#and while they mourn what they must leave behind they are fulfilled by the triumph of saving EVERYONE this time

[autumnoficarus]

i can't stop listening to the 'purpose is glorious' track from this season's ost and thinking about how lovely the title and its meaning are. it's just such an amazing underlying theme in this show, and - while i do have criticisms about some of the choices made for the series finale - i really do feel the writers wholeheartedly delivered in sending that message home. for me personally, loki's ending is so gratifying and a large part of that is solely from viewing their arc's conclusion with the perspective of this theme in mind. to have spent years watching this character i hold very dear to my heart struggle to find belonging, to feel as though they matter and there is reason in their existence, finally get a chance to show - and recognize - their worth was so, so rewarding. and honestly, i think the message behind the phrasing of 'purpose is glorious' is all the more meaningful because of how loki's arc finished. yes, the outcome was bittersweet; yes, we're left knowing loki didn't get the happiness they undeniably earned after everything they'd gone through. it smarts something fierce to know their journey up until they deviated from their timeline and became a variant, as well as seen their eventual intended fate. the ache is only worsened after witnessing everything that happens within the TVA and the entirety of loki's character growth leading up to a redefining moment where they willingly choose to undergo a nightmarish amount of time in the endeavor to do the right thing. of course we want them to emerge victorious when they've struggled for so long, but that's not the point. loki's final moments are them forfeiting their right to a happy ending to preserve the stories of others because all stories matter and should inherently reserve the free will to be written; as sylvie says, loki makes their choice so their loved ones and life across the multiverse still have a chance to belong somewhere and embrace their place in the world. the take away is that even burden can be glorious. even with all the hardships of life - all the inevitable heartache, disappointment, and grief we encounter just by being alive - we have meaning in our existence. there is meaning in the trials we face, and the suffering we endure in order to overcome them. our pain gives us purpose; it gives us the ability to love, to grow from and for each other, and choose to sacrifice our happiness for the benefit of another. loki's purpose was forged in the bonds of those they met in their time at the TVA and the sense of value they gained from their companionship. their sacrifice perfectly conveys how the human capacity to love is one of cosmic greatness, which can ultimately surpass our instinctual desire to preserve one's self. we can move immovable mountains and challenge insurmountable adversity in behalf of the ones we love and their welfare. if that isn't an act deserving of glory, I don't know what is.

tldr; loki's purpose is the friends they made along the way = as the saying goes, 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all'. or: our own lives have purpose because of the connections we share with others, even when we are met with great loss.

[nightofthemeteor]

Izanagi/Edo tensei

(Also here on AO3)

The moon was full and bright overhead as Madara faced his best friend across the river they had just created and felt his face split in a crazed grin. He could feel exhaustion beginning to dig its claws into his flesh and knew his chakra was nearly drained, but even so, the excitement of battle was still running hot through his veins. Hashirama, panting and battle-worn, half his armour torn away, had matched him blow for blow in this battle – as Hashirama always had, ever since they’d been children. Though they’d fought each other almost incessantly throughout the years, this was only the second time they’d both gone all-out, and what a legendary battle it had been! Though Madara knew he was only the tiniest misstep away from death, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt more alive.

Across the river, Hashirama’s eyes flicked from his opponent to the river between them, gauging the distance. Madara could easily guess what he was thinking about, the sentimental fool: he had to be remembering the river from their childhood, where the two of them had skipped rocks and talked about peace. What naïve idiots they both had been. Madara tightened his grip on his weapons, his Gunbai in one hand and his kama in the other, and tensed in preparation to strike, watching Hashirama raise his sword and gather himself to do the same. Another ragged breath – Madara cried, “This time you’re not going to reach the other side!”

Both combatants lunged in unison, racing across the surface of the river to meet in the middle with a violent CRASH. Madara’s momentum carried him several steps further; he stumbled to a halt on the river, half-surprised to find himself unharmed. He turned behind him to see Hashirama lying face down on the surface of the water, struggling to rise, and allowed himself another smile.

“I’m the one still standing,” he panted. “Opposite from the last time.”

