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If it was nighttime, Altani could no longer tell.
Nor could anyone else, with how the Light blared down from on high. Her thoughts first went to Vauthry, with how obnoxious it was. She could almost hear his screams in her ears, how they rang out as brick by white brick, the empire he had built had come crumbling down. Petulant in attitude, cruel in execution.
Nothing how she was, she would dare say. Where Vauthry was eager to use his subjects as his shield, Altani had forged herself to be the shield for the weak. His will forced itself upon them, creating them into little more than puppets that he strung along. No one stood by him willingly, while the Scions, the people of both the Source and the First having found an ally, a friend in her. They couldn’t be any more different. Hells, that man couldn’t have known a friend if it flew in his face.
And yet, right now, they couldn’t be any more alike.
Had she, not too, grown fat in her confidence? In the belief that yes, she was the Warrior of Light Darkness. She, shadow bringer. The slayer of eikons and wardens of light, come as she does, to save those in need. It had been a role of comfort, at this point, to be the hero. What else could she be now, but that?
This hadn’t even been the first time, of this silent killer of arrogance. Had she not learned her lesson from Zenos? Had the scars left decorating her flesh not proof enough? What would it take for her to learn?
This, apparently. The evidence of her failure, laid plain for all to see. No hiding from the shame, for the Light shone upon all.
A shuddering sigh escaped dark lips, as the failed savior gazed into the mirror. There had been a small restroom connected to her room in the Pendants, door locked. Not that it would do much with her spectral friend, but she would like to think that Ardbert had a bit more tact than that.
Hands clawed at the basin in front of her, fingers curled against the cold, smooth stone. Water, clear and pure, laid within. She thought some splashed on her face would help, but now Altani could barely force herself to. Muscles, hardened from battle, felt now like they belonged to a stature.
All she could do is stare at the mirror, at the woman | warden | warrior. Were the rings around her eyes always so bright? Alisaie had teased her on it before—with eyes like yours, who needs a torch?—but it had never been a nerve for Altani. They seemed to blaze in the soft lighting, a fire not her own.
She had done something similar, right before going to Eulmore. Looked after herself, at every angle she could. There had not been any physical changes with the influx of Light, at least none she could perceive. It had still been Altani Akagane, that Xaela from the Steppe who ever wanted two things in life; to be free from the yoke of her father, and to learn the curative magicks that might save her mother. That inherent lack of change was a soft balm to her trepidation. All other obstacles had fallen before her. This shouldn’t have been so different.
And yet now here she stood, her own obstacle. Her own worst enemy. The warrior had become a weapon. And woe betide the man who would stand opposed to the Weapon of Light, for death shall be his reward.
Death to him, and his kin, and all that he held dear.
Her mouth was open. She wanted to scream.
All that came out was a sob.
Her hands finally freed themselves of the basin, stiff, a joint cracking as her bones did from the flares of pain. Every strike of pain from the Light was like that. Cruel like Vauthry, that shatter as something within her broke.
Maybe then it was little wonder that as he grew his wings, transcending into Innocence, that hers as well. Temperance had always been a virtue, after all. Who better to eat sins than a virtue?
The body moved on its own accord. Back to her room proper. A knife laid on the dining table. They were never Altani’s weapon of choice. Her ever trustful staff laid next to the bed, crooked and about to fall. A new companion, a heavy laid scythe, leaned against the armoire. The greatsword that she grew so accustomed to still stood tall, if not all alone to the side. She could still call on them, she knew. All she had to do was ask.
The knife she took, and it was back to the restroom.
How much Light did she need to bleed out of her?
The question was raised, and the knife answered.
Few was the foe Altani stood against that she could not slay. Fewer were those she could not serve. What a slave she was, to it all.
She could save so, so many, and not even save herself.
Her upper lip curled up as metal kissed flesh. There was a part of her that still prayed that her blood would be what it always was; that deep, rich red as all others bled. What flowed out was that wicked white, as it had as she coughed it up at the summit.
Of course. Sin eaters didn’t bleed red. She fought enough of those to know that. What was she thinking?
Drop by drop, it fell into the basin. It took to the water, slowly dissolving into it, glittering. She could call it beautiful, if she was still naive. That’s what she thought when she first arrived in the amethyst forest beyond the Crystarium. Bewitching, almost, by its allure. She could have fallen for its spell, if it didn’t show its hand so easily.
The pain wasn’t so bad. Not to how the Light felt. Not to how so many of her battles had gone, both here and back at Eorzea. No, she can handle this. There had to be a way to defeat this enemy inside her. How much Light needed to be bled out? All of it? Is that what it would take for this taint to be gone from her? This taint that she took upon herself?
Altani didn’t find the answer. At some point, the blade fell away from her arm, clattering to the stone below. Her other hand pressed against the wound, aether swirling around as the healing began.
She couldn’t look herself in the mirror. She knew this wouldn’t work. Knew, and did it anyway. As if it could be so easy.
No, this was not a foe she could fight on a battlefield, long as she would for it. That would make sense. The hero fought the villain on the battlefield. She couldn’t do that when the villain was now herself, housed in flesh and soul.
No droplet landed on her tongue, but she could still taste the iron aftertaste of red. A small comfort, that. Meant there was still some life in her. Couldn’t say if that was good, considering the state of it all, but… it was something.
The exhale was long, deep. Altani wanted nothing more than to just collapse there, feel the chill of the floor against her body, have it sink in and in until she was nowhere. Ardbert and the others would have something to say to her on that though, now wouldn’t they? The twins would scream in her ears, Thancred and Urianger shaking their heads, Y’shtola’s arms crossed as Ryne would try to place a hand on her shoulder. Could see it crystal clear. It almost made a smile rise up.
Instead, her hand falls away, revealing unmarred flesh, beyond a thin white scar sealing the wound. Nothing that couldn’t be explained away with every other scar she had. Would at least have the honor of being the only one self inflicted.
The door gently clicked close as she stepped out, the knife left behind. Perhaps it was time to actually go see them. Surely beats this lonely abode.
She had come here to save them after all, bring her family, her home back.
Maybe Altani just needed to trust that they would do the same for her.