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[Lightning Returns] The Other (4070 words)
Title: The Other
Fandom: Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII
Character/Pairing(s): Lumina, Snow, little bits Noel and Vanille, introducing not!Hope
Rating: PG
Warning: a somewhat canon-but-not-really original-character-who-isn't-original?
Summary: AU where Lumina wasn't the only look-alike, and God has strange ideas when it comes to what makes humans weak.
He was everything God had cast out.
Missing; incomplete. He was the one too shy to speak up, too angry to do more than stomp his feet, too sad to make a difference. He was the one who clung to Lumina and hid behind Vanille, letting the Saint whisper soothing words to him as she ran fingers through his hair, just repeating that soothing motions for hours at a time. He was the scared little boy who cried shamelessly for his own future and for the future of those he loved because he knew what was going to happen, and he couldn’t say.
Lumina had glared the first time they met. She hadn’t trusted him, had danced around him in circles and openly mocked his wide eyes and withdrawn stance. They had known each other instantly, but there was a barrier between the two of them. She was the rejected parts of a woman who longed to be brave and grow up far too quickly — he was the cast off excess of God’s plan.
"Well, that’s not fair!" She mocked him, leaning forward in the air with one finger tapping cruelly smiling lips. "She cast me off ages ago! Why, oh why, would he want to keep you?"
He wasn’t sure. He was sure. Once upon a time, a hurt and scared little boy decided to get stronger not by throwing away his emotions but by embracing them; he understood that his weaknesses were what helped him survive and he turned those weaknesses into determination, into strength. Emotions became the shields, and memories became swords. Once upon a time Hope Estheim had done what very few succeeded in and transformed human pain into progression for mankind. He turned loss and loneliness into a future for everyone else around him.
Hundreds of years later, God disagreed.
"I don’t know," the boy lied, unable to lift his voice to more than a whisper. It was alright for him to lie; he was the liar, the weak, the child scared of everything.
Lumina gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him in the slightest, but then reached out to tug him to her, giggling at the look of shock on his face. She was a few inches shorter than him, but that didn’t account for much when she preferred walking in the air as opposed to having her feet on the ground.
"You can’t use the same name, you know." She pointed out. "That would be too confusing, and it wouldn’t be true. Because we’re not our real selves, we need new names. So what should we name you…?"
He didn’t understand how she could jump from one emotion to another, how she could switch between the fond tone and malice, but her hands were surprisingly warm.
"And those clothes!" She tsked, letting go of him to tug on his capelet a moment until he cringed away from her, pulling the fabric back self-consciously. "It wouldn’t do to look like clones, you know. Someone’s gotta figure out that we’re different, or else people will panic. Everyone knows who Hope Estheim is. If you wear the same thing, that’s who people will mistake you for. And you don’t want that… do you?"
The words were mocking, but he didn’t mind them. He shook his head, eyes still glued to the dirt underneath his sneakers.
Lumina took that as an open invitation, and laughed and laughed.
—
She dressed him like a doll in pale blue-greens and whites, a direct contrast to her red and black ensemble. Everything faded and nothing bright in the fabrics, all designed for him to blend into the background and not draw attention. She left him with Vanille, whose green eyes had teared up upon seeing him and spent hours just brushing his hair while he closed his eyes to listen to her humming.
"Stay out of sight." Lumina warned him, but he could do little when members of the Order would come to speak with the Saint and would whisper to each other when they saw him, words such as director and miracle thrown around. He tried to stay put, he really did, but there was an insatiable curiosity about the world now (what had happened to it now that he was gone?) which led him outside the gates of the Order while Vanille was asleep, still dreaming of the day when Fang would return and things would be alright again.
The sunlight almost felt too bright, and he stuck to the shadows, eyes wide as he watched citizens go about their daily business; watched cats and dogs roam the streets, some brushing up against his legs in attempts to gain some food from him. He pet them absentmindedly, crouched in a corner and trying hard to look inconspicuous as his eyes hungrily drank in the sight of people talking and laughing with each other.
It didn’t last long, though, until a young woman sat down next to him, smiling gently as he turned wide eyes to her and asking if he was lost: are you alright? Where are your parents?
He didn’t answer her, but attempted to smile in reassurance. When her concerns grew, he only pointed to the cathedral. He wasn’t alone. He had Vanille, and she was there. The woman didn’t look any less worried, but stopped asking her questions, instead opting to share an apple with him, which he took graciously.
He snuck out again to meet the strange woman again the next day and the next, and they found a kind of silent camaraderie in watching life pass by around them.
—
The nameless woman was gone one day, and he knew without a doubt that death had finally taken her.
—
"Are you okay?"