With a great effort, Hashirama pushed himself up on one arm to turn and look at Madara, standing triumphant over him just as Hashirama himself had once stood over a defeated Madara. “I just want to protect…the dream I finally realized…” he gasped. “I don’t want…anymore…”

‘Killing,’ he’d been about to say, most likely. Madara had heard plenty of that from him already. It wasn’t as if he disagreed – after all, as a child he’d completely embraced Hashirama’s ideals. Now, he hadn’t given up on those ideals, but he knew the outcome of Hashirama’s methods: he could see that no matter what his one-time friend said, Hashirama would always be killing for the sake of peace. Unless, of course, Madara relieved him of his duty.

“You look pretty depressed, Hashirama,” Madara observed, savouring his victory. It had been so incredibly hard-won, after all – it would be a crime not to enjoy the moment. “Can’t perk back up this time?”

As he spoke, Madara heard the slightest sound behind him, almost like a sigh. Despite his exhaustion, he reacted instinctively, whipping around and lashing out with the blade of his kama, and saw – Hashirama, poised to strike, instead of lying prone on the river as he had been an instant before. Madara gasped in shock at the same moment that Hashirama gasped in pain: the blade of Madara’s scythe was embedded in his chest.

Neither of them moved, locked in a deadly embrace, until finally Hashirama’s sword slipped from his hand and fell with a splash into the water below. Madara spared a glance behind him and saw Hashirama’s clone, still lying in the river behind him, turn to wood and begin to float away. He stepped back, pulling his kama from Hashirama’s chest with a sickening squelch of bone and tissue. Hashirama fell slowly, almost gracefully, the way he fought, landing on his knees in front of Madara.

“Do you have enough chakra to heal that?” Madara asked warily, keeping his weapons at the ready. He’d thought Hashirama had been completely drained of chakra a few moments ago, but he’d surprised Madara with that clone.

Hashirama pressed a hand to his chest and stared, almost in shock, as the hand came away bloody. “I’m out,” he said, and sighed. “I had a chance, but – I couldn’t. I hesitated…”

“I’m the victor this time,” Madara told him, again. It didn’t feel quite as satisfying the second time. Even so – Hashirama had paused while Madara had struck. Wasn’t that the ultimate vindication of Madara’s vision? Even Hashirama, so keen to throw his life away in pursuit of his dream, couldn’t hold onto his ideals in the end.

As if agreeing with him Hashirama said, “I was too weak. I was supposed to protect the village, but…I couldn’t…” He closed is eyes briefly in pain, and said, “That’s why it should have been you.”

Even after all this time, hearing that still hurt, somehow, in the place deep inside where Madara had once harboured their shared dream. He ignored this and said, “You’ve got your priorities backwards, Hashirama. You’d kill to protect the village that was supposed to protect us?”

Hashirama’s next words came out laced with blood that trickled down his chin. “I thought I would. I should have done it. I swore to protect our people – what’s going to happen to them now?” Bitterly, he said, “Why couldn’t I have just killed you?” Even as his body began to give way, he struggled to speak, to look at Madara, and so he ended up collapsing to one side.

“Don’t worry, Hashirama. I only wish to bring your people peace.”

“Madara, please…” Hashirama was near death, now, his eyes no longer seeing Madara at all. “Don’t destroy our dream. I wanted to endure, to watch over, but…it’s in your hands now. Don’t…”

Madara breathed out, into the silence. “Destroy our dream?” he said, although he knew there was nobody now to hear him. “No, Hashirama. A dream is exactly what I plan to build.”

No answer, of course – and Hashirama’s body was beginning to sink into the river. Madara knelt beside the corpse and gripped it by what was left of Hashirama’s armour, looking at the empty face of his greatest and only rival. Hashirama had been the only real obstacle in the way of his new dream. Madara had never been certain, even with all the power he had gathered, that he could ever defeat his former friend – which was why he had put in place that contingency plan – and even now, he couldn’t quite believe he’d really triumphed. An incredulous laugh bubbled out of Madara’s stomach and tore its way out of his throat; he threw back his head and laughed in delight, in victory, laughed for the strange way his life had gone and Hashirama’s had ended. After all these years…he’d finally done it.

Hashirama was gone.

