The Black Mage Village was quieter than ever. The forest canopy whispered above, swaying gently in the breeze, but the laughter of ten small voices filled the emptiness that once felt like a graveyard. The Vivi children ran between the huts, chasing butterflies with clumsy steps, their hats nearly too big for their heads, their glowing eyes wide and full of wonder.
No. 288 stood by the cemetery, watching. He had spent so many days here mourning the stopped ones, tracing their gravestones with trembling hands, yet today the air was lighter. The little ones did not yet know about death, nor about destiny. They only knew how to laugh, how to stumble, and how to reach for each other's hands when they fell.
Beside him, two elder mages stood silently. One held a staff for balance, the other rested a hand on the chocobo chick that chirped happily near their feet. The chick had grown fast, but its playful pecking at the children's boots still made them giggle.
"They don't know," one of the elders murmured, voice low.
288 nodded. "Not yet. They shouldn't… not until they're ready."
He turned as the air shimmered. Sirius appeared just beyond the wooden gate, his cloak flowing as though caught in an unseen breeze. The children stopped in their tracks for a moment, tilting their heads at the sight of the tall stranger. But their fear lasted only seconds. Soon, they laughed again, running circles around him, tugging at his sleeves, shouting questions in their high, curious voices.
"Who're you?"
"Why do you glow?"
"Can you make butterflies?"
Sirius looked down at them, his expression softening. For a moment, even he seemed unprepared for their innocence. He raised his hand, and with a flick of magic, conjured a small orb of light that danced in the air. The children squealed in delight, chasing after it.
288 stepped forward, bowing his head. "You came back."
"Yes," Sirius said, his tone calm but heavy. "I've seen what Vivi has done. These children… they are his will, his essence reborn. And they must not end here."
288's eyes dimmed slightly, remembering Vivi's last moments. "He gave everything… to create them. We watched with our own eyes."
Sirius nodded. "I know. That is why I'm here." He gestured to the children, now piling sticks together as if they were building a house. "They are innocent now. But the world is not kind. If they remain here alone, they will repeat the same fate as their predecessors. We must prepare them."
The two elder mages exchanged uneasy glances. "Prepare them… how?"
Sirius folded his arms, his eyes gleaming. "Eorzea."
The word lingered in the air, unfamiliar to the others.
"Another world," Sirius continued. "There, magic thrives differently. There are guilds to teach discipline, teachers to guide both spell and heart. It will be their breeding ground, their sanctuary for growth. But their roots must remain here, in this village. This place is their memory, their foundation. From child to teen, they stay here—under your care."
He looked to 288. "You, and the two who remain with you, will teach them. You will guide them in kindness, in discipline, in knowing right from wrong. You will show them happiness, before they face hardship."
288 was silent for a long moment. His gaze drifted back to the children, who were now cheering because the chocobo chick had jumped into their pile of sticks, scattering them everywhere. Their joy was untainted, pure. Could they bear the truth, one day? Could he?
"And after?" 288 finally asked.
"When they are older—when they are ready," Sirius said firmly, "they will return to Eorzea. There, they will train, not as lost children… but as a generation with strength, knowledge, and choice. Gaia will give them their identity. Eorzea will give them their future."
The elder with the staff tapped the ground nervously. "And if they fail? If they… stop, before then?"
Sirius's gaze softened, just slightly. "They will not. Not anymore. I have already given them time—more than any before. And perhaps…" His voice lowered, contemplative. "…in the third generation, we may even see something new. A change. A female Black Mage, perhaps. Life has a way of finding paths unseen."
The three elder mages stiffened. Even the chocobo chick tilted its head.
"A female?" 288 echoed, his voice uncertain. "We've… never…"
"You've never seen it," Sirius corrected. "That does not mean it cannot be. This is evolution. The second generation is proof that fate no longer binds you as before. What Vivi began has opened doors none of us can predict."
288 turned, watching the children again. One of them had tripped and scraped its knee, but another immediately rushed to help, pulling the injured one up and brushing the dust off. They laughed together and ran off again, as though nothing had happened.
"They're still so innocent," 288 murmured.
