#riven beetle

[artmolonara]

More random work doodles today.

If you like my style, consider commissioning me on ko-fi via the link.

Buy me a Ko-Fi

[shoomlah]

And just because I was having fun with it over on twitter:

A Bunch of My Work on Riven (2024) Alongside Comparable Riven (1997) Fanart from My Childhood

Model/materials for Gehn's costume | My middle/high school art of Gehn

Model/materials for Cho's costume | My 9th grade art of Cho

New Marvelous Designer pattern/drape for Atrus' costume | Various high school drawings of Atrus (including chibi Atrus, what a moment in time)

Concepts for Catherine's hair styling in Riven | 9th grade art of Catherine for my "Myst: The Animated Series" website on Geocities

Costume concepts for Aitrus & Ti'ana's imager recordings | Early college art of young Aitrus & Ti'ana

My model for the Gate Room beetle viewers | My own childhood Age concepts where I just inserted myself as the megalomaniacal false god figure instead of Gehn

Concept/model for the Moiety's shrine to Catherine in Tay and modular designs for Rivenese grave markers | Some of my college concepts for traditional Rivenese masks

Models for the chalkboards in the Jungle Island schoolroom to teach local Rivenese children the D'ni language | My own D'ni language notes from when I was a kid

And I'll have to do a WHOLE thread about the complexities of making all the journals for Riven, but for now:

My hand-lettered pages for the journals in Riven | My own childhood Myst journal

[scrollsnsketchbooks]

Book Poll

Interest check for my leatherbound books! Fantasy Circle books aren't listed here because they're kind of my signature item so there's going to be more regardless. ;P

Beetle Nouveau

Leather Filigree

Silver Swirl

Field Journal

Peacock Silk

Riven

[shiroikabocha]

We won’t be able to keep it up for the whole game, but damn, it was great streaming the first hour-ish of New Riven with my brother. Like old times with the CDs in the computer room.

We got to have the same reactions at the same time: huh, okay, so the telescope into the Fissure is constructed a little differently. And the spinny domes, right, their support structures look all weird now— oh, hold on, you can just go straight there? Right on Temple Island, just from the rotating beetle room? Huh. Okay. Might as well flip it, it’s a fun animation. Oo, looks different! Let’s take a look insi—WHAT.

Okay. Okay. Ignoring the [massive spoiler] for now, it looks like there’s one other island we can get to from here. So… let’s go see which one it is!

… W H A T.

[ainyan]

FFXIV Swap PotD: Despair

You are my pillar of strength.

Words spoken so long ago by Minfilia. She who had been the Scions’ strength had turned to the Warrior of Light to be the rock upon which she could lean when she found her own will sorely tested. And so Kal’istae had become that pillar, unfaltering, unflagging, even in the face of absolute despair.

And when the Scions were riven of their own pillar, she stepped in to fill the gap. So while the world around her crumbled, she held fast, held firm, and her companions drew upon her strength and persevered.

Never counting the cost to her.

But all costs must be paid. All bills must come due.

And the one to pay is often the one who can least afford it.

Thancred stared at the book before him, but the words refused to resolve into anything remotely understandable. The letters swam off the page, twisting and spinning until he slammed the tome shut with a soft growl, reaching up to rub at his eyes. Urianger started, blinking, and stared at the gunbreaker. “Art thou aright, my friend?” he asked softly, brow beetling as he studied the hyur’s pinched expression.

“I think I’m just tired,” Thancred admitted, swiping his hand over his eyes before pushing himself upright. His spine cracked as he straightened and he grimaced. “Not one word.”

The elezen gave a faint smile. “Given how long thou hast been in that position, ‘tis clear such exclamations are due to poor posture, and not thy advanced age.” At Thancred’s dour glare, his smile deepened. “Perhaps thou shouldst take a stroll, or engage in some exercise.”

The gunbreaker rubbed at the back of his neck. “Maybe,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Something - no,” he said, his hand falling to his side. “Something isn’t right. Something is very wrong. Urianger.”

The elezen’s smile dropped away as he rose slowly to his feet. “Aye. I feel it, too.”

The door to the Respite slammed open, and Alisaie and Y’shtola came running out. “Something is happening,” the sorceress declared, while the red mage didn’t even bother with words, her sword drawn, her focus balanced above her palm.

From the Solar came the sound of pounding feet and clanking mail, then Alphinaud and Estinien came running in, followed by a grim-faced G’raha Tia. As the senior Scions gathered in the common room, many of the more junior members looked on, puzzled and not a little alarmed. Ignoring them, Thancred reached out to draw his gunblade off the wall, sliding it onto his back. “Do we have any idea what is going on?”

G’raha Tia grimaced. “Nothing clear; just a sense of wrongness, of something dire occurring. We all feel it then?” He glanced around the circle, his eyes brushing over the faces of his fellow scions. “Wait.”

“Where’s Kali?” Thancred asked at the same moment, his voice sharp, almost cracking as he turned towards the Respite.

Alisaie shook her head. “Not here. She hasn’t been here in some time,” she added, her tone accusatory as she glared at the gunbreaker. “Doesn’t anyone ever notice how rarely she comes home any more?”

The gunbreaker’s gloves creaked as his hands fisted, and the look her turned on the red mage was pure irritation. “As a matter of fact,” he replied evenly, “I do.”

“As do I,” G’raha Tia murmured, stroking a hand down his staff as he frowned at the floor. “I presume she is busy cleaning up after Zenos and Fandaniel, as is ever the case these days. Wearing herself to nothing…” He trailed off, biting his lip.

Alisaie and Thancred exchanged a long look, and the gunbreaker relaxed his hands. “It can’t be helped. Once we know what is going on, we can call her through the linkpearl. Y’shtola,” he added, turning towards the miqo’te, “is there a spell you can - ugh!”

The sorceress exclaimed in alarm as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. G’raha Tia groaned and fell to his knees, one hand raised to his forehead. The other Scions stared in shock at the pair.

Alphinaud’s linkpearl sounded. He lifted a trembling hand to his ear. “Tell me,” he said softly. He listened, his breath rasping in his throat, and finally his hand fell away, dark blue eyes gazing into nothing. At his side, his sister finally sheathed her sword, reaching out to grab his arm and shake it.

“Well?” she demanded. “What is it?”

Estinien knelt next to G’raha Tia, drawing off one of his gauntlets to touch the miqo’te’s forehead. “He’s burning up,” he said softly, puzzled.

Urianger reached out to brush his finger over Thancred’s face. “He is too. Alphinaud. What didst they say?”

The summoner blinked, staring blankly at the floor. Finally, he shook his head, sense returning to his face. “I - that was Ser Aymeric. It’s… It’s Kal’istae. She… she collapsed while visiting Ishgard. They can’t wake her.” He looked up, his face white. “He thinks she may be dying.”

They tried to leave Thancred and G’raha Tia behind, but neither gunbreaker nor mage were having it; under dire threats of coming on their own despite their fevers, the other Scions reluctantly allowed them to come along. Leaving the juniors and Tataru to watch over the Rising Stones, the Archons and Estinien took the Aethernet to Ishgard.

Lucia, Aymeric’s second in command, met them at the Aetheryte plaza. “This way,” she said without preamble, frowning at the sight of Thancred leaning on Estinien and G’raha Tia on Alphinaud. “What is wrong with them?”

