The blazing sky above Thavnair, one that rained familiar fire as the ground below quaked with despair, had tapered off to a dark and somber evening. Emet-Selch had gotten what he'd wanted, deals be damned. It was nary a second thought to take Hythlodaeus and warp them elsewhere, somewhere where the Final Days had yet to reach. But such a decision had not been made to pass. Instead, they remained, and Emet-Selch lent his aid to fend off the malformed beasts with the Warrior of Light and their party. The dragon, Vrtra, refused to help. Claiming how he could not hurt his children. Emet-Selch's ire burned at the inconceivable notion. Whatever was once there no longer had semblance of humanity. They were no more than monsters bent on destruction.
Such an event was never to come to pass again. However, without Zodiark to maintain the balance against Hydaelyn's light, that equilibrium went out of control. The scales tipped now in the favor of light, and the inevitable had come.
Just as Amaurot had during the Final Days, Thavnair burned, her cities buckled, and the waters ran red with blood. He warned the Warrior of Light, his intense gaze narrowed and searing back at her own. This would be FAR from the worst of it. Vanaspita was a drop in the bucket by comparison. The memory of Amaurot during its finest hour should have been enough to show the horrors that loomed ahead.
These people of a sundered world would never sacrifice half their remaining lives to offer sanctuary to those who could remain and rebuild; never mind that they may have to do it again after the lands withered and the waters dried up. Hydaelyn grew weary and weaker as it were. Even Zodiark was a shell of his former glory beneath the strain.
He knew why he was brought back into the fray. No matter where the Warrior of Light went for answers to stop the Final Days, she never obtained the answers she was seeking. Be it the moon with the Watcher and his documented library on the subjects of era's long past. All the way to 12,000 years in the past with Hermes and his pet project. She may have understood how the end came about, the cause of a flawed inquiry, but it did not tell her how to prevent it. Venat would allow her champion to figure out the answer for herself, believing to the highest of esteems before sending them back to the present. And thus it fell to Emet-Selch to be their problem solver instead of making new ones.
The risk of freeing him from the shard of white auracite was a great one. He'd tried to kill them all once before and the memories of his trial still weighed heavily on each of their minds. They'd offered into a bargain for his cooperation. Bring Hythlodaeus back, and he would tell them all he knew. It was all he wanted. It was all he'd EVER wanted. How readily he was to abandon their deal the first chance he'd gotten.
In the end, he could offer no further explanations than what the Warrior of Light already knew. Killing their precious goddess, Hydaelyn, and making her return to the star would be one solution to forestalling the out of aligned balance. It was an answer he kept to himself for the time being. The other resolution was finding Meteion at the edge of the universe and slaying her. Getting to her was the problem, however. No ship could take them far enough to arrive at her Nest.
They continued their back and forth. Similar to the way he'd argue with Azem. The Warrior of Light wouldn't back down so long as there was spark of hope things might work out. Defeating Meteion was the answer to their problems. He knew the Warrior of Light was right. But claiming how they'd lost so many lives all ready because of the entelechy, like the number could even COMPARE to the amount Emet-Selch had.
Frustration wore between his brow, the lines of this new body deepening the more they debated. ❝You didn't have to pull your lover's body out of a mass grave!❞ The words were out before he could stop them. Hand outstretched and index finger pointing accusingly. The sacrifice had failed. None of their fallen had returned to the living after Zodiark was formed. ❝You could not hope to fathom the amount I have lost, nor what I have been made to sacrifice.❞
Emet-Selch had gone to where the first sacrifice had been made. He went down into the pit of dark robed bodies, digging through each one and pulling them aside. His hands had grown black with soot, the scent of burning flesh and death heavy in the air around him. But still he dug, deeper and deeper. His breast began to flourish with the vigor Hythlodaeus had changed his mind. But the emotion had been fleeting as he pulled aside the body on top of his and saw the familiar strands of lavender hair peeking out from beneath a dark cowl. His body was frozen, burnt, and his mask had broken with flecks of blood stained over its smooth finish. He remembered sitting there, holding Hythlodaeus' body as tightly as he could and crying out in guttural pain.
He cried until he felt he would drown in his sorrow. And when he did not, he eventually moved from the site of death. He'd buried Hythlodaeus and the babe cradled in his arms not far from one another. Cremation didn't feel right. Not with how badly his body had already been made to suffer in fire. Emet-Selch tended to that small grave even in his recreated version of Amaurot. He'd used his magic to create a small field of his favorite flowers: white and pink and purple hyacinths. He'd placed crowns of woven flowers atop the stone. A thing he'd considered foolish in the past, refusing to wear them himself or even attempt making. They'd been poor, the stems breaking or coming loose, but he knew Hythlodaeus would appreciated his effort and tease him for it.
He couldn't continue this farce. The Warrior of Light shocked into silence at his sudden outburst. She'd probably say something uplifting about how their future doesn't have to be the same once she recovered, but he wasn't going to wait around to placate.
