#Erenville is just so caught up in his own thoughts at the moment he's not super paying attention.

[zylphiacrowley]

Through the Gates of Gold

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[xiakha]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Prompt #26 - Zip

Everything powered down and all the electrope went dark. The beautiful landscape that was the Windspath Gardens was rendered a desolate, lifeless place. Almost all of its lushness and conservation proved to be no more than a simulated shell, no more real than the lava or rides or waterways of the previous sections.

Erenville did not look back to watch Cahciua disappear, so when he turned around, she was already gone. A hundred regrets arose unbidden from Erenville's gut and caught in his throat. Everyone else took a somber moment of reflection.

Everyone else save Xiao, who had already spun on her heel and was headed back before she snapped her fingers, "Right, zip lines won't work no more. Damn shame."

Something in Erenville cracked, "I just lost my mother, and all you can think of is the zip lines?"

Xiao turned, but didn't say anything. Wuk Lamat opened her mouth but got cut off.

"Look, I know you might not give two shites about your own mother, but for pity's sake—"

With a single bound, Xiao covered the distance between her and Erenville, corps-a-corps, but without the rapier. She took him by the collar and fluidly, handily, easily lifted him with a single arm. Wuk Lamat gasped and shouted and G'raha moved as if to separate the two, but both stopped as they saw Xiao's expression. It was not fury written on her face, but a look of discipline and gravity.

"Pity? Aye. More's the pity ye spent all but the last half bell saying nary a whit to the thing that resembled yer mother."

"Excuse me?"

Xiao shook him lightly, "Aye, the thing that resembled yer mother. The one that's been influencin' us to help it die since it noticed our presence in Heritage Found."

Erenville struggled against Xiao's arm to little effect, "Stop calling my mother a thing!" He was no stranger to tests of strength and endurance, but Xiao's arm was like a bar of iron.

"Oh? The stored and resurrected memories of your mother, the same ones that knew it was an artificial construct hardly different from a mammet, hardly different from the tasteless food, hardly different than the single sided facades they have instead o' buildings, was still your mother? Understand the need to say goodbyes, but 'tis a road too far when e'ery single thing we've seen and interacted with in Living Memory has been made from the same damn hollowness."

She set Erenville down, "We've not the time for yer hang ups, but if it's got ye so fooled even after interactin' with the lot o' them things that all work and act the same save the tidbits of information they spout about themselves, let this be a wake-up call."

Erenville patted himself down while looking for something to say, "...They're hollow?"

Xiao nodded at Wuk Lamat, "Namikka seem off to ye here?"

She looked to the others as if they could help her, "...Wellll, it was a little strange she seemed to keen to focus on my lot despite having lived the last third of her life making many new memories. I would hate to think she was only happiest while she was still caring for me."

Xiao turned to Krile, "And yer parents, ain't it strange they just happened to be around for ye?"

Krile frowned, disliking the implication greatly, "We're aware that Living Memory will unite people who had loose ends in life for a semblance of closure in death... It's not impossible the 'system' that must be monitoring us mistook us for the same, scanned our thoughts somehow, and staged similar reunions..."

G'raha rubbed his stomach, soothing a mixture of discomfort from the ice cream, and a sense of unease, "I remember the comment made about the play of Alexandrian history one of the children had made, that Otis had put on the play before, mayhap even constantly as they had all seen it several times. 'Twas only the novelty of Xiao and Wuk Lamat performing that drew a larger crowd. The rides were almost all empty in Yesterland. And though the children seemed to be greatly enjoying one another's company, they were playing the same games nearly on loop."

Krile nodded, "I noticed that too, the emptiness of the stadium and the zoo and the quiz exhibit, all of it spoke to how little anyone truly cared for Asyle Volcane, but I had put it down to the lack of aether, however what thrill is there to seek in all of that? Even the hot springs, which turned out to be no more than heated baths, were nearly lukewarm. Mayhap on the first go around there is something of interest to be had, but an unending and unchanging eternity of this?"

"Even the dustiest museums in Sharlayan change their exhibits every few years." Erenville said, his hands on his hips, his head tilted, "And yet that Milala exhibit seemed to be the only one that they've had in there with how affixed everything was, 'tis indeed quite strange."

Wuk Lamat hugged herself, "Even that moment with Namikka, I was able to say the words I didn't get to say when she was taken away, but in all honesty, I said them because I wanted to have those words said, no matter how Namikka would have taken them." She looked at Xiao with hardened eyes, "Those words could have been said to a grave, all the same."

