Chapter: 94 – A Place to Begin Again
The air of Eorzea shimmered faintly as Aetherviel pierced through its skies, cloaked in veil, unseen by the mortals below. Sirius descended alone, walking the narrow path that wound through crag and forest until he reached the quiet clearing where the twenty Black Mages had made their camp.
They noticed him at once. Yellow eyes turned from the dim glow of cooking fires, from stacks of tomes, from the small plots of earth they had coaxed into gardens. Some froze in silence, others set aside their tasks and gathered. They did not bow—they were learning, slowly, to stand upright and meet the world not as weapons, but as beings who deserved to exist.
Sirius spoke plainly, without ceremony.
"It's time," he said, his voice steady. "I've come to ask you something important—something that will decide the future of your kind."
A murmur spread through them. One of the taller mages tilted his head. "The future…?"
Sirius nodded. "Vivi, in Gaia, has done something remarkable. With will alone, he created a new generation—children of your kind. Ten little ones, innocent, full of light. They are proof that you are not doomed to end. You are capable of continuing. Of living. Of building."
The camp grew restless. Some gasped softly, some whispered to each other. A small mage with a cracked hat stepped forward. "Children? Made… from us? We thought… we only end."
"You can begin again," Sirius said firmly. "But beginnings need roots, and soil, and shelter. You need a place where those children—and the ones to come—can grow without fear. A breeding ground, yes. But more than that: a home."
Silence fell.
Their yellow eyes glowed faintly in the dusk, all fixed on him. Sirius raised a hand, and an orb of light shimmered into a projection above his palm. Scenes unfolded—the Black Mage Village in Gaia, the graves that dotted its quiet earth, the small shack where 288 and two guardians tended to the newborn Vivi children. He showed them laughter, wide-eyed curiosity, the way innocence looked before grief touched it.
"Half of your kin I brought here, to Eorzea," Sirius continued. "They live. They breathe. They are waiting for you to take the first step. What I ask now is simple: decide. Where in this world will you make a new village? Where will you raise those who come after?"
The projection faded. All that remained was the weight of choice.
---
The mages shifted uneasily. One spoke, his voice gravelly. "Hidden. It must be hidden. If people find us… they fear us. They kill us."
Another shook his head. "But hidden too deep… and the young will never learn. They must see the sky, the trees. They must laugh."
Sirius folded his arms, watching. He would not decide for them. That was the point.
A braver one raised a staff. "The Black Shroud has forests. Old, dark. Monsters prowl, but not too strong. Trees high enough to hide us."
"Too close to Gridania," another countered. "People walk those woods. They'd see us."
"La Noscea then. The sea air. Caves in cliffs. We could hide there."
"But storms come. Floods. Children could drown."
"Thanalan? The desert swallows everything. Who would look for us in sand?"
"Who would live there?" another snapped. "Heat kills as fast as blades."
The voices overlapped, ideas clashing. Sirius listened, silent, proud. They were not parrots anymore, not mindless extensions of another's will. They argued. They cared.
One of the gentlest among them, a mage who often tended their little garden plots, finally spoke. His voice was soft but carried. "We need balance. Hidden from eyes… but not from life. Monsters strong enough to teach, weak enough not to kill. Soil for food. Rivers for water. Trees for shade. A place where children can run."
The debate quieted. They looked at him, then at Sirius.
Sirius inclined his head. "He is right. You don't need the hardest land, nor the softest. You need one where growth is possible. Where survival is not torment, but lesson."
One mage raised a trembling hand. "But… which land is that?"
Sirius looked around them, then up at the stars. He would not name the place. He would let them find the words. "Describe it," he said. "And let the choice form in your hearts."
---
They closed their eyes, one by one.
A tall mage whispered, "A valley, wrapped in trees. Rivers that glimmer in the moonlight. Birds above, beasts below."
Another added, "Low hills, where the wind is kind. Caves, where storms can't touch us."
A third: "Fields for food. Aether in the air, soft but strong."
Slowly, the image formed between them—not a map, not a name, but a dream. A hidden cradle in the world's folds, unseen, untouched, waiting.
"Yes," murmured one. "I see it."
"I see it too," said another.
One by one, twenty heads nodded.
Sirius exhaled softly. They had chosen—not a place marked by coordinates, but by vision. That was enough. He could guide them to the right corner of the world when the time came. What mattered was that they had decided, together.
---
"You have done well," Sirius said finally. "This choice is yours, not mine. You have dreamed of a home, and so it will be."
The camp breathed easier. Some straightened with pride, some clasped each other's shoulders. For the first time, they had not been told what they were. They had told themselves.
Sirius lifted his hand again. Light shimmered. "When the time comes, children will be brought here. They will grow in this soil, in this shelter. As they age, they will know two homes: Gaia, where your roots began, and Eorzea, where your branches rise."
The projection shifted, showing children laughing beneath trees, learning spells, sparring with weak monsters. "From child, to teen, to adult, to elder. This will be their path."
The mages watched with wide eyes. Some smiled faintly, shyly.
"Your task," Sirius continued, "is not only to protect. You must teach. Discipline, joy, sorrow, right, wrong. You must show them not only how to survive—but how to live."
A hush fell.
Sirius let it linger before he spoke again, more softly. "And remember this: graves are not the only way to honor your dead. Look at the living. Ten children laugh now in Gaia. Twenty of you stand here in Eorzea. The past can rest. The future must not."
Several mages lowered their heads, ashamed. He knew why—they thought of the endless hours spent brooding over graves, lost to grief.
"Do not waste your 120 years," Sirius said firmly. His voice was iron now. "I granted you that span not for mourning, but for shaping what comes next. Do not squander it in shadows. Step into the light. Teach. Guide. Protect."
They nodded, quietly, deeply moved.
---
As Sirius prepared to leave, one of them spoke, voice trembling with newfound conviction. "We… will make it. A place. A home. For them."
Another added, "No more only endings. We will… begin."
Sirius allowed himself the faintest smile. "That is all I wished to hear."
He turned toward the stars. Above him, Aetherviel shimmered faintly, waiting. The threads of fate pulsed like woven light, and for the first time in generations, the Black Mages had not been dragged by them—they had taken a step forward of their own.
Sirius thought of Vivi's children. Of 288 and the two guardians. Of the twenty here, now ready to build.
"Yes," he murmured, eyes narrowing with resolve. "A place to begin again."