#i feel as though Aether would search the sky each night for the space between Orion and Taurus that holds the Pleiades

[the-moon-in-the-gutter]

Thinking about Aether teaching Phantom about the space race, and about the animals we sent into space before we sent people.

Phantom would would absolutely sob at Laika's story, relating almost too deeply to her. Abandoned by humanity and cast into a wild dark unknown, all while holding onto hope for so much more. He would go out at nights and sit on the opposite side of the courtyard from Aether, not to disrupt his own prayers to the stars.

Phantom would search the sky each night for Canis Major, before spilling his heart to the stars. The first time he did, he realized why Aether would go out and convene with the great beyond each night. The catharsis, the tears, the ability to share all of you with something far greater. Watching the stars twinkle, as if in response to the cries and pleas you make. The blinking, almost like Morse code, that told you it was all going to be okay. That you had no other choice.

[mariniacipher]

Gone In Sparks And Light

My gift for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange - this was written for @genderqueer-turtle. I really hope you had a merry Christmas and that you will enjoy this gift! 

Summary:  Looking at an artefact he's stolen from the archaeology lab, Remus finds a way to travel back in time, to a place where he might belong- to the people who could be meant for him.

WC: 3,830

Ships: Remus/Virgil/Logan, ment. Roman/Janus 

Warnings: mentions of resurrecting dead animals 

ao3 

~

Remus leaned over the examining table and fiddled with his microscope to examine the shard of periwinkle glass. There had been runes carved into them, and the archaeology lab was being so possessive over it. Something about him destroying the delicate work. As if he’d ever be so careless with something so delightfully strange!  

He scoffed and let his scalpel run over the glass without leaving even the hint of a mark. “No, I wouldn’t,” he muttered, looking back through the lens of the microscope. He’d stolen it after hearing about the commotion they’d all made- he just had to take a look at it! 

Remus startled as he finally recognized the marks on the glass. Fiddled with the microscope’s lens. Examined the piece of glass again. Cursed. 

His scalpel traced over the last rune in a sequence of antiquated letters and numbers and signs that could’ve come from his own lab, if it wasn’t for the fact that whoever had carved this had gone even farther in the convergence of spatial displacement with interplanar conjuring than he ever did. And he’d already revolutionized the field with his out of the box ideas. 

His hands started shaking where they still traced over a small mark in the glass. A small mistake had been made there that set the equation off, a single line missing to turn it into the very formula he’d dedicated his life to discovering after he got his doctorate. 

And now he was just one line away from finishing it, thanks to whoever it was that had carved the periwinkle glass. A laugh escaped him, hysterical and hopeful and disbelieving, shaking his body and- the noise of this scalpel scratching the glass was almost inaudible, but to Remus’ ears it sounded deafening. 

He’d perfected the formula, he realized a moment later. He’d perfected it! He’d finished his life’s work at 27, all thanks to that mysterious soul, that mysterious carver of periwinkle glass whose body must’ve left a trace of DNA on this glass. Who had to be replicable and revivable. They had to be! 

Remus was ready to take apart the glass and grind it into molecular pieces to enlarge and search through, looking for any trace of DNA he could give the necromancy department and bring them back to life, or get the spectral summoning folks on the case- anything! 

This person, this carver-of-periwinkle-glass, they were the only one who could be his match, in a field filled with industrious dimwits and lazy, narrow-minded geniuses. And this shard of glass could lead him to a person with whom he could share his lab. A person who was actually his match, who knew what they were doing just like he did. 

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment and murmuring the formula to himself, recognizing the inherent rhythm in it- a spell’s melody. Wrapping his arms around himself, he rocked back in his chair, almost hearing the symphony of magic meeting its capturing, of strings weeping and rejoicing. 

Without noticing, he raised his left hand in the air, as if conducting the magical energy with the scalpel he still held. The tight bracelet around his wrist started to glow, indicating magic to be near him. Remus didn’t notice that though, too focused on repeating the discovery- their shared discovery! After so many years of solitary work, he’d found a worthy partner, perhaps even a potential friend. No matter that time and space had tried to separate them.

He couldn’t imagine what their life had been like, what they had lived like- if they’d been just as lonely, just as severed from the world around them- if they’d wished for a companion just as much as he did. 

His wish, his desire, sent the magic innate to him outward, and the formula gave it a direction. They twisted together and converged to create a beautiful braid of light and sparks, green and dark blue and purple combining with silver thread to hold it all together. It circled in the air, being woven into a circular tapestry that flickered between aether and reality. The silver sparks reflected the light like mirrors, before showing- everything. 

Worlds and universes and planes he’d never imagine before and some he had, so different and bright Remus’ breath stopped as he saw it. 

