fetteredcrystals | Post-Origin Waking

It is an odd thing, to feel wettened and cold after death- to feel his face rub against equally cold and damp sand as he lifts his head and stares out across the gently lapping waters.

No crystal hangs in the sky, and the dawn shines so brightly- so clearly- that for several stretched moments, Dion is nearly certain he has passed on after all, that mayhap the afterlife is a paradise.

But no, there is pain that afflicts only the living- and the cursed ones at that. His right arm is weighted stone and barely moves; his chest feels uncomfortably tight. The rest of him does manage to cooperate, and he staggers to his feet. His halberd lies mere yalms away, and he is drawn to the shine of it, the promise of security to have it to hand- and considers briefly an alternative.

He hadn't meant to wake; had every intention to die and achieve a measure of penance through sacrifice.

Dion wanders the shore in the sort of half-attentive haze of a long march: one foot in front of the other and not particularly concerned with aught else. His thoughts are slow and tangled, and he cannot fix upon any of them for long.

It does not occur to him to seek out Phoenix or Ifrit until there is a body in the sand. Then, at once, the world rushes into motion.

Dion drops his halberd and presses a hand to Ifrit's pulse, curses when he realizes he is yet wearing gauntlets and instead drops his ear to the man's broad chest. And yes, there is breath, his airways clear.

He laughs a rasping breath of his own.

"Thank Greagor."

Clive had closed his eyes to die. That he can open them all again is as surprising as the laugh so close to his face, and it jolts him from sleep, or a faint, or whatever incapacitation exhaustion had forced on him. He is aware, instantly, of every inch of his body aching. He is also aware of the man crouched over him, and the weight of him leant on his chest. He struggles to lift his head.

“Greagor?” he repeats, and it’s in that moment he realizes who it is. Dion. Oh, Founder. He lets his head fall back, closing his eyes again. He gropes for Dion’s shoulder with his good hand. What a terrible thing to have –– a good hand. He breathes: “I didn’t see Greagor up there.”

What did he see? His mind spins.

Dion straightens up with a tired grin, relieved over again to see and hear the man awake and aware. His eyes glance further down the shore for a moment, wondering after Phoenix, but he spots naught of him as yet.

"Only a demon," he agrees. "One I pray you were able to dethrone."

It takes a moment for his memories to catch up, wading through the bog in his brain. He takes a hard breath, screwing his eyes closed. Yes.

“He’s gone,” Clive says. “I thought you were too.”

And then, with an alarm constrained by the simple lack of energy left in his body: “And Joshua.”

His shoulder slumps beneath Ifrit's hand. He had not known how badly he'd needed to hear of it; the demon gone, his plots not only in ruin, but ended. No longer would they be subject to such grand schemes and manipulations.

Dion presses a steadying hand to Ifrit's midsection, keen to the distress bleeding through his brother's name. "I've not seen him yet, but I have thought him dead once before. Certainly I should be."

“You fell before Bahamut was wiped from the world,” he murmurs.

He wishes he could feel relief, but Joshua has been ripped from him too many times. He opens his eyes once more and looks up at the stars, still hanging onto the Prince’s shoulder, as if it were a tether to the waking world. Everything hurts, but it doesn’t feel like it matters. He’s grounded, as much by Dion’s hand as anything.

But he needs to get up.

“Can you help me to my feet?”

Edited 2025-07-16 03:53 (UTC)

Wiped.

It's well he has a moment to simply sit in frozen silence. For all the beast had been near-silent after Twinside, he had not been truly lost. And now that he has turned his focus inward, he finds there is nothing- not even aether. It's troubling and he means to ask further, but there are more pressing matters.

Dion breathes through the rising tide of uncertainty and worry, and shifts to stand. "Of course."

After a moment's recollection wherein his right arm resists his will, he offers out his left hand. His knees brace in anticipation of Ifrit's weight.

"As much as I am able."

Clive groans as he sits up, his aching body protesting the inconvenience of having to be alive at all. He’s not sure how either of them manage it one-handed, but they do.

“At least if we go down, we’ll go down together,” he breathes, trying to bear as much of his own weight as he can. “I’m sorry.”

Dion shifts and grunts for the effort. He has borne Terence's weight enough to be familiar- though he'd had two functioning arms then. But they are both of them standing in the end, and Dion flashes a breathless smile. Such exertion should not have ordinarily been enough to wind him, but it has been a rather harrowing day.

"No apologies," he sighs, casting another glance to the sun as it relates to their surroundings. Greagor, but they are leagues from Bennumere and have not even chocobos. "Shall we search for your brother?"

Founder, would it ever be nice to just lay back down, and let his flesh and bones sink into the hard sand until they were one, but Joshua is a north star, a singular reason to persist in this very moment. Even if he drops dead from exhaustion a moment later, it will have been worth this effort.

He nods, just a hasty jerk of his chin.

"Yes," he says. "The sooner we find him, the better. If we can't..." He can't even think of what that'd feel like, but there has to be some semblance of a plan. "We camp. Recover some strength."

They die of exposure. Sounds better than exhaustion, as if the two of them had fought decades just to fall short of expectations.

