A/N: hi hello and welcome back. I would apologize for the long wait, but apologies are supposed to be accompanied by a change in behavior.
So. I'll just say 'whoops, please expect me to continue to be insufferable, thank you for your patience' and we'll leave it at that
(ive got shit to do, unfortunately, and I'm fucking TIRED, but here's almost 5500 words of this monster.)
****INCREDIBLE AMOUNT OF THANKS again to AkaiSafire on Ao3 who beta-read this chapter and continues to be a paragon of patience and grace! She has worked with me across barriers of time and space and I am so very grateful
love you
enjoy
oxy
~XxXxX~
His memory of that night was colored fiery yellow, orange, red; aching chest, burning skin, open sky. There had been no time for the city to muster any manner of defense or resistance – so sudden the Phoenix's arrival had been.
Joshua's orders had been to target and destroy the ships. Just the ports, just the ships. Why didn't he stop?
Why couldn't he stop?
In the silent aftermath, when the world held its breath and waited for the clarity of dawn, the Phoenix had crooned in satisfaction. The firebird had embraced its Dominant wholly, softly; happy at their accomplishment and confused at Joshua's malcontent. Joshua had been unable to cry properly – the tears evaporated from his face as soon as they dripped from his eyes.
Vengeance. This is what we wanted. The Phoenix had been soothing and calm.
Creag Loisgte was ashes.
Vengeance. This is what you wanted. A gentle nudge, and a caring beak preening the mussed blond hairs on Joshua's head.
The Phoenix was part of him, and knew the truth – the horrible, terrible truth:
This was what Joshua had wanted. Orders be damned, this was what Joshua had wanted.
Houses. That had been a house, over there, once – a house where a family lived, perhaps. Not anymore. That had been a church or a temple. That once was a school, possibly. All gone.
All of them.
Joshua's steps made prints in still-smoldering ash through the dead city. The silence was oppressive.
Vengeance. Justice. The Iron Kingdom had brought this upon themselves. Haearann had been soundly trounced, Drake's Breath was in the possession of Rosaria once more, and only more vengeance would follow.
Now that Rosaria had the Mothercrystal, Sanbreque would pay for their betrayal.
Avenge them.
Avenge him.
Joshua's father had come to collect him from the island as promised and had done his very best to calm Joshua, though his effort was not enough. The journey back to Rosalith was naught but a blur.
Joshua felt unclean even after scrubbing all of the soot from his skin. Only more would follow, and it was all he could do to steel himself against it.
~xXx~
After all that he had seen and done that night and in the decade hence, there was precious little that could turn Joshua Rosfield's stomach. He had given orders that ended tens of thousands of lives. He, himself, had razed the capital city of an unsuspecting enemy nation to the ground. He had become quite difficult to shock and difficult to offend.
And indeed, nothing since had managed to unnerve him. Nothing until…
"What was that?" Joshua asked flatly in spite of the nausea rising in his stomach. Torgal whined a little at his side and pushed a cold nose against his palm, briefly grounding the young archduke, and Joshua gratefully patted his head.
To his credit, the Burning Quill stopped delivering his progress report immediately without even a startled expression at Joshua's sudden outburst. "Your Grace?" Cyril asked.
The Phoenix cried in Joshua's ear piercing and strident, and the Dominant winced. Invisible fire stung at his fingers. He breathed in, breathed out.
"Repeat yourself, please," Joshua said, more calmly this time.
Cyril patiently recounted, "On the orders of the Archduke Emeritus Elwin, we have dispatched members of the Undying to as many areas of the continent as possible. We have exhausted our resources concerning the Second Eikon of Fire seen at Phoenix Gate on the Night of the Flames. However, the libraries in the Crystalline Dominion and the University of Kanver turned up a name heretofore unheard of: Ultima."
Joshua thought he might vomit. Jill, at his side, rocked back on her heels and turned a worrying shade of green. Torgal nosed at her hand, too, and huffed softly.
Joshua wracked his brain.
Ultima.
Ultima.
Ultima.
Who?