But he kept repeating the formula, kept thinking of how its creator must’ve lived, and he saw how the silver mirrors showing the growing portal’s destination shifted, narrowing down their focus: First to only showing images of their plane, then to running back in time, then to finally showing him a small village from hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago. Remus could almost see himself there, could almost taste the air and feel the breeze and hear the rain that was pattering down from the sky. 

And just as his yearning reached its zenith, the silver sparks started to migrate into the centre of the circular tapestry, moulding and growing it. The portal turned into a single image of the small village, each raindrop glittering silver, framed by a braid of blue, green and purple that bled together at the edges. Remus stopped for a moment to admire it, the breath stolen from his lungs. 

Then he took a running start and jumped through it. 

~ 

Virgil rightened the wool cape over their shoulders and fidgeted with the broad scarf they’d wrapped around their shoulders and head. They were still drenched to the bone, the rain not giving them any hint of reprieve. The wool weighed heavily, damp and disgusting against their skin. Why did the market have to be so far away? They’d left their village when dawn had still been streaking the night sky with pink and purple stripes, to find the parts that Logan claimed he needed. 

Now, hours later, they were weighed down with a heavy bag filled with scrap metal, it was almost dusk and they were more than ready to let their husband hang up the woollen layers they were wearing and detangle their hair to braid it out of their face with warm, calloused hands afterwards. Their tired muscles ached for Logan’s familiar touch, to kiss and hold-

Why was Roman outside?

The rain and the darkness would usually drive him inside, to work on his costumes or his lines, and besides that Roman had been glued to Janus’ side ever since they confessed. And the snake was nothing if not consistent in their distaste for anything that went against their hedonistic desires. Virgil would know, they loved to watch them pout as they were dragged out of their comfort zone by Roman, pretending not to enjoy it, just like Roman pretended to dislike it when Janus forced him to take a break. If it didn’t devolve into them making out half the time, they would’ve even called the couple cute.  

But Roman seemed to be alone out here, and in what had to be a new costume- it was a stark white robe that shone against the drab houses the storm had turned their village into. It went down to their shins, with a similar white shirt underneath, and Virgil cursed under his breath. Light fabric was expensive, and if his friend had gotten in over his head for his creative vision again- 

“Hey, whatcha watchin’ for, hot stuff? You wanna get a piece of this?” The person- not Roman, not at all Roman- grinned, so wide it looked almost painful, shaking his hips in a way that was probably supposed to be suggestive but just let Virgil worry about his thin figure. There was a weird tension in his frame that Virgil couldn’t name. 

They frowned, hauling their bag higher up their arm to cross them before their chest. “I’ve never seen you here before, are you passing through?”  The white robe wasn’t protecting him from the rain at all and Virgil hoped he had friends in town to take him in. 

But the man shook his head. “Yeah, you could say that…,” he paused, before perking up with sudden enthusiasm. “Would you happen to know any scientists?”  

Virgil mouthed the strange word to himself before shaking their head. “No, I’ve never heard of that- what language even is that? I never… you’re not part of a cult, right?” They changed their grip around their bag again, this time to have a sharp piece of metal in arm’s reach. 

“No! I just- wait, let me think how you’d call it… maybe I should have studied history a bit, before- well, too late now.” The stranger hummed to himself. “I’m looking for a person who’s researching magic! Trying to understand and tame it, all that!” 

Virgil sighed. Of course, the maybe-cultist would look for someone of Logan’s profession; they ignored the curiosity the stranger had piqued within themself. “Then come along.” They led the way up their village’s main street and discarded the potential weapon in their bag. “My husband and I’s house is on the edge of town, and I don’t want you to freeze to death because the others think you’re possessed or something.” 

The stranger followed him, an obvious bounce in his step. “Does that happen often? I heard about possession, but never managed to get it right! I called on so many serial killers, you wouldn’t believe- the whole ritual is so disgusting, imagine how it’d look if it actually worked!” The smile on his face was positively gleeful. “Everything I read sounds positively horrid, absolutely gruesome and-” Virgil bit back a grin at the other’s open excitement. It’d been a while since they’d let themself be so excited about the more macabre side of magic. 

“Oh, you should’ve seen the reception at our wedding. I had gotten a bunch of emus and charmed them to come alive again, to carry some drinks. You should’ve seen the faces of the guests, man, it was great. And they were way better at serving the drinks than the chickens Logan wanted-” Virgil cleared their throat, suddenly growing aware of what they’d said. “Just so you know,” they added, grumbling, shoulders hitching up. 

Remus’ grin didn’t soften, but they perked up, finding the other to mirror his own interest in the dirty parts of magic and science. He leaned forward as he caught up to them with an expectant smile. “I do know now,” they said, “but you didn’t mention what spell you used at all! How am I supposed to reanimate my own flock of emus? Let alone my own flock of geese!” The scientist cackled at the idea of unleashing a flock of geese onto the archaeology department. It would be glorious and he had to get back to the present to do it at least once!

