heavenslapse - Tumblr blog

heavenslapse · 4 months

Text

Not long ago Emet-Selch had vowed to give voice and bear every hope, every dream, and every prayer. The ramblings of a deluded madman, indeed. His awoken memories bid him shame knowing how far he'd fallen. Meteion had once given a speech, foretelling the outcome of their lives as they would inevitably descend deeper into despair.

He loathed how accurate her assessment had been.

He never had reclaimed his former glory of the Third Seat of the Convocation. The ruler over the Underworld, the aether, and the overseer of death. He'd been well on his way to making First; had the Final Days not come to Amaurot he certainly would have been granted the lofty title and the responsibilities that followed. Irony in due course bade him the knowledge that he had in fact risen to that position with the memories and time of the past, what each Calamity caused in reshaping the star with each rejoining.

He'd invoked such unbridled disaster with the fourth calamity, the calamity of earth. The FALL of the Allagan Empire. Yet despite building an empire of his own thousands of years later to usher forth chaos, one that now laid in a heap of rubble and scrap, he had never amounted to the technological feats of Allag. If only he had known what a nuisance Fandaniel was going to become. If only he'd had his memories of their time on Elpis. How long had that ire festered, he wondered.

With the seventh calamity he'd outdone himself. Working without the self-righteous Elidibus or imbecilic Lahabrea, he'd freely gone about his destruction. They'd remained together all those years because they were the three who'd remained unsundered. A common enough goal in mind was the only loyalty that bonded them.

Elidibus was a follower more than a leader, brilliant the mind he may have. But his anxious nature did not have him trailing after Emet-Selch due to his unpredictable streak. Lahabrea, seemly the safer option, although far less stable and sane at that point, had gotten sloppy with his work. One had been trapped inside the Crystal Tower, a phantom that wandered its halls and busied himself with the documents of eras long past. The other, the eldest of the three, remained trapped inside another ancient relic, the Ascalon blade. Emet-Selch's sentence was shorter, a couple weeks at the most. Where he remained in the white auracite prison of colorless walls and boundless white. Not very glorifying in contrast, and a mental note he'd keep for later.

Emet-Selch wondered if he'd broken ties sooner with the two if it would have taken less time to destroy the remaining shards and rejoin them with the Source. The eighth calamity, should it have passed how he'd intended, would have been the harbinger of such utter devastation it'd have shaken the other shards enough to force a full rejoining with the Source. But project Black Rose hadn't come to pass. Varis may have shown the first inkling of potential Emet-Selch had seen from him in the creation of the silent agent of death, but his grandsire was going to exasperate its feats beyond what his simple minded successor could fathom. He'd have taken down the empire along with Eorzea in the rejoining of the First with the Source.

Yet in spite of all his plotting and planning, centuries of thought going into his work of rejoining the Source, he'd been gifted the answer he'd sought so long and hard for. He was so surprised and bitter he could snort with how undignified it'd all been. But he knew why he'd lost, and WHY the Warrior of Light had won. But for all of it to come to pass only to end like this... In the end, history was made to repeat itself.

His brow deepened, a grimace like biting into sour fruit tugging at his lips. ❝Think what you will of my solution. At least it would have avoided the ending you've only forestalled.❞

His hand moved to the door, and just has he pushed it open he came to an abrupt halt. The discouragement painted across his face became replaced by shock until the lines on his brow deepened and his eyes shut. He must have taken too long, but how like Hythlodaeus to seek him out. For a man who'd done nothing but think ahead, plan out every variable down to the letter and then some, it seemed Emet-Selch had lost his touch. But he'd never been able to predict Hythlodaeus or account for his responses. He was a man more unpredictable than him, and one may think that hard to imagine.

He exhaled, a long breath that made his shoulders slump. ❝We should talk...❞ He moved through the door and shut it tight behind him. He would deal with the Warrior of Light again later. Another conversation he dreaded to have. ❝Not that I particularly want to. But if you heard all that,❞ he turned his head, arms coming up to fold over his chest, ❝I might as well forgo further rest.❞

Steeling himself from the unease threatening to well up inside of him. Hythlodaeus deserved to know the monster Emet-Selch had become. With his sharp eyes he knew he could see how deep the pain of so many years had worn away at his own soul. But it wasn't something he wanted to discuss now, not with the ash and smoke still rising into the air from the smoldering villages across Thavnier.

❝We'd all ready left enough unsaid the first time, didn't we?❞

Exhaustion swept over him. Whether it was born from the events of the day or something far deeper, he did not know, but regardless of sleep's sweet call, Hythlodaeus refused to answer it. His mind was still abuzz, refusing to turn off while he sat there alone, waiting for Emet-Selch to come back to him, his thoughts ranging from triflingly mundane to absolutely soul-shattering, should he let them truly get through the walls he had been forced to build up. But there was no time to think about the last twelve thousand years, just yet. There was scarcely time to think about himself, whole and alive, a new body created from--what? Aether and memories of the past? Something more complex? Was this even his body, or a form borrowed?

What did it all mean?

