Chapter Text
“See this tale to a triumphant conclusion, and with elation in your hearts, bid the final curtain fall.” Hades swept out his arms. “Only then may it rise again and a new tale begin—with new parts for all to play.”
The dying Ancient lowered his arms, smirking contently as he stood at the very ends of creation, upon a field of pure white flowers, his closest friend by his side and the inheritors of their legacy before them.
Azem’s fragment—no, Azem’s successor— lowered his gaze, the hints of a wistful expression crawling onto his face.
Hades urged to speak, but held his tongue. It was pointless trying to console him about his own demise. He had died long ago back when the world was sundered. Only after he returns to the Lifestream one final time and has his soul be cleansed, then he may live again.
He was never one to give pity, let alone accept it. Then again...
Hades sighed. “Tell me, have you been to the ruins beneath the waters of the Bounty?”
Azem shook his head softly.
“Or the treasure islands beyond the frozen waters of Blindfrost, in Othard’s North? The fabled golden city of the New World? The sacred sites of the forgotten people of the south sea isles? What about Meracydia, the southern continent? Do you know aught of its state of affairs?
Azem’s gaze was curious, ever silent, and his lack of answer told Hades all he needed to know.
“...I thought not.” The white-haired Ancient huffed. “Even of your little Eorzea, you know precious little.” He almost wanted to gloat, had he the energy for it.
His gaze swept over the eight inheritors before him, the final hope of Etheirys.
“All of which is to say: Expand your horizons. Go forth and seek discovery. Some of the civilizations in the reflections will surprise you.” Hades declared to them all before locking his gaze upon the former fourteenth seat of the Convocation.
“As the bearer of Azem's crystal, you may consider your duty to see at least that much. I certainly did.”
Hades saw Azem’s mouth agape for a brief moment before clenching back shut, holding back an outpour of emotions he no doubt wanted to release. “Thank you, Hades. Hythlodaeus. For everything.” He settled with a singular, firm nod of his head.
Hythlodaeus chuckled. “I pray we meet again. If not in this life, then perhaps another. Whensoever it shall be, I trust it will be a most joyous reunion.”
“For you, maybe.” Hades folded his arms with a scoff, turning to address his closest friend. “I want nothing to do with it.
The swirling of aether around the two Ancients reached a crescendo. He could feel the last fabrics of his very being unravel. Their fleeting moment was finally over.
Hades turned his head back to look at Azem’s successor one last time. Even as a misbegotten wretch, he still saw him as the friend he once was. And always will be.
Hades gave one last crooked smile. His final parting gift to the future as he felt himself returning to the star.
He had the utmost confidence that the Endsinger would be slain, and their future reclaimed once more.
The loving tide of aether swept in.
And he sank deeper.
And deeper.
And at last, he was truly at peace.
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A solitary man walked through the streets.
His robes were black, as was the custom.
Only the mask concealing his face differed from others' in shape and color.
It marked this man as a leader.
He was a most powerful mage. His name was Hades, though his mind was elsewhere, far from here.
He was thinking about the next scheduled maintenance of the Lifestream.
He was thinking about what to have for supper.
He was thinking about whether or not he should…
He stopped in his tracks.
A solitary man looked around at his surroundings in confusion. His brows furrowed underneath his mask.
Hades blinked his eyes, regaining lucidity.
“Amaurot…? But why am I back here?” He pondered aloud.
He looked down at his hands, feeling the dryness of his own palms with his fingers. They explored the fabric of the robes he wore, then reached up to feel the flesh of his cheek and the wood grain of his mask.
Hades looked up at the towering spires his mankind had built, ones that he thought never were to crumble. It was twilight. The sun had set beyond the city’s skyline, warm yellow lighting from the streetlights and the businesses illuminating the street in its stead.
He recognized this boulevard. He had walked down this street countless times before, both alone and with companions.
With friends and family. It was one of his favourite areas of Amaurot to explore once upon a time.
Better times, yet times that he had long accepted were gone.
Everything was exactly how he remembered it oh-so long ago. To his left was the tailor he frequented whenever his robes were in tatters. The seamster there was always so polite and accommodating even after seeing the aftermath of his friends’ hijinks on his clothes.
