Cecil woke to a squeezing pain behind his eyes. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, trying to find steady footing on the floor. His stomach clenched, threatening to push its watery contents up his throat, but somehow, he managed to swallow it back down. Leaning forward, his elbows braced on his legs, he held his head in his hands and groaned.
"No..." came a sleepy protesting murmur. "It's not allowed to be morning." Beside him, Rosa burrowed deeper under the blankets.
Cecil stood, crossing the room to the window, and peeked behind the heavy curtain. Intense light spilled in, nearly blinding him. After blinking through the blurriness, he peered outside; the sun was high overhead. "I'm afraid we're well past morning, wife."
Abruptly, Rosa pushed through the pile of blankets and sat up. "Say that last part again," she demanded, sounding serious. Her hair sat in a haphazard pile of tangled curls on top of her head, various hair pins scattered throughout the sheets. She peered at him, eyes squinting against the bright sun behind him, her brow furrowed.
But Cecil knew better. "Wife," he repeated, matching her serious tone.
He was rewarded with her sudden smile, bright and dazzling despite her sleepy face. She flopped back into the blankets with a contented sigh. "I will never tire of hearing that."
"You never have to," Cecil said as he made his way back to the bed. The movement made him dizzy, and he paused, head swimming. "Mm." He closed his eyes and tried to be steady. "Perhaps we were too enthusiastic in our celebration," he muttered, trying not to let the rumble of his own voice thunder inside his head.
"It's not every day that we get a wedding and a coronation." Rosa took his hand in hers, and she guided him back to the bed, easing him to sit on its edge. Her fingers fluttered around his temples, and he felt his headache easing. "Let's eat something and go see if the others survived the party."
"Right now?" Cecil asked, squinting up at her.
"Later?" Rosa suggested, her fingers at his temple softening from a healer's inquiry to a lover's soft caress, drifting down to cradle his jaw with her palm.
"Later," Cecil agreed, pulling her toward him, easing back into the bed. Rosa laughed as she landed on top of him. "Much later."
Later that afternoon, Cecil spotted Cid in the airship bay, directing the flow of people, both civilian passengers and Red Wings crew. The newly crowned king was stopped by many guests, offering their congratulations and fond farewells. Cecil found his face tired from all the smiling, but still pushed on until he saw Cid.
"Finally decided to join us, eh?" Cid asked with a grin as Cecil approached.
"Truth be told, I'm surprised I'm upright," Cecil replied, prompting a chuckle from Cid. They stood together, observing the traffic around them, as people hurried from dock to dock, trying to locate their ships.
"Have you seen anyone else? Are they faring any better?" Cecil asked, remembering the many empty bottles that littered the ballroom when he and Rosa had finally gone up to their rooms, leaving behind a still roaring party.
Cid frowned and produced a small, folded piece of paper and handed it to Cecil. "Rydia left on the first ship out this morning. Asked me to give you this."
"What?" Disbelief made Cecil slow, not understanding as he opened the note. It was Rydia's handwriting in a few short lines, but he found his eyes still blurry. After a few blinks, the words came into focus.
Cecil,
I'm sorry to leave so abruptly but I didn't want anyone to change my mind. And if anyone could, it would be you. Everyone is embarking on the next great phase of their life, settling down and establishing roots that will stretch generations into the future. I'm a little behind you; I'm still figuring out who I am and who I want to be. I need to find what my legacy to the world will be.
I will be in touch as much as I can. I'll write often.
Rydia
"What happened?" Cecil asked, folding the note, and tucking it away into his pocket. "Was she upset?" Then, a memory from the night before surfaced. Rydia dancing with Edge, his head bent low to whisper in her ear. Cecil saw them next behind the bar, Rydia perched on the counter while Edge poured two drinks beside her. They clinked glasses and drank deeply. Cecil realized he didn't remember seeing them again after that. "What did Edge do?" Cecil's voice was hard with accusation.
Cid shrugged. "She didn't seem sad or angry, just a bit tired and eager to get going." Cid reached up and gave Cecil's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "She's young, impulsive, and wants to prove herself in a new world."
Cecil sighed, closing his eyes. "I just wish she would have talked to me first. I could have helped her. Set her up wherever she wants to go and get her whatever she needs."
"She needs space, Cecil. She's been on a mission to help you her whole life, and now she finally gets to decide what to do," Cid replied. "To figure things out, to make mistakes and to do things for herself." In front of them, a Damcyan nobleman held a little girl's hand, guiding her down onto the dock to board the ship; her eyes were wide and unsure, but as she found footing on the boards of the dock, she gave the man a big smile. "She's growing up, and while she needs you less, daughters will never stop needing their fathers."
"I'm not her father," Cecil said with a frown. Cid's words ignited fresh guilt in Cecil that he had been the one to orphan Rydia.
"You may as well be," Cid countered. "You've been acting as her father figure since she was seven. Just because that's a shorter time for you than her doesn't make your role in her life any less impactful or important."
Cecil thought of their time together, days spent traveling through monster ridden dungeons and nights in quiet conversation before drifting off to sleep. He remembered countless times when some creature would try to strike at Rydia and how he'd step between her and it, sword drawn, ready to meet anything that might threaten the little girl. The idea of Rydia in danger, even now as a capable and powerful adult Summoner, made his heart squeeze with a strange anxiety he had never closely examined before. How could he protect her when she wasn't here with him?
"I hope she writes soon," Cecil finally said, eyes lifted to the horizon, watching as the ships in the sky became distant red dots, then disappear. He wondered when one would return, carrying Rydia back.
Rydia did, in fact, write. Her letters detailed her travels across the world, seeking out lost and forgotten and Eidolons bringing them back to the Feymarch. Cecil read them with both pride and worry. The letters came sporadically; sometimes he'd get one or even two a week, then silence for a month or more.
He wrote, too. Of Baron's progress in uniting the world together against future threats, of sharing knowledge and resources between the nations, and their efforts to repair the damage Baron had done to the rest of the world during the Crystals War.
Despite her updates, Rydia said very little about herself. She kept her letters light and surface level, telling Cecil of the places she traveled through and the people she'd met, but offered no substance on how she felt or what she thought. He did not know what to make of it and tried not to dwell on its possible meaning.
