Chapter Text
It was night, discernible for the first time in a hundred years, and the cloud coverage plunged the Crystarium further into darkness. Despite this, many of its citizens were still up and about, simply enjoying it. After years of unending primordial Light, darkness and shadows must have been quite the novelty indeed.
Emet-Selch wasn’t paying attention to any of the ambling halfmen, though. His gaze was locked on the forms of the invaders from the Source; their hero most of all. On the colour of her soul.
Shortly before his death as Emperor Solus, he had heard of the so-called “Champion of Eorzea”. The one who had bested Gaius van Baelsar, preventing the Empire from claiming the western city states. A woman of considerable might who could resist the tempering powers of primals.
Honestly he had paid her very little mind at the time. Hydaelyn– even just thinking Her name brought a sneer to his face– was always claiming new champions, and he had been at the end of that life. The seventh Rejoining had occurred, and his job was finished. It wasn’t to be his problem.
Until Elidibus had woken him early and made it his problem.
He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised to see that’s where her soul had ended up. How many times now had he seen that colour rise up in history, only to unknowingly or knowingly stand against him? No, it wasn’t surprising at all that the Hero of the Source held that soul, and that it stood once more in his way.
But for that hue to be in one of the more malformed bodies sickened him. Slate-blue skin, shorter by far than the vast majority of her peers, obsidian-blue scales, horns instead of ears, and a tail…
Xaela au ra. How disgusting.
Nevermind that she had so loved little scaled things. Nevermind that her traveller’s soul had been reborn on the Azim Steppe, among nomadic wanderers.
But he hadn’t come here to judge. He had a sincere offer for them.
He did have a few complaints first, of course.
Emet-Selch stepped from the shadows and began his approach. Almost immediately, the hero turned to look over her shoulder, spotting him. She wore dark, impressive armour, and carried a heavy sword strapped to her back. She gave the impression of a knight, but one who had been stripped of– or perhaps willingly discarded– her honour. Her companions had yet to notice him, but she turned to give him a quizzical tilt of the head.
“You certainly took your time,” he scoffed when he was but a few yalms from the group. “I had half-resolved to complete the task myself.”
This got the rest of their attention, drawing them out of whatever inane conversations they were having. One of the little elezen teens, twins by the looks of them, spoke first, her head too at a quizzical tilt. “And you are?”
Oh. Teenage sass. Just what he wanted.
The tall elezen held out his arm in front of her, as if to block her from approaching… or perhaps, based on the narrowing of his eyes, to protect her from him? “Were one to study the annals of Garlean history,” he said in a flat, controlled voice, “one would find yonder visage on many a page.” His eyes narrowed further. “Though by rights its youth should have long since of faded.”
Emet-Selch shrugged, nonchalant. “Well, well,” he mused, a smirk on his lips, “we have a historian in our midst. That spares me a lengthy explanation.” He returned his gaze to the malformed hero, who had joined in on the narrowing of eyes at him. He smiled mockingly back. “I am Solus zos Galvus, founding father of the Garlean Empire. And,” he added in a dry, practiced tone, “under various guises, the architect of myriad other imperially inclined nations. As for my true identity…” He raised a hand and brought it down over his face, revealing the symbol of his station. “I am Emet-Selch.” He gave a shallow bow, left arm tucked behind him, right crossing over his chest. “Ascian.”
That certainly garnered a reaction. The little blonde hyur took a frightened step back, while both the hero and the same elezen teen who had spoken took a step forward each, ready for a fight. “Gaius spoke of you!” Proclaimed the elezen girl. “A native of the Source…”
Emet-Selch fought to keep his expression somewhat pleasant. He was no such thing. He was a native of the true, Unsundered star, thank you very much.
The white haired hyur man actually reached back to put a hand on his gunblade. “Equal in rank to Lahabrea.” His words dripped venom, and his mouth was pressed in a hard line. “And you came all this way just to introduce yourselves to us?”