He startled, but pressed his face further into his knees, tightening his arms around his legs even as he tensed up at the voice. He knew who that was. Knew that it was one of the faces he wasn’t supposed to allow to see him. Instead of answering, he shook his head slightly and prayed the man would go away and leave him alone.
There was a quiet swish of clothing next to him and a warmth, and he knew that his prayer hadn’t come true.
"You’ve been sitting here for a few days already." The voice was tired, but warm.
There was a sound against the wall behind them, and he snuck a peek around his knees at the young man who sat down next to him. Worn blue clothing and unbrushed brown hair. The man (the Shadow Hunter, he heard from various townsfolk through the days) had his eyes closed as he leaned his head against the wall. He didn’t know why the man was sitting with him, but it didn’t seem right to just come out and ask.
Not to mention, Lumina had warned about drawing the wrong sorts of attention. This, he thought, might have been what she was talking about.
As if mere thoughts of her was enough to summon her presence, he heard the familiar huff of amused breath next to him just as the Shadow Hunter tensed.
"You’re looking relaxed." Lumina greeted cheerfully, her blue eyes settled on the brown-haired man. "Caught your fill of big baddies for the day?"
"Lumina." The Hunter greeted flatly, one eye open and watching her warily. "Had your fill of ruining people’s lives for today?"
"Oh, I’m just taking a quick break." She quipped back, not missing a beat even as she skipped down the alley toward them with her hands clasped behind her back. "Didn’t want you to get too bored without me now."
"Wouldn’t that be a shame." The words were dry.
With Lumina now here, he looked up, arms still wrapped tight around his knees but now all he wanted to do was get back to Vanille and tell the Pulsian girl all about the faceless woman who sat with him for so many days. He had refused to tell her before, instead opting to stay silent as the girl asked him question after question, finally looking worn and defeated even as she pulled him down to her shoulder.
There was a sharp intake of breath beside him, and Lumina laughed as she stopped beside him, footfall light as she spun. “Oh, so you finally noticed! Did you really think that it was just some lost child in need of your help? Did you think that maybe you could make it up to him if you helped a child who looked like him?” She stopped and bent at the waist, reaching out to wrap her arms around his head and tangle her fingers through his hair like Vanille often did, except her blue blue eyes weren’t looking at him at all. She was staring at the man besides them. “Do you like the way I dressed him? He’s such a pretty doll, isn’t he?”
Noel Kreiss scowled (because that look, that look of hurt and anger and disappointment, was somehow so personal and unlike the aloof Shadow Hunter who passed through rumors and whispers), and pulled away. “So he’s like you, then.”
"Yup!" There was glee in her voice. "My very own little big brother. Right now he’s too nice to say anything to you, but give him time."
He wanted to protest that he wasn’t staying silent to be nice, but rather because he didn’t know what to say, what to do to make anything better in this situation. He didn’t have anything mean to say to Noel; he just didn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t make the situation worse.
Lumina didn’t give him time to articulate that before she pulled him up to his feet, now ignoring the hunter. “Come on, then! I think we’ve overstayed our welcome in Luxerion for now. But that’s okay. There are plenty of other places to play.”
—
He wanted to at least say goodbye to Vanille, but wasn’t given the time before they promptly arrived in Yuusnan. It was with great consternation that he found out he didn’t have any access to the extra portions of power like Lumina did — Lumina who could dance through the Chaos and summon monsters to do her bidding, who could warp reality with a twist of her pinky and glide through time and space like they were created specifically to entertain her. Lumina was borne of the Chaos and it welcomed her with adoration.
He got no such welcome. The Chaos did not seek to hurt him, but nor did it respond positively to him in any way. It was as if he were invisible to the souls, as invisible as they were to God.
He hadn’t a shred of magic, an inkling of power.
Everything special and extraordinary about him had been left with the original, and all he was… was the leftovers.
It was made especially obvious when Lumina dragged him by the hand to watch the firework, when she shoved him gleefully in front of the crowd for better seats only to give a protesting shout when someone else shoved her in return. He watched as she bared her teeth at the slow-footed adult, looking on the verge of releasing a cloud of Chaos over the vicinity just for spite. He would have spoken up then, might have gathered the courage to tug at her hand and convince her to ignore the slight, had he not tumbled over someone’s bag at that moment. Had he not attempted to steady himself against the old and rusted railing, only to have it give way underneath him.
Had not the entire crowd gasped and shouted when he went tumbling over the edge of the supply line into the warehouse below.