"What does that mean?" Asked Elwin Rosfield. He laid a hand on Joshua's shoulder in worry, tried and failed to catch his son's gaze. "Joshua?"
"I don't know," Joshua breathed while staring straight ahead and seeing nothing, "but the Phoenix does not like that name."
Jill nodded in agreement, "And Shiva feels much the same."
Ultima.
It set Joshua's teeth on edge. The Phoenix shuffled and shifted nervously. The firebird's talons dug into the skin of his shoulders.
"No one has found any definition as such, though context would lead us to believe that the name refers to a god of some variety," Cyril said. "Clandestine excursions to the continent of Ash revealed the Circle of Malius, which appears to worship the owner of that name as a deity."
Ultima. A god? The Almighty.
What? Who is The–?
Who is…?
The thought slipped away before it could take root.
"Ash?" Joshua asked, instead. "And this religion is located there?"
"From what we were able to discern, yes."
Ultima.
Joshua could not think of any word he had ever hated more. It screeched through his ears and chased other thoughts out of its path. It was inconceivable that anyone would worship the owner of such a terrible name. It felt like the leeching cruelty of death in snow, like the desolation in ash and soot.
It evoked the same pit in Joshua's heart as leaving Clive behind at Phoenix Gate. Dread all-consuming.
Elwin left his hand on Joshua's shoulder and cast his gaze back over at Cyril, "And what association does this…'god' have with the Second Eikon of Fire?"
Cyril passed the handwritten travel journal over to Elwin for his review and shook his head briefly.
"That is the connection we are missing at present. Though we have deepened our understanding of the pantheon of Eikons, and we have learned of this new deity, we were unable to discern what role the 'god' plays in the existence or functions of the Eikons."
Ultima. The Almighty.
The Phoenix shuddered and its wings extended down about Joshua's shoulders as though attempting to shield him from sight with its burning feathers.
"Founder," Joshua expressed as he pressed one hand to his sternum, "it just feels awful."
Jill coughed a few times and managed a deep breath. "Truly, truly terrible. I've never felt Shiva react so strongly to anything." The color finally began returning to her face, and she stooped to rub a hand across the back of Torgal's head.
"Continue to search for a connection between this so-called 'god' and the Eikons," Elwin ordered grimly, "We must determine why the name stirs the Eikons so."
"Of course, Your Grace."
~XxX~
It took nearly a half-bell for Joshua to feel as if he had wholly regained himself. Elwin had adjourned their meeting to speak further with Cyril, and Joshua and Jill took their afternoon tea in the parlor to recover.
"Whoever it is, our Eikons hate them," Jill asserted. She sipped hot tea from a delicate cup and glowered when frost began decorating its lip. "We should be wary of any further news and any information about this 'Circle of Malius.'"
"I agree," said Joshua. "Without more research, though, we cannot make any assumptions."
"I heard Shiva's voice for the first time in months," Jill offered, "all she said was 'no,' but she was incredibly insistent about it."
"The Phoenix was much the same. What in the world could this mean?"
Jill glared at the content of her cup and inverted it completely. A block of solid ice landed on the tabletop with a light thud. "I've never been a fan of unpredictability," Jill grumbled.
"Whatever it is, I have a feeling it spells trouble." Joshua gingerly pushed his still-steaming teacup across the place setting at Jill.
Jill accepted the sacrificial teacup gratefully and Joshua stared down at the two full pages he had somehow filled with the same scribbled word:
Ultima.
The Phoenix shuddered.
~XxXxX~
The tavern was lively this time of evening in spite of the war's desolation. Oil lamps burned bright where they hung from the rafters and sconces flickered merrily at the walls. Nighttime drew rowdy citizens and soldiers alike to the local watering hole. A down-on-his-luck bard hoping for scarce coin from drunk patrons strummed upbeat tunes on his lyre; a few of the songs seemed to traipse dangerously close to criticizing the Emperor for the war. Most patrons raised their tankards in hearty agreement. Ale sloshed to the floor and joined the general odor of stale alcohol throughout the room.
It was in a darkened corner that Commander Callum Welch conferred with Sergeants Tiago Reeves and Wilf Burns.
