Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Part 9.7 – The Brink of Chaos

~_*~

The opening battle of the great wars for Jidorik turned out to be a much larger and messier affair than had originally been anticipated, by anyone. In the end, it was still only a footnote to the chaos of Jidorik’s Darkest Days, and what would be known overall as the Goddess War once the true world wars started and Jidorik – East, West, South, and North – were unified under one mighty banner, bathed in blood and consecrated in ashes. For that is what the guardian deity Jidora represented to the native people of the plains, before even the Horde arrived, three thousand years ago – a frozen flame, sparked to life by the tears, blood and ashes blown across the plains by the winds of sacrifice, ushering in a thousand years of light (or darkness).

Most of the East Jidorik Nine, those last remaining Stradivari of the East, were merely keeping the time until the greater forces at work arrived to hopefully save them. They had all played their best hands and lost before the unstoppable might of Bahamut...just...Bahamut. One Esper. That other forces were on the way that might be even more dangerous humbled the somewhat vainer members of the Eastern Stradivari in a much-need moment of clarity as to what the pecking order really was now, in these strange new times of magic and gods.

Unei and Doga were forced to eat crow almost immediately, and back down from the fight along with Zorn and Thorn, who mocked them the whole way, and rightfully so for the outrageously risky games the two Horde tricksters were playing. There is a time and a place for fun and illusions and mind games, Zorn and Thorn knew this quite well, but going face to face with the most powerful dragon and the most powerful undead being ever created was not one of them. Their plans had failed spectacularly, and the twins had made sure to comport themselves with equally spectacular invectives the whole way back to the Castle.

Bouncing and ebullient they may have appeared, but Zorn and Thorn were not having a good time either, trust us. They were the oldest two people on that battlefield, and they knew when to mock and when to shut up, believe it or not. The jesters had seen some things in their eighty-two years of life, which is still relatively young for a dwarf, and had joined the Stradivari on a whim on the recommendation of another dwarven Stradivari who thought it might be a good learning experience for the duo. Who that Stradivari was, and what the twins needed to learn? We’ll save that for later, okay? Right now we have a Day to get through here still, and these two are graciously exiting, stage right on chocobos of their own, well-prepared in advance.

“There’s a time and a place!” Zorn called out as he crossed the horizon under the still rising morning sun, with Unei in tow. “And we’d prefer to still have a face!” Thorn finished, bouncing over the crest of the hill to Derna after his brother, carrying Doga. They aren’t as stupid as they look, folks. Remember that.

Venus rode back to Derna herself with a very confused “Project Highwind” slumped over the back of Elphinstone’s saddle. That last blow to deflect a flare that surely would have turned the entire countryside for miles into a smoking crater had knocked the poor...thing...unconscious and actually cracked the Air Anchor’s harpoon blade, causing a bright green glow to continuously seep out from inside, like a hidden sun threatening to explode.

Later scholars of magic would call that last flare a “Teraflare” level event. You see, due to Bahamut’s wildly variant levels of “Flaredom” entire hierarchies had to be invented by so-called “Flarologists” to rank them and keep some kind of sanity binding the Dragon King’s power levels. If I may, as an amateur flarologist myself, take a moment to explain. Trust me, it will make scaling the seemingly unscalable might of Bahamut much easier going forward.

If you haven’t noticed by now, the basic term used for Bahamut’s energy blasts is the “Flare.” What exactly is a Flare, though? Later magical scholars, especially those of the Harcourt school, would define a Flare as the amount of thermal energy required to defeat a Behemoth. Not a Shardik-sized one, mind you, but the regular elephant-sized beastking with the violet hue we all know, love, and dread the sight of if we have any sense of self-preservation. Specifically, and this was Ole Bull’s personal way of measuring it, a single “Flare unit” was the amount of concentrated magical heat needed to cook a behemoth steak to perfection. The big man swore up and down he never tasted a cut as fine as the ones cooked by a single well-placed Flare. Messed up killers, remember?

Going up from that, Bahamut’s own personal Flare was another thing entirely, and usually went by the lofty title of “Megaflare” when he chose to use it. Remember, this was the most basic Flare Bahamut deigned to name, with anything else lesser being considered a mere burp to him and not worthy of even being called something. Trust me, he has earned the right to that arrogance a thousand times over. One could cook a lot of behemoth steaks with a single one of the Dragon King’s “Flare units.”

