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Chapter Text

Rain battered the windows of the Seventh Heaven, down the main street of Revenant’s Toll.

Celebration of their victory over the Unsundered Ascians had been short-lived. The Crystal Exarch had come from a grim future to spare their present its fate. And yet, it seemed to be as the tales of changing the past to avert a catastrophe often unfold—unforeseen trouble rises up in its stead. Whisking the Warrior of Light away from the Ghimlyt Dark had stopped the escalation of war in its tracks long enough for the Garlean Empire to crumble under, seemingly, its own internal political turmoil. Thancred’s report from his latest field operation in Ilsabard wasn’t pretty. The capital city was said to lay in ruins, and the first to suffer were, as always, the commoners caught in the crossfire, the threat of the northern winter’s bitter cold looming.

“Collateral damage from the Ascians’ games of kingmaking and warmongering. That’s what all these people’s lives amount to,” Thancred spat, putting down his large pint of ale with a loud clang. Had they been sitting in the pub’s main, public room, other patrons would have found that unseemly.

The Warrior of Light silently stared into his own pint. There was little blaming his comrade for his personal feelings on Ascians, having once had his body possessed by Lahabrea and been helpless to stop his own body from being controlled as if it had been the Unsundered’s puppet. Their callous use of people as expendable means to an end could never be excused, of course—no matter how noble one could find their intentions. That was, however, precisely what was troubling with their most recent Ascian encounter. Fandaniel was a different beast. This was no collateral damage. Slaughter was the point.

“The radio silence from the imperial capital is troubling, to say the least.” Alphinaud had been visibly too nervous to drink the iced green tea he had ordered. “Relations between the Alliance and the Empire have degraded since the events at Ghimlyt, yes. But for there to be no answer at all to our recent calls… with the rumours of the emperor’s assassination… This has me fearing the worst. And not just for the average Garlean civilian.” The boy stirred the ice and mint leaves in his glass.

“And those towers. How in the seven hells did those things pop up overnight all over the world?” Thancred grumbled, resting his head on a clenched fist, strands of platinum blond hair obscuring his eyes. He had chosen to wear the gunbreaker body armour and coat he had got into the habit of wearing during their adventures on the First shard, though he had left the actual gunblade downstairs, in their headquarters. A bit too unwieldy for potential fighting in such close quarters, he had said. He had assured the younger Scion and Meteor, however, that he was not unarmed.

There was a knock on the door. “Enter,” they both called out—the older man more confidently.

Alys, the pub owner, a Mhigan woman with a mop of blond hair, stood in the doorway of the small, dimly lit room. “Heads up, guys, your two guests are here.”

Alphinaud sat up, flattening some wrinkles on his smart dress. “Please, let them in.”

With a nod, she headed downstairs, while the three waited in silence to the sound of raindrops on the lone window and the distant brouhaha coming from the door left open. It had been Alphinaud’s choice to be flanked both by Thancred and Meteor, the Warrior of Light in equal parts admired and feared. A little numerical superiority wouldn’t hurt, and the teenaged Elezen, slim and short for his race still, hardly made an imposing figure by himself.

Soon, they heard footsteps making their way up the wooden stairs. Alys gestured them in. They both wore plain hooded cloaks, made heavier by the downpour outside. The first of the two Hyur men, heavyset, with long wavy locks of dark green hair flowing down his hood and a somewhat sparse chin beard, growing like tall grass on his copper skin, sat himself down across them. The shorter one, fair of skin and stubble, muttered his thanks to Alys before closing the door behind him. He remained standing by the door, arms crossed.

“Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” the large man spoke with a slow, deep voice, “we thank you for agreeing to speak with us here.”

“You are most welcome, sers,” Alphinaud replied, a little more stiffly than he should have. The two had contacted them via Alys, but had declined to tell her their identities. “We have been told there is information you wish to share with us regarding very recent events. Sensitive information, for you to request a private audience.”

The man nodded in response, joining two huge hands on the table, his fingers intertwined. The guy looks like he could reach over the table and snap Alphinaud’s neck one-handed, Meteor thought. “You have no doubt been made aware of the situation in Garlemald. Varis zos Galvus has been slain by his son, Prince Zenos. The capital has fallen into chaos. You must know this is not the result of mere political squabble over the imperial throne.”

“We have heard Nerva yae Galvus, the late emperor’s cousin, has claimed the throne for himself, opposing Zenos.” Alphinaud narrowed his eyes. “And that he has the support of one of the most influential great houses in the Empire, House Brutus. A name infamous throughout the formerly imperial province of Doma.”

“You are most astute, Ser Leveilleur.” The man gave a genial smile. “Am I correct in assuming your organisation has experience in dealing with the beings known as Ascians?”

“You are.”

“Is your friend gonna sit down?” Thancred interrupted, glaring at the other man leaning on the wall.

“I’m fine. Mind your own business,” came the gruff reply.

“Yeah? Well, I mind you standing by this room’s only door.”

“What are you afraid of, with him by your side?” The standing man nodded in the direction of the Warrior of Light who remained silent but was glaring back. Unlike his two companions, Meteor had kept his short sword sheathed at his hip and shield on his back—no matter how uncomfortable it made sitting.

“Thancred, please,” urged Alphinaud in hushed tones, before turning back to the man sitting across them. “Yes. We are aware of Ascian involvement in Garlean politics. To put it mildly.”

Their visitor gave that a quiet chuckle. “To put it mildly—indeed. I believe you have met the one who has thrown his lot in with Zenos, yes?”

“Fandaniel formally introduced himself to us at the royal palace of Ala Mhigo, claiming to be part of a group that call themselves the Telophoroi, and possessing the corpse of Asahi sas Brutus.” Alphinaud gestured to Meteor sitting to his right. “My friend here personally witnessed the murder of the latter at the hands of his adoptive sister Yotsuyu.”

The events at Castrum Fluminis had been a fairly private affair, and its only direct Garlean witness, Maxima, a member of the Empire’s political opposition advocating for a more peaceful international position. The man had very nearly been silenced by an assassination attempt, which the Scions had figured out to be a plot orchestrated by the Unsundered Ascian Elidibus, then under the guise of Crown Prince Zenos.

The large man nodded in approval of Alphinaud’s factual account. “Fandaniel has been lurking around Garlemald for a while. He has had a close encounter with the man who calls himself the shadow hunter. Perhaps you have met him as well, Ser Leveilleur?” he asked lightly.

“I sense you know the answer to your own question, ser,” Alphinaud replied curtly, “and much more besides. We need all the information we can get on Fandaniel and his schemes.”

“You do. Then allow me to get straight to the point of this audience.”

As he lowered his hood, his sharp features and almond-shaped golden eyes were illuminated by a bright red glyph, its intricate design reminiscent of a tree with sprawling branches, its roots planted into soil. Alphinaud could not stop Thancred from jumping to his feet and drawing the dagger he kept at his belt. For his part, Meteor tensed, his hand finding the pommel of his sword. The man by the door uncrossed his arms but made no further moves—his face, too, was covered by his own glyph, its symmetrical curves adorned with spikes and three sharp arrows pointing down.

“I am the Ascian Halmarut,” the large man stated with his deep voice, still seated, “and this is my associate, Pashtarot. Lay down your weapons. We are not here to fight.”

Thancred glared at the two Ascians for a moment before sitting back down at Alphinaud’s behest, plainly seething.

The young Elezen took a deep breath. “Very well, Halmarut. You must be aware, as Fandaniel himself guessed, that we are the ones who defeated the three Unsundered. Therefore, for you to accept this audience, in the presence of the Warrior of Light in person, is a token of your sincerity. I will hear you out.”

The burning glyph superimposed on his austere face faded away, revealing his unflinching gaze had been fixated on Meteor, rather than Thancred. “Indeed. I will be straightforward from the onset. Neither I nor Pashtarot want any part in Fandaniel’s madness,” he said calmly, shifting his attention back to Alphinaud—who could not help but breath a sigh of relief. “It is our wish to work with you against his schemes. On one condition.” Pashtarot made something of a strangled noise to that, prompting his colleague to turn to him. “We have been over this.”

“So we have. Go on,” the other Ascian replied, finally allowing his own glyph to dissipate. With an audible sigh, he crossed his arms again.

Halmarut turned back to the Scions. “Should we agree to this truce, we ask that you and your allies cease all sorts of shadow hunting for the next two hundred years,” he held up two fingers, as Thancred’s eyebrows shot up, “and we, in turn, will not involve ourselves in any of your politics, for the same length of time.”

“Who’s we?” Thancred snapped.

“An excellent question, Thancred Waters. But first, please, satiate my curiosity.” Halmarut smiled again, a smile the older Scion seemingly did not appreciate much. “How many of us Ascian parangons do you believe remain?”

For the first time, it was Meteor, the Warrior of Light, who spoke up. With good reason. The Hyur, clad in the silver armor of Ul’dah’s Sultansworn, leaned forward on his seat. His tousled brown hair and unshaven face made him look like a haggard veteran, yet his sharp blue eyes dispelled any doubt he had not been paying attention. “There were thirteen of you. We have defeated the three Unsundered, Emet-Selch, Elidibus and Lahabrea.” He shut his eyes for a second, silent, before continuing. “Nabriales died here. I killed Igeyorhm on Azys Lla, before Thordan VII used the power of the eye of Nidhogg—and Lahabrea—to make himself a Primal.”

“One disappeared in the Isle of Val incident, according to Krile’s report,” Alphinaud chimed in.

“Emmerololth,” Meteor pointed out, prompting Alphinaud to blink—either in surprise or confusion. He did not expect me to remember her name. “Lastly, the latest to go was Mitron, on the First, who failed to bring Loghrif back.” He chose not to elaborate further on the latter. “That leaves five of you.”

“You’ve been keeping count well. Do you keep a list with our heads on it?” Pashtarot sneered at him, his resentment plain to see.

He believes me to only pay attention to hunt them down to the last, Meteor thought, staring back into the hooded Ascian’s deep blue eyes. Distant words engraved in the memory of a scarlet crystal came back to him. Devoted friends, dearly beloved… May you one day join us in a flourishing world.

Halmarut spread his hands. “Very good. That is indeed correct.” He paused for effect. “As far as you know, of course.”

“Have others been defeated?” Alphinaud asked, a frown on his youthful face. “Unless you mean… But you could not have raised new Ascians without the Unsundered to do so.”

“You are, for the most part, correct. Do bear in mind you have only just defeated them.”

The other laughed. “Our good emissary was ever a very busy man.”

“The showmanship and theatrics of the other two always did offer a suitable distraction from the snake lying in the grass,” his colleague agreed with an affable smile, while Alphinaud could not suppress the dismay on his own face. “A new Emmerololth was raised to her Seat roughly around the time you killed Nabriales. So was a new Mitron, as preparations were being made to bounce back from the near-Flood of Light on the First and seize the opportunity to rejoin it.” As Thancred held his forehead in his hand, Halmarut turned to Meteor once more. “And so—how many does this leave us with?”

“Seven,” Thancred interjected. “You haven’t answered my question. Should we agree to your terms, who, exactly, can we expect to follow them? Who, out of the other five—four, excluding Fandaniel—has actually agreed to this?” He made a dismissive gesture towards the other Ascian leaning on the wall. “Or perhaps I could bring the count back to five, because your friend here didn’t exactly sound too pleased with your conditions.”

“Patience has never been mortals’ forte. I was getting to it.” More than ever, Halmarut seemed to speak slowly on purpose. “Now, you must understand that we Ascians, whether Sundered or Unsundered, are not, and have never been a monolith. Pashtarot and I, for example, have different reasons for opposing Fandaniel’s designs. As for our esteemed colleagues,” he leaned back in his chair to turn to Pashtarot, “can you confirm or deny Emmerololth’s whereabouts?”

The other Ascian let out a sigh, unfolding his arms to swing them by his sides in frustration. “It’s looking like she’s following Altima, unfortunately.”

“Ah, I suppose. Altima was assigned to be her tutor for her first century, was she not? Though…” He stroke the beard on his chin. “It appears a little… out of character, to me.”

“Does it?” A blond eyebrow disappeared beneath his hood. “I could imagine the reasoning…”

Halmarut cocked his head slightly in response. “’Do no harm.’“

His colleague chuckled. “Which is more harmful?”

The larger man pondered that for a moment before turning back to the three Scions, whose eyes had been darting from one Ascian to the other. “You may not count on Altima’s support. Nor should you be expecting Emmerololth’s.”

“Does this mean they refuse to fight Fandaniel?” Alphinaud asked cautiously.

Halmarut opened his mouth to answer, but Pashtarot cut him off. “It means they’re on his side.”

“But—I thought Fandaniel was the exception!” the young Scion exclaimed in a mixture of dismay and anger, as Thancred let out a sardonic laugh. Meteor merely frowned.

“Now, what did I just say about us Ascians?” Halmarut crossed his arms, impassible. “Fandaniel is the exception in that, I believe, he desires death. Death for all. It is his implacable truth. The inevitable end against which all struggle is inherently futile, his great cosmic equaliser. Such is not the case with Altima, though her stated motivation for allying with Fandaniel is equally simple.” His piercing golden gaze was fixated on Alphinaud whom, to the boy’s credit, held it admirably. “She hates you.”

“I don’t believe we’ve ever met,” Thancred quipped.

“You’d make it worse, champ,” Pashtarot fired back.

“An Ascian woman who hates my guts? Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

It was Pashtarot’s turn to snigger, as Alphinaud made a weak attempt to hide his cringing behind his hand. Halmarut looked unimpressed. “You will find there are several women among our ranks, Waters.”

“Is Mitron a woman this time?” the other Ascian asked lightly.

“Mitron is a woman this time,” his colleague answered in a low voice, before taking on his usual solemn tone again. “Does it surprise you, mortals, that some of us might not take kindly to your most recent deeds? We have fought for millennia to restore the truth of this world. The beauty of its nature. Mankind’s freedom from the shackles of scarcity. From the frailty of mortal life. The futility of war. Disease. Famine. With your deeds, you have taken our dream away from us. Do not be surprised, then, to find out there is one among us who wishes to inflict the same upon you. Fandaniel craves death. Altima craves revenge. Do not mistake one for the other.”

Silence fell.

“I take it we’re not counting on her to uphold the truce you proposed earlier, then?” Thancred said lightly, before taking a swig of his ale.

“You may not count on Altima’s support,” Pashtarot repeated, mimicking his colleague’s somber tone of voice.

When Halmarut turned to him again, Meteor expected the larger man to reprimand his associate, but instead he went on as if the other hadn’t just mocked him. “What of Deudalaphon?”

“She is…” He threw the Scions a pointed glance. “…content with her situation, and has manifested the wish to observe as a neutral party.”

“The record keeper might soon find herself out of anything to record.”

“I know. I told her.”

“I do believe, however, this makes her perfectly suited to our terms,” Halmarut said to the Scions with a smile and an open hand. “As for Mitron, I have not had the chance to speak with her yet.”

“So that makes three of you agreeing to this truce, out of seven,” Alphinaud said with a sigh. “That is better than nothing.”

“You have our word,” he assured the young Scion. Thancred’s scowl made it clear what he thought of Ascian word.

“Allow me to ask, though—why help us against your own?” Alphinaud was gripping his glass of iced tea, still full, with both hands. “You’ve made quite the case for Altima, and another one of you wants to stay neutral. What makes you two actively oppose Fandaniel?”

“He has made his intent clear to you, has he not? I have come to know Fandaniel. I believe ’leaving this broken star a speck of dust floating in space’ is the phrasing he tends to use.” He turned his head to the window, the diffuse blue glow of the large aetheryte of the plaza below reflected in the rainwater flowing down the glass. “Broken though it may be, I cannot reconcile our duty as members of the Convocation of Fourteen to safeguard the star with Fandaniel’s designs. The Unsundered told us of how dimmed its radiance has been since Hydaelyn sundered existence. And yet, as you have said, Ser Leveilleur… it is better than nothing.” Halmarut sighed, the softness of his quiet voice contrasting with how brutish his stature made him look. “I love this world. I want nothing more than to see its beautiful nature flourish. Would it fare better under ancient mankind’s stewardship? Doubtlessly so. With this goal now out of reach, does it mean we should be reducing it to dust? I do not believe so.”

“As for me,” Pashtarot spoke up, fiddling at the cuffs of his coat, “the beauty of nature largely leaves me cold, but I do care about our duty. Just because the Unsundered are gone doesn’t mean I am leaving their ideals behind. I am going to fix this world, not destroy it.” His stare was ice cold, as everyone in the room understood why he manifested displeasure at the idea of a truce. He intended to continue with their goal of rejoining the star, no matter how desperate his situation. “Fandaniel’s plan to take control of Zodiark to achieve his goals goes against everything the people of eld stood for.”

“So that is his plan? Using Zodiark for destruction?” Alphinaud blinked, his large deep blue eyes sincere. “We had suspected as much, but Zodiark is sealed within the moon, isn’t he?”

“He is. Make no mistake, however, breaking him out should be child’s play for a scientist of Fandaniel’s caliber.” Halmarut turned to Pashtarot, who had started pacing back and forth in front of the door—Thancred visibly tensed. “Have you checked the locations of all his ’towers of apocalypse’?”

“Not yet. But I doubt he just planted them at random…”

“If he manages to get Zodiark out, will you stand with us? Against your god?” Thancred asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If? When he gets Zodiark out.” Pashtarot laughed. “And do you take us for your mindless tempered? Our souls might be technically tempered by Zodiark, but it’s more along the lines of elemental affinity than the brainwashing you know of—else Fandaniel himself wouldn’t be able to exploit Zodiark for his own ends against the Primal’s very purpose, obviously,” he explained, rolling his eyes.

His colleague nodded. “Indeed, though do bear in mind the man who had been in control of Zodiark up until now never made an attempt to turn it against us. However, I expect Fandaniel to be less proficient with Zodiark’s power than his Heart was.”

“Zodiark’s incomplete.”

“So are we.”

The shorter man shrugged. “Even so, Zodiark wasn’t made with the later modifications Lahabrea added to the Primal Recipe For Sundered Delights. But feel free to slap me out of it should you ever find me worshipping Fandaniel.”

“Noted,” Thancred said lightly.

“Speaking of elemental affinity, by the way…” Halmarut mused, stroking his wispy chin beard. “We need to get a hold of Mitron.”

“The Source shard is still on the First where she died, right? Not sure we would want any less for this…”

The older Scion bristled at the mention. “You’re not touching the First again,” he warned, his voice dripping with menace. More than any of them, their adventures on the First had made a lasting impact on Thancred, resolving himself to leave Ryne there, the young girl he had taken in and protected as a little sister.

“Relax, tiger, this isn’t about the First itself,” Pashtarot sneered. “It’s about our best chance to take Zodiark back from Fandaniel. Loghrif.”

That made the Warrior of Light sit up. Gaia. “What about her?”

“Loghrif, the Oracle of Darkness,” Halmarut explained slowly, steepling his fingers, “might be the highest on the Zodiark chain of command out of all of us, owing to her soul’s particular affinity for the element of darkness. Our new Mitron was given the short-term task to look for a Loghrif suited for ascension, leaving out the First—because it was to be rejoined very soon. That,” a corner of his mouth twitched, “has been put on hold for the time being.”

“You’ve really outdone yourselves, derailing a rejoining and letting Fandaniel off his leash in one deft move. Bravo,” the other Ascian quipped sarcastically.

“We know exactly how disastrous the eighth calamity would have been. Were we supposed to roll over nicely?” Thancred called out.

“It’s all you’re good for,” instantly came the pithy reply.

Meteor ignored them both. “I happen to know the girl with Loghrif’s soul on the First. We saved her from Mitron—the Mitron of the First—trying to force her into becoming an Ascian.” He crossed his arms. “Let’s just say I am unsure of how kindly she would take your proposal.” Yet would she be completely opposed to it? He recalled how much she had empathised with Mitron after the fight to separate the two, readily admitting she would have gone with him, had it not been for Ryne and himself. Can we ever truly escape the nature of our souls?

“Would you say, however, that she might accept speaking with one of us? Perhaps if you act as intermediary, Warrior of Light?” Halmarut proposed. “It is our understanding you are somehow able to cross the rift.”

“She might… but let’s not involve Mitron for the time being,” Meteor answered, to which Pashtarot, who had paced to the window to look out at the plaza below, tilted his head. “To make this clear—he attempted to force his soul upon the teenaged reincarnation of Loghrif, and I kicked his ass for it. I would do it again if need be.”

Pashtarot pressed his lips together, but Halmarut merely nodded. “Understood. Might it be more appropriate for me to come to the First with you instead?” he asked calmly. “In the meantime, Pashtarot will help map out and make sense of the Telophoroi’s towers.”

“That sounds like the best option.” Meteor agreed, throwing a glance to the Ascian by the window, who gave a smarmy smile back.

Alphinaud had finally taken a tiny sip from his tea. “I believe the Grand Companies of Eorzea plan to send scouts to the closest towers. We would appreciate any input you might have, especially from an Ascian’s point of view,” he told Pashtarot in a conciliatory tone.

“Please don’t tell me I’ll have to rescue their expendables from their inevitable fate,” said the latter with a wince to his colleague. “It’s not like we’ve officially declared war on Fandaniel yet.”

“We have not, but if you have spoken to Altima, I have no doubt she will have told him our position. Do as you like, but…” Halmarut gave a heavy sigh, “we cannot put off this brooding civil war forever. Believe me. I wish it wouldn’t come to this.”

Pashtarot lowered his head, his combative tone all but gone. “I don’t want to have to fight Emmerololth or Altima. What if we don’t get this Loghrif’s support, nor find another in time? What would Mitron do?” He swore under his breath. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not kill Fandaniel either, given the choice.”

“My former professional partner will not give you this luxury, Pashtarot,” the larger man said gently. “We do as we must.”

“We do as we must,” he repeated, defeated.

Meteor watched the Ascian nervously readjusting his hood over his face. He recalled Emet-Selch’s sad smile as, in his final moments, he entrusted him with the memory of his people, knowing he had been defeated by the man who had inherited the soul he held dearest. Elidibus’s tears as he held the memory crystals of the people he had loved and failed to save.

“Halmarut,” he called. The man he once called his colleague, eons ago, looked up at him. In that moment, his usually stern face, with his aquiline nose and high cheekbones, was nothing but weary melancholy. “Meet me by the large aetheryte at the foot of the First’s Crystal Tower. We’re going to talk to Gaia.”

Chapter Text

Her plans to live out her best life with her best friend, celebrating local festivities, eating biscuits and shopping for clothes every day without worry nor care for who she might have been once, had just been mercilessly thwarted.

On second thought, perhaps this had never been a realistic life plan to begin with.

But it had been fun while it lasted. Besides, she still had her best friend by her side, and for that she was grateful. Indeed, what had initially been a pleasant surprise, Meteor showing up unannounced to Crystarium, quickly took a turn for the foreboding.

She knew the man that was accompanying him.

As it had turned out in recent events, ’Do we know each other from a previous life?’ was not merely a bad pick-up line to Gaia now, but a genuine concern. It wasn’t just the obvious darkness she could sense radiating from him. She recognised him. Though he was not a Galdjent, he dwarfed Meteor in size. His stature, brown skin and long, dark green hair made him look unmistakably like a tree—a thought that had made her smile for reasons she could not put her finger on.

Ryne had been understandably apprehensive. After all, the last time an Ascian had popped up in Gaia’s life, it had been to possess her, wipe her memories of her mortal life and murder her friends right there and then. Meteor’s presence had done the heavy lifting in easing her tension. For her part, Gaia knew she should have been wary of the man, and yet he had seemed so uncannily familiar to her that she could not help but behave naturally around him. The encounter had rekindled her interest in journeying with Ryne under the sea to see the remnants of Emet-Selch’s illusory city, before the magicks eventually faded away. But Gaia was unsure she was ready to take those sights in and process the deep-seated memories they would inevitably unearth.

At the present, however, she was busy not feeling ready for another, tangentially-related matter—that of being the chosen one to save the world.

“You still have time to think about it,” Ryne tried to reassure her, cupping her warm cocoa mug in her hands.

“You’re kidding, right? They both left in a hurry because they’ve got some urgent matters to attend to. Of the world saving sort.” Gaia dramatically sprawled on her side of the table, her long black hair occupying quite a bit of space, gripping her own coffee as if it were hard liquor.

Ryne closed her eyes. “Yeah… I wish Meteor had stuck around for a bit. I want him to tell me more about their world and what it’s like. How he, and Thancred, and Urianger, live day to day.”

Gaia watched her friend smile at the thought. She had been thinking roughly the same, but with Halmarut, in spite of herself. She felt a little uneasy sharing this with Ryne, though. While her friend was empathetic enough and incredibly sweet—perhaps a little too much—there was little mistaking the Ascians for the good guys. Norvrandt was just recovering from teetering on the brink of annihilation thanks to their dark schemes, and now, another Ascian was threatening to end all life on the Source—though to their credit, it seemed not all of them agreed. Part of her wanted to pretend she definitely didn’t know any of the bastards, and that they certainly were not her friends, colleagues or even soulmate in a previous life, nope! And yet another part of her yearned to learn more about these people.

My people.

No—she was Gaia now. Not Loghrif.

“But yeah, you’re right,” Ryne continued while sipping her cocoa, snapping her out of her thoughts, “it’s a shame they couldn’t stay for our meet-up. That could have been interesting. Meteor told me Cyella shared her story with him, after he… after he had put her friends to rest.” She lowered her large, kind blue eyes, as if briefly paying her respects.

Maybe he just wanted out of any potential awkward situation, Gaia thought. Cyella, the barmaid, had told them she would come over for a chat once her shift was over. Ryne had been playing coy over the reason why.

“Oh—here she is!” Her friend waved to someone behind her. “Ah, she’s brought her friend like she said she might—wow, he looks so young!”

That made Gaia rise slightly and turn away from her coffee. The graceful Elf was striding towards their table with two drinks in hands, still in her work clothes, though she had hung up her apron. She was followed by a boy who did not look a day over twelve years old, his shoulder-length hair nearly as white as hers. Gaia blinked. She had never sensed it on Cyella before, the times she had come to the Wandering Stairs for a snack, but seeing her alongside this boy made Gaia notice.

They both had the same something to them.

“Hey girls,” Cyella said with her easygoing manner, putting down a lager and a lemonade in front of two empty seats before looking at Gaia’s half-sprawled posture with slight concern. “Rough day?”

“Well… we had a bit of an unexpected visit,” Ryne replied, wearing a pained expression, while Gaia gave a groan. “In fact, you might make it better! Or a lot worse.” She put up her hand in front of her mouth when she saw her friend throw her a pleading glance from across the table. “Okay, no, definitely better!”

Cyella sat herself down to Gaia’s left. “Uh oh. Past catching up to you, Gaia?”

She picked herself up to answer, while Cyella gestured to the boy to take a seat as well, across her to Gaia’s right. “Uh, yeah. Turns out my parents in Eulmore want to see me and have a talk.”

Cyella exchanged a quick glance with Ryne. Well, can’t say I didn’t try to sound natural, Gaia thought.

“Ryne and Meteor told me about you, and what you’ve been through recently. Do you know who I am?” she asked gently.

“The barmaid?…” Gaia mumbled, frowning. She stared into her clear, icy white-grey eyes, and it hit her. A great, fearsome beast covered in jet black fur, with so many eyes—Wait. “You’re—No—I know you.” Knew. Long ago. “But—how?”

Cyella let out a genuine laugh. “If you mean how I’m still here a century after Loghrif and Mitron knew me, the answer is—“ her voice took on a jokingly ominous tone as she wiggled her fingers to mimic spellcasting, “—dark magic. Speaking of,” she turned to her young companion, who looked like her transition made him wince in embarrassment, “I don’t think either of you has met Unukalhai?”

”I have not been around here for long.” He sounded as shy as he looked. “It is nice to meet you both, Ryne and Gaia.”

She could not help but stare, again. He didn’t seem as familiar to her as Halmarut had, nor did he evoke a precise memory like Cyella did. If she had ever seen him before, she certainly didn’t remember his face. And yet…?

“You’ve just arrived in the city? We could show you around!” Ryne said enthusiastically, her fists clenched at her chest in excitement. The boy lowered his eyes and smiled, mumbling his thanks.

Cyella grew serious, addressing Ryne. “Sorry, but what was that about an unexpected visit earlier?”

Now that she had disclosed knowing about Loghrif and Mitron, Gaia decided to be blunt about it. “Meteor came with an Ascian to speak with me… Halamurt?”

“Halmarut,” Ryne corrected her at the same time as the boy did, which made her rise her eyebrows at him.

Gaia doubled over in an overly dramatic fashion. “Is today some kind of Ascian meet-up nobody told me about?!”

Ryne reached to pat her friend on the back. “I swear I did not know Cyella’s friend before now.”

Cyella took a sip of her pint, glancing at Unukalhai. “Halmarut, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever really met the guy.”

“Most likely not. He never had much to do with the First or our Shard, and lately he’s been on the Source,” he replied, in a conversational tone that made it sound like dark wizards controlling history and their assignment to the various parallel dimensions that made up reality were normal things for this shy pre-teen boy to talk about.

Cyella pondered that for a second. “We probably owe Gaia an explanation or two.” She sighed and put a kind hand on the brunette’s bare shoulder. “I had noticed a dark aura around Crystarium for the past… what, month or so? A few weeks ago, Meteor came back here, with an old… very old acquaintance in tow.” She gave a nod in Unukalhai’s direction, who looked down at his lemonade. “Meteor told me everything there was to know about what had transpired in the Empty over the past months. I was curious to meet you, you know,” she told Gaia softly. "From up close, you’re unmistakably Loghrif’s reincarnation. You even look like her.”

The boy smiled at her. “Even if Cylva had not told me, I think I would have recognised you eventually.”

Ryne looked quite perplexed, but she let Cyella continue. “Unukalhai and I both come from the same world, one of the worlds parallel to this one. Unlike the flood of light that threatened this world, ours was swallowed up by a flood of darkness… ten thousand years ago.”

Both girls gasped in surprise at the same time. “You both still look pretty fresh,” Gaia joked, before going back to being astonished. “That’s a long time.”

She gave a weary sigh. “It is. But don’t worry, we didn’t live through all ten thousand years. Our souls were put in stasis for quite a bit of it.” She stopped to turn to Unukalhai, with a look of mild concern on her face. “Right?”

“Indeed. Both of us.”

She breathed a sigh of relief this time and continued. “At death’s door, when our world ended, both our souls were rescued by the Ascians from turning into the dark-aspected equivalent of Sin Eaters.”

“Nice of them,” Gaia said flatly. Didn’t give Mitron the same treatment though. The surplus of light of their world could transform living beings into malformed monsters, zombies with angelic traits, the Sin Eaters. It was when that light hit a being as powerful as an Ascian paragon that the first, and largest of all, was born, from Mitron’s mutated body.

“Oh. Very. Though I doubt that was out of the kindness of his heart.” Cyella’s chuckle had this ironic streak to it, while Unukalhai looked away. “You see, when you get to watch helplessly your world crumble away, you end up rather desperate for redemption. One of the Ascians was keen to use that to their advantage.”

“Elidibus?” Ryne asked with a frown.

For her part, Gaia wasn’t sure who exactly that was supposed to be, though, again, the name seemed familiar. She sighed. Am I doomed to feel this way for so many things, now that I have Mitron’s memories of however many thousands of years? So many reminiscences hiding behind a veil, like words I constantly have on the tip of my tongue without knowing them precisely…

Cyella nodded, pursing her lips. “He’s the one who rescued then blessed us with immortality… or cursed, however you want to see it. That’s why I haven’t aged from the memories you have of me a hundred years ago, Gaia. I feel a hundred years old, though, if you ask me,” she groaned, straightening her back and turning to Unukalhai. “How come you get to hang around as a bodiless soul, but I was stuck into a body that, while immortal, has the capacity to get out of shape?”

“You don’t have a body?” Ryne gasped at Unukalhai next to her. “Isn’t that dangerous? That was how the Scions were, and towards the end of their stay on this world, their form got… unstable. I was so scared for Thancred.”

He gave a smile that seemed apologetic. “Well, I can only guess their souls weren’t given corporeal form by the avatar of eternal darkness in person. As for you, Cylva, Loghrif and Mitron gave you a body on the First because you were supposed to be out and about and fight. Attaching your soul to a physical body ensured better stability. Besides…” he lowered his eyes, speech giving way to mumbling, “yours is an adult soul, and requires more energy.”

Gaia could not help but find this talk of souls and bodies interesting, in spite of herself. “You mean there are adult and child souls?”

“Ever met pixies? They mostly live up north, in what used to be the kingdom of Voeburt,” Cyella reminisced, taking a swig of lager. “It’s said that they are the reincarnations of children who died.”

Gaia had not, but Ryne told her of the place and how beautiful it was—and how dangerous the pixies could be. It had made her want to go and see its sights for herself, but so far her friend had been a little reticent to go on adventures in the wilderness without the company of the Scions. Perhaps if I knew how to use my Ascian powers to fight off threats, we could go and wander the world to watch it grow back, just the two of us.

“Souls mature alongside the body. That is why Ascians prefer to bless adults with their powers.” Unukalhai looked like a child, yet he sounded wiser than most adults Gaia knew.

“So, are you two Ascians?” Gaia asked, tilting her head.

“Are we? I don’t think we are.” Cyella crossed her arms. “I’d say you are, though. You have this unmistakable aura of darkness… and you’re the reincarnation of Loghrif, besides.”

“But I feel something on you two,” she insisted, hoping not to sound too silly or ignorant in front of these two people who seemed much better versed in Ascian things than she, the actual Ascian, was. “Sorry. I don’t know how to say it. But you have the same… thing.”

“Would you say you sense the same thing emanating from the Crystal Tower, if you focus your attention on it?” Unukalhai asked mildly.

Gaia thought that question strange, but she gave it a try anyway. The city of Crystarium had been built around the massive edifice, a hundred years ago, after the Flood of Light had made the better part of the planet a blinding white wasteland, perpetually bathed in dull, yet overbearing light. It was only recently that its inhabitants got to see its radiant blue glow softly illuminate the darkness of natural nighttime restored by Meteor—the Warrior of Darkness, as he was known in this world. It could be seen in full from their table at the Wandering Stairs, through the clear roof of Musica Universalis, its jagged silhouette cutting the sunset in two. If I focus my attention on it…? She made an attempt to look focused—narrowing her eyes, screwing up her face. She slowly scanned it, from its tip high in the sky to its foundations. She wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to be looking for.

“You think she could sense his magic on us?” Cyella asked her young friend idly.

“If anyone could, it would be her, the Oracle of Darkness,” he replied, his large, lilac eyes fixated on Gaia.

“Ah, that’s right. She was very perceptive."

For her part, Gaia was trying to ignore their discussion and keep her attention on the Crystal Tower—a remarkable feat, considering how difficult it was to maintain her attention anywhere. She resolved herself to methodically go over every little detail she could see, from left to right, top to bottom. Its spires were beautiful, their crystalline facets reflecting the warm hues of the evening sky.
Then she finally saw it, there, in the lower levels of the tower. Like a singularity, denser and darker than anything else around it. The same darkness that was lingering on Cyella and Unukalhai.

The realisation must have been plain to see on her face, because she heard Unukalhai comment, “Oh, so you do see him inside.”

“Good. Leave him in there,” Cyella said bluntly.

“That’s the other Ascian Meteor killed recently, right? The one that made the star shower and the light spectres,” Gaia asked Ryne, who had known the Scions and their adventures for longer than she did. Both her friend and the barmaid nodded in response, though she could not help but notice Unukalhai remained still.

Cyella sighed. “A hundred years ago, I worked with Loghrif and Mitron to tip the elemental balance of this Shard close enough to a flood of light. What ended up happening was not their intention. Their intention would have ultimately resulted in the end of this world anyway—but they had convinced me it would help balance out our own darkness-flooded world.” She held her head in her hand. “I only wanted the best for my world. But I couldn’t do it. In the end, I loved them too much. Ardbert, Lamitt, Branden, Renda-Rae, Nyelbert. I couldn’t hurt them, and that ultimately led to the flood. And when Elidibus nearly succeeded in bringing this Shard back to the edge, I wished from the bottom of my heart he would fail. He did, and my world is still a demon-infested hellhole.” She bursted out laughing. “Thank the heavens.”

“You’ve come to love this place and its people,” Ryne commented.

“I have.” She looked up at Gaia. “But you know… I never disliked Loghrif and Mitron. I’m a bit reluctant to admit it, but we had our share of laughs together. They were quite the couple, constantly one-upping each other with crazy extravagant plans. I daresay it was fun being the villains at times, and gods know I do feel terrible saying that. Never become buddies with world-ending dark wizards if you can help it,” she said, taking another gulp from her pint. Unukalhai stayed silent. “Now that Mitron has been freed from Eden, I wonder when we’ll meet again. Maybe we’ll all be reunited in your next life,” she laughed, aware that she was speaking of Gaia dying, though that came with the territory of being blessed, or cursed, with immortality.

They both have an Ascian’s magic on them, so… “Do you think either of you could help me with my own powers?” Gaia spoke up. “I… I need to go to the Source world, but I don’t know how.”

“Anything to do with Halmarut earlier?” Cyella asked with a raised eyebrow.

Gaia nodded, letting Ryne explain. “Yeah. He came with Meteor to tell Gaia that another Ascian on the Source, Fandaniel, wanted to use Zodiark to destroy the world.” At the mention of Fandaniel’s name, Unukalhai let out a sigh, but remained quiet. “And because Gaia’s the Oracle of Darkness, she would have more control over Zodiark than any other Ascian.”

“Well, shit,” Cyella grunted from her half-empty pint.

“There’s something I don’t get, though. If he destroys the Source, are we going to feel it here?” Gaia wondered, fiddling with her hair. She didn’t care how nervous that made her look. If there was anything she was entitled to, today, it was anxiety.

“Yes. All of the Shards are linked to the Source—through their Lifestreams, as far as we know. Eventually, whatever Fandaniel does to the Source will start bleeding through the dimensional rift,” Unukalhai explained without truly explaining. “But as to your other question, Gaia… I don’t think Cylva and I could help you much. Ascian paragons need two things, their memories of their original selves—which serve to unlock part of their powers—and an influx of dark aether.”

“But I have memories. Well, they’re Mitron’s, but…”

“Yes, but I think it is the second half you lack.” As she watched the boy speak, Gaia kept found it eerie to see this child be so knowledgeable in these matters. “As far as I know, only the Unsundered Ascians could supply enough dark aether to awaken a sundered member of the Convocation to their full potential.”

“And those guys are dead.”

“They are,” Cyella said. Unukalhai shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “They are,” the woman repeated with an uncharacteristic chill in her voice, glaring at her companion.

He looked like he was internally debating whether to answer or not. “She saw him. He’s still in there,” he finally said quietly.

“You are not freeing Elidibus from his prison.” To passing observers, Cyella looked like a mother scolding her son. “You arrived on this Shard after his defeat, so you may not realise what he did, but he would have brought it back to its apocalyptic state had Meteor not sealed him away. He made his pawns of Light attack innocents just so Warriors of Light would rise up to heroically save them, in a world that most definitely did not need any more light. I watched so many people I have come to know nearly die because of his schemes.”

“But he is the last human—“ he stammered before stopping himself.

“—the last who can get their genocidal crusade right back on track,” Cyella finished.

“The alternative is Fandaniel killing everyone.”

“No, the alternative is Gaia working with Halmarut to take Zodiark back from Fandaniel.”

He did not back down. “And who knows Zodiark better than—“

"Look, Unukalhai,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don't know what sort of relationship you think you had with him, but he used you—like he used everyone else. That’s what he did.”

Her friend seemed animated enough to accompany his words with a gesture of the hand—a first. “I worked with him to preserve the balance—"

"You mean to tip the Source towards Light because he preyed on your fear of a new flood of darkness—because he was already planning to use this ailing Shard for a light-aspected rejoining." She softened upon seeing the boy's defeated look. "I'm sorry, Unukalhai."

"I… Don't get me wrong. I am relieved the Scions stopped him. Sorry," he mumbled, staring into his lemonade. "I didn't mean to offend.”

Ryne rushed to comfort him. “It’s okay,” she said, putting her hand on his. “Sometimes, those feelings can be complicated. But that was in the past.” She puffed herself up and tried her best to sound like a big sister. Ryne, please, nobody is buying it, Gaia thought with a half smile. “We’re handling this. You don’t need to worry about it anymore, Unukalhai. You’re here now.”

“So he is. Brought from the Source by someone who can cross the Rift.” Cyella snapped her fingers like an idea just hit her. “Gaia. You need to talk with Beq Lugg.”

“Huh?” She had been staring at Unukalhai all along in spite of herself. He looks so sad. “Beq Lugg, is that the… dog thing?” she asked, looking apologetic for most likely insulting whatever Beq Lugg was.

“Nu Mou! They’re fae folk,” Ryne chided her kindly. That did not reassure Gaia. She had heard, probably from Ryne herself, that the fae of Il Mheg played cruel tricks on travellers to amuse themselves. She didn’t particularly want to find herself transformed into a shrub.

Seeing her worry, Cyella added, “Beq Lugg’s nice, don’t worry! Most likely, if you ask a favour of him, you’ll have to run an errand for him first.” Gaia blinked in slight confusion. “Fae morality,” the woman shrugged, while Ryne chuckled.

At that point, Ryne and Cyella started talking about Il Mheg, the kingdom it used to be 100 years ago when Cyella journeyed with her friends, and the peculiar people who now inhabited its lands, deserted of human presence. Gaia could not pay attention anymore. She felt an empty pit inside herself, looking at Unukalhai silently sip his lemonade as the girls spoke of a great castle with a very northern name and its royalty, past and present. Is he feeling like I am, self-censoring and holding back? Cyella mentioned Loghrif in passing at some point in her tales, and Gaia’s gaze caught the boy glancing up at her. She sat quietly next to him, hoping this discussion of Ascian relationships wouldn’t end here, somehow. Gods, but I hope he makes the first step. I don’t want to have to say his name out loud. She hid her face in her coffee mug at the thought.

She heard Cyella speak of how she used to go by the name Cylva—which was how Unukalhai addressed her, she noted—and that did nothing but plunge Gaia deeper into reflection. What if the fae guy managed to send her to the Source tomorrow, how helpless would she feel next to the other, grown-up Ascians? What are they even expecting of me? Halmarut had come seeking Loghrif, and it was Loghrif, Oracle of Darkness, the world needed. Loghrif was the side of her identity she had tried not to think too often of, but today’s events made it clear she couldn’t hide from it anymore. What if my Loghrif side completely took over again? She wasn’t sure she understood whether there was a new Mitron or not—she had barely processed meeting Halmarut earlier. Would Mitron leave her be this time? I want to remain myself… I want to remain Gaia.

“Well,” Cyella finally said, getting up with her empty pint in hand, “I should be going now. Girls, it’s been a pleasure.”

Ryne gave her a teasing smile. “Somebody waiting for you?”

“Yeah. My bed sheets. Being a ten thousand year old immortal is exhausting. Never accept dodgy offers from men in white hooded cloaks.” She bent down to put her hand on Unukalhai’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you earlier, Unu. It’s been a little rough lately,” she said gently before turning to Gaia. “I’ll slip in a word to Beq Lugg for you. If you don’t mind, of course.”

When she nodded in response, Cyella waved them goodbye and went to bring her pint back to Glynard by the counter, who gave her his warm salutations.

It was Gaia who spoke up first. “You okay there?”

“Thank you,” Unukalhai said with a bashful smile, pointedly not answering yes or no. “Ryne, if you do not mind, I will take you up on your offer to give me a guided tour of Crystarium," he said quietly.

Gaia slapped her hand down on the table. “Yeah—wanna visit the Crystal Tower first?”

She had blurted out the words before she could think. Both Ryne and Unukalhai stared back speechlessly, blinking. Her friend let out an offended “Gaia!” but the boy, who had been so reserved, started laughing.

“I hear its main attraction is communing with an ancient evil to hear its advice on the upcoming end of the world. It sounds like a lot of fun,” Gaia continued, causing Ryne to reach out to slap her on the wrist—but she was laughing too.

“I am not quite certain I would call him a lot of fun, but you eventually get to know him,” Unukalhai chuckled with a fond smile, before sighing. “You heard Cylva, though. For my part, however, considering the urgency of the circumstances, I believe speaking with Elidibus would be the best course of action… and then we will make a decision,” he mused evasively, leaving the obvious eventuality of freeing the unsundered Ascian from his crystalline prison unsaid.

Ryne crossed her arms, giving them her best scowl. It didn’t amount up to much. “I am very much not condoning whatever plan you two are hatching!”

Gaia made a show of plunging over the table to block her friend from Unukalhai’s sight, confidently putting her own hand on his. “Ignore her. She’s gonna be wagging her finger and dragging her feet all the way, but she’s gonna help.”

His smile became tinged with sadness. “No, but I do understand you, Ryne. I have myself lived with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn for months.” She gasped at that. “When they came back from their victory over the unsundered Ascians on the First, they held something of a celebration. Of course, I was there, so I was naturally invited to share the food and drinks. But I could not.” He looked away, head lowered. “I… He didn’t just save my soul from the flood of darkness, you know. He took me in… taught me the true nature of the world, taught me to further my mastery of magic.” He sighed, shutting his eyes and pressing the palm of his free hand to his forehead. “Cylva is right, I know. I didn’t understand that his sending me to help the Scions with Primals served to prime the Source for a light-aspected ardor. He did use me. But it… it isn’t the whole story.” He opened his eyes again, and there was so much pain in them. “While the Scions were celebrating… I thought it appropriate to put back on my mask and white robes. One of the Scions—you don’t know her, she stayed on the Source—noticed I was… not well. I have come to think of her as a good friend. She stayed with me to talk.” Unukalhai looked up at Gaia. “Like you now. Thank you.”

Through the glass roof, the skies were taking on the softer, darker hues of twilight. Most shops of Musica Universalis had closed by now, so the clamour of people being out and about was quieting down. One patron of the Wandering Stairs had sat himself down at the free-to-use piano, the crystalline notes echoing through the large hall.

Ryne was lost in thought. “I… suppose I could ask Lyna for access to the Oculus. Do we know what we’re doing there?…”

“Of course not!” Gaia spontaneously answered with a guffaw, prompting Ryne to facepalm and shake her head with a smile. “We’ll cook up something in there. Glad to see you not condoning this,” she told her friend with a playful tap of elbow in her ribs. “After all, saving the world needs both Darkness and Light hand in hand, doesn’t it?”

Unukalhai couldn’t help but beam at that.

Chapter Text

The cool night breeze caressed her cheeks. She breathed in slowly, the air carrying both warm smoke and the fresh, delicate smell of the budding vegetation all around them. Somewhere, a single cricket chirped timidly amid rustling leaves and their campfire’s quiet cracks. Gaia opened her eyes, flicking a lock of long, dark hair behind her ear. The large crystal they had planted shone more resplendently than ever, bathing them and the recovering nature around them in the rainbow hues of its radiating aether. Across the lake behind it, a giant, misshapen figure stood like a monument in the distance, brightly coloured vines and foliage growing over its immaculate, angelic traits, their own natural bioluminescence tapering off into the starry darkness.

Ryne turned away from Eden and the crystal to face her, her smile as warm as the fire crackling beside her. Her red hair fluttered in the breeze, its sheen reflecting the glow of the dancing flames.

“This is our garden of Eden, our garden of hope,” Gaia heard herself say, smiling back at Ryne.

“Yeah. The Eulmorean Guard will never find us here!”

As if on cue, a loud sound cut through the song of nature around them. An explosion. She heard Ryne let out a high-pitched gasp. Oh no, Gaia thought, not now, not here! How could they find us here—our secret place? She sprang to her feet and frantically looked around their camp for her hammer. Her mind raced as her eyes darted from the campfire, to her bag, to Ryne’s. No, no—where is my hammer?

Her friend waved her hand to extinguish the flames. “We didn’t bring our weapons!” she whispered, panic in her voice plain to hear. Gaia looked around and made a break for a bush nestled at the foot of a ledge. It looked like it would make for a terrible hiding spot, but it was all she could think of. Crouching behind the leaves, she hissed “Hide!” at Ryne, who was still in the open fussing with her bags. The moonlight and the large crystal now their only sources of light, Gaia turned her eyes up to the cliff behind their camp. There were at least five of them, armed silhouettes clad in chainmail and purple cloth, hoods obscuring their faces, surveying the cove below.

Ryne had made her way to her hiding spot. “It’s because you’re late to your parents’ anniversary!”, she chided.

Gaia’s heart sank. Oh no, anything but this. She was petrified. She felt Ryne huddle up next to her, trying to make herself as small as possible—an easier task for her. She was wearing a white jacket, as she often did, perhaps not the best choice to hide in the night. Thankfully, the jagged rocks jutting out of the cliff hid them from the glow of the crystal, draping them in shadows. Gaia held her breath and made her best effort not to move a single muscle.

Then a singular voice rang out.

“Loghrif.”

Gaia blinked. A most peculiar sensation ran over her like a cold shower.

What am I doing here? Why am I here with Ryne? I thought we were staying in Crystarium for the week. She looked around her. Ryne was gone. But the bush, the grass growing here and there, the breeze on her cheeks—everything felt like she was seeing and feeling it for the first time. She let her breath out. What is happening?

The voice called again. “Loghrif.” It was a man’s voice, calm but firm. I know that voice. I think.

Gaia furrowed her brow. Her instincts told her to look up—first at the cliff where the Eulmorean Guard had stood. They, too, were gone. Wait. Why would my parents send guards to catch me? Our meet-up didn’t go this badly—Yalfort would have told me if anything was wrong. Besides, her parents’ anniversary? Truth be told, Gaia didn’t remember when that might be, but again, why would it matter so much that her parents would go to such lengths to have her attend? And did she really say 'our garden of Eden' out loud, really?

She shook her head in confusion. None of this made any sense, in fact.

“Up here, Loghrif.”

This time, she managed to pay attention to where the voice was coming from—behind her, atop the ledge she had been hiding against. Gaia stepped out of her hiding spot to take a better look. Moments before, she had been fearing for her life, but her stride was now assured and natural. She had become keenly aware the situation from earlier made no sense, and so all her apprehension had disappeared—as if she had just been acting in a play and she was now freely out of character. In fact, the clarity of mind she had been feeling since the voice called out felt almost disturbing, in ways her own mind could scarcely describe.

She saw him sitting up there, facing the lake and the hulking figure of Eden in the distance. He was wearing long, silky white hooded robes that covered him almost entirely, their fabric shimmering in the light of the full moon behind him.

“How peculiar,” he said softly, before turning his head to the right, towards Gaia in the cove below. A bright red mask covered most of his face, leaving only his mouth and chin for her to see. “I have questions—“

“Wait, wait—You’re Elidibus, right?” The words were out of her mouth before she could think. Of course he was. Gaia was fairly sure she had never seen him in person, yet his identity felt strangely obvious to her. She knew. She had known him for a long time. This must be because of the memories Mitron shared with me when we… when he and Loghrif became one. She glanced towards the massive, inert shape.

“Yes,” the answer came bluntly. “Loghrif—“

“Hey, do you know what’s going on?” She gestured to the camp, embers glowing a dull red under the light of the crystal. “Because I have no idea how I ended up here—“

It was his turn to interrupt her. “You are dreaming,” he said matter-of-factly. “We both are.”

Gaia opened her mouth to retort 'How would you know?', but this time she succeeded in stopping herself. She had never been one for niceties, yet at this moment, something inside her compelled her to let him speak. Out of respect for… something.

“It appears this situation arose out of a combination of our respective abilities—your innate sensitivity to the element of darkness, and my own oneiric sight. Usually I am but a passive spectator of events, unable to interact with anyone in my visions." He lifted a hand to cup his chin, elbow resting on his folded knee. "Interesting.”

Gaia was making her way up to where he was sitting. “You have dream powers? That’s so cool,” she mused out loud, somehow instinctively knowing not to expect an answer, as she finished climbing up the last rock and dusted her hands off. The view on the lake sprawling at the foot of Eden was even more beautiful from up there, the still water reflecting the natural glow of the plants growing on the Sin Eater’s massive body. She caught her breath, gazing at the sight. I wonder if it actually looks like this in reality.

“Mitron’s light-mutated corpse, I gather. Their soul appears to have departed it.” He paused. “I was unaware.”

He lowered his head with a sigh. Though his garb concealed much of his expression, she sensed a hint of sadness in his words. Were they friends? Or is he just paying his respects to a colleague? Gaia frowned again. Her eyes darted around. Were he, Mitron and Loghrif friends? Am I making too much of this? The memory of Mitron’s confident smile sprang to her mind, the warm green of his eyes like grass on endless fields, bursting with life. Ryne and Meteor defeated him and Loghrif. That was the good ending, right? An inexplicable emptiness overcame her.

“Sealing me away in never-ending dreams while your puppets snuff out the last remnants of mankind… As planned.”

A chill ran down Gaia’s spine, though the barely audible words had not been addressed to her.

“But,” he spoke up clearly, straightening his back and pivoting to look up at her, “I suspect you are not here to hear me lament my abject failures. Hence, Loghrif, I have two questions for you.”

This time she had to say it—it had been bothering her. “Don’t call me Loghrif,” she blurted out. “It’s Gaia.” Her confidence plummeted when she saw him purse his lips in response, prompting her to append an awkward “…Please.”

“I have three questions for you, Gaia.”

The reminder of her identity brought back to the forefront the reason why she had wanted to contact the last Unsundered. Fandaniel. Zodiark. He’s gonna destroy everything. “But there’s something I really need to tell you—“

“Obviously, there is. At the moment, however, you are asleep somewhere presumably safe, and I,” he waved his hand dismissively, “am not going anywhere. Please, sit down.”

She crouched to brush away pebbles from a nice, flat rock and sat down to face him, hugging her knees to her chest. At eye level with him under the pale moonlight, Gaia took a good look at Elidibus for the first time. At first glance, his plain white robes gave the impression of being slightly too large for him. They were a loose fit, the excess folds of the collar hanging off his shoulders in a way that allowed her to glimpse he was not wearing much else above the waist, though the silky fabric looked bulky enough to keep him warm and comfortable. He was sitting with one knee up, the hem of his robes exposing a well-worn brown leather boot.

Her eyes fell on his hand—bare. She recalled Mitron wearing clawed leather gloves… and much more ornate robes, come to think of it. He had looked like a proper sorcerer in combat attire, ready to blast the forces of evil… or good, rather. Instead, Elidibus seemed to be wearing what Gaia presumed to be Ascian civilian garb, if indeed such a thing existed. Only his blood red mask marked him as belonging to the same caste as Mitron. Its beak-like protrusion covered his nose and two symmetrical bits—scythes? Fangs?—ran down his smooth cheeks, framing his mouth. Remembering Unukalhai’s description of his aloof mentor as the last surviving member of the true human species, she had been expecting a long wizard beard, or at least the rugged jaw of a grizzled veteran.

He did, however, sound appropriately weary as he opened his mouth again. “Firstly,” he enunciated, snapping her out of her thoughts, “how is it that you appear to be aware of your identity—and mine—while remaining an unascended mortal?” He put his hand up to nip her reply in the bud. “Secondly,” he paused to sigh, “what do you want from me? Now? Like this?” he asked, gesturing down at himself in self-explanatory fashion, confirming her earlier thoughts that he was in no state to oppose much resistance to anyone. “And lastly—though I suspect this answer will come with the first—why does it sound like you are rejecting your true identity while simultaneously asking me to call you by your true name?”

“Mitron.” Gaia nodded her head in the direction of the giant Sin Eater, lifeless yet covered in so many tiny lives. “He had been in my head since I was a kid. I thought of his voice like some sort of… fairy or guardian angel.” She looked away in embarrassment. She had felt more comfortable speaking of this to someone like Ryne, another girl her age—but she did not want to look like a crazy teen with imaginary friends in her head in front of a man that was several millennia old. “He’s the one who called me Gaia. So it’s… it’s not my real name.”

But it is. Realer than any other name. She shut her eyes.

The obvious question came swiftly. “Why not go by the name you were given at birth, then?”

“It… doesn’t feel like my name anymore.” She recalled meeting her parents again last week, though it had felt like meeting them for the first time. It had broken her heart to see these strangers speak of her as the daughter they had lost—yet she did not want to be forced into a life she did not identify with anymore. “But I’m not Loghrif either. She would have wanted to go with Mitron, and… I know it sounds stupid, but I didn’t want to abandon my new friends. Ryne, Meteor… Even though I had known them for a month at most, while Mitron and Loghrif…” Silly girl, what is a month to immortals who have lived thousands of years? “It’s probably stupid to you, especially because Gaia is just another name for Loghrif, but it isn’t what Gaia means to me. It’s what I have decided for myself.”

She glanced up to gauge his reaction. This mask isn’t helping.

When he finally spoke, his voice was far more gentle than she had expected. “Nobody is in any position to judge how you relate to your identity, or your name. Particularly not me.” Elidibus marked a short pause, sighing. “As to your woefully mortal perception of time, you appear not to be wholly ignorant of Mitron’s perspective.”

“He made our souls unite. He shared his memories with me… of myself.” Gaia shook her head. “No—of Loghrif.” For a second, she allowed her mind to contemplate the hundreds—thousands of years of memories. Their successes, their failures, their complicity, the other Ascians, the other dimensions, their fight for the truth of this world… The sheer scale of it all made her dizzy, she tried not to dwell on the memories too much. But they were part of her, now—yet so was Ryne and the memories she had made with her. “He had no right to try to erase my memories and kill my friends.”

“Mortals.” He stifled a chuckle. “You are as pieces of a puzzle, unaware of your true nature. You believe yourselves to be unique, worthy of consideration and preferential treatment… To our eyes, you are merely pieces of a singular broken whole.”

She recalled Cylva and Unukalhai’s heated argument and how they got there, stranded souls from a lost world, desperate to fix it or, at least, spare others their fate. She remembered the panic that swept across the city during the star shower when spectres of light appeared out of nowhere and started attacking anyone in sight. “Cool, but we’re not pieces for you to pick up and toy with.”

“Are you? Over the past twelve thousand years, your kind has given me little evidence to the contrary. Your lack of perspective—“

Gaia interrupted him with a laugh. “Well, you’re sitting here! How is that for evidence to the contrary?” Gaia, what are you doing? “It looks to me like humans got sick of being treated like pawns on your cosmic board and finally kicked your ass!”

“Yet here you are, sitting opposite me—am I to understand you are asking for more?” He leaned back on his arms to face the starry darkness above. “Humans,” he spat, the ethereal glow of the moon reflecting off his blood red mask. “Do not presume to speak to me of humans to mean those brave, sundered puppets standing against us. If you truly have Mitron’s memories of their Ascian life, then you must know what humanity actually is.” He turned his head down to stare right back at her. “How bold of you to cry about their callousness in wanting to erase your mortal memories and identity. You do know what happened to humans, don’t you?”

The Sundering. She tried not to imagine it—how it happened, its immediate consequences, and worst of all, what it must have felt like for the Unsundered, the sole survivors. The crying face of her mother, grieving for her daughter who did not recognise her anymore, appeared before her. “That was… that was Hydaelyn, not me.” Gaia lowered her eyes. She did not wish for this discussion to devolve into a fight, yet she did not want to apologise for her outburst, either.

“For the record, Mitron’s methods for making you into an Ascian were unusual,” Elidibus said with a softer tone. “We do not—did not typically wipe a subject’s memory if we could help it. It was a principle Lahabrea, Emet-Selch and I had agreed upon, millennia ago. Broken though you may be, we were reluctant to use force, out of respect for the persons you used to be. Memory transplants are better accepted by the recipient with full consent. Sometimes it meant waiting for another reincarnation.” He turned his head slightly to the side, as if in shame—though it was hard to tell, with his face concealed. “As of late, however, the increasingly desperate situation did sometimes call for more radical measures.”

“Yeah… desperate was how I’d describe Mitron.” The gigantic Sin Eater stood majestically, motionless. Mitron’s light-mutated corpse. “Imprisoned and conscious for a hundred years…”

“You would love the tales of humanity I could regale you with,” Elidibus replied flatly—though Gaia suspected this was intended as irony. “Another time, perhaps.” He pushed himself back into an upright position, sitting crosslegged. “Two questions answered. One remains.”

“Okay.” Where do I start? “So, basically, the situation is, there’s a number of Ascians left. But there are no more Unsundered.”

“I suppose I should resent this statement, but it is, for practical purposes, correct.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “so Fandaniel says he’s gonna destroy the world—“

“Unsurprising.”

“—and some other Ascians aren’t having any of it.”

“Who?”

“I don’t remember their names—wait. What do you mean unsurprising?” Gaia shifted to a more comfortable position so she could gesture freely. “One of your guys wants to destroy the world, and you’re just sitting here like, ’oh, that Fandaniel, it’s just like him to want to destroy the world, what a kook!’ Excuse me?”

Elidibus remained unflappable. “I spoke earlier of the process of giving you back memories of your authentic self. Of accepting them. In this case, I wonder if we might have been better off wiping the slate clean before implanting the memories. To make a long story short, Fandaniel has not always been easy to work with.” His weary sigh told the tale. “We had been hoping further rejoinings would ease him into his original persona.”

“I am guessing his original self wasn’t as much into setting the planet ablaze.”

“Not as far as we could tell, no. Quite the opposite, in fact, if my recently restored memory serves.”

He crossed his arms, apparently lost in thought. Gaia tried her best to search her—Loghrif’s—Mitron’s memories of the guy. Lanky, his red mask shaped like a lion’s face. Flippant and theatrical, the sort who loved hearing the sound of his own voice. Not much else came to her mind. They must not have worked together often as Ascians.

“How… how different are we?” she heard herself ask hesitantly. “Are we ever gonna be…” Like our true selves? Whole again? “...like them?”

“If you mean fully rejoined, most likely not anymore.” Seeing her raise an eyebrow, he went on. “Without us Unsundered around anymore, no new Ascians can be raised—and given the rate at which our ranks have been getting depleted these past few years, I do not foresee the remaining few carrying our duty to its end, competent though they may be.” For a second, Gaia’s eyes were inexplicably drawn to the full moon above them. “Not only are the memory crystals and the magic they contained gone, absorbed along with myself and all of my power, but you would also need a strong enough afflux of Dark aether to sufficiently awaken you and master your own abilities. A single exception to that rule exists, however,” he said, a corner of his mouth almost threatening to curl, “the Oracle of Darkness, with her singular sensitivity to said element, awakened by the spiritual bond of her soulmate and their shared memories.” Though his mask concealed his gaze, she could feel him study her. “From the looks of it, this process was interrupted before completion.”

“I… guess?” Gaia hesitated. “I don’t have the robes or the mask… But I remember the symbol appearing over my face.” Its bright red glow burning as the darkness surged through her was the last clear memory she had of the events within Eden—before her body, mind, memories and soul whole embraced Artemis’s, and something awoke within her. Something that overtook her almost entirely, leaving her—Gaia—as if in a small corner of her own mind, unable to control her own actions anymore. “But I don’t want that to happen again…” she whispered to herself.

He had heard her, of course. “You have rejected the gift, causing a schism between your mortal identity and your sundered soul’s deep-seated longing to be its true self”, he stated matter-of-factly.

Absent-mindedly, she lifted her hand to her heart, shutting her eyes. My soul’s deep-seated longing…

“Why are you concerned it might happen again?” she almost did not hear him ask.

“Because I—hang on.” She had lost track of where she was taking the discussion. You haven’t changed, a familiar voice rang in her head, as forgetful as ever. Blinking, she stared at him in confusion. “I told you Fandaniel is apparently planning to destroy the world using Zodiark, right?”

“You did not,” Elidibus replied, lowering his head and rubbing his temples before muttering, “I think I am starting to understand why this conversation is happening.”

“That’s why Meteor came to speak to me. He was accompanied by this Ascian, Hala—Hamal—“ she hesitated before giving in, “—big guy with tanned skin and long hair. He said I was the Oracle of Darkness and…” The words caught in her throat. “I might be our best hope to… regain control of Zodiark if Fandaniel uses him to start a new apocalypse.”

