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Zenos Viator Galvus. A name that burns Nazarene’s tongue every time she’s made to mention it. A name attributed to the man that, for the past few summers, had made her life a living hell. Time and time again she’d dismiss him, thwart him, overpower him in his almost-lustful pleas for combat — yet, somehow, fate would always bring him back to her. Whether it was admiration, insanity, or something else that drew him to Nazarene, she’d never know. But the fact that he would follow her to the edge of the universe, to go so far as to aid her in quelling the world’s destruction, just for her undivided audience… it all but drove her mad herself.
And then they were alone, in the vast expanse of space, nowhere to run, no one to intervene. Two of the star’s mightiest warriors — and a fight that would finally determine who is the mightier.
For many months now, Nazarene’s blood had been left to run cold. But in those moments of contest, her every vein coursed with raging fire. Even as her body reached and broke past its limits, that fire came not even close to fizzling out. She was moving faster, hitting harder, burning brighter than what was once thought possible; all to Zenos’s delight, who matched her every move while still begging for more.
Of course, the two were only mortal, and so it would eventually end — with weapons tossed aside in a desperate resort to fisticuffs. Nazarene remembers the crystal of Azem in the palm of her hand, feeling its power resonate through her trembling body. She remembers clenching that hand into a fist as Zenos charged towards her, fearing that she may fail, but needing to try nevertheless. She remembers her fist colliding with his jaw, feeling the cracking of several bones between the two of them, and a blinding pain that enveloped her entire arm.
What exactly happened after that, Nazarene could not recall. But she now lies collapsed on the ground, merely a shell of her former self. Her clothes are bloodied tatters, her longbow dropped just out of arm’s reach. Not that she had the strength to lift either arm anymore. Where there was once pain — shrieking, soaring pain — there was now a crushing numbness, like a mountain bearing down upon her. With every breath, she feels her lungs tighten, and sensation had begun to shrink away from her extremities.
I’m dying. Two words that Nazarene never thought she would have to utter in earnest. Plenty of times had she acquainted herself with similar phrases — “am I going to die?”, “I don’t want to die”, “don’t let this be how I die”, to name just a few. But in this form, crumpled and spent… she could no longer run from the idea of her own death. It had finally caught her, and she feels its heavy, icy hands begin to rest around her body.
At her side, she hears something. Zenos had begun to speak some moments ago; but she cannot comprehend his words, even though he lay mere fulms away from her. Between the roaring of blood and the horrible ringing sensation in her ears, it’s as if he’s worlds away. A blessing, really. Whatever he has to say, it’s sure to only enrage Nazarene further. She closes her eyes, trying to ignore him.
"Was this life a gift or a burden? Did you find...fulfillment?"
With sudden, inexplicable clarity, those few words reach Nazarene’s ears. Her eyes flutter open again, and she strains her neck to look in Zenos’s direction. Alas, Zenos is in no state to repeat himself. A raw, rattling breath creaks from the Garlean’s lips, and that hulking chest of his finally falls still. Well, I guess I got what I wanted. An end to this godsdamned charade. Nazarene attempts to laugh, but it comes out as more of a sputtering cough, feeling something broken jabbing her from within. A shame I had to kill myself to achieve it.
Rolling her head away from Zenos, she gazes to the sky above with darkening eyes. Was this life a gift? She ponders his dying question. Yes… her life was absolutely a gift. A gift from Hydaelyn, from nature itself, that she could see and experience all that she had. Soon, she’d return that gift to the world — and the peoples of Etheirys would be able to heal, to pick up the pieces and move forward in a new, reinvigorated world.
A world she would have to watch from the aetherial sea.
Closing her eyes once more, the immobilizing numbness begins to set in. She thinks of the Scions, and their frustrated faces when she sent them back to safety. Admittedly, she feels a bit guilty about tricking them; but not nearly as guilty as she would have for letting them die alongside her. After all, what’s one measly life lost in comparison to eight? They'll be okay. They've all endured loss before… they can do it again.