What Maduin had been hit by in the skies of Narsille could be classified as a Megaflare, although Bahamut would claim he wasn’t really trying back then, having just gained his powers. No human can survive a Megaflare unprotected, and most Espers would be severely wounded, just as Maduin was, if they tried to take the attack head-on. Such was the insane power of the strongest Esper ever created. The how’s and why’s of Bahamut’s unprecedented power will have to wait until later, of course; there’s a Day ticking here, remember?

In short, the scaling for Bahamut’s Flares went like this, according to the Harcourt taxonomy: Megaflare, Gigaflare, Teraflare, Petaflare, Exaflare, and finally Zetaflare for anything higher than that. Lesser practitioners of the “Flare Arts” also came up with pinpoint accurate Flares for precision destruction, such as Nanoflare and Picoflare, useful in surgeries or bond-breaking spells on the molecular level. That what would be classified as a Teraflare could reduce the entirety of the Ralse Plains region of East Jidorik into a smoking crater should give readers some idea of the true destructive power of Bahamut. Chemosh was not much for kidding around, so when he said Bahamut could destroy the entire planet...he wasn’t kidding.

Now, returning to a more comprehensible plane of existence...just who exactly this strange dragoon slumped on the back of Venus’s chocobo was, only Greffuhle could rightly say, and Venus was going to make sure the little imp explained herself this time. No riddles. It couldn’t possibly be her father, Leon Highwind, could it? Dragonetti would know, she supposed, but of course he was off north in Zozo. She was the only one who could really recognize Haddock under all that modification, except Unei...and she was not saying a word. Could not, in fact.

Unei had called her trump card, Lux, as soon as she had heard that Axelrod, which was Greffuhle’s trump card, had landed unexpectedly on the plains ahead of schedule. The Hypno Crown allowed her to awaken Lucifer from anywhere she chose, as long as she kept the crown on her head and the Slave Crown on his. Seeing as the crown was fused to the demon’s brain, it wasn’t coming off from that end. Unei, however, simply wore the Hypno Crown like a tiara, but with special magical bindings to keep it “connected” even if it fell off physically.

Unfortunately, Lux knew all this as well. You don’t get to be the King of Hell without knowing a fair bit about manipulation and mind games. Lux couldn’t remove the Slave Crown from his brain, but he could simply...remove his brain from his head. This is the king of demons we’re talking about here, and regeneration was something he was quite good at. Simply removing the parts of his brain that had the Slave Crown’s tendrils wrapped around it, without actually removing the Crown or his brain, was perfectly within his powers. The shock of it at first had allowed him to be controlled for a time, but thirty-one years in solitude with the thorns of that crown sticking in his flesh allowed him to come up with a very precise method of removal if and when he was woken up again.

By the time Lux...no, Lucifer...arrived on the battlefield, the crown was dangling in his fingers, bits of long spindly grey flesh hanging from the connective nodes...and a very large, demonic grin on his disgusting, yet beautiful face. Unei fainted dead away at the sight of her failure, and had to be carried away by Doga and the twins. There’s a lesson here folks – don’t dance with the devil, under the pale moonlight or otherwise.

Alus Harvey was the only one still standing there, petrified with fear at what he was seeing. He knew Lucifer the Goblin King was real, although he did not know that the Stradivari had actually captured him thirty-one years ago. He glanced down at his sword, Sarx, and wondered what good such a paltry blade could do against the King of Hell.

“Nothing,” Lucifer hissed, smiling at the foolish boy’s thoughts, writ plain across his face. “One does not defeat absolute darkness with a mere inkblot, child!”

Alus gulped his fear back, and held out the one-handed blade, no larger than a fighting rapier, and lacquered a blood-red. Real darkblades were usually either magically imbued with darkness or blood such that the blade itself truly was black or red, but Sarx was simply an apprentice’s blade, used for training and as such still untainted. The color was a mere affectation to reflect the alignment of the wielder. It was up to Alus to stain it however he chose.

“Wellllll?” Lucifer hissed pleasantly, eager to see which way the boy fell – violence or simply self-corruption? Soon it wouldn’t matter, since Bahamut was screaming in as they stood there, and Violence would be the name of this day...but for now, Lucifer waited to see what the child would do with his final moments.

Alus tried to calm himself and steady his shaking blade hand, but found it impossible. Everyone else had fled at the sight of the foul fiend of a thousand legends. Alus was simply too afraid to move. So he didn’t. He stood there, unwavering.

“Fool! Do something!” Lucifer screeched, knowing there was little time left to get any enjoyment out of this day. Bahamut would not waste time blasting this entire region to dust, Lucifer included. And he planned on living, and making sure the entire world suffered for his disgraceful entrapment.

