Scene Archives

takes a large, gasping breath, getting her laughter under control. “Yes. Yes. Somehow, within the Mask, its consciousness still is there. They’re a memory, but they’re also—we could talk. I was actually hoping to take you to meet it.”

looks rather bemused, though not offended–a smile is playing around the corners of his mouth. “Pardon me for expressing surprise that you had met the shade of a being from literal millennia ago,” he says drily. And then: “Take me to meet them?” He looks rather taken aback at that.

: “Yes,” she says. “There’s … still very much we don’t understanding about Almachadta. About all of the planes. And there are things I don’t understand, about the yeresh and the Lady of Embers and their role in the cycle. I’d like your help figuring it out.”

looks deeply thoughtful, rubbing his chin with two fingers. “An insight into the very beginning of the world…yes, I can see how that would be useful. I have wondered, in recent days, as to why the cycles started, and whether or not that was intended.”

nods. “And Bahamut—that is its name—it knew the carver of the Mask. Apparently, the intent was that they would be the only bearer of the Mask. It was meant to be immortal. But something happened that led to its death.” She pulls the Mask out of its pouch and sets it on the ground between them. “I’ve done this with Luĉja and with Aurelius. All you need to do is touch the Mask when I do, and you should be able to dive with me.”

: “Bahamut…” Wolf rolls the name on his tongue, frowning–it feels like a weighty name, a name he should know but does not. “And they knew the Mask’s creator? A wealth of knowledge there, if so…” He reaches a hand towards the Mask, and hesitates just a bit. “I should be careful. I…experimented a bit, with a variant of some of what I’ve heard you describe, with Silver-Throat. It was, ah, intense. Moreso than I expected…”

blinks. “A variant of … oh. The … linking? That’s … different, I think? The same, but not quite.” She looks at him, considering. “We should talk about that later, but, if I do this right, it shouldn’t be painful, or particularly intense. I promise not to blast 216 cycles of death straight into your brain.”

laughs a little. “Ah, admittedly that had not crossed my mind. More that I might insert more of myself into the process than is good for either of us.” He smiles, projecting warmth a bit. “I do not fear for my safety in your care, sister.”

: “I think if Aurelius managed not to get his fluffy tail tangled in it, you’ll do just fine. And if you do try something, I trust it will lead us to some kind of answer.”

presses her finger to the Mask’s right cheek with a greeting.

lets his fingers hover over the Mask for just a moment–then places two fingertips, index and middle, on the Mask’s forehead, centered between the eyes.

: “Oops,” she says, chagrined. “I didn’t … think it stayed like that.”

looks at the hole, over to Salme, and then back to the hole again. “I see.”

: “Badri did it once before and the hole didn’t persist!”

thought that it would be easier this way the path once opened could stay open for the mask’s bearer to walk to fly to fall until and unless she deemed it otherwise and so: it stayed like that

twitches, just a little, as he perceives that. “Ah.” He looks around the space. “I suppose I should have anticipated that as well.”

: “I don’t think you needed to anticipate anything at all.” She reaches out takes Wolf’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I apologize. Just as the Song probably doesn’t seem strange to me, this is—something I’m very used to. Though the Mask does not often manifest quite so literally.” She frowns at the Mask’s visage, and thinks, ‘thank you, friend, for leaving the way open. That is indeed where we are headed.’

chuckles. “No need to apologize. I am getting quite used to encountering the unusual, at this point.” He walks over to the hole and peers down into it, curiously.“*

is learning perhaps to not conceal itself to understand to observe the bearer’s companions the metal-cousin and the fox-eared boy that makes the mask’s bearer smile and this ember-singer as well. but mostly it is staying out of the way.

inhales slowly and deeply, nostrils flaring a bit at that familiar-yet-not scent. “Hrrrf.”

: “You can also ask anything you’d like to know, brother,” she says, giving his hand a squeeze. “Light knows I ask enough questions myself. Are you ready?”

laughs. “I suspect the vast majority of my questions are reserved for what waits below.” He gives a firm nod. “In we go?”

: “In we go.” And then she jumps.

jumps as well–because he’s going to get pulled in if he doesn’t, and he might as well go of his own free will.

goes very still for a moment–generally the correct instinct when one is being snuffled at by something quite large.

: “…Zosimos?”

can’t not turn at that, eyes searching for the source of that voice. “I am afraid not, friend. Do I have the honor of addressing the first Sword-Saint, the one known as Bahamut?”

: “You came back. And you brought someone with you.” And a nod, then, at Wolf’s question.

