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The sign above the door of the small boutique in the heart of New Rosalith reads Charon & Goetz - Fine Antiques. Joshua Rosfield reaches for the door handle and then hesitates. "There’s something in the aether," his father would say. Or superstition as his mother would call it. He stares at his reflection in the glass door and blinks. Messy ginger hair and freckles, but for just a glimpse it seems as if he was wearing a black shirt and a red scarf around his shoulders instead of the dark green jacket he’d donned when he left his apartment this morning.
(A trick of the mind.)
Joshua shakes his head and pulls open the door, the chime of the bell announcing his entry.
“Here again, kid?” Mrs. Charon greets him, unimpressed. Joshua has been coming to the surly proprietress’s shop for years by now, and he’s yet to get a smile with the greeting. Mrs. Charon is of undetermined age, refuses to disclose her first name, and she always looks like she’s in desperate need of a cigarette. She also insists on calling Joshua a kid, even though he’s nearing thirty by now. She’s always alone in the shop, Joshua has never found out who the co-owner called Goetz is, and Mrs. Charon pointedly ignored his prying the few times he’s attempted to sate his curiosity.
Joshua weaves his way through the crowded shelves, piles of old books and precariously balanced knicknacks until he reaches the shop counter. Mrs. Charon claims all the controlled chaos adds to the ambience of the shop, and that she knows exactly what she has on offer and where to find everything. The actual valuables are all hidden in plain sight. So far she hasn’t been burgled, though Joshua isn’t sure if that’s due to her filing system or the crowbar he knows she keeps hidden under the counter next to the till. Maybe a little bit of both.
“Good timing, kid. I have something you might be interested in,” she ducks behind the bead curtain covering the doorway to the backroom and pulls out a small but weighty looking package. “This woman from Port Isolde sold me some items from her late aunt’s estate. Said that she had claimed to be - and I quote - ‘a distant relative to the Rosfields who founded New Rosalith at the end of the Eikonic Era’.”
Joshua offers her a bemused expression. At least half of Rosarian old families claim to be related to the Rosfields, and the name was still quite common in New Rosalith even nearly a thousand years after its founding.
“But aren’t you one of them too, Mr. Rosfield?” Mrs. Charon raises an eyebrow at Joshua. He can hear the grin in her voice even though her expression is as grumpy as ever.
“My mother has always been keen on the family tree, but she’s so far only managed to trace it back to the 12th century,” Joshua shrugs and smiles, leaning over the counter where Mrs. Charon has placed the square object wrapped in deep red chamois cloth. “She gave me and my brother old Rosarian names anyway, and wouldn’t have a no for an answer when father suggested something trendy at the time.”
Secretly Joshua is glad about the names his mother chose. At least he hadn't been one of at least three children with the same first name in every class at school.
“I was told this was originally a piece of a bigger decoration in their estate, but it burned down some hundred years ago. Only this metal tablet was left of the original wood carving work and paneling.” Mrs. Charon explains while she gingerly starts to peel the folds of the cloth away, revealing a square metal plate, about 6 inches on each side. It’s old, discolored with oxidation and the heat from the fire it was rescued from, and the edges are dented where it’s been held in place with screws from a later era. There’s a relief imprinted on it that is barely visible, worn with age.
“May I?” Joshua reaches for the tablet. Mrs. Charon nods, resting her hands on the counter as she stares at Joshua. He can make out the classic shapes of the Phoenix and Bahamut, so familiar from old Rosarian paintings and sculptures from the New Dawn Era that followed the end of the fabled Eikonic Era.
His namesake and the founder of New Rosalith, Archduke Joshua Rosfield, was said to be the last Dominant of the Phoenix. At least if you were to believe the fantastic tales in the classic chronicle of eikons called Final Fantasy, penned by the man himself. When the godlike eikons and their blessings disappeared from Valisthea after the destruction of the great Mothercrystals and took the magic along with them, people had to find other means to survive in their daily lives. It was uncontested that Joshua Rosfield had been an important figure in the New Dawn, and the university - the same university Joshua had attended and where he now worked as a researcher - he’d founded still operated in Rosaria.
