daemonized | EL NYSA IC INBOX.

Oh, my charming wit or my handsome features. Either one is a particularly effective place to begin.

[No one is here to stop them.]

Careful. You get me started on either and we may well be here all day.

[ Then extra apologies to everyone in this cafe. ]

[Oh, X'rhun. That makes Ardyn laugh openly.]

My, you're good at this. [That wasn't a retort he had been expecting, truly.] I should be careful around you.

You had better be. [ This, punctuated by a sly grin. ] It wouldn’t do to have to succumb to my wiles so quickly.

[A small noise of amusement, adjusting the scarf around his neck once more.]

No, I shall not. I'm stronger than that, and you'll have to keep trying before I submit.

Oh, rest assured. I won't give up so easily.

[ Is that a wink? Yeah, that's a wink. ]

[ How did this box get to Ardyn's doorstep? It's a mystery – a mystery that involves calling in a few favors from an Olympian or fellow refugee or two. It's not a large package, though somewhat heavy for its size. There is no return address, nothing to indicate who it may be from.

But X'rhun knows Ardyn, and he knows his curiosity will eventually get the better of him, so when Ardyn opens the box, he will first find a length of shimmering gold cloth. It is a scarf, the fabric lightweight and simple, unremarkable if not for the metallic nature of the color. He's had those damn jars of dye for so long, why not use it?

The scarf is wrapped carefully around the second object, and tied with a no doubt familiar red ribbon. Removing the scarf will reveal a solid gold statue of a book. A bit perplexing at first, probably, but when Ardyn takes the statue in hand, runs his fingers over the surface, the nature of it subtly shifts. Gold is breathed into paper, and the book flips open with a whisper of now very real pages.

Inside, there is... a note. A very long note, written in neat script by whatever magic or technology or both that lives in this tome. It reads: ]

Hello Ardyn.

An interesting little device, is this not? A gift from the Natha – and I hope you will forgive me its use. I felt it best to organize my thoughts before we spoke, and this seemed to be the easiest way to do so.

I suppose I needn't tell you what you no doubt already suspect: I have spoken to Prompto. It was... an eye-opening conversation to say the very least. And lest you wonder, I have chosen to take him at his word, and I believe you knew that I would. The boy doesn't have a dishonest bone in his body.

Gods, where do I even begin? I had my suspicions, of course, that I would stumble upon something dark and violent were I to learn the truth, and though I believe I do not yet hold the whole story, the things I do know have surpassed my expectations. Murder, kidnapping, torture, even. He tells me you planned to shroud the world in darkness, but you and I both know you already succeeded in that, did you not? All those moons ago, when you told me the Starscourge blotted out Eos' sun, I had no idea that same darkness flowed through your very veins.

You are... you are everything I have ever endeavored to fight against. You are everything I hate, and indeed, I should hate you.

And yet... I cannot bring myself to hate you.

You saved my life, and I believe in that moment you didn't have to. You could have lied, could have delivered the news of my demise with a falsehood or not at all. Who would have been there to know the truth but the ruined corpse of a chimera? Yet you chose to use the very power that once damned you to save me. I owe you a debt that I don't believe I can ever repay, but that's only the half of it. I glimpsed something in that moment. For the space of a heartbeat, through a crack in centuries of flippant indifference, I saw your pain.

I cannot begin to understand it, and should I live even half as long as you, I may never truly understand, but there is one thing that I do know. I know that hating you solves nothing. Hating you makes nothing better. You don't need another soul to shun you. Decades ago, when I took up the mantle of the Red to fight for the freedom of my people, I swore an oath, one I keep and do my best to uphold even now. “To champion the weak, with heart and steel.” I have seen you fight, my friend. It is not my blade that you need.

There are questions I yet have. I know not where this path may lead, and I may not like the answers you have to give, but I would know them, regardless. Some things cannot be overlooked, as you said, but that does not have to mean the end.

