For The "Horizon" Crew
Tracks made with love
Exclusive Tracks
These tracks are made with special people in mind. They're for the people who matter. You know who you are.
Three years, seven months, twenty-one days — from first dawn to the East gate. For the founders. For the crew. For everyone who left and came back too. The horizon finally got a date, and this one belongs to all of us.
Three names carved where the good hearts go. You log in weary from a long hard day, a shout rings out, and it all melts away — Cake's at the table with a story to tell, Cakes walks in and you know it well, Cakeflakez laughing 'til the candles burn low. It was never about the gear, never about the gil. It's the hands that pull you up when the night gets cold. Stranger at dawn, family by night. From the Windurst gates to the Jeuno square, if a friend's in trouble, the crew is there. This one's for the whole server — raise 'em high and sing it loud 'til the rafters ring.
Set your home point here, my friend — where the love don't level cap and the road don't end. One world, one fire, one horizon. Save a seat tonight.
Two silver-haired Taru on the Manaclipper heading out to Bibiki Bay for fishing, laughing about the hair vibes, hasting the whole party, and picking up the fallen without apology. Arcris called it out first — the finest hairstyle, glistening and patronly. Grey ain't tired, grey ain't old. Grey is the crown you earn honest, strand by strand, through duty and loyalty and showing up. No flash, no performance. Just the two of us, same cut, same shine, standing back to back. That's the one you don't forget.
Kings of the finest Taru hair — yours and mine, baby. This hair's the home point. It always brings you home.
Ryugu hunting on the Manaclipper in Bibiki Bay, lines in the water, waiting for the pull of a titanictus. Hutchoo and me, back to back, rocking the seas together. A Tarutaru and a friend who shows up at 2am when the bass drops and the leviathans rise. No fanfare, no flash — just the kind of person who knows when you need them there, standing in the deep. The kind of friend you build a home from, the one you return to, no matter how far out the tide takes you.
Beneath the waves, we're still there — back to back, waiting for the next bite. The home point is the person you return to.
The home point was never the crystal. It's the people you return to. This one grew out of a single line in the bridge of Champion of Men — "built a home from a world that we preferred" — and turned into the whole thesis of the album. Tin whistle, uilleann pipes, and a low bodhrán for everybody who ever logged in just to be somewhere with somebody.
Made for my brother Clynt and his better half Derpie. From Vana'diel to IRL — this one's yours. Love you both.
For my guy who crossed an ocean, tamed every beast Vana'diel threw at him, and built something real on the other side. Scotland to Carolina — the bond holds tight. CAKE.
A Tarutaru fishing, a Hume digging and crafting — grinding through Vana'diel together at 2am, laughing when the synth fails. Stock tips between dig site chat. Ice cream runs that make no sense. The kind of friend who shows up without fanfare, checks in at the right moment, and just knows when something's off. That's the one you don't forget.
Cake — that's what we call it. Not flashy, not loud. Just steady. Just real. Just always there.
For Matues — Vana'diel's most patient fisherman. From Moat Carp mornings on a Windurst dock to the two legends of the deep, this one's the whole grind in song form. The Lik tests your patience. Gugrusaurus tests your soul. Every broken rod was a rep. CAKE.
Chakiaki being full of himself — and earning every second of it. The name Chakiaki has lived in Vana'diel since Final Fantasy XI launched, carried through every server, every era, and now standing tall on HorizonXI. This is that energy in song form. No apologies.
Another side of this journey — Coming Home, Marika — a quieter moment. A love letter to his wife and a testimony to the road that leads back to her in Japan. The duality of ambition and home.
A new friend met on the Manaclipper in Bibiki Bay. Sylphie put me onto Venetian Snares — Aaron Funk's unapologetic, genre-defying breakcore — and something clicked. Not to replicate it, but to feel what it means to make something completely uncompromising. This track is that first step into new territory.
This experimentation evolved into Control The Noise on the Unshackled Minds album — taking the chaos and pulling the truth beneath it into the light.
And deeper still: Honest Weight. The breakcore evolves here—less about the novelty of speed and fragmentation, more about what those fractured pieces *mean*. Building density without losing intent. Every break earned, every shift purposeful.