summer-braeniharzwyn

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

FFXIV Day 4- Reticent

I have to manually type this because firefox crashes each time I try to copy-paste it?? It's not even that long. Wadda hell. Anyway, warning for internalized transphobia and minor post-shb spoilers.

It had been stirring at the back of Soemrifaeld's mind of decades now. Something he knew, deep down, was true, but could not breach the surface no matter how hard it tried. Mainly because he wouldn't allow it to.The thought made him sick if he dwelled on it too long, so he didn't. It certainly wasn't a thought he could share with others, out of fear. Fear of what? Of rejection, of ridicule? Fear of not being understood when bearing his heart to the people who care about him? Yes, that one, most likely.

It was something too difficult to put into words. It was something impossible to explain to someone who hadn't experienced it themselves. It was something that chewed at his very soul every moment he allowed it to see the light. So he didn't.

That didn't stop him from imagining a different life, however. One where he was born different; in a different body, with a different voice, and everything else about him was different. He- or, perhaps, she- was confident, self-assured, smiled frequently, and was a happier person than he. Summer, she would be called, and people would love to get to know her, because she was friendly and a good person. She would be beloved among her friends, she would not resort to thievery to feel something, she would not- she would not be Soemrifaeld.

He shook his head, feeling that terrible bile rise up once more. Soemrifaeld would not be stuck on things that would never become real. His friends were all in a deep slumber, with more questions arising than answers. He feared being the next to succumb to that spell. Any feelings of self-doubt could wait. That's what he always told himself.

Just wait, till the time is right. Then he could become her. Then he can live the life he dreamed up.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

FFXIV Write Day 2- Horizon

I uh. Don't like this one very much. It feels very rushed because it was. Hmmm. Ah well! I finished it, that's what matters.

The sunrise looked different on the Steppe. It had been years since Nagenawa had last seen the sky here, far away from home on another part of the star. Sure, the sunrise was pretty in Eorzea, but it was nothing like it is back on his homestead. The fresh dew on the grass, the horses swishing their tails to the slow rhythm of the morning, the sounds of his family rising from their slumber. Memories flood back, and he’s overwhelmed by the feeling, burying his face in his leather-gloved hands. Tears leak from his eyes in a deluge, and he barely held back the heavy sobs that threaten to emerge from his throat. It had been so long, so far away from home, he wondered when, or if, he’d ever come back. But that doesn’t matter, because he’s here now, and his family is safe.

“Crying first thing in the morning, huh kid?” Nagenawa heard from behind him. He turned, and through his blurry vision, he saw his older brother, Takara. His eyebrows were raised, but he wore a smile on his face. It’s the look he always had whenever Nagenawa found himself crying over something small, insignificant. The familiarity of it sent another wave of tears.

“I- I m-missed you all-” Nagenawa cried, “I missed all of this.”

Takara looked at him for a moment, then slung an arm around Nagenawa’s shoulder. “We missed you too,” he said, voice gentle. “But that won’t get you out of doing morning chores, got it? You may be some special hero over in Eorzea, but here, you’re a part of the Bakurou clan. Plus, the sooner you finish, the sooner you get to train with your friends for the Nadaam.”

Nagenawa sniffled, nodding. Takara laughs.

“No need to look so serious. We’ve never had much luck in the Nadaam before, but I think you got it this year, especially with that fancy gunblade of yours.”

“You think so?” Nagenawa asks, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.

“I do. All of us do,” Takara said, making a grand sweeping gesture to the rest of their family, emerging from their yurts. “So tell your friends to help out feeding the horses, and then you can prove us right.”

Nagenawa grinned, eyes now dry. His brother always had a special talent for making his younger siblings feel better.

Suddenly, the both of them felt a slap on their backs. Rukia squeezed between the two of them, and signed, What are you two scheming?

Takara rolled his eyes, while Nagenawa frantically signed, Nothing, we promise!

Garo laughs from where he’s tending to a young foal, shouting out and signing, “You know Nagenawa can’t keep a secret for anything.”

Nagenawa huffs, folding his arms over his chest. It wasn’t fair being teased by his younger siblings. He’s supposed to have that privilege, being the second oldest, but he doesn’t have the heart to say anything even remotely inflammatory. He’d tried before, and always felt terrible after.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Umika sidestepping around the perimeter of their camp, eyes fixated on where Hien, Lyse, and Yugiri are chatting together. Once she reached what she deemed to be an acceptable distance, she bolted straight to the rest of her older siblings, arms wrapped around Nagenawa’s legs.

Nagenawa leaned down to pet the top of her head, hair tied up in its usual braid. “Something the matter, little one?”

Umika glanced over to the strangers once again, before cupping her hand over Nagenawa’s horn. “Are they nice?” she asked in a whisper.

Nagenawa smiled softly. “They are. Promise.”

Umika considers his appraisal of these interlopers, and nods. Making her way back to their mother, she still keeps a fair distance, but is no longer outright running away.

The only one he has yet to see is Daisuke, but according to his family, he’d been keeping to himself recently. Nagenawa hoped to see him sometime that morning, but knowing how headstrong his youngest brother is, it wasn’t very likely.

He missed this. Out of everything, from the sky, to the vast fields, his family was what he missed the most. He loved them with all his heart, and he hoped that once this journey is over, he would be able to spend the rest of his life here, with them. That was what mattered the most.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

FFXIV Write 2024 Day 1- Steer

Wasn't sure where to go with this prompt, and I ended up redoing this about 3 times trying to get back in the swing of writing, but here we go!

Summer had been quite good at navigation thanks to her time as a gleaner. Years and years of making her way through dense forests, vast deserts, and maze-like ruins gave her a directional sense akin to a compass. If she was given a course, she could chart it, and make her way to the end with nary a hiccup. Summer had a certain knack for it, and back in those days, it would be the one thing she could admit she was good at. It was necessary for her line of work, after all. One small slip could leave one at best without their mark, and at worst without their life, lost and wandering until they perish from the elements. Summer had heard of stories about the demise of certain gleaners who were too cocky for their own good, becoming lost in their assigned area, never to be heard from again. Though, it was just as likely to be a tall tale meant to scare the new recruits, as no one she had known in the nearly twenty years she’d held the profession had gone missing.

She considered taking her old job back once her exile from Old Sharlayan had been rescinded and saw all of her fellow gleaners welcome her again with open arms. To her surprise, though, she much preferred adventuring. There was something about the freedom, the idea of returning home not out of obligation, but because she wants to, that she never felt before. She learned much and more about the world through her work as a gleaner, but never about the people. Adventuring changed that, as much as it changed her. There is much she owed to the Scions, and now that the organization had officially been disbanded and its members scattered to the four corners of the star, she can work on repaying them for their kindness, generosity, and most importantly, love.

Summer was a navigator, yes, but before the Scions, she did not know how to walk through her own life, thirty-nine years old and without a clue as to who she was. Sure, she could make her way through an unexplored temple in a matter of minutes, but put her in a conversation with a stranger and she would fumble around till both parties left upset. The Scions gave her direction in life, gave her confidence and self-esteem that she never knew she could hold in her clumsy hands.

The ability to place one foot in front of the other, to know what to do next without being led by another was something she would have to get used to, but she isn’t afraid to fall anymore, because she knows she can pick herself back up again. She can chart her own course in life, go whatever direction the wind takes her, and just keep going into that big horizon. There will always be something waiting for her at the end, even if the goal is not obvious from the start. Summer doesn’t worry about uncertainty anymore. In fact, she embraces the unknown now, taking things in stride and knowing she’ll come out the other end alive. That’s all that matters now, doesn’t it? Being alive, feeling the breeze, having the knowledge that tomorrow will come and she will see it.

She will take the new dawn by the hand and usher it forth, so that others can see the sunrise in all its glory, like she once did. Like she never knew she could before.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 14- Casual

There are very few days where Soemrifaeld is not, at the very least, dressed in a button down shirt and a pair of slacks. He does own things like t-shirts and sweatpants, but those are kept in the very bottom of the dresser drawer, rarely making it out to see the light of day. Short sleeves show off a bit too much of his arms to feel comfortable, and loose pants can be a bit too loose in some spots and not so much in others.

There are exceptions to the rule, of course, like when he really needs to wind down and stiff fabric isn't allowing that freedom, or if his friends insist on him wearing something that "doesn't make him look like a teacher," which is what happened last night. It's also led to the third and final reason; Soemrifaeld is currently hungover and doesn't have it in him to care much about his appearance.

