Sirius stood at the edge of the desert airship bay, watching as Clive Rosfield wandered through Rabanastre's streets. The man moved with a swordsman's grace, cutting down stray beasts beyond the gates with flawless precision. Yet Sirius' gaze was not on Clive's blade — it lingered instead on the shadow in his eyes.
Grief. The chains of the past bound him still. Joshua. Cid. The comrades whose names he carried like ghosts. Sirius could see it clearly: Clive fought not only monsters, but himself.
"He needs someone who can speak to him," Sirius murmured, folding his arms. "Not of power, but of duty. Not of battle, but of destiny." His eyes narrowed. "And I know who."
He turned toward the waiting Aetherveil. "Aether," he said.
"Yes, master?" The ship's voice rang in his mind, smooth and loyal.
"Set course for Tenebrae. Before the fall."
"As you command."
The ship's veil shimmered, folding space. In an instant, the deserts of Dalmasca fell away. Darkness and light bent, reshaped, and then opened again onto a land of twilight beauty.
---
Tenebrae.
The kingdom sat cradled by snow-capped mountains, moonlight spilling across ancient forests. White blossoms grew in profusion, carried by the winds like drifting stars. Castles of pale stone rose above the valleys, their spires lit with the quiet glow of lanterns. There was peace here, fragile yet profound, as though the gods themselves blessed this soil with gentleness.
Children's laughter echoed faintly through the gardens. Priests in silver robes moved through the temple steps. And at the heart of it all stood a manor where the last Oracle was raised.
Sirius breathed deeply. "So this is where her thread shines… before darkness comes."
---
He walked through the outer gardens, unseen by the caretakers, until he found her. A child, not more than twelve. Her hair was pale, almost like moonlight itself, and her small frame seemed delicate — yet her eyes already carried a quiet strength. She was kneeling, speaking softly to a withered flower, her hand hovering over it.
"Please," she whispered, "bloom again. Even if only for a little while."
The flower stirred, petals brightening with a glow not of nature, but of blessing. Sirius remained still for a moment, watching. Gentle. Selfless. Resolute. Just as he remembered.
Then he stepped forward.
"Lunafreya Nox Fleuret."
She startled, turning — but did not cry out. Her gaze fixed on him, wary yet calm. "Who are you?"
Sirius lowered his hood, letting his features show. "A traveler. One who sees threads… and the burdens people carry."
She tilted her head, studying him. "You carry none. But… you speak as though you've seen mine."
Sirius smiled faintly. "You've been chosen by the gods, haven't you? To serve as their Oracle. To guide the True King, and bring words of heaven to men."
At that, her hands curled into small fists. "Yes. It is my duty. It is what I must do, even if it costs me everything."
"And that," Sirius said gently, stepping closer, "is where they are wrong."
Her eyes widened. "…What do you mean?"
"Guiding others is noble. Helping the True King, yes — that is part of your calling. But fulfilling a destiny written by others?" His tone sharpened. "That is not yours to bear. Every soul deserves their own fate, their own choice. To be forced into a path is not duty, Luna. It is a chain."
The words struck her harder than she expected. For a moment, the quiet certainty she always carried trembled. "…But the gods—"
"Are not always right," Sirius interrupted softly. "Listen to me: your worth is not only in what you give to others. It is also in the life you live, the joy you feel, the bonds you make. Never forget that, Lunafreya. If you forget yourself entirely, then one day there will be nothing left to guide anyone."
---
She was quiet for a long time, staring at him as though trying to memorize every word. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I… understand. At least, I will try."
Sirius reached into his cloak. In his palm shimmered a small crystal trinket, faintly glowing in the moonlight. "Then take this. A gift. A charm, to bring you luck."
Her breath caught as she reached for it. "It feels… warm."
"Keep it with you," Sirius said. "It will help you when the darkness seems too great. More than you can yet know."
She smiled faintly, clutching the charm. "Thank you, stranger."
"Not a stranger," Sirius said softly. "A friend, though you may not remember me when you're older."
---
As he turned to leave, she called after him. "Wait! What should I call you?"
Sirius looked back, eyes glinting. "Sirius."
Her lips formed the name silently as she watched him vanish into the night air, leaving only the blossoms swaying gently in the wind.
High above, aboard the Aetherveil once more, Sirius closed his eyes. "Clive. Luna. Two threads, both bound to sacrifice. But if I can reach them early enough…" He opened his eyes, determination burning. "Perhaps I can change more than fate itself."
Sirius faded from sight, the petals he passed stirring as though they, too, whispered his name. For a long moment Lunafreya stood frozen, her small hands cupped around the glowing trinket. The warmth of it pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.
The garden was quiet again — just the soft wind, the hush of leaves, and the faint glow of the blessed flower she had coaxed into bloom. But her own heart was anything but still.
She pressed the charm to her chest. Every soul deserves their own fate… not one forced upon them.
The words repeated in her mind, circling like birds above water. She had grown up hearing the priests speak of duty, of destiny, of sacrifice. Her mother's voice, frail yet firm, always reminded her: "Luna, we serve the gods. We obey. That is our path." And she had believed it, because how could a child not?
But this man — Sirius — had looked at her not as the Oracle, but as a person. And in that moment, for the first time, she wondered: What is my path, if I choose it for myself?
Her gaze drifted to the flower she had healed. It still glowed faintly, fragile but alive. She touched its petal with a finger and whispered, "Even you… had the choice to bloom again."
A soft laugh escaped her lips, half a sob, half a release. "Am I foolish, to believe him? Or… brave?"
She glanced up at the stars, the same stars Noctis would one day walk beneath. "A friend," she whispered, recalling the name he had given. "Sirius."
The trinket's glow brightened at the sound of his name, then dimmed to a steady, comforting rhythm. Luna hugged it closer, shutting her eyes. She still believed in her duty — to guide, to heal, to stand as Oracle — but something inside her shifted that night. A seed was planted.
No longer would she see herself only as a vessel for the will of the gods. She would remember the stranger's words: that she, too, was allowed to be Lunafreya, not only the Oracle.
And though she could not yet imagine the trials to come, she felt less alone. Somewhere in the weave of fate, Sirius walked alongside her.