#2024xivwrite

[hopeandduty]

Day 1: Steer

Ciardha’s breath slips from her lungs in heaving waves, each pull of air combating the fire in her limbs and adrenaline that sears through her body. She has not exerted herself so fiercely since Ultima Thule, pushed to the very brink by Zenos obsession at the edge of existence. Galool Ja Ja offered an entirely different manner of challenge. His sword wielded experience rather than Zenos’ fixation and what Galool Ja Ja had learned in his years of protecting his people made him more powerful than any Ciardha had faced before. 

She could match his skill, this much any watching their spar could see. New though she was to the skills of a Viper, she had learned enough from Keshkwa to know where to push and when to dodge. She was dwarfed by Galool Ja Ja’s massive frame but her size leant her speed that he could not match, allowed her inside his defenses when he did not want her there. She could match him toe to toe, blade to blade and her sword sang the melody to which they would dance. 

Yet it was another matter entirely to match the weight behind the Vow of Resolve’s blade. Ciardha can feel in each blow she parries the determination that struck him upon his path, the grit to overcome every obstacle in his way, the resolution that has led him to the height of this land. In his sword is the weight of his crown and the love of his people and there are few greater fonts from which to draw strength. 

She knows better than any. 

That is why she will continue to fight. This is the kind of strength she would learn. This is the kind of strength she would put herself against. 

The challenge burns in her more fiercely than her muscles beneath the weight of her opponents blows. It ignites her chest and consumes her in a wildfire of adrenaline. The edges of the room blur from existence until all she knows is the clash of blades and flurry of aether. Each action, each reaction a dance that envelops her world and spirits her away. 

Here things are so much simpler, here she knows where to step and where to swing. Here she need not worry whether she doing the right thing or following the right path. Here the future that needed considering was seconds not years. It is a reprieve Ciardha did not expect, and that she is loathe to surrender. 

But the world will not be kept at bay so easily. This too she knows. 

“That will do. You have shown me more than enough.”

Galool Ja Ja widens the space between them and shatters the walls permitting reality to flood back into the chamber. Though they are its only occupants at so late an hour, Ciardha feels the sudden break as though an entire audience had their gazes fixed upon her. Laughter echoes back from the corners and her host beams with delight. 

“I have brought my full strength to bear against opponents before, but you are the first to withstand it.” Galool Ja Ja’s remark is punctuated by the lowering of his swords and another hearty chuckle. “You are a force to be reckoned with. My daughter chose her champion well.” 

Ciardha’s eyes lower with her blade. She has embarked upon this journey, has offered her aid where it was needed, but her doubts yet festered in her heart. A lie may perhaps be the kinder choice, but they have sparred long enough that he will see it for what it is. There are things spoken in battle that cannot be kept hidden.

“Ah–” Galool Ja Ja takes his seat upon the throne. “But you seem uncertain still.” 

“Let there be no misunderstanding.” Ciardha shakes her head. She draws in one slow breath, then another. “Wuk Lamat has been putting forth her best effort, and has challenged the feats thus far with a resolve that would do you proud. Yet it takes more than desire alone to see a nation such as yours into the future. She has begun to grow, but I am uncertain, still, if she is fit to rule.”

Ciarda pauses, wondering briefly if such candid words would invoke Galool Ja Ja’s ire. There was no mistaking his fondness of his children, be they by blood or not. Yet instead of a roar of protest, laughter erupts once again. 

“Here I was about to ask you for your thoughts, candid as the ones you have given me. You are as true as your blade, fabled Warrior.” A grin spreads at his lips. “That you have noticed that the present candidates are lacking, is reassuring to me.” 

“I had wondered– suspected– that you aware of it. Is that why–?”    

“Why the Rite was designed as it was? Yes, you are clever enough that my brother would no doubt be jealous. It is the intent that the Rite not simply select a ruler, but create one. To overcome the feats will challenge them, force them to face difficulties they have never encountered and in so doing, it is my sincerest hope that they shall learn and grow from these new experiences.”

“Do you not worry that they may not be able to overcome these challenges?” 

“While it is in the nature of a father to worry for their children, I am more certain than ever that they will be able to succeed.” 

“Why is that?” 

“It is the other reason I wished to test my blade against yours,” he answered simply. “I craved a challenge, that much is true, but more than that–” 

The answer dawns upon her the moment that the words take to the air. 

“I am now more certain than ever, that you will not steer my daughter wrong.”

[hopeandduty]

 Day 23: On Cloud Nine

There is a skip in their step and a song in their voice as Euryphaessa glides down Amaurot’s streets. Joy radiates from them as though they are their own little sun and Hythlodaeus is content to bask in its warmth for a while longer. He contemplates asking the reason, but so too has he known them long enough to suspect there needn’t be one, truly. It was simply how they were, and he, for one, was more than content to simply leave it at that. 

The park they walk through is as alive as they are, birds flitting from tree to tree and Hythlodaeus can almost imagine them adding their own chorus to the imaginary song that surrounds Eury’s footsteps. Their robes sway in an echo of a tempo and the messy curls of their hair peek out from beneath the hood of their robe. How strange, he has taken this path countless times but Hylodaeus has never noticed how lively it is. He takes a deep breath and lets it settle in the depths of his lungs, lets their joy fill him as well until his troubles feel far more distant than the bureau he has left behind. 

It was a particularly difficult day, not that any were easy as the newest recruit to the Bureau of the Architect. It was challenging work, but engaging and enjoyable for the most part. He had been more than pleased to receive the assignment upon graduation even if he questioned that his merits had been worthy of the honour. Hades and Eury had been all too insistent that he pursue his desires and well, here they were. 

It is not unusual for him to leave the Bureau and find Eury waiting for him. They have never lost an ilm of their nature to appear and disappear on a whim and truly Hythlodaeus would not have them any other way. Yet they had a knack for being there when the tasks were more challenging or the day drew long and Hythlodaeus oft toys with the notion that they somehow know when they are needed most. 

“You seem happy, today,” Hythlodaeus comments as they pass beneath the shade of an ironwood. 

“Do I?” They ask, yet even their voice radiates delight. “Perhaps it is because I have such enjoyable company.” 

“Or perhaps because you’ve discovered something new?” Hythlodaeus suggests slyly and watches their lips curl into a grin. Euryphaessa had not received any offers for work upon their own graduation, nor had they sought any within the city. Instead they remained free to pursue their duty to the star in their own way, and much though Hades griped about how carefree they acted, the joy upon their face spoke no lie. 

“I was up early enough to make it out to the coast for the sunrise,” they answer simply. “It was so beautiful Hythlodaeus, you should have seen it.” 

“I cannot imagine it compares to that we can see within the city. Yet I do have to ask what drove you all the way out there?” 

“I had a dream.” 

“A dream?” Not the answer he was expecting. Eury often claimed dreams yet so rarely spoke of their contents or why they permitted them to influence their actions so. It was simply another thing they accepted about their unusual friend. 

“You were in it.” They smile wryly and their gaze is fixed upon him, sparkling as surely as the stars that will soon claim the sky overhead. There is something they are not telling, and Hythlodaeus has learned it will not be pried from them. 

“I don’t suppose you intend to elaborate?” He tries all the same. 

“You’ll find out, eventually.” 

The same answer as always; Hythlodaeus sighs fondly. 

“Just…” Eury begins with a bit of hesitation. “Don’t let the challenges with your work get to you. You’re doing well, and will only grow better still. You never know, you may become its chief one day.”

It is Hythlodaeus’ turn to laugh this time. “I don’t know that I’m quite that good at it. These eyes give me an advantage to be certain, but there is quite a lot of talent there.”

“Shall we make a wager of it, then?” Eury’s smirk widens. “I think you’ll make it there for certain, one day.”    

“Very well,” Hythlodaeus conceded, amused at the notion of betting upon his own future. “If I lose, then I shall come with you and see this dawn of yours.” 

