Work Text:
Now that you know he's there, you keep seeing him out of the corner of your eye, between the buildings of the Crystarium, the trees of the Greatwood -
The trees of the Black Shroud make a canopy over your head. The sunlight feels as though it's filtered through water, though, with the growing thickness of aether in the air, aspected as it is.
"You don't have to stay," he says. It's the robes of black today, the Mhachi robes, which makes it dangerous for you to be seen with him. You know perfectly well that he's capable of either, has appeared to you in both, playing both sides against the middle. Sometimes you wonder if it's his real face that he shows to you.
"What are you saying?" you say. "Escape the Flood... with you?"
His smiles are more common, as the aether has soaked the air. They're always a touch lazy, tilted as though only half of his good humor is for you.
"Well, yes," he says. A tilt of his head, and you feel the aether around him prickle. Even as you are, one of the foremost mages of Amdapor, it is so much greater than yours.
It is because of that that you do not step back when he approaches you, lifts one of your hands from your robes and brings it to his lips. "There is so much of this world you have yet to see," he says, quietly, almost sadly.
It is that almost-sadness that first drew you to him, not his wit or aether. Something in it spoke to you, of tragedies past, of tragedies yet to come.
You pull your hand away. "I can't," you say, and then correct yourself. "I won't. Not while there are still people in the city I might save."
His face falls. For a moment, he looks almost angry.
Then he throws up his hands, an indifferent shrug. "Can't say I didn't try," he says. "Good luck with your doomed venture, my hero."
It feels strange, that this time you should be the one to turn away from him. Even as you begin the trek back to the city, the impression of him walking away, one hand lazily waving in the air, remains.
Did you...
You press a hand to your temple, an almost-automatic motion, even though there is not the headache that accompanies visions granted by the Echo. In front of you, no one has noticed, Y'shtola's return occupying the attention of everyone in your group.
All but one, anyway. Emet-Selch watches you, at the side of the group, neither a part nor apart. In response to your gaze, he simply tilts his head, the barest outline of a smug look on his face.
"Something the matter, hero?" he asks.
You shake your head, and turn away, following your friends through the forest.
----
Amh Araeng is brilliantly bright, just as the first time you were here. You'd think it should be so much hotter than Thanalan, without the cool of the night, but the light of the sky above is cold and heartless, so unlike the sun.
In Amh Araeng, they still know when the night should be, based on the waxing and waning of the heat as the sun, invisible beyond the eternal light, rises and falls in the sky. It is only by the coldness of the light that life here is still possible. A small blessing, Alisaie tells you.
You make camp in the mines, the caves dark enough to afford you sleep. Thancred has adjusted, as of course he has, but the rest of you from the Source still require darkness to fall asleep in a way that the natives of this world do not. After a century, only the oldest even remember what the night looks like.
You are not tired enough to drift off yet, and so you take first watch, only you and the crackling fire and the occasional sleepy sounds of your companions. For a moment, you close your eyes and just listen -
Sitting around the fires like this, you could almost forget how out of place you feel. The first soul in generations, that your leader looked at and did not recognize. A new child of the Dotharl, upon whom rests the responsibility to make an impression, to win glory for your future incarnations to look to for guidance.
Sadu sits beside you, as he usually does. Two years your junior, he is already renowned for the strength of his soul, the glee with which he throws himself into combat. As it should be.
But, by being Sadu, he has no fear of anything. That includes the glances the elders throw at the two of you when he chooses to sit at your side, to offer a hand of friendship to the strange soul who has landed in the midst of those who have known each other for lifetimes. "It is never too early to begin a friendship that will last beyond this life," he had said, simple and certain, as he always.
Across from the two of you sits the one person in the village who is stranger yet than you. The Hyur trader came from far to the south, to Reunion, but upon hearing of your tribe's ways, came here as though driven by the worst of beasts. Near as tall as a Xaela man, he rose to the challenge placed before him by the current khatan, and now dresses and lives as one of you. He is one of you, soul recognized as one thought lost, the flesh that contains him being Hyur having no more meaning than any other vessel.
He tilts his head at you, across the fire, and smiles. Something about it eases the tension in your gut, makes your soul lift in a way that only the Nadaam, moons past and soon to come again, ever has.
It is no gathering of courage to stand and cross around past Sadu to sit beside him. It is never too soon to begin, after all.
For a moment, you can almost smell the grasses of the Steppe again, feel the ground beneath your feet. But when you open your eyes again, only the glare of Amh Araeng greets you, just beyond the cave entrance.
Around you, your companions slumber on, save one. Across the fire from you, Ardbert sits on the ground, cross-legged. His expression is thoughtful, and as you look at him, he reaches up to rub his eyes.
"I think all this light is going to your head," he says. And you can only nod agreement, even as you lift your gaze to the rippling glow of the sky again,unable to stop wondering if he saw the vision, too.
----
As the giant Talos nears completion, you find Emet-Selch pressed against a building in the shade, leaning back against it with his arms crossed. There's nothing for you to do right now, and only so much of Chai-Nuzz and his anxious hand-wringing that you can take at a time, which is what led you to wandering the village.
