Warning: gory character death ahead.

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Chapter 4 – Misdirection

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"You know, I never expected to be here," pipes up Hope from his seated position on Lightning's left. His finger traces idle patterns on her feather skirt, which is splayed on the sand between them. "In Valhalla. With you."

"Neither have I," Lightning agrees. She lets her gaze linger on her companion for a while longer, then redirects it to the grey sky.

Although the day had well and truly transitioned into nighttime, the sky remains backlit by the unsetting sun, suspended in monochromatic twilight. In the Unseen Realm, there is no true sunset or sunrise. The night horizon holds the sun captive in a state of inertia – one of many unnatural phenomena that attests to the timelessness of the place.

Setting aside this idle observation, Lightning continues her reflection upon the last half hour or so. After their emotional discourse earlier, she and Hope had trekked along the coastline. Eventually they settled on the ground, aimless energy spent. As each remained adrift in their own thoughts, only a handful of words were exchanged between them.

For Lightning, the memory of their recent embrace had taken precedence in her mind's wanderings.

Being held by Hope – and holding him in return – had been an immense comfort, in more ways than one. After the initial shock subsided, she had found herself increasingly immersed in the act. His scent – spicy musk and saltwater and the persistent, coppery trace of blood that she hadn't quite succeeded in washing off – was just as visceral as the flesh and bone under her touch. It had lent credence to the solidarity of his presence, engraved upon her senses the fact that he was truly here.

Hope was real. Not some hallucinatory parody of her lonely desires.

(Never again will she take human company for granted. Least of all, his.)

Courtesy of his added height and breadth – yet another reminder of his adult status – Hope's arms had enclosed her fully. This, combined with his unrestrained emotion towards her, had awakened within Lightning the long-forgotten feeling of being protected and cherished. She was precious to him. The tightness of his grip, the plaintive way in which he nuzzled her temple made that plain. Although Lightning had not, by any means, hankered for affection in her old life, she could not deny how full it made her feel, like her heart was filled to capacity.

So she had clung to her partner for far longer than etiquette deemed appropriate. There had been no objection on Hope's part; he appeared to revel in her presence as much as she did in his. It was with great reluctance that she finally disengaged from him. Hope had looked just as reluctant to let go, his fingers lingering on her forearms in an unmistakeable caress.

In that moment, a wild idea had occurred to her.

She could keep Hope here.

He could stay indefinitely, as one neither aged nor required sustenance in the temporal stasis of Valhalla. Were he inclined, he could take up the mantle of knighthood and join her in the battle against Caius, even tip the balance in their favour. Surely the Goddess wouldn't refuse a second defender of the realm?

Most enticingly of all, he would keep her company. No longer must she brave the endless ages alone—

Then forbearance overrode impulse. Hope did not belong here. Lonely as it may have been, there was a life still awaiting him in the overworld. There were still more opportunities for him to do good for humanity back there, and find, if not happiness, at least purpose in the process.

Who was she to deprive him of that, let alone condemn him to her same forlorn fate?

All too aware of the selfish turn of her thoughts, Lightning had wrenched herself away from Hope. His now-bereft arms still suspended in the motion of clutching her, he had turned wide, startled eyes towards her. The loss in his expression was too awful to bear, so she had started in the opposite direction, beckoning that he follow.

If Hope held any grievances about their abrupt parting, he had yet to show it. In fact, his thoughts seem to be running on a different course altogether.

"You said you'd watched us all," he says, breaking the silence once more and returning Lightning's attention to the present. "Are the legends true, then? Can you see all of time from here?"

"Yes, I can see past and future," she confirms. "However, I need to access the Goddess's power in order to do so."

"This means that I won't be able to tap into the timestream at will, correct?" Having halted in its exploration of her feather skirt, his finger is now pressing into a spot with more force than necessary. "A shame."

She shifts to face him fully, which lifts the skirt away from his immediate reach and further abuse. "Hope, do you want to see the future?"

Eagerness gleams in his wintergreen eyes before he lowers them, unsubverted by his attempt at a nonchalant shrug. Thirteen years on, and Hope is still as transparent as he'd been as a child.

"It's generally inadvisable to do so, isn't it? Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that."

"But you are curious?" she persists.

"Who wouldn't be?" comes his rhetorical reply.

She huffs, exasperated by his prevarication. "Hope, it's only natural that you want to know what happens next. You don't have to lay out your reasons to me."

