Writing Prompts Archive/7/Mis'to Raesthe

*Dalamud was falling.*

*An ominous presence since the scholars had first noticed the brightening light the red moon hung low in the sky, outshining all else. Fearful eyes turned upwards as shards of the moon began to fall, their path lighting the clouds with a scarlet glow, exploding into great plumes of fire as they struck the lands of Eorzea.*

*Her baleful presence could no longer be ignored.*

*Yet on the plains of Carteneau, ignore it they had to.*

*Armies clashed upon the battlefield, the forces of Eorzea against the VIIth Legion, the Alliance desperate to put a stop to the ever encroaching threat of Garlemald even as Dalamud hung low and angry in the sky, turning the ground the color of blood.*

*One line broke, the Adders falling back as the Imperials surged forwards, cutting down those in their path. One ran through a lancer before charging forward, pushing for the healer they had spotted in their midst. The other lifted the staff and the soldier wove to the side, expecting a blast of magic; only for said staff to come smacking right into his gut. Once, twice in the ribs and then a heavy smack on the head, sending him flat on the ground. Not a moment then for another Adder to spring forward and end him.*

*With a grimace Mis’to quickly bent down, pressing a hand against the fallen Adder as Captain Varen charged forward to protect them both, the grizzled old Elezen reaching out his spear defensively as his gruff voice called out. “Reform, hold the line! Move!” Like lightning the rest of the squadron closed around and where the line had broken it was whole once more.*

*No words were needed as the Miqo’te offered a hand to the healed lancer, helping her to her feet. The woman gave him a quick nod before taking her own spear and moving back to the rest, Mis’to hot on her heels. Onwards they pushed, their Captain directing them with quick precision, clearing a path towards the magitek walkers so that the archers and thaumaturges behind them could strike, arrow and bolt flashing overhead. Between them all Mis’to’s aether danced as he brought the power of his Echo to bear, his soul resonating alongside theirs as healing magicks wove through them. It was a fearsome thing he had as even with his eyes closed he was able to follow them close behind, moving with trance-like fluidity as the resonance filled in his sight even as it pinpointed wounds to him. Gunshot and slashes alike healed near the moment they landed; a soldier would be stricken only to have him spring to their side and bring them back up in moments without so much as a faltering step.*

*For a moment the noise of battle lessened and Mis’to paused, taking in the blood and chaos, the red moon bathing the battleground in it’s ominous light. It was a moment until he saw why the battle had ebbed; for all faces were turned upwards as the moon suddenly glowed with fierce blue light.*

*And then he was on his feet, thrown back and knocked breathless as the shockwave reverberated through the air, his ears throbbing in pain. For moments he lay there stunned, his brain struggling to make sense of what had happened. Choking he pulled himself up to his elbows, stared at the incomprehensibly tall structure that lay where the Garleans had been not moments ago, its glowing blue light barely visible through the spreading dust. At the angry moon directly above, and the gaping hole that lay in it’s surface.*

*“Varen?” he cried out, grabbing his staff and pulling himself upwards, shaking himself out of the remnants of his trance. “Torzian?” He could still feel them, resonating with his aether faintly. Alive, then. “Wha-“*

*The red moon glowed gold, lightning flashing over the surface. Wings emerged. Immense. Monstrous.*

*Paralyzed he could only stare upwards, uncomprehending.*

*A loud reverberating roar, and the moon exploded.*

*He had only time to raise his hands before his consciousness was devoured in cacophony and fire. Some vague part of his mind registered agonizing pain across his right shoulder but it was quickly lost as darkness fell over him. Light returned in searing fire and deafening sound, the panicked screams of survivors fleeing the battle and shocked moans of the dying. All round, everything burned.*

*Somehow he dragged himself to his feet, swapping his staff to his left hand when his right wouldn’t grip it properly. He managed two feet before stumbling, got back up. Right eye wouldn’t open; he brushed unthinking at it, leaving a smear of blood across his face. Ash choked his throat and he coughed on the burning dust. “Va-Varen…?! Sennia?” Flames lapped at his robe as he staggered forward, trying to find his squadron in the ruins. Their aether had gone. He couldn’t reach them. “Elemay?!”*

