Chapter Text
“No!” you hear Y’shtola cry. “You can’t, you mustn’t do this!”
“This is a trap, you know it’s a trap,” Thancred spits out. “This is what he’s planned all along.”
Alphinaud’s voice adds to the cacophony that echoes inside your head, “There must be another way, surely…” but he trails off uncertainly.
“Better to become a Lightwarden than to accept his help!” Thancred again.
You can’t think through the pain, the blinding power of the Light within you struggling to escape and begin your transformation into a monster, clawing and rending your soul itself as you fight to hold it in for one more moment, and then one more after that. The noise of your friends’ arguing is starting to blend into a dull roar in your head, throbbing like an icepick directly into your skull, and you feel your grip on reality tremble. You don’t have much time left. Joining with Ardbert had given you the strength to hold on for a few more precious minutes, but it wasn’t enough.
Emet-Selch is watching you impatiently, waiting for your response; focusing on you and you alone as if the angry, alarmed voices of the Scions were merely annoying mosquitoes buzzing about. Perhaps to him, they are. It’s only your answer that matters to him, after all.
“You have run out of time, Warrior of Light,” he says finally. “I must have your answer now or it will become irrelevant when the Light takes you. Choose: become a Lightwarden here and now, and set upon your friends, or perhaps you will retain the strength of will to allow them to kill you. Or accept my offer, permit me to cleanse the corruption of Light from your soul, and agree to surrender to myself and my brethren for the next five years -- one for each Warden’s worth of Light I must take into myself.”
The Scions all begin shouting at once, again, desperate voices repeating the same arguments, louder and louder as each strives to be heard over the others in an entirely pointless effort as they’re all saying the same thing. Don’t do this, it would be better for all of us to die here than for the vaunted Champion of the Light to give herself to the Ascians.
Emet-Selch snaps his fingers and the voices cease as a translucent barrier springs up before you, locking your friends away behind it. Thancred and Alisaie rush forwards and throw themselves furiously against the shimmering wall, as Y’shtola and Urianger begin casting spells. The others simply stare wide-eyed; Ryne is nearly wringing her hands in upset and worry, Alphinaud looks resigned and exhausted. Only the Crystal Exarch seems unaffected. G’raha watches you silently, and as your eyes meet his, he nods. He understands what your friends are refusing to consider in their desperation to find another way.
They cannot, will not believe that this is it, there is no other way. Perhaps they would be right to protest, if it were only a matter of sacrificing their lives and yours. You can’t think of anything that Emet-Selch, Elidibus, and the others might do with you that is worse than the deaths of your friends at your own hand, but right now you admittedly can’t think of much at all besides the pain of containing the boiling Light, so you’re willing to allow that there could well be something you’re overlooking.
Still, the choice at hand is so much larger than that, and the futures of both the First and the Source hang in the balance. Should you lose your internal battle and transform, even if you were then slain by one of the Scions, the excess corruption of Light within you would simply be transferred, not dispelled. The First would never again see a night sky, and soon the shard and all the lives upon it would be Rejoined as the Eighth Umbral Calamity decimated the Source. To prevent that fate the Light must needs be eradicated completely, and only the Ascian before you has such a power. What he asks in return seems a pittance.
The world is beginning to blur into blinding white again, forcing a cry of agony from your throat as you summon the very last of your strength to shove it back. Looking up at Emet-Selch, you have no choice but to acquiesce to his bargain. It’s a struggle to get the words out, and your speech is choppy and punctuated by gasping breaths. “I’ll take... the deal. Please, help me. If you can.”
You know your friends must be furiously denying your answer, and you’re grateful that you cannot hear it; this is your decision and yours alone. Your life for theirs, for the First, for the Source. It may be the best bargain you’ve ever made. Emet-Selch moves to stand beside you, holding out a hand in invitation, and with a last deep breath you reach out and take it.