“Halmarut is right,” the reply came from under the white hood.

Gaia felt helpless. Crushed. Is this what they call having the weight of the world on your shoulders? This isn’t fair. I just want to live my life… away from the past. Whether it was her parents or Ascians, it seemed the past would not let go of her so easily. And this time, it would not be as simple a matter as amicably agreeing to write her parents every now and then. They—the world—needed her to be Loghrif. What am I even supposed to do?

“Do you understand why it must be you?” Something in his voice sounded genuinely compassionate.

You were chosen for a role of utmost importance, Mitron’s words came back to her, that of Oracle of Darkness. You were to be the Heart of Zodiark, but it ultimately fell to Elidibus. She looked up at him. Chosen to bear the hopes of the whole of mankind to save the planet from annihilation. He looks so slight, she thought.

“I… We were the two candidates to become Zodiark,” she answered. In truth, it had been Loghrif, of course—not her. Gaia chose not to correct herself. “Why can’t it be…” a real Ascian? “…another reincarnation of Loghrif?” she finished.

“I surmise my plan of sending the newly raised Mitron to find a new Loghrif on her own has not borne its fruits, making you the sole living Loghrif we have at our disposal… and the Source shard, besides.”

Anger surged inside her. “So Mitron was right when he said you had replaced him. You abandoned him to his fate as a Sin Eater in the middle of nowhere! The Sundered Ascians are just expandable pawns to you, just like Emet-Selch told Ryne and—“

“You do not have the slightest idea of what you are talking about,” Elidibus snapped back at her. This time Gaia could feel actual fury beneath the stoic veneer. He’s certainly taking this accusation much more personally than earlier, when it was about treating mortal people the same way. “Do you realise extracting Mitron out of their Light-warped body any earlier would have most likely resulted in the end of all life on this world? Emet-Selch and I certainly had our disagreements, but this particular matter was not one of them. I cannot speak to his true feelings about our Sundered colleagues, but millennia of working with him have made me know better than to take anything coming out of the melodramatic grouch’s mouth at face value.” Perhaps it was just Gaia’s imagination, but she thought there was a hint of begrudging affection in that.

“It was my intention to free Mitron from their prison once I had disposed of the Warrior of Light and the Crystal Exarch. Then, with the combined umbral energies of my accumulated aether and Mitron’s residual light, this shard would have been rejoined with a concomitant calamity of light on the Source.” He clenched his fist. “But I failed. I failed, and Mitron died alone thinking their peers had abandoned them. Do you think I do not care? If only I were half as callous as you imagine me to be, it would not hurt as much. I know,” he continued, holding his hand to his forehead in frustration, “I know that even with fully rejoined souls, your memories now bear too many scars from your absurdly short cycle of life and death, each time the star cleansing them anew. I know you will never truly be the people we once knew. You will never be the Loghrif I looked up to as an unparalleled expert on living creations, nor the Gaia I looked up to as a big sister. Neither will be Artemis. Yet you are all we have left anymore.” He let out a deep sigh, before correcting himself under his breath, “—all I have left anymore.”

Silence fell.

“You know…” Gaia said quietly, “Mitron… Artemis didn’t die alone. I… I was there when he—“ the word came to her spontaneously, “—returned.” She remembered of the warmth and confidence of his last smile.

It took Elidibus some time to look up at her. “I am relieved to hear this,” he said softly.

For a moment, Gaia let the lone cricket in the distance sing its solo undisturbed. I need to bring this conversation back to Zodiark and Fandaniel. And me. But… Something had been making her more and more curious as the discussion went on. Oh well. “Hey… Sorry if this isn’t the best moment to ask a weird question, but,” she breathed in before blurting out, “Mitron is a guy, right?”

“Mitron is Mitron.”

“This is my soulmate we’re talking about,” she chided. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate further.”

“Do their memories not help? No, I suppose not.” Gaia was relieved to see him smile ever so slightly at that. “We noticed the bodies your sundered souls reincarnate into tend to follow a pattern—that of your original identity. To my knowledge, all of Gaia’s reincarnations have been female. True to form, Artemis’s soul shows no such preference. The shard I recently raised to Ascian status had a female body. I understand the one you met took on a masculine appearance,” he shrugged.

“But,” Gaia gestured in bewilderment, “was the original Mitron a man or a woman?”

“Mitron was a person who happened to possess female anatomy.”

“That—You—Oh, all right,” she conceded, crossing her arms. “…You’re a guy, right? Or were.”

“I am indifferent to the male anatomy I was born with.” Elidibus was back to his usual stoic self. Good, she thought as she watched him straighten his posture. “Now, Loghrif, back to the matter at hand, if you will. Fandaniel seeks to lay waste to the star using Zodiark, and other Ascians who disapprove of his designs, chiefly Halmarut, think you, Oracle of Darkness, would be best suited to take the Will of the Star back from Fandaniel’s hands.”

“Yeah, that’s the gist of it. But…” Gaia lowered her eyes. “I have no idea how I could do that. Not without Mitron’s presence to give me powers.”

“And so you have come seeking my help. To save your broken, wretched world, after your heroes have soundly defeated me and taken away my people’s hopes to live again, condemning us all to oblivion, as per Hydaelyn’s will.”

She froze.

“Hence, you understand, of course, that I would be within my rights to simply refuse.” His voice growing colder and dropping an octave, he leaned in to her ever so slightly. “Perhaps it is exactly what you mortals deserve. To carry the hopes of millions on your shoulders in the face of utmost despair and senseless death, fight for your loved ones for eons no matter the cost, sacrificing your identity and forsaking your humanity in the process… and fail.”

Don’t lower your eyes. Stare back at him.

“However,” he continued, sitting back and shifting back to a more professional tone, “as emissary and mediator of the Convocation of Fourteen, it is my duty to course correct my colleagues should they err in their own duties as stewards to the star. I cannot condone Fandaniel’s plans to use the sacrifice of my people to recreate the very cataclysm we once repealed, no matter my personal feelings on your victory.”

As Gaia breathed again, Elidibus threw his head back to the stars above. “The anomaly had been spreading through the star at an exponential rate. The research spearheaded by none other than Fandaniel concluded its occurrences were inversely correlated to the density of celestial aether,” he reminisced. “The decision was taken to create Zodiark as an embodiment of salvation, made of enough aether to stop the corruption in its tracks, and intense discussions were had over the question of whose soul would serve as the nexus connecting the countless sacrifices. More and more cities were being hit—they eventually stopped reporting their death tolls. The Convocation had to act swiftly and efficiently. Loghrif was their first choice.”
Gaia listened in silence—even the cricket in the background had gone quiet. “Her extraordinary affinity to dark-aspected aether had always made her a natural at creating life. However, by the same token, her expertise in zoogeny would make her counsel indispensable to reversing the ongoing extinction event—and there was little telling what, exactly, would happen to anyone within Zodiark, much less his Heart. Research into the subject had been very recent and rushed by the circumstances; moreover, the sheer scale of Zodiark was a leap into the unknown. Would she remain fully conscious and self-aware, or lose herself to the overwhelming aether and thoughts of the millions beside her? Would Zodiark even succeed? Though Loghrif herself—and Mitron as well—was entirely willing to serve, opinions were divided on whether we could afford the potential loss.”

He took a short break, sighing. He grabbed onto the rim of his hood as it threatened to slip off, its silky fabric reflecting the moonlight. It was only now that Gaia noticed his body cast no shadow on the ground. “That was when I decided to reveal my own natural abilities. Heightened perception of emotions of others, mainly manifesting in lucid dream visions of emotionally-charged events. A fact I seldom told others—not only did it give me an edge in my line of work, but it also allowed me to know… many things. Too much. Frequently.”

The contents of her dream prior to this conversation suddenly rushed back into Gaia’s mind. The anxiety of her parents dragging her back to Eulmore, Mitron looming in the background, Ryne’s tender smile and warm, flame-kissed glow. Our garden of Eden. Gaia felt her cheeks burning, which she ineptly attempted to conceal. If Elidibus was sensing her embarrassment right now, he was doing a stellar job of not commenting on it.

“Hence, as Heart of Zodiark, I would better sense the prayers and emotions of people, and hopefully maintain a functioning level of self-awareness through quantities of aether that might push others to a dreamlike, trance state. And I was not one of those world-renowned experts on science whose boundless knowledge would serve as foundation to rebuild a broken world… merely the one tasked with making them play nice with each other for the good of all,” he said with a slight smile that looked a mixture of sorrowful and self-deprecating.

“I have kept precious few memories of my human life. A side-effect of deciding, as Zodiark, to model this independent vessel for my consciousness based on Elidibus, rather than on the person I once was.” He looked down to his open palm. “There is one distinct physical sensation I do remember clearly, before dissolving my human body into pure aether. Loghrif putting her hand on my shoulder before I leapt into the unknown.”

The waters of the lake below lapped at the shore under the breeze.

“You are entirely able to wrestle control of Zodiark away from Fandaniel, should it come down to the two of you. Both your souls are equally dense, and aetherically attuned to Zodiark since the summoning, but it is your affinity to darkness that would give you the edge needed… and everyone else inside. They gave themselves to save this star, not bring it ruin. Should you master the dark magic that was awoken by your fusion with Mitron…”

Gaia was still staring at Elidibus’s outstretched hand. Wait. That’s it. Leaping forward, she seized his hand into her own, making him slightly recoil with surprise, though he made no further move to wrench free. “Come with me. Lend me your power.”

“What power? I do not even have enough aether anymore to physically exist on my own, thanks to this—”

“What if you use my own aether?”

“It is true your nature would allow you to host Zodiark’s aether within your own the most comfortably out of all Ascians, which would get you accustomed to the element of darkness in a more gentle manner than Mitron’s.” Pressing his lips, he then muttered under his breath, “Leashed to and living off a mortal’s aether like a parasite…”

“Would you rather stay locked inside this tower?” she asked with a smile.

“Forcing me to dream peacefully until it is done devouring me… while Fandaniel desecrates the memory of my people.” She felt his hand grip hers. “I can’t,” he whispered.

“I don’t want that either.” Gaia frowned. “How do we—“

“Start by being Loghrif. I understand you wish this to be on your own terms. Through a thoroughly absurd conjunction of circumstances, I happen to lack the power to force myself on you. Accept me, as a fellow member of the Convocation of Fourteen.” Before she could inquire again as to how, Elidibus added gently, “Your mask would help. Empty your mind.”

My mask…? Gaia resolved herself to plunge into Mitron’s memories of thousands of years. She tried not to dwell on the atrocities she and her soulmate committed as Ascians towards mortals—more importantly, she tried not to dwell on the fact that part of her did not feel like those were atrocities, but justified means to a righteous end. Absent-mindedly, she brought her hand to her face, as if holding a mask to it. She saw his, blood red on his dark skin, black hood framing the face she once loved. Hers looked similar, didn’t it? She forced herself to slow her breathing.

Distantly, she heard Elidibus describe it, his voice a murmur. “Elongated like a ram’s face… multiple, symmetrical slits like the ridges on its horns…”

The picture in her mind became clearer. Her fingers grasped at what wasn’t there. What did it feel like to the touch? She examined the one facing her. Is that… leather? Metal? Wood? “What is it made of?”

Rather than answer, he raised his own hand to his face, and Gaia instinctively averted her eyes. Was it out of politeness? She could not tell.

“Take it,” she heard him say softly.

She had only intended to take a quick peek by curiosity, but could not look away. In the shade of his hood, the iris of his eyes were a deep darkness, but what should have been his pupils shone with a rich purple glow. Gaia should have found this unnatural sight unsettling—instead, she could not help but find the familiar hue of dark aether comforting.

Hesitantly, she took the mask from his hand. Touch did not help in putting a word on what, exactly, it was made of, yet she recognised the material. She traced the ornate reliefs adorning the mask of Elidibus, the circles on each side of the beak-like nose, the scythe-like protrusions framing the jaw. “What is yours supposed to represent?”

“A snake.”

Huh. I’d say snakes are usually associated with evil as a symbol, but maybe this wasn’t how Ancients reasoned at all. She decided not to press further and went back to studying his mask. Feeling its texture under her fingertips. Again, she lifted her hand to her face, hoping her own Loghrif mask would materialise out of thin air.

Her eyes snapped open when she felt Elidibus lean in closer and reach around her. “Do not mind me.” His tone was firm, yet reassuring. “Focus.”

Gaia felt fabric settle softly atop her head. I was wearing a hooded jacket? …Oh.

Her field of vision momentarily dimmed on the edges. Under her fingers, she could suddenly feel the same material she had in the other hand. Blinking, she slowly lowered her hand to see, and saw, through the mask of Loghrif’s multiple eye holes, Elidibus wearing a fairly satisfied half-smile.

“Now, this is more like it, is it not?” he said lightly, taking his own mask back.

Holding her breath, Gaia focused for a little longer. A complex shape, with symmetrical spiral horns, burned itself onto her retinas for a split second before it was gone.

“Ah… one day at a time, if you will,” he added.

With a little laugh, Gaia took off her mask to marvel at it under all its angles. This is right. It felt right.

“Now then… Gaia,” he called out—and to that she looked up and smiled—“take my hand, once more.”

She put her mask back on, as he had. The moment her fingers wrapped around his, a wave of pure darkness—warm, electrifying, rushing—coursed up her arm before diffusing to her whole body, enveloping her like a cocoon. Then, without her willing it, the horned mark of Loghrif shone its scarlet light over her face for a heartbeat, and the winged mark of Elidibus over his.

Beyond the horizon, behind Eden, the skies were taking on a lighter hue.

“You must be waking up,” he pointed out mildly, letting go of her hand to get to his feet.

“Hey, hey,” she interjected, bashful, back to fiddling with her mask, “I’m not letting you go this easily. The last person renting brain space to live in my mind was literally my soulmate. I have standards, you see,” she added playfully.

He stood there silently as his only response to that.

She got up as well. He looked a little shorter than her, though she was wearing her usual high-heeled boots.

“…Tell me your name.”

“Elidibus.”

Of course. “No. Not that name. Your real name… like Loghrif’s was Gaia,” she added helpfully, though she suspected he had perfectly understood her.

A lone bird in the background had started to sing.

“I do not remember.”

“You…” She frowned. “Didn’t you say your memory had been recently refreshed?”

He lowered his head. “The least essential information is the first to go.”

His earlier words echoed through her mind. The Gaia I looked up to as a big sister… She was no stranger to memory loss, herself. Recall often helped. “The friends you had… your family. What did they use to call you?”

“The single memory that remains of my family is that of their mutilated bodies lying at the feet of a Terminus beast,” he said quietly. As she fumbled for an apology, he continued, “Do not apologise. Understand that the people who knew me as the person I was and called me by my personal name, the city I lived in day to day, the world that shaped me—all of it is gone, and has been for thousands of years. There is no point to my name anymore.”

He turned to contemplate the rising dawn while Gaia was left to grasp for words, before she settled on silence as the best suited answer.

Clenching her own mask, she took the hood off and finally spoke up meekly. “Do you think you… I could… Could you show me your face?”

Elidibus wordlessly studied her for a moment, before putting his hood down, his short, silver hair a bit of a mess, and taking off his mask. Her earlier suspicions were confirmed—he looked barely a day into adulthood.

“I didn’t expect you to look so…” Gaia, if you say ’cute’ out loud right now, you might as well never wake up from this. “…young.”

“Do I?” He shrugged. “I suppose the memories my crystal returned have made me spontaneously manifest a corporeal form closer in appearance to my original human body.”

“You don’t look much older than me.” Surprise quickly turned into concern. “How old were you?”

“Old enough.”

She resigned herself to this answer. “Well, anyway,” she crossed her arms, “you might be living in my head from now on… but don’t start getting any ideas,” she warned with a bit of a playful pout. “I’m—“ taken? “—it isn’t happening.”

“I should think not,” he replied flatly. “I have lived for thousands of years and possessed hundreds of bodies. Your adolescent concerns are of no relevance to me. Dream of your partner as much as you like.”

“And don’t look into my dr—Ryne is not my girlfriend!”

“Ah.” Elidibus succeeded in looking more stone-faced with his face uncovered than with the mask on.

Gaia hoped the breeze might cool her cheeks. Maybe I could put mine back on, she thought. But he hadn’t, and she felt that might be improper—so she didn’t.

“One last thing,” he said, his gaze fixated on Eden in the distance. “I sensed someone accompanying you in the tower, when you made contact. It was not her.”

“Oh! That was Unukalhai,” she answered, brightening up. “He was the one who got the idea to reach out to you, after… everything.”

She had not expected Elidibus to turn back to her wide-eyed for a second, before a genuine, warm smile appeared on his face for the first time. “I see,” he murmured, almost sheepishly.

––––

Gaia woke up in the darkness of her room in the Pendants, mask in hand.

Chapter Text

The Culinarians’ Guild of Crystarium would soon find itself having to work overtime to match the sudden increase in demand for coffee biscuits, for her stomach had become a dark, bottomless, hungering void.

That was hardly a metaphor.

On this bright morning, Musica Universalis, beating heart of Crystarium’s trade and culinary pursuits, lived up to its name, ethereal piano notes filling its large, bustling halls with a soulful, nostalgic melody. Gaia typically preferred to eat out with Ryne—really, if she listened to her heart, they would be doing everything together—but as it happened, her friend had an errand to run. She, however, could not wait for her to be done to satiate her starvation at the Wandering Stairs. Admittedly, the exact aether science of it escaped her; the fact remained Gaia now felt like she had to eat for two. Or three.

The brunette had sat herself down at a table near the wall, by the piano any patron or passerby could sit and try their hands at. She hoped Cyella would notice her and take her order fast enough. She tapped her fingers on the table, thinking of what she should ask for, rather than blurt out ’please give me every pastry you have’. She tried to focus, but she could not help but be preoccupied by the talk they would have with Beq Lugg, later this day. The first time they met, the other day, the Nu Mou had struck her as weird in his own way, but amiable enough. Definitely not the mischievous pixie she had had in mind. Her situation had slightly changed, since then—her aether makeup, to be more precise.

A tap on her shoulder brought her back to reality.

“’Morning, miss!” Cyella greeted her in her usual green work clothes, her white hair braided like a headband. “You caught me just before my break. A cappuccino and a couple of coffee biscuits, I presume?”

“’Morning. Actually…” Gaia looked up at the barmaid, almost apologetic. “I’m gonna need more today. So much more.”

Cyella took on a slightly concerned expression. “I’m listening.”

What followed was a stream of consciousness pouring out of Gaia’s mouth—of biscuits and pastries. Cyella felt no need to take any notes, though she was holding up her fingers to keep count, and Gaia could not help but be impressed when she repeated her order to confirm, without a single mistake. I’ll have to refuse her job offer, she thought to herself. I could never do this.

“Whew. Waiting for anyone? A whole party perhaps?” the waitress asked her with a laugh.

Either I lie, or answer no, and I’m gonna pass for one of those ogres of the Kholusian countryside. Gaia hid her eyes under her hand. “I… Yeah, no, I’m just starving today.”

“The Wandering Stairs will do its best to help out, miss,” Cyella announced jokingly, before turning to the piano next to her table. “And for our handsome virtuoso, what will it be?”

“A long black, iced.” He stopped playing to face her. “Cylva.”

She froze. It took her only a couple of seconds, her eyes darting from the unnatural glow of his to the unmistakable red mask dangling from his belt by a thin golden chain. The voice, too. Probably hard to forget the first voice you heard when you were pulled from the end of the world and rescued from certain death.

“I could call for security right now.” Her voice was a whisper, cold as ice. “There are people around here who would like a word with you, Elidibus.”

“Surely you have had worse players,” he replied, without a trace of humour in his voice.

Gaia leapt out of her chair. “He’s with me!” she hissed to Cyella, moving in-between as if to separate them, though truth be told, they had done nothing but exchange a couple of words.

The expression on her face was hard to describe as she looked down on her—dismay, anger, disappointment? “You… You freed him. This Ascian. Of all of them—“

“He can’t do anything. I’m the one manifesting him, because he doesn’t have the power to exist by himself.” She joined her hands in front of her own mouth, as if in prayer. “Cyella, please. It’s fine.”

The barmaid’s piercing clear eyes darted from Gaia to Elidibus, unmoving on his stool, whose shadow cast on the floor looked like there was nobody sitting on it. No doubt she had not noticed him from afar, because Gaia had convinced him—after a long bout of negotiations—to wear normal clothes. They had managed to find what seemed to be a former goldsmith’s white shirt and brown leather waistcoat that fit him at a second-hand shop. Not exactly cheap, but Gaia did have deep pockets. The upside of staying in touch with my parents after all… Elidibus had not expressed any displeasure when presented with the clothes. To be more precise, he had not expressed anything, which Gaia had taken as a net positive.

“Why?” Cyella finally asked her.

“Having him with me helps me get used to darkness. It’s—I—This way, I will be able to control Zodiark,” she stammered.

“You… controlling Zodiark.” Cyella glared daggers at Elidibus, who stared back unflinching. The size difference between her tall and slander self and his short stature for a Hume, sitting, was striking. “Hmmm-hm. Sure.” She turned back to her, looking frankly concerned. “Gaia—“

“I’m telling you. The Crystal Tower ate up like his entire power and left only his consciousness,” she explained, imploring. “It’s why I’m so hungry, because he depends on my aether to exist. I have to make an active effort to give him a physical form, otherwise he’s just in my head.” It was a disturbing sensation she would likely never get fully used to. It felt like she had a foreign object within a corner of her skull—just there. At times he was more present and she felt him literally weigh on her mind; other times he was idle and the thing inside her skull shrank to almost forgettable levels. In any case, she was thankful her tenant was not quite the talkative type. “Manifesting him is kinda like training for me. Plus, he… he gets to live, a bit.” Gaia looked at him, sitting there, his short silver hair less of a mess than when he was wearing his hood. I wonder what tune he was playing. Most likely, he remembers the answer as much as I do. “He’s powerless, for real. He can’t even do any magic anymore,” she finished, hoping to have defused the situation.

Cyella crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, still glaring at him. “It isn’t his magic I am concerned about, Gaia. As I see him, he’s capable of speech.”

On those words, he broke character to give her a wholesome smile. Cyella squinted back even harder. They remained like that in complete silence, with Gaia standing between them, holding her breath.

“Long black. Iced,” he repeated, in the flattest tone possible.

“A glass of our vilest piss for your unsundered taste buds, coming right up,” she uttered curtly before spinning on her heels to leave.

Gaia finally breathed again and went to sit back down. “Now to pray that she still remembers my order,” she muttered, her head in her hands.

“She will.” He had started playing again, high crystalline notes as his fingers danced on the keys. “Do you think I would have made her one of my agents, were her wits so mediocre?” he asked rhetorically, neither taking his eyes off the piano nor skipping a beat.

“You pick them for their ability to get your order right?” she asked back with a little chuckle, resting her cheek on her knuckles. “Because I never could, honestly. Did Unu spend centuries brewing your coffee?”

“Fortunately, we only ever asked Loghrif and her infamous attention span to monitor and enrich each and every terrestrial ecosystem on the star, rather than saddle her with the responsibility of remembering and procuring our beverages of choice.” Something about the melody he was playing was making her feel terribly lonely. “As for Unukalhai, you could ask him now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Now?” She turned around to glance briefly in the direction of the bar. Sure enough, the white-haired boy was standing there, chatting with his mercenary companions—an adult Hume with blond hair leaning on the counter and a red-haired Elf who looked perhaps younger than him. “Hadn’t noticed him, honestly. Do you have some kinda… psychic ESP thing?”

The question was apparently stupid enough to make him pause. Oops. “I am still capable of aethersight, but it costs me. Or rather, it costs you. Anything I do will be a strain on your aether, I am afraid, including playing an instrument. Though, as far as Unukalhai and Cylva are concerned, it is easy enough to sense my own mark on them. As it is with you.” He studied her, with those eerie purple eyes of his, and Gaia felt a bit of a chill. Through my countless lives and deaths since… the darkness remains.

He turned back to the piano, moving to start playing again, before freezing midway. With a frown followed by a resigned sigh, he let his hands down and rose to join her at the table. That was when Unukalhai’s wandering eyes fell on them both and widened. Gaia gave him a little wave and a smile, but it was obvious his surprise was for the man sitting across from her.

“Oh, here we go,” Gaia muttered, turning her back on the boy making his way towards them. She heaved a ponderous sigh as she gave the twelve thousand year old God of Darkness facing her her most sincere, pleading look. “I’m just a girl, here to pig out like I never have before.”

Elidibus responded wordlessly by briefly closing his eyes and giving her a fleeting glance that passed for sympathetic.

“There’s a story behind that look…” she started laughing, before being interrupted by the boy’s voice behind her.

“Gaia! And…” Unukalhai stopped, breathless, looking incredulous. “Is it you?”

“I hear you are to blame for this resurgence of darkness, Unukalhai,” Elidibus told him mildly, actually smiling. “I owe you.”

The boy let out a relieved little laugh. “No—It’s—You don’t. It was about time I repaid you by saving your soul.” He beamed, putting a hand to his forehead and holding long strands of hair back. “It—It worked!” he exclaimed, still in disbelief. It’s good to see him so happy, she thought with a smile, and Elidibus doesn’t look too displeased to see him, either.

“If truth be told, this is not actually my soul, but a vessel crafted to house my aether, allowing my consciousness an existence separate from Zodiark. Your gesture, however, remains appreciated.” Elidibus leaned back on his chair, his hands in the pockets of his vest. “You could scarcely be blamed for the confusion, to be fair. Zodiark’s peerless abilities in the field of creation were such that even Emet-Selch himself admitted he could not tell the difference.” His mouth twitched at the mention of his late colleague. “Incidentally, that would be why I am presently… compromised. The tower has torn away so much of my envelope that mending it would require powers beyond what Zodiark is capable of in his current sundered state. Although, I suppose there could be a way I had never considered…” His voice trailed off, a frown on his unfittingly youthful face. “Ah, but here is the buffet you ordered, Gaia.”

She slowly spun on her seat to watch Cyella balance on her forearms and hands trays with the exact assortment of pastries and biscuits she had asked for, along with their two drinks.

“Lemon waffle, silkie pudding, one slice of lemon curd Sachertorte,” she listed as she put the food down in front of Gaia, one by one, “pixie apple pie, two honey croissants, nut bake…” Gaia watched Unukalhai’s eyebrows raise higher and higher as it went on, while Elidibus remained expressionless, his eyes following the barmaid’s movements. “…two zefir, one slice of pixieberry cheesecake, three servings of coffee biscuits, and your large cappuccino.”

“I might need another drink,” Gaia said with a frown, sizing up her order.

“Right? That’s what I was thinking too,” Cyella agreed, before putting down her last item in front of Elidibus. “And here is a glass of our vilest piss, iced.”

“Should it be any less, your employer shall hear from me.”

“In that case, be sure to leave a strongly-worded note on our guestbook, I don’t think we’ve ever had any feedback from the Will of the Star Made Manifest.” She smoothed down her apron and sat herself down at their table, while Unukalhai seemed to be struggling to repress a smile. “No offense, Gaia, but I think I’ve deserved this break.” She let out a contented sigh and looked down at Elidibus, her hands cupping her chin. “You don’t mind, of course.”

“Suit yourself. I understand you do not often get the luxury of speaking frankly of your true self with your mortal patrons.” He then drank several gulps of his coffee, unflinching.

Cyella did not immediately reply or comment. Her head lowered and one hand down on the table, she sighed. “I have Unukalhai, now,” she finally said in a low voice.

“It’s good to have you here too, Cylva,” the boy said with a sincere smile she returned.

“Hey, Unu,” Gaia managed to say between two mouthfuls of honey croissant, “why don’t you sit down and stay a bit?”

“Oh, no, I can’t really, sorry. There is something we need to figure out with Cerigg and Taylor this morning, and it is quite urgent.” With his thumb, he pointed to his two friends by the counter. “I will have to leave you soon.”

“You’re still coming to our talk with Beq Lugg this afternoon, right? I think he needs you as a sort of template for an out-of-body soul.”

“Ah. That is the Nu Mou I attempted to murder,” Elidibus commented flatly, taking another gulp of his coffee.

Unukalhai stared at him and blinked while Cyella hid her face in her hands. Gaia took the time to swallow her bite before clearing her throat. “Do you think there’s any way you could go and not try to kill people? Especially people we need?”

He crossed his arms, leaning back. “That is precisely the reason why I aimed to dispose of him alongside the Crystal Exarch. He will no doubt be pleased to know my objectives have changed for the time being.”

“No, Elidibus,” Cyella said with a genial smile, putting her hand on his shoulder, which he threw a pointed look at, without moving any other muscle. “What makes no doubt is that you, personally, are going to spend an entire day fetching and arranging hundreds of mouldering tomes and scrolls in the Cabinet of Curiosity. And given how particular Nu Mou are with equivalent exchange, you will be getting off very, very lightly.”

Unukalhai stifled a laugh behind his hand while Gaia tried not to choke on her croissant, but she quickly went quiet when the realisation hit her that she would have to be with him all the while.

“Very well. Unlike some, I am not so easily intimidated by literature,” he replied in a conversational tone, glaring straight into Cyella’s eyes as he seized her wrist away from his shoulder. “But tell me, Cylva. How does one go about perusing the local information media in your distinguished establishment, to enjoy alongside one’s glass of your vilest piss?”

She wrenched free from his hand. “You’ll find The Crystarium Times and a couple of other rags by the counter.”

He looked over to the bar, as did Unukalhai who gestured to Cerigg. Glynard, the owner of the place, was wiping pints with an actual rag, bantering with regular patrons. After a moment spent gauging the distance separating their table from the visible stack of newspapers, Elidibus finally said quietly, “that is a little too far.”

Cyella raised a white eyebrow in a look of mild concern. “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, so, uh, funny story, that,” Gaia began with a chuckle after putting down her large mug, “because Elidibus is constantly leeching off my aether to exist physically, he can’t leave my side or he goes poof. It’s like, what, an eight yard range? Maybe ten.”

The Elf tried to conceal her laugh for all of three seconds before openly cackling. She then leaned in close to the Ascian, who glowered in silence. “This is exactly what you deserve,” she whispered audibly.

“C’mon, let’s go grab a couple of newspapers,” Gaia told him with a conciliatory smile, getting up.

Unukalhai decided to follow them to the bar, leaving Cyella to jubilate alone at their table. As the boy briefly discussed with his two associates how much free time he had left and Elidibus flipped through the various newspapers, Glynard greeted her warmly. “Hello there, Miss Gaia! Are you gonna be fine eating all that by yourself?”

“I’m just gonna take my time,” she laughed. “Could I have a jug of water though?”

The hulking, green-skinned Galdjent beamed at her. “Plain water? No, no—Here, have some of our iced tea, on the house. Cyella’s told you we’re looking for another waitress, right?” he asked, handing her a pitcher of green tea with large chunks of ice floating in it.

Sure, right after I get back from saving all worlds from the coming apocalypse involving a massive god made of thousands of souls imprisoned for millennia, and my genocidal best buddies. “Yeah. I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

Elidibus had silently crept up behind her, a couple of newspapers and pencil in hand. She glanced over at Unukalhai. “You good?”

He sauntered back to them with a smile. “A few more minutes and I’ll have to go.”

His two companions threw them quick looks, and the adult Hume’s face brightened up as if he had recognised someone. Gaia looked away. Please, don’t start a conversation.

“Hey, you must be Unu’s older brother he’s told us so much about! Nice to meet you, man, I’m Cerigg,” the olive-skinned mercenary said with something of a salute, a pint in the other hand.

Gaia blinked and looked at the boy beside her, who had turned a lovely shade of pink.

“The pleasure is all mine, Cerigg,” Elidibus replied without skipping a single beat.

“First time seeing you here, what brings you to Crystarium?” He took a sip of his drink, while the red-haired elven child behind him, Taynor, seemed to be suppressing a laugh at Unukalhai’s expense.

“The usual. Saving the planet. You know how it is.”

Cerigg burst out laughing. “I do, I do—I see where Unu got his deadpan sense of humour from!”

“Now, if you will excuse us, we have planet-saving matters to discuss,” the Ascian said, wearing his blankest expression, and Gaia took the cue to lead the way back to their table after giving the two a customary wave.

“Oh, thank you for cutting that short,” she whispered to him while walking. “You’ve clearly already redeemed yourself from wanting to murder that fae who can bring me to the Source.”

“Ah, mortals and their inconsistent morals,” she heard him comment behind her.

Back at their table, Cyella looked with disbelief at the pencil Elidibus had borrowed as he sat down. “Don’t tell me you’re going to do the crosswords.”

“I am sorry, Cylva, but did you think your presence would make for sufficient entertainment?” he replied with a slightly raised eyebrow as he set down the handful of newspapers in front of him.

“Begging your pardon for being such a disappointment, Emissary.” She rested her head in her hand, smiling. “I wonder, how does it feel to go from dimension-destroying supervillain to—sorry, Gaia—babysitter doing the newspaper crosswords at the bar?”

“It is not as different as you might imagine,” he answered idly, reading the front-page of The Crystarium Times, which highlighted some dwarven entrepreneur—a change from coverage of the aftermath of the star shower, or of the bizarre structure that had crashed down the slopes of Mount Gulg. “You seem to have made friends in this world,” he said with a glance to Unukalhai. “Good.”

The boy, who had finally decided to sit down, looked away. “Sorry for telling them you are my brother, I … did not feel like explaining.”

“Indeed. Sooner or later, however, you will have to explain why you are not getting older like your friend.” Elidibus flipped through the pages of the newspaper, seemingly only scanning the headlines.

“Yes. I admit the current arrangement is… only short-term for now.”

“Is it not the case for all of us at this table?” He stopped on the crosswords and puzzles page. “Except for you, of course.” His eyes shot up briefly in the direction of Cyella before returning to the newspaper. “You appear to have left behind the world-saving lifestyle to secure yourself a stable situation. It is one way to cope with failure, Sirrah.”

Her eyes widened. “You—How dare you—Gods, I wish I could throw back your own real name right at you and remind you of your failures, you son of a bitch,” she whispered at him, livid, while he was filling in the first line of crosswords.

“Cylva…” Unukalhai timidly spoke up, “we can still save it. Not our people but… our world… our legacy.” Gaia thought she saw Elidibus react to that, blinking, or perhaps sighing. I think I’m starting to outright hallucinate him expressing emotions. “We are working on it. It is going to take time, but… we have plenty of that.”

“Right. As long as another Ascian doesn’t blow the planet up right now.” Cyella wiped her eyes then crossed her arms, clearing her throat. “Elidibus.” He dignified her with silently looking up from his crosswords. “I figure this might be the last time I ever get the chance to ask you. Were you ever going to do anything for our world? Our people?” Her icy eyes shone with barely suppressed tears.

“You might not appreciate the entirety of my answer. Do you want to hear it?”

“Could it be any worse than what I am imagining? Go for it.”

“We had intended to leave it for last. There were three reasons for that. The first was to ensure there would be no elemental interference from other shards when we would start working on redistributing its aetherial make-up, as Gaia and her friend have been doing here.” To his credit, he was maintaining his full attention on Cyella, rather than on the newspaper puzzles—though the way he was rolling the pencil between his fingers indicated he might have preferred the latter. “The second was that, with the star almost fully rejoined, it would be easier to deduce what elements were lacking to its balance to push the Thirteenth into that direction. The third was that your kind makes for convenient fodder to throw at inhabitants of other shards,” he finished flatly without so much as a warning.

Unukalhai had the grace to wince for a second. Cyella found herself at a momentary loss for words, blinking. Gaia shut her eyes and tried very hard to focus on her Sachertorte, but then Cyella turned to her. “Gaia. Do you think your aether is making him physical enough for me to slap?” she asked, pointing a long, thin finger at the Ascian.

When she nodded in response, her mouth too full to reply verbally, Cyella rose from her seat and slowly drew her hand back.

“Was it worse than what you were imagining?” he had the time to ask, not making a single move to dodge or defend himself, before Cyella’s hand connected with his face with a loud slap. Some patrons turned around to throw wary glances at their table, and Glynard bent down to speak into Cerigg’s ear.

She sat back down, head lowered and eyes hidden behind a hand, before quietly answering. “Yes and no. I thought you were leaving our world for dead.”

“Then you have misunderstood our purpose.” He had straightened himself as if nothing had happened, though his left cheek was flaring red.

“Probably. I don’t care.”

They all sat in silence for a full minute, and Gaia wasn’t sure whether to find it uncomfortable or be thankful she could eat in peace.

“Uh, hey there,” came a voice out of the blue.

"Cerigg," Cyella said, sounding the most tired she's ever been. "Welcome to our table of failed heroes."

He scratched the back of his head in an effort to look natural. "Everything okay, Cyella?”

“Yes, Cerigg. Tell Glynard I’m fine. This is between me and… an old acquaintance.” She glowered at the latter, who was making good progress on his crosswords.

The mercenary looked from Cyella, to Elidibus, to Unukalhai, then back and forth between Cyella and Elidibus again, his eyes narrowed. Gaia could see the wheels spinning in his brain. “I… see.” He nodded to himself. “Yes.”

Cyella breathed a deep sigh, eyes shut. “No, you don't.”

“Well, anyway. Unu?” he called, with a gesture asking the boy to join him.

Unukalhai nodded as he got to his feet. “I’ll see you this afternoon in the Cabinet of Curiosity.” Oh, yes. That. He then waved the most timid wave at Gaia, before leaving the three of them at their table.

Gaia silently watched her two companions, one unrelentingly slaying newspaper puzzles, cheek still red, the other with her arms crossed and her eyes shut, either meditating or lost in thought. Her break should end soon, right?

“He cares about you.” Cyella finally spoke up. “You realise that.” She opened her eyes to watch Elidibus, but this time, she looked neither cold nor angry. Just sad and tired. “Don’t you?”

He looked up with a sigh of his own, slowly blinking. “Is there anything giving you the impression I do not?”

“He cares. He pretends you’re his brother as an excuse but I know, and you know, that is most likely close to his true feelings.” They stared at each other. “I want you to answer this sincerely. Do you care about him?” Seeing him lean back on his chair and look at the glass ceiling, without answering, she continued. “I know, as he now does, that you’ve been using him as a pawn. I know you probably don’t see him, nor any of us, as truly human.” She paused to look at Unukalhai chatting with his two friends, starting a new life on this tiny world as she once did a hundred years ago. “Please, don’t just answer this with what I want to hear. Do you care?”

“This is a difficult question. And not because I am trying to deceive you with my answer,” he started slowly, quietly. “You are correct in saying I do not consider any of you truly human. I am unable to.” He brought his eyes back down, and in spite of their glow, they looked dull. “Too much has changed. Everything she took away from you fundamentally altered you. The way you think, how you interact with each other. Power imbalance, greed, envy, hatred. I know what you think.” He looked down at the newspaper, in the corner of which he had started idly scribbling vertical lines. “’But we speak, feel, create art and build cultures like you did!’ So you do. In your own way. Stunted, stifled, distorted echoes of what was once a grand symphony. You do not understand the gulf there is between us, because you cannot. So you think we are being unfair in our judgement of your mediocrity. Our dehumanising of you. Part of it is the natural, inevitable detachment that comes with the distance I spoke of. But of course, you also sound like us—in your cries of pain, your screams of terror. Physically, if not aetherically, some of you look like us. In resolving ourselves to do what must be done to recover what was taken, we made ourselves inhuman monsters—the monsters we needed to be, the monsters you called us, the monsters we became in spite of ourselves. How do you remain human when everything that made you human was taken from you? How could you tell?"

He paused for a moment, tracing lines on paper. “Gaia,” he called out, without looking up. “I mentioned the family I once had. I think I had a younger sibling. Brother, or sister. No matter,” he shrugged, “but you see my point, I imagine. I would be remiss not to mention the other, obvious evidence, however. It has not escaped you that Unukalhai was a young hero chosen to defend a world he failed to save.” He stopped scribbling to close his eyes. “Thirty-seven times,” he sighed, drawing his head back slightly, “that is the number of times Emet-Selch mocked me since the Thirteenth's flood of darkness for this particular bit of projection, and let me assure you, ten thousand years tend to wear out a running joke. Fifty-nine, however,” he re-opened his eyes, pressing his lips for a second, “is the number of times I have observed Emet-Selch live out full lives in a futile attempt to convince himself he could live this lie, relate to and accept this state of existence. As for Lahabrea…” He finally put his pencil down, and looked away. “I remember, now—he had a son. We were good friends. Another number on the senseless death count. Then, after we were afforded a flicker of hope to restore the world he had sworn his life to protect, everything else was taken away from us. It consumed him, and his humanity."

He then looked back at Gaia and Cyella both, wearing a slight, exhausted smile. “That is the funny thing, you see. All three of us broke in different ways.” He paused, lost in reflection for several seconds. “And if I am sitting here in front of you today, Cylva,” he said, his eyes notably not lifeless, but alive, still, with the faint flicker of a man who needed to continue a fight he was too weary to fight anymore, “it is because I have just been told that, after all this, after these millennia of fighting a losing battle, not everything has been taken away from me. Not yet.”

Cyella crossed, then uncrossed her arms, brushed away a strand of hair and sighed. “I will take that answer.”

“What a relief. This dimension-destroying supervillain has crosswords to finish.”

“And that one has at least one meal left to devour,” she said with a weak smile to Gaia. “I should be getting back to work now.”

Gaia watched the barmaid raise from her seat, adjusting her apron and making a small gesture in the direction of Glynard at the bar. She gave Cyella a nod that she hoped might somehow convey both Thank you and So this is the absolute state of where we’re at.

“Before I go, though.” There was a notable chill in her voice, her back turned on them. “Let it be said that, after everything is said and done, it has not escaped me I am watching a Primal feed off the aether of his tempered,” she said, turning her head just enough to glare at Elidibus from the corner of her eye.

He gave up on the expressionless act, looking less than impressed. “Are you imagining I have enough power to impose my will on anyone? I fear you have not been following, Cylva.”

Her voice was a low growl. “Touch a single hair on Gaia’s head, and I will do my best to personally ensure the authentic human race is well and truly extinct.”

“How audacious of you to appropriate the vast majority of Hydaelyn’s great work. She is the Will of the Star, as you are well aware.”

“So she is.” Cyella bent down in a mocking little bow. “May you ever walk in Her light, Elidibus.”

Chapter Text

She preferred the Source during daytime.

At night, when darkness took over, she heard them.

They were only faint whispers, from time to time, barely audible. Most she could not make out. A few were clear enough for her to understand.

“Help…”

“Does anyone… hear us?…”

“Ah, so you hear them too,” his words had rung through her mind. “Loghrif always did. She had told me it disturbed her, so I usually assigned her to work on Shards rather than on the Source. They get stronger during the new moon, when it is bathed in darkness.”

“Do you hear them?” she had asked Elidibus out loud—though she had not manifested him physically, she found it easier to reply by spontaneously speaking out loud, rather than focusing on formulating the sentences in her mind and then intently directing them at him, for him alone to hear. She found it to be quite the mental process, a little too abstract and not worth bothering with when she was alone.

“Do I? Gaia,” she had felt him sigh. “They are me.”

She would have to get used to the troubled nights. At the present, she felt like she had just been run over by one of those dwarven tanks.

“Good morning, Gaia,” a Dwarf—sorry, Lalafell—said, entering the room. She was wearing a yellow overcoat with some sort of cat ears on the hood. If memory served, she was the good friend Unukalhai had mentioned, though asking Gaia to recall her name would be expecting too much of her right now. There was a disturbing light about her, though. “Rough first night? Was the bedroom not to your liking?” Her sweet face and large blue eyes were marred by worry. Truth be told, it was the first time Gaia had ever seen a Lalafell’s face—apparently, they did not share the peculiar customs of their First counterparts.

“Oh! No, no. The bed was great, thank you.” The architecture of this insular city—the homeland of most of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, she was told when she arrived yesterday evening—was angular and austere, but her bed was comfortable and the blankets appropriately thick. “It’s just that this entire world is very new to me.” I don’t even remember her name, and I’d rather be on a first-name-basis before I tell someone I'm hearing voices. “Looking at the world map on the wall here, what I can recognise looks so… tiny.”

“Ah, that’s right,” she said, setting down a cup of hot coffee in front of Gaia, “Alphinaud told me the rough location of the hospitable portion of your world. We’re in Sharlayan, the archipelago to the north-west represented by a teal nautilus.” She pointed a short finger at the upper left corner of the map. “And that map is just of what we call the three main continents! There are two other landmasses not pictured here.”

Gaia spun on her seat to take a better look at it. Though the Lalafell had spoken of three continents, it appeared the middle one was largely unmapped. In the south-western corner of the map, she recognised the world she knew as Norvrandt: the isle of Kholusia with its volcano—which was marked ’Vylbrand’, her own home of Eulmore bearing the rhyming name of ’Limsa Lominsa’—and the mainland, with a desert to the south, forest to the east and mountains to the north. Not only did the Source make her world feel very, very small, but each of those regions seemed to feature at least one large city with its own flag. And that was only the left-hand side of the map. On the other side of the clouded, central continent, the eastern lands seemed just as rich with landmarks and nations. My world has only two cities to speak of…

“Take care not to exert yourself too much,” the Lalafell told her gently, handing her a plate of what looked like chunky brown biscuits while she sipped her coffee. “You don’t have a body in this world, right?”

“Right.” Beq Lugg, with the assistance of Elidibus and Unukalhai, had managed to extract her soul from her body and tether it to a crystal infused with dark aether, which Meteor then carried on his person. Then, upon his arrival on the Source, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn—a number of which she did not recognise—had worked together to manifest her corporeally. The dark crystal was now hanging from a crudely-made but sturdy chain around her neck, safely tucked under her clothes, resting against her heart. “I was told Ascians typically possess a physical body.”

“That’s right. It’s one of the subjects we need to discuss today at the Studium. Anyway, take your time with your breakfast. If you need anything, just come by the reception. I’ll be there to discuss matters with Ojika Tsunjika,” she said with a kind smile before turning to leave.

What’s with the funny rhyming names, anyway? Gaia wondered as she took a bite of a biscuit. It was terribly bland, but dense enough to last her the entire morning. Either the locals of this place have zero taste in food, or my host is subtly telling me she doesn’t want me around.

“No, the people of Sharlayan genuinely do not recognise the value of the culinary arts.” The sound of Elidibus’s voice in her mind slightly startled her. Usually, she could tell whether or not he was awake by how much space she felt him taking in her mind, but she wasn’t paying attention. “With that said, she does reek of Light, doesn’t she?”

“Please,” Gaia said, swallowing her bite of the blandest offense to baking, “don’t actually say that out loud when I manifest you around them. I want a place to sleep at, still. Also, I don’t want to hear you say that about Ryne.” She attempted to wash the biscuit down with a gulp of coffee. “Do you think we could convince them to bring her over?” At least the coffee isn’t as bad. “For the fight against darkness, or something.”

“That would make a fine excuse for having your friend around, yes.”

After a moment of hesitation, she reached for another biscuit. “And don’t eavesdrop on my thoughts.”

“I can hardly help it, but will pretend not to hear anything, if that helps you cope with our situation. I do not suppose you want an exposé on lalafellin naming trends throughout the ages?”

She made her best effort to answer ’NO THANKS, ELIDIBUS’ in her mind. Then, with a determined, fatalistic sigh, she resolved herself to suffer through the rest of her breakfast.

She had not expected the outside temperature to be so cold. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw real, natural snow—if ever. It made for a breathtaking sight, the white morning mist draped over the city’s harbour, veiling a massive statue that stood at the end of a wharf. Thankfully, her host had a thick, fur-lined coat to lend her—she ignored Elidibus’s comment on ’simply adjusting your balance of fire and ice aether’.

“We’re at a much higher latitude than what you are used to,” the Lalafell said, a strand of hazelnut hair and the ears on her hood waving in the breeze as they headed up a hill. “Though I expect climate on a shard might not be exactly transposable to the Source. This world has weathered many large-scale disasters we call calamities, affecting its elemental balance.”

Oh, yeah. That was me and the besties. Oops! Gaia thought, biting her lip, and tried to come up with the best way to continue the conversation. “Right. Did they affect the… uh… the balance of fire and ice aether?”

She felt a barely perceptible snicker in a corner of her mind.

Her host, however, seemed to love the question, and her answer lasted through all of their stroll up a park. Soon, they arrived at a large building made of bulky white stone like the rest of the city, and the moment Gaia would have to disclose to her new friends she was in fact the willing host to a twelve thousand year old asshole was fast approaching. She was only hoping he hadn't tried to personally murder too many of them. Her suspicions that her host—Krile, she heard—was somebody important were confirmed by how students and staff alike greeted her as they made their way through the corridors of the Studium.

Finally, they reached their destination, an empty classroom the Scions of the Seventh Dawn had reserved for themselves. A group of five was already there, having rearranged a couple of tables in a U-shape at the front of the classroom. Gaia’s face brightened up in spite of the physical exhaustion when she saw Meteor, always dressed ready for combat, alongside—probably—Thancred, the Hume with short light blond hair who had been like a mentor to Ryne. The other three seated around the tables she did not recognise: a couple of teenaged, white-haired Elves who looked exactly alike, and a red-haired Mystel with strikingly bright red eyes.

“…been a number of incidents involving the mercenaries from Aerslent. People trust the Ishgardian templars far more, but Aymeric says he cannot send much more at the present,” the Elf said as Krile and Gaia crossed the classroom to join them.

“No kidding. They’re pirates. What was the Forum thinking?” his twin sister replied mockingly.

“Defending the city. Sharlayan does not have any army to—” He interrupted himself when he noticed the two approaching. “Hello, Krile, Gaia. Have you slept well?”

“Obviously not, idiot,” his sister snapped as they sat down. “She’s just arrived here and everything’s a mess. I’m not catching much sleep either. We’re finally home and it hasn’t been spared.” Her face quickly went from annoyed to a blend of weariness and worry.

Over the blackboard had been pinned the same world map Gaia saw at Krile’s estate, though slightly smaller. Blinking red-purple spots had been magically added, dotting the lands at regular intervals, with the largest one standing ominously in the northern reaches of the center, unmapped continent, right on a place that was marked ’Garlemald’. One dot was dangerously close to the teal nautilus of Sharlayan—the reason why they were here. The cold morning skies were too thick with white fog to make it out, but she recalled seeing the huge, ugly tower standing in the distance the night before, planted in the naturally glowing lands the locals called the Aetherfont. Thankfully, the city was far enough to be out of reach of the pulses, but the aether had sent the local wildlife into a frenzy, and what appeared to be soldiers in dark uniforms had apparently managed to kidnap a number of locals. No demand had been made whatsoever by the assailants, which made the disappearances all the more disturbing.

“I guess every nation has its own tower to worry about?” Gaia asked, pointing to the marked map.

“Pretty much, and those towers temper anyone that comes close, so they require a strike team of Echo wielders to take down,” Thancred said with a somber tone, a cheek resting on a clenched fist, “and not everyone with the Echo can fight.”

“Even those who can…” The young Elf’s voice trailed off. I guess someone he knows was sent there, and…

“Well, we’ve got Krile and Meteor, and…” His sister’s dark blue eyes fell on Gaia. “Them. You Ascians all have the Echo by default, right?”

She wasn’t sure how to take that. When she opened her mouth to answer, she noticed a man making his way towards them, his massive frame draped in a traveler’s cloak. I didn’t notice him walk in. Perhaps he teleported in…

“Speak of the Devil,” Thancred muttered, while the Elf spun on his seat to greet their new guest.

Halmarut nodded to him, and gave Gaia a genial smile. “You have arrived safely, Loghrif.”

“Hey, Hal,” she replied with a grin. Oh no—should I even be calling him Hal? This was only the second time they met—in this life, anyway. “I didn’t come alone,” she added, glancing at Meteor. As far as she knew, and judging by the puzzled looks the other Scions of the Seventh Dawn gave her, he had not informed anyone of her stowaway. The Warrior of Light nodded at her. Let’s get this Ascian party started, then. Gaia rose a hand to the side of her head, and lightly knocked on her own skull as if it were a door. “Rise and shine, you unsundered parasite!”

She closed her eyes to focus, her hand extended towards an empty space in the room. She had found that making gestures helped her channel her magic—she tried not to be too self-conscious about how ridiculous she probably looked. In front of her hand, purple shadows swirled and coalesced like dark smoke, giving form to a man, clad in his usual loose-fitting pearlescent white robes, his face covered by his hood and bright red mask. Of course. As long as we’re in the presence of people who know him, he’s gonna choose to materialise in his own attire rather than show his baby face in the normal clothes I bought for him. Ingrate.

Gaia had expected Meteor to be the only one not to react with immediate hostility, but Krile seemed merely puzzled. The rest gave Elidibus the welcome she expected.

Halmarut blinked, visibly stunned. “Elidibus? But you—I thought they—” he stammered, pointing at the Scions around the table.

“The Scions of the Seventh Dawn have gotten sloppy and forgotten white auracite must be destroyed after sealing in an Ascian soul,” he commented idly, surveying the group before him.

The Mystel maintained his composure, though the lowered stance of his ears betrayed his rage. Ah, Gaia thought, so here’s Attempted Murder Victim #1. “I had been counting on the Crystal Tower to slowly kill you, Elidibus.”

“How thoughtful of you. Though I had been under the impression the effort required to trap me inside would have finished consuming your bodily aether completely.”

“Hoping to take me down with you? Nope. Guess we’re both hard to kill.” The shade of his eyes was the same red as Elidibus’s mask.

Gaia felt stupid for realising only then that this Mystel was—or had been—the Crystal Exarch who had led Crystarium for a century in her world. Ryne had explained the Exarch’s story to her, that he had come from a future in which the First did not exist anymore. It was well-known that he had to heroically sacrifice himself to end the star shower that threatened their world—in other words, to contain Elidibus in the tower. So he… switched timelines? Fused his mind and memories that came from his future with his body in the present that will have a different future? That’s a thing? Gaia couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow, then looked down at her own hand. I can do time magic myself, right?

“Ah, of course. Your body was consumed, but you have a double in this era.” Elidibus seemed to echo her thoughts out loud. “But I see you’ve kept your soul and memories from the other era, and the two sets of aether coexist within you.” He paused, his gaze seemingly fixated upon the Exarch. Of course, he can actually see that with his own eyes. “Interesting…”

None of the Scions said anything to that. Halmarut silently stroke his chin beard. Gaia supposed that everyone was thinking what she was thinking. If this is possible, then… could we undo the Sundering somehow? What would happen to us? What happened to his future?

“Ah, you are all here. Good,” a calm woman's voice cut through the silence. A white-haired Mystel strode in confidently, carrying a heavy-looking leather-bound tome and a rolled-up scroll, before stopping mid-step when her milky eyes fell successively on Gaia, Halmarut and, inevitably, Elidibus. She lifted her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “This is at least one more Ascian than what I was expecting,” she sighed.

The seated Scions gave their friend various reactions—a sorry shrug, a pair of raised eyebrows, a little laugh, an emphatic “I know, right?”—at which point Gaia all but decided to give up, and spoke up.

“All right everyone,” she put her hands up, and to her relief they all listened, “I'm sorry but I've literally just arrived in this world last night and barely slept. I don't even know most of you guys, and I'm not even sure which of you have gone to my world, so I’m gonna need some refreshers.” She paused to take in a long breath. “I'm Gaia. I'm sixteen, and I'm from Eulmore. A couple of months ago, I found out I was the reincarnation of Loghrif. So I'm...” She scrunched up her face. “I think I'm an Ascian? But not completely? It's complicated.” She threw uncertain looks to the Scions around her. “I'm friends with Ryne, if you guys know her.” All of them but Krile nodded.

“Right, sorry, Gaia, this must be confusing for you,” the male twin said gently. “I am Alphinaud. I have stayed a bit in Kholusia, been to Eulmore and even had a word or two with Vauthry,” he explained with a polite chuckle, making Gaia cringe in a show of empathy.

“And I'm Alisaie,” his female doppelgänger said, pointing to herself. "I don't know Kholusia and Eulmore as well, as I stayed mostly in Ahm Araeng. My brother sort of neglected to mention—our father is kind of a big deal here in Sharlayan, and Alphinaud is effectively the face of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. For better or for worse,” she ended with an eye roll, while her brother looked away in embarrassment.

“I am G'raha Tia. Perhaps you've recognised me, perhaps not—” Gaia nodded to him, “I was the Crystal Exarch in your world, founded Crystarium and brought the Scions of the Seventh Dawn there to change the course of history.” He shot a pointed glare at Elidibus. “But originally, I am also from Sharlayan and a member of a couple of its organisations. It's complicated,” he added with a sympathetic smile upon seeing the confusion on Gaia's face.

“I am Y'shtola. I was also on the First, but lived in Rak'tika for the most part,” she said, switching the weight of her book onto her other arm. Gaia noted she had bags under her blind eyes. “We're missing Urianger, who has been doing research like I have, but I think you know him, along with Thancred and Meteor.”

“And I'm Krile. I was tasked with the fun job of keeping everyone's bodies alive on this world,” she said with an eyebrow raise that indicated it was not fun at all. “You slept at the headquarters of the Students of Baldesion, an organisation founded by my grandfather, specialising in searching for and analysing magical artefacts all over the world—which I suppose I am sort of leading now.” For a fleeting second, she turned her eyes down, before quickly switching back to a kind, sisterly expression. “Hence why I asked your opinion on the bedroom!”

Everyone’s eyes then turned to the two Ascians, some curious, others hostile.

“Ah, hmm. I suppose I have not introduced myself to all of you. I am the Ascian Halmarut.” Gaia did her best not to laugh—in this moment he seemed quite self-conscious for someone so imposing. “I am among those who reached out to you to forge an alliance against Fandaniel and his Telophoroi.”

“Ah, this alliance I would like to discuss…” Y'shtola began, but Thancred spoke up at the same time.

“I've been wondering, Halmarut—do we know you? From before?” he asked with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

The Ascian smiled politely. “From before? I have heard you have wandered Ilsabard recently, but I am fairly certain our paths did not cross. Now, if you mean from before, I am best-known for the Fourth Umbral Calamity. On its non-Source side, of course,” he added hastily, in the hushed tones of someone who definitely did not want to sound like he was stealing credit for someone else’s work of art.

“What was this about an alliance that must be discussed?” Elidibus asked Y’shtola, before adding, to the rest of the room, “I am Elidibus, by the way. Emissary of the Convocation of Fourteen, elected representatives of mankind, and for all intents and purposes, last surviving member of the authentic human race still, in spite of your best efforts.”

“Aren't you forgetting someone?” Alisaie asked, her head cocked to the side.

“Why do you think I said ’for all intents and purposes’? Your best efforts are also hers, after all, and if you may allow me to be frank with you, I find calling the perpetrator of a genocide a fellow survivor the slightest bit distasteful.”

Gaia could feel a few Scions around her bristle at that. “Genocide?” Thancred repeated under his breath.

Y’shtola ignored the budding protests of her peers. “Indeed, an alliance has been struck between the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and Halmarut, here, along with his associate Pashtarot,” she explained to Elidibus who, in turn, looked to be listening intently. “I have found that Pashtarot’s hypothesis on Fandaniel planting his towers into aetherial currents does indeed line up with the knowledge we have of ley lines.”

She tapped the scroll she was holding. Its writings shone the colour of gold, and in an instant the continents on the map that had been hanging over the blackboard was crisscrossed by glowing golden veins. A second later, fainter blue veins appeared, most of them in the seas and great lakes, though some ran under the lands as well. Gaia could not suppress a gasp, while Alisaie sat there with her mouth open at the sight. With the terrestrial and aquatic aetherial currents presented as such, it looked obvious the red-purple dots that marked Fandaniel’s towers sat upon their most prominent confluences.

“I have not consigned eolian aether currents onto this spell—the Twelve know it already took me long enough to gather up all knowledge of ley lines running under lands and seas, and I do not think it necessary besides given the evidence we already have,” she said with the heaviest sigh, before turning to Elidibus again. “But that isn’t quite what I wanted to bring up regarding Pashtarot. I don’t know if the news has officially reached Sharlayan yet, but I have been informed the tower that was in Outer La Noscea has crumbled.”

“Really?! Good news, then!” Alphinaud exclaimed, as the other Scions approved as well.

“Well…” Y’shtola turned to Halmarut, who had not shown any reaction to the news. “Please tell your colleague not to go scorched earth next time. There were no survivors among the Kobolds that were held prisoner inside the edifice.”

The celebrations turned to silence instantly.

Halmarut stroke his beard. “Were they not tempered?”

“That doesn’t matter to the Maelstrom, nor to the Kobold leaders. According to witnesses, Pashtarot said something to the effect of ’since when do you even pretend to care for the mole people?’ before departing.” She furrowed her brow. “You must understand that this runs afoul of your terms—that you will not involve yourselves into our politics for the next two hundred years.”

Halmarut, to his credit, seemed genuinely embarrassed, now scratching his jaw. “Indeed. I shall speak with him.”

“Why two hundred years anyway?” Alisaie asked with her arms crossed. “You’re immortals. You can just go and wait two hundred years nicely. It sounds to me like you got the better end of the deal.”

“Ah, how do I say this? Pashtarot and I decided upon two centuries,” Halmarut clasped his hands, glancing over at Elidibus who had been listening without a word, “because we figured longer would be asking too much of your mortal memories and lifespans to be certain you would uphold your end of the bargain.”

Elidibus couldn’t suppress a chuckle as he turned to look back at Halmarut. “Good thinking.”

“Not to mention, some immortals have less patience than others,” Halmarut added with a smile and a polite little cough.

Thancred audibly groaned at that, which Alphinaud attempted to talk over. “Very well. But please ensure there will be no further breach of contract, Halmarut.”

“Of course. You will note I have presently sent Pashtarot away, to fetch Mitron on the Eighth Shard.”

“You—what?” Gaia could not help but blurt out in Halmarut’s direction. “You could have—” Waited? Asked for permission? Is this appropriate? She lowered her eyes as thoughts rushed her mind and words caught in her throat. I’m just some teen girl, how could I scold an immortal that is several thousand years old? In front of another? What do I even know? “I—Sorry, Halmarut. So Mitron is coming here soon. All right,” she said in a low voice, covering one hand with the other. I’m not ready.

His golden eyes widened as he spread his hands. “I did not mean to offend, Loghrif. If it may reassure you, I have discussed this with the Warrior of Light,” he said kindly, gesturing to Meteor who gave her a big brother-like, confident nod. “I told Pashtarot to make it clear that, while you have accepted to join us, you have not given your approval to—” Halmarut scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “—resume your relationship. However, I apologise for not consulting with you before sending Pashtarot away. That is my bad. I will make sure to remind Mitron of your boundaries as soon as she arrives.”

“Oh no, no—well, I mean, yes, but—” was all she could muster in response, unable to continue. She was, frankly, embarrassed. Not merely because of the casual mention of her age-old relationship with this technical stranger, but also because this towering man, who had spent the last few millennia plotting the demise of various civilisations, looked and sounded so genuinely apologetic to her—some girl. She could feel the Scions around her stare at the two of them, and her cheeks burned.

“Gaia,” Elidibus’s soft-spoken voice called out. “First Seat Loghrif. Second Seat Mitron. Seventh Seat Halmarut. All three of you stand equal. You are within your rights to tell your colleague you do not feel comfortable with his decision and to seek a solution to best appease tensions. Now, that is what Halmarut just did,” he nodded in his direction—that is, largely upwards—“but I wished to remind you of your status. While you may not be properly ascended, do not feel illegitimate to speak your mind. The two newly-ascended paragons do not have much more experience as Ascians than you do. Perhaps less so, given that Mitron’s former incarnation shared their memories with you.”

She looked from him—his expression concealed by his mask, though the chances were that there was not much to conceal—to Halmarut, who had been nodding along, then to Meteor, whose blue eyes all but said ’if Mitron tries anything, I’m sending them right back to the star again’. “Thank you,” she mumbled with a smile, breathing a sigh of relief. “And, uh,” she hesitated, turning to Elidibus, “sorry for being mindful of Halmarut but casually calling you a parasite earlier.”