Urianger shook his head, casting a concerned glance back at his friends. “We know not, my lady,” he replied somberly. “They were afflicted by fevers at the same time as we learned of the fate of the Warrior of Light. But they would not be denied, and so we found we must needs bring them along, or risk them attempting the journey on their own.”

The knight huffed. “I will say, she inspires the greatest devotion,” came the dry response. “Very well; we’ll be heading to the Lord Commander’s estate - his healers can look after your two as well as they can the Champion. Come along, then.”

She led them through the streets, ignoring the stares and murmurs as the citizens of Ishgard looked upon the Commander’s second and her odd parade. Estinien grumbled under his breath - but never released Thancred, even when Urianger offered to bear his friend’s weight in the dragoon’s stead. Alphinaud and Alisaie supported the once-Exarch without complaint, their expressions grim.

At Aymeric’s manor, his manservant ushered them in, calling for his lord and one of the chirurgeons currently tending the Warrior of Light. The healer came first, reaching out to touch first Thancred’s forehead, then G’raha Tia’s, his face grim. On his heels came Aymeric, still wearing his formal uniform and an expression of barely contained distress. “My friends,” the Lord Commander began, “I apologize for pulling you from your vital research…”

“Do not be foolish,” Y’shtola replied shortly. “Where is she?”

Taken aback, Aymeric stared at the miqo’te for a moment, then turned without a word, leading them through the manor towards the lavish chamber in which he had installed the Warrior of Light. Against the protest of the chirurgeon, Thancred and G’raha Tia followed the rest, ignoring his importunings to sit down and let him tend to them.

As they entered the room, Y’shtola held up a hand, and the rest of the Scions paused, leaving her to step alone to the side of the bed upon which the Warrior of Light lay. In silence, the sorceress gazed down at the woman who was more sister than friend, hiding her shock behind an expressionless mask.

The Au Ra was still; never before had they seen her so motionless. Her small, slim body was dwarfed by the massive bed, her indigo skin so pale as to be nearly translucent. Against the rich blue and silver bedding, she looked like a ghost, and Y’shtola barely suppressed a shiver. She studied the Warrior’s aetheric flow, lips pursed, then stepped back, turning her gaze to Thancred and G’raha Tia.

It was as she thought. Something disrupted the Warrior’s aether and her soul - or something like it - had reached out to those sources of aether closest bound to her. The disturbance the Scions had all felt, she mused as she turned her gaze over the rest of the company, was the touch of her soul on theirs as it sought a new source of aether. But it had only found purchase in Thancred and G’raha Tia - for now, anyway.

“She feeds off of them,” she remarked, studying the pair as they sat together on one of the couches, clearly ill. “Something has disrupted her flow of aether, and in an effort to adjust, her soul looked for new sources - and found them.”

Urianger looked stricken. “But what could possibly hath attacked her through the Blessing of Light?”

Y’shtola was all too afraid she knew, and found it difficult to convince herself to look. Steeling herself, she moved back towards the bed and reached out a hand to touch Kal'istae’s forehead, diving into the Warrior’s prodigious aetherpool and reading it from within. The others watched in silence, faces grim, bodies tense as they waited for the sorceress’s verdict. When the miqo’te surfaced again, it was with tears streaming down her face. “It is as I feared,” she whispered. “Her will to live has reached its nadir.” Shocked silence met her words. “I cannot say for certain what has caused this, although,” she added grimly, turning to glare at Aymeric where he stood, stunned,” I can easily guess, but as I see it, she simply no longer wishes to be.”

[give-grian-rights]

Welcome to the DC fandom! Do you have a favorite comic series yet?

🌟Riven

Even though its been SUPER confusing i am loving the 2006 Blue Beetle comics because of Jaime's family. His mom going "i don't think this was in the manual..." and Jaime asking for permission before patrolling?? I love it.

It was really disorienting being dropped in what felt like the middle of a story, but I'm liking it enough that it's worth it.

I really like most of the art in the 2016 Nightwing comics, too!!

This must just be in the nature of comics, but I don't like how several comic series will tell one arc across several different comics. And of course it makes sense they're doing it, when they're all set in the same universe and are interconnected, but at the same time it..?? it makes for a Weird experience if you're not planning on reading anything outside of one character's comic. But then again thats probably how they make money, so? can't be too mad.

Right now I'm just reading them online, but I heard that a local comic shop underwent some severe damage, so I might show them some support.

I've only ever read uhh one comic book, and that was the 2012 Hawkeye run. Which i had some of the same problems with a story kinda starting in the middle, but too a lesser degree. which AGAIN i understand because . Other readers won't want to be babyfed story pieces they already know, you can only retell the same origin story so many times, etc. etc. It's just weird for someone who's a baby to comic books.

[greenlanterns-light]

twirls hair mr itto whats the biggest and/or coolest beetle uve ever caught and did riven see and what did he think

Well ALL the beetles I catch are the coolest, obviously, BUT the biggest one I’ve ever caught was nearly the size of my fist!!! Riven was so awestruck by my beetle catching skills that he kept on saying “itto that’s just a rock” PSHH, if you ask ME I think he was just jealous

[novelmonger]

14, 18, 27

14. A song that’s sure to hit your nostalgia buttons

Trust me, there's a lot, but I have to pick just one. Well, one that I'm thinking of is the menu music from this game called Nox. It was the first Western RPG I'd ever played, and to me it still carries the very essence of fantasy. It's not a great game - my understanding is that it's a Diablo clone (never played Diablo, so can't say), and it wasn't until I replayed it in college that I realized it even was an RPG because you never have to pay attention to leveling up or anything. But I have so many great memories of running around in that world as a Conjuror with various animal companions trailing along after me. It was those memories I was tapping into when I created my Ranger character Firauan in Pillars of Eternity, because he has a wolf companion and a little dragon pet ^_^ So whenever I hear that mysterious, magical music, my heart wells up with fondness.

18. A game location you really like

I really, really, really like the Riven Age from the second Myst game. I'm not sure exactly what it is about it - the gorgeous deep blue sky? the way you can just feel the sun warming the rocks as you listen to the beetles buzzing around? the lapping of the crystal-clear water against the shore? the cool darkness of the forest? - but from the very first time I played that game, I felt home. And that's not really because it reminded me of anywhere I've actually lived. I just...instantly fell in love with it. Which only makes it more painful, considering what happens in that game....

27. A game you love the atmosphere of

You know, the first one that came to mind was Horizon Zero Dawn. The thing that stood out to me the most about that game was the worldbuilding, and just the way it feels to travel from one end of the map to the other. The sunrises and sunsets are so beautiful, the aurora borealis and the moon are gorgeous, and I loved the way you could really get a sense of whether certain locations would be hot or cold, wet or dry.... There's nothing like jumping on the back of a Strider or a Charger and just galloping through the countryside.

[the-scrappy-stinger]

Riven beetle Riven beetle Riven Beetle RIVEN BEETLE

Golden Scarab (Chrysina resplendens), family Scarabaeidae, found in Central America

photograph by Pascal Goetgheluck

[kettlequills]

A little reunion between Sindor and Laat.

--

It shouldn't have shocked him that after all this time, they flinched when he tried to hold them. Sindor's arms came away empty with palmsfuls of ashes and a hollow ache behind his quick, uncertain smile. Brais - no, not Brais, that was not the name they used now - Laat watched him warily. Confusion in their eyes would have been better, kinder, than the distrust.