He responds with a self-deprecating smile. "You got me there," he capitulates. "The Oracle Drive has whetted my appetite for foresight, I confess."

"Insofar as I know, I don't have the ability to share my visions, but… The Goddess may grant you a brief transference of powers. Her presence is strongest at her throne." She tilts her head in the direction of the Temple of the Goddess.

He follows her cue. A furrow forms between his brows as he stares at the faraway, towering landmark. "But how will we get there?"

Lightning purses her lips, contemplating their commuting options for a moment. Her typical means – of leaping from rooftop to rooftop – is a no-go. Hope's human body does not possess the necessary constitution to execute the jumps, let alone withstand the magnitude of G-force subject upon him even were she to drag him along. And now that he is fully conscious, she doubts he would want to be ferried around bridal-style again.

Or like a sack of potatoes for that matter, she thinks with a wry grimace.

No, she would spare them both the indignity and summon her loyal steed instead. Surely Odin wouldn't begrudge them this?

She rises to her feet. This prompts Hope to do the same, dusting sand off his pants.

"Stand back."

Hope glances at her, features open with surprise and anticipation, and obeys.

Pressing her left palm against her breast, Lightning draws out a rose-shaped crystal, as she first did an entire lifetime ago in the Vile Peaks. Overture, ever her faithful blade, materialises in her right hand. A toss and a clatter of metal impacting glass later, the air becomes supercharged. This coalesces into a flurry of pink summoning glyphs, from which a majestic armoured horse emerges.

With a resounding neigh, he leaps into the open, scattering rose petals and tendrils of static in his wake. Gilt hooves touch down on the shore, and Lightning finds herself face to face with four glowing, otherworldly eyes.

A familiar, electrified pressure builds at the back of Lightning's head, indicating that the mystical being had addressed her.

Facilitated by the psychic link between Eidolon and Master, Odin's voice – like that of the Goddess' – is a direct projection of intent into her consciousness. This form of communication is pure and primal, without language. To reconcile it at the level of human comprehension, Lightning's mind automatically translates it into words she can understand.

You called, my liege? Odin follows this pronouncement with a toss of his great metallic head, pawing at the sand.

I want you to take me and Hope to the Temple of the Goddess, she commands.

As you wish.

Without further instruction, Odin folds his knees, allowing them easy access to his back. Lightning does not waste another second, dispelling Overture and clambering aboard. She extends her hand to Hope, who, unlike her, is slow to respond. Nostalgia mists over his wintergreen eyes as they take in the scene of Lightning mounted upon her Eidolon.

"Brings back memories…"

Then he steps forward and grasps her outstretched hand, propelling himself into the seat behind her. His arms fasten around her midsection as Odin rises, ready.

The Eidolon lifts his right foot and brings it back down in a powerful, energised stomp. Manifested by the subsequent ripple of magic, hundred upon thousands of crystalline shards shimmer in the air around them. The shards disperse, then reassemble into a perfect parabolic arc that extends from Odin's feet towards the Temple of the Goddess. Despite its insubstantial appearance, the newly formed bridge does not give way when the Eidolon rests a hoof on its razor-thin surface.

Satisfied, Odin leaps forward and begins their ascent. Were either of his passengers to make the mistake of looking down, they would be treated to the disconcerting view of galloping atop nothing. Vicious winds slash past as they climb higher and higher, and the cityscape's sharp edges and peaks melt away into a grey blur beneath them.

Within minutes, the trio reach their destination: the roofless balcony of the Temple's topmost floor. Patting down her flyaway hair, Lightning dismounts onto the weathered stone tiles. No less windblown, Hope follows suit behind her. Odin alone stays his ground, awaiting their return with all the patience of a dutiful steed.

She and Hope make their way to the pinnacle of the Temple. Through antiqued hallways they walk, their footfalls thunderous in the dusty silence. A veritable wasteland of ruined structures flanks their progress; time's ravages do not distinguish between the dilapidated railings, broken pillars and crumbling steps that lay around them.

Eventually, they arrive at a large, open chamber. There are no furnishings save one: a magnificent throne near the opposite wall. Comprised of hewn blue crystal several metres high, it glows with a soft, inner radiance.

Lightning throws out her arm, signalling Hope to stop. He complies, wintergreen eyes alight with undisguised curiosity. Then, with slow, reverent steps, she approaches the throne. The closer she gets, the thinner the mental barriers between herself and Etro become, until she is naught but a stray pebble in the golden sea of the Goddess' consciousness.