It was not an odd sight, the three men drowning their sorrows together, and so they were unworthy of a second glance by any of the other patrons. Plain sight was the ideal location for this clandestine meeting.
"Anything interesting about my new friend 'Cid'?" Clive asked as he sipped from his pint of ale. It was particularly tasteless this time, and Clive had never been particularly keen on the stuff to begin with, but a pretense was a pretense.
Tyler pushed a folded piece of parchment across the table. "If it is truly as you say, he is most likely Cidolfus Telamon."
"Telamon…" Clive repeated slowly. Where had he heard that name before?
Scratched across the parchment was a rough timeline crowded with Wade's notes and Tyler's concise additions.
"Until very recently, he was the Lord Commander of Waloed's military," Tyler reported. "He supposedly deserted some moons ago."
Clive looked up from the parchment with a brow raised.
"Deserted? That's not suspicious in the slightest…"
Why desert when Waloed had not been in any manner of trouble for the duration of the war between the Empire and Rosaria? And, indeed, why desert when Waloed had resources aplenty to track down deserters and bring them to face the king's justice?
"We're all of the same mind, then," Wade interjected, "We've received word that the Head of Royal Intelligencers deserted quite recently, as well…"
If it was some strange plot, whoever had orchestrated it certainly had not been nearly careful enough in its execution.
"What could their goal be?" Clive asked incredulously. "They've made it too obvious that they're up to something…"
Was the Ashen King so arrogant as to not care whether the plot was discovered, or did he simply have nothing to lose?
"I cannot imagine," Tyler replied. "Why fool Valisthea into believing the king's most trusted are abandoning their posts? Perhaps we're reading too far into it, and His Majesty has simply gone mad enough to force his soldiers to flee."
Clive had never met King Tharmr, himself, though he was not ignorant of the tales told across the land. Odin's Dominant was mad and immortal, or so it was said, and those who followed him did so in some twisted admiration for his strength or because they were mad, themselves.
Deserter or not, strange plot or not, it certainly placed Clive's dealings with Cid in a new perspective.
"The former Lord Commander of Waloed…" Clive mused. "And he honors me by investigating my origins and extorting me."
The date of Cid's plot was only six sleeps away, hanging above Clive's head like an executioner's axe. Clive wondered, still, how to spare his neck the bite of its blade.
"Do you still plan to participate in this mission of his?" Wade asked. "It's clear there's more to this than just what he's told you."
Clive sighed. "If I don't, my position and identity are both compromised – all of ours, really. This mission, if successful, will end Sanbreque's supply of crystal shards. This is what we've been working for – the end of the war."
The former Shields both shared a look and Wade gestured with his head for Tyler to speak.
"If you're discovered, you'll be executed," Tyler told Clive. "Are you aiming to die, is that it?"
"Either of you can easily rise to my rank and take over my work," Clive replied. "I told you ten years ago after the Rift – I'm not cut out for espionage, and that hasn't changed. This plan is…actionable. Action has always been my preference."
"Somehow, My Lord, you've grown more daft in the past decade!" Tyler hissed. "Even if this man is true to his word and keeps our efforts secret, and even if Wade or I could succeed you as Commander, is it truly so difficult for you to believe that we simply don't wish to see you dead?"
Mayhap it was, but Clive was not about to admit to it.
"The Emperor grows impatient," Clive explained, "The growing discontent in the city has His Radiance finally considering the will of the people instead of the riches across the Rift. If something isn't done soon, he may loose Bahamut upon Rosalith to bring about the end of the war."
Wade startled. "But if something unthinkable happens here in Oriflamme…"
"Precisely. This effort will only increase the Emperor's desperation, but he would never set Bahamut upon the capitol."
Tyler shook his head helplessly, "Do you mean to betray him, then? Kill Cid before you reach the Mothercrystal's heart?"
The thought had crossed Clive's mind, certainly, in the time between the revelation of Cid's knowledge and his meeting with his friends. If Clive could snuff out the mind that knew of his identity, it would certainly stay secret, and Clive had killed men for less before.
