husk

[surecast]

The moon hung low in the cloudless sky, and the Eight Sentinels below were awash with its soft, pale light, mingling with the gleaming glow of the Syrcus Tower behind them. The expedition party had already begun to disperse: first Rammbroes and his researchers, then Cid and his engineers, leaving only G’raha Tia, Doga, Unei, and the Warrior of Light behind. They lingered, but not overlong; there was much to be done, yet another great evil to be defeated within the awakened tower, and they had precious little time.

“Wait.”

At a single word from the Warrior of Light, however, the others stopped, turning back with curious looks. Until now, Robyn had held his tongue—Robyn Lanner, a Midlander slight of build and unassuming in stature, in such extremes that few would take him for such a storied hero were it not for his mastery of black, forgotten arts. But he spoke now, looked to G’raha with an uneasy stare, and did his best to fix a look of determination on his face before he turned to Doga and Unei.

“What you said just now... Those others in the tower, the other...clones, like you—empty husks, you called them.”

He hesitated there, casting about for the proper words, leaving enough time for Doga and Unei to exchange a questioning glance with each other. Before he could speak again, Unei turned that same questioning glance back to Robyn. “We only spoke of them to warn you of the danger they would present,” she said, “so that you would not hesitate to strike them down. I understand if this makes you ill at ease, but...”

Quickly, and perhaps not entirely convincingly, Robyn shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I was just...wondering.” He had looked to Unei as he spoke, but once he found himself hesitating again, so too did he find his gaze sliding downward. “You said that...that their only purpose is to protect the tower. That they have no will of their own. And I was only wondering if—if that’s really true.”

At that, the pair’s eyes widened, and they exchanged another glance, uneasier than before. This time, Doga was the first to speak up: “I know we only just met a short while ago, but I can assure you, we have no reason to lie to you about such a thing—or aught else, for that matter.”

Once again Robyn shook his head, more vigorously than before. “No— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I didn’t think you were lying. I just...” Once again, he found himself struggling for words. “The two of you... You were both given wills, by the real—by the original Doga and Unei, right? So, I just thought...”

As he worked it out in his head, he couldn’t deny how outlandish his plea would sound. But he was determined to make it nevertheless.

“I just thought—wouldn’t we be able to do the same? For those other clones—for those husks.”

If they were surprised before, then this was enough to downright shock them. But Unei, at least, seemed to mull it over, and she brought a hand to her chin as a pensive look crossed her features.

“If such a thing were possible...” Her brow knit as she considered the idea; eventually, though, she sighed and shook her head. “Whatever method the original Doga and Unei used is lost to us now, perhaps not without good reason.”

“Besides,” said Doga with a shrug, “even if we did have that knowledge, I sincerely doubt those clones would give you much opportunity to make use of it. They were programmed to attack, not to stand around and parley.”

Robyn had fully expected that what he sought might well be an impossibility...and yet, that made it no less difficult to hear their answer. Perhaps the others noticed it in the sullen stare he cast down to the ground, or perhaps in his crestfallen tone as he muttered in response, “I see”—either way, his disappointment was impossible to miss. But the first among them to break the awkward air that followed was G’raha, stepping forward to clap a hand on Robyn’s shoulder.

“It’ll be alright,” he said, with a toothy, reassuring grin. “Even if you weren’t the Warrior of Light, I’ve seen the way you do battle, and there’s no way those things will be any match for you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

At first, Robyn could feel nothing but doubt—until he looked up to G’raha, and caught that glint of red, the Allagan red of his eye... That’s right, wasn’t it: G’raha had much more to worry about, what with the whole of his heritage having just been thrown into question. As if Robyn ever had to contend with that—with the question of who he really was, or where he really came from...

His hand, hanging at his side, slowly clenched into a fist—but the creak of his leather glove reached only his ears, and he looked to G’raha and the others with a smile on his face.

“You’re right. It’ll be fine.” Robyn turned to Doga and Unei, still smiling, with a slight incline of his head. “Sorry if I troubled you. We can talk more about this after Xande is dealt with, if you wouldn’t mind.”

The two of them smiled as well, seeming almost relieved at Robyn’s change in mood. “Of course,” said Unei, while Doga replied with just a nod of his head.

And that was that. Robyn bid the three of them farewell, leaving them to their own business and departing the same way the others had already gone. There was so much to be done—a course to be charted, preparations to be made, adventuring allies to be gathered—and such precious little time...

“Are you quite sure you’re satisfied with that answer, Warrior of Light?”

The voice stopped him dead in his tracks, though he might well have stopped anyway once he saw just who had spoken: Nero tol Scaeva, whom he had thought already left some time ago, instead leaning against the far wall like he hadn’t a care in the world. At once, Robyn found himself on the defensive; just how much of that conversation had he overheard?

Well, if his question just now was any indication, he’d heard enough. Robyn clenched both fists this time, fixing Nero with as steely a gaze as he could muster.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, hoping the finality in his tone would be enough to put the matter to rest. “What matters now is defeating Xande and sealing off the tower. I can worry about the rest later.”

Nero turned his own steely stare upon him in response, and Robyn found it a struggle not to wilt beneath it. He hadn’t found nearly this much difficulty standing up to the man in their previous encounters—not even deep within the Praetorium, when the very fate of Eorzea was at stake—but in this moment, when he felt as though that piercing gaze alone was probing every inch of his being and deeper within, as though it was seeking out the truth of his existence, the truth that lay behind his vaunted heroism, behind the fabled Warrior of Light...

But, unexpectedly, it was Nero who broke the stalemate first—before Robyn himself could break, thankfully—by snorting, pushing off the wall and shrugging his shoulders. “If you insist,” he said, in a tone that could hardly be more obviously insincere if he tried. “Far be it from me to stand in your way, then. As you were...”

He turned on his heel and strode off into the dark, leaving Robyn alone with his unease. He doubted very much that Nero had no intention of standing in his way, but what could he do about it now? Nothing but to move forward, onward and upwards, striking down with fire and ice and lightning and blood whomsoever and whatsoever fought to impede his path...

So it ever was, and so it ever would be for the Warrior of Light, Hydaelyn’s appointed savior. So it ever was and so it ever would be for a creature like him, born with no other purpose than to stand and fight and fight until death.

( originally posted 04/20/2017 on tumblr )
( continued (not canonical to rp development) 01/30/2018 on ao3 )