#i was considering making them ascians

[fortunatelyenchantingtaco]

My brain got back into ffxiv so i guess its time to think about Sukugo but in ffxiv. Like cmon

Sukuna from Xaela Oronir tribe who came to Eorzea for more challenge. Satoru who came with Louisoux from Old Sharlayan to test his theories in working (also young and dumb and full of desire to prove himself against the garleans)

Sukuna ransaking the garlean empire from the east while satoru is pressuring it from the west, meeting in the middle, trying to fighre out if the other is a friend or foe. Cue negotiations. Cue Sukuna having a Moment because while he might have left his clan cause there was no one strong enough for him in the Steppe, he’s also not immune to the good old legend that out there somewhere is his other half, his moon. And Satoru looks like moon incarnate, astrologest adorned in moon jewelerly with the power to incinerat everything he sees, with the forbidden magic in his hands.

Cue Satoru also very much having a Situation cause Sukuna is so damn powerful, with horns to hold onto and such dense aether its blinding. Confident and strong and not giving a shit about anyone, a king without a kingdom. “Savage,” people call him, but Satoru has never seen anyone fight like that, weave magic so dark and red to spread on his enemies. Satoru needs to see and understand and bother and he won’t leave him alone

For the record, Ascians are going insane because of them. Here are two shards, and they should be so weak, just like the rest. They’re not, for some reason, and they dont have the protection of the Mother Crystal. What are they??? (Insane)

[estinininininen]

FFXIV fans this is your daily reminder that if Estinien has even a tiny fraction of Nidhogg's memories he knows a hell of a lot more than he's letting on.

Nidhogg remembers at least three Umbral Calamities, and probably four or five. Safe to assume he defended Coerthas from Allag, and that he heard Vrtra looking for Azdaja and the primal-ification of Bahamut through dragon song. The DRG 80 quest states Nidhogg considered himself guardian of the star after Midgardsormr. At his prime, Nidhogg may have even known or been trying to learn his father's abilities - the changing form, the crystals, possibly even the ability to speak with Hydaelyn. Theory time: Hydaelyn may have even rejected him for being a dragon supremacist.

Estinien's shortcomings (if you don't have another silly explanation for them) have to do with mortal knowledge and interactions, like niceties, coin, and bluffing immigration officers. He asks for the Scions to explains things because they have discovered stuff nobody knew before this, or they were using vocabulary he doesn't know.

In Shadowbringers the idea of Ascians doesn't phase him, but the different shards and time travel nonsense throw him for a bit of a loop, coincidentally things Nidhogg wouldn't know. He is very tense at the idea of the WOL seeing his memories, and leaves immediately, but after telling you he shares Nidhogg's memories in 5.5 he chills out and hangs around more. Like he saw the writing on the wall about joining the Scions and covered his own ass in case of an Echo vision.

In Endwalker the reason I think he said "At least I will not pretend to understand this talk of ancient primals or the Final Days" and the like is because he has to constantly sort out if what Nidhogg knew was correct. He is remarkably chill staring up at Hydaelyn like "ya bitch let's go let's fight God." What Hydaelyn said to Estinien about hate becoming love is ambiguous enough it could also apply to Nidhogg.

And you are still the only person he has directly told he shares some memories with Nidhogg. He is deliberately not sharing this with people. He doesn't want to be Nidhogg. Most of the information is pointless outside of Coerthas in the 7th astral era. He makes an exception when he is the only one who knows something important - there's a Great Wyrm behind the curtain, how to motivate depressed dragons, the Eyes of Nidhogg are active again better find them, Omega? wait the thing that chased Midgardsormr? if not me better make sure someone handles it, oh shit Zenos is standing back up that's not Zenos anymore-

Then he just wants to have a drink and some dried squid and chill out. Not get interrogated about past kingdoms, or have his brain and eyes poked at when he dies ( . . . if he's even mortal anymore.)

[azems-familiar]

my thoughts on dawntrail

alright, now that it's been a couple days since i finished the 7.0 MSQ, and i've had time to get my thoughts in order, i wanted to write up my overall thoughts and impressions on the expansion. beneath the cut there WILL BE MAJOR SPOILERS for plot points, zones, and dungeons/trials through the whole expansion, so be warned.

so i'll start with the positives.

first of all, i obviously can't stress enough how much i love the graphics update and how beautiful everything looks now. i really appreciate several of the QoL things they added in, like dual dye channels and the adjustment to the follow missions that make it easier to see when you might fail. i loved the first 4 zones - the designs, the cultures in them, the way they were developed. i think my favorite group was the Yok Huy. the dungeons and trials are also all REALLY fun, for the most part, although a couple of the fights suck balls on caster - Vanguard's second boss is aoe hell taken to a new extreme. i did have some troubles with seeing mechanics on the final trial, but i managed it, at least.

i overall liked the rite of succession. i liked Wuk Lamat's character arc, and i liked Koana's as well, and i wasn't too bothered by how much of a back seat in the story the WoL took, although i was disappointed we didn't get many chances to bond with the Scions or Erenville and the WoL's relationship with Wuk Lamat was centered over everything else (and sorry, but Lelesu is not going to think of her as family that quickly), especially with Erenville being the expansion's narrator. it did a little bit annoy me that it mostly felt like we were there to be a camera from which to let the player watch the story, but it wasn't too egregious. i wanted more of the rivalry between the Scions that we were teased, but overall it was an enjoyable little vacation with some really beautiful worldbuilding.

that said.

to me the second half of the story felt like someone trying to emulate shb without really understanding what made shb so good, while also trying to shoehorn Wuk Lamat in as the protagonist when by all rights she should no longer have been. the WoL was given no agency despite the fact that we were dealing with another reflection and a star-wide threat; frankly, the idea that Lelesu would have sat back and been perfectly content to wait for Wuk Lamat to challenge Zoraal Ja to single combat and whatnot is kind of ridiculous, considering the harm he could cause to not only the Source but the other reflections as well. i disliked that there were hardly any mentions whatsoever of past worldbuilding - we have no opportunity to talk to Sphene about how her shard's shift towards lightning was definitely intentional and caused by Ascian manipulation, we don't get to interject that we can cure the levin sickness (something that genuinely bothered me, since that was a MASSIVE PLOT POINT in the shb patches). our accomplishments are almost never brought up at all.

moreover, this expansion was supposed to be character development for Krile. i would not have minded the WoL remaining in the background so much if during the second half of the story, Krile took the fore, especially since her parents are from this unknown shard - but as it was, we barely got anything from her at all, except a couple cutscenes in Living Memory. the Scions also weren't particularly centered - they were all present, but all the emotional moments and connections were focused on Wuk Lamat and on Sphene, even Erenville fading into the background most of the time, and the WoL is constantly made to follow Wuk Lamat around to let the players watch what she's doing instead of working with their own team of people to ascertain what's going on and put a stop to it.

(this is very much a personal thing, but i also did not like Sphene; she gave me the utter creeps the moment she showed up onscreen, which would have been great if they'd been trying to play into that, but it felt like we were genuinely meant to Like Her and personally she made me want to claw my skin off every time she opened her mouth or did an animation, lol.)

despite my interest in another reflection, all of those issues above definitely soured me on the second half of the plot quite a bit. i also really did not like Living Memory - it felt somehow directly antithetical to the themes of endwalker, while trying to copy, again, the end of shb. like the opposite of Ultima Thule, which was incredibly cathartic even though it was very heavy. Living Memory just honestly was a bit triggering to me and left me upset in a bad way, and i had to force myself through the end of the msq there. especially considering that no one living remembers these people, since they all had their minds mass-wiped constantly...it did not feel very good. though i did like that we got some focus on Erenville there, finally.

the cutscene prior to the final trial i honestly did really love though - getting to pull out the Azem crystal and do what we do best made me HAPPY, since we'd gotten so little of that this expansion. so you can imagine i felt incredibly frustrated and...cheapened when Wuk Lamat burst through the literal fourth wall to trigger the boss's phase change. also the fact that no one is bringing up dynamis when "the power of emotion" is repeatedly mentioned is ANNOYING, because come on, we just had a whole arc about this, i guarantee you it's still fresh in everyone's minds. we also didn't get called the Warrior of Light at all this expansion, which just made me kinda go :/ because that's our title, even if Hydaelyn is gone. i am very interested in why the Key has Azem's symbol on it though, and looking forward to what kind of arc this might kickstart. i also liked the final scene in which Erenville asked the WoL what drives them - the answers we were given to choose from felt like a really good indicator of the growth our characters have gone through since we were first asked why we became an adventurer to begin with.

another little thing that does irritate me is - why does no one in Tural seem to have any familiarity with the global events in the past? such as the Final Days, primals, the Echo, the concept of a Warrior of Light - Hydaelyn spoke to everyone and since the Echo is a manifestation of an ancient soul, it makes no sense that only people in Eorzea would have it. it also makes no sense that the Ascians would just completely ignore one of the major continents, especially since Emet-Selch has clearly been to Tural before. i definitely didn't expect them to recognize us, but idk, it was kinda weird that there was just no mention of this stuff.

my overall impressions is that i will probably enjoy doing sidequests and things in the new zones, and running the content, but i probably am not going to replay the story at all and i'm holding out hope for better writing in the patch quests. before anyone comes at me with "well of course the wol wasn't the protagonist we can't be saving the star all the time-" i'm perfectly fine with lower stakes, i just wish it felt more like we were relevant, especially in the latter half of the story. there's an easily-achievable happy medium, you know? same with there being a happy medium between "continuing the previous plot arcs" and "ignoring basically all past plot events and worldbuilding".

if you've read all the way down here, have a happy Lelesu for your trouble:

she looks amazing in the rdm artifact gear!

[dapperpea]

#FFxivWrite2024 / Day 27 / Memory

Spoilers for post-Shadowbringers Shadows of Werlyt questline; angst

He was choking.

The air was close and stank of smoke and ceruleum–there was too much for his helmet to filter out, or else it had been cracked when he fell. The heat was suffocating, almost pulling what breath he did have from his lungs. He expected the pain in his ankle meant it was twisted or worse, but if he did not get up and move, he would be buried under the flaming ruins of the castrum, and then he would not be able to find Lahabrea and end the damned Ascian.

Every way forward was blocked with burning wreckage. There was no other way out; he tossed red-hot steel out of his way, shouting as his gauntlets seared into his palms. He threw his shoulder into a mass blocking the way, once, twice, finally managing to shove the wreckage far enough to slip past as ceruleum-blue flames melted his armor onto his arm. He could not breathe; every gasp was a struggle.

He stumbled and fell to a knee. No. He was so nearly out. He could see less-smoky light not ten yalms away, he needed to make it, something was grabbing on to him–

“Gaius?”

