The Aetherveil floated high above the storm-scarred world, hidden by its veil, its vast frame blending into the tapestry of night. Within, the five chosen rested in silence. Crystalline pods in the recovery bay cradled their bodies, bathing them in soft, aetheric light. Muscles torn from battle, lungs scorched by smoke, and spirits frayed by loss—all were slowly mended by the ship's ancient systems.
Zack lay restless even in unconsciousness, his fists tightening as though he still held a blade. Aerith's lips moved faintly, whispers of prayer carried even in her sleep. Noctis's breathing was steady, but his brow was furrowed as if some dream weighed on him still. Galuf's old body resisted the pod's pull, twitching in reflex, stubborn as the man himself. Reks, the youngest, clutched at the air as though still guarding the gate he had sworn to protect.
Sirius stood apart from them, his silhouette outlined by the dim blue glow of the bay. His arms were folded, his gaze heavy as he studied them—heroes, survivors, anomalies. His chosen.
Yet even as he looked upon them with pride, shadows crept across his thoughts.
Garland.
The memory of the vast eye in the sky lingered in him, cold and oppressive. The single beam that had shattered Alexander, that had crushed Alexandria, still echoed in his ears. He had acted in time, concealing the five's presence with the trinkets, masking their threads of fate just before Garland's search. But it had been too close. Far too close.
Sirius exhaled, his breath sharp in the silence. "If he can sense anomalies, then our veil grows thin."
The words tasted bitter. He was the observer, the guide, the one who wove through threads unseen. His role was not to interfere directly. Yet Garland had almost torn that veil away. If not for his intervention, the five might have been exposed. And if Garland truly turned his attention upon them…
Sirius clenched his fist. He could not face Garland directly. Not yet. Not without breaking the very laws of the threads he guarded. To act too boldly was to invite catastrophe.
But to do nothing? That was worse.
He closed his eyes, the silence of the ship pressing against him. The only option he could see was one he hated: moving the five to another world. To uproot them, sever them from Gaia, carry them to safer skies where Garland's gaze did not linger. Yet that path carried danger too. To leap worlds too soon was to tear threads unready, to risk unraveling them before their strength had matured.
He sighed, lowering his head. "No solutions. Not yet."
Turning, Sirius looked back at the pods. The five slept, unaware of the storm that circled above them. He softened, his shoulders easing.
"Rest while you can," he whispered. "Soon you will be asked to rise again. Too soon, perhaps. But you will rise."
---
Far below, Gaia wept.
The once-proud kingdom of Alexandria lay in ruin. Its spires—once symbols of beauty and strength—had crumbled into heaps of stone. Fire lingered in alleyways, faint smoke curling into the night like the kingdom's last breath. Streets that had echoed with the laughter of children were now filled with silence, broken only by sobs and the scrape of rubble as survivors searched for loved ones.
Amid this ruin stood Vivi.
The little mage's glowing eyes reflected flames and ash, his small body trembling beneath the weight of a grief too heavy for his frame. His wide hat sagged forward, hiding part of his face, though nothing could conceal the sorrow etched in his posture.
He was not alone.
Beside him, Princess Garnet stood like a shattered statue, her gown soiled by soot, her crown gone, her once-bright eyes hollow with grief. She had not cried, not yet. Her lips parted, trembling, her breath shallow as she stared at the broken husk of her castle. Her people—her kingdom—reduced to rubble in a single night.
Zidane stood just behind her, silent in a way that seemed alien to him. The thief who had always filled silence with jokes or bravado now had no words. His tail flicked uneasily, his hands hovering near Garnet's shoulders, unsure if he should reach out or if the act would shatter what fragile strength she still held.
Quina lingered further back, uncharacteristically subdued. Their hunger, their odd cheer, their endless talk of food was silent. Even they could not ignore the ruin before them.
And Vivi…
He wanted to speak. He wanted to comfort. But no words would come. He stared at Garnet, at Zidane, at the flames that still licked the stones, and all he could think was: Why? Why do things always end like this?
The weight pressed harder. He had seen loss before, in the Black Mage Village. He knew what it was to stop moving, to fade, to die. But this—this was destruction on a scale even his young heart could barely grasp.
He trembled, and yet…
When Garnet swayed, her knees threatening to give way, Vivi stepped forward. His small, gloved hand reached out, touching the back of her arm. She startled at first, glancing down, her eyes wide with grief. Then she softened, her lips quivering as she gave the faintest nod.
She did not cry. He did not speak. But in that silent moment, sorrow was shared.
Zidane exhaled, his shoulders easing as he watched the exchange. He stepped closer, resting his hand at last on Garnet's shoulder. "We'll get through this," he whispered, though his own voice shook. "I promise."
Quina, uncharacteristically quiet, simply nodded.
The four of them stood together, framed by ruin and fire, their grief unspoken but heavy enough to bind them.
---
And from the unseen threads of fate, Sirius watched.
High above, cloaked in the folds of reality, he studied Vivi most of all. The little mage's sorrow weighed on him—yet not with pity, but with a strange, sharp respect.
The boy carried pain beyond his years. He bore it silently, not to hide from it, but to spare others from carrying more. He stood not in defiance of grief, but in acceptance of it. And in that acceptance, Sirius saw something rare: a resolve that could not be taught, only born.
"Your sorrow doesn't weaken you," Sirius murmured, his voice carried only by the threads. "It deepens you. That is why I chose you."
His gaze shifted to Garnet, her silent mourning entwining with Vivi's. Two griefs woven into one thread, fragile yet resilient. Beside them Zidane, carrying his own burden, standing between despair and hope as he always had. And even Quina, strange and simple, subdued in a way that spoke volumes of the depth of the moment.
In their silence, Sirius saw more than despair. He saw the will to continue, to endure, no matter the ruins left behind.
That was the strength he needed. That was why their threads had been spared.
He exhaled, a faint smile ghosting his lips. "This is where it begins again."
---
The night deepened, heavy with loss. Alexandria smoldered in ruin, her bells silenced, her streets broken. Yet amid the silence, new bonds had formed—bonds born of grief, but forged into something stronger.
Sirius turned away from the sight, his cloak of invisibility rippling across the threads. His chosen still recovered, unaware of Garland's gaze. Vivi's sorrow had carved something new into his thread. Garnet's grief had bound her tighter to her companions. And Zidane, silent now, would carry this moment forward in ways he did not yet understand.
Sirius knew the danger had only grown. Garland had sensed them. The eye had searched. The veil had held—for now.
But the next move would come soon.
And when it did, Vivi's silent strength might be what turned the tide.