Chapter Text
You limp forward, pain stabbing out at every step, but you can’t stop or you’ll never stand back up again. At least, not as yourself. So you press on, just one step, just one more, and one more. But each one is harder, and the distance doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter. From miles ahead, Emet-Selch sneers.
“And you! Why waste your final moments in futile defiance? Weary wanderer—you’ve no fight left to fight! No life left to live!”
You don’t heed his words—hells, you can barely hear them—just take one more step, and one more. Then agony blossoms, the light threatening around the edges of your vision exploding. You scream as it fountains out of control. You try to draw it back in, to hold it as you’ve done before, but it rages free despite your efforts.
Dimly, you hear him laugh. “You see? The Light will not be denied! Surrender to your fate, and let the transformation take you! Rise up in madness and fury! Devour the vermin infesting the land which is rightfully ours!”
You hear a sound, and glance up to see Thancred charge Emet-Selch.
“Now, Ryne! Now!”
You hear light footsteps run toward you from behind, but then Thancred is cast aside by a blast of power from Emet-Selch. He raises his hand, and your head turns in time to see a lance of dark energy pierce Ryne. She collapses to her knees, hand outstretched toward you.
“Fight it… You have to hold on!”
She collapses to the ground, and as hope dies, the light erupts again. You cough, retch, and collapse to the ground, and the world goes white.
But you aren’t alone in this endless expanse of light. Ardbert is there, standing beside you.
“If you had the strength to take another step, could you do it? Could you save our worlds?”
In this place, beyond pain, despair, and fear, you can manage a smile. “What, all by myself?”
He chuckles, then extends his axe to you. “Take it. We fight as one!”
You shake your head. “Wait. Ardbert… you’ve seen what he’s capable of. You see what terrible strength we’re up against here. We’ve been fighting so long… You’ve seen it too, right? How violence begets more violence. It goes on forever, until someone takes a stand and says no, I won’t hurt you even though you’ve hurt me. Even though you’ve hurt my friends.”
You turn your face up to his, giving him a pleading look. “Will you still support me? If I want to try for peace? Do you trust me?”
The axe drops a few ilms, and he gazes at you steadily. Then he nods, once, decisively. He heaves the axe back over his shoulder and claps you on the back.
“You’re right, I think. I hope. And if you’re wrong, I’ll still be here. Right behind you.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, voice thin with emotion. “Just… you know, stay close. In case I need to fight after all.”
He grins. “Of course. Now,” he bends down and helps you stand, “back at ‘em, hero.”
You smile at him and begin limping toward Emet-Selch once more. His eyes narrow on you.
“How is it that you haven’t succumbed yet? How are you still fighting? There’s no hope. No chance of escaping your fate.”
You give him a pained, sorrowful smile. “You know exactly how I’m managing it.”
This seems to surprise him; his eyes narrow further in study. “If I knew how you did it, I wouldn’t have to ask.”
“You know,” you tell him, still moving forward, step by painful step, “because you do it too. You struggle forward, despite the difficulty, despite the cost, because everyone is depending on you. Because no one else can do it.”
He draws back, face contorting with emotion: startlement, fury, despair. He settles on a sneer, but there is something wary in his eyes, perhaps because you’ve finally managed to get close to him. He doesn’t back away, though, and you find out why a moment later when you run into the invisible shield in front of him. Off guard, off balance, you splay against it for a moment, regaining your footing.
“Let me in,” you gasp, pressing your palms against the barely visible bubble before you.
He raises an eyebrow. “You must think me a special kind of fool.”
You shake your head, trying to articulate. “No. I’m not going to hurt you.”
He laughs at that, a short, sharp sound. “In that state I doubt you could hurt anyone other than yourself. Fine.”
You reel perilously as the barrier disappears under your hands, barely recovering your balance before you fall. He smirks, enjoying your clumsiness, but the wariness returns, just a hint, as you close the distance between you. You totter to a swaying stop before him and take a deep breath, fighting through the pain, trying to find the words.