And still Alus did nothing. He could barely blink, but he knew there was one thing left to do. The thing his father had not. He sheathed his sword. Sarx was not ready for this fight, and neither was he. The slender red-painted blade snicked back into its ornate case on his side, and Alus bowed his head, then sat down to die. No more fighting this day.

And that was all it took. Lucifer howled in frustration at the idiot child who refused to fight, but there was nothing to be done. If the dark knight did not raise his blade, then he was no dark knight. The Sarx had chosen wisely this one. Lucifer cursed the whole rotten human race and fled the battlefield before Bahamut could arrive. He had failed here today as well, just like all the rest. And he was pissed. Sarx would become Soma, and Alus Harvey would become the Paladin his father ought to have been once his taint was cleansed in the fires of Bahamut’s wrath.

Alus did not know any of this, of course. He simply did not want to use that blade for more bloodshed. As soon as he put the blade back in its holster, a bright shining light shot out from the sheathed Sarx, and to Alus’s amazement, he found himself pulling out a glowing white blade of light where the red-dyed sword had been.

“What...?” Alus started, but a voice from the sword silenced him, and caused Lucifer to flee in rage and terror.

“Soma, I am so named. A sword of light born from the flesh of man. Use me wisely, Alus.”

Alus gulped again, unsure what was happening...but it seemed he now possessed the other legendary sword passed down his family line – Soma. He had been told by his father that the holy sword of the Paladins had been lost centuries ago. Sarx was the last, weakest darkblade the Harvey’s possessed, said to be so weak in the dark arts it was in that hazy area between light and dark, a twilight blade. Did that mean...?

“Yes, my Son. This is that blade. The last ray of hope in the darkness. Sarx was waiting for a wielder to tip the precarious balance from twilight to light. Do not forsake the light, for it is very dim now. You are a Warrior of Light, Alus. There are others, but today you are the last one. Come to Cremona when you are ready, and seek Solomon. He will know what to do with you.”

That clear voice, familiar yet strange, snapped Alus out of his fugue. He did the only thing he could as he heard the roaring of the Tyrant Wyrm closing in on their location. He fled east back to Castle Ralse to regroup with Advisor Bardin and then plan their next move. This was an absurd situation to put a child in, after all, and he truly wondered what the gods were thinking placing him here. Yet...he had a new sword and new purpose, and was, after all, still alive. And that’s what counted, he supposed. He wouldn’t thank them for this wretched experience, but he wouldn’t curse them either. Not yet.

.

By the time Venus and Project Highwind had begun their duel, all the other Stradivari were gone. Only Zorn and Thorn stayed behind just long enough to briefly send out one last zinger to the Dragon King, which they later both regretted and savored, as was their odd way. All they want is to be together, but it seems the powers that be refuse to grant them this simple request. The twins aren’t really twins, after all, as anyone could have guessed by now. So cut them a break, will ya? As they would say, “What’s it gonna take?” in perfect, agonized unison, “Together forever, that’s the way of the lay!”

They all knew, even Steiner-Schweitzer, that the powers plaguing their land were no longer things mere mortals could contend with. Some needed more convincing than others, but by the end of that Darkest Day, even the thick-headed Steiner knew he was in far too deep, and was forced to flee the Plains with Amaryllis in tow, much to her relief. Sometimes even the most addle-pated fellows get it right in the end. And sometimes even the most cautious songbirds remember who was their friend.

As for Advisor Bardin, he knew as soon as Bahamut and Axelrod arrived that they were at the limit of what impact they could have on the fighting. So, he did what he always did best from that point, he grabbed the remaining reigns of power and steered the ship towards peace. After the others had left for the frontlines, Bardin stayed behind and led the remaining humans in and around Castle Ralse to safety further east, to the shores of Derna. If the fighting got much worse, even the ports of Derna would be destroyed, but hopefully he could get some of the Eastern populace on ships and out to sea before it got to that point. The East would survive, he swore it.

With the arrival of Venus, he knew the other Stradivari from the South would be arriving shortly, as well as the Espers from the north. Whether that would be enough, Altimus only knew. Delphino, Ole Bull, Servais, Greffuhle, and the entire Cremonan fleet were still barreling down on the battlefield, and Bardin hoped he could maybe catch the Cremonan fleet to help evacuate the citizens. He knew his reputation as the man who always failed on the brink of success, but he would keep trying anyways. He was also the man who always seemed to pull victory from the brink of failure as well, enabling the whole thing to keep going for at least one more round.

“I’m staying,” Alus said firmly as Bardin tugged at him to join the others out the back of the castle. “I have to at least try and fight, right?”

