A/N: First off, this is a sequel to my previous fic "On Salvation," so there's no point jumping in here if you haven't read that one first! THERE. Okay so, it's been a while. I was inspired to try and write for the fandom again, here in the midst of COVID, by the many new readers/reviewers on my old content and the wonderful efforts of fellow writers in the fandom right now. Bless you all.
This fic is also happening because I had a few leftover ideas from the world of "On Salvation" that were floating around in my head and wouldn't leave me alone. Weeks of planning with beta-roomie, and here we are! I am breaking ALL MY RULES. I have never written first person. I have never written present tense. And I have never posted the start of a chapter fic when I didn't have at least a couple of follow-on chapters written. I am posting to AO3 after this, but I check my FFnet reviews religiously as well, so don't feel compelled to pick one platform over the other.
Please do let me know what you think! *hearts*
Update: Gifting this fic to Aloice, whose series of XIII-2 and post-LR fics (those in the From What We Cannot Hold Universe) were both insightful and inspiring to the creation of this story.
Chapter 1 – Semblance
Time and memory – a blessing and a curse. Across a dozen lifetimes, I can't help wondering whether anything comes with no strings attached, no flip side of the coin to be uncovered.
The glimmering water of Crystal Cove is already far behind us when my own thoughts are released in Lightning's sigh from the window seat next to me. The sound of a first breath after waking from a beautiful dream.
The train carries us along its track – slow, fixed. Its speed is more suited to sightseeing than the forms of rapid transit we had in the old world, and its carbon-laced emissions claw their way up my nose to scratch at my throat. This is less than ideal.
But progress is progress.
Lightning's eyes watch the horizon, where a molten sun sets behind surreal rock structures crafted by the forces of nature.
Whether that was Bhunivelze's doing, I honestly can't tell. It wasn't a bad choice of landscape décor, either way. The precarious balance of some of the rocks defies physics, while the occasional cluster of formations creates the impression of ancient bridges and columns from a ruined civilization. Though that isn't the case, it does point toward Bhunivelze's sources of influence in creative – or possibly destructive – vision.
It's pointless to ask him. He will not answer me, not after these weeks of silence.
The sun's glare is too much and Lightning returns to our present in the railcar, blinking and checking her watch.
"Just four more hours to the Crossroads, right?"
The way she asks it, I'm not sure if she regrets how little time is left before our imminent arrival in the 'real world' of our home settlement or if she can't stand the waiting. Probably both. The winter months of off-season vacation have gotten us out of the habit of watching clocks – a reprieve we could not afford for centuries. It brings a fleeting smile to my face.
It was just that – a reprieve.
"More or less," I reply, stretching against the seat, and my hand falls into place with hers, entwined between us. "This is my first time on Sazh's train, though. He mentioned some possible delays from bandits targeting the rail for supplies, lately."
She hums in thought. A few beats of silence pass before the intensity of her stare burns into the side of my head, and I turn to read the question there before she speaks.
"Hope, are you sure about going back?"
The easy answer slips out, reassuring.
"I've been away from the family too long, and Sazh needs my help," I offer with a shrug. "Crystal Cove is just a second residence for us – only a train ride away. Besides," I can't help but tack on, squeezing her hand, "does it really matter where we are?"
The set of her mouth tightens. That was the wrong answer.
Well, I haven't quite answered her question. As it turns out, having all the right answers doesn't count for much when you keep them to yourself.
Lightning sulks against her seat, arms crossed and gaze set at the empty bench facing us.
"If you'd rather gloss over the issue," she mutters, "that's your call, but we need to be prepared for contingencies. You can pretend that nothing will change, if you want. I won't."
My mouth has gone dry, words turned to dust. Lightning has a gift with cutting straight to the marrow of the matter.
I take a seat across from her, bowing forward to rest my elbows on my knees. Looking up at her, the slight tilt of her head indicates a small window of opportunity to fix myself.
"Light, we've been over this. We can't say for sure if Bhunivelze's going to rear his ugly god-head just because we're not…" I hesitate, clearing my throat, "together every waking minute, sequestered away from reality."
Her eyes are shaded by a dark joke she's telling herself. "I didn't ask the impossible. It was your suggestion in the first place, and Sazh could've let you go. How the hell is a well-deserved retirement to a life of wine and sex – which apparently renders your inner god catatonic – so offensive to you?"
"Not offensive!" I backpedal, mentally beating down the flames in my face. "But sadly unsustainable. We can't hide away forever."
"It's not hiding – it's keeping you safe!" Lightning snaps, but she deflates a moment later and pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Look, I do understand why. We've talked about all the things you'd love to do for humanity with your superhuman brain," she says pointedly. "But the closer we get to everyone and everything else, and the further we go from that safe haven… I don't know. It's hard to explain."
Her eyes are softer now, searching my face.
"I have a bad feeling, Hope. I'm not usually wrong."
What can I say to that? Nothing.
Just nod in acceptance and lean my head against the window, following the trail of dark smoke from the train's engine when it comes into view around a bend. Lightning's instincts are ever trained on my survival. My own sense of intuition has been useless, tossed on a raging river of nervous energy and anxious questions since we left.
Will the council be accepting of me, or any of my ideas?
What kind of dynamic will I come back to with family and friends after all this time?
Is Bhunivelze just waiting for an opportune moment to strike?
How long will I be away from Light?
That last one cracks my resolve and leaves me winded. Recovery comes in a few deep breaths and a loop of reminders in my head – that work-related separation is temporary here, no one is getting crystallized, and nothing can be worse than what we endured in the past.
Finally, maybe selfishly, I remind myself that if one of us stands a chance at surviving – or entirely avoiding – a life-threatening error in our respective job fields, it is Lightning. The proof has been undeniable. No one had to rearrange timelines to ensure she was safe before.
Whether the gods desire her or despise her, she always lives to fight another day.
And Lightning, for whatever unfathomable reason, ensures I do the same.