: “Yes. I came back. And you remembered,” she beams at it, even if it cannot see her in the darkness. “This is Wolf, World-singer, my chosen brother, a yeresh of Almachadta. I thought you might like to meet him.”

is arrested, utterly, by the sight of Bahamut, eyes going wide, something like mingled shock and awe rippling across his face–he takes in the ruin of bone and ash, yet gets a glimpse of what this being must have looked like in the height of his glory. His eyes well with tears, trembling fingers reaching up in a half-formed move to touch Bahamut’s face before he catches himself. “Goddess bright,” he breathes, voice ragged.

: “He is a (person who carries the fire).” It’s a statement, not a question, and the beast sighs with something that is, at the very least, a distant cousin to relief.

collects himself with a visible effort, though his voice betrays some of the emotion that must still be swirling beneath the yeresh calm. “I am, honored Elder. In our time, we call them yeresh, Ember-Priests. I hold the Fire.” His chin comes up at that, even as his lip quivers–pride at being able to say that to this great and grand beast written in his every line.

: “Was … Zosimos also one who held the fire, Bahamut?”

takes another slow, deep breath of a new-old scent in the forgotten air, its own voice rumbling with emotion. “Zosimos. He who sung me awake, and carved the Mask. He… hrrrrf.” Its head sways back and forth. “He carried the fire.”

: “He who carved the Mask? Was a yeresh?” The naked shock in Wolf’s voice is not something Salme has probably ever heard before.

Heard the shock in Wolf’s voice, but wonders—“what did it mean to you to carry the fire, Bahamut?”

: “He was a (person who carried the fire)- hrrrf.” Bahamut paws at the darkness that yawns below and to all sides of it.

frowns, gently, hand lifting again, but he hesitates, again.

: “(It welcomed my touch, Wolf. I am certain it would welcome yours.)”

addresses Wolf, as if to answer Salme’s question. “There are things which you Know? That the fire revealed to you?” And it catches a curling current, this time, or Wolf’s scent - and, incredibly gently, presses part of its nose against his hand.

makes a soft sound deep in his throat, something like a cough, but wetter, and tears spill down his face as his fingers spread, ever so gently, across fire-seared skin. “I do, Eldest. I see mountains, and…and the sea, and a Tower. I hear the Songs of the worlds, and the stars.”

: “I do not know what they mean, Eldest, but I see them.”

lets out a very slow, very deep, rumble, in lieu of trusting itself to speak.

: “Before he died, he…”

: “He spoke truth into the fire. He taught people how to carry it. He said that there were things that ought to be remembered forever.”

: “What happened, Eldest?” Wolf says his voice a ragged plea. “We don’t understand. We don’t understand why the worlds are this way. Why these cycles recur. What purpose it serves, if any. Why…” His mouth works as he wrestles around a throat that no longer wants to obey him. “Why is it like this?”

had dropped Wolf’s hand, but now reaches out to take it again, to squeeze it. “We apologize, because this is a heavy question to ask. But also we … are trying to understand everything there is to understand. In order for as much as possible to survive, and to live.”

rumbles, again, softly, and presses its enormous snoot against Wolf’s other hand. “He said– he told me about a world ‘before.’ A world that broke. He always sounded like he was sorry. Like he felt responsible for what had happened. But he also—“ -its voice is fond. “He always sounded like he felt responsible for -everything- that happened. I don’t– hrrrf. He, also, asked ‘why’, and he sounded much like you, when he did so. When only I could hear.” And it rubs its nose against Wolf’s hand, again, incredibly gently, in a way that suggests a thing it’d once done to try and cheer Zosimos up, too.

trembles, a vicious shudder that goes through him from head to toe–his fingers threaten to clench and curl, but then he takes a slow, deliberate breath, and his touch gentles. “I am glad he had your comfort, friend.” Softly, so softly. “I swear to you. That which you suffered shall not be in vain. We will redeem the hope you saved for us.”

: “Can you … tell us more about him? What did he look like? What—did he mention anything else about the world that broke? You said, in the beginning, you did not know how to Sing, and Zosimus is the one who taught you. That he sung you awake.” She looks at Wolf for help. “Does … any of this sound familiar to you?”

rumbles, thoughtfully. “I remember… he looked like a human, but… more. Brighter. His eyes were very kind. He was already old, when he sung me awake.” Another soft rumble. “And he told me that- the world he knew had been beautiful, but that the world I knew was, also, beautiful. I know that is not an answer to -any- question, I…”

: “That is an answer,” she says, firmly. “We met. We’ve met at least two men who remembered the world before. And I was trying to figure out if it was either of them. If it could have been. But I think … the Architect did not love the worlds as they exist now nearly so dearly, and the Omniclast,” she shrugs, and then she looks at the darkness around them and adds. “Bahamut, is there a deeper level we could reach? Deeper than even here?”

