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year 5, quarter 3
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Rest was never something that came easily to him, certainly not on nights such as these. Any evening the dream would resurface to present itself to him, Zenos would wake mere hours later, once perplexed by its intricacies and the vividness. Now that he understood the origin of these visions he had long experienced, images he had come to know almost as well as he knew to fight, they felt as though he were viewing them through someone else’s eyes. Sure enough he knew what it was like to view the world through the sights of another, having now learned firsthand the sensation of what an out-of-body experience felt like. Though every time the dream now came to him, for every step he took among the fiery streets of ancient Amaurot, it was more familiar to Zenos than ever before. A name to put to the city, to the world that burned in its final moments, as fears made manifest brought death and ruination to all that encompassed the senses. The robed figures that fled passed the Garlean were but shades, yet once a people, a race far mightier than Garlemald and Allag both, in their purest form. To see beings possibly mightier than even he flee through the ensuing destruction brought about a newfound wonder to the Crown Prince. Zenos had come to a plaza bearing a broken aetheryte, shattered by spheres ablaze that descended from the heavens with an unrelenting continuance. A scourge of unknown origin that far surpassed the ruin any device or force that man might dare conceive could ever hope to accomplish.
T’was an armageddon that ailed their star.
As his cold blue eyes wandered skyward to once again behold the awe inspiring beauty of the star-shower, Zenos could only speculate where he actually was when he first beheld this tumultuous scene. Buildings crashed around the plaza, fissures opened beneath the earth, spewing forth fire like gaping maws of great wyrms, monstrosities ran amok as they chased down the hooded shades to their ends. He recognized each event as they played out, and soon could tell the dream was coming to its profound conclusion as it always had. He felt the stirrings of his waking body pulling his mind from sleep, tearing him away from this vanishing world as all began to fade into abysmal obscurity, until at last it was gone.
The feeling of improper, uncomfortable bedding would greet Zenos in his waking moments, whom found himself staring up at unfamiliar surroundings in the form of a small room, a low ceiling lit by candlelight. At an instant he knew these were not his chambers in the palace, finding the bed in which he rested ill equipped to his personal needs. Legs hung over the end frame as his feet dangled about in the air, between which upon raising his head, did he spy a familiar helm long discarded sitting atop his traditional dark plated armor. A noticeable frown overtook Zenos as he sat up, noticing that he still wore his favorite pajama bottoms despite the surrounding accommodations fit naught for a prince, but that of a peasant. Whomsoever found this prank amusing would meet a quick end, this he swore as he swung his legs over the side of the undersized bed, raising a hand to brush fallen locks from his face. A noticeable headache remained, yet it was not the only thing that felt out of place, or rather missing from his sense of self. Something about him felt malleable if not missing entirely, and as he would attempt to tap into the power of the Resonant, Zenos knew at once what was wrong. Someone, or something had taken it from him, taken what his long labors and expenditure of patience had rewarded him with.
A rage swelled within his breast, thoughts at once turning to Elidibus in wonder whether the paragon had tampered with his body in absence of its rightful owner. Zenos dismissed the idea outright, recalling that he had used its abilities to easily swat aside the Black Wolf and Azure Dragoon but weeks prior. If not the craven’s doing, then who was responsible for this transgression? A sigh of frustration escaped him as he made to observe the bleak wooden furniture about the room, finding a coin pouch half empty on what passed in this place for a nightstand. To the end of the room sat his armor as he remembered it, and next to it propped by its kickstand, his sword revolver holding each of his three prized blades. Beyond these items nothing about his current location bore any familiarity to him, nor any clues as to where he might have wound up. He thought back to the night prior, to the elaborate and finely decorated funeral he was forced to preside over for Varis, to the near empty worded speech he had given on behalf of an emperor whose sole accomplishments were all done on behalf of an Ascian agenda. Afterwards had he retired to his chambers, where he greeted sleep as he always had, and then…nothing.
