Choosing Freedom

The ocean’s depths are much like the sky. As light passes through water, the playful shimmers trace the same graceful arcs as petals falling through the air. A dance of beauty, but one mingled with a trace of sadness.

　Luna.

　She heard her beloved’s voice calling her name. Whether real or merely an illusion conjured by her overwhelming desire to see him again, she could not tell. He was there, far off in the water, his image wavering and softly distorted by the current, as if revealing him to be no more than a mirage born of longing.

　His lips formed her name once more.

　Luna!

　Shouting her name, brow knit with desperation, he was seemingly on the verge of tears. She had seen him like this once before, on a day twelve years ago, when they’d still been children, when they’d only barely met. His expression and words now were a perfect echo of what they’d been then. His arm, too, was again outstretched, as if he might bridge the great and growing distance between them.

　That was the day when the peace in her home of Tenebrae was suddenly shattered. Soldiers of the Niflheim Empire stormed Fenestala Manor and captured it, and then she was running, being pulled along by the hand. Failure to escape meant death―not for her, but for one much more important than her. Prince Noctis.

　The title of Oracle was not yet hers, but still she understood the duties with which she would be tasked. She was to aid the king of Lucis―the future king. That was her calling, as bestowed upon her by the gods, and she would see it fulfilled even if that meant casting her own life aside.

　They will not be able to escape with me slowing them down. If he does not have to protect me as well, I know for certain His Majesty will be able to bring Noctis to safety.

　She released her grip on King Regis’s hand. She was not afraid. There was only the ache of sadness at knowing she might never see Noctis again. But that was a small price to pay if it meant the prince would live.

　She watched as he was carried off into the distance. Not wanting to forget a single moment, she kept her head held high, eyes trained upon him and ears open. She saw his outstretched arm, reaching for her, and heard his desperate cries. She watched, unmoving, even as the imperial host swarmed around her.

　Now, here in the ocean, she saw the face of the young boy, the same one long burned into the backs of her eyes. And superimposed upon it was the face of the adult.

　The time has come for us to part.

　For some reason, it was harder this time than it had been before. The old grief ached, ready to tear a hole straight through her. Why was it so difficult? She was older now. She’d come of age. Quite some time had passed since her ascension.

　So why did she feel like this? Why did she wish to cry like a small child?

　She bit her lip. Her king’s last memory would not be of tear-stained cheeks. He would remember her happy.

　Gathering together every ounce of willpower she possessed, she put a gentle smile on her lips and silently stretched her arm out toward his. A blue flower was lightly clasped in her hand, one of the sylleblossoms she loved so much.

　I give this flower to you. This is sure to be our final moment.

　When the world falls down around you, and hope is lost, when you find yourself alone, amid a lightless place, look to the distance. Know that I am there, and that I watch over you always.

　Farewell, dear Noctis.

　He flailed in the water. Their outstretched hands drifted apart. It was so like that other day, all those years ago, and yet this time they drew apart slowly, almost gently. She felt grateful to the sea, for there, immersed in its water, her tears could not be seen.

　And with that same gentle momentum, she continued to sink, deeper and deeper, to a place that would never know the rays of the sun.

　I can cry now, she told herself, for no matter how loudly I wail, I needn’t worry that Noctis might hear.

　A kind voice interrupted her thoughts. “Let not sorrow overwhelm.”

　She knew the voice well, for it had been at her side since she was very young.

　“Sleep now, just for a little while,” Gentiana continued.

　Gentle fingertips softly lowered her eyelids, as they’d done so many times in the past. Somehow, Gentiana always knew. It had been a mysterious constant of her childhood: whenever Luna woke late at night, troubled by frightening dreams, the Messenger was there. Mother and Ravus would be sound asleep, but Gentiana would be at her bedside, coaxing her back into slumber.

　She still ached with grief, but the loneliness and worry lifted as though they’d never been there. Tranquility bathed her mind under Gentiana’s soothing hands, and she allowed herself to be carried away by sleep.

　It was a mysterious sleep, not unlike a shallow afternoon repose. She hung in the space between dream and consciousness, and everything radiated warmth. Thought no longer held shape. Time was forgotten. There was nothing left but the tender, nebulous hands of warmth gently cupped around her.

　How much time passed like that?

　Suddenly, she felt her body rising. It was not a comforting sensation. Instead, it was a stark, jolting difference from the hazy warmth of before. Slightly disorienting, like being woken up. No. She was waking. She felt a distinct weight against her eyelids and forced them open. A wave of prickling sensations and then pain came rolling in. Her mouth opened, hungry for air, only to find foul-tasting liquid. She realized she was underwater and flailed her arms about, grateful to find firm ground below and the surface not far away. She sat up, freeing herself from the water’s embrace, and coughed repeatedly.

　The shallows in which she found herself would have been difficult to describe as clean by any measure. Her eyes stung, streaming tears as she blinked the water’s dirty residue away.

　“Where am I?” she asked aloud, half to prove to herself this was not another dream. One hand came to her throat as she spoke. The clear vibration of the words brought further proof. This was reality, true and certain.

　Finally, when her eyes were clear, she looked about. The world was dim and her surroundings hard to discern. The air was cloyingly humid, and she heard the sound of something else―something not liquid―spilling to the ground at intervals.

　“Is that sand?”

　If not sand, it was certainly of similar quality. Fine grains of something rained down from above. Her eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dimness, and she looked about. There was a hewn ceiling but no windows, as far as she could tell. Not far away, she could see the edge of the shallow body of water she was now sitting in.

　Where in the world was she? It was not a building, but neither did she feel herself to be in some purely natural cavern. She couldn’t say for certain because of the darkness, but some aspects seemed familiar. The thick odor, somewhere between moss and mold, and the way the chill hung in the air brought memories of long ago. A place she’d once visited had been like this. It, too, had been dim, but not so oppressive. Perhaps given the light of several braziers, the similarity would become more apparent. What had that underground tomb been called?

　“Reciele.” Just as the name came to her lips, another memory flashed to mind. She saw the chancellor of Niflheim, Ardyn Izunia, eyes full of anger and hatred, and in his hand, a dagger.

　“I’m . . . alive?”

　It seemed impossible. She remembered the indescribable pain as the dagger was driven into her side. She remembered the blood gushing from the wound and the fear as her consciousness slipped away.

　A hand unconsciously moved to her flank, where the blade would have entered. At the site of the wound, she found an unnatural concavity of skin pulled tight, surrounded by a raised ridge of scar tissue. So her memory of being stabbed by Ardyn was truth. How, then, was she here, alive and well?

　An involuntary shudder coursed through her body, not prompted by such macabre thoughts, but rather by simple cold. Her arms trembled, goose bumps forming across her skin. When she attempted to rub warmth into them, she realized her clothes were soaked. She looked down. This was the dress she’d worn the day she was stabbed. It clung to her skin, torn in several places, stained and ruined.

　How could this be? She was supposed to be dead, but here she was, somehow transported to some mysterious underground space. It was all too much to fathom.

　“It’s freezing,” she said to herself. Her voice was small and wavering. Her teeth chattered. Pushing all her questions aside for later, she stood. She’d need to get out of here before she could do anything else.

　The world spun. She let out a small gasp, then found herself collapsed back on the ground, her left shoulder having taken the brunt of the fall. Standing hadn’t been as easy as she’d thought. In fact, it was almost as if she’d forgotten how to walk at all. She rubbed her shoulder and tried once more, slowly and carefully.

　With a hand on one wall, she shuffled forward. She could feel a draft, and the direction in which the air flowed. If she followed that, she’d find her way outside.

　After a few steps, strength seemed to return to her legs. As she walked, the heels of her boots clacked against the flagstones, and the sound continued to echo across the stone surfaces of the rooms and corridors. A little farther, and she felt certain she’d find a long stone stairway leading to the surface. Either that or a short slope leading upward to a higher level. All the tombs were built like this. They had to be, to accomodate the ceremonies when the dead were carried down to their final resting place. As Oracle, she’d visited a number of such places in order to perform the rites.

　Although the layout was not unfamiliar, this time there was no one leading the way with light in hand. Doubt formed in her mind; suddenly, it seemed unlikely that her outward journey would be straightforward. She might wander here, lost in the darkness, for some time.

　A sudden rustling noise reached her ears, along with a sensation of something like dry leaves underfoot. The clear, unsettling sound interrupted the steady clack of her heels and forced her to a halt. She stooped and groped at the ground, discovering the object at her feet to be an old, crumpled newspaper. Next to it was a small bundle, like withered branches. A bouquet, most likely, brought as an offering to the dead who rested here. The newspaper must have been wrapped around the flowers.

　Lunafreya felt a flush of anger at the irresponsible soul who had left an offering on the floor rather than seeing it properly to the intended grave. She took the erstwhile bouquet and situated it properly on the stone coffin near where she stood, though not without some guilt. A gift of dry, withered stems seemed ill consolation for a departed soul.

　She began neatly folding the newspaper, intending to dispose of it once she reached the outside. It wouldn’t do to leave rubbish behind in a tomb. When her eyes fell on a small photograph on one page, though, her hands paused.

　“ . . . Noctis?” she gasped. Despite the photo’s size, there was no mistaking his face. But in the darkness of the tomb, she couldn’t hope to make out the words of the article. All she caught when she strained her eyes to read were scattered phrases: “third year since the disappearance of” and “king of Lucis.” When she looked to find the date at the top of the page, she realized it had been torn away.

　“Noctis? Missing?” she whispered. “That cannot be.” She tried to calm herself. She hadn’t read the article properly yet. Perhaps it was not Noctis who had disappeared.

　“Three years ago, His Majesty King Regis would have been alive and well,” she reassured herself. “If the article was about the king, then . . . ”

　But how could she be sure Regis was king at the time the article was printed? Three years ago from when? From today? When was today? How much time had passed?

　Another chill ran down her spine. Something vile was trying to crawl its way up her leg. She wanted to leave this place at once. She wanted desperately to be outside. She had to hurry.

　When she turned to continue on her way, she felt a tremor at her back. From over her shoulder, she saw a burst of debris rain down from the ceiling. Then another, and another. Each time, the quantity seemed to increase, a steady mix of gravel, dirt, and who knew what else. Something up above was trying to break through the ceiling. What that something was, she had not the faintest clue.

　Then the intruder was seeping in: some black, wispy thing that floated in the air, reminiscent of a worn and dirtied rag, and yet far more massive. As it broke through, it unfurled itself to fill the narrow passage, blocking her view of the newly formed hole, as well as the way from whence she’d come. A knot formed in Lunafreya’s stomach. Her fears were soon confirmed. From the eerie dark mass stretched a huge pair of hands―if they could truly be called hands at all. Pale, bluish-white bone curved in great arcs, forming scythe-like claws. The havoc those claws could wreak was obvious at merely a glance.

　If there was a god of death in the world, this was undoubtedly the form it would take. But in truth, she knew it for neither reaper or beast: it was a daemon. Some type she’d not encountered before, but a daemon nonetheless. She could faintly make out the telltale black miasma exuded from its billowing figure.

　Even when she’d ascertained as much, her body somehow failed to react. She had to run. If she did not, the creature would prove reaper enough. She knew this, but her legs only trembled, failing to afford her even one step to safety. She stood transfixed by the daemon’s two glowing eyes, like holes gouged out of darkness. As her body shook, she felt a scream rise within her chest. It tore from her throat, and then Lunafreya’s curse of stasis was gone. She turned and ran, thinking of nothing but running as fast as she could.

　Up the incline of the tunnel, through the dark corridors, running, running, without a spare moment even to look back at her pursuer. If she slowed even slightly, she would be overtaken, and once she was in the grasp of those curved claws, it would all be over.

　Up. The only answer was up. Get to the surface, and if her luck was any good, it would be daytime and the daemon would be unable to follow. She still knew not whether the tomb was one she’d visited in the past, but it didn’t matter. The layout would be similar. There would be sloped tunnels, stairways, and small rooms cut into the stone, with crossroads running between them.

　A daemon so large would not be able to squeeze through the crossroads. It might not even be able to push its way through one of the narrow stairways. As long as she stayed away from open spaces, she might have a chance. She might distance herself from the pursuer while still in the tomb.

　Finally, she spotted a narrow corridor, just wide enough for a single human to pass through. She darted in, then dared to spare a second to flick a glance over one shoulder. Just as she’d hoped, the massive black form hung unmoving at the mouth of the passage, a curtain blocking her view of anything beyond. It must be stuck, she thought. It cannot pursue any farther.

　She breathed a sigh, certain for a moment that she was safe. But her relief was premature. A roar shook the corridor. Bits of rock showered down from overhead. Lunafreya’s blood froze. This was the same monster that had ripped its way through a ceiling of stone. What desperation had allowed her to imagine a corridor any manner of refuge? The daemon seemed perfectly content to break the walls apart to reach her. If not shredded by its claws, she’d be buried under the rubble. Either way meant death.

　She continued to run, hell-bent on escape. The corridor sloped upward. Beyond that, she neither knew nor cared about the tomb’s layout any longer. As long as she was moving up―as long as she was getting closer to the surface―nothing else mattered.

　Dull thuds echoed from behind her. No corridor or wall was going to stop the monster. She had to get outside.

　The ground at her feet shook violently. She tumbled but felt no pain. There was no time. Any pause invited death. The daemon’s thrashing brought still more stones loose. Jagged shards fell from above and the stairs began to crumble beneath her feet, but she pressed on, scrambling along somewhere between a run and a crawl.

　Then the oppressive smell of stone and dirt was gone. A chill wind brushed across her skin. Outside. She’d made it. No sooner did her mind register the fact than another tremor, accompanied by the deafening thunder of falling stone, sent her facedown to the ground.

　The roar subsided, and Lunafreya nervously glanced back. The stairway into the earth was gone. The entire tunnel leading down into the tomb must have collapsed from the intensity of the daemon’s rampage. Nothing remained to suggest she’d just emerged from an underground complex or that one had ever existed in this place at all.

　No. That wasn’t quite true. This place was, without a doubt, a gravesite. A short distance away rested a water basin made of stone, and next to that grew a large, old tree and a plot of small flowers. This was a spot to rest for those who came bearing offerings to place upon the graves of those they’d lost.

　Half of the tree’s branches were gone. They had been wrenched off and broken, and now they lay scattered among the roots as if telling the tale of some huge, rampaging beast that had passed by this place. Lunafreya picked up one of the fallen branches that appeared longer and sturdier than the others. She grasped it tightly in her hand. It was not much more than a stick, but its length rivaled her own height, and it would serve as a makeshift weapon for the time being. It was far better than walking through a nighttime gravesite unarmed.

　She began to walk, intending to hurry toward some safer location, when she realized she was missing one boot. It must have been lost during her panicked flight from the tomb. Just one of a pair would hardly serve swift progress, so the only option seemed to be to abandon it and proceed barefoot. She would just have to find replacements somewhere along the way, preferably before some sharp stone or fragment of glass found its way into her soles. Perhaps by morning she’d have made it to some place well inhabited enough to offer shops.

　The last thought prompted her to cast a casual glance upward. That was when the realization hit. Something was off. She slowly turned around, sweeping her gaze across the sky, straining her eyes against the blackness.

　“Is it not night?” she wondered aloud.

　The dimness overhead suggested otherwise. It was not the dark brought on by dusk. There were no stars. There was no moon. But neither was it the black of a moonless night. The entire world was bathed in a gloomy, unnatural gray. When she looked harder, she saw flecks swirling through the darkened sky. It was unnerving. They were far too similar to another black mist she knew: the particles of miasma that emanated from daemonic bodies.

　A shudder passed through her as she whispered, “What is going on?”

　In one direction, she saw an endless expanse of ice. In another, a vast, empty desert. Farther afield was a forest of familiar profile. If those were the woods of her homeland of Tenebrae, then she had to be somewhere along the border of Succarpe and Eusciello.

　How odd. There was no trace of anyone else. The strip of land sandwiched between desert and tundra was not suited for planting, but she’d long heard it functioned as a transit artery. She stood along a major throughway. Trucks and other vehicles should have been passing by day and night, and yet there was nothing but silence. Not even an imperial dropship overhead.

　Third year since the disappearance of . . . The newspaper’s words rose in her mind.

　She’d expended her life to form the covenants with the gods, and to see the Ring of the Lucii to its rightful heir. Everything she’d done was for the sake of the True King and to ensure the future of their star. So what did this gray sky mean? In the span between the events in Altissia and now, what could have happened to their world?

　A roar shook the dim surroundings. She turned to find dust billowing from the remnants of the tomb―a tomb she’d thought crumbled and closed forevermore. Clumps of dirt and debris flew through the air, and then it was back: grim death unfurled itself once more, tattered rags fluttering wide overhead.

　It was unthinkable. The collapse of the underground tomb should have surely been enough to see the daemon trapped and destroyed. With the entrance gone, she had breathed a sigh of relief, certain that the immediate threat was past. Now that relief went spiraling away like debris from the tomb. The daemon had emerged. Its hunt was not over.

　With precious moments already lost to thought, Lunafreya spun away, clods of dirt spraying from beneath her feet as massive claws swung behind her. It was a close call―the arc of the claws had passed no more than a hairbreadth from her back. Luck and naught else had kept her from being ripped to shreds. She might not be so fortunate the next time.

　Suddenly, she was glad to be barefoot, able to run much faster over the soil than she’d have ever managed in the high heels she had worn the day she’d been stabbed. She sprinted with all her might. The daemon caught the top of one shoulder, nearly pulling her to the ground, but her luck held and she was somehow able to shake free. The blow sent her tumbling, but she sprang back up and continued to run. If she could make it to one of the main roads . . . She prayed for there to be at least one passing truck. It didn’t matter where it was headed. If she could hitch a ride, she’d be safe, away from this awful place.

　She thought she heard the faint rumbling of an engine. The road had to be near. The muscles in her legs screamed in protest, but she carried on, unheeding.

　And then the ground was gone. Her feet found no purchase, and her body plummeted through empty air. Whether she’d gone straight over some ridge or met some sloping path, she did not know, but the world spun. Her body rolled and finally thudded to a halt. The sound of the engine drew closer. It was her third stroke of luck in an otherwise unfortunate day. She had found her road and was now sprawled across it. She heard the screech of brakes and saw a motorcycle come to a halt mere inches from her nose. To one side of the wheel in her face, she spotted an attached sidecar.

　Lunafreya scrambled to her feet and threw herself into the unoccupied sidecar. The daemon was still in pursuit. There wasn’t time to ask permission.

　“What are you doing?!” the driver demanded.

　Lunafreya couldn’t make out any features beneath helmet and goggles, but the driver’s voice was clearly that of a young woman. Her garb seemed to indicate that she was a hunter. Lunafreya tried to respond, but her breaths came too heavy for clear words.

　“I’m . . . I’m sorry, but . . . ”

　The driver audibly clicked her tongue. Lunafreya simply huddled deeper into the seat. Then the motorcycle and sidecar were in motion.

　The daemon’s claws were not far behind.

　“Damn it!” the driver cursed. “I can’t get this thing to go any faster with all the extra weight!”

　“Right. Extra weight. What should I dump?” Lunafreya said, her hands groping at the items underfoot.

　“Hey! No! I meant―”

　But Lunafreya already had the corner of a cloth bag in hand―a particularly large one crammed in the floor of the sidecar. She tugged it free and threw it in the face of the pursuing daemon, knowing it was in vain, but desperate for any means to slow the monster down by even the tiniest bit.

　The bag’s contents spilled out over the roadway. Canned food. Hardly something to deem extra weight, she thought.

　“I was talking about you!” the driver shouted over the roar of the engine. “You’re the extra weight!”

　“Oh no,” Lunafreya muttered. “I’m sorry.”

　The imposed ride brought guilt enough. Now she’d managed to cause her unwilling companion further trouble. That her actions were taken in haste was no excuse. The vehicle had a new load to bear, and the traveler was now without rations on which she’d doubtless been counting. Lunafreya tightly gripped the long tree branch from the gravesite. She would not be any more of a burden. She’d made it this far on her own―more or less. In truth, she had no confidence in her odds. She’d been no match for the pursuing daemon either in or out of the tomb. But there was no other choice now. She’d have to face it.

　Lunafreya grabbed the lip of the sidecar, intending to hop out. But a hand pulled her back in, and she dropped ungracefully onto the seat once more.

　“Enough!”

　Enough with the dramatics, the driver seemed to mean. Lunafreya had been accepted along for the ride.

　“Just hang on tight and keep your mouth shut. It’s gonna be bumpy, and I don’t want you biting your tongue.”

　The engine revved higher, and Lunafreya was pressed back into her seat by the force of acceleration. The wind whipped against her, her hair streaming behind her like a veil. For a moment, it seemed like this burst of speed might see them to safety. But that hope was soon shattered.

　Lunafreya sensed the bluish-white hands reaching from behind. Then, before her mind could even process the attack, she was being lifted from the sidecar and slammed against the roadway. They’d hardly made it any distance down the road.

　Her left half felt heavy, numb. She gritted her teeth against the pain and rose to her feet. The motorcycle had already skidded to a stop, its rider hopping out, a shotgun in hand. From the way the younger woman held herself, it was clear she was no stranger to battle.

　“Get back. I’ll deal with this,” commanded the rider.

　Lunafreya shook her head in protest. This stranger was helping her when she could have kept going. If she hadn’t stopped, she might have gotten away safely. Lunafreya owed it to her to help fight.

　“What, you gonna give me a hand, then?”

　Lunafreya nodded. “Yes. I can fight.”

　Inside, her confidence hardly measured up to her words. Would she truly be able to help against a daemon so ferocious? Still, she felt that she had to fight. The stranger might know how to hold her own, but she’d not yet witnessed the strength and terror of this daemon as Lunafreya had. This was not an opponent that could be taken down alone, without the aid of comrades.

