The Aetherveil floated in tranquil silence, her crystalline hull reflecting the scattered light of distant stars. Her sails, like wings of glass, shifted gently as though responding to the heartbeat of the cosmos. The grand chamber where so many had stood before felt quieter now, emptier, yet not without weight.
First, twenty had gone to the bustling cities of Hydaelyn, their hearts drawn to the living pulse of adventure. Then ten more had stepped into the war-forged lands of Ivalice, determined to prove their strength. Now only ten remained.
They were the smallest, the youngest in spirit, though not by the measure of years. For beings born of mist, time was less a river and more a fog—uncertain, uncounted. But their glowing eyes, soft beneath the brims of their hats, revealed their hearts. Unlike their kin who sought battle or mastery, these mages trembled not at the idea of combat, but at the idea of belonging.
Sirius stood before them, tall and shadowed, his cloak pooling like dusk across the glowing runes of the chamber floor. His voice, when it came, was measured, but gentler than it had been with the others.
"You are different. You do not crave combat, nor endless study. You seek peace. Simplicity. A place where the laughter of companions is stronger than the echo of war."
The mages shifted uneasily. Some tugged their hats lower, hiding their eyes. One rubbed the edge of his staff nervously against the crystalline floor, the faint scrape echoing in the silence. Another leaned subtly into the mage beside him, as though needing reassurance.
Finally, the smallest of the group tilted his head. His voice was fragile, breaking the quiet like a timid bird. "Is… is such a place real?"
Sirius's lips curved faintly, his expression softening. "Yes. It is a world where life moves slowly, where people travel together not to conquer, but to protect. A world where caravans carry light through the darkness, and magic is used to nurture, not destroy."
The ten exchanged glances. Hope flickered in their glowing eyes, but doubt lingered too, a shadow born of long rejection.
Aether's voice filled the chamber, resonant and warm. "Coordinates aligned: World of Crystal Chronicles. Entry point: Tipa, a village of beginnings."
The runes at their feet shimmered, spreading in ripples like light on water. The air above the circle came alive with visions. Rolling hills stretched green and endless, rivers sparkled like ribbons of silver, and forests shimmered with great crystals embedded in their roots.
Villagers moved among the images—farmers tending fields, bakers setting fresh loaves on windowsills, children carrying buckets of shining myrrh as they sang songs on their journeys. Caravans rattled along the dirt roads, chocobos strutting proudly at their head, moogles flitting overhead with cheerful cries.
The Black Mages leaned forward unconsciously, as if drawn into the vision. Their eyes widened, not with fear, but with wonder.
One whispered, "It looks… warm."
Another asked softly, "There is no fighting?"
Sirius shook his head. "There are dangers. Beasts roam, and the miasma hangs heavy. But here, courage means protecting your companions, not destroying your enemies. You will be free to live. To travel. To laugh."
For a moment, the chamber fell silent again, save for the hum of the Aetherveil. The youngest mage clutched at the sleeve of the one beside him, whispering, "Could we really… just live?"
The older mage hesitated, then nodded. "Together. We go together."
The floor's glow intensified. Aether's voice softened, almost like a lullaby. "Portal opening. Transit imminent. Please prepare."
Fear flickered briefly in their glowing eyes, but it was not the panic of those who had gone to harsher worlds. This fear was gentler—like standing at the threshold of a home they had never known, uncertain yet hopeful.
Another mage lifted his staff slightly, his voice quiet. "Will… people accept us?"
Sirius regarded them carefully. Not as soldiers. Not as tools. As fragile hearts yearning for warmth. He bowed his head slightly, solemn yet tender. "If there is any world that will, it is this one. There, you will not be feared. You will be seen."
The runes blazed until the chamber drowned in white light. The ten reached for one another instinctively, hands clasping in pairs until the circle of them linked together. Their glowing eyes softened, as if to say: we go together, or not at all.
And then they vanished.
---
The village of Tipa greeted them not with fear, but with life.
The air was sweet with the scent of bread cooling on stone ovens, mixed with the faint tang of woodsmoke. Orchards stretched nearby, their fruit glimmering faintly in the crystal light. Houses of wood and thatch clustered close around a great crystal rising from the village's heart, its hum steady and kind.
The Black Mages blinked, dazzled by the brightness. Their boots shifted uncertainly in the dirt, their robes brushing against grass that felt too soft, too alive compared to the places they had known. They braced for screams, for doors slamming, for the words monster or tool.
Instead, laughter met them.
A little girl tugged on her mother's sleeve and whispered, "Look, Mama, new friends!"
The mother turned with a smile as bright as the morning. She lifted a hand and called warmly, "Welcome, travelers! Rally your spirits and come share a meal."
The words struck the mages like sunlight breaking through fog.
One's voice cracked as he whispered, "We… we're not tools here."
Another rubbed at his eyes quickly, ashamed of the tears gathering there. "They… smiled at us."
Villagers approached without hesitation. A baker carried over loaves still steaming, their crusts golden. A farmer waved them toward the chocobo pens, laughing as one of the great birds waddled curiously closer, sniffing at their robes. Children tugged playfully at their sleeves, asking questions: "Where are you from? Can you do magic? Will you stay?"
The youngest mage laughed—a trembling sound, awkward and broken, but real. For the first time, his voice wasn't met with silence.
One by one, the others straightened their backs. Their glowing eyes, once dimmed by fear, shone brighter—not with destructive magic, but with the quiet spark of hope.
---
High above, the Aetherveil lingered in the skies. Her crystalline sails folded like wings at rest, her hull gleaming faintly in the starlight. Sirius stood at her prow, watching the tiny figures below as they walked timidly into the village.
Through the synchronizers, Aether's voice reached him, soft and certain. "They will thrive here."
Sirius crossed his arms, his gaze steady. "They will live. That is all I ever wanted for them."
For the first time in a long while, Sirius allowed himself a small, genuine smile. It lingered, fragile but real, as the Aetherveil drifted onward—its chamber now empty, but its purpose fulfilled.