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Chapter Text

Dear Crystal Exar G’raha Tia, 

The horizon of Norvrandt had been the same since I could remember. 

Bright, blinding light meeting the surface of the world, cascading cacophonously through the land ad infinitum. I had never known the meaning of night as you described it to me through your faerietales when I was a child. I did not know that shadows could be cast upon the faces of our residents by the sky itself, nor that the world would cool and warm with the coming and going of such a small glowing power in a blue-lit sky. 

Sometimes, I wonder, if the Light was not expunged from our world, but was simply pushed farther away. Instead of consuming us, it now sits just beyond the horizon, allowing us space to celebrate it, rather than come to terms with its existence. 

Yet, I digress. I am sure you are far more curious about the happenings since you have left rather than the musings of a young resident on a phenomenon you are quite well acquainted with. 

The sun has peered above the world 502 times since I have last seen your face, and the moon 503, counting the days it hides in cloaks and cowls above us. I have learned from your tricks! Our people debate, but I know it is still there.

In those 502 days, Ryne has asked if there is any news from Thancred at least 1004 times, twice a day on the eves she resides in the Crystarium, and making up for lost time upon return from her journeys. Pray, tell Thancred to send another letter. The last one gave her a reminder of her purpose. I fear she is in need of it. 

A representative of the Nights Blessed visited recently. Runar, as I believe he goes by under the sun. Such curious people are they, newly traveling only by night. He showed up alone, unarmed, a little more than 4 hours before sunrise. Our guards apprehended him at the gate - the curfew we put in place seems to puzzle him. Anyway, he was asking if we have received any news from Master Matoya. Confused, I told him I was unaware of anyone going by that name, though he was adamant that I should be. It was only once the sun dipped below the horizon again that it seemed a curse was lifted from the man, and it was revealed he was talking of Y’shtola. 

He boldly claimed that he will be revisiting monthly in search of any tidings from her, so pray, tell her to send word as well. 

Relations with Eulmore continue to strengthen. It seems as if Chai-Nuzz is reluctant to give up his entire mantle, despite his instances at simply being an interim leader. He reminds me a lot of you, if I am being honest, officially dispelling any leading titles yet still clinging on to such duties. Eulmore would not be standing today if it was not for that man, and his people love him for it. Such laudment cannot be denied nor easily expunged from the minds of those optimistically affected, as I am sure you are aware. 

Recent tidings seem to imply he will be enjoying the fruits of his advisory role in the new administration, and he welcomes (if not begs) for any and all advice you could give to him under such a title. 

Feo Ul wants me to inform you that they have been bored without their “saplings”, and the pixies in Il Mheg have been restless in the absence of the twins. Unfortunately, we remain unable to send our soldiers on a scouting mission to Il Mheg as the last time we did so, the mission command returned home one by one, weeks if not months apart, spouting horror stories of menial tasks and impossible riddles. Upon confrontation, Feo Ul merely shrugged and said: “Aye, I cannot believe those pixies haven’t come up with any new tricks!” and then, upon further questioning: “Yer men oughta be bushes painting the sides of our mountains. Yer lucky they still stand.” 

I believe Il Mheg is fine without us. Though please, pray, tell me how you were able to stop Feo Ul from tricking the residents of the Crystarium the first time. I fear the day they are bored enough to reinstate old habits. 

If you are willing to tell such a story then, please, apologies for asking

Pray if you could also explain

I know over a century is difficult to write in a letter but you do know that you left me without solid resolution

I remember the first time I noticed the horizon lit aglow by the setting sun, only a few sunrises after you left us. The sky was colored like oil paints, dark in the east and a brilliant mirage of orange in the west, though I am sure you do not need me to paint the picture for you. When you told me of the stories from your past, you omitted how the clouds turned purple and pink. You omitted how people have a tendency to gather eve after eve in order to watch such a spectacular sight, no matter how many times it has come to pass. You did not speak of the emotions that would ebb and flow at the realization of becoming another day older, that time passes faster and faster when half of it is shrouded in shadows. 

When you told me the stories of your faerietale world (though, I now realize, such a world exists elsewhere), you would focus so much on that world's hero and their air of hope, that I believe you missed the daily things that inspired the same emotion. 

When the night returned to Lakeland and you were there to see it, you got down on your knees in front of the Warrior of Darkness and you thanked her cloaked and cowled like the moon is tonight. That night, I picked up a piece of you and saved it for safekeeping. 

When you returned again from the Tempest, hood down, I found another piece of you and placed it in my pocket. 

When you left us, I fear my puzzle was incomplete. When the moon peeks above the horizon, it is a remin

I apologize, when I find myself with time to sit and write on nights like this, I tend to get carried away. Truthfully, I pray your time in your home world has been incredible and that you have received all you had wished for, and that the past does not weigh heavy on you; for there is no one more deserving of a new life than yourself. Norvrandt is doing well, and I am doing well alongside of it. 

If you feel so inclined, pray, send word of your new adventures.

Daughter of the Crystarium & 

Advisor to the Council,

Lyna

Chapter Text

Many would call it a nightmare, but she had dreamed of worse hells. 

L’aevum felt like a toy doll in the depths of the ocean. Ever since she was gifted the ability to breathe underwater, it amazed her at how much of a world laid just below the shimmering surface. One which none except the specially gifted were granted entry to, hidden away from prying eyes.

Before her stood a testament to such grandities. Buildings designed for beings that were once her shape and stature, just far, far larger and mightier. Giants from days, millenniums far past. She always wondered how they saw the world, her small stint in one of their homes wasn’t enough to know of the bigger picture. She wondered if Etheirys felt small to them. Perhaps that was why they took to the skies. Or maybe the world was simply bigger unsundered, but creativity unbounded called for man-made lands far above the surface.  

Such history was lost to her in her dream. Instead, the sight of the Amaurotines simply brought a sense of calm to her. At journey's end, she was seen as a child, cooed and coiled by the beings like one of their own. To be taken in and cared for in her final days, a bliss she had long craved amongst the pain. 

The mental turmoil she knew before she knocked on the doors of the deceased seemed to slow the spread of the Light within her. When the mind felt like fighting, the pain was dulled. When it felt like resting, such anguish boiled to the surface, burning hot, daring to burst through. 

She limped into the city like an old weary traveler and immediately she was scooped up by a giant. They came to her side and knelt down. “Ah! Small one! Are you lost? Hurt? Where are your parents?” 

Slowly, her gaze rose to meet their own, full of the sorrows from a battle lost. 

“Small one… what ails you so? Come with me, we will find you help.” 

The Amaurotine took her small hand and slowly guided her through the calm city. Beings laughed and waltzed about, unknown to the realities of their situation, of what would eventually be their doom. Peaceful, blissful ignorance bestowed upon them by their creator. She envied them.

The caring Amaurotine brought L’aevum to an impossibly ornate building with ceilings taller than anything Eorzea could manage. And there, she was met face to face with the man who invited her in the first place. 

His smile was large and wicked, always undertone with menacing articulates. Normally, it made the blood in her veins run ice cold. Today, her blood ran electric, and it was a welcome sight. 

“I knew you would come,” Emet-Slech laughed. He knew he had won.

The room he put her in could only be described as luxurious. High in one of the city’s large apartment buildings, windows on every side adorned with white silken curtains. A large bed made with sheets of cotton hand threaded lovingly by some being long ago stood center in the room. Beside it was a plush couch and a table filled with the freshest fruits and flowers the sundered world could offer. 

It was as if the room was made up less than a day ago, waiting for her unplanned arrival.

“Nothing less for the hero of the hour. What could I get you? Hors d'oeuvres? A softer pillow? Simply ask and it shall be yours!” he mocked. Though she could tell it held a side of sincerity. 

She wouldn’t mince her words. “G’raha,” she said. “I want G’raha.” 

Emet-Selch’s smile failed him, his arms dropping to his side. L’aevum stood strong. 

Finally, he scoffed. “Very well. But this door is to stay shut and locked.” He turned to leave. “Try anything, and he’ll be served your head on a platter as payment for his oh so heroic deeds.”

G’raha showed up to her door weak and alone. She opened it to meet him, revealing the conflict and pain on his face, turning to realization that she truly stood before him. 

He already looked as if Emet-Selch had dragged him through the mud and dirt, kicking and screaming and tormenting him while he sat and took the abuse. A far cry from how she was welcomed. 

Finally, he spoke. “So you have made your mind,” he said softly, apologetically. 

L’aevum nodded. 

G’raha faltered, stumbling over his feet before giving in and collapsing into her, scepter falling from his arms and onto the floor with a clatter. She held his limp body up, pressed against her own, wrapping her arms around him as he softly breathed into her shoulder. 

“I am sorry, my friend,” he said. “Had I known… had I known it would end this way… I would have never-” he picked his head off of her shoulder, planting his feet on the floor once again, and looked her in the eyes, his own darting around her features in wonder. “No… if these are to be our final days, then I should speak true. I had always feared that I would die without seeing your face again. To selfishly ask for more would… be…”   

He lent in and she closed her eyes only to awaken in her bed before their lips could meet. 

Such a fate had never come to pass. For this she was thankful, as she reminded herself over and over again. The world was as it should be, his sacrifices were not in vain. 

And yet still, she hugged her knees to her chest as she looked out at the moon, fuller tonight than it had ever been in the past. Its glow bestowed upon her the knowledge that the next day would spell trouble and, like ever, she would not be rested to meet it. 

Chapter Text

The Exarch’s days in Norvrandt were normally lined with a certain unyielding sense of unease. With a sky constantly aglow, and the weight of not only the First, but his homeworld - and beyond that, the most important person who would ever grace the star - it was hard to find the time for joy, much less relaxation.

Today was no exception. Ever since he returned from his little 4-year jaunt around Norvrandt, his research into summoning techniques was halted in its tracks for more important matters: the people of the Crystarium. Coming back and finding the place in its leaderless state was one hell of a wake-up call; the people’s desperation one hell of a drug. 

In the time since that fateful day, he had instilled a council which would eventually oversee the city’s affairs in lieu of himself. He never longed for leadership, and such goals were far flung from his mind when he was first slingshotted back in time. Alas, with the grandest source of power on the First came even grander responsibilities, as he was forced to learn. 

The Settlement Council, built with Sharlayan’s Forum as its muse, was still very young in its operations. The elections had taken a long time in preparation, so much so that no one complained when the Exarch himself hand picked a number of the representing roles. Among these hand-picked representatives were the guard’s own Salutene and Remar, two Vii refugees from a long destroyed town in Lakeland.

Without Salutene and Remar, the Crystarium would not be as well liked as it was, and the Exarch knew he owed his reputation to the couple as well. They were the first people who met him at the base of the Crystal Tower, now more years ago than any of them thought to count. Well versed in fighting, they were lauded as the saviors of the refugees from their old village after the sin eaters descended upon Lakeland. They easily floated towards guarding the city, even without an official guard created. Once ramshackle huts were built and volunteers fought for the refugee camp, they would take to traveling the realm, believing in the Exarch’s stories of hope, spreading word of the Crystarium and stories of the Warrior of Darkness throughout. They were the ones who accompanied him on his grand journey, and they were the reason the Crystarium still stood upon its sudden conclusion. 

And so, because of this, he could sacrifice multiple hours a day for a week of his advisory role in order to help the couple plan their Ceremony of Eternal Bonding. Not a single other cabinet member complained, and many congratulated the pair on their engagement. 

“... there is quite a nice patch of trees not far from here in Lakeland, close to the banks of the Source. Frankly, I think it would be fitting,” Remar said. The trio were collected in the Umbilicus, a gesture the Exarch did not grant to merely anyone. 

Books were moved from the desk within and two extra chairs were hauled in from outside. As it turned out, ceremony planning took time, and not a single one of them wanted to stand for its entirety. Remar sat, leaned back in his chair with a boot on the desk in front of him, dark-skinned arms crossed on his chest. 

“You know I love the colors of Lakeland-”

“- color, singular-” 

“-ha. Yes. But are you not concerned with inviting our guests to an area known for sin eater attacks?” Salutene said. She sat relaxed in her chair, one fair-skinned elbow on the desk in front of her with the hand attached in her puffy lilac hair. 

The Exarch breathed and the couple turned towards him, acknowledging his presence. “If I may be so bold, the citizens of the Crystarium owe much and more to you, as you should be aware. I believe it would not be inappropriate to host the ceremony within the city walls… Perhaps - if you are willing - under the gaze of the Dossal Gates?” 

Salutene’s hand fell from her hair onto the desk. Remar stuck both feet firmly on the floor. 

“I believe we decided the Exedra would be used only for city gatherings of utmost importance,” Salutene said, bewildered at the suggestion.

The Exarch smiled. “Personally, I believe there to be no gathering of greater importance than the joining of the city’s warriors. No one would deny you such an achievement, I am quite certain.” 

“If you insist, then I have no complaints with such a grand arrangement,” Remar said. 

Salutene positively beamed, excitement taking her form. “To be wed under such a place, our saving beacon as our backdrop…”  A smile spread across her face. “I would love nothing more.”

“Are you certain the ceremony wouldn’t upset the citizens?” Remar asked.

The Exarch shook his head and lifted his hand. “Nonsense,” he said. “In fact, I believe it would benefit the people if such a celebration was held. What else proves our hope for the future, if not the joining of two people in love? Despite all you two have been through, you still stand so strong, joining hands with all who need you, it is why I-” the Exarch stopped to clear his throat. The word ‘love’ was such a loaded term, a designation stating that one knew an individual inside and out. The people before him did not even know of his face. “It is why I have an incredible amount of respect for the both of you. There is none more deserving of such a grand Ceremony, nay - proclamation of hope - than the two of you.”  

Salutene grinned at him, once again resting her arms on the desk in front of her. “Your ideas of hope and love seem intrinsically intertwined,” she noticed. Remar looked at her affectionately, and the Exarch immediately noted why he loved her so. He felt like he was intruding on an intimate moment.

The Exarch fidgeted in his seat. “‘Tis an interesting proclamation. I would say… my love for this world and its people certainly keeps me going, even on my toughest days.”

Remar shook his head, but did not press further. “Anyways, hosting the ceremony within city walls should make preparations much easier. We just need to find an officiant.” 

“Ah, I believe anyone from the town you hailed from would be most happy to… help…” the Exarch trailed off as the pair turned towards him, mischievous smiles on their faces. 

Salutene leaned back in her chair to match Remar's posture, crossing her arms in front of her. “If we are to be wed in such a setting, under the Crystal Tower, then personally, I believe it would be preferred if the Exarch himself ordained the ceremony.” 

The air in the room paused as it was the Exarch's turn to be bewildered. 

“I imagine it would uncomplicate the legal aspects as well,” Remar smirked.

Quickly, the Exarch recomposed himself. “... very well. If that is what you wish, then it would be my honor.” 

The ceremony went off without a hitch, the Exarch himself made sure of it. From the decorations, to the attire, to the cake and catering, all was handled by him. Unfortunately, many of his other administrative duties went unanswered, but this time he figured it was well worth the slight skew in schedules. 

And worth it, it was. Most of the city showed up to celebrate, chairs lined every possible space in the Exedra as people shared pleasantries and laughs. The air in the Crystarium rang hopeful and excited for days if not weeks on end. 

