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Defeat was near unheard of following the title of 'warrior of light'. Of course, they had lost, as all heroes have, whether it be to the hands of enemies, or the hands of fate, or by some unseen force that orchestrates it all. Even so, defeat does not sit well on the shoulders of Eorzea's most vaunted hero. First in the Vault, to the hands of Fate and Thordan. A defeat in their eyes but not in the eyes of others. Then, they lost to the hands of their enemies - to the point of Zenos' blade. Battles spoken of in hushed whispers, as if they were taboo. After all, the Warrior of Light had beaten Gaius van Baelsar. Killed Ascians, felled Primals without even a second thought. In fact, they craved the carnage. The bloodlust took them over and drove them mad in the heat of things. But that first meeting with Zenos in Rhalgr's Reach, that first defeat. It hit hard. It shook them, and it shook the people's faith in them. Then they got stronger. In Yanxia, in an attempt to regain their lost pride and stop Yugiri from going in alone and getting torn to shreds. They still lost. It was not enough -
But then there were the events of Ala Mhigo,
And then Zenos killed himself.
If anything, that hit even harder, he did not die by their hand, he had ended the 'Hunt' early, and left them with a strange, distant emptiness... and despite the time that had passed, the crazed light in those Resonant eyes as he slit his own throat... The Warrior of Light could not chase it away. It haunted their dreams, when they dared to risk sleeping. But they persevered. They kept fighting. Kept getting stronger.
And they then had lost again. Not to fate, or enemies, but... an unknown force. A visitor beyond the stars... Unseen, cruel and unforgiving.
All of the Scions were... gone. Out of action. Alisaie out cold in their arms, the way she reached for them as she fell, the fear they had felt as they held her. No, no, not her too. Not Alisaie.
But, well, that's the thing about the Warrior of Light. Hydaelyn takes your humanity. The people take your name, and leave you with just a title. The world takes your friends. Everything works against you, in an attempt to take your life. And in a way? They do. They haven't felt anything in a long time. They were just rage and bloodlust and pride. They have to be, after all they've been through. They know they're traumatised, that they need help, but even if the Scions weren't... souless husks, there was no one they could talk to. After all, even though the Scions would listen, they would not listen. They know the Scions cared, were close friends - a family, even... but even in the closest of families, the most obvious cry for help can fall on deaf ears. So they mask their pain in apathy and stoicism until that became all they truly are. No one wants to admit that their vaunted hero is an empty shell of what was once a hopeful adventurer seeking money and fame.
Well, now they have both money and fame, but they lost everything along the way.
And it was all of this that the Warrior of Light had been mulling over, kneeling at that one spot in Providence Point. They were not dressed for the bitter snows of Coerthas, let alone the awful storm that shook the area, but they relished the sting of cold on their skin. It helped ground themself as their thoughts whirl and spun like the snow caught in the harsh winds of the blizzard.
The Warrior of Light's eyes opened, and turned their solemn gaze to the stone ahead of them. They came here often to think, to talk. A smile better suits a hero. The phrase echoes in their head, but they could not bring themself to, not even for Him. Not anymore. This stone was just a marker one of their losses, but one felt so keenly still, so hard to push past. They often found themself tossed into the throes of grief, unable to persevre. Its not what he would've wanted "...My friend." Their voice was quiet, hoarse from disuse. They don't think they've spoken to anyone since Tataru bid them to rest after their ordeal. They tried talking to Edmont again, and Aymeric, Hien. But they couldn't manage it. They always turned and walked away without a word. If anyone asked anything of them, all they did was offer a stoic nod, complete their task and return without a word. No matter the task. In the end, they just took to roaming the Azim Steppe alone, with just their chocobo. There they knew they could avoid interation.
"...My friend." The repeated to the stone in front of them, and then there was a glimmer of true, raw emotion in their eyes. It may have been a long time. But they still mourn the fallen knight. "I don't know what to do. I'm... lost."
There was something cathartic with just saying it out loud. And they felt something, no matter how small, lift off their shoulders. This time, when they closed their eyes, as opposed to the red eyes of the Resonant, or the marching ghosts of those they had slain or failed to save, they just saw darkness. They felt a light pressure around their shoulders, like an arm... and a figure pressed against their side, offering silent comfort.
For the first time since they left their home to begin this gods-forsaken journey, they felt at peace.
☆
"Are you awake? Thank the gods!"
They stirred, feeling rough fabric scrape against their snow-burned shoulders as they sat up. Eyes opened to see themself in a warm stone building that they know to belong in Camp Dragonhead. At their side? Like that day? Was Aymeric. Concern laced in his features.
Their gaze narrowed at him, and they offered a tired smile, but there was no heart in it.
They realise now that they had not had a dreamless sleep in so long, and that was the first time that they weren't haunted. They felt, rested for once.
"One of the Fortemps knights found you unconscious at Providence Point. We feared you were sick, or dead. It is a relief to see those concerns were misplaced... But I am glad they called me here none the less. What were you doing?"
The Warrior of Light gave Aymeric a searching gaze, before taking to stare at a particularly interesting fold in the blanket, and offered little shrug. He seemed to understand, for he too, still mourned the death of a good friend, but that did not take the concern from his features.
"... My friend, you must be careful. We cannot lose our Warrior of -"
Before he could finish, the Warrior's expression turned into a scowl, and they turned their back. Barely masking the hurt in their eyes - not even those they consider themself close to, dares to use their name. Aymeric seemed to catch on, and sighed.
"....When you feel up to it. Pray seek me out. We can enjoy dinner together - like old times. And there will be no mention of this ... hero business."
Aymeric stood. Placed a consoling hand on their shoulder, and swept out of the room, with a quiet apology, and a kind farewell.
The Warrior of Light sighed, and curled back under the blanket, and closed their eyes. But the reassuring presence of their fallen friend did not return. That kind peaceful darkness that was so soothing at Providence Point was not there. Instead, all they saw were Zenos' crazed red eyes, watching over the long, endless line of fallen soliders, faceless beings, vanished friends, marching ever eastwards.