—
It wasn’t often that Snow saw Lumina — the unnatural child of Chaos who looked so much like a younger Serah that it hurt to look at her — but their meetings were often memorable, to say the least. The first time because he had been shocked still while she laughed and brought a roof down upon his head, and the second time the girl actually pretended to be Serah ‘just to see what he would do’.
Snow didn’t like her, couldn’t stand the sight of her nor her ruthless sense of humor, but he couldn’t deny that he was always glad to see her safe. She was a child, after all, a child who looked just like Serah.
So he was rather surprised when he met her this time only to see her looking so serious, so uncertain for the very first time as she demanded, “Fix him!”
"Fix who?" He asked dumbly before his eyes focused on the crumpled form behind Lumina, who looked like she was shaking. He had half a mind to comfort her, to reassure her, but then remembered that she liked destroying entire buildings as a side hobby and tended to laugh rather than reassure when someone got hurt.
But then the figure behind her shifted and Snow’s attention was held by a very (strangely) familiar form with thin limbs and silver hair.
(Unlike Noel who had never met Hope as a child before, Snow had no doubt who that was.)
It was mere seconds before Snow had picked up the small form and was shouting for a healer (his healing had always been subpar at best), and Lumina had somehow disappeared once again to leave him the problems (but this time, it was a welcomed problem no matter how worried he was. It had been so long, too long, since his search for Hope had died down, Snow wondered if he would ever manage to see the kid again before the end of the world. Of course, he hadn’t exactly thought kid as literal).
—
He woke up tired. There was a dull ache to one side of his body, and he could feel his left leg encased in something hard. A cast?
He pushed himself up from bed, eyes darting around to take in his surroundings. An unfamiliar room, lavish but sparse in furniture, that could easy fit two dozen people. His left side was bandaged up, the fabric on his arm soft while his lower leg was in a thick white cast.
(He fell, he remembered, and hit a large metal crate hard and at an angle, before hitting the ground and rolling to disperse the impact.)
Casts were unfamiliar to him, but understandable in this world where healing magic was rare and now a commodity. Magic was bought and sold by vendors, but those without the talent (which was the majority of the people) wouldn’t be able to use it. Easier to dilute healing spells and allow natural healing to make its own way when humanity’s cells never grew old anyway. People could afford the several weeks or months it took to heal.
Lumina was gone again. He wasn’t surprised — she did whatever she wanted, after all. He never expected her to wait around for him. What did surprise him was the place he was at, and the man snoring loudly sprawled against a couch pushed to the wall.
Snow Villiers hadn’t changed one bit, he thought with an almost exasperated tint. And this time the idea of hiding his face never occurred to him, seeing as it was well beyond the point of attempting to hide. Instead, he swung himself out of bed and hobbled over to the couch, wondering if he should shake the man awake or let him sleep.
Luckily, the choice was made for him when Snow woke in an instant, perhaps because his instincts had been honed to the point that no one would be able to approach him while asleep and not have him know about it.
“Snow,” he greeted, voice feeling raspy from disuse. There was a certain amount of apprehension, of fear and of old anger, but it was from a life not his. “What am I doing here?”
“Hope.” And Snow was up in an instant, checking over the boy. “What are you doing, you shouldn’t be up yet.”
He didn’t remember the l’Cie being this fussy before.
“I’m not Hope.” He insisted, because it was true. Hope Estheim was gone from Nova Chrysalia, and he was all that was left. The leftover wasn’t a leader, wasn’t a beacon of stability, and certainly wasn’t ready or willing to face the world. He was just… a shadow, a shade. Not quite a full soul, sent away by God and by a man desperate to save at least a portion of his own mind.
Snow appeared to ignore him, reaching almost hesitantly to place a hand on his shoulder and guide him back toward the bed. “The healer said it’ll be another two days before the cast comes off. You don’t want to make the break worse by walking on it, do you?”
It was irritating, and made his temper flare. “You don’t call Lumina Serah. Don’t treat me like you know me.”
That, if nothing else, stopped Snow and that worried expression (not for him, no, never for him).
He gave the man a few seconds to digest that information. “Do you get it now?”
He looked away, feeling like he shouldn’t be witnessing the display of emotions that crossed Snow’s face. The anger and grief and despair and resignation… he knew, of course, that those left behind had lost too many people. It was that ability to sympathise that God hated, because the Maker wanted little to do with humanity as a group, much less with individuals.
He felt awkward, standing there and staring (glaring) at the floor while he waited for someone who could have once been a friend to understand that he wasn’t who Snow thought he was.
“He’s like me.”
And there she was again, coming out from absolutely nowhere. Lumina looked just as cheerful as ever, footfalls light as she stepped across the room, swaying to a beat no one else could hear. She whirled once, twice, with her arms above her head and her dress lifting with the centrifugal force.