　To Lunafreya’s relief, the branch from the gravesite had rolled to a stop at her feet. Picking it up and hanging on to it had seemed somewhat silly at the time; now she thanked her past self from the bottom of her heart. But when she bent to retrieve it, the stranger gave a snort of disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.

　“You’re gonna fight using that?” the stranger continued. “Is your head on straight? Look, just don’t get in my way, all right?”

　Lunafreya recalled her lessons. Years ago, as part of her training as Oracle, she’d learned how to fight with a polearm. She gripped her branch, adopting the proper stance for a spear, readying herself for the coming battle.

　Just do as you were taught, she told herself. Imagine that this branch is the Trident.

　“Here it comes!” the stranger shouted.

　A report from the shotgun drowned out Lunafreya’s response. The massive, writhing black form twisted in the air. Lunafreya jabbed at it with the branch, aiming for the incoming claws. She felt her blow land, then thrust again. Once more, she felt it firmly connect. Her hits were landing. She was helping―or so she thought. Then too many things were happening at once, and when she could again make sense of the world, it was her own body sprawled across the ground rather than the daemon’s.

　She scrambled to her feet, flustered. The shotgun sounded again, from mere steps away. The daemon’s movements were unbelievably swift, and little of the weapon’s shot was finding its mark. Lunafreya leveled her branch and charged once more. If she could grab the daemon’s attention, she might provide her ally with an opening. Even a single moment might be enough.

　A shock ran up both her arms and she let out a short cry of surprise. The branch, which should have been firmly in her grip, was spiraling away through the air, and the daemon’s claws were swiping in.

　“No!” she cried out loud. And in her mind, I don’t want to die! I refuse to. Not here. Not without any answers! Not without managing to help!

　Lunafreya flung both arms forward. She knew it was a futile gesture. This wasn’t some harmless beast that might be driven away with her bare hands. And yet she stretched forth her arms anyway, filled with all her will and determination not to give in to death.

　She braced for the pain of being shredded apart, vividly recalling the agony she’d experienced before at the threshold of death. She shut her eyes.

　The sensation that arrived was something else entirely.

　“Shouldn’t I be . . . ?” she whispered to herself.

　It was not pain. It was more of a tingling sensation, running from her fingertips up through her arms. When Lunafreya opened her eyes, the daemon was shrinking back, writhing as if in pain of its own.

　“What happened?”

　More reports from the shotgun, and the daemon’s accompanying roars of pain shook the surrounding dimness. It seemed she’d somehow succeeded in stopping the daemon’s movements, but she wasn’t quite sure how. It was all beyond comprehension.

　But she decided to try once more. Whatever it was she’d done, she had some idea of the sensation that had accompanied it, and a vague sense of how to make it happen again. The daemon hung in the air, its motions slowed. She moved in close, fighting back the fear. This was not a time to hesitate. She extended her right hand, mind focused on the tips of her fingers.

　Remember what you felt, she commanded herself, but there was hardly a need. It came again almost automatically. The same puzzling force flowed freely through her arm. There was no need to coax it forth―if anything, it was smothering, overbearing, as if with a will of its own. And now with it came a clear, deep ache, spreading from her chest to the pit of her stomach. Lunafreya held her breath and weathered the pain.

　The gun sounded several more times, and the daemon was writhing on the ground. Its features began to blur.

　We’re defeating it, Lunafreya thought to herself. It’s almost over.

　The sensation in her arms shifted. Before, it was as if something was flowing through them. Now it was a far more disturbing feeling, as if hundreds of tiny insects were crawling about beneath her skin. A guttural noise tried to force its way through her gritted teeth.

　The daemon continued to squirm on the ground. Just a little more, and it would be gone. There was a grating screech, like metal against metal. She’d see this monster dead. She swore it to herself.

　“Hey!” the stranger shouted. “Ease up! You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

　Lunafreya ignored the words of caution and stretched her hands toward the daemon once more. She steeled herself against a growing nausea.

　The stranger yelled, “Above you!”

　Lunafreya looked up. The claws were bearing down. Too close. She wouldn’t be able to avoid them this time. The bluish-white scythes gouged deep into her upper arm. The pain ripped through her, an experience far worse than the crawling in her skin. And then, mere moments after delivering the devastating wound, the daemon dispersed into a spray of black particles. It was defeated.

　The threat finally vanquished, Lunafreya’s tensed muscles relaxed. But her relief was cut short by another wave of crushing pain. She fell to her knees.

　“Are you all right?!” the stranger shouted.

　Lunafreya nodded a lie. No, she was not all right, not in any sense of the words. The agony of her wound consumed her. Bile rose in her throat.

　“Hang on. I’ll find something to stop the bl―”

　The stranger’s words cut short with an audible gasp of surprise. Lunafreya’s own breath caught, too. Blood should have been pooling below her arm, but the flow had already stopped. Instead, the gaping wound emitted a sickly purple glow, along with telltale black flecks. The skin closed over before their very eyes.

　“What the hell just happened?” the stranger demanded, voice suddenly ripe with mistrust.

　Lunafreya could hardly blame the woman. They’d both seen black flecks like that before. The sight of them could only lead to one line of thought: Miasma. Daemons. Suddenly Lunafreya was against the ground, the barrel of a pistol hard against her cheek.

　“What are you? Some kind of monster?”

　After what she’d observed of her own body, Lunafreya found it difficult to argue otherwise. Her silence brought a harsh jab of the gun.

　“I asked you a question. What the hell are you? Answer me!”

　Lunafreya didn’t know what to say. But if she failed to speak at all, her fate was apparent.

　“I’m . . . ”

　She trailed off, unsure how to continue. Her mind was muddled. And then the feel of cold metal was gone, and she heard the thump of a body hitting the hard surface of the road. Lunafreya hurried to right herself.

　“Miss? Are you all right?”

　The stranger had clearly been full of murderous rage. Now she was crumpled on the ground, body limp. Lunafreya put a hand to the woman’s throat and found a stable pulse. She removed the woman’s goggles and saw slight twitches of movement under her eyelids.

　The stranger must have fainted from the hits she’d taken during the fight. Lunafreya loosened the collar of the woman’s jacket, taking care not to jar her body.

　She spread a hand, thinking to ease the stranger’s discomfort with her powers as Oracle, then hesitated. The way she’d brought down the daemon―what was that power? It was bizarre and unsettling. What if it happened again now? Did she still have her powers of healing at all?

　Lunafreya looked down at the palms of her hands. She ran her gaze along her arms. The gouges in her flesh had been deep, but now not even a scar remained. The wounds had healed over so cleanly it was as if they’d never been there at all. She had encountered no curative power like it before. In fact, she hesitated to think of it as curative at all. There had been those awful black particles, clustered over the site of the wound. Could they truly be what she thought they were?

　Lunafreya had no answers. And one mystery still troubled her above all others.

　“Why am I alive?” she wondered to herself again.

　In that darkness that was not night, Lunafreya’s hopes, too, seemed bleak.

The young woman was a walking armory. Lunafreya was half disturbed and half amazed. When she unfastened the stranger’s jacket, intending to check her over for wounds in need of attention, she found an astonishing amount of weaponry. Her eyes involuntarily darted over it all: spare magazines, several knives she could only assume were meant for throwing, grenades hooked to a belt, and numerous cylindrical containers of varied sizes, whose purpose Lunafreya could not begin to fathom. On the woman’s shoulders were several holsters, a gun carefully secured in each.

　Given the stranger’s tone before fainting, confiscating the weapons seemed the reasonable precaution to take. Lunafreya was not anxious to find a gun pressed to her head again. But the quantity of weapons and munitions posed a problem. Even if she were to take them, where would she hide them all?

　In the end, she resigned herself to not tampering with the stranger’s belongings. She might find herself staring down a barrel once more, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

　Eventually, the stranger woke. Her first action was predictable: she quickly distanced herself from Lunafreya and readied one of her many guns.

　“Who the hell are you? What do you want?” she demanded.

　The fact that she hadn’t shot first and asked questions later was promising. She had even asked for Lunafreya’s name. There seemed to be a small glimmer of hope.

　“My name is Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.”

　The stranger continued to glare at her, but Lunafreya noticed a small, uncertain shift in her gaze.

　“That’s . . . That’s the name of the Oracle. The one who’s been dead for ten years.”

　So I did, in fact, die, Lunafreya thought. But aloud, she found herself questioning the claim.

　“A decade ago?” she asked.

　The question reminded her of another pressing uncertainty. She withdrew from her dress the bit of newspaper from earlier, unfolded and smoothed it out, then held it aloft.

　“Please tell me, do you know anything about this?”

　Perhaps the young woman could shed some light on the article’s contents. Gun still leveled, she approached close enough to snatch the paper from Lunafreya’s hands, then stepped back and studied it warily.

　“Weird thing to ask,” she muttered. Then, “Geez. Weird thing to carry around, too. If they’re saying the king’s been gone for three years, this must be, what . . . six or seven years old?”

　“The king is gone?” Lunafreya’s thoughts whirled. Noctis, missing? How? Why?

　The stranger continued, “Yeah. Nobody’s seen a trace of him for a solid decade.”

　Lunafreya felt herself grow dizzy, on the verge of fainting from this new revelation. It seemed impossible. Her last memory was of Altissia. The covenant with Leviathan. She’d been prepared to sacrifice her life that the king might receive the Tidemother’s blessing. Lunafreya had already realized the weakness in her body. She knew the ritual would mean the end for her, even had Ardyn Izunia not come with dagger in hand.

　But death had not mattered. She’d opened the way for the future of their star. The king would dispel the darkness that plagued Eos. The promise would be fulfilled.

　But now . . .

　She looked up. Darkness shrouded the sky. This was not the black of night. It was sinister. Ominous. What had happened to their world?

　The rider’s patience was wearing thin. “Are you really the Oracle?” she demanded. “Or are you some daemon posing as a human? If you’re really who and what you say you are, give me some proof.”

　“I do not know that I have any,” Lunafreya responded.

　She pressed a hand to the scar in her flank. Even over the cloth of her garments, it was easy to feel the raised flesh. There was no pain from the wound, though it seemed so recent in memory. If this wasn’t the scar from her stabbing, what was it?

　“I don’t know anything,” Lunafreya confessed. “Why I’m here, what this power is, or why I’m alive.”

　She cupped her hands and covered her face. Just one answer. That was all she wanted. But she’d received nothing. No one could explain what was going on.

　“Look,” the stranger said, voice suddenly soft. “I just wanna know one thing.”

　Lunafreya looked up at her.

　“Can I trust you?”

　Once again, Lunafreya stared down a barrel of steel. But the stranger’s eyes were no longer those of a killer. The question was sincere.

　“I am afraid I cannot say with certainty,” Lunafreya responded.

　“Why not?”

　“I have no way to prove to you that I am who I say.”

　She did not want to lie. The stranger stared at her, and she felt compelled to stare right back. Lunafreya held her eyes open wide.

　The gun barrel lowered. But instead of relief, Lunafreya felt her knees begin to tremble. She’d been so on edge, she hadn’t even recognized her own fear.

　“Just remember this,” the stranger added. “One wrong move, and you’re dead.”

　Then the gun was back in its holster. A small sigh escaped Lunafreya’s lips.

　“If you want to show me you’re trustworthy, I could use a hand pushing the bike. This looks like more of a repair job than I can handle here on the road.”

　The driver looked back at Lunafreya and added, “This is mostly your fault, y’know.”

　“I’d be happy to,” Lunafreya responded, “Miss, um . . . ”

　She realized she had not yet asked the stranger’s name.

　“Sol,” the stranger answered.

　It was unclear whether that was a surname or given name, or perhaps some manner of nickname, but Lunafreya nodded.

　“C’mon then, Lady Oracle. Let’s get going.”

　She hoped, at the very least, they’d found trust enough for the stranger not to give a false name.

Sol was breathing hard.

　“You’re . . . a lot stronger . . . than I would’ve guessed,” she remarked, flicking a glance at the self-proclaimed Oracle as they pushed the poor, busted three-wheeler down the road.

　“That’s . . . very kind of you . . . to say.”

　The stranger―Lunafreya―was speaking in the same short, concentrated bursts. They were both gasping for air, a clear sign of the effort it was taking to push the vehicle along the road.

　She’s a lot stronger than she looks, Sol thought, feeling a bit perplexed.

　When she’d asked the woman to give her a hand, her expectations weren’t exactly high. Pushing the bike was obviously going to be an effort well beyond her. Not that the woman’s shabby attire was doing her any favors, but from the way she spoke and conducted herself, Sol could tell she’d had a pretty posh upbringing.

　Still, when they righted the motorcycle and its sidecar, and when they began rolling it down the road, Sol quickly realized the woman was pulling her own weight.

　Come to think of it, she’d held her own, more or less, during the fight with the Deathgaze, too. She’d held her little stick as if it were a real polearm, and her movements were those of someone trained to fight.

　Frankly, the woman was suspicious with a capital “s.” Who went around claiming to be the Oracle? And that spell or whatever she’d used against the daemon. And the wound. Now here she was, blithely pushing away like nothing had happened, like a Deathgaze hadn’t just sunk its claws right into her arm. Sol had been staring straight at the wound when it closed up. It was weird. Creepy as hell, she thought.

　On the outside, Sol was doing her best to keep a straight face. “How about . . . a bit . . . of a break?” she asked the woman.

　“Yes, please,” came the response, voice thick with exhaustion. They stopped, each leaning against the bike, then sliding down to sit on the ground. Sol was careful to keep her arm positioned for a quick draw if needed.

　This was the second time they’d stopped to rest. Sol glanced once more at the bike. The Deathgaze had managed to mangle it pretty bad. No amount of roadside tinkering was going to get it moving like this. They needed access to spare parts, as well as the space and time to make the repairs. Pushing it to the nearest temporary outpost was the only choice they had.

　Not that it was a bad choice. It was the right thing to do, and part of what the outposts were set up for in the first place. Aside from functioning as bases from which to conduct reconnaissance and strikes against the daemons, they were dotted throughout the former imperial territories as makeshift shelters for anyone who found themselves in unexpected circumstances.

　She’d told the so-called Oracle that Wael outpost was just a stone’s throw away. In reality, that was mostly to keep the woman from getting any funny ideas. It seemed reasonable enough to think she’d go along with things quietly if she believed Sol’s comrades weren’t too far away.

　When they’d had a minute to catch their breaths, Lunafreya asked, “Might I ask, do you often travel by yourself?”

　“Are you nuts? Of course not. It just worked out that way today.”

　It wasn’t a lie. Traipsing around daemon-infested territory on your own was gambling with your life. The kind of thing only a mad fool would do.

　Yeah, Sol thought. It just worked out that way.

　More precisely, she’d had an unfortunate run-in with a pack of daemons. She’d taken the things on and, in the process, ranged a little farther out than she’d intended. When she realized what had happened, she was pretty far separated from her squad. Naturally, she’d immediately headed toward the rendezvous point. It would have been fine if she hadn’t been sidelined by an Oracle and a Deathgaze along the way.

　Anyway, the important thing now was getting to the nearest outpost. Fixing the bike was the next priority, even if it meant heading in the opposite direction of the rendezvous.

　“It seems strange that there isn’t any other traffic along here,” Lunafreya ventured.

　When they’d had their first break and Sol had stopped the bike right in the middle of the road and sat down, the Oracle had asked, “Shouldn’t we at least push it to the shoulder?” She’d said it with a completely straight face, too. That had been the first clue that maybe she wasn’t full of it, maybe she really had been living under a rock for the past ten years.

　“Didn’t you hear me last time?” Sol responded. “It’s empty out here. Lestallum’s the only town we have left.”

　Sol had explained that because of the daemons, the world was in a state of perpetual night. The corners of the Oracle’s mouth tightened at the news. And when Sol told her how daemons ran wild in Insomnia―that it was more or less a nest for the things―the woman’s face visibly paled. To top it off, Sol mentioned a rumor she’d heard, that the king had been pulled inside the Crystal itself. At that, the Oracle began to tremble, as if she might faint altogether.

　“So,” she continued in the present, as if explaining to a child, “if there aren’t any people, there aren’t any cars.”

　Admittedly, there was some traffic in the areas outside of Lestallum. Trucks still had to haul materials from one location to another, and hunters hit the road for recon missions or to take out particular packs of daemons that needed quelling. But that didn’t amount to a large number of vehicles, and the farther out you went, the fewer there were. The former expanse of the empire wasn’t exactly on the doorstep of modern civilization.

　So the idea of a car cruising down the highway, blaring its horn at a couple of travelers sitting in the middle of the road, was a scene that could have been straight out of a fairy tale.

　Sol turned to look at her companion. “Assuming you’re the real Oracle and everything you’ve said is true, that you did actually die ten years ago and came back to life . . . ”

　Speaking of fairy tales, she thought.

　“ . . . it still doesn’t add up. We’re talking ten whole years. You had to be doing something during that whole time.”

　Lunafreya remained silent, crestfallen. Sol sighed. This was the real world. Not a fairyland.

　“Whatever,” Sol said. “Break time’s over. Let’s get some more effort out of those arms, Lady Oracle.”

　The stranger stood up, looking determined once more. It seemed like her spirit might match her unanticipated physical strength. Clearly, there was more to this woman than met the eye.

　“Not much farther to Wael,” Sol announced.

　This time, it wasn’t a lie.

“Ready . . . steady . . . push!”

　Right around the time they’d developed a nice rhythm and the motorcycle was rolling along at a steady clip, Lunafreya saw a stretch of road ahead lined by several wooden structures. Sol nodded her head toward it. So this was the temporary outpost she’d spoken of, Wael. They’d made it.

　According to Sol, nobody lived out here in the remnants of the Niflheim Empire, but the Hunters and the Kingsglaive were still active. It seemed they came out this way for reconnaissance or to conduct surveys of the land and daemons. Wael was one foothold from which they could carry out those duties.

　When they drew close to the buildings, Lunafreya could see that everything was old and worn―all except the doors and their locks. The outpost seemed to consist solely of repurposed structures. These buildings must have been abandoned residences that the Hunters and others had salvaged for their own needs.

　Lunafreya breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that their long walk was over. Sol had lent her a pair of boots when they began pushing. She was grateful to have them, but the fit wasn’t quite right and the way the leather chafed against her bare skin made it difficult to walk. She’d been determined to do her part in pushing the motorcycle, but in truth, her feet were sore and she was exhausted.

　They parked the motorcycle, and Sol produced a keycard to open the door of one of the buildings. From her confident movements, Lunafreya perceived it wasn’t the first time she’d been to this particular outpost.

　“Hey! Anyone here?” Sol shouted.

　Then after a pause, “Guess not.”

　Sol flicked on the lights and gave a small shrug. None of the windows had been illuminated as they’d rolled in. Apparently, Sol was right. No one else was here.

　From the way Sol had spoken, Lunafreya assumed the young woman’s companions would be waiting for her at the outpost. Perhaps it was simply her way of making Lunafreya feel a bit less forlorn―just like how she’d continually described the distance to Wael as “a stone’s throw away” when for most of the trek it had been anything but.

　“Hello? Cindy?” Sol stood with a small device in hand. “Finally! It’s about time you picked up.”

　The device was thin, flat, and rectangular. It must have been some kind of transceiver. And whoever “Cindy” was, Sol seemed ecstatic to be talking to her.

　In fact, she realized, Sol had been trying to reach this person for some time. Before they’d started pushing the motorcycle, and again during each of their breaks, she had fiddled with the same transceiver, apparently trying to get through to this Cindy. Each time the transmission failed to go through, Sol had made a sour face and muttered, “Why isn’t she picking up?” Then she’d put the transceiver away with a sigh.

　Whatever the case, Lunafreya could guess at a few things: Cindy was versed in whatever knowledge they’d require to get the motorcycle running, and Sol desperately needed Cindy’s help.

　“Yeah. That’s right,” Sol was saying. “Wham. Right down onto the pavement. And now she’s not making a peep. I don’t even know where to start.”

　It seemed her assumptions had been correct. Sol moved back outside to the parked motorcycle, and Lunafreya followed at a slight distance. She’d promised to help. It didn’t feel right to stay behind in the building, resting by herself.

　But it occurred to her that perhaps she ought to hang back a bit longer, so as not to accidentally appear to be listening in on the conversation. Just then, she heard a familiar bark. She turned around to find a black dog bounding toward her, excitedly wagging his tail.

　“Umbra!” Lunafreya exclaimed.

　She hurried over to meet the dog and immediately began running her hands through his warm, soft fur. His poofy tail swished excitedly from side to side. The sight of it made her glad, but it also brought to mind another tail, this one white.

　“If it’s just you, I suppose that means Pryna . . . ”

　The other dog had remained beside Lunafreya until the very end in Altissia. Again and again she’d commanded Pryna to flee, but the dog had stayed stubbornly by Lunafreya’s side. Her absence now surely meant that she’d sunk into the sea alongside her master’s wounded body.

　Lunafreya looked at Umbra. “I’m sorry. I wish I could take you back with me, but . . . ”

　Umbra just wagged his tail in response, as if to say he understood.

　“Thank you,” Lunafreya murmured, as she stroked his ruff.

　“What about Noctis?” she asked.

　Umbra continued to wag his tail. He gave a spirited bark. It seemed Noctis was safe. Still, Umbra wasn’t carrying their notebook.

　“The notebook,” she asked him. “Does Noctis have it?”

　She desperately longed to write a message, to tell Noctis that she was alive and well. She tried to think of something she could use in the notebook’s place, then remembered what she’d seen inside the outpost building.

　“Stay here for me, Umbra,” she said and turned back to enter the building. There had been notebooks and scraps of paper on a table there, along with a number of mismatched pens and pencils.

　“I’m sorry to use this without permission,” she said, not knowing the objects’ owner and thus not exactly sure to whom she was apologizing. Still, she felt compelled to express her remorse aloud. She picked up a notebook slightly smaller than the one she and Noctis had used, as well as a pen.