: “You have done more than enough, great Elder,” Wolf adds, gently. “I am sorry. In our own desperation, we grab at any straw. I do not have…more questions, but…if I may? Do you…do you remember his Song? If you remember, strongly enough, I think…I could hear it. I can Hear more clearly than most.” He smiles, wistfully. “I would like very much to hear it. A song of Eld.”

rumbles, and paws at the darkness, and the rumbling turns into a low hum you can feel in your bones- simple, unadorned, and it’s a melody you’ve heard before, that you’re well familiar with- that you’ve heard arranged to lyrics with your mundane ears, even, in Synthesis’ voice.

cannot help the way immediately everything falls away, and a haunting certainty fills her—though, certainty of what she couldn’t say. She turns to look at Wolf.

picks up the melody–even the baritone thrum of his voice is a good octave higher than Bahamut’s, and it lends a deep warmth to the notes…a melody like wind through the trees, brightly bittersweet and defiant by turns. The first song that he heard, before waking up in the Sanctuary’s silence. He sings it through, once, then lets his voice fade away. “Oh,” he says, faintly.

looks, briefly, overcome, when Wolf’s voice cuts in, but it keeps singing, until it feels like the right moment to stop.

softly, his voice thick with tears: “His song is known, Eldest. His song is still sung.”

: “How,” she begins, a little roughly, and then, more firmly. “Can you tell us how Zosimus died?”

: “I am glad.” And then, to Salme, and gently, and very very softly: “Curled up against my warmth, surrounded by his students and friends. He lived much longer than humans lived. But he was very old, and– he said it was his time to return to the worldsong, having done what he could, and so.” It bows its head. “We sang for him, and carried on his will. He knew that– something was going to happen. The Mask Shrine. It was prepared for me; I knew where to find it. He told me, before he died. That he did not know what would happen, precisely. But that something would, that he had prepared the world for it, as best as he could. And.” It paws at the darkness. “Hrrf.”

looks at Wolf, sidelong, asking him, silently, to stop her if she pushes too far. “And then sometimes happened that killed you, who should not be killable.”

sighs softly, and simply says it. “Was there a hunger? A hunger that needed to be burned to stop?”

does not flinch. But its tail lashes, somewhere, invisible, doing profound violence to the air. “I remember the Canker-Gall. I tore them apart, and I ate them ravenously, and there were still more, and still more. And then they- then there was fire. An awful song, from somewhere, and the Canker-Galls caught flame, and- all Almachadta with them, and I knew that what Zosimos woke me to survive was happening, and—“ ⁂

: “I remember the -sound- I heard inside the Mask Shrine. Like Almachadta was being ripped in half and chewed like a ripe fruit. And then, even in the Shrine, all I remember is the fire.”

: “But I did… I did survive. I lasted long enough to pass the Mask on.” It glances towards Salme, and nods. Not going to make any claims that it didn’t Do Enough, this time.

: “Do you know from whence the fire came? That is what I keep trying to figure out. Wolf carries the fire. I am fire. Almachadta burns, but is the burning the harm, or the only thing that can save what we have?”

growls, low in his throat, jaw set–but he caresses that ashen nose with the back of his hand, ever so gently. “Thank you, Eldest. That is the end of a cycle, then. Hunger, then fire.” Glances back at Salme. “But things will be different this time. We know more than we did. More than we should.”

: “I am not afraid of knowing,” she says firmly, certainly. “Do you know where the fire comes from, Wolf?”

: “No, I do not.” He smiles grimly. “But we may now know how not to need it, at least. If we are correct.”

: “I still want to know, if I can.”

paws at the not-ground. “Fire is fire. It can warm and it can burn. Zosimos said that whenever you eat something, the body burns it.” It hunkers down, a little. “What I want to know is what made the sound I felt reverberating through the soil. I want to know what cracked the world to feast after searing it to satisfaction. And I do not and I cannot know, but I pray that you can.”

shudders, at that description. “A…ripe fruit to be consumed. Oh.” He blinks, the absolute horror of that idea settling in. “Oh, Goddess bright.”

: “And a well-cooked one,” she says, and it’s something of a joke, but there’s no humor in her voice.

