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The door of the inn room slams shut behind me. The clanging of my chainmail armor and the lance upon my back follows me to my bed, where I practically fall upon it. It's never enough, is it? It can't ever be enough. Loss after loss, sacrifice after sacrifice. Damnable sacrifice.
Why did it have to be her?
"You look rather… haggard." I practically jump out of my skin, almost falling off the bed. Wasn't I alone in here? I didn't hear the door open. I yell back to the figure, leaning against the wall in his all-too-distinctive armor. I feel myself practically growl at him. "Godsdamnit, Fray, would it kill you to knock?"
He steps away from the wall. I can't see his face — I've never seen it at all, come to think of it — but I just know he's grinning under that helmet of his. "I haven't seen you this tired in ages, Apollo. The hells happened to you?"
I glare at him. "It's… There was a job. It went south." I know he can tell I'm lying, that I'm not giving him the whole story, but frankly I don't care. I don't need him to know what happened at the Antitower, how what little wind had finally gotten back in our sails had been so thoroughly taken away in a single moment.
He shakes his head. "Did you really expect to be able to save her? You knew it couldn't be that easy."
"How did you—" I shake my head. I must've told him already. "Sorry, 'easy?' You think this has been easy?" I'm already standing before I realize, my fists clenching through the leather of my armored gauntlets as I approach. "I've fought and bled and broken myself for every tiny scrap of anything that could even remotely resemble victory."
"Sacrifice takes its toll, Apollo. You know this." He says in a low tone, staring at me with an inscrutable expression from behind that all-obscuring mask. "She knew this. Why is it so hard for you to understand?"
"Sacrifice? The hells do you know about sacrifice!?" The words fall out of my mouth before I can really think. "Remind me, what have you lost, exactly? How many of your friends have you seen bleeding out on the ground? How many deaths have you been responsible for? How much blood is on your hands, Fray!?"
He scoffs, unconvinced by my exasperated ranting. "Much and more, Apollo. Why do you think I'm trying to help you?"
"Help me? Well, you're doing a real bang-up job of that, aren't you!?" I grab his arm, below his ridiculous oversized pauldron. My fangs are bared, my throat scratched raw from the furious register my voice has fallen into. "All you've done is lead me to more bloodshed. All you've done is drag me halfway around Eorzea, to every mewling craven fool who can't go more than a bell without begging for help, creating a pile of corpses in our wake. How in each and every one of the seven hells is that supposed to be helping!?"
He chuckles. I don't believe it. The bastard is laughing at me. He pulls his arm away and I can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks; "You're making progress. You're finally starting to understand, to open your eyes to the truth of the matter. That's good." He starts to leave, and I feel like I can't do anything but watch. "I knew you would come to your senses. Wait for me by the Gates of Judgment. When you're alone… I'll be there."
I turn from him. I don't know how to respond. How is this progress? I don't feel stronger or wiser or anything, I just feel… angry. Like all I want to do is leave everything behind, go somewhere no one knows my name and just… hide.
I don't even hear him leave. I'm just standing there, staring out the window at the twilight, stewing in my hate. I don't realize he's fully gone yet until I hear a knock at my door. Probably Gibrillont or Bamponcet, I reckoned, having overheard my shouting match with Fray. It wasn't exactly a quiet hour for the Forgotten Knight, but I'd apologize regardless.
Instead, I open the door to see Juksie. A Miqo'te like myself (if I were a full fulm shorter and also blue), a former dragoon and a friend of Minfilia. She'd been with me at the Antitower, keeping the attention of those damn Sharlayan mammets and arcane constructs off the rest of us when…
Best not to mention it. I clear my throat, trying to mask the obvious hoarseness. "Juksie, hi. Sorry if you overheard, I just…"
"Overheard? Yeah, you can say that." She cuts me off. I can't imagine she's taking recent events any better than I, though I suppose it's good she's put together enough to greet me. "You're loud enough to wake the dead."