When they won’t seem to come, you take one more step and wrap your arms around him, drawing him into a hug. He stiffens in your embrace and disappears, reappearing a few feet back. The sudden absence of support sends you crashing down to your hands and knees, and you grunt a curse at the impact.
“You really do think me a fool. Come, now, show me the auracite.”
You shake your head and show him empty hands. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you.” You force a smile. “Did you forget already?” You try to stand back up, but your balance isn’t there, and you flail, trying to regain it.
“Then what was the purpose of that little display?”
“You mean the hug?” You frown up at him, confused. Do Ascians not hug? Maybe they don’t. “It’s what you do when someone you care about is hurting or distressed. To show affection and solidarity.”
The look he gives you makes it clear he’s familiar with the concept. He stalks toward you with deliberate steps.
“Why, hero, I had no idea you felt that way.” The mocking smile on his lips matches his tone.
You stop trying to rise, craning to look up at him. “I’m not stupid,” you say. “I felt something from the moment we met. A connection, though I didn’t really understand it until you told me about your past.”
“And do you really understand it now?”
“Maybe not,” you admit. “Hythlodaeus recognized me—my soul—and said something about the Convocation…” He shakes his head, unimpressed. “In time, with your help, I could come to fully understand.”
“Time is something you don’t have, hero.”
Your hands curl into useless trembling fists on the ground. “I know,” you whisper, tears blurring your vision.
He stops in front of you and you try to stand up again, but the effort of containing the light takes all your strength. After a moment of watching you struggle he sighs and bends down, gathering you into his arms and raising you up. You cling to him, letting your heavy head land on his shoulder.
“We’re the same, you know,” you tell him. “We both bear the hopes, the futures, of our people on our shoulders. Sometimes the burden is crushing. Too much to bear.”
You can’t see his expression, but his arms around you tighten. You pray that means you’re getting through to him.
“But we bear it anyway, because if we set it aside, if we falter or fall, there will be no one to take it up again. All hope, and by extension every fight, every sacrifice, every onze of effort, will have been for nothing. So we press on, driven by desperation, momentum, and hope… until here we are.
“If we fight, it doesn’t matter who wins and who loses—one entire people’s hopes will die.” Your eyes burn hot, and you bury them against his shoulder. “I can’t bear that. I can’t carry the loss of your people as well as the hopes of my own. And I can’t lose. Neither victory nor defeat is acceptable.” You draw back to look him in the face. He looks back, solemn, electrum eyes luminescent in the gloom. “I have to find a third path. Please, help me find a middle road.”
He continues to study you. “You have changed,” he says, and his lips quirk for a second. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible. You always had to forge your own path, to overcome every obstacle. Never willing to compromise, so sure that yours was the only way forward.”
He’s talking like he knows you, and you wonder with a spike of loneliness who you once were to him. Covering it with a smile, you confess, “This compromise thing is actually pretty new to me. I’ve always been good at defeating anyone who tries to bar my path. But… the thought of losing you, of shattering your people’s hopes… I can’t do it. That’s what’s driving me to find another way. I know you didn’t mean it when you suggested cooperation between us, but that doesn’t mean you were wrong. There has to be another way.”
He lets out a dramatic sigh and fixes you with a look of annoyance. “Again I must repeat myself. I have not lied to you. Oh, I may have exaggerated somewhat how likely I found the possibility, but I was entirely sincere.”
You realize that beneath his veneer of aggravation he’s actually hurt by your words. You raise a hand and touch the side of his face in wordless apology, and he sighs again, more softly. “And for a while I thought you really were going to do it. That you’d be able to hold the light without turning. But you aren’t strong enough, complete enough.” His eyes fall to the side, sadness and pain echoing in their depths.
