I closed my eyes, letting out a measured breath, or what passed for one in the emptiness of the rift. He was right, of course. Lahabrea's boldness
had only grown with the passing of ages─segueing inevitably into recklessness. Across many vessels and many worlds he blazed his trail, each mad leap forward leaving him that much more broken. Not satisfied with having brought about the Seventh Umbral Calamity, he labored needlessly to prolong it.
Was it his affinity for concepts of flame that made him so like the fire itself? From peerless Ifrita to that hopelessly immortal bird, his creations had burned bright and beautiful─as did he.
He should have known what becomes of the flame once all else is ash.
I opened my eyes to take in my brother's face, but the lips visible below his mask bore no expression. Would he never again show what he felt for us, as he once had so readily? Were those very sentiments long lost?
"What is it, Emet-Selch?"
"Nothing. I was only thinking how similar Lahabrea was to his creations."
"His creations?" I had little difficulty reading Elidibus's uncertainty this time. He couldn't remember. If his clenched fists were any indication, he shared my conclusion: yet another part of him had been lost. Ever since the day he had reappeared to us as the embodiment of "hope,"
time's tides had conspired to wash away what bits and pieces remained of the person he once was.