Chapter Text
( Kiharu- 希遥希 means "hope, rare, few." 遥 means "distant, far, wander.")
‘None on the battlefield were prepared for that which brought the hostilities to an end. Upon quitting the firmament and entering the skies above Carteneau, the red moon cracked, and from within the iron sphere emerged an ancient primal the likes of which Eorzea had never seen.’ –Chapter 2: Her story. (2016). In Encyclopedia Eorzea (Vol. 1, pp. 45–45).
The smog hung thick across the fields of Carteneau. The free companies had long since abandoned the shattered firmament, but a few lingered, checking for signs of life and counting the fallen. The body count was catastrophic. Through a haze of gray ash, mages moved the dead into neat, silent lines—a grim, customary practice to ensure every soul was accounted for.
From beneath a crushing heap of stone and crystallized, jagged bedrock, Kiharu watched them.
Every breath was an agony sharp as blades and suffocating pressure. The weight on her chest was immeasurable, pinning her lungs, her limbs, and binding her to the blood soaked earth. Shock had numbed the worst of it into a distant, rhythmic throb, leaving her trapped in that terrifying, frozen clarity known only to the dying. She couldn’t scream; she could barely draw enough air to keep the swimming spots from swallowing her vision.
Why won’t it end? Why won’t it ever end…?
Cycle after cycle, life after life. Reincarnated into yet another fragile husk, doomed to serve the same fading star through conquest after conquest, trailing the endless, bitter echoes of déjà vu. I’ve done it all before, but they never learn…
These people never grow, never change… Never stop making mistakes.
t̸̡̫̺͕͍̙̙͍͊̎͊̈́̽̀͆̚͘ḩ̵̼̳͖̝̞̤̯̭̳͎͙̞͈͇̌́̄͑̊̍̄ě̴͚̪̲̭͑͊̓͛̄̆͒́́͠y̶̛̱͍͛̑̊̄̀̆̉̃́̃̚͝͝ ̵̢̡̢͎̤͓̣͇͙̯̱͚͇̘̇̔͆̓̑̊̈́̓̐̀̍̐̄̌͝ñ̶̛̛̗̗͕̻̘̅̑̋̿́̀͋̑͌̋͆͐͜ͅé̷̡̛̛̟̙̜̣̹̜̖̀̐̿̔̽͛́͑̕͝ͅv̶̨̢̖͇̤̜̤̪̟͎̻̳̮̏è̵̯̘͖̠͕͓̓̑̒̄͊̎̚͠r̶̜̯̒̈́ ̷̲̠͎̮̖̮̝͔͉͕̇̊͋̆̅̓͒̇̚̚͝ḷ̶̠̣̞͂̋͆̒͜͝͝e̶̠̠̎a̵͚͋̈́̈́r̴̹̥̦̱͋̑͗̽̈́̋̊̿͐̓̓͋͝n̶̟͕̆͗̈́̓̄͌̊̀̈́̌͘͝
A narrow stream of light broke through the wreckage as a hand reached through the gap, gripping hers.
“Because you keep fulfilling all of their senseless whims, Hero.”
The voice was like velvet, creeping through the bleeding stars in her vision and slithering into her mind. It knew her struggle. It sounded as if it had lived the exact same agonizing lifetimes she had. It knew her.
“Have you finally realized they were never worth a moment of your time?”
Not worth it… A phantom ache, entirely separate from her broken bones, rippled through her soul. She recalled a similar conversation… a thousand thousand lifetimes ago. But who had it been with?
The world splintered into blinding white agony as the stone above her was violently hoisted away. Air rushed into her collapsing lungs, bringing with it the acrid stench of copper and smoke. She choked, a ragged gasp catching in her throat as her fractured ribs protested the sudden release of pressure.
Squinting through the dust, she was met with sharp gold eyes and a face somewhat familiar from eons past.
“I’ve found you, after all this time.”
‘Wh…what was his name?’ the questions grazed the walls of her mind.
“Hemera.”
That name. Was it hers? She had known so many over the millennia; how could she be certain?
He kept his tone low, as if she might shatter into dust were he any louder. A cool hand wiped the ash and dried blood from her face. With agonizing care, he hoisted her out of the pile of rubble and crystallized shards of corrupted Aether. She couldn't suppress the sharp, breathless whimper as her mangled leg shifted, before he gingerly laid her down on a scorched patch of grass some yalms away.
Glancing up at the stranger's face, she caught a shock of stark white hair hanging over his brow.
“You—You look s-so familiar,” she managed, her voice trembling as the protective wall of adrenaline completely crumbled, leaving her entirely bare to the pain. “Do we… know each other?”
