The Dawn of the Future

by Jun Eishima

  Contents

  A Savior Lost

  The Beginning of the End

  Choosing Freedom

  The Final Glaive

  CONCEPT ART AND ILLUSTRATIONS

  M.E. 756

  The flurry of footfalls echoing along the cold catwalk came to an abrupt halt. A momentary shudder passed through the runner, who now stood before the sacred stone, bathed in its icy light. His black hair was shaggy, left to grow in any and every direction at will, and his shoulders hung slightly rounded, as if hinting at some wayward nature. His breathing was labored, heavy after his headlong sprint.

  　“Please . . . Help me stop the daemons.” The words seemed wrenched from the boy’s throat, his voice ragged. He reached out to touch the stone, but no sooner were his fingertips upon it than his desperate plea contorted into an astonished cry. The Crystal began to pull him in. His expression was frozen in shock.

  　The boy’s observer drew close from behind, struggling to suppress a smile.

  　“Unharmed by the Light. The Chosen King, indeed.”

  　The young scion was still so lacking. He was little more than a copycat of proper royalty, really. Yet the Crystal did not deny him. It was an irritating reality, further driven home when the boy turned to identify the voice coming from behind him. Oh, how familiar were the contours of that face. His was the very countenance of that ancient false king, never meant for the throne but drawing power from the Crystal nonetheless.

  　“Allow me to regale you with a tale,” the observer said, offering a glimpse of history like scraps tossed to a dog. “In an age long past, an incurable scourge ravaged mankind. A tiny menace that twisted men into monsters, the likes of which you’ve seen.”

  　The boy’s eyes revealed how little he knew of the world. As the story began, a flicker of uncertainty flashed across them. But they quickly narrowed.

  　Good. Let the anger flow. Let it run unchecked. Wrap yourself in rage and gnash your teeth as you learn how powerless you truly are.

  　“In Lucis lived a savior that could cure the afflicted. His body would come to host myriad daemons, that countless lives be spared.”

  　Thank you!

  　Without warning, a long-forgotten voice echoed in the observer’s mind.

  　It was joined by another, this one choked with tears.

  　Oh, thank the gods. I’m my old self again.

  　Then more.

  　Lord Caelum, you have saved me!

  　Without your mercy, milord, I would have surely remained a hideous monster, struck down by the soldiers of our land.

  　It is only because of your kindness that I stand here today!

  　The observer shook his head slightly to dispel the flood. He’d presumed such words had been lost to time.

  　And what of it? he thought. That chapter has long since drawn to its close. Should remnants linger, they are of no value or meaning to me.

  　He smoothly resumed his tale, inner conflict unbetrayed by outward sign. “But a jealous king, one not yet chosen by the Crystal, ostracized and demonized this healer of the people. Making a true monster of him.”

  　And here, the observer could no longer suppress his smile. The corners of his mouth curled up of their own accord, curved daggers that pierced through all the insufferable bitterness and aggravation that had plagued his life.

  　“I gave you my name earlier, but you should know that it was not the name given to me at birth.”

  　All those who knew his true identity had long since departed this world. He was known now as Ardyn Izunia, imperial chancellor of Niflheim.

  　“Ardyn Lucis Caelum is my proper name.”

  　On speaking his own name for the first time in ages, Ardyn was surprised by the potency of the hatred that surged within him. He’d taken it for granted, numbed to its constant, unwavering presence. Yet there it still writhed, that almost-forgotten intensity blacker than darkness itself.

  　Prince Noctis. His lips began to form the boy’s name. He paused, then opted for more familiar address.

  　“Noct.”

  　The boy’s nickname. Uttering it spread a deliciously sinister warmth through him.

  　“Killing you as a mortal will bring me scant satisfaction. Claim the Crystal’s power. Arise as its champion.”

  　This was whom the Crystal had chosen, those fifteen years ago. Here was the young king who, with power of stone in hand, assumed the task of banishing darkness as calamity descended upon the world.

