#Ser Ignasse

[veliara]

It's okay

Ciel was already used to the oblique stares of the locals. The Brume dwellers didn't pay much attention to him, but in the upper city, it was a different story. They pointed their fingers at him, sniggering behind his back.

"It's okay." It was the members of the noble houses who annoyed him the most. ‘Look at that half-breed Millie, isn't that a sad sight?’ ‘Yes, Mistress. It couldn't be sadder.’ The girl from an obviously noble house laughed melodiously. ‘ And yet he's called a man. What a joke.’ ‘Calm down. Ignore them.’

‘Rumour has it that he's a charge of the Heavens Ward, Mistress.’ ‘I don't understand why distract their attention with this wretched creature. He won't be accepted into the Ward anyway.’ ‘It's all right, don't pay attention to stupid folk.’ However, such behaviour ruined the mood. Staying in a dejected mood, the youth still reached the Heavens Ward building. Once he entered the common room, the warm air and the aroma of tea hit his face. ‘Charibert must be drinking tea by the fireplace. Hopefully at least the second half of the day will go smoothly.’ He hoped faintly.

‘Ciel, you're just in time. Tea is almost ready.’ came the familiar voice of the inquisitor. ‘Hello,’ Ser Zephirin said quietly. ‘Why are you so gloomy kid?’ Ser Ignasse inquired. ‘I'm sorry, I was just thinking. Everything's fine!’ ‘Good, good,’ muttered Сharibert taking a sip of tea. ‘Hey little fella!’ The ever-cheerful Guerrique tussled Ciel's blond hair. ‘Look at what we found for you!’

‘Enough Guerrique!’ Сiel laughed for the first time that day. ‘What is it?’

‘Ta-dam!’ Guerrique pointed triumphantly at a stool standing off to the side. ‘Next time you argue with Grinnaux, be sure to use it. At least you won't have to crane your neck so much.’ Paulecrain's laughter sounded nearby. ‘Now you're on equal footing, at least in height.’

[lunarosewood23]

FFXIVWrite2023 Prompt 2: Bark

Set a little after 3.0 in the Forelands. Raven laments over her talons and remembers those lost.

