Chapter Text
If anyone asked Clive what he expected would happen after the journey to Phoenix’s Gate, nothing would involve what had happened to him so far. Kidnapped. Used as leverage to threaten his family to abandon their march to where death was waiting for him. Made a temporary alliance with his kidnappers to destroy the Mothercrystals that they said were the cause of the Blights, something that would no doubt make them heretics across the Twins. And yet, here he was, standing against a self-proclaimed God of Valisthea who spoke nothing but riddles that Clive could barely make sense of.
Including that name- Logos.
It meant nothing to Clive, which the boy assumed was just one of Ultima’s riddles, but the impact was immediate. Wyvern’s grip on his sword faltered, and a gasp soon followed while disbelief was written all over his face. Across from him, Margrace’s posture stiffened, shoulders drawing taut beneath his cloak as his hood tilted toward Wyvern. A glance passed between them, and Clive could sense what was really going on in their minds.
It was fear. But of what?
The air between them felt colder as if the name had recalled something it shouldn’t have. Clive found himself glancing from one to the other while the tension was building up until Wyvern began to speak.
“You’re not supposed to know that name….” Though his voice sounded calm, the young Shield could see that the man could barely keep his composure as he was trembling. Until his eyes widened as if an answer just crossed his mind, and that was when Clive could hear panic in his voice as he stared at Ultima with a horrified expression. “Ultima…. No, you are….”
“You will understand it when the time comes,” Ultima replied calmly and turned back on them as flames began to consume him. “For now, I will take my leave. But mark my words, the thread of fate has already changed. In the end, all paths-no matter how far they stray-will lead them back to me. And when the final thread is cut, you will see every choice you made was never yours from the start. Including the wish that led all this to pass.”
With his final words, a ripple of flames washed over him, swallowing the entity until there was only the empty space and the faint echo of his last words still whispering in Clive’s ears. The silence was palpable as the two other men were speechless until Wyvern’s voice broke the silence with a bitter tone.
“There is no mistake. It’s definitely him.”
“Brother. We can’t be certain if that’s truly the case. Perhaps, there is…”
“The hell it isn’t.” Wyvern cut him off while his eyes were filled with something Clive had never seen from the man before- anger, panic, and especially fear. “Did you hear what he just called me? No one ever called me by that name except him.”
“Even if it is, I need you to be calm, Brother,” Margrace replied with composure, but Clive caught the faint edge beneath it as if the man did not believe his words.
Wyvern turned away and looked at the Heart incredulously before rounding back with a rising voice. “You don’t understand. If he’s here now… If the Ultima we just met is truly him… Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve fought for has been for naught. There is nothing we can do but….”
A sound of boots cut through his words, catching their attention toward the gate. The rhythm was disciplined and urgent, growing louder with each heartbeat. Just when Clive was still processing what had just transpired, the two men quickly pulled their hoods again until he, too, felt Wyvern pulling his as well until his face was totally covered.
“Do not speak unless necessary. Or we will have bigger trouble than we already do.” Despite getting irritated and wanting to protest, the urgency in his voice made Clive yield and nod. The trio quickly reached for the hilts of their swords and got into battle stance until the gate began to open.
From the faraway, armored troops began to emerge, their weapons glinting sharply, reflecting the light of the Heart. Numerous Sanbrequois soldiers filed into the chamber, marching toward the trio hastily. Aside from the infantry that Clive had encountered on his journey, there were two heavily armored lancers that looked like the Dragoons he saw on the trip to Oriflamme with his family a few months prior. As soon as he saw a shade of gold-haired boy accompanied by the Dragoons, Clive finally understood why Wyvern told him to remain silent.
It was Dion Lesage. The Crown Prince of Sanbreque. The Dominant of Bahamut.
And the boy knew him, too. Ever since they met at that event for the Triunity Accord.
The prince advanced gracefully as the soldiers parted to create a path for him. His small frame was adorned in ceremonial armor, each polished plate shining brilliantly under the ambient light of the Sanctum. Although he was barely older than Joshua, there wasn't the slightest trace of fear in his expression as his piercing eyes scanned the trio, prompting the young Shield to pull his hood over once more and avert his gaze.
“You stand within the Holy Sanctum of Oriflamme.” The boy said, his voice was clear and authoritative for someone his age. “Surrender now and state your names.”
