A nightmare, only a nightmare... just a nightmare.
Of course, it was far less convincing to do so when the wood pressing up against him was not separated by a mattress he'd just repaired, his head resting on a bag filled with books and clothes, and the gentle waves of nightly sailing were cradling the boat. He'd bawl if it served any purpose. The Seven Hells take him if there was any purpose to life other than reciprocating this atrocity on the very people who unconsciously caused it.
* * *
There'd been reports that Garleans had been sighted across the shore, but they never docked. He wondered why - They'd already established that the nation had nothing for them. Perhaps they were waiting to fully absorb the city into the Garlean Empire proper, perhaps they were simply using the waters nearby to stage an assault. None of them knew.
Five more cases of the Surge of Aether, spread out throughout the island. Add to those seven a few days ago, and it felt like something inevitable had finally been set into motion. Dread covered the young man's brow. His responsibilities to the council no longer mattered - this situation required an explanation, and he would get one come hell or high water.
He knew where to go - he'd studied the rarest tomes of the island, listened to the legends. All signs pointed to the cavern he'd discovered so long ago.
* * *
The inside was dank, as always, the remnants of long lost ships still floating after millennia of abandon. The caverns littered with graffiti of a forgotten age. None of this mattered anymore. With an elegant dive, the young man went under the largest ship, finding a box that had been discovered in the early days where the island's inhabitants styled themselves explorers, but were unable to open. Another book that detailed the legend of a key that could open the secrets of life itself held the solution to this puzzle.
Bringing the box to the surface, the ancient alphabet dictating the code would be impossible to decipher. Yet he had a talent for such, and soon saw the box open. Within it, a stone radiating with faint power. Pocketing the stone, he rushed to a pedestal that seemed out of place from both the unnatural color of the rock when compared to the rest of the cavern, with the craftsmanship being much higher than any of the stone cutters he knew. The pedestal, as he surmised, had a groove to set the stone on. Turquoise lines formed from the pedestal, heading towards the ships. The cavern heading towards the sea closed, and water poured in from its side, tiny imperceptible holes forced the water up. The mast itself, a bit off place even assuming the ships themselves had crashed here, soon hit the ceiling, a groove made just for it.
Behind him, a newfound staircase.
At the end of the staircase, the heart of the mountain... nothing.
* * *
"Private, secure the artifact and escape. I don't want anyone to know we've been here." The language spoken was off - Not Eorzean, nowhere near the ancient language he could inexplicably decipher.
The outfits were Garlean, no doubt - He'd seen them enough. How did they make it here? The vision did not show. Still, they soon nabbed the artifact and left.
* * *
"The Negaether will regulate the area's aether. This is how we'll be able to thrive, leaving the past behind." Black robes and masks he'd seen before. The very founders of this land.
"No more. We will die on our own terms, as our master did."
They all silently nodded, leaving the machine to hum.
The next step will be forgetting this ever happened, their master had ordered such.
* * *
The memories flooded in the young man's mind. Things he suspected, things he knew from the amount of researched he'd poured in the island's history. The discovery of an era and unfortunately, the instrument of his people's demise.
* * *
The town had been set on fire - Father had been set against mother, brother against brother, gleefully murdering one another to satisfy a thirst for vengeance against a slight they had done against themselves at the beginning of their history. Each claiming they stole the other's part of themselves they had allegedly lost.
He was too late.
Others, strangers, unaffected by the illness of the isle, soon began preparations to set sail. Unaffected by the overarching insanity, the man asked for safe passage to the only city he knew - Limsa Lominsa.
He stared at the flames, barely even drenched by the blood of his countrymen. Even throughout the farms, men and women had slaughtered livestock, each other, trees. He took to writing a simple sentence :
"Today, my people committed suicide."
The rest was better left unsaid.
With barely a few books to his name, knowledge that amounted to nothing in Eorzea, and the strength of conviction - he set out to find his brother, or at least, anyone who knew him.
