#FFXIV FIC

[nidstiniens]

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[stars-and-clouds]

All of Coerthas Map (pre-calamity)

I was using this as a reference in my fanfic for Estinien’s backstory and thought it might help others too!

The picture is from this blog page. It is not mine. The blog also has some 1.0 information that might be useful for some writers.

Edit:

Map is originally by: @chrysalisthoughts

[mothwingwritings]

My mind has been assaulted with thoughts of a chief overseer era Hermes who has taken a a very strong fancy to you and is now about to make that your problem. :)

WARNINGS: Manipulative and obsessive behavior, coercion, abuse of power dynamics, yandere themes, Endwalker spoilers.

Hermes wasn’t above using your love of Meteion against you.

While your relationship with his familiar had grown increasingly strong over the past several months (making the two of you nigh inseparable), your relationship with him was doing nothing but steadily sour. Hermes used to be so close to you, sharing everything from ideas, to meals, to eventually living space. But recently you avoided him as if your life depended on it, coming up with excuse after excuse to escape his presence the instant he took a step in your direction.

It was maddening.

Where had it all gone wrong? As of late, every creation he crafted was in your honor, your existence igniting his creativity like nothing else had before. You were his muse, his confidante, his treasured friend. Slowly yet surely, you were becoming his everything- the reason he was able to pull himself out of bed each morning and push through another day, even in moments when it felt like no one on the star particularly cared about his ideals and musings. Other than Meteion, only you always listened to him. Only you ever truly understood.

You were always so vibrant, so exceptionally smart and caring that he couldn’t help but be ensnared by your many charms. Your existence had become a truly irreplaceable part of not just his life, but the daily lives of just about everyone on Elpis. You always went above and beyond to help whoever and however you could, from electing to be a late night study buddy to a colleague in need, to helping pitch in to clean entire dormitories unprompted, you were always quick to step in and assist without seeking anything in return. Your mere presence was a ray of sunshine, and in the few short years since you had begun working at the testing grounds, you had become so dear to so many- Hermes most of all.

He never wanted you to doubt this importance either, so he would exceedingly dote on you, providing you with his ceaseless support in all of your endeavors. So fervid was his cheerleading that he had garnered quite a few reprimands for showing you ‘obvious favoritism’, all of which he disregarded as rubbish. Hermes only ever awarded you the praise you deserved.

There was no way you could misconstrue his ardent feelings of adoration towards you- so why? Why were you distancing yourself now, when weeks ago the two of you were so incredibly close?

He couldn’t quiet the whirring in his head, the nagging feeling that you were slipping away from him for reasons he couldn’t comprehend. Your avoidance had become so prevalent that even matters pertaining to work seemed to perturb you, should Hermes be involved. His ideas and creations, all of which you used to dote on and swoon over when presented to you, were now regarded with hesitation and suspicion, eyed with the slightest hint of scorn.

The praise that used to gush from your lips had trickled to a standstill, uplifting and thoughtful commentary about his creative process completely quelled. His work always used to easily net him your beaming smile, but now he was lucky if he even got a nod of approval, let alone verbal acquiescence.

Unwilling to accept such lackluster interaction he began to work overtime, churning out creations with gusto he never exhibited prior. Each of his new designs was more elaborate and charming than the next, causing confidence to swell in his chest as he watched their births. He was sure that one of them would be just what was needed to reignite your feelings for him, making a promise to himself that whichever creation yielded this desired result would be honored by him eternally. He’d even grant it the distinction of sharing your name, hopeful that the delight it brought others would be sure to become your delight as well.

He dutifully summoned you the moment a new creature was born, making sure your eyes were the first to witness the latest marvel. To say Hermes was eager to see your response was an understatement, he was downright giddy over the mere prospect of your joy, pacing back and forth as he listened for the sound of your footsteps outside his door. Driven by his thirst for your approval, he yearned for the sweet glimmer that would spark in your eyes whenever you were pleased by his creations, finding solace in this small token of your delight, especially when your lips didn’t form the words.

Yet even with all the extra effort he expended, his attempts achieved nothing. In fact all the excess work garnered the opposite effect of what he desired, pushing you further away as he floundered, desperate in his attempts  to reel you back in.

It surely wasn’t the quality or the quantity of his constructs that were driving you away, and he couldn’t imagine you had suddenly grown distasteful of his work as a whole. Even while dodging her creator, you still maintained frequent contact with Meteion, taking time out of your hectic day to play with your most favorite of his familiars. Your love for her had never dwindled, and neither had your passion for creation. No, the only logical conclusion he could come to after all this was that it was he himself that you had become averse to.

And that hurt him, deeply.

In fact, it hurt him so much that Meteion couldn’t help but be caught up in his anguish, writhing and moaning in a state of addled torment each time the thought of you flitted through his mind (which was to say, constantly). Seeing the suffering he endured mirrored onto her cherubic, kind face plunged him further into despair, very quickly turning the whole situation into something unbearable.

At his tipping point, he did the only thing he could think to do. He scooped the small girl up in his arms, bee lining it to your chambers. He cared not that it was the dead of night or that this could very well just add to your distaste for him. He just needed to see you- needed the balm only you could provide.

All it took was a glance at sickly, pale Meteion to turn your initially displeased scowl into a look of utter concern.  With the ravaged girl draped limply in Hermes arms, you ushered the two of them into your room without question. You guided him to your bed with a steady hand placed on the small of his back, throwing the sheets this way and that to make a proper area for her to lay.

How wonderful it felt, having you touch him again.

A myriad of rapid questions tumbled from your lips, all of which pertained to Meteion’s poor state and what possibly could have happened to cause it. It was obvious from your frantic expulsions that you were clueless of the inner turmoil that Hermes had been suffering, your mind unable to fathom what event could have transpired on this beautiful, peaceful star to cause such a sweet being as Meteion to go into such a tizzy.

Initially, Hermes felt nothing but immense irritation over your ignorance. After all that had occurred by your hand, all the avoidance and contempt you had been directing his way, how could you not understand? How could he not be affected by your actions? How could you not see how much both of them needed you just to function, and how your self-imposed detachment from him lead to this conclusion?

Through gritted teeth, he struggled to keep his composure as he relayed the truth.

This was all your fault.

Once he started speaking, he found himself unable to stop the vitriol that bubbled up from his throat, birthed of the immense torment he had suffered through. It was almost painful, watching the way your face contorted with each admission. Witnessing you experience the realization that YOU were the cause of such anguish was akin to watching as you took repeated blows to the face, striking you with such concentrated ferocity you found it hard to maintain your balance. As your legs buckled under the weight of your transgressions, Hermes offered himself for support, helping to steady you despite the potency of his words. It was a good thing he was there to catch you, as you would have surely crumbled were he not around to embrace you.

Even overcome with anger, he treasured your proximity, savoring the weight of you in his arms as he held you close for the first time in a long time.

