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She runs.
Acacia doesn’t think to grab her chocobo until the Son of Saint Coinach camp emerges into view, Rammbroes’ slowly unfolding his arms as she lumbers into view.
“What’s the rush for, girl?”
She only has the stamina to flash him a smile as she rushes past, before hopping over some stone slabs and whistling for her mount.
Keeping a promise, is the thought that runs through her mind.
Dahlia, the chocobo that had been with her since her first forays into Gridania, hops into view as though sensing the urgency. Acacia barely stops running as she leaps onto the saddle. With a quick squeeze of her thighs, Dahlia leaps and soars into the air, the rush of crystal and breeze brushing by them both.
Steady now, and listen…
The rolling chasms sweep ahead of her, all clustering to one end. Her eyes land on the Crystal Tower, and she can’t help it - her eyes flicker up to the very top.
May it serve as an undying promise,
It wasn’t the first time she’d been by a friend’s side when they’d died, even when it was clear there was nothing to be done - but it was the first time she’d done it alone.
But who was she to complain of solitude, when he had held it all alone for a century? His death came when he chose to take on part of the tower’s essence - a choice made alone, made to survive long enough for her arrival.
No doubt your heroism will be the star by which I chart my course when I awake.
It has always been natural to want to deny any such tidings, ever since the mantle was placed on her. Yes, a skilled fighter. Yes, blessed by Hydaelyn. But she didn’t singlehandedly end the Dragonsong War. She didn’t liberate Ala Mhigo or Doma. She didn’t save the First. Not alone, never alone.
But he had.
…and to any soul that has known despair, that hope is everlasting.
Dahlia sweeps low over the Eight Sentinels, curious researchers glancing up. A pang of guilt considers her, realising that they weren’t about to know she was about to open the dang thing. Better to ask forgiveness after the fact, though; a common mantra for her, these days.
They delve into the Syrcus Trench, and Acacia calls a stop as they reach the pathway leading to the doors. She slides off, and stops to look up at Dahlia, stroking through her feathers.
“Rest up. We should–will, have company coming back.”
A soft chirp follows Acacia as she resumes her sprint, daylight quickly swallowed up by the ethereal lighting of the tower behind her.
She reaches the doors, and despite panting, her breath catches her throat as she waits, shard in hand.
If I were to tell you that this isn't the end ─ that we will meet again ─ would you believe me?
The door ripples, alive, and groans shunter the doors wide open.
She’d seen her friends at the Rising Stones awaken. The doors here had opened. Hope finally bursts within her chest, and she runs harder than she feels she’s ever done.
To take action is to hope. To believe - to choose to believe is to take the first step towards a brighter future.
It is the steadfast lesson she had learnt through her sorrows, her trials, and her victories. Hope is not to burn brightly and fast. It is not to flicker into life when all seems lost. It is always there - ever constant, ever quiet, everlasting. It is an attribute that appears so bright because it refuses the darkness.
Like a tower made of crystal, puncturing an endless sky.
No matter how deeply buried they may be, our hopes never truly disappear. No, they are always with us. Guiding us. Driving us.
Acacia reaches the room she assumes him to be in, nearly dropping through the doors as the adrenaline catches up with protesting muscle. She ignores it and presses on, sharply breathing when her eyes land on his unmoving form.
His armour has been removed and neatly folded by his body, and he lays on a small cot at the edge of the room. She steps forward tentatively, as though afraid to wake him; acknowledging the irony to herself only. His chest rises slowly and Acacia watches for a few, long moments, before she takes her own deep breath.
She kneels beside him, and lays the crystal beside his head as was done with the Scions. And then, with a loss at what to do, she takes his hand. And hopes.
The Warrior of Light leans towards him, unable to sum up the tide of emotions barring against her heart.
And then she finds herself speaking, in an answer to the message the Exarch endured to deliver:
“Burn bright again, and live.”
The shard beside him glows, a soft hum as though someone had plucked a harp and walked away, and she feels his hand twitch.
G’raha Tia wakes up.
Acacia leans over him, searching his expression frantically. He stares up at her and for a few sordid moments, there is silence. Then recognition settles in his expression, and tears well up in the corner of his eyes..
“You kept it. Your promise,” he can barely whisper before she reaches forward and they’re both firmly holding onto each other. To her own surprise, Acacia finds herself silently weeping. She presses her eyes against his shoulder, feeling his own fragile grip wrapped around her torso.
We struggle because we have hope. And when the time comes, I too will embrace mine. I will follow my heart, regardless of the risk.
The world’s biggest misconception was that the Warrior of Light was the star to chart their course against. In reality, she was merely the moon; a reflection on the millions of stars that shone bright day after day, guiding their own path, ones that merely reflected on her own victories.
And today, the dawn had risen for a man who never realised he was the sun the whole damn time.
The crystal shard tips off the cot and rolls against the ground. Acacia finally sums the composure to murmur a greeting against his ear.
“It’s good to see you awake, G’raha Tia.”