It was two years later when Rydia finally came back to Baron, carried directly by an Underworld ship, denoted by its mithril hull. Cecil was there on the dock to meet the ship, the engines throwing wild winds as it landed, tugging at Cecil's silver hair and white cloak. Rydia's arrival was preceded by a letter only a week prior, and so Cecil had been surprised when the ship had been sighted.
As she crossed the lowered gangway between ship and dock, Cecil thought she looked so much taller than he had the last time he saw her but shrugged aside the thought. Once Rydia crossed the dock, she broke out into a run, meeting Cecil with a fierce hug.
"I've missed you," she said, the words muffled into his shoulder – she was taller, he realized.
"Welcome home," Cecil said. Oddly, he felt her stiffen in the embrace before she carefully disentangled herself from him. She smiled, but there was a strain at the corner of her mouth, some unspoken concern, a swallowed remark.
He wanted to ask after it, but he heard Rosa's delighted squeal from behind him. The two women embraced, and his worries melted away, too overjoyed in the moment to chase after doubts.
He saw that same concern haunting her eyes as he brought her into the castle. It never quite went away, even as she looked around Baron with fond nostalgia. It shadowed her smile and added a hint of melancholy to her words.
Rosa had left them, citing the to rest before dinner that night. Cecil escorted Rydia through the castle and Cecil wondered if she noticed all the changes he'd made, how much lighter the hallways felt, with brighter lamps, new wall hangings to decorate the drab stone. If Rydia did notice, she said nothing.
Finally stopping before a grand door, Cecil opened it, gesturing to Rydia to enter first. Inside was a large suite of rooms – a parlor, to receive guests, with a connecting bedroom, study, and dining area. It had originally been the apartments for visiting diplomats, but Cecil had the rooms repurposed and redecorated. Now, instead of stuffily formal, there was an airy lightness to the suite; the windows were open, letting fresh air and sunshine into the rooms.
"What do you think?" Cecil asked, trying to hide a smile.
"Is one of the new guest apartments?" Rydia asked, pacing through the parlor, peering into each room as she passed the open doors.
"It's yours," Cecil corrected her, now wearing a wide grin, unable to contain it any longer. "There's plenty of space for you to study magic if that's what you want. But I thought now that you've traveled so much already, you might want to—"
"I'm not staying," Rydia interrupted, turning away from the study's door to face him.
Her bluntness stunned Cecil into silence, before he finally found his tongue again. "But Rydia, don't you think it's time to think about settling down? And where better than here, with us? You'd be so close to Mist that you can continue helping them rebuild, if that's what you want."
"I…" Rydia hesitated, looking aside from Cecil, her mouth in an uncertain frown; the expression reminded him of her as a scared child at the Kaipo Inn, unsure if she could trust him or not. It gutted him to think she might look at him that way still, made worse by knowing he deserved her doubt, for all he had done to her. Rydia had graciously forgiven him, of course, but that did not mean she would ever forget. Her forgiveness also did not absolve him of his remorse, and it never would. "There's so much for me to do, still. My journey's not over yet," she said, finally, the ongoing sadness in her suddenly making sense.
"Let me help you, then," Cecil offered, feeling desperate at the idea of not knowing if she was safe. "I could offer you resources, soldiers of your own to command, an airship to go wherever you want." She would not be here in Baron, as he wanted, but at least she would be protected, Cecil reasoned. "I could—"
Rydia seized Cecil's hands, squeezing gently but firmly enough to get his attention. "I need to do this on my own. Without Baron, without anyone."
"Without me," Cecil said, carefully pulling his hands from Rydia's grip, taking a step back from her. He expected her to correct him, to reassure him that wasn't the case, but instead, she met his eyes, serious and somber.
"Without you," Rydia agreed in a soft murmur.
Cecil blinked, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. He swallowed hard, trying to will them away. "I'm truly sorry, to make you feel like you must stay away."
"No, Cecil, that's not it," Rydia said, shaking her head. "You have been the pillar of my world for so long. As a girl, helping you was my only goal and ambition – everything I did, all the magic I learned, was for you and your quest. And now, I need to figure out who I am without you being the most important part of my life."
Cecil fell silent, having no words to reply.
"Can't we have a nice visit, and leave things like that?" Rydia asked gently. "I want to see you and Rosa, to hear how you've been, to see how Baron has grown." She smiled, then, though it was strained around her mouth.
"Of course," Cecil agreed easily, hoping he could hide his heartbreak until she left.
"Rydia's young," Rosa told Cecil, not for the first time that evening. They stood in their shared bedroom, going through the nightly rituals of preparing for sleep. "Give her time to get the adventure out of her system and she'll come back to Baron eventually. In the meantime," Rosa eased herself carefully into the bed, mindful of her growing belly, "Enjoy your time with her while she's here."
"You think so?" Cecil asked, trying to feel hopeful.
"I do," Rosa said, her smile finally putting his troubled heart at ease.
Rydia stayed longer than Cecil expected, but it still wasn't enough time. She lasted four months, waiting until Rosa gave birth to their son, Ceodore, then helping them care for the newborn. The sight of her with a baby in her arms made Cecil's heart soar, and he wondered if she might change her mind and decide to settle down and start her own family. Perhaps someone could convince her?
"You should stay for Yuletide," Cecil suggested, one evening over dinner. Rydia often joined them, holding baby Ceodore so Rosa had a chance to eat her meal still warm. "I'm inviting all of the nations," he said, trying to keep his tone casual as he added, "Including Eblan."
Rydia made no comment, instead focusing on Ceodore, who was enthralled by her green hair, his chubby fist gripping a chunk of it. Ceodore was finally rapidly exiting his newborn phase, more alert and aware of his surroundings, endlessly fascinated by each new thing.
The next morning, Rydia announced her departure.
"Write me often," Cecil pleaded, as he and Rydia walked along the dock toward her waiting ship.
"I will," Rydia reassured him, sounding just slightly impatient. "I'll come visit again soon, I promise."
"When?" Cecil asked; they arrived at her ship's dock, and he felt paralyzed, stopping in his tracks.
Rydia, too, stopped, turning to face Cecil. "I don't know," she said, honest as always.