The exchange brought an odd sense of peace to him, unloading his concerns upon you greatly diminishing the burden he had damn near been buried beneath. Though the news caused you visible grief he felt no pity for the dissonance he had planted in your heart. While unfortunate, the guilt you were experiencing was a pain you had inflicted upon yourself, any melancholy brought on by your actions was a burden you deserved to bare. He felt no remorse over his tirade, instead feeling a sense of accomplishment as his words broke you down, leaving you with no other choice than face the bitter subjugation of the truth, understanding in full how greatly you had wronged him.

The ends justified the means.

As fat tears rolled freely down your ruddied cheeks, he was taken with how stunning you looked in the moment. Watching as you were overcome by emotions was a beautiful thing to witness. From the tremble of your shoulders, to the shaking of your legs, an overwhelming feeling of catharsis and awe flooded him as you sobbed and apologized in his arms. Even at your lowest, you were still absolutely enchanting.

Finally he was getting through to you. Finally you understood your importance to him. Finally you were realizing your true role in Elpis, nay, on this entire star.

It was to be his. Your smile, your kindness, your thoughts, your wisdom, the warmth of your touch, the sigh from your lips, your ecstasy and your pain- it was all his, and he would no longer deny his right to claim what belonged to him.

Warmth blossomed in Hermes chest the longer you clung to him. He extolled gentle whispers of reassurance while his methodical hands rubbed circular patterns against your back, the motions soothing him more than they seemed to soothe you.  Regardless, peace and balance were slowly being restored, the effects of which were beginning to manifest in Meteion as well. No longer in the grips of despair, her breathing evened as she looked over towards the two of you embracing, the sparkle returning to her clear and hopeful eyes as she took in the sight with a smile.

Everything was returning to as it should be, and this time around, he knew just the tricks to keep your heart from wandering any further.

[amoebaforce]

scions at a sleepover

it's Krile's nameday, and to celebrate, the former scions are spending the night in the Baldesion Annex. let's see what hijinks ensue. (inspired by this image of pajama Y'shtola)

Krile

truly the hostess with the most-est.

she let Tataru order the nameday cake, but Krile picks out all the snacks and beverages herself. her favorites, of course, but she makes sure everyone has something they like.

insists that everyone arrive in their pajamas. hers are yellow with little blue cats on them.

pulls out three different board games to pick from, some of them hers and some of them from her grandfather's old collection.

keeps the orchestration rolls pumping until the neighbors complain.

takes a commemorative photo and hangs it on her wall afterward.

Y'shtola

knows full well that there will be drinks and food, but still shows up with wine and chocolate bonbons to share.

wears a black satin nightgown and robe, with matching slippers and eye mask.

ropes Alisaie, Krile, Urianger, and the WoL into doing skincare masks with her, giggling the entire time.

even convinces Alphinaud to let her paint his nails. it isn't a very difficult task, all things considered.

doesn't start the pillow fight, just watches it unfold as she sips her wine.

passes out at midnight and doesn't move until dawn, missing a few late-night activities but waking up fresher than anyone.

Alisaie

starts the pillow fight.

eats half the candy and drinks 75% of the fruit juice. still high on sugar 36 hours later but has no regrets.

challenges Thancred to an arm-wrestling match, the results of which are hotly contested to this day.

spends a good portion of the night making up a very-elaborate secret handshake with the Warrior. they practice it over and over until they can do it with their eyes closed.

loudest "happy nameday" singer in the room.

her "pajamas" consist of a big t-shirt and chocobo-print shorts.

Alphinaud

wearing a classic button-up pajama set, blue with white polka dots, and bunny slippers.

says he doesn't want his nails painted, but then gets very invested in the color-selecting process and watches intently as the varnish is applied. scolds his sister when she almost smudges the finished product.

gets WAAYYY too competitive in their board game, insists they play 100% by the rules. loses to Estinien anyway.

ends up in the corner with Urianger eventually. he pulls out his drawing pad and sketches a few candid portraits: G'raha getting his hair braided, Krile blowing out the candles, the Warrior studying a hand of cards.

falls asleep first... wakes up with fake eyeglasses drawn onto his face.

Thancred

draws eyeglasses on Alphinaud's face with Krile's paints. careful fingers are quite handy (pun intended) in times like these.

absentmindedly downs an entire plate of candied chestnuts by himself while he watches Estinien cheat at their board game.

refuses a skincare treatment while Y'shtola's awake, then puts one on himself after she's fallen asleep. eye cucumbers and all.

when it gets late, he blows out most of the candles and tells a ghost story, putting on voices and using blankets and pillows as costumes.

gets admonished by Urianger because his story was "too scary".

eventually dozes off sitting upright in the corner, arms crossed like he fell asleep waiting for a wagon.

Urianger

arrives in a full old-man nightgown, gets mercilessly clowned for it by Estinien and the WoL

genuinely thinks the purpose of a sleepover is to sleep. starts drinking chamomile tea at 9 pm.

Krile requests a birthday card reading. Urianger obliges, and the next thing he knows, everyone wants one.

enjoys his facemask so much, he leaves it on for ten minutes longer than he's meant to.

does a puppet show to "make up for" Thancred's scary story, except he chooses an epic tragedy whose ending makes everyone cry.

yells at G'raha and the WoL for giggling at 5 am.

Estinien

didn't own pajamas until the day before, so he went out and bought a simple pair for the party. chooses a plain t-shirt and cotton plaid pants.

brings flowers as a gift for Krile, even though she said no gifts. grins to himself when she blushes.

wasn't paying attention when the board game rules were explained. doesn't even realize he was cheating until hours after he won.

laughs his ass off while Thancred draws on Alphinaud. suggests other "art" to add to the canvas, but Krile says one is enough, and he doesn't dare cross the nameday girl.

pounds back three bottles of wine between himself and Y'shtola. he's a pretty calm drunk, but the hangover is killer.

G'raha

he and the WoL arrive in matching attire, each carrying a plate of cookies.

lets Alisaie and Krile braid his hair into a bunch of different styles. models them for the adoring crowd.

persuaded into dancing by the WoL, surprises everyone by actually being good at it.

"judges" the much-contested arm wrestling match, but his official ruling of "too close to call" is still under question.

eats too many sweets and gives himself a stomach ache, has to bum some tea from Urianger.

is so traumatized by Thancred's terrifying tale that he can't sleep. even after the puppet show.

[anneapocalypse]

Of the Depths

Wolianger Week, Day 4/5: Memory/Beach

FFXIV. Urianger/Warrior of Light, Urianger & Moenbryda. 1280 words. Rated T. Dawntrail spoilers.

The Gleamsands of Tuliyollal were aptly named. Waves of heat already shimmered off the beach, morning sun painting the tidal pools brilliant turquoise. Urianger could readily admit that it was beautiful, not unlike Il Mheg had been beautiful. Not the lake only, deceptively glass-clear, into which he would never have ventured but for dire necessity. The whole of the Faerie Kingdom, he thought now, might be compared to the sea—subject to naught but its own whims, as treacherous as it was enchanting. For all he had enjoyed his time among the fae, and as grateful as he was for the knowledge gained there, he had never forgotten what might befall him should he run afoul of their whims, or merely cease to offer an entertaining presence.

