The Dawn of the Future

by Jun Eishima

  　“But why should that lead to the end of Eos and its people?”

  　Gentiana gave a single word in response. “Teraflare.”

  　After a pause, she continued. “To cast it, the Bladekeeper seeks to increase his power by drawing on those of both daemon and Oracle. Once before did blades supreme threaten the Star, but in that age long past, the power fell short. Destruction was stayed, the Bladekeeper’s ends unrealized.”

  　“The Great War of Old,” Lunafreya murmured.

  　Bahamut, the Draconian, weary of the fighting between god and man, had endeavored to see everything wiped from existence. The other gods had held him back, just managing to spare the world its judgment. It was a story Lunafreya had heard from Gentiana countless times before.

  　She remembered a conversation she’d had with the Messenger when young.

  　“Gentiana, why did the Draconian try to destroy everything? Why would he want to do such a horrible thing?”

  　“Among the Six, the Bladekeeper stands apart. From the heavens high above, the Star and its lives seem distant.”

  　“But I thought the gods protected the world. I thought they looked after all of us.”

  　“Man is to god as flower is to man. When a girl walks among the fields of sylleblossoms, does she see each flower in its own right? Or is one the same as any other? Destruction wrought by the Bladekeeper is not vengeance against man. It is the work of a gardener, pulling from the field flowers among which disease has spread.”

  　Horror swept through Lunafreya. Was that what Gentiana was implying?

  　“The Draconian. Does he again seek to reap us like flowers from a field?”

  　“Having failed once, the Bladekeeper will not fail again. The spell shall be charged with power overwhelming, that the disease of the field cannot spread again.”

  　“And that is why the power to harvest the scourge was bestowed unto me, the Oracle?”

  　Gentiana nodded.

  　“But that’s . . . ” Lunafreya trailed off. She looked at her hands. The hands now intended by the God of War to help bring an end to Eos. “All this time, it has been the Draconian standing against us.”

  　She remembered Ardyn, screaming his curses at the gods. Millennia ago, the man had placed all his faith in a presumed calling. He had given of his life only to be betrayed, then vowed to kill the god behind that treachery.

  　“We must convince the Draconian to abandon his plan,” Luna proclaimed. “But how are we to sway him?”

  　“The will of a god is not easily bent.”

  　Of course not. To Bahamut, they were merely flowers, riddled with pests and needing to be cut down.

  　“Do we have no choice but to defy him? If he cannot be swayed, our only other option is to stop him.”

  　“Nor is the hand of a god easily stayed. The Bladekeeper exists twice over: once in this world, and once beyond. Though one should fall, return it shall, as long as the other remains.”

  　“So he cannot be killed?”

  　Gentiana’s voice grew even more hurried. “Hear me, Lady Lunafreya. The spell of the Bladekeeper requires strength immense. Stave off the first blow, and no more shall come. Strength sapped leads to slumber deep. The Star and its people may yet live on, even if the God of War cannot be defeated.”

  　“The same as happened in the war so long ago?”

  　The outlines of Gentiana’s form began to grow indistinct.

  　“The Messenger is discovered. There is no more . . . ”

  　“Wait! Gentiana!”

  　The Messenger was fading, the deep haze beyond shimmering through her form. “The Oracle must choose her own future.”

  　And then both words and form were gone. Lunafreya opened her eyes, and she was in the hotel at Lestallum, her hands and feet bound tight, body still limp and unresponsive. All as it was from the moment she fell asleep.

  　“The Draconian would destroy us,” she murmured to herself.

  　It was beyond comprehension. The gods were committed to safeguarding Eos and all its inhabitants. Never once had she doubted that, not even when Gentiana had spoken of Bahamut’s place as being above and distant from all, less attuned to mortal existence.

  　Long ago, the Draconian had bestowed upon Ardyn the power to act as a savior. Then he’d allowed the same man to be struck down, reviled by his kind as a terrible monster. The Bladekeeper did not hesitate to employ cruelty and cunning to see his will through. And now he was attempting to do the same to Lunafreya.