“Our names are not yours to know, Your Highness,” Wyvern replied calmly and stared at Dion incredulously, who seemed to be taken aback.
“Watch your tone, insolent cunt!” A soldier shouted and shot Wyvern a warning look, and Dion raised his hand, glancing at the man again.
“Judging by your tone, it seems you know who I am. And yet I don’t know who you are.”
“We know enough. None of which is your concern.” The response was monotonic and blunt as expected, though it seemed to make the soldiers grunt and tighten their grips on their weapons.
“We mean no harm to you or the people of Oriflamme, your Highness!” Margrace stepped forward and gave a quick bow, then spoke eloquently. “Our quarrel is not with the Emperor nor with you. We are not here to sow chaos and threaten the safety of the citizens in this capital.”
“Said the one who slaughtered my men and left a trail of blood on his way.” Dion’s answer was unamused. “On our way here, we also saw the unusual concentration of aether and the people who succumbed to its victims. Was that also one of your doings?”
“The Akashic you saw were not of our making.” Wyvern chimed in and spoke emotionlessly. “But we won’t apologize for striking down those that were on our path and putting an end to their suffering.”
“And what path would that be?” the prince asked cautiously. “One that led trespassers like you to the most sacred place of our realm?”
“One that would spare the realms from the destruction they brought upon themselves,” Wyvern answered dryly, which seemed only to antagonize the Imperials further as one of the Dragoons hissed dangerously.
“Insolent cunt! How dare you…”
Dion raised his hand and halted, though his eyes remained fixed on Wyvern. “You speak as if you know what’s to come. As if we are already condemned by a sin that we’ve never known.”
“The crusade has already begun, your Highness,” Wyvern warned dangerously. “And it’s not only you who will be damned by the upcoming ‘salvation’. None in Valisthea will survive if they continue to stand idle and refuse to see the rot beneath the blessings of those Crystals.”
The Prince narrowed his eyes and tightened the grip around his lance as the soldiers were glaring at Wyvern with murderous intent.
“You speak as if you are Greagor herself. As if everything we’ve been taught is nothing but lies. Do you think that will make you a savior then? By seeking to rob us of the blessings we’ve been gifted and condemning us to its inevitable destruction?”
“We’re not here to destroy your beloved Sanbreque, Dion Lesage,” Wyvern replied calmly despite everyone’s shocked expressions, including the Prince himself. “We’re here to free Valisthea from the chains that shackle her for centuries and the destruction that your foolishness would bring to this land.”
Once again, the silence came back, and Clive could feel the tension rising with each second that passed by. The air felt heavier, as if the Heart itself held its breath. Soldiers glanced at one another, confusion and alarm etched into their faces as if they could not fathom what they had just heard from Wyvern until all of them began to grab the hilts of their weapons, which prompted Clive and Margrace to do the same. The silence continued as Dion stood motionlessly; his eyes did not move away from Wyvern and stared at the man incredulously. Then, without a word, the boy lifted the lance and pointed at Wyvern.”
“This is my last warning.” He hissed dangerously, catching Clive off guard. “Who are you?”
Despite the tension, Wyvern slowly drew his blade and pointed back at the young Prince, and Margrace widened his eyes, staring at him in disbelief.
“We’re not here to kill you, Dion Lesage.” His voice was emotionless. “Stand aside, or I won’t hesitate to force my hands. Not even for you.”
“Your Highness, please…” Margrace stepped in, trying to mediate, but it was too late. Dion gave a signal to his men as they began to march, weapons already in their hands, while their roars echoed through the sanctum.
But the moment they nearly approached him.
A slash cut through the air as the Imperials stopped before collapsing simultaneously.
Everyone stood paralyzed, staring at the man before them. Wyvern’s sword had transformed into a black blade that pulsed with blue light, sending a shiver down the Imperials ' spines. The man stood in the center, sweeping the blood from his blade, as darkness seemed to coil around the sword itself. Across the clearing, recognition dawned in Dion's eyes, which was filled with horror. The boy's mouth fell open, then snapped shut before he thrust a trembling finger toward the blade and cried out with urgency.
“Stand down!” The boy ordered with authority that might rival even the Emperor. “There is no mistake. That is the blade of Odin. Do not engage. I’ll handle this myself.”