I need to stay mindful of my mortality, she has warned me. Centuries' worth of experience does not erase my need for training, it just solidifies my need for a refresher.
"You grew back into this body, Hope. Your god-brain doesn't give you muscle memory."
So we trained for weeks in the sand, on rocky cliffs, through towering forests, and along stretches of endless desolate landscape with nothing but each other and the occasional – usually dangerous – wildlife for company. Running, climbing, conditioning, land navigation, even swordsmanship…
A smile breaks across my face. She can tease about wine and sex, but sleeping with her is a contract to be dragged out of bed and into the wilderness before the crack of dawn.
"What are you smiling about?"
Ah, I've been caught.
"You have to ask? You never cease to amaze me, Light."
She blushes and tries to shake off the compliment like a pesky fly just landed on her arm. I can always say more, but too much praise makes her miserable and defensive, especially involving words on her tailored trigger list.
'Goddess' is forever stricken from my vocabulary.
The train rattles into a densely forested area, darkening our windows and the twilight atmosphere. It isn't enough to obscure the wary look Lightning gives me.
My eyes still stand out, I know.
Suddenly, static crackles over the intercom and pulls us both back to reality.
"Attention all passengers. An armed intruder has been reported aboard the train. Security is in pursuit. Please remain calm and do not engage."
The metal railcar door jerks open moments later, grinding in protest.
Lightning is on her feet, sword at the ready while her other hand presses me back to my seat. Someone stumbles into our empty car. His hodgepodge assortment of ragged clothing does not scream "threat" to me, nor does the look of pure terror on the slight boy's face at the sight of Lightning in attack mode.
"Light, I don't think—"
"I know," she hisses. She sheathes the Ultima Weapon. "Wait! Don't run—"
Too late. He turns tail and bolts back through the door, a lumpy sack slung over one shoulder bouncing hard against him.
Lightning looks to me. "Sad excuse for a bandit," she huffs. "Be right back."
Our car is far too quiet. My mind zeroes in on the would-be bandit, who couldn't be more than a scrawny teenager. I almost hope he gets away – god knows he probably needs whatever he took. Few valuables exist, and there is no widely accepted currency. If Lightning can catch him, talk to him and find out what has led to this incident…
Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Lightning is back. She settles in with a frown.
"No luck. Kid probably jumped the train right after we saw him, while we turned the next bend," she says. "The security guards said some people reported stolen goods – food rations and a couple of pieces of clothing. Nothing too serious. I guess he flashed a knife at someone."
The trees outside my window are thinning, animals darting between them as shadows in the night. People live out here, possibly hiding in caves or trying to build a life in a struggling village. Some may not have survived the winter.
"We have to do something to fix this."
"Hope," Lightning says in exasperation. "We can't put an end to theft. There are guards for a reason. It's a nice thought, but people always fall back into vices."
"I know we can't eradicate theft," I reply, dialing back the harshness of my tone. "I mean the conditions behind it. That kid looked half-starved and desperate. He might even be providing for someone else. The whole situation is wrong."
Her hands are suddenly there, unclenching my fists.
"Don't be so hard on yourself. Life is messy. It isn't your job to solve it like—"
I kiss her before she can polish that dagger of a thought.
"You know me better than that," I say.
Lightning sighs, her forehead to mine and her breath between us. Our lives are a never-ending dance around realms of responsibility, set to the steady tempo of guilt.
"Yeah, I do."
We arrive long after most lights in the Crossroads have been doused. Stepping onto the empty platform, I turn to spot Sazh strolling toward us. His smile of greeting pierces the darkness.
"Welcome back, strangers!"
He has just shaken my hand when the approach of heavy footsteps catches my attention.
Someone tackles and hoists me off the ground from behind. I would know that rumbling laughter anywhere.
"Let me go, Snow!" I gasp out, my ribcage in a vice.
"Sure thing, kid!" he bellows. He drops me to my feet to nearly teeter over. I try to recover my dignity, but even Lightning snorts at the encounter. She pats down my messy hair, and I want to sink into the ground.
"I am not a kid," I mutter, and Snow roars with laughter again. I really ought to slap myself for such petulance. Travel weariness is setting in, clearly.
"Okay, okay," Snow concedes, and I'm caught off guard when his tone turns wistful. "I'll admit you've bulked up a bit – lookin' a lot more like my partner in crime."
One of his hands comes up, and I flinch in anticipation of his brotherly punch to the arm.
Instead, he grabs my hand and gives it a firm shake. "Welcome back, Director."
Struck dumb, I can only respond through my tightened grip. The moment is a machination of time travel, catapulting me back to the steps of the Patron's Palace, where we stood as equals – where he shook my hand one last time, and I left him to suffer in the depths of Yusnaan.
His signature wink breaks through the crushing weight of my memories.
"Now, if you'll all excuse me," he adds with a mock bow, "I've gotta go greet some other VIPs a few cars down. You two behave yourselves – especially you, Sis!"
"You're one to talk," Lightning counters. She shakes her head at his retreating form but wears the ghost of a smile. "He'll never change."
"He's got the right idea," Sazh chuckles, rubbing his arms against a sudden gust of cold air. "Way past everyone's bedtime here, so we'd best get movin'."
As Sazh leads us along the tracks toward the riverbank side of town, I have to ask, "So who are the other VIPs he mentioned? We didn't run into any familiar faces."
"Oh, that'd be his crew. You remember NORA, right?" Sazh explains, swinging his lantern to each side of the path in turn. "They sent word back here when the post reached Crystal Cove – mailed a letter to their fearless leader, which got my attention. They've been in touch ever since. And Snow did say they'd be travelin' with some sensitive equipment, so I'd bet they weren't in the main passenger cars."
"Wait, so they were there all this time?" I ask, gaping at his back. "I don't remember seeing them in the market, or at the station either…"
Sazh chuckles again. "Got your own single-mindedness to blame, I'd imagine."