  　She and Ardyn were not unalike. They were both pious, dedicated in their faith to the gods, and blind to the plots that dictated the courses of their lives. They were both marionettes, made to dance as divine hands pleased, then cast aside when the play was over.

  　“It is unforgivable,” she whispered to herself, new anger boiling to the surface. But she did not yet know how to proceed. She stared at the ceiling, scouring her mind for ideas.

  It took Sol more time than she’d expected to locate Luna’s makeshift holding cell. She’d assumed the room would be guarded, so she’d been on the lookout for manned doors. In the end, that hadn’t provided much of a clue, since way too many of the hotel room doors had posted guards. Not that this was the result of some plan to throw off anyone intent on breaking the Oracle free―there were simply a lot of people and items that merited guarding. Which made sense, when she bothered to think about it. The hotel was the current HQ for all Hunter operational strategy, located at the very center of humanity’s stronghold, the only source of order left on Eos.

  　“Rookie mistake.” She shook her head, frustrated by her own naivety.

  　“And what mistake would that be?”

  　The sudden voice from behind her nearly launched Sol into the air.

  　“Mom?! What are you doing here? What about the meeting?”

  　The discussion hadn’t exactly been going smoothly. Sol had figured both Aranea and the representatives from the Kingsglaive would still be holed up in their room for some time yet. That, too, was part of her plan, to make her move while the real threats were preoccupied. Some lowly sentry posted outside of Luna’s door would be easily pickings.

  　She hadn’t accounted for the possibility of running into her mother. This went way beyond a worst-case scenario.

  　“Kicked over a chair and got ‘excused’ from the rest of the debate,” Aranea winked. “They sent me off to cool my head. Which gave me the opportunity I needed to come track down a certain little troublemaker. I had a feeling you’d be sneaking around by now.”

  　“Please, you have to let us go. Luna’s my friend. She needs my help,” Sol begged.

  　My friend. The moment she said the words, there was a pain like a dagger wound deep in her heart. Sol finally understood. It wasn’t because she owed Luna. It wasn’t because of the things Luna had done for her. The reason she wanted to help was because Luna was important to her. Their time together had been short, but they were companions of the road now. They were friends.

  　“You’re putting me in a tight spot here, y’know that?” Aranea said.

  　Then, “Hey. Don’t start crying on me.”

  　Aranea shoved a handkerchief up against Sol’s nose. Sol realized tears were streaming down her face. Once more, she felt like a child.

  　“But, Mom, I . . . ”

  　“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

  　Aranea’s hand was warm on her head.

  　“Come with me.”

  　Sol wiped the tears away with the handkerchief and followed. Once upon a time, she’d had to tilt her head back to see her mother’s shoulders when she walked behind her. Now those shoulders were at eye level, and yet somehow Aranea still seemed so incredibly far above her. Once a mother, always a mother.

  　They stopped in front of an unguarded door. Sol was bursting with questions, but Aranea put an index finger to her lips.

  　Aranea knocked four times, then announced, “Good work in
there.” The pattern of knocks and the words seemed to be some manner of passphrase. The door swung open, and Sol saw that the guard was posted not outside in the hallway, but inside the room itself. He was a young man whom Sol didn’t recognize, almost certainly at the bottom of the food chain around here.

  　“Sorry to bother you. Just wondering if I could ask you for a favor?” Aranea said.

  　“Me?”

  　“Yeah, I’ve got something you can help out with. Won’t take more than a few minutes. The kid here’ll watch the room till we get back.”

  　Sol’s head was already bowed low, in a most likely vain attempt to keep her tear-stained cheeks out of sight. She dipped it a bit farther in a curt nod.

  　“Thanks, Sol. Keep a sharp eye out, all right?”