“Hope’s not dead.” Snow’s words were flat; forceful. “And you—”
“Me what?” Lumina taunted, a finger to her cheek as she smiled slyly. “Poor baby… who do you think I am? Because I can tell you now, whatever you expect, you’re completely wrong. The same goes for him.”
He didn’t have to look up from where his gaze had strayed toward the window and the bright lights of Yuusnan beyond that to know Lumina had nodded toward him.
“He’s not Hope so you really shouldn’t call him that. Doesn’t seem to like any of the names I give him, though, but that’s okay.” A momentary jerk on his wrist to one direction and he found himself cheek to cheek with the pink-haired girl as she leaned up into him. “He’s just like me, so I’m not alone.”
The slight concession she gave, that tiny admission, felt heavier than anything he had ever heard from her before.
Snow was silent, watching their interaction with an inscrutable expression.
He didn’t know what to think, but suddenly, he didn’t want to be there in the room with them at all.
—
Lumina came and went as she pleased after that, leaving him to heal in the spacious room that had been designated his for the time being in Yuusnan. Snow didn’t visit again, although sometimes he felt like he was being watched.
He wonders, in those two days, what it would be like to lie — to claim that he was in fact Hope Estheim, that he might have one day woken up in this body and maybe forgot a few things, but claiming the name and legacy of a man who left behind people who cared for him. Would it be stealing? Would it even be a bad thing? Surely Hope wouldn’t want people to worry about them when their worry would do no good anyway.
He had an elaborate story all planned out; a different tale for every hour of the day, stretched thin as he watched the sun rise and fall from behind the window, watched the sky light up with fireworks and then rest before the dawn. He didn’t need food, didn’t need sleep. What was the use of such things for someone like him?
Meals were left sitting on the table where strangers brought trays, and the bed left untouched as he seated himself in front of the window to watch the ongoings of the city. So much like Luxerion, but so different at the same time. All those people, just going about their days, laughing and arguing and whispering secrets.
He had secrets, too. He wanted to think that made him a little bit more like them.
He wanted to sneak out again and sit amongst the busy people. He couldn’t wait for the cast to come off; then he might be able to leave the large, too silent room in the Yuusnan palace.
He didn’t want to be here with the suspicious stares.
It wasn’t until the healer came again to take off the cast (a strange man garbed in silver and black with pale hair and a stern expression as he ordered more rest for the recently broken bone) that Snow showed up again, this time cautious around the one-who-was-not-Hope, his fringe shadowing his expression. When the healer left, they were left to their own devices. He was swinging his leg back and forth, glad to be rid of the heavy weight, while watching Snow just as warily as the man was watching him.
It was Snow’s impatience that made itself known first.
“Well,” the man said. “Who are you, then?”
He didn’t know how to answer. Who was he? He was Hope Estheim, but he wasn’t at the same time. He was the boy who was left behind, the one scared of gaining attention, but also scared of being left behind. And he was the one who was tired. Tired of fighting for the future, tired of struggling for every inch against fate and destiny and divinity and things so much greater than a person could handle. He was the one who didn’t want to deal with it anymore, but also couldn’t stop himself from getting involved because if he didn’t work hard enough, if he didn’t keep going, then everyone was going to disappear from his grasp.
He was the human weakness thrown away by a God.
In the end, his gaze returned to the window and the lights outside as he thumped his heel against the bottom of the window seat in an attempt to gather his thoughts.
“I’m not really anyone,” he murmured honestly. “I’m kind of who you think I am, but I’m not, too. I’m just a part of a whole. Cut off.” Like Lumina.
He didn’t want to explain it anymore. Was sick of even thinking about it. All he wanted to do was watch people watching the fireworks: he just wanted to see the faces of those around him lit up by wonder and delight. It was a strangely enchanting sight.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Snow protested, sounding angry. “If you are and aren’t who I think you are… then where’s Hope? People don’t just disappear like that.”
And there it was again, that hurt and that vindictive, childish anger. Pale green eyes glared at the man. “You did. Everyone else did. Why can’t he?”
The venom behind the tone prompted Snow to take a step back, to reconsider the direction the conversation was going. They were both getting irritated now, each just feeding the other’s ire. “If you’re not Hope, then how can you know that?”
Of course he knew about it. It was one of the feelings of resentment and loneliness that created his existence, after all.
“It doesn’t matter.” He bit out, because the more he thought about it, the more upset he felt. He didn’t like being upset, not when he could instead be immersed in someone else’s positive mood. “I’m not really him, and you’re never going to find Hope anyway.”
He turned his attention back to the window, back to the fireworks, determined to ignore Snow.
