The inn at Rabanastre was quiet. A lantern flickered low in the hall, its flame making shadows crawl across the rough stone walls. In his room, Clive lay on a narrow bed, staring at the beams overhead. Sleep would not come easily — not when every breath seemed to stir memories he could not escape.
Joshua's laugh. Cid's sharp grin. The faces of comrades who had fallen one after another. The weight of their loss pressed against his ribs, heavier than the desert heat outside.
If I could carry it all myself, Clive thought bitterly, then maybe no one else would suffer.
He turned onto his side, pressing his forehead into the crook of his arm. The thought of Joshua burned deepest. Chosen by the Phoenix. Loved, cherished. And Clive? The elder brother who could not protect him. His hand curled into a fist. Why him? Why not me?
The shame of it followed quickly, sharp as a blade. He loved his brother. He would die for him — he had proven that countless times. Yet jealousy lingered, a poison he could not spit out.
At his chest, the trinket pulsed. Once, twice. Warmth spread through him, threading calm into the storm.
Sirius' words whispered in his memory: Sacrifice is not always noble. If you erase yourself for duty, nothing of you remains.
Clive exhaled slowly. The anger loosened. His shoulders eased against the mattress. The warmth held him steady, not smothering the grief, but softening it enough that he could breathe. He pressed his palm flat over the charm. "Then what am I supposed to be, if not the shield that breaks?"
The trinket offered no answer, only another pulse, like a heartbeat in rhythm with his own. For the first time in many nights, sleep found him — not free of sorrow, but without the claws of despair.
---
Far away, another thread stirred.
Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. Oracle of Tenebrae. Her life had been duty: to serve as bridge between gods and men, to awaken the Astrals, to guide Noctis toward the path chosen for him. Her every breath had been sacrifice, her every smile a promise that was never for herself.
She had stood in Altissia, hands raised in prayer, calling Leviathan from the deep. The city roared and crumbled around her. Ardyn Izunia's blade pierced her flesh. She had coughed blood but still pressed the Ring of the Lucii into Noctis' palm.
"Walk tall, my king…"
And she died.
Her spirit lingered, watching from beyond, tethered to the boy who carried her heart. Until a hand reached into that endless dark.
---
Her eyes opened.
Not to Astrals. Not to the Ring.
To him.
The man from her childhood garden. His presence was unchanged — the same calm strength that had unsettled her long ago, when he told her duty was not everything.
"You…" Her voice was hoarse, but alive. "I thought… you were only a dream."
Sirius crouched beside her, pressing a hand over the trinket at her chest, its glow steady and soft. "I told you this charm would guide you when the darkness became too great. And now it has done so."
Luna clutched it with trembling fingers. "But why? Why am I alive? I was meant to die there. To give Noctis strength."
"That was the destiny written for you," Sirius said, firm but gentle. "But destiny is not the same as worth. Death was meant to be your final journey, yes. But I refuse to accept it."
Her eyes widened, tears spilling. "Then… what am I now?"
"You are Lunafreya. Not the Oracle. Not a vessel. Yourself." He straightened, voice carrying a quiet gravity. "There is another world, a world of chaos that seeks to consume all others. That is why I revived you. Your resolve is too great to be lost. You cannot return to your old path — destiny would only claim you again. But you can fight here. You can choose here."
For a long moment, silence lay between them. Then she nodded, tears glimmering in the dim light. "Then I will choose. Not because the gods demand it. Because I wish it."
Sirius offered his hand. She took it, rising to her feet, and the Aetherveil shimmered into being. In a flash of folded light, the ruins of Altissia fell away.
---
They emerged into Dalmasca.
The desert stretched wide beneath a burning sky, but the city of Rabanastre bloomed like an oasis at its heart. Sandstone walls gleamed golden. Towers of carved stone rose high. The streets pulsed with life: bangaa with scaled snouts, viera with long ears, humans in loose desert garb. Merchants called out prices, children darted between chocobo carts, the scent of spice and sun-warmed bread carried on the air.
Luna pressed a hand to her lips, eyes wide. "It's… alive. So alive. I thought I had seen the breadth of the world, but this…" Her voice faltered with wonder. "It feels free."
Her trinket glowed again, and Sirius gestured to it. "If you wish to speak to me, or to the others, that charm will allow it. You can communicate across distance, even across worlds. One to one, or all together. Even show your faces through its projection."
She clutched it tightly, as though afraid it might vanish. "A thread between us all…"
"Exactly," Sirius said. His tone softened. "Stay here. See this world for yourself. You will not walk alone. I will wait."
He remained near her, unseen by others, but his eyes drifted toward another thread — one pulling closer, guided by the same glow.
---
Outside Rabanastre, Clive's hunt carried him into the desert. A contract had been posted for a pack of wolves harrying travelers, and he welcomed the chance to spill blood on something other than his own thoughts.
The beasts lunged from the dunes, teeth bared, eyes glinting in the sun. Clive's blade sang through the air, each strike precise, cutting deep into fur and flesh. Fire burst from his palm, searing another to ash. He moved with brutal efficiency, but even as he fought, his thoughts churned.
How many more must I kill? How many lives must I take before the scales balance?
The trinket pulsed, sharp this time. Clive froze mid-breath. It was not calming him now — it was pulling him. A direction, a guide.
He sheathed his sword and followed.
Through the gates. Into the city. Past the markets, where the cries of merchants and the scents of spice barely touched him. The trinket burned hotter, tugging him like a chain.
And then—
---
Luna stood in the heart of the bazaar, her pale dress stirring in the desert wind. Sunlight caught in her golden hair. She looked out at the crowd with eyes both soft and steady, absorbing every detail with awe.
The trinket at her chest pulsed in rhythm with another. She pressed it, startled, then turned—
And Clive stopped dead.
For an instant, his breath left him. The figure before him — white dress, pale hair — memory surged, raw and unbidden.
"…Jill." His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.
But no. His vision steadied. This was not Jill. The presence was different, radiant in another way.
Lunafreya.
Alive.
The trinket pulsed once more, and the threads between them locked into place. Sirius watched from the edge of the square, silent, his eyes calm.
The chains of destiny break one by one, he thought. And now, two more threads are bound.