by Jun Eishima
“If it’s just you, I suppose that means Pryna . . . ”
The other dog had remained beside Lunafreya until the very end in Altissia. Again and again she’d commanded Pryna to flee, but the dog had stayed stubbornly by Lunafreya’s side. Her absence now surely meant that she’d sunk into the sea alongside her master’s wounded body.
Lunafreya looked at Umbra. “I’m sorry. I wish I could take you back with me, but . . . ”
Umbra just wagged his tail in response, as if to say he understood.
“Thank you,” Lunafreya murmured, as she stroked his ruff.
“What about Noctis?” she asked.
Umbra continued to wag his tail. He gave a spirited bark. It seemed Noctis was safe. Still, Umbra wasn’t carrying their notebook.
“The notebook,” she asked him. “Does Noctis have it?”
She desperately longed to write a message, to tell Noctis that she was alive and well. She tried to think of something she could use in the notebook’s place, then remembered what she’d seen inside the outpost building.
“Stay here for me, Umbra,” she said and turned back to enter the building. There had been notebooks and scraps of paper on a table there, along with a number of mismatched pens and pencils.
“I’m sorry to use this without permission,” she said, not knowing the objects’ owner and thus not exactly sure to whom she was apologizing. Still, she felt compelled to express her remorse aloud. She picked up a notebook slightly smaller than the one she and Noctis had used, as well as a pen.
In a rushed scrawl, she wrote, I’m safe. She would have liked to add the date, but she’d forgotten to ask Sol about the current month and year.
She dashed back outside to find Umbra faithfully waiting just beside the entrance to the building.
“Please,” she asked the Messenger. “See that Noctis gets this.”
Umbra had always managed to convey the notebook safely to Noctis before, no matter where he was. Even when Lunafreya had been cloistered in the training grounds, and when she’d been hiding away in Altissia, still the dog had managed to relay their messages without trouble. So this new message would surely find its way as well.
“Please hurry!” she pleaded, but Umbra stayed firmly planted in place, shaking his head from side to side.
I can’t, he seemed to be saying.
“Why won’t you go?” she asked.
But Umbra only stared back in silence. Though the dog did not speak with the words of man, he was still a Messenger of the gods. If he refused her plea, there must have been some reasonable explanation.
“You cannot,” she surmised. “But tell me. Noctis is safe, yes?” she asked again, at which point Umbra nuzzled against her.
Everything will be okay, he seemed to say. Please don’t worry.
“Do you mean to say it is not yet time for us to reunite?”
Umbra’s tail began waving more vigorously than before. She gently embraced the dog’s warm body.
“Then I shall wait,” she said. “Thank you, Umbra.”
Umbra gave one more wag, tail held high, and then he was gone. Lunafreya let out a small sigh. It was the first familiar face she’d seen in this new world into which she’d been thrust so bewilderingly.
Speaking of which, where was Gentiana?
She felt certain Gentiana had been there at the end, right as she slipped into the slumber of death below the waves at Altissia. It would have brought so much comfort to see her again. Until Umbra’s appearance, it hadn’t seemed a possibility. Perhaps Gentiana, too, was aware that the Oracle had returned to life. And if Umbra could visit, surely Gentiana would be able to as well.
Lunafreya thought of the many things she wished she could tell Gentiana regarding what had transpired, and of the many questions she wanted to ask. The outpost was not far from Tenebrae. Surely a visit was not out of the question. The thought sparked new strength and determination within her.
When Lunafreya turned back toward the motorcycle, Sol was still speaking with the woman named Cindy.
Sol had been ready to thank the gods when she finally got through to Cindy. The bike was in bad shape. She’d been worried half to death that it might be beyond repair, that it would have to be scrapped altogether. But Cindy, ever the genius mechanic, was making everything all right again.
And she was doing it all over the phone, to boot. Cindy had rattled off questions on how the bike was behaving, which Sol answered as best she could. The answers must have been good enough, because Cindy almost immediately seemed to understand what was wrong and started giving instructions for how to get the bike up and running again.
And the level of detail! Cindy had it all covered, right down to which parts weren’t kept on hand at the outposts, and what Sol could use as substitutes for their repair.
“Yeah, I think I’ve got it,” Sol said, once she’d located everything they’d need. “Thanks, Cindy. You’re a lifesaver.”
And Cindy had replied, in her usual upbeat tone, “Aw, honey. Don’t you worry about it.”
“Hey, while I’ve got you,” Sol ventured, her voice suddenly hushed, “something kinda weird happened. Wonder if I could get your opinion.”
Sol glanced over her shoulder. The Oracle was busy playing with some stray that had found its way to the outpost. She didn’t seem to be paying the least bit of attention to the call with Cindy. Perfect.
“I ran into someone. The Oracle.”
“Say again?” Cindy said, her voice shooting up an octave. A reasonable response, to be fair. There wasn’t a soul on the Star that didn’t know the Oracle died in Altissia ten years ago.
“That’s who she claims to be, anyway,” Sol continued. “Think there’s any chance she’s for real?”
