64
Fiat lux
N.D. 1
I
When the Ronin he had targeted disappeared without him even being able to touch it, for a moment Gladio did not take note of it. He simply looked around, perfectly clear and responsive in his fighting rage, looking for the next opponent to eliminate in order to go on.
Around him, he saw other daemons dematerialize as had happened to the Ronin. Ignis had fallen to his knees, sixty or seventy feet away, but he was conscious. Prompto kept aiming the bioblaster now at one, now at another daemon.
Only at that moment did Gladio think about raising his head. He had been so focused on the fighting that he hadn't immediately realized that the purple darkness where they had lived for ten years was not as thick as ever. The curtain of clouds that shielded the sun's rays was thinning. Under his incredulous eyes, it fell apart. A ray of sunshine – it must still be afternoon, even though it seemed to him that he had been fighting nonstop for days – penetrated the curtain and illuminated the Citadel stairway. Then another, and another.
Gladio fell to his knees, speechless, as the daemons around him continued to dissolve and the Citadel Square was flooded with light. He fell to his knees, lowered his head, and for the first time in his life as an adult, he cried.
II
The organic weapon – the Omega, she had called it up to that moment in her head and with the others, because she was almost certain that it would be the last thing she would ever see in her life – crumpled before her eyes. Silia, who was about to warp into yet another ineffective attack, one of the last that she believed she would be able to launch, fell back to the ground, confused. She was so weak that she barely managed to mitigate the intensity of the impact and fell to her knees as soon as she hit the ground. She couldn't understand what had happened. Had they weakened it that much? She stared dumbly at the weapon that had given them so much trouble, fifteen feet from her. It seemed to have suddenly gone out.
"Hey, guys," she croaked into the transceiver, and it was as if her voice scraped bloody grooves inside her chest. She had taken a blunt hit, just before, and was struggling to breathe, but she hadn't had time to stop until then. "No idea what..." She coughed again, blood. Cool. Internal bleeding. Still, she fared much better than others. "Do you copy? Guys? Marshal?"
Someone answered her, but Silia did not understand their words, because she saw the Marshal on the ground a hundred feet from her, and she opened her mouth to call to him, but her voice died in her throat. She raised her head. The purple clouds of miasma that had obscured the sky for ten years were retreating away from the Citadel. The sky began to clear.
"By the Six, he made it!" a weary voice said to the transmitter, and overlapped two others. "The King made it". "I can see the sun." They were Libertus, Miles, Elea. Alive, for the moment.
Getting up on her knees was a martyrdom. Breathing was more and more painful. If only a lung was damaged, Silia judged, she could hold on for a while longer. Enough time, at least. Another ray of sunshine penetrated the clouds, and she realized that those few seconds were one of the crucial moments in her life.
Under normal conditions she would not have been able to move, but those were not normal conditions. She thought she could hear the voice of that asshole Magellano: If you have not flaked out to the ground, it means that you still have energy.
She had not yet flaked out to the ground. She got to her feet and crawled on Cor as fast as she could, holding her breath, ignoring the pain. Cor's stomach was slashed. The outlines of the wound were burned and smoked. He was still breathing – she saw his chest rise and fall slowly – but did not have long.
She put a hand on his wound. As the clouds cleared more and more – the heat of the sun on the back of her neck, for the Six, she hadn't felt the heat of the sun on the back of her neck for ten years – Silia held on to the pain to keep from fainting and tapped into the last spasms of energy of the Crystal – of the Prince's life – to cast the most concentrated heal she had ever cast in her life. It would not completely close the gash, it would not heal the Marshal's internal organs, but perhaps she could stabilize his conditions until help arrived, and perhaps restore enough strength for him to remain alert.
Moments before that beneficial source was extinguished, she felt Cor's hand close violently around her arm, but she didn't stop. Only when she no longer felt the power of the Crystal did she allow herself to yield, to flake out, as Magellano used to say, and found herself knocked to the ground. Cor was on her shouting something in her face, but she did not hear his words, nor those of her comrades in the transceiver, because she could no longer breathe, her ears buzzed and she saw only glows. This time she had flaked out to the ground, but she could well afford it; the Immortal was shouting at her face, therefore he was alive, the Omega had turned off without destroying Insomnia, and the clouds that had obscured the sun for ten years were clearing, so there was nothing else she could do.
She wished her husband was still alive, so as not to have to face his rage in the spirit world. Then she wished she would not stay in the living world so as not to have to face the wounded pride of the Immortal. Finally, she uttered a voiceless prayer to the Astrals to watch over the spirit of the True King who had sacrificed his life for all of them, and that, if there really existed a spirit world, they would reunite him with Her Grace Lunafreya.
She had seen Bahamut, gigantic, swoop down from the sky into the Citadel Square, who knows how long before. She had been, somehow, in his head the previous day.
