Hope rushed through halls of immaculate stone and the finest workmanship to find where his summoner waited. He didn't think anyone would call for him outside of Gabranth and maybe Larsa or the others in the medicinal ward, but evidently it still mattered when a servant in a certain pattern of robes told him where to find one sky pirate.

Finally, he burst into the library and moved at a brisk pace toward a specific study area.

Balthier waited on a plush chair made of the finest fabric and cushions, one elbow propped on the armrest and his free hand holding a history of airships as written by one popular historian and enthusiast in the arts of machinery and technology.

Hope stumbled to a halt and gave a quick bow. "You called, sir?"

"Ah, yes." Balthier set the book down and gestured for Hope to take the seat across. "His Majesty keeps you busy, I take it?"

"Yeah." Hope sunk into the chair and struggled to find a formal-ish position in such plush cushions. "Well, he delegates to certain people and it's them that keep me busy. I'm, uh, sorry about your eyes, you know. I didn't mean to do that."

Balthier waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing a little white magic couldn't resolve. In fact, I wanted to ask about your commitment to this place because I know a certain crew that would appreciate having a talented mage like yourself. They would pay handsomely and you'd have the chance to get out and see the skies."

"You don't seem like the kind to go recruiting."

"Oh, there's strings attached, of course. I've been promised a hefty sum, for one, if they happen to like you and I would very much like to collect. But I've also heard rumors that you're not quite fitting in with the imperial life and being such a kindly fellow, I thought I'd give you an option."

Hope flushed. "Is it obvious?"

"Going by your yet-untamed hair and ghastly arrangement of robes, it isn't subtle, no."

"But these are my wing's uniform."

"Then your wing should reconsider their designer. Anyways, I'm not here to chat, lovely as this venue is. Are you in or out?"

Hope stuttered, "I can't think about it?"

"You can think about it all you like, but I need an answer within the next couple of minutes. I've some business to attend to with my partner on the other side of the country and I must return before nightfall."

"Hey." A silver-haired lady approached them. "Hope. How you doing?"

"You're…" Hope hesitated. "Do I, uh, know you?"

"And that," Balthier quipped, "is why you're clearly the most analytical mind of our generation."

The lady sighed. "The day you went nuts? I caused it."

"The day I…." Hope furrowed his brow. "Oh! Because… Why did that happen?"

"Beats me." She folded her arms. "But I've also got a bit of an offer for you. How would you like to remember who you used to be?"

"I don't understand."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." The lady looked at Balthier. "Hey, I'll see you in ten years."

Balthier gestured with a flick of his fingers and she left. "Now, as I was saying, you have a good amount of gil to get me paid. I suggest you come with me and see how the life suits you."

"But Larsa-"

A commotion started near the entrance to the library and Balthier rolled his head on his shoulders. "If a man could finish his negotiations in peace, it'll be the day I quit drinking."

"You drink a lot of wine?"

"No, I'm referring to water. It's terribly ill-advised not to keep yourself hydrated and I like to keep healthy."

"Oh."

That robed man that stalked Hope came their way, flanked by muttering librarians. Hope jumped to his feet and backed away. "Please," the man said with a strained voice. "He's going to find your emperor, the child."

"Pardon." Balthier stood. "I'm not one to barter with strangers. If you'll take your threats elsewhere…"

Hope forced a swallow at all the blood dripping from the man's robe.

"It's not a threat." The man's words broke in patterns that struck Hope as disturbingly familiar. "Please. I'm in no state to handle him myself and he took the shadow that follows the child, the Judge-"

There was no other presence to the visitor this time.

"I'll go with you." Hope chocked back his fear and started up a cure. "Where did this happen?"

"Judges' Respite." The man breathed easier with the magic. "But he'll head for the Emperor's Overlook."

Hope paused. "How do you know so much about the place?"

"I couldn't tell you." The man stumbled toward the exit. "But never mind that – this world's fate hangs in the balance."

"Sir," said one librarian, "I must ask you to seek help in the healing wings."

"No time for that either, it seems," Balthier said with a heavy sigh. "Alas, it appears I will never be rid of my lady fate's cruel tease."

Larsa couldn't focus on the words swimming before him. Couldn't bring his pen to scrawl out the words needed to approve this plan for changed taxes on immigrants. There was nothing unreasonable to the wording and he decided to pass it, yet he couldn't help a gnawing in his stomach.