But then she's reminded of Erenville — and what little sensation that remains within her suddenly manifests as a clenching heartache. I made him promise to stay with me if I stopped the Final Days… and I couldn’t even live long enough to honor that promise. One by one, tears begin to roll down her cheeks. Nazarene, you selfish, short-sighted fiend…
Her delirious mind is flooded with memories of him, as if to mock her one last time. Their awkward introduction in Labyrinthos. Their date on Sharlayan's campus. Making love in the Annex. Promising to work towards a future together by the docks. The kiss she gave him before boarding the Ragnarok, boldly establishing their relationship in front of everyone. Returning to Eorzea, getting married, starting a family... Wait, that hasn’t happened yet. Has it? Poor Nazarene can’t tell; the outpouring of DMT in her brain seems to blur the line between memory and fantasy. She can't even envision Erenville's true appearance anymore; he's now just a shimmering body of light within her mind.
Her eyes, wet with tears, slowly start to lose sight of the colorful atmospheres above. She feels the warmth start to sap from her body. And with a wisp of a dying breath, her lips move one last time, weeping two last words to the emptiness around her.
"Forgive me.”
. . .
"Can you —— … ? ——, say —— !"
The silence is suddenly cut by distant voices... horribly muffled, but gaining clarity with each word…
"We must tend to ——..."
"Someone… lend —— a hand … !”
Unable to move — unable to feel — Nazarene’s mind remains locked within her dying body, only able to listen to these voices. Am I… still hallucinating? The longer she lies there, the more she’s able to focus on these sourceless cries and their finer details. To her right, she’s able to make out breathy weeping — and to her left is the tinny sound of magicks being cast, alongside labored huffs and uttered curses.
"You… can't leave us… not like this…!"
That almost sounds like… the twins...
“If you do, I’ll never forgive you… so come on… open your eyes and…!”
With what little strength she can conjure, she tries to move her ears towards the voices, though she can only manage a faint twitch. But it works nonetheless; she hears the voice to her right let out a sharp gasp, and the left voice hesitates before shakily uttering her name. “N-Nazarene?”
Gods, it is them.
"Nazarene," Alphinaud’s disembodied voice calls to her again, "are you there? Are you… with us?"
Am I? Nazarene doesn't know the answer to that question. Other than her ears just now, she’s still trapped in blind paralysis. There’s no breath, no pulse under her flesh — is there even any flesh left? These voices must be delusion; her mind conducting one last sick joke before she slips into the aetherial sea. She wants the twins’ presence to be real, but after such a devastating clash with the Endsinger and then Zenos, there was simply no way for her to continue clinging to life. And Nazarene is… oddly at peace at that. She’s fairly traded her remaining time on the star for its salvation. Soon, the illusions will dissipate. Her senses will recede again, and darkness will claim her. She will know rest, true rest.
Any second now.
. . .
But the longer she lies there, the darkness never seems to come. Instead, more and more sensation returns to her. She hears the low hum of the ship's air vents. She feels her lungs, absolutely burning with every shallow breath. How her mouth is filled with the acrid taste of her own blood, and how each of her hands is being held tight by one of the twins at her side. Alphinaud's other hand presses into her aching abdomen as he casts a continuous stream of healing, and she can feel a weak pulse of life within her body; a warm, thumping rhythm beneath her battered skin.
She sucks in a deeper breath and opens her eyes, coughing as her blurry green hues strive to find a face. Alphinaud's is the closest, twisted with strain and fear; as their gazes lock, the young elezen’s eyes widen, and he guffaws, almost in disbelief.
"You’re—" His head hangs, voice stuttered and warbling. “Oh, thank the heavens… For a moment, we — we thought...!"
Nazarene's heart tightens in her chest, watching tears begin to fall from the boy’s eyes. "Alphinaud…" She creaks, her voice barely a whisper. "Am I... really alive?"
"Yes, you're alive!"
She feels a thump on the ground, and suddenly, G'raha Tia appears next to Alphinaud. Though her vision still strains, she can see his crimson hair and his round, tear-soaked cheeks. "You're alive…" He chokes once more, shuddering with every sob as he throws himself over her, snatching her body in a tight embrace. "Oh, Nazarene… how could you keep your promise to me if you were not alive?"
