The Arena Halls trembled.
In Ul'dah, the coliseum's sands split apart, golden dust rising in a storm that blinded even the gladiators watching from the stands. Jenlyns Everblest staggered to one knee, sword buried in the sand for balance, as cracks split the training pit around him.
"By the Sultana…" he breathed. His heart thudded like a war drum in his chest. "The wards are breaking."
In Gridania, roots tore through the polished wood of the Conjurers' Guild. E–Sumi–Yan, staff pressed to the floor, felt the Twelveswood itself recoil as if struck. The Padjal's ancient eyes widened, voice hushed.
"So much aether, spilling across the realms… yet the threads still live."
At the Pugilists' Guild, Hamon Holyfist barked orders, voice rising above the roar of shaking stone. Apprentices cried out, stumbling as the walls cracked. Hamon spread his fists wide, scarred arms trembling but steady.
"Back, you dolts! This is no quake of the earth — this is a quake of the soul!"
At the Lancers' Guild, Ywain planted his spear in the ground, stance steady though the rafters shook and dust rained from above. He closed his eyes, feeling the sharpness of the aether bleed into the air.
"A storm born of dragon's fire," he murmured. "Yet not ruin. A test has broken, but not failed."
And in Limsa Lominsa, seawater crashed against the Marauders' Guildhall, waves slamming through cracks in the floor. Wyrnzoen stood tall against the spray, gripping his greataxe as if daring the sea itself to rise further. His jaw was clenched, his heart pounding.
"Whatever's happenin', it ain't small. Someone's wrestlin' the world itself."
And then — all at once — the aether gates burst open.
Light spilled across every guildhall, not gentle, but blinding. Apprentices shielded their eyes, some collapsing under the weight of the energy pouring through. Even the masters staggered — save for one thing that rooted them to the moment.
The figures emerging from the gates.
Zack stepped first, sword blazing with holy radiance. His body was battered, his hair matted with sweat and dust, but the crystal of the Paladin burned at his chest. His bastard sword rested across his shoulder, gleaming with silver fire.
Aerith followed, robes torn, blood streaking her arms, yet her staff was crowned with lilies. The White Mage's glow shone through the poison still clinging to her skin, light blossoming where she stepped.
Galuf limped behind them, fists cracked and bruised, but burning with chakra-light. He laughed hoarsely as he stumbled forward, the Monk's aura blazing like a sun.
Noctis descended from the light like a falling star, spear trailing dragonfire, his eyes burning with Bahamut's spark. He landed hard but did not fall. The Dragoon's stance was unshaken.
Reks was last, his axe scarlet with his own blood, his body barely holding upright. Yet the crystal of the Warrior flared at his heart, binding his wounds with sheer will. His scars glowed, not marks of weakness, but of survival.
They were bloodied. Exhausted. Half-broken.
And yet unbowed.
The guildhalls fell silent. Apprentices whispered in disbelief.
"Is this… part of the trial?"
"No trial could be this…"
"They're glowing like… like saints…"
The guildmasters exchanged glances, each one reading the same truth in the others' eyes.
Jenlyns, solemn, was the first to step forward. His voice carried like steel across the arena, rising above the murmurs of knights and trainees alike.
"You have faced not one trial, but five. You stood where veterans would have fallen. And you returned not broken — but bearing the truth of your oaths."
E–Sumi–Yan bowed his horned head, voice quiet but heavy with reverence.
"You are more than apprentices. You are White Mage, Paladin, Monk, Dragoon, Warrior. The Twelveswood itself bears witness."
Hamon Holyfist rubbed his eyes gruffly, hiding the wetness there. "Hah! Didn't think this old fool would live to see fire like that again." He raised his fists in salute. "You've got the makings of legends, every one of you."
Ywain inclined his head, tone measured but his eyes proud.
"You pierced fate itself, Noctis. All of you did. That is no trial's trick. That is the mark of true heroes."
Wyrnzoen threw back his head and roared with laughter, the sound echoing across his guildhall.
"And ye survived! By the Navigator, ye're no greenhorns now. Ye're Warriors in truth!"
The five heroes bowed their heads.
Zack, though his arms shook, lifted his sword in salute, grin splitting his face despite the blood on his lip.
"Guess that means we passed, huh?"
Aerith giggled softly, her voice light as spring wind. "More than passed."
Galuf burst into hoarse laughter, clutching his ribs. "We broke the damn test wide open!"
Noctis said nothing. He only raised his spear toward the sky, eyes steady, resolve carved deep.
Reks tightened his grip on his axe, voice quiet but certain. "Whatever comes next… we're ready."
The guildmasters moved as one.
Jenlyns lowered his blade in salute.
E–Sumi–Yan planted his staff, bowing deeply.
Hamon struck his fists together, grinning through tears.
Ywain lowered his spear across his chest in knightly respect.
Wyrnzoen drove his greataxe into the ground, the sound echoing like thunder.
Around them, apprentices fell to their knees, overwhelmed by the sight. The guildhalls, though far apart, seemed to echo the same heartbeat. For a moment, it felt as though all of Eorzea breathed together — bearing witness to its newest champions.
The five stood shoulder to shoulder, their crystals glowing like stars at their hearts. Their eyes, weary but burning, met the gaze of their guilds.
Zack broke the silence first, flashing a grin. "So, where's the feast? I'm starving."
Aerith sighed fondly, shaking her head. "Always thinking with your stomach."
Galuf laughed, voice booming, beard singed but proud. "Hah! He's right though! A battle like that deserves more than stale bread and watered wine!"
Reks's lips tugged into the faintest of smiles. "Maybe after we stand guard for a while. Champions or not, the work doesn't stop."
Noctis remained quiet, but his grip on his spear tightened. The glow in his eyes lingered, steady as a flame that would not be extinguished.
For now, there were no more words. Only the sight of five warriors, standing together, bound not by the trials that broke them but by the oaths that remade them.
The first true vanguard of Sirius's Fallen had risen.