“The Phoenix and Bahamut…” Joshua whispers to himself. The feeling of something in the aether
(anticipation)
he felt before entering the shop returns. The item has a familiarity to it, he can almost picture it embedded in the middle of an ornate wood carving decorated with red paint.
(I've seen this before.)
Maybe he’s just remembering other old Rosarian style decorations? But he can’t shake the feeling the item is giving to him. It’s like teetering on the edge of a cliff, where he could plunge into the abyss at any second if he sways the wrong way.
“As you know there are two theories on the fate of Bahamut,” he can hear himself going into his historian mode to soothe his nerves as he leans over the plaque. “For the longest time we believed that as it is written in Rosfield’s chronicle, the last Dominant of Bahamut died in the Clash of Origin that ended the Eikonic Era. But I believe in the theory that the Radiant Knight who is mentioned throughout the chronicle following the Origin is actually the Prince of House Lesage. According to other historical records from the time, the Radiant Knight stayed with Archduke Rosfield until the end of his life in the year of the realm 915.”
Something slots into place when Joshua carefully picks up the old metal plate. The surface radiates heat to the touch when he runs his fingertips along the ridges of the pattern. It is as if the item has an energy of its own, a low hum of power that something within him responds to. It’s warm, so warm, but it doesn’t burn his hands. The feeling of aether washes over him, overwhelming in the way it blankets his senses and dulls everything in his surroundings, ensnaring him in a whirlpool. He has at the same time found something precious and experienced incredible loss, the pain of which has him almost gasping for breath. The edges of the metal tablet are digging into his fingers as he clutches it like a lifeline.
“Kid? Are you okay?” Mrs. Charon manages to sound concerned as her voice pierces through the fog in Joshua’s mind.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” It’s hard to form words, but somehow Joshua manages it, blinking his eyes to clear his blurry vision.
“It’s just that… you’re crying.” Now she actually looks concerned too, instead of her usual impassive expression.
“Huh?” Joshua has to force his right hand to let go of the metal plate so he can touch his face. Mrs. Charon is right. His cheek is wet with tears streaming down his face.
“That’s not a cursed object or something is it? Should I have called an occultist?” she frowns. “Maybe I should have dropped this thing in the nearest dumpster.”
“I don’t think it’s cursed, but it is old. And… it feels like it has memories of its own imprinted in its aether…” Joshua’s voice trails away, as he reluctantly wills himself to place the metal plate back on top of the cloth wrapping. His hands still feel hot and he clenches his aching fingers while Mrs. Charon digs around under the counter and offers him a tissue to dry his face with.
“Should I put it away if it’s upsetting you so?” She tugs the edge of the chamois cloth and pulls it with the sheet of metal toward her.
“No, no. I… I think I was supposed to find this. I felt something in the aether when I entered your store today,” Joshua has made himself look mad enough for one day in front of the proprietress, adding superstition to his list of daily offenses won’t make things worse.
“I never took you for believing in that mumbo jumbo,” Mrs. Charon scoffs, prodding the metal sheet with her finger. “This thing never did anything funny to me. But if you’re saying it was fate...”
“I don’t know if fate is the right word. But there’s something about it. How much do you want for it?” Joshua takes a deep breath to steady himself. Something in the back of his mind is calling to him, telling him to pick up the relic again. A quiet trilling like a bird, coaxing him to dig deeper into the memory held within.
“I’m not sure if that’s wise, kid,” Mrs. Charon looks down at the plate and then to Joshua. “Just be careful and wear gloves while you handle it. If you keep bawling your eyes out over it, it’ll rust even worse than it already has.”
This pulls a chuckle out of Joshua. “I’m a historian, you know I know how to handle old artifacts.”
“That you ought to,” Mrs. Charon harrumphs and wraps the metal in the protective cloth under Joshua’s gaze. He has to fight the urge to snatch it up and peel the cloth away so he could get his fingers on the warmth of the metal again while Mrs. Charon rings up his purchase in the till.