He once thought he would move past his doubts, but maybe no ruler ever adjusted to their position. Maybe he would never feel like the emperor he was supposed to be.

The door opened and Larsa heard the telling scraping of Basch's armor. "This is good timing," Larsa said without looking up. "I was just wondering if-"

He cut off when plated fingers wrapped around his throat and yanked him from the chair.

Larsa choked and looked down into the exposed, mad eyes of Basch.

His guardian. His friend. His-

"A sacrifice must be made," hissed the man in a two-toned voice. "This stray yet has a part to play and this world must be broken before peace is found."

"What-?" Larsa couldn't speak past the constriction in his throat. His lungs burned and his vision clouded. He flailed in place, panic taking over, and memories flashed before his eyes of the mines and the plains and the desert sand.

"It will hurt for but a moment and then you may know eternal rest."

Larsa gagged and fought for breath, but nothing came.

Then he crashed into the ground and his skull cracked against the floor. Basch breathed hard and blood seeped from a split in his cheek. "The cosmos has left sanity and flowers must bloom and wilt before the new beginning dawns. Before the sun sheds its light on creation anew."

Larsa bit back tears and struggled to find strength enough to stand.

"It is not fit for a child to choose life or death in this world." Basch closed in again and Larsa scrambled to get away.

Too late. Basch grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him back. Larsa's knees burned against the floor and he let out a cry before Basch grabbed him by the throat again.

Larsa fought him. Bit and thrashed and did all he could to get free.

Somewhere distant, someone called his name. His vision faded in and out. Caught flashes of water palaces and ocean waves and the smell of whiskey that burned his throat and helped him forget about tomorrow and yesterday.

Hit the ground again.

Cracked open bleary eyes to find Hope, Balthier, and some common-dressed man take on Basch.

Larsa's limbs shook and his attempts to call on the mist about him to summon white magic ended with sputtering light in his hands.

Balthier and the common man flanked Basch and focused their efforts on subduing him. Hope employed magic from a distance. Despite being outnumbered, Basch showed no difficulty keeping all of them at bay.

His head swam and noise muffled in his ears. His fingers went numb and his legs and arms shook too violently to use.

Basch slammed Balthier and the visitor into the wall with one blow.

Larsa fell back against the ground and felt the pull of shock lure him into a lightheaded stupor.

The last thing he remembered was Basch slamming Hope to the ground and the comforting, deep voice of his betrothed breathing his last goodbye.

Hope sat in his room, left alone by the voice and workers. Images moved about him, ghostly and yet surreal in their solidity. Despite sitting in his bed, he could swear he felt a grassy ledge overlooking a chasm in the ground that stretched on for at least a mile.

"This isn't real," he told the girl sitting beside him, whose hair was reddish-pink and tied into pigtails.

"Maybe not." Her voice was high-pitched yet soft. "But you've felt this before, haven't you?"

Hope's face heated and his throat closed. "Yes," he managed, fighting the urge to change the scenery to pristine, white walls and floating specks of light. He fought the encroaching sense of emptiness and loneliness.

"With Lightning," she said.

Feelings of betrayal and abandonment and the scent of flowers. "Yes."

"I'm sorry." The girl's voice broke. "I'm so, so sorry. There's nothing I can do to protect you from what you already know."

"You've protected me in the past. That's more than I could ask from you."

Vanille sidled up to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. The scent of wildflowers pervaded his nose. "Do you remember what you told me here?"

"I…" Hope looked down to find strange shoes on his feet. "Your… smile. You have a nice smile."

"There you go." Vanille pulled away and nudged him in the shoulder. "See? It's not all bad."

"But…" He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. "It will be. If I go back, then I lose this."

Vanille leaned her head against his shoulder. "Not if you remember me. I promise if you can hold on to even a shred of this memory, then I'll never stop smiling."

"But… you're not here. Right?"

A distant voice whimpered as Hope remembered days spent sleepless and insane. For a moment, he could swear he was two heads taller and wearing a different uniform, colored white, silver, and yellow. Stained in all the wrong places. With a deeper, mature voice he said, "I don't want to lose track again."

"Oh, Hope." Vanille clucked her tongue. "My dear, dear, Hope. You're already doing that. In that sense, I guess we're not too different, huh?"