’s throat works, and it looks like he’s trying to suppress nausea and horror all at once. “If we were wrong, and the fire isn’t to save the world from corruption…”

: “Then there’s another function that begins the cycle anew. The thing that devours the world. And most ripe fruit has seeds …”

rumbles, presses its snoot against Wolf, again.

: “…which you plant again, to grow new fruit…” His fingers curl in, just a little, against Bahamut. “…oh gods above and below.”

’s voice is a ragged, horrified whisper. “If they’re not unstable, but…being farmed?“

: “Oh.” She sounds ill. “Oh, Light.”

growls at a frequency one feels as distinct pulses.

: “That…that would explain why they all…at the same time…”

: “But what would be eating them? And what …” she shakes her head and grasps on to the only question she can think of. “Bahamut, when you lived, was there always a gap in the pattern of the constellations? An Empty Space in the Sky?”

looks up at Salme sharply. “Did Zosimos speak of…a sun? Was that a truth he gave to the fire?”

rumbles, and then rumbles! “Yes, and yes. Zosimos– when he spoke of the world he knew and the world I knew, he– he often said that he loved and missed the sun, but also that he loved the Centrelight, that they were not the same but that he was… happy to have been able to bask in the light of them both. I was always– curious. What it must have felt like.”

softly, gently: “Bahamut, Elder and Eldest. For the knowledge you have given us, the memories you have endured, the suffering you have felt…may I give you a gift?”

smiles gratefully at Wolf. “Are you going to share the memory of …? And if you are, may I … join you?”

squeezes her hand, nods–and, perhaps surprisingly, does not give her a tone…but a rhythm, felt in the squeeze of his fingers; the slow steady thud of his boot heel in the darkness. Something to Circle to.

matches the rhythm, and closes the circle by touching Bahamut as well, tapping gently on its cheek where the Mask sets. She thinks of the three of them, old roots, deep roots, entwined. Flourishing and burning with love and despair and determination.

tilts its head to the side, curiously. “A gift is not owed, but if a gift is offered, I would not refuse, (fire-carrier).” And it presses in, rumbling low, and harmoniously, and with a surprise that becomes rather more tangible and immediately -felt-.

waits until Salme finds the rhythm and only then adds a tone–a bit of Zosimos’ song, and a bit of his own; a melody of steady warmth and deep determination…a warmth that roots in the Fire he bears, passed from hand to hand, flung at times, into the future from the dark of a broken past…and then reaches in himself for a memory. A memory of that step into the Library…a memory of sunlight, warm and bright and loving, so loving, endlessly loving… It loves us. And wants us to live. And, just as he did with the memory of Almachadta for Caion and the nooplankton, he casts it outwards, up into the darkness, a brilliance in the night.

exhales, very soft but very forcefully- you do not feel it experiencing the warmth, but it’s a very very close thing, and there’s no mistaking the soft exhale of wonder.

holds the memory of sunlight as long as he can, burning as long as he can–but no memory lasts forever, and he finally lets it fade with a huff, sagging against Salme so as to try to not sag against scorched flesh. “Hhfff.” And then he laughs, because it’s so similar to the sound that Bahamut has made in frustration.

chuffs, almost playfully, at Wolf, in delight.

catches Wolf even though she’s a foot shorter than him. She’s small, but strong, and she hugs him. “That was magnificent.”

straightens, albeit with an effort. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” He smiles wearily at Bahamut. “We have found the sun. What that means, we…have no clue. But we know that which we should not. We can do that which we should not be able to do. O, Elder and Eldest. So long as we live and burn. It will be different this time.”

: “And,” she adds, “I too want to know everything. So your spirit lives on in the current Sword-Saint, even today.”

rumbles, pleasantly dangerously. “Good.” The corner of its mouth wrinkles, smile-ishly. “Then burn brightly, my friends. For me and for Zosimos, as well, who cannot.”

nods. “Is there anything else you’d like to do here, Wolf? We can always come back.” She pauses, then reconsiders. “We will come back,” she says firmly.

shakes his head. “I think…I think that I am tired.” And he must be, to admit it so readily. “There has been much learned, and much said.”

rumbles, once more. “It was. Very, very good to meet you.” A pause. “You remind me of him. It was–“ -it rumbles. “It was good to meet you.”

: “You honor me,” Wolf says, and his voice is thick. “And I am honored. To be spoken of in the same breath as one such as he. I carry…” His voice fails for a moment. “I carry his fire. I will. I promise.”

leans in, on impulse, and he presses his forehead to Bahamut, just for a moment, breathing in the scent of ancient ash. And then he leans back against Salme. “Sister. Let’s…let’s go home.”