He is usually much better about those kinds of things; his friends roll their eyes whenever he reminds them to drink water, and hardly even thank him when they don't wake up feeling horrible. Last night was a lapse in judgment though, and he was feeling especially nervous after locking eyes with a very attractive woman sitting at the bar. He kept drinking and drinking, hoping it would psyche himself up, along with some encouragement from Odu and Sophie, but it was never enough to develop a backbone. And now he has the driest mouth and worst headache of his life, on top of waking up alone, as always.

He isn't planning on leaving his apartment today, so he shuffles out of his bedroom wearing an old sweater that Odu got him— with some sort of dinosaur joke, for one reason or another— and his boxers. Through the haze of dizziness, he begins his daily ritual of brewing coffee, spending a considerable amount of time wondering why his vision was so blurry, only to remember he hadn't put on his glasses yet. He can wait to see until he gets some caffeine in his system.

As the smell drifts through the apartment, Soemrifaeld is nearly nodding off, supporting most of his weight against the counter as the machine bubbles on.

"You making coffee?" A voice suddenly says from behind, and he lets out a yelp before his eyes fully shoot open, darting around but not taking in the scene, surroundings blurry. "Woah! Woah, hey it's just me, chill," the voice placates, and while she isn't in full focus, Sophie's voice is familiar.

Soemrifaeld slumps down the counter, till he's half laying on top, head in his hands. He lets out a pathetic noise, and the coffee maker beeps in completion.

"I slept over on your couch? Remember?" She asks with pure amusement in her voice. There's a twinge of apology in there, but it's mostly amusement.

"I barely remember anything last night," he groans. He remembers being forced to dress down, the woman, and drinking whiskey shot after shot. After that, it's a complete blur.

"Wow, you really were smashed last night, huh?" Sophie comes over and rubs his back with comforting motions. Soemrifaeld grunts.

"Sorry for screaming," he grumbles into his folded arms.

"Sorry for scaring you."

With two good pats on his back, she pulls away and behind rifling through his cabinets. He still doesn't feel like lifting his head up, so he hears clinking noises and liquid pouring.

"You still take yours black?" Sophie asks, sliding a steaming mug towards him, which after careful consideration, gratefully takes after lifting his head up.

"Thank you," he says into the mug, cradling it like a holy child. She smiles in return, opening the fridge and returning with the small amount of milk he has. She pours it into her own mug, or at least the one that says "MILF: Man I Love Frogs", that she claims she's going to steal from him whenever she sees it. Another gift from Odu, naturally. Stirring in a spoonful of sugar, she takes a sip.

They stand in the small kitchen in silence, drinking out of their respective mugs. The sky outside is overcast, but it doesn't look like it's going to rain anytime soon. Still, it's a perfect day to stay inside and do absolutely nothing.

"So," Sophie clears her throat, "are you going to stay in your underwear the whole time or…?" She glances down, for a brief second, then turns her head to the direction of the living room, gaze focusing on nothing in particular. "Or don't, up to you. It's your apartment after all."

Soemrifaeld's face heats up at record speeds, and he very quickly sets his mug back down , some sloshing out over the top and onto the counter, speed walking back to his room. With the door shut behind him, he attempts to gather himself, and fails twice before finally shaking off the embarrassment. He first goes to grab his glasses, and the sudden clarity exacerbates his headache further. Then, with eyes squinted, digs out some sweatpants that were last worn close to half a year ago. They're still soft, and luckily fit him decently. His reflection looks a bit frumpy, but he'd rather that than put any effort into his appearance right now. Sophie has never been one to judge, anyway— except for earlier, but that's more of an exception to the rule.

Soemrifaeld returns to see Sophie doing some odd movements with her hands, like she's trying to measure something in her mind.

"What are you doing?" He asks out of curiosity.

"Huh?" Sophie looks up, startled by his return. "Oh, uh, nothing." She takes a moment to look him over, nodding her head . "Fully clothed again! Great. Cool."

She seems out of character, but Soemrifaeld decides to not pursue it. The coffee he makes tends to be on the strong side, so that's likely the reason for her jitteriness. He takes his place back over by her side, drinking his coffee in small sips.

"Well, I should head back home now," Sophie says, walking over by the couch to grab her things.

"Oh. Alright. Have a good rest of your day."

"You too! And thanks for the coffee. See you at work!" And with that, she's out the door.

He finishes his coffee not long after, and goes to find the mug Sophie had been using, only for it to be nowhere in sight. He scratches his head until— damnit.

She really did steal it this time.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 11-13: Gold, Silver, and Bronze

Aether had a certain level of conductivity through various materials. Like electricity, certain elements were better at channeling aether than others, and even aspected aether preferred one kind of metal or stone over another. Electrical aether, for example, easily coursed through a copper wire, while fire aether was better to control in anything with a high melting point. 

Life aether was special, as it only held within organic, or previously organic materials. It quickly dissipated when conducted through any material that was not capable of harboring life. This meant that most healing staves are carved of wood, tomes of bound leather and paper, and planispheres of all three. Nouliths are the first deviation from that pattern, their cores composed of adder stones, a material seemingly rife with potential, but merely just flint run through by rushing water. Some scholars proposed that due to its vein-like structure, the life aether struggles to differentiate between it and other organic materials. Others argue if that is the case, why doesn't a sewer pipe also hold life aether? Many shouting matches occurred in this debate, with none coming out on top.

Regardless, it opens the hypothesis: if a mere stone is capable of transmitting life aether, then other elements might also be able to as well. 

Thus, Soemrifaeld was sent off with another assignment under his dad's name; bring back one item each of pure, raw gold and silver, along with the highest quality bronze alloy. Simple, all things considered, but he can't help the uneasy feeling he has that the last might prove to be an issue.

Naturally, as expected, gold and silver are not hard to come by, especially being unprocessed. Expensive, yes, but it isn't coming out of his pocket (not that he doesn't worry about his own father's budget, and if the man is so far gone as to forgo meals and rent in favor of his research). However, with bronze being an alloy, it’s mostly a matter of commissioning a blacksmith to craft a bar or two for him.

“Just bronze? That’s all?” The older man asks, face smudged with little spots of soot. Though Old Sharlayan is mainly academic types, there are those few who pursued trades, and even fewer who pursued arts. The man, a hyur named Oskar in his late fifties, has a small studio in the arts district, off to the side and out of the way of every other location in the city-state. 

“Yes, with no other additive, thank you,” Soemrifaeld responds meekly. He has a difficult time conversing with not only gruff men, but artists as well. Having to talk to a person that is both is pushing his social fortitude to its limits within record time.

Oskar squints at Soemrifaeld, brushing his chin with his hand and humming to himself. Soemrifaeld feels himself shrinking with each passing second, to the point where he feels he’s half the metalworker's height when he finally speaks again. “Simplest request I’ve had in years. Can’t complain.”

Soemrifaeld lets out the breath he’d been holding. What is it about these types of guys that make his anxiety spike and send his overactive imagination into a tailspin? He tries to will both his heart and stomach into a calm state of mind, as he’s told about the payment upfront and after the project is finished. 

“Can I ask what kind of gleaner job needs a piece this simple?” Oskar asks, after counting the pieces of gil handed over.

“Oh. Ah-” Soemrifaeld stutters.

“Unless you can’t. NDA. I get it,” he placates, Soemrifaeld feeling bad about being so visibly tense. 

It isn’t that he necessarily can’t. Some specific details are meant to be kept under wraps from outsiders, even from the gleaner’s themselves. Even had he not been informed by a summary paper, just the name of the researcher would have tipped him off enough to know exactly why these items are being requested. After all, his dad has been on this one single subject for the majority of his life. As much as he would be happy to hear he’s finally dropped it, has moved on and tried to reconnect with his ex-wife and son, Soemrifaeld knows his dad, even with the lack of contact. He’ll be at this till he’s figured it out, or dead in the ground. 

“Research into aetherical conductivity,” he says, after drawing in a deep breath.

“Hm, I see,” the man nods, “Strange that they have to get someone else to grab this instead of getting it themself.”

“Tell me about it,” Soemrifael grumbles, then blushes upon realizing he’s said that out loud, after Oskar barks out a loud laugh.

“Sounds like you’ve got a personal grudge,” he grins, and despite not knowing the depths, hits it right on the head. Though it might be personal opinion if “grudge” is an understatement or not. “Well, don’t let it tear you down. Sometimes you gotta work with shit clients. The pay isn’t good, the money is terrible, and you wouldn’t even wipe your ass with what they ask for.” Soemrifaeld’s face twists up at the man’s crass words, but listens on. “They get what they want, you come out on the other side a more bitter person. But you still do it, because sometimes you got nothing better to do. 

“You want my advice, though? Sometimes nothing is better than something. Sometimes you look at these garbage people with their garbage taste, and you just say ‘no’.”