Virgil snorted, imagining their own friends’ reaction if they had to cope with a pack of wild geese. “I think you’d be run out of town for that one,” they muttered, but they were unable to hide their smile, small as it might’ve been. 

“Oh, like that hasn’t happened before! Do you know I’ve been banned from a different mall on each of my birthdays since I turned 13?” Remus bounced on his feet, rubbing his hands together as if he were a supervillain about to explain his devious plan, just to do something with them. 

“I’m Remus,” he added, a moment later, “and I’m pretty sure you’ve no idea what a mall is.” 

Virgil shook their head, but they were smiling. “Nah, but like, they can’t be that good, if they’d throw you out.” 

Remus froze, turning distinctly pink. “Okay. If you say so.” It wasn’t like he didn’t know what flirting was; in the monster romance books he secretly read there was a lot of flirting! He just. Hadn’t really ever been on the receiving end of it. But… looking at the stranger and their smile, their eyes shimmering with mirth, he’d really like to learn. 

Virgil cleared their throat, blushing too. The darkness thankfully did its best to hide it. “I’m Virgil,” they said and hoped they could convince Remus to stay a while. “And my husband’s name is Logan- you’ll love him, he’s great. As long as he’s not forcing me into a storm for his experiments, at least.” They chuckled, more fond than bitter. 

Remus nodded eagerly at the reminder of what had brought him here. “You mind telling me about those?” He leaned forward, “I’d love to hear about it.” 

Virgil laughed, “don’t tell me you’re another one of those logicians- I’ve already got enough with Logan and his attempts to anger the spirits.” 

Remus sputtered. “I don’t want to anger them! Just… get to the bottom of them. Are you honestly telling me that you’re happy with just accepting the ways they work? Just like that?” 

“No, I just- c’mon, we’re almost home, talk to Logan about your attempt to get struck by lightning.” But their smile belied the disinterest of Virgil’s words. Just what they needed, really, another person to anger the ones above and below. 

The two of them had arrived at the top of the hill the village stood on and could look below: the cliff coast, steep and jagged, the grey sea crashing against it, with a small cottage standing at its edge. The thatched roof was dark with rain and the garden around it seemed to be filled with herbs and flowers, some of which Remus had only seen in archaeological texts. 

The scientist ran forward as he spotted those, gasping as he cradled the bloom of a dark blue lily that had supposedly been used to dye clothes with its blooms and season potions with the dried leaves. Remus was almost cackling with glee as he imagined what the people at the archaeological department would say if they heard about missing out on this. 

He turned around from where he’d crouched down on the ground to face Virgil, not paying attention to the house. “What’re these?” 

“My mother always called them gunny’s blossoms,” came the reply from behind him, and Remus could see Virgil roll their eyes before turning around and standing up to face the other man- Virgil’s husband, most likely. 

The man was short- shorter than Remus and definitely shorter than his spouse, wearing a too-big woollen coat that probably belonged to Virgil, under which Remus could spot embroidered robes. He could’ve sworn he recognized some of them from either his textbooks or the designs still so popular in churches and temples, but they were covered up by the man’s crossed arms. “And what should I call you?” 

“Remus!” he introduced himself with a bow, exaggerated and clumsy, but he carried it with confidence. “I cannot say how happy I am to meet you- is it right that you are working with making magic make sense? Your spouse mentioned, but- I’ve got to be sure.” 

Logan looked over at Virgil, face creased with confusion. His spouse merely shrugged. “I am working on capturing the powers that be into clear, replicable form, yes. Are you in the field as well?” 

Remus laughed at the question. “In the field, yes- pioneered a good deal, back in-'' he looked around himself as if fearing to be struck by lightning when speaking his breaking of the laws of time and space aloud. “Can I come in? I’d love to talk to you- you both.” He rocked back and forth on his heels; this was the furthest he’d come in making new frien- acquaintances, right now, he reminded himself, even though it hurt- and he was weirdly jittery. Nerves firing and pores excreting sweat. He would’ve been delighted at the grossness had it been any other time. 

But Logan nodded, his curiosity seeming piqued as he exchanged a look with his spouse. There was a new light in his eyes and even though this was the first time Remus saw it, he wanted to keep it there for as long as possible. Judging by the softness that gentled Virgil’s expression, he wasn’t the only one. 

“Of course,” Logan finally said, turning back to the door. “You’re free to pick some gunny’s blossoms if you’d like. We have more than enough.” 