Cindy fell silent. It took a while for her response to finally come.
“Well, honestly, I don’t know what to think” was all she said.
That seemed like a reasonable reaction to Sol, too. She didn’t know what to think, either, even with the supposed Oracle standing right before her eyes.
“Anyway, wonder if you could pass the word on to, y’know, Gladio and the rest of ’em,” Sol said. “Sooner’s probably better than later.”
She intentionally tiptoed around titles, referring to the Shield by name and avoiding the word “Kingsglaive,” too. Cindy would know what she meant and get word out to those in charge at Lestallum.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sol noticed the Oracle looking in her direction. The dog was nowhere to be seen. It must have run off. Time to wrap things up, before the woman got suspicious.
“Okay, then, I’ll talk to you later. Thanks again, Cindy,” she said, and ended the call before Cindy could reply to the request.
“Hey,” she turned to the stranger. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Sol casually waved the woman over, and the Oracle hurried near.
“My friend Cindy gave me the rundown on how to fix up the bike. I’ve never had a crash this bad, so some of this is kinda new to me.”
There was a good way and a bad way for a bike to fall. A good fall didn’t leave more than a few scratches on the rider or the bike. Sol had always been a natural, ever since’d she started riding. She’d taken some spills, but never bad enough to really mess the vehicle up. So she’d never had to learn how to do serious repair work.
“I truly am sorry,” the Oracle said, her shoulders slumping slightly. She seemed to have taken Sol’s earlier jab to heart and really did feel responsible for the accident.
“Show it, don’t say it. Sit tight over there while I get things ready. Then you can give me a hand.”
“Certainly,” the Oracle nodded with the innocence of a child. Her lack of concern probably indicated just how little she knew about bike repair. This was gonna require muscle, and by the end of it, their hands would be filthy, coated in dirt
and grease. Sol laughed to herself. Once the Oracle found out what the job required, she’d probably break down in tears.
That’s what Sol figured, anyway, but she couldn’t have been further off the mark. The Oracle didn’t flinch in the slightest at getting her hands dirty. She obviously didn’t have much experience working on machines, but she wasn’t completely useless either. Actually, Sol had to admit, she was kind of nice to have around. A quick learner, too.
If you want to get a good sense of a person’s character, work alongside ’em. A little boring, back-breaking work’ll show you exactly who they are.
How long ago had she been given that advice? Not too long, Sol decided. It would’ve been after she was finally recognized more or less as an adult in her own right, when the two of them could start speaking on equal terms.
Good advice, sure, but the person who gave it still couldn’t stop treating Sol like a child. Just that morning, Sol had gotten fed up enough to shout at her.
“All right. Lookin’ pretty good,” Sol announced. “The rest is fine tuning. You can leave that up to me.”
Sol looked up. It was night already. It’d been years since you could find the sun to track the time, but the color of the sky still got a bit darker as night set in.
“Let’s call it a day,” she said.
More than anything else, she wanted some dinner.
Lunafreya had thought she was accustomed to traveling. Her calling as the Oracle had taken her to places all across the land, conducting every imaginable ritual and rite, blessing the havens, easing the pain of the ill and wounded. The work had been unquestionably demanding.
However, as the Oracle, she’d always traveled in the company of others. Her safety on the road was assured, and wherever she stopped warm meals and comfortable accommodations always awaited her. She hadn’t had to face daemons in battle herself. Nor had she ever slept in an unoccupied building, wrapped up in a dusty blanket. These experiences were new.
It was also the first time she’d eaten straight from a can, fork thrust directly into the unheated and decidedly unusual contents. According to the label, she’d dined on vegetable and meat stew, but the taste was rather removed from that description. It wasn’t that it was bad, but it gave her pause. The bewilderment accompanying her first bite must have been apparent, for Sol smirked and said, “Is it not to the Lady Oracle’s liking?”
Sol’s guns were never far. She no longer watched Lunafreya with obvious, constant caution, but neither had she fostered any degree of trust. That, too, was a new experience. Never in Lunafreya’s life had she been treated with such clear suspicion. The title of Oracle alone had always elicited a measure of trust and openness from anyone she encountered. Even the imperial forces, who regarded her with little warmth, had never been openly disrespectful, and Lunafreya had never felt the need to go out of her way to dispel a sense of mistrust from those in the employ of the empire.
Thus, when confronted with suspicion, she had no idea how to react. She did not know the proper overtures to overcome Sol’s mistrust. Lunafreya had never envisioned a need for such skills or knowledge.
As she prepared for bed, her mind still was weighed down with concern. It felt as though she might not manage even a moment’s sleep. But when her head met the pillow, she realized how weary her body was from the day’s events, and the moment her eyes closed, she drifted off.
Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.
Lunafreya’s eyes opened at the sound of her name. The voice was one hard to imagine coming from a human, and her surroundings were far too luminous for the mortal realm. Even a decade ago, before the perpetual darkness, there had been no place on Eos so bright. And it wasn’t just the light. She hung weightless in a space of emptiness extending as far as the eye could see, and the emptiness itself glowed like some great jewel. This was most assuredly no part of the reality she knew. This was a place of dreams or visions.