Maybe he would listen to her.
III
Ignis was resting on his aching back. At another time he wouldn't even feel his weight, but his leg hurt, he had more burns than unscathed skin, and his head wound throbbed. The cars around them had been standing still for ten years, but he doubted that, even if they found one luckily working, they would be able to drive it through all that debris, so there was no choice but to walk back to the West Gate and look for the Kingsglaives. He and Prompto were unable to help Ignis; the Glaives certainly no longer had magic, but perhaps Silia or one of her comrades could assist him as they searched for a radio to call for first aid in Hammerhead. Provided Silia and the other Glaives were still alive.
"Gladio, give him to me."
"No need," he replied to Prompto for the third time. It sounded like someone else was speaking in his voice. As if someone else was moving with his body. The pain, however, he felt it, indeed. "I can do it."
"If you go down, I'm not able to take you both, know that."
"OK. Now save your breath, or I'll have to bring you too."
They walked in silence for a few more minutes. At every step Gladio told himself that Ignis was not in immediate danger of life and he could stop, put him down and rest, while Prompto, who was in better shape than him, went to look for the others, and with every step he forced himself to make another one. He couldn't think straight. He certainly had a concussion. The only two things he could think about, alternately, were Noctis and Silia. Noctis, dead. Silia, of whom he knew nothing.
"Is that a car?" Prompto asked, stopping. Gladio also stopped, dazed, making out the noise only at that moment.
"Guess it's a truck." A tank making its way through the debris, at least judging by the noise.
The truck was actually an imperial tank, evidently fueled by petrol and not by miasma. Someone had come to meet them. Silia, perhaps, Gladio thought with a start, as the vehicle screeched to a halt beside them.
It wasn't Silia. Miles Bridger kicked the door open and jumped out. On the other side Libertus Ostium went down. "Fuck, thank goodness," Miles said. "You okay? Ignis? Is he alive? For the Six, Gladio. You made it."
"Where's Silia?" Gladio asked, disappointed and worried by her absence. "Ig just passed out. His injuries are not serious, but he's lost a lot of blood."
"He'll need a transfusion, then. Let's go to the Central Hospital. We brought the wounded there." Libertus pulled Ignis off his shoulders abruptly and took his friend by himself. "What's his blood type? I hope they bring some bags from Lestallum. He's not the only one who needs it. What about you guys? You fine?"
Gladio was not fine at all, and neither was Prompto, but they weren't going to die of their wounds. As soon as his back was free, however, his legs gave out. "Libertus, where's Silia? And the Marshal?"
Miles placed his shoulder under his armpit and pulled him up. The pain was excruciating. "They're alive. Let's get on the truck. We'll tell you everything as we go."
Miles returned to the wheel while Libertus gave first aid to Ignis. Gladio slumped face down so as not to rub his back, completely devastated. They're alive, he had said. "Will you tell me where's Silia? Who else needs blood?"
"Calm down," Miles told him from the wheel. "We faced that weapon. An Omega, Silia called it. We still haven't figured out exactly what the fuck it was. We may never know. Let's say it was the older and more pissed off brother of a Diamond Weapon. Tabul is dead. Delilah and Luka are a mess. Silia's also a mess."
Gladio did not answer. He closed his eyes. It wasn't over. It's never over.
"The Marshal and Elea are taking care of them," Libertus said. "Help is on the way from Lestallum by helicopter. The idea is to quickly restart the intensive care unit of the Central Hospital."
"Will Silia hold up until then?" Gladio thought he had asked it himself, but actually it was Prompto. He hadn't said anything. He could not.
Miles sighed. "Prompto, honestly, I have no idea. I hope so. The Marshal sent us to get a radio and kicked up a real fuss. I thought I had seen him at his peak of agitation in Absconditus, but I take it back. People in Lestallum had said that it would take at least four hours to come with all the equipment and a helicopter. The Marshal yelled that he wanted everything here within two hours maximum. To look out the window, if they hadn't done so yet, and to remember that today people died to get back the light, and that if they didn't move on, others would die. At the cost of flying on Zhu's back I want those doctors and equipment here within two hours. I've been clear?"
No one answered. Gladio wanted to ask what wounds Silia had exactly, but what did it matter? He closed his eyes and listened to Prompto tell the two Glaives what had happened in the last few hours. He closed his eyes because the afternoon sunlight was starting to bother him.
~~~XV~~~
He found Cor sitting on the ground in the empty and gigantic lobby of the hospital, his back resting on the counter of what had once been the reception desk. He continued to rhythmically compress the balloon of an artificial respirator with a mask resting on Silia's mouth and nose. She was lying unconscious on his knees, her neck resting on the hollow of his elbow.
