by Jun Eishima
The encounter with the Mystic brought a new question to the fore of Noctis’s mind. The gods had given the power to draw the scourge to Ardyn alone. But why? It wasn’t as if it could be given to only one person at time, or that Ardyn was the only one capable of wielding it. Both points were disproved by the fact that Lunafreya now possessed it as well.
If, in that age long past, the gods had bestowed such power on Somnus as well, perhaps the two brothers could have greeted the future together, even if their opinions had differed.
Or perhaps, if the power had been given to someone else entirely, and neither Ardyn nor Somnus wielded it, the outcome could have been different. The deadly struggle might have still claimed Ardyn’s life, but the resulting hatred would not have persisted for millennia. Surely all would have been forgotten once the two men had both passed from the world.
Two brothers at odds, one with a power the other could never hope to possess. In the end, that was all it boiled down to. That difference between them had ultimately drawn a curtain of darkness across the world. The more Noctis thought it through, the more inept the gods seemed to be. Or perhaps it was simple arrogance: an inability of the Six to admit their own shortsightedness.
Perhaps Lunafreya was now being led along by that same blind arrogance. Or, more likely, yanked and dragged along, subject to all the accompanying suffering.
Plagued with doubts about the gods who gave him power, Noctis made haste toward the throne room.
She’d bitten off more than she could chew. Somewhere, in some corner of her mind, she knew that. To assume she might be able to pull every bit of infestation from the daemonified Infernian―it was as rash a plan as could be imagined. Still, she’d told herself she had to try. It was the only real means she had to face the deity.
“Ardyn!” she shouted, as the streams of scourge poured into her arms, “Is it not the Draconian who truly deserves your hate? Are you content to be but a cog in his machinations?!”
The words poured out of her in desperation. She had to get through to the man. The darkness was seething inside of her, and each time her mouth opened, she feared it might be the snarls and growls of a beast leaving her throat rather than words.
“Humanity brought to an end? The Star wiped from existence? How terribly convenient for me. Now if I could only find a way to eliminate that pesky god pulling all the strings. Then my revenge would be complete.”
She saw the twisted smile on Ardyn’s lips. In her struggle against the Infernian, she’d inadvertently drawn nearer to the throne.
“The Bladekeeper cannot be slain! He exists not only in our world, but also in the one beyond!”
Ardyn’s eyes widened just slightly.
“We cannot hope to kill him,” Lunafreya repeated, “But if we can convince him to cast his spell of destruction, he will be depleted and fall into deep slumber.”
It would be like the Great War of Old. According to Gentiana, Teraflare could be cast only once. If they managed to survive the initial blast, they would be safe. Humanity would continue on.
By allowing the Bladekeeper to gather all the darkness into his spell, they could also rid the Star of the scourge. Four of the Six―Shiva, Ramuh, Titan, and Leviathan―had managed to protect Eos from Teraflare in the past. So long as they could manage the same feat again, Teraflare could be the key to ending the darkness.
“That is why,” Lunafreya said to Ardyn, “I ask that you give to me the scourge that resides within you. I will pretend that I have slain you, appear to carry out the Draconian’s calling . . . and . . . ”
Lunafreya found herself unable to go on. Her breath caught with pain. Tears blurred her vision. In her warped field of view, she saw the face of the Pyreburner, twisted in similar anguish.
She remembered Gentiana’s tales, and particularly one quiet story shared after Lunafreya had learned of the Messenger’s true identity. The goddess always chose her words carefully, preferring modest expressions, but behind them was a clear and overflowing affection for humanity. As Lunafreya reviewed the story in her mind, it became clear just how much the members of the Six that resided on the Star shared in common with their mortal charges. Even the anger and hatred they experienced were feelings similar to those of humans.
At long last, the pain receded from the Infernian’s visage. She seemed to have succeeded in freeing the god from the influence of the scourge. But it came at a cost: the agony burning within Lunafreya had increased several times over.
The Infernian turned toward Ardyn, who once again sat upon the throne. Anger twisted the god’s features. Clearly, Ifrit was aware of his own loss of autonomy and of the fact that Ardyn had been behind his enslavement.
“Insolent mortal,” spat the Pyreburner.
“Wait!” Lunafreya cried, fighting back against the strangling pain. To thwart the Draconian’s plot to incinerate the Star and end all mankind, Ardyn’s cooperation was absolutely essential. She couldn’t afford a conflict between Ardyn and the Infernian. She had to stop them.
“God of Fire, I beseech you! Enter into covenant that the king might save our star!”
The fiery fist heading straight for Ardyn froze, and Ifrit turned to face the Oracle. Lunafreya found herself frozen as well, shocked by her own request. She’d been desperate for any means to prevent a fight, but the idea of using the covenant came out of nowhere.
Still, she continued, “It is I, Lunafreya, blood of the Oracle. In exchange for your release from the bonds of the scourge, lend your power to the Crystal’s Chosen King.”
It was all she could do to manage to stay on her feet. She forced her eyes wide. Tears were streaming from them now, and she could imagine the inky trails flowing down her cheeks.
“Let the king have your blessing!”
