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She was somewhat surprised that the replica of Amaurot still stood. Perhaps if Y'shtola had been here, she would have asked the woman if the aether had faded, any; or if Emet-selch had woven it so tightly that even time would not strip it from what he had made it.
The city still stood, yes, but most of the recreations of people Emet-selch– Hades– had populated it with were fading, their repetitions fraying at the edges.
She found her feet carrying her to the building she had first met Hythlodaeus– or, the shade of him in, at least. He wasn't there, of course; she wondered if, perhaps, his shade was in the back, at some grand desk she could imagine with a certainty that could have only come from memories not her own, surrounded by paperwork. Beneath the ache, there was a sense of fondness that made the loss bittersweet, even though she must have lived through it already.
That it was the first time in, likely, thousands of years that she could remember… well.
She watched the shades of Ancients sit on benches, approach the teller at some unheard signal, fade from sight over and over again, for what felt like hours. She couldn't tell what she was waiting for. Perhaps for the memory of Hythlodaeus to show himself again, though she doubted that he would; perhaps, when Emet-selch had been resummoned by the stone of Azem, when he had been Hades again, he had pulled just that one thread from the tapestry. Perhaps that loss was why it was all fraying.
Or perhaps she was simply reading too much into it. She was still so tired; the weight of her existence, of her role, of what Venat hoped of her, what the world wanted of her… it weighed heavily. She wasn't even all that old, but she felt twice her age at the least; slumped wearily against the wall.
Perhaps she had merely wanted to see the memory of someone that might have made that weight feel a little lighter, in the end. She tried to tell herself that she wasn't alone, but it always came down to her; eventually, something would happen that would inevitably leave her alone to determine the fate of everything, of countless lives. She'd saved the Star, she'd defeated Zenos. She'd stopped Meteion, she'd nearly permanently lost all of her friends to do so.
The lights outside of the Administrative office flickered on outside the large windows. Shades wandered into homes, doors no hindrance to those whos bodies were incorporeal. Or perhaps Emet-selch had been thorough in the imaginings, and they thought the doors opened for them, closed behind them. That would make sense for what she knew of Emet-selch. Of Hades.
She remembered the streamlined fury when he told Hermes Everything was for the Star. That determination had carried him even past forgetting, past the Sundering, and the loss… it all went back to those he lost. Again, her gaze tried to parse the Shades for Hythlodaeus. Again, she came up empty.
How lonely he must have been, she thought. It seemed, even when he put up his front, that he had relied heavily on Hythlodaeus. And, just as much, on Azem– Hebe– her. Radomira. Her fingers drifted over the pocket that held the stone– her stone. It hummed faintly, even beneath the cloth of her pants. Mira drew her fingers from it. Who knew what it would do in such an equally aether rich area as Amaurot?
She didn't want to disturb the relics left here more than she would with her presence. Even if they didn't know this Shard of her. These Shards of her? Ardbert, and the countless other versions of her that had been reunited during each Calamity… Mira shook her head. It didn't matter, in the end– they were her, now. There was no difference between them anymore.
The Shades that were left in the Administrative Office slowly faded from view. Perhaps into the back offices that she couldn't see, or perhaps Emet-selch's works were unravelling a bit more as she watched – she couldn't tell. She wasn't as familiar with Aether as Y'shtola would have been able to tell her, and Y'shtola was still trying to find a way across the rift to match the ease that Mira had. She felt a little bad being here when she couldn't, but not bad enough to return to the Source.
Not yet, at least. She still had one place she wanted to return to.
Once more, Mira found her feet moving before she was really aware of the decision to do so. Her path did not meander, but it was slow, as though she were taking in the sights, or walking alongside someone. She wondered if she had taken this same path before, as Hebe, alongside Hythlodaeus as the sun set on Amaurot; perhaps they had stopped by the Convocation, drawing Hades from his work. Or perhaps they had merely wandered together, arm in arm, while they awaited him. It seemed like something she, Mira, would do; and she was a portion of her past self, wasn't she? She allowed herself to entertain the thought, if for no other reason than the loneliness that weighed on her heart.