Gaius’ eyes shot open. It was dark; no flames lit his surroundings with flickering threats. The smell of burnt ceruleum, too, was gone. A hand wrapped firmly around his shoulder, and above that hovered Archon's concerned face.

Archon considered him for a moment, letting Gaius readjust to the present, then nodded. Both of them dreamed of the past occasionally. “Anything you need?”

Gaius took a deep breath and put a hand over his eyes. “...No.” They both knew it was a lie, but that neither of them was able to give the other a solution, anyway.

“Sleeping draught’s in-”

“I know.” Neither of them liked taking it.

Archon curled up next to him and put an arm over his chest, pulling him closer. “I'm here.”

“Thank you.”

[chysgoda]

September 13 Telling

Another Way: Found Out

Spoilers: Stormblood

Art’imis Chysgoda is told about her daughter’s current endeavors.

—

Something was making the back of Art’imis Chysgoda’s neck itch.

It wasn’t Lolorito’s agent in Kuagane. (She was still annoyed that he brought up ‘stealer of pants’ in front of the twins. You take one set of pants from a jack ass at an after party and suddenly it’s a thing.) It wasn’t that this plan to make Garlemald fight a war on two fronts worried her. (It did, but not in an itchy way.) it wasn’t even that the twins were just a hair taller than her and she didn’t know when it happened. (She did, but was in denial about it.) she scratched at the scales on the back of her neck trying to alleviate the itch that seemed to radiate from her soul.

Art’imis debated wandering out to the pleasure district. Maybe exercising the beast with two backs would help. She pushed herself up and off the rented bed. She’d let Alisaie and Tataru know where she was going, that way they wouldn’t worry. Art’imis blinked, her ears popped and there was a rush of displaced air and a small dragon hovered in front of her face.

Well that kind of attention explained the itching.

“Warrior,” Midguardsommer greeted her, as grave as he always was.

“Midguardsommer, how can I help you?” Art’imis eyed the small avatar of the father of dragons. The ancient king was not in the habit of popping by for a casual chat.

“Your daughter was not able to avail herself of the knowledge kept within the stone that the knights dragoon use and has sought help from my son.”

Art’imis arched an eyebrow. She couldn’t say either fact was surprising. Aymeric, the Knight Commander of the dragoons, and she had spoken at length about if someone who’s family did not have the blood of Ratatasker could even use one of the dragoon soulstones. Aymeric and the knight commander had agreed to let Bel try, but did not have much faith it was even possible. She wondered who Bel had convinced to go out to Dravinia with her.

“Hrasvalger thought to deter her by requiring a task he believed she would not attempt to accomplish.” Midguardsommer continued in that slow measured way dragons had that made every other intelligent race on the star want to yell at them to hurry it up.

“Are you telling on your son?” Art’imis asked incredulously.

“He required that your daughter divest herself of Hydaelyn’s blessing before he would consider her request for aid.”

Art’imis blinked. There were several responses she could have to this. She decided to clarify the situation first, “Hrasvalger, told my daughter that if she wanted his help to do the thing that she has been dead set on doing since she decided that Ishgard was home and she would help protect it, she would need to remove the blessing of light. One of the few things that can keep MANY undesirable things from happening to her, which includes the Ascians. My daughter who has hated Hydaelyn since we found out that the mother crystal was using her aunt as a puppet-”

“That is not a very reasonable-”

“She’s fourteen! Reasonable is not in the equation,” Art’imis took a breath to get her temper back under control, “hopefully whoever Bel talked into taking her to the Zenith told him off before they went back to Ishgard.”

Midguardsommer was silent for several moments. Art’imis started going through the list of people Bel could talk into going with her, Estinien was most likely. She could beat his ass if she needed to. After another moment the old dragon spoke again, “She came alone when she sought out an audience with my son-”

“SHE WHAT?!” Art’imis had no doubt that the entire floor of the inn heard that, she also did not care.

“And she found a way to accomplish the task.”

Art’imis blinked again and went to the armor stand where she had hung her field leathers to air out. Midguardsommer watched her get armored up in silence until she grabbed her sword and shield. She felt his focus change and spoke first, “I’m just going to talk to them.”

“Art’imis Chysgoda-”

“I just want to talk,” Art’imis repeated herself. “At most I’ll throw one of his eyes in the siren song sea so he has to go fucking diving for it. And she is fucking GROUNDED for the rest of her life.”

The father of dragons evidently found this to be acceptable as he didn’t speak up again as she settled her shield on her back and walked out of her room and down the hall to Alphinaud’s room.

“SHE DID WHAT?!” A changing voice cracked as it shouted, disturbing the inn once again.

In Art’imis’s room, Midguardsommer considered whether or not he should let the Warrior of Light know that the next task was to recreate the blessing and if he should be concerned for his son’s life.

[duskwightdancer]

Day 3: Tempest

Rated M | Shadowbringers Spoilers | Exarch POV | Unnamed wol | CW: implied torture and injuries

The Exarch is taken to the Tempest to await the Warrior of Darkness's arrival.

“You don’t deserve to see this place,” the Ascian spat, but the Exarch didn't reply. Being so far from the Tower had already weakened him, he had to do everything he could to retain his strength. The Towers's magicks had slowed his bleeding, but every breath was an effort and he knew that the gunshot wound would not be the last of his scars from this day.

So instead of replying, he looked out at his surroundings, a small act of defiance. From the seat at the table he was sat at – magically bound to, really, as he could not move his limbs – ge could see out of the floor to ceiling windows at their surroundings. The massive buildings stretched up towards the heavens with their curling spires and massive towers. The Crystal Tower was magnificent and imposing, but this place… it was completely different and beautiful in its own way.

“Where are we?” he coughed out, against his better judgment. So much for preserving his strength.

The Ascian just huffed, spinning back around to look at him – truly a mistake on the Exarch's part to draw attention to himself, but his thirst for knowledge couldn't be stopped.

“Wouldn't you just love to know, Exarch – or what was it that your dear Warrior of Darkness had called you? G'raha Tia, was it?” he asked, strolling back towards the chair that the Exarch was tied to.

The Exarch narrowed his eyes and raised his chin, not deigning a response. He knew Emet-Selch had already seen every one of his weaknesses, but he would not give him the satisfaction of making them obvious. Though, he could not lie that hearing that name – the name of a man that he didn't know if he could still call himself, that he didn't think the Warrior would even remember.

The Ascian said something under his breath that G'raha couldn't catch, but Emet-Selch strolled closer to him and used a single, gloved finger to lift his chin higher.

“How does it feel that you doomed him? That you will be the reason that he dies once again because you let him absorb all that light?” he asked, now gripping the Exarch's chin tightly – too tightly.

The Exarch just kept his lips sealed shut, glaring directly back into his smirking face.

“Would you like to watch him what you did to him? He'll be here soon enough, to come to the depths of the Tempest to be far, far away from all of your people and his dear friends while he turns into a monster. Perhaps maybe then he'll turn on you and you'll get your death wish after all. It'll be long and drawn out and excruciating. I'm sure the Warrior would hate it, the little part of his consciousness left would be thrashing about in his mind, trapped to simply watch as he pulled you limb from lim-”

Spit mixed with blood landed perfectly on the Ascian's coat and the Exarch knew that he'd made everything worse on himself, but he didn't regret it for even a moment. The visual of the Warrior – the sweet, kind, soft-spoken Warrior of Darkness – doing something that would wreck him was too much. He wouldn't let the Ascian put that visual in his head.

The hand on his chin gripped tighter, but Emet-Selch didn't speak a word and he snapped his free hand and vanished the mess from his coat.

“I had considered playing nice, Exarch, and having your worst punishment be simply witnessing that you couldn't save him, but now… We're going to have fun while we wait for him,” he hissed just before snapping his fingers once more.

The Exarch didn't even have time to blink before he was screaming out in pain, unable to stop himself while the Ascian just smirked at him.

[ubejamjar]

☆ Common Ground ☆

A little interaction I imagined between my WoL who loves dead civilizations a little too much and a literal fossil living, breathing primary source. Word Count: 311

By the time Ajisai finishes copying the murals in her journal, her friends are long gone. It's an obsession really. Ever since her first visit to the floating ruins of Nym, she’s had a hunger for ancient civilizations that will never be satisfied. Nym, Amdapor, Mhach, the Allagan Empire— all of it fascinates her. Mostly it’s the stories of a people long gone she loves. How did they live? What did they eat? Was floating in the sky a matter of security or aesthetic? She refuses to admit she craves their knowledge, their power. “The hero has an affinity for the arts, I see,” Emet-Selch says. She forces herself to stay perfectly still, determined to not give him the satisfaction of startling her. “History, actually.” “And what is art, if not a reflection of history? A mirror to the soul of a civilization, capturing its highest highs and lowest lows?” Ajisai rolls her eyes; she isn't in the mood to debate philosophy.

It’s been a long day. After only a few seconds of silence, the Ascian sighs, “It was my hope that, bereft of your companions' interjections, we might engage in a more… fruitful exchange. Alas, it appears I afforded them too little credit.” Surely an eternal existence would teach a person patience. She hears his footsteps moving away. “Wait,” she says. The footsteps stop. Ajisai looks over her shoulder to make sure he’s still there. “Oh? Have another task you won't bother to thank me for completing?” His every word drips with sarcasm, "Well? Out with it then." She considers whether or not she actually wants this. I don’t want this, she decides, I need it. He knows a world I never will. I have to know. And though she will not say it out loud, she pities the man who lost everything. He just seems so… sad. “Tell me more about your world. Please.”

[viiioca]

day 5: fire

From the journal of Estelle de Laussienne, 3rd of the 5th Astral Moon, 5 7A.E. As we work on bringing the various tribes of Eorzea back into the fold – and stamping out Fandaniel's many fires – it has been enticing to imagine Ascian fingerprints on every misfortune that's ever befallen us. It's an understandable leap of logic, even, given that two or three of them have skittered out from under nearly every rock the Scions have picked up since the Calamity. It does make sense, doesn't it? The strategy was clear enough: Drive a wedge between the peoples of Eorzea, create a state of desperation in the various oppressed populations, teach them how to weaponize their own deliverance, and let the situation escalate on its impressive momentum. It all comes together with a neat little bow, tied expertly. How could we have avoided it? We were being manipulated from the start. And yet I know for a fact that the average Ul'dahn Monaterist has already considered some manner of betrayal, monopolization, or war profiteering before the breakfast kettle even whistles. When they voted to break the alliance with the Amalj'aa and eject the tribes out of Ul'dah, there was no deft hand necessary there. I doubt Elidibus ever needed to take time out of his busy schedule to convince the Syndicate to have the sultan and his wife murdered to protect their future profits. When the Ascians came to sow their seeds in the Amalj'aa, had we not already made the fields plenty fertile? Even now, Fandaniel reaps the benefits of mistakes we were all too happy to make on our own. Now that the Unsundered are gone, we are going to spend the rest of our lives – and some lives beyond these – cleaning up the mess they've left us. But even absent their influence, I have a feeling we're going to be perfectly capable of making brand new messes all by ourselves.

