UnShaekable (FFXII)

XXXI) Return to Mount Bur-Omisace

The second the sun greets our faces, the sound of airships overhead greets our ears. I stare up at the sky and my stomach sinks with dread. Enormous war machines drift above, drowning out the sounds of the Stilshrine's guards murmuring behind us. The largest ship spreads its black wings with a smoky hiss, revealing an entire battalion of smaller ships beneath; I feel sick. Fran gasps, pointing to the left.

"There!"

"Smoke?" Vaan breathes. I feel the blood drain from my face as I turn to face the column of black smoke rising in the distance, right where Bur-Omisace should stand.

"What could it mean?" Ashe murmurs.

"It means we need to go," I snap, not waiting for her response before taking off in a dead sprint, running for the mountain refuge. Vaan is the first to catch up, Fran and Balthier not far behind. But I pay them no mind, my thoughts burning faster than a wildfire. The place I owe my life to, the place in which the Gran Kiltias resides, the place I left my brother to mourn... Gods above, if it's fallen, Vayne has far more to pay for.

"Why are you in such a rush?" Ashe asks, breathless.

"Long story short, I owe my all to that place," I call over my shoulder. "I'd expect you to be more concerned, Princess. The Gran Kiltias is the very soul who holds the power to tell you all you need to know to sit on your throne."

She shuts her mouth after that. My lungs burn with the frozen air and my legs ache with their relentless abuse, but I can't stop running. I can't stop picturing the blood, the fear, the screams. I can't be too late to stop this, even if it's already taken place. If only I could turn back time.

I skid to a stop at the entrance to the refugee camp, choking and gasping on air. My throat is tight, my eyes stinging as I look upon the sickening disaster swallowing Mount Bur-Omisace. A heavy rain begins to fall from the dark clouds drifting overhead. A kiltias drags himself toward us, clutching his bleeding chest as he chokes on his breaths. I crouch at his side, watching him falter and collapse on the dirt.

"To send their soldiers here and profane this place..." he coughs, crimson splattering to the ground. "Has Archadia no fear of the gods?"

I shake my head, straightening. My hair is plastered to my skin and I know my shirt is practically transparent at this point, but I can't bring myself to care. I shrug the heavy hand off my shoulder and charge through the rest of the fallen. Burnt tents and bloodstained weapons are scattered across the ground and pitch-black smoke stains the edge of the temple. People cluster in the shadows, thinking us to be imperials right off the bat. A young man clutches a crying girl as he presses a blood-soaked rag to his side, her mother wiping away her own tears. I take a deep breath and continue on, running up the stairs to the temple and pushing past the wounded guards. Larsa... The doors fly open and my heart catches in my throat.

The stone railings of the walkway are crumbled, tossed about like a tornado ripped the temple to pieces. A fire burns in the deepest corner of the room. And at the very front, lies the fallen, bleeding body of the Gran Kiltias Anastasis, a Judge looming over him. The others skid to a stop behind me. He turns and faces us, chills rippling down my spine. It's a helmet I recognize.

"Ah, our vagrant princess." I get the strongest feeling that he's not talking directly to Ashe, but the rest of our party doesn't seem to notice. "My dear Ashelia: swift has your lust for revenge led you to the Sword of Kings." He motions toward the Kiltias with his jagged blade. "You will surrender it to me. Too late, and to their sorrow do those who misplace their trust in gods learn their fate." He steps closer, the faintest shadow with orange eyes shimmering over his shoulder.