She was too tired to cry over their loss again, she found, when her feet inevitably took her to the door she had found on her first foray into Amaurot. She remembered returning, before they had first left it behind, after Emet-selch had kicked her out the first time, hands pressing against the door, hoping for it to open beneath her hand. It had not, and she had not been surprised. Or, at least, not surprised by that. She was, however, surprised by the feeling of loss that had accompanied it.
She understood, now. It had been Hebe, who had felt that loss. Azem. The Shard of the woman she had been, in the woman she was now; the one Venat and Emet-selch and even Hythlodaeus had noticed in her. The one Elidibus– Themis– had recognized. She hadn't examined that too closely, either. She couldn't.
Here, where her steps had been sure before, Mira hesitated. She had already lost enough, she thought; found and lost again more than she thought she could count, could stomach. Here was the home she had inhabited as Hebe. It had been closed to her, by Emet-selch, before. Perhaps he thought her appearance there a mockery of what he had lost, or perhaps he had yet to see the truth, or perhaps it was pain that had driven him. Mira didn't know, and couldn't ask. She wasn't sure if it still was closed to her. Wasn't sure what she would do if it was– and was just as unsure as to what to do if it wasn't.
For a long moment, she merely stood in front of the closed door. She considered giving up, then; returning to the Pendants for the night before going back to the Source, curled up in the too-large bed even for her and… well, alone. Considered avoiding any more hurt before it could be pressed into her palms, before it could carve more weariness into her shoulders. Hadn't she done enough, given enough? Why should she see if this, too, was still kept from her? This part of her she only half remembered, more in muscle than in true, actual memory; the amount of steps it took to get from the front door to the couch, to the window, to the kitchen. The sensation of hooking a mask on the hanger that sat by the front door, delicate ceramic clinking against the other two that hung there. Memories, sensations of memories, that were not her own, and yet she could see herself doing them in her minds eye.
Gently, Mira set her palm against the door. There was a moment where the door– or perhaps she, herself– seemed to hesitate, and then the door swung open.
It was the same as before. Mira knew as much before she had even walked into the living-room, careful not to let her boots scuff across the flooring, as though doing so might manifest one of the men she had lived there with to tease her, probe her with questions, with worry. Though, this time, the lights she hadn't noticed before were on, casting a warm glow into the room. Night didn't really fall, this far under the water, but it seemed Emet-selch had designed it that way anyways. Mira couldn't say that she complained; the familiarity of it despite having only set foot in here as Mira once before was soothing. She stepped carefully, as though Emet-selch might appear at any moment, or perhaps Hythlodaeus, though she doubted Hythlodaeus would have such a negative reaction to her being there. Perhaps neither would Emet-selch, now that he remembered that she had tried– well. No, trying didn't amount to anything, did it? It had still taken Azem. Still taken Hythlodaeus.
Her fingers smoothed over one of the blankets hung across the couch, and she knew without knowing that she had been the one to put them here, once upon a time. Her, Hebe. No one else had seen their home like this. Ancients had been private, and Mira understood– even her own individuality as Azem set her apart, much in the same way it did for Venat. Her fingers smoothed over the soft fur of the blanket, and then fell away as she stepped back, turning towards the hallway she had avoided last. There were no paintings on the walls, but she wasn't particularly surprised by that; the only ones of them she could see willing to submit to such a fanfare would have been she and Hythlodaeus, and Emet-selch only after much cajoling. Yes, she thought to herself, stopping by the first door, much cajoling.
She did not hesitate as she opened the door, and for a moment she was not herself, but Hebe, barging into Emet-selch's home office without knocking, and for a moment she can see him seated behind the desk, expression already drawn into a frown, mouth opening as he prepares to scold her.
She blinks, and the office is empty once more.