"That's likely," Lightning speaks up, and she smirks at my half-hearted glare. "I saw a woman who looked like one of their group in the marketplace a few times. What was her name?"
"Lebreau," I remind her. "I would bet on her running a seaside pub out there."
"Too bad we mostly avoided the town," she adds.
I've taken her hand on impulse. "I can't believe we missed out on the authentic NORA Special when it might've been that close."
Sazh casts a glance back at us, one eyebrow perched. "So hit the place next time," he suggests.
"Sure. Next time." Whenever that might be.
My free hand nestles in my jacket pocket, playing with the handle of Lightning's survival knife. I can't muster much in the way of conversation for the rest of our walk. The chill of an early March night has taken hold, and our breath steams into the air. Lightning has interjected a few questions, much to my relief – just enough to get Sazh talking about Dajh, Lina, and a smattering of railroad business.
We've reached our cluster of homes when Sazh turns his full attention to us both.
"Well kids, this is your stop," he says, patting my shoulder like the adoptive father he tends to be. "I'll see you in the morning, Hope. We can talk shop then. G'night!"
With that, he walks off into the shadows, leaving us under the flickering refuge of a new lantern hanging at Lightning's front door.
"Thanks again, Sazh!" I call after him, but his lamp has bobbed away farther and faster than I expected.
Lightning is battling the lock on her door. She curses under her breath, pounding the wood before breathing out a short, dry chuckle.
"Locked out of my own house," she grumbles. "Of course."
"And your key is…?" I hazard.
She presses her head to the wood, stomps the ground. "Under the old mat. It's gone. I checked."
Sure enough, the mat has been replaced. It really was falling apart.
"So…" I start, swallowing down the lump in my throat, "…there's another way in, you know. Emergency exit. From the bedroom."
We silently agree to avoid revisiting the past, there. Her eyes shimmer with sympathy and pain under the lamplight for a blink of time, and she marches past me.
"Stay put."
Minutes later, we are standing in the blackness of her living room.
Lightning makes a beeline for the supply drawer, procuring matches and lighting another lamp on the table. Nothing has changed about the room thrown into light and shadow – the surfaces are immaculate, and not one object is out of place from when I had last set foot in here nearly two years prior.
Well, almost. Where my makeshift nest had once been, a bookshelf stands, sparsely occupied with a few unfamiliar objects and pictures. Upon closer inspection, they look to be homemade crafts and framed snapshots of Serah and Snow, Dajh, Claire, and baby Leo. The same sort of photos as the one Lightning had sent me several months ago.
The kids are getting so big. I gingerly pick up a family photo of the Villiers – Snow and Serah radiate joy, and it brings a smile to my face. They deserve this.
"Want to make the fire?" Lightning's voice cuts into my reverie. She has already pulled down the teapot and gathered supplies on the table. "Looks like Serah stocked us up."
"Bless her," I laugh, heading for the door. "I'll be right back."
Awareness of a new day crashes in on me with brute force. The shrill serenade of a bird just outside assaults my ears, and the sun has already broken the horizon, sending its blinding beams straight into my eyes through a strategically placed gap in the curtains.
I roll away from the onslaught—
—and straight over the edge.
My shoulder and hip collide with the floor, forcing out a hoarse yelp, and I sluggishly fight the tangle of blankets.
"Light," I groan. "Your bed is attacking me! A little help?"
Moments later, her tired but amused eyes are staring down at me from her propped position against the doorframe. She sips at her coffee in consideration. She might as well have been observing a rabbit stuck in its own burrow.
"You'll live."
Three loud raps sound from the front door, and she smirks. "Better move fast. Sounds like Sazh is here, and your clothes are over there." She points to the floor at the foot of the bed, leaving me with the sharp snap of the door.
The morning is a little easier to process with coffee. Lightning has made enough for us all, thank god. This is not our usual routine – other people have not been a part of that for quite some time. Neither have complete sets of clothes, but that level of freedom is surely history. Coffee is at least a constant. A bitter bastion in changing times.
I curse her early rising through the steam wafting up from my mug.
Sazh clears his throat. His dark eyes have zeroed in on me, and I'm finally awake enough to catch on.
"Hope? Boy, you look beat," he says, but he cracks a smile. "Sleep okay?"
"Yes," I mumble, stifling a yawn. This is, shockingly enough, the truth. I take another bracing sip of coffee. "Morning just hates me."
"Good thing we got a midday meeting, this time," he chuckles. "I'm briefing a proposal, but I want to hash out a few things here, first. Courtesy an' all. Since it's meant for you."
Ears perked, I sit a little straighter. "You mean the proposal you mentioned last month? I wasn't sure if the council gave you the green light, considering the fact that I've been running a survey team, not a delegation."
"Eh, fancy titles and multitasking," Sazh dismisses with a wave of his hand. "Just how many trained diplomats d'you think we have in this place?"
"At least three?" I count on my fingers as I list them off. "Dad, me, Snow technically qualifies… maybe others. I don't honestly know."
"And how many o' those have a reputation in the field, now?"
"Snow could pull it off, with a little time outside of the Crossroads," I admit, "but you've made your point. What do we know about this trade dispute?"
Sazh grabs a rolled map of the region from his bag, laying it out on the table for us. He points to a dot labeled AUGUSTA along the rail line, almost due west from our marker of THE CROSSROADS by about one hundred miles.
"This town – you recognize it, right?"
Nodding, I dismiss the slight chill creeping along my skin at the town's familiar name. My mistakes and my paradoxical death are far behind me, obliterated along with that Augusta Tower, though. I shake it off.
"They specialized in timepieces, among other technology in development," I reply, noting Lightning's quick glance at her own watch from that location. "What's the issue, there? We were only passing through, before, but I don't recall any trade problems."
