#i actually posted a heavily edited snippet of this on a keten photoset way back

[enzelffxiv]

(part 1|2|3|4|5)

He’d said he needed to take care of something. At least he knew Imry would rather let herself be run through then allow harm to come to Rielle. The latter had watched him go, a strange look in her eyes, but remained silent. She was a perceptive girl. Perhaps she guessed.

It was midday, yet the dim overcast one Coerthas was accustomed to, high winds whipping around any snow that wasn’t tightly packed by the passage of man or beast. But the moment he stepped out into the wilds, away from the mess of the city, he could sense it. He’d felt it before, but not known what it was. A presence. Or an absence of one, really. His path lead him through Camp Dragonhead, following that ache deep in his chest, north toward the ruins of the Steel Vigil. Few dragons lingered outside the walls any longer, and for that he was almost grateful. He had a feeling he might need to save his strength.

He’d have thought it a rocky outcropping through the wind-driven snow, if not for the tangible presence of something that must have been darkness and yet wasn’t. A figure standing very still, its back to him, regarding the shadowy outline of the city through the heavy air.

This time, he recognized the sword first. That explained why Imry no longer carried it. As he drew closer, he noted that the figure could be mistaken for a statue were it not for the wind picking at its hair and armor. It did not move in the way a living being did, did not breathe. He knew it sensed his approach.

When it finally turned to face him, he realized Tohnrune’s description hadn’t quite prepared him for how uncanny the sight was.

It was, in fact, Imry–her height, her face, the same nose, the same scar. But at the same time, it wasn’t–where her fiery red hair was usually carefully pinned up out of the way, there was a wave of ink black that tumbled down over its shoulders. The wind pulled at it, but it resisted unnaturally, as if it weren’t quite physically there.

It stared down at him with a curiously blank expression, as if not understanding what it was seeing. And its eyes…they were the color of a blood sunrise, the kind that warned sailors of an imminent storm. Not only that, but he could swear they gave off their own light, leaving streaks of afterimage in the air when it shifted.

“What do you want?”

The voice, too, was Imry’s, though he’d never heard that tone from her, hard and wary. He nearly didn't recognize it.

“You carry something that doesn’t belong to you.” It sprang to his lips suddenly–he hadn’t thought of what he was going to say. In some ways he hadn’t expected it to speak. “I’ve come come to take it back.”

No reply came. Instead the figure regarded him silently for a long moment, then turned away.

“You know exactly what I mean–” he began, and it reached for its sword, so he reached for his.

Their blades struck sparks, snow melted in a flash and froze over again. He soon saw they were fairly evenly matched–perhaps he had the edge in skill, but the sheer power in his opponent’s blows–And the darkness flowed around it like water, in flames and great jagged grasping teeth, tearing at him. He countered with his own, fighting to keep his balance, as the soft, newformed ice beneath their feet cracked and scattered.

“You’re the one,” it said, and though it didn’t seem to raise its voice, it was clearly heard over the clash of battle, his breathing– “You’re the one who thinks you can use her. And you’d be right–the gullible fool. Your mistake was thinking we’re the same!”

He raised an arm briefly to shield his face from an upheaval of snow and chips of ice, bracing his sword against the uneven ground. The creature struck, slamming bodily into him, sending them both tumbling. He felt a brief flash of pain as something hard scraped against the scales on the back of his neck, enough to tell him that if it were bare skin it would have been sliced through. He tried to land on his side in order to scramble upward, but it weighed far more than he did and landed with a knee on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. A painful vibration shook him as that sword sunk into the packed snow mere ilms from his left horn. He gritted his teeth, feeling around for the hilt of his own. It was nowhere close.

The creature regarded him with a strange expression, half contempt and half something else entirely. Whatever it was, it looked alien on Imry’s features.

“If I cut you down here–wouldn’t that be humiliating?”

“For you, perhaps–” he spat out, managing it with only a single gasp.

“Don’t test me–”

“Or what?”

It leaned down closer to his face, eyes blazing with cold fury. A familiar fury. Tohnrune’s words sprang to mind–something else filled in the gaps. The freezing air made clouds of his breath but not the other’s.

“Strength is pain. Strength is suffering.” He spoke the words his master had repeated to them over and over, to be sure they’d made their choice…

“Strength is sacrifice–” was its reply, in the wrong voice but familiar words in a familiar tone and with a familiar conviction. Eyes wide and a little wild.