But Cid's comment about finding someone who could listen to ghosts…
It was not an unreasonable assumption that Cid's knowledge of Clive Rosfield would persist after his death, if necessary.
"No," said Clive. "There are far too many unknowns. The plan remains the same – we destroy Drake's Head and the majority of the crystal supply for the war with it."
"And if something goes wrong, your failsafe is to lay down and die?" Tyler asked sarcastically.
"My plan is to take out as many enemies as I can, whoever they may be. If I fall in the process, then that's what happens," Clive said. "I hope it won't come to that."
"And you expect me and Wade to let you engage in this mission alone." It wasn't a question when Tyler said it.
Clive's eyes narrowed. "I expect you to do your duty, Sir Tyler, and put the sake of the Phoenix and Rosaria at the forefront of your mind."
"You forget, My Lord, that I follow Lord Commander Murdoch's orders before I follow yours. The last true mission I was given was to ensure your safety, and that's what I intend to do, current situation be damned," Tyler insisted.
Clive recalled the trek to the Stillwind marshes all those years ago; Clive's first command, the goblins, the morbol. The easy camaraderie Clive had found with Wade and Tyler. The ill omen of the morbol aside, the remaining journey to Phoenix Gate had been punctuated by Wade's merry embellishment of the afternoon's skirmishes and Tyler's good-natured rebukes at the exaggeration. The sun had broken through the clouds on their journey north. They had stopped for a brief rest by the bank of a babbling creek.
And the ensuing fallout of the Rift - the secrecy, the lies, the sneaking around. They had all three of them been torn from the lives they had known, and all of their family and friends…
Founder, Clive wished they could all just go back to that afternoon. Perhaps things could have been different.
Clive stared down at the foamy surface of his pint and sighed. "Tyler, it's been ten years. For all intents and purposes, we've been dead for a decade. Murdoch's orders…"
"…are the only reason I did not insist on you and Wade leaving me behind that day," Tyler finished. His gaze was stern. "And the only reason I haven't escaped back to Rosaria and insisted on the Archduke coming to rescue you himself."
Clive's eyes went wide.
Everyone in Valisthea had learned of the destruction at Creag Loisgte and Rosaria's reclamation of Drake's Breath. The Phoenix, commanded by a boy of only ten years, had burned the capital city of the Iron Kingdom to the ground. The destruction – the death – had been altogether unmatched, and the Iron Kingdom had never quite recovered.
Creag Loisgte had been nowhere near as populated as Oriflamme. Clive hoped he knew the kind of man Joshua Rosfield had grown up to be – hoped the young boy he had read to sleep so many times was still in there, somewhere – but there was a decade of war between the First Shield and his charge.
The Phoenix, ruler over life and death, descending upon the city of Oriflamme; perhaps joined by Shiva, whose Dominant had awoken unexpectedly in Rosaria and held loyalty to the duchy: a possibility of unthinkable carnage that did not bear consideration. Until now, apparently.
"You would have…" Clive trailed off.
Tyler nodded solemnly and sipped at his ale. "If you and Wade hadn't insisted on us sticking together? Yes, without question. It would have been the logical choice to make."
Clive could not cobble together a response to Tyler's assertion, so he looked at Wade. "Did you know about this?"
"I didn't," Wade replied quietly and avoided Clive's eyes, "but I don't disagree."
Tyler threw back the last of his ale and let the tankard thunk down hard on the tabletop in the new pause in the conversation.
Across the tavern, the din swelled briefly.
"Can you Prime?" Wade asked lowly after a very lengthy pause. He stared down at the table as he spoke and did not look up. "If you run into trouble on your mission, I mean. Can you…become whatever that creature was, again?"
A decade Clive had spent pushing down the presence that had made itself known that night. He likened it to a disease, a parasite which wormed its way around his body as it pleased. It was at once as small as a pea and as large as a behemoth, standing prepared to crush him beneath its feet.
"I've never tried," Clive said honestly, "but…"
But it was almost always there, just beyond Clive's fingertips. It waited there, growling, hissing, indignant. It clung to him closer than his own shadow. He would be loathe to make use of its power, too afraid that it would devour him as a parched forest before a wildfire.
