The last, fading rays of the sun painted the sky in glory as Ruin coasted through a sea of clouds, the vapour curling away from her glorious and gently-glowing wings. Say what you like about the new hyper-real engines being used in the latest generation of games, Yggdrasil’s had stood the test of time well. Very well indeed, actually. Great barques of cloud blazed crimson with the light of the setting sun, moving with ponderous grace, and, off to the horizon, they darkened into the rich, dusky purple of twilight. Lambent sunlight glittered off the elaborate filigree ornamentation her armoured shell bore across every centimetre of its lustrious surface, golden decorations drawing the eye with every glitter and glow, turning her into a second sun through reflected glory.

Hovering effortlessly, high in the empyrean, Ruin drank it in one last time. There would be other games, other views, but Yggdrasil had been special, and she wanted to burn the memory into her brain. The very brightest stars were just beginning to glimmer into existence as the heavenly Seraph that was her vessel finally banked into a gentle curve, descending in lazy spirals through the glorious final sunset. As she came lower, the sea of clouds parted, revealing the great sweep of the landscape, dotted with tidy farms, bucolic villages, forests and lakes and mysterious ruins. 

Most imposing of all, however, and her current destination, were the slender white spires and domes of the Arce Bellum. Immaculate and impressive – so many guild strongholds and old havens for the Sephirot had fallen into disrepair and decay as Yggdrasil aged and withered – and towering over the surrounding lands, it was a testament to the loyalty of its guildmembers through thick and thin. De Ordine Imperii – the Empire of Order – had been one of the first guilds founded, and longevity carried a weight and a respect all of its own. Oh, it had waxed and waned with the tides and seasons, but it had always [i]been there[/i], its brave knights and doughty clerics frequent allies to the Sephirot across many a raid instance and Guild conflict.

Very typical – and admirable – of them to throw their guild party open to [i]everyone[/i]. Ruin had spent much of the day, one of her precious morsels of annual leave, revisiting old haunts and old memories, reliving past glories and triumphs, but with the sun low in the west and the time of shutdown drawing near, she felt the need to connect one last time with at least a handful of players, the scant few dedicated – devoted – enough to see the world through to its end.

Gold rang against marble as she touched down, her armoured form gleaming in the abundant light even as she moved with purpose between the twin lines of NPC guards, resplendent in their ornate silver plate. The palace’s imposing double doors were her destination, thrown open for the last party. She did not bother to greet the guild-bound soldiers, just this once; she was here for the real people, this time, and her map pinged a small collection of players up ahead, the air filling with the sound of clinking glasses and the low hum of background conversation as she entered the grand hall. Not much time left, but enough.

Ruin took a moment to drink in the sight, even as the master of ceremonies at the door announced her to the room, in what would have been boomingly stentorian tones. “[color=LightBlue]Morningstar of the Sephirot![/color]” 

A splendid setting, if a little modish to her tastes, a little more restrained than her own favoured Belle Epoque, forming the impressive backdrop to a panoply of players rarely seen in one place. Many were guildmembers, of course, looking heroic and youthful and bedecked for the occasion with their finest items, but there were also a scattering of independents. Even a few undead-type players, looking almost comically out of place.

Unthinkable, save for the end of the world.

A faint frisson of shock crackled its electric way up and down her spine as she realized there was only [i]one[/i] whom she so much as recognized – Greyedout, or - to be polite and proper - Lord Grey, looking pensive and mechanically eating the sumptuous feast spread before them all on the groaning tables. 

Surely it hadn’t been [i]that[/i] long since her last visit to the Arce Bellum? Apparently so – the calendar didn’t lie, and the evidence lay before her eyes.

“[b]Good of you to open the doors to us few remaining independents, m’lord,[/b]” she said, drawing closer to the paladin. “[b]It’s nice to see the fruits of everyone’s endeavours.[/b]” A pause, and a smile emoji hanging in the air between them, Morningstar’s Masque remaining as impassively serene as it always did. Left unsaid was the bitter knowledge that, all too soon, it would be wiped away as if it had never been, a summer mirage living on only in memory. 

“[b]Including yours.[/b]” Another pause, this one slightly more awkward, and longer. “[b]Is His Majesty not joining the wake?[/b]” she asked delicately, unable to find his name in the lists. 

Not that that meant he wasn’t [i]present[/i], perhaps just in an area that she, as a non-guildmember, couldn’t see.