Xiao nodded to all this, "Been thinking, despite the amount of Endless, despite their endless days, where is the conflict? Where are the grudges? Why is everyone pleasant?"

Erenville clenched his fists, "Because they're made to be, just as Sphene is made to care for the Endless. Otherwise, they're hollow. They're empty. The closest to a real person with how unpleasant she was was my mother, who seemed to have had her way addling and modifying the constructs, so 'tis not unlikely she modified herself."

"...Wasn't gonna say she was unpleasant."

"My mother always had that kind of pushy energy, but she did contain multitudes, nuances that this simulacrum lacked."

Xiao punched her palm, "So, we on the level?"

Erenville punched Xiao in the shoulder none too gently. He was pretty sure he hurt his hand more than he hurt Xiao any.

"On the level."

[snow-system-wol]

[lv 97/98 msq spoilers]

Thoughts about Time and Memories (~1k)

Ao3

S'ria didn't need to be a genius scholar to tell that something was deeply wrong. How fast did wood rot again? Decades? Centuries? The buildings at the train station should not have looked at they did, could not have possibly fallen into such disrepair since Erenville's last visit. And yet, there they were – buildings so riddled with structural decay that S'ria would not dare step inside of one.

S'ria glanced at Erenville, still and staring in quiet horror at his surroundings. S'ria's heart ached for him, really, but what was there to say? Especially when he himself had no reasonable words of comfort or clarification to give. He could only hope that they'd find something of reassurance to Erenville soon, with this abandoned station giving more questions than answers.

Comparing these to the wooden buildings in Shaaloani, there was no coherent explanation.

Except, clearly, that something was wrong with time itself.

 ----------

Upon Sphene’s impromptu introduction, there was one thing that grated at S'ria the most that he couldn't shake off. How had he not seen or sensed her before the moment that she made herself known to them? She was rather… well, bright, in a way that was glaringly easy to spot in the dark and drab environment. S'ria would have easily seen that, no matter how much she tried to keep out of sight. And there was no lingering dusting of aether the way S'ria noticed with G'raha's concealing spells, so how? It was as though she had simply not been here, and then suddenly was.

(He also had his own questions regarding – if she was trying to be subtle about her actions, why not make any attempt at disguise? But that was neither here nor there, really.)

The immediate matter was determining whether he trusted her to be telling the truth – so far, he had not caught the ring of potential falsehood, but that did not mean she was being fully open, either.

He worried for Erenville's sake too – this woman seemed to know his mother, but refused to explain further. It could well have been a lie entirely – one that could be used to manipulate Erenville in the right circumstances.

S'ria wondered if Sphene said “Lamaty'i” purely as an unknowing misstep, or if she understood the close intimacy of their group using that name and tested the waters regardless. In either case, if she tried for copying the “Ria” that G'raha and Alisaie used, he was not going to accept that from her. That was reserved for a precious few.

 ----------

What an odd thought, that thirty years could've passed in a couple of days outside the dome. It scared S'ria to not know if time was stable, but it was better than for time to be flowing the other way around. For them to end up trapped here for months or years, only to find out hours had passed outside? To have lost so much time with others? It was not a pleasant thought. 

But the alternative? For them to spend a few days inside trying to fix things only to find out that the world has moved on for decades without them? 

It was frightening. 

But not as frightening as it could've been. At bare minimum, he and G'raha were together. To grow old together or step outside of time, in a bubble removed from their lives – well, it wasn't so scary if it was both of them.

The only thing that saddened him was that the twins were apart, should that awful scenario come to pass.

 ----------

Oh, S'ria had opinions about the use of souls in such a careless manner, it disgusted and scared him – but that wasn't what had him so immediately feeling sick with anger as he tried to process the logic. Memory.

He felt that he was in a very unique position to weigh in on this matter. To just take away the memories of the deceased as if that was a kindness, as if it was less painful... S'ria just couldn't accept that. The gaping abyss in his own memories, only half-patched in even now, did naught to lessen the sense of loss. It was worse, really – no matter how many memories were taken away, the obvious absence of a birth family in his life could not be forgotten. The only effect was a frustration at not being able to remember their faces, their personalities, their customs. Perhaps he'd feel more at peace if he knew those things. 

And S'ria could not help but resent the idea of memories being stolen for their own good. Surely if he was ready to remember, then he would. But even knowing that, he hated knowing that the others were carefully keeping secrets away from him that they feared may break him. 