Madara’s stomach clenched mid-guffaw, making him double over and gasp, even as his laughter continued. Hashirama was gone, and Madara was alone, really and truly. He had expected killing Hashirama to feel like lopping off a rotting limb: painful, but ultimately necessary to ensure the survival of the body. Hashirama had once been the only light in a bleak, hopeless life…but that was long past, and Madara had a new goal to sustain him, one that Hashirama had to die to achieve. That was how things had to be. The only way for Madara to succeed in his task was for him to be completely, totally alone – and that was what he’d done, at last. Why, then, did Madara feel so horrifyingly empty?

It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar feeling. Madara had always known the power he could gain by being alone: he’d felt it when he’d first turned his back on Hashirama at the riverbank, the moment his Sharingan awakened; he’d felt it when his father died and gifted him with the Mangekyō; he’d felt it most keenly of all when Izuna gave him his eyes, and with them the power of the Eternal Mangekyō; and now, he knew one final step awaited him. His eyes would change once more, and his dream would be within reach. This pain that he felt running through him like molten metal – it was here to forge him into something stronger. He’d defeated Hashirama at last, and that meant he’d fulfilled the requirements dictated by the stone tablet – Senju and Uchiha together – so his ascension must be at hand.

Sure enough, his eyes were burning, the pain of an unknown power awakening. Yet, when Madara clutched at his face with his free hand, he realized it was tears, and not blood, leaking from the corners of his tightly shut eyes. What was happening? He’d lost nothing by killing Hashirama, nothing he hadn’t already lost, so why did he feel this way? Unbidden, an image of Hashirama, holding a flower out to a frightened little girl and smiling at Madara, appeared in his mind, and Madara heard himself let out a strangled cry of anguish. No – that life was gone, nothing but a mirage, false from the beginning! Why was he mourning for something that had never been his?

Still the pain intensified, until Madara was finding it difficult to breath, his chest crushed by some invisible force. This couldn’t be right – this wasn’t the next step in his path – had he miscalculated? He’d been so certain that fighting Hashirama was the way forward, but…he hadn’t prepared himself to actually lose him. For an instant he wished he could go back, try again – and as soon as the thought entered his mind, a new, sharp pain tore through his right eye. Madara cried out again and pressed his palm into his eye, but the pain was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving him struggling to breathe in its wake.

“Madara?” said a voice from beneath him.

Madara opened his eyes and froze in astonishment. It was Hashirama, blinking up at him in confusion, the ragged wound in his chest gone as if Madara had only dreamed it – even the tear in his shirt had disappeared.

“Did you heal yourself?” blurted Madara, though even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t the case. Both of his eyes were open, but he was seeing Hashirama with only half of his vision. The right eye – the eye in which he’d placed the Izanagi, just in case – was blind. “No, I…but – how…?”

“Your eye,” said Hashirama, frowning in concern.

“Yes,” Madara agreed, still completely in shock.

Then, to his even greater surprise, Hashirama sat up – Madara tensed, expecting an attack – and threw his arms around Madara. “Thank you,” he breathed.

“No,” said Madara, but the word came out almost as a sob. “I – I didn’t mean to bring you back!”

“I didn’t mean to let you live,” murmured Hashirama from somewhere around his ear. “Seems we both have weaknesses after all.”

“I killed you!” Madara reminded him, tears falling, despite his best efforts to contain them, into Hashirama’s hair. “How can you be this way?”

“I don’t know,” said Hashirama, and clutched him tighter, one hand on Madara’s back and the other in his hair. “I don’t really care. But…I’m glad to have you back.”

This was so absolutely nonsensical that Madara could come up with no response, no course of action that would lead him forward. All he could manage to do was let Hashirama hold him through the sobs that wracked his body. There was no plan for this – nothing had been resolved, not for either of them. And yet, somehow, all Madara felt was relief.

[araitsume]

Patriarchs and Prophets, pp. 481-486: Chapter (44) Crossing the Jordan

This chapter is based on Joshua 1 to 5:12.

The Israelites deeply mourned for their departed leader, and thirty days were devoted to special services in honor of his memory. Never till he was taken from them had they so fully realized the value of his wise counsels, his parental tenderness, and his unswerving faith. With a new and deeper appreciation they recalled the precious lessons he had given while still with them.

Moses was dead, but his influence did not die with him. It was to live on, reproducing itself in the hearts of his people. The memory of that holy, unselfish life would long be cherished, with silent, persuasive power molding the lives even of those who had neglected his living words. As the glow of the descending sun lights up the mountain peaks long after the sun itself has sunk behind the hills, so the works of the pure, the holy, and the good shed light upon the world long after the actors themselves have passed away. Their works, their words, their example, will forever live. “The righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance.” Psalm 112:6.

