It seemed that the cold floor continued to drink the rest of his life from the body. The spirit of death, probably, already bent over him - his eyes clouded with darkness. His limbs grew cold, he almost did not feel his arms or legs. Now, when the deed was done, and nothing could be done about it, he only wanted to leave with unburdened heart. But with the last convulsive pulse shocks in the brain, the question continued to beat: "Why?" Why in the last moments of life were doubts spreading poison through his veins?

Everything began when he, just like now, almost bade farewell to his life. At that time, all he had, been accompanied by anger. It is not that the hatred of fellow countrymen ever touched his mind. It was that very day, at that moment, he was ready to hate them. Blind people, captives of an imaginary collar, by denying methodically adding links to imaginary chains. He stood before them - a living example of the fact that one can integrate into society better and more progressively of their own, to become more than fishermen and peasants, who bend backs just to feed themselves. They could rise above themselves at the cost of only the old faith in the Kami. But they only wanted to kill him.

And then the sun rose above the sky of life. The sword in His hands was like the brush of a calligrapher, and He himself was majestic and graceful.
Zenos ...

The service has become like a heavy dream. One way or another, thoughts returned to the savior, becoming more intrusive day by day. He found himself mentally talking to a prince, retelling his life and daily affairs. It was thought that Zenos would certainly understand. Or maybe He would invite him to fight side by side - the days of the prince simply could not pass as monotonously as his own. It was getting harder to wake up in the morning, which did not concern the days when he could see Zenos. Unfortunately, there were not many of them, and the prince did not smile at any of them. And how he would like to ...

The days were woven together in the months, he managed to achieve the almost impossible, by being enrolled into the personal legion of Zenos. There was an opportunity to see prince every day, and with it awareness - He is also locked in a cell of routine duties. And it angered. How was it, that the Emperor could not understand, his son was created not for the routine duty, not for driving the common truths into the heads of savages. He is made for greatness. Once, having gained courage, he shared these thoughts with Zenos himself. That day was one of the best. After listening to him, Zenos smiled, with the peculiar majesty, saying: "You do understand." And the same day became the starting point of tormenting doubts. He wanted more! Greater than the only casual cast phrase. And the prince's eyes were cold and indifferent. Still standing in the corridor, he seemed to observe with his own eyes how the solar halo was extinguished around the receding figure of Zenos.

Then why did it seem as if he was not actually listened to?

And yet, Zenos was still his sky and the sun. Over time, he realized that the reason was not only that it was easy to attach to your savior. He was simply lonely. All his Doman friends have forgotten or turned away from him, having branded a traitor, and not numerous imperial friends remained in the capital, and even his parents have long ceased to notice him. Here he was a stranger. He wanted to become needed. Not useful - a thought that he had learned from his parents since childhood, become useful to a superior, pretend if necessary, and rise as high as possible. Needed. He really wanted to think that he found such a person in Zenos. And so, he drove his doubts away.

And then the rays of his sun were extinguished ...

He tried to rise again, feeling that she was here. Hanem. He wondered, what she felt right now? And did she ever feel anything? Ears had heard the sound of receding steps. She is leaving. Hurries to the gilded pedestal. Warrior of Light ... but that's just reflected light, absorbed from people like him. She feeds on their praises, and cannot stop. Because otherwise she will be devoured by her own emptiness. He would have laughed if it hadn't hurt so much. Yes, such fools deserve heroes like that.

It was difficult to calculate how long his soundless night lasted. Later came the realization that much of what happened in those days fell out of his memory. He could wake up in the middle of the street in the capital, and not understand how he was here. Consciousness was playing with him, throwing images from the past. He did not want to eat, he did not want to sleep. He stopped recognizing the pale creature with overgrown bristles in the mirror, staring at him with red eyes from his matted hair. All this nearly cost him his place in the legion. And maybe even more ... Then, on the edge, he pulled himself together and continued to live, day after day feeding his inner beast. Hatred. Sometimes she dragged him with claws from the inside, sometimes cozily curled up in the heart like the ball, but when she appeared, she never left. Over time, he began to treat her like a friend.

