#before he becomes lahabrea i mean. give the man a friend so that he has someone to go ''hey your wife sounds kind of abusive''

[crystal-verse]

this isn't lore i've shared anywhere other than discord but in my crystal verse au, while mehka is an azem shard, k'pheli is not, so you may wonder, who is he a shard of if not azem. and the answer is he is not a shard but rather a reincarnation, and he is a reincarnation of the seat of halmarut from venat's time in the convocation. their name is thávma and they are very very very old and they only stepped down from the seat after their hand-picked successor was deemed skilled and competent enough. and they also stuck around like venat did because they saw pandaemonium and got interested in it so that's how i can excuse their being in elpis during endwalker msq

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 27: Benthos

Why am I back here again, Dia thought.

There was no reason, really. It felt right to her. Whatever the others might say of this place, whatever horrors she experienced here, Amaurot fascinated her. She traversed the city and listened to them, to her people…or to the people that she once knew, at least.

Why would Emet-Selch allow them their opinions still? Why would he not want them all to simply agree with the course of action taken by the Convocation? Would it have not made him feel more justified to rewrite history? These were questions that plagued her when she thought of Amaurot.

“This place creeps me out, you know”, Ardbert commented.

“Noted. Now where do you think we should go next?”

“Ishgard, if you would.”

“Before that.”

“Urgh, I don’t understand you sometimes. Why can’t it be as simple as, ‘This place is creepy and dark and made by an Ascian; perhaps we should avoid it.’”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s more than that, and you know it. This was…our home once.”

“No, it’s a recreation of Azem’s home. It’s dead, Dia. Dead and gone.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you. I also watched the Final Days and we’re apparently due for a repeat. That doesn’t mean that a recreation can’t be found intriguing.”

“It can if you let it.”

She kept walking past Macarenses Angle. Azem’s crystal seemed to pulse as she walked in the same rhythm. She seemed to want something, to add her own voice.

“Azem, no more kissy-face with Emet-Selch, I’m begging you”, Dia whispered softly as she gripped the stone in her inventory. She bound for a nearby bench, and took a seat. The familiar pull of the past taking her away embraced her.

*********

“On that note, I would like to draw this meeting to a close.”

Emet-Selch’s voice rang across the assembly hall. The fourteen stood in respect before he dismissed them.

Azem dreamed of the day they would finally intervene, recognize that their duty to the world has always been plain. The circumstances which led them to this point, however, devastated her. Her fellow convocation members, her friends, her family- all of them were in danger. She needed to protect them, and although the matter was grave indeed, it was strangely refreshing for her to see the Convocation finally acknowledge the threat at their doorstep.

The solution was anything but.

A dark primal concept?! Azem thought, They want to kill half of Amaurot to save Amaurot?! Unacceptable! That won’t save anyone! The dark primals only want more power, more aether! Their dark primal won’t rest until it’s consumed everything whole. I saw it happen with the other primal concepts, bless Lahabrea’s heart; I will not see this primal of theirs consume everything I hold dear.

To that end, she marched to the office of Elidibus, and knocked on his door.

“Enter”, he called.

She opened the door and greeted him with a typical wave and smile. “Can we talk? Just you and me?”

“I’m a bit busy at the moment, but I can certainly find the time for you. What do you need, Azem?”

Azem stepped forward and took her seat. “That was…a more emotionally charged debate than I was prepared for”, she tried to calm herself with humor, and Elidibus gave a light laugh in return. “Indeed. I suppose the Final Days do bring out a different side of all of us. You paid attention in a meeting for once.”

“I know. I never thought it would come to this”, she joked before asking in a more serious tone, “But…are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay. I have a chance here, Azem. We have a chance. We can save Amaurot.”

“But…can we though?”

“Azem, we debated this for hours. Half of Amaurot is better than complete engulfment.”

She argued the point as firmly as she ever could have, which meant little compared to the masters of debate she encountered regularly. Primals demand much and more, and drain power and aether. Dark primals demand sacrifice, in particular. Unfortunately, she exhausted all arguments in the assembly hall. She had no rational argument left within her to turn them away from such an irrational solution.

“And we’ll use what’s left to bring them back.”

She had also argued that what these primals can bring back will be nothing more than husks; the amaurotines would be long gone.

Especially Elidibus.

“But why you?”

“What do you mean, Azem?”

“Elidibus, if you become the heart of this primal, that’s it. There’s no going back. You’ll be consumed whole, left with nothing to show for it. The only thing that could even have a shred of you is…” she didn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“If I use the power of the primal to recreate my form, as we discussed.”

Azem shook her head, her face growing hot. “Elidibus, that won’t be you. That’ll be a creature, an abomination with one sole purpose.”

“Better that than to leave Amaurot in the hands of calamity.”

Damn this mask, she thought as her tears stung her eyes. She stood up, and stepped to his side, making Elidbus turn to her and gawk at her clear breach of Convocation etiquette. She fell to one knee, and took his hands.

“Please, Elidibus”, she choked out through the lump in her throat, “I don’t want you to die. You’re so young. You have so much potential. You have a future ahead of you, my friend.” Her voiced shuddered before she begged him, “Reconsider, give me time to think of a better solution. Stand with me as I’ve stood with you before.” Her tears were contagious, as the young amaurotine felt his own well up too.

“I’m sorry, Azem. But time is so precious, so valuable. My future means nothing if all I hold dear is brought to ruin.”

Her tears dripped behind her mask and rolled down her cheeks.

“Damn it all”, she seethed, and ripped the mask of her face to wipe away her tears. The face she kept from her young friend for so many years laid bare in front of him.

“Elidibus, look at me.”

“I-I am…”

“No, I mean without the mask. Please. I may never have this chance again. I beg you.”

He hesitated.

He thought back through the years. He respected her, treated her like a sister as she treated him like a brother. They dined together, enjoyed their leisure time together, she knew his family as he knew hers. Yet through it all, he did not remove the mask in front of her. It felt akin to baring himself naked to her.

But when he stared into her eyes and witnessed the sorrow emanate from her soul, the choice became clear.

He removed his mask and revealed to her the hazel eyes and cherub cheeks he concealed. It only agitated her further to see the man- barely a man- that would become Zodiark’s heart.

“I will not sit by and align myself with this madness. I will not associate myself with the end of our very star. If the Convocation should move forward with the proposal to summon this dark primal…I will resign.”

His tears burned in his eyes, and he wiped them away with his hands. “Don’t do this, Azem!” he sobbed, “Don’t make me choose between my loved ones and my world!”

“I chose my world when I argued against the summoning. Your loved ones are in this world, Elidibus.”

“Don’t you see I have no choice?!”

“You have a choice, Elidibus, and I beg you to make the right one!”

“I will not forsake my duty, Azem!”