Oskar lets the words hang in the air as he looks at Soemrifaeld for a response. He certainly does have a point, despite the foul mouth they came from. Even without saying a thing, Soemrifaeld has given the appropriate answer that Oskar was looking for.

“Want me to cancel the order?” He says with a grin, half joking, but also absolutely serious. Soemrifaeld sighs.

“Unfortunately I’ve already taken the job,” he says, very tempted to take the man up on his offer. Two thirds of the request have already been completed, as well, and this last one isn’t that bad either. Less so now, Soemrifaeld notices.

“Ah well. Shame,” Oskar says, taking the gil with him behind a door near the front counter. He comes back out a moment later. “It’ll be done within three days, come back then to pick it up, alright?”

Soemrifaeld nods and thanks Oskar, turning to make his way outside. Just as the bell above the door jingles, signaling his departure, Oskar calls out one last time, “If they ask you to be an errand boy again, tell ‘em to stick it!” As the door closes, Soemrifaeld holds up a hand in goodbye and tries to grin, though it likely looks more like a grimace.

Halfway down the street, nearly out of the arts district, Soemrifaeld leans against a wall for support. How he wouldn’t love to tell his dad off, oh, the look on his face would be… Devastating. The man’s already lost everything, even if most of it was his own doing. He really is just an errand boy, barely even a son. Still, is the rift wide enough between them that it can no longer be mended? Is it wide enough that completely severing ties won’t hurt? No, both roads lead to pain, obviously, and he’s too far in his life to deal with either side. Sitting at the crossroads is just fine. Who cares if it makes him a coward? There are more important things in his life than picking up the pieces left by his dad.

It isn’t important, even if it haunts him.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 10- Hot

The stove clicks, but doesn't light. Soemrifaeld tries again, turning the knob to the off position and back up again, clicking five more times before it finally flashes and a fire circles under the pan. He neatly rearranges all of the ingredients, already prepared and portioned off into their necessary measurements, while waiting for the pan to heat up. Once it gets to an acceptable temperature, tested by hovering his hand a few inches above the stainless steel, he begins to gently place the fileted chicken down, tensing as it hisses. No matter how many times he cooks, there's always a worry at the back of his mind about something catching fire, even as his eyes are fully on everything that’s happening.

He throws the rest of the ingredients on the pan at the necessary times, making sure everything is fully cooked and edible. He serves one portion to himself, leaving the second for later in the week. 

It’s fine. Not outstanding, but tastes good enough to keep eating. The difficulty in finding most spices and other cooking ingredients in Old Sharlayan is certainly a hill to climb, but it’s more than worth it to not have to eat archon loaves for every meal. Most of the markets have a limited stock due to import not being a matter of importance to the Forum, though in recent years the expanse of things you can buy has grown significantly. Anything is better than fish loaves, as the residents of the city state have come to agree upon.

After dinner he cleans up and maneuvers his way through the kitchen which he suspects may have not been built with roegadyn’s bodies in mind, but through years and years of living here, no longer bumps into everything constantly. He makes his way to the little workshop he’s set up, right across from his bedroom, flicking the lights on and sitting down to work on his nouliths. Gleaner work has taken up so much of his time lately, he’s hardly had a moment to perform necessary maintenance on them. Their edges are beaten up from frequent use lately, and the aetheric adder stone is considerably dimmed from a lack of tinkering. 

Soemrifaeld open his tool box and sets out everything he needs, and begins his work by unlatching the casing around the adder stone. It pops open more easily than it should, though he’ll look into that later. It’s about time for a new casing, anyways. The adder stone is, indeed, dimmer than it should be, and he’s lucky it hadn’t just burnt out on his last assignment. One more aether shot and the thing would be dead, and fixing it would be even more of a pain. A dead adder stone requires specialized tools to start up again; pricey ones, at that. Thankfully, all this needs is a steady flow of ambient aether to begin its revival, and with that he hooks up the aetheric charge and sets them all up. 

The warmth radiating from the adder stones when collecting aether was on the verge of stinging when touched, but as he hovers his hand over them, the heat emitted is almost cozy. The faint glow radiating, growing ever so slightly brighter with each passing moment casts a gentle blueish-white light across the room. It’s been long enough since the last maintenance check that he’s forgotten how nice it is so work on his nouliths. The well-worn cases, scuffed under his thumb, hold a nostalgic feeling buried between the cracks and scratches. Though he did not build these originally, the number of repairs and replacements amounted essentially to his own creation, like the Ship of Theseus. 

One of the adder stones, out of nowhere, fizzles and pops, then grows dark entirely. The rest join in quick succession, to his panic. Was it the charging? Did it overload them with too much aether at once? He quickly removes them from the device, giving all of them a once over while passing them between his palms, a little too warm to hold comfortably. 

Alas, all of them, all at once, died. Perhaps he had waited a little too long to do maintenance, resulting in six burnt out stars all taking up space on his desk. What a complete and utter disaster, this is. There are no easy replacements he can scrounge up before his next shift starts tomorrow, and they aren’t really something you can make on a plane ride to some other country. He buries his head in his hands, panicking over what to do. Calling out tomorrow and all subsequent days until he can get them fixed is probably the best call. The Forum would be understanding, surely. After all, a gleaner who cannot defend himself is as good as dead, and they are the type to want to avoid such controversies. 

Though this night is as disastrous as it could possibly be, there is the small twinge of excitement when Soemrifaeld thinks that this is the chance to make his nouliths his own, and not just the manufactured weapons made for gleaners who are new to the field. It will be a lot of work to find the parts and crafting other individual pieces will probably burn a deep hole in his wallet, but it may be worth it to have something uniquely his own. 

He sends an email to his supervisor, explaining the situation, then begins opening dozens of tabs on the creation of a noulith from scratch. He spends nearly the entire night jotting down notes and sketching out designs, soon to be more refined once he begins his work. There are a lot of things he already knows, but he’s learning so much more about everything that goes into the building and science regarding it. Soemrifaeld’s excitement grows with each new item to add to the list, practically jumping at the opportunity to start tomorrow. The sun rises over the horizon, and a new project begins.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 9- Cool

Old Sharlayan had always been on the cooler side, even during the summer months. Winds blowing in from the sea brought in a chill on even the hottest days, but it's what Soemrifaeld preferred by far, temperature wise. He much preferred to be bundled up in something warm and insulated and brace feet of snow than spend more than five minutes in the blazing sun (though as it would happen, that's where most of his assignments brought him to).

He also shies away from warm foods. If a plate comes out steaming hot, he usually waits for it to cool down to room temperature before eating. The same goes for drinks as well, though he tries to avoid the strange level of embarrassment he feels ordering iced coffee at places, if he isn't able to bring his own freezing brew from home. He's a patient enough man, willing to wait for a bit of comfort during meals. 

Perhaps the main reason for his proclivity to the cold is the fact that he feels like a furnace most of the time, overheating on most sunny days. This could also be due to the fact he wears long sleeves and layers more often than not, but he finds comfort in the shapelessness of thick cloth draped over his body. He even only owns one single pair of shorts and dislikes wearing them outside of his apartment. There aren’t many days where he finds he needs them, luckily.

But beyond that, he enjoys the shiver he gets when a cold wind breezes past, or the slight sting on his nose from being out for long enough. How sometimes, after a particularly heavy snowfall, the way the frost leaks past his thick boots and insulated socks. Even things like ice skating or shoveling, which he would normally hate for being exercise-adjacent, aren’t too bad.

It helps that his nameday is almost always the first snow of the year, through some bizarre chance. Nophica may be patron of this month, but her harvest doesn’t hold bounty during these times. Not unless you consider flurries and muddled gray skies to be bountiful, which Soemrifaeld finds tempting to do. Namedays aren’t exactly the happiest times of the year for him, but this small miracle does bring about a smile on his face, when he wakes to gentle snowfall, one year older.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 8: Stars

For a person whose job it is to travel the world, Soemrifaeld will admit he doesn't get out much. When he takes time off, or is in-between assignments, it's usually spent holed up in his apartment with curtains drawn and books open. He had already spent a majority of this weekend, now extended with a holiday giving him and all the other gleaners an extra day, in his usual fashion. The kettle he set on his stove to brew some tea had just begun whistling when he heard a knock at the door. He clicks the stove off before approaching the entrance to his apartment. The rhythm is familiar, and he knows who it is before he even opens it. The question on his mind, however, is how she got past the front door, normally locked to anyone who doesn't have a key.

"Soemri!" Sophie greets cheerfully, easily letting herself in through the door as if she lived there. Despite her sudden, unannounced arrival, the only other thing out of the ordinary is the hoodie covering her head. "Are you doing anything tonight?"