Feeling anxious, Hythlodaeus rubbed at his own arms to try and settle himself down, soothe the thoughts that raced through his tired mind. Had he wanted to go into the Lifestream, the option was there, and Emet-Selch would have followed him, he was certain of that. But neither had lived the lives they had imagined. One had been left behind to suffer unimaginable loss and solitude, fighting and failing. Another had been trapped in darkness, wrapped up in painful chains that siphoned away such basic knowledge as names and identity. It felt almost criminal not to take the second chance offered to them.

It also felt wrong.

The first few sights Hythlodaeus had of the Source was pain overflowing, the skies turning a familiar haunting red, fire raining down amongst screaming and crying citizens of Radz-at-Han. The entire realm was aflame, the stench of death rising, blood running thick along the avenues of the city and its surrounding outposts. As much as the memory of Amaurot burning terrified him, Hythlodaeus refused to run. He had faced death with all the bravery he could once before, and he would not allow others to do the same. If they could save someone, anyone, it would be worth it.

A heavy sigh passed Hythlodaeus' lips as he sat in silence, recalling the recent events--trying to save the child, the decision to split up after bullying Emet-Selch into rendering aid at Vanaspati, nearly dying again. Forestalling the Final Days, but well aware that they were not lucky enough to escape. Unless they stopped it at the root, the star would be swallowed up. They could not allow this to happen.

At times like this, Hythlodaeus was reminded just how useless he really was in a crisis. His eyes could see what others could not, yet he saw no way to offer such assistance. Beyond that, he felt more like a liability than anything else, and as he sat there, alone in that room, he started to feel incredibly out of place. Emotions had never been a strong suit of his, unfortunately. Emet-Selch had been his greatest priority, with their dear friend Azem following close behind, and Hythlodaeus had never allowed himself to be truly honest with the way he felt. He buried so much that he seemed to have found a way to ignore his own pain, to put everything he had into helping in anyway he can. At least in Amaurot he had a position that leant to his strengths, and plenty of others to assist in times of need. Now, however, he wondered if he was even able to do anything, and a nagging voice at the back of his mind began to question if Emet-Selch even needed him around.

He's not even here. He said he would be back soon, and yet--

No. He couldn't start to think like this. He didn't want to. But the fact remained that Emet-Selch was still gone, and Hythlodaeus could no longer bear waiting there on his own. Sighing once again, he climbed to his feet and slipped out of the room, wandering down the corridor in hopes of spotting Emet-Selch on his way back. No such sight. What he heard, however, gave him pause.

A door lay ajar nearby, and Emet-Selch's voice filtered out of it, drawing Hythlodaeus closer like a moth to a flame. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop; he simply found himself unable to resist, curiosity and his need to find the other so great that it was as if invisible strings pulled him forward. Mention of the Final Days, a plea for help, for the knowledge to stop it, to end the death and suffering that had begun to fall upon people of the Source.

And then anger. Pain indescribable breaking in Emet-Selch's voice. The sudden outburst actually startled Hythlodaeus into stepping back as though struck by it, his heart stalling in his chest for one terrible moment. His breath seized as though his entire body had been caught up in some sort of vice, slowly but surely squeezing him until it physically hurt, and the full understanding of what had happened after his death, his sacrifice, fully struck him: Emet-Selch had gone after him.

He had just gone too late.

The sudden thought that he needed to leave flittered through the haze of his thoughts like an alarm, but Hythlodaeus was rooted to the spot, struggling to imagine what Emet-Selch truly must have gone through. The last time they spoke had meant to be the final time Emet-Selch saw him, to part ways with a memory of a smile and a carefree wave, to be given that vain hope that one day things would once again be all right. He was never meant to see past that shimmering veil, to see the death and destruction that lay just beyond it.

Most unfortunately, Hythlodaeus was unable to pull himself out of his own spiral in time, gasping softly in surprise as the door suddenly opened, allowing him to come face-to-face with Emet-Selch. Words failed him, even the most primitive of apologies lost as he struggled for something to say. Guilt ate away at him for deigning to eavesdrop, to listen in on what had become an incredibly private conversation. Where did he even begin...?

"Hades..."

His voice was soft, barely even above a gentle whisper and filled with an emotion he could not name. Something painful and all powerful, mingling together and surging forth past the protective walls. Something that sought to break his heart all over again.

#heartsaligned #💀 ⊱ ᴀ sᴇɴᴛɪᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴏʟᴅ ғᴏᴏʟ ⊱ emet-selch.#🎥 ⊱ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ⊱ ic.#cant sleep so i write sad gay ancients #also holy fuck me checking the calamities and realizing emet caused the worst ones in history of the star :D #i thought he was the reason bitch dragon's daughter was chained up there but i wasnt totally sure lol #this also means he gave fandaniel more reason to hate him...

