"Torgal, please," Joshua entreated, "please just come with us, boy."
The trio had indeed risen at first light, as planned, though Torgal refused to move from his spot in the camp – the spot with the best view of the beach – and instead stared morosely out at the sand. He still had not eaten and remained intent on watching for Clive to somehow appear miraculously from nowhere. Joshua had spent at least an hour trying to entreat the wolf to follow Dion and himself to Boklad to no avail.
Would that Joshua had some kind of lead to affix to Torgal! He could not imagine managing to drag the wolf along, though, heavy and stubborn as Torgal was. Torgal had never learned to walk on a lead as far as Joshua knew – the hound had always simply followed along wherever his friends went.
"Loathe as I am to do so, if we're to make the journey there before midday, we may need to leave Torgal here," Dion hazarded.
Joshua sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair.
"How I wish you could speak, Torgal," Joshua lamented. He patted the downtrodden wolf's head a few times and stood from his crouch. "Very well. It may even be that when he sees we have left, he will follow."
Joshua and Dion made for the nearby path with their gear.
Several moments later, Torgal appeared from behind them, head still hung low and steps still slower than was usual.
"If we do not find anything, we'll return to that spot later," Dion comforted the hound, though he knew Torgal would not understand. "I swear it."
Torgal continued lumbering along behind them.
()
The sun was climbing quickly in the sky along with the temperature when the three of them came upon the famous markets of Boklad. Vendors cried their wares loudly from every direction and patrons milled about frantically. With no crystals to provide that which was typically needed to keep goods fresh, and no Bearers to serve the purpose when the crystals were no more, both vendor and patron seemed at a panic. Magic had vanished, and humanity now needed to devise alternative ways of living.
Boklad also seemed to be handling an influx of refugees still fleeing the catastrophe at Twinside. Both Joshua and Dion kept hands on their blades for fear of particularly desperate footpads, though Torgal's presence seemed to serve as a deterrent against even average citizens; the crowds parted before them easily as startled men and women caught sight of the huge wolf.
"This is chaos," Dion commented.
"It is, indeed," Joshua said. "I believe it may be easier for us to cover more ground more quickly if we split up."
"Agreed," Dion said. He considered the colorful lines of stalls and made a gesture to those on the right side of the gate. "I shall ask around for sightings of Clive on this side, if you'll take the opposite?"
"A sound plan," Joshua said, "We can meet under these trees, later."
"May your search be fruitful," Dion said, and made for the first vendor's stall in the line he had chosen.
()
Joshua spoke with no fewer than fifty men and women in an attempt to discover whether anyone had seen hide or hair of Clive Rosfield, dead or alive, and his results were sorely lacking. He grew hot, sore, and tired fairly quickly in the midday sun, so Joshua retreated from the bustling market and sat in the shade cast by a colorful fabric awning.
"I'm sorry, boy," Joshua said to Torgal with his eyes closed, wiping sweat away from his forehead and eyes, "I know I'm not moving fast enough. I'll do better."
No response from the wolf, though Joshua had not expected one, anyway.
When Joshua opened his eyes, he leapt from the ground and frantically cast his gaze around –
Torgal was gone.
((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))
MEANWHILE...
They had arrived at the falls at mid-morning and needed to use tender boats to reach the shore. Anchoring too closely to Dzemekys was a good way to lose a ship, even one as quick and powerful as the Enterprise. She had survived nearly falling into a split in the ocean once before, Mid had expressed, and that was one experience that did not bear repeating.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Jill asked. She, Gav, and Jote were ready to descend from the Enterprise to one of the boats that would ferry them closer to shore.
"Nah," Mid said, "I'm not one o' you hero types. You go find out what youse need to know and I'll be here wi' the engines ready to spin up again, just in case."
Jill nodded and made a gesture to another crewmember who started the movement of the winch. The smaller boat disappeared from view and Mid sighed, allowing her smile to drop. She was tired, so tired, and she just knew that she wouldn't be able to get any rest – not until they'd found out what in Greagor's name was going on.
Gods, she didn't know what they were going to find. She hoped, she really did. She hoped Joshua and the Prince really were the ones with Torgal. She hoped that they weren't injured. She hoped that maybe, just maybe, Clive had survived, too, and that they could find him. Didn't know how much good hoping was going to do, but she did it, anyway – she couldn't help it.
She couldn't help doing a lot of things, apparently.
Mid hadn't set aside the model airship after her talk with Clive, didn't even set it aside after Jill broke the news that the three of them were dead. Mid needed to know. She needed to know if it would work. She could throw the whole thing in a fire afterward, if it did work, get rid of it all and all the schematics along with it, but she had to know if she could do it.
Clive had looked at her so earnestly in her workshop, said he wished he knew what flying was like – real flying.
Mid had to know if she could make it work.
So she holed up in her workshop for a week instead of crying and tried a million different small tweaks – bending this thing this way and that thing that way, trying a different gear, moving this panel for better aerodynamics. And when the model airship lifted from her workbench under its own power, Mid had felt nothing but fury. She put a screwdriver right through its hull, and when that didn't make her feel better, she grabbed at her tools and started throwing them.