Dion bends to retrieve his halberd, comforted for the weight of it. The loss of his right arm had been a known inevitability, and thus he had gained reasonable proficiency with his left. With fortune however, they would not run into aught that would press their new disadvantages.

The beach seems clear enough for now. Dion nods ahead.

"It seems unwise to split forces as we are now. Pray lead on, and I shall follow."

Clive takes a step, but he doesn’t veer far from Dion; either of them could collapse from exertion, and he isn’t sure he could do much about it if Dion went first, but it soothes the anxiety thrumming in his chest to think he could. Even turning his head feels like a great feat, let alone putting one foot in front of the other, but he manages, somehow.

“If one of us falls, at least the other can carry on and make it a little further,” he says, barely above a murmur.

The afterlife is a lot less comfortable than what Joshua expected it to be. Every muscle, bone, tendon, and bit of skin that covers his entire body aches in agony as he lies face first in...sand? Yes, that is sand. There is the soft sound of water too, waves to be exact, behind him. Ah. So that is why he feels wet and cold. With a groan and the grit of sand between his teeth, a few sputtered coughs have him pushing himself up on his elbows with just enough force to flip himself over.

The exertion is enough to dizzy him. Joshua squeezes his eyes shut as the weight of his body grounds him slowly back to reality. He is alive - just. On a shore somewhere unbeknownst to him.

But he should be anything but alive. He was dead. He had been bleeding and Clive had held him, hysteric. Joshua had given him more than just his wings then - the Phoenix in full...and that was when everything went dark. Cold. But at some point, he recalls slowly, there had been a flash of all-encompassing warmth before the chill gripped him once more.

Daring to open his eyes he blinks blearily past his limbs to the sky. It's empty. There is no crystal hanging there. The sky is a brilliant blue. The image does not stay clear for long as tears well up and spill over his cheeks. Whatever happens to him now it does not matter - Origin was no more. With a few shuddery, heaving breaths, Joshua lets the cold pull him back down under, his consciousness lost to the sound of the sea.

They must at least look.

Jill knows, were it Clive, he would at least look for survivors. Bodies. The least they can do is make the attempt, even if the sea may have claimed what remains there are. They will hold a memorial for the brave three that took flight to Origin, that defeated Ultima, but Jill can't shake the feeling deep down in her bones that this isn't simply done and over with. How, after all their struggles, could it only end in more death?

Their lives have been cruel. There must be some reward at the end.

They spread out in the area that Gav suggests, two by two, combing stretches of sand while others look in the waters. Jill and Torgal make one such pair, and Jill tries not to lose heart at the sight of the hound's tail low, ears down.

Except he picks up on something, and takes off with a sharp bark. Jill has no choice but to run after him, and soon, she sees why.

"Joshua!" There, on the beach, washed up by the waves. Hope makes her heart want to burst--Torgal is overjoyed, happily bounding up to him, even prone--he's alive. She can see it even before she drops on her knees beside him, reaching for his face.

"Joshua. Open your eyes."

It is the snuffle of wet nose against his hair and ear that has Joshua coming to, Jill's voice distant but recognizable in his surfacing consciousness. At first he says nothing, eyelids fluttering as his brow furrows and his nose scrunches, but soon a groan comes forth, followed by a weak, pitiful little cough. It's a sputtering sound and he feels Torgal's tongue drag over his face, snout nudging him ever gently, encouragingly, in the shoulder.

"F...Founder..." Finally, he speaks, even if his voice sounds hoarse and muffled. His eyes crack open, vision blurry as he tries to take in the sight before him.

"...Jill?"

"Torgal," Jill warns, her own vision blurring as she waves their furry companion back. His excitement is a little too much before Jill can figure out just how much damage they're dealing with.

"It's me," she says, brushing a gloved thumb over one of his round cheeks. Her smile is hesitant, glad but heartbroken--is he the only survivor? But she can't let herself continue down that road of thought. He's here. He's alive, against all odds.

"Are you injured? Can you tell?" She looks down and over his body, eyes searching for anything painfully obvious.

Eventually his vision settles and focuses and there she is in all her glory, smiling sweetly down at him. He does his best to return said smile with one of his own, even though there is clearly pain behind his expression.

"I am admittedly rather sore...although I do not think anything is broken."

Or bleeding. He'd know, after having experienced bleeding out the way he had in Clive's arms.

Sore. Just sore. Jill could almost laugh, and she glances behind her to the horizon and the water and the sky--the sky from which he must have fallen. Fragile as Joshua's health can be, Dominants are made of tougher stuff... but whether that applies to the new world order, Jill can't say. She returns her attention to Joshua.

Her heart is somehow overjoyed and full of despair. Hope, but tentatively. Surely, if Clive were alive, he'd be stumbling down the beach, looking for Joshua.

"I'm so glad to see you," Jill says, and the words are true. "It's all right. You're all right, Joshua."

It's all right. He is all right.

Flames, when was the last time he had been reassured by anyone that he was fine? If anything, he had always been told the opposite. Too frail, too sickly, too unwell to ever be fine...but Jill reassures him he is and he is inclined to agree.

