The Aetherveil glided silently above the clouds, its crystalline sails humming with restrained energy. The echoes of the previous departure still lingered in the air—the twenty Black Mages who had stepped into Hydaelyn were gone now, their threads woven into a new world of fire and learning. Yet, the chamber was not empty.
Ten pairs of glowing eyes stared at Sirius, their forms smaller in number but no less significant. These were the ones who had chosen a path different from the others—not one of scholarship, but of brotherhood, duty, and survival.
Sirius stood before them, his tall frame silhouetted against the ship's glowing array. "You ten have chosen a different road," he began, his voice steady, carrying a weight that pressed on every word. "Not all seek peace in libraries, nor comfort in quiet fields. Some of you crave something else: to be part of something greater, to stand shoulder to shoulder with comrades, to fight and bleed not because you were ordered to—but because you chose to."
The mages shifted, exchanging glances. They were not used to such words. Choice had always been an illusion to them. They had been born for war, discarded when their purpose was deemed complete. Yet now, Sirius spoke as though they had worth outside of that cycle.
One of the mages, his hat sagging to the side, raised his voice timidly. "Master Sirius… if we are to fight again, how is it different from before? Weren't we made as weapons?"
Sirius's eyes softened. "Yes. You were made to destroy. But in the world you are going to, you will fight not as tools, but as allies. You will belong to clans, groups bound not by orders but by trust. In Ivalice, strength is not wasted—it is honored."
Aether's voice, resonant and calm, filled the chamber. "Destination prepared. Coordinates aligned: Ivalice, the land of blades and banners. Entry point: the city of Gariland."
The Black Mages whispered the name amongst themselves. Ivalice. To them, it sounded foreign and sharp, like steel striking stone.
---
The floor beneath them lit with runes once more, but this time, the projection Sirius summoned was different. No gilded towers or serene woods appeared. Instead, they saw rolling plains dotted with banners, fortified towns with stone walls, and groups of adventurers clashing steel against steel beneath the open sky.
Clans. Each one unique, each with their own insignia and camaraderie. Archers laughed as they sat beside armored knights. Monks sparred playfully with mages, their rivalry friendly but fierce. Mercenary leaders barked orders not as masters, but as comrades who cared for the survival of their teams.
The Black Mages leaned forward, transfixed. For the first time, they saw warriors treating spellcasters as equals, not disposable fodder.
"You will join them," Sirius said, his tone low but firm. "Not as nameless constructs, but as members of their clans. You will fight battles where your voice matters, where your life is not thrown away without meaning. In Ivalice, you will forge bonds. And through bonds, you will find your worth."
A mage at the back swallowed hard. "Bonds…" The word felt strange, like trying on new robes. "Can we truly have those?"
Sirius crouched slightly, leveling his gaze with them. "You already have them. Look beside you."
They turned. Each glowing gaze met another. Slowly, realization dawned. They were no longer just numbers. They were not alone.
---
The glyphs pulsed brighter. Aether's voice deepened. "Portal opening. Transit imminent. Stand prepared."
Fear rose in their small frames. Some clutched at their staves. Others tightened their fists, unused to trembling without command.
One mage muttered, almost to himself, "If I fall there… at least I'll fall with comrades."
Sirius's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "And that is what makes you more than soldiers. That is what makes you alive."
The runes flared. Light consumed them. Their forms disassembled into radiant motes, drifting upward like fireflies caught in a gale.
---
They emerged in Ivalice with the sound of clashing steel ringing in their ears.
The city of Gariland rose before them, its stone towers and battlements etched with centuries of struggle. Soldiers patrolled the gates, their armor dented from countless skirmishes, while clans gathered in the training grounds beyond.
The mages staggered slightly as their feet found solid ground again. The air was heavy with the scent of iron and dust.
Before they could steady themselves, a voice called out. "Oy! You lot—where'd you come from? Never seen robes like that."
A man in chainmail approached, his grin crooked but not unkind. Behind him followed a small group of fighters—an archer, a monk, and another mage with white robes. They studied the newcomers with curiosity, not hostility.
One of the Black Mages tensed, expecting rejection. But instead, the knight's grin widened. "You've got the look of spellcasters. Good—we're always in need of sharp firepower. Ever thought of joining a clan?"
The question stunned them. Join? As equals?
The knight shrugged when they didn't answer right away. "Well, think about it. You'll find Gariland's guild halls are always looking for folks with skill. Might just be the start of something."
And with that, he and his companions moved on, leaving the ten Black Mages standing in silence.
They looked at one another. No one laughed at their eyes. No one called them tools. They had been offered something simple, something profound.
A chance.
---
High above, unseen, Sirius lingered just long enough to watch the realization settle into their small, cloaked forms.
"They will find their place here," he murmured. "And in battle, they will discover not despair, but honor."
Aether's voice was soft, almost proud. "Transfer successful. Ten anomalies now woven into the tapestry of Ivalice."
Sirius's gaze lingered a moment longer on the guild banners flapping in the wind, the sight of comrades laughing despite scars and struggles. Then he turned away.
Only ten remained aboard the ship now. Ten who sought not fire or honor, but peace—something altogether different. Their journey would be next.