Reckless, perhaps, to reside there so long alone, and yet never had the fae instilled in him the kind of gut-churning fear that deep water did.

[ Read the rest on AO3! ]

[koijikido]

🌀R U N (past)

Running. He had been running for so long. How long, he no longer knew. After he had left the mountains and stood on the hillside, Koiji had stared into the distance for a long time. Ignoring all his wounds, he had run as if pursued by the darkest shadow. And it wasn't even a lie. This dark shadow of horror, the smell of blood in the air, in the snow, burnt wood from afar, deep freezing silence and an icy biting cold wind. This deep red that had colored the white innocent sparkling snow in such a warm yet frightening color. Bodies, so cold and lifeless, faded and the breath of life that vanished.

********************

Sobbing and crying, he shoveled away the snow. The young Viera was desperate, shocked, deeply frightened and broken. His trembling hands scraped over the cold, frozen ground that had been uncovered by the snow. Hard, too hard, he couldn't get through, he just couldn't get through! Uttering a loud, desperate scream, he hit the ground again and again, and cried, pressing his forehead against the cold ground. The deathly silence around him.

It was piercing and the noise in his ears sounded even louder. Sobbing, he stood up and looked around before going to one of the lifeless bodies. Carefully, he removed one of the shoulder plates and then rammed it into the ground with all his might. It made it through the icy resistance. So he began to work the soil with the help of the shoulder plate, dig by dig. Minutes turned into hours. No animal dared to come near him, everything stayed away from him. Scattered snowflakes mingled with the wind, which blew relentlessly, carrying the lamentation of the Viera through the forest.

With an exhausted movement, he dropped the shoulder plate and wiped his eyes with his forearm, his face now a mixture of tears, blood and dirt. The blue eyes that once were so bright and blue as the sky itself on a sunny day, now cold and dull, went to the two lifeless bodies that had been lying next to him the whole time. Koiji closed his eyes and gathered himself before he took Oruro's body and placed it as carefully as possible – almost as if he wanted to prevent hurting him even more and causing him pain – in one of the pits. He placed him very carefully and with the utmost effort. Slowly, he reached for the hairpin that had been in his hair and put it in his bag, before turning to the cold body of Arun. He placed him with the utmost gentleness, too. And yet there was so much pain in every move he made – physically and emotionally. He gently removed Arun's hairpin, too, and put the broken pearls and everything else safely into his bag.

He stood there, trembling. Looked at the two of them. Stared at them for what seemed like endless minutes. Night had long since fallen, but the moon was bright and clear that night, no clouds in sight. A sad blue glow fell over them, bathing their bodies in a ghostly white that was so cold and sad as the snow when melting and fading away. Koiji coughed. He looked at his hand and saw fresh blood splatters. But he ignored them. Instead, he sobbed again and began to fill the graves with the shoulder plate, slowly and shakily. It was not typical for Veena. They did not bury their dead in the mountains. If they died in battle, they were not moved. They were left in place to become one with nature again, in recognition of their achievement and their deed. But Koiji knew about the customs of others – he had heard about them, and he wanted to implement this custom. He did not want to leave them lying in the blood-soaked snow next to the disgusting invaders. It was not honorable. It was anything but respectable and honorable! It took a long time; the Veena, with his injuries, had neither the strength nor the speed he usually had. But he didn't care.

When the graves were covered, he placed a shoulder plate in each of them and tied a ribbon around them – one red and one yellow-ochre. Koiji looked around and found untouched yellow winter aconite blossoms growing near a tree. He plucked them and placed the flowers on each of the graves, carefully placing each one so that they would neither be blown away nor simply fall down.

His heart beat heavily, almost too slowly, he felt. He could hear every heartbeat, roaring loudly in his ears, feel the pulsation in his chest. Koiji reached for his chest and clawed into the fabric.

“You said... you said you'd always be with me, Arun. You wanted to see the world outside just as much as I did. Now you can't anymore.” His voice faltered. "I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't attentive enough. You put yourselves in danger and instead of saving yourself, you searched for me. How could it come to this...?" Koiji sobbed bitterly and looked to the left, where the bodies of the Garleans still lay in the distance. His eyes fell back on the graves. “I promised to be brave. I promised to leave. To see the world. I promised to do it for you. You were my family... my real family. We laughed by the fire, we looked at the stars, we talked about all our feelings and thoughts. We trusted each other. I'm so sorry...” he whispered the last words painfully and began to weep bitterly again, shouting and crying. How many tears could one have? How long would it take to cry until they no longer came? How often would one scream until the voice failed and no more sound left his throat?

More agonizing minutes passed before he somehow regained his composure and looked at the graves. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and quickly, and looked at the graves again. His heart, which had been beating painfully slowly, quickened. “I will come back. I won't forget you. I will come back again and again. I will be brave for you. I will show you the world out there. You will see it, too!” His hand touched the bag with the two hairpins of his friends, which were carefully stored. “I will never forget you...” he whispered. Koiji turned. Suddenly he started running, at first slowly, painfully slowly and limping in pain, but soon the limping became less, the running faster and finally he was racing. He raced through the snow-covered forest, panting with burning pain in his body, glowing pain in his heart and soul and burning eyes. He ran to the end of the forest, as if pursued by the shadow itself and without stopping.

He had lost all sense of time, he felt nothing at all except the burning and the pain, the loss and the grief. How he had made it out of the mountains and on to the edge, he no longer knew.

Koiji was almost at the edge of the forest when his legs gave out and he collapsed near a pond. He lay on the ground, panting heavily, barely able to move. His body felt like a stone, no, like a rock that had rolled down the slope and came to a halt.

Koiji closed his eyes, panting, feeling the ground on his cheek, on his whole body, as if he would merge with it any moment. Horrible images flickered before his mind's eye, he couldn't banish them. Not from his mind, not from his thoughts, not from his heart.

Suddenly, a soft rustling sounded not far from the Viera. His eyes opened, but it was so difficult for him to move. So difficult to turn his head. He had hardly any strength. Was it other Garleans? Had they followed him? Was it one of the beasts of the forest that could devour him, hungry and following his scent of blood?

Koiji closed his eyes. Should it get him, no matter who or what it was. Should it just get him and finish it. Then he would be with Arun and Oruro. Then the pain and suffering would be over. But the words that Arun had told him and the words he had spoken at their graves shot through his mind. Koji heard footsteps approaching him. Opening his eyes again, he turned his head with difficulty. At first his view was blurry, then it slowly became clearer. But he saw neither a Garlear nor a wild beast in front of him... His eyes looked up along the legs in front of him. A deep, fiery red plumage was in front of him and a large beak was bending down towards him.