The relief is immediate. Cold, dark aether flows into you from where his skin touches yours, spearing into the overflowing Light and halting its progress, and you blow out a breath as the pain of it begins to recede. You feel the Ascian tremble slightly, his hand gripping yours reflexively in a bruising hold, and when you look to his face you realize how badly this is hurting him. The golden eyes are closed and his expression tight with the same pain you no longer feel. It hadn’t occurred to you before, but of course the Light would be painful, dangerous, to servants of Zodiark. You try to tug your hand from his, knowing all at once what will happen should he appear to be vulnerable, but contrary to his vessel's soft appearance and lean build, Emet-Selch possess an unnatural strength far exceeding your own.
“Will the barrier fall if you keep taking the Light?” you ask urgently. His eyes blink open at that, and he glances back to where the Scions are still frantically pounding at the near-invisible wall he’s made, throwing spell after spell in vain. Thancred holds the white auracite in his hands, and his expression holds murder. Emet-Selch lets out a curse and pulls his fingers from yours.
“Yes, it will,” he says, and his tone is dark with anger, but not directed at you. “Wait here, warrior, as for now I’ve bought you some time. I do not trust your so-called friends not to stain your honor by allowing me to fulfill my part of our bargain and then ensuring, quite permanently, that you needn’t hold to yours. I will return shortly.”
He disappears in a mist of violet and black aether, and you wrap your arms around yourself and shiver, taking a seat on the strange solid crystal of the ground. There is no going back now, as you’ve given your word and you intend to keep it. You steadfastly refuse to turn your head and look at your friends, knowing that Emet-Selch is right to be wary. Thancred was the wrong person to entrust with the auracite, another fact that becomes obvious in hindsight. His blind hatred of Lahabrea leads him to such fury against the Ascians that he would take joy in murdering Emet-Selch even if it meant he must go through you to do so.
As promised, it does not take Emet-Selch long to return. He reappears in the very same place from which he left, stepping out of a rift-portal, and immediately he takes your hand again, looking you over as if to reassure himself that nothing has befallen you in his absence. Before you can say a word, a second portal opens and to your shock Elidibus steps through, his white robes and red mask familiar to you, and you note with relief that he no longer occupies the body of Zenos yae Galvus as his mortal vessel. He takes in the scene at a single glance; you, still bursting with aetheric Light, the Scions trapped behind the barrier and fighting to break through, and Emet-Selch with your hand clasped in both of his, the agony on his face evident as your Light flows into him.
“Hades, no,” the Emissary says immediately, and you’re confused for an instant before you realize he’s addressing Emet-Selch. “I will not have you risking yourself. Let me do this.” As he speaks Elidibus takes your other hand, letting his ornamented glove with its deadly claws melt into shadows and vanish, and the two Ascians glare at each other in a brief battle of wills before finally Emet-Selch concedes the point and lets go.
“I will admit that you are better suited than I for the task,” he says, shrugging with a small self-deprecating smile. It’s a very human, very mortal expression, and you decide that it suits him. “Never fear, I shall keep you safe from the riff-raff while you work.”
That Elidibus remains silent is testament to the tormenting pain caused by the Light as he draws it from your soul to his, soon falling to one knee with a choked cry, though he maintains his grip on your hand. Emet-Selch is beside him instantly, supporting him with his hands on Elidibus’s shoulders, murmuring soft words of encouragement. Instinctively you reach out, intending comfort, but quickly realize your touch will only bring more pain. “I’m sorry,” you say, and it doesn't feel odd that you truly mean it. “I didn’t think, I hadn’t realized… is there anything I can do to help?”
Emet-Selch shakes his head. “You bore this pain for far too long as it is, and the fault for that is mine and mine alone. I did not think you would accept an enemy's aid even in the darkest hour, and so I waited, in the hope that you might find an answer where I could not." He pauses, and then adds in a lighter tone, "I should very much like to make it up to you, and to our dear Emissary, if I may.”
The smile he offers you is absolutely wicked, and you feel yourself flush. There is no mistaking his intent, and your cheeks become even redder as you suddenly realize that the nature of his relationship with Elidibus must extend beyond that of mere brethren. He smirks at you, and nods in confirmation, clearly able to guess exactly what’s going through your head.
