Hope hadn't heard the voice speak to him in days. He got used to the silence when he didn't prompt any answers, but when he spoke with others or himself, he felt disoriented not to get something back from the presence. He felt it there still, like a sulking animal. It didn't respond to him and it didn't show any signs that it even heard him.
He collapsed against his bed after the end of another long day. He kept working with the medics downstairs despite his "promotion," and they showed no intent to treat him like one of them.
That didn't bother him, though he knew it should. Normally the voice would speak to him and keep him company and help him to understand such things. But now it felt like he was left alone, abandoned like his parents had done at his birth. Every limb ached from his latest practice session and his body protested the idea of ever moving again.
But he liked the idea of protecting himself. And Larsa, maybe, but he got the feeling that Larsa could take care of himself in the event of an assassination or whatever it was that most threatened an emperor.
He rolled over in bed, muscles relishing the chance to rest. Perhaps he would finally sleep tonight and catch up on his lost rest from the last week. He couldn't even remember what he did that was so exhausting.
Blinked. And found himself in shadowed ruins.
The sensation of suddenly finding himself in another place wasn't unfamiliar to him, but he couldn't help a sense of foreboding as he stood from his chair. The ground beneath him remained solid, branches and bushes running over the table and chairs. The space around him still greatly resembled the room he was in, merely with leaves replacing the carpeting on the floor and drifting from the ceiling of tree branches that took the place of decorations.
Hope let his fingers linger over the desk before he stepped into the center of the room.
Soft snoring sounded from off to the side, prompting him to continue in that direction. Between the end of the floor and the beginning of the wall, he could make out a break in the wood.
Hope kneeled and glanced over the edge of the drop, head spinning. He'd never been a big fan of heights or darkness and, looking down, he couldn't see an ending to the strange gap.
Snoring to his right. Whispering below him.
Hope reached out only for something to pull him back and send him crashing onto his back.
Don't spurn the darkness.
Something stepped behind him.
You're a being of light, molded and claimed by the gods.
The air around him turned thick and Hope struggled to breathe. His lungs felt tight and his feet like lead. His hands fell limp at his sides and the voice remained silent, leaving Hope alone with this being of dread. "Who are you?"
He already knew the answer. Something about the presence bristled at his confusion. Why did he play dumb?
Greater things. Claws ghosted over his skin. Darkness taints.
Hope felt suddenly small and childlike. "As I should be." Drawing a shuddering breath, he pulled himself to his feet. "But… this isn't real."
"Am I not?" A man with dark skin and silvery hair appeared in the darkness. He wore a faded green robe, woven with exotic ribbon. "Feel me and witness for yourself."
Hope fought the desire to run. Don't fear the light.
The man came closer, arms extended. "I'll forgive your betrayal." He still spoke with a double intonation. "But you must give yourself to me again. Turn away and I'll burn you."
Hope stiffened at his growing proximity, arms shaking at his sides. He felt frozen by the familiar overtones in the man's voice, overlaid as it was by the same voice that echoed in his head. "Don't."
"You still listen and that is good. But still also you resist – why?"
Don't spurn the darkness. Hope shook his head. "I won't let you hurt my friends again."
The man's form shifted, a hint of pink hair and white uniform showing through him. Something about the sight caused an inexplicable swelling in his throat.
Don't fear the light.
Hope took a step forward, drawn to the stranger. Something about him felt... familiar. Terrible, but also good. "Do I know you?"
"Yes." The man took Hope's hand and gently pulled him closer. Skin crawled at the proximity, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. "You belong to me."
Hope swallowed hard, eyes caught by the man. Protests died on his tongue, even though every fiber of his being screamed to run. "Why?"
Do not question me.
The man's breath was warm on his face, his proximity not at all reflecting any manner or habit he knew on Ivalice.
The man reached a hand out and Hope blurted, "Don't."
He forced his palm against Hope's face, blocking out his vision and clenching near his ears. Crushed his nose. "This world isn't yours." Yanked Hope closer. "Just as your will isn't yours to use. Your human memory is so fragile – I hate the despicable shortness of it."
Pain seized him, a sudden agony that overrode his senses and flared in every nerve. Hope cried out, legs buckling, but the man wouldn't let him drop. He held on, fingers digging into Hope's skin.
