#ffxiv stormblood spoilers

[cloudsmovingcastle]

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? I said I was going to distract them, not make a heroic and ultimately futile last stand. Who does that, anyway?”

Alisaie Levillieur, the woman you are. I adore you

[ladyramora]

In the shadow of your heart

[Part Two]

Written for @/natus_Vincer

Natus belongs to @natus-vincer

↓↓↓ Spoilers for Stormblood & Shadowbringers under the cut↓↓↓

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Characters: Natus Vincer/Elidibus

Additional tags & NSFW Warnings:

Named Warrior of Light, Angst and Feels, Enemies and Lovers, Established Relationship, Explicit Sex, Blood and Violence, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Foot Jobs, Face Fucking, Boot Licking, Humping, Size Difference, Natus is compared to a dog a lot, Au Ra horns used as handlebars, Come Eating, Snark, Did I Mention Angst?

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Natus sat in his room, the hum of primordial light no longer vibrating in his horns now that he had brought back the night to the people of Lakeland. The hour was late, the night sky an endless expanse of black lit up with twinkling stars. The moon shone with a cool, calm glow that spilled in through his open window of his room in The Pendants.

He stares blankly at his own hands, clenching and unclenching his fingers while mulling over the events of Holminster Switch. All the people he could not save compared to the ones who had survived. The road had been littered with bodies.

Natus felt strange, too. His skin felt too tight, his body strangely hot. A restless energy vibrated through him, preventing his tired mind and body from achieving rest no matter how long he had laid on the bed provided for him.

Sleep eluded him.

That was fine. Natus knew well enough what he would dream of, or rather who. Images his brain would conjure up in the yearning to see an enemy most beloved.

One who had not visited him as a lover since last they had met on that starless night in the Ghymlyt Dark.

The wind picks up, a breeze drifting into his room that carries the scent of flowers to his nose, and along with it a familiar presence.

Natus' breath freezes in his lungs as he turns his head, his heart jumping in his throat with painful hope.

The moonlight of the First was no different than that of the Source as it spilled over the silent figure of the white-robed ascian that stood in front of his open window.

Natus was ready to believe he had fallen asleep where he sat, the exhaustion finally catching up with him.

Elidibus standing in his room, here on the First, was obviously a figment of his overtired brain. Conjured up by thoughts of him combined with hopeless yearning.

He was bright in the gloom of darkness that was Natus' inn room. Pale and perfect, he was like the ethereal moon in a dark, starless sky. A beautiful and terrible apparition of his own longing come to haunt him.

His face was cast in the shadow of his cowl, his expression hidden in the gloom, yet Natus could not help but think that the red mask he wore had changed. Less of a faintly amused, mocking expression and more one that spoke of a cold, seething rage.

Natus does not dare to blink, let alone breathe too loudly, lest his doing so break the illusion of Elidibus visiting him again after so long.

The scar that Elidibus had gifted him when last they met faintly ached, as if resonating with his presence.

"I am loath to admit that even I, the Emissary, have been kept in the dark as to what plans Emet Selch has made," Elidibus speaks to the air more to him, low and faintly raspy. A tired quality to the sound of his voice that spoke of millennia stretching out endlessly, a long lived life that Natus could not possibly comprehend.

Had he come to kill him? Natus wondered. Would he still be alive now, if not for Estinien's timely arrival? Would Elidibus have truly struck him down, put an end to it once and for all?

"I did not think you would seek me out again," Natus finds himself saying, his voice croaking with the dryness of his throat. He glances down at his hands for a second, a mere blink, and suddenly Elidibus is by his side.

Before he can move or react, his jaw is caught. The cold bite of claws dig cruelly into his skin, but Natus leans into the familiar warmth of his body.

He does not flinch even as Elidibus wrenches his head up, those eyes glowing a fierce, icy aquamarine behind the unforgiving leer of that blood red mask.

"Say what you mean," Elidibus utters in that frightfully blank voice.

Natus swallows. "...Would you have done it?"

Elidibus squeezes his face hard, his claws pricking into Natus' skin and letting blood. Natus can only smile through the pain because Elidibus was here. Elidibus was touching him of his own volition.

Even after everything that had happened at the Ghymlyt Dark, Natus was glad to see him.

"I had every intention of doing my duty," the Emissary almost hisses out the words on a sigh of breath.

Natus closes his eyes. His throat was bare beneath Elidibus' hand, he was weaponless. Vulnerable.

"You didn't then, you have yet to do so now."

Those claws scratch down his scales and skin as Elidibus wraps his hand around his neck instead. Natus struggles to swallow, to breathe as Elidibus tightens his grip.

A hand so small, with an appearance so delicate, but possessed of such great strength that it stole his breath so easily.

Or perhaps it was his mere presence that did so.

"You are right, I could do so this very moment. Thwart the very plans that Emet Selch has no doubt made without me. I could put an end to you, misbegotten hero. One who has become death to my kin."

Natus makes no move to escape or defend himself. His hands rise from his lap only to grasp at Elidibus' robe, fabric wrinkling and bunching in his fists. Holding fast in the hopes that Elidibus will stay even now. After everything.

"You are a fool," Elidibus tells him in a low murmur as Natus gazes helplessly into his face, his feelings unchanged even as the ascian threatens his life.

Natus lets out a precious breath of his dwindling air as Elidibus lowers his face to his, the sharp points of his mask digging into him painfully as the ascian crushes his mouth against his.

Natus surges into him despite the pain, clutching at him greedily as he wraps his muscular arms around the ascian's small, slim waist.

Elidibus hisses out an irritated breath as he finds himself dragged into Natus' lap, his mask knocked askew, nearly falling from its position on his face as Natus kisses him like he'll never get the chance again.

Elidibus presses his teeth together in refusal to let Natus deepen their kiss, before sinking his teeth into the hero's lip like he meant to make him bleed.

Natus grunts with displeasure as his head is yanked to the side, their kiss broken by Elidibus snatching him by the horn and pulling hard.

"I hate that," Natus huffs, catching his breath with greedy gulps of air.

"Do you really think I aim to please you?" Elidibus grits out, grasping tight at Natus' wrists as those hands wander below the ascian's waist in amorous habit. "I did not come here for this."

Natus grins with red dripping down his chin from his bloody lip and cuts stinging from his cheeks to his collar where Elidibus' claws had sliced at him. He grasps palmfuls of Elidibus' cute little bottom through the layers of his robes and squeezes as he bucks his hips up.

"What did you come for, if not for this? For me?"

The expression on Elidibus' face finally changes, his lips pressing thin. He gives him no answer. But nor does he move to get up or use magic to escape from Natus' clingy embrace.

Emboldened, Natus tugs his hand free to pull back the ascian's hood, his silver hair spilling free from the confines of the white fabric. He reaches next for Elidibus' mask, wanting to see his face.

Elidibus slaps his hand away with a stinging swat of his clawed glove, denying him that.

Yet in the very next moment, he reaches out to rip Natus' shirt open.

Natus sucks in a breath as the swipe of those claws make him bleed, but he is all too gentle as he gathers Elidibus' hair in his hand. Winding his fingers through it as he lifts his head to press his lips to his enemy's unyielding mouth.

He is undeterred by this familiar game of stubborn refusal, only smiling fondly as he kisses the ascian's lips until Elidibus begrudgingly softens towards him. Convinced to part his lips to the hungry, persistent flick of Natus' tongue over his pretty pink lips.

Natus moans his approval, his hands sinking into Elidibus' silky hair to cradle the back of his head as he tilts his head to avoid bumping into that crimson mask.

He savors the taste of Elidibus' kiss, a craving he had not sated in some time.

Talking never got them anywhere, no matter how Natus tried to reach the man or find common ground, Elidibus held his duties as Emissary above all else.

In this way, though, they communicated quite well. Sharing heated breaths as their lips parted for only seconds at a time before they sank into one another again.

Natus pours all his feelings into these kisses, all the questions he did not dare give voice to. Cupping Elidibus' elegant jaw in his large hand, Natus is gentle, reverent as he sweeps his thumb over the ascian's skin. Marveling as he always did at how cool Elidibus' skin felt in comparison to warmth that Natus gave off.

Elidibus gives something like a rumbling growl in his throat. Seeming displeased by this gentle affection as he grabs a rough fistful of Natus' hair and yanks his head back again.

"Nng," Natus groans, desire stirring in his loins as Elidibus bit at his mouth, his jaw, his throat. Rutting against him with jerky motions of his hips as he ravaged him with brutal bites and bruising hickeys.

"Let me—" Natus starts to say, to suggest they undress and perhaps move this to the bed instead of doing so at the table.

"No," Elidibus cuts him off. "I have indulged you far too much, for too long."

Natus gives a guttural, barking laugh at that. Indulged him? Hah! Elidibus eluded him at every turn. Kept him at arm's length no matter the strides the xaela made to close the distance between them. Slapped his hands away whenever Natus reached for him. Perhaps Elidibus enjoyed being chased?

Natus could never hold onto Elidibus for long, he always slipped through his fingers. Cold and distant as the moon.

He half expected he would leave him yet again, unfulfilled and with so many unanswered questions when Elidibus rises from his lap.

Natus is not expecting him to climb from his lap and step up onto the table. He blinks, turning in his stool to face the table, and finding himself promptly bracketed by the Ascian's thighs. That white, immaculate robe spread open and his dark trousers already pushed down his thighs.

Impatient, was he?

He was already hard. His prick bobbing under the weight of Natus' hungry stare, a pretty pink flush coloring his pale skin that only deepened the longer that Natus looked at him without doing anything.

"Do not touch me with those hands stained with the blood of my brothers and sisters," Elidibus warns him in a brittle voice, before Natus can reach out and wrap his hand around him.

Natus pauses, looking into that cold, unfeeling mask.

Elidibus' lips—bitten red and bruised from his kisses—were pursed thin.

Heh, so that was how he wanted it?

Fine.

If Elidibus wanted his mouth, Natus would give him that. He was perfectly fine with being used so long as Elidibus stayed by his side. So, with such thoughts in mind, Natus crosses his hands behind his back with a smile and leans forward into his lap.

Natus moved slowly, taking his time as he made contact with the tip of his nose first, breathing in deep the unique scent that could only belong to Elidibus. A flowery, earthy scent that Natus recognized emanating from his hair and skin, combined with a darker and dusty sort of gunpowder smell that lingered on his robes of which Natus could not quite place at this point in time. A smell the xaela would later recognize as moondust.

He trails his nose over the pretty cock bobbing in front of his face, his neck flexing up and down and head tilting from side to side to side as he nosed along the velvety skin, allowing the weight of it to rest on his cheek as he nuzzles into him and breathes in gulping, heady breaths. The musky, salty scent of him here had Natus swallowing frequently as his mouth watered with the greedy desire to taste him.

His need was obvious to Elidibus, there was no doubt about that. It would be humorous, surely, if not for the twisted history between them.

Here was Natus, the bringer of light, the very savior of Eorzea that had laid low eikons, gods, and ascian alike; and yet he was rendered a panting, drooling mutt so ready to be used by the very Emissary that would be his greatest enemy.

And yet Elidibus was not above taking advantage of it. More than that, he actively participated in it. Elidibus wanted this—wanted Natus—enough to return to him again even as their relationship was further perverted by bloodshed on both sides and the accompanying twisted emotions that came along with it.

It was obvious to both of them that they never should have blurred the line of enemy and lover, that their relationship had been doomed from the very start; but it was far too late now. Destruction surely awaited them, yet even knowing that, neither of them could stop, or stay away from another.

They would walk this path, hand in hand, to their inevitable end.

Even knowing that, Natus wanted to draw it out as long as he could. These moments between them. Who knew how many they had left?

He would savor every one like it was the last, because it could very well be.

Elidibus gave no voice to his demands, as to do so would be to admit his own need. Yet his actions spoke louder than words as he tugged Natus' horns like handles, and pushed his hips up to press the tip of his prick to Natus' lips, smearing a lewd line of precum over the xaela's mouth. Deliciously filthy.

Despite the many millennia he had lived—and all the careful plans he had made in that time—with Natus, Elidibus could be quite impatient.

Natus fights a grin as he drags his tongue over his lips, savoring the salty musk of Elidibus' intimate flavor and just so incidentally grazing the needy cock so near to his mouth with his tongue.