"Don't go," Cecil said, his voice suddenly watery. "Stay awhile longer."
Rydia crossed the few steps back to Cecil, embracing him in a tight hug. He was surprised by its intensity, then circled his arms around her, squeezing tight, not wanting to let go. "Just because I'm gone doesn't mean I don't love you," Rydia said, the words muffled against his shirt, her face pressed into his shoulder. "Remember that."
"I love you too," Cecil said, nearly choking on the words.
She broke the embrace, turning abruptly from him. "I have to go." She fled, running down the dock and onto the lowered gangway, onto the ship. He heard her little hiccupping sobs as she went, the sound of them wrenching his heart in a terrible grip.
For Cecil, it was nearly a year later until he saw her again.
For Rydia, it was much longer.
Rydia's letters came frequently – surprisingly frequently. She described her work and studies, chasing down forgotten lore, experimenting with new spells, coming up with new magical theories and testing them. She was always writing about some new project, or another person she had met, another Eidolon rescued and brought to the Feymarch. Despite her youth and zeal, Cecil was surprised by her ongoing energy to do so much and move so quickly through her various ventures.
With how busy Rydia was, Cecil did not expect much when he suggested she come visit for Ceodore's first birthday. He was pleasantly surprised when she quickly wrote back in enthusiastic agreement, letting him know she'd arrive in time for the celebration.
Rydia did as promised, the Underworld airship arriving a few days prior to the birthday gala. After a somewhat tearful reunion on the docks and Cecil had dried his eyes, he studied her from the side as they walked into Baron Castle together. He tried to remember how she'd looked when he last saw her. She was no longer the willowy slim girl from her youth, but a woman, with a confidence and surety in every step she took. When had that changed?
The question lingered on throughout her visit. In the weeks leading up to Ceodore's birthday, Cecil could almost pretend that everything was as it always was between them, that something wasn't off about Rydia and her demeanor.
Unsure of how to ease the strange tension, Cecil wracked his brains for an idea. He remembered their first night in Baron after defeating the corrupted guards and rescuing Yang at the Inn. The innkeeper had offered them all mugs of Baron's specialty, mulled cider, made from orchards out in Baron's countryside. After Cecil declared it his favorite drink, Rydia tried hers and agreed.
One evening, nostalgic for the memory, Cecil found himself in the kitchen, requesting the drink from the cook. Carrying the two mugs carefully so as not spill any, he made his way to Rydia's – rather, the guest's quarters, and knocked on the door awkwardly with his elbow.
"I brought you something," Cecil declared when she opened the door. Rydia looked surprised, but stepped aside, to grant Cecil entry. He walked into the parlor, setting both mugs down on a low table.
"What is it?" Rydia asked, peering curiously into one mug.
"Baronian mulled cider," Cecil said, beaming proudly. "I remember how much you liked it, and…" he paused, seeing her frown suddenly. "What is it?" he asked.
"This is thoughtful of you, Cecil," Rydia said, something strangely practiced about her speech. "I just don't care for hot drinks anymore. Because…" she hesitated, her frown deepening. "I just don't."
Cecil wanted to ask, to push further, to ask her how and why she'd change. But he feared the answer, more than not knowing, so he swallowed that impulse and instead said, "Guests for the birthday gala will be arriving over the next few days, so the castle will be chaos. Ask me or Rosa directly for anything you need if the servants seem too frazzled."
"I will," Rydia said, though she sounded unsure.
"You promise?" Cecil asked, the question small. "Not just right now, if you need anything, ever, anywhere, you'll ask me?"
"I promise," Rydia answered, this time more certain, to Cecil's relief.
The next morning, Cecil stood on the docks, watching the Falcon descend, making her landing. He was surprised to see Rydia walking beside the docks, making her way toward him and the ship. She said nothing, the roaring engines and wild winds around them not allowing for conversation. She came up beside him, watching the Falcon expectantly.
Finally, the Falcon's engines quieted, its propellers slowing gradually before finally stopping. As the gangway was lowered, he heard Rydia take a deep breath; she seemed to hold it, as people started coming down onto the dock.
Cecil greeted the Eblan dignitaries, offering them polite welcomes, directing them to the servants who would escort them to their quarters. It wasn't until they left, and he turned to see Rydia's expression of hurt confusion, that Cecil realized why she was here.
"Edge isn't coming," Cecil said gently.
She nodded, more to herself than to him. "I see," she said vaguely, her eyes distant.
"He's been busy rebuilding his kingdom and sends an ambassador for most occasions," Cecil offered as explanation, hoping it would ease her disappointment. "I could lend you a ship to go visit him. You could probably go back with the Falcon even, after the gala."
"Don't worry about it," Rydia said, offering him a thin smile as she walked off the dock. With her back to him, and shoulders sunk, she looked suddenly smaller, like the little girl he knew, the one he desperately missed.
The gala was an incredible event, Cecil thought, rivaling even their wedding in its celebration. As the hosting monarch, Cecil was busy throughout the night, directing people, making introductions, offering drinks, and then, of course, dancing with his wife.
Cecil saw Rydia intermittently throughout the night, mostly lingering on the outskirts, watching everyone. Sometimes he saw her talking with Rosa or taking an offered drink from a passing servant's tray but did not have the opportunity to talk much with her himself.
The next morning, Cecil knocked on her door, with no answer. Finally, he tried the doorknob and found it unlocked, clicking open easily. He stepped inside and all signs of Rydia were gone – the chair she had relocated next to the fireplace was back in its original position, the books she often left lying around were gone, the bed already stripped and bare. He peered into the doors of the other rooms and found them similarly sterile, like she had never been there.
Two more years passed with only letters from Rydia. In the first, she apologized for leaving without saying goodbye, but offered no explanation as to why. The letters resumed their usual content after that - her research into magic affecting the environment and how a concentration of magic might influence those who lived there. She theorized, also, that there was a connection between Mist and the Feymarch, some long ago bargain made between the founders of both. She poured over old lore, trying to make connections. She would bring back Summoners, she declared in more than one letter, she just had to find the way and lead them. She wrote with such passion there were often smudge marks on the parchment, accidentally made in her haste.
