Awareness eluded him. Dream and nightmare blended into one, the sun and moon wheeled overhead.
He could not forget, would not forget.
There was a gentle hand under his back, lifting his shoulders. Someone placed a cup at his lips and he drank of the water that he found there.
His first attempt at speech was a heavy exhale of air and nothing more.
When he tried again, he managed to whisper, "Where—where…where is…?"
"Hush," someone replied, "you must rest."
"…still feverish," a second voice said, "Would you…? Yes, thank you."
A cool cloth was laid over his forehead and he was eased back down.
Dreams and nightmares claimed him once more.
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During the first complete day of following Ifrit's hound up the coast, Dion at many points considered abandoning the wolf to its quest and attempting to find his own way. The Imperial Prince thought he might shift to a western heading and try to make for Cid's Hideaway for want of news. He soon realized that the wolf was instrumental in finding water and game, and as the alternate heading would have seen him alone and without magic through the Dhalmekian desert, he resolved to see the hound's path to its conclusion. He assumed that the wolf had a goal – perhaps it was searching for its master? – which was more than Dion had, at the very least.
Dion soon concluded that he had woken up several hours north and east of the Free Cities of Kanver, and that the wolf's chosen direction saw the two of them hugging the shore north towards Ran'dellah.
While the pair of them journeyed northwards, Dion made an honest effort to take stock of what he knew for certain. Bahamut was completely gone, and Dion's control over aether had left along with it. Settling his spirit with the absence of the entity that had made every step with him since his birth was difficult, to say the least. The loss of his ability, however, was accompanied by the freedom to breathe more easily than he ever remembered being able to; though he felt the lack of Bahamut keenly, the pain which stalked the use of its power had vanished. Dion would gladly accept a life free of magic if it meant remaining free of the agony it cost.
Sylvestre Lesage, Dion's father and the last true Emperor of the Holy Empire of Sanbreque, was dead. And, though everyone Dion spoke to after the event would insist that the emperor's death was the fault of Ultima, Dion had been the man to throw the spear that killed him. Dion's Eikon was the one which laid Twinside low. The details of the resulting battle with Ifrit and Phoenix relayed to him in the aftermath of the destruction of Drake's Tail implied that if his opponents had not been there to stop him, Dion may have razed the world to the ground.
Then, in Ran'dellah, when Dion had pressed a purse into Terence's hands and asked him to journey back to Twinside and find Kihel…
Could they have possibly escaped the emergence of Origin, or should Dion's love and the innocent girl who saved his life both be counted amongst the graves for which Dion was responsible? The Prince did not dare assume one way or another the truth of the matter.
Had Ultima truly been defeated? Dion's attempt to atone for all his sins had nearly killed him, and still he did not know if it had been enough.
In any case, Dion had promised his strength to the Phoenix and the Phoenix's quest to destroy Ultima. The Prince would determine whether the Phoenix still lived, and if he did not, Dion's strength would belong to the Phoenix's brother, Ifrit. If Ifrit no longer lived and Ultima somehow remained a threat, Dion would himself drive a spear through the fiend's true form, this time. Greagor only knew if his efforts would be enough.
Dion and the wolf arrived at the outskirts of Ran'dellah a day and a half after Dion had awoken. The once-grand city was abandoned. Though the shame of it burned, Dion took the opportunity of the empty streets and abandoned stores to gather supplies for what was making to be a much longer journey than he had anticipated. He consoled himself for these actions with the knowledge that if he did not use the supplies he had gathered, it was likely that they would go unused altogether; too many of the citizens of Ran'dellah had been slain by akashic Waloeder soldiers and beastmen from Ash.
The Prince looted the market center for water skins, long-lasting provisions, and the inventory of a physicker's apothecary which – thankfully – did not rely on potions or elixirs. Dion did not know whether potions would still work, though the bottles he had seen appeared to lack their typical luminescence.
When he had gathered provisions enough to be satisfied, Dion and the wolf made use of Ran'dellah's north exit and turned east once more toward the coast.
()
They had not been outside of the city for an hour when the wolf's usual sniffing of the air became frantic. It barked sharply thrice and made for the beach at a dead sprint. Dion followed as quickly as he could, weighed down though he was by the new supplies.
When at last Dion crested the final dune and reunited with the wolf, the Prince allowed his pilfered goods to fall to the sand and moved with more speed than he believed possible considering how little breath he had left.
The man laying half in the surf next to the massive white and gray wolf had golden hair, a tattered crimson tunic, and a white sash.
"Phoenix!" Dion cried.
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It was Torgal's first job to keep Clive safe, this Torgal knew and had known. Clive's sire had told him so with a hearty grin and a scratch behind Torgal's ears when Clive cradled Torgal's much smaller body for the first time. Torgal had licked Clive's cheek and both Clive and Clive's sire had laughed.
And Torgal had not found Clive, once again, but Torgal had found Clive's littermate, Joshua. The two of them smelled very similar and looked very different.
Joshua was the runt of the litter, Torgal knew this without being told, and Clive told Torgal more than once that Joshua needed safekeeping, as well. That Joshua was less small than he used to be did not change that fact.
All those summers before when Torgal had laid snoozing in a sunbeam in their hideaway, Clive ran a warm hand down Torgal's back and said, "It's official, boy – Joshua named me his Shield. It's my responsibility to protect him, now. And you'll help, too, won't you?"
Torgal had lifted his head and his ears pricked towards Clive. Then he stretched and laid back down.