I force a chuckle. No sense in worrying Juksie, she's got enough on her plate. "Just me having an argument with a friend of mine, Fray. Left right before you showed up. You probably passed him on the way here." I don't really want to talk to anyone right now, but if people are going to keep showing up, I may as well invite them in. I leave the door open as I retreat further into the room. "Come in, make yourself at home."
Juksie doesn't move. I see her face, twisted into an expression that reads as though I just told her I had to go shampoo bread or some equally ridiculous remark. A few moments of silence pass, followed by Juksie's voice, low, almost indignant. "The fuck are you talking about? You're the only one in here. I can hear you down the fucking hall screaming back and forth at yourself."
Now I'm the one baffled. "The fuck am I talking about? Juksie, the fuck are you talking about? He's, like, six fulms tall and wears full armor twenty-four hours a day. You cannot possibly have missed him." I sit down on the bed, my head in my hands. "It's not like Fray's exactly a subtle sort. Not like him to take an exit out the window, either."
Juksie finally enters the room, her face scrunched up with a lack of understanding. "Nobody came of out…" She stops, a look of realization clear upon her face. She turns back to face me, her expression almost deathly serious. "…this Fray. Describe him."
"Not sure how that's gonna help, but… Yeah. He's never shown me his face. Guess he values his privacy. But I've never seen armor like his before, pitch black with gold and blue overlaid, and his eyes… They're about the only part of him I've ever seen, vibrant yellow poking out from behind that mask of his."
"Apollo." Her voice is almost striking in the seriousness of its tone. "Was he a dark knight. Like me?"
I can't help but let out a giggle. "Big sword, dark magicks, recurring pain in my neck? Yeah, that about fits his description." I stand up and walk over to the closet in the corner of the room, pulling out the sword Fray gave me. Long and thin, with a golden hilt and steel blade. "Found him dozing off in the snow after he got his ass kicked by a couple of Temple Knights. He's been teaching me a few things about swordplay since." I give it a few twirls before setting it down again. It's light and fast, appropriate for my own fighting preferences.
Juksie leans against the wall. I've never been the best at reading people, but even I can tell the name pains her to hear. "That Fray is dead, Apollo. Has been since before you showed up in Ishgard. Those blueblood bastards murdered him and dumped his body in the Brume." The silence in the room is deafening before she holds out her hand towards me. "His crystal. I know you have it. Give it here."
I pull the crystal from a pouch on my belt. Black with red engravings, sharp and jagged. "I'm… sorry for your loss?" I drop the crystal in her hand, backing away afterwards. "But the Fray I know's been right as rain. Grouchy, obstinate, more than a little bit of a jackass? Sure. But I wouldn't exactly count him among the dead."
I don't think she's listening to me at this point. She's just staring at the crystal in her hands, smirking like she's just won some bet. "Heh… Told you I wasn't crazy, didn't I? Stubborn prick." She tosses the crystal back to me, making her way to the door. "Grab your shit and meet me outside. I have someone I need to introduce you to."
"Alright, I'll meet you—" My sentence is interrupted as she shuts the door behind her. I take that as a sign not to keep her waiting. The crystal goes back in the pouch on my belt, safe and sound. If this is about some dark knight chicanery, I figure it's only appropriate to bring my sword. I wrap my fingers around the grip—
—I'm at the Gates of Judgment. I don't remember how I got here. I'm sweating even in this biting cold. I feel queazy, unsteady on my feet.
"Juksie?" I call out. No response.
"…Fray?"
Part of me wonders why I'm bothering to yell for him. That part is rudely interrupted by the sound of knights rushing up. "It's an honor to meet you," they say. "We need your help," they say. They cry out into the freezing cold, "We beg of you!"
I barely even hear what the problem is. Giants? Or is the problem itself giant? I don't know. I don't care. Why don't I care? If I never see snow again, it'll be too soon. I smile and nod and ask for directions. The two knights thank me, ask me to pray follow them to some pass in the middle of nowhere. Something that'd need a dozen of them to deal with, and just one of me.
As I hike through the snow, I swear I can hear my own voice in the distance.
No. No more. Enough.