[roevember 2023 prompt by boreal tempest & roe fizzlebeef]

[crossroadsdimension]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 6

Prompt - Halcyon

(FFXIVWrite 2024 Masterpost)

Spoilers for Shadowbringers

It was becoming harder to focus on the present day and his overall goals. That was to be expected, considering the age of his physical body and the constraints involved in living in one for this long.

But Solus Zos Galvus could have done without the memories of those long-past days sneaking up on him when he wasn’t prepared for them.

Perhaps it was the slowly-dying body that was messing with his own memory processes. Perhaps it was his actions that were causing him to remember those halcyon times, when Amaurot was still in on piece and the world was as it should be.

As it would become again, especially if he had anything to say about it.

“Your Radiance?”

Solus scowled at the group of men and women sitting around the table with him. His own personal convocation, as incomplete as it was. Although they couldn’t use that term here in Garlemald — the word was too old, and harkened back to the time that Solus was working to bring back.

The member who’d spoken up — one of the younger men, recently brought on to replace a predecessor — hesitantly raised a hand. “If…if we need to postpone this—”

“I am of sound mind in this moment,” Solus snapped. “We will continue this meeting until I say we have accomplished what is required.”

The young man quailed under Solus’ fiery glare. The other, more experienced members merely glanced at him with slight shakes of their head, or sympathetic flickers that lasted less than a blink.

“What do you intend for us to do concerning the western front?” asked one of the older members. “The recent campaign ended in disaster — too many casualties, a land almost destroyed because of one man’s crazed ambition—”

“Tell the legions to do what they need to while Eorzea licks its wounds,” Solus replied shortly.

“Sir?”

“As easy as it would be to bring them under our heel now, we suffered far too many casualties to properly bring them into the fold of the empire,” Solus said. “Have the legions recruit more from the provinces to bolster our numbers. Leave Eorzea be — for now.”

His comrades among the Ascians will prepare the continent for the eventual conquering. Of that much, Solus was certain. He wouldn’t be surprised if Elidibus was plotting something even now to maintain balance, or Lahabrea to incite more violent chaos.

As intelligent as Lahabrea was, the man had become far too attached to his ability to cause explosions on a grand scale. While it worked well enough for the unleashing of Calamities to merge the shards back with their source, it took a grand number of pawns off the board in the process.

A quiet part of him tried to complain about how Azem would want to find a different way to merge the shards back together, but he quickly silenced it. Azem was not of the Convocation. Azem’s opinion did not get to factor into their plans for the Ardor.

Another time, perhaps, but even then…

Solus shook the thoughts from his mind and refocused. “And make sure to keep Gaius van Baelsar busy. I would not lose another good man to another hair-brained scheme to take Eorzea.”

After all, the man might have his uses elsewhere, especially if Solus played his cards well….

[morganali-writes]

Wedding WIP

Filling out a character meme had me thinking about this WIP that I've had sitting unfinished for over a year now apparently. I will come back to it, but this is where it's at so far ✌️😴

“And we definitely can’t just elope?”

Artoirel dragged his hands down his face and sighed, otherwise not moving from where he lay on the chaise lounge.

“As terribly tempting as the notion is, I can think of at least three to four individuals that would be furious should you run off and wed without their knowledge or involvement – to say nothing of my own family and the expectations therein.” Cessalie slumped further into her wooden desk chair with a groan.

Tataru would have my head, tis true – and Alisaie might never forgive me. Gods, what a nuisance.” Long moments passed, with naught but the ticking of the mantle chronometer to fill the space.

‘I have… a suggestion,” began Artoirel, only moving to raise a finger to emphasise his statement. “Chapel wedding, witnesses and small wedding party only, reception for family and close friends at the house afterwards.”

Cessalie looked at him with a thoughtful frown on her face, then rose from the bureau to sit by his head on the chaise. He opened his eyes to look at her as she began threading her fingers gently through his hair.

“That sounds… that might be tolerable.” Artoirel huffed a laugh.

“Tolerable is a good start. I daresay we have the beginnings of a plan.” Cessalie looked down at him with a wistful smile.

“Yes… Yes alright. Let’s make it happen.” She paused a moment and grimaced. “Just as soon as I drag everyone back from the First.”

-----

It had been one thing after another without ceasing. Getting everyone safely home had been an ordeal to begin with, but gladly they had all awoken back in the Source with relatively little incident, all things considered. Hardly had the scions recovered before they were making their separate ways across Eorzea – treating with diplomats and developing cures for tempering, which turned into treating with pirates and kobolds for a united La Noscea.

Not literal moments had passed as that whole business concluded when the towers began to appear across the land – and with them, the Ascian and his pet primal. This heretofore unknown Ascian – Fandaniel – arrived at the palace in Ala Mhigo, announcing his plan to trigger an end to all life on the Star.

After that, of course, things had begun to happen very fast. They treated a millennia-old dragon for tempering. Immediately they were then flung into another conflict to protect the Amalj’aa, and to strike down Fandaniel’s primal pet – Lunar Bahamut. They had won the day, but Arenvald had been gravely injured on his mission with Fordola, and Alphinaud was quietly in a state about it.

And now, at the last, Krile was off on a voyage to treat with Sharlayan directly. For a moment at least, there was naught else to do but await their answer to her petition for aid.

Cessalie was feeling impatient. Perhaps a little selfish. Just for once in her life she wanted something for herself and every moment waiting felt like seconds lost before the next crisis overtook them.

“My, what a dark cloud that is hanging over your head! I’ve never seen such a frown.” Flinching at the sound, Cessalie looked up from where she sat at one of the tables in the Rising Stones – suddenly very conscious of how cross she must have looked, and how far she had slid down in her chair.

“Oh, Tataru. Pay me no mind, I was just thinking…” The scions’ ever diligent secretary hopped up onto the seat adjacent to her. “How long do you suppose it will be until we hear from Krile?” Tataru crossed her arms and her expression turned thoughtful.

“That’s a good question. Krile said it could be a few days for her to get back to Sharlayan, and Gods only know how long it might take her to get an audience with the Forum.” Slowly Cessalie nodded to herself.

“So perhaps there’s time then…” she murmured. Tataru tilted her head quizzically.

“Time?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to do, now that everyone is back home –” Cessalie stopped, and her eyes slowly widened as a thought occurred to her. “… And now I think of it, you may be just who I need to help me achieve it.” Looking around furtively to make sure there were none to overhear, Cessalie leaned in.

“Tataru – I need your organisational expertise. Can you keep a secret?” The lalafellan secretary nodded eagerly, her interest piqued.

“How do you feel about planning a wedding?”

-----

It had been a near thing, corralling Tataru’s excitement before she aroused the suspicions of others – quiet though the Rising Stones was at the present. Expectations now tempered, the two sat in the otherwise unoccupied Dawn’s Respite. There was a decidedly mischievous glint in the secretary’s eye as she began preparing an itemised action list.

“I cannot overstate this enough Tataru, but we do not want a big event. If we could run off and elope without censure, we probably would have done so already.”

“Right, right, not to worry, Cessalie!” she grinned. “I’m sure I can wrangle a chapel and a priest at short notice… Now, have you given any thought to who you want to attend?”

“One or two witnesses. Artoirel’s family of course. Laniaette. Perhaps the twins… I daresay they could both use some levity.” Tataru nodded absently as she jotted down notes.

“Mhmmm. And for a reception afterwards?”

“Ugh. I barely know where to begin. Artoirel suggested something small at the Manor for family and close friends, perhaps?” The lalafell nodded.

“I can work with that. I’ll speak to the Count and get his thoughts. What about a dress?” Cessalie groaned and dropped her head to the table with a light bump.

“I don’t suppose I can get away with my Holy Day best, on this occasion.”

“What Holy Day best clothes do you own? And no, the one dress that you wore to dinner with Aymeric does not count.” Cessalie moaned petulantly.

“Oh, Cessalie, you haven’t thought this through at all.” Otherwise not moving, she raised her index finger in a point.

“No, no, I have – at length.” She grumbled into the table. “And while I do yearn to tie hands with my, ah, lover in an official sense – the rigmarole around doing so drives me well and truly up the wall.” Tataru smiled and gave Cessalie’s hand a sympathetic pat. She turned her head to the side on the table to face the secretary.

“You know as well as I that Ishgard’s stock in propriety and public perception are as ingrained in the nobility and the Halonic Orthodoxy specifically as they are in Ul’dah. For every good man in the city, there is another looking to advance his own station at the expense of someone else’s misfortune.” Tataru nodded in agreement.

“Ishgard is certainly just like home in that regard.”

“I’d just as soon as say hang the lot of them, but I’ve had the dreadful misfortune to fall in love with a Count – so there are at least some token matters of ceremony that needs must be performed to satisfy the powers that be. The old order might be changing, but it is a slow and onerous process.”

“Misfortune? I know you don’t mean that,” Tataru said with a wry smile, and Cessalie huffed a laugh, sitting back in her chair.

“No, you’re right… I’m very lucky, I know it. Bless you for humouring this fit of childishness.”

“On the contrary – I should thank you for opening up and asking for help for once!” she said, a pointed look on her face. Cessalie laughed as she placed a hand over her heart in feigned woe.

“Oh! You wound me, Tataru – but I cannot say that you’re wrong.” Tataru grinned a wicked grin.

“And as you said, you’ve come to the right person – leave everything to me!” All of a sudden, Tataru leapt to her feet, standing on her chair with her hands on her hips. “Just you watch – by day’s end I’ll have everything in place to see you wedded before the week is out – on my honour as the best secretary in Eorzea – No, on the Star itself!” Cessalie chuckled helplessly and Tataru levelled a determined look at her.

“Ready your things, and meet me at the Bonanza,” she ordered, before jumping from her seat and making for the door with haste. “We’re going to Ishgard!”

-----

“Cessalie? What’s going on? Are you alright?” Alphinaud’s anxious queries began the moment she came into earshot. Alisaie stood beside him, arms folded.

“Tataru bustled us out here without a word of explanation, only that you needed our help,” she said with a shrug. “Obviously we’d be glad to give it, but I should like to know what grave and terrible business you’ve roped us into now.” A look of disbelief crossing her face, Cessalie looked to Tataru – who waved back cheerfully from the deck of the Bonanza. Sighing, she turned to the twins with a grimace.