Gladio slowly approached. He was feeling empty as never before in his life. He had just lost Noctis, hadn't had time to get over it yet, and he couldn't even imagine what would happen if she died too.
"Cor?"
Cor just raised his head. Both he and Silia were bloodied as if they had just come out of a slaughterhouse. "You made it," he said simply, without smiling. His face was swollen, his lips seemed to barely move in the middle of the hint of his beard, encrusted with blood. "Thank you."
He did not reply to his thanks. "Noctis made it."
"Prompto and Ignis?"
"They're alive. Ignis needs immediate care, but he'll be fine. Prompto's with him. How's Silia?"
"The King is dead, isn't he?"
Gladio pursed his lips. He was about to cry again. He nodded. "We entered the Citadel, after the clouds retreated, but we couldn't… find him. But this time it's not like ten years ago. We knew that. He knew that, too. The Ring demanded his life. He said goodbye to us before entering the Citadel. And…"
He lowered his head. They had won, humanity was safe, but at a very expensive price, as far as he was concerned. "Will you tell me how my wife is, now?"
"She has a perforated lung and internal bleeding, as well as several minor injuries. She cannot breathe by herself."
"Miles told us in the car what happened."
Cor's countenance contracted into a grimace that at first Gladio was unable to decipher. Anger. "She's a damn bitch."
Gladio had never heard Cor Leonis call someone a damn bitch, and he never imagined that when it happened, that 'someone' would be Silia Hartwood. "Cor, what happened?"
"I don't know if we'll ever know. According to Hartwood, it was not an Imperial weapon, but something built by the Ancients."
"Miles said that, too. What the hell was it?"
"Something the Imperials brought to Insomnia in 756, we supposed. We wondered why they didn't use it. Maybe we got an answer. Smaller, but more powerful, violent and stubborn than a Diamond Weapon. Guess they couldn't control it. I don't know if it reactivated itself or if Izunia is involved. Either way, it turned off when the miasma dissipated. I guess it owned a magitek core."
Gladio bent down by Silia and stroked her forehead. As he did so, he touched Cor's hand. It was freezing cold and shaking slightly. The Marshal was alert, but it was clear he was not well. "Give me that respirator. Are you fine, Cor? Damn, what a mess the both of you are."
Cor Leonis clenched his jaws, without stopping compressing the balloon. "Perhaps she wouldn't be such a mess if she used what was left of the Crystal magic to cast a heal on herself, instead of using it on me."
"What do you mean?"
"What I said. The blood you see on both of us is almost all mine. I don't know how time she had before the Crystal's power died out, but Hartwood used it to mend my wound with magic instead of thinking about her own."
Gladio pursed his lips, looking back at her. He was torn between pride and anger. When he could speak, his voice came out as a whisper. "Cor, you've always been quite a father to me, and only by virtue of this I allow myself to speak like this: call my wife a damn bitch again and I assure you that you'll regret it. She saved your life."
"Nobody asked her to. I tried to stop her, at the same moment when I regained my senses and understood what was happening. I tried to block her, but nothing, she was stubborn to the last bit of heal. Nobody asked her to, and she didn't have the right," he repeated.
"Nobody asked her to, but she did it, because you're her commander, and it's not just that, as you know; she knows, I know, everyone knows. You should be grateful, instead of pissed off."
"Gladiolus, it's none of your business."
"Isn't it? Thought it was my wife, the one who's dying on your lap."
"It's a matter between her and me."
"Right now, she doesn't seem able to answer herself."
They frowned at each other. Gladio had had to make a reason for many years already that he would simply have to live with the cumbersome presence of Cor Leonis in Silia's life, and not always, as the last few months had shown, was he successful. But he had no intention of contending with Cor Leonis over his wife's still living remains, at that moment least of all. Not after losing his best friend, worse, pushing him to sacrifice. Not after the Immortal had survived the third king he had sworn to protect. Not on the first day of the New Dawn.
He sat next to him, their knees almost touching, two broken men who had nothing else left to do but wait to know if the price they had paid would still raise. He leaned his head against the wall – not his back, because it hurt so badly – his arms on his knees on the unburned side, and sighed deeply.
"The helicopters should be here in an hour. If you get tired or are about to pass out, just tell me."
Cor didn't even look at him. He wasn't even looking at Silia. He kept staring at the floor, squeezing the balloon rhythmically. In. Out. In. Out.
Almost without realizing it, Gladio adapted his breathing to that rhythm. He closed his eyes.
IV
Silia gasps. Her chest hurts, she can't breathe. Someone is bustling around her. A woman's voice, low, as if afraid of disturbing her. Silia thinks she should open her eyes, get up from wherever she is, but she doesn't have the strength. Nor the courage. Once she opens her eyes, she will find out what happened to her. And what happened to her, she suspects, she won't like it at all.