　In a rushed scrawl, she wrote, I’m safe. She would have liked to add the date, but she’d forgotten to ask Sol about the current month and year.

　She dashed back outside to find Umbra faithfully waiting just beside the entrance to the building.

　“Please,” she asked the Messenger. “See that Noctis gets this.”

　Umbra had always managed to convey the notebook safely to Noctis before, no matter where he was. Even when Lunafreya had been cloistered in the training grounds, and when she’d been hiding away in Altissia, still the dog had managed to relay their messages without trouble. So this new message would surely find its way as well.

　“Please hurry!” she pleaded, but Umbra stayed firmly planted in place, shaking his head from side to side.

　I can’t, he seemed to be saying.

　“Why won’t you go?” she asked.

　But Umbra only stared back in silence. Though the dog did not speak with the words of man, he was still a Messenger of the gods. If he refused her plea, there must have been some reasonable explanation.

　“You cannot,” she surmised. “But tell me. Noctis is safe, yes?” she asked again, at which point Umbra nuzzled against her.

　Everything will be okay, he seemed to say. Please don’t worry.

　“Do you mean to say it is not yet time for us to reunite?”

　Umbra’s tail began waving more vigorously than before. She gently embraced the dog’s warm body.

　“Then I shall wait,” she said. “Thank you, Umbra.”

　Umbra gave one more wag, tail held high, and then he was gone. Lunafreya let out a small sigh. It was the first familiar face she’d seen in this new world into which she’d been thrust so bewilderingly.

　Speaking of which, where was Gentiana?

　She felt certain Gentiana had been there at the end, right as she slipped into the slumber of death below the waves at Altissia. It would have brought so much comfort to see her again. Until Umbra’s appearance, it hadn’t seemed a possibility. Perhaps Gentiana, too, was aware that the Oracle had returned to life. And if Umbra could visit, surely Gentiana would be able to as well.

　Lunafreya thought of the many things she wished she could tell Gentiana regarding what had transpired, and of the many questions she wanted to ask. The outpost was not far from Tenebrae. Surely a visit was not out of the question. The thought sparked new strength and determination within her.

　When Lunafreya turned back toward the motorcycle, Sol was still speaking with the woman named Cindy.

Sol had been ready to thank the gods when she finally got through to Cindy. The bike was in bad shape. She’d been worried half to death that it might be beyond repair, that it would have to be scrapped altogether. But Cindy, ever the genius mechanic, was making everything all right again.

　And she was doing it all over the phone, to boot. Cindy had rattled off questions on how the bike was behaving, which Sol answered as best she could. The answers must have been good enough, because Cindy almost immediately seemed to understand what was wrong and started giving instructions for how to get the bike up and running again.

　And the level of detail! Cindy had it all covered, right down to which parts weren’t kept on hand at the outposts, and what Sol could use as substitutes for their repair.

　“Yeah, I think I’ve got it,” Sol said, once she’d located everything they’d need. “Thanks, Cindy. You’re a lifesaver.”

　And Cindy had replied, in her usual upbeat tone, “Aw, honey. Don’t you worry about it.”

　“Hey, while I’ve got you,” Sol ventured, her voice suddenly hushed, “something kinda weird happened. Wonder if I could get your opinion.”

　Sol glanced over her shoulder. The Oracle was busy playing with some stray that had found its way to the outpost. She didn’t seem to be paying the least bit of attention to the call with Cindy. Perfect.

　“I ran into someone. The Oracle.”

　“Say again?” Cindy said, her voice shooting up an octave. A reasonable response, to be fair. There wasn’t a soul on the Star that didn’t know the Oracle died in Altissia ten years ago.

　“That’s who she claims to be, anyway,” Sol continued. “Think there’s any chance she’s for real?”

　Cindy fell silent. It took a while for her response to finally come.

　“Well, honestly, I don’t know what to think” was all she said.

　That seemed like a reasonable reaction to Sol, too. She didn’t know what to think, either, even with the supposed Oracle standing right before her eyes.

　“Anyway, wonder if you could pass the word on to, y’know, Gladio and the rest of ’em,” Sol said. “Sooner’s probably better than later.”

　She intentionally tiptoed around titles, referring to the Shield by name and avoiding the word “Kingsglaive,” too. Cindy would know what she meant and get word out to those in charge at Lestallum.

　Out of the corner of her eye, Sol noticed the Oracle looking in her direction. The dog was nowhere to be seen. It must have run off. Time to wrap things up, before the woman got suspicious.

　“Okay, then, I’ll talk to you later. Thanks again, Cindy,” she said, and ended the call before Cindy could reply to the request.

　“Hey,” she turned to the stranger. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

　Sol casually waved the woman over, and the Oracle hurried near.

　“My friend Cindy gave me the rundown on how to fix up the bike. I’ve never had a crash this bad, so some of this is kinda new to me.”

　There was a good way and a bad way for a bike to fall. A good fall didn’t leave more than a few scratches on the rider or the bike. Sol had always been a natural, ever since’d she started riding. She’d taken some spills, but never bad enough to really mess the vehicle up. So she’d never had to learn how to do serious repair work.

　“I truly am sorry,” the Oracle said, her shoulders slumping slightly. She seemed to have taken Sol’s earlier jab to heart and really did feel responsible for the accident.

　“Show it, don’t say it. Sit tight over there while I get things ready. Then you can give me a hand.”

　“Certainly,” the Oracle nodded with the innocence of a child. Her lack of concern probably indicated just how little she knew about bike repair. This was gonna require muscle, and by the end of it, their hands would be filthy, coated in dirt and grease. Sol laughed to herself. Once the Oracle found out what the job required, she’d probably break down in tears.

　That’s what Sol figured, anyway, but she couldn’t have been further off the mark. The Oracle didn’t flinch in the slightest at getting her hands dirty. She obviously didn’t have much experience working on machines, but she wasn’t completely useless either. Actually, Sol had to admit, she was kind of nice to have around. A quick learner, too.

　If you want to get a good sense of a person’s character, work alongside ’em. A little boring, back-breaking work’ll show you exactly who they are.

　How long ago had she been given that advice? Not too long, Sol decided. It would’ve been after she was finally recognized more or less as an adult in her own right, when the two of them could start speaking on equal terms.

　Good advice, sure, but the person who gave it still couldn’t stop treating Sol like a child. Just that morning, Sol had gotten fed up enough to shout at her.

　“All right. Lookin’ pretty good,” Sol announced. “The rest is fine tuning. You can leave that up to me.”

　Sol looked up. It was night already. It’d been years since you could find the sun to track the time, but the color of the sky still got a bit darker as night set in.

　“Let’s call it a day,” she said.

　More than anything else, she wanted some dinner.

Lunafreya had thought she was accustomed to traveling. Her calling as the Oracle had taken her to places all across the land, conducting every imaginable ritual and rite, blessing the havens, easing the pain of the ill and wounded. The work had been unquestionably demanding.

　However, as the Oracle, she’d always traveled in the company of others. Her safety on the road was assured, and wherever she stopped warm meals and comfortable accommodations always awaited her. She hadn’t had to face daemons in battle herself. Nor had she ever slept in an unoccupied building, wrapped up in a dusty blanket. These experiences were new.

　It was also the first time she’d eaten straight from a can, fork thrust directly into the unheated and decidedly unusual contents. According to the label, she’d dined on vegetable and meat stew, but the taste was rather removed from that description. It wasn’t that it was bad, but it gave her pause. The bewilderment accompanying her first bite must have been apparent, for Sol smirked and said, “Is it not to the Lady Oracle’s liking?”

　Sol’s guns were never far. She no longer watched Lunafreya with obvious, constant caution, but neither had she fostered any degree of trust. That, too, was a new experience. Never in Lunafreya’s life had she been treated with such clear suspicion. The title of Oracle alone had always elicited a measure of trust and openness from anyone she encountered. Even the imperial forces, who regarded her with little warmth, had never been openly disrespectful, and Lunafreya had never felt the need to go out of her way to dispel a sense of mistrust from those in the employ of the empire.

　Thus, when confronted with suspicion, she had no idea how to react. She did not know the proper overtures to overcome Sol’s mistrust. Lunafreya had never envisioned a need for such skills or knowledge.

　As she prepared for bed, her mind still was weighed down with concern. It felt as though she might not manage even a moment’s sleep. But when her head met the pillow, she realized how weary her body was from the day’s events, and the moment her eyes closed, she drifted off.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.

　Lunafreya’s eyes opened at the sound of her name. The voice was one hard to imagine coming from a human, and her surroundings were far too luminous for the mortal realm. Even a decade ago, before the perpetual darkness, there had been no place on Eos so bright. And it wasn’t just the light. She hung weightless in a space of emptiness extending as far as the eye could see, and the emptiness itself glowed like some great jewel. This was most assuredly no part of the reality she knew. This was a place of dreams or visions.

Hearken unto the voice of the Bladekeeper, Bahamut.

　The Bladekeeper?

　As a child, she had often listened to Gentiana recounting tales of the Star. They were the stories of the Hexatheon, the six gods of Eos, of which Bahamut was one.

　As Gentiana told it, all members of the Six were as gods to mortals, but even among them Bahamut stood apart. Titan, the Archaean; Ifrit, the Infernian; Ramuh, the Fulgurian; Leviathan, the Hydraean; and Shiva, the Glacian: these five ruled over the natural elements of their world, existing alongside the Star itself. But the Draconian was different. He existed alongside the heavens encircling the Star. Gentiana never outright stated as much, but her tone seemed to suggest that Bahamut occupied a position superior to the rest.

　And now here Lunafreya was, being directly addressed by the Bladekeeper.

A new calling awaits the Oracle.

　As the voice boomed, the space around Lunafreya began to shift. What had been empty void before was now darkened landscape. Within that landscape she observed the Citadel. In a courtyard which she faintly remembered, Noctis and Ardyn stood with blades crossed.

　Noctis seemed much older than that day they parted in Altissia. Did that mean she was seeing a vision of the future? The scene was silent, but she could still almost hear the ringing of the two men’s weapons striking against each other. At times the swords spit sparks. At times they found their marks, and their blades and the arcs they drew were painted with blood. For a moment, she thought the two men might go on fighting forever.

　When it finally did come to an end, this swordfight that was a duel to the death, the one on the ground was Ardyn. But the battle between him and Noctis was not yet over. Darkness still hung thick over Insomnia.

　“This cannot be . . . ” Lunafreya murmured.

　The scenes that came next defied everything she believed true of their lives and fates. Deep within the Citadel, Noctis sat upon the throne as the True King, calling forth the power of the Ring of the Lucii, summoning the souls of his ancestors. Thirteen Kings of Yore encircled Noctis, weapons held raised and ready. Each in turn thrust spectral steel into Noctis’s flesh.

　Tears formed in Lunafreya’s eyes as she watched. “Noctis!” she screamed. “Why?!”

　No words accompanied the scene that unfolded, but nonetheless Lunafreya found herself provided with an answer. The ring served not only to call forth the souls of the departed into the mortal realm, it also allowed its wielder to travel together with those souls―to cross over into the Beyond, the realm linked to their world by way of the Crystal, which had existed since time immemorial. And over its boundary could traverse no mortal flesh.

　Lunafreya watched as Noctis, stripped of flesh and no longer of this world, traveled to the Beyond using the power of the ring. There he sought out Ardyn’s trapped soul and destroyed it.

　However, use of the ring had always come at a price―the powers it bestowed cost the wielder’s life. After defeating Ardyn, Noctis’s own form shattered. He vanished in that space beyond and was gone forevermore.

　This was the calling of the True King: to bring an end to the bearer of darkness through the sacrifice of his own existence.

　“But that . . . That is . . . ” Lunafreya could not finish.

　She’d been asked by King Regis to see the Ring of the Lucii safely to his son. Keeping that promise, she believed, would ensure a future for their star. So she’d run desperately to escape Insomnia as the city went up in flames. She slipped in among the throngs of evacuees and quietly made her way toward Altissia. Never had she imagined that the object for which she’d risked so much would ultimately take her beloved’s life.

　She had sacrificed her life, only for the man she loved to lose his as well. That, it seemed, had been the Oracle’s calling.

　All strength left her body, and she collapsed to her knees. If only she’d known . . . If only she’d realized the truth of her actions and the end they would bring . . .

Thus was ordained the fate of man. Thus was the Chosen meant to fulfill his calling.

　Lunafreya’s head snapped up.

　Was?

　Had something changed?

　The Noctis of her vision was not as she’d known him in life. He was older, more wearied. If the Noctis she’d seen fighting with Ardyn was some vision of a future meant to be, perhaps the Bladekeeper’s words implied that fate’s course had changed. Noctis would no longer be able to fulfill his intended calling. But if that were true, what had happened to stand in his way?

　The color of the space around her shifted yet again. Darkness became the flames of a raging fire. Ardyn stood, and before him Ifrit, the Infernian, knelt in subjugation. The chancellor’s body was no longer that of a man. His skin was jet black, his entire form shrouded in the dark miasma of the daemons.

The impudent Accursed would resist his fate. Eyes blind to will divine, he submits to the base desires of his iniquitous heart.

The impure power the Usurper wields grows great, such that even the power of the ring suffices not to drive him away.

　The Ardyn who had crossed swords with Noctis in the Citadel courtyard had seemed yet human. The Ardyn she saw before her now, commanding the Pyreburner, was anything but. So this was the power of darkness brought to a peak.

Go forth with haste to Insomnia and stay the Usurper.

For this purpose are new life and strength granted. Such is the Oracle’s new calling.

　Lunafreya put a hand once more to the scar in her side. This body, dead once at Ardyn’s hands, and this power, strong enough to stay the mightiest daemons―they were both gifts bestowed unto her by the God of War.

　And with them, I am to defeat Ardyn? Me? Am I even capable of such a feat?

　But if fate ordained had changed, perhaps that meant Noctis would no longer need to use the ring. He’d seemed to be in such agony when it happened. If she ventured forth as the Draconian commanded, perhaps Noctis would not have to suffer. He would not shatter into pieces in the world beyond. He would not cease to exist.

　If Noctis could be saved, it was worth trying to see this new calling through.

When Lunafreya rose in the morning, the sensation wasn’t any different from all the other times she’d woken. Only this time, there was no morning light to greet her. The world outside the windows was still immersed in perpetual darkness.

　She remembered with perfect clarity every word of her conversation with the Draconian. But no matter how she tried, she could not remember the god’s form or visage. Somehow, that confirmed to her that what she’d seen had not been an ordinary dream or a product of her imagination.

　“A new calling,” she said softly to herself.

　As the words left her mouth, she felt a surge of motivation to see it through. She sprang up, ready to act. On the floor next to where she’d slept she saw a small pile of folded black cloth. When she picked it up, she discovered it to be a full set of clothing. It hadn’t been there when she went to sleep. Perhaps its presence suggested she was welcome to change into it?

　As she pondered what to do, the door opened and Sol peeked in.

　“You finally up?” Sol asked.

　“Oh. Yes. Good morning.” Lunafreya responded. She paused, then asked, “About these clothes . . . ”

　“You looked like you could use a change. I dunno if they’ll fit, but it’s better than walking around in what you’ve got on now.”

　Over the course of the previous day, her soaked dress had finally managed to dry. Still, it was torn in several places and smeared with dirt. It had, in a sense, seen ten years of use, so it was hardly surprising that it might be literally a bit worse for wear. She thanked Sol and quickly changed.

　Black was a color she’d never worn before. As Oracle, it was only proper for her to perform rites in formal white. On her journeys, too, she’d always chosen to wear white. Come to think of it, even her casual wardrobe had been filled exclusively with whites and off-whites.

　The new clothes thus seemed rather peculiar on her, once she’d changed and was looking herself over. The stretchable fabric was admittedly comfortable, and she suspected it would prove easy to move about in. Yet the clothing was still somehow hard to accept. It made her uneasy. She wondered if she might ever shake the feeling that she was wearing borrowed garb.

　The first words out of Sol’s mouth on seeing her were, “Looks good on you.” Then she added, “A lot better than that old dress.”

　It may have been self-serving, but she let Sol’s compliment assuage her unease. Until this moment, she’d paid little attention to her apparel. It was strange and somewhat exhilarating to learn how a new outfit could bring with it an entirely different mood.

　Lunafreya was on a journey like nothing she’d experienced in her past, and she was making it in clothes wholly different from anything she’d worn before. But this new fate had been thrust upon her, and it stood to reason that new experiences and a new appearance would come with it.

　“I’m done tuning the bike. Once you’ve got some food in you, we’re heading out,” Sol said.

　It seemed Sol had woken up far earlier than Lunafreya.

　“I’m sorry. I promised to help you.”

　“No big deal. Figured I’d get the repairs done early and skip on out of here. Y’know, leave you behind.”

　Sol said it with a straight face, but if she’d truly intended to abandon Lunafreya, it seemed unlikely she’d have gone to the trouble of finding her a change of clothes.

　“Miss Sol, I wonder if I might ask a favor,” Lunafreya ventured.

　She straightened and looked the other woman directly in the eye.

　“I should like to accompany you a bit longer. There is a destination I must reach.”

　To fulfill this new calling, Lunafreya knew she would need assistance. Over the relatively short distance from the underground tomb to Wael, that truth had become all too apparent. Compared to Sol, she fell far short in so many ways. Sol had means to get around and was experienced in combat. And it wasn’t only the obvious things. The previous night, Lunafreya had realized she did not know how to open cans of food for herself with a knife, let alone how to start a fire.

　Sol had the learned skills of a person well-traveled in lands from which civilization had vanished. She knew so many things that Lunafreya could never have hoped to gain in her days of warm welcome at every place to which she journeyed.

　“Not that I expect you to see me all the way there,” Lunafreya clarified. “I should simply like to stay with you as long as our paths are shared.”

　Even a short while would be welcome. She would journey alongside Sol and learn as much as she could. Her travels as Oracle might have failed to teach her how to subsist on her own, but it was not too late to begin learning now.

　“Where are we talking about?” Sol asked, her tone curt. She peered at Lunafreya with suspicion.

　“I need to get to Insomnia.”

　“The Crown City? You’ve gotta be kidding. I told you, that place might as well be a breeding ground for daemons. What business could the prim and proper Lady Oracle have in a place like that?”

　“Please. I would ask you stop calling me that. My name is Lunafreya.”

　Every time Sol referred to her as “Lady Oracle,” Lunafreya was acutely reminded of the wall that stood between them. Yesterday, she’d made no protest at the distant, cold means of address; Sol was, after all, a simple passerby with whom she shared no relationship. But now things would have to be different.

　“Sure. Whatever you want,” Sol replied. “But Lunafreya’s still kind of a mouthful.”

　“Then, please call me Luna.”

　When she said it aloud, that familiar young face floated once more to mind. Lunafreya. Her name had been too long for him then as well. He’d stumbled over it, until finally they’d both settled on his simply calling her Luna.

　“Okay. Luna it is. Then you can quit calling me Miss. Just Sol is fine.”

　“Agreed,” Lunafreya responded. “Thank you, Sol.”

　“So what do you have planned once you get to Insomnia?”

　“I will fight. I will challenge Ardyn.”

　“Ardyn? Don’t tell me you’re talking about Ardyn Izunia,” Sol said, one eyebrow raised.

　When Lunafreya nodded in response, Sol first stared blankly. After that initial moment of shock, her words were incredulous and mixed with laughter. “You? You’re gonna take down Ardyn? That’s a joke if I’ve ever heard one.”

　Lunafreya simply regarded Sol in silence. She had no delusions that Ardyn would be an easy opponent to fell. But if she did not fight . . . If she did not stop Ardyn, the darkness that shrouded their star would ever remain.

　After a moment, Sol registered her expression and stopped laughing. “Whoa. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

　She seemed to hesitate, and then mumbled to herself, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

　But Lunafreya was most decidedly not kidding. The sentiment seemed to convey itself, and Sol’s next words, accompanied with a small sigh, were “Fine. Whatever.

　“First we head to Lestallum,” she continued. “Your little trip to Insomnia comes after that. That good with you?”

　“Of course,” Lunafreya nodded.

　She knew a sea crossing would be necessary to make it from the former empire to Insomnia. If Sol was taking her to Lestallum, it meant help and companionship through the crossing as well. It was far more than Lunafreya could have hoped for.

　She bowed her head and added, “It will be a great help, thank you. I shall be most indebted.”

　A look of distaste crossed Sol’s face.

　“Is something wrong?” Lunafreya asked.

　“Forget about it.”

　Sol turned away, her eyes clearly contradicting her words. Lunafreya felt as if she’d said something wrong, but she had no idea what it might have been.

“I found one! This is one of them, yes?” Luna held a can aloft, seeming quite pleased with herself. The two had driven back to the spot where the Oracle had thrown out the “extra weight” in their panicked flight from the Deathgaze. On the road, food was precious. They really couldn’t afford to leave it.

　Along the way, Sol had also given Luna a chance to try driving the bike. It wasn’t the kind of thing someone could pick up in a day or two, but they had a long trip ahead. There would be plenty of time for Luna to learn, and it’d be a lot easier on both of them once switching off became a viable option.

　Sol was able to identify the stretch of road where the bag had been lost. But what proved to be the really painstaking work was tracking down the cans themselves, which had rolled off in all directions.

　Luna labored without a single word of complaint. She probably felt responsible, which she pretty much was, since she’d been the one to fling the bag out of the sidecar in the first place. So Luna hunted in concentrated silence, save for her triumphant outbursts on each find.

　“Here’s another!” she exclaimed.

　She was quick. In the time it took Sol to find one can, Luna would pick up three or four.

　“Geez. You’re . . . ”

　Good at finding things, Sol had begun to say, but she clamped her mouth shut.

　“What was that?” the Oracle asked.

　“Nothing. Forget about it.”