"They're havin' a dispute with another place, a bigger settlement we've had reports of but not sent a team through just yet," Sazh explains, jabbing his finger at a point just north of Augusta. "The reports aren't what you'd call positive. I wasn't too keen on gettin' involved at first, when I heard we'd be dealing with the New Order of Salvation."
Lightning's mug smacks the table, sloshing coffee into a small puddle at the base. "No. How is this a discussion? Hope isn't going anywhere near a nest of cultists."
"Whoa there," Sazh intervenes, hands raised. "Lemme finish, soldier girl. You ordered that cult disbanded, remember? Majority of 'em left and never came back, and we've been keeping tabs. We got no indication of ties between that group's messed up activities and this other town."
My hands have clenched my mug as I channel the tremors running through me into a single, stabilized force. The phantom sting of scars traces its course across my body.
Deep breaths, a sip of coffee. Control. I meet each of their stares in turn. "Light, you said you were confident that the cult honored your request. They never pursued us after that. If there's still an organization out there by the same name that wants to go on worshipping the ground you walk on, I can't exactly argue. But Sazh, I need to know about these not-so-positive reports. Were they cult-related?"
"No," Sazh says. The room collectively breathes. "Not really. Religious, yes. Crazy cult-type? Not so much. Augusta reports that they've been trying to set up trade relations with this hyper-sanctified settlement called Nova Lux – apparently it's some kind o' theocracy under the New Order of Salvation. Their beef with Augusta is more of a 'don't tread on our sacred ground' issue."
Lightning crosses her arms, making a study of my face before narrowing her eyes at Sazh. "I still don't like the sound of this. Hope could be targeted. We don't have enough information."
"Join us for the meeting, then," Sazh offers, casually enough to belie an existing intent. He doesn't look ruffled in the least. "You'll get all the information we do. But take this one tip, for now: it's not really your call. If the council wants Hope on this mission, he works for me – not that we've got much choice here, but I'll make sure his team's assigned a top-notch security detail. Anyhow, that's it for the courtesy pre-brief."
Lightning is eyeballing her coffee intensely enough to set it on fire, but she only bobs her head.
With a half-hearted flash of a grin, Sazh rolls up his map and heads for the door, calling back to us, "I'll see you both at the meeting hall. Twelve o'clock sharp."
Silence floods back in, pressing against my ears until I can't take it anymore.
"Light, you know we can trust Sazh on this, right?" I try, barely murmuring the words. The air around her is still charged, and I know better than to touch.
She has gradually slumped toward the table, hunched protectively over the cooling remnants of her coffee.
"It's not Sazh I don't trust," she finally says. "I'm sure he's doing all he can."
Her face is impossible to read. "Then it's the council? Rosch?" I ask. "They're only using the resources they have, and I can support that."
"So you're just a resource at their disposal, now?" she deadpans.
This is not really a question, I know. Unfortunately, my mouth is still primed to run away with me.
"Technically, human capital is a highly valuable resource."
Oh, if looks could kill…
Some people – if they knew the subject existed – could dedicate entire careers to the study of magnetospheres around celestial bodies, while others would still wax poetic about the supposed magnetism between human bodies. What the latter group does not tend to grasp is the true effect of magnetic fields as a repulsive force.
These are my thoughts as I physically leap about a foot away from Lightning when she stands. The hair on my arms ripples up on a wave of static.
"Right," she clips, snatching her mug from the table and marching to the sink. "You're a valuable resource, and I'm a deadly weapon."
Words have failed me. Possible repercussions be damned, I follow her to the sink, brush my fingertips between the tense set of her shoulders, and press a kiss to the base of her neck.
"Take that back, Light."
She freezes on contact.
"Stop," Lightning growls, reaching back to grab a fistful of my hair. She has shoved me away, released her hold and slipped out of range before I catch my breath – and my entire person – against the edge of the table. It shocks the sense right out of me.
"Do you even hear yourself?" I charge. "Using our skill sets doesn't turn us into something inhuman. We are making our own choices."
My eyes hold her attention. Lightning drags a hand down her face and clenches her jaw, fighting to school her features. "Just drop it. Serah's coming with breakfast any minute now," she says, checking her watch. "That was the first thing out of Sazh's mouth."
As she rushes by, she stabs a finger into my chest. "So you can save your holier-than-thou speech."
We've been waiting outside the council hall for twenty minutes. The irony of the situation is almost laughable. Here on this roughshod wooden bench sits Lightning Farron – former Savior and would-be Goddess of Death had she not told God to fuck off, and Hope Estheim – former world leader and vessel of the God of Light to whom she delivered said message. Waiting to be let in to a meeting. Where people will then give us orders.
"What's so funny?"
My mind could use a leash. "Nothing. Wondering when we get the pleasure of joining the big kid table."
"Isn't that sassy attitude the opposite of diplomatic?" she asks.
"I'm not on duty," I scoff, batting away the accusation and scooting closer to speak in her ear. "And you're not really into diplomacy."
Lightning glares balefully at me, but the door opens on cue. My father steps out and raises a questioning eyebrow at both of us, obviously aware he's walked into a tense moment. I just crack a smile.
"Great to see you, Dad," I say, standing up to extend my hand. I'm not entirely expecting the force of his hug instead, even if it has been nearly two years. He stands back to take hold of my shoulders. It's an odd sensation, facing him eye to eye for the first time in centuries.
He seems to know my mind has drifted to our early Academy days. "Looks like I owe you a uniform, Son," he chuckles, shaking his head at my standard field survey gear.
"Not the tie, too…" I mutter.
"We'll talk over dinner," he promises, ushering both of us into the building.
We have not seen the inside of the council hall since the fateful debrief after my abduction by the cultists. Afterimages of that day flash before my eyes with every step across the tiled floor: the bloody light of an autumn afternoon splashing across my bandaged body as I listened to Lightning, Snow, and Sazh fight through their accounts; watching my father bravely hold himself together, his eyes masked behind the glare from his glasses.
With a brief shudder, the memory falls away. I blink the world back into focus.