He could feel Elidibus shudder, hear the vibration of the soft breath of pleasure he let out as it thrums seductively through his horns.

Natus lets his tongue hang from his mouth with a hot, moist exhale. Allowing the puff of his own panting breath to drive the ascian all the more wild with desire for a few torturous breaths longer before he leaned in to drag his tongue along the head of Elidibus' cock.

He laps at him with the full length of his tongue, though his technique could hardly be described as such. Rather, he licked at Elidibus in a crude, messy manner. Much like a mutt seeking to show overzealous affection to its master, he was a sloppy, drooling mess. More hungry for the taste of Elidibus than showing any finesse.

Still, it seemed to do it for his masked lover, judging by the way Elidibus gave small, barely restrained jolts of reaction.

Natus could not see his eyes, but he could see the tick of his jaw as the ascian ground his teeth. Recognize the soft hiss of his breath as something felt particularly good.

Natus' tongue was too eager in response, too quick. The taste of Elidibus could not linger in his mouth for long enough. Every beading pearl of precum was soon spread over his drooling tongue, dissipating far too soon to savor it.

Elidibus' scent did not linger long enough in his nose with every gulping, greedy breath that Natus took. He wanted to sear this into his memory, imprint it upon his soul. The scent of him, the taste of him, every sound he made.

Every moment, every intimacy that was so terribly fleeting; Natus did not want to forget a single second of it.

Even the lower half of Elidibus’ face, twisted up and unhappy as it was… Natus knew that he would want to remember it. The line of the emissary’s jaw, the down turned corners of his mouth. The underside of his nose, just a sliver to be seen from where Natus was looking up at him.

This less than tender grip upon his horns, accompanied by the occasional scrape of his claw over the pattern of ridges and dips that made Natus shudder bodily in a way that was less than pleasant. It was like scraping bone, and made Natus experience a sensation of intense discomfort.

Elidibus would know this by now, such an action from him was surely intentional.

Yet Natus grins and bears it all, swallowing down that sensation of revulsion and hyper focusing on his desire for Elidibus. Licking, licking, licking at him with unbearable patience. Teasing the both of them by taking his time to simply savor the moment.

Aught that plainly irks his enemy and lover. Elidibus tightens his grip and yanks at the hero's horns, pulling him in roughly. Forcing the xaela forward into his lap, his cockhead pushing insistently at his lips and cheek. The pointed tip of Natus' horns drag across the bare, vulnerable expansion of Elidibus' thighs, surely raising lines in his flesh, if not drawing blood.

Those clawed fingers pull at the corner of his mouth, slipping inward to poke uncomfortably at the soft, spongy curve of the inside of his cheek. The panting puff of his breath becomes distorted with the stretch of his mouth, and drool drips from the tip of his tongue and over his lips where Elidibus’ clawed fingers stretch his mouth open, trickling down his chin.

The tip of Elidibus' cock bumps against his top lip, pressing his lip to his teeth. His greedy tongue laps at the sensitive underside of it, making the ascian hiss and thrust his hips forward.

Natus groans helplessly and obliges his lover's wordless command by opening his mouth wide, sucking the pretty pink tip of Elidibus' prick into his mouth. Welcoming him in with a hospitality that was altogether lewd.

Yes, this was more like it. He could savor him better like this. Take in more of him as the salt and clean musk of his flavor lingered in his mouth. Flavor that only grew stronger, headier as Natus bobs his head and sucks at him with such lustful greed that it hollows his cheeks.

Saliva pools in his mouth with the taste of him, easing the glide of his lips and the slippery path of his tongue as he takes him in deeper with every bob of his head. He gulps to keep the drool from dribbling down his lips, swallowing around the girth of Elidibus' cock.

Elidibus gives something like a curse in an ancient tongue that even Natus' echo cannot quite properly translate, but the feeling of it is very familiar.

Natus has no time to decipher its true meaning, as he chokes a bit in surprise as Elidibus pulls him in, smothering the xaela’s face in his lap as the ascian uses him as he pleases.

He can hardly breathe as Elidibus pulls and pushes him to and fro by the grip he has on his horns, using him like a toy whose only purpose was to give pleasure.

Natus moans, accepting all that was given to him, even if it was much too fast for his liking.

He relaxes his throat the best he can, gulping and gasping as his eyes water from being deprived of oxygen. His throat tightens out of reflex as he struggles to take in air, aught that stimulates his selfish lover all the more for the way more moans leak out from those tightly pursed lips.

A hot rush of lust pulses through his veins, pooling in Natus' lower belly and throbbing unbearably between his thighs. He felt deliriously giddy to pull such sounds from his enemy’s lips.

Elidibus may resent it, but he desired Natus the very same as the hero did him.

Natus groans, shifting restlessly on the stool he was precariously perched upon. Gods, he was hard. The leather of his trousers felt far too tight. He felt stifled, hot and uncomfortable. He needed to release some of this pressure, or at least pop a button open.

He peeks at his lover through blurry eyelashes weighed down with the weight of tears, his shoulders rolling as he slid the back of his hands forward to cup his palm over his hips towards his groin, ilming towards the fastenings of his trousers. He pops the button successfully, and had only just loosened the tightly fitted leather at his crotch enough to feel a cool breeze when Elidibus lifts his booted foot and steps on his hand.

Natus chokes as the ascian grinds the heel of his boot on the back of his hand, pinning it forcefully as his ankle twisted to and fro. A wicked bit of stimulation that was as pleasurable as it was painful, the force of the ascian’s leg pressing hard and forcing the xaela's own hand against the bulge in his trousers. His lover's other leg lifts to shove at the hero's shoulder, forcing him upright.

Natus lurches backwards as he coughs, a string of thick saliva clinging to his lip, keeping them connected even as Elidibus sneers at him. His hand throbs with pain, yanked free from under Elidibus' heel.

“I should not be surprised how content you are to be used,” the Emissary's voice drips with disdain, his boot now unobstructed from rubbing roughly over the prominent bulge in Natus' trousers.

Fuck, it hurt.

But at the same time it felt so good, too…!

Natus gives a strangled groan, his head tipping backwards as his eyes rolled in their sockets with pained pleasure, his hips bucking underneath the crushing weight of the ascian's boot.

Elidibus scoffs. “Look at you. A so-called hero, made so desperate by your own desire. How readily you accept the weight of your enemy's boot.”

Natus tossed his head side to side in denial, groaning out as Elidibus applied cruel pressure. “...Because it's you,” he retorts. Lacking his usual bite, perhaps, but Natus was so damned tired even before Elidibus had deigned to grace him with his presence.

Elidibus purses his lips, seeming ill at ease with such a response.

Natus did not know what else he could possibly say. It was the truth, even if it were one fraught with countless complications.

Of course Elidibus was different.

Even after what had happened in the Ghymlyt Dark, Natus still found himself willingly walking into the clutches of his enemy's claws, whether those hands meant to caress him or crush him.

“Is that not what you wanted to hear?” Natus asks. Struggling as always to understand what Elidibus was thinking, what he wanted.

The lack of Elidibus' answer was as withering as the weight of his stare behind his mask.

Natus swallows the aching lump in his throat, licking at his stinging lip. He could tell by the way the ascian's posture had shifted, the frigid silence between them, that the man was already reconsidering this visit.

No, no. If he left, there was no telling if he'd ever come again!

No, it couldn't end like this.

He wouldn't let it end like this.

Natus lurches forward, a sick desperation twisting in his gut. He dives back into pleasing his lover, his hands crumpling the crisp lines of his white ascian robe as he grabs hold of it in reckless abandon.

Elidibus jolts under him, grunting in surprise that was half pleasure and half pain as Natus swallows him down to the base, resulting in the sharp jut of his horns digging into the milky skin of the Emissary's thighs.

Natus moans as Elidibus yanks at his hair in reprimand, but does not let up the intensity of his focus. He was a man with a mission. He knew all the places Elidibus was sensitive, and now put the knowledge to good use.

No, he would not be deterred.

He sucks him just how he liked it, hungry and wet. All lips and tongue as he bobs his head forward and back, stimulating his glans until he could feel his lover's legs shake. Only then does he hollow his cheeks and take him deeper, opening his throat up to swallow around him in lustful gulps as he inhales strained breaths in through his nose.

“You…!” Elidibus chokes on the strangled hiss of his own voice, and grips the hero by the hair with both hands. He spreads his legs wide, hips bucking upward in abandon of all composure as he fucks into the wet heat of Natus' throat.

“Mmn..!” Natus moans his encouragement, his eyes rolling back as Elidibus uses him to chase the feeling of pleasure that he had so skillfully fanned from a mere spark to a roaring flame.

He’d like nothing more than to kick the stool beneath him away and kneel lower—to feel the full brunt of Elidibus' desire, cock thrusting down his throat and balls slapping against his face—but Natus knew beggars could not be choosers.

The fact that Elidibus was still here, let alone indulging in physical gratification, was a miracle in itself. That he hadn't used his ascian abilities to slip from Natus' grasp and disappeared the very moment his resolve to pay him a visit had faltered.

Had it been the reluctance to scrutinize his own feelings, or a reminder of his duty in the face of his conflicting actions? Natus wished he could use his echo to look into Elidibus' mind, to read his thoughts and know his feelings. It would be so much simpler if that were possible, so Natus could act accordingly in whatever manner it took to make Elidibus stay.

It is with the worry weighing on him that Elidibus would soon leave once the passion had worn off that Natus tries to slow the frenzy he had stirred up, wanting it to last. His hands pushing against the ascian's hips as he tries to draw back.

“Why now do you falter?” Elidibus murmurs as he releases his hair to catch him by the horns before he can go too far.

“Nng..?!” Natus huffs a noise through his nose, taken a bit by surprise as he was used as a counterweight, his neck pulled taut with the weight of Elidibus' body as the smaller man used his horns to pull himself forward.

Natus plants his feet, centering his gravity on the stool so as not to be pulled out of it. For his slight build, the white robed ascian was incredibly strong.

“Finish what you start,” Elidibus insists, keeping the pace that Natus had set. Every thrust of his hips is an exercise of precision, aiming for the back of Natus' throat as if making the hero choke on his cock was his cruel intention. “Or do you lack conviction even in this?”

Natus was never so thankful of his plentiful experience and skill as he kept his gagging to the minimum.

It was clear that Elidibus would not be allowing him to slow things down, so with his head held immobilized by the grip on his horns and his throat stuffed full of his enemy's cock, Natus simply went with it instead of trying to wrest control back. For however long it lasted, he would simply enjoy the moment.

He blindly reaches down to take himself in hand, pumping his dry fist up and down his cock for a few fleeting moments in less than satisfactory pleasure before another idea strikes him like a bolt of levin.

He grabs hold of the closest bit of Elidibus near him by feeling around for it—cupping his knee first, trailing down over his ankle, to then grasp at that merciless, pristine boot—and drags the smaller man's foot into his lap.

Elidibus peers down at him, his pale skin flushed behind his glowering red mask, that pretty pink blush that Natus so favored.

“Are you truly so desperate?” Elidibus remarks in a voice short of breath, watching Natus rub up against his boot to get himself off. “I admit, it suits you. Rutting at my boot like a mindless mongrel. Go on, I'll allow you this much magnanimity.”

Natus had to hand it to him, Elidibus certainly was good at putting on airs, acting haughty and mocking when he was clearly having trouble remaining composed. The very words he spoke were trembling in tandem with the pleasured shivers of his body.

Natus could hardly mouth off or reply with a smart quip with his mouth soundly occupied, so he does that trick with his tongue that he knew Elidibus was weak for.

He is rewarded with the ascian's foot jerking against his crotch, inspiring a burst of pained pleasure that had Natus whimpering and drooling around Elidibus' cock.

It is well worth the pain when he hears that strange ancient language again, another curse pulled from Elidibus' lips. It was so odd a feeling to have his echo flare but ultimately be unable to translate it, like struggling to remember a word he thought he knew.

Could his echo be malfunctioning? Was a fleeting thought, but one that Natus puts to the back of his mind as he grips Elidibus’ foot with both hands and rolls his hips forward to hump at the textured tread of his boot.