They may very well be right. He just didn't like it. To know the sort of things that had happened but be unable to recall how bad it was simply gave his imagination too much room to run free. Some days he'd rather not know, but others he'd felt like begging for his memories back – despite the fact that he didn't believe that was something that could be voluntarily relinquished.

S'ria recognized that some of his bitter anger was misdirected. Even if he wanted to do the disservice of claiming it was brainwashing, the fact remained that people wore the regulators because they liked the ability to forget and quickly move on. No matter how much he projected his own feelings onto the topic, nobody here was being forced to forget. That bit he may just need to temporarily let go – for his own sanity.

The soul part, no, they could certainly go back to that bit though. S'ria, Alisaie, and G'raha all met eyes across the table with concerned expressions. Yes, that part needed to be discussed.

[meowww-ffxiv]

Finished Dawntrail main story! :}

Blorbo thoughts below.

.

It was thematically appropriate that Mordred, who was a funeral priest and had by this point in his life performed many a send-off, to both his most beloved Hydaelyn AND to his enemies, who spent that life after so much death during the Seventh Calamity helping others find comfort and dignity in their and their loved ones' passing, to be here in Living Memory.

He asked Cahciua to verify first. Theodore's Echo, when empowered by Mordred, could detect the melody of souls and not just the aether they were cocooned in. So with her blessing, they performed such a search -- and I'm sure they found it was just as she said. That all of Living Memory was a hollow echo.

And then Mordred agreed to her request.

.

Theodore accompanied Erenville for much of the time there, because they were close friends and because Theodore had also lost his mother. They didn't speak much during, since Erenville seemed someone who would rather weather his own pains in private, but he took great comfort in the fact that someone refused to leave him to his own devices. Someone unjudgmental and patient, and quiet.

They didn't speak after, not just yet, but one day soon they would.

Liios in his own WoL-verse did, though.

In a quiet moment afterwards, Liios caught up with Erenville in the dimming lights of a seaside street, and asked, "How are you?"

Erenville wanted to walk away. But the warmth and calm with which that question was asked made some already-fragile thing inside his chest crack. So he blurted, "I don't have a name for it. This-- This--"

"Mm," Liios agreed, like he knew exactly what it was Erenville meant, and so spared him the need to explain it.

They walked together, aimlessly, through those darkened streets. Until Erenville eventually said, "Ptolemy told me that you lost your mother too, decades ago."

"Yes. It was a good death. She was calm. We knew it was coming," Liios replied. He, too, sounded calm. The smooth surface of a scar healed over. "Her parting tore me apart in a way that unmade and remade me."

He left space in the silence that followed, for Erenville to speak. When he didn't, Liios continued, "Once the first wave of died away, it revisited me in fragments. Mum's favorite coffee mug on the kitchen counter. Her name cited in research papers that I read. Letters addressed to her from old students and colleagues that took weeks to arrive, so by the time they got to us, it was already months after the funeral.

"Seeing the casket lowered into the ground wasn't as hard as knowing that she will never drink out of that mug again. Nor will she be there to answer questions I have about those papers and her opinions on their findings. Nor will she ever sit by the window of our house, smelling of jasmine and incense, answering those letters. It overwhelmed me, the void that Mum left behind."

Erenville's steps faltered. Liios slowed too, adjusting his pace effortlessly so they were still together, shoulder-to-shoulder. His eyes were on the sea and its gentle ripples, diligently averted from the tears pouring down Erenville's face.

"I told the housekeeper to stay out of our home for six months," Liios said. "I couldn't bear it -- to touch anything in that house felt like it would erase the last traces of her in the world. In this corner of the world that we once shared. Ptolemy was still unwell then, so he stayed at the hospital most nights, though I think he did so intentionally because it was me that he couldn't bear and not the house, nor her loss.

"Days went by. The dust gathered. Everything was untouched, just the way it was when she left for the last time, inert and lifeless. She departed anyway. I scrambled to hold onto her presence, to the point of destroying every opportunity I'd spent decades to earn for myself.

"But then we went to Eorzea, and I found her again. Paradoxically, she wasn't in that mausoleum I'd made of our home. She was a forceful and assertive woman, you see. She traveled to the least recommended places to render medical aid to those who might not have any hope of such help even existing. And Eorzea, Coerthas, being the dangerous frontier that it was... When I hiked into the mountains with my students and made our aetherological engineering 'projects' into helping install self-functioning lamps so the locals wouldn't slip in the dark, or some such... There she was. Rhaya Suvalli, the Miqo'te scholar who sprung my brother out of the grave my clan had already placed him into, just waiting for him to stop breathing. Rhaya Suvalli, up to her elbows in grease or blood, helping people. Because it was what she'd set her heart on. Because she had decided this was the right thing to do."

