The Dawn of the Future

by Jun Eishima

  　Why am I here? Why am I still alive?

  　He saw the weapons―spear and sword―still lodged in his flank. As they’d slipped in, red blood gushed out, as it would with any mortal man. But the blood stopped far too quickly, and the wounds closed up. Around the steel still lodged in his body.

  　“He’s become the monster I knew he would be . . . ”

  　Somnus’s final jeer echoed in his mind.

  　No. The daemons were not monsters. They were simply victims afflicted with disease. That they returned to normal when the scourge was lifted from them was proof enough.

  　To save them, he’d simply had to remove the scourge residing within them. But what of himself? What of the scourge residing in the man who healed others? Filled with more Starscourge for every soul he saved. What would happen to him?

  　Ardyn had felt in some vague way that he’d not be able to contain the scourge within him forever. That if he continued to absorb the darkness from others, he’d eventually lose his mind and lash out at those around him. He, too, would one day be a daemon.

  　“Your devotion shall not go unnoticed. The gods will doubtless be watching over you.”

  　Yes, Aera. The will of the gods must not be questioned. They work in mysterious ways―ways which our feeble minds could never fathom. So, too, did I believe.

  　“Stop!” she had screamed, before the blade ended her life.

  　Aera, no! Oh, how foolish you were. Why did you lay down your life to protect me? Me, the monster who can never be struck down.

  　Worse still for her to die at the hands of a coward. A man able to raise his sword without a trace of guilt against an opponent unarmed and unaware. How could such a man be allowed to sit the throne?

  　Thus was sown the first seed of doubt about the gods and their ways. When Ardyn held Aera as she slipped from the world, as he climbed the altar stairs and reached a hand to the Crystal, he’d felt so certain. A man who slaughtered innocent lives was fit not for ascension to the throne but to be cast down by bolts of judgment.

  　Gods, now is the time to deliver thy wrath! Please let us see your true will!

  　With all his strength he’d prayed. Surely this sacred stone bestowed by the gods would set everything right. Surely it would light the true path forward. It had to.

  　But Ardyn’s wish was rejected. The Crystal’s harsh light knocked both he and Aera away.

  　“By the authority of the crown,” Somnus had proclaimed, “I, Somnus of House Caelum, hereby announce the establishment of the new and righteous Kingdom of Lucis. Know ye that henceforth, anyone who turns their sword against Lucis shall not live to see another day!”

  　Ardyn lay crumpled on the ground as Somnus, suffused with the pride of victory, struck him with those words. He did not even think to stand. He couldn’t. He lay motionless, with no desire to move.

  　If this was the will of the gods, to name a king who massacred his own people at the mere suspicion of scourge, had all Ardyn’s labors meant anything at all?

  　“See that this traitor is dealt with at once!”

  　“Traitor”? Must you still carry on this charade? It was your plan all along to kill me. So desperate were you to have me draw my sword that you ended Aera’s life.

  　Somnus had killed her, their devoted Oracle so attentive to the will of the gods, all to see his own mad ambitions through. And still the gods did not punish him.

  　Could the gods truly be so blind? Is the heaven in which I placed all my faith filled with fools? Or was Somnus so cunning that he deceived the gods on high?

  　Had Somnus known? Perhaps his grab for the crown preempted the Oracle’s revelation. It seemed ample reason to see her mouth forever silenced. But if he had yet to hear the will of the gods, then why the ruse? Aera surely would have voiced her upset as Somnus arranged the ceremony. Which meant . . . the gods must have chosen Somnus.

  　How had Aera felt when she learned of the gods’ will?

  　“The gods will doubtless be watching over you.”

  　No, Aera. The man the gods chose pays no heed to his people. He thinks not but to sate his own desires. We two will not be watched over. The gods have abandoned us.

  　Or perhaps Somnus had no need to deceive the gods, and they simply cared not at all. Why should a god show concern over life and death among men? The fact that one man alone possessed the power to stay the scourge, or that a murderer sat the throne―perhaps all such things were but idle diversions to the gods.

