Work Header

Flare Star

Work Text:



The summit of Mt. Gulg was blinding, brighter than it had ever been now that you have arrived - overripe fruit ready to split with how the Light now fills you. Through a bright haze and thick fog in your ears you are still able to discern the Ascian, Emet-Selch, chastising you for your failure. Of how much of a disappointment you were, unable to hold in this much aether, your cup overfull long ago. It twists and churns and the pain is beyond anything you can stand, eyes barely making out that Garlean form in robes crouching in front of you.


He stands to turn away, to forsake you, but finally your words come through a bubbling throat - seared hoarse with iridescence as viscous silver dribbles down your chin.


"I never intended to contain this," your words stop him in his tracks.


He turns, golden eyes narrowed, piercing even through the silver haze, "Whatever do you mean, Hero? Surely that was indeed the goal this entire time - unless it was a farce."


A glob of that white hatred sticks, and you spit it out with malice, "To tip the scales."


Regal lips pull back from teeth and now a feral cast descends upon his features, "What would you know of balance, Champion of the Light?"


It writhes, twists, but you hold still - you only need minutes more - eyes stay open, open damn you.


"Is there not a world afflicted as this one, but in reverse? Take me," your swollen tongue steals your words as white drips from your lips.


He stares, your friends shouting - but through the squirming Light you do not hear what they say. One last time, you try, forcing the words out with a punch of air, "Quickly, broken vessels can't hold long-" A wrenching from inside, Light a beast clawing at everything you are, and the stone rushes up to greet you.


It does not reach, however, as a firm hand grasps the back of your clothes and hoists you into the air. Rising, now, inexplicably floating, and that voice hisses to you, oily front long discarded, "This will destroy you."


The Light within is a beacon, and as you both ascend you draw upon it - like the magnet it is more rushes to fill you, drawn from all reaches of the world. Teeming with it now, cup runneth over far beyond salvaging - but you glut on as much as you can before the rift takes you.


"I know," the words barely sound human, and were you able to see his shocked visage it would be a vision of duality. Comedic in its tragedy.


But there is no time, now, the Light cannot be contained, will not - but you need not try, you only need to hold for a few seconds. Your soul strains as mortal flesh is shed, consequence for this travel but necessary to move, yet the loss of that small shield of skin and bones rends you even further.


One more moment. You only need one more.


Then you arrive. To a place riddled with the Dark, to a place you had been before. Nothing but the barest parts of you are left aware, now, goal fixed in your mind.


You shine bright, far too bright, so much aether condensed into such a small point that every voidsent around - perhaps upon the entire shard - spins in place and hurdles towards you. There is the sense of shock beside you, and you are turned loose as that grip vanishes.


You rocket forth, shooting star straight down the gullet of a twisted world.


A beat, a moment, and you release it.


The Light.












A world's worth of Searing Light meets the entrenched Abyssal Dark and the forces are too much for you to comprehend, the center of a cosmic storm far greater than your cracked self can observe. Screams and screeches and howls reverberate around you as the opposing forces meet, twist, and neutralize.


The heart of a shard beats for the first time since eons unknown.


Insensate, now, you ready yourself to fade - soul riddled with cracks and holes as it is, no container within which to reside, you cannot exist for very long. But the moment you understood that you could not disperse the Light, could not contain it, you knew this had to be the only outcome. A sacrifice, yes, but one that saved worlds - not two, but three.


You are only able to be aware for moments more, but were you able to smile you would. A life, a soul, well spent, and the end does not trouble you.


A firm hand grasps you and pulls you from your stupor. You cannot hear the words spoken, though they must be there, only feel the motion as you are pulled away once more.


Sentimental fool.


But the thoughts, the words, are fond.


And you know no more.