Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As soon as the ship was sighted in the sky word spread like wildfire over the star. World Leaders and friends of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn alike made their way to Sharlayan, eager to welcome back their heroes. The Lopporits had already sent messages confirming that the universe had been saved.

Yet it was only the Lopporits that exited the ship upon return.

Even as their leader gave a cheery “Worry not, all have returned in one piece!” unrest rippled through the gathering crowd. 

“Where are the scions?”

“If everything’s alright, why won’t they appear?”

“What if-?”

A tall, dark figure forced through the ship’s exit, white hair caked gray and the blood on his temple apparently not of his concern as he threw out an arm, barking orders:

“We need more healers! Now!”

Several Forum members called for order as varying mages went to go forward, knowing that the matters would not be made better by an uncontrolled mass. Even so, one man was an unstoppable force as he broke through the people, not hesitating to barrel past the Azure Dragoon.

Ameliance was still in the house baking for their arrival, after all, and none were able to corral him.

The familiar feeling of nouliths rushing to his side only heightened Fourchenault’s adrenaline as he located where they came from - the prone figure in the corner painfully recognizable. Alphinaud lay silently on the floor, head in his sister’s lap. There was no breath in his body as he rushed to them.

“What are you doing?!” Alisaie shoved her father away as he hovered, nouliths brightening. “We’re fine - it’s, it’s Mife’ra-!”

“We’ve done as much as we can with the materials and strength we have,” Y’shtola stole Fourchenault’s attention, gesturing from the unconscious Alphinaud to where Urianger sat in the corner, a palm against his temple. “Our warrior of light’s aether remains… distressingly thin. No manner of noise or touch has woken him, despite our measures.”

“He’s stubborn,” bit out G’raha, even as the light of his staff flickered, “there’s no doubt of that when it comes to our hero. But he is no more stubborn than the rest of us - give your son credit where it is due, he fainted before ever considering to take a moment’s respite. His efforts did manage to stabilize Fe’s breathing, but we haven’t made much progress since…”

With a heavy sigh, Fourchenault turned his back on his children once again. It had been an age since he last healed, but the hum of power was just the same.

Mife’ra Khempte remained silent. Fourchenault recognized Alisaie’s jacket resting under the inky blue head, a small cushion for the solid flooring.

His clothing was torn, but most outer wounds seemed to have healed over. Dark bruising remained against the gray skin that was exposed; a grim sight coupled with the amount of blood that covered the space beneath him.

The only movement presented itself in the slow rise and fall of his chest. That, and the blood that continued to ooze from his lips with each breath.

G’raha gave a world-weary sigh as he sat back, allowing Fourchenault to take over the healing. He felt every bit his age as he eventually stood, shaking his head.

“I’ll… make sure Estinien isn’t frightening off potential chirur-”

“Daddy!”

“No…” Alisaie, breathless, immediately looked up at the shout. The spitting image of a younger Mife’ra hurtled across the empty space with impressive speed, even as familiar shouting could be heard outside.

“He broke away from his mother and ran through everybody’s legs,” Estinien growled as explanation, Zaze’s voice growing nearer outside. The six year old stood frozen over his father’s body, big magenta eyes fixed upon it.

“Daddy?”

“Zaze’li,” Alisaie called softly, hoping to grab the boy’s attention. “Zaze’li, we’re - see? Father’s fixing him, everything is-”

The subsequent shriek was cut off as Thancred grabbed the boy before he could tackle his father, marking the first time he had moved in hours from where he sat at Mife’ra’s head.

“You were s’posed to protect him!” Zaze’li cried, instead turning to hit against Thancred’s shoulder. “Mama said you’d keep him safe or she’d h, have your hide!”

His sobs were muffled as the gunbreaker wrapped him tightly in a hug, voice soft, too soft for most to hear.

“I tried, little one.”

Zaze’li howled, wrenching out of his grasp so that he might instead cling to Mife’ra’s arm.

He had tried to save Minfilia, too.

“You’ve gotta wake up. Daddy, please, you’ve gotta, please, please-”

He hadn’t succeeded then, either.

-

Minutes stretched into hours. Hours, into days.

Soon a full fortnight had passed.

Some of Sharlayan’s best healers had attempted to provide succor to the warrior of light on the ship, but it eventually became clear that if progress wasn’t being made, the least they could do was bring him somewhere more comfortable.

For once Fourchenault did not argue when Ameliance insisted they bring the rogue into their home instead of the dorms. The amount of foot traffic in their abode would be heinous, but he knew that if he dared refuse this, the tentative peace with his children would sever faster than the miqo’te’s blades could do it themselves.

Zaze and her three little ones were already temporary residents, but now more scions constantly roamed the estate. Having Thancred there was already nuisance enough for all that their relationship was estranged, but the others, too…

Y’shtola didn’t bother, at least, finding her time better spent in seeking Matoya’s counsel. The only other scion that had not been in and out of the Leveilleur doors was the retired dragoon.

In that particular case, it seemed it was because he preferred lurking on the balcony outside of Mife’ra’s windows.

Watching Alphinaud and Alisaie was the most painful part of it all. Never could Fourchenault nor Ameliance recall the last time the two remained within their home for such long stretches.

Alphinaud continued to overexert himself, much to the frustration of both parents - though they showed it in different ways. When Ameliance’s gentle encouragement to take breaks more often and perhaps rest in the sunlight failed to move him, Fourchenault’s attempt at a stern reprimand for the waste of falling to burn out had the opposite effect desired.

“I cannot dare stand by and turn my back on someone who has never turned his back on me! We all gave our lives so that he might fight on, and he still brought us back! Each and every one of us owes him nothing less than every last drop of effort imaginable!”

It was not uncommon to find him knelt at Mife’ra’s bedside entirely unaware of the world around him, conscious or not.

Asking Alisaie what he had meant by all of them giving their lives had not been a pleasant conversation. To know that even his bullheaded, self-assured daughter, vehement opposer of any and all self-sacrifice, allowed her life to be taken from her and made into something new so that Mife’ra Khemte might have a chance at saving Etheirys?

Every day it became clearer just what Mife’ra had meant when he had told Fourchenault that there was no possible way he could have convinced the twins to flee on that ship. Mife’ra was surly, crass, violent, and troubled. Fourchenault still didn’t like him, despite Ameliance’s endearment, but he could begrudgingly admit respect and… something akin to understanding, now.

Mife’ra was brave. Not the sort of impulsive, foolish brave that the keeper of the moon seemed to desire everyone to believe him to be. He was the stalwart sort of brave that came from years and years of fear, of hurts and suffering and anxiety burdened across his shoulders before any world’s fate was. The brave that was kinder and cared more than he wanted to admit, that sought approval and affirmation despite the claws and fangs and anger. He, too, was strong. Strong in the way that fists and muscles could not cover.

And oh, Mife’ra was loved. So, so very loved.

Alisaie had to spend almost all of her time wrangling both Divo and Zaze’li away from their father, Divo’s nervousness and Zaze’li’s desperation unable to throw her off her game. Zaze’li still managed to make his way into the bedchambers regardless so that he might snuggle up against Mife’ra’s side; no healer could manage to find the strength to dislodge him.

