[there's a second of hesitation, because he is no longer sure what chiron might think of this-- but if he ever takes possession of the crystal, he'll learn regardless.
emet-selch places it in one of chiron's hands, and as he takes hold of it... a voice echoes in his head.]
Chiron's eyes open, slits of quiet assessment as he pauses with the voice lingering in his mind long after it goes silent. His memories of himself are splintered at this point, and he knows it, but he has not spent the last few days reciting and remembering what he must of Emet's past for no reason.
It doesn't take much effort for him to jump to conclusions]
The world was shattered, but what was broken may be repaired.
[his voice is quiet, there.]
We are simply restoring it to the way it once was. The way it was meant to be. The price-- [less quiet, now-] is that it is a long and arduous task, one spanning eons, and which is yet only half complete.
... And you will be extracting the necessary ether from the current inhabitants.
[Chiron doesn't know for certain. These are merely his guesses given voice; but it's much as he thought before, when Emet had first told him of his utopia, his people.
Yes. But you must first understand that they are not truly lives at all.
[a rustle of fabric, as he shakes his head.]
Hydaelyn's singular powers of enervation are such that, were she to strike a single person, the result would be two individuals, identical in appearance... yet reduced in all respects. The soul, the intelligence, the very self is all diminished by half. Now... imagine if this were not a single division, but shattering into fourteen. 'Tis like to a glass being broken-- none would pick up the shard of a broken one and call it a cup, nor try to drink from it.
[and as he finishes, he just sounds... weary. tired, and melancholy.]
They are naught but fragmented existences, Archer. Ones which do not even know what they are. What they once were.
[the weariness creeps into Chiron's voice, most likely an echo of what the other feels... but the centaur can see the signs by this point. 13,000 years of life thriving, ugly and incomplete though it might be, tenaciously clinging to all that it knows--
Emet's vision is beautiful, sacred even, but life has never cared for such nuances.
There is no future Chiron can imagine where his friend won't lose]
Could you force them -- would they even allow it?
[bowing his head, mouth pulled into a line of dismay]
The more fragile the life, the more insistent they are in claiming their rights to exist in this universe. They will discard you in the same manner that humans turned their backs on the gods of humanity.
They have tried to defy us, yes, and they will continue to cling to these fragile existences they call lives-- but still we have half completed our work. Still we have fought for our world, for our one true god, to be made whole once more... and souls such as ours are not so easily destroyed.
[the weariness is still there-- but there's determination in his voice as well, resolute in this path.]
Our friends, our family, our loved ones... they gave of their lives for Him, for the world that we loved. For the star which we guided and nurtured for untold years, in a time before time.
Who would I be to give any less, when I bear their hopes, their dreams, their despair upon my own soul?
[... How cruel fate is, Chiron thinks to himself at Emet's rousing determination, the type that would lead men to battle if they could but hear it.
Amakusa Shirou was much the same, wasn't he? A revived saint determined to save the lives of countless in his own way, cut from the same cloth as Emet. The two of them would have welcomed each other's vision and called themselves brother-in-arms on their paths to salvation.
And Chiron's last memory of life was in dedication to seeing Amakusa's defeat. Because the dead and forgotten do not have the right to guide the living in such a way; it is up to those who have inherited the future, no matter their choices. Even if Chiron had been called to Amakusa's side, he knows he would have defected immediately.
So why, he wonders, is he always moved hearing Emet's tragedy... Because he has acknowledged the burden of years in the way only the long-lived can? It seems a cheap reason given he would have killed the other had they met each other on the battlefield.
(It isn't untrue, even now)
And yet knowing this, it isn't hate that fills him, or disdain. It's just the sorrow of watching a god refuse to let go of what they've lost.]
... Do as you must. [Spoken quietly at last, his head rested on the wall] Your path is set, is it not? Even if I could convince you otherwise, I ... do not think I would ever do so willingly -- not when another of me might have tried as you do, in another reality.
It is well and truly set, yes. There is naught else for me to do-- but I am not entirely alone.
[a slight pause, at that.]
We unsundered Ascians may, by our power, raise up fragments of the souls of our brethren once found. Restore them to their original office, though they do not have the power we do. When that office is... vacated, we shall say, we tend to find a fragment of the selfsame soul to fill it once more. It is not wholly necessary-- the fragments of unrelated individuals will do as well-- but 'tis we who called forth Lord Zodiark in the beginning who make the truest servants to Him.
'Tis we whose souls He has already claimed.
[remember that time he explained gods temper their followers, About That.]