Ahh, it hurt, but it hurt so good. Natus only wished he had something to slick the path of his cock as it rubbed roughly over the ridges and dips along the sole of the ascian's boot. The little pearly droplets that dribbled from his cock could only lube the way so much.

His jaw was beginning to ache, along with his head where his horns pulled at the skin and scale of his face. Yet he knew he'd need to shoulder on, Elidibus had never been quick on the trigger. It took more than a bit of sloppy head to make the man give in and empty his balls.

Ever the stalwart hero, Natus preservers.

Divide and conquer!

That is, dividing his focus.

Natus doesn't allow himself to slack off even though Elidibus was doing the heavy lifting by using his horns as handlebars. He hones his focus on making his lover feel good by using his tongue, his lips, his throat.

He tongues every vein, seeking out spots he knows are sensitive. He alternates sensation just with his lips, softening his pout for a while and then tightening back up to suck hard at the tip of Elidibus' prick. He opens up his throat, swallowing rapidly around the length of him as he thrusts forward and back.

His own pleasure is not forgotten. He clutches at the sturdy material of the ascian's boot, fingers dimpling the brown leather as he humps him very much like the horny mutt that Elidibus claimed him to be. The head of his cock smearing messily over the underside of his boot. A stain that Elidibus would remember every time he wore these boots, if he didn't discard them altogether after this.

Natus prefers to think positively. That Elidibus will remember this moment, remember him, every time he pulls these boots on. Or magicked them on? Were ascians above dressing the same as mere mortals did?

Such simple trivialities were beyond Natus' knowledge. Elidibus never stayed long enough for him to know, and he certainly never allowed Natus to watch him dress once they were through. He was always dressed again after every lewd act, every dirty little tryst. Perfect and pristine once again, as if he had not been befouled by the hands of his greatest enemy.

Natus could not help but wonder how this one would end. Would he see Elidibus again after this? Would Elidibus finish what he had started in the Ghymlyt Dark? Or, worse, would this be their last night together like this?

The answer would soon become clear.

Natus knew it wouldn't be long now. Though his pleasure had been entangled with pain from the start, the intensity of it was enough to push him steadily towards the edge.

He could feel the telltale sensations in his body—the heat, the slow tickle of pleasure that became a whole body shiver, the unbearable need that was slowly consuming his thoughts, making it harder to think.

He tries to stay the movement of his hips, to slow it down to a grind. It was incredibly difficult. Agonizing, in fact. The impulse to rut against Elidibus like a mindless beast was hard to ignore.

Thankfully, it was one that Natus was already more than familiar with. The Emissary always held fast to his composure, even in moments of intimacy between them. Natus could not help but want to see that composure shaken, to inspire a reaction in his lover and enemy. Passion, even.

As such, he would quite happily stay right here, holding out as long as he possibly could in hopes that Elidibus would catch up to him. Drawing out the moment so the end would come that much later.

Elidibus knew his tells, too, however.

“You're… close,” Elidibus remarks. His voice was almost as poised as it usually was, if not for the deep breaths he took and the way he had to pause between words. “I can… feel you trembling. Why… hold yourself back? Was this… not what you wanted?”

Natus whines, his eyes rolling back in his head as Elidibus pins his cock against his belly by applying slight pressure with his boot. Aught that he slowly increases, grinding just under the head of Natus’ abused cock. Stimulating his glans with the toe of his boot with cruel twists and taps of his forefoot.

Natus chokes a bit on his own spit, spasming with pained pleasure. He coughs and gags around Elidibus' cock, eyes tearing up and nose stinging.

Oh, gods, this one was going to be intense. His whole body seizes up, taut with the agony that was the precipice of bliss.

The upside was that Elidibus was not unaffected, either. Natus could feel him throb on his tongue, as clear a reaction as any.

A shame he couldn't do much to push Elidibus further as the ascian tips him over the edge first with an upstroke of his boot, sending Natus spiraling into such an overwhelming orgasm that all he can do is hold on, his hands squeezing so hard at the man's boot as he writhed with pleasure that it was shocking he didn't pull it straight off his foot.

Pleasure pulses through him, his heart beating like a drum. Pulse, pulse, pulse! Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump…!

It was the burst of fireworks, all his nerves firing at once, like the burning pain of overexertion all over his body.

Gods, it feels like he's dying. It feels like the best relief of his life, yet so agonizing that he wants to tear himself away and curl up into a ball so he doesn't have to bear the brunt of it all anymore.

Noise rings through his horns, vibrating through his very bones. He does not remember squeezing his eyes closed, but the room feels far too bright when he opens them again.

He is unsteady, exhausted. Barely remaining seated in the stool. Utterly spent. His heart thunders in his chest as he tries to catch his breath, but his mouth is still occupied.

Elidibus is not finished yet.

Natus is boneless as he is moved. Used.

His brain is so addled by the lingering aftershocks that he can barely do anything at all to please the man except be a wet, willing hole for him to stick his prick into.

Natus whimpers weakly around the shape of him in his mouth, knowing he was a mess. He felt oversensitive, sticky with spend. Every brush of Elidibus' boot against his flagging cock made him want to sob and shy away.

It is through sheer will that he doesn't. He breaths in slowly, shallowly, his hands shaky where he still stubbornly holes onto Elidibus’ boot.

He closes his eyes against the glare of the room, moving his lips and tongue. Swallowing, using his voice, bobbing his head forward as much as he could. Anything to help stimulate his lover and push him to peak, too.

Finally, Elidibus trembles. His grip tightens on his horns. He feels him in his throat, on his tongue; throbbing.

Natus moans, pressing forward as far as he could go and closing his mouth around him. It feels wasteful to just drink him down, to not savor him on his tongue. But if he doesn't swallow, he'll choke on it. For a man his size, Elidibus came copious amounts.

Natus is three gulps in of hot, salty spend when Elidibus loosens his hold on his horns.

Natus pulls back, catching the next pulse on his tongue, his lips, his face. He opens his mouth wide, eyes squeezing closed to prevent from getting it in his eyes. It stripes over his eyebrow, catching in his eyelashes, dripping over the scales that curve along his nose and cheeks.

Natus swipes his tongue over her lips, stretching it as far as he can to lick what he could from his cheek. It stung at the cuts on his lip and face, but he voices no complaints about that.

Elidibus is staring at him when he opens his eyes again.

Natus smiles for him, blissed out and cum drunk. Not one to leave things half finished, he leans forward and laps at the messy leftovers still dripping down his lover's cute prick as it softened. Sucking at the pearly droplets still beading from his pretty pink tip until nothing more was forthcoming to wet his tongue.

“Enough,” Elidibus presses his unsullied boot to his shoulder and pushes him off. Pointing to the boot that Natus had thoroughly molested, he mutters with what seems to be annoyance. “You have more mess yet to clean.

Natus snorts, finding it somewhat ridiculous that he wanted him to clean off his boot when they were both still sitting here, cocks out and covered in cum. Especially Natus, who had stained his own pants just as much as he had Elidibus' boot. “What, you want me to lick that clean, too?”

Elidibus stares at him. Expectant.

Really?

Right, then.

Natus leans forward and licks his own cum from the top of Elidibus' boot. It tastes like salt and leather, and somewhat like licking the barrel of a gun. It tasted just like that dusty gunpowder smell he had detected on Elidibus’ robe.

“Satisfied?” Natus asks, arching his eyebrows.

“You missed a spot,” Elidibus says, lifting his leg to show him the smeared, tacky mess on the bottom of his boot.

Natus had a sneaking suspicion that Elidibus simply had something of a thing for seeing him degraded.

As if this was the worst thing Natus had ever had to do. Licking his own cum from his lover's boot hardly ranked anywhere near the top of the list of terrible things that Natus had been made to do in his line of work.

Natus gets one, two pointed licks in before Elidibus plants his boot in his face and shoves him off the stool.

Natus goes down like a sack of popotoes, smacking hard against the floor. Certainly bruising something.

His face throbs something fierce. A fitting end to a shite day. He bites his tongue, wanting to call his lover a few choice names, but holding back. He supposed this was Elidibus being nice, all things considered.

Natus groans, checking to make certain his sunglasses were still on his head. Phew, alright. Not cracked, but they were covered in cum. Wow, he must have shot high.

Elidibus looms over him, once again immaculate like he didn't just have his prick shoved down Natus' throat and been covered in the hero's cum.

Natus groans and lifts himself up to his knees. Stopped by his enemy crouching in front of him before he can find his feet.

Elidibus catches Natus' jaw in his hand, thumbing cruelly at his lip where he had drawn the hero's blood with the bite of his teeth. Rubbing under his nose and smearing a trickle of blood across his skin that has begun to drip down from being kicked in the face. “Where is your usual fire? That fervent flame that consumed my brethren?”

Natus leans into his hand, smiling. Intentionally meant to be aggravating. “Maybe I'm tired. You caught me at a bad time if you were wanting a fight. I'm all tuckered out.”

Elidibus' lips tug down. An expression most familiar.

“I should not have come,” he says predictably. Drawing away again, just like he always did.

How humorous the phrase “know thy enemy” when thy enemy is also your lover, your begrudging bedfellow.

“Too late for that, isn't it,” Natus says, putting on a facade of nonchalance. He was watching him very carefully now. “What do you say, this time next windsday?”

Elidibus turns towards him.

Ah, there it was. He'd gone cold again.

“I'll take that as a no,” he tries to keep his voice light, but there was a tightness in his throat. It hurts to swallow. He tells himself it's just because he gave it his all, treating Elidibus to a hell of a blowjob. Not that he was ever grateful.

“No kiss goodnight, then?”

Natus had to remind himself to laugh, rather than allowing himself to feel miserable over how their relationship had shifted. They had not been able to deny their attraction, and now everything had led to this.

Elidibus pauses, raising a hand towards his face. Hovering over his mouth a moment, but then lifting higher to press against his mask. Straightening it, or perhaps reminding himself it was there.

“The next time we meet, it will be as enemies, Warrior of Light.”

He is gone between one blink and the next.

Natus stares at the place he stood for a long, quiet moment.

The room is darker now, the moon hidden behind the clouds. The stars seemed dimmer.

He drags himself to his feet.

His bed was a siren's call beckoning him to wrap himself within his blankets and surrender to sweet oblivion, but Natus headed towards his drawers, gathering his things that he needed to wash up instead.

He could still taste him on his tongue.

[bananarose]

FFXIV Write - #8 "Shed"

Today I decided to write a little peek into the process of Lavandin choosing his name. There's more to it that I'll write eventually, but here's a little taste. This also gives a look into his relationship with Hien!

Spoilers - Stormblood TW - None

Masterlist

To shed something that has been so closely entwined with one’s identity for many years is a terrifying feat. Sune knew that, he knew that if he were to start with this deceivingly simple change that he wouldn’t be able to go back to who he was before. But… He thought to himself, I’m not that person anymore… Am I? That cowering weak little thing… I left him behind some time ago. Didn’t I? 

He looked up at the stars above him, gently threading his hands through the lush grass below him, leaning back into the warm embrace of the man sat behind him, arms held firm around his waist. The man said nothing, making a soft contented sound as he leaned forward to place his chin on Sune’s shoulder. 

He and Hien had met when Sune still felt like Sune. It was shortly after he had stumbled his way into Reunion for the first time, witless and reeling from the journey it took in order to finally drag his exhausted body across the Azim Steppe. Cirina had taken him in, so to speak, and taught him the ways of the Steppe. Sune had not yet settled into his new existence here when he ran into Hien, deep in thought, sat upon one of the cliffy outcrops scattered across the landscape of the Steppe. They sat quietly together, barely speaking that first encounter, just enjoying one another’s silent company. As time passed, they made a habit of sitting together in the grass. They’d talk about anything and nothing; Sune loved when Hien would share stories of his homeland, Doma.

Sune enjoyed life on the Steppe, life with the new friends he found among the Mol. With Hien. The change in him was gradual, but he could feel it. No longer trapped by the expectations of his forest home - the freedom agreed with him. Sune wanted to flex this newfound freedom, he wanted to continue to grow into this new version of himself… He didn’t want to be Sune anymore. The name fit him like an old piece of clothing; long ago worn out, too small and fraying at the edges. Suffocating. 