Life on the Blue Planet continued, with or without Rydia to make the days better. Eblan announced the coronation of its new queen, Edge having married in a private ceremony. Cecil's ambassador to Eblan said the queen came from an old, established family, with claims of ninja mastery reaching back to Eblan's first records. Many of her relatives were vocal in their opinions of Eblan needing to go back to how it was before the destruction, private and isolated from the rest of the world to better guard their secrets and protect themselves.
It did not surprise Cecil when the letters from Edge slowed, then stopped. Only the seneschal communicated formally with Baron, and even that was infrequent, only responding to direct inquiries, never freely offering news of their rebuilding progress.
Damcyan, too, welcomed a new queen. Cecil witnessed this union himself, attending the wedding in the newly built Damcyan castle. He walked the halls, marveling at the architecture, trying to shake off the memory of smoking bodies and desperate cries for mercy. Edward's wife was a woman from Troia, the doctor who had cared for him in the infirmary. Her bridal gifts of lumber helped rebuild much of Damcyan, and she herself cared for veterans who still suffered from old injuries inflicted by Baron's bombing. They made a charming couple, but Cecil couldn't help but see a lingering melancholy in Edward and wondered if anyone truly stopped grieving the departed.
In Fabul, Yang and Shelia became parents to twins, a boy and girl pair. Cecil visited them a few months after the birth, and was surprised by their strength, already evident as they grabbed and pulled at anything within reach.
In Mysidia, Palom and Porom continued to grow and learn under the Elder's tutelage. Cecil saw them more often than the others, as they were frequent visitors to Baron. Neither had issues with the effects of the Devil's Road, being so young and full of stamina, without darkness weighing down their still innocent souls.
At least, so Cecil tried to tell himself, blocking out the memory of Palom casting Fira, throwing fireballs at the feet of a Baron marine who had grabbed Porom, the soldier screaming as his boots melted into his feet. Keep your hands off my sister! Palom had called in warning, running hand in hand with Porom as the marine collapsed to the ground, still howling his anguish.
He tried not to think of Porom, casting Slow on a Baron guard who pursued them through the rushing waters of a canal in the sewer, slowing his limbs enough that he could no longer tread water. He struggled to keep his head above water, gulping huge gasps of air every time he managed to surface. Finally, he went down and did not come back up; Porom watched from the edge of the canal, her expression blank as she watched a man drown.
Is that why Rydia kept her distance? Cecil tried not to wonder but could not help himself. Because she feared what sort of weapon he'd turn her into again? He remembered Rydia as a child, lit up by the flashes of lightning all around her, as Thundara scorched the flesh of two men who had closed in on her, intent on capturing her for Baron's hefty bounty. How many terrible memories did Rydia harbor? And did being around Baron, around Cecil, make them rise unwanted to the surface? He did not know, but her absence may have answered the question for him.
Cecil wondered where Rydia had settled to do her research, realizing quickly she had stopped most talk of travel, only of her progress and failures. His guess was somewhere in the Underworld, as her letters always seemed to accompany Giott's; it gave context for her not liking hot drinks anymore, he reasoned, because the environment was so warm wherever she resided.
One worry was too consequential to fully explore. If he kept it pushed down and did not dwell on it, then it would never come to pass, Cecil managed to convince himself. He only needed to see Rydia again to reassure himself, confirmation that his worst fear had not come to pass.
He lived in this denial for two years, until Rydia came to Baron once more.
Cecil hadn't expected the Underworld ship, but gladly granted it clearance to land in Baron, finding himself equal parts hopeful and dreading what was to come.
Cecil's heart hammered against his ribs, thumping too hard to ignore, his pulse pounding in his ears. He watched as the Underworld airship eased in next to the dock, then disengaged its engines. The dwarven crew seemed especially slow readying the ship for disembarking, but Cecil reminded himself that was only his excitement in finally seeing Rydia again that made him impatient.
There was a familiar green head in the line of crew now coming down the gangway. Once on the dock, she broke away from the rest of the crew, walking toward Cecil, uncharacteristically cautious in her approach. There was that same childhood uncertainty in her as came up to him, not with her arms open for a hug as they usually did, but stiff and formal, as if she presented herself for inspection.
It took Cecil a long moment to realize what was wrong – he saw it first in the white threaded through her green hair, the settled lines around her eyes and brow. It was obvious most on her hands, looking more creased and worn than even his own. All of these details and the guilt in Rydia's eyes finally confirmed Cecil's worst fear.
"How old are you?" Cecil blurted out.
"Thirty-eight," Rydia answered immediately.
"No," Cecil protested, wanting to call her a liar, clinging to a childish denial. He swallowed the impulse and instead asked, "Why did you go back to the Feymarch if you knew it would speed up your years?"
"It only speeds it up for you," Rydia corrected him. "I've been in the right place, doing what I need to do. I've spent my years as wisely as I could."
"Is it worth this?" Cecil asked. "Is it worth losing time with us? At this rate, you'll die before me. Is it worth putting me through that?"
"Yes," Rydia quickly replied, not sparing his feelings by pretending to hesitate. "Your family and kingdom are your legacy. What am I doing? For the Feymarch and Mist, for the future of Summoners? That's my legacy; that's what I'm leaving behind when I'm gone."
"You could make Baron your home," Cecil pleaded. "Or Mist. Wherever you want. Keep doing your research but not in the Feymarch. Please."
"Cecil, the Feymarch is my home now," Rydia replied, calm in the face of Cecil's rising emotions. "Mist holds too many terrible memories. Baron isn't my home and never will be. You need to make peace with that, and all it implies."
"But…" Cecil started to protest, fumbling for an objection that might sway her.
"We have this time together now," Rydia said, her breath catching in her throat. "Can't you be happy with that?" she asked, suddenly sounding seven years old again.
"I can," Cecil said in agreement, knowing it was a merciful lie.
Rydia stayed for nearly six months. This time, she took Cecil up on his offer on borrowing an airship and crew, to travel and visit others in the above world. From the crew's report, he knew she went to Fabul, Damcyan, and lastly, Eblan, spending the shortest time there, only one day and night. Cecil didn't dare pry, to ask how the others had taken her rapid aging, and Rydia didn't offer.