  　Was it only for heaven’s amusement then that Somnus had ascended, Aera had died, and Ardyn now spent his days as a monster locked away in darkness? If so, life was a farce. Somnus was out there, his throne more comfortable with each passing year, reveling in his power and doing as he pleased. All the while, his subjects suffered, ignored in the shadows.

  　But . . . what of it if they suffered? What made them worthy of care and protection, that Ardyn should lay down his own life to provide for theirs? Somnus’s men had looked upon him with eyes full of fear and disgust. “Monster,” they’d spat, as they thrust their blades in him with no trace of hesitation. Monster, indeed. Doubtlessly even the people whose illness he’d healed would treat him the same once he turned into a daemon. “Ardyn the Savior,” they’d cheered, “Lord Ardyn Lucis Caelum, destined to be our king.” Hands that had once clapped for him would grasp for stones to hurl at him and drive him away. It had been a mistake, perhaps, to try to deliver them from the scourge. Maybe everything he’d known and done, from the very beginning, had been in error.

  　Anger festered in him, of a kind different than what had ignited on Aera’s death. This was a quiet rage. It grew bit by bit, threatening to consume him from within, until there came a day when nothing but rage was left.

  　Down here, he would have all the time in the world to brood. To foster his hatred.

  M.E. ???

  Ardyn knew not how much time had passed, how many years he’d hung in chains. Decades, perhaps. Surely it couldn’t have been centuries.

  　Oh, Aera. I’m so weary. There is nothing here. No windows through which light may shine. No doors opening to the outside world. Only cold walls of stone on every side.

  　Once Ardyn had been securely bound in his prison, Somnus had sealed up the only entrance with layers of stone.

  　Living on in that empty place, unmoving, merely existing, had grown so tiresome that Ardyn began to yearn for death. It was torture anew―another thing he longed for but would never have.

  　Please, my love, do not let melancholy cloud your face . . . Yes. I know, I know. You are but an illusion. It is my mind alone bringing such sorrow to your brow. But I’m afraid there is naught else for me to do here.

  　If only you’d lived. If only Somnus’s sword had not found you, and we’d fled to some faraway land to grow old together.

  　No, in the end, he’d have suffered all the same. Though she could pass into death, he could not, and the day would still have come when he held her lifeless form, weeping like a fool. Because he chose to absorb the scourge and bring succor to others, now he hung in darkness alone. An endless suffering for he who sought to end suffering. The greatest of ironies, all because of the preposterous power thrust upon him by the gods.

  “Forgive me.”

  　Aera? Why are you apologizing? You’ve done nothing wrong.

  　“Forgive me.”

  　No. Stop. You mustn’t say that. Please, my love. I would remember your smiling face. Smile for me, lest I forget that face forevermore.

  　“Forgive me.”

  　No. Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I call your happiness to mind?

  　“That’s hardly a surprise.” Now it was Somnus’s voice. “You’re a monster, Brother. Happiness is beyond you.”

  　Curse you, Somnus! Begone! Why do you still plague my mind?

  　“Foolish woman.”

  　Silence! Enough with your arrogance. Enough with your constant disparagement
of those you think beneath you. I know you for what you’ve always been. Do you?

  　“And why should a king not look down on those he rules? The quality most needed of a king is the ability to subjugate. To dote upon the people only ensures that the nation shall be forever weak.”

  　Begone!

  　“I was chosen by the gods, Brother! Me!”

  　Why did this specter continue to haunt him? Somnus’s was the face he least wanted to see. Everything in this dark prison was but a figment of his mind. So why would his brother not go away? How did he always manage to return of his own accord?

  　“You would turn your blade against the king?”

  　Yes, he most certainly would. If the king and the gods that named him could be felled, he would most surely do it. But so many years had passed already.

  　Dear brother, he began.

  　You are already dead.

  He hung for ages in that endless, boring existence. If only someone would come to kill him, to bring an end to this interminable tedium. He craved death’s sweet release. He wished to be gone from the world, to be free from the endless workings of his mind.