Hope whimpered and held back from trying to pry the man's grip from him. "You'll regret it," whispered the voice. He felt a deep gratitude for its return, though it sounded… different. Younger and clearer, not far from his own. "He doesn't take well to disobedience."
"You may not accept me now," said the man, "but destiny can only be refuted for so long. I expect for you to let me possess you soon."
Hope shivered, the commanding nature of this man resonating deep within him. So disturbingly familiar that obeying him felt natural. "No." His voice cracked. "Please. No." Gasped for air as the pain died again. "I – I understand."
Through the gaps in those hands, Hope saw the man's eyes were hard and empty of life. "Perhaps you will yet prove useful before I change." The man released him.
Hope fell to the ground and the cold flooded him. Felt as if he would never know warmth again save for the marks left on his face that burned where the man touched him.
"We'll meet again." That being ripped open the air around them and stepped through it.
And just like that, he was gone. Just like that, the voice left him again.
And just like that, the darkness vanished, leaving Hope alone to the confines of his room. His chest heaved with each breath, sweat trickled down his forehead, and violent shivers racked his frame. The room felt twenty degrees colder than before and the windows many shades dimmer.
"What-?" Hope started, before remembering again that he was alone and the room barren. Yet when he looked around him, he couldn't help the feeling that someone was still watching.
Always watching. And always listening.
Don't spurn the darkness.
Don't fear the light.
Left to himself, Hope silently wept.
Gabranth stood solemn and silent in the middle of the courtyard. Hope wasn't allowed to train with him regularly, as Gabranth's time was more valuable and needed in more varied situations than the other trainers that Larsa employed. Hope estimated that he only got to see this man once every other week, and their meetings only lasted about so many minutes.
Hope was going to make those minutes count.
Instead of asking any questions this time, Hope drew his sword immediately upon entering the courtyard and charged. The Judge dodged easily, sword left idle at his side. With a cry of frustration, Hope aimed for Gabranth's hand and got a cut across his cheek in return.
Hope stumbled to the side, gripping his face. It was shallow, but the stinging pain made his eyes water. Gabranth never said anything in the middle of a session. He only reacted to Hope's attacks. One of the servants said that he preferred to force his trainees to gain the simple experience of combat, to learn for themselves and force their mind to come up with their own solutions. Sometimes Hope wondered if the man was mute, given that none of the servants heard him speak.
He was like a ghost. He never took off his helmet in public, and he never spoke if possible. Larsa praised him for his words, and often spoke of his wisdom, yet Hope sometimes wondered if that was made up and Larsa felt the need to justify having such a strange bodyguard.
He had heard stories among the city's population of Gabranth. He heard that he wore his hair short, that he had a strong face. But all those stories came from before the war. What changed?
Hope eyed Gabranth, who remained still and patient. Had he been horribly scarred? Did it make him self-conscious? That couldn't be right because this was a judge. They cared for nothing that wasn't their job. They didn't give a whit what the people thought of them, so long as they obeyed the law. The judges were a terrifying force. A mutilated face would only help that reputation, especially now that Gabranth was one of the few magisters left.
Hope's hands itched to take mist from the air, but he refrained. Instead he continued to hold the yet-unfamiliar blade and memorize the feel of it in his hand. If he could only get close enough…
The black shadow that was Gabranth's eyes watched him. As far as Hope could tell, they could be closed or open and unblinking. Maybe they flitted about in boredom, ever waiting for Hope's somehow-predictable moves.
"What am I doing wrong?" Hope asked. He got no answer, of course. "How am I supposed to learn like this?"
Still silence.
Hope lunged.
Gabranth prepared for one side, so Hope took the other. His sword only ricocheted off the heavy Judge armor and Gabranth kicked him aside.
Ignoring the pain blossoming in his side from what would surely turn into a nasty bruise, Hope dropped his sword and rebounded at Gabranth.
Knocked aside again.
Hope groaned and pulled himself to his feet again, strength dissipating. Staggered toward the man again, only to be picked up by the collar of his robe. "Hey!"
"You are but a scrawny rat," said the man. "This is a thing to be changed."
Hope scowled and grabbed at Gabranth's helmet only to be dropped back to the ground. He was tempted to stay there in the courtyard's grass until he heard the clink of metal and looked up to see a large sword, its point mere inches from his face.
