Archive of Our Own

This time he wasn't playing someone else. Not that it meant much. In any case, the role was easy for him, for he would work to maintain the balance of Light in the First for the Ardor's sake. The Warrior of Light's followers saw the world in a convenient way, too: Darkness destroyed the great civilizations, so it must be countered with Light. This simplistic thinking combined with bright-eyed idealism and naivety led the Warrior to trust Elidibus as he was. 

The first time Elidibus revealed himself to him, he did it without reinforcements. Only the Warrior’s closest allies – two mages and a melee fighter – were allowed to be present. He came with his practiced speech of balance, knowing it wouldn’t be convincing. It lead the party to corner him in doubt. To attack him, to which he could fein to struggle against, still refraining from attacking back even when he seemed one blade’s swing away from death. Then the Warrior called a halt to the battle, physically making himself Elidibus’s shield. 

Blood staining the cheeks of his vessel, he looked vulnerable as he planned to. As he used the body’s natural reaction of fatigue to his advantage, the Warrior preached to his allies his childish views of unity. How even an Ascian could be a feeling creature, capable of change. How he had to be an exception, the Ascian who fights against his nature. That it was spelled in his robes of white, his word was true and to be trusted. He thought that might have been their purpose.

Elidibus was then taken to their camp, where the healing mage treated him, warily apologizing for the prior scene while smothering aether to his skin. Her ministrations were efficient for her level, but it was clear from the jerkiness of her motions that she didn’t know what to think of Elidibus. Her aether tingled on his cheeks, making them feel numb. Despite the sensation, Elidibus tried to give back a thankful smile to subdue her doubt for now.

He only told them what they needed to know: that he is the Emissary, standing against his kind, seeking to reunite Light and Darkness into peace. It had been a good decision to keep to the shadows, for there were barely any myths of him unlike for the other Ascians. It meant that there were preconceptions to follow or break. He asked the party to keep him as their secret for their reputation’s sake. It would also protect his own anonymity. 

The Warrior and his companions gave their names to him. Individuality was important to the Sundered, so he humored them and memorized their names for later use. Giving your name used to be a sign of trust for his people too, he recalled, even if the names were kept closer. 

As follows, his name was also asked. Their gazes fixed upon him, he felt oddly exposed. Elidibus, he said, and set a two-way mirror between their bond.

They accepted it, nonetheless. It was the only lie he spoke that day.

  * * *

Elidibus began to check on them whenever his multitude of tasks on various shards would allow him. Every meeting he would give information he thought would lead them closer to the goal of balance. He recorded their progress in his personal notes, which he would revise himself of before every meeting. 

His work had succeeded. Through his advice, the Warriors had freed the city of Pravoka from the grip of pirates, claimed their ship for themselves and headed across the Aldi Sea. The nation of Melmond was now in reach.

Unfortunately, in his absence the Dark Elf Astos had tricked them to run errands for him. On one of his visits Elidibus had found the Warrior’s party back at the harbor city. Lodging at an inn and burning their money away at taverns as if they were rich, they tried to find any new clues to lead them forward after the betrayal and following loss of morale. He had followed them in the shadows while they had climbed – slowly, from their inebriation – through the city paths towards a humble restaurant-inn at the outskirts. 

The melee fighter, Zauver, looked the most sober – or the most experienced in drinking. Hee seemed to be supporting almost the entire weight of the black mage, Teol, who was singing sappy lyrics into his supporter’s ear, gratingly out of tune. The white mage Flora had lost her normal timidness, and was now the chattiest of the group, even if the conversation was one-sided. And the Warrior, Setro, was walking behind, steady but struggling with a grimace on his face and a hand on his stomach. The valiance and confidence he had in his posture on their first meeting was a far cry from his current presentation.

These are the warriors I chose to trust the First with?

When they were safe inside dim corridors between inn rooms, Elidibus finally revealed himself. He had curtly questioned them on the use of their time while neglecting their mission, heard them protest his accusations with poor counterarguments, and then once he had earned an invite to the room, he had healed them of the ailments of ale, one at a time. 

After his brief magicks and at least the Warrior’s gratefulness for his minimal effort to ensure a productive conversation, he was told they faced a dead end in their quest. After Astos’s betrayal, they had found the original Elven prince in a coma. They had brought him with them to the city to be treated by the nation’s best chirurgeons.

Even they had not found a cure. And without the help of the Prince, they could not proceed to the castle of Cornelia.

There was no sickness of the Sundered which was too complicated to cure. But the Sundered didn’t have the aether or opportunities to study medicine to the level his people had in Emet-Selch’s descriptions of Amaurot. It meant that the simplest illness could be fatal. Elidibus couldn’t comprehend why Hydaelyn would have birthed such a cruel world, and never had been able to. He cursed Her creation in his mind and showed none of it to Her followers.

“Bring me to him”, he decided. “I will find a cure”. 

Elidibus didn’t find special medical knowledge from his mind, nor was it in the notes he left for himself. It stood to reason he hadn’t been a healer before the Sundering. Despite that, anyone with a sufficient attunement to aether could diagnose a simple imbalance. 

He pointed them towards a notorious witch who had herself meddled with the Ascians’ plans not long ago. The ability to single-handedly triumph over Ascian magicks indicated remarkable aetheric knowledge for one of the Sundered. Elidibus had to admit that she was of more use in finding a cure than him, no matter how much it frustrated him.

“What I do, I do for duty,” he answered to offers of repaying his effort back. He tried his best to not be offended by the suggestion of doing what had to be done for personal material gain. It was another way of the Sundered that baffled the Ascians. 

The irony of being thanked for his goodwill by those whose world he was following a duty to destroy didn’t escape him. He sent them off with a smile under his mask, as always. They would die anyway. They cannot choose a less gruesome death, he reminded himself. A faulty justification, he knew. But it was the correct choice. Any other would let suffering continue. This Zodiark would know in His heart, and He would not let him waver.

  * * *

“We’re not so behind on our plan that we couldn’t stay for a night or two. It’s not–”

“Setro, if we stop to help every victim of injustice in this land, they’ll all be dead when our task has barely begun.” Zauver crossed his arms and leaned backwards, careless of the dusty ground his clothes would meet if he happened to tip off the trunk he sat on. 

The fire crackled with the veracity of fresh wood, sending its sparks towards the sky, where they shone like new stars in the sky. The wood was too damp to have been lit on its own, and it had needed magicks to catch flame. Elidibus’s pastime to tolerate the party’s bickering was now sustaining the magick and changing its colors with temperature and different sorts of aether. Something to make thinking about business on other shards more bearable. It wasn’t nearly as elegant as other mages more attuned to fire could manage, but it was sophisticated enough for him to feel satisfied. He knew he had seen advanced fire manipulation up close, close enough to dissect and copy the spell. Yet he couldn’t think of anyone he knew who was a fire-aspected mage. 

He had already supplied his opinion to the group. There was a farther goal, and he thought they should focus their efforts to eliminate the largest threat. It was the goal that helped his side, but even if he didn’t have a bias toward his answer, he would recommend focusing on the final objective. 

And that viewpoint had been ignored by the group of mortals like he would’ve never offered advice. They were too stubborn to analyze their heated emotions. Stubbornness was unfortunately a common ailment of heroes and aspiring heroes, for it came hand in hand with conviction. 

Emet-Selch, in one of his regular bouts of nostalgia, recently spoke of the Amaurotine way of debate and its integration to the culture. Disagreement was expected and always civil, as there was a framework of rules to achieve a fair consensus if the debate grew into an argument. 

Still, the reformed Convocation’s meetings sounded similar to the conversation he was in the middle of. His rulings and attempts at mediation were more often ignored than respected. It was often as he was acting in his role or witnessing debates that he felt the paradise he knew he had lived in once slip further into the realm of fantasy. Fantasy, which he couldn’t reconcile with experience anymore.

“It’s not a matter of caring. Of course we care, but we only have so many resources,” Flora added, having quietly taken in the Warrior’s and the melee’s degrading arguments over the course of the last quarter-bell. “I used to be a military nurse”, she added, looking away from the others, perhaps consumed by unpleasant memories. “As terrible as it feels, there has to be a list of priorities. We treated the most severely ill first, no matter who was fairly waiting in line. It’s the same here too.”

Flora’s words, calm and based on experience Setro lacked, got through to the Warrior more than the melee fighter’s words. Even Zauver straightened from his slumped position, leaning towards the fire with his hands crossed on his chest. Elidibus was now interested. He snapped out of contemplation of his lost experiences, fingers brushing against his chin. The debate was now cooling down like the fire, which had consumed most of the new wood by now, thanks to Elidibus’s boredom. Now he could gauge their true responses, and from them, true character. 

Setro’s lips opened and closed as he looked down at the fire, as if the stones caging it were carved with the very words he was searching for. 

“We have extraordinary power,” the Warrior began carefully. “And while we have honed our talents for years, our true advantages were gifted to us by the Mothercrystal’s grace.” 