The room itself is fairly plain, as many of our buildings are – just a large open space with exposed beams. The presence of skylights in lieu of windows is the main distinguishing factor. My eyes are drawn to the large mosaic dome of foggy glass above the center of the room. It's the only thing in our fledgling civilization that visibly reminds me of Cocoon's crystallization. At this time of day, sunlight pools beneath it, brightening the surface of a round conference table.
Yaag Rosch looks up at our arrival, straightening his papers with a sharp rap. "Thank you both for coming," he says in his military-business tone. His PSICOM background forever adds an extra degree of sternness to his steel gaze.
"Thank you for inviting us, Chairman," I repeat back, dipping my head briefly. This game never changes no matter the world we're on. My father gestures at two seats between Snow and Sazh, where we settle in to read the room.
Our seats are those of Fang and Noel, I realize, empty while the former is away and the latter has not yet been replaced after his relocation. Discounting Captain Amodar, who is at least familiar from Lightning's border patrol work and prior Guardian Corps service, there are five other members I don't know well – former governors or politicians from the Cocoon era who served in capacities similar to my father.
Besides Bartholomew Estheim, one of the Academy's co-founders, the relative lack of representation by hundreds of years of our organization's leadership stands out.
Here I am, I guess. Strangely, this does not feel like my place. Snow can kid around with his 'Director' talk, but that doesn't make me any less a cosmic-scale aberration.
Sazh stands, takes up his notes, and begins to present his proposal. I turn at the sound of my name in the midst of his speech, though the material is mostly familiar to this point from his pre-brief.
"I think we can count on Hope's Academy connections," Sazh continues. "Call it a gesture o' good faith with Augusta, on top of his track record in the field. I've put together a report of several recent accomplishments to back the decision."
"I did review it," Rosch replies, taking up one of the pages in his stack. "I can't argue with qualifications, though we don't know what to expect from the other side of negotiations. Our only direct knowledge of the New Order was… problematic, in the past. Augusta claims the religious organization in Nova Lux is obstinate in its refusal to let them broker railway or mining access to resources there, but they are not violent or openly threatening thus far. No New Order followers have been active in the Crossroads in accordance with previous demands, either, and we've had no reports to the contrary from other known settlements."
"Don't you think it might be beneficial to send Lightning along?" Sazh adds, gesturing to his right. "Just in case the New Order would respond to her? As a failsafe, that is."
Rosch concentrates on Lightning for a moment, narrowing his eyes as he weighs the option. She meets his gaze with the cold indifference of death. Somehow, I don't expect him to take this course of action.
He sits back, sharp eyes returning to Sazh. "No, I don't think so. Our intention is to be non-threatening and neutral in these negotiations, so the railway can proceed. As the former Savior, the New Order could attempt to pit her against Augusta's representatives and interpret her refusal as rejection by our delegation. More importantly, I can't guarantee that she could remain impartial if Nova Lux gave the impression of a threat to our ambassador. Diplomacy has its occupational hazards. Violence defeats the purpose."
The chill of Lightning's bottled fury prickles my skin, while she barely bats an eyelash at the charges against her. I wonder if Sazh is also fighting a full-body shiver.
Suddenly, Rosch's eyes home in on me. "Hope, you're aware of the risk. Is this acceptable?"
Now, they are all looking at me – all except Lightning, for good reason. They are indifferent, calculating or concerned, and the weight of it bears down on my shoulders. It really has been a while since I've carried this kind of burden.
All things considered, Lightning was only with me in spirit when I carried it in the past. And that was a far heavier load. This should be more than manageable.
"Yes," I say, feeling as if I've detached myself from this body to hover in the dome overhead. Dozens of possibilities are swirling in my mind – I can't say the risk outweighs the opportunity to fix many issues out in the field. "I accept the assignment."
"Good," Rosch affirms. "Take comfort in the fact that anonymity may be your ally in Nova Lux. We're told it was settled by much of the surviving population from Luxerion, which all but forgot the existence of 'Hope Estheim.' You'll be judged on your diplomatic merit alone."
After a breath of pause, he adds as almost an afterthought, "I am assigning an observer to join the security detail and relay reports on your behalf as well – one less administrative task to bother with."
Nodding, the twist in my gut announces just how comforting these facts are.
We begin the tedious process of hammering out logistics. I'll be leading my usual team on standard survey work for the railway, with the diplomatic mission a background affair that falls to me alone. We will discuss more details of the tense situation and form a plan of action with the leadership in Augusta first, depart again for survey, and meet with the leadership in Nova Lux on behalf of the Crossroads' railway development to hopefully strike a compromise.
This will take weeks – possibly months, if new demands come up from either side.
Lightning, at this point, looks like she has more than a few strong words to say, but to her credit she does not interrupt, seeming to bide her time.
We are both blindsided when Snow pipes up immediately after the close of the discussion, commanding the attention of the room.
"Chairman, I've got one extra item of business before we dismiss, if that's all right," he casually suggests. Rosch gives a curt nod for him to continue.
Snow folds his hands on the table in front of him. "Captain," he says, addressing Amodar instead, "I'm looking for security on a sensitive small team operation over the next few months. Unfortunately, I can't disclose the details here, but we'd like to limit it to just one escort. Someone who works well on independent duty, solid land nav and combat skills, and I'd say at least a couple of years in the field. I'm asking for your recommendation."
"Well," Amodar begins, stroking the ends of his thin mustache, "I do have one highly experienced soldier who isn't currently assigned to a post – a perfect fit, actually."
His gaze has landed to my left, which explains the sudden charge in the air around Lightning.
"What do you say, Farron?" he asks. "I know you just got back, but patrol work's an obvious waste of your talents, anyway."
She blinks and answers evenly, "Thank you, sir. I'll take the mission."
Savior or not, Lightning has never been one to turn down a challenge. Her automatic response comes across a tad dry, though. I suspect that her defiant streak does not apply to a respected superior like Captain Amodar, at least not without good reason.