“No one’s ever going to find him again.”
Fandom: Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII
Character/Pairing(s): Lumina, Snow, little bits Noel and Vanille, introducing not!Hope
Rating: PG
Warning: a somewhat canon-but-not-really original-character-who-isn't-original?
Summary: AU where Lumina wasn't the only look-alike, and God has strange ideas when it comes to what makes humans weak.
He was everything God had cast out.
Missing; incomplete. He was the one too shy to speak up, too angry to do more than stomp his feet, too sad to make a difference. He was the one who clung to Lumina and hid behind Vanille, letting the Saint whisper soothing words to him as she ran fingers through his hair, just repeating that soothing motions for hours at a time. He was the scared little boy who cried shamelessly for his own future and for the future of those he loved because he knew what was going to happen, and he couldn’t say.
Lumina had glared the first time they met. She hadn’t trusted him, had danced around him in circles and openly mocked his wide eyes and withdrawn stance. They had known each other instantly, but there was a barrier between the two of them. She was the rejected parts of a woman who longed to be brave and grow up far too quickly — he was the cast off excess of God’s plan.
"Well, that’s not fair!" She mocked him, leaning forward in the air with one finger tapping cruelly smiling lips. "She cast me off ages ago! Why, oh why, would he want to keep you?"
He wasn’t sure. He was sure. Once upon a time, a hurt and scared little boy decided to get stronger not by throwing away his emotions but by embracing them; he understood that his weaknesses were what helped him survive and he turned those weaknesses into determination, into strength. Emotions became the shields, and memories became swords. Once upon a time Hope Estheim had done what very few succeeded in and transformed human pain into progression for mankind. He turned loss and loneliness into a future for everyone else around him.
Hundreds of years later, God disagreed.
"I don’t know," the boy lied, unable to lift his voice to more than a whisper. It was alright for him to lie; he was the liar, the weak, the child scared of everything.
Lumina gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him in the slightest, but then reached out to tug him to her, giggling at the look of shock on his face. She was a few inches shorter than him, but that didn’t account for much when she preferred walking in the air as opposed to having her feet on the ground.
"You can’t use the same name, you know." She pointed out. "That would be too confusing, and it wouldn’t be true. Because we’re not our real selves, we need new names. So what should we name you…?"
He didn’t understand how she could jump from one emotion to another, how she could switch between the fond tone and malice, but her hands were surprisingly warm.
"And those clothes!" She tsked, letting go of him to tug on his capelet a moment until he cringed away from her, pulling the fabric back self-consciously. "It wouldn’t do to look like clones, you know. Someone’s gotta figure out that we’re different, or else people will panic. Everyone knows who Hope Estheim is. If you wear the same thing, that’s who people will mistake you for. And you don’t want that… do you?"
The words were mocking, but he didn’t mind them. He shook his head, eyes still glued to the dirt underneath his sneakers.
Lumina took that as an open invitation, and laughed and laughed.
—
She dressed him like a doll in pale blue-greens and whites, a direct contrast to her red and black ensemble. Everything faded and nothing bright in the fabrics, all designed for him to blend into the background and not draw attention. She left him with Vanille, whose green eyes had teared up upon seeing him and spent hours just brushing his hair while he closed his eyes to listen to her humming.
"Stay out of sight." Lumina warned him, but he could do little when members of the Order would come to speak with the Saint and would whisper to each other when they saw him, words such as director and miracle thrown around. He tried to stay put, he really did, but there was an insatiable curiosity about the world now (what had happened to it now that he was gone?) which led him outside the gates of the Order while Vanille was asleep, still dreaming of the day when Fang would return and things would be alright again.
The sunlight almost felt too bright, and he stuck to the shadows, eyes wide as he watched citizens go about their daily business; watched cats and dogs roam the streets, some brushing up against his legs in attempts to gain some food from him. He pet them absentmindedly, crouched in a corner and trying hard to look inconspicuous as his eyes hungrily drank in the sight of people talking and laughing with each other.
It didn’t last long, though, until a young woman sat down next to him, smiling gently as he turned wide eyes to her and asking if he was lost: are you alright? Where are your parents?
He didn’t answer her, but attempted to smile in reassurance. When her concerns grew, he only pointed to the cathedral. He wasn’t alone. He had Vanille, and she was there. The woman didn’t look any less worried, but stopped asking her questions, instead opting to share an apple with him, which he took graciously.
He snuck out again to meet the strange woman again the next day and the next, and they found a kind of silent camaraderie in watching life pass by around them.
—
The nameless woman was gone one day, and he knew without a doubt that death had finally taken her.
—
"Are you okay?"
