The stars loomed over Mor Dhona, and the Seventh Heaven was no exception. Many had wondered why there would be a bar here, even before people had begun to build up, long before the contract with the Gigas. Then again, it made for a good place to relax. The Rising Stones, after all, was connected to it.

“So, like… do they work for the Scions, or what?” At the bar sat three women - and Lyse had to ask. She had a rather exotic Ala Mhigan drink she was nursing, holding tightly between her fingers. “Because I think it’s very weird that we’d have a barmaid.”

Yda - who sat next to her, with a heavier drink of Garlean origin - shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing, is it? But I can ask Papalymo later. I think that she was just looking to not run an inn anymore?”

“And we were in the market?” Lyse replied, tilting her head.

“Both of you are talkin’ like she’s not listening,” Fordola snorted - on the other side of Yda, having already finished quite a few drinks. She was quite a heavy drinker - even if she was the youngest of the three. Minfilia had gone to La Noscea, and Fordola had decided to stay behind.

“Oh, that’s quite okay,” the bartender said - her voice having a crystaline tone that Fordola recognized straight away. She dare not say it, however. One of those Warriors - she wasn’t in the mood to handle their bullshit. She probably wouldn’t remember it in the morning. “They can have their theories.”

Not that the bartender would reveal the truth. Be it mundane or serious, this was more fun. Returning to her work, the bartender gave a little smile to herself. “But I do work closely with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn - and since it’s so late, I doubt anybody else will be coming.”

In other words - none of them had to hide who they were. Straight away, Fordola let some of her glamour fade - letting her form shift and her body become more lizard-like. Lyse gave a little chuckle into her drink. “Finally! This One… well, this one knows she was born a Hyur, but the Sylphic tongue comes so easily…” Lyses’ joy turned to sorrow far too quickly. “This One misses being Hyur.”

Fordola looked to Lyse, and shrugged. “Me too. It’s so fucked up we’re like this, but can’t fight it. Just… need to accept it, god damn it.”

Yda looked between both of them, her expression turning slightly soft. “You know,” she said quietly as they spoke, “I never thought both of you would meet - or that you’d get along.”

That made both of them stare at her, until Fordola gave a little sigh. “Yulia.” Everything went quiet. “You spent a lot of time in Sharlayan, right? Th’cowards who fled when Garlemald wouldn’t just roll over.” A pointed glare. “What makes Sharlayan so much better? Why did you keep runnin’?”

Yda looked down to her drink, quietly. Of course she’d be asked something this deep. While she was worrying for Sharlayans’ safety. At the same time, it was a valid question! “Sharlayan isn’t perfect,” she began, careful with every word. “It’s isolationist. It hoards whatever it can, and is… like, super secretive? Not even Papalymo knows everything. But on the other hand…”

“On the other hand, they mind their own business, so they’re not gonna fuck things up?” Fordola interrupted, slamming down her glass. She looked into the emptiness, giving a snort. “‘course, I never liked thinking about politics.”

“That’s why, isn’t it?” Lyse asked, as she sipped gently at her drink. She couldn’t have anything as hard as the others - if she could complain, she would. But it was because she was a Sylph. “Why you’re not with Minfilia in… where did she go, again?”

“She’s going around to the leaders of th’nations to see if she can handle th’Sharlayan refugees,” Fordola replied. “Which is more then they’d do for her.”

Yda rolled her eyes. “Come on, they’d let somebody in. Sharlayan, I mean. As long as they didn’t try and kill them?” A pause, as Yda considered. “Or if they’d disrupt everything. There were quite a few Ishgardians which were turned away, or so I heard.” Heretics, who were close to death, who wanted anything but that.

And yet… “Did they at least get put out of their misery?” Fordola asked, not waiting for an answer. “I don’t get it, Yulia. You… you had your life made. ‘m certain that Lord Solus would have forgiven you.”

As her chair skidded across the wood, Yda stood up. Her lips curving into a frown. “Do you really wanna know how he’d react?” There was a darkness in her voice, one she hated to bring up. “He’d continue to look at me like I was a monster. He’d want to hand me over to his weird boyfriend. Or he’d want to just toss me and Varis into a small box and see who lived and who died. Or he’d wonder openly why we weren’t fish.” With every word, Yda shuddered. With every word, she stepped towards Fordola. “I didn’t know how he treated me was wrong, of course. He’d tuck me in and get me all I wanted.

But Sharlayan - it might be full of stuffy idiots who think they’re smarter then they are, but I felt love from them, okay?” Her voice cut out, as Yda realised how terrified she was. Perhaps she worried that somehow, Solus would hear this. Perhaps she worried that Fordola wouldn’t believe her.