That does not mean she is pleased with this arrangement. The collective tension in her person is reaching critical mass – I can practically feel it coiling around her spine, setting every muscle on edge. If she grips the top of her pant-legs any harder, she's going to leave bruises.
I do not envy Snow after this.
Or myself, for that matter.
The promise of dinner finally leads us all in a silent march to my parents' house.
I have barely passed the threshold when my mother catches me in her arms.
"Mom, are you okay?" She is trembling against me, the sensation slight but strong enough to vibrate through my whole body. This is the third hug I've been trapped in since last night.
Reaching down to lift her face, I see the shine of unshed tears. She sniffs once, clears her throat, and releases me with the tiniest of smiles.
"I think we got the measurements right," she says, swiping her eyes with a rapid flick of her fingers before she adjusts my collar. "Just look at you. My precious boy…"
Embarrassment creeps into my cheeks and I hazard a glance at the door behind me. The others must have slipped past, leaving me alone in the foyer with Mom.
"Measurements for what?"
She just keeps smiling and leads me by the hand, past the living room where I catch sight of Snow and Sazh chatting with my father while Lightning lurks near the bookshelf, back to the spare bedroom.
Mom lights a lamp, and its glow suffuses the cramped space until it hits something hanging from the closet, glinting off two rows of silver clasps.
And one accursed blue tie.
Dad's words come back to me like a bolt of lightning. My breath catches, and I stare at my mother in awe. "You actually made me a uniform?"
Her hands folded shyly in front of her, she only nods. I've always known she was a talented seamstress, handy with knitting and all manner of homemade goods, but to accomplish this level of detail without a sewing machine…
My feet have carried me over to her masterpiece before I realize I've moved. The stitching is so precise, with every last detail brought back to life. I run my fingers down the two-toned sleeves to the ribbing around the cuffs. The pants are a simple pair of gray slacks, but they feel sturdy and smooth under my inspection.
It occurs to me that my mother had to be following directions from someone else to recreate this. Someone with powerful memories of its design and my appearance.
"I guess Dad made a pretty strong case to put you through all this work," I say, the words coming up rough with emotion. "It's a perfect replica, Mom. I can't thank you enough."
She shakes her head, flapping a hand at me as she walks to the door. "Just try it on," she insists. "I'll never be able to accept all this praise until I know it fits!"
Alone in the room – my room, had my parents gotten their way – the uniform stares me down. The warm atmosphere shifts, and a cold weight settles in the pit of my stomach. My long and torturous former life is woven into the history of this cloth.
Prodigy. Leader. Brother.
Slave.
All those centuries, alone with my mind and the uniform. It has borne witness to my most brilliant moments and darkest hours. Sometimes, it was all that held 'Hope Estheim' together. Versions of it were caked with grime in the ruined sites of our surveys, soaked with sweat and blood and tears, torn from desperate flight in the face of monsters and men who intended to kill me. Crudely patched with unsteady hands when it was all I had left.
Until it, too, was stripped away. The last vestige of my identity.
Bhunivelze and his phantom left me with nothing.
This thought stirs me to action. My hands are shaking, my stomach churning with that raw sensation of nakedness and helplessness.
No. No more. It's over. I fight to steady my racing pulse, hurriedly shed my scratchy field gear and slip into this second skin, the armor of my better self. The me worth remembering. The tie can come along for the ride, too.
Catching my reflection in the mirror as I leave the room, I take a sharp breath, wide-eyed and overwhelmed like the first time I saw the ocean.
It's been so long since I've seen myself.
In hindsight, the others probably could've used fair warning on this development.
My entry to the living room is met with the piercing shatter of glass on flooring.
Lightning has dropped her water. Her hand hangs in the air, an array of emotions flitting across her eyes like frames from a horror film. Snow's face contorts in an effort to hold back tears, which is a rare sight. He recovers enough to grab Lightning by the arm as she tries to flee the scene.
"Let me go," she growls, finally tearing free and shooting me one last tortured glance as she blows past me to the foyer. We all freeze in suspense until the slam of the front door jars us back to life.
"Now, what the hell was that all about?" Sazh finally says.
Dad scratches at his beard, starting to pace, and Mom seems to be covering her shock by getting a broom for the mess on the floor.
"No idea – an unexpected reaction, for sure," Dad mutters, mostly to himself. He stops and turns to me. "Well, are you going after her?"
Rooted to the spot myself, the cogs are whirring in the back of my mind in an effort to break things down. Chasing Lightning right now might not end well.
"Not yet," I manage. "She… obviously needs a moment. I'm not sure what it is about seeing this," I pull at my uniform self-consciously, "that rattled her so much. She's only ever seen me in it once, in person – could be a contributing factor, I suppose."
My gaze drifts to Snow, who has remained a brooding statue. His eyes are clouded and boring into the floorboards. They suddenly snap up to mine.
"It's been a while, brother," he remarks, his grin strained. "So I'd bet on an adjustment period. Cut Lightning some slack. I'm sure she'll explain herself."
A knock sounds from the door. Sazh strides off, and in the next minute, intermingling shouts and laughter flood the room as Serah, Lina, Vanille, Dajh and the Villiers children bring their enthusiasm. Snow and Dajh take over the task of wrangling the little ones, but the result is still chaotic.
Vanille bounces by and throws herself on me in a hug.
"Aw, Hope," she coos, "we've really missed you!" She leans back to bop me on the nose with a finger, her smirk curling with mischief.
"But you're getting too handsome. Poor Lightning – she'll have to go 'round fighting people off you all the time, won't she?"
"Wha—?" I squeak, but she has bounded away to help my mother. She has not changed one iota. And it sounds like Fang still has her hands full with her Saint's followers.
Raking a hand through my hair, I take a few deep breaths to cope with the crowded, noisy atmosphere. The positive energy might be infectious enough to counterbalance it if my mind wasn't stranded in the wastes of confusion from Lightning's stormy departure.
