Chapter Text
Cover art made by WhiteCat
Clive lay there on the beach, waves lapping gently at his heels as he looked up at the moon above him. His whole body ached. The sheer volume of aether he had channeled was turning him to stone all in one go, instead of slowly like all the other Bearers. It wasn’t painless, and it wasn’t kind. But Clive could barely even acknowledge the pain; he was too tired. Ultima was defeated; he had freed the world from magic. His last thoughts were of Jill, of Joshua, people he loved. Of Cid, wondering if he’d made him proud. With one final breath he closed his eyes and let himself go.
And then he woke up.
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They were basically an early version of the Bastards: a small strike force, sent in to achieve an objective with as few men used as possible. Clive had volunteered for it this time around, whereas last time he’d been too caught up in his own problems to do anything more than he was directed to. He did his best to play the part of downtrodden Branded now, to keep up appearances, but he knew he could escape if only sent out with a handful of others. He had expected the missions to be difficult. What he hadn’t expected was to be sent to Waloed.
He leaned back against the curved hull of the ship, trying to get as much rest as he could before they made landing. He had been a soldier for thirteen years in his last life and now three in this one. He missed his bed at the Hideaway; it wasn’t ever particularly comfortable, but it was a damn sight better than what Branded soldiers were provided, which was usually nothing. He missed Torgal too, that warm lump of fur would have made a perfect pillow. But no, Torgal was still on Storm, somewhere, and likely still a puppy. Hopefully he was being taken care of while he grew into a fine hound… again.
He'd been disoriented to the point of uselessness when he’d woken up again at Phoenix Gate. He had died, there on that beach, and it was an immeasurable shock to him that he had woken back up from it. He wanted to blame the Phoenix, with its ability to heal and return what was, but Clive felt deep in his soul that it was Ultima that had sent him back. He was a god, after all; it was possible that when Clive defeated him that he’d missed some part or overlooked something that had allowed Ultima to escape.
He had returned into his younger, fifteen-year-old body, and that had been disorienting too. The aches and pains of life that had just been a constant part of his older self were gone, only noticed by their absence. He was young, fit, and agile again, and it caused him no end of problems. His older body had been a finely honed weapon; he had grown accustomed to his bulk and how it had moved, and his new, lighter frame was throwing off all his skills. He had basically had to relearn how to wield his broadsword with arms that were incapable of lifting with two hands what he had previously balanced easily in one. It was a knock to his pride to take on a lighter weapon, but he’d come to terms with it eventually. He had to survive, and his pride had to take second place to that. His swordsmanship skills were all he had.
Well, not all. Clive had awoken with all the Eikonic powers he had at the end, their presence in his mind was a constant that had not gone away upon his return to a younger form. But he’d decided early on that he would not use their abilities while he was still a soldier; it was too dangerous if he was found out. If Ultima had been the one to send him back, he would be on the lookout for a strong Bearer wielding all the elements. And so Clive did his best to use none of them save Phoenix, and even that rarely. Those who knew would know he’d been blessed by the Phoenix, and so to not use that fire when necessary would be to draw more attention than if he used them sparingly. But while his physical skills were hampered by his adolescent body, his aetheric skills were not. Clive’s mastery of his Eikonic abilities was on par with his older self, and it took effort instead to not call on them. And so he was a walking dichotomy to the Imperial army. His soldier’s mind was unmatched for his age, but his swordwork was sloppy and his magics were slow and hesitant to be used. He had been attached to this group because of his ability to read the battlefield, not because he was a top assassin.
And assassination was their plan, unfortunately. The Imperial army had gotten wind that Garuda’s Dominant was off on a mission on the southern end of Ash, and they had been tasked to go after her. Dead or alive, Garuda was to be brought back to Storm. Though from Clive’s experience, alive was not going to be possible. Benedikta had been a formidable fighter, even when half crazed. He didn’t want to think what a more rational version of that woman would be capable of. And he sure as hell didn’t want to run up against Barnabas Tharmr. His muscles twitched as he recalled his first fight with Odin’s Dominant, the feeling of that sword slicing through him from thirty feet away, cutting through him just as easily as it cut through air. No, in this untrained body he was no match for the Black King.
