Archive of Our Own

Before the war, there was Gran Pulse—and within Gran Pulse there was paradise; harmony and love. This is not to say Gran Pulse did not have its faults; it wasn’t Crystal Stasis, perfect embodiment of peace and longevity for mortals.

But to say it was cursed, so Cocoon forever claims, would be blasphemy; for before the monsters walked the lands, before carnage decorated the fields and mountains, before the earth was washed with blood, before the deities were corrupted…

Before destruction, there were two boys of promise.

The boy was familiar; hunched shoulders, prepared for battle like always, gripping to a great sword twice his height… Roy knew him well, from childhood, from their gentle life here on Gran Pulse, the paradise world. But here, in this distorted realm full of static and jerky movements, Jason seemed so different; his sleeveless jacket billowed on a dirty breeze, the thin cloth flapping in panic, and his feet were firmly planted.

His arms were crisscrossed with wounds, his face scarred across his brow, and at his feet lay a fal’Cie watered with his tears.

Roy’s body moved on its own, as if there were two of him; his body and this strange apparition he was trapped in. When a soldier took aim at Jason, Roy’s body stepped between them, a lance clutched in one hand prepared to block Jason from the firing squad.

And then Roy was being whisked away from that hazy place of mystery and fear, slamming back into his body with a choked breath that knocked him to his knees; the ground was cold rock, and the fal’Cie that had called him here paced between Roy and Jason, marking an invisible line between Roy and his unconscious friend.

“What…” he gasped, a hand clutched in the robes over his chest. “What was that?”

“Your Focus,” Titan answered; he was a towering fal’Cie, tall and strong and radiating nature; his skin was metal and glowed, his shoulders were laden with rock and moss crawled across it to show his wisdom. “Will you accept it?”

Roy pressed his hands against the ground, tried to drag himself across the cavern bottom to Jason’s motionless body; he was turned away from Roy on his side, and Roy didn’t even know if he was breathing. A mark on Roy’s right wrist, a collection of mechanical brands, a l’Cie brand, drew his attention and he paused to stare in wonder; he was blessed a l’Cie. He turned his gaze once more to his friend, who was beginning to stir.

Accept? To protect the one thing he’d always cared about?

Was that even a question?

Roy wakes with crystals fading from his eyes; his lungs breathe unfamiliar air, and his blood runs cold. The air around him is light, familiar but somehow polluted, unclean and unfamiliar in its toxicity; he falls from his crystal cocoon to the grassy green beneath. It’s soft and thick, a gentle wind welcoming him back from his dreamless sleep.

“Jason!” The name slips from him in the panicked way he had tried calling it—how long has it been? How long have they been asleep? How long have they been claimed by Crystal Stasis?

Roy doesn’t wait to gain his bearings; he goes stumbling over the land, eyes only for the other crystal a few yards from where his used to stand. He still clutches his lance in his left hand and when he stumbles within reach he stretches his free hand out and presses it close against the crystal. Hues of pink and blue swirl within the sparkling rocks, the roughened exterior cutting into Roy’s hand; his mark catches his eyes, and he quickly removes his hand to inspect his brand.

The once black mark, squared corners long changed into thin arrows, has been plastered in white, staining his skin with a crystalline web; he stares at it in horror, mouth open in shock and his eyes wide in fear. He can’t understand how he completed his Focus; Jason was never safe…

There’s a hum in the air, and Roy’s attention snaps back to the crystal; it’s melting away, slowly revealing a more human looking Jason. His face is slack, even as his chest expands to breathe again, and when the last of the crystal has dripped away Jason slumps forward; Roy is prepared, always ready, and he drops his lance to wrap his arms around Jason’s limp body and ease them both to the ground.

The dirt is warmed by the sun above, and the grass is as soft as Roy remembers; even warmer is Jason’s body pressed against his, always so familiar, and Roy cradles the back of his head against his collarbone. They sit there, in the exotic wilderness of Gran Pulse, and Roy buries his face in Jason’s dark hair; he breathes deeply, one and two and three. When his lungs have fully expanded, he pulls away to check Jason’s own brand; he tugs the other teenager’s collar down and over his shoulder, tracing the brand around the curve of Jason’s throat and shoulder.

It’s unscathed, dark against Jason’s skin, the arrows still elongated and elegant, a red eye just barely beginning to be visible at the center; a sign of Jason’s impending fate.

Roy clutches him closer, turns his face to the sky, and calls, “What do you want from us?! Why did you wake us? What more can we give?”

Of course, there is no answer but the whispering wind across the fronds of grass.

Titan was kind; he had always been kind, even in his hulking nature, and Roy found solace in the fal’Cie’s presence. Jason too, upon awakening, had looked upon the deity with reverence and Titan had smiled kindly at Jason and settled a spikey haired kitten in the boy’s hands.

“This is Rheuy,” the giant had mumbled low in his throat. “His mother is hunting today so I have been tasked with watching him; he’s the last of her litter.”

Jason’s fingers were delicate as they’d brushed the needle point hair back, let the black nose nuzzle his in greeting, chuckling when the kitten scrambled up to his shoulder. “He’s playful!”

To say they’re Focus was the most exciting goal given to a l’Cie would be a lie; protect Jason while Jason protected Gran Pulse. From what? Roy couldn’t say, and not even Jason knew.

He shrugged when asked, glancing out to the horizon as the sun set upon another gloriously peaceful day; “I don’t know; the vision didn’t show me that. I just know Gran Pulse needs a guardian, and apparently that duty falls to me.” He’d turned sparkling green eyes on Roy then, a mischievous glint in them. “What about your Focus?”

Titan, at the foot of the hill they had climbed to spot the sunset, turned a sour look at Roy; a warning, a growl on the air to stay silent. They were deities, these fal’Cie, and they would be honored.

Roy shrugged, slipped an arm over Jason’s shoulders, and turned them back to the vanishing light; “Not sure; the vision wasn’t exactly clear.”

He would ask their fal’Cie later, about the importance of keeping his Focus a secret from his Focus; for now, he felt Jason’s warmth beneath his arm and watched several birds flock overhead, singing a light song.

When Jason awakes, he knows he’s safe; the panic from before, before the crystal and a sleep like death, is not present. Because the breathing against his cheek is even, and the beat beneath his ear is peaceful, so Jason closes his eyes and takes a moment to relish in the calm. It doesn’t last long, unfortunately, when a creature shrieks violently in the distance and Jason jolts against the suddenly tighter hold.

“Jason!” Yes, it’s Roy, and the redhead tosses his lance aside—always ready for a fight, always ready to have his back—to take both of Jason’s shoulders in hand. “You’re awake! Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”

He takes in the way Roy looks; several hundred years—is it thousands? Is it more? Perhaps only decades they have slumbered, moments or seconds—has hardly changed Roy at all. His hair is longer, trailing pass his shoulders in a perfectly layered cut to frame his face in glory, and Jason reaches up to tuck one side behind his ear; his eyes are still that rich green, ever deep and inviting like a forest, and his hands are still calloused and rough.