“I’m so sorry, it is hardly as world shattering as what she might have led you to believe – but I am glad you’re both here.” Taking a deep breath, she looked to both of them and took their hands in hers.

“I am… getting married,” she said, with all the weight of someone bearing a most dire missive.

“What? To whom? This all seems rather sudden.” Alisaie’s eyes were round with disbelief – and while her brother was no less surprised, the delight that lit up his face was unmistakable.

“Oh, my friend! But this is wonderful news!” he said, clasping her hand in both of his.

“But who is she marrying?” Alisaie said, gripping his arm.

“Why, the Count de Fortemps, of course.” She squinted at him, confused.

“Lord Edmont? He’s rather old, isn’t he?”

“Oh gods.” Cessalie’s mind raced as she stared into the middle distance.

“No, no, Lord Edmont has retired – Lord Artoirel is the Count now,” Alphinaud affirmed with a knowing air. Alisaie rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes, the pretty one. You’ll forgive me if I can’t quite recall clearly – I was recovering from being poisoned for most of my brief stay in Ishgard,” she retorted with a dry huff.

“If we can focus, please,” Cessalie said weakly. The twins startled to attention.

“Yes of course – my apologies, my friend.” said Alphinaud.

“And mine,” followed Alisaie, sheepishly. “I admit I am a little shocked, but you deserve all the happiness in this world. I am glad for you, truly.” Alisaie squeezed her hand and stared back at her with solemn eyes. “What would you have us do?” Cessalie looked at them both in turn with a wistful smile.

“Truly, I’m just glad you’re both here – you’re so young, and we’ve been through such horrors together. For once, I thought it might be nice if you joined me for a joyful occasion.” Both twins looked up at her with baby coeurl eyes, speechless.

“That being said,” she said as she clasped their shoulders and gently urged them towards the Bonanza before any one of the three of them started weeping in earnest, “I am sure that Tataru has all manner of important tasks for you both – Our chief of organisation is in charge today.” Alphinaud laughed heartily.

“Of that I have no doubt – let us be about it then!” he said, and Alisaie nodded, punching her fist into her hand in emphasis.

“Come on then, you lot!” Tataru called to them, motioning them to board the airship. “We’ll talk about plans on the way!”

-----

Pausing mid-quill stroke, Artoirel tilted his head curiously, wondering at the sound that had broken his concentration. Some sort of commotion on the street perhaps? He shook his head and resolved to pay it no mind, turning his attention back to the missive he had been penning.

Before he could put ink to paper once more, he found himself out of his seat – the sound of quiet footsteps tapping their way ever closer down the hall. He was halfway to his office door before her gentle knock came.

“Cissy?” he breathed as he pulled open the door. Miracle of all miracles, there she was – smiling brightly at the nickname.

“I thought I— ough,” he said as she all but launched herself at him, catching him tightly about the waist. He laughed and brought his arms around her. “And I am very glad to see you also, my dearest. What occasion brings you home so suddenly?”

“Ah, well,” she said, casting about for words to say as her face flushed a rosy hue. “The occasion is you and I, I suppose. Let me explain—” she put her hands on his arms as if to steady him, before he could even begin to process her words. “Have you kept abreast of the latest regarding the towers?” His brow creased in a frown, and he nodded.

“Yes – I was relieved to hear of your victory at Paglth’an, though I admit I have not had a chance to read the report in full.”

“No matter, let me catch you up,” she said, ushering him back across the threshold of his office.

Some minutes later, Cessalie stood before the armchair he occupied (the one she usually favoured when she was home) and regarded him with a thoughtful expression.

“The Sharlayans have ever been isolationists, do you think they will respond favourably to your suit?” She sighed and hung her head.

“It would be a lie if I said I believed they’d lend us their considerable knowledge willingly, but for the moment, there is nothing for it but to wait until Krile sends word.” She stepped into the space between his knees and reached to brush a lock of hair behind his ear.

“It might be a few days, perhaps a week or two before the next crisis is upon us – which,” she gestured quietly for emphasis, “brings us back to the purpose of my visit.”

“I’ve been thinking about your suggestion,” she glanced away, bashful once more. Puzzled, Artoirel reached for her, tracing his fingers along her jaw.

“My suggestion?”

“Of a chapel wedding,” she clarified in a rush.

“Oh.” Artoirel nodded in recognition, then stopped as understanding dawned on him. Oh.

“Every time some new crisis happens I’ve been thinking on it, actually – thinking about when we’ll finally have the time to plan in earnest.”

“Cessalie,” he said, though she did not seem to hear him.

“I know it’s rather short notice, but if the Star should be engulfed in fire on the morrow, I… I should rather like to face it at your side, so to speak.” Taking her hand, he gave it a gentle tug.

“Cessalie, come here.” She blinked and focused on his face, before smiling sheepishly and letting him pull her into his lap.

“You wish us to wed in only a few days?” he asked, a little incredulously, though the corner of his mouth twitched. She looked back at him with those solemn, dark eyes.

“If you would consent to do so,” she replied gravely.

“Dearest Cissy,” he murmured, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her forehead. “I believe—yes. Yes I would.” She huffed a relieved laugh, then pulled him in for a kiss.

“Good. I’m glad. Thank you, Artie,” she said, tucking her head under his chin like a contented cat. Helplessly he shook his head and laughed.

“I can think of nothing I would like to do more, although – the logistics arranging things at such short notice may prove tiresome indeed.”

Cessalie quickly sat up, a mischievous smile upon her face.

“Ah, but I have enlisted help, you see.”

“Have you, now,” he said with a chuckle.

“I have – only the finest receptionist on this very Star, amongst other capable sorts,” she said as she scrambled back off his lap and pulled him to his feet. “Come along, I left my guests at the mercy of your father in order to fetch you – we ought to see to them before they send out a search party.” Artoirel let her pull him out of his office with a wry smile.

“Very well – let it not be said that the Count de Fortemps is a poor host.”

-----

In seemingly no time at all, Tataru had outlined a plan and allocated tasks for everyone – presumably there had been heated discussions with the former Count while she had gone to fetch Artoirel. Had she more time to ponder it, Cessalie might have felt a sudden unease as to Tataru’s own grand schemes – but for the moment, there were a laundry list of things to be achieved.

Artoirel, Alphinaud and Tataru had stayed behind at the house – with their combined organisational and diplomacy skills, as well as a wealth of institutional knowledge, they were committed to arranging the logistical side of things. Cessalie had been given blessedly little to do, comparatively – though, Tataru had insisted, no less important.

As she and Alisaie bustled out the door, she thanked the Gods it was clear day – customarily chilly as Ishgard always was, but otherwise as pleasant a day as was otherwise possible.

“Where are we headed?” Alisaie inquired as they made their way across the promenade.

“The Jewelled Crozier may be the best place to start, though I’ve a mind to enlist another for our excursion.” Cessalie stopped then at the entrance to the Haillenarte manor and addressed the steward there.

“Good morning, may I enquire if the Lady Laniaette is at home today?” The steward smiled at her.

“Ah, Mistress Sombreterre – you are in luck, she has just recently returned from Cloudtop to visit with the family, shall I announce you?”

“Wonderful! If you would be so kind,” she said, face lit up in a smile.

“This way, if you please,” he said with a bow, before ushering them inside.

Minutes later, Laniette came bounding down the stairs in a fashion some might have called unladylike.

“Cessalie!” she exclaimed as she strode across the parlour to wrap her up in a friendly embrace. “Gods, what luck – I feel as if we are always missing each other.” Standing back, she then noticed Alisaie at her side.

“Oh, forgive me, welcome to our home – You have the look of young Alphinaud, but I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you yet.”

“You have the right of it,” Cessalie said, putting a hand on Alisaie’s shoulder. “Laniaette, I’d like you to meet Alisaie Leveilleur – Alphinaud’s twin sister, and dear friend and associate both.” Alisaie flushed red, then made to bow politely.

“Alisaie, this is Laniaette – she became a dear friend to me during our lengthy stay in Ishgard.” Laniaette smiled brightly.

“Delighted. Now that we’re all properly introduced, what brings you to visit this day?”

“I was hoping to beg a favour, actually,” Cessalie began with a sheepish look. “I’ve been tasked to find a nice dress to wear, and I’d rather hoped you’d join us.”

“Ah, dress shopping, my old enemy,” Laniaette sighed, then looked to her with a wry smile. “Of course I shall – I may not relish the task, but I know a good few tailors, and there is the Crozier besides. Dare I ask, what is the occasion?” This time it was Cessalie’s turn to blush. She tilted her head to the side, considering her words.

“Well…” Alisaie sighed impatiently, rolling her eyes.

“She is to be wed,” she said with a huff. Laniaette blinked in surprise, her mouth parting wordlessly.

“I beg your pardon? When?” Cessalie grimaced.

“Within the week, Gods willing.” Laniaette raised her brows at that. “Which reminds me of another favour I had yet to ask – It is to be a small affair, with very few guests – I was hoping you would consent to be one of my witnesses.”

“Hardly a favour at all, it would be an honour my dear—wait. Oh, no.” Cessalie nodded gravely, as Alisaie regarded them both with a puzzled mien.

“We do have to invite Artoirel’s family, Lani.” Resigned, she hung her head.

“A favour it is then. But you still need a dress – let me fetch a warm coat and we shall be off at once.”

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 30: Amity

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Aeryn said slowly in the Thavnairian tongue as they watched the Garleans discuss the trade agreement and the upcoming use of the Tower.

“About what?” Varshahn asked, slipping as easily into the familiar language.

“The previous agreements, between Thavnair and Garlemald.”

“What about them?” the Satrap asked, turning his crimson gaze to her now. She leaned on a supply crate in her fur-lined Alliance coat, that familiar thinking-line creasing the space between her brows.

“Just…When last we spoke to Emet-Selch—or rather, his spirit—he spoke of many wonders, secrets of the world yet to be discovered, adventures yet to be had. Some of them have already come true, such as finding your treasure vault under the Bounty.”

Varshahn frowned. “As an Ascian, it makes sense he would know of many ancient secrets.”

“Yes,” Aeryn agreed. “But I keep thinking back to how Azdaja was lost, to a voidgate at the Crystal Tower all those centuries ago—a tower created by another empire he had built.”

Varshahn peered at her, wondering where this line of thought led.

“Allag, an empire created for certain purposes by Ascians, was also responsible for the tragedies that befell your eldest siblings,” she continued. “Bahamut was slain. Tiamat was then convinced to summon him as a primal—before she and their children were imprisoned and tormented for millennia.