　As the words formed, it had occurred to Sol just exactly what would make someone―or something―so quick at locating the cans. Visual acuity in low light conditions. In other words, seeing well at night. Just the kind of thing daemons were good at.

　When they’d had the encounter with the Deathgaze, Luna had seemed to be pulling or absorbing some kind of energy from the monster. And the particles that rose off her open wound―for the brief span of time it had been open at all―were just like those of a daemon.

　And now, here was another daemon-like skill. Hunting things in the dark. It fit right in with the other odd feats the Oracle was apparently capable of.

　But it didn’t seem right to jump to the conclusion that Luna was an enemy just because she had powers in common with the daemons. Sol had made sure to visibly lower her guard a few times the previous evening to see if her new companion might go for a surprise attack. She’d seen no indication of a desire to try.

　And of course, to top it all off, there was the woman’s ludicrous claim that she intended to face off against Ardyn Izunia himself.

　How were you supposed to react to something like that? Sol was still wrestling with the question as their search for the wayward cans wrapped up.

　After that, they hopped back on the bike, and when they’d ridden for about an hour, they were met with bits of white falling gracefully from the sky.

　“Not a cloud in sight, but we’ve got a flurry,” Sol observed. It was said to happen around here, along this little swathe of land sandwiched between the desert and the mountains locked in eternal winter, but only at this particular time of year, when temperatures were low and the air was dry. Strong wind lifted snow from the peaks and carried it to fall like a winter flurry over the land below, creating the bizarre sight of snow falling from a clear sky.

　“Heh. I guess it’s probably nothing new to you, being from Tenebrae and all.”

　“I have known of it, yes, but this is my first time seeing it with my own eyes,” Luna responded. “It was described to me as resembling a cascade of white blossoms dancing through the sky.”

　“Against a sky like this, I’d say it’s more like a swarm of insects.”

　But how did it look to Luna’s eyes? With her vision, perhaps snowflakes against a dark sky didn’t look so bad. It occurred to Sol that everything she saw might look quite different to her companion. They might stare in the same direction and see two very different things.

　“I wonder if I could ask you a question,” Luna ventured hesitantly.

　“Shoot.”

　“The way to Insomnia―no, the way to Lestallum. How many days’ travel is it?”

　“Hate to say it, but I really can’t give you a precise number.”

　A vast expanse of sea stretched between the former lands of Niflheim and Lucis, where Lestallum was located. To get across, they’d need either a dropship or a watercraft of some sort. But dropships were reserved for patrols and reconnaissance; other uses weren’t permitted. As far as ships capable of traversing open water, well . . . there were never enough hands available to keep the things in proper shape. And without many seaworthy vessels, it was likely that they’d make it to the port only to find it empty and have to wait.

　“From what I hear, this area used to be about two days from the port. But we’re making the trip hunting daemons along the way, so let’s say four or five. Problem is, after we get there, we may be waiting for a while before there’s a ship that can take us.”

　“And I suppose even once we’re across, it will take several more days.”

　“More than that. The City of Light itself is the only place that’s safe. Daemons lurk everywhere else, so it’s slow going.”

　“Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” Luna replied, in a voice so small Sol thought it might get carried off by the wind. They’d had to deal with three daemon encounters already, just to get to the site where they lost the cans. They’d narrowly managed to avoid two other packs by spot-ting the daemons before they themselves were spotted and speeding away on the bike. Three or four hours had gone by since they left Wael, but it certainly didn’t feel like they’d managed to cover much ground.

　“And daemons aren’t the only things that’ll slow us down. We gotta make time to rest, too.”

　Sol gently pressed on the brakes. Luna looked over with astonishment. She seemed to want to protest that she could go farther; she wasn’t yet tired.

　“Not for us,” Sol explained. “For Regina.”

　Sol patted one handlebar as she said it. The engine had been pretty hot for a while now. It was well past time to let it rest. The bike was running again, but it had been a quick fix. She’d had to make do with whatever parts she could find, and Cindy, too, had made a point of telling her not to push the vehicle very hard.

　“‘Regina?’” Luna asked.

　It wasn’t until Luna chirped the name back that Sol realized what she’d done. Ugh. She hadn’t meant to reveal that.

　Sol had met Regina during one of her early missions. She’d been busy helping beat back the daemons, and bam, there it was: an old Niflheim-built motorcycle just abandoned there on the side of the road. It was love at first sight. Sol knew she had to ride it, and she begged Cindy to restore the machine to working condition. Cid shook his head as he muttered about it being the kind of thing a “do-nothin’ bum” would ride, but he helped Cindy fix it up, and no sooner was it running than Sol was riding and thinking up the name she’d christen her new partner with.

　“What, you got a problem with my bike’s name?” she glared at Luna.

　“Not at all,” the Oracle responded.

　Not that any other answer would have mattered. Rider and bike were inseparable now. Sol wasn’t going to let anyone laugh at the fact that she’d named her bike―or at the name itself.

　“No travel faster than the slowest member of the group,” Sol said. “That’s an ironclad rule among the Hunters.”

Since departing Wael, they’d stuck exclusively to one particular route that ran parallel to a railway track. It was a fairly narrow road, offering much less space than the major thoroughfares, and at least for the portion they’d traveled thus far, it was poorly maintained. Lunafreya had assumed Sol chose the road to avoid encounters with daemons, but now she wasn’t sure. They’d run into plenty so far. Why, then, travel along such a tedious route? It wasn’t until the end of their first day that she finally understood.

　Stations and signal cabins had been built along the track at regular intervals, so following the track meant they’d never want for a relatively safe place to spend the night. Along this route, they’d always have a roof under which to sleep, and the water lines servicing the buildings would enable them to drink and wash. According to Sol, only major stations were likely to see any upkeep and use as proper outposts, but even so, a tiny, unnamed signal cabin would serve well enough for one night’s stay.

　In the control room they were currently occupying, they found some tableware and folded blankets tucked away opposite the levers for the rail switches. There was even a small kerosene heater. A fine layer of dust coated everything, but aside from that, it was all in good enough condition to use.

　Sol lit the heater, filling the tiny building with warmth and the reek of kerosene. Lunafreya, suddenly overcome with fatigue, realized that if she sat down, she might not stand back up. Better to take care of everything that needed to get done before resting.

　“Shall I heat some water?” she asked.

　Sol grunted in response, and Lunafreya began combing through the contents atop a set of small shelves. She found a small pot in which to heat water, as well as utensils for the night’s canned meal. Then, her eyes happened to fall on a teapot hiding at the back of one shelf.

　A teapot, she thought. What an unusual find. And if there was a teapot, then perhaps . . . Lunafreya’s hands and eyes continued to search, eventually coming to rest upon a familiar rectangular metal shape. Loose-leaf tea. A bit of rust had begun to form on the outside of the tin, but when she popped off the top to check the contents, the tea itself seemed dry enough.

　She turned back to face Sol at the heater and asked, “Would you mind if I put on some tea?”

　“Tea?” Sol seemed surprised.

　“I found some on one of the shelves.”

　“Sure, if you want.”

　It would be her first cup of tea in what felt like ages. Her heart leapt, and she offered silent thanks to whatever tea-loving engineer it was who had been stationed here in the past. Waiting for the pot to boil was an agonizing exercise in patience.

　When the water was finally ready, Lunafreya poured a small amount into the teapot to let it warm. She dumped that water out, put in a few spoonfuls of the curled black leaves, then poured the hot water over them, this time filling the pot. Normally, she’d have used a bit of water to warm the teacups as well, but she decided it was better to place a limit on luxury. They’d boiled only so much water. Warming the teapot alone would have to do.

　She looked inside the pot once to check that the leaves had properly unfurled in their scalding bath. Then when the brew was ready, she poured it into the cups. The unmistakable scent of rich black tea filled the room.

　“Well, give it a try,” Lunafreya said, and Sol lifted a cup to her lips. The younger woman’s brow furrowed slightly.

　“Kinda bitter,” she said.

　“Forgive me. I couldn’t find any sugar.”

　Sol was right. The tea was rather strong, probably a blend meant to go with milk. Of course, to Lunafreya, even the bitterness of tea was a cherished taste.

　“But it smells nice,” Sol added. “Y’know, brings back memories or whatever.”

　Yes. It did bring back memories. This was a scent that reminded one of a world over which the sun still shone.

　For a while, the two continued drinking in silence. It was a comfortable quiet, falling pleasantly in the small space. When the cups were empty and Lunafreya began to pour another serving, Sol suddenly spoke up.

　“Where’d you learn that stuff?”

　“How to brew tea?”

　“No, no. The way you fight with that thing. I can tell you’re not a complete beginner.”

　Sol pointed to the polearm resting against one wall. Lunafreya had found it among the items stored at Wael and had decided to allow herself to make use of it, fully intending to return it at the adventure’s conclusion. It had an unusually stout shaft, probably designed as such for the sturdiness required by forces as mobile as the Hunters. But she’d quickly grown accustomed to it. They’d run into enough daemons in the course of the day to make sure of that.

　“It was part of my training. All who serve as Oracle must be able to wield the Trident.”

　The Oracles of old had at times been asked to help quell or drive off daemons, and in fact, her physical training had extended beyond the use of weapons alone. She’d also been expected to build strength in her arms and legs. She’d not enjoyed it at the time, but afterward she was grateful. It had been crucial preparation for her role in aiding the True King.

　The training had imparted both physical stamina and an ability to defend herself. She’d needed both while rousing the unruly gods and facing them on her own. She had a duty to fulfill and could not afford to collapse from fatigue. Still, she had not expected those skills to come in handy now, long after the fact.

　Practice with a weapon enabled her to battle small daemons physically, without relying on the mysterious power of that first day. Lunafreya did not doubt the Draconian’s gift, but each time she used it, a faint sense of dread accompanied the use. It had become all too apparent that the essence of the daemons was being drawn into her body.

　Moreover, she’d come to understand something else: “daemons” weren’t really daemons at all. They did not exist as their own separate class of beasts or monsters. Rather, they were host to other organisms within them, in thrall to the strange black miasma. Daemons didn’t come into existence on their own. Other creatures were made into daemons. And it seemed most likely that the underlying cause was some manner of parasite―a scourge.

　When Lunafreya used her power to pull the source of the disease into her own body, the daemon she faced would return to its former self. Yet perhaps because of weakness due to prolonged infestation, or perhaps because the infestation had begun in a corpse rather than a living creature, the creature’s restored form lasted for but a moment. Purged of its infection, it would quickly turn into a cloud of dust and disperse.

　The source of the illness, however, did not disperse. It remained lodged in Lunafreya’s body, and as she eliminated more and more of the daemons, she became home to greater and greater quantities of the tiny parasite.

　It left her with a looming concern: what would happen to her own body over time?

　She wasn’t able to get by without using the power whatsoever. Only the smallest of daemons could be vanquished with her spear and physical strength alone. For the ones that moved swiftly or possessed a stature exceeding her own, she had to rely on the power.

　It had seemed to take everything she and Sol had to defeat the daemon of the day before, with its shape so evocative of a god of death. If they ever had to deal with an opponent stronger than that . . .

　“ . . . what I think it means?”

　Lunafreya had been so lost in thought that she missed most of the question. Flustered, she said to Sol, “I beg your pardon. Could you repeat that?”

　“Your training. I was asking what else you had to do besides learn how to fight.”

　Lunafreya thought back to the training ground. Ralmuell, she realized, was not so far from where they were now. It, too, was located somewhere in this narrow stretch of land lying between Eusciello and Succarpe.

　“In the broadest sense,” Lunafreya responded, “it was a regimen for me to strengthen both body and mind. To increase my physical strength, I ran and swam. To sharpen my focus, I spent many hours in meditation. In addition to that, I was introduced to the relics of the Oracles of the past, that I might know them more intimately. And there were the chants and the dances.”

　“Huh. Sounds kinda fun,” Sol smirked.

　“I suppose at times, I did rather enjoy myself.”

　Lunafreya had never shunned physical activity. Song, too, gave her joy. When she gave herself to the lyrics, bringing melody into the world with all she had, it always managed to drive the clouds of worry from her mind.

　Of course, not all the training had been fun. It was almost always rigorous, designed to bring her to the verge of breaking. It was the surest way to sharpen her mind and build the endurance she would need.

　“There were also periods of fasting. Those were rather difficult to endure. And the isolation for days at a time.”

　“Ugh. Well, that part sounds awful. I could never make it through that.”

　“Training is not training unless it requires you to endure.”

　Sol scrunched her face and made another disgusted sound. Lunafreya couldn’t help but laugh at her companion’s obvious distaste.

　“So why’d you go through all of it in the first place? Like, what’s the purpose of the training?”

　The answer seemed so obvious Lunafreya wondered why anyone would ask. But the most basic questions sometimes had a way of getting at the heart of a matter and opening a path to deeper understanding. Sol’s question gave her pause, and she considered how best to put her thoughts into words.

　“Why, to prepare me to fulfill my duties as Oracle, of course.”

　“And what are your duties as Oracle?”

　“To heed the words of the gods and aid the king.”

　“And that makes you happy?”

　“It is not a question of happiness.”

　Sol’s next question was even more bewildering. “Well, then is the compensation good?”

　Lunafreya stared at Sol blankly.

　“You know, compensation. Pay. They must pay you pretty well for all that work, right?”

　“The Oracle’s duties are a service to the people.”

　“So you work for free? Are you kidding me?! I mean, I guess maybe if it was something you enjoyed. Like, when you talked about the parts of the training you liked. That I get. But there’s nothing fun about having to perform some public service. If you’re not getting paid for it, why even bother?”

　How could Lunafreya explain that it was not a question of choice? The Oracle’s duties were mandated by the gods, and they must be carried out. It had always been that way, since long, long ago.

　“Whatever,” Sol said. “Guess it’s just beyond me.”

　Lunafreya, for her part, found Sol’s questions equally incomprehensible. Compensation? For her labors as Oracle? It seemed absurd.

　The conversation ended without resolution, and they sat drinking the remainder of the tea in uneasy silence. After their usual dinner of one can each, they washed their own cups and utensils and set about their own tasks. Or rather, Sol began cleaning and checking her guns, while Lunafreya found herself with nothing in particular to do. It was still too early to sleep.

　Suddenly she remembered the notebook from the day before. She’d forgotten to return it after Umbra’s refusal. It wasn’t until after they’d departed Wael that she realized the notebook was still among her belongings. As long as she had it, it seemed just as well to put it to use in keeping a record of the day’s events. And though the signal cabin didn’t boast nearly as many supplies as the outpost at Wael, it took only a quick look around the control room to find a pen.

　Her scrawled message from before read, I’m safe.

　Farther down the page, she noted her location. Railway signal cabin. And below that, she began her entry.

Dearest Noctis,

I am currently on a journey across the former lands of Niflheim, riding in the sidecar of a motorcycle driven by a hunter named Sol. My days are filled with new experiences, and though the difference in age between Sol and me is not so great, I’ve found our minds work in quite different ways. Already her companionship has yielded numerous surprises . . .

The following morning, before Luna woke, Sol slipped out of the control room for a moment alone. The rusty old door gave a harsh creak, but fortunately Luna didn’t stir in the slightest.

　Come to think of it, the Oracle had slept like a log the previous day, too. Maybe the travel wore her out. Or maybe she just wasn’t a morning person. In any case, a bit of noise was apparently not enough to wake her. Not that Sol was complaining.

　She took out her smartphone and flicked through her contacts. It didn’t bug her so much to speak to Cindy in front of Luna, but conversations with family were a different matter. Better safe than accidentally overheard.

　She should have called home the previous day, but it was a little late to feel guilty about it. The whole day, she’d been fuming, convinced that if a certain someone was worried, it was their responsibility to call and make sure everything was all right. It was the logic of a petulant child―an unfortunate tendency of hers, one that she knew undermined her own constant demands to be treated more like an adult.

　It only made things worse that she’d let herself get separated from her comrades. She had been so certain she could mop up that pack of daemons on her own and so intent on proving herself a proper hunter in her own right.

　At any rate, a couple of nights’ sleep had brought things into perspective. It was on her to apologize. She was in for a scolding, but she’d stand up and take it like a woman.

　Sol tapped the contact and waited, but the call didn’t go through. Their phone was probably switched off. A letdown, but not out of the ordinary. The person Sol was trying to reach might be in the middle of planning an operation. Or maybe piloting the dropship. Signal interference was a legitimate risk and a smart one to eliminate in any situation that might require quickly issued commands. It was a funny little coincidence how Lucian smartphones and communication equipment aboard imperial dropships tended to get in each other’s way.

　“Welp, guess that’s not happening,” she muttered, and turned to go back inside.

　Then she remembered there was someone else who deserved an apology. She looked back at her phone and brought up the contact. This call would definitely involve an angry earful, probably starting the second the call went through. The thought made her hesitate a moment before dialing. A bunch of angry shouting, first trying to ascertain whether she was safe, then demanding to know her current location. The fact that the yelling was born out of worry rather than real anger made it the harder to bear. But she bit her lip and dialed.

　When the call connected, she was met with a different, much calmer voice.

　“Well if it isn’t the little lady!”

　“Would you please stop calling me that?”

　Wedge’s insistence on “Lady S” was bad enough, but the way Biggs addressed her was absolutely humiliating. Lately, she’d finally managed to convince them to refer to her as “Sol,” but every once in a while, for who knew what reason, they’d pull out those terribly embarrassing nicknames.

　“Look,” Sol continued, “I just called to say I’m sorry to make you worry. You, uh, already hear about it from Cindy?”

　“Called us yesterday.”

　Honestly, Sol didn’t even need to ask. The other day, she’d been so anxious to dump the two smothering babysitters that she lied to them. She told Biggs and Wedge that the rendezvous time with the hunters was an hour later than it actually was. After she’d given them the slip, they’d probably panicked and called everybody and anybody they could think of, desperate for any leads on where Sol might have been headed. Cindy was probably the first person they’d dialed―which meant that after yesterday’s chat about the bike, Cindy had undoubtedly passed the news on to Biggs and Wedge.

　“And what about Mom?” Sol asked.

　“Lady A’s, uh . . . ”

　There was the briefest pause, then, “She’s busy planning an op, as it were.”

　“At the ruins?”

　“That’s right. She’s just gone, as a matter of fact. On her way to reinforce the advance team.”

　Biggs’s choice of words seemed to imply that the initial survey team had run into trouble. Surveys in former imperial territory, and especially excavations of ancient ruins, were a double-edged sword. They often yielded desperately needed resources, but danger was ever at the teams’ backs.

　Biggs continued, “But don’t you worry. It’ll all be fine. Wedge and I will rendezvous with her shortly.”

　“I wanna go, too!”

　The situation bothered Sol. The fact that the advance team had called for assistance at all suggested something big had happened. And there had been that slight hesitation before Biggs answered her question.

　“Where are you now?” Biggs asked.

　“Just outside Wael, at the nearest signal station.”

　“Puts you a day or two out from Nohm, yeah? Head over and sit tight. Sure we’ll have it all sorted soon after you arrive.”

　Nohm. The largest outpost in former imperial territory. The station house there was old, but it was a big, solid structure and there were always a few hunters posted there. It was close to the ruins, too.

　“If I start out now, I can make it to Nohm tonight. Wait for me to―”

　“Tonight? Maybe if you don’t come across a single daemon on the way, but chance’d be a fine thing, eh? Don’t push it.”

　“But―”

　Biggs cut her off. “We’ll be shoving off any moment. Won’t have time to wait for you, so just take it slow.”

　This last statement suggested precisely what Sol didn’t want to hear: Biggs and Wedge were probably already close to Nohm. If Sol stamped her feet and Biggs relented, she’d only end up delaying the rescue operation.

　Sol mumbled sour agreement into the phone, to which Biggs replied, “There’s a good girl. You take your time and play it safe, all right? If something happens to our little lady, we’re the ones who have to answer to Lady A.”

　“I told you to quit calling me that!” Sol yelled into the phone, petulant child once more, and cut the call. The way their conversation had ended was par for the course, except this time the routine didn’t do anything to help calm Sol down.

　She had a feeling they needed to hurry to Nohm. It was time to wake up Luna and hit the road.

Perhaps because they occurred when she was on the cusp of waking, the dreams Lunafreya saw at dawn were always brief. The images in her mind were clear and crisp, but they lingered for only a moment. So she’d believed the same would be true of this dream. Gentiana stood before her now, but since she surely would be gone soon, Lunafreya’s words spilled out in frenetic fashion.

　“Gentiana! How I’ve been longing to see you! I would have liked it to be in the waking world, as with Umbra. But I’m delighted you’re here now, even if only in dreams.”

　Lunafreya had been waiting eagerly for this reunion. There were so many things she wanted to say, and she needed to get them out before the dream ended.

　“Tell me, did you know from the beginning? That the ring would take Noctis’s life? Yes, I suppose you must have, but you kept silent for my sake. You did not wish to see me tormented by worry or anguish.”

　Gentiana smiled fondly. Lunafreya drew closer, only to find she was unable to reach out to the Messenger.

　Of course I can’t, she told herself. This is a dream.

　“That is why,” she continued, “I’ve decided to confront Ardyn. If I fight, I can drive away the darkness. The Star will be safe, and Noctis will not have to use the ring. It is my new calling, bestowed upon me by the Draconian. That he asked me must mean I am capable if I try.”

　Lunafreya paused, then added, “But still, I must confess I am frightened. I know I should not fear, but I find this power entrusted to me quite unnerving. What if my humanity should slip away?”

　After another pause, Lunafreya realized something was amiss. She had carried on the entire conversation by herself. Gentiana had not spoken a word. At first, Lunafreya had assumed it was because she was in a dream. But now she was not so certain.

　As she watched, Gentiana’s lips moved, ever so slightly.

　“Gentiana?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

　Before, the Messenger had been smiling. Now she seemed to be in pain. Her features were twisted with effort, as if she were desperately trying to relay something.