He did not think it possible for Eury to be happier, yet before his eyes do they ascend from cloud nine to the tenth and Hylodaeus cannot but chuckle. No matter the other wager, it seemed to him he won either way.

“It is a promise.”

[hopeandduty]

Day 20: Duel

He thought he would mind the heat of Shaaloni’s desert more, but much to his surprise it was far more agreeable than the humidity of the Far East. His travels across Tural have been entertaining as they’ve been largely uneventful and Estinien has very much enjoyed seeing all it has to offer. Galool Ja Ja had graciously offered him passage to Xak Tural amidst other rewards for having agreed to their match and he fully intended to make the most of it. It has been a plethora of new sights, a few familiar faces notwithstanding. 

But with the Scions disbanded, even if only in name, the business with the rite of succession that as brought them here, is not his to mind and so he has made certain at the very least he not get in their way. He doubts even the Salt can keep the messiness of politics away and has no intention of getting himself wrapped in any such mess. Shaaloni, at least, seems a far simpler place; at least when the deputy sheriff is not in league with the local bandits. 

He might have expected the moment he saw she was here, that she’d be at the heart of unraveling that little scheme.

It is his full intent to take to the road again, to find the dust beneath his boots and perhaps learn about this ‘locomotive’ that has everyone so excited. A journey that should be a simple one; he really ought to know better by now. 

The figure that walks out onto the road before him is tense and hostile and Estinien has pulled his lance before he truly sees who is standing there. Ciardha stands at the centre of his path and her remaining eye is fixed upon. She holds her own lance in her grip, making her intent fully clear. She holds mastery over many a weapon, but always used her lance when they would spar. A battle between dragoon ought to be conducted properly, she would insist, and it was clear she intended to insist today. 

“You know I’m always glad to do some training,” Estinien calls down the empty road. “But don’t you have company right now?” 

“Oh, do not worry about me,” Erenville’s voice startles him. Estinien had not even spotted Ciardha’s erstwhile traveling partner until he made his presence known. Two peas in a pod those two. “I was promised a rather entertaining duel, and I admit I am eager to see it.” 

So that was the way of it. Well then. Far be it from him to deny her. 

Estinien takes the first jump and the moment he is in the air is the moment he takes control. Here was where a dragoon fought best, untethered and sparking above their enemies. He spins the familiar weight of his lance and plunges at his target. Ciardha remains motionless, watching him with lightning precion for so long he worries for a moment she intends to forfeit. 

Her spear moves so quickly Estinien barely keeps track of it. It slams against his own and tips him off balance and he feels the crunch of it against his armour. He tries to recover but she is faster still, inside his space with her elbow slamming into his chest. Estinien reels backwards and pulls his lance up just in time to block her thrust. 

This is entirely unlike their usual spars. He’ll not pretend he could defeat her easily, but they were always more or less evenly matched in their spearwork. He’s hardly let his own skills rust, but since he left Eorzea’s shores, her skills have grown even more. Where did she keep pulling such strength from? And why, in this moment, was she using it so ruthlessly? 

Their bouts were never easy, but they engaged his attention and filled the spaces between them with banter and challenge. This silent exchange has the warm of Coerthas’ snows, and if he didn’t know better he would think she was truly trying to end him. 

“Not going easy, are you?” he smirks and summons enough strength to push her back. She twists in the air and lands upon the nearest stone. Without answering she launches again, and Estinien is forced into a flurry of parries that grow heavier and heavier with each hit. This kind of attack, Estinien knows well.  

“Why are you so angry?” he manages between the ringing of metal. 

“I’m not angry.” The punctuation is the slam of her lance, launching him full force into the ground. Dirt and dust explodes in a cloud around him and his lungs cough in protest. 

“She’s angry…” he mutters to himself and he can swear he hears that damned gleaner laughing. 

“Fine.”  He’s never been good with words anyways. He readies his lance and prepares to return the blow. If Ciardha doesn’t wish to answer, he’ll give his own in the only way he knows. His spear hums in anticipation.

This- This is a language he understands.

[hopeandduty]

Day 6: Halcyon

“Wuk Lamat, wait-!” 

She doesn’t, of course. Ciardha has know her long enough now that it is a fool’s hope to think otherwise. The newly named Dawnservant has the resolve of her title, but the same traits that saw her through the trials of the rite of succession also make her stubborn. Her mind was already set; even had she waited, they would not have come to any better understanding. 

Ciardha knows this. But it does not steal its weight. 

“A nation where no one suffers. Where its people know only peace and happiness.” 

The familiar voice spins Ciardha around. Her oldest acquaintance has shed their jacket, wears a looser black fabric that sways in the wind where it is not pinned down by their lean against the stone pillar. Of all the faces to see in Tural–

“Eury–!” Ciardha wants to accept the relief she feels, but there is still caution buzzing in her ear. “Or… is it Azem?” 

A smirk curls at their lips and their eyes flicker with something akin to pride. “Come now, you’ve forced all of us unsundered into retirement. What else are we going to do with our time other than take a vacation?”

By all rights they should be angry with her about it all, but Ciardha has never once felt as much from Eury. They were an Ascian but they were a friend, a guide; someone who has helped her and taught her much when she needed it most. Reconciling the two had taken her much time, but she understands now, far better, their truest face. 

“Are you enjoying yourselves, then?” She asks. 

“More or less. Despite what you’d think with Hades along, I’ve dealt with fewer disagreements than you have from the look of it.” 

Ciardha’s eyes fall, and Wuk Lamat’s angry declarations still echo in her ears. “You heard her, speaking of her dream.” 

“It is an admirable one.” 

“But an impossible one.” Ciardha utters the words for the second time in this past hour, and they grow in weight with each time.

“I take it she did not care to be told as much.”

Ciardha shakes her head. 

“I knew she wouldn’t, but neither could I remain silent.” Frustration wells and Ciardha bites the bottom of her lip against the tension curled into her shoulders. Perhaps it is how long she has known them, but being around Eury always seemed to make it difficult to keep her emotions concealed. They have never judged her for it, even now they wait patiently and let the silence call to her. 

“Why is it that we constantly seek it?” She continues, her words hushed in her attempt to keep them steady. “Is it so ingrained in us, that desire to escape suffering? To return to the halcyon days of the past, to desire that which we can never truly have… Why is it we cannot accept it? This world for what it is. All its flaws, all its beauty and yet…” 

“I cannot tell you the answer,” Eury offers, their violet streaked hair filling her periphery. “But– over the years I’ve come up with a theory or two of my own. I think, in the end, it is simply in our nature to wish happiness for others.” 

“To wish happiness…?” 

“We naturally want to help others, we want those we care about to live to their fullest. Past or present, this has always been true. It is not so difficult, then, to see how we may then rally against that which prevents this. To wish to end or to escape the suffering, the pain that impedes that wish. We are quite stubborn, and determined if nothing else. Why not take on suffering itself and try to defeat it?”

“Yet that path ends in ruin, it has brought an end to so many stars…” Ciardha has walked amidst their bones, has seen the graveyard of hope in the pieces of the worlds Meteion gathered. Yet even there, even amidst the darkest of despairs, hope has kindled again. “We cannot escape the difficulties of this world, they will exist no matter what we do.” 

“So will you surrender then?” Eury’s lips curl; they know the answer already. So does she, but perhaps… perhaps she does need to speak it aloud.

“Of course not.” Ciardha shakes her head and turns towards them. Somewhere in their bronze gaze she finds a familiar spark, a fire she knows burns in her own chest as well. “We cannot escape it, we cannot eliminate it, but we can still come together to endure it, to aid each other in the wake of it. Together its bite need not be so sharp or so deep.” 

“Then you have your answer.”

“I do. I… did not explain myself to her well. It is not wrong to chase such a dream, to aspire for better in reaching after it, but Lamaty’i is the sort to be crushed by its failure, and I do not wish that for her.”