  　“Only once the Crystal and King are no more . . . can I know redemption.”

  　All had been taken from the man they called Adagium. His brother, his own flesh and blood, had snatched away his hopes, his future, and the woman he loved. He’d lost everything, all because of that damn stone and cursed throne.

  　Would that it be gone from this world forevermore. Indeed, he would see it destroyed at his own hands. And along with it, everything else: the gods who forsook men without a thought, the Crystal that aided their divine cause, and the whole damn world smeared black with lies.

  　Ardyn longed only to see it all crumble. This was his sole remaining desire.

  　“Come back soon. I shall keep your friends company until you are ready.”

  　Your friends. Noctis’s face twisted as the words left Ardyn’s mouth, his eyes reflecting every single bit of hatred and anger burning within him. And once again Ardyn was struck by a sense of familiarity. He had never experienced the pleasure of seeing such rage in Somnus, but the resemblance really was quite striking. Though his brother and the boy were mirrored in appearance, their personalities and patterns of behavior were night against day, their expressions a study in unending contrast. Still, the resemblance gave rise to a certain yearning in Ardyn: what a delight it would have been to see that duplicitous usurper’s features contorted in torment just as Noctis’s were now. How Ardyn had longed to watch, gaze ripe with malice, as his brother was erased from the world, powerless against fate.

  　Yet despite their endless disagreements and confrontations, not once had Ardyn seen his brother’s face like this. The only expressions he remembered were those of annoyance, resignation, and disdain.

  　It was odd. Had he merely forgotten the rest? Had his brother’s emotions slipped from his memory with the passage of millennia? Or was there some other explanation?

  　Brother.

  　From deep in his mind, he heard one more voice call out to him.

  Long ago, when the words of the gods resonated in the hearts of men . . . Two thousand years before the reign of the Chosen King . . .

  　“You understand nothing, Brother.”

  　He’d not heard Somnus’s voice for so long. The words his brother spoke seemed unusually cold.

  　“Willfully you disregard the duties of one charged to rule.”

  　No, the chill would have been present for some time already. Anything resembling normal conversation between him and his younger brother had ceased long before then. How many years had it been since he last heard Somnus laugh? Ardyn grimly curled his fingers to count.

  　As children, they had been close. Between the many hours of study and training, they had enjoyed all manner of diversions together. They were particularly fond of chess. Somnus did not care for the game’s prescribed handicap―one piece removed from the elder player’s side for each year in excess of his opponent’s age. He stubbornly insisted that victory meant nothing if not achieved on equal footing, and no matter how many losses he endured, his resolve never wavered. Ardyn had thought highly of his brother for being so intent, at such a young age, to see justice through.

  　And Somnus was always at his brother’s side. No matter where Ardyn went, the younger
boy was close behind. So inseparable were the pair that those who encountered either of them on rare days apart would jest that next they should witness rain falling from a clear sky.

  　But now . . .

  　“No, ‘dear brother.’ You are the one who does not understand.”

  　Propriety be damned. He had to stop Somnus, no matter the means.

  　“Why do you give your men leave to slaughter?” he challenged. “Those they kill are neither beast nor foe. They are our countrymen.”

  　“Countrymen?” Somnus scoffed. “What nonsense is this? They are monsters. Leave them be, and they’ll start a slaughter of their own!”

  　“You’re wrong. They are no monsters. The scourge is but a disease. Perhaps a bit vexing to treat, but a disease nonetheless. Though afflicted with the scourge, they are still men inside.”

  　The Starscourge was indeed peculiar. Over the past few years, it had begun to spread among the populace. No medical art could cure it, nor could any tonic stem its progress. Those who fell ill were thrust into despair, realizing full well the fate that awaited them. Thus, the scourge was greatly feared among the people. Some declared it a curse; others deemed it punishment from the gods.

  　But in truth, it was neither curse nor punishment. It was certainly no retribution from the gods. Of that much Ardyn was certain. It was simply a disease. He knew as much because it could be cured, though not with any herb.

