memshare; il mheg is forever young

You're standing in a land of bright colors and rainbows, the sky a sea of light that undulates and shifts. Instinctively, you know that this is Il Mheg, the kingdom of fae. It's a beautiful place, despite the way the light in the sky never gives way to night, despite how the light hangs like a ceiling over everything with its silent promise that one day, this kingdom will be swallowed by light as well. But you have little time to pay attention to your surroundings, because right now you're staring at a squadron of men in purple uniforms, led by an old man you know to be a fierce, powerful fighter. Can you beat him without the Warrior of Light--no, of Darkness--beside you? You aren't sure, but you have the pixies of Il Mheg on your side, and you, your brother, and the others just need to hold them off long enough...

He's hunting for you. You're all of you invisible, warded by the pixies, but somehow--somehow--he reaches out and grabs one of them from the air, squeezing them tight. You know it in your soul that he won't hesitate to kill this pixie in order to force your hand, and you grit your teeth hard as you watch Alphinaud, Urianger, and Minfilia stepping out to meet him, their bodies becoming visible as the spell is dropped.

He's here for Minfilia. He's here to stop the Warrior of Darkness from returning the night sky to Il Mheg. He wants to halt everything you and your friends are trying to accomplish, and no matter what you do you cannot let him win.

"We'll free them together," Thancred whispers in your ear. "Follow my lead."

"No," you disagree--you're their first line of offense, a quick lead to surprise your foes while the others make ready to fight. Thancred is strength, the force behind his gunblade heavy and distracting. While both of you can start a fight, you can take him by surprise. "Follow my lead. Unshield me!" you hiss to the pixie beside you both, and you run.

The enchantment unfolds as you sprint toward Ranjit, pink smoke puffing around you. You thrust your crystal forward, seizing your aether and slinging yourself after it, the combined power sending what would be a controlled lunge into a sliding one--intentional, as he twists around your blade; your momentum carries you safely past and he cannot counterattack without leaving himself blind. Perhaps he might try to, but Thancred has followed you; he bursts out of the sky with his gunblade high and Ranjit has to let go of the pixie finally to stop him. But this wasn't a fight either of you intended to win; Thancred kicks away from him while you use your aether to leap backward, blade and crystal held high as you back the the last few paces to join the others.

Thancred and Ranjit exchange words--the two of them bickering over Minfilia, as though she shouldn't be allowed to make her own choices and choose her own destiny!--but it's you who notices it first.

"Look--the sky!"

You step out of your stance as the sky begins to flicker, the everlasting light beginning to twist and roil as though an entire day's sky is passing within seconds. It dissipates before you all, and in the distance the wings of Lyhe Ghiah are glowing, luminescent in the new darkness that sweeps the land.

"They've done it!" Alphinaud, of course, telling you all what you already know but projecting his voice to ensure the Eulmorans know what they're witnessing. "The Warrior of Darkness has triumphed!"

For a moment, it seems as though the Eulmorans won't be swayed. But as they make ready to attack... chaos unfolds.

You've spent more time than you've cared to with the pixies here; you know their penchant for collecting friends. But for once you're not the one that has to worry about the pixies of Lydha Lran, the Fuath of Dohn Mheg, the Nu Mou of Pla Enni--no, their chosen playmates are the Eulmorans, and they're turned into shrubberies, dragged into the depths to drown, and dangled midair by joyous fae.

And in the middle of it all, you spy them flying from the castle: Your friend on the back of an amaro, with a pixie of enormous size beside them. It looks like a pixie you met earlier, but you know from what the fae have said who this must be.

The fae folk of Il Mheg have a new King.

-3:13:02 - 3:17:40-

memshare; a porxie

You're standing in the Inn at Journey's Head, but unlike the last time you were here, your heart feels light. What you seek to do today has the potential to change so many lives, to save those not only here in the First but in your own world too. If you can truly master the magicks that Beq Lugg has been teaching you... how many lives will be saved from senseless death?

Your first task is to sculpt a porxie, the shape for the familiar to take. Art has never been your finest pursuit, but you're determined to see this through, to do the best you can and when you've completed your work...

Well. You don't need your brother's laughter to tell you how bad your sculpting attempt has proven. "Yes, yes, I'm not artist. Very funny!" you snap at him, arms folded self-consciously. Certainly he could have done better; Alphinaud took his art very seriously when you both studied at the Studium, but this must needs come from your own hands.

Thankfully, your words have the desired effect. Alphinaud schools his face, very carefully looking away from you and your sculpture. Beq Lugg beside you bids you pay no mind, which would be helpful if their next words weren't to describe your work as "a grotesque parody of reality."