“Kweh!”

**********

Note:

Being one of the earliest Spring flowers, Winter Aconites symbolize hope, rebirth and new beginnings.

[laspocelliere]

Day Two: Horizon

The sun never set on the Garlean Empire.

The phrase was trite, and cheap. It did well on motivational banners and propaganda, and quite poorly when jeered between the bunks of the conscription barracks. It was an accomplishment and a threat, a brag and a death knell. From its barren throne in the middle of its frozen core, the Empire stretched so far across Eorzea that it never knew true darkness; somewhere, there was always somewhere under the Emperor’s control.

He relished it.

He loathed it.

When Emperor Solus – the Ascian Emet-Selch, Hades, the Unsundered – looked out across the empire he’d built, there was a hollowness in his eyes that betrayed the truth of his great age. The room was warm and lush, red velvets and deeply stained woods, intricately woven carpets and thick windows insulated against the cold. He was comfortable, and untouchable, and utterly disappointed. No feat, regardless of size, could make any sort of lasting difference in his expression as he stared out into the world. Nothing on this fractured Source could console him in a way that would breach the walls of his calcified heart; neither the ragged sounds of screams, nor the honeyed murmurs of compliments mattered. Not then, and certainly not anymore.

Solus was dying, and the familiarity of it grated.

Sunrises and sunsets were met with the same callous expressions, his fading eyes focused directly on the sun itself that dared to shine upon all that he had built to the benefit of their great plan. He stared into it until his eyes watered, until his vision wavered, and all was naught but bright, golden light, shimmering like a mirage in his eyes even after he looked away. In the rippling fires of burning, bright light, he could almost imagine that he remembered what her face looked like, tilted up towards the sky in the warm afternoon glow and laughing, laughing, laughing.

Damn her.

Centuries, lifetimes later, and damn her to the lowest depths for the state she’d left behind. 

Annoyed, Emet-Selch turned away from the window, the sunlight flooding light but no warmth against his stooping back. There were children dead and children alive, soldiers and followers and enemies and pawns. He had played the game to perfection, setting in motion a chessboard that he alone could control, and its end game would lead to the Rejoining that would finally restore that which they had lost.

She could answer for herself, then.

The sun never set on the Garlean Empire. The sun never touched the frozen confines of its emperor’s soul. 

But he still needed to see the sun on the backs of his eyelids – the shadows of her form – if he wanted to fall asleep.

[scionshtola]

kiss roulette!! 34 for corishtola? 👀

34. A kiss after a bite | Corisande Ymir x Y’shtola Rhul | 371 words

A full moon hangs low above Old Sharlayan, the cobbled paths that wind through the city illuminated in blue by its light. But Y’shtola does not need the help of the moon on her hunt, her vision already allowing her to step soft and sure over the stones after her prey.

They walk ahead of her, long coat hanging from their shoulders, the delicate scent of their perfume carrying toward Y’shtola on the breeze. The click of their heels falls silent as they come to a stop before their door, digging through the pockets of their coat for their keys.

Y’shtola approaches in silence, watching as they lean over the door knob, curls cascading over one shoulder and leaving their long neck exposed.

Vulnerable.

She presses forward, taking advantage of their distraction. She rises on her toes, her hands curling over their shoulders to steady them both—

“Oh.” Corisande’s surprise escapes them in a small rush of breath when Y’shtola’s teeth meet their skin. Y’shtola imagines the way their eyes flutter shut when they still, when their next breath hitches in their chest.

And then Corisande is turning, looping their arms around Y’shtola’s neck with a light giggle. “I see you are taking your costume seriously, though the night is all but over.”

Y’shtola grins, flashing the faux fangs Corisande had provided her before the party. Her hands settle on Corisande’s hips beneath her coat, thumbs smoothing over the silk of her slip dress. Warmth radiates from her body, enticing Y’shtola closer against the cool night air.

“I am only trying to do justice to your idea. What kind of vampire would I be-“ she presses a soft kiss to the same spot where she had bitten them, and then another, lingering—“if I did not take a beautiful companion for my satisfaction?”

“‘Take’ me, hm?” they hum, turning them both until Y’shtola is pressed against their apartment door.

She smiles into the next kiss, letting Corisande take her weight for a moment when they finally swing the door open. “As you said, I am taking the costume seriously.” She pulls Corisande closer by her hips, across the threshold, closing the door behind them. “And the night is not yet over.”

[dalmascan-requiem]

Light's Overture: Magitek

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Cid makes a terrible error.

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Read on AO3 or keep reading after the jump

content warnings: none

Part of FFxivWrite 2024

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The Warrior of Light's ineptitude with technology wasn't originally well-known. Well... Cid learns about it the hard way.

This is for day one's prompt for FFxivWrite 2024, Steer.

“Well, I’ll be. I don’t know how you managed to take the Garleans out while keeping the armor intact, Kris, but I thank you for it.”

Cid flashes the Warrior of Light a grin as Biggs and Wedge give a thumbs up. “Now all we need are the disguises, and you’ll be able to infiltrate the Castrum.” 

The engineer taps a finger to his lips for a moment before continuing. “Kris, you haven’t driven Magitek armor before, right? Why don’t you pilot it back to Revenant’s Toll? While Wedge will be using it at the Castrum, it’ll be helpful for you to know how to control one… in case something happens.”

Kris stares blankly at Cid for a moment. “You want me to…?” A look of excitement spreads across his face as he nods. “Okay, sure! I promise not to break it!”

Huh? What does he mean by that…? Cid can’t help but feel that he made a mistake, but Kris already climbed into the armor and is staring at the control panel.

”Hm… how do I turn it on? Ah, this looks like it—“

“Kris, it’s already on—“

Suddenly, the Magitek armor rears back at an odd angle, threatening to throw Kris out of the driver’s seat. “H-hey! What is—“ He pulls a nearby lever in shock, and the armor shoots its remaining rounds of ammunition into the skies above Mor Dhona.

Oh… Hells…

The Ironworks engineers could only look at the ensuing chaos in horror. Kris starts hitting buttons randomly in a panic, causing the armor to pitch around wildly while he struggles to stay on. After what feels like an eternity, the sound of a sharp crack fills the air as the Magitek armor finally powers down.

Cid watches the smoke rising from the armor in silence, feeling a headache coming on as Kris looks at the control panel in confusion. “Oh. Is… is it okay?”

”Kris, just… get out of the armor. Please.”

He quickly gets out of the armor and watches as Biggs and Wedge access the damage, a slight pout on his face. Well, I suppose the Warrior of Light had no need to learn how to pilot Garlean tech… 

“It’s still structurally sound… somehow.” Wedge shakes his head as he looks at one of the armor’s legs. “One of the components in this leg is busted, but with the right parts, we can fix it. I think.”

