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birues · 6 months

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Sacrifices

Characters: Emet-Selch, WoL

Word count: 1.9 k

Summary: Twelve millennia ago, youngest member of Convocation Elidibus decided to sacrifice himself to save his people. Now, the young Oracle of Light decides to sacrifice herself to bring Minfilia back so the world can be saved. Respective Emet-Selch and Azem/WoL conversations on these sacrifices throughout time. And about the sacrifices of their own.

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World Unsundered

Azem runs. Two legs on the ground one dart to the front followed by another. No aim. For once traveler of the Convocation has no desire nor destination. Would that she could lash out the rage. Would that she could lash out at the improbability of their mad plan. But here they are, hatching on her heart like a dead star. Dying star. Dying…

Themis. Gaia. Themis. Gaia. The tip of the spear swings between them as the Convocation argues, argues, and argues. Eventually, Themis grabs it to stab it into his own heart. Oh, that child.

And the others. The sacrifice hasn’t been made yet. A council of boundless wisdom and they-

The mask hides, only until the tears reach her chin. Her breath struggles to get out. It won’t be long until he comes for her. The cracks are getting bigger with every argument. Both are too stubborn for their own good. He dresses up madness as duty, she still looks for a way out where all she can see is the bottomless despair engulfing even the sun. Oh, she ran away. Run away into desolation. Into the devastated land that once was a bustling port town and its surroundings. But none can escape the all-seeing eyes of great Emet-Selch. Not with their souls bonded, three of them.

She shoots a look at the sky that threatens to break out into catastrophe once again. Alas… after everything she owes him at least that much.

The fond smile that appears on her face begets grief. It took him even less time than she guessed it would take.

“Here you are.” The anger fueling him has a different hue than the normal. “The world is threatening to break apart and here I am going after a convocation member who throws tantrums like a child and walks away from the meetings.”

“A child?” Ah. Bitterness. The shell splits open. “I didn’t ask you to come. I won’t apologize for leaving. You simply weren’t listening to what I had to say.”

“I tire of these arguments, Azem.” A strong grip on her shoulder and he faces her now. He’s not wearing his mask. Good. One swift move and neither is she anymore. “Do you truly think you’re the only one who cares for the boy? Is your opinion of the rest of the Convocation that low that you think we’re making this decision lightly? That I am making this decision lightly?”

The grip on her shoulder tightens.

“Look at the sky! Look at it! The world is dying! Who are you to deny the Emissary his agency? His duty?!”

Her hand finds his.

“I don’t. I didn’t.” She gazes at the man who’s going to carry the shattered world on his shoulders. So does her composure shatter. “But I refuse to believe there isn’t another way. I cannot-”

Maybe it’s her despair. Maybe it’s his. But the anger ceases as he scoops his dearest friend into his arms. “We’re out of time, my dear.”

A sob. “He’s too young.”

A sigh.”I know.”

Her words are muffled, pressed into his shoulder that she is. “Does Hythlodaeus know?”

Novagrandt, the First Shard

Emet-Selch knows how to find the hero. Not that he has to try. Her soul, that unmistakable unique flame, has never been hard for him to follow nor feel, though dimmed that it is.

Alas, he supposes, Even if he was diminished as the miserable souls inhibiting the broken words it wouldn’t take him long. A desolate place. Just out of sight enough that she wouldn’t stumble upon acquaintances. Just close enough that she would be there when she is needed. Across eons and countless lifetimes… To his dismay, he’s still privy to the traces she’s left in this reincarnation. Insulting. Infuriating. Heartbreaking.

There she is, his greatest hope sitting under a tree gazing at the night sky she has earned. Lakeland night offers some cool breeze, the last tatters of what passes as summer here.

“I must admit, I didn’t think it would be you who would storm out like a child who’s throwing a tantrum.”

It’s after he utters the words he realizes how familiar they are. A small huff, a different voice carries the same pain. “I knew it would be you who would come to annoy me.”

He shrugs. Oh, the sweet irony. He can say he’s only repaying her but… that would reveal too much of his cards. He’s revealed enough already. Enough that he’s earned that look a few times, the furrowed brows and eyes albeit different, same hue, piercing to his very being. No. This is not her. He needs to remember.

This is not her.

“Someone needs to knock some sense into you. Since your comrades are busy enough with their insignificant bickering not to notice, I took the liberty.”

