Ivan Xemear

Somehow there Ivan was, floating in the metaphorical darkness of his mind. A place he had avoided with a purpose for so long with the help of medicated herbs. Had he fallen asleep? His mind went to Fuluh, this hadn’t been a problem since his reflection rejoined with him. The Keeper’s wandering thoughts were pulled into focus suddenly, his glowing yellow eyes drawn to the red, flame-like image that hid Zodiark’s visage in this dark abyss.

He had been here so many times, at first with no clue of what was happening or what the dark god was trying to tell him. So much had changed. Over time Ivan had used other resources to piece together the language and the story of this summoned being. And then at some point he began to understand Zodiark’s goals. However, there was one isolated matter they could never settle on. 

Control. Zodiark’s breathless voice spoke out, airing what they were both thinking, but surely the mage wasn’t summoned here to dredge up old debates. 

This manufactured echo of my essence will soon cease to exist. As one of my pawns, you disobeyed me until my body’s last breath. 

Ivan’s head tilted in brief confusion before looking down at his slightly lifted hands where he could feel the weight of metaphorical shackles drop away. He had been haunted for so long now, held back by what he truly wanted to achieve. At the root of everything there had always been Him tugging at the chains. 

“What happened? Why bother telling me this?” He wouldn’t have given the primal the same respect. 

Because you and similar beings were chosen for my purposes for a reason. The attributes in you that I needed are a part of you. Your defiance of me will be rewarded with continued failure. I lament not being able to witness it. Ruhki’a, how long can you swallow back your sociopathic ways before your benevolent comrades notice?

Ivan opened his mouth to challenge the threat only to find himself awake at his desk, the side of his face firmly planted against the paper he had been writing. He shot up, already his heart pounding in his chest. Zodiark’s words were long forgotten, replaced with a familiar sinking feeling in the air, in the aether around him, around the entire star. Numbly, he made his way outside, eyes plastered to the La Noscea sky as he waited to see if the same red would fill the clouds as they did those years ago. 

Behind him Luun stepped out of the door, their sharp gaze looking to their husband expectantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I think a lot is about to go wrong soon.” Finally the Keeper looked over his shoulder to the slender framed Viera. “More importantly to us… He’s gone, Vral. Zodiark is dead.”

The file was kept tightly closed until he was back to the emotional safety of his home and the privacy of his office. For the longest time Ivan’s golden eyes only glared invisible holes in the folder. Luun told him what had happened on the last trip to the First, who he had seen. But he needed to see it on paper, the permanent record of the description. He heaved a sigh then flipped the file open, his fixation pausing at a certain title as he read. “King in Red.” Well maybe some people read these reports.

Ivan’s hand came up to cover his mouth as he got to the description of a woman, a middle aged Mystel with white hair and white skin. His breathing grew fast and anxious and he read the words over and over and over, praying for a mistake. Surely there had to be some small detail to explain this away, to make this impossible truth go away.

The Keeper’s emotional stress had little time to breath as he thought back to a conversation with Kletty and then a very different one with Felyna, two opposing sides of his story. An arrogant and prideful sense of self preservation welled up in him the longer he stared at the words. They deserve to know.

There were eyes on him and he finally turned to look up at the painting that had been hanging behind him, the physical proof that Luun knew exactly who he had seen. A painting of the Xemear family, the six people together were another impossibility brought to reality but this was through the caring and talented hand of a dear friend. A sense of responsibility waved over him as he looked at the visage of his mother. “They never should have gone there.” He said to her, knowing she never would have let him use that as an excuse to withhold information.

He turned back to the desk and picked up his quill, feeling like he was stabbing an exposed nerve as he dipped it down into the ink. He wasn’t sure what any of this meant but he knew he could not figure it out on his own so he released this small token, this small nugget of information.

Next to the description of the female Mystel a small note was added in Ivan’s Xemear’s tidy and distinguishable handwriting.

“Those screams pressed in against those sensitive Miqo’te ears, but this man had faced demons before, and would know better than to fall for their tricks.”

Somewhere lost in the breeze of Western La Noscea a silver spirit watched. Sometimes she saw the land as lush and giving and other times it was brittle and cold. Time and space mixed together as she observed, a child of the moon catching small glimpses of what had been her life. 

Mixed throughout the muddled memories always came a small clearing, first green with life and surrounded by trees with the vague features of her former self and her dear family members enjoying the outdoors. But other times red would seep into the sky and the landscape would dry and wither. She could only watch as the form of her son dug two graves in that once peaceful spot. She wanted nothing more than to follow him when he did finally leave, but she was tied there. 

Telling the passing of time was impossible after that, her son’s face remained the same and he did the same thing; he would visit, all of the life in his eyes gone and he would still sit in front of two grave markers for hours, silently touching his forehead to them before leaving. She pushed and stretched, wanting to reach out, but still she was restrained. Doomed to be a helpless watcher. 

Then one day it changed. Someone else had come along with her son and for once he shared his loss. While she couldn’t make out the form of the stranger she could clearly see her son crying as all of his walls broke down. This time she didn’t need to reach out, that stranger was doing it for her, wrapping her son in their arms. After that there were others, all vague forms she wasn’t allowed to view from the afterlife. 

One or two people, friends, family, and eventually his children, all closely connected and there to pay respect to her or to support her family. Even one day the misty shape of her dear husband arrived. Somehow, someway he had returned to their son. She could never tell how much time had passed but eventually she could see a tiny glimmer of light returning to her son’s eyes. That strong spirit could finally observe with peaceful ease as she watched her child achieve his greatest feat; bringing a family that was torn asunder back together, stitched with the love from so many others, now complete and whole. 

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Inspired by “Echo” by The Hush Sound.