Summary: In which the you, the Warrior of Light and a bard, compose Tomorrow and Tomorrow after the events of Shadowbringers. You’re having a hard time finishing the piece, but an unexpected (but not unwelcome) visitor shows up and becomes and equally unexpected muse for your soul.
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It’s a familiar sight, one that you keenly remember seeing since childhood. There is nothing particularly special about it in form nor function, but yet it is arguably the most beautiful sight that you can distantly recall seeing in quite a long time.
The sun, setting off in the distance, slowly falling to the western horizon far beyond the hills of Lakeland. You watch the scene in gentle awe, letting it wash over you in a sublime sort of wonder that is difficult to explain in words alone. There is truly nothing special about it in regards to how sunsets normally go, but you feel especially taken by the fading glow in the sky, shifting into the warm spectrum of red and orange that overtakes the entire sky.
Perhaps the sight is ever more wondrous because you know the pains it took to make it so. The pain, the effort, the sacrifices made just so you can gaze your eyes out over the fading light, content in the knowledge that the sky would soon embrace the world below with moon and starlight, the latter as numerous as the lives spent in trying to regain such a simple gift that forces had stolen away and threatened to swallow the world in misery and suffering.
Or perhaps still it’s because you have learned to appreciate it. It hadn’t taken very long after your arrival upon the First for your body and mind to find such everlasting light stressful and anxious. When you would fall asleep and wake yet under the scorching, unnatural brightness of the sky above, such wonder befell upon you for what it must have been like for the multitudes of other people living in the First to endure it for over a century.
Regardless, you were not one to ignore such beauty even if you couldn’t understand the reason for it; such was the nature of many things in the world, and you often had too many other issues to spend your thoughts on than of the natural mysteries of nature itself. Perhaps one day you will be able to make right on your words with the Exarch, of taking a well-deserved rest when the world was not beneath the shadows of those who would do her harm, but that day was not on the horizon just yet.
Until then, the sunset was a fitting, beautiful substitute to fill the expanse of your wandering thoughts for the evening. As the sun fell into the gentle embrace of the earth beneath it, and the sky began to fade from a brilliant fire and into a subdued indigo, you found a place upon the window sill with instrument in-hand.
And, as darkness gradually filled the sky above your head, so too did inspiration come into your heart, and then words upon your lips.
On the one hand i’m so angry and upset that he isn’t more of a popular character. That he lived such a horrid life and had everything stolen from him, manipulated and tossed aside to fuel a sick “rejoining” by shadowless creatures pulling the strings.
His best friend betrayed him, with all the love in her heart, because she felt as though she had no other choice. And he had to take an axe to his best friends, take their very lives, to try and fix his own mistake
Because it was his mistake. Cylva bid him to strike her down, and the world would be primed for a Calamity. But in sparing her, in making this last heroic act, he doomed his world. And then as the Flood started to swallow up his home, starting with distant lands, all he could do was stare, and come to the realization that it was his fault. Because he had love in his heart.
But no, that’s victim blaming. Because it wasn’t his fault at all, it was the Ascian’s fault.
Another one of these shadowless ones comes, wearing the white, the light that he hates so much, telling him that there’s a way to fix it. that he can make this right. All he needs to do is sell his soul, become the heartless creature that Cylva bid him to be, and hasten a rejoining by terrorizing countless people on the Source. Just so he can save the souls on his world. He can’t even save their lives! Not at all! All he can do is save their souls by causing a Rejoining and killing them all!
He had to kill his friends to get to the Source. Do you think he dug their graves? Laid them to rest? Who buried him, do you think? Or do you think he thought he didn’t deserve his own grave, after the wrong and the mistakes he made?
How often do you think he broke down on the source, crying because he couldn’t be the bad guy, but his people, they were counting on their hero, their Warrior of Light to save them? Like he had countless times before?
And then he met you, on the Source.
You who fought him, talked to him, heard his story. You’re the person who did everything right, and won. He didn’t. You made him see that there was still some goodness in the world, and he resolved to go back, and make it right.
But then, at the precipice of stopping the Flood. He watches as all his friends give up what little they have left, their very souls to power to stop their mistake. And his his mistake more than any of theirs. And so he lifts his hand, content in the knowledge that he’ll help, one last time.
Only to be told no.
A hundred years he wandered the land, utterly alone. His voice unheard, his gestures unseen. He watched, over and over and over, as the people he was prepared to destroy himself for were killed, picked off, eaten by the creatures that came out because of his mistake. I kinda can’t help but wonder – do you think he tried to end it all, despite his ghostly form…?