So, she stays with her eyes closed, floating in a morphine dream. She can't sleep forever, of course, but she can postpone the moment of truth for a few hours. She feels nothing. It is almost pleasant. Just for a few hours. She doesn't ask for much, after all.
I don't know if you can hear me, says a voice. Masculine, this time. I've just a few minutes, however, soon there's the morning roll call. You're lucky, Silia. You made it through the night.
She can't hear you, says another male voice, higher. Dr. Nadiyya said she's in a medically induced coma. Lucky her.
I hope she's enjoying it. I can't remember the last time I got a peaceful night's sleep.
It won't last long. They've already reduced morphine and everything, the doc said. She'll wake up today. The problem is the after.
Silence. Silia hopes they leave. She doesn't want to listen to them.
I didn't think she would end up like this.
Me neither.
A fucking Mesmerize. A half-second fucking distraction is enough to screw up five years of training like ours. What the fuck will she do now?
No idea.
You know her better than me. Haven't you ever talked 'bout it? I mean, what would she do if she was forced to retire?
Silia feels pain. She's figuring it out, of course, because she's high on morphine up to her asshole. She can't feel it. She shouldn't even hear their voices.
Why, have you ever thought about it?
No, actually not. White or black. Dead or alive.
Same for me. No greys. Well, maybe we should start thinkin' about it, too. You never know. Who would have thought that about Silia?
I don't know where to start thinking 'bout it. I don't have anyone anymore. And I don't know how to do anything other than fight. What should I do, the insurance agent?
They both giggle. I still have my father and sisters. But I no longer want to have anything to do with my father. Soon my sisters will be on their own, and then I'll turn off the taps. Fuck that he enjoys the money made with my sweat and my blood, that asshole. Silia hears the creak of a folding chair. Time for the appeal, Hans. Let's get started.
Bye, Coeurl, Hans tells her. Hold on. You got through the night. It wasn't so obvious.
You say that? I don't believe that bitch can be killed, replies Balth.
Silia no longer feels herself floating, but sinking, while the door of the infirmary opens and then closes. She doesn't want to think about it. She doesn't want to think about anything anymore. She just wants to scream until her lungs catch fire, but she can't do that either. She can't move.
I can't stop fighting. It's not the time yet.
~~~XV~~~
Morphine has been reduced, she understands from the unspeakable pain in her leg when she wakes up. She herself asked for that, she knows perfectly how dangerous morphine is and only the Six know how much chemical support she will need in the coming months. She's been used to pain since she was a little girl, but this is different, it's not just the stump, she feels pain exactly where her knee, calf, foot should be. And she has a high fever. She keeps going from hellish heat to uncontrollable tremors.
Do you want another blanket? Legato asks her. Who knows how long he has been there.
No, thanks, bro, she answers. I'd drop it on the ground at the next heat.
As you wish. Legato glances at the door, his expression unperturbed as always. There would be no better poker player than Legato Harsh, but after fourteen years Silia can see what others do not see, even with that fever, even with half a leg less that seems to have been replaced with molten lava. D'you feel up to talking?
Yeah. Spit it out, man. You're not here to keep me company.
No, he admits. I'm not beating the bush, Silia. I'm here to ask you to reconsider your decision.
At another time, Silia would have been pissed to death, but now she can't. She doesn't have the strength. She just shrugs.
You must feel really bad. I thought you'd at least throw the bedpan at me.
Legato Harsh, after fourteen years, knows her like the back of his hand as well. They joined the Kingsglaives together, with the first group, and even though Legato went through five years of training on tiptoe, without making a single friend or foe, things changed when they formed the teams. Silia lifts the corners of her lips in a broken smile.
You know I won't.
Yeah, I know that. But this does not exempt me from trying to make you reason. He sighs. Silia, we can't go on much longer, you know, right? The Kingsglaives, I mean. They haven't sent new recruits who have been trained in years. They know it's not worth it. They are waiting for us all to die to dissolve the army.
Stop it, Legato. It was a bad blow, not to mention Thomas. Tomorrow you'll see it differently.
It may also be because of Tom. But that's not all. Silia...
Legato comes even closer to the cot and leans over her. He grabs her face in an authoritative, extremely sad gesture.
You've done enough, Silia Hartwood. Do you understand me? That's enough. Stop while you have time. You're about to go back to Insomnia. Find something to do, while undergoing rehab, anything, but don't come back. Do as Balthier Carson did.
Silia stares at him without a word. She doesn't want to yell. And Legato is upset. Maybe he took some drug. For a moment she wonders if he's not envying what happened to her after all. If she asked, she realizes, she would cause a rift between them that will never heal. She just gently shakes her head.