Zenos rose from his bed, forced to stand bowed over under the wooden beams that threatened to strain his neck and shoulders. The scene outside his window held curiosity however, a sprawling marketplace that ran down the street as far as the eye might carry. If this was this First that he had heard Elidibus mention to Varis, the foreign aesthetic of the town would do well enough to convince Zenos that was where he now found himself. He leaned closer to open this window, taking a glimpse outside to better gleam what may be offered should he deign to explore its expanses. Geography and topography were never his finest subjects of study, yet even he knew this was not a city to be found anywhere on the continent. Perhaps Rabanastre might have bore some form of similarity in its prime, but Zenos was not foolish enough to think this to be any part of Dalmasca. In any case, he would make it a priority to uncover the truth about this locale, and determine a course that may return him to Garlemald.
Zenos was rather quick to suit up in his armor, his face now hidden behind the ghostly visage of his horned helm. For a brief moment he took to admiring his appearance in a nearby mirror, before he came to notice how flawless the helm seemed, finding disappointment in its lacking personal touch his enemy had given it during their bout in Doma. It brought about a disgust to Zenos, whom shattered the mirror with a forced fist through its glass. He would seize the coin purse upon the nightstand, his sword revolver, then make down the stairs of this inn to confront the concierge working the front desk.
”I would know the name of this place.”
The innkeeper would give him a perplexed expression, yet passed off the question as a simple case of forgetfulness.
”You’re in Torensten, this here’s the Wooldorf.”
”Torensten?” confirmed Zenos with an air halved betwixt curiosity, and skepticism. ”So be it.” Whether or not his suspicions about where he arrived would prove true, he recognized not the name the man had chosen to give him. It was a fresh hunting ground nonetheless, First or not, and he was anxious to gleam whatever sport this foreign city would be able to provide him. Upon thing the sword revolver to its rightful place upon his belt’s lefthand side, Zenos would step out onto the street under a plethora of decorative shades hung to protect the market from the sun. As he journeyed to the north down the market’s expanse, he was given a wide berth by what busy folk continued about their day as they hurried passed a presumed curious tourist. Were this the world he presumed it to be, it was only a matter of time before they would cross the hunter’s path. Fate had deemed it inevitable.
He really should have known. Of course, even the mental comparison of that monster to his great grandson would bring him here. What was the phrase that tended to be used, again? Speak of the devil and they shall appear? Well, it seemed that such was the case here. Why though, was it that whenever he thought of those of Amaurot, that none of them ever appeared? Truly, this world was a bit of a prankster, or perhaps the puppet master's eyes had focused upon him, and deigned to pull anyone who was related to him to this new world. ... Though he was still waiting for someone from Amaurot upon that front. Hades let out a long suffering sigh as that signature of aether that made up the soul hit him with an all too familiar wave, this was going to get messy.
Solus and Zenos were... Well, if Varis was disliked and dismissed, then Zenos was just plain ignored. At least with Varis, the answer, to Hades, was obvious. He reminded him far too much of his son, and of the frailty and feebleness of the races of men. His son had been a rather impressive specimen amongst the Garleans; and strangely, people flocked mostly to his height. He was strong for his kind, commanding. But a sickness had taken him, not fire and war, nor the march of time, but a disease that others had survived. Always so feeble, able to vanish from the world and return to the Underworld at a moment's notice.
While Zenos being freakishly powerful was a surprise, it was also logically understandable. The boy had more of him in his blood than he really thought he would. Or, at the least, it was showing in a spectacular fashion. Zenos was always easy enough to work with if you knew how to handle him, and he found Varis's complete inability to use him to be rather amusing. Point him in a direction, say there are powerful foes impeding the march of Garlemald, and watch Zenos go. From what he understood of the boy; Zenos did not care from where the blood flowed, as long as it flowed, especially if it was a worthy opponent. Took long enough for one to show up.
And now, his great grandson was here, but from where? Likely before the Shinryu debacle, if he had to guess. He'd thought about just ignoring it. He didn't really know how Zenos could help him with anything. But, his great grandson was a bit of a wild card, and it was probably better to keep an eye on him rather than let him run amok, looking for fights. Oh this world was great for him, but he had an inkling that the boy would leave behind a trail of bodies as he was wont to do. What was the worst he'd do, kill his great grandsire? A waste of time and energy, so he simply followed the boy. Everyone gave him space, of course. Even with their dulled senses, they could sense a predator when they were near. Whether it was fear or politeness, they subconsciously parted so that he would be left to his own devices.