When the Crystarium first sprang to life, G'raha would think of halcyon days as the days of his life before such burdens and nothing more. All that came after was a new life, his days filled with responsibility. Later, he realized, life worked in umbral and astral, halcyon and troubled. There would be grand times amongst chaos and stormy times in the calm. 

For instance, as he sat in his Sharlayan room on the Source, having just evaded the Final Days as they knew it, he found himself longing not for the days before the Crystal Tower, but for the ceremony under its gates. 

He always shook himself from such thoughts. Here, in this world, in this body, were the dreams he lusted towards for decades on end. 

Time should not move backwards. 

Chapter Text

I should really stop fuckin' around in here , Niko thought as he watched Kleon walk away with a new creation that he helped make, and then later, much much later - thousands of years later - kill. 

If the accidental creation of Behemoths wasn't a sign to stop steering this ship known as the universe from his standpoint as Azem's fake familiar in Elpis, then he didn't know what was. 

And yet, he couldn't get himself to leave. Part of him wondered if Venat would take back whatever aether magic Emet-Selch had imbued him with, leaving him a small wispy ghost among the ancients, but the only person who knew of his little secret was likely far, far away by now. 

He just had to make the leap and return. 

Yet, he wasn't gonna do that. At least, not yet. 

And so, he wandered. 

“... just a green chicken.” Niko could not help but pause outside the doors of a small building on the main thoroughfare of Anagnorisis. Eavesdropping, he placed his ear against the door.

“It is not! The meat within is delectable! Such a creature could hold myriads of possibilities as well. Smarter, stronger, larger than the chickens of the star!”

“ Cl-c-cluck!” 

“... it just laid an egg. This creation is just a green chicken.” 

“Clearly, you do not see my vision.” 

Niko backed away from the door as the huffing ancient stormed out of the room, green chicken clucking and flapping under her arm.

Niko watched as she set the chicken down by a bush and crouched down before it. 

“Oh my lovely creation… you are no green chicken, you are what this world - nay - universe needs! They simply cannot see it…” she said, petting the creature in front of her.

Niko sat absolutely flabbergasted. He had seen such a creature before, a chicken painted green. And, even then, it was exactly what the universe had needed. He couldn’t stop himself from approaching. 

The ancient stood and pondered him. “A familiar… How curious. Say, you seem quite inquisitive. Could you help me?” she asked. 

Niko nodded. How could he not?

The ancient looked towards her creation and sighed. “This little guy will change the world, I just know it. She just needs something else… I believe if she were larger, my colleagues would surely see my vision! Oh… but a giant pecking fowl just won't do…” 

The lime green chicken clucked in Niko’s direction, its beady black eyes stared straight into his soul. “A unicorn,” he said. “Combine it with a unicorn.” 

It was the first thing that came to mind! 

The ancient stepped back in shock, the chicken flapped next to her. “Such an idea… that… that is-” Niko braced himself. “Absolutely brilliant! Whatever would we call such a creature?” 

Niko’s eyes widened in shock. “Enkidu,” he replied instinctually. 

“ Enkidu! You are CERTAINLY no ordinary familiar! You are a genius, an absolute masterwork of whoever created you!” the ancient expressed loudly. Those around were starting to stare. “Give me just a little bit of time, then meet me in the field just east of here. You, my friend, are my inspiration!” 

Without so much as introducing herself, the ancient sped away. The chicken jumped and clucked, as if thanking Niko for his service, and then ran to follow her. 

Niko found his way to the field the ancient spoke of to hurry up and wait. He found himself sitting under the very tree he had found Hermes dangling from earlier in his travels.

What a place, he thought to himself. Even the grass here seemed unfettered, devoid of worldly worries of death and despair. Here was a peaceful place. A happy place. No wonder Emet-Selch loved it so. 

The peace, however, seemed to disappear as a shadow swept over the grass in front of him, soon replaced with a towering creation, the ancient partner-in-crime approaching under it with a massive grin on her face. 

“ Cl… cluck ,” it said, in an impossibly deep tone. 

The creation was still lime green in nature with the massive head of a chicken. But its body was unlike anything Niko had seen in the sundered world. It was that of a green horse, covered in feathers. He would think it some mount of Garuda’s if it weren’t for the sheer ridiculousness of the image of the primal upon its back. He could only stare in awe. 

“Isn’t this incredible!” the ancient threw her arms up into the sky, unable to contain her excitement. “The size! The hooves! The horn! Surely my colleagues will see what I mean now! You, my friend, will have your name in the scrolls of history! Err… say, do you have a name?”

Niko suddenly wanted nothing to do with the scrolls of history, so he shook his head at the question.

“No name?! Oh my… Well then, I will have to name you myself!” The ancient brought a hand to her chin and pondered. “Gilgamesh,” she said. “Such a name came to me in the same dream where my wonderful Enriku was revealed to me.” She smiled and bowed. “Thank you, again, for your help, Gilgamesh.” With the proclamation, she turned and walked back towards the main thoroughfare of Anagnorisis.

“ Cllllluuuuucccccckkkk,” the creature cried as it bowed its head before turning to follow her. 

I have got to stop fuckin’ around in here, Niko thought to himself. 

Chapter Text

Elviane was an Elf who was no stranger to hardship. At the age of ten, Norvrandt became the last known landmass unaffected by the Flood of Light. At nineteen, the sineaters bore down on Lakeland, destroying her village. At twenty six, her parents were killed by sineaters as they attempted the pilgrimage to a civilization known as ‘the Crystarium’. 

When she entered the ramshackle gates, she quickly realized her parents had died for nothing. The entire city was filled with drunkards, huts no more than wobbly planks of wood and old patchwork tents. The tower in the center’s gates were open for all, though held no available food stores. Just crystal, baffling machines, and a man who the citizens called a savior, yet she read as a cold, hooded figure. 

She broke down upon crossing the bridge for the first time, falling to her knees with her head in her hands. What had she sacrificed it all for? Part of her wanted to run back into the forest where the sin eaters would get her and take her pain away.

And she almost did. She would’ve - if a kind looking Vii hadn’t approached her. 

The Vii crouched down beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Elviane startled and looked up at her, tear streaked face contorting in fear. 

“Apologies,” said the Vii. “I did not mean to frighten you. Are you lost? Looking for something? I do not recognize your face…” 

Elviane sighed, her eyes dropped. “I… am looking for a reason,” she said. 

The Vii cocked her head to the side. “A reason?” she asked. 

Elviane couldn’t respond, she just locked eyes with the stranger.

The Vii pursed her lips together and scrunched her eyebrows. She then sighed deeply. “I am Salutene,” she said. “And, while I am not one to undermine your despair, I ask that you give our settlement just an ounce of weary hope.” She then stood and stretched out a hand to the Elf with a small smile. 

Elviane looked up at her for a moment. And then slowly, hesitantly, took her hand. Salutene hauled her to her feet. 

“Excellent,” Salutene beamed. “I believe we should first find you a place to rest your head for at least tonight. Come, I believe there is a space in the Mean for you.” 

Salutene led Elviane through the huts laid on brick and stone foundation, through the one building on the property - a small crystal dome hosting an aetheryte in the center. Such technology was not common in Lakeland, and she hadn’t seen on in a long time. She paused to look at it, the blue glow lighting her face, as Salutene turned to wait. 

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Salutene asked. “I had seen many aetherytes on my travels, but none this colorful since the flood. The gradient reminds me of what sunsets used to look like,” she smiled. “It is part of the reason why I stay.” 

Elviane looked over at Salutene, her eyebrows pressed together and mouth slightly ajar. Without a word, she hurried to keep up. 

Soon, the pair found themselves among a group of tents and workshops, craftsmen working on slicing wood and polishing sheets of crystal. 

“Welcome to the Mean,” Salutene explained. “Here is where many of our skilled architects, crafters, and gatherers reside. I believe we have an extra bed over… aha- here!” 

Elviane was led into a rather large tent on the outskirts of the mean. A large brown tarp held up by sticks. Salutene lifted a flap and urged Elviane inside. 

“I apologize for the lack of space,” she said, lifting a stack of books from the bed. “Here is currently our library. The Exarch bids us not to toss any books, though I fear we have no real way of tracking them. Unfortunately, many of our books have been piling for years now in dusty shadows.” 

Elviane took a seat on the bed, though it was more of a long forgotten cot. The sheets were clean, but stained light brown, like parchment. The room was large, but sure enough most of the space was taken up by stacks of books covering desks and tables and chairs. One lanturn hung from a wooden pole holding the tarp in place in the center of the room, an old dusty rug sat on the bricks below it.

A gurgling noise came from Elviane’s stomach and Salutene paused her cleaning. “Ah! Of course you would be hungry,” she averted her eyes. “... our food reserves are embarrassingly low at the moment. Without being a registered citizen, it is difficult to get your hands on our morsels… though, I believe I will be able to work something out. Give me just a moment.” Salutene disappeared back through the flaps of the tarp-tent. 

Elviane took the time to look at the books which surrounded her. When she was a child, she loved books so much that she had taught herself to read far before the village teacher could get to her. And lucky was she, because when the Flood came, education was one of the first facets of life to halt. As the only young child who could read, she would spend her free time telling stories to the other children. Now, she found it difficult to procure words at all.

For the first time in years, she flipped open a tome titled Tales of the Unsung Heroes: Voeburt. Dust puffed into her face as the pages pulled apart.

Inside, she found memorials and stories long forgotten, of the knights of Voeburt far before the flood. Stories of the monarchy, behind the castle on the hill. It was a tragic read, given Voeburt’s recent demise, but she couldn’t pull her eyes from the pages. 

Her hunger was long forgotten by the time Salutene returned, a small plate of stew and rice in hand. “Apologies for keeping you wait-… ah!” Elviane slapped the tome shut, as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t. 

Salutene shook her head. “Do not stop on my behalf. These tomes have been begging to be read. Unfortunately, many of our citizens have been too busy building or despairing to sink their noses into them.”

Salutene handed Elviane the plate of food. “Our rations have been nicknamed morsels for a reason. With the fall of Voeburt and the influx of refugees, our stores have been dwindling quite fast. You must be a resident with a reason to be here in order to acquire them,” Salutene sighed. “Of course… we always have need for motivated hands. If these tomes do interest you, I believe the Exarch would easily invite you into our rankings. He has been looking for someone to care for them since people began bringing them. ‘Knowledge will win us this war when tides are pit against us,’ he says.” 

Elviane looked to Salutene, then to the book next to her. 

Salutene shrugged. “Of course, you do not need to make up your mind right now,” she said. 

Elviane took a bite of the stew, and Salutene bid her farewell. That night, she lit the lantern and read through book after book, savoring the stories refugees carried from lands afar. Stories of Naabeth Aerang, of Eulmore before the flood, she even found one with stories from the mysterious village of Fanow.

The next morning, Salutene returned with a guest in tow. He was exactly as Elviane had heard, cloaked from head to toe so none could see what he looked like nor post the mantle of leadership atop his head, despite that being the obvious place for it. 

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “You are Elviane, if Salutene tells me correctly… she noticed your interest in the tomes and mentioned such to me.” His smile shined under his cowl. “May I ask… have you any interest in becoming a book bearer? We are in need of someone with such an interest.” 

Elviane’s eyes went wide as she looked to the stacks and stacks of parchment around her. She clung the one she had been reading to her chest and nodded with a smile.

Chapter Text

The Exarch sat at his chair in the Umbilicus and breathed a sigh of relief, leaning his elbows on the desk in front of him and holding his head in his hands. 

This is how Lyna found him when she lightly knocked on his door in order to deliver important letters from Eulmore and the Lakeland branch of the Crystarium guard… as well as a few snacks. 

She still wasn't quite used to him having his hood down. It had only been a few days since he had returned from the Tempest, shocking all when he crossed the bridge in a sorry state without the cowl the entire city had reassigned a face to. The rusty ears on top of his head and his eyes crinkling when they smiled - it was all so new. 

And now, as she slowly pushed open the door to the Umbilicus, he looked far more like a person than she had ever seen him in the past. She always knew there was a face under the robes, someone beneath the mask, yet the feelings still caught her off guard. 

Such a conflict would never show on her face, though. She had work to do. 

She walked up to the man who hadn't noticed her presence until she plopped the two missives and a small plate of salmon filets next to him.

“Ah, my apologies… I hadn't noticed your entry,” he glanced up and smiled, eyes crinkled. They met her own. 

The ruby red seemed to burn a hole through her with their odd benevolence; utterly exhausted, yet unnervingly kind. The type of candor one only receives after years of hardship before escaping death.

After a moment, Lyna looked away and shook her head. “It is not a problem. I just wanted to make sure you got these letters,” she said. “I am quite curious of their contents, if you wouldn't mind opening them in my presence.” 

The Exarch looked at the papers and rubbed his face, forcing his eyes open then shut in a bid to breathe more life into them. “Right, of course.” 

The motion itself already lit a suppressed smile in Lyna. Where awkwardness resided moments ago, endearment moved in. 

Then she watched as he held a missive in one hand and blindly reached with the other, feeling around until it struck the filet. She expected him to reach a little to the left until he found the letter opener. Instead he lifted the filet and moved it to the letter. 

He ran it across the top of the envelope once and his eyebrows stitched together. He then did it again and his head cocked to the side. Upon his third attempt, his eyes went wide as he looked back and forth from the filet to the letter. 

“When did I…?” His eyes shot over to the plate and Lyna couldn't help but burst out laughing. 

The Exarch nearly jumped in his seat, but her laughter was contagious and he caught the virus. Soon his face was in his hands laughing along with his granddaughter. 

“Ulgh,” he expressed once they calmed down. 

Lyna shook her head, smiling. “Finished with your duty and you waste no time in letting your mental abilities dwindle. Tsk tsk.” 

She watched as the man before her attempted to stifle a smile, and she realized that his eyes had a habit of giving away his true emotions. Where the Exarch was cold and calculated, the man before her was warm and hopeful. The two were not interchangeable - he was a different man. 

“‘Tis just what I wanted you to think! I was merely… ah… making sure the letters were well sealed,” he attempted to deflect. 

“Mhum,” Lyna crossed her arms. 

The Exarch- G’raha, she reminded herself- knew she was unconvinced. He looked at the envelope and chuckled. “Such moments as these,” he said quietly, “I had never expected to see…” he shook his head, reaching for the actual letter opener. “I haven’t truly slept for over eighty years. I suppose I never factored in being so tired.” He slotted the tip of the blade under the fold of the envelope and pulled up. “And yet, as I am sure you are loath to hear, now is not the time for rest.” 

Normally when he said such things, Lyna became worried. He would work himself to the bone most days and nights, and she always feared he would never reach the bottom of such dark and brewing depths. But this time there was something in his smile, in his tired yet glowing eyes, which made her pause before scolding him. 

A hope which tore like the top of the slightly damp envelope under the blade of the letter opener. 

Chapter Text

Tuliyollal was not a city to skimp on the celebrations. For 3 days and three nights after Queen Sphene was killed and Living Memory faded into compact stone, the people cheered whooped in the streets. Citizens of Tural came from far away lands simply to join in the festivities, Koana led the guard in making sure everyone stayed safe, Br’uk Evu must've fed over 5,000 hungry patrons in just three days. 