"That is why you must protect them," Sirius said. "Until they can protect themselves. You are their elder now—the bridge between past and future. They will look to you, not me. Do not fail them."
For once, 288 straightened his posture, the weight in his shoulders shifting into something else: resolve.
"I will teach them," he said quietly. "Not just how to live… but how to choose."
Sirius allowed a faint smile. "Good. That is all I ask."
The children ran past again, this time chasing fireflies as the night began to fall. Their glowing eyes shone with innocent wonder, reflecting in Sirius's own.
Perhaps, he thought, Vivi's will was not only to give life, but to give hope.
And here, in this village of memory, hope had begun to grow again.
The night fell soft across the Black Mage Village, the last rays of twilight cutting long shadows between the gravestones. The ten small Vivi children had grown tired from their play, some dozing in the grass, some leaning against the chocobo chick as if it were their guardian. Their glowing eyes flickered faintly in the dark, like lanterns almost ready to dim.
Sirius lifted his hand, the trinket at his side glowing faintly in sympathy. A quiet pulse spread from his palm — not bright, not overwhelming, but gentle, as though it carried the rhythm of life itself. The light touched each of the ten children where they lay, sinking into their small forms. Their chests rose deeper, their glow steadied.
"They will live," Sirius said softly, his voice carrying over the graveyard breeze. "Not just days, or a handful of months. Sixty years each."
The two elder mages gasped audibly, staff tapping against the ground. Even 288's glowing eyes widened.
"Sixty… years?" 288 whispered. He turned to look at the children, one of whom stirred and yawned, then curled back into sleep. "That… that is more than any of us have ever known."
Sirius nodded. "Yes. They will pass through their stages naturally, as life was meant to. From child, to teen, to adult, and finally to elder. Not all will walk the same path — some may stumble, some may shine brighter than the rest. But they will have a path."
He gestured to the small ones. "Child Black Mages — the innocent, the wide-eyed, who know only play and curiosity. Teen Black Mages — the restless, who begin to ask questions, to shape their identity. Adult Black Mages — the strong and steady, who take up duty and lend strength to others. And Elder Black Mages — the wise, who pass on knowledge, guiding those who come after."
Sirius lowered his hand, letting the power fade. His gaze turned toward 288, whose head was still bowed toward the graves.
"But do not mistake my meaning," Sirius said firmly, his tone like steel beneath the calm. "Do not spend your days here, brooding among the dead. The graves are memory, but the children are life. Ten new Black Mages live here now, and they are your charge. Your future."
288's body stiffened, his eyes lifting slowly. The two elder mages glanced between Sirius and their companion, the weight of the truth falling over all three.
"And you," Sirius continued, his voice softening just slightly, "are not bound to the short span you once feared. You, and the two who stand with you, now carry sixty years as well. Do not waste them mourning. Do not waste them waiting for the end. Use them — to teach, to protect, to live."
Silence hung heavy. The only sound was the gentle chirp of the chocobo chick, who nosed curiously at one of the sleeping children.
Finally, 288 exhaled, a low sound that trembled between sorrow and relief. "Sixty years…" He looked at his hands, then at the graves behind him, and finally at the small ones curled in the grass. "Then… perhaps our story is not only one of endings."
Sirius inclined his head. "No. It is a story of beginnings. The first and second generations carried grief. The third will carry hope. Do not let that slip away."
For the first time in memory, 288 straightened, no longer hunched under invisible weight. His gaze fixed on the children, watching as two of them stirred, holding hands even in sleep.
"They will not be alone," 288 said, his voice firmer. "Not as long as I remain."
The two elder mages nodded, their voices low but resolute: "Nor as long as we remain."
Sirius allowed a faint smile, rare and fleeting, but real. "Then you understand." He turned once more to the children, letting his eyes linger on their innocent glow. "These ten are your charge. Guard them well. And in time… perhaps they will teach even you the meaning of life."
The village fell quiet again, but the silence was no longer heavy. It was lighter now, filled with the soft breathing of the children, the rustle of the chocobo's feathers, and the faint spark of something the Black Mages had not felt in generations.
Hope.