It seemed his guesses were correct. His old armor, combined with the fact that was most definitely Zenos and not Elidibus, made that much clear... at least how Hades saw it. What had happened on the Source whilst he was on the First, and after he'd gotten a new hole in his chest, well, he wasn't omniscient. Regardless, as far as Hades was concerned? This Zenos likely came from before he merged with Shinryu. He just simply didn't see Elidibus giving up that body, spectacular specimen that it was, without a fight, nevermind without a fight from a dead man.
And so, he slipped through the crowd. After all, he did not fear him, who feared family after all~? He wondered if Zenos had picked up on him by now. Ah, well. With a few swift steps (Zenos was taller than his body, with a far better physique, if he had to be honest), he managed to catch up to the lad. "Well, well, I suppose it should have been a matter of time before you arrived." There was that smirk. Would he even be recognized--Of course, he would. Solus zos Galvus in his prime. The portraits had been scattered about the imperial palace, it was probably ingrained into the poor boy.
Hunching over slightly, he shrugged. "Welcome, dear grandson, to what I imagine is likely your paradise."
Much was to be desired in the way of knowledge about this foreign escape, for if there were any prizes to be claimed, any etches to be made upon the annals of his record, they would all be made to wait. Aught was amiss, and it didn’t require the keen senses of a hunter such as he to anticipate that he had for the moment, become the hunted. Or so he thought. Where hapless souls scurried about the marketplace as the vermin they were, a lone presence had seen fit to give chase after the mighty predator, following in the sounds of metallic clad footsteps til they stalked within earshot. The voice was unfamiliar to the Crown Prince when first it spoke, yet it was apparent its owner was all too versed with whomsoever they addressed. Had they mistaken him for another? No. A fool entertaining the notion of elucidating a stranger? Neither. T’was only when he was remarked as this enigma’s grandson, brought unto a paradise of his own desire did Zenos see fit to pause his advance down the weathered street. He considered these choice of words, finding such an analogy paltry for failing to see what worth this Torensten held beyond peddlers and peasants.
”Paradise?”
He couldn’t help but mimic the world aloud, his voice wrought with a tone of amusement. Did this stranger know him so well that they might so easily gleam his ambition then and there? Was his heart and intention so incorporeal that his desires could so readily be gazed upon as though they were but glass? Mayhap a petty attempt to slither one’s way underneath his skin? All this and more did Zenos consider before casting a glance in turn, his peripheral coming to rest upon the visage of a dead man. Or so he would first believe, and yet so too did the countless savages whom had been fooled by the once thief of this very body. T’was a thought very much considered as those cold blue eyes narrowed behind his ghostly helm, as they stared intently upon a face well memorized in both study and memoriam, much to his own chagrin. A man such as Solus zos Galvus had done much to mark the annals of history with his deeds, ever much so they were not easily forgotten, not when one had lived under those doctrines and creed for most of their foreseeable life. This was the face of an emperor that had founded one of the most prominent forces in all their shattered star’s recorded past, seconded only to Allag; a force his father had all but struggled to keep together. Though Zenos was no fool to disregard this wasn’t merely Elidibus wearing yet another quiescent man’s skin. Zenos would turn in full to confront this phantom, this wretched shade that sought to charade as his great-grandfather.
”A place of intermediacy found to hold no reserve in beauty nor bliss. Fitting it is, for a dead man.”
The imposing Garlean would take a pair of steps forward, greaves breaking the silence between his words upon the cobblestone. He met those callous golden eyes with a smirk behind the helm, mind racing with possibilities surrounding the presence of this ghost made corporeal standing before him. Doubtless that Zenos possibly knew what it was, having dismissed the notion that he now presided in the land of the dead, that the man before him was but a mere living, breathing mortal as those whom he stood above in The Source. His fingers caressed the hilt of The Swell delicately, as he momentarily considered in cutting the fiend down. Though if his suspicions about this enigma’s nature were indeed true, it would prove to avail little if he were to simply flee into the Rift as the last craven he sought to challenge. A coward that hid in shadow provided the poorest of sport, even more so than insurgents that shirked behind their walls in Ala Mhigo. To Zenos an Ascian was no different than a savage, playing at games they could scarcely hope to win, merely delaying the inevitable with what time they had left to borrow. It only remained to be seen what entertainment dearest Solus desired by seeking him out.