Wuk Lamat woke up early on the fourth day with a smile. She looked over her city and cracked her knuckles- today would be the real test.

Her and Koana set to the clean up efforts immediately, joining the guards and volunteers down on the streets, discarding soggy confetti and salvaging the Hanhanu float from the beach. 

What Wuk Lamat did not anticipate were the people’s never ending questions.

“Wuk Lamat! Now that Solution 9 is under our care, will we ban those odd devices on their heads?”

“Wuk Lamat! With so much of our guard depleted from Zorral Ja’s attacks, will there be a draft?”

“Wuk Lamat! How will we handle this new influx of technological advancements?” 

“Wuk Lamat! What do you say to people who disagree with our quickly changing foreign policy?” 

“Wuk Lamat! Will our new people-”

“Wuk Lamat! With trade opening to-”

“Wuk Lamat!-”

“Wuk Lamat!-”

“Wu-”

“ENOUGH!” Wuk Lamat stomped her feet and the ever growing crowd of people surrounding her went silent. “Can't you see I am trying to do what I can for now? It has not even been a week! Allow us time to rest!” 

A Mamool Ja citizen shook their head. “If only Zorral Ja had won…” they murmured.

Wuk Lamat clenched her hand into a fist and looked at the floor. “If Zorral Ja had won, he would be planning the deaths of many and calling it a lesson. Don’t you see?” 

The crowd whispered to themselves around her. 

“We simply want answers,” said a Yok Huy visitor. “We will leave today with or without them, but answers promise stability. Many of ours will be much more accepting with them.” 

Wuk Lamat looked from the citizen to the worried crowd. “But… I can't promise anything this early. I will work hard for my people, this I swear, but I need everyone to have hope.”

The crowd murmured a collective shrug and began to disburse. Wuk Lamat sighed and looked at her hands. 

She turned around when a young Mamool Ja tugged at her skirt. “Miss Resolve,” they started. “My mommy says you don't know what you're doing. Do you know what you're doing?”

Wuk Lamat's face twisted into shock. “I…” she started, “... would be lying if I said I knew everything, but I am learning daily!” She tried to muster a smile. 

“But my mommy says leaders should know everything because that's their job to know everything. How will you do your job if you- if you don't- if you can't-” 

“-Sweetie, come on! Let's go!” The Mamool Ja child spotted her mom and ran off. 

Wuk Lamat looked past the building and to the ocean. There was still so, so much to do. 

Chapter Text

As a teenager, Lyna’s most cherished possessions were the memories of her parents. 

Their faces grew more and more distant as the mementos of her childhood wore thin, yet as she trained for the guard, she held her mother’s chakrams not as a weapon, but as an extension of herself. Heavy metal imbued with soul from the worn down handles and the scratches in the blades. Her parent’s weapons were the last thing she had of their physical form. 

They were kind. They loved her. And, most of all - until their very last breath - they fought for what their close friend, the Exarch, believed in. His mission was the only thing that they ever put above themselves, and above her. He was the last thing she had of what her parents believed in.

When she was eight, all she wanted after her parent’s deaths was a familiar face. As she grew older, she realized the idea of him taking her in was a baffling prospect. Lyna could never quite read him, she never quite knew why he had cared for her most despite how busy and overloaded he was. Though, still, she figured out pretty soon the compromises she would have to make in his care. The man was not particularly open with his emotions. 

The Exarch tried. This, she knew, but no one who purposefully hid who they were from the world, walking on glass coated heels and speaking in purposeful whispers, would ever be a replacement for a parent. The members of the council, despite claiming to be her “extended family”, remained strangers. Lyna realized she could manage on her own.

Still, Lyna could tell the Exarch was thrilled when she said that she wished to join the guard - it was something he could help her with. The praise was addicting, though she would never admit such a thing. 

Every single day after finishing her homework, the Exarch would take an hour or two out of his busy schedule to accompany Lyna down to the training dummies in the guard quarters. 

“Good,” he said as Lyna executed a Technical Finish, striking a noticeable slash across the dummy’s abdomen. 

Lyna gripped her mother’s chakrams, breathing hard. “No it wasn’t,” she sighed. “I know I could do more damage, I just…” 

The Exarch pursed his lips. “You executed your moves flawlessly, Lyna, I would be pressed to find any dancer among the guard’s ranks who move as gracefully as yourself.” 

Lyna looked at the chakram in her hands. Aged, chipped, and cracked metal looked back at her. 

“... if you are considering trading those in, I believe I could get you a fine pair.” 

“But… my lord…” Lyna ran a finger along the dull blade. It left no marks on her. It was a wonder such a weapon even harmed the dummy in front of her. 

The Exarch sighed. “‘Tis true they were your mothers. Trust me, it has not escaped my notice.” She had never mentioned that she used her mother’s chakrams to him. She could never get much past him. “Though, if you continue to use them like this, soon they will not exist to remember them by.” 

A sudden wave of emotion washed over Lyna at the thought of the chakrams disintegrating in her hand. Weapons could fight many things, but they could not fight tears. 

The Exarch’s mouth opened in shock, his cowl raising a little to show the curve of his nose. 

With the confidence of a soldier, leaning on his scepter, he approached her. She looked at him, still fighting her tears as he paused in front of her, replacing the scepter on his back before wrapping his arms around her. 

Lyna shook and sniffled but soon gave in, wrapping her arms around him and melting her face into his shoulder. Below was not soft, it was hard with crystal, but the embrace was warm all the same. 

“I, too, miss them very much,” he said. “And I am… beyond sorry that I will never be them. Truthfully, they held as much empathy in their fingernails as I do my entire being.”

Lyna lifted her face from his shoulder, finding tear stained fabric below her. “Tell me,” she said. “Would they have wanted this for me?” 

The Exarch smiled and Lyna broke their hug. “They would have wanted whatever you had wanted. Though, I know seeing you follow in their footsteps would have filled them with pride, maybe even more so than it does myself.” 

Lyna remained silent, picking at the tape holding together the chakram’s handles, thinking of his words. 

“... You know, in my quarters I keep mementos which remind me of my past. A bow, to be exact, as well as a few arrows - well, one is burned beyond use, but such is a story for another time,” he laughed awkwardly. “The bow is… far too old to ever be used again, though it reminds me of times past. If you would wish, I will get you our best pair of chakrams and help you mount your parent’s old weapons in your room.”

“I…” Lyna looked at the chakram again, and she noticed a new crack running down its side. If left, the crack would turn to a chip, which would turn to a gaping crater in the chakram’s structure.

The Exarch noticed her hesitation and bowed his head. Lyna knew him well enough to know he was avoiding eye contact. “Before I was attached to the tower, I woke up everyday to relics which remind me of my purpose,” he smiled, “I must admit, it was a great help in my low moments.” 

Lyna sighed. “Okay,” she said. “I think I would like that.” 

Chapter Text

L’aevum knew who the man in the robes was the moment she laid eyes on him.

Something about the way he ran. Before he explained the exact duplicate of the tower she was so familiar with. Before he even said a word.

What were the tells?

Something about the way he ran, she thought. The curvature of his arms. The relief in his voice when he spoke. They were all telling, down to the curve of his lips.

There were other tells in his voice, sounds which sung of a different person than the one who cockily invited her to a sharpshooting competition during the days of NOAH. They were in the way he spoke quickly and cautiously. He was not the person she knew those few years back. G’raha Tia of the Source was a young, carefree man. He was very enthusiastic about his studies, as much was evident by him simply being invited to learn and adventure with such a revered team of fighters and researchers. As much was evident when he took his draft into a war no one knew anything about with nothing short of pride at the end of such an adventure.

Back then, fear was his courage. And courage was his brand of hope. The prankster immediately had eyes for her, and she knew that all too well. At first she held off, not exactly impressed with their first meeting. But his hope and excitement and belief in all they were doing invigorated her like lightning to a dead Garlean vehicle, and soon she found herself spending more time with him. She would beckon him out of his tent on the few free nights they had, stealing away conversations and stories. He taught her how to shoot a bow and laughed when she accidentally missed the target by such a distance that she knocked Rammbroes’ hat off his head.

One night, as they lay drifting, warmed by mead and fire late into the night, he turned to her and said:

“Mark my words. One day, you will be the most important person on this star.”

He then snuggled into her shoulder and fell asleep on the ground. She looked up and prayed to the stars that such a wish would not come true.

And of course it didn’t. Due to his strides to save lives and inability to give up in the face of the most hopeless scenarios, when staring down the barrel of a gun and mocking it like he mocked her bad shot, his ability to hope beyond what should have been humanly possible made him the most important person in the story of how the Eighth Umbral Calamity (and, likely, the rejoining as a whole) was avoided.

L’aevum tried to understand it from the moment the prankster revealed himself as nothing more than the short, somewhat arrogant, miqo'te he was up until the doors to the tower shut behind him. As someone who wasn’t there by choice, but there because a series of odd chances made her the only one who could be there, it fascinated L’aevum. She wanted a piece of it, a slice of his hope and courage to herself. The ability to do the right thing without everyone around her pushing her in that direction, dragging her out of a pit of her own making.

As she made her way through the First, she watched him any chance she could. His mannerisms, the way he forcefully diverted his courage into herself, the sighs and the strategizing that could only come from years of diplomacy and hardship in a dying realm where his hope had to flourish, or else all would be lost.

She saw how it wore down on him. He was as tired as she was.

She could feel the pull in him as his hood strayed down around his shoulders and she called his name trying to pull back. The pull to end it, to be done. Finally free. She knew it well.

The tells were in his eyes, in his stance, in his cunning planning and manipulation. The tells were there every time she came back to the Crystarium and watched him carefully move around them, praying no one would catch his ruse to save the universe at the cost of himself. The cost he was willing to pay despite the other possibilities. G’raha Tia was dead, in his death spreading his hope like dandelion seeds, and in his place was an exhausted man with no real name nor face.

She pondered why he sacrificed his identity for a long time after she knew his aged face, the gray tips of his hair. And then she realized. If she knew who he was, she would do everything in her power to take the hit for him. Such a gamble was not one he was willing to take, and so he hid his cards under his cowl until the last moment. Such was a hero's burden, to always believe in another more than they believed in themself.

L’aevum had prepared herself for the worst. If she had to, she would watch him all day and all night to make sure he didn’t try anything drastic to get the Scions back to the Source. She would pick him up and carry him back through the rift if she needed to. She’d offer her soul to Y’shtola’s research.

But then something strange happened. After both of their sacrifices were averted, Lyna said it best. He seemed a younger man.

Instead, she watched again in complete amazement as he stood up himself and dared to dream once again. That was when she knew: G'raha Tia had never died, the dandelions simply needed water to grow.

Once again, she was reminded of why she was so drawn to him, culminating in his dare to finally dream of a hopeful end for himself - a hero making off with the hero’s prize - as he finally sacrificed himself to seal Elidibus.

There she swore she would do anything for him, for the man who sacrificed himself to save a hopeless world and then grew back flourishing. For such hope and courage which continued to amaze and confuse her time and time again.

For a moment after his return to his body in the Source, he was G’raha Tia. Set on adventuring and hoping. And again, she found herself drawn to it.

But the moment did not last forever. She began to notice things. Just as G’raha Tia was still alive, the Exarch also never died. Both souls existed, congealed and dense within him.

The tells were everywhere.

Chapter Text

“Come around here often?” Thancred watched with an eyebrow raised as L’aevum took a seat next to him at the bar, holding a wide mug of Ale. His own goblet of mead sloshed amongst his fingertips, gesturing sarcastically to the many patrons of Cloud Nine. Ishgard was a city of sinners. 

“What? Disappointed that I won’t let you drink alone tonight?” L’aeum took a gulp from her mug and narrowed her eyes at her newly proclaimed bar buddy. 

“Ah, dodging a question with another question, I see,” Thancred studied his cup. “Allow me to parry. What bottle does the Warrior of Light find herself at the bottom of this fine, chilly night?” 

The dark liquid in her cup hid its depths from prying eyes. “Moonrise,” she said. “Nothing better on a full moon, at least that’s what a new friend told me.” 

Sidurgu had once shared many a pint with her, though himself and Rielle had been a rarer and rarer sight within the establishment since Rielle made her decision. L’aevum was glad she hadn’t seen them in some time, but Cloud Nine had quickly become a noisy, lonely place. Luckily, Thancred and her seemed to share both a critical vice and a poor year.

“Not sure I’ve ever tried it, though I’ve heard fine things.” Thancred glared at her goblet, attempting to read it from afar before taking his own mug to his lips and downing half of the liquid inside, letting out a dramatic, refreshed sigh. 

He sniffed. “You’ll laugh. I always found that the Quicksand’s homemade honey wine went down the easiest. I will settle for a fine pint of Salt Ale, though.” 

Knowing a challenge when she saw it, the Warrior of Light held her mug with a fist. “I see we are holding nothing back tonight,” she said. 

Thancred shrugged. “I, for one, believe a night out with co-workers to be an off-the-record encounter.”

In response, L’aevum lifted the mug, supporting the bottom with her free hand. Thancred watched smugly as she downed every drop of liquid within. “Impressive,” he noted, crossing his arms with a sly glance as she slammed the mug down on the bar, gaining the attention of the keep. “One more for the lady,” Thancred ordered him. 

L’aevum relished the warm feeling of drinking on empty. The faster it hit, the better. 

“If we are off the record, then allow me to ask, you know these dives in and out, don’t you?” L’aevum passed the empty mug to the keep as he traded her a full one. 

Thancred smirked. “Something of the sort, yes. If you’re hungry for information then there is no better place to get it than from drunken lips.” Thancred then tilted his head and goblet back to finish the remainder of his drink. 

“I imagine the personal pleasantries were simply a bonus,” L’aevum said, turning to the keep and tapping him on the shoulder. “Pray, one more for the gentleman.” The keep nodded. 

Thancred scoffed, narrowing his eyes at L’aevum. Even with his teasing smolder, they glistened in the dim candlelight. “That they were. Though rarely did such pleasantries call me a gentleman. Personally, I doubt such titles suit me.” 

“Oh? Then what should I refer to you as tonight?” L’aevum leaned her elbows on her knees, looking up at him over her drink. With each passing sip, drowning her sorrows in other, more personal sins sounded more and more appealing. 

Thancred crossed his arms and leaned in, looking down at her. His smile made her feel like she was being scolded. He then took one hand from his chest and flicked her on the forehead. She flinched. “While I will not deny your ravishing looks, Warrior, plainly put, I am not the young man I once was,” Thancred said. 

“Mm,” L’aevum hummed. The room tilted. “And yet you age like a fine wine.” 

At this, Thancred barked a laugh, uncrossing his arms and relaxing in his seat. “With age in alcohol comes experience in the fine art of talking one up. Come off it, L’aevum, I know every trick in the book. You could never get them to work on me. Not tonight, at least.” 

L’aevum sighed and studied her glass of Moonrise. Perhaps it really was stronger under a full moon. 