“Shall I help you find her?” A mischievous glint sparks in Eury’s eye and it is almost enough to tempt her into saying yes.

“I don’t think she’ll speak to me, just yet.” Ciardha lets out a breath and feels lighter for it. Eury always had a way of helping her sort her thoughts, helping her see the road ahead for what it was and what it needed to be. “Next time I see her, I will tell her my thoughts more clearly. Perhaps once I’ve returned from Yasulani.”

“Then I wish you well on the road ahead.” Eury reaches over and ruffles her hair. “May the sun always guide your steps.”

[hopeandduty]

Day 5: Stamp

It is familiar, and it is not. 

Rough wood digs against Ciardha’s back; she easily presses herself into the shadows of the once abandoned buildings, even with the oppressing sun of Shaaloni’s high noon curbing what few of them remained. Yanxia’s heat was never this dry, but the muffled whispers beyond the wall bring her back to a memory she never wished to visit again. 

-----

The sun rose deeper on the horizon this morning, heralding the waning of the summer months though the heat has not seen fit to surrender quite yet. Her black hair sticks to the back of her neck; slow deep breaths fill her lungs with air and water in equal measures but she has had nearly 28 summers of practice against permitting something so simple as the heat to break her focus. She curls her fingers about the hilt of her blade as a reminder. 

She is here for a single task only and her vigilance cannot falter.

She knows his voice, she could never hope to mistake it. Lord Sadayo speaks eagerly with the man he has come to meet in this remote place. It has taken the better part of the morning to wind through the trails to a cabin none have inhabited for years if the disrepair it is in is to be believed. His words are muffled by the moss covered wood but the pitch and tones tell her his business is going well. This should gladden her. It weighs upon her heart instead. 

She is but a simple retainer, it is not her place to question. She is a tool for her lord to make use of, and his success is her joy. She repeats these lessons in her mind and she can still hear them in her mother’s firm voice. That is who they are, who she will be and it filled her chest with pride. To serve, to protect– that is her purpose and she has dedicated herself wholly to the task. So why then can she not find that same warmth to be entrusted with so secret a duty as that upon which they have embarked. 

The other man, she does not know. He is unremarkable at first appearances, but the tones of his voice through the wall bespeak authority and purpose. It is not difficult to guess who he may be, but she is afraid to entertain such thoughts overlong. Fear should be foreign to her; yet she cannot slip its chains about her lungs. Surely he would not truly entertain the Garleans… No– which meant there was only one logical answer… right?

Such a dangerous game you play, my lord. Would that you could trust me with your truest intentions.  

Yet that too is her own shortcoming. She must work harder, prove herself worthy and infallible and perhaps then… perhaps then she will be privy to his truest thoughts as she once was when they were children. 

“Mizuki.” 

Her name is upon the air the moment the door opens. 

“None have approached, my lord. None watching, either.” 

Lord Sadayo steps fully from the building. The other man will not follow him out; he will wait here for some time that it may not look suspicious that they share a trail. He moves with purpose and she falls in line behind him, offset to one side that she may quickly intercept any dangers. She expects few on such paths save perhaps the occasional beast; nothing she has not conquered before. 

They are well away from the cabin before Lord Sadayo reaches into his yukata and pulls out a sealed envelope. He holds it out wordlessly; the intent is clear. 

“You will find a man on the outskirts of Namai.” He instructs when she has taken the paper into her own hands. “He will be wearing blue with silver waters emblazoned upon the hems. After you have seen me to the manor, you are to travel there and give this to him. You will not answer any further queries and under no circumstances will you open it.” 

“Of course, my lord.” 

She turns it over in her grip; the envelope bears no markings on its front, the reverse carrying only a stamp that she has seen before but whose meaning eludes her. It has been on several items that her lord bid her deliver and she cannot but wonder at its meaning. A symbol of his efforts in some way? A means to identify allies in a cause to which they cannot reveal themselves. Surely… surely that was what it meant. 

Yet why still could she not convince her racing heart? 

“I will see it done as you have instructed.” 

“Of course you will. You are my retainer.” 

For the first time such words did not fill her with pride.

-----

These bandits are hardly a Garlean army, and a bracelet not nearly so high a stake as the future of the Doman rebellion, yet Ciardha cannot but feel the same tightness in her chest. Someone who was meant to protect the peoples of this land was instead plotting to harm them, had turned their back upon those that trusted them for naught but selfish gain. 

Why did it repeat? Over and over and over? 

Ciardha lets out a breath, long and slow and unnecessary in a heat so dry but it stills her thoughts as surely as it once had in that remote pass. She is no longer Mizuki, and she is not bound to that same fate. Though tragedies may repeat a hundred hundred times, she need not make the mistakes of her past. Where Mizuki was blind and looked away, Ciardha will look straight ahead and not avert her eyes. 

This time, she will make her own choices. 

[hopeandduty]

Day 7: Morsel

Mamook was silent. Its streets were eerie enough to be abandoned and the perpetual shadows created by the thick canopy only leant to the illusion of a ghost town. Only the occasional resident drifting wordlessly about their tasks offered any sign of life and even they went about without acknowledging the newest arrivals to their abode. 

It is better than she feared, walking into the town where Bakool Ja Ja hailed. None seemed prepared to bear arms, at least not upon the surface, but they each seemed to do battle in their own way. It is its own challenge, this silence. Not a whisper to overhear, not the tiniest morsel of information to give them direction. She begins to wonder if the former might have been easier to solve. At least in conflict there was a way to gleam information. 

Mamook will give them nothing. 

Ciardha drifts through the streets. Movement in her periphery tells her this place is not so empty as they would have her believe but doors close and shadows slip into alleys as she approaches and nothing is left for her to pick up. Wuk Lamat is putting forth her best effort in engaging what few residents linger, but is met with little success. Ciardha would elect a different approach, but these people know caution in ways that remind her of the history Iq braax has taught. They are not survivors of so many a conflict by being careless. Not even a whisper is left to drift in these streets. 

Silence. 

What a harrowing challenge indeed.  

[hopeandduty]

Day 30: Two Heads Are Better Than One

This place is rivulets of ink on unmarred parchment. Euryphaessa knows its halls and its chambers. They are not certain that their size or shape or even their position remains the same between visits, but they have yet to grow lost in its maze. The monochrome palace rises up about them and Eury permits the steady percussion of their footsteps to echo their approach. 

Had there been colour here, once? They try to pull the image of its earliest days from their mind but the present bleeds into memory and they cannot be certain. It is a consequence of its function, no doubt; a casualty of the darkness that rises as surely as the inky waters that surround it. Now it is a sea of blacks and greys that rob all else that enters of their vibrance. Eury tries not to think overlong on what that may mean for its keeper.

Aether stirs as they approach and Eury briefly wonders if Shadowkeeper will rise to meet them. They are unbothered by the notion, have never felt hostility or threat from the guardian of this place, only regret at the knowledge that it her only company in the lengthy absences between visits. It has been too long since their last; Elidibus had been merciless in his demands of late and it is the creaking of fate’s wheel turning that has brought their steps here. 

Light upon the First is soon to meet its crux, and Eury hates that they cannot be confident it will mean Mnemosyne’s freedom rather than damnation. They’ll never permit the latter, and they wished they could be certain Elidibus would not either. 

But they no longer know. They no longer know anything with certainty. 

How much longer can this continue? How many more stars will fade, souls corrupted or assigned back to the Sea before they are satisfied. What could possibly be worth such a cost? Euryphaessa did not believe in such sacrifice back then, and their heart has not changed its mind even as the sharp reminder of their failures paints itself in the inky world around them. 

They had sought a better answer, had set out to find a better path and had failed. They alone had not been enough. 

Yet they still cannot silence the whisper of their heart, louder in this place than it has ever been. 

Is there not a better way? Is this really the path we are meant to walk?

