Fate is an odd thing.
Perched over her loom, the Spinner weaves many different threads together in ways that may oftentimes seem strange or even haphazard at the time. People, places, and things coming together in ways one couldn't possibly understand or predict, and these meetings make sense only once Nymeia has finished spinning that particular tapestry. And yet, even without Nymeia's lengthy sight, there are sometimes threads that one can't help but expect to entwine once again down the line. This was one such meeting.
Like many other such meetings, it was an event that seemed to happen purely by chance. Gogonji just so happened to be heading to check on his eyes at the Castrum Centri - the impending start of his grand operation making him nervous, restless, and eager to ensure that every little detail was in place. And so, he had retrieved Annelace from the Chocobokeep's stables, and was in the middle of leading her to the Toll's western gate. Towards the Fogfens and the Garlean encampment that sat like an overripe boil on the other end of it. He would have just ridden her through the throngs of unwashed masses, but the last thing he wanted to do was draw unnecessary attention to himself so close to operation start.
So ironic, then, that his slower going would result in catching the strangest of attentions. Someone who just so happened to be wrapping up a sort of mini vacation, far away from his Free Company after the sudden end of a relationship. Someone who only just finished the project set upon him by his father in part for his sudden exodus from their original home, and in part for his lodging in their new home at the Toll. Had he taken but a minute or two longer or finished ahead of schedule, and Chachanji might not have seen the white-feathered chocobo and, by extension, its owner as he stepped out of the Garlond Ironworks.
And yet, in retrospect, it seemed like it couldn't happen any other way.
"... G-Go-nii?" The childish nickname stumbled out of the young Free Paladin's mouth without thinking, evoked by the sudden appearance of his older brother right in front of him. He had expected to hear about his whereabouts from Leanne's various contacts, expected to have time to ready himself and prepare for finally meeting his brother after so many cycles. Nymeia wasn't quite so kind.
If Gogonji heard the sudden gasp, he paid it little heed - simply dismissing it as another figment of his imagination, another attempt of that niggling little feeling in the back of his mind to dissuade him from his revenge. Instead, he continued maneuvering through the crowds with Annelace's reins wrapped tightly about his right hand and his thoughts firmly on the task at hand. Troop numbers, equipment, patrol routes, strengths, weaknesses - all the information that had been gathered either by him or for him being mulled over as he moved with an unwavering single-mindedness towards the western gate. This left Chachanji at a strange crossroads.
Should he go back into the Ironworks and tell his father? The man had been gruff enough at the return of his youngest to his doorstep those scant suns ago, immediately setting the boy to task making the plates and other components for the vastly popular Magitek-inspired Garlond armor and weapons. Even if he got to the family head in time to bring him to his brother, what would come of it? Perhaps another argument, like the one that had caused Gogonji's original departure. Chachanji couldn't risk this good fortune by having their father drive the elder brother away again. He stepped down one of the steps.
What about Nininya or his mother, then? They would certainly react better to seeing the eldest Gegenji child after so long apart, and could serve as a buffer for their father once he returned home. And yet, that also meant making a mad dash back to the house to look for them. Gogonji could be long gone before then, leaving Chachanji just as empty-handed as before. He took another two steps.
Calling for a friend over a linkpearl? Getting Avenger from the Chocobokeep? Similar problems - they would take time Chachanji wasn't entirely sure he had to spare. And, while he didn't feel at all ready to deal with this sudden meeting alone, he also knew that he had little choice if he wanted to have the meeting at all. He either approached Gogonji now or risk losing him again. He was in the crowd now, pushing towards the western gate.
What would he say? What would he do? How would his older brother react? Leanne had said that Gogonji thought him and the rest of his family dead, after all. A myriad of questions all ran through his panicked mind as the little Lalafell forced his way through the crowd.
And yet, despite the endless questions - the doubts and the fears that dominated his thoughts - there was one thought that rung crystal clear in Chachanji's mind. That he had to get his brother's attention. He had to say something, anything. And so, as he slipped the tumultuous grasp of the Toll's citizenship and stumbled out the western gate, little Chachan shouted the only thing he could think of.
"GO-NII! WAIT!"
And that was enough. The older Gegenji froze in the middle of mounting his snowy-feathered bird, his foot slipping free of the saddle's rung. A nervous laugh bubbled out of Chachanji's throat as he padded is way past the guardhouse and down the slope a ways towards his older brother. Despite his arms still hurting from the hundreds of hammer-falls he had performed under the watchful gaze of his father, the little Doman waved in greeting. And wondered what to say next.
Gogonji remained still, his violet gaze affixed upon the saddle cinched firmly onto Annelace's back. His grip on one of the saddlebags he was using as leverage tightened, his already pale knuckles coloring to match his Chocobo's feathers. The words that he muttered came out at little more than a whisper.
"How dare you..."
"A-ah?" Chachan murmured as he drew up alongside brother and bird. "D-did ya say somethin', G-G..." It felt weird speaking to him for the first time in cycles. "Go-nii."