“A bargain, really. Just don’t come here next time with an eldritch horror in tow, can’t have those trashing the shop,” she says handing the paper bag containing the new prized possession to Joshua.
That evening, Joshua sits in his apartment, staring at his purchase still inside the paper bag Mrs. Charon packed it in, placed in the middle of the coffee table. He’s been able to fight off the need to unwrap it and hold it again, and he at the same time wants and dreads to examine the metal plate closer. The memory of the emotion he’d experienced earlier that day is still fresh, but part of him wonders if it was just a flight of imagination. What if nothing happens when he unpacks the metal plate?
Would I be disappointed or relieved?
In the end, he doesn’t unwrap the metal plate from its package and leaves it on the coffee table. It’s there, calling to him on the periphery of his vision all evening while he types up his research paper on his laptop. It’s there when he goes to bed, hoping that sleep will clear his head.
That night, Joshua dreams. He dreams of feathers like liquid fire sprouting from his back, and a pain spreading across his chest like a web. He dreams of walking into a tent and toward a man with silky blond hair and honey brown eyes, a man who looks at him with such reverence and adoration he feels his heart bursting. He knows this man, in that life, but in this life he can’t remember his name and it fills him with regret. A presence inside him trills in excitement and recognition, and another presence within the man standing in front of him in the haze of the dream answers the call. The aether swirls around Joshua and the man he both knows and can’t remember, loves and has lost, the surroundings fading away again in sparkling mist until it’s just the two of them.
“I know you…”
Joshua jolts awake, gasping for air, tears flowing down his cheeks. The feeling has returned, of at the same time finding and having lost something important. He clutches his chest, coughing, and slumps back to his pillow. Sleep doesn’t return easy, and when it does, it brings no more dreams with it.
Next morning, he opens the package. He holds his breath as he places his hand on the relief, but the memory doesn’t flood into him. The metal is still warm to the touch and he can sense a tension in the aether. He feels a pang of disappointment as he places the sheet of metal on his bookshelf, next to his well-loved and dog eared copy of Final Fantasy. He feels like it belongs there with the tales of Archduke Joshua Rosfield and the Radiant Knight.
He still dreams of the memory of the tent every few nights, but it no longer overwhelms him. Some nights he’s flying across a starry sky, like a bolt of fire circling around a great dragon, exhilaration filling his veins as they dance among the clouds. The dreams fill him with comfort and yearning, leaving him with a feeling he's on the cusp of something important.
Two months later, Joshua stands at a crossing in Northreach. A research trip to the ruins of Oriflamme has pulled him to The Dominion of Sanbreque from New Rosalith. It’s a lovely Spring day, but he feels restless. Has felt restless for the few days he’s been here. There’s an energy in the air
(something in the aether)
(anticipation)
and his palms feel like they’re burning. The memory from the first time he held the metal plate keeps returning stronger and stronger. He’s sure if he closed his eyes he could imagine the flames sprouting from his hands, when a trill in the back of his mind makes him look up from his reverie.
There’s a man standing on the street some thirty feet away from him. He has silky blond hair and honey brown eyes, and he’s looking straight at Joshua. Their eyes lock and Joshua can feel the tears prickling his eyes again. He knows this man, and he knows the man knows him. He’s at the same time standing in the tent in an age past and on the sidewalk in Northreach in the present day.
The lights at the crosswalk turn green but Joshua can’t will his body to move. He’s going to be late for his meeting at the museum, but the world around this moment doesn’t matter. He’s rooted in place and the stranger-not-stranger is striding toward him. His expression is the same Joshua remembers from his dream, the reverence mixed with disbelief, and Joshua knows him. He knows his name now.
(The Archduke and the Radiant Knight)
(The Phoenix and Bahamut)
(Joshua and…)
“Dion.” He whispers and he realizes he’s crying again as his vision blurs. And then Dion is touching his cheek and drying his tears, and oh he is crying too. As if two pairs of wings have unfurled from their backs and enveloped them in a cocoon of fire and light, the universe has condensed just to the two of them.
“I know you.”