Still, no progress was made. No singular twitch of the ear nor scrunch of the nose.

For all he had done, all of his bravery, his strength, Mife’ra Khemte had never been meant for something like this.

He was not a born hero. He only ever ended up in Eorzea on accident, had only ever become an adventurer to get away from the Shroud.

Despite the orange crystal sitting on the shelf near his head, Mife’ra Khemte was not even the Azem whose memories were reflected. He was not the Azem that had been such a dear companion to Hythlodaeus; he was not the Azem that Emet-Selch had loved and mourned and made tribute to. All of this pain, all of this suffering, and all for a role that had been meant for someone else. Mife’ra had never been able to live up to Mife’a in his mother’s eyes, even if she had been the one to kill him. It seemed almost fitting, now, in the final hazy thoughts that had descended upon him in the deepest corners of the universe. He was nothing more than a shadow of the original.

So too was Icarus to whatever Azem had come before him. Such a revelation was hardly fair.

Mife’ra Khemte was tired.

Chapter Text

When Mife’ra next opened his eyes he was sitting at the edge of a cliff overlooking Ishgard… and someone was sitting beside him.

“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to worry you’d already sunk deeper.”

His head snapped to the side, looking up to see an achingly familiar smile a bit above him and blue hair far lighter than his own.

It didn’t hurt to move at all.

“I’m… dead.”

“Not quite,” Haurchefant refuted with an easy shrug. “It is true that most of your soul’s aether is currently drifting in the lifestream, but you are still tethered to your body. Whether you return to your flesh or let go is up to you, my friend.”

A deep breath - though no air seemed to fill his lungs. Carefully Mife’ra observed his own hands before glancing at the elezen beside him.

“How are we. How are we at your… your grave? If this is the lifestream?”

Haurchefant hummed looking out over the sharp drop below them. “It seems…  well, ‘tis not far from a dream. This is the place that your soul can easily make sense of my presence. You know, of course, that I still watch over you. Lord Alphinaud, mistress Tataru, even Estinien - I fret, even now.”

“I felt you.” The words were sticky in his throat, Haurchefant suddenly a sun in his vision, far too bright to look at. “In the atiascope. I felt you invigorate me.”

“Full glad am I to know I reached you.”

“Did you…” a pause, ink blue ears pinned to his scalp. “Did you… see my brothers? Down here?”

Haurchefant’s glance softened, tone already apologetic. “About that, Fe…”

“It was a stupid question.” The words, sharply barbed, did not faze his company. “Forget it.”

A hand rested over the one he had clenched on his lap, somehow warm and cold at the same time. “Your brothers were still so little when they died, my friend. It is far more likely that they were immediately recycled into new lives. Even if they remained… you would not find the answers you seek from the mouths of babes.”

“No,” Mife’ra flatly replied. “I guess I wouldn’t.”

-

Thancred had not slept in two days. His time was spent sitting on the floor next to the headboard of the bed Mife’ra lay in, every muscle tense and agitated. He did not spare too many glances to the young elezen and his healing, not even when the light of the magicks egged on a headache.

It was usually just the two of them to watch over the warrior of light. The retired dragoon still hovered on the balcony, but Thancred knew he would not come in. Sometimes Zaze’li would burst in to cry and sleep next to his father, as well, upon escaping Alisaie’s tireless distractions. Ameliance only ever briefly to offer drink and sustenance…

The soft knock on the door made him question which likely person it would be, and Thancred wasn’t wholly surprised to see Alisaie’s head pop in, lips thin.

Alphinaud didn’t even glance up.

“Pardon,” the younger twin offered quietly, opening the door a bit wider, “but I have someone who would like to speak to you, Thancred.”

If he were years younger, annoyance or frustration might have risen in his throat. Now? All that exited his mouth was exhausted.

“If it’s dear Fourchenault, I’d rather not. If it’s Urianger, he needn’t worry…”

“Well, uh.”

Alisaie closed the door behind her, a dark shadow clinging onto her leg, navy ears pinned. When she reached down to pat his head, he spooked, letting go so that he might shuffle toward Thancred.

“I’m sorry.”

Guard shooting downward, Thancred attempted to lighten his tone. “Whatever for, little one? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Zaze’li pouted toward the floor, eyes dull and sad. “For yellin’. Mama said I prob’ly… hurt your feelings. ‘Cause you love Daddy too. An’ Ali-sis told me that you did everything you could to… to protect him. Even… die.”

Thancred sighed, raising an eyebrow at his niece where she kicked her foot in the corner. “Did she now? A little dark to be telling that to a six year old. Now, come here, Zaze’li.”

The little boy hesitated for only a moment before he came closer, sitting upon Thancred’s lap at his gesture. The rough fingers pressing along the base of his ears elicited a small purr from him, even as he felt the tears begin to well up again.

“You’re forgiven. You should see how much your father yells at me. It’s almost always well deserved. I don’t fault him or you for that, ‘li.”

A soft mumble was uttered into his side from where the mi’qitten had buried his face, prompting an ask for him to repeat ever so gently.

“Mama said that when the scions came home, I’d get to stay with Daddy. An’ now he’s… and if he’s not okay, then, then you won’t want me either, ‘cause without him you don’t gotta care about me, and I’ll just get in the way, and-”

“Hey,” scolded Thancred, giving the boy a small squeeze. “Who’s spreading such falsehoods? Zaze’li… I swore an oath to your father.”

“You’re just engaged,” Alisaie pointed out, little fire to her voice. “You’ve been engaged for nearly a year, now. You never wed.”

“We’ve been busy . Regardless, Zaze’li, listen: you are not unwanted. If you wished to remain with me, even if Mife’ra… did not wake, you would be more than welcome to. I am other-Dad, am I not?”

That got a wiggle and a nod from the child, though he still looked no more certain.

“Good. You are just as much my son as Ryne is Mife’ra’s daughter. Never doubt how much either of us care for you, understand? And that goes for you two, as well.”

Alisaie stiffened across the room, even Alphinaud giving the slightest of pauses in his ministrations.

“Pardon?”

Thancred scoffed lightly, brushing his hair from around his eyes while Zaze’li made himself more comfortable in his lap. “I know, I know. We already hardly mention my ties to the Leveilleurs as it is - that this was also my home for a brief spell before I met my mentor; that, all things considered, I am your uncle. But the fact of the matter is… like so many others, I have watched you both grow up. Perhaps Mife’ra has not been part of your lives for very long, comparatively, but there isn’t a soul across the star that would deny the fatherly role he has taken toward you both… even if you are no longer children.

“Fourchenault and I have never seen eye to eye. Sharlayan custom ever has been quite derogatory toward outsiders, and I… was one, when Louisoix took me in. The concept that some lowborn streetrat plucked from the depths of Limsa Lominsa could become a Leveilleur - it is no wonder that Louisoix offered me the name Waters instead. Far less… scandal. I was sixteen when the two of you were born - and I saw firsthand how much Fourchenault cared for his children. But I… I can admit to also knowing more stories like Mife’ra’s. And though I wasn’t around often, I can tell you this: you both have come into yourselves far more fluidly at Mife’ra’s side than ever at your father’s. You’ve both grown into fine young adults, but as for the driving force behind that…”

“It wasn’t Father.”