Soemrifaeld checks the clock on the wall, little hand just past the 9. He was planning on winding down for the night with a cup of tea, bed calling his name, and looking quite comfortable at that.

"Aside from going to bed? Besides, how did you even get into the building?"

"Oh? I was going to call you to let me in, but someone was already heading inside, so I just followed them."

"Sophie," he chastises, "you know you can get security called on you for that."

"It's fine!" She throws herself down on his couch. "It was that old lady down the hall, the one that has a crush on you? I told her I was visiting and she was cool with letting me in. By the way, she says hi." Sophie grins from where she's sprawled out across the cushions.

"Stop saying that," he frowns. Her and Odu have been very intent on teasing him over the older woman who lives a few apartments down from him, all because of the one time she had handed off some leftover dinner to him with a wink while the two watched from the living room. The following hour after he had closed the door on that interaction was pure hell.

Sophie laughs heartily, looking up at him with a wide grin, and he can't help his blush. "So… I'll take that as a no?" She scratches the back of her head, still covered by her hood.

"I guess not," he sighs. "Why?"

"Come hang out with me and Odu," Sophie requests, perking up from her seat. The movement was just enough to jostle the hood from her head, and under it lay newly cut hair. It was styled in a layered pixie cut, the shortest she's ever worn her hair, highlights and lowlights streaked from her scalp and coming to sharp little points, sticking up wildly.

Her hand flies up to her head, embarrassed at the reveal. "Uh, yeah, I also got my hair cut," she says, attempting to smooth it out, but her inexperience with the length just missed it up even more. "I was gonna surprise you and Odu at the same time but, oops! What do you think?"

She finally stops fussing with the strands, looking at Soemrifaeld for a response. Internally, he thinks it's cute. The way it frames her soft face, as unpredictable as she is, it suits her very well. He also just thinks shorter hair is cute in general, but he doesn't think he's ever shared that particular taste with anyone.

Externally, his face heats up as he's begun to realize how long he's been staring without a word, and says, maybe a bit loud, "It's nice. Um, suits you."

"Thanks!" She smiles, and he knows her well enough to see she's holding back from teasing him over his reaction. He's appreciative of the small blessing. "Okay, now, I found out I can access the roof of my apartment, so I wanted to bring up that old telescope that's been sitting in my closet for years."

Sophie is exaggerating, as she had just moved into her place five months ago, and had just used her telescope last year. However, in repayment to her kindness, he doesn't point that out.

"And you need me and Odu for…?" Soemrifaeld asks.

"I want to hang out with you guys," she says flatly, then sighs. "I mean, when was the last time we all actually got together? We've been so busy with these assignments, I just… kind of miss you two."

There's a twinge of sadness in her confession, and Soemrifaeld shrinks, feeling bad for assuming there was some kind of ulterior motive. It has been a while, probably months at this point, but they've all been working pretty hard lately. They're at the point in their career where they've been working long enough to get the more complex assignments, but still feeling too new to not be overwhelmed easily. Most days, post-assignments, he comes home and crashes on the couch, only to wake up the next day just to be put on another mission. It's tiring work, but now they've all finally been given a small vacation, and Soemrifaeld has started to miss them too.

"Okay," he relents. Sophie's smile in response is small, but genuine.

"Thank you," she says, softly, but her voice quickly shifts in volume. "Now, let's go to Odu's place and convince him too."

"You haven't asked him either?" He says, trying to look disappointed over his lopsided smile.

"I didn't have time! Besides, it's easier to convince you guys in person," she says, and she is right. If she'd called instead he'd probably give the excuse of being too tired. She knows him well. It's a pain in the ass at times.

"Fine, fine. Let's go," he says, following after Sophie on her way to her car.

They pick up Odu, who first balks at her new haircut, then agrees to come without a second thought, and drive off to their destination of Sophie's apartment building. She first lets them into her own abode, practically throwing bags at them to carry, as she retreats further in, presumably to grab her telescope. He peers into the bag, surprisingly heavy given its small size, to see what she seems so important to bring up with them. Inside, sits two bottles of cheap liquor, along with various smaller bottles of mixers. When Sophie returns, he looks at her with concern. "Is it really a smart idea to bring alcohol on a rooftop?"

"Just don't fall," she says with a mischievous grin. Soemrifaeld looks nervous while Odu laughs beside him.

They make their way up a very narrow staircase in pitch darkness, Soemrifaeld having to nearly turn sideways to pass through. Apparently the lights here burnt out a while ago and have never been replaced, but eventually they feel their way to the roof's entrance, a heavy metal door that groans loudly when opened.

While Old Sharlayan isn't as light polluted as other places in the world, there's still enough where the night sky doesn't look packed full with celestial bodies. Most constellations are visible, though, and that's what Sophie has said she likes to look at most. Set on the rooftop are a small grouping of old deck chairs and a grungy folding table, faded in color from being left out in the sun for who knows how long. It seems Sophie wasn't the only one who found this spot, but given the layer of debris scattered around, only they know about it now.

Sophie begins setting up the telescope next to the old chairs, peering into the lens and adjusting the various dials with minute movements. Odu sets his bag on the table, revealing the snacks contained within, and Soemrifaeld joins him, setting the drinks and cups in-between the food. His peace of mind is somewhat restored, seeing the bottles of water that were also tucked beneath everything else.

"Got it!" Sophie exclaims just as they finish setting the table up. She gestures proudly to the telescope, and says, "Take a look."

Odu and Soemrifaeld trade glances, wordlessly deciding who goes first. Odu hops on top of the chair nearest to the telescope to get a better angle into the viewfinder, peeking in with one eye shut tightly. He hums contemplatively before pulling away. "No idea what I was looking at, but it was cool!"

Soemrifaeld, in contrast, bends over to take a look for himself, and sees the shape of a constellation. For a moment he wracks his brain for the specific name. "The Ewer?" He guesses after a moment, looking to Sophie for confirmation.

"Bingo! Point to Soemri," she claps. Odu's jaw drops in disbelief.

"I didn't know we were competing! I'll get the next one!" He proclaims, and they all laugh.

A few more adjustments to the telescope, and a volley of answers later, what was certainly not originally intended to be a game easily turned into one. As the drinks came out, things both turned more intense, and goofier at the same time. Even Soemrifaeld, who originally protested the idea, downs a few drinks, making him feel light and happy.

As the night carried on, the telescope was forgotten, and Sophie stands from her chair with a slight wobble. Soemrifaeld shoots out a hand to support her, not fully thinking through the action in his haze. She steadies quickly, barely noticing the intervention to his relief, and carefully walks over to an indeterminate spot, until she bends down and clicks a switch. A string of colorful lights, most likely intended for another season but forgotten up here like everything else, flickers on and douses the rooftop with red, blue, and green.

They continue to talk for hours into the night, the alcohol in their system both fueling and draining their energy. Before they realize, the world begins to lighten, stars fading into the edges of the western sky. The sun is rising, they haven't slept all night, and they have one last day before it's back to work.

Soemrifaeld really did miss this, even if he feels like he'll fall asleep at any moment, fully exposed to the elements. There's this warmth in his chest, and he's certain he's sobered up enough to know that it isn't the alcohol causing it. He forgets, sometimes, how much he truly cares for his friends, how thankful he is that they care for him in return.

The rest of his last day may be spent catching up on missing sleep, as opposed to his typical weekend routine, but he wouldn't consider trading this night for anything.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 7: Skies

Maybe one of the last good memories Soemrifaeld had of his father was an outing they did when he was nine years old. His mom wrangled the two of them up and practically dragged them out of the house, proclaiming they all needed some fresh air and a nice place to relax. His dad had been particularly stressed, after five consecutive years of his proposals being rejected, he was starting to hit his limit, and it bled into his personal life like ink through water. He never became angry, he never yelled or was violent, he didn't drink or smoke, but he was cold. Distant. Refusing to let his wife or son in, shutting himself behind closed doors to somehow fix his work, as if it would fix the distance between them.

Today was different though. Somehow, through some means or another, his mom had broken through, grabbed him by his collar, and pulled with all her might. Now, she was behind the wheel of their family car, old but reliable enough, blasting the radio to drown out any awkwardness that might build in an otherwise silent vehicle. Beside her sat his dad, hands set politely in his lap, looking straight ahead. 

With or without a conversation, there was always a tension between Soemrifaeld's parents, but it seemed much more subdued than usual today. They weren't looking at each other, but it didn't light a little spark of anxiety in his chest. He was, in fact, looking forward to spending the day with them. He hoped it didn't end like most others had.