Perhaps, she actually worried the barkeep would turn her in. Her feet beginning to buckle under her weight, Yda was worried she was about to slip.

Before Fordola could reply, however, the door slammed open. The ladies turned to look, and Alisaie stormed in. She looked a wreck, a heavy cloak covering most of her body. Hiding her fears, Yda stood tall. “…Alisaie. Come to join us ladies?”

Trying to push past them, Alisaie grunted. Until she realised she wouldn’t escape explaining herself. “…I just heard about Sharlayan. I… I need to check on Urianger. So… I was going to get some supplies, and head on over. He needs people there to take care of him.” 

Yda suddenly shook her head. “What about you, though?”

“What about me?” Alisaie mumbled, bundling into her clothes. “I can’t even find Alphinaud. I just need to do whatever I can.” For those who remain.

Alisaie did not expect what happened next. Suddenly, she felt a weight around her - but before she could escape, she realised what it was. A hug. A comforting hug, the sort she hadn’t had for years. Not since the Flood of Light in her world. Sure, she sometimes got comfort from the twin Kings, but this was different.

How much did Yda care? How much should she care? Alisaie didn’t notice that she began to cry. That she shuddered in Ydas’ arms - before feeling more arms around her. Fordola, giving a soft snort. Alisaie couldn’t read their moods, couldn’t tell why they were doing this.

But did it matter?

Sharlayan was as doomed as her home had been, Alisaie could feel. If only she understood what was going on…

Ever since Mitron had returned to Old Sharlayan, horror filled every one of their sensations. The aether was fraying, fading, being fed into something unseen. The air was filled with secrets and whispers of what was wrong. Most people had already evacuated - even if they did not know that was what they were doing. A sickness was spreading though the people, and Mitron could barely watch.

It was happening again. As Mitron watched, they gave a little snarl, letting their form begin to shift. Ascian cloak melted away to a dark blue cloak, as their body began to grow taller and taller. A Black Mage-esque coned hat sat comfortably on top of their hidden face, and large broken wings stretched from their back. It was uncouth to transform around others, true. But if they could allow more to flee, then they would. Large tentacles curled from under their cloak, unfurling like a newly bloomed flower.

Some may call these forms transformed. Mitron, however, saw them as what their heart desired them to be. It was time to head to the seas, to stimulate them. The currents were not often something which the Ancients saw fitting to manipulate. But this was an emergency. Mitron would make up for it later. Ships were leaving - they were so fragile compared to what came before. Or what Garlemald had made. Mitron knew they couldn’t manipulate them too much. But, gifting them a little bit of the seas’ power - it would save them.

But as they worked, they could not help but overhear something. No, somebody they’d hoped to not hear. But where this sort of disaster loomed, it was the once voice - the one presence - that would follow after.

That damned Warrior of Light. That damned being. Mitron watched, quietly. Ready to interfere. Ready to damn them both.

The Warrior of Light, still wrapped tightly in his white robes, had to choke back his own feelings on the matter. Soon, this place would burn as well, all these people would be naught but power for his God. His pale eyes focused on Prishe, the one who never burned. The one who’d come rushing as he summoned her. “There is no mercy nor compassion in the world. It is better to… embrace the chaos, for in the end that is all.”

Every word dripped like darkness off his tongue, as he looked upwards. The sky was dull, clouds covered the moon. Even the Gods wished not to watch this. Those selfsame Gods who had begun this, so very long ago - in forms now long dead. Raising a hand from under his cloak, skin burned away and replaced with crystal so very long ago, the Warrior of Light continued. Calling to the Planesgorger he knew was here. “Now the universe is broken, lost its force. Turn your back on all you have loved…”

“Hey.”

It was far too easy to interrupt him, and the Warrior of Light looked to Prishe. “Not to interrupt your drama, but they’re planning on stopping it. Least, that’s what I’ve learned?”

Prishe sounded far too optimistic, and the Warrior of Light tilted his head a little. Lowering his arm slightly. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a longshot, but that’s why I’m here. To help the people who’re trying to flee.”

“…flee?” The Warrior of Light mumbled, his voice growing more and more tired with every passing moment. “You know what this child awakening means.”

“Yeah, it means they’ve got to prep for the big guy,” Prishe replied, a smirk crossing her lips. Her steps unstable, Prishe took a few steps away from her ally. Just so he wasn’t quite leaning on her as he was.

Perhaps she sensed what was coming. The clatter of a wheelchair being knocked over, the rush of wind - and the Warrior of Light was pinned to the ground, pale white hands curled around his neck. For one who was meant to be calm, the Warrior of Light knew exactly who was there.

