The first class train ride had been the most enjoyable couple of days Aerith had experienced in ages, she had to admit. Jessie's ticket had granted her access to room service, free meals, and a tea carriage near the front of the train. With not a single clergy, monk, or inquisitor on board, she had been able to relax for once in her life.
Now, she found herself within the border town the train had dropped her off at minutes earlier, the evening closing in fast. This place, in contrast, was filled with danger, the glimmer of an emissary's aura somewhere nearby. And where there was one emissary, there were two more lurking nearby.
They were looking for her.
Aerith asked for directions towards the town gate and briskly headed that way, straying towards groups of stragglers going home from the mines or to the taverns. She hoped that her hair as it was right now, unbraided and wavy, would throw off her would-be pursuers if they were going by her old photos. An umbrella was cradled on her arm, and she thought better of using it to hide. It would bring more attention than not at this hour.
The gate was still open, and the guard was preoccupied with a magazine and not the comings and goings of the town. Aerith made her exit, then headed northward, walking alongside the wall. The cliffs and mountainsides of Corel greeted her, a scrubby grassland full of potential dangers she preferred to the stuffy prison that was Midgar.
It wasn't as if she hadn't faced danger before, after all. That had been most of her journey. Through any kind of terrain imaginable, she had traveled through it. The tingle in her back motivated her to move, to hope for maybe a small village a day or so away without the danger of capture, no matter how fleeting the feeling was.
The sun's final rays cast a golden light over the dry grass that crunched beneath her worn boots. She took a path towards the mountains, looking for a cavern to pass the night in. A dirt trail appeared, tamped down by the feet of locals. She followed it.
As dusk descended, a mine entrance came into view. Aerith jogged towards it, the cool evening air rushing over her exposed skin. A small wall demarcated the mine from the wilderness, and she hopped over it and towards the foreman shack. The door was locked, forcing her to head into the mine itself.
There was an eerie glow from the veins, that of raw mythril. A distant, warm draft ebbed and flowed from deep within. She found a shelf of stone down the tunnel, nestled in a forgotten crevice. Sleep came after hours of listening to the gentle hum of the ore and her mutterings of old prayers her mother had taught her. She woke before the sun rose and continued on after drinking her fill from the well.
The next day was much the same, and the day after that, despite a close encounter with a troop of soldiers driving by in a military truck. Her places of refuge became the open sky or under the boughs of a grove of trees, her rest troubled by nightmares of capture. Sometimes a sudden fog would hide her, as if the land was trying to help her evade those that would stop her from reaching her destination.
She finally reached the next village over, tired and aching, the noonday sun having burnt away the last bits of mist before she reached the wall. Aerith asked, then motioned for an inn when no one could speak Standard. The inn ended up being an extra room in the tavern used by the seldom vagabond and she gave the owner a few extra bills for use of their washroom.
For most of the afternoon, she tried to untangle her hair, nearly forgetting dinner as the last knot was coaxed apart by her brush. She checked her belongings, pulling out a small crystal orb that sat perfectly in the palm of her hand. Another possession of her late mother, now in her care.
She wondered about it, its history. Her mother had said it was their tribe's to protect. Since that day Midgar came, it was solely hers to guard now. Aerith squeezed it, then put it under her pillow.
The hay-filled mattress she finally plopped upon was perfect after nights of hard earth, yet still, her dreams haunted her, warning of danger and a reaper figure that she somehow ran into when fleeing the dream emissaries. It killed them, then turned to point at her. Icy blue dots under the ragged hood drained the air out of her lungs.
Aerith jerked awake, covered in a cold sweat. Just nerves, she told herself. Not anything to interpret. She pulled out the orb again. With a huff, she wrapped it up in her hair, using her ribbon.
The idea of renting a Chocobo came to her shortly after she collected herself. The thought of another day by herself prickled her nerves, and she thanked her lucky stars she had met Jessie. The price would be high in the war-torn country.
The stalls were on the outskirts of the village, without a stranger in sight. She flashed a stack of gil, and was quickly shown to a bird with saffron feathers. The saddle was hard beneath her, but anticipation thundered in her heart.
Her worries melted away as the Chocobo picked up speed, rushing away from the village and beyond.