Perhaps one day they will find the courage to give it voice. Emet-Selch has long closed his ears, Elidibus could not hear it even if he wished to any longer. To them there was only a single answer: that of more sacrifice, more loss. Regain the past at the cost of the future. They cannot bring themselves to believe this is right for all that they have tried. Yet there is one they might still ask, the one person who may be of similar mind. They always had been, back then.

Yet so much has changed. More than anything do they fear pushing her away. 

Eury had never found a solution alone, had not been strong or clever enough to prevent the tragedy of the final days or that of the sundering. But they alone were not the entirety of the Seat of Azem, and two were always better than one. 

If they but had the courage to ask.

[hopeandduty]

Day 27: Memory

“Why did you not tell me?” 

It is unusual for Ciardha’s voice to bear such emotion openly, and it is this that calls his attention even more surely than her words. A glance towards the source shows the same emotion upon her face and it takes Themis very little to guess at what she was referring. He had heard she was aiding some researchers down in Aporia, and from the moment he heard Claudien’s name, he knew it would be but a matter of time.

Steam rises from both the cup and pot as the Empyreum’s chill leeches the heat from the tea he has prepared and he gestures to the chair opposite his own. She takes the invitation even if the deck and yard are hers to begin with. He pours a second cup beneath her astute gaze and lets out a breath that melds with the steam from the tea. 

“I take it you’ve travelled to Elpis again.” It is confirmation rather than question.

“To Pandaemonium, if I am to be precise.” Ciardha speaks in accusation but any edge to her words are shorn by relief. “I met someone there, but you know this, don’t you?” 

“I do.” 

“You knew.” Her voice shimmers like the liquid in her cup and Ciardha’s fingers curl about it seeking the warmth it radiates. “This whole time… that we had met before. That we–” 

“Were already companions?” Themis takes a sip from his own cup, the tea settling pleasantly as the memories to which she referred. “I… did not always. You are well aware of the state of my memories, but yes, I did eventually recall some part of our journey there together.”

“The first time I went to Elpis.” The realization dawns almost immediately and Themis cannot but feel amused at how quickly she deduced it. Perhaps he had not hidden this truth so well as he thought. He nods in affirmation. 

“When we first established that there might be answers there, I had a vague recollection. Nothing concrete, simply a notion that I had seen you there, once, in Elpis. An impossibility, and yet with our plan taking shape, one I could not wholly discredit. That I should have such a memory, distant and faded as it may be, to me, was proof that you were required in Elpis. It was also… a comfort to me, to know that you would surely arrive there safely.” 

Ciardha’s gaze falls, fixates on the untouched tea in her cup. Themis is content to permit her the space to gather her thoughts, fresh as the experience surely is, to her. 

“Is that… all you remember?” she asks quietly. “Simply that I was there?”

“You speak as though that might trouble you.” A curiosity, that the idea should bother her so. It is still so strange to him, the notion that she might care so deeply after all he has done to her.

She is silent, and he expects she thinks to spare him the guilt of forgetting, even if her true answer is plain in the knit of her brow and the tightness of her shoulders 

“It might have been save for one thing.” Themis shakes his head. He reaches into his pocket and unfurls his fingers to reveal a shimmering colourless stone. It is identical in many respects to the orange one she wears about her neck in memory of her predecessor but his own shimmers with the stars of Ophiuchus and holds within it a very different set of memories.

“That you saved those moments alongside your most precious memories…” He can hear her relief and her joy and that alone is enough.  

“The time we spent in Pandaemonium, for all our struggles, became very important to me. I learned much, from Erichthonios, from you and I even came to understand Lahabrea better. You were all very precious to me. To go to the very depths of that twisted prison and back I came to understand better the devotion that drove my dear friend. The same kind that I now know was what brought you unto me then, and that has brought us this far now. It was a memory I never wanted to lose, that I never wanted to forget. Yet we both know I did so all the same.”

“That is not something you could control.” Ciardha shakes her head. 

“Perhaps.” He appreciates the comfort, even if her words are untrue. That he could not retain his memories may well have been a result of his nature as Zodiark’s heart, but that he chose not to reclaim them was his own blind devotion to duty. He willingly forsook it and he will carry the weight of that choice.

“I still needs ask…” she pulls her teacup closer. “Why did you not say anything sooner?”

“I was… uncertain if it would be wise,” he offers. “I worried if I told you too much, that it might affect your experiences there. When it became clear to me we had not met by the time you first returned from Elpis, I knew eventually you would return. I did not wish to influence the events that would lead you there. After all, little though I may recall, I’m quite certain you never shared your circumstances back then, familiar of Azem.” Themis cannot help a small smirk and Ciardha’s cheeks puff. “As I did not know how or why you ended up revisiting Elpis, I thought it prudent to let events unfold as they would.” 

“I suppose,” she concedes, and finally takes a drink from her cup. “I also kept secrets. I am surprised you believed me, given how well you knew them.” 

“You think I believed your tale?” 

“You didn’t?” 

“While it was not outside the realm of possibility, of course, I had many reasons to suspect you were not what you claimed. Even so, Azem had already vouched for you, and you did not give me reason to question my falling star.” 

“You do remember all of it.” Ciardha’s smile curled fondly, her gaze upon her cup as warm as the steam still spilling from her tea. Relief drains the tension from her frame. “I’m glad. I’m so very glad. It is many years too late, but I shall say it all the same. Thank you… for trusting me back then.”

“It is I who am long overdue to thank you.” For far more than simply what lies in that memory.  

[hopeandduty]

Day 24: Bar

The room echoes its emptiness. Every corner of the vast chamber normally filled with sound is now eerily quiet. The windows have surrendered the golden afternoon sun for a sprawling view of Amaurot illuminated by the stars and their glimmer reflects upon the polished floors casting flecks of light upon empty thrones. Just hours earlier was this place overflowing with the clamor of celebration and commotion of ceremony.

Now it was vacant of all save a single lingering soul.

Euryphaessa runs their fingers along the detailed patterns woven into the metal of the fourteenth chair. It is cool to the touch and the ice of it shimmers down their arm and settles across their chest. The polished gold catches their reflection at odd angles, a flash of their freshly bound hair here, a fragment of the red mask that now sits upon their chest. 

As of today… this chair is theirs. Theirs is the Seat of Azem.

It is the seat of the traveller. Of someone who has known the peoples of this star and has loved them with all their being. Someone who fearlessly chases new horizons and would aid every soul in need they came across. Whose passion and whose kindness could light a path for even the most hopeless of troublemakers. A seat that once belonged to someone so dazzling, Eury cannot but think she belongs in the heavens.  

What an impossibly high bar you have set, Venat.

They love this star with all their heart, they yearn to see it more than anything. To learn every malm, every film, every ilm it can offer them. They want to see the way people live and see that they are able to live in earnest without fear or concern to blot the light from their days. They wish for all these things that are now their duty to see fulfilled and yet the question still plagues them at the back of their mind. 

How are they to accomplish all of this? 

They are not so strong as Venat, nor do they have her skill with words, her means of soothing the hearts of others. They are not so wise or so skilled at expressing themselves. Yet … they wish more than anything to do her proud. This seat feels so impossibly big. 

Their only reassurance, their greatest consolation, is that they need not fill it alone. 

It is not the first time that multiple souls have filled a single Seat, though it is unusual for any save theirs. How could a single soul possibly aid all the people who might need it at any given time? Better to divide the tasks, unless one was as formidable as their predecessor. Let two fill what one alone may not cover. A faint smile curls at their lips. 

They let their hand slide up the side of the thone, their palm tracing along the blessedly smooth rest. Eury tests the pressure with a push or two before pulling the entirety of their weight up and perching upon its side. 

Comfortable enough to endure lengthier meetings, and functional enough Lahabrea ought not have too much to complain about. They lean back and let one leg drape off the side the other bent up towards their chest. 

Yes, this ought to do.

One chair made to fit two souls. They shall endeavour to be worthy of the honour.