”Well, that is a blessing, at least.” Cid sighs, suddenly feeling very tired. “Let’s get this back to—“

Kris perks up as he learns the armor can be fixed. ”Oh, that's good! Do you need me to help with—“

”NO.” The voices of the trio echo in the valley, and Kris looks down at the ground, sulking at the disapproval.

I’d find that more endearing had he not damn near blown up the armor just now… “We all… have our strengths, Kris. Why don’t you secure the disguises? We’ll take care of the armor.”

Kris nods. “Alright, I’ll get it done.” Cid wasn’t sure if Kris was still upset at the incident, but when he was out of earshot, he lets out a deep breath and turned to the others.

”The Warrior of Light is never allowed inside the Ironworks.”

[kannedia]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 10 - Stable

Asel was all of six years old when she saw a Carbuncle for the first time.

"Mom! Dad! What is that?"

The sun was high and the sky was clear that day. It was a wonderful day, though if one were to ask the young Au Ra all days when her parents brought her into the city were wonderful.

Her mother, Maral, chuckled as she looked down at her daughter Asel. She had one tiny hand in hers and the other was pointed at the summoned creature.

Her father, Kiran, stopped and leaned down to speak to her face-to-face. He was smiling softly. "That's a Carbuncle, dearling."

"They're creatures composed of both ambient and their Summoner's aether," Maral explained as she noticed the confused look on Asel's face. "They help in the Summoner's day-to-day tasks."

"Incredible! It's so pretty! Do you think I could do that?" Asel was looking at both of them eyes wide with awe.

Maral and Kiran exchanged a glance. They knew their daughter. It was entirely possible that she would.

---

A small orb of aether formed in Asel's palm before flickered into and out of existence for a few odd seconds then guttered out. She grumbled bitterly before turning her attention back to her notes.

She was ten. Had been ten for the past month. And had spent the last month near feverishly looking over the beginner's tome her parents had bought her.

The math had not been as difficult as she thought it would be. It was the control that was causing her trouble. The conceptualization as her studies phrased it.

Her mother said she was being hasty in her expectations. Asel on the other hand, had the feeling if she didn't keep to her studies she wouldn't summon her first Carbuncle until she was an adult too.

---

Asel was actually fourteen when she summoned her Carbuncle for the first time. It was a wispy thing. A barely stable form on light and aether that she could only get to last for half a minute at most.

Still, it was a start and it was beautiful.

She would have to thank her father again when he finished work. He had been giving her lesson on aether manipulation, on her asking, since she was twelve.

It had still surprised him when he saw it for the first time. Her mother just grinned and gave her a hearty pat on the back.

---

"Ariel! Get. Off. My. Desk."

Asel's Carbuncle stared back at her like a curious kitten. It had its left paws on her textbook and the right ones on her homework. If not for her frustration, she would just be grateful that it wasn't smudging the ink.

Her first corporeal and stable summoning of the impish creature was when she was sixteen. Her mother and father were happy for her and they had paella for dinner.

It had only lasted five minutes at the time. With practice and a year of careful study, it made the trip to school with her every morning. Asel could only wonder how much further she could go.

"If I'm going to become a capable adventurer then we're going to have to work on our teamwork," Asel stated with a sigh as she shooed Ariel off her desk. It scampered off to her bed and rested on her pillow. "I wonder if all Carbuncles are like this."

[lilas]

fancy

WC: 1533 | G | Aymeric x Avi’li (WoL)

Avi’li thinks about Aymeric while he lays drunk on the floor with Haurchefant. Set after Patch 2.4

Big thank you to @myreia for helping me edit this! 💕💕

—

Carefully considered words, spoken low and steady in a voice like velvet. Cheeks tinted pink from the bite of snow. Ice blue eyes framed beneath long, dark lashes. Lips upturned in a polite smile…

Avi’li hadn’t paid much attention to the meeting. The words exchanged between Aymeric and Alphinaud lost to him—something about Midgardsormr and heretics — attention captured by this man dressed in blue and gold. Funny how Aymeric fascinates him in a strange way. The man has naught but to be there and Avi’li can’t help but observe how he stands—stance poised, his arms settled across his broad chest, chapped lips parting in small exhales.

It makes sense. Aymeric is an admirable man; kind yet firm, patient but unyielding, a true leader in every sense of the word. Avi’li has every reason to want to study his example. Jacke had inspired the same feelings when they first met (his profile silhouetted, barely there smirk handsome in the street lights of Limsa) and proved to be a great mentor. Aymeric may yet fill a similar role (wind toussels his black hair, dusted with white snow).

Yet every time Aymeric meets his eyes, Avi’li feels his chest squeeze and a curious heat rise to his face. It’s the same feeling he gets when he’s squished side by side with Y’mhitra over an Allagan text, her fingers tracing her jaw while lips purse in thought; the same feeling he gets when V’kebbe stretches her arms over her head, mouth held slack after a catnap in the sun and lit in the evening glow.

It’s strange, Avi’li thinks, that these different sensations feel so similar. One born out of attraction and the other… a desire, but a desire for what? He traces his lips and imagines the shape of Aymeric’s. Do they feel rough from the cold? Soft? Avi’li’s tongue ghosts his lips. Do they taste as sweet as he smells, like maple?

Maybe it’s simply envy for Aymeric’s poise and power and countenance. Maybe—

“And what is our foremost Primal hunter doing with such a pensive expression?”

Avi’li’s fingers drop from his lips (when did he start touching them?) and his head turns towards Haurchefant. “Did I look pensive…?”

They lay together on the plush rug of Haurchefant’s private rooms in Camp Dragonhead, several hours after Aymeric bid farewell and returned to Ishgard with his retinue. Flames lick out from the fireplace, heat sinking into stone and blanketing the room in a pleasant warmth. Two goblets sit by their heads, and a wine bottle is precariously situated against Haurchefant’s bent leg.

“You did, and I do not think the wine is solely to blame for such a far away look.” Haurchefant moves his leg, knocking into the wine. He startles and darts for the bottleneck, fumbling a bit before he holds it secure and moves it safely to another spot on the floor. Sighing with relief, he adjusts himself so he rests on his side, stretched out parallel to Avi’li and smiling. “Pray allow me to be privy to your thoughts?”

Avi’li answers with a shrug. “Thinkin’ about Aymeric.”

“The Lord Commander?” Haurchefant raises an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“Ay’anno, just thinkin’ about him.”

“Ah, requested another meeting did he?”

“Wouldn’t you be the one to know that?”

Haurchefant sighs, dramatically wistful. “Unfortunately I am not someone he discloses clandestine rendezvous in the moonlight to.”

Avi’li scoffs, “Nothin’ clandestine is happenin’. I just… ” he waves his hand above their heads, fingers spread, “…admire him.”

“I see.”

“He’s an interestin’ man. Smart and tall and collected. That stuff.”

“As you say….”

Avi’li frowns at the suspicious tone and rolls onto his side to properly face Haurchefant. His friend is trying and horrifically failing at hiding a crooked grin. “What?”

“What about?”