And so…
"...I believe I could, if need be," Clive concluded, and forced his way through the tremble in his voice. "Why do you ask?"
Wade and Tyler shared an inscrutable glance between them, and Wade eventually nodded.
"Wade and I will take a mission outside of Oriflamme. If our identities are exposed, they won't start looking for us until we're already far beyond their reach. We'll do this," Tyler paused and met Clive's eyes directly, "if you promise to do everything you can to survive this mission, including using that being's power if you must."
Clive had not the heart to express that it was not surviving the mission that he was worried about – it was every other eventuality that sent his heart racing in his chest.
Dying – that, he could handle. Being discovered and captured, on the other hand, could spell disaster for the innocents in Oriflamme and Wade and Tyler, both. And even success…
Success meant a speedier end to the war and the inevitability that Clive would return to Rosalith. Clive missed his family with a desperation he could not describe, and yet the thought of returning home and seeing his father, seeing Joshua…
What would he even say? What could he say? All these years spent away – Clive thought he had done the right thing with the hand he had been dealt, but would they agree? And no matter what they thought about Clive's choices, would they even still want him around? Ten years behind enemy lines…
Could he even argue that he was still Clive Rosfield?
Still, if Wade and Tyler were offering to remove themselves from his list of immediate concerns…
"I'll do all that I can," Clive said finally, and his friends appeared satisfied.
Tyler nodded. "Very well."
"Now, Imperial scouts report some discontent among the Dhalmeks regarding the drain on their resources, but those have been silenced largely by Kupka," Wade reported and nodded at Tyler.
"Leadership is none the wiser about the leak of information, nor about the cause of the missing ration supplies to the Rift," Tyler said.
"Then all is as it should be for the moment," said Clive. "Things will change depending on the outcome of my mission, but that's to be expected."
"All we can do is prepare," Wade said. "If we all draft orders to be implemented in case of our absence in the interim before new officers are promoted…"
Clive wanted to pay attention, but a steady ache was building behind his eyes and pulsing at his temples. Claws, barely there and invisible to the eye, settled about his throat. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, like something massive stood behind him, watching him.
Waiting.
Beneath Clive's twisting anticipation and fear was an undercurrent of smug satisfaction. Clive was left with an impression of only one word:
Soon.
~XxXxX~
"Your Highness, if you'll follow us to the castle gates?" Asked a soldier who appeared only a few years older than Dion.
The prince nodded genially but followed after the small group of armored infantrymen with a grimace on his face.
If Dion were forced to describe the state of the capitol upon his return in only one word, that word would be "unrest."
There were no riots, nor protests, not even demonstrations, but the tension in the streets was palpable the moment he crossed through the Penitent's Gate. Citizens murmured to each other and pointed in Dion's direction, and more than one vendor seemed to have arranged their wares as though expecting to need to pack up quickly. Dion did not see any women or children wandering about in the market.
Soldiers met the Prince at the bridge to provide secure passage to Whitewyrm Castle – a precaution that had not been foisted upon Dion since he was a child.
Dion thought of a keg of powder just before meeting the spark of a flint. Oriflamme was teetering on the brink of disaster.
He walked willingly amidst the guard through the grand castle gates and into the lofty halls he considered to be his earliest home, yet the feeling of homecoming was distinctly absent. The questions still gnawed at his mind.
Why? Why prolong the war all these years?
Could it be for Dion's sake? Certainly not. Dion suffered no delusions; the fate of the people of Sanbreque outweighed any regard his father would hold for him, as it should be. Were Dion to fall in battle or succumb to the curse defending his nation, the pride would far outstrip any sorrow.
Through the white marble foyer and by the multitude of branching halls and doors Dion walked steadily until he came upon the throne room.
The ornate doors parted before the Prince and he strode through them as a guard announced his arrival.
"His Highness Prince Dion, Warden of Light, Commander of the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon!"
His head high and his steps confident, Dion approached his father's throne and knelt before the dais.
"Prince Dion," the Emperor began magnanimously, "welcome home."