And then you came.
You, the Warrior of Light that succeeded. That didn’t have to kill your friends. That won every battle you came across. How can he not hate you, just a little? Or be jealous? He tried being the hero, and it didn’t work out. So he tells you that the world is beyond saving, because he tried. He tried, so, so hard.
But you prove him wrong, bit by bit, by taking back the Night. Proving to him that life is worth living, that life went on, even in spite of something that he blames himself for. You travel around, changing lives left and right, and sometimes it isn’t even big! Sometimes it’s just a simple word, or retrieving a child’s doll. But all of them are affected. It’ll be alright. It’ll be alright.
And then you fail. You can’t keep the Light. And the skies, the night that he saw you return, is stolen away from him once again. But he’s seen it now, he’s seen how you’re like him, how you did everything right, and still, still it came to this.
So he gives you the words, the reassurance that he couldn’t ever have. He promises to be with you, until the end of the line. Because how could he not? You’re his friend, after all, something like his other half, he thinks. So he helps you, makes sure you’re alright. Keeps you grounded, when the Light threatens to become too much. You hold the salvation or the damnation of his entire world in your heart, but he only wants to make sure you’re alright.
And then the words, “in our time, you and he were one soul.”
Everything slots into place. Everything slots into place with frightening speed, and the connections, the words, the banter, how well you two got on, it all makes sense. But now you’re different people, worn down by eons of rebirth in the Lifestream, but still, you’re alike. Two sides of a coin, different yet connected in a way that’s impossible and grand.
So when the Warrior of Light, the Warrior of Darkness falters, he does not hesitate to offer his soul. He knows he won’t be fading, he’ll be coming home. Complete. That everything will be worth it, somehow, despite the fact that he’ll never be again. All his mistakes, his failures, his life and trials and triumphs, it does not matter, because you accept him. You love him.
This definitely became something different to what I initially envisioned. But, that’s okay.
Writing has been troublesome, so I’m just writing when the mood strikes and hoping for the best.
Takes place a few weeks after the ascent of Mt. Gulg.
--
Phaedra stirred, and immediately regretted it. Her head was pounding and she could feel pain that stretched all the way from the tips of her fingers into her bones. She took a breath. Something in her chest cracked and a shock of pain lanced through her body causing her to bolt upright in response. Sparks flashed across her vision. It sounded like glass was shattering inside her skull as she clasped her head in her hands.
All her memories were muddled and confused. She tried to think back. The surface beneath her was soft, and it was quiet. She could remember moments. Agony coursing through her veins. Something inside her threatening to rip her apart as it tried to break out and she fought fruitlessly to contain it. She could recall a gunshot. Vauthry’s transformation. The arrival of Feo Ul with the fae folk, and them facing off against sin eaters during the ascent of Mount Gulg.
She remembered white ichor tasting coppery on her tongue and spitting it on the ground. The rawness of her throat. The Exarch’s hood flying back revealing a familiar, yet saddened face. And then… Then nothing. Nothing that could help her put together how she was alive and how she returned to the Crystarium.
Not that any of it was really important. None of that really mattered; she was simply looking for something else to focus on beyond the fact that chimed repeatedly in her head. Emet-Selch’s portent; that through containing the corrupted light of the Wardens she, herself, was becoming something much, much worse. If --when-- that happened, she would be a creature bent on nothing but destruction. A creature far worse than anything she or her comrades had faced thus far.
“I thought you were dead.” A voice spoke to her from a small distance away, familiar and attempting to be jovial. The sound cut through Phaedra’s mind like a blade slicing open a wound and she flinched away from it. She peeked through the fingers blinking slowly to let her eyes adjust; for some reason the edge of her eyesight was blurry and bright. “At least for a little while.”
Ardbert shifted uncomfortably. His shimmering form was standing beside the shuttered windows, his head turned towards her, but his body facing away and his arms folded.
“Am I not?” Phaedra said, her voice rough. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Hm.” Ardbert shrugged. “How are you feeling?”
She lowered her hands and slowly absorbed her surroundings. She recognised her room in the Pendants. “Like I’ve had a mountain dropped on top of me.” As much as she tried, she couldn’t ignore the harsh sound that bit through every word. A high-pitched whining that set her teeth on edge and made her squeeze her eyes closed to concentrate on the words she wanted to say. After drawing in a long breath, she stared down at her hands. For flash they were different, long, deformed and spindly claws instead of fingers, sharp spikes sticking out of her knuckles; then they were normal again. “What happened?”