Hearken unto the voice of the Bladekeeper, Bahamut.
The Bladekeeper?
As a child, she had often listened to Gentiana recounting tales of the Star. They were the stories of the Hexatheon, the six gods of Eos, of which Bahamut was one.
As Gentiana told it, all members of the Six were as gods to mortals, but even among them Bahamut stood apart. Titan, the Archaean; Ifrit, the Infernian; Ramuh, the Fulgurian; Leviathan, the Hydraean; and Shiva, the Glacian: these five ruled over the natural elements of their world, existing alongside the Star itself. But the Draconian was different. He existed alongside the heavens encircling the Star. Gentiana never outright stated as much, but her tone seemed to suggest that Bahamut occupied a position superior to the rest.
And now here Lunafreya was, being directly addressed by the Bladekeeper.
A new calling awaits the Oracle.
As the voice boomed, the space around Lunafreya began to shift. What had been empty void before was now darkened landscape. Within that landscape she observed the Citadel. In a courtyard which she faintly remembered, Noctis and Ardyn stood with blades crossed.
Noctis seemed much older than that day they parted in Altissia. Did that mean she was seeing a vision of the future? The scene was silent, but she could still almost hear the ringing of the two men’s weapons striking against each other. At times the swords spit sparks. At times they found their marks, and their blades and the arcs they drew were painted with blood. For a moment, she thought the two men might go on fighting forever.
When it finally did come to an end, this swordfight that was a duel to the death, the one on the ground was Ardyn. But the battle between him and Noctis was not yet over. Darkness still hung thick over Insomnia.
“This cannot be . . . ” Lunafreya murmured.
The scenes that came next defied everything she believed true of their lives and fates. Deep within the Citadel, Noctis sat upon the throne as the True King, calling forth the power of the Ring of the Lucii, summoning the souls of his ancestors. Thirteen Kings of Yore encircled Noctis, weapons held raised and ready. Each in turn thrust spectral steel into Noctis’s flesh.
Tears formed in Lunafreya’s eyes as she watched. “Noctis!” she screamed. “Why?!”
No words accompanied the scene that unfolded, but nonetheless Lunafreya found herself provided with an answer. The ring served not only to call forth the souls of the departed into the mortal realm, it also allowed its wielder to travel together with those souls―to cross over into the Beyond, the realm linked to their world by way of the Crystal, which had existed since time immemorial. And over its boundary could traverse no mortal flesh.
Lunafreya watched as Noctis, stripped of flesh and no longer of this world, traveled to the Beyond using the power of the ring. There he sought out Ardyn’s trapped soul and destroyed it.
However, use of the ring had always come at a price―the powers it bestowed cost the wielder’s life. After defeating Ardyn, Noctis’s own form shattered. He vanished in that space beyond and was gone forevermore.
This was the calling of the True King: to bring an end to the bearer of darkness through the sacrifice of his own existence.
“But that . . . That is . . . ” Lunafreya could not finish.
She’d been asked by King Regis to see the Ring of the Lucii safely to his son. Keeping that promise, she believed, would ensure a future for their star. So she’d run desperately to escape Insomnia as the city went up in flames. She slipped in among the throngs of evacuees and quietly made her way toward Altissia. Never had she imagined that the object for which she’d risked so much would ultimately take her beloved’s life.
She had sacrificed her life, only for the man she loved to lose his as well. That, it seemed, had been the Oracle’s calling.
All strength left her body, and she collapsed to her knees. If only she’d known . . . If only she’d realized the truth of her actions and the end they would bring . . .
Thus was ordained the fate of man
. Thus was the Chosen meant to fulfill his calling.
Lunafreya’s head snapped up.
Was?
Had something changed?
The Noctis of her vision was not as she’d known him in life. He was older, more wearied. If the Noctis she’d seen fighting with Ardyn was some vision of a future meant to be, perhaps the Bladekeeper’s words implied that fate’s course had changed. Noctis would no longer be able to fulfill his intended calling. But if that were true, what had happened to stand in his way?
The color of the space around her shifted yet again. Darkness became the flames of a raging fire. Ardyn stood, and before him Ifrit, the Infernian, knelt in subjugation. The chancellor’s body was no longer that of a man. His skin was jet black, his entire form shrouded in the dark miasma of the daemons.
The impudent Accursed would resist his fate. Eyes blind to will divine, he submits to the base desires of his iniquitous heart.
The impure power the Usurper wields grows great, such that even the power of the ring suffices not to drive him away.
The Ardyn who had crossed swords with Noctis in the Citadel courtyard had seemed yet human. The Ardyn she saw before her now, commanding the Pyreburner, was anything but. So this was the power of darkness brought to a peak.
Go forth with haste to Insomnia and stay the Usurper.
For this purpose are new life and strength granted. Such is the Oracle’s new calling.
Lunafreya put a hand once more to the scar in her side. This body, dead once at Ardyn’s hands, and this power, strong enough to stay the mightiest daemons―they were both gifts bestowed unto her by the God of War.