He shrugged. “I take no offence to your speaking the truth.”

That, and I'm not as comfortable with Halmarut yet as with someone who's living in my mind, she thought, glancing away for a second.

Thancred cleared his throat. “So, I take it we are trusting Pashtarot to do a better job navigating sensitive interpersonal relationships than guaranteeing the survival of hostages?”

“I trust Pashtarot to keep his word,” Halmarut smiled.

Thancred raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but had nothing to say to that. Watching him, Gaia's thoughts jumped to her best friend, back on the First. After all, what better way to tell Mitron ’keep off’ than having Ryne around?

“Say, everyone… What do you think of bringing Ryne here to help? Maybe her light could help against the darkness?” she ventured to ask.

“I’ve wondered this myself,” Y’shtola said, tapping her knuckles on her chin. “I’ve been thinking that her mastery over light might be an avenue to rebalance the aether of souls corrupted by Fandaniel’s towers.”

“Plus, she was able to pilot Eden from the inside. Minfilia gifted her with her powers before surrendering herself,” Thancred added with a sigh, neither angry nor sorrowful, but quietly resigned—the same tone Elidibus took on whenever he spoke of life eons ago.

“Correct. To speak more precisely, their souls, once a single entity, rejoined,” Elidibus explained. “By default, it would be the Source shard that would then assume control of the rejoined entity, but she consented to relinquish control. She would also make the best conduit to channel Hydaelyn, much like Gaia with myself.” A corner of his mouth twitched as he crossed his arms. “Though I suspect my counterpart is not nearly as powerless as I presently am.”

Gaia chuckled. “You should take a seat before feeling faint, you frail old man.” Naturally, he ignored her.

“Her voice is weak, however,” Krile said with worry. She took her eared hood off. Her wavy hazelnut hair was tied in a high ponytail, and longer than Gaia expected. Maybe Dwarves could have pretty hair too if they just ditched the silly helmet, she thought idly. “I don’t think we have met before, Elidibus, but I have heard of you via a mutual acquaintance,” Krile told him with a friendly smile. “Hence I should clarify—I am the only Scion, alongside Meteor, to have the Echo, in the absence of Minfilia.”

Don’t worry, he already told me about the light he saw radiating out of your every pore, Gaia refrained herself from saying.

“Ah, so you are the one I must thank for offering Unukalhai hospitality. I surmise he was too polite to warn you against believing every word that comes out of Mother Dearest.” Poor Krile could only blink at the sudden swerve from sincere thanks to what probably amounted to biting blasphemy. “I can hardly blame you, however. Her commands to you are only to hear, feel, think, rather than listening, reflecting and coming away with your own conclusions.”

“Looks like he was also too polite to warn Krile about how you act. Hope we chance upon the Oracle of Water to rebalance your dry personality soon,” Gaia said to him with a smirk, patting the empty seat next to her.

He stared back silently before eventually uncrossing his arms. “I fear there has been a misunderstanding, Gaia,” he said, taking her invite to sit down. “You told me we would make an alliance, not that I would owe her puppets kindness.”

She heard Thancred breathe in sharply through his nose.

Alphinaud shifted nervously on his seat, turning to Y’shtola. “How feasible would it be to bring Ryne to the Source?”

Elidibus answered before she could. “As feasible as it was with Gaia, given how similar they are save for their respective elemental affinities.” He leaned on his elbow, his ample sleeve draping down to the table. Gaia could not help but be surprised to see some decent muscles on that forearm. Should I take ’frail old man’ back? She thought about it for a couple of seconds. Nah. “It is the Echo that makes your souls easily transferrable between vessels. Otherwise,” he continued, giving G’raha the slightest nod, “handling the souls of your average malformed brethren requires significant engineering feats that make use of extraterrestrial technology, as the Garlond Ironworks of your future have. As you may have surmised from your trip to the First, it was only on the Source that Omega and the Dragon it pursued landed. None of the other shards have developed to that stage—not that we would have let your kind keep such knowledge of practical interdimensional travel to itself,” he said with a smirk that could imply a variety of unpleasant possibilities.

“Speaking of ’transferring between vessels’, Gaia has no physical body,” Krile spoke up, giving her a look of sincere worry, “and I suppose that will be the case for Ryne as well. We are aware Ascians tend to possess physical bodies.” Her large blue eyes jumped to Elidibus, taking on an apologetic look he did not quite deserve. “Far be it from me to ask the Heart of Zodiark to show kindness to one of Hydaelyn’s puppets, but would you be so kind as to explain why that is?”

“Tell me again—how does your kind kill one of us?”

Thancred seemed all too eager to answer this one. “Kill your physical body, trap your soul in a white auracite, then blast it to smithereens.” He turned to his comrades. “What was the name of that one son of a bitch, again? Nabby-something?” he asked lightly, evidently knowing the answer to his own question.

“Or using your trapped aether as fuel,” G’raha Tia said pointedly.

“Correct, Crystal Exarch.” The venom in the way he said it fit his serpent mask. “Unfortunately, your tower found my unsundered soul and Primal aether quite the mouthful and a half to digest. Archbishop Thordan VII of Ishgard, however, made far quicker use of Lahabrea’s aether.” He took a moment to rub the back of his neck, under the white hood, his head lowered. “You get my point. Without a physical body, we are masses of aether ready to be manipulated by anyone with the ability to, after being sufficiently weakened. With Unukalhai and Beq Lugg, we chose to tether Gaia’s soul to a dark auracite,” he pointed his thumb towards her, the crystal hanging from a crude iron chain around her neck, its dark purple glow lightly pulsating like a heartbeat, “ready to be blasted to smithereens by anyone with enough power to. It is fragile, and we have found souls do in fact fare better within actual bodies, as is their nature. All of this would be fine if Gaia, and soon Ryne, were here to simply chat and sightsee, but not with the intent of fighting an Ascian.”

“Ascians,” came the correction from several people at the same time—the twins, Thancred, Halmarut, and even Meteor.

“Right,” Elidibus muttered, hiding his face—or his mask, rather—with a hand. “Forgive a frail old man this lapse in attention, sometimes I forget how many of my associates I now have to kill to save what little remains of my people’s legacy.”

Krile looked like she wanted to speak again, but stopped herself when she saw Elidibus sighing deeply, slumped on the table.

G'raha had no such qualms, however. “Right, so the problem remains—we need to get Gaia, and later Ryne, a body.”

“If you may allow me—“ Halmarut interjected, with one of his affable smiles, rescuing his colleague from having to speak further, “this is not typically what we Ascians think of as a problem, and—”

Thancred cut him off with a massively unimpressed look. “We know. You’re murderers. Next question, please.”

For her part, Gaia was not surprised, but balked all the same. “I’m not taking anyone’s corpse!”

Alphinaud opened his mouth, but then froze when his eyes trailed over to the door at the back of the classroom.

“Boys, boys!” a woman’s voice called out from the door. An Elf of a certain age, dressed in light gray regalia, a gossamer veil hanging over her dark-skinned face from a rather silly looking hat, strode through the room with aplomb. Judging by her garb, Gaia figured her to be either some sort of political leader, high-ranking academic, or both, considering Sharlayan’s propensities. “May I remind you it is considered impolite to speak of possessing corpses in front of mortals? Tsk tsk!” the dignified lady said as she approached, quite clearly addressing Halmarut.

Most of the Scions looked very, very confused. “Lady Melienne of the Archivists?” Alphinaud blinked. “To what do we owe the pleas—“

Y’shtola, however, jumped out of her seat, drawing her thaumaturge’s staff. “No, she is not.”

Of course, Gaia thought, looking at the Mystel’s narrowed milky white eyes. Aethersight must be all she has left, so she can tell.

The rest of the Scions rose as one, drawing their own weapons—staves, rapier, grimoire, gunblade, plain broadsword. The intruder brought her hands to her mouth, as if offended. That was when Elidibus slowly, tiredly straightened himself, putting both hands up in an appeasing gesture.

“Deudalaphon.”

Chapter Text

“Deudalaphon,” Halmarut greeted their noble guest with a bow of the head. “I thought you were staying a neutral observer.”

The intruder turned to her hulking colleague and pursed her lips, hands on her hips. “And I thought our last Unsundered was supposed to be dead!” She shot Elidibus a motherly, worried look. “Though I do find him… diminished. Tut tut, which one of you shrank our emissary?”

Elidibus chuckled in earnest. “You could have—” he gestured to her attire, “made an effort.”

Gaia and he were the only two persons still seated. Even Krile was on her feet with the rest of them, clenching a simple wooden staff—though Deudalaphon did not seem to pose any threat. But she is an Ascian. That makes her a threat, Gaia mused, staring at the elegant dark-skinned Elf in her official attire. Though she likely looked nothing like her true self, Gaia found her familiar. I wonder what we've been through together.

“You mean my identity? Oh, well! Our plans for the calamity have been upended, so I figured there was little point in keeping this charade up.” Deudalaphon threw a quick, casual glance at the defiant Scions with something of a pout. “Besides, I surmise getting rid of these witnesses might prove problematic.”

Alphinaud had conjured up a small familiar by his side—some sort of silver, rabbit-like little critter with a large ruby on its forehead. “How long have you been—what have you done to the real Melienne?!”

His twin sister shook her head, her crystalline rapier alive with the magic coursing through it. “She murdered her, Alphinaud!”

The accused clapped her hands a couple of times like a teacher trying to get her students' attention. “Stand down, everyone! The old girl's fine, I didn't kill her. Well, she'll be tired, no doubt, once I give her back to you at the end of this interesting little meet-up! Then I will have to find another occupation,” she said with a wink that might have passed for innocent playfulness in any other context.

Thancred gave a pointed, disgusted grunt in reply, while the other Scions looked at each other. Meteor nodded at the twins before putting his blade away.

“To answer your other question,” Elidibus looked up at Alphinaud tensely waving his grimoire and familiar away, as the rest of the Scions slowly followed suit, “I had Deudalaphon placed on your Forum six months ago—roughly when you were dealing with Ishgard.” A faint smile appeared between the snake fangs of his Convocation mask. “She had a couple of very interesting tales to tell me about the inner workings of Sharlayan's foreign policy and how restricted access to its scientific knowledge is.”

She honoured that remark with a little giggle that made her sound like someone’s charming grandmother. Alphinaud, Krile and—surprisingly—Meteor looked like they knew what he was talking about. Shady politics, huh? Gaia raised an eyebrow, before wincing. Guess a native of Eulmore shouldn’t be throwing stones, though.

“Her role, as one of the main figures among your faction of Archivists,” he continued flatly, “was to compile all media of knowledge scattered between Old Sharlayan, your former Dravanian colony and various organisations such as the Students of Baldesion and the Sons of Saint Coinach, and ensure their complete destruction once the Eighth Umbral Calamity and its resulting chaos would be underway.”

There were gasps and cries of indignation around the table. For her part, Gaia was starting to get used to Elidibus’s blunt disclosure of the cold and calculated schemes he had been plotting for the past thousands of years. Hopefully he’ll stop there and this doesn’t get any wo—

“Simultaneously, I had Pashtarot positioned nearby and ready to ensure the extermination of your people down to the last."

She sighed, hiding her face behind a hand, while the Scions around her erupted. It was Thancred who spoke the loudest. “The gall you have to accuse Hydaelyn of genocide then—”

"Do not act so offended,” Elidibus replied coolly, leaning back in his chair. Though powerless and surrounded, he sat unbowed, impassible and defiant in the face of the Scions’ outrage. “We have been writing your history since before you developed the means to record it. My colleagues and I have spent millennia making and unmaking your civilisations to suit our purposes. Sharlayan had been digging too deep and learning too much for a while. It was Nabriales who first alerted me to your advanced knowledge and increasingly frequent meddling. Your people were due for a summary execution.” Halmarut kept his expression neutral while Deudalaphon looked busy adjusting her silly hat and shimmering veil. Both were apparently accustomed to their emissary’s chilling calm. “Unfortunately, I failed to account for the existence of Garlond Ironworks, and the survival of a single member of the Students of Baldesion and the Sons of Saint Coinach both, securely sealed within the Crystal Tower.” He turned slightly towards G’raha Tia, who shot the darkest of glares back at him. “Terribly sloppy of my alternate timeline self, I blush to admit.” Gaia could not imagine Elidibus ever blushing.

G’raha’s knuckles were white. “So the setback of scientific knowledge following the mass death caused by the Black Rose in my era… the radio silence from Sharlayan, blamed on post-apocalyptic unrest and looting…”

“Events we may only speak of in the hypothetical in this plane of existence, thanks to your valiant efforts,” Elidibus commented, unflinching. “In fact, your deeds have led to us allying in the present.” The accompanying smirk made it sound more ominous than it really was, though Gaia refused to put it past him to derive some entertainment from all this. “Fascinating, is it not?”

The way he said those last words made a stark contrast with his bitter sarcasm a sentence earlier. It is fascinating, Gaia agreed, as she forced herself to focus on the present discussion rather than on the infinite possibilities implied by what the Crystal Exarch had accomplished.

“Elidibus.” Y’shtola’s voice, firm yet lacking malice, cut through the whispers of discontent. “The last time we saw you, you had refuted Emet-Selch’s position and made it clear you would fight to the bitter end for your ideals—ideals you admitted were irreconcilable with ours. Why would you consider allying with us now?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but Alisaie cut him off. “Have you finally conceded Emet-Selch came to see us as the better outcome and passed on the torch to us?”

She spoke so confidently it momentarily stunned him. Then he chuckled in apparent disbelief. “Is this what you make of his final gesture? That, millennia of watching you ineptly stumble and war amongst yourselves notwithstanding, he suddenly had an epiphany in his last moments and saw you as worthy of our legacy because, with Hydaelyn’s blessing, a handful of you managed to punch him harder than he punched you? Here I thought you found speaking ill of the dead to be in poor taste,” he said wryly with a shake of his head, before taking on a lower voice. “In the end, we were all just beasts in a cage, fighting tooth and fang for survival, pitted against each other by the cruel hands of fate. Do not mistake your bloody victory for moral superiority. You would do well to remember the high ground you stand tall and proud upon is nothing but the pile of corpses you were made out of.”

Y’shtola frowned. Her peers had fallen silent. “When he helped Meteor defeat you from beyond the veil, it was my personal impression that he did so as a mercy to spare you the suffering of continuing your fight alone. What do you make of this?”

“I respect your interpretation and would tend to agree. However, that constitutes a wholly different sentiment from supposedly endorsing your species as superior. One does not imply the other.”

“So you think his deed completely divorced from a judgement in our favour?”

“Correct. I disagree with your friend's interpretation of Emet-Selch’s actions, and furthermore, on the apparent perception that his decision to betray me was the correct one.” He crossed his arms, expelling a frustrated sigh. “Emet-Selch ever fancied himself the main character of this grand cosmic play. Always thinking his way was the truer one, that the ways Lahabrea and I coped with immense loss were lesser. Because he, personally, decided to dwell on painful memories in pursuit of meaningfulness and identity, a double-edged sword I believe eventually cut him too deep, he saw himself as the only true bearer of the memory of our people. His burden to carry, and his torch to pass on,” he repeated, with barely veiled resentment.

Gaia noticed Meteor finally manifesting an emotion that was not the shock or outrage he shared with his peers minutes ago. The Warrior of Light had lowered his eyes with an almost mourning look. He had been the first to sit back down after Deudalaphon’s entrance and, she only noticed now, only Alphinaud had followed suit.

“You see,” Elidibus continued, “if Emet-Selch died—well, then, the entire memory of our people died with him, everybody go home. And so it had to have been a mercy for him to play the graceful loser and doom the future of our people with a single gesture, because how could there be a future without his guidance? Best put the poor Primal out of its misery. Why, it does not even remember its own human name! Does this not make its quest meaningless?” he said mockingly, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I know why I have chosen to let go of my human memories and name. I understand why Hades chose not to. That does not make me, nor him, wrong. I knew very well what continuing our fight alone would cost me. Do you believe Emet-Selch was right to impose his decision on me? I believe I can make my own choices, and disagree with his. In defeat, he elected to support the victor. Does it make you right? I do not think so, but as Hydaelyn has taught me,” he exhaled in a way that almost passed for short, bitter laughter, “it does put you in an advantageous position to retroactively shape the narrative to your liking. But let us focus on the subject at hand. Emet-Selch was many things, but Zodiark he was not. When he stabbed my back, he did not merely betray me. He took away the last hope for our people to live again.” He threw his head back to the ceiling, his hands tightly gripping his elbows.

“You mean he successfully moved on from the past and you didn’t.” G’raha Tia spoke with the determination of someone who wanted to prove his debate opponent wrong. The latter did not even move to acknowledge him. “Your people are dead, Elidibus.”

“That is not true.”

The words had come out of her mouth before Gaia could think. She felt the Scions stare. Hopefully, not in anger. I don’t want to make enemies of them…

“Ah, and this is where it gets interesting.” Elidibus turned to Gaia with what looked like a smile, but with his mask obscuring much of his expression, it was hard to interpret its meaning. “Tell them what you hear, Gaia.”

Her blood ran cold. Instantly, she heard one of them echo in her memory. Help… the voice had called out. “I—” she swallowed her saliva, her eyes darting from one Scion to the next, “I hear people. I hear their voices, at night, coming from the moon.” She shut her eyes. Now that the light of the day had taken over, they were quiet, but just thinking of their whispers made her stomach sink. “Pleading to be released. To be home again.”

“Loghrif always did… even when not on the moon,” she heard Deudalaphon comment, to which Halmarut nodded.

Thancred crossed his arms, scowling. “I recall Emet-Selch clearly telling us during our exploration of the Qitana Ravel that the Fourteen were tempered by Zodiark. How could we take anything you say, or even perceive, as fact?”

Gaia could only stare back at him in stunned silence. I thought we were friends.

She was grateful when Elidibus spoke for her. “Are you saying Zodiark is giving Gaia aural hallucinations?”

“Not only is this a possibility—” Y’sthola said, Elidibus calmly shaking his head, “but I would also call into question Zodiark's ability to bring your people back from the dead.”

“We have seen what happens when a Primal brings someone back from the dead… Lakshmi.” Alisaie looked pained, as if she was trying to make a child understand his dead pet was not coming back. “The result was a soulless, empty shell.”

“To be clear—you are comparing Zodiark to one of your malformed Primals born of purposely altered rites?” Gaia could feel him trying his best to keep his composure.

“A Primal is a Primal.”

“And a life is a life, therefore we all agree that murdering one of you is exactly the same as swatting a fly,” he replied remarkably flatly, but accompanying his words with a wave of the hand that betrayed his increasing irritation. “Your Primals are not our Primals.”

“Well, they technically are ours, but not in that way,” Deudalaphon whispered with a chuckle to Halmarut who, leaning in to her slightly with his hands clasped behind his back, gave one of his best polite smiles.

“Allow me to explain, if you will.” Elidibus spread his hands, gazing at the space between them, as if he wanted to conjure up something. Gaia held her breath.

A number of awkward seconds passed. When nothing happened, he made an uncharacteristically annoyed sound. Should I be lending him more aether? she wondered, but Deudalaphon spoke up with an apologetic smile. “Oh, dear, you might want to do your teaching the sundered way.” She pointed to the portion of the blackboard that was not covered by the pinned world map.

With a sigh, Elidibus rose from his seat, swallowing his pride in an attempt to preserve his dignity. It was hard to tell which of the Scions sniggered quietly, all eyes on him as he walked up to the blackboard.

“You are scholars of aether,” he said, picking pieces of white, green and red chalk. “I expect you to know there are three components to a person’s aether—body, memory and soul.” He drew a crude stick figure in white, and added, respectively, a green ball within the head of the person and a red one at the intersection of the arms and the body. “Both Zodiark and Hydaelyn were made of willing human sacrifices. Though Hydaelyn was comprised of far fewer sacrifices—indeed, a minority of the survivors, even after the first two sets of sacrifices for Zodiark.” He added two large figures in white on each side of the person, one a bit smaller than the other.

“However, she still triumphed over him. There are three reasons for that. Firstly, Primals are creations of intent, receiving and funnelling aether for a purpose. Zodiark’s purpose was salvation. Protection, creation, rebirth.” He traced curved white lines above the largest figure, like water coming out of a fountain. Then, from the second, medium-sized figure, he drew a thick arrow, pointed straight at the heart of the other—piercing the head of the small person in-between. “Hydaelyn was designed to fight and bind Zodiark, in the process striking at existence itself. Whether the latter had been intended from the beginning or not is a discussion for another day.”

He had not fully turned to face them, but Gaia could see the disgust on the lower half of his face still. The Scions watched and listened in silence, some with their arms crossed, others meditating with a hand on the chin. I wonder if Y’shtola can see what he’s drawing. She shrugged. Maybe the chalk is infused with aether.

“The second reason why she could defeat him is what is presently relevant to our interests,” Elidibus continued. “In order to acquire as much aether as she could from the few sacrifices that created her, Hydaelyn used up all three components of their aether to fuel her power.” With the green and red chalk, he tripled the outline of the medium-sized figure. “That is to say, once Hydaelyn disappears, none of the people that initially comprised her being will reincarnate. The very structure of their souls and memories was unmade in the process of extracting as much aether as possible, so what will be returning to the star is raw, unbound aether.” He started adding onto both large figures a green ball of memories in the head and a red soul in the chest. “This also means that the only consciousness that remains whole within Hydaelyn, by necessity, is that of her Heart. Indeed, how much aether is consumed to power the Primal is entirely its Heart’s decision.”

He then lingered on the largest figure, drawing multiple couples of green and red balls like little bicoloured coffee beans, floating around the head. “Unlike Hydaelyn, the sacrifices that comprise Zodiark still have their souls and memories intact. Because of their number, their corporeal aether was sufficient to accomplish his task of protecting and recreating life on the star.” Elidibus paused to let out a particularly weary sigh. “There are multiple implications to this, should you be willing to meditate on them.”

A chill crept down Gaia’s spine. They’ve been calling out for how long, again?

“What you say makes sense, numerically,” Alphinaud commented, his brow furrowed as he processed the information. “However… Something here does not quite follow. As the tales go, Darkness lusted for ever more power, and that is why Light struck Him down, creating the moon to seal Him away. You are claiming Zodiark has untapped reserves of aether—why would he not have used them to fight Hydaelyn?”

Elidibus slightly lifted his mask to rub his eyes with the last two fingers of his hand not caked in chalk, his back still turned to them. Had I been him, I might have chucked the chalk at the boy, Gaia mused before glancing at the other two Ascians—Deudalaphon's lips and nose were twitching like she was doing her very best to contain an outburst, and Halmarut was breathing in slowly and deeply, eyes shut.

“I had this tiny, naive hope you would have the grace not to ask me this,” Elidibus finally said quietly. He spun to face his audience. “I, Heart of Zodiark, never made use of my brethren’s souls and memories as fuel for power, because I never intended to kill my own people. That was the very point. The reason why we even fought in the first place. Hydaelyn fought Zodiark because he would have been entirely able to recreate human bodies for all the souls within him, given a portion of animal and plant life in exchange—not because we were all operating under some mass delusion.” He put the three pieces of chalk down with a loud clack. “The only delusion here is comparing Zodiark, host of thousands of souls with their memories intact, to one of your botched creations that, of course, could not bring back someone whose soul had already long returned to the star, and somehow thinking you are making a valid point against me.” He shook his head, his mask conveniently concealing what was most likely an eye roll. “’Darkness lusted for ever more power…’ Do you even hear yourselves?” He groaned, throwing his head back—in exasperation, in exhaustion. In guilt. “All of this—everything happened because I made the decision to preserve my people in the first place. Had I ’lusted for power’ and consumed them, there would never have been any conflict over bringing them out of Zodiark in the first place, and I would never have had to split my consciousness to mediate it as Elidibus!”

Damn. They got him to raise his voice. Gaia studied the Scions. Some looked stunned, others were frowning, deep in thought. This information seemed new to them. Where did they get that other story from, seriously? she wondered, though she had an inkling there could only be one answer.

“That is the third reason why Hydaelyn was able to defeat Zodiark, by the way,” Elidibus continued, using a finger to make a small dent in the largest figure’s red heart—facing the thick arrow pointed at it. “It turned out my split had created a weak point within Zodiark’s core.” He let out a low, bitter laugh that almost sounded like a sob. “But that is irrelevant. Our main concern is that Zodiark still has reserves of aether. And thus we are circling back to your initial question. Why would I take your side against Fandaniel?” He faced the Scions again, spreading his hands with his fingers caked in white bodies, green memories and red souls, then letting them fall by his side, his wide sleeves almost hiding them from sight. “I have failed to liberate my people from their prison. Failed in my duty to my people as a member of the Convocation of Fourteen. I cannot let Fandaniel use the very essence of their souls to destroy the star they cherished. I will not fail them this one last time.”

Deudalaphon nodded slightly with her head down, seemingly lost in thought behind her translucent veil.

Y’shtola took her eyes off the blackboard. “You mentioned it is the Heart that decides how the Primal’s power is used.” She spoke slowly, quietly, as if she was taking care not to disrespect him. Good on her. “How, then, could Fandaniel decide in your stead?”

“Easily enough.” Elidibus gestured to himself, standing there in his plain white robes, before turning to the blackboard again to grab the white chalk. He started drawing a new, small stick figure awkwardly draped over Zodiark’s red core. “Someone attuned to Zodiark’s aether—that is to say, the members of the Convocation who summoned him—could step in and graft themselves onto his Heart to impose their will and take up the reins, even with their soul sundered, most likely.” Beside Zodiark, he drew another, small figure in white with a green brain, though lacking a red soul, and connected its green memories to Zodiark’s with a two-sided arrow. “As you are well aware, I, as Zodiark, created this vessel to act independently as Elidibus. I was able to shift my consciousness between the two and control both at once—one mind in two bodies.”

He then erased the inside of Zodiark’s green brain, leaving it a hollow shell. “Because of Zodiark’s predicament, I had chosen to near-permanently, fully allocate my consciousness to the out-of-body Ascian half standing before you. My free half. Though I had the power to shift back into Zodiark with some effort, there was little point in doing so durably in his situation.” With the side of his hand, he then erased the green link between Zodiark and the small figure almost entirely, leaving only the tip of the arrow pointing outward, to Elidibus. “You have taken away nearly all of my power and my control over it. Thus, control of Zodiark,” he picked up the green chalk again, and drew an arrow going from the brain of the small figure that was awkwardly grafted onto the Heart to Zodiark’s empty skull, “is free for the taking.”

“But…” Alphinaud began, stroking his smooth chin, “does Zodiark himself not have a will to reject Fandaniel? Didn’t you say your people are still intact within?”

“What you could call Zodiark’s will is indeed the collective of souls that make up his being. It is, however, the Heart that decides whether or not to follow it, and controls all of Zodiark’s actions. They would oppose Fandaniel’s decisions, yes. The sundered state of his soul, unlike theirs—and mine—adds a layer of complexity to this question. Still, I am unsure how much they could effectively do to stop the acting Heart from using them to go against everything they stand for.” He put down the green chalk, softly this time, before finishing in a low voice, “that is not a problem that ever presented itself, back then.”

Deudalaphon straightened herself and broke the resulting silence with a short round of applause. “Quite the lesson in applied phantasmology! When can we expect the test, professor?”

“Halmarut informed me you were sitting it out, Deudalaphon,” Elidibus replied in his most neutral tone, as he made an attempt to get the chalk off his hands without wiping them on his immaculate robes, with middling success.

“I—well.” She crossed her arms and looked away, “Yes. I did tell Pashtarot that, in the upcoming battle between destruction and continuation of life, I would not partake. Sundered remnants, fighting for their personal beliefs, after the end, in the wake of the Unsundered’s defeat, the likely loss of our ultimate goal and the meaninglessness of it all. What I wanted to believe in was history, letting events run their natural course and recording them in as objective a manner as possible. Let the star sort them out. The fairest position, unsullied by the responsibility of actions. A lofty ideal.” Her mouth twitched, her dark eyes still fixed upon the floor. “Originally, I walked into this classroom only to check out this most peculiar gathering of shadowless darkness in my vicinity. Though I now realise that it was only Loghrif’s and Halmarut’s aether I sensed.” She raised her eyes briefly to throw Elidibus a quick glance. “You're… you're nothing, Elidibus. There is so little left of you.”

“I am aware,” he commented quietly, lowering his head briefly. “You are touching upon the subject of the morality of neutrality.”

Deudalaphon let out a shy laugh, her dark cheeks flushing. “Oh, this must be amateur hour to you. You’re going to lecture me on impartiality not equating neutrality, aren’t you? Regardless, moments ago, I could have hardly expected not only to see you, but to have you explain matters I had not considered when initially announcing my position. What good is upholding a neutral stance when it in fact results in passive contemplation of injustice?”

“Not that the Seat of Deudalaphon was particularly known for its commitment to neutrality any more than the others.”

“A fair point. It might be that this proclivity owes more to Rhea—or what’s left of her—than to the office she once held,” she admitted with a sad smile. “But what does it matter anymore? Why cling to old identities when hope of rebirth has been lost? And yet…” She raised her eyes to meet his—presumably, under the red mask and white hood. “Here you are, Elidibus. Judging from your tone and behaviour, I sense that this is indeed the end for us—that there is little to no prospect of ever going back to our old ways, unless you are putting on a very good act right now.” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “And you’re not. I know that—all twelve of us have known that for the past dozen millennia—you might be a scheming bastard but you are a terrible actor, Elidibus.”

He held her gaze in silence with what appeared to be an affectionate half-smile, while Gaia had to stifle a laugh at Halmarut’s emphatic nod of approval.

“Our aspirations are over and our hopes defeated, yet you still get back up to uphold your duty as Elidibus to the end,” she continued, bringing her arm back in its crossed position. “Of the Convocation of Fourteen you used to mediate remain only broken pieces, and the human race it represented has been gone from this star for eons. Yet to what some would call meaningless, you continue to give meaning with your dedication.” Deudalaphon slipped a hand under her veil to hide her face, embarrassment taking over once more—or concealing tears, maybe. “In truth, this ideal of enlightened neutrality… perhaps it is little more than a coward’s refuge from the reality of loved ones descending into conflict.” She paused to sigh deeply, then slowly let her hand down, a bright red glyph shining behind the veil, its shape like an intricate animal skull with mechanical horns curving up. “There is no natural course to historical events, no more than there is a greater meaning to them. The star doesn’t designate a winner and a loser. Men’s history is shaped by men.”

“Very well, Deudalaphon.” His smile was no longer a half-smile. “I do not know when the test on applied phantasmology will be, I am afraid. You will have to ask Gaia and Halmarut.”

Chapter Text

She had had the dream again.

Countless figures stood behind the bars of a dark cage, clad in plain black robes. Their individual features were impossible to discern, their faces concealed by hoods and masks. Some were standing, others sitting down on the floor. A few were huddled together. Were they hundreds? Thousands? None of them seemed to notice her. The overbearing silence was broken only by quiet sobs. Locked away to be forgotten.

She had mentioned it to her companions on their way to the Tower of Hamm. Was she being awfully entitled in expecting a more sympathetic reaction than uncomfortable non-answers and shifty glances? She had thought that, given the explanations Elidibus had provided the other day, they would have been more receptive. Yet she could not help but dwell on their words.

“Your people are dead.”

“How could we take anything you say, or even perceive, as fact?”

They had managed to get her a physical body, despite her loud initial refusal—the body of an adventurer who had perished in an ill-fated expedition to the tower. Both Krile and Alphinaud had used their influence within Sharlayan politics to pull some strings and obtain the consent of the deceased’s surviving comrades and known relatives to donate her body to the Students of Baldesion and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Gaia kept telling herself this was out of necessity.

Elayne had been a fit young woman, a lancer hailing from one of the mainland nations with which Sharlayan maintained cordial relations. Her shoulder-length blond hair had been most unlike Gaia’s, and she had looked ten years older. With the help of Halmarut and Deudalaphon, they had magically altered the adventurer’s body to look just like Gaia’s—though, technically, they could have made her look however she wanted. It uncomfortably reminded her of the comment Elidibus had made about his own physical appearance—how he had supposed it looked like his original human form from so very long ago, before everything that had shaped that identity was consigned to oblivion.

Gaia hoped she would never forget who she was.

Yet how easily she had forgotten that this body was not her own made her feel queasy. It had taken her only a day, at most, to stop feeling the disturbing sensation that she was wearing another person’s corpse like clothing.

Another step taken in becoming an Ascian.

It seemed the Scions had taken notice.

Gaia took a deep breath and raised her eyes to the grotesque sight before her.

Hundreds? Hopefully not thousands—of people were entrapped within the fleshy walls that comprised the cavernous, unfortunately literal innards of the Tower of Hamm, leaving only their faces uncovered to allow them to breathe. The tower’s mechanical scaffolding—over which the Scions had been arguing about which culture its external architecture most resembled, apparently making use of imperial materials, but with a little je-ne-sais-quoi of an ancient Source civilisation that had practised black magic—looked like it had been overtaken by pulsating flesh. Although their surroundings seemed to be cloaked in a darkness that made it hard to see what lurked in the corners, the more open spaces were illuminated by the blue glow of aether radiating from the bottomless chasm below, under ground level. The air was uncomfortably thick with warm humidity—and there was a smell to it too—making her long for the fresh, if not freezing, breeze outside.

According to the international reports they had received, most of the ’Towers of Apocalypse’ held prisoner those the denizens of the Source referred to as ’beastmen’—ethnic groups of people with animal-like features that were typically not well integrated into the ’more human’ nations. The concept had reminded Gaia of the Pixies of Il Mheg, as opposed to the civilised Zun of Crystarium and Mord of Ahm Araeng—though the Dwarves of Kholusia were also quite segregated, yet the Lalafell of the Source were considered fully human. It had all made her raise an eyebrow.

Sharlayan and its surrounding isles, however, did not seem to harbour any beastman tribes. The rumours about the recent kidnappings of citizens were unfortunately confirmed soon after their small party stepped inside the Tower of Hamm. Krile had gone pale as a sheet when she recognised someone, encased within the wall of flesh. He gave no sign he recognised her. All of the prisoners appeared to be in some sort of trance. Most were moaning unintelligibly, their gazes unfocused. Some were screaming in terror, though Gaia was unable to tell what was causing it.

She clenched her hammer, sweat loosening her grip. She dared not look at what it was coated in as she and Meteor made their way up the tower, leaving behind a couple of horribly mutated men in uniform, lifeless in a pool of unidentified black ooze. She surmised they had been soldiers—one had dark purple crystals growing out of his skin, tearing through his black and red leather armour, his chest and limbs misshapen, while the other no longer even looked human, with most of his body coated in a sort of tar, his mouth distorted in a voiceless scream.

Gaia was, frankly, unwell.

You’re one of the very few Chosen Ones who can even step inside this tower, she reminded herself as she followed in the Warrior of Light’s footsteps, his paladin's cloak billowing behind him. The sweat made her bangs stick to her forehead. Keep your chin up, Gaia. Look how heroic he is. Swallowing her saliva, she straightened up.

Then she froze. Something was rushing towards them. Darkness. Eyes wide open, time seemed to slow to a crawl as she looked up at Meteor, who kept walking, seemingly unaware of anything unusual. Her heart skipped a beat when a dark vortex whirled into existence beside her. Meteor instinctively spun around. A large, familiar figure stepped out of the dark gate. They both breathed a sigh of relief—it could only be Halmarut.

“The basement is safe. Your friend holds her own quite well,” he said calmly, walking alongside them.

He had dropped all pretence and was now in full Ascian paragon regalia, dressed in the same black robes with golden and dark silver adornments and purple patterns that she remembered Mitron wearing. His hands were clad in black leather gloves, the first three fingers lined with thin, sharp silver claws. Under the hood, his red mask left most of his aquiline nose bare, covering his cheekbones. Two grooves ran down the centre of his forehead before splitting into symmetrical branches, forming an inverted Y-shape above his flat eyeholes. Gaia thought the pattern looked a bit like weight scales. Dark green hair fell past his shoulders, spilling out of the hood. I don’t know how he can stand wearing all that in here.

“Her linkpearl transmission sounded clear enough despite of the ambient aether,” Halmarut continued. “I trust Deudalaphon to work quickly, but we will need to buy as much time as we can. Your friend with the royal eyes of Allag might be able to help from the outside as he said, but I doubt he can suspend this many people for long.”

Meteor grunted in response, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “I’ve seen him use Break before. But never on this scale.”

With Gaia’s help in sensing the dark aether radiating from the tower, the rest of the Scions had established an encampment outside—out of reach of the harmful pulses of aether, but close enough for Krile to communicate with the leading aetheryte specialists from Sharlayan, whom they had brought with them. They had managed to install a makeshift aetheryte a little further away, under the watchful protection of Thancred and the others. The plan was for Krile and Deudalaphon to reroute the tower’s aether flow away from whatever was lurking at its summit to the aetheryte serving as a beacon outside—science that was way beyond Gaia—to hopefully teleport away the hostages before the tower catastrophically collapsed upon itself. They also had Deudalaphon and her own engineering expertise, Krile and Meteor’s Blessing of Light to counterbalance the tower’s dark implosion, Halmarut and herself to attempt to control the dark side of the equation, and G’raha to slow things down with his Mass Break spell.

Hopefully, it would all fit together when the time came. When they took care of whatever was up there.

So far, they had encountered crazed fauna sent into a frenzy by the dark aether, imperial soldiers too far gone to save, their ’magitek’ constructs—seemingly unaffected—and, increasingly as they made their way up, nondescript monsters that may or may not have once been human. A couple of them had taken the shape of—strangely—frogs, and what appeared to be animated dolls. Gaia had not dared to inquire about the significance of bipedal frogs and creepy dolls in Sharlayan culture and its collective unconscious. Meteor had stoically cut them down all the same.

His linkshell crackled to life. He paused to bring a hand to his ear, fiddling with its settings. The higher they got, the worse the transmission was getting. Gaia seized this opportunity to take a break and catch her breath, resting a hand on her knee and leaning on her hammer. On top of the physical effort in this unpleasant warmth, this whole thing was making her passably nauseous.

“How … …s going?” Alisaie’s voice came through the static out of the linkshell.

Gaia could hardly listen to Meteor’s update on their situation. Her eyes frantically sought something to focus on, to help her cool down. The dark pipes running up the main pillar that looked like a black spine. The pulsating flesh that covered almost completely a …man? woman? within the wall closest to her, its soft pink surface shining like the inside of a mouth. Okay. Ugh. The best I can do is close my eyes. Her world went dark—that comforting, familiar darkness. She breathed deep, in, out, right hand gripping her hammer.

“…not sure how many there are. Two hundred? Three?” she heard Meteor hazard a guess. “They all seem alive, yes.”

She swallowed her saliva again. They’re all alive. There was a shuffling noise next to her.

“Checks out … …reports. Two hundred and… …isappeared.”

The prisoner inside the wall nearby made a long, guttural noise. Pleading to be released.

Then, suddenly, a gust of the most welcome fresh air hit her. She felt so much lighter, the suffocating humidity suddenly gone. Her breathes seemed fuller as she inhaled this normal air she desperately needed. Her eyes flickered open in confusion. With a blink, her gaze fell on the gloved, clawed hand held out in front of her, palm open in her direction.

“You looked uncomfortable, Loghrif,” Halmarut said in his deep, slow voice, smiling. “I have taken the liberty to adjust your elemental balance. Less water, more earth. Less fire, more ice. More wind doesn’t hurt either, in your condition.”

Straightening herself, Gaia suddenly had the urge to throw her arms around his shoulders and embrace him, but the metal spikes on his Ascian robes made her reconsider. “You’ll have to teach me this.”

His smile grew wider to mirror hers.

“…Yeah, Ifrit in the Thanalan one, right?” Meteor continued in the background. “So far, we’ve had mutant Poroggo and mammets, I think.”

The linkshell crackled particularly badly as Alisaie burst out laughing. “Hope our primal … …freaky dolls … …staple of Sharlayan-built towers!”

Meteor let out a slightly nervous laugh. The voice of Y’shtola said something Gaia could not grasp in the background, prompting more laughter to come from the linkshell. Moments ago, she would have balked at the notion of fighting some kind of giant mutant creepy doll at the summit, but she felt much better now, as though she had just come home from a trek in the sweltering, heavy heat to a cool cave. With huge chunks of ice in her coffee. Creepy dolls can come. I’m ready to bash their faces in. With a sweeping motion, she rested her hammer across her upper back.

“Anyway,” Alisaie’s voice continued through the static, “kick its ass … …standing by.”

They resumed their climb up the tower’s dark metal stairs. Gaia wasn’t dragging her feet anymore, stretching her neck against the shaft of her hammer.

A distorted silhouette waited a little further up, in the middle of the path, bent over on the floor, uttering strangled noises. As the three of them approached cautiously, Meteor with sword and board drawn and Gaia with her hammer in both hands, she managed to make out it was not just one strange monster writhing on the floor, but two grossly mutated soldiers intertwined, their bodies deformed by dark crystalline growths. Are they… eating each other?

She barely had time to ponder it—one of the two suddenly let go of his comrade and leapt at them. A rock formation burst from the floor to seize him mid-flight in its dark, stony fist. Just as swiftly, Gaia swung her hammer hard at his exposed head, empowered by the darkness coursing through her arms and pouring down its shaft. His black and red leather helmet went flying as the impact made a—satisfying? Sickening?—satisfying crack. The soldier’s body twitched against the rocks tightly gripping him. She had never seen a human neck bend that way before. A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air—Meteor had plunged his light-infused sword into the belly of the second mutant. His misshapen self staggered backwards as Meteor roughly shoved him off the blade then slashed at his neck with a lightning-fast move. His deformed body fell backwards, thick black ooze bubbling up from where his head had been. I hadn’t expected him to still sound so human, Gaia thought to herself.

Halmarut unclenched his fist, the first soldier collapsing in a heap as the rock formation gripping his body fell apart and vanished in a trail of dark magic. “It appears His Excellency Zenos rules over a heap of twisted metal and vassals bursting at the seams with dark aether, desperate to offer more,” he commented casually, strolling over to Meteor. “If I may speak frankly, it is not the defence mechanism likely summoned by the Sharlayan hostages at the summit that worries me at the present.”

Meteor grunted. “Think it’s a distraction?”

“Or a byproduct. But more importantly, the commotion is likely to attract attention.” Halmarut cocked his head to the side. “Pashtarot did, after all, make quick work of the tower in La Noscea. I surmise our colleagues have taken notice.”

“Three of them, right?” He sheathed his sword and hung his shield over his shoulder. “Fandaniel, Altima, Emmerololth.”

Halmarut took a moment to look at him. “Indeed. Hopefully, not all three at once.”

To say Gaia was feeling passably nervous about this was an understatement. Elidibus had done a great job staying idle and unnoticeable so far, so she could preserve her own strength in battle. They had agreed that, in the event of a confrontation with the other Ascians, she would first let them speak without revealing his presence. “I want to hear what they have to say first,” he had told her and the others. Ideally, she would then reveal his presence at some point—it had not escaped anyone that it had been the tipping point that brought Deudalaphon into their ranks. How feasible this would be in practice, however, was up in the air. Making the effort to manifest him might prove counterproductive should it come to blows, and so far it looked like it would be just the three of them—Meteor, Halmarut and her.

Or rather, two and a half. Gripping her hammer a little tighter, Gaia tried to focus on the memories of her Ascian self. Surely, she could be a good fighter. She even fought Meteor when they first met, though she scarcely remembered it. “Draw upon the memories Mitron left you,” Elidibus had advised her. “Even the body you possess bears traces of its original owner’s prowess.” She was unsure, however, how much martial prowess a dead adventurer actually possessed. “Though manifesting memories was more Mitron’s fighting style, your souls did become one. Let this fuel you, and let go.”

Easier said than done. Gaia sighed and hurried to catch up with Meteor and Halmarut.

As they climbed higher, their surroundings seemed to become clearer, whereas before they had been cloaked in darkness in the corner of her eye. Not that it makes for a better sight, she thought, grimacing at a hostage pod, its overgrown flesh threatening to smother its prisoner. “No, no, no… Please… save…” she heard the woman beg in a plaintive whisper, her pleading fading into unintelligibility.

“Have you noticed?” Halmarut calmly asked no one in particular, watching their surroundings.

“You mean the nightmare each of these guys seems to be living through? Yeah,” Gaia said sarcastically. While his magic had worked wonders on her physical state, it had not entirely eased her mind.

“The ambient aether. It has dropped significantly.”

“Oh—” she brushed a strand of hair away nervously, “actually, I think—yeah, I noticed.”

“Krile and Deudalaphon?” Meteor asked without stopping or deviating from his path.

Halmarut nodded. “It will make it far easier to teleport in and out at one’s leisure, certainly,” he added idly.

Gaia pressed her lips together.

Their enemies were becoming increasingly covered in crystals as they climbed, some outright unable to move properly, their limbs stiff with minerals. Eventually, the three of them reached the summit, and they were finally—finally—outside. The bright daylight was blinding. Before she could think or take in the view of the Aetherfont below, the freezing gale winds hit her instantly, chilling her to the bones. Okay, Gaia, think—this probably involves shifting your elemental balance to fire, right? She held her palm out into the cold and stared at it, hoping to will a flame into existence—or anything that might help. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she felt her hand growing warmer. She shook uncontrollably, hissing through gritted teeth as her breath formed a visible mist.

She felt sudden warmth diffuse all over her body and blinked. Wow. Did I—

Then she saw Halmarut lower his hand. Oh. He did it. “These are not the best circumstances for teaching you, Loghrif. But I shall once we get off this tower,” he said with a reassuring smile. “It seems it will be easy enough.”

She mumbled her thanks to him but did not dare voice her thoughts further. If I can’t do this by myself, how well does it bode for the fight that is probably gonna happen right now?

Alisaie’s voice came through Meteor’s linkshell again, this time crystal clear. “Hey, can you hear me?” There was a cheerful clamour in the background.

The Warrior of Light brought two fingers to his earpiece, though his gaze remained focused upwards on the large, black, blade-like structure that pointed into the clear blue morning skies of the north. “We hear you perfectly.”

“Oh wow—yeah, the sound is perfect,” Alisaie commented, relief evident in her voice. “Guess that’s further confirmation of what we just saw—the tip of the tower just turned off. The chaos you might hear behind me is scientists patting themselves on the back. Now they’re going to try and see how we should proceed to teleport the first prisoners out.”

“Good to hear.” A smile lit up Meteor’s usually serious face. “We’re outside, at the top. We’re kind of freezing, but we’ll manage.” On that, Halmarut casually slid over to him. “All that’s left is to make our way to the center,” he said, squinting over the guardrails, before muttering his thanks to the Ascian who took care of the cold. “Though it looks like we’re going to have a bit of Garlean company.”

As Gaia glanced in the same direction to check, she felt something shift. In… somewhere. She held her breath, blinking. Neither of her two companions seemed to take notice.

“Garleans? Up there?” Alisaie asked Meteor. “We thought aether would have been too strong for any human to, um,” she hesitated a second, “function.”

“I see only magitek units. A few seem to be manned still.”

“Still? Huh.” Alisaie paused, before repeating the information to her party. Halmarut stroked his chin beard. “All right,” she continued, “do what you do best, then. Not sure if communication is going to be as clear as this once you get close to whatever our people have summoned there, so,” Gaia could picture the Elf puffing herself up in confidence, “get back to us in one piece!”

Their way to the center was a joyous fest of metal bashing. The Garlean machines reminded Gaia of the Kholusian Dwarves’ silly-looking automatons, but far sleeker and more lethal. One or two were, indeed, controlled by human pilots. Though their minds were still tempered by the ambient aether, their bodies seemed in noticeably better shape than the regular infantry. Maybe the machine shielded them? To be fair, Gaia didn’t look too long at the corpses. She found she liked smashing mechanical constructs much better than actual people.

They climbed the last flight of stairs to arrive at a large, open space that lay at the feet of the tower’s tall spire. A most peculiar sight greeted them.

Sat upon a makeshift throne of black pipes and scaffolding facing them was a half-mechanical giant bound in dark purple chains, white angel wings protruding from his back. Gaia found him strangely familiar. His human right half was that of a handsome, muscular Elf, an adorned headscarf resting on his straight, light blond hair that fell far past his shoulders. The blue and white clothing he was draped in left little to the imagination, his fair skin bearing a notable purple tinge. His mechanical left half bore a comically large arm, long enough that his metal hand rested palm down on the floor, his forearm made of massive, moving pistons. Though what Gaia found most disturbing was the gaping black hole in the center of his chest, framed by a sort of spiralled ribcage. The void within was not entirely pitch black, however—upon closer inspection, it was dotted with stars, giving the impression of a compressed night sky inside of him. Her eyes then fell on the large ewer his human right arm was wrapped around, and she recognised where she had seen this man before. The statue on the wharf. But there’s something else about him…

Then, she noticed the smaller, normal human-sized figure that was sitting to the giant’s left on the steps of his throne, legs smartly crossed, holding the dark purple chain that was binding him as if it were a leash.

Oh, no. Gaia sighed.

The Ascian was wearing a bright red mask that covered almost their entire face, opening only at the bottom of the nose in an inverted U-shape to leave the mouth and chin visible. The rest of it was remarkably featureless, appearing like an unblemished, beautiful maiden’s face, a second skin over the Ascian’s own pale one, a lock of blond hair strewn across the forehead.

“I’m disappointed, dear Halmarut,” the woman scorned, ice in her sultry voice. “That the two of you would refuse to take part—fine. Tolerable, even. But siding with the creatures?” The Ascian shook her head. “You bring us all shame.”

“Altima,” Halmarut called out, his usual quiet tone gone, “what do you think you are doing?”

She gave a haughty little laugh. “Why—meting out justice, of course.”

“What sort of justice do you hope to administer by forcing Zodiark to act against his very purpose?”

“There is no purpose anymore. You heard Elidibus the last time, didn’t you? I’m inclined to trust his judgement.” Gaia furrowed her brow, staring at the sitting Ascian who went on, looking down on the three of them. “Our chances of success have gone with the Unsundered. The filthy beasts have killed no less than eight of us in the span of a Source year. Eight! And now, it turns out some among the survivors have turned traitor.” With her free hand, she pointed a gloved, clawed index finger at the Warrior of Light. “To think you and Pashtarot would fight hand in hand with this murderer! And?…”

Her finger drifted over to Gaia, who straightened herself. “I’m Gaia,” she said plainly.

“What—” The confusion made her drop her haughtiness, and her hand. “Did you bring her here from the First? That’s the Source shard that used to be Loghrif. But, then, where’s—”

“Yes,” Halmarut interrupted. “Loghrif, too, is against your plans of destruction.”

“Of course she is, Halmarut, look at her—” Altima’s hand was now at her face in exasperation, “she’s not even ascended! Did the girl even get her memory crystal at all before Emet-Selch and Elidibus died?”

“Mitron shared his memories with me.” Gaia lifted her hammer off the floor to rest on her shoulder. “I know who I am.”

“His? But when—” Altima waved dismissively, turning back to Halmarut. “Forget I even asked. Zodiark’s purpose, you say? Halmarut, dear—rebirth is out, reckoning is in.” Her beautiful pink lips curled into a cruel smile.

His jaw and neck tensed. “Do you believe this is what the thousand souls within him wish?”

“What do you think?” Her shoulders, adorned with the same golden spikes as his, shook with a laugh. “You’ve felt the rage seep through the moon’s crust. Tossing in their dreams and straining against the light that binds and burns them. Betrayed by one of their own and left to rot for eternity!”

I've only heard sobs, as of late, Gaia thought to herself, watching Altima rise to her feet, still holding the giant’s leash. He remained perfectly motionless, his graceful traits calm as still water.

“We can’t bring them out by following the original plan anymore, but I’m going to free them anyway. Free them in a blaze of glory!” Altima curled her other hand into a fist over her heart. “And what better end than to finally give these usurpers and their false goddess what they deserve? You speak of wishes and purposes,” she said in a slightly softer voice, “but do you know what the Unsundered wanted to do with these disgusting wretches they loathed, Halmarut? Feed them all to Zodiark once rejoinings were done. And they were right. These things are cattle.”

Gaia's heart dropped. “Seriously?” she blurted out against her better judgement.

“Yes, sweetie. Look harder into your soulmate’s memories, next time.” She turned to Halmarut once more, her sweet smile the only part her mask left unconcealed. “Did you appreciate the irony, by the way? On your way up here. Bound and tormented to serve as aether batteries, their dreams assaulted by visions of the end as they pray for salvation that never comes. A fitting retribution, don’t you think?” She laughed again, hiding her mouth behind her hand like a shy maiden. “Their cosy little cocoon is designed to squeeze and crush them slowly. It adds to the primal fear induced by the aether-fuelled hallucinations. I do hope you haven’t been trying to pry them out, by the way. It swells quite readily.” She brushed her hand against her mask’s cheek, as if she were blushing demurely. “Fandaniel’s a little fucked up. I do enjoy that in him.”

The steel of Meteor’s blade sang as he drew it from its sheath. “Their salvation is coming.”

Gaia saw Altima laugh in response, but found herself unable to focus. A rushing sound rumbled in her ears, a strange impression of being watched, her breathing slow as if time suspended itself. She felt something coming their way. It’s like when Halmarut teleported in, but… more. Without thinking, she extended a hand towards Meteor. “Wait—”

“Altima!” a woman’s voice called as a robed figure came hurtling out of a dark rift that appeared just there, next to the giant’s throne.

Meteor recoiled in surprise at the sudden appearance of a whole new Ascian, while Halmarut uttered a quiet “Oh.” Gaia stared in confusion. Was it only her I sensed?

“Altima,” the intruder repeated breathlessly, “there’s Deudalaphon down there! Helping them!”

Altima raised her hand to her face in dismay. “Oh, what now.”

The other Ascian then turned to gawk at the three of them, looking slightly dishevelled with a strand of tightly curled purple hair hanging in her face. In contrast to Altima, this one’s mask revealed much more, leaving her nose bare, a dash of freckles on her warm brown complexion. Its bottom rim traced waves on her cheekbones, echoing the fine grooves under her eye holes that evoked flowing water. “Halmarut,” she said slowly, “but—why?”

“I was hoping to return you the question, Emmerololth.” He crossed his arms, though Gaia thought he sounded a little softer towards her than he did with her colleague. “Altima spoke of the Unsundered’s ultimate intent to kill the Sundered, but neglected to mention the utilitarian purpose of, as we all know, using their collective life force to recreate bodies for the true humans lying in wait. Bereft of this purpose, all that is left is simple, wanton murder.”

“Slaughter, dear Halmarut,” Altima corrected with a teasing wag of the finger. “Murder is for actual people.”

“Of course,” Halmarut nodded, seemingly without a trace of disapproval or even sarcasm, “though it was Emmerololth’s input I asked for.”

“Invasive species are to be culled,” Emmerololth answered plainly, extending a conciliatory hand as she shook her head. “I don’t understand—don’t we agree on this?”

He cocked his head to the side. “I fear Fandaniel’s plans go much further than a mere thinning of the Sundered’s numbers. Only harm to the star can come from this.”

“Is that so? Perhaps a mass extinction event is what the star needs. Let it grow back from its ashes. But this species cannot be allowed to proliferate.” She indicated Meteor—and Gaia—with a stiff nod.

Funny, Gaia thought, frowning, either she’s being kinda rude, or she hasn’t recognised me at all. Isn’t she one of the new ones?

“Their flawed nature doesn’t simply make them dependent on external resources, they hoard them,” Emmerololth continued, increasingly incensed. “Not only do they oppress and persecute each other at every turn vying for dominance, but they pillage and desecrate the star with little care as to the consequences on its fragile balance. You know this!” she exclaimed to Halmarut, almost pleading, as she stepped closer. “True mankind knew all this. They had no need for resources, no wars over them; they were free to live in harmony with the star and enrich it with their knowledge and creations. What do these mortals give back to the star? Nothing,” she spat, pushing her wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “They only take, and this isn’t a moral failing so much as their very nature—they can only take. Let them live, and biodiversity will only ever go one way—down, and the star will slowly suffocate.” She shook her head again. “For its sake, they must be put down.”

“Have you asked Fandaniel his opinion on biodiversity?” Halmarut asked politely.

There was no hint of mockery in his voice, which Gaia admired—her lips had twitched. But this lingering impression that somebody was coming, or watching, had still not left her. She glanced at the others. Meteor’s eyes were fixated upon the two speaking, sword at the ready. Altima was playing with a lock of blond hair, twirling it around a finger. There’s something wrong…

Emmerololth crossed her own arms to mirror Halmarut. “Fandaniel is a means to an end.”

His voice got lower, softer. “I fear it may be the other way around. There is a reason why Elidibus had him on a tight leash—”

Gaia fell. A force pulled her backwards, and her world went dark. She could no longer feel the floor beneath her feet. Something behind her was holding her.

“Lunar Thaliak!” she heard Altima’s voice call over cries of surprise in the distance, “defend your besieged people from these intruders!”

“Wait!—” she thought she heard Emmerololth shout.

Gaia opened her eyes but saw stars, unable to focus. Still gripping her hammer, she pushed against whatever was pulling her as best as she could. A far clearer voice, a man she did not recognise, called from behind her, uncomfortably close to her ear. “Why, if it isn’t our lovely sorceress!” he said in a playful tone she did not like at all. “But where is your knight to defend you?”

With all her might—and perhaps some magic, she wasn’t sure—she flung her elbow backwards, hitting something soft. The force holding her waned and she seized the opportunity to wrench free and spin around to face her attacker. “And who are you, asshole?”

Curiously, the man facing her was wearing neither Ascian robes nor mask, yet the darkness in his aura was unmistakable all the same. His robes were a deep purple, with some embroidery and iron chains here and there, but much plainer than the Ascians’ attire. He had a weaselly air to him under his hood, wearing the smarmiest smile Gaia had ever seen—a smile that did not reach his dark, almond-shaped eyes.

“Dear colleague,” he bent in a mock bow, not taking his eyes off her, “it is my pleasure to introduce myself as Fandaniel, harbinger of the Final Days.”

She shot him her best unimpressed look for a second, before the realisation suddenly hit her that they were in mid-air. How am I even supposed to—Her eyes widening in spite of herself, her heart jumped in her throat as the fear of falling suddenly overcame her. And fall she did. Survival instincts kicking in, she uselessly grasped at the nearest object—Fandaniel—but he was out of reach. Her fall was abruptly interrupted by the same dark force suspending her, and this time he did not bother straightening her up, holding her facing the floor down below. Disoriented, she frantically looked for Meteor and Halmarut, but the half-machine giant, his purple chains gone, obstructed most of her view. The rushing sound she had heard before was coming back. There, held awkwardly in mid-air, Altima’s words from a little earlier came back to her—’oh, what now.’

“Oh, partner,” Fandaniel, out of her sight, called out to someone below—probably Halmarut—with unrestrained laughter, “where did you even get this Loghrif?” The sound in her ears rumbled louder. “Are we just handing out those crystals now?”

His laughter gave way to a loud yelp as Gaia felt the bizarre sensation of Fandaniel’s aura letting go of her and being instantly picked up by another, that let her move herself back into an upright position, without forcing her. This new aura felt so very familiar. Familiar, warm, comforting, like it was part of herself.

Slowly, she looked up.

An Ascian was standing, floating, between her and Fandaniel, back turned to her, wielding in their left hand a strange weapon that looked halfway between a sword and a musket, its surface shimmering like dark, crystalline waters. He—she—looked over her shoulder at Gaia, long red mask over dark skin, barely concealing a scar.

Gaia’s heart skipped a beat.

“Gaia,” Mitron called with a confident smile, “stay behind me.”

Chapter Text

For as long as she could remember—which, all things considered, was a rather short period of time—Gaia’s identity had been shaped by her rejection of her soul’s predestined path. Rejection of the immortality that was rightfully hers, rejection of her soulmate’s attempt to rekindle their relationship, in favour of forging her own destiny, with someone of her own choosing. Gaia—not Loghrif.

Was it hypocritical of her to want nothing more than to embrace Mitron for coming to her rescue in that very moment? Would Ryne, or the Warrior of Light, think less of her after they fought so hard to free her from her soulmate’s former incarnation?

Perhaps it was selfish of her to feel that this was right. But she would reflect on that another time.

Fandaniel clutched a bloodied, torn sleeve, grimacing in pain. He muttered under his breath as he hurriedly tended to his wound with dark magic that crept and coiled around his upper arm, regrowing flesh without bothering to mend the sleeve. The body he is possessing must have a use for him to heal it, Gaia mused.

“Mitron!” Fandaniel’s expression suddenly shifted to the most artificial of joys as he looked up from his arm. “What a delightful surprise! It is such a pleasure to have you here too! I don’t suppose you are here to help—”

“Never touch her again, Fandaniel.”

The chill in Mitron’s voice was enough to silence him, his eyes darting nervously from her and her blade, stained with his physical body’s blood, to Gaia floating behind her, then to the scene below. Concern flashed across his face for a second, making Gaia look in curiosity. The giant Altima had commanded to attack was taking quite the beating. His attention seemed to be focused entirely on parrying the Warrior of Light’s quick light-infused slashes with his large mechanical arm. He made no effort to dodge Halmarut’s meteors and stony spires bursting from the floor—and there was someone else as well.

Quite the noisy fighter, too, wailing on the giant with a massive, ugly beast of a two-handed sword with righteous fury. It was an Ascian—Gaia blinked in surprise, counting them again. Both Altima and Emmerololth were still standing by the throne, looking on in dismay at what was happening, both on the floor and in mid-air. Fandaniel was still there with Mitron and her, staring in shock.

“Is that all Sharlayan’s got? Some half-Alexander, half-Thaliak mongrel?” the Ascian bellowed as he brought down his sword—it was more like a thick chunk of metal with, presumably, a sharp edge somewhere—on the giant’s mechanical arm, crushing it with a dark, heavy force in a cacophony of steel. “A pushover just like Titan!”

Gaia’s gaze snapped back to Fandaniel as darkness enveloped him—Mitron tensed, gunblade at the ready. He vanished in a dark vortex, reappearing by Altima and Emmerololth’s side.

“No—Why—” Altima yelled over the commotion, “—Why is he ignoring them? Fight them too, you dim-witted scholar!“ She turned to Fandaniel in desperation. “Is it because we’ve used—”

“I’m afraid so,” he interrupted, fists clenched. “That would also explain the ease with which Lunar Titan was defeated. Lunar primals appear unwilling to fight the power they were born of. We need to figure out if this can be adjusted…”

“What if these Sharlayan people aren’t belligerent?” Emmerololth mused out loud. “Beastmen—”

“Not overtly anyway,” Altima waved a hand dismissively to cut the particular subject of Sharlayan politics short, before turning back pointedly to Fandaniel, “but yes, of course, beastmen make for better fodder because their fear and hatred are more easily exploited and weaponised—”

“I would have used beastmen if these islands in the middle of nowhere had any!” Fandaniel snapped back like they had had this exact same discussion before. “If you think I would have left this pool of aether untouched because of that, then Thaliak isn’t the only dimwit here—”

“Gaia,” Mitron called close to her, holding out her right hand, and Gaia felt like she had heard this voice all her life—all her lives. “Pashtarot told me you got your memories from my past incarnation. I could use them to bolster our powers—both of us.”

Gaia looked up at him—her. Dark skin, a hint of blond hair in the back, even the scar running down the right cheek. Gods, but she really does look exactly the same, only without the beard. So much for reincarnations being unique. Part of her wanted to grab her soulmate’s hand firmly, and go and kick ass together. She lifted her hand, but somewhere in the back of her head, a tiny part of her was screaming—you’re going to lose yourself again, like you did inside Eden. She froze, and brought her hand back close to her chest. “I—” My soul’s deep-seated longing. “I can’t. It’s going to flood me again—”

“I’ve heard.” Mitron looked away—from her, from the scene below. “I’m sorry for—it isn’t the same—”

Oh, no, this isn’t the time for this. Her mind raced. “No, don’t be, it wasn’t you.”