Jason doesn’t even know where to start; no, he is not hurt but the questions that fill his mind are too much to handle so instead he tucks his face against Roy’s shoulder and clutches the other’s shirt in his hand. He knows Roy will understand; Roy always does.

The other warrior does; he holds Jason, and breathes against his ear. “I’m glad we’re together again.”

Jason chuckles and pulls away after another moment; he presses the heels of his hands against his eye sockets, digging and digging until the pressure behind his eyes goes away. He looks back to Roy, who’s decided to stand and scan the horizon, and Jason admires Kizlan; the weapon is now curved into a bow, transformed from its lance form, a gentle red the backdrop to a rich purple design that swirls about the weapon in intricate curves.

“What happened?”

Roy glances down to him, and there’s something hidden in his eyes; dare Jason say worry? “We were awoken.”

Jason goes for his shirt collar before remembering he can’t actually view his brand; “There’s a threat then.”

Roy looks to the sky; clouds are rolling in, and the wilderness about them seems vicious and strange, the creatures with longer teeth and larger claws and a venom in their eyes. “There seems to always be; we should find a place for the night.” He offers his free hand and a kind smile. “Can you walk?”

Jason returns the smile, and accepts the offered hand; Roy hefts him to his feet and dusts off his shoulders. Jason good naturedly shrugs him off, taking over the job of straightening his clothes. “I don’t need a nanny, Roy.”

Roy’s lips quirk softly, and he tucks the bow around his shoulders; Jason feels the weight of Hrenda on his belt where it hangs towards the back of his hip. He rests a hand on the hilt and leads the way towards a cave in the distance.

They will take this one step at a time, left foot forward, right foot forward; Jason imprints the ground and Roy’s sole fits easily in his footsteps.

Roy waited until Jason’s breathing had evened out, one arm tucked under his head and the other settled near Roy’s ribs; the moon above was bright, minimalizing the shadows across Jason’s face, and Roy eased himself from the pallet on the floor and stepped out of the clay house. The air was crisp and clean, and Roy tipped his head towards the stars and breathed deeply.

He could feel Titan moving a few yards away, through the air, a presence shimmering, milling about the meadow where the fenrons grazed lazily under the moonlight; their multipainted pelt, solid white covered in brightly colored fluorescent markings, glowed and their branching antlers were light upon their head and sported carved pictures of nature. Nocturnal beasts, they grazed in majestic beauty.

The air moved with Titan, and Roy eventually turned away from the soft sky to approach the fal’Cie; the deity was kneeling by a baby fenron, easing his huge hands across the back leg. It had been broken when the fenron had taken a fall, and Titan had been nursing it back to health in steady increments.

Before Roy could even announce his presence, Titan spoke. “You are wondering why we must keep secrets from your companion.”

Roy glanced away in shame; no one questioned a fal’Cie. “Yes… I am.”

The great hands finally released the tiny beast and sent it on its way towards its mother. “You have known Jason a lengthy time.”

Obviously; there was very little to suggest otherwise.

“Tell me, great guardian Roy,” the fal’Cie turned glowing eyes upon the young mortal, slowly uncurling to his full height, and Roy once more turned his gaze away in reverence. “If your Jason knew you would throw yourself in harm’s way for him, what would stop him from turning his attention solely to protecting you?”

“I don’t understand.”

The ground shook with the giant’s step. “You do; so answer.”

He wrung his hands together and watched the fenrons prance in regality. “You’re saying he would abandon his Focus.”

“I am.” A solemn nod. “To protect you, Jason would give his life; to protect you, Jason would abandon Gran Pulse.”

That Roy knew to be a lie; Jason adored Gran Pulse. He would never abandon it. And yet Roy had never once seen Jason turn away from protecting someone, so the possibility niggled at his mind until the sun rose, bathing them in pinks and yellows. Until the fenrons sheltered away in a cave to the back of the paddock, until Jason emerged from their shared house rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Roy returned to his side with measured steps and a practiced smile; Jason’s returning smile was as bright as ever, even with his eyes still sleep heavy, and Roy knew when Jason leaned in to kiss his cheek that he had to keep this secret.

Or fear Jason turning Cie’th.

They haven’t touched in—they still aren’t sure how long they’ve slumbered… But they’re both touch starved, and after the cave is declared safe for the night, after the shrieking and screaming and horrific sounds of the night have faded away, after they’ve settled Jason fits himself in Roy’s lap and wraps his arms tight around his neck. He tucks his head between Roy’s throat and shoulder, pressing them chest to chest, his legs on either side of Roy’s hips; Roy clasps his hands at the small of Jason’s back, holds him close, and keeps a trained eye on the cave entrance.

This is not the Gran Pulse they once knew, and Roy knows they’ll have to face that; later, in the morning, after they’ve had their fill of comfort…

They may have been unaware for eons, but they’re exhausted still; Jason eases into sleep, though it takes him some time to relax, and Roy mimics his soft breathing. They’re sleep is as dreamless as the crystal stasis, and they awake to a warm sun; Jason stands swiftly from Roy’s embrace, and Roy pulls his cloak tighter around him to fend off the chill of his absence.

They step outside the cave, and Jason leads the way towards the west where their home village stands; it’s an unspoken plan, to go towards familiarity. He steps around a large gem in the ground, hardly sparing it a glance, and Roy remembers when that fal’Cie fell. The birds had shrieked their grief when Freia fell, her gem cracking from her chest, and Roy had grabbed Jason’s hand to run; she wasn’t the first to fall, she wasn’t the last…

Roy shakes his head of the memories.

They trek through the paradise, over cracks in the crust of this world, pushing aside fronds of tall grass—brighter than the blood of a sefun—and Roy takes in the changes of this land; the flora is overrun, over the cobblestone walkway to their right. Jason has never taken pathways, preferring the nature on the roadside, and Roy softly smiles at his companion’s back.

The land may have changed but Jason is still himself; Roy takes comfort in that, in the way his gait is the same that Roy memorized, that his eyes are as bright and focused as ever, that when he turns to make sure Roy is still behind him there’s a little uptick to his lips. Roy’s answering smile makes Jason turn away, flushed, and tuck his chin to his chest.

It spreads his skin out and Roy catches sight of a splot of red against his throat; it vanishes his smile. “How are you feeling?” he asks, voice surprisingly steady, but Jason’s hand goes to his brand anyway.

He raws the skin, and Roy tugs the handkerchief on his wrist; he hid his own brand from Jason, unsure how he might take his success when Jason has yet to make any headway with his. “I feel fine; tired, confused. But I’m not turning Cie’th yet.”

“Well…” Roy can’t tell if this is his fatalistic humor or if he’s being purely truthful. “That’s good, yeah?”

