ha, haha. What cruel joke destiny is.
I seek to atone; that I may die with both dignity and honour clinging to my name. But who would tend to my plea? They all see me in the same standing as the rest of their villains; brutal beasts that needs be treated in kind—a plague to be purged.
They’ve always known me as Emperor Solus zos Galvus’ most loyal dog, Varis zos Galvus’ staunchest pawn, and now, The Crown Prince of Garlemald’s favourite little plaything.
I thought that all this world needed was for me to save it—through change and action, deliver it from chaos. But I could not help—much less save myself from my own fate. The world would sooner be saved from me.
So when stories of a hero noblest in deeds, of shining intentions, blown by the winds to every corner of Eorzea, it sparked hope anew.
The people began to believe, believe that they may triumph over this foul evil that has crushed them under its tyranny for overlong.
And even I believed. I wished. And I hoped.
Hope that sparks light in my heart, the one and truest. It pierces through the darkness and found me. There I feel relief, no dread whatsoever at the thought of being asked to answer for my sins. I’d gladly give my life if that is what she asked for my repentance.
But the radiant warrior instead asked me, “What is your story?”
“The night after you saved my life. You kept calling out for a hero in your dream.”
“I know who you are.”
It was true. Hers was the first life I have ever saved; it took all of me to break free from my strings.
When next she clashes with the empire’s force, I was there.
Poised before the threat, I raise my blade alongside her, steel pointing t’ward the same horizon.
No longer a pawn to the hands of evil, the sable hare graduates from his puppet strings.