He spent the remaining money by ordering a portrait for himself. No, not of Prince Zenos. This sunny look was always with him, hidden in the memories. On the canvas was she - Hanem. He could chop it with a blade and shoot it, watching the gaps multiply as the fabric spreaded. It is a pity that no blood flowed from these wounds. His thirst for them remained unquenchable.

But having conquered death, the sun rose again. It became clear that the savages and their "hero" would do anything, as long as their legend lived. In the frame of this pitiful lie, the greatness of Zenos seemed even more dazzling. And he was just happy. And all of this: a vile lie, hate spreading through his veins, and even the days he did not remember - everything looked insignificant. A day came by, another ... and then fear came, that all this would be taken away again.

He returned to the remains of the canvas. To call it a portrait was no longer possible. Now he wanted to kill this beast personally. Even if in the end, she was not able to take the life of his master.

He remembered how frightened he was, when Zenos called him. Although no, fear was not an appropriate definition of his feelings. But the palms were sweating, and was like someone used an electric lash all along the spine. He was finally needed by Zenos, and he would rather die than let him down. Whatever it takes. In this he managed to swear to himself dozens of times before he finally appeared before Zenos.

The master's plan seemed perfect. Although it was difficult to understand why he wanted to restrain the populares. Their looks were more progressive, not so rigid, and thus aroused sympathy. Not only the conquest and destruction of the beliefs of primitive tribes, but the desire to give them progress, to integrate them into civilized society on an equal footing. But perhaps now was not the time. When the savage Eorzea became so brazen that they openly attack the province, summoning the Kami, or Primal, whatever they called it; when they send saboteurs led by their "Warrior of Light"; when, finally, both Doma and Ala Mhigo got out of their hands, rejecting everything that was carefully built by the empire - is it time for internal squabbles?

Doubts woke up on the way again. The notorious: "Why?". Why didn't he dare to ask his questions? Is it just because he melted at the sight of this face, these eyes, that suddenly became so warm? Or did he cling too much to unexpected happiness?

In Doma, he finally saw her in person. It was also a kind of dream. He did not know what exactly he wanted to see. Dirty savage? Or lost, but still, a hero? It was hard to hold back, to behave nicely and diplomatically, as befitted a new status. Watching her, so many times he wanted to take out the sword and cut her down where she stood. She barely spoke, but smiled all the time. All that remained, was to observe, trying to understand what could be hiding behind such a facade. She fought well. This had to be recognized even through the bitten lips and the gnashing of teeth. But the face of that Elezen girl was like an open book, while the face of the enemy remained the same - lean and empty. The whole walk through the Doma, which he even enjoyed in some measure, went to hell. It all resembled a system: the girl fought — the girl was praised, the girl was admired; she echoed their thoughts, generously giving everyone empty smiles – she was admired more. By the end of their little walk together, he realized that she was a mirror. Ideally reflecting the aspirations of others without owning her own. For this, he also hated her. Such person was unworthy of becoming an opponent to Lord Zenos.

Just before the departure, it was all too easy to be alone with her. Being accustomed to thanks and universal adoration, the girl did not feel any trick, giving him one of these smiles. At that moment, standing very close, he saw her eyes. Absolutely empty, they did not even have complacency. Perhaps he could kill her then. He really wanted to. He was restrained only by the understanding that the master's plan would be foiled in that case. But still, he delivered himself a little pleasure. Let her suffer. Let her be tormented - maybe it will awaken something in her.

At night he had nightmares. In them she had the face of Zenos, and vice versa. Waking up in sweat, he could not stop comparing them. Both without emotionality, the same emptiness in the eyes, the same look through you despite the smiling lips. He gave himself a slap in the face, but his seditious thoughts did not leave him.

Chill spilled over the body. The sounds of her steps faded. Hanem - is just a tool in their hands. But no, not even that. She does not exist at all and never used to. There is a girl who learned how to fight. All the rest - Eorzea just made up itself. It almost suited him. Almost - because damn doubts have done their dirty deed. He was dying with the thought that he himself had kindled his sun, which in fact never shone. And it will die with him.