Remus made a high-pitched noise at the back of his throat, grabbing a handful of them and holding them to his nose. It coloured his face blue and Virgil snorted, not as derisive as they’d wanted to. 

“It tingles!” Remus rubbed at the pollen and colour on his face. 

“Yeah, that’ll be the rash you’re about to get,” Virgil smiled, as though they weren’t already reaching for one of the vials attached to their belt. “Lo, do you-” 

“Yes.” Logan already stood next to them with a rag, wetting it with the tincture Virgil had brewed for their husband less than a week before. They both led Remus inside with ease and the scientist would’ve looked around himself if he hadn’t been so focused on the couple now sitting him down on a chair that had to be freed of fabric- “Virgil, you said you’d clear another chair- and what if someone sat here? The magic you embroidered into this would be completely corrupted!” 

“Well, you didn’t notice until now, did you?” Virgil shook their head, “I’ll bet you didn’t eat lunch either. Besides, my magic isn’t so fragile-” 

“-It is nonetheless worthy of protection!”  

Virgil grumbled in reply to that, but Remus could swear there was a redness to their cheeks that couldn’t be attributed to the cold outside. They crossed the room, folding the piece of fabric as they went. 

Remus tried to catch a look at what was painted onto it- were those runes pre-roman?- but Logan stepped into his line of sight, holding the same rag as before, but now it was covered with some kind of liquid. It was kind of sizzling the wool but didn’t seem to burn it. 

“Do not worry, Virgil’s version is only so bubbly because it is more fitted to human skin- I’d know, I’ve got it on me at least twice a week.” Logan smiled, fond and soft and so close. Remus watched him, for the first time in his life completely stunned, as the other man gently wiped off the colour from the flowers. He didn’t even notice how his grip on those still in his hands slackened until a few hit the floor. But the wood was already so stained- from potion accidents, runic accidents and cooking gone wrong- that it didn’t make a real difference. 

“You, ah-” Remus caught his breath, looking Logan straight in the eyes. They were light brown- a mundane colour, but, for the first time, it reminded Remus of amber, of acorns in the summer, of wilderness in a seemingly calm form. But only seemingly, as the house around him proved. “What’re you working on?” 

Logan’s smile grew at that, his eyes shining. “Oh, it’s fascinating- I’m trying my hand at abstraction! You might’ve heard of some magicians in the cities doing it, and I’ll admit their research gave me the base idea, but, looking at their works I’d noticed how contained they all were by only using the written word-” 

“-as they should,” Virgil interrupted, but it bore no heat and only caused Logan to continue, louder and decidedly looking away from his spouse. 

“BUT by applying some runes and numbers to it I started to get much further ahead- I’m just trying some thought experiments now.” 

Remus nodded. “Yes! Are you by any chance working on travelling spells? Because I found some, in-” he rocked back and forth in his chair, fiddling with the flowers’ stems in his hands- “some glass with inscriptions of it, and it led me here when I wished for its creator- I’m from the future, y’see, and I,” he smiled, looking around the house again. Looking at the work desk covered in glass and gems and fragile tools, the corner covered in heaps of fabrics, and thread and needles alongside paints and brushes. Looking at an easel leaning against the construction of glass and metal that looked like a telescope, the tapestries hanging from some walls with painted and embroidered runes, words and old spells. He could spy into another room that was filled with vials and kettles, a chemist’s lab from a long time ago, and he wondered if Virgil’s paints were magic in themselves. 

“You?” Logan asked as Remus was captured by the house around him, curious in a gentle way. Remus melted at it, leaning into the hand still cradling his head, despite the blue from the flowers already being gone. 

“I’m from the future,” he replied, and something crashed in the background as Virgil turned around quicker than light. 

“You’re what?” Their eyes were wide with wonder and they stalked over to them as fast as their legs would take them. 

“You have to tell us everything- you said you were working on abstracting magic too?” Logan started flapping his hands as he thought, and the obvious stim made Remus rock again, elated to find the other man was like him. “Oh, would you work alongside me? I’ve been simply stuck at trying to find a way to define a natural element and-” 

“-oh, the Gregorian Dilemma? I solved that just a few weeks ago, but you, you figured out how to travel through time and space- you have to explain your process!”

“How do you- I was just about to finish my fine-tuned carving of it-” 

Remus nodded- “on periwinkle glass?” 

“Yes, how did you-” 

“- I found it! It’s what led me here in the first place.” 

Logan laughed, stunned and delighted and Remus joined him easily. 