He didn’t answer. Rather, he rested a heavy, comforting hand over her fractured torso. “In ages past,” he began softly, “You and I were what some might consider… close.”
A wave of dense, ancient warmth washed over her. She let out a ragged breath she hadn’t as the agonizing fire in her nerves slowly began to ebb away under his mending magic. Turning her head, she took in the battlefield once more with clearer vision. Large, ominous crystalline stalagmites rose up from the soil and bedrock, emitting an eerie, post-calamity glow.
“I’m so tired…”
“I know. We all are.”
“I-I didn’t see you—” she hissed, a sharp intake of breath cutting her off as a broken bone in her arm forcibly pieced itself back together under his palm, “—on the battlefield.”
“I wouldn’t waste an ilm of my power to help these creatures.”
“B-But, you’re helping me.”
Those piercing gold eyes finally rested completely on her face. “You are the exception, Hero.”
An exception. Oh, the tragic rule of her entire existence. Always the exception, never the rule.
“Why?”
“Because you were never meant to be… this.” His eyes scanned her altered form, tracing the physical remnants of the mortal world she had descended to: white, dragon-like horns protruding from her skull where ears should be, patches of silvery scales covering her skin, and a heavy tail to match. He believed the mortals called them the Au Ra.
Yet, the one thing that remained untouched from her former life was those oh-so-captivating steel-grey eyes—the exact color of storm clouds. In their shared past, she had been a sight to behold. Always the sun to his seemingly endless gloom.
“I wish—”
“Hush now,” he scolded gently, though his expression remained tight. “You’re enough of a distraction as it is.”
She fell silent, watching him until the magic's residual warmth ebbed away, leaving a hollow, quiet space between them.
He had long since assumed she had succumbed to sleep, relishing the quiet solitude now that the Grand Company white mages had completely abandoned the sector. Yet, when her quiet, fragile voice broke the silence, his gaze snapped back to her.
“Hades?”
That name. Of all the names buried along the unending timeline of his existence.
“That was your name, wasn’t it?”
He closed his eyes briefly. He should expect nothing less from Hydaelyn’s chosen. Still, he did not give her the satisfaction of an answer. “What did you remember?”
Silence stretched between them for a long while, heavy with the weight of a dead world, until she spoke:
“I remember the day Etheirys fell to the calamities. News reached me from a distant land across the oceans… but try as I might, I could not make it back in time to aid our people.”
“What else?”
“I was… supposed to be a beacon,” she whispered, staring blankly at the glowing Aetherial structures. “A counselor to our people. But when they needed me most, I wasn’t there. I abandoned you. All of you.”
“You did your job, Hero.”
“I did nothing, and you all suffered for it.”
“The end was inevitable,” Hades said, his voice hardening with an ancient, unyielding resolve. “But the Convocation escaped demise. However, we have no home to return to. Merely a memory at the bottom of the salt on another shard. We have strived to rejoin the worlds, yet we have had little success returning things to those halcyon days.”
“Maybe it’s time to change perspective then.”
“You would have us settle?” Gold eyes pierced through to her very soul.
She shook her head against the grass. “I would have you rest. What good is conquest when the results are always the same?”
“Rest,” he scoffed, a bitter sound. “A ridiculous notion. Yet one we all long for.”
“But you won’t?”
“No.”
“Hades.” His eyes found her for the third time. “Hemera.”
A slight, breathless laugh bubbled up in her chest, though it made her ribs throb. “Some things truly never change. You’re still as stubborn as a mule, and just as readable.”
“Well, perhaps if you said something even remotely convincing, I might consider this rest.”
“I forgot. You always think yourself capable of just about everything, and you won’t stop until the star is remade to your exact standard.”
“Better than you,” he retorted smoothly. “Stubborn and pigheaded, always rushing off at a moment’s notice with no word, only to return thoroughly exhausted.”
“But always with a story to tell.”
More memories from the life she had once lived surfaced, though she wished desperately she had more than mere snippets. “I was merely implying—”
“Hush now. If you wish for me to rest, then I require you to do the same. You can make your implications later.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You’re hardly in any shape to do so. The adrenaline has completely faded, and exhaustion is taking its place, Hero.”
“Kiharu.”
He paused. “Come again?”
“The name I was given in this lifetime. It’s written something like wandering hope in the Doman script.”
Now, it was his turn to let out a faint, genuine laugh. “How strangely fitting. Now sleep.”
Before she could protest, he waved a hand over her face—a subtle flick of the wrist executing an old sleep incantation from the eld days.
He would not be there when she awoke, but they would see one another again.