While they were filled with grief at their great loss, the people knew that they were not left alone. The pillar of cloud rested over the tabernacle by day, and the pillar of fire by night, an assurance that God would still be their guide and helper if they would walk in the way of His commandments.

Joshua was now the acknowledged leader of Israel. He had been known chiefly as a warrior, and his gifts and virtues were especially valuable at this stage in the history of his people. Courageous, resolute, and persevering, prompt, incorruptible, unmindful of selfish interests in his care for those committed to his charge, and, above all, inspired by a living faith in God—such was the character of the man divinely chosen to conduct the armies of Israel in their entrance upon the Promised Land. During the sojourn in the wilderness he had acted as prime minister to Moses, and by his quiet, unpretending fidelity, his steadfastness when others wavered, his firmness to maintain the truth in the midst of danger, he had given evidence of his fitness to succeed Moses, even before he was called to the position by the voice of God.

It was with great anxiety and self-distrust that Joshua had looked forward to the work before him; but his fears were removed by the assurance of God, “As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee: I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.... Unto this people shalt thou divide for an inheritance the land, which I sware unto their fathers to give them.” “Every place that the sole of your foot shall tread upon, that have I given unto you, as I said unto Moses.” To the heights of Lebanon in the far distance, to the shores of the Great Sea, and away to the banks of the Euphrates in the east—all was to be theirs.

To this promise was added the injunction, “Only be thou strong and very courageous, that thou mayest observe to do according to all the law, which Moses My servant commanded.” The Lord's direction was, “This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night;” “turn not from it to the right hand or to the left;” “for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.”

The Israelites were still encamped on the east side of Jordan, which presented the first barrier to the occupation of Canaan. “Arise,” had been the first message of God to Joshua, “go over this Jordan, thou, and all this people, unto the land which I do give to them.” No instruction was given as to the way in which they were to make the passage. Joshua knew, however, that whatever God should command, He would make a way for His people to perform, and in this faith the intrepid leader at once began his arrangements for an advance.

A few miles beyond the river, just opposite the place where the Israelites were encamped, was the large and strongly fortified city of Jericho. This city was virtually the key to the whole country, and it would present a formidable obstacle to the success of Israel. Joshua therefore sent two young men as spies to visit this city and ascertain something as to its population, its resources, and the strength of its fortifications. The inhabitants of the city, terrified and suspicious, were constantly on the alert, and the messengers were in great danger. They were, however, preserved by Rahab, a woman of Jericho, at the peril of her own life. In return for her kindness they gave her a promise of protection when the city should be taken.

The spies returned in safety with the tidings, “Truly the Lord hath delivered into our hands all the land; for even all the inhabitants of the country do faint because of us.” It had been declared to them in Jericho, “We have heard how the Lord dried up the water of the Red Sea for you, when ye came out of Egypt; and what ye did unto the two kings of the Amorites, that were on the other side Jordan, Sihon and Og, whom ye utterly destroyed. And as soon as we had heard these things, our hearts did melt, neither did there remain any more courage in any man, because of you: for the Lord your God, He is God in heaven above, and in earth beneath.”

Orders were now issued to make ready for an advance. The people were to prepare a three days’ supply of food, and the army was to be put in readiness for battle. All heartily acquiesced in the plans of their leader and assured him of their confidence and support: “All that thou commandest us we will do, and whithersoever thou sendest us, we will go. According as we hearkened unto Moses in all things, so will we hearken unto thee: only the Lord thy God be with thee, as He was with Moses.”

Leaving their encampment in the acacia groves of Shittim, the host descended to the border of the Jordan. All knew, however, that without divine aid they could not hope to make the passage. At this time of the year—in the spring season—the melting snows of the mountains had so raised the Jordan that the river overflowed its banks, making it impossible to cross at the usual fording places. God willed that the passage of Israel over Jordan should be miraculous. Joshua, by divine direction, commanded the people to sanctify themselves; they must put away their sins and free themselves from all outward impurity; “for tomorrow,” he said, “the Lord will do wonders among you.” The “ark of the covenant” was to lead the way before the host. When they should see the token of Jehovah's presence, borne by the priests, remove from its place in the center of the camp, and advance toward the river, then they were to remove from their place, “and go after it.” The circumstances of the passage were minutely foretold; and said Joshua, “Hereby ye shall know that the living God is among you, and that He will without fail drive out from before you the Canaanites.... Behold, the ark of the covenant of the Lord of all the earth passeth over before you into Jordan.”

