Someone was trying to get his attention.
"Canyouhearme?"
It was distorted, inexact, and mixed with what he knew had to be the roar of the ocean.
"–findyousomehelp…hold on…"
But there was nothing to hold on to. Would that he could move or even simply open his eyes, but he was weaker than a newborn coeurl. He felt about as grounded as an unmoored dinghy, slowly floating out to sea.
His body left the ground soon after, and he was carried elsewhere accompanied by faint and rhythmic clanking.
((((((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))))
The sky and sea were a bright blue, the sparse clouds a brilliant white, Dion Lesage was alive, and there was a wolf staring him down.
Before Dion could panic about that last bit, the wolf woofed very softly at him and began slowly wagging its tail. Dion raised a hand automatically, an invitation, and the wolf lowered its head to bump against his palm. His fingers slid through the coarse fur on the top of the wolf's head.
The odd markings on the wolf's left flank triggered Dion's memory.
"You…you are Ifrit's hound, are you not?"
But then, where was Ifrit? Where was the Phoenix?
Origin!
Dion startled, spinning in search of Ifrit, or the Phoenix, or Origin, or something that made a measure of sense. He found nothing in sight and nothing on the horizon but daytime sky. Was Origin gone, then? Was Ultima?
Had Ifrit and Phoenix prevailed after he had fallen?
Dion had woken quite suddenly, indeed, and completely alone save for his apparent new canine companion. He had very little idea where he was – only that he was on a beach. It was likely that he was on Storm's east coast, but that was all he could figure. Dion was alive, which aside from the wolf may have been the most disarming aspect of it all – he had fallen, had he not? Why, now, was he uninjured when his clothing told a tale of fire and death?
The wolf whined and Dion looked down to see it still wagging its tail and casting its head from side to side. It pawed at the ground several times and whined again.
"What is it?" Dion asked.
The wolf whined and walked several steps away before pacing in a circle and pawing at the ground again.
"Do you…mean for me to follow you?"
The wolf barked and its tail wagged more quickly. It started off at a slow pace away from Dion and stopped when it noticed Dion was not following.
With no knowledge of his location and having the understanding that the sun had already passed halfway in the sky, Dion sighed and made to follow the wolf. The hound happily lead the way further down the gentle dunes.
It was only when Dion had started moving that he realized why everything felt so surreal, empty, and confusing:
Bahamut was gone.
((((((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))))
The sun had left the sky, and the man needed to stop moving until it rose again.
Torgal huffed in frustration and scratched at the ground for a while but settled eventually.
The one that Torgal found was not Clive but had been with Clive before and had been at home with the rest of the pack until Clive left. He barely even carried the scent of home under all the smoke and ash, so Torgal would need to hunt around for the home scent again when the sun reappeared. That would lead Togral to Clive, because it must.
When Torgal originally came upon the man, he had been in poor form. Something sparked when Torgal howled, as usual, and by the time Torgal started prodding the man's face with his nose to wake him the wounds were closing or closed.
The man was not who Torgal was looking for, certainly, but Torgal would not leave him defenseless in the world. Torgal decided to take him along to keep him safe.
Jote spent the first week following the fall of Origin sending missives to the remaining members of the Undying informing them that the Phoenix was no more as, according to Lady Warrick, the aether of the Eikons had faded. Jote had precious little reason to doubt Lady Warrick's word, especially when the good Lady herself was so distraught by it.
The Phoenix was no more, and thus there remained no necessity to guard the firebird's flame – Jote's duty had ended. Any prayers she may have uttered following the departure of Joshua Rosfield from the Hideaway had fallen upon deaf ears.
Whether the Undying persisted or disbanded was of no interest to Jote. After sending the last letter, she gathered her belongings from her quarters in the Hideaway and prepared to leave. It was when she was about to take the lift down to the dock that Jote realized she did not know where she would go. The life she had known for eighteen years had ended, and her charge was…
…His Grace was…
The sun shone bright on the Hideaway. Blight was slowly fading from the mere and the surrounding lands, and the curse was slowly fading from the skin and muscles of those afflicted. Magic was unusable in even the unblighted lands as reported by the scouts who returned with news. Jote could go anywhere she wished and do anything she wished. She simply was unsure what it was that she wished to do.
His Grace's last orders were to care for the Lord Marquess's people at the Hideaway, and Jote might as well start there. Jote stowed her belongings back in her quarters and made for the infirmary with the intention to ask Lady Tarja if she needed any assistance. Jote would provide care for the people at the Hideaway until the grief faded enough that she could think clearly once more.
While she was crossing the Ale Hall, Gav very nearly ran into her. The man seemed upset, nigh frantic, and he glanced over his shoulder as though he were being pursued.
"Ope – sorry 'bout that!" Gav reached out a hand on reflex to steady Jote, though she did not need steadying, "A word of advice; give Jill her space today, okay? She's in a right state."
There was a sound like shattering ceramic and an enraged exclamation from the Lord Marquess's chambers. Gav winced. "A right state."
Jote had nothing to say, so she nodded.
"Alright. Sorry, again. I'll be in Mid's workshop," Gav concluded, scampering off with a final wave.
Jote eyed the doorway that would take her to the main thoroughfare and then eyed the stairs at the far end of the hall that would lead to the Lord Marquess's former chambers. Jote had wanted to speak with Lady Tarja; however, it seemed Lady Warrick may need more immediate help.
()
The Lord Marquess's former chambers were in a state of supreme disarray when Jote opened the doors. Pages of parchment had been strewn about carelessly, tankards and goblets were shattered on the wooden floor, the sheets had been torn from the bed, and Jote spied what appeared to be a chocobo's tack, a floral garland, a polished silver helm, and a scorched wooden sparring sword scattered about at random. In the middle of the disaster was Lady Jill Warrick, former Dominant of Shiva and Princess of the Northern Territories.
Lady Warrick did not shout, did not cry, did not even breathe heavily – she simply stood in the center of the chambers and surveyed the destruction. Her body was an unbroken line of tension and her fists were clenched and trembling at her sides. Lady Warrick's silver hair was immaculate, her clothing free of dust or dirt, but bright red blood dripped from her clenched right hand and fell onto the floorboards below. Her rapier was buried upright deep in the solid wood.
"My Lady?" Jote asked cautiously. She took a few more steps into the room. "What happened here?"
"I happened," Lady Warrick affixed Jote with eyes the color of ice made more prominent by their swollen, red backdrop. Dried tracks made by tears streaked down her face. Her voice was quiet and nearly perfectly calm.
Where Jote's grief was paralyzing, Lady Warrick's grief was terrifying.
"May I escort you to Lady Tarja to have your wound seen to?" Jote gestured to Lady Warrick's right hand.
The Lady shook her head. "She cannot heal me in any way that matters."
"I see," Jote said, and she did see. "If I may, My Lady, why do all this?"
Lady Warrick's teeth clenched and her jaw flexed. It took several moments before she was able to say what she wanted to say.
"He–Clive. Clive promised me," said the Lady. She glared down at the floor.
Jote nodded. "Would you like me to leave you alone?"
"No. No, I don't believe I would."
Jote sat against the wall nearest to the doors and after a time, Lady Warrick joined her. They observed the disheveled space together.
"Jote," Lady Warrick began, "what do we do now?"
"I suppose…" Jote said, "I suppose we live."