He startled, but pressed his face further into his knees, tightening his arms around his legs even as he tensed up at the voice. He knew who that was. Knew that it was one of the faces he wasn’t supposed to allow to see him. Instead of answering, he shook his head slightly and prayed the man would go away and leave him alone.
There was a quiet swish of clothing next to him and a warmth, and he knew that his prayer hadn’t come true.
"You’ve been sitting here for a few days already." The voice was tired, but warm.
There was a sound against the wall behind them, and he snuck a peek around his knees at the young man who sat down next to him. Worn blue clothing and unbrushed brown hair. The man (the Shadow Hunter, he heard from various townsfolk through the days) had his eyes closed as he leaned his head against the wall. He didn’t know why the man was sitting with him, but it didn’t seem right to just come out and ask.
Not to mention, Lumina had warned about drawing the wrong sorts of attention. This, he thought, might have been what she was talking about.
As if mere thoughts of her was enough to summon her presence, he heard the familiar huff of amused breath next to him just as the Shadow Hunter tensed.
"You’re looking relaxed." Lumina greeted cheerfully, her blue eyes settled on the brown-haired man. "Caught your fill of big baddies for the day?"
"Lumina." The Hunter greeted flatly, one eye open and watching her warily. "Had your fill of ruining people’s lives for today?"
"Oh, I’m just taking a quick break." She quipped back, not missing a beat even as she skipped down the alley toward them with her hands clasped behind her back. "Didn’t want you to get too bored without me now."
"Wouldn’t that be a shame." The words were dry.
With Lumina now here, he looked up, arms still wrapped tight around his knees but now all he wanted to do was get back to Vanille and tell the Pulsian girl all about the faceless woman who sat with him for so many days. He had refused to tell her before, instead opting to stay silent as the girl asked him question after question, finally looking worn and defeated even as she pulled him down to her shoulder.
There was a sharp intake of breath beside him, and Lumina laughed as she stopped beside him, footfall light as she spun. “Oh, so you finally noticed! Did you really think that it was just some lost child in need of your help? Did you think that maybe you could make it up to him if you helped a child who looked like him?” She stopped and bent at the waist, reaching out to wrap her arms around his head and tangle her fingers through his hair like Vanille often did, except her blue blue eyes weren’t looking at him at all. She was staring at the man besides them. “Do you like the way I dressed him? He’s such a pretty doll, isn’t he?”
Noel Kreiss scowled (because that look, that look of hurt and anger and disappointment, was somehow so personal and unlike the aloof Shadow Hunter who passed through rumors and whispers), and pulled away. “So he’s like you, then.”
"Yup!" There was glee in her voice. "My very own little big brother. Right now he’s too nice to say anything to you, but give him time."
He wanted to protest that he wasn’t staying silent to be nice, but rather because he didn’t know what to say, what to do to make anything better in this situation. He didn’t have anything mean to say to Noel; he just didn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t make the situation worse.
Lumina didn’t give him time to articulate that before she pulled him up to his feet, now ignoring the hunter. “Come on, then! I think we’ve overstayed our welcome in Luxerion for now. But that’s okay. There are plenty of other places to play.”
—
He wanted to at least say goodbye to Vanille, but wasn’t given the time before they promptly arrived in Yuusnan. It was with great consternation that he found out he didn’t have any access to the extra portions of power like Lumina did — Lumina who could dance through the Chaos and summon monsters to do her bidding, who could warp reality with a twist of her pinky and glide through time and space like they were created specifically to entertain her. Lumina was borne of the Chaos and it welcomed her with adoration.
He got no such welcome. The Chaos did not seek to hurt him, but nor did it respond positively to him in any way. It was as if he were invisible to the souls, as invisible as they were to God.
He hadn’t a shred of magic, an inkling of power.
Everything special and extraordinary about him had been left with the original, and all he was… was the leftovers.
It was made especially obvious when Lumina dragged him by the hand to watch the firework, when she shoved him gleefully in front of the crowd for better seats only to give a protesting shout when someone else shoved her in return. He watched as she bared her teeth at the slow-footed adult, looking on the verge of releasing a cloud of Chaos over the vicinity just for spite. He would have spoken up then, might have gathered the courage to tug at her hand and convince her to ignore the slight, had he not tumbled over someone’s bag at that moment. Had he not attempted to steady himself against the old and rusted railing, only to have it give way underneath him.
Had not the entire crowd gasped and shouted when he went tumbling over the edge of the supply line into the warehouse below.
—
It wasn’t often that Snow saw Lumina — the unnatural child of Chaos who looked so much like a younger Serah that it hurt to look at her — but their meetings were often memorable, to say the least. The first time because he had been shocked still while she laughed and brought a roof down upon his head, and the second time the girl actually pretended to be Serah ‘just to see what he would do’.
