The Dawn of the Future

by Jun Eishima

  　As she watched, Gentiana’s lips moved, ever so slightly.

  　“Gentiana?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

  　Before, the Messenger had been smiling. Now she seemed to be in pain. Her features were twisted with effort, as if she were desperately trying to relay something.

  　“What is it? Do you have a message for me?”

  　The Bladekeeper, she seemed to mouth. But Lunafreya was not certain. Again she tried to draw near, peering closely at the Messenger’s face. Just then, several towering blades flew down before her eyes, forming a wall between Lunafreya and the Messenger.

  　“Gentiana!” she shouted with all her might, but all went black and silent.

  　Lunafreya wasn’t sure which came first: the end of the dream, or the opening of her own eyes onto darkness as she returned to the waking world. When her mind was focused once again, she found herself in the cramped control room of the tiny signal cabin. She pulled her blanket more tightly around her body and shivered.

  　“What a peculiar dream,” she said to herself.

  　She had long grown used to accepting the dreams for what they were; she could no better govern her dreams than her fate. Still, she had to wonder about her earlier visitation from the Bladekeeper. She hadn’t thought to dismiss that first encounter as a mere dream.

  　The difference, she decided, was one of intimacy. The Draconian was not a being well known to her, but Gentiana she’d come to know more closely than perhaps anyone else in the world. That was why the encounter had felt unnatural and she’d been able to sense something amiss.

  　So perhaps it was not a dream. What if Gentiana had visited to relay some message, as the Draconian had before? Something might be preventing her from sharing that message.

  　Lunafreya tried to think. What could have happened to Gentiana? But just then, Sol interrupted her thoughts.

  　“Luna!”

  　The door of the control room flew open with a bang.

  　“Get yourself ready. And step on it. We’re leaving.”

  　“Has something happened?” Lunafreya asked. She rose and began to fold the blanket in haste, watching Sol’s expression as she did so. The other woman appeared uncharacteristically anxious.

  　“It’s nothing. Just hurry, okay?”

  　Lunafreya had yet to spend much time with Sol, but she had learned one thing about her companion: she had an occasional tendency to lie. And when she did, she did so poorly.

  After a breakfast all but shoveled down their throats, they departed.

  　They continued to follow the railway tracks. Sol was silent. Lunafreya wanted to ask what had happened, but Sol’s entire demeanor warned her not to broach the subject.

  　Moreover, Sol appeared distracted. She was not focused on her driving, allowing Regina to bump over rocks and debris, and on several occasions she nearly ran the front wheel into a pothole, swerving only at the last second. Lunafreya was grateful that they had thus far avoided encountering any daemons, but she was nervous about what might transpire when they inevitably did. If Sol went into a fight as distracted as she was now, it would not go well for them.

  　Lunafreya did not know precisely how long they’d been on the road, but after a while, she waited for an opportune moment and ventured, “Perhaps we should take a break?”

  　As she’d feared, Sol seemed annoyed and replied curtly, “What? You need a break already?”

  　“I can continue. But mustn’t we bear in mind the needs of the slowest member of the group?”

  　A flash of realization came to Sol’s face, and Lunafreya was glad she’d managed to voice her concern effectively. Apparently, she had been right―Regina had nearly reached its limit.

  　The moment the motorcycle stopped, Sol hopped off and busied herself with a thorough check of its components. The process was accompanied by occasional clicks of Sol’s tongue, as well as a few small sighs of relief.

  　Lunafreya did not know much about motorcycles, having just begun learning how to ride one. Still, the great care Sol paid to Regina was quite apparent, so whatever pressing matter was occupying Sol’s mind, it was significant enough to cause her beloved Regina to slip from her mind.

  　The checkup seemed to have ended, but since Sol did not yet announce that it was time to depart, Lunafreya assumed that meant they’d be giving Regina some time to cool down.

