The battlefield lay quiet in the days that followed. The smoke cleared, the corrupted beasts dissolved into dust, and the banners of Eorzea's armies fluttered once more in the wind. Yet the silence carried unease, for none could forget what they had seen.
Five nameless figures had stood at the center of the storm. A Paladin with a blazing greatsword. A White Mage whose song healed the land. A Monk who laughed through blood and fire. A Dragoon who leapt like a comet from the stars. A Warrior who braced alone when all else failed.
The people did not know their names. They did not know where they had come from, or where they had gone. But their legend had already begun.
---
In Ul'dah, the gladiators gathered in the Hall of the Flames. Jenlyns, their guildmaster, stood before them, armor still scarred from the battle. His voice rang clear.
"We all saw it. A Paladin, but not as we train them. He bore no shield, only a blade. Yet he defended the others as if his body were the wall itself. That is courage — that is devotion."
His words spread through the guild like fire, young gladiators whispering in awe. Some tried to mimic the stance they had seen, though none could capture the same raw certainty.
---
In Gridania, E–Sumi–Yan convened the Conjurers beneath the great trees. His staff glowed faintly as he spoke.
"The White Mage who fought was more than spell and staff. She was harmony. Her voice healed not just wounds, but hearts. This is what it means to listen to the forest — not command, but soothe. To walk with, not above."
The conjurers bowed their heads in reverence. Some swore they had felt her song ripple through the Shroud itself, as though the elementals themselves had lent their voice.
---
In the Pugilists' Hall, Hamon Holyfist raised a mug high, his booming laugh echoing off the walls.
"Did you see him? Did you hear him? Laughing as he broke the beast's bones! That's a Monk! That's spirit, lads! Fists aren't just weapons — they're joy, they're life itself!"
His students roared with cheers, pounding their fists together. They spoke of the Monk like a storm, a whirlwind of courage and mirth. To them, he was proof that even in despair, laughter could be a weapon.
---
At the Lancers' Guild, Ywain's voice was quieter, but no less sharp.
"The Dragoon leapt higher than any mortal should. His strikes burned like fire, yet his precision was perfect. That is discipline. That is trust in the leap. A lancer must not fear the fall, for the sky itself will bear him."
The young lancers nodded, awe in their eyes. Some whispered that they too would pierce the sky one day, though doubt gnawed at them. How could anyone reach so high?
---
In Limsa Lominsa, Wyrnzoen bellowed from the docks, his Marauders gathered close.
"The Warrior stood when all else fell. His shield shattered, yet he braced with axe alone, unyielding! That's a Warrior's heart! Not the steel you carry, but the steel inside you!"
The Marauders cheered, axes raised high. They spoke of the Warrior as the sea itself — endless, unstoppable, refusing to retreat even when beaten.
---
Beyond the guilds, the kingdoms whispered.
Ul'dahn merchants claimed the five had been mercenaries in their employ, though none could agree on the details. Gridanian hunters swore they were spirits of the forest, called by the elementals to defend the realm. Lominsan sailors said they were old legends reborn, heroes of another age walking again in flesh. Ishgard's knights, hearing of a Dragoon who leapt beyond the sky, sent envoys to confirm if he was of their order.
Every tavern, every market, every hearth repeated the same tale in different words.
Five heroes. Nameless, faceless, but real.
---
The Guildmasters gathered in secret once more.
Jenlyns folded his hands tightly. "It is them. The same five who survived the merged trial. I would stake my blade on it."
E–Sumi–Yan nodded gravely. "Their aether was unmistakable. But why hide? Why vanish when the people would raise them as champions?"
Hamon slammed his fist on the table, laughing even now. "Champions or not, they fought better than I've seen in years! Hells, they fought better than me! Ha!"
Ywain frowned. "But secrecy breeds mistrust. If they mean to lead, they must step into the light."
Wyrnzoen's voice was deep, steady. "They already lead. The battlefield moved with them. Every soldier, every mage, every farmer with a pitchfork fought harder because of those five."
Silence followed, heavy but full of truth.
---
And in the villages, the common folk told their own stories.
A child in Gridania lifted a stick and shouted, "I'm the Dragoon! Watch me jump!"
Her friend replied, "Then I'll be the White Mage. I'll heal you when you fall."
An old fisherman in Limsa raised a mug. "To the Warrior who held the pier. Without him, I'd be dead."
A merchant in Ul'dah swore she saw the Paladin laughing as he cut the beast apart.
And in the Shroud, hunters whispered of the Monk whose fists cracked like thunder.
The names were never spoken. But the legend grew with every telling.
---
Above them all, Sirius watched. The whispers reached even the Aetherveil, carried on the threads of fate.
He closed his eyes, listening. "Good. Let the world believe in them. Even if they know no names, belief is enough. For now."
His gaze turned grim. "But when Chaos comes in full, belief alone won't be enough."
The stars flickered, silent, as if in agreement.