And so you consider the company you keep, before ducking into the shade next to the Ascian and taking your share of his wall, sitting down to rest your back against it.
He raises his eyebrows as he looks down at you. "Seeking out my company over that of your dear companions? My, what a change of pace."
You don't respond, just adjusting your posture to watching the distance. A large piece of stone slides off a peak, and you hear the distant sounds of cheering, as what seems to be one of the Talos' shoulders comes a little closer to completion.
You've noticed that Emet-Selch doesn't seem to much enjoy silence, and figure he'll start talking of his own accord soon enough. And it only is a short time before he, too, turns his gaze towards the stonework in the distance.
"You do see the difference, don't you?" he says. "Between these people, a single fragment, and the Source, now seven times Rejoined. Their greatest of efforts is commendable, for their capabilities, but it pales in comparison to even Allag, never mind the modern Source."
You glance at him, frown, and pointedly look back at the Talos.
"Oh, very well, I admit that Allag had a little help," he says. "It was, you might say, my first grand experiment in seeing how far the people of the Rejoined Source had come. Just give them a little push in the right direction, and see what they could build."
"...And see what they can build," echoes in your memory. You sit upon a couch in an opulent palace, a boy's head resting on your lap as he sleeps. Your son, you know in the memory.
Across from you, the boy's father continues to speak, pacing back and forth and gesturing as he does, as is his wont. Ruler of an empire he might be, but he is never as satisfied speaking from the throne he built as here, on his feet.
"It isn't about the now," he says, turning back towards you. "Our empire shall be the greatest this star has ever seen. Not for us, but for our children, and our children's children."
His eyes fall on the boy in your lap, and for a moment you see it -
He loves you, loves your son, but there is always something sorrowful when he looks at you, as though he sees something broken that he cannot mend.
He comes and sits beside you, then, and you lean against him, as he reaches into your lap to stroke the boy's hair. The prince's eyes crack open at the touch, the same vivid red as his father's, almost unnatural. People say that he looks like you, save for those eyes, that his father has taken the otherworldliness of the royal line to its natural conclusion.
Sometimes you think that they are not wrong. You lean up and press a kiss to his cheek - otherworldly or not, he is yours.
"For our children," you agree. "And those who follow after."
"We'll have no need of conquest," he says. "If we build, the people will come, for the wonders we create." He looks down. "Isn't that right, Xande? The age of conquest is at an end, and we shall usher in a new age of knowledge."
Xande looks up at the two of you for a moment, and then makes a disgusted face, as children are wont to do when their parents get too affectionate. "We will," he agrees. "We'll show Meracydia and everyone else just how amazing Allag is."
"That's my boy," his father replies. "Best run along now. I'm certain your tutors are wondering how long you're planning on napping."
Xande makes the displeased face again, but lifts himself up from your lap. You press a kiss to his brow and send him on his way.
"Don't push him too hard," you say. "Children need time to be children, even if they're as brilliant as their fathers."
Your husband's face softens. "Quite right, you are," he says, leaning in to return your kiss from earlier. You curl closer into his arms, reaching up to brush the streak of white hair away from his eyes. "And now that we have a moment alone," he continues, "What say you I show you my most recent brilliant idea?"
You laugh, and pull him down onto the couch. "Consider me your captive audience."
Your face burns, as the vision - the memory - ends. Emet-Selch is watching you, waiting for... Something. The feeling of his hands and lips on yours refuses to go away.
You look away from him, shake your head as though to chase the vision away, and stand. As you leave, you hear him mutter under his breath.
"Was it something I said?"
----
Darkness falls, and you are alone, with him, this final trial. And as he sheds his skin, leaves behind flesh to his true form, you remember...
You look up at the creature that towers above you, hidden in the folds of a cloak and face behind a mask. Twice your height, more, and yet you know that this is not a monster, but a person. A person you know, or perhaps once knew.
"Why?" he asks, in a language you've forgotten how to speak. "Why have you done this, to our god, to our world, to yourself?"
He kneels, and reaches down for you. His hand is enough to engulf your entire head, but he only pushes your hair out of your eyes. For a moment, you allow yourself the luxury of leaning into that giant hand.
You don't remember what it is you've done, to cause him such sorrow, that tears leak out from beneath the mask he wears. You don't remember, who he was to you, that he would weep so.
But you remember why. And though it takes time, for you to find words that you can speak still, once you have found them, you speak them without hesitation, as you pull your face away from the comfort of the dark.
"For those we can yet save," you say, and turn away.
----
"Remember us," says the splintered being in front of you. Emet-Selch, Hades, a thousand thousand names, and all of them meaningless. You have never needed a name to recognize him. You wonder if he ever realized, that he didn't need one to recognize you.
"I do," you say, quietly, for him alone.
His eyes widen, just a hair, and he tilts his head. Then, understanding, and the faintest of smiles -
And then he is gone.