Serah skips over to squeeze me in a brief side-hug. I have accepted the fact, by now, that everyone is going to get hold of me at least once today. She looks a little misty-eyed even as she laughs at my tie, giving it a playful swat.
"It's good to see you again, Director Hope Estheim," she says, tilting her head with a winning smile. "I meant to thank you earlier for taking such good care of my sister, by the way. She was so much more herself this morning…"
Her eyes cast around the room as she notices Lightning's conspicuous absence.
"Um, actually, where is she now?"
I rub at the back of my head, sighing toward the front door. "Funny you should ask. She… might have freaked out a little bit about my uniform and taken off. Not sure how much time she needs to process whatever is bothering her, but I don't want to make it worse by barging in as the source of the trouble."
"Everyone coming to the table?" my mother asks to the room, shifting the focus of her question to me with a glance.
I can't follow my friends and family trailing into the dining room. My feet will not move past the doorway, and the smell of food wafting over is almost nauseating. Serah hangs back and pats my arm, a sadness in her eyes as they search mine. She understands.
"Just go," she says. "We'll still be here."
Lightning is exactly where I expect to find her.
Granted, I had also investigated several other possible locations first to give her some time before following a slender pillar of smoke to where it wafts above our usual riverbank haunt, vanishing into the dusky sky.
It takes a minute to process the scene before me. Lightning sits upon a rock, empty eyes fixated on a growing fire as she casually tosses a bundle of deep mauve fabric into its midst, prompting a burst of sparks before the delicate material is devoured. The flames crackle and hiss around scattered metallic bits amongst the wood. A few larger pieces of armor plating glow in the rising heat.
Her garb. She is obliterating it. She has joked about doing so before, but this strikes me as more of an explosive release of the tension I've been tracking today. My eyes slip over to the remaining pieces – her Equilibrium and Champion of Etro ensembles are draped carelessly over a bush, with only a handful of others piled nearby. A part of me wants them to survive.
"Light, what are you…" I barely articulate, inching toward her. Finally, I just ask, "Why?"
She turns to my voice and her defensive aura swells around her, invisible waves beating against me. Her eyes are haunted. She can't hold my gaze for more than a few brief moments. She goes back to incinerating pieces of her past in lieu of responding.
Hmph, I know that feeling.
I take a seat in the sparse grass just a few feet away, watching the battle unfold before me in stunned silence. Lightning finishes her burning task on what looks to be the Dark Muse with a final toss of its mismatched armbands. She stands, whips around and yanks at the feather train of her Champion of Etro garb with a vengeance, wrestling with the piece as it's caught on the bush.
In the final freeing tug, she overbalances and crashes to her hands and knees. She grabs the silvery plumage beneath her and slams it into the dirt. She does not get back up. It takes every ounce of my control to not go to her, but I wait.
Her fingers claw into the feathers until a strangled near-growl of a sob escapes her throat. "Don't look so surprised," she chokes out. "Hope…"
Lightning trails off, lifting her eyes, forcing herself to face me. All of me. She flinches at first, but gives in to the torment that plays across her features.
"How can you do this to yourself again?"
My thoughts probe around her words. She is concerned about the New Order's involvement in my assignment and the looming threat of Bhunivelze within, but this goes deeper. The intense reaction to my Academy uniform does not fit.
"Light, I don't understand," I try, moving forward to kneel in front of her and pressing a hand to my chest. "I thought you would be relieved – proud, even. You know what the Academy stood for. It's unacceptable that almost everyone has forgotten how hard humanity worked to be free. And you know what I stand for, what it could mean for people. So why—?"
"But what does it mean for you?" she spits back. She crawls up to me, grabs the front of my shirt. There is dust and salt and fire in her eyes – a ruined city and an empty throne.
I steady her with my hands. "We all made sacrifices. You more than anyone. I thought… we both had decided to move past it."
"So did I," Lightning bites out. Her head falls to my shoulder and she crumbles against me. "Idiot. You just… keep making yourself a target. I had to stand by in Valhalla, watching you murdered in a hundred timelines for everything you stood for – your creations, your people, your ideals," she says, pounding each cause into my heart with her fist.
"All because you never back down. I won't see your blood on this uniform again. You don't owe the world a damn thing!"
There it is. My arms tighten around her, holding her together. Lightning has closely guarded this particular chink in her armor since we came to this world. She only ever gave me the smallest glimpses into her centuries of battling Caius while keeping a solitary watch over Etro and the timeline's alignment. Her obvious avoidance of the subject led me not to pry. Still, that was five hundred years of her life.
It was the longest watch in history. She fought for our souls, I fought for our lives. We turned over without a word.
How did it never occur to me that she witnessed all the possibilities?
That she is the only human being alive to bear the burden of remembering them?
Noel, Serah and Yeul are forever traumatized by only a handful of those futures.
The one horrific alternate timeline I'm aware of is the future Serah warned me about, regarding the proto-fal'Cie project. Just the thought of being slaughtered, along with my entire research team, by my own creation, and causing a Cie'th-infested future freezes my blood. But to watch it unfolding before my eyes, praying that this was surely not the timeline fate had in store…
I would never have lasted. A single glimpse of Lightning, alive and fighting in an oracle drive, inspired me to build and hang a moon in the sky, but seeing her die a hundred deaths would have undone me.
Her breathing is stuttered but slowing, steadying against my collar.
She is right. How could I not see this coming? Lightning does not know me as a leader – she never got the chance to meet me, then. Only peer into my darkest destinies.
The true destiny of Director Hope Estheim wasn't much better, it just wasn't quite death.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper against her hair. "I didn't think—"
"Don't apologize. You can't help who you are." She pushes slightly back from me, her eyes hazily regarding my chest until she blinks and redirects to examine the side of her right hand.