As quickly as the sensation came, it vanished again, and Hope found himself back in his normal body. "Am I dreaming?"

"Yes. And no."

"Then this is different. Before, I differentiated between my dreams and waking life. If I'm doing both now, then maybe – maybe I'm not mad yet."

Vanille took his hand. "Maybe."

It wasn't true. Even as he tried to convince himself otherwise, a part of him knew for sure that it wasn't true. He'd been through this before, and he knew what it felt like to lose control over his reality. "Don't leave me," he begged, remembering how he asked the same of Lightning. "Please."

Lightning never left him.

"I won't," Vanille said, leaning into him. "We'll always be here for you."

He heard the voices of Lightning, Sazh, Snow, Fang, Serah, and Noel murmuring incoherently behind him, but he didn't turn to see them. They sounded… off.

They sounded like…

Screams around him.

Looming above him, covered in gleaming armor, Hope saw the helmet-less face of Judge Gabranth. Those eyes were open unnaturally wide.

Hope thought that looked familiar, but his head felt sluggish. When did he get here? In this room?

A strange, strangled sound escaped Gabranth's throat and Hope noticed the scar on the man's forehead contorted with the skin. Those eyebrows were so far up, they made strange ripples near the hairline.

Hope thought it was rather a trim hairline for someone he imagined to be so powerful and intimidating. But minus the insane expression, he looked… normal.

"Finally," choked out the man. Something in Hope knew this vessel wasn't at all prepared before being taken. Otherwise, the body would more naturally move with-

Gabranth grabbed Hope's throat and squeezed.

Lightning kneeled by his side. Hope couldn't bring himself to look up from the field of roses that dripped with blood. His blood.

"Hey."

It couldn't be her. He knew that. And yet, feeling her fingers against his broken cheek, Hope couldn't help the desire for her to be real. Couldn't help letting himself believe it, just for this moment. She reminded him of Mom, of a time nearly lost to memory, of-

Flare of pain in his abdomen. Stomach hurt. Limbs ached. Moving a finger brought a sharp and stinging sensation, like pins and needles.

"Hey." Lightning's voice was soft, though she didn't sound worried. She never did, not anymore. "Look at me. You'll be fine. It's just a little blood."

He didn't want to look. Something inside him thought that if he looked, she would vanish, or turn into a monster, or Bhu-

The memory was yanked from him, as was the weight of Gabranth's armor. Hope blinked stinging eyes and lapsed into a coughing fit. His throat burned.

"Hope!" yelled a familiar voice. His old voice. The one that protected him and carried over from his hundred years of loneliness. "Run!"

Balthier and Baralai fought with Gabranth, using gun and staff against-

Bhunivelze ambled through the room, movements unnatural and painful to watch. Despite his lag, energy blasted about the place, sending books flying and Balthier stumbling and Baralai scrambling.

Hope's limbs didn't respond to him trying to stand. They felt weak and distant, like they weren't his own. Panic swelled in his chest, heart beating like a drum, and he angled his head. Even his neck reacted slowly to his command.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.

"Hope!"

"We have him! Leave while you can!"

"Why is it this creature wants the child anyway? Not much to be gained from an unsophisticated urchin, I'd say."

"I can't." His voice was barely audible to his own ears and it scratched against his raw throat. His tongue moved, though, so that was progress. His limbs were slower to respond. "I… can't."

"It's more complicated than–Balthier!"

Balthier caught a blast of energy and flew across the room. His head smacked against the wall.

Baralai took that opening and whipped Basch's feet out from under him.

Basch. Who was Basch?

His head pricked with pain. The link. The interrupted link.

Hope tried again to stand, only to topple over in a heap. His hand caught on something sharp and cloth ripped. Stinging pain, wet skin.

Another blast, another crack. Hope didn't see who it was this time. Hopefully not-

Rough hands forced him on his back again and Hope yelped as Basch's twisted face came into view.

For a moment, he saw the shining silver of the Ark's structure. He could see its vast depths that threatened to swallow him whole if he found the strength to jump. Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

"Your mind is now prepared," said the man, holding out a fist. "And it is time that I begin my reign. Don't shun the darkness."

At the words, Hope squinted his eyes shut against a sudden pain that pierced his head, like a nail driven through.