Her weapon vanishing in a dark smoke, Mitron suddenly brought her other hand to her face, and removed her red mask. “I’m only going to draw from the surface of your mind. I—I won’t force myself inside.”

Beloved, I already have an Ascian inside of me right now—oh, Gaia, this really isn’t the time to have these stupid thoughts. Mitron’s warm green eyes, the same eyes she had always known, stared back. Gaia shut her own.

Down below, the one-sided fight was continuing. “Well, now what?” Altima, her hands on her hips, asked Fandaniel, who was watching the battle silently, his borrowed face marred by a frown. She made a broad gesture towards them all. “It’s no use trying to ambush them again. There are four of them, and the Warrior of Light!”

“Four? Deudalaphon is still inside, isn’t she? Oh—” Emmerololth turned back to face the party opposing them. “Oh come on, that girl can’t be Loghrif—all right, she’s holding Mitron’s hand and there’s magic swirling around them both, of course she’s Loghrif,” she finished to herself, visibly sighing and burying her face in her hand.

Magic surged around Gaia. Not simply magic—memories. Spheres of blue aether spun around them both before eventually distributing themselves between Mitron and her, each leaving a purple trail in its wake. Did it look this way because her soul was tinged with darkness? She felt like something was going to burst out of her. She tightened her grasp on Mitron’s gloved hand, the metal body of the silver claws digging into her fingers. The last time her soulmate had touched her soul, only Loghrif had answered—not Gaia, because Gaia didn’t want to abandon her friends, and she did not yet possess full knowledge of her identity. But now, Gaia knew, and they shared a common goal.

Safeguarding the star.

She thought she felt someone in a corner of her mind smile at that.

Mitron put her mask back on, and Gaia knew what she had to do. She lifted her free hand to her face, and the mask of Loghrif materialised in her palm, with its many eyes. She felt Mitron’s other hand grab her upper arm gently.

“Let’s go help them,” Mitron said with that unmistakable confident smile.

Their hands still intertwined, a dark vortex enveloped them, and Gaia let her body follow Mitron’s in the teleportation spell. When the darkness left them, they were both standing beside Halmarut. Both the Warrior of Light and the other Ascian were relentlessly attacking the giant with their swords imbued with light and dark magic respectively, while he was sending creeping vines to hinder the giant’s movements from the backline.

“Ah,” Halmarut said, interrupting his casting to turn to them both with a warm smile, “here you are. Loghrif and Mitron. Land and sea.”

Mitron stepped forward, her crystalline gunblade reappearing in her hand. “So, are our three friends just going to watch their primal get pummelled?” she asked lightly with a nod towards Fandaniel, Altima and Emmerololth, who were speaking with each other in too low a voice to understand.

“They seem to be weighing their options.” Halmarut watched the other three Ascians calmly, and Emmerololth, with that wavy mask of hers, watched back—Fandaniel and Altima were having a heated discussion. “I imagine the interruption of the flow of aether from this tower is what drew their attention to begin with.”

Gaia frowned, watching Altima accompany her words to Fandaniel with expressive gestures. “She was holding this guy in chains of darkness when we got here. Shouldn’t we be able to do the same?” Her eyes were strangely drawn to the starry night sky that was inside the giant’s empty chest, as he wrenched free from Halmarut’s conjured vines. It looks so familiar. “They were arguing about how they made him.”

“I have suspicions.” Halmarut drew his hand back, dark power coalescing around it, before thrusting it forward. A single meteor materialised above the giant and hit him in the small of the back, unbalancing him in the middle of what looked to be an incantation of water magic. “I would like to hear what our emissary thinks of it,” he continued casually, which made Mitron tilt her head in confusion without inquiring further. “But you are correct, Loghrif. We should be able to restrain him.”

“His attacks are water-based,” Mitron commented—just as the giant fired a kind of laser beam made of pure light at the Warrior of Light, the other Ascian giving it a wide berth. “Mostly. I could turn his next water spell against him if I’m quick enough.”

Gaia looked down at her own hand. Quick enough. Without thinking, she laid her hand on Mitron’s shoulder and magic enveloped her. Mitron blinked and turned to look at her in surprise—with a lightning-fast movement. Gaia was just as surprised. “What did I—”

“Haste,” Halmarut said with a smile. “When Mitron hits him with his own magic, slow him down with your own as best as you can.”

Part of her wanted to ask ’how?’ out of habit. She sighed. Let go.

When she opened her eyes, Mitron was already in mid-air beside the sword-wielding Ascian, complementing his magic slashes with impossibly quick strikes of her own, hacking away at the giant’s back and large feathered wings. The other Ascian seemed to pay her magically enhanced state no mind—this was not the first time he had fought alongside Mitron and Loghrif. The primal was still focused solely on Meteor, who did not care to dodge his attacks. He simply parried and mitigated the blows, steel and light shielding him.

Aether surged around Thaliak, swirling, gushing, coalescing in a roaring sphere of water, aimed straight at the Warrior of Light. Bracing for the spell, Meteor knelt and put up his ornate shield, his aura of light shining brighter than ever and shaping itself into large iridescent wings trailing behind him. The giant released his blast of water aether in a loud rumble that almost sounded like thunder—just as two blue rings of energy with deep darkness in their centres appeared, one directly in front of him, the other up in the air, directed obliquely at him. Gates?… Gaia only had the time to blink before the roaring jet of water disappeared into the void gate instead of hitting Meteor behind it, and came pouring out of the other gate, tainted and enhanced with darkness, hitting Thaliak straight in the head.

Then her instincts dictated she close her fist, seizing the air in the direction of the stunned giant, as if she were holding him in her hand and squeezing. Preventing him from moving. Stopping him in his tracks. Crushing the fabric of spacetime around him. Stop. She heard loud laughter coming from the Ascian with the sword, commenting on Mitron and portals, but Gaia paid no attention to him. Her gaze was fixated on the unmoving giant she saw standing there yet felt in the palm of her hand. Holding him tight. Stop.

Dark chains wrapped themselves around Thaliak, binding his lopsided arms and tattered wings to his immobile body. Upon closer inspection, they were vines floating in mid-air, radiating darkness. With a gracious sweeping motion, Halmarut caught them in his hand. Gaia finally breathed again, feeling herself relax. Her fingers hurt when she uncurled them. Without willing it, her mask vanished from her face. She noticed the wind blowing again, high up as they were—either it had been weakened by Thaliak’s aura disrupting the ambient elemental balance, or it had been blowing all along and she had been too enthralled to be aware of it. Hopefully the former. She winced.

Without a word, Fandaniel casually strolled forward, his distinctly non-Ascian purple robes fluttering in the wind, and made a sudden grabbing gesture—as if he wanted to yank the giant’s bonds towards him. They stiffened in Halmarut’s hand, but he held fast, the dark vines sinking into the black leather of his glove.

A scowl betrayed Fandaniel’s thoughts before he replaced it with an unctuous smile. “Ah, partner. You know me well!” he said with a fond, nostalgic tone—though his hand was still clenched and pulling the air, and Halmarut was still visibly resisting. “Now, why wouldn’t you kindly let us have this aether and part on good terms?” Fandaniel continued with his voice strained, before letting go of his invisible pull with a sigh.

Halmarut stopped exerting himself in response, but without relaxing his hold entirely. “Do you believe the aether of these Sundered will be enough to free Zodiark of his prison?”

Fandaniel’s brow wrinkled in a sorry expression under his hood as he presented him with his open palms. “Those poor, sundered wretches, so weak and powerless—and so are we, really! Whatever could we do?” He tilted his head to the side like a curious cat might. “Tell me, partner, what do you think we have in mind?”

“Raw power to break his seals.” Halmarut gave the giant a stiff nod, the stars shimmering in the void of his chest. “Hence why you would use a sliver of his unsundered power to base your contraptions upon. I thought it might have vanished with Lahabrea. Though if anyone could venture this deep within the Aetherochemical Research Facility and retrieve it, it would be you, Fandaniel.”

“Defiling the Heart of Sabik with your schemes!” interjected the Ascian who had been fighting Thaliak alongside them, stepping forward to stand beside Halmarut. It was the first time Gaia could take a good look at him, his red mask as bulky and ugly as his sword had been, with bumps on the forehead like an uneven, battle-scarred shell. A scythe-like claw covered his right cheek, its left counterpart much smaller, giving the mask a uniquely asymmetrical look. His coarse blond stubble seemed like a weak attempt to conceal a jawline that was softer than he liked. “Using the thousands within him against their will for destruction—”

“Ghosts, Pashtarot,” Fandaniel stated, shaking his head with a mocking smile. “These people died eons ago. I don’t believe the living should care what the dead might think of them.” He threw his head back in laughter. “What will would that be, anyway? The mankind they cherished is long gone, and the world they sought to restore forgotten. Should a will remain, it is now irrelevant. Ghosts of millennia past don’t have their say in the present—”

“Bullshit!” Pashtarot interrupted with a shout. “Their sacrifice had meaning, and it is the duty that has been bestowed upon us to uphold their legacy! Because no one else will!”

Fandaniel put the back of his hand up to his forehead, looking to the skies above theatrically. “Ah, it is so like you to cling stubbornly to the past, suckling at the teat of the Unsundered even after we are finally free of their shackles, even though they would have replaced you in a heartbeat,” he said, throwing Mitron a pointed look and a sly half-smile. “I have to wonder how you even managed to apparently talk Deudalaphon out of her idleness—”

There was little stopping Pashtarot in his furious rant, however. “By knowingly ignoring their will, you spit on their graves—on their nameless mass grave, just like she does, just like all of her children do!” Altima shook her head, her lips pursed, but Emmerololth recoiled slightly. Gaia gave that a silent chuckle. Even to a new Ascian, being compared to Hydaelyn is anathema. “The Unsundered’s shackles?” Pashtarot went on, his visible features twisting into a snarl. “You only speak for yourself, Fandaniel! In fact, I wouldn’t put it past you to have planned this out of spite!”

Gaia watched Fandaniel’s lips slowly curl into a fuller smile. It was not the fake smile he had given his colleagues turned enemies so far, but the genuine, contrite smile of a child who had just gotten caught red-handed. Does he know? Does he know he could command Zodiark to burn through the souls of the people inside him? She swallowed her saliva. Best we don’t mention a word of it, just in case.

“Gaia,” she heard a voice call—but she did not react.

Pashtarot continued, unabated, a finger pointed at Fandaniel. “Yet you’ve been around for five thousand years. You’ve fought alongside us for five thousand years! Quite the act you’ve been putting up, if you’ve been planning to betray the Unsundered and their ideals for a while!”

“Must I understand you are underestimating my genius?” His delicate features looked sincerely offended.

“I think I’m estimating it just right, but more importantly, I don’t think the Unsundered were stupid enough to let you run unchecked and plot against them for thousands of years—”

“Gaia,” the voice insisted, and this time she managed to listen. “I have heard enough. The situation should be safe enough with everyone around you and the primal under control.”

Absent-mindedly, she lifted her hand to her temple. “I—now?” she asked Elidibus out loud, prompting Mitron to throw her an inquisitive glance.

“Are you not interested in hearing more of Fandaniel’s opinion of me?” She sensed him smirk in that little corner of her mind he occupied. “I bet Emmerololth will love it.”

Fandaniel rolled his beady dark eyes at Pashtarot with a dramatic, exhausted sigh. “Ah, dear colleague, all bluster and no point, as usual. Get on with—”

His eyes widened when they fell on the darkness Gaia was giving form to. Cries of surprise and disbelief rang around her before the shadows even became visibly recognisable as Elidibus, clad in his plain white hooded robes and red mask. Emmerololth covered her mouth with her hands. Only Meteor and Halmarut, a faint smile on his lips, remained silent—and Fandaniel. Of all who were unaware of Elidibus’s survival, Fandaniel’s was the only expression Gaia could fully read, the others wearing their masks. There was this unmistakable hint of fear behind the rage his surprise gave way to.

“You.” Gone was Fandaniel’s feigned courtesy, as he glowered under the frayed rim of his purple hood. “Even when it comes to dying, you can never do your job properly.” He spat out every word like razor-sharp ice. “I’m impressed.”

“Then you will be pleased to know I have come to carry out my professional duties,” Elidibus replied without skipping a beat, unflappable in the face of Fandaniel’s obvious seething. “I have heard a number of claims since this Convocation meeting began, and it is my understanding the three of you are acting to reach Zodiark.” He gestured lightly at himself standing there, shorter than everyone else, defenceless. “Then Zodiark shall hear you out. Speak.”

“Elidibus! You—” Altima took a hesitant step forward, her hand raised to her chest. “You’re not—Are you standing against us?”

“Oh, it’s all going exactly as planned, Altima,” Fandaniel told her softly, stopping her in her advance with an outstretched hand to his side, without taking his eyes off Elidibus, before raising his voice again. “Isn’t it, you old bastard? It all makes sense now. Pashtarot refusing to help then outright sabotaging us, Deudalaphon playing coy about neutrality, sending Mitron to fetch Loghrif from the First… Starting with assigning Halmarut to work with me on Ilsabard!” A corner of his mouth twitched as he turned to the latter, who stood unmoving, impassible. “We had some fun together, didn’t we? I hear Baelsar still keeps our masks on him like they’re trophies!” Fandaniel gave a brief chuckle before his crooked smile vanished in an instant when he went back to Elidibus. “But that was only to keep an eye on me and turn Halmarut against me when the time came!” He stared the emissary down, now looking frankly unhinged. “You enjoy this, don’t you? Giving me false hopes… Toying with me!”

“I do not. I will take your conspiracy theory as a compliment, however.” Elidibus calmly turned to Altima, without giving Fandaniel’s sputtering rage further attention. “You sound surprised I would oppose your designs. I would be curious to hear your reasons.”

That seemed to take her aback. It was hard to tell more of her emotions, her unblemished mask concealing all of her face save her mouth and chin. “I—Well—No,” Altima said, putting her hand on her hip and shaking her head, “it is me who should be asking you this.” She sighed in frustration, adjusting her mask with her other hand—in the process covering her only exposed feature. “Why? Why oppose us? Why would you even consider saving them from Zodiark? Do you think I’ve forgotten everything you Unsundered have said for the past thousands of years?” Head lowered, she let out a short, quiet laugh behind her hand. “Oh, Lahabrea and Emet-Selch were louder about it—of course they were. But I’ve heard you say things, as well. Behind the affable mediation and professionalism…” She took her hand away from her mask to gesture at the Warrior of Light—though her gesture was wide enough to potentially include Gaia and her companions as well. “You hate them. You hate these disgusting—what were your exact words again? Right—’Malformed creatures.’ ’The cheap, inferior substitute version of humans.’” She laughed again.

Elidibus gave no hint of a reaction, so Altima continued, pacing idly to the right of Thaliak’s misshapen throne, the sound of her boots on the hard mechanical floor carried by the wind. “Yes, I remember one time you went further, and confessed to me you were even looking forward to devouring them all once the star was fully rejoined and you became Zodiark again. Plucking them off the ground and ripping apart the components of their aether without so much as a permission or consent, something a fully-powered Zodiark would be capable of—which you knew, precisely because you never did so back then when you could.”

She stopped to the side facing the wind, her hood blown off. Blond, chin-length strands of hair fluttered in the wind. “Such self-restraint when you could have abused this immense power for your own selfish pleasure—such a brilliant demonstration of the superiority of true mankind’s mindset. Such a stark contrast to the men I have known.” She turned to face them, her hair whipping the perfect red face of her mask. “Your words painted such a vivid picture of Zodiark’s feast in my mind. I envied you, you know, for having this privilege of personally ending their species. I agreed, and still agree, with everything you said then.” Her voice grew lower, loud enough to be heard still. “Burn the beasts as fuel. It isn’t merely all they’re good for, it is also justice—for all the wrongs she did you, for their crass ignorance, arrogance and indulgence, for all their sins born of this perversion of nature.”

You were one of those mortal beasts once, too, Altima, Gaia almost said before stopping herself. Perhaps that was exactly the reason why this sundered Altima judged men as beasts. Gaia looked away from her for a moment, as to not unearth whatever knowledge her own past self might have of her colleague’s life story. Pashtarot shifted his balance, turning slightly to glance at Elidibus, as did Mitron.

Elidibus broke the silence himself. “All of this is indeed true. I have said as much to the Warrior of Light and his companions.” He gave a nearly imperceptible nod in Meteor’s direction. “It is possible I omitted the part relating to devouring them and looking forward to it.” Gaia raised her eyebrows at him, but managed to use self-restraint like a superior, true human being would and went no further. “I understand the parallel you are drawing,” he continued, deadpan, “but I believe Halmarut already addressed this point earlier. You are taking the sacrifice of the Sundered as an end rather than a means. But more to the point, it sounds like you are underlining what you interpret as hypocrisy in my position.” He straightened himself—he had been slightly slouching. “Carrying out my duty to the star is not mutually exclusive with hating the Sundered for what they are. Nor do I believe it to be mutually exclusive with justice for mankind.”

“Really?” Altima said quietly, her head lowered. “Do you truly think you can ally with them, and not let her get away with her crimes? Nor bow to her?”

Again, he did not immediately answer, seeming to carefully choose his words. “I understand, Altima,” he said in a softer voice to match hers, “I understand how you feel. I do not intend to return to the star without holding Hydaelyn accountable.” Tilting his head back, he let out a slow sigh, his voice growing harsher. “I know what she wants. I have spoken to her puppets enough times to understand the process. She wants the history of this star forgotten or, if she cannot suppress it, twisted in her favour. One,” he held a thumb up, his wide sleeve falling softly to his elbow, as he switched to a more conversational tone, “the Sundering never happened. Mankind simply came into existence as the ’age of gods’ ended—I am sure you are all familiar with the tales of myth she spread across all Shards. Deny any story more substantial. Two,” he extended his index finger, as an uncharacteristic genial smile appeared under the beak of his mask, “well, perhaps the Sundering did happen—but what harm did it truly bring? Living beings simply split into fourteen identical copies, as did the star, and went on with their merry mortal lives.”

“Three,” he continued with the accompanying gesture, and Gaia was really starting to find his unfittingly wholesome smile unnerving, “fine, so perhaps the Sundering did have a couple of dramatic, lasting effects—at least according to the evil worshippers of Darkness Incarnate, since no one else remembers a thing about it—but it was merely an unintended consequence of her victory against said darkness. Four,” he went on, and Gaia was fairly sure she was unable to extend her ring finger separate from her little finger as easily as he did—Now this Sundering thing has gone too far!—”well, admittedly, maybe she did in fact intend all that. It was right, actually. The lives drastically cut cruelly short by ailing bodies degenerating into a new species, the erasure of all memories and identities, the obliteration of language, knowledge, culture,” his smile remained in place as he went down the list, “the loss of magic the entirety of civilisation was founded upon, and the horrific consequences all of that had on living conditions—all of it was, in fact, good. A necessary evil. Growing pains. What a learning experience it was for mankind.”

He gave a bit of a sideway nod, as if to concede a point. “And yes, we are now going to call it ’mankind’, regardless of the fully intended fundamental differences. This serves to minimise the impact of her crime—mankind is not gone, it is merely changed—as well as imply it is only a logical continuation, one and the same, only as an evolved state, more refined, more resilient. Stronger. A better mankind. Because…” He put up his little finger as his smile widened into an eminently satisfied grin—a sight that was simply wrong. “Five—why, you deserved it.”

Gaia frowned in reflection. What should we call ourselves, if not mankind? Are we not men? Yet Elidibus’s words to Cyella regarding Unukalhai came back to her—the dehumanising on both sides, both involuntary and wilful. She sighed before throwing a quick look at the reactions around her. Mitron looked in actual pain, Halmarut’s jaw was clenched, Pashtarot’s face was contorted in a silent snarl, Altima’s full lips had become a thin line, Emmerololth’s nostrils flared in revulsion—her fellow Ascians all seemed to share her disgust for the process Elidibus painstakingly described. Even Fandaniel. He looked like he couldn’t look away from an appallingly grotesque sight, such as a massive edifice made of warm pulsating flesh. Though perhaps that was just the way he looked at Elidibus in general. Then her eyes fell on Meteor, whose expression was remarkably blank.

“Would you not agree, Gaia?” Elidibus asked out of the blue, snapping her out of her thoughts, his five fingers still up and the smile still plastered on him.

“What? No!” she blurted out a little louder than she wanted.

He shook his head in the most condescending manner one possibly could as he raised his other hand with his thumb up. “Six—of course a thrall of Zodiark would say that, you poor tempered thing.”

She hissed, feeling the air in her throat grow a little colder. His words to Y’shtola days ago echoed in her mind—’Are you saying Zodiark is giving Gaia aural hallucinations?’ And Y’shtola—serious, level-headed, scholarly Y’shtola—had not denied it.

He turned back to the three renegade Ascians, back to his regular stony self. “I know what Hydaelyn is doing. And I do not intend to let her. You have my word.”

Altima pursed her lips for a second and opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by Fandaniel’s burst of laughter. “His word!” He took a moment to laugh some more, spreading his arms for effect. “Just like you gave your word to save your people. All dead, or as good as—by your fault,” he said, savouring those last words.

“How would you define death, Fandaniel?”

Elidibus asked the question with such calm it gave Fandaniel pause. It did not take long before the mocking smile came back on the latter’s face, however. “Did you imagine I would fall into this clumsy trap? Your people have not returned to the star, the answer you obviously wanted me to give. No—but I would liken their state to an irreversible coma, effectively. They have no more body to live in. Hydaelyn’s seals keep them asleep… dreaming.”

“So they do, indeed.” Elidibus and Fandaniel stared at each other for a second. “Yet you are aware her seals have been weakening with each rejoining. You know Zodiark feels in reaction to his predicament—anger, yearning. Whose feelings are these, if not theirs? Their will is not gone.” He crossed his arms, while Fandaniel’s smile faded. “Now, would you care to tell us what you intend to accomplish using Zodiark?”

Fandaniel’s eyes darted around. Gaia lifted an eyebrow. You’d think his answer would be pretty straightforward, he wants to blow it all up, doesn’t he? His unctuous smile returned. “Why, ridding the star of the filth that boldly calls itself ’mankind’, of course.”

“You introduced yourself to Gaia as ’harbinger of the apocalypse’—”

“I am.”

“Typically, an apocalypse does not entail targeting only a single species. I would know, having been victim of one, and engineered several others,“ Elidibus stated, stoic as ever. “Could you explain how—”

“This broken star is begging for release,” Fandaniel whispered, apparently ignoring Elidibus’s request, as Altima cringed behind him. “I know it. I have seen it. The end. I have seen it in my dreams forever.” He lowered his head and laughed, a low and despondent laugh—in the process likely not noticing the slight nod Elidibus gave. “It’s always there,” Fandaniel continued with a trembling voice, his eyes obscured by his hood. “Cold, all-devouring. Absolute. How could I ignore it? It is the only truth there is in this meaningless existence.” He raised his head slightly to glower at them. Behind him, Emmerololth had her mouth half-open. “I am its messenger, and it is high time this star meets its fate like the rest of the cosmos did.”

“I see. Thank you.” Elidibus sounded like he had just concluded a job interview. “You all know Zodiark was created to save the star precisely from this end—from the extinction of all life forms on it,” he said clearly as he unfolded his arms, watching them all around him. “It was, and still is, the will of all the people who gave themselves to make Zodiark. It was the duty of the Convocation of Fourteen to safeguard the star and steer it towards an ever brighter, richer future. Its members, naturally, had their share of disagreements over a number of subjects.” He paused briefly to let out the weary sigh of someone whose daily job it had been to smooth over said disagreements. “Thankfully, fighting back against the end of all life was never one of them. In any case, it was, and still is, my own duty as Elidibus to ensure we all work together for the betterment of the star.”

“Hence, Altima,” he continued, turning to face her, “allow me to clarify my position. I am not opposing your designs in order to save the Sundered. Were they facing a natural disaster, or driving themselves to extinction with their own petty wars, I would not lift a finger to help. Their fate is their own. However, that members of the Convocation would strive to invite back the apocalypse we gave everything to overcome, and use the desperate sacrifice of our people to do so—I cannot, as Elidibus, allow this to happen.”

The wind howled, lashing the extinguished summit of the tower.

“Now, Emmerololth,” Elidibus called, and her head jerked up in response, “I understand your argument. It brings back memories, I will admit.” He started picking idly at the cuff of his left sleeve, perhaps in an effort to detach himself. “First—of the way we evaluated creations destined to be released into nature, according to strict guidelines, most importantly to ensure they would not have a harmful impact on existing ecosystems. A process some among you knew particularly well, in fact.” The tired nod he gave in Fandaniel’s direction seemed to speak for itself. Emmerololth cocked her head slightly—in surprise or disbelief. “There are a couple of notable differences, here. We evaluated creations and their potential impact on existing ecosystems. Bear in mind—and this was a very complex subject all unto itself—creations destined to become wildlife were never sapient. Anything humanlike was prohibited for ethical reasons, and I faintly recall the topic of where this particular line stood made for unending debates.” He combined shrug and sigh in one particularly exhausted gesture. “Think what you may of these Sundered, and the star knows I certainly do, but they are neither creations nor non-sapient. It should be noted, as well,” he continued, still looking straight at Fandaniel rather than Altima, “that creations were afforded several chances before being deemed unreleasable in nature. It was a long and rigorous but fair process.”

Gaia caught Fandaniel glancing at her and Mitron. Strangely, there seemed to be no animosity in his dark eyes. He was frowning as if deep in thought. This the same guy who was going on about being the messenger of cosmic death or whatever a minute ago? She decided to stare back and twitch an eyebrow, to show acknowledgement—after all, they both were the only two Ascians here able to actually look each other in the eye. Fandaniel held her gaze, blinking, non-threatening.

“And this point I would like to elaborate upon, Emmerololth,” Elidibus said, looking to the latter. “Because this reasoning of culling the Sundered based on their potential impact on the star’s wellbeing also very much reminds me of the narrative a certain someone pushed.”

Emmerololth took a step back. “No—no, it isn’t the same—” she stuttered in hushed tones.

“Those who championed Hydaelyn argued that the creation of Zodiark and the planned sacrifice of wildlife in exchange for the humans within him crossed a moral line. To them, such a use of creation magicks, which they interpreted as inherently selfish, on such a massive scale, had opened the floodgates. The infinite potential for abuse of power justified a measure as drastic as the extermination of our species,” he recalled bitterly, shaking his head. “Now, you are correct in arguing unsundered mankind, unlike the Sundered, had the natural tools to replenish and enrich ecosystems. This was the main argument of the anthropocentrism that drove proponents of the third sacrifice who, eventually, became the majority. Some were reluctant at first. In fact…” He lifted a hand to stroke his chin in reflection. “If I recall correctly, Fandaniel, Emmerololth and Altima were among those. Altima was fearful of the aetherial aftereffects of summoning on the Convocation’s souls and how vulnerable to influence it potentially made us. Fandaniel balked at using living beings in such an unnatural way that went against their purpose. Emmerololth abhorred loss of life of all sorts. Eventually, all three came to recognise the benefits of replenishing mankind in the long term.” He tilted his head to the side, and there was a slight smile on his face—the sad but genuine smile he had when he thought of those he loved. “Eventually, they chose to believe in mankind’s potential for good rather than fall down the slippery slope of fearing all the bad that may or may not happen.”

Then he sighed as he let his arm fall by his side. “We lost that battle,” he said plainly, while Altima lowered her head and clenched her fists. “And that was unjust, of course. Condemned and executed for a potential outcome in an indefinite future, and given no chance to prove it wrong,” Elidibus continued. “And even if our survival did result in eventual disaster, would it not be the natural course of existence, under the hypothesis that we were only animals no better than the rest, doing what they could to survive? All must come to an end, eventually. Wild species suffer, kill each other and go extinct all the time. Such is nature—the nature Hydaelyn’s partisans claimed to champion. Our fate was ours to decide. And, absent of their use as fuel after the final rejoining, perhaps it is just that the Sundered’s fate should be theirs to decide.”

Gaia studied the three of them. Emmerololth, in the back, was as if frozen, staring straight ahead. His empty eyes on the floor, Fandaniel first softly shook his head, as if to convince himself—then frowned and turned to look at his two comrades with his lips pressed. Altima caught his gaze and gave him an understood nod.

With a heavy sigh, Altima stepped forward. “You’re a far better person than I am, Elidibus. Yet you could do with a little more practicing what you preach.” Gracefully, she raised her hand to her mask. “Do you know why we’re here? Why this entire situation is happening? You gave up on us, Elidibus.” She was as beautiful under the mask as it made her appear, her slanted eyes a troubling shade of clear, pale yellow that reminded Gaia of ice under a morning sky. Elidibus stood firm, unmoving. “When you came to deliver the news of Emet-Selch’s death, you wasted no time telling us this was it—if you, the last Unsundered, were to die, our chances of success were null. You bid Emmerololth leave the Sundered to write their own fate, yet you wrote us off and decided our fate was a done deal, without even considering giving us a chance to prove you wrong. Never thinking we might pull through and carry on with your legacy by ourselves. You bore the hopes of countless within Zodiark, yet neglected to keep up our own faith.” With her statuesque looks, she stared down his smaller frame, gripping her mask tightly, though there was less anger in her striking eyes than sadness and disappointment. “You left us there, orphaned, with our immortality, our powers, our knowledge of the world’s terrible truth, and Zodiark. Zodiark, who now could never fulfil his original purpose, but remained there nonetheless. What did you think would happen?”

They all watched in silence. Elidibus remained dignified facing Altima, though his stoic mask slipped for a second—Gaia noticed him swallow nervously. Yeah, she’s got a bit of a point, doesn’t she? She then glanced at Emmerololth, who was looking away.

Elidibus took a slow breath before speaking. “I doubt giving you my sincere apologies would help in any way,” he said, his composure intact. “You are right.” He sighed again. “Entirely right. I am sorry. In truth, I think I would love nothing more than for you to prove my bias wrong, and see our duty of restoring the star and its inhabitants to its intended end.”

A sad smile broke out on Altima’s face. “Oh, Elidibus—”

“But liberating Zodiark now to provoke Hydaelyn into a fight and restart the Final Days is very much not the correct way to go about it.”

“I know. And do you know why?” She lowered her eyes. “Because I agree with your outlook—or because I have come to believe it. We could never succeed by ourselves. It makes too much sense, and I don’t know how much of my mindset is the result of your self-fulfilling prophecy—but I had to tell you that. The impact your words might have had.” Altima straightened herself and reached to grab her hood off her back. “We could never succeed, because this star—Hydaelyn—” she spat the name out, “has fallen to her, her sycophants and her wilfully ignorant masses. And so, I don’t believe you could successfully fight her worldwide dogma and bring about the justice that is needed, Elidibus.” Her hood back on her blond locks, she covered her face with her Convocation mask once more. “I hear and understand your arguments, but my beliefs have not changed. As you said, it was unjust—and the only feasible justice I can imagine anymore is pay back. Should this go against my duties as Altima, Sixth Seat of the Convocation of Fourteen, and make us enemies from now on, so be it.”

“Duly noted,” Elidibus said in as detached a way he could muster—though Gaia knew how he felt.

“Now, Fandaniel,” Altima called as she spun on her heels, “if you are incapable of taking the aether of this hideous Thaliak out of your dear partner’s hands, then I would say it is past time we left this impromptu meeting. I believe you have a capricious princeling to attend to—” Fandaniel made clear what he thought of that, “—and we have plans to discuss.” She walked briskly over to her other colleague in the back. “Emmerololth, we must go—now.”

“I—” she gave her head a little shake as if to clear her mind, “—right. Let’s go.”

“Hey!” Pashtarot shouted, taking a step forward, “you think we’re just going to let you—”

“No, but Fandaniel has something to tell you that I do believe will make you want to stay,” Altima said with a smile and a dainty little good-bye wave, as the darkness of a teleportation spell started shrouding her and Emmerololth both. “Oh, and Fandaniel—do not villain monologue any further, and under no circumstances should you let Elidibus do so, either!”

“Foiled again,” Gaia heard Elidibus mutter to himself, as Altima and Emmerololth disappeared in a dark vortex, leaving Fandaniel alone facing them.

Fandaniel took a few steps back in the direction of the throne, the insufferable smile back on his youthful features once more. “With its aether flow interrupted, this tower is of no use to us anymore. I could simply leave you all to try and free at your leisure the human cattle we’ve been farming,” he raised a gloved hand, coursing with dark magic, “but that wouldn’t be very fun, now, would it?”

He snapped his fingers and the dark aether around his hand collapsed in a singularity, as an unbearably loud crack thundered from behind the throne. At once, the entire structure of the edifice trembled and rumbled, metal scraping against metal in deafening screeches.

“I see why you abruptly sent Emmerololth away, Fandaniel,” Elidibus said over the clangour before quickly grabbing Gaia’s arm, and she understood at once. Call him back inside.

She took a hold of his arm as well. Loud clangs rang up above them as the spire of the tower slowly collapsed, its scaffolding falling—Mitron and Halmarut both had conjured a protective shell over them. Pashtarot’s ugly chunk of a sword reappeared in his right hand, his face illuminated by the spikes and curves of his sigil, as he made to lunge after Fandaniel.

“Pashtarot—stay,” Elidibus hissed as his corporeal envelope started evaporating and melding with Gaia’s dark aura, “if you follow his trail, you will be alone against three. We need you here, now.”

Stopping in his tracks, Pashtarot clenched the hilt of his sword with naked fury. “If you’re not even getting any aether out of it,” he shouted at Fandaniel, “what the fuck even is the point of killing everyone?!”

Fandaniel laughed as the throne collapsed beside him, his own teleportation spell wrapping him in darkness. “There is none, of course.” He gave them a little wave, wiggling his fingers. “Have fun!”

Chapter Text

“Again,” she muttered to herself, picking up the grey pebble before it could roll down the slope into the water.

With her back to the lake, Gaia closed her eyes, grasping the tiny rock in her fingers. Behind her, the water lapped against the stony shore, a light breeze gently blowing her long hair to the side. She heard the rustling of leaves coming from a couple of trees scattered here and there, and the chatter from the town a little further uphill.

Out, she thought, I need to take the rock out of the existence around it, and suspend it into our own.

Her eyes flicked open as she lightly threw the pebble up in the air vertically, aiming to lob it a short distance ahead of her. Follow it, she told herself, keeping her hand open and still in its throwing position, her eyes tracking the rock as it flew up in the soft blue-green hue of twilight. Focus on it, and only it. She tried her best to ignore the blue glare of the multitude of crystals that jutted out of the stony cliffs of this scarred land, and the angry orange glow of one particularly charged dome-shaped crystal formation away in the distance. The pebble slowed as it reached the peak of its ascent, before beginning its fall, dropping below the skyline of grey jagged cliffs and debris of war machines.

Gaia twitched the fingers of her open hand, eyes riveted on the falling rock. It stopped. She held her breath, trying to stand as still as she the pebble suspended there in mid-air, level with her eyes, a little further than arms’ length. She could not tell how many seconds passed like this. The wind in the leaves, the lake, the town market—none of it mattered. It was as if she and the pebble existed beside the rest of reality, in their own bubble, and she needed to take this bubble against the natural flow of everything around it. Her fingers trembled as she fought the urge to shut her eyes to relax and focus—she needed to maintain contact. She barely dared to blink.

Slowly, the pebble started going up. It was back above the skyline, up among the stars that dotted the twilight sky, illuminated by the waxing moon. Slowly, the pebble went back to the peak of the bell curve of her throw. Too slow. Gaia wanted to move, to breathe, to break this focus. It started coming back down the way it had gone up, getting closer to its starting point, but she could hold her spell no longer. She jerked her arm up—just a little bit—to catch the pebble, and finally let the air out of her lungs in a puff. Time resumed its course.

Gaia stared breathless at the tiny grey rock in her hand and laughed. “I think I’ve done it.” A sudden joy overcame her.

“You have,” came Elidibus’s statement, straight to the point as ever, though Gaia thought she detected a hint of pride behind his usual detached calm.

“It looked like it was falling ahead of you, then suddenly blinked backwards into your hand. You moved just a little.” Unlike their companion, Mitron did not care to hide the amazement in her voice. “From our point of view, it happened under a second. It wasn't like when you stopped Lunar Thaliak and we could all see him stop. Do you think you created a whole new timeline where the pebble fell?”

Gaia heard Elidibus sigh in response to that. “This is why it was its own field of magicks and research,” he muttered.

Gaia balled her fist around the pebble, grinning broadly. These past couple of days had seen her taught a crash course in elemental aether manipulation by Mitron and Halmarut—first in the chilly mists of the harbour in Sharlayan, then here, in this disfigured wetland. She figured it had to be Lakeland, because the Crystal Tower was there, plain to see across the wide lake she knew as, ironically, the Source. The Source she knew had no giant ruin sticking out of it with the remains of a massive winged beast impaled on it, however, and there was no city to be found at the foot of this Crystal Tower. In fact, the town that had been their destination, nestled in a rocky defile, looked to be the only permanent civilian settlement around. Given its placement relative to the lake and the tower, Gaia was pretty sure it was roughly the equivalent of the fortress known as the Ostall Imperative in her world.

But the land itself had little in common with the purple forests and cliffs of the Lakeland she knew. It had more crystals of raw aether than trees growing out of its grey, rocky terrain, though there were still pockets of bog and mangrove here and there, harking back to its natural swampland state. This version of Lakeland had no doubt been ravaged by war. The multiple mechanical carcasses dotting the area looked quite similar to the constructs she, Halmarut and Meteor had fought on their way up the Tower of Hamm. But war was not the sole culprit here. The glowing crystals that tore through the rock told a long history of disasters and calamities repeatedly wrecking the elemental balance of aether. All the Ascians’ handiwork—at the very least the disasters, if not the war as well. For each Shard that disappeared, along with all its history and civilisations, new scars were inflicted on the Source by the pure energy of aether, elements and souls forced back into it, through Hydaelyn’s artificial dimensional barriers that were keeping the star’s natural existence fragmented.

Back where it belongs, Gaia thought idly, still staring at the small grey rock she was clutching.

“Home…” a voice suddenly whispered in the wind, faint yet clear as day.

She blinked. I know this voice. I should know this voice. Evidently, it was neither Mitron nor Elidibus who had spoken. She glanced up from her hand to the latter, sitting on a large, flat gray rock, his back to the town nearby. He was looking straight at her, the purple glow of his pupils making for an eerie sight in the darkness of twilight. The nearly imperceptible nod Elidibus gave her was all the confirmation she needed—of course, he heard it too. Another call from Zodiark. Gaia brushed a bang away nervously. A part of her wanted to weep every time she felt this tug. How does he feel when he hears them call, after so long? Especially now that his fate—and theirs by the same token—was entirely at the mercy of the Sundered Convocation, whose existence he and his late colleagues were responsible for?

Silently, she looked back into his eyes. Elidibus looked as tired as Gaia had always known him. She couldn't fault him for that.

“Well,” Mitron said, seemingly unaware of what just transpired, “complex though it may be, you're already starting to get the hang of it. Your magic will be a real boon in the upcoming trials.”

“Indeed. Should Fandaniel’s schemes entail lazily throwing pebbles along a parabolic trajectory, you should be more than ready to thwart him,” Elidibus commented flatly. He shifted his position, holding a knee close to his chest with his other leg splayed out. Owing to their reason for coming here, Gaia’s Ascian companions had all opted for normal clothes as not to draw too much attention. She was glad to see Elidibus in the attire she had bought him back in Crystarium, though she did find his own choice of footwear—the well-worn brown combat boots with straps and buckles he typically wore under his white robes, as far as she knew—to clash with the rest of his fancy dress. A bold fashion choice, Gaia mused, though to be honest, he most likely never began to care about clothing. To her annoyance, he had also decided to ditch the black cravat, instead leaving open the first couple of buttons on the white shirt he wore underneath the brown leather waistcoat—a sight she could not manage to find unpleasant despite her best efforts.

“Small steps, but steady progress makes success,” Mitron replied, with something of a concerned look on her face and a hint of reproach in her voice.

Oh, sweetheart, is she offended on my behalf? “Don’t worry, Artemis, you’ll eventually learn not to take Elidibus's constant deadpan personally.”

There was truth in his sentiment, however. Her little magic trick with a pebble would hardly be enough—she needed to develop her powers, fast. She thought back on what had happened. Again. Gaia shut her eyes with a sigh. I could have done so much more to save all these people. Should have done so much more. In total, the collapse of the Tower of Hamm had resulted in one hundred and twenty three dead, and twenty seven more in critical condition. Most of those that weren't still suffered crushed limbs and contusions. All survivors—bar a single, quite traumatised woman who, unbeknownst to herself, turned out to have the gift of the Echo—were still in a trance-like state. Eleven were still unaccounted for. If I’m so forgetful, why can’t I forget these numbers? Gaia had imagined herself suspending the flow of time around the entire crumbling edifice while her companions worked to free the Sharlayan hostages from their prison of swelling flesh—instead, all she had managed in the heat of the moment had been to cast Haste on Mitron, Meteor and Halmarut, and redirect some of the overflowing dark aether to herself. And maybe slow the swelling of a flesh wall or two. Lunar Thaliak had made for an easy target to direct her time magic at, but stopping time in a wide area around herself and with such urgency had proven too high an expectation.

“Still beating yourself up over the victims?” Mitron’s voice asked softly, less as a question and more as a statement. “It was your first time in a real crisis since getting your memories back, right?” A cricket or two chirped in the background, joining the ambient sounds of lake and evening town life alike. Even this devastated landscape still shelters life, just like the nature around Eden. “So was it for me. I’d never really fought before. In this life.”

Gaia’s eyes fluttered open to look at her. Mitron stood under a tree nearby. The long coat she wore over dark body armour reminded her of Thancred’s attire, only in black—a suitable garb for a bodyguard, though it did nothing for her already flat chest. Gaia kept Mitron close by at all times. Now that their enemies were aware of Gaia’s existence and her hosting Elidibus’s consciousness, her companions had decided to stay together as a group as much as possible, as deterrence from ambushing her again. In the distance, up on a cliff overlooking both the town and the lake, a lone figure stood arms crossed, with tousled blond hair and dark clothes that left one of his arms bare, facing the lake—Pashtarot's silhouette against the twilit skies, silently keeping watch.

Gaia gave her soulmate a sad, sorry smile in spite of herself. My knight. With three months of experience on her resume. Because she was the only candidate our employer could dredge up.

As if on cue, Elidibus let out an eloquent sigh, pressing a cheek against his bent knee. “Neither of you were expected to improvise yourselves peerless heroes. And still, were it not for your intervention, the death count would have been twice as high. Those you could not save, you brought back home with their bodies whole and mended so their loved ones could give them proper funeral rites and say their farewells. That is good.” The look in his eyes bore the weight of what he left unsaid. “Heroes fail. What you owe these people is to learn from it and ensure you will confront what comes next to the best of your abilities, whether that means success or failure. What is done is done—concentrate on what has yet to happen.”

“What’s done is done?” Gaia raised an eyebrow at him, lightly tossing the pebble up and catching it. “Hardly flies when you’ve got time magic, doesn't it?”

“Magic you have not yet mastered—unless I am speaking to a Gaia that came from the future to blame herself.” Elidibus lifted his head from his knee to look towards the town behind him bitterly. “Would that Nabriales were still here. Mitron, Pashtarot and Halmarut can readily teach you to breathe underwater, defy gravity and regulate your body temperature, and I imagine Deudalaphon would be delighted to show you how to shape aether into various trinkets and contraptions, but manipulating the flow of time to aid you in battle is its own beast.” He bent down to his right to reach across the rock he was sitting on and pick up a pebble of his own, though his was a crystal shard that radiated a soft light blue glow rather than a regular old rock. “You will have to largely be your own teacher, I am afraid. As Mitron said, the more you practice, the more you will be comfortable with your abilities, allowing you to call upon them naturally in combat. Staying in close proximity to each other should help your memories resurface via spiritual resonance. In the meantime, you might not think much of what you accomplished, Gaia, but there is no deed too small when it results in saved lives.”

Saved lives he relished the idea of devouring… she thought, looking away with a frown—before something small hit her squarely in the forehead. “Ow—Hey!” The tiny blue crystal shard bounced off her and rolled down the slope, stopping before falling into the water.

“A test of your reflexes,” Elidibus said flatly. “Next time, I want this crystal back in my hand before it hits you.”

She rubbed the throbbing pain. “You could have warned—”

“Of course not. That is the point. Throwing and catching it yourself is easy.” She watched him closely as he moved to pick up another glowing shard. He gazed at its facets, rolling it between thumb and index. “Do you know why I picked a crystal, rather than a pebble?”

“Its, uh, aether?” Gaia focused all her attention on it, waiting for him to prepare his throw—this time she wouldn’t be caught unaware.

“Correct. Living beings and arcane constructs alike are infused with more aether than a plain rock, and it is the former that usually are the targets of your spells in a fight.” Gaia tensed as he moved his hand, but he only tossed the crystal lightly in the air to catch it. A faint half-smile appeared on his lips when he noticed how twitchy she was, watching his every move, but he did not speak further.

She stared at his hand for a little more before figuring he was not likely to throw the crystal right now, and decided instead to walk a couple of steps to the shore to pick up the first shard.

“Why would you care if we save the people in the towers or not?” she mused out loud as she straightened herself up. She held up both palms to the sky, crystal in the left and pebble in the right, as if weighing them. “I mean,” she continued, turning to face Elidibus again, “you hate us, right? Altima said so, and you confirmed.”

“’Us’?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Right. “Yeah, it’s—well, I consider myself a mortal still. A Sundered. It’s what we are, anyway, us remaining Ascians.” Gaia’s eyes found Mitron’s, who listened on with her head slightly tilted to the side. “We all were mortals, and I still think of myself as one, because I’m a bit of a special case, right?” She brought her hands together, holding both crystal and pebble next to each other. She could not help but be drawn to the crystal’s facets and soft blue glow. It’s so pretty. “What I’m saying is, I think I get Altima. Do you really hate mortals so much you were eager to kill us all as Zodiark? Then why care? Why console me?”

Elidibus studied her for a few seconds before closing his glowing eyes. “Altima has always been ruled more by her emotions than by her duty. In that, she is quite like Emet-Selch.” He let out a frustrated sigh and opened his eyes again to look at the crystal in his hand. “What can I say? You care, and I need your cooperation. Freeing the hostages ensures Fandaniel does not get as much aether as he would, were they to remain prisoner of his towers or die in their collapse, releasing a burst of aether in the process—the basis for sacrifices fuelling summoning, as I have generously informed countless Sundered before,” he said with a smirk that implied things Gaia did not care to find out. “Again, I do not see what my personal feelings have to do with anything. Of course I hate them. How could I not?”

“Why?” she blurted out.

He blinked slowly, before raising his eyes to her. “Have I not made this point before?” He did not sound as irritated as she thought he might.

“Not quite. You’ve spoken about…” Gaia hesitated, trying to find the right words. “How we don't feel human to you. Because you could never truly relate, but at the same time, you force yourself not to so it hurts less.” She looked up from her rocks. He had stopped fidgeting with his and was listening attentively. “How you, yourselves, became less human because you had to be, so we thought you monsters—and besides, everything from your human life—your real name—” Maybe there are no right words for this. She sighed. “But that doesn't mean hatred. I don't think animals are human—I could do without some, I guess, like sea cucumbers—” she added, glancing over to Mitron, who looked to be trying her best not to be offended, “but I don't hate them.”

“I see you have been paying attention. An uncommon occurrence I shall treasure.” She honoured his jab with an unimpressed glare while he shifted his position to bring a leg under the other. “Do you also remember, per chance, what I said of the concepts we used to release into the wild to enrich the environment?”

She frowned. “You were really careful with them so they wouldn't turn out to be bad—oh.” The sound of distant laughter amidst the hubbub of the town's night market echoed off the cliffs. “You couldn't make them humanlike.”

Resting his elbow on his knee, he shut his eyes as he rubbed his forehead. “Sometimes I wonder just how much of all this she intended. Breaking us,” he muttered in a sombre voice. “I take it you also remember my explanation of how history is written.” He allowed himself an utterly joyless chuckle as he reopened his eyes, the deep purple glow boring into her. “Some of the words our dear friends of the Seventh Dawn have let slip have stuck with you, have they not?”

Her nostrils flared.

“Now, Gaia, tell me,” he continued. “How long have you been awoken to the truth, again?”

“You mean, since—” Her eyes jumped to Mitron. “Like two months, roughly.”

Elidibus took the time to sigh deeply. Physically, he looked like the most exhausted twenty-year-old Gaia had ever seen and would likely ever see. “Even to an immortal, twelve thousand years… are a long time. A long time to be alone, and a longer time to be made to feel alone still. The shock, horror and subsequent grief are one thing.” Holding his head with one hand, he clenched his other fist around the tiny glowing crystal. “But the twisting of the truth. The denial. The denigration, the condescension, the invalidation. The injustice. 'You don't know what's good for you.' 'Have you finally accepted we are right?'”

His hand and forearm hid most of his face from Gaia's view, but she could see how tense his jaw and neck were. “The minutiae of the lies evolve and adapt, but the overarching narrative they bleat remains,” he continued. “So you want to lash out. Pay back. But it never stops. There are so many of them, repeating the same lie, again and again. Some of them even brag about it all.” He dug his fingers into his short silver hair. “It wears you down—over the years, the centuries, the millennia. Anger and resentment give way to hatred and spite, joyful memories you used to find solace in become painful reminders of everything that has been taken away. Stuck in a never-ending loop. Hatred gnaws at you until nothing else is left. I am long past that time.”

He ran his hand through his hair all the way to the back of his head before he brought it back down to rest on his knee. “Sacrificing the Sundered to Zodiark would have served multiple purposes,” he went on in a flatter voice, regaining his composure, dignified as ever. “They would have made for a 'wildlife' sacrifice with minimal, if not beneficial, impact on the environment. It would have freed the souls of our brethren from this torturous cycle of cruel lives, brutal deaths and reincarnations into abhorrent, stunted bodies. Wiping the slate clean would have also prevented an inevitable conflict between two irremediably unequal castes of humans, the haves and have-nots.” He sighed again, closing his eyes briefly, before smiling at Gaia. “That these purposes happened to align with my hatred of the Sundered was a happy coincidence.”

Still holding both rocks, Gaia crossed her arms. “Was it?” she asked against her better judgement.

They stared at each other a moment before Elidibus finally chuckled. “Very astute. To speak frankly, I do not know, and I do not presently have the mental energy to look back on our thought process from thousands of years ago in order to find out. Making the effort would no doubt cost you by proxy,” he waved lazily in the general direction of the town, “and we do not have the kind of time required for you to consume every single food item in Revenant's Toll.”

I wonder what the local delicacies are like, Gaia thought for a second, her brain immediately conjuring up the picture of an oversized crystal rock candy, before forcing herself to focus on the discussion at hand. “See, the thing that bothers me is,” she said slowly, “you told Fandaniel and Altima what they want goes against what the people within Zodiark gave themselves for, and you also told Emmerololth her reasoning for culling mortals for the sake of the star wasn't really transposable to your people's morals.” Somehow, she found the courage within herself to hold his eerie stare. “Do you think they would have stood for the genocide you planned to commit, whatever your reasons?”

A smile danced on his lips as he stared back. If anything, he seems to enjoy me talking back to him. “I have long thought about this. I do not know.” He gave a slight shrug. “Most likely, the majority would not have approved my actions. Yet in the end, that was the point, was it not? The finality was bringing my people back as free individuals, able to judge me. I would face them, stand trial and accept their sentence. Should they condemn me or not, they would be there. Alive, and able to live on. And that is worth more than any condemnation to me.”

Gaia pursed her lips. “But they'd be biased in your favour, wouldn't they? You just saved them all, while your victims would all be gone, unable to testify.”

Elidibus gave that a bitter laugh. “I have far more faith in my people's ability for impartial judgement than in those stunted creatures'. Why should I submit to fickle mortal creatures whose values and mindset are alien to me and who gladly swallow their goddess's lies so they can sleep soundly at night?” Bringing his hand to eye level, he rolled the blue crystal shard between his fingers again. “Rather than to my fellow immortals of body and soul unsundered, who enjoyed science and debate in our collective pursuit of enlightenment and self-actualisation? I have no reason to entertain the Sundered and their dull, shallow and self-conceited conceptions of morality conveniently based on victor's justice—”

“Our,” Gaia interrupted. “Our conceptions of—”

“No, Gaia. Their.”

And with that, he gave a quick flick of the wrist, and a tiny blue light flew towards her. Gaia's eyes widened. Stop. Her body tensed, arms still crossed, hands still busy holding a rock each. But the crystal that was flying at her was roughly the same as the one she had in her left hand. She knew how it felt to the touch, its smooth sides and ridges, how its aether pulsated against her skin. And so it stopped.

When she breathed again, the crystal fell straight down to the ground.

“Stopped its momentum—” Mitron whispered to herself in awe.

“Well—it isn't back in your hand—” Gaia said to Elidibus, unfolding her arms.

“See?” He had a faint smile on him, but this time it was genuine. Tired, but genuine. “Identify however you like, Gaia, but understand that when I speak of them, you are not them. Because you are paying attention. You are listening.”

In that instant, she felt pride swell within her, yet could not help but feel discomfort thinking of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn that were their allies—and Ryne. Ryne, whom the Warrior of Light had gone to the Crystal Tower nearby to fetch across shattered dimensions. Gaia wanted to be glad her best friend would finally join her on the Source. There was so much to show her here—how different yet similar it was, the beautiful, vibrant nature bursting with aether and life—so much they could share and laugh about. Yet discovering all there was to discover together would have to wait. The main reason why they were bringing Ryne over was to help in the fight against the renegade Ascians, by countering darkness with light. They had several worlds to save, first and foremost. She hoped Ryne's presence might bridge over the schism she felt growing between her and the Scions. Them.

She looked over to the Crystal Tower's looming shape in the distance, its blue radiance a lighthouse in time and space, and sighed. I just hope Ryne won't end up against me. The thought made her feel like something had stabbed her in the heart. What if Ryne, as Oracle of Light, channeled Hydaelyn the way Gaia was doing with Zodiark? Would she remain her friend? If Ryne leaves my side, then all I will have left will be—

“If the real Altima could watch her present self,” Mitron spoke up, arms crossed, leaning against the skinny trunk of a tree with sparse green foliage, “do you think she'd be disappointed? Angry?”

Elidibus seemed to find the question interesting. “Do you mean angry at her Ascian self?” he asked as he leaned to the side and reached below the edge of the rock he was sitting on. His hand found a blue crystal that was growing out of the underside of the rock like a tumour. “Mitron, would you mind chipping off a chunk of this crystal for me?”

“Yea—What? Oh, hang on.”

Uncrossing her arms, she casually strolled over to Elidibus, her crystalline, water-like gunblade appearing in her left hand in a whorl of darkness while he withdrew his arm. With a simultaneously lazy and graceful movement—and a pull of the trigger—she hit the crystal with her blade and an accompanying burst of dark aether, producing a high, strident sound on impact. With her other hand, she telekinetically seized a medium-sized chunk of crystal before it could fly off and manoeuvred it into Elidibus's open hand. He nodded to give her his wordless thanks and smiled as he sized up his new crystal. Its natural blue glow was tainted by the dark purple of Mitron's impact like an ink smudge, and it was large enough that he could not wrap his fingers entirely around it. Oh no, Gaia thought, alarmed, surely he's not gonna throw that thing at me when I'm not looking? As if on cue, he raised his eyes to her with an eloquent, sly half-smile she did not care for at all.

“Anyway, yeah—angry at her Ascian self,” Mitron continued, her gunblade vanishing in darkness as she cupped her chin in her hand with a frown. “Isn't she dishonouring her memory by renouncing her duty?”

Elidibus tilted his head slightly to the side and looked to the twilit skies. “If anything, I believe Altima would be sad to see her Ascian self so full of rage. Yet what she has become is merely the sum of her life experiences in this broken world.”

“Far be it from me to judge, as a newly raised Ascian, but is it not the same for Halmarut and Pashtarot?” Mitron gave a sideways nod in the direction of the latter, standing vigil atop the cliff behind them. “I imagine their experience as long-lived Ascians to be largely similar to Altima's.”

“Therein lies the beauty of subjectivity. Altima's desire for retributive justice outweighs her appreciation for nature's wonders or respect for the rule of law, values that drive Halmarut and Pashtarot more strongly.” He brushed a finger over the splotch of darkness tainting the crystal in his hand, as if reading the aether within. “We all have different sensibilities, experiences, and reactions to these experiences that make each of us unique.” He closed his eyes briefly. “It was the main reason for our voluntary return to the star back then, ensuring constant renewal of experiences. Oh, of course,” he scoffed, his usual serene expression momentarily marred by disgust, “I have seen Hydaelyn and her puppets dismiss our people and their custom as a 'suicide cult' by the past—a bold statement coming from the woman who claimed to be concerned by societal stagnation before imposing death on everyone without consent.” He let out an exasperated sigh before continuing. “No, I believe Altima would reserve her ire for the one responsible for this twisted situation to begin with. That is Hydaelyn, of course… though we Unsundered are not blameless, either. We are the ones who opened your eyes to the truth of this world, sharing our burden with you. We made you who you are, with all the baggage that comes with it.” He paused, staring into the darkness within the crystal—the same dark purple that lit his eyes. “With regard to their sundered selves, I think Altima and Fandaniel both would understand their reasoning but oppose their actions, judging without condemning.”

That made Gaia raise an eyebrow. “Yyyeah, but, uh—we are talking about people who expressly want to kill everyone and literally destroy the world. ’Judging without condemning’ sounds kinda mild to me. Your people were pretty chill, if that’s true.”

“Imagine, if you will, Gaia,” he began conversationally, his eyes still on the crystal he tossed lightly from one hand to the other, “the most vicious weapon you could think of, to inflict the most painful torture on your worst enemy. Or perhaps the deadliest weapon of mass destruction, to wipe out everyone who has ever wronged you.”

She scrunched up her face in thought. Her mind kept flashing back to the Sharlayan hostages. Maybe Fandaniel? But I don't really know him. What he's truly like, how he used to be, what made him snap… It doesn't feel fair to name him somehow. “I can't think of anyone I would wish that upon, really. Maybe it's because I've got like… three months of clear memories, at best.”

“Good,” Elidibus replied offhandedly, which made her blink—well, I would rather remember more of my past… I think. “Now imagine a world in which everyone, including people far pettier than you are, has the ability to create such weapons.”

“That sounds like hell—but—you—” Gaia sputtered, an uncertain frown on her face. Obviously he is talking about his people and the world he loved… and how much better and peaceful it was. “How?” she finished ineptly, hoping he would understand what she meant.

He chuckled. “It is understandable a mortal who has only known Sundered societies would be perplexed. After all, were every Sundered to be gifted with the powers true mankind had, it is a safe bet their species would drive itself to extinction in a record time. It would hardly be fair of me, however, to condemn the Sundered for this hypothetical scenario entailing such a sudden and profound societal change.” He gazed fondly into the crystal in his hand—chipped, altered and tainted, yet still radiating with elegant power. “What you must understand is that for my people, these powers were the natural abilities each of us was born with. You cannot take the proper measure of true mankind’s culture through the lens of your mortal standards—you must shed your preconceived notions on limited lifespans, economic scarcity and social inequality. Our biological immortality and magicks shaped every facet of our civilisation, our institutions, our arts, our mindset and mores over thousands upon thousands of years. Once you understand this concept, its implications and its impacts on social dynamics, then you may begin to grasp how our people functioned.”

Perhaps it was just her imagination, but Gaia could swear the glow in his eyes had gotten a little brighter. For a brief moment, Elidibus no longer sounded exhausted from bearing the weight of his world on his shoulders, worn down by millennia of isolation and hatred. Instead, his voice was as carried by the memories of those times, so long ago. More than anything, it seemed to be the sharing of his love for his world that animated him. And Gaia was indeed listening and paying attention. The thought of such a world fascinated her. A people with the power to have anything they wanted, every desire fulfilled, without need for money—the power to create and destroy at everyone's fingertips. A world where anyone's stray thoughts and darkest impulses could become manifest and be used against each other. Infinite potential for death and destruction—and yet…

“I think I understand. You're saying your people had to be chill and understanding, so you wouldn't blow each other up?”

The bluntness made him smile. “In essence, yes. That was one of the consequences of our powers on the evolution of our society. Another was the duty of registering your concepts and sharing your ideas with the community, to ensure transparency and equality of accessibility.”

Her brow wrinkled in worry. “Including weapons?”

“Especially weapons.”

An intentionally level playing field. She blinked, lost in the thoughts of the myriad possibilities such a world offered, her unfocused gaze in the distance. The white-blue crystals that tore through the landscape seemed to glow brighter as the night fell.

“So you kept each other in check with a sort of mutually assured destruction principle?” Mitron spoke up in Gaia's stead, stroking her own smooth chin. “Any weapon one could use could be just as easily turned against them. But for that to be an effective deterrent,” she threw Elidibus a knowing look, “it requires everyone to play by the rules.”

“It was an interesting balancing act at times. That is where our institutions of law and justice, as well as our cultural reverence for the star and emphasis on collectivity over individualism came into play.” He let out a dark, bitter laugh and shook his head. “I suppose none of those matter when your goal is civilisational collapse, systemic erasure of collective and individual identity, and mutilation of the star and every life upon it.”

“But—why? Why would she want that?” Gaia almost wanted to stamp her foot in frustration and confusion. He is obviously not the least biased person to answer this, and yet the only alternative that’s left is—

“Why not ask her? I should warn you, however, that our attempts to do so have only ever yielded vague, grandstanding statements about accepting change, and platitudes so strangely tone-deaf and divorced from the reality of our people I could only ever imagine saying them in bad faith—or simply silence.” He paused to breathe slowly, as if to calm himself down—not that he had raised his voice at all. “As we discussed earlier, Gaia, reasons may explain one's actions, but those reasons are as subject to judgement as the crime one committed. Particularly when the decision was influenced by bias, conscious or not, that may have precluded other, less criminal solutions to resolve the conflict.” He shut his glowing eyes, folding both legs close to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I expect to be judged by my peers for what I have done. Even though it was in an effort to bring them back, even though I personally cannot envision a cleaner solution to the Sundering that would not entail the cessation of existence of the inhabitants of rejoined shards.”

“But I expect to be judged for setting the full Rejoining as my end goal, as well,” Elidibus continued. “After all, why not simply let the Sundered live in their broken worlds? Why not settle for a partial Rejoining and give the souls of my people weaker bodies to inhabit?” He lowered his head into his knees with a pained grimace. “I refuse to accept such compromise. I am aware this position may very well be born from the spite and hatred that have consumed me over the years. Because why should I give her—them—this? This victory? After all we Unsundered and our imprisoned people have endured?” His fingers clenched the large crystal tainted with darkness as he reopened his eyes to look at Gaia, the raw pain evident in them. “All of this I am willing to be honest about, and Hydaelyn has never given me the impression she is. If she does have a good reason for her actions—supposing there can ever be a good reason for unapologetic genocide—then I would be very curious to hear it.”

Gaia swallowed nervously, carefully considering her words. “Maybe she refuses to explain herself to you in particular? Like it seems you’ve both reached a dead end in dialogue. Just like you refuse to be judged by the Sundered, she would only confide in them—not in you and your peers.”

Elidibus shook his head. “A false equivalency. You give Hydaelyn too much credit, I am afraid. I have never seen any evidence she might be anymore forthcoming and honest with her children than she has been with us. It is what you do with children, after all. You lie to them to protect their poor little minds from the truth. How could they ever judge her, then?” His shoulders shook with an ironic chuckle. “I accept to be judged by my unsundered peers because they are my equals. Hydaelyn is not the Sundered’s equal. She is their mother goddess, and they are her stupid children.” His knuckles were white. “They used to be her adult peers. They disagreed with her. She saw to that.”