She passed another village by noon, and a military outpost late in the afternoon. After another break, she continued on, hoping to get just a little farther. The Chocobo, however, headed towards some tall grass after a few more miles into the wilderness. It flattened itself a bed and nestled into it, Aerith still sitting on its back.
"Well, fine then!" Aerith sighed harshly and slid off her saddle. The Chocobo gave her a tired look as she grabbed her jacket, and she touched its beak. "No, you're right."
She looked out towards a vast plain. Plumes of smoke billowed far out in the distance. It seemed there had been a battle not too long ago.
With a hum she considered her choices. Corellian forces could show up, but they would be more interested in recovering their soldiers than hounding her. Then again, she'd be a hard target to look for in the night. Aerith looked back at the Chocobo. "Okay, we can sleep here for the night. But you're getting me to North Corel tomorrow!"
The Chocobo tilted its head and blinked. "Kweh."
"Kweh!" Aerith sat and rested her head against the base of its neck, her breast warmed by its wings and her legs protected by her jacket. She looked up at the first twinkling stars, then closed her eyes to let sleep take her.
A baying howl startled her awake.
She jolted, just as the Chocobo did, the both of them stumbling to their feet in a rush. Another howl, and then light and fire lit up the battlefield. The Chocobo made a panicked tweet before sprinting off with Aerith's backpack.
"Wait! Stop!"
Aerith chased it further into the fields, giving up as she realized it wasn't going to stop. She stood there, longingly watching the Chocobo as it disappeared into the twilight.
The night's cold embrace tightened around her. She slowly turned back to find her red jacket in the makeshift nest. She couldn't afford to stay, but she wouldn't get far without some protection from the elements. Especially since it held some of her money and possessions.
The air grew noisy with a cacophony of moans and growls and the sensation of powerful magic rippling through the air. She kneeled in the grass, watching what seemed to be a battle between what could only be emissaries and…something, she couldn't tell who or what they were exactly. Nervously, she licked her lips, then focused.
A chill ran down her spine, then, as the miasma of death occulted the colorful auras of the emissaries. Most likely zombies, but who did it or why was beyond her.
As she continued to observe the battle, she noticed that the zombies were felled quickly by holy light, raging fire, and a large wolf barrelling through their ranks. A sudden realization came over her; they were probably sent out to look for her. Without another thought, she hurried in the general direction of the Chocobo nest.
It was far harder to find than she had hoped.
The darkness swallowed up her trail, and she futilely looked about. She rubbed her palm with her fingers; she needed that jacket! Aerith stretched out her hand, and a ball of light came into existence at the tip of her fingers. It bounced off, then rolled through the grass.
She followed it, praying she'd find the jacket, praying the emissaries were too busy with a necromancer or more zombies or anything but her. Why did she forget the jacket? How could she forget it?
It came into view as the ball rolled onto it, nestled on the soft, red leather. As soon as her fingers grazed the surface the ball fizzled out, leaving her in the still quiet of the night. She held the jacket, looking it over, making sure everything was in place before she donned it.
She looked towards the mountains, its trees faintly reflecting the light of a crescent moon. Freedom waited somewhere beyond.
"Don't move."
The voice, deep and raspy and feral, sent a thrill of terror down her spine. She could feel it then, hot, moist breath that smelled of decaying flesh. "Lose your friends?"
"...I lost my Chocobo," she corrected quietly, wondering how she could weasel away from the emissary behind her.
She heard him sniff her, his nose tickling her stray hairs. Bumping her back. "Turn around."
Slowly, she complied. The large wolf from the battlefield was giving her a piercing look with violet eyes like glowing amethysts. Looking down at her appraisingly. Aerith blinked at him.
"You're that girl," he grumbled. His frown deepened. "I don't know what you've been up to here with those necromancer freaks, but it ends now."
She indignantly stomped the ground with her boot. "Up to? I'm not up to anything! I was traveling to the nearest village, and then my Chocobo wound up spooked!"
"Come on," groaned the emissary. "I'm not stupid! You're her, the witch wanted by Midgar!"
Aerith rolled her eyes. "I'm not a witch!"
"If you're not, then you shouldn't mind an interrogation." He brought a paw closer. "Witch or not, you're coming with us."