Blood seeps from a small gash in her skin. Looking down, a matching red smear marks one of my silver clasps like a well-aimed kill shot, right where she hit me.
"Tch, perfect," she mutters, a brittle smirk on her lips. She carelessly wipes the blood on her dirty cargo pants and sighs at her lap, her open arms falling in a gesture at herself. "Clearly you can't help what you love, either."
A secret place in my soul fractures. What you love. As if she is some unclean object, a filthy sword cast aside when no longer needed. I want to scream at her.
"Light, please…"
I can't help but hear her self-loathing for what it is. We are too much a part of each other. The words to correct her are choking me, at war in my throat until the casualties cut off every verbal course of action. I shake my head, gather her back in, and follow her gaze when it retreats.
I capture her mouth, breathing in and tasting the smoke and ash as I swallow any more destructive words she might have in reserve. What could I possibly say that hasn't been said a hundred times before?
Stop lying to yourself?
You deserve everything you want in life, anything I can give you and more?
I would not exist without you?
No, I can't say these things. Because I am a hypocrite, and this is my fault.
"Hope," Lightning gasps, breaking away as the edges of my painful thoughts have barely begun to heal over. "You know you can't just kiss everything better, right?"
The proud fighter in her is rallying, at least.
"Worth a try," I breathe, my smile hanging on by a thread. "How did you put it? When we were sitting right over there, actually." I look past her to the riverbank, recalling the determination on her face before I kissed her that first time.
Yet another instance of drowning our mutual abject misery in the flood of something more powerful. More present.
"You can't expect my brain to catalogue everything," she says.
Still keeping watch on her skeptical face, I rummage around in one of her cargo pockets to procure the usual first-aid kit. "Well, I remember. Something about 'doing whatever it takes until I'm satisfied with the results.' Words to live by, Light. All yours."
Lightning huffs out the last of her frustration, raking back her sweaty hair and coughing over a laugh. Fresh blood is draining down to her wrist. She snatches the kit from my fingers, swipes her hand on her pants again, and tears off a piece of adhesive tape with her teeth.
She is a beautiful disaster.
My heart leaps into my throat when she finally speaks.
"Thank you." Her eyes dart up to mine, heavy with all that's left unsaid. "For trying."
Beta-roomie's Glorious Endnote Commentary (oh how I've missed it)
Right off the bat: Ok damn, first person AND present tense? You're playing with fire lol
When Hope says that was a wrong answer: Lol none of that was a fucking answer, Hope. Evasive little shit.
When Hope mentioned there's not necessarily reason to assume Bhunivelze will resurface just because they aren't constantly together (their conversation was just speculation and there isn't a simple fix here, but Beta was having WAY too much fun with the idea): Okay what the fuck we did not discuss this. Sex is Bhuni-kryptonite? What? Like, I'm not against this, but come on girl, this concept ASKS to be made into a long series of porn fics. I'm pretty sure it's against the fanfic charter to not write a series of sex scenes with this kind of premise.
Scene I'm imagining later in this story:
Hope: "Lightning, I… I think Bhunivelze is coming back—"
Lightning: [already removing her clothes] "Way ahead of you, lets do this."
[one sex scene later~]
Hope: "Wow, glad that worked. This could have been morally ambiguous."
And when Hope says it was unsustaintable: (quote from comedian Taylor Tomlinson's Netflix special) That's quitter talk. Grab some orange slices and get back down there, Anderson!
When he thinks that nothing can be worse than what they endured in the past: Lol that's adorable. Sure.
When Hope has a flashback moment as Snow shakes his hand: Ohhhhh my god Hope you are just so EXTRA right now. You need sleep my dude.
Like, he's right, but damn. I feel like he should be smoking a cigarette alongside a fifth of Scotch and staring into the middle distance while waxing on about his inner pain with a line like this. Like thanks, Batman, we get it, you have a tortured past.
As Hope thinks about 'whenever it might be' that they could go back: Lol wow you really don't want to be back, do you Hope?
When Sazh drops them off at the house and leaves: Sazh: "welp here's your place, peace!" Me: "so you're not even gonna make sure they can get in? Verify there's running water or electricity? Make sure they have clean linens and shit? No? Just 'hey here's your place, its has a door & a roof, enjoy playing reverse-escape room, I'm outie'? jfc why are you in charge of this Sazh." (to be fair, most of that was Serah's department)
After the description of how Hope wakes up and falls: Fun fact: add in a headache & nausea, and this is the exact description of a hangover.
And then when he asks for help: You are a grown man, Hope. Figure out blankets.
And then at Light's reaction from the doorway: God I relate to her so much right now (fun fact: Beta is very much a morning person, lacking any sympathy)
After Hope's comments about the changed morning routine: Hope you are so goddamn emo. Live up to your name jfc. Also just like… add cream and sugar, my dude. It'll be fine.
When he says human capital is a valuable resource: Hope ur so dumb wtf
When Rosch explains that the intention is to be non-threatening: Why I never. Are you saying that Lightning isn't non-threatening and neutral? How dare, I say, HOW DARE YOU, good Sir. She is a delicate flower of peace.
And after Lightning is bottling her anger about the situation: Lol, the charges.
Rosch: "She might even take issue with them trying to kill Hope!"
Lightning: "yeah no shit"
After Hope sees the uniform: LOOOOL parents be parents XDDD
When he's thinking about everything he went through in that uniform: Nah bitch your mom just made that one, you're good. You don't have enslavement cooties on it, I promise. Just homespun mother's love. ;P
When he sees his reflection: Okay Hope, I have to say this: you need – and I can't emphasize this enough – some fucking therapy. Jfc.
When Light drops the glass and runs off after he comes back: I'll take "Triggered Memories of being the Goddess of Death" for 500, Alex?
After Light comments that he can't help what he loves: Okay amending my previous comment: you both desperately need some therapy.
And finally, when Light comments that he can't kiss everything better: THIS IS WHY YOU NEED THERAPY, HOPE.