He allowed his rank of office to fade as he turned with a wave of his hands. “Behold the sky, restored to its former glory!” He intoned dramatically as he swept his arms upwards towards it. “Have you ever seen a more affecting spectacle? Ohhh, it is truly, deeply…” He allowed his body to sag as he felt the weight of duty and burden upon his shoulders. “... Infuriating,” he growled. “Do you have any idea how much you have delayed the Rejoining?”
“Good.”
Oh? The hero had deigned to speak? Emet-Selch turned to see her glaring at him, her tail swishing slowly behind her. That her soul had to be reborn in such a boorish vessel…
He met her glare with a disapproving glare of his own. “Following the Flood, the First had been listing ever further towards the Light– towards stasis. The end was in sight!” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Enter man and his indomitable spirit. He would haul the world back from the brink!” His stare hardened, and he found himself beginning to grit his teeth in frustration. “And adding his lumpen weight to the power of growth, he duly tipped the scales, if only by a fraction.”
He was practically growling through clenched teeth. Recounting how their plans for the First had been waylaid was… more frustrating than he had expected it to be.
“Yet a fraction,” he continued, “was enough to spoil the perfect imbalance needed to bring about a Rejoining!”
He had to take a breath to calm himself. He was getting too caught up in his emotions, and as frustrated as he was, he did not wish to actually start a fight. He released his breath in a long suffering sigh. “Had mankind continued to live in idleness under Vauthry’s rule, all the conditions would have been met…”
He met the gaze of the hero again, displeasure clear on her face, and, despite his attempts to remain calm, again felt his frustrations rise.
How many times would this soul stand directly in his way?
How many times would he wish to beg for understanding that this was the only way?!
“But you,” he pointed at her accusingly, “had to come along and ruin it all! Thanks to your meddling,” he all but spat, “Light’s supremacy is in doubt, and our painstakingly laid plans are in tatters!”
She neither flinched nor wilted before his glare or words, but held his gaze with her hands forming tight fists at her sides.
“Well,” the white haired hyur cut in, relinquishing his hold on his gunblade, “I should begin by thanking you for confirming Urianger’s theories on the inner workings of the Calamities. He will be most pleased.”
Surprised and pulled out of his rancor, Emet-Selch turned to stare. They hadn’t actually figured it out yet? By Zodiark, these sundered souls were hopeless…
The man folded his arms over his chest, clearly unimpressed. “As for what happens next, might I suggest you admit defeat and walk away?”
The gall of him. Emet-Selch scoffed softly. “Happy to let me go, are you?” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Because the murderous glint in your eye suggests otherwise.” His voice took on a mocking tone. “Indeed, it is enough to make me think better of confronting you alone.”
He could end them all in an instant if he so wished.
But he didn’t.
“Look,” he admitted drolly, “it did cross my mind to simply side with Vauthry and kill you all,” he shrugged. “But that’s no different from what Lahabrea did. And we all know how that ended for him.”
Once more he met the gaze of their little hero, but this time he kept a stronger hold on his frustrations as he began to walk towards her. Several of her comrades tensed, but she simply held her ground, head held high.
“And so, while it is liable to be troublesome,” he said as he stopped a few fulms away, “I have settled upon a different approach.”
She was much shorter than he, and for a better look at her, he took another half step forward and leaned to the side to inspect her face.
He nearly swallowed his own tongue.
Her features were now much more clear to him, and he found himself entrapped by her eyes.
Purple eyes.
Not the bright, nearly pink-violet of him, but the soft purple of her.
And there were other things too, things he only saw now due to his proximity to her. The shape of her chin and brow. Her shoulder length hair, though a few shades darker, had the same wavy texture. And her freckles…
Had he not invented and memorized celestial patterns in those very same freckles, so long ago now?
Despite himself, a soft smile graced his features.
“Cooperation!” He continued to smile, those familiar features making him feel soft, even as the word clearly confused her, blinking those purple eyes at him. “I will not raise a hand to hinder your hunt for the Lightwardens. If you desire it, I will even lend you my knowledge and strength.”
Her glare had completely fallen, and largely had been replaced with curiosity, if a little shocked. More surprising was that he found that this delighted him. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again when the other elezen twin, the boy, spoke up more quickly than she.
