#ie he isn't a drk anymore

[chasindtrevelyan]

Faded Memory

Of the Ascians they had dealt with thus far, Elidibus was proving himself to be the one Davaa disliked the most. Where Lahabrea had been a power hungry maniac, and Emet-Selch had been driven by grief, Elidibus was ruled by his idea of balance. Oh, there had never been any doubt that the Emissary was their enemy, it was only a matter of how that animosity would reveal itself. In this case, it seemed Elidibus was insistent on using Davaa’s bonds with others against him. 

Taking Ardbert’s body as his own had been a genius plot on Elidibus’s part. It lent credence to his words about the Warrior’s of Light, and inspired people to do his bidding by their own choice. After all, what harm was there in wanting to help people, in wanting to protect the world around them? An honest, and heartfelt desire, twisted for the purpose of another. It had another, likely unexpected result as well. Davaa, despite knowing that Ardbert was dead and that the Warrior’s soul now resided within his own, was hesitant to raise his hand against him. He disliked the idea of defiling Arbert in such a manner, even knowing that allowing Elidibus’s continued possession was no better.

Perhaps that was why, beyond his need to protect Y’shtola, he did as the ascian bid and followed him down to the Tempest. The constructed city of Amaurot loomed above them, the field before them filled with oddly docile monsters. A test, Elidibus decreed, was now laid out before him, and when the first batch of creatures was transformed into people he knew…

Davaa’s hand tightened on the hilt of his blade, understanding now that what he would face beyond would be more of a test of will, than one of strength.

Y’shtola, Thancred, Yda, Papalymo…they all fell with barely any effort, an insult to the true versions he knew. Ilberd and his ilk proved even less of a challenge, and the only thing he felt then was disappointment that it hadn’t taken longer. Other simulacra appeared but remained docile.

Haurchefant, Edmont, Ysayle…oh how his heart bled at the sight of them. Two dead, the other forever mourning his son

He thought, after the first two bouts, that he would be able to handle everything the Emissary threw at him. He knew the shades to be fake, to merely be replicas of people he knew or had fought before, and felt he could handle them without issue. However, he’d been a fool. The first group consisted of people he’d known early on, people an adventurer would meet at the start of their journey. He’d thought the scions to be the only ones, but there had been a fifth tether, another simulacra that had never come into being, or so he’d thought. 

He didn’t know what had alerted him, didn’t know what gave it away, but something screamed a warning just in time. He turned, blade raising to deflect a strike from wicked blades. Sparks flared where the weapons collided, reflection flaring in bright orange eyes. He knew that face, knew those knives…and he froze. His adversary did not, and it was only luck that enabled him to avoid getting his belly sliced wide open. After that, it was all about retreat, giving ground and deflecting attacks to the best of his ability. 

Alexion had always been faster than him however, and it was only a matter of time before he mistimed a block. The duskwight was under his guard in an instant, one of his knives carving a painful slice into Davaa’s thigh to bring him down, and the other aiming for his throat. There was no time, he would never be able to get his gunblade positioned with so little space. The edge of the knife found delicate skin-

-a roar, a rush of energy he hadn’t felt since that fateful day in Ala Mhigo and Alexion was thrown back, a bloody hole in his chest. The wound, the body, was visible for only an instant before it dissipated like all the others but Davaa remained frozen where he’d fallen, his leg having buckled thanks to the injury he’d received. He couldn’t stop staring at the place where Alexion had been, at where his body had fallen. Tears streaked his cheeks, though he was unaware of them until a hand rose to wipe them away.

He jerked back, staring upward, unable to comprehend what he was seeing at first and then-

“Listen to my voice.”

Looking at Fray was like looking into a shadowed mirror, an image of himself staring back, gold eyes filled with love and sorrow. 

“Listen to our heartbeat. Listen.”

He’d kept the jobstone on his person even after the confrontation with Myste, even if he hadn’t used it. He’d thought the abyss out of reach unless he consciously tried to grab it, but of course it was never far. How could it be, with the promise spoken between them?

In your darkest hour, in the blackest night…think of me, and I will be with you. For where else would I go? Who else could I love but you?

The tumult of emotion inside him slowed as he did what he was told. He listened, focused on the beat of his own heart until his breath came easier, until he could stand once more, until Fray faded away into nothing. Except it was still there, that power, that abyss he’d harnessed so long ago. He could feel it, his strength bolstered by another, keeping him on his feet even as his leg threatened to buckle under him once more. 

It was time to end this farce.