A low chuckle would be permitted to escape him.
”Are we to embrace, and reminisce? To while away the hours in reverence of our deeds? Come now, Grandfather. You sought me out with purpose, did you not?”
A suggestion to hug and reminisce? Hades couldn't help but let out a small snort at that. Zenos was being a smartass, obviously. Didn't stop Hades from rolling with the suggestion. "Oh, I never really knew you to be one for hugs and affection. But if you're simply wishing to make up for lost time I don't see the harm in it." He just imagined it would be rather awkward, especially with the fact that the boy simply towered over him. Scratch just him, Zenos towered over everyone. He just wasn't as bulky as the armor made him out to be. Not that you could tell, he definitely had the strength for it all; a hulking giant of lean muscle beneath the armor. "You definitely do not have your father's sense of humor." Varis would just sulk and side eye him the entire time.
Still, he couldn't blame the boy for not realizing it right away. "But you're thinking too small." He said as he dramatically motioned to all those around him. "You see the natives here and think that is all to this world." But they were not natives. They were from the same world; perhaps from different reflections, of that he would have to uncover, but they were both foreigners here, extraterrestrials. "You were pulled here, do you think you and I the only ones?" And while he'd been able to obviously confirm such, Zenos had not; might as well give him something to look forward to. "This world is one of both saviors and destroyers from other worlds, my boy. Heroes and villains of their own epics."
Which also brought him to the other issue his great grandson had raised up; what was he planning? Well, there was a sad truth to that one, one that Hades wasn't sure would be believed, so easily. "Now, I hate to dash your expectations, dear grandson. But I have no elaborate scheme in mind. I sought you out to confirm it is you, and keep an eye on you. By all means, hunt to your heart's content. If I need you I will come get you. But I imagine you have a certain someone in mind?" Aw yeah. Varis may have been the lame dad, but Solus was the cool great grandpa, right?
The Crown Prince held his tongue to judge the worth of this phantom’s words, finding the mannerism in which he spoke to differ far from the last paragon he had encountered. Solus spoke more genuinely with the heart of a man than that of an Ascian; a means in which Elidibus was doubtless unaccustomed to. For a being tasked with bringing about so many calamitous events, to return man to whence they originated, the craven was a poor interpreter of the most common tongue. A droll actor upon a stage whose presence Zenos deemed undeserving upon which to stand. Whether this mummer was truly his great grandsire or no, they were well versed in playing the part. Were that so many others dedicated a fraction of such an effort at their duties and ambitions, then perhaps the courts in Garlemald would not be filled with overbearing amounts of incompetence. Men whom could not achieve what they strived for, men like his father, whom Solus deigned to lack a similar sense of humor. That much could be agreed upon, Zenos was certain.
He cast about a glimpse to the tens upon tens to hundreds of meager folk whom gave the pair their due space in the crowd, measuring their worth as naught even as they were regarded as denizens of their star, even other worlds at that. A matter of concern to some, though he was loathe to believe such trite claims. His stride down the street prior had revealed none whom bore any resemblance to races of Hydaelyn of which he was accustomed to seeing. Savages though they were, Eorzeans, and even Garleans would have stuck out as a sore thumb to his keen observations. The disgusting ears of a viera, the flea ridden tail of a miqo’te, or the unrefined stature of mewling piglets deemed lalafell, none of which had been seen upon his brisk walk from the run down shack of an inn. Denizens of other stars perhaps, it was a considerable likelihood. Though many carried a resemblance to those broken in Doma, an insufferable plague was evident in these people as they carried about their day. A contagion that festered within the heart, threatening to consume every part of them. Zenos knew this disease well, recognized as that he was loathe to let spread among savages, lest it spoil his efforts to quell such an undesirable virus.
