What the Tower Knows - Part 6
Date Posted: June 27, 2024
***Warning: Endwalker MSQ Spoilers Below!***
What happened next was absolutely disorienting. Amon didn’t know if he was watching from outside, or inside, or from both at the same time. The aether of the Tower filled the room, filled the Technologist’s old, battered form, and within a pillar of soft blue glow, a new light rose.
Aether and soul - it was the core of his existence.
The soul-core lifted slowly into the air, pulling away from his body. The corporal form then slumped back into a nearby chair as it was now devoid of the life energy that had inhabited it only a moment before.
Amon could see it. Then feel it.
The soul-core was separating.
A smaller fragment of it broke away from the original, tiny and pulsing. Vulnerable there in the flowing energies of the Tower which supported it. It was the color of the living forests, speckled with gold that matched the color of Amon’s eyes.
From the dark corner, something deep red also began to glow. A soul stone. Fandaniel’s soul stone. Amon didn’t know how he knew this.
Two things then happened simultaneously. Very quickly.
The smaller soul-fragment was absorbed back into the now-slumping Technologist’s body. The moment it did, the body shuddered and began to breath with a raspy sound. He did not wake, however.
The larger soul-core blazed through the air, filtering in and through Fandaniel’s soul stone, condensing into the motionless body on the table. In that moment, the covers flew off, and the body rose up as if weightless, born upon the Ascian’s power.
The form was familiar. It was Amon’s, though a younger Amon who bore long, wild white hair. He was already dressed in the dark robes of an Ascian, and a mask obscured most of his face.
This could only be a clone.
Fandaniel had chosen to become the clone while leaving the original body of the Technologist to a soul-fragment of himself.
The Ascian had hardly opened his eyes before trying out his new voice. There was a hint of a sneer to it, lacking the calm, tired balance it held before.
“Why struggle to recreate such an imperfect, aether-torn behemoth of a body... when I could just give you the old and fashion myself anew? A new construct would only likely skew the results, anyhow.”
He stretched his hand out and looked at it with approval.
“Much... much... better.”
Fandaniel then offered a disgusted lip curl as he inspected the old form.
“I really did a number on myself, didn't I?”
Lifting further off the ground, as if it took no effort at all, the dark-robed Elezen came to float before that which had once been himself. The deed was done. The choice was made. But in typical showman’s fashion, he had more to say.
“So, here you are – Amon of Allag. I have given you yourself, along with the last of my hope... and desires for the betterment of mankind... for your never-ending struggle to fix what is broken,” he shook his head, his tone speaking plainly that he found it all pointless. “You will never know what rides on this outcome. You will merely wake, think 'twas another hangover, and face the crumbling ruins of the empire with your typical headstrong determination.”
Fandaniel gave a hollow laugh and a flourish of hands. Something Amon had done so many times in his lifetime.
“The stage is yours, Amon of Syrcus. Will you prove Emet-Selch wrong?”
His tone lowered, suddenly foreboding.
“I'd rather like to see you succeed. However...” he glanced at the window, taking note of the sound of rebellion rising. “I'm afraid the odds don't appear to be in your favor.”
He must have been content with these final lines, for he simply shimmered away into a dark cloud, heading to wherever new-born Ascians went.
Time passed slowly. The stars and moon crept across the sky, keeping track. Finally, just before the dawn broke, the old Technologist began to wake.
He groaned a bit, clutching his head, much like he did after any night of indulgence. These had become more and more frequent as of late.
Getting to his feet, he retrieved the discarded Tomepad. Looking over the half-broken screen, he grumbled to himself. “Running out of time…”
He then cast his gaze around the room, raising his voice.
“NODE! Where are you?”
As the sun began to filter over the balcony in the Tower-vision, everything shimmered, then scattered, bringing Amon back to the reality of the present. He found himself on his knees, splayed upon the floor of the Ocular, every inch of his body shaking from the revelation he’d just received.
Then, in aether exhaustion, he crumpled completely to the floor.