The sounds of battle were nigh deafening.

The clash of steel, the sound of magic erupting, it all congealed into a mess in Iphi's horns. The player wasn't much better off, the lighthearted banter in their ears undercut with nervousness and a strange sense of urgency. They watched their prey’s every movement, twitchy and ready to duck for cover should the need arise.

Eden stood before them in all its glory, but it was clear to see that after hours of unceasing fighting, it was on its last metaphorical leg. With one last clash of the Dark Knight's greatsword, the god-like beast falls down, crumbling like a house of cards.

Iphi exhales sharply, the magic coursing through his veins dying down along with the tension in his muscles, until he could barely keep his Astrometer up, a Spear falling from his now-numb fingers. He can faintly hear more weapons clattering to the ground.

Someone shouts. Five more voices join in, a somehow melodious cacophony of cheers and cries that spread through the dimension that belongs to them alone now. He doesn’t, though a choked sob leaves his chapped lips anyhow, one of the only sounds he can make. In the very next second, he’s throwing himself onto his spouse, knocking her over with the sudden weight. She laughs, dropping the greatsword that had almost gone straight through his chest, and wraps her arms around him in a hug so tight it ought to hurt. But it doesn’t — nothing feels real, not when the dimension starts slowly but surely falling apart around them, no longer held together by Eden’s power.

For a moment, it’s just him and her, crying and cheering, their comrades in similar states of elation, each celebrating in their own ways. The Dragoon pulls out a hearty portion of salad she’d kept to celebrate, the Summoner nodding in approval of his charges. The Gunbreaker looks over at his lover, eyes softening when they catch the White mage hugging onto her staff. The Machinist is picking up his gun, fussing over it after he’d dropped it in the moment of celebration. The Monk praises their power and his voice holds so much respect for this rag-tag group of misfits, it’s almost unbelievable.

The player starts laughing, breathy and choked. “We did it,” they say finally, cutting through everyone else. The cheers throughout the call die down, replaced by a sense of accomplishment, the euphoria of a hard-earned win, after hours and hours of trying and failing.

They’ve done it.

Their first enemy has fallen.

Three are left to succumb to their combined wrath.



[Thank you for reading my entry! I've never had the pleasure of raiding before 5.0, and I don't think the feeling of finishing your first savage fight could be properly described. Nevetheless, I tried. If I do win my prize of choice would be Bluebird Earring.]