Call me, please. Or come to Wyver, if you like. I'll be needing this book back, anyway. It is but a useless statue in the hands of anyone else but me. The scarf you may keep, if that were not obvious from the start.

Until we speak again, be well, my friend.

Yours,
X'rhun Tia

[X’rhun would not be wrong. Ardyn is many things, but even he is not immune to curiosity. The delivery beckons him, and he opens it up nearly as soon as he lays eyes upon it.

What he finds is not quite what he expected, though the scarf is something surprising; and yet the moment he sees it, appreciation is quashed by a feeling of knowing. There is something lingering in the air now, something that felt a pieces of the earth crumbling beneath his feet.

But he doesn’t hesitate, his expression doesn’t even change, as he unwraps the rest of it. The scarf goes around his neck to hold its place, and the book-statue soon reveals itself to not be a book-statue at all, but rather a strange sort of contraption that turns into a “proper” sort of tome with “proper” sort of pages.

And a note. A letter, really, from X’rhun.

He reads it, and it is only then that Ardyn’s expression twists into a frown. He expected it, really, for Prompto to have told him everything and for him to believe all of it. And Ardyn is not inclined to call him a liar — all true, every word of it. Every sin and every crime he committed, and he likely would have done it again if given the chance. Simply to reach at his goals one last desperate time.

But X’rhun, he still calls him friend despite it all. Says that he saw something in him that day he healed the red mage, something like vulnerability and pain. He almost stops reading then and there, but he is pulled along. Curiosity is a powerful thing. That strange mix of emotion in the pit of his chest, even more so.

When he’s done, Ardyn doesn’t call. Several days pass and X’rhun will receive no sort of reply at all. Until one day, he’s in Wyver and at the other’s front door, golden book-statue in hand. It matches the scarf around his neck.

Knock knock.]

[ X’rhun had suspected that any response to his missive, if there was to be any at all, was going to take some time. It gives him some time, as well, to mull over what he would say when he and Ardyn eventually crossed paths again.

He did not expect the man to just show up at his door, even though X’rhun had given him the option. It’s a small miracle that Ardyn catches him at home, since X’rhun has been busy helping Wyver put itself back together in the wake of the chaos. He opens the door, looking weary, a smudge of ash brushed over one cheek, like he had just collapsed into bed to sleep as he was after getting home. His clothes are plain, since his Duelist uniform remains ruined and bloodstained, shoved into a chest to deal with when he has more time.

There’s no mistaking the relief that passes over his face when he sees Ardyn there. His ears perk, and behind him, his tail waves. He eyes the scarf around Ardyn’s neck. ]

I was right to think that color would suit you, it seems.

[Ardyn stands there, the same smile on his face. The same demeanor to his form, flippant and a bit uncaring. X'rhun perhaps knows him well enough, by now, to realize that this state of his is insincere in many ways. A mask, tossed out to the forefront, to shield himself against the unknowns of this conversation.

A hand comes up to tug at the scarf, the one not grasping the book-statue in his hand.] I think any hue suits me, when cast against the color of black.

[He holds out said statue, glittering in the light. X'rhun looks tired and worn, but Ardyn does not bother to even remark on it.]

This is yours, I believe.

[ Ardyn’s guard is up, and he cannot blame him. He is quite aware that offering to build a bridge does not mean they both won’t go plummeting over the edge anyway. ]

Aye, that it is. Thank you.

[ He takes the book-that-is-not-quite-a-book from Ardyn, stepping aside to admit him through the door. ]

Please, come in.

[Ardyn is under the impression that the whole of this will be a waste of time. That bridge will crumble under the weight of all that he is, all that he cannot apologize for, and so shall they plummet to the chasm below. Heart and steel, indeed. He was in need of neither.

Regardless, he will entertain him. He steps in when invited, glancing around. It looks much the same since he was last here, and Ardyn gestures vaguely in his companion's direction.]

You've been kept busy. Did I come at a bad time?