He then let out a deeply frustrated breath as he suddenly chucked his crystal—not at Gaia as she had expected, but into the vast lake behind her. It hit the surface with a low sploosh, splashing a large spray of water forward. But it did not sink. It stopped just beneath the water.

Gaia could feel both Mitron’s and Elidibus’s eyes on her. Still holding onto her two rocks, she slowly moved her hand that was holding the tiny crystal into a wide arc, from the water to Elidibus. It felt so surprisingly easy. Not only was the large crystal similar to the one she was grasping, it bore a very, very familiar mark. Struck by her soulmate and tainted with the very darkness that had touched her soul so long ago, which she now hosted within her very being. The crystal rose from the water, slowly, flying back towards Elidibus who held out his palm silently. It traced in mid-air his throwing movement—backwards—before stopping by the side of his knee, where he had been holding it. He lightly took it back into his hand. It was dry.

All three of them stared at the crystal in silence. Gaia saw a smile slowly appear on Elidibus’s lips.

A polite cough broke through the silence. “I do hope I am not interrupting anything,” a familiar deep voice called, coming from the direction of the town nearby.

“Not at all, Halmarut,” Elidibus replied casually, turning to face his colleague dressed in a dark brown travel coat. “As a matter of fact, Gaia shall have need of your expertise in boulder-throwing shortly.”

“Please,” she hissed at him through gritted teeth.

Halmarut smiled, seemingly taking the complete absence of context in stride. “Would you care to join us inside the workshop? Deudalaphon and our Magitek engineer friends have managed to transfer Lunar Thaliak's aether into a stable vessel.”

Chapter Text

The main street going up to the marketplace was buzzing with evening life. Merchants could be heard from here, bartering weapons in exchange for valuable archaeological pieces. Travellers were seated at candlelit dining tables in the open, chatting and enjoying drinks. Watching them made Gaia's stomach growl. Though a majority of patrons were suited for battle, she noted quite a few who appeared to be non-fighters, perhaps traders and merchants, their races and clothing diverse. Good. We won’t look like weirdos walking around, because just about anyone here might as well be part of the gang of immortal shadow wizards pretending to be normal people. What a relief.

This town in the middle of nowhere stood at the crossroads between neighbouring city states. It seemed somewhat like Crystarium in that it gathered all walks of life, but Revenant’s Toll was smaller and more chaotic, haphazardly built into the rocky cliffs and upon ruined imperial constructs. It was to the image of the Source itself—constantly building itself anew, incorporating its scars into its ever-evolving identity.

“The last time Pashtarot and I were here, the weather was not so agreeable,” Halmarut said lightly as they walked by a terrace where a large group of adventurers cheered and clinked their pints together to some achievement or another.

“An ideal refuge for deserters of the Garlean Empire and allegedly neutral organisations such as the Scions of the Seventh Dawn alike,” Elidibus commented offhandedly to no one in particular.

Gaia almost thanked him for offering these scraps of context. Though she had been on the Source for a week, she still felt like a fish out of water and made her best effort to glean all the information she could on these people, their history and their cultures. You're the Oracle of Darkness and reincarnation of a world leader, Gaia, she thought to herself nervously, not some air-headed teen girl. Mitron, meanwhile, gave Elidibus a knowing nod in response, looking like she understood exactly which geopolitical power dynamics he was alluding to.

Gaia could not help it. She leaned into her soulmate a bit as they walked past the town’s aetheryte. “You, uh, been on the Source often before?” she asked Mitron in a low voice with a raised eyebrow. “Thought you were sent to look for my soul on other Shards.”

“Girl, you’ve been here longer than I have,” Mitron replied casually, giving her a thumbs-up and her trademark confident smile. “I am winging it.”

“But—you—” Gaia fumbled for an intelligent comeback for a couple of seconds before giving up and resolving herself to say the stupid thing on her mind, “—so there isn’t some kinda dark wizard school to teach you how every Shard works and how to pull strings from the shadows or whatever? You just—you just wing it?”

Mitron tried to suppress a laugh, while the unmistakable expression of utter consternation on Elidibus’s face—he shut his eyes for slightly longer than a normal blink, remaining otherwise stone-faced with his hands in the pockets of his vest—made Gaia realise a little too late this had been exactly the point of his unprompted comment. “As you are aware, Gaia, our illustrious establishment has been running low on staff as of late.”

“If I may offer clarification,” gentle giant—and, as she recalled, architect of at least one world-ending calamity—Halmarut began affably, “familiarity with a world and its civilisations was the reason why we used to be assigned to work on particular Shards. But, crucially, this is also where body possession comes into play.” He raised his index finger like a professor giving a lecture. “Physical bodies have a history to them and, should one be skilled enough in the arts of reading mnemophorous aether, even a corpse may carry memories of its owner and the world they lived in. Naturally, the more recent their demise, the more intelligence you may gather.”

“Now, there is of course a way to acquire much more information on a person and their social sphere more directly,” he continued, nodding to Elidibus as they stopped walking not too far away from an unremarkable door in a stone wall, guarded by an oafish-looking Galdjent, “but possession of a living person is a far more delicate process, though less difficult for an unsundered soul. To pry open the inner workings of one’s mind, emotions and memories…” Halmarut helpfully accompanied his words with a motion of his hands that made Gaia vividly picture a chirurgeon plunging his fingers into grooves to force brain matter apart. She winced. “As you may imagine, it is the basic instinctual response of any living being to react to such a complete violation of their spiritual intimacy by expelling the intruder by any means necessary. It is, of course, a battle of wills, physical and mental fortitude,” he finished with a courteous nod, “and soul density.”

“As we are expecting our Warrior of Light to come back from the First with your friend Ryne in tow, there is information you should know, which you may make use of at your own discretion,” Elidibus said just loudly enough to be heard over the ambient chatter, turning to a bewildered Gaia before she could articulate a proper response to Halmarut’s spontaneous, though impeccably polite, exposé on grave robbery and what she could not help but interpret as a sort of mind rape. “Thancred has been possessed by Lahabrea before, setting off a chain of events that resulted in the deaths of a number of Scions of the Seventh Dawn and associates.”

“Oh,” was all she could muster while her mind was racing in several directions at once. Hold up—Thancred has been mind raped by your buddy? You’ve mind raped people? I’m hosting a guy whose mind raped people? She did her best to keep at bay their entire conversation on dehumanising and hatred threatening to flood back into her mind and occupy all of her attention. “Okay.” Her throat felt cold and her fingers tingled slightly, as her eyes jumped to Mitron for a split second. I don’t remember fighting back to expel Mitron by any means necessary in Eden. It was Ryne and Meteor who did most of the fighting for me. Oh, no… She took a deep breath trying not to think too hard about the implications. At a table a dozen of yards away, a merchant raised his voice at the waiter over the ambient noise of revelry. Focus, Gaia. “Yeah, that checks out with how Thancred’s been acting around you.” Us. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She looked back at Elidibus. Unexpectedly, she found what looked to be genuine caring in his eerie stare and, even more unexpectedly, with the outline of his youthful face highlighted by the glow of the aetheryte behind him, through him, a hint of silver stubble on his cheeks. It only served to make him look all the wearier. He’s telling me this so I know not to hurt Thancred—and Ryne. “Thanks,” Gaia finished quietly, sincerely.

A moment of silence passed before she decided to speak again. “Should we be having this discussion in the middle of this aetheryte plaza though?” Gaia threw concerned glances at her three companions. “I don’t think I’m enough of a dark wizard for…” she sighed, “for all of this.”

Mitron moved to put a comforting hand on her shoulder—but stopped before touching her. “You’re fine. School hasn’t been in session for a while. They've cancelled the end-of-term exams.”

“Crash courses in string pulling and rock stopping are the best I can offer in these trying times,” Elidibus said in his usual unflappable tone.

Oh, Gaia. She closed her eyes. Don't find the grave robbing, mind raping, genocidal people funny or sympathetic. Absolutely do not—

She laughed, absurdly. Lowering her face, she hid her laugh behind a hand. “I’m sorry—I’m a terrible person for finding this funny—” Gaia heard herself sputter out loud, and for a second, she didn’t care how her immortal peers would react as her mental filters failed her and she brought her second hand to her face, “we’re all terrible people here, and they’re gonna have to make more than seven hells to house each of us, because no gods could ever save us—”

“I have grave news, Gaia,” Elidibus began in the blankest, matter-of-fact manner, and Gaia knew right then she had to cut him off immediately. “Technically, I am—”

“Please, don’t,” she managed between increasingly louder fits of laughter. One that almost sounded like a sob escaped her. And here I was worrying about attracting attention. The thought made her produce some more unintelligible noises, in the middle of Revenant’s Toll’s aetheryte plaza. She forced herself to take deep breathes.

None of her three companions spoke while she gradually gathered herself. In usual circumstances, she would have found such silence awfully awkward. Yet strangely, it felt right here. They’re… giving me the time to process it to the best of my abilities? I hope they’re patient enough. She let out a long breath. Right. They’re immortal. They've got time.

Gaia cleared her throat and quickly wiped her eyes before straightening her jacket. Then she looked up at them. Her soulmate. A colleague her true self likely chatted with every workday or so, so long ago. And another who recently confessed to her—with, it hit her just then, truly extraordinary emotional restraint and resilience—that he used to look up to her true self like a big sister before she died with everyone else he knew.

“May I answer your query, then?” Elidibus asked quietly as her gaze lingered on him.

“What? Oh—” Gaia managed in a strangled voice and cleared her throat again. I’d almost forgotten I did ask a question. “Uh, please.”

“In the immediate absence of a more suitable, verifiably isolated location, yes, this is a discussion we should rather be having in the open as faceless members of an anonymous crowd than in close quarters with hair-trigger Hydaelyn zealots and other likeminded individuals whose cooperation we expressly require.” Seeing the worry on her face still, he continued. “Contrary to what you may think, it is highly unlikely anybody around us cared about, or even noticed your outburst. To them, you are a random young woman sharing a moment with her adventuring party of trusted companions.” He took a brief moment to look down at himself. “Though I suppose I look more like an artisan of sorts. No matter. This is Revenant’s Toll.”

With a timid nod, Gaia took another deep breath or two, feeling herself relax slowly.

“So,” she finally said in her best attempt to sound natural, “this is why we stopped just out of earshot of the security guard-looking guy over there—” Mitron nodded at her in approval, “—but, uh, how many Hydaelyn zealots are we talking here?”

“I believe the aforementioned Thancred has decided to sit this one out,” Halmarut said with a smile.

“Damn,” Mitron let out in a tone flat enough to nearly rival Elidibus’s usual output.

The latter crossed his arms, looking up at Halmarut. “Do you know if the Scions of the Seventh Dawn’s very own discount Allagan royalty has been made aware of Fandaniel’s mortal identity yet?”

“Doubtful,” Halmarut replied with a shake of the head, his long, dark green locks waving about, before raising a quizzical eyebrow at Elidibus. “Could you remind me of your history with this Miqo’te? I gather he is the one responsible for your current situation, but he did sound remarkably hostile back in Sharlayan.”

“I tried to murder him.”

Halmarut steepled his fingers. “Ah, your usual political schemes and assassination plots?”

“No, I walked into the Crystal Tower wielding a two-handed axe. Regardless,” Elidibus continued without skipping a beat while Halmarut gave him the sort of understanding nod only a fellow dark wizard could, “given that Sharlayan scholars have hypothesised the towers to be largely of Allagan technology, and his own unique insight into Garlond Ironworks’ future masterpiece, I am looking forward to the former Crystal Exarch's presence and the spirited discourse that will doubtlessly occur.”

He remained as straight-faced as ever, but Gaia anxiously bit her lip. The Exarch hadn’t exactly been the most receptive Scion so far. “Wait,” she interjected, alarmed, “are the Ironworks guys Hydaelyn zealots too?”

Elidibus tilted his head to the side. “I do not believe them to be the sort of Garlean deserters to hang Halmarut’s mask off their belt as a hunting trophy,” he mused, throwing his colleague another look for confirmation. “Though their descendants did think that the death of the Warrior of Light in the Eighth Umbral Calamity was sufficient reason to build a time machine to rewrite the past and potentially erase their entire existence, in defiance of most of their peers—thus causing our present to be what it is. Make of that what you will.”

“Do you mean that it might be better for the present Garlond Ironworks to…” Halmarut let his golden gaze wander as he looked for a suitable euphemism, “…be dissuaded from research into time travel?”

“On the contrary, they should be goaded into it. Their work has been used to oppose us by rewriting the past in their favour, so far.” Elidibus gave him one of these wholesome smiles that made him look, with his current physical appearance, like a genial, fresh-faced youth. “Scientists are always so eager to make progress for the good of mankind, and always so appalled when politicians seize their creations to further their own ends, to the surprise of no one but these brilliant inventors with more book smarts than common sense.”

“I shall keep that in mind as I observe events in the coming years,” the larger man said, stroking his chin beard. “Shall we go inside, then?”

They crossed the rest of the aetheryte plaza over to the door guarded by the oafish Galdjent, who nodded at Halmarut before stepping aside. The air indoors felt stuffy, with a handful of engineers clad in a black and white outfit with blue sleeves—most of them Humes—only glancing up briefly at the intruding party before plunging back into their observation of machines that puffed steam, blinking lights here and there. Gaia nearly tripped over a tight bunch of wires on the floor as she was busy dodging large pipes of dark metal. All of this looks weirdly… non-magical. The four of them walked over to another room. As she passed through the door, Gaia realised this was more of a small hangar, built within the cliffs of Revenant’s Toll.

“… as it was Lahabrea and myself who built it! I must say your design of the Weapon quite elegantly incorporated Magitek to the Allagan original—” Deudalaphon’s cheerful voice bounced off the walls. “Ah, but here are the others!”

A short, somewhat rotund middle-aged woman with olive skin, laughing dark eyes and a loose, grey braid hanging off her back—Deudalaphon’s physical appearance of choice—walked towards them, the sleeves of her dark jacket rolled up. She was flanked by two men, Humes like her. One had a rugged but friendly air about him, with his broad shoulders, white beard and mid-length hair, though the black and white jacket he wore was surprisingly stylish, blue-lensed goggles perched on his forehead. Must be Mr Garlond Ironworks himself. The other man was much lankier, with shorter light blond hair styled to look windswept and scruffy stubble on his cheeks. While his attire looked nearly identical to the rank-and-file engineers in the other room, his sported custom blood red sleeves and a pen clipped on a pocket, and he wore his own choice of eyewear and jewellery. Really, sunglasses indoors? With that pearl on his forehead? Gaia hoped nobody noticed the fleeting look of concern on her face.

“Finally, someone who appreciates not merely my genius, but my design choices as well!” He somehow sounded vainer than he looked. His grin broadened as he raised his head and noticed the four by the doorway. “Ah, and light-up eyes over there must be the Ascian in chief! Now,” he said with a nod to his shorter companion before starting to make his way towards them, “watch me, Garlond, and witness my ascension.”

“Ascensions are postponed until further notice,” Elidibus announced in his usual flat tone, crossing his arms. “Deudalaphon,” he called with a sigh that betrayed both annoyance and fondness in equal measure, “what did you tell them?”

“Oh, most of it!” she replied with a smile that dug dimples into her cheeks. “I figured it was best to come clean and be transparent if we’re going to work together!”

“Indeed! Your delightful colleague here—who, in spite of appearances, holds formidable knowledge of engineering—has told us of the true history of mankind, and your status as one of the last original human beings!” The blond man was now in front of Elidibus, standing a good two heads taller than him. “It is my understanding you and your defunct coworkers were the ones to bestow the other, non-original Ascians their powers, and together you worked to restore mankind to its past glory. Well, Elidibus,” he extended an open hand, looking like he was the one the Ascian should do a favour, rather than the other way around, “let me assure you that I, Nero tol Scaeva, would immediately sell out the entirety of my ignorant, filthy mortal kin in exchange for a mere glimpse of unsundered mankind’s utopian civilisation, their vast power and the sciences of creation I am told they so cherished!”

“'Nero Scaeva',” his fellow engineer with the beard chided, “'tol' is no more. And didn’t you hear him?”

“Well, does that mean I can't try?” Nero asked with a cheeky smile, his hand still held out.

Elidibus’s arms remained crossed. “It does. Do not. Further attempts will prove unfruitful for reasons outside my control.”

Nero finally withdrew his hand to put it on his hip with a frustrated sigh and walked back to his companion. ”Can you imagine this guy acting as our much adored crown prince when he was possessing his body a couple of months ago?” he told the other man with a little giggle, in a lower voice that was still loud enough for Elidibus to hear. “The thought is positively going to keep me up at night!”

“Yeah,” said a girl’s voice to the side, and Gaia noticed just then that Alisaie was there, in her red leather jacket, alongside Y’shtola and—sure enough—G’raha Tia, standing with two other engineers, a Lalafell and a Galdjent, clad in the regular Ironworks uniform. “Ran a few test launches of the Black Rose on dissidents, too. You know, the deadly poison gas weapon that caused the Eighth Calamity and killed a whole lot of people in another timeline? Guess you find that pretty funny too,” Alisaie told Nero with an unimpressed stare and a colder voice.

He put a hand up to his throat as if choking in feigned shock. “The Black Rose?! How ghastly! I would never!” he exclaimed in a tone that indicated he very much would.

Oh, right. That. Gaia closed her eyes, thinking of the catastrophic chain of events that almost happened, were it not for G’raha—the Crystal Exarch’s—intervention. Catastrophic… or another step closer to the world my soul dreams of. She sighed, opening her eyes and catching sight of Deudalaphon, jolly old lady Deudalaphon who had been possessing a living Sharlayan professor to better erase records of their science once the calamity was under way. Right. A whole bunch of sins to add to our list. Her sigh progressed to a groan.

Nero’s expression swiftly returned to a self-satisfied grin. “But that is because I have never been into aethero-biochemistry! Had Gaius commissioned me to create a robotised mobile launcher to deploy it however—” He interrupted himself before clapping his hands enthusiastically. “Anyway! Now that we’ve established this audience is no stranger to crimes against humanity, allow me to introduce…”

He spun on his heels as he gestured with a sweeping motion of his arms towards the object at the centre of the room. It was a black sphere with a strange, warped outline, roughly the size of an orange, held in mid-air by three concentric steel rings floating spinning around it, each of them slowly spinning independently, their surface lined by a single groove that ran over their whole outer circumference. That groove was alight with pulsing blue energy, and the closer the ring was from the black sphere at the centre, the more purple the glow became. Upon closer inspection, the sphere appeared to have a smooth, shiny exterior, like a round, polished black crystal, and within it were hundreds of tiny stars. Three large mechanical arms ending in a pointy apparatus beamed a diffuse blue energy at the sphere and its circling rings, holding up the whole contraption. One of the arms was half-covered by a large blueprint haphazardly fixed to it with some sort of sticky material. It depicted a figure that Gaia could best describe as a centaur with bat wings and a sphere in its chest, surrounded by indecipherable scribbles, formulas and captions. Other, smaller figures, one bearing large feathery wings, were pictured next to the centaur, with arrows going from them to the sphere in its chest.

“Behold!” Nero announced boisterously, “the masterpiece of a genius mind! And whatever trinket you guys brought back from the tower in Sharlayan. Unfortunately,” he bowed his head most contritely, though he still stood taller than everyone in the room but Halmarut and the green-skinned, begoggled Galdjent in the corner, “my original blueprints were, to my vast knowledge, lost in the destruction of the Praetorium. Have no fear, however,” he continued, putting his hands on his hips, “as I am naturally able to reproduce my work faster than you could shove barbaric Primals and assorted fake gods in it!”

With his arms crossed, Halmarut let out a quiet sigh. “With its essence stabilised, it does indeed unmistakably resemble the Heart of Sabik, does it not?” he asked Elidibus, who gave a near-imperceptible nod in response.

“With all due respect, dear sundered Ascian,” Nero interjected, pointing his finger up, “from my experience tinkering with it, this specimen here holds much less raw power than the real deal!”

“I never said it was,” Halmarut replied with a polite smile. “It looks more like a derivative of it. I understand you are the one who reverse engineered Allag’s Ultima Weapon with Lahabrea’s gift at its core, but are you aware of the recent developments in Ilsabard?”

“Which recent developments in Ilsabard?” the engineer replied with a slight chuckle.

Garlond crossed his arms, a frown on his amicable face. “I think our guest is speaking of Valens van Varro’s exploits.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Come on, are you serious now? He was a tutor at the Magitek Academy, and part of the engineering corps of the XIVth legion, even. He retreated safely to Werlyt and designed a series of Weapons using your data—”

“Garlond,” Nero interjected with a theatrical sigh, “do you truly think I can be bothered to remember every mediocre underling under my command? So this copycat rode on my coattails and made his own abortions of Anti-Eikon Weapons. With what funds, anyway?”

Elidibus raised a hand. “The imperial court was most impressed by van Varro’s Arch Ultima and its synthetic auracite system, and supplied him with the financial means and live experimentation subjects necessary to the pursuit of his project.”

Gaia rubbed her temples. Great. She heard Alisaie chuckle and glanced in her direction. It did not sound like mean-spirited mockery. In fact, the young Elf seemed to be giving her a compassionate look.

“Right, right. Because I planned for everything, I noted which parts were most likely to need replacement after repeated use in combat. And maybe commissioned them, including a handful of auracites based off the Heart of Sabik.” Nero gave a shrug. “And perhaps a Magitek engineer with skills far inferior to mine, of course, came up with his own knockoff machines. I am obviously not to blame for anything he might have done.” He pointed a thumb behind him to the sphere in the middle of the room. “And this here isn’t one of mine. Similar, though.”

“Right. Remember when we dissected the carcass of Ruby Weapon? The pilot had…” Garlond audibly cringed as he tried to find the proper word, “…melded with the cockpit, the auracite, the whole thing.”

Flesh overtaking mechanical structures… Gaia wrinkled her nose at the memory, trying not to remember the grosser details in the tower.

“Well, that’s why the Allagans designed Ultima Weapon with an aetherproof cockpit!” Nero exclaimed with undiluted condescension, waving in the direction of his blueprint hanging off the large mechanical arm. “Though I suppose that using the pilot as substrate for the core made up in part for the lack of the Heart's power.” He turned to Gaia’s party. “That Ascian made off with it when the Praetorium blew up, correct? Then died.”

The guy doesn't seem to particularly care whether or not 'that Ascian' might have been a colleague or even friend to some in attendance. Gaia threw a quick glance at Elidibus. Stone-faced as always. Almost always.

“Correct. Considering I did not find its essence within the eye of Nidhogg, where it would have ended up if Lahabrea had carried it on his person, I surmised he had sealed it in storage within the Aetherochemical Research Facility, for later use with the Warring Triad.” Elidibus lowered his eyes for a couple of seconds. “An ill-advised idea, considering the rapidly collapsing First Shard would require the Source to be tipped towards light. Hence my sending Unukalhai to make sure the primals in Azys Lla remained in confinement for the time being.”

“Hang on…” G’raha frowned, cupping his smooth chin in his fingers. “You’re saying Fandaniel, or someone associated with him, might have retrieved the Heart from deep within Azys Lla? Not quite an easy task, and full access to the facility might require—”

“Fandaniel was Amon,” Elidibus stated plainly.

There was a short silence.

“What?” several people exclaimed at once—the engineers, G’raha, Y’shtola. Alisaie blinked in confusion. Gaia could relate. Historical figure from that one ancient civilisation they keep mentioning is my best bet.

G’raha leaned back as he crossed his arms, bewildered. “Amon was possessed by him? How long? Though I suppose that with the news concerning emperor Solus zos Galvus, we shouldn’t be surprised anymore…” He narrowed his eyes as his voice trailed off.

“No. Amon, the mortal who was an Allagan scientist, was a reincarnation of Fandaniel,” Elidibus corrected, shooting G’raha the sort of quick glance which Gaia knew to mean he had already had enough of the former Crystal Exarch speaking—though how obvious this was to anyone else, she did not know. “Emet-Selch, who had been monitoring the empire, eventually granted him his Ascian status.”

A look of wonder crossed G’raha’s face. Right, isn’t he a scholar specialising in the subject of that Allagan civilisation? Gaia mused, gazing at the Mystel. Though he remained silent, his bright red eyes wandered around as he thought of the possibilities this new information offered. Having the opportunity to interact with a historical figure you’ve studied sounds fascinating… I doubt Fandaniel would casually give interviews to historians, though.

“I was not quite in favour of his decision, to speak frankly,” Elidibus continued, putting his hands in the pockets of his brown leather vest. “We had a vacant seat and a Source shard who happened to be a capable mage and accomplished man of science, yes, but I found his methods and ethics questionable. His contempt for his own people notwithstanding, his notion of rekindling the flame of the Allagan empire boiled down to bringing war back to subjugate those he called ’savages’.” He chuckled quietly. “Nothing invigorates the hearts of the Sundered quite like blood and pillage. And it was Amon’s own idea, too. Emet-Selch did not even need to whisper it into his ears.”

G’raha now seemed in disbelief. “And so you brought this guy, of all Fandaniel, into the fold?”

“I believe I put forth Emet-Selch’s arguments in favour, which Lahabrea concurred with. I expressed my reservations. The other two eventually conceded my view that our new Fandaniel was to be watched over. My conditions were accepted. Surely, as a scholar of history, you understand complex decisions and compromises in politics.” Elidibus briefly allowed himself to look unimpressed as his eyes returned to G’raha. “Five thousand years have passed without Ascian Fandaniel’s antics making it into mortal records, and it is only because you have rendered me unable to pursue my duty that you are now aware of his existence. I consider my end of the bargain upheld,” he concluded in a tone that signalled this was to be the end of this discussion.

G’raha did not care to humour him, though. “You couldn’t simply raise to the Seat of Fandaniel another person entirely? I mean someone whose methods and ethics were not questionable.”

This made Elidibus actually turn his head to him, rather than only move his eyes. Uh oh. Gaia forced herself not to smile. “Are you surprised we still care for the souls of our comrades? How do you think we feel, watching the souls that belonged to people we once loved trapped in an endless, meaningless cycle of suffering they try to alleviate by ceding to their ugly, base instincts?” he asked back with cold fury. “Broken though his soul may be, Fandaniel remains our colleague.”

The Mystel was undeterred, Gaia had to give him that. “Don’t take the moral high ground now. Emet-Selch admitted the reason why you picked the former Convocation’s souls to raise as Sundered Ascians was because they’re tempered.” Beside him, Y’shtola gave a slight nod.

“Yes, yes,” Elidibus took his hand out of his pocket to wave it dismissively, “Emet-Selch said something cold and callous while being a sentimental fool deep inside, what else is new?” He let out an annoyed sigh before returning to more professional manners. “Besides, we believed the more rejoined the souls of our colleagues would be, the more they would resemble their original selves.”

Garlond spoke before any Scion could comment on that. “So… did the four additional rejoinings since the era of Allag fix the guy’s personality? I suppose not,” he added, answering his own question with a sympathetic wince.

“Contrary to opinions I suspect to be under the influence of Hydaelyn, it was not, in fact, our people’s custom to appoint world-destroying psychopaths to a seat on the star’s highest governmental authority,” Elidibus replied as he turned back to the two engineers, his usual deadpan back. “As has been noted by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn before, I am not presently in possession of the entirety of my human memories. Hence that is a difficult question for me to properly answer. What is certain is that his destructive tendencies have not come from our memories of his tenure as Fandaniel that we, Unsundered, chose to imbue his crystal with, after the Sundering.”

“Your memories—yours—you chose to imbue his crystal with, post-Sundering, of his tenure as Fandaniel,” Y’shtola repeated, stressing the words as she lightly tapped her chin with her knuckles. “Such specific wording, isn't it?”

“Quite perceptive, Y’shtola,” Elidibus commented lightly. “It is, indeed. I have in fact been doing some metaphorical soul-searching over the subject. Due to present circumstances, it has not been an easy task. And that is all I can tell you at the moment.” With that, he turned to Deudalaphon and gave her a silent yet eloquent look.

“Right!” she exclaimed, beaming, her hands on her wide hips. “Back to why we're here, hm?”

“Please,” Nero simpered as he wrung his hands, “I did note, however, that genius scientists of questionable ethics are exactly the sort of people you recruit into your ranks.”

“Come off it, Nero,” Garlond chided again with what Gaia perceived to be a distinct affection in his voice. “If the original Fandaniel was subtle enough to hide his derangement from the people he worked with, then you two aren't quite alike.”

The other erupted into laughter. “Oh, deftly done, Garlond—”

“So, you think Fandaniel used the Heart of Sabik to create these towers,” Y’shtola summarised as Deudalaphon and Halmarut confirmed with a nod, “and what Cid said of those synthetic auracites fusing flesh and metal sounds an awful lot like their internal structure.” She let out a resigned sigh, frowning. “This is making terrible sense with the grotesque finding Sharlayan researchers investigating the wreckage have recently reported. They found what they believe to be the core that prompted the tower’s collapse, and it contains what they have indubitably determined to be part of a disembodied human arm.” Gaia couldn’t suppress a gasp, the other Scions and Ironworks alike expressing similar disgust. The older Ascians merely nodded again. “They have not identified its owner yet,” Y’shtola continued, “but coroners are saying the pale, rosy skin tone and size of the arm point to a Highlander or Garlean Hyur, possibly a Hellsguard Roegadyn.”

“Much like the Garleans crafted substitute auracites from the Heart of Sabik,” Halmarut commented with a nod to Nero, “there is little doubt Fandaniel, perhaps with the help of the other two Ascians, was able to use it to create his own derivatives, planting them as seeds to grow his towers.”

“His goal is to amass enough aether to free Zodiark from his prison, right?” G’raha began. “His towers drain aether from both the star’s natural leylines and from the hostages within—”

Alisaie shuddered. “All those people kept alive in a praying trance… It reminds me of the Meracydian dragons imprisoned within the Coils of Bahamut.”

“And the Warring Triad’s faithful in Azys Lla,” Y’shtola pointed out. Her blind eyes stared at the black sphere floating in the centre of the room, the Magitek rings containing it slowly spinning, emitting a constant, low hum. “It seems our Allagan scientist enjoys retreading old ground.”

“—But why go through the trouble of creating all these auracites upon auracites? It sounds like a rather roundabout way of accumulating aether,” G’raha continued with a perplexed frown. “To take another Allagan example Amon himself would be quite familiar with, the Crystal Tower is readily able to absorb and store aether, whether from the land or aeolian aether charged with the sun’s astral energies.” His frown vanished and his face lit up with a triumphant and slightly mocking smile, his bright red eyes falling on Elidibus for a moment. “Or even whole incorporeal beings, in fact.”

“Because his goal is not simply to amass aether, but aether Zodiark resonates with.” Elidibus held G’raha’s stare. “His own. The Heart of Sabik.”

Y’shtola sighed with a hint of annoyance, as if she had had enough of this particular subject. “All right. What is the Heart of Sabik?”

“And that is what I was explaining to Cid and Nero when you arrived!” Deudalaphon merrily took the words right out of Elidibus’s mouth, strolling towards the void sphere. “Ten thousand years ago, when the Thirteenth collapsed into the Void, we had to act swiftly to salvage what we could from it, as its future was uncertain. I worked with Lahabrea and Igeyorhm to create a receptacle for the essence of the Thirteenth’s fragment of Zodiark. The name ’Sabik’ refers to it being our first foray into taking Zodiark’s aether from a Shard to the Source, preceding all other Rejoinings. As for ’Heart’, well—” she made a heart with her hands over her own chest as she turned to face them, “to be blunt, the Thirteenth housed Zodiark’s disembodied chest. Clever little Fandaniel, he’s doing the same with that human body, isn’t he? I presume we’ll find the rest of the poor sap in other towers.” She turned back to look wistfully at the black sphere with its Magitek rings, keeping a hand over her chest. “I remember creating the Heart of Sabik very well,” she reminisced in a quieter voice, lowering her head. “Lahabrea confided in us then that crafting auracites to house significant amounts of aether was something he had worked on with his wife… back then.”

“Lahabrea told you about his wife?” Elidibus blurted out most uncharacteristically, his eerie eyes wide.

“He didn’t dwell on it. It was something he said out of the blue before changing the subject, and obviously I didn’t want to press him on it. I imagined he wanted to…” Deudalaphon sighed, her back still turned to them, “…put it all behind him. But it was the first and only time I ever heard Lahabrea speak of his human life, so it stuck with me.” She looked over her shoulder to Elidibus with a sad smile. “Do you think it’s why he was always the one to safeguard the Heart of Sabik, rather than you or Emet-Selch?”

Eyes turned to Elidibus as he searched for words that did not come. Or could not come, considering the gaps in his memories of his own human life. He told Cylva and me he remembered being friends with Lahabrea’s son. Did he know their family? Gaia watched him grasp for words and wished she could somehow help him. Right, and then he said that son had died, like so many others. What Deudalaphon told us happened ten thousand years ago, and already Lahabrea had wanted to put his humanity behind him. Two thousand years had already passed since the Sundering. She shut her eyes, trying to process the sheer scale of these numbers. A few months ago, I thought Mitron being imprisoned within Eden for a century sounded like an eternity. How little remained of Lahabrea’s humanity at the time of his death? Gaia felt like a weight was crushing her chest. Both he and Elidibus decided to let go of their past lives, but how much choice did they have really? This, or the torment of constantly remembering everything you lost, like Emet-Selch chose?

“I—I don’t—” Elidibus stammered, his gaze unfocused.

Nero cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to be rude—” he announced, adjusting his indoors sunglasses, “that’s a lie, by the way, I always mean to be rude—” he added, flashing a smug smile to an audience he no doubt liked to imagine much larger than it really was, “but we’re not here for Ascian family matters, are we?”

“Indeed.“ Gaia had to admire how quickly Elidibus was able to gather himself and switch right back to sounding professional—but she had to thank Nero too, because she was slowly starting to starve. “I do not think Fandaniel is amassing aether simply to blast through his seals, as Halmarut hypothesised,” Elidibus said with a nod to the larger man, “but indirectly grow his power by accumulating that aether into the Heart of Sabik and having it resonate with Zodiark.” His eyes found Gaia’s for a second. “It is working. Zodiark is stirring more and more often, even as we are nearing a full moon.”

Home, the voice had whispered not even an hour ago. Only the two of them had heard it. How many calls for help have gone unanswered?

Alisaie straightened herself. “Zodiark gets stronger at full moon?”

“The opposite. Full moon is when it is bathed in light,” Deudalaphon pointed out, turning to the Scions and slipping back into her teacher role, “which is why this development is concerning. Zodiark shouldn’t be stirring right now.”

“If you will excuse me,” Y’shtola interrupted with a look of frank concern on her face, “I cannot help but note you referred to the Heart of Sabik as your first foray into transferring a shard of Zodiark to the Source…”

Deudalaphon raised her silver eyebrows and silently threw Elidibus a look that seemed to ask ’did I say too much?’, her pursed lips curled into an awkward smile.

“Our first and only,” he answered calmly, though that visibly was not enough to appease the three Scions. “As it turned out, each Shard’s fragile balance of aether grew to stabilise itself around the presence of an umbral aspected, orbiting satellite with a dense astral core, for better or worse. Excising Zodiark’s essence alone posed too great a risk of disrupting the star’s elements, ecosystems and cycle of souls. It was the disastrous state of the Thirteenth that allowed us to do so—if anything, taking darkness out could only benefit it.”

Y’shtola breathed a relieved sigh, but Alisaie remained concerned. “Didn’t think Zodiark was literally sliced and diced across dimensions though…” the young Elf grumbled under her breath.

His glowing pupils turned to the youngest Scion, with no trace of animosity or annoyance. “I would be curious to know what Emet-Selch told you of the Sundering and its immediate effects,” Elidibus said offhandedly, “though that is neither here nor there.”

I would be curious to hear Elidibus’s own recounting of it, Gaia thought as she watched the three’s reactions—Y’shtola knitted her brows, G’raha narrowed his eyes and Alisaie’s mouth was half-open in silent apprehension. Was the implication that Emet-Selch underplayed the Sundering? It probably isn’t a pleasant memory for them to speak of in great detail. Was Emet-Selch simultaneously too kind yet, as Elidibus mentioned, cold and callous on the surface? It seemed a little contradictory to her, blunt as she was, and yet… A broken man, speaking to the broken remnants of people he might have known. Gaia sighed, resigned.

Garlond—Cid—started pacing in front of the sphere. “So, our goal is to dismantle those towers quickly to save the people inside and cut off the flow of aether to Fandaniel’s base of operations, presumably housing the Heart of Sabik. The imperial palace?”

“What is left of it,” Halmarut pointed out. “According to Pashtarot, Fandaniel has built the largest tower on top of it.”

Cid turned to them—the Ascians. “Is there always a Primal within the towers? I understand captured beastmen would readily summon their deities, but isn’t it strange for Sharlayans to manifest a Primal of their own?”

That made Nero snicker. “You should ask Gaius his opinion on that—”

“It is,” Deudalaphon agreed, “but I suspect forcing all prisoners to shape their prayers into animated manifestations is part of the plan. It makes sense, both as a defence mechanism and as a way to facilitate funnelling aether into the Heart of Sabik. Concepts personified, animated by creation magicks, driven by prayer and sentiment—most, if not all, modern Primals fall somewhere on the Astral side of aether,” she explained, gesturing to the sphere behind her and Cid, before stifling a giggle. “After all, mortals were taught to summon them by Zodiark’s faithful, weren’t they? And it is exactly the sort of aether the Heart of Sabik yearns for. Black auracite—darkness, astral, ideas, concepts, creation, movement. White auracite—light, umbral, stillness, stasis, anchors souls to physical matter.”

“I’m not sure I’m following everything,” Alisaie whispered into Y’shtola’s ear.

Makes sense to me, Gaia thought, even though by all means, a girl like me shouldn’t get it.

Deudalaphon spread her hands, a cheerful smile on her round face. “So I was thinking we could refine our little sample here and use it as our own siphon to redirect aether more easily!”

Cid stroke his white beard. “Right. My concern with the Primals however is the tempering. As long as only the lucky few with the power of the Echo are able to step into these towers, taking them down is going to be a slog.” His eyes searched for Meteor or Krile among the Scions present, to no avail.

“Meteor told us about the bodies of the Garlean soldiers horrifically mutated by the intensity of the ambient aether inside the tower…” Alisaie recounted, making Gaia cringe as she remembered their twisted shapes, barely human anymore, dark purple crystals tearing through the skin and pulling on their limbs. “Hang on,” the Elf said, blinking, “weren’t there a couple of Magitek pilots still operating their machines at the top?”

“There were,” Halmarut confirmed while Gaia nodded frantically. I was there! I’m useful too! “This, too, I wanted to discuss,” he continued, turning to Nero. “You mentioned Ultima Weapon’s aetherproof cockpit. I believe it was the alloy Allagans used that—”

“Exadamantium!” the engineer exclaimed, overjoyed to be given the opportunity to mention it. “A gem of Allagan technology from the late period of their empire! Because it passively absorbs ambient aether, building it into the cockpit insulates the inside, shielding the pilot. Quite a rare material to come by, unless one has scavenged enough Allagan junk and trinkets and possesses the means to extract it.” He punctuated his sentence with an overdramatic wistful sigh.

Alisaie tilted her head to the side with a frown. “So it was these Magitek units that shielded their pilots from the tower’s aether?”

“No,” Halmarut began politely, “my point is precisely that—”

“You’re kidding, right? It’d be insane to use exadamantium in those mass produced units!” Nero accompanied his outburst with a gesture to his blueprint hanging off the large mechanical arm behind him. “That’s what makes Ultima Weapon special!”

Gaia was unsure whether to feel amusement or concern. The guy sounds like he’s talking about his baby.

“Yeah, I doubt the cockpit of those provided enough shielding,” his fellow engineer agreed, “but something else did.”

“Competing aether of a similar wavelength,” Elidibus stated, cutting through the budding hypotheses here and there. “It is not the Lunar Primals that temper anyone who comes near the towers—the range for tempering is typically much shorter. The Sharlayan held prisoner were praying for salvation of the star in the face of Final Days, not to Thaliak in particular, but his was the shape their collective unconscious gave to divine intervention. It seems the towers relay and diffuse the aether coming from the Heart of Sabik then send their own back to Garlemald, enhanced with what it drained from the hostages and the chthonic currents.”

Cid’s grey eyes widened. “So those towers are basically radio towers?”

Perplexed frowns appeared on the faces of all three Scions. Nero noticed, unfortunately. “Oh, Garlond, look at the savages not knowing—”

“Essentially, yes,” Elidibus replied, ignoring the Scions and Nero, “only with the aether of the Heart of Sabik, rather than the diffuse lightning aether used as signal by your Magitek codecs.”

“So, those pilots atop the tower, did they have their radio on?” Nero asked, slightly pouting over the fact that none of the Scions took his bait.

Halmarut wordlessly tilted his head, his lips pressed together. I was there too, let me contribute to the conversation! “Dunno,” Gaia said out loud, “I mean, we kinda wrecked them…” Wow, great contribution, Gaia, way to go! Halmarut heartily nodded in confirmation, making her self-esteem soar right back up.

Cid cupped his bearded chin in his fingers. “Well, it’s an interesting hypothesis, but a little dangerous to test—”

“This is where prisoners of war come in handy, Garlond,” Nero said with a wagging finger, as if he were reprimanding him. Gaia’s eyebrows shot up. Is he joking? Or does this guy have no conscience? At the very least, the Scions didn’t look like they enjoyed the joke, and it all made Gaia feel like a bit of a fool—again—for her hand-wringing over her dark wizard comrades’ long list of crimes while Nero was out here, joking in poor taste about things he had probably done before deserting the empire.

Cid coughed loudly before continuing, “—perhaps our friend the Warrior of Light could help, as he is immune to tempering, if we fly him to a tower and equip him with sensors…”

“Ah,” Deudalaphon interrupted, “if only you had other allies with the Echo who could teleport at will…”

It was Cid’s turn to raise his eyebrows in surprise as he turned to look at all Ascians present in succession and the realisation dawned on him. He’s not used to having us as allies. None of them are used to seeing Ascians as anything other than evil monsters.

“Speaking of teleporting at will, wreckages and exadamantium,” Elidibus began conversationally, looking successively at Deudalaphon and Halmarut, “the eyesore on the eastern side of the Cradle could be of use. I would gladly go myself and have a chat with my old friend the jailer, but I am presently unable to.”

“I could,” Halmarut offered, ignoring the confusion of Scions and Ironworks alike. “Are her watchdogs a threat?”

The corner of Elidibus’s mouth twitched. “They can be rather testy around us. It would be best to give them and the elemental brands as wide a berth as you can.” He threw a very brief glance in the direction of Nero. “This does carry a net risk of diplomatic incident, Halmarut.”

“What’s this all about, dear Ascian allies?” Nero asked innocently.

“The source of exadamantium we are speaking of, the wreckage of an Allagan ship, happens to be within enemy territory, close to Zodiark’s prison on the moon,” Elidibus explained as the Garlean’s eyes widened at the mention of exadamantium, Allagan wreckage, the implication of casually going to the moon, or all three at once. “Besides, should our hypothesis that Garlean radios provide shielding from the towers’ tempering prove correct, that might suffice to afford us more manpower to assault the towers, making the use of exadamantium unnecessary,” he continued, looking up at Halmarut who silently looked back with the faintest frown—and polite smile still—on his angular face.

Nero did not seem to like the direction this was taking. “But what about what comes after the tower phase? The Ascian with the prince is planning to unleash a massive Primal on the world, right? The one he’s growing out of the Heart of Sabik? Or is that another Primal? Whatever. I’m just saying, it all sounds to me like we’re going to need firepower—aetherproof firepower.”

“The plan is to stop Fandaniel before he can get enough aether to free Zodiark,” G’raha pointed out, a frown growing on his face, “though we’d rather save as many hostages as we can in the process. Suppose we opt to rush to Garlemald and take out our enemies with a surprise surgical strike. What happens to all the towers across the world then?” His voice trailed off, but the answer was obvious to all. They all collapse, and we have a thousand or so of casualties on our hands.

“Cid,” Y’shtola called with palpable worry, “I believe we should start working on that… radio protection idea, quickly.”

The engineer gave her a determined nod. His colleague, however, was clearly none too pleased. “But what about the exadamantium?” Nero asked, almost whining.

Halmarut opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself when Elidibus slightly tapped him with his elbow.

“As I said,” Elidibus replied slowly, while Nero folded away his indoors sunglasses and started making his way towards him, “the benefit might not be worth the risk for us Ascians. Going too close to Zodiark and his jailers, especially at a time like this, might aggravate our relation—”

Nero suddenly seized his shoulders with both hands, Mitron twitching as her guarding instincts almost kicked in, though Elidibus himself did not move, his hands still in his pockets. “What is your price, God of Darkness? Where do I sign to sell my soul to the Devil?” Nero asked in a theatrically desperate manner, bending down to bring his face closer to Elidibus’s, his icy blue eyes pleading. “Please tell me!” he hissed.

Wordlessly, Elidibus turned his own glowing gaze to the black sphere in the middle of the room before returning to staring into Nero’s eyes with a smile.

The three Scions bristled instantly. G’raha stepped forward, Alisaie’s hand hovered over the handle of her rapier and Y’shtola crossed her arms in disapproval. Elidibus did not bother hiding his amusement. “The essence contained within this would-be auracite is so dangerous for these aether-incapable engineering geniuses to handle that one of our own had to help them construct these heavy restraints to stabilise it. I am graciously offering to help.”

Cid put his hands up in an appeasing gesture to the Scions. “He’s right. Removing some of the raw aether inside would help us with working on it.” He then turned to his fellow engineer with a smile that looked ever so slightly mischievous. “What do you think about putting some legs on it?”

“Walking? Up a tower?” Nero gasped, batting his eyelids in feigned shock. “The future floats, Garlond, and while you tinker away with your little walking auracite broadcasting state propaganda, I shall be creating state of the art Anti-Eikon Weapons that will march—not literally—on our capital to liberate it from the clutches of evil!” He dug into a pocket of his jacket to take out a tiny notepad, unclipped the pen hanging off the fabric and started frantically scribbling whatever went through his mind, mumbling to himself.

Cid crossed his arms as he watched his companion and let out a sigh that seemed more affectionate than he likely meant it to be. “I would call you patriotic if I didn’t know for a fact you’re only in it to play with the tech, Nero.”

The other ignored him entirely. “Hm, but perhaps I should… Let’s see, now… Yes…” Most of his ramblings were unintelligible, punctuated by sniggers. “I could leverage this,” he suddenly said clearly, lifting his head from his notepad, frantically clicking the spring in his pen. “Yes! A pardon!” He threw his head back and spread his arms towards the ceiling with loud laughter.

Deudalaphon gave a hearty laugh as she walked back to their little Ascian party. “That one might be a reincarnation of a member of the Words of Deudalaphon, don’t you think?”

“Possibly. I would look into reports at the Words of Pashtarot first,” Elidibus replied lightly, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt while Nero laughed as if he understood the implications of what they had just said. “Now, then…” He started to make his way towards the black sphere, accompanied by Nero sauntering gleefully to a control panel on the side of one of the three large arms of dark steel.

Oh, right, I have to go with him, Gaia remembered suddenly with a wince, leaping to hurry behind Elidibus—though she did not dare get too close from the sphere and its spinning rings. I always have to be with him.

“Hey, you get away from that!” Alisaie’s hand had moved from merely hovering above the pommel of her rapier to fully grabbing its handle. Y’shtola silently stopped her with a raised hand, though her own blind eyes were narrowed. “He’s going to get his power back!” Alisaie hissed at the older woman.

Elidibus turned to her, nonchalantly pointing a thumb at the sphere. “This? Do not fret. What constitutes a dangerous amount of dark aether to you is but an appetiser to an Ascian.” He glanced back at the dark sphere. “Truth be told, this looks like it will barely make for a snack.”

Please, stop talking about food—oh, Gaia, focus. She shut her eyes.

“To you, Elidibus, no doubt,” Y’shtola said, again with concern plain on her face. She seemed to find a lot of this worrying. “But it is Gaia who will bear the brunt of it, and this brings back the disturbing memory of what nearly happened to Meteor on the First—”

“I am aware. The Warrior of Light, whose malformed aether was tainted by her blessing post-Sundering, took in excessive amounts of said element by himself, boldly walking into Emet-Selch’s overt trap and only being saved at the last minute by sheer happenstance, as he tends to. None of this apply to the soul of Loghrif, Oracle of Darkness. Should it prove too much for her to withstand, there are three fully capable Ascians in her immediate vicinity.”

Gaia threw them a quick look, behind her. I’m not alone. She nervously swallowed her saliva and timidly stepped closer, behind Elidibus. Is Y’shtola right to be so worried? She gazed into the floating black sphere. All the tiny blinking stars within, floating in a void that, from up close, was not entirely jet black but coloured by clouds of the faintest purple, pink and indigo. The sheen of its smooth surface, like a perfectly polished crystal. The strange outline that seemed to warp and compress the objects behind it as she moved slightly to observe it from another angle. It’s so beautiful. To the side, Nero was hammering away at buttons, his pale eyes and the strange pearl on his forehead illuminated by the blue glow of the control panel his lanky body was bent over.

Elidibus stood close enough for the outer Magitek ring, with its bright blue groove, to almost touch him as it spun slowly. “Stand back once you take its shackles off,” he said calmly to Nero, who nodded excitedly. Gaia took a step back. “Not you, Gaia,” he said gently in a low voice, looking over his shoulder. “You stay with me.”

He extended an open hand to her. She took a second to breathe in deeply and stepped forward once more, taking his hand into her own.

Nero straightened himself behind the mechanical arm, digging his fists into his lower back to stretch out before taking his sunglasses out of a pocket to put them back on. He turned to the others. “Everyone, stand back against the wall!” he shouted, gesturing at them to step back, and returned to the control panel, a finger hovering over a button. “Ready?”

When Elidibus gave him a small nod, Nero pressed the button and quickly ran to the wall in a half-crouched gait. The hum emitted by the machine lowered in pitch as the three spinning rings slowed down. The inner ring, its central groove a dark purple, stopped vertically, soon joined by the middle one. Elidibus, firmly holding Gaia’s hand, held out his other palm as the last, blue ring slowly came to a halt upright. With the three rings aligned vertically, Gaia heard a quiet whooshing sound in her ears. She watched as the grooves in the two outer rings changed from blue to purple and the noise got louder as if it were a coming wave or gust of wind, louder as the inner ring’s purple groove shone brighter and brighter—

Then she saw stars. She heard them, too. Countless stars filling her vision, moving, each of them whispering, speaking, crying, screaming. Their terror, grief, rage, longing, despair—and hope, too—overcame her, and although her body burned and tingled, she felt like she was underwater, or perhaps floating in the air, tossed and carried by currents, weightless, alongside each star, every star, everyone, their voices around her deafening—

“Gaia!” a voice called out from above, clear as water, this voice she has known forever.

Her cheek was pressed against something. Leather? Something was holding her limp body up, wrapped around her, under her armpits. Her legs were uselessly half-flexed under her. She wasn’t standing anymore—she had fallen, or rather had been in the middle of a fall forward when something caught her. She felt her hair being brushed away from her face. She blinked as her vision slowly cleared. Strangely, she felt good, as if she was waking up from a long, comfortable rest, and most of her hunger seemed to have vanished.

“Gaia? Come back to us, Gaia,” the voice said again, and their face hovering over her came into focus. Dark skin, blond hair, green eyes, a scar.

“Artemis?…” she managed weakly, her voice cracking. She tried to push herself off whatever she was pressed against, and the thing holding her—right, she was fairly sure that was someone else’s arms—gently turned her over so she found herself in a sitting position on the floor. A hand lightly supported her upper back so she wouldn’t fall backwards.

Mitron crouched down on one knee and flashed a warm smile at her. “You’re back!”

Gaia smiled back and looked around. Beside her was Elidibus, crouching, his hand on her back, quiet as ever. He broke my fall. Nero was a little over there to the side, standing back up from a lower position, his mouth hanging half-open as he held the black sphere with both hands. In the back, Cid and his Galdjent and Lalafell assistants stared at it in wonder. G'raha and Alisaie appeared more dismayed than amazed, and Y'shtola's look of worry now seemed to have reached its peak. Halmarut and Deudalaphon both sported relieved, proud smiles.

The latter enthusiastically clapped her hands as she turned to her much larger colleague. “Well, I could go for some Ishgardian now! How about you, Atlas?”

Chapter Text

Ryne was floating on her back on a calm, infinite sea draped in mists. The waves softly carried her. With her ears under the surface and her long red hair spread like a crown, she listened to her own slow, steady breathing, her eyes closed. She did not care where or when she was, how she got there, nor where the currents were carrying her to. She drifted aimlessly, peacefully, by herself, outside of time.

Then something changed. She felt a radiant light shine upon her, bathing her entire body in its light. She could perceive it with her every sense. It was not the harsh, overbearing light she had once known—when?—it was comforting, reassuring. Something about it made perfect sense. It was loving.

Wait… Where am I?

Ryne opened her eyes. She could not see anything but the coloured dots she saw the times she got dizzy, so she shut them again.

Right. Meteor came to get me across dimensions. Am I dreaming? Maybe he’s in the middle of transporting me and my soul is inside the auracite? But…

The tip of her fingers and toes started to tingle. She wriggled them as the sensation slowly travelled up her arms and legs, like a wave moving from her extremities to her chest, to her head. Her eyes fluttered open to look at what was happening. Her vision was progressively becoming clearer, her palm coming into focus in the darkness of night. The mist that had been surrounding her lifted. The ground under her feet was grey rocks. Some tufts of green grass here and there, small shards of blue crystal glowing amidst the pebbles.

“Ryne!” Thancred's voice exclaimed.

She turned her head in his direction, and there he was standing with Meteor. In spite of the dark, she could see he looked exactly as he did when she last saw him in Crystarium, in his white gunbreaker overcoat and black body armour, his hazel eyes wide with astonishment. It had only been a few months ago, yet she had been so sure she would never see him again, until Meteor came back with the proposal to bring her to the Source. She had not thought that possible—Gaia could do it, but Gaia was a bit of an Ascian, and crossing worlds was what Ascians did. But there she was, dressed in the same clothes she wore when she left with Meteor, standing with him and Thancred in this strange rocky landscape she did not recognise, illuminated by blue crystals.

She could not help but beam at them. “Thancred! I'm so happy to see you again!” She brought her hand to her mouth. “That must mean I'm on the Source! We made it!”

“Ryne, yes, I—I'm so glad to see you too, but—” he turned to Meteor who looked just as surprised as he did, “—but we were supposed to go to Urianger and Y'shtola so they could make you corporeal. How…?”

Without thinking, Ryne knew the answer to his question. It had to be. She looked around—a great lake they were walking on the shores of, a town nestled in the cliffs, a bright orange crystal dome in the distance, the Crystal Tower—but she could only see the three of them. Yet she still felt the light—her light, her presence, just here with them. Wanting—yearning for them to hear, feel…

That’s right. I’m the Oracle of Light, after all. It’s why I’m here.

She turned to face the lake. The rock formation in the centre, the Crystal Tower in the background… It looks like the lake we call the Source on the First. And there had always been something mystical to it. Something divine… Instinctively, she closed her eyes and brought her fist to her chest, focusing—opening herself to the light, welcoming it into her own essence. She heard Thancred gasp behind her as the aether surrounding them started mingling with her own, coalescing into brilliant motes of pure light and swirling around her like shining snowflakes illuminating the night.

When she opened her eyes again, a woman was standing there on the shore, her long white hair cascading down her back turned to them. Her figure wrapped in shimmering light and flowing white robes was as a beacon in the dark, reflecting on the black ripples of the water before her. Silently, her head moved to the side to watch her surroundings.

There was a soft sound of boots crunching gravel behind Ryne as Meteor quietly stepped closer to observe, a perplexed frown under his dark bangs. In the back, Thancred’s eyes were going back and forth between them and the lake, a look of frank confusion on his face.

Ryne dared not speak. She focused on maintaining a steady flow of aether from her to the woman in white. Though it was obvious who was standing before them, she could not recall her ever manifesting herself in human form before. She only hoped it was not an ill omen.

“Ryne,” Hydaelyn called. This voice she had always heard… Slowly, Hydaelyn turned to face them. Tall and dignified, wavy strands of pure white hair framed her gentle, ageless face, lit by the aether dancing around her. Ryne was not surprised to see her pupils glow much like those of Elidibus, when he was with Gaia in Crystarium—only hers shone a bright, light blue. Her beauty was unlike any Ryne had ever seen before. “Thank you,” Hydaelyn said with a warm smile. “Thank you for making this possible. I am so glad my voice could reach you.”

“Who—who’s speaking?” Thancred stammered, his eyes begging Ryne and Meteor for an explanation. He doesn’t see her? “Wait—don’t tell me it’s—”

“Thancred… Your eyes cannot see me, yet thanks to Ryne’s efforts, you are able to hear my voice.” Hydaelyn turned her benevolent gaze to him while his widened at being addressed directly by this unseen presence. “Thank you for looking after Ryne and Minfilia. You mean so much to them. You’ve always been there to guide them and protect them.”

The words caught in his throat. Ryne thought she saw tears well up in his eyes—though it was hard to tell in the dark. It makes him so emotional, still. An uneasy guilt crept up in the back of her mind. It had been her choice. Minfilia lived on within her, as Ardbert did within Meteor… yet all the same, it was Ryne who lived and breathed. Not Minfilia.

“And you, my brave Warrior of Light, blessed by the Crystal… we meet again, Meteor.”

His blue eyes looked down, avoiding Hydaelyn’s gaze, as if pondering what he should answer, if anything. Ryne threw him an anxious look. Is something wrong? She glanced at Thancred for a few seconds, in the back—he seemed relieved the attention was not on him anymore, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve—before her aether channeling required her attention again. It made her feel like she was carefully juggling plates.

Hydaelyn herself broke the silence. “You may already know this, now that you are back from the First.” To Ryne’s surprise, she took on a sincerely apologetic look. “Everything you saw, heard, felt there is true. I, Hydaelyn, am a Primal from times immemorial.”

So that is true, then. It had been Emet-Selch who told them this information first, deep within the Qitana Ravel, prompted by the sight of millennia-old cave paintings. If truth be told, Ryne had always been unsure what to make of it. She was not as accustomed to these ’primals’ as her Source companions were. They had reacted to the revelation with shock, but she could not remember them discussing the matter among each other much afterwards.

“Eons ago, Zodiark was created to prevent the apocalypse, and I followed suit to keep him under control,” Hydaelyn continued, pain twisting her beauty, and Ryne could not help but mirror her expression. It hurt her… and it hurts her so much, still. “Yet some, driven by nostalgic longing for a past long gone, have already triggered seven Calamities to give their master back his full power. And their fervent prayers still echo to this day…”

Hydaelyn raised a hand to her heart, her ample white sleeve falling to reveal her wrist, delicate yet strong. On her chest, an ornate white mask was hanging off her robes, reflecting the light shimmering around her. Is this a real Ancient mask? Its design was more intricate than the plain, featureless one the shades conjured by Emet-Selch wore. Ryne gasped in realisation. Is she appearing as the actual human Hydaelyn once was? The one they called Venat in the recording we saw in Anamnesis Anyder…

The goddess lowered her radiant blue eyes. “The more my dark counterpart regenerates, the weaker my strength grows… Soon, I may not be able to reach out to you anymore, Warrior of Light.”

Ryne took a cautious step forward. “I—You can count on me, Hydaelyn! I will relay your words, or even—” Couldn’t we be together like Gaia and Elidibus? Or are they too special a case? “—I will lend you my aether so you can speak, as many times as I can!”

“Oh, my Oracle,” she said in a compassionate voice, “you have the kindest soul, but your strength will soon be needed elsewhere. For now, I merely ask that you hear my words.” Her face grew serious as she addressed all three of them. “The end is nigh, and the catastrophe is coming, brought on by agents of darkness as they have done before, too many times. You, championing light, life and justice, have long been fighting them.”

Ryne felt something in her stomach twist and turn.

“Know this; whichever ideal they now profess to possess each, it will always entail a disregard for the lives they see as lesser, the destruction and negation of all you hold dear.” Hydaelyn clenched her fist over her heart, her expression determined. “You serve life—they serve their master, even though they may not be aware of his influence on their minds. They believe their will their own, yet their ultimate objective remains to free and offer him the aether of all future lives for the sake of the past, as they once planned to; and darkness desires forever more.”

Ryne tried her best to suppress the discomfort on her face. But… An image popped up in her mind, of the two of them laughing as they helped Elidibus sort too many books and scrolls in the Cabinet of Curiosities under Beq Lugg’s orders. Then she thought of young Unukalhai, his sorrow and his relief when Gaia reached out to him. No, I must focus on maintaining the aether link…

“You and your comrades have made yours the will of the star, without requiring my guidance.” Hydaelyn paused to look to the side, at something in the dark Ryne could not make out. “Traces of time magic… The time for the convergence must be nigh.” She turned back to them, the cryptic remark having given her back her confidence. “The conclusion of this tale shall soon unfold at the confluence of stars and destinies, a great battle that will shape the fate of the universe. Once you have passed the trials to come, only then will you understand the meaning of my words, know the truth and find your own answers.” Her warm, loving smile fully returned as her eyes fell on Meteor—the knot in Ryne’s stomach loosened a little. “Meteor, Warrior of Light… My champion. The man who once bore your soul refused to commit the unspeakable and side with those who would revere Zodiark. Let us fulfil the promise we made each other so long ago.”

Ryne took her eyes off her radiance to glance at Meteor. Not only was silence was his only answer, it seemed to her that his frown had hardened.

Worry flashed across Hydaelyn’s face. The darkness around them suddenly grew deeper, appearing to swallow the light radiating from the goddess—and Ryne dropped the plates she was juggling. In a burst of light, Hydaelyn vanished right as someone came hurtling through the shadows in her direction. Startled, Ryne took a step back, covering her mouth in shock as both Meteor and Thancred unsheathed their blades. The stranger stopped in his tracks, dark aether emanating from his body like smoke. Dressed in black clothes that left one of his arms bare, in his hands was a heavy broadsword unlike any Ryne had seen before.

“Gone. Of course,” the man with a mop of straw-coloured hair grumbled in a gruff voice, his dark purple aura dissipating in the night.

“What brings you here?” Thancred spat out, stepping forward with his gunblade over his shoulder, his other hand held out for Ryne to stand behind.

“What do you think, genius?” the other responded in an equally hostile voice—though he made his two-hander disappear in a puff of black smoke.

Instinctively, Ryne hid behind Thancred. “An Ascian?!” But he’s on our side, right?…

“One of Gaia’s new mass-murdering friends,” her protector snapped, finger on the trigger of his gunblade.

“New?” the man repeated, as if that was the only part he took offence to. “Mind your tongue, mortal—and sheathe your weapon like he did, while you’re at it. Obviously, I’ve come to investigate this disturbance in the aether.” He crossed his arms, the left one protected by a shoulder pad and covered in a loose black sleeve, and swore under his breath. “Should have noticed earlier, but what happened in the workshop distracted me.”

Thancred begrudgingly put his weapon away. “This ’disturbance in the aether’ was Meteor arriving from the First with Ryne’s soul, and her gaining a body. That was what you saw.”

The Ascian stifled a mocking laugh. “Of course, she simply gained a body, because that’s definitely how it works.” His deep blue eyes studied Ryne for a bit, his mockery gone, before returning to Thancred. “Ah, but that’s right—you’re the only one here without the gift, so you may not actually be lying. I, however, know exactly what I saw. Your blind and deaf interpretation of what transpired is unneeded.” His aura of darkness reappeared as he prepared to cast some sort of spell. “Elidibus is going to find this interesting.”

A dark void burst forth from his hands, swallowing him—and he was gone.

Her hands still over her mouth, Ryne looked back and forth between Thancred and Meteor with worry. “I—um—is this good or bad?”

Thancred answered with a shrug. “We need to tell them why you already have a body, anyway.”

Meteor’s feelings were inscrutable. “He said something happened in the workshop. We should hurry back.”