Rosa had a calm acceptance of the situation, never questioning Rydia for her choices, only asking about her current research and plans to narrow down the precise connection between Mist and the Feymarch. In private, Rosa held Cecil tenderly, offering kind words to alleviate the pain of his grief.
It was not just knowing that Rydia's life would be so short, but it was mourning the life he thought she'd have. He had envisioned Rydia happily married, still working on her magical research, certainly, but with children of her own. He imagined their children growing up together, as almost cousins, their childhood bonds reinforced by the strength of their parents' friendships. It would be the extended family Cecil had always wanted as a child, somehow undoing the loss of Rydia's late mother.
Sometimes, that fantasy included Edge as a prospective husband for Rydia, but ultimately, Cecil only cared that she found someone she loved as much as Cecil loved Rosa, someone who knew how special she really was. Rydia deserved nothing less, after all.
This time, when Rydia left Baron, she did not sneak away or leave in the small hours of the morning. Instead, she allowed Cecil to see her off, waving from the deck of the airship as it lifted away. Cecil stared up at her until he could no longer distinguish her on the deck of the ship, trying to fix her in his mind as she was now, already grieving the next loss of years.
After that, she came yearly. She never stayed as long as she did on her first visits, never more than a month now, but still she came. She continued to leap in years ahead of him. She was forty-two, then fifty-two, then fifty-nine. After that, Cecil stopped asking and Rydia mercifully didn't volunteer.
Rydia played with Ceodore, watching him go from a chubby toddler to an inquisitive and bright little boy. Cecil privately wondered if Ceodore would be old enough to remember Rydia before she… before…
Cecil dared not finish the thought – not yet.
On Rydia's last visit to Baron, she used a cane, favoring one leg as she came down the gangway. Beside Cecil, Ceodore, now nearly ten, sprinted forward to take Rydia by the arm, lending her more support as she made her way down. She thanked him, insisting she could walk now that she was on steady ground again, but Ceodore didn't let go and neither did Rydia, nor did she protest again.
Once Cecil and Ceodore got Rydia in her rooms and settled, Rydia insisted on a few hours of rest before that evening. "Join me for dinner, Cecil," she asked, patting his hand fondly. "There's much to discuss."
That evening, she seemed more refreshed, less dependent on her cane, steadier and surer of her own steps; Cecil was relieved by the change. Rydia had arranged the meal in her own quarters, a private dinner for the two of them.
Wracked with nervousness about whatever she was going to tell him, Cecil sat across from her, an elaborate meal laid out between them. In the low glow of the lamplight, she looked ethereal, her now white hair floating in a cloud around her shoulders.
"I failed," Rydia said, not delaying with niceties. "I tried to find and influence the connection between Mist and the Feymarch, but I couldn't. I thought the presence of a Summoner in the Feymarch would be enough, but it's not." She sighed, laying her hands flat on the table, palms up. "What have I accomplished?"
"You've reunited so many Eidolons," Cecil insisted, hating the look of regret in her still blue eyes. "You protected the world and defeated ultimate hatred. Isn't that enough?"
Rydia frowned. "It doesn't matter," she said, in a matter-of-fact way. "I am here to see you and your family. I will not sour the visit complaining about what can't be changed." She leaned forward, picking up a mug and setting it beside him.
Cecil leaned forward and sniffed it, instantly recognizing its spicy fragrance. "Mulled cider," Cecil said fondly, then, remembering, "I thought you lost your taste for it."
Rydia smiled over her own mug. "I got it back," she said. She gestured broadly to the table and the dishes on it. "Let's enjoy this and talk only about good things and leave our worries at the door."
"I can do that," Cecil said, another kind lie for both of them.
Rydia stayed two weeks this time, then, citing the need to be back in her own bed, left again. Cecil was both distraught and relieved by her decision – he was desperate for more time with Rydia, but it grieved him to think of what was next to come, her delicate state no longer let him pretend it was far off.
"We'll see each other soon," Rydia, whispering the promise into his ear as they hugged goodbye; Cecil held her carefully, mindful of her now frail frame.
No, we won't, Cecil thought, but swallowed the words instead of saying them out loud.
After the ship departed, Cecil watched it become smaller and smaller as it sped toward the horizon, away from Baron and away from him. He stared after it long after its dot disappeared, eyes watering until he had to finally look away.
A night and day later, Rosa found Cecil in the castle library, looking despondent over a dozen open books.
"What's wrong?" Rosa asked, full of concern as she approached him.
"I just thought…" Cecil started to say, then shook his head. "I was hoping I might find something to help Rydia finish her research. The last connecting thread, the missing piece." He gestured at the scattered books around him. "I've looked through what little Summoner lore we have, I've cross referenced every known Eidolon and possible Eidolons. Which one hasn't Rydia found?" Cecil threw his arms up in exasperation. "I don't know."
"You should go to Mist," Rosa suggested, peering over one of the open books. She flipped it closed, then looked back over to him. "Many of their stories aren't recorded on paper, instead passed down through generations by storytellers. There might be some mythology you haven't uncovered yet."
Cecil perked up at the idea. "You think so?"
Rosa smiled. "Go to Mist," she repeated, taking him by the hand, pulling him up out of the chair. "And if you find something significant there, go straight to Rydia in the Feymarch and help her figure it out. I'll mind the kingdom while you're away."
"What if time is still sped up in there? Wouldn't I age quickly?" Cecil asked, horrified by the notion.
Rosa shook her head. "Only if you stayed that long. Besides," she said, leading him out of the library, "A few years ago, I asked Rydia about how it worked when we were there. Does time continue to speed forward? She told me no, with our presence in the Feymarch, time inside actually stops entirely."
Cecil's eyes went wide, incredulous at the idea.
Still leading Cecil along, Rosa continued, "The Feymarch sped Rydia forward because the world needed her older and stronger, to help you fight Zemus. And now," Rosa frowned. "Now the Feymarch continues to age her because the world needs her this way. We need her wisdom, gained only by years of experience and we need her knowledge, from years of study. Whatever else the world needs from Rydia, it will only be through her well-lived life that she'll find it."
"I never thought of it that way," Cecil murmured, more to himself than to Rosa.
"Go and pack a bag," Rosa insisted. "I'll tell Cid to ready an airship."