  　They spent a few awkward moments in silence, neither having anything particular to do. Then Sol appeared to grow tired of the quiet and spoke, perhaps hoping merely to stave off boredom.

  　“Can I ask you something?” she began. “Your belief in the gods. Do you get anything out of it? Does it do you any good?”

  　Lunafreya had grown somewhat accustomed to these unexpected and unusual questions from her companion. Today, however, they seemed to include a touch of venom.

  　In fact, Sol did not even wait for Lunafreya to respond. “Is that what brought you back to life?” she spat. “Your faith in them?”

  　“No,” Lunafreya replied. “I was bestowed life again that I might fulfill a new calling.”

  　“And what calling is that?”

  　“To stop Ardyn Izunia. To drive the darkness from our world.”

  　“Isn’t that the king’s job?”

  　“It was meant to be, yes. But it seems Ardyn has grown too powerful, and the intended fate of the world has gone off course.”

  　“And you’re the one they picked to fix the mess.” Sol let out a small snort.

  　She continued, “So you’re just gonna go along with whatever the gods say, huh? And you’ll save the world all by yourself. I gotta say, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. There’s no way. If the gods could send one person waltzing into Insomnia to put an end to all this, don’t you think they’d have done it already? There’ve been a helluva lot of other people for the gods to choose from, all way stronger than you.”

  　Sol capped off her outburst with, “If the gods planned to fix the world, why’d they let it end up like this in the first place?”

  　It was the anger behind the words that was the biggest surprise. It felt as if Sol were letting out some long pent-up frustration. Her tone was merciless, interrogating, and yet it also came across like a small child’s tantrum.

  　“I do not know why I was chosen. Be that as it may, it is my calling. I must see it fulfilled.”

  　“So you believe whatever the gods tell you?”

  　“As Oracle, naturally I must.”

  　“So if you weren’t the Oracle, you wouldn’t have that faith? You wouldn’t need to believe?”

  　At that, Lunafreya became aware of a new expression on Sol’s face. She seemed to be on verge of tears.

  　“It is my opinion,” Lunafreya answered carefully, “that each person has the right to adopt or reject faith as they see fit. But in my case―”

  　Sol cut in, her words more shouted than spoken. “I used to believe, too!”

  　“Sol . . . ”

  　“I bought into all of it, right up until the day everything came crashing down. I was left with nothing. I begged them, you know. All of them. I begged them not to take it away.”

  　Sol turned her face away, jaw clenched. The frustration in her profile was something Lunafreya had seen before. It hadn’t been often, but every once in a while during her travels as Oracle, she’d caught sight of that expression. It was the face of those for whom prayers had gone unanswered and faith had been shattered. In Sol’s eyes was the look of one who had long cursed the gods for her misfortune.

  　“Where were the gods then?” Sol asked. “What were they so busy with when I needed them? But who cares about the prayers of a child, right? They’re beneath the notice of the mighty gods.”

  　Among Lunafreya’s duties as Oracle was to bring relief to those suffering from disease. But that did not mean she’d been able to help everyone. There were those for whom she did not arrive in time. Never had she
faced open criticism from the friends or family of the deceased, yet there were times when people looked away as she approached, their anger and sorrow visibly held barely in check.

  　The gods did not deliver succor to everyone. To those struggling with loss, Lunafreya offered words of comfort as Oracle, ritual expressions and phatic utterances. Not the type of things Sol would want to hear now, but with those words unavailable, she did not know what else to say.

  　As Lunafreya fumbled for a response, Sol ended the conversation herself with, “Sorry, forget it. It’s not like talking about it with you will change anything.”

  　Then after a pause, “Pathetic. I sound like a little kid, expecting someone else to fix things for me.”

  　Still turned away, Sol’s face grew blank and hard. No trace of the earlier anger or tears remained. She merely bit her lower lip and muttered, “It’s up to me. I won’t let them die.”