“And then there’s the Dragonsong War, and I have to wonder how distant the Ascians were. It seems my Ishgardian ancestors held the blame there, but in more recent years…I can’t shake the feeling Nidhogg decided to end his cruel game and attempt to destroy Ishgard in earnest, because he perhaps detected the Ascians’ involvement in the Archbishop’s schemes through his Eyes.”

Varshahn felt a chill climbing his spine that had nothing to do with Garlemald’s weather, given his golem’s immunity.

“Bahamut and Nidhogg were meant to be protectors of this star, with your father claimed by Hydaelyn and slumbering—until he was awoken. By Garlean incursion over his resting place.”

“What is your point, Aeryn?”

She looked over at the nearly jovial Garleans—they were not a people who often showed exuberance—and she smiled at their rekindled hope and confidence. “I think Emet-Selch always knew you were at the heart of Radz-at-Han,” she said. “I think he encouraged the original trade agreements, and encouraged Thavnair’s neutrality, to keep you at bay.”

Varshahn considered that, his greater self in Radz-at-Han rumbling a growl the longer he did.

“If Garlemald had ever attempted to conquer Thavnair, you would have flown to defend it,” she continued. “Your home, your people, mean everything to you. Garlemald had the means to try, and the island has precious few other defenses against such might. But so long as Thavnair remained neutral, a free port of trade, an ally instead of a province…”

“I had no reason to fight,” he finished quietly.

“You were content to remain in hiding and see only to your own,” she said. “That was all he had to do as Solus, to neutralize a potential First Brood threat—extend a hand of friendship, and promise to leave your children alone.”

“And you disapprove.”

She frowned now, thinking about it. “Somewhat,” she said honestly. “But I’ve learned a few things about dragons over the years, so I understand, I think. Besides,” she looked again at the pleased Garleans, and smiled. “It’s made this possible. He meant for this empire to be a tool of chaos, its people pawns in the schemes of ancient beings who cared naught for them. But now, thanks to that prior agreement, Thavnair’s perfectly positioned to help raise them from the ashes of those manipulations.” She turned back to him and smiled. “And you, Vrtra, have had your part in helping us protect this star, as Midgardsormr promised Her.”

The hide of his true self itched as he recalled his newly-grown scales. Any others that he shed were still carefully collected and taken to the alchemists.

He huffed out a laugh. “And full glad am I, that not all the dragons of Thavnair were content to remain upon our island—and will not be content, I think, until this entire star knows peace, and all its people are friends in truth.” He grinned at her, satisfied to see her blush and duck her head as she grasped his meaning.

“I’m no dragon,” she muttered.

“For better or worse, the blood of my sister and her daughter yet runs in your veins, child of Thavnair and Coerthas,” he said fondly. His tone became more teasing. “And your father may have let slip his nickname for you, when a temperamental child.” He chuckled as she groaned, but then he sobered.

“You are perhaps right, about the former Emperor and his schemes,” Varshahn said. “And certainly about mine own indolence, so long as our people were safe.” He shook his head at her attempted apologetic interjection. “But you are also right, that it led to this moment now. And this time, I pray, the amity between our nations is true, and shall bear fruit not only for this personal endeavor, but for generations to come.”

“So do I,” Aeryn said, pushing off the crate as Urianger called to her, though she looked to her Satrap before leaving.

Varshahn nodded for her to go, watching her stride forward to speak to her friend. “Little Storm Dragon” her stepfather had said, on account of her Coerthan side—having no idea back then how close to the truth her heritage fell—and her tempestuous nature as a child.

An apt nickname yet, Varshahn thought, though she had somewhat better control of herself as an adult. Yet storms of change came with her, and even an ancient wyrm such as he could be swept up in those currents.

Smiling in response to the hopeful grins of the Garleans turning his way as he rejoined them, he was thankful for those storms, and the peace following in their wake.

[brineffxiv]

Note to self: put something here when your head stops spinning

Ah, now that makes sense. I had wondered how you planned to ensure that the restored populace had your old culture, but it seems that you're simply going to replace the populace entirely. Humor me for a second though; once all the worlds are rejoined, won't the people of the Source essentially be your people again? Lacking the memories, albeit, but if I understand correctly, we have the same souls as the ancients of your time.

Listen, Emet-Selch, I have seen your city; I have met your people. I have met your people as you remember them. Do you truly believe that they would want to be brought back that way?

What does one say in the face of the judgement of the eternal? I do not doubt that Emet-Selch lived, experienced, and evaluated as he claims. And I do not doubt that we fell short of his expectations.

The problem is that Emet-Selch is not an impartial judge, despite what he claims. He's overwhelmingly biased and clearly still grieving everything and everyone he's lost, and has carried that with him for millennia.

I imagine he tried, genuinely, to find worth in us, but was so caught up in his grief that he was unable to see it.

You're not wrong. Most wouldn't. And the few that would would be the best of us, the least worthy of death.

The thing is, Emet-Selch is not wrong about any of this. People can be flawed, horrible, and brutal. All these things are true. But whether from trauma, or grief, or whatever reason, he's dismissed all the good in us, and conveniently overlooks any of the negatives of the ancients.

I do not believe that the ancients were as perfect as Emet-Selch describes them, remembers them: he himself proves that. And he's not an anomaly. All of the Ascians became monsters: Emet is arguably the kindest one we've met, and he's personally responsible for more atrocities than I can reasonably list. If the unsundered Ascians became what they are, then that potential lay in all of the ancients, just as it does in the modern peoples. They were not intrinsically perfect.

But all that is irrelevant, because this isn't about logic. As Emet-Selch puts it, yes, we "refuse to see reason." It doesn't matter whether the world used to be perfect or not, we are here now, regardless of how broken we are in his eyes.

We're fighting for the same thing in the end, for ourselves and those we love to live.

Uh-oh, I think we've made him mad.

I just want to appreciate how cool that looked. When the doors swung open unto a wall of flames.

No wave as he's walking away. No more performance. Nothing to be performative about. This is serious, deadly serious. And Emet-Selch is very tired.

Oh goodness this dungeon was horrifying. And awesome. The fire, the monsters, the falling buildings! It hurt my heart after seeing Emet-Selch's memory of Amaurot, talking to it's people. To know that this is what befell them.

Stop moving the goalposts, Emet! Great line though. Got to remember to use this cap as a reaction every time I'm mildly displeased by something.

Alisaie is so goddamn badass. All my friends are badass, but Alisaie jumping up and throwing herself into battle against the strongest opponent any of us have ever faced is just... beautiful.

And then Ardbert became part of me and stopped me from becoming a lightwarden. Which begs the question, how the hell did Hydaelyn know he was going to be needed to do that... can she see the future?

But that's a question for another post...

It's me! The ancient me!

I don't know how the Exarch got here, but boy am I glad he did. Now I've got all the backup I need to take on Emet-Selch properly.

Speaking of...

Now that is a hell of a thematic name. Hades, lord of the underworld. FF is pretty loose with its naming conventions, but I can't imagine they chose that one for Emet-Selch without at least a few good reasons. I will enjoy considering the implications.

Ah, I should have guessed he'd have a super-powered form.

And isn't that a somber title for a Trial. Is this the dying gasp of a man who's all but dead already? Or does it belong to the hope that the Ascians had for their plans for rejoining? Perhaps both...

Oh.

I think that's the first time we've seen his mask. At least, I'm assuming that's his mask.

That was a very excellent fight. And sad. And disconcerting. When Emet-Selch stabbed himself in the chest to kill off his body and take his second form... wow. Metal as fuck.

Yeah, that's what I thought. The phantom Amaurot, the shades of people, even this fight... you're drowning in your own emotions and grief.

My friends are here to help me!

To my eternal regret I was unable to capture a good photo of Ardbert's axe, and this cutscene is too emotionally fraught for me to re-watch just yet.

*sobbing uncontrollably*

He did everything for his people. Gave all of himself for their cause. And in death he thinks only of them, and their remembrance. He was their hero; their final hope, and this is the bitterest victory.

Goodbye Hades, I will miss you.

.

.

.

G'raha, I wish the game would let me give you a hug.

And everyone is gathered to welcome us home.

[rennivere]

His words had Aletheia peering up towards the sky, her eyes squinting past the light that filtered through the treetops high overhead. She couldn't argue with that, she supposed. When she looked back down, he stood, facing her, outstretching a hand, palm up, beckoning. She blinked once, her brows slightly furrowed, but before she could second-guess herself, her free hand lifted, slotting gently atop the Ascian's palm, his fingers dwarfing hers as they wrapped around her digits. They lingered for a brief moment, having similar looks of perturbation on their faces as Emet-Selch lightly squeezed her hand, before pulling her along without a word, presumably to find a place in the shade to speak.

As Aletheia and Emet-Selch ventured out of Slitherbough, the dense foliage of the Rak'tika Greatwood enveloped them in a canopy of shadows, shielding them from the harsh glare of the sunlight. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and the faint sound of chirping insects.

Emet-Selch walked beside Aletheia in silence, his presence an ever-present reminder of the complexities of their situation. Despite the uneasy alliance they had formed, there was still an underlying tension between them, like a taut string ready to snap at any moment.

As they walked deeper into the forest, Aletheia couldn't shake the feeling of Y'shtola's piercing gaze lingering on them as they departed from Slitherbough. The Miqo'te had taken Aletheia's confession in stride, her pragmatism shining through as she listened to the mage's words. But underneath her composed exterior, Aletheia sensed a wariness, a caution born from years of conflict with the Ascians.

Aletheia could hardly blame her, of course. She peered at Emet-Selch with the same level of suspicion and uncertainty, and yet the Ascian seemed insistent on lingering.

She had given up trying to shoo him away... though she would also be lying if she said a small part of her wasn't grateful for his presence. It wasn't a matter of feeling safe with him, mind you. Oh, no: quite the opposite, in fact. She felt perpetually on edge as he meandered through the Greatwood at her side, remarking on the scenery or making otherwise unrelated, unhelpful remarks.

And yet, when she thought at one point that he might slip into the shadows, she looked at him with a furrowed brow, her jaw tightening. Something in her eyes must have given her away, because he hesitated.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," he said lowly, enough that his voice rumbled a bit around every word. "What? Fear you'd be lost without me? Need help finding your way back to Slitherbough?"

"Hardly," she huffed indignantly, lips pursing to form a line as she forced her gaze forward, away from the man, "...I simply wonder why we've journeyed this far together, and you've yet to actually tell me about your world. The one you wish to bring back."

Emet-Selch paused in his stride, causing Aletheia to do the same after a few more steps, the mage pivoting slightly around her staff to peer at the man past the intricate focus that glowed faintly at the top. The Ascian peered at her, eyes squinting, and for a wordless moment, he looked at her with genuine intrigue.