Before the throne, Lightning drops down to one knee and presses her palm against its base. The glassy surface, contrary to automatic assumption, is warm to the touch. Adopting the mien of humble supplicant, Lightning offers up her prayer:

"Benevolent Etro, I seek your favour once more. Please grant Hope the ability to see into time."

Like a repeat of the Goddess' response – or lack thereof – to Lightning's initial plea to save Hope, silence prevails for the next few minutes. Then, there is a palpable shift in the atmosphere. High above her, the clouds part to allow a stray beam through, blanketing Lightning and the throne in a layer of incandescent white. This is accompanied by the descent of a gossamer weight upon her mind – the psychic equivalent of a door-knock.

Acceding to its request for permission, Lightning yields.

The pebble that embodies her identity sinks into the depths as the golden waves of Etro's consciousness rise, engulfing her whole. A warm, pleasant tingle suffuses her body, and she feels a sense of dissociation wash over her. Their union established, Lightning relaxes, replete with the Goddess' familiar, welcome essence.

As though guided by invisible strings, her limbs straighten, pulling her upright before reorientating her in Hope's direction. These same strings also draw her eyelids shut. When she reopens them several heartbeats later, she is looking at Hope not through her own lenses of storm-blue, but Mywnn's luminous sapphire.

"Come."

Delivered through Lightning's voice, the command reverberates like a choir, resonant with the raw, ancient power of divinity behind it.

Across the chamber, Hope startles. His expression is one of awe – and no small amount of fear. Nevertheless, he is quick to obey, closing the distance between them in long-legged strides. As he nears her, she can feel the nervous anticipation emanating from him, made evident by the rigidity of his stance.

Under Etro's instruction, Lightning spells away the fittings of her right forearm, exposing it from elbow to fingertip. Then she raises this same arm and takes a purposeful step towards Hope. In contrast, he retreats half a step back before catching himself, ostensibly resisting the instinct to flee.

"Trust me, Hope."

Wintergreen eyes snap wide. Even through the multiple layers of hers and Etro's merged voice, he hears her. With a swallow that makes his Adam's apple bob noticeably, Hope nods.

She touches her bare fingertips to his forehead, which elicits a small, not-quite-suppressed flinch from him. A jolt sizzles through her arm as Etro uses her body as a live conduit, weaving all three of their consciousness together.

Activating her prophetic sight, the Goddess rewinds to the event of Hope's assassination. Here, she presses the figurative play button. One after the other, the images flood their interlocked minds.

They witness Lightning's intervention from mere hours ago. Firstly, there was her emergence into the red haze of the security-tripped Augusta Tower. This was followed by the gunning down of the four Academy personnel, Hope amongst them. Next came Lightning's trouncing victory against the rogue AI's minions, then her desperate – and fortunately successful – attempt to revive Hope.

In her preoccupation, she had not noticed a fifth casualty.

Two floors below them scurried about a petite young woman. Her blonde, pixie-cut hair dishevelled from exertion, she rushed from room to room, typing into a handheld device all the while. Ultimately, her efforts proved futile. Fright parted her lips as a Luminous Puma materialised out of the data eddies before her, blocking her path. Frantic, she turned around, only to find herself sandwiched between the feline and an approaching Orion.

The scream had barely left her throat when the militarised unit raised its blade-arm, decapitating her in a clean swipe. With an obscene thunk, her severed head fell to the floor. Then the rest of her body crumpled, blood exiting from her neck wound in a fountain of crimson. Some splattered against once-brilliant blue eyes, which were now frozen in unseeing terror.

Underneath Lightning's fingertips, Hope gives a violent jerk. A strangled noise escapes from him, high-pitched and animal-sounding.

His distress lances straight through Lightning's heart, prompting her to act blindly. Without warning, she overrides Etro's control – ousting the deity in the process – and shuts down the vision.

Thus released from his psychic shackles, Hope jumps away as though her touch had burned him.

"They killed Alyssa," he blurts out, shaking his head in horrified disbelief. "God, they killed Alyssa. Since she wasn't with me at the time, I hoped that she'd managed to—" he cuts himself off, unable to continue that train of thought. "They took off her head, there's no way to recover from that. Oh god, I can't believe she's—"

Burying his face in his hand, Hope dissolves into incoherent rambles. Made wider by his trauma, the two-metre gap he'd put between them yawns into a seemingly impassable gulf. Lightning can only stare at him – so lost is she at how to respond.