　“What is it? Do you have a message for me?”

　The Bladekeeper, she seemed to mouth. But Lunafreya was not certain. Again she tried to draw near, peering closely at the Messenger’s face. Just then, several towering blades flew down before her eyes, forming a wall between Lunafreya and the Messenger.

　“Gentiana!” she shouted with all her might, but all went black and silent.

　Lunafreya wasn’t sure which came first: the end of the dream, or the opening of her own eyes onto darkness as she returned to the waking world. When her mind was focused once again, she found herself in the cramped control room of the tiny signal cabin. She pulled her blanket more tightly around her body and shivered.

　“What a peculiar dream,” she said to herself.

　She had long grown used to accepting the dreams for what they were; she could no better govern her dreams than her fate. Still, she had to wonder about her earlier visitation from the Bladekeeper. She hadn’t thought to dismiss that first encounter as a mere dream.

　The difference, she decided, was one of intimacy. The Draconian was not a being well known to her, but Gentiana she’d come to know more closely than perhaps anyone else in the world. That was why the encounter had felt unnatural and she’d been able to sense something amiss.

　So perhaps it was not a dream. What if Gentiana had visited to relay some message, as the Draconian had before? Something might be preventing her from sharing that message.

　Lunafreya tried to think. What could have happened to Gentiana? But just then, Sol interrupted her thoughts.

　“Luna!”

　The door of the control room flew open with a bang.

　“Get yourself ready. And step on it. We’re leaving.”

　“Has something happened?” Lunafreya asked. She rose and began to fold the blanket in haste, watching Sol’s expression as she did so. The other woman appeared uncharacteristically anxious.

　“It’s nothing. Just hurry, okay?”

　Lunafreya had yet to spend much time with Sol, but she had learned one thing about her companion: she had an occasional tendency to lie. And when she did, she did so poorly.

After a breakfast all but shoveled down their throats, they departed.

　They continued to follow the railway tracks. Sol was silent. Lunafreya wanted to ask what had happened, but Sol’s entire demeanor warned her not to broach the subject.

　Moreover, Sol appeared distracted. She was not focused on her driving, allowing Regina to bump over rocks and debris, and on several occasions she nearly ran the front wheel into a pothole, swerving only at the last second. Lunafreya was grateful that they had thus far avoided encountering any daemons, but she was nervous about what might transpire when they inevitably did. If Sol went into a fight as distracted as she was now, it would not go well for them.

　Lunafreya did not know precisely how long they’d been on the road, but after a while, she waited for an opportune moment and ventured, “Perhaps we should take a break?”

　As she’d feared, Sol seemed annoyed and replied curtly, “What? You need a break already?”

　“I can continue. But mustn’t we bear in mind the needs of the slowest member of the group?”

　A flash of realization came to Sol’s face, and Lunafreya was glad she’d managed to voice her concern effectively. Apparently, she had been right―Regina had nearly reached its limit.

　The moment the motorcycle stopped, Sol hopped off and busied herself with a thorough check of its components. The process was accompanied by occasional clicks of Sol’s tongue, as well as a few small sighs of relief.

　Lunafreya did not know much about motorcycles, having just begun learning how to ride one. Still, the great care Sol paid to Regina was quite apparent, so whatever pressing matter was occupying Sol’s mind, it was significant enough to cause her beloved Regina to slip from her mind.

　The checkup seemed to have ended, but since Sol did not yet announce that it was time to depart, Lunafreya assumed that meant they’d be giving Regina some time to cool down.

　They spent a few awkward moments in silence, neither having anything particular to do. Then Sol appeared to grow tired of the quiet and spoke, perhaps hoping merely to stave off boredom.

　“Can I ask you something?” she began. “Your belief in the gods. Do you get anything out of it? Does it do you any good?”

　Lunafreya had grown somewhat accustomed to these unexpected and unusual questions from her companion. Today, however, they seemed to include a touch of venom.

　In fact, Sol did not even wait for Lunafreya to respond. “Is that what brought you back to life?” she spat. “Your faith in them?”

　“No,” Lunafreya replied. “I was bestowed life again that I might fulfill a new calling.”

　“And what calling is that?”

　“To stop Ardyn Izunia. To drive the darkness from our world.”

　“Isn’t that the king’s job?”

　“It was meant to be, yes. But it seems Ardyn has grown too powerful, and the intended fate of the world has gone off course.”

　“And you’re the one they picked to fix the mess.” Sol let out a small snort.

　She continued, “So you’re just gonna go along with whatever the gods say, huh? And you’ll save the world all by yourself. I gotta say, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. There’s no way. If the gods could send one person waltzing into Insomnia to put an end to all this, don’t you think they’d have done it already? There’ve been a helluva lot of other people for the gods to choose from, all way stronger than you.”

　Sol capped off her outburst with, “If the gods planned to fix the world, why’d they let it end up like this in the first place?”

　It was the anger behind the words that was the biggest surprise. It felt as if Sol were letting out some long pent-up frustration. Her tone was merciless, interrogating, and yet it also came across like a small child’s tantrum.

　“I do not know why I was chosen. Be that as it may, it is my calling. I must see it fulfilled.”

　“So you believe whatever the gods tell you?”

　“As Oracle, naturally I must.”

　“So if you weren’t the Oracle, you wouldn’t have that faith? You wouldn’t need to believe?”

　At that, Lunafreya became aware of a new expression on Sol’s face. She seemed to be on verge of tears.

　“It is my opinion,” Lunafreya answered carefully, “that each person has the right to adopt or reject faith as they see fit. But in my case―”

　Sol cut in, her words more shouted than spoken. “I used to believe, too!”

　“Sol . . . ”

　“I bought into all of it, right up until the day everything came crashing down. I was left with nothing. I begged them, you know. All of them. I begged them not to take it away.”

　Sol turned her face away, jaw clenched. The frustration in her profile was something Lunafreya had seen before. It hadn’t been often, but every once in a while during her travels as Oracle, she’d caught sight of that expression. It was the face of those for whom prayers had gone unanswered and faith had been shattered. In Sol’s eyes was the look of one who had long cursed the gods for her misfortune.

　“Where were the gods then?” Sol asked. “What were they so busy with when I needed them? But who cares about the prayers of a child, right? They’re beneath the notice of the mighty gods.”

　Among Lunafreya’s duties as Oracle was to bring relief to those suffering from disease. But that did not mean she’d been able to help everyone. There were those for whom she did not arrive in time. Never had she faced open criticism from the friends or family of the deceased, yet there were times when people looked away as she approached, their anger and sorrow visibly held barely in check.

　The gods did not deliver succor to everyone. To those struggling with loss, Lunafreya offered words of comfort as Oracle, ritual expressions and phatic utterances. Not the type of things Sol would want to hear now, but with those words unavailable, she did not know what else to say.

　As Lunafreya fumbled for a response, Sol ended the conversation herself with, “Sorry, forget it. It’s not like talking about it with you will change anything.”

　Then after a pause, “Pathetic. I sound like a little kid, expecting someone else to fix things for me.”

　Still turned away, Sol’s face grew blank and hard. No trace of the earlier anger or tears remained. She merely bit her lower lip and muttered, “It’s up to me. I won’t let them die.”

　And then she was climbing onto the motorcycle and motioning for Lunafreya to get in the sidecar. She no longer seemed like a petulant child, or an adult who blamed the gods for allowing her loved ones to perish. Her demeanor was that of one determined to protect others through her own will and strength alone. She would not suffer loss again.

　It made Lunafreya think.

　What about me? she asked herself. What have I wrought by my own strength alone?

　Perhaps she had not accomplished all that she believed she had. So you’re just gonna go along with whatever the gods say? Sol’s words had lodged deep in her breast, like a thorn that could not be pried free.

As soon as the exchange was over, Sol was already regretting her words. Why had she taken all that crap out on Luna? She’d acted like a little brat. It felt a lot like how she always seemed to end up behaving around her mother, but when she’d lashed out at the Oracle, there was another, slightly different dynamic at work.

　It probably had to do with Luna’s exasperating devotion to the gods. The Oracle never framed things in terms of herself―she was always thinking and talking about what the gods wanted or what was best for the Star. The woman never took a moment to think about what she wanted to do. Every action was based on some calling she was convinced she had to live up to. Sol couldn’t wrap her head around it.

　The only thing worse than someone who believed only in themselves was someone who was blindly devoted to a higher power. There was no guarantee that such an entity would be a force for good, but because people like that would never allow themselves to question their faith, they couldn’t ever stop and reevaluate things with a critical eye.

　When Sol was young, she’d known plenty of adults like that, those who unquestioningly placed their trust in their emperor and his vision for their nation. Not once did it occur to them that what was happening around them might not be for the best. As the emperor steered Niflheim toward its doom, they were all right there alongside him, up until the very end.

　Sol’s adoptive mother was different. She lived by her own rules. If you asked her why she went out of her way to help others, she’d laugh and say she only did it because she felt like it. There had been a time when Aranea let herself be constrained by orders, back when she’d been a soldier, but by the time she met Sol, she had left that part of her life behind.

　That was why Sol had respected her mother, from the very first moment they’d met. As far back as Sol could remember, having her mother’s approval had felt like the most important thing in the world.

　Wait. Why was she thinking in the past tense?

　This was Biggs’s fault. The man couldn’t lie worth a damn. She could tell from his voice alone that he’d been on the verge of panic. And now he had Sol fearing the worst, too.

　Mom, please be safe. I’ll be there soon.

　She repeated the short prayer to herself for what must have been the hundredth time.

　“Sol! We can’t go this way! Stop!”

　Sol snapped back to reality. A daemon was straight ahead of them, blocking the road. If she’d been paying attention, she’d have noticed it earlier, and they might have been able to circle around. It probably would have saved them some time, but it was too late now. The daemon had sighted them and was closing in fast.

　Regina skidded to a stop, and Sol pulled out her shotgun. Luna jumped from the sidecar, spear held at the ready. Fortunately, this wasn’t among the biggest daemons they’d come across, but neither would it go down easy.

　Sol steadied her aim and let loose on the approaching enemy. The shower of hot metal slowed the daemon down some, but the wound was certainly not fatal.

　“Luna!”

　“I’ve got it!”

　The daemon stumbled closer, now nearly in melee range. Luna flung her right hand out. The monster shuddered, and a stream of its sickening black miasma began flowing straight into her palm.

　Sol stared in wonder. The Oracle seemed stronger than ever. In their early battles, Luna had played a supporting role by slowing the incoming daemons, which Sol then finished off with a shotgun shell at point-blank range or, if she were feeling particularly saucy, with a grenade thrown into a gaping jaw.

　But lately, their roles had been reversed. Sol’s barrages usually served to slow the creature, and Luna was the one to bring it down. As they traveled farther along the road, the number of powerful daemons seemed to increase, among them many for which gun and spear alone did not suffice.

　The power to absorb the scourge seemed to take a toll on Luna. When the flow of miasma reached its peak, a wrinkle of pain would form on her brow, and she’d grit her teeth. The fact that Sol noticed such little changes in her expression at all was a clear signal of how their roles in battle had shifted.

　And the burden on Luna wasn’t limited to their time in battle alone. When the Oracle had been changing her clothes in Wael, Sol had snuck a quick peek at her back and saw that the woman’s milky white skin was covered with sinister black patches. Now those patches were visible even at the edges of her collar and sleeves. In other words, whatever was happening to her, it had gotten that much worse in just a matter of days.

　Sometimes, she even caught Luna with her hands pressed against her mouth as if in pain. She seemed determined not to let her symptoms show, but now that the two were spending nearly every moment together, it was impossible for Sol not to see signs of Luna’s apparent agony.

　Luna claimed that her power had been bestowed by one of the Six. If so, whichever god had given it sure had a sick sense of humor. Power that caused so much pain didn’t seem like much of a gift, nor any way to motivate someone to carry out some divine calling. Why not give Luna another power that was easier to deal with or change the nature of the power so it didn’t cause her agony? It didn’t seem like something that would be hard for a god to do. So why was it necessary to let Luna suffer?

　Whichever god had burdened Luna with such a thing must have been the same one who ignored Sol’s own prayers as a child in Gralea. The gods had given no sign they were worthy of faith, and yet Luna went on believing despite her suffering. It was baffling.

They managed to fell the daemon, but after that, the creatures were everywhere along the road, pack after pack of them, as if openly mocking Sol’s need for haste. In the end, they had to spend another night afield well short of Sol’s destination.

　They did not sleep at a minor outpost or even a signal cabin. They simply pitched a tent in a narrow space sheltered by a rock outcrop. To keep the daemons at bay, they placed portable lights at the edges of the camp and built a fire in the center. As one final precaution, they decided to take shifts awake, one keeping watch while the other slept.

　Sol continued to be sparing with her words. Lunafreya learned only that their immediate destination was an outpost called Nohm. She was unable to discover why they were headed there or what they intended to do on arrival. Nor had she learned why Sol seemed so distracted and rushed. The other woman’s decision not to share any of these things left Lunafreya feeling forlorn and insecure.

　In battle, the pair had developed a strong rapport. They seemed to be well attuned to each other, and for the first time, Lunafreya clearly understood what it meant for two people to have each other’s backs. However, although she felt that she could rely on Sol, she wasn’t sure whether Sol felt the same way about her.

　The night was quiet. So quiet that she could hear every little toss and turn from Sol as she slept in the tent. Both the firepit and the artificial lights seemed to be doing a commendable job―Luna sensed no trace of any daemons lurking nearby.

　She turned away from the flames and opened the notebook. The light of the fire bothered her. Fortunately, she did not need it. Even at night in this perpetual darkness, she was able to read and write perfectly well without light.

　During the day’s breaks, there had been no appreciable amount of conversation. Lunafreya had used the free time to set down her scattered thoughts in the notebook.

　Sol, for her part, seemed to be embarrassed about how she’d laid into Lunafreya. At the next break after their conversation and the one after, she’d simply sat in stubborn silence. Lunafreya, not wanting to press the girl, had stayed silent herself.

　Unlike the short road breaks, Lunafreya now had a long, uninterrupted block of time―so long that she worried she might doze off. She decided it was better to keep herself busy than risk falling asleep while on watch.

Dearest Noctis,

It is my turn to keep watch, so here I am, tending the campfire. Sleeping outdoors like this is a new experience for me. What was it like for you on your first night camping at a haven? Perhaps you felt the same way that I feel now.

　I was also in charge of the meal tonight. It seems I made too liberal a use of spices for my companion’s liking. She went so far as to declare my sense of taste unrefined. Given that her own approach to cooking is quite lax, I hardly think her to be in a position to criticize.

　Last night, we found ourselves with an abundance of free time from our arrival at the night’s lodgings until it was time to go to sleep. We spent it in leisure, and Sol taught me a card game. Tonight, however, I suggested that we turn in early. She seems quite exhausted. I sense there is some great worry on her mind and that it has plagued her all day long. She is not her usual self.

　I suppose I should mention that while Sol may be somewhat lacking in culinary skills, she is quite a proficient card player. I was impressed by her skill in planning and carefully executing each strategy for victory. Over the course of the evening, I managed not a single win. According to Sol, I am far too transparent in my intentions for my own good, and I let slip my hand too easily. At the time, I felt her accusations rather harsh and flatly refuted them.

　She and I are slowly opening up to each other, but―perhaps because of this new power bestowed upon me, or perhaps because I have explained how I came to once again walk among the living―Sol continues to be wary of me.

Once Lunafreya touched nib to paper, the words poured forth in an endless torrent. She found herself unable to stop. There were so many things she wanted to tell Noctis, and she grew frustrated as her hand’s pace fell far short of her mind’s. For hours, she continued to sweep her pen across the pages, lost in thought. When she’d begun her watch, she’d worried she might not know what to do with herself or that she might fall asleep and let the fire die out. In truth, there was no need for concern. She was so immersed in her writing, she did not even realize it was time to change shifts until Sol came out of the tent.

It was already dawn when Sol felt her smartphone buzz. She fished it out of her pocket and checked the display: an incoming call from Gladiolus Amicitia.

　She smiled. It was almost funny in a way―ten years ago, who could have imagined a citizen of Niflheim working together with a sworn Shield of the King?

　If the man was reaching out to her now, odds were almost certain he wanted to ask about Luna. She answered his call.

　“Can you talk?” Gladio asked.

　“Yeah,” Sol replied. She understood exactly what the question meant. “She’s asleep in the tent. I’m outside.”

　He laughed. “You’ve always been a quick one.”

　Quick or not, it was hard for her to imagine any other meaning to his words under the circumstances. Once Sol had described her encounter with the Oracle to Cindy, the information had undoubtedly been relayed to Gladio and his comrades all but immediately.

　“So what are your thoughts?” the Shield asked. “Think she’s the real deal?”

　“I still don’t know. But that’s what she claims.”

　“Noct would know,” Gladio muttered. “He’d be able to tell right away.”

　“You really think so? Even he might not be able to know for sure, given the circumstances.”

　According to Luna, their last proper encounter had taken place while they were still children. Twelve years later, there had been a reunion of sorts, in Altissia, but he had only been part of the crowd as she addressed the people, her eyes meeting his from afar. If that was the extent of contact King Noctis had with the Oracle as an adult, would he truly know her so readily?

　“Well,” Sol said, “regardless of who she is, she’s . . . ”

　Got my back, she was going to say but reconsidered. The woman’s power was unsettling. There was no getting around that. Even if it’d been granted by the gods, as she claimed, from any objective viewpoint, it was the kind of thing you’d expect of a monster, not from someone you wanted to place your trust in.

　She reached for another expression and finally settled on “She’s proving helpful.”

　“Right. I’ll pass the word on to Sania. She seems to think this self-proclaimed ‘Oracle’ and her powers, whatever they are, might make for some interesting scientific research.”

　Though Sol had just compared her power to that of a monster, hearing Luna described as a potential research subject was somehow disturbing. She wasn’t sure exactly where that feeling was coming from, and she had barely begun to untangle it when she heard a rustling sound behind her. She turned to see Luna poking her head through the tent flap.

　“All right, sounds good,” Sol hurriedly said into the phone. “Talk to you later.”

　She cut the call and turned her gaze to the fire. For whatever reason, she couldn’t bring herself to look Luna in the eye. How long had the other woman been awake? How much had she heard?

　Finally, it dawned on her why she was avoiding the Oracle’s gaze: it was from a sense of guilt.

From her seat in the sidecar, Lunafreya glanced over at Sol. The young woman’s brow was still furrowed, the same troubled expression she’d worn all throughout the day before.

　At least her driving seemed to be more focused. There was no way to avoid the daemons that ambushed them without warning from the roadsides, but by keeping a careful lookout, they could spot and circle around ones that appeared directly on the road ahead. Every time Lunafreya noticed a suspicious shape in the distance, she alerted Sol. Up until recently, she had not realized that between them, her vision at night was far superior. And now that she knew that fact, she wished she didn’t. It was why she’d stayed quiet before, even though she thought it strange that Sol seemed not to notice the daemons Lunafreya could see so easily.

　However, as Sol was clearly anxious to reach their destination, the fewer daemon encounters they had, the better. And so Lunafreya decided it was more important to do everything that she could to help rather than try to conceal her monstrous powers.

　Thanks to Lunafreya’s efforts, the time they spent dealing with daemons dropped dramatically, and they reached Nohm before evening.

　Once she saw the station building at Nohm, it clicked. She’d been here before, prior to her ascension. It must have been ten years ago―or, rather, twenty years in this new world she’d awoken into. But the sight brought not a sense of nostalgia so much as one of unease. In the past, this station had been a lively place, with throngs of people filing into or out of the trains stopped at its numerous platforms. Not a hint of those days remained.

　Even more disconcerting was the fact that every window of the station building was dark.

　“Why are they . . . ?”

　Sol, too, seemed unable to hide her confusion. Sol had been the one to tell her about Nohm, describing it as one of the more important outposts in the area, with a permanent Hunter garrison and windows always shining with light. She’d even talked about how relieved she always felt as she approached the place, seeing those reassuring lights as she pulled up to the building.

　The lack of lights now had them both worried. When they walked closer, they saw several of the windows had been smashed.

　“What could have happened here?”

　“Isn’t it obvious? The outpost was attacked.”

　Lunafreya’s voice trembled. “May the gods watch over us.”

　Sol explained, “It doesn’t happen a lot, but it’s not unheard of. Sometimes daemons show up in force and wreak havoc on an outpost.”

　After Sol cautiously peered through several windows, she returned to the main entrance. She kicked the door in, gun held at the ready, and cautiously walked through the doorway. Lunafreya sensed no daemons inside, lying in ambush, but neither did she feel any presence of human life.

　She followed after Sol, stepping inside the station building. What she saw was disconcerting. Every chair had been toppled over, the walls and tables punctured with so many bullet holes their surfaces resembled a wasp’s nest. There were gouges and scorch marks on the floors. Clearly there had been a battle here, an intense one between hunter and daemon, and probably more than just one.

　“Luna. Let’s get moving.”

　Sol delivered the curt order and spun on her heel, heading back outside the building. Lunafreya hurried to follow. She would have liked to shut the door behind her, but the force of Sol’s kick had bent the hinges, preventing it from closing properly.

　“Where are we going?” she asked.

　“Not sure yet.”

　As they walked, Sol pulled from her pocket the same small transceiver that Lunafreya had seen her use before, the thing she referred to as her “smartphone.”

　“I’ll call in and find out where the next rendezvous point―”

　Sol stopped mid-sentence with a gasp and came to an abrupt halt. Lunafreya’s skin prickled as she picked up the sounds both of things crawling across the ground and of wings cutting through air. Vague shapes lurked in the darkness. She sensed they’d been surrounded.

　The assault began from above. Sol didn’t even have time to draw a gun, so Lunafreya flung her right hand up in haste. A repulsive sensation writhed its way along her arm, but she didn’t have time to be disgusted by it now.