Virgil snorted fondly at the display. “But, Lo, you didn’t hear the most important thing yet- he never summoned a thing- they lost it, apparently, in the future. I have to show you how we do it, you would love it-” 

“-Yes!” Logan exclaimed. “And you’d get to use-” 

“- The new tapestry of luminous elation? I’d thought so too-” 

“- “what, like the spirit,” Remus interrupted, and the spouses easily slid into explaining and inviting, just as Remus started explaining and accepting. The three of them didn’t even notice how the time went by until the food Logan had prepared before started boiling over, and they all hurried to the kitchen to clean up the mess and Remus ate slightly-burnt stew with them like it was normal, the three of them making space on the dinner table. 

Remus put away the periwinkle glass, enlarged thanks to the cloth it’d been placed on, the formula he’d see through a microscope just hours before now easily legible. It was a magic he had never heard of before, and as he asked Virgil explained, interrupted by additions by Logan and Remus alike but always listened to. 

And Remus found himself fitting right in. 

[sweetsweetnathan]

Silence (Robyn x Yugiri)

[Robyn struggles with the loss of his magic. Yugiri loses her patience with him. About 2000 words.]

(First Chapter)

(Second Chapter)

-

On the bottom bunk of a bunk bed in the middle of the broiling summer night Robyn lied awake, restless and uncomfortable. Since the beginning of his training Robyn had been moved into the warehouse-turned-operational-headquarters. He lived in the tight, economical confines of a barracks with 22 other agents, including Yugiri, all of them Doman save for Robyn. It had been years, but Robyn was still familiar with these conditions as they mirrored his living situation when he served as a private in the Maelstrom. The promise of private accommodations was one of the biggest factors in Robyn's drive to become an officer, and being able to choose where he lived spurred him into becoming an agent. Miraculously it was not the sharp decrease in quality-of-life that kept Robyn up at night. He understood Yugiri's logic: If Imperial spies were watching the headquarters from afar it would be difficult for them to determine who was the commanding officer of the affair. No one saluted Yugiri, nor did Yugiri dress or position herself apart from her subordinates in any way. In fact, Robyn was more at risk than she was, being the only non-Au Ra of the operation. "The Empire has to wonder," Robyn thought once, "'Why do they have a white-haired human among them? What are they going to use him for? And why is he so bad at ninjutsu?'" But it wasn't even the threat of assassination Robyn feared. It was silence. - Morning came and it didn't take long for Yugiri to notice that Robyn absent from the company's daily group breakfast. "Where is that impossible man?" She thought. His acupuncture sessions were his first assignment every morning, and while he always made it to them on time Yugiri had begun to eagerly anticipate the day he was late. Rarely did he take the operation seriously. "In fact," Yugiri thought, "rarely does he take anything seriously," before deciding to mockingly add, "except for himself." Yes, Robyn was quick to remind everyone what a tremendous sacrifice he was making by temporarily giving up his magic. "Eorzea is losing a great talent," Robyn had said almost every day for the first two weeks. "You all should be thankful." The past week however, he had been suspiciously, mercifully quiet. It would have worried Yugiri if it didn't relieve her so much. The 24-person operation ate all their meals together, and for those first two weeks Robyn was quick to argue with anyone about any facet of Doman culture. "If your religion teaches non-attachment to the physical world, why are you currently eating?" "If your warriors are the greatest in history, why did you lose against the Empire?" Petulant, churlish questions that would just as often demonstrate him to be an ignorant fool as an insufferable genius. Yugiri didn't imagine that both temperaments could exist in the same person. She was not one to chase the rabbits of academia and philosophy; they were too elusive and lived too far down paths she had no interest in walking. This made Robyn's behavior absolutely baffling: Questioning Doman swordsmanship got him into sparring bouts he couldn't possibly win. Questioning Doman philosophy resulted in nothing but Robyn being corrected for his misunderstanding of the fundamental concepts. Yet always Robyn would find more challenges and questions to levy on his comrades. "Why?" for weeks Yugiri wondered. That is, until she received word of his progress in learning Doman custom. It was part of his training to be able to act out Doman bows, gestures, and ceremonies as if he had been living in the country his whole life. And somehow, according to him, Robyn had grown to understand these things through the spirited conversations he had spurred on over meals. Yugiri involuntarily regarded this as clever, though naturally she kept the compliment to herself. She refused to believe Robyn's "method" to be anything more than serendipitous blundering. Breakfast passed. Minutes after the facility's morning assignments began Yugiri received a communique by linkpearl: "Robyn hasn't shown up yet. It's his last session. Any idea where he is?" - The Agelyss river cut a deep creek into the land, resulting in tall rocks along the flanks of the whole riverbed that stood more than six feet above the water's sparkling surface. This made it uncommon to find a place where the ground and the river met evenly, and even if one did find such a spot it was likely contested by a jungle predator. For the last week