Alyssa Zaidelle was Hope's professional shadow and the closest thing he'd had to a friend. Their relationship had never progressed beyond that of colleagues (though not for lack of trying on Alyssa's part). Even so, there was no doubt he cared for her. Watching her gruesome demise represents another cruel addition to the many misfortunes already heaped upon him.

"I'm sorry," Lightning offers after a few minutes, the condolence sounding trite and inadequate even to her own ears. "I didn't know she was there. But even if I did, there's no way I could've reached her in time."

"N-not your fault," Hope chokes out.

"Do you—do you still wish to continue?"

He lets his hand fall away from his face and draws several deep, steadying breaths. When he meets her gaze again, he looks like he had aged several years. However, determination shines bright in his haggard, tear-stained eyes.

"Yes. I do."

They resume their position from before, consecrated fingers pressed to mortal brow. For their unceremonious separation earlier, Lightning extends to Etro an apology, which the deity answers with tolerant dismissal. She then surrenders her body to Etro's will once more. After re-integrating herself, the Goddess completes the mental circuit between all three participants and guides them back into the realm of prophecy.

They land in the middle of Hope and Alyssa's official declaration of death. From there, events unravel in the same fashion as Lightning's initial vision, like twin threads on the immutable spool of destiny. There is the token memorial service, complete with its ensemble of empty caskets. Next comes the lockdown and fruitless investigation into Augusta Tower, culminating in its abandonment. The following four centuries depict the gradual rise of Academia, only for the city's downfall to take no more than a single night. (At the scene of the Cie'th-filled carnage, Hope lets out a loud gasp.) Finally, the vision ends with the collapse of the crystal pillar, which sends Cocoon crashing down in a disaster of unprecedented proportions.

Her part concluded, Etro relinquishes command of her servant's body. Her accompanying corona of light retreats, allowing muted darkness to take its place as it disappears behind its cloud curtain. The unearthly glow recedes from Lightning's eyes, as does the warmth from her limbs. All of a sudden, she is left feeling cold and bereft.

A minute passes in which she fights to regain her bearings, overcome her visceral lament of the Goddess' withdrawal. Then Hope's voice probes the silence, soft and tentative, "Light?"

She turns towards him, and spots his worried form a few metres to her right. Having noticed her disorientation, Hope had stepped away to give her some breathing space.

"W-What?" Groggy from reacclimatising, Lightning's reply comes out in a croak.

The look Hope returns her is apprehensive. "Is it… you?"

"Yeah, it's just me now," she confirms, schooling her voice into something more normal-sounding. "Etro has gone."

Her companion nods and relaxes a fraction. "That was—" he starts, casting around for the right word, "—a unique experience."

"I suppose," Lightning says lackadaisically, bringing up her right forearm for closer inspection. A squint of concentration later, and her glove and gauntlet reappear in a bright flash. "That's not the first time Etro's done that."

Her casual disregard of the matter causes Hope's eyebrows to soar into his fringe. "You mean, she takes possession of you on a more-than-occasional basis?" he asks, part-incredulous and part-astonished. "I don't know what's more disquieting, the fact that she does at all or the fact that it doesn't seem to bother you."

She shrugs. "Does it matter? We got what we came here for."

"Indeed," he agrees, though the incredulity has yet to fade from his expression. "Though I can't say I particularly enjoyed the Goddess' gift, gracious as she was to give it. The forecast of our future is dismal, to say the least. Is what we've seen really how things will turn out?"

Baffled by the implications of said forecast, Lightning shakes her head. "About that, there's one thing I don't understand," she muses aloud. "Why hasn't the future changed? Shouldn't it change, since you didn't die this time round?"

"'This time round'?" repeats Hope, frowning at her choice of words.

"In every timeline that I can see, you die in the tower."

His frown becomes more pronounced. "I die – in every timeline? But I was under the impression that there is only one true timeline?"

"My bad, I meant to say 'permutations'," she amends. "Normally, you'd be correct. However, the timeline has diverged thanks to the paradoxes. When the paradoxes are resolved one by one, the permutations eventually collapse into the one true timeline."

She moves into Hope's vicinity, meeting his gaze with her own resolute one. "That's what I was aiming for when I prevented your death. The true timeline cannot be one in which you die. I refuse to believe that. So I took it upon myself to correct it, correct the timeline, except—"

"—I'm no longer in it," he finishes for her.

"Yeah." She expels a troubled huff and folds her arms. "It's as though my intervention hadn't made any kind of impact."