One by one, the others Scions rush to her side with platitudes and praise alike, as well as a tearfully-charged scolding from Alisaie. Their relieved faces and spirited voices bring a smile to the weakened Viera’s face, but it soon fades as she realizes their words are starting to blur together. Her ears begin to ring, drowning out anything and everything that’s said to her, and her vision begins to spin.
This is… too much….
As her face contorts with discomfort, she hears the tone of the voices around her shift from delighted to concerned, still unable to make out any single word. Desperate, she turns her head in Alphinaud’s direction, hoping her eyes will tell him what her mouth cannot. Thankfully, the young sage recognizes her plea, and he nods to her. Then, lifting his head to face the others, he speaks firmly.
“Nazarene will be fine, but she needs rest. More than that, she needs silence. I ask that you leave her to me.”
From there, Nazarene fades in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the ship’s voyage. Random spikes of pain rip her from rest, only to be washed away by the numb of a curing spell seconds later. Though much quieter now, her companions’ voices continue to permeate her sleepless state. Hushed words of comfort. Discussion of what's to come next. Dry quips, restrained laughs.
And that's when all of the pent-up emotion begins to swell within her. When she had fallen in the wastes of space, she had come to accept her demise. She’s an adventurer, after all; death catches her kind quicker than any other. But now that she was surrounded by friends again, giving their all to keep her alive, eager to return her to the star she'd just saved... the thought of moving on suddenly terrified her beyond belief.
She clutches Alphinaud's hand desperately, as if letting go meant slipping back towards death. Alphinaud just smiles, squeezing back twice as hard.
. . .
Before she knows it, Nazarene feels gentle hands nudging her awake. “We’re back in Sharlayan”, someone says, “it’s time to go.” Weary and wobbly, she makes an attempt to sit up by herself — not before at least three individuals rush to stop her, saying something about a broken arm. Instead, Urianger bears her weight against his shoulder, lifting her to her feet and carefully walking her to the ship’s entrance.
“Ready to greet the world you’ve just saved?” Thancred asks her, bearing nothing short of a proud smile. Nazarene just nods, still coming to consciousness, and Thancred motions to Livingway, who jumps to pull a nearby lever. The Ragnarok’s bay door slowly lifts to reveal the outside world, and a blinding light spills into the dim cabin. After a few seconds of adjustment, Nazarene's eyes feel as though they might burst from the sight before her. A brilliant blue sky above, the sprawling alabaster architecture of Old Sharlayan, streets absolutely packed with throngs of people. A sight that was by no means new to Nazarene; she'd walked those same streets merely a day or two ago. And yet, it felt as though it'd been eons since she'd been here.
Everyone’s safe. Comfort washes over her, pulling the beginnings of a smile across her tired lips. It’s finally over.
Urianger catches sight of this smile and offers one of his own. "Quite a splendiferous crowd, amassed entirely for thee." He muses. "Why not give them a proper signal, to inform of thine resolute victory?"
Nazarene looks to Urianger, then back to the crowd. Sure enough, even with the large distance between the ship and the gatherings, it was exceedingly clear. They weren't just waiting for the return of the Ragnarok itself; they were waiting for the Warrior of Light, the one ultimately responsible for ending the Final Days once and for all. Among the hundreds, maybe thousands of faces, every single pair of eyes was on her — but instead of their expectations weighing her down, they now filled her with excitement, like lightning through her veins. And so, with an even wider smile, the Viera braces herself against Urianger's shoulder and lifts her good arm in the air, waving to the sea of faces. A deafening roar of cheers is the response she gets, twice as loud as the sea behind her.
That I could live to see this… Tears bead up in her eyes. Selfishly clinging to life was the right choice after all.
After a few more seconds of applause, the crowd begins to separate, most people migrating towards the docks in order to properly congratulate the Scions. Nazarene spots some fast-moving flecks of color careening down the paths; it isn't hard to recognize the pink and yellow attire of her lalafellin friends as they run through the plaza towards the ship.