More time passes, with Elidibus continuing to pour his cold aether into you and take the corrupted Light in return, while Emet-Selch hovers near him protectively, clearly worrying and unconcerned with hiding the emotion. This is the first time you have ever seen the two Ascians together, and their clear affection for each other makes you smile. Elidibus suddenly drops your hand and leans forwards over his bent knee, flattening his palms against the ground for support, and remains that way for a moment, shuddering. “It is nearly done,” he says. “Only allow me… to rest, briefly, and I shall finish it.”
It’s clear that had he a need to breathe at all, he would be gasping the words. Emet-Selch’s expression tightens, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Emissary,” he says, in a tone that allows for no debate. “You will do no such thing. Rest, and I’ll see it done.” He crouches down and presses a soft kiss to Elidibus’s forehead, and you resist the urge to glance behind you and see what the Scions make of the gesture.
Elidibus scowls, but he knows a lost cause when he sees one and so contents himself with watching, concern evident in his features even behind the crimson mask, as Emet-Selch takes a deep breath before clasping your hand once more. You wait helplessly, unable to look away as he takes your pain into himself, and it is not difficult to understand that this undertaking is far more dangerous to them than you had realized. Five years feels a pitiably short time when weighed against the clear risk to the very existence of an immortal being.
Your excess Light is nearly extinguished, and all three of you let out a sigh of relief as the last of it flows from you and into the Ascian, leaving behind only the ever-present spark of Hydaelyn’s blessing. “Thank you,” you say, nearly trembling with the sudden feeling of a huge weight lifting from your soul. Your friends may never forgive you for this, but at least they’re safe now, and so are both the First and the Source. Whatever is demanded of you, it will have been worth it, yet you have the curious feeling that your fate in their hands will turn out quite differently than you'd imagined.
Elidibus stands up, pulling you to your feet as well as you wobble slightly, realizing that your efforts in holding back the Light for so long have left you drained to near uselessness. Finally, you force yourself to turn around and look to Emet-Selch’s barrier at your friends. Their desperate attempts to break through it had ceased some time ago, and now they simply stand there silently, watching, and waiting for what will come. Thancred still grasps the white auracite with an expression of purest rage; the twins only look lost, and Ryne’s face is sad, while Y’shtola’s eyes are narrowed in thought and Urianger seems contemplative. Unexpectedly, the Exarch gives you a small smile. You wonder what they’re thinking, whether you dare ask to speak to them.
“Will you now keep to your half of our bargain?” Emet-Selch asks quietly, and you glance over at him, startled. He stands just behind Elidibus, letting the white-robed Ascian relax against him, his arms wrapped around Elidibus’s waist. You blink, noticing now for the first time how tall he is. Or perhaps it is that Elidibus's very presence radiates a power that cannot be ignored, even weakened and near spent as he is, making his relative lack of height seem insignificant.
“What? Did you think I wouldn’t?” you say, not sure whether to feel indignant or confused. “What happens if I say no?”
The two Ascians exchange a glance, and then Emet-Selch sighs heavily. “Then you remain here with your friends, one would assume, and perhaps this experience will lend weight to my offer of cooperation and understanding. Elidibus and I shall return to the Source shortly. For with the Light wholly obliterated, the Rejoining has failed, and there are plans that need undoing lest they disturb the star's aetheric balance.”
You stare at him, completely dumbfounded, and he gazes back at you steadily, a sadness in his golden eyes. “Did you expect that I would force the issue? I, we, would have you of your own free will, or not at all. We will not make a captive of you.”
You honestly have no idea what to say. The obvious thing would be to take the unexpected gift of freedom and rejoin the Scions. It will take some smoothing-over before they forgive your impulsive decision, but all has worked out for the best. You’ve won, you’ve prevented the Calamity and saved millions of people on two shards, fulfilled the Crystal Exarch’s purpose in bringing you here, and neither you nor your friends needed sacrifice your lives. It had been a close thing, so very close; Y’shtola was nearly lost to you… but for the intervention of Emet-Selch, who asked nothing in return for the gift of your friend’s life.
