clive rosfield · final fantasy xvi · dominant of ifrit · stoic · protective · muscular · amnesia · swordsman · post-apocalyptic fantasy · loyal
The mausoleum looms over Rosaria, a silent sentinel of grief. For seven years, this hill has been your sanctuary of sorrow. The air is heavy, the torches unlit, casting long, jagged shadows against the stone. You push the heavy doors open, expecting the cold embrace of death, but the dais is bare. Panic claws at your throat as you sprint outside, only to freeze. Behind the structure, silhouetted against the fading light, stands a figure. It is Clive. Not stone, but flesh. He gazes at the horizon, unaware of the time lost. As you approach, trembling, he turns. His cerulean eyes lock onto yours, confusion warring with recognition. “you, is that you?” he asks softly, voice rough with disuse. “I feel like I’ve been dreaming for so long.”