And with that, he immediately set off in the direction of the town nearby at a brisk pace. In truth, Ryne wanted to stop and marvel at the sights of the huge crystals that seemed to grow from the soil, their reflection making the waters of the lake shimmer; she wanted to ask Thancred and Meteor where they are and what they know of the place. But that would have to wait.

I hope Gaia is okay.

The thought of seeing her friend again and asking her what she has been up to made her smile. She gave Thancred a nod and together they hurried along to catch up to Meteor.

Chapter Text

This evening was starting to feel a bit long, but Gaia was so full of renewed energy she didn’t mind. The meal promised to be at least a little awkward, but on the other hand—eating. Her very recent aether snack did satiate her, but she was always in the mood to test out local delicacies. Deftly dodging dining tables and seated patrons, the wooden terrace creaking under her heels, she thought she might be able to teleport right into the restaurant, should she put her mind to it. Or not even bother with walking—perhaps she could simply levitate over it all to reach her destination.

“Ill-advised,” she heard Elidibus comment behind her in a low voice.

“Hey—I told you to stop reading my mind!” Gaia whispered over her shoulder, stopping behind Halmarut who had just waved to a waiter, a smartly-dressed Elf with short jet-black hair.

“I have disclosed before it is involuntary on my part. I merely choose to ignore it,” Elidibus replied, his glowing eyes surveying the busy terrace. “Unless I deem it necessary to speak out. Remember, true power is exercised with restraint.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the waiter greeted them with a bow of the head, over the chatter of patrons. “You've arrived just in time for second service.” He leaned to the side to check how many they were behind Halmarut’s colossal frame. “Table for five?”

“Eight,” Halmarut corrected with a polite smile that betrayed none of his true feelings.

“Might be a couple more,” Deudalaphon spoke up in the back, turning to look at the three Scions of the Seventh Dawn who, Gaia noticed just now, had not followed them on the terrace. Something seemed to be holding them up—Alisaie held her hand to her ear, visibly speaking to someone over linkshell, as Y'shtola and G'raha listened attentively. “Oh, it's going to be a couple more, I can feel it.”

“Well… Kinda crowded though, isn't it?” Mitron commented casually.

“Inside or outside?” the waiter asked Halmarut.

“Outside,” Elidibus answered before anyone else could. “Bring this table of two here over to that table of six. They are leaving,” he said with a nod towards a party of six travellers getting up from their seats. “We will bring over an unoccupied chair or two if need be.”

The waiter didn't seem to mind the directive. “Most observant, sir. I shall be getting your table ready right away—just a moment, please.”

“Wonderful choice,” Halmarut said while the Elf hurried away to clear the table, its previous occupants gathering their belongings to leave. “Such a fine evening should be enjoyed in the open.”

“Quite. The ambient noise will no doubt make it difficult to hear everything that is said at the other end of the table, and if I am to suffer additional Scions of the Seventh Dawn, I wish for them to sit cramped and uncomfortable,” Elidibus said flatly, and Halmarut allowed himself a chuckle while he searched the crowd for someone or something.

For her part, Gaia could not shake off the discomfort in the back of her mind, glancing over at the Scions. “So, uh, do we think it's weird they decided to dine with us?” she asked in a low voice. “Wasn't expecting Y'shtola to pounce on the proposal like that. I mean, she looked pretty upset moments before.”

“Oh, perhaps Ishgardian dining is how she deals with stress!” Deudalaphon offered jauntily, her laughing dark eyes still on the Scions. “I get it,” she added with an emphatic nod.

“Most likely, they want to keep a close eye on you. And me,” Elidibus told Gaia mildly. I don’t like the sound of that. “Act natural,” he added with the slightest smile, noticing her anxiety. “Simply do what you do best.”

She stared back unimpressed, her hands on her hips, as Mitron looked at them both in confusion. “He means eating,” Gaia helpfully told her soulmate, who started laughing. “As a self-conscious young lady, I should totally take this as an insult. As the Oracle of Darkness, however,” she brought her eyes back to Elidibus, whose nearly imperceptible smile had graduated into a minute smirk, the height of insolence for him, “I’ve got a leech to feed and I’m ready to selflessly fulfil my duty.” She turned to Mitron again when Elidibus let out a quiet chuckle. “See, I knew he’d like that wording.”

Gaia shook her head with a smile before looking in the direction of the three Scions, still standing in front of the restaurant terrace, the marketplace behind them. The three of them had a look of surprise on their faces, in awe of whatever Alisaie was being told on the linkshell. Halmarut, meanwhile, was still surveying the crowd from his vantage point.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The waiter had popped up behind them. “Follow me, if you please.”

He squeezed past the five of them to lead them to the now empty rectangular table of six, with a small table of two appended, as Elidibus had ordered. Deudalaphon stepped aside to let Mitron, Gaia and Elidibus pass and waved to the Scions, pointing at the table. G’raha responded with a nod before going back to listening closely to whatever was happening.

Gaia went to sit down at the end of the table before a soft tap on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. “You want to be sitting the closest to them,” Elidibus whispered as he walked past her to take the seat she had in mind. Right. I’m the mortal-Ascian ambassador. Gaia sighed as Mitron sat down next to him, resigning herself to take the seat to her left.

Deudalaphon sauntered over to the seat across Elidibus, turning to a still standing Halmarut as she sat down. “Not planning to sit down, Atlas?”

His sharp golden eyes were still wandering. “I was supposed to take over watch duty from Pashtarot once we got out of the workshop. How unlike him to be late.”

“Well then!” She patted the chair to her right. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate you keeping the seat warm for him!” She paused, her hand hovering over the seat as her eyes found Elidibus’s. “On second thought, maybe I should let Pashtarot sit at the end of the table with you, away from our mortal friends," she mused, lowering her voice so mortals wouldn't overhear her too much.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the waiter—who had gone to attend to other patrons for a second then come back as swiftly—called, while Deudalaphon changed seats and Halmarut sat down across Elidibus, “will you be ordering drinks as you wait for your companions to join you? We have an assortment of south-eastern Coerthan wines, sparkling or still, liqueurs and cocktails as well as local brews.”

“Do you have something soft for our young lady here, like juices or smoothies?” Deudalaphon asked, laying a hand on the table in the direction of Gaia.

“Of course, madam. The soft version of our blanc-cassis is a favourite.”

Gaia nodded in response—whatever that was, it sounded good—as Deudalaphon ordered the classic version for herself and Mitron followed suit. Elidibus gave an ambivalent shrug.

“Two blanc-cassis, one soft—begging your pardon, madam,” the waiter asked Deudalaphon specifically, clearly taking her for the mother of their party, “is this young man old enough to drink?”

“I am old enough to have seen this star bathed in the flames of the end times and recreated all life—”

“He’ll have the soft one too,” Deudalaphon interrupted with a sweet smile, prompting Elidibus to give another shrug rather than elaborate on his divine intervention.

“Two softs,” the waiter nodded, unflappable, before turning to Halmarut. “Sir?”

“Ah, nothing for me. I am not staying, only saving a seat for a friend,” he answered almost apologetically, resting his hands on the table with fingers interlocked. “He should be here soon.”

The Elf gave another nod before quickly departing in the direction of the bar indoors, a patron interrupting him for a request on the way.

“Busy evening,” Mitron commented, turning to take a look at today’s menu, written in chalk on a board at the front of the terrace. “Think they have fish?”

Gaia brought a dainty hand to her throat in feigned outrage. “Should the overseer of marine life be eating fish?” She meant it as a joke, but in truth, there was something in her that wanted to know the answer to that question. Did they eat the animals they created? Did they have rules against that? Perhaps they conjured up their own nutrients directly and didn’t bother with cooking?

Mitron seemed to have exactly the same thoughts—first smiling at her teasing before suddenly growing serious. She slowly turned to Elidibus, who looked lost in thought, lazily resting his head in his hand. “Uh… Shouldn’t I?” she asked with worry.

For a second, he looked dumbfounded, blinking at them both. Gaia couldn’t help but laugh in self-depreciation. “Yep, dumb question.”

“It is not. At all. It is—” he interrupted himself as he gathered his thoughts, straightening himself back up. “Consumption of sentient beings was a frequent subject of debate, with as many detractors as it had proponents. It was part of a wider discussion on physicality and the place of humans as living beings on the star, as I recall. Ah, but wait.” His glowing gaze wandered over the busy evening market beyond the terrace. “To appreciate the reasoning behind the debates, there is context you must understand.”

Gaia glanced briefly at Mitron, listening on with fascination. Looks like we got the ball rolling again, she thought, watching a slight smile appear on Elidibus’s face. In the past—the not-so-distant past, just before now—he had shunned his human memories as to not distract himself from his millennia-long duty of restoring his people. Now that he had lost that war, both his unsundered companions gone, all he could do was cherish what little he had not forgotten. Telling his sundered colleagues of the world he had loved with a passion—before it was too late, before he departed too—seemed to lift him out of the grey haze of emotional numbness that came with the quiet resignation of defeat and the consuming hatred he spoke of earlier in the evening.

“You couldn’t starve to death?” Mitron repeated in astonishment.

“The vast majority of animals did not have this blessing. The human body could sustain a basal level of corporeal aether through respiration alone, though complete abstinence from food did not quite allow one to function. But hunger was a rather easy problem to solve.” He held out his palm on the dinner table, as if he could make food appear out of thin air. “We were indeed able to eat products made with our own creation magicks, recycling aether through the digestive system, with no drawbacks. It was recommended by health experts to keep a varied diet for mental and physical wellbeing, but one could feasibly eat nothing but their single favourite food and not be sick, per se.”

Gaia wasn’t even sure she heard that correctly. “I’m sorry? We call that cheating!”

“You sound sundered,” he replied, leaning back in his chair to look down on her and putting his hands in the pockets of his vest—a look she playfully gave back.

“Hang on,” Mitron said, holding her forehead in reflection, “then why eat—”

“Other living beings?” Elidibus finished. “While recycling our own aether was sufficient, ingesting external sources generally felt better. It was a subtly richer, more fulfilling sensory experience. Much like hearing the same sound or melody repetitively may turn it into noise, eating only objects that bore your own aether signature made for fewer harmonics. As such, naturally grown ingredients were the only scarce goods our trade economy was based on—and they were merely a luxury, rather than a vital necessity.”

The waiter came back with their drinks, of a bright, light shade of red that grew deeper as it swirled to the bottom of the tall, thin glasses, the rim adorned with round and glossy dark berries still hanging off their stem. Gaia plucked one out to taste it. Tangy and fragrant. However the restaurant staff called it, that was blackcurrant. She took a sip of her cocktail, taking care to put the branch down on the table. The sweetness of grape rounded off the edges of blackcurrant, and there was a dash of bitterness to top it off—perhaps grapefruit. Pretty nice.

Deudalaphon seemed to enjoy hers. “How’s your sundered mocktail?”

“The millennia have eroded my senses too much for me to be rightly disappointed.” Elidibus put down his glass, his eyes fixed on the beverage. “And so positions diverged on consuming natural ingredients. Some simply did not care enough to seek them out. Some considered that, since it was unnecessary for survival, it was morally wrong for men to eat sentient beings—”

“You mean animals?” Gaia felt bad for interrupting, but she did tire of his roundabout way of saying things sometimes.

“I choose my words with purpose, Gaia. Plants and fungi can be sentient. There were some among us who delighted in making them so.”

“Salad, now with the thrill of the hunt,” Halmarut commented offhandedly with a particularly contented smile, his eyes still searching for Pashtarot.

“A few extended that abstinence to non-sentient life, refusing to take from the star’s bounty for selfish ends,” Elidibus continued, delicately plucking out a berry and rolling it between thumb and index. “But there were others that argued that, as men were creations of the star like the rest of natural living beings, it was foolish arrogance to think our species above the natural order of prey and predator, life and death. I recall it was popular to argue that it was a fair trade to take from the star, so long as it was done without cruelty and that we nurtured and enriched it in return.”

Gaia took her eyes off him. She sensed someone or something approaching—but it was a much more quiet and distant sensation than the rush of darkness she experienced when another Ascian teleported close by. Feels like Pashtarot. Coming from the aetheryte plaza. She threw a look at Halmarut, jerking her head in the direction of the aetheryte. He immediately caught on and gave her an understood nod—and she felt a little pride bloom within her.

“Others were blunter about it,” Elidibus went on, Mitron hanging onto his every word. “They argued that pleasures of the senses were some of life’s greatest wonders, and that to deny ourselves the enjoyment of our physical bodies would risk us sliding into collective apathy.” He tossed the berry in his mouth, before finishing it with a swig of his drink.

Gaia idly tapped a nail on her glass. As mortals, we tell ourselves we should try and experience everything we can before we die—because sooner or later, we die. That’s how it always is. But that mindset was totally foreign to them.

“So.” Mitron drank a small gulp of her cocktail. “Should I eat fish?”

“That is your personal decision to make, as it was then. To some, cooking was art. To others, it was entirely superfluous. We advocated tolerance for a diversity of opinions, and for disagreements to be settled with words,” Elidibus said as he brought his glass to his lips, the reverb lowering the pitch of his voice, “lest the fabric of existence end up as collateral damage.”

“Did my original self eat fish?” Mitron pointed a threatening finger at his face while he drank. “Enough villain monologues.”

He suddenly froze mid-gulp as if something had just hit him, then painstakingly swallowed as he visibly repressed a laugh. Her finger still in the air, Mitron looked like she wasn’t sure whether to be curious or terribly worried by this development.

“I think,” Elidibus managed as he raised his other hand to his forehead—a poor attempt at hiding his smiling face, “I just remembered something.” It only took a few seconds for him to give up entirely on his stoic facade, his grin widening. “Yes. They did.”

“Ah,” Halmarut said, getting up from his chair. “There he is. I was getting worried.”

Gaia spun on her seat to see a now familiar tuft of short blond hair moving through the crowd towards them. Pashtarot snaked his way through patrons, chairs and tables to join them.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he grumbled as he reached their table, “Hydaelyn came up, and I could hardly just teleport in here without causing a commotion.”

“Hydaelyn came up?” Deudalaphon repeated fluttering her eyelids, half-empty glass in hand.

“The Warrior of Light came back from the First with the Oracle in the auracite, as planned,” Pashtarot said, making his way around the table, “and then Hydaelyn appeared to give the girl a physical body. Right there.”

Gaia’s eyes widened. “Ryne’s got a body here already?”

“How practical! We should all have a pocket Hydaelyn for all our instant physical body possession needs,” Deudalaphon nonchalantly commented, sipping her cocktail while Halmarut invited Pashtarot to sit down.

“Elidibus,” the latter called, gripping the back of the seat his colleague was offering him. “How often has she manifested as her own person before? She wasn’t possessing any vessel.”

There was no hint on the Emissary’s face that he had been on the verge of laughing a minute ago. “What did she look like?”

“Couldn’t get a good look before she vanished.” Pashtarot finally sat down next to Deudalaphon as Halmarut quietly left them—likely to find a good secluded spot somewhere to teleport out. “Think she was wearing a white robe that looked like yours, though. Long white hair.”

Elidibus closed his eyes, searching his memory. “Her human body, most likely. Interesting.” He gave his glass a little swirl, the dark red of blackcurrant blending with the clear white grape juice. “Emet-Selch revealed too much for her to keep on lying wholesale and still present as credible to the Sundered. Her new plan should now be to twist the truth in her favour.”

“Is this what’s been holding them up?” Mitron pointed a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the three Scions. “They’ve been communicating with someone ever since we got here.”

“Who? The Scions of the Seventh Dawn?” Pashtarot asked with a raised eyebrow, before noticing the three empty seats at the other end of the table. “Wait a second, don’t tell me—” he turned around to look for Halmarut, to no avail, “—that sly bastard left me to share a table with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn?!”

Deudalaphon laid a soft hand on his bare shoulder. “I arranged for you to sit the furthest away, dear.” She then looked behind Gaia and Mitron, her dark almond-shaped eyes slightly narrowed. “With that said, they left a minute or two ago.”

“What?” Gaia blurted out, spinning around to look for Alisaie, Y’shtola and G’raha and coming up short.

“I didn’t want to interrupt. I always love hearing about the world unsundered, and it is such a rare occurrence to have Elidibus tell it.” Deudalaphon sighed, her smile tinged with sadness. “Not that we have much of a choice of narrator, nowadays.”

“Oh, but you do.” A corner of Elidibus’s mouth twitched, and definitely not upwards. “Her name was Venat. Her version of facts should prove interesting.”

“Was it the Leveilleur girl with the two Miqo’te?” Pashtarot asked Mitron with a nod towards the crowd. “Saw them go in the direction of the aetheryte plaza. Assumed it was to meet with the other three.” He turned to call for the waiter who, in spite of this evening’s activity, apologised profusely for not attending to a new arrival immediately.

“Does this mean they’ve cancelled?” Mitron dared to hope.

“I would refrain from jumping to that conclusion. They might be discussing what stance to adopt before coming back here.” Elidibus plucked another berry from the stem of blackcurrant, waiting for Pashtarot to finish ordering his pint of Coerthan Lowlands ale. “What did she tell them? She spoke in the presence of the Warrior of Light, the Oracle and Thancred, correct?”

Right, Gaia thought, feeling a bit guilty. Thancred had been waiting at the foot of the Crystal Tower, to escort Meteor as soon as he came back with Ryne’s soul. She doubted Meteor needed his assistance at all, but Thancred wanted to make sure Ryne was safe, especially in such a vulnerable state. Am I a bad friend for not waiting for her arrival there like he did?

“Yeah. No idea what she said, however,” Pashtarot grumbled, crossing his arms. “Should’ve stayed behind to investigate a bit before coming. Sorry.”

“No, you made the right decision coming to warn us as fast as you could. Thank you,” Elidibus said quietly.

The waiter cleared his throat and gestured to the three empty seats. “Ladies and gentlemen, will your companions be joining you still?”

“Yes,” Deudalaphon answered before anyone else, cranking her neck to survey the market crowd, “and I believe we will indeed need an additional seat or two.”

Gaia turned around to look, as did Mitron. There was Meteor in his silver suit of armour, making his way to them, along with Thancred with his ivory blond hair, and sure enough, between them was Ryne in her white dress and high black boots, the soft flames of her hair backlit by the lights of the market stalls and her eyes wide with wonder at everything around her. The three other Scions trailed them.

She got up to be more visible and waved to her friend. “Ryne!”

“Gaia!” Ryne’s smile broadened at her sight as she hopped onto the wooden terrace of the restaurant. But she ground to a halt, her face frozen, when her large blue eyes fell on the person sitting next to Gaia, Thancred narrowly stopping before bumping into her.

Oh, yeah. Mitron. Looks exactly the same. Gaia nervously bit her lip. And there’s no way Thancred is gonna leave Ryne alone with our lot. She took a deep breath. This evening so needs to be over already.

Chapter Text

Ryne looked like a hundred thoughts were racing through her mind, standing there awkwardly in the middle of the crowded terrace. If anything, however, it was the Warrior of Light that drew the attention of onlookers—not the petite redhead he was escorting. He must be a bit of a celebrity with the adventurer crowd, Gaia mused, pushing away to the back of her mind the thought that her crowd was likely the sort of demons these adventurers loved to slay.

“Gaia!” Ryne’s innocent face looked the most worried Gaia had ever seen it. “That’s—”

“Hey,” Mitron said with a small wave of the hand, half-turned towards the newcomers with her elbow resting on the back of her chair in an apparent effort to look cool and laid-back. “I’m not the same Mitron.”

“Absolutely,” Gaia added a little too fast, nodding frantically before spreading her fingers in a reassuring gesture. “And, um, we’re cool.”

“Oh.” Ryne’s brow furrowed. “Oh, that’s right, he told us he’d been replaced already…”

“Haha, uh,” Gaia’s nervous eyes found Mitron’s, “yep.” Behind her, Elidibus remained still and quiet, his eyes in his drink. Man, they were being careful with sitting order and I just sat down here next to the soulmate Ryne and Meteor fought off on the First without thinking. Great job.

“Welcome to the Source, Ryne! I hope you’ve had a safe journey from the First!” Deudalaphon had very clearly done her homework. “I’m Deudalaphon, but it’s a bit of a mouthful so you can call me Rhea!” she announced cheerfully, her smile creasing dimples in her round face. “We were just chatting around drinks waiting for your arrival!”

“Oh—thank you!” Ryne’s worried eyes darted to the three empty seats, to Pashtarot—she met him already, right?—then to the crowd around them, and finally to the rest of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn following behind Meteor and her. “But, um, I think there’s too many of us now to join you… I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, Ryne, don’t be,” Y’shtola said kindly, her ears just visible behind Thancred’s shoulders. “The decision to dine out together was quite spontaneous. We didn’t know when you would be back—much less that you would already be here in the flesh.”

Well, that, and it’s entirely Y’shtola’s fault they tagged along, Gaia thought, trying her best to keep her expression neutral. To keep a close eye on me…

“G’raha and I were saying we could go back to the Waking Stones to have a bite,” Alisaie piped up, peeking out from behind her. “Better hurry before Alphinaud ends up eating something abhorrent for dinner.”

“I’m staying.” Meteor’s blunt declaration came as he made his way to the table, determined as ever.

Gaia couldn’t help but notice G’raha’s ears twitched at that, way in the back of their procession. Conflicting agendas, perhaps? She glanced in the direction of Elidibus, at the other end of the table. He had finally turned to acknowledge the Scions’ existence, silently observing.

“Such heroic determination! A man after my own heart!” Deudalaphon exclaimed, offering the Warrior of Light the seat next to her, across Gaia. “Come here. I’ve spent too much time in Sharlayan and I, too, intend to savour an actual meal for a change.” She cranked her neck to look around. “Where’s our waiter gone? Ah, gone to grab your ale, Rhad.”

The Sharlayans in attendance were discussing among each other. “Ryne, would you rather stay here with Gaia or rest at our headquarters for now?” Y’shtola asked, leaning out from behind Thancred. “It’s a little noisy and crowded here.”

Ideally, I’d want to be with Ryne and in a quiet and cozy place and eating the local delicacies, without anyone watching me for signs of Zodiark zealotry. Gaia shut her eyes for a second, sighing dramatically. Such a hard life I live.

Ryne turned to look up at Thancred with her large blue eyes. “I… I think I’d like to stay and catch up with Gaia.” He had this look on his face like he was about to either have an aneurysm or murder every Ascian in his vicinity. Either way, blood would be spilled where it doesn’t belong. “Please,” she insisted, clasping her hands. “I can stay with Meteor.”

Thancred shook his head. “Y’shtola,” he began with a sigh, “you can take the remaining chair, I’ll grab a spare seat somewhere to sit at the end of the table.”

Relieved, Ryne skipped over to Gaia, beaming, and hugged her. Usually, Gaia found it awkward to hug back. Not this time. “Gaia, I’m so glad I can be here with you! It felt so wrong to be left alone while you and the others are saving the world.”

“I can’t promise you we’re gonna have a good time,” Gaia said with a sorry expression as they sat down next to each other while Y’shtola took the eighth seat, opposite Ryne. “But… I guess it’s better together.”

Ryne turned to wave goodbye to Alisaie and G’raha. “See you later! Tell Alphinaud and Urianger I can’t wait to see them again too!” She laid a warm hand on Gaia’s bare arm. “You’ve got to tell me what you’ve been doing these past two weeks!”

Where do I start? Let’s keep the people being crushed to death in flesh walls for later conversation. “We’ve just arrived here. The past week or so we were in Sharlayan, the Scions’ homeland way up north on an island. It’s super cold. There was snow!” Gaia commented breathlessly to an amazed Ryne, before frowning. “And it's been only one week, I think.”

The other girl responded with a cute pout. “Two!”

“Has the First caught up with the Source?” Deudalaphon casually asked her colleagues, sipping her blanc-cassis.

Elidibus had been busy with his blackcurrant berries, slowly and methodically picking them, assessing their shape and firmness before eating them. “The flow of time should dilate back to being more or less synchronised with the Source soon enough. Through millennia of observation, we have found time on a Shard quickens as its dimension nears its end,” he explained, plucking the last fruit clean off its stem. “Mercifully, the day has been saved by valiant heroes, the elemental balance restored, and nature is healing.” The palpable irritation in his low voice perfectly discordant with his optimistic words, he raised his weary eyes to Pashtarot who gave a sympathetic chuckle.

Gaia let out a laugh, though a nervous one. “Oh okay, so I’m not crazy.”

“No,” he said quietly, bringing the berry to his lips. “You are not.”

“Have you been writing in your diary?” Ryne asked, clenching a fist in enthusiasm. “You’ve got to show me!”

Oh gods. My diary. She had brought it with her, too.

“Gaia! Don’t tell me you forgot!” her friend chided in jest as if she had been expecting it, while Gaia hid her reddening face in her hands. Y’shtola is gonna be taking notes here for sure.

“You keep a diary?” Deudalaphon asked, her thin silver eyebrows raised. “So you forgot these past few days. But you’ve arrived in a whole new world, much bigger than you’re used to, and you’ve already had quite the trial. It happens,” she said with a shrug, before winking. “Note your thoughts down tonight, then.”

The waiter came back with Pashtarot’s pint, along with Thancred and his chair, sitting himself down awkwardly at the Scion end of the table, sideways as to leave room for Y’shtola and Ryne’s legs.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the black-haired Elf began, “do you know what you will be ordering, or shall I come back a little later?”

It seemed like Deudalaphon could hardly wait anymore for the Ishgardian dinner she had apparently been planning to have for a while. “Shall we?” she asked the Scions—though they had basically just arrived, the menu handwritten on a board was fairly concise, a sign Gaia took as a good one.

As the Scions nodded, Gaia quickly studied the menu. A lot of it involved things cooked in wine—beef, eggs, chicken, even fish—cheese, potatoes—that they wrote it ’popotoes’ made her raise an eyebrow briefly—snails?, gingerbread, various cakes and flavours of ice cream for dessert. She almost wanted to try the snails for the novelty of it but she was not quite hungry enough for a starter or a meal and dessert.

“Hey,” she said as the others were busy ordering their meals, “think I can skip straight to dessert?”

“Gaia!” Ryne reprimanded her with a light slap on the wrist.

“I’m not this hungry, and for all we know the world could be ending in a couple of days,” she replied with a shrug.

“It might as well,” the waiter agreed flippantly. “Would you rather wait for others to finish their main course, or have it now?”

She hadn't been paying attention to what everyone else picked, but given the choices there was a high chance of cheese—and while Gaia loved cheese, some things just didn't mix. “I'll have the one with a little bit of everything, and yeah, later.”

When they were all done with their orders and the waiter hurried away, Ryne gave her another light slap on the wrist.

“What's wrong? Didn't wanna try the snails? I would have paid to watch that,” Gaia joked to her friend.

“They really just taste like the butter and herbs stuffing,” Y'shtola commented, and Gaia could only guess being blind actually helped with eating snails. “You can try one of my mine.”

Ryne made a show of her displeasure, though her smile told another story. “You're cheating, just ordering the safe dessert!”

Gaia raised her hands to claim innocence. “Hey, so did Elidibus.” She heard him order an assortment of ice cream for himself.

“I am god,” came the quiet, nonchalant answer from the other end of the table.

She crossed her arms. “Ever since he told us that back then they could eat nothing but their favourite food and be fine, and they could just will it into existence, I've been mad. I mean, can you imagine that?”

Her friend's eyebrows shot up in amazement. “Wow! Yeah, in Emet-Selch's recreation of their city, the inhabitants could just create anything they wanted with their own aether. Well, he himself made that whole illusory city!”

Amaurot. She had only heard the name a few times out of Ryne's mouth, yet it came very easily to her. The city where we lived… “You still need to take me there!” It was her turn to give Ryne a playful slap on the wrist.

Deudalaphon finished her drink. “What's this all about? Dear old Emet-Selch made a city on the First?”

Elidibus let out a tired sigh, leaning forward on his elbows. “He recreated Amaurot where it once stood, now under the sea, populated by nameless shades of people going about their daily illusory lives. I suppose that was how he occupied his days. His magicks are bound to eventually fade, but for now his Amaurot lingers on.”

“Great. First I was angry, now I'm devastated,” Pashtarot muttered, putting his pint down and wiping the foam off his lips with the back of his hand. “I just wanted a steak with fried popotoes and you're all going to make this more difficult than it should be.”

“He took care to remake Akademia Anyder as well. The place where Loghrif, Mitron, Halmarut and Lahabrea worked,” Elidibus continued with a hint of a fond smile. “His recreation takes places on the eve of the Final Days hitting Amaurot, or close enough to it, however, so the conditions for sightseeing should be… less than ideal, if memory serves.”

“The place where we worked…” Mitron repeated wistfully, her green eyes lost in the distance, and Gaia could tell she felt exactly as she did. What would happen if we go there? Would memories resurface?

“Is that the place that massive monster of fangs and claws broke out of?” Y'shtola asked her companions with concern. “I am all for Emet-Selch occupying himself, less so when his creations terrorise the local Ondos.”

“I doubt he cared,” Thancred commented gruffly, before lowering his voice. “I doubt they care.”

Deudalaphon either did not hear him or ignored him entirely as she enthusiastically slapped her hand down on the table—the Ascian end of the table—her rosy cheeks complimenting her copper skin nicely. Can Ascians be affected by their physical body getting drunk? “We need to organise this excursion.”

“You mean once we're done,” Pashtarot mumbled in his beer.

“Well, I suppose. But…” Her voice trailed off as she looked to Elidibus. I'd want him to be there, too, Gaia thought warily, their future uncertain.

“In fact, the First houses an authentic, surprisingly well-preserved ruin of Anamnesis Anyder,” he commented offhandedly. “You should find it relevant to your interests, Deudalaphon.”

She responded to that with a look of wonder not unlike Mitron's. Is it where Deudalaphon worked? Gaia wondered as she bit her lower lip in excitement. Real ruins from back then… “I can't wait,” the girl said to herself out loud.

“Sorry, but,” Thancred interrupted, “I thought we were moving past this whole thing. Can I ask what the point of this is?”

Deudalaphon's amazement turned into a slight frown. “Do you truly have to ask? The answer is healthy curiosity.”

“Context matters.” Thancred turned to his protégée, leaning into her. “Up until ten days ago, this charming lady sitting here was possessing the living body of a Sharlayan academic against her will in preparation for the Calamity we narrowly prevented by our actions on the First. You see, Elidibus ordered her to infiltrate our governing body, and specifically a group we call the Archivists, to better wipe out the knowledge our people had accumulated over the centuries.” He pointed a finger at Pashtarot at the other end of the table, who shot back a glare from his pint. “That guy you met earlier was supposed to wipe us out, quite literally. They were doing all of this for the delusional goal of bringing their long gone world back, a plan that involved ultimately exterminating the human race because their race is far superior. Seven hells, even their eating habits were so much better,” he emphasised with an eye roll, “because apparently they could just eat dessert forever like a bunch of children. That dream of theirs should have died with the last Unsundered, but since your friend struck a deal with the Heart of Zodiark,” Gaia noted Thancred did not even look at her, only at a stunned Ryne, “we've got a dead man walking and sitting at this table. So when these people speak of the good old times, understand that what lurks behind 'healthy curiosity’ may be justification for something far more heinous.”

It was Pashtarot who broke the short silence that followed, his hand tightly gripping his pint. “Oh, good. I don't handle sorrowful reminiscences very well. I'm much more comfortable with righteous fury.”

“Far be it from me to sound dismissive,” Y'shtola began calmly, her fingers interlocked, “but what is there to feel 'righteous fury’ over? What Thancred said is an accurate retelling of Elidibus's words. Deudalaphon could confirm, as she was there.”

“Don't be disingenuous. Of course that is an accurate description of our respective orders.” Pashtarot glared at the two of them. “'Context matters’, but only when it's about you, huh? You don't care about the reason why—”

“Correct,” Thancred spoke over him, “I don't care why you were planning to commit genocide. As if there could ever be an acceptable reason—”

“I am making a mental note of that one,” Elidibus commented quietly, too quietly to be heard across the table and over the rising volume of Thancred’s and Pashtarot’s voices.

“You overtly wonder what the point is when we listen attentively to the sole remaining living memory of a civilisation that was exterminated—”

“He isn’t.”

“—then instantly reveal your inane question was in bad faith, as if there was any doubt, because it can only ever be about your little self and how mean we are to you—”

“You were planning to commit genocide—”

“Yeah, and given your support of Hydaelyn, I understand you prefer your genocides to be properly done and wrapped up in a neat little bow rather than merely planned,” Pashtarot continued bluntly while Gaia tried to sit perfectly still. “And speaking of not sounding dismissive, do you hear yourself? I wasn't here to hear the talk of eating habits in the World Unsundered, but neither were you, and it would have cost you nothing not to call the people of eld 'a bunch of children’—”

“It was Y'shtola who insisted on not sounding dismissive,” the Scion corrected, pointing his index finger up. “I meant to.”

“Thancred—” Ryne tried to interject, far too meekly.

“How constructive of you,” Pashtarot sneered at Thancred, “and while you're at it, look Loghrif in the eye instead of pretending she isn't sitting right there when you're accusing her of single-handedly reigniting the threat against your existence!”

Oh, Pashtarot. Gaia stared at her own glass. Should I say something?

“I am sorry, but I must speak up on your usage of ’genocide’ and ’extermination’ as a callback to Thancred’s words,” Y’shtola said, unfazed by the Ascian’s outburst while her companion crossed his arms silently. “You are drawing a false equivalence. What happened to original mankind was an unspeakable tragedy. Emet-Selch showed us, and it was heart-wrenching to watch. But it was a natural disaster that killed them, which they—you—were unable to accept and move on from. There is nothing natural about the Umbral Calamities and concomitant annihilation of entire worlds.”

She spoke so calmly, so matter-of-factly. For his part, Pashtarot produced an unintelligible strangled noise. Gaia thought he might have been choking on his beer for a second, but he wasn’t drinking. As far as she could tell, it was just his own rage he was choking on.

“Presumed natural disaster,” Elidibus corrected, raising his voice to be heard over the ambient chatter while his colleague gathered his furious thoughts. “We never found out the nature or cause of the Final Days, only a way to halt the spread of the anomaly. We did not have the time to research the phenomenon,” he took his glowing eyes off his empty glass to look directly at Y’shtola, and Gaia could see a quiet fury in them. “Because then we were exterminated.”

“Natural,” Pashtarot repeated with a bitter laugh, “she said ’natural’!” He leaned forward over the table to better look at Y’shtola and Thancred, his deep blue eyes wide. “Do you know what’s unnatural and manmade? The Sundering and the continued separation of the star actively maintained by your false gods! What’s natural for the star is to remake itself whole!” He laughed again, and had Gaia been a bystander unaware of the subject matter or the context of this discussion, she might have thought him mad. Mad, and Y’shtola perfectly reasonable. “That’s what its nature tends towards! The Shards are broken and unbalanced, each of them tilted towards an element, and do you know what would eventually happen without our intervention? Without our priming the Source by weakening the dimensional barriers for it to receive the overflowing aether?” He pointed two fingers at Gaia and Ryne. “Floods! Floods of light, darkness, water, fire, whatever—everyone on the reflections is condemned because Hydaelyn is dutifully keeping up her unnatural barriers between dimensions!”

Y’shtola shook her head. “You forget that Hydaelyn did intervene to halt the flood on the First. She refuses to leave all these people to die. But it is costing her.”

“Poor Hydaelyn,” Deudalaphon lamented, mimicking Y’shtola’s head shake and bringing a hand to her mouth. “Who put her into such a situation? Somebody should do something about it.”

“Curious.” The corner of Elidibus’s mouth twitched. “The people of Norvrandt should have gracefully accepted their extinction by natural disaster and moved on, as should have the Garlond Ironworks of the Eighth Umbral Era.”

Gaia, too, raised a hand to her own face—she was trying not to laugh. This really isn’t the moment to laugh. She attempted to distract herself by checking on Mitron, who had been letting the older Ascians speak. Not a good idea—her soulmate also seemed to be silently struggling with containing her own emotions. Ryne, meanwhile, sat perfectly still, eyes firmly on the table.

Neither brand of sarcasm seemed to Thancred’s tastes. “Oh, come on, I don’t remember the people of Norvrandt sacrificing innocents to their dark god for their own selfish survival, Vauthry notwithstanding—and Vauthry was the product of Emet-Selch’s interference, funny how that keeps happening.”

“Sacrificing innocents to their dark god for their own selfish survival?” Deudalaphon repeated, fluttering her eyelids and tilting her head, as if she had misheard. “What a spin! Such a spin, it’s making me dizzy! Or perhaps it’s the blanc-cassis,” she added with a sweet smile to her Ascian colleagues, fanning her face with a hand.

“Is it spin when it is still what you are planning to do?” Thancred asked her pointedly. With such animated talk, one could almost forget Meteor was sitting right there between Y’shtola and Deudalaphon, across Gaia. What does he think of all this? She could swear the Warrior of Light, silently staring straight ahead over her head, was wearing the slightest frown on him. “Twelve thousand years later and you still haven't moved on from the unfortunate end of your civilisation. Except this time, rather than just sacrificing the ’lesser races’ or the children—”

“What?” Elidibus blurted out most uncharacteristically.

“—you are killing fourteen times as many people to bring your buddies back! That,” Thancred finished, spitting out the word, “is the height of selfishness!”

There was a harsh sound of wood scraping wood as Pashtarot nearly pushed himself off his chair, only stopping when Deudalaphon laid a hand on his. “What in all seven of your hells are you babbling about, Waters? Do you just sit there and spout lies?”

“We know your plan was to sacrifice the ’new life’ for the sake of bringing back your dead. What’s more, Emet-Selch straight up told us you planned to sacrifice us.” Thancred shrugged and spread out his hands. “Lies? I can read between the lines, thank you very much. You simply disregarded all non-amaurotine lives like us—”

In contrast to Pashtarot, Elidibus barely moved a muscle. “Your kind did not exist—”

“Oh, of course we didn’t. After all, it’s what you told us in Rak’tika—we don’t exist to you, we’re not truly alive.” Thancred had this slight smile on him as Elidibus slowly raised a hand to hold his forehead, speechless. “As to your ’extermination’, like Y’shtola said, it was the Final Days that decimated you—and then yourselves when you forced your own to give themselves to your new ’god’. What Hydaelyn actually did was save those who could still be saved from you.” He leaned back in his awkwardly sideways chair, crossing his arms. At least Elidibus succeeded in having him sit cramped and uncomfortable, Gaia mused, unable to repress an untimely smile. “Nothing to say to that, I see.”

“Thancred, dear,” Deudalaphon began softly with an appeasing hand gesture, “understand it is hard for us to know where to start when so much of what you say is—”

“—bullshit,” Pashtarot loudly finished for her, prompting her to turn to him again and, with an eyebrow twitch, wordlessly remind him to keep it down, not wanting to attract too much attention. “One more fabrication out of your mortal mouth,” he threatened in a lower voice, “and your friends are going to have to commission the Ironworks for a tube to feed your future meals through, Waters.”

“Oh?” Thancred replied lightly while Ryne brought a hand to her own mouth in shock, embarassment or a combination of both. “I’d like to see you try—”

“No, Thancred, you wouldn’t.” These were the first words out of Meteor’s mouth since this conversation started, and all of them were taken aback. “I would rather hear Elidibus out.”

As silence fell around the table, Elidibus stared back at the Warrior of Light, blinking slowly. Putting his hand down, he straightened himself in his chair to take a deep breath. “First of all, there were no ’lesser races’. Wherever you got this idea, I am fairly confident it was not in Emet-Selch’s words. All human beings were equals, all were immortal, all had vast reserves of aether—not all had the same degree of mastery over that aether, but accommodations were made for the less skilled not to be left behind. You speak of ’amaurotines’ as if they were a distinct culture or caste—probably one that lorded over the rest—but our civilisation was in fact quite global. That was the natural result of countless millennia of being an immortal people capable of freely and easily travelling and communicating.”

Y’shtola looked as if she wanted to speak, but he shut her down with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I have little doubt you have opinions on our relative cultural homogeneity. I will not be taking your uninformed comments until further notice.” The jab seemed to provide Pashtarot with some solace for his swallowed rage. “There were no other sapient species on the star. Again, your kind did not exist, because you arose from our sundered selves,” Elidibus continued calmly. “There were no ’beastmen’ either—the attribution of human souls to beast-like humanoids is something that started happening after the Sundering. Making living creations with humanlike cognitive capabilities was difficult enough, and strictly regulated besides—”

“Hang on—” Y’shtola managed to get in, and this time he did not seem to mind too much, though Gaia did notice he reacted to her interjection with a blink a half-second too long, “sorry to interrupt, but human souls?”

“Yes. It was observed by researchers at the Words of Emet-Selch that there was an intricate pattern to which souls the star gave which bodies.” The deep purple glow of his eyes were not on the Scions anymore, but lost in the distance. “We Unsundered did not have the means to research further—it has not escaped you that the vast majority of our technology and installations fell into ruin, and we…” The process of searching for words to continue his sentence brought his gaze back down to bleak reality. “…found ourselves lacking the manpower to conduct scientific research by virtue of being the sole three survivors of a genocide. However, we did notice that the rules we knew our star to operate on were disrupted by its sundered state.”

“Oh,” Gaia let out, her mind on the mole-like inhabitants of Mord Souq, “hence the beastlike people feeling very human.”

“Correct, Gaia. Some of them even have the Echo, demonstrating without a doubt the human origin of their soul.” He repressed a sigh. “There was nothing like this in the World Unsundered.”

Y’shtola stroke her smooth cheeks in thought. “But, if people with the Echo are indeed your descendants—what of everyone else?”

“You misunderstand me. I did not say those without the Echo do not have human souls. Your souls merely are less awakened, for some reason.” Elidibus turned his gaze to the floor. “Emet-Selch’s hypothesis was that those of you who can more readily develop the Echo were the ones still alive when Hydaelyn sundered existence. As opposed to the millions who died in the Final Days. We never confirmed this.” As his voice grew quieter, Y’shtola and Ryne leaned in slightly to listen. “I did not like asking Emet-Selch to actively identify souls because recognising someone most likely caused him enough pain in the first place. I should have realised far earlier that it contributed to his degrading mental state—”

“Tut-tut, Elidibus,” Deudalaphon wagged a motherly finger, “what did I tell you? No more unreasonable guilt. And you’re slouching again, think of the back pain you’d get if you had a body!”

He gave her the slightest smile before straightening himself to turn to the Scions again. “What else? We did not force anyone to sacrifice themselves to fuel Zodiark. Yet there had to be sacrifices. Either we gave Zodiark enough aether, or the star would very soon run out of its own reserves and become a lifeless husk. And understand that none of us knew what ’enough aether’ would be. None of us knew if Zodiark was even going to work. As far as the eye could see, we were the last surviving species of the star. I presume Emet-Selch informed you of this.” The Scions—even Thancred—nodded. “So, no, the Convocation of Fourteen were not commanding people to die for the cause, as you seem to be picturing it. We left that awful choice to the people themselves.” Elidibus paused, shutting his eyes like he was trying to shove the pain to the back of his mind. “Our ’dark god’, as you call him, was made of volunteers who made that decision. I know some did because they believed themselves less able to fight the Terminus beasts. Less important for the rebuilding effort. Less deserving for one reason or another. I know, because so did I, and within Zodiark, they were me as I was them.”

“So your people sacrificed themselves,” Y’shtola said softly, her eyes lowered. “It is as Emet-Selch told us—he bragged that our kind would never be so selfless. And yet,” her voice became sharper, though the kindness did not entirely leave her, “this conflicts with what followed, doesn’t it? You then proceeded to walk back on that sacrifice by planning to bring back to life those who gave themselves to Zodiark.”

“And you would consider this a failure of character? Of course.” For as much restraint as he showed, he could not suppress the coldness in his words. “As I said, none of us knew if this last ditch attempt would work. It turned out that Zodiark was able to stop the spread of aether corruption without consuming the souls or memories of those within. We did, in fact, get more than enough aether. Hence I made the choice to preserve my people.” He lowered his head, rubbing his temples with his hand covering his eyes and sighing deeply. “A choice with heavy consequences. Zodiark’s aether was insufficient for the next step of repopulating the star, unless I used the rest of the sacrifices’ aether. I stuck to my principles. This resulted in another wave of sacrifices.” Beneath his shadowless hand, he raised his eyes to the Scions at the other end of the table. “Willing sacrifices. As the restoration efforts went on and we collectively sighed a breath of relief that the worst was behind us, it became increasingly obvious people—both those within Zodiark and those without—would want each other back. Of course they would. Wouldn’t you?”

Y’shtola did not answer that, frowning. “But the lives you repopulated the star with…”

“Wildlife. Animals, plants, fungi, macroscopic and microscopic. Recreating entire biospheres and ecosystems. These were the lives we eventually settled on sacrificing to replace the people within Zodiark. Not the entirety of wildlife, of course—I would leave enough for new generations to be naturally made over time.” He paused briefly to watch Y’shtola and Thancred’s uncertain faces. “What else were you picturing? That your species was among the newly-created wildlife? That we would sacrifice children? How anthropocentric of you to draw this conclusion from the mention of ’new life’. You do not even have the slightest idea of how cherished children were in our civilisation of slow-growing immortals, not to mention most of them had—”

“Less anthropocentric than mass slaughter of animals for the comfort of your people,” Thancred interrupted, arms crossed.

“I have wonderful news, then,” Elidibus instantly replied in a remarkably flat voice. “We did have people who agreed with your sentiment. They won.”

“Thancred, didn't you order beef stewed in red wine?” Deudalaphon asked him with the most delighted feigned surprise, while Pashtarot to her left had a sort of whole-body twitch. “So did I! A personal weakness of mine, I blush to admit.” She was actually blushing, but Gaia suspected it was because of the drink. And anger.

“That’s different. We eat as a necessity—”

“No, dear, eating beef stewed in red wine is definitely more comfort than necessity. In fact, mortals could reasonably subsist on a diet of legumes and vegetables. Consider growing some in the glass house you live in instead of throwing stones.” Her smile was as jolly as ever. “If you actually care beyond using this only as an argument against the ancient people.”

For the time being, all Thancred could swallow was his pride. “All right. Your walking back on the consequences of your own actions put aside, none of this changes the fact that resurrecting your people was a pipe dream. Primals can’t bring back the dead.” He turned his head to Y’shtola, who nodded solemnly. “We’ve witnessed this firsthand.”

Huh?! “Come on, we’ve already had this discussion!” Gaia exclaimed in disbelief before she could think. She didn’t want to look at Ryne but, from the corner of her eye, she could make out that her friend was mortified. “You were there, and Y’shtola too!”

The latter’s cloudy eyes widened as the realisation hit her while Thancred narrowed his, glaring at the girl before a perplexed frown slowly grew on his face.

“But… it makes so much more sense that…” His voice trailed off, his uncertain gaze falling to the side, though Gaia did catch it darting to Ryne for a fleeting moment. This is weird.

An awkward silence fell. All five Ascians at the table exchanged looks as Thancred's sentence hung in the air unfinished.

“What does?” Elidibus asked in a clear voice across the table.

Y'shtola cleared her throat. “That is my bad, the memory escaped me for a moment.” She blinked slowly, nervously scratching an itch behind her ear. “It was just the other day, too.”

“But,” Thancred began as he regained his composure, though he sounded less combative than before, “you keep talking about Hydaelyn committing genocide against your people. Emet-Selch said that when she sundered reality, she split you—your people—into fourteen. He showed this on Ryne, right?” he commented, holding out his palm in her direction. “He made another identical Ryne appear.”

She nodded frantically, eager to contribute. “I remember that.”

“Our magical powers are lesser than yours, and Emet-Selch’s recreation of Amaurot made it obvious we became shorter. But I don’t see…” Thancred took on a pained expression, like he was making a sizeable effort to find the right words. “…how this might qualify as ’genocide’.”

“I note that you did not answer my question, but will not press further for the time being,” Elidibus announced bluntly, to which Pashtarot pressed his lips together. He probably thinks Elidibus is being too kind, but I suppose it's better not to embarrass the Scions too much. Not so soon after Ryne's arrival. The emissary paused to let out a long sigh, a hand rubbing his furrowed brow. “Is this all Emet-Selch told you of the Sundering?”

As the Scions nodded, Deudalaphon smiled fondly. “It sounds like him, doesn't it?”

“I can only hope I will soon be finally free of cleaning up behind Emet-Selch's misguided acts of kindness.” Elidibus shut his eyes tightly under his hand. “He was not wrong. He merely took a very generous shortcut. The end result of the Sundering was indeed the splitting of a single soul into fourteen entities. ’Identical’ is a gross simplification—your shards are more so akin to pieces of a broken whole. They are not the same shape, but they fit together.”

“All right, but my point is,” Thancred said slowly, “Hydaelyn didn't kill your people. That is what genocide is.”

Elidibus’s eerie eyes snapped open, staring directly at him. Before he could articulate a reply, Mitron straightened herself up. “Oh, hey, food.”

The dark-haired waiter was back with plates carefully balanced on his hands and forearms. He distributed drinks and starters, putting down in front of Y’shtola a plate of large snails, their spiral shells stuffed with a thick, greenish paste. Ryne wrinkled her nose at the sight.

Gaia turned to Mitron with an air of reproach. “Is this why you've been so silent all along? You were watching for our food like a bird of prey?”

“Please,” she replied with a smile as she picked up her fork and knife, “I've been listening attentively too. Some of us can multitask.”

Gaia put her hands on her hips in feigned outrage at the jab while Ryne giggled. Elidibus silently observed as most of them began eating—salads, cold cuts of ham, cheese, eggs poached in red wine, and snails. Thancred shot back a wary look, tearing off a piece of bread to eat with his ham. “Not going to sermon me for eating meat, are you?”

“Why would I?” the Ascian answered with a shrug. “This animal was already dead whether you eat it now or not, likely before you even ordered. Moral grandstanding will not bring its soul back from the star. Should you wish to make societal changes to prevent future animal suffering, right now is not the time to start. I would rather you eat it than clumsily attempt to use its death as an argument in a debate my people already had a thousand times over.” Elidibus leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “No, presently, I am torn between letting you enjoy your meal and giving you a detailed account of how the Sundering unfolded. I would not want to ruin anyone’s appetite.”

“Feel free to. We’re already watching Y’shtola stab at the innards of snails, could it be any worse?” Gaia offered, making Ryne laugh again while she poked at her own poached egg.

The Mystel shook her head with a smile, bringing a meaty chunk to her mouth, impaled on her tiny fork. “Feel free not to look.”

As they savoured their food, Elidibus let out a long, quiet sigh. “What do you think happened when she tore the fabric of our aether so severely that its corporeal component could not sustain our bodies anymore? When aether of the soul and memories that made up our identities was torn to shreds, its remnants redirected to our weak, ailing bodies to try and keep them alive?” He spoke just loudly enough to be heard across the table, so they all stopped chewing to better listen. “Do you understand that mankind went from living for centuries, free of disease, starvation and old age, to a mortal lifespan most adults were already well into, with entirely new vulnerabilities none had ever encountered before? What do you think happened when men were suddenly deprived of the magicks our entire civilisation and history were founded upon? The magicks we used constantly in our everyday lives to eat, work, travel and fight off wildlife? The magicks all our technology was built around? Because Hydaelyn did not literally put our people to the sword, one by one, you think she did not kill us?” The tranquil fury made his eyes glow brighter, a deep purple-crimson not unlike the drinks they had earlier. “It was a slaughter. People died of hunger, to predators, to the cold, to infected wounds, to childbirth, to each other as they fought for food and shelter. They were lucky if they even survived a couple of years after the Sundering. The species would have died out if not for our help and Hydaelyn creating her Twelve to salvage the situation.”

Their table seemed like a bubble of silence amidst chatting patrons. Only Y’shtola dared speak up. “But was this truly her intention? Or was the Sundering a side-effect of the blow she gave Zodiark?”

That made him laugh bitterly. “Had it been unintended, one might expect her to reach out for an apology or explanation at some point. Any point. Perhaps seek a way to make amends. Perhaps make an effort to preserve the memory of our civilisation at all. Instead, she manifested her pantheon of sycophants to barely prevent an extinction, and left the rest of her former peers to live as beasts for thousands of years as the ruins of our cities fell to the passage of time, forgotten by all, since none could figure out or make use of the technology anymore.” He glared at the Scions, the sinews in his neck tense. “Why do you think none of this is in your history books? Why do you think you never knew of any of this before now? Instead, your legends speak of a vague age of gods and myths to refer to your prehistory as hunters-gatherers. Why would she never tell you the truth? Why must you hear it from us, the vile devils you have always known as agents of darkness? Because wiping out the civilisation that that was able to create a being as powerful as Zodiark was always her goal. Erasing its existence from history was always her intent, never a mistake, and she has spent the past twelve millennia ensuring it remains that way.”

“But…” Thancred began, nervously, “surely, people could have chosen to record all this after the Sundering, right? Via oral history, or like that cave painting on the First. Perhaps they chose not to dwell on it, to move past—”

“Did you listen to a single word he said?” Pashtarot snapped, his knuckles white around his pint of ale.

With another long sigh, Elidibus looked to the night skies above. “When I was Zodiark, I could hear them all. My people. Their thoughts, their prayers for salvation, their wishes for a restored world, to be together again under the resplendent skies that gave our home its name. Do you know what I heard, immediately after the Sundering?” He closed his eyes. “Nothing. I could sense that my people were not physically gone, they were still there in some form, yet there was nothing to hear. That is the most terrifying memory I have to this day. Lying there on the Moon, with Lahabrea and Emet-Selch leaning over my Elidibus vessel, panicked and confused, while I tried to put into words what I was feeling.” He uncrossed his arms to rub his eyes, his head still facing the stars. “People’s ability to form coherent thoughts and sentences were gone. Language, gone. Our rich culture and knowledge accumulated over the millennia, gone. They could not recognise us, or each other, anymore. Loghrif, Mitron, Pashtarot, Deudalaphon, everyone else—we looked at the people we knew and loved moments ago, and terrified beasts stared back. How could they have recorded anything, or chosen not to? They did not even remember who they were. Most died within a handful of years.”

He brought his head back down, his stare boring into Thancred. “If that does not count as death or intentional extermination of a people to you, then I suppose nothing more I could say would change your opinion. But understand that I may take offence with your claims of ’remembering’ my people when you refuse to see the truth and boldly twist facts to demean their humanity, painting them as wrong, unreasonable and ultimately deserving of their fate, because it ‘makes more sense’ to you that she had to be properly justified in her abhorrent actions, your memory so easily deceived by your narrative. If that is how you are going to ‘remember us’, then I would rather you simply forget. Try and put more effort into remembering who wrote your history and crafted your perspective, and why. And when you dismiss my words as the machinations of a Primal, have the intellectual honesty to do the same with hers.”

Had it been up to Gaia, she would have ended all discussion right then and there. Yet Thancred still had to get the last word in. “That's the thing, isn't it? If both of you are biased, unreliable narrators and there is no feasible way to prove who is saying the truth, why should we trust your version over hers?”

Elidibus put his hands up. “Right. After all, she has only been a fraud serving you blatant lies for the past twelve thousand years—”

“All right, conversation over, I'd like to actually have my Ishgardian dinner now,” Thancred spoke over him, shaking his head as he carefully laid a cut of parsley-coated ham on his bread. “Minfilia's soul is finally back home, and I want to be able to enjoy the moment, not argue—”

“But nobody asked you to stay, Waters,” Pashtarot interrupted as he was cutting the crust off his cheese. “In fact, I remember the Oracle telling you she could stay with the Warrior of Light. Perhaps you think the Primal-hunting Ascian slayer needs your Echoless back-up?” He laughed at the absurdity of it while Meteor, for his part, seemed lost in thought. Gaia blinked. Right. Neither Thancred nor Y'shtola has the Echo, huh… “How about this?” Pashtarot continued, his deep blue eyes glaring at the Scions from under his brow. “You let us talk of the good, old, pre-genocide days, and we let you enjoy your meal and each other's company. But first, you apologise to Loghrif.”

For a second, Thancred responded with annoyance. Then, as his gaze turned to Gaia, then Ryne, his expression shifted to that of a scolded child. “I, uh,” he stammered, “sorry about that outburst earlier, Gaia. That was rude of me.”

Between them, Ryne nodded in approval as she brought a saucy piece of runny egg to her mouth.

Gaia would have much to note in her diary tonight.

Chapter Text

Gaia was home.

She was standing in front of a wide, low bed covered in a thick, fluffy white cover. Two plump pillows rested at its head and several more were strewn all over it. Each side had its own nightstand, elegant square pillars of beige marble-like stone, with drawers adorned with thin crystalline handlebars and a small bedside lamp on top. On closer inspection, each of the two lights was a miniature sun dial encased in a glass globe so transparent as to be invisible, supporting a tiny sun shining on the central pillar, functioning as clock and lighting source both. In one corner of the bed, up against the nightstand, sat a doll that, absurdly, reminded her of a tiny shark standing upright on feet it shouldn't have.

Hang on.

A mist floated in the air, obscuring her view of the corners of the room. It was the sort of fog you would encounter outside on a cold morning—not inside, and besides, she didn’t feel cold at all. The ceiling of the bedroom was high, much higher than she was used to. The interior design had a simple and minimalistic appeal to it, the stone walls an off-white colour. A tall cupboard was half-open, its inside illuminated by rows of vertically arranged crystals that shone purple. On one side of the room were three narrow windows that reached nearly as high as the ceiling, their long curtains closed. The bedroom had two exits, doorways without doors. From one of them, that led to a room with a soft blue light, she could faintly hear voices she thought she recognised.

No, wait. I was at the Waking Stones.

She and Ryne had stayed up late chatting and gossiping. Tataru, the cheerful Lalafell lady that made the Scions of the Seventh Dawn actually function behind the scenes, had not only planned for Gaia to have her own private space, but also made last minute arrangements to fit a second bed in the tiny room. There, tucked under the warm covers, she had told her friend of their foray into Fandaniel’s tower, of the other Ascians she met, of Sharlayan and its spacious marble halls and libraries, of the great statue looming over its harbour that they then fought atop the tower, of her practicing her magic in the company of Mitron, Elidibus and Halmarut. She had needed to unwind after what felt like the longest evening ever. Though she had not quite dared to outright accuse the Scions of the Seventh Dawn of mistrusting her, she had confessed to Ryne that she felt uncomfortable sitting in-between the two sides, mortals and Ascians—to which her friend had candidly replied that the true conflict was between those who wanted to protect the star and those who would destroy it.

It hadn’t taken Gaia long to forget that they weren’t in fact two in that tiny bedroom, but three—Elidibus had done such a remarkable job of remaining entirely silent, she wasn’t sure he hadn’t just gone to sleep, so to speak, the weight of his presence in her mind fading from perception. Now that she looked back on it, however, it was unlikely he needed to ’turn off’ to recuperate after consuming all that dark aether earlier. Perhaps he stayed awake and listened to two teenage girls laughing and chitchatting in complete stoic silence. The thought amused her more than it should have. The price he had to pay to break out of his crystalline prison.

Mitron, too, was to watch over her at all times. She had left the girls to their own devices, teleporting away in a dark rift as Ascians did, but most likely hadn’t gone very far. Gaia had sensed a dark presence in her surroundings throughout the evening, though it was still hard for her to tell if it was Mitron, Pashtarot or anyone else. Supposedly, the Waking Stones were outfitted with wards of light to prevent Ascian intrusion—or had been at some point. She hadn’t entirely followed. It was her understanding that the Scions had history with an Ascian breaking and entering, causing at least one death, and after that dinner conversation, she hadn’t quite felt like pressing the subject. Those supposed wards certainly didn’t prevent her, or Unukalhai before her, from walking around the place and sleeping there. Perhaps her darkness was weak enough not to trigger them. Or perhaps these wards just suck, and all the other Ascians are being polite by staying out of Scion HQ. Whatever the case, she wasn’t sure how to feel about Mitron keeping close watch over her. Someone else might have found it creepy, or acted a certain way knowing their every move is being watched. And how must she feel seeing me with Ryne?… For the time being, Gaia had decided to push her discomfort to the back of her mind and simply be herself, and she found that she could very much get used to this kind of sleepover with her best friend.

The fact remained that this place definitely wasn’t the Waking Stones.

That doesn’t make sense.

The architecture looked nothing like the Waking Stones. Perhaps it reminded her a bit of Sharlayan, but there were notable differences, such as the strange verticality of it. She felt no darkness or hostility around her, in the event that she had been kidnapped in her sleep by the renegade Ascians. Instead, not only was she certain she was safe, she had this distinct uncanny feeling that this—this place, this moment—was outside of her present reality.

Cautiously, she took a few steps in the direction of the faint chatter she was hearing. She took care to walk as quietly as she could. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be heard or seen in fear of being spotted—she didn’t want to disturb the peace and quiet of this place. As she walked through this strangely misty bedroom, it hit her.

This feels like I’m walking through a dream.

She passed under one of the tall doorways with no door, towards the blue room. There was nobody there either. She stopped to look at her softly-lit surroundings, still partly concealed by fog. This room looked like a study of sorts, with a wide desk upon which sat a large, transparent blue sphere, and shelves on the walls stacked with glowing blue crystals and objects she thought might be scrolls or books. The walls were adorned with gorgeous pictures of landscapes and large, intricate diagrams that reminded her of family trees in a way. But what drew her attention the most were all the tiny, beautifully detailed models of fantastical creatures and animals she couldn’t quite identify that populated the shelves. Some among them looked like mammals, others were birds or insects, but there were also some sort of blobs—for lack of a better word—that looked like no animal she knew, some round, some shaped more like sticks, some covered in what seemed like tiny hairs. A couple of models stood on the desk among scrolls and crystals haphazardly strewn around the work surface.

Whoever works here's just as tidy as I am.

She stepped closer to the desk. Next to the blue sphere was a vase containing a glass-like flower emitting a faint white glow with red undertones, as elegant as it seemed fragile—she dared not touch it. The sphere itself was quite evidently a world map, lines tracing continents she knew, yet somehow their contours weren’t quite how she remembered them. Maybe you’re just terrible at geography, Gaia, and that’s how they always looked. She raised her hand to touch the globe, curious to feel what it was made of, and its surface lit up in response to her approach, making her recoil in slight surprise. Text popped up in mid air between her hand and the sphere, a picture inserted on the side seemingly depicting the landscape of the area she had moved to touch, a lush, dense forest full of brightly glowing vegetation and crystals sprouting out of the ground and tree bark. Under the text, which she could not understand at first glance and yet felt she could decipher should she put her mind to it, were several depictions of bizarre animals.

It’s a map of the ecosystems on the planet.

Laughter from another room drew her attention to the voices again, clearer as she stepped closer to a tall door left ajar. One voice was a young man’s, speaking of fighting something or someone. Gaia froze in her tracks.

This sounds like Elidibus. But… something in his voice is different.

A woman answered him, and while Gaia couldn’t quite put her finger on whose voice it was, something about it was so uncannily familiar it made her heart skip a beat.

Without making a noise, she inched closer to the door. She held her breath and leaned forward to peer into the gap in the doorway.

Two persons were seated at a table in what seemed to be a dining room bathed in warm orange light with some sort of kitchen on the left side, assorted with cupboards and shelves full of crystals, containers and apparatus she could not identify. A third person was standing, almost out of Gaia's sight blocked by the door. They were leaning on a counter that separated the dining area from a lounge behind it, with a large angled couch and seats that looked quite plush and comfortable arranged around a low square table, a big leafy potted plant barely visible in the corner. Gaia couldn't make out what was further behind the couch, shrouded in the strange ambient fog, though the light seemed to be coming from that direction, the plant casting a long shadow towards them.

“And still you decided to go to the Akademia after that? No wonder she brought you home. You look like a wreck.”

It was the standing person who had spoken, words that sounded foreign to her ears and yet whose meaning was perfectly clear in her mind. The voice she recognised at once, as well, that voice that was both too deep for a woman and too high for a man. Gaia wanted to push the door open just a little bit more so she could get a better look at Mitron—it had to be Mitron, dark brown skin under the black robes and blond hair that fell on lean, toned shoulders.