*“Mis-” a faint gasp reached him.*

*“Torzian-” He fell down next to him, hands already reaching out with healing magics. “What-“*

*An ear-splitting roar broke the sky as the Primal took flight. Brilliant streaks of aether cut through the sky, following the great dragon like a whirling storm before weaving away. The world burned once more and Mis’to could only curl over the body of his fallen friend and pray.*

*A faint sob broke the spell, the man below him weeping in fear. When it all died somehow they were both still alive, in a sea of blackened bodies and burning sky. The heat was near unbearable.*

*Staying here meant death; that much his shattered mind could grasp. Without a word Mis’to hauled the other onto his shoulder, ignoring the blood slowly staining his robes red. One foot in front of the other, following those who had already fled. Somewhere in the distance, blue magics rallied against the red, but he could pay it no heed.*

*“Stay with me,” he murmured, feeling the other’s aether waver against his.*

*“Mis-” The man coughed, blood dripping from his mouth. “They’re….everyone…”*

*They were gone. The rest were all gone. Merciful quick deaths. But gone. His heart ached, but he could not stop.*

*“Mis’to…”*

*“Torzien stay with me…”*

*The great Primal lowered down, beating back the cloud with immense wings, facing one that dared challenge it. The man grew weaker. He could feel him sagging.*

*“Torzien – keep talking to me-“*

*“Mis…”*

*Hurriedly Mis’to put the man down, pressing his hand against his as he let his aether resonate with his. That awful feeling as the man’s aether struggled to flee a dying body. In the distance, great spires of light sprang to life.*

*“No please – Torzien – stay with me-” In desperation he reached out, clung to what he could while vainly trying to heal the man’s mortal wounds. “Torzien!”*

*Blue light turned to red as the last Torzien’s aether fled from him; a sickening lurch as his soul returned for the lifestream and threatened to drag Mis’to with it. A few flashes of regret, of beloved family, and then, nothing.*

*Heaving he fell over the man, shaking from the effort. From grief. For a moment he couldn’t bring himself to move, unable to leave the bodies of those he had called comrades and friends for near two decades, unwilling to leave them to the fire. All while the world continued to burn, the Primal’s roars echoing dimly in his ears.*

*Numbly he found his feet. Staggered forwards. Somewhere he found another poor soul, dragging them up. By the time they reached the relative Gridania, she too would be dead. She and Torzien, the first of countless many.*

*————————–*

*The battle would only be the beginning. The wounded would only continue to pour in, survivors from Carteneau and the devastation both moon and Primal had wreaked.*

*In the coming months Mis’to fought to save as many as he could. But where once perhaps one had died in a hundred saved, now perhaps only one in ten would live. Each time that awful lurch, of staring into the abyss where all souls must go, feeling their last regrets and dying memories.*

*He forced himself through, for if he hesitated, only more would die.*

*Barely a week when he felt that first twinge, as Mis’to ran to the side of another.*

*Fear.*

*Fear of that awful feeling, that reminder of mortality. The surge of memories that comes with some souls, their dying cries of regret or memories jumbled and feverish from shock and imminent death.*

*And yet he pushed on, shook his head at those who would intervene, because he knew that if he stopped, people who would otherwise live will die. Because his Echo makes him one of the best. It’s worth losing ten when you can save one, he told himself. Over and over.*

*————————–*

*It’s weeks. Near two months.*

*The worst is over. No more burns, no more dying.*

*It’s just routine. A simple check. A boy who broke his arm playing.*

*He holds out his hand, his staff. As he’s done countless time before.*

*His mind’s eye floods with the dead, the dying, the sickening lurch of a soul fleeing for the hereafter. The crimson red of a falling sky.*

*He can’t do it.*