  　Anyone. I care not who. Please end me. If it can be done, end this entire world.

  　I’m so very tired . . .

  M.E. 721

  There was a rasping sound, like steel working against stone. A slight wrinkle formed on Ardyn’s brow. Leave me in peace, he’d meant to mumble, but his throat produced only a hoarse moan.

  　The rasping ceased and silence returned, but only for a moment. Next he heard boots marching across the ground. Dozens of them . . . No. Of course there had been no sound, Ardyn chided himself. It was a figment of his imagination, one among the countless that haunted him every day.

  　After hanging imprisoned for so long, constantly mulling over the events of the past, imagination and reality had become blurred in his mind, and the line between the two was difficult to draw. On the many occasions he was visited by Aera’s figure and voice, he was certain he felt her breath and the warmth of her body.

  　Thus, the footsteps and the voices they carried were easy to dismiss as a fantasy or dream.

  　“Good, Brother,” Somnus said. “You know your fate well. No man shall ever set foot in this place. I have decreed it so.”

  　Still his brother’s voice came. Still he failed to banish it or drive it away. Nothing vexed him more thoroughly.

  　There were more footsteps, closer this time. Shouts accompanied them.

  　“Watch it!”

  　“This way!”

  　“Keep your eyes open!”

  　What was all this noise?

  　When Ardyn’s gaze drifted upward, lazily, still without any real interest, it was met with a sudden, blinding pain. A stream of searing torture assaulted his eyes.

  　Light.

  　For the first time in how many hundreds of years―no, much longer still―he was bathed in the uncaring, relentless wash of light. His other senses suggested men present in the cell, surrounding him, but he could not confirm by sight, as his eyes remained squeezed shut against the glare.

  　“He’s alive!”

  　Ardyn heard a laugh.

  　“Just as the ancient texts told!”

  　Of what did this man speak? Who was he?

  　“Who . . . ?” With great effort, Ardyn forced the one word out. Its tenor was unfamiliar. Either his throat had warped with the long years of silence, or more likely, he’d simply forgotten the sound of his own voice.

  　Suddenly, he was falling facedown. The chains and restraints had been severed, and Ardyn, unable to support his own weight, went crashing unceremoniously to the ground. His arms and legs lay limp, unresponsive to his will.

  　Then, in another instant, he felt pain in his chest and flank. The weapons embedded there were being pried free. It was a rough, ripping sensation, underscoring the fact that the blades had become one with his flesh as the ancient wounds healed over.

  　“Take him away!” The command came from the same man who had laughed earlier. The order―and its tone―made his position in relation to the others clear.

  　Ardyn felt his body rise. Hands gripped him from either side.

  　“Don’t touch me . . . ” he said.

  　He wanted to brush the hands away, but not a one of his fingers would heed his mind’s commands. Concentrating every bit of strength in his body, he could barely manage to raise his head slightly. It was a pathetic display.

  　Still, when his eyes finally grew accustomed to the light, the new angle allowed him glimpses of the men who had brought an end to his isolation. The two carrying him seemed to be rank-and-file soldiers. They were clad in curious garb, unlike anything he’d seen before. But they carried themselves in the manner of trained troops. Of that he was sure.

  　Somnus would have been long dead. Perhaps the men were under the orders of one of his brother’s heirs.

  　From some distance away came another voice, this one strange, somehow inhuman.

  　“Status report.” It was accompanied by a crackling noise, like kindling in a growing fire. The noise and the voice’s hollow quality made it difficult to sift out the words.

  　“We’ll have the medical team ready as planned. We’re ju―!”

  　There was a noise like distant thunder, then silence.

  　“Shit. Move!”

  　What the cause for upset was, Ardyn could not fathom, but he felt the men at his sides quicken their pace. The edges of the light at his feet began to blur. Cold crept across the uncovered skin of his shoulders and torso. He gathered his strength and lifted his head a bit higher, now able to see almost straight ahead.