Cecil arrived in Mist, landing the ship carefully in the small valley that sat between narrow mountain peaks. The Elder of Mist greeted Cecil, offering help, then directing him to a local healer named Matoya, who was well versed in Eidolon lore.
"Are there any Eidolons who share their magic?" Cecil asked Matoya, standing in her small shop, his eyes wandering over the displays of potions and remedies she had for sale. She was an older woman, bent over her cane, reminding him of Rydia and how much older she might be now.
"Not exactly," Matoya, drumming her fingers against her chin as she considered his question. "There is one story, although it's not a confirmed Eidolon that I know of."
"Please tell me," Cecil asked, grasping after the thin thread of hope.
"There was a woman named Rachel, who was an accomplished healer, knowing white magic with a sophistication that's rarely been seen since," Matoya began, slipping into storyteller mode. "It was said she could bring a man from the brink of death, somehow convincing nearly departed souls to stay and heal themselves instead." Matoya paused; Cecil realized it was for dramatic effect and nodded along, hoping that might hurry her.
It seemed to work, as Matoya continued, "One day, she was walking with her lover along a cliff side, searching for a rumored treasure. They both slipped and fell from a terrible height and crashed to the shore below. Rachel died immediately, but the man lingered on in agony, his wounds too great for him to move. Rachel's spirit remained nearby, desperate to save him, but unable to help. A girl was passing by, and Rachel reached into her, dispersing her magic within the girl's soul. The girl knew Rachel's spells and was filled with Rachel's desire to help others. And so, she came to rescue the injured man, pulling him back from death just as Rachel herself had done."
"The magic lived on?" Cecil asked.
"So they say," Matoya said, with a casual shrug. "Some say that Rachel's magic is still around, finding a kind and compassionate white mage every few generations, still trying to help the wounded and hurt."
Cecil closed his eyes, reeling with the possibilities and all that it implied. It was not Rydia's life that the Feymarch and Mist needed, but her… her…
Cecil shook his head abruptly, chasing away the thought. He would not dwell on it until he had to, instead tucking it away for later. In the meantime, he would focus on getting to Rydia as fast as he could.
Cecil traveled to Agart, taking the crater-entrance into the Underworld. Before his retirement, Cid had a few Red Wings ships outfitted with mithril, to withstand the temperature of the Underworld so Baron could move freely there. Rosa had wisely suggested taking one; Cecil was glad he listened.
He flew through the Underworld, over a sea of boiling lava, to find a small island hiding in its molten waves. Cecil landed carefully, grateful to Cid for building such a maneuverable ship. He found the cave with its poisonous floor, grateful also to Rosa for teaching him Float. He cast it on himself, and, only slightly awkward, made his way through the cave.
Cecil encountered a few monsters on the way, but they fell easily to his holy blade. He found himself glad of the opportunity to use it, battle making it easier to forget what task he had ahead of him.
Shiva was waiting for Cecil as he stepped off the Warp Pad. "Come with me," she said, her tone icy and unreadable. She turned, the movement fluid and graceful, then motioned for him to follow.
Cecil did not argue, only hurrying along behind her, absorbing the new Feymarch as it passed by around him. A dozen new buildings had been built, new roads criss-crossing through the growing town. Down one street, Cecil saw a moving castle, the streets just wide enough to grant it passage. Cecil paused, gawking after it. "Was that an Eidolon?" he asked in disbelief.
Shiva cracked a rare smile at Cecil's reaction. "Alexander likes to wander." Then, she remembered herself and reset her expression back to neutral. "Hurry along," she said, starting her brisk walk again.
Cecil sprinted to catch up to Shiva, then walked beside her, head turned to look at her. "Just tell me what's happened to Rydia," he said, his heart beating wildly, the uncertainty nearly strangling him.
"She fell," Shiva said, abruptly stopping. Cecil stopped with her, waiting for her to continue. Shiva reached across, placing a cold palm on Cecil's chest. "Your human hearts are so fragile," she commented, sadly. "Hers is too weak to last much longer."
"I understand," Cecil said, not understanding at all how a just world would allow this to happen.
Asura met him at the infirmary, now its own building, big enough to accommodate the Feymarch's growing population. Rydia was in a room in its own private wing. Asura confirmed what Shiva had told him, that Rydia hadn't been feeling well all day, then collapsed, and now not even Asura's magic could strengthen Rydia's failing heart.
Cecil stood at the doorway, paralyzed, not wanting to enter.
"Cecil?" Rydia called out to him, sounding both curious and scared, the combination from her girlhood.
"I'm here," Cecil answered without hesitation. He did not resist any longer, entering the room, coming up next to her bedside. She looked so small under all the blankets that bundled her up, propped upright with pillows stuffed all around her.
There was a sudden hopefulness in her eyes, and unexpected joy. "You came to me this time."
"I did," Cecil said, taking one of her hands in his, holding it carefully. "Although I think this might be…" Cecil hesitated, suddenly choked by tears, unable to say it.
"The last visit," Rydia concluded for him, offering him a sad smile. "I'm sorry I kept you at a distance all these years. I was trying to forge my own path, to be my own person…" Rydia hesitated, groping blindly for the right words. "I was trying to be where I was most needed, but I was wrong."
"No, you weren't," Cecil said, rubbing his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, blinking back tears, determined to see this through. "I found the missing piece. It's not your life that Feymarch needs, but your… your…" His tongue froze on the next world, unable to say it. But then he looked over at her, the optimism shining through her tears, and could not deny her despite the pain it caused him. "Your death," he finished, an eerie finality to the words. "If you die in the Feymarch, your magic will disperse to Mist, searching for someone to inherit it."
"There might be more Summoners," Rydia said with renewed awe.
"There might," Cecil agreed, his grip on her hands going limp, his shoulders deflating on an exhale.
"You need to remember something," she said, offering him a bittersweet smile. "Just because I'm gone doesn't mean I don't love you. I always will."
"I love you, Rydia," Cecil said, unable to stop the fresh tears from spilling out, not even caring about them anymore. "I always will."