And Barnabas presented an even greater threat than just pain. He served Ultima, and likely had served him for years even at this point in the timeline. If Barnabas found him, there was a real chance that he would be recognized. Recognized and immediately chained and tortured, or worse, until he broke and became a vessel for Ultima. If he was at the mercy of Waloed it would only be a matter of time. He shuddered at the idea. Barnabas was the greatest threat to him, and he was currently on a boat headed to Ash, getting closer to that danger.
A bump against the hull, a scraping sound and cessation of movement, and the chatter up on deck told Clive that they had made landfall. He sighed wearily and stood, climbing up out of the hold and into the grey clouded light.
The beach they had landed on was barren, with cliff walls rising up just a little ways away. Ash was a natural fortress; most of the shore of the continent was rugged cliffside with just a few sparse beaches. The best natural landing area was to the north, where Stonhyrr was built, the land there sloping down gently toward the sea. Anywhere else, the only options were tiny beaches and a steep climb. This particular beach was one not well guarded; he knew from personal experience. He looked around, remembering twice before when he had landed here. Once, when he and Gav went after Stonhyrr’s Mothercrystal, and the time before that with…
With Jill. With the woman he’d loved, when she’d given him Shiva. He felt a pang of regret in his chest at the thought of her. She was a captive of the Ironblood right now, and from what Clive had seen, that was more hellish than the Imperial army ever was. But he wasn’t strong enough to go rescue her, not yet. He needed allies; he needed strength. He’d only gotten to her the first time because she’d been brought out to a battlefield, comparatively unprotected. Wrapped up tight on Drake’s Breath, there was no way he’d be able to get to her, not as he was now. He knew she would survive it though, that she was fated to be freed from there, if not by him then at least by Cid. So he did the only thing he could: he bit his tongue and abandoned her to her fate, hating himself the entire way.
Their little band moved off quickly into the hills, leaving their ship and its crew to unbeach itself and move off to a safer distance. Even a less guarded beach was still unsafe, and they needed a way to get back to Storm once their mission was complete. They traveled quickly, their armor padded to reduce noise. After an hour or so they came across a small village nestled up against a ridgeline. Clive could see villagers milling about, going about their daily lives just like any other village he’d seen on Storm. The last time he’d been on Ash, there had been no one. All the people had been collected and turned akashic, that or killed. It had been a ghost of a country, with structures standing strong and proud while food rotted in the store houses and dust gathered. But for now, at least, it was still thriving. Clive’s heart went out to them, these doomed villagers, but he and his group moved on. They weren’t the target; Garuda was.
They made camp a bit before twilight, finding a small clearing up in one of the hills, away from any settlement they could see. Even so, there were strict orders against setting a fire, despite the temperature dropping. Clive would be fine — he ran hot due to Ifrit’s influence — but his fellows were going to have a very uncomfortable night.
“So do they really expect us to take on a Dominant and bring it back alive?” asked Kabel, a younger Branded. Well, older than Clive was, but he’d had a hard time thinking of anyone still in their twenties as old anymore, despite he himself looking eighteen. Kabel was in his early twenties, his short shock of blonde hair the only real distinguishing feature about him. Outside of that he was just another thin, reedy Branded in soldier’s armor.
“No, Kabel, we’ve just been sent out here for our health,” sneered Brad, the eldest among them. His dark hair was pulled back in a high, tight tail. While most Branded usually wore their hair down when possible, to obscure their tattoo, Brad seemed to want to shove its existence in people’s faces. Especially, Clive had noticed, their superiors’. Brad was their best fighter, and he made it his mission to ensure every non-Branded leader was aware of just how strong he was, and how they owed their victories to someone they thought of as less than human. Brad had a point, and Clive supported that small form of insurrection, of pride in a class of people so oft beaten down. But Brad was an asshole to everyone, not just their non-Branded superiors, so as much as Clive was looking for allies, he had realized quickly that Brad would be more of a liability than an asset. “We’re here ta kill her,” Brad continued, “unless we get lucky enough to knock her out before she kills us all.”
“If she was that dangerous, they would have sent more of us, right?” Kabel asked, fidgeting. “I mean, they went through all this trouble; it has to be doable, doesn’t it?”