At the appointed time began the onward movement, the ark, borne upon the shoulders of the priests, leading the van. The people had been directed to fall back, so that there was a vacant space of more than half a mile about the ark. All watched with deep interest as the priests advanced down the bank of the Jordan. They saw them with the sacred ark move steadily forward toward the angry, surging stream, till the feet of the bearers were dipped into the waters. Then suddenly the tide above was swept back, while the current below flowed on, and the bed of the river was laid bare.

At the divine command the priests advanced to the middle of the channel and stood there while the entire host descended and crossed to the farther side. Thus was impressed upon the minds of all Israel the fact that the power that stayed the waters of Jordan was the same that had opened the Red Sea to their fathers forty years before. When the people had all passed over, the ark itself was borne to the western shore. No sooner had it reached a place of security, and “the soles of the priests’ feet were lifted up unto the dry land,” than the imprisoned waters, being set free, rushed down, a resistless flood, in the natural channel of the stream.

Coming generations were not to be without a witness to this great miracle. While the priests bearing the ark were still in the midst of Jordan, twelve men previously chosen, one from each tribe, took up each a stone from the river bed where the priests were standing, and carried it over to the western side. These stones were to be set up as a monument in the first camping place beyond the river. The people were bidden to repeat to their children and children's children the story of the deliverance that God had wrought for them, as Joshua said, “That all the people of the earth might know the hand of the Lord, that it is mighty: that ye might fear the Lord your God forever.”

The influence of this miracle, both upon the Hebrews and upon their enemies, was of great importance. It was an assurance to Israel of God's continued presence and protection—an evidence that He would work for them through Joshua as He had wrought through Moses. Such an assurance was needed to strengthen their hearts as they entered upon the conquest of the land—the stupendous task that had staggered the faith of their fathers forty years before. The Lord had declared to Joshua before the crossing, “This day will I begin to magnify thee in the sight of all Israel, that they may know that, as I was with Moses, so I will be with thee.” And the result fulfilled the promise. “On that day the Lord magnified Joshua in the sight of all Israel; and they feared him, as they feared Moses, all the days of his life.”

This exercise of divine power in behalf of Israel was designed also to increase the fear with which they were regarded by the surrounding nations, and thus prepare the way for their easier and complete triumph. When the tidings that God had stayed the waters of Jordan before the children of Israel, reached the kings of the Amorites and of the Canaanites, their hearts melted with fear. The Hebrews had already slain the five kings of Midian, the powerful Sihon, king of the Amorites, and Og of Bashan, and now the passage over the swollen and impetuous Jordan filled all the surrounding nations with terror. To the Canaanites, to all Israel, and to Joshua himself, unmistakable evidence had been given that the living God, the King of heaven and earth, was among His people, and that He would not fail them nor forsake them.

A short distance from Jordan the Hebrews made their first encampment in Canaan. Here Joshua “circumcised the children of Israel;” “and the children of Israel encamped in Gilgal, and kept the Passover.” The suspension of the rite of circumcision since the rebellion at Kadesh had been a constant witness to Israel that their covenant with God, of which it was the appointed symbol, had been broken. And the discontinuance of the Passover, the memorial of their deliverance from Egypt, had been an evidence of the Lord's displeasure at their desire to return to the land of bondage. Now, however, the years of rejection were ended. Once more God acknowledged Israel as His people, and the sign of the covenant was restored. The rite of circumcision was performed upon all the people who had been born in the wilderness. And the Lord declared to Joshua, “This day have I rolled away the reproach of Egypt from off you,” and in allusion to this the place of their encampment was called Gilgal, “a rolling away,” or “rolling off.”

Heathen nations had reproached the Lord and His people because the Hebrews had failed to take possession of Canaan, as they expected, soon after leaving Egypt. Their enemies had triumphed because Israel had wandered so long in the wilderness, and they had mockingly declared that the God of the Hebrews was not able to bring them into the Promised Land. The Lord had now signally manifested His power and favor in opening the Jordan before His people, and their enemies could no longer reproach them.