His shoulders tightened as his hands joined his expressiveness. “ Gifted, not chosen . The power of the Echo cannot be won or achieved, it’s awakened by chance. And aided by this power, we slay feared monsters in chases of mere hours, enter realms of false gods without protection, and gather the gold offered to adventurers into our own pockets before most can even secure one task from the Guild.”

Zauver’s mouth was opening with a counterpoint, which Setro stopped with talking even louder to shut any of the malformed sentences the melee could muster into his head to be reconsidered. “The Echo doesn’t make you passionate. Those who have passion come with every level of prowess, that I have seen myself. And if winning in chance is the only trait that causes us to be chosen over them, is it not unfair?”

Admitting awareness to this uncomfortable truth was rare in this world, but Elidibus had heard the same countless times. It was brave to question the notion of independence that was ingrained into every structure of their culture. And still, fear of death and loss formed an obstacle for change and hope that he didn’t recall having seen any community overcome. 

“I don’t want to be one of those who realize this, and still wish to gain from the loss of others. Mayhap I can’t help everyone but I can help someone.” He spoke the end of the sentence like a plea instead of a declaration. A wish of someone who had seen more than Elidibus evaluated him for. “And if everyone would help even someone, we would all help each other rise up. Instead of trampling on those below us and getting sent tumbling down by those even higher.” 

The solid tone of his voice and the steady posture of his stance gave the impression of the words having been said aloud before in the very same order. As a part of a speech he knew he would some day give. Then he stood up with a determined swing of movement, launching his rucksack in a curve to sit on his back.

“I will stay and help the poor healer get back what was stolen. I need to. I’ll now go and ask Teol if he wants to join, gather my supplies, and then leave. We’ll see each other again in the morning!”

He took off, not bothering to walk around the rock he used as a seat. He leaped over it, not letting any obstacle interfere with the line of action he had chosen. He had departed with a smile on his face, proud and spiteful. For all his thoughtful words, he acted like an adolescent defying his parents in a whirlwind of emotions. 

After an uncomfortable silence, Flora crunched her brows together.

“Typical Setro. Honorable, but typical,” she said, more contemplative than judging in her tone. 

“I’m going too,” Zauver said surprisingly, getting up from his hunch with a stretch befitting his feline features. As he stood up and turned, he looked at Elidibus, scrutinizing him with the same look he gave to the charcoal-seasoned dodo meat he had cooked on the fire. Then he left with a curt nod as acknowledgement of his company. Elidibus smiled as a response, polite, realizing his food being burnt was due to his magicks. He would never reveal it. 

The healer got up after him and similarly hesitated on her reaction to Elidibus. She decided on a“goodbye”, more formal than when she spoke to anyone else. 

The fire had now dimmed to only embers and its light lost the tracks of the two adventurers. Little heat radiated from it anymore, but it had no effect on Elidibus’s true incorporeal self. The fire wasn’t of use anymore, so he extinguished it with a lazy wave of his hand. 

He could now leave. The party had decided on a course, even if it was against his advice. Truthfully, Elidibus hadn’t had a reason to stay for the last half-bell. It baffled him that he was still here, letting himself be indecisive with his time while there were many other tasks to manage. And out of every distraction to choose, he had chosen this one. In the future, he would have to think more carefully about what to spend his time on. 

As the remaining heat in front of him evaporated with smoke, he felt another, penetrating through his vessel to embrace his soul. It was an invisible light he even so sensed, brighter than the fire at its height. Its traces lingered where Setro and his companions had sat, recreating their vague shapes even in their absence. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, not at this intensity, but it had grown until he couldn't dismiss it. 

Setro was a man of his word, if he could ignite hope this radiant in his comrades.

  * * *

Regrettably, Elidibus still found himself lingering by the hopes left behind. It was irresistible to him, basking in the energy that sustained him. Changed him like sunlight bleaching color from clothes, no matter how he tried to deny and hide it from his brethren. 

But it wasn’t unpleasant. Not when the hope was warm, undemanding, hope of those who believe in their future. 

Lost in his reverie, he failed to notice the rustling of bushes from behind him.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he heard Setro’s voice, careful and quiet, interrupted with a soft laugh. It was only now when Elidibus turned around on his spot. There was something about the casual tone he took that he felt like he should connect with someone else’s face.

“Sorry if I scared you. Though you don’t seem to fear the dark, judging by how calm you are,” he said, wiping spiderwebs stuck on his hands on his trousers. They looked unpleasantly damp from walking in the forest bed for some time. Not a man concerned with looking good in front of authorities, then.

“There is no danger in darkness greater than in the light,” Elidibus said, amused by the thought of Zodiark’s heart escaping what it belonged to. “I had the impression you had already left. Did you change your mind?”

“Well, as we all wanted to stay, we decided it would be better to sleep properly and then leave tomorrow,” Setro said. His pride in changing their minds was audible through every confident syllable, even if he covered it with a humble posture. 

“Sleep escapes you, then?” Elidibus asked. Setro seemed to still be in his daytime clothes. Elidibus watched him put his hands in his pockets and look around, uncharacteristically nervous. If he wanted anything from him he better stop avoiding it. Chit-chat was a chore at best. 

“You should at least try. A warrior should take care of his physique, should he not,” he followed, urging him to reconsider.

Setro shrugged. “There was a lot on my mind, and I needed a break, so I came here. Also, I’d say the same to you, you often look as if you haven’t slept in days.” Elidibus’s eyes widened behind his mask from such boldness. “Do Ascians even sleep?”

He lifted his chin as defense from the accusation. “I have no need for such.” 

Setro looked at him, now rueful. Leave already . “I didn’t want to offend. I merely…wondered about you. You help us and leave before we can return any favor. I can see that you work hard.”

Elidibus lifted his hand to touch his mask, and realizing that, he crossed his arms over his chest. The mix of concern and intrigue in Setro’s voice made him want to escape. It reminded him too much of his colleagues’ worry over his ability.

His colleagues. A flash of the same purple eyes he saw on Setro’s face, staring at him from behind a mask like his. A trace of memory, again. 

Elidibus grabbed the fabric of his robes under his crossed arms. He tried to come up with words to change the topic or excuse him as he wanted to teleport away, but the vision kept him in thought. He could do nothing except tilt his head and open his mouth. It was as if he was vexed by a wasp that he would need to simply wait for to fly away, for if he tried to do anything about it, he’d be stung.

It would not do well to push him away, as much as he wished to. Not if he wanted to continue being viewed favorably for the sake of his mission. 

“You are very bold,” he deflected. “It is a trait many heroes have both survived and perished for,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. 

Many heroes. The purple eyes now brought a voice to his mind. A voice known for strong opinions, never held back. A voice that brought with it a strong nostalgia. It inexplicably felt sour, making him cringe like he had been accused of stealing something back that no longer belonged to him. 

Confused from Elidibus’s mask’s blank stare, Setro chuckled with a smile, nervous. “My stubbornness is my most difficult trait, they say. But I wouldn’t be here without it, so it sounds about right.” 

He shifted on his feet and dipped his head. “I understand if you wish to be alone. You’re right, it’s getting late,” he said, looking keenly at the visible part of Elidibus’s face. As he still didn’t answer or move, the Warrior took it as confirmation. “Good night. I hope you’ll find peace of mind.”

As Setro retreated, Elidibus was in all but peace. 

“Why do you meddle in the affairs of others,” he called after him, unsure of his words. 

To this, Setro stopped, wearing an intense expression. “Why? Why do I want to help,” he said, face contorting with the same sneer he had worn during his speech at the fireplace. Mockery was uncommon to hear in his voice. “Why does everyone find it so inconceivable to genuinely care about the happiness of others?”

Elidibus didn’t care about the outburst of emotion his unrefined words prompted. The scenes in his mind brought too many questions for him to stop. “You know that this world is not kind to those who open their hearts. It is often viewed as a severe lack of wisdom. What gives you your determination?” He meant his words as an observation, not a judgment, and Setro now seemed to calm down. He pursed his lips, eyes flickering over Elidibus without fear. “Is it fame you wish for? A rise of status? Security for your loved ones over others?”

Setro, considering Elidibus’s question in earnest, wet his lips and took his hands out of his pocket, looking down at them. “In all honesty…I can’t deny I do wish for all those to an extent. And I do wish I’m worthy of my position, even as I admit this.” 

It came out like a confession, and so it appeared from Setro’s meekness. Elidibus lifted one of his clawed hands to his chin. He expected honesty from him. And despite his low opinion of the Sundered, he somehow found he wished the explanation to not stop there. So it would erase the tinge of disappointment he felt coming soon in his chest. 

“Still, I’m delighted by feeling the joy of those around me. And I know that those around me are in no way different than everyone I’m yet to meet,” Setro spoke again after a thoughtful pause. “If I care, I want to do what is fair, equally to everyone. And I believe fairness is something that belongs above any desire of myself.” He wore a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, which still were searching the realm of uncertainty. 