Light exploded from him as his form surged with aether. When the blinding glow faded, Bahamut stood tall and roared, a sound that seemed to shock the earth itself. Wyvern took a step forward, clenching his fist before it began to be engulfed in flames.
“Don’t you dare, Brother!” Margrace warned sharply.
“We don’t have a choice here!” Wyvern responded with frustration. “Not if we want to stop Bahamut before things get any worse than this.”
Just when the brothers were busy bickering, a newfound determination ignited inside Clive. The boy's jaw tightened as he took a confident step forward. Walking slowly towards Bahamut, whose massive form was just as grand as the books described, Clive clenched his fist, feeling the flames inside him that were burning stronger with each breath he drew.
“Boy, what are you…?”
Clive looked back at Wyvern and gave him a sympathetic look that seemed to confuse the man. The young Shield gave him a small smile and turned back to Bahamut, raising his fist that was already covered in flames now.
“I’m a Shield of Rosaria!” He whispered and looked at Bahamut with a defiant look before continuing with determination in his voice.
“And I’ll do my duty!”
The flames then began to burst, covering his entire arm to the shock of everyone.
“Come to me, Ifrit!”
The primal roar shook the very walls of the chamber. Fire erupted like a bursting volcano, engulfing Clive’s form as horns and fangs broke through, his body shifting into the same being that he no longer feared and denied.
The Second Eikon of Fire. Ifrit.
The soldiers fell back, gasping in disbelief, and Bahamut seemed to share the sentiments as well.
“A Second Eikon of Fire?” Bahamut’s voice hollowed the air. “How is it possible?”
“Boy!” Wyvern shouted and, for the first time, looked at him with worry in his eyes. But Clive simply gave him a small nod before returning to Bahamut, giving a roar that shook the entire Sanctum while flames began igniting from his body.
Then, without hesitation, he launched himself into the air, slamming into Bahamut and dragging him skyward up through the roof of the sanctum, smashing through the shard until they reached the top. Then Bahamut began to struggle and throw him back to the top of Drake’s Head. Just when Clive began to stand up, the Heart began to emerge from below and shine brightly amidst the night. Quickly summoning a fireball, he shot at the Heart until Bahamut flew toward and blocked it with his shield.
“First Bahamut. Then the Heart!”
With a sudden screech that echoed through the capital, Bahamut flew toward Clive and charged.
Clive braced, his body engulfed in crimson flames as he met the Dominant of Light in a thunderous clash that echoed across the heavens. The shockwave shattered the ground, sending crystallized shards flying into the air before raining down upon the terrified citizens of the capital below. Bahamut’s wings slashed at him as he sidestepped the first strike gracefully, but the second attack came so swiftly that he barely twisted aside. Clive retaliated with a blazing fist, driving it into Bahamut’s flank with a force that sent the dragon spiraling backward as his wings flapped wildly to regain balance.
The sky itself seemed to wail as Bahamut let out another screech.
From high above, Bahamut opened his jaw and spread his wings. A beam of light cascaded downward and rained upon Clive. The Dominant twisted his body mid-air, leaving a spiraling trail of fire in his wake. His feet barely touched the ground before he launched skyward again at Bahamut with flames trailing behind like a comet.
Bahamut spun violently and slammed into Clive with a spiraling dive, sending him crashing into the top of the Mothercrystal again. Clive roared and stood up again, smoke and heat curling around his frame as his flames were raging. Bahamut then descended slowly, his wings spread wide, and emitted blades of light. He raised his arms to block, but the blades sliced through him with radiant fury, knocking him again. The Dominant of Fire barely managed to twist in mid-air before landing into a crouch, his claws gouging the surface to keep balance.
Clive growled and charged again. His body burst forward in a blur of crimson flames. Bahamut tried to fly away, but Clive had already beaten him to it. A savage punch to the chest of the dragon and then another until it forced Bahamut down. They grappled, twisted, and slammed into Drake’s Head again, which caused the entire structure to tremble.
Then Bahamut roared, escaping Clive’s again before his chest began to pulse with energy. Dozens of massive light orbs began to form and head toward him. Clive’s muscles tensed before he launched himself sideways, avoiding one orb exploding behind him, which was followed by another. The night was filled with violent light as more orbs pursued him, each explosion painting the night in violent flashes of white and blue. The Dominant of Ifrit continued to run and dodge across the battlefield while each explosion felt closer than the last. Then, with a final roll, he pivoted one knee and thrust his flaming hand, unleashing a wave of fireballs. The collision was inevitable. Light and flame intertwining, devouring each other in a violent dance that illuminated Oriflamme in the night.