“Why’re you smilin’ like a spriggan?”

“Like a spriggan? Are you implying my teeth are anything similar to a creature who gnaws on rocks for a living?”

“I’m implying you look like a spriggan who just found a crystal horde. Why?”

“Only for the reason that your fancy for Ser Aymeric is quite adorable.”

Avi’li blinks. “My fancy?”

“Mhm.” Haurchefant’s head and shoulders relax back into the rug. He is looking much too smug for Avi’li’s liking. “Honestly, I should have known when you were so blatantly staring at him during your introductory meeting.”

“I was not blatantly—“

“Then you were staring discreetly?”

“I wasn’t starin’ at all!” Avi’li rolls onto his back, arms folded tightly across his chest. It’s too warm in the room now. The combination of fire and wine makes his head swim. “It’s bloody freezin’ here.” Aymeric sits opposite him across the table, haloed by the soft glow of fire. “I wanted to get closer to the fire…”

The words trail off. A soft frown pinches Avi’li’s brow, doubt in his own words. The fire had been so far from his mind.

Haurchefant sucks his teeth, unconvinced. He lazily reaches out and tugs a stray lock of Avi’li’s silvery hair. “No one would blame you for it, you know,” he says as Avi’li bats his hand away. “Ser Aymeric is a handsome man, and a good quarter of knights could admit to feeling the same.”

“Haurchefant, I have a girlfriend.” Y’mhitra. Beautiful, intelligent Y’mhitra with an older, scarier sister. Haurchefant scoffs.

“It cannot be considered unfaithful for merely being attracted to someone else besides your partner. Then everyone would commit infidelity.”

I guess that’s true, Avi’li thinks. Dating someone has never kept his eyes from wandering, albeit things are different with Mhitra. Exclusive. Is it really okay for him to feel this way? Is it really made better if so many others feel the same?

Wait, Avi’li squints at Haurchefant. “A quarter of knights… are you attracted to Aymeric?”

Haurchefant coughs uncomfortably. Sitting up, he preoccupies himself with the goblets and wine. He tops their drinks off, finishing the bottle. All the while, Avi’li watches him with increasing speculation.

Finally, as he hands Avi’li a cup, Haurchefant admits, “I was, yes. For a short time, just in passing, really.” He observes his drink, lifts it high, watches the light glint off the polished bronze. “We never had much reason to speak to each other until we came into our respective positions.”

“So you never fucked?”

Haurchefant barks out a laugh. “No! Could you imagine? Mm, actually I can imagine—“ he shakes his head—“But we do have a bit of a shared history with the same man.” His thumb taps against his goblet. “Training can be an insular time for all of us.”

Avi’li’s frowns and takes a sip of wine. “And how did you know you were crushin’? That you weren’t just… admirin’?”

“Crushing?”

“Fancyin’.”

“Avi’li, you’ve been with others before, correct? Romantically?” Avi’li arcs an eyebrow, staring. “Ah.” Haurchefant waves a hand. “Quite right and anyone besides your dear Y’mhitra?”

“Yes…”

Haurchefant can’t help the soft laugh at his friend’s wary tone. “And when you are… were around them, ‘admiring’ them as you say, how do you feel?”

“Like my…” Avi’li’s brows furrows, eyes blinking slowly. “…chest was being squeezed…”

Y’mhitra, bathed in the glow of her lamplight and Avi’li can’t help but lean forward and kiss her. When V’kebbe bites into a sandwich with all the bliss in the world and Avi’li wonders about her teeth on his skin. How Jacke’s fingers slide down the length of a knife and—

He gapes. “Did I fuckin’ have a crush on Jacke?”

“Language, my good sir,” Haurchefant tsks. “And who in the seven hells is Jacke, pray tell? I thought we were talking about Ser Aymeric?”

—when Aymeric meets his eyes across the oak table with a smile and Avi’li must look away, heat in his chest.

“Fuck. I think I like Aymeric.”

“You do not say.”

“In the fancyin’ way.”

“In all honesty, I am deeply surprised you were not already aware.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Avi’li releases a wistful sigh, eyes fixed to the wooden beams above their heads, expression wondrous. “I’ve never thought of a man in this way before. What do I even do?”

A moment of comfortable quiet envelopes them. Haurchefant sits and observes Avi’li’s silent musings, watching the emotion shift so openly in his face. Finally, he sets the goblet down, moves a touch closer to his friend and lays beside him, eyes cast up to the ceiling.

“You would not court two women the same way, would you?”

“No.”

“And you would not court anyone without discussing it with Y’mhitra first?”

“Of course not.”

Haurchefant nudges his side lightly with an elbow. “Then this need not be any different. Every person is unique in how you approach them for romance and intimacy. You need not act on it at all if you do not wish it. Do not overthink this simply because of someone’s gender. Instead, I encourage you to enjoy how much love this world has to offer us.”

Avi’li chuckles warmly. “Such a poet.”

“Of course, any self respecting Ishgardian knight is such.”

“Hm.” A pause. Then— “Do you think he knows?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“What? No way.”

“My dearest friend, you are not subtle at all.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

[nidstiniens]

Title: Please Be Naked Rating: Explicit. Genre: Smut, Light Angst, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 01/01 (Complete) Pairing: Estinien x WoL Notes: Part 5 of It's Only You that Matters

Preview:

They're in his room at Radz-at-Han, their clothes half-shed and discarded in heaps at the foot of the bed. She's settled herself in his lap, her bare chest pressed flush against his own, and he can hardly believe how unbearable the four days since they'd first entertained this have been. Four long, torturous days he'd spent with the memory of her on the tip of his tongue, the ghost of her taste as persistent as a headache, his hopes strung along by six simple words: "We should do it again sometime."

Read More

[pillowfriendly]

WAUUUUGHHH ITS DONE!!! go read it. normal chapter that doesn't bite, he's friendly ok?

[myreia]

The Heart’s A Withered Fortress

CHAPTER ONE: A RESTLESS SPIRIT

Chapter Rating: Teen Characters: Thancred Waters, Aureia Malathar (WoL), Ryne, Lyna Pairings: Aureia/Thancred Chapter Words: 2,424 Notes: Set during Shadowbringers. Summary: It is no easy thing to sit and watch someone close to him wither away. Then again, Thancred has never been good at sitting still. While waiting for a cure for Aureia’s light sickness, he feels a call to action—but whether it is the right choice or not remains to be seen. Prompt: iii. light | darkness Chapters: one • two • three • four Read on AO3

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Water sloughs off the great giant leaves of a plant he cannot name. The artificial rain mists across the vibrant foliage, droplets pooling in the creases of its leaves until it overflows and follows the predictable pull of gravity down. Most lands in the pot below.

The rest spatters on the floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.  

The sound sets his teeth on edge.