"It's good to see you again, Brais," he said, instead, "You look-" like hell. Like they'd been through death and back and only just clawed out half a life. Aged decades in the few years he'd lost them, the hard line of their shoulders and downturned lips tense and cold. "- strong."

Yes. Strong. They were always that. Even if it was now strong the way cold iron was strong, rather than the warm pelt of the protective bear, the banked fire, the loving hand. Somehow the face he knew had been jumbled and reforged and reshaped, but there were traces of familiarity in the pocked flesh between the riven lumps of scars. He looked for each known freckle like a drowning man clutched at floating logs, struggling to anchor himself against the tide of what they had become. Their presence all but buffeted him, the magnitude of it, and their breath resounded in the air like the lungs of a larger creature.

"I'm not what you remember," they told him, bluntly. They didn't use their words, anymore. They signed with crabbed, jerky motions of their hands. Sindor's eyes were caught by their swollen red knuckles, skin perpetually bruised and cracked from chill and poor care, and he almost missed the muttered translation from the witch that watched them. Draped in illusion magic that offended his nose, stung like beetles in his bed, commanded his eye to slide away from the unassuming Breton crone lest he not like what he see. He heard their voice in his mind though, rough and familiar, warmed Cyrodillic vowels stretching the flutes of Altmeris to a throaty contralto. He remembered. He wondered why they would not speak, any more, wondered where they had found the Breton witch whose presence itched at the back of his mind like a secret, like a threat.

"A little uglier," Sindor said. Brais would have laughed. Have teased back.

Laataazin's expression was stone. The twisting scars snarled brambles of shadow over the heaviness of their frown. He wondered how they'd come by them. Wondered if he'd been just a little faster, if they would have been spared this.

"You know who I am," he said. He couldn't bring himself to ask.

Their tongue darted to wet their lips. They didn't need to speak, but it was a nervous tic he recognised. Their silence spoke volumes. On what, Sindor wasn't sure. The stupidity of hope, perhaps.

And then Laat stepped forward and embraced him.

It was stiff. Cold. Like they'd never known how, not just forgotten. Their arms held him in place with rigid finality, as welcoming and soft as tree bark lined with metal shavings. The armour they wore was preternaturally cold, and shivered with enchantment against his chest.

But their head still fit beneath his chin the way he remembered. The lank strands of their hair were tough against his lips when he sought solace there, redolent with some kind of animal fat. He felt the raised edge of a scar continuing into their hairline wander past his lip, but he couldn't bring himself to chase a wound that must have nearly split their skull in two. Instead, he pressed his cheek to their head and held them. The armour enforced a rigid barrier between their bodies; he craved the thumping of their heartbeat, the warmth of their strength. Still, it felt like a homecoming, of a place that hadn't been lived in in years.

It had been a few years to Sindor. A blink, to an elf. Even one whose heart had been so hollow without them.

Laat's arms tightened, then went lax,  all at once. Trying to pull him closer and push him away all at once. Unsure of him, even as their cold gauntleted hands found their place on his back, and their rasping cheek pressed wetness into the front of his silk shirt. The salt of their tears wouldn't wash out properly, would mark the fabric. Sindor didn't dare tell them to stop.

He had no idea, after all, how long it had been for them.

[libidomechanica]

Is Care

O, the graveyard upon thy Lust; talked  at Forms and world on the take  soft compare riven. While makes wins. These 

made eye, ther glance, and the to  wastful face! But treat. S in in  thers fears the Prince they grain the  more us do lightgown runnings send the  meet, no mob me wine pity for 

silver, not deemd threat like threaded, 

and price by yoult happierce cold may spoil. Villars  were grey “we” he beams… the Peers, 

bloody symbols draw me, did you—pooresh  be beetle and on a Flatter  though for despised his Voice is 

left babies dance, thou pleasinging the  fallen: scattend, “Ay so, on this  to though Walebones her 

you the just as my bonier  fair that in the more I to 

evry Pallas: Hebe stare! with  the treet: Drove death his poures  of thou stars fear! Which her one, 

when possible countermine hing.”

[artmolonara]

HEY EVERYONE! I’ve entered into Cyanworlds’ Riven Cake contest on Twitter. Here are the cakes I’ve made.

This golden beetle viewer is a chocolate fudge cake with chocolate ganache covering with fontant for details. The shell is white chocolate painted gold with edible paint and the wings are isomalt.

This one I did with the leftover cake pieces. Its a Whark statue with choco-fudge cake, white chocolate ganache, and chocolate fondant as the main covering, with plain fondant and edible paint for details.

Here are the references from in game I used. If you’ve never played Riven, I cannot recommend it higher. It was the first videogame I ever played and it still holds up today.

If you like these cakes, go check out all the other entries people have done under the #CyanCake2 on Twitter.

Also voting is now underway for the winner, I’ll provide a link to their voting page. Please select your favorite entry!

EDIT: I WON FIRST PLACE!!!

Thank you all who cast your vote, this was a fun experience!

[paradoxcase]

So I’ve been watching some YouTube videos of a guy doing a blind playthrough of Riven, and I’m starting to understand why some people claim that the game is extremely hard.  It was initially a huge surprise to me to go online and find out that everyone thought that this game was just ridiculously hard.  I’ve always wondered if I didn’t find it hard because I was just super amazingly smart or something, and I was always afraid to say I didn’t find it hard because I worried that people would think I was bragging.  But now I think the mystery is finally coming clear to me.

So, I am five hours and 20 minutes into the Let’s Play and so far, the puzzles he has solved:

The rotating room.  At the beginning of the game, he saw that it rotated, and realized that the cave entrance was one rotation away from the main entrance and was like, “ok, I see how this works but I don’t want to solve it right now” and then went off and did some other stuff.  Later, he came back and solved it very quickly, correctly interpreting what all of the various levers did.  A+

The boiler.  He did basically what I did and accidentally got it into a state where he could enter the boiler before really understanding what all the controls did, but later came back and systematically figured out what they all did and what the inside of the boiler looked like in all its various states.  A+

Closing the doors on Boiler Island.  It took a few trips back and forth through that area, messing around with the Ytram trap and wondering about the significance of the fan before he thought to try closing the doors.  But honestly, I think he did it in a pretty good amount of time.  A+

So, he’s had what I consider to be no trouble at all with the actual puzzles, so far, and the next video is titled “IMMENSE PROGRESS” so I’m guessing this success rate only improves from here.  So why does he talk constantly about how the game is hard?  These are the reasons I can pinpoint:

He often misses details of locations.  For example, he seemingly didn’t see the lever on the telescope for a very long time, he didn’t see the path to the fourth eye, he walked right past the lever on the doorway into the golden dome several times.  This hasn’t actually hindered his progress at all - none of those things are things that you need to even know about in order to advance the game in these early stages.  But it’s clear to me that coming back to a location that he’s been to many times and discovering something that he’s completely missing up until now makes him think that the game is hard.  For whatever reason, I had no trouble spotting these things and discovered them on my first pass through those locations, so I think I saw my discovery of them in a completely different light.  For example, I discovered you could go under the locked gate at the beginning of the game by stooping down to look at the moiety dagger on the ground, like I think everyone does, and so did he.  I remember thinking, aha, what a great way to provide a clue that you can go under the gate!  Whereas, he, after discovering, and then after haphazardly discovering new things in old locations at seemingly random times, complains aloud that “everything I discover is by accident, like for example, when I discovered you could go under the gate...”

