Chapter Text
Aulea had been weak in body but not in mind.
It had been told to her before her wedding night that there was rarely more than one child, that their magic was hard, that there was a chance she could pass when carrying. But she’d loved Regis, loved his sweet smiles and the steady compassion in his gaze. The way he’d whoop as he caught a fish, eyes bright with delight no matter the size.
How he’d been kind, willing to bend but never break. A stalwart wall.
It had been a chance she’d been willing to take. Regis’ mother had lived after all, for all a sickness had taken her before Mors had passed. Aulea would be the same, she’d promised. She would be wrong. In all worlds, she passed on the birthing bed. In all worlds but one, where a tiny god of childhood hopes and dreams twisted the threads of fate.
The tiny god hoped, and wished and prayed that this world - that this one could perhaps save his beloved King of Light. It had tried many iterations, the King himself, his friends and companions, and in each world the king had died.
Thus, it had gone back to the start, plucking cords and strings until it found one. A single one, where the mother of the king passed just a second later, her eyes locked onto her wailing babe even as the light faded from them.
It was there the god meddled, and there the god hoped, whispering its dreams and wishes into the dying queen’s ear and it was there that Aulea woke with a gasp, rocketing upwards, blood cooling between her legs and down her thighs. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, her body ratcheting upwards as life filled it once more.
Doctors and nurses alike, once bustling quietly, suddenly stalled to a halt and as the white sheet covering her face fell away, a sob broke free of her lips, catching in her throat and then the silence pushed to motion. Hands on her arms, pressing her into the bed, Others on her legs, holding them down. Pleas for her to calm.
Aulea didn’t, couldn’t.
Her eyes rolled, searching the room and there–her breath stuttered, she held out a hand–her son. Her sweet baby boy, squalling in the arms of his shell-shocked father. She reached, fingers grasping even as the doctors held her down. Tears streaked her face and then—Regis, rushing forward, the weight of her son on her chest.
Regis’ hand, warm, brushing across her brow, soothing. Aulea stilled, chest heaving. She clutched her babe to her breast, visions of a horrible future that could be sharp and painful in her mind, warnings from the little god who’d saved her.
“Regis–” she breathed, voice a thready whisper as the room quieted around her. Tears streaked her face, and Regis, overwhelmed, his own eyes wet in wonder and faded grief, pressed a kiss to her cheek–first one and then another.
“Aulea–what–how–”
Noctis mewled on her chest, tiny hands reaching feebly and Aulea adjusted him more firmly. The world spun around her, but Aulea didn’t let herself falter. Instead, she shook her head, straightened, ignoring the screaming protests of her body. One hand cradled her son, her small, tiny son, and then the other reached, steel screaming as she pulled Regis’ blade from his side. He jumped back, trying to stop her but Aulea pushed forward, birthing gown loose about her hips and still stained with blood.
“Aulea–what are you–”
She brushed past him, red imprints of her bare feet stamping the cold marble floors. Her slow shuffle turned to a walk, and that too sped up until she was near jogging, eyes wild. Shouts sounded out behind her, but her eyes searched, roving the hall until she came upon a familiar door. She bared her teeth, steadied her grip on both son and sword and rushed in.
Her blade–Regis’ blade– clanged against the solid weight of the crystal, and clanged again as she struck at it. Again and again–each fruitless. She screamed, voice breaking in maternal fury and frustrated rage as Noctis wailed against her breast and finally, she collapsed, eyes spitting fire at the glowing crystal. It sat there, floating innocuously and glowing gently - emanating blue light. Not a chip had appeared on its shimmering surface, no hint of her fruitless attacks.
“Aulea, beloved, please – what's going on–why–” Footsteps sounded out behind her and then Regis, his arms wrapped around her. Aulea sobbed, curled into his chest even as she curled about her son.
“Regis–Oh Regis–”
“Please, Aulea, tell me–why–what’s happened?”