"I'd rather not, but thanks for the offer anyway," replied Aerith before she quickly turned her head, closed her eyes, and released another ball of light, this one as bright and sudden as lightning. The wolf whined in pain and she ran, ran towards the treeline.
If Creation was on her side, she could slip away again.
The emissary howled, then soon she heard him crashing through the grass and newly sprung bramble that caught his paws and stuck to his fur. "Witch!"
"Am not!"
Her lungs began to burn. She never stopped, even as his panting trailed further behind her. Another howl came then, but this time in front of her. Several. Dots of pale white appeared behind the trees and bushes. She skidded to a stop as a pack of wolves came sprinting from the forest.
Then, the blossoming warmth of fire hit her back. She quickly looked back to see the thorny bramble ignite, freeing the large wolf. His eyes burned more intense than his scorched fur, dancing red and violet, and she felt like a demon's prey.
She froze.
He leaped.
Aerith was knocked back from the force of his paw, her head hitting the hard, dry earth. Oblivion followed.
Tifa had never been to this room before, darker than the rest of the palace and ornately decorated with all manner of macabre frivolity. Iron pillars were carved into crowded groups of dancing skeletons, the floor was paved with ivory tiles, and plush furniture sat by the ancient, mural-covered walls. The throne, standing atop stone stairs that raised it above her, was made of carved ebony and bone, with tiny twinkling lights floating about it.
Death sat there, with two large dogs resting on either side of his throne. His bony claws rubbed the fabric of his cowl in consternation as his hand propped his head up; the admission that emissaries had interrupted their work had troubled him, but now he seemed to have a headache. Tifa stood nervously next to Dyne, who had his arms crossed and a stern gaze towards the god. "You did what?"
"She refused orders," snapped Dyne. "When I told her-"
Death put his free hand out to silence him. "I asked her."
Tifa swallowed, her hands wringing her fingers as the god awaited her answer. "I - I didn't-" She licked her lips. "I was told we were going to collect anyone that wasn't gonna make it. I-I wasn't going to take anyone else."
She felt his unseen gaze leave her. "Who were you reaping?"
"He saw her."
"Who saw her?"
"A soldier. He was injured as it was."
"He wasn't dying," countered Tifa. "It-it was my fault, I should've been more careful. But he shouldn't die because of me."
Death looked between them. "I'm pretty sure we had this talk before," he warned before straightening his back, looking a dangerous sight on his throne. He pointed at Dyne. "And you should have been more careful teaching her."
"If they didn't die today, they'll die tomorrow, or the next day," retorted Dyne bitterly. "Luck runs out on the battlefield."
"I'm well aware of that," Death said tersely as he lowered his arm and leaned forward. "They come to us when their time is up. Not when you feel like it. Got it?"
Dyne tensed, his brow lowering. "Yes, master."
"Good. Now what about these emissaries?"
"They believed we were necromancers," Dyne replied curtly.
"What did they do?"
"There was a bright light, and fire...and there was a wolf monster," offered Tifa. "I wish I knew more…"
"Of course you wouldn't know," muttered Dyne. "They demanded we surrender, and we fled using the recently deceased for cover."
"Hm." Tifa watched as Death's vile claws clicked against the armrest. "Dyne. You're finished mentoring. I need you somewhere else, anyway."
"Yes, master," said Dyne, a faint smile curling his lips.
"I'll call on you later. Dismissed."
Dyne nodded, then turned around to leave. Tifa looked back at him, then followed after a fleeting look towards the throne.
"I didn't dismiss you."
She froze, her eyes fleetingly watching Dyne walk down the length of hall before her, and disappearing behind the double doors. They shut with a rattling clunk.
She looked back.
Death was watching her.
With a heavy swallow, she turned about and walked up to him again. The dogs, or wolves, she wasn't sure, took a passing interest in her, their hollow eyes staring back. One of them had something moving at the edge of their eye socket. She quickly looked away. Tifa came to a stop in front of the god, rubbing the side of her arm, waiting for his reprimand.
"I see Dyne didn't tell you much about emissaries." Death softly tapped the armrest with a curled-up fist. Tifa visibly relaxed, the frown on her face fading as she looked back at him. "They're like you, just with another god blessing them and the church giving them orders.