His mom pulls into the parking lot of a local park, shuts the radio off, and urges everyone out of the car like it's on fire. Soemrifaeld fumbles trying to unbuckle his seatbelt for a moment, somehow finding its way tucked in-between the seats. From his side, the door opens, and a large hand reaches over to click the seatbelt and free him from its confines. He looks over to his dad, leaning with one arm pressed against the top of the car. "Let's go," he says quietly, in his gruff voice. Soemrifaeld realizes it's been a while since he last heard his dad speak. He shuffles his way out of the car and his feet hit the pavement, looking up at his parents for where to go next. With barely a word, his mom strides off in the direction of the main path. Him and his dad share a look before quickly following behind her.

They walk on, following the winding path through trees and grass, seeing wildlife flit by like a secret. It goes up and down hills, narrows and widens, and splits off into various other paths, made by those wanting to wander off to who knows where. At some point, the path turns to wooden steps and climbs up and up, exhausting the poor legs of the two boys who get the least amount of exercise in the family. When they finally reach the top, it opens into a vast, blue sky, bigger than anything Soemrifaeld has seen. It nearly swallows him whole, the expanse of it spanning across from one edge of the world to the other. He stares, enamored, before he notices a presence kneeled down beside him.

"Glad your mother dragged us out here?" His dad asks under his breath. It's just out of earshot of where his mom is standing, admiring the distance traveled instead of the view they traveled for. Soemrifaeld almost thinks it's sarcastic, until he sees the small smile on his lips. "Yeah," he whispers back.

It may have been short lived, for being the last nice thing he remembered of his dad. He wished he had the foresight to cherish it longer, but at the same time he wished it didn't happen at all. He wants to remain bitter, at his darkest times, but knows holding onto that frustration doesn't help anyone, especially not himself. He did have nice moments with his dad, he wasn't all bad. It was just hard to have those two people coalesce into one internally. 

But the sky is still blue, no matter how happy or sad the memory. He supposed he can thank the universe for that constant.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 6: Seas

To some, the rolling waves of the sea under the sturdiness of a finely crafted ship may cause an upturned stomach. But to Soemrifaeld, the gentle rocking, back and forth, is quite calming. When matched with the endless blue of the spanning oceans, it nearly subdues the deep seated terror he feels when he thinks about what lies below.

Today, however, he does not see the waters. It may be a blessing, any other day, but not this one. The waves are muffled, sat as deeply within the hull he is, behind a bolted metal door. The holding cell he’s kept in seems quite antiquated, unsurprising given how little it must be used nowadays. It feels a bit overkill, in his opinion, given how pitiful the crime he committed was.

He wonders how far he is from Old Sharlayan, now. How much longer he has till they reach their destination, at whatever port they decide to dump him off at. He lost track of time, with no way to keep track of it aside from his now dead phone. The sun is still up, based on the light filtering through the tiny port window high above his head. The past few hours (if it has been that long) have been spent pacing around the room, with breaks of attempting to sleep on the thin mattress or read one of the few books he’s been permitted to bring along with him. They at least allowed him the courtesy of two bags of personal belongings to bring along with him to start his new life. One of clothing and hygiene products, the other stuffed tightly with favorite books, study materials, and other essentials he felt he needed to keep his sanity in Limsa Lominsa.

He’s been to Vylbrand before, sent to look for a fossil of an ancient coral that only grew near Costa del Sol. The city-state has not been a location included in his travels though, never having a reason to visit before now. Whether he'll stay there indefinitely he doesn’t know yet. Only time will tell if the port city is sufficient to place his roots down in.

A loud series of bangs followed by metal thunking and grinding wakes him from his slumber with a jolt. For a moment, he fears the ship has been attacked and is sinking, but when the door to his holding room opens, he realizes the ship is just older than he originally assumed, and the hinges perhaps just need a good greasing.

“Grab your things,” the crewmate who entered his room says gruffly, “We’ll be docking soon.” With that, he slams the door shut once again, just as harshly as it opened. Soemrifaeld gathers up his bags, one considerably heavier than the other to his dismay, and stands by the door, waiting for a guard to escort him out of the bowels of the ship.

As he makes his way up through tight halls and stairways, flanked by two guards who seem disinterested in what an unremarkable criminal they’re being forced to keep an eye on. When they finally reach the surface, he’s grateful for the fact that the sun has long gone, otherwise risking further damaging his already poor eyes.

The fresh, salty air hits him, and he hardly even realized how stuffy it had been down beneath yards upon yards of steel. The guards continue to lead him to a half indoor, half outdoor facility. Behind a desk, shielded by glass, sits a miqo’te woman, looking bored and half-asleep. One guard approaches the desk while the other stands close by Soemrifaeld, not even bothering to stand at full attention. The guard at the desk begins speaking to the miqo’te, who nods and glances over at Soemrifaeld with a raised eyebrow. His face heats up, having a feeling he knows what she’s looking so skeptical about. She leafs through the stack of papers handed to her, signs some things, then waves him over.

“Soemrifaeld Braeniharzsyn?” The receptionist woman says, voice as nasally as it is bored. He nods. “Convicted of breaking and entering, trespassing, and-” she squints at the paper, “-’attempting to gain forbidden knowledge’?” He nods again, squeezing his eyes shut, as if he can easily will away his growing embarrassment. Thankfully, the port is almost entirely empty, with no one else becoming privy to the truth of his reason for arrival.

“Sharlayan sure is a funny place,” she mutters under her breath. “Well, welcome to Limsa Lominsa. You’ll be provided temporary housing for a maximum of 30 days, under which time you’ll also be held under probation. Any felonies committed will be prosecuted under the fullest extent of the law, your housing will be revoked immediately, and all possessions will be confiscated. Once those 30 days are up, you’re free to go wherever you want and do whatever. You’ll probably have a hard time finding any unauthorized scrolls here, or whatever,” she snorts. The guards both cough, clearly holding back smirks. Soemrifaeld shrinks, undoubtedly red-tinted from the shoulders up.

As he’s being moved to the indoors portion of the building, most likely to fill out paperwork among other things, he takes one last look out to the pitch black ocean, waters capped with gray foam. The moon above is only a sliver, waxing into a new phase, and the slight beam just barely casts to the waters below, turning the whole scene into a monochromatic picture.

Across that vast sea lies his old home, and he wonders if the shore here is the same shade of blue during the day as it is there. He wonders if the sand feels the same, if the waves crash against the shore with the same ferocity during a storm.

As much as he hates the seas, he aches knowing he’ll never again see that view from the other side. Old Sharlayan, starting today, is no more than a memory of a past life. Sucked down beneath churning waves, never to be found.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 5: Streets

Soemrifaeld made his way through the crowded markets of Old Sharalyan, navigating carefully between the packed bodies. It’s a Sunday, meaning he and nearly every other resident in the area is doing their shopping that they’ve been putting off before starting their work week once again. He gingerly squeezes between two people on the street taking up more space than is necessary to make his way to the vegetable stand, nearly picked clean already. All that’s left are a few different greens and bizarre looking squashes, which aren’t ingredients in his limited recipe encyclopedia.

As he pulls out his phone to look up simple recipes to see if he can find anything that both looks appetizing and uncomplicated, he feels someone bump up against his back. He tries to will down the sudden wave of annoyance, knowing he was well off to the side, away from the bustling crowd. With a calming breath, he turns his head to the side to apologize out of habit, but his voice catches in his throat upon seeing who exactly had run into him.

“Oops, sorry- oh my gosh, is that you, Soemrifaeld?” The girl had perked up. If there was anything worse than running into a person that went to the same highschool, it was probably the girl who humiliated him in front of the entire junior and senior class. “It’s Raelbryda, remember?” Soemrifaeld does remember, and his stomach turns.

“Ah- um…” he stutters, mind gone entirely blank. A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead and he struggles to maintain any semblance of eye contact.

“Highschool? I asked you out, like, kind of as a joke?” Raelbryda asks, as a way to try and jog his memory. “You like, took me seriously though and we ended up going to prom together, and then when I told you I was kidding, you got so upset.” She laughs to herself, as if she’s recounting a good memory and not one of the worst moments of his life.

Not only does she remember exactly what she did, but she remains completely oblivious to the effect it had on him, even to this day. The way he curls up in anxiety whenever a girl tries to talk to him, scared that she’s plotting a way to humiliate him. Even now the only women he talks to are his mother and Sophie, who he’s known for practically his whole life. She can smile and laugh, while he feels like he’s still stuck in that state of mind for over a decade at this point. Soemrifaeld swallows down the building emotions, ready to tell her off for the way she ruined his trust in others.

“Yeah. I remember,” he says instead, and plasters on what he hopes is a pleasant enough face.