They remain silent for a few more seconds, then Legato's expression softens just enough to convince her that they won't fight. Reasoning with you is useless, he tells her, but instead of leaving her face, he bends a little more to kiss her lips. A chaste, comradely kiss. A farewell. Walk tall, then, Coeurl. Try to come back soon. I hope to be there.
When he leaves, Silia slides back with her head on the pillow. Her leg didn't stop hurting for a moment. Now that Legato is out, she can go back to squeezing the sheets and mattress, holding on to a fixed thought: it's not over yet. I can't stop fighting. It's not the time yet.
~~~XV~~~
Hartwood, what the hell are you waiting for?
Silia is exhausted. She rubs her eyes again so as not to pass out. She has been in and out of delirium for hours. Marshal, I can't do it. I'm tired.
You will rest outside. The nidus is blown. The mission is over.
Please. Go back out. Forget 'bout it, it's wasted effort.
Cor doesn't answer. Silia knows how disappointed he is right now. For ten years she has offered to be his shoulder, she had promised Darius that she would do that in the Zegnautus Keep, before helping him blow his head, and until then she has kept that promise, within the limits granted by the Marshal. But now she can't do it anymore. She is exhausted. And the Marshal will still be fine without her.
She hears him sighing loudly. Fine. Hartwood, listen to me. The ceiling on this side has partially collapsed. I don't know how long what is left of it will hold. And I won't go out empty-handed after that... Just come.
She thought she was completely dehydrated, but evidently, she still has fluids to cry, because she realizes she's crying. Cor, I can't do it anymore. People keep dying. Continuously. And so few of us are left.
I know that, Hartwood. But it's not over yet. You reminded me of it yourself days ago, after the first briefing. Do you remember?
Despite the fever, Silia remembers very well what had happened, what she had been about to make happen, and, fortunately, what had not happened on that occasion, thanks to him. She didn't answer.
Hartwood, Cor says again, in a prostrate tone she has never heard from him. I'll pretend this half hour never existed. We will never talk about it again. Now pull your proverbial claws out. Your people in Hammerhead will need them. The whole Eos will need them. Gladio will need them, and the Prince, when he returns. He hesitates, then says it. I'll need them, Hartwood. I ask you for the last time. If you decide to stay, I'll respect your choice. But I won't hold your hand while you let yourself die and risk dying myself down here for nothing. What the fuck, I didn't think you were going to be one of the biggest disappointments of my life.
And so, it's not over yet. Silia wipes her tears. I can't stop fighting. It's not the time yet.
Hartwood, I'm going back out, the Marshal says again. It is not a threat. It is not blackmailing. Cor Leonis is not a man of mental tricks. I hope you know what you are doing.
Silia takes a deep breath that turns into a cough. The cough shakes her aching head and scratches her parched throat. Can you really?
What?
Lifting the debris a little.
You just focus on crawling under it.
It's not over yet. Silia takes yet another painful breath and reaches the beam of light projected by Cor's torch.
~~~XV~~~
Nobody could ask you for more than you have already done.
Cor told her that, in Galdin Quay. Each breath is an agony. Maybe now she can stop.
I know that you're constantly looking for something. For a way to die that makes sense, perhaps, Gladio said, when he coldly railed at her after learning she was leaving Hammerhead's leading.
Maybe now she made it, to die with sense. She awakened the Prince with the blessing of the Draconian. She saw the first moments of the New Dawn. She saved the Marshal's life. Maybe that's enough now.
Gladio, you must sleep.
Later.
Staying crouched here like a huge watchdog won't help her, you know that?
I know that, Iris. I'm not a moron. But she's my wife, and I wasn't with her when it happened. She's my wife, and I wasn't with her in the worst times of her life. I want at least to be here in case she...
Stay, then. But I'm staying too. You're not in great shape, Gladio. Someone will have to watch over you, while you watch over her.
She's tired, Silia, exhausted. It's never fucking over.
V
When Silia opened her eyes, she saw Miles' face framed by transparent tubes. Her whole body felt numb, but she imagined that those tubes ended inside her trachea. Now that she had seen them, she perceived their presence, in her nose, inside her throat, but more than annoyance she felt a sense of intrusion and interference. She wanted to talk. She wanted to talk, and those pipes prevented her.
"Hi, Captain," Miles whispered, and smiled at her. He had almost more sutures than skin on his face. Only then did Silia realize that he was holding Denise, his five-years-old daughter, asleep with her red head on his shoulder. "Don't tear those tubes off. They say you have to keep 'em until tomorrow. You can breathe by yourself now, but it hasn't been like that in the past few days."
The tubes. They had to be attached to a machine. In Hammerhead they didn't have any, they used manual respirators. Where the hell was she? She managed to turn her head. She saw the artificial respirator, a moldy wall, a moldy ceiling, a yellowish curtain. A door. A hospital room?