The barkeep returned and handed Thancred another goblet of Salt Ale, which he cheersed in the keep’s direction before taking a long gulp. “That said, I will not deny you a partner in partaking liquid truth tonight. Nothing said in this room will ever pass my lips to our comrades, you have my word.” 

L’aevum turned towards Thancred, stabilizing herself on the bar. “Deal. So long as I hold the right to ask you some hard hitting questions.” 

Thancred sighed with a smile. “Fair’s fair. Though to be clear, I expect the same amount of furtiveness in return.” 

The Warrior nodded. “So, then, Thancred Waters, tell me, how did a street urchin like you find yourself the chance to become a renowned scholar?” 

Thancred took a swig of his drink, pursing his lips and leaning his arm on the bar, shuffling uncomfortably to cross his leg. “Looking for folktales, are we? Very well then. I find life to be quite simple. It turns out all a petty thief needs to turn his life around is the correct target… And all he needs to turn it back is a goobbue rampage…” 

Thancred told her of his life over two more glasses of mead and ale. She sat and listened as he jokingly talked up his luck with the ladies and questioned more as he skimmed his academic research. They smiled and talked and poked fun at his younger years. 

Then, like a switch, his face went serious when Minfilia entered the scene. “I have… many, many regrets,” he said. “It’s best to acknowledge them rather than deny them, I find, though at the bottom of Ishgard’s glasses, I seem to find the consequences of the most severe one staring back at me.” He swirled the shallow contents of his cup with a frown. Then he looked up at her. “If you understand what I am trying to say.” 

L’aevum nodded, finishing off her cup. Thancred cocked his head to the side, worry taking his features as the room seemed to sway around him. 

“Another?” the barkeep asked, taking L’aevum’s empty mug. 

She opened her mouth to respond, but Thancred was faster. “A water for my friend, actually, if you will.” 

The barkeep nodded and turned away. 

Thancred sighed and turned back to her. “Well, Warrior, before you sober up enough to shut the door again, I’ve always been curious. As I understand, Y’shtola found you wandering the outskirts of Limsa Lominsa like a lost coeurl. Was this the job you were looking to find out there?” 

The barkeep set the glass of water down in front of L’aevum, and she wished it nothing more than pure vodka. Still, a deal was a deal, and a fair trade was in order. 

“I wasn’t looking for anything,” she said. “Though, when you are wandering alone and kind strangers take the time to find you and feed you and put clothes on your back, it is quite impossible to deny their requests. Eventually, you get to know them enough to regard them as family.” She took the water to her lips and drank it like sipping wine. 

“Ysayle asked me why I fight. I only know it is not for myself.”

Chapter Text

“Friendly tip from a pro, you actually have to hit the target for it to count,” G'raha smirked behind her. 

L'aevum huffed as the rickety wooden bow dropped to her side. “I told you, I've never done this before.” 

“Is that the case? Shall I show you how it's done then?” G'raha hopped down from his perch atop a short scaffold directly outside of their research camp in Mor Dhona. 

Torches lit their surroundings, the rest of their camp far past sleeping. G'raha had scratched at her tent earlier, and she was awake hoping for him. 

They wandered the wastes until G'raha spotted an old striking dummy, broken from a long forgotten civilization. Smirking, he handed L'aevum his bow, and bet she couldn't hit it from their position.

She tried over and over, culminating in her frustration. 

G'raha bowed slightly and looked up at her with his blue eye, the red one hidden behind wisps of rusty hair, his right arm stretched towards the bow. She rolled her eyes at his obvious flirt. 

“What? So you can show me up?” she asked. 

He dramatically raised his hands and backed away. “Nothing of the sort, mam’, just trying to help!” 

L'aevum sighed and handed him his bow back. 

Completely disregarding his latest claim, he dramatically spread his legs and adopted the archer stance. Raising the bow with his right hand, he grabbed an arrow from his quiver with his left. 

L'aevum watched his face as his eyes shut and he took a deep breath, drawing the arrow back. His blue eye opened and he released, a force which sent a jolt through his upper half. 

The arrow whizzed from his bow and arced in the sky before grazing the top of the dummy and landing some further distance back from it. 

L'aevum slowly clapped as G'raha grunted in disapproval. 

“Serves you right. Didn't you just say you weren't going to do that?” L'aevum frowned at him. Part of her wanted it to come off as a joke, but the hostility showed through. 

G'raha shrugged at his target before turning to face her with a smile. “With enough practice, and a little bit of luck, you can shoot just like meee!”  

L'aevum crossed her arms. 

G'raha frowned. “What? ‘Twas simply a friendly competition. In the end, we both lost.” 

L'aevum huffed, and shook her head. “It's nothing,” she said. “We should make our way back to camp and sleep, research does not take kindly to late slumbers… as I suppose you should know.” 

G'raha rubbed his archon mark. “I assure you, adventurer, I can perform research on little sleep just as well as I can shoot a bow.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “That is to say not very well?” 

G'raha tensed, his tail growing puffy. “‘Twas a fluke!” he insisted. “As you know, normally I am quite a sharp shot.”

At this, L'aevum laughed. “Really? I don't pay close attention to Mor Dhona's trail beasts. Guess you'll have to prove it some other night.” 

“I will,” he grumbled as they turned back towards camp.

Despite L'aevum's instance, once they returned to the camp, G'raha found a campfire still burning embers and proclaimed he would need to stay up to make sure it didn't burn the camp and its Warrior to ashes. He then fell backwards next to the smoldering cinders and landed on his back with a light “oof”.

Without theatrics, said Warrior laid down next to him. “The stars are nice tonight,” she said. 

G'raha breathed a light laugh next to her. “That they are,” he replied.

They laid still like that for a moment. The silence of night was refreshing after the bustle of the day. Just water lapping at a shore far away and wind rustling tarps on tents.

“Back there… I apologize… if I offended you somehow,” G'raha almost whispered. 

L'aevum hummed. “It's fine,” she said. 

Wind rustled their hair as the glow of the embers burnt low. Still, they stayed looking at the stars. 

“Whatever you do, you do it so confidently,” L'aevum said. “Don't you ever feel like…”

G'raha laughed. “Yes,” he said. “The confidence makes up for it.” He looked over at her and sighed. “If we are entering the truthful hours of the night… the Ixal nearly stabbed me in the chest before I fled and saw you. By some stroke of luck, the hog in Urth's Gift was fast asleep when I arrived. Slaying it was easy.” 

L'aevum met his gaze with lifted eyebrows. 

“Before you go telling anyone, particularly Rammbroes, know that I know there are devices within the tower which can reanimate any of the beasts you've already fought.”

“Your secret's safe with me.” L'aevum turned her gaze back to the cosmos. “If it's any consolation, I doubt I would be in this position if I didn't have it handed to me on a silver platter,” she said.

“Nonsense!” G'raha said. “You are the mightiest warrior I believe I have ever witnessed.”

L'aevum shook her head. “No. I am simply some god's favorite, for a reason I haven't the faintest idea of. I am no warrior. Just some poor soul who got lucky.” 

G'raha sighed. “Well, whatever the reason, you still fell these beasts like butter.” 

“I try,” she sighed. “I try.” 

“Mm. And while the axe is not my specialty… if you can stand me as a teacher, I believe I could help you with your archery abilities,” he said.

L'aevum laughed. “Maybe,” she said. “I have always found the sport of archery rather… attractive.”

G'raha blushed as his tail whipped under him. L'aevum couldn't help but smile. 

Chapter Text

At the end of the world there should have been nothing save the cries of the doomed, shooting out like flames from buildings. 

At the end of the world there was a city.

Those desperate souls clinging to crumbling ground, diseased and dissolved. The moon hung above them eating their final thoughts and testaments. 

Within this city stood a woman who dared against this. She breathed slowly, calmly, her and her followers lost in the shadows of chaos.

“ No more shall man have wings to bare him to paradise . Henceforth he shall walk.”

In pain, brutality, agony. Centuries of second thoughts, of horrors beyond past comprehension, her people walked on. 

~~

At the end of the world there should have been nothing save war and famine with no souls daring to think beyond the morn. 

At the end of the world there was a tower.

Those desperate souls clinging to a heroless world wrought by calamity. Those who would save them were dead and buried, and so all were villains in the eyes of desperation. 

Inside of this tower stood a man. He shook with courage as he promised to see out his duty to those who rose him from his eternal slumber. 

“Keep us in your mind as you sally on, good soldier.” 

Even in the hopelessness, the suffering, the impossible goals and secrecy, he continued alone until his exhausted form could take no more. At memory's end, he found his home. 

~~

At the end of the world there should have been nothing.

At the end of the world there was nothing. 

Silence in civilization long dead and gone. History recreated like a museum for no one. No souls reached out for salvation. 

In this nothingness walked a warrior. She stepped cautiously, though did not touch her weapon. In this moment she wondered how those before her walked alone, and she knew she could never do the same.

“But I am not alone.” 

In a moment the universe split open, and the tension within dissipated. And the Warrior was angry that she did not suffer as those did before her. 

Chapter Text

Mirrors in the Exarch’s private chambers were largely useless when he wore the same outfit for weeks at a time. Make sure the broach was pinned in the right spot and the shawl was fastened correctly, put enough jewelry on to be passable for modern garbs by Salutene and Remar, pull up the cowl, walk out the door, and he could get away with never seeing himself. 

It was quite rare for him to get tired after he had fused himself with the tower, and so it was quite rare he would see his bedchambers, though there was the occasional day that would get the best of him. His body fed off the tower only at a pace which seemed reasonable. Fast enough to keep him from aging, but slow enough to keep it from consuming him. The original incantation was a delicate balancing act. 

Because of this, one day he found himself absolutely knackered. The day after a battle, the worst the Crystarium had seen in ages. If the Exarch had just a tad more insight, he would have strung together that there was an inkling of control behind such an attack. If only he had been invisible in the room where Emet-Selch had made a deal with the king of Eulmore - he would know what monstrosities awaited them in the future. 

All that attack really was, was a test of a newborn’s abilities. 

But alas, no one had any real way of knowing such things. Not yet, anyway. And so the guards put up their best fight, but in the end important people brushed too closely with death, and so the Exarch had to do something drastic. 

It wasn’t often, these days, for him to acquire new crystalline parts. His research into summoning had already netted him all he needed to know. The only thing left to do was to acquire the necessary materials, make any final preparations, wait, and pray it would all come to fruition. The waiting was the hardest part. 

He still remembered the early days of his research, where he would pull from the tower occasionally. A new crack of glowing blue up the remainder of his arm, a slight parting of the skin on his shoulder. They would feel like deep scratches or knife wounds, eventually relenting into a dull, sore ache. 

The day’s deeds finished filling in his right shoulder. It also ruined part of his robes in the process. 

Slowly, he stumbled into his room. The bed lay made from the last time he had entered the place, which was weeks ago. Mementos from past lives stared down at him as he carefully broke through crystal shards in an attempt to discern and disconnect the solidified robes from his crystalised skin. 

With a small tink the robes broke from his shoulder and moved freely one again. As he stuffled, sharp bits of crystal poked him in the chest. He groaned at the feeling on his already clammy skin, the scratching only agitating it more. Suddenly, he felt very claustrophobic. 

Quickly, he brought the robes over his head. Brooches and jewelry clanged to the floor below him in a disastrous cacophony. 

Lightheaded, the Exarch sat himself on the edge of his bed in his small clothes. He swayed there for a moment and calmed his racing heart. The room spun. 

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. The world seemed to stabilize. 

The first thing his eyes landed upon was a bow, hanging above a tiny, disused kitchenette across from him. The bow was old. Two arrows sat below it, one whole one and one burnt nearly to the fletching. He made an attempt to look down to his shoulder, but the damage was worse than he thought. When he tried to crane his head, it only moved slightly. He clenched his teeth as he heard a cracking sound and felt a deep pain on the side of his neck. For him to move it again, it would need to be imbued with aether he simply didn’t have at that moment. 

Sleep sounded excellent, and under him was a bed. And so, for the first time in months, painfully and uncomfortably, he rested. 

~~

The first thing he did when he woke up was sacrifice some of the restful aether to his new wound. He sighed deeply as he stretched his neck and rolled his shoulder. Still, as with all crystallizations, his body felt different. The want for a pulling sensation in the right side of his neck as he moved, the lack of breeze on his skin. It would take a few days to get used to. 

Still, he had rested long enough. There was still work to be done, now more than ever, with parts of the city needing to be rebuilt, and funerals needing to happen, and guards needing to be retrained, and council advising, not to mention his research and- 

- his breath caught in his throat as he opened his dresser. 

He didn’t change his robes often. Sure, sometimes he would end up outside of the Crystarium walls and they would get torn or dirty - but most of his days were spent within the city, increasingly so. Not to mention, the fusion with the tower meant he didn’t exude as many unpleasant odors as a normal 20-something male Mystel. 

This paired with the constant cowl mixed with his simple avoidance of such things meant he hadn’t seen his face in years. Now, a stranger stared back at him in his dresser mirror. 

It wasn’t like his face had changed much since he fused himself with the Crystal Tower. In fact, he could make out the same bumps and divots as the day he repeated the incantation. 

No, what shocked him was his hair. 

New rusty locks stopped growing the moment he became one with the tower, but his old hair stayed. He caught a glimpse of it in the weeks preceding. A slight gray strand which made its way into his vision as he was talking with his head guards. One of them squinted at it, and he quickly tucked it away, promptly forgetting about it. 

He couldn’t pin the exact time the tips of his hair had gone fully gray, but at some point, they had. 

He stared into the mirror with shocked red eyes, tilting his head from left to right. His entire head was frizzier, some strands holding like wire. Even the hair which still read as red was dulled, as if life had been sucked out of the strands. 

The braid in the back still held, but as he ran his hand along it, he could feel the wiry gray strands which made it. Briefly, he wondered what it would look like if he let his hair down after such a long time. It was likely that it wouldn’t spring free of the braid at all, he decided.

His hand snaked its way to the new crystal, watching in the mirror as he carved the outline of the crystal up his neck, running his fingers along hard rock and soft skin. 

After a moment, his hand fell back to his side. It didn’t matter. The reason he kept his hair as it was was the same reason he kept the rickety bow in his private room. But both were growing old, rotting in place. 

There, he put on his extra set of robes, pulled up the cowl, and walked out of the room, putting unnecessary thoughts away as he prepared to tackle the next challenge.

Chapter Text

This is an entry in an ongoing series from Elviane Lakivy recording various histories through the citizens of the Crystarium. 

The following interview was recorded on the 5th anniversary of the city’s “Rapture War” or on the 129th day of the 17th PFL (Post-Flood of Light). 

It was conducted by myself, Elviane Lakivy, recently appointed first Director of the Cabinets. 

The individual I interviewed wished to remain anonymous. 

For the interview process, I gave my interviewee a card asking to tell me their story. I then sat and listened to what they had to say while under a glamour. Following is a full recounting of what they told me. 

5/00 CD (Cryst. date) 17/129 PFL  

Anon

"

I can’t lie to you. The years prior to the Rapture are nearly bloody removed from my memory. Let's see…

I was born in Voeburt and enjoyed life there with my family until, you know, everything happened. I was a young adult when it felt like the bloody sky fell on us. One moment we’re going about our day and the next we’re cowering in our homes attempting to ride out the next attack. Stuff like it happened plenty of times before but something in the air was different that day, the day Voeburt actually fell. Many of us knew we were goners, what with the military looking the way it did and the whole world being unrelenting. 