There, the line was drawn in fire. Azem and Elidibus stood on opposite sides of it, and watched the past burn.

She turned her back to him and replaced her mask on her face.

“Then it would appear our business is concluded”, she stated coldly.

The door opened and closed. The rustle of her robe as she stormed out was the last thing he heard before he sunk his head into his arms as they crossed on his desk and cried softly into them. The salt water stained his desk.

The memories flashed too quickly for Dia to keep up, but the last memory was clear; Azem clutched a white robe and red mask, and wept into the cloth.

********

The tug of the past released itself from Dia’s soul and she returned to Emet-Selch’s paradise.

“It would appear the burden of Azem has unveiled itself to you.”

Dia jerked her head to her right and met her gaze with Hythlodaeus.

“Hello, my new old friend.” She couldn’t help but smile. “Hello to you, Hythlodaeus. How are you?”

“I am well. Forgive me for startling you; I was merely curious as to how the stone fares with you, and if it grants you the wisdom I had hoped it would.”

She let out a light laugh. “Yes and no.”

The amaurotine hummed. “Helios was capable of balancing her impulsive nature with implacable wisdom. This made her a great fit for the seat of Azem along with her combat prowess. Perhaps this was why Hades loved her so; his impulsiveness rivaled hers, thus do I find myself at the bottom of the sea.”

“You know where we are?”

“It’s difficult not to draw conclusions when fish people occasionally wander in.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Did you know Elidibus, Hythlodaeus?”

“Not as well as I knew dear Hades, but I knew him. Helios loved inviting him over for drinks, the occasional card game, and park outing. He followed Helios like a lost puppy, and it drove Hades crazy.” Dia laughed at his recollection. Hythlodaeus turned his head to face the ground in front of him.

“When Elidibus sacrificed himself, she lost more than just him. Hades was also corrupted to Zodiark’s influence to the point where he never appeared in the apartment again. She knew only sorrow, and I could only be of such comfort.” He moved his gaze to hers.

“Dia, I barely know you, yet I can see you’ve suffered great loss and sacrifice. I can only hope you can keep those you hold dear. I can only hope that you will live a happy life. Most of all, I can only hope that those who find you dear shall keep you close. Already do I find myself holding you dear…both of you.”

“What?”

“I speak of the other piece of you that resides within; a strange thing, it is. He’s not rejoined with your soul, yet he’s perfectly aligned with it”, Hythlodaeus explained.

“Oh good, it can see me. Just the thing to give me nightmares”, complained Ardbert.

“He need not fear. Much like Hades, I am gifted with the ability to see souls. I mean no harm.” Dia couldn’t help but find herself amused at his squeamishness with the amaurotines.

“I see. Thank you, Hythlodaeus.” She rose from the park bench. “As a matter of fact, I need to tend to the ones I hold dear now.”

“Of course. May we cross paths again soon, my new old friend.”

She nodded with a bright smile and prepared Teleport.

“Thank the gods we’re leaving”, praised Ardbert.

Cram it, she whispered.

***********

The night sky glazed over the Source. It was 10pm and Dia only just left the Syrcus Trench. She called upon her black chocobo to carry her to the Rising Stones. The doors flung open at her command and she walked past them with what confidence she could muster.

“Ah, Dia, I expected you to be in Ishgard. Is aught amiss?” greeted Alphinaud. He sat at a table near the bar alongside Alisaie and G’raha with a deck of Triple Triad cards.

“Oh, uh, well, I had hoped to speak with you in private, but if you’re busy…”

“Nonsense. I’m happy to make time for you. That said, must it be in private?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I mean…I guess it’s not anything particularly sensitive…”

“Anything you can say to Alphinaud, you can say to me”, Alisaie added.

“As well as I”, G’raha chimed in.

She didn’t expect an audience, but she was presented with little choice.

“Very well”, Dia took in a big breath through her nose and let it out through mouth. “I just want to say…I want you to be okay, Alphinaud.”

His eyebrows furled in confusion.

“Sixteen summers is far too young to be dealing with any of this. Hells, when I lost my fathers to the Calamity, I could barely keep myself together and I was twenty-five.”

“You lost your fathers to the Calamity?” G’raha asked.

This shocked the other two as well. For as long as they’ve known her, they knew surprisingly little of her past before she joined the Scions.

“It’s not the point. My point is, you have experienced so much loss, and pain, and betrayal. The people you’ve lost, the things you’ve seen; no one your age should be subjected to such things, and yet you are, and yet you grow stronger for it. I want you know that I see you, Alphinaud. I see you and I am so proud of you. But I don’t want you to bear it by yourself.”

Alphinaud wiped his building tears away with his sleeve. “I don’t bear it alone”, he explained, “I never have. I’ve had you. You’ve been my beacon when the light of the dawn grows dim. You’ve been an anchor to keep me aweigh where I would find myself adrift. We’ve shared these burdens together, and I promise, wherever we go, we will always share them.” She couldn’t help, but drop down and wrap the young one into her arms. The other two rose from their seats and piled themselves onto the pair. Dia and Alphinaud released the floodgates onto each others shoulders, quietly sniffling.

“We fight together. These burdens shall be lifted by all of us”, said G’raha, “Come what may, we need not fight alone.”

“Dia, in the past, you’ve fought these battles in solitude, but our future will be shaped by all of us fighting at your side.”

They enjoyed this rare moment of closeness together. Dia’s not one for sentimentality, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted him to know.

Elidibus, I’m sorry you were led to make such a decision and that Azem couldn’t be there. That you should bear the burden of the ancient world at such a young age is a tragedy no one should experience. But I will make it right with this one.

This one will not walk alone.

[deploybits]

You are lucky some types of torture are legal, i now will have an anxiety attack looking at the sky