  　“Their assaults on others are born from the anguish of their affliction,” he told his brother. “The souls inside remain free from blame. We must simply purge them of this disease before they reach that state. In doing so, we may save those nearby from harm.”

  　The scourge brought transformation. The body grew black as jet, and the mind was lost to madness, causing the victim to lash out at anything nearby. Those most firmly in the clutches of the Starscourge were pronounced daemons and restrained before they were beyond control. Daemons were kept apart from the community . . . and eventually killed. Ardyn endeavored to treat the afflicted―to return them to their former selves―before that happened.

  　“I see no difference,” Somnus spat.

  　“How is it not different?”

  　“Whether or not a plague is to blame, the fact remains that you alone are able to heal it. Not even the greatest physicians in our land can hope to imitate whatever it is that you do. Isn’t that right, Brother?”

  　It was true. For reasons unknown, the gods had entrusted this healing power to Ardyn alone.

  　“Tell me, what can a single man hope to accomplish?” Somnus asked.

  　“Every life I touch means another soul delivered from the scourge.”

  　“And as you save that one, how many others fall ill?” Somnus seemed to taunt him now. “Five? Ten? Ever will the scourge outpace you, Brother. You labor in vain.”

  　“No, that’s . . . ” Ardyn faltered. That’s not true, he’d wanted to say, but his brother’s words stung as such.

  　“What will you do for the towns you are too late to save?” Somnus continued. “When the land is full of daemons, will you continue to try to treat them one by one? Better to end them now and stay ahead of the scourge before it brings ruin to us all.”

  　“You speak of human lives!”

  　But Somnus smiled in triumph. To him, the argument was already won.

  　Ardyn continued to plead with Somnus, thinking of the men and women he’d seen struggling to hang on to the minds they felt slipping away, terrified by their own disfigured appearances.

  　“They have done nothing wrong!” And they hadn’t. They simply bore the misfortune of some malady that had found its way into their bodies. “How can you strike them down when they are free from trespass?”

  　“Ever the dreamer,” his brother sneered. “Sentimental hopes do not foundations form. To stand strong, a nation must be grounded in reality.”

  　“And so you would take the easy way? The coward’s path?”

  　Somnus’s voice grew as hard as steel. “You try my patience, Brother. Indulge the people if you must, but I cannot allow you to lead them astray. Kin or not, I will not tolerate seeing my name and acts besmirched.”

  　Ardyn did not respond. He could not. There was murder in his brother’s eyes, and for the first time, Ardyn felt his own life might be in danger. A small part of him berated his own ignorance; these notions had clearly been brewing within his brother for some time. How could he have missed it? They were siblings. He should have known the man’s mind and temperament better than any other. Somnus would look to any means to achieve his goals. So had he always done. Whatever he set his mind to, he saw it through to the end, no matter the cost.

  　Ardyn realized he had to flee, had to hide. He could not die just yet. Too many lives remained in the clutches of the scourge. They needed his help. He had to keep on living, regardless of all else, until the scourge ravaged their people no more. It was his calling to see the world cleansed.

  “You look exhausted, my love. Are you all right?”

  　Graceful hands cupped his cheeks, as pleasant as the voice that accompanied them. Their touch was sweeter than the wind that combed through the golden wheat, warmer than the sunlight filtering between the green leaves as Ardyn sat in the shade of a great tree, resting against its trunk.

  　He spoke her name, eyes still closed. “Aera.”

  　He felt his weariness lift. The haze in his mind vanished, like mist dispelled by the morning sun. True, the seeds of worry still lingered; his last conversation with Somnus had ended sourly, and it was possible to imagine that his life might be in danger. But with Aera’s hands upon him, he found the determination to go on. He would hold his head high.

  　“Thank you, my love,” he said. “But you needn’t worry.”