“The word ‘fair’ has a definition that changes with the mouth it is spoken with,” Elidibus answered. “It is hard to be perceived as ‘fair’, then. Not unless you try to appeal to everyone, and in doing so, losing what you defined as fair in the first place. ‘Tis a dilemma for every pursuer of justice.” 

“What of you then? Why do you work for balance, as you said once?”

A question equal to Elidibus’s own, but one whose direction he did not want to tread into. 

“Not unlike you, I wish for a world where suffering belongs to the past.” Saying it aloud felt empty . Embarrassing, even if Setro wouldn’t know the truth of his memory of his beliefs. It was hypocritical, considering what he spoke of a few sentences ago. Everything he knew of his goal was from the mouths of others, a copied record with all the faults of a replica.

“Altogether?” Setro did not sound convinced, but he held enough respect toward the discussion to hold any laughter the idea could have sparked. “What would such a world be like?”

“There would…be no war. No famine. No one would die of illness. There…” 

There was not enough he could piece together with surety. But it had to be true. Zodiark told him it was true. If it wasn’t, why would he have decided on his course? His effort, his pain had to mean something. 

“Hm.” Setro rubbed his chin. “What you describe sounds like a great world. I cannot say I’ve heard of such a utopia, but I think I could imagine something like that. A world where we give up our hate and work together.” 

“How surprising. You believe, then.” He didn’t intend the breathlessness of his voice, quiet and desperate. 

“I can’t say,” Setro said, looking disappointed in his own answer. “I’m not an expert in governing. I don’t know how a nation like that would function, but I can hope. Nothing changes if you give up hope, you know?”

Setro didn’t know how closely he understood. “Indeed,” he answered with a nod.

Silence marked the end of that exchange, and Elidibus looked up to the stars to escape Setro’s eyes, as if not seeing meant not being perceived. 

It was uncommon that he wanted to give any of his thoughts away. It confused him as he slid his hands into his sleeves. After careless bearing of himself, he tried to seek comfort from his robes and mask. 

Gazing at the sky, clear without the glare of the moon, he felt the nostalgia return. So did the frustrating feeling of knowing he had experienced something like this before. The feeling was so frequent, that he had accepted it as much as he could, but this time he couldn’t set it aside. 

He was quite sure he hadn’t met Setro before he struck an alliance. But with mortals living like mayflies, the cycle of reincarnation made sure that it wasn’t rare to see the same soul in a different person on every visit to a shard. It made distinguishing the passage of time even harder than it was already. 

Mayhap he had known him once. Mayhap he grew close – an idea which seemed likely from his fragmented visions. He wished it wasn't true, to erase the conflicted feelings his sheer presence caused in him. 

It shouldn’t matter. To grow attached would have been a mistake from his past self, and would be from his current self. Things as such didn’t belong to something like him. 

He stood there, observing for a minute without a sound, soon distracted by the sensation of his robes being pressed to the shape of his skin by the wind. The fabric was irritating rather than soothing. It was an unfamiliar feeling for one who preferred to spend most of his time incorporeal unlike his peers. 

“A shooting star,” Setro exclaimed. “Mayhap your wish will come true after all.” Elidibus, aware of his surroundings again, failed to catch the meteor. Instead he turned his eye to Setro, who had his head angled in a stark tilt, attentive to all the light in the night sky. 

“The stars…are wrong,” he realized. Once, someone had brought him out to stargaze, teaching him to find the constellations lending their names to the Convocation. Now, when he tried to search for the patterns he knew without thinking, they all appeared distorted. Warped with the passage of time. He knew the cause of it: the Star moving through space, altering the angle of viewing. Even so, it was a concrete reminder of how much time had passed, how much was lost. The Ardor had lasted for so long, that even the stars were forgetting the past. 

“Can stars be wrong?” Elidibus’s remark was intended to only be to himself, a part of the thoughts in his head spoken aloud. Setro had heard it, and despite the amusement on his face, he seemed to consider the question. 

“That…Well, of course, defining them from one’s own perspective is limited,” Elidibus began despite his own words from earlier, surprised by Setro’s unseriousness.  “And “wrong” as an action can only be committed if a star has an unconjured, original will, can be sentient enough to have conclusions, opinions. But that is something we cannot currently know. Yours, and mine barely understand the Lifestream of this star as it is, and your Mothercrystal can hardly be considered the Star itself.” 

Setro laughed with a breathy voice, squinting his eyes as if confused more by the explanation itself than the content of it. Then his mouth opened and he lifted his hand, hesitant of his next actions. 

He held his hand close to his chest and spoke soft, reaching towards Elidibus slightly as an offer, unsure enough for it to be easily declined. “Perhaps…you could see clearer without the limitation of that mask.” 

Elidibus’s vessel’s heart quickened, he felt its neck and shoulders tense as he instinctually leaned away. But something in him didn’t want to escape, felt like it was right to bare his face to him. 

That feeling was frightening enough to make him flinch. Setro was a Sundered soul. His enemy. He had to be chosen by Hydaelyn for a reason . There had to be a hidden wickedness in his soul. He was unworthy , he tried to remind himself even if he couldn’t see the reasoning – but that was the curse that his memory, his very Primal nature, cast on his decisions. He had long since accepted that. 

Don’t let him close. Don’t let anyone see. It is too dangerous. 

Setro backed out from his gesture, accepting the rejection with, at least to his eye. He crossed his fingers in front of his abdomen and stared at the horizon. 

Then an idea came to Elidibus. A justification for the desire that disappointed him, even through the fear that every soul reaching out stabbed him with. 

If Setro felt he had a personal connection with Elidibus, he would gain a unique trust in him and become an important pawn in the Ascians’ game. If another use for him would arise, he wouldn’t need to find and train a new instrument of His will to act when Elidibus couldn’t. 

He disliked the idea, which was rare for him. Yet the positive gains of it outweighed the negative. He pursed his lips, forcing the decision down his throat. 

Elidibus took a firm step back to Setro, ensuring he had his attention. Setro looked back at him with a jerk of his head, hair falling on his face for a moment. He blinked slowly. 

Elidibus bowed his head to him, even as his vessel was already shorter than him. He heard a private breath, elated in its trembling, release from Setro’s mouth. 

As Elidibus now let his hand come closer to his mask, he breathed from the top of his lungs, running the prior excuse in his mind with a frantic pace. And more excuses. It was not his face, it was a shell Emet-Selch had helped shape. It had no meaning.

And then his mask slipped off with a slow and gentle movement, revealing Setro’s anticipation. His hand rose to his chin, but there was no way to hide.

His field of vision suddenly revealed the whole scene as he stared at the Warrior, petrified and unsure of which emotion to display on his face. Every light and color of the sky, the movement of the trees on his sides, the swaying of grass and tall flowers. Crystal revealed itself on the rocks by glimmering reflection, visible only when fireflies passed over. 

Setro stood with eyes open wide, a man mesmerized. His white hair falling on his face, untamed, shining even in the dark. Framing purple eyes, welcoming darkness. Balance. Even in his trance, he wouldn’t understand the full significance of his action.

“Do you see clearly now?”

  * * *

Elidibus entered through the gate opened by his magicks, feeling himself in two places at once as he slipped between the void and the First. He finished the spell and let the powerful swirl of aether dissipate, zapping and twinkling in the air. His umbralized aether reacted with astral ice, neutralizing the irritating sting of Light from his immediate surroundings. 

What it didn’t eliminate was the temperature of the air itself. The ice cavern’s air was clear, crisp and extremely dry, alleviating the transfer of heat. It was still a matter of time until it would affect his vessel. It already made his eyelashes stick and his nose dry.

The pathway he was in was coated with unblemished, glowing ice, so clear he could see his reflection staring him down in many. It bounced through every facet of the crystals as he moved. The ice was perfect, and it was utterly devoid of life. It looked like no one had been there for hundreds of years, mayhap ever. The most disrupting element was his own heat, water vapor rising from every breath, immediately freezing and prickling when touching his mask and the skin under it.

He began to wonder if this had been the wrong cave to search. He was sure this was the closest frozen, sunken destination near Mt. Gulg, and he too was sure the Warrior’s party spoke of this to him in their last conversation. 

He closed his eyes and reached out with his magicks to find traces of other souls, a flicker of hope strong enough to suggest the source was a person. The attempt stopped when he noticed his aetherial influence being hindered by the walls around. He huffed and mentally cursed the Light. With this, he couldn’t even know the layout of the cave and use teleportation to quicken the search. At least the Light meant he could see without aid as he looked for them more traditionally, by wandering in the caves. He had planned to check their progress and would not leave until it was done. 

Once he came to the entrance of a new pathway, he checked it from behind the corner for harmful creatures, then he called for the party. If any such creature showed up and he noticed it first, it wouldn’t stand a chance against his magicks. 