So here we are... The Ultima Weapon will almost certainly be housed in the depths of the complex. This is it, my friend! Gaius! Ah, Cid, my boy... You are late. There is something I always meant to tell you, yet the time never seemed right. It concerns your father. ...What of him? In the winter of his years, Midas came to abhor his part in Meteor. He told me that he wanted nothing more than to wash his hands of the whole sordid business. But he did not wash his hands of it. He helmed the project until the day it killed him! Come now, Cid... you must know that he did not have the luxury of choice. By the time he realized his error, it was too late. Meteor had him completely in its thrall. Shortly before his... transformation, mayhap sensing that something was amiss, your father confided to me all the regrets of his life. Most of them concerned you. Early on in your career, he realized that while you had a talent for devising armaments, it would never fulfil you. Long before you knew your own mind, he saw that you would be far happier using your knowledge for peaceful purposes, and the thought touched him. He was a changed man for it, though he could not let it show. You blew holes in this place just so you could say this to me!? What is it you want, Gaius!? I want you at my side, Cid. Take up your father’s mantle, and become the Empire’s lead engineer. It is your destiny. My father had a change of heart - you said so yourself! Besides, I have long known my destiny, and I assure you, it lies not with the Empire! A pity. And what of you, adventurer? Will you not consider making common cause with me? No? And I can expect no better answer than this? So be it. It was your strength that made me proffer my hand in friendship, and it is your strength that makes me proffer now my blade. Save as an ally, you are too dangerous to be let to remain. Run, Cid. Or stay. It makes no matter. You cannot escape the past. Gaius, wait! ...Damn it! Knowing Gaius, he is headed for the Ultima Weapon. If we find him, so too will we find our quarry. With these instruments, we can monitor every nook and cranny in the castrum. I think it’s time we divided our forces. Pray go on and give chase. I’ll track your movements from here and guide you through the complex. We’ll stay in contact via linkpearl. Be careful, all right? Ah, there she is! I trust you recognize our old friend. “Maggie,” was it? They must have shipped her here from Centri. Considering all she’s been through, it’s a wonder she’s still operational. Tough old girl! Now that you’re suitably armed, you can blast open that bulkhead. The external walkway will take you back there. Follow it till you come upon a way down to the lower level. That bulkhead is composed of a special alloy. Extremely tough. Ordinary fire won’t leave a mark, I’m afraid. You’ll need to divert all power to the magitek cannon, as I did so memorably once before. As you may recall, the armor’s core is like to expire from the strain, but there’s no help for it if we want to press on. Now, listen well. Press...<buzzzzzz>...the control...<fizzzzzz>...engage ancillary...then fire away. Don’t mind the warning lights. You’re a natural at this! All right, the way’s clear, but it’s just you and your own two feet now, so be careful. You have been leaving a fine mess in your wake, adventurer. Is someone there!? Garlond, old friend. How it warms the heart to hear your voice again after all these years. ...Nero? Is that you!? You sound well. It would seem this savage land agrees with you. The highest ranking tribunus of the XIVth... It was you all this time? Tell me, Garlond. How long do you intend to keep all the glory for yourself? Uh...what? You’ve lost me. Don’t play the fool with me. Ever since the Academy, I have been condemned to live in your shadow. By all objective measure, I was the more talented of the two of us, yet that fate counted for naught beside your privileged birth. You were admired as the young prodigy simply because your father was the great Midas nan Garlond! When you defected, I felt sure my star would finally rise... But by disappearing, you acquired the status of a legend - your reputed genius gaining credence merely by dint of your absence! Instead of cursing you for a traitor, the people actually came to think of you more fondly! To this day, you are still the young prodigy of magitek! I, meanwhile, have ever been made to feel second-rate - I who have continued to serve our nation faithfully. Whenever I fail to excel - why, it is only to be expected! Yet when I exceed all reasonable expectations, people proclaim that I walk in the footsteps of the great Cid nan bloody Garlond! Nero, I... I don’t know what to say. It matters not a whit what I achieve. Your existence has rendered mine worthless. Even Lord van Baelsar saw fit to offer you a place at his side - and this in spite of your betrayal! Did he extend any such offer to me - the man who has remained loyal to him for all these years? Why, no. He did not. Long have I endured this injustice...but no more. Lord van Baelsar is in the midst of activating the fully powered Ultima Weapon. It is my magnum opus - the creation that will win me the recognition I am due. I will not let anyone interfere. Nero! What are you-!? Ever since I first set foot in this benighted land, I have watched you - ever move you have made, every step you have taken. You have felled eikons, a feat made possible by the Echo, a peculiar power which shields you from their corrupting influence. It is of little wonder that my lord has taken an interest in you. As have I, if truth be told. It is my desire to harness your power for use in the Ultima Weapon. Should I succeed, Lord van Baelsar will surely take notice! Beside this, Garlond’s achievements will be as child’s play! Come, adventurer, and yield to me the secrets of your power! This changes...nothing... Ahahahaha! The Ultima Weapon is activated, and it brims with the power of eikons! Nothing can withstand its might! Are you all right!? What of Nero!? ...Fled!? Damn it! In the instant prior to the blackout, the instruments detected a massive power surge from the deepest chamber. Gaius is certain to be there! We have no time to waste! Word arrived from the Alliance a short while ago. It seems the Order of the Twin Adder has completed its blockade of Castrum Centri. What hands they can spare are hastening this way even as we speak, and likewise for the Maelstrom. All that’s left is to destroy the Ultima Weapon! ...I should warn you: the chamber which houses the target appears to be saturated with aetheric energies. There’s bound to be heavy interference. But even if we lose contact, you must go on. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, all right? Look for the lift’s control panel - it’ll be somewhere nearby. Take the lift down, and you should find yourself in the chamber of the Ultima Weapon. Keep your eyes peeled - Gaius could be waiting for you down there. Oh, and don’t even think about dying. You’re too bloody useful! The interference is getting worse. I don’t think the connection will last much - Tell me...for whom do you fight? Hmph! How very glib. And do you believe in Eorzea? Eorzea’s unity is forged of falsehoods. Its city-states are built on deceit. And its faith is an instrument of deception. It is naught but a cobweb of lies. To believe in Eorzea is to believe in nothing. In Eorzea, the beast tribes often summon gods to fight in their stead - though your comrades only rarely respond in kind. Which is strange, is it not? Are the “Twelve” otherwise engaged? I was given to understand they were your protectors. If you truly believe them your guardians, why do you not repeat the trick that served you so well at Carteneau, and call them down? They will answer - so long as you lavish them with crystals and gorge them on aether. Your gods are no different from those of the beasts - eikons every one. Accept but this, and you will see how Eorzea’s faith is bleeding the land dry. Nor is this unknown to your masters. Which prompts the question: why do they cling to these false deities? What drives even men of learning - even the great Louisoix - to grovel at their feet? The answer? Your masters lack the strength to do otherwise! For the world of man to mean anything, man must own the world. To this end, he hath fought ever to raise himself through conflict - to grow rich through conquest. And when the dust of battle settles, it is ever the strong who dictate the fate of the weak. Knowing this, but a single path is open to the impotent ruler - that of false worship. A path which leads to enervation and death. Only a man of power can rightly steer the course of civilization. And in this land of creeping mendacity, that one truth will prove its salvation. Come, champion of Eorzea, face me! Your defeat shall serve as proof of my readiness to rule! It is only right that I should take your realm. For none among you has the power to stop me! I had not thought to be so hard-pressed. Your strength is...most impressive. Such power befits a ruler! Yet you lack the resolve to put it to proper use. A waste. Allow me, then, hero, to do that which you will not! Bear witness to the true power of the Ultima Weapon! But the Ultima Weapon is all-powerful! Why does my enemy still stand!? Can her strength truly be so great? It is the blessing of Light that confounds you. Lahabrea. Your foe acts under the protection of the Crystal she bears. So, this is what empowers her. Beyond mortal limits. If you are to prevail, the hammer of Darkness must needs be brought to bear upon the shield of Light. And so it shall, for the Ultima Weapon is host to a power of which you are as yet ignorant. Speak plainly, Ascian. The Heart of Sabik. It is the Weapon’s core - an enigma whose surface even the vaunted scholars of ancient Allag failed to scratch. The magic within has lain dormant for eons. Of what magic do you speak? A spell without parallel. Ultima. I sought the life force of the primals for no other reason but to quicken the core. For the true power of the Ultima Weapon lies within its now-beating Heart! Lahabrea... What have you done? No more than was necessary...for my god to be reborn. Damn you, Ascian! The hour is at hand! Behold but a sliver of my god’s power! And from the deepest pit of the seven hells to the very pinnacle of the heavens, the world shall tremble! Unleash Ultima! Ahahahahahaha! Such devastation... This was not my intention... Oh, Hydaelyn...it seems the task of keeping your champion alive has exhausted what strength you had left. Van Baelsar... Your enemy’s shield is broken. The rest I leave to you. We will speak later, Ascian. But first, I must deal with you. The question of who is mightier remains! Come, adventurer! Let us find the answer together! No... No, no, NO! Uh! Heed me... The subjects of a weak ruler must needs look to a higher power for providence... and their dependence comes at a cost to the realm. The misguided elevate the frail... And the frail lead the people astray. Unless a man of power wrests control...the cycle will never be broken. You... You of all people must see the truth in this. You who have the strength to rule... Pathetic. You boasted of unrivaled power. You were entrusted with the ultimate weapon. The ultimate magic! And still you failed. So much for the glory of man. The growing imbalance afflicting the planet must be redressed. If it is permitted to worsen, the very laws of existence - both aetheric and physical - will be warped beyond all recognition. Know you the root of this corruption? Hydaelyn! Like a parasite, she must be burned out if the planet is to recover. And naught but the return of the one true god will ensure her complete excision. Yet to pave the way for the master’s return, a chaotic confluence of untold proportions must needs be brought about. And that will necessitate the presence of the primals. needless to say, both you and your Scion accomplices can not be suffered to interfere in this endeavor. You will not leave this place alive. It is past time your flame was extinguished...“Bringer of Light.” If thou wouldst pierce the shadows...make thee a blade of Light. What!? The Light...it binds them... They are too many!