“No,” Thancred agreed with Alphinaud’s low words. “I rather think it was not.”

“He feels like the worst parts of me,” Alphinaud continued, not making eye contact. “I will not deny that we are similar, but… compared to my facets that are from Mother… compared to the parts of me that have grown from my travels, from being exposed to different individuals like Mife’ra… even if he has given me strengths, they are not… ones I like. Not any longer.”

“And knowing the things that he’s gone through-” Alisaie added, wincing. “He has done so much for so many people that he hasn’t had to do, going against the grain for so long, and without… without parents that loved them like what we had. He did it all himself. Even when faced with consequences - he always followed what he believed to be right. Even though he couldn’t understand us, at first… he still listened and did not lessen our feelings.”

“We didn’t get along at all, at first.” It was with a weak smile that Alphinaud recalled his earliest days with the scions. “I cannot fault him for it now. Even when we fought and argued, he never attempted to give low blows - even when it would have made a compelling argument. He was tough on us, but never maliciously so. He never gave up on us. In Ishgard, despite not liking me then, he still… took care of me when I was ill or upset, he let us… talk about our differences and better understand each other. We listened to each other. And Father - he… he really disowned us when we asked for aid.”

“No I’m sorry, I can’t, you know how Sharlayan is - he abandoned us without even a shred of emotion! And knowing what Mife’ra’s childhood was like, knowing that Mife’ra hasn’t skinned Father alive now - it shows a level of patience and maturity that Father… that I don’t think he has.”

“Patience and maturity… those certainly are interesting descriptors for him,” Thancred replied with mild humor at Alisaie’s passionate statement. “Nevertheless, I agree. As does this little one, I think.”

Zaze’li had all but fallen over in Thancred’s lap, ears half pinned as he mumbled into Thancred’s knee.

“Daddy loves you. He always talks about you. You and Ryyyyne and Ga Bu. Says you’re all my big siblings like he wished he had. That all us brats gotta stick together. Always that ‘those twins can do anything, you watch.’”

Alisaie softened at the child’s imitation of his father, kneeling down to scratch behind his ear. “It… always felt nice to hear his belief in us, when it seemed like so much of the world we knew was against it. Though I’m not sure if we can accomplish anything …”

“Can you… at least get Daddy to wake up?” the mi’qitten asked, magenta eyes sparkling as he looked up at what he knew to be his older sister.

Lips thin, Alphinaud turned back to the unmoving body upon the bed. Whatever Alisaie replied, he didn’t hear her; his own response was nearly lost to the ice creeping through his blood.

“We won’t stop trying, I promise. Whatever it may take.”

Chapter Text

“Get up. I haven’t got all day.”

A solid feeling sharply jabbed between his shoulders.

“Get up, worm!”

Ice flooded Mife’ra’s veins, and within moments, he was on his feet.

It was dark, the structure Garlean, and yet there was no roof above them. The only light came from the bright full moon floating in the sky.

The moon used to calm him.  He was a Keeper, after all. It had soothed him on the nights when his mother had been harsh to him, had remained his only companion many a time as he made his way from Yanxia to Gridania.

Upon his return to Yanxia, it became a hostile reminder.

At least she looked normal, and not like the primal she became. Still, Mife’ra eyed her warily, her frown, her sharp eyes, the fold of her arms.

“...Tsuyu.”

That struck a nerve as she scowled, head bowed. “Please. You know better.”

Silence filled the air, neither of them willing to speak, until finally, Yotsuyu broke it.

“Why am I here, of all misfortunate souls? I subjugated your homeland. I enacted such cruelty on your kin - I jeopardized the prisoner exchange that held your mother and sisters.”

Mife’ra refused to flinch. He would have, back in Doma. But he had grown since then - had been forced to move past his grudges and woe for the greater good of it all. Perhaps, then, he would have hissed back at her, had been ready to start a fight, but now…

He was tired. He had seen so much death. So many broken spirits…

“You’re no more a villain than I am, Tsuyu.”

That caused the woman to freeze, mouth parted slightly, before she returned to her previous scowl, anger lacing her tone. “Just because you know of my history does not mean you know anything about me-”

Mife’ra huffed, sitting back down, casual, his ears flicking in response. “When you did not remember yourself, I was your greatest advocate… aside from Gosetsu. You’re the one who doesn’t know anything, Tsuyu - fuck’s sake. We could have been twins.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t learned as much,” the snarl clipped at the edge of his tone, no real heat behind it. “We’re the goddamn same person. Shit parents, constant abuse, a developed hatred for Doma - the only difference is that you. You had fuckin’ Asahi for a little brother. I - my younger sisters didn’t mind me much, but I - I had Shiqo for an older sister, and she… she really made all the difference. I got one person who loved me growin’ up, and you didn’t, and that’s it. If I hadn’t left Doma…”

Guilt gnawed at him as his ears drooped, fangs chewing over his lip. It was the truth, and he had to admit it to someone.

“If I hadn’t left Doma, Tsuyu, I’d have been right there at your side, committing every crime imaginable to make people suffer like I did. Like I said, get it? You’re no more a villain than I am. We’re the same.”

“You’re an idiot,” Yotsuyu barked back, standing before him. It was the same look of irritation and haughtiness she would give before inhaling her smoke, though that had not manifested here.

“You already told me all that, once, as Tsuyu. That we’re ‘one and the same,’ that if you had been given the opportunity to achieve power and safety through destroying Doma - you would have done it. So I will remind you one last time, and you had best listen well, for I will not repeat it again.”

Mife’ra felt his head jerked up as she grabbed his chin, sneering down at him.

“We are not the same, you wretch. I chose death, and pain, and ruin, all up until the end. And I do not regret it. You? Don’t make me laugh. You chose life. You’ve built lives, and you brought more children into this dreadful world-”

“Not always by my own will, but-”

“Shut it! You’ve fought for the kids you did choose instead of your own sake. Don’t kid yourself: we are not the same, Fe’ra. And you - you are going to prove my point.”

Mife’ra felt himself bodily dragged up to stand, eye-to-eye with Yotsuyu. When her voice came out softer, he did not call her out.

“You are going to go crawling back to those whelps. You will build a better world for them. For us . For once, be as selfish as I was, you idiot miqo’te, and do this for yourself!”

That was asking a lot of him. Mife’ra could not help but look away to keep from staring at the light of the moon.

“Don’t I deserve to rest? Wouldn’t that be selfish?”

Yotsuyu backed away with a roll of her eyes, disgust plain upon her face. “Ugh. You men are so… let me put it this way.

“Death is easy, Warrior of Light.” A sharp nail poked Mife’ra squarely in the chest, bristling the fur on his tail as he finally earned a smile from the woman in front of him.

“You have never done things the easy way.”

-

“Who’re you?”

The hour was late. Thancred had finally been forced to get up and leave so that he might discuss possibilities with Y’shtola and G’raha and the few findings they had, and Alphinaud had long since lost consciousness once again at the side of Mife’ra’s bed. Zaze’li knew that Uncle ‘Stinien was probably on the balcony, but he had expected his father to be alone, otherwise.