“Yeah!” she grins happily. “Honestly the only reason I did ask you was because I was sure you’d turn me down anyway.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re gay, right?” Raelbryda says like it’s a fact, more than asking for confirmation. Soemrifaeld blinks, barely even able to process the sentence for a good few seconds. When it does hit, he’s genuinely taken aback. “I… No?”

“Oh, it’s fine! Everyone already kind of knows. You were always kinda…” she trails off, making a vague hand gesture, “y’know?”

“I’m- I’m not?” He searches her face, panic taking over as he tries to discern how serious she is. He almost expects there to be a group of people watching from the crowd, pointing and trying to contain their laughter as she tries to make a fool out of him one last time, just for old times sake.

She laughs with an almost innocent smile, before it drops into something more embarrassed. “Oh. Seriously?” Soemrifaeld nods. “Oh. I like, kind of figured, ‘cause like. The way you dress. And I heard you never really had a girlfriend after highschool. Oh, and how you didn’t ever change in the boy’s locker room, I heard from a few different guys that you always changed in the bathroom, so they all thought-”

“I- I get it,” he cuts her off, face heating up. He had no idea how any of these things constituted making him gay, especially his clothing. Throughout highschool, and even now, he never wore anything extravagant, just a simple pair of pants and a button-up, sometimes covered in a sweater during the colder months. And so what if he didn’t like changing in front of the other boys? He just didn’t like being associated with the other male students of the school, preferring the privacy of a bathroom stall. Also, the locker room smelled awful.

The girlfriend comment is probably the one that irks him the most, though, especially since the reason for it being the girl standing in front of him. Not having a girlfriend doesn’t mean he isn’t attracted to women, nor does it mean he has any attraction to men. Soemrifaeld suddenly feels incredibly self-conscious. Did everyone really think that he swung the other way? Is that why so many women seemed uninterested in him, because they automatically assumed that he wouldn’t take any interest in them either? All of a sudden, he’s starting to rethink every single interaction he’s had with women. He’s even starting to think about his interactions with men. Did they also think that he way gay? Has a man ever hit on him, and he was just too oblivious to see it? On the other hand, is he so self-centered that he thinks that anyone would hit on him, of all people?

The silence between the two stretches an uncomfortable length, and Raenbryda awkwardly shuffles her feet, eyes darting between the stands and moving crowd.

“Um. Well. It was good seeing you again. If you ever wanna talk you can like, message me on Insta. I can probably hook you up with- someone. If you want.” Her speech is stilted and expression showing very obvious signs of discomfort. She rattles off her handle, and then steps back into the flow of the crowd, receiving no similar farewell from Soemrifaeld in return.

He eventually returns back to reality from the conversation induced stupor, seeing that the vegetable stand is now even more barren than previously. He frowns, looking at the now even more limited selection, wondering if he can just hope for a light assignment during work and try his luck again tomorrow. He may also have to look into clothes shopping, and switch up his wardrobe for the first time in a while.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 4: Desert

"Looks like we're together on this assignment, eh buddy?" Odu grins, slapping the back of Soemrifaeld's knee. The force surprises him, and his leg nearly buckles before he's able to catch himself on the nearby wall. "Off to Thanalan!"

"Wait- Wait, Odu we don't have-" Soemrifaeld takes a few steps to cut off the lalafell, who bumps face first into the wall of leg now in front of him.

"Oof, 'scuse me, my bad. What's up big guy?" Odu cranes his head up to a near 90 degree angle to look at Soemrifaeld's face. He takes a step back to put less strain on the poor man's neck, sighing.

"We don't have all the details of the assignment yet, we should at least get some more info aside from the location."

"Nonsense!" Odu exclaims, "We have all the info we need right now, everything else we can figure out on the way. Why waste time, y'know?" He attempts to walk around Soemrifaeld’s body blockade, but five steps from Odu is easily overtaken by one step from Soemrifaeld. Odu grunts, looking back up with a slightly annoyed expression.

“What are we looking for?” Soemrifaeld asks, crossing his arms.

“Some kind of artifact,” Odu waves off.

“Why are they sending two gleaners?”

“Well that’s-” Odu stops, his eyebrows drawing together with a pout. “Because… uh…”

“See? We need intel. If this was a simple mission, there’d be no reason to send more than one of us to go fetch this relic,” Soemrifaeld says, perhaps a little more smug than is necessary.

Odu relents with a frown, and Soemrifaeld takes the assignment’s summary writing, looking it over meticulously. While reading over every detail, he can overhear Odu’s foot tapping against the stone flooring incessantly.

“Well?” Odu says, drawing out the word. Soemrifaeld sighs, supposing he’s gotten enough out of the paper to relay all the main points sufficiently.

“The artifact we’re being sent to look for is a piece of high density, corrupted aether crystal. It supposedly has properties similar to a Bomb,” Soemrifaeld says. Odu nods, though it’s unclear how much he’s actually listening. “Two people are required for this assignment in order to keep the crystal from causing extraneous damage to the gleaners, local area, and any other possible bystanders.”

“So, one person carries the crystal and keeps its aether under control, and the other makes sure no outside forces break their concentration, right?”

“I- well. Yes. Exactly,” Soemrifaeld blinks. Sometimes Odu’s sudden moments of clarity catch him off guard.

“Right then! Let’s go!” Odu shouts, marching off to Labyrinthos’ exit, and the moment is gone. This is going to be a long trip, and he’s worried about both of their safety.

They arrive in Southern Thanalan, traversing the desert by chocobo under the oppressive sun. They donned full-body robes to protect themselves from sunburn at the behest of their travel guide, which doubtlessly will help them in the long run, but for now it’s just another layer of cloth to make him sweat. Even Odu is having his energy drained from the overwhelming dry heat.

Up ahead, some decrepit ruins come into view, marking the end of the first leg of their journey. From the corner of Soemrifaeld’s eye, he sees Odu grin and crack the whip connected to his chocobo, shouting as he speeds off, “Race ya to the crystal!” Soemrifaeld watches him go, kicking up sand in his wake. He does not follow his lead, letting his chocobo go at its own pace so as to not tire it out before they need to make their trek back.

“I won!” Odu smirks when Soemrifaeld finally makes his way over. He’s already tied up his chocobo to a broken off wooden perch in the coolness of the shade projected by the tall, crumbling pillars.

“Yes. Congratulations,” Soemrifaeld says, dismounting his own bird and tying it up next to Odu’s.

“So, where’s this crystal supposed to be at?” Odu asks. He begins to survey his surroundings, taking in the deteriorating sandstone and sees a set of steps, nearly buried in sand. “Think we could check down there?”

Soemrifaeld looks, and although it might be a pain to make their way through piles of sand, it’s currently their best bet. He nods in agreement, and the two descend the staircase carefully. Odu has no trouble walking down the steps and into the cavernous temple, but Soemrifaeld has to not only watch his head to make sure he doesn’t smack it against the low hanging ceiling, but be careful about the way he walks to prevent the stone beneath from collapsing under his weight. As they go further down, the bright light from the sun loses its vigor, shrouding them in darkness. Both retrieve flashlights from their packs and click them on, shining on the walls and the final stretch of stairs, leading to a dusty, sand piled floor. The temple splits off into two different directions, and they agree to each take one path to shorten their search. Though the likelihood of daemons appearing is low while the sun is still up, they make sure to ready their weapons and prepare a signal if one of them is attacked, knowing that their phones have no signal this far down under the earth. Soemrifaeld makes his way down the long, dark hallway, hoping the crystal isn’t too far along. Soon Odu’s footsteps fade out, leaving only his own echoing along the walls. It’s deadly silent otherwise, and with each footstep a cloud of debris is kicked up, forcing him to cover his mouth after a coughing fit strains his chest.

The hall is considerably cooler than outside, the walls almost icy under his touch. Bizarrely cold, in fact. Up on his left side, a low orange glow emanates from where the wall opens up to a room, a cold wind blowing from the door, heavily charged with aether. Strange, as he expected the crystal to be charged with fire-aspected aether, given the region it’s in. He turns into the room, and is thankful for the cloak he can pull around himself, as the temperature of the room is nearly in the negatives, frost leading up to a fractalizing chunk of corrupted crystal.

Before he turns back around to call out to Odu, he takes a moment to really observe the crystal, because the aether does suspiciously feel fire-aspected, as if it has become so heavily charged that it has flipped back around to being cold again. Fascinating, Soemrifaeld can’t help but think, unsurprised as to why someone would want to study this.

“Odu!” Soemrifaeld calls down the hallway, hoping the sound carries far enough so that he doesn’t have to go all the way back and then some to grab his friend. He waits for a moment, straining his ears to listen for a response. Right as he resigns to having to backtrack, he hears a distant call back.