Aaaaaaaaarrrgh!!!

[illegiblewords]

Eclipse

Nabriales cannot sense aether to the degree that his Unsundered brethren can. It is but one of the many ways he falls short.

He tried to convince himself, for a time, that he’d been happy before his reminder. Before being raised back to the grace of Lord Zodiark. Being made aware of all that was missing.

A phantom pain he hadn’t been conscious of previously. The realization in hindsight not only that something was lost but the shape it should have held. Senses stolen. A limb severed.

The heart that has yet to beat again.

He aches every day to feel, to move the pieces of him that are absent. And in their absence his early memories have grown hollow and bitter.

A fool’s life.

He cannot see or speak to sundered beings like they matter. Like they share anything in kind. They are only what he once was, what he has learned to despise.

No, he cannot sense aether as the Unsundered can.

But Nabriales knows to pay attention, to snap at opportunity like the dog they consider him. To hunt, to be silent, and to strike.

***

When Lahabrea falls into their shelter on the shores of the Lifestream, Nabriales hears him. Starless skies and gray, barren earth. A horizon that seems to stretch in all directions.

He goes. He offers no aid and keeps his presence hidden.

Emet-Selch may yet sleep, oblivious. As is his wont. Still, if one such as he heard then it is only a matter of time before the Emissary arrives.

And oh, how Lahabrea suffers while he waits. It is clear to see the places light has shorn holes through his aether. Were he any weaker it would not matter that he remains unbroken—he’d have shattered just the same. Ascians may cast no shadows but my, do they bleed from the Speaker now.

Lahabrea does not stir to raise himself. From the way his essence flickers on occasion—fast and frantic and straining beyond itself—Nabriales presumes he fades into awareness at points. Then it subsides, and the darkness slips a little farther, and the wounds gape for its absence.

An ordeal in scant more than a few minutes, but then time does stretch for those in misery.

***

They tried, in the beginning, to explain. The three who’d escaped Hydaelyn unscathed. Amaurot the beautiful, Amaurot the dead. Their failed, fallen city. What must come to breathe again at any cost.

Privately, Nabriales could not give a damn. How should he? These were empty words and abstract notions. Zodiark, on the other hand, showed sympathy for how his own soul had been butchered. Revealed the glory he had been, once, and should become again. The disfigurement of the world itself.

Zodiark wanted to help them. Zodiark wanted to raise them in glory.

The Unsundered wanted lackeys.

This had been clear from the start, in the division between their ranks. Elite Ascians would lean on one another, confide in one another. Shield weaknesses and mistakes from sight. To those below they delivered orders and listened patiently without so much as an onze of trust. Igeyorhm, certain now that her own misstep was caused by a fractured soul, guaranteed as much.

For each of his own successes, Nabriales burns with the knowledge that his natural form would be many times as great. That he has been dulled and diminished. The irreverence he receives is nothing he can correct in this iteration.

And so he obeys not for them, but the one true god.

***

Elidibus steps from a plume like tar, the white of his robes an insult to their surroundings.

His attention is on Lahabrea and Lahabrea only. Whether this oversight is due to distraction or Nabriales’ skill is impossible to say. Good fortune, regardless.

Elidibus wastes no words, races to his fallen colleague and kneels. Hesitates, gloved hands hovering. Seemingly concerned that moving the man might exacerbate his injuries.

He makes contact. Begins his own rare and complex process of healing.

Slowly, agonizingly, what shadows had pooled like ichor around Lahabrea begin to retract. To patch what had been pierced, little by little.

Eventually a gasp, torn and ugly, interrupts the silence.

One black glove, slick with himself, clutches at Elidibus’ forearm.

Frail. Pathetic. Unworthy. Nabriales finds his lips curling in disgust as Lahabrea struggles to find his breath on the ground.

Like a mortal.

“How did this happen?” demands Elidibus, unwavering in ministrations though his voice remains flat and hard.

Lahabrea coughs. Lifts his head. “Hydaelyn,” he rasps. Then, “Weak, in… inexcusable. My doing.“

Ah, so he’s aware after all.

But Elidibus catches Lahabrea’s jaw sharply, draws his gaze up. “He,” says the Emissary, “would not have you regard yourself thus. Only learn.”

The Speaker’s grip is tight. Despite distance, Nabriales notes his trembling reaches Elidibus’ shoulder.

“Whose fault,” says Lahabrea, a raw edge to his words, “would this be if not… if not my own? It should have worked, I had… I had…”

A sigh as Elidibus leans his brow gently, carefully, against the wounded man’s.