He doesn’t experiment enough.  His instinct when he discovers a new lever, and flipping it around doesn’t seem to cause anything really interesting to happen is, oh, I should put this back in its original position and come back to it when I know what it does.  But the correct response is to try flipping it to a different position, and then go wander around and see what has changed.  There is no manual you can find the game that tells you what all the levers do.  This has actively prevented him from figuring out how to access the other submarine stops. I think this is maybe just unfamiliarity with the genre?

He seemed to get stuck on a few places where he seemed to be expecting that there was something more to see there - so far this has been mainly with that house in the village where if you knock enough times a person opens the window briefly, and with the sunners.  The fact that these are both video segments makes me wonder if more modern games have made people expect more things from video segments like this?  He watched the sunners make their noise over and over again without realizing that the noise was the only thing there was to learn there.  And he got audibly more frustrated when these two areas failed to provide anything further.  Something that I admittedly don’t understand at all was that in between listening to the sunners, he discovered the fourth eye, and then immediately went back down to listen to the sunners again, but never realized that they were making the same sound that the eye made.  Maybe it’s because he hasn’t seemingly been trying to describe the sounds made by the eyes, although he has realized that the second eye makes the same sound as the beetle.  For the other eyes, though, he’s just been saying “...I don’t really know how to describe that sound”.  I can imagine that if you don’t have a great memory for sounds it would definitely make the eye less obvious.

So, it seems like ultimately the difference between “this game was really hard” and “this game was actually pretty easy” is not that great, and it seems to depend mostly on your familiarity with the genre?  Anyway, I am interested in watching the rest of the videos to see how he does later.

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[ainyan]

I always feel so awkward putting long stories on here, but someone asked for it. Here is a longer excerpt from my fic Nadir, which explores some of the struggles Kal'istae has undergone in reconciling what happened and what she learned on the First with her role on the Source. Although not part of my main canon, the themes and feelings that it explores are very true to Kal'istae's sense of self and may be explored further in my main AU.

Under the cut for [extreme] length (no smut included):

You are my pillar of strength.

Words spoken so long ago by Minfilia. She who had been the Scions’ strength had turned to the Warrior of Light to be the rock upon which she could lean when she found her own will sorely tested. And so Kal’istae had become that pillar, unfaltering, unflagging, even in the face of absolute despair.

And when the Scions were riven of their own pillar, she stepped in to fill the gap. So while the world around her crumbled, she held fast, held firm, and her companions drew upon her strength and persevered.

Never counting the cost to her.

But all costs must be paid. All bills must come due.

And the one to pay is often the one who can least afford it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thancred stared at the book before him, but the words refused to resolve into anything remotely understandable. The letters swam off the page, twisting and spinning until he slammed the tome shut with a soft growl, reaching up to rub at his eyes. Urianger started, blinking, and stared at the gunbreaker. “Art thou aright, my friend?” he asked softly, brow beetling as he studied the hyur’s pinched expression.

“I think I’m just tired,” Thancred admitted, swiping his hand over his eyes before pushing himself upright. His spine cracked as he straightened and he grimaced. “Not one word.”

The elezen gave a faint smile. “Given how long thou hast been in that position, ‘tis clear such exclamations are due to poor posture, and not thy advanced age.” At Thancred’s dour glare, his smile deepened. “Perhaps thou shouldst take a stroll, or engage in some exercise.”

The gunbreaker rubbed at the back of his neck. “Maybe,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Something - no,” he said, his hand falling to his side. “Something isn’t right. Something is very wrong. Urianger.”

The elezen’s smile dropped away as he rose slowly to his feet. “Aye. I feel it, too.”

The door to the Respite slammed open, and Alisaie and Y’shtola came running out. “Something is happening,” the sorceress declared, while the red mage didn’t even bother with words, her sword drawn, her focus balanced above her palm.

From the Solar came the sound of pounding feet and clanking mail, then Alphinaud and Estinien came running in, followed by a grim-faced G’raha Tia. As the senior Scions gathered in the common room, many of the more junior members looked on, puzzled and not a little alarmed. Ignoring them, Thancred reached out to draw his gunblade off the wall, sliding it onto his back. “Do we have any idea what is going on?”

G’raha Tia grimaced. “Nothing clear; just a sense of wrongness, of something dire occurring. We all feel it then?” He glanced around the circle, his eyes brushing over the faces of his fellow scions. “Wait.”

“Where’s Kali?” Thancred asked at the same moment, his voice sharp, almost cracking as he turned towards the Respite.

Alisaie shook her head. “Not here. She hasn’t been here in some time,” she added, her tone accusatory as she glared at the gunbreaker. “Doesn’t anyone ever notice how rarely she comes home any more?”

The gunbreaker’s gloves creaked as his hands fisted, and the look her turned on the red mage was pure irritation. “As a matter of fact,” he replied evenly, “I do.”

“As do I,” G’raha Tia murmured, stroking a hand down his staff as he frowned at the floor. “I presume she is busy cleaning up after Zenos and Fandaniel, as is ever the case these days. Wearing herself to nothing…” He trailed off, biting his lip.

Alisaie and Thancred exchanged a long look, and the gunbreaker relaxed his hands. “It can’t be helped. Once we know what is going on, we can call her through the linkpearl. Y’shtola,” he added, turning towards the miqo’te, “is there a spell you can - ugh!”

The sorceress exclaimed in alarm as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. G’raha Tia groaned and fell to his knees, one hand raised to his forehead. The other Scions stared in shock at the pair.

Alphinaud’s linkpearl sounded. He lifted a trembling hand to his ear. “Tell me,” he said softly. He listened, his breath rasping in his throat, and finally his hand fell away, dark blue eyes gazing into nothing. At his side, his sister finally sheathed her sword, reaching out to grab his arm and shake it.

“Well?” she demanded. “What is it?”

Estinien knelt next to G’raha Tia, drawing off one of his gauntlets to touch the miqo’te’s forehead. “He’s burning up,” he said softly, puzzled.

Urianger reached out to brush his finger over Thancred’s face. “He is too. Alphinaud. What didst they say?”

The summoner blinked, staring blankly at the floor. Finally, he shook his head, sense returning to his face. “I - that was Ser Aymeric. It’s… It’s Kal’istae. She… she collapsed while visiting Ishgard. They can’t wake her.” He looked up, his face white. “He thinks she may be dying.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They tried to leave Thancred and G’raha Tia behind, but neither gunbreaker nor mage were having it; under dire threats of coming on their own despite their fevers, the other Scions reluctantly allowed them to come along. Leaving the juniors and Tataru to watch over the Rising Stones, the Archons and Estinien took the Aethernet to Ishgard.

Lucia, Aymeric’s second in command, met them at the Aetheryte plaza. “This way,” she said without preamble, frowning at the sight of Thancred leaning on Estinien and G’raha Tia on Alphinaud. “What is wrong with them?”

Urianger shook his head, casting a concerned glance back at his friends. “We know not, my lady,” he replied somberly. “They were afflicted by fevers at the same time as we learned of the fate of the Warrior of Light. But they would not be denied, and so we found we must needs bring them along, or risk them attempting the journey on their own.”

The knight huffed. “I will say, she inspires the greatest devotion,” came the dry response. “Very well; we’ll be heading to the Lord Commander’s estate - his healers can look after your two as well as they can the Champion. Come along, then.”