“Oh great Emet-Selch, how would I ever repay you.” She laughs but it’s empty as the void. She turns to her backpack, in the pretense of searching for something—an excuse to gain seconds to gather herself no doubt.

She settles for the grapes, which end up in his lap. Of course.

"A villager gave them to me. Wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Somehow I doubt you would say no."

She shoves a couple to her mouth. “For grapes? Never.”

“Maybe you should’ve saved some for that poor child, though I must concede heroic sacrifices hardly work wonders for the apatite.”

“They don’t.” A sigh. "Regardless of what I think, though, she has made her decision. Who am I to deny her agency?” A grape gets crushed between Emet-Selch’s fingers. Surely he has heard wrong. But the wretched hero continues, reflecting his own words back to him, unwarped by cracks. “Her duty?”

Ah, the crude cruelty. A blade hurts more if it is rustled after all. Not that she is aware of it, this shade. Parroting back the words.

“Yet, you have made the attempt.”

“That I did. There should be a better course.”

“Maybe that is your problem, hero." Reproach, old and soar, tinges in his being. "Have you ever thought about that?”

“And which problem of mine do you refer to?”

“You, in your nativity, genuinely believe if someone tries hard enough there will always be a better way." Azem. Leaving. Swearing she will find a way. "But most of the time, there simply isn’t. Sometimes you have to make hard choices. You have to make sacrifices.”

“That’s a bold claim." My my, that hit a nerve. "That I do not know what sacrifice entails. You do not know me."

“Believe me, my dear, I know more about you than you probably know about yourself." Because he does. He did make an effort to know this particular shard who has brought low so many of their brethren. "Of course, you’re inclined to think what you sacrificed is unparalleled to any-”

“I never said that.”

“Regardless, those sacrifices which you hold so holy have taught you nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

It’s always the same. Almost the same. And for a moment it’s Azem whose hurt soul flinches. Whose head bows down in defeat. “Maybe you’re right.” A broken laugh as if it’s her who carries the burden of twelve millennia. “Maybe I’m destined to fail to save those I hold dear. Everyone has their fatal flaws.”

Emet-Selch looks away. Averting his eyes as he often did in their youth, the only manner of escape he allows himself. A sigh which he does not know how she interprets. He needs to change course before he makes a mistake.

“I for one do not understand your meaningless melancholy over this. As far as I understand, the original Minfilia was one of your closest friends.”

“She was.”

“The gunbreaker’s dilemma, I understand. He has taken care of the child for some time now. But surely your affection for real Minfilia far surpasses whatever affection you hold for a lass you have just met. One would think you would be happy to get your friend back.”

“And what manner of existence would that be? Let’s say I’ve brought her back despite her wishes. That I sacrificed a child to bring her back. She would be disgusted with her own existence.” She grimaces in sympathy. “She would be miserable.”

But she would be alive.

“Made peace with her loss, have you?”

“How can I?” Emet-Selch almost raises his brows, such a vehement rebuke… “It was my carelessness that led to the events of the Bloody Banquet."

“Yet it was your beloved mother who claimed her, no?” As she claimed the broken pieces of Azem’s soul. Fury lurches at his stomach. “ Hydaelyn has always excelled on cruel jokes.”

“It was Minfilia’s choice, Emet-Selch. She offered herself in the hopes of saving the world.” She abruptly halts her words. Uncharacteristically. And he wishes he didn’t recognize the retreat, the way she tucks her words back into her throat when she realizes it will be pointless.

“Go on, hero, speak your mind.” he spits the word as a poison. “Draw parallels between your friend’s misguided attempt on something she didn’t understand and my brethren’s noble sacrifice. To convince me that– Look! We’re not so different after all!” Go on, insult Hythlodaeus’ memory. “The sacrifice, if I may add, which is the very reason you and your miserable ilk continue to stand on this very star.”

He expects fear, at least a tiny speckle of shame. But instead, she furrows her brows and bears her gaze on his like dual suns. Ah, there it is again. That look. Someone in the fog, without a compass, desperately trying to find their way. Azem’s crystal burns in his pocket. It would be easy, so easy to get her back, even if she’s— wrong. So very wrong.

Alas, she hasn’t earned that yet.

“You’ve lost someone very dear to you, haven’t you?” A pause, and her face crumbles. “To your god?”