  　Aranea casually slipped something into Sol’s pocket, then led the guard out and down the hallway. Sol closed the door behind her with one hand and walked deeper into the room. Finally, she saw her.

  　“Luna!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Luna. I wanted to get here sooner.”

  　“Sol!”

  　Luna lay on the bed, hands and feet still bound as before. Sol stuffed a hand into her pocket. She’d had a hunch about Aranea’s little gift, and it proved correct. The locking device. Her mother must have planned it all out ahead of time.

  　“This is all my fault, Luna. I―”

  　“You needn’t apologize. You believed in me, Sol. That was enough.”

  　Tears traced their way down Luna’s cheeks, black as ink. The ebony patches of skin once peeking out from her sleeves and collar had now crept down the backs of her hands and across her face.

  　“Of course I did. Obviously. What kind of friends don’t trust each other?”

  　Sol pressed the button on the locking device. Luna’s restraints snapped open with a dull click.

  　“Can you run?” Sol asked. “We need to get out of here before the watch returns.”

  　“Won’t letting me free cause more trouble for you?”

  　“You gave me my mother back. Now it’s my turn to help you. You need a way to get to Insomnia, right?”

  　Luna nodded. Her hesitation was gone, and now determination shone through, clear as day.

  Regina was parked at the edge of the city. They ran together through the streets. Finding Luna within the unfamiliar layout of the hotel had been trickier than she imagined, but when it came to the city itself, Sol was in her element. Nobody knew Lestallum better than she did. Every shortcut, every corner to turn and alleyway to use to keep out of sight; she navigated them all without even having to think.

  　As they neared the bike, Sol explained, “Regina’s already loaded up with food and equipment. A map, too. You’ve got this, right?”

  　She placed the helmet on Luna’s head and adjusted the straps.

  　Luna lowered the goggles over her eyes. “I am in your debt, Sol.”

  　A wrinkle formed at the bridge of Sol’s nose.

  　“We’ve been over this already. That’s what people say before they up and die on you.”

  　“I know.”

  　“So why are you―”

  　“Do not worry. I will not die. I swear it. So please, just let me say my thanks.”

  　“All right, fine. Well I’m not gonna die, either. So when you get back, you better make me another cup of tea, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

  　Regina’s engine roared to life. Sol saw Luna’s lips move but couldn’t make out the words. Then Luna and Regina were off, and Sol was waving with her arm held high as they rode into the distance.

  　When she could see them no longer, she turned around and drew her gun. Nobody would be following Luna. She’d see to that.

  　As she made her silent vow, the blare of emergency sirens began to fill the city of Lestallum.

  On the road from Lestallum, Lunafreya was forced into occasional skirmishes with daemons. But she was thankful to find no trace of hunters or Glaives pursuing from behind. And, though she was still very much a novice on the motorcycle and her travels hardly swift, the skyline of the Crown City was growing undeniably closer. She realized she was now traveling the same road she’d walked along with the other evacuees the day Insomnia fell. Back then, she’d been so anxious to get out. Now, she was just as desperate to get back in. It was a strange feeling.

  　She stopped for a brief break just before the bridge leading across to the city proper. There, she added one final message to the notebook. Somehow, Umbra seemed to know. He was there before she’d even readied herself to call him.

  　“Hello, Umbra,” she said. “When the time comes, please give this to Noctis.”

  　The dog lifted his tail high, as if to say, It will be done. And then he was gone, vanished into the surrounding darkness.

  　Preparations were complete. She’d sorted out her feelings, and her mind was made up. Lunafreya’s steps into the desolate Citadel were quick and sure.

  　On that day years ago, the Citadel had been filled with bullets, explosions, and the incessant drone of magitek engines. Lunafreya recalled the stench of gunpowder and blood. Those things, at least, had been evidence of people. Of life. Now she found only daemons as she made her way to the heart of the edifice. It was eerily quiet. There was no scent of blood anymore.

  　Slowly, she pushed open the final doorway.