All three of them were unhooded. Probably a casual or intimate setting, Gaia mused, thinking back on how particular Elidibus was about keeping his hood and mask on when he was not ‘disguised’ as a regular person. Her gaze jumped to the person seated to the right of the table, opposite the kitchen counter. It was him, of course—he was the only one in white robes, though these looked less glossy and somewhat more elaborate than the plain, heavy silk she was used to seeing him in. But the most striking difference was his shoulder-length hair, much longer than the close crop he typically wore. Doesn't look half bad on him. He was half-slumped on the table, supporting his forehead with a hand, looking almost as exhausted as usual.

The third person got up from their seat. “Hang on, we've got something just for muscle soreness!” the tall woman with the disturbingly familiar voice said, turning to rummage through cupboards to the left of Gaia's restricted field of vision. With her back turned to the door, Gaia could only see her blueish black hair falling past her shoulders—much like her own. Oh… “Hey, where did you put that antiphlogistic bark? The prototype sample Halmarut gave us.”

“I always put it in its place, in the upper right cupboard,” Mitron replied pointedly, crossing her arms. “The star only knows where you put it.” There was a pause and a sigh, nearly covered by the sound of jars and pots clinking against each other. “Your other right, love.”

Gods. Gaia shut her eyes in pain. I need to get a closer look at her, but really, what are the chances this bimbo isn’t me?

“So, we can expect this affair to be the headline of this evening, huh?” Mitron said conversationally. “Only one casualty, fortunately.”

“One casualty is too many.” Though the tone of his reply was appropriately sombre, Gaia still found Elidibus's voice different. Like he's lacking something.

“It is, but I expected worse. The guy was a piece of work.”

Elidibus let out a frustrated sigh as he rubbed his forehead. “He was. But you know as well as I do that these facts are going to be distorted by certain people.”

“What isn’t? You did your job getting Nabriales, Emet-Selch and Fandaniel to agree on a clear, united posture, a feat not to be understated.” Mitron paused, the only sound in the room that of the woman searching for her remedy, taking out a few jars here and there to check their contents. “The most important is to have Nabriales publicly repudiate the guy and his ideas as soon as possible.”

“He will. I've gotten in touch with Pashtarot on the subject as well. Likely public opinion will vote for an explicit ban on the use of souls as fuel for power to be enshrined in the law.”

“Found it!” the woman exclaimed triumphantly. “It was up in the cupboard on the right.” She turned around, giving the one small jar a shake to make the white wooden quills inside ring against the glass wall. Her long, dark hair and fringe framed her face, her full lips curled in a wide grin. Gaia shut her eyes in resigned consternation. “Just got to boil it in water for a bit. Real potent stuff for muscle pain, modified to have no side effects on the stomach or coagulation. Tastes like shit though, I told Halmarut but he smiled at me.”

Elidibus raised his head with difficulty, peering out from under his bangs. “I'll take it.” He made the effort to straighten himself in his chair as he gave her a warm smile. “Thank you, Gaia,” he said, before lowering his voice bashfully. “Sorry for intruding like this.”

Oh, I think I know what his voice is lacking…

“Sorry!?” Gaia's dream self repeated in disbelief, laying her free hand to her hip. “I'm the one who proposed you spend the night here!”

Mitron laughed, the same infectious laughter Gaia knew. “And by ‘propose’, I understand she most likely dragged you forcefully by the collar all the way from the Akademia.”

The twelve thousand years.

Gaia quietly drew away from the door, taking her eyes off the scene. It had to be. The uncanny familiarity of this unknown place, how comforting, safe and right it felt. The talk of public opinion and laws, of prototype plants—and animals, her gaze wandering to the miniature models on the messy desk—and of the Akademia. He said that was the place we worked at, back then.

But what was this? The way she suddenly, inexplicably found herself here pointed to a dream. It made no real sense for her to be anywhere but at the Waking Stones, in the tiny bedroom where she fell asleep with Ryne. She had already experienced this peculiar feeling of awareness in a dream, the first time she and Elidibus actually met. But it had taken place somewhere Gaia knew well, the aetheryte across Eden’s lake. This—it was a place her soul knew, so long ago. Maybe it’s because of my time magic somehow? Now that would be some serious progress.

“Law's long overdue,” Gaia heard her original self comment. “Can't say I didn't tell you all so as soon as the aether spring in the Phlegethon Fault turned out to be the emergence of a literal River of the Underworld.”

“Hadn’t happened in a couple of millennia,” Mitron replied over a series of dull thuds of someone pounding something in a container.

“I’m just saying, shouldn’t have waited for a chthonologist to be killed to make a law.” Someone poured water into something. “They’re gonna tear into us tomorrow.”

Gaia held her breath as the thoughts rushed into her mind. Is this real? Can it be real? Did I somehow transport my consciousness into the past? She glanced at the large, glowing blue globe softly illuminating the desk. Not just my consciousness. That thing reacted to my hand, right? With a deep breath, she leaned into the gap between the door and the doorway again to watch the scene.

Her original self—Loghrif—had her back turned to the door again, carefully grinding the bark into a fuming pot. Half out of sight, Mitron had put her hands in the pockets of her robes, in the process pulling them down a bit and exposing a tantalising bit of dark, muscular chest. Oh, Gaia, she thought to herself, feeling her cheeks warm up, resist pushing open that door to stare.

“Pashtarot's had his hands full lately, hasn't he?” Mitron commented casually, before turning to Elidibus. “Off the record, you heard anything about the ongoing Elpis investigation?”

That made his shoulders slump again. He breathed a long, tired sigh. “I am not at a liberty to divulge information on this matter yet.”

“Oh, I heard about this one!” Loghrif said over her shoulder as she continued working the bark in boiling water. “Pashtarot's entrusted the case to Megaera.”

Mitron tilted her head slightly. “Are we suspecting a rogue creation?”

“Don't think he’s allowed to work on it in person given that a fellow member of the Convocation was directly involved.” Loghrif went back to her decoction. “Emmerololth can't either.”

Elidibus leaned on his elbow, his sleeve falling on the table. “My personal interpretation,” he began slowly, making clear he was not telling actual facts, “is that this assignment is a political manoeuvre meant to appease his rival. A gesture of goodwill.”

To that, Mitron said nothing but let out a long, hesitant hum. Loghrif soon joined her in a chorus of unconvinced noises. Their guest raised his eyebrows in wordless agreement, a resigned sigh escaping him.

If this is really the past, should I stay hidden? Or… She thought of G’raha Tia who had become the Crystal Exarch, allegedly originating from a nondescript faraway place when he founded Crystarium, to change the course of history—and succeeded. Could I…? But what would be my excuse? She nervously swept a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes darting around. Do I even need an excuse? But what am I going to tell them? What should I tell them?

“You've been following Hermes's assessment and-or therapy, yeah?” Mitron asked while Loghrif stirred her remedy, the bottom of the pot glowing a faint orange with heat.

Elidibus did not immediately answer, like he was carefully considering his reply. “I have indeed.”

Everything. I should tell them everything.

Timidly, she raised her hand to lightly knock on the door. But it made no sound—likely the door was too thick and heavy.

“Is he still considered the leading candidate for the Seat?” she heard Mitron ask.

That question was met with silence.

“You’re not getting him to spill anything classified, hon, give up,” Loghrif chided, her soulmate apologising to Elidibus for pressing him.

Whatever. Enough thinking, Gaia.

She shifted her weight to push the tall door open with her body and stumbled out into the open.

“I hope he’s getting better,” Loghrif continued like nothing had just happened, her back still turned to them. “I really do think he's the most competent candidate for the job. It's just, you know. Not exactly a bubbly kind of guy.”

Gaia stood there awkwardly in front of the open door, her eyes wide. She gave a little wave. “I—um—hello everyone,” she greeted with a shaky voice.

But none of the three answered or even turned to her, seemingly unaware of her.

“He wouldn’t exactly be the only one,” Mitron said in reply to Loghrif's comment on whoever they were talking about.

“Hello?” Gaia called out louder. She waved at them with both hands now, like she was trying to be seen from far away.

No reaction.

They can't see or hear me, she realised, a little deflated. Yet the world map had reacted to her approach. Is this even supposed to make any sense? she wondered, frowning. There's probably no harm in stepping closer, I guess.

Carefully, she went around the table. It looked like it was made of polished off-white stone, fitting in with the rest of the architecture. She walked up next to Loghrif, who was alternating between grinding the white bark into the simmering water and stirring the mixture with a pestle. The real me. She was a tall, statuesque woman with pale skin and a strong build, though less visibly toned than Mitron. Gaia leaned a little over the kitchen counter to have a better look at her face. Under thick eyebrows, her deep blue eyes had a faint yet striking glow to them, though most unlike the infusion of aether she was used to see in Elidibus's. It looked like hers was a natural part of her irises, her pupils the usual black. Gaia took a step back to size her up. I wanna look as good as her when I'm an adult.

She walked past Loghrif closer to Mitron. Is it rude to stare if nobody knows I'm here? Her soulmate was of an height with Loghrif, her bright lime green eyes shining with the same peculiar light. Gaia was surprised to see a faint vertical line, even darker than the rest of her skin, running from her forehead, over her right eye and down her cheek. Wow. Scars are a soul thing, I guess. Her own eyes wandered lower—she'll have to ask Ryne what the name of that muscle on both sides of the back of the neck is—and she did a double take. Mitron's half-open robes revealed more, in fact, than what she could see from her hiding spot—and she sported no bra, or any similar undergarment. And that was because a bra would have clearly served no purpose here; as far as Gaia could see, that was a man's chest. Didn't Elidibus tell me the real Mitron was a woman? Yet their shoulders, toned though they were, were quite slender, perhaps slightly more so than Loghrif's. Gaia blinked repeatedly, the gears in her skull painstakingly turning, then decided to shrug.

Finally, she turned to Elidibus. The way he sat, leaning on his elbow, his hand supporting his seemingly heavy head, was exactly how he had sat at dinner, and it almost made her laugh. This is the same guy all right, just with longer hair. From up close, his silver locks were matted and disheveled, and his boyish baby-face looked tired indeed, though not nearly as weary as she was used to. He's only had a rough day, not a rough twelve thousand years. Nowhere was it more obvious than in the spark in his eyes, their shade a bright silvery blue, irises faintly glowing like the others' did. His natural eyes, not yet saturated with the darkness that would make him a god to save the world from annihilation.

And yet, this darkness she now noticed, barely perceptible, somewhere in her vicinity. It was not coming from Elidibus. Or rather, not from the Elidibus sitting at the table. She had not sensed it before, in the study.

Wait. Of course.

Taking her eyes off his past self, she looked around the room for the Elidibus she was more familiar with. The kitchen and the dining area were only a corner of it. There was the lounge behind the counter Mitron was leaning on, and to the sides Gaia could make out large objects several times her height in the open space shrouded by mist, perhaps bookshelves. At a glance, she could not find him, yet it could only be his aura she was perceiving.

This must be one of the dream visions he told me about. He said he couldn't interact with anyone in them.

“Elidibus?” she tentatively called out. “You here?”

She couldn't hear any answer. As expected, his past self did not respond to her voice.

“… I've had half a mind to put together a nice welcome meal for our newcomer,” Mitron said as Gaia set out to explore slowly, quietly, not wanting to somehow disturb or interrupt the vision.

Stepping closer to one of the large objects, her breath caught in her chest when she saw something move in the shadow it cast on the stone floor, the light dancing in ripples around her feet. Her mouth hanging open in astonishment, she raised her eyes to the huge aquarium in front of her, even wider than it was high, its crystalline water reflecting an orange light that came from beyond the mists still obscuring her sight. Dozens of fish, each a different shape and shade, swam amidst the brightly-coloured coral, anemones and crystals in a rainbow of marine life. A small, particularly lazy-looking shark with whiskers and a dotted hide rested on the sand bed among a couple of starfish and ugly things Gaia wasn't sure were actually living animals. On the side of the tank was a ladder to access the surface at the top.

“Aren't we doing something for Charon's return to the star already?” Loghrif asked, behind her.

“Yes?” Mitron replied. “Are they mutually exclusive?”

Gaia heard herself—her past self—laugh, and it was exactly how she herself laughed. “Just asking for confirmation, not opposing it.”

She took her eyes off the fish to survey her surroundings again. She could make out another similarly large aquarium on her right, with no coral but rocks and green leafy plants, but she sensed she had not gotten any closer to the dark aura by going that way so far. Maybe in the lounge area, then.

“Altima's in charge of that one,” Mitron pointed out as Gaia started making her way through the ambient mist, towards the large angled couch. “For this one, I'm thinking of fish you wouldn't find here. Bottom feeders, made them for the polar ecosystem. I modified their adipogenesis so their fat is largely intramuscular, evenly distributed. When eaten raw, it melts in the mouth, though it's—”

“For Hermes?” Loghrif interrupted, her attention still visibly focused on her preparation.

“Well, presumably? Once he's discharged—”

This time, Loghrif put her pestle down and turned around to face her soulmate, crossing her arms. “You're planning to welcome Hermes into the Convocation by offering him fish you designed specifically to be delicious?”

“Oh believe me, it's more than able to defend itse—”

“Okay but for Hermes?”

Mitron brought their hand to their mouth as the realisation dawned on them. “… Oh.”

Elidibus's past self, who had remained quiet throughout the conversation, buried his face in both hands, a smile appearing on it in spite of himself.

Loghrif erupted into loud laughter, walking up to Mitron to lay a hand on their shoulder. “He'd straight up throw you off Elpis for this if he could, you know that? Except he isn't there anymore so chucking you off the top floor of the Capitol will have to do,” she said as Mitron hid their face behind their hand in shame, “and then he'll check himself right back into the Words of Emmerololth.”

Gaia touched the back of the couch. It was impossibly soft, as if it were covered in short downy feathers, and just the right degree of firmness when she gave it a squeeze. Even more comfortable than it looks. She could feel she was getting closer to the source of darkness.

“… But don’t feel too bad, hon, at least that fish is a step up from the thing that expels its intestines out of its cloaca when threatened …”

There, Gaia found him as she turned the corner, quietly sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back against the seat of the couch, his arms resting on his thighs, in his plain white robes. The large potted plant in the corner of the room cast a long shadow behind it but he, of course, didn't, so she hadn't noticed him. Wearing neither mask nor hood, his head was slightly tilted back relaxed against the couch, the heavy silky fabric of his hood and collar cushioning his neck, as he stared straight ahead. When he did not move to acknowledge her presence, Gaia raised her head to look at the sight in front of them.

The mists had cleared. They were facing a single, massive window spanning the entire wall on this side of the room. A city stretched out before them, its buildings tall, thin spires that reached into the clear evening skies above, each of them adorned with lit windows. Some had faintly glowing prismatic crystals embedded in their architecture, others supported large helicoidal structures that looked to her like great, hollow coil-shaped horns growing out of the towers. Plants with green and purple leaves seemed to be growing freely on nearly all of them; on one of the buildings closest to the one they were in, she could see some kind of bird fluttering about the vines, likely searching for bugs to feed on. Their apartment had to be fairly high up, as people in the streets way below looked so tiny from here, all clad in hooded black robes, perhaps walking home or going out for a night of revelry. Beyond the horizon, behind the spires and their curved horns, the setting sun was sinking into the sea, bathing the city in its orange light.

Taking a timid, shaky step away from the window was all Gaia could manage before she sat down on the floor next to Elidibus and the tears submerged her. So many things came to her mind, too many thoughts and feelings for her to make sense of and articulate with words. She hugged her knees to her chest, burying her face in them in an attempt to stop shaking, her body racked by sobs.

Behind them, behind the big angled couch and the counter separating it from the dining space, their past selves were carrying on with their discussion. Gaia tried to listen and focus, to pay attention to something—anything.

“… Should I even ask you why you were skulking around the library at the Words of Lahabrea this late?” Loghrif's voice carried over the room.

“No,” their guest answered bluntly, as he did. “I can however tell you it appears to be unrelated to concurrent matters.” Pause. “We hope.”

Mitron groaned. “Don't tell me it involves Elpis too…”

Gaia let the fabric of her trousers soak up her tears, trying to control her breathing and slightly rocking back and forth to distract herself. Just tonight, they had been speaking of visiting ruins of the World Unsundered on the First and going to see Emet-Selch's illusory Amaurot, some day. The prospect had filled her with excitement, of course, but she had feared the emotions it might stir. Surely, when that day came, she would choose to go, and she would be ready to handle those. Like taking her time to breathe deep before diving into cold, dark waters. Instead, she slipped off the metaphorical boat—of course she would—and there it was, unannounced, and her unprepared, and no ruin or illusory recreation could ever match what she was seeing now.

“They tell me to get over it,” he finally said quietly, there, just next to her. “That it was too long ago, that I am a bitter old man holding onto millennia-old grudges. That anyone with sense would let go. And yet, no matter how many millennia have passed, I cannot shake off this disturbing feeling that this tale has been left unfinished, information deliberately kept away from us.” His eyes were still fixed on the horizon, the evening skies reflecting off their unnatural glow. “Were the Final Days a natural disaster? A random tragedy none of us could have ever foreseen, that resulted in an unfortunate series of events? It has always been our assumption. More than ever, I am hoping it was.” Looking at him from under her arm, behind the tears, she saw him clench a fist. “Yet I know for a fact that she has either cut out the memory of her recreated partisans or forbidden them from speaking. Why? How could I get over it when so much was left unsaid and obfuscated? Why should I get over the slaughter and erasure of my people when the demand is coming from the perpetrator?”

Elidibus lowered his head, his short, slightly unkempt silver hair lit by the sunset. “Altima's words the other day still unnerve me. What if I cannot give my people the justice they rightfully deserve? What if the hope I have strived to give them for the past twelve thousand years turns out to have been for nothing? What if the truth dies with me? In all honesty, it terrifies me.

“You have seen it happen in real time.” Though he was clearly addressing her, he was still not looking at her. “Every detail is twisted. Every event distorted. Historical facts moulded into a bedtime story where good triumphs over evil. Children sleep soundly knowing the losers deserved their fate—the winner told them so. They trip over themselves to justify the unjustifiable rather than denounce the bloody foundations of their world. Why should they upend their beliefs when they benefit from the status quo? A false divinity has imposed her will on their collective minds, their souls bathing in her aether with each return to the star—a phenomenon I should hope the Scions of the Seventh Dawn recognise for what it is, and yet they appear reluctant to face it. For what would they stand to gain from such a confrontation?”

With a sigh, he tilted his head back against the couch, shutting his eyes. “As conditioned by my own Primal nature, I sacrificed my memory of my people to better concentrate on my duty to restore them. An acceptable loss for a greater win. I have lost that fight, and now the battle has shifted to honouring their memory—an uphill battle for which I have been sabotaging myself all along. What if I lose that, as well?”

Silence fell, broken only by her sniffing. What could I even say to this? How could some teenage girl like me console him?

She lifted her head from her knees, clearing her throat. “That's a lot of what if's. Like the whole cavalry of them. The sort you'd call superfluous with that flat tone of yours, like you do.”

He neither moved nor said anything.

She wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve. “This place. It's where I lived with Mitron, isn't it?”

“In all likelihood.”

“Of course it is. Stop second guessing yourself. Look at it,” she gestured towards the rest of the room, still holding her knees close to her with her other hand, “it's full of fish tanks, the study next door is such a mess it could have only been mine, and there's a double bed.”

“Right.” He raised a hand to press the palm against his forehead, as if it would do anything to help his memory. “But I cannot recall the actual timeline of events, when you started living together—”

“This is so much already. I don't think you realise it.” She brought her knees closer to rest her chin between them, her gaze lost in the sights before her. “You say you've sacrificed your memory but you've been telling us so many things of this world—”

“Generalities. Principles. Not the people.” He raked his hair forward with his fingers, the sinews in his wrist moving with them. “Their names, their voices, their aether, their smiles, what they did, what they liked. No one beyond the thirteen of us, if even that. Whatever happened on that day or the day after, I do not remember. Only fleeting moments like this one.”

She turned her head to look at him, her knee digging into her right cheek. “But it's our conversation at dinner that triggered this, isn't it? When Mitron talked about eating fish. It made you remember this. Earlier by the lake, you said something about souls resonating. Like echoes of memories resurfacing.”

Again, he did not answer, unmoving.

“I think we can work on it together,” she continued. “You're not fighting that battle alone.”

Seconds passed in silence.

Behind them, the voice of his past self spoke up. “How is your family project coming along?”

“We're seriously looking into it!” she heard herself reply over the sound of her own rummaging for some other cooking utensil.

“That's wonderful to hear. Who will bear the child?”

“Be honest,” Mitron's voice said, “would you trust her with pregnancy?”

Lifting her head slightly, Gaia blinked, her eyes darting from side to side, dumbfounded. What…?

“Did you notice,” Elidibus—the one just next to her—began on a somewhat more conversational tone, his eyes still closed under his hand, “the Warrior of Light seemed to want to speak with either of us after the meal? Perhaps he wished to exchange words over the farce he just witnessed.”

She couldn't help but sit up straighter. “What? No! Why didn't you tell me?”

“You were enjoying yourself with your friend,” he answered plainly, bringing his hand back down to rest on his thigh. “I did not want to interrupt.”

Ryne… “Hey, uh…” She wiped her eyes again. “How does Mitron feel about it? About me and Ryne.” She looked away in embarrassment. “I mean. Being roommates. You know?”

When he did not answer, she turned to him again, only to find his eerie purple eyes staring straight at her and his face wearing one of the least impressed expressions she had seen on him yet.

He knows. “Oh, shut up, okay? I mean—” she blurted out, her cheeks burning and her gaze on the floor, “… do you think she's jealous?”

“Yes, to a degree.” The anxiety was plain enough on her face for him to continue. “Ask them. They understand your history. You are a mortal who will likely reincarnate in a century, give or take. An immortal can take it.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Mitron is a young immortal, however. I would speak with them.”

One day, I will be ready to handle the emotions it might stir… “Okay.”

He raised a thick silver eyebrow at her. “And I would do it sooner than later.”

Gaia sighed in defeat. “You're right.”

She turned away to look over her shoulder at their past selves, chatting and smiling as Loghrif poured—probably clumsily—her remedy for Elidibus into another container and Mitron took a seat at the table. Right. I should ask. She took a deep breath as she turned back to her Elidibus, who had returned to contemplating the city he once lived in.

“Didn't you tell me the real Mitron was a woman?” she found herself asking brusquely, a perplexed frown on her face.

That did nothing to throw him off balance, of course, his eyes still on the evening skyline. “I told you Mitron was a person who happened to possess female anatomy.”

“But, she—um, they?—” she began, her frown deepening, before giving up all pretence and gesturing to her own chest with both hands in a cupping motion, “—got no boobs.”

It took him a couple of seconds to slowly turn his head to look into her eyes, and she got this feeling she had just said something very stupid.

“Magic,” he said in the most unflappable manner, as if nothing could be more obvious.

She spread her hands out in a helplessly dumbfounded gesture. “Then that family talk just now, how…?”

“Science.”

She blinked a couple of times and brought her hands back to her knees. “Okay then.”

Yet, now, as she looked away, she could feel a new question forming in her mind, and the more she thought about it, the more it hurt inside her chest.

“Did we… did Mitron and I really…”

“Have a child?”

“Yeah.”

She found the courage to look at him again. He had thrown his head back against the couch, his eyes shut tight in an obvious effort to remember the answer to her question. She recalled how, earlier by the lake, he had flippantly joked about not having the mental energy to search his memory. As seconds passed in silence, her gaze returned to Amaurot, with all its spires and lit windows, and all the people living their daily lives.

“Sorry,” he finally said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I cannot recall.”

With a final green flash, the sun sank under the sea.

“… That's okay.”

Slowly, she curled up to rest her chin on her knees again. She could feel her eyes well up, but strangely, she managed not to let any tear fall, her gaze on the horizon.

“If I may speak the harsh truth,” she heard him say softly, and she did not stop him, “in hindsight, it would be better if you did not. Young children…” He paused for an instant. “…did not fare well when the Final Days hit.”

His family. “…Yeah.” She remained still, her breathing slow and steady, still fighting those tears. “In the event that you do remember, should I want you to tell me?”

He had not moved, his eyes still closed, though his face had relaxed. “Should you want to know so you may better demand justice and risk never getting it, forever burdening yourself with that knowledge? Or to remain ignorant to spare yourself the needless pain, at the price of not properly honouring their memory?” He paused again, and sighed quietly. “It is not an easy decision to make. It would be wrong of me to make it for you.”

Letting her knees fall to the sides and folding her legs, Gaia leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes, letting the tears fall. “Thanks.”

They both sat in silence, night falling on their city. She did not know how long the dream would last; she did not care.

“Here!” she heard her own voice proudly exclaim in the kitchen, in the back. “Should help with the pain so you can get a good night's sleep! Our couch is real comfortable, you’ll see. Tomorrow's another day.”

“How good is your retroperception though?” Mitron's voice asked lightly. “Because that couch has seen things.”

She thought she heard Elidibus chuckle quietly in response. “So have I.”

Chapter Text

“The view up here,” Ryne panted, her face red with effort and emotion, “is pretty, at least.”

Catching her breath, she adjusted the brown leather shoulder strap that held the aether detector fast against the small of her back and brushed away a strand of copper hair the sweat had made stick to her face, her small frame leaning on Gaia. The winds, dry as they were, had started blowing again.

Dunno if I'd call this ruined, barren land pretty. “Yeah,” Gaia replied, regardless. “I bet it's even more beautiful at night with those crystals glowing.” She frowned. “And the, uh, ruins too. With the blue lines.”

The grass in the lands that sprawled under them was even sparser than in neighbouring Mor Dhona. The rocks here were a dull reddish brown, the noonday sun leaving almost no shadow in the canyons, though the crystals that jutted out of the relief were the same shade of blue as the ones around Revenant's Toll. There were ruins as well, lots of ruins. Unlike the carcasses of imperial war machines in Mor Dhona, however, these looked sleeker, more geometric, with glowing blue lines traced into them. They reminded her of the contraption Garlond Ironworks had used to contain the essence of the first primal, and of the inside of the Crystal Tower, a little. Far in the distance was the sea, and beyond a strait to the left were more barren lands—a desert, in fact.

“Think that strait over there is the border between Lakelands and Ahm Araeng,” Gaia added, pointing a finger at it, “right?”

Ryne's face brightened instantly. “Oh, yeah! It looks like we're on the peninsula—um,” a frown appeared just as quickly, “the peninsula, what's its name again?”

Do we have a name for it anymore? Quite a few places had fallen into oblivion, even within the borders of Norvrandt. It might still have a name in old books, old maps from before the flood—but Gaia wouldn't know. Whatever had been there, there was nobody left to tell the tale of. Perhaps one day, people would settle there once more.

“Hey, if you start sucking at geography, we're never gonna find our way back to our world,” she settled on replying.

The unnatural, disturbing sensation of something tugging on her brain drew her attention away from Ryne and the view. Right. He probably wants to talk with the others about how we should proceed now. She turned and caught Elidibus looking in their direction, a handful of yards away, standing there in his usual hooded white robes and red mask. He had tried to join the rest of the party and reached the end of his invisible aetheric leash. It was nice of him to silently follow along when Ryne and I stepped away to give her a breather.

“Feeling a little better?” Gaia asked Ryne softly before nodding towards the centre of the tower. “You okay with joining them over there?”

Her friend looked up at her with her sweet blue eyes and gave her a tired smile. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Leaving the edge of the structure, they caught up with Elidibus, who gave Gaia the sort of nearly imperceptible nod that expressed his heartfelt gratitude. The three of them started making their way back to the base of the unsightly spire that sat in the centre of the tower’s summit, the metal floor split open here and there following their fight against the Lunar Primal. Pashtarot, Mitron and Meteor stood guard around the subdued massive beast, the Ascian-made chains binding it infused with Ryne’s light; Deudalaphon, Halmarut and Krile were gathered around some sort of console at the base of the spire, alongside the Ironworks engineer in his cobbled-together walking machine, talking to the rest that stayed away from the tower through its communication system. As Gaia, Ryne and Elidibus stepped closer to the centre, a sort of pressure built up all around them. It was somewhat like the pressure one would feel underwater, yet it did not hurt. In fact, Gaia found it strangely comforting, almost like an invisible hug.

At Ryne’s approach, the Primal twitched in its chains, recoiling away from her with a deep, low growl that sounded like the rumbling of an earthquake and made Gaia’s insides shake, despite its weakened state. Its face could hardly be described as one, its features so unnaturally twisted in a vaguely spiral shape that they made no anatomical sense. Its hulking frame was forced into a sitting position by its bonds, its clay-like skin a shade of pinkish brown much like that of the giants imprisoned within the tower's walls. Unlike them, however, the Primal had crystals growing out of its shoulders and back, coalescing into a single, tall spike that would look much like the Crystal Tower if it weren't for its deep purple hue. An improbable number of muscular brown arms were attached to its shoulders—several dozen on each side, perhaps a hundred in total. The giant held a few of them folded in front of its chest, which, much like the Sharlayan Primal, sported a gaping round hole, housing the same black sphere with its myriad tiny stars like a condensed night sky.

Pashtarot grunted behind his ugly, bumpy red mask as he clenched his gloved hand in mid-air, tightening the magical chains around the half-crystal giant's body. It made another rumbling noise. “Fandaniel might've modified the formula so the Lunar Primals attack us,” he grumbled, “but you can't override their aversion to the Light.”

“A creation born of Zodiark's essence knows what its true enemy is.” Elidibus looked up at the hundred-handed Primal, the purple-black metal of its chains glowing a dull white—a light all too familiar to anyone who had lived on the First. The sort that gave you a dull, throbbing headache if you looked up for too long. “I know what those chains feel like,” he said quietly, grabbing the hem of his hood to keep it from sliding back. “They're effective, certainly.”

“Ryne.” Meteor turned to them, the beady, glowing amber eyes of the massive Primal beside him anxiously following his every move. The Ironworks guys made him wear an aether detector as well, strapped to his back, awkwardly nestled under his shield, its tiny red light blinking frantically. “Have you recovered?”

Of the three ’Warriors of Light’ among them, it had been Ryne who had drawn most of the Primal's ire, likely because the Light was strongest in her. The giant had used its many hands to sprout sharp rocks out of fissures it made in the floor with its sheer strength and launch golden spheres of energy at them—her, mainly. Meteor, naturally, had been her stalwart defender, doing his best to deflect blows meant for her, while Halmarut used his mastery over Earth magicks to nullify or redirect the Primal’s. Understandably, however, the stressful experience had left Ryne drained.

“A bit.” Her cheeks were still rosy, but she smiled all the same. “I’m still feeling this… uncomfortable pressure all around me. I thought it was the Primal, but…”

“The aether flow. We’re right in the thick of it,” Mitron said, before pointing a clawed thumb over their shoulder to the two-legged mechanical construct piloted by the Lalafell engineer at the base of the spire. “He’s brave, honestly. If that thing breaks down, his soul’s fried.”

Her long, dark hair fluttering in the wind, Gaia had chosen not to put the hood of her jacket up nor wear her Ascian mask in Ryne’s presence, unlike the rest in their ornate black robes. I’d probably poke an eye out with those spikes anyway. Yet her friend’s comment made her feel unmistakably Ascian. I don’t find that pressure uncomfortable at all… She brushed a strand of hair away behind her ear. “So, what now? If we switch it off, they’ll notice and come.”

“It’s what they’re discussing over there. Something about the signal.”

Voices—most of them male, but Gaia could make out Y’shtola’s as well—were coming out of the Ironworks construct’s loudspeakers through static noise.

When she moved to join them, Ryne bristled. “Sorry, I’m staying here. If I get any closer, it hurts like I’m underwater,” she said meekly, fussing with the strap across her chest. “I don't know how Krile does it.”

“Lalafell bodies evolved to withstand pressure,” Elidibus commented in a perfectly deadpan manner, and Gaia got the feeling they would never find out whether he was joking or not. “Come, Gaia. Let us step closer so I may bask in my own aether before they figure out how to shut this down.”

The two of them left Ryne, Mitron, Meteor and Pashtarot with the Primal, stepping over black pipes and machinery that led them to the structure at the centre of the tower. Gaia couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose when they got close enough—the core, sitting above the console with its blue glowing lines, keys and screens they were all gathered around, had pink, glistening flesh pouring out of it and filling out the gaps in the scaffolding, lined with darker pulsating veins wide like her arm. Tendrils of flesh snaked down the base of the spire, to the sides of the control panel, plunging through the floor of the summit to the rest of the tower below. Though perhaps what unsettled her the most was the pressure of the ambient aether—specifically, the undeniable fact that it felt nicer than before. Absurdly, it made her feel like she was wrapped in a warm, tight blanket.

“—could we get a better view of the commands on the left?” Cid Garlond’s gruff voice asked through the loudspeaker on the right-hand side of the two-legged armoured construct, right behind one of its short robotic arms that ended in tiny articulated metal hands. “You’re aiming the camera too low.”

“I’m trying, boss,” the Lalafell complained, his voice coming through its own separate channel. He was holed up inside a tiny, specially plated cockpit they had haphazardly added onto the original seat of the machine and its control panel. Due to time constraints and the relatively small quantity of metal Halmarut had brought back from the moon so far, they could only build a protective space too small for anyone but a Lalafell to ride in for the time being. “Do you know how long it took me to find a position so the aether detector wouldn’t ride up my—ah, right, not in front of the ladies, Wedge—but now my left arm’s kind of stuck, and I feel a headache coming on, too.”

“You shall be lavishly compensated for the brain cancer the radio waves are doubtlessly giving you as we speak,” Nero’s voice pompously spoke over the others, “once I make a fortune selling this to the Eorzean Grand Companies—”

Cid’s sigh made the radio crackle. “No, we won’t, Nero, this is about saving people—”

“Oh, of course, I forgot we were a charity slaving for the armies that spilt our own blood! And by the way, these are beastmen, not—”

“I’m going to strangle him,” Alisaie’s voice said in the background.

“—ignore the girl, she can’t reach my neck—”

“Allagan controls, as expected,” Elidibus said to his two colleagues, stepping away from the Ironworks construct Krile had taken shelter under. The pressure does noticeably drop around it.

Halmarut nodded, the face of his mask with its inverted-Y lines and half-closed eye slits complementing his solemn expression. To his left, Deudalaphon stood of an height with Elidibus, her hooded head reaching just above Halmarut’s elbow. Her red mask pointed downwards, much like Gaia’s and Mitron’s, but hers sported a pair of almond-shaped eye slits, to the side of and under horizontally-ridged arcs that curved up symmetrically from the bridge of her nose to the sides of her forehead in a shape reminiscent of a goat’s horns.

She playfully elbowed Gaia in the ribs—with her left arm, rather than the right with its sleeve adorned with a golden spike, a gesture no doubt practised over the past ten thousand years. “Do you know how you can tell something is of Allagan origin?” she asked her, her smile jolly as ever under the tip of her mask. “It’s horrifically tacky.”

Gaia laughed. “Including Fandaniel?”

“Especially Fandaniel. You have no idea how much of a favour the Ascian wardrobe did him.” Deudalaphon made a hissing noise, breathing in through gritted teeth, while Halmarut nodded gravely again.

“Why'd he wear his own robes anyway?” Gaia tried hard not to think of that strange, fleeting connection she felt with him atop the other tower—both of them the only Ascians wearing their own clothes, unmasked, sharing a remarkably non-hostile glance.

“He decided to be the problem child as soon as the news of my death reached him,” Elidibus said flatly. He had made his way around the right side of the control panel to lean against the scaffolding, pressing his forehead against the black metal. He actually is basking, the snake, Gaia thought with a smile, noting he carefully positioned himself to narrowly avoid touching the pulsating flesh. Good thing we don't share a sense of smell, though. Yet.

“Emet-Selch's death, in fact,” Halmarut corrected, “was the moment he left without warning.”

“I see.” The corner of Elidibus’s mouth twitched beside one of his mask’s fangs. “It must have emboldened him to confront me.”

“Speaking of,” his colleague said, raising his head and pointing to the core of the tower above them, “tell me if you see the same aether inside as I do, from up close.”

Elidibus nonchalantly drew his right arm back and swung it to the side, his hand landing flat on the pink flesh with a disturbingly moist slap that made Gaia cringe. Unfazed, he felt for a pulsating vein as he slowly tilted his head all the way back to look at the structure’s core above him, his hood sliding back on his shoulders. The wind made some of his short hair stick up.

“Varis,” he muttered after a moment. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Halmarut stroked his dark green chin beard. “It does?”

“Emet-Selch,” he sighed, bringing his head back down to rest against the scaffolding again, wiping whatever fluids were on his hand on the metal, “eventually decided to conduct experiments on his own brood, namely the lineage that gave birth to Varis and Zenos.”

Right, Gaia thought, frowning slightly. I guess they can have children with us, since they can possess mortal bodies…

“He tinkered with their sundered souls and corporeal aether,” Elidibus continued. “Lahabrea was involved. Old research—though I am guessing not his, as such acts were considered against nature back then, and Lahabrea was not the sort of man to take that lightly.” With his other hand, he lazily grabbed his hood off his back to put it back on. “Arguably, ’against nature’ largely lost its meaning after the Sundering. As did many things.”

“What was he hoping to accomplish?” Halmarut asked, his head slightly tilted to the side. “Piecing back together the soul?”

“The Sundering altered the structure of living beings’ aether in such a way that attempting to accomplish that without a rejoining of the star is perilous at best.” He paused for a moment to breathe slowly against the core pillar, his neck and shoulders relaxed.

He really seems to be enjoying that flow of aether. It's probably even stronger where he is standing… Gaia felt a tinge of unease as she thought of her own strange enjoyment of this ambient pressure Ryne found unbearable. She threw her friend a glance—it seemed Mitron’s company was providing her with enough distraction to make her laugh. That's good.

“Emet-Selch sought to artificially enhance the hereditary properties of aether in an attempt to model the aetheric structure of his descendants after his own,” Elidibus continued, “to make them more receptive to modifications that would bring them closer to mankind’s original state.”

“On Garleans? A little counterproductive, isn’t it?” Deudalaphon put her hand on her hip before turning to Gaia, taking on her usual motherly manners. “You might have noticed, Gaia—Garleans, the race of people with a third eye on their forehead, like Cid and Nero, have a distinct lack of magical abilities. Hence the reliance on technology.” Her smile dug dimples into her cheeks. “I enjoy them.”

“Oh,” Gaia brought her hand to her mouth with a little laugh, “I thought that was tacky jewellery he wore on his forehead.”

Deudalaphon echoed her laugh. “You are forgiven—Nero does know his Allagan tech after all. Still, though,” she turned to Elidibus again, “Emet-Selch chose to experiment on Garleans?”

“They are the least tainted by Hydaelyn,” he chuckled, his head turned towards them but still resting on the pillar. “I would call his experiment a technical success. In practice, however—the result is Zenos. Unusable.”

“And Fandaniel knows this, I suppose.” Deudalaphon crossed her arms with a sigh as Halmarut nodded.

“Fandaniel is tacky, not stupid,” Elidibus muttered, rolling his forehead on the metal to face the scaffolding again while Halmarut gave another nod of confirmation.

Gaia mimicked Deudalaphon’s posture. “But, wait.” She felt stupid for asking, but she had to. “You Unsundered can have children with mortals and the babies have superpowers?”

“No,” Halmarut answered with his genial smile, “the resulting children are merely the product of the mortal bodies they possess—average mortals. Hence Emet-Selch’s experiments to enhance them ’against nature’.”

Elidibus let out an audible groan. “Not even Zodiark could have saved this star had Lahabrea and Emet-Selch each casually bred their own armies of Zenoses.”

Gaia burst out laughing. “But that was the ultimate villain plan, outbreeding the Sundered to take over the world. You ever contributed?”

“A tiresome process I have never found worth the bother,” he replied matter-of-factly, and somehow that was exactly the answer she had expected, making her laugh louder.

“HEY—ASCIANS!” a voice bellowed from the crackling loudspeaker. “Are you listening, or are the immortal agents of chaos and darkness planning on gossiping all day?”

“Oh, I’ve been listening all along!” Deudalaphon replied loudly in the direction of the Ironworks walker. “But admit it, Nero—you’d love to hear our age-old tales of intrigue, assassinations and warmongering!” she added with an entirely inappropriate wink to Gaia. “So it does send data along with the aether?”

“It would explain why the Ascians were instantly made aware of our incursion when we stopped the flow of aether from the tower at the Aetherfont,” Krile said from under the Ironworks mech, sheltered from the dark pressure by its radio emissions, though she looked ready to jump out at any moment to avoid being crushed by sudden movement.

“Yes, well, it turns out the security on this panel’s user interface is… subpar,” Cid’s voice said with surprise. “Calling it a user interface is a stretch, really. It’s all code—unprotected. We can able to modify the value of the data sent with relatively little effort.”

“I expected better from late Allag’s chief scientist.” Gaia could picture Nero turning his nose up at such amateurism.

Halmarut clasped his hands behind his back. “Likely, he did not expect modern mortals capable of such prowess.”

“That, and he has gone off the deep end,” Elidibus mumbled to his pillar.

“So you’re saying we could send falsified data to their headquarters in Garlemald?” Deudalaphon’s sweet smile turned mischievous. “Though I doubt it will take them long before they notice the discrepancy between what the tower says it’s sending them and the aether it is actually sending them. Still…” She looked up to the black spire standing tall above them, its tip radiating pulses of dark aether, deep purple and crimson. “It should be worth it just to buy us time to free the prisoners. That should deprive them of prayers, and thus a significant amount of aether, even if we don’t shut down the tower’s passive drain of the telluric currants immediately.”

“But why not shut the whole thing down now?” the Ironworks Lalafell asked from within the cockpit, his voice a little strained—likely from whatever position he was contorted in. “We want them to have as little aether as possible for their Primal, right?”

“The minute Fandaniel and Altima figure out the deception, you can forget about pulling it off anywhere else,” Elidibus replied behind the control panel, his head tilted in their direction and speaking up clearly to be heard over the radio. “They are able to trigger the collapse of a tower, killing everyone inside in the midst of their prayers. While it gets rid of one tower and its continuous supply of aether definitely, the surge from the mass sacrifice may well offset their loss.”

“We’re wasting our time not fighting them in Garlemald right now,” Pashtarot said loudly enough, a dozen yards away. “The more we wait, the more aether they get either way. Do we want to prevent them from freeing Zodiark or not?”

“If you do that, you risk them deciding to kill everyone near instantly, which might result in giving them just enough aether to break Zodiark out anyway.” It almost sounded like he and Pashtarot were engaged in a shouting match to be heard over the wind and the distance, though they were just both committed to staying where they were—getting a high off the tower’s aether and keeping a Lunar Primal in chains, respectively. “But covertly cutting off their active supply by freeing as many prisoners as we can and then striking might just work,” Elidibus went on, before his voice dropped slightly. “If we are fast enough.”

Pashtarot gave a self-explanatory grunt.

A dramatic sigh crackled through the radio. “Unfortunately, I have not yet acquired the skill to be everywhere at once to dispense my wisdom on Allagan hacking.”

“But we could make more of these tempering-proof mechs,” Cid told his companion. “We’ll have to check and compare the reports on the aether detectors our friends are wearing, but the fact that Wedge was able to get all the way up there means our experiment is a success.”

“Always happy to be the canary in the ceruleum mine, boss,” came the tired reply from the cockpit.

“Ah, yes, crafting for free—and from scratch. And when exactly do you intend to make these? I need my beauty sleep, Garlond.”

“I don’t think we need to make them from scratch, Nero.”

“Correct,” Halmarut said with a polite smile, “there are plenty of constructs similar to this one scattered throughout Ilsabard we could… borrow.”

“Nor do we need beauty sleeps as often as mortals. Zodiark’s aether has done the heavy lifting, keeping me fresh as a daisy for the last ten thousand years.” Deudalaphon let out one of her little grandma jiggles. “Say, I bet I could make a replica of this mech. I’d love to try my hand at it, even!” she proposed enthusiastically, turning to her much larger colleague. “I’d rather you bring more exadamantium back from the Moon, though, rather than risk our friends’ lives by coming up with my own.”

“Halmarut’s shipping and handling,” Elidibus commented offhandedly, finally pulling himself off the tower’s central pillar to stretch out and turn to the other Ascians. “How is Hydaelyn’s lapdog reacting to your scavenging?”

“Noisily, but it keeps its distance—ah, but you meant the Watcher, of course.” He chuckled. “I explained the situation with Fandaniel. He seemed grateful for the information and went off to reinforce the seals—”

“Very thoughtful of him. Doing his part to save the world, one Crushing Brand at a time.”

“—though not before slyly commenting that this was all a ’self-made problem’.”

“Tool.” Something about the calm yet pithy way Elidibus said it made Gaia laugh in spite of herself. “As if Fandaniel would be what he is today without the Sundering. But of course, that is our fault as well.” He adjusted his mask over his face, though he could not conceal his clenched jaw. “We may yet hope that Zodiark breaking free of his bonds will trigger a great shockwave, flattening all structures in the immediate perimeter of his prison.”

Krile cleared her throat. “Perhaps the tower raiding process could be sped up if we could turn off the tempering pulses of aether the edifices emit?” She peeked out from under the mech’s body. “Is that possible, Wedge? Maybe reduce its range?”

“So we could involve more people than just a precious few Echo bearers to free the hostages?” Cid pondered.

“It would help with teleporting closer to the tower as well, perhaps allowing us to quickly get in and out of the lower levels,” Deudalaphon chimed in, smiling at Krile’s nod.

“Maybe we could. See if we could use that self-destruct command in a delayed fashion, too, somehow. We need to figure out everything we can do with this tower’s controls.” Cid let out a heavy but determined sigh. “We need to figure out everything we can do with this tower’s controls.”

“I’m not getting paid enough for this,” Wedge muttered—to himself, perhaps, but his voice comm made it public.

“In the meantime, we need to start working on freeing the Gigas.” Krile threw Deudalaphon a knowing, worried look. “It’s a bit of an ordeal. Thankfully, they’re huge, so there seem to be fewer of them than there were Sharlayans…”

When Deudalaphon gestured to Pashtarot to signify they were about to move, he responded with a wave of his own towards the Lunar Primal. “What do I do with Hecatoncheir?”

“Bring him to me. This is Carteneau—saturated with astral energies from the Seventh and the earth-aspected remnants from its proximity to the Fourth's epicentre. We'll see if we can base the falsified data on his aether structure. Our Emissary can devour him later. Atlas,” she called, cranking her neck to look up at Halmarut, “I’d rather you stay with us, manipulating astral earth is your field.” When he nodded, she turned to Krile, under her makeshift mechanical roof. “Will you be all right freeing the Gigas with them?”

“I won’t be the only light wielder this time,” the Lalafell replied with a smile, the cat ears on her hood waving in the wind. “Thank you, Rhea.”

The heavy steps of the Primal made the metal floor shake as it reluctantly followed Pashtarot and Mitron to the console, its massive body of earth and crystals tethered to the Ascians by an invisible force.

“No teleporting around this time, I presume,” Mitron commented, raising their head to the glowing spire above them.

This time. As opposed to the other time—the chaos after Fandaniel triggered the collapse of the tower and the scramble to save any prisoner they could. Attempts to cut them out of their prisons resulted in the flesh trapping them swelling and swelling… The first time it happened, she had frozen and turned away from the horrible sight like an idiot, like a coward. But that didn’t stop her from hearing that crunching noise. She could have helped that poor woman from her ghastly death. She could have slowed down time, she could have absorbed some of the overflowing dark aether to stop the swelling, or perhaps… She swallowed in an attempt to overcome the nausea. I don’t want Ryne to experience that.

“Indeed, but there is no tower crumbling down around us, either,” Elidibus said in his usual flat tone, yet Gaia had this inkling he meant it for her, to reassure her. He probably knows what’s going through my head. He showed no sign he did, of course. Thank you, she thought, hoping he would hear it. “Still, I would rather not spend the entire afternoon inside Varis zos Galvus’s misshapen, cancerous flesh if it can be helped,” he continued, before setting off to join Meteor and Ryne. “Let us go.”

Gaia was about to follow him when something stopped her in her tracks. It was almost like a pull, enticing her to stay here, under this dark pressure she found pleasant, lightly squeezing her like a comforting hug. I don’t wanna go down and get hostages killed again… Can’t I stay with Deudalaphon and Halmarut? Her mind suddenly started searching for excuses to remain here. Maybe I could help them with my time magic, or maybe…

“Gaia,” Mitron’s voice interrupted, “let’s go. We’ve got wrongs to right.”

She blinked, finding herself staring at her soulmate, a confident smile under the point of their red mask and their gloved hand outstretched, inviting her to follow. Behind Mitron, Pashtarot was walking away, Elidibus had stopped to glance at her over his shoulder, and Ryne was looking at her with anticipation. Ryne. Of course, I’ve got to come and help her—help them all. She shook her head. “Sorry,” she told them with an apologetic smile, “my brain had a moment.”

Gaia took a step forward, then another, pulling herself off the invisible embrace cocooning her. The pressure lightened as she walked away beside Mitron to join Ryne, until it was gone from her mind. Absurdly, she found herself missing it and the comforting sensation it gave her, the queasiness she felt at the prospect of seeing the gross innards of the tower again only increasing in response, but she forced herself to take deep breaths, focusing on the breeze caressing her face.

Together, they went back the way they came from, entering the tower again from the summit.

Chapter Text

The air grew warm and heavy as darkness fell all around them, swallowing the daylight from outside. The walls breathed. Increase the aspect of earth to dry out the air, but not too much… Ice to cool down, wind to breathe more fully… Gaia had been practising how to adjust the balance of her own aether over the past few days. For now, she found she couldn’t pull it off as well as Halmarut did—wind and fire were the elements she found easiest to manipulate—but it was enough to render the atmosphere within the tower tolerable.

The inside of this tower, unlike the one on the island near Sharlayan, had crystals embedded in the black metal of its scaffolding. Though the ambient darkness gave them deep purple bruises here and there, part of them still shone with their natural light, a sky blue hue not unlike the Crystal Tower. According to Krile, the tribe of giants that had lived in these lands for thousands of years had come to worship the tower unearthed by the most recent Calamity to strike the region, their shamans carrying crude replicas of the edifice on their persons. Hence the Crystal Tower awkwardly growing out of their many-armed god’s back.

Krile and Ryne lit the way down the spiralling path, using their auras to illuminate their surroundings. Gaia didn’t really find it necessary—if anything, it blinded her a little. They carefully avoided debris left from earlier fights and stepped over the grotesquely deformed corpses of unfortunate soldiers, some of them still wearing—for lack of a better word—tatters of bright red uniforms. A few had their skin turned into a slimy, tar-like substance. Best not to think too much about that. She decided to stare straight ahead instead and kept up the pace.

It was only when they got close enough to a wall, its pink flesh bulging around the tower’s black structure, that Gaia fully grasped how massive the giants they came here to free actually were. The one in front of her had its head way up there, perhaps four times her height, and was wide enough to fit at least three people across. Only its brutish face, eyes shut tight beneath bushy white eyebrows, was left uncovered, the flesh wall encasing the rest of its head and entire body from the chin down. As she had noticed in the other tower, the prisoners’ ears were usually covered by the flesh, leaving them trapped in their own silent prison of hallucinations and pain. The whole concept made her stomach churn. A low growl escaped the giant’s pink lips, covering wide, pointed teeth. Listening closely, it sounded as though it were chanting, perhaps praying in its tongue. There were a couple more of them around them on this circular floor—and more below.

“As I was saying outside, there should be fewer of them than there were Sharlayan hostages, as this tower doesn’t look much bigger than the others,” Krile said, squinting to look around and count the giants on this floor. They must look even more impressive from her height. “When I worked with Deudalaphon to free people from their cocoons, we…” She hissed as she searched for the right words, her sweet face contorting in discomfort. “…did so through trial and error. As you are all aware, the flesh in these walls reacts to outside aggression by swelling… and sometimes secreting mucus. It’s all around them, trapping them inside.”

“Oh… oh, no.” Ryne wore a look of terror mixed with disgust as she looked up at the giant’s head, realising what would happen in case of a botched rescue attempt.

“It can be cut then prised open with a tool like a blade, or your hands, even,” Krile nodded to Mitron as they held up their gloved hand, the sharp claws on the first three fingers reflecting the Lalafell’s light, “but you need to be very careful. We found that channeling light onto the prisoners or absorbing some the ambient darkness seem to ease their tempering-induced fears, and could actively mitigate the wall’s swelling.”

“Basic medical principles,” Elidibus said matter-of-factly, arms folded. “A broad application of ice and precise use of lightning on the capillaries to induce vasoconstriction; using earth and water to manipulate hydrostatic and osmotic pressures to keep fluid out of interstitial spaces. Light works to slow down the inflammatory response. Wind and earth could be used to dry out the exposed mucosa.”

“That is roughly what Deudalaphon said, I believe,” Krile replied with a smile.

“Putting theory into practice is the arduous part.” A short, frustrated sigh escaped him. “None of us here is a trained physician.”

“Gravity in the right place should push all that flesh away,” Pashtarot shrugged, summoning his massive, ugly metal chunk of a sword into his hand. “Consider me an unlicensed barber surgeon.”

Mitron let out a laugh at the sight. “She said to be careful with blades.”

“And I am. You’ve never seen how gracefully I can wield it.”

It made Ryne giggle in spite of the circumstances. “I’ve got a couple of daggers, if anyone needs them.”

“I think we should split into pairs,” Krile said, holding up her tiny index and middle fingers, “one light, one dark. As it happens, you guys can see aether, which can come in handy to know where to cut. Three of us use blades: Meteor, Pashtarot and Mitron—and Ryne, I forgot you had daggers!” she exclaimed in a hushed voice, making the girl blush prettily. The ears on her yellow hood bounced as she turned to Gaia. “Since Meteor is a bit less adept at manipulating light than Ryne or myself—sorry Meteor, you can’t be good at everything!” she interrupted herself with a laugh at his sheepish smile. “You should team up with him, Gaia. Your command over darkness should balance out his—ahem—comparatively modest light-wielding abilities.”

Oh, man, that's a lot of trust she's putting in me. Gaia pressed her lips together but nodded nonetheless.

“Ryne could go with Pashtarot—for the daggers, of course…”

“Nonsense,” he scoffed, while Ryne hid her smile behind a hand, “my sword is exactly the right size for these guys.”

“…and I could go with Mitron,” Krile finished, looking up at them with her large blue eyes. “I am practised in conjury, so I think we could find ways to work together on water aether.”

Mitron’s crystalline gunblade—altogether much smaller than Pashtarot’s weapon—materialised in their left hand as they stepped closer to the giant before them. “Sounds good.”

“I see you’re not counting the hanger-on,” Gaia remarked, casually pointing to Elidibus with her thumb. “You’re right, mind you.”

“I shall oversee the rescue efforts,” came the unflappable reply, his arms still crossed.

“The three of us can start with the Gigas on that side,” Meteor said—Gaia was still caught off guard whenever he spoke without being addressed first—pointing to the giant that was the furthest from them in the circular room. It was isolated from the others, embedded in the wall across the large central pillar, a jumble of metal, flesh and crystals nearly as dark as the scaffolding.

Elidibus glanced in its direction and finally unfolded his arms. “Good thinking, Warrior of Light. I would rather we did not cause a chain reaction so soon.”

With Krile whispering them good luck, Ryne giving her the sort of timid wave that did a horrible job at hiding how scared she was and Mitron offering a thumbs-up, the three of them crossed the room, their path dimly lit by the faint glow of Meteor’s sword and shield, stepping over and around things Gaia preferred not to look too closely at. She glanced over her shoulder at Ryne and her new Ascian bodyguard, heading towards another part of the room, sizing up the giant they had chosen to work on first. They made an unlikely couple, yet Gaia knew her friend was perfect safe with Pashtarot’s grumpy self. She smiled to herself.

When they reached the feet—presumably—of their own giant, she was surprised to find it silent, unlike most of the prisoners trapped in nightmarish visions. Its eyes were closed, as though it were sleeping peacefully.

“Uhh, it’s not dead, is it?” she asked in a whisper.

“No,” Elidibus answered flatly. “Aethersight, Gaia. Its aether is still present, though weak.”

She mentally kicked herself. Right, that’s another thing I need to work on.

He stepped closer to the fleshy wall, gesturing for Meteor to follow. “Cut here, vertically,” he said quietly, tracing a short line in the air with his finger. “Its right leg is just to the right of it.” He recoiled instinctively as Meteor brought his shining blade closer. “Infuse it with light mildly to begin. Gaia,” Elidibus called, and she realised she had been holding her breath, watching the tip of Meteor’s sword inch closer to the glistening pink flesh, “come here and feel the darkness on this side,” he said, motioning to the left side of the wall. “Make it yours. Manipulate wind aether to gently blow it dry. Apply ice liberally, from his blade outward. Touching the wall will help—”

“Oh, hells no,” she muttered as she walked up to them, raising her hands in a position to start working some magic but decidedly not laying them on the wall.

“You are to take all the help you can get, immediately.” His tone left little up for argument, though he gently laid his own hand on the soft, wet wall to encourage her.

He's so sweet. “Nooooo…” she whispered theatrically, moving a hand closer to the wall, beside his. She couldn’t help but close her eyes just before her palm made contact. Beneath her fingers, the wall felt like the inner part of her lips, soft, warm and moist but not quite as wet as the inside of the mouth. The smell of tepid raw meat was not as overwhelming up close as she had feared—or perhaps she had already grown used to the ambient scent. At least, no one but Elidibus and Meteor could see the face she was making.

“Now, what you did to your own elemental balance earlier—project that onto the flesh, only stronger.”

She briefly opened an eye to check where her hand was relative to Meteor's blade, which still hovered just above the wall, casting a dim light. Beneath her right hand, the flesh glistened, slightly uneven to the touch—whether there were veins or muscles beneath, she didn't particularly care to find out. But wait… what's under my hand actually matters, doesn't it? He said things about capillaries and—

“It does not. I was showing off.” He said it so flatly she couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “This is not a living patient. We do not care which of its desiccated tissues freeze to death—only that you do not freeze it entirely solid so that our brave warrior may still cut it deftly.”

“Shall I?” she heard Meteor ask calmly.

“Hang on,” Elidibus replied, his voice a whisper.

Her eyes closed, she felt her fringe lightly brush her forehead under the breeze she was channeling. The soft flesh beneath her hand was growing colder. She hated how clammy it felt to the touch, so she tried drying it out by blowing air on it and attempting to absorb its moisture with earth.

“Cut,” came Elidibus’s command, and the light of Meteor’s blade sank into the flesh.

At once, Gaia felt it violently twitch beneath her hand, a surge of energy rippling through the wall. She focused on the memory of seizing the dark auracite back in the Garlond Ironworks workshop, how the aether flowed into her—how she let it flow into her. She opened her hands wider and, instinctively, drew closer to the wall, closer and closer, until she was hugging it. Her vision still dark, she heard distant screams, but not the giants’ low rumbling voices—human voices. An oppressive, blinding light shone in the comforting darkness. Calm down, calm down, she repeated in her mind. Or perhaps she even said it out loud. She intensified her channeling of ice and earth, spreading it as far as she could along the wall.

“You are at the right depth, just left of its right foot,” Elidibus's calm voice continued. “Now cut across, at this height. That should free its feet.”

A deep rumble came from above them. Its voice. But Gaia could not make out the words.

Meteor briefly took his eyes off his sword to glance up. “The cold must be waking it up.”

Gaia finally opened hers in a bit of a panic and stepped back slightly. “Should I stop?” Though their surroundings had gotten darker with Meteor’s blade of light buried into the wall, the flesh had noticeably turned pale in a wide area around her hands, even slightly shrivelled in part. Where he had cut, a thick, dark red fluid slowly oozed out.

“No. The Gigas are made of sterner stuff than this,” Elidibus replied with a slight chuckle, his attention still focused on the blade’s position. “Continue.”

As Meteor carried on cutting through the thick flesh, grunting in effort, Gaia looked over her shoulder, curious to see how the others were faring. Across the dark chamber, both Ryne and Krile shone brightly, the debris and bodies of fallen soldiers casting long, irregular shadows on the floor that rippled across the floor with the ebb and flow of the girls’ shimmering aether. They seemed to be making progress as well, Mitron and Pashtarot both slicing into the wall with their respective blades—both levitating to reach the giants’ heads.

“So, uh.” Gaia turned back to her two companions, feeling stupid again. “How’s he going to reach up there?”

“How are we going to make the Warrior of Light float like an Ascian?” Elidibus asked conversationally, turning to her with the slightest smile under the beak of his mask. “Take a guess, Loghrif.”

Of course. She winced at her own slowness. She had dabbled in levitation before, just enough to make herself float a little off the floor. “Wind to lift him?…”

“As well as manipulating darkness to disrupt the star’s gravitational pull. Both should come naturally to you, and you would be surprised how easy it is to use your magic on other people—when they consent.”

Oh no, asking me to multitask… She bit her lower lip.

Behind him, Meteor’s blue eyes were on her. With the light of his sword half-swallowed up by the wall, the tiny light of the aether detector strapped to his back blinked an angry red, though more slowly than it had at the tower’s summit. “All right, Gaia. I'll tell you when.”

With that, he resumed working on freeing the giant’s feet from the flesh, Elidibus’s words and hands guiding his blade. Gaia figured she would simply keep doing what she was doing, but now that she had gotten the hang of it, she decided to keep her eyes open. Though the sight of the wall and its prisoner wasn’t exactly pleasant, it helped anchor her in the here and now. Besides, she thought as she absent-mindedly wiped away with her sleeve the moisture she got on herself when she hugged the wall earlier, it doesn’t feel nearly as disgusting now… maybe I’m getting used to it.

Meteor reached into the wall and, using his sword as leverage, prised loose a chunk of flesh that crashed to the floor like a human-sized slab of meat. Gaia gagged. All right, maybe I’m not this used to it. Cut off from the rest of the wall, the severed flesh shrivelled in an instant, and she wasn’t sure whether that made it better or worse. Time to redirect some of my elemental magic on myself and take some deep breaths of fresh air.

The giant’s huge feet were now exposed, still supported in part by the remnants of the wall behind and beneath them. The bottom of its legs were decorated with geometric designs drawn in white paint. Morbid curiosity drew Gaia closer. Its feet had three toes each, she noted. Its right ankle was bent at a clearly unnatural angle. The left foot looked like it had been compressed laterally, its arch far too pronounced. On closer inspection, every toe was twisted, and not all nails were where they should be. Most likely, its lower limbs were crushed by the wall’s squeezing and contracting, as Gaia recalled Altima jubilantly explaining. She had heard the Sharlayan survivors suffered similar injuries, though she had not dared actually visit any of them alongside the Scions. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stomach the horror of seeing people with their limbs crushed and twisted at disturbing angles. Now, however, staring at this giant’s broken feet, she simply felt… detached.

Another deep rumble came from above. This time, the giant’s eyes were open, milky beads beneath thick pale brows, irises and pupils were barely distinguishable from the whites. Maybe it’s blind like Y’shtola? On second look, its eyes seemed to be pointing down to look at its rescuers, as it was unable to move its head at all.

Its wide, toothy mouth opened again. “Little humans…”

Gaia’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected the giant to speak words she could understand.

“Bearers of light against dark…”

Not really, she thought, though she kept the quip to herself. She glanced over at Elidibus, his neck craned to look up at the giant’s face.

“My kin… Their spirits cannot fight the dark. Gone…” It blinked, and what seemed to be tears rolled down its exposed cheeks.

“We’re going to free them,” Meteor said confidently, the knight's sword by his side dimly illuminating the darkness. “Free you all.”

“So many… They wish to be free… They weep. They scream. The dream is their prison,” the giant rumbled, staring ahead. “I sense them… But I am not them.”

Can it hear us? Its ears are still buried in the wall. “You’re not trapped in the visions like the rest of them,” Gaia said, making an effort to speak louder and clearer than usual.