“I’m thinking of changing my name.” he spoke suddenly, breaking their quiet reverie. Hien hummed in acknowledgement, the low sound of it rumbled pleasantly through his chest. “Sune just doesn’t-” the name felt odd in his mouth, already so foreign to him. “- it doesn’t fit me anymore. It isn’t me anymore… Does th-that make sense?” He twisted in Hien’s arms to look at him.

“Hm, I believe it does. Do you know what you’d like to change it to?” Sune got quiet, pondering the question. He had of course played around with some words, some sounds, trying to find something that fit him. 

“Perhaps… Lavandin?” the words drifted from his mouth like leaves shed from trees, like naught but a quiet thought upon a gentle breeze. As though he was afraid of saying it outloud. Though once he had said it, said this new name out loud, a smile slowly crept across his face.

Hien hummed, “Lavandin…” Hien didn’t test how the sound felt in his mouth - no, he spoke the name reverently. As a prayer dropping from parted lips.

“It’s nice to meet you Lavandin”

divider credit - @cafekitsune

[aerial-elf]

WoL savior

[anneapocalypse]

I deeply appreciate that FFXIV did not bother with trying to give us some kind of underwater breath-holding mechanic with a timer, and instead simply went, "A turtle guy did a magic blessing and now you can breathe under water forever. Don't worry about it."

[tritoch]

the other thing I find very funny about trying to write a canon compliant wol is taking all the wolship hints extremely seriously.

I don't really wolship because I'm just fundamentally not that kind of fan. But I know for those who are, the sheer number of romance hints FFXIV throws at you can be overwhelming to parse in a context where you have a preferred/intended wolship, particularly if you're not attracted to the gender the hints are coming from in the first place (a particular tip of the hat to wlw fans navigating the g'raha of it all). I've seen plenty of people write around them or write them out or be like "no aymeric was for real inviting my wol to a nice platonic zero-subtext dinner," and God bless all of you.

But it's really funny to imagine them all as all-too-real but unreciprocated or perhaps unreciprocatable. The sheer scale of it is comedy. Spoilers for all of FFXIV follow.

Oh God, the Lord Speaker wants to have dinner, just the two of us, at his family estate and not a government building. I hope he doesn't bring up his crush on me. Thal's balls he's about to bring it up—oh thank God there's an emergency. Oh no someone got hurt! Oh no it's the teenage girl with a crush on me.

Your life is a cosmic joke. You watch the Sultana get poisoned and all your friends probably die to save your life and it's kind of all your fault in some ways, I mean at the very least you should've spoken up when they gave the teenager a private army, and then the teenage boy speaks up and is like, "hey, I guess we have at least one ally. What about if we go visit that guy who is really obviously down unbelievably bad for you and wants to lick the sweat off of you." and you have to be like, yeah, Alphinaud. Great idea. Let's do it. I'll call him.

(brief interlude: also haurchefant's DEATH hits so good if you don't reciprocate. It's okay. He gets it. You're going through a lot and even if you had time to sort through your feelings maybe you're just not into him. That would be okay! You can love someone, or the idea of someone, without needing it to be romantically reciprocated. That's chivalric, even. Knightly. So he won't ask you to lie to him and say you love him as he lies dying in your arms. He's not so low as all that. But could you smile for him as you used to? That true hero's smile of yours. And you do, and he dies. And you both know he died for a lie, in a way, or a flight of fancy. And he's okay with that. Are you? Should you be? Should he?)

Then you're into Stormblood and it's like wow, okay. That last part was all high fantasy, of course there were loyal knights and elegant princes. But this is war. Imperialism. Grim business, surely there's no way—oh no BOTH handsome young revolutionary leaders seem to have a special interest in you?! And so does the Crown Prince of the Empire? Come on, man. I should get to do the whole horrors of war thing without having to also deal with this. Gaius sucked and it was weird that he let his foster daughter run around being openly obsessed with him but at least he never made it my problem.

You can't even get away from it across dimensions. Shadowbringers is a horror story about going on a teambuilding camping trip with your work colleagues for some reason except they all suddenly got really hot and they keep touching you affectionately on the shoulder and being like "I care for you and your happiness. Truly." And also you're being stalked for the whole camping trip by two old men who are obsessed with you. The false climax of the story is that the one old man tries to betray you and give a dramatic monologue about how he loves you but the two of you are doomed by the narrative and then the other old man shoots him in the back like "no actually its MY turn to betray them and give a dramatic monologue about how our love is doomed by the narrative." Then the real climax is old man #1 backstabbing old man #2 in the middle of said monologue before old man #2 dies and gives ANOTHER wistful monologue about his doomed love. Then for the patches they're like okay so we have this even CRAZIER old man who's gonna strike when you're weak and give a dramatic monolo—

and that's without even getting into the literal soulmate ghost only you can see

my warrior of light never felt more betrayed than in that scene where Y'shtola is like "haha Alisaie and G'raha have crushes on the warrior of light." Like I thought we were COOL, Y'shtola! I work here! This situation is already in such a delicate balance! Right when I got here I met Alisaie's "friend from work" who was like oh haha so YOU'RE the one she can't stop talking about and we never followed up on that because the woman died horrifically like five minutes later right in front of us! Then when Vauthry got away and we had to do all that shit with the dwarves, G'raha kept pausing every ten minutes to be like oooooh I'm so old I'm gonna die soon...at least I got to spend some time with some people who are really important to me...in fact here's what I'd tell the person who's most important to me...actually u know them really well haha. And I just had to sit there and be like wow, dude, crazy.

even in the face of apocalypse you still gotta go back in time like 12,000 years and there's somewhere there who makes you sit and listen to his story which is that the purpose of his whole godlike immortal life was to be in a throuple with you and old man #2 from the camping trip. and you just gotta sit there the whole time knowing you/your past life is the one who broke up the throuple over politics. He's like come help me harangue the old man into streaking in public, he'll do it if you ask.

then you meet and fight and kill God and you gotta turn to the team and be like hey sorry guys can you give me a sec. I'm gonna call God by her real name because we met one time for like four days and after that the promise of meeting me again was one of the things that sustained her through her millennia of suffering. Not like that but like. Idk. Just gimme a sec!

It's a relief when you finally get to Lahabrea and he's like actually I still don't fuck with your vibe. Like thank GOD.

And my WoL is very obviously dad-shaped so Dawntrail had a very specific energy for me but I understand that for plenty of people your deepening rapport with Wuk Lamat had a romantic subtext (same for Koana depending on how you read a few of his lines). And personally I think it's the height of comedy to be like, noooo, babe, your highness, I know you and your brother the king are in love with me and want me to stick around and support you emotionally through this governmental transition haha. But it's just...the cursed wineglass, babe. I GOTTA go figure out what's up with this cursed wineglass.

It's a running gag in some of the more optional content that people are like "you have an unreasonable number of hobbies and side gigs" to the WoL from time to time. But if every time you tried picking up a new hobby some new elf started baring their soul to you, you too would be like Hey Jessie (or sometimes Krile or Tataru), my good friend who is one of the only people in my life who knows what professional ethics and work-life boundaries are, any chance you need muscle on a gig on the other side of the world? Ideally with only Cid and his ex so all libidinal energy in the room is directed towards machinery or someone who isn't me?

ironically one of the only places you get a break from psychosexual obsession is the nier content

[the-random-tyler]

I made more of them because they're funny

part 1 and part 2

[magitekconveyor]

At long last! Who The Fuck Is Aulus mal Asina The Powerpoint Presentation: The Tumblr Post.

This was a long labor of love, combing over every piece of lore I could find in-game and in the Encyclopedia Eorzea. I initially made this because whenever I mentioned Aulus, I inevitably got met with "who?", so I thought I would have one place that contained all his lore and how it relates to MSQ as a whole.

For ease of access, here is the twitch link. It goes to a clip from 2018 Fanfest where they discuss Aulus. If you listen veeeeery carefully after he says "He's dead", you can hear a faint "Noooooooo!" in the audience. That...was me. I was actually there for that question and let me tell you I've never had so many heads whip around to stare at me all at once.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy and have learned something new about my favorite FFXIV character.

Edit: Coming back since this is gaining a bit of traction to add, if you like what you see here, please check out my friend's FFXIV fangame Indagator , where you can either romance or betray Aulus. It builds off of a lot of the info from above and masterfully expands on it. Mind the tags.

[ciphox]

my sister

[nagunkgunk]

Honestly the whole dragon thing in ffxiv becomes so much more ridiculous when you learn that dragons technically aren’t native to Etheirys, they’re straight up aliens from the literal dragon planet.

yknow when its revealed midgardsormr brought 7 eggs to the star/hydaelyn i thought "oh! they're from another dimension! the dragon dimension <3" since its alrdy established that the void is a different plane etc. and the dragonstar is probably just some magical/important constellation thing for dragons :3

but. no. he flew through space from The Dragonstar. he's an alien. dragon blood turns you into a dragonmutant. (which miiiight be corporeal aether corruption BUT ALSO MAYBE JUST A DRAGON THING?????)

and then their growth/adaptivity is so funny. ehll tou is in ishgard for idk a month half a year however long the ishgard restoration is and grows like 10 times the size and develops DRAGONTHUMBS bc she was hanging around with doh/dol types. she did more growing than a regular dragonet does in a century all because she was friends with nondragons and crafting stuff? leucrotta the azys lla s rank is a "coeurl dragon"? coeurl dragons ditched their wings and just copied coeurls to hunt better in meracydia????

god i love ffxiv dwagons

[ladyramora]

Kotaro & Estinien Rush Comm

Kotaro & Estinien: Foes to Bros

The developing relationship of two dragoons from an antagonistic relationship to sworn brothers.

↓↓↓ Spoilers for Dragoon Questline, MSQ ARR to Endwalker under the cut↓↓↓

Kotaro was hardly surprised to be informed that the Ishgardians within Coerthas were reluctant to receive aid from anyone who swore fealty to another nation. He could have said that himself, considering his experience with the proud and standoffish people.

Hells, the Ishgardians were so damned frosty and hostile that they had very little desire to receive aid from those who held no such allegiance, not even an adventurer like himself.

Course, their particular distaste for him could be layers of things. Being miqo'te, the slightest hint that he might have been a pirate just from hearing his lominsan accent—which he was, formerly, a part of the Kraken's Arms, but that wasn't any of their business—or daring to be an outsider at all.

Cor, it probably really was all of those things combined that were working against him in his attempt to find the correct information to guide him on his way. He did not fancy having to talk to every person in the Conservatorium just to find the man he was looking for.

Kotaro had been brushed off and dismissed by several elezen—not to mention looked down the nose at; damned tall bastards—before being pointed in the right direction of the man he was seeking. Ywain bloody well owed him for sending him off with only the bare minimum of information.

Alberic seemed a decent enough fellow, all things considered. But he would be more agreeable company to the miqo'te by not only being a rare midlander hyur of similar height to him in a sea of snooty, hostile oversized elezen, but also being the first person to greet him with any measure of warmth or kindness for this visit to the Observatorium.

Of course, Kotaro was rather used to the prickly personalities of the coerthan people by now. This was hardly his first foray into the northern highlands of Aldenard.

He was already well acquainted with one lord within Coerthas Central Highlands. Lord Haurchefant of Camp Dragonhead was a gem of a man among so many common lumps of coal. He had been nothing but welcoming and kind to Kotaro since the miqo'te had set foot in his encampment, and that had been before Kotaro had unraveled the dravanian plot to frame Haurchefant's dearest childhood friend for heresy.

Francel had been grateful himself to have been prevented from leaping to his death into Witchdrop. His dedication to clearing his family name was to be commended, or at least that was what Haurchefant seemed to believe.

It was all a tangled, complicated web, if you asked Kotaro. He was only glad they hadn't arrived too late. He would have not wanted to see Haurchefant's usual cheer dimmed by the heavy grief of losing a friend.

Such was why the miqo'te set out in search of one Estinien Wyrmblood with a sense of urgency. If what Alberic said held any weight at all, the culprit was in over his head by making off with this so-called relic. The Eye? Who was in charge of naming these things?

Kotaro was already quite aggravated by the tedious run around that was hoofing it back and forth to talk to one person or several, only to ultimately be directed back to one of the first people he talked to. The life of an adventurer was not for those who lacked patience or stamina, that was for certain.

