The first sign was small. A shepherd near Gridania found half his flock torn apart, their bodies blackened as though fire had burned them from the inside. A caravan in Thanalan vanished without trace, its wagons discovered days later with the wood warped and splintered, the chocobos missing. In Limsa Lominsa, fishermen pulled nets heavy with fish that stank of rot and crumbled to dust at the touch.
At first, the people of Eorzea dismissed it. Monsters had always prowled the wilds. Bandits raided caravans. Fish spoiled. But the incidents grew stranger, closer together, as though pulled by an unseen hand. Every day brought new rumors. And with them came an unease that even the most hardened adventurers could not laugh away.
In the Twelveswood, the elementals whispered in sharp tones, voices Aerith could barely stand to hear. In Ul'dah, Galuf felt taverns grow quieter when talk turned to "the black beasts in the alleys." On the coast, Reks listened to sailors swearing they had seen a shadow the size of a ship swimming beneath the waves. Noctis stood in the Shroud and watched hunters bring back carcasses of wolves whose blood gleamed with violet light. Zack, returning from a short contract, passed a trader whose body bore claw marks that smoked faintly, as if still burning.
They didn't know it yet, but all of them were following the same trail.
---
Far above the land, in the hidden cradle of the Aetherveil, Sirius stirred. His eyes snapped open, the faint light around him trembling like a flame caught in wind. He saw it: a ripple across the aether, a distortion threading into Eorzea's star. Not a portal this time, not a grand rift, but a subtle infection slipping through unseen.
A Chaos agent.
"Damn it," he muttered, voice sharp in the stillness. "Too soon."
He raised his hand, threads of starlight weaving from his palm. Across Eorzea, five trinkets glowed.
---
Zack was the first to react. His bastard sword gleamed faintly as the trinket at his chest pulsed. He tapped it and grinned. "Yo, Sirius. You ringing me for a chat?"
The answer wasn't Sirius's calm voice, but a harsher one—urgent, strained. "Listen carefully. A Chaos agent has slipped into Eorzea."
Zack's grin faltered. "…What?"
In the Shroud, Aerith froze mid-step, her staff trembling as the trinket on her wrist pulsed. "Chaos?" she whispered. Her heart clenched.
Galuf nearly dropped his mug in Ul'dah when his trinket flared. He stared at it with a frown. "Eh? Don't tell me it's another bloody trial."
Noctis, sitting beneath a tree, straightened, his eyes narrowing. He hadn't heard the word Chaos since Sirius had first whispered of it.
Reks, walking the shore, stopped dead, hand on his axe. His breath caught.
Sirius's voice filled them all at once, firm and unyielding. "Do not speak its name aloud. The people will not understand. They must not know yet. To them, it is only a beast—no more. But you must stop it. Alone, they cannot. Together, you must."
For the first time since the guildmasters had split them apart, the five voices joined in the trinkets.
Zack whistled low. "Well, long time no see. Didn't think we'd be on a group call again."
Aerith's tone was calm, though a tremor shook beneath it. "I can feel it. The forest is crying louder every day. It's close."
Galuf barked a laugh, though there was no joy in it. "Figures! I was just starting to enjoy retirement brawls and ale. Guess the old bones aren't getting a break after all."
Noctis said little, but his words cut clean. "If it's Chaos, I'm in. No choice."
Reks's voice was quiet, steady. "Tell us where to go, Sirius. We'll be there."
Sirius exhaled, tension coiled in every syllable. "I can't pinpoint the agent yet. It hides, masking its core. But its corruption leaves trails. Follow the monsters. Follow the fear. You'll find it."
Zack's grin returned, fierce now. "Then it's a hunt. Works for me."
---
And so the rumors began to shift. People whispered not just of monsters, but of strangers who appeared wherever corruption struck. A swordsman who fought like a holy knight, though he bore no shield. A healer who sang to the land and drove the dark away. An old pugilist whose fists struck with impossible fire. A lancer who leapt like a dragon and vanished like smoke. A warrior who braced like a wall no horde could break.
They had no names. No one could say where they came from. But the whispers spread like wildfire.
"Five heroes," a merchant swore in Ul'dah's markets.
"No, not heroes—five ghosts," said a hunter in the Shroud.
"A Paladin, a White Mage, a Monk, a Dragoon, and a Warrior," said the guilds, passing the tale from hall to hall.
The guildmasters listened in silence, recognizing the truth but keeping it close.
And far away, in the dark places of the world, the Chaos agent moved. It did not rush. It did not reveal itself. It prowled, patient, sowing fear. For days it roamed unseen, watching, testing. The world thought it a beast. Only the Fallen knew the truth.
---
That night, each of the Five lay awake in their separate corners of Eorzea, their trinkets faintly glowing. Alone, yet connected.
Zack stared at the stars and muttered, "Guess the solo trip's over, huh?"
Aerith whispered a prayer to the spring.
Galuf stretched his fists until his knuckles cracked.
Noctis twirled his spear, the Dragoon's leap burning in his muscles.
Reks polished his axe in silence, the seaspray clinging to his hair.
And somewhere above, Sirius whispered to himself, unheard:
"Five stars against the dark. Let's see if it's enough."