Jason shrugs, and Hrenda knocks against his thigh; “how are you feeling?”

Maybe too soon he answers “I’m fine”, but Jason nods absently; they walk, pausing to hunt a larger rab than they’ve ever seen, and have to run away when the smell of dead meat brings a hoard of creatures they’ve never seen before. Six legged things, thirteen feel tall and all muscle and slavering teeth twice the length of a human, come barreling from seemingly nowhere shrieking and growling; the rab is hardly large enough to feed them, but apparently their lust for blood and meat is enough to chase Roy and Jason away from the hoppy mammal.

When they’re far away, Roy glances back to watch the six legged monsters fight over the small morsel; they rip at each other, large scales falling to the ground as their teeth tear each other apart. It’s not a scene Roy has seen often, this illogical violence, only when an animal was possessed or had lost its mind had they turned into frothing beasts, killing wantonly.

Jason didn’t turn back, but his face shows his horror and Roy stuffs what meet they were able to collect in a pouch at his hip; his eyes burn wide holes into the ground, and his skin has gone ashen from the tanned color. “What’s happened to this place?”

They were once recognized as friends, harmless to the creatures unless necessity called for a food hunt; and even then the animals understood. It was a give and take on both sides, Roy and Jason caretakers to the animals and the animals sacrificial.

“Cocoon.” Roy lifts his gaze to the sky as if he can spot the orb; it’ll be a ways longer before they can see it, orbiting Gran Pulse like its better than this place. “Cocoon happened, Jason. We were there when it started.”

Before they were l’Cie, they were outcasts; not shunned, but not quite a part of the village. Jason’s parents had been unable to keep their lives together, falling apart in arguments and the addicting herb shifr; they’d abandoned Jason with harsh words and rough hands, and Roy had welcomed him with open arms.

Roy’s family had a different dynamic, with a father who spent too much time hunting away from the village and a mom who died when he was young; when his father did a make an appearance, Roy was hardly ever a concern of his. Roy was, for all intents and purposes, orphaned.

When he turned fourteen, he began construction on a small house set apart from the village a little ways, in the shadows of the mountain near the fenron cave; he carried buckets of clay from the river, selected sturdy wooden beams, and began the structure. A skeleton of wood, patting clay and dirt to make the walls, and when Jason showed up it was with a black eye and snarl on his lips.

“It’s too small,” he declared, and Roy eyed him; they knew each other, not necessarily well, but they had shared many a secret glance—understanding each other with hardly a word—and the occasional stale bread passed between hands.

“I think it’s fine.”

Jason tipped his head to study the roof; Roy wasn’t sure if it was going to be a thatch or if he would make the hut a pure square with a clay top. “But where will I sleep?”

He wasn’t surprised; in fact, later on he’d finally admit he’d been hoping Jason would come. “If you want to sleep, you’d better do some work; go get another bucket of clay.”

Jason hesitated once, and then they worked in quiet tandem, whispered requests or orders, and when the barking of the hunting party returned Jason leaned imperceptibly closer. Roy pretended to ignore his father’s voice, and Jason huddled low behind the wall.

When the sounds of a scuffle and arguing grew louder, when the acrid scent of the bitter herb felt heavy on the air, Roy pushed a water skin towards Jason; the other boy was huddled in a corner of their hut, breath suspiciously shallow and steady, and Roy took a chance to press his thumb against a cut across Jason’s brow. The injury would scar, unfortunately, but Roy didn’t care.

Before they were l’Cie, they were outcasts; but they were always still together.

The horror is mirrored; somewhere, in the back of Roy’s mind, he should have expected this. From the strange new monsters, to the overgrown pathways, the nigh unrecognizable horizon; they should have expected the ruins.

“What has happened to this place?” Soft voice, weepy and thick.

Roy falters closer on unsteady feet, and Jason grips his wrist tight. (Roy doesn’t even realize it’s his branded wrist, wrapped in a white cloth.)

Before them lay the remains of their once home; the houses are missing walls, roofs caved in, vines crawling up what structures still stand and ferns growing through the cracked floors… The stone roads are cracked and upheaved, the grass overgrown like everywhere else, and Roy takes the first step forward; this is their home, however ruined, and somewhere deep within Roy’s soul he hopes… He hopes…

He hopes there is something whole left, someone familiar…

“How long did we sleep?” Jason’s wide eyes freeze on their old house, standing apart from the rest, two whole walls gone and a third shattered low; their roof is collapsing without support, and a wind blows the ferns about. “How long did… What’s happened to Gran Pulse?”

Roy pulls out of Jason’s grip, steps into their once-house, and begins frantically pulling flora from their safe place. “Go see if… If anything is left.”

Jason stumbles away, and Roy tries to fix their home; Jason comes back with a few bundles of ratted cloth, a hand clutching a broken doll, and without a word he joins Roy in the small space. They pull weeds from the cracked ground, toss them in a pile as if to use it as mulch in their once-garden, also overrun by weeds; when they’ve cleared the floor, padded it with the scraps they can, Jason’s shaking hands reach out for Roy and Roy responds.

They come together, the only pieces whole in this broken world; the sun begins to set, and with it comes the dangerous night. The house doesn’t feel safe, with the walls collapsed around them and the ground too hard; Jason shuffles close, Roy lifts his arm, and his companion fits easily tucked against his side. They lay, in more comfort with each other than the once loving world, and Roy begins to drift to sleep.

He wakes when Jason bolts from the hut, suddenly surging upwards and stumbling out into the shrieking hell with determined steps; “Jason!” he hurries to push himself up and follow. “Jason, where are you going?”

He steps towards the tall hills to the left of their house. “Why aren’t the fenrons out?”

“Jason, come back to bed; Jason!” Roy grips Kizlan tight, eyeing the darkness for any threat. “Jason!”

He stumbles over unfamiliar land, and Roy avoids that problem; he steps around the hole, reaching out for the hem of Jason’s jacket.

“Come back to bed,” Roy hisses.

At the mouth of the cave, Jason stops; he’d left Hrenda behind, in their hut. A mistake, and yet Roy expected it; Jason always cared first and hurt second. “Where are they?”

There’s no sound from the fenrons’ cave, no soft breathing or gentle chitters; no glowing pelts, just blank darkness, and Roy’s ignores the pit in his stomach. “Maybe they migrated, Jason; we should head back.” He only has hold of Jason’s arm for a moment before the other is pulling away harshly, hurrying inside the darkness; Roy follows readily. “Jason!”

Something crunches under Jason’s foot, causing both to freeze, and as his eyes adjust to the darkness Roy recognizes the pink bones upon the ground; the delicate and intricate antlers, the skinny limbs and ribcage structure. If they had skin and hair, it would glow.

“Jason…” Roy says, but he doesn’t know why; what can he say?