[hopeandduty]

Day 22: Free Day [AU day!]

It is an annoyance he almost dismissed entirely. 

Emperor Solus marches through the Garlean palace halls, each footfall reverberating with the weight of his authority and the echo of his power. His Second Legatus has just finished giving a report on the western provinces and his Third is chomping at the bit to give their own on the recent spats of rebellion in Doma when he waves them silent. They’re meaningless enough, too scattered and unorganized to gain true traction. He’s skimmed the papers already; they’ll be stomped out without much effort and they will learn what it means to defy the hand of Garlemald.

A lesson his newest petitioner has learned, if not to the exclusion of all other sense. That some lordling thought themselves of elevated enough importance to insist on an audience bespeaks an inflated perception of their own worth; they’ll learn their place soon enough. 

He dismisses his escort; the guards against the throne stiff in their salutes as he passes and claims the throne. This tediousness is his least favourite of the tasks demanded of an emperor but entertain them he shall. There is greater purpose behind them even as it invites a dreaded pall of boredom. Surely Elidibus could come up with something more entertaining to incite a rejoining or two.

“Let them in,” he waves a hand dismissively towards the entrance and the soldiers pull back the heavy door. 

The man who walks in is utterly unremarkable in every sense. Oh he walks with the arrogance of someone who thinks themselves otherwise, but Solus needn’t see the dull edges of his soul to see through such a swagger. He wears Doman finery, and carries a samurai’s blade, dark red hair bound and greedy little eyes already prepared to make demands that are not his to make. Solus has half a mind to send him away right now and spare himself whatever tedious speech the man has planned, but a second figure follows him in and in that singular moment do years of tedium become overturned in an instant.

It is their colour.

For a moment he is certain he must be imagining it. How many years, centuries, millennia has he searched for it? Spent night after night watching the souls drift about the Aetherial Sea in a haze of colours, but never in the one he wishes to see. He has scoured every province, every country, every world and never has he found anyone even close– 

And now, of all times, they see fit to simply stroll into his throne room? 

How impossibly like them.

Solus is too practiced to betray any interest upon his face, even if his thoughts are too distracted to catch the overwrought introduction the man would lay before him. A Doman Lord, the turncoat helping to oust the rebels… yes yes. He wants to wave away this distraction, that he might better focus on the figure in his shadow. 

She is silent, this Au’ra woman, as the man extols his many achievements, spins tales of rebel war lords and an amassing force of which Solus is already aware down to the number. She is knelt down, her head bowed; only her black hair is visible from his vantage. The shimmer of her soul belies the calm that her posture would present. Its hue wavers with uncertainty, but there is no mistake in its radiance.No one else, for all the countless souls he knew even before the sundering, had ever even approximated that colour. 

“Let us get to the point,” Solus hefts out a sigh when he cannot stand the sound of the man’s voice any longer. “You came here for a reason, what do you want?” 

“I but wish to gift to Your Radiance a Doma free of rebels,” the man, Sadayo or somesuch, claims. “My father feigns loyalty while leading those who would stand against your wise and just rule; I would see such foolishness extinguished. With the resources and connections that the Imagasha family possesses, under a wiser leader they could do much for the glory of the great Garlemald.”

“If that is true, then what are you doing here? “ It’s a child’s performance and he has not the patience for it. Not today. “If you can so greatly contribute to Doma’s stability, what are you doing in the capital?”

The man hitches, she remains motionless. “I– my attempt to correct the error of my family’s ways was unsuccessful, too few were willing to acknowledge your Radiance’s rightful rule. However, I will not be so easily dismayed. I know their secrets; I know where they meet, where their forces gather. I will see their efforts unmade and with it unravel the Doman rebellion and I will lead them on the correct course. If your Radiance would but grant me the men to see it through, I will bring you a victory.”

Another whelp hungry for power; easily manipulated if nothing else. There is no worth in having him lead, but Solus will grant his inside knowledge may save him a headache or two in dealing with those pesky rebels. None of this holds his interest, and now it is wasting his time. Better to get to the point.

“And who is this?” Solus nods to woman at Sadayo’s side and she shifts for the first time since entering the room, but her head still does not rise. “Clearly you trust her to have brought her here.” 

“She is no one,” Sadayo shakes his head. “My retainer; a tool for me to use, no more.” 

“Is she skilled?” 

“Her blade is sharp to be certain, but a tool is only as useful as the hand that wields it.”

The woman’s frame tenses but she utters not a word; he, on the other hand, has half a mind to pitch this fool from the balcony. He has heard tell of this tradition in the Far East, families sworn into the service of others from birth. He did not think them merely glorified slaves. As if they would ever accept such chains.

A hefty sigh.

“Very well,” he speaks with careful consideration. This is more than likely going to be the biggest mistake of his rule as Solus and the worst headache he’s had in a century but he’ll be damned if he lets this chance slip through his fingers. “You may have your force, two squadrons, no more and you will place yourself under the Twelfth Legatus’ command until such a time as you have fulfilled your promise. However, I would have something from you, as well.” 

“Anything, Your Radiance!” 

“I have use for a sharper blade or two. I will have her serve me here, as I will be sending good men with you.”

“Of course!” He does not so much as consider it for a breath. “She is yours, Your Radiance.” He pulls some manner of ornamental dagger from the fold of his robes and tosses on the ground at his feet. The thud echoes with a particular finality across the otherwise silent throne room. 

“My lord–!” 

Finally she looks up. The eyes he has longed to see are wide with shock and not the bronze colour he remembers. Disappointment, but it is its own reminder of his foolishness. She is not they– but he would see more of her all the same. Her calm countenance has finally shattered and her expression is twisted in a pain as clear as though he’d driven the dagger through her instead.

“You heard him,” Sadayo says with about as much consideration as he held for dust upon his shoes, regards her as though she a slave to be traded away for his perceived riches. “I renounce your oath and your ties to me. You belong to his Radiance.”

“B-but–! My lord, I–” Her voice cracks; she is still lost between shock and heartbreak and the rawness upon her face makes him uncomfortable. 

“Silence!” Sadayo snaps, his arm raised. “I am your lord no longer, you’ll not refer to me again else–” 

“Enough.” Solus needs only stand to cow the man back. This place is his and his voice takes to every corner echoing his authority back from its fringes. “I’ll thank you not to be laying a hand on my help.” 

Sadayo steps back and away from the girl. “Of course, Your Radiance.” His salute is sweeping and arrogant in his victory; he’ll last no more than a day under the Twelfth Legion and Solus is only sorry he won’t be there to see it.

“Escort our guest to the Twelth Legion’s briefing chamber, and see that he is brought up to speed on their efforts.”

“Yes! Your Radiance!” One of the guards salutes before moving to escort Sadayo from the room. The man follows without so much as a single look back at the person he has left upon the ground. What miserable souls, these sundered.

“You are dismissed as well,” Solus commands the remaining guard. “I’ll be seeing no more for today.”  

“Shall I inform Lady Vergillia?” 

“Yes, yes do as you will.” He waves the soldier away and waits for the latch of the door to echo across the room. 

She is still upon the floor, her careful kneel collapsed and posture as broken as her spirit. She cradles the dagger in her hands as though it a corpse, her tears making the colours sharper as they sweep rivulets of dust from its surface. He knows little of Doman custom, but it is not difficult to guess what such an exchange meant– what that dagger meant– to be returned to her as it was. 

“What’s your name?” Solus asks without the billow of his power or the edge of his authority. It comes out with annoyance, but there is a gentle edge he cannot shear from it. 

“I… no longer have one.” Her shoulders curl in upon herself. 

“Nonsense. You must have been called something.” 

“Our names are given to us by our lords, are left behind with our oaths should they be broken. You may call me whatever you wish… Y- Your Radiance.” 

She stumbles on the honorific; something tells him she was not quite so eager as her lordling to throw her lot in with Doma’s conquerors. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised; freedom was always their wont, after all. 