Well, not quite empty. Devoid of any life other than her own, perhaps, but the office itself… it was as though Emet-selch hadn't had the heart to change it from when he had last left it. Or perhaps the appearance of it was the freshest in his memory. Papers were scattered halfhazardly on the floor– or, mimicries of them, at least. None had any writing she could read, and she couldn't pick them up to stack them together again– though, even had she been able to do so, there was nowhere for them to go. His desk listed dangerously to one side, two of the legs on one side snapped at the halfway point, as though something had been slammed into it hard enough that they had broken beneath the impact. Mira shook her head at the image the office left, disorganized and destroyed. There was nothing she could do about it, either; as Mira, she did not have control over the magic Emet-selch had woven around the rooms. she ran her hand over the desktop anyways, as though her touch alone could repair it, before she turned back to the door.
Behind her, the memory of Emet-selch continued to chastise Hebe for barging into his office, while she smiled at him, leaning over his desk with one hand planted on the papers he had been poring over.
The door closed.
Mira's shoulders relaxed, minutely; she brushed a piece of hair from her face as she straightened back up again. The next room she entered was another office, but it was so sparse she had a moment of struggling to fit someone behind the pale desk. It was a calming space, however, she couldn't deny that; she found herself leaning against the solid desk despite the emptiness of the office room, eyes closing as she merely breathed.
Hythlodaeus, of course. But she swore there had been more, once upon a time– perhaps Emet-selch had removed it when Hythlodaeus had joined with Zodiark. Stripped every reminder of Hythlodaeus from the room until all that was left was the unerring presence. She could imagine that, too; Hades returning from the summoning of Zodiark like a ghost, wandering through the halls of their empty home, standing in front of Hythlodaeus' office. Stripping it down to the bare essentials with an almost rabid ferocity. Emet-selch didn't cry. He got angry. Mira knew that; angry at them, angry at himself for being unable to stop it. And with no one around… with herself gone, Sundered, with Hythlodaeus gone, joined with Zodiark…
All of that anger would have started outward, and then gone inward. Perhaps, the office… she shook her head slightly, pushing away from the desk. One last room, before the bedroom. She wasn't sure she could stomach going in there, she admitted even to herself.
The door was situated on the other side of the hallway, directly between Hythlodaeus' and Hades' office doors. There were no decorations on the outside of it, much like with the other two offices, but something about the door had her pausing just as much anyways. It felt… somehow, more private, than the other rooms. She hadn't hesitated as much at their doors, but this… While Hebe had been her own person, she had still become a part of Mira, later. And now Mira was going to see who she was, before she was Mira, while she was Azem.
The role she had, unsurprisingly, been asked to take back up. Mira took a slow breath as she pressed her hand against the door once more. Perhaps she might find something about being Azem, in Hebe's office.
It was… unsurprising, how at ease she felt stepping into the office. Hebe's sense of taste influenced her own, she knew, but to see it as clearly as Mira did now, in the office that was nearly a living, breathing shrine, left untouched even by Hades' rage, was something else entirely. Her fingers brushed over the recreations of plants that no longer existed, torn from their world by the Sundering; she wondered how fast it had been before the world as Emet-selch knew it was ripped from his hands. Was it as soon as Zodiark had been summoned? Days later, weeks, months? Had Venat, already knowing she wouldn't be able to change the others' minds, began gathering whilst she waited for the inevitable?
unlike the other two offices, hers boasted a window that looked into the city. The glass was one way, she knew; she had walked past this wall before, when they were exploring. Her fingers brushed over it anyways, the veritable garden of plantlife crowding around it brushing against her clothes gently. A spattering of Elpis flowers sat tucked closest to the sill, and at the touch of her fingertips they turned a dark purple hue. It wasn't surprising, that even Emet-selch's recreations could react to her so thoroughly. She sighed as she shuffled back from the once pristine flowers, until her thighs hit the desk, angled to where Hebe could look out when the mood struck her. She wondered why her office was left alone, when Emet-selch had destroyed his own, had removed any personality from Hythlodaeus'. Another mystery for a man shrouded in them, she mused.
Or, perhaps, he had simply been too hurt to do so.