She had not previously forged a covenant with the Infernian―her demise in Altissia had come before she’d been able to make any attempt―and she’d always harbored a regret deep down at that failure of duty. Perhaps that was why the idea had come to her now.
“Please . . . ”
Ages seemed to pass as she stood on trembling legs, caught between the heat of the flames before her and the agony of the scourge within. A moment in reality was for Lunafreya an eternity of torment.
The Infernian’s gaze softened.
“So be it,” he said. A curt answer, but sufficient all the same.
A chill wind blew through the throne room, and Lunafreya saw that the Infernian had departed.
She clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to slump to the floor. She knew that if her knees buckled now, she would not stand again, so she held on. Both her legs were nearly numb. The only thing she could feel was the aching of the scourge.
She heard a pair of hands begin to clap.
“Quite the show, Lady Lunafreya.” Ardyn was standing again, his hands coming together with slow, dramatic sweeps. No trace remained of the hesitation and doubt she’d glimpsed before.
“And for your next act, you’ll deceive a god?”
Lunafreya found it difficult to speak. She nodded instead.
“You and I shall put on a glorious performance, and when it’s over, I’ll be the one to fall on stage, is that it? A fascinating proposal. But I do have one question.”
Ardyn’s smile widened. It was an expression that had nothing to do with mirth.
“You’ve just gone past your limit. Now how will the show go on?”
And with that, her vision went black. Ardyn and everything else in the throne room disappeared. She heard the howling of a beast, and by the time she recognized it as her own voice, all was drowned in darkness.
Noctis heard a scream like that of a beast in pain. It seemed to be coming from just beyond the doors he sought to open. He flung them wide and rushed into the throne room, only to stop dead in his tracks. Some manner of creature lay writhing on the floor. From its jet-black skin
rose the dark miasma of the daemons.
“I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” Ardyn’s voice floated down from on high. “You’ve arrived just a moment too late.”
“Ardyn!” Noctis growled.
“She couldn’t wait for you any longer, you see.”
The creature raised its head, arms and legs still limp on the floor.
Noctis gasped. “Luna!”
Lunafreya made no response to Noctis’s voice. Her eyes were vacant. It was impossible to tell what she was looking at, or if she could see anything at all.
With the scourge’s transformation, she hardly resembled the woman she was before. All the same, Noctis knew immediately that it was her.
He turned back to Ardyn. “What did you do to her?!”
“Now why would you think to blame this on me? I’m almost offended.”
“Enough with the games!”
“I assure you, this is all of her own doing. She absorbed every last bit of scourge from the Infernian himself.”
Lunafreya stumbled to her feet. When Noctis tried to rush to her side, she leapt away with inhuman speed, reaching down to snatch up a polearm that had fallen on the ground.
“Luna . . . ” Noctis watched in disbelief as she leveled her weapon’s blade directly at him. “Please! Stop this!”
She lunged, offering no word of explanation, or any indication that she’d heard his words, let alone comprehended them. Noctis dodged to the side, barely avoiding her thrust. It was clear her actions were not intended for show. She sought to take his life.
“Luna!” he shouted. “Can’t you see it’s me?!”
He’d managed to grab the spear’s haft with one hand, gripping it tight. He needed to get the weapon away from her, before she got hurt.
But a mere moment after he’d laid his hand on the weapon, the world inverted before his eyes and his back slammed against the ground. He groaned in a mix of pain and disbelief. Somehow, she’d been able to lift and throw Noctis down effortlessly, in a show of overwhelming strength.
“Please . . . Luna, you have to snap out of it,” he pleaded, rising from the floor and approaching her again.
Suddenly, a towering blade flew down from above, driven into the ground between them.
The Chosen’s purpose is no more.
The words of the Draconian boomed throughout the throne room. The Bladekeeper himself made no appearance. There was only the massive blade and the stentorian voice.
Power is granted that darkness be banished and balance returned to the Star.
When mortals grow arrogant, seeking to repeat blasphemies of old, no longer are they worthy wards.
To cleanse the Star, all life must be swept away.
So it is ordained, and so shall it be.
“All life swept away?” Noctis repeated, uncomprehending. “But I thought you sent me here to . . . ”
His mind needed time to catch up. Was this not the same deity he’d encountered in the Crystal? Still fresh in mind was his own calling, as delivered by the Draconian. The True King was to rid the Star of darkness at the cost of his own life. Had the Bladekeeper’s intentions changed? If so, why?
Bahamut continued to speak. It seemed he would not offer answers or even pause to give Noctis time to comprehend.
The time is come. Let the power be unleashed, O Sovereign of the Scourge.
Lunafreya’s body floated up into the air. That was the last thing Noctis saw, and as his consciousness slipped away, the last thing he felt was a tremendous force hurling him away.
When Ardyn’s eyes reopened, it was to the scourge-darkened sky above. He was no longer in the throne room nor, it seemed, inside the Citadel at all. After another moment, he realized he was sprawled unceremoniously on the ground.
“Lovely,” he announced dryly.
He shook his head and stood. He recalled seeing the Oracle release the darkness. He’d been thrown backward by the blast, and after that, he must have blacked out.