The same could not be said on the Warrior’s behalf. By every turn of the icy halls, every unanswered call, Elidibus became more afraid that something had happened to his group. They were proficient fighters, but the element of surprise couldn’t be underestimated. And with such thin aetheric density, their offensive and healing spells lacked in potency, making a possible fight long and draining. It wasn’t guaranteed they could survive. Even if they did survive the initial battle, no one would be helping them in this cave except each other, with the arcane reserves of only one healer. 

If his fellow Fourteen would have known of the concern rising in him, they would’ve laughed. But as much as he disliked admitting it, he wanted the Warrior to stay alive. A confusing wish. It existed both as embarrassing anticipation and anxiety that made him tense and shiver more and more as he traveled along the frosty ways. 

The ice below him cracked. He stopped in his tracks and observed the ground under his feet. He hadn’t been aware at all that the rocks the ice had formed on top of had gaps in them. He gulped. If he fell into a crack, he could levitate away. If his body became injured by the ice, he could simply leave it. What he took as granted wasn’t the case for the Sundered.  

Another discovered hazard made him afraid that the reason he couldn’t detect anyone was because they were dead . Panicked, he gathered his aether – which now felt even more sluggish to cast – and finally, finally he detected someone, all alone without protection. He immediately cast a teleport spell, and walked through it to where they were. 

The moment he arrived at his destination, he felt weak. He crouched over and held his knees. He knew he hadn’t used nearly the amount of magicks that would drain him this much. He felt like he had conjured a primal with his own aether alone, spots dancing in his vision in the aftermath.

“Elidibus?” A familiar voice sounded from his side. His eyes widened and he took a wavering breath of relief.

“You. You’re alive… Thank the star,” he panted out.

The Warrior was submerged in a hot spring that had been hidden underground. Of course. Setting up a camp near volcanic heat would be the best way to survive in extreme temperatures for a long time.

Ah. The cold. The light. It must’ve affected him more than he realized. The Warrior rose from the water, disturbed from his relaxation. He wore nothing except smallclothes, splashing water around with his urgency. He walked to Elidibus’s side and hovered his hands above him out of concern, awkward, unsure if he should touch. 

“Elidibus. It’s…it’s great that you’re here, but these clothes…you’re freezing! What were you thinking?"

“The fault is not mine,” he sneered, refusing to give up his pride even when shivers clear to the eye. “It’s these feeble things you call bodies. It should be judged a crime,” he began, reluctantly omitting what he wished to say of Hydaelyn because of who he spoke to. 

“I thought an immortal mage would be wise enough to know an ice cave would make one cold.” With every meeting he got bolder. Unknowing of how lucky he was that his cause aligned with the Ascians for now. Yet as much as Elidibus knew a mortal thinking he had the position to mock him should trouble him, he found it oddly endearing. 

“It doesn’t matter. This is not how it should be.”

Setro hummed. “So that is what you mean with your perfect world.”

“For example, yes,” he stubbornly played along, refusing to show a sign of defeat. 

“I personally like the cold,” Setro mused, pouting. “I think it’s nice to explore different environments. New challenges.” 

He then took Elidibus’s hand in his own with concern, and with it Elidibus immediately felt a stinging warmth on his numbed, now tingling fingers. 

Elidibus, stunned by the action, let him take off the claws he wore on his gloves. Setro was shocked by the decision to wear metal, which would both absorb and give away heat efficiently, to which Elidibus said that it is a part of his uniform so he wears it. Then he removed his gloves, placing them on a clean rock. He inspected the fingers for frostburns with caution, always checking if something on Elidibus’s face under the mask changed in response. 

The more his hands regained their circulation, the more he started seeking for Setro’s warmth. The Warrior’s hands were bigger than his and covered in blister scars, trained with a sword instead of scrolls. And they were remarkably gentle. Elidibus found himself wondering if he could teach them to play the piano. He shook his head to clear the ridiculous thought, along with the melody playing in his mind.

Setro immediately lifted his touch as he saw the gesture. “Sorry,” he said, thinking it was meant for him to stop. 

“No,” Elidibus stuttered. He hadn’t realized Setro would notice. “You did nothing wrong.” He wished him to take his hands again, which tore his feelings and reason apart. He would have to give them up in due time. Why would he even allow this?

At this point Setro was satisfied with not finding marks of injury, and he placed a firm hand on him as an affirment of having understood. “Your body still needs to warm up,” he said. “The geysir is nice and warm.”

“Of course, if…that is something that would suit you,” he added remarkably shyly. His face looked more red than normal. 

Elidibus wondered if the redness was because of the temperature, until he realized the implication of the suggestion. He would have to undress.

“‘This is the quickest and closest option,” he rationalized the choice, afraid to let through any reaction of his own to the thought. “Depleted as I am in aether, it would drain me if I was to teleport to somewhere else as warm. So this does seem like the most practical cause of action, indeed.”

For a second, Setro had a look of disbelief on his face, until he laughed with a hand hiding his face. The actions made Elidibus roll his eyes behind the mask, but he couldn’t deny a strange excitement in him. He looked away despite having his face covered. I was supposed to be manipulating him, not the other way. I should be careful.

Elidibus took off layers upon layers of the regalia that covered every inch of him. Once he had piled the silky fabric and engendered, impossibly pure gold on a rock next to his gloves placed there earlier, he stood still. He held his arms against his body, his shoulders tense. Without Zodiark’s wings on his back or heeled boots, his vessel looked as short and slender as he knew it to be.

He felt small. Insignificant when stripped of the mark of his title. Trapped in a form shaped by someone else’s nostalgia that he couldn’t remember the origin of. He didn’t know if he had asked Emet-Selch to shape his body to look like the person he once was. Knowing him, he must have made it similar. 

This is a mistake. He stood on his spot for minutes, in regret of a decision he knew he would redo.

He wished to be somewhere else away from anyone, until he heard Setro’s voice calling for him. He looked at where the voice came from, and he was there, sitting in the water, looking towards a wall with his neck in an uncomfortable angle. And not at him, as he said he wouldn’t. And the reminder of that promise made his overthinking dissipate. 

He slowly lowered himself into the water. At first, it felt scorching hot, but he had to stay. Only a moment later it already felt comfortable, a heat that made him feel like he was floating, the steam and smell of minerals submerging him. Setro looked at Elidibus again once he was under the surface. 

Elidibus hadn’t felt this relaxed for a long time. The warmth and soft bubbles of the water began pulling his exhausted body and mind to sleep. 

“It’s nice you came here,” Setro said. It awoke Elidibus from the half-sleep he didn’t realize he was in. “There is only so much of the same company you can have every day,” he followed with a calm laugh. 

Elidibus sat up straighter and angled his neck to lean on the smooth rocks behind him. It took him a moment to think of how to respond. “How has your mission gone forward?”

“Not as quickly as we thought it would,” Setro said, lifting his brows, voice monotone and clear in its frustration. 

Setro went on to tell the story of how the maps his party had bought of the cave had been incomplete. They noticed quickly and gave up looking at the scrolls. Flora instead began drawing the paths they walked, but as the aetheric ice cooled the air, she could only continue drawing in the warmth of a campfire. It soon became clear that the journey wouldn’t be as quick as they thought at first. 

Before confronting the fiend Kary, they had to find a magical artifact from the cave, rumoured to be in the middle depths. And so for the last few days they had been camping in one area close to the geysir. With no progress except mapping more of the area, the dangerous ice, cold temperatures and dwindling food reserves began to tighten the nerves of everyone. In crisis, they turned to him: although it wasn’t an official position, he had become considered as a leader by his friends, the one to follow in hard decisions. And his ideas had been tried, and so far they had failed. 

The Warrior joked about their various failures with dramatic gestures, waving water into Elidibus’s face on accident with his hands, but it was evident that he was at a loss of options. Under growing stakes with the goal of Chaos’s defeat looming closer, the Warrior could only hope he wouldn’t crumble under expectations. 

“So, that’s it. I needed a break and came here to think. There are still a few ideas we can try, but that will be for tomorrow,” Setro said, sighing. He wiped his hair, stuck on his forehead from the steam, off his face. The hair was now sticking upwards from many directions without becoming frizzy from moisture. It distinctly made him think of hair being fuzzed by static electricity in a laboratory, which confused him as he had never seen him in such a setting.

Setro noticed he was staring, yet didn’t comment on it. Instead his eyes passed over Elidibus, and he tilted his head. “What about you then? How do you manage your role?”

Elidibus had to be careful with what he would reveal. “I have various groups around the world that I visit, like I come to meet you. I give them advice to push them towards a goal of balance, as you may recall me saying in the past.”

Setro’s eyes beamed on the mention of traveling the world. “What parts of the world are those?”

He wouldn’t know of the existence of other shards, and he shouldn’t reveal his travels to them. Unfortunately, he found that his knowledge of the geography of the First was lacking for convincing lies. “Rak’tika,” he scrambled for the word. “And Il Mheg, at this moment.” 