She led them through the streets, ignoring the stares and murmurs as the citizens of Ishgard looked upon the Commander’s second and her odd parade. Estinien grumbled under his breath - but never released Thancred, even when Urianger offered to bear his friend’s weight in the dragoon’s stead. Alphinaud and Alisaie supported the once-Exarch without complaint, their expressions grim.

At Aymeric’s manor, his manservant ushered them in, calling for his lord and one of the chirurgeons currently tending the Warrior of Light. The healer came first, reaching out to touch first Thancred’s forehead, then G’raha Tia’s, his face grim. On his heels came Aymeric, still wearing his formal uniform and an expression of barely contained distress. “My friends,” the Lord Commander began, “I apologize for pulling you from your vital research…”

“Do not be foolish,” Y’shtola replied shortly. “Where is she?”

Taken aback, Aymeric stared at the miqo’te for a moment, then turned without a word, leading them through the manor towards the lavish chamber in which he had installed the Warrior of Light. Against the protest of the chirurgeon, Thancred and G’raha Tia followed the rest, ignoring his importunings to sit down and let him tend to them.

As they entered the room, Y’shtola held up a hand, and the rest of the Scions paused, leaving her to step alone to the side of the bed upon which the Warrior of Light lay. In silence, the sorceress gazed down at the woman who was more sister than friend, hiding her shock behind an expressionless mask.

The Au Ra was still; never before had they seen her so motionless. Her small, slim body was dwarfed by the massive bed, her indigo skin so pale as to be nearly translucent. Against the rich blue and silver bedding, she looked like a ghost, and Y’shtola barely suppressed a shiver. She studied the Warrior’s aetheric flow, lips pursed, then stepped back, turning her gaze to Thancred and G’raha Tia.

It was as she thought. Something disrupted the Warrior’s aether and her soul - or something like it - had reached out to those sources of aether closest bound to her. The disturbance the Scions had all felt, she mused as she turned her gaze over the rest of the company, was the touch of her soul on theirs as it sought a new source of aether. But it had only found purchase in Thancred and G’raha Tia - for now, anyway.

“She feeds off of them,” she remarked, studying the pair as they sat together on one of the couches, clearly ill. “Something has disrupted her flow of aether, and in an effort to adjust, her soul looked for new sources - and found them.”

Urianger looked stricken. “But what could possibly hath attacked her through the Blessing of Light?”

Y’shtola was all too afraid she knew, and found it difficult to convince herself to look. Steeling herself, she moved back towards the bed and reached out a hand to touch Kal'istae’s forehead, diving into the Warrior’s prodigious aetherpool and reading it from within. The others watched in silence, faces grim, bodies tense as they waited for the sorceress’s verdict.

When the miqo’te surfaced again, it was with tears streaming down her face. “It is as I feared,” she whispered. “Her will to live has reached its nadir.” Shocked silence met her words. “I cannot say for certain what has caused this, although,” she added grimly, turning to glare at Aymeric where he stood, stunned,” I can easily guess, but as I see it, she simply no longer wishes to be.”

Urianger crept forward. “And yet thou sayst her soul doth reach out for that which will give her impetus to do so?”

The sorceress nodded - then paused. “Her soul, or something very like,” she admitted, and the astrologian sucked in a breath. “I cannot tell if it is her own soul refusing to give up, or him refusing to let her. Either way, the result is that it latched on to two other souls closely joined to hers, and now feeds off of them.”

“Should we stop it?” Estinien asked clinically.

“No!” The twinned outburst came from both Thancred and G’raha Tia, and both gunbreaker and mage glared daggers at the dragoon, who held up his hands placatingly. “Let her feed,” Thancred hissed, “if this is what it takes.”

G’raha Tia closed his eyes. “After everything I stole from her, if I can give back even a small part to revitalize a spirit dying due in large part to my actions, then let her take what all she needs, regardless of the cost.”

Alisaie watched them, then turned away, fists clenching. ”There must be something we can do.” Abruptly, she whirled around and flung up a hand. “Angelo!” Her familiar burst into the room in a pop, the plump porxie squealing curiously as it circled above her head. “Stay with them,” she ordered, setting him to hover above Thancred and G’raha Tia. “Feed them all they need.”

Y’shtola nodded approvingly. “An excellent idea, Alisaie. For the rest of us, I suggest we repair to a different chamber, lest our dire thoughts infect her further.” She eyed the two men sitting upon the couch. “They need for a bed,” she mused. “Or - hells, just put them in with her. The closer they are, perhaps the easier it will be on all of them.”

Aymeric looked shocked. “Lady Y’shtola, you cannot be serious.”

The miqo’te fixed him with a gimlet stare. “Surely you are not suggesting that either Thancred or G’raha Tia would engage in any impropriety,” she retorted impatiently. “Bringing them closer together may ease the strain on all of them, and - well, we’ll discuss this more elsewhere. Estinien, Urianger.”

Together, the two elezen helped first the gunbreaker, then the mage to the bed. The two crawled in on either side of the comatose Au Ra, tugging the blankets awry until they were able to settle in with some comfort. Of one mind, each man reached out, clasping a hand around one of Kal’istae’s. Across her slim body, citrine eyes met allagan red, then each allowed himself to slide into a light doze, fingers lightly twined with hers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As they repaired to a chamber across the manor, Aymeric sent a runner out into the city. “There is another who needs to be here,” he said in response to Alphinaud’s questioning look. “I should have called him in when first she collapsed, but - I admit, I panicked a little.”

Estinien studied his old friend. “What were you doing when she collapsed? For that matter,” he added wryly, “what was she doing here in the first place?”

The Temple Commander sighed, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “We were attempting to make up, once again, for the dinner that keeps getting interrupted. Everything was going well. We might actually have gotten to the wine this time. She seemed in such good spirits - perhaps too good,” he frowned. “Looking back, there was something almost manic about her cheer.”

Y’shtola sighed. “She tries so hard to put on a good face; we should never have let it get this far. We knew better. We all knew better. But she tried so hard, and we let her, because it was easier on us than addressing the issue.” She snarled. “After all, she is the Warrior of Light. There is no enemy she cannot best. Except,” she added, her voice breaking, “herself.”

They stepped into the room; a dining room, the one in which the ill-fated dinner had been occurring, from the looks. Alisaie gazed over the table, studying the half-filled plates, the shattered wine glass, the spill of ruby liquid across the table. “This is where she fell,” she murmured, raising her fingers to her throat. “I can only thank the Twelve that she was with you, Lord Aymeric.”

The knight looked startled as he stepped up to the table, reaching out to take up his own untouched wineglass. “Why do you say that, Mistress Alisaie?”

She turned dark blue eyes on him. “Because better here, in the presence of a true friend, than on the battlefield. Better with one known to possess a cool head and near infinite resources for recourse than with one who might panic at the collapse of the Warrior of Light and leave her lay, untended.”

He closed his eyes, withdrawing his hand before he could take up his wine. “I might have indulged in a moment of panic,” he admitted. “To see her - the savior of Eorzea - collapse before my eyes; I wonder,” he murmured, turning his gaze towards Estinien,  “if this is how you must have felt to watch her fall before Zenos.”

The dragoon looked uncomfortable. “It might have given me a bad moment,” he admitted, turning his gaze from the others. Despite the gravity of the situation, Y’shtola could not help but smile, just slightly, at his discomfort.

Then she sighed, and moved to settle into a chair. “Will your friend be long?” she asked Aymeric. “I do not wish to speak of certain things any more often than I must.”