Biting his tongue, Thancred opens his eyes and adjusts his position, ignoring the way sweat creeps across the nape of his neck as quickly as the droplets form on those leaves above. This was not his first choice, but as Y’shtola and Urianger have taken over the Cabinet of Curiosity, the twins are split between the Crystalline Mean and the Musica Universalis, Ryne returned to their apartment to rest, and the Wandering Stairs is dangerously alluring with its arsenal of wine and ale, there are precious few places left to be alone and think. A few Hortorium workers have taken note of him, but all have had the good grace not to inquire about his presence. Perhaps they welcome a rare new visitor watching their aquaculture in practice, or the look on his face has scared them off from asking.

Either way it suits him fine. He has no desire for trivial small talk.

Not when Aureia is dying.

Drip. Drip.  

Fuck.  

His crossed arms dig into his chest, his coat pulling taut in the shoulders. Strange how his mind makes all these useless connections. He would rather it didn’t. Perhaps the Hortorium was a mistake. That damn dripping is too close to rain, and thoughts of rain remind him of the outside world and the blistering sky above.

The mark of their failure. The mark of Aureia’s failure. They promised to return the night sky, and now…

His jaw clenches hard, dull pain radiating out through his teeth. It’s easy to recall when Aureia conquered the first lightwarden when the memory is seared on his heart. He was cutting through the woods in the far west of Lakeland, leading Ryne off the beaten path. Her pace was slow—stopping and starting, stopping and starting—falling further and further behind each time she paused to look at something in the distance. A dangerous thing to do in the middle of the woods with vermin all around and a powerful new sin eater sighted in the area. Finally, he had had enough. He rounded on her, a reprimand on the tip of his tongue—

He never said it.

The heavens ripped open. Ryne watched, back straight, silent and firm as the wound streaked across the sky from the north-east. From Holminster. He followed her gaze, hair raising on the nape of his neck, suspicion twisting in his gut. He reached over his shoulder for the hilt of his gunblade.

And then the sky rippled and bled black, as if every last bit of the everlasting light had been sucked out of it.

For the first time in her life, Ryne saw the night.

He knew, without question, what had happened. He knew Aureia had arrived on the First, knew she was bound to approach Lakeland’s lightwarden sooner rather than later. It was why he was ushering Ryne as far away from the Crystarium.

“Look, Thancred,” she said, her voice so small and yet so strong. “Stars.”

Stars. The likes of which Lakeland hadn’t seen in a hundred years. The likes of which they may never see again. He remembers those constellations; they were the same as the ones scattered across Mor Dhona’s skies.

Drip. Drip. Drip.  

He exhales a breath, staring absently at the rushing underground river and too-bright plants. Anything to push the memory from his mind. He allowed himself to become hopeful once Philia had been slain. Hopeful that there would be an end to this living nightmare. Hopeful that the First could be saved. Hopeful that Minfilia’s legacy would not be wasted in vain.

How could he not, after what they both just witnessed? How could he not, knowing that it was Aureia’s hand that changed the course?

Fool. Deep down he knew the solution was too easy, the ask too great. An expert in aetherology he is not, but he doesn’t have to be to recognize the simple truth: no one can contain that much light and keep it in check, not even the bearer of Hydaelyn’s blessing. But he chose to ignore what his instincts were screaming. It was easier that way. To choose to hope, rather than face the reality of the circumstances.

This is the one time where he wishes his instincts had not been proven right.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Sir? Thancred?”

He blinks, shaking himself out of his stupor. A Viis’ face swims into view, her eyes filled with concern. Dark lashes sweep against tanned cheeks and her long ears flop over the sides of her head, framing her abundance of white-grey hair. She’s lithe, pretty, and filled with the robust intensity of the Hortarium gardeners. Scholars. Farmers. Whatever they’re calling themselves.

Her nose is wriggling as if sniffing out all his secrets.

He meets her gaze. “Uilmet, yes?” he asks, drawing her name up from the depths of his memory, some faint recognition from five years ago after he woke up unceremoniously in the Ocular. He has met her before. He can’t remember why.

She smiles and nods deeply in confirmation. “You’ve been standing here for well past a quarter bell by my count,” she continues. “I mean no disrespect, sir, but you’ve caused a bit of a stir amongst my colleagues.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a small group gathered beneath the large purple tree with the twisting branches that reach up into the heavens. They stand in a tight knot, their whispers murmuring above the dull rush of water and the hum of artificial wind. Every so often, one or two of the braver individuals casts a furtive glance in his direction. For supposed professionals they look oddly like gossiping students.

“My apologies, then,” he replies dryly. “I admit I did not consider that I could prove so distracting simply by standing when I came here to clear my head.”

Uilmet’s eyes flick over him, an appreciative gleam in their blue-green depths. “No need. Between you and me, I think they could use the excitement. We are so focused on our work and we so rarely have visitors. Few have a desire to return home smelling of fertilizer.”

“And you assume I want to return home smelling of fertilizer?”

“I don’t know. Do you?” She scans him again, cheeks dimpling as her lips turn upwards in a playful smile. She lingers on his coat; he doesn’t need his gunblade on him for her to know exactly what he is. “There are many benefits to farming outside the fruits and vegetables. You wouldn’t be the first mercenary we’ve converted into a gardener, you know.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” She takes a step closer. She smells of earth and citrus and wood. Peaceful and kind and sweet and ordinary.

He coughs awkwardly. “My—” Daughter. His tongue slips. He gave her a name. She bears his surname, the one thing he has left of Louisoix. Why is it so difficult to say? “My ward may have some thoughts if I started tracking dirt home every night.”

“Your ward?”

“She’s a bit of a gardener herself, come to think of it.” Potted plants on the window sill. Bright pink and purple seedlings, the Hortarium’s foliage in miniature. It occurs to him that Ryne may be a familiar face to Uilmet. He can’t remember when she brought the first one home, but he does recall how they seemed to duplicate overnight. Urianger always encouraged her to follow her interests when in the Crystarium. But she won’t be caring for them now. She is exhausted, spent from stemming the flow of Light within Aureia and wracked with nightmares and headaches. “I’m certain she would be interested in your line of work had she the time to pursue it.”

Uilmet’s expression brightens and she leans in conspiratorially, ears twitching with excitement. “Our discoveries take time, but are well worth the effort. It’s thrilling to be the first to taste a new strain of fruit or a hardier vegetable…”

He nods curtly, feigning interest as he invites her to prattle on without interruption. Clearly she is very well-versed in her subject and enjoys discussing her work, but has very little fresh blood to do so with. Her enthusiasm, though overwhelming, is darling, and the uncompromising way she has thrown herself into her lecture is the very thing he may have found attractive once upon a time. The last time he was privy to a conversation like this he was in Old Sharlayan.

His jaw clenches, the scent of loam and peat sickly sweet in his nostrils. How did he miss it? How could any of them? Three Archons and none of them had the wits to see their own city’s influence in the Crystarium. Well, only two, to be true. Apparently Urianger, once again, knew the state of affairs this whole time and decided to stay tight-lipped about it—he doesn’t know whether to be angry or impressed. The only thing he is certain of is that he doesn’t want to touch that truth with a ten-fulm pole right now. The last thing they need is infighting when Aureia’s life hangs in the balance.