Sure enough, the signal came and we ran. We all ran as far as we could and sorta… scattered. Myself and my family made our way with a group through Lakeland. We had heard about some sorta new settlement that had taken hold there, what with some powerful mage and a giant blue tower. The people coming from there had told us about its strange technology. Machines which could build bridges and stairs on their own! Fighting magic that could of outpowered Voeburt’s entire army! Whole thing sounded like a dream, yeah? So we made the journey. 

Not without loss, though. My younger brother fell to the sin eaters during our travels. 

Anyways, we get here and it turns out it is all a dream. 

Bloody guy at the helm barely even wanted to lead a city. Instead he spewed insane words of salvation and unwriting what was written. I couldn’t believe how much faith the people here had in him when we wouldn’t even show his face. Bunch of desperate saps, I thought them all, feeding into some crazed man’s delusions. 

All the Elf refugees from Lakeland, who followed that madman, believing all of his crazed shit - they didn’t get along very well with we Voeburtites. Many of them barely even knew the stories behind the Warriors of Light. Could you believe that? The world’s villains and they didn’t even know their names. Some of ‘em didn’t even know there were multiple Warriors of Light! Insanity. Pure insanity. 

Anyway, I can’t judge them too much. We Voeburtites took to drowning our sorrows in the only way we knew how. Pretty sure there was one makeshift bar for every 10 shack homes. Some of us started helping the reconstruction project, but many of us just fed on the resources and sat on our asses. The rule that states you have to help in the city's efforts in order to get food n’ supplies n’ housing n' all of that? It wasn’t put in place until after we had all snuggled in. 

It’s embarrassing to admit, but I was one of those blights on the resources. Things for the next few years are pretty damn hazy. Drank myself to death daily and then woke up to do the same thing over again. In my defense, our worries at the time were all but proven. Maybe a year after I arrived that guy running the place propped up a few funky electromag-whatever shields and ran away. He never claimed leadership, sure, but that didn’t mean he could just run off into the world and leave us behind. But he did. 

The Elves believed in him and whatever hope he stood for so goddamn much that they started to build their own government with him as the overall ruler. Guy wasn’t even present! We Voeburtites weren’t gonna have any of that shit, but in their defense it wasn’t like we were making other plans. Just calling them stupid, rejecting their rules, and waiting to die. 

Years passed and we didn’t see a lick of the only person with control over all that power. So of course, eventually the worst happened. 

I don’t have to retell it for you, you already know the story. Mine is pretty similar to everyone else’s. Sin eaters absolutely decimated us when they swooped in too fast for the guards to deploy the shields. We immediately blamed the Elves and the Elves immediately blamed us.

Couple of Viis guards who I guess the Elves knew well back then - we all know ‘em very well now -  gave us a dose of reality. “Your children are dying,” they reminded all of us. “But not by each other’s hands.” The sin eaters killed off so many of our young that day while the rest of us were distracted screaming and fighting and blaming each other. I… it still… Gods I’m sorry, I need a moment. 

*5 minute pause*

Apologies, thank you. 

Anyway, before their words could get through our heads, the tower erupted in some type of... glow? I guess? It was like a uh… bubble burst, but like the stuff inside of it shot out at the speed of a gun, I don’t know, I’m bad at explaining these things. Never experienced anything like it before or since. It laid every sin eater in the entirety of Lakeland to ruin, though. Just like that, the battle was over. 

I still remember, the city seemed silent in shock for a full minute after it happened. Of course, as soon as the moment passed, we went right back to fighting each other. 

Here's where my perspective becomes a bit… special. Not in a way I’m proud of, mind you. 

I’m standing right by the gates to our oh so powerful tower and the guy who's been missing for years just comes sauntering out of it. 

The Elves love this shit, they run straight to him and tell him he’s a god and say he should be a leader and all of that while we Voeburtites just look on in shock and disgust. This idiot had been missing for years and he finally had the gall to finally show up only after so many people were dead?

Of course my drunk ass was the one who decided to do something about it. I push my way past the Elves and up to the guy, bring my fist back, and punch him square in the jaw. He didn’t defend himself or nothing, just stumbled back from me after I nailed him. 

I’ll never forget what happened next. I thought I was about to get killed but didn’t really care. Some guys on the guard tackled me of course, but then the bleedin’ idiot told them to stop. The city went silent again, just like when the sin eaters were laid low.

And then he told us, he said something like ‘I have failed you, but rise up anyways. When all falls around you, rise up.’ 

5 bloody years later and I’m still working on it. Still don’t like the guy and his lofty goals, not very much, but he scrubbed any records of my assault and told any witnesses to not identify me. The words he spoke that day resonated with a lot of people, and I can’t deny he’s changed and done better for us.

I appreciate him not taking any role with absolute power, but I still fear he doesn’t take enough responsibility for the city - what with him rejecting any council role over a simple ‘advisor’ position but - bah - this is getting political. What matters now is that we are doing better than we were, though I’ll eat my left boot if that guy actually ‘rewrites history’ or whatever shit he and his followers spew. 

These days I just stick to my guns and do what I can. I don't believe in that guy but I certainly believe in the Crystarium. The Elves and their hope... I've learned to find it uplifting, despite the few remaining crazies. Most of them calmed down a lot after he rejected their pleas for lordship, anyways. 

But uh, well… that’s all I got for you. Thanks for listening. 

"

Chapter Text

The air is thick with crimson rose,

And we settle on the nights ashore. 

The moon doth flake from hells we speak, 

And nevertheless we bask in heat. 

Fluttering and sputtering drove L’aevum like an engine. Senses on high alert like the world had plugged straight into her veins, an electric sort of adrenaline which numbed all pain, shielding it, storing it away for later as more precious, exhilarating moments took the center stage. 

Much like any world numbing substance, such highs would get lower and lower each time she partook in them. Still she sought them out time and time again until old novelties became gruesome habits; until gruesome habits became addictions. Without these talents , what was her purpose? 

Fighting used to be exhilarating, now it was a way to be numb. 

At least, usually. 

Life always had novelties to find. 

The book she was given felt heavier than a battle axe in her hands. 

“You would surely bury me in the dirt if you were to use a weapon you knew your way around. Then again, I don’t know about you, but I find spell-on-spell fights to be quite boring .” 

L’aevum’s eyes trailed up to the person in front of her. He was weighing her trusty blunt sparring axe in both hands, attempting to get a feel for its weight distribution. With more strength than she originally thought he could muster, he raised it into the air and rested the back of the axe on his shoulder. It was at that moment, she realized, that not all disciples of magic skipped arm day. 

“I believe your bow would have been easier for me to pick up and fight with than your axe… but I must admit, I’ve always wanted to try this,” he looked straight into her eyes. His face wore a mischievous smirk, his crimson gaze growing darker than she had ever seen before. Suddenly, like a lightning bolt, exhilaration struck at her core. “Tell me, my friend, would a duel like this interest you?” 

48 hours to pick up a new weapon, learn their ways around it, grab a new set of armor, and then come back at the end to spar. G’raha always found a way to keep L'aevum on her toes, much like a good fight itself. When he first handed her his old grimoire, she was going to say no, but after that small show… Well, was chasing novelties really such a bad idea? 

“... Fine,” she relented. “48 hours. I’ll see you in the wolf's den.” 

G’raha sneered as he flipped the axe forward, the head hitting the ground with a small thud. “Beginning now ,” he said as he lifted into the air to quickly wizz away. 

She watched until the aether consumed him and then chose a destination herself. 

~~

Using a book to fight had always confused her. All sharp weapons made sense, obviously, and the right staff could knock a man unconscious without the need to approach. Summoning was a different beast altogether. 

She had tried it, once, a long time ago when she was trying to learn about the primals she had been slaughtering. Y’shtola’s sister taught her the basics, getting her to summon Titan, Ifrit, and Garuda, but she had always fumbled without making direct, physical contact with an enemy. Aether magic just felt too abstract. 

Still, she went to Tuliyollal and told Mewazunte to give her the finest magic disciple armor he had. The breezy robes were a far cry from the thick sword-stopping armor she was used to. The lightness made her feel exposed, like she could be blown over by the wind. It wasn’t lost on her why such garb was the way it was, though; she also felt like she could run a marathon without much resistance. If she remembered one thing about summoners, it was that they had to be light on their feet. 

The next thing to do was to open the grimoire G’raha had asked her to retrieve from the Crystal Tower in the First, and then promptly handed back to her. She had always wondered if he tried using his summoning knowledge to fight, and the contents of the grimoire confirmed her speculations. 

Inside were various notes in G’raha’s handwriting on different egis and the incantations used to summon them. It seemed he wrote a blurb on every different Allagan-era eikon, just in case he ever received the blueprints to summon them. There were indeed a few incantations where the pages were worn around the edges and the ink was splotched from use. 

She wondered what that looked like, G’raha fighting by flipping open a book and waving his hands over the pages, whispering incantations to himself. It wasn’t hard to imagine, the style of fighting certainly suited him. 

Her, on the other hand, it did not.

She stumbled around a training dummy for a few hours, assembling aether constructs and learning page numbers by heart. Relearning how to summon the three primals came easy to her, but other intricacies of the job did not. The grimoire she had used all that time ago, with its various notes on heavy-hitting flourishes, was sitting somewhere with her retainer collecting dust. 

And so, she flipped the book open to a page she had initially skimmed past. A smile crossed her face as she read some of G’raha’s earlier research. 

“Ah,” she thought. “ I always wondered how he did that.” 

~~

G’raha seemed to have the same idea as her as far as armor was concerned. L’aevum knew Mewazunte’s warrior armor from the exposed midriff and biceps. Had she seen such exposed skin earlier, she never would have wondered if G’raha kept his archer strength after adopting lighter weapons. He certainly did. Not to mention, she had nearly forgotten about the large tattoo on his arm. Once upon a time she asked what it meant, but she never received an answer. 

G’raha dropped the head of the axe to the ground again and crossed his arms in front of him, leaning on its handle.  L’aevum was already hyper-aware of his movements, though the duel hadn’t yet begun. 

“Should I start this or shall you?” he asked. 

She flipped open the grimoire, calling her carbuncle with a sly smile. She then cocked her head to the side. “Provoke me,” she taunted. 

The taunt worked as G’raha’s face broke out in the same seedy smile from before, uncrossing his arms, lifting the axe with his right hand, and making a crushing motion with the other. 

She saw the look in his eyes - like flames dancing, bursting to escape - and stiffened. Had he sought out her old mentors? 

The thought quickly waned as he started upon her with a guttural cry, lifting the axe well above him - but she noticed not a split second too late, and she had learned some surprise tricks of her own. 

She opened the book and flipped through the pages. “Break!” 

His stomping sprint came to a halt as the incantation reached him. She reveled in the shock on his face. 

“I see someone did their research,” he jeered. 

“I could say the same for you,” she gleamed.

L’aevum worked fast, knowing the spell could break at any moment. With him frozen, she took her control, summoning Garuda to her side.

One moment, his limbs moved like syrup, the next, he was regaining his sprint. She shot a few fast rounds of wind at him and he stumbled to the side, dodging to her left as she turned her gaze to follow him. 

It was obvious he wasn't used to the heavy armor, its weight tried to carry his momentum forwards, but he managed to halt himself just a few feet from her. The lugging allowed her to get a few more pot-shots off on him, but with the final gust, he spun to the side, axe moving through the air like butter, catching and dispersing the last bit of magic before it contacted him. 

Finishing his spin, he whipped the axe's momentum with a grunt, sending a shock wave straight for her. 

One half of her mind reached for the Garuda egi only to find it spent, while the other half wandered elsewhere to the sheen of sweat on her sparring partner's forehead. 

The wave hit her head-on, knocking the wind out of her and bringing her to her knees.

Like a warrior's intuition, he saw his chance again, storming towards her. This was enough to shake her daze. 

Quickly thinking she skimmed the pages again, finger pressing on an incantation she had only practiced once. 

“Vanish,” she hissed, tucking and rolling to the side. 

She ducked as the axe swung at her previous spot, but with her new perspective, she noticed the hesitation in his swing. The arc of the blunted blade did not cut smoothly through the air.

“You're holding back,” she said. 

G'raha stumbled back and whipped his head around, looking straight through her and then away, hoisting the axe back to his shoulder. 

“And you seem distracted, my friend. ‘Tis not like you to play dirty,” his voice was teasing but his gaze was steel as he scanned the sparring arena. 

As he turned away, with a sheen of light she summoned Ifrit, reached for Swiftcast, and sent a large fireball in his direction. 

He whipped around and tossed the axe head from his shoulder, allowing the momentum to pull him just out of the fireball's aim. It exploded somewhere behind him. 

He sneered in her direction, smirking and showing his teeth. “Very well then, if this is how you wish to play, then so be it.” 

He lifted the axe above him and let out an animalistic howl before being consumed in a ball of pure fury. The heat of the light confirmed her previous suspension. His face contorted and his eyes were lit ablaze; she stood wide-eyed in something that wasn't quite fear as the fire of Infuriate engulfed him. 

Stock still, she watched him, his muscles twitching, his breathing low and heavy, his mind's loosening control. She knew the hunger well. 

Part of her wondered if she just stood there and let him take her, do what he pleased with her, exactly what would happen? The thought succeeded in weakening her knees, paralyzing her in place. She reached for an egi, but her mind had stopped responding.

With a face scrunched like a tiger hunting prey, he rushed her in an onslaught, appearing behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist, holding her in place. His heavy, erratic breathing whispered on the back of her right ear and she turned to look into his consumed eyes.

With a need to win, a need for novelty, a need for something , she wrapped her free arm around his neck and hoisted herself up to him, open mouth receiving parted lips and biting at their rough skin. Hungry. 

His hand clawed at her waist, holding her flush to his body. He gasped and she heard the thud of her axe falling to the deck behind him, freeing his other hand to scour its way up her neck until it was gripping her chin, pushing her deeper into the needy kiss. Starving.

The novelty of coming undone. 

Chapter Text

Y’shtola could not deny that her time among the Nights Blessed had changed her, though the change had begun the moment the Exarch had summoned her. There her soul appeared before him, bared and afraid as he grumbled his discontentment and quickly handed her a pair of clothes.

He turned away as she dressed and then turned back to her raging at him. “Do you understand what you’ve done? What you just pulled me from. The world is at stake and yet here I am… explain, where exactly am I? What did you do?”

The man stood and calmly took her baradement, though shame in his lower lip only made Y’shtola wish she had hold of her staff so she could show her true rage. She wanted a reaction. Instead he stood, and sighed, and twiddled his fingers around a staff which was more like a scepter. The aetheric readings coming off of it were massive. The start to an explanation of his little trick.

“Your soul has been transferred to this dying realm by my hand. For this, you are owed my utmost apologies. I am truly, deeply sorry for what I have done,” he said.

“Why?” she immediately countered. “And where exactly is this ‘dying realm’?”

“Mm, yes,” he said. “Again, I apologize. The answers to those questions are rather long and arduous, and while I assure you will receive them soon enough, your soul did just take a journey across the rift and I am certain you are exha-”

“Now.”