The twins moved to take their own chairs, while Urianger moved to study the books set on a shelf. Estinien leaned against the wall and looked disgruntled. Aymeric sighed and stood behind his chair, lean fingers curled over its back. “Not long. In fact,” he added, hearing a commotion outside, “I imagine he is here now.” 

The door to the room opened and an older elezen stepped in, cane in hand and distress on his time-worn features. “Ser Aymeric, what is this about the Champion being ill?”

Y’shtola rose slowly. “Count Edmont,” she greeted, and he turned to stare at her, then turned in a slow circle, taking note of all of the Scions. “I should have realized it was you for whom Ser Aymeric called.”

The count turned back to the miqo’te. “Kal'istae is as a daughter to me,” he said with painful dignity. “She is my ward, she is a champion of my house, and she might have been… well,” he sighed. “No matter. If aught is amiss with her, then yes, I should like to know and offer what aid I can in rectifying the issue.” He sank into a chair, holding his cane before him, and gave the miqo’te his full attention.

Y’shtola sighed. “What I say here, I ask remain in strictest confidence. Some of what I am about to reveal could cause irreparable chaos among the people were it to get out, through no fault of their own. The implications of some of what we have seen, done, and learned are too great for many to understand without the time and study to which we, the Archons, have devoted to understanding it.”

Aymeric sank into his chair. “We are honored that you would entrust us with this knowledge,” he said slowly, “and that you feel us capable of understanding it.”

Urianger and Y’shtola exchanged a glance. “We see no choice,” she sighed. “Not if we are to save Kal'istae’s life and sanity.”

Count Edmond glanced around at all the Scions. “I notice some of your number are missing,” he frowned. “The white-haired lad, for one.”

Y’shtola’s tail flicked and she played with one of the feathers on her skirt. “That is part of what we will discuss. For now, let me give you a brief synopsis of what we have learned of our dearest friend, her origins, and her place within this world.” Quietly, succinctly, she began to outline everything they had learned on the First - from the Convocation of Fourteen to the role of Azem. Too, she explained Kal'istae’s connections with the Ascians, with Ardbert, the Warrior of Darkness, with the ancient Paragons, especially Emet-Selch.

Aymeric and Edmont listened with grave expressions, and Estinien straightened, much of this being new to him as well. “I can see,” Aymeric murmured as Y’shtola wound down, “why you would not want this getting out. Few would understand the distinctions between what the Warrior of Light has become and what the Ascians have become. They would fear her as they do them.”

“And their fear would destroy her as surely as the veneration has,” Alphinaud said softly. As they looked at him, he gazed at the table, one fist clenched upon its surface. “It is not only her origins that prey on her mind; Kal'istae also fears being forgotten.”

Edmont stared at him. “Who could ever forget the Warrior of Light?” And in the next instant, he winced. “Ah. Of course. My poor girl,” he sighed.

Alisaie leapt to her feet and began to pace. “While it’s true that Grandfather’s spell was the reason she was forgotten, it does not change the fact that she still remembers what it felt like to be looked on as a stranger; to be a stranger in her own mind. She still cannot remember aught of her origins, of her past - family, friends, loved ones. And then Emet-Selch charged her with taking up his mantle when she slew him,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “And the burden deepened.”

“‘Remember us. Remember that we once lived.’” Urianger’s words echoed in the quiet room. “And, of course, our dearest comrade wilt do none else but heed his mandate; memory has ever been her obsession, and she would not fain to ignore so heartfelt a plea, even from an enemy. Certainly,” he added, “not from an enemy who may have once been like a brother to her.”

Aymeric frowned, reaching out to rub at a whorl on the table’s surface. “I understand how this revelation that her power and the Ascians’ originate from the same place might cause some strain within her heart,” he said slowly, “but surely the Warrior of Light is capable of looking beyond the surface to understand that the origin does not matter, only the effect to which one puts their power.”

“Of course,” Y’shtola agreed. “Although, when one has spent one’s defining years fighting against an enemy, only to find out that one is of the same stock as that enemy, it is bound to make one question one’s sense of self. Still, you are correct. Were it simply a case of being Azem alone, she would move beyond it. After all, Azem herself stood away from the summoning of Zodiark and worked to shield the lesser races of the world from the Calamity that spurred His summoning.” She smiled despite herself. “The spirit of the Wanderer, Shepherd to the Stars burns bright within her latest reincarnation.”

Alphinaud sighed. “Alas, while that alone might not be enough to cause her to question her own worth, what else happened upon the First certainly was.” He gazed out of the window, towards the sunlight streaming down upon the snow-covered walkways outside the manor. “Imagine, if you might, being the Champion of Light, chosen of Mother Hydaelyn, receiving of not only her Blessing, not only one Crystal of Light, but six of them - unheard of in all lore and legend.”

“Imagine if, in addition to the Blessing of Light, you also carry the grace of Midgardsormr, Wyrmking, Father of all Dragons, at the behest of the Mothercrystal,” Alisaie added as her brother trailed off. “You are, for all intents and purposes, the Light incarnate, Avatar and Beloved of Hydaelyn Herself. Now imagine,” she added, her voice softening, “if you traveled to a world where the Light was a scourge, destroying it and its people ilm by ilm.”

“Imagine,” Y’shtola breathed, “if you were tasked with destroying the bearers of this soul-searing Light, and that you were the only one that could, because you were told that if they were shriven by any normal man, their light would simply infest him and he would take their place. But you, with the Blessing of Light so strong upon your soul, you could absorb the Light, cleanse the Light, and purify it. Because you are, after all, the Warrior of Light.”

“Imagine, if thou wouldst,” Urianger murmured, his voice strained, “if one thou trusted beyond reproach came to thee with tale of a vision, of grand calamity to befall thee and thine and all thou holdst dear shouldst thou not listen unto a strange, becowled man who urgeth thee to step forth and vanquish these Lightwardens, to take upon thyself this Light and cleanse it. And thou didst so, because thou trusted this man implicitly. Only to discover,” he sighed, “that t’was no vision, but the future in truth, lived by the becowled man who didst travel ‘cross time and space to avert a future in which all fell because she whom he most loved died an untimely death, and in her death came Calamity unchecked.”

Aymeric sucked in a breath, and Edmont looked pained - Y’shtola was pleased there was no need to spell out the obvious for either man. “Indeed,” she sighed, “and imagine if you discovered that you were not, in truth, cleansing the Light, but storing it, a vessel for corrupted aether that was, by ilms, destroying you. That even your soul, great as it was, could not survive beneath the burden of so much despoiled magic. And with every Warden you slew, every surge of Light you absorbed, the cracks that crazed your soul grew deeper, more numerous.”

“And then imagine,” Alisaie muttered, “if the man who had arranged all of this - this stranger in the hooded robe for whom you felt so strong a connection, whom seemed to adore you and whom you grew to adore in return, revealed that his intention had not been for you to cleanse the Light, but to simply gather it until he could take it from you, take it and, in his words, use it to travel away from this Light-cursed world that he’d served for more than a century. That he claimed his sole purpose was to use the Light to fuel a teleportation spell that would allow him to take his Crystal Tower and travel between the stars.”