It was hope.
Reflection or no, Zenos expected The First to hold its differences, yet on such a scale as to hold almost no resemblance at all, it proved most unexpected. Though there were some, like Solus and himself, that had also been pulled here as his great-grandsire would come to mention. He had wondered whether this world was the reflection of which he had come to hear Elidibus speak, yet Solus regarded it as a whole other star. It remained to be seen in time, yet it made little difference were it to provide proper sport to sate his thirst for amusement. Though to have been drawn to another world entirely, it piqued the question as to whom was responsible of such an amazing feat.
A curious bit of information, one that certainly warranted an arch of the brow.
Saviors and harbingers worthy of their own star’s reverence? Galvus couldn’t help but find some intrigue in this statement. Had the once emperor sought out this world in pursuit of such individuals? Was their strength deemed more fitting than his own to suit his elder’s agenda? Zenos returned his gaze from the crowd to regard Solus as he revealed there to be no grand scheme, no ulterior motive behind his presence here than to simply check on his only living heir. How touching this family reunion was being made out to be. The Crown Prince couldn’t help but scoff at the remark, removing his hand from the hilt of The Swell as a gesture of good will, rare though such a thing was. The promise of a new hunting ground had been confirmed, and it would seem he held no desire to stand in Zenos’ way of proving these suspicions true. A wise decision, one that Varis had neglected to consider when resorting to such cowardly weapons as Black Rose.
T’was doubtless that Solus would inquire his aim, despite the desire to resume the hunt all too obvious. Zenos found his focus drawn to that one soul whom he had given many a thought to, that one whom he believed may have shared their fate in being drawn to this star. It would certainly prove a most fortuitous sway in the whims of fate. Though whom was he to question such a thing? Their reunion was to be as inevitable as the rising and fall of the sun, the shimmer of the stars in the night sky that watched them ever on, awaiting the day when they might be granted the chance to gaze upon such a clash worthy of the finest of ballads. Their dance would be witnessed by the heavens, tremble even the most stout and hardy of the gods! The mere notion of it brought a sickening smile to the face behind the helm, one he could scarce hope to contain as he looked to the sky.
”I can but think of one.”
Returning his attention to the matter at hand, Zenos gazed upon his elder with further amusement. There was much that remained to be questioned, though were Solus compelled to check in on his heir again, doubtless he would provide a chance for Zenos to gleam those answers. He was rather forthcoming with information after all, and there was still much about this world and its secrets the Galvus men had yet to harvest from this star. Loathe as he was to trust whom he suspected to be another Ascian, Zenos would not forego such company if it availed in the pursuit of his first friend, his enemy.
”But you spoke of others, those whom may provide my time with proper sport. I would know what names you do, lest my blades be found wanting of a suitable challenge to whet their appetite.”
Oh? He wished to hear about the others instead of the Warrior of Light? A pity, that. Part of him was curious as to whether he came from a reflection of their world that he knew, or if he was from a different time such as that Eillien woman. But, he had no reason to push, and so, would indulge. If nothing else, that gesture of good will from Zenos was worth it. Many would have simply taken it as a sign of comfort, or merely relaxing. From what he knew of his great grandson, such a motion, minor though it was, carried far more meaning. He gave another shrug with a smirk. "Very well, I shall leave out the Warriors of Light that I have encountered." Oh yes, plural. While there were multiple from Alexander's world, multiple reflections still remained.
And so he began. He would leave out Somnus the Founder King. He may have had no grand scheme in play, but that was one he wanted left alone for the moment. He placed his chin between his index finger and thumb, lost in thought for a moment, before deciding to pull from that new journal going about. Perhaps he should make a... donation. See if he couldn't get an ad in that. Maybe sponsor it? He had the money, or, well, he could make it. But no one needed to be the wiser for that. "There has been a report of a silver haired warrior of considerable skill who caused quite the stir in a city called Sonora, when he went against, and triumphed, over the city's law enforcement. Coincidentally, someone matching his description has just been sighted in Torensten, where we are." At least if the murmurs of this city were anything to go by.
