arkitect | (noct) ic inbox

You would ask this of someone who no longer has a future?

[He delivers it evenly, level, with only a slightly arched brow, but-- a measure of the impact is meant to be in the lack of emotion and volume. A straighter shot, perhaps, than he usually makes, but he feels it's merited; he lets it sit, a moment, before continuing.]

But you told us of it once regardless, did you not.

[And the thing about it is — is that she has to let it bite. Has to let the barb hurt the way he designs it to. Because this isn't about winning, or about getting the better of him, and the truth comes with barbs of its own in return, so tis only fair.]

I did. I gather that's the part that Hythlodaeus told you.

[She draws a slow breath.]

But that's not what I meant. Because it wasn't you I told, was it? It was the Emet-Selch of my own star. And I'm not the Azem shard that Hythlodaeus remembers.

[She glances up, then, and meets his eyes with a gaze as steady as his tone.]

I'm asking you. Would you want to know. Would you want me to tell you a story about the Emet-Selch I remember, for whatever that might or might not mean for you?

I suppose I would.

[He'll allow that much. It isn't him, but in a way it is-- they didn't know each other before this place, but she knows Emet-Selch, and what she knows of him still informs the way she sees this iteration.]

I thought you might.

[But it still comes as a sudden relief — a rush of breath that leaves her so fast she almost didn't realize she was holding it, shoulders falling and tension dissipating as she nods slowly in approval.]

It wasn't for nothing. Everything he did. Everything he endured. The legacy he left. It wasn't all for nothing.

Well, it had better not have been. I'd be exceedingly cross, otherwise.

[He folds his arms, there, watching her expectantly.]

Go on, then. Clearly you've more to say than that.

I thought you might find it reassuring to know. I wasn't sure if...if any of the others would think to tell you.

[Would anyone, she wonders? Tis an easy enough mistake, after all, to forget that the slightly different circumstances they all hail from mean slightly different stars and shards, and the man who sits at her bedside in his velvet robe isn't from any of the ones that any of them know. Easy enough to forget and assume that he's any of theirs. But his Azem is nowhere to be found, and may never have the chance to deliver a message like this themselves.]

The Hythlodaeus of my star told me that before the world was sundered, you sometimes used to travel with Azem. That at times they would call for you, and you would answer and help. I think they must have done it when they didn't know what else to do, but they knew that you would.

[Her fingers twist again in the blankets.]

The Emet-Selch of my star didn't take his rest with his death. He waited awhile — or was kept back, mayhap. Because when a little shard of Azem found herself confronted with the very cause of the Final Days, alone and helpless with no path left to tread, she called for his aid. And he answered, one last time.

So I've no rest even in the Underworld, have I?

[He heaves out a sigh, at that, but-- well, all right. Emet-Selch knows well enough that, given the way things ended... there's a good chance he would watch. Observe, especially after regaining his lost memories.]

...Hythlodaeus would be the most likely one to say so, but I've never asked him for more details past what he told me of Hermes. We've had more to discuss than my posthumous actions.

[Which is fine, they're fine, everything is normal. Anyway.]

But it is curious to me, regardless, that you should attempt to call me to your aid when you ought to have others to whom you could reach.

You will have it. Just not as soon as you might've thought.

[Truthfully, she'd half-thought he might just up and portal out after being made the recipient of a remark like that, so it's — optimistic, really, that for all his huffing, he seems to be tolerating the thread of conversation well.]

I wish I could say it was all part of some terribly cunning plan of mine, getting you and Hythlodaeus involved, but I'm afraid I'm just not that clever. I didn't know what else to do, and I thought —

[She stops short, glancing away. Even has the decency to look embarrassed — or possibly a touch mortified — before clearing her throat and moving right along.]

You might be glad to know you were rather spectacular about it. A performance to the last.

One could easily be offended at the implication that calling upon them was 'not that clever'.

[Clearly, getting his help is the smart option?

But he waves it off, returning to the topic at hand.]

What else could I have been? If it was to be my final appearance, then it ought to at least be memorable.

Well, which is it, then? Clever or curious? Either it's an odd thing for me to do or a smart one — and if it's odd for me to be smart, then mayhap I'm the one who ought to be offended.

[TWO CAN PLAY AT THAT GAME, EMET-SELCH.]

...It was, though. Memorable. And in more ways than one.