"Don't fear the light."

The voice inside him – the him that fought these memories and protected him for so many years, the him that suffered for years and years and years – cried out one last time and vanished.

Memories flooded him, of wandering about Nova in a daze, of seeing only Lightning's image. He focused on it so completely, he lost track of time. He remembered waking up in the streets, in rivers, in his office, in Snow's arms.

"Watch my back," Lightning repeated over and over and over and over and over and over again before disappearing in a fog.

He remembered Noel's concerned musings when the two worked together into late nights with too much alcohol and the distant promise of sleep and normalcy. Noel's strength and reassurance when they received news of missing children or murdered parents.

He remembered Snow's once-boundless enthusiasm lost to the crushing reality of Serah's death and their failed mission to save time itself. Hope's desperation to bring back the Snow that saved him, the Snow that would lift the whole world on his shoulders if he could

He remembered waking up one time to find himself in the silvery realm of the Ark, whose unworldly light spoke to him more directly than the voice itself. He remembered associating it with holy agony and divine direction.

He forgot he was ever a scientist, or Nova's leader.

Gabranth slammed Hope's head into the ground. Once. Twice. Three-

She reached for him, fingers half-gloved and glowing with the white light that surrounded them.

"I'm here."

Lightning's voice was all he needed. He dared lift his head to see her smiling at him, pale eyes reflecting the care he missed for hundreds of years. The mature strength that came from her military background, the sympathy that came from having a younger sister and learning to be a parent before she was old enough to drink, the confidence that came from overcoming gods and destiny.

Hope leaned forward, hungry for her motherly touch. For familiar comfort and the promise that he would never be alone again.

Basch fell still. Hope felt nothing despite a pool of blood gathering below him.

Hope looked up at the man, mouth moving before he thought to speak. "My god, Bhunivelze."

"Yes." Baralai, the chancellor from Spira, stood before him, strong in stance despite a multitude of scrapes, bruises, and healing scabs littering the surface of his skin. His coat, once lightly muddled and worn, now frayed at the edges and ripped in various places, showed heavy abuse. "This is good. You have done right by me."

The double voice sounded strange to Hope, but not wrong. It struck up a sense of odd familiarity, reminding him of days that turned to years inside the abandoned Cocoon above humanity.

The man's form changed to Gabranth's.

"I am yours," Hope said, though the words rang hollow in his ears. "As you are mine."

"All things belong to me, as I created them."

Hope closed his eyes in preparation for Bhunivelze to take him. He wouldn't survive, but that was fine. He learned to accept it a thousand years before on a pale silver platform, surrounded by sparkling motes and the ethereal voices of eternity.

The vessel, the innocent body of the one chosen by God, touched his hand to Hope's cheek. The second it took for the two to connect felt too short and too long, like an age compressed into the blink of an eye.

Hope leaned into the contact and felt the onslaught of emotion and apathy that collided inside him like a storm. Bhunivelze's all-consuming power took over, threatening to eject Hope's conscience completely. In his mind's eye, he saw the stars expand and nebulae explode into life.

He saw Bhunivelze's plan and all His goals and ambitions, His hate for Etro and Her glorious death that burst through creation, halting time and death in the grand scheme of the Rebirth. He saw Lightning's sword pierce His chest, breaking Him back into the Cosmogenesis. He saw the world fade as souls embarked on their journey toward their new home.

He felt the fiery rage that burned at the sight, and the life it granted Him to sleep in the depth of the void for…

Eternity.

Larsa faded in and out of consciousness.

He didn't register much of what occurred around him – mostly he made out the chaotic shapes of battling figures and blasts of magic and energy. The room fell to pieces with the commotion, papers scattering and ornaments shattering.

Basch – or, whatever being inhabited Basch's body – hurt Hope. Larsa didn't make out much, but when Hope stood again, Larsa saw too much red through the blur in his otherwise-goldish uniform.

As he watched, focus returned to him. Hope stood among broken people and broken things. Basch laid unresponsive some distance away, which sparked a hope in Larsa. Perhaps if the creature was unconscious, then-

Hope conjured a portal of some sort with a flick of his wrist.

The door burst open to reveal Seven, who screamed in rage and hate and lashed out at Hope with a whip made of singing metal.

But it was too late.