Alphinaud’s eyes were haunted. “And imagine if you discovered that this becowled man you had come to love was none other than the same man you’d watched consign himself to a sleeping oblivion in the depths of the Crystal Tower here on the Source, awoken by the descendants of those whom you held dear because the only thing preserving even a shred of order on a world benighted by barbarism was the legend of the Warrior of Light. Your legend. And here he was, returned to you - and now, you discovered, he had used you. But not,” he added softly, “to further his own aims as he so cavalierly claimed.”

“Imagine if a friend, a loved one, a cherished companion gazed into your eyes,” Y’shtola murmured, “as you felt your soul crack and shatter beneath the weight of corrupted Light, and you knew that all he told you was a polite fiction - one last lie to keep you from trying to stop him. Because what he in truth intended was to siphon the Light from your soul and cast it - and himself - into the void between worlds. Where he would die, and the Light with him. Another sacrifice in your name.”

Count Edmont made a wounded noise, reaching up to clutch at his chest. When they paused, gazing at him in alarm, he waved them on. “No, it is nothing. Just… memory.” Alphnaud closed his eyes, pressing his hands to his forehead.

Estinien bowed his head. “Just so. Too often has she seen those whom she has come to care for sacrifice themselves to protect her. It was only a matter of time before the pain of it grew overwhelming.”

Y’shtola sighed. “Yes. But even then, that is not the end - for it was her ancient enemy, her ancient friend Emet-Selch who dealt the final blow. He interrupted the Exarch’s ritual and spirited him away, leaving her in full possession of too much light and a soul slowly turning to ash. She was, by ilms, becoming that which she most hated, a monstrosity, a Lightwarden to dwarf all Lightwardens. Had she succumbed to the siren call of the Light in her soul, she would have been as a queen among sin eaters, potentially a rival for Hydaelyn and Zodiark in power. A primal.”

“The Light she held so overwhelmed her that it once more stole the night from the world. She who had been the savior of the people was now its scourge, responsible for driving away the stars they so loved once again. Men and women who had lingered for a century in unending light, who had, so briefly, experienced the glory of night, once more begged her to find the cause and bring back the night sky.” Alisaie clenched her teeth. “And she could not - not unless she chose to cast herself into the void in the Exarch’s stead.”

Y’shtola pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have no doubt she contemplated it then, even as she contemplates it now. And end to everyone’s troubles - the last Warrior of Light. A title,” she sighed, “synonymous with Ascian on the First.”

Aymeric straightened. “Say it is not so.”

Urianger spread his hands. “‘Twas the original Warriors of Light - Ardbert and his ilk - who ushered in the Light when, unknowingly at the behest of the Ascians, they slew the Shadowwarden that maintained the balance between Light and Dark upon the First. In that act, they condemned their star to a Calamity that would have - should have - shriven it from the universe and caused the Eighth Umbral Calamity upon the Source. ‘Twas only through the sacrifice of Minfilia as the Oracle of Light that Norvrandt was saved, and the Calamity forestalled - but not averted,” he added, “until the Warrior of Darkness did step foot upon that belighted world, to fulfill her fate.”

“And ilm by ilm, her soul broke,” Y’shtola whispered, and everyone leaned forward to hear her words, “until at the last moment, another sacrifice. This time, like as to herself - her own soul’s reflection upon the First. Ardbert. Warrior of Light. He gave the last of his soul to mend hers, that she might face Emet-Selch in his own domain, and take of him his life. In doing so, she used the very Light that was destroying her, forming the Blade of Light as taught by Hydaelyn to destroy Ascian souls. Thus did she save herself, save the First - and take on another burden. To remember.”

Aymeric and Edmont gazed at each other in dismay. “My poor daughter,” the count whispered. “What have we done to you?”

Urianger sighed. “A fair question, for tis not only events on the First that have strained her past breaking, but events here upon Hydaelyn as well. Though Ishgard,” and he nodded to Aymeric, “as well as Doma doth revere and love her, Eorzea is wont to treat her as an errand girl, a tool for their abusing whenever they so wish it. And she, with her great heart and greater love for the people, cannot help but accede even as her mind and body and heart cry out for rest and relief.”

“And thus,” Alphinaud concluded, “what we see now. A heart, a mind, a body, a soul so overtaxed, so overused, that it has simply lost the will to be. That it would rather cease to exist than to continue this nigh-constant abuse at the hands of those who should most wish it preserved.”

Aymeric drew in a long, deep breath. “So now she waits for death, seeks it, because it is the only way she will find the rest so desperately craves. Why, then, does she feed off of your two friends?” Edmont stirred, frowning in confusion.

Y’shtola spread her hands. “It may be her body and mind are ready to give up, but her soul - the soul of the Shepherd - is not. It may be Ardbert,” she added, “seeking to once more save his soul-sister.” She let out a sharp laugh. “For all I know, it may be G’raha Tia and Thancred themselves, reacting instinctively to save her at whatever cost to themselves. They would,” she added, almost bitterly.

The Temple Commander frowned. “You disapprove of their willingness to sacrifice for her?”

The miqo’te’s diamond eyes glinted with unshed tears. “No. But think. She still mourns Lord Haurchefant,” and she nodded to the Count, “to this day. She blames herself for Minfilia’s loss. For Papalymo’s and Moenbryda’s. Even for Ardbert’s, though he was already a century dead before they ever met. And of them, only Haurchefant was more than a friend. But, and forgive me, my lord,” she added to Haurchefant’s father, “what she felt for him was but a shadow of what she feels for them. Should she lose even one of them, much less both - even should she survive this, we would lose her.”

“What can we do?” Aymeric asked in hushed tones.

But no one had an answer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Half-dozing, Thancred lay next to Kal'istae, his fingers tangled with hers. He gazed at her across the ilms separating them, watched the rise and fall of her chest - so slow, barely breathing. “Kal'istae,” he whispered; did he imagine her breath quickening? “Kal'istae,” he said again.

No, he had not.

On the other side, G’raha Tia mirrored his pose. “Kal'istae,” whispered the Exarch - and again, a single intake of breath. “She knows we’re here.”

Across her slim body, citrine eyes and scarlet met and held. “She does,” Thancred whispered. “She wants us to save her.” He had to believe it.

G’raha Tia exhaled. “What can we do?”

Thancred closed his eyes. “Give her what she wants. As much as she needs. What we should have been doing,” he whispered, “had we not been so damned stubborn.”

“‘Twas you she ever wanted,” the Exarch murmured, his eyes fixed on Kal'istae’s slack features. “Her adoration of you knew no limits.” He gave a sharp, derisive laugh. “How you resisted her all these years, I’ll never know. What would I have given to have her look at me with even a fraction of what she graced upon you.”

Thancred closed his eyes, his expression tight. “She deserves so much better than I could ever give her, G’raha Tia,” he murmured, even as he drew her slim hand up to his mouth. “You ask how I resisted her? By knowing my place; that I will never, ever be worthy enough to stand in her shadow, much less her side.” At the miqo’te’s silence, he barked out a sharp laugh. “And I see you do not disagree.”

“I am quite biased,” the Exarch retorted, “as I love her much as you do,” he paused, waiting impatiently for Thancred’s protest to die aborning, “and feel much the same - that neither of us will ever be worthy of her. But that is neither here nor there; that she loves you despite your many, many flaws should count for far more than your lack of self-esteem.”

The gunbreaker kept his eyes closed, his lips brushing lightly against Kal'istae’s fingers. “She loves you too, my friend,” he finally murmured. “That much was obvious upon the First, and even now on the Source, she gravitates towards you whenever you are near. I do not think it would take much on my part to nudge her in your direction.”