Einrich Woods had a genocide to plan.
Of course, it was far less convincing to do so when the wood pressing up against him was not separated by a mattress he'd just repaired, his head resting on a bag filled with books and clothes, and the gentle waves of nightly sailing were cradling the boat. He'd bawl if it served any purpose. The Seven Hells take him if there was any purpose to life other than reciprocating this atrocity on the very people who unconsciously caused it.
* * *
There'd been reports that Garleans had been sighted across the shore, but they never docked. He wondered why - They'd already established that the nation had nothing for them. Perhaps they were waiting to fully absorb the city into the Garlean Empire proper, perhaps they were simply using the waters nearby to stage an assault. None of them knew.
Five more cases of the Surge of Aether, spread out throughout the island. Add to those seven a few days ago, and it felt like something inevitable had finally been set into motion. Dread covered the young man's brow. His responsibilities to the council no longer mattered - this situation required an explanation, and he would get one come hell or high water.
He knew where to go - he'd studied the rarest tomes of the island, listened to the legends. All signs pointed to the cavern he'd discovered so long ago.
* * *
The inside was dank, as always, the remnants of long lost ships still floating after millennia of abandon. The caverns littered with graffiti of a forgotten age. None of this mattered anymore. With an elegant dive, the young man went under the largest ship, finding a box that had been discovered in the early days where the island's inhabitants styled themselves explorers, but were unable to open. Another book that detailed the legend of a key that could open the secrets of life itself held the solution to this puzzle.
Bringing the box to the surface, the ancient alphabet dictating the code would be impossible to decipher. Yet he had a talent for such, and soon saw the box open. Within it, a stone radiating with faint power. Pocketing the stone, he rushed to a pedestal that seemed out of place from both the unnatural color of the rock when compared to the rest of the cavern, with the craftsmanship being much higher than any of the stone cutters he knew. The pedestal, as he surmised, had a groove to set the stone on. Turquoise lines formed from the pedestal, heading towards the ships. The cavern heading towards the sea closed, and water poured in from its side, tiny imperceptible holes forced the water up. The mast itself, a bit off place even assuming the ships themselves had crashed here, soon hit the ceiling, a groove made just for it.
Behind him, a newfound staircase.
At the end of the staircase, the heart of the mountain... nothing.
* * *
"Private, secure the artifact and escape. I don't want anyone to know we've been here." The language spoken was off - Not Eorzean, nowhere near the ancient language he could inexplicably decipher.
The outfits were Garlean, no doubt - He'd seen them enough. How did they make it here? The vision did not show. Still, they soon nabbed the artifact and left.
* * *
"The Negaether will regulate the area's aether. This is how we'll be able to thrive, leaving the past behind." Black robes and masks he'd seen before. The very founders of this land.
"No more. We will die on our own terms, as our master did."
They all silently nodded, leaving the machine to hum.
The next step will be forgetting this ever happened, their master had ordered such.
* * *
The memories flooded in the young man's mind. Things he suspected, things he knew from the amount of researched he'd poured in the island's history. The discovery of an era and unfortunately, the instrument of his people's demise.
* * *
The town had been set on fire - Father had been set against mother, brother against brother, gleefully murdering one another to satisfy a thirst for vengeance against a slight they had done against themselves at the beginning of their history. Each claiming they stole the other's part of themselves they had allegedly lost.
He was too late.
Others, strangers, unaffected by the illness of the isle, soon began preparations to set sail. Unaffected by the overarching insanity, the man asked for safe passage to the only city he knew - Limsa Lominsa.
He stared at the flames, barely even drenched by the blood of his countrymen. Even throughout the farms, men and women had slaughtered livestock, each other, trees. He took to writing a simple sentence :
"Today, my people committed suicide."
The rest was better left unsaid.
With barely a few books to his name, knowledge that amounted to nothing in Eorzea, and the strength of conviction - he set out to find his brother, or at least, anyone who knew him.
Einrich Woods had a genocide to plan.