It was empty. The lights were on, but there was no seamster to be seen humming away at his sewing machine.
To his right he could see the inside of a diner he always passed by, but never bothered to try. The type of cuisine there was never his preferred choice; there were few times where he didn’t see seats packed with hungry customers.
Empty.
Within the walls of every building he passed, not a single soul remained to laugh and love to their hearts’ content.
Ironic. He spent a thousand, thousand lifetimes chasing the memories of better days, and now he could live them once more. All alone.
Hades scowled. Not from the memory of dishes not to his taste, but because he knew this was all wrong. He knew this was not real. He knew he was supposed to be dead. He knew that this was not the afterlife. This was not the dying gasp of his consciousness manifesting itself either. He had welcomed death’s sweet embrace before, and it was not this vivid.
Therefore, this had to be the work of another party.
He closed his eyes and tried to recall his last memories. A grand, heartfelt reunion with Azem and the source of the Final Days.
Resurrecting Azem’s friends so that they may help him in the battle to come.
A final goodbye to the inheritors of the star.
…
Now he was here. Back in Amaurot. An empty, eerie recreation of Amaurot. Normally, this street would be bustling with foot traffic, yet he had not seen nor sensed a single soul around him.
“Yet again, I am denied the sound rest I so desperately crave.” He sighed to no one in particular, as if the streets were to blame for his predicament. “Is this to be my punishment? Cursed to forever wander my home, myself as its sole occupant?”
Hades continued to walk down the boulevard, half-marvelling, half-investigating. For a recreation, this was even more convincing that he had made beneath The Tempest. This area was free of the watery greenness that colored his Amaurot a depressing hue, and lacked the sea walls to constantly remind him that this was not truly his home.
Here, if he were to ignore the dreadful silence and emptiness of it all, he would begrudgingly admit that he would be fooled.
A brief flash of panic came over Hades as he clutched a streetlight for stability. “No… could it be that he… failed?” He muttered to himself.
“No… no.” He shook his head and pushed himself away from the lamppost, standing up straight. “He had to have succeeded.” He told himself. “It cannot all have been for naught…” His voice quivered at the end.
As his eyes rose from the ground, he noticed a flickering streetlight in the distance as if to command his attention. Despite its mundanity, it was an anomaly to Hades because there was a figure in stark white sitting underneath a lamppost, the light shining down on her light a spotlight.
She wasn’t there before, he noted. It very well could be some manner of depraved trap, he rationalized. To prey upon his human emotions by luring him in with someone of interest and then…
Then what?
He was already dead. Being in this state of purgatory was already torture enough to him; something as trite as brimstone and hellfire would be only slightly more tortuous. There was no reprisal fit to punish him.
Or, better yet, it could be his captor showing themself in order to gloat. He could imagine it now: The evil Ascian’s aether captured and contained, denied his eternal repose, never to pollute the star with his reincarnation ever again.
Shrugging internally, Hades leisurely plodded over to the flickering streetlight, the light slowing its blinking as he approached until it stilled into a solid beam.
It was a girl. An injured girl. She could not have been more than twenty years old in his eyes. Curiously, floating above her head was a halo. An accessory, perhaps? Or divinity? He vaguely recalled one or few sundered “cultures” depicting the righteous dead who ascended to heaven, and divine messengers, as angelic figures clad in flowing, white robes, feathery wings, and a halo above their heads.
However, Hades already knew there was no heaven. And on the astronomically low probability that there did exist such a plane, he knew that he was undeserving nor wanting it.
She had long, light blue hair that flowed down her back in blunted ends, and covered most of her face. He could see pink hairs in the back in stark contrast to the blue. A small braid rested on her shoulder.
She was dressed unlike any other of his kind that he knew of. This girl was dressed in a pure white uniform that looked militaristic, yet reminded Hades of no country that he knew of.
His eyes wandered over to the bloody stain marring the pure white. Injured, blood trailing down from her armpit, soaking the pristine white a violent red.
Could this truly be his captor? Or another victim like him? The latter was seeming more likely in his eyes.
“Are you injured?” Hades began, kneeling beside the girl and placing his hand near her body, instinctively attempting to draw on his boundless power to heal her wound. He was by no means a master chirurgeon like Emmerololth, but he was confident that he could offer a modicum of succor.