He taps a gloved finger against his chin. "Maybe you need to put me back?" he suggests.

"You think it's that simple?"

It is Hope's turn to shrug. "Who knows? You've taken me here, which excised me from the timeline. Therefore, it would make sense that I have no further involvement in it. Ditto for the reverse."

"But how can we get back safely?" she argues. "In case you've forgotten, there's a murderous AI waiting for us back there."

"Yes, that presents quite the quandary, doesn't it?" he remarks with an ironic quirk of his lips. Then his eyes take on a steely cast. "But we'll have to figure it out. I must go back. So many things have gone wrong, and I need to fix them." His expression changes once more, becoming pained. "Whatever is fixable, anyway. Alyssa and my other co-workers…"

"I'm sorry," she says automatically.

He waves off her apology with a shake of his silver head. "As I've already said, that's not your fault. But I can't help but wonder – what if you'd gone back to an earlier point in time? Before all of this happened…"

Although his previous sentence made apparent that he'd absolved her of blame, the implied accusation hangs heavy in the air. "The time gate itself determines the era, not the traveller," replies Lightning with more than a hint of defensiveness. "But even if I could change that, I still wouldn't know when to go back to."

To her relief, Hope does not pursue that line of inquiry. "It does beg the question of how it happened," he says, gesticulating thoughtfully. "What caused the tower's AI to go haywire? We've put in every imaginable security measure. Evidently, our efforts weren't enough. We humans aren't infallible, of course. But something tells me external interference was involved. Perhaps the effect of a paradox?"

He breaks out in a pace, his booted soles clacking against the stone floor. "Regardless, one thing is clear. We were wrong to go ahead with the proto-fal'Cie project. The fal'Cie responsible for bringing down the Academy's future capital is the same one we'd put there in the first place. Adam, our manmade fal'Cie.

"Of course, the project isn't due to be completed for a good century or two, but we set the plans in motion. Ironic, isn't it? After the Fall, we strove to rebuild the world with human technology alone. Yet, when faced with crisis, we sought the mystical means of our previous captors.

"Originally, we wanted the proto-fal'Cie's power to re-levitate Cocoon. Then we thought to expand its utility to include protection of Academy property. You see, the anti-Academy campaigners often resort to acts of vandalism to express their sentiments. So, by imbuing the proto-fal'Cie with defensive capabilities, we would ensure that this part of our future is extra-secure. Insurance, you can say.

"In my present time, there is an ongoing debate about the need for certain functions – in particular, the ability to turn people into l'Cie and Cie'th. As you might imagine, I'm strongly opposed to this. The vast majority of people are. Therefore, it boggles my mind that the other side eventually won, and even more so that the rest of us followed through with their decision." He pauses for a moment to shake his head. "That makes very little sense, indeed."

"Ultimately, I'm disappointed, but unsurprised that Adam turned against us in the end. In our hubris, we believed we could engineer a fal'Cie to do our bidding. And so we were hoisted by our own petard."

Ceasing his back-and-forth movements, he turns to face her. "I guess it's back to the drawing board. There has to be another solution to stop Cocoon from falling." He chases up this statement with a grimace, as though he had just sucked on a particularly sour lemon. "Adam just sat and watched it happen, after all. We really should've known that fal'Cie can't be trusted."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something," Lightning commiserates, unfurling her arms. Then a figurative lightbulb goes off in her head. "Or maybe you already have. It could be one of the options you didn't explore because you went ahead with the proto-Fal'Cie project instead."

His eyes widen with dawning realisation. "You could be right. Perhaps it's the de-crystallisation idea, where we chip away at the crystal layer, slowly shelling it like an egg. Or the excavation idea, where we dig a giant hole to contain Cocoon and the fallout. Or the evacuation idea, where we inhabit a separate floating entity, like an ark…"

He claps his hands out of the blue, bubbling over with anxious energy. "I need to let the research team know straightaway. We've already lost three years, not to mention a bunch of good people. We can't afford to let our plans go awry again. Light, please. Take me back."

"You don't have to keep asking," she chides, his excitement having infected her with its more somber counterpart. Even though she knows that it is inevitable, she cannot help but mourn his departure. Unbidden, the words slip from her, "It's just—must we say goodbye again so soon?"

His gaze pierces her with the acuity of an arrow. "You don't want me to go," he says slowly, voice soft with wonderment.

Ashamed that she had given herself away, Lightning lets out a loud exhalation and turns from him.