He'd much rather be payin’ visit to his friend Haurchefant, and trying to convince the man to play a bit of hooky. He worked too much, in Kotaro's opinion. The man obviously had a passion for adventure, the least Kotaro could do was offer the man a chance to cut loose and have some fun every once in a while. Course, he had to get creative and disguise it as busy work that needed doing. Like a dangerous hunt, or some such other peril that posed a threat to his encampment.

He was certain a few of the keener knights had caught wise to his shenanigans, but their affection for their lord outweighed their need to be sticklers about lordly things like paperwork and all that rot.

It was damned decent of them.

Kotaro certainly didn't have any allies in the Scions like that. There was always something needing done, and Kotaro was often the one doing the heavy lifting. There was hardly any time for mischief, let alone full-fledged fun. It made Kotaro miss his days of piracy, his fun-lovin’ crew. The things they got up to would make these sticks-in-the-mud clutch their pretty little pearls and lose their minds.

The miqo'te is damned thankful for a reason for violence. An excuse to let off some steam. Clearing the cave east of the Observatorium is just what the chirugeon ordered, and a bit of multitasking for him to do as he resumes his search for the elusive dragoon.

Where there was smoke, there was fire. No sooner had he dealt with the smallfry scavengers gathered around Estinien's fire pit, did the very elezen he was in search of leap down from the mountain top.

Kotaro wondered if being dramatic was a requirement to being recruited to the knight's dragoon or if it was simply taught to them as part of their training.

Who in the hells was he calling a coin-starved adventurer?

The man was quick to draw his weapon and brandish it at him. How very Ishgardian of him.

Coerthan hospitality was lacking all across the board in the miqo'te’s experience, all except for one man who had welcomed him with warmth and kindness since first he had stepped foot in his camp. He should really pay Haurchefant a visit after thoroughly thrashing this aggravating fellow.

The miqo'te grips his lance, his body primed to react the moment the other man makes his move. If he wanted a fight, Kotaro would gladly give it to him.

He isn't quite sure what to think as the very thing that the elezen had made off with, the so-called “Eye”, seems to resonate where it was tucked away in the dragoon's armor.

What in the seven hells was that thing? Kotaro didn't give a damn if it was reacting to him, all he cared about was finishing what he was set out to do so that he could go visit his friend once all was said and done.

Preposterous? Hah, what did he care about some random Ishgardian relic.

Kotaro bristles, catching wise to that familiar sense of superiority and condescension that seemed to cling to almost all Ishgardians like the foul smell of rotten fish.

Kotaro curls his lip.

Whatever “the Eye” actually was, this turn of events seemed to put the man off the idea of fighting him.

More than a little bit disappointing, all things considered. Kotaro was itching for something of a challenge to make this wild chocobo chase worth the time and effort he had spent tracking the other man down.

Kotaro isn't sure who had pissed in the dragoon's porridge, but the man had a chip on his shoulder the size of a bloody meteor.

Having sufficiently insulted him in just a few sentences and made the worst impression of all the Ishgardians Kotaro had met so far, Estinien offers him a few parting words and promptly leaps away.

Kotaro stares at the spot his quarry had once stood, and huffs an annoyed sigh.

He had never disliked anyone so immediately. His first impression of Aymeric had been rather bad with how the man hid behind a politician's facade, but at least he had been cordial.

“Our paths shall cross again, ye can be sure of it,” Kotaro repeats the man's parting words to him in a mocking tone, his lominsan accent coming through heavier with his aggravation.

Why had he even gotten into this mess? Kotaro began to wonder as he made the trek back to tell Alberic what had transpired. He would be more than happy to put the matter to rest, wash his hands of it and let some other schmuck take up the task of tracking Estinien's tail. Mayhap another knight dragoon?

The thought of not having to meet Estinien again cheered his mood somewhat, so of course things take a turn when he relays the news to Alberic.

Kotaro stares down at the newest soul stone in his hand, the soul of the dragon that had once belonged to Alberic, a former Azure Dragoon.

So Estinien was an Azure Dragoon, too? He certainly didn't act like the strongest and wisest of dragoon's in the miqo'te’s opinion. He was simply a rude, condescending shite head who had run from a fight.

That the eye had resonated with him should have tipped him off as a bad omen. Kotaro was getting rather tired of being special, of being chosen. How many burdens must he bear aside from his existing duties?

Katoro grips the stone in his hand, tempted to chuck it into the wind. He could claim he had dropped it, lost it in the snow. It was not too late now to walk away.

Kotaro raises his fist to do it, then sighs and lowers his arm. Tucking it away to join his other soul stone.

Ah, damn it all.

…..

….

Twice more does Kotaro pay a visit to the Observatorium after some time of honing his skills with his newest soulstone.

Kotaro had to hand it to Alberic, the man certainly had a way with words. Listening to the tale that Alberic weaved with his words of Haldrath, the Fury, and the great wyrm Nidhogg, Kotaro had to admit that the midlander had a knack for storytelling. Truly, the man should have been a bard instead of Azure Dragoon. Perhaps he could pick it up now, just as Kotaro had done with the lance?

He had signed on to be a lancer through the teachings of Ywain's guild, but never thought he would become a dragoon. Ishgardians did not seem the type willing to share knowledge with how on edge they were about outsiders. Kotaro did not want to even touch on the whole nonbeliever, heresy thing.

He had witnessed enough of it just by uncovering the plot to destroy house Haillenarte. Though it had been a dravanian in disguise doing all the scheming, what did it say about the Ishgardian people that they readily believed the lies of the false inquisitor Guillaime? That they stayed quiet in their own fear of having dispersions cast upon them, and in doing so condemned their own to death, lost to the dark and dreary depths of Witchdrop? Countless innocent people, perhaps even children. All of them fallen prey to the wicked deception of one of Nidhogg's horde.

It was utter madness.

Kotaro couldn't help but feel a mite bit insulted that Alberic suggests he was not yet strong enough to take on Estinien head to head as an equal, but he supposed it was best that he defer to the former Azure Dragoon's judgment. He was his new teacher, after all.

He did not know what sorts of training that dragoons got up to, but if Estinien was second to none since the days of Haldrath, perhaps it would not be foolish to focus on his own training a bit more seriously. The title of “Azure Dragoon” seemed entirely based upon skill, merit, and if that revolting little relic that the Ishgardians called “the Eye” recognized you.

The third part was rather ridiculous in Kotaro’s opinion. If the dragon had been their enemy, why would they need its acknowledgment to choose the next dragoon?

The miqo'te was morbidly curious, too, just how the relic had been preserved for so long. It stood to reason that something that was once attached to a living thing would most assuredly rot, given time. Was it squishy? Smelly? It made his fur prickle with disgust. Kotaro could only assume that the eyes of a dragon were different and leave it at that for his own peace of mind.

How grim to use the very place that their own people were disposed of when accused of heresy, to train in the ways of a dragoon to protect the lives of the innocent.

Kotaro is bade to travel to Witchdrop by Alberic twice for more training. Both times does he meet a new face, first a man by the name of Brucemont, and then a woman called Heustienne. Estinien's peers, and now perhaps to be his own, fellow wielders of the lance who had taken up the training of dragoon.

The story Alberic shares of the past lingers in Kotaro’s thoughts. That the man was not merely Estinien's teacher, but his adoptive father was rather eye opening. The pieces of the puzzle that made up Estinien were slowly coming together, though his sympathy for the elezen’s loss in no way softened his instant dislike of the man.

Perhaps it was the eye itself that was influencing the man. Kotaro had seen for himself the many such ways that the minds of men could be warped by powers beyond their control. Look no further than the pitiful existence of the people who became thralls to primals.

At least with the Eye, it seemed Estinien was still himself so long as he possessed the will to resist its power.

….

Kotaro meets Estinien face to face once again with Alberic at his side.

The man seemed to have a thing for dramatics as he called for them to meet him at Boulder Downs. Alberic, being the elezen’s teacher and adoptive father, seems to know exactly where Estinien would make his appearance, leading the way to the very highest peak of the Boulder Downs. Walking them carefully up the snow covered spikes of glowing, crystallized aether to the razor’s edge. It would be a long drop, should anyone fall. Kotaro could only be grateful he was someone who did not fear heights. It would certainly make being a dragoon more difficult, perhaps entirely impossible.

Lo, does Estinien make his presence known, from the fog at the very top of the snow covered spikes of aether. Alberic knew him all too well.

Still does Estinien greet Alberic only as his master, and not as a father the elder dragoon was to him for the past twenty summers.

Kotaro only becomes more convinced that Estinien was more than a bit mad as the man tells them of his reasoning for taking the Eye, and what plans he had made to make use of it.

Perhaps in this moment—nay, perhaps for the last twenty years—has only the thought of vengeance pushed the man forward. That he had stolen the Eye to lead the great wyrm to him when he inevitably woke was practically a suicide mission. Estinien had said himself that Nidhogg had only grown stronger. How had he thought he would stand a chance against him alone?

It was clear that Estinien cared for little else except accomplishing his own goals. The fact that the azure dragoon did not even bother to ask Kotaro his name before foisting the burden of Nidhogg's defeat and the safety of Ishgard upon his shoulders.

His selfish disregard for other people in his own personal agenda had Kotaro’s hackles up, his temper flaring.

“My name is Kotaro,” the miqo'te bites out, his lominsan accent shining through thicker with his irritation. He sounds it out for him, implying he thought the other dragoon was particularly slow. “Ko-ta-ro. Not adventurer.”

Kotaro’s feline ears press flat, his teeth bared to show his clear disdain. “Since ye seem so keen on monopolizing my time without askin’ whether I care to help you or not, the least ye can do is remember that much.”

He seems to take both dragoons a bit aback with the sharpness to his tone of voice.

“Kotaro,” Alberic says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Forgive me if in my eagerness I have placed too great a burden upon your shoulders. Estinien, too, should rightly apologize for treating you as a weapon for him to use, rather than a person. That is certainly not the behavior of the boy I raised for twenty summers up till now.”

Estinien scoffs derisively at that, but makes no further comment. Merely crossing his arms with his lips pressed thin. It seemed he did not care to be criticized for his brusque and downright rude behavior, nor would he apologize for it. It was obvious that he did not give two shites about anyone else's opinion or what they thought of him.

What a prick.

Kotaro violently disliked him.

The miqo'te offers the elder dragoon a thin smile. “Never you mind, Alberic. I have no intention of shirkin’ a task given to me by my newest mentor. If this next trial is part of my trainin’ anyhow, it makes sense for me to go forward with it.” Kotaro looks pointedly at Estinien. “Alberic is my master now, too. I'll do it fer him, not because ye told me to.”

Estinien curls his lip. “It matters naught to me the reason for which you do so. Only that you survive the trial of Azure and successfully earn your right to don the drachen mail. The Eye may have roused with your potential, but it remains to be seen whether you are truly worthy for the mantle of Azure dragoon, Ko.Ta.Ro.”

The way he says the miqo'te’s name is slow and exaggerated, a mockery of Kotaro's earlier enunciation.

“Suppose we'll see, won't we?” Kotaro replies. “Good that ye pick things up fast. Try to remember my name from now on, E-stin-ien.” Two could play the condescension game.

Estinien gives a snort just loud enough to be heard over the howl of the wind that tries its damnedest to blow through them. “If your reflexes are as sharp as your tongue, perhaps you'll have some chance of survival.”

There is further talk between Estinien and Alberic, before the Azure Dragoon takes his leave as dramatically as he had arrived.

“Well,” Alberic coughs into his hand, but it sounds suspiciously like a laugh to the keen ears of a miqo'te, no matter how frozen they felt. “It is good to see you two may just get along, given time.”

Mayhap it cheered his heart somewhat to see a version of his son that he recognized, rather than the man so hellbent on vengeance that he would forsake everything and everyone to see his lifelong ambition come to fruition.

Kotaro looks at him like he grew another head. “Don't count yer chocobo chicks afore they hatch, Alberic. It'll be springtime in coerthas before that happens.”

….

The trial of the Azure turns out to be many battles one after another. After each of which does Kotaro receive a piece of the drachen mail for his successful survival. He powers through them all, wanting to get through them as quickly and efficiently as possible.

His bond with the dragon deepens with every piece that he attires himself in.

With this, and more dedicated training, surely he could best Estinien should the need arise.