"Tataru!" Alisaie cries in recognition. "And Krile!"
Krile stops short to double over and catch her breath, but Tataru continues her sprint until she's made it to the loading dock, throwing her arms in the air. "Welcome home, everyone!" She shouts, her violet eyes brimming with joyous tears. The Scions gather around the two lalafell, engaging in tearful hugs and reunions. Nazarene signals for Urianger to let her go, stable enough to stand freely, even as Tataru launches herself at the Viera's legs with an iron-clad embrace. Nazarene just laughs, bending down to ruffle the shorter woman’s hair with her good hand.
"Nazarene!"
Among the sea of voices, one rings louder than all the others — and the sound of it threatens to stop Nazarene’s weary heart as it beats in her chest. Looking up with widening eyes, she sees him bounding through the crowd in a beeline towards the Ragnarok.
Erenville.
"I knew you could do it!" He cries, waving a hand as he draws near.
The smile upon Nazarene's face drops, her frame beginning to tremble. There he is. The one she wanted waiting for her — the one she feared would be destroyed by her actions. Her end goal. Her new beginning. Her everything .
The Veena’s body starts to move on its own. She pulls away from Tataru and the others, taking a couple of shaky steps that grow into an attempted sprint down the walkway. But her weak, wounded muscles fail her all too quickly — her legs give out after only a couple of yalms, and her body plummets toward the ground. Erenville's excited smile quickly becomes a gawk of panic; he dashes forward to catch Nazarene as her knees drop to the hard concrete, grunting as her weight crashes into him.
"Nazarene! Nazarene, are you all right?!" He holds her upright and calls her name, eyes searching hers for any sort of response. Alas, her head is spinning violently by this point, and she clutches onto Erenville's arm with her one good hand, the other falling limply to her side.
"E…Eren..." She croaks, looking up with bleary eyes, struggling against the bright Sharlayan sun. He says something else to her, but she can't make it out; her ears are thrumming too madly. She drops her head to his chest, growing dizzier by the second, and closes her eyes to focus on simply breathing. She's able to hear the commotion around them, all those excited cheers quickly turning into concerned gasps and abundant questioning. A chorus of footsteps approaches from behind; no doubt the Scions, coming to retrieve their weakened Warrior of Light.
"Oh gods, not again...!" G'raha Tia is the first to Erenville's side, hands outstretched and his tail quivering with uncertainty. "Erenville, do you need a hand?"
"No, no, I've got her." Erenville shifts Nazarene's body within his arms so that he now holds her bridal-style, one hand used to hold her lolling head against his chest. He can't take his honey-colored eyes off of her, frantically studying her vacant face. "But what... what happened to her?"
"The real question is, what didn't happen to her?" Thancred frowns, crossing his arms as he recalls. "When she suddenly materialized within the deck of the Ragnarok, she was more corpse than companion."
Erenville looks to him, face pallid with fear. "You mean to say she...?"
"Not exactly." Alphinaud quickly shakes his head. "As much effort as it took to awaken her, no revival magicks were needed... and I thank each and every one of the Twelve for that." He places a gentle hand on Nazarene's shoulder, running his fingers over her tattered coat sleeve, reviewing her freshly-scarred wounds. "In all my days by her side, I've never seen her in such bad shape. The broken bones, the torn skin, the blood… her aether, so pitifully depleted…" His cerulean eyes brim with anguish. "I don't know exactly what happened, but I daresay she literally gave it her all."
Urianger casts a glance over the crowds before them, noticing swaths of people starting to approach, no doubt curious as to what befell their savior. "Reminisce about our warrior's near demise another time," he starts. "I beseech that we move her into chirurgeons’ care, post-haste." He grimaces as he adds, "The citizens of Sharlayan need not observe her in such a state."
At this point, Nazarene feels unconsciousness fast approaching. Words melt into muted sounds, and her eyelids refuse to open no matter how much she tries. She feels the crisp air moving against her skin as her body is lifted from the ground, and then darkness.