They had tried so hard, given so much, and all for it to end like this? In broken fragments, scattered across the heavens? It was as a cruel jest. The tragic turn in a junior playwriters’ efforts, one who had only just discovered how to make the audience’s heart turn, and was going mad with the power.
Hydaelyn. The name was as acid in his thoughts, his lip curling beneath his mask even as he thought it. It was Her fault. All of this was Her fault. The summoning had worked. Zodiark had answered their call, their prayers, and the laws of nature had been reknit. With great sacrifice, they had saved the star! It was all going to be well again, in time.
And then a handful of malcontents had gone and made a mess of things, and there were naught but the three of them to clean it up. The three of them, and what little aid they could scrape up from the broken.
He closed his eyes a long moment, holding his pain close. “No, it wasn’t. But our duty still stands. We must work on. For the good of the star. It falls to us to save this shattered star, and return our fallen brethren to their rightful state. This is to be our great work. Only then may we take our rest, long tho the trial may be.”