[ It smells of coffee inside, which may be the only notable difference. ]

I’ve been helping put things back together in the wake of the… celebrations. [ The air quotes around “celebrations” are practically audible. ] But if you’ll forgive me for having just rolled out of bed, it’s not a bad time at all.

[ He motions towards his small kitchen table, one chair already pushed out some, in front of which sits a cup of coffee and an open book. ]

Take a seat. I don’t know about you, but I’ve no desire to dance around the reason you’re here for much longer.

And neither do I.

[Ardyn moves towards where indicated, taking a seat on the other side of the kitchen table. He leans in elbows forward, pressing into the surface, the smile keen on his features. He ignores the scent of coffee catching in his nose.]

Ask your questions. But, as you might suspect, I am not here to discredit anything Prompto might have told you. Undoubtedly, it was all true.

[Most might say that the accusations could've been mired in hyperbole. What does it say about what he's done, then, that he does not even think that this applies?]

[ X’rhun reclaims his usual chair, closing the book and setting it aside, the golden book statue on top of it. The mug remains untouched, steam rising from the contents. ]

I suppose my first, and biggest, question would be… why? I can guess, but that seems to be all I ever do where you’re concerned.

[Why, indeed. The answer was complicated and yet very simple at the same time. The truth of the matter, kept very close to his heart, and not to be revealed to anyone. That lingering wish to die, to rest, to fulfill the prophecy and show that yawning stretch of his hatred in the process.

He just laughs, looking amused.]

'Why' to which part? You'll have to be a little more specific than that.

Edited 2018-03-06 18:08 (UTC)

Any of it. All of it. Why the deception? The games? The death? Why set your sights on Prompto and his friends specifically? Why steal away the sunlight?

[ X’rhun has his doubts about being able to wring the whole truth out of Ardyn, even with the ugly stuff at the forefront, but he has to hope for something. ]

['All of it' would be his overall goals, then. He leans back in his seat, considering X'rhun for a moment before continuing. It was easy, to water it all down to something singular, the reason behind why he feels spite constantly clawing at his insides -- even more prevalent than the way the Starscourge perpetually churns under his skin.]

Because I wanted an end to my family line. Revenge against those that turned their back on me, their precious light, their precious Crystal. I was written as the villain in Eos' story, its sad little prophecy. It was so very easy to find myself filling that role without even thinking.

[ That is not surprising in the least, and in fact was just what X’rhun had figured. Despite good intentions at the outset, there is darkness – literal darkness – that lives in Ardyn now, has turned him into something other than human. It would be easy to look at that and to condemn him for it.

After so long being painted the villain, why not play the part? ]

I had suspected as much, to tell you the truth, but now that you have mentioned it… care to tell me about this prophecy?

[He wonders if he's feeling generous enough to entertain this conversation. It is true that X'rhun asks out of curiosity, a desire to understand. But the prophecy, that destiny that he fell into by way of trying to avoid it, forever remains something that sticks bitterly at his spirit.

But he humors him, for now. There was no harm in enlightenment, though Ardyn's grin has become a bit facetious at this point. He recites something from the Cosmogony, without missing a single beat.]

'O'er rotted Soil, under blighted sky,
A dread Plague the Wicked hath wrought.
In the Light of the Gods, Sword-Sworn at his Side
'Gainst the Dark the King's Battle is fought.
From the Heavens high, to the Blessed below,
Shines the Beam of a Peace long besought.
Long live thy Line, and this Stone divine,
For the Night when All comes to Naught.'

[He hums a little, a sound of satisfaction coming from his throat.]

The Starcourge, as I told you before, is something that plagued all of Eos -- but this was not a new development. Millennia ago, it existed. Its spread was finally delayed, quelled for a time, the darkness receding in that ancient age long past. But the Astrals, the gods, they knew it would return. That at some point, darkness would once more encroach upon the land, and so they granted my star the Crystal, an ancient artifact that dispels the dark with its light and immeasurable magic.