“On the fourteenth day of the month at even,” the Passover was celebrated on the plains of Jericho. “And they did eat of the old corn of the land on the morrow after the Passover, unleavened cakes, and parched corn in the selfsame day. And the manna ceased on the morrow after they had eaten of the old corn of the land; neither had the children of Israel manna any more; but they did eat of the fruit of the land of Canaan.” The long years of their desert wanderings were ended. The feet of Israel were at last treading the Promised Land.

[robhainesauthor]

We Don’t Talk Any More: Conversation in Prince of Persia (2008)

This is a reprint from Unwinnable Weekly #5 (25 June 2014), available to buy here.

---

Threaded through the rhythmic combat, wall-running and puzzle-solving of 2008's Prince of Persia is an ongoing dialogue between its protagonists, the wise-cracking vagabond known colloquially as 'the Prince' and the Princess Elika, heir to a decaying realm and a temple which for a thousand years has sealed away the dark god Ahriman. Yet the Tree of Life which sustained Ahriman's bonds is broken, shattered by Elika's grieving father.

Together the Prince and Elika delve into the ruins of her city in an attempt to heal the land, seeking to repair Ahriman's prison before he can escape. As they face the obstacles in their path they bicker, they joke, they tell stories of their vastly-different lives. The Prince hides behind a mask of bravado, of seducing pretty girls in the marketplace, of wandering wherever the wind takes him and seeking his fortune in forgotten tombs in the heart of the desert, while Elika's life - despite her memories of how glorious the rubble they now scamper through once was - has been one of duty. Even as her people lost faith and drifted away, she's held on to one central tenet of belief: for the sake of the world, Ahriman must never go free.

While optional, these conversations are a core gameplay mechanic. Just as there is a button on the controller assigned to Attack, and another to Jump, there's another specifically reserved to Talk. It's through dialogue that the Prince encounters Elika's determination to do the right thing at any cost, to be the hero of her story despite his exhortations to just walk away. Surely someone else can save the world without Elika risking her life? Through dialogue Elika mourns her shattered kingdom, weaving stories - as one would at a wake - of a childhood spent amongst its verdant gardens, gleaming towers and proud people. Through dialogue, the Prince's carefree facade begins to slip as he struggles to support Elika, their quest becoming ever more perilous, and learns of her untimely death and resurrection. 

Her father betrayed everything she held dear to return her to life, in exchange for Ahriman's freedom, and Elika makes no secret of the apocalypse her father's grief threatens to unleash. Ahriman "will take everything else that remains. He will swallow cities, devour the land. There is nothing that can stop him." Unless she can heal the damage her father has done there will be no hope of survival, no deus ex machina to rescue them from certain doom. There is no putting this djinn back in the bottle: once he escapes, Ahriman will consume the world.

One by one Elika and the Prince conquer Ahriman's lieutenants, face down corruption and death, and through the healing of the land they draw close. Despite their differences they grow to understand each other, respecting each other's talents and viewpoints even when they disagree. Beneath his arrogance the Prince is no cardboard cut-out: his perspective noticeably shifts over the course of their journey as he grows more conscious of his role in Elika's destiny, and despite the opportunity to walk away and resume his life, he chooses to stay, to help Elika finish her quest and save the world. Yet in their moment of triumph he realises the truth, that the Tree of Life was shattered to bring Elika back from the dead. To seal Ahriman away once more, Elika must give up her life, as she's known all along.

Too slow to prevent her sacrifice, the Prince can do nothing more than gather her lifeless body into his arms and lay her atop her mother's tomb. The conversation is over. Yet Ahriman whispers temptation in the Prince's ears, to undo all that has been done. To make the same pact Elika's father did. One life, in exchange for the world.

He has a choice to make.

---

There is another conversation, one which Elika and the Prince remain unaware of even as their words lead them into love. All the tales spun through the ruins of Elika's home, all the memories shared, the philosophies and mythologies and subtle moralities laid bare are parts of a wider dialogue, between Prince of Persia and you, the player. You're the one pushing Talk, the one who wants to hear more, and the narrative repays your curiosity by enrapturing you in a tale of ethical ambiguity, of dark gods and a noble family estranged by death and duty.