Instead a bright blue bird was perched upon the foot of the bed. It cocked its head at him, the feathers on the back of its neck standing slightly as if alarmed at being caught.

“You’re a pretty birdie, did you come in through the window? Are you a friendly bird?”

The bird took one hop forward toward Zaze’li before a voice inexplicably shot through his head.

“Friend? Are you a friend, too?”

Zaze’li gasped, startling the bird before it tumbled off the bed and onto the floor - and before his very eyes, it was replaced by a small… girl? Still bigger than him, but not by more than a fulm.

“Never… seen a. Baby. Can… we please… be friends?”

“I’m not a baby!” Zaze’li whispered, pouting. “I’m six summers! And I’m only allowed to be friends with people Daddy or Mama says are-”

“He… made you? He’s like your… your Hermes…”

After a moment of pondering, the girl seemed to understand. “He… talked about you. Loved… loved you. Like… like how Hermes liked his apples the most. Fe… loved you.”

A small spike of anger brought tears to Zaze’li’s eyes as he stamped his foot, a habit he knew Zaze would have rolled her eyes at and teased for being like Mife’ra. “Loves! He’s not! He’s not dead!”

“No,” she returned, fixing her eyes upon the prone hero once more. “He’s not. Not yet.”

She pointed to a faint glow upon the bed. Zaze’li shuffled closer to inspect it, oohing at the pretty colors of the new thing.

“Brought… brought a flower. For his return. He… is full of love. It… is keeping him alive.”

Rolling the flower in his hands, Zaze’li nodded absently. “Sometimes Daddy uses a big sword instead of his knives. Says that when he’s using it to not be afraid of him, ‘cause he’s being driven by love. Says it’s for when other-dad is hurt, or can’t fight.”

“Love…” she parroted, watching as the flower’s radiance turned a softer shade of pink in the little boy’s hands. In a swoop, she returned to bird, gently plucking it from Zaze’li’s grip before laying it next to Mife’ra’s pillow.

“Hey, I was-”

“Look at it.”

Zaze’li crept closer, peering at the bloom as more and more pink overtook its petals.

“It’s pretty…”

“It’s Elpis.”

Zaze’li jumped at the deeper voice behind him as Estinien came in from the window as the strange bird flew out of it. The elezen pulled a quilt from the nearby chair and draped it over where Alphinaud remained before resting a hand on Zaze’li’s head.

“Meteion must have sensed Esteem. So that’s what’s keeping him going… Alisaie had gil on Ardbert.

“You see the color?” Estinien picked the boy up, nodding. “That color means he’s still alive. It might change colors, that’s okay. But if you see it turn white, you gotta run and tell someone, okay?”

“Does white mean he’s wakin’ up?”

Silence. Estinien sighed as the little one’s tears came flooding back.

“I don’ want it to turn white, ‘Stinien.”

Estinien deftly opened the door, preparing to take him back to his mother.

“Me either, kid.”

By the time Alphinaud woke to continue his ministrations, the glow of rose had faded to a soft pearl.

Chapter Text

Green grass, a gentle lake. The clouds were fluffy and the sky bright. The rains had ceased; it was a beautiful day.

Those lazing in the newfound greenery, unsure of what to make of it, could not help but cast their gazes to the sound of crying.

“So that’s why we’ve gathered…”

“Is he alright?”

“Is that-?”

“Oh no…”

Two of the four immediately stood, making their way to the figure on the ground. Golden mane was swept back as the larger of the two knelt at their side, scouring the person for wounds. The smaller, white robe matching his hair, was quick to observe the other, worry spiking at what he found.

“It’s… it’s Icarus? How could… How is he… Helios, why is Icarus…”

“You’re half correct, Themis. Shit, he’s barely holding onto himself.”

“I don’t know what you expect, this deep in the lifestream,” Hades offered from where he continued to sit by the lake, Hythlodaeus’ head upon his shoulder. “And after we spent such inspiring words on him. Rather a shame.”

“Hades,” Helios scolded, stern even as Hythlodaeus rolled his eyes. “Not in front of Themis.”

“You said that the hero was Icarus, yet I…” Themis’ voice wavered, a hand hovering over Icarus’ face, “The last time I saw him… last time I saw Icarus, I… I tried to…”

“It wasn’t your fault. You were just doing what you thought best for everyone.”

A breathy sob tore from Icarus’ chest, a shaking hand reaching to grasp at his heart. Slowly, slowly, stunning blue eyes opened.

Helios, he recognized. He remembered them from Elpis, from the moon - from the end of the road. The other…

“Where… where… am I? Helios… Helios…”

“I hear you, Mife’ra. What was that you preferred? Fe? Fe’ra? C’mon, you’re still there. You’re not dissolved yet. You’re stronger than that.”

Icarus struggled to sit up, free hand dragging wildly through his hair. He felt wrong, fuzzy, and he found himself leaning closer to the water, staring at his reflection.

Skin a deep brown. Hair an untamed mess of gold that shone in the sun. Eyes a burning blue. 

In one smooth motion, Hythlodaeus stood, coming closer. He dipped a hand toward the lake, a single tap sending ripples across its surface.

“Go back to sleep, Icarus. Just for a little while yet. I know you are missed by these two most terribly, but your time has not yet come.

“You boldly claimed your name to us on your precious moon,” he smiled, sitting back in the grass as the water began to settle. “Mife’ra Khemte, the Warrior of Light. And just now, calling back your companions in Ultima Thule. Those two young ones were quick to rush to your side. And what of that man you immediately assaulted? White haired, self-sacrificing? Past or present, you seem to have quite a type.”

Hades tsk’d, shaking his head. “Shoved me full of white auracite. Far, far bolder a man than Elidibus.”

“Emet-Selch,” Themis’ face burned, anxiety still tight in his chest. “I beg you drop your dramatic crusade against our Icarus. We know it false.”

The small bickering was unheard by the man in question as he continued looking into the water, the ripples dissipating. With a sharp breath, the picture cleared.

Skin as gray as incoming storm clouds. Hair a deep inky blue, sleek, with large ears sitting on top. Eyes that continued to be a bright, burning blue, ever unchanging.

“I… I’m me…” Mife’ra whispered, ears pinning back. “I’m me. I’m still… still me.”

“As you ever were.”

With Hythlodaeus’ assurance warm in his chest, Mife’ra found the strength to sit back once more.

All of the words spoken sunk into Mife’ra’s head as the world calmed around him, identity secure. Slowly, predatorily, he raised his gaze to the one individual he did not recognize.

They were small, unassuming. Something in his breast absolutely ached at the sight of them. Hades had insinuated that, whoever he had once been, he had once been in love with them.

Even so.

“Elidibus.”

Themis straightened slightly, careful to keep neutral. Twas his duty, after all. “Hero. If I could… I would wish for. A word, with you. Perhaps… privately?”

“You’re the reason Haurchefant died. That Papalymo died. Encouraging Thordan. Retrieving those damn eyes. You destroyed Urianger’s trust in himself. You revived Zenos’ damn body. Y’kidnapped Shtola. You. You forced Raha’s hand. He had to die to seal you. You defiled Ardbert’s corpse. Everything you’ve done - everything you’ve done t’me and my friends. It’s unforgivable.”

