Fandom Final Fantasy: The Age of Ophiuchus [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

Cleon was evidently enamored with the view, as Reva hoped he was. It was a sobering view, paired with the thought that this was how most of the viera saw the world – but what a view it was! To imagine the world beyond, and never know it. Reva could have been condemned to that fate, and sometimes, she wondered if she would have stayed if Leviathan never came to her.

She hummed at Cleon’s whispered words, and smiled at his own recollection of a small world.

It had grown so much larger for him now, in such a short time. Not in the way she would have wanted it to grow for him, either. No clandestine visits, just…war. Hardly the best way to learn how inconsequential your own speck of life was.

“Many do not,” Reva said. “It is comfortable at home,” as it should be, “not everyone is drawn by the allure of travel,” did she pity them? Reva didn’t know. Was she jealous of them, to be so easily content? She was not sure of that, either.

But she would not change her choice to reclaim home.

She frowned at the thought of the Mist. “Not here,” meaning, of course, the forest, “but I believe it stretches further away than it used to. It is hard to tell with the snow and mountains,” and they would not venture that way. There was nothing to see that way, for them, unless some temple existed in the mountains.

She hoped not.

Dealing with mist was not fun at all.

“There are other views, to other sides. I could see the end of the forest that way,” she gestured behind them, “to the fields beyond. Not quite to any human cities,” they could never see that far. Humans knew better than to live so close. “I always liked to be up here,” to see. She truly had always been a dreamer.

It showed even then, at the memory of it all.

Of dreams she could not have again, for now, she had lived them – lived going beyond the borders, instead of just looking out. And the dream of staying? Impossible.

 

[Arcanist]

“I don’t remember being much interested in it myself. I think I contented myself with staying home.” The thought might have crossed his mind, when books were his looking glass into the rest of the world. But his nest in Ucantis became too comfortable to leave as he grew older, and so he never thought much of exploring the rest of the world, what with war happening outside his borders. It was easier to ignore it.

And even now, he still wanted to distance himself from it, despite his ever-growing role in it.

Cleon squinted his eyes slightly as if he would be able to pick it out against the blinding white ahead of them. At least it didn’t congregate in the forest, but he frowned at the idea of it stretching further.

At least it was not here nor near Reva. He did not want her to have to deal with it, given what he’d heard before.

He turned his gaze toward where Reva gestured, further afield, literally. It was strange to imagine Reva much younger, hiding high above her home, looking out and dreaming of what lay beyond. For someone who had lived, and outlived, generations of his own family, he could not see her as cloistered as the viera here were.

“I can see why you liked it here,” Cleon smiled, still looking at the beyond that Reva gestured to. “It was your window to what was out there. I’m jealous that you never had any buildings blocking your view of the world.” It truly was so separate from any other settlement. And yet, even then, Cleon felt that familiar pang in his chest, despite his so-called jealousy of a view without such blockades.

Though, it meant she had a clear view of the land ahead, the sky…

“Did you ever see the Twelve’s stars and constellations from here?” Another thing to be jealous of. He heard the chat of dimming stars and the disappearance of stars from scholars for years. Reva could have at least had the chance to see them, or at least, a sky full of bright little lights before they started disappearing.

 

[Lucyfer]

Reva certainly recalled Little Cleon, and though he had a wanderlust, it was not far. He had not wanted to go out beyond the walls of the castle much, though like any child, it stirred him. The garden was often enough excitement. She did chuckle at his jealousy over no buildings. There were trees she could complain about, after all, though she never thought to back then.

Now….

It was such a human thought to complain about them.

It saddened her, immediately, and effectively, as she spoke of the stars. “Yes,” she answered, “born marked, I would always look for it, and I could see it. It is still visible,” most of them were, “but I noticed it dimming. We were all aware of the stars dimming. I was told stories that they used to be brighter, before I was born.” The stars were not out yet, not even a twinkle on the horizon, “When I left, it was a reason. I asked Veda if She trembled when the stars fell. The fall happened before I was born, but I knew of it. We all knew of it.”

Sometimes, she had thought she was a bad omen for it.

“She trembled, but Veda said it was natural,” Reva could not help the scoff as she smiled at bravery she did not have, “Veda was comfortable with mortality. She is comfortable with mortality. Perhaps it is something the old find comfort in. Even Her,” she looked down upon the leaves, upon plants old and young, “perhaps it is something one must contemplate to find acceptance.”

She shook her head, “It is why they are not so worried about what we speak. Their lives are to Her, and if She should go, then it must be their time. A foolish thought,” or was hers foolish? Like her complaint of trees? “When She could be saved, but they would rather not intervene. They know not how to differentiate a natural death of Her from an unnatural.”

Did She even know? She did not speak to tell them.