As the dust settled, Bahamut broke through the smoke, charging forward with a spinning dive. Clive quickly countered, planting his feet and punching the ground, creating a line of fire that erupted in the dragon’s path. The dragon shrieked, barely stopping before the flames consumed him, and that was more than enough for Clive. Clive lunged forward, where wing met claw in a deafening collision that sent shockwaves rippling across the sky. Bahamut’s blades sliced through the battlefield, which Clive parried precisely, using the sheer momentum to spin and slam a burning foot into Bahamut’s chest, knocking him out of the air.
As Clive’s feet stepped on Bahamut’s chest, he raised both his hands, and a growing orb of flame began to gather. The fireball grew larger with every heartbeat, expanding from a small orb to a massive one in mere seconds. Just as the heat began to distort the air around them, Bahamut shrieked and flew away. The Dominant of Light opened his jaw, releasing a beam of light that attacked the Dominant of Fire relentlessly. Despite his weary body from the assault, Clive maintained his concentration, channeling his remaining strength into the spell until smoke enveloped his trembling form. As the thick veil of smoke gradually dissipated, an eerie stillness descended upon the battlefield, as though the battle had been concluded.
And then, to the shock of Bahamut, Clive still stood, raising his one hand.
The fireball still burned, like a bright sun in the night.
With a defiant roar, Clive pulled back his remaining arm and hurled it before jumping and kicking it.
Bahamut quickly activated his shield, preparing for the upcoming assault. But it was too late. The fireball struck, and an explosion ensued. A column of fire was taller than any tower that erupted over Drake’s Head. Bahamut was consumed in the blast. His cry was swallowed by the roar of the flames as the shockwave sent him hurtling downward.
Standing alone at the top of Drake’s Head before the Heart, Clive summoned a flaming sword and leapt, slashing it with all of his strength.
As the Heart began to crack, a scream quickly followed before it began to crack and turned into a flow of aether. And so too was the surface he was standing.
And then Clive fell, his massive form turned back as he began to fall. Yet, the young Shield remained calm, closing his eyes as if he had already accomplished everything he needed in life. But then, a strong arm caught him, revealing Margrace, who was flying with flaming wings on both sides that made the boy believe he was hallucinating. As they finally landed back in the Inner Sanctum, the man put him slowly back to the ground, giving him time to breathe despite the collapsing structure around them.
“Are you alright?” Margrace asked with a worried tone.
“I’m… fine.” Clive coughed and tried to steady his breath. “Just… tired.”
“Tired would be an understatement.” Wyvern’s voice chimed in as Clive’s eyes headed toward him, who was standing among the corpses of the Imperials. “You primed and even fought Bahamut by yourself. Destroying the Heart. I’m surprised that you can still stand after all of that.”
“I wasn’t planning on doing so,” Clive replied dryly. “Compared to your training, this is merely a warmup. At least they paid off well in the end.”
“You can continue this later.” Margrace cut in firmly. “The Sanctum is already falling apart, so we need to leave now.”
Clive nodded and followed Wyvern as they followed the path they had come. Suddenly, the young Shield collapsed, breathing heavily as if his body had already yielded. But the boy took a deep breath and continued to run, leaving the collapsing Sanctum behind.
The sea hit Clive the moment he arrived at the dock.
Salty air. Moonlight reflected brightly in the dark sea.
The boy stumbled and leaned on the fence, still trying to steady his breath, and then looked at Wyvern. “Where are we going now?”
“Let’s get out of here with the same route we used earlier. And then we can plan our next move. Margrace, can you…?”
“There they are!” A shout caught their attention. “The heretics who defied our Mothercrystal!”
Dozens, no, thousands of Imperials were running into the dock. Unlike the small battalion they encountered at the Inner Sanctum, Clive felt as if this was all the force of Oriflamme had to offer. Soldiers advanced in perfect formation, their blades gleaming beneath the moonlight. Leading them were a few Dragoons who were armed to the teeth. The Young Shield cursed under his breath, barely holding his sword, but there was no other choice now. Yet, despite the dire circumstances, Wyvern stood still, his eyes fixed on the approaching Imperials as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience.