“No, there is nothing you can do now, child,” Bardin said sadly. “Now is the time to sheathe your sword and seek higher ground. I have a bad feeling about the forces gathering on the Plains right now.”

“But...!” Alus fingered his new holy blade, Soma. It was only an apprentice’s light sword, hardly bright at all, really. But a precious gift from his father all the same. He wondered again how to properly honor his family name. Fight or live? Sheathe or swing? Surely even this new blade had a time and place to use it...but Alus professed he did not know when that was. Solomon could hopefully show him the true path to being a Paladin, something he never thought he’d be calling himself!

Bardin saw the boy’s nervousness, and understood all too well. “Don’t worry about such things, Alus. You are too young to be concerning yourself with the burdens of the world. I am sorry I put you into this position, but it seems it was a valuable learning experience, eh?” Bardin’s eyes twinkled, both with the tears of sorrow and of hope. A very interesting boy...

Alus said nothing. It had been a trying experience, that’s for sure. For now, he simply wanted out of this hell and as far away from the fighting as possible. All the remaining Stradivari of the East silently agreed with that sentiment.

Now the true Goddess War would begin in earnest, a war of Gods and Magic, not mere men and their mortal machinations.

~_*~

Chapter Text

Part 9.8 Being Mortal – An Epilogue

~_*~

The opening of the great final battle for Jidorik on the Ralse Plains became especially immortalized in a folk ballad known as “Catch the Dove” in the coming years. Despite the horrific events that played out that day, the ballad is sentimental in its tone, perhaps because Solomon himself had written it and felt that enough pain had been caused. All he ever wants is for his people to be happy, healthy and alive, under him. He had never approved of Project Highwind, as Greffuhle had called the unholy thing that dropped from the sky that day, but he was happy with the end results of the experiment, it would seem. Apparently, Solomon had pulled the basis of the song out of the Babel Archives from some rhyme about a game called “baseball” that no one had ever heard of. First Catch the Bomb, then Catch the Dove were linked to this game of baseball because of the poem, to varying results. Naturally, the sport of Catch the Dove exploded in popularity after the ballad was released and people connected all the dots and finally saw the light.

The Prince of Manse von Muir refused to sing the “silly thing,” as he/she called it, when requested. The dancing jesters Zorn and Thorn loved to recite it at the most appropriate moments, those two lovable idiots. It was a Song most loved, depending on their relationship with themselves or the Dove. Greffuhle especially had strong opinions on its writing, but as always, she kept her true opinions to herself. You know she likes it, though.

The last major players left in East Jidorik that day after the early morning hour invasion of the West came to be known as the “East Jidorik Nine,” and were equally immortalized with the song. Bardin was, of course, very annoyed he had been mentioned, and Steiner and Fleming very offended they’d been cut. Many players of Catch the Dove afterwards actually liked to take names from the Nine as nicknames, it became so well-known.

The Nine were, in no particular order:

Anton Bardin - only known as Baron Wittgenstein during the battle, much to his relief or annoyance, depending on the round. He went back and forth with it for a while, then decided he didn’t much care anymore and left people to their fun. What’s a name anyways? Just a word. Nothing more.

Zorn and Thorn - much to their amusement, telling everyone to let them do what they want with truly vicious taunts. And they were right. As usual. Stereotypes exist for a reason. Remember that. And stereotypes are made to be broken as well, and the twins are aware of that, too. And this is why they laugh and bounce whenever a good one is found.

Unei and Doga - much to their chagrin, after playing their best hands and failing. And then coming around again, and failing again, then coming around with all cards on the table and still wondering to the end. The ballad does not give these two enough credit at times at what they put themselves through to keep the time and not drop the beat through all these extra innings. And kept their patience at the recklessness of those who came after them.

Steiner-Schweitzer and Amaryllis Fleming - much to their discredit. They’ll come back in at the end of course, much to their honor then, but for now, they were still looking on from the tumult to see what these crazy new batch of kids were going to do. Don’t worry, if things get to a certain point, they will step in and finish this silly thing one way or another. Context matters, but names are still important, mere labels they may be. Intent matters as well, and that’s why they’re still around. I’m sure these two will get it right this time.

Alus Harvey - much to his, very real, terror, but he’ll pull through. He always does in the end, after all. Janus is, well you can just decide that for yourself, but he won’t be messing with the poor boy anymore and forcing him to be in places he doesn’t want to be just for giggles. That was beyond cruel and people shouldn’t have gone so far with letting these things screw with his life so much. (it was too much, dude.)

...and, of course, Project Highwind, the less said about it the better. (But you know we still love you too)

The lyrics to that poem I will shortly sing here in their proper time and place, with no fear. For as it is said, death is dead this day.