Snow didn’t like her, couldn’t stand the sight of her nor her ruthless sense of humor, but he couldn’t deny that he was always glad to see her safe. She was a child, after all, a child who looked just like Serah.
So he was rather surprised when he met her this time only to see her looking so serious, so uncertain for the very first time as she demanded, “Fix him!”
"Fix who?" He asked dumbly before his eyes focused on the crumpled form behind Lumina, who looked like she was shaking. He had half a mind to comfort her, to reassure her, but then remembered that she liked destroying entire buildings as a side hobby and tended to laugh rather than reassure when someone got hurt.
But then the figure behind her shifted and Snow’s attention was held by a very (strangely) familiar form with thin limbs and silver hair.
(Unlike Noel who had never met Hope as a child before, Snow had no doubt who that was.)
It was mere seconds before Snow had picked up the small form and was shouting for a healer (his healing had always been subpar at best), and Lumina had somehow disappeared once again to leave him the problems (but this time, it was a welcomed problem no matter how worried he was. It had been so long, too long, since his search for Hope had died down, Snow wondered if he would ever manage to see the kid again before the end of the world. Of course, he hadn’t exactly thought kid as literal).
—
He woke up tired. There was a dull ache to one side of his body, and he could feel his left leg encased in something hard. A cast?
He pushed himself up from bed, eyes darting around to take in his surroundings. An unfamiliar room, lavish but sparse in furniture, that could easy fit two dozen people. His left side was bandaged up, the fabric on his arm soft while his lower leg was in a thick white cast.
(He fell, he remembered, and hit a large metal crate hard and at an angle, before hitting the ground and rolling to disperse the impact.)
Casts were unfamiliar to him, but understandable in this world where healing magic was rare and now a commodity. Magic was bought and sold by vendors, but those without the talent (which was the majority of the people) wouldn’t be able to use it. Easier to dilute healing spells and allow natural healing to make its own way when humanity’s cells never grew old anyway. People could afford the several weeks or months it took to heal.
Lumina was gone again. He wasn’t surprised — she did whatever she wanted, after all. He never expected her to wait around for him. What did surprise him was the place he was at, and the man snoring loudly sprawled against a couch pushed to the wall.
Snow Villiers hadn’t changed one bit, he thought with an almost exasperated tint. And this time the idea of hiding his face never occurred to him, seeing as it was well beyond the point of attempting to hide. Instead, he swung himself out of bed and hobbled over to the couch, wondering if he should shake the man awake or let him sleep.
Luckily, the choice was made for him when Snow woke in an instant, perhaps because his instincts had been honed to the point that no one would be able to approach him while asleep and not have him know about it.
“Snow,” he greeted, voice feeling raspy from disuse. There was a certain amount of apprehension, of fear and of old anger, but it was from a life not his. “What am I doing here?”
“Hope.” And Snow was up in an instant, checking over the boy. “What are you doing, you shouldn’t be up yet.”
He didn’t remember the l’Cie being this fussy before.
“I’m not Hope.” He insisted, because it was true. Hope Estheim was gone from Nova Chrysalia, and he was all that was left. The leftover wasn’t a leader, wasn’t a beacon of stability, and certainly wasn’t ready or willing to face the world. He was just… a shadow, a shade. Not quite a full soul, sent away by God and by a man desperate to save at least a portion of his own mind.
Snow appeared to ignore him, reaching almost hesitantly to place a hand on his shoulder and guide him back toward the bed. “The healer said it’ll be another two days before the cast comes off. You don’t want to make the break worse by walking on it, do you?”
It was irritating, and made his temper flare. “You don’t call Lumina Serah. Don’t treat me like you know me.”
That, if nothing else, stopped Snow and that worried expression (not for him, no, never for him).
He gave the man a few seconds to digest that information. “Do you get it now?”
He looked away, feeling like he shouldn’t be witnessing the display of emotions that crossed Snow’s face. The anger and grief and despair and resignation… he knew, of course, that those left behind had lost too many people. It was that ability to sympathise that God hated, because the Maker wanted little to do with humanity as a group, much less with individuals.
He felt awkward, standing there and staring (glaring) at the floor while he waited for someone who could have once been a friend to understand that he wasn’t who Snow thought he was.
“He’s like me.”
And there she was again, coming out from absolutely nowhere. Lumina looked just as cheerful as ever, footfalls light as she stepped across the room, swaying to a beat no one else could hear. She whirled once, twice, with her arms above her head and her dress lifting with the centrifugal force.