So there a chance for you to find your fellow Ascians who once held a seat beside you?
[And bearing that, the implications seeming to imply that Zodiark does not plan to let Emet's soul go if it's already his. Chiron's mouth pulls to a slight line at the thought, but he let's it lie]
Yes. By my gift of sight am I able to seek out the fragments of their souls, and while they do not remember themselves... the crystals we created and the power with which they are infused serve to help them learn.
Well, I am able to pluck souls which have not yet dissipated from the Lifestream, yes... though I do not exactly raise the dead. They are all alive, in a technical sense. Each fragment of their soul constitutes an individual existence, broken as it is, and it is this existence that we uplift to their former office. But doing so does not repair the soul itself, only empowers that piece.
[it isn't enough.
but it's what they have, for now.]
As for my gift... I see the Lifestream itself. The aether within the world, the soul within any person, the hue and vibrance of it all.
[which should explain his crystal's words further.]
[there is so much to dissect here, and Chiron holds himself back from asking at least five new questions]
Such a gift would be considered a type of Mystic Eye on my world, approaching the realm of True Magic. You'd potentially have the ability to sense even Servants, as they are concentrated amounts of mana given human form.
[me and Chiron both: emet would be so overpowered in a Grail War, it's not even fair]
You say that souls have colors? It sounds beautiful.
[an arched brow, his tone faintly amused. his kind are magical as hell, all right.
but he's more somber, when chiron says it sounds beautiful.]
It was beautiful, once. Radiant and sparkling, each life vital and vibrant. The world as it is pales in comparison-- not even so much as a moon compared to the sun. A candle, perhaps.
And this world is duller still, for my lack of sight.
'Tis not so easy to peer into one's own... but I may.
[he doesn't say what it might be, though. that much seems to be for him alone.]
...I imagine yours to be verdant, tinged with grey; muted, but no less striking for it. An evenness without becoming completely colorless, its deep shade a reminder there is more than merely the surface.
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Yes, of course. What is it?
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[there's a second of hesitation, because he is no longer sure what chiron might think of this-- but if he ever takes possession of the crystal, he'll learn regardless.
emet-selch places it in one of chiron's hands, and as he takes hold of it... a voice echoes in his head.]
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Chiron's eyes open, slits of quiet assessment as he pauses with the voice lingering in his mind long after it goes silent. His memories of himself are splintered at this point, and he knows it, but he has not spent the last few days reciting and remembering what he must of Emet's past for no reason.
It doesn't take much effort for him to jump to conclusions]
Whose voice is this?
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[though clearly, it is not the voice he has in this body. he says nothing further, though, allowing chiron to draw any conclusions first.]
1/2
What was it that you planned to build, Emet-Selch?
[An empire spanning centuries is what he'd been told, and he believes him, but not once had context been properly explained.
Chiron knew that and still never asked.
He's asking now]
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The time for waiting patiently for Emet to tell him truths is at an end today. Chiron's second question is direct as the first]
What is the price for renewing your god and people?
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[his voice is quiet, there.]
We are simply restoring it to the way it once was. The way it was meant to be. The price-- [less quiet, now-] is that it is a long and arduous task, one spanning eons, and which is yet only half complete.
There is much work to be done, still.
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[Chiron doesn't know for certain. These are merely his guesses given voice; but it's much as he thought before, when Emet had first told him of his utopia, his people.
There is a price that must always be paid]
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[a rustle of fabric, as he shakes his head.]
Hydaelyn's singular powers of enervation are such that, were she to strike a single person, the result would be two individuals, identical in appearance... yet reduced in all respects. The soul, the intelligence, the very self is all diminished by half. Now... imagine if this were not a single division, but shattering into fourteen. 'Tis like to a glass being broken-- none would pick up the shard of a broken one and call it a cup, nor try to drink from it.
[and as he finishes, he just sounds... weary. tired, and melancholy.]
They are naught but fragmented existences, Archer. Ones which do not even know what they are. What they once were.
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[the weariness creeps into Chiron's voice, most likely an echo of what the other feels... but the centaur can see the signs by this point. 13,000 years of life thriving, ugly and incomplete though it might be, tenaciously clinging to all that it knows--
Emet's vision is beautiful, sacred even, but life has never cared for such nuances.
There is no future Chiron can imagine where his friend won't lose]
Could you force them -- would they even allow it?
[bowing his head, mouth pulled into a line of dismay]
The more fragile the life, the more insistent they are in claiming their rights to exist in this universe. They will discard you in the same manner that humans turned their backs on the gods of humanity.