CW: Mentions of Death, Mourning

Word Count: 673

~~~

It had been harder to hold pens and other writing instruments since her inheritance awakened.

Raven stared down at the black talons that extended from her fingers, her once blunt nails that she would bite on when anxious turned into long claws, a permanent mark of what Nidhogg’s blood had done to her. She couldn’t really make a proper fist, though she damn well tried on several occasions, and she needed to learn how to get used to a pen in her hand again.

Still, Raven felt a need to make it to where those lost on Azys Lla were remembered. Their names etched into something to signify that they were people who were loved and were mourned.

So she went out hunting and in addition to her meal for the night she found a huge piece of bark that had come off of a tree and began to carve their names into the surface. It would be crude and ugly, but she felt as though she needed to preserve their names. Preserve them as people, not tools. She felt tears begin to sting in her eyes as she used her talons as her quill, what she knew of them sprung to the forefront of her mind.

Ignasse de Vesnaint - A dragoon, though she wasn’t sure of much else about him other than he and Ser Vellguine were close.

Vellguine de Bourbagne - The oldest among them. Silent, but kind.

Hermenost de la Treaumaille - A man of deep faith and a mage who passed along to her how to imbue magic into weapons as he did with his battleaxe.

Grinnaux de Dzemael - Brutish arsehole who bullied her when she was small, but Raven knew that his fate wasn’t one he deserved. 

Paulecrain de Fanouilley - Raven didn’t know much about him, other than that he was a former knight of House Fortemps that had been dismissed, and that he seemed close with Grinnaux.

Noudenet de Jaimberd - A bookish sort who liked magic. He seemed to be interested in Mingxia’s, and to some extent her own.

Haumeric de Peulagnon - Coronette’s dearest and the one who taught Mingxia Coerthan ice conjury. She remembered how Coronette had passed Serella her sword to do a blow for her when she was told of his fate.

Adelphel de Chevraudan - A notorious flirt and one of the fastest swordsmen she’d ever seen. She remembered the family of older sisters he was leaving behind and her heart squeezed.

Janlenoux de Courcillant - Always seen with Adelphel, the moon to Adelphel’s sun. And a wonderful culinarian. Were he not on duty he would be volunteering in her mama’s kitchen.

Guerrique de Montrohain - A sweet one, if a bit loud. A soft-spoken Raen named Yitsuge liked him. One of Zephirin’s most loyal, and to her knowledge they were close friends.

Zephirin de Valhourdin - Raven knew him to be a noble and just soul. Mingxia’s sister Kaia was in love with him and he loved her. She remembered having a small crush on him as a teen, but he was focused on his own goals to notice her.

Charibert de Leusignac Cross - Raven let out a sob as she wrote the name of her brother. She lost him once already when she was seven summers, and then she hadn’t seen or heard from him for a score. And of course the fates would be cruel to her by giving him back only to take him away again. The one who would sit and teach her words and scripture and answer her questions about the faith. She dragged her talon across his surname and replaced it with her own. Even though he was never formally adopted, he was a Cross, and damn anyone who would try arguing that. She knew he did horrible things, but she wanted to believe there was more to it than pure cruelty. Their mama taught them all better than that.

She set the bark aside as she hugged her knees, weeping for them, as she knew their families would be back home.

[knights-of-ishgard]

HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY HEAVENSWARD

let's celebrate this fine day with the knights of the heavens' ward

[the-righteous-heart]

Day 30 - Free Choice After King Thordan's dead, Zephirin went to a journey to set things right. He wants to find his brothers in arms to rebuild the Heavens' Ward for the greater good.

[bootshine]

[leusignac]

a celestial au involving “Guardians”, “Reapers”, and their mortal charges

[tuhis]

Happy Valenti(o)ne’s Day!

[ignasse]

[aroseyetbloomedwrites]

If One May Be So Bold [ A Guerrique de Montrohain/Francel de Haillenarte Fanfiction]

Rating: R/Lemon

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Relationship: Francel de Haillenarte/Guerrique de Montrohain

Language: English.

Summary:

"That looks fun! Would you mind if I tried?"

Oh, he had no doubt he would find himself at a loss immediately. Guerrique's grin never wavers as he props his elbow upon the table and holds out his hand. When Francel leans in, the slide of his hand into Guerrique's is slower and deliberate, a suggestive slide of his softer skin against the calluses of the Knight. Guerrique's soft brown eyes narrow, his mouth grows a little dry despite all the drink he's had when his hand engulfs Francel's.

Link to AO3 for the rest of the fic: HERE

Please Read below for the first part of the fic SFW

    The Forgotten Knight is warm when Lord Francel enters, mayhaps a little drafty by the door and stairs where he stands. Peering over the banister shows there to be some few patrons and master Gibrillont for whom he was there to visit; watching a table by the fireplace with some mild amusement. When Francel spies just who is at the table, he cannot help but smile. For even from this distance he can spy the boisterous Ser Guerrique, conversing animatedly with another gentleman, both a few in their cups but not on bad terms.