The figure paused, its demeanor changed. “Very well,” he said, his voice growing low. “In that case… let us begin with the First…”

As the days passed, Y’shtola grew more and more skeptical. His truths felt filtered through cheese cloths, siphoning out the details, and replacing lost sediment with grand ideals. Still, she could not deny the state of the world around her, nor the knowledge of the man before her. Not being the most studied in the room made her uncomfortable. Even more so when the person more well learned would not give their secrets readily. In the beginning, they would see each other once a day and engage in basic conversations around this world he seemed to have so much sway over.

Eventually, slowly and methodically, Y’shtola began to weave in questions of his knowledge around summoning and spellcasting into their conversations. With every carefully worded question sent his way, he carefully skirted around an answer with practiced dismissal. They both knew the game each other was playing, and it infuriated her.

The breaking point came slowly as Y’shtola watched the man slink into shadows and crawl around her whereabouts. There would be sandwiches wrapped in her pendant's room when she returned from an outing, yet every time she marched up to the doors of the Dossal Gates, the man would be unaccepting of guests. She was only allowed to see him on his terms, and such meetings were becoming rarer and rarer.

Her abandonment of the Crystarium was trivial. Unnoticed until someone, likely the Exarch, came knocking on her Pendants door days after her dismissal only to find her belongings gone (with some of the Pendants’ bedsheets) and a note which simply said:

“I have left for new adventures.

Pray, do not seek me.”

While he never attempted to send missives, Y’shtola found out the room she once resided in hadn’t been checked-out in the three years between her first use of it, and her begrudging return to it.

While mistrust of the Exarch was by far the main reason for her to take her leave, there was another issue. Staring at the aether of the First for her was like staring straight into the sun for a normal-sighted person. There was no escape from it unless she was indoors, and even then the Light was only dimmed.

When the Exarch mentioned an off-grid group of darkness worshippers who made it their goal in life to hide from the Light, she knew where she had to go.

The small camp was not extraordinary accepting of her when she first stepped foot into it. This was no problem for Y’shtola. In fact, people being off-put by her was far more comforting than someone who scampered around like a shame-filled mouse, leaving crumbs of apologies for actions it refused to elaborate on. Here, the people just looked at her funny, and Y’shtola was quite used to being an outcast. Like that, she would suffer it out however long it took, so long as she had her own space and a way to survive, she knew she would be fine.

Quickly, she settled into this new way of life. Still, the people of the town paid her little mind. She was an anthropologist, a ghost observer among them. For days, she emerged from her small makeshift abode, watered the farm crops, and blended in with the locals who at best paid her no mind.

She grew comfortable, taking in-depth notes on this intriguing culture to which she could watch, but not touch. Though, without her sight, there was one thing Y’shtola had forgotten about herself. She was not invisible.

“Say, I’ve seen your face around here for nearly a moon, and yet I don’t believe I’ve heard your voice,” a Ronso man approached her one day as she was watering the crops.

“Ah, and you are?” she asked, attempting to scan his soul like a document.

He was not deterred. “You may call me Runar in the Light. I am the next in line for head priest of the Nights Blessed,” the man replied. “And yourself?”

Y’shtola had watched long enough to pick up on the basics of their culture. Yet, she had not thought far ahead enough to choose a name for herself. “Ah, hm… you may call me Matoya. I hail from the Crystarium.”

Runar’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “The Crystarium?” he asked. “You would be the first traveler we’ve had from the Crystarium in years.”

Y’shtola sighed. “Well, do not expect much news about them from myself. I left for a reason.”

Runar smiled. “I quite understand. For what it is worth, while our village may not be the most open to outsiders, our people have noticed your help. Greet anyone with the phrase ‘allin tuta’ and I promise you will be accepted.”

“Allin tuta…” Y’shtola repeated, watching the village folk around them. “Perhaps I will give it a try. Thank you for your kindness, Runar.”

“Ah, my pleasure,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

At that moment, the change took a turn. Each day she would go up to a new person and repeat the phrase that Runar gave to her. In exchange, she found a thriving community.

When the flames finally struck as they always did, and all was nearly lost as it always was, a resolve finally threatened to overtake her. From then on out, to mess with her family, they would have to go through her.

Chapter Text

Of the many jobs in Norvrandt, there were no few which held propensities for danger and heartbreak. From marksmen who made their fortunes wrestling the ghosts of the long past, to caretakers who worked infinite hours for the benefit of those who were fading from life, all the way to scholars who kept the ever teetering balance between innovation and resources; Norvrandt was no stranger to stress and hardships. 

There were those who held the jobs on the frontlines of such intense battles, and those who held the job of listening to their countless tales. A thankless job, Glynard often joked, but one with its own benefits nonetheless. 

The Wandering Stairs was managed better than the Crystarium’s guard some days, and everyone knew it. It was difficult to outpace a man when his passions lay solely on the going ons of others, knowledge of the townsfolk his type of study. No such devotion escaped the eyes of the Exarch, anyhow. The proprietor of the Stairs was perhaps his most important confidant when it came to domestic issues.

Despite this, and somewhat worryingly, Glynard had not been called upon in the weeks following the last sin eater attack. In fact, if his sources were correct, no one had heard from the enigmatic man in weeks.

Yet still, thanks to his setup for redundancy in the council, life went on. This day was no different than the others. At least, not at first. 

Like clockwork, Glynard approached the bar early in the morning, taking pace from the manager on the slow shift. The Stairs hadn’t closed shop since its inception many years prior. After all, Norvrandt never slept, at least not all at once, and so there was always a need for both a bar and a food joint. 

A mind filled with profiles, Glynard scanned the room and lingered on his few regulars. At these hours, many first-shifters were leaving their positions and meandering over. Without a word to any of the patrons, Glynard knew all their preferred drinks by heart. A glass of smooth red sherry for the scholar, a mug of five-year mead for the archer, a shot of firewater in sweet bubbles for the matron. Remember some small details about those seen daily and enjoy watching their smiles become more and more genuine, their manner of talk more and more relaxed. Even the toughest of stains rubbed out eventually with enough liquor, and the Crystarium’s population was no stranger to such vices. 

All except one person, it seemed. 

As Glynard took his spot back behind the bar, his eyes landed on a strange figure. It sat hunched over a table as if it were asleep, red and white accents missing from the familiar loose gray robes, golden brooches cast aside. Its cowl was ever unmistakable to him, but to the passing eye the figure was more likely an exhausted chirurgeon looking to drown their sorrows the best way anyone knew how. 

Glynard, while surprised at the odd appearance, knew better than the average passerby. 

Crushed cherries from Il Mheg doused with bubbly water and sweet syrup. Garnish with an orange slice of Musica Universalis origins. Non-alcoholic, served over ice. 

The head of the figure slowly rose as Glynard took a seat across from it, placing the bright red drink before it. “Say, the new garb - has it really been enough to escape all the prying eyes?” 

The Exarch sighed and reached for the drink. “Well, I imagine it will only work for so long, but of course, it fails to pass your test… thank you, for the drink, might I add.”

Glynard waved him away. “Don’t mention it. If what I’ve heard is true, you need a pick-me up. Astrine and Bragi have been scourin’ the whole bloody city every day for you, you know?” 

“I… could have guessed as much, yes.” The Exarch took the orange slice from the rim of the glass and squeezed its juice into the drink before dropping the pulp in and watching the bubbles fizz around it. “‘Twould seem I have a lot to make up for.” 

Glynard eyed him, his head still hung low and body still limp like an understuffed doll. The barkeep shook his head. “Maybe you do, but if you don’t mind me making a blunt observation, you look like hell.” The Exarch stirred his drink without responding. “I’m sorry about what happened. Now, why have you shown up here when none of your men have heard a word from you in weeks?” 

The Exarch stopped stirring his drink, his form seemed to get even smaller. “I fear if I were to tell you the truth as a patron and not a leader, you may see me as a different man.” 

Glynard’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, but the tension didn’t stick around for long. He shook his head. “The realm’s most notorious marksmen have cried snot nosed and bleary eyed to me, and their woes were fed to the wind the next day. Say what you want, what’s said at the Stairs stays at the Stairs.” 

Finally, the Exarch picked up his sugary drink and sipped at its contents. He then made a face and stared into the glass. 

“Something the matter?” Glynard asked. 

“Ah! No, no, I just suppose I expected a taste of what this place is notorious for this time around,” the Exarch said.

“My apologies my lord, I didn’t think you partook in such sins,” Glynard smirked. “If you wish, the lack of booze can be fixed.” 

The Exarch looked at the drink again and shook his head. “While I would not have denied it if it was set in front of me, I believe it for the best if I continue to refrain… After all, I suppose I am somewhat of a parent now.” 

Across his career, Glynard had been told some of the most shocking, horrendous shit imaginable. From multiple detailed descriptions of sin eater metamorphosis, to the exasperated cries of the many spouses who had to kill her own partners. Each and every time, he was able to keep a straight face. Now, the shock was evident. 

The Exarch finally smiled at this, as if he took amusement in his ability to catch the man off guard. “‘Tis not a complete fib. A young Viis named Lyna…” The man trailed off, but his tone had changed completely, an airy lightness finding its way to his voice.

Glynard immediately recognized the name, and the puzzle pieces fell into place. He took a deep breath. “Ah, I see… how is she, after everything?”

The Exarch shook his head and took another sip of his drink. “We’re simply taking it one day at a time. The both of us. Together.” 

Glynard sat and listened as the Exarch spilled some small drop of his woes and anxieties, grief’s grip and the loosening effects of time. As promised, as Glynard left his shift, the leader’s words were forgotten, fed to the wind and burned upon touching the Light in the sky. 

The next day, he heard word from Bragi. “Finally,” he said over a shot of whiskey, ”the old man appears again. Can’t help but wonder what drove him away at such a damned time.” 

Glynard shrugged as he wiped down the mead nozzles. “Who knows?”

Chapter Text

“Courage is not the absence of fear, it is the triumph over it.”

Or at least, someone had told him such a short time ago. One of the Students of Baldesion as he packed the remainder of his things from the Isle of Val and left for Eorzea with the promise of adventure and a freshly tattooed Archeon Mark, never to return again.

And he couldn’t, even if he wanted to - it was upon his arrival in Eorzea that he was informed of the island’s disappearance, taking all of those who had been burdened with the task of watching him grow up with it. After such an event occurred, he would occasionally be inundated with thoughts surrounding how the person who had once told him those words felt in their final moments. At first, for many years, he figured it was courage. Eventually, far after his own decisions set his path in life, the only thing he could settle on was fear. After all, as he had learned, courage was not only the triumph over fear, but the presence of hope. 

Other than that minor intrusion, he simply mourned their loss and continued on. His situation was far from hopeless, and courage is what would drive him further and further. 

After all, when Rammbroes approached him with an offer from one Cid nan Garlond himself, there was no force on Etheirys which would stop him from going. And now, despite never seeing the place as more than an educational institute, he didn’t even have a place to turn back to. They slashed his arm, removing his chains, and freeing him to do whatever he pleased. At least, if he didn’t bleed out.

What happened after that was far more than what had happened in his last 17 years of study.

For one, he met someone who had inspired him far, far more than the text in his tomes. A real life hero standing before him in the flesh with her jet black hair and fair moonlit skin. He found his eyes drawn to the smooth curve of her waist, her arms as she swung an axe far too big for him to carry. A scar made its way across one of her eyes, rendering the blue iris darker than its companion, and he briefly wondered if she had endured the same ridicule as he once did. As if such a person were capable of shame. 

He never wanted to leave her side, and more often than not he would find her awake past dusk, waiting for his call outside of her tent within the cover of night. 

She was courageous and incredible but as he talked with her, he learned something shocking. She was a person. She was bad with a bow and didn't hold her alcohol well. She would sneak away with him at night in lieu of all important sleep, and awake groggily the next day, insisting they do it again the next night.

His pupils went wide every time he beheld her, her humanity kept like a secret oath every time she entered the dungeons of the Crystal Tower. In her presence, he felt a blissful safety. In her arms, he would melt.

Such a feeling was abstract to him, and it scared him far more than anything the bubble of the Studium had presented to him. How could he, in all his childlike views, hold such a person close, return her efforts and keep her safe from the harm she already knew so intimately?

There she was, looking at him with a blushing smile under the starlight, the night after a battle won, and he knew only one single thing for certain. 

“Mark my words. One day, you will be the most important person on this star.”

And he could not be around to see it, lest he kept her from her fate. 

When faced with it, the choice was an easy one. Still, he had to act fast. If his heart had one single word in his choice, he would not be there for a future which would need guidance when presented with such a monumental source of power. 

He turned away, unable to watch her face as the doors shut behind him. When the massive clunk of the lock bounced off of the empty walls, along with the feeling of community, with being loved, his courage slipped and fell into the void. 

The tower, with its impossibly tall ceilings and intricately sculpted rooms, was not built for one single tiny miqo'te. He was squashed down to the size of an insect, indiscernible amongst the giants of the past. 

And hope was courage, which was the ability to press on despite the presence of fear.

Feet like cinder blocks, he crawled his way to the control room - the Umbilicus, he remembered the Allagans once called it. 

The control panel stood before him, its secrets laid bare from the memories of the long fallen. With a few clicks and keystrokes, he set himself up for eternity. The next time he closed his eyes within the confines of the tower's walls, he would sleep, and stay that way in perpetuity. Until the world needed him again, if it ever did. 

As he settled on the throne, he thought his situation not much different than his guardians of the Students. Thrown to a sea of uncertainty, existence suspended. Maybe to never be seen again. 

There was one fatal difference, though. His sacrifice was by choice. 

A coward hidden for eons under the guise of courage, who would either die in fright, or make up for his sins later. Running always came with a cost.

Chapter Text

In the world which was not recorded in history the sun rose and set every hour. Streaming across the sky in a noticeable arc, shadows moving on the ground, until all light faded too fast for the eyes to properly adjust. 

It wasn't always like this. In fact, the phenomenon was quite new. It happened at the same time a girl broke through the sky, leaving some dastardly bright white crack in the aethersphere and seemingly breaking time itself.

On that morning, the desultory residents of Mor Dhona looked up as a loud booming noise pierced the air, like a whip of god cracked in the atmosphere. The air itself seemingly split apart, and out came a screaming figure, hurtling towards a plateau at the top of a cliff. 

She hit the ground with a thud, rolled a bit, and then laid there only mildly conscious.

Only then did the sun start moving faster. Though, no one noticed immediately.

Despite the harsh fall, Alisaie bore no cuts or bruises. No broken bones or internal bleeding. Physically, she seemed fine. Mentally, though, she was as broken as her weapon. Her head throbbed, just a moment ago she knew she felt far worse, as if death had come for her, though through the adrenaline, she struggled to pinpoint the why and how of it all. 

Slowly, she stood. As her eyes adjusted to the environment, she tried to piece together her surroundings, fitting slices like a puzzle to the map in her head. But nothing fit quite right. Cracks and bruises littered the earth, as if the ground were slowly crumbling like the last cake she attempted to bake. The sky was a baked red, like blood clotted on an old wound. The ground was dirt, and sand, and rock, and… crystal. 