“Quiet, both of you.” An order from their leader, Quince. He reminded Clive of Tiamat, though only superficially. A leader of Branded men, a Branded himself, and so indoctrinated that he didn’t realize that these four could just walk away from the war and hide and be free of all this in a second. But no, Quince would hold them to their mission and bring the survivors back to their slavery as if they’d never left the eyes of their masters. “We need to be quiet, or some passing patrol might hear us.” Quince looked around in the failing light. “I’ll take first watch; get yourselves some rest while you can.”
The night passed quietly and dawn rose slowly. One thing that remained true from the last time Clive had been on Ash was the weather; it seemed to be perpetually cloudy here. They moved off southeast, following the shoddy map they were working from toward the town Garuda was said to be in.
They had traveled on the road for almost half the day before Brad, who had been assigned to scout ahead, signaled back to them to hide. They dove off the side of the road immediately and into a shallow dip, covered sparsely with scrub brush, eyes scanning the road ahead for motion. Brad joined them a short moment later.
“Soldiers on the road, far side of that hill. Eight of them, with chocobos. Can’t see any marks of Bearers. Camped out, don’ know which way they’ll be headin’.”
“Is the girl with them?” asked Quince. Brad shook his head.
“None of them are women, ‘far as I can see.”
Quince considered for a moment, looking over at the hill they had been about to crest like he could see through it. “If they’re heading to Garuda too, then we’ll have to deal with them sooner or later. We’ll circle ‘round, pick them off now while there’s only eight.” Quince nodded at Brad, who moved back up toward the crest of the hill. Quince turned to the others. “Kabel, you go with him; Clive and I will go around the other side, and we’ll meet in the middle. On Brad’s signal.” They split up, the two groups circling slowly around the hill until they had sight of the camped soldiers.
There were three small tents off on one side of the road, and a cluster of chocobos tied up a bit past that. The chocobos were saddled for travel; one of the soldiers could be seen getting them ready for the group’s departure. Clive saw another soldier starting to take down one of the tents. Seems these men had gotten to sleep in, and were just now packing up. Another pair of soldiers were on guard duty, though Clive noticed that they weren’t really on the lookout more than just standing their assigned post. Clearly being in home territory had made them feel safe. It would be relatively easy to get close enough to spring an ambush without them noticing. He and Quince moved as close as they dared, and hunkered down to wait. Brad would have seen where they would go; he was the best scout of their group. Nothing on Gav, mind, but no one was that good.
A ululating yell rang out from across the hills. Clive's eyes widened in surprise and looked over at Quince, who shared the look. Brad was an excellent fighter and an excellent scout, but also damn near suicidal when it came to starting fights. Loud and quick it was then. They nodded to each other and popped out of their cover, racing toward the camp. From the other side, they could see Brad brandishing his sword and yelling, running toward the camp as well. Kabel was nowhere to be seen, but that was fine. He was weaker, physically, but he was an excellent shot with a crossbow as well as a firebolt. The encamped soldiers turned as one to see the yelling man, and thus had their backs to Quince and Clive as they ran up.
The first two soldiers dropped instantly, one to Clive and one to Quince. They shared a nod and then split, one going left and the other right. Brad of course charged into the middle, taking down a pair on his own who were the quickest to come to their senses and challenge him. Clive took down another with a spinning slice, and saw an arrow fly by and take out a sixth that was coming around the edge of the tent. Just two more, unless there were some still asleep in the tents that Brad wouldn’t have seen. Clive circled around, his senses cast wide to locate anyone else. He heard a strangled cry, one he didn’t recognize, and assumed another soldier had been taken care of. He moved over toward one of the tents, lifting the flap swiftly with the tip of his blade. Empty. He moved on to the next. The eighth was still alive, somewhere.
The second tent was also empty, and he looked over at Brad and Quince who had just finished checking the last tent. All three were looking around. “I only counted seven,” he called. Quince looked toward Brad.
“I know how to fuckin’ count,” he snarled defensively. “There were eight. He’s got to be around somewhere.”
“You boys looking for me?”