"Your Radiance," Dion bowed his head, mindful as always of the presence of Council members and nobles within the throne room. "I am pleased to see you well, especially considering the circumstances of my orders to return to the capitol."
"Indeed, my boy, the situation is less than ideal – an aide of mine was struck down in an alley," Dion's father lamented, "and I am certain his killer means to make an attempt on my life, next."
"Which aide was it, Your Radiance?" Dion asked.
The Emperor waved a hand about in the air, "Marvel, Markel, Martell – something like that."
"Marcel," Dion corrected, feeling slightly numb for his own shock.
Marcel had been his father's aide for more than a decade; Dion recalled seeing the man at every meeting, every briefing. Marcel's presence had been ubiquitous throughout Whitewyrm Castle. He had been one of the few members of staff who had not changed throughout the war.
Dion himself had not spoken more than five times with the man, but at least he could remember his name.
"A patrol found his body," the Emperor continued, paying Dion no mind at all, "A clean, precise wound to the heart, and all of his valuables were still on his person. This was no robbery – whoever killed him knew what he was to me and wanted to send me a message!"
"I see," Dion said, "and of course the might of Bahamut will deter any would-be assassins."
"Of course," the Emperor confirmed.
It was while Emperor Sylvestre was draining a goblet of wine that Dion took the time to properly examine his father for the first time in what felt like years.
The man appeared tired, indeed, and a great deal older than Dion recalled him being. The lines between his brows and haunting his eyes were deeper, his hair shot through with streaks of white, and even his skin appeared thinner somehow. How long had it truly been since Dion had returned home? Only months, surely.
And yet it appeared that his father had aged years.
Beyond the brief worry Dion felt, though, his need for answers to his questions still burned.
"Your Radiance, if I may – I have a concern I should like to address with you privately," Dion requested respectfully.
The Emperor took up a refreshed goblet and said, "Ah, my boy, we can address any concerns you have after supper this evening. You should go rest and recover from your ride – journeying all the way from the front must have been tiring."
Dion frowned. "With respect, Father, the matter is somewhat pressing–"
The Emperor raised a hand and Dion fell silent.
"I shall be attending a war council in but a moment. If your pressing matters are somehow more important than the disruption of our supply lines of both rations and crystal shards to the fronts at the Rift and Belanus Tor, then, by all means, address them with me now!" The Emperor demanded.
Dion could practically feel the mocking stares of the noblemen and ladies of the court and the Council. The great Bahamut brought to heel like an unruly child.
Chastised, Dion cast his eyes to the ground.
"My apologies, Your Radiance."
"I suggest you rest and recover from your long travel in your quarters," Sylvestre declared. "You are dismissed, Prince Dion."
Dion stood and fled, his face burning.
~xXx~
The remainder of the week had passed far too quickly, and before long it was the eve of Cid's plot to destroy Drake's Head.
Clive had managed to acquire both of the maps that he knew he would need from the archives at Whitewyrm Castle – one of the castle's sewer system, and one of the mapped tunnels in the mines of Drake's Head. They were both spread open across a wooden table with a single lamp hanging above them, and Clive marked their route through both structures.
"What sort of resistance should we expect?" Cid asked.
Clive scoffed. "Palace and crystal mine security are not my jurisdiction. If you wanted that sort of information, you should have extorted a different sort of soldier - maybe consulted whoever you spoke to about 'ghosts,'" he snarked.
"Alas, that avenue is closed to me, now," Cid replied and shrugged, "Well, I'm certain we can handle their forces, anyway."
Clive made a few more lines across the sewer map before turning to the map of the mines.
"For your sake, I hope so," said Clive. He paused in his writing to look up and stare directly at Cid. "If your scheme goes awry and my comrades suffer for it, there will be no corner of the world where you can hide from me."
And Clive was mightily taken aback when Cid grinned and barked out a laugh.