"Emissaries can sense magic, and identify other emissaries through it. It isn't surprising that you didn't know who they were, since that takes experience."
Tifa shifted her weight on her feet. "How come they didn't know we were emissaries, then?"
Death shrugged. "My emissaries are rare, so, maybe they just attributed it to necromancers. Happens with witches and wilders, too. Magic users can't escape emissaries."
"Oh. Well, I guess I'll keep that in mind from now on," said Tifa.
He nodded, then rested his head in his hand. "You still can't remember much, can you?"
Tifa shook her head sheepishly. Memories would come and go in a flash, and she had only grasped a handful of them, carefully focused on holding onto fleeting images after she woke up for another grey day in the underworld.
"Figured as much. I need you to remember who you were. Can't have you regaining them all on the job." She felt his observant stare examining her closely. "You still need a mentor, too."
"Oh." Her arms slowly crossed below her chest. "...Who will that be?"
His hand lowered again. "Mateus. I don't think you've met him yet, but he's usually in the library or traveling the Underworld for me." There was a pause, the void filled by the sound of one of the wolf-dogs scratching their ear. "He has a bum leg from when he was alive, so I don't have him do jobs topside as much."
"...Does that mean I'll be stuck down here?"
"No, you're free to visit the Overworld. Avoid Corel for now, and when it's time I'll call for you." The wolf-dog on the left sat up. It was huge, its shoulders above Tifa's hips. Death's fingers inched towards the beast. They held its leathery ear and rubbed. "Now that that's out of the way...you're dismissed."
She stood there a moment longer, Death turning his attention to the wolf-dog. Without any more hesitation, she turned around to make her leave, giving Raphas an obligatory smile and wave inside the antechamber before she navigated the palace. Now that she was done fretting over Death's reaction to their botched mission, she began to ponder what she should do first. As she wandered the empty halls, she thought she heard faint singing. Her interest waxing, Tifa followed the sound, growing louder with every step.
The way was on the same wing as the bedrooms. The doors, usually closed whenever she passed by, were wide open, revealing a spacious, if dreary, chapel. Memories of a place like this gripped Tifa's mind, but it may as well have been from another universe, bright and colorful and regal. This chapel was gloomy as an ossuary, the pews filled with the dead singing hymns and at the pulpit, a tall, linen-wrapped corpse, decorated in finery.
Tifa looked about for a moment, then sat in one of the pews closest to the door. Those in attendance, the palace servants, continued their song a minute longer before returning to their seats. The undead priest's fingers clasped the stone pulpit, his rings clicking against it in the silence. "As it is said in the Book of Murmux, chapter eight, verses thirteen through seventeen; and surely as Bahamut sealed away Eternity did the Lord of the Dead come to help his flock; ceaselessly did He move against the gods in the Land of Life to bringeth justice to the Dead; He did see the Living Gods work against the Dead; for their souls and spirits stagnate within the body; and so they became a miasma in the world.
"Without our Lord's domain, the mortal suffers greatly; for we are destined to die, and flow into His realm, where we might find peace," he preached in a gravelly voice. "Many who died in the Dark Age became a menace to their loved ones, because of the arrogance of the gods above, those jealous and fearful frauds!" His hand swept the stale air in front of him. "For what hath they done for us in life, that our Lord hath not done ten times over for us in death?"
Tifa shifted in her seat, the wood pressing into her tailbone. She wasn't quite sure what to think, since the only experience she had with gods was the one she was now under. Her fingers flexed and she pinched her pants, rubbing the fabric as the priest went on.
"Verily, our Lord will bring discord to their temples for their evil ways! Great Goddess willing, He shall be foremost among the gods, and we shall be uplifted!" There was an approving mutter from the audience, and the priest carefully closed the book on the pulpit. "Our silver-haired lord will bring Bahamut to heel, and take his place upon the ruling throne!"
There were a few quiet cheers, then a call for another hymn, this one for their descendants. It was somber but hopeful, refreshing after the long-winded diatribe against a world she didn't remember. As the song died down, there were a few parting words by the priest. Then the congregants filed out, talking amongst themselves, stirring something in Tifa. It felt so familiar how casual it all was, leaving a holy(or was it considered unholy?) place refreshed, returning to mundane life.