However, Hope does not allow her to retreat further. Surging forward, he captures her hands in his larger ones. His eyes seek out hers, and she raises her own to meet them. At the sight of his unabashed empathy within those wintergreen depths, an answering warmth blossoms inside her.

"Light, I understand. I know how lonely you've been. If it's any consolation, I want nothing more than to remain here with you. But I need to go back. I need to build our future." He squeezes her hands, and the look he gives her takes on an intense, longing quality, not unlike the one from when he begged her to return with him earlier. "A future where we can all be together."

Touched by his sentiment, she finally accedes. "Alright. We should be able to return through the time gate…"

As though mentioning the temporal device had triggered something unpleasant, Hope untangles his hands from hers and purses his lips. "Is that the only way out of here?"

"I'd say so," she affirms, puzzled at his abrupt change of attitude. "Temporal rifts can connect two different places or eras, but more often than not they're just pockets of mismatched time."

"Not to mention they're subject to random circumstance?"

"Yeah. But it doesn't matter, since Etro can't conjure them anyway. Only time gates."

"Damn." His frown intensifies, highlighting the fine web of lines around his eyes. "I was hoping that you have another idea, but we'll see how that goes first. I mean, if you took me through it, I should theoretically be able to go back the same way, shouldn't I?"

She raises a quizzical eyebrow at him. "Why makes you so worried about that?"

"Suffice it to say I have a theory, and it's anything but useful," he says darkly. "If this turns out to be a bust—"

"Let's go find out."

Without preamble, Lightning snatches Hope's hand, whisking them back from whence they came.

After ferrying his two passengers back across the crystal bridge, Odin deposits them on the shore. The Eidolon then dematerialises into thin air, leaving them to their business.

The time gate stands a few metres away from their landing point, whirring softly. Having surrendered its virgin access, it now bears a scorched appearance. Black tarnishes the once-pristine lustre of its metal ribs, and a writhing red mist spills from its centre.

Certain of her admittance, Lightning approaches it and raises her hand. The time gate responds accordingly, whirring faster and unlatching its main hinge in preparation for entry. Great rings of ancient script form around and orbit the structure, and her body becomes swathed in golden motes. She feels herself sublimating, as though she is becoming as weightless as the air particles surrounding her.

Beckoned by the dimensional crossroads beyond, she floats up and towards the gate's golden entrance. However, she opts out of the process with a mental shake, and drifts back to the ground harmlessly.

As soon as her sabatons alight on the sand, Lightning turns around to face her companion. "Your turn now."

Hope nods and steps forward, his expression tense. To her surprise – and growing trepidation – he passes the threshold upon which the time gate would typically activate, sidling close to the metal frame. He then presses his gloved fingers against its charred surface.

Nothing happens.

There isn't so much as a glow or click to indicate that the time gate had detected Hope's presence. There isn't even the appearance of a barrier to deny his entry. Just nothing.

"Looks like this isn't an option," he mutters, narrowing his eyes at the offending contraption.

Lightning blinks, bewildered. "It doesn't make any sense. Why should it allow only me to go through, but not you? It let us both through before."

Beside the time gate, Hope has gone stiff. "I should've known this would happen," he says, every word vibrating with fury. Then something inside him snaps, and he slams his fist against the metal in a pique of uncharacteristic violence. However, his efforts do not earn him so much as a dent. Just like its complete lack of reaction towards him, the time gate had absorbed the demonstration of his anger with equal indifference.

When Hope speaks again, his voice escalates to a shout. "I should've known this would happen! The time gates have never reacted in my presence, so why should I expect them to start now? Why did I even bother getting my hopes up? Apparently I'm still missing that inexplicable cosmic stamp that everyone else managed to get. Everyone except me," the last word comes out in a bitter hiss.

"Hope…" Unsure of what to say in the face of his misfortune, Lightning can only call out his name.

"Guess that explains why I'm no longer in the timeline, huh?" he snarls. His head droops forward, obscuring his agonised expression behind a curtain of silver hair. "Because I am physically incapable of returning."

"Hope, I honestly did not expect this," she pleads, beset with guilt for having placed him in this situation, however unwittingly. "Gods, I'm so sorry."

The inert time gate, Hope's conspicuous absence in the timeline's future. Both are pieces of incontrovertible evidence that point towards one damning conclusion:

Hope is trapped in Valhalla.

A/N: I'm sure many of you saw this coming. As always, comments are love.