Lingers there.

For a time, neither of them says anything. Nabriales finds himself stunned by both the gesture and an innate understanding that it remains beyond what he will ever receive.

“We are all of us,” says Elidibus in a tone that brooks no argument, “instruments of Zodiark. You know better than most what His strength entails.”

Slowly, Lahabrea’s grip begins to loosen.

“The Ardor,” Elidibus continues more quietly, “is not yours alone. Be at peace.”

Another moment passes. After a brief fumble, Lahabrea’s hand slides free. What tension remains to signify consciousness soon follows.

It is with great care then that the Emissary shifts him onto his back. Gathers his colleague in arms and stands. Exits through a corridor once more.

Following some moments spent with his own silent reflection, Nabriales departs as well.

***

All the world knows when Allag’s eikons start to wake.

Scarce days from his retrieval, Lahabrea summons the Sundered in prayer and praise to Zodiark.

All of them present save Emet-Selch and Elidibus. It is a show, Nabriales understands now, meant to impress the little puppets who aspire to be like him. To soothe his own ego. Something his friends would catch in an instant.

But he does love Zodiark, and perhaps the god has seen fit to reward his observance with further insight.

So Nabriales attends to play his role with solemn grace and watchful eye.

Half-mended aether. Absent smile despite the news. Slow, careful movements in this dark chamber with its stone floors and unadorned columns.

No, Lahabrea has not forgotten at all.

***

It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.

“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.”  His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”

They disperse.

Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.

Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.

The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.

Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.

“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”

Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.

“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”

Silence.

“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”

A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.

It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.

“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“

“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”

Neither man speaks for several moments after that.

And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.

Says the Speaker’s name.

Receives his attention.

“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.

Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.

Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.

Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.

As if that would make it better.

Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.

Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine

“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…”

Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.

Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.

Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.

It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.

***

Afterward and alone, Nabriales offers his own prayer.

It is neither a request, nor a demand, nor an offering.

Only a promise.

Before His likeness, again and again through clenched teeth, he swears he will prove himself the worthier servant. Nabriales will not remain broken forever.

Despite his shattered form, the blurring and burning of his vision under a mask inherited rather than earned, Nabriales tells himself that indifference is a strength. To halt time, to summon the heavens themselves—before all this, he might have set this world right alone. Instead, crippled as She left him, he can only watch as his brothers-in-arms sabotage them all through sentiment.

Fragile, desperate creatures that they are.

How useless. Useless to Zodiark and to their situation and even so he…

For millenia, they made him doubt.

***

It seems Lahabrea has acquiesced to Elidibus’ demands. While he licks wounds dealt by Hydaelyn, the Speaker turns to the Sundered. Delegates.

Naturally, Nabriales volunteers for this position.

How better to begin than by succeeding where the unbroken could not?

***

Lahabrea is frustrated as he’s ever seen him. Confined to a sickbed, bereft of stationary projects. The Emissary has effectively limited his activity to sleep and amusements. This by itself might have been entertaining, but the man insists on dragging him into the same foul mood. Their briefing includes far more detail than could conceivably matter. Worse, Lahabrea questions him afterward to ensure naught has been missed.

Insufferable.

They are both glad to be rid of each other in the end. Even so, this does not prevent Lahabrea from calling him as he prepares to leave.

“What now?” says Nabriales, no longer bothering to mask his impatience.

Any humor at seeing the Speaker stripped of regalia has faded. Though the mask remains in place, being ordered about by this sandy-haired wreck in bedclothes has lost its charm. He likes not the notion of being instructed by such a dull figure. The chamber itself, outfitted by Elidibus in stone combinations of brown, gray, and gold, proves far more ornate than its occupant.

Lahabrea’s lips thin. When he continues, it is with a note of severity.

“See to it you don’t engage Her champion. Nor any associated parties, for that matter. It can be tempting to underestimate them but…” he trails off a moment. Choosing his words. “…they are not unpracticed.”

Nabriales smiles with his teeth. “Fear not for me, Lahabrea. I assure you that my track record is quite sound.”

And thus he departs.

***

The tasks are straightforward in themselves. Instruct beastfolk to transcend the mortal coil. Observe Hydaelyn’s chosen. Follow developments with the Isle of Val. Escalate primal summons as crystals permit.

Naught particularly taxing alone, his duties prove time consuming and numerous. Despite himself, Nabriales sees how one could become lost in the pile. His greatest obstacle, however, is that the Scions appear to have eyes and ears in every imaginable place. And they do so delight in thwarting his efforts.

Like tying a boot only to have imps undo it again the moment you’ve stood upright. Endearing at first, but this quickly shifts to exasperation and finally to true annoyance.

Killing them would be the efficient path. Alas, he has orders. Evidently Elidibus has intentions for their number as well. Nabriales does not mean to make himself a target for the man’s frustration, whatever other opinions he holds.

So for now, his performance is careful. Meticulous.

Obedient.

***

He wonders what a complete Warrior might have been.

He wonders if she would continue her course, knowing how she’d been cheated.

The Echo locks her mind shut.

Sadly, she will remain distant to him as any other.

***

In the wake of Ramuh and Leviathan, Elidibus calls them to the Chrysalis.

Once more, an Unsundered seeks lesser members of their order. Emet-Selch slumbers still. Lahabrea, over a month reprimanded, adheres to his recovery.

What intel they’ve gathered proves sound. The Warrior’s strength has reached worrisome proportions, of that there can be no doubt. She gorges, swells with the gifts of her mistress. Elidibus, however, argues such power costs the enemy dear. Hydaelyn lacks sufficient aether for these feats. In each successful Calamity, the dominion of Zodiark waxes toward completion. Those sundered inhabitants (rife though they are with potential) remain exhausted and wanting by comparison.

The end, he tells them, is in sight. Perhaps this is even true.

Perhaps it is only what he needs to hear.

And this is when Lahabrea can bear it no longer.

He takes his place, late but listening. His expression proves empty of typical bravado.

Though he proclaims to the room that this mission is why efforts must be ceaseless, his eyes remain fixed on the Emissary.

Elidibus, unimpressed, waits.

“Divine seeds were ever wont to quicken in Eorzea’s fertile soil,” the Speaker continues more quietly. “We need only lead men to the field, and by their eager hands shall a new deity arise.”

Although not quite an apology or an excuse, his justification nonetheless carries earmarks of both.

Duly shamed.

Whether Elidibus is moved by faith or pity is impossible to tell.

He is permitted to stay.

***

Though Lahabrea’s limitations have been reduced, he does remain barred from field. Both he and Nabriales were present for that conversation.

Throughout, the Speaker’s gaze remained fixed on the floor. Fingers flexing lightly. Reminding himself not to form a fist.

It was almost amusing. Might have been, once, had he not known Elidibus’ motive.