But she is not Azem. He reminds himself, for all the good it does him when she’s all but radiating their colour. It is not as bright or crisp or clear, but it is unmistakable all the same. So then… it begged the question of just what she was. 

She is not the twilight after which they had been named but perhaps…  

“Ciardha.” It seems to fit once the word finds his lips. Her attention is snared by it, tear stained eyes catching his face for the first time since entering. “It means ‘black’ in case you were wondering.” She is the shadow that comes after, the depth of the night empty of hope. Maybe this will help him keep his head on straight about it all. 

“Ciardha…” she repeats it to herself, acceptance and surrender in the same breath. “Very well, Your Radiance. I shall graciously accept.” She clutches the dagger tighter against her chest. 

“What is that?” Solus nods at her grip, and feels almost bad when she flinches.

“It… It is the symbol of an oath given from a retainer to their lord,” Ciardha explains quietly. She has retreated from her emotion in her attempts to save face, but her tones still crackle like too much paper. “Returned to them, should that oath be renounced. If it is given back, it is expected to be the tool with which we end our lives, for our purpose is only in our service.” 

“What utter nonsense. You may give that to me.” Solus holds his hand out. “And before you mistake it, not as some silly Doman ceremony. I’ll not have you using it in such a way, I have far better use for a life such as yours and I’ll not have you entertaining any foolish ideas.”

She hesitates for a second, but she surrenders the dagger to his grip. Solus has little and less use for it, but he tucks it away within his armour all the same. She watches this, and Solus can see her mind trying to process it all through the shock that still holds her in its vice. He expects she’ll need time to grow accustomed to the idea of her new circumstances before she can– 

He sighs. He’d not even considered what he would actually have her do. Why was it everything concerning them always left him with such a mess to clean up? If it isn’t one thing it is another when it comes to Azem. 

Even their pieces, it would seem.

“Unless you instead to sleep on the floor, you may stand.” Solus huffs with impatience. 

“Of course,” she hurries to her feet and keeps her head bowed low and already he can feel the headache starting to skirt the fringes of his mind.

“There is a lot of work to be done.” 

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

[hopeandduty]

Day 21: Shade

The shade of the Ja Tiika heartlands is impenetrable.

It is an easy thing to lose track of the hours, of day and of night when the boughs of the trees obscure the sky and hoard the sunlight for themselves. Ciardha walks amidst massive roots, illuminated by the soft glow of the mosses and mushrooms that clung to its bark. It is a dazzling sight, one that has not returned her breath since it stole it upon her descent to Mamook. 

The people here do not see it as such, have expressed only frustration with their luminous forest. Infertile and cursed, Wuk Lamat and Koana have ventured off to investigate with the others. Ciardha does not need to hear their results, she already knows they are wrong. The proof is in the vibrancy all around her. 

These boughs rival those of the Shroud in their age and their size and though they harbour no elementals, at least, none that will reveal themselves to her, Ciardha can still feel the life that pulses through these woods as surely as her own lifeblood. She runs her fingers against the trunks, letting them memorize the unfamiliar curls of the bark. The grasses at her feet sway and the flowers answer her presence with a gentle light. This forest is thriving. 

It is the mamool ja alone that seem to be struggling here, and Ciardha cannot fault them for their feelings. The needs of a people differ vastly from the needs of a forest, but she cannot help but feel their struggles have blinded them to the blessings of this place. To breed blessed siblings at the cost of so many unborn lives, to seek to conquer and claim… this cannot be their only choice. Not in a place so filled with life. 

There is a better answer, and Ciardha does not doubt that so sharp a mind as Koana’s will find it. All that truly remains to see is what those that live here will choose.

[hopeandduty]

Day 18: Hackneyed

“You seem troubled.” 

Aymeric’s gentle voice is one of the few sounds remaining upon the streets. The chirugeon had finally insisted that they leave, even though Estinien had fallen asleep hours ago, neither could quite bring themselves to depart. That he was returned to them from Nidhogg’s clutches felt as a dream and it seemed they both feared waking from it.

There should be naught but relief in her heart for his safe return and truly she could not be more grateful that his life spared in the thick of the battle upon the Steps of Faith. Yet she knows upon what power she needed to draw upon to see the battle through, to see the eyes pried from his armour and she knows how Ishgard regards a dark knight. 

It did not seem as though anyone had noticed, but Ciardha cannot help but wonder all the same. Once the dust had settled and clamour calmed, would the whispers of rumours take flight? Would she need put Ishgard to her back as well and never return? 

“If I may be of some aid, you need only say the word." Aymeric offers. "And even if I cannot, I should be glad to listen. After all you have done for us, you will always have a friend in Ishgard.”

“It is kind of you to say.” And a part of her wishes to confide in him. She knows Ser Aymeric possesses a kind heart and has been a true friend. But so too is he the Lord Speaker and she knows better than any the weight of duty. “I will be certain to remember that, but for now be assured naught is amiss.” She shakes her head; lies come all too easily. “It is nothing that a bit of rest will not fix.”

“Then I shall not keep you from it any longer.” Aymeric offers a graceful bow. “I shall look forward to seeing you upon the morrow, my friend.”

“And I as well.” 

Ciardha watches him leave, her eyes more fixed upon the shadows of the alleys he passes than the man himself. She has not forgotten the dagger that found his flank just a moon past, but if they stalk him still they are absent this night. She lets out a small breath when he has rounded the steps. 

“Tell me anything you want, I’ll keep your secrets. You’re safe with me.” The voice comes from Ciardha’s side, syllables drawn out that she need not turn to see Fray rolling their eyes. “What a bunch of hackneyed tripe.” 

Ciardha is never certain if Fray is visible to any eyes save her own, so she turns her steps towards the Forgotten Knight and lets Fray follow suit. To simply stand out in the open makes her conspicuous, even if her careful sweep tells her there are few others around to see. 

“If there were any, I expect Ser Americ may be one of them.” 

“You don't actually believe that, do you?” This time it is her that Fray’s disbelief is directed at. “It’s easy enough to say, but put the truth in their hands, they’ll turn on you like any other. People can’t be trusted; when it comes down to it, they all just serve their own ends. They’ll betray you in a heartbeat before they bleed for you. No one bleeds to protect a weapon.” 

“I may be little more than a tool, a weapon to be used for a cause that is just…” Ciardha shakes her head. She has seen Fray’s face, she knows who truly speaks these words. “But one does not discard a valuable tool all the same.” 

“And what about a fake one?” 

Ciardha’s steps halt. 

“You put on a brave face, but it's not your real face, is it? ‘Ciardha’ is just some delusion you’ve dreamed up and managed to convince others really exists. You talk about telling the truth? How about telling them the real truth?”

“You know I cannot.” 

“Because no one would want a murderer. What would your Scion friends think, to know their precious Warrior of light spied for the Garleans, killed for them, even? That you were the thread that began unravelling the Doman resistance until the entire thing fell apart. That poor little Mizu–” 

“Shut up!" Ciardha’s voice snaps ice cold as the ground beneath her feet. Fray only laughs. 

“That’s right, keep on running. Keep hiding the truth.” 

Ciardha slams the wooden door shut between them. Even if she knows better than to think she can outrun her own shadow.

Fray's last words linger in her ears.

When you get tired of it all... I’ll be waiting.

[hopeandduty]

Day 16: Third Rate

“Are you really as old as they say?”

It is not an unexpected question, but to hear it now, begs the question of what its poser truly wished to ask.  

It is not difficult to see that Erenville is troubled. Themis has never noted him as particularly talkative even during moments of levity amidst the group, but his silence now weighs as heavily as his heart and Themis would not have made for much of an Emissary if he unable to recognize it. The source is no question, of course. Despite the gentle golden glow of this Living Memory, as it has been named, Erenville carries the weight of the dead.

