The storm raged. Not merely overhead, but all around. What umbrellas had made their way up to the Citadel rooftop had promptly been lost in the winds. They swept around him now, whipping his cape to one side and threatening to tear the crown from his head. The others fared no better: his retinue were soaked and standing with feet braced against the wind, while a few representative members of the council warily huddled as far from the edge as possible, even as the storm fought to throw them nearer.
Clarus was more bold. He stood at the lip of the rooftop, looking down into the Citadel square and the crowded streets beyond. "I little like this audience."
The tens of thousands of people gathered below were little more than a sea of umbrellas. How they hoped to see anything at all over their heads was anyone's guess. But they would hear even less, if the roaring of the winds and the crackling of thunder was even half as loud on the ground.
"Y'know…" Cid ventured. "Most people'd call you mad for standing on the roof in a thunderstorm."
"I note you're standing with us," Weskham said.
"I can play senile with them best of 'em, boy."
Cor gave a derisive snort. "Play, he says."
"Let's not fight, children," Clarus said. "This is a serious situation. Lady Oracle, are you prepared?"
Sylva fixed a wide-eyed gaze on Clarus, but gave a single, tremulous nod. The blood of the Oracle held the power and knowledge to call forth the Astrals. That did not mean many of them had ever put this into practice. Not for many generations.
At least they knew Ramuh was already present, if unseen.
Sylva stepped forward as Clarus fell back into line at Regis' right hand side. For a time she seemed to stand motionless, as if frozen by fear in the face of the power she meant to wield. And yet there was a stirring in the air. Over the din of the storm, he became aware of another sound, building in power: a steady voice singing a wordless tune.
Sylva's voice wrapped around them, cutting through thunderous roars until it seemed the storm quieted around her. Her magic rose up and swept through like a restless wind, pulling every which way until at last it grasped hold of something.
The thunderous pounding sensation in the back of Regis' mind that had faded into the background noise of his life during the past months now swelled. He fought against the reflex to grasp his throbbing head as thunder rolled and cracked inside his very mind. He grit his teeth to keep from crying out—which did nothing to lessen the pain.
He could show no weakness. Not even a hint of it. If he meant to face down an Astral and come out ahead, he would need every ounce of his strength in full display.
Lightning streaked across the sky, mercifully failing to strike either the rooftop on which they stood or the ground below, which held the ever-growing crowds of onlookers. And when their eyes cleared after the blinding flash, a face hung in the clouds.
Though he had seen Ramuh's likeness depicted in stone and on canvas, it was nothing to standing before the Fulgarian in person. Had he indeed been standing, Ramuh would have towered above them. Instead he hung in the sky, largely human in appearance and yet, despite his ancient visage and receding hairline, he exuded power. Regis was struck by the sudden and inexplicable urge to kneel.
He nearly did so. Indeed, he had taken a step and begun to lower to one knee before his mind caught up with the compulsion.
Ramuh. The Fulgarian. For all that he was a colossus of power, and a figure of worship across Eos, he was Lucis' enemy. The cause of the endless storm. One bond among six that tied the darkness to the physical world.
Regis transformed the motion into a forward step. All around him, the others had fallen to the strength of Ramuh's will and knelt, disoriented, in the puddle of a roof. They were not to be blamed. The Fulgarian was the only one deserving of his ire.
"Brothers," he called over the storm and one by one they tore their eyes from Ramuh and fixed their gaze on Regis. "Lucis does not kneel before tyrants."
He reached for the strength of kings and found it waiting. The Armiger leaped to his call, but more than that: as he drew strength from the Wall, leaving a facade rather than a barrier, it granted him wings. Weightless, he lifted off the rooftop and hung in the air over the others while six spectral glaives turned slow circles around him.
Weskham bowed his head. "Your Majesty. We kneel before you alone."
"Then rise before me," Regis said. "And stand beside me."
As the others clambered to their feet, Regis turned. Sylva stood at the edge of the roof before Ramuh; to her credit she had remained standing despite the Fulgarian's silent demand. The slightest thought propelled Regis forward. From up close he could detect the faint tremble that ran through Sylva's entire body.
"Oh Fulgarian," she called over the storm and, despite the shaking of her body, her voice was remarkably clear. "I, Sylva Nox Fleuret, blood of the Oracle, call you forth to treat with the Father King. I beg of you: hear his words and consider."
The Fulgarian's pale yellow eyes drifted over the few assembled on the rooftop, as if with disdain for those who dared to stand before him. When his gaze settled on Regis, Regis felt a piercing scrutinization shoot through both body and mind.
