#anyway i didn't edit or even really reread this i'm tryna de-rust the writing a bit because i used to love it

[syrcus]

FFXIVwrite 2024 Day 1: Steer

Non-WoL OC. No major spoilers. Pre-Calamity, minor setting spoiler for early 7.0 zone. 868 words ao3 link

Ask a dozen sailors what the most important part of a ship is, and you'll be given a dozen answers. You may be told of the mast, and how without it the ship can make no headway; you might hear of the galley and the comforts of a warm meal and good company after a long day's work; others still will tell you of pieces of a ship's anatomy you never considered, paints and metals hidden beneath the waterline to protect the hull from barnacles and the caustic effects of ocean salt.      Soley Torunn never cared much for all that. Then again, he was never much of a sailor, and never felt at peace on the ship he called home his whole sixteen years.

     It's a curious feeling, he realises, to stand on Tuliyollal's dock and watch the place he grew up slowly drift away. A handful of paces to his right stands a shetona woman with dark hair and bright eyes, waving enthusiastically, yelling at the top of her voice without a care as to whether it will carry to the people she's calling for.

     "Be safe out there, Salka! And bring back something fun! And-" she catches herself and laughs, seeming to realise the futility of her effort, before lowering her voice and turning to Soley with a fond smile. "Well. I suppose we're left to hold down the fort."

Soley finds himself at a loss. She's a nice enough woman, too nice to be his mother's closest friend on this, or any, side of the world. He always wondered how that bond was formed, how someone so unkind could be loved by someone so her opposite. Perhaps they were living through each other in a way; his "aunt" had always wanted to go out and see the world, perhaps she in turn has some quality his mother values, though he struggles to imagine what a woman like his mother might find endearing. Maybe she's just a useful connection to those in power.      He looks at her uneasily, all too acutely aware of the differences between them. She's smiling, warm and bright; staying in Tural this year had been her idea, she'd said it would do him good to strike out on his own a little. He had leapt at the opportunity at first, but standing here now he barely knows where to start. He takes a breath.

     "I… What do I do now?" he asks quietly. He's spent his whole life a sailor's son, 'Árni and Salka's kit', never having the time to put down roots somewhere. Now that he has the chance, he can't help but feel like a ship with a broken mast, forced to weigh anchor far from home.

     "Well, we can get you set up in a room, or get some food, or-" Not the mast, he realises as his aunt chatters on, it's the rudder I'm missing. It's a discomforting thought, to be directionless, unable to change course by his own hand.  At sea or on land, his fate always seems to sit in the hands of those around him.  I need to get out of here.

     "I'm sorry, Auntie," he cuts in. "I think I need some time alone. A walk perhaps." He doesn't wait for a reply before turning to leave, and doesn't say goodbye. He knows his aunt well enough to know she'll find him again sooner or later, she's persistent and well-practiced at hunting down lost boys. Her own child, as far as Soley knows him, also prefers solitude more often than not.      He pays little attention to where he's going, just a vague sense of 'upwards'. He cuts through the markets and the plaza, and avoids the residential district, his mind racing and empty all at once. The only thing he's sure of is that he needs distance, from the Aalto and the person he was aboard it, from the docks and the sea, from anyone and everyone. Tuliyollal is, he thinks, a good city.  It's bright, and colourful, and its people even moreso.  The towns of Aldenard and Vylbrand seem grey and small by comparison, and for all its colour Kugane has always been so rigid.  For as long as he can remember, the months spent in Tuliyollal between long days at sea have always been his favourite.      A small mamool ja child runs past him, giggling, their mum chasing behind and telling them to slow down.  What is it like, Soley wonders, to grow up loved?  To be tucked in to a soft bed a night, one that doesn't sway to and fro until nothing feels solid anymore?

     As he walks, his thoughts turn further to his own life, a ship as its metaphor.  For as long as he can remember, someone has manned the helm; he may have had no choice over the direction he took, but his course was charted and mapped.  Now, it seems, the wheel spins wildly, every path and none at all open to him in unison.

Ask a dozen sailors what the most important part of a ship is, and you'll be given a dozen answers.  Ask Soley Torunn, though, and he will say,

     "Where it's going."