“Il Mheg? And what kind of advice do the Pixies listen to?” Setro was astonished at the mention. Bad choice of a place to remember, then. Now he had to make up another lie.

“I teach them to preserve flora and wildlife in the region. It is remarkable how passionate they are as caretakers of the environment. Far better than your farmers,” he said, keeping away from revealing pauses between words.

“Huh.” Setro nodded. “I did not know that. Mayhap Il Mheg should be my next destination.” Either he was very gullible, or his lie was better than he thought, for Elidibus couldn’t detect doubt from him. 

Setro was ideal to manipulate for his passion and genuine personality. And that made every lie sting with twice the strength.

But Elidibus had a feeling that even without any of his help, Setro would have kept his path. 

“Does the Emissary ever find himself without advice to give?” Setro said after a moment. He had sunk into a slouch, only his head remaining above the water, as if his worries had physical weight.

“Rarely, in the presence of mortals,” Elidibus truthfully answered. Setro let him know his opinion on the comment with a singular sarcastic laugh. 

“But I too am an advisor for my own people, who match me both in years and experience.” Surpassed him , his mind told him, wandering to Emet-Selch’s silent judgement. “I would lie if I didn’t admit their actions often bring me to a loss of words. Millennia bring an abundance of time to settle into single-mindedness, to learn to consider oneself superior, for it simply is rare to find any challenge. And unraveling such arrogance…jadedness to anyone’s words, now matter how well-intentioned, is a difficult task indeed.”

“I don’t know many immortals. I have met my share of stubborn elders, though,” Setro said and nodded. “I can’t blame them for a lot of their thinking. In this world injustice is everywhere and I can see how it can cause you to lose hope.” He was trying to capture bubbles in the water as he spoke, but soon as he caught them, they dissipated. 

“And despite that, you stay strong and keep your faith.” He sensed his hope in the trails of Setro’s footsteps. He saw it surround him, a light of his very own, untainted by his Primal’s touch. A light that broke through the ambient aether of the surroundings, creating its own halo that outshined all else.

“Light being overpowered by darkness doesn’t mean there’s none of it,” Setro said, with a proud tilt to his chin. “You just have to look a bit harder to find it.” 

“You deserve better,” Elidibus said, arrogance stolen from his tongue by the swirl of emotions, questions and traces of memory in his mind drawn into one by Setro’s honesty. 

The Warrior scrunched his eyebrows as a response to his words. He likely expected a dismissal. He blinked, and his eyes gained a half-mooned smile as his face softened. 

“So do you.”

Elidibus gave him a hollow nod and then instead looked at his hands, clenched together underwater. 

No. Setro didn’t deserve his deception. His ideals were as noble as any Ascian’s. Even when lacking knowledge of a kinder world being in reach, he labored for a hypothetical goal with hope and purpose. He was better than him . 

If only he could be Zodiark’s Champion. No matter how much Setro would apply his ideals and change the world, it would still yearn for its original state. The First would be swept away in a Calamity for a further goal, as it was Zodiark’s will and he wouldn’t defy it. 

If only Elidibus could keep him. And then those purple eyes in his mind would no longer nail his soul with blame, and then lift it up for display. It would give him inspiration.

“Is there something wrong,” Setro said, frustratingly observant as he was. And so curious about lives he couldn’t understand. Ready to extend his shield even to one who would grab it and jerk it away from a deciding attack, if that was demanded of him. And he wouldn’t regret it.

“No,” he inhaled. “You are everything right about the world.”

This time Elidibus leaned towards him, looking over every bruise and blemish he found on his trained body, marking him with his cause even without armor signifying his role. His hand moved to cradle his chin, fingers sliding into escaping strands of hair that were like precious silk, even as the moisture in the air roughly knotted them and made them stick to his skin.

Setro’s head leaned into his touch as he looked at him, blinking, through fluttering white lashes. He breathed shallow, mouth slightly parted.

“I wish to kiss you,” Elidibus said, making every syllable clear, as if he was reciting a line from a poem. Then he paused his caress of his cheek, waiting for any sign of approval before he could act. Suddenly he was still, waiting for his words, a nod, a rejection, anything that would tell him if he was accepted. He was a liar, that he knew, but mayhap some of those lies could be gifts, precious memories to carry once Elidibus would have to move on and forget. 

Setro took his hand and pressed it against Elidibus’s on his own cheek, his palm settling around his knuckles. His fingers filled the space around his, stopping the air from cooling Elidibus’s hand again, dripping as it still was from water. 

“Yes,” he whispered, and immediately Elidibus felt tenseness in him disappear. It was as if he had been a violin tuned too sharp and its strings were finally released into the resonance they yearned for. Setro was beaming , all the light in the room and the pale blue glow of his own eyes reflected back to him in his wide pupils, recreating the vastness of the universe from when they spoke sincerely for the first time. 

Elidibus took Setro’s face into both of his palms, and leaned so close that their noses touched. He could now feel Setro’s breaths on his face, the breath of life that he reminded him of. He could smell the salty sweat that made his skin shine like a porcelain creation. 

And then he kissed him on his coarse weather-chapped lips, it was brief and shy but it felt like yearning he didn’t know he had was finally fulfilled.

What have I done, was his next thought. Before he could continue the line of thinking, Setro returned the kiss. Still chaste, but lingering, dampening his doubt and Zodiark’s will by filling his head with thoughts about the man in front of him. 

“Elidibus,” Setro whispered like he was speaking aloud an ancient secret. 

That was the first lie he told him. Even if he tried to, he couldn’t give him a truer name. A lie was all he was and all he could give. 

And still, Elidibus gave up his hesitancy and kissed him yet again with more passion, so that he could at least have a trace of what he deserved. In this moment it didn’t matter, for if Setro wanted it, giving something was better than nothing.

  * * *

The metal of Setro’s sword trembled and whined against the friction from the whetstone, as if complaining about being shaped for a battle it had no choice of participating in. The inflictor of its pain, Setro himself, instead was focused and composed. He was patient, smoothing every imperfection from his sword’s edge with movement as sure as waves hitting shore, obeying the wind. 

When one side was sharpened, he unleashed the sword from its clutches. Releasing tension sprung a tinny pitch from the metal only for a brief moment of rest before it was fixed in place again. He repeated the process as long as the sword was still blunt from somewhere. After some time Elidibus didn’t feel the desire to block his vessel’s ears anymore, the sound now blending in with the rising wind.

Setro’s expression stayed unchanging even as the frequency and harsh pressure of his movements increased. As the sword’s reflective surface dimmed from shaving dust piling on it, Setro’s skin began glistening with sweat. 

It was the eve of the battle they had been preparing for. Everyone was sorting their supplies on their own. They were no doubt taking a moment for themselves to sort their heads before the fateful day, and a potentially final feast and celebration, judging by the rare spices they had bought from the nearby village to accompany an expensive boar, soon to be roasted. Teol sat by the fireplace, copying new scrolls into his spellbook. Zauver was using a dead tree as target practice for his daggers, but his practice seemed to devolve into frustrated practicing of tricks. An attempt to distract himself by visualizing a future where he could entertain someone he fancied with twirls of knives, devoid of other worries. He hammered a dead trunk with sloppy strikes, telling its decay to die from his imagination, a reality where he stayed alive. 

Flora had run off an hour ago to collect poppies for her most potent potions. Elidibus knew enough about the art to know that such potions shouldn't be used on the battlefield, but rather in an infirmary, to alleviate pain. She chose to believe in preparing for a return.

There was nothing left in the First in the current time to warrant Elidibus staying to assist them after they won the battle. Even though he had justified the reciprocation or Setro’s attention by finding a future target for the Warrior, there was no threat visible on the First that would rise or harm the shard quick enough inside his fleeting lifespan. His goal would now be achieved, and then the singular victory would be pushed aside by new pressing tasks on the other fractured stars. Elidibus wasn’t sure how many tasks he had to manage next on how many reflections, but as always, he would find a place that needed him.  

There wasn’t a clear reward to be gained in the bigger picture from them even returning alive, as long as Chaos was gone.  And no matter what happened, Elidibus would leave them in the past and forget everything that happened. His purposefully impersonal written reports of the events would remain as their only trace left, destined to remain in a void between realities. 

The cacophony of sounds that Elidibus’s mind had now filtered away from his thoughts was pierced by a sudden metallic crack. Then, an out-of-breath yell. It took him a moment to break out from his thoughts, to notice that the sound had indeed come from his side. 

Setro’s sword and his concentration had both snapped from the increasing pressure applied on the metal. The weapon he had wielded on most of his trials now laid in two bent pieces, structural integrity finally succumbing to its wear. The man crouched over the table, leaning heavy on his hands as he regarded the broken tool, mouth open but silent. 