He will take sore over being dead any day. Gladly.

Out comes a laugh, a strained sound that is barely there. "I am blessed to see you." He is beyond glad. This shouldn't even be possible. The fingers at his right side twitch as he makes an attempt to reach for Torgal's fur. "And you as well, boy."

Thanks where thanks is due, after all.

But, as always, his mind turns to his brother. To Clive. If he had somehow survived then surely, surely Clive had as well. There was no way his brother was dead. That was a possibility Joshua would never, could never accept. Not after everything they had fought and suffered for. He had given the world his brother - it would be wrong for the world to not allow him to live in it.

"...Clive?" He knows Jill is expecting the question. It's their nature, after all, to ask after one another. "Is he all right too?"

As Torgal leans his big head down to nudge his face under Joshua's hand, Jill's expression falters. Clive. If any of them would have survived, she thought it would be him. Prince Dion looked ready for an end, a pale ghost haunting the edges of their conversations, yet speaking up loud and clear when it came to the mission that might kill them all. Joshua, frail as he is strong, body so often working against him. From a young age it always felt as if his time with them would be all too brief, but in the end, they seem to all be scrambling for just that: time, and time together. Time that was stolen.

"I don't know," is all she can say, hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "We're looking. Gav, Otto... everyone. We'll find him."

Or what's left of him. She hates to think of it. After all this suffering, for Clive to lose his life... it's unfair. But they all know fairness means little.

"We'll find him," she repeats quietly.

Torgal is warm and his nose is cool and wet. The contrast is comforting to Joshua as he feels the weight of Jill's hand press against his shoulder. Slowly he processes the words she says to him, lips curling downward as the smile he wore fades away.

She doesn't know, but they're looking. Everyone is. He would too, once he could stand. There was no way that he would wash up on this shore alive only for his brother to have passed on.

No. It is a reality that Joshua refuses to accept. Clive would never die before him. It was unnatural and wrong. They would find him.

"Yes...you are right. We will."

There was no other option.

The loss of that smile feels like Origin falling from the sky all over again. Jill wishes she knew what to say, but she can only act as she knows Clive would want: to protect Joshua, no matter what. She has to keep hope alive for him.

"Let's sit you up," she says, because if anything is to happen, it won't be with him on the sand. "Do you think you can manage that with my help, Joshua?"

Joshua alive does threaten to give her hope, genuine hope, that Clive may be, too. But she has to focus on Joshua, alive and whole before her. She has to ignore the emotions in her chest and in her throat. For Clive, she can do this.

"Ah, I do..."

Hope. It is something they both need, something Joshua will fiercely cling to until he is absolutely certain it's to be snuffed out. Clive would be alive. Founder, he was sure of it. Nothing else would be acceptable.

As Jill helps him upright he groans, head suddenly light as he blinks once more to take the shoreline into focus. He is sandy and gritty and somewhat damp from the sea water still. The soreness he feels is beyond discomfort but it still pales in comparison to how it felt having Ultima inside of him.

"Thank you, Jill."

"Don't thank me just yet. I haven't gotten you to your feet," she manages to joke, albeit without a laugh or any sort of mirth that reaches her eyes. Slow and steady. She watches him for any signs of sudden discomfort, injuries discovered in a new position, but he seems decent.

Still, she puts an arm behind him to brace him and give him some support as she allows him time to adjust.

"This would be much easier if you were still smaller than me."

That growth spurt was diabolical.

He can't help but chuckle at her comment, grateful for the way she helps support his weight as he does his best to adjust and, after a moment, brace himself to get to his feet. He's wobbly, like a freshly hatched chocobo chick, and the weight of his body feels monumental...but Jill is there to help him. She is an anchor in the tumultuous sea he'd washed up out of.

She is home where there is none to be had, beyond hope that Rosaria and her people, in some fashion, survived too.

"Forgive me, Jill. I did not know my Father's breeding would result in gracing me with such long legs. Would that I could make myself smaller..."

It doesn't help that it's sand beneath their feet, either. Even wet, it shifts with their weight, but Jill has no problem bearing Joshua's.

"I would put you in my pocket and take you home, then. As it is... we'll manage like this until we can get you to Tarja."

Jill doesn't trust that he's entirely uninjured.

"Ha...what a cozy notion indeed." Joshua would happily take up purchase inside of one of her pockets if it were possible. Alas, he is far too big. He will simply have to walk, one step at a time.

"Ah...I imagine I will receive quite an earful when I see her again. I shall begin to mentally prepare myself for it."

"You'd best prepare to be honest with her about how you feel," she warns, slowly turning them to retrace her footsteps in the sand, as well as Torgal's pawprints. Their furry friend bounds ahead, leading the way.

"One thing at a time."

"I swear to you that I will be honest to Lady Tarja about how well I feel." He means it too. There was no reason to put on a strong face any longer if he needn't do so. He had just survived death, or something akin to it. He would take her nagging with as much grace as he could muster.

"But yes, you are right...one thing at a time." One foot before the other, as the two followed Torgal's lead.

Post-Origin Waking

Clive + Dion

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Jill & Joshua

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