　A shotgun blast rang out. Sol had managed to grab her primary weapon, but even that wasn’t going to be enough to deal with this many enemies. Lunafreya realized that it was up to her to stop the daemons. She focused the power into her palms. The flying daemon that had grappled onto her arm crashed down right in front of her eyes.

　It’s all right. I can do this, she told herself.

　She took down a daemon lunging in from the side, then swept forward to cover Sol’s back. Her companion would not suffer even a single scratch; she swore it would be so.

　She remembered the look in Sol’s eyes when the young woman related how she’d been left with nothing, the broken sound of her voice when she’d demanded to know what had kept the gods from hearing her pleas. At the time Lunafreya had wished desperately to help, to do anything to understand and ease Sol’s grief. She wanted to protect her new friend.

　The moment the thought entered her mind, something inside her burst free. The very flow of time seemed to change. She could see the daemons about her frozen in mid-motion, and in this moment, she felt as though she could destroy any of them simply with a glance. The daemons in the air crashed to the ground, Lunafreya waving away the clouds of miasma they left behind, already intent on finding her next prey.

　She continued to rip apart each and every black mass that lunged toward her. It was exhilaratingly easy, like crushing clumps of dirt between her fingers. She was hunting the daemons one by one―no, cleansing them from the world. Collecting trash, piece by piece.

　Faster. More. She had to take more!

　“Luna, what have you . . . ?”

　At the sound of Sol’s voice, she snapped back to reality. She looked around, but there were no more daemons.

　She’d destroyed them. Every single one. With her own two hands.

　Lunafreya’s legs buckled, and she collapsed unconscious to the ground.

When Lunafreya had collapsed, it was not from fear. It wasn’t until a while later that she understood why, but the cause of her weakness was the scale of what she’d done. She’d absorbed so much scourge in so little time her body was overwhelmed.

　The darkness inside her would never dissipate. The more of the sickness she absorbed, the more sway it held over her. It pulsated and writhed within her, looking for any chance to take control.

　Yet she still remained blessed with the healing powers of the Oracle. She’d been drawing on those powers unconsciously to help stay the tiny thrashing creatures within her.

　That must have been the reason why she was chosen by the Draconian: her ability to withstand the scourge. A regular human being without divine powers of healing would simply succumb―once the scourge entered their body, they would quickly turn into a daemon. In contrast, the Oracle’s power could counterbalance that of the scourge, which made her an ideal choice.

　“Are you okay?” Sol peered into Lunafreya’s eyes, handing her a mug with a steaming liquid inside. Lunafreya nodded weakly and accepted the hot drink.

　After the battle at Nohm, Sol had apparently managed to carry the comatose Lunafreya back inside the station building. Not only that, she’d restarted the generator and restored light to the interior.

　“I don’t really know what I’m doing when it comes to making tea,” Sol apologized. “Getting it right’s harder than I thought.”

　“I am sure it is lovely. Thank you.”

　Lunafreya took a sip. The tea was in fact a bit more bitter than she cared for―which meant that for Sol, it must have been nearly undrinkable.

　“The aroma is most pleasing,” Lunafreya said, “As is the warmth.”

　Sol smiled and replied, “That’s exactly what I thought. Figured you might appreciate it, especially now.” Lunafreya realized it was true. Back at the signal cabin, where they’d found the teapot, Sol had fumbled for a way to compliment Lunafreya’s efforts, eventually settling on the comforting smell.

　“Do you think maybe . . . ?” Sol began, staring deep into the mug in her hand. “Do you think maybe, if you keep absorbing daemons the way you’ve been doing, you might lose your mind or something? Could you end up becoming one? If so . . . would it be better for all of us―you, me, the rest of humanity―if I killed you now?”

　The words were sinister, but the tone was not. Sol made no movement to draw her guns. It was not the tense mood of that first evening over cups of tea, when Sol had still been careful to keep her weapons within easy reach.

　“I wonder about that as well. Whether it is necessary for me to become a monster in order to stop them. I find myself . . . uncertain why the gods would put such a calling on my shoulders.”

　Lunafreya understood that the power she wielded was necessary to stop the daemons. But it seemed stopping the daemons might well cause her to become one. It was a terrifying thought that filled her with dread. She trusted in the gods, but still, she could not dispel her unease.

　“Tell me,” Sol said. “What do you want to do?”

　“It is the duty of the Oracle to aid the king of Lucis, so I―”

　“That’s not what I asked,” Sol cut in. “I don’t care about the duty of the Oracle. I’m asking about you. The woman sitting in front of me. What does Lunafreya want to do? Y’know, stuff you like, that you’re into but didn’t get a chance to do before.”

　“I . . . ” Lunafreya trailed off, uncertain how to answer.

　“Isn’t there something? Anything you wanna do not because you have to but ’cause you enjoy it?” Sol quirked a smile. “Hobbies? Clothes? Fine dining?”

　She’d never even considered experimenting with her clothing. All she needed were garments that were clean and chaste, inoffensive to the people she would serve.

　Although, there might have been one exception . . . A wedding dress. She’d had one once, and she’d been eagerly awaiting the day she might wear it, for on that day, she would stand beside Noctis and . . .

　Sol seemed to read her mind. “For example,” the younger woman said, “maybe you want to spend time with the king?”

　Yes. She’d had one wish, which she’d hoped so desperately might be fulfilled but which had never been. She wanted to be with the person who was most dear to her, to spend her life together with the man she loved. She’d sacrificed that wish to her duty as the Oracle and had passed from the world with it unrealized. An empty, lonely, mournful feeling had filled her on that day. It had been so much worse than when they were torn away from each other as children in Tenebrae. She could feel the ache in her heart even now.

　“I did once dream,” Lunafreya said, “of spending my days together with Noctis. That would have been more than enough happiness for me.”

　“Well, look at that. So there is something you want for yourself.”

　“But . . . ”

　“So what’s the problem? There’s something you want, and now you’ve got a second shot at making it happen. How about instead of telling yourself you can’t have it, you forget about the gods and this calling or whatever and focus on what you want out of life?”

　Lunafreya hesitated. It was in order to fulfill this calling that she had been granted life anew. If she abandoned her duty, could not the god who bestowed that life just as easily take it away? And there was another, arguably more significant issue.

　“I know not what I am anymore,” Lunafreya confessed. “Am I human? A monster?”

　She looked down at her open palms―the same palms that had drawn in more scourge than she cared to fathom. With a power like this, could she still be called human at all?

　“I can’t give you any answers about what exactly you are. But I do know what you’ve done. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead right now.”

　Sol’s hesitation was marked, and her words carefully chosen. She didn’t try to claim that Lunafreya was human in a facile attempt to reassure her. But neither did Sol seem inclined to deem her a monster outright.

　“If you ask me, I say to hell with all this Oracle stuff. Who cares about some damn calling? The Oracle died ten years ago. The person I see before me right now is just a woman. Her name is Luna. She’s crazy strong, but otherwise, she’s a person like anyone else, and she wants to be back with the guy she loves.”

　On hearing Sol’s words, Lunafreya felt the burden weighing her down lessen slightly. She was not free of her worries, and the physical pain and discomfort persisted as before. Not a thing had changed about her present situation, but even so, she felt a surge of determination to go on.

　“Sol . . . thank you for your kind words. Once again, I find myself in your debt.”

　“Hey, could you, uh, cut it out with the ‘I’m in your debt’ stuff?”

　“Why?”

　She was reminded of the last time she’d said similar words to Sol. The younger woman had turned away then, clearly put out.

　“It’s the kind of thing people say before they up and die on you.”

　“What do you mean?”

　“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” Sol gave her a puzzled look, but then began to explain. “It’s a jinx. You don’t say all your thank-yous and good-byes, because if you do, there’s no regret left to hold you back from dying.”

　Then, with a wrinkle across the bridge of her nose, she added, “Gods, how did you ever function before?”

　“I understand now. I am again indebted for your thorough expla―”

　“Stop already!”

　Lunafreya, bewildered by her own mistake, brought a hand up to cover her mouth. Sol burst out laughing, and then Lunafreya was laughing too. She managed to keep her next thank-you silent, saying the words only in her heart.

It looked like Luna was feeling better. Maybe teasing out her true desires had helped put her mind at ease. She’d be fine for now, at least mentally―Sol had no idea what to make of her physical symptoms.

　With Luna taken care of, the next thing to do was call Biggs and give him a rundown of what happened at Nohm. The outpost was critical to retaining their foothold in former imperial territory. Securing areas outside of Lestallum where people could live was one of the main goals of the Kingsglaive and everyone else who collaborated with them. So Nohm’s complete loss was something they couldn’t afford. They had to do whatever it took to make sure it wasn’t overrun by daemons.

　The nearby ruins were of interest because of the contents of a report on the empire’s past activities. The ruins themselves were relics of Solheim, but apparently, one of the empire’s old daemon-infused creations might be lurking within them. The goal was to eliminate the potential threat from the area and, at the same time, assess the feasibility of using the ancient structures as a settlement. A safe, easily defensible location in the former empire where people could live would allow them all to make more efficient use of the resources found there, as there were plenty of materials in the region that could not be transported to Lestallum.

　“Sol! Are you all right?! Where are you?!” Biggs started shouting the moment the call connected. Sol winced and pulled the phone slightly away from her ear.

　“We’re safe in Nohm. But by the time we showed up, it was already empty.”

　“We heard about what happened. Some of the hunters managed to escape. What’s it looking like now? The daemons still around?”

　“We’re all right. Luna took care of the daemons. What about Mom? Is she with you?”

　There was another silence, just as in their previous call. It was more than Sol could bear, and she repeated her question, voice going shrill. “What about Mom?!”

　“Lady A’s squad is down in the ruins. They’re surrounded by a pack of daemons that’s blocking the way back out.”

　“Got it. We’re on our way!”

　“No need. We’re already in the process of sealing the place up. Once that’s done, we’ll be pulling out of the area.”

　Sol couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Seal up? Pull out? What was Biggs saying?

　She felt the blood drain from her face.

　“You’re planning to leave them behind?!”

　Biggs did not answer. Sol felt the draining blood surge back.

　“The hell is wrong with you?! You think I’m just gonna stand by and let you do this?! I’m heading there now. I’ve got Luna with me, so―”

　“Listen to me, Sol. These are orders from Lady A herself. She doesn’t want anyone else going in there. This armor lurking down there―Sapphire Weapon, they’re calling it―is too big a threat. Lady A says to seal off the entrance and get the hell out of the area. You’ve got to stand down on this one.”

　Sol had read the reports on Sapphire Weapon, so she knew how dangerous it was. But she still didn’t want to accept the idea of . . . A lump formed at the back of her throat, and she found herself unable to speak. She knew her mother probably better than anyone else. If Aranea gave the order, she meant it.

　Biggs filled the silence. “I’ll pass word when we figure out the next rendezvous point. For now, sit tight in Nohm.”

　He ended the call, and Sol stood without moving, continuing to hold the phone in hand. Her thoughts wouldn’t come together. One phrase from her childhood sounded over and over in her mind. Please don’t take them away. Please don’t take them away. Was she about to lose everything? Again? Just like that awful day ten years ago?

　“Sol?” Lunafreya’s voice came soft and gentle. “Is everything all right?”

　“Um. Yeah. All good.”

　“Has something happened to your mother?”

　At the note of concern in Luna’s voice, Sol found herself almost ready to cry. She clenched her jaw, forcing down the welling emotion.

　“She’s in the depths of the ruins. Surrounded by daemons.”

　“Then we must hurry. Quickly, Sol! Let us go to her aid.”

　“We can’t. She doesn’t want anyone else following her in. I’m stuck out here.”

　When she said it, the words didn’t even feel like hers. It was as if she were reading lines off a page of a script.

　“What are you saying?” Lunafreya asked. “You told me before that you’re going to make sure no one else dies.”

　Sol knew that already. She didn’t need to hear it from someone else. Luna’s hands grabbed at Sol’s arms, but Sol batted them away in irritation.

　“Look, there’s some huge monster down there, one that even she wasn’t able to take down. And now they’re surrounded by a pack of daemons to boot. Me going down there isn’t going to make the situation any better.”

　“You mustn’t speak like that! You said it yourself on the phone. We’re heading in there! You’ll have me with you!”

　It seemed Luna had been listening to Sol’s half of the conversation with Biggs. Hardly a surprise, since Luna’d been standing right next to her. Which made it feel even worse for Sol to admit to herself that if Biggs hadn’t cut her off, she’d intended to continue, “I’ve got Luna with me, so it’ll be fine. She can take care of the daemons.” Because here she was again, expecting someone else to fix things for her, just like a child. Now she felt thankful to Biggs for cutting her off and sickly relieved she hadn’t let that last bit slip out where Luna could hear it.

　“We’ve got to hurry. We shall finish off the daemons and save your mother, then―”

　“Listen to yourself! You know better than anyone what absorbing the daemons does to you. If you keep on like this, next you’ll be turning into a monster.”

　Asking for Luna’s help was a step too far for Sol to take. She couldn’t sacrifice someone else, not even for the sake of her own family. She wouldn’t let someone else take on the burden that she should bear. Realizing that she’d been on the cusp of doing exactly that only strengthened her resolve.

　“It does not matter. I will help you. Not because it is my calling, but because I wish to do so.”

　“Would you still say that if you knew who I really was to you? To your family?”

　In M.E. 744, Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt of Niflheim had ordered the invasion of Fenestala Manor, home of the royal family of Tenebrae. The family of the Oracle. The assault claimed the life of the previous Oracle―Lunafreya’s mother―and for four years afterward, Lunafreya had remained in the manor under lock and key. Her captivity had been on direct order from the emperor.

　“I am Solara Aldercapt Antiquum, granddaughter of the late emperor of Niflheim. The man who killed your mother. Would you still help me now, knowing what my family has done to yours?”

　Sol had always been vaguely aware of her own high status even from an early age, but how precisely she fit into the hierarchy of the empire had been explained to her only recently. Her adoptive mother had been the one to break the news. “Now that you’re older,” Aranea had begun, “there’s something you should know.”

　The revelation had come suddenly and heavily. It felt like Aranea was delivering some deathbed secret―like she was preparing to leave Sol somehow. Sol had listened, but she’d grown sulky and defiant.

　“Yeah, I know,” she’d told her mother. “We’re not really related, I get it.”

　She regretted those words now with all of her heart.

　When she’d met Luna, she’d figured there was no reason to go out of her way to reveal her connection to the empire. They would only be spending a few days together at the most. But now, with Luna ready to sacrifice herself, it couldn’t be kept secret any longer. Sol wasn’t so cruel as to let the Oracle throw her life away for the sake of an enemy. Not for the descendant of someone who had so wounded her family.

　Lunafreya’s response took her aback.

　“Granddaughter of the emperor or not, it does not matter to me. The person I see before me right now is just a woman. She is disconcertingly good at cards, a rather indifferent cook, and a bit stubborn, but she is still a person like any other, and her name is Sol.”

　“Luna . . . ” Sol murmured.

　“Before me stands someone in need. I could not fathom refusing to help when it is in my power to do so. If I were to simply walk away and let your mother be sealed up in the ruins, I could never forgive myself.”

　On receipt of Biggs’s first message the other day, Sol had been almost frantic with worry. Who knew what might have happened to the survey team and those who had gone in to assist it? She’d taken her frustration out on Luna, saying horrible things to her, and yet, when they were surrounded by the daemons at Nohm, Luna had protected her as if it were the only thing to do.

　And as a result, Luna had edged even closer toward becoming a daemon. Now responsibility for that lay on Sol’s shoulders, too.

　She looked at Luna. “I can’t let you do it. I’ve already caused you enough trouble―”

　“It is no hardship,” Luna interrupted, words quiet yet firm. “I help because I wish to. Did you not hear me before?”

　Their travels together had only lasted a few days, but during that time, Luna’s words had always been truthful. The woman was too transparent for her own good, the type of person who always let her hand show. It was exasperating. But because she never lied and was always straightforward, her words held power. Luna wouldn’t say something if she didn’t believe it to be true. So her quiet statement pierced right to Sol’s core.

　“Luna . . . ” she started.

　Sol decided to be straightforward, too.

　“I’m sorry. I need your help. I can’t do this without your powers.”

　Luna smiled and nodded. “Then let us go. Together.”

　“Thanks, Luna. And whatever happens, I just want you to know―”

　Luna cut her off. “No. Do not say any more. That is the kind of thing people say before they go and die on you.”

　They looked at each other and laughed.

On the road to the ruins, Sol finally shared the story of the day she lost everything. The day Gralea fell. Since the events had occurred after Lunafreya’s death in Altissia, everything was news to her, from the revelation of Ardyn Izunia’s hand in the destruction of the empire to the report of Emperor Iedolas’s death.

　“Daemons attacked the estate that day. Soon the whole place was overrun. Desperate to see to my safety, my lady mother . . . Heh. It sounds weird, saying it now. But that’s what I used to call her. ‘My lady mother.’”

　Sol’s real father―the imperial prince of Niflheim, Iedolas Aldercapt’s son―had not been wed to Sol’s mother. For a long time, the emperor had been unaware of the existence of his own granddaughter.

　“The mom I have now, I met right after my escape. Ever since then, the day I became an orphan, she’s always looked after me. We’re not related by blood, but to me, she’s my real mother.”

　“Then we must stop at nothing to ensure that she is safe.”

　“Yeah. You’re right. We have to save her.”

　For a while afterward, Sol was quiet, and the motorcycle rolled on. But the silence was no longer awkward. There was no need for words said aloud. Lunafreya knew that she and Sol were thinking the same thing. They were headed toward the same future.

From the moment they’d arrived at Nohm and Sol had explained that there had been an incident at some ruins nearby, Lunafreya had suspected she knew which site it was. Now, as they drew near on Regina, her suspicions were confirmed.

　“This is Ralmuell,” Lunafreya murmured.

　“Yeah, that’s right. You been here before or something?”

　“I have. For the first time when I was twelve years of age.”

　When Lunafreya explained that this was the location where she had performed her training in preparation to become the Oracle, Sol’s eyes grew wide.

　“I was taught that it was a temple from ancient times,” Lunafreya explained, “but I had not realized that it rested atop a remnant site of the Solheim civilization.”

　The holy site of Ralmuell was said to be a place of communion between humanity and the gods. Citizens of Tenebrae often went to the ruins on pilgrimage, and the Oracle successors always trained there before ascension.

　“If you trained here, then you must know the layout, right?”

　“To some extent. As I understand it, there is a large underground cavern, but entry to that part of the site was forbidden.”

　“Know any shortcuts or side entrances? It’d be best if we can sneak in without being spotted. If Biggs and Wedge catch us, they’ll stop us from going inside for sure.”

　“Biggs. Might that be whom you were speaking with earlier?”

　Sol nodded. Lunafreya remembered the grief-stricken look as Sol had asked, You’re planning to leave them behind?!

　“Yes,” Lunafreya said. “I know of a way we can get inside without being too conspicuous.”

　For the duration of her training, Lunafreya’s contact with the pilgrims was carefully moderated, as she had not yet formally ascended as Oracle. She had made use of a passage that allowed entry to the training grounds without being seen by visitors.

　Beyond the passage, too, she had learned of several small rooms and hidden staircases carved into the solid rock that allowed one to move about in secrecy. The existence of such things perhaps implied that there had always been, even from ancient times, those with untoward intentions who wished to see the Oracle and her words bent to their own nefarious ends.

　They avoided the hunters watching the entrance and circled around farther back. To Lunafreya, everything about the temple grounds brought back memories. When they were inside, she gazed at the murals of the gods on the ceilings and of past Oracles on the walls.

　At the time, it had occurred to Lunafreya that someday her likeness, too, would appear on one of these walls, but at the age of twelve the prospect had seemed like something so terribly distant it was hardly even real.

　Things felt different now. She had lived one existence as the Oracle. She’d forged covenants with the gods at the cost of her life. She’d been killed by Ardyn. The temple walls were the same as when she was a girl, and yet now they carried a gravity she’d never apprehended before.

　Lunafreya’s mother had been killed suddenly and unjustly by the forces of Niflheim. Surely there were other Oracles of the past who had died untimely deaths, yet every Oracle on these walls was depicted with smiles overflowing with affection. How many tears did each of those smiles conceal?

　The portrait furthest back was of the first Oracle. She appeared again by the doors leading to the sanctuary, this time as a statue silently guarding the entrance to the holy site. Her name was engraved on the pedestal upon which she stood: Aera Mirus Fleuret.

　“Luna? Is something wrong?” Sol paused, a worried look on her face.

　“It’s nothing. This statue just caught my attention.”

　“She kinda looks like you, to be honest. Though I guess that makes sense. The first Oracle would’ve been one of your ancestors, right?”

　Lunafreya thought she heard her name being called again. She looked up to meet the statue’s eyes. For a brief moment, it seemed like those stone eyes were glistening with tears. The statue’s outline began to grow indistinct, and Sol’s anxious, repeated inquiries of “Luna?” faded away into the distance.

　The gods blessed me with a power and a purpose: to cure people of what ails them.

　The voice seemed familiar. Lunafreya felt certain she’d heard it somewhere before. The moment it reached her ears, her surroundings were bathed in golden light. Gone were the ancient murals and floor of stone. Gone completely were Sol’s cries. Ears of wheat bowed in the wind, a field stretching on as far as the eye could see. On every side, the warm color of the harvest surrounded her.

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

　The second voice was that of the first Oracle. For some reason, Lunafreya knew this with certainty.

　So who did the voice other belong to? Who was the first speaker?

　“Ardyn Lucis Caelum.”

　Her question was met with this immediate answer. Aera Mirus Fleuret, first to hold the title of Oracle, spoke directly into Lunafreya’s mind.

　“Such was the name of the man I loved,” Aera said, “and the man meant to be our Founder King, ruling over the new nation of Lucis.”