Its eyes fell on her. “I am the shaman of my tribe, little one. I hear the call of the Mother.”

The Echo. She heard Elidibus let out a quiet grunt next to her. A real human soul. Gaia lowered her eyes, her gaze unfocused and brow furrowing. Was it someone we knew, back then?

Suddenly, she heard a scream—a roar?—that came deep from within and felt a shudder—but it was not her body that shuddered. The giant let out a deep grunt as the wall above them trembled, the flesh rippling and contracting around its upper body with a force Gaia's magic couldn't contain, and her blood ran cold. Across the room, familiar voices shouted, the dark crystals growing out of the central pillar glowing an eerie purple—the giant’s rumble died out, its pale eyes bulging. Something inside the wall popped and cracked. Meteor sank his sword, shining brighter than ever, straight into the writhing flesh as the tiny red light of his aether detector blinked so fast it looked to be permanently on.

A hand seized her right arm—Elidibus, with his other palm pressed firmly against the wall. “Gaia, now!”

Without a thought, she threw herself forward.

The screams filling her mind were not coming from the room anymore. Countless stars in an endless night sky. They were so many—screaming, weeping, crying for help, clinging to the faintest hope that someone, anyone, might hear them at last and know they were still there. All Gaia could see was this oppressive light bearing down on them, on her—shackles and chains, blinding and searing, omnipresent and inescapable. Thousands upon thousands of hands were reaching through the bars of their prison, desperate, knowing no one would seize them and pull them free, knowing no one would answer—save for those times… but not anymore.

Gaia tried opening and closing her eyes to make it all stop, but it made no difference. A thousand stars and reaching hands, but the bindings would grind their will down as they had done for so long… Lightning struck, the flames seared, the earth crushed, the ice numbed, the waters drowned, the winds bit…

“No, no, no—Stop.”

Her voice spoke, and there was silence. Now, she only saw stars, still in an boundless black sea. She felt herself breathe slowly, deeply.

Then, from the silence, a distinct whisper. A man’s voice, light and strangely familiar. “Loghrif.”

“Loghrif,” echoed another, then another, and another, until countless whispers bled into each other. The chains of light were still there, the elemental bindings still embedded and yet, without a doubt, the anguish and despair were fading.

A profound sense of relief overcame her.

She blinked, and for a second, she could only see a bright red light through her tears. Curved horns. Then, slowly, her surroundings came back into focus, beyond the glyph over her face. Another red motif burned just beside her. Unfurled wings. He hadn’t let go of her arm. Behind him, the Warrior of Light’s silver steel armour reflected red light as well—the light that shone from his blade, buried to the hilt into the wall, so brightly that it made the flesh around it translucent, making visible its darker vessels, sinews and membranes. The wall she was pressing her whole body against had become entirely still, tight against her left cheek.

In fact, the entire room had fallen into an unnatural stillness and silence. The shadows cast by Ryne and Krile were as immobile as they were.

Gaia lightly pushed herself away from the wall and wiped her eyes. “I—What did I—”

Meteor, still in position to thrust his sword into the wall as hard as he could, his left hand having grabbed a fistful of flesh to pull himself in with more force, looked more dumbfounded than Gaia usually liked her heroes to appear. “You’ve stopped… everything?”

“Time.” Elidibus’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You have stopped time for everything and everyone but us.”

Her eyes were wide. She felt keenly aware of every breath she took. “So—So what do I do now? Is it gonna break if we move? If I—”

“The rock. You made it return to my hand.” His grip on her upper right arm was still firm. “Trace back what just happened in your mind.”

“But I—” She swallowed her saliva anxiously, afraid to make any move. “I’m not sure what actually happened here, just now.”

“That does not matter. What you perceived was as real as anything that happened here in those few seconds,” he said quietly, the red wings shimmering as her own glyph did. “Walk back the flow of time. One step at a time.”

But… Gaia stared back at his masked face in silence. Their appeasement… Will it be undone?

He squeezed her arm gently. “Walk back,” he repeated softly.

She exhaled. Flattening her hands against the wall’s taut, unyielding surface, she bowed her head, her forehead touching the flesh, and drew a deep breath. The relief submerging her like a wave. The thousand whispers that had snowballed as recognition spread through a crowd—diminishing, shutting down one by one until it was only a lone man calling her by her title. A sea of stars, black as ink. She cast the spell—did she say it out loud? Should she go further back, before she said it? Does any of this make sense?

No, Gaia, focus. Sea of stars. The spell.

Then the six elements, wearing the thousand souls down as they reached out for anybody who would hear them… Her unmoving chest was starting to feel tight, but no matter. The chains and shackles of light everlasting… And before that, she had thrown herself forward on instinct, because Elidibus had seized her arm—so suddenly for someone usually so composed—and commanded her to. Trusted her to.

She felt like her body was screaming for her to breathe. Then Meteor stabbed the wall. The horrific sounds of popping and cracking, Ryne screaming across the room, the flesh contracting and tightening… The roar. It started with the roar that came from nowhere, a roar she felt deep within herself. Before the roar, the flesh was under her control, a little twitchy but manageable. A chunk of it had fallen to the floor, and it was gross. Her head now felt light and a whooshing noise in her ears was getting louder and louder, but still she did her best to focus—on how the wall used to be before the roar, soft and wet like the inside of her lip, and how she disliked how clammy it was so she worked harder on drying it out…

Her legs gave out beneath her and she felt someone catch her from behind before she crumpled in a heap on the floor. She gasped noisily as she tried pushing herself off the soft, dried out flesh, her vision obscured by coloured dots, Elidibus supporting her weight. Gaia breathed again; the wall breathed again; the giant breathed again.

“Wh—what happened?” she heard Ryne's voice ring across the room, distant and muffled.

“It's back to normal?” came Krile’s hesitant reply. “Is everyone ok—Hey, where—Oh!”

Hurried footsteps approached, clattering on the metal floor, as Elidibus turned and eased Gaia into a sitting position, her extremities numb and tingling. As her vision cleared, she could see the room once more, lit by Ryne's and Krile's bright auras, casting twin shadows that danced on the floor to their shimmering lights. A figure in dark hooded robes knelt beside her, slightly out of breath. The bright red glyph over their mask always reminded Gaia of some sort of seated bull deity. She smiled.

“I'm okay,” she told Mitron in a voice she meant not to be shaky.

“That was you,” they said in a whisper, raising an open palm to Gaia's chest and letting a stream of energy flow into her, darkness laced with glowing strands of purple and blue—and in an instant, she could feel her strengths returning and her mind clearing.

“She bailed us all out, is what happened,” Pashtarot's gruff voice announced with a sweeping wave in her direction, his massive sword embedded in the wall before him. He, too, had his Ascian glyph shining brightly. All four of them did. “Distinct whiff of time magic.”

“Gaia?” Ryne's eyes widened when she spotted her friend down on the floor. “Oh no!”

Pashtarot’s hand stopped her in her tracks. “No, you stay here and keep that wall under control. We don’t know what caused that surge, and we don’t all need to rush to the fainting damsel’s side.”

“I’m fine,” Gaia said louder, chuckling as she seized Mitron’s open hand to get to her feet while Ryne turned to her Ascian companion, presumably with a suitably offended look on her face. Gaia’s glyph was slowly fading from her face.

“Pashtarot’s right,” Mitron said, waving theirs away before pointing a thumb over to Krile, who had her hands on her hips but an amused smile on her face. The black grip of their crystalline gunblade jutted awkwardly from the flesh wall, clearly left behind in haste. “Gotta get back to it.”

“Before you go,” Elidibus's quiet voice interjected while Gaia twisted and tugged at her dark jacket to inspect how much of the wall's miscellaneous fluids she had gotten on herself. “Show her how to make him levitate.” Behind him, Meteor pulled his blade of light out. “She will take it up from there.”

“Oh, yeah, that's why you've only freed the bottom so far,” Mitron realised with a light chuckle, turning to Gaia. “May I take your hand?”

How chivalrous, she mused, smiling as she offered it. “Hope you don't mind the goop that may or may not be on it.”

“Just learn to repel that water aether, sweetie,” they replied cheekily, covering her hand with their own, leather against skin. “Anyway, follow my lead.”

Their hands moved as one, palms outstretched towards Meteor. Softly, Gaia felt the caress of wind and the tingles of electricity at her fingertips, her movements following Mitron's, the elements shifting with their careful raising, lowering and spreading to fine tune their balance. It made her feel like she was handling the delicate strings of a light, feathery puppet. With barely suppressed apprehension on his face, Meteor's armour-clad body slowly rose off the metal floor, weightless, as he instinctively spread his arms to steady himself mid-air.

“Clever use of magnetism,” Elidibus remarked offhandedly, watching Mitron and her rather than Meteor.

“With slight adjustments of wind, lightning and darkness, you can help raise or lower him,” Mitron explained, “but he can also manoeuvre himself by grabbing onto something or pushing himself away, or using his sword as a lever. It’s teamwork, you’ll get a feel for it.” When Gaia didn’t respond, they leaned forward to get a better look at her face and laughed at her wide-eyed expression. “It’s more intuitive than it sounds. Especially for someone like you.”

Then, with a brief squeeze of her hand, they turned and swiftly left to join Krile again.

“Hey!” Gaia called out, not quite daring to take her eyes off Meteor to turn around. “Don’t leave—”

But then, Meteor did not, in fact, drop to the floor with Mitron’s departure. Instead, he remained floating in mid-air, gauging where he should cut next from his newly elevated position.

“Let us resume, then,” Elidibus announced matter-of-factly, stepping closer to Meteor as to least distort his own perspective of the giant’s position—seemingly confident in Gaia’s abilities not to drop the Warrior of Light on him. “I suggest you cut upwards from—”

“Wait wait wait,” she interrupted, anxiously holding her right hand as still as she could to keep Meteor in place, “the wall—how do I do now—”

“For all your deformities and assorted shortcomings, I believe you Sundered still possess two hands.” He turned to her stammering self with what she assumed to be a perfectly blank expression under his mask. “Not that hands are required, but it is how you tend to conceptualise your magic. Resume what you were doing to the wall. Aim higher than before.” He paused. “You may move.”

Cautiously, Gaia took a step back, careful to keep her right hand in Meteor’s direction, and raised her left, fingers spread wide to channel the elements that would keep the flesh cool and dry. As she inspected the upper half of the wall, she noticed their giant, who had not spoken since the aether surge, had its eyes closed and toothy mouth hanging half-open.

Perhaps she should have panicked at the realisation it might have died right there and then. Perhaps her inability to save this life should have crushed her. Instead, she found that the only concern on her mind was purely practical. If it’s dead, we need to move on to the next ones. If they’re still alive, anyway.

“So, Mister Aethersight,” she began, tilting her head towards Elidibus, “not to nitpick or ruin the mood, but can you confirm our guy’s still not dead?” She knew her tone was too flippant, even for her standards.

“Fainted. Pain and haemodynamics will do that. Releasing her upper body from the flesh wall constricting it should help,” he replied as he watched Meteor cut through pink flesh and sinew, vertically from the centre of the opening he had made at the bottom. “I would suggest redirecting blood flow to the brain using water and lightning, but let us not overreach ourselves here—”

“Assho—”

“—You are doing quite well with the wall and levitation, so let us focus on that.”

“—aw, thanks,” she finished with a little chuckle.

Elidibus took his eyes off Meteor’s progress to turn to her with the slightest smirk on his lips. “It is easier, isn't it?” he asked in a low voice.

She frowned, her gaze darting to him. “What—”

“When you do not think of them as people.”

They stared at each other in silence for a couple of seconds, her with her hands up to—hopefully—keep her channel of magic steady, and him with that insolent smile. Is he taunting me?

“No,” he answered her thought quietly. “Merely making an observation.”

With that, he turned his attention back to Meteor, who was cutting a long, vertical line from the feet of the giant—giantess, apparently—to just under her chin, guiding his blade so as not to cut too deeply. Gaia could not quite wipe the frown off her face, even as she made her best efforts to focus on keeping the wall under control and helping Meteor move around. It was a strange process—she felt him pull on her aether she was projecting, and she bent accordingly, so to speak. It reminded her of having a hairdresser brush and work on her hair, and her tilting her head just at the right angle to facilitate the process, without even exchanging words.

Sheathing his sword, Meteor dug his gauntleted hands into the vertical slit and, with a loud grunt, spread it open with as much force as he could, the flesh tearing along the seams. Gaia now knew she had to intensify her elemental magic to nip the wall’s reaction in the bud. There now was an inverted-T-shaped opening, revealing the giantess’s ample belly and chest, clad in a sort of brown vest.

“Think I should cut across now,” Meteor panted.

“Yes. At shoulder height,” Elidibus advised from beneath the levitating knight. “Should she come to, freeing her arms will help.”

Gaia readied herself to focus her magic on that area and raise Meteor a little so he would be comfortable cutting at that height, but met unexpected resistance. He didn’t budge. Blinking, she looked up at his face to check whether he was all right. The Warrior of Light seemed lost in thought. Elidibus, too, turned his head upwards when the pause dragged on.

At last, Meteor drew his sword again, but his movements were hesitant. “This might be a strange moment to ask…” His blue eyes were lowered, his face lit from under by the faint glow of his blade. “Elidibus. What do you know about Azem?”

Azem…? Gaia blinked. She had never heard the name, or word, before, she was certain of it. Not even in the Ascian memories she had inherited. Yet, why did it feel…?

She brought her gaze down to Elidibus, who had not answered. His mouth hung slightly open, perhaps in surprise, as he stared up at Meteor levitating above him—though it was hard to be certain, with the mask obscuring half his face. Then, he lowered his head and, slowly, lifted a hand to his face to unmask himself. Under the white hood, the purple glow of his widened eyes seemed to shine brighter than usual, his pupils a deep shade of magenta in the dark. His expression was not merely surprised; he appeared outright troubled, as though a number of thoughts—perhaps memories—were striking him all at once, staring straight through the mask he was still holding a few inches away from his face. For a moment he seemed poised to speak, but words failed him. He turned his hand to rest his forehead on the back of it, shutting his aether-infused eyes in search of fragmented memories hanging by a thread to his frayed soul.

“You,” he finally said plainly. He raised his head to meet the Warrior of Light’s gaze. “You are.”

Meteor dug into a pouch strapped to his belt and took out a small, bright orange object that glowed faintly in his gloved hand. Without a word, he tossed it lightly to Elidibus below who caught it in his free hand. Gaia stepped closer. It was a chiseled crystal, shaped somewhat like an arrowhead with a rounded tip—clearly manmade. It only took her a few seconds to recognise the object, an Ascian memory surging to the forefront of her mind—it resembled the crystals each of them had received, the ones Elidibus and the other two Unsundered had crafted after the Sundering, infused with their memories of their defunct colleagues. But whereas theirs—or, at least, hers and Mitron’s—were marked with the glowing dots and straight lines of asterisms, Meteor’s bright, golden-orange crystal was adorned with a thin ring traced in such a way that it appeared to spin around a large, glowing dot in its centre.

Elidibus’s eyes were still wide. “I cannot—I suppose it only reacts to your soul.”

He gave a grunt of confirmation. “It contains only a spell incantation, and… a message.”

“That is how you were able to use our magic in our fight atop the Crystal Tower,” Elidibus realised, staring at the bright orange crystal like a tiny sun in his palm, as he slowly let his other hand fall by his side, clutching his bright red mask tightly. “But… how?”

“It was after our fight in the Capitol hall.” Meteor used his left hand to push himself up to the unconscious giantess’s face. “It had been arranged for me to find it there in the street.” Carefully, he slid his blade horizontally into the vertical slit he had made earlier, roughly a head below the giantess’s chin, and started making a shallow cut across. “Along with the thirteen others.”

Of course, Gaia realised. There were thirteen Ascians, yet they were the Convocation of Fourteen.

“But we never…” Elidibus’s voice faltered. He paused to swallow, brow furrowing as his mind worked out the implications. “We never made one for Azem. Just after the Sundering, both Lahabrea and Emet-Selch had decided that we wouldn’t—that we would not honour their memory.”

“He created it in secret, back then.”

Meteor had not specified who he meant, but clearly Elidibus found it self-explanatory enough that annoyance instantly flashed across his face. “Of course he did.” He allowed himself a frustrated sigh. “I have little information to offer you regarding Azem, I am afraid. Beyond generalities such as their role within the Fourteen, I can scarcely recall who they were as a person—what I thought of them, or what our working relationship was like.” He clenched his fist around the orange crystal, as if hoping to wring forgotten memories from it like juice from a fruit. “At best, I could tell you why Emet-Selch and Lahabrea agreed not to make a memory crystal for them… officially, at least.”

“I think I know why. Azem’s refusal to take part in the summoning of Zodiark.” A long horizontal cut now stretched across the presumed height of the giantess’s shoulders—though without Elidibus’s aethersight and guidance, he hadn’t dared sink his blade too deeply. He inserted his fingers into the new slit, probing gently to locate her body inside and test how much the wall would yield. “But that feels…” Meteor’s brow creased. “…extreme, to me. To eternally disown one of your fellow Convocation members for dissent?”

“The Final Days were an extreme situation.” Elidibus sighed again—this time not from irritation, but quiet resignation. “It cannot be overstated—the world was ending. Our researchers, members of the Convocation included, were desperately seeking both causes and solutions as the death toll rose until we lost count and the world came crumbling down around them, eventually literally. Zodiark was our last resort.” He shut his glowing eyes again. “It was in this context that Azem resigned. As this event occurred during my human life, my memory of it has been greatly influenced by Emet-Selch's and Lahabrea's. Hence, it is their perception I am familiar with.” He unfurled his fingers to gaze into the crystal in his palm. “Azem's resignation was seen as reckless, frivolous. Utterly detached from reality and the gravity of the situation. He claimed conscientious objection to human sacrifice and set off to find, allegedly, another way to save the star. But alternatives were fast dwindling. The more we waited to act, the fewer survivors there would be—less power for Zodiark, and increasingly slimmer chances for the star to survive at all.”

Meteor’s attention remained on freeing the giantess, cutting the flesh into smaller pieces to tear away by hand, though there was no doubt he was still listening closely. “What happened after Zodiark’s summoning?”

“The reason why I have no clear memories of Azem myself is simple.” Elidibus took the crystal into his other hand, holding it between thumb and index to examine its chiseled facets. “I never saw him while I was Zodiark. There were rumours here and there, but as far as we knew, he never resurfaced.”

Gaia barely suppressed a laugh. “What, you were god and you couldn’t keep track of a dude’s whereabouts? C’mon.”

His mouth twitched as the magenta glow of his eyes shifted to her. “God was busy recreating life across the entire star, Gaia. So were you, in fact.”

“So, Azem and Emet-Selch parted on bitter terms…” Meteor sighed, and this time, he turned away from the wall. He had pulled back enough flesh for the giantess’s rounded shoulders to be visible beneath, clad in thick hide trimmed with white fur. “Yet, he still made this crystal,” he added, gesturing towards the artefact in Elidibus's hand below, “with that message…”

“May I ask—”

“‘Herein I commit the chronicle of the traveller,’” Meteor began reciting, without waiting for Elidibus to finish his request, his eyes fixed on the orange crystal below. “‘Shepherd to the stars in the dark. Though the world be sundered and our souls set adrift, where you walk, my dearest friend, fate shall surely follow. For yours is the Fourteenth seat—the seat of Azem.’”

Wow, Gaia almost blurted out. He knows it by heart, doesn't he?

For a moment, Elidibus was speechless again, parsing the fragments of memories these words unearthed as he stared up at Meteor's face, blinking. Does he look like Azem? Gaia wondered, recalling how her original self was undoubtedly her, as she studied him, his brown fringe stopping just short of obscuring his eyes.

Then Elidibus let out a distinctly irritated tsk. “Ah, yes,” he said flatly, before lowering his head, the hem of his hood concealing his expression from Meteor. “‘Dearest friend’”, he echoed with a sigh. “Right.” The supremely annoyed look he shot Gaia from the corner of his eye made her bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. He closed his fist around the crystal again, this time as if he meant to crush it. “Well, he did uphold your relationship in the end, didn’t he?” He threw his head back in frustration as the gears turned in his mind. “This is starting to make an awful amount of sense,” he groaned, shutting his eyes tight. “The sentimental fool. Throwing away our people’s future for a love letter in a bottle cast to the sea. A beautiful ending—curtains fall, exit stage left.”

Gaia had seen Elidibus drop his cool, professional veneer quite a few times before, but rarely had it seemed this personal. For a second, she considered teasing him for it—ancient tales of love and petty sarcasm breaking down his stoic mask. Then, she thought of how being betrayed by the last person you knew must have felt like, sealing the fate of countless souls, their final flicker of hope going dark. Her stomach sank.

Meteor did not seem to hold Elidibus’s biting commentary against him. “Do you believe he would have left this bittersweet message, had Azem…” He looked away, a perplexed frown appearing on his face again. “…had Azem joined Hydaelyn?”

“Are you asking whether there were any limits to Emet-Selch’s melodramatic wistfulness?” Elidibus arched an eyebrow at him. “Doubtful. I personally believe that publicly joining the ranks of the person responsible for murdering our people and erasing our civilisation from history would be fair grounds for immediate termination of an intimate relationship, but what do I know? In any case, as I told you, we never saw Azem again, whether on Hydaelyn's side or not.”

“Yet…” Meteor’s frown deepened. “Hydaelyn called me her champion, on the shores of Silvertear.”

Elidibus raised a silver eyebrow again. “You or Azem?”

“I—” The Warrior of Light opened and closed his mouth, blinking in confusion. “No, you’re right, it was me she called her champion—and yet…” He rose an armoured hand to his forehead. “Yet she mentioned… a promise we made long ago. That had to be Azem.”

Next to her, Gaia heard Elidibus mutter “What…” under his breath—both his eyebrows now arched high on his forehead—but his voice trailed off.

“But—if, to your knowledge, Azem never joined her,” Meteor continued, clenching his fist in front of his face, “then why did Emet-Selch never seek to raise me as an Ascian, or even just reconnect at all, once millennia had passed?”

“You do not realise how much the Sundering disfigured you.” His stare bore into the hero’s, melancholy dulling its eerie glow. “In our daily lives, we saw the shapes and colours of aether as naturally as you breathe. Its structure, its perpetual motion. Every subtle nuance of aether was, to us, as much a part of a person’s visual identity as the colour of their skin or the shape of their face. In fact, it was the primary means by which we recognised each other.” He shook his head slowly with a weary sigh. “Rejoinings have slowly, painstakingly made your mutilated souls more identifiable. But that is what your kind fails to comprehend,” he said, his tone getting harsher, “you only see the physical appearances we take, superficially similar to your own, and falsely conclude our species are identical, save for a few grotesque bodily mutations.

“You wonder why Emet-Selch never contacted you or your other incarnations before. Do you believe he acted the spurned lover and held a grudge for a dozen millennia, only coming around when you finally murdered him, as Mother Dearest so lovingly commanded you to?” He chuckled, a chuckle that was tinged with sadness, affection and disdain all at once. “To be fair, I would not entirely put such pettiness past him, for a millennium or two. But most likely, this was the first time in twelve thousand years he was even able to recognise you—even with his gifted sight. It was only when you rejoined with your shard of the First before his very eyes that he finally understood, and that broke him for good.”

The Warrior of Light narrowed his eyes at the Ascian under him. “As she commanded me to…”

“It is not a strange moment to speak of this Azem matter, by the way. We are in the midst of an intense flux of dark aether.” Elidibus’s lips curled into a slight smirk. “The tower's signal is jamming hers, so to speak.”

The hero stiffened. “What do you—I thought the Echo protected against tempering!”

His outburst made Gaia blink in surprise. “Nah,” she said calmly to the Warrior of Light hovering above them. “Otherwise Ascians wouldn't be tempered, right?”

“But Hydaelyn didn’t command me to kill Emet-Selch,” he objected, now scowling at the both. “I did so of my own volition because he, like you, was threatening to wipe out our species.”

“Obviously. It is not the crude mind control your sundered Primals exert. Your tempering is not our tempering,” Elidibus answered coolly with a dismissive wave of the hand. “At its core, it is an imbalance of aether, granting one greater power over the causal element at the cost of a susceptibility of the soul—a double-edged sword. Our people had long been wary of the dangers of exposure to aether. Memory could be rewritten, the will influenced, identity altered. These well-documented effects had led to tight legal restrictions on the use of high doses of aether for any purpose. The unforeseen wave of astral aether that hit the Convocation at the moment of Zodiark's summoning left its mark on our souls. One of the arguments she used for fear-mongering, among others. For how could our leaders be trusted when their very selves had been compromised, vulnerable to influence by this creation of an unprecedented scale, this amalgamation of thousands of souls?”

The Ascian's eyes shone under his hood, suffused with dark energy, as he glared at the Warrior of Light from below. “I was the one in control of said creation. I have never once sought to force my will on my colleagues, tamper with their memories or reshape their identities to my liking—but of course, that mattered little to political opposition,” he muttered in a sombre voice, before turning his eerie gaze to Gaia. “Without such specific direction, this vulnerability of the soul may manifest as an inappropriately positive response to aether aligned with the element that caused the spiritual imbalance. Exposure to it brings a sense of comfort, of rightness, even mild euphoria, resulting in a drive to seek out more of it, spread it, become one with it. An easily exploited weak point—a crack through which an entity comprised of such aether could insinuate itself.”

Meteor’s features were as stiff as the steel he wore. “Are you saying that, unlike you, Hydaelyn would seek to impose her will upon my—our—identities?”

There was no doubt he had meant this rebuttal to sound combative, yet he was facing away—and Elidibus had taken note.

“We are speaking of the woman who saw fit to erase a civilisation for disagreeing with her views on anthropocentrism, then cover it up by obfuscating the truth for several millennia so that mankind may never be tempted to go back to its roots,” he said matter-of-factly, folding his arms, “even going as far as to selectively truncate the human memories of her own servants. As to the weak point in the soul I mentioned earlier—I was speaking of the effects of tempering on a whole soul.” He lowered his head, sighing as Meteor remained silent. “All of your broken souls have been getting submerged in her aether with each death since the Sundering—when they were at their most vulnerable—as I should remind you Hydaelyn’s physical body resides within the star, in what you call the Sea of Stars. The Underworld, we used to call it—where souls are numbed and washed clean of the vast majority of their memories.” He gave a low chuckle. “I do wonder how much our resident Lord of the Underworld appreciates her presence.”

Gaia swallowed nervously. “Yeah, so, Thancred and Y’shtola during our dinner together…”

“Incidental memory lapses. Half-truths that grow lives of their own, bolstered by fanciful interpretations, repeated until they become truth. Truths that impose themselves on their minds because they simply feel right, yet none can quite remember their sources.” He shook his head slightly. “It can be difficult to tell which of you are affected most, given that all your souls bear the same signs of low but constant exposure over the ages.”

“Thancred,” Meteor said plainly, eyes shut.

Elidibus nodded. “Directly exposed to her most recent manifestation—in person, at that,” he said as he looked up at their knight in shining armour again. “And if you may allow me this indiscretion—he cared deeply for the woman known as Minfilia, did he not?”

Oh, no, Gaia realised grimly. The girl who doesn’t exist anymore because she’s Ryne now. The Oracle of Light who gave herself up for her goddess. She sucked her teeth quietly in discomfort.

Meteor let out a long, heavy sigh. “Shit.”

It was then that Gaia felt a strange sensation—an immaterial weight being lifted off her shoulders. But she had not noticed that weight before and, in fact, this new development made her feel disconcertingly exposed. Elidibus had noticed it too, straightening himself up and turning to survey the rest of the room. On top of that, she sensed the telltale encroaching darkness of one of her fellow Ascians fast approaching—

A dark vortex appeared close to the central pillar of the room.

“Are the prisoners all right?” boomed a deep, familiar voice as a tall robed figure stepped out of the warp gate. “There has been a—”

“Don’t tell me that was you lot up there,” Pashtarot snapped at Halmarut, spinning in mid-air away from the cut-open flesh wall to glare his colleague. “The prisoners damn well near died, thanks for asking, but Loghrif manage to revert time. So they’re still in pain, still tempered and likely permanently braindead,” he gestured at the giant he and Ryne had managed to free from its prison, sitting there in the open with its back against the metallic wall, and it was hard to tell whether it was conscious at all, “but alive, yes. In the broadest sense of the word.”

“Aether Fandaniel shall not be reaping,” Halmarut replied genially with his clawed index finger up. “Yes, our apologies for this mishap—it turns out the tower’s emission of tempering waves can indeed be modulated! We have in fact successfully turned it down, allowing for short-range teleportation at least.”

“So, uh,” Mitron spoke up as they were in the process of telekinetically manoeuvring their giant out of the flesh wall, “that earlier bit was you guys turning the knob the wrong way first?”

“Quite perspicacious of you, Mitron!” the larger Ascian commented, beaming. “Yes. Common sense dictates turning counterclockwise should lower the output. The genius mind of Fandaniel, however, works in mysterious ways.”

Mitron carefully laid their colossal hostage on the floor. “He’s shit at engineering, is what you’re saying.”

Ryne interrupted her healing spell on her giant to bring a hand to her mouth in shock. “Oh no,” she gasped, “but what about the guys outside?”

“Did you momentarily increase the range or the intensity?” Krile asked more calmly, planting her hands on her hips.

“A little bit of both,” Halmarut replied, before spreading his hands. “The Ironworks engineers outside are unharmed. They did detect a surge of aether, but it seems they were shielded by, ah,” he slipped a hand under his hood to scratch himself in embarrassment, as he usually did, “Mr. Scaeva’s blaring background music.”

“Sounds like the Scions gotta ask him for his playlist,” Gaia joked to her two companions, making—against all odds—Elidibus grin, his mask back on his face.

Pashtarot turned at the sound of her voice and pointed at the still-levitating Meteor—and that’s when Gaia realised she had been keeping him aloft all along without even thinking about it. “But what’s this?” Pashtarot called out. “Your Gigas’s still in the wall? I didn’t expect the Warrior of Light and our Unsundered to be slacking!”

“We have been busy bailing you all out, Pashtarot,” Elidibus replied, his smile outliving the average lifespan of Elidibus smiles.

“Therefore, I bring good and bad news,” Halmarut announced as he casually turned his head to Gaia’s party, noting they were indeed late in their prisoner freeing endeavour compared to the others. “The good—the threat of the towers’ tempering can indeed be mitigated to facilitate the rescue efforts.” He set off in their direction—Is he coming to help? How sweet, Gaia thought with a smile. “The bad news,” Halmarut continued as he stepped over piping and debris, “is that our adversaries can send out tempering pulses if they so desire.”

Chapter Text

“How much longer must I wait, Ascian?”

Seated upon his throne of black metal, a monstrous spine jutting out of its back, the prince leaned lazily on one elbow. The warm glow of the fire ravaging the heart of his empire below was reflected in his pale eyes. He sounded terribly bored by the apocalyptic sight before him, and yet one would be remiss to call Zenos Galvus entirely blasé about current events. The roaring inferno consuming the ruined streets of Garlemald’s capital city’s but a flickering candle compared to the flame that animated him.

To the right of the imperial throne, Fandaniel bowed his head, his frayed purple hood fluttering lightly in the breeze.

“As Your Excellency is aware, despite the recent collapse of the edifice near Sharlayan and the earlier…” he wrung his hands, giving the prince an unctuous smile that would likely go unnoticed, as that would require him to set his regal eyes upon Fandaniel in the first place, “…implosion of the Vylbrand one, the process continues. Our aether collectors gorge themselves upon the star’s lifeblood, amplified by the prayers of the helpless cattle trapped within. Soon—”

“Soon? You promised me the greatest showdown, the grand finale of this farcical existence,” Zenos said, his gaze shifting from the raging flames below to the stillness of the waning gibbous moon above. “It has been ’soon’ for the past week, Ascian. Must I wring the aether out of you and your ilk to provide your god with sufficient sustenance? Perhaps that will bring him here.” The emphasis made clear he was not speaking of Zodiark, but of the object of his morbid fixation. “For now, all you and your pathetic kin have offered me is the wretched spectacle of the scum of this world choking and drowning in the muck in which they wallow.”

Fortunately, Altima was not yet back from her rounds—Emmerololth could only imagine how she would have struggled internally against putting the mortal back in his place.

“My colleagues and I have been scouring the star to ensure our remaining towers continue their siphoning uninterrupted,” Fandaniel replied with a gesture in her direction, slightly behind the throne. He seemed wholly unfazed by the prince’s earlier threat, his smile never touching his dark eyes. “Foolhardy heroes with resilient souls have been attempting to assault the structures here and there, but so few of them possess the Gift that they are easily dealt with—merely additional sacrifices.” He chuckled, steadying his hood with a hand gloved in washed-out black leather.

In truth, it was not proceeding nearly as smoothly as Fandaniel boasted in order to placate the impatient prince of the ashes. All the remaining towers were indeed still standing, and yet their output had been slowly but steadily waning over the past couple of days. The various disorganised incursions into the towers of the apocalypse—across the Far East, in the deep jungles of the South East, on the island of Thavnair, in the deserts of Paglth’an, in the cold lands of Dravania to the North West—had begun to shift from the full-blown assaults they could easily notice and take care of, to lightning-fast raids. These Warriors of Light—and dragons, in Dravania—were increasingly slipping in and out of the structures behind their backs. The fact was that she, Fandaniel and Altima could not be everywhere at once, though they certainly tried. Teleporting across the entire star to check on every tower was, in all honesty, becoming tiresome. The bulky, hideous things weren’t exactly helping—the sheer intensity of the aether coursing through them made it difficult to teleport freely or to peer within with aethersight.

Maybe it was just her. She had been an Ascian for less than a year, and the more it went on, the less confident she felt in her abilities, not least because those opposing them were their own peers. She was reluctant to share her insecurities with the other two, however. Ever since their excursion to the tower in the northern archipelago of Sharlayan, she had noticed that even Altima had grown a little distant.

“As for the rest of our pathetic kin,” Fandaniel continued, his false smile fading slightly, “we have been keeping watch over them as well. I have been personally trailing one of them. We will ensure they do not hinder our efforts.”

That was a lie, as well. To begin with, their colleagues had not made the task easy. There was always one of them keeping watch, and approaching them was not an option. Even sweet old Deudalaphon had made it clear she would use force against her. Of late, Halmarut had gone off on his own, and Fandaniel was indeed following him—or attempting to. Ascians aware of being watched by other Ascians were keen to cover their teleportation tracks and confound their pursuers. Emmerololth could not imagine such a situation had come up often enough in the past for her coworkers to be so well practised at hiding from one another. Unless, of course, the Ascian whose role it was to watch and keep everyone else in check had been teaching them the tricks of the trade… That aside, Fandaniel had confided privately to Altima and herself that he could not make much sense of what little he caught of Halmarut’s movements, teleporting all over the three great continents yet never anywhere near the towers.

The one thing she was certain of was that they had recently left Mor Dhona—she could freely float over the town there without being chased away—and the towers that could be considered nearby, Carteneau Flats, the ruins of the ancient city of Mhach and maybe the one sitting over a lake between Coerthas and Xelphatol, had not sent out any alarming signals. Still, she had decided to check in person.

Mortals, clad in the bright red uniforms of Limsa Lominsa's armed forces, had set up a makeshift camp right by the entrance to the tower in the Carteneau Flats. She had had no difficulty peering or teleporting within, and most disturbingly of all, it had been emptied of the prisoners fuelling it. The Gigas had been moved outside, some of them resting on crude mats and hides laid on the ground. Yet the tower's recent readings had shown no anomalies—and still did not, as she had just checked. It was as though it had become a ghost of itself at some point in the past few days.

They must be behind it.

That they would try to covertly dismantle their aether collectors made some amount of sense to her—though if depriving the Telophoroi of their resources was their main goal, it seemed more straightforward and efficient to destroy them outright, as Pashtarot had done. What had actually rattled Emmerololth was seeing these mortals not only parley with the local Gigas tribe, but tend to the tempered beastmen.

But… why?

Even when removed from the active source, she knew the tempered invariably exhibited dose-dependent brain damage. These Gigas, like the rest of the towers’ victims across the world, had been exposed to overwhelming aether for a solid week by now. Rescue efforts would only become more pointless as time went on. Eventually, they would get to a point where they would simply drop dead when weaned off the darkness that sustained them—rebalancing the soul could only take you so far when the brainstem had been physically crushed by crystalline growths.

And yet, as her most recent rounds had made plain, this trend of attempting to free the tempered without destroying the tower seemed to be spreading among adventurers, though none had yet gone so far as to empty another entire edifice without their knowledge.

Yet.

“What makes you believe I care for your kind, Ascian?” Zenos asked, snapping her out of her musings. He sounded as bored as ever, his gaze still fixed upon the moon above, gauntlet digging into his cheek as he leaned on the armrest of his black throne. “The strongest among you fell to him. Another of your elders fled before me. There is but one living soul in this wretched world worthy of my attention.” With his other hand, the prince slowly reached for the moon, fingers outstretched as if to seize it. “I see little difference between your kind and the rest of the maggots infesting this planet. All so dull and despicable, crawling and writhing in their own filth in their vain bid for survival. I was convinced there was nothing more to this existence, until I crossed blades and claws with the Light and her Warrior…” His voice suddenly became alive as he closed his fist to crush the moon. “Never had such ecstasy and passion coursed through me before. Only when our fight ended did I understand that I need no longer remain in the cesspit the rest was content to splash about in. The veneer had cracked. Now I exist only to taste that ecstasy again, whatever it might cost.”

Fortunately, Emmerololth’s mask hid most of her expression. The utter ennui of a psychopath born into privilege. She dutifully reminded herself why they tolerated this particular mortal—his strength and his single-minded obsession to defeat the man they considered an inconvenient obstacle. Glancing over at her colleague's face, she found a pensive expression she had not expected him to wear. He took a few steps forward—towards the edge of the tower.

“Such admirable perseverance, Your Excellency… Not even the tides of the Great Sea Beyond could sway you from your path,” Fandaniel mused as he spun on his feet, theatrically putting his hand over his heart—as he usually did, though his facial expression did not quite match the grandeur of the gesture. Facing the frozen plains and mountains beyond the blazing streets of Garlemald, he lowered his head. “Such drive, that I begin to wonder whether I should go on singing your praises or allow my envy of you to slowly fester into hatred…”

The prince lifted his head from his knuckles and lazily stretched his neck, eyes closed. When he opened them again, his head still tilted back, his gaze was on Fandaniel for the first time that night. “I have a better idea than either proposal,” Zenos announced loftily, looking down on him. “Seek your own answers. You are keeping yourself so very busy, zipping all over the world, yet it seems nothing truly ignites your fire.”

Emmerololth blinked behind her mask, pursing her lips. Please, anything but the worst person around being right.

Fandaniel looked away, to the flames below. “Please, Your Excellency,” he sighed, “must you offer me at last a morsel of attention only to push me deeper into the cesspit you so abhor? I fear you are mistaken, however.” Now facing the wind, he surveyed the streets of the capital, eerily quiet since the fighting had died down, devastated machinery leaking ceruleum that would not stop burning. “I take no small amount of pleasure in watching events unfold.”

He paused, stepping ever closer to the brink. A gust blew back his hood, the short, jet black fringe of the body he possessed fluttering about. He wore a faint smirk, the lone visible trace of the pleasure he claimed to feel. “Long ago, when I was but a lowly mortal, I often dreamt the same dream, again and again,” he murmured, his gaze in the flames. “It was only fragments, formless visions, faces and places unrecognisable… It felt as though I was floating in a shrouded sea, unable to grab onto anything tangible. The dream repeated ceaselessly, and yet its meaning eluded me. Then, one day…” he said breathlessly, his mouth slowly stretching into a fuller smile. “It made sense. The veil was lifted. Much as you have your own dream of an apocalypse long past, Your Excellency, so too shall mine finally become reality for all of us wretched filth inhabiting this worthless speck of dust adrift in cold, dead space—and it is twelve thousand years overdue.” He raised his head to the moon with a wide, hungry grin as he opened his arms. “Is this not the most thrilling of answers?”

Emmerololth stared in silence at her exulting colleague, cavorting in a body that wasn’t his. ‘Yet you’ve fought alongside us for five thousand years!’, Pashtarot’s words echoed in her mind. ‘Quite the act you’ve been putting on, if you’ve been planning to betray the Unsundered for a while!’

Is this truly all there is to you?

“Is that so?” Zenos echoed out loud, sounding beyond bored once more. He leaned back into his black throne. “Hmph. Then leave me to my dreams. I must rest.” The prince dismissed them both with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Fandaniel spun on his heels. “At once, Your Excellency,” he said with a gracious bow and a cheerful smile. “I must convene with my despicable ilk.”

Emmerololth gave him a nod as he strode lightly to join her behind the throne. She could not bring herself to bow to this mortal princeling—not that he would notice or care. She was far beneath him, clearly.

Of her own mortal life, Emmerololth remembered little. Fandaniel described it well—fragments of memories she could not quite make out—and that was exactly how she wanted it. She knew vaguely that she had been a burden. Not a nobody—for being a nobody implied going unnoticed, and she had not been so fortunate. Times were hard, and her weak, deficient body had marked her as prey.

The clearest memory she kept was the profound sense of relief she had felt when he came for her, clad in immaculate, hooded robes. The sight of her tormentors lying dead at his feet. He had explained calmly he did not usually employ such methods, yet she could not have thanked him enough. Then, on the moon, where true mankind lay in chains, he had been the one to ask whether she wished to remember the years she had lived as a mortal. Memories, he said, could drive you as much as destroy you.

Elidibus had saved her from her mortal life. No longer would she be a victim, trapped in an ailing body she had been born into, meekly bowing to preening princelings and banally evil nobodies alike. Henceforth, she would claim her true identity as Emmerololth, Eleventh Seat of the Convocation of Fourteen, overseer of human health and the healing arts, protector of life on the star, and Ascian fighting to restore a world worth living in, torn away from mankind. It was a fairy tale come true. It made sense. The veil had lifted, the veneer cracked—such an intoxicating reversal of fortune.

Right? Emmerololth stared into Fandaniel’s dark eyes, or rather those of his borrowed vessel, as he walked up to her. She could not find a clear answer.

“Do not forget, Ascian,” the prince suddenly called from his seat, and both she and Fandaniel turned their gazes to the throne. “It is in your best interest to deliver my grand finale sooner than later.”

Up close, she caught a flicker of annoyance upon her colleague’s face. “Naturally, Your Excellency,” he replied in a dulcet voice, before setting his eyes on Emmerololth once again and jerking his head towards the doorway in the back.

Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness indoors, away from the capital’s embers. They walked down the corridor leading to the tower's core, their footsteps bouncing off the dark metal walls that reflected the blue glow of ceruleum energy conduits. Massive silhouettes of magitek constructs, some shaped like beasts, others wholly mechanical in design, lurked in the shadows beside them, standing guard motionless. From a branching path came the quiet hum of the lift room’s machinery, faint behind the heavy steel door. The Tower of Babil was far more metal than flesh compared to its peripheral siblings, owing to the abundance of material in the city of Garlemald and the shorter range of its defensive emissions. It had more than enough tempered guards and soulless machina to repel whoever might be foolish enough to approach it. The edifice certainly tried its best to look disturbingly organic, however, with its steel spines erupting through the floor to support the scaffolding. According to Altima and Fandaniel, this design was a side-effect of the drive etched within Zodiark’s very essence—the recreation of life, even from scrap metal.

She followed Fandaniel into the cavernous central chamber that housed what the Heart of Sabik had become. Hundreds of narrow magitek pods lined the walls like grim, pale lanterns, their lights shining through the pink-hued fluid that nourished and oxygenated the captives within. Through the windows, some could be seen squirming. Though unrestrained, they did not usually bang against the glass in an effort to escape or attract attention—they were not aware enough for that, prisoners of a never-ending nightmare. Two immense dark chains hung from the ceiling against the back wall, plunging into the heart of a thick, dark crystal which radiated a dull red light and was growing taller and wider with each passing day. Its edges were thin enough for its deep crimson shade to be visible, spreading across the wall behind it like mineral fungus, even overtaking the chains that bored into its heart. There, where the crystal was thickest, a great black shadow shifted within, writhing.

They both strode briskly towards the core, passing by tempered Garlean soldiers stationed on the platforms leading to the back of the room, still and silent, as pieces on a game board. They do not even notice us. Emmerololth thought back on the Lunar Primal atop the Sharlayan tower that had only attacked the Warrior of Light, leaving its Ascian opponents untouched. Had Fandaniel even considered that they might be opposed by their own kin when he conceived this plan? We need to fix this here as well, before the six of them come strolling unmolested through the front door… She pressed her lips together at the almost comical thought. The fix they had come up with resulted in the tempered turning hostile towards them as well, however, and she did not particularly care for that either, given the place was crawling with them.

A sudden drop in temperature tore her from her thoughts. She raised her eyes to the tower’s core ahead. Its surroundings were becoming noticeably redder. Then the deep, bellowing roar of a chained beast filled her mind. Anima. The desecrated remains of Zenos's father, fused with the Heart of Sabik, bound as Zodiark was. The massive crystal drank in the ambient aether. The walls shook, the chains rattled. Dull thuds came from the magitek pods nearest the core, panic seizing the captives as the level of wind-aspected aether in the incubating fluid that allowed them to breathe suddenly dipped. Red light bathed Emmerololth’s face for a second—not from the crystal’s glow, but from the wavy lines of her glyph flickering to life.

As the roar slowly died down, so too did the agitation within the incubators. The low hum of their mechanical entrails grew slightly louder as their systems self-corrected the balance of aether in artificial homeostasis. She narrowed her eyes to peer into the pods, her glyph fading away. Still alive, she noted with no small amount of relief, the prisoners’ aether still well anchored to their bodies, though she dreaded to imagine what state these people would be in after so many repeated episodes of cerebral anoxia.

His own ornate glyph having disappeared as well, Fandaniel giggled. “Ooh, daddy is thirsty!” he said in an inappropriately suggestive voice, clapping his hands excitedly before heading towards a broad control panel at the side of the platform.

Raising an eyebrow behind her mask, Emmerololth decided not to indulge him. “What was that threat about, earlier? What does Zenos think he can do to us?”

“What could he do to us?” He stopped in his stride to spin around and face her. His dumbstruck expression seemed unusually genuine. “The fruit of Emet-Selch’s depraved experimentations on his own descent? Whose body hosted the Heart of Zodiark, and who seized control of a Primal fuelled by Lahabrea’s very aether coupled with that of an elder Dragon's? That Zenos? I neither know nor particularly wish to find out,” he said brusquely, before his voice swelled with a mixture of fear and admiration. “But he made Elidibus flee—”

Again with Elidibus, she noted, recalling their animated talk atop the Sharlayan tower. “I thought he fled because he sensed Emet-Selch's death.” She realised, as the words flowed out of her mouth, that such a defence rested on a capacity for empathy and understanding the basic emotional processes of shock and grief. She let out a quiet sigh in preemptive defeat.

“I don't care about his excuses,” he snapped in response. “You should not trust the bastard as far as you could throw him. Though I suppose that in his newest form, you could toss his short-arse a reasonable distance.”

He laughed at his own barb. You're one to talk, staying in that body, Emmerololth refrained from saying out loud, following him and his diminutive frame as he resumed his walk towards the dimly lit control panel, putting his hood back on. So he does care for that particular bit of Ascian decorum still, doesn’t he?

“Regardless,” he went on, “I intend to use Zenos as a weapon against our enemies, and I shall bow and flatter as much as necessary to achieve that goal.”

The display before them flickered, the lightning-aspected aether powering it no doubt disrupted by Anima’s stirring a minute ago. Crude lines of text filled the screen, each of them ending in different numbers that updated regularly, out of sync with each other. With a press of a button to the right, Fandaniel switched the display to a graph showing several lines advancing slowly, a few of them running lower than the others… but not low enough. He jabbed some more buttons to cycle through the lines shown, faster and faster, until he expelled a frustrated sigh.

“Have you noticed anything amiss on your rounds?”

“I dealt with pockets of intruders here and there,” she replied evasively, before deciding this answer wasn't satisfactory. “At the one over the ruins in Golmore Jungle. In the Yanxian delta. Still a few adventurers roaming around the isle where my former self died, but they seem more interested in imbuing their weapons with the elements there than in the tower. Nobody in the Hingashi one, either,” she added, Fandaniel watching her closely as she spoke. I need to bring something tangible to the table. “It appears adventurers are attempting to extract prisoners, with more or less success. In the Far East, at least.” Far away from Carteneau. “That would explain the decreased flow.”

The dark eyebrows of his borrowed body shot up beneath his hood. “They’re freeing them? How comically pointless. By now, they're more vegetable than beast—nothing but a burden to their rescuers. I would rather these adventurers had less success than more, mind you. Botched rescue attempts would give us sacrificial aether, at least.” He started chuckling again, but stopped himself in a record time when he caught her expression out of the corner of his eye. “They will have the prisoners’ deaths on their conscience.”

She was unsure how to respond to the absurdity of Fandaniel pretending to worry about anyone’s guilty conscience. Sacrificial aether, yes. Slaughtering them all would give us only a finite quantity, but it would be much faster than this slow, continuous harvest. And that would likely appease Zenos.

“The readings confirm your report, but it isn’t just the towers in Othard,” he commented when she gave no reply, switching the display back to lines of text and numbers. “I see losses in various locations across Aldenard. Small losses, however. Too small.”

But they are beastmen, Emmerololth. Why not tell him you know what’s going on? “Perhaps some of the leylines are running dry?” Beastmen with brain damage too severe to ever live normally again.

“Hmm.” He leaned over the panel, his hand digging into his hair, a straight, jet-black strand falling on its back.

No. Not his hair. She remembered seeing him the first time she attended a gathering with the other twelve—the last time they had been thirteen. He had been tall and lanky as Elezen tended to be, with ashen-grey skin and ears poking through holes cut in his Ascian hood, dark blue hair falling just above the eye holes of a red mask shaped like a lion’s face, and a voice that was not the one he spoke with now. But that must have been a modified appearance, too. Our true selves did not bear such distinctively Elezen features as long pointed ears and grey skin, she remarked to herself, thinking of the Hyur-like corporeal form favoured by all other Ascians she knew.

“Fandaniel,” she called softly, “why don't you use your true appearance and voice?”

He blinked. “My mortal appearance?”

“No—well, not necessarily. I mean—I modified the corpse I possess to look like me.” She gestured to herself, freckles on brown skin, dark purple braids, eyes the bright blue-green shade of a lagoon. “It was an appearance I took on by instinct when I regained my true memories. I don’t really remember what I looked like as a mortal, and I don’t care.”

“Ah, the old man erased your memory when he raised you to your Seat, didn’t he?” He chuckled, an apologetic smile on his lips. “That happens.”

“I asked him to. Did you keep yours?”

“Despite my best attempts to forget.” Almost instantly, his fleeting compassion in his voice gave way to annoyance. “Emet-Selch never asked my opinion on the matter. He must have thought my mortal identity and knowledge might serve the Ascian cause better than a clean slate.”

“Who… what sort of person were you?”

“Oh, I was someone. An eminent scientist, too good for his peers,” he sneered, straightening himself. “Ignorant animals, all.”

Someone. An eminent scientist, a prince—yet their status does nothing to alleviate their existential anguish. “So you hated your peers? I think I did, too. But I wasn’t…” She lowered her eyes, trying not to linger too long on the faded memories, “…anyone special.”

He shrugged. “Only your soul matters to the Unsundered. They only consider your mortal identity in terms of how much of a burden it would be to contend with. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She studied her colleague’s unmasked face, finding little trace of the disdain that usually overtook him when he spoke of the original three. Is he trying to reassure me? “Did the revelation of your true identity not bring you some amount of solace?”

He looked away, the brim of his hood casting a shadow over his eyes in the core’s dim red light. “When Emet-Selch handed me the crystal of Fandaniel, I learned of a man who loved the most insignificant of lives, even soulless things. A man his colleagues respected for…” He paused, frowning, as if searching for the right words. “For overcoming something. Or for who he had become. Whatever.” He jerked his shoulders. “Colleagues he himself respected and even appreciated. A man that ultimately fought to save the star from its doom when death rained upon it.”

The loving words of hope stored within her own crystal came back to her. ‘My dear little star, my friends, have no fear…’ She remembered standing there, on the moon, holding in her palm the small, bright turquoise stone, the colour of her eyes, marked by glowing dots and lines. ‘I swear it, we will find a way to save you all before death claims the last of us…’

Her colleague scoffed. “I thoroughly did not identify with this man, nor with the hope that radiated from his memory crystal. Even if I had had my mortal memory wiped, everything in that crystal was so profoundly at odds with who I was that I would have rejected it still. Respect and appreciation for his peers? Saving and protecting this miserable star? Love for pests and maggots alike? I thought Emet-Selch had mistaken me for someone else.” He let out a cruel laugh, but then he pressed his thin lips together, doubt creasing his brow. “Yet… that was impossible. He recognised my soul. They all did.”

“So, is this your answer to my initial question?” She crossed her arms, tilting her head to one side. “That you never cared for being Fandaniel?”

He frowned at her, blinking. “What was the point of your initial question?”

“Why did you take up the Unsundered’s offer? You said earlier the only thing driving you was ushering in the apocalypse, and now you are saying you never identified with Fandaniel. Yet I have trouble imagining Emet-Selch, Elidibus and Lahabrea remained ignorant of your motivations and left you to your own devices for five thousand years if that were the case—”

“Ah,” he interjected with one of his clearly false smiles, holding his index finger up, “you’ve been listening to Pashtarot!”

“—waiting for a Warrior of Light to come along and kill them to finally accomplish your goals. I don’t think you’re lying,” she added kindly in a display of amiability, “I am only trying to understand—”

He chuckled again, with a hint of… fondness? “Truly, you are Emmerololth. But you are jumping to conclusions—that the Unsundered left me unchecked… or that I never cared for being Fandaniel.” He lowered his head, and she leaned in to listen, over the low hum of the magitek incubators around them.

“That crystal was me,” Fandaniel said quietly. “Me, who despised my peers that constantly let me down with their crass stupidity and unwillingness to change. Me, with this gnawing emptiness inside as I watched even my beloved leader succumb to the anguish of mortality.” His narrow shoulders shuddered, his purple hood obscuring most of his face. He held out his palm as if his crystal were still there. “When Emet-Selch handed me the crystal, I was baffled. Scornful of this insufferably naive stranger I had been introduced to. Yet, in spite of myself, I was… curious. How could my hateful self once have been this man?” He closed his empty fist. “I daresay I even felt, somewhere inside me, a flicker of that hope I had long given up on. There was a reason this world was bleak, despicable and meaningless—it was broken, mankind twisted by its unnatural condition, and Ascians dared to dream it could be undone.”

She, too, looked away as a pang of emotion hit her. This sentiment—all Sundered Ascians had felt it, one way or another.

“The years passed,” Fandaniel continued calmly, yet now Emmerololth could sense in his voice, ever so slightly, something boiling beneath the surface. “My soul became more whole with the Rejoinings. Slowly, I started piecing back together its history. The dream. This dream I always had…” He looked up to the massive dark crystal sprawling over the wall before them, his gaze unfocused. “This overwhelming feeling of cold, infinite emptiness. The knowledge that death was the cosmos's sole truth and universal answer, implacable, inevitable, and that it was coming for us all. It had to have come from somewhere. It wasn’t in the memory crystal. Was it etched into my soul, without the Unsundered knowing?” He chuckled again, this time a chuckle tinged with sadness and despondence. “Perhaps I had more in common with Fandaniel than I had first thought. And yet, the crystal… The fact that he had been considered worthy of his Seat… In spite of everything… I…”

His voice trailed off as his gaze lost itself in the core above them. From up close, tiny dots of light could be seen in the darkness of its heart, a night sky encased in crystal. Emmerololth watched Fandaniel silently, a hand on her chin, not knowing whether he had finished speaking and unsure of what to say to all of that. It does make sense that we would inherit memories not just from the crystals crafted by the Unsundered, but from our very souls…

“The years passed,” he went on, wistful, as he watched the black shadow of Anima shift within the core. “Always torn between the death instinct that lurked deep within my soul and the meagre hope that there was something more to this existence, never knowing if I should give in or keep going. More years passed.” He paused, and she could see him regain his composure at an alarming pace. “And passed. Toiling for a hundred lifetimes for a goal that seemed increasingly illusory as the centuries went by. Millennia. I have thought of simply killing myself, of course—immortality notwithstanding.” His voice having regained its usual strength, his expression hardened, narrowing his eyes at the Heart of Sabik above them. “But it didn’t matter if I ever managed to die, the Unsundered would instantly go looking for another shard of my soul, or even my own reincarnation, to bestow the gift of employment upon. Five thousand years,” he spat out, bringing his dark eyes back down to Emmerololth, “and I never even got paid! Not that Elidibus would ever let me have the luxury of experiencing death’s tender embrace, oh no—he’d sooner put me on the naughty step for a century or two before using me as his attack dog again.”

The way thinking and speaking of their emissary swiftly transformed his melancholy into rage was so remarkable she had to inquire. “Did something happen between you and Elidibus?”

He gave that a dark laugh. “I got bored at times, you see. At times…” His small black eyes bore into her as a lopsided smile slowly spread across his face. “The void inside won over the flicker of hope. I needed entertainment. So I amused myself by toying with the inhabitants of the Shard I oversaw,” he said with a disturbing longing in his voice, his gaze jumping to the tempered captives floating in the rows of narrow pods around them. “Unfortunately, there can be no fun on the thankless Ascian job… though our fight has led me to question that. Oh, the gleeful brutality he struck me with!” Did he just squeal that? Emmerololth held her breath, her lips pressed in silence, as he brought his attention back to her. “It’s always the cold-blooded one hiding the most vicious blood thirst, isn’t it?” he whispered to her audibly. “Always with his moral high ground. Always insisting he doesn’t enjoy it. Hypocrite. Not that you would know—you only know him as the one who made you an Ascian, I understand.”

The chill in his black eyes made her realise this conversation had likely reached a point of no return, but she pressed on regardless. “You fought?”

“He posed as one of those brave heroes who still resisted my reign of horror and death. He's quite good at manipulating and hiding his aura, did you know? It would have been a fitting end for a summoner of Zodiark to be killed by his Heart,” he said breathlessly with an excitement that bordered on arousal, she noted to her dismay, “but of course, he refused me the honour—”

“Are you analysing the output of our aether collectors, or regaling Emmerololth with your entire life story?” a woman’s voice cut sharply through the cavernous room. “The usage is typically ‘reign of terror’, by the way.”

Fandaniel froze in surprise, looking sheepish for a second. He hadn’t noticed her either, Emmerololth noted. Since when is she here?

“You wound me, Altima,” he answered, his genuine expression replaced in an instant by one of those smiles of his as he turned to face their newly arrived colleague. “I choose my words carefully. As you are well aware, terror refers to the anticipatory dread before a horrific event. I strove to offer the good people of the Seventh a constant, evenly distributed stream of—”

“Then step your game up,” Altima interrupted, striding to join them on the final platform, tall and regal in her Ascian robes, “because adventurers are feeling quite bold at the moment. I’ve just had to send a couple straight back to their Mother.”

“Where?” Emmerololth asked. Has she been to—

“I checked Meracydia, Ilsabard and Aldenard. Besides the aforementioned gallant heroes attempting to free a few beastmen here and there, I found little of interest in the last two.”

Really? Emmerololth blinked in confusion. Is she lying? But why would she? She stared at what little of her face Altima's mask left uncovered—her lips, pressed together in annoyance. Perhaps she didn't notice anything wrong at Carteneau Flats? How? “Right. I, too, noticed some have been freeing hostages,” Emmerololth commented, Fandaniel nodding. Well, I'm not lying. Should I bring it up? Or… “What of Meracydia?” she asked, putting her poker face on.

“One of our more urgent concerns right now, I would say.” She pointed a long, gloved finger at a line at the bottom of the display. “The tribes of the Lowlands have gathered around the tower atop Twins Rock, with a sizeable amount of crystals—”

“An offering?” Fandaniel asked in a dulcet tone. “How thoughtful of them!”

“—In all likelihood, their priests are about to call upon their primitive deities to destroy it and reclaim their sacred grounds.” Altima carefully pinched a strand of blond hair between the tip of her metal claws to brush it behind her ear. “We need to act quickly if we are to intercept them and take advantage of this surplus of aether before the tower comes crumbling down.”

“We need to act quickly, full stop. Our aether collectors seem to be inexplicably lagging behind, and our princely associate is losing his patience—both with our pace and the fact that his dear Warrior of Light has not yet accepted his invitation for a date,” Fandaniel said with a little chuckle, before flashing Altima a devious smile. “But I may have an idea…”

“Zenos’s threats leave me unimpressed,” Emmerololth confessed to the other woman, folding her arms. “What’s the rush? Can’t he wait nicely for us to gather more aether?” She had only been immortal for six Source months herself, but even she found this hurry unnecessary.

“Emmerololth,” Fandaniel scolded, “didn’t you listen?”

“Unfortunately, I did.”

“He told us he exists only to live the ecstasy of a worthy fight again,” he explained for Altima's benefit. “Perhaps he cannot wait. Perhaps he even imagines that possessing Zodiark might make him too powerful and spoil his fun.”

Emmerololth threw her hands up in frustration. “Come on, that's ridiculous, how hard can it be to wait? How old is—”

“Him, possessing Zodiark?” Altima laughed behind her hand, a plain laugh that contrasted with her elegance. “I don't care what Emet-Selch managed to do with him, we’re the ones attuned to Zodiark. But that is a deft approach, I'll be sure to console him with that when we leave him in the dust.” She gracefully bent in a mocking bow. “Why, your Excellency,” she said in an affected voice, “you would have hated being a god anyway.”

A short laugh escaped Fandaniel’s lips. “Oh, I know. I don't plan on leaving him our prize. But I understand his impatience. I have grown tired of waiting for the ending I was promised, as well.”

Altima laid an understanding hand on Emmerololth’s upper arm. “Listen, the quicker we get this done, the less time mortals—and our dear colleagues—will have to mount a counterattack.”

Our dear colleagues, yes. All these eight-, ten-thousand-year-old Ascians… and the last Unsundered with them. She put on a brave face and managed to give Altima a trusting nod, not quite wanting to know how her poker face from earlier was holding up.

The only Ascian in this room older than five millennia turned to Fandaniel to continue. “I share your concern that our prince might as well just content himself with Anima and the surrounding chaos,” Altima told him with a nod, before dramatically putting her other hand over her heart, raising her head to the crystal above them. “The son taking over the hated father to use him as a mere tool. Such a climax!”

“Speaking of the other Ascians, any news from them?” Not that Emmerololth truly wanted to pore over every hypothetical way their colleagues could thwart their plans, but it seemed to her a matter more urgent than a mortal princeling’s tantrums and assorted father issues.

“Split up,” Altima answered, her tone shifting seamlessly from theatrical to matter-of-fact.

“What?” she blurted out while Fandaniel’s eyebrows lifted in silent surprise. “That explains why I had a hard time following their tracks, but I thought—”

“—they were sticking together for safety in numbers, yes, indeed,” Altima finished for her, before responding to Fandaniel’s devious smile in kind.

Well, now… Emmerololth cringed in spite of herself.

Altima gave her arm a little squeeze. “But right now, our priority is shutting down those Meracydian savages while it is still the dead of the night for the next few hours there,” she said softly, nodding towards the console displaying their aether collectors’ output. “Depart now and evaluate their crystal stocks—how much they have, where, how guarded they are.”

Right. “Their priests will soon find that their crystals have mysteriously vanished,” Emmerololth replied with a sly smile. With a bit of luck, that will discourage them and, should they have any sense, they will escape with their lives.

“One of us shall meet you there shortly,” Altima said, releasing her arm and turning to Fandaniel.

With a nod to them both, Emmerololth departed for the entrance of the room, far enough from the core to prepare a teleportation spell. She could not help but note Altima and Fandaniel seemingly waited for her to leave to resume their discussion.

All right. She sighed. Let’s get rid of this timely distraction quickly, then.