The portal swallowed Hope whole and Seven wailed on the spot where he vanished. She flew into a tearful rage, slamming the ground with her whip and crying profanities at the empty air.

"Get back here! You cosmic bastard! You LITTLE SHIT!"

Larsa struggled against his broken limbs. Everything hurt and his body protested the idea of motion given how much it pained him to not even move.

Balthier struggled to his feet and stumbled Seven's way – it looked like one of his feet was sprained at best. She wrenched away from him and released more profanity. Larsa should have found it uncomfortable – he'd never heard so much language compressed into a moment since Vaan was turned away from an aerodome for… some trivial reason.

He wished he could remember why.

The white-haired newcomer, though recovering, hung back, still as a statue, eyes wide with disbelief. One of his arms hung limp from its socket.

Larsa opened his mouth to say something, but then he wondered as to the point of speaking. What had he to say about this?

Seven yelled one final insult and stormed off, broken voice calling for a "King."

Balthier and his new friend exchanged looks. What went unspoken between them, Larsa could never guess.

The dark-skinned man then took to Basch's side. The judge appeared conscious, but he barely moved beyond a twitching of his fingers.

Balthier kneeled beside Larsa. "How is it for you?"

"… Hurt." A heat rose in his face, shock took over, and tears spilled from his eyes. "It hurts."

"Yes, I see that." Balthier dragged a tired hand down his chin. "Bit of a situation we've made for ourselves, isn't it?"

Larsa grit his teeth, but his cheeks kept wet and swollen. Moved an arm and regretted it for the pain that shot through him.

"Not to rush you," said Balthier, "but it looks like we could use a dose of white magic here, as well."

"I got it."

"Who…?" Larsa squinted against the light in the room. Did a curtain come down? Or several?"

"A new acquaintance." Balthier glanced toward Basch. "A friend, I hope, but time has yet to make that clear."

He phased out of consciousness again, as evidenced by the fact that when he blinked, the room changed. Rubble cleared away and Basch was gone, as was Balthier. The man with the white hair kneeled by his side, hands alight with magic.

The man didn't look at him – just kept healing. "I've kept the guards away–figured you wouldn't like them asking too many questions just yet."

"That… perhaps… wise." Every word was a struggle and he wanted to give in sleep. Yet he couldn't help the reminder of the faintest memories he caught from that twisted god's grasp. "Chancellor?"

The man paused. "… You felt it?"

"I felt many things." Larsa closed his eyes against the light. "Heard… and thought many things."

"I didn't realize you connected." Something about his quiet voice proved soothing. "It's worse after he's taken so many now, but it will pass with time."

"Time." The concept took a moment to solidify in his mind. "It's day."

"Yes. You're still a child and you rule over an empire. Your name is Larsa Solidor, Balthier said, and you're the last of your family."

"I remember… most of that."

"Good." The white magic left him. "You should feel like yourself again within a week or two, then. Might even be a matter of days."

Larsa opened his eyes despite the brightness and looked up at the man. "It feels better."

"I've been learning."

"So many worlds and so many methods. How do you keep track of it all?"

"Practice."

His voice was so monotone – it took a bit for Larsa to realize how flat his whole demeanor appeared. He barely twitched his mouth one way or the other, nor did he lift an eyebrow or appear to breathe. "You forgot how to feel, too?"

"No." Baralai rested his arms over his knees and leaned away. "I still feel. Sometimes, at least. But perhaps my body doesn't show it like it used to."

Larsa felt the faintest alarm. "What about me?"

"Bhunivelze didn't get as much time with you. You'll smile and despair again as usual soon enough. The fact that you ask such is evident of that."

"I see."

Baralai stood and straightened himself out. "I'm going to move you to a recovery room, if that's okay with you."

Larsa blinked, though the motion hurt. His eyelids felt so heavy. "… Of course."

"One moment."

Normally, Larsa considered himself a man of pride and dignity and he could walk himself to a hospital if need be. But then, he was so tired now that he thought he might sleep away the night here if allowed to and a real bed sounded like paradise itself.

The man hefted Larsa into his arms and showed surprising strength despite his lean frame and harried appearance. "Take time to rest," he said. "You'll need it if you don't want your people getting on your case later."

Silence fell. With nothing to distract him but the familiar walls and windows of the palace, Larsa gave in to sleep again.