Clive’s blood ran cold, his limbs frozen and eyes wide in recognition. That deep, gravelly voice had haunted his dreams for going on eight years now, his death still weighing heavy on Clive’s soul. He turned slowly and saw a man standing near the road. He was younger, the lines around the eyes that denoted age and weariness merely hinted at. His brown hair didn’t show the grey that it would in ten years time. His stance, relaxed with one sword drawn, dangling in his grip at his side, also seemed lighter, younger, with all of its capabilities still within the man’s control. He wasn’t favoring his left arm, either, he held it up in a pose that for anyone else would be nonchalant, fingers moving as if missing the cigarette between them. He eyed the group in front of him, and Clive didn’t see kindness in his eyes. He didn’t even see anger. All he saw was indifference.
He felt leaden. He had thought that seeing Cid again eventually would be a happy reunion, even if the man didn’t recognize him. What he hadn’t counted on was seeing him here. He knew, of course, that Cid had been the Lord Commander of Waloed at one time. But he had neglected to learn what exactly had made him leave that post, or more importantly, when. Apparently it was more recent than he’d thought, for before him now stood Lord Commander Telamon, whose men he had just killed. Lord Commander, and Dominant of Ramuh, with a hand all ready to smite them with his levin.
“Fuck.”
Quince and Brad did not share his knowledge, and thus did not share his fear. They turned as one toward the eighth member they had been searching for and charged. Clive reached out a hand to warn them, but was thrown back when a snap rang out and a blast of lightning struck the ground between them. He skidded to a stop against one of the tents, climbing unsteadily to his feet after regaining his senses. His eyes quickly took in what his nose was already screaming at him; before him lay the charred remains of his two compatriots, smoke wafting off their burnt bodies. Gone in a flash of lightning, faster than a blink of an eye.
“Tsk tsk tsk,” said Cid, stepping toward him. “Shoulda stayed down lad. I might have pretended you were dead like them.” Cid kicked one of the corpses lightly as he walked past. Brad, Clive guessed, though it was far too destroyed to tell anymore. He raised his sword defensively in front of him on instinct, sidestepping to get away from the tent he’d been thrown into.
“You still can,” he said, eyes darting around for an escape route. “I don’t want to fight you.”
Cid chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “You killed my men, boy, I can’t let that slide. What would our king say?” Suddenly the air crackled and Cid vanished. No, not vanished. Cid had moved behind him, faster than Clive could blink.
Fast as lightning.
“Shi-” Clive raced away on Phoenix flames, just barely dodging Cid’s blade slashing for his throat. He came to rest a little ways away, panting, his eyes wide. This was bad, this was really bad. Cid was in his prime. Clive hadn’t been sure if he could take on Cid back before, and that was when Cid was old and injured. Cid had never used his Eikon for movement before. He had tricks he hadn’t even shown; what else was he capable of?
Cid cocked his head to the side slightly, studying the thin trail of fire dissipating from Clive’s dodge. He adjusted the grip on his sword. “Neat trick, can you do it again?” Another zap of electricity, and another dodge of flame from Clive to avoid the attack, this one a thrust aimed at his gut.
“Well well well, someone who might actually be a challenge. Today’s my lucky day.” Cid rolled his shoulders and pulled out his short sword as well, now holding a thin blade in both hands. Clive’s panic rose. Cid hadn’t duel wielded before either, presumably due to his bum arm. Cid tested his sword’s weight in his hands.
“Please, I don’t want to fight you! Just let me leave; I’ll never bother you again!” Clive’s panic was taking control. He couldn’t find a way out. Cid would kill him, or capture him and his life would be over, as well as possibly the world.
Cid looked over at him appraisingly, ignoring his pleas. “You are more than you try to appear, Imperialist. That there was Phoenix fire, unless I miss my mark.” He leveled his short sword at Clive. “You’re a Rosfield, aren’t you?”
The barest pause, and then Clive fled. He lent Phoenix fire to his feet and raced away, to anywhere, just away. He flew over the hills, racing on feet that barely touched the ground. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Cid had known about Ultima at Drake’s Head, which meant he might know who and what Mythos was now. Clive couldn’t allow himself to be captured; he’d rather die than that. But he also didn’t want to die. There was no guarantee Ultima would bring him back again. He couldn’t abandon Joshua, Jill, all his friends… So he ran.