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[the weariness is still there-- but there's determination in his voice as well, resolute in this path.]
Our friends, our family, our loved ones... they gave of their lives for Him, for the world that we loved. For the star which we guided and nurtured for untold years, in a time before time.
Who would I be to give any less, when I bear their hopes, their dreams, their despair upon my own soul?
If they wish to discard me, I bid them try.
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Amakusa Shirou was much the same, wasn't he? A revived saint determined to save the lives of countless in his own way, cut from the same cloth as Emet. The two of them would have welcomed each other's vision and called themselves brother-in-arms on their paths to salvation.
And Chiron's last memory of life was in dedication to seeing Amakusa's defeat. Because the dead and forgotten do not have the right to guide the living in such a way; it is up to those who have inherited the future, no matter their choices. Even if Chiron had been called to Amakusa's side, he knows he would have defected immediately.
So why, he wonders, is he always moved hearing Emet's tragedy... Because he has acknowledged the burden of years in the way only the long-lived can? It seems a cheap reason given he would have killed the other had they met each other on the battlefield.
(It isn't untrue, even now)
And yet knowing this, it isn't hate that fills him, or disdain. It's just the sorrow of watching a god refuse to let go of what they've lost.]
... Do as you must. [Spoken quietly at last, his head rested on the wall] Your path is set, is it not? Even if I could convince you otherwise, I ... do not think I would ever do so willingly -- not when another of me might have tried as you do, in another reality.
[...]
Are you alone in your duty?
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[a slight pause, at that.]
We unsundered Ascians may, by our power, raise up fragments of the souls of our brethren once found. Restore them to their original office, though they do not have the power we do. When that office is... vacated, we shall say, we tend to find a fragment of the selfsame soul to fill it once more. It is not wholly necessary-- the fragments of unrelated individuals will do as well-- but 'tis we who called forth Lord Zodiark in the beginning who make the truest servants to Him.
'Tis we whose souls He has already claimed.
[remember that time he explained gods temper their followers, About That.]
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[And bearing that, the implications seeming to imply that Zodiark does not plan to let Emet's soul go if it's already his. Chiron's mouth pulls to a slight line at the thought, but he let's it lie]
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[all of this is fine.]
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-- Gift of sight?
[Ha. That's new. Chiron is already exhausted by this talk but he will glance sideways regardless]
That skill sounds more or less like being able to raise the dead.
[Yes, he understands all of the nuances that Emet has supplied, but what he is hearing is the literal harvesting of souls.]
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Well, I am able to pluck souls which have not yet dissipated from the Lifestream, yes... though I do not exactly raise the dead. They are all alive, in a technical sense. Each fragment of their soul constitutes an individual existence, broken as it is, and it is this existence that we uplift to their former office. But doing so does not repair the soul itself, only empowers that piece.
[it isn't enough.
but it's what they have, for now.]
As for my gift... I see the Lifestream itself. The aether within the world, the soul within any person, the hue and vibrance of it all.
[which should explain his crystal's words further.]
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[there is so much to dissect here, and Chiron holds himself back from asking at least five new questions]
Such a gift would be considered a type of Mystic Eye on my world, approaching the realm of True Magic. You'd potentially have the ability to sense even Servants, as they are concentrated amounts of mana given human form.
[me and Chiron both: emet would be so overpowered in a Grail War, it's not even fair]
You say that souls have colors? It sounds beautiful.
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[an arched brow, his tone faintly amused. his kind are magical as hell, all right.
but he's more somber, when chiron says it sounds beautiful.]
It was beautiful, once. Radiant and sparkling, each life vital and vibrant. The world as it is pales in comparison-- not even so much as a moon compared to the sun. A candle, perhaps.
And this world is duller still, for my lack of sight.
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Though, ah... his slightless eyes tick up when he hears the somber tone]
Yes... the world must seem so incredibly dull to your eyes now.
[another reminder of everything emet has left. There truly is no escape for him]
Do you know the color of your own soul...?
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[he doesn't say what it might be, though. that much seems to be for him alone.]
...I imagine yours to be verdant, tinged with grey; muted, but no less striking for it. An evenness without becoming completely colorless, its deep shade a reminder there is more than merely the surface.
One builds certain associations, over the ages.
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He had not asked, but wondered, and is momentarily caught off-guard by the detail of the answer granted to him.
Eventually he will smile a little to himself]
I would not doubt that you are correct.
... If I do not disappear immediately when our time here is finished, you may check if you like.