    Francel comes down the loop of stairs, there is a package tucked under his arm wrapped in parchment and tied with a hemp string that he intends to give to the good proprietor. The older man looks glad to see him when Francel does approach, sliding the package across the counter to him. Master Gibrillont bows, and Francel smiles sweetly as his gift is received graciously. 

    "It is not much, but a small token from me in regards to your pledge to the Firmament. Your contribution is truly appreciated."

    Gibrillont handles the package with care, by the tilt of it he can tell that something made of glass and containing liquid lies within, it is easy to surmise that Lord Francel has gifted him likely vintage from the family's personal cellar and knows it to be good and aged. Blessed, he stores away the package beneath the bar counter with the rest of his meager belongings.

    "My Lord, you needn't have gone through the trouble just for me." 

    The attention makes him feel a little self conscious as he is no longer a part of the family House, but he has always known Francel to be kindly and so he is little surprised to be personally thanked in such a way. He would be sure to savor this gift.

    "Nonsense, no trouble at all." Lord Francel puts his back to the counter and faces the glowing fireplace at the heart of the room. "Now, what have we here?"

    Gibrillont casts his gaze back there too, where his attention has been drawn most of the night. Crouched over the table, Ser Guerrique and another gentleman stand with fists clenched together, elbows grounded firmly on hardwood, striving against one another. There is a near raucous grin on Guerrique's face, not a knit to his brow to hint that perhaps this round of arm wrestling were truly so difficult. 

    "Ah, yes… Well, he hasn't been destructive at all, and he's paid for every drink so I haven't the right to stop him. He's learned his lesson from prior visits but I fear he simply won't quit, and the other knights that come in can't help but pester him since… their return."

    Francel puts his hand over his mouth in thought, a smile growing as he watches Ser Guerrique cheer triumphantly as he slams another hand on the table, claiming yet another victory. He's laughing when he finds his ale cup and gulps it empty. 

    "I shall fetch him for you and return him home, good master."

    Francel's smile never abates as he pushes off the counter. Gibrillont wants to call him back, but would also find some relief with the young Ward knight away so he stays his tongue and watches Francel stride to the now empty table. 

    When Guerrique spies him, his grin grows exponentially, for Francel is ever a pretty sight; he is gloveless at the ends of his long sleeved, light green tunic. Silver clasps at his front and a warm brown scarf hanging where it twined around his long neck. A shame that his characteristic cavalier hides strands of flax, but it's also cute and would perhaps even be strange to see him out and about without that hat! 

    "Milord!"

    Francel stands apart from him, the table separates them, but even he can feel the pull to want to be closer. To perhaps run his hand up the bulge of muscle in Guerrique's bicep, or through the locks of platinum blond that framed his handsome face. 

    "That looks fun! Would you mind if I tried?"

    Oh, he had no doubt he would find himself at a loss immediately. Guerrique's grin never wavers as he props his elbow upon the table and holds out his hand. When Francel leans in, the slide of his hand into Guerrique's is slower and deliberate, a suggestive slide of his softer skin against the calluses of the Knight. Guerrique's soft brown eyes narrow, his mouth grows a little dry despite all the drink he's had when his hand engulfs Francel's. 

    "Don't hold back just because it is me." 

    Francel wears a delighted beam as he tries to catch Guerrique unawares, pressing upon his hand whilst the man was distracted so that their arms swing to one side fractionally, yet that Guerrique is a trained Warrior indeed and Francel finds a ilm or two gained is quickly lost as Guerrique brings to bear his strength, but just before he pins Francel's arm he let's up his weight so that he does not slam Francel's hand into the table, but that it is rather a soft tap, a demonstration in control. The young lord bursts into infectiously joyish laughter where he leans tilted against the table, hand clasped tightly in Guerrique's warm palm.

    "In the end, you went a touch soft."

    "It would not do to bruise milord, how could I?" 

    He does not let go of Francel's hand, for the young lord has twisted his wrist subtly in his grasp and inched his fingers between Guerrique's so that their fingers twine. It is bold, but that has been the flavor of the night. 

    "Will you take me home, ser knight?" 

    Francel intones softly, and Guerrique leans in across the table subtly as though he is drawn closer by such softly seductive whispers. 

    "Am I being kicked out?"

    "Only if you want to think of it thus, I mean to take you with me."

    Guerrique bites his lip, for he surely feels the pull of desire at Francel's invitation. Never having thought the day would come that any of they would truly be invited. He feels giddy. So he lets go of so soft a hand he had been holding that they might avoid drawing undue attention and comes around the side of the table to stand at Francel's side, he touches briefly at his slim waist and gestures outwards towards the staircase. Walking with Francel so close to his side, it is a battle to not drape his arm around him.

[tacogoats]