"Ah-ha! There it is – that's the lad I heard so much about in Rosaria. See, when I talked with the Phoenix and Shiva and the Archduke Emeritus and the Lord Commander, they told me all sorts of tales of the First Shield. Valiant. Brave. Loyal, too – loyal to a fault. Got himself knocked to the dirt day in and day out training to be the Shield his little brother needed. Never would he ever abandon his post, not while there was still life in his breast," Cid sounded terribly amused, but there was an edge to his voice that told Clive he was digging for information.
So Clive responded in kind.
"Speak not to me of loyalty, Lord Commander Telamon," the former Lord Marquess commanded. He frowned when Cid appeared altogether unbothered.
"Ah, discovered my former profession, have you?"
"Of course I have. One 'deserter' to another – hypocrisy is a poor shade on you, Cid," Clive informed the man. "I'm not the only one who abandoned my post."
"Oh, allow a man his secrets, lad," Cid entreated, but still he seemed in good humor.
"I'll allow you yours if you allow me mine," Clive said with finality. He waited for Cid's nod before turning back to the map. "Now, our path, which is what we should be discussing."
Cid chuckled, but he did redirect his attention to the maze of pathways twisting through the mines and the sewers. "No walking through the front door, eh?"
Clive finally finished drawing their route upon the maps and said, "Not a chance. This is the last large natural resource Sanbreque has, and the exterior guard is quadrupled from what it was ten years ago. Our best option is to enter through the dungeons. We'll have to use some grates and enter the sewers, which will lead us to this intersection with the mining tunnels. Immediately adjacent to this branch in the crystal mine is the inner sanctum containing the Mothercrystal's heart. Poor design on the Empire's part, and incredibly lucky for us."
"And you can get us to the dungeons, I presume?" Cid asked.
Clive nodded. "With ease, I hope; in the eyes of the Empire, I am fairly well trusted."
"Well done," Cid said while examining the maps. "Couldn't have planned it better, myself."
"Then we'll meet tomorrow outside the Penitent's Gate at midday," Clive concluded.
Cid nodded his agreement and allowed his lungful of smoke to escape in a multitude of large rings. Clive set about packing away his things.
"Interesting news about town," Cid said nonchalantly.
"Hmm." Clive began rolling up the maps and shoving his sticks of charcoal into the pockets of his fatigues.
"Bahamut has returned to Oriflamme."
Clive dropped a piece of charcoal, which shattered on the floor. "What? The Prince has left the front? Why?"
Cid shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette. "Haven't the foggiest. But now we're both in the know about it."
"And you still think that sneaking into Drake's Head and destroying the Mothercrystal is a good idea?" Clive demanded somewhat incredulously.
"'Good' is relative, but it is still the plan, yes," Cid mused, "I certainly don't see why not."
Clive raised a brow. "I've made all these plans with the expectation that Bahamut wasn't a threat. How does him being in Oriflamme now not affect us?"
"I reckon we can take 'im," Cid replied and his smile was sharp.
And just then, so casually that Clive almost wondered if he had imagined it, lightning crackled across the back of Cid's left hand.
~XxX~
They arrived on the shores of the east coast of Storm in a mercantile vessel the King had captured years before. West was the trampled battlefield of Belanus Tor and the remainder of Storm beyond it.
Benedikta's lip curled in distaste. The entirety of Storm – so many places to hide. Too many places to hide. But Benedikta was skilled, and she would not fail His Majesty.
The fabric of her clothing was stiff and unfamiliar, and her boots sank into the sand unpleasantly.
Gerulf sidled up to her left and asked, "My Lady, how shall we proceed?"
"Divide the men into groups and fold into the nearest settlements. If anyone has heard of Fire's Second Warden, I will know of it."
"Will we not be interfering with the Lord Commander's own search?" Gerulf asked hesitantly.
"His Majesty has given us a task, Gerulf, and we shall carry it out. There can be no corner of Storm where the Dominant can remain hidden."
Gerulf inclined his head and made to relay Benedikta's instructions to the Intelligencers with whom they had journeyed across the Strait.
Benedikta's fingers settled on the neat curves of her pendant, and a sharp gusting wind rose as her eyes narrowed.
"And you can explain just what is taking you so long, Cidolfus."
~xXx~
A/N: more to come when it does :)
oxy