Insomnia, she remembered, and shuddered, because the memories of the last hour, the last day, the last month, all returned. She rolled on her side, placed her palms on the mattress, and tried to pull herself up. Miles reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.
"Stop it, what the fuck! They scraped you off the pavement. Try not to make everything useless."
Where's Gladio? Cor? The others? she tried to say, but she was seized with a coughing fit. Her trachea was trying to reject the intruder.
"Don't make me call a doctor, Captain. We have more wounded than docs, and some need them more than you. If you get back down and promise not to get upset, I'll tell you everything. Breathe."
Silia gave in, if only to stop that cough. Breathe. Her eyes were watering. She punched the mattress in frustration, then gave an imperious gesture for Miles to speak.
"First of all," Miles began, stroking the head of his still sleeping daughter, "your husband, Prompto and Ignis are fine. We managed to send Gladio to sleep a couple of hours ago. He sat here almost continuously for two days, he didn't even want to have his wounds treated. Nothing serious," he added immediately, "burns, mostly. You'll never believe what they faced. They'll tell you. He, Ignis and Prompto are a bit bruised, but alive. Ignis is worse off, but he should recover without consequences. The King…" He pursed his lips for a moment. "You know 'bout the King, don't you? We all felt it. The strength of the Crystal leaving as it disappeared with him."
Silia nodded. She was heartbroken at the idea of Prince Noctis' death, but the confirmation that Gladio was alive won over everything. She was sure she had heard him during the delirium, but until then she wasn't sure it was reality. She made another interrogative gesture, hoping Miles would understand. She wanted to know what had happened to Cor and the others.
Miles understood. He shook his head. "Unfortunately, Tabul did not make it, and it is likely that Delilah will not make through the night. Luka, Libertus and Elea are alive. More or less, in the case of Luka. The Marshal is alive as well. You saved his life, Silia. Now we're at the Central Hospital of Insomnia. You were in really bad shape. The Marshal revived you twice and gave you artificial respiration with one of those balloon devices while waiting for doctors from Lestallum to arrive here. But you'll..."
~~~XV~~~
When she opened her eyes again, she no longer had a mask, and by the bed there was no longer Miles with Denise, but Gladio asleep on a chair. His head lolled on his chest. Silia saw that he had a fresh wound perpendicular to his lips, closed by several stitches, and a sticky gauze over his right ear. His bare arms were almost entirely bandaged. His beautiful tattoo must have been ruined.
She didn't want to wake him up, but as soon as she moved, he opened his eyes. He smiled at her right away with the unstitched half of his mouth. He looked handsome and she wanted to kiss him. Had he always been so handsome, Gladio?
"Hi," she managed to croak, her voice like tinfoil. She had no more tubes in her trachea, it seemed.
"Hello."
"Thought I was talking to Miles."
"Yup. Two days ago. Then you fainted again, he said." He moved from the chair to the bed, rather stiffly, Silia noticed, and stretched out beside her. He spoke in a funny way because of his wound. "How d'you feel?"
"Dunno yet," she admitted. She closed her eyes and rested her nose against his neck. He smelled of disinfectant and who knows what else – the bandages continued under his shirt – but she could also smell him. "I can breathe."
"Well, I'd say it's already an improvement." Gladio sank a hand into her short hair. "You're out of danger, Silia. I think you can contend with Cor for the title of Immortal."
Silia opened her eyes. "You're angry?"
"No. Yes. I haven't decided yet. Right now, in me, there is an extremely proud man in arms because you saved the Marshal's life by endangering yours, and an extremely pissed off husband because his wife was about to die. Haven't there been enough sacrifices already?" His voice broke, and he rubbed his eyes in the crook of his elbow. Gladio was holding back so as not to cry. He was going to be in pieces in the months to come, and when she had used the dying energy of the Crystal to heal Cor's wound, she hadn't thought at all of the further pain she would cause Gladio if she died. She felt deeply ashamed of it.
"I'm sorry," she just said, taking his hand to lower his arm. She grabbed it. "But I'm here, Gladio. Are the others okay? You?" Her voice failed her for a moment. Seeing Gladio almost cry made her almost cry too. "Gladio, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Gladio raised his head. His eyes were moist, his breath short. Again, he struggled to make a half smile with the unstitched side of his mouth. "It's alright," he said. "It's over, Silia."
Silia believed it was over in some ways, but not entirely. It had just started, indeed. "Tell me what happened."
"Later. I'll stay here as long as you want, but you have to rest."
"I rested. Days."
"You'll have to rest more, I think. Your right lung blew out. Not to mention your ribs."
"Gladio," she whispered, "please tell me about the others. How's Cor?"
"Ask the person concerned," Cor Leonis' voice sounded. He leaned discreetly out of the door. He must have been in the corridor for some time, waiting for the right moment to enter.