The sea-winds were cold at night. Erenville blamed them for the way he was shivering and not because of the feeling of seams rapidly coming apart under his skin.

But Liios turned and shrugged off the short cloak he'd been wearing, and tossed it around Erenville's shoulders. He continued, like he didn't see the tears still, "I turn ninety-two this year. Believe me when I say that what I just told you is a universal experience. So long as you continue to live, you'll find those you have outlived in the things they loved and cared about. And Cahciua was obviously a remarkable woman, so I'm more than certain you will find her with ease. Never mind the fact that you're one of the finest gleaners we've had in a generation."

...Being honest, Erenville had always had a mild aversion to Liios. Some of it was exactly because Liios reminded him of the most exhausting bits of his mother. Someone who seemed nice and cheerful, but was in fact very pushy and always deciding things on their own. The other part was just Liios himself, who was talkative and high-energy in a way that made Erenville want to exit the room. The audacity of the Warrior of Light to be shocked that Erenville wasn't yet thirty, when Liios himself felt overly young for his age. Which, cringe.

But in that moment, Liios's lopsided smile and the paltry attempt at a compliment left a warmth in Erenville's chest that, just like the grief he hadn't yet untangled, could not be extinguished.

He still snorted and shook his head, sullenly wrapping the cloak up to his nose to hide his face. But when Liios laughed, the tears slowed.

Erenville had no clear recollection of how he got from the streets back to the palace and into his bedroom, only that he didn't feel crushingly alone during any of it which meant Liios escorted him. And he would claim no recollection of why there was a green-and-brown cloak among his possessions now, either.

Erenville considered passing it back through Ptolemy, but his friend giving him an amused look and asking, "Are you returning a gift?" had him rescind the thought.

But faces had to be saved. So Erenville told Ptolemy, "You should be proud. He managed almost an entire conversation about himself without mentioning you more than once."

To which Ptolemy only laughed, a little sadly. "I made him promise to try and live for himself, after he returned from Ultima Thule," he said. "I see Svalin is as serious about his promises as he'd always been."

It gave Erenville the nebulous feeling that maybe the invincible Warrior of Light might be among the least okay people in Eitherys. But they could unpack that later. Cahciua would most definitely have pestered Liios, anyway. Erenville might try his hand at it.

.

Coming back to Meowdred for a moment. Every time he saw the aftermath of an Umbral Calamity, Meowdred wanted to descend to the Underworld and beat Emet-Selch to death a second time.

It was pointless. He knew that. Ascians didn't give a fuck. Emet-Selch most of all. Everything for the glory of their past, etc. He couldn't make them hurt the way they hurt these worlds they destroyed, because they were only inflicting that very same pain they suffered on those around them. But Mordred wanted satisfaction so badly. He wanted Emet-Selch to be affected by the raw fury and hatred and agony Mordred himself feel, reprised over and over, in hearing these stories.

But Emet-Selch, once again, would never be sorry. Nor was Azem sorry all those millennia ago, for having walked out on Emet-Selch and his own people.

They all must shoulder their harvests, of joy or of blood.

Somewhere in this was the uncomfortable realization on Mordred's end that he wanted Emet-Selch to care about him; about how he felt. While knowing the fucker didn't. And he knew too where this desire came from; they were very alike, and Mordred sought in Emet-Selch a kinship. An acknowledgement all their own, between them, and not an echo of Hades and Medeus of the Azem seat.

Nasty. Awful. Hate it. But it existed.

.

Liios had licked the new macguffin bestowed upon him by Sphene and the plot at least once by now. He had also stared at the helix shape for a long, long time, and wondered if it had anything to do with the spiral silhouettes so favored by the Ancients of Amaurot.

While in Elpis the first time, Liios had managed to gather some information about Azem. Apparently he was also a technological whiz just like him, with a love for inventing ridiculous devices to solve people's problems. Liios had no idea if that Azem -- whose name was apparently Helios, the comedy that fate was -- knew about the Sundering beforehand, but if he did, wasn't it just like him to leave behind a means by which to bridge worlds?

Ah, well. That was food for thought. For right now, Liios was spending his time trying to puzzle out how to use electrope like the Living Memory's civilization did.