Themis could not hide the wince at Mife’ra’s words. “I… do not. I do not disagree, my - Mife’ra. Hero. I-”

“I ain’t finish!” Mife’ra hissed, tail dangerously slinking back and forth.

“I forgive you.”

“You…” The thirteenth seat was overcome, surprised and disarmed by Mife’ra’s words. “You forgive? That which you deem… unforgivable?”

A scowl painted across his face, the rogue looked away. Hades and Hythlodaeus had wandered farther, visible, but out of earshot. Helios still lingered.

“It’s not fair that I. Got pulled into all this shit just ‘cause the real Azem couldn’t follow through.” He ignored the shameful hurt on Helios’ visage. “Whoever I… whoever Icarus was. He was jus’ a kid, more or less. To your kind, anyways. But so are you.”

Elidibus had been tiny, upon his defeat. Mife’ra had thought it might have had something to do with loss of power depleting his size, but even here, now, Themis was small. Looked young. Younger than the other three.

To Mife’ra, he looked like an adult as much as the twins did. Maybe they all were, in their cultures, but. They were more kid than he was, relatively.

“You were… young. And you just wanted to do your best to help your comrades. You became a primal of yourself to do it. Forgot… everything. The Elidibus I knew, the primal, he was. He was a piece of shit. But you, I don’t - I don’t blame you. Regardless of whoever I was, to you. Once.”

The figure before him reminded Mife’ra painfully of Alphinaud. They weren’t so different. If Alphinaud had somehow managed to become a primal, back during the Braves…

“I…” Themis swallowed, eyes closing. “You have always. Always. Been far too kind, my… my Icarus. If I may. Shard of Icarus, perhaps, but… still so very much the same.”

Icarus was better than his full given name. Mife’ra couldn’t bring himself to try and stop him. Themis continued, seeing no correction, hesitatingly reaching out and taking hold of one of Mife’ra’s hands in both his own.

“I know that you… are caught here, in limbo. You’ve nowhere deeper to go, I’m afraid. And ‘tis your choice, and yours alone, whether you choose to fully embrace the lifestream, come home with us, Icarus, or… return to Etheirys. Perhaps unsolicited, but I would… I would give my part.

“You have always flown… far too close to the sun.” Softly the words were spoken, softly was Themis’ gaze brought to momentarily glance at Helios. “Yet every time you fall and… and threaten to drown, my stubborn, stubborn Icarus, you manage to somehow claw out of the murky depths before they might claim you. Over and over, throughout your life…”

When Themis sighed, it was a heavy, world-weary thing. Thousands of years of responsibility that had all been for naught.

Mife’ra hated how good his hand felt captured in the shade’s.

“It is not fair of me to do so, but, my Icarus, I ask that you do so once more… despite the rest you deserve. Rise up, out of this treacherous sea. This time… not for those you have lost. Not for your friends, nor your family, all that you love. Not even for the sake of Etheirys. This time, I beg you… resurface from this numbing cold for nothing more but yourself, and what brings you joy.”

The opposite of Yotsuyu’s urge, yet somehow the same.

“The Icarus I knew was a beacon of it. Of joy, of wonder, of light and happiness. If you could… if you could think of that which makes you happy. Of what you think makes your life worth all the pain you have endured…”

Themis slowly released his hands, stepping back. Mife’ra didn’t have to search for an answer.

“My family. The whole messy, extended lot of it. Especially my kids.”

“Zaze’li. It’s been thousands of years, but it’s hard to forget the look of love on your face from way back in Elpis.”

Mife’ra nodded at Helios. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done with him in mind. Want the world to be as good to him as it wasn’t to me.”

A small chuckle was drawn from Themis, smile faint. “Yes… Icarus was always fond of children. Then I bid you… do not return because you feel your family needs you, Hero. Return because of the joy they will bring to you.

“As you know so intimately, you are not them,” Themis gestured to Helios, who only nodded in return. “You need not pit your might and worth against that of your mentors, your siblings, your idols any longer. You are Icarus. You could have, once, been Mife’a… but you are Mife’ra Khemte, like as not.”

Despite Themis’ plea, still did Mife’ra turn to Helios.

“Funnily enough, Hydaelyn… Venat. She wanted to tell you that you were what you sought, whatever she meant by it. Hades and Hythlodaeus seem pretty sure what she meant by it, but what it means to me is this, kiddo: Whatever was supposed to happen didn’t, sure. But the world got you, Mife’ra. And that’s exactly what the world needed. Someone as good, as strong, as brave as you. A little spark that burned bright with love and life, even if the darkest of times.”

“Would it… be the right thing?” Mife’ra’s voice was small, uncertain.

Helios softened instantly, coming forward to place a hand upon his shoulder. “If it feels right to you. Only if it feels right to you. We aren’t suggesting you return out of duty, yeah? If we were selfish, we miss you, and we’d - if you want to stay, we’d love to have you. The right thing to do is whatever you  want right now. Return, or… or rest. Just… just know that the person you’ve been looking to for guidance your whole life, it’s just been… you. So while I think that you’ve done a good job, Fe’ra, you’re the one that  needs to answer. Do you like who you’ve become? The life you’ve made?”

A question with a weight worthy of every Meteion’s despair, yet there was no such thing to be found in the answer. Mife’ra curled his hands into fists, then relaxed them. He looked over the endless expanse of grass and flowers and water, of a once-beautiful world.

“I do. I’m… good enough. I deserve…”

A deep breath. Words he’d never believed before, much less spoken.

“I deserve happiness.”

“Then we will wait. Especially as you have no time to waste.” The words from Themis were punctuated by Helios’ smile, stepping back as they began to rapidly expand before Mife’ra, eventually becoming the height they would have been, once, when they were yet alive.

“Hades will reprimand me for lack of gentleness,” they spoke, lowering their hands down to Mife’ra. Their voice wavered and rippled like the pond had, before. “But if you do not have your wings to bear you up, I see no harm in having one last bit of fun with you.”

At Themis’ gentle urge, Mife’ra slowly stepped onto Helios’ hands.

“No being blinded by the sun this time,” Themis restated, his tone full of a myriad of emotions that Mife’ra could not begin to parse. “Not this time. Fly, my Icarus. Soar up and out of this aetherial sea, lest you drown ere long.”

Mife’ra gazed up to Helios, seeing them set their jaw.

“I’m proud of you. You were a better Azem than I ever could’ve been.”

Helios violently swung upward, rocketing Mife’ra up, up into the blue expanse of the sky. The illusions of the sea rippled around him, not unlike azure flames.

A life could’ve been had, without the Final Days. Themis hadn’t let himself think about it for long since he had arrived, since Helios and Hades and Hythlodaeus had welcomed him. They could’ve wed, eventually. Would have heard sappy words from Helios and Erichthonios both, in a world where Icarus had only ever been loved, been given kindness and support, not like his shard, now.

A fantasy, now.

“Fly true, Icarus. Your son awaits.”

-

“There’s hardly any color to it.”

When Alphinaud had stepped onto the balcony where Estinien had been lurking, thrusting an off-white elpis flower in his direction, the dragoon had not known how to react.

