There is an overtly startled look thrown in Xehanort's direction as the lifeline of holding hands firmly becomes a loop of arms. While it only takes a moment to recognize this is an act of practicality alone- Xehanort's demeanor and attitude are pretty clear- the tension both in the arm and the evacuee's Darkness make it clear he is neither accustomed to or comfortable with it. Perhaps not the best of beginnings to a journey fraught with peril.
But Elidibus is not given time to dwell on it overlong.
It begins as a turmoil in the Darkness. A subtle yet growing unease that makes Elidibus first wonder; where was this cacophony of rage, of pain and loss, coming from. It seemed so... small. Perhaps it was this gentleman's and it would certainly make sense as it began immediately on coming in contact with Xehanort. Yet it continues to swell. In comparison the first provocation was simply a trickle warning of the dangerous flash flood which would soon follow until one inviolable fact is leveled upon the Ascian.
These were his own emotions. The full impact has only a moment to cause Elidibus to sharply inhale before the river of chaos crashes against the two and nightmares begin to unfold. The Ascian physically stumbles, and it is just as well Xehanort had decided for the more secure hold on his passenger.
How much worse is it for the return of some portion of his memories? Those beloved brothers and sisters, every one so dear and kind in their own ways. Teasing, scolding. Supporting one another. All but three torn asunder by the conflict of their race which was the result of his failings to bring reconciliation to the rival factions. His fault. How he had failed his people in this very basic duty. Grief tears at him, as does memories of the Sundering.
"I am Elidibus," he murmurs to himself and continues forward. Because loss had not come from just his people or memories, but of identity itself. For millennia, as time and the voices and needs of his people had worn away his memories until singular purpose had become his only drive, the Ascian had held on to this driving value. Yet millennia had also carried the pain of that loss and here? It is amplified unreasonably so. Anger, not determination is the response to this roiling river of chaos and Darkness. Uncertainty. A memory of his name, his real name must certainly exist thanks to the gifts of the Convocation stones the Warrior of Darkness had lavished upon him. It had been... a gift? Certainly not malice...? Because he could not be certain, even now, that particular name belongs to what or who he is now. A hollowed shell, still lacking in so many memories not conveniently chronicled because at one point he had refused to continue the timeless pain of refreshing them.
He had been so sure it was right, then. Now it was.... a regret.
Drama, also SO MUCH SPOILER for FFXIV Shadowbringers.
But Elidibus is not given time to dwell on it overlong.
It begins as a turmoil in the Darkness. A subtle yet growing unease that makes Elidibus first wonder; where was this cacophony of rage, of pain and loss, coming from. It seemed so... small. Perhaps it was this gentleman's and it would certainly make sense as it began immediately on coming in contact with Xehanort. Yet it continues to swell. In comparison the first provocation was simply a trickle warning of the dangerous flash flood which would soon follow until one inviolable fact is leveled upon the Ascian.
These were his own emotions. The full impact has only a moment to cause Elidibus to sharply inhale before the river of chaos crashes against the two and nightmares begin to unfold. The Ascian physically stumbles, and it is just as well Xehanort had decided for the more secure hold on his passenger.
How much worse is it for the return of some portion of his memories? Those beloved brothers and sisters, every one so dear and kind in their own ways. Teasing, scolding. Supporting one another. All but three torn asunder by the conflict of their race which was the result of his failings to bring reconciliation to the rival factions. His fault. How he had failed his people in this very basic duty. Grief tears at him, as does memories of the Sundering.
"I am Elidibus," he murmurs to himself and continues forward. Because loss had not come from just his people or memories, but of identity itself. For millennia, as time and the voices and needs of his people had worn away his memories until singular purpose had become his only drive, the Ascian had held on to this driving value. Yet millennia had also carried the pain of that loss and here? It is amplified unreasonably so. Anger, not determination is the response to this roiling river of chaos and Darkness. Uncertainty. A memory of his name, his real name must certainly exist thanks to the gifts of the Convocation stones the Warrior of Darkness had lavished upon him. It had been... a gift? Certainly not malice...? Because he could not be certain, even now, that particular name belongs to what or who he is now. A hollowed shell, still lacking in so many memories not conveniently chronicled because at one point he had refused to continue the timeless pain of refreshing them.
He had been so sure it was right, then. Now it was.... a regret.
This is only the beginning.