"You truly wish to know of my history - our history? I have to wonder if telling you would be worth the time, to be frank... unless you mean to tell me you are open to possibly considering rejoining the cause after all...?" He questioned, a brow quirking as he peered at the mage.

Aletheia gave a derisive snort in response.

"Like you, I remain steadfast in my beliefs... but if I learned anything from serving under the Emissary, it is that one needs understand their foe. If you would follow me around in an attempt to learn what drives me, then I would know more about the world that has driven you to commit atrocity after atrocity in the name of your God and the Rejoining,"

Her words seemed to surprise Emet-Selch, his brows lifting. For another moment, he quietly peered at her, searching her face with a narrowed gaze. Aletheia thought he might've been inspecting her, searching for any sort of dishonesty or ulterior motive... but there was none. Behind her silver gaze was something... genuine. Almost... innocent.

She was curious. Behind her rough exterior was a girl in search of answers, desperate for information and understanding.

When he saw it, Emet-Selch's expression softened slightly, though the look of gentle consideration he gave her for a brief moment was quickly replaced by the heavy sigh that spilled from his lips as his shoulders and head slumped forward in surrender.

"Fine, fine," he practically groaned, "If you insist on making me waste my breath and your time, then I will share with you the truth - at least as much of it I deem you worthy of. But first, come: Let us find a spot in the shade to rest. I tire of this beautiful, damnable sun."

His words had Aletheia peering up towards the sky, her eyes squinting past the light that filtered through the treetops high overhead. She couldn't argue with that, she supposed.

When she looked back down, he stood, facing her, outstretching a hand, palm up, beckoning.

She blinked once, her brows slightly furrowed, but before she could second-guess herself, her free hand lifted, slotting gently atop the Ascian's palm, his fingers dwarfing hers as they wrapped around her digits. They lingered for a brief moment, having similar looks of perturbation on their faces as Emet-Selch lightly squeezed her hand, before pulling her along without a word, presumably to find a place in the shade to speak.

That simple gesture would build itself a home in her mind, lingering, leaving the mage feeling confused and uncertain as they made their way through the forest to find a place of respite from the sun.

As they settled into the cool embrace of the shaded forest, Aletheia and Emet-Selch found themselves seated on a fallen log, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant hum of insects. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, creating a tranquil atmosphere that belied the weight of their conversation, distracting from the everlasting light that loomed overhead.

Emet-Selch began to speak, his voice soft and melodic as he wove tales of a world long gone, a world of beauty and wonder before the Sundering. He spoke of Etheirys with a fondness that caused an ache to form in Aletheia's chest - a sense of loss and longing as if it were just as much her world.

She supposed, in a way, it was.

"It was a city unlike any other," he said, his eyes distant as he recalled memories of a time long past. "Amaurot, it was called. The heart of our civilization, the pinnacle of our achievements. It was a place of art and culture, of knowledge and wisdom."

Aletheia listened intently, her gaze fixed on Emet-Selch as he spoke. There was a passion in his voice - though not the insincere theatrics that often accompanied his words, but instead genuine adoration - a longing for a life left behind. It gave the mage pause, a slight warmth beginning to fill her chest.

He spoke of Ancient society with reverence, painting a picture of a utopian existence where all were equal, where knowledge was valued above all else, and where the pursuit of truth was the highest calling.

"We lived in harmony with the world around us," he continued, his words tinged with nostalgia. "We were caretakers of the land, guardians of the elements. We knew the secrets of creation, researched the mysteries of the cosmos. We were masters of our own destiny."

As Emet-Selch spoke, Aletheia found herself captivated by his words. There was a depth to him, a complexity that she hadn't fully appreciated until now. He wasn't just a villain, a faceless enemy to be defeated. He was a man with hopes and dreams, with memories of a life long gone.

Despite herself, Aletheia felt a pang of sympathy for him, a sense of understanding that transcended their differences. She could see now why he fought so fiercely for his cause, why he clung so desperately to the hope of restoring his world. It had the mage's brows furrowing as she finally tore her gaze away from him. (How long had she been staring, she wondered?)

A scoff from the Ascian startled Aletheia from her thoughts, prompting her to look towards him once again with a furrowed brow.

"And then, in what was nearly an instant, it was shattered. Chaos overtook the land, our creations turned against us. Suddenly, we were faced with a decision that would shape the future of our star in ways we never could have predicted at the time. We sought only to save our world. So we did what was necessary to fight back against the plague that threatened to destroy us all."

"Zodiark," Aletheia finally spoke, looking at the Ascian, who quirked a brow at her before nodding.

"Aye. We summoned Zodiark. If you know that part, then I assume the Emissary had enough sense to share the rest of the tale with you,"

"Not everything, I imagine," she muttered in reply, turning her gaze to peer across the brush before them, eyes fixating on a distant critter as it scurried up one of the towering trees, "But I know that some were sacrificed to save the many. I know that Zodiark was able to cast out the darkness, but that the damage had already been done to the land."

Emet-Selch peered at her closely, giving a slow nod as she spoke.

"Indeed. Our utopia was shattered, doomed to never return to its former glory without further sacrifice. And so, a decision was made... A decision that not all agreed with,"

His tone grew bitter at the end as a scowl made its way across his thin lips, his brows pinching further together above the bridge of his nose.

(Aletheia forced herself to pay no mind to the sudden urge she felt to reach over and smooth it out beneath her thumb. Instead, she stayed static, frozen.)

"So tell me," he went on, thankfully distracting the mage from her thoughts, prompting her gaze to meet his as he paused to ensure he had her attention, "Did the Emissary deign to share with you what happened next?"

Now it was Aletheia whose brows furrowed as a moment of silence fell between them, followed by a slow shake of her head.

Emet-Selch snorted in response as he leaned back, rolling his head to the side enough that Aletheia could hear an audible pop from the man's neck, his eye twitching with a slight grimace from the sensation.

"No, I suppose he wouldn't have," he said dryly as he leaned forwards again, resting his arms on his knees as he sank into his habitually horrible posture once again.

She'd half expected him to continue, but Emet-Selch returned to silence afterwards, causing her brows to lower further, her jaw flexing for a moment before she finally spoke.

"So? What happened next?"

The man's gaze flicked towards her once again as an arched brow raised, and for a moment, Aletheia thought she saw amusement twinkle in the man's eyes.

"What happened indeed. Your beloved Hydaelyn happened, of course - though I'm not yet sure that you are either ready or worthy of learning the specifics. Either way, I tire of story-telling, so for the time being, that is all you will get."

Aletheia’s frustration was palpable, her fingers curling into fists as she leaned forward, trying to suppress her annoyance. The tantalizing glimpses of Emet-Selch’s past had left her yearning for more, and his sudden refusal to continue felt like a cruel tease.

"You can't just leave it at that," she argued, her voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying an intensity that made Emet-Selch glance at her with mild surprise. "If you want me to understand, to truly see things from your perspective, you need to give me more than just half-truths and vague hints."

Emet-Selch chuckled softly, a sound that grated on Aletheia's nerves. "Oh, Aletheia," he said, his tone patronizing. "Answers aren't something that can be forced. They must be earned, and frankly, I’m not yet convinced that you deserve the full tale. You may despise me, but make no mistake—Everything I do is for the betterment of the star."

Her eyes flashed with defiance. "You speak of betterment, yet your methods are steeped in blood and suffering. How can you reconcile that? Sacrificing countless lives to summon Zodiark, and single-handedly sowing chaos across the shards."

Emet-Selch's gaze hardened, his expression growing cold. "And what of your precious Scions? Are they so innocent? History is written by the victors, and the victors often forget the price paid by those who lost. The summoning of Zodiark was necessary to preserve what little remained of our star. To safeguard the future, sacrifices had to be made. Our choices were not made lightly, nor were they made with cruelty in mind. As for the Shards... need I remind you that your lives are meaningless to me, a necessary expenditure to help restore the lives of those lost from my world."

Aletheia opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. She could see the anguish etched in Emet-Selch’s features, the pain of a man who had lost everything. It was a stark reminder that, for all his flaws, he was not devoid of emotion or regret.

"You speak as if you had no other choice," she finally said, her voice softer now. "But was there truly no other way? No path that didn’t lead to so much destruction?"

Emet-Selch sighed heavily, the weight of centuries seeming to press down on his shoulders. "Perhaps there was, once. But hindsight is a luxury afforded to those who do not bear the burden of leadership in times of crisis. We did what we believed was right, what was necessary to save our world, and that is something I continue to do to this day. You cannot understand the depth of our sorrow, our desperation."

Aletheia's gaze softened, her own heart aching at the palpable grief in his voice. "I want to understand," she said quietly. "I want to know what drove you to such lengths, and maybe then, we can find a way to move forward without more bloodshed."

Emet-Selch looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Finally, he nodded, though the gesture was laced with reluctance. "Very well. I will tell you more, but not now. Let us rest for a while. The weight of the past is heavy, and even I grow weary of it."

Aletheia nodded in agreement, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with the man who she thought would be her enemy. As they sat in silence, the forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the unspoken understanding that had begun to form between them.

After a while, Emet-Selch shifted, reclining slightly against the log. His eyes, once filled with cold calculation, now held a glimmer of something softer, more human. "You remind me of someone," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Aletheia turned to him, her brows furrowed, curiosity piqued. "What? Who?"

"Someone," he replied unhelpfully, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. He peered at her closely for another moment before continuing, his eyes squinting, as if trying to peer at the mage through a thick fog. "Someone who, like you, sought to understand rather than to judge. Someone who sought ways to save even the smallest, most inconsequential life," He sighed then, letting his gaze linger on the woman for another moment, eyes flicking over Aletheia's face with a look of slow familiarity. But before she could question him further, he spoke again. "Perhaps, in time, you will come to see why I do what I do. But for now, let us simply exist in this moment of peace, however fleeting it may be."

Aletheia nodded, allowing herself to relax slightly. Despite the tension that still lingered between them, there was a sense of shared purpose, a glimmer of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, they could find common ground.

[amygdalamud]

"An Understanding"

Trucking along through the homestretch of Dawntrail and the end is in sight. Little MSQ snippet below from my drafts.

“When two nations cannot protect their own without doing harm to the other, there can only be one resolution. It is a hard truth…but one you understand, don’t you?”

Sphene stares through the group and locks eyes with Lerih, waiting expectantly for the reply that she was denied the last time they confronted one another. A minute of silence passes in the golden city; the lack of any genuine life brings nothing but longing to bear for those present. Lerih lowers her head in thought, her mind replaying everything that led to this exact moment. She considers not just the pivotal and critical encounters with the Ascians or her duties as the White Mage but also the banality of life. The hours that Naago and she spend lounging at their home in the Cieldalaes, how the people of Radz-at-Han learn more of their draconic leader by the day, and the way she’s witnessed love blossom across time and space. She thinks of Zero, a voidsent determined to grasp even a sliver of the humanity she lost. Eternal life, the denial of death, or whatever you want to dress it up as, does little more than deprive the target of true fulfilment.