And to guard the Crystal, a family line, chosen to found the kingdom of Lucis, to become its royalty. To eventually... [He can't help but laugh here, again.] To eventually produce a True King, a Chosen King, that would fight against the darkness when it returned. One that would finally destroy the Starscourge and the avatar of it, at the expense of their own life.

But why wait for the Prophecy to fulfill itself, when there was healing to be done? When I could end the pain of others, stop their transformations into daemons, one individual at a time? Even if it meant taking in that darkness into myself, I would do so. Just to help my people — I wanted nothing more. But when it came time to ascend to the throne, as a proper Lucis Caelum should, I was denied because of that corruption alive in me. Called impure of heart and soul, and by workings of gods and family alike, I was exiled from my home. From everything that I cared about.

[It was like having his heart ripped from his chest. It did so much more damage than anything the Starscourge had twisted him into. This, he knows.]

In trying to aid the Light, I became Darkness. I wonder, sometimes, if that was always what I was meant for. That my good intentions were only the moving pieces of a great, cosmic joke, and that I was always destined to be crushed under the heel of fate. But it didn’t matter any longer, I had a part to play, and motivation to see it through to the end.

[Sometime during all of this, Ardyn's body had grown taut. Tense. Only when he's finished does it seem to uncoil, slowly.]

Is that explanation enough?

Edited 2018-03-06 20:14 (UTC)

[ Despite how weary he had seemed when he first opened the door, X’rhun listens now with rapt attention, blue eyes locked on Ardyn as he tells his tale.

He once drew similarities between Ardyn and Arya, the pupil that still lays asleep on the Natha’s station. The girl with the blood of a voidsent in her veins. At the time, he hadn’t known just how on the nose that comparison was, but where Arya was able to break free of the shackles of her fate, Ardyn is a prisoner to it still. He wonders, if there had been but one soul to reach out to Ardyn, to care, would the story have been rewritten?

It’s useless, wondering about that now when this tale has been thousands of years in the telling already. ]

I did not expect you to be so forthright, actually. So, thank you.

[ It throws some things into perspective. The long and dark history of Ardyn Izunia is much darker and longer than he can truly fathom. It’s more than even Prompto probably knows. ]

I imagine, then, you spent your very long life waiting for this “true king”, and for the prophecy to come to pass. I also imagine this time wasn’t spent idly.

[It was forthcoming, but the deepest, most painful truths lay hidden. That is how Ardyn would prefer it, always.

But one thing is obvious: at this point, X'rhun knows more than Prompto, though he thinks that's not saying much, for Ardyn always kept everyone in the dark until it was convenient for him.]

A truth for a truth. It is only fair that if Prompto tells you what he knows, that I do the same. Now you may let it coalesce together in your mind, so that you can come to the same conclusion -- that it will be impossible for you to overlook the lives that I took, the way the world writhed and slowly died in the dark, regardless of what pity you might feel. Keep it to yourself, X'rhun. I have no need for it.

[But the other man's words imply more explanation, and Ardyn deigns to give it.] Much of my time spent in Eos was that of a wanderer. Biding my time. I only joined Niflheim once I knew the chosen king was soon to be born.

[Easy to judge, when the state of the Starscourge could be measured with a thought. How it grew and desperately wanted to rise up, to fulfill what it existed to do.]

So yes, I waited. And now, I still wait. He sleeps in a pod, high above our heads now. Prompto's friend, you see.

[ He has things he’d like to say, about the lives that lay lost at Ardyn’s feet and what that means to him – what that means for them, but the conversation marches onward, and he would rather give that the moment it deserves.

On the subject of Prompto’s friend, however… ]

What would you do, were he to wake?

There is nothing for me to do. Make his life difficult, perhaps, because it amuses me?

[But he cannot kill him. Noctis would be that small, sliver of hope that if things could go back to the way they were, maybe... maybe he could continue down the path he walked once before.]

He's been awake before, but not as I remember him last. Ten years younger, just like Prompto. Useless, weak. Not fit to fight me, not even close to becoming a king. He would die in an instant.

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