Robyn had come out to one such spot, making a point to use only ninjutsu to clear away the wildlife. It was his own personal method of training. But while improving his ninjutsu would be a worthwhile endeavor by itself Robyn was there for another reason entirely: The sound of the river. He feared that if he went a day without hearing it that he might lose his mind. Yugiri stood next to Robyn. She didn't walk up to him or appear in a puff of smoke. She was simply suddenly there. Robyn gave a jump, then looked up and mumbled, "You're good at that." "I better be," she said, "any particular reason you're out here?" Robyn expected outrage and ridicule, but Yugiri cut to the chase. Robyn spoke slowly, saying, "Today is my last day. I figured they could wait another moment." "Well they can't. Get up and let's go." Yugiri said coldly. Robyn responded with a sigh. "Just... Slow down, okay? I get it. It's my job. It's a matter of life and death for your nation. I know these things. But listen." Robyn ceased speaking. Yugiri was waiting for him to finish his thought. "Listen for what?" She demanded. "Listen to the river," Robyn said. "It sounds like magic." Yugiri rolled her eyes. She moved to stand between Robyn and the river. "No. No more philosophy. No more questions. No more meditating. You have wasted enough of my time and energy with such things. I don't know what sort of Eorzean issue you're having, but you cannot give up now after my people spent three weeks training you." Robyn, his shoulders low and sullen, his face almost expressionless, stood up obligingly. Were he in a more lively state he would have called Yugiri out for shifting her tone from “accepting of differences” to “some problems are Eorzean problems”, a contradiction Yugiri was more than aware of but let slip in a moment of frustration. To Yugiri's surprise she did not read defiance in his posture as she did almost every other day. Robyn looked weak as he stood before her; despite his training he appeared far less the man he was when they first met. Instinctively Yugiri knew that there was something amiss with the man, but getting it out of him would mean compromising the authority of her orders. "I can do that another time," she thought, "right now keeping the operation on-schedule is the most important thing." Yugiri turned to leave, expecting Robyn to follow. Two steps later Robyn stopped and said, "Yugiri. Let's fight one more time." Yugiri did not respond, choosing instead to keep walking on in expectation that he follow. At the same time though, part of her felt something click into place; there was an agreeable certainty to his offer that appealed to her. If Yugiri were asked to verbalize this feeling she couldn't explain why she felt it, but she did know what it meant: She wanted to fight Robyn. When Yugiri and Robyn fought the first time she noticed something about the way he casted magic from his hand: It was when she was behind him preparing to strike and he shot a wide, wild blast of heat that propelled them away from each other that she noticed him slam his foot into the ground a moment before his magic ignited. It was to brace himself against the backwards shock of his blast, like a pugilist bracing to receive a punch to the stomach during training. In the moment it happened Yugiri felt herself memorize that sound. And now she heard that sound erupt from behind her once more as Robyn stomped into the dirt to brace himself for a discharge of magic. With a leap and a turn Yugiri put space between her and Robyn and faced him, drawing her daggers by reflex. She landed anticipating a blast of flame to be surging towards her that she would have to dodge for her life... But there was nothing. Robyn stood ten steps away from her, a weak smile on his face and an arm outstretched with a finger out and pointing at her. At the very tip of Robyn's finger there was a small flame, no bigger than that created by a stove. Yugiri's eyes searched for deception. Robyn lowered his hand and tilted his head back to look up at the sky; Yugiri's search found only sorrow. "That's all I can make now," Robyn said, "no more than a candle. But it's worse than that. I didn't realize it, but I actually use tiny amounts of aether to move my jaw when I talk. I use aether to lift my fork when I eat. I use it when I read, I use it when I think... But now it's gone. My magic is gone." Robyn's voice was choked. Yugiri sheathed her daggers. It didn't feel right to force him back to the headquarters at that moment. Robyn went on, "Only now do I realize how I must sound sometimes. Without my magic I can't think straight long enough to make a plan, or come up with fancy ways of saying things, or even ask interesting questions. These are the silliest things a person can do, but they were the things I did. If I could ask a question that a person never even considered, that proved I wasn't just a figment of their imagination. It proved I was real, and that I couldn't be ignored. My thoughts and words and questions probably sounded like madness to someone who couldn't feel my magic... Which of course was everyone except for me. But now it's not even me. My mind has gone quiet."

A breeze drifted by as Yugiri tried to think of how to respond. She was ready to sacrifice herself, Robyn, and everyone else under her command if she thought her mission would free the Doman people from Imperial rule. But there were still some lines she wouldn’t cross. It was a small line, likely the first to give in case of emergency, but letting (rather than forcing) Robyn come to terms with what he had to do to get the job done was one of those lines. In Yugiri’s opinion one is not a very good leader if they have to force their subordinates to follow their will.