“You have multiple swords,” Elidibus reminded. Setro’s arms began to tremble and his breath hitched. He still remained in shock. Regardless of if he had them or not, he had worked hard and it amounted to nothing, and time was tight already. His reaction was understandable, if not slightly dramatic. With his fine white hair messy, he brought to mind a pup of a regal hound, also known for its big personality.

As he paced around the table instead of continuing with a replacing blade, Elidibus let air out of his nose in rising frustration. Setro could still execute his mission, and he must have known to prepare for the predictable end of a sword that had been in such frequent use. There had to be another reason for his reaction that he didn’t know. “It served its purpose. There is no need to despair over the inevitable.”

“No…it’s not,” Setro began, searching for words as he ran his fingers over the blunt side of the blade, like the action itself would have reverted the sword to its original state. Even the hilt’s decoration had been worn into distortion, and Setro seemed to only notice it now as he sank onto his knees next to the table. 

Elidibus looked away from Setro to give him the privacy he needed for his momentary disappointment. After half a minute of staring out of the tent, he flicked his eyes back to see if Setro’s state improved. He was now sitting next to the sharpening table, resigned from action. 

He knew why he could feel devastated over the loss of a precious item. And he had learned the irrationality of it. “Is there a reason why exactly this sword is necessary to use,” Elidibus asked, trying to round out the edge peeking from his sharp pronunciation. 

“It was the last sword my grandmother ever crafted,” Setro lamented. It was like he suspected. After a moment more, he got up and fetched his other weapons from Teol’s guard without offering him an explanation. Extended and swift steps covered his dismay. 

He drew out a sheathed arming sword from a linen bag. Even the sheath was extravagant: covered in a mix of different colored metals, melted together in swirls and topped with crystals placed as decoration. It was a masterwork of arcane forgery, a work of art as much as a tool for killing. Elidibus saw little fault in the sword itself aside from it revealing the wielder’s vanity. 

He began unwinding the clasps around the broken sword to remove and replace it. “She gave this sword to me when I left to become an adventurer. When I received it, it was by far the single most valuable item I owned. Though other weapons I own now surpass it in pure monetary value,” he spoke as he worked the hinges, looking at the new sword he had taken out. 

“She always believed in my dream and ability and encouraged me to try out her creations.” The latches were finally loose enough for Setro to wiggle the broken blade out. Its surface became scratched from the movement, but Setro had now given up in maintaining it. He held the side which had the hilt attached, turning it around while taking it into his memory a final time. It reflected spots of light around the tent's fabric. 

“She died soon after I left. In this sword, I felt that I…kept her with me.” Deciding to not ruminate on it longer, he took out the broken sword’s sheath.

“Give that to me,” Elidibus said, hanging on to the syllables as an idea formed. Setro made a questioning hum, but trusted his words and gave the broken parts to him.

Elidibus set the pieces on the ground and then kneeled onto the dusty surface himself, knowing his robe would be immune to stains. He leaned close to understand the pattern of the intricate carvings, to feel the texture of different metals linking into each other under his fingers. The break had been clean which made his job easier.

He placed both of his hands flat on the blade, closed his eyes, and sent a pulse of aether to reverberate through the material. He guessed the material was alloy steel, but the analysis spell confirmed it as a common material for arcane forgery: steel mixed with isotope carbon-astral. Unmaking the sword and shaping a new one from its aether would have been a simpler task, but Elidibus had a feeling it wouldn’t fit Setro’s liking. So to fix it, to only add to the previous creation, he had to thoroughly understand how it was made for the final product to be seamless.

Now that he understood the material, he could begin. He encased the sword with his own aether, and the parts began to levitate. Visualizing the end result in his head as clear as he could, he placed his palm close to the blade and slowly moved it along the length. Under his control the bend of the blade straightened and lost signs of rusting. It was as if it aged backwards, golden aether sparkling, heating and tempering metal along the line of its effect. 

He reformed the worn-off patterns from the hilt in his image of how it once could have looked. Sketching arches and swirls of golden aether that continued the lines of existing patterns, he commanded them to solidify once he had molded them to perfection. 

He released the spell and took the blade into an ordinary hold. The ethereal glow around it was gone, and now the sword was more shiny than it had been in years. And it was whole. Now that he wasn’t consumed by the focus one needed for creation magicks to obey with intention , he looked to Setro, anticipating the evaluation of his work. His eyes and mouth were shaped round by disbelief, making a satisfied grin tug Elidibus’s face.  

Elidibus handed the blade to him, who turned it over in front of his face, fascinated with every angle. “Thank you,” he said, bewildered by the magicks that only required minimal practice for him to learn. Elidibus shrugged and nodded. He hoped the surprise of revealing his powers would distract from any questioning towards why he did it. 

“It’s incredible,” the Warrior said in awe. He tried the perfect, smoothed surface of the fixed decorations, staining the work with his sweaty and clumsy hands. “It’s…different.”

“I will not do the effort twice. If it is inadequate, leave it,” Elidibus snapped in defense.

Setro waved his hands as if he could have wiped the air clean of confusion. He stepped towards him. “No, no! I like the embellishments.”

Elidibus’s posture relaxed. “Besides, now it has the mark of not one, but two dear creators I wish to carry with me,” Setro continued with a lifted, sweet inflection, as he sheathed the sword. Elidibus rolled his eyes. He placed the sword next to his armor, which was sitting in an undignified pile in the corner of the tent. It was practical in a lack of space, but it looked out of place when not displayed with pride.

“‘Tis done, then,” Elidibus said. His mission was complete for all except the last step. Rarely anything brought him significant fulfillment, but by all means it should’ve delighted him in some way. Now the only thing he felt was an imaginary nausea rising in him. 

He eyed the deep blue and pale gold of the armor Setro would don tomorrow. Balance in its colors, again. Horns of heroism on the helmet, akin to His crown of a savior. A symbol that had traveled down generations – diluted by the years and tainted by beliefs of Her followers – and still somehow it had found its way into this hero’s use.

Tomorrow would decide it: Setro would ascend to the form of an icon and feel the joy of being able to truly serve his duty. Or he would mark the dignified horns with even more failure than they already bore. 

No. That was unfair, no matter what the consequences of failure would be. He was not going to let Chaos stay alive for the balance of the world, but victory was never guaranteed. If something unexpected caused the mission to fail, he knew it wouldn’t be caused by lack of effort or character from the Warrior of Light. 

Whether he was appreciated for his deeds or not had no meaning when the world it influenced was headed towards erasure. And still the thought of him being accused, mocked, rejected , sickened him. A weight pulling on the muscles of his face, indecipherable fractions of his past racing in his thoughts like swarming fruit flies, always too quick to be caught and killed. 

He kept it all hidden in worry and in shame. It would not do well to distract Setro – or worse, strengthen his fears – in the pressure he had to be feeling. He faced the pile of armor, his back keeping Setro from seeing his unhooded drooped neck and unmasked pained expression.

“There is still one thing left,” Setro said after having spent time contemplating by himself. He sounded hollow, but as ever, he was set on whatever he had to do, head held proud. 

The wind had blown thick mists far to the land, covering every detail of the harsh landscape with a veil that hid its treachery. Sharp shards of stone, rounded boulders torn away from bedrock by ancient glaciers and feathery sheets of pine tree branches were only visible as shadows in the distance. The only sensory indication of walking a shore came from the fishy, savory smell of overgrown algae in the humid air.

The blue fog of early evening covered everything, pulling the path already walked into faded dreams. It transformed ordinary shapes of nature into imaginary beasts, the mind's eye creating its own reality when knowledge of true form lacked. Every movement of the wind in branches arose the electrifying feeling of danger, a heady current spiking every follicle of hair on the body. They took turns leaping in front of the other. Protective stances prepared for jumping into an attack or a panicked run, only to be embarrassed by their instinctual fear a few yalms later.

It was exhilarating, Elidibus had to admit. The intense anticipation was enough to make him forget everything else for a few precious seconds. To forget the feeling of watching himself go through every moment like reciting lines in a play, not being present, truly real . He walked next to Setro, magicks sparkling under his skin. The tip of Setro’s polished sword gleamed in front with a pale shine , ready to show a way of battle to follow by Setro’s near supernaturally trained reflexes, A Knight’s mesmerizing elegance. 

Despite his instincts, Elidibus knew the fog was as much a shield as an enemy. And no mortal monster held a chance against him, them both together. His heart raced for Setro’s safety, and more so for the chance and fantasy of fighting as one. Taking down a mighty beast with a perfect strategy that only existed in imagination. Exchanging weapons in perfect rhythm, like in steps of a dance. 

After the perfect kill, they would spar, measuring and teaching each other. Without having to end it in either of them dying. A fantasy .

He often felt irrational, exceedingly ridiculous, in Setro’s presence, and as often he scolded himself for it. Now he let himself unfocus in both melancholy and elation, if only for this ephemeral moment.