Nabriales continues in his function of errand boy either way.

***

Conflict escalates between the Warrior and Ysayle Dangoulin. The elezen who calls herself “Iceheart”.

Another of Hydaelyn’s disciples. Another possessed of Echo and Blessing both… though she lacks knowledge or inclination to fight Ascians.

Convenient.

Nabriales has, under the curt orders of Lahabrea, been urging her toward a unique aetherial experiment. Take advantage of the very qualities that allow her freedom from primals and shape her soul into one. Sacrifice to herself.

Ysayle, it seems, is not the issue. As tensions between her and Eorzea’s champion reach a head she plays her part to perfection. Survives, even. And (as Lahabrea hoped) she is not consumed in her own ritual but simply reverts at its close.

Admittedly, they are stunning together. Hardly the worst subjects to observe. Each tall and fair haired as per his preference. One, moonlight pale. The other hued in gold. Ysayle sheds her common beauty for a more revealing figure. Ice twisting through locks, long limbs summoning attacks with poise. It is as though she drifts through water—gravity has no hold on the Lady Shiva. And his Warrior, skirts and pages rippling in the wind, steps lightly to dodge the assault. Recites spells in a delicate tongue, gestures with slender fingers to hurl her own ruin beside those she commands. A dance for him to pay audience, curving and cold.

All told, a successful venture.

How much more rewarding if he did not need to report back.

***

Returned to an office he rarely has occasion to use, Lahabrea paces.

Idleness suits him not. Though the man’s aether approaches what it was before his misstep, it pales beside their colleagues. The torchlit interior is littered with reports and tomes. His own notes form a growing stack on the desk. If Pashtarot is to be believed, lack of hazard has only made him more insufferable.

Lahabrea cannot seem to keep still, cannot stick to a single project. Dabbles in how to heighten efficiency for their whole organization. Frets constantly.

His movements are quicker than they were. Jerky.

“The Scions are plotting something,” he mutters.

Nabriales, forced to endure such nervous energy without leave to attend his own affairs, scoffs. “Of course,” he replies. “We are none of us blind to the situation. They recognize our plans and form countermeasures.”

Lahabrea glances his way. “Does none of this trouble you?” he asks. “They have not even employed a fraction of their strength and resources. Our movements are duly noted. You might have been more discreet.”

Nabriales glares. “Do not,” he says, “presume to comment on my performance. Speaker.”

His tone, it seems, goes overlooked. Lahabrea only waves a hand dismissively, passing again across the room. “No, they know us better than we gave credit… might you monitor their current agendas more closely?”

This time, Nabriales snorts. Folds his arms. “With or without deference to improved subtlety?”

Lahabrea turns to him.

Pauses.

“…if it comes to a question,” he says slowly, “keep out of sight. Once your presence is revealed, it cannot be masked again with ease.”

This earns a laugh, hard and shameless. “Strange, such sentiments seem more aligned with our Emissary. Does this new, cowardly Lahabrea worry on my account or for himself?”

The Speaker stares, mouth just parted.

“Oh, don’t look surprised,” Nabriales adds with a shrug. “Surely after so long you know we all dislike you. You’ve ever placed higher value on feeling busy than contributing anything of worth. That it is only after losing you exercise care is absurd.”

“Nabriales,” says Lahabrea, his voice low.

A shake of the head. “Don’t bother,” he says. “You have never recognized me as worthy of the office. I am… a placeholder. But what does it say for you that one of my stature might seize the victory you spurn?”

This time, it is almost foreign. Mortal and filthy and yet another reminder of what he has never been.

Nabriales seizes the front of Lahabrea’s robes. Drags him close. “Do not,” he says quietly, tasting ozone as electricity burns across his teeth, “say that name in front of me again.”

***

Lahabrea lets him go. He doesn’t fight back, doesn’t argue.

Disappointing.

***

“Nabriales is no more.”

Fear not for me, Lahabrea. I assure you that my track record is quite sound.

“…The Ardor was not his to invoke. His demise was of his own making.”

Perhaps they all have things they need to hear.

“Nevertheless, it concerns me. They have…”

You have never recognized me as worthy of the office.

“…extinguished that which should rightly be eternal.”

Surely after so long you know we all dislike you.

“Mayhap he was not wholly mistaken. Greater haste may be warranted.”

Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.

“We are of one mind.”

Does this new, cowardly Lahabrea worry on my account or for himself?

“…The northern lands, then?”

Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.

“The earth is fertile, and the seeds well sown. By my will they shall reap salvation unlike any the world has known.”

Only learn.

“By His will.”

We are all of us instruments of Zodiark.

“…By His will.”

[syngigeim]

Day 19 - Radiance

With Syngigeim and Q’hara fending off any stray beasts that would dare attack them, the Scions, and Emet-Selch, made their way to Fort Gohn. Where one might have expected any sort of construction within the past two years, the Fort looked relatively untouched, with burnt beams and torn walls. And this was after Urianger reassured the group that Y’sthola, or Master Matoya, as she evidently now went by, was helping to rebuild it.

Q’hara heard the Elezen mutter quizzically at this. “Mayhap Y’sthola sought shelter elsewhere. Come, let us quit this place.”

It was just then that Q’hara barely heard the sound of footsteps rushing towards them. “Now! Surround them!” A voice cried out. And then a flurry of footsteps, and the sounds of bowstrings being pulled as people...a mix of Elf, (Duskwights even, though maybe the First didn’t have such distinctions as in the Source) Darhn, and Ronso appeared. The majority seemed to be wielding bows and some had staffs. Mages and archers.  But above all, there were far, far too many for them to contend with, if they were even going to fight. The group raised their hands in surrender.

Even still, their leader, a white furred with black stripped Ronso, seemed confused. “These sin-eaters! They’re not like the others!”

“There’s a reason for that. Lower your weapons, please. We mean you no harm,” Thancred said.

It was then that a Mystal woman strode up beside Ronso. A Mystal woman with purple hair and light blue eyes and an astrolobe in her hands.

“Kaen! Kaen! Thank the Twelve!” Q’hara said. “Please can you clear this up? We’re your friends right?”

A mutter came across the assailing crowd and suddenly Q’hara realized he probably just called Kaen by her “true” name if she had any time with the Night’s Blessed. Which he was guessing this might be. Hopefully. Bugger.

“Is this your beloved?” the Ronso asked her.

Kaen seemed to shudder at the mere thought of that. “No, but I do know him. Of course it would be you making the faux pas, Q’hara.”

“W-what of the others?” A nervous-looking Elf asked up. “Master Matoya was certain about a sin-eater.”

“Compatriots and allies of mine and Master Matoya. Except...” Her eyes fell on Emet-Selch. “You I do not know. Who is he?”