“Mor Dhona…?” she questioned to herself, squinting at the unfamiliar scene atop a familiar foundation. “But that can’t be…” she muttered, turning her gaze southeast across the lake. “Where is…?” 

“Mor Dhona,” a voice rang out behind her and she whipped her head around coming face to face with a familiar towering figure, appearing below the hillcrest. “Only ever seen that name in history scrolls.”

“Biggs?” she asked, head reeling too much to process his words. 

The figure raised its eyebrows and glanced her up and down, eyebrows stitching together. “Perhaps… and what is your name?” 

Alisaie cocked her head to the side. “Biggs, what are you on about? You know me. Don’t tell me you’ve mixed up me and Alphinaud again.” Alisaie sighed exasperated and pinched the bridge of her nose. How had she gotten there again? Where did she come from? Puzzle pieces refused to fit into their spots and Biggs’ odd behavior wasn’t helping.

“Alphinaud… I have heard that name,” Biggs paused in thought for a moment before his eyes widened in shock. “Alisaie, Alisaie Leveilleur… but- but that’s impossible, you…”

Despite the pain still aching in her skull, Alisaie shook her head, the anxiety of the unknown mingling poorly with the frustrating encounter. “What do you mean it’s impossible? Truthfully it hasn’t been that long since-”

“200 years,” Biggs said. “You’ve been dead for 200 years.” 

Alisaie froze, her exhausted mind ran through the calculations, landing on only one possible conclusion. The puzzle pieces finally fit together. 

She looked Bigg’s descendant in the eyes, her own growing wide with panic. “No, no! I can’t be here, I have to go back!” She quickly whipped her head side to side, pacing around her surroundings, trying to pick out any tool or instrument she could use, anything which could undo what was done, but she only walked in circles. It was hopeless.

Realizing there would be no magical fix, she clenched her fists and growled. 

Biggs took a step back. “Hey now, lets calm down-”

“ Calm down?!? Why ever would I be calm in a situation like this?! This is the second time my soul’s been yanked from my world and forced into a new one! All the while the world I came from sits on the brink of something awful!” Alisaie felt like she could explode, bringing only more waste to the land around her. 

Her fiery eyes looked up at Biggs and the look of fear and sorrow he gave her felt far, far too familiar. Like a douse of water to her angry inferno. 

She unclenched her fists and looked to the ground. The air felt stale as she took a deep breath. “And yet… panicking won’t get me anywhere... Urgh! ” her eyes shut tightly in frustration, but it wasn’t nearly enough physical release. When they opened, she crossed her arms and kicked the nearest rock as hard as she could. It went flying off the cliff and into the ruins of Mor Dhona. 

Biggs watched the rock arc through the sky and sighed in relief. “You are quite right,” he stated. 

It took a moment for Alisaie to notice the pain in her foot where she had kicked the rock. She looked down only to notice her shoes were missing… as were the rest of her clothes. Only then, mortified, did she remember how her first foray into interdimensional travel went.

Biggs shrugged off his coat and offered it to her, purposefully looking away. “Here,” he said, looking towards the red sky. “If we can’t fix this immediately, then let's get you back to base and dressed properly. We’ll figure this out.” 

Alisaie accepted the oversized blue jacket as her shock and adrenaline finally died down. She pulled it over her shoulders and buttoned up the middle. It wore her more than she wore it, the bottom of the jacket nearly dragging on the ground. Wearing it, she felt impossibly small. 

She looked towards Biggs, looking at the swirling sky, waiting for her to signal that she was decent. The stance, the respect, the request to calm down. It was all eerily familiar. The crystal in the ground mocked her. 

“Ready?” Biggs asked, still turned away. 

Alisaie opened her mouth to respond, but found that words eluded her. She surprised herself when the only thing that escaped was a broken sob. 

Biggs immediately turned to her. “Kid…” 

“I’m dead here…” she said, though she spoke more to the ground than her companion. “Gods, Raha… after everything we’ve been through…” her teeth clenched, pained by the pull between anger and sorrow. She picked up her head and took a step towards the horizon, where the Crystal Tower should have been. “Just once! Just once I wish you would tell me what in the world you were thinking!” The scab red clouds rolled overhead. 

Biggs approached her, arm outstretched in confused sympathy. At the sight of it, Alisaie burst into tears.

Chapter Text

Samet was bored out of her mind as she wandered the bridges of Fanow. Her short 24 years in the village, a meager amount of time all of the older Viis informed her, led to her knowing every nook and cranny, every pavilion, every leaf on the trees above. She spent many of her days wandering, looking for anything new. Her sister once told her that she would notice any blade of grass on the forest floor if it were out of place. 

Like clockwork, she found herself wandering to the same place every free day she had.

There was a large hut at the edge of town, one which held years of forgotten history. Sometime before Samet was born, her sisters decided they would collect any of the Ronkan relics which lay around the village and store them under lock and key for safekeeping. Three keys to the room were made, though two were hardly touched these days. The third, however unauthorized, was held by Samet. For safekeeping, of course, considering its preferred holder hadn’t even noticed its absence.

An unmarked door, a hut with no personality. The room was not only a place to be alone, it was a place of marvelous novelty. 

She quickly unlocked the door and slid inside. 

Old Ronkan texts and gizmos lay strewn out on display where she rifled through them, writing notes to herself on the potential purposes of each tablet and doodad, every odd inscription. Alas, all of her notes were simple speculation. The Ronkan language had not been taught within the village in centuries, leaving the inscriptions on the machines useless to all, now collecting dust in a long forgotten room. 

She picked up a small tablet, its engravings scribbled in unfamiliar symbols. She squinted at it, as if modern words would appear if the world went out of focus. 

Then, the door opened. 

Samet gasped, instinctually sliding the stone into her pocket and slinking into the shadows under a table. Lamplight filled the room. 

“-and no one would be privy enough to bother us here. I hadn’t used that key in decades.” Samet watched as one of her sisters came into view, sauntering with a crooked smile, orange hair tied up in a bun. Cena.

“Ah… I see.” Her companion held a deep, masculine voice. A wood-warder. 

Ah, gods, she thought, I don’t wish to see this.

She had been with a wood-warder once; her sisters called it a life changing rite of passage. It sure didn’t feel like it at the time. The man who stole her innocence seemed to regard her more as a tool than a person, and left the next day off into the woods without a goodbye. Thankfully to her, though disappointing to her peers, she had not been burdened with child. 

Cena turned towards the figure, who still stood out of sight, and placed her palms against his chest. Interestingly, the girl craned her neck to look up at her companion. Having height on female Viis was certainly uncommon among the males, Samet had looked down on every other wood-warder she met. 

“Well, at least tell me,” the deep voice asked, “what is your name?” 

Cena’s crooked smile grew wider and she reached her hand up to meet the wood-warder’s invisible face. “Such things are unimportant.” 

A dark arm came into view as the wood-warder removed Cena’s hand from his face. She stepped back as her smile fell to a frown. 

The wood-warder sighed. “Tell me, if you refuse to tell me your most basic details, then how is it expected of me to do as you wish?” 

Cena huffed. “You know, you’re the only wood-warder I’ve met who demands so much for his own pleasure. I’ve already led you to this old dusty room, I don’t understand why you need much more. It’s odd. Anyways, enjoy your room. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” She turned and made for the door, grabbing the lantern as she opened it, and slamming shut behind her, filling the room with darkness once again. 

The wood-warder let out a sigh of relief, but his solace only lasted a brief moment as his ears suddenly perked up and spun on his heels, making direct, steely eye contact with Samet, who couldn’t fathom what gave her position away.

“Show yourself,” he ordered. She noticed dark skin and purple ears which almost brushed the ceiling. Thin gray eyes seemed to glow in the dark.

Cautiously, Samet stepped out of the shadows, her hands lingering over her chakrams. 

His eyes narrowed. “And who are you?” he asked. 

“The guardian of these relics,” Samet lied, though, in truth, who else would be their protectors? 

The wood-warder’s eyebrows raised. “Ah, so could you regale me with their histories?” 

Samet allowed her arm to drop at the curious preposition. “And why, exactly, would a wood-warder wish to know such things?” 

“Mm, a simple curiosity, you see. Now, your sister told me this room hadn’t seen use in decades. So tell me, for real, who are you?” 

Samet glared at him. “There are three keys, I am the holder of one.” 

“Are you now? That’s odd, because I talked to all three girls who supposedly had access and-” 

Samet reached for her chakrams. The man held up his hands, almost nonchalantly. 

“Well, hold on a moment. ‘Tis not like I have official access here either.”

“Why are you here?” Samet asked. 

The man laughed. “Why, to learn more about this mysterious civilization we’re supposed to be living our lives for, of course.” 

Again, Samet stood down. 

“I go by Rena,” the man said, “and you are?” 

“To echo my sister, it is none of your business,” Samet stuck up her nose, but did not make for the door.

"Tsk, tsk… you women are so secretive. If you must refuse to give me your name… then I suppose I can refer to you as Yhish'tene."

"Yhish'tene?"

"'Tis Ronkan. Referring to a person of secret or forgotten origin."

"You know Ronkan?" Samet considered him curiously.

Rena smirked. "You would be amazed at what you can find in the depths of those ruins." 

"... do you even do any wood-warding?"

Rena laughed and shook his head. "The gift of being alone allows me to push aside others' expectations for my own curiosities. Though, I do wonder, what is the worth if I am to die to a beast without the spread of this knowledge? A lonely existence, indeed." 

The tablet in Samet’s pocket grew heavy. “Then prove it,” she said, “tell me what this inscription says.” She handed the tablet to him and watched as he read it, flipping it over in his hands. 

“‘Tis an old plea for help from the nation of Ronka,” he said, still reading the text. His eyes skimmed something which made them wide. “Ah! It explains how to find the last seal of Ronka… this… this is no meager discovery.” 

Samet stood shocked. “A seal of Ronka?! Even in the empire's rule such medallions were no more than a rumor… if this is true…” 

“... then you would be most curious to get your hands on it.” Rena’s smile turned to a smirk.

Samet stepped back in shock, though she couldn’t deny her own curiosity. Rena seemed to pick up on this and beamed in her direction. “Come with me, would you?”

Samet balked at the proposal. “And leave the village? … but if my sisters notice I’m gone-”

Rena gave her a mischievous smile. “Many wood-warders are known to take their partners for spells of times, sometimes days on end…” Samet’s face contorted. Rena sighed. “Trust me, we are on the same page with such… frivolities. Though, I am trying to figure out if we are on the same page when it comes to exploration into the unknown.”

The unknown. The words stirred something inside of Samet, and she couldn’t hide her interest. “Exploration…” she mused to herself, echoing the ideals of stories passed in hushed secrets within the village. 

Rena smiled. He knew he had her. 

~~

Rena knew the forest like the back of his hand. He led Samet like an expert tour guide, helping her over rocks and through bushes. At one point, they passed under the trunk of a tree which acted as a roof to a cave. It was far beyond any point she had originally adventured to, though she tried to stir down her excitement in their travels. 

“So tell me,” she started, attempting to distract herself, “why did you turn down my sister?” 

Rena huffed as he stepped over a tree root. “To be frank, such impersonal customs are somewhat lost on me,” he said. “I understand the need for it, and that the women of our village raise our children well, and yet…” he shook his head. “This life is a lonely, selfish one. It does not suit me.” He slashed at a bush and carried on. 

“... I believe I know how you feel,” Samet said. “Or, perhaps I feel the opposite? Life within the village… I find it quite boring.” 

“Oh?” Rena questioned. “Mm, tell me, Yhish’tene, this adventure, the idea of seeing new things… it sparks something within you, doesn’t it?” 

Samet’s breath caught in her throat. It did, it most certainly did, and yet such ideas were beyond fopaux in the village. They could be means for expulsion. 

“Ah, nevermind that,” Rena said, pushing away the last of the brush. “We’ve made it.” 

The world seemed to open up in front of Samet. She was drawn out of the woods and onto the shores of the biggest body of water she had ever seen. The beating heart of the Greatwood seemed to be housed in its middle, a glowing stone held ever so carefully within the trunk of a tree. 

“Lake Tusi Mek’ta,” Rena explained. 

“Once the centerpiece of Ronkan civilization…” Samet continued, looking wondrously over the water. She turned back to Rena. “It does,” she said. “It does spark something within me.” 

Rena smiled warmly, almost relieved to hear the words. “It is nice to know that I am not as alone in this world as I feel.” 

They found the medallion, but returned it to its hiding place. Such history was not for them to trifle with, they decided. Though their own lives, their own destiny, such was another story. 

“Should you make up your mind, meet me here in a week’s time,” Rena told her as they parted ways on the shore of the lake. 

Samet nodded as her stomach did flips. 

~~

Her sisters cooed over her when she returned to the village. 

“ Ohhoho, a whole day?! With the tall one too…”

“I cannot wait to welcome a new child! We must start preparing the blankets now!” 

“I think it’ll have your long gray hair… oh! But purple hair is lovely…” 

Samet pushed through the comments until Cena stopped her in her tracks right outside of her room. “Tsk tsk… clever, clever…” Cena’s smile grew wicked. “I am quite fond of that one… say, next time he shows, would you be willing to share? I think you could convince him…” 

Samet locked the door to her room behind her and took a deep breath. 

The tablet found a home under her floorboards. Then, she packed her bag and changed her name. 

“Salutene,” she told Rena as he approached her by the lake. “You may call me Salutene.” 

“That is not a given Viis name,” he noted. “But, if you wish, it is yours from now on. It is a pleasure to meet you, Salutene.” 

Salutene smiled at him as he gave a lighthearted bow to her. 

“I’ve never been so fond of Rena, either, if I’m being honest,” he said. “In fact, from now on… call me Remar. Two new names, fitting of two new lives.” 

Remar reached his hand towards Salutene. She grasped it and together, step by step, the two lost souls, joined by chance only to change each other’s fates, wandered out of the woods and into their new lives.

Chapter Text

At the time, it was the closest she had been to the heavens. 

A tower which stretched to the skies, reaching for truths lost, while some tear in the universe sent all who dared to be curious straight to the void of purgatory. 

It was the turning point in the adventure, where things finally got serious. She watched G'raha fall and grapple with his future, before standing and swallowing all of the dreams he had once hinted to her, casting aside her hopes at a simpler, calmer future.

Cloud nine, the last time she had felt so high, before falling from a height at the behest of another. 

She was angry at first. That he would do such a thing, that someone she knew less than a season held so much sway over her. But eventually, after she took her anger and placed it at Ishgard’s doorsteps, while she watched true loves die forever, the feeling settled somewhere like an ever-burning fire. Dim yet ever present, catching on ever flammable feelings of comfort and raging until all that was left was the dull thought of maybe one day. 

The tower which reached to the heavens, where her personal cloud nine sat molding, was ever present on the skyline next to the Rising Stones and acted as a reminder most days. 

Until the final day. 

Please, I beseech you… L’aevum watched helplessly, her consciousness tearing at the seams, as Zeno glared down at her, the smell of burning world assaulting her.

“... but it is too late.” 

Death had looked her in her eyes with its cold glare time and time again. She knew how to accept its embrace. 