The spongy, mossy ground changed into solid rock, slippery and smooth from tide waters. Elidibus had almost toppled over from the change in ground he failed to pay any attention to -- heeled boots were hardly designed for anything else but urban tile road. Setro had demonstrated his reflexes by catching him on his way down in a fraction of a second. Elidibus had groveled against the act, and as usual, Setro only laughed. 

They found their way to a small cliff: so arupt in its slope down to the waves that it looked like Hydaelyn had specifically targeted her rage towards the insolent granite. They sat on the edge of it, Elidibus’s legs dangling above murky waves that threatened to claim his shoes to be consumed.

Setro untied a small pouch from his belt. It was filled with shiny golden and silvery specks of varying sizes, dust gathered from sharpening and altering weapons. He poured it into Elidibus’s waiting palms with caution, squinting eyes unsure. 

“Are you sure this is safe to do,” Setro said as he placed the final grains into his hands with an insistent shake. He took the bag back into his hands and clasped it nervously, looking straight into Elidibus’s eyes. Elidibus raised an eyebrow in disdain. Setro knew to back away, nod and let go of his doubt, less he insulted him. 

Elidibus channeled a slight amount of aether to first coat his hands with a protective surface lacking in inertia, and then to charge the metal. In a moment, a bright white spark sizzled on the metal like a microscopic exploding star, and the bigger chunks of metal changed their surface color into iridescent. It looked like a magpie’s feathers in sunlight. “Rudimentary temperature manipulation, a simple transference of energy,” he explained smugly, not bothering to conceal his pride. The specks of metal lost individual boundaries, blending and finally moving together as one reflective mass. 

Setro looked at the molten metal with his mouth open like a child seeing something for the first time. Elidibus gave him a questioning look to remind him he didn’t know what to do next. Setro then straightened up, to a stiff and formal stance, looked far into the horizon, and cleared his throat.

“Ancestors of Clan Zest,” he called with a voice that would have carried far over the water if it wasn’t for the wind, “the waves might take you, tides wear you down, but you shall never be forgotten. In our hearts you live on, into every work we forge your spirit is, and will be, carved. Your son, Setro Zest, has sworn to ensure it as long as he walks above sea.”

“Grandfather, Grandmother.” He paused and exhaled, looking at the swirls of water right below. It was easy to see to the ground below, even with the chaos swirling above. “You made me take up the sword. You taught me to fight for what I believe in. And with that act, you gave me the path I chose to walk.” He brushed the handle of the sword Elidibus repaired, hand settling to rest on its hilt.

“Tomorrow my skills will be tested. If I fail I might…meet you soon.” His voice didn’t waver despite the pause. He was resigned to whatever may take him. “But I must succeed before that. I cannot fail. I will win, and it will be in your memory, with the passion you taught me. So please, wait a moment longer while I think of you.”

He nodded to Elidibus, solemn. As he had instructed earlier, Elidibus tossed the metal to the waves. It spread into strings and droplets, forming swirls and webs before hitting the cold water and solidifying on the second. 

“Thank you,” Setro whispered, looking at the spot the metal had dropped to with tight-lidded eyes. Elidibus brushed his hands together to evaporate the magicks on them. He couldn’t find the small drops of metal, and suspected Setro didn’t either. 

This tradition had to originate from stories of the Underworld, though here it was misinterpreted as an actual sea. Or, mayhap spirits were stuck in the waters on their descent. It wouldn’t be the most bizarre thing happening on shards with aetheric imbalance. 

“Why molten metal,” Elidibus asked. He had helped with what he desired in the perhaps final moments of his life, but only now did Elidibus have the curiosity to ask. Most mortal traditions struck him as misleading or entirely based on distorted untruths, so he had no real interest in the tradition earlier. 

“Hm? He tilted his head. “It’s a common tradition, but I guess I forgot for a moment that you aren’t…one of us.” He put his hands in his pockets.

“A terrible mistake,” Elidibus said, mockery audible to those who didn’t know the truth. 

“Well, the meaning varies slightly in every family. For mine, it’s related to our tradition of metalwork. We toss it into the sea for our ancestors to see that we remember their art. And we melt it because its form is dependent on chance, in the moment.”

Elidibus didn’t understand. “Would it not make more sense to give art specifically made with effort in their memory if that is the message you want to give?” 

“Mayhap,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head with a smile Elidibus suspected to be a mask to hide what he was thinking about. “But the chance is exactly the point. We give them an authentic part of our present moment.”

Elidibus wrinkled his nose in frustration. “You claimed it was to remember the past.”

“Yes. Their memory lives on and changes in the moment. For example, I never met my grandma’s father, but he taught her to make swords. And now we worked on that sword because of him,” Setro said, gesturing.

“Hm.” 

“I do understand,” he admitted. “Although I do not believe that it can truly be called remembering, at least in the word’s most common meaning,” he had to add to defend his interpretation. 

Setro snorted. “I thought you would’ve told me it’s bizarre or convoluted. You’re that direct.”

“I cannot exactly say it is bizarre when I do understand! Though, it is convoluted,” he complained, eyeing him from the side. He couldn’t feel angry, not at Setro’s earnesty. 

The horizon had begun to turn into a soft orange, colors glowing through thin clouds between heavier clouds, cracks in the sky looking like lava erupting from an upside down volcano. It would be dark soon.

“You won’t be here anymore, will you?”

Setro’s smile was calm and serene, accepting this too with the same melancholy and bravery. His hair and clothes trembled in the wind, as if reflecting what he had to feel inside.

“No,” Elidibus had to disappoint. 

“I will remember you, then.” Decisive with every word.

“I believe you will.” He couldn’t say the same. The least he could do was affirm their connection, every honorable trait of his that deserved all acclaim, even if it came out soft as a mumble.

Setro lifted his chin up and took a deep breath, biting his own teeth with tension, as if his earlier words had lacked conviction. “Not only in the sword I carry. Every time I take my sword. I will remember you every time I decide to follow what I believe is right, for I know there is someone else who will work for the same .”

“At least I’ll try, even if it’ll only be for a day.” He exhaled with a tremble as his mouth opened as if with an inaudible cry. A cry he tried to conceal with every hint of strength, not wanting to admit to it even for just himself. His hands were fisted and pulled against his body. The royal hound his looks reminded him of, now a loyal guard dog pressing against a much larger opponent to protect what it had to, even with its tail between legs. 

“I’m scared.” The Warrior looked helpless as an orphan child despite the sword he wore. “I don’t want my friends to die. And if I fail, everyone could die. And I-”

Elidibus stood up and placed his hands on Setro’s shoulders, shaking him to stop whatever line of thought he was following. He looked at him from a distance of a finger with shocked eyes, red with water gathering in them. “You will not lose as long as I ensure it. You have prepared in every way you can, always.” 

Setro’s lip trembled. He looked past Elidibus’s eyes as he whispered, holding back whatever was on his lips with a swallow.

“I don’t want to die.”

“I will work to keep you alive as surely I work for your victory. But there is always a possibility, no matter how improbable.” In this, he did not want to lie. “And if you somehow die, it will be a brave death. You will inspire countless others, changing the world with what is remembered of you and your honorable deeds.”

Elidibus was going to destroy his world. Mayhap by twisting his hand towards a nobler cause. And that meant everyone whose life he would ever impact would be lost. It was the biggest lie he told him. 

Except, it wasn’t a lie. He would remain, the sole person left affected by his choices. 

And it would account for nothing. He would disappear from his mind no matter how much he would wish against it. How cruel Setro’s fate would be. 

He still fought for a better world he didn’t remember. There had to be something, someone who set him on this course.

“For you are a Warrior of Light. And I will remember you.” 

He disintegrated his gloves and wiped a falling tear off Setro’s cheek. He left his hand there in the living warmth, wishing to keep the moment for as long as he could. Staring into the purple eyes that refused to leave him, stop changing him. 

The light of the setting sun made everything look like a mirage in the mist. His face was lit by the orange glow, pale hair looking like the head of a torch when dyed by the sun. 

“You choose words well,” Setro thanked with a chuckle to hide his unsteady voice, drying his eyes with rapid blinks that only made his eyelashes stick together, making him blink more. He gave up and closed his eyes, leaning against Elidibus’s hand like he could have kept him there simply by squeezing it between his head and shoulder.

“Of course. I am the Emissary.”

It was wise to walk home before it got too dark. Even with a lantern, the fog would make it hard to see far ahead if they waited. They decided to walk around the forest to keep light for a moment longer, even if the forest would be a more direct route. That way they wouldn’t need to race, either. 

Elidibus couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was following them on the entire way home. At first he thought it could have been only excessive worrying sparked by one task being near done, his mind trying to convince him something was wrong when one large worry had been erased. The fog was a protection as much as it was a threat, he reminded both himself and Setro. But the longer they walked for he became more paranoid. 

They were not far from where Chaos resided. The adventurers had tried to arrive by an uncommon route, protected by both magicks and the landscape. Still, as the time for battle came closer, Chaos’s forces had increased their control off the land. The Warrior of Light would be the single highest priority target.