Perhaps some part of him saw through to the truth, but deemed it too fantastical to be true. The First is its own world, after all, a mirrored reflection of the Source. Any similarities could be explained away as a distant echo of the original. But Old Sharlayan’s mark is on the Crystarium like a thumbprint—small, imperceptible, yet wholly unique. He sees it in the Crystalline Mean, with their endeavours to experiment and engineer all too reminiscent of academics of the Studium. He sees it in the Cabinet of Curiosity and its collection to rival the Noumenon. And most of all, he sees it in the people, in their insatiable curiosity and free spirits and determination to persevere. The Crystarium is Old Sharlayan, tempered with a dash of Allagan technology and filtered through a hundred years of living in an apocalypse.

Whether he intended it or not, the Exarch—G’raha Tia, he corrects himself—imbued the city with everything he remembered of his life before, his vast knowledge and expertise, and his yearning for the place he called home.

The fool. The idiot. Can he blame him? To survive as long as he has, to gamble everything in order to circumvent fate, to meddle with time itself… The man has a backbone. More than most.

More than him, that’s for certain.

“…another underground water vein that could revolutionize cultivation even in the heat of Amh Araeng—” Uilmet stops short, the lines of her pale brows drawing together as she notes his listlessness. She has inched closer to him, her shoulder brushes his, her hand mere ilms from his own.

An ugly knot twists in his gut. She’s too close for comfort.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “This must be quite boring to someone in your line of work. Growing fruit cannot compare to cutting down the eaters.”

“No, please, I apologize—” He shakes his head, taking advantage of the opportunity to take a step back. “It was my mind that was wandering.”

Her eyes narrow. She pauses, her long fingers fidgeting with the cuff of her green robe, and glances over her shoulder. One of her colleagues gives her an encouraging nod. “Then may I ask you a question, Thancred Waters?” she asks.

He nips the desire to say something stupid like you’ve already asked one in the bud.

“Of course.”

“The Light has returned. A disheartening course of events for certain, but if we can weather it for a hundred years, we can weather it again.” She pauses, her jaw set, her hands still at her sides. Gone is the coyly flirtatious Viis and in its place is a fiercely determined woman who refuses to let the world beat her down. “We have heard precious little since the sky changed. I suspect the guard captain wishes to keep panic to a minimum, but we will persevere. And if the night does not return… this is nothing we have not seen before.”

“Your courage is admirable.”

“Thank you.” There is no hint of a blush on her cheeks from the compliment. “Do you know what happened to the Exarch? They say he is missing from the city, that he did not return from the assault on Mt. Gulg.”

So, the news is spreading already. This is the exact kind of truth that would be covered up in any other city to prevent a panic. But the people of the Crystarium are made of sterner stuff. Whatever else he may be, G’raha Tia is beloved to them. They deserve to know the truth.

“Aye. That is the truth of it.”

“But he will return, yes?”

He meets her gaze. “Aye. That is the hope.”

Uilmet smiles, relief washing over her face. Her eyes brighten, shining with tears. “That is good,” she murmurs. “That is… helpful. To hear it from the lips of someone who was there.”

He has nothing to add. Nothing to say. Uilmet and others like her are hardy and determined, but he cannot in good conscience encourage anymore false hope.

“And the Warrior of Darkness? I have heard rumours that she is ill, that she was brought to the city half-dead. Please. It is all the chirurgeons speak of.”

The fury hits him like a wave crashing onto the sand.

His body stiffens, the dangerous kind of stiffness that comes seconds before lethality. Jaw clenched, fingers curled into the fists, bile rising in the throat. The sequence of events atop the mountain play out in his mind’s eye again and again. The smirking Ascian, the gunfire, the Exarch’s fall. The Light swelling within Aureia’s limp form, crackling beneath her skin like lightning. His sneering words. His disappearance.  

Till then, I bid you farewell… eater.

“It cannot happen,” Thancred hisses under his breath. “It will not happen.”

Uilmet pales. “I beg pardon?”

He doesn’t answer. Carried by a smouldering rage that can only be tempered by action, he mutters an apology and strides from the Hortarium, passing out of the shadows and into everlasting light.

I figure after five years on the First, Thancred would refer to Viera as Viis and not comment on the shift in terminology. Uilmet is an NPC found in the Hortarium, not to be confused with Uimet (Viis sister in Rak’tika), which my Google search did a lot while I was double-checking spelling hahaha.

[veliara]

Junelezen2024 Day 10 - Shrine

"Dear child, many people mistake us for someone we're not."

"I am responsible for the people of this land. For their lives, their happiness and well-being. They call me the interpreter of the Will of the Halone. But none of them know that there is no Will. Only a tired old man who does everything he can to make sure his people live another day." He shook his head tiredly. "And our Goddess, while sitting on her throne in the ice halls just silently watches us. As our loved ones perish." The old elezen rubbed his face and looked up to the heavens. "I wonder if she knows how desperate I am sometimes." After a few moments of silence, the priest sighed heavily.

"If anyone were to come and offer me a way to end this war, I`d take it."

P.S. I'm so glad Aymeric didn't inherit his nose from Thordan.

[landshorizon]

(Count)Down to Dawntrail // Day Two - Heavensward

"I... I couldn't save him. Why couldn't I save him?"

Edvard fell to the floor, onto his knees, his sollerets scraping against the marble flooring of the Chancel.

"Why..."

His stomach lurched as he brought up the contents of it. He could smell Haurchefant's blood still on his gauntlets, and sprayed up the front of his curiass, along with the scent of incense and something like ozone.

It was overwhelming in the worst of ways.

The delayed shock of Haurchefant's passing hadn't come with a bang, but with a whimper. Ed didn't know if he wanted to continue to fight. He'd lost two lovers. Two. In the space of a scant year, two lovers lost to the lifestream...

First it had been G'raha, and his immense self-sacrifice at the Crystal Tower, sealing himself away. And now Haurchefant...

He should've been able to save him.

He should have seen it coming, should've been the one to take the bolt through his stomach. It should be Haurchefant there, still; grieving maybe, for the loss of Edvard, but hale and hearty and breathing.

Eddie had kept waiting for Haurchefant to breathe. Even as he lay unmoving, Ed had summoned magics just barely within reach to try and save him, pouring what little knowledge of Conjury he had into spell after spell after spell, Cure after Cure after Cure.

Futile. It was all futile.

He had known such deep, profound loss already on this path... Couldn't the universe have given him a happy-ever-after, when the battles were over with? Couldn't Hydaelyn have given him this mercy?

Ed spat onto the floor and rose to his feet, shaky, barely able to stand. The lone Warrior of Light. Destined to be alone forever, he felt...

Everything and everyone he touched crumbled and fell away, after all.