How dare this work now, when there was no use? How dare this work now, when Mid couldn't…
And then, Jill and Gav had come to see her about the Enterprise. Everything else seemed trivial, after that.
Now, on the other side of Storm and still sore from excessive chocobo riding, Mid thought about the airship again. She imagined piloting a massive airship with all the Cursebreakers, all the Undying, Gav, Jill, Joshua, Dion, Clive, sailing to that big ugly crystal and putting a hole right through it herself. Putting a hole right through Ultima, whatever he was. If she'd been faster. If she'd been better…
"Returning!" Cried the helmsman from the main deck.
Mid shook herself and stepped out to see the winch moving, pulling the tender boat back up. She offered a hand and helped her friends step off of the small vessel. She managed a smile, shielding her eyes with one arm in the bright midday sun.
"So?" Mid asked.
"Gav's scout says they continued north from here," Jill informed. "We're thinking they journeyed to Boklad, though we're unsure."
"North it is! Might even make it before the sun sets!" Mid said brightly and ran off to harass her engineers.
((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))
EARLIER...
Clive gazed upon an unfamiliar ceiling. The wood was light in color, cast in a gentle pink from the morning light. To his right was an open window and the fresh outside air filled his lungs.
Deep confusion settled over his mind. Where was he? What had happened after Ultima's death that he found himself here? Clive's plan had worked, he would wager, judging by the profound emptiness he felt in his chest. Where once Ifrit had rested, bolstered by the might of Garuda, Ramuh, Titan, Bahamut, Shiva, Odin, and Phoenix, there sat an aching void. His hands clenched on reflex upon discovering the hollow feeling.
…his hands?
Clive dragged his arms from beneath a rough blanket and found that his left hand was no longer stone. Had the curse faded, somehow?
"I see you have returned to the waking world, at last."
When Clive cast his eyes to his left, he found a man standing near the doorway. He was tall, fit, well-groomed, and fair-skinned. Something about his posture cast a slight wariness in Clive's mind, but it was minor enough that Clive could ignore it.
"I suppose I have," Clive rasped out and winced at the sound.
The man collected a jug and a cup from the small table near the entrance and approached Clive's bedside. While Clive gladly slaked his thirst, the man spoke further.
"Before you startle, you should know that your feet are still petrified. However, the condition is fading with each passing day as it has been since we discovered you," the man explained. He sat in a creaky wooden chair next to the bed and pulled the blanket back from Clive's feet. "We expect it shall fade completely within the next day."
Clive's flesh was his own with the exception of the expanse from his heels to his toes on both feet. He prodded one stone-textured sole and winced at the sensation.
"What happened?" Clive asked, looking back over at the man.
"We found you on the beach," said the man as he refilled Clive's cup with water, "You appeared as though you were only hours away from succumbing to the curse; you barely drew breath. We carried you here with the intention of easing your passing, though the curse had begun to fade before we could administer any medicines. It has been fading, since."
"The curse has been fading on its own…?" Clive murmured in disbelief. He flexed his left hand a few times experimentally and prodded at his foot again.
"I have heard it has been fading for the Bearers afflicted, yes. Following the fall of that…structure…that rose from the wreckage in the capitol, it is as if magic and all its effects have been receding. Positively, however, the Blight appears to be disappearing from the land, as well. Though, I imagine chaos will reign for quite some time while we adjust to the loss of magic, if it is permanent," the man continued. "Excuse me – I need to see if the kettle has boiled, yet."
The man left the room and Clive was left with his thoughts.
There was a brief flare of pride – his plan truly had worked, and even the Blight was receding from the land? – followed by a deepening of Clive's earlier wariness.
Thirteen years as a Bearer of the Sanbrequois Imperial Army. Clive had spent long enough in the service of the Empire to recognize the traits of one of its soldiers.
"The capitol"? Origin had emerged from beneath Twinside. Only Sanbrequois citizens would have called it "the capitol." The way the man held himself spoke of extensive military experience. His speech reflected the formality of a noble – captaincy and higher ranks were typically occupied by men of such standing. Clive had found himself at the mercy of a Sanbrequois soldier. The man had made no move to harm him and did not seem to recognize Clive as Cid, so Clive resolved to simply maintain his wariness and bide his time. Founder only knew what the man would do if he recognized Clive as Cid the Outlaw.
There were far more pressing matters, besides – he needed to send word to the Hideaway of his own survival, Ultima's demise, Dion's fall, and Joshua's…
…Joshua…
His hands gripped at the coarse threads of his blanket and trembled in spite of himself. Grief choked him with its invisible tendrils, a most familiar agony. He stared out the open window and saw nothing.
Clive had thought Joshua dead before, believing his younger brother had perished in the grip of an impossible, rampaging, infernal beast. The truth of the matter had been far worse, though Clive had been able to accept it after a time. As painful as that night at Phoenix Gate so many years before had been, Joshua had miraculously survived and was eventually reunited with Clive. It had taken eighteen years, but Clive had been able to stand with Joshua, fight alongside him, marvel at the growth he had achieved all on his own.