Of course, he left out a couple of details. Namely, he wasn't alone. There was another figure, and people in black suits. It was more complicated than he was making it out to be. But one of them, or someone resembling them had been spotted in Torensten, so it was best to just focus on that. But it was something to keep Zenos occupied. "There has also been a mercenary leader named Caius Dragelion; who has garnered quite the reputation for his skills, of which includes dragon slaying. He's been aiming to begin a guild from what I have heard; a good opponent if you would desire numbers." Caius was making waves, and while he had nothing against the poor fellow, especially if Zenos took the bait, well, he needed something to preoccupy his dear great grandson with. You see, he'd cracked the secret there. The key to keeping Zenos out of trouble, was to keep Zenos in trouble, trouble that you at least had some measure of control with.
Noteworthy individuals, some description, and even clues pertaining to their possible locations, indeed his great-grandfather and his resourcefulness were not outdone by a reputation simply inflated in thanks to generations of true believers. He had provided enough that Zenos doubted Elidibus would doubtlessly have been prone to withhold the details of. Fortunate it were that they were family, no? Solus’ greatest weapon was proving to be the silver tongue which may very well have rivaled the sharpness of any blade he possessed. A useful asset in the mind of his heir, whom considered what he now knew of these mentions for what might be harvested from either of them. The strength or skill a man might possess to stand against the authority of an entire city was no small thing to ignore. A criminal on the run perhaps? It remained to be seen, though worth investigation regardless. Though any sensible adventurer in charge of one’s own guild may be found wanting in the protection of the hapless souls of this Torensten. Could a dangerous individual of such renown be left to simply wander their streets as they so pleased? Doubtless it was that such a threat might draw the ire of this dragon slayer. Were they indeed drawn to this world, perhaps they knew as much about it as he, and through such ignorance might the embers of war be stoked to life.
Zenoa had not dismissed the notion of the Warrior of Light, or whomsoever these others that would lay claim to the title. He had long considered how his reunion with his first friend, his enemy, may be ordained, the circumstances that might surround their fated meeting. Were he to simply hunt them down now, root them out for but a meager confrontation that could so easily be achieved, Zenos was certain to find any joy in such a scene. Nay, he desired the beast that had striven to survive, to live, to have given hope to his ephemeral existence. He desired a need to sharpen his claws once more, to find the insatiable hunger in the Warrior’s eyes as they came to meet the whites in his eyes. He had recalled Rhalgr’s Reach and how he was met with only disappointment. Conditions needed to be met, inspiration given, to spur them into action, to swell to life the storm within their blood once more, lest he be found wanting, to be met with foes undeserving. Though to extend his reach once more back into their lives that he might close his grasp around their heart, was to be no small feat. All he needed to form a contingency to see it through had now been provided, he need only walk this path to its glorified end.
”Omit Hydaelyn’s chosen if you must, I would have savage beasts baying for blood. Until they are given proper cause to do so, these hollow hides will not yield what I desire of them.”
Zenos turned his back to Emet-Selch, taking several steps away to further the space between them upon a street that had since thinned in populace given the hour. For as brief though this reunion was, Zenos found himself in partial thanks to what it had provided him. An assured ally as loose as the ties may very well still prove to be, and a direction in which he may start upon this new hunt. Nevertheless it painted a beautiful mosaic in his mind as to what the future was certain to hold. Where home would only leave him wanting of the fight to come, this Torensten and its surrounding lands would all but assure it would come to pass. First he would bring it under heel as other nations in the past, and then he would give these Warriors of Light something to truly fight to survive against. Shinryu’s power be damned compared to what would bloody the soil they now aimlessly traversed. In time their compasses would point to a true north, to their confidant before ere long. How Zenos yearned for that eleventh hour, that moment when that transcendent joy would once more fill his heart.
”When next we meet, mayhap I shall arrive bearing more than questions for you. Farewell, Grandfather.”
With that the heir would leave the once emperor to his devices, and the marketplace, a devilish smile forming in anticipation of the days to come. There was much to set in motion, and Zenos would not idle a moment further; the hunt was on once more.
In crimson did it end, and in crimson would it begin anew.