3 notes · View notes

heavenslapse · 5 months

Text

@heartsaligned

The blazing sky above Thavnair, one that rained familiar fire as the ground below quaked with despair, had tapered off to a dark and somber evening. Emet-Selch had gotten what he'd wanted, deals be damned. It was nary a second thought to take Hythlodaeus and warp them elsewhere, somewhere where the Final Days had yet to reach. But such a decision had not been made to pass. Instead, they remained, and Emet-Selch lent his aid to fend off the malformed beasts with the Warrior of Light and their party. The dragon, Vrtra, refused to help. Claiming how he could not hurt his children. Emet-Selch's ire burned at the inconceivable notion. Whatever was once there no longer had semblance of humanity. They were no more than monsters bent on destruction.

Such an event was never to come to pass again. However, without Zodiark to maintain the balance against Hydaelyn's light, that equilibrium went out of control. The scales tipped now in the favor of light, and the inevitable had come.

Just as Amaurot had during the Final Days, Thavnair burned, her cities buckled, and the waters ran red with blood. He warned the Warrior of Light, his intense gaze narrowed and searing back at her own. This would be FAR from the worst of it. Vanaspita was a drop in the bucket by comparison. The memory of Amaurot during its finest hour should have been enough to show the horrors that loomed ahead.

These people of a sundered world would never sacrifice half their remaining lives to offer sanctuary to those who could remain and rebuild; never mind that they may have to do it again after the lands withered and the waters dried up. Hydaelyn grew weary and weaker as it were. Even Zodiark was a shell of his former glory beneath the strain.

He knew why he was brought back into the fray. No matter where the Warrior of Light went for answers to stop the Final Days, she never obtained the answers she was seeking. Be it the moon with the Watcher and his documented library on the subjects of era's long past. All the way to 12,000 years in the past with Hermes and his pet project. She may have understood how the end came about, the cause of a flawed inquiry, but it did not tell her how to prevent it. Venat would allow her champion to figure out the answer for herself, believing to the highest of esteems before sending them back to the present. And thus it fell to Emet-Selch to be their problem solver instead of making new ones.

The risk of freeing him from the shard of white auracite was a great one. He'd tried to kill them all once before and the memories of his trial still weighed heavily on each of their minds. They'd offered into a bargain for his cooperation. Bring Hythlodaeus back, and he would tell them all he knew. It was all he wanted. It was all he'd EVER wanted. How readily he was to abandon their deal the first chance he'd gotten.

In the end, he could offer no further explanations than what the Warrior of Light already knew. Killing their precious goddess, Hydaelyn, and making her return to the star would be one solution to forestalling the out of aligned balance. It was an answer he kept to himself for the time being. The other resolution was finding Meteion at the edge of the universe and slaying her. Getting to her was the problem, however. No ship could take them far enough to arrive at her Nest.

They continued their back and forth. Similar to the way he'd argue with Azem. The Warrior of Light wouldn't back down so long as there was spark of hope things might work out. Defeating Meteion was the answer to their problems. He knew the Warrior of Light was right. But claiming how they'd lost so many lives all ready because of the entelechy, like the number could even COMPARE to the amount Emet-Selch had.

Frustration wore between his brow, the lines of this new body deepening the more they debated. ❝You didn't have to pull your lover's body out of a mass grave!❞ The words were out before he could stop them. Hand outstretched and index finger pointing accusingly. The sacrifice had failed. None of their fallen had returned to the living after Zodiark was formed. ❝You could not hope to fathom the amount I have lost, nor what I have been made to sacrifice.❞

Emet-Selch had gone to where the first sacrifice had been made. He went down into the pit of dark robed bodies, digging through each one and pulling them aside. His hands had grown black with soot, the scent of burning flesh and death heavy in the air around him. But still he dug, deeper and deeper. His breast began to flourish with the vigor Hythlodaeus had changed his mind. But the emotion had been fleeting as he pulled aside the body on top of his and saw the familiar strands of lavender hair peeking out from beneath a dark cowl. His body was frozen, burnt, and his mask had broken with flecks of blood stained over its smooth finish. He remembered sitting there, holding Hythlodaeus' body as tightly as he could and crying out in guttural pain.

His heart shattered.

He cried until he felt he would drown in his sorrow. And when he did not, he eventually moved from the site of death. He'd buried Hythlodaeus and the babe cradled in his arms not far from one another. Cremation didn't feel right. Not with how badly his body had already been made to suffer in fire. Emet-Selch tended to that small grave even in his recreated version of Amaurot. He'd used his magic to create a small field of his favorite flowers: white and pink and purple hyacinths. He'd placed crowns of woven flowers atop the stone. A thing he'd considered foolish in the past, refusing to wear them himself or even attempt making. They'd been poor, the stems breaking or coming loose, but he knew Hythlodaeus would appreciated his effort and tease him for it.

He couldn't continue this farce. The Warrior of Light shocked into silence at his sudden outburst. She'd probably say something uplifting about how their future doesn't have to be the same once she recovered, but he wasn't going to wait around to placate.

#heartsaligned #🎥 ⊱ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ⊱ IC.#💀 ⊱ ᴀ sᴇɴᴛɪᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴏʟᴅ ғᴏᴏʟ ⊱ EMET-SELCH.#but did you have to pull your husbands body out of a mass grave #8(

3 notes · View notes