Finally, she breaks the silence:

“I’ll protect my world and all the others…including yours. Life is precious, I agree, but we cannot flee the pain of loss or the bite of despair; we must remember that we live and that others have lived so that we can find the strength to endure. A life without pain deprives us of that.” Lerih glances around Lost Memory as she speaks, waving her hand at the grand mimicry of life, wincing as she feels a strange ache ripple through her heart. “We hold things precious because we know they will not last forever. There is finality in everything we do, which makes things beautiful…the only sure guarantee life affords us is that one day we will die. This is an immutable truth.”

“Then, you do understand,” Sphene replies but is cut off.

“Do not make assumptions of me. Despite knowing nothing of my character, you continuously speak as if you do, and I’ve grown tired of it. All I understand is that in order to save your world, I must burn this farce you call a nation.” Lerih draws her staff, smacking the end harshly into the coloured brick underfoot. “Your world exists beyond the barrier you’ve erected using stolen aether. These shades that wander your city are nothing but memories, played on repeat ad infinitum, while those unlucky enough to be born before your scheming float endlessly, abandoned and forgotten. I will grant them clemency in death and deliver onto them their kin so that they can be reborn anew!”

“Is that so…” Sphene says after a long silence, “I truly believed you were wiser than this. Very well, this simply reaffirms my resolution to erase the memories of the living Sphene and rule without conscience. In my many years, I have seen the cycle of tragedy break my people, and delivering them from that agony is my one true charge as Queen. To ensure the survival and prosperity of my people, I will become a devourer of worlds; heartlessly will I avail myself of other world’s aether to slake the needs of my own. Would that it was any other way, I do apologize…”

 The tension between the Queen and Lerih reaches a critical point and threatens to boil over on the spot. What scions are present ready themselves, hands poised to draw their weapons should the situation spiral out of control, but the two do little more than glare at one another. However, the severe expression on Sphene’s face softens into something akin to pity —perhaps sympathy— as her physical form flickers. When she next speaks, the tinniness of her voice dampens any emotion into a cold deadpan.

“I’m afraid we’re out of time.” She continues, “The process had begun. And it cannot be stopped. Not even by you, Lerih. My people will endure.”

Provoked by the implications in Sphene’s words, those present at last draw and ready their weapons, though the late Queen glitches and vanishes, leaving them in silence. G’raha and Lerih, in particular, shudder at the display, recalling their respective conflicts with the Omicron tribe. As they reflect on the interstellar-machina hivemind’s obsession with understanding humanity, the Meso Terminal blares to life with a deafening message:

“Meso Terminal memory deletion in progress. Upon completion, interdimensional fusion will commence.”

[wildstar25]

"The future of two worlds are at stake and she's just been made aware that by saving them Arsay herself could turn into a monster. They both needed to rest while they could, yet Arsay wants to stop everything and talk about her feelings? Romantic feelings? Of course she's nervous about it. At best she'll come off as a self-involved fool, at worst she does irreparable damage to their friendship."

I thought too much about how Arsay confessed to Y'shtola and ended up writing it and made some gpose companion pieces...

Arsay asks Y'shtola to accompany her on her way back to The Pendants so that they may find her some lodging since she will now be staying in the Crystarium for the near future. As they walk from the rotunda through Musica Universalis a pit grows in Arsay's gut. It was just before they left the Greatwoods that Arsay properly recognized the feelings she had for her close friend and fellow scion. Since then she hasn't been able to act normally around Y'shtola at all. Not the best thing considering everyone needs her to be on her best for the time being. After a long internal debate, and some unlikely advice from an unexpected source, Arsay has come to a decision on how best to proceed. She has resolved to confess to Y'shtola at the next opportunity, lest something else happen to either one of them on their next excursion. As they reach the steps of The Pendant's lobby Arsay grabs Y'shtola's hand and brings her out of sight of any passerby, safely behind the trunk of a tree. Y'shtola, taken off guard and rightfully confused, asks what's going on. Arsay opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

Arsay is usually so confident about everything she does. Even when she's not confident, she's at least learned to pretend well enough to fool others. At this moment, however, she can’t even do that. The future of two worlds are at stake and she's just been made aware that by saving them Arsay herself could turn into a monster not unlike the lightwardens she has been tasked to slay. The whole lot of them are being stalked by not only an insanely skilled fighter who will stop at nothing to end their quest; but also an Ascian who has been the cause of so much destruction. The former causing Y'shtola to almost lose her left to the lifestream for a second time where it not for the appearance of the latter... They both needed to rest while they could and get on with their work, yet Arsay wants to stop everything and talk about her feelings? Romantic feelings? Of course she's nervous about it. At best she'll come off as a self-involved fool, at worst she does irreparable damage to their friendship. Arsay takes a shaky breath in an attempt to ward off her nerves.

"Y'shtola, I... You see uh- The thing is... I um", she stammers. Y'shtola's increasingly annoyed stare casts daggers into Arsay. Arsay belatedly thinks It's a good thing her friend only sees in aether, otherwise she would see how flushed Arsay was.

"You what?", the shortness of her tone was chilling.

"I....", the fur on Arsay's tail bristles out. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn't she just nod silently or make a determined hand gesture and have her thoughts come across like usual? Y'shtola crosses her arms, her patience wearing thin. Leviathan's scaly arse, spit it out already!! "I really like your new dress! It... suits you.", Arsay reflexively smiles, despite feeling so annoyed at herself.

Y'shtola lets out a slight huff. "Your compliment is noted; however, I'd quite like to get my matters in order. So if that's all-" She begins to turn back, a frown on her face. Was she disappointed? Regardless, Arsay can't let her leave.

"No, wait! There's something else!" She blurts out.

"...Alright, go on then."

"I…” she starts. 

“You…” she attempts again. 

“You should really make sure to ask for The Pendant’s  house blend of tea." Arsay finishes limply. 

Y’shtola pinches the bridge of her nose visibly frustrated. 

Arsay steadies her tone and elaborates uselessly. "It's not exactly like what Tataru makes, but I think you'd like it all the same..."

Who would have guessed the warrior of darkness's greatest foe was a love confession? Arsay thinks as her ears turn back against her head and she lets out a short, aggravated sigh. 

Ashamed, she turns her gaze to the grass at her feet expecting the sound of the seeker's retreating footsteps. Though by some miracle, there are none. 

Arsay peaks upwards to see Y'shtola standing there, cross posture and all. She breaks the silence, "Even a fool could tell that wasn't what you meant to say. No more games, Arsay. Either tell me what it is you want, or don't say anything at all."

Arsay stands there, squeezing her fists tightly. There's so much she wants to say, has to say, but no matter how hard she tries the words inevitably evade her. Never has the keeper felt more pathetic. A cacophony of incoherent thoughts and screams echo in her head. Time is ticking down; the annoyed tapping of Y'shtola's finger counting the seconds that pass. A small voice worms its way to the forefront of Arsay's brain. She could let herself fail. Surely the brave warrior of darkness could be afforded the loss with no wounds other than to her pride. That thought alone sends a shiver down her spine through to the tip of her tail. No, you're better than that. Arsay can feel her nails dig deeper into her palms as she witnesses Y'shtola's arms uncurl into a shrug.

"... Right."

With a curt flick of her tail, Y'shtola starts to take a step. Just as her foot leaves the ground, Arsay grasps at her hand to stop her. 

If there was one thing to know about the warrior of light, it's that she does not - will not- give up. 

It was now or never.

"Arsay, really-"

"What I want is you." The keeper cuts Y'shtola off. There's a determination in her voice that the seeker has only heard in the midst of battle. Y'shtola squints, wholly taken aback.

"Excuse me?" She replies, her tail swishing back and forth behind her.

Arsay shifts her grip to now wrap both her hands around Y'shtola's.

She continues, "I want you, Y'shtola. I want you by my side, always within reach; so that I may wrap my arms around you and never let go. I want to be relieved of constant thoughts of you. For I am always thinking of how wonderful you are, of how much you care for those around you. Of how smart, capable, and strong you are. Of how your smile- your ever so confident smile - is the most beautiful I've ever seen. I want it to be the first and last thing I see every day. When I think of even the slightest possibility of not being able to see it, to see you... such thoughts frighten me beyond belief. I never understood why that was, until I had almost lost you once again. You simply mean so much to me." With every declaration, Arsay brings herself closer to Y'shtola.

"You bring such light into my life, like how the moon illuminates the night sky. You give me a strength greater than any god granted blessing. When you're next to me I know there is nothing I cannot do. You make me feel like I'm walking on air and ice at the same time. Then there's this shock that I get, a tightness in my chest. Followed by a near uncontrollable impulse to get closer and closer to you in any way that I can. That you've allowed me to get as close as I have is something I am so grateful for, but I..." Pausing to gather what courage she has left, Arsay gives Y'shtola's hand a gentle squeeze.

"...Y'shtola, you are my best friend. I'll always think of you as that but recently I - oh pray forgive my selfishness in saying this- I want more. For us to be more. I want so badly to close the distance that's left between us! My only hope being you want more too... that you want me the way I want you.", Arsay stands inches away from Y’shtola, her heart feeling as if it's about to jump out of her throat.

Y'shtola stands there, her mouth slightly agape and utterly silent. A soft chuckle manages to escape her lips before the seeker could cover it with her free hand. As sweet as her laugh may be, it sends Arsay spiraling. That had to have been the worst proposition Y'shtola has heard yet. Gods, what was she thinking? "the moon that illuminates the night sky"? "I want to close the distance between us"? She sounded like a half-bit poet! Arsay meekly withdraws her hands from Y'shtola's. 

She considers if she might be able to drown herself in waters of Lakeland, despite her holding the blessing of the Kojin.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a warmth on the scarred side of her face; Y'shtola's hand.

"Oh, Arsay, my beloved friend,..." The sorceress carries such sweetness in her hushed reply. Well if she was going to let her down, at least she would be doing it nicely. Arsay allows herself to take what pleasure she can in Y'shtola's gentle touch, as she steels herself for heartbreak.

The sorceress usually scoffed at such haphazard displays of romance, but this was different. She herself was far too stubborn to admit how much she grew to miss Arsay during their three years apart. The number of times Y'shtola sat and stared blankly at a tome while her mind played back that evening in Kugane was something she would take to her grave. She'd linger on the memory of feeling Arsay's tail wrapping around her own, or the warmth she felt as Arsay held her in a goodbye hug before they both went their separate ways. It filled Y'shtola with a yearning like she had never felt before. She knew from that moment there was something between them. Something that was best be left unsaid, lest it interfere with matters at hand.