Jason swallows thickly; he shuffles away, knocks another set of bones, shuffles away again and a cry bubbles out of his throat. He knocks into Roy and Roy readily wraps an arm around him, drags him back to chest. “They’re dead,” Jason croaks. “The fenrons are all dead…”

Roy drags them from the carnage; the bones give no indication of why they all died out, and the amount of reasons are lengthy. Threat may have kept them trapped, or a poisonous plant may have cropped up; the moon may have turned ugly and not blessed them with its luminescence, necessary for their survival, or… Or they may have merrily given up, when Gran Pulse turned in on itself, revolted against its peace and created monsters, transforming from a soft welcoming blanket to a spikey defensive beast.

They return to their home, and Roy lays them down, covers them with a torn blanket; it looks like the type Anlian used to knit, with thick strands of scratchy fiber, familiar. Roy banishes the thought, focuses on Jason’s uneven breathing, the tears staining his cheeks under the moonlight, the way his fists his hands in Roy’s shirt; this is familiar, in every way that matters, and Roy latches on to that.

They’ll make plans tomorrow; they’ll face this strange and tragic wilderness together.

They should find Titan, Roy reasons as Jason shakes under his arm; they can get answers from him, they can find hope and safety with him. That’s what he always was, a guardian, and Roy shivers.

“Am I to pretend,” Titan drawled, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down his two l’Cie. “That your black eye does not exist?”

Jason smirked, his lip splitting again, and Roy shuffled uneasily besides him; “What black eye?” Jason chirped.

If Titan had eyebrows, he would be raising one in indignation. “I’m to ignore the split lip too?”

Jason grinned wider, and Roy begged Gran Pulse to swallow him whole; oh, not verbally, but Titan could see it written across his face. Finally, the fal’Cie shook his head and plucked the large clump of ochre; he broke it into pieces with his mighty hands, and offered them to the two mortals in front of him.

“Come with me,” he rumbled; he would discover the source of his l’Cie’s injuries later, deal with them in his own way.

They took the offerings and fell into step with Titan; the giant deity lead them down the curving canyon, over the smooth stone floor, and Roy studied the paintings as they went. Most were sketched up high, at the height of a fal’Cie, enlarged to accommodate their size; but each was unique and told a story, of the first fenron discovered to the time selfts offered to carry the mortals’ burdens across great lands.

Roy spotted the largely worshipped paintings of the l’Cie’s story, and he smiled as he glanced to his companion; pictures of the brand and a crystal tower, precious and holy. They too would be blessed with eternal slumber, immortalized for eternity, once their Focuses were complete. It was only a matter of time.

Titan crooked a finger, and Jason gripped Roy’s hand to pull him forward; finally, the fal’Cie paused and indicated a blank wall. “If you could, what would you show to tell your story?”

Neither moved for a moment, knowing this land was not for mortals to touch, and then Jason stepped forward and touched the wall with his fingertips. “The pictures are of important things, right?”

Titan tipped his head in the affirmative.

Jason chewed his lip, and Roy hefted the chunk in his hand. “So what’s important to tell our story?”

“Can we draw?” Jason asked, and Roy knew he was giddy and excited, hopeful to be given the chance.

“Yes,” Titan rumbled again, his tone to indicate contentment. “I want to see what you draw.”

Jason immediately set to work, immediately pushed ochre to the orange stone walls and painted; Roy was momentarily hesitant, but then Jason coaxed him forward and Titan smiled as the two young teenagers painted at his feet, and he too set his chunk of color to work. The boys bickered, as boys are want to do, childishly bragging and comparing each other’s work, humorously content.

And Titan did find it humorous, for through all their bickering they hadn’t once noticed they’d been drawing each other, as if Jason’s story couldn’t be told without Roy and vice-versa.

They’re journeys are silent, only ever accompanied by quiet conversations, exchanged plans, worried questions; Jason has gone quiet, pensive, since they’d left the fenrons behind and Roy worries.

They’ve crested a hill as the sun is setting, elegant hues spreading tendrilled fingers across the land; they’ve past by many other deaths, nothing so horrific as the annihilation of the fenrons, but it is clear Gran Pulse’s once peaceful nature has imploded in on itself. There is destruction everywhere, and Jason is highly disturbed.

As the one appointed to protect Gran Pulse, he feels a failure; here, on this hill, watching a familiar sunset that hasn’t changed, caressed by the cooling sun as it sets, Roy pretends this is still a safe and holy place. He pretends they’re younger—in spirit, for they haven’t aged in their slumber—and he pretends Jason’s shoulders aren’t heavy with the weight of the world, that he isn’t scarred by the horrors. Roy pretends he too isn’t scarred.

And then Jason takes a breath, and Roy knows he is going to say something, ask a question that will break this rare tranquility; for once he wishes Jason wouldn’t think so much.

“Do you remember,” his voice cracks, grows strong on the next words. “Why the war began?”

Roy hasn’t had time to forget; just a few days ago they emerged from stasis, hundreds of years ago when they’d entered it the war had spilt blood. “Pulsers considered l’Cie blessed, Cocoon considered us…cursed.”

Jason breathes for a moment; the colors of the sunset dance across his skin and Roy watches his eyes twitch around the ground at their feet. He’s turned his gaze from the horizon downwards, as if ashamed or fighting emotions he doesn’t want to face; Roy considers stepping forward, slipping an arm around Jason’s waist like he’s done many times before, but the set of Jason’s shoulders say not to. The tense cry to stay away, to let him carry this alone; Roy’s frozen brand burns on his wrist, and he refuses the urge to scratch at it.

Jason’s brand is nearly open, the red eye peeking out from his shirt collar; their time is running out, and if Roy doesn’t figure out how to help him he’s going to lose his only friend.

“Sometimes,” and Jason finally lifts his burdened gaze. “Sometimes I wonder if they were right; Cocoon. That we’re cursed; that we should have been eradicated. I can’t protect Gran Pulse, and if I can’t complete my Focus then…I turn Cie’th. I turn into a monster.” Jason turns to face him and Roy wants to hold him, put his pieces back together, make him whole again so he never has to feel this despair. “And if I succeed? Crystal stasis; dreamless, breathless… At what point are we blessed, Roy?”

He can’t answer that; he doesn’t feel very blessed right now, as the sun gives way to darkness and Jason’s eyes shimmer in the starlight and somewhere over the hill Gran Pulse tears itself apart.

“Titan!” Roy called, as quietly as possible, and let Jason wrap himself around his waist. “Why do they say we’re cursed?”

Tensions had been on the rise for months now, ever since the Sanctum fal’Cie split apart from the main land and began construction on a gigantic sphere, gaining their own following of support; they called the sphere Cocoon, and began spitting accusations at all those aligned with Pulse. Cursed beings, fal’Cie liars, l’Cie beasts, death and destruction to you…

Titan took the time, patient and slow, to sit on the ground and brush the roughened tip of his finger against his l’Cies’s heads; he gently chuffed Roy’s cheek, brushing down Jason’s unruly hair. “They believe something wrong; they believe your reward is unjust.”