  　Though ten years had passed, to Lunafreya, it seemed but a few months since she last stepped foot inside the throne room. But the vast space now looked drastically different.

  　“I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

  　Ardyn’s voice floated down from on high. Scant days ago, she might have been angered to find him lounging in smug satisfaction upon the throne. But not anymore. Now his boorish posture and lack of propriety were simply those of a tragic jester. She felt pity for the man.

  　“The one you hope to see is not here.”

  　The erstwhile chancellor seemed to assume she had come for Noctis.

  　“Ah, but do pardon my surprise at this most unexpected development. How very nice it is to see you again, Lady Lunafreya.”

  　Contrary to his words, Ardyn’s tone lacked any trace of surprise. He seemed wholly unconcerned to find the woman he had killed with his own hands now returned to life.

  　Her words came measured. Precise. “You misunderstand. The one I am here for is you.” The statement implied more: she was well aware that she would not find Noctis here. It was not yet time for them to be reunited.

  　“I have something I should like to discuss with you,” she announced.

  　Ardyn’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

  　“Ah! The Oracle would have words with me. And here I thought the gods had sent their pretty little marionette to do their bidding.”

  　Wrong, she thought. I do not desire to kill you, for you are as much a puppet to their will as I am. And now, I seek to clip my strings just as you do.

  　Lunafreya stared into Ardyn’s eyes.

  　Now came the gamble.

  　“I wonder if I might ask for your aid.”

  Myriad shadows writhed in the chill night air of the Citadel courtyard. Enemies were everywhere, but the certain knowledge that he would have to fight the hordes every step of the way elicited neither surprise, nor confusion, nor even the slightest trace of fear.

  　Step by step, he descended the great staircase. Gunfire erupted, waves of bullets flying from enemy barrels like swarms of angry insects. He wove his way between them, blade flashing into his hand as other opponents began to rush the stairs. Each clash was over as quickly as it began: one, then another, and another. Steel shrieked, and ash-colored automatons went rolling lifelessly down steps they had just ascended.

  　But something was amiss. A person―persons?―who should have been there with him was not.

  　Did I always fight alone?

  　Just as he felt the memory might be drawing within reach, a bullet grazed his ear, as if bent on pre
venting him from recollecting. He paid the injury little mind, simply turning to face the next incoming enemy, blade quick to send it flying.

  　The initial sense of unease, of dislocation, was growing.

  　These things I’m fighting. What are they?

  　Their armor was fashioned from some kind of lustrous dark metal. As he continued to cut his way through the endless ranks of empty, soulless suits, it occurred to him that they shared neither hue nor design with the magitek troops he’d known in some distant past. A black haze much like daemonic miasma emanated from their surfaces, an eerie aura like that of some ghostly apparition. Most disconcerting of all was the smell from their weapons, a thick, acrid stench of gunpowder. Niflheim’s infantry had never used weapons like these.

  　Members of the horde continued marching up the steps, weapons firing wildly. Over and over again, he dispatched them with warp-strikes, a seemingly endless cycle of attack. He heard the thud of defeated foes falling, as well as the clatter as they tumbled back down the stairs. That, too, was different, not the same sound that defeated MTs made. The only thing these new foes seemed to share with the empire’s automated infantry was an obnoxious degree of persistence.

  　A flash of red, then another. Half a moment after he saw the muzzle flashes, the unmistakable report of firearms resounded in his ears. But they were too slow, he thought dismissively, and their lack of aim made them little threat.

  　Where the hell am I?

  　It looked like the Citadel courtyard, but there were many small differences. The color of the place was wrong, or rather, it didn’t have any color, just cold streaks of monochrome gray. His unease was transforming into alarm, into the distinct sensation that this world was not his own.

  　He pivoted on his heel, suddenly determined to confirm his suspicions. A few casual swipes of his weapon downed the enemies behind him, and then he was vaulting back up the steps he’d just managed to descend.