That sobered her once more, and Mira's entire body drooped again with her exhaustion. She hadn't seemed to be able to do anything but hurt those she cared about, lose them over and over again. She was too tired to contemplate it thoroughly. Her gaze wandered across the room, but Hebe was either just as scattered as she herself was, or her work was not brought home - there was nothing for her here.
She hadn't come in with the hope for anything, so when she left the office she didn't particularly feel bereft, in the face of her failure. Moreso… well, just as tired as she had been when she started. Perhaps a little more, even. She didn't truthfully know how much more tired she could be, before her body simply gave out on her. She leaned against the wall next to the final door, gaze bearing down the hallway. Shadows from the world outside danced across the walls. The silence, broken only by her own breathing, reminded her too much of her time on Ultima Thule. Of the moments before she addressed Meteion, alone. She remembered the panic in her chest, heart racing, looking upon what had been left behind of the worlds Meteion had found, hovering like the moon above; upon the barren stretch of land, flat and too far below even for Mira to reach overhead.
Your final stand, Meteion had told her. You will never be able to reach me.
You're going to die here.
Mira had believed her, for a moment.
Had accepted it, if she was honest with herself. There had been a moment, where Mira had been tempted to give up. Alisaie and Alphinaud, G'raha, Y'shtola and Urianger, Estinien, Thancred. The crushing realization that none of them had been able to breathe when they had first been forced to land by Meteion, waking up already missing a member.
Sacrifice begets life.
Meteion's voice:
He wanted you to live. He wanted it so strongly that it became reality.
In the end, it wasn't even her who had decided they were not ready yet. Not entirely, at least. The stone of Azem had burned so hotly in her pocket that Mira had actually had a little burn spot on her skin, when she had withdrawn it.
And she had cried, when Hythlodaeus and Hades had appeared.
Mira leaned her head back, offering up a low sigh as she closed her eyes. Yes, she had cried, and Hades had had a moment of looking so panicked at the sight. She wondered, then, if Hebe had not been as emotional as she was. Or perhaps Hades had thought their location still too public for her to entertain her emotions, but Mira had been so tired. Seeing familiarity, comforting faces, was more than enough for her weary body. She likely couldn't have stopped it even had she tried.
But it was of no matter, now. They…
Mira pushed herself away from the wall, considering the door for far too long, before she shook her head. At herself, at her surroundings, at everything. She turned on her heel, resolutely away from the door, and back to the main room of the home,– their home– and retraced her steps back up the hallway, into the living-room once more. She wouldn't go back to the Pendants, not tonight; it was far too late for her to be wandering around on her own and exhausted to boot. Instead, she settled on the couch, leaning forward until she could rest her elbows against her knees, let her head slump between her shoulders.
Tomorrow would be a new day. Mira would wake up, and return to the Source, and return to being the Warrior of Light, whatever that meant now that the world had been saved. Was there anything else for her to even do? A hand lifted, running through the hair she had cut short after they had returned planetside; still a surprise when she ran out of hair to touch. It felt… better, this way, she admitted. Lighter.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she said to the open air, the quiet of the room, the stillness. There should have been sound; noise, life. Something other than her, here. But she had taken that as thoroughly as she had taken lives of countless others. Her sisters had tried to keep her safe, and yet…
Mira leaned back, resting her back against the back cushion of the couch, looking up at the ceiling. Lights played across the water, which reflected strangely above her head, and Mira allowed herself a moment to simply exist, here. As she was, and as all she had been before. The Warrior of Light. The Warrior of Darkness. The Savior of the Star.
Azem.
Hebe.
Radomira.
Slowly, her breathing evened out, her eyes slipping shut for longer and longer periods. Slowly, sleep came over her. Slowly, Mira surrendered to the desire.
As she drifted, the home came alive around her. Shades formed, memories lingering in the corners taking shape. Hythlodaeus settled a blanket over her sleeping form, brushing her hair from her face with gentle fingers, as Emet-selch watched on.
"I told you. Explore. Live."