“Crystal stasis,” Jason muffled against Roy’s shoulder, and Roy wanted to take his worry and fear away. “How can that be unjust? It’s a gift from the fal’Cie.”

“They don’t understand, my child.” And Titan growled softly as an attempt at comfort. “We gift you mortals what we can: immortality, our most cherished gift from the higher deities.”

They’ve seen the other crystal pillars, looking serene in their slumber and kindly cared for by their fal’Cie, and Jason had proclaimed proudly that they would one day be there; blessed, rewarded… Roy had grinned and let Jason carry him off on fanciful and wondrous futures where their crystals stood besides each other, reflecting colors and decorating the landscape, legends of protectors; Jason, the Gran Pulse guardian, the beloved l’Cie of Titan—and Roy, whatever Focus he had completed would be enough to keep him by Jason’s side even in stasis.

“So why do the Sanctums hate us?”

Roy didn’t fear when Titan’s hands cocooned them in safety and cold metal. “Why do they think we’re cursed?”

“They believe,” and Titan’s metal pulsed with gentle light along the seams. “That we manipulate you, give you a task and offering only two options: comply, or be destroyed. They do not believe your immortal sleep is a gift; they do not like this place; so they build Cocoon, and they will launch it into the sky.”

Jason snorted; “that’s so pretentious.”

And yet, whispers of Cie’th were in Roy’s mind, especially when Jason turned his head just so a few days later and the eye began to stain his skin; he would turn Cie’th if his Focus—could it even be completed? Perhaps Cocoon was the threat, and if so then Roy would have to ensure Jason fought them—was not completed.

Cie’th hardly mentioned as hardly anyone had refused their Focus; and yet, as the Sanctum and Cocoon faction grew, Pulse l’Cie refusing to comply, Cie’th grew in numbers. Beast, gnarled and wrong, once loved l’Cie, and too often Titan was taking a Cie’th’s life before it could kill others.

Was this what it was to be blessed? It seemed tragic; as if everyone was just trying to live right and yet nothing worked.

So when the soldiers came, backed by Sanctum fal’Cie but not a single l’Cie in their ranks, Roy knew not to be surprised; it was bound to happen, Titan had murmured to Petr when he had thought the l’Cie were sleeping.

So when the battle broke out, the official war—none of the assassinations Cocooners carried out, none of the cuts and bruises each side bore from the other, amounted to this carnage—Roy grasped Jason’s wrist and told him to run; when Freia fell, shrieking in choked agony, and the birds mourned in flight, when her gem was all that was left of her feather blowing in the wind, Titan turned from the battle and gave them a smile.

Mortals were fallen around them, Cocoon soldiers collapsed in puddles of blood, and Jason wanted to scream; Gran Pulse was being defiled, and his brand burned with the shame that he couldn’t stop it. No matter what he tried, no matter how many of Hrenda’s bullets made contact, no matter how many he cut down, Gran Pulse was ruined.

And Titan, grand Titan in all his glory, had smiled; there was a smear of blood across the metal of his body and his rocky shoulders were chipped, but the smile was warm and loving. Jason pulled from Roy’s grasp, and Roy stumbled forwards caught in the momentum; Titan whispered words on the wind, and something choked the life from Jason, outwards from the curve in his neck down his limbs.

His eyesight was going, and he thought as air refused to enter his lungs this is our blessing?

He fell asleep, amidst a battlefield, to his name being called out by a familiar voice; and he awoke much the same, several thousand years later.

They locate Titan’s Canyon easily, follow the well known slope into the valley, and Jason traces the tips of his fingers across the weathered stone; the pictures here are fading, the ochre stained history being worn away by the sun and rain. Titan has not kept up the care of these walls, once so precious to him.

“Where is he?” Jason’s voice breaks, and Roy steps forward to rub a hand across his shoulders. “I thought he’d at least be…”

The same, be uncorrupt, be whole…

“I don’t know, Jason; but we’re not going to stop looking until we find him…” Or Jason completes his focus.

His hand falls away from the wall as they pass their own drawings, barely visible from the time that’s passed. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Roy tugs his collar up, definitely not an excuse to wrap his arm around Jason and pull him close. “We’ll figure it out.”

“What about yours?”

For a moment Roy’s heart stops, and then races; he smiles warmly, and squeezes Jason close. “It’s unchanged.” Not quite a lie; his brand has never once changed since they got their Focus.

Jason relaxes, fisting the side of Roy’s shirt, and they meander through the rest of the canyon; the come out the other side, climbing an incline to stand at the edge of the canyon wall, breathing in the fresh air. And, before them, hanging regally in the sky was Cocoon’s pure sphere; Jason sucks in a breath, tension returning, and Roy watches the deity-made planet float peacefully.

“Do you think they’ve made other attempts to destroy Gran Pulse? Besides the war…”

“You mean, do I think they’re the ones who’ve tainted Gran Pulse.” Roy pulls Jason forward, each one still searching for Titan. “I don’t know; they may have, or Gran Pulse may have evolved to defend itself.”

Jason doesn’t saying anything for a moment, and Roy rubs his thumb against Jason’s shoulder; he has one hand gripping Jason close, and another holding Kizlan at the ready. He won’t let anything hurt Jason, and the closer they draw to Cocoon the more threat there is.

They find a nice place to set camp for the night, on a hill overlooking a large colorful field; they eat left over jerk meat, and Roy shares the berries he found earlier. They don’t say much, companionable silence, and when they go to lay down Jason comes hesitantly. Roy doesn’t hesitate; he readily opens his arms, and Jason curls close.

He shudders, practically laying atop Roy’s prone body, and Roy doesn’t comment on his fear; instead, he offers what he can. He offers comfort, and care, and love; and Jason soon sleeps, breath puffing across Roy’s exposed collarbone, and eventually Roy follows.

When they awaken, there’s a presence on the wind; something odd, but something they’ve anticipated is under the strangeness. Roy straightens, nearly knocking Jason away; down in the valley stands tall a giant, metal dully aglow and rock more rough then they remember.

“Titan!” Jason shrieks, kicking his legs as he disentangles himself from Roy and trips down the hill in his hurry; Roy is too stunned to move at first, and then he too goes tumbling down the hill. “Titan, we’ve looked for you everywhere!”

Jason ignores all decorum, and he wraps his arms about Titan’s massive leg; Titan smiles at the teenager, leaning down to pat ever gently at Jason’s shoulders. Roy too comes and Titan offers his other hand in greeting; Roy curls about that, and Titan brushings his thumb against Roy’s back.

“My l’Cie children, it’s taken you long to find me.”

They step back in unison, and Titan kneels to be closer to their level. “We looked at the canyon,” Jason says. “The pictures are fading.”

He hums, looking away momentarily. “They are no longer a part of my duties.”