Q’hara heard Syngigeim mutter “oh boy” under her breath and seemed to be ready to start saying something. Unfortunately, Emet-Selch spoke up first. “Oh, trust me when I say I will not be sticking around much longer.” He then directed his words to Syngigeim. “I had hope we would have come to an understanding but it seems you seem to have more of a knack for infuriating the natives.” Syngigeim’s expression twitched in anger but he continued undeterred. “You have committed the sin of boring me. And so I retire to the shade.” He then gave her a smirk and said, “Good luck,” before promptly vanishing as an Ascian does.

“There! Did you see that one disappear?” The nervous Elf spoke up again.

Both Thancred and Syngigeim gave identical grunts of exasperation and frustration. “I think I preferred Lahabrea,” Thancred muttered.

Q’hara heard the sound of some sort of heels hitting on stone and a familiar, sharp voice shouted out, “Enough. Runar, Serah, report.”

Of course, Kaen would have taken her mother’s name. Q’hara should have figured that one out. She and the Ronso, evidently named Runar, turned around and addressed the approaching figure, calling her “Master Matoya.” Q’hara knew better as Y’sthola, now dressed in a flowing black dress. She...well, she looked good. Not that Q’hara would say that right at the moment, he did enough damage already. “We apprehended them as ordered but...they don’t look like Sin-Eaters and Serah seems to know them.”

“It is our friends and allies. Syngigeim, Q’hara, Thancred, Urianger and the new Minfilia I assume,” Kaen said, nodding to each of them in turn. Y’sthola seemed surprised and aghast at that. “I do not doubt what you said, I could tell something was troubling you about the aether,” Kaen continued. “Is something the matter? Can you still sense the disturbance?”

“I can. Only one sort of creature is sufficed with such light.” Her eyes, purest white and blind to normal sight, were still on Syngigeim, “Which makes it passing strange that something like that is in the company of people who’s aether I recognize.”

“Mine apologies Master Matoya, but thou art mistaken. Before thee standeth our dearest comrade, the truest hero among us,” Urianger spoke up and said. “Though Syngigeim hath but recently arrived in the First, her and thine compatriots have slain not one but two Lightwardens by their puissant hands.”

At that, Y’sthola was taken aback and looked genuinely shocked. “It- it can not be!”

Q’hara spotted Syngigeim seemingly flex her fingers and look down at the ground a bit. Was she genuinely upset that Y’sthola did not recognize her? They didn’t seem that particularly close, Syngigeim preferring other company in the Scions than the sometimes too harsh Y’sthola. But then she looked back up, and gave a little smile as she said “It’s been too long…clearly.”

“Oh, Syngi! That one was a bad pun. A horrid one! Too soon!” Q’hara exclaimed, not helping but to crack a grin at that.

“Oh bugger, that was a pun. Augh. Trust me when I say that wasn’t mine intent.” Syngigeim said, looking a bit flustered.

Meanwhile, Y’sthola was rapping her fist up against her cheek, seemingly ignoring the banter as she was thinking about something. “Master Matoya?” Runar asked after her.

“Lower your weapons.” She then finally said, her voice seemingly filled with some distress. Thankfully, the members of the Night’s Blessed complied. “Forgive us this hostile welcome. Come, I would give you a proper introduction to Rak’tika and its people.” The remaining members of the Blessed walked off, leaving Y’sthola to guide the Scions to her new home.

–

The Scions began their business within Rak’tika, seeking the way into the ancient ruins of Ronka. In between doing odds and ends for the members of the tribe, Q’hara, Syngigeim and Kaen assisted Y’sthola on her efforts on deciphering the tablet the Exarch gave her. Though now they were to rest a bit and partake of Runar’s stew.

“I’m a bit of a cook myself, so I am highly curious as to your skill,” Syngigeim said to Runar with actual enthusiasm. Much of Syngigeim’s behavior had been a bit distant, from everyone, so he was happy to see some sort of actual joy.

“Tis nothing too especially special,” Runar said. “Though I am interested to see what an outsider will think of it. But...”

“Something wrong?” Syngigeim asked.

“The others on patrol should have returned by now. Our food will be overcooked if we wait any longer. We will just have to start without them. Would you call Master Matoya and the others?”

“I’ll do it! You two chefs look after the food okay.” Q’hara suddenly said, walking on over to Y’sthola’s study. What the hells was keeping Syngigeim down lately? Q’hara wondered. She had been anxious ever since Alphinaud left for Garlemald but now something else seemed weighing on her. Hells she even broke up with her wife an-

“I tire of these games, Urianger. Why do you pretend you cannot see it?!” Q’hara suddenly heard Y’sthola say just as he got to her door. “The blessing may spare her the fate of becoming a Lightwarden but you can not be blind to the nascent corruption! She is not as she was in the Source.”

What?! Q’hara leaned in close to the door, putting his left ear up against it. He heard no noises, save for the beating of his own heart, for a few terse painful moments before Y’sthola started back up again.

“Though I have no proof, I fear that the light which poured forth from the Wardens was not negated at all. I fear it has been absorbed – that she has been suffused with their light.”

That...would explain a lot about her behavior, if she was somehow aware of this. A stark terror gripped Q’hara’s heart. Wait, then her using Eos on Titania’s light and claiming that she was using that to release the aether back to the earth was a lie?! Why would she do-

“Though I have given thought to such possibility, I dare not speak until more is known,” Urianger said.

He heard Y’sthola scoff at that. “By the time you deign to enlighten us, it may be too late – if it is not already.”

Q’hara flexed his hand into a fist and glanced on back at Syngigeim as he over heard Y’sthola’s response. “Urianger – I know full well, after all these years, that you have only the best of intentions. But that does not make it any easier to put my faith in such a man so infatuated with secrecy. I have had my suspicions ever since the Exarch bade you speak that day, but now I must ask.” Q’hara turned to look at the door, taking care to hear. “The Eighth Umbral Calamity and all that followed; everything you have claimed to have seen – did you?”

The moments seemed agonizing as Q’hara heard nothing from Urianger and just as he tried to shuffle in closer, he heard a cry for help. “The Eulmorans have come for us! We’re under attack!”

Gods be good, why did this have to happen now? Because that be how the world works. Always another issue to distract. He would just have to table this for after they deal with Rak’tika and its Lightwarden.

[voidsentprinces]

Yep, definitely enjoyed Thancred’s arc that was brought up Post-Heavensward with the Minfilia reveal. Actually processed through this expansion. Though I still would of liked it, if Emet-Selch was still the reflection of all the Scions and Ran’jit didn’t end up being in it but, eh.

Ryne, the fragmented and broken husk. No memory of her birth name, raised to fight a battle for Hydaelyn in the First. And, for all intents and purposes, tempered by one of the ancient Primals.

Urianger, the man made to be burdened with the truth of the situation, unable to divert from his path for the good of his homeland. Having to be distant and closed off from his peers.