Ardbert turned towards her, but kept his blue eyes up. He spoke to the wall behind her, rather than to her face. “Emet-Selch has taken the Exarch.” He explained. “It’s been a few weeks now. Most of the Crystariam knows, despite Lyna’s efforts at keeping things quiet. And…” With a sigh, he glanced at the shuttered window. “Well… You had best see for yourself.”
Phaedra exhaled a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. As she turned to slide out of bed she was shocked to see bare skin, instead of trousers and quickly gathered up the blankets. Suddenly it made sense why Ardbert wasn’t looking directly at her. “Where are my clothes?”
“Hanging up.” Ardbert gestured to her dresser. With the sheets around her, Phaedra darted across the room to dig out her clothes. Each step sent a shock of pain up from the sole of her foot, as though she was stepping on glass. She checked underfoot to make sure there weren’t broken pieces of a pitcher or mug scattered on the floor and found only smooth stone. “The healers in the spagyrics reasoned it would be easier to bathe you.”
“Bathe me?” Clothes gathered, Phaedra darted behind a changing screen and dropped the sheet.
“You’ve been unconscious since Mount Gulg.”
She paused with her trousers half-way up her legs. “Unconscious?” She thought of what was happening to her; the transformation that was slowly taking hold. “I was unconscious the whole time?”
“More or less.” Ardbert sounded disinterested. “You had a few, brief periods where you were lucid, but you weren’t coherent or… anything, really.”
“Oh.” Phaedra stepped out from behind the screen, hurriedly throwing her hair up into a ponytail. She found just tugging on her hair made her scalp scream in agony, so settled for something low and loose, as opposed to her preferred Gyr Abanian style. As she did she noted a few items of clothing that were not hers; a familiar long, white coat, and a pair of elbow length gauntlets, and leaning beside the foot of her bed was a gunblade. “Thancred has been here?”
“Only left about a bell ago.” Ardbert explained with a wan smile. “The bossy twin told him he needed to sleep in something that wasn’t a chair.”
“Ah. Alisaie.”
“He’s hardly left your bedside.” Normally, such a comment would have made Phaedra blush or her stomach squirm in a delightfully nervous way… Now it just made her blanche. If she had turned into whatever beast she was going to become and Thancred had been here and asleep… Gods, that didn’t bear thinking about. She was glad he wasn’t here though. She could just about handle Ardbert’s questions, Thancred fussing or insisting the others come and see her would have been too much. “He really cares for you.”
Phaedra met Ardbert’s gaze, surprised by his comment; as she did something in her head cracked and her skull felt fit to split open. She doubled over, grasping her head and her horns and driving her shoulder into the wall for support as the ground started to fall out from beneath her. Light flashed behind her eyelids and she could feel something raw and primal rising up her throat. She swallowed down hard again and again, feeling bile and pressure around her chest like her lungs were being emptied of all air. She pressed her fingernails into her scalp trying to alleviate the pressure - then she remembered the vision of claws and threw her hands against the wall.
It all passed in a nauseating blur and when Phaedra regained her senses, her eyes were stinging. She checked herself over. Fingers, not claws. The floor was sturdy underneath her feet. Her eyesight was still cloudy, making it difficult to see Ardbert despite how close she was standing. And she realised she couldn’t hear him entirely. His voice was muffled, faraway and his words crunched in her head like gravel underfoot. Something on her face must have told him of her confusion because he stepped closer and reached out towards her without a moment of thought or hesitation.
Energy or aether or something entirely new surged through her body on immediate contact. It was a sensation Phaedra felt once before when Ardbert touched her by accident. Then it was overwhelming for the both of them. Now… it was comforting, and the painful crunching that disguised his speech and the haze that marred her sight receded enough for her to hear and see clearly. She reached out and grabbed Ardbert’s arm, thankful for his sturdy presence as he helped her to her feet.
“Alright, hero?”
She squeezed his wrist through his bracer and hoped this form of his could feel it. “Thank you.”
Ardbert gave her a sincere, but awkward smile. He took a step to one side when she was steady and gestured to the window. “You best prepare yourself.”
Phaedra held her breath and pushed the shutters wide. She blinked against the blinding white sky that shone down at her, mocking her and it was as if all her strength dropped out of her and she found herself leaning on the window frame. “It’s been like this since the Exarch went missing.”