It was only Warren's intense training - and his numerous appearances at the Grindstone as part of said training - that caused Chachanji to reflexively jerk back at the faint clicking sound, dodging the bite of the blade that suddenly slashed out at him shortly after. He staggered, in surprise of his own reaction as well as the sudden assault upon him, and fell rather unceremoniously on his backside. When his eyes opened from the initial shock of impact, the youngest Gegenji child found the point of the blade set neatly at his throat. And at the other end was the eldest, a murderous glare burning through the spectacles affixed to his face.
"How dare you!" Gogonji repeated, his tone steeped in venom as he took a step forward. Chachan was forced to scrabble back a few ilms to avoid getting his neck punctured. "Not enough to act like you know my brother, is it!? You have the gall to try pretending to be him!?"
"P-pretendin'? What do ya--"
"Silence!" Chachanji was forced to abandon his questioning as he dove to the side, lest his head be removed from his shoulders. The blade came to rest at Gogonji's side, tip lightly grazing the dirt road at their feet. With his free hand, the elder brother pointed accusingly at the younger; his head tilted at a disturbing angle. "Filthy Garlean, how low are you willing to stoop?"
"I-I'm not a Garlean!" Chachan pleaded, Leanne's words flitting briefly through his mind once more. "I-it's me! Chacha--"
"Enough of the lies!" Gogonji lunged forward again, thrusting at the other Lalafell's chest. Again, it was the training that put Chachan's always-handy smithing hammer in the way to deflect the blade aside. The hefty tool, as large as his torso, had been made in the image of the one their father used, and grabbed the older Gegenji child's attention. Even his out-of-practice smith's eye could recognize the style of the hammer, as well as identify the obvious difference in craftsmanship, and that just incensed him further.
"You can't stop me! You won't stop me!" the older Doman Lalafell screeched in rage, slashing viciously with each statement. "You will not stop me!"
"I'm not stoppin' nothin'!" Chachanji wailed in response, the wild attacks keeping him solely on the defensive. Ducking and weaving and blocking with his hammer in a desperate attempt to keep that surprisingly skilled blade from catching him in someplace vital. "I don't even know what yer doin'!"
"You'd like me to believe that, wouldn't you!?"
Something was wrong, something that nagged at Gogonji's thoughts like an irritating bug bite.
"You'd like me to believe that my brother survived!"
Ever since he laid eyes on this... this doppelganger... it had been bothering him. Perhaps even before then, back when that Miqo'te confronted him at the Bobbing Cork. It was hard to say.
"That he just happened to be here in Mor Dhona with the rest of the refugees this whole time!"
What he could say was that there were too many inconsistencies. If the Garlean spies knew about the earring and the hammer and how he taught little Chachanji a little bit of Arcanima, then how were they still so far off on so many other things? Why give him a stupid hodgepodge Eorzean accent when he could speak the language clearly enough thanks to the Garlean occupation? Why have him carry about a shoddy knockoff of their father's hammer when it would only raise further questions?
"Just so happened to be there as I left the town!"
And the hair. Chachanji's hair was certainly fluffy and messy like on this fake, they'd gotten that much right. However, it had always been straight green like his own - not this... oddball green-and-white number that vaguely reminded him of a tree in winter. Did they half-ass the dye job due to time constraints?
"And just happened to recognize me after over fifteen cycles apart!"
They had gotten the proper eye color, the freckles, and even the face was disturbingly close to matching Gogonji's own - if he were to shave off his facial hair. So why all the bizarre and obvious differences after having so many other aspects spot on? Was it just a matter of Garlean arrogance and pride, trying to be fancy with these... these "liberties" in how an older Chachanji might look like? But such things wouldn't make any good tactical sense!
Unless...
"... Of course I recognized ya," Chachanji murmured as he let his hammer fall to his side, his free hand rising to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Yer me brother, Go-nii..."
Unless it's...
The blade slipped from Gogonji's grasp and clattered noisily against the ground as he stumbled back, as if he had been struck, his violet gaze affixed on the other pair of orbs that so nearly matched his own. Eyes that still held that childish adoration he remembered far too well, mixed with confusion and sadness. That horrible kicked puppy look that brought to mind the time when his little brother had dropped that axe on his head, and Gogonji first made use of his Arcanima. Only this time directed fully at him.
Unless it's really him...
No.
"No."
He couldn't be alive, Gogonji told himself as a familiar tension seemed to build in the back of his skull. After all, if he was, then what was the point of everything he had done up to this point? From the Garleans he slaughtered against the backdrop of a razed Doma, to the formation of Khamja to amass a force to strike at Garlemald, to even the twisting of his research to more violent ends. It had all been done under the belief, the fact that the Garleans had taken his family from him. It was because of that truth that he had lied and cheated and killed as he had, all in the name of divine retribution for that single, inexcusable act. It was to be an eye for an eye, blood for blood; they had taken away his everything, so he would take away theirs.