Silia imagined that Gladio would rise from their intimate position, but he didn't. He didn't even withdraw his arm from her waist. "Cor, she recovered five minutes ago. Please. Whatever you have to tell her, it can wait."
Cor was ashen, she saw, his face wounded no less than Gladio's and – so she imagined – than hers. He entered the room. He moved carefully, almost limping, as if in pain. "Gladio, can you please give us two minutes?"
"Is that an order?"
"It's a friend's request. Just two minutes, I promise."
Silia did not understand her husband's acrimonious tone, but for a moment she wished him to stay. She didn't have the strength to face the Marshal. But sooner or later she would have to do it, and she might as well do it now. Perhaps the Immortal would have some regard for her condition.
"Gladio, don't worry about me," she said, squeezing his arm. "I'm used to the outrages of the Immortal."
"Don't call me that," the Marshal hissed sharply.
Gladio pursed his lips, parted them to say something, then just sighed. "Fine. I'll go and check on Ignis."
Silia gathered all the strength she had available to pull herself up as Gladio went out. She couldn't quite sit up, but she lifted on her elbows and raised her head. She would not suffer the wrath of the Immortal while lying.
"Hartwood," he began, when he was sure that Gladio was out of voice. "Why did you do that?"
She could have replied that she did it because she loved him, not the same love she felt for her husband, but much more than the common respect and esteem a man is bound to pay to his commander, but that subject was taboo among them, just like it was taboo between her and Gladio. She could have answered that she owed him her life, and had repaid that debt, or that she had promised Darius in the Zegnautus Keep that she would be there for him in his place, but they would be tiny parts of the truth. She gave him another tiny part.
"Because you would have been much more useful than me in the rebuilding of Eos. We have already talked about it once."
Cor blinked. "If you had given me the right to decide, if I had had the strength to react, I would have prevented you. I have made my time. I had already outlived two kings of the royal family I had sworn to protect. I didn't want to survive the third one, not at the expense of your life."
Silia felt exhausted, but she would not give a step. "Well, I'm sorry to contradict you, Marshal, but I've made my time, too. I am thirty-eight, the only thing I can do is fighting, and if we behave well, an era has just begun in which people who only know how to fight will no longer be needed, at least for a while. We will need scientists, engineers, diplomats. Leaders who'll be points of reference for a decimated and confused humanity, and you are Cor Leonis. The Immortal." The long speech tired her. Her voice was almost a whistle.
"And you are Silia Hartwood, the Captain of the Kingsglaives," he reminded her.
"I don't think there will be a Kingsglaive army anymore, without a King. And I don't know why we're even talking about it. You gave me the command for that operation, am I right? It was my right to decide."
He stood silent, and Silia felt a surge of satisfaction for getting the last say with him, replaced by a surge of sadness when she saw him sitting wearily in the chair next to the bed. Cor lowered his head and ran a hand through his hair, exasperated, and Silia noticed once more he was growing older. "What do you want, Hartwood, that I thank you? I won't. Part of me will never forgive you."
"I'll get over it." Silia let her head slide onto the pillow, shielding her eyes with her forearm. The sunlight they had longed for a decade was beginning to bother her. "We are even, Marshal. We just have to accept, I think, that it's not over yet. What the fuck, it's never over."
"We're not even, Hartwood. I'm seventeen years older than you are." She heard the creak of the chair as he stood up. "I'll leave you and Gladio alone. Just let me tell you something. I won't thank you..."
"You already said that," she cut him off.
"Shut up, for once, and let me finish. I won't thank you, but one thing I have to admit, you fought damn well against that artifact. Technique, magic, coordination of the other Glaives, it was all perfect, Captain Hartwood. You are one of the most capable and complete fighters I have ever known in my entire life, and I am honored to have fought at your side."
Silia was glad to have her eyes covered, because she was about to cry. "Thank you, Marshal."
"But don't flatter yourself." When the Marshal's hand closed for a moment around her shoulder, for the first time in her life she felt completely satisfied and proud of herself. "I'll call Gladio back. I am sorry if I interfered. You know what, Hartwood? I'm starting to believe he's jealous."
VI
It was a bad night, the one that followed, and Silia was happy to have regained consciousness, because if it was a bad night for her, it was certainly one of the worst in her husband's life. And one of the first, she thought.
She did not sleep for a single minute, also because despite the drugs, her chest hurt, as if it had been set on fire from the inside, and at times she had the sensation of suffocating. But she wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, because Gladio walked around the room, incessantly, unable to stay in bed for more than ten or twenty minutes, like a wild animal locked in a cage. It sure wasn't the pain of the burns, not only that.