“While I do not know what precisely has been said, I have lived for far longer than even the eldest of your kind.” Themis offers in answer. He wonders if even he could estimate the exact number of years it has been. He has long lost track. “However, if you wish to know of the ancient past, I fear my memory is ill-suited to such a query. Hades would be the better person to ask. Yet something tells me you are not suddenly taken with curiosity over ancient fauna.”

The lengthy pause is its own answer. Erenville wrangles with his question, unable to tame it as easily as he does the creatures around him. Themis permits him the time to try and pin it down, letting the brief attempts he makes with a parting of lips and a lack of words to go unacknowledged until he finds it. 

“What… defines a person? What makes them… who they are?” He finally asks, his gaze a distant thing. “Is it their memories? Their soul? I’ve heard that you were once capable of creating constructs of those lost in the past. I thought perhaps you might know.”

Granting it voice places the weight of the question in the air between them, and even the glittering lights of Yesterland cannot temper it. 

“You ask about your mother.” Obvious though it may be, better that all be placed in the open where it may not wholly crush him. 

Erenville’s frame seizes, his shoulders curl inward. “I want to speak with her, there is much I would ask, that I should tell her and yet… I am plagued by doubt. Do I insult her memory by playing games with some third rate imitation of her? Am I only trying to make myself feel better? Get rid of my own guilt. I… I just wish to know if it is really her.”

Themis lets out a long and slow breath. “Would that I could offer you an answer, but in truth I do not know, nor do I think we ever did even in the ancient past. Soul and memory couple within physical bodies to grant life to the people we know. Yet once man was capable of ignoring the barriers of the physical body, had power to peer into the soul of another. As Ascians did we often take the bodies of others for our own, thus one could deduce that the physical vessel bears little influence on one’s identity.”

“But what about the mind? The soul?” 

“It is… difficult to say. I may be yet another example. Though you may not be aware, I am not truly Themis.” 

“You’re… not?”

Themis shakes his head. “The one known as Themis in the ancient world surrendered his life, his soul and will, to give birth to Zodiark and I was the heart born of this process. Though I have inherited his soul I am not truly the same being as he. Can I, who carries his soul and only some of his memories, truly claim to be ‘Themis’? I do not know. Also once were my memories grafted onto an empty soul in the Aetherial Sea, giving birth to a ‘Themis’ as well. Were they, who held his memories more fully but did not possess his soul, more worthy to call themselves Themis than I?”

“Forgive me, I was… unaware.”

“There is no need for apologies,” Themis insists. “It is simply the truth of my existence, and one I hoped may offer you some insight. I cannot control how others perceive me; whether they think of me as Themis in their hearts or as someone else entirely, one who has inherited his legacy.”

Erenville already has his answer; Themis can tell by the way his eyes cast downwards to the crowd of Endless children playing below. It is accepting it that he struggles with.   

“These Endless are constructs of memory, emptied of the souls they once possessed,” Themis continues. “Yet they remain as perfect mirrors of the person they were when this separation occurred. This is what we can say for certain. Whether they truly are the people they once were, whether interacting with them has meaning is not an answer that they possess. The only person who can assign that meaning is you.” 

“I… want it to be her. I want it to be her so badly.” Erenville’s voice carries the same tremor as his shoulders. “There is so much I wished to say to her, but– but am I only doing it to make myself feel better? Because I cannot accept that she has died?” 

“Even if that were true, would it matter?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Even if it is born in part from denial, even if it is only to ease the weight on your heart, is your desire to speak with her wrong? Is the act of it? Would your mother be angry with you for indulging in a memory of her?” Themis knows that his understanding of family, of parents differs fundamentally from that of the sundered, so he cannot truly offer an answer. But he can pose the question that Erenville might realize he already knows. 

“She would grow angry with me if I didn’t…” Erenville shakes his head, a sorrowful smile twistign at his lips. “She would scold me for holding back so. I would never hear the end of it.” 

“Then let that be your answer.” 

“Perhaps… it will have to be. There are only three terminals left.” 

“Then be certain in that time that you will have no regrets.” 

Erenville nods quietly to himself, his budding resolve slowly taking root. He steps back from the rail and motions to leave, pausing only a few steps away. 

“For what it is worth, I did not know the Themis of the past, but I am grateful to have known you.” 

A smile curls quietly at his lips. 

“Likewise, my friend.”

[hopeandduty]

Day 15: Free Day [AU day!]

The night felt a livelier thing than they recall it once being. 

They know the moment that changed, of course. It has been five decades to the night since Euryphaessa parted from the sun and accepted the darker hours for their own. They have grown used to the gentle chill of the evening breeze and the way it toys with the violet tips of their hair. They have learned which places come alive and which fall asleep with the rising of the moon and can weave through the shadows as easily as a tailor threads their loom. 

They know, consequently, that the balcony they perched upon is attached to a vacant room and have taken to this particular vantage of the markets in recent months. The metal rail they lean upon is cold but their skin is colder still and they do not mind it so much. Eury watches the street below with an idle interest; people come and go from the various stalls, bringing gil and rumours for the merchants to take their fill of. Curfew no longer seemed so strict a concept as it had been in their youth, and there was almost some semblance of a crowd on the usually sparse street at this hour. 

Each night continues seamlessly from the last, each ends anticipating the next. Time slips by them unknowingly, months bleeding into years before they’ve even realized it. So rarely do they consider how many seasons they have witnessed, how many festivals have passed, until, on occasion, something stops them short and forces them to see. 

It has been half a century.

It does not feel so. Perhaps it is a factor of how much time they now possess, or perhaps their sense of it has changed for the creature they have become. To their mind it feels as five years not fifty. Each night has been so full, brimming with all the experiences they’ve had, the horizons they may chase, people now so impossibly dear to them. They have lived nearly an entire human lifetime and Eury has not even begun to scratch at its surface– how could so much time have passed when there was still so much they yearned to see, to learn, to experience?

Or perhaps they were getting old, sitting here and mulling as they were. 

“I did not expect to see you here.” 

The familiar voice brings a whisper of silver into their periphery and Eury makes no attempt to check the manner a grin curls at the corner of their lips. Themis is making pleasantries, of course; with his power he could like as not sense Eury from halfway across the city if he so chose to. Perhaps that was the other reason they did not so keenly feel the passing of the years. They are still the youngest among their peers and against such vast and ancient power as much of the Convocation possessed, they feel as fresh to this life as the day they were turned. 

“I might say the same.” They answer without turning. “It is not often I see you coming to the markets.” 

“It is as necessary for me as it is anyone,” Themis replies, pausing by their side and letting his own gaze follow the direction Eury’s has been fixed. “Something has caught your eye?” 

“Nothing of remarkable importance,” Eury shakes their head and it takes saying it aloud to break the hold it held over them. They know this answer will not satisfy Themis; they can feel him puzzling it out without looking. “That man, down there,” they nod towards an older gentleman, brown hair streaked grey, engaged in conversation with a younger woman who shares his nose and the colour of his eyes. 

“Someone you know?” 

“He used to give me work with the guard.” Eury’s answer is filled with nostalgia. “We were alike in age, which I always suspected was why he took pity on me. Last I recalled of him, he was working extra so that he might afford a ring.” The woman below laughs and turns just enough that the curve of her belly is visible. “He is to be a grandfather soon, it would seem.” 

Themis is quiet for several seconds, his mind calculating and sorting through the emotions Eury has laid out in front of him. He has always been one to favour logic and Eury has given him little to work with. 

“Does it bother you that you are not among them?” He finally asks. 

“Not at all.” Eury shakes their head and speaks it true. “It is just… a strange feeling, to see the manner time passes around us. It has been fifty years as of tonight, but I am still not used to it.” 

“Tonight? As yes, it would be, wouldn’t it?” Themis recalls it belatedly; his impromptu visit to Mnemosyne’s manor had been about this time of year. “In that case I am all the more surprised to see you here of all places. I should think you would want to spend it with your sire.” 