“Well, if nothing else, our dear Lady Lunafreya certainly set her sights high.”
He looked up to find the Oracle―in Bahamut’s words, the “Sovereign of the Scourge”―suspended high up in the sky. Around her swirled a vortex of black miasma.
A swarm of creatures flitted about the vortex. Birds or wyverns, he’d have guessed, until on closer inspection he saw that they possessed the same shape as the Bladekeeper himself. Avatars. Closer to the stature of a man than a god, dark in color, and singularly ominous. Dozens of them were circling the Oracle, protecting her, their black and gold coloration a disturbing echo of the royal colors of the hated Lucian line.
“Behold, the Goddess of Darkness,” Ardyn mused.
The sky seemed to be darkest directly above the Citadel, right where Lunafreya was. This was the spot where all the Starscourge plaguing the world was to be drawn. All the dark power would be concentrated here for the Draconian’s spell.
“Teraflare,” Ardyn murmured. “The preparations are already underway.”
The Draconian’s plan, as relayed by the Oracle, had not come as much of a surprise. This was the type of dramatic solution the God of War was apt to prefer.
However, it was another of the woman’s statements that bothered him.
The Bladekeeper cannot be slain! He exists not only in our world, but also in the one beyond!
That was a distressing revelation. Ardyn, his own soul trapped in the other realm, knew better than any other the truth of that consequent immortality and of the difficulty it would pose for any attempt on the Draconian’s life. One could deal an infinite number of deaths to a foe with a soul stuck in the Beyond, but said foe would always rise again. To worsen matters, the Draconian’s soul, unlike Ardyn’s, was not held captive―the god was as free from restraint there as he was here in the mortal realm.
In short, a battle with Bahamut would be much harder than one with the Glacian or the Infernian. Neither the daemon-infused creations of the empire nor the hands through which flowed the controlling sting of the scourge would suffice to defeat the Draconian.
“Thus her proposal. The Bladekeeper casts his Teraflare, expends his energy, and falls into slumber. Ah, but if only it were so simple.”
Lunafreya’s notion was logical in the sense that history had unfolded in such a manner once before. But there was no guarantee that a reenactment of the War of the Astrals would culminate in the same result. This time, the Draconian’s spell would be charged with all the darkness that now blanketed Eos.
There was another point to consider. At the conclusion of that ancient war, five of the Six had unquestionably fallen into slumber. Each had collapsed, depleted, somewhere upon the surface of the Star. But it was unclear whether Bahamut had slept. Tales told of him retiring to some place unknown; some posited that he’d been asleep high in the heavens. Of course there was no way to ascertain the truth of any of these claims. For ages, the god had simply been missing, without any clue as to his whereabouts or doings.
“The Lady Oracle might be willing to gamble, but I’d much rather take the sure bet,” Ardyn mused aloud.
Put the god to sleep―that was the solution of a gentle soul. However, there were other options. Options that were more decisive. More permanent.
A violent shaking of the ground interrupted his reverie.
“Oh dear. What now?”
The Citadel, already half-destroyed, was quaking along with the earth. No, quaking against the earth, as if struggling to break free of it. Steel split and concrete crumbled. A great roar of wrenching and tearing materials drowned out all other sound. Everything was moving, but the Citadel most of all, in great jagged jerks toward ground and then sky.
When Ardyn managed to regain his balance, he murmured, “Moving the Crystal beyond the reach of man? Now that’s not very sporting. I would say that I’d expected better of the Bladekeeper, except that wo
uld be an utter lie.”
Dust billowed, and the Citadel in its entirety began rising into the air. The throne room hung in plain sight, its walls and ceiling blown away by the Oracle’s earlier burst of dark energy.
Fissures tore through the large boulevard leading from the Citadel to downtown Insomnia. The ground shrieked as it ripped apart, and debris flew in all directions. The Citadel continued to rise, its great gates dangling limp, bars twisted like crumpled dollhouse ornaments.
“I suppose I should be grateful for the free ride. Stick with the throne, stick with the action.”
A series of phantasmal leaps later, he was aboard the ascending island. So long as this was headed in Lunafreya’s direction, Noctis wouldn’t be far from hand.
“A family reunion in the sky. You won’t keep me waiting this time, will you, Your Majesty?”
Ardyn, standing in the Citadel courtyard and staring down at the receding city streets, began to laugh.
Consciousness returned slowly, and for a while, the world was hazy. The ground beneath him was violently shuddering. It reminded him of that day at the Disc of Cauthess―a rumbling that rose from deep in the earth.
Cauthess. Right. He’d received Titan’s blessing that day, thanks to Luna’s covenant, and . . .
Luna.
The preceding moments reeled back through mind. Noctis jolted to his feet.
“Luna!” he cried, scanning his surroundings.
He wasn’t in the throne room. In fact, he didn’t seem to be inside the Citadel at all. He looked up to see the skyscraper moving ever higher: the whole structure was rising atop a small island of concrete and asphalt, as if it had been pulled up like a weed by some unseen force. The shaking of the earth he’d felt earlier must have come as the building was ripped from the ground.