Even more so, now, with how unkempt Alphinaud was, breathless, and hands shaking from a clear overuse of magic.

“It won’t help by taking it away from him.”

Estinien dragged the younger back inside, taking note of how he stumbled over his own feet.

Mife’ra did look, frankly, like shit. Whatever magical healing could do, it had done. He had still lost too much blood, was still too frail to do much eating or drinking, even with assistance. He was not properly resting. If Estinien had been asked his opinion, he would’ve shut down this palliative care from the start.

Let a hero die a hero. Not be reduced to this.

But Estinien had not been asked his opinion, and nor would he have been able to give it in the face of Alphinaud.

Even so, he kept a hand on his shoulder. Did not look him in the eyes when he spoke.

“He would not want you killing yourself over him. He has wanted rest a long time, little lord.”

“Don’t.”

Estinien sighed at the broken response, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “I am not telling you what to do. Nor, do I think, can I make you. But there is always a certain point where healers cannot bring back the dead.”

“Haurchefant.”

“Yes.” Hearing the choke to Alphinaud’s words brought him no joy. “Haurchefant.”

“But I’m stronger now than I was then.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “So is he.”

Silence. He could feel some resolve in Alphinaud’s chest crumble.

“I… I’ll. Rest. Just for today. As he… would want. And if he - when he remains yet with us, on the morrow - I will resume.”

A fair deal. Estinien would not, could not, ask for more.

When Alphinaud left the room to bathe for the first time since returning, Estinien took up the warrior of light’s limp hand.

“I remember our words when we first arrived in Thavnair. The depths of our exhaustion. I do not blame you if you want to claim your rest.”

There was no response.

-

“Hmph. It took you long enough to find me.”

Mife’ra’s ascent had slown, finally, to a stop. No illusions altered the landscape from its truth, this time: the aetherial sea surrounded him, not unlike it had in the atiascope.

Only one figure stood before him, floating at his level. Sleek navy hair. A perpetual frown. Tail waving back and forth, slowly, just longer than Mife’ra’s own. His mirror image, decked in dark armor, cerulean eyes replaced by a sharp gold.

Instantly, Mife’ra was at ease. “Esteem.”

“I have kept you tethered while you wandered. We have limited time, now, as Ardbert holds you steady. Have you made your choice?”

“You act as though you can’t feel my resolve.”

“Tis true enough. Must I remind you, however, of the consequences? Should you choose to return, you will find no rest. All of the anger, the grief you have spent… the violence you have righteously enacted… You have done enough for the world. I would not blame you if you changed your mind.”

“If you really wanted me to change my mind, you’d have brought Myste.”

Esteem shrugged lightly at Mife’ra’s knowing smirk, even as he watched exhaustion already begin to creep in along his eyes.

“I never claimed I wanted you to alter your course.”

That elicited a curt bark of laughter from Mife’ra as he watched Esteem reach out his hand, the miqo’te shaking his head wearily. “Those moogle rats said that you’re made of love.”

He grasped the shadowy hand, allowing his face to soften into a smile.

“We’ve got a lot more of that to give.”

-

The night was cool, the door to the balcony left open. Estinien stood watch, as ever, just outside.

Alphinaud lay toward the end of the bed Mife’ra occupied after a very determined Zaze’li scorned him into resting anywhere but on the floor.

The bed was built for anyone from a lalafell to a roegadyn, after all, and could easily hold all three of them. Zaze’li remained tucked at his father’s shoulder, fast asleep, still trying to comply with his mother’s bid to be diurnal while with their Sharlayan hosts.

Even so, he was just a child. Asleep, Zaze’li still fussed, squirming and giving a small sound of upset before settling down again.

Completely ignorant to the head that slowly tipped to the side, nosing into his deep blue hair.

Chapter Text

Wake up, wake up, wake up!

Sleep had been hard to come by for the scions lately, dreams even more so. But the demanding, familiar voice was more compelling than any of the dreams it resided in.

Estinien hadn’t heard it, nor would he have known how to react to it, but he was easily awoken where he leaned against the wall of the estate by the sound of Alphinaud’s sharp gasp, having fallen off of the bed. By the time Estinien had rushed in, Alisaie and Thancred both had nearly broken the door in their haste to enter.

The dragoon didn’t know what was going on, but if he had to guess, G’raha would be following shortly, and Y’shtola and Urianger after him.

“Why did Feo Ul wake us up-?”

The younger twin’s question was immediately answered simply by looking at the main occupant of the bed. All the noise had clearly startled Zaze’li awake, the little one looking fit to cry from the fright it had given him. Mife’ra, himself, was grimacing.

“Holy shit.” Thancred immediately took his place at the side of the bed, an arm around the mi’qitten to soothe him.

Mife’ra was grimacing, his ears flat on his head. He looked exhausted, bags under closed eyes, and as though he was in tremendous pain. His breaths were quick, weak puffs of air, no longer the slow, invisible inhales he had been giving.

“Daddy?” Zaze’li nervously questioned, wary from under Thancred’s arm.

“His vitals are unstable-” Alphinaud’s words were responded to with swears from Alisaie as she fled the room and G’raha as he entered, staff already out. “Breathing uneven, his pulse is fluttering-”

“But the flower’s pink,” Zaze’li whimpered, earning gentle hushes and a squeeze from Thancred. “Looks jus’ like my eyes, so Daddy’s gotta be okay. He’s gotta be okay, that’s what the birdie said, right?”

“His aether feels… thin.” There was Y’shtola, accompanied shortly by an out of breath Urianger. Alisaie returned moments later, a small clear mask in her hands that she slotted over Mife’ra’s mouth, Urianger quickly arranging the arcane codes that appeared over Mife’ra’s nose and lips.

“Increasing oxygen.”

“Where the hells did you get a respirator from?” Thancred bit out in retort to Urianger, bewildered. Alisaie was quick to respond, words curt in her clearly climbing anxiety.

“We’re in Sharlayan, not out in some wilderness. I asked if Urianger would hassle the Forum for any advanced medical technologies, just in case - just in case something exactly like this was to happen.”

“If naught else, it explains why the ever-busy Titania felt fit to wake us.”

Y’shtola frowned, only half listening to G’raha’s thoughts as he continued to heal beside Alphinaud. “His aether is… distressingly thin. Perhaps that would be another way to aid him…”

Alisaie did not hesitate to start channeling her aether to Mife’ra, already holding one of his limp hands in her own. Estinien followed with less ease, Y’shtola also deciding it was worth more to do than provide another healer.

“I wanna help...”

Thancred clearly wasn’t the only one feeling useless. Eyes wet with tears, Zaze’li glanced up at him.

“Can’t we help?”

Maybe they could. There was no harm in trying.

“Put out your hand, like this.” Thancred carefully pried one clawed hand off of his arm, holding it out toward the prone miqo’te. “Feel your breath and energy throughout your body. The pull of the moon, the blood in your veins. Push it out toward your father… like any other gift you have given him, over the years.

“Think of him.” The whisper was soft against too-large ears. “Love him. You’re a bright kid. You can do it.”

Do it for me. I can’t. Not any longer. Not in years.

A tiny thread of aether shone from Zaze’li’s hand, nestling itself just above Mife’ra’s heart.