….

Despite Alberic’s best intentions and the hopes he had for his adoptive son, Estinien had allowed the Eye to influence him by listening to its whisperings. Perhaps it had spoken true that Alberic had relinquished his power out of fear, the Azure Dragoon unable to stop the destruction of Ferndale as a result. Yet who knew how the Eye had twisted Estinien's emotions, skewing them towards rage and violence.

Haldrath the dragonslayer had been reborn, his arse. Haldrath had not allowed the Eye to influence him, if Alberic’s retellings were to be believed. Estinien was already allowing it to whisper things into his pointy ears, to twist his feelings and skew his emotions towards darker things.

Kotaro had no choice but to step in as Estinien threatened Alberic. He could not rightly sit back and allow his new mentor to be senselessly slaughtered. Alberic would be no match for him, bereft of his power and many summers past Estinien's senior. He was near twice his age!

He did not care to hear how Estinien thought them kindred, an ally with whom they together could fight the great wyrm. That Kotaro's affection for Alberic rendered the miqo'te deaf to his own destiny.

What destiny? Kotaro had only interacted with the man two times up till now! They were veritable strangers, no matter that Alberic had shared tales with Kotaro parts of Estinien's past.

“Kindred? Ye who did not bother to learn my name?” Kotaro scoffs. “Ye know nothing of me, and I have learned more than I care to know of ye. We are not kindred, we are nothing. Not even acquaintances.”

Kotaro raises his lance up in defense of Alberic. “All we share is the same mentor, and I will not allow ye to harm him.”

Estinien continues on as if he hadn't spoken, acknowledging naught of what Kotaro had said to him. “Very well. That we would one day cross lances was inevitable from the moment of our first meeting—as we shall now find out who is the Eye’s true chosen! There can be only one!”

Kotaro did not give two shites about that thrice damned Eye! It was naught but trouble.

They clash in the middle of the round platform, trading blows that would mortally wound lesser men. Fortified by their armor and enhanced so by their unique powers of the dragon, it is naught to the two dragoon, every blow that was a mere swing of the lance was aught that merely glanced off the other man's armor.

Kotaro had to admit that the words of caution Alberic had spoken to him of Estinien's strength and abilities were not the boasting of a proud mentor and father, but that of pure and true fact.

The trials of Azure were that of child's play in comparison to the threat posed by his elezen foe. Estinien's ability was a culmination of twenty summers under the tutelage of Alberic, not to mention extensive training in the ways of the dragoon.

Kotaro was hard pressed to keep up with his learned skills by leaning heavily on his own innate abilities.

Still, Kotaro had fought his fair share of deadly opponents and come out on top. An endless slew of beast, imperials, and now even a few primals made that list.

Estinien was just a man, albeit a very capable one. So long as he could defeat him before the elezen became too lost to the great wyrm’s seduction, all would be well.

Kotaro would hate to have to put the other dragoon down, much as he greatly disliked him.

For the sake of Alberic, he does his best to prevent from wounding the dragoon too severely that he would die from it.

Estinien notices this, and it only fans the flames of his rage. “Do not hold back! I am the Eye's true chosen, and you shall know it when I bury my lance in your chest!”

Kotaro grits his teeth, jumping back to avoid the blade of Estinien's lance.

He can hear Alberic persist in trying to reason with the Azure Dragoon, though it was a useless endeavor. “Estinien, stop this madness! You and Kotaro were meant to be allies, not enemies!”

Kotaro could feel the malevolence of the aether that had already begun to corrupt the elezen. The more that Estinien relied upon the power of the Eye, the more his aether became twisted, his mind addled. His sense of self would become lost not unlike those who had been tempered by primals, inevitably made into mindless thrall.

Every attack that his foe sprung upon him was made with deadly intent. It took a great deal of focus just not to find himself gored by the business end of Estinien's lance.

Kotaro pushes himself harder, letting go of holding back. His own aether swells in response, the power of the dragon was at once similar but different. The strength of a dragon, but naught that was so seductive that it would consume his mind.

He could feel his wounds knitting together with the power, his body less heavy and his lance lighter in his hands.

Incapacitating Estinien would be the main objective, to knock some sense into him through utter defeat before he entirely lost who he truly was to the influence of the great wyrm’s wicked curse.

If he maimed him in the process, so what? Estinien would still be alive, he would still have autonomy.

Perhaps, up till now, Estinien had been without equal, but no longer.

Kotaro presses the advantage, steadily overpowering the dragoon. It makes Estinien desperate, crazed.

He sounds like the very heretic that Ishgardians claim to despise. “Power! I must have more power! O, Lord of Dragons, grant me strength to raze thine enemies!”

A dark ominous shadow blocks out the light, and Kotaro lunges back just in time to avoid a ball of flame as it falls where he once stood, the snow becoming a haze of steam and the stone below scorched black. It was

“Estinien!” Alberic cries, aghast. “Surrender not to the beast within! Have you forgotten the vows you swore?”

It matters naught what Estinien might have said in response, because Kotaro attacks the dragoon with a flurry of strikes that overwhelm the Elezen, ending with a brute, forceful swing that knocks the elezen to his knees. Flopping over onto his back, dizzy and defeated.

Kotaro levels his lance at the dragoon's prone form, not trusting that the elezen would stay down in his frenzied state.

Alberic runs to his side, the both of them walking cautiously forth to where Estinien was crumpled on his knees, his body heaving with every gasp.

A voice spoke, then. The beguiling words of the very wyrm that Estinien had dedicated his life to defeating. The great and terrible dragon lord that now held Estinien helpless in his snare.

Feeble creature… Dost thou desire power? Look to thine anger and thy hatred… it is there that thou shalt find it…

“O mighty Nidhogg! Lord of Dragons!” Estinien gasps in a voice of reverence for the very beast he had so despised. Raising shakily to his feet to reach towards the sky in a worshipful plea, “Grant unto me thy blood, that I might be granted the claws and fangs wherewith to rend thine enemies!”

A cloud of malevolent aether swirls overhead, answer to his pitiful prayers. It descends down upon the dragoon, enveloping him in its wretched light.

At the very same time, Kotaro feels a power, a presence rise to the surface to offer him aid. Aught that opposed the terrible darkness in a surge of bright, brilliant light.

Alberic will tell him of it later, how Kotaro had appeared to be possessed by the spirit of Haldrath the Dragonslayer, as depicted in the holy scriptures. The dragoon of legend brought forth to put a stop to Nidhogg's reign of terror before it could again start the cycle anew.

It ends with one blow, and a blinding clash of aether. When the dust settles, Estinien is gone.

Kotaro feels sympathy for his mentor, who expresses regret at having failed his adoptive son yet again.

Kotaro is only glad to wrap everything up. Much as he would have liked to go see Haurchefant after everything, he would rather not linger in coerthas for much longer now. He should like very much not to return here for a while yet.

Of course, barely a week passes by before Kotaro is forced to return to Coerthas on Scion business, to offer aid to Ishgard against Nidhogg's horde. The gods must surely have a sense of humor, as Ser Aymeric introduces Estinien during one of their meetings.

Despite how they had last left things, Estinien looked quite well.

Kotaro did not doubt that no one knew except for himself and Alberic of Estinien succumbing to Nidhogg's seduction.

The strangest thing of all, however, is that Estinien is not a pariah for stealing the Eye. Had Alberic truly covered it all up to spare Estinien? Or was it merely that Estinien's abilities were so valuable to a city at war with dragons for nigh a thousand years that they were willing to overlook one small transgression in the grand scheme of things?

It was utterly baffling.

Kotaro’s head aches trying to wrap his mind around the reasoning of Ishgardians, and so he brushes it all aside to focus on the more pressing matter at hand.

Fighting Nidhogg's horde.

….

Being forced to seek political refuge in Coerthas after the bloody banquet of Ul’dah was one terrible thing of the many that Kotaro experienced ever since joining the Scions.

Becoming tangled up, and ultimately deeply embroiled in Ishgardian affairs was another. He consoled himself with the reasoning that it is the least he can do for his sworn brother Haurchefant, and that of House Fortemps who had sheltered him from the fallout of the false accusations that had been leveled against him and his fellow Scions.

Estinien joining himself and Alphinaud in their attempt to parley with the dravanians, in the hope to achieve some matter of diplomacy between Ishgard and the dragons struck Kotaro as a terrible, awful idea. It filled the miqo'te with extreme displeasure.

What was worse, Ysayle soon joined their party of unlikely allies; and the two older elezen wasted no time in beginning their endless bickering over every little thing. It seemed they could find no common ground on their differences of opinion.

Alphinaud was in a state of constant fretting, watching two of his companions so at odds. Kotaro chose to stay out of it the best he could. He had enough on his plate without getting dragged into their petty squabbling, no matter how Alphinaud looked to him to intervene. This was not part of his job description.

It was a small mercy that Estinien mostly kept out of his fur. There was still a lingering awkwardness and tension between them even though they had interacted a few times after Estinien had almost succumbed to the Eye's influence. Perhaps Estinien's pride was a bit stung by being beaten by a dragoon who not only had picked up the lance not more than a few moons hence, but was also chosen by the Eye as a second Azure Dragoon of this age.

Whatever it was, Kotaro did not particularly care. There was much to do without worrying about the inner workings of an elezen he was quite sure he would never come to like. Endless tasks laid out before him, and Kotaro wanted nothing more than to finish it all quickly so that he could keep the company of people he actually enjoyed spending time with.

Estinien mostly kept out of his way, except for when he didn't.

The miqo'te can recall stepping between Estinien and Alphinaud at one point, his palm nudging slightly at the dragoon's drachen mail so that he would step back.

Estinien had swatted his hand away. “Watch yourself, Warrior of Light.”

Kotaro had turned on him, hackles raised. Itching for a fight, and glad to start one. “Ye watch yerself, Azure Dragoon.”

Kotaro can hardly remember what it was that had set him off. It had been a small ember of irritation, fanned slowly into true anger by small inconveniences throughout the day.

“Do we have a problem, warrior?” Estinien had groused in response, instantly on edge.

“Ye bet we do,” Kotaro growled back. “Ye just invited yerself along on this little trip, after I was already sick o’ the sight of yer face.”

Estinien rolled his neck, beckoning to him. “Come at me, then. Let us settle this like men. Lest you desire our petty differences ruin your pitiful attempt at parley with the dragons?”

“Who asked you?” Kotaro hissed, and took up the invitation to fight him with relish.

Before he knew it, they were wrestling across the grass like a pair of temperamental teens with no self control.

Alphinaud and Ysayle had been forced to pull them apart before it got too serious.

Their interactions had crumbled from there, childish and petty, where before it had been at least somewhat civilized.

They laughed at each other's small inconveniences: Kotaro when Estinien got stuck in a mud hole just below his knee that was most definitely full of something other than just mud, Estinien when Kotaro slipped on a slimy rock when cutting across the river and found himself caught in the river’s current, rolling arse over tit down a small waterfall. Soaked to the skin in moments.

They tripped one another, shoved one another, and found themselves wrestling several more times like two siblings in desperate need of getting their aggression out, until it came down to Ysayle declaring that they were both “in time out until they could start acting like the grown men they were, and less like children with a grudge.”

What was worse, Alphinaud agreed. Even declaring that they were worse than the petty squabbles between himself and his sister, Alisaie.

That cowed the two men like nothing else.

It had felt far too satisfying to blow off steam in that manner, but perhaps they had gotten a bit carried away with it…

This was still a diplomatic mission, not a weekend of roughhousing for the boys.

What was shocking was Estinien actually listening to the woman’s words, instead of stomping off in a huff like Kotaro expected he would do.

They did not apologize, but their behavior did improve. Both men resolved to put aside their differences to better focus upon the task at hand. Especially after it is discovered that there was yet another primal here, one that would be left up to Kotaro to deal with yet again.

Estinien was particularly stiff after that. He seemed ill pleased at the cropping up of a primal.

What was his problem?

He didn't have to fight it.

Much to the hero's surprise, a turning point eventually came about because of it.

