You are the Warrior of Light.
Champion of Eorzea, blessed by the Mothercrystal. You've bested tyrannical warlords, fearsome dragons, and god-like beings. You've liberated nations, aided in their restorations. You rub shoulders with their leaders and the common folk alike. With every victory, every adventure, every grand feat, your legend grows. Everyone knows your name. Everyone knows what you've done. Everyone knows what you're capable of doing.
'It's the blessing of Hydaelyn,' they say; 'the power of the Echo,' 'the unwavering soul of Azem'. Only the Warrior of Light could do what you do, only someone destined to usher change and defend the very star from destruction. Allies and enemies alike agree; there is nobody like the Warrior of Light.
But that's where they're wrong. You may be special, or chosen, or destined... but you don't feel that at all. All you feel is the pedestal you never asked to be put on. The perceived gap between you and them is staggering. They think you untouchable; so far removed from human you must be a god, or something greater. You aren't a person to them any more. You're a symbol. An idea. A concept. Intangible.
You are the Warrior of Light. And you will never be anything else.