[And now she ducks her head, hiding the faintest of smiles.]

You had aether enough to recreate the whole of Amaurot on the First, and have it last even beyond when you were gone. You — he — did something like that again. Built a landscape out of aether for me.

Mayhap you are.

[He says, dry. Go ahead, be offended, no skin off his nose.]

But if you were faced with the very cause of the Final Days, then you shall have to explain just what manner of landscape this was, not to mention what purpose it served.

[Surely it would have been simple enough to call upon his magical might in a more-- direct way.]

It was the very end of the universe. The cause of the Final Days had hidden herself there, collecting the despair of countless stars and civilizations that had all fallen to extinction.

[She hums under her breath, glad for the time spent with Nidhana — an education in aetherology that makes offering this explanation that much easier in retrospect.]

The purpose of summoning Zodiark was to shield the star in a massive surfeit of aether — creation magic at its height. You and the Convocation arrived at that conclusion because you were able to work out that the seeds of the Final Days seemed to be planted in places where the aether surrounding the star was thinnest. And you were right. Far at the end of the universe, a monster was singing a song of ruin and despair across the sea of stars, and it was only that shield of aether that was keeping it out.

[She closes her eyes.]

You asked why I didn't have anyone else to call on. The answer is...because when we went to confront her at the edge of the universe, the only way to advance toward where she was hiding was through sacrifice. One by one, they all...my friends, they all...

[Even now, it aches to think of. And she remembers, idly, something he'd said in the capitol building at Amaurot — would half of the Sundered willingly give their lives to save the other half, the way the Unsundered did without hesitation?

One after another after another. They both know what it's like to be the last one standing, now, don't they.]

With each one in turn, they were able to change the landscape. Add to it. Build something out of it. And I had to let them, because to call them back to my side would mean to undo everything they'd built, and we would all perish anyway.

You, on your own, surpassed all of them. You used your aether to sustain all the changes yourself, so that they weren't relying on my friends anymore. You made it so that I could call them back.

...we were correct, then. Summoning Him, shielding our star-- it was the only way, without knowing that monster existed. We could not have produced such a shield otherwise.

An answer built upon sacrifice, as was yours.

[It may not have happened over millenia, but... now, he supposes, she has some idea of what it would be like to lose everyone, one by one. To not only lose them in an instant to sacrifice but to watch it happen progressively, much as he watched the other Unsundered lose themselves.]

And in what manner were they anchored?

You were right.

[How strange an admission that is. Once she never could've imagined herself making such a concession, but she'd be lying to the both of them if she tried to deny it.]

Even bound on the moon, it was Zodiark's presence that continued to shield the star. Fandaniel's plan was to eliminate him, by some means or another, so that the last barrier would be removed, and the Final Days could be ushered in again.

[And she wonders, for a fleeting moment, about Hythlodaeus — clever, manipulative Hythlodaeus, confident in his ability to make his old friend do anything with just the right combination of words and gestures — and whether, before he went to offer himself for the summoning, he'd said something to ensure he'd get his way even in the face of Emet-Selch's potential reluctance.

She wonders if it was something like I want you to make me a promise.

Funny, how that thought leads so naturally to the answer to his question.]

With hope — creation magicks shaped by hope. My design, your power...and Hythlodaeus's approval, I suppose.

Oh, of course he did-- I ought to have known he would attempt something so foolish.

[He should have suspected. Should have paid more attention-- but he was a mere sundered Ascian, risen from Amon's husk. Emet-Selch couldn't have anticipated the tempering would fail to stop him, that he would ever contemplate having Zodiark eliminated.

After a moment, though, suddenly:]

-Now wait just a moment. Are you truly telling me that, in His absence, you traveled to the end of the very universe to find the source of the apocalypse and face it down with some embodiment of hope? That was what you called upon me for?

[He reaches up to rub at his temples, shaking his head and muttering-]

...You are every bit as ridiculous as they were.

For what it's worth, I'm telling you all this to spite him. He thought the notion of you being kept in the dark about so much of this was funny.

[The pettiness brings a hint of a smile to the edges of her mouth, one that only blossoms further at Emet-Selch's ensuing chagrin. Carefully, trying not to overtax her already strained limbs, she reaches over to the bedside table and plucks up the Elpis flower by its stem, pushing it towards him.]