Concerning the Heaven’s Ward in Stormblood. (Spoilers)

This will be under the cut as it contains spoilers for the Dark knight 60+ story. 

So I decided to do some of my 60 Job quests that I haven’t touched yet. I’ve only completed the Dragoon and Astrologian questlines for the new Job stuff and got to starting Ninja and Dark Knight today. 

With the Heavensward expansion over I resigned to thinking we would never see more lore on the Ward members, but lo and behold something happened! 

I compiled a big album on imgur of most of the quest involving Ser Ignasse.  As soon as I saw the quest text about the statue I knew something was up because it is in his biography lore we got from the lore book, that he adored the statue and was very faithful. 

Sadly the album is wonky and keeps putting them in a backward order but here you go; just start from the bottom. :) 

http://imgur.com/a/UdbZH

Here are some if you do not wish to use the album: 

[noctsqueen]

ffxiv ava would be an innuendo-filled femme fatale if she didnt hate her enemies so much

[unbreakable-stonespear]

A quick sketched comic of knight and squire reuniting after ten years apart. It was awkward to say the least... Vellguine is pretty sure he's going to hell for that one. (Uploaded shoddily from my phone because no computer for now)

[mirageofthecrystal]

Junelezen 2022 - Day 11 I Orthodox Mayhem

"Ser Zephirin de Valhourdin, the Just.

Ser Vellguine de Bourbagne, of the Stone Spear.

Ser Chirbert de Leusignac, the Stern.

Ser Grinnaux de Dzemael, the Bull

Ser Adelphel de Chevraudan, Brightblade.

Ser Paulecrain de Fanouilley, Coldfire.

Ser Haumeric de Peulagnon, the Valiant.

Ser Guerrique de Montrohain, the Cleaver.

Ser Hermenost de la Treaumaille, the Levinlight.

Ser Noudenet de Jaimberd, the Wise.

Ser Ignasse de Vesnaint, of the Dragon's Tail.

These twelve names are etched into the history of Ishgard, the memories of its people, and the hearts of every hopeful young man or woman who ever aspired to the pinnacle of knighthood. I was no different, revering these men, these knights twelve, the noble warriors of the Heaven's Ward who served Ishgard and the Archbishop with the utmost faith and prowess. As long as I can remember, I hoped to be amongst their ranks. And for a time, that aspiration looked to be within sight.

It was a reward for service, for valor and bravery that I had shown on behalf of Ishgard and my House. I remember the day clearly, still sporting wounds from the battle before. I was bid to simply wait under the care of the chirurgeons, and that the honor bestowed upon me would await me when I was mended. But I was stubborn, so badly did I desire what I thought my just reward. And so I marched before the people to accept their honors, and in one swift stroke I was dubbed to be a squire to none other than Ser Ignasse, once comrade to my uncle and unparalleled in his lancework. He was the mightiest slayer of dragons I could have pictured in my mind's eye, a relentless force for righteous justice that was unparalleled. And it would be my duty to serve him, to learn from him, and perhaps one day to take his place amongst these knights when his arms grew too weak to uphold his charge.

It was to my great shock and horror, then, when the most noble and righteous Heaven's Ward revealed themselves to be traitors. Not only that, but they were Primals save but name, gorging on the desperate prayers of our people for salvation. The Archbishop, the Knights, then entire Orthodoxy was simply a machine for faith, for the power of Godhood and the might to bend a world to the whims of a madman. And among them was Ser Ignasse, the man who I adored as a mentor and a friend, even after he did nothing to spare me from my wrongly ascribed fate. A man whom I wondered if I should pity or despise, so thoroughly had be betrayed my trust and the trust of all those who believed in him.

For such a foulness to corrupt even these finest of men, it had to live at the heart of it all. I know not if the Holy See had always conspired to reap our fear for their own ends, or if the lies of the past had been seeded and forgotten, and it was only by the hand of Thordan VII that the decision was made to betray everything we stand for? Was it the machinations of the Ascians that darkened his heart with promises of power, those begins whom we now know to have orchestrated many of the woes ascribed to the sins of the Garleans, or did that hunger and lust for something more always exist within him? Or had our people been lead astray from the start, from the moment the deception was born, and each generation built upon the bones of the last to turn our fear and hatred of the dragons into a weapon mighty enough to smite them and rob them of all that which we could have built together?

Of course, questions of this nature do not present themselves so readily on the field of battle. When a war rages all around you, you often do not question all that which has brought you to its doorstep, only how to move forward. And the same question was posed to Ishgard when the sword Ascalon fell from the grip of Thordan, with his Knights of the Round slain at last, with the eyes of Nidhogg divorced from another host who had once sworn to slay the beast with all he had. When the corruption that had been born in the hearts of the church still burned in many of the fervent and the faithful, with so much vitriol that even after pardons had been passed they would threaten myself and my family, cry out for my blood as a traitor, and accuse my sister of laying with dragons.