Rydia gestured to a chair in the corner, and Cecil pulled it forward, positioning it beside the bed. He sat, waiting for her next command. Instead, she reclined back on her throne of pillows, a newly crowned princess presiding over her subjects. "Stay with me until I fall asleep?" It had been a common request on their journey, fearing the night outside the tent. She still feared the dark, Cecil realized, then moved his chair closer. He would always be her warrior of light, protecting her from the dark unknown.
"Of course," Cecil said, and Rydia closed her eyes for the last time.
Rydia slept on, through the day and night, until all the hours bled together. Sometimes, Cecil would doze off, then startle awake, immediately listening for the soft sounds of Rydia's deep sleeping. Sometimes, he'd wake to a tray of food left for him, and he'd eat gratefully. But mostly, Cecil waited, and prayed.
Cecil wasn't sure what to pray for. At first, selfishly, he thought he wanted her just to wake up again and talk to him once more, to not let there ever be a last time, but he could hear the struggle of each strained breath and knew he could not wish for more suffering. But he could not pray for her death either, the loss too monumental to process yet. Finally, he decided just to pray for peace, that Rydia might find some comfort in her last moments.
Eventually, Cecil woke to Asura gently shaking his shoulder, whispering softly to him. "Cecil," she said, her voice kind. "You cannot stay in the Feymarch any longer."
"I can't leave her until…" Cecil hesitated, wincing as he forced himself to finish, "Until she's gone."
"You cannot stay," Asura repeated, this time more firmly. "Rydia will not pass on until you do. Your presence has stopped the flow of time here. Your world needs you as you are, and this world needs you to leave so Rydia can do what she must."
"How can I say goodbye?" Cecil asked, the question ending on an unexpected sob. "I'm not ready."
"I know," Asura said, touching his cheek in gesture of maternal affection that seemed alien to Cecil, but he welcomed it, nevertheless. "But she is."
Cecil looked back at Rydia, the tension of her brow, her soft, strained breathing, her lax fingers unmoving on the bedspread. "Goodbye for now," Cecil said, leaning over her to kiss her cheek, her skin papery and dry under his lips. "I'll see you again," he promised, touching her fingers one last time, then turning to go.
Cecil left Rydia and the Feymarch.
The notice of Rydia's death from the Feymarch arrived in Baron only hours after Cecil did. He stood, staring dumbly at the missive, not comprehending that there was now a world without Rydia in it. How was that fair? How was that justice for all the wrong that she had endured? How was this the reward for all the good Rydia had done?
In an unexpected fit of rage, Cecil ripped up the missive, shredding it to pieces. He watched, eyes blurry from unshed tears, as the wind scattered pieces around, then carried them off, the high winds taking them who knows where.
In the month that followed Rydia's funeral, Rosa took over most, if not all, of the ruling duties. Cecil was gray and listless, drifting aimlessly through the castle. He felt dull, uninteresting to any who might engage him, but not wanting to try to be otherwise. He spent much of his time in his private quarters. He wanted to do something, to look for more Summoner lore that might help Mist, to write down his thoughts about Rydia's theories, to preserve them as much as he could, to talk to Cid about technology that could help agriculture in high altitudes and what crops might be best for Mist go to grow.
Instead, he did nothing, staring out of the window, most days, hating the world just a bit more than was safe for a Lunarian to hate – but no whispering darkness reached for him either. Cecil was alone in his grief, drowning in the impossibility of it all.
"I'm taking a trip," Rosa told him over dinner one night. Actually, she told him twice, but he hadn't been listening the first time and did not react, so she tried again, first clearing her throat to get his attention.
Cecil glanced briefly up. "Oh? Where to?" he asked, mostly because it seemed impolite not to ask.
Rosa made a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry about it. I'll explain more when I get home if I find what I'm looking for."
Cecil should have been intrigued by her mysterious comment, but he wasn't listening any longer, his eyes distant on the window behind Rosa's head.
Rosa frowned, then quietly murmured to herself, "I pray that I'm right…"
Rosa was gone for six days.
Cecil spiraled in her absence, not even bothering to rise from his bed until hunger forced him up. Even then, he'd eat privately, then either go back to bed, or sit in a chair and stare out the window. He didn't change his clothing, not seeing the purpose in the task because he didn't want to see anyone. Why did he save the world if people could still unfairly die, he wondered, hating himself for all his doubt but unable to help the thoughts. Why should he even bother if nothing truly made a difference?
When Rosa returned, she betrayed her initial shock, eyes wide and aghast at the state of things. But she quickly put herself into caregiver mode, instructing the servants to bring hot water for a bath and fresh linens, then opening each window to let fresh air in, all the while offering encouraging reassurances to Cecil as she ordered him around.
First, she made him get out of the bed while she stripped the sheets off, making a face as she bundled them up, then handed them off to a servant, who made a similar face as she took them. Then Rosa ushered him into the adjacent bathing chamber. Reluctant at first, Cecil crawled into the tub, then quickly admitted that the warm water did help him feel better – but only a little bit.
Cecil changed into the clean clothing Rosa had left, then ventured back into the bedroom, to find a meal had been left on the table, with hearty servings of his favorite foods. Rosa's thoughtfulness shined a light on his black mood, remembering that there were still sources of good in this world, despite how dark it could seem.
Cecil found a note beside his plate, the first side reading, After you've eaten, meet me in the library. There's someone I want you to meet. Cecil heaved a deep sigh – the last thing he wanted to do was be social with someone new. Everything still felt too raw to be in polite diplomat mode, where everything was always wonderful and he never stopped smiling. He flipped the note over, frustrated, then saw more writing on the other side, reading, I know you're hurting. Please trust me.
Cecil sighed again, this time sounding resigned. He looked over both sides of the note again, simultaneously perturbed and relieved that Rosa knew him so well, always knowing the right words to say to compel him to action.
Cecil ate, not in any hurry but not delaying either, simply taking his time with the food, trying to remind himself that he enjoyed these things. He had a kind and caring wife and queen, a meaningful relationship with his son, and a faithful and prosperous kingdom.
Still, there would never be another letter from Rydia, no upcoming visit to look forward to and dread, to other time to tell her how much she meant to him. Losing his appetite, Cecil pushed his plate away. Then, with growing reluctance, he left the Royal Wing, following the twisting hallways to the library. It was an impressively large room, made so host any military cadets or soldiers who might seek more knowledge. Education was highly prized in Baron, and its library reflected that.