“Everywhere?” Phaedra heard herself say.
“Everywhere.”
Staring up at the sky, tears started to spring in Phaedra’s eyes. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry. It hadn’t mattered. Nothing had changed. After everything she and the others had done, all the sin eaters they killed, the Light Wardens they felled… It hadn’t mattered. Emet-Selch was still going to win. The Light was going to continue to swallow up the First. The Rejoining would happen. The Eighth Umbral Calamity would come to the Source and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. He had won. The Ascians had won.
Maybe if the Exarch - G’raha Tia, she reminded herself - had been successful in sending them all back to the Source things would be different… But to do that would mean his life ending, and that was out of the question. Self-sacrifice was not the way to accomplish anything…
But then again…
What if it was?
Or, at the very least, could be?
Emet-Selch himself said the light she had taken into herself was transforming her into a mindless creature bent on destruction and death. If that transformation was inevitable then why not use it to her advantage? Emet-Selch wanted her to come to him, and if she - in her current form or the form of this terrible creature - could destroy him before he could complete the Rejoining… If they could destroy each other, then maybe all her efforts and the efforts of G’raha Tia would not be in vain.
Quickly wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Phaedra straightened. She lowered her shoulders, tensed her back and cracked her neck tilting it from one side to the other. With one last look at the white sky, she turned from the window.
“Where are you going?” Ardbert asked at her side.
“Emet-Selch wants me to come to him. I’m going to find him and I’m going to kill him.”
“Are you mad?” Ardbert appeared in front of her, blocking her way to the door. “You’re in no fit state to go anywhere, let alone confront an Ascian.”
“There are no other options.” Phaedra said, her voice steady. She levelled Ardbert with a hard look. “If I am going to transform into the worst kind of Light Warden, then I will not let it be for nothing. I will not let it be here where there are civilians. I will not let him win. Not if giving him what he wants may give me the chance to fight and kill him in the process.”
“Even if you can reach Emet-Selch,” Ardbert squeezed the bridge of his nose, “it doesn’t mean you’ll be able to fight him, let alone kill him.”
“I have to try.” Phaedra held herself straight and tense, lifting her chin and curling her hands into fists at her sides. “There has to be a chance to stop him from winning.”
“What about you?” Ardbert asked, an edge of desperation to his voice. “What about the people here who care about you and have been scouring every tome and every scroll to find a way to stop the spread of the light!”
“I will not turn into a Light Warden.” Phaedra’s voice shook a little. “I will not stay here and force them to watch me turn and then be forced to kill me.” She grabbed Ardbert’s hands in hers and that same surge of energy passed between them. For a few seconds, his ethereal form flickered in front of her; then the connection strengthened and he was real and tangible. Phaedra lifted one hand to his cheek. “I have to try, Ardbert.” He blinked, shocked, and covered her hand with his much larger one. His eyes closed as he leaned into her palm and something in Phaedra’s chest shattered. “You know that feeling, right? When you want to do anything and everything you can to save what matters to you?”
Ardbert opened his eyes and stared down at her. “I… I do, but…” He tightened his hand around her fingers and hesitantly pressed the other into the small of her back. Phaedra took a tentative step forward, their bodies almost touching. “Why does it have to mean sacrifice?”
Phaedra released a sharp breath, “because heroes don’t get happy endings.” She choked out, “we fight and we fight and we fight, and maybe we win, but we don’t get to enjoy it.” Clenching her jaw to prevent her chin from quaking, Phaedra grasped the flame resolve inside her threatening to flicker out. “I have to find a way to get to Emet-Selch. To reach the Tempest. To stop him and save G’raha Tia. To save the First and the Source. To make sure my family can return home.”
She retreated from Ardbert, from his comfort and his steadiness, from his embrace and from the harbour of understanding he had become during her time in the First. She felt the loss of that connection as keenly as if one of her own limbs had been severed. The tangible, physical form of Ardbert reverted to his ethereal appearance, all glittering and shimmery - his expression marred by pain she caused.
She couldn’t look at him. She had to focus. “I’m sorry,” was all Phaedra managed to say before sliding past him, wrenching the door open and striding out into the Pendants landing.
So I wanted to practise drawing some good ol’ armour because I’m crap at it, so I came up with drawing something to do with FFXIV.. I think I lost the will to live after drawing Ardbert’s.
gamechangershow
titsay
2087
snowghoul
stormborns