“Since time immemorial, you and yours have laboured to rejoin the thirteen shards, at the cost of countless lives.” The boy wasn’t openly glaring at him, but his brow was lowered in distrust. “Do you honestly expect us to believe that your objective has suddenly changed?”
Emet-Selch straightened and turned to regard him, his smile falling from his lips. “Nay, our objective is the same as it ever was– though I daresay you do not know our motive.”
And that had been the problem over these millennia, hadn’t it? These poor sundered souls thought they were saving people. They did not know of the suffering they were prolonging.
And so did he extend the proverbial olive branch.
“A war waged without knowledge of the enemy is no war– it is mere bloodletting,” he said softly. “Just once… might we not seek to find common ground?”
Several sets of eyes narrowed in suspicion… but not hers. The light of cautious curiosity still shone in those purple eyes.
“For good or ill,” he continued with a little smile, “I am immortal. Provided I have the inclination, I can always begin anew. Scheme and conspire to my heart’s content.” He focused back on her. On those familiar features he last saw so, so long ago. “But this time, I thought I might try to see eye to eye. To understand what drives the hero of the Source.” He raised a hand towards her. “To determine if our goals are truly incompatible. So come,” he said gently as he gestured to himself. “Shed your preconceptions. See beyond the unscrupulous villains you take us for.”
No one spoke, and he felt his smile fall. “When all is said and done,” he continued, “we may find ourselves pleasantly surprised. The proud discoverers of a path of cooperation rather than opposition. Think on it.”
Once more the hero opened her mouth to speak, and once more she was interrupted by one of her companions. This time, however, it was by the tall elezen man throwing a card through his form, which then vanished in a puff of purple and black smoke.
Honestly.
“Thou hast delivered thy proposal and we would not dismiss it outright.”
Did he always talk like that?
The man was glaring at where Emet-Selch had been standing, arm still outstretched from his little card trick. “If I may offer thee counsel, however:” he continued, “to make thy case via an illusion reflecteth poorly upon thy sincerity."
It seemed he did. Wonderful. That wasn’t annoying in the slightest.
Emet-Selch approached them again from behind, this time from the base of the Crystal Tower staircase. “My apologies,” he said lightly with a shrug as they turned to face him. “You will forgive me if I am not entirely at ease in the presence of a famed Ascian-slayer. I felt it only prudent to take precautions.”
To his amusement, their little hero gave him something of a “fair enough” nod.
“Nonetheless,” he smiled, “your counsel is duly noted.”
He turned away from them before they had a chance to speak– or throw any more cards at him– and waved over his shoulder. “I take my leave, friends,” he said as a portal of swirling darkness appeared in front of him. “Rest assured, we shall meet again soon.”
As he stepped through it and into his reflection of Amourot, his smile faded and he felt the weight of eons once more. He had planned to follow them closely now that he has introduced himself, but after seeing their hero up close, he needed a little time to think.
How did she look so much like her?
It wasn’t a perfect match. Nowhere near so, especially not with that malformed body, but it was enough to have given him quite the shock. The last time he had seen features like that...
She had turned away from him.
He put a hand to his chin in thought. When she had been born, six Rejoinings had already occurred. That meant her soul was seven fourteenths towards being whole. It would be eight fourteenths now, of course, with the Seventh Rejoining.
Half of a full soul upon birth. Though only a fraction of a true soul, was it perhaps enough for some of her features to be shining through?
He thought on it a moment longer, then scoffed. “Bah,” he mumbled to himself, “it matters not. Likely simple coincidence.” After all, souls were wiped clean when returned to the Underworld, and that soul would have gone through many cycles now these past eons. And while he was willing to give cooperation a try for that soul, at a mere eight fourteenths, she couldn’t be her. It was a pointless thought experiment.
Mind made up, he resolved to get some rest before returning to the Crystarium. He had said they would meet again soon, after all.
As he settled down for his nap, however, Emet-Selch could quietly admit to himself that seeing those familiar features had softened his heart… if only by a fraction.