I was but a child when I was forced to flee from the place of my birth - a small city state off the coast of Thavnair. Political infighting in the midst of a famine - or so I later heard - lit the fires that engulfed that land. Now, none of it remains. An abandoned land full of ghosts and a history lost to the ravages of war.
And so it was that I found myself on a vessel heading to Thavnair - not to visit my homeland but to confront an enemy unlike any we’ve faced before. Until then, all our foes we could vanquish by steel or spell. But this time, our enemy was despair itself. People did not simply die. By some fell magicks, they would find themselves transformed into horrific creatures - all because of their overwhelming despair.
The End Days were finally upon us.
It had changed the nature of the conflict - for no mere weapon can strike down hopelessness itself. Being forced to put down these monstrosities - blasphemies, as they were later called - took its toll on me. Mayhaps it was to protect others, but the act of violence against innocents left a stain upon my soul - I feared. Each one we’d put down I would pray to be the last but new blasphemies would always spring forth from the survivors. It all seemed endless - like a wound that festers ever anon, spreading until all is consumed.
It was in one such moment of reverie when an unexpected visage appeared before me.
I had not known my parents. What little I know of them was from stories shared by their old friends. I do not even know their faces - not from personal recollection at least. A miniature portrait handed to me by my uncle is all I have to know what they looked like.
Thus, it was a great consternation that I beheld the figure before me, for she bore the exact countenance of my mother. Was I finally driven mad from all I had gone through? Had my mind at last broken beneath the weight of the End Days?
Yet when the phantom finally spoke - it did so with a voice I recognized. It was that of the Goddess herself.
Hydaelyn.
She spoke in mysteries as divine entities are wont to do. Words of warning and words of hope. It was a comfort to be sure but did she mean to appear as mine mother did or was my mind playing tricks on me?
‘Twould not be too long ere the chaos of the end days gripped the entirety of Thavnair. As lauded as we were as “heroes” - there was barely anything my friends and I could do to stem the tide. We ourselves were starting to lose hope.
It was the act of one ordinary arkasodara that made the difference. Matsya made his way across a city consumed by death and destruction to save an infant. While everybody around him gave to despair, he protected the child who was no kin. Matsya could no more protect himself than could the babe but still he pressed forward.
I was not able to intervene. Neither Hydaelyn herself nor any of the gods were able to intervene. ‘Twas an ordinary fishmonger refusing to surrender another life that became our torch in the darkness. Indeed, heroism belongs to ordinary people as much as legendary ones. It was the lesson my friend Estinien would later impress upon us when he recounted Matsya’s deed.
But the chaos was only starting.
The Eorzean Alliance had finally taken the war to Garlemald. Over the months, little by little, they made progress deep into the “enemy” territory and into the capital.
The shrieks of the primal that was their former emperor lingered long in my ears after our battle. I had expected deep hatred for him but it was more akin to pity.
Yes, it was not truly a victory. As much as their actions vilified them in the eyes of many Eorzeans, the Garleans we found there were no monsters. They were cold, starving and on the brink of death. They were a traumatized and suspicious people - betrayed by their leaders. Their capital was a ruined landscape. Theirs was a civilization reduced to ruins. What do we owe our former “enemies” now that the war is over?
I have always tried to understand those who I fought - as detestable as I found some of them to be. It is my earnest hope that this journal can serve that purpose for future generations, ensuring none of their history - their culture - becomes lost to the passage of time. Like my homeland did.
The hatred, the suspicions betwixt each side will still be there. It will linger long after I’m gone, I suspect. But all is not lost - like many across Etheirys, there is much we share with them: similar joys, woes, and wants. And if we hope to see this end of the fighting to last, we still had the End of Days to contend with.
(Part 1 end)