“I found it!” After a few minutes of waiting, he begins to hear the fast patter of footsteps running towards him.

“Great job, partner!” Odu gasps out, hands on his knees as he puffs out heavy breaths, showing as a ghostly white in the freezing air. He shivers dramatically, rubbing his hands over his arms.

“You have the jar?” Soemrifaeld asks. Odu straightens back up, pulling the specialized jar from his pack. It has a number of magic sigils and a heavy coating of wax around the lid to be sealed with aether once the crystal is collected and safely placed inside.

Soemrifaeld steps back from the entrance and sends his noulith inside to carefully extract a piece without risking either him or Odu. He tenses up, waiting for his noulith to shoot out a beam of aether, carefully aspected to balance out against the crystals own unstable aether. The high pitched noise rings out, followed by the sounds of something crackling. He flinches, but luckily nothing happens, and his noulith returns in tow with a chunk of crystal carefully balanced on its base. It drops the crystal in cautiously, and the wave of cold hits him in the face so harshly for a moment he nearly stumbles backwards. He feels Odu’s body press against his calf, trying to hold Soemrifaeld up to the best of his ability. It’s just enough to counterbalance him, and keep him upright, and with haste he seals the jar, sealing away the cold.

The two stay still for a moment, tensed up, waiting for something to go awry. After it seems the crystal is sufficiently sealed away, they look at one another, Odu with a big grin, and Soemrifaeld with a smaller smile.

“That’s that then!” Odu puffs out his chest like a proud bird, dusting his hands.

“Not quite yet,” Soemrifaeld reminds him, “we still need to bring it back to Old Sharlayan.”

Odu deflates a bit, but it doesn’t take long for him to perk back up. “No worries! You take care of the jar, and I make sure no one gets in our way,” he says, posing with fists as if to knock back any opposition.

Soemrifaeld sighs, but he does it with a corner of his mouth upturned. They turn back from where they came, side by side, Soemrifaeld listening to Odu prattle on about his feats as an accomplished fighter, all of which are exaggerated, as Soemrifaeld had been witness to most of them. The two reach the surface, mount their chocobo’s, and travel once more across the desert.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 3: Mountain

The task Soemrifaeld had been assigned was one of his least favorite kinds, but the researcher insisted on it's urgency and importance, so he went regardless. Here he is, hiking up a mountainside in Gyr Abania, looking for a specific mineral deposit that had properties unique to the location. What properties, he wasn't informed of. All he knows is that the woman looked like she was on the verge of tears from excitement, and he might be weaker willed than originally thought.

Soemrifaeld has been sweating profusely from the exertion for the past few hours of hiking, worrying he'll run out of water by the time he makes it to the general area of the deposit. For the time being, he takes a break, practically throwing himself onto a nearby pile of flat rocks that looked like a perfect place to sit. After taking a large swig of water, he pants heavily, desperate for this assignment to be over soon. Climbing is, out of all other strenuous activities, the absolute worst for him. He lacks both upper and lower body strength, and every step up the steep slopes leaves him more and more exhausted. A part of him wants to call it off, leave it to another gleaner who's more physically fit, but on the other hand he's not too far from a promotion to supervisor. A few more accomplishments and he has the position in the bag, which means less field work and more desk work. Exactly the job he was made for, quite honestly.

Soemrifaeld picks himself up and stretches, pulling his already sore muscles into shape once again. There's maybe an hour's journey left before he reaches the location and can begin his search for the outcrop, collect some samples, and head back. The sun is still high in the sky, meaning he has plenty of time left to go.

Though the air is dry and hot, the sparse trees provide enough shade to not be unbearable. Soemrifaeld walks and walks, feet trudging through the dirt and dust, until the rocks turn from the now familiar deep brown to a dark red, with hints of green. This is the spot he's been looking for.

He drops to the ground, pulling out a soil tester and shoving it into the tightly packed earth, taking measurements as he goes. As the numbers get closer to what he's looking for, he pulls out his specimen bags and begins digging. In goes dirt, then more rocky substances, and finally he hits what looks almost like a dark, dull patch of quartz. He isn't sure whether it is a type of quartz, or if this is just the special properties of the mineral the researcher had mentioned, but it's unexpectedly pretty, regardless. It doesn't seem to be especially affected by aether, based on what he can sense from it, so it’s more likely to be a natural phenomena. Despite being tired and a touch irritable, his curiosity is peaked, and he can’t help but mentally go over what possible uses this rock sample could have. Could it have some kind of health benefits? It isn’t likely to be detrimental, as they would have warned him first of any caution needed. He hopes that’s the case, at least. Is its use in the realm of mechanical engineering? Maybe not as a main component, given how easily it breaks under the barest pressure from the trowel, but as an additive, perhaps? The current soil quality is much too basic to be used for plant growth, and the surrounding area is barren of any life, so that possibility is ruled out.

Once he starts going through a checklist of possibilities, he realizes he’s filled all of his specimen bags to the brim. Embarrassingly full, like a new gleaner overcompensating for their lack of experience with enthusiasm. He quickly scoops just enough out so that it doesn’t reflect negatively on his record.

Soemrifaeld sits back, taking a moment to breathe after another completed job, and looks around. He didn’t notice at first, but the clearing where the mineral laid opens up to a fantastic view. Behind him, several yards away, a tall cliff hangs overhead, rocks catching the sunlight and nearly glowing red and gold. The direction he came from stretches out for miles, trees spanning the distance in alternating patches of dense and sparse. In front, a drop, looking out over the vast desert of Gyr Abania, rocky structures picturesque in their natural sculpts. It’s quite the sight, even he can admit, and the sun no longer feels like a weight upon his back, now a gentle warmth against the temperature drop at the elevation he’s scaled.

Normally, he’d get up and head back down the mountainside in haste to get back home, but for once, he takes the opportunity to just look out on the expanse of a place he may never even come back to again. The wind blows, rocking the trees and sending chills down his skin.

After some time has passed, Soemrifaeld finally packs up his things, standing and brushing the dirt off of his pants. He slings his bag over his shoulder, and with one last look, makes his way back down. Back to his old sights once again.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 2: Forest

It was Leon's idea to get Soemrifaeld out here. "My friends from high school's cousin's parents have a cabin that they're letting us use for a group camping trip! You should totally join us, c'mon. You've been stuffed up in your dorm room for weeks now, midterms are over!"

Leon had gone on in this manner, trying to convince him. Soemrifaeld had no interest in the outdoors, let alone camping overnight. Not to mention the fact that he barely knew anyone else that was going. There was nothing drawing him to the idea, but Leon insisted. "You don't need to bring any camping equipment, you don't even need to participate in anything! Promise! I just think it would be good to get you out," Leon begs, looking up at him with as much of an attempt at puppy dog eyes an adult man can muster. Soemrifaeld wears a face of uncertainty in return. It sounds like just about the worst experience he can think of, but Leon is stubborn in his invitation, to Soemrifaeld's dismay.

Unfortunately, his persistence wins out, and Soemrifaeld is now in a cabin surrounded by twelve people his age, standing awkwardly against the wall. There are seats open in the living room, but they're all close enough to the small groups that have formed that he would either be forced to enter a discussion or stare at his hands for the next few hours, until dinner. Leon's has since abandoned him to talk to his friend's cousin or something, so now Soemrifaeld is locked in place, with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. He bites his lips, frustration and anxiety at the forefront of his mind. The moment he got here he considered leaving, and probably would have had Leon not been the one to drive them out. Even if he can't leave this place, the closest he can get is going outside.

He quietly opens and closes the front door behind him, sure that no one even noticed his leaving. At least, no one inside.

"You gonna smoke too?" A voice from his side asks, and he jumps in surprise. Turns out he isn't very good at noticing people leaving either, because someone he vaguely remembers seeing during the introductions is leaning over the railing, smoke trailing from the lit cigarette held between her fingers. She's a viera, tall and slight, and what he thought was hair at first glance looks to be her ears, pushed down flat against the sides of her face from the beanie that covers her head. The rest of her outfit is dark, heavy clothes, likely too warm for the nice weather, but he can easily say the same of his own long sleeve button down and sweater combo.

"Oh. Um. No. No I don't smoke," he mutters, looking away from her bored gaze. She hums in return. He stands in front of the door for a moment, unsure what to do after an unexpected run-in with a stranger, and decides to awkwardly shuffle to the railing as well, a good seven feet away, on the other side of the main staircase.

"Lemme know if it bothers you," she says, taking another hit.

"Huh?"

"The smoke."

"Oh, right. It's fine," he says, a little embarrassed. The acrid smell does, in fact, bother him, but it's too late to correct himself now.