"You're reckless," Gabranth said simply, voice deep and even.
Hope didn't smile, but a strange sense of euphoria erupted within him. "I got you to speak."
"Your priority is no longer yourself."
"… If I die, the Emperor dies. Yeah, I know, but-"
"Hence why you need to learn to protect both. Throwing yourself at someone with such abandon will end this country sooner than it would take for you to be thrown in the dungeons for insubordination." Gabranth sheathed his sword. "You must work on your strategy and review your basics with Master Dret."
Hope heaved a sigh and forced himself back to his feet. "I know, but… Judge?" Gabranth looked his way. "Why don't you ever take that helmet off?"
"I remove it regularly. Just not where many would see."
"Why?"
"Curious boy. Perhaps you can spend your time that you would on these questions and rededicate them to study of swordsmanship. Else, you may find another weapon you like. But magic will only get you so far and you must learn to work in both close and far quarters."
"But… what if I never asked for this?"
Gabranth took a moment to respond. "You do not wish to serve His Majesty?"
"I didn't say that. But isn't it kind of unfair to expect all these things of me when I never signed up for bodyguard duty?"
"Yet you wish to continue as His Majesty's friend?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
Gabranth turned again to leave. "Then you'll keep up your studies. An emperor doesn't have time for idle companionship."
Hope stayed behind, thoughts sluggish. The tired ache in his muscles made it hard to think straight, but that couldn't be right. Even emperors needed to relax sometimes, right?
Not that he cared, Hope reminded himself before picking up his blade again and making for the library. He still barely knew Larsa – he mostly only stayed here for the shelter and food. And the experience he got from working.
If only it didn't come with such a price attached.
Basch squinted his eyes shut before taking off his helm. The light here in the Judge Magisters' Room was dimmed to a considerable degree so as to not throw them off-balance when they finally removed their armor for the day. The heat was another matter.
He readied himself for a much-anticipated rest before he returned to his duties. The armor was too much to remove for now, but he could take a moment without the burden of his helmet to eat and drink. It wouldn't be long before he returned to his tedious work.
Zargabaath was nowhere to be found, contrary to his typical behavior. Basch was used to taking his time with the other man and reviewing the day during their rest time. Perhaps Zargabaath had found a promising candidate for another Magister, or perhaps he got caught up in a less hopeful matter like the loathsome harassment of certain senate members.
"Fallen warrior, revived to respect in only the eyes of a dedicated few."
Basch snapped his attention to the entrance, where a man in tattered and dirtied robes approached him. Despite his ungainly appearance, there hung a silken, checkered cloth from the waist belt. How did he not hear the man enter?
"For what reason come you here?" Basch asked, hand on his sword.
"To find a path to the one string holding this nation in its own misery." The man strolled closer.
Basch jumped to his feet and readied his sword. The man appeared unconcerned. "Take your leave at once if you would avoid bloodshed!"
"I care not." The man reached out a hand and Basch stepped back. Something about that presence left a sickly feeling in his chest. "What use is there to preservation when all is to be renewed as one? Truly, there will be no delight as sweet as-"
Basch grabbed the man by the shoulder and yanked him close enough to hold the sword to his throat. "Cease your chatter! I would know your intentions if you are to leave this room yet alive!"
The man huffed out a breath. "The God of Light bows to no one."
A piercing sensation through his forehead. Flood of images and memories that lost their coherence long ago.
Basch knew torment and he knew isolation and he knew madness. But that was but a speck of dust in the scope of this cosmic insanity that spanned space and time.
Or was that another lifetime? Was his imprisonment of Basch's life? Or Shinra's? Which Shinra? Boy or man? Male or female? Eos or Gaia?
Whoever he was, he recognized that there was an inherent desire born within him to find another vessel, to spread his influence and shake the worlds to their cores. To make ready his denizens to receive him as their lord and in doing so, prepare them with war and bloodshed, with chaos and anarchy and confusion so immense they would accept a brand-new deity into their midst.
He knew the strength brought on by collecting so many bodies and memories and people and lives and he knew the difficulty to retain his divinity and wisdom when so many ill-fitted vessels competed for dominance over his. But he couldn't stop himself from taking the chance to ripen one more world.
When he took in the sight of the room again, God barely spared the broken and bleeding body of his old vessel a glance before he left to find the Emperor of Archades.