Just before heading out to his inevitable fight with Ravana, Kotaro was taken aback as Estinien spoke up on his behalf, scolding Alphinaud for using the hero as a trump card; a weapon for vanquishing every primal that cropped up. Kotaro was stunned speechless, by now well used to being the sacrificial lamb, so to speak. He always hit the ground running, thinking on his feet. Adapting to whatever was thrown at him, because it truly was life or death. He had been fortunate up till that his instincts proved enough to get him through, no matter if they had any prior knowledge of the primal he was to face.

“And you, Warrior of Light…”

Kotaro was further startled as Estinien turned that intensity onto him. The dragoon closing the distance between them in two strides and raising his hand up to flick the hero in the forehead.

Hard.

“Ow!”

Kotaro’s fur prickles with agitation and shock. What was that for??

Before he could give voice to his complaint, Estinien tells him. “That is for going along with this nonsense and rushing forward blindly with no concern for your health. Should master Alphinaud bid you jump, do you say how high?”

Kotaro gapes at him, caught by surprise at the vehemence with which the other dragoon spoke.

Estinien was not finished, continuing on with obvious indignation, “Are the Scions of the Seventh Dawn not an organization best equipped for dealing with primals? Going in without a plan is the surest way to get yourself killed. Perhaps your Scions think it worth the risk, but you should realize by now that your life is worth more than being fodder for the next beast that rears its ugly head. To strike before you know the level of threat is to make enemies, always. Perhaps it is best you make use of the oft neglected brain in that head of yours, and actually think before you act.”

With that, the dragoon turned on his heel and walked off.

Kotaro stood there, rubbing his stinging forehead. He had mixed feelings about being scolded like this by Estinien of all people…

Yet it was plain that by the elezen’s actions that Estinien now valued him as an ally, and the dragoon was not one to put his allies in unnecessary danger, no matter the circumstances.

From that moment onward and for the rest of their journey together, Kotaro paid the dragoon a bit more attention, and his perception of the man slowly began to shift.

Estinien was not one to mince words, or to express himself in obvious displays of emotion outside of confidence or anger, but his actions spoke for themselves. The man was not above showing care for his allies. He taught Alphinaud how to gather firewood, and kept a lookout for dragons while the young lordling did so. He took the night watch without complaint when Kotaro was too exhausted, dead tired on his feet. Even small things, such as asking Kotaro if he were well whenever an echo vision came with the side effect of a splitting headache. Hells, he even expressed sympathy and concern for Ysayle.

It all began to add up, painting a portrait of what sort of man Estinien truly was. One that Kotaro did not mind too terribly to keep company with. He was not so bad, after all.

Stuck together as they were, Kotaro had begun to build a rapport with the man. There was something of a bond forming between them, a connection of the soul unique to them as two dragoons who had awakened the dragon within. Aught that would only continue to grow as their friendship deepened.

That was not to say that they didn't still occasionally tussle. The difference was that they did so now in a more friendly manner, rather than out of mutual dislike.

It only irked the hero that Estinien still refused to call him by name normally, only calling him by titles such as “Warrior of Light” or his “fellow azure dragoon”. He only used his name when being sarcastic, or playfully mocking. Sounding the syllables out the same as the very first time that Kotaro had demanded he used his name, “Ko-ta-ro.”

He was still somewhat of a prick.

….

The Vault… happens.

Haurchefant.

Haurchefant is…

Gone.

Kotaro is devastated. Overcome with grief. Haurchefant is… was… his closest ally, his sworn brother since taking refuge in Ishgard.

He stares with eyes unseeing at the face of his friend, that limp hand still clutched desperately in the grasp of his palms. Every moment of their friendship plays out like an echo vision in his head until heavy tears dripped endlessly from the corners of his unblinking eyes.

His heart hurt. He was in such agony, he could not think rationally. He wanted this moment to not have happened. His one desperate wish to have his friend stir awake and smile at him again, tell him that he need not fret, that all would be well.

Kotaro attempts the unthinkable, lost in this state of agonizing turmoil. Focusing all his aether into this singular concept with that one wish held unwavering in his heart.

It is not to be.

He is torn away, the swell of his aether interrupted, broken before that terrible concept could be made into an awful reality.

A familiar resonance wakes him from the wallow his grief, the budding bond of brotherhood that had only just begun to grow between himself and Estinien.

For the first time, he sees Estinien's face in full. Understanding writ across his face, the truth plain in the blue grey of his eyes as he squeezes Kotaro's shoulders and says in a soft, grave voice. “Kotaro, he is gone.”

Kotaro chokes on a sob, shaking his head. “No, no. No, he was my… He was my brother, Estinien. I have to…!”

“There is nothing more you can do,” Estinien says quietly.

Kotaro does not resist as he pulls him to his feet, the dragoon leading the way to the highest roof in Ishgard. A quiet place for just the two of them.

Estinien is a quiet, comforting presence as by his side Kotaro looks up at the stars and allows himself to cry. Mourning the loss of his sworn brother.

Wondering if maybe, possibly, he and Estinien could be friends, just as Alberic predicted.

Kotaro cannot even begin to sort through his feelings—of losing Haurchefant, or the potential of having a true friend in Estinien—before there is more he must do.

To Azys Lla they must go.

Aboard the airship, Kotaro can only watch as Ysayle sacrifices herself to protect them.

Thordan falls, along with his knights twelve. It won't bring Haurchefant back, but there was some satisfaction in avenging his friend.

Then, with both of Nidhogg's eyes in hand, Estinien succumbs to the influence of the great wyrm again.

There is no stopping it this time around.

One moment, that was all it took. A single moment of weakness—the shield broke, Ysayle free falling through the air, Estinien…

How many more friends did he have to lose?

No.

No more.

Kotaro had only just begun to get to know Estinien, to see the potential of a true and meaningful friendship between them. This was not the same as when he had just met him, and only saved him to spare Alberic the pain and Ishgard the certain destruction he would wrought.

Alberic... Kotaro would have to tell him it had happened again.

Things move forward, and Kotaro is once again swept up in Ishgardian politics. Only this time he is caught in-between as the middleman. The hero of Ishgard and friend to Ysayle—and so by association and through his efforts to aid them, a friend to the dragons of Anyx Trine.

It is no small matter to achieve a truce between dragon and man for a war that has waged nigh a thousand years. There are many people opposed to it, so many who have lost loved ones. It is never easy to bring about change, no matter how good the intentions behind it.

Kotaro watches as Ser Aymeric does his best, despite having it all thrust upon him.

It is made more difficult when the Azure Dragoon, possessed by Nidhogg, attempts to slay Vidofnir in the middle of unveiling the symbol of the treaty between dragon and man.

It was hard to watch, but Kotaro could not look away as Aymeric was forced to take up arms against his friend to save Vidofnir’s life. The arrow he loosed towards his friend's heart swallowed by the malevolent aether of the great and terrible wyrm.

It is Nidhogg who speaks, using Estinien as a puppet. The grotesque display of his eyes fused to Estinien's drachen mail, stained red with the wyrm's own blood.

Kotaro cannot tear his eyes away even as he hears Alphinaud curse, his gaze glued to the dragoon as that wretched aether envelops him, consumes him. Transforming him from the man he was, and taking the shape of the dragon lord Nidhogg.

The great wyrm's attempt to squash their hope does the opposite. It only strengthens Kotaro’s resolve. There is no trial he would not face to see Nidhogg’s end, and so they set out to seek the assistance of Nidhogg's brood brother, Hraesvelgr.

Hraesvelgr only agrees should they succeed in besting the trials he lays out for them. And so, with a little company, Kotaro does what he does best.

Despite all that, Hraesvelgr is no match for Nidhogg’s rage. Entrusted with the strength of the dragon's golden eye, Kotaro knows this is his best chance to challenge Nidhogg and save Estinien from the wyrm's terrible grasp.

They defeat Nidhogg.

His aether spent, the wyrm reverts back to his host’s true, elezen form.

Estinien wrests control, dropping his lance before the wyrm can make another attempt to harm them, grasping his own throat in a stranglehold.

Kotaro and Alphinaud rush towards him, ignoring his plea to put an end to him whilst he held the wyrm at bay.

Nidhogg put up too great a resistance as they try with all their might to pry free the dragon eyes fused to Estinien's bloodstained armor.

Yet they are not alone. Kotaro feels him before he sees him, a familiar presence of warmth and kindness.

The spirit of Haurchefant, his sworn brother, smiles down on him. A hand that helped him even now. A knight who had come just when he was most needed.

Kotaro musters up a smile even as tears brim over his eyelashes, suffused with warmth and the strength needed to rescue the dragoon from his own stubborn insistence that he was beyond saving.

With a bright burst of light, the eyes pry free, and in an adrenaline fueled burst of panic, Kotaro listens to Aymeric as the lord instructs them to chuck them into the abyss.

Would they really disappear like that? Kotaro had a bad feeling they'd somehow show up again, like a bad pair o’ coin gil. Nothing but trouble, those things.

Kotaro stumbles, bereft of all his strength. Finding himself leaning on Alphinaud as Aymeric scoops Estinien up into his arms as if the dragoon weren't wearing a full suit of drachen mail.

He glances over his shoulder, swearing he could see the spirits of Haurchefant and Ysayle standing behind them. Lingering a few moments longer, watching them go.

…Thank ye, brother.

Haurchefant smiles, and rests his hand over his heart.

Ysayle raises her hand in a wave.

Kotaro blinks, and they are gone.

…..

Kotaro’s ears press flat to his head, listening to the sound of Alphinaud crying from where he stood out in the hall of the infirmary. He had wanted to give the boy a moment alone with the man, seeing as the younger elezen seemed to look up to Estinien as something of an older brother.

“Cease your mewling, boy.”

Kotaro's ears perk to attention as Estinien speaks. The miqo'te gives them some time to talk to one another before he ducks through the door, trading off with Alphinaud to give the young man some time to recapture his composure.

“Ye look quite well fer a dead man,” Kotaro says, feeling a mix of relief and irritation at the sight of Estinien looking so damn serene.

No more was there a heavy burden weighing down his shoulders.

He was relaxed.

“You are the one stubbornly complicating a simple thing. You never could strike me down,” Estinien replies.

Kotaro crosses his arms. “Ye should know me better by now, after everythin’ we've been through.”

Estinien actually chuckles. So weird.

“Yes, I know. You were never one to leave a friend behind, no matter the circumstances.”

Kotaro arches a brow. “Ye think we're friends?”

Estinien matches his expression. “You think we aren't, after all that?”

Kotaro levels him with a look. “Say my name, should ye know it, if yer thinkin’ we're chums now.”

Estinien hums, his expression mocking. “Name? Do you truly have one of those? I thought everyone called you the Warrior of Light.”

Kotaro narrows his eyes. “Estinien.”

Estinien smiles. Chuckling in his throat. “Nay, that is my name. Not yours. I suppose now I shall simply call you the one and only Azure Dragoon, Ko-ta-ro.”

He really knew how to ruffle his fur.

He was still a prick, even now.

Kotaro shook his head and sighed, feline ears perked and tail swaying with curiosity. “Yer leavin’ it behind, just like that?”

Estinien looked more content than Kotaro had ever seen him. Downright serene. Entirely relieved of the burden he had bore for twenty summers since Ferndale had burned.

“I have no need of such burdensome titles anymore. I leave it to you now to carry the mantle. There is no other quite as worthy.”

Kotaro could sigh at such talk. As if he needed more titles added to his record. It was far better to share the moniker with Estinien. It was less burdensome that way.

“Then, as my first action of the sole Azure Dragoon,” the miqo'te lifts his hand up and flicks the elezen in the forehead. Feeling a smug sense of satisfaction as the elezen twitches with the sting, his eyebrows scrunching together as his face twisted up.

“It is my responsibility to reprimand my fellow dragoon for bein’ a reckless fool, is it not? I worked so hard to save ye, and yet ye would have cast aside all that work! For what? To kill the wyrm that was already on his last legs? He was already beaten.”

Estinien huffs, rubbing the spot where the hero's fingernails had made contact.

“Suppose I deserve that much,” he remarks with a rueful quirk of his lips.

Kotaro nods. “That much and more, but it is not my habit to tussle with the infirm. I might put back yer healing a few more moons if I did that.”

Estinien grumbles. “Oi. I could take you on here and now, Warrior of Light. I owe you a rematch where I am in my right mind, after all. That first duel hardly counted.”

Could it count as a duel when Estinien had clearly come at him with murderous intentions?

