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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-
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.