Finally Yugiri decided what to say back to him. Not an apology, or some condescending consolation, but a challenge: “Aether? Magic? Is that really all you are?” Robyn’s attention escaped the confines of his mind and returned to the world around him. Yugiri said, “Come see me if you want to give up and run back to the Maelstrom. I’ll give you your magic back and send you on your way. I doubt you could even touch me with your ninjutsu anyways.”

Robyn’s eyes focused and unfocused. He stood looking like the wind could push him over at any moment. But he wasn’t falling. He was Self-reflecting on how Yugiri was successfully goading him. With one hand and the minimal amount of effort Robyn drew from his belt a shuriken. Then he turned his eyes to Yugiri and gave answer to her challenge.

-

Robyn returned to the headquarters with half of his body limp from Yugiri’s pressure-point attacks, half his weight carried on her shoulder as she aided him by dragging him along. For once in his life he said nothing. But he was thinking, slow as he did, about what had happened, and was yet to happen still. The operation itself would start soon, and with it would come an opportunity to find himself... Or find himself lacking.

[crystalsexarch]

orogenesis

It happened that her return to the Source came ten nights and eleven days later. Eager as she was to spend more time with her new lover, she could not abandon certain responsibilities to wither away one lustful evening at a time.

Last chapter of What We Already Know, but can be read as Heavensward angst, which I know we never get tired of around these parts...post-Shadowbringers.

A Warrior once betrothed to a certain knight returns to Ishgard in search of closure.

More writing here.

She did not stop at the Rising Stones, nor Camp Dragonhead. When she came upon Ishgard proper, the hour was late, but still she traveled past the Forgotten Knight, past the Brume, and into the Pillars anyway.

By that time, stars had blinked into the sky. Each one reminded her of someone she had avoided on her trek to the Last Vigil - Tataru, Emmanellain, others. But she made her way towards one she had avoided far longer. Far too long.

When she could see her destination, she slowed her pace and tried to control her breathing. Sweat pooled beneath her mail, sweat that cooled her a bit too much now that she was going slower. The streets were nigh empty. A few guards meandered from point to point of interest, and one in particular stood where he always had, waiting for her and hers.

She wasn’t trying to catch his attention - quite the opposite - but his head darted to her nonetheless. Even from beneath his helmet, she could see his eyes grow wide with recognition and shock. He couldn’t see her face, but there was only one of that stature and build who donned a Drachen armet like hers.

Her horns also hinted at her identity.

“M-milady!” He stumbled forward, caught between a bow and a salute. He nearly ended up with a kneel.

She waved him down and grimaced, knowing she would enter the manor wet with sweat after all, unannounced and her lungs burning from the cold.

“Ishgard’s savior, and the world’s besides,” the guard said. “Are you come to see - “

“The old lord, if he’s yet awake.”

The guard cocked his head. “You speak of Lord Edmont?”

“Aye.”

He nodded slowly at first, but faster as his lips opened. “Tis like he yet lingers in his study. I can...have you escorted.”

She clicked her helmet off and exhaled, watching her breath dance from her mouth into the atmosphere. “I can find my own way.”

-

Often she had left her helmet in the sitting room, but it didn’t feel right under her current circumstances. An empty spot in the parlor beckoned her sense of nostalgia - you can just set it here, it isn’t a bother - but she hadn’t just returned from the Aery or the Vault or Azys Lla. She would rest her head elsewhere. Sweat on other sheets. Cry into another pillow, if it came to that.

The warmth of the house was the only thing that kept its halls from looking, from feeling empty. Somewhere a fire burned, its buzz suggesting a lord sipping tea and flipping to the next page of a grand old tale. The Warrior swallowed and stepped deeper into the half-lit manor, like she was exploring a liminal space.

The door to Edmont’s study was open. He appeared before her sudden and grand, dark brows framing blue eyes set upon his book. Though she made no effort to conceal herself - indeed, she thought her nerves would have rendered a more silent approach nigh impossible - he never broke his concentration. Whatever he was reading made him smile. She thought it likely he mistook her approaching footsteps for those of a manservant or maid working into the evening.

Once she reached his door, he realized no maid clinks as loud as she.

The smile stayed painted on his face even as he raised his head to see what manner of knight trudged about the Manor Fortemps. The Warrior’s lips shook when surprise forced his mouth open. With the fireplace at his back, a new light colored him, a colder one, but the twinkle in his eye remained.

He spoke her name like it alone could light the manor.

“Lord Edmont,” she said, her cheeks full with a wide-brimmed smile, one she knew the right combination of words could shatter like glass. “I pray you forgive my coming unannounced.”

The Count rose from his seat, arms wide. She nearly expected to embrace him, but soon he raised his hands in a gesture not unlike one she’d seen his late son make many times. Palms upward, face beaming; it was perhaps the most like Haurchefant she had ever seen him. “The Warrior of Light is welcome in my house at any and all hours. That shall ever be as true as night and day.”