The miqo'te grins to himself. “Ye can barely sit up in bed as ye are now, but I look forward to the day when ye come to challenge me again. The look on yer face will be right satisfyin’ when I knock ye on yer arse again.”

Estinien scoffs. “You talk big for a man of your diminutive stature.”

Kotaro bristles. “As if yer tall for an elezen! I am a perfectly respectable height for a miqo'te.”

Estinien grins, clearly pleased to see him ruffled.

The miqo'te took a calming breath, waving his hand flippantly. He supposed he could let him have the win, the other man being bedridden and all. There would be plenty of time to get his own back now that Estinien was himself again.

Kotaro had more to say, but at that moment Aymeric arrived.

He gives the two elezen a moment, knowing they were friends.

Wondering if he should call Estinien friend, too. Estinien seemed to be of the opinion that they were.

Well, he supposed they could talk later. Trusted that Estinien could do as the chirugeons ordered, and give himself the rest he sorely needed.

….

They never did have that talk.

Estinien had snuck out of the infirmary, leaving Ishgard entirely.

Kotaro knew he was still around. He could feel him close by on several occasions through the tenuous link they still shared as azure dragoon. Estinien could leave his title behind, but he was still the only dragoon on Kotaro's level. There would be no other to take his place.

Estinien could thank Aymeric for the task of having to chase down Nidhogg's eyes, though Kotaro supposed some of the blame could be placed on himself and Alphinaud for flinging them into the abyss in a moment of pure adrenaline instead of seeing them properly destroyed.

They do not meet again during Kotaro's time in Ala Mhigo, nor in his time in the East. Though the miqo'te could feel through their bond the elezen's feelings of concern for him, along with fond exasperation.

It is Estinien who comes to his side in the Ghimlyt Dark as the world fades around him, the very same affliction that had affected all the other Scions.

He fears he will truly fall to the swing of Zenos' blade, to the ascian that wore the prince of Garlemald’s body like an ill-fitting suit of armor.

The resonance of their dragon souls is all the comfort he needs to succumb to the dark as Estinien snatches him from the jaws of death and carries him away to safety.

Then and there, as his consciousness slipped away, Kotaro decided that he needed to toast with Estinien when he got the chance.

Brothership with Haurchefant had come naturally, easily.

With Estinien, it had not been so. With him, it had been a long and hard road fraught with difficulty and less than favorable impressions.

Though it had taken them time and endless struggles to come this far, there was no denying it. This was more than mere friendship.

They had stood by each other at their worst, saved one another from death, and they were still here. Together.

Estinien would be his brother, no matter what.

…..

The time came much later when they were finally in the same room again, both of them returned to the Rising Stones. Estinien come to give report on his mission about what transpired in Garlemald, and Kotaro returning from his most recent quest.

He suspected it had not been a coincidence, their meeting like this. Estinien was intentionally lingering, leaning against the wall in wait of him when Kotaro passes him by.

“Estinien!” Kotaro brightens up at the sight of him. “If yer not too busy, do ye have time fer a drink with me?”

Estinien straightens up, his face softening into a slight smile. “I suppose I could be convinced, provided that you have spirits worth sampling. I expect nothing less from a former pirate.”

“Aye. That is, if ye think yer Ishgardian constitution can hold up against the drink of a pirate. ‘Tis hardly the watered down ale served in Ishgardian taverns,” Kotaro laughs, taking him by the arm and leading him to his room.

“Gibrillont might cry to hear that the Warrior of Light thinks his ale is substandard,” Estinien chuckles, glancing around the room that Kotaro had made his own with personal touches. It was his first time being invited in.

Kotaro was making himself busy setting up a low table.

Estinien, in the meantime, perused the bottles lining his shelves. It was obvious that Kotaro had a taste for quality spirits.

“What are we drinking?” Estinien asks, stepping to the side as the miqo'te comes up behind him.

“Bacchus wine,” Kotaro replies, plucking a bottle from the shelf and settling in at the table where he had already set up the cups for them.

The cork pops and the wine flows, given time to breathe a bit before the two men raise their cups to toast.

“Oh? To what are we toasting, for a wine so famous that even I have heard of it?” Estinien asks as his glass is slid across the table towards him.

“What say ye to toastin’ to our friendship?” Kotaro proposes, lifting up his glass. “That is to say… I'd like for us to be sworn brothers, Estinien.”

Estinien seems surprised. His blue grey eyes are wide, his fingers loose around the glass he has not yet lifted from the table. “...Sworn brothers. Truly?”

Kotaro nods. “Aye.”

Estinien’s posture loosens, his expression soft. “It would be my honor, aibou. Your friendship has been a gift. To be your brother… It is more than I deserve, after how I treated you in the beginning.”

Kotaro laughs a bit. “Aye, ‘tis true I thought ye to be a right prick in the beginnin’, but ye are a different man now, Estinien. I do not ask this of that man who was so consumed with the goal of vengeance that he believed the wicked words of a wretched wyrm over that of his own adoptive father who raised him with care for twenty summers. I ask this of the man who gave Alphinaud a dressin’ down for sending me to take down Ravana, the one who stayed close by in case he was needed even though he had given up heroic titles such as Azure Dragoon. I ask this of the man who saved me from certain death. I ask this of the man who stayed by my side and was a comfort to me even in quiet as I mourned the loss of Haurchefant. Ye have more than proven yerself through yer words and deeds, Estinien. Ye are more than deservin’. Verily, I could ask fer no finer a brother as ye. So, will ye accept, and become my sworn brother?”

Estinien’s eyes had taken on a shiny sheen while listening to Kotaro's speech. “Well..” His voice croaks a bit with emotion as he tries to speak. With a forceful, manly cough he tries again. “Well, far be it from me to refuse with such a convincing argument. If you would accept me for all that I am, I should be most glad to be your brother, Kotaro.”

Kotaro grins, his feline ears twitching as tail swaying happily, utterly beside himself with joy.

He raises his hand, extending his glass towards the elezen. “To brotherhood!”

Estinien meets him in the middle, smiling. Their glasses clinked together. That small clacking of glass sounding off a new bond of closeness between them.

“Aye, to brotherhood.”

They drink together, swapping stories of themselves in a relaxed setting they had not been afforded in some time.

The hours quietly while away with no pressing matters to attend to.

It is a warmth and comfort that Kotaro had sorely craved for some time. A feeling of belonging, of family.

He was certain that Haurchefant was smiling down upon them, too.

….

The next adventure is one that Kotaro looks forward to, one where Estinien was by his side.

Exploring new places, meeting new people. Enduring new struggles.

All of it was made better by having his brother beside him. Kotaro only wished that Haurchefant could have been here, too.

To share in the fun, the laughter, exploring the map of the world.

From Sharlayan, to Thavnair, then traveling to Garlemald and beyond.

Darkness soon dampens the brightness of this adventure like ink spilling across parchment. The hardships and horror, Kotaro endures too.

Estinien is beside him through it all.

Until he isn't.

Grief is a feeling that Kotaro had not wanted to revisit. How thick it clings, stifling all joy, every step weighed down with heavy, heart wrenching emotion.

One after the other do his friends make the difficult choice. To give the others a fighting chance.

Kotaro wanted to sink to his knees then, to give into that swallowing darkness and sob his heart out. But he could not. He couldn't give into despair. To do so would be to squander the chance his friends and his brother had given him.

Kotaro presses on.

At the end, it is only him. Walking alone.

The hopes and dreams of their world resting upon his shoulders. All their lives, the very universe hanging in the balance.

Hope is what gets him through.

This could not be the end.

There was still so much life to live.

He could not let them down.

It feels like a blur, a blink.

It all happens so fast.

Kotaro can only feel relief as he comes back to himself, surrounded by his friends.

He doesn't remember what he says when he stirs awake, but Estinien was there beside him. Laughing at him.

Kotaro smiles, closing his eyes in relief.

For now, his duty was complete, so he lets himself rest a while longer.

Saving the world was exhausting.

…..

Kotaro gives a nice, feline stretch as a yawn cracks his jaw. He scratches at his chest, tail shivering and feline ears perked as he gazes at the bright blue, cloudless sky.

It was another beautiful day, if he did say so himself.

Kotaro isn't quite sure what he thought the other side of saving the world—nay, the entire universe?—would be like, but he supposed it was just… business as usual.

The work of an adventurer was never done, and Eorzea didn't put a pause on its daily peril just because the Warrior of Light desperately needed a holiday.

The world waited for no man, hero or no.

There were lulls between said peril, thankfully, and Estinien had taken to the task of the hero's chosen adventuring companion with gusto.

“Aibou!” The dragoon calls out to him with brotherly affection, striding over with a bounce in his step as soon as he spots him.

“Go treasure hunting with me?” Estinien asks with an eager grin, showing the miqo'te the map in his hands.

Kotaro perks up, looking over the map with the intrigue of a former pirate and the joy of an adventurer. He nods his head, pleased with the invitation.

“Ye know ye had me at treasure!”

Estinien chuckles, folding up the map and leading the way.

Kotaro stands still for a moment more, watching the dragoon's back as the elezen forged ahead towards their next adventure.

He had not thought he'd ever find a brother again, not after Haurchefant.

Estinien was different in every way, of course, but here he was beside him.

A brother as near and dear to his heart as Haurchefant had been.

Kotaro glances up at the sky, smiling.

A shadow falls over him, blocking out the bright light of the sun.

Kotaro jolts as he feels a familiar flick against his forehead.

He slaps his palm against the stinging spot. “Ow! What was that for?”

Estinien grins down at him. That familiar feeling of fond exasperation shining through their shared dragon soul bond. “Are you coming or not, aibou? Or should I take this hesitation as you forfeiting your share of the treasure?”

That said, Estinien bounds away with a burst of dragoon power. Laughing out as Kotaro swipes out at him a second too slow. “Very well, I accept!”

Kotaro stumbles forward, racing to catch up. “Hah, ye wish! Wait fer me, Estinien!”

A new adventure awaited, and Kotaro was looking forward to meeting it head on.

Side by side with his brother.

[chaobunnyarts]

Scion postcards! I’ll have these at Fanfest as part of my Delivery Moogle cosplay. Tell me who your favorite scion is and I’ll give you a postcard from them!

If I’m out of your favorite scion, well, Soroban will always have your back!

[remma-demma]

Thinking about people not liking what happened at the end of dawntrail like… hmm.

Did you not remember the stuff with the Yok Huy. Nobody is gone if you remember them. The phrase that’s been with us for nearly the entire game, “For those we have lost….” Emet Selch entrusting us not only with the legacy of humanity in general but specifically with the memories of the Ancients and Elpis.

Just because people are gone doesn’t mean they aren’t still with us.

But the people of Neo-Alexandria are kept from that. They can’t remember anyone they’ve lost because their memories were stolen and locked away in an eternal purgatory, unable to move on or be reincarnated. The quest where you go to the graves in Heritage Found was a big moment where I was like. Huh. This fucking sucks actually.

The endless are just computer simulations, and they exist because Sphene can’t bear to let them go. Can’t even let her living citizens mourn or carry on legacies.

And that’s not even mentioning the fact that she needs the souls of innocent *living* people to power this all.

I think it’s a really good metaphor for the digital age, becoming disconnected from our irl communities, uploading your entire life on social media. Profiles of loved ones who have passed on. AI chat bots providing temporary comfort but no real human connection. All of that technology requiring enough energy to slowly but surely contribute to the destruction of our planet.

It all seems pretty clear to me as an allegory but like, I guess some people just didn’t make that connection? Or maybe they just don’t think about all the AI stuff in the same way I do.

[picaroroboto]

the reason why Zenos is a part of the story in Stormblood is first for plot reasons - to spur action as an antagonist - and second to prompt the player and their WoL to think about violence and their relationship to it, and why they fight, if only to disprove his assertions that they're his "mirror".

why he comes back in Endwalker is of course for plot reasons as well, but the point of his arc and his role in the existential drama of EW is to show that while you don't need a "good reason" in order to live, and living solely for pleasure isn't inherently wrong, but that's going to be an empty and lonely life if you don't try to connect with others. And most importantly he's there to give those questions at the end - "Was this life a gift or a burden? Did you find fulfillment?"

[mosthuggableffxiv]

Bonus Poll: Most Boopable Scion