No one says anything for a moment, and then a gigantic bird flies overhead, hooked beak opening to show razer sharp teeth as it shrieks. Roy watches Titan follow the creature across the sky.

“What’s happened to this place? Titan?”

The fal’Cie looks back at his children. “Cocoon; the war… Gran Pulse was destroyed, its people torn, its land poisoned, and in being destroyed it turned defensive; we fal’Cie have changed. My talents in creature caretaker was used to breed vicious animals, to protect Gran Pulse from anything that would come down to harm this place.”

For a moment, the boys don’t say anything; and then Jason shakes his head, remembering the bloodlust in the strange six legged creatures never before seen, in the horrid sounds that resonate in the night. “You made them…to be violent…”

“Gran Pulse has always been peaceful.”

Before Titan can respond, Jason begins another round of questioning. “Why were we frozen? We didn’t complete our Focuses; I didn’t protect Gran Pulse. And why did we awake?”

“Why did you call us back, Titan?”

The fal’Cie breathes deeply, as if steeling himself to face truth, and he collapses to a cross legged position. “There is much you don’t know, Jason; I put you both in a premature stasis, considering you hadn’t completed your Focus, and I wanted you to survive the war. So when Cocoon attacked, I used my magic to freeze you; but…premature stasis takes a lot of energy, and I couldn’t keep you immortalized any longer.” He splays his hands, lamentable and apologetic. “So you awoke.”

“How do we complete our Focuses?” Roy asks; he steps forward and pulls Jason’s collar down, exposing the nearly completed red eye. “He’s almost Cie’th.”

Titan’s smile is nothing warm or kind, and both Roy and Jason feel unease pool in their stomachs. “You’re a fool, Roy; tell me, Jason, have you seen Roy’s brand?”

“N-no; he told me it was unchanged.” He tugs his collar up and turns towards Roy, who’s blatantly avoiding eye contact. “Roy?”

“Show him, Roy; tell him what your Focus is.”

“You told me not to.”

Jason steps away; “what are you talking about?”

“I don’t think it matters now,” Titan smirks. “Now that your brand has turned to crystal.”

Jason barely hesitates before he snatches Roy’s wrist and rips the handkerchief off; sure enough, a crystalized brand stares up at him, indicating Roy’s Focus was completed and he was given a second chance released from stasis. “Roy… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know…” Roy shakes his head, confused and tired. “I don’t even know how I completed it.”

“Roy’s Focus was to protect you, Jason; but what he never understood was that his Focus was complete long before I gave it to him, was complete every moment he took care of you afterwards. Your Focus, Roy, was never not complete.”

But Roy shakes his head, lengthy hair brushing his face. “I have never protected him.”

Jason hasn’t released Roy’s wrist, at first brushing his fingers against the white brand and now merely holding on for life. “You’re lying,” he mutters. “You’ve always protected me, cared for me; you gave me safety when I needed it, unconditional love, warmth… You’ve never not looked out for me.”

Roy doesn’t say anything, so Titan moves on. “Even if your stasis was a reward, because I forced you into it you awoke when my magic ran out; which is probably a good thing, considering Jason would never leave you behind.”

“You call us blessed and yet expect us to carry the world on our shoulders.” Jason shakes his head. “How is that a blessing? How could we ever think that was a blessing?”

Titan tips his head, his glow sick and saddened; “We want to honor you mortals, and you wanted to help us once, so we worked together; fal’Cie made you l’Cie to help us, and then blessed you with immortality.”

Jason shakes his head. “I won’t be manipulated by you; I won’t complete my Focus. I’ll turn Cie’th.”

“No, you won’t.” Roy clenches his jaw and grips Jason’s hand tightly. “So how do we save Jason? How can he protect Gran Pulse when it’s such a mess?”

Titan smiles. “That is up to Jason; fal’Cie offer a vision, with a set goal in mind, but you are intriguing creatures. You have vast minds, and even vaster personalities.”

“I don’t understand.”

Titan shakes his head humorlessly, and his eyes burn. “A Focus is an interpretation of a vision we try to bestow upon you; for all the vast intricacies of your minds, you cannot handle our touch upon it. The visions are never clear.”

Roy tightens his grip on Jason, but Jason turns to watch the fal’Cie, pulling away from Roy’s touch; the ground is shaky beneath their feet, not physically but metaphorically, and Roy catches Jason shiver. “What are you saying, Titan?”

“A Focus,” Titan speaks, some sort of lilt to his voice, malicious humor thrumming beneath his honeyed words. “Is not always clear; and you mortals are unique. You can manipulate a Focus to suit your needs, such determined creatures; so I ask you, Jason of Roy, what is your Focus?”

Roy barely breathes, watching Jason’s shoulders heave in frustration and panic; he can’t see the other’s face, but he can imagine the parted lips and the frenzied gaze. “To protect Gran Pulse,” he stutters, and Titan roars a laugh.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds, and he glows brighter, more sinister. “Try again.”

So Jason thinks, Jason remembers…

There was safety in numbers, or so the elders said; strength and honor and something unattainable if one wasn’t surrounded by numbers. But they were wrong. They may very well strike Jason down if they ever heard him blaspheme their way of life, but they were wrong. How else could he say it but blunt truth?

Numbers, fives and tens and twenties, families and villagers… They never brought the safety and peace the elders claimed, not to Jason; Jason’s only peace was in a clay hut on the outskirts of the village, a cramped one room place where he and his companion laid on the floor every night and whispered dreams to each other.

Jason’s only peace had ever been in deep green eyes and the warmth of his arms; Jason had always ran cold, never enough clothes and never enough blankets and never enough fire, never enough heat… But Roy covered that, burning warm and readily willing to let Jason curl close whenever needed. Whether it be the daytime while Roy bent over a cooking pot of soup, or at night when the stars glowed bright and Jason shivered in the chill.

The day Jason weaved feathers into Roy’s hair, the other boy hadn’t asked one question; he’d sat still, soft smile playing at his lips, while Jason’s roughened fingers brushed through his lengthy hair and braided feathers in. It had taken time, but not once did Roy complain, and the quiet laughter of far off village children and the sounds of animals was the only backdrop; Roy sat still, occasionally shifting, but never too far to ruin Jason’s work.

And when Jason was done, the sun setting, Roy tugged him to the front and settled him in his lap. “Thank you,” he murmured against Jason’s shoulder, and Jason only moved closer to his warmth.

This was his peace, he thought as the fenrons began to emerge from their cave, as the village quieted to torch light and night murmurs; with Roy, as the loving night approached and Titan somewhere over the hill called the ghenue home, with the sun setting on the horizon and a fire crackling nearby.

And, for a moment, Jason thought this could be his paradise.

And then he’d become daring, straying towards the fal’Cie’s land; Roy knew Jason adored the fauna, studied the fenrons from afar (they were treasured creatures, never to be defiled by mortal hands, revered almost as gods), handled creshons, the four legged ride animals villagers used for travel, with care. He was in awe every time a babe was birthed, cradled itty bitty teffles (spikey haired predator cats) in his arms, let the prups pull at his clothes.

