The Dalmascan sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the desert plains bathed in silver light. Heat still clung to the stones, but the winds were cooler now, carrying the dry whisper of sand that never truly slept. Beyond the sandstone walls of Rabanastre stretched the wastes — quiet, but never safe.
Sirius had sent Clive and Lunafreya into the wilderness, their trinkets humming faintly as reminders of his watchful presence. He lingered unseen, threads of fate woven around his perception, his gaze following their every step.
Clive led the way, his greatsword balanced across his shoulder, his stride steady. Lunafreya followed, staff in hand, her pale hair catching the moonlight like woven silver. Though her body seemed fragile in the dim glow, her eyes carried a steadiness born of trials far harsher than any desert.
"Stay close," Clive said without looking back, his tone more protective than commanding. "The wastes don't forgive carelessness."
Lunafreya inclined her head, her voice calm as flowing water. "I am not afraid. But I would learn what you would teach."
Clive's gaze flicked toward her briefly. She looks delicate, he thought, but she doesn't break. Not glass — ice. Clear, cold, unyielding.
They walked on, the sand crunching beneath their boots, until the desert wind shifted. A growl rolled low across the dunes — guttural, hungry. From the shadows ahead, shapes emerged: Dalmascan Wargs, twisted by lingering magicks from wars long past. Their fur bristled like black iron, and their eyes burned with unnatural hunger.
Clive drew his blade in one smooth motion, fire flickering to life along the steel. His lips curved faintly. "Good. This will do."
The beasts fanned out, circling. Their paws barely touched the sand as they prowled. Lunafreya lifted her staff, her expression solemn. "They are restless. Angry. But not beyond reason."
Clive snorted. "They'll be beyond reason soon enough."
The first beast lunged, a blur of claws and teeth. Clive stepped forward, blade arcing in a fiery swing that split it in two. The others howled, charging together, a tide of hunger.
"Back!" Clive barked.
But Lunafreya did not retreat.
She lifted her hand, her voice low and firm. A blue ripple surged outward, invisible chains binding the wargs mid-leap. Their howls twisted into confused whines, claws scratching futilely against the sand.
Clive froze mid-step, blinking. "You… stopped them?"
Lunafreya's voice rang steady. "They hear me. The Oracle's gift was to speak — even to beasts. Even in death, that gift lingers."
Her power faltered. One chain broke. A warg lunged, its jaws snapping for her throat.
Clive surged forward, his sword cleaving through fur and bone. He shoved the carcass aside with a snarl. "Don't overreach," he growled, planting himself before her. "Your words won't help if you're torn apart."
"I must try," she answered softly, sweat beading at her brow. "If I can still them, you need not burn yourself away with every strike."
The pack circled again, snarls echoing through the dunes. Clive's chest tightened, heat building in his core. Ifrit's flame stirred within him, eager to devour, eager to rage. Her strength buys me time, he thought grimly. Then I'll finish it.
He roared, leaping into their midst. Fire surged from his blade, licking across sand and sky. Each swing burned hotter, each strike wilder, until the line between man and flame blurred. The wargs fell, but so too did the desert itself burn, dunes charring black under his power.
Lunafreya's heart raced. She saw it — the danger not only of beasts, but of the fire itself. He was a man on the edge of breaking, wielding chaos as if it were a shield.
"Clive!" she cried, her voice cutting through the roar. "Ifrit is not your master. You are more than rage!"
For an instant, his blade faltered mid-swing. A warg darted toward his exposed flank — but Luna's staff glowed, water surging forth in a torrent that knocked the beast aside.
Clive gritted his teeth, slamming his sword into the sand. The flames recoiled, sputtering as if resisting him. He staggered, chest heaving. "I… I had it under control."
Lunafreya shook her head. Her voice was calm, but it struck like a hammer. "No. You wrestled with chaos. You cannot silence it with anger. You must steady it with will."
Clive glared, but the truth in her words stung deeper than any claw. She sees it. She understands the fire's weight… perhaps better than I do.
The remaining wargs prowled warily. Lunafreya raised her staff again, her voice like a hymn. Frost shimmered across the sand, and a faint vision of Shiva's serenity descended. The desert air grew cold, freezing the beasts' paws in place.
"Now!" she urged.
Clive surged forward. This time his blade did not blaze uncontrolled. Fire burned steady, measured, in harmony with the frost. He struck with precision instead of fury, each blow deliberate, each motion balanced. Flame and ice wove together, and the wargs fell one by one.
Silence returned. The desert wind sighed.
---
Clive stood amid the corpses, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His blade glowed faintly red, heat radiating from its edge. He turned toward her.
Lunafreya leaned on her staff, pale but steady. "You nearly burned yourself out," she said softly. "And I nearly exhausted myself to stop it. We are flawed alone…"
Clive exhaled, surprising himself with the words that came. "…But together, we balance."
A faint smile curved her lips. "Yes."
The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable, but reflective. Clive wiped sweat from his brow, averting his gaze. "I don't need saving," he muttered.
"No," she agreed, her eyes gentle. "But you need not stand alone either."
Her words pierced deeper than he would admit.
---
Later, as they made their way back toward the city, Sirius's voice brushed against their trinkets. "Well done. Both of you."
Clive scowled at the sky. "You were watching."
"Of course," Sirius replied, amusement woven into his tone. "The flame and the Oracle — chaos and calm. Tonight you learned what neither could grasp alone: that power shared is power multiplied."
Lunafreya's hand brushed the trinket at her side. "Perhaps that is the truth of it. Not destiny imposed… but strength chosen, together."
Clive was silent, though a spark stirred in him — not joy, not yet, but something small and fragile. Hope, flickering like a flame sheltered against the wind.
And Sirius, unseen above, allowed himself a faint smile. The threads of two lives, once weighed by gods and vengeance, now wound tighter, weaving into something stronger.