Then Wyvern stepped forward.
Blue flames began to gather around his body as Margrace looked horrified and yelled in panic.
“Brother, don’t…”
Then an explosion blasted, pushing Clive away as an immense wave of energy was released.
A column of blue flames burst upward, engulfing Wyvern completely. The heat was rising sharply while the sea waves were colliding violently as if they were repelled by whatever was coming.
And when the fire died down, the first thing that came to his eyes was blue feathers that were falling like snow. Looking upward, Clive gasped and widened his eyes, barely believing what he saw before him.
Wyvern was floating.
And behind him were four massive wings, each one glowed with cold starlight. The feathers were sharp as blades, glistening with every movement, causing the Imperials to freeze mid-step while their faces were drained of color and stared at the man before them. When Wyvern opened his eyes, they were glowing with aether, staring at them with intensity that seemed to pierce through their resolve, forcing them to tremble until one of them stuttered.
“By Greagor, what is that thing?”
“Is he…. A Dominant?” Another soldier added, his voice filled with shock and horror.
But before any of them could speak further, Wyvern slowly raised his hand, snapping his finger. The ground beneath the Sanbrequois troops shuddered, then exploded in a shower of dirt and stone as massive pillars erupted skyward, skewering men through their breastplates. Screams echoed from the port as more soldiers fell. Those who survived the initial onslaught scrambled backward, boots slipping in the mud slick with their comrades' blood. The pillars continued to burst forth in pursuit, catching fleeing men mid-stride, lifting them writhing into the air. Only a handful managed to jump into the sea, barely avoiding the pillars that were only a second away from them.
“What are you doing?” A Dragoon managed to stay calm and shouted to his fleeing men. “Kill him now! In the name of Greagor and Bahamut!”
The soldiers soon calmed themselves and began to circle Wyvern, throwing their spears towards the man, who quickly disappeared to the shock of the Imperials. When the man reappeared again, a wave of energy shot from his hand, releasing a torrent of blue aether straight ahead, blasting through an entire battalion and sending them into the sky. But Wyvern was not done there. He flew toward them and then summoned the orbs of lightning that were surrounding him. With a gesture, they detonated in a binding light that slammed into their ranks and left none standing.
As Clive witnessed the onslaught before him, he could only stare, barely believing what his uncle was capable of.
This wasn’t the power of a Bearer.
This wasn’t the work of a Shield either.
Unless….
“Mythos!”
A deep voice echoed through the air as the wind was getting stronger. Bahamut soon emerged and flew in front of Wyvern; his yellow eyes were burning brightly with hatred, in contrast to the blue ones Clive saw earlier. Despite the injuries and a few burns in his wings, the Dominant of Light roared before hissing with authority.
“I will kill you where you stand! Puppet of Ultima!”
Then Bahamut opened his jaw as a beam of light began to concentrate again. Yet, Wyvern remained calm, his eyes narrowed as he spread both of his hands before another two wings appeared behind him. Holding two of his hands together, a beam of energy soon appeared and shot towards Bahamut. Light met light as they collided in a violent dance. The air between them crackled and warped until Wyvern's beam overcame Bahamut's, knocking the dragon backward in an explosive blast that sent ripples across Oriflamme.
Gasps soon erupted from the ranks of Sanbrequois, as if the scene shook them to the core.
“Did any of you see that?”
“No, it’s impossible.” One of them shouted hysterically. “How can a Bearer have the light of Bahamut?”
“Don’t you see his wings? They are just the same as the ones from Bahamut. This Bearer…. No, this devil…. He must not be allowed to live.”
As if being possessed, the Imperials marched again toward them; their eyes were filled with a burning determination- no doubt having every intention to not let him or his allies live. Margrace quickly summoned a fireball shot at them while Clive parried an upcoming strike, pushing the soldier back. While the young Shield and Margrace were busy fending off the continuous assault, Wyvern and Bahamut had already resumed their fights with the former flying relentlessly, dodging every light beam from Bahamut. The chaos was deafening, steel meeting steel, the wounded crying out their last breaths, and the thunderous roars of Eikon shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Blood and sweat stung Clive's eyes as his muscles screamed in protest, each parry slower than the last. Just when Clive felt that he had nearly reached his limits, the Sabrequois suddenly stopped, glancing at something behind him incredulously before trying to turn back and retreat.