And yet, she was expecting pain. 

Is this heaven or hell , she wondered as she glanced around the night sky room. Her vision was foggy, everything blurred around the edges. 

“At last, I’ve found you.” 

She leaned towards heaven. Though when she turned, she noticed the pain in her ankle and the breath in her lungs and that the voice was not as familiar as she once thought, and she realized that such an area was neither. Death should have hurt- she had fallen back into purgatory. 

“I have need of your strength.” 

And yet it was so, so familiar. And the reach was comforting. 

The Crystal Tower, he said. Go find the beacon at the Crystal Tower. 

The days were a blur as her curiosity drowned out all reason. When the beacon was found and she was pulled, she was naive enough to believe that the reminders would cease. She convinced herself that the voice was not familiar and the Crystal Tower had nothing to do with the future. Heaven would have to wait. 

And then she awoke in the new world and as she wandered, she came across the tower and its keeper and the horrors of reality. She knew immediately. Cloud nine had rotted through, calm was never in their deck of cards.

Heaven had nothing to do with it. 

Chapter Text

It wasn't that big of a deal.

And he knew that. Just some wind up toy made to celebrate him. 

L'aevum showed it to him with pride and he had answered in likness. Everything he said about the toy and its makers was true. The Crystarium would be just fine without him, and yet he still found his prayers for their happiness would occasionally stem from worry. Why else would it be on the mind?

Still he wouldn't dream of sending word about such trifling things to Lyna. The Daughter of the Crystarium had enough to worry about. Besides, the feeling would often fade by daylight's break. 

The past was the past. Everything had changed about him physically, mentally, and spiritually. A new man; that's what Krile called him once his limbs regained full movement. 

But then there was always that silly automaton. It wasn't like L'aevum had it following her every second of every day, but sometimes he would catch L'aevum examining it in the Rising Stones, or it would be out at her house, or later at her private island (of course she had a private island) and every time he saw it, he had to stop. 

The worry would sink in. The Crystarium's people had been through so much, it was once woven into his skin through shards of crystal. Such fates were erased in this world, the magic of the rift washing away the last 300 years, at least until he was reminded of the scars. He could still trace the path of blue across his chest, over his shoulder, to his face. 

Often, he'd startle when something under his right palm felt cold or warm or sharp or smooth. The failures he once wore proudly on his skin had removed his sense of touch, so the sudden return of sensations felt more like phantoms than anything physical. 

They wanted this for you, he would remind himself, then he would go back to the task at hand. 

Then, one day, it paid off. 

“A… Alisaie…?” Ga Bu turned his head towards his young caretaker, who was on her knees from exhaustion.

The dim blue light emitting from her hands ceased as she instead used them to prop herself up from her thigh. She smiled. “Ga Bu!” 

“So thankful I am to see you. Thankful, happy, glad!” 

G'raha smiled softly from the corner. 

He followed Alisaie outside with Ga Bu to watch her collapse in front of their friends. L'aevum watched her cautiously but, for some reason, at her side was the small Mystel, tottering about.

Ga Bu told his story and everyone celebrated over him. Despite the occasion, G'raha kept finding his attention stuck to the mindless pet at L'aevum's feet. Just a few moments ago he had almost forgotten in the ecstasy of being swept up in the moment, and now he was looking at his past in its beady little soulless eyes. 

Perhaps a reminder of old responsibilities is why he tuned back in just in time to hear Alisaie speak. 

“... can you cure the others too? Cure them, heal them, help them?” 

“Yes. We can. All of them.” 

The Exarch knew an overzealous affirmation when he heard one. 

He cleared his throat. “Without wishing to dampen the mood, I feel compelled to add certain caveats regarding the viability of the treatment for general use…”

~~~

L'aevum watched as Alisaie spoke the whimsy of hope back into G'raha, who shrugged at its assertion. Soon after, the gang parted for the night, but L'aevum followed G'raha back to the Drowning Wench. 

As they walked L'aevum made small talk about Alisaie's accomplishments and G'raha responded with how proud he was until conversation petered off and they were both left in the alehouse watching the tiny toy totter about.

“Say… why exactly do you have that thing following you around?” 

L'aevum shrugged. “I guess it felt like he was giving you some luck. You who succeeded no matter what meets determined youth, or something.” 

G'raha shook his head as they took a table. “Ah… I suppose ‘tis just a bit odd.”

“I did notice you staring.” 

G'raha cleared his throat but before he could speak another voice started from behind L'aevum. 

“Still drinkin mead, are ye lass?” 

L'aevum turned her attention to the towering figure who had shown up next to their table and smiled. “Balderon! Not as much these days,” she looked at G'raha then back to the barkeep. “In fact I believe it's been a few moons. But tonight… I'll take whatever he's having.” 

Balderon turned his attention towards G'raha. “Ah, not to disappoint but I've also mostly refrained from liquor ever since… well, you know.” 

Certainly neither stayed entirely sober for the entire Crystal Tower investigation. L'aevum smiled at him. “I seem to remember chugging through a bottle of mead with you not too desperately long ago.” 

“I suppose you do have a point. And yet, I fear those days are still behind me. A few waters, perhaps?” 

Balderon lifted an eyebrow at L'aevum, but she relented. “A water is just fine, actually.” 

“Aye, whatever the adventurer wants. Two waters it is.” 

Balderon nodded at L'aevum and left to get their short orders. 

G'raha watched the barkeep disappear and turned back to the Warrior. “You do realize, not too long ago for you was still a lifetime for me,” he said. 

“I do realize,” said L'aevum. She caught his gaze from across the table. “Though you do not look like you've lived a lifetime.”

G'raha shook his head. “And you do not look like someone who saved the world.”

“Neither do you.”

“For the simple fact that I didn't,” G'raha looked towards the automaton dancing robotically under the table. “Cid nan Garlond did. You did. I just made sure the plan reached its hero.”

“And yet you did so much more-”

“- and I wish to leave it behind me.”

L'aevum looked at the automaton. It made sense now. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

G'raha shuffled in his seat like he was caught in some illicit act and sighed. "I hope - I pray, that in the end people think about the past I was present in with some molecule of affection. I was never perfect, barely, if ever, knew how best to play my role and yet; despite the sacrifices we all shared, despite my own shortcomings and failures, despite the state of all that surrounded us, some intrinsic part of me hopes that the people remember my rule fondly. How exceedingly selfish is such a thing?"

"G'raha... you did all you did for them. Of course you're the hero to them.

“And yet such abstracts were never entertained solely for the benefit of them ."

L'aevum watched him, his eyes fixed on the toddling machine before they lifted and made stark contact with hers.

“In the end, ‘twas a rather selfish ploy, was it not?”

Chapter Text

Dearest Ryne, 

I must say, I was not expecting your correspondence so soon after we took our leave. 3 days isn’t too much time to get your thoughts in order, is it? 

Still, I must admit I enjoyed reading your novel, and let it be known that I clung to every word of it. ‘Tis nice to know that Gaia agreed to drive you out during your next foray into the Empty, though I am sure the ship would handle just fine with you at the helm after my tutelage.

As for life on the flip side, the Exarch, or G’raha Tia as we now call him, is still coming to terms with the whole situation. As typical, he is reaching for the past, however long ago it was for him. Some of the things he remembers after so many years shocks me, though I suppose that may be in part due to the Tower's influence. 

And for L'aevum, I haven't seen her around as much. As far as I know, she's spending much of her working hours attached to G'raha and Alisaie at the hip. All three are figuring out the cure for tempering and I have no doubt they will reach their conclusion sooner rather than later. Truth be told, I haven't caught her for a conversation since we returned. Though, rest assured she's in good health after her foray into the first. 

Lets see… what else have you written? Ah! Both Krile and Tataru send their affirmations and hope upon the stars that they may meet you one day. Krile, specifically says you sound like a “spectacular young woman,” and Tataru sees your wished-upon travels as a great way to expand her business into new shards. Like it or not, all of the Thirteen will know about her wares one day. 

Please, inform Gaia that she, too, is a welcome addition to the family. I must admit, while I know time between us flows differently, she has stuck around longer than I believed she would. She reminds me of certain people I knew well back in the day, and those types are a rare kind. All I ask is that you stay yourself with her, though I imagine I shouldn’t even need to ask as much. 

I love you, Urianger loves you. We miss you like the First missed the stars. Both of you.

Speaking of Urianger, he instructed Tataru to include some packets of our shard's finest tea for you. Attached to this envelope you will find a few onzes of Mulled tea, enjoyed by my home city’s Sultana herself, and a few onzes of Doman tea, because “the cinnamon and fruit, when blended with the various flowers of the Great Wood, would be divine,” Urianger told me, though admittedly in less plain English. Let me know your thoughts.

I suppose that’s all I have. Eagerly waiting your next letter,

Thancred Waters

PS. If Feo Ul and the pixies give you trouble, remember the trick Urianger taught you. If that doesn’t work, there is another trick under the third floorboard to the very left of the Bookman’s home. Trust me, you’ll know what to do.

PPS. Y’shtola wanted me to tell you she’s proud of you. I’m somewhat jealous, given all I get when I save the world is a slightly-less judging glare. 

PPS. L’aevum constantly tells me she wishes she could put you two in her pocket and bring you back here. “Those two probably could’ve saved the world without me even there,” she said. She has no idea I’m putting this in the letter. 

Chapter Text

Alisaie ran through the streets of the Crystarium, ducking and weaving through the crowds who had all congregated to celebrate the 30th (non-consecutive) coming of night. The last few months had been hellish, to say the least, but finally, finally, they had something to celebrate. And the people knew tonight was going to be special. 

She had first approached Katliss with the idea, who stated she had no idea what Alisaie was talking about, but whatever it was sounded magical, and she did have the tools to make an idea of what she was describing. They would need more people to make it a reality, though.

So next she approached Rosard, with his heavy artillery in Ballistics. After hearing her tales, he was thrilled to help out, and began calling his men at once to position the cannons.

Next she approached Glynard. What was a public spectacle without a little bit of rumor? As Alisaie explained the plan, he looked at her with an eyebrow cocked. “I’ll spread the word, but if it ain’t as fantastical as you say it’ll be, you’ll owe one of my patron’s a hunt.” Alisaie agreed wholeheartedly. 

Now, as the sun set on another blue-skied day, she zipped about the markets, hearing people mumbling.

“I hear there's supposed to be a surprise tonight…”

“... something about colorful lights among the stars?” 

“... oh, I hope this isn’t just a fae trick, I feel like we just got rid of those…”

“... let’s go watch and see, worst case, we see another sunset.”

She almost ran head first into Katliss, who had a large smile plastered on her face. “I’ve just given Rosard the artillery. He’ll deliver it to his men in the fields, and they should begin right after sundown.”

Alisaie nodded enthusiastically. “Very good, I can’t wait for everyone to see this.” The pieces were all in place.

Crowds were gathering en masse and Alisaie searched for familiar faces. She saw Thancred, Urianger, and Ryne standing outside of the Wandering Stairs with Glynard, no doubt he had told them his source of the rumors. She saw Y’shtola and Alphinaud poking out from the Rotunda, realizing the news had spread quite far if even they were curious. She even saw Lyna and L’aevum sitting on the barrier walkways above Tessellation, attempting to get the best views without being crushed by the crowd. There was one, notable absence. One she accounted for. 

“Lyna, Aevum,” she wore a wide smile as she approached. “Excited for tonight’s show, are we?” 

“I should’ve known you’d be behind this,” L’aevum clocked her immediately. 

“Well, there is no use sitting about when there are brilliant things to be rediscovered. Speaking of rediscovering brilliant things, have you two any idea where G’raha is?” 

Lyna smirked. “He’s currently up in his study. And, oh! Would you look at that!” She produced a gold key from a large key ring around her belt. “It seems you somehow acquired the key to it.” 

Without a word more, Alisaie nodded her thanks as L’aevum rolled her eyes and she and Lyna resumed their chatting. 

It was getting dark outside as she made her way up the white-bright crystal staircase. When she came to a large wooden door, she knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. “G’raha Tia, I know you’re in there.”

“Busy! At the moment. Apologies, but may I take a message?” G’raha answered, muffled by the thick door. 

“No, you may not. Didn’t you hear? Something spectacular is going to happen tonight,” Alisaie responded. 

“Quite frankly, unless it involves the return of your souls to the Source, I don’t have much interest nor need in it. Where is L’aevum? Perhaps you should get her to-” Alisaie jingled the key into the doorknob and the door creaked open to reveal G’raha’s dumbfounded face sitting at his study desk, bright crystal and candlelight flashing shadows on his face. “How in Hydaelyn’s name did you get a key to my study?” 

Alisaie shrugged. “Just found it,” she lied. Then she stretched out her hand. “C’mon now…” 

G’raha huffed and turned back to his papers. “You do understand what hangs in the balance here, yes?”

“It’s waited years for most of us. It can wait a night more.” 

She watched, hand still outstretched as G’raha rubbed his face with his spoken hand. He then turned to face her, a tired look of resignation on his face, before he took her hand and she led him out of the tower. 

Luckily, no one else had thought to climb the stairs of the Rookery watchtower. The pair watched as the crowds outside of the Rotunda grew, even after the sun had set below the horizon and stars had taken the place of fluffy clouds. They sat in silence. 

Alisaie was crouched with her knees at her chin, secretly picking at her nails, hoping all would go off without a hitch. Her anxiety grew as the time ticked on without anything starting. G’raha, on the other hand, seemed to fully resign himself to the night off. He leaned back on his crystal hand, allowing the night breeze to graze his head. Alisaie wondered how long it had been since he had allowed himself to feel the fresh outdoor air without fear of all being revealed. 

And then the cannon sounded. G’raha started at first, as did the rest of the crowd with their worried gasps, but then the sky lit a brilliant pink as orbs of color danced across the stars. 

G’raha made a small noise of surprise and Alisaie watched as he leant forward, eyes wide at the sky before the entire Crystarium was lit in green, and blue, and yellow. Some of the orbs zipped around the sky, while others exploded outwards. Alisaie noticed a blue one, which was almost a vague outline of a tower, surrounded by purple ones, which could have been the night sky. Katliss and her crew had truly outdone themselves.

The crowd ‘ooh’d and ‘ahh’d at the spectacle. Alisaie found herself relieved as G’raha kept his eyes trained on the sky. “Did- did you do this?” he asked, unblinking as his face lit up orange. 

Alisaie shrugged. “I missed them. My last Moonfire was years ago now.”

“Moonfire… Gods, I had completely forgotten…”

The explosions were picking up now and they watched as tens of fireworks grazed the skies above Lakeland, all shot off in succession. The finale exclusively saw the colors of blue, and purple, ending with a barrage of red and white and gold. 

Finally, the sky went dark again. There was a moment before everyone was sure it had ended, and then the whooping and the hollering started. Slowly, people made their way to the Wandering Stairs. It’s Glynard who owes me, Alisaie laughed to herself. 

Before long, a small laugh escaped the person next to her too. G’raha had a smile glued to his face as he looked down towards the chasm between city and forest. 

“Moonfire…” he exhaled. “What a memory.” 

“Oh, we’ll be sure to attend the next one,” Alisaie said, as if it was the most given thing in the world.