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Azem, in her mysterious way, had once told Elidibus to keep watch for a falling star. And now the skies above Amaurot were filled with them.
A coincidence, a true irony, he was convinced; but the unsettling beauty of their star's encroaching demise — if only when seen from afar — continued to unnerve him. When at first it had begun, he had witnessed crowds of people in the city's busy squares stare and murmur in wonder over the sudden, mesmerizing star shower. A rare, unpredicted cosmic event? A fanciful display of illusion magic by one of the star's most powerful magi? And then... he shuddered to recall the first beasts that had manifested within Amaurot. Their blessed gifts of creation magic — meant to ensure the star's stability, to preserve the natural order, to allow mankind to grant themselves all they needed to survive and then thrive — twisted into horrors beyond his wildest imaginings. And the suffering, the deaths which yet continued... countless poor souls forced to return to the star long before they had seen their duty fulfilled, or sometimes even begun...
He had heard of this threat long before it reached Amaurot, of course; the Convocation had been working tirelessly to combat it. Even Azem had courageously thrown herself into the fray, looking for solutions on the dangerous front lines of the emerging crisis in distant lands, seeking to aid its survivors, subduing horrific beasts with naught but her preternatural skill with a blade, for fear of her own magic becoming twisted against her.
Elidibus had wondered where the falling star he'd met in Elpis, who had tipped the scales in his investigations of the horrific incident in Pandaemonium, could have possibly gone to at a time like this, when the world — and Azem, no doubt — had needed her mysterious strength most. He had wondered — he still wondered, though perhaps not for much longer — about so many things, more questions arising than he could possibly have time to ask; more than anyone, even the Convocation's brightest minds, would have ever had proper answers for.
And so, his greater questions left unanswered and their time cut short, he now found himself here.
The Convocation's meeting chamber, which had once been ever resplendent with tastefully gilded architecture and beautiful views of their beloved city, always reminding Elidibus — and the others, he'd hoped — of what it was exactly they sought consensus to protect in their meetings, was now a heavy, burdening sight. The light that now filtered through the glass windowpanes was eerie at this late hour and felt broken and tainted in its unnatural glow, and whole swaths of the city skyline were fragmented, twisted, smoldering. This was truly their final stand.
"Are you certain," Loghrif had asked as he had entered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, as if to promise him that it was alright if he wasn't. That he was allowed to doubt, that it would be permitted — even welcomed — if he chose to let another take his place. But she was not the first who had asked this of him. Others had, in private, begged him, pleaded with him even, to reconsider… but how could he?
This is my duty as Elidibus, he thought, then shook his head. No. Not only that, it is what I wish to do for this world — these people whom I love.
"I am," he had assured her, placing his hand on hers. "I must do this, Loghrif. In our hands this night we forge mankind's final hope — I would gladly bear this weight, this ultimate honor."
And once our great task is done, we will need all of you here to guide us, to rebuild, he thought. I am but an emissary, an arbiter of neutrality — but you thirteen possess the distillation of all the star's knowledge, wisdom, and power. ...You twelve, he corrected himself, pushing down the raw tugging of deep worry and regret in his chest over his dear friend Azem, who had abandoned her seat, stormed out of these very chambers in a fit of righteous fury, and gone off to seek a different way to set things right all on her own. Weeks later, she hadn't returned, and none had so much as heard from her. He wished she had stayed, that she were here to see him off. That he could rest easy at the heart of their creation, knowing that the star yet had her capricious, courageous, inspiring example to help guide it along the right path — a path that brought its myriad peoples joy.
Yet this would have to be enough for him. It was, he reminded himself, more than enough for him. The prospect of losing himself admittedly chilled him to dwell upon, but in truth they did not fully understand how the concept, which they had carefully crafted with what little time they'd had, would function once manifested. But no matter how the cards fell, one point was certain; he would be the seed from which the very will of their star took form.
He took his place in the center of the chamber, doffing his mask as the others who'd already gathered there had done. He'd been shocked, his resolve wavering just slightly, when every last member of the Convocation had given him a heartfelt farewell. Some were silent, simply clasping their arm to his and giving him a stiff nod, their unmasked faces saying all that need be said; others held him tightly in an unexpected embrace and offered words of hope, of gratitude, of courage. Some had even shed tears for him amidst those words. Elidibus found himself biting back tears as well, but he stood strong — this was his duty. From these memories, he was determined, he would draw strength.
With some final words shared between them, the Convocation took to their task, not a fiber of their collective being held back in Zodiark's creation. As their incantation took hold, his body rising into the air, a sense of dissolution spreading through his limbs and seeping into his mind as the great flood of aether began to pour into him, the whispered hopes and fervent prayers of countless freely offered souls along with it, Elidibus felt grateful — blessed to be the surrogate for mankind's hope. To bring a new bright future into being, even if it may be a future without him in it. Tears of gratitude finally fell from his eyes as he began to lose his shape.
"From this life, our savior born... May I be worthy of the honor."
When Azem found herself alone in the new world which Zodiark had granted them... a world free of the unnatural falling stars and horrific malformed beasts which had plagued them, but a dying world, deprived of so much aether and life — she cried too, furious hot tears running down her cheeks as she picked herself up from the rubble.
They had deserved more, the dead — she knew it. This world that the Convocation — her dearest of friends, her former comrades, and those she had loved — had wrought, the sacrifice with which it had been bought... it dishonored her dear friend Elidibus and all he'd hoped and fought for. It shamed his memory.
Millenia later, a fragment of herself would clutch his crystal in her palm at his soul's final resting place and reel at the second-hand tragedy in much the same way, not fully understanding why she felt so much regret for the fate of her enemy wrought so very long ago by loving hands not hers, and merely put an end to by her own.