A shockwave tore through the dock, nearly making him fall if Margrace had not managed to catch him. When the boy managed to take a glimpse behind him, he could barely believe what he had just witnessed.
It was a ship. Not just any ship, but the infamous Einherjar of the Kingdom of Waloed.
But why was it here, of all places? At this moment?
And then a flood of soldiers began to emerge, clad in dark cloaks with sigils that Clive barely recognized. Their hands were already glowing with aether until they unleashed it upon the Imperials. Wind. Fire. Ice. Light. All the elements converged in deadly harmony, striking deep into the ranks of the confused Sanbrequois, who stumbled backward with wide eyes and terror faces.
And among the Waloed army came a loud shout that echoed on the dock.
“Protect Sons of Fire! Protect Lord Mythos!”
Clive froze and stared at them widely, barely believing what he had just heard. As the Bearers approached him, Margrace stood before Clive defensively, his hand still holding the blade and pointing at them. Despite the hostility, the Bearers remained calm; their faces were filled with pride and devotion as they knelt before them, which seemed to take Margrace aback.
“Do not fear, my Lords.” Their captain spoke calmly. “We are here to rescue you and your kin. Just like it has been foretold.”
“Foretold? Don’t tell me…” Before Margrace could finish, a slash of darkness flew over them and hit directly at Bahamut, who barely avoided it as it ran past his wings. Then followed a loud cry of a horse, causing everyone to look behind.
Clive had only seen it in the book once, but there was no mistake. That was the Warden of Darkness- Odin.
“My wayward brother!” Odin glanced at Bahamut and asked with a disappointed tone while his hand pointed at Wyvern. “You dare to raise your hands against the living will of our Father?”
“Odin!” Bahamut groaned and snapped back. “I will not bow to anyone. Not to you. And certainly not to that coward who calls himself Father of Valisthea.”
Odin’s horse stomped, sending a shockwave through the waves beneath his hooves.
“You would defy the Father that gave us forms, Bahamut? The hands that shaped our existences and purpose in this cursed land?”
“He is no Father of mine.” Bahamut sneered, shocking even the Sanbrequois, who looked even more confused. “You and I know very well the reason why he created us in the first place. To die and feed ourselves to his precious Mythos.” The Dragon then glared at Wyvern with burning hatred. “And now his wretched vessel is here, coming to claim the power that never belongs to him. I’ll do what I’ve been waiting for all these times- tear out his heart and scatter his ashes to the wind. So we may never bow to His lies ever again.”
Clive held his breath as the sky was filled with the voices of Eikons. He could barely understand whatever they were talking about, despite the context given to him by Wyvern and Margrace a few weeks ago about Ultima and the Eikons. Mythos. Father. Words that struck everyone here harder than any blade, yet the young Shield still couldn’t grasp the full meaning behind it. His eyes darted between Odin and Bahamut to Wyvern, who stayed silent despite being the central focus of the conversation.
Wyvern.
Mythos.
Logos.
At the time, Clive didn’t think of much of it, assuming it was one of another cryptic words from Ultima to sow confusion among them.
But now?
If Wyvern were the Mythos these people of Waloed worshipped. If he were the vessel Ultima had been searching for….
Then why had Ultima called Clive by that very name?
Was it just another trick from the deceitful God?
Or?
His eyes darted towards Wyvern and clenched his fists tightly.
What aren’t you telling me, uncle?
Suddenly, Bahamut’s body began to glow with veins of white light. The air around him grew heavier as waves of aether concentrated around the Eikon. As if knowing what was to come, Margrace’s hand was already engulfed in flames while his eyes fixed on the glowing Eikon.
Yet out of nowhere, a javelin whistled through the air past Wyvern and Odin, striking straight into Bahamut’s chest with a sickening thud. Lightning erupted from the Bahamut’s massive frame as the Dragon reeled back with a thunderous roar that shook the ground beneath them. When the dust finally settled, another figure appeared to the left of Wyvern, revealing a man with a long beard, cloaked in flowing purple robes.
The Eikon of Lightning. Ramuh.
A smirk tugged at the corner of the old man’s mouth as he turned briefly toward Odin, then to Bahamut and the chaos below. Raising his javelin, which lightning was dancing across, Ramuh pointed at Bahamut and said with a chilling tone.
“I’m here to even the odds. Any objections?”