Clive had smiled and laughed and said, "Well, you may need to grow a little, first."
So, it was Torgal's second job to keep Joshua safe. Torgal had tried to keep Joshua safe all those summers before, but he had been too small and there had been too much fire.
Torgal was no longer too small and there was no fire to threaten him.
He canted his head back and howled.
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Speech, and the smell of the ocean.
"…-aining, Phoenix, but I have been told by a physicker that returning to the waking world may be less startling this way. She never did say anything about a wolf licking the patient, but I fear attempting to stop the beast would lose me a hand."
A wolf licking him? That would explain the strange, repetitive pressure against his right cheek.
Joshua opened his eyes.
He was reclining on a beach. The sun was hanging low on the horizon. Prince Dion was there. Torgal was there. Torgal? Joshua blinked.
The wolf barked and leapt backward, bowing as though he wanted to play. His tail wagged furiously.
Joshua extended his hand and Torgal lunged forward to rub his head against it. He accepted the offer of a water-skin from Dion with the other hand and found that he deeply appreciated the chance to wash the taste of salt from his mouth.
"Phoenix," Dion said, looking intently at Joshua, "how do you feel?"
"Certainly better than I was," Joshua replied truthfully.
Last Joshua could recall, he was beset by pain the like of which he had never felt before; it had been as though he had been run through with a broadsword. Then, he surrendered the Phoenix to the care of his brother and his grip had slipped.
There was no pain, now, and when he examined his chest he found it unmarred, unscarred, and unsullied by Ultima's machinations. The constant urge to cough had vanished, as well, and the fatigue that plagued him had dispersed. This had been no mere mending of flesh as was the Phoenix's purview – Joshua had been ill long before he had trapped Ultima years before, and even that illness seemed to be gone – this was something else, entirely. Clive had begged him to not relinquish the Phoenix, had tried to refuse with agonized tears on his face, and that had wrought a separate sort of pain more breathtaking than the physical.
The Phoenix's wings had unfurled, red-green, luminous, brilliant, behind Clive as though the man had descended on their lofty pinions from heavens only dreamt of. Selfishly, in spite of the anguish he knew it would cause, Joshua had never felt more peace nor comfort than at that moment - Clive had held him tightly even with the enemy at his back, and Joshua had known with certainty that his brother was there, would do battle with gods to protect him from harm. Never before had Joshua experienced such a feeling of safety.
Joshua had perished, truly perished at Origin. Yet, he drew breath on a Dhalmekian beach at sunset.
This should not have been possible, even with the might of the Phoenix.
"Your Highness," Joshua started warily, casting his gaze at the Prince, "where is my brother?"
Dion sighed. "I had hoped you could tell me another tale, Phoenix."
()
"That you and I still live is proof enough that Ultima is gone," Joshua pondered in the light of the fire. "Or, that the spell Ultima wished to cast has failed miserably."
It had been many, many years since Joshua had needed to start a fire without the use of magic; he scarcely remembered how.
"If Ultima still lived, I imagine we would be privy to it by now," Joshua concluded.
The Prince sat in silent contemplation.
Joshua gently rubbed behind Torgal's ears while the wolf's massive head laid across his lap. Torgal had seemed quite distraught to be making camp but had settled some moments after Joshua sat down.
"I believe Torgal is trying to find my brother," Joshua said. "Clive told me before we left for Origin that what he found at their own 'hideaway' suggested Torgal had searched for him for many years. I imagine Torgal was not fond of being left behind, again, and so has picked up his search once more."
Joshua eyed the huge, sleepy hound and recalled the small, slightly rotund pup who used to chase butterflies around the Down Gardens in the springtime. Unbidden, he imagined the pup wandering through Rosaria frightened, forced to fend for himself, and unable to find the friends who might've given him comfort. Clive had been near tears when they returned from Mist on the rowboat. Joshua frowned and sighed.
"And you believe that it was Torgal who healed my wounds?" Dion asked.
"I do. Harpocrates's investigations into the tomes dredged up information about frost wolves – quite apparently, they can cast magics without suffering any ills. They are quite a rare breed," Joshua placed both hands on the sides of Torgal's face and massaged gently, as had been his habit since he was a child. Torgal's tail thumped on the ground. "Thank you for finding us and helping us, Torgal."
Torgal huffed and closed his eyes, tail still wagging, and Joshua cracked a smile.
"Do we have a plan?" Dion asked.
Joshua stared up at the moon and the stars hanging in the sky. Metia was dim.
"I believe our plan now is your old plan – we shall follow Torgal to his destination, wherever that may be, and we shall decide anything further once we arrive," Joshua said simply. "Without mounts, it would take us a fortnight or more to return to the Hideaway from here. There are no stolases nor chocobos left in Ran'dellah, as you say, so our best option is to hope wherever Torgal leads us…"
…that Clive will be there, was what Joshua wished to say, but he did not. He allowed the Prince to infer whatever he wished from his half-finished thought, and turned his attention back to Torgal, who had finally fallen asleep.
What Metia appearing so dimly in the sky meant, Joshua did not know. He did not recall ever asking it to ferry any wishes for him to the moon – that was Jill's arena, even when the three of them had been younger.
However, sitting near a flame he could never touch again with both the future and the present so painfully uncertain, Joshua pressed his forehead against Torgal's and wished to Metia, the moon, the Founder, the goddess Greagor – anyone who may listen, whether they cared or not, whether they had power or magic or simple consciousness:
Please. Let him live.