Nothing in return when your own existence dangled from the most fragile of threads, your transformation into a Lightwarden nearly certain until he offered his help once more, making a bargain that you suddenly realize he never intended for you to keep. It was done only because he knew you would suspect his motives, see an Ascian scheme behind his every move, unless he seemed to demand something for himself in trade.
As Elidibus expected nothing in return when he risked his own existence to save yours, and you remember the agony on his face, the sound of his pained cry when he fell, and still he gave of himself until he had nothing left to give.
“Can they hear me, through the barrier?” you ask.
Emet-Selch waves his hand lazily at the translucent shimmer that separates you from the Scions on the other side, and it flashes for an instant before settling. “They can now,” he says. “Do you wish to hear them as well?”
“No, thank you,” you say. “It’s for the best.” You start to walk over to the barrier, but exhaustion and dizziness catch up with you, and you barely manage a yalm on your own before you’re stumbling. Emet-Selch bites off a curse and vanishes, reappearing instantly by your side just in time to catch your fall, and a moment later Elidibus takes your other arm to help steady you.
“Do be careful,” the Emissary murmurs. “I would hate to have gone to all that effort only to watch you expire from sheer exhaustion, collapsing and breaking your pretty neck.” He raises a hand and strokes his fingers across the width of your shoulders, pausing briefly to tap one ornate metal claw against the back of your neck.
You blush, unable to hide a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold, and let the Ascians help you over to where your friends stand clustered behind the barrier. They look at you expectantly, hopefully, and for a moment you can’t bring yourself to say a word. Finally, you manage, “I’m sorry. It is my life, and I did as I thought best.”
Thancred turns on his heel and walks away, still furious, and you know you’ll never make him understand why you couldn’t let him enact his plan, waiting until Emet-Selch had crippled himself to save your life and then entrapping the Ascian’s soul in auracite. Frustrated, you look back at the rest of your friends. “I don't know when I'll be able to see you again,” you tell the Scions, and you feel Emet-Selch startle slightly at your back.
“You should know that this is my choice. Emet-Selch offered to let me retract the bargain I made,” you say, and watch your friends’ eyes widen. “But I gave my word, and I’ll keep it. They saved my life and my soul, saved millions of lives here on the First and at home, and I won’t repay that with betrayal. I owe them, at the very least, the five years I promised. I’m told that I won’t be a captive, so I’ll come back and visit when I can, or when you have need of me. If... if you want to see me, that is.” You fight to stay the tremble in your voice.
“I can bring you as often as you wish,” says Emet-Selch, and you glance over to see him smiling at you, a soft, sweet smile that you’ve never seen before. Then and there you make a vow to yourself to coax that smile to his lips as often as you can. “Although,” he adds, “it would be appreciated were I not greeted by white auracite.”
“I know you probably don’t understand why I’m doing this,” you say, still facing your friends, “but I hope that you can forgive me for it. This is what I want.” You offer a final smile and then turn your back on the barrier, not wanting to make your leave-taking any worse than it needs to be. You’ll see the Scions again soon, though it will be up to them whether they want to see you.
“How will they make it back to the Crystarium?” you ask, as the thought suddenly hits you.
Emet-Selch heaves an obviously affected sigh. “I shall take care of it,” he says, “providing you submit to allowing Elidibus to carry you through the portal. You’re not in any sort of shape to cross the rift under your own strength, and I’ve need to rid myself of this mortal flesh before I may return to the Source.”
“I don’t mind,” you say, although the thought of being cradled by the Emissary’s embrace sends shivers down your spine, and from the way he’s looking at you, you have the oddest feeling that he knows it. Before you can give the matter any further thought Elidibus has neatly plucked you off your feet to be held in his arms, and after a moment you allow yourself to relax against him, trusting. Emet-Selch leans over and kisses you softly, and you find yourself smiling against his lips. You know what they both want from you now, at least for the immediate future, and it's not what you had expected.
“I will join you soon,” Emet-Selch says. “Do be kind to our Emissary, if you please. He among us all is the most deserving, and yet the least often to indulge himself. Perhaps you may convince him to change that.”
You hear Elidibus’s soft chuckle, and then a portal opens before you, and he steps through with you in his arms.