Long ago, Amaurotines would greet each other with waves of their aether; they would blanket their love in it as they slept, communicate through it without words. The shards were far too low on aether to do the same, and Emet-Selch had surely pitied them for never knowing how it would feel to do paperwork in one room whilst a playful wave of aether poked and prodded at him for attention. Truly miserable was such a life without the sensation, especially when one was used to two constantly needing attention in return.

Perhaps they no longer had such intimate, ethereal ways of feeling and speaking on Etheirys.

Nonetheless, Mife’ra felt hands reaching out to him. Familiar hands. One rough with years of the lance. One delicate, yet powerful. A smaller hand, desperately stretching out to him, not unlike in Ghimlyt.

And a smaller hand yet, uncertain, but being guided by something far fainter, yet just as beloved.

Mife’ra smiled.

“His pulse hath stabilized,” Urianger noted, sternly checking the vitals displayed on the mask. “His breaths yet deepen.”

“We’ve got him.” The murmur was like a prayer out of Alphinaud, no other thing allowed to be true. “We’ve got you. Just hold on a little while longer.”

Thancred’s gaze was trapped in the two slits of bright blue that had opened, no matter how slight.

“Yer’ll… okay. G… th’s good.”

This time he slipped into a soft black instead of the gentle sea of aether.

-

Over the next two days, Mife’ra occasionally woke just long enough to drink and take a few mouthfuls of food before drifting back into unconsciousness. He hadn’t responded to anything said to him, but it was clear that it was only out of exhaustion and not deafness: his ears would flick and tilt and pick up sounds as they ever had, the only time he ever spent more energy being to pat Zaze’li’s head or shoulder.

When consciousness finally settled more firmly in the hero, he took his time in waking up. There was a gentle ocean breeze that was coming in through the window. There was an over-warm weight at his side, and another heavier weight sat next to his head. A little body was squirming between the latter and himself, eventually settling to put a head on his shoulder.

Mife’ra shifted just enough to land a kiss on the ears he knew would be there, not caring that he was interrupting the thrilling fairytale being told beside him.

“Daddy?”

“Let him sleep,” Thancred chided, though Mife’ra could hear the hope in his tone. He rewarded his beloved by opening his eyes, causing Zaze’li to give a delighted gasp.

“Hey Lili. Than.” With only a bit of effort, he turned his head to look at who was at his other side. “Mm. Another brat. Tuckered ‘mself out?”

He let a hand drift upwards, fingers brushing underneath Alphinaud’s bangs. If nothing else, he was pleased that there was only lingering aches and soreness. “Got a fever. Too much healin’?”

“He did his utmost to take care of you to his own detriment. No one could convince him otherwise. Estinien very nearly did, but…”

Mife’ra watched Thancred’s jaw work, set hard as he looked away. Testing his other arm, he reached out, gently hooking a finger on Thancred’s sleeve.

He didn’t need to tug for Thancred to come closer, eyes wet and bright, a myriad of emotions fighting for priority.

“I understand it, now. The fear you didn’t tell the others about when you landed at the end of the universe. Why you swore at me, decked me well and good when you summoned us back, even though I was the least guilty of the crime of death, of the lot of us. I won’t ask… why you fought Zenos. Why you nearly gave your life to settle that score. Is this how it felt? All those years ago, with the Ultima Weapon?”

“I didn’t believe in love. Not until… until I lost you.”

Mife’ra furrowed his brow, remembering the words Thancred had said in response, then, to comfort him.

“Didn’t… lose me, Than. ‘M right here. Saved me.”

“Yes.” His tone was unbearably soft, something he faintly remembered being reserved for very few others, like Ryne.

“Threw away my…” Memories of the last battles were seeping back. “How’d you…?”

Muddled thoughts were cut short by a long, lingering kiss, causing for Mife’ra to melt back against the bed, at ease. When Thancred finally broke it, the words he spoke were blessedly familiar, the same song and dance that they had played since the first time they had met.

“Remember? I happen to have a knack for finding you should you ever find yourself in trouble.”

There was nothing Mife’ra could say to that. Nothing. He let the tears fill his eyes, let Thancred kiss his brow, let Zaze’li peer up at him with a worried “Mama said you were given medicine to make you feel better. Do you hurt?”

“Not much,” Miffe’ra whispered, giving the slightest shake of his head. “No… no more than. I have after other fights. Some… aches. And some pain.”

As if tuned to certain keywords, Mife’ra felt more than saw Alphinaud start to snuffle awake beside him. Sure enough all it took was a glimpse to see that dark bags that must have been similar to his own resided under his fever-dulled eyes.

“He’s - in pain? Allow me to-”

Rolling his eyes, Mife’ra tugged Alphinaud back down on the bed. “Go back t’sleep, brat. You’ve done more than enough for me.”

The gruff bark of an order seemed to work, Alphinaud not moving again as confusion slowly painted his features. “You’re… you’re awake!”

“Get under the covers,” another quickly followed command, easily done after years of listening. Zaze’li giggled at it, smirking loftily at his proudly-proclaimed older brother.

“Uncle ‘stinien tol’ you Daddy’d be ‘on your case’.”

“Really, little one, Estinien is not the adult to listen to-”

Thancred’s wise, if not hypocritical, words were drowned by the door slamming open, causing Mife’ra to startle and immediately groan at the sudden movement.

When he finally peeked out after his wince, he remembered that he really shouldn’t have expected anything less than what he saw.

Alisaie was standing there, frozen. She was  staring, bug-eyed, as if trying to make sense of the picture before her.

“You!”

Brain not quite yet up to speed, Mife’ra could only watch as Alisaie vaulted across the room, ripping a cushion off a nearby chair and jumping right at him with violent intent. Thancred was quicker, ever on guard, and easily able to restrain Alisaie moments before the pillow would have made contact with Mife’ra’s face.

“You’re awake.” She sounded so raw, aching, and Mife’ra had always hated when he was the reason she sounded that way. “You’re really awake, this time.”

“He woke up!” Zaze’li chirped, unaware of how unhelpful the statement was in the moment. “Just like you said he would!”

The confirmation was all it took for Alisaie’s face to go pink as she wrenched out of Thancred’s grip, angrily tossing the cushion aside after a stern look told her he wasn’t playing. He couldn’t stop her from stomping her foot, though, just as he couldn’t stop her immediate crying or the unintentional vitriol in her voice.

“How dare you - how dare you throw away your teleporter! How dare you do it - do it alone ! Leaving us to pick up the pieces of what had happened, and after we all swore you’d never have to - to fight alone again!”

“You all left me alone first. Thancred didn’ mean to, didn’ know what he did, but… the rest of you…”

Despite his small smile, there was a genuine pang of hurt in his voice. Alisaie sniffed, furiously scrubbing at her tears.

“We… we had to, Fe, you know - you know there was no other choice. But we could’ve - we could have helped you, at the end. Anything to spare you any more hurt - you almost. You came so close to dying, and we can’t - we can’t just summon you back.”

At the crack in her voice, Mife’ra tugged her down onto the bed, too, in an awkwardly posed hug. He didn’t care if it made his lingering injuries pull, he would do it again, a thousand times, just to get his arm around her.