“I’m close, though,” you tell him, and he looks at you again. “I’m so close, I can feel it.” You turn your head to find Ardbert, still at your side like he’d promised to be. He’s staring at Emet-Selch with a sort of bewildered pain and fascination, and you realize he feels the same connection, the same soul-deep draw, that you do. Which makes sense, since you are fragments of the same soul.
“I know,” he says softly, and crushes you closer. “I know. Maybe if you hadn’t come here and delayed my plans, after the Ardor—”
You cut him off. “The Eighth Umbral Calamity would have killed me.”
He draws back, surprise and distress on his face. “It…” He shakes his head. “But you would eventually be reborn. As you are now… with the state your soul is in…” He takes a deep breath. “You should never have come here, hero.”
You laugh. “In case you forgot, it wasn’t exactly by choice.”
“And of course, once you saw the plight of the people here, you couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could you?” He shakes his head. “Maybe there was another way. But it’s too late. You’re too close to the transformation now. There’s no time left to find it.”
“I’ve managed this far,” you point out. Smiling, you add, “And I’ve still got a trick or two up my sleeve. If you could heal Ryne, she can help me hold it longer. Maybe even long enough.”
He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You always were an optimist, weren’t you?” You gaze back at him, dredging up the remains of your hope, your confidence, and he rolls his eyes. “Fine, we’ll see what the girl can do.” He snaps his fingers, and Ryne’s form appears on the ground beside you. He stretches a hand toward her, then she gasps, eyes snapping open, and begins to sit up.
“What… what is…”
Ignoring her question, Emet-Selch says, “See what you can do for our dear hero, would you?”
Ryne’s eyes go wide in disbelief, but she doesn’t have to be told twice. Gaining her feet, she extends her hands toward you. Little by little, the pressure straining at you recedes, fractionally, but even this smallest ease gives you deep relief.
“You know this is just a temporary measure,” Ryne says, voice soft. “Each time I do this it’s less effective than the last. The next time I’ll have to do it sooner, and the time after that, sooner yet. Eventually nothing short of constant containment will hold it in…” She steps back, eyes finding yours. Her face is solemn, mature beyond her years. “And not long after that, nothing will be able to hold it back.”
Your breath catches in dismay as the fledgling hope that she could keep it under control for long enough to find a solution falters and dies. Though the light no longer rages, you still feel heavy, disheartened, weighed down with despair. You turn to face Emet-Selch. He is watching you with a steady, solemn gaze, and you realize he knew, or at least suspected, this would be the case.
You take a few deep breaths, trying to dispel the hard knot in your chest. “I had hoped for more time with you… before the end.”
Your confession seems to pain him, and he crushes you close. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, burying his face in your hair. “I… I wish we could have had more. It’s killed me to use you as a pawn, you know.”
You laugh, wanting to ask why the hells he did it, but you already know. Deciding that forgiveness is the least you can give him, you tighten your arms around him.
“I understand. You told me you were tempered. Your will isn’t fully your own. I’m just glad… if you could have chosen, you might have chosen me.”
He draws in a sharp breath and pulls back to look at you. “We need to speak, now, before you are lost, and,” he glances at Ryne, who is watching the two of you with disbelieving fascination, “privately. Somewhere we won’t be disturbed.” He frowns, then nods. “Surrender yourself to my power. Quickly, now.”
You hesitate, thrown by his sudden change of demeanor and a tiny bit worried by his demand. He sees your reticence and laughs.
“You’ve already fallen in love with your enemy. Could this really be any more foolish than that?”
You flush, realizing he has you dead to rights, and turn to Ryne. “Make sure the others know I left of my own will. And when you see him again, don’t let them attack him. Even if I return as a Lightwarden.” You reach one hand toward her. “There has to be a way other than genocide.”
Ryne looks nervous and suddenly young again, but she nods. “I’ll do my best.”
Not waiting for you to say you’re ready, Emet-Selch has already opened a void. As it draws you in, you remember Ardbert and reach out in blind panic—and then relax as you feel a ghostly touch on your hand. Then nothingness swallows you whole.