But see for yourself. A field of these yet grows at the end of the universe, thanks to you.

[The violet hue tinging the petals deepens into a richer blue, reflecting her barely-suppressed mirth.]

Like I said, you seemed to be enjoying yourself while you were at it. It was quite the performance.

With the stage set in such a way, how could I fail to provide?

[He reaches out to take the blossom, fingertips gently catching its stem. A symbol of hope, is it...?

Only natural that she'd retain it, then. It's a very Azem-like thing.]

From my understanding, 'twas his own handiwork that he felt was so entertaining. I suppose it to be only fitting that he would be the only one who thought so.

I hope it's consolation enough, for finding out that you'll be robbed a little longer of your rest. At least your encore will be spectacular.

[Is there hope enough in that, she wonders, however slender a thread it might be? It may not be much of a future, tis true, but it's more than he had when this conversation began.]

He did give the impression of relishing every moment of his machinations. But he's certainly not laughing anymore.

[She pauses.]

Would that I could forget some of what he did, myself. But I can't.

[For now, he keeps the flower in hand, quietly turning it for a moment and watching the color reflect from its petals.]

What did he do, precisely?

Precisely?

[It's an obvious verbal feint, mostly. A subconscious remark shoved in for no other reason than to buy an extra second of time before having to find an answer. Telling, she thinks a little sourly, but it's too late to take it back now.]

His plan began with breaking Zodiark free of the brands that held him in place on the moon. They used a network of aether siphons scattered across Eorzea to consolidate a massive amount of aether in one tower in Garlemald, and then just...fired at the brands, I think. One by one to break them.

[Her lips press into a thin line.]

To buy time and keep us distracted from his aims, Fandaniel abducted me. Used some sort of technology to separate my soul from my — from my —

[Twisted in the sheets, her knuckles are white.]

He put me into the corpse of a Garlean soldier, and let Zenos take my body. He made lively sport of it, watching to see if I could catch up and intervene before Zenos reached our camp and used my own hands to kill all my friends.

Honestly-- the entire point of Garlemald may have been its eventual descent into chaos, but utilizing the remains of my empire in an attempt on our Lord, not to mention my supposedly dead great-grandson...

[Excuse the fuck out of him, but he's the source of all of that, thank you very much.

It's not difficult to see that it troubles her, though, and for a few moments he falls silent.]

...still, I suppose even that much failed to stop you, did it.

[It should be horrible to contemplate, she knows. Both the thought of what Garlemald was reduced to by the time Eorzea's armies invaded, and the offhand way he owns up to what the empire's purpose had always been — the subjugation, the senseless bloodshed, the cruelty meted out firsthand onto her people and even her own tribe —

But there's one note of ironic humor in it, too, and it keeps its roots in the sulky possessiveness of it all. Emet-Selch says my empire the same way she says my things, and if nothing else, she can resonate with the affront at having someone else touch and take and misuse what she's claimed as hers.

Seven hells, it had been one of the things that brought them to blows themselves, back on the First.]

I'm not good for much, but that does seem to be one of the few things I've a knack for, aye. Refusing to be stopped.

[...]

You know there was something...wrong with him, don't you? Your...your great-grandson. Mayhap that suited your aims, I don't know. I didn't want to have to fight him, in the end. I didn't want anything to do with him, but he forced my hand regardless.

I do know, yes. There always has been, and it certainly wasn't improved by the subsequent experimentation.

[But having him there still did suit his aims, in a way, when the intent was never to leave Garlemald stable after his death. No great loss that he died, but no great hindrance if he lived, or so Emet-Selch had assumed.

Perhaps he had underestimated how well that experimentation would work.]

Regardless, I am unsurprised he would make himself a thorn in your side. Were you able to put an end to him?

...Barely. It was a close thing.

[Too close. Terrifyingly close. She'll have scars on her knuckles for the rest of her life from where they'd torn open as she'd hit him, barely conscious of her own actions any longer, pushed to such desperation that she'd only wanted him dead by any means necessary, no matter how unwise or incomprehensible.]

I wish I'd known that trick of yours, the one you do with the aether chains. I could've used it, fighting him.

...mm. Well, while I cannot teach you creation, mayhap such a spell would be more appropriate for your given abilities.

[He says it idly, with a wave of his hand-- dismissive from the beginning, as if saying it means absolutely nothing.]

(noct) ic inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)