“I never once spoke those words to her,” Sidurgu said, feeling lightheaded. He was almost grateful he was lying on the ground.

It stared at him.

Impulsively he reached up to grasp the thin chain barely visible around its neck, and pulled–the soul crystal fell free. He grasped it–

Barely felt the hand close over his wrist, as the crystal seared through his glove. He couldn’t tell if it was too hot or cold–perhaps both. A wave of fear and uncertainty washed over him, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn’t his own.

It–…she? He…? Had gone ashen. The grip on his arm was not nearly as strong as it should have been. For a moment the person above him was much smaller, wearing familiar armor–

He strained upward, pushing with his free arm and slamming his shoulder into his opponent’s chest; for what seemed like an age but was perhaps only a couple seconds, it didn’t move. It was heavier than it had any right to be. He managed to get a leg under himself for leverage and they both tumbled over back into the snow. Breathing hard, he twisted his hand, and the chain snapped, the soul crystal coming free in his hand.

Under his armor, his own soul crystal blazed white-hot against his skin. In such close proximity, linked by touch, the two stones resonated. He gritted his teeth, and the figure below him convulsed as if in pain, hands grasping uselessly at his chest, unable to find purchase on his breastplate. Darkness crept out around it like dense smoke through the gaps in its armor, wavering, and one hand finally found his wrist again, holding on desperately when he tried to jerk it back.

“I didn’t ask for this!”

The voice didn’t speak aloud. It resounded in his head in a way that was impossible for his horns to project, two voices as one. Desperation, fear, anger, confusion…loss. Frustration. He tried to push all those emotions away, but it was becoming difficult to tell which ones didn’t belong to him.

It’s trying to deceive you–fight it!

“She made me–she asked me to live for her–all I wanted was to be whole…”

You never will be. Just as we all lose pieces of ourselves.

He shook off its hand and stood, unsteady. Fray’s sword was still thrust into the ground, right within arm’s reach. He grasped the hilt.

“Consider this–a mercy.”

The creature laughed bitterly, curled up on its side. “Spoken just like an inquisitor. I’m impressed by your imitation.”

Sidurgu froze.

It shuddered a little, then rolled onto its back. Then simply lay there, waiting. Neither of them moved.

“…well? Get it over with.”

The voice was only Imry’s now, and tired. Resigned.

Wondering if he’d regret it–a familiar feeling when said Warrior of Light was involved–he spoke.

“You wish for death?”

The response took a moment to come.

“Does it matter? Everyone seems so eager to dole it out.” Heavy snowflakes, driven at an angle by the wind, caught on the ridges of its armor and gathered there. He looked down at the soul stone in his hand. It still burned to hold, and the bits of snow that landed against it sublimated instantly into tiny puffs of steam. And something else he’d missed, drowned out by his own adrenaline-elevated heartbeat–another heartbeat that pulsated from the stone itself. The figure sprawled in the snow with no blood and no breath, and this…

“You don’t remember anything,” he said, unsure of whether he wanted it to be true or not.

“I remember,” Imry’s voice was distant. It was still unsettling, hearing it speak like him, but mismatched with the face, the body… “I remember the trial. I remember–dying. I remember the sound of waves and the wind–” The voice stopped suddenly. The snow was falling thicker and heavier now. The figure shifted, climbed slowly to its feet. It stood with a hand pressed to the center of its chest, trembling, as if in pain. Could it even feel pain? “None of it is mine. Not the memories–not the sword–you can take it.”

“I have a sword of my own, I have no need for sentiment.” Sidurgu’s eyes narrowed.

The creature smiled at him, rather grimly. “Something tells me you have too much sentiment. Why hesitate now? You came here with resolve.” It flung out its arms, almost angrily. “You didn’t stop to think about what you’d do once you got here, did you? You let your own self-righteousness get the better of you! Typical.”

“A fair imitation of him, but it falls short a few paces.” He let go of the sword, took a step forward. “The dead are better left to rest.”

“As if I’m the one you should be lecturing about that!”

“Return what you took from her. The rest is this, isn’t it?” He held up the soul stone. “Just an echo.” Centuries of echoes carved upon it, shaped into some facsimile of a person…

He expected another attack, or denial–or even for it to flee. Instead it extended a hand, palm open, a gesture he’d done countless times as part of his training. The smile on Imry’s face was pained and wild, all at once. His stomach jolted.

“See for yourself,” it said softly.