"Cool," she nods, and silence follows. Not total silence, the sounds of conversation from inside the cabin, as well as nature from the forest a stone throw away, fill in most gaps in the noise. He's tensed up, almost expecting her to chime in and ask what brings him out here, or his name, or anything, but the quiet stretches on.

Does she also not want to engage in conversation? Perhaps she's just as shy, despite her outwardly cool demeanor, and doesn't know what to say. Maybe she also left the group to be alone, smoking just an excuse to get away from everyone. He glances over at her, and her face is blank as she stares at the trees, now draping the full cabin in shadow as the sun sets lower and lower. The sky overhead is still blue, but hints of orange are starting to dust the patches of clouds. Any minute movement she makes has him quickly diverting his attention straight ahead to the pines and oaks, afraid she'll catch him staring.

Even if she is shy, she is still very, very cool looking. So much more so than Soemrifaeld, who, to his mortification, had been mistaken for both a professor and a visiting secondary school student more than once. What reason would she have to want to initiate small talk with someone like him? He sighs, and hangs his head down.

The front door clicks open, and the sound floods outside, startling away some small birds that had begun picking at the open area around the cabin.

"Hey, Soemrifaeld!" Leon's voice calls, "I was looking for you- oh, hey Wjynn." The girl on the porch flicks her finished cigarette onto the dirt.

"Hey Leon," she says, and squeezes past him, back into the cabin.

Leon takes up a spot next to him, much closer than he himself had been to the girl, Wjynn. "You uh. You doing okay, dude?" He asks, looking up at him through his bangs sheepishly. "You kind of disappeared, I almost thought you stole my car and bailed." Soemrifaeld gives him a flat look.

"I'm fine. I also wouldn't steal your car." He taps his foot against the wooden boards, hollow thunks ringing out. He also isn't really fine. But he'll get over it.

"Sorry for talking so long, I just hadn't seen Will since senior year." He kicks his foot lightly against the railing, trying to time the beat to Soemrifaeld's stomps. It's not very well done. "Were you talking to Wjynn at all?" he asks, somewhat hopeful.

"No, not really," he admits. "I don't think I should have come here."

"What? Oh, no, you're fine! It's just the first day, you'll get to know everyone soon," he pats Soemrifaeld's back reassuringly, but it just feels like empty encouragement.

"I'm not good at these things. I can't do them," he sighs. "I'll stay but… nothing's going to come out of it."

Leon looks up at him with eyebrows drawn together, frowning. "You could try. At least a little bit."

Soemrifaeld huffs. He'd turn to leave but there's no exits out here. He's stuck for another two days, and there's no hope.

"I don't know why you thought a camping trip was somehow going to fundamentally change who I am as a person, but it's not."

"I didn't-!" He groans loudly in frustration. "I just want to help, man."

"...I know." And he does. He's well aware of how hard Leon tries to help him out of his shell, tries to involve him in parties and group study sessions. As much as he tries, nothing has worked. Leon is still basically his only friend, and anyone else he happens to hang out with is merely by proxy to Leon. This is just how it's been, for nearly his entire life, and any help he's received has never resulted in change. This is just who he is, at his core, and there's no changing it.

"Well," Leon mutters, "we're making dinner soon. If you wanna join, come in when you're feeling up to it."

Leon enters the cabin, and Soemrifaeld is alone once again, with the sun continuing its descent. Two more days, and it's over

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

Roevember Day 1: Meadow

It's a nice, sunny June day, with blue skies and warm breezes, and Soemrifaeld is upset he's being taken on an impromptu car trip with his mom. He's buckled up in his car seat in the back, trying to avoid looking out the window closest to him, pointed over steep cliffs and the deep, blue, spanning ocean. Instead he stares down at his picture book, reading it over and over as the car ride continues on.

His mom had woken him up early that morning, telling him that they're going on a trip today, and to get ready. As he steps into the kitchen, rubbing away the sleep still clinging to his eyes and climbing onto his chair at the table to eat, he asks his mom what the trip is for.

"Nothing in particular," she says, setting down a simple plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and a glass of milk for him. She then sets down a half empty bottle of ketchup next to the plate, which he grabs and squeezes all over his eggs.

"Are we going to grandma and grandpa's?" He asks, right before digging in. 

"No. It's a surprise," she smiles, sitting down across from him. "Now hurry up eating, I need to put sunscreen on you before we go."

Soemrifaeld's face twists up, but he keeps eating, albeit at a slower pace now.

As they go out to the car, Soemrifaeld's mom buckles him up tightly. "Is dad coming?" He asks, and she can't hide her frown this close to his face. 

"He’s busy," she closes the door and climbs into the driver's seat.

The drive lasts for a long time, and Soemrifaeld is thankful for his book to pass the time. Out of the corner of his eye, the cliff face raises up and covers the view of the water, and their little car is surrounded by the tall, rocky ridges. The sunlight is blocked and replaced by fluorescent bulbs as they enter in a tunnel, the two sides of the cliff joining overhead and encasing them. Soemrifaeld shrinks into the car seat, feeling claustrophobic and like he'll suffocate if he takes up too much space. He nearly starts whimpering when the sunlight returns, nearly blinding in its ferocity, and suddenly the world outside the window is brighter than he's ever seen. There are fields upon fields of bright yellow flowers, taller than the top of the car, flowing gently in the breeze. 

The car bumps and rumbles as it travels along a dirt path for a little while longer until they reach a clearing, where his mom slows them down to a stop. "We're here," she says, turning to smile at him. She gets out of the car and unbuckles him, setting him on the dirt to see the flowers even closer now. When he cranes his neck up, he can barely see the yellow petals, just green stems for what looks like miles and miles up to the sky. Soemrifaeld doesn't hear his mom approach from behind him, so enamored with the flowers, he only comes out of it when she gently touches his head. "They're sunflowers," she says, eyes soft as she looks up at the flowers as well. "Do you like them?"

Soemrifaeld nods. Sunflower, he'll have to commit the word to memory. 

"C'mon Soemrifaeld, let's walk around a bit," his mom says, grabbing his hand. She leads the both of them down the rest of the path, much smaller and clearly meant for people and not cars. The sunflowers are like giants, towering over them, some facing their heads down as if to look at the newcomers, others uncaring as they turn their gazes to the sky. Some shake their heads, others dance joyfully, all in this huge display of beauty and stature.

Soon the sound of the breeze is overtaken by running water, and the flowers become sparse the closer they get to the noise. Into view comes a stream, running softly and splitting the meadow in two. On the other side lies green grass and dozens of other tiny, colorful flowers, sunflowers only growing in small patches dotted across the field. Soemrifaeld looks at the stream, and then up to his mom, bouncing on his heels in excitement. She sighs, and then relents. "Take your shoes and socks off, if you get them wet you won't have anything to change into!" He nods quickly and removes them in a rush, splashing in the water that comes up to his ankles. The rocks below are smooth and the silt sinks beneath his feet. Tiny bugs skate across the surface, moving in closer to Soemrifaeld after startled by his first appearance, only to shoot away when he or a ripple moves them. 

He looks to his mom, only to find her sitting at the edge, shoes off as well and feet set gently in the flowing water. He runs over and leans against her knees, smiling and legs kicking out splashes of water. "Cut that out!" She exclaims, laughing, and grabs him to wrestle him into her lap. The two of them giggle, and Soemrifaeld leans against her torso, still sitting on her lap. 

"It's nice here, right?" She asks, stroking his hair. He nods excitedly, and looks up to start chattering about all the cool things he's seen today already, but stops when he sees the way his mom smiles at the view in front of them. "Do you know what your name means?"

Soemrifaeld thinks for a second. She had told him before, but the memory is fuzzy, and he can't recall.  "It means 'summer field'.

"I love this place a lot, it's perfect at this time of year. I know you were born in the winter, but I hate that season, so I wanted to give you a name that makes you think of this place all year round," she says, and turns her head slightly to face the way they came. "I want you to be like a sunflower when you get older. I'm sure you'll be as tall as one eventually." She chuckles to herself. Soemrifaeld waits for her to explain what she means, but she never does. Instead, he cranes his neck again to look at the head of the flowers, and he can't imagine being that big. Even when he tries to compare his dad's height, the tallest person he knows, the flowers still reign high.

“Will I be as pretty?” he asks.

“I think you’ll be more handsome than pretty,” she laughs.

“Oh.”

They sit together for a while, just enjoying the sights and sounds, until Soemrifaeld begins to drift off. On the verge of sleep, he feels himself lift off the ground, carried in his mother’s arms. The last thing he thinks is: I don’t want to be a flower. I want to be like her.