Thancred, as you stated, the man who has lost and lost and lost. Having to see the one he loved embodied in a fragment of her original existence. Held prisoner, initially, by the vainest beings on the First.

Alisaie, fighting hard for the cause and the hope of both her world and this one. But, always having to watch the ones she cares for suffer. Carrying their prayers for a better tomorrow on her back. The loss of her grandfather, Ga Bu, and the Scions as they vanished still lingering with her. Even if the Scions were found safe and sound on the otherside.

Alphinaud, the scholar, and brilliant strategist. Made to make tough choices in the face of adversary. Always having to find a way forward.

Y’shtola, who found her own people among the Night’s blessed. A group of darkness worshipping people. Who find the strength to fight against the light. She gives up most of her white magic conjury in return for the offensive and greater power of thaumaturge. Unable to recognize her dearest friend, bathed in light. The first time they remet.

And yet they all make choices that Emet fails to.

Ryne instead of wallowing in who she was, if she had any family in the First. Forges her own existence, her own path to fight. Pushing against Emet’s philosophy that the broken fragments of perfection are lesser beings. Though she was hesitant at first. When she claims her own place in the First as Ryne instead of Minfilia. She is shown to be far more courageous, certain of what she wishes to do. And by all the Twelve in the Source, she is going to do it. She wants to be part of the Scion’s family and keep it. And no one, not even a “Great Sorcerer of Eld” is gonna stop her. She is more aware of her weaknesses but, also given the power to track down Lightwardens along with Eden later on. She supports the Warrior of Light by controlling the raging warden light within them. Saving us AND the First more than we ever did her.

Urianger closes the distance between him and his friends quickly once the game is up. Free of his burden, he is even more animated than before. Forging his own destiny in the First. Using his knowledge of the Fae to track down Bismarck on a fluke. Helping the people of the First, that he simply did not know. Out of the goodness of the realm and not for the goodness of the Exarch’s plan. The script was torn up and thrown out. And he was able to do as he longed to.

Thancred accepted that Minfilia was never coming back, he didn’t deny Ryne any longer. He wouldn’t coddle her or speak for her. He would protect her and see her grow as a person, not as a phantom. She was no longer Minfilia but, by the Gods. Like any of his remaining Scion friends, if anyone tries to get Ryne, you’re going to find a Gunblade SQUARELY in your chest. Minfilia is gone and he couldn’t make amends for the carnival accident or Nabriales or Lahabrea or the Banquet. But, he COULD make amends to Ryne and his previous treatment of her. Force to shrug off the cloak of martyrdom that Emet wears as a robe. Both men trying to make amends for their failing in the past and wallowing in pity, but only one of them stands up and takes responsibility. And has now started to work towards forgiveness and recovery. (Plus he lost his “eye patch” bandana soooo...)

Alisaie finds her own strength to keep the friends she has and make good on honoring the friends she lost. Expunging light from the First and protecting the Warrior of Light in the climax of the expansion, the best to her abilities. And when she is knocked back by a greater power. One battle later, she stands back up and channels her aether into the great demi-deity to see his end. And by extention the end of the torment the residence of the Inn at Journey’s End experienced. Fighting for the future of those who still remained instead of clinging to those lost in the past.

Alphinaud, having to face his fear of water from showering to swimming. Having to accept that some powers are beyond him. But, finally after trying to make amends for the Crystal Brave debacle. For Ilberd’s rise to power which lead to the summoning of Shinryu and the death of Papalymo. After months of trying to prove his worth to everyone. The Warrior of Light, Ysayle, Estinien, and his own sister. Without a second thought when his sister is blown back by Emet-Selch. He doesn’t think, he immediately jumps into action. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t think, he doesn’t look for a way to defeat Emet-Selch. He becomes like the Warrior, he so often idolized after the Braves. And just does for the greater good, when faced with the impossible task. He stands against it none the less. No longer floundering like he had while swimming, he pulls his own weight above the tide of dark and swims against it. No longer enchanted by the tales and past, but hellbent on protecting the future.

Y’shtola no longer carrying the hopes of the Night’s Blessed by her own. No longer cutting out her allies or second guessing herself. She goes through very reckless means to ensure their survival. But, now she shares it with her peers. Something Emet-Selch has always neglected to do. Always working alone, feeling his power was enough to stand by himself. Avoiding the other Ascians because they show him not the rose tinted nostalgia he painted in Amaurot. But, what they’ve become, what HE’S become. Both characters take the title of a station that isn’t their own and play the part to perfection. But Shtola recognizes that Master Matoya as a title does not define her existence or who she actually is. While Hades wears Emet-Selch and stifles his very being within his own flesh. Only discarding it at the last moment, but still clinging to his group of followers and their prayers for a dark tomorrow. Not the bright future they now have as fragments among the shards. Similarly, Y’shtola insists the Night’s Blessed can stand on their own without her. She’ll be there in times of need, but she cannot be their only source of hope nor can the Warrior of Dark. They have prayers of their own which she did once seek to see come true. But, upon being unable to recognize the Warrior of Light. Comes to see the bigger picture. She constantly shows concern over her friend letting what they’ve become back behind the wall she had put up. Accepting that this was the only way forward and trusting in Urianger and the Exarch to an extent despite her misgivings. And when the house of cards collapsed, she didn’t resent Urianger or the Exarch for the facade and secrecy, she still held belief in them knowing that like Thancred. They had always been men of resilience and they would continue to be so.

Emet-Selch never put his trust or hope in Lahabrea or Elidibus, openly mocking them both in front of anyone who would listen. Chastising Lahabrea for working against the Warrior of Light. Only to do so himself just because the Warrior couldn’t handle the light of the Wardens all at once. Calling Elidibus a worrier in a mocking way. Being so full of himself and his own plan. Standing alone and so sure of himself. That he did not foresee his end until it came. And despite getting killed by his previous friend. He let go, trusting in the Warrior to carry the memory of his people as he was fading.

He was a bad man, he had done terrible things. But, now...at the end. He trusted his most hated enemy with his people’s future. The Amaurot citizens and Ascians who hadn’t succumb to Zodiark. That still existed in the fragments? Remember them, remember they once lived. They are now the Warrior’s burden to bear. And despite all his postering and blustering at the end. The Warrior of Light was the only “Ascian”, Emet-Selch ever put his trust in. Even if it was for a selfish wish in the end.

Something Y’shtola recognizes and begins working towards almost immediately after she doesn’t recognize us. Having us shoulder the prayers of her own people, making us walk among the Night’s Blessed just as they were, not as echos of how they were and through the realistic odds put against her. As well as cooperation with her peers sees the Night’s Blessed prayers fulfilled. Not at the cost of their rivals the Children of the Eternal Night with their “backwards” thinking. But, for the good of everyone.