Pushing down her own feelings of longing was second nature to Y'shtola. Perhaps that is why, when she heard those desires mirrored back to her in such a haphazard manner, she couldn't help but laugh at her own foolishness. Here the seeker thought herself brave, yet once again she had let herself be bested by the warrior of light. However that mattered little to her in comparison to the elation Arsay's confession brought her. There's a slight guilt to it all, that Y'shtola's proclivities obviously caused her dear friend to be under such duress, but if that's what it took for Arsay to speak truthfully  she would hold no regret for her actions. 

Now all Y'shtola has to consider is how best to reply.

As she runs her thumb along Arsay's scar she can feel the keeper quivering. Y'shtola wishes Arsay's aether was a more recognizable form, that she could see her expression underneath the immense output of light. What could she say to her? Doubtful she will find the words to properly respond, Y’shtola considers a more direct approach. She moves her hand down Arsay's jaw, locating her objective. She much prefers being blunt anyways. 

Y'shtola leans upwards towards the keeper so that their lips can meet. She can feel Arsay's initial shock from the contact but it does not take long for her to return the favour, pulling Y'shtola into an embrace as they kiss. Both delighting in the moment for as long as they could.

Y'shtola breaks away with a smile, "You've no clue how long I've waited to hear you say that."

"Y'shtola…", Arsay begins to mutter, completely overcome with emotion. She puts finger to Arsay’s lips with a shush. 

“You need not say another word." Y'shtola places her hand over her chest, "I share your feelings, Arsay, and I tire of pretending otherwise." As that sentence leaves her mouth, the heaviness she had held in her heart for so long dissipates. Y'shtola feels practically weightless, even more so as Arsay lifts her off the ground in a tight hug. 

"Y'shtola, I love you!!" Arsay exclaims, nearly loud enough to reverberate throughout the Musica Universalis unable to contain her glee. How embarrassing, Y'shtola thinks to herself. She could sense how much she was blushing, how wide she was smiling, and how loud she was chuckling. Only Arsay could make her lose her composure like this, and Y'shtola was so thankful for that. Closing her eyes, she conjures an image of the warrior of light, free of the aether that currently polluted her view. Leaning forward, the seeker rests her head against Arsay's.

"And I, you."

[avirael]

I tried

The rain loudly pounded against the windows in the almost dark and silent room. It was nearly midnight and all A’viloh could think in this moment was that Rael had been right. He couldn’t sleep, or didn’t dare to, so he had started to wander around and found himself staring at the frosted glass which rattled shaken by the storm outside. The rhythm of the raindrops against the glass surface suddenly had seemed almost hypnotic to him. The rain distracted him from his thoughts with it’s almost soothing pattern. In a way it was beautiful. As if it tried to weep the tears A’viloh had been surprised to find himself unable to cry.

Then thunder rumbled outside and the glow of lightning flooded into the room for a short moment, illuminating the empty tables around him. Bright. Blinding. It reminded him of the flash of light when their aether blade finally had shattered the barriers that had protected Nabriales and made the Ascian burn away to nothingness. It reminded him of the reason he wasn’t asleep. Of Moenbryda.

He hadn’t known her very well, but he had somehow instantly liked her. There had been a cheerful honesty in her. And also unwavering determination. Both were things he had admired her for. He still couldn’t understand that she was gone. Someone so strong and lively as her simply vanished. Dissolved to nothing but aether.

He hadn’t realised her intention. Only when it had been to late. Him and Rael had needed all their concentration to keep the raging Ascian from breaking his prison. Hand in hand like back in the Praetorium, their powers combined, they had tried so hard to get it right this time. There was no telling what this enraged Ascian in front of them would do if he was given a second chance to strike at them.

Suddenly he had noticed Moenbryda, trudging towards the beam of light. As he realised what she was doing he considered to stop it. He considered the consequences. Rael held his hand so tightly, unwavering just like Moenbryda. Then it had been too late to make a choice. She had already made hers. Moenbryda was gone.

It was strangely unreal. They had sacrificed her life to take another one. It sounded wrong, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that it had been necessary. And he had allowed it. Rael argued that it had been her decision. She wanted it that way. A’viloh doubted that someone as alive as her had truly wanted to die. She had been fatally wounded, Rael noted. But the Viera refused to say if they would have been able to heal her. A’vi was convinced they could have saved her. But she had chosen her master’s path instead and they had just watched.

After everything that had happened these last few months, A’viloh had been disillusioned about the nature of the Scion’s work. It was a dangerous path and it was paved with the lifes of their lost comrades. He hadn’t expected this to change but he had hoped that everything would be a little more quiet, a little more easy now. At least for a while.

I’m so sorry, he had simply said without looking up to the Elezen in front of him. I wish we could have saved her. A’viloh wasn’t sure if he had read all the signs and quips correctly but he was at least sure that Urianger had meant a lot to Moenbryda. He had been one of her last thoughts after all. And while the Elezen seemed as calm as ever, there was also a sadness in his voice that felt too familiar.

Another thunder rolled through the air, another burst of light. He trembled. What a day it had been. Exhausted he sank down onto one of the cushioned benches and stretched himself out, once again concentrating on the sound of rain to ease his mind. He was so tired.

He still lay there on his back staring up at the windows when the patter of raindrops was joined by the noise of footsteps on stone tiles echoing through the room. Lazily the Miqo’te let his head tilt sideways and found Thancred walking down the corridor. His wobbly gait betrayed where he had been.

He slightly winced as he noticed A’viloh there. In the almost-darkness of the room the Miqo’te with his glowing green eyes was quite a startling view for anyone who wasn’t used to it.

“A’viloh…? Is that you…? By the Twelve… you scared me! What are you doing here at this hour?”, Thancred’s voice was slower than usual, less clear and slightly slurred.

“Don’t know. Listening to the rain I guess…”, A’viloh sat up and shrugged. “What are YOU doing here at this hour?”

It was a question he didn’t need to ask but he felt like asking it anyway just to see what he would answer. But Thancred just laughed loudly. Then silence.

For a moment A’viloh thought about it before deciding to speak again.

“Do you know what day is today?”

Thancred looked at him in confusion.

“What day?… A fucking horrible one? Apart from that?…. Sorry, to be honest I’d have to look up what date it is, yet alone what you mean…”

“One years ago today I first arrived in Ul’dah.”, A’viloh explained and his lips twitched to a painful smile for a second. “To learn how to become stronger, to be able to protect the people I care about.”

“Oh! I didn’t know that.”, he replied as if it surprised him that he didn’t. “I think you did get quite good at that, huh?”

Given the current situation it sounded like mockery, although he probably didn’t mean it that way.

“Did I though?”, A’vi asked bitterly. “Have I not failed to do so just today?”

“Don’t blame yourself for this.”, the hyur protested. “Think instead about all the lives you saved since you started your journey!”

A’viloh scoffed. “You might as well say, think about all the lives that were lost since then…”

“No! You’re not looking at it the right way!”, Thancred shook his head vehemently and his whole body slightly swayed with the movement. Then he stumbled over to the bench and sat down next to A’vi. “The lives that you saved, they would have been lost too, if you hadn’t given your best.”

It wasn’t as easy as he made it sound. The deaths he hadn’t been able to prevent weighed so much heavier than everything else. A’viloh sighed. “But maybe my best was not good enough…”

Thancred once again shook his head. He turned to A’viloh and looked him directly in the eyes, leaning closer than he probably would have if he wasn’t drunk.

“Your best was enough for me.”

A’viloh recoiled, smelling the alcohol on the other’s breath. It made him feel nauseous, although he knew that Thancred wouldn’t harm him. Or at least he thought so. He hoped. But how could he really know? Some days A’viloh thought there were two Thancreds. The kind man, who had blamed himself for things beyond his control, the one A’viloh had felt strangely connected to and then this one here in front of him, which hurt to look at. Out of control and somehow uncaring. Some days A’viloh felt like there were hundreds of versions of him, each with a different mask to hide behind. But in the end they were all the same person. A person A’viloh wasn’t sure how to feel about.

Rael was right. The second time today, he noted. He began to think that they were right about most things. Maybe he should start to listen to them a little more often when they told him something he didn’t want to believe. He could vividly hear the viera’s voice in his head.

Why him of all people, A’vi? He’s really not a good person!

Probably not…

THIS is what you want?

Absolutely not.

“You’re drunk.” A’viloh deflected.

Thancred chuckled and sat back.

“Guilty as charged! But you know what they say: Drunk people and children always tell the truth.”

A’viloh laughed but it wasn’t the kind of laugh one laughed when something was funny. “If you say so…”

“You don’t believe me?”, he asked with a chuckle.

A’viloh didn’t answer.

For a few seconds Thancred stared at him, then he sighed. “At least believe me with one thing: You did more than enough. You and Rael, you two achieved so much in so little time. The same cannot be said for us? What have we achieved? Me specifically? Where were we when you needed us? Would we only have arrived a few moments sooner. Just a few moments…”

But it was too late for that now.

“You know, I tell myself that it was necessary. That killing the Ascian was worth it. But I don’t know if I can really believe this…”

Thancred slowly nodded and stretched uncomfortably, putting one arm on the back rest. “I’m not going to say that there wasn’t another way, maybe there was... But… the result, that’s what’s important. One less of them is a good thing…”, he mused and then grimaced. “I just wish you would have gotten him too… Some days I’m scared that he will return… That he isn’t done with me yet…”

In a way this surprised A’viloh. He hadn’t ever wondered how Thancred felt about this. How he had experienced the time he had been under Lahabrea’s control. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be…“

A moment they just sat there in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, fighting their own demons.

Then suddenly Thancred spoke. “You are right…”

“Hm?”

He smiled, calmly looking up to the tall windows. “The rain. You said you were listening to it… it’s weirdly soothing.”

A’viloh smiled too. “It is.”

For a while they listened to the patter of the raindrops, the howling of the wind and the occasional roll of thunder.

Finally A’viloh took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

Silence.

“Thancred?”, he asked and turned to look at him. His head slightly tilted sideways, he had fallen asleep right where he sat. It was funny how harmless he looked. Not particularly peaceful. Still troubled and tired. But more honest somehow. More real.

Silently A’viloh stood up, tiptoed through the room and took a big white tablecloth out of one of F’lhaminn’s cupboards. It’s better than nothing, he thought as he gently covered the hyur with his impromptu-blanket.

“Sleep well.”, he whispered and then returned to his room.