So his interest in Titan, guardian of Gran Pulse’s creatures, was a reasonable occurrence; his sneaking around, trying to glimpse the gentle giant from afar, was nearly humorous to Roy. Jason was known to get hyper focused on activities, and currently it was focused on Titan; on the teffles that paraded around him, to the gots that hoofed up his rocky back.

“I want to speak to him.”

Roy glanced up from the carving in his hand; a crude pendent as a present for Jason, though the other had no clue. “What would you even ask him?”

Jason shrugged, tossing twine into the fire, tipping his head back to study the stars. “I dunno; I just…I want to learn! About Gran Pulse, about the animals here, about our history.”

“The elders teach our history.”

There was a pause, and then Jason crawled around the fire to settle with his head in Roy’s lap; “I don’t like them; they lie.”

Roy hummed; “I know…” Even if he didn’t fully understand Jason’s simmering dislike of the village and all its people, he could accept Jason for what he was.

The next morning, Roy was awakened early when Jason elbowed his ribs in his flailing.

“Ow, Jay! Ow, that hurt!” Roy rolled over, watched Jason tug on his long jacket, his boots, and grab Hrenda. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see Titan.”

“Jason, go back to sleep.” Nobody approached a fal’Cie unless they were summoned, and Roy knew they hadn’t been summoned. “You know the rules.”

Jason’s face was suddenly right in front of Roy, grinning wide, and Roy blinked. “Forget the rules, Roy; just once, forget the rules and come with me.”

Roy had to smile, tipping his head to press his lips to Jason’s cheek. “When have I ever not followed you?”

That’s how Roy found himself in the fal’Cie’s canyon, staring awestruck at the painted walls, at the pictured history; Jason too craned his neck to view the artwork, and they walked as quietly as they could across the orange ground. The sun was beginning to hang high in the sky, but the joy on Jason’s face outshined it all.

“What are you going to ask him?” Roy asked again, and Jason shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“There are two small mortals in my realm,” a rumbling voice came from behind them, and they whirled to face a giant; his was tall, made of both metal and rock, mankind and nature. There was a glow to the seams of his metal, and it gently pulsed; his eyes were wise and humored, as was the tip to his lips. “To what do I owe this visitation?”

Roy swallowed and took a step back in fear, but Jason was pure awestruck; his chest heaved in deep breaths, his eyes traced every inch of the fal’Cie, and Titan responded with a quiet rumbling laugh.

“Curious little one, aren’t you; kind too…” He eyed each in turn. “Would you like a blessing?”

“Yes!” Jason jolted forward. “Yes, I want to be blessed.” I want a purpose.

Roy watched Jason push past him, step closer to the fal’Cie, who turned his wisened gaze on him; “and you, companion?” Titan questioned. “Would you too like to be blessed?”

“If it keeps me at Jason’s side, yes; I will accept your blessing.”

The next thing Jason knew, he was wielding Hrenda and somewhere paradise was crying; there was blood spilt, and there was something very wrong in this place. An imbalance where there should be perfection, as if something was missing, as if one whole had been split into two parts and only Jason could repair it. Hrenda hummed in approval, and Jason knew he had to protect…

Gran Pulse; Gran Pulse was a paradise, and so he would protect Gran Pulse.

He awoke, some time later, to a hand on his face; gentle, warm, loving. Any feelings of panic the vision had given him, any anxiety coursing through his veins, disappeared; it was Roy above him, lengthy hair falling over his shoulder to tickle Jason’s nose and he caught sight of the feathers in his hair. Roy’s thumb brushed incessantly across Jason’s skin.

“Jason,” Roy breathed in relief.

He knew his words didn’t make it out of his throat, but oh how he tried to confess; a smile would do, and his hand gently gripping Roy’s branded wrist.

I love you.

Aquamarine eyes widen and Jason focuses on Titan. “Paradise,” he breathes. “I’m to protect paradise.”

A pause, and the fal’Cie’s proud smile proves that Jason has answered correctly. “At one point that meant Gran Pulse, as I wanted it to be, and you protected it gallantly; when I knew Gran Pulse was going to fall, I sent you into premature crystal stasis, in hopes you might have a future. So what does paradise really mean for you?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he turns on his heel, jacket billowing as he moves, and he pins Roy. “You; it’s always been you.” He takes on step, pieces falling into place and a wicked feeling to keep Roy safe claims him. “My paradise has always been you.”

Roy doesn’t say anything; he breathes deeply, staring wide eyed at the other l’Cie. “Jason…”

 “So,” Titan growls, and Roy sees him tensing for a fight; there’s something wild in his eyes so strange. “Protect your Focus.”

And he surges forward, focus only on Roy, and all Roy can think about is getting Jason out of his path; Jason turns, full body strength behind the swing of Hrenda, and Titan dodges to the side. He skids in the ground, and Roy hurries to Jason’s side. He grabs his arm for support, and Jason stares down their fal’Cie.

“I don’t want to fight you,” he breathes, and Titan’s smirk is mournful.

“You must; I don’t have the energy to keep you in crystal stasis anymore. The only way to save you from turning Cie’th is for you to protect Roy.”

“It doesn’t have to be from you!” Roy reasons.

Titan stands, and the metal of his skin glows. “I am old; I have scarred Gran Pulse in my attempts to protect it and its creatures. I am tired, Roy; allow me the dignity, please.”

And he launches at them again; Roy jumps back, with Jason raising Hrenda to block Titan’s attacks as they try to retreat. Titan, for his immortal age, is strong and frightening; he attacks with a vengeance, chasing them about the field, and Roy pops off a few arrows from Kizlan. Hrenda folds into its giant gun form, and Jason also fires at Titan’s feet to discourage his attacks.

“Stop,” Jason pleads, voice thick.

Titan brings a massive fist down on them, crushing the ground into a crater, and Jason jumps to one side while Roy hurdles to the other; Jason swings around, aiming Hrenda at the rocky back of Titan. The fal’Cie looms over Roy, who’s gone to his knees in his tumble. Kizlan is still in its bow form, and Jason knows Roy won’t be able to get it into a lance before Titan is upon him.

“Please…” Jason murmurs, not loud enough to be heard; but Roy, ever intuned to Jason, turns his horrified gaze from Titan to Jason. His gaze softens, warm and loving and supportive, and Jason closes his eyes to pull the trigger.

Hrenda’s bullets have always been heavy and loud, and the sound has never bothered Jason before; but now, it deafens him, and Titan jerks. His shoulder is hit, the rock splintering the slightest bit; he turns his manic gaze on Jason.

“Yes,” he praises. “You’re learning.”