The feel of static on his skin was all the warning he got, then a fist smashed into his cheek and sent him flying sideways. He fetched up hard against a protruding rock, the breath knocked out of him by the impact. He lay there wheezing as Cid stood over him, sword pointed steadily down at his chest.
“Nice try, lad, but you’re not the only one who’s got fast feet.” Clive shuddered, trying to catch his breath. He’d have to fight, maybe he’d even have to use his Eikons. He quashed that idea down instantly; doing that would almost guarantee he’d be taken to Ultima. So he’d have to face Cid with just Phoenix; not even a semi-primed Ifrit would be safe to use.
He got his limbs under him, looking up at Cid standing above him. Cid let him, which made him wary. Cid seemed to notice his pause and stepped back slightly, gesturing with his sword for him to continue. “Come on, get up. I’ll not kill someone helpless.” Clive regained his feet, though not his sword. It had been flung from his reach when he’d been knocked prone, and was too far away to get to with Cid’s speed. He instead focused on his Phoenix powers, calling up a shield of fire that surrounded him, pushing outward with a loud yell. Cid stepped back again, nodding approvingly. “Good lad, go out fighting.” Clive leapt toward him—
And was shoved back into the rock by a great clawed hand that appeared from thin air, green talons wrapping around his body and pinning him down. He struggled, but the claws were stronger.
“Damnit, Benna!” he heard Cid call, frustrated. “It was just getting good!”
Clive looked around, and saw Benedikta walk into view, smiling her cool, controlled smile at Cid. She was dressed the same as he remembered, in a provocative garb that left little to the imagination. She sauntered up to Cid, moving as if there was nothing else in the world besides him and her. Clive struggled in Garuda’s grip, but the magics that held him there were solid.
“Cid, you softy, if I hadn’t stepped in he might have marred that handsome face of yours.” She ran her fingers along the line of Cid’s jaw, and a surprising spark of jealousy quickened into life inside Clive’s chest. Cid caught her fingers in his hand, kissing them gently and holding them tight as he looked at her.
“Ah, Benna my love, your care for my well-being soothes my heart.” Cid’s tone was kind, but his eyes didn’t have the softness that Clive would have expected. “But now, my dear, what to do with him?”
Benedikta looked over and considered Clive for what felt like the first time, pinned in her grasp. She stepped over and ran a hand along his face as well, pushing his hair back to see him more clearly. “What have we here, an Imperial Branded? Cid dear, what strange company you keep.”
“He and his friends killed my escort,” Cid snorted. “I dealt with the others, but then this one decided that running was the best course of action.”
Benedikta lifted Clive’s chin and looked him in the eyes. Her cold gaze was calculating, and Clive felt like what she saw didn’t meet her approval. “Then he’s a smart one, for an Imperial.” She pushed his face away and turned back to Cid. “Regardless, we kill him and continue on. King Tharmr was very clear what needed to be done.”
“He was clear on what you needed to do maybe, but I have no such orders.” Cid looked over at Clive, meeting his terrified eyes. “You don’t need my help; I was just coming for the company. I think I’m going to take this one back with me. He has potential I don’t feel like wasting just yet.”
Benedikta clicked her tongue exasperatedly and shook her head. “You do like to collect people, don’t you? But a Branded won’t be of much use, even to you.”
“Didn’t hear you complaining, Benna.”
Clive saw Benedikta’s spine straighten and her eyes flare, but she bit back whatever retort she had been forming. She gestured toward Cid, who tossed her a pair of crystal cuffs. She walked over and placed the cuffs around Clive’s arms, her hands moving through the magic Garuda claws as if they weren’t there. Once she had finished, she released him. He fell to the ground at her feet, his magic trapped out of reach. She straightened up and turned her back on him, going back to run her hands across Cid’s chest. “Keep your pet then. I’ll see you again once I finish up my tasks.” She kissed him passionately, a kiss that was returned in kind. Then she turned and walked away, waving a hand dismissively in goodbye.
Cid watched her go for a moment, his expression unreadable. He turned back to Clive, dragging him to his feet. “Alright lad, up ya get. You’d better hope we still have some of our chocobos, or you’ll be walking all the way to Stonhyrr.”