“Oh, I intend to, but I thought I ought to have a gift for her, which is why I came out while she tending to a few matters of her own.” Eury assures with a chuckle. They turn just enough to draw Themis’ attention to the parcels at their side. Both are wrapped in brown paper, the small box innocuous next to the bundle with red and white petals peeking out from its seams and gleaming silver in the moonlight. “But it would seem I’ve gotten a bit distracted on the way back. One would think after half a century I would have exhausted new things to learn…”

“I doubt you will ever exhaust yourself of them.” Themis shakes his head, but a fond smile curls at his lips. “Such has always been the strength of the Azem Clan.”

“Our strength?” Eury’s curiosity is ensnared by such a comment, and they finally turn from the street below. 

“You who are charged with those beyond the city walls are ever making new discoveries, ever searching for new horizons beyond our knowledge. Your minds remain open and willing to accept change unlike many of our more… deep rooted members.” 

Eury has to stifle their laughter. 

“Make no mistake, their perspective, close-minded though it may seem at times, has value as well. We would be nowhere without our traditions or the legacies of our forebearers. All must be held to balance; tradition with innovation, status quo with desire to change. Only in such a way will we be able to continue to evolve and grow even beyond the flow of time. Humans have little choice but to be swept along with it, we must make a conscious effort to keep pace with the turning of this world.”

There is wisdom in that which even Eury can recognize. How easy it would be to stagnate without the pressures of time, of limited life, to drive one forward. 

“Well then.” Eury grins. “In that case I shall be certain to apply my weight upon your scales most heavily for the next half century as well.” 

“I would expect no less, after all the trouble you have managed to stir up in your time so far. In fact, some might struggle to believe it has only been fifty years.” Themis raises a brow.

“Have I caused you a few too many headaches?” Eury’s head tilts, but there is no remorse in it. It was their wont to be incorrigible, to embrace the freedom that Mnemosyne had taught them and to live as fully as they capable. Themis lets their question hang for a few long seconds before letting out a sigh. 

“You could have done worse.” Themis provides, then after a moment considers what he has said. “And lest you take it as such, that was not an invitation.” 

Eury makes no attempt to hide their laughter this time. “I shall see that I do not disappoint.” 

“I doubt you will,” Themis’ words are coloured with his own amusement. He turns towards the street below, towards the man and daughter Eury had been watching.

“Has it truly only been fifty years…?” Themis echoes their thoughts, a fond light in the depths of his eyes. “It feels as though you have always been with us.” 

It is a simple observation, but it hitches Eury’s thoughts and steals from them what words they would have spoken. They have not questioned where they belong since the day that they were turned, Mnemosyne brought them home and has never given them reason to doubt. Yet to hear Themis say they felt as such a natural part of the whole it… 

It only affirms what Euryphaessa wishes to believe.

  Even apart from the humans they once counted themselves among, even with time slipping away around them, they have a world in which they belong, in which they are wanted. They have a home they shall return to.

“I should not keep you longer,” Themis steps back away from the rail. “Lest I make you late for your evening.” 

Eury reaches down and claims the parcels at their feet. “Thank you, Themis, truly. I am glad for the chance to be a part of this, to be able to call you friend. Should I wish to be able to continue to do so, I had best not keep my lady waiting.” They wink mischievously and Themis all but rolls his eyes. 

“May the night keep you,” Themis offers, watching Eury hop up and balance upon the rail. “This and the many more to come.” 

“And you, my friend.” 

[hopeandduty]

Day 9: Lend an Ear

It is the second time that they have met. And the second time that he has simply walked away. 

The streets of Hhusatahwi are still abuzz with tension, its residents muttering about the conflict that spilled out from the local tavern. Erenville has drifted towards a few of the locals to gather information and Ciardha knows she ought to follow suit, but first she needs gather her own thoughts. 

She should not have been as surprised as she was to see Estinien appear amidst the dusty crowd. He had earned Galool Ja Ja’s favour and no doubt his travel lust could not have declined an offer of access to Xak Tural’s wilds. He was not the sort to remain idle, who ever sought out greater challenges and better uses for his lance since making peace with the dragons. Tural was but another step upon that journey, and in her heart of hearts she knows that he has found happiness upon it. She can see it in the ease of his countenance and the softness of his smile.

Yet there is a part of her that fears, that questions.  

It has been many moons since he departed, a quick word that Ciardha in her foolishness had not even granted weight to, so assured that she would see him for dinner. Yet his seat at her table remained empty, her walls empty of his presence within them. He is a traveler, she is as well, yet for so long have they travelled on the same road, Ciardha cannot but question why it is that suddenly their paths feel so far apart. 

She would not dream of chaining him, of holding him back or binding him down. More than anything does she desire his freedom, his happiness; the smile she sees him wearing in the glimpse before he passes her on the road. Yet it is always that and never more. She would never ask him to surrender his own path… but once, once they shared in those joys. 

Once he would stop long enough to tell her of all he had seen, and she would share her own adventures. They would talk quietly passing stories between them until the stars grew weary and the sun haloed the horizon once more. They would lend an ear to each other’s troubles and share in what struggles they still found along their way. This is all she truly wants, all she would ever ask. They travel apart but walk together still, and Ciardha still wears a cord of thavnarian weave about her wrist in a reminder of that promise. 

So why now did things feel different? What has changed that his steps no longer pause for more than a word or two? A greeting, an acknowledgement; an exchange between acquaintances that have crossed in the market. Does he leave so quickly because he has grown tired of being dragged into the troubles that follow her? She cannot fault him for this, he has endured much and in Ultima Thule did he nearly render up his entire future. Who is she to ask more of him still? 

It is unfair of her to ask, even only in the quietest wishes of a heart learning selfishness. If he would seek his own road, his own happiness; if Estinien could find that without her and wishes to hold it in his own heart and never desire to share it. What can she do but wish him the best? 

Even if his best is now without her.

[hopeandduty]

Day 8: Free Day - Cage

Solution Nine is a city of edges. 

Everything here is harsh and sharp and unyielding. Ciardha expects little else from a city built to endure. Yet it is different in so many ways from the Crystarium and no matter how often she walks these electrope laced streets Ciardha cannot but feel the difference. For the vastness of the tower’s interior there is a stagnancy to the air she cannot wholly name, a confinement that has settled into the very foundation of it all. What few trees grow here have forgotten their voices, drowned out as they were by the hum of neon lights and crackle of the lightning that ran through the city’s veins. 

The people here are accustomed to it; some, Ciardha expects, have never even left its confines. She knows too little of the shard from which they hailed, of the calamity visited upon them to say if this is right or wrong, only that it makes her sad to think of them in such a cage, no matter how beautifully lit and meticulously cared for it may be. There is no gentle wind, no open sky, no horizon upon which to watch the sun rise in the early hours. No birds to welcome it with the first notes of their song or insects to hum to life about her feet. How is it a place designed to preserve life felt so impossibly void of it? 

Ciardha could only guess at the answer. 

She watches the people come and go, each wearing a regulator that glows against the unusually vibrant colours of their hair. Most are filing into the Arcadion to watch the upcoming match. They will cheer and roar and in the aftermath she will listen to them all covet the feral souls they watched in action, the power the combatants raised in a bid for victory. None will question the life that surrendered such a soul, none will even pause if they are expended. It twists in her gut at the wrongness of it all. 

They are running from the pain of loss, and in so doing have forgotten the preciousness of life. 

Perhaps that is what is missing from this city. Its people do not want for food or shelter, they have every convenience, every innovation– but they lack something far more fundamental. To lose is to learn, to learn how precious time together may be, to know how fragile one is in the face of adversity and how strong one might become in a bid against it. It is to know how deeply to cherish what one is given and to reach for what one dare not leave to an unpromised tomorrow. The fear and the rapture of true freedom.

These people are birds in a cage that have forgotten the sky.