  　They were headed toward a rectangular opening―it was a door to the outside. The outside. He could see it. New sounds echoed from beyond the doorway. Heavy objects colliding with each other. Shrieks of pain.

  　“We knew they’d come. Keep moving forward,” the leader ordered, his voice low.

  　Who else was here that this man had expected to encounter?

  　The next instant, the world stretched out around him on all sides. The sky was the color of ink swirling its way through a vessel of water. It might have been dawn, or perhaps it was day and the weather harsh. Still, it felt unbearably bright to eyes accustomed to an eternity of darkness.

  　A little farther ahead, several figures stood facing them, clad in black, with weapons held at the ready. At their feet lay several men in armor identical to that of the soldiers at Ardyn’s sides.

  　Suddenly, the hands were gone, and he was pitching forward again. He heard the men to either side of him groan as they both crumpled to the ground. Their defeat had come so easily, Ardyn wasn’t sure if it was a sign of their weakness or their enemies’ strength. They were enemies . . . weren’t they? Clearly there were two factions at play here, but Ardyn had no idea which was friend and which foe.

  　He found the strength to rise from the ground and observe his surroundings, more annoyed than curious. One of the men clad in black barked out, “Adagium sighted!”

  　Another word he didn’t understand.

  　“Get it back in the cell―no matter what.”

  　Ah, they’re speaking of me, he realized. Is that what they call me? “Adagium”?

  　“We can’t let that thing off this island!”

  　Tiny objects zipped through the air, rushing toward him. Pain streaked through his side.

  　“Stop . . . ” he moaned.

  　His chest seared with agony. It was some manner of assault he’d not encountered before, but the pain itself was the same as he’d experienced so long ago.

  　“Cease this . . . ” he pleaded.

  　His flesh tore, his guts spasmed. These were sensations he hadn’t felt in ages. Sensations he’d desperately wanted to banish from memory.

  　“Cease this at once!”

  　Anger welled up from deep inside him. He felt the fresh wounds closing. A
man with short swords clenched in both hands rushed at him, and Ardyn’s arms rose to intercept the blow. It should have been a fruitless defense: Ardyn had no weapon but his bare fists. Instead, he flung his attacker away. The man’s body spiraled through the air, swords spinning away in opposite directions.

  　“Unbelievable. He really is a monster . . . ”

  　In a flash, Ardyn found himself on top of this other soldier―the one who had called him a monster―and was pummeling him into the ground. He’d heard the insult so many times he ought to have been numb to it, yet at its sound his blood boiled.

  　“Who did this to me?” he demanded.

  　Why did he have this monstrous strength? He had never wished for such a thing.

  　“For what sins must I atone?!”

  　Rage filled him, and another man who happened to enter his field of view found himself its target. Ardyn made a fist, into which seemed to flow every bit of anger he possessed. His knuckles drove deep into the man’s body. His bloodcurdling cry echoed in their surroundings.

  　Then time stopped.

  　To Ardyn alone, the world was frozen. The barren stone landscape of Angelgard was replaced with a new scene, a summer day bright enough to leave him dizzy. Large white boxes were neatly aligned atop gray earth. Pillars in the ground flickered with red and green lights in curious shapes. It was strange. Baffling. And stranger still was the means by which the images came. He saw them not with his eyes: they arrived directly in his mind.

  　“These memories are not my own . . . Could they be his?”

  　His wife stood beside him, a smile on her face. A small hand clutched his own. He felt another small weight and the warmth it exuded draped across his back. It was his family. It was . . . the family of this man beneath him.

  　Other memories came in succession. A deluge of scenes.

  　Lucis.

  　Insomnia.

  　The king.

  　“Graaaugh!” Ardyn could do naught but shriek and stare. This man―this soldier―was a subject of the kingdom built by Somnus. The Kingdom of Lucis, now ruled by its 112th king, Mors Lucis Caelum. Descendant of House Caelum. No. Descendant of Somnus. “This man . . . belongs to . . . ”