"You're not helping," you grumble, though you feel your frustration transitioning into what is almost a pout. But they continue speaking, assuring you that the quality of your sculpture isn't what matters so long as you can believe it to have a porxie's shape in your mind's eye.

Belief is a little easier to come by. At Beq Lugg's urging, you close your eyes take a deep breath, holding both hands out before you and touching the reserves of aether that flow through your body. As you speak the words of the incantation, you let it flow down your arms, focusing on your goal with every fiber of your being as you painstakingly fill the porxie sculpture with your aether.

"With flesh of clay I bid thee rise
On wings of dreams to touch the skies.
What once was idle fantasy
I call forth to reality."

The aether you've infused into the clay comes to its full saturation, and the glow that surrounded your hands as you worked grows to a blinding light. From the light there's a burst of air, and when everything clears the clay you'd so carefully turned and prepared and molded is gone--and in its place is a living, breathing porxie. It bounds up into the air, spiraling back down to eye-level before beginning to hover, flapping its ears to stay aloft.

You've done it--this is but the first step to save those who might be lost, but it's the most important step of them all. You're nearly giddy with the rush of magic and promise; if this works, this will change everything.

-21:18 - 24:15-

memshare; phoenix

Eight-thousand, eight-hundred and seventy-two malms. That's how far beneath the surface you are, according to the instruments you've borrowed for your excursion, and you step out into the main bridge of what remains of the ruins of Dalamud to find a massive husk of a dragon in the midst of regenerating. Gods, he's regenerated so much since the last you were here, and you steel yourself because he cannot be permitted to be reborn, no matter what that means you must do.

You step toward the control panel so that you can shut it down--but before you get any further than a handful of steps, a figure steps out of the air in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

"Grandfather?"

No. Your grandsire is dead, having sacrificed himself five years ago to save Eorzea. You know this to be true--you were taking your turn at the lens of the telescope at the Studium when Dalamud was shattered, led by your grandsire and the combined forces of the continent. This man before you is but a twisted memory of who he once was, his mind twisted by his proximity to the dragon and become the primal's thrall.

"You were foolish to disregard my warning, child. Are you so convinced of your own righteousness?"

His words cut in a way they never would have when he was alive. Your grandfather has always been proud of everything you are--he has never begrudged you your emotions, strong as they are, nor your inability to measure them. Instead, he was proud of that, proud of how strongly you believed in every cause you took up. It hurts to have this thrown back at you, and you find you can't summon up the words to answer.

But Alphinaud is behind you, and he steps in to respond when you cannot.

Your memory is less clear here, an amalgamation of knowledge and emotion and vision: The dragons of Meracydia, summoning Bahamut to save them. Your grandsire, summoning Eorzea's Twelve in a similar gamble. The tirade of words that cannot be your grandfather's, because they run so contrary to everything he's believed.

He cuts you again: "Even you, twins whose veins run with the same blood, struggle to fathom each other's reasoning. You hide your differing agendas behind the convenient banner of Eorzea's salvation. ...And though I hoped they might bring you closer, 'twould seem that the twin grimoires I bestowed upon you were a wasted gesture." You look away, unable to respond for the lump in your throat at his reproach, but Alphinaud steps forward once more.

"Tell me--do you champion the cause of dragons because Bahamut compels you as his thrall? Or is it because you yourself have transcended the limits of man's existence?"

Your head whips toward your brother--no. Surely he can't mean--

Light begins to glow blue around your grandsire, and an unpleasant smile comes to his face. "Ah, so the possibility did not escape your notice? What I prayed for, and what I have become... these are the keys that unlock the truth behind Eorzea's rebirth. If you would have them, then you must needs take them by force. Come, rend this divine form asunder and claim your answers!"

Emotion sweeps you as he transforms, becomes something more than man--becomes Phoenix, his plumage glowing blue and deep red as he sweeps down in front of you. First you'd thought him dead--next enthralled, a mindless slave to Bahamut--but now he is become a primal? Your heart hurts, that he is become that which he worked so hard to prevent; that after all his work to protect the land he is something that would drain it of its life.

"'Tis difficult, I know," Alphinaud says, turning to meet your eyes. "But you must accept it: That entity is no phantom or impostor--it is our beloved grandsire!"

Your heart is shattering, but you know the truth of his words. Steeling yourself anew to what is about to happen, you turn back to the Warrior of Light--your friend.

Your grandfather must be slain. The three of you must do it together.

-0:40-1:20; 4:30-7:20-