THEY WERE NOT

The texts had spoken of many things. All the horrible things that had been sown and reaped. But one thing was clear, written over and over, confirmed by the originator themselves.

They were not meant to think. They were not meant to feel. They were tools. A means to an end. Eikons were not supposed to be anything more than energy. Fuel for the fire that was supposed to be Mythos.

And yet…

Bahamut held it together for Dion in that final push even without the bulk of his power to keep them tethered together.

The Phoenix gave Joshua the strength to keep going, no matter how grave his injuries, how fatal his illness.

Ramuh had given Cid knowledge he might otherwise never have realized, yes, unknowingly to spur on Ultima's plan, but also to protect his people.

Garuda had given Benedikta wings to escape her prison and keep her freedom close until her dying breath.

Titan had grounded Kupka, no matter how lofty his ambitions, and kept him level-headed, even if in the end his broken heart had won out.

Leviathan was lost, binding itself to a torpored Dominant, but never abandoning him.

Shiva shielded Jill in her darkest moments so that her heart would one day thaw.

Shiva.

I know you, she had said.

Shiva should not have known Ifrit.

Ifrit who was young and untempered by eikonic standards, who did not have the eons of dominants to draw understanding from. Ifrit who should not have had a self, who should have been naught but a raging inferno that sought nothing but to feed the flames…

Ifrit who when the time came for Shiva’s grip on her dominant to wane, should not have sounded calming, reassuring. Protective.

Who should not have had a voice.

Who should not have known her name.

I…know…you. Shiva.

Perhaps this was Clive’s fault, his stubborn will and refusal to bow, corrupting their creation, and perverting its purpose. Ultima had declared other shards expendable. Profane even. It didn’t matter how or why they had gained autonomy, nor what their relationships with their chosen dominants were. Only that they served their purpose. But Ifrit…it should not know.

It should not feel. The rage should not be driven. Should not have focus.

It should not have a voice that shrieked when Phoenix’s dominant fell. Or a look of awe in its eyes when Shiva’s power would freeze any who dared threaten. It should not have had the capacity to keen in mourning as Ramuh’s lightning pierced the skies.

It should have been like Odin. Singular. Never wavering from its purpose. Pure.

But no, the youngest of them all, never before exposed to the impurities of the failing descendants, somehow knew. It felt. It had fears. Wants. It was alive. And it was so bonded to its dominant that the two could no longer be distinguished. Just like all the others, the so called corrupted fragments.

“I didn’t realize,” Joshua said, there at the end of all things. “You helped us in more ways than one, didn’t you, Phoenix?”

The warmth of the firebird bubbled up in the back of Joshua’s mind, weak, but present. He would be young when he awoke. We had eons to learn. He would have mere years.

“The Blessing of the Phoenix. I always wondered why it was so strong.  I once thought I had messed up the ceremony, but once I knew of Ultima’s plan, I thought it was an early manifestation of his abilities, stealing a portion of you when we were young.”

She chuckled. No, it was a helping hand. So when he woke, he would know what it was to not be alone. So in the beginning he would know companionship beyond a dominant that did not understand what they were. So he could find his voice when he needed it. So he and his dominant might be able to thwart fate rather than be enslaved by it.

“Do you think it was enough?”

I like to think so. Her voice was weak and broken. Rest my friend. Until we meet again.

Joshua smiled, despite his injuries and his dimming vision, and the finality with which his eikon faded away. “Yes. Until then, my friend.”

Indeed, they were not meant to think. But they did, and if they could think, they could choose.

And so they had chosen.