And once it has you under its spell, the narrative makes you complicit to their debate. The characters' conversations are founded on big questions: what is the value of a single human life? What does it mean to love someone enough to respect their desire to do what's right, even if the path they walk will surely end in death? The narrative lays out its arguments through dialogue, asks you to hear both sides of the story and allow your preconceptions to be challenged. It offers no answers, no absolute authority, demanding that you think for yourself. Is free will intrinsically superior to adherence to duty? What about when the world is at stake?

At the last, when the Prince lays Elika's body upon cold stone, these are the questions which must inform his choice. 

No, not his. Your choice.

---

Except there is no choice.

The fading echoes of Ahriman's power whisper in the Prince's ears, and the Prince decides that the only possible outcome is to repeat the actions of Elika's father. There is no conversation, no debate. Elika is dead, and the narrative is no longer listening. There is no option to respect Elika's wishes and return to the desert, leaving her destiny fulfilled and Ahriman once more imprisoned for a thousand years.

Despite everything that came before, the narrative decrees that the Prince values Elika's life above the continued existence of the world, and you - as the Prince's puppetmaster - are forced into carrying out its will, or else switch off the power, leaving the Prince eternally standing guard over Elika's tomb. With each sacred tree you shatter, you undo hours of progress, until at last your sword lashes out at the Tree of Life itself.

Even with Elika returned to life, the conversation is dead. The Prince has betrayed her just as utterly as her father did, and she cannot bear to look at him. He carries her into the desert as the credits roll, and Ahriman rises from his thousand-year confinement to destroy the world. And hers is not the only betrayal. The narrative entranced you with discussion and argument and open-minded consideration of conflicting viewpoints, but at the crucial moment it denies you the choice it promised, and instead railroads you into the worst possible outcome.

There are no happy endings here. Ahriman is free to devour the world. Elika lives, yet has nothing to live for, her mother dead, her father corrupted into a sick caricature of mourning, and her destiny denied by the Prince's deliberate sabotage. She can never forgive him - there is no forgiveness for such a profound betrayal, especially when committed in the name of love - and the affection which blossomed between them can do nothing but shrivel into a broken-hearted memory. It's a twisted mockery of the 'love conquers all' trope, one where 'love' involves rejecting every principle your beloved held dear, dooming both your nascent relationship and the world.

You could perhaps argue that the Prince we were introduced to at the beginning of the story - the cocky rogue stumbling through a sandstorm in search of a donkey laden with gold - might have considered that choice, yet through his interactions with Elika, he becomes someone else. He may disagree with her dedication to duty, but he learns to respect it. More crucially, he's no idiot, and the repercussions of his actions have been discussed in considerable detail. When a dark god offers you your dreams in exchange for the world, unthinking obedience is the wrong call.

Player choice is certainly not a prerequisite for a satisfying story, but here its absence is palpable, as if removed at some late stage in development. Not only do the protagonists discuss choice and destiny in considerable depth, but the Prince's decision is distinctly unsatisfying for all parties except Ahriman himself. In a 2009 interview with 1up.com Prince of Persia's producer, Ben Mattes, said: "I think story driven games that have multiple endings are a mistake, because then you don't know what the real story is." Yet the 'real story' that remains feels unfinished, the narrative heavily foreshadowing a moral choice which never comes and a denouement in which Elika's sacrifice is permitted to save the world.

We can only surmise whether it was a decision made in anticipation of a sequel which never came, the result of top-down intervention from Ubisoft management, or a creative compromise to make the most of a finite development budget. It may well be pertinent that the Epilogue DLC released shortly afterward is a direct continuation of the story, requiring Elika to be alive for you to overcome its increasingly elaborate skate-parks. Yet in living up to its name, the DLC does little to advance the story. Our protagonists' easy conversation never rallies, reduced to the Prince's increasingly-shrill demands that Elika must be some form of mystical saviour who can still fix everything, and Elika reprimanding him in turn for undoing everything they achieved together.

Whatever the reason, the conversation is over. While controversial in many ways, Prince of Persia succeeded where so many narratives fail, in crafting an evocative world, portraying a convincing relationship, and daring to ask meaningful questions. 

Until you dare to answer. Then Prince of Persia doesn't want to know.

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