Setro knew it, of course. He always wore protective leather in the day with light metallic plating over his torso. He had his sword even on a casual walk. And Elidibus was there with his Unsundered aether.

He still checked for aether around them every few minutes, as a precaution. It was better to be safe than sorry. 

Setro walked brisk when knowing that he was in danger. It was clear that he lived and breathed the life and dangers of an ordinary adventurer, adrenaline bringing a gleam to his eyes and a bounce to his step. When Elidibus told him about wanting to be as careful as possible, he took his sword out with a flourish and a wink of his eye. Show-off . His skills were most definitely worth observing, even when a voice in Elidibus’s head told to chastise him. 

When they got close to the camp, it was almost completely dark. Before they entered a cave they used as a secret route to their campsite, Elidibus checked their surroundings for the last time. Eyes closed, he looked for moving aether with a spell that required focus to cast. 

There. A soul was on a cliff behind them. 

“Setro, behind me-”

When he opened his eyes, Setro was laying on the ground. Limp and motionless. 

“Setro..?” Elidibus kneeled and turned his body around. He didn’t stir. He pushed his fingers into his neck.

No pulse. 

He pulled his body into the shelter of the cave and untangled the string of his vest. There was no blood visible on the outside in any part of his body. Healing magicks, resuscitation. He pressed on his ribcage and exhaled into his mouth in steady intervals. Multiple ribs were broken, but it didn’t matter. 

He continued until his vessel was drained of energy. Not once had he seen a sign of life returning. He sat next to his body, panting, leaning against rock with hard ridges that tore the skin of his back as he slid down.

This is not how it was meant to be.

He looked at the cliff where he had detected the entity. It was the most likely subject. He took Setro’s sword from the ground where it had fallen, shamefully undignified, and opened a portal to the cliff. 

No one was there. He went through the spell, feeling the presence of the soul now moving down the land. Now he could pinpoint the location. 

He made a hole in reality again and stepped through it, sword held in right and magicks prepared in his left hand. He appeared in the front of a short, rugged person with reptilian horns and a tail, concealing their identity with ripped fabric on their face. They flinched at the sight of him, jumped and let out a high-pitched swear, and then raised their bladed staff at him.

Elidibus pushed the weapon out of the way, walking forward with the dauntlessness immortality brought. Threatened by his confidence, they took steps back until tripping on themselves. He brought the tip of his sword between their eyes. 

“Did you kill the Warrior of Light?”

“What do you mean,” they whimpered, poorly concealing the fear of guilt in every action. Elidibus pushed the tip of the blade to their skin, making a drop of blood drizzle down their nose as their face wrinkled from the pain.

“Answer me, or I will prolong your death instead of giving the quick, merciful demise I was going to graciously offer.” Panic in their breath, they tried to wiggle close enough to reach the staff. Elidibus kicked it to the side. “Did you kill the Warrior of Light,” he asked again, elongating each word with the anger inside him, accusation made apparent in each letter. 

“Yes,” they whispered at last. Their eyes wandered in every direction except his eyes. He drove the blade with a swift movement into the ground just next to their neck, cutting off a long strand of blond hair. “Yes,” they confessed again, properly this time.

“You are a fool and will die like one for your idiocy. He was going to ensure you continued living. Now you cut that time away, and it is still too long of a time for the worm that you are.” 

“I didn’t know he was the Warrior,” they whined, trying to wave their hands in front of their face. “I was offered a job to hunt a bandit down. How could I have known-”

“A bandit,” he repeated as he pieced information together. “To hunt a bandit down,” he raised his voice in disgust. 

“I swear, I didn’t know, it was simply a job-”

“Enough.” As sharply as he exclaimed the word, he cut their head off on the instant with a clean slice. He didn’t bother to look back as he made a portal back to Setro, took his body and pulled it into the Void. 

He stood in the nothingness staring at his lifeless body, understanding coming to him now that he slowed down.

But it wasn’t despair that he felt the most. His anger prevented tears from falling, hot lightning taking over his muscles and pulling them tight like a string of a shortbow being pulled to aim, tendons of fists cracking and teeth grinding together.

The only “theft” Setro had recently done was helping to return stolen medicine to a healer. It was far before the party had even reached Mt. Gulg. The thieves he had taken them back from must’ve hired an assassin to take him out with some kind of a curse before he caused any other harm to their agenda.

How could I ever entertain thoughts of another path? Sundered ignorance had no bounds. No consideration of justice . A man who deserved the highest acclaim, killed for doing what was right. 

For caring for the happiness of others was the worst crime in this broken world. Before the rotten order was destroyed and reassembled, doing good would always be punished. That he had seen times and times again, enough to doubt the validity of stories of a world where that was not the case.

There had to be an alternative. A world built in the honor of people like Setro, those who deserved more and never found their reward. The only thing he could do was to follow the Ardor, as he was always meant to. 

Anger gave way to clarity of his goal, fading into determination as he placed his hand on the cheek that had been so warm a mere bell earlier. It was still warmer than his fingers that weren’t truly alive. His breath hitched, eyes filling with water, but he found he wasn’t able to let himself go and cry aloud.

Not when there was a task still undone.

He took Setro’s body and laid his head in his lap, holding his hand on his head, frozen in the moment, letting all his remaining warmth thaw him. 

He would win as long as I could ensure it. 

Someone had to save the First. Elidibus closed his eyes and disconnected his awareness from each nerve and tissue of his body, stars crackling at the edge of his incorporeal vision. His vessel collapsed, as dead as Setro’s corpse to the untrained eye. 

He pulled his soul towards the corpse, spreading his aether through blood vessels, extending his influence like mycelium forming symbiosis with a greater organism. Overcharged with aether fourteen times dense, the fragile body healed from any injury sustained. With a harsh start, the body activated its processes and Elidibus opened his eyes again as purple instead of blue, having swapped places. 

He took Setro’s, his sword from his previous side, and sheathed it on his belt with new hands. 

He would win. And he would get a brave death. In honor to the noble man he knew, he would create his justice. And in spite of those who spat on his spirit, he would create a legacy to shine light on their shame.

A Warrior of Light, eternal.

  * * *

“Excellent. I had intended to speak with you alone.”

The Miqo’te Warrior’s stunned purple eyes moved from the collapsed Scion to his face with insistence. Whenever he looked at her, he felt an inexplicable longing. Her tail swished with agitation as her ears flattened. Elidibus looked away.

“None of my doing, lest you misunderstand. The link between her body and soul wavers.” However it might seem to her, the Scion was unimportant to him. Her collapse was unintended, but of great convenience. One meddler less.

Her ears twitched again. “I wish to speak with you too.” 

“And what words would you possibly use to convince me that you have not already spoken?” Her knowledge was incomplete. Repeated words heard from his fallen brother. A brother she had stolen from him, no matter how intently she might have listened to his plight. 

It would be cheap to recite Emet-Selch’s words back to him. She had made it clear that she wouldn’t compromise any more than he could. She was Hydaelyn’s champion. If she wanted to offer him anything, she could leave him alone to do what he needed to, safe from poor attempts at sympathy and offensive pity until she would come to enact her duty against him in return.

As she said nothing despite her own claim, Elidibus continued. “I know not what you hoped to find here, but it will avail you naught to learn of our past.”

Nothing in his past had ever managed to change the course of him or his brethren. It was the only thing he was sure of, and the only detail of the past that mattered anymore. To whether he had known her in the past or not, there was no meaning.

Before the Warrior could respond with any futile reasoning, she was pulled by the Echo. And so did Elidibus too feel a headache taking him in its grasp, following her under no matter how strongly he tore on the short hair of his vessel, tried to resist being exposed to his past, exposed to memories that bothered him by simply letting him know they existed-

Reviewing the records yet again? Really? You worry too much, Elidibus.

Lahabrea. And someone else. This was the only memory he had of him from before the Final Days. A memory he tried to search for too often lately. He was weak, and now she could use it against him.

This dedication to your duty verges on obsession.

There was naught else left of him,

To think some thought you ill-suited for the role. How wrong they were.

not anymore. He had failed to protect them. They were right, always right and now

But come, turn your gaze outside the window, my friend. The rains have ceased, and we have been graced by another beautiful day.

it fades. Fades away into oblivion. Does the world no longer have a need for me?

No. I am Elidibus. And I must – I will fulfill my duty. 

He felt the headache recede, the captivity she cursed his mind with lessening its grasp. He breathed from relief, and at that moment it intensified again, giving him a vision he recognized, yet not as memory. 

The Warrior of Light. Not any Warrior, the very first to carry the title on the First. Fallen in a victorious battle against Chaos, inspiring heroes for centuries with his sacrifice. 

Why would she find this fable? 

That nostalgia. 

Sundered though he was, he fought unfalteringly. For hope.

Hope.

Eternal.

He would carry out his mission.