　Ardyn? That was who she’d heard speaking? The voice was quite similar in tone to that of the Ardyn she knew, but her mind reeled at the implications. And what was this about the Founder King?

　“Ardyn was chosen. He alone was bestowed with the power to heal those afflicted by the Starscourge.”

　Lunafreya’s surroundings shifted once again. Now she saw a young woman in the throes of the scourge, chained atop a small wooden bedframe in a shed. Ardyn stood before her, his hand extended. He drew in the scourge, and the young woman was healed.

　And there had been others, too. Soon, Lunafreya was witnessing scenes of innumerable lives delivered from the scourge by Ardyn’s hands.

　That power, Lunafreya thought. It’s the same as the power I’ve been given. But I’ve used mine only to destroy the daemons. I hadn’t realized it could be used to heal as well.

　Lunafreya had brought comfort to the ill during her travels as Oracle. However, the powers she wielded in that role merely bolstered the recipient’s innate capacity to heal. It was a world of difference from being able to remove the root of the scourge itself.

　She witnessed Ardyn in his plain and simple garb, on an endless mission to treat the suffering people of his land. Never did he rest. She witnessed his growing conflict with his younger brother; after a disagreement about the best way to govern and aid the people, Ardyn was forced to run for his life. Even near the end, as the scourge ravaged his body, he labored on for the sake of his people. He was the very picture of a savior.

　Ardyn desperately tried to contain the scourge that roiled inside his body. He feared that he might someday become a monster, and struggled against the worry that he might lose his own humanity. It was the same battle that Lunafreya had been fighting during these past few days of her returned life.

　“Ultimately,” Aera said, “Ardyn’s calling as bestowed by the gods differed from what he believed himself fated to do.”

　Despite the fact that he had labored to heal the people of his land―no, because of it―he was ravaged by the scourge, rejected by the Crystal, erased from Lucian history, and imprisoned on the island of Angelgard. There, he was renamed “Adagium” and branded a monster. Entombed deep beneath the rocky shores, brooding over the unjust way he’d been treated, he had millennia to grow and foster his hatred. The woman he loved had been killed before his eyes. His happiness and future had been stripped away.

　Nothing matters―none of it. Not the “blessed” gods above nor the accursed kings below. To hell with them all!

　His words full of rage and malediction shook the surroundings.

　Ardyn had put his faith in the gods and had given everything to his calling. Yet the gods did not heed his pleas. In fact, it was far worse than that―his fate as prescribed by the divine was of unparalleled cruelty.

　It was because of what she’d been through that Lunafreya could understand his despair. She had been granted the same power, and she now struggled with the same fears.

　How awful, she thought. How could I have been so blind?

　“Please, you must stop Ardyn,” Aera begged.

　She appeared before Lunafreya now not as a lifeless statue, but as she had been in life. Upon her face was immeasurable sorrow.

　“I beg of you. Deliver him from his long years of anguish.”

　Aera made no motion to wipe away her tears as she delivered her appeal.

　Stay the Usurper.

　So, too, the Draconian had commanded. The prospect of stopping Ardyn the Accursed seemed difficult enough. Now she was supposed to allay his suffering? Lunafreya did not know if she was capable of it.

　“Why me?” she asked.

　There was no answer. When she looked around, Aera was again a lifeless statue and Lunafreya stood right where she’d been before the vision. Directly before her was the pedestal inscribed with Aera Mirus Fleuret.

　“Luna?” She could hear Sol’s voice again.

　“I . . . ”

　“Did that bother you? What I said about you looking like some ancient Oracle?”

　Lunafreya remembered having heard such a comment, but it felt like quite some time had passed since Sol made it.

　“No, that’s not it at all.”

　“So you’re not angry? You weren’t ignoring me because you were mad about what I said?”

　Apparently, the exchange with Aera had occurred within a brief instant. She’d seen Ardyn’s past and heard the first Oracle’s plea all in the blink of an eye.

　“Are you feeling okay? And don’t lie to me,” Sol warned.

　“No. I am fine.”

　Lunafreya met Sol’s concerned expression with a smile.

　“Come. We must hurry.”

　Had she truly had a vision? It had been far too vivid to dismiss as just a hallucination, but the revelation felt too earth-shattering to accept. She didn’t wish for conclusive evidence so much as some sign to confirm what she’d seen was real and to help lead her to the truth.

At the back of the sanctuary was a small room, and inside that was a stairway that led underground. One level deeper into the earth, they found themselves at the entrance to the cavern.

　“Beyond here, I can offer no guidance. This area was not open to us.”

　“So does that mean that it used to be sealed off? Like, there was some gate across the opening or a giant boulder rolled in front of it?”

　“No. But there was always someone standing guard to keep people out.”

　The entrance to the cave and the stairway leading down to it looked the same as they had during her training. The only changes were the lack of a sentry and a faint light that seemed to emanate from the depths of the cavern. The survey team must have taken lights to set up along the way.

　“So anyone who could get past the guard could just go right in?”

　“Of course not. It was strictly forbidden. The cavern was not to be defiled by mortal hands.”

　“But didn’t it being off-limits just make you that much more curious?”

　“Among the citizens of Tenebrae, I doubt you would find many whose curiosity outweighed their respect for sacred ground.”

　Even Lunafreya could admit to the possibility of visitors with untoward intentions, who might have taken an opportunity to sack the ruins if one presented itself. But at the time, at least, sentries had proven sufficient to keep the cavern unsullied.

　“In any case, let us make haste,” she said. “We cannot afford to waste any more time.”

　The stairway leading down was narrow, which perhaps made the cavern seem all the more vast. The ceiling was so high as to make their voices echo eerily. Large piles of stone rubble littered the ground. They were clearly not the product of explosives meant for any survey. Great sections of the cavern walls had been blasted or torn away.

　“Is this the work of a daemon?”

　“Probably. Seems about what you’d expect from some giant daemon-powered magitek monster.”

　“The creation that waylaid the survey team?”

　“Right. They call it Sapphire Weapon. Supposed to be a real tough customer.”

　According to Sol, it was yet another juggernaut developed by the Niflheim Empire. After its manufacture at a nearby research facility, it had presumably been sealed away in this cavern. Or the cavern may have been intended as a location for its first experimental activation. “Or there was some other screwed-up reason we’ll never understand,” Sol concluded.

　The underground cavern was certainly large enough to serve as a testing space. But Sapphire Weapon was a variation of the armor used in the destruction of Insomnia. Diamond Weapon had toppled skyscrapers with ease. If a creation of similar magnitude had indeed been allowed to move about down here, it seemed nothing short of a miracle that the cavern itself had not collapsed.

　“Still, it didn’t have to go and open up huge holes in the place,” Sol muttered, staring at a remarkably large depression in one wall. It might have been the result of some massive punch or kick. In any case, the result spoke for itself in terms of the sheer power behind whatever created it.

　“Hey, come take a look at this.”

　Lunafreya looked over to find Sol peering into the depths of the hole. At a glance, it seemed to be just another element of the cavern wall, but as Lunafreya drew closer, she saw what Sol had noticed.

　“It looks like something’s buried back there,” Sol said.

　Lunafreya squinted. To Sol’s human eyes, they were likely only vague shapes, but for Lunafreya, more accustomed to the dark, the outlines were clear. Weapons. A spear and a sword. And it looked like there might be more buried farther back.

　“Why are these here?” she wondered aloud.

　“What is it? What do you see?” Sol asked.

　Lunafreya was unable to answer at first. The spear and sword were of unusually large size. So large that not even the empire’s magitek creations would be able to wield them, let alone a human. The owner of these two weapons therefore must have been neither human nor daemon. They had in all likelihood belonged to one of the Messengers. If she had to guess, Odin.

　When Lunafreya finally answered, she said, “Weapons, I believe. Ones that would have been used in the Great War of Old.”

　“What, you mean like the War of the Astrals? I thought that was just a story.”

　“It most certainly is not. The war truly happened. I have heard accounts of it from the Messengers.”

　Long ago, man had received the gift of fire, along with knowledge divine. Both had been bestowed by Ifrit, the Infernian. And with those gifts, man built a great and advanced civilization: Solheim. But the mortals grew arrogant. They turned against the god who had helped them to thrive and sought to drive him away. The Pyreburner, enraged, desired to put an end to mankind. This conflict between god and man would grow into a battle among the gods themselves, when first Shiva, the Glacian, and then the others intervened to safeguard the mortals.

　In time, Bahamut, the Draconian, tired of the conflict, both of man against god and among the gods themselves. The Bladekeeper, inhabitant of the heavens and among the Six standing apart, attempted to bring an end not only to mankind but to the Star and the five gods who resided upon it. So great was his power that his ends were almost accomplished.

　Four of the Six―Titan, Ramuh, Leviathan, and Shiva―defended against the Draconian’s blow, and the Star and its people were safe. In the end, all members of the Six retired in exhaustion, and the war ended with no clear victor or resolution.

　“That’s a lot different from the version I grew up hearing,” Sol said, her head tilted to one side, as Lunafreya finished recounting the details.

　“Much about the Great War of Old has been lost to time. Few today know its details.”

　When Lunafreya was young, she had constantly begged Gentiana to tell her stories of the gods. Ravus, her elder brother, had shown no interest, but Lunafreya loved to listen to Gentiana talk.

　“The Great War of Old stemmed from mankind’s rebellion against the divine. It is not a tale to pass down with pride.”

　“Right. I get it. It’s the kind of thing people want to bury.”

　Lunafreya did not know who first labored to see the story covered up. The truth of Solheim’s conceit would have appealed neither to Niflheim, seeking to return the glories of Solheim to the world, nor to Lucis, wardens of the divine gifts of Crystal and ring.

　Whichever side was behind the cover-up, it had clearly made use of the natural hiding space afforded by this cavern deep underground. They’d buried away the unhappy relics of the war, then proclaimed the cave a holy site and constructed a place of worship above it, thereby discouraging unwanted exploration.

　“The faith of the citizens of Tenebrae is great. If a place is said to be sacred, they can be trusted not to intrude. Whoever buried these artifacts abused that faith to ensure the truth would remain concealed.”

　“Well, can’t blame ’em for wanting to cover up something like that. That doesn’t make it anything you have to feel bad about, though. It’s all ancient history, right?”

　“I suppose . . . ”

　Lunafreya admitted to herself that Sol was probably right. At the very least, the modern survey team had either ignored or failed to notice the remnants of the War of the Astrals. They had neither connection to the line of the Oracle nor to Tenebrae. To them, this secret was irrelevant.

　“So what if humans defied the gods and buried the truth? It’s not like the gods did any better. Were they seriously going to let some stupid war escalate into the destruction of the entire world? Who even thinks that way?”

　Here, too, Sol provided food for thought. What if it was not man’s folly being hidden? Perhaps the truth that needed to be concealed was the narrowly averted fate of their star―that the gods might be petty enough to engage in pointless quarrels or reckless enough to destroy everything.

　“Perhaps this is not a statement befitting the Oracle, but . . . in light of such knowledge, one cannot help but wonder whether the gods deserve our faith.”

　In her mind, Lunafreya heard Ardyn’s words once more.

　Nothing matters―none of it. Not the “blessed” gods above nor the accursed kings below.

　They ended up paying a price for the time they spent lingering at the site of the buried weapons. Soon they were accosted again, this time not by daemons but by people.

　“What are you doing here?!”

　As soon as Sol heard the voice, her face scrunched up in dismay. A second angry shout joined the first. “Bloody hell, Sol, I thought I told you to stay out of here!”

　Lunafreya immediately surmised the identity of the two men: Biggs and Wedge. Avoiding this encounter was precisely why she and Sol had opted to use the training ground’s hidden entrance. Sol had thought that the two men would be busy helping seal off the entrance. Instead, here they were in the depths of the ruins. Clearly they had felt the same drive to assist Aranea. Even now, as work began on sealing the ruins, they’d ventured farther down into them hoping to perhaps carve a way through the pack of daemons encircling the trapped squad or locate some alternate route out.

　“Enough with the heroics. Time to back it up to the surface. No hope of getting any deeper than this, anyway.”

　“But . . . !”

　As Sol began to argue, Lunafreya placed a hand on her shoulder and stepped forward instead.

　“Please let us pass. I journey here as part of a calling bestowed upon me by one of the Six.”

　In truth, her actions had not a thing to do with the new calling. Lunafreya doubted such a transparent lie would ensure them passage, but she decided to try anyway.

　“Of course, miss,” one of the men began in a placating tone, “However . . . ”

　She continued over him. “I have come to save the people trapped here using the divine powers granted to me.”

　She had no idea which of the two was Biggs and which Wedge, but both wore equally befuddled expressions. They turned to look at each other.

　“It’s all right,” Sol offered. “You can trust Luna.”

　She said it with curt confidence as she stepped forward, now standing alongside Lunafreya.

　“Please, you must allow me to fulfill my calling.”

　One of the men turned back to Lunafreya, shooting a dubious glance at her before asking, “Do you really think you have a chance?” Which was immediately echoed by the other’s, “You think you’ll be okay down there?”

　“I do. I am sworn to protect this site sacred to the people of Tenebrae.” Lunafreya placed a hand over her heart as she spoke and bowed her head. There was a tense pause, and then finally the two men seemed to assent. They stepped aside to allow Lunafreya and Sol to pass.

　The two women made their way forward quickly. If they lingered, they risked having their bluff called. Spinning such tales was anything but Lunafreya’s strong suit. Her constant losses during the card games with Sol had certainly attested to that.

　When they were far enough away, Sol whispered into Lunafreya’s ear, “Pretty impressive back there. Turns out you’re a decent actress.”

　“Yes, I was quite pleased with the performance myself. It went much more smoothly than I had anticipated.”

　“Heh. Getting a big head now, too.” Sol laughed, then after a glance forward, her face grew serious again, “Looks like we don’t have any more time to chat.”

　Daemons. Undoubtedly some of the same pack that was keeping Aranea’s squad from pulling back to the surface.

　Lunafreya sensed Sol reaching for her shotgun. They had fought successfully together enough by now to be able to anticipate each other’s moves―who would go where, who would provide cover when, and so forth.

　The daemons were many and the quarters cramped, but neither posed a problem. The horde had been a thick black wall blocking their way, and now it was nothing but piles of fading dust. Beyond, they saw their destination. The furthest reaches of the cavern opened up even wider than before. This was clearly Sapphire Weapon’s lair.

　The air was frigid, perhaps because of the great depth beneath the earth, but if a shiver traveled up one of their spines, it was due to fear, not cold. The magitek armor towered before them, its overwhelming power obvious at a single glance.

　Lunafreya and Sol gazed upon the monster’s enormous maw―easily large enough to consume either of its challengers in a single gulp. Just above that was a red protuberance, like some manner of tumor, located where the forehead would have been had the face been anything like a human’s.

　“That red orb up there. Is that its core?” Lunafreya asked.

　She now felt grateful for the summary she’d received from Sol along the way explaining the makeup of the empire’s giant, daemon-infused creations. That was how she’d known to look for the core, which was both a deadly weapon capable of emitting an infernal red beam, as well as a weak point whose destruction could stop the giant.

　“You got it. Let’s hope that thing doesn’t light up, because if it does, we’re in for more than just a pretty fireworks show.”

　They spoke in low voices while covering the remaining distance to the creature. For a while, it seemed like sticking close to the walls and moving quietly might get them surprisingly close. But in the end, reality was not so kind.

　Sapphire Weapon turned and let out a roar.

　“Looks like that’s as far as our luck goes,” Sol muttered indignantly.

　This time, she produced a different weapon―one she’d brought along specially for the occasion.

　“Time for Tiny to say bye-bye,” she said, grenade launcher steady on her shoulder.

　“Yes,” Lunafreya chimed in. “Let us put an end to this. Together.”

　Using the sound of the firing projectile as her cue, Lunafreya began a flat-out sprint toward Sapphire Weapon. The grenade explosion shook the cavern but didn’t seem to do much damage to its target. The juggernaut leaned slightly to one side, but that was the extent of the impact.

　They’d have to stick with the fundamentals and create an opening for an assault on the core. Hopefully that would prove effective, but if not, they would be forced to try another course of action.

　“Sol!” she called out, “Concentrate on the right leg!”

　If they could restrict its movement, that might give Lunafreya a location from which to absorb the scourge.

　“Heads up!” Sol called back. “Dodge left!”

　Lunafreya dove forward and left, flattening herself to the ground. She felt a blast wave wash over her back. Sol’s grenade had found the target exactly where Lunafreya wanted it, exploding on the monster’s right leg.

　Sapphire Weapon shook its massive limb, stamping its feet like an enormous toddler. Lunafreya had hoped Sol’s attack might strip away part of the thick carapace shielding the creature’s body. They were making progress, but a single grenade wasn’t going to be sufficient.

　“Again!” she called.

　She backed off, avoiding the giant, crushing feet, then flung herself against the ground once more. Another explosion. Another hot wave rushing by. This time, the attack elicited an earsplitting, inhuman scream. Sol’s shout confirmed, “It’s working!”

　Lunafreya jumped back to her feet and closed in. She saw where the carapace had been ripped away, exposing the inside of the magitek creation’s leg. Flesh the color of rotten meat bulged out from the gash.

　This is my chance, Lunafreya thought, and stretched out a palm. She felt the familiar numbness crawl along her right arm, then wham―she was flying backward. When she came to, she was lying on the ground, back stinging from the impact. She coughed.

　“Luna!” Sol called. “Are you all right?!”

　She held up a hand to halt Sol’s dash forward.

　“Keep going! I’m fine!”

　Sapphire Weapon’s wounds were already beginning to mend. They couldn’t afford to let up on the assault. Not even for a moment.

　“Incoming!” Sol shouted, and Luna rolled onto her stomach, shielding her face. Once the next blast wave had passed, she was up in an instant and running to where the grenade had hit.

　This time, she managed to pull out a proper amount of scourge. Fire coursed through her arm. It felt like she might be consumed from the inside out. She grit her teeth against the searing pain and shouted back, “Sol! Don’t stop! Keep firing!”

　“Are you nuts?! I might hit you!”

　“Just do it!”

　Lunafreya’s powers alone weren’t going to be enough to stop Sapphire Weapon. And the monster’s capacity to heal itself wasn’t helping things.

　“While I’m keeping it busy down here, aim for the core!” she shouted.

　Sapphire Weapon was even stronger than they’d imagined. They’d have to fire on its weak point while simultaneously drawing out its daemonic energies. They didn’t have any other choice.

　But Lunafreya found herself flying backward once again, absorption interrupted.

　“One more time!” she shouted to Sol.

　First, the explosion on the right leg. Then the dash in to start pulling out the scourge―this time even more intensely than before. She had to keep the monster still.

　She saw a first, second, then third projectile bound for Sapphire Weapon’s head. While bracing against the impact and quake of the blast, Lunafreya let her power loose to an extent she never had before. Tremendous streams of scourge poured into her body. She couldn’t stop the scream that tore from her throat, and gripping tight onto her consciousness, desperate to keep from fainting, she steeled herself against the torrent. A ceaseless drumming sound like the fall of a hard rain filled the space around her. Her ears rang so loudly she could hardly hear anything else.

　As her vision began to cloud over, she saw one more projectile arcing from Sol directly toward the core.

　Good, she thought. There’s the fatal blow.

　Suddenly, Lunafreya’s body was thrown to the side. The world came back into focus. No, she realized, I wasn’t thrown. I’ve fallen. Her hearing returned, and she found that someone was shouting her name. The numbness receded, and she could feel again. She realized arms were wrapped around her, propping her up.

　“Luna! We did it! We finished it off!”

　“Wonderful . . . ” Lunafreya replied weakly.

　Her breath came shallow, but her body continued to hold against the mass of scourge swarming inside. She’d done it. They’d done it. They’d succeeded in destroying Sapphire Weapon.

　“Do not worry about me,” Lunafreya said. “Go. Your mother needs you.”

　According to Biggs and Wedge, the order to withdraw was the last communication received from Aranea’s unit. They were somewhere in the farthest depths of the ruins, surrounded by daemons, without any means of escape. They’d not been heard from since. As Lunafreya and Sol were now in the ruin’s deepest chamber, Aranea had to be nearby.

　“You must find her. Hurry,” Lunafreya said. She could feel it. More than just a fear of what might be, it was a certainty: if Sol did not find her mother soon, it would be too late.

　They’d challenged Sapphire Weapon, and no one else had joined the fray. If Sol’s mother were able, would she not have rushed to her daughter’s aid? The fact that she had not was an ill sign.

　But Sol seemed already on the verge of tears.

　“Luna,” she said, her shoulders trembling slightly even as she stood straight and tall.

　“Look . . . ”

　Sol pointed a shaking finger. Luna turned her head to look. The dust had settled, and Sapphire Weapon’s hulking form was deteriorating. The expanse of the cavern was again visible, and there, in the direction indicated by Sol, stood another daemon. It was of height similar to Sol’s, and it was―or at least, it had been―clearly female. On its back was a spear. Silver-white hair adorned the daemon’s head. It was the same color Sol had mentioned when describing her mother’s hair on the way to the ruins.

　“It’s Mom . . . ” Sol said, slumping to the ground. “She . . . she’s . . . ”

　Lunafreya’s fears had been correct. Before them stood Aranea. Perhaps the mercenary had already known what was happening to her when she gave the order to withdraw and seal the entrance. Perhaps the scourge had been consuming her body even as the words left her mouth.

　“Allow me to take care of this,” Lunafreya said.

　Her legs had been so weak she thought she might not walk again for some time, but resolve brought new strength. Lunafreya stood and headed toward the daemon Aranea.

　She heard a faint rasping voice as she drew near. “Stay away.”

　It seemed the woman still retained some portion of her conscience.

　“What do you mean, you’ll take care of it?” Sol asked, voice trembling.

