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Yesterday one might wonder how the end of the world would come about, whether it be from war between Eorzea and Garlemald, or maybe it would be at the hands of the Primals, summoned by the magics of the beast tribes. For a select few in the know, many believed the end of days would be from the machinations of the Ascians, and their plot to awaken their dark god and undo the sundering of the world. But little did anyone realize that the end of days would come from a place further away than one of the thirteen shards or the Source. It was at the far edge of fate, at the recesses of the universe, where the light of stars faded, did the end of days come from Despair. Yet, it was averted. For it was Hope that averted the tragedy and let Life continue to walk on.
* * * * *
As with all impossible victories that came about from the coalition of different nations and peoples, the main contingent of saviors, of Scions, if you will, would travel the realms in order to celebrate their hard fought, near impossible battle. They were hailed as saviors of the Hydaelyn, the very people who stopped the coming tragedy yet again. Parades, celebrations, and parties, all common sights and happenings to those called the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. How quickly they changed from the shadowy protectors to the glorified heroes.
However, for all the fanfare and celebration that they partook in, there was always this somber note to the group. A longing, a melancholy that pervaded each and every member of the Scions, whether they be new or old. A mistiness of the eyes, a tensing of the shoulders, or even slight shifts and fidgets in one’s stance. Many did not understand the amount of loss these brave few have endured, and when asked…
“For those we have lost, for those we can yet save.”
Forever being words to live by for the Scions, a teaching of the departed Louisoix. Names they would recall upon these words, Minfillia, Moenbryda, Ysayle, Papalymo, Yda, and so so many more. Perhaps it was because they were in Ishgard that these feelings and emotions came about so heavily, that the sadness pervaded them so. It was not so long ago that the Dragonsong War ended.
* * * * *
The mood in the grand dining hall of the Fortemps Manor was one of victory and elation. Important figures from all over the Holy-See of Ishgard and its surrounding territories had attended. The Speaker of the House of Lords, the leaders of the Machinist and Astrologian guilds, the heads of the House of Lords, and the heads of the House of Commons. Food and drink were in great quantities as celebrations took place all around. Victory and the chance to see tomorrow, that was what they had earned.
Yet for all the exultations and cheer, a few scant individuals were rather miffed, as a certain someone was missing from the festivities. Why wouldn’t they be? The star of the show was missing from the party which was being held in their honor. Everything going on was a result of their deeds and accomplishments, so why were they absent from the gathering?
“Where are they?” a young voice aired out angrily. A twitch of the eye, a crossing of the arms, and the angry statement would remind anyone of a child, but the person in question, with all the experience they have, could not be considered such. After all, as a member of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, could someone who has experienced so much be considered a child?
“Peace, Alisaie.” another voice whispered back, tinged with the same exasperation, but more understanding. “While I agree with the sentiment that our mutual friend should be here to celebrate as well, the weight of saving the world and having gone to Doma, Bozja, and Ala Mhigo already, I can understand the need for a break. My time leading the Crystarium does allow me some semblance of understanding when it comes to diplomatic exhaustion such as this.”
“Still, it’s been hours since this stupid party started, and not a single person has seen them. It’s like they disappeared into the night. Again.” she ground out. Her frustration was clear, and while she too wished to not be cooped up in the manor, but rather out in the field.
“Well, they should be back soon. They left some time ago, and it would be quite remiss of them if they were absent for the greater part of the party. I trust in them to return when the time calls for it.” Ears twitching, G’raha turned around to see another figure joining the conversation.
“Indeed, dear sister. Our esteemed savior is not likely to forget the importance of this gathering, lest we not forget, they wanted to come to Ishgard before the other city-states.”
Alisaie sighed and let her arms fall to her side. “I know, I know, it's just they haven’t been here since the beginning. Where did they even go?”
“They went to visit a dear friend…” Alphinaud replied, turning to look out the window. All went silent at that. It was no secret of whom he was referring to. In the distance, a lone cliff, obscured by the raging winds and snow stood silent and still. Yes, a dear friend, a light snuffed out too soon.
* * * * *
It was snowing. That wasn’t a surprise. It always snowed on days like this, days when the heart grew fonder, and memory kept getting further and further away. Yet it was that memory in which the strength to walk on came from, the strength which allowed them to save the world. At the far edge of fate, was their voice just one of many that called forth, that rallied them to never give up, to forge ahead. Yes, indeed, they carried the weight of innumerable worlds on their shoulders, memories and lives remembered, not forgotten. In their reminiscence, in their memory, did they reach their destination. Alone, silent and unflinching, did he lay. Silently watching over his beloved home, his vigil would never end. A stalwart shield, a close ally, but most of all, a treasured friend.
A lone hand reached out and brushed off the accumulated snow and ice that rested atop his place of resting. The cold did not seem to bother them, as the stone was cleaned of the white powder. Alongside it, a shield too was cleared of snow. The hand gently rested on the cool metal, above the red unicorn head, a small nostalgic smile passed on the face of its owner. The broken shield survived as a memento, an eternal reminder for what they have lost.
“A smile better suits a hero...”
Sighing softly, the Warrior of Light sank down and sat against the tombstone, a thermos set to their side, the heat from the metal slowly melting the fallen snow. Opening the thermos, they poured the steaming liquid into the lid and let the scent of chocolate fill the bubble that was their current resting place. Bringing forth the drink to their lips, they took a sip, and let it warm their insides against the bitter cold.
“It was a night much like this, was it not?” they said, speaking to no one. “When we had arrived, betrayed and afraid, I remember it well.” Taking another sip and falling silent once more, the Warrior let their hands the cup rest in their lap. “It has been some time since I’ve recounted my adventures to you. So I shall start, my friend, with a land freed from blood red skies, of a world beyond the rift with heroes redeemed, and a tale of loss and fire and faith. Let me tell you a story…”