The lyrics to those other ballads that still float through the archives unheeded... don’t ever sing them. That’s a trap, a logical decoupling device if you will. It traps you and lets all the evil out, leaving just you – the shining ray of hope in the darkness trapped in there, but not without hope.  All one has to do is say, very slowly and clearly without rhyme, “This Song is done now.” That’s it. All these other versions are cursed, so leave God wonderin’ on what that true first one was, maybe it was Casey, eh? Or maybe the cursed words go back and back and back to a very old and simple song about cheese, who knows?

But first, a small note of thank-you. Gratitude, humility and respect are always in order when greater things than yourself are a’showin you their breast...all things Project Highwind lacked, but he had a big heart so he’ll make it back. Thank you for hanging in there this far. Thank you, mom and dad. Thank God. I may be writing this, but I know there are wheels within wheels, pens behind pens, and stories upon stories. Remember them. They lived. I stood upon a multitude of shoulders to even get this far, and I don’t forget them. Most of the time, eh? Mortal's ain't perfect, and we ain't Gods and you ain't perfect and neither is this story, and that’s okay.

I’m just a simple penman, telling a tale of magicality and wonder, beginnings and endings, fantasy and finality. I hope you've enjoyed it so far, because it's about to get a whole lot crazier from here on out, as if I haven't been saying that pretty clearly for a while now.

If you’re reading the physical version of this story, it’s plain to see the how and why of both the song and its deletion and so on and so on. But yes, I’ll get on with it, there’s more to this story than the Song.

With that, the stage is now set for the true War of the Gods in the next Book. And of course the conclusion to the battle for Jidorik, and the final events on the Plains in plain Lufaine, the world language of Gaia just as gil was the currency to pay. Gaians like to keep things short, simple and sweet...even if they do so rarely meet, as Zorn and Thorn would say to that unstoppable, immutable beat.

As within, so without, as Maduin once said. It took a lot of myself to make it this far, and it will take even more to go further. All the way to the end. If there is such a thing.

This I swear, the Light of Hope will never fade, and I will go all the way to the end. And I won’t strike out.

~_*~

"A simple and sweet painting, of lightness and darkness, by the simple brother of a simple penman. Thank you, too, Ryan. I’ll always love you, even if we rarely meet."

Chapter Text

PRELUDE: TERTIUS

"Cid the Third"

The Revelations of St. Zurvan #2: The Second Ragnarok Cometh

~_*~

“I saw a great battle that engulfed the world, flames unquenchable by mortal means, but caused by mortal folly. Brother against brother, sister against sister - all loyalties lost as truths were revealed that were never meant to be known. Every nation and every people warred with each other and with the gods. Balance was lost, and Chaos ruled for a time. Yet the light of Hope was not lost, this I clearly see in the darkness.

I saw the strength of humanity in its most dire hour push back the Chaos. Mankind banded together and went to war with the gods, power beyond imagining being unleashed to achieve the impossible. Both wonders and horrors unfathomable poured out of both sides, and Chaos ruled again for a time. Yet the light of Hope was not lost, this I clearly see in the darkness.

 I saw an ever-living flame that threatened to devour the planet itself, and a great three-headed beast that strode atop it. No man or god could stand before the flames or the beast, until one came who split the Chaos and restored the Balance. A sanctuary the being promised, for all time from the encroaching darkness without and Chaos within. That being’s name was <unintelligible>...”

-From The Revelations of St. Zurvan, 1914 YP.

Once again, the text becomes unreadable beyond this point. Many people tried to bury St. Zurvan’s words as the centuries wore on, for they were terrible portents of times to come, or perhaps terrible reminders of times already past. Whichever the case, his words were meant to be forgotten...and yet here they are, in my hand as I sit in this dusty old library from a bygone era. Am I looking at my future or my past? Truly, only the gods know.

I wonder what my granddad would have thought of all this. He only lived long enough to see the beginning of the great excavation, but it excited him and reinvigorated his tired spirit like nothing else had since the Fall. I feel soon his History of the World will be complete, and his dreams realized. And for that, I am thankful. No one deserves to rest in peace moreso than Cid. I loved you. The world loved you. Even if you didn’t love yourself. You kept trying to find answers when the only one that mattered was right there in you all along. Love. Love is all that matters, in the end.

-Mid Branford Marguez, Chief Scholar overseeing Ancient Castle excavation, 32AF.

~fin~

Love is the most powerful force in the universe.

-END OF BOOK 2: THE GODDESS WAR-