“Elidibus,” the Warrior of Light stated, far too calmly for one being strangled. His voice echoed not from his mouth, but from his very being. “This will not help.”

Elidibus hissed, his calm demeanour that he showed to the outside world gone - replaced with pure anger, pure vileness. “You did this! You– you’re doing this!”

A hand slid between his throat and his attacker, and the Warrior of Light spoke again. “You are right. Direct your anger at me - but do not let it consume.

I thought you better.” Nostalgia filled the Warrior of Lights’ voice - as Elidibus grew madder.

For was this other not taking it seriously? His strength did not waver, as long as Zodiark–

Magic began to bubble at Elidibus’ hands. Tears hidden under his mask bubbled along. “I shall end this!” Before he could strike, however, the Warrior of Light struck the other in the stomach. Hard enough to distract, but not hard enough to leave lasting injuries. Coughing up spit, Elidibus loosened his grip.

“Elidibus. You hate me.”

It was a statement. Standing by Prishe, the Warrior of Light pulled up his cloak. Covered, they looked nearly the same. “Let your hatred be your power. Let it overcome you. Perhaps you can stop this.

…likely not. These people…” The Warrior of Light took a pause, looking to Prishe. His expression had not changed this entire time. “Do what you can. All of you.” Trying to leave dramatically, he took a step. Before realising he couldn’t.

Prishe was holding his arm, making sure that the Warrior of Light did not trip over his body. “You’re still sick.”

They nodded weakly. “I am. Shinryu is…” they began, before their words trailed off. Distracted by Elidibus trying to stand, before Mitron suddenly appeared out of nothing. Tentacles lifting their emissary back into his wheelchair, settling him in. Before Mitron loomed over both Prishe and the Warrior of Light.

“This is our territory. For the glory of Lord Zodiark, let us handle it.”

Mitron was afraid of how Prishe may reply. She was one of them - a monster. Until Mitron saw her smirk. “Well then, for the glory of… well, Cosmos, I guess? Myself? I’ve got something to do here. So if you can handle not fighting us, we’ll let you do whatever.”

Prishe kept the Warrior of Light away. Mitron kept Elidibus away. But it was the former who vanished first, tapping his own ring before vanishing in a strange portal. Prishe shrugged and sighed. “Hopefully he’s not headed down. Even if it’d be nice to tell him see you later.”

Elidibus, too, vanished - and Mitron was left to hover there, high over Prishe. There was a moments pause, before a third figure appeared. A chill filled the air, as Mitron turned. “My, my. And here I thought you had some dignity, Mitron.”

Igeyorhm.

She looked a mess as well, her hair barely brushed. Her form still shifting and contorting into her usual form. “You trusted me with Sharlayan. And Ishgard. And your other half trusted me with the Hunt.” Even with that list, Igeyorhm did not seem frustrated. No, there was a satisfied smirk on her face. “I can’t believe you think I needed help.”

“That’s not why I came. I— Moenbrydas’ parents,” Mitron said, stumbling over their words. “I came to make sure they…”

Igeyorhm quietly shook her head. “Their research was needed for the plan. And they need to monitor it.”

“…I see.” There was no arguing it, and yet, Igeyorhm them looked to Prishe. “Does your plan include how to stop the beast?”

There was a tense moment. Prishe bit her lip. “Not exactly. But I’m going to talk to Hydaelyn.” A beat. “Because you might not believe me, but I didn’t want Zodiark dead either.” A hand over her chest. “Neither of us wanted things to get this fucked. So I’m gonna go punch Hydaelyn in the face and ask her some things, and see what’s going on.”

There was a long pause. Mitron held back swears. Igeyorhm then spoke, landing between them - ice spreading below her, cracking as soon as it formed. “The Sharlayan Forum has finalized their plan to destroy the beast. At midnight tonight, as our Lord hangs above us,” (for Zodiark was not dead, Zodiark could not be dead,) “they will be… saturating this land with aether. It may destroy them, it may not. But since this is something that they were warned about…

They’re willing to die.”

“—I see.” Mitron said, giving an oddly soft smile. These people would sacrifice themselves for a better future? Like themselves. These little sundered were just like them. It would still end in the death of some mortals they loved. Mitron turned back towards the sea, before Igeyorhm spoke again.

“I have some news you might be interested in, for when this is over.” A pause, as Mitron looked back. “I have located Loghrif. However, she is… not in a good place.”

“Explain.” As Mitron loomed, Prishe couldn’t help but look between the two of them. They looked… kind. Gentle. Like the people who came before - sure, they weren’t actually kind.

“She is trapped in the fragments of Dalamud.”