She had no desire to tell him how she’d come to know those concepts as a bit less set in stone than he presumed. “I should...come more often.”

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to a second chair not far from the fireplace.

She stepped into the room, but shook her head. “I...I don’t mean to trouble you long.”

“You are no trouble.”

“I know, but - “

Firm hand on her shoulder. “You are no trouble. Sit.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. Finding the chair, she set her helm at her feet and clasped her hands over her knees. Despite Edmont’s warmth and declarations of praise, she had never quite grown close to him, felt comfortable speaking as an equal in his presence. Unlike Emmanellain and even Artoirel, Edmont had an air of deep lineage about him. He was perhaps the only noble whose nobility she had no choice but to respect.

He sat and set his elbows on the armrests, fingers together. “I hear you have made a name for yourself as a liberator.”

She smiled and looked to the flames.

“Doma, Ala Mhigo...but not before you freed Ishgard from a legacy of bloodshed and deceit.”

“None of that would have transpired were it not for your hospitality.”

He chuckled. “Opening our hearts and home to adventurers of your ilk was no difficult task, child.”

Of course, it would have been harder without a certain knight’s endorsement.

The Warrior sat on that thought, listening to the fire. Edmont shifted and tapped a finger at his lips.

“I am no fool,” he said after a while. “You wear a grim countenance beneath your smile. Had sorrow not befallen us, I’d be less surprised to see you come to Ishgard more often.”

Her shoulders drooped. “I love this city well,” she said, halfway hypnotized by the dancing flames. “This house and this family. That is why I…”

A log broke. A flurry of sparks puffed from the fireplace and faded into gray. The Warrior turned to Edmont, lips yet searching for the proper explanation.

“You need make no excuse,” he said, shaking his head. “There are days I question whether I would leave, had I the option. Or at least the proper walking shoes.”

She smiled and wiped her eyes out of habit, though she had yet to shed a single tear.

“I am glad you have come.” He turned to the fire and held his hands together once more. “It does me well to spend time with one whom I know loved my son as much as I.”

The Warrior clenched her eyes shut and bent forward, hoping he couldn’t see her, hoping her pain hadn’t sent a ripple through the aether itself. “There is...something I must tell you. Something he...Haurchefant wanted to tell you...yet I…”

He didn’t respond for a while, but she kept her eyes closed. She wanted to rub her hands together, to curl her legs to her chest, but she couldn’t rely on ticks to get her through this conversation.

So much silence passed - she had no choice but to speak. A gasp broke her eyes open.

“I can’t find the words,” she said. “Words will not do him justice, I...I can only show you what he showed me.”

Edmont’s eyes were heavy. Ready. “Show me, child.”

She held her lips tight to keep them from trembling and reached into her bag. Finding the tiny wooden box was easy. For weeks it had been slipping into her hands when she sought other things. But it remained with her nonetheless. Once she had it, she held it in one palm and set the other at its lid, turning to Edmont before prying it open.

As he saw the ring, she knew it was one he recognized. A familial piece. Perhaps something he’d given Haurchefant upon knighthood and searched his effects for after his passing. That ring, he may have wondered. Had he given it to someone after all? The expression he wore was one of agonized acceptance, not at the choice his son had made, but at the choice on which his son had been unable to follow through.

“I am sorry,” the Warrior said through tears. “I kept this from you. He had wanted to tell you himself, and since he didn’t get - I just kept it to myself, thinking it would - I never thought to - “

“I would have no other,” he started, deep voice bearing the role of his heritage, “wear this ring.”

“I should have returned it, or informed you otherwise.”

“It is yours to keep. And to wear.”

Her arms grew weak. “How can I?”

“My dear child.” His voice betrayed the sorrow he had tried to wield without breaking. “Grief does not diminish best when hidden away in a wooden box. Nay, it grows stronger.”

“Edmont, I - “

He stood and took the box. The flames cast half his towering body in orange. “Your gauntlet.”

She sniffled and worked the metal from her left hand as best she could, feeling like a child. Edmont knelt before her, so close she could see his tears even in shadow. Armor in her lap, he steadied her wrist with his free hand. The ring hugged her calloused finger, but not so much that it hurt.

As soon as the Count had completed the task, they both stared at the bejeweled silver piece on her finger. Instead of questioning whether it looked or felt right, she wondered what Edmont thought of it? If he regretted insisting she put it on? One pain that kept her from Ishgard was the pain that forced her to fear disappointing this man - the one who could have been her father by law.

At the same time, she and Edmont looked up, eyes locked and all water. And then, laughing through tears like fools, they embraced until they could once again wear smiles worthy of Haurchefant’s final words.