  　It was strange. Every time he was struck with longing to see her, she found her way to him. Ardyn opened his eyes. Her golden hair fluttered in the breeze, the light reflecting in her eyes. They were the color of the sea, the loveliest color he’d known in all his days.

  　“I thought that if I waited here, I might have a chance to see you.”

  　“I felt the same.”

  　Aera smiled. Seeing that smile was enough to fill his chest with warmth. But he thought also of the lives that had fallen to the scourge. Each of them were meant to know love one day. Each were meant to have a special someone who made their heart leap, whether their paths had crossed already or had yet to do so.

  　And what a wonderful feeling it was to stand with the one you loved, to face life together, hand in hand. Everyone should have the chance to know that happiness. It was an irrevocable right of life. That was the purpose of the powers entrusted to the two of them by the gods, her power to hear and his to heal. Together, he and Aera must see that no one lost their chance to know love.

  　“The gods blessed me with a power and a purpose: to cure people of what ails them. I must see their will be done.”

  　Ardyn looked down at his outstretched hands. Aera laid hers upon them.

  　“Your devotion shall not go unnoticed. The gods will doubtless be watching over you.”

  　Somnus had asked what one man could hope to accomplish against the Starscourge. But Ardyn was not alone. Aera was with him, and together they would carry on.

  　“It seems to me,” Aera ventured, “that the cure for your exhaustion is comprised of two things, one of which is rest.”

  　“And the other . . . ?”

  　Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly, and a trace of mischief danced through her eyes.

  　“ . . . is me,” she finished.

  　Ardyn chuckled, then embraced his love.

  　“Oh, Aera,” he said. “Pray be with me always.”

  　At her nod, all his fear was gone. No matter what became of his flesh, he would carry out his calling until the end. No matter what Somnus said, he would not relent. If Somnus thought his words could stay Ardyn, he would be sorely disappoint
ed.

  “Milord! We have yet to locate your brother. However, we continue to scour the area, and―”

  　Somnus waved the man away, interrupting the report. He’d heard enough. Over half a month had passed since his last argument with Ardyn. His brother seemed to have determined that further talk would be fruitless, stealing away to gods knew where.

  　Irritation, resignation, scorn―Somnus bitterly recalled the final expressions he’d seen cross his brother’s face. Ardyn was a man beloved by the people. They would have him as their king, leading their newly founded nation with the favor of the gods. Perhaps Ardyn’s anger and frustration were a sign, reflecting feelings hidden in the hearts of the people.

  　However, despite the hope placed in him, Ardyn was woefully unsuited to rule. He lacked the ability to see the world for what it was. He was too trusting, not just of his fellow men but of the world itself. His eyes were ever fixed upon the good. Admirable, perhaps, but it kept him blind to less desirable truths.

  　Of beauty alone was no man or object sculpted. Kneaded in with the clay were cunning, ugliness, and filth. Was that not why the rule of law was needed? Such dark strains had to be kept in check. Was that not the duty of a king?

  　“That’s precisely it,” he muttered to himself. “The quality most needed in a king is a firm hand. To dote upon the people only ensures that the nation shall be forever weak.”

  　And a nation had to be strong. It had to be secure. For the sake of its subjects, it had to be ready to repel any incursion. A clan of men gathered in one place did not a country make. But a clan was still all they had, and that under constant threat of these cursed daemons. The promise of safety required troops who were prepared to wipe evil from the world. Somnus was the one to raise those troops. To harden, hone, and lead them.

  　“My feckless brother is blind to the truth before his eyes . . . ”

  　Ardyn always talked of another soul delivered, saved by his own two hands. But his method would not suffice to save them all. Only some saved meant many more were not, and in the end, Ardyn’s path served only to put the choices of fate in the hands of man. His was the way of one who had never doubted his own position in the eyes of the gods. A man in whom all others placed trust and saw promise. A man chosen for everything. To Ardyn, the thoughts of those who had not been so blessed were and would always be a mystery. He would never know how it felt to be passed over in favor of another. He would never know how the forlorn gazed upon the chosen.