"Ah, thou art the young emissary? Tifa, correct?"
She glanced up. The old priest was looking at her with empty sockets. "I-I am."
"Father Puch, at your service." His dusty old hands clasped together, and he grinned through dried lips. "I hope my lady finds the chapel to her liking. Tis a humble corner for myself and others to praise our goodly lord."
"It's...peaceful, I suppose."
"Yes, but that is of this world, unlike the restless nature of the world above." Puch's shriveled finger pointed upwards, wavering in the air. "Have you been back up, my lady? Is it as bright as I remember? It was so long ago!"
"Probably brighter," she said with a faint smile. "Even at night...but the stars are still beautiful."
"Ah, stars." His finger curled back into his fist, and he lowered it to his side. "Something I suppose I could not behold properly."
Tifa stared at his empty eye sockets, and she licked her lips. "Can't you...see?"
To her relief, he chuckled. Dry and raspy, nearly a drawn-out cough. "That I can, be it not like your own. For my body degraded before I was saved from the grave," he explained. "Any denizen may see, but those blinded in life. The scars of the body are scars upon the soul."
"I see… there's still a lot for me to learn, I guess," said Tifa with a squeeze of her knees.
"You have forever to learn, my lady." Pach bowed deeply towards her, his bones scraping and jewelry tinkling. "I hope my sermon filled you with resolve, mighty emissary, for I must take my leave for now, for the city has many places of worship I must visit. Farewell, Lady Tifa."
As Father Puch shuffled down the aisle and out the door, Tifa was left rubbing her thumbs together, wracking her brain over the sermon. Tension mounted in her body like some sick facsimile of a living person, and it didn't take long for her to jump out of her seat and down the hall, towards the baths. Away from everything else.
When she finally got there, in the steaming black pool, Tifa could feel her muscles relax and her nerves slowly soothed. Still her mind danced, about the sermon, about her past, about this new mentor of hers. The realization that Dyne would not be teaching her any longer sent a pulse of relief tingling through her body.
She watched as another figure entered the pool, pale and lithe. She paused to look at Tifa with amber eyes before wading to the other side. Tifa slid further into the water, then submerged completely, letting the heat embrace every bit of her. Her eyes slowly closed, and visions of the Corellian night and those living emissaries played out beneath her lids.
Seeing them brought no new memories to mind, but she was certain she'd meet them again. Or others. How many gods was she to oppose at Death's behest?
What else was she missing?
There weren't enough pieces to solve the puzzle yet, she decided, and finally she let herself drift, periodically opening her eyes to watch the lights above her shimmer like a carpet of fireflies. When she was done she dried off and got dressed before heading off towards the library, where she hoped to meet Mateus.
It was a place she had come to once in a while for something to read in her room. The walls housed countless books that went off into the dark, halls full of dusty tomes and will o' wisps. The front of the library hosted a desk, where a skeletal librarian sat, lording over their mostly silent domain. Several rows of long, old tables sat in front of the librarian's perch.
A young teenager sat at one, scratching his cheek while he read a book. There was a cowl of chain mail on his head, cushioned by violet cloth and unruly brown curls of hair. He wore a pair of old, leather shoulder pauldrons, decorated with a symbol in the form of a swirl of flame, on top of a dark gray tunic. He rubbed his crooked nose, then flipped a page.
Tifa hesitated in her steps, then slowly walked over. He did a double-take when her hand rested on the wood near him, his glassy, deep green eyes staring back at her.
"...Can I help you?"
She nodded. "Do...do you know if Mateus is here?"
"That'd be me."
Tifa tried not to balk. "Y-you're Mateus?"
"That it would be," he said before putting a marker on the page and closing the book. "You should know by now that how one looks down here is a poor indicator of age."
She put a hand to her face, her cheeks blemishing. "I'm sorry!"
"It's alright." He motioned at the chair next to him with a smile. "You're the latest to join our ranks. Tifa, yes?"
Tifa nodded, and she sat in the offered chair. "I was told you would be teaching me from now on."
Mateus' brows raised, and he leaned back in his chair. "Hm. I knew Dyne hadn't the ability to mentor. Not my place to tell the master, however."