  　And then she was climbing onto the motorcycle and motioning for Lunafreya to get in the sidecar. She no longer seemed like a petulant child, or an adult who blamed the gods for allowing her loved ones to perish. Her demeanor was that of one determined to protect others through her own will and strength alone. She would not suffer loss again.

  　It made Lunafreya think.

  　What about me? she asked herself. What have I wrought by my own strength alone?

  　Perhaps she had not accomplished all that she believed she had. So you’re just gonna go along with whatever the gods say? Sol’s words had lodged deep in her breast, like a thorn that could not be pried free.

  As soon as the exchange was over, Sol was already regretting her words. Why had she taken all that crap out on Luna? She’d acted like a little brat. It felt a lot like how she always seemed to end up behaving around her mother, but when she’d lashed out at the Oracle, there was another, slightly different dynamic at work.

  　It probably had to do with Luna’s exasperating devotion to the gods. The Oracle never framed things in terms of herself―she was always thinking and talking about what the gods wanted or what was best for the Star. The woman never took a moment to think about what she wanted to do. Every action was based on some calling she was convinced she had to live up to. Sol couldn’t wrap her head around it.

  　The only thing worse than someone who believed only in themselves was someone who was blindly devoted to a higher power. There was no guarantee that such an entity would be a force for good, but because people like that would never allow themselves to question their faith, they couldn’t ever stop and reevaluate things with a critical eye.

  　When Sol was young, she’d known plenty of adults like that, those who unquestioningly placed their trust in their emperor and his vision for their nation. Not once did it occur to them that what was happening around them might not be for the best. As the emperor steered Niflheim toward its doom, they were all right there alongside him, up until the very end.

  　Sol’s adoptive mother was different. She lived by her own rules. If you asked her why she went out of her way to help others, she’d laugh and say she only did it because she felt like it. There had been a time when Aranea let herself be constrained by orders, back when she’d been a soldier, but by the time she met Sol, she had left that part of her life behind.

  　That was why Sol had respected her mother, from the very first moment they’d met. As far back as Sol could remember, having her mother’s approval had felt like the most important thing in the world.

  　Wait. Why was she thinking in the past tense?

  　This was Biggs’s fault. The man couldn’t lie worth a damn. She could tell from his voice alone that he’d been on the verge of panic. And now he had Sol fearing the worst, too.

  　Mom, please be safe. I’ll be there soon.

  　She repeated the short prayer to herself for what must have been the hundredth time.

  　“Sol! We can’t go this way! Stop!”

  　Sol snapped back to reality. A daemon was straight ahead of them, blocking the road. If she’d been paying attention, she’d have noticed it earlier, and they might have been able to circle around. It probably would have saved them some time, but it was too late now. The daemon had sighted them and was closing in fast.

  　Regina skidded to a stop, and Sol pulled out her shotgun. Luna jumped from the sidecar, spear held at the ready. Fortunately, this wasn’t among the biggest daemons they’d come across, but neither would it go down easy.

  　Sol steadied her aim and let loose on the approaching enemy. The shower of hot metal slowed the daemon down some, but the wound was certainly not fatal.

  　“Luna!”

  　“I’ve got it!”

  　The daemon stumbled closer, now nearly in melee range. Luna flung her right hand out. The monster shuddered, and a stream of its sickening black miasma began flowing straight into her palm.

  　Sol stared in wonder. The Oracle seemed stronger than ever. In their early battles, Luna had played a supporting role by slowing the incoming daemons, which Sol then finished off with a shotgun shell at point-blank range or, if she were feeling particularly saucy, with a grenade thrown into a gaping jaw.

  　But lately, their roles had been reversed. Sol’s barrages usually served to slow the creature, and Luna was the one to bring it down. As they traveled farther along the road, the number of powerful daemons seemed to increase, among them many for which gun and spear alone did not suffice.

