The ocean’s depths are much like the sky. As light passes through water, the playful shimmers trace the same graceful arcs as petals falling through the air. A dance of beauty, but one mingled with a trace of sadness.
Luna.
She heard her beloved’s voice calling her name. Whether real or merely an illusion conjured by her overwhelming desire to see him again, she could not tell. He was there, far off in the water, his image wavering and softly distorted by the current, as if revealing him to be no more than a mirage born of longing.
His lips formed her name once more.
Luna!
Shouting her name, brow knit with desperation, he was seemingly on the verge of tears. She had seen him like this once before, on a day twelve years ago, when they’d still been children, when they’d only barely met. His expression and words now were a perfect echo of what they’d been then. His arm, too, was again outstretched, as if he might bridge the great and growing distance between them.
That was the day when the peace in her home of Tenebrae was suddenly shattered. Soldiers of the Niflheim Empire stormed Fenestala Manor and captured it, and then she was running, being pulled along by the hand. Failure to escape meant death―not for her, but for one much more important than her. Prince Noctis.
The title of Oracle was not yet hers, but still she understood the duties with which she would be tasked. She was to aid the king of Lucis―the future king. That was her calling, as bestowed upon her by the gods, and she would see it fulfilled even if that meant casting her own life aside.
They will not be able to escape with me slowing them down. If he does not have to protect me as well, I know for certain His Majesty will be able to bring Noctis to safety.
She released her grip on King Regis’s hand. She was not afraid. There was only the ache of sadness at knowing she might never see Noctis again. But that was a small price to pay if it meant the prince would live.
She watched as he was carried off into the distance. Not wanting to forget a single moment, she kept her head held high, eyes trained upon him and ears open. She saw his outstretched arm, reaching for her, and heard his desperate cries. She watched, unmoving, even as the imperial host swarmed around her.
Now, here in the ocean, she saw the face of the young boy, the same one long burned into the backs of her eyes. And superimposed upon it was the face of the adult.
The time has come for us to part.
For some reason, it was harder this time than it had been before. The old grief ached, ready to tear a hole straight through her. Why was it so difficult? She was older now. She’d come of age. Quite some time had passed since her ascension.
So why did she feel like this? Why did she wish to cry like a small child?
She bit her lip. Her king’s last memory would not be of tear-stained cheeks. He would remember her happy.
Gathering together every ounce of willpower she possessed, she put a gentle smile on her lips and silently stretched her arm out toward his. A blue flower was lightly clasped in her hand, one of the sylleblossoms she loved so much.
I give this flower to you. This is sure to be our final moment.
When the world falls down around you, and hope is lost, when you find yourself alone, amid a lightless place, look to the distance. Know that I am there, and that I watch over you always.
Farewell, dear Noctis.
He flailed in the water. Their outstretched hands drifted apart. It was so like that other day, all those years ago, and yet this time they drew apart slowly, almost gently. She felt grateful to the sea, for there, immersed in its water, her tears could not be seen.
And with that same gentle momentum, she continued to sink, deeper and deeper, to a place that would never know the rays of the sun.
I can cry now, she told herself, for no matter how loudly I wail, I needn’t worry that Noctis might hear.
A kind voice interrupted her thoughts. “Let not sorrow overwhelm.”
She knew the voice well, for it had been at her side since she was very young.
“Sleep now, just for a little while,” Gentiana continued.
Gentle fingertips softly lowered her eyelids, as they’d done so many times in the past. Somehow, Gentiana always knew. It had been a mysterious constant of her childhood: whenever Luna woke late at night, troubled by frightening dreams, the Messenger was there. Mother and Ravus would be sound asleep, but Gentiana would be at her bedside, coaxing her back into slumber.
She still ached with grief, but the loneliness and worry lifted as though they’d never been there. Tranquility bathed her mind under Gentiana’s soothing hands, and she allowed herself to be carried away by sleep.
It was a mysterious sleep, not unlike a shallow afternoon repose. She hung in the space between dream and consciousness, and everything radiated warmth. Thought no longer held shape. Time was forgotten. There was nothing left but the tender, nebulous hands of warmth gently cupped around her.
How much time passed like that?
Suddenly, she felt her body rising. It was not a comforting sensation. Instead, it was a stark, jolting difference from the hazy warmth of before. Slightly disorienting, like being woken up. No. She was waking. She felt a distinct weight against her eyelids and forced them open. A wave of prickling sensations and then pain came rolling in. Her mouth opened, hungry for air, only to find foul-tasting liquid. She realized she was underwater and flailed her arms about, grateful to find firm ground below and the surface not far away. She sat up, freeing herself from the water’s embrace, and coughed repeatedly.
The shallows in which she found herself would have been difficult to describe as clean by any measure. Her eyes stung, streaming tears as she blinked the water’s dirty residue away.
“Where am I?” she asked aloud, half to prove to herself this was not another dream. One hand came to her throat as she spoke. The clear vibration of the words brought further proof. This was reality, true and certain.
Finally, when her eyes were clear, she looked about. The world was dim and her surroundings hard to discern. The air was cloyingly humid, and she heard the sound of something else―something not liquid―spilling to the ground at intervals.