To have almost all  the kids in his charge, all of his rowdy brats of this world, just there with him, in his arms. As soon as he was allowed, he’d run off to the First to hold Ryne, too, and tell her all that had happened.

“You already died once, Alisaie. Couldn’t have it happen again. Couldn’t take that risk. I’d have died for you, too. No problem. Over and over, I’d give my life for you. I still am… just gonna do it by living my life for you, instead.”

An arm around him from Alphinaud. Alisaie practically on top of him. Zaze’li nestled against his chest. Thancred’s hand, warm, on his own.

He never would have been able to explain it to his teenage self, when he had been kicked out, alone, into the woods of Doma. How to explain the sense of love, of safety, of joy. That family was possible, even for someone like him.

A family he deserved.

-

Mife’ra fell back asleep not long after, still exhausted. He woke again when the moon was beginning to rise, unsurprised to find Alphinaud still asleep beside him and Zaze’li nibbling on skewers on his other side. Thancred and Alisaie were having some nature of heated discussion, but just past them Mife’ra was warmed to see G’raha reading in a side chair.

“Ngh… now the whole fam’ly’s here… good.”

“Not Y’shtola or Urianger?” G’raha questioned despite lighting up at the gravelly voice. To that, Thancred scoffed, not noticing Alisaie take advantage to slip a slice of pickle from her sandwich onto his plate.

“They’re far too smart to be any sort of family to Mife’ra,”

“So incredibly wise of them,” Mife’ra drawled, smirking lightly at Zaze’li’s giggle. His whole body felt like a massive bruise. “Think whatever drugs you gave me are wearin’ off.”

“Likely true,” G’raha agreed. “Given your tolerance to most medications and your extreme distaste of them, we only used them sparingly. Especially now that you’ve awoken in proper.”

“It’s nice, though. M’bad leg doesn’t even hurt. Sharlayans make the good stuff, go figure.”

Mife’ra almost missed the way Alisaie, Thancred, and G’raha looked at each other. Before either man could speak, Alisaie pointedly turned to the hero, tone sharp.

“Would you like a list of your injuries that you earned in that last stretch? Know what you’re dealing with before you actually have to get up and rehabilitate?”

The hisses and warnings did not dissuade the young elezen, and Mife’ra could only blink in return.

“Uh… sure, I guess. What has your brat brother been slavin’ over fixin’ for an already tattered stray?”

“Raha, if you would do the honors,” Alisaie handed the task off to the other miqo’te as easily as an award acceptance speech. “I’ve spent more time babysitting than playing doctor as of late.”

G’raha chewed his lip for a moment before giving into Mife’ra’s dazedly confused look. “Alright then, but I’m warning you now, Fe. It isn’t pretty.

“Broken nose and fingers were pretty easily set and healed, as that would be the expertise of academians and sages like Alphinaud. They may be stiff a while yet, but whole. Your left ear’s torn near in half - stitched it back up, but it’s delicate business. It’ll likely ache for a good few weeks yet, but you won’t be getting into any fights in that time, so you’ll recover. Sprained your tail, so no thrashing that about. Every single one of your ribs was bruised, fractured, or broken, and that’s the longer to heal, so careful with that, yes? And you’ve earned quite an impressive scar, too.”

Gently G’raha pressed a fingertip at the lower right of Mife’ra’s neck, arcing it down across his left breast and ending at his navel. “A wicked blade of sorts cut you deep. It’s what’s caused most of the internal bleeding and has been the bane of Alphinaud’s existence. It resisted most magicks and nearly took out your heart, Fefe. I will not ask what it was that left such a terrible wound, but full well glad am I to see you have miraculously survived it.”

Silence from Mife’ra, no explanation willingly given. It didn’t matter if he told them of the scythe that caused it.

Zenos was rotting at the end of the universe, alone as he ever was in life.

“As for your leg.”

Pulling the covers back from Mife’ra with care, G’raha exposed him to the light Sharlayan chill. He was hardly dressed, only sporting smalls and a shirt that carried Thancred’s scent, but it wasn’t what he wore that stole his focus.

“The fuck’s my…?”

His right leg was gone starting only an ilm or so down past his knee. The rest of the limb was darkly bruised, painting a gruesome picture.

“When we first landed, Sharlayan chirurgeons took over.” Thancred’s admittance was soft in the damning quiet of the room. “And Sharlayans are wont to take the path of most efficiency. The Elder Seedseer had warned you all those years ago about being careful of it - and it finally caught up to you. Your foot and ankle, especially - shattered. They figured it would be easier to remove it than let it cause you any more pain - and while they were at it, they took another ilm off your tail, after seeing it without its gaudy little cap. Said that if you just leave it be, this time, it will heal properly and regrow hair and cause far less pain.”

“Don’t worry about your - your leg, though!” G’raha was quick to reassure, seeing some sort of adrenaline threaten to ramp up in his eyes. “Mechanics have been quick to pull together documents for some sort of prosthetic, but - well, it caught wind quickly, and there’s a couple of engineers who are quite literally competing to make the best magitek limb ever conceived.”

“In the meantime, you have a couple of options. We’ll start you off in a wheelchair like Arenvald has, but once you’re up to it, you’ve got a lovely new cane,” Alisaie added, crossing the room to grab the item in question off the dresser. It was a near-black color that shone a faint blue in the light, not unlike Mife’ra’s hair, the cane’s head engraved with a moon. “There’s a little button at the top you can hit that unsheathes a dagger at the bottom of it. That was my idea.”

“We know it’s important to you that you have your freedom,” G’raha glanced between Thancred and Alisaie, nodding slightly. “That if you need to, you can always make a run for it. We had hoped everything would be ready for you to try by the time you were lucid, but…”

Mife’ra stared at them for a moment, mind still reeling from the information he was told. In the end a strange feeling settled deep in his chest, warm and light, and he could not help but let the laughter escape him.

“And what, pray tell, do you find so funny?”

Thancred’s words were a mix of indignance and concern, even as Mife’ra looked up at the ceiling. Somewhere in the world Nanamo and Pipin were gossiping about the victory they had certainly heard of. Lyse and Aymeric were no doubt on their way to Old Sharlayan, if they were not already there. Maybe even his sisters were here, Shiqo and Fhinen at the least if not Nhimet, with Shiqo’s little ones in tow, ready to hear what sort of new life Mife’ra had in store for them in Eorzea. Shiqo could settle in the Shroud with Zaze; Fhinen would show newer scions in Mor Dhona some of her own Doman techniques just as Yugiri had, once. Jacke could be getting in trouble for swiping V’kebbe’s food again, no doubt hiding out while she searched for his hide. Vrtra was likely waiting for the signal to prepare a great feast, Hancock be damned. He could finally marry the idiot at his bedside - the world was at peace and bright, full of promise for the living.

A blue bird could soar through the sky and see the joy of it all, singing as she did.

For the first time in his life, Mife’ra felt no need to escape. He was safe.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to know how quick yer all willing to try and help me, but,” Mife’ra smiled, glimpsing out the window to the clear sky and the night stars beginning to twinkle in the dark.

“I don’t think there’s anywhere else I wanna be.”