"I wouldn't say he was bad at teaching, exactly…" she glanced down at her clasped hands. "But I don't think we, um, saw eye to eye on certain things…"
He shook his head and gave the table a few pats. "That sounds like Dyne, alright. The boy is still bitter about his death. I'll tell you now, don't be letting that get you down. It can't be helped."
"I guess so…" She looked back up in time to see Mateus lean forward and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Listen, I've been around for a good long time, so I've seen it all. Murder, suicide, victims of war and plague and the church. The old, the young…" He shook his head with a contemplative expression. "Death is part of the world's cycle, not some evil to avoid."
Tifa's brow creased, and she gave a weak frown. "It...doesn't feel like it."
"It's dull is all! But you're at peace down here, are you not? Oh, I know, I know. Taken before your time, like me. Perhaps you haven't had the chance to properly mourn?" Mateus gave her an emphatic pat.
She shook her head. "No, I haven't. I haven't even had the chance to remember what I should be mourning."
He slowly nodded, his hand sliding off her shoulder and onto his lap. "Yes, I remember it said you were an amnesiac. Good to see you weren't a blank slate for Dyne, at least. Gods above, we don't need more of that attitude down here!" Mateus said with a toothy grin.
"Hm. But, I think I should find out who I was." Tifa looked down again. "I don't remember much. I don't even remember if I was training at all to be another god's emissary."
"It would indeed be strange if you were not, though as with Dyne it happened because of the war."
"I don't think that's it. I'm not from Corel as far as I know."
"Oh. Well, do you at least know where, then?"
She paused. Her mouth was a little dry. "...Nibelheim. That's where I'm from."
"Dyne taught you how you may go back to the world of the living, yes?" Tifa looked up and nodded, and he nodded back. He pointed at her, wagging his finger up and down. "You would do well to conceal yourself there, you know, as it would be quite jarring to the mortals of that place to see you looking as alive as you do."
"Right…" She looked away again, her fingers picking at the splinters in the table.
Mateus let out a short grunt, his gaze studying her face. "Well then, anything else you wish to glean from me?"
She pursed her lips. There was conflict in her chest as she remembered Puch's service in the chapel. "I guess...I wanted to know what Death's plans are."
"You'll have to be a bit more specific," he replied dryly.
She squirmed a bit before locking eyes with him. "I-I just wonder about his plans for the Overworld, and I don't want anyone hurt…"
He nodded. "I see. Well, the master isn't quite like as the old stories go, if you remember them. He sees a problem, and he goes off to fix it, no matter what the other gods think might be best."
"And what problem might the living have?" Tifa asked, her stomach a ball of nerves.
"The gods that run their world, of course." Mateus pointed a finger up, smiling all the while. "But the master knows how to put them in their place!"
"But how are they a problem? They're sustaining life, aren't they?" Tifa nervously scratched at her cheek.
"It's a problem that has plagued all of Creation for a thousand years." Mateus looked towards the librarian, who rattled. A hissing noise came from it. He turned towards Tifa again, leaning in, and lowered his voice. "Our master wishes to claim an ancient relic that will bring balance back to Creation, and that is where we emissaries come in. It would be good to see our master brought back to His official station, yes?"
"I-I suppose so?" She bit her lip. Puch's words echoed in her mind. "But isn't he trying to usurp the gods?"
"That is up to them, in the end, if hubris lays them low at our master's feet." Again he clasped her shoulder, his smile never wavering. "Well then, with that bit out of the way, absolutely should you go above and recollect your memories, as they are yours. When you're ready, of course."
"Just like that, huh?" She still wasn't sure what Death's ultimate plan was. She considered what had happened today, the service, Dyne's reprimand. It wasn't as if she could oppose a deity, anyway. Tifa let out a sigh and gave a resigned nod. "Maybe I should focus on myself a little…"
"That's the spirit!" Mateus reopened his book. "If you would need any help with your craft, simply ask, and we shall have a lesson or two."
"Right. Thank you, Mateus." Tifa stood up, and as Mateus went back to his book she took her leave, ignoring the glare of the librarian.
She wondered as she walked the halls towards her room, her mind never emptying of questions. Death had aims for the greater pantheon, perhaps by use of force. It was out of her hands, and she resigned herself to her main goal: her memories.