　“I’ll draw out the scourge. It’s not too late. Once she’s rid of the disease, she’ll be back to normal.”

　Sol’s eyes widened. For Lunafreya, too, it was a use of her new powers she hadn’t considered before their arrival in this place. But there, before the statue of the first Oracle, Lunafreya had witnessed Ardyn’s past. The man had once been hailed as a savior. With the same power that Lunafreya held now, he’d healed countless people.

　“But you’re weak,” Sol protested. “You’ve already just drawn in all that―”

　“I will be fine,” Lunafreya cut her off. “After all, I am meant to save the world.”

　She turned to Sol’s tear-streaked face and gave a smile. Ten years ago, the gods had failed to respond to this girl’s fervent prayers. Sol had demanded to know whether they even heard or cared to answer. It was finally time to give her the answer she deserved.

　“Luna, I’m sorry to ask you to do this for me,” Sol sobbed. “But please . . . Please save her. She raised me. She’s my only mother in this world!”

　Lunafreya nodded. She turned back to face the daemon Aranea and stretched both arms wide in an embrace. She drew in the scourge―every part of her body absorbing it this time. She felt her breath catch in her throat. The tiny creatures already swarming in her body all began to thrash about at once. Lunafreya’s shriek of pain came out as a guttural, beastly cry, and she clenched her teeth together.

　Ardyn saved hundreds upon hundreds of lives. What about me? I still haven’t saved a single one. If I manage nothing else with this life, let me at least save this one person so dear to Sol.

　The scourge was flowing in even faster than before. The power was amplified to new heights, beyond Lunafreya’s control. Darkness crept over her vision. Soon the world was painted black, and the only thing to penetrate her senses came with a strange clarity: a high-pitched cry of “Mom!”

　Aranea’s body was pulled away. That action, too, seemed to come from somewhere else. Lunafreya had not released her; though she willed her limbs to move, they remained still. But the scourge had all been drawn out. Of that, at least, she was certain.

　“Sol? Where . . . ? What happened to me?”

　This was a new voice, one Lunafreya did not know. She wanted to turn toward it, to confirm it was that of the person she hoped, but her neck was as stiff and unresponsive as her limbs.

　The Oracle’s body was no longer her own. But her vision slowly returned, and she looked as far as her unmoving eyes would allow, discovering patches of black-stained, disgustingly swollen skin. Her skin. Despair and regret snaked through her chest. She wished she had not seen.

　“It was Luna! She saved you!” she heard Sol exclaim.

　No, she wanted to scream, don’t look. But her throat was frozen, too. She wanted to run, to leave this place and hide. She cursed her rigid arms and legs.

　“Who’s Luna?”

　Aranea turned around, and Luna could see her face. She watched as the woman’s expression shifted, filled half with fear and half with loathing.

　Sol seemed to sense it, too.

　“No! Mom! Stop!” she called, but Aranea was already brushing her daughter aside, one hand reaching for the lance at her back.

　“Get the hell away from my daughter, you monster.”

　Blue sparks arced across Lunafreya’s single frozen pane of vision. There was a horrible noise, together with the shock of impact.

　And then there was nothing.

“The thing’s a daemon, for gods’ sake!”

　Sol stood with her ear pressed against the hotel room door. Apparently, years ago the old Leville had been the lodgings of choice for Prince Noctis and his retinue whenever they passed through Lestallum. Now the building served as headquarters for the Kingsglaive and Hunters. Sol wondered how the prince―or rather, the king―might feel if he knew of the discussion happening in the building now, one meant to decide the fate of his long-lost fiancée.

　“I think she’s the real deal. Daemon-form or whatever, that’s the Oracle in there.”

　Now Aranea was speaking. It was nice to hear her defending Luna, but Sol still thought bitterly of how things might have been different. If only her mother hadn’t jumped to the conclusion that the woman she’d faced in the cavern was a monster.

　No, Sol thought. It was my fault. I didn’t explain the situation well enough. She should have begun by immediately telling her mother what had happened: Luna had drawn out the scourge. She’d saved Aranea. Or maybe this outcome could have been avoided if Sol had referred to her as “Lady Lunafreya, the Oracle,” instead of by nickname alone.

　At any rate, she’d failed to convey to her mother that Luna was a friend and ally. As a child, Aranea had lost her family to daemons, and her hatred of them was old and deep. When she saw what looked to be a daemon near Sol, she’d acted instinctively to protect her daughter. And who could blame her?

　Once Sol realized what was happening, she’d raced to stop it and explain the situation. Sol’s pained expression as she watched the scene unfold, along with the fact that Luna remained motionless, taking the full brunt of the Stoss Spear’s first and only blow, seemed to make Aranea realize there had been a mistake, but it was too little too late.

　Worse, Aranea’s initial shouts had brought Glaives and hunters running. Once other people were involved, no amount of explanation or pleading was going to suffice.

　After all, what they encountered on arrival was just some vaguely human-shaped thing wrapped entirely in pitch-black miasma. Lunafreya had been unable to speak or even stand by that point. The only reason she wasn’t dispatched on sight was because Aranea had stepped in. “Sol claims this woman is the Oracle, and I can’t say for certain that she’s not,” her mother had said. “This is a call we need to leave up to the brass.” And so she’d urged them all to head back to Lestallum, where they’d settle the matter.

　Lunafreya was slapped into restraints and carried back to Lestallum via dropship. Sol, not permitted to ride along, raced after them as fast as she could on Regina.

　“If she truly is the Oracle, I assure you that’s blood we don’t want on our hands.”

　Aranea was doing everything she could to keep Luna alive. She seemed to feel no small amount of responsibility now that her own savior was bound and locked away. But the way Aranea said it―overemphasizing the word “truly”―seemed more for her own benefit than for the others engaged in the argument. Aranea was still struggling to convince herself. It was a bitter conflict between her hatred of daemons and the recognition that she owed this particular daemon her life, two strong emotions that were hard to reconcile.

　In any case, the response to Aranea’s sentiment was cold.

　“We should dispose of it.”

　Short. Matter-of-fact. That would be Cor.

　“Assuming she is the real deal, how do you account for her being here at all? Are we supposed to believe she came back to life? Ignis, you were there. You saw her die.”

　“Yes. Lady Lunafreya most certainly passed from the mortal realm. But . . . ”

　“But what?”

　“I also witnessed something else. The Oracle’s body seemed to, ah, vanish that day.”

　“It ‘vanished’?” This next, rather charged exclamation was undoubtedly from Gladio. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

　“Precisely how it sounds.”

　“Now that you mention it, I do remember hearing they never found the body . . . ”

　“Even if she turns out to be the Oracle, that doesn’t get around the fact that she’s become a daemon. We need to get rid of her.”

　Sol crept away from the door. If things kept going the way they were, Luna was in trouble. Sol had to find a way to save her. Simply breaking her out of confinement wouldn’t be enough. Unlike the former empire, the area around Lestallum was well-populated. Any time spent lingering nearby would mean recapture and death for Luna. Someone would have to remain behind while Luna fled, to keep any potential pursuers occupied.

　Luna had said she wanted to get to Insomnia. A journey like that required a pretty hefty supply of equipment and food. Fortunately, Sol had refueled Regina when she got into town, and had packed up some equipment and food as well. She’d had a hunch things might turn out this way, from the second she saw the cold and rough way the Glaives and hunters had handled Luna back in Ralmuell. That was why she’d been willing to push Regina to the limit on the road to Lestallum. She’d kept nearly constantly on the move, with only the bare minimum of breaks, then half threw herself and the bike onto a departing ferry. It was due to luck alone that Regina had managed the journey.

　And as for Lunafreya, Sol owed her more than she might ever be able to repay.

　She wouldn’t let them kill her, no matter what. This was the woman who had answered her prayer, who had saved the only family Sol had left. Now it was Sol’s turn to help see a wish fulfilled.

Lunafreya knew she was dreaming again. She was clothed in the pure white of her wedding dress. In her hands was a sylleblossom bouquet. Confetti swirled and danced through the air, and the scene was set to a chorus of cheers. Reaching out to take her hand was her beloved―the person she’d waited so long and so desperately to see. Her gaze traveled up from their joined hands, but before she could see his face, consciousness intervened.

　Another dream, she thought. Why do I continue to torture myself?

　She squeezed her eyes shut, not to return to sleep but to stave off tears that might know no end. She swore to herself that she would not cry. It was painful as ever to know that she would never be beside Noctis again, but she had managed to bring back the person who meant the world to Sol. That was a wonderful thing. A joyous thing. So there was no need for tears now. She would carry on with pride.

　“Lady Lunafreya.”

　A familiar voice reached her ears, sudden and unexpected.

　Lunafreya’s eyes shot open. Her pitch went high with surprise. “Gentiana!”

　Then after a moment, she asked, “Is this another dream?”

　She was not in the hotel at Lestallum. Surrounding her was the same void as before, dark like the color of the deep sea. Gentiana’s form floated amid the black, green, and blue haze.

　“There is little time. Heed these words.”

　The High Messenger, always so calm and elegant, seemed unusually rushed.

　“Do not be deceived by the Bladekeeper’s words,” Gentiana continued. “The Star is in peril, as are its people. To endeavor for the calling is to invite destruction complete.”

　Lunafreya’s voice trembled. “Gentiana? What are you saying?”

　“The flow of fate was altered when the Accursed turned from the gods. This much is truth. But the Oracle’s new powers will not stay the Usurper. They have another purpose. The Bladekeeper seeks darkness, for which the Oracle is now a vessel. The Oracle is tasked with harvesting of all of the world’s darkness, including that inside the Accursed.”

　“But why should that lead to the end of Eos and its people?”

　Gentiana gave a single word in response. “Teraflare.”

　After a pause, she continued. “To cast it, the Bladekeeper seeks to increase his power by drawing on those of both daemon and Oracle. Once before did blades supreme threaten the Star, but in that age long past, the power fell short. Destruction was stayed, the Bladekeeper’s ends unrealized.”

　“The Great War of Old,” Lunafreya murmured.

　Bahamut, the Draconian, weary of the fighting between god and man, had endeavored to see everything wiped from existence. The other gods had held him back, just managing to spare the world its judgment. It was a story Lunafreya had heard from Gentiana countless times before.

　She remembered a conversation she’d had with the Messenger when young.

　“Gentiana, why did the Draconian try to destroy everything? Why would he want to do such a horrible thing?”

　“Among the Six, the Bladekeeper stands apart. From the heavens high above, the Star and its lives seem distant.”

　“But I thought the gods protected the world. I thought they looked after all of us.”

　“Man is to god as flower is to man. When a girl walks among the fields of sylleblossoms, does she see each flower in its own right? Or is one the same as any other? Destruction wrought by the Bladekeeper is not vengeance against man. It is the work of a gardener, pulling from the field flowers among which disease has spread.”

　Horror swept through Lunafreya. Was that what Gentiana was implying?

　“The Draconian. Does he again seek to reap us like flowers from a field?”

　“Having failed once, the Bladekeeper will not fail again. The spell shall be charged with power overwhelming, that the disease of the field cannot spread again.”

　“And that is why the power to harvest the scourge was bestowed unto me, the Oracle?”

　Gentiana nodded.

　“But that’s . . . ” Lunafreya trailed off. She looked at her hands. The hands now intended by the God of War to help bring an end to Eos. “All this time, it has been the Draconian standing against us.”

　She remembered Ardyn, screaming his curses at the gods. Millennia ago, the man had placed all his faith in a presumed calling. He had given of his life only to be betrayed, then vowed to kill the god behind that treachery.

　“We must convince the Draconian to abandon his plan,” Luna proclaimed. “But how are we to sway him?”

　“The will of a god is not easily bent.”

　Of course not. To Bahamut, they were merely flowers, riddled with pests and needing to be cut down.

　“Do we have no choice but to defy him? If he cannot be swayed, our only other option is to stop him.”

　“Nor is the hand of a god easily stayed. The Bladekeeper exists twice over: once in this world, and once beyond. Though one should fall, return it shall, as long as the other remains.”

　“So he cannot be killed?”

　Gentiana’s voice grew even more hurried. “Hear me, Lady Lunafreya. The spell of the Bladekeeper requires strength immense. Stave off the first blow, and no more shall come. Strength sapped leads to slumber deep. The Star and its people may yet live on, even if the God of War cannot be defeated.”

　“The same as happened in the war so long ago?”

　The outlines of Gentiana’s form began to grow indistinct.

　“The Messenger is discovered. There is no more . . . ”

　“Wait! Gentiana!”

　The Messenger was fading, the deep haze beyond shimmering through her form. “The Oracle must choose her own future.”

　And then both words and form were gone. Lunafreya opened her eyes, and she was in the hotel at Lestallum, her hands and feet bound tight, body still limp and unresponsive. All as it was from the moment she fell asleep.

　“The Draconian would destroy us,” she murmured to herself.

　It was beyond comprehension. The gods were committed to safeguarding Eos and all its inhabitants. Never once had she doubted that, not even when Gentiana had spoken of Bahamut’s place as being above and distant from all, less attuned to mortal existence.

　Long ago, the Draconian had bestowed upon Ardyn the power to act as a savior. Then he’d allowed the same man to be struck down, reviled by his kind as a terrible monster. The Bladekeeper did not hesitate to employ cruelty and cunning to see his will through. And now he was attempting to do the same to Lunafreya.

　She and Ardyn were not unalike. They were both pious, dedicated in their faith to the gods, and blind to the plots that dictated the courses of their lives. They were both marionettes, made to dance as divine hands pleased, then cast aside when the play was over.

　“It is unforgivable,” she whispered to herself, new anger boiling to the surface. But she did not yet know how to proceed. She stared at the ceiling, scouring her mind for ideas.

It took Sol more time than she’d expected to locate Luna’s makeshift holding cell. She’d assumed the room would be guarded, so she’d been on the lookout for manned doors. In the end, that hadn’t provided much of a clue, since way too many of the hotel room doors had posted guards. Not that this was the result of some plan to throw off anyone intent on breaking the Oracle free―there were simply a lot of people and items that merited guarding. Which made sense, when she bothered to think about it. The hotel was the current HQ for all Hunter operational strategy, located at the very center of humanity’s stronghold, the only source of order left on Eos.

　“Rookie mistake.” She shook her head, frustrated by her own naivety.

　“And what mistake would that be?”

　The sudden voice from behind her nearly launched Sol into the air.

　“Mom?! What are you doing here? What about the meeting?”

　The discussion hadn’t exactly been going smoothly. Sol had figured both Aranea and the representatives from the Kingsglaive would still be holed up in their room for some time yet. That, too, was part of her plan, to make her move while the real threats were preoccupied. Some lowly sentry posted outside of Luna’s door would be easily pickings.

　She hadn’t accounted for the possibility of running into her mother. This went way beyond a worst-case scenario.

　“Kicked over a chair and got ‘excused’ from the rest of the debate,” Aranea winked. “They sent me off to cool my head. Which gave me the opportunity I needed to come track down a certain little troublemaker. I had a feeling you’d be sneaking around by now.”

　“Please, you have to let us go. Luna’s my friend. She needs my help,” Sol begged.

　My friend. The moment she said the words, there was a pain like a dagger wound deep in her heart. Sol finally understood. It wasn’t because she owed Luna. It wasn’t because of the things Luna had done for her. The reason she wanted to help was because Luna was important to her. Their time together had been short, but they were companions of the road now. They were friends.

　“You’re putting me in a tight spot here, y’know that?” Aranea said.

　Then, “Hey. Don’t start crying on me.”

　Aranea shoved a handkerchief up against Sol’s nose. Sol realized tears were streaming down her face. Once more, she felt like a child.

　“But, Mom, I . . . ”

　“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

　Aranea’s hand was warm on her head.

　“Come with me.”

　Sol wiped the tears away with the handkerchief and followed. Once upon a time, she’d had to tilt her head back to see her mother’s shoulders when she walked behind her. Now those shoulders were at eye level, and yet somehow Aranea still seemed so incredibly far above her. Once a mother, always a mother.

　They stopped in front of an unguarded door. Sol was bursting with questions, but Aranea put an index finger to her lips.

　Aranea knocked four times, then announced, “Good work in there.” The pattern of knocks and the words seemed to be some manner of passphrase. The door swung open, and Sol saw that the guard was posted not outside in the hallway, but inside the room itself. He was a young man whom Sol didn’t recognize, almost certainly at the bottom of the food chain around here.

　“Sorry to bother you. Just wondering if I could ask you for a favor?” Aranea said.

　“Me?”

　“Yeah, I’ve got something you can help out with. Won’t take more than a few minutes. The kid here’ll watch the room till we get back.”

　Sol’s head was already bowed low, in a most likely vain attempt to keep her tear-stained cheeks out of sight. She dipped it a bit farther in a curt nod.

　“Thanks, Sol. Keep a sharp eye out, all right?”

　Aranea casually slipped something into Sol’s pocket, then led the guard out and down the hallway. Sol closed the door behind her with one hand and walked deeper into the room. Finally, she saw her.

　“Luna!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Luna. I wanted to get here sooner.”

　“Sol!”

　Luna lay on the bed, hands and feet still bound as before. Sol stuffed a hand into her pocket. She’d had a hunch about Aranea’s little gift, and it proved correct. The locking device. Her mother must have planned it all out ahead of time.

　“This is all my fault, Luna. I―”

　“You needn’t apologize. You believed in me, Sol. That was enough.”

　Tears traced their way down Luna’s cheeks, black as ink. The ebony patches of skin once peeking out from her sleeves and collar had now crept down the backs of her hands and across her face.

　“Of course I did. Obviously. What kind of friends don’t trust each other?”

　Sol pressed the button on the locking device. Luna’s restraints snapped open with a dull click.

　“Can you run?” Sol asked. “We need to get out of here before the watch returns.”

　“Won’t letting me free cause more trouble for you?”

　“You gave me my mother back. Now it’s my turn to help you. You need a way to get to Insomnia, right?”

　Luna nodded. Her hesitation was gone, and now determination shone through, clear as day.

Regina was parked at the edge of the city. They ran together through the streets. Finding Luna within the unfamiliar layout of the hotel had been trickier than she imagined, but when it came to the city itself, Sol was in her element. Nobody knew Lestallum better than she did. Every shortcut, every corner to turn and alleyway to use to keep out of sight; she navigated them all without even having to think.

　As they neared the bike, Sol explained, “Regina’s already loaded up with food and equipment. A map, too. You’ve got this, right?”

　She placed the helmet on Luna’s head and adjusted the straps.

　Luna lowered the goggles over her eyes. “I am in your debt, Sol.”

　A wrinkle formed at the bridge of Sol’s nose.

　“We’ve been over this already. That’s what people say before they up and die on you.”

　“I know.”

　“So why are you―”

　“Do not worry. I will not die. I swear it. So please, just let me say my thanks.”

　“All right, fine. Well I’m not gonna die, either. So when you get back, you better make me another cup of tea, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

　Regina’s engine roared to life. Sol saw Luna’s lips move but couldn’t make out the words. Then Luna and Regina were off, and Sol was waving with her arm held high as they rode into the distance.

　When she could see them no longer, she turned around and drew her gun. Nobody would be following Luna. She’d see to that.

　As she made her silent vow, the blare of emergency sirens began to fill the city of Lestallum.

On the road from Lestallum, Lunafreya was forced into occasional skirmishes with daemons. But she was thankful to find no trace of hunters or Glaives pursuing from behind. And, though she was still very much a novice on the motorcycle and her travels hardly swift, the skyline of the Crown City was growing undeniably closer. She realized she was now traveling the same road she’d walked along with the other evacuees the day Insomnia fell. Back then, she’d been so anxious to get out. Now, she was just as desperate to get back in. It was a strange feeling.

　She stopped for a brief break just before the bridge leading across to the city proper. There, she added one final message to the notebook. Somehow, Umbra seemed to know. He was there before she’d even readied herself to call him.

　“Hello, Umbra,” she said. “When the time comes, please give this to Noctis.”

　The dog lifted his tail high, as if to say, It will be done. And then he was gone, vanished into the surrounding darkness.

　Preparations were complete. She’d sorted out her feelings, and her mind was made up. Lunafreya’s steps into the desolate Citadel were quick and sure.

　On that day years ago, the Citadel had been filled with bullets, explosions, and the incessant drone of magitek engines. Lunafreya recalled the stench of gunpowder and blood. Those things, at least, had been evidence of people. Of life. Now she found only daemons as she made her way to the heart of the edifice. It was eerily quiet. There was no scent of blood anymore.

　Slowly, she pushed open the final doorway.

　Though ten years had passed, to Lunafreya, it seemed but a few months since she last stepped foot inside the throne room. But the vast space now looked drastically different.

　“I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

　Ardyn’s voice floated down from on high. Scant days ago, she might have been angered to find him lounging in smug satisfaction upon the throne. But not anymore. Now his boorish posture and lack of propriety were simply those of a tragic jester. She felt pity for the man.

　“The one you hope to see is not here.”

　The erstwhile chancellor seemed to assume she had come for Noctis.

　“Ah, but do pardon my surprise at this most unexpected development. How very nice it is to see you again, Lady Lunafreya.”

　Contrary to his words, Ardyn’s tone lacked any trace of surprise. He seemed wholly unconcerned to find the woman he had killed with his own hands now returned to life.

　Her words came measured. Precise. “You misunderstand. The one I am here for is you.” The statement implied more: she was well aware that she would not find Noctis here. It was not yet time for them to be reunited.

　“I have something I should like to discuss with you,” she announced.

　Ardyn’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

　“Ah! The Oracle would have words with me. And here I thought the gods had sent their pretty little marionette to do their bidding.”

　Wrong, she thought. I do not desire to kill you, for you are as much a puppet to their will as I am. And now, I seek to clip my strings just as you do.

　Lunafreya stared into Ardyn’s eyes.

　Now came the gamble.

　“I wonder if I might ask for your aid.”