“Hope’s not dead.” Snow’s words were flat; forceful. “And you—”
“Me what?” Lumina taunted, a finger to her cheek as she smiled slyly. “Poor baby… who do you think I am? Because I can tell you now, whatever you expect, you’re completely wrong. The same goes for him.”
He didn’t have to look up from where his gaze had strayed toward the window and the bright lights of Yuusnan beyond that to know Lumina had nodded toward him.
“He’s not Hope so you really shouldn’t call him that. Doesn’t seem to like any of the names I give him, though, but that’s okay.” A momentary jerk on his wrist to one direction and he found himself cheek to cheek with the pink-haired girl as she leaned up into him. “He’s just like me, so I’m not alone.”
The slight concession she gave, that tiny admission, felt heavier than anything he had ever heard from her before.
Snow was silent, watching their interaction with an inscrutable expression.
He didn’t know what to think, but suddenly, he didn’t want to be there in the room with them at all.
—
Lumina came and went as she pleased after that, leaving him to heal in the spacious room that had been designated his for the time being in Yuusnan. Snow didn’t visit again, although sometimes he felt like he was being watched.
He wonders, in those two days, what it would be like to lie — to claim that he was in fact Hope Estheim, that he might have one day woken up in this body and maybe forgot a few things, but claiming the name and legacy of a man who left behind people who cared for him. Would it be stealing? Would it even be a bad thing? Surely Hope wouldn’t want people to worry about them when their worry would do no good anyway.
He had an elaborate story all planned out; a different tale for every hour of the day, stretched thin as he watched the sun rise and fall from behind the window, watched the sky light up with fireworks and then rest before the dawn. He didn’t need food, didn’t need sleep. What was the use of such things for someone like him?
Meals were left sitting on the table where strangers brought trays, and the bed left untouched as he seated himself in front of the window to watch the ongoings of the city. So much like Luxerion, but so different at the same time. All those people, just going about their days, laughing and arguing and whispering secrets.
He had secrets, too. He wanted to think that made him a little bit more like them.
He wanted to sneak out again and sit amongst the busy people. He couldn’t wait for the cast to come off; then he might be able to leave the large, too silent room in the Yuusnan palace.
He didn’t want to be here with the suspicious stares.
It wasn’t until the healer came again to take off the cast (a strange man garbed in silver and black with pale hair and a stern expression as he ordered more rest for the recently broken bone) that Snow showed up again, this time cautious around the one-who-was-not-Hope, his fringe shadowing his expression. When the healer left, they were left to their own devices. He was swinging his leg back and forth, glad to be rid of the heavy weight, while watching Snow just as warily as the man was watching him.
It was Snow’s impatience that made itself known first.
“Well,” the man said. “Who are you, then?”
He didn’t know how to answer. Who was he? He was Hope Estheim, but he wasn’t at the same time. He was the boy who was left behind, the one scared of gaining attention, but also scared of being left behind. And he was the one who was tired. Tired of fighting for the future, tired of struggling for every inch against fate and destiny and divinity and things so much greater than a person could handle. He was the one who didn’t want to deal with it anymore, but also couldn’t stop himself from getting involved because if he didn’t work hard enough, if he didn’t keep going, then everyone was going to disappear from his grasp.
He was the human weakness thrown away by a God.
In the end, his gaze returned to the window and the lights outside as he thumped his heel against the bottom of the window seat in an attempt to gather his thoughts.
“I’m not really anyone,” he murmured honestly. “I’m kind of who you think I am, but I’m not, too. I’m just a part of a whole. Cut off.” Like Lumina.
He didn’t want to explain it anymore. Was sick of even thinking about it. All he wanted to do was watch people watching the fireworks: he just wanted to see the faces of those around him lit up by wonder and delight. It was a strangely enchanting sight.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Snow protested, sounding angry. “If you are and aren’t who I think you are… then where’s Hope? People don’t just disappear like that.”
And there it was again, that hurt and that vindictive, childish anger. Pale green eyes glared at the man. “You did. Everyone else did. Why can’t he?”
The venom behind the tone prompted Snow to take a step back, to reconsider the direction the conversation was going. They were both getting irritated now, each just feeding the other’s ire. “If you’re not Hope, then how can you know that?”
Of course he knew about it. It was one of the feelings of resentment and loneliness that created his existence, after all.
“It doesn’t matter.” He bit out, because the more he thought about it, the more upset he felt. He didn’t like being upset, not when he could instead be immersed in someone else’s positive mood. “I’m not really him, and you’re never going to find Hope anyway.”
He turned his attention back to the window, back to the fireworks, determined to ignore Snow.
“No one’s ever going to find him again.”