Inside, the library was nearly empty, except for Rosa and another woman, speaking quietly together, and a young girl, perhaps six or seven years old, who lounged in a chair, a book balanced on her knee as she read. Cecil froze when he saw them, unsure of what to say. It was the girl who spotted Cecil first, glancing up from the text, first looking surprised, then suddenly concerned. She jumped from the chair, knocking the book to the ground with a thud.
"Cecil!" Rosa called out to him, beckoning him over. He numbly followed the gesture, walking over to them. "You need to see this." Rosa knelt beside the girl, whispering quietly into her ear. It reminded him so much of Rosa reassuring Rydia at Mount Hobbs, that Cecil wanted to scream at her to stop, that this hurt too much to bear.
Instead, the girl stepped forward, looking shyly up at Cecil. Then, she cupped her hands, lowering her mouth to murmur arcane words into them. Her fingers glowed white, as magic built up around her, the air in the room growing thick with tension. Then, with arms raised up, the girl Summoned.
Cecil was suddenly in the Kaipo desert again, Rydia calling frantically for help, and Chocobo bursting through the seams of the world, coming to the rescue. It happened again, only this time, Chocobo was confused by his surroundings, taking off abruptly to run directly into a table, knocking over a stack of books.
The girl giggled. "There's no monster," she said, opening her arms to Chocobo, who warked happily as he trotted back over to her, his beak nuzzled up under her chin.
"H…How?" Cecil tried to ask, not yet fully grasping what he had just seen.
"It worked, Cecil," Rosa told him, looking triumphant. "Rydia was right, and now there are new Summoners in the world. She's not the only one in Mist, either. At least two others show possible signs of Summoning." Rosa looked back at the girl and Chocobo. "Sweetheart, tell Cecil your name."
The girl froze, concern on her face again. Chocobo warked unhappily, sensing her discomfort. "My name is Rydia," she answered shyly.
The woman, the girl's mother, Cecil guessed, stepped protectively in front of Rydia. "There's no disrespect meant, sir. Only it's become a popular name for the girls. Everyone wants their child to grow to greatness, as Mist's dragon daughter did."
"It's perfect," Cecil said, meaning it, his heart skipping a beat. He sensed the new lore building around Rydia, what stories would be told of her in years to come, how she'd ascend to Eidolon status, a sort of demi-god who had walked briefly among mortals. Now, she lived on in magic fostered inside these new Summoners. "If you could do anything in the world, Rydia, what would that be?" Cecil asked, thinking he already knew the answer.
"Travel to the Feymarch and learn more magic," Rydia replied without hesitation, her eyes bright with hope, confirming Cecil's instincts.
"Then…." Cecil made eye contact with Rydia's mother, who enthusiastically nodded. He'd have to take her aside and explain the cost of this, how painful it would be to say goodbye to the lost years. But also, how Rydia's legacy would live on, both of them, inspiring new Summoners to the calling for generations. "Then we'll get you to the Feymarch," Cecil said, as an unexpected peace loosened a tight knot of grief in him. He felt like he could take a full breath again, like his sorrow no longer constricted his chest, like he might just live through this.
"Have you ever been on an airship before, Rydia?" Cecil asked and Rydia mutely shook her head in reply. "I think you'll love it." He was rewarded with a small smile. "How about, before your big departure, we'll go up in a smaller ship and fly her lower the ground, so you can get used to it."
"We could do that?" Rydia asked, full of wonder.
"I could take you right now," Cecil replied, feeling eager. But Rydia still looked cautious. "The best time to do anything is now," Cecil said, offering encouragement with a smile; the expression felt foreign on his mouth, but he supposed he'd get used to it again.
"That sounds like fun," Rydia admitted, looking back at her mother for silent permission; her mother nodded again, gesturing for her to go. She looked back at Cecil, still uncertain. "Is it dangerous?"
"I'll keep you safe," Cecil said, echoing the first and last promise he'd ever made to Rydia.
High up in the sky (it had been Rydia, then, who had egged Cecil higher and higher, her initial fear quickly forgotton) they watched the sunset off the back railing of the ship, the sky painted in a dazzling range of colors, too many shades to ever count.
But soon Rydia shivered in the wind, a new fear in her eyes. "Can we go back now? Before it gets dark? I'm…" she hesitated, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "I'm afraid of the dark," she finally said.
"Me too," Cecil admitted quietly.
"Really?" Rydia asked, incredulously, not believing grown-ups were ever afraid.
"So was the first Rydia," Cecil told her. "But you know what she did?"
"What?" Rydia asked, eyes wide.
"She became so powerful that instead, the monsters in the dark became were terrified of her, running away when they knew she was coming." Cecil looked off at the darkening horizon again and allowed himself another smile. "I think you'll be the same."
"You think so?" Rydia asked, not fully yet believing it, the same way Rydia had doubted herself at Mount Hobbs, and how she had needed Rosa to draw it out of her. This new Rydia was both like and unlike the Rydia he had known and loved. He suspected then she would be Rydia in her own way, not exactly like the first, but not like Cecil's expectations either. She would find her own way, as all Rydias seemed determined to do.
"She created a new legacy," Cecil murmured, not to Rydia, but to the open sky. "Mother to all Summoners." Rydia leaned against Cecil, slipping her hand into his, squeezing it for reassurance – her own, or his? He wasn't sure, but knew it was needed. He squeezed back.
"Just because you're gone," Cecil said, as the Underworld ship disappeared on the distant horizon, whisking Rydia off to the Feymarch, yet again. "Doesn't mean I don't love you," he finished, not stopping the tears that flowed freely, welcoming them instead, knowing his immense grief was only a reflection of his love.
A piece of paper smacked Cecil in the face, the wind throwing it violently at him. He sputtered, grabbing the paper, and pulling it away. Curious, he peered down at it, and saw the Feymarch Crest of the Misty Dragon, a part of Rydia's torn up death notice that had somehow come back to him.
He held the dragon to his heart and smiled. "I know you love me too," he said. Then, the wind caught the paper again, yanking it from his fingers, sending it fluttering off into the sky, beyond where Cecil could see.