However, Hades’s powers failed to manifest. He did not feel the flow of his boundless aether flowing through his fingertips, nor even a spark of potential in him. He could not so much as even scab her wound. Perhaps this, too, was part of his punishment.
The girl looked up slowly, nudged out of her presumed navelgazing, and smiled. An expression of relief, hope, and resignation.
“It’s you. I was worried you’d have gotten lost.” She giggled weakly. She craned her head briefly to the side. “This city is so beautiful. I would’ve loved to explore it more… What did you call it again? Amaurot?”
Hades’s curiosity turned into confusion. Did someone tell her about the Ancients? He certainly didn’t; he would have remembered speaking to someone as unique-looking as her. “Yes, this is Amaurot. My home. And how do you know of it? I certainly do not recall speaking to you in my life.”
The girl merely smiled, a soft exhale of breath out her nose. “Sensei’s home is so beautiful,” She looks off to the distance wistfully. “I’m glad I finally got to see it, if only for a fleeting moment.”
Hades bit back an impatient barb. He much preferred that his questions were answered with less cryptic nonsense. But there was a word he recognized: Sensei. The Hingan word for “teacher”. Although he had spent little time in the Far East, he knew enough of their culture to determine its worth.
Was this girl Hingan? If so, then how and why was a Hingan here?
Before he could ask, the girl continued to speak.
"It was all my fault. My decisions, and everything they caused. It had come to this for me to finally realize that you were right all along…"
While Hades would have liked to grandstand and claim that he was never wrong, he remained silent. He felt like she was about to say something revealing.
“So forgive me for being so bold, but I must ask for your help, Hades-sensei.”
Her words hung heavily in the windless air.
“You must have me mistaken for someone else. I don’t recall taking on any students, let alone someone like you.” Hades shook his head. His tone was softer this time. There was nothing he could do to help. He was dead, his powers gone. “Moreover-”
“You’ll forget these words, but it won’t matter.” She continued on, his words ignored once more. Even without your memories, you’ll probably make the same decision under the same circumstances… Which is why what matters are the choices we make, not our past experiences.”
A faint, weary sigh escaped her. Her chest barely rose and fell with each minute breath she took. “There are choices only you can make. I’ve spoken of responsibility before. I didn’t truly understand it then, but I do now. Adulthood, responsibility, obligation… to my friends. The academies. The city. To the seat I failed to live up to… and the choices you make that extend beyond those ideals. Even the meaning behind them.”
Hades stared. The sheer, staggering presumption of the request, the weight of obligation being levied by a complete stranger bleeding out on the street, left him momentarily mute. It was an absurdity so profound it bordered on insult.
“Has your injury rendered you deaf as well?” He snapped, his impatience bubbling over. “Your little soliloquy has left me with more questions than answers! I will repeat myself one more time,” Hades scowled, his masked visage boring deep into the girl’s visible azure eye, though she hardly seemed intimidated. “I am not your ‘sensei’, not your teacher. I do not know you, and I do not wish to help. Leave me to my eternal purgatory.”
*ba-THUMP*
Hades tried to stand up, but before he could push himself off the ground, his head was suddenly wracked with a painful migraine.
Memories of an ever distant life lived rushed through his mind. So familiar, yet foreign.
He briefly glimpsed the ruins of a sprawling city, a girl with grey hair and blue eyes standing over him, his view down the barrel of her handgun clear.
*BANG BANG BANG*
Three shots rang out, each clamorous bullet tearing his mind inside out as they blew through an electronic tablet, which clattered uselessly onto the ruined concrete.
Her expression was cold, dead to all emotion, save for an eternally mournful frown.
“Grh!” Hades grunted, clutching his head with his left while trying to steady himself on the ground with his right.
The girl reached up to Hades’s mask, her one visible eye teary pleading as her voice seemed to drown itself out in a void of silence., “As the seat of Emet-Selch, please…”
His jaw locked up as her fingers grazed his half-mask. The question “who are you” remained caught in his throat as his mask was removed, and his vision engulfed with a blinding, blue light.
We thirst for the seven wailings.
We bear the Koan of Jericho.