Aulea looked up at him, her eyes wet, and then spoke. She told of what the little god had warned, described the visions of the scourge and terror, and worse yet, their son. Grown but not hale nor happy, his eyes tired as he’d sat upon a throne where swords–including the one in her hand–had pierced his breast.
Regis’ face crumpled, his eyes canting down.
“The Chosen,” he whispered. The words were not a question, but a statement, a terrible damning prophecy and Aulea nodded, still weeping in the comfort of his chest. “The King of Light.”
His eyes canted down to their son, Noctis’ mewling quieted, and Regis swallowed, jaw working before he looked at the crystal–holy and unfeeling. “Then there is no fighting it–”
“No!” Aulea twisted in his grip, her eyes wild and Noctis snuffled against her. Her eyes slid to him and she lowered her voice. “No,” she said again, looking at his chubby cheeks, the black tuft of hair. Her fingers brushed it, “...No. I refuse.”
The crystal flared then, bright and terrifying and Aulea turned her gaze to glare at it. “I refuse–!” She spat again, voice near a screech as it flared brighter. She would not be intimidated–she would not!
Regis’ hand on her shoulder pulled her back, his expression grim and frightened. Aulea hesitated, warring and then grit her teeth, frustrated tears building. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, took in a breath, then another and another.
“Come on.” Regis murmured, hefting her up into his arms. His legs shook, and Aulea shifted in his grip, violet eyes wide and distraught. Regis smiled down upon her, shooting down his retainers with a glance as he held wife and child both.
He walked them out of that room, sword abandoned on the floor and the crystal’s light bright at their backs. Aulea didn’t relax, couldn’t relax, but she let herself rest, there in Regis’ arms. Sobs ripped through her, one after the other and Noctis quivered against her breast. As his whimpers rose to a cry once more, Aulea shushed him for all she could barely calm herself. Too much, too fast—
“Regis,” she said, voice broken and wracked, “The fate that awaits him–I can’t let it. I won’t let it–it takes so much–if there is a way–” She turned, looking up at him as he walked them back to their room, no doubt where doctors lay in weight. “--Regis–”
“...there may not be a way.” He sounded resigned as he said it, and Aulea, pounded his chest with a single fist. Firm, but not gentle either.
“There may not be. But–let me at least try.”
“And if it is for nothing?”
“Then I will be dead and it will not matter.”
Regis’ grip tightened, his breath a shaky exhale. Aulea did not avert her gaze, for all Regis did not meet it. Finally, he looked down as they came to a stop before the doors to their quarters.
“...Inside now.” he said, voice trembling despite his attempt at feigning stability, “You must be exhausted. Let’s rest, and we will talk it over in the morning.”
Aulea fell to an exhausted sleep as Regis laid her upon the bed. He never left her side, his voice a gentle hum along with Noctis’ quiet snuffles. It was a fitful rest, wrought with visions of the future to come. Often, Aulea woke, breath choking on a sob to find Regis’ hand clutched in hers, Noctis sleeping quietly in a bassinet beside the bed. Her eyes closed again soon after –and each time they closed, she saw it.
Her son, impaled, her son dying, her son tired and worn and looking so much like Regis for all he had her eyes.
‘Please,’ a little god’s voice whispered, echoing throughout her mind, ‘Please change it. Please try. Seek them out. The astrals.’
Flashes of gods–of Titan, great and massive; Leviathan, twining and terrible; Ramuh, wise and distant; Ifrit, hot and enraged; Shiva, cold and kind.
‘Make them help–make them see the difference and convince them that perhaps–,’ The god’s voice faded, trembling and weak before it steadied, ‘--perhaps we can change fate. If we can convince the others, surely we can convince him.’
Something large, luminous eyes and a sleek body with gargantuan wings. A man’s face, covered in armor.
‘And if he does not listen?’
The little god flickered, then solidified. Grew in size from a small fox to something bigger, flares of sweet green flowing off its form before it shrunk again as Aulea’s dream faded. ‘Then we try. Again and again. Until he does.’