From the Heavens (Final Fantasy XVI)

𖥸 VIII 𖥸

Clive pushed open the door to the chapel. He and the others entered, the large door closing behind them. When the quietness of the chapel surrounded them, Cid looked around before his curious eyes landed on Lyra. "So tell me—any suitors from your past our dear Clive has to concern himself with?"

"We're walking directly into danger and you ask me that?" Lyra remarked.

"You thought you were the only one to ask questions at odd moments? You'd be wrong if you did."

The golden-haired woman sighed. She could tell Clive was interested in the question when he slowed his stride. "Truly an unsavory question at a horrid moment..."

"No need to be shy. Just tell us," Cid urged her.

Deciding not to keep the question lingering, she told him the truth. "My previous life was 200 years ago. Even if I did, they are long gone." She turned her narrowed eyes to the man. "Satisfied?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Let's just keep our wits about us. We are in enemy territory."

Reaching the gate that sealed the chapel, Clive opened it. Across the way, a large stone statue of Greagor stood tall. Parts of the chapel were in shambles and some of the pews were turned on their sides.

"What the hell happened here?" Clive asked.

From one of the pews that still stood upright, the woman who had been waiting for them stood. At seeing her, Cid stopped Clive when he saw he was about to draw his sword. He then addressed the woman. "Little late for prayer, isn't it?"

"Do I seem so desperate as to grovel at the feet of a false god?" Benedikta sneered.

"No, but we've got a real god with us," Cid said with his usual smirk, gesturing to Lyra. "Why not grovel at her feet?"

"Ha!" Benedikta laughed. "A goddess who walks among us mortals is no goddess at all. She is nothing but a washed up deity looking for a power that surpasses her own so she can selfishly return to the heavens to abandon us all!"

Lyra took a step forward. "I could not care less about what you think of me. Where are the Bearers you took from Lostwing?"

The short-haired woman crossed her arms. "You mean where's the Dominant. Waloed shall be requiring his services indefinitely." She then turned her gaze to Cid. "Come back to me, Cidolfus. I need you. Think of all the things we can create together—the world that we can build."

"You need me? Hah," Cid scoffed. "Your king needs me. I'm all for building a new world, just not his. That bastard's dreams are as twisted as his promises are false. And I want no part of them."

Benedikta's anger festered. "King Barnabas saved you, and this is how you speak of him? Have you no shred of loyalty?!"

"What, to a leader who'd use me? Like he uses you?!"

Her eyes narrowed in a sharp glare. "You know nothing of me, Cidolfus!"

"You're right," Cid confessed. "I don't know who you are anymore. Or what you want. I only know what you used to say—that you were tired of running. That you just wanted to be free. Free of it all. You weren't lying to me then, so what changed? What made you think you had to sacrifice who you were to get what you wanted?"

"Sacrifice?!" Benedikta shouted furiously. "I use my talents to my advantage and you would tell me there is shame in that?!"

"If there is no shame, then why do you feel so sorry for yourself?"

"A rousing speech, Lord Commander. I was a fool to believe you might have changed." She threw out her arm toward him. "The only person I feel sorry for is you. I can't do this anymore..."