  　The power to absorb the scourge seemed to take a toll on Luna. When the flow of miasma reached its peak, a wrinkle of pain would form on her brow, and she’d grit her teeth. The fact that Sol noticed such little changes in her expression at all was a clear signal of how their roles in battle had shifted.

  　And the burden on Luna wasn’t limited to their time in battle alone. When the Oracle had been changing her clothes in Wael, Sol had snuck a quick peek at her back and saw that the woman’s milky white skin was covered with sinister black patches. Now those patches were visible even at the edges of her collar and sleeves. In other words, whatever was happening to her, it had gotten that much worse in just a matter of days.

  　Sometimes, she even caught Luna with her hands pressed against her mouth as if in pain. She seemed determined not to let her symptoms show, but now that the two were spending nearly every moment together, it was impossible for Sol not to see signs of Luna’s apparent agony.

  　Luna claimed that her power had been bestowed by one of the Six. If so, whichever god had given it sure had a sick sense of humor. Power that caused so much pain didn’t seem like much of a gift, nor any way to motivate someone to carry out some divine calling. Why not give Luna another power that was easier to deal with or change the nature of the power so it didn’t cause her agony? It didn’t seem like something that would be hard for a god to do. So why was it necessary to let Luna suffer?

  　Whichever god had burdened Luna with such a thing must have been the same one who ignored Sol’s own prayers as a child in Gralea. The gods had given no sign they were worthy of faith, and yet Luna went on believing despite her suffering. It was baffling.

  They managed to fell the daemon, but after that, the creatures were everywhere along the road, pack after pack of them, as if openly mocking Sol’s need for haste. In the end, they had to spend another night afield well short of Sol’s destination.

  　They did not sleep at a minor outpost or even a signal cabin. They simply pitched a tent in a narrow space sheltered by a rock outcrop. To keep the daemons at bay, they placed portable lights at the edges of the camp and built a fire in the center. As one final precaution, they decided to take shifts awake, one keeping watch while the other slept.

  　Sol continued to be sparing with her words. Lunafreya learned only that their immediate destination was an outpost called Nohm. She was unable to discover why they were headed there or what they intended to do on arrival. Nor had she learned why Sol seemed so distracted and rushed. The other woman’s decision not to share any of these thi
ngs left Lunafreya feeling forlorn and insecure.

  　In battle, the pair had developed a strong rapport. They seemed to be well attuned to each other, and for the first time, Lunafreya clearly understood what it meant for two people to have each other’s backs. However, although she felt that she could rely on Sol, she wasn’t sure whether Sol felt the same way about her.

  　The night was quiet. So quiet that she could hear every little toss and turn from Sol as she slept in the tent. Both the firepit and the artificial lights seemed to be doing a commendable job―Luna sensed no trace of any daemons lurking nearby.

  　She turned away from the flames and opened the notebook. The light of the fire bothered her. Fortunately, she did not need it. Even at night in this perpetual darkness, she was able to read and write perfectly well without light.

  　During the day’s breaks, there had been no appreciable amount of conversation. Lunafreya had used the free time to set down her scattered thoughts in the notebook.

  　Sol, for her part, seemed to be embarrassed about how she’d laid into Lunafreya. At the next break after their conversation and the one after, she’d simply sat in stubborn silence. Lunafreya, not wanting to press the girl, had stayed silent herself.

  　Unlike the short road breaks, Lunafreya now had a long, uninterrupted block of time―so long that she worried she might doze off. She decided it was better to keep herself busy than risk falling asleep while on watch.

  Dearest Noctis,

  It is my turn to keep watch, so here I am, tending the campfire. Sleeping outdoors like this is a new experience for me. What was it like for you on your first night camping at a haven? Perhaps you felt the same way that I feel now.

  　I was also in charge of the meal tonight. It seems I made too liberal a use of spices for my companion’s liking. She went so far as to declare my sense of taste unrefined. Given that her own approach to cooking is quite lax, I hardly think her to be in a position to criticize.