He's dead.
"He's dead."
Even now, his Commanders were mobilizing their respective Khamjan soldiers, readying them to march under the guise of the Eorzean Alliance. Their simultaneous attacks would incite the warmongering Garleans to retaliate and engulf the continent in bloody war once again. An affair Gogonji knew would cause heavy losses on both sides - even amongst his own men, who were to continue to fight and fan the flames - but that had all been easily dismissed as being necessary steps in Garlemald's comeuppance. For Khamja, the Eorzean Alliance, and even his Commanders were naught but tools to bring about that needed vengeance he had so deeply longed for. So much time and energy and money had been spent bringing things to this, the great tipping point.
They're all dead.
"They're all dead."
So much had been done, so much was about to be done, that even considering that it could all be built off false pretenses was ludicrous. It was an impossibility, it had to be. Because without such obvious justification, without the burning light of justice as his back, then would he be naught but a bloodthirsty madman? A murderer who was about to condemn hundreds upon thousands of people to their deaths for slights that did not exist? One who was so far gone as to lash out at the very person he had suffered all this for!?
"By Garlean hands."
The other Lalafell was approaching him again, the one that claimed to be Gogonji's dead brother. The brother whom he had told stories of heroism just before turning off the lights, who he had heard speak of wanting to help and save people as he swung a branch like a sword in their backyard. Such a dim-witted, caring individual wouldn't be able to understand what his older brother had done for him, what was going to happen in his name. So, even if Gogonji was foolish enough to believe that he was really who he said he was, everything the older Lalafell had set into motion would ensure that Chachanji would still be lost him regardless. For who would want an older brother so willing to send thousands to their deaths, let alone someone as tenderhearted as his little brother?
The tension in the back of his mind snapped, and it all came to him in strange, simple clarity. It was so obvious: it truly was nothing more than a failed Garlean trick. The discrepancies in the disguise were merely failings on the part of Garlemald, errors in their disguises that his keen mind had caught so very easily despite his willingness to believe his brother's survival. He certainly wouldn't have drawn steel and attacked his brother - the one he had done everything for - and ensured that he could never again return to his family. He would've been able to tell the difference.
Besides, they were gone. Returned to the aether. And he would join them soon enough, steeped heavily in the blood of all those that had allowed their deaths to happen. He would rejoin them then.
And then they would be together.
"By your hands!"
A practiced motion - just two clicks - and the knowledge flooded forth from the Rousers. Arcanima and Black Magic, jostling with ancient Paladin knowledge and memories already in his mind to the point that he felt his skull might crack from the pressure. He wouldn't need it all for very long, though. Just long enough to show those foolish Garleans that he would not be so easily tricked. He would make an example of this spy, this fool who dared approach him under the guise of his lost brother, to any others who happened to be watching from afar.
The second casting of the "Big Damn Fireball" - Gogonji had never bothered to name it, content to just remain aware of its potency - was just as violent as the first, deep within the Ampadoran ruins. Part of the slope melted away like the the morning mists as the brilliant orange and indigo blast engulfed it, its hues reflected in Gogonji's lenses. And just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone; leaving only the hissing smoke and missing cliff side to mark its passing. Gogonji's hands remained thrust out in front of him for a few seconds before weakly dropping to his sides. That same drained feeling as before, mixed with that heady combination of elation and power.
And mingled in with all that was a small sense of pride. Pride that he had so handily rebuked the Garleans and their tricks at every turn. Pride that he had, at least in some small way, avenged his brother by removing the fool who tried so hard to pose as him. And pride that, in a matter of suns, he would fully avenge Chachanji along with the rest of his family. He just had to make sure it all went according to plan. For them.
Still woozy after that headache-inducing rush of power and knowledge, Gogonji stumbled to where Annelace had retreated to during the sudden combat. A few weary, soft words beckoned the white-feathered Chocobo out from her hiding spot. A few shaky, careful motions had the eldest Gegenji child up and into her saddle, and a few more had them both in motion. Off to Castrum Centri, as originally planned.
All that was left to mark his passing was the bite taken out from the cliff side - still smoking slightly from the sudden landscaping - and a scroll. A scroll that had come loose in all the thrashing and slashing and the backlash of the fireball. An errand wind seemed eager to help clear up that remnant, however, sending the rolled up parchment skittering towards the cliff edge. It teetered there, seeming hesitant to make the drop, before a second gust sent it careening downwards.
The scroll clattered and bounced and spun in its descent, smacking against stone and knocking loose the bits of gravel and dirt unlucky enough to be in its path. It landed with a surprisingly solid thunk on a patch of green, shortly followed by a rain of debris. Said patch groaned and shifted, the battered head that it was attached to turning up just enough to see the speck of white fading into the miasma of the Fogfens. An arm, cut and bruised from the sudden fall, nonetheless tried to reach out towards the retreating form of Gogonji and Annelace.
"G-Go-nii..."
And then darkness came.