Hythlodaeus' sad smile as he walks away flashes in his mind. She had learned of it way too late. By his request. Not even having an opportunity to say goodbye. What was it that Hythlodaeus said? “In matters of sentimentality, she is even worse than you.”

Yet here she is. With half a soul and no memory.

“How very astute of you, hero. Yes, everyone I ever loved either sacrificed themselves to Zodiark or got splintered to pieces by your mother.” Like you. “There really isn’t a third option now, is there?”

She ponders her words as the silence stretches. Oh, an argument builds in her chest and the defiant twist of her mouth reminds him too much of Azem during the Final Days, it hurts.

Her words, however, are worse.

“And what makes you think that the people you labor so hard to bring back would be okay with the blood you spilled for this endeavor?”

Emet-Selch breaths in. Reins in the wrath threatening to explode. Breaths out. And gets up to leave. That’s enough masochism for a day. “You’re once again under the illusion that you’re truly alive.”

“If you succeed,” she calls out. He stops in his tracks before stepping into the portal. “If you succeed and a version of me ever finds herself in your paradise, know that I will not be okay with it.”

“If you ever find yourself in my paradise, I assure you, you shall not remember any of it. No matter how fiery your oaths of remembrance are, they will be washed clean by your rebirth. Such is the law of the underworld.” And as he looks at her over his shoulder, he pities her, truly. “Do not take it personally.”

As Hades finally steps into the shadows, he pretends not to hear her final words.

“I may not. But you, Emet-Selch, will remember.”

He does not need her to remind him of his burden.

#ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #emet selch #warrior of light #azem #ff14 #shadowbringers #shadowbringers spoilers #they live in my head rent free as always #i wrote this w tuana in mind but there's no mention of name #the parallels are killing meeee

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bloodxhound · 2 years

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VERSE INFO: FANTASY AU.

Wolfhaim, an empire built on blood and bone, furthered by fire and steel, sits in the midst of a war-torn continent. Its ruler—Carthus, a king turned emperor—reigns with an iron fist from the confines of his castle, rumored to have long gone mad with the greed for power and conquest. A sentiment shared by many, locals and foreigners alike, though those with their wits about them know to refrain from voicing such traitorous words, for fear they will cost them their tongues or worse. The Emperor’s eyes and ears are everywhere after all: they patrol the ostentatious streets of the Capital, guard the weathered roads of annexed territory, and mingle with the folks at the taverns ... always brandishing the crest of the Wolf, symbol of the Emperor’s agents, the High Order of Knights.

Ray too is supposed to join their ranks, having been born the son of the distinguished knight commander. An unruly nature paired with a distaste for authority however sees him answering to one disciplinary intervention after another, keeping his place within the Order ( and his life ) only by virtue of his father’s position. At sixteen, during a mission that’s meant to be his rite of passage, those defiant tendencies culminate in a spontaneous ploy of like-minded squires to free those the Order had come to slay. What ensues is a bloody confrontation between the organization’s trainees and its elites. Very few manage to flee, the rest falls during the ill-matched fight. In the end, it’s only Ray who is dragged back to the Capital.

The punishment that awaits him back home is a beheading, the price for treason. But on the day of his execution a deal is struck between Emperor Carthus and the resident monster hunter, Orvyn. In exchange for allowing the boy to live, he is to take him in as his protégé and teach him all there is to know about the art of slaying and controlling the savage creatures that are more and more threatening the security of the Capital and its surroundings. An invaluable offer as skilled hunters are few and far between, and Orvyn, reclusive and tight-lipped, to this day remains the only one within the bounds of the Empire to have slain a dragon. And so, does the former squire become a hunter, now calling the wilds of Wolfhaim his home, away from the suffocating streets of the Capital and the surveillance of the knights, learning and training, and butting heads with the man who saved his life.

For many years, life continues under Orvyn’s strict but patient guidance, soon becoming a father figure to the troubled young man during their numerous adventures across the land. The way of a hunter is tough, ripe with challenges and peril, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not even a decade later, after Orvyn, who had served the Empire and worked against it in equal measure, loses the immunity that his role granted him and is executed for his transgressions. Ray, bound by a promise he gave the old hunter, remains, despite all desire to leave dreadful Wolfhaim, to fulfill his duty ... and to one day have his revenge.

#fantasy au tbt.#writing verse info... my beloathed #this has lived rent-free in my mind for.....the last two yrs JKSDFJ

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