And now…
How could it be that this second loss was worse than the first? How could fate have ripped Joshua away from him again? The cruelty of it all was breathtaking. And Clive had been just as powerless to stop Joshua's death as he had been eighteen years earlier. He'd watched Joshua bleed to death in his arms and could do nothing.
Joshua deserved so much better – better than the savagery of Ultima's schemes, better than the burden of a Dominant, better than a Shield that failed and broke at every turn. For all of Clive's might, all of his strength, all of his promises to break the chains of fate which bound them, he could not even save the one person he was oathbound to protect.
And despite Clive's failure, Joshua had thanked him. Joshua had been proud of him and had faith that he could bear the burden of both shield to guard the realm, and sword to beat back that which threatened it. How could Clive possibly be worthy of such belief? And could he remain so, now, with the power faded from his chest and the oppressive cloak of mourning hanging above his head? Clive was no longer "Mythos," no longer a vessel in some hellish scheme; and without the power that had suffused his body, Clive was but a man.
How could Clive face anyone at the Hideaway? How could he ever return? How could he stand the disappointment of Jill and Torgal, who had both lost Joshua once before? How could he face Jote, who had spent eighteen years of her life watching over Clive's brother only for Clive to get him killed the moment he took over her duties? How could he face Tarja or Mid or Gav?
Sin and suffering, Clive had guaranteed Ultima's dying form. Hardship and pain. It's who we are. It is our way.
How right Clive had been.
.
.
.
The Sanbrequois man returned with a hot mug of tea, after a time. Clive was grateful for this as the tea eased the tightness in his throat.
"I've need of a stolas, if one can be found," Clive requested. Reasonable, he thought, but apparently it was not so.
The man shook his head. "Even if I believed there was a single stolas in the realm not currently in use, I would not deliver one to you. Abed or not, you are a stranger to me, and I shall not put my household in the path of any danger you could conjure. I hope you do not take offense to this."
"No offense taken," Clive muttered back. "I'll need to depart as soon as possible, then. I also have a…household to care for. Who knows the state it's in with these recent developments…"
He worried for the Hideaway. With the Blight receding, had anyone ventured to Bennumere and discovered it? Was the Hideaway in danger?
"I cannot stop you if you wish to leave, though I ask you to please consider waiting until this evening to attempt walking. My—daughter shall return from the market later and will be able to predict better your recovery," the man said.
"Your daughter is a physicker?" Clive asked.
"Of sorts," the man answered vaguely. "She has been caring for you. I believe she should like to see her labors rewarded with your thanks, at least?"
"Yes, of course," Clive said. "It is the least I can do. And once I have access to my funds and supplies, I will send along a more suitable reward." If Clive owed his life to this man's child, he should certainly express his gratitude. When he told Otto, he would likely need to stop the man from sending along another star ruby…
The man smiled. Clive noticed that his eyes were quite kind, for a soldier.
"Excellent. She told me that your stomach will require gentle foods for a while. I shall go heat some broth if you are amenable?"
"That would be much appreciated. Thank you," Clive said.
The man nodded and left without another word.
Clive sat alone in the room once more. He simply needed to press onward – deal with his present circumstances first until he could return to the Hideaway, and then he could handle everything else.
Everything else could wait, and yet Clive's thoughts continued to race.
He would need to arrange a headstone for Joshua, Clive considered darkly. Perhaps he could collude with the Undying to figure the details; upsetting though it was, they likely had some procedure for interring Dominants of the Phoenix upon their passing. Clive believed he might insist on Joshua's memorial being placed at Hawk's Cry Cliff alongside their father's – somewhere peaceful, where he could see both ocean and sky.
Dion, too, would need to be honored properly – the last true Prince of Sanbreque, and the last Dominant of Bahamut. He had been instrumental in the destruction of Origin. He had also been Clive's stepbrother. Clive wondered if the man had had any surviving family in the realm who may have known his wishes, or if the annihilation of Twinside had put an end to the Lesage family in totality.
The man had returned at a point to offer Clive a simple broth which he drank gratefully. When the bowl was empty, the man left again and Clive-
What was that?
-there was a sound like scraping or scratching from outside the door. Clive turned his attention to the closed door. The Sanbrequois man was shouting from somewhere else in the building.
Loud, jarring thudding that seemed to make the frame shudder. Clive whipped off his blanket and stood on numb yet painful feet, nearly falling from the weakness in his legs, searching around for a weapon to defend himself from this threat and finding none.
The banging on the door increased in volume and strength. Clive attempted to steel himself for whatever may come, but felt keenly the absence of all the magics he had learned and stolen. Clive was but a man, now, and he would need to fight like one without the advantages he had come to rely upon.
The door splintered apart into fragments, clattering to the wooden floor-
-and a massive gray blur tackled Clive to the ground, hard.