And he goes for Roy again, but the redhead grips Kizlan as a lance and buries his feet in the ground; Titan goes to smack Roy across the field and Roy raises Kizlan to block, but Jason aims Hrenda again and fires, stepping forward when Titan stumbles, aiming and firing. Rinse and repeat, until he’s near enough that Jason unfolds Hrenda and swings the large sword at his once-mentor.

Titan doesn’t bother to block, and Hrenda cuts off piles of rock; Jason dances to Roy’s side, slightly ahead of him, and Titan faces them once more.

“Please, stop,” Jason tries once more, and Roy chokes on a sob. They loved Titan, and Titan has always cared for them.

Titan doesn’t say anything; he stalks forward, and Roy raises Kizlan; he notches a magical arrow, lets it go flying, and Titan expertly dodges. Jason aims Hrenda and fires into Titan’s chest; it barely stutters the fal’Cie, and he continues his march for them. Jason unfolds Hrenda, grips the sword’s hilt, lifts it high; he grits his teeth, and as Titan pulls his arm back for another hit at Roy Jason screams.

He launches upwards, Hrenda steady in his hands, and he swings the sword; it swoops in a great arc, and Titan lowers any of his defenses. Hrenda slices through the metal plating across Titan’s throat, and Jason lands with a pained cry, one hand gripping the tunic over his chest; he’s in pain, weeping, and Roy moves close to him, a short ways behind his shoulder.

The earth quakes when Titan falls to his knees, his hands limp and his shoulders hung low; he turns his face upwards to look at his l’Cie once more, loving and apologetic.

The metal skin cracks and splinters, bright orange light cracking through, and Titan smiles at them; rocks fall from his back. “Thank you,” he breathes, love in his eyes.

Titan fades to dust on the wind, pieces of himself scattered around the field, until all that’s left is the waving of flowers and bright green grass; Hrenda folds and Jason lets it slip from his fingers, presses the heel of his palm against his burning eyes, and tears fall.

Roy steps forward, hand outstretched to offer comfort; his brows furrow further when he catches sight of the white sparkles raising from the curve in Jason’s neck. “Jason?” Roy calls, cautious, fearful, and Jason turns to expose his skin further.

His brand is turning to crystal, like the tears that fall to the dirt beneath their feet, preciously sparkling pearls; he too will turn to crystal soon, his reward for protecting paradise. For protecting Roy. “I kept you safe, Roy.”

“Jason, no.” He hurries forward, cups Jason’s face, traces his crystalizing cheekbone. “No, I won’t let them take you; you can’t go into stasis.” And leave me here…

Jason’s chin trembles and he reaches up to grip Roy’s wrist; he holds tight, forces a smile out, and his eyes shimmer. “You were my Focus, Roy; it was always supposed to be you.”

Roy presses his forehead to Jason’s, reaffirms his grip. “So what? You were mine; you were always mine, you can’t leave me here.”

The crystal forms upwards, from his feet crawling to his hips and further; “not much of a blessing, is it?”

“It was,” Roy whispers wetly; “it was once; do you remember? We thought we’d be together forever.”

“Then maybe,” Jason reasons, and Roy has to pull away when the crystal pushes them apart, hands hovering over Jason’s skin. “Maybe separation is the curse.”

Neither one gets to say anything else; the crystallization finishes its process, and Jason freezes in time, immortalized in the most coveted gem on the planet, hands curled as if to forever hold Roy’s hands in place.

“No, no…” Roy moans; he weeps, one hand braced firmly against Jason’s cold cheek, the other curling to press the back of his fingers against his face. “No, give him back to me; give him back… No…”

Jason looks surprisingly peaceful, no mark of tears or pain, his being distorted through his cocoon; he slumbers, breathless, dreamless, unknowingly, and Roy is left alone on this hostile plane.

His head dips forwards in grief, and his tears roll off his face to collect with Jason’s on the ground; this was not a blessing, to be separated by an eternal slumber of death. This was not a reward, to leave Roy alone to face this hell on his own—to rip his love from him. Who knows when Jason will awaken again, if ever?

Well, Roy reasons, turning his gaze once more on his crystalized companion; well, he’ll just have to wait then. Stand here, stand guard, protect Jason for as long as he possibly can. From the monstrous wilderness, from the unforgiving weather, from anything and everything; he will be the crystal caretaker, a job once reserved for the fal’Cie.

He traces the outline of Jason’s face, chiseled in gem, and he swallows his tears to mold them into determination; to wait, to continue to love…

There’s a crack in the air, whiplike quick; Roy jolts, and then a fissure spreads across Jason’s shoulder. Ice cracking. It crawls, slow at first, then quicker, spreading spider web like, until Jason’s body crumbles into pieces. It falls, chunks and slivers, at Roy’s feet, tinkling like angels and leaving his hands cradling empty air where Jason’s crystal once stood.

“Move forward!” barks a strange voice, hidden behind a metallic tang of a helmet.

Roy doesn’t look down at the destroyed thing; he cannot bring himself to view Jason’s broken blessing, Jason’s shattered body that once held hope. He cannot view Jason’s death. He will not; he swallows his shock and his grief, hurries to heat it into a weapon. His head rolls to the side, staring with a heatedly blank gaze at the Cocoon soldiers; something has died deep within him, and he wonders if this is what Jason felt like when they’d awoken. Cursed and cursed, horribly gnarled into an empty husk, unsure of the future as if there is no purpose anymore.

There’s a soldier near the front of the group holding a smoldering rifle and Roy knows what he’s going to do before he even unfolds Kizlan.

He moves with grace, murderous intent, bloodlust filling his lungs with every inhale like the strange creations of Titan; the fal’Cie took Jason from him, secreting him away in slumber, but there was still a semblance of hope he’d return. And Cocoon?

Cocoon had shattered it all; so Roy will destroy them. With a roar, he thrusts the lance through a kink in the soldier’s armor, rains blood on Gran Pulse’s thirsty ground. No matter how many times they fire, no matter how many soldiers they try to defend their orb world with; Roy will have his vengeance. He will be a wrath upon them, a specter they can’t touch, weaving among their streets as he slaughters them; he will shatter their precious sphere and relish in their horrified screams.

Roy will watch Cocoon collapse onto the surface of Gran Pulse, watch them destroy each other in a fiery collision, or he will die trying.

BONUS ENDING

(He does die trying, not invincible nor careful; with nothing to live for, Roy’s recklessness destroys him before he can even cut down half the Cocoon legion. Faced with a plethora of highly skilled soldiers with projectile weapons covered in body armor, anger only sated by killing them up close and personal, Roy is gunned down. It’s a firing range, with the faceless soldiers taking aim and pulling the trigger; Roy’s body, riddled with wounds, collapses to his knees.

They fire again, and again, and no matter how many times Roy tries to get up and keep fighting—he falls. His blood spills in puddles, stretching out to the shattered remains of his companion, and in death are they finally reunited. Though there is no afterlife, Roy breathes his last lying besides Jason as they’d done so many times before.)