"Thou beseecheth me: hear the words of the defiant king who taketh fate in his own hands. No cause for this have I." His voice was the rumbling of thunder; the words were not in any tongue known to Regis and yet the meaning was clear in his mind. For all that he stood in defiance against them, the Astrals had untold powers indeed.
But this was no time to question his path.
Regis drew himself up, lifting ever higher in the air until the rooftop with his companions had faded to a small square, well beneath his feet, and he hovered directly before the Fulgarian's face.
"Then allow me to give you cause: My bloodline has been made to oppose the Starscourge and banish the darkness—this you must admit, for the Astrals had a hand in shaping what Caelums have come. And so I now stand in opposition of the heart of the darkness and the root of all evil on Eos. I stand in opposition to the Astrals."
The Fulgarian's pale eyes were upon him. An unnerving gaze: either the irises were such a pale yellow or the whites were jaundiced such that hardly any distinction remained between the two. It gave the impression of being stared at out of tiny black pin pricks in a pale yellow field.
"Do you deny this?"
"Where hast thou heard these tales?"
Avoiding the question? Two could play at this game. Regis pulled more power into the Armiger until blue flames danced across his skin and burst around him.
"DO YOU DENY THIS?" He roared over the howling wind and pounding thunder. "Do you deny that the Six stand as the foundation upon which all death and suffering and darkness spread? Do you deny that you willfully made the choice to allow all of humanity for all of history to suffer due to the missteps of but a few?"
For the first time since Sylva had spoken, the Fulgarian's gaze drifted away from him. He seemed to diminish in size and appeared, in Regis' mind at least, to grow more wizened and ancient. A dark shadow passed over his face.
"Not willfully, no," he said, and where once there had been booming tones now sounded the distant crackling of faint and spindly lightning. "For we never intended that the dark should grow so vast and so powerful. To punish, yes… but not to doom."
"Yet doomed us you have," Regis said. "Over a hundred generations of my bloodline have passed in furious contest against this—and all due to a grievous error on your part. The suffering has been nigh endless. And it will continue. Even now you contribute to it: you claim you visit justice upon a defiant king, but in truth you only perpetuate the darkness, creating a bleak and soggy mire for the disease to spread and thrive. If it is just deserts you seek, you might turn your eyes inward before you settle your indignation upon Lucis."
Even the wind seemed to quiet in the face of Regis' accusations. What once had been a budding tornado lost conviction and whipped half-heartedly at his clothes.
"Thou turnest thy accusations improperly. Mine kin can do nothing to stop what hast already begun. But thine can. If thou wishest to banish the dark: stand with us rather than against us."
"Do you lie to me merely to convince me to step back in line and do as I have been bidden? Or does your denial truly run so deeply that you have convinced yourself your words are true?" Regis asked. "All this death and destruction can be undone. You know it to be true. All you need do is let go the ties that bind you to Eos and your part in the tale will be through."
The winds diminished further. All around, an unnatural silence stretched. His clothes hung still and motionless about him. The dark sky was unlit by lightning. Even the ubiquitous patter of rain had ceased.
Remuh squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. "Thou asketh me to end my existence to banish the dark."
"I ask no more than what has been demanded of my own family. The difference is this, Fulgarian: I ask you to die for a mistake you made."
"Even should I agree, the Starscourge will not be banished."
"No. But one tie that binds it to Eos will be severed. And your willingness to accept responsibility for your wrongs will inspire your kin to do the same."
"Yes…" He said after a time "More willing to follow in my wake, they shall be."
His eyes opened suddenly, sharply, and some decision settled on his face. "Speak first with Leviathan. Pass onto her these words: 'Let the storm and sea rest forevermore beyond the reaches of churning darkness.' And the Hydraean will lay down her head in rest. For Titan I have scant advice. Thou must face down the tenacity of stone with thy own and prove thou shalt not break. The Glacian stands already in thy midst, but she will await the final rest of the Infernian before she bows to thee. As for the last…" Here he paused and shook his enormous head. "Thou shalt never convince the Draconian to go quietly into the night."
Regis was too taken aback by the outpouring of advice and support to immediately compose a response.
"Thank you," he managed, though it seemed woefully insufficient.
"Though I step forth into oblivion, let justice be rained down upon one final misdooer. Perpetuators of darkness. Farewell, Father King. Save the light."
And with those final words he was gone, like the vanishing of morning mist in the sunshine. All around, beams of light broke through thinning clouds and for the first time in five months, clear skies shone overhead while the orange light of a setting sun washed over wet Lucis.