At three o'clock, Miles came to inform them that Delilah, who had been resisting for days, was dead. Silia hardly had the strength to be sorry. Delilah and Luka had acted as a bait in one of their last suicide attempts to knock down the Omega. Silia had been about to offer herself, but she couldn't; she was the Captain, and she had to lead the whole action. She asked Miles how Luka had taken it. They hadn't told him yet, Miles replied, it was useless to tear him out of the pity of morphine to give him such news. He turned to look at Gladio, sitting on the ground against the wall, his face hidden in his arms.
"He's fine? He hasn't been himself these days."
"He'll be fine," she cut him off. "What about the others?"
"No one else died," Miles replied. "Luka still has one foot in the grave, but with a bit of luck he'll make it somehow, if the news of Delilah's death doesn't give him the coup of grace. Libertus and Elea are getting away with it. Ignis' condition is stable, Prompto's injuries are not worrying at all. The Marshal is sleeping and I haven't woken him up. They've given him sedatives. Don't tell him. Fuck, do as you wish, he'll find it out anyway."
"Are you drugging the Immortal?" she almost giggled.
"Not me. The docs. But they asked me for permission, and I said, fuck yes. He's still not fine at all, but this week there has been a lot of comings and goings here in Insomnia, the EHSO, the Crownsguards and others, and he tired himself to death as always, needless to tell you. He can't stand having to lead the traffic from the hospital. I don't know how long we'll be able to keep him hospitalized."
"He'll be mad as hell. But you have my blessing. Actually, you can blame me, if he asks who authorized this. He's already pissed at me. How are you, Miles?"
"Do you really want to know?"
Silia nodded.
Miles surprised her with a beautiful smile. "I shouldn't, but when I realized that the Long Night was over and that the Omega hadn't killed me, I felt like the most fucking lucky and happiest person in Eos. I lost my King, my comrades, I knew I would probably lose others, but... when I called home from Galdin, Silia, I thought that would be the last time I was hearing from my wife and my daughter. I also talked to Luc. He too is like a son for me now, you know. But instead…" His voice broke. "I told Rowena to get a car and come to Insomnia with Denny. The roads are safe now. I was busy here, there will be a lot to do in the future too, but I didn't want to stay away from them anymore. I was irresponsible, I thought many times looking at Denise, what the fuck did I think, having a child during the Long Night, me, a Sworn Sword, a Glaive? And now, guess what? I think it's the best thing I've ever done."
Silia managed to smile too. "Get the hell out of here, then, Miles, and go to them."
"Yessir, Captain."
"I am no longer Captain. The Glaives are disbanded."
"Maybe, but I've a feeling you can't just stop being a Glaive."
"Maybe. Go to bed, Miles. Good night."
Gladio had not moved from his position during the whole conversation, not even when Miles had said that Delilah was dead. Maybe he was listening to them in silence, maybe he was sound asleep. In case it was the second, Silia didn't disturb him. She lay back, wrapped herself in the blanket, and tried to sleep too. She could not make it.
She waited anxiously for the dawn, terrified by the irrational idea that the sun would not rise. When the first signs of light flashed on the wall in front of her, she raised her head. Someone was singing, somewhere. Many voices.
"A flash breaks darkness
Face a dying world
All for a new world
Souls are led to their final salvation…*"
She sat up. Gladio had gone back to bed several times during the night, but now he was again slumped on the ground against the wall, next to the window, apparently asleep. Silia put her feet on the floor, made sure they held her weight, and got up.
She went to open the window. There were fifteen people, in the hospital courtyard, their heads raised to the sky. She recognized some of them: Elea, Monica, Cindy, Iris, Rowena with Denise, Alexandra. Some of them, such as Aranea Highwind and Dustin Ackers, weren't singing, but were looking at the sky as well. They were greeting the dawn.
Silia leaned her elbows on the windowsill and, almost without realizing it, began to cry silently. She voicelessly joined the chorus, until she felt a gentle squeeze in her calf.
"They do this every morning," Gladio whispered.
"It's beautiful."
"It is."
They continued to listen silently. When the chant was over, Gladio leaned his forehead against her thigh.
"Do you want to talk?" he asked, as he had done in Orior the first night after returning from Niflheim.
"No," she replied. She bent her knees and sat on the ground at his side. "Do you?"
He shook his head and reached out to kiss her. Silia was still short of breath, but she let him. When Gladio gently straddled her on his hips and began to undress her, she tried to stop him; she was a mess, but with those burns it must have been agony for him, even under morphine. She still couldn't believe they had faced Ifrit.
"Gladio," she said simply. "We have plenty of time. We can wait."
In response, he pulled the robe over her head. "No," he growled, and his voice no longer had any of the mild resignation it had had up until that moment. "I don't wanna wait. I've fuckin' had enough of waiting. I don't want to wait for anything, never again."
* Blinded By Light, from Final Fantasy XIII