Even after the war had subsided, and for the first time in a millennium could the people of Ishgard at last choose a new and better path, the voices that had poisoned us rose into a louder and more violent crescendo. And thus did the consequences of our ancestors actions continue to spiral out of control, to divide us and conquer us within our hearts where the greatest battle is fought for the soul of us all. Our legacy would be forever stained with blood, or people truly divided between faith and truth, and the shade of Nidhogg's power would go on to plague lands beyond our own, for he would not rest even when consigned to the deepest and darkest abyss from whence no one should have been able to return.

With so many questions left behind of the nature of the Holy See and the path that must be walked, it was with the greatest reticence that I took up the position I had long coveted. Where the Heaven's Ward had once served to protect the Archbishop and the authority of the church, no longer did their need to be a shield to protect the lies which were woven. We required a new purpose much like our people, and I took up the sword knowing that I would need to confront those questions on behalf of Ishgard where once I was merely a victim of them.

The Heaven's Ward would have to become something different, our new role dedicated to the people of Ishgard, her safety, and in serving our new place amongst our allies of the Eorzean alliance. Each day I took the steps I thought would carry us to a brighter future, while the shadow of Ser Ignasse stretched behind me, dogging my steps and doubting my conviction. If one such as he had faltered and fallen to the darkness, then how could I hope to be any different? It boiled inside me, rage, fear, hatred, regret, all the things he must have felt to drive him to make the decisions he did. How could I hope to be any better, when the best among us could not resist the clarion call of sinister power?

To this day I still have no answer for that. I still do not know if I am truly worthy of the office which I hold, or if I too will succumb to the same damning influences that consumed my idols and turned them away from their people. I can only hope, through my own deeds and my commitment to those I have lost upon my path, that I can provide to Ishgard even a modicum of the grace and prosperity its people deserve, and I would be willing to give my life in order to bring it to fruition. The sins of the past should ever serve as a reminder, not that those who came before us failed, but that any of us can be found fallible, and that it is in the ability to correct our mistakes that makes us great, not our inability to make them at all.

- Excerpt from the personal journal and accounts of Ser Faiolan Penderghast, Knight of the Heaven's Ward

[knights-of-ishgard]

[the-righteous-heart]

R is for Round Table

[witchofthescions]

The first four were easy enough to dispatch. Gohnoh'a focused his attention on the foes he knew: the Warriors of Darkness. Cress assisted him, while Lyse assisted Erna and Fray in taking down Sers Janlenoux and Adelphel. Lenar healed and assisted where he could, his job honestly made considerably easier with the three knights leading the way and keeping all attention focused on them.

Next came Ser Haumeric, Ser Charibert, and Ser Noudenet. Ernastral took special glee in tackling Charibert again.

The wave after was the largest yet. Clearly, Myste was panicking now, hoping to overwhelm them with numbers. Ser Grinnaux, Ser Hermenost, Ser Guerrique, Ser Ignasse (who had been the first shade he conjured way back when), Ser Paulecrain, and two more of the Warriors of Darkness: Naillebert and J'rhoomale. Even then, they proved no match for the Warrior of Light and her friends.

The next two memories she dragged up were the Very Reverend Archimandrite Ser Zephirin, and the leader of the Warriors of Darkness, Ardbert.

"Hey look who it is, Lenar! It's our old 'pal' Zephirin—"

Without a word, Lenar drew his sword and rushed at Zephirin, attacking with the same ferocity and savagery as he had the first time around. Ernastral and Fray stared in shocked silence.

"...Well. Guess he's still got a grudge."

Fray and Ernastral went to back Lenar, while Lyse switched her attention to the remaining Warrior of Darkness. With their healer preoccupied with killing instead of healing, they needed to end this fight as quickly as possible.

Myste, of course, had no intentions of going quietly. She would do anything, anything to stop them from interfering. But she really only had one trick up her sleeve...

From the shadows, she drew forth two more shades. Two more departed loved ones, ever on their minds. Haurchefant, the valiant knight that Zephirin callously slew in front of Ernastral, Lenar, and Cress, and Yda Hext, older sister of Lyse Hext, who died helping her countrymen.

Lyse noticed her sister first. She blinked, stopping in her tracks. "Yda?!"

Her momentary distraction was enough for Ardbert to get the drop on her, swatting her away with his axe. Gohnoh'a and Cress turned to this newcomer, both of them momentarily caught off-guard by her appearance. She drew her weapons, a pair of darksteel knuckles befitting her status as a pugilist. Gohnoh'a moved to position himself between her and the others, ready to defend them.

Yda leapt over them... and landed a punch on the Warrior of Darkness that sent him sprawling. Lyse got to her feet, staring in shock.

"Yda?"

Yda turned to her sister, an all too familiar smile on her face. "Come on, Lyse! Let's show them what we're made of!"

Haurchefant rushed Ser Zephirin, raising his shield and planting himself between the Archimandrite and his beloved friends. Just as he had once before.

"Fear not, my friends!" Haurchefant said, as cheerful as always. "You shall not face this foe alone!"

"...Nor shall you." Lenar rushed in and landed a hit between plates of Ser Zephirin's armor while he was preoccupied with Haurchefant. The shade staggered back, clutching at the injury.

"N-No, wait!" Myste said. "This isn't... you're not supposed to..."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have dragged up people's fond memories," Fray said. "Stick to enemies next time."

"I... I can't... I can only work with what I'm given," Myste muttered.

"...And you have a front row seat to the inner workings of only one person here," Fray murmured, piecing things together. "Of course."

With the extra help from the friendly shades, they made short work of Zephirin and Ardbert. At last, the only one left was Myste. Erna approached the child, readying her blade for what she knew must be done.

"No... No! I can't... I won't..."

One last shade. One last bit of "help," as she promised.

One last reunion.

The shade this time was a Roegadyn man, broad shouldered and, perhaps, a bit taller than even an average sized Roegadyn. As if drawn from the memories of a child not yet fully grown, who perceived him as larger than life. Clad in the armor of a dragoon, with a spear strapped to his back, red hair arranged in short braids.

And his features obscured by a bright light.

The previously talkative Fray could do no more than utter a quiet "oh."

"A... One of the Warriors of Light from Cartenau?" Lyse's gaze flicked to Ernastral. "You knew one of them?!"

"This is a truth I... we... never wished to face," Myste said. "No matter how hard we try, we can't recall his face. We can't recall his voice. These memories have been stolen from us... and no one can fill in the gaps. He is gone... he is gone... he is GONE! And we can never be made whole!"

Myste's hands curled into fists, fingers digging into her hair.

"Is this the fate that awaits us? To be used, to sacrifice, to be thrown away and forgotten when we are no longer of use?"

"He hasn't been forgotten!" Lyse said. "He'll never be forgotten, not while we're still here. Not while there's still people left to tell the story." Lyse turned to Erna. "And that goes double for you! Just look at how many of us came for you today. How many of us noticed something was wrong and came after you to make sure you were okay. You're our friend, someone who can do all these amazing things that few others can. And... and I'm sorry for making you think otherwise."

Erna's eyes widened. "Lyse..."

"We've asked a lot of you already, I know that. And... and I know that before everything is said and done, we're going to ask a lot more. Just... remember that you don't have to carry this all on your own."

She felt a hand on her arm, and turned to find Lenar standing next to her. She looked to Cress and Gohnoh'a, the former offering her a reassuring smile, and the latter pretending to be uninterested in the goings on around him.

She couldn't help but smile.

"...Well then. Shall we finally reclaim that which was taken from us?" Fray said. She held up a hand and gestured for the others to stand down. "We can handle this final shade on our own. After all... dear Hirskfedar never could manage to beat me or Klyneyhil."

The others stood back, and watched as Ernastral fought the shade of her brother.

She never saw him fight as a dragoon. But she had seen a dragoon fight before, and she knew he had wanted to learn their ways for himself.

And she also knew that she could beat him.

The shade fell before her, and with another swing, she reclaimed the aether surrounding Myste. Myste fell to her knees, and her body began to dissolve into sparks of aether.

"Forgive me, forgive me... I ask, I beg, I pray, but it never comes..." She shut her eyes and tears fell.

Fray placed her borrowed sword point-first back into the ground.

"Again they go to join the multitude in the black oblivion of the abyss..."

Fray approached her, her own borrowed form beginning to dissolve as well. "Such is our lot. Such is the fate of all who are born—to suffer and die. Do not seek forgiveness, for it will not ease the burden. It weighs as it should."

"But what of the lost?" Myste asked. "What of all those we failed to save? All those we killed?"

"Do not dwell overmuch on your failures," Lenar said. "I realize that's rich coming from me. But I know from experience how awful it feels to be trapped in thoughts of 'what if.'"

"If you keep obsessing over the past, you'll lose sight of the future," Rielle chimed in. All eyes turned to her as she got to her feet. "Of the people still with us, who need us more than ever."

"Well said," Lenar agreed. "The memory of those we've loved and lost can never truly be taken from us. Even if the details fade, the love we bore will never truly die. And in the end, when death finally claims us, that love will endure in those we leave behind."

Fray shut her eyes and let out a soft huff. "So it goes."

"So our best recourse in this world," Lenar continued, "the best way to fight against its indifference and injustice, is to love. To love fiercely and deeply, without reservation. That is what I have always believed. And that is what I have always seen you do."

Erna sheathed her sword, and offered Myste a gentle smile. Myste bowed her head.

"Listen to my voice. Listen to our heartbeat. Listen..." Fray took a deep breath. "I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you."

After a moment, Myste lifted her head again. "Thank you. That is... that is all I ever wanted."