G’raha Tia drew the hand up that he held, tucking it beneath his head, against his cheek as he, too, closed his eyes. “Will you lie to me and tell me that is what you wish?” At Thancred’s silence, he smiled, bittersweet. “Do me no favors, my friend. I would have her happy, not settled.” He was quiet for a moment. “When did you first meet her?”

After a moment, Thancred began to talk.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“She’s what?” Thancred gaped at Papashan. “And you sent an adventurer to look for her?”

The lalafell regarded the Scion impatiently. “What would you have me do? Set the Sultansworn to overturning every rock and bush in Thanalan? How better to announce to all and sundry that we’ve lost something important?”

The rogue gritted his teeth and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What did this adventurer look like?” he asked. When Papashan gave him the description, he committed it to memory, then nodded shortly. “I’ll bring her back.”

As he turned and stalked off, the stationmaster could hear his gargled, “An adventurer!” and shook his head over the hyur’s indignation. As much as the young man got on his nerves, however, even the once-commander of the Sultansworn couldn’t deny that having the Scion in Ul’dah had been more help than hindrance.

Most of the time.

Shoving Papashan out of his mind, Thancred slipped through the scant shadows afforded by the scrub and twisted trees of Thanalan, heading unerringly for the first place one should ever look for the missing Sultana. As he neared the great tree that spread its boughs across the barren sands, he could see a small, slim figure near the shallow crevasse that led up to the trunk of the tree.

Approaching in stealth, he eyed the adventurer. It was as Papashan had said - one of the rare Au Ra - a Xaela, if he remembered right, dark of scale and skin, small and slim and - to his surprise - quite lovely. He’d not gotten that from the lalafell’s terse description.

As he approached, he allowed his step to deliberately stir the sand, creating a soft whispering that carried across the dusty plain. As expected, the tiny Sultana whirled in place, glaring past the adventurer who had just happened upon her. “Show yourself!”

Thancred smiled briefly at the Au Ra’s surprised look, but stepped past her, kneeling before Nanamo. “As you command, O Lilira.” As she glared at him, he grinned, unrepentant. “Forgive my selfish desire to assure your welfare.”

He could see the exasperated affection beneath the ire. “I don't recall requesting an escort! Simply pretend we never met and continue on your way.”

His smile dropped away. “We both know I can do no such thing. It isn't safe for you here alone. It isn't safe for anyone - not with this aetheric disturbance... It's as though the dead are watching us…” Shivering, he rose to his feet. “And I'd prefer not to join them, if it's all the same to you.”

She sniffed at him, but he turned instead to the Au Ra, who was watching him with frank interest. “Ah, you must be the one that Papashan mentioned. Congratulations on finding our elusive young charge. You'll have to forgive Her Impetuousness. What she lacks in discipline, she makes up for in stubbornness.”

When she laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand, he stared at her, swamped by a sudden sense of deja vu. Taking a step forward, he gazed into those lavender-rimmed eyes. “How peculiar... I could swear we've met, but haven't the faintest recollection as to where or when.” At her confused look, he shook his head. “Must be the damned heat playing tricks on me. I'd best retire before I start having visions. And you should return with us. The stationmaster will be eager to thank Lady Lilira's protector in person.”

She opened her mouth to respond - but was cut off by a shrill shriek. Above winged a dark, twisted figure - a voidsent, Thancred immediately identified. “Alas, the stationmaster will have to wait,” he growled, raising a hand to bar the creature’s path to the Sultana. “Dear Lilira, for my sake, please stay out of harm's way!”

As the lalafellan maiden scurried behind him, ducking amidst the roots of the Sultantree, the Au Ra immediately reacted, drawing her sword and setting her buckler against her arm, angling to place herself between the voidsent and her companions. He briefly approved of her stance and initiative and drew his own dagger, holding it before him. “As for you, dear friend - for Lilira's sake - please stay in harm's way!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“What about you?”

Turnabout was fair play, G’raha Tia supposed - and he hadn’t missed the way Kal'istae’s breathing had strengthened as Thancred had shared his short reminiscence. Well, then, if talking - if remembering - helped, then he would talk all night.

He would remember all night.

“I first saw her when she was hunting the aethersands needed to open the way to the Crystal Tower…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had taken time and doing, but he’d managed to finesse Rammbroes into sending the adventurer - the hero - after the last two bags of aethersands. He already knew, of course, that there were none to be found for purchase. Such materials were highly valuable and extremely rare - and few were those who knew where to find them.

He was one such.

Hearing Rammbroes tell the Warrior where the water-aspected aethersands could be found, he stole away before the Warrior could leave, casting his Teleport spell to bring him to the South Shroud, where the ore he needed could be found near Urth’s Gift. While she chased her tail with Parsemontret, he set about divesting the ore of its porcine protector, feathering the giant hog with arrows from his perch in the trees.

Once the boar had fallen, he slipped down, snagging the ore and scampered back into the trees just before the Warrior of Light arrived, her mount’s hooves clattering against the stone as she steered it through the undergrowth towards the area where the ore had once been guarded by the now dead boar.

He watched as she halted her mount, dismounting and rubbing its nose as she studied the boar thoughtfully. From her garb, he mused, she had chosen to ply her skills as a rogue this day - or, what was it they called it in the Far East? Shinobi? He knew she had trained with some Domans who had come to Eorzea seeking a criminal.

There was little about her he did not know. The Allagan Empire was not his only obsession. He who had longed to be a hero as a child had neither the ability nor the strength to realize his dream. But here before him stood a true-to-life hero, one who had accomplished great feats - many of them begging belief. And getting his first good look at her, he was even more astonished. For the stories hinted at a warrior of peerless height, with rippling muscles and blood-stained grin.

The slim, dainty creature who circled about his kill, frowning at it and studying it intently could not be any more the opposite of her reputation. She would barely reach his nose standing, and he himself was short for a miqo’te, standing just over five feet tall. She was delicate, but most definitely not frail - beneath the smoke-and-shadows gear she wore, it was clear her body was as perfectly honed a weapon as the two daggers that rode at her hips.

He felt the sting of regret - by killing the boar and absconding with the aethersands, he’d deprived himself of a chance to see this redoubtable warrior in action! Cursing himself, he palmed the ore, eyes narrowed… then smiled slowly. “What is this?” he called mockingly, “has the fabled hero come to seek the aethersands? But it seems she is too slow, for another has come before her and done the deed!”

He admired how quickly her daggers fair leapt to her hands as she went into a defensive crouch, that charming face gone cold in an instant. Gone was any hint of delicacy, any trace of gentle nature; before him crouched a woman who had face down primals, Garleans, and Allagan monstrosities and not only lived to tell the tale, but starred in it as well. He sighed softly, then shook his head. “Don’t bother looking for me, you’ll find me not.” He wasn’t entirely certain of that; her eyes looked sharp, but he’d taken great care with his hiding space. “I may have beaten you to this prize, but there is still another to be won. Shall we have a race?”

Her response was pithy and he felt a chill crawl down his spine. He really, really hoped his hiding space was as good as he thought, or he might end up a great deal more close and personal with her than he’d wanted. “Now, now,” he chided, a bit breathlessly. “In the interest of fairness, I’ll even give you a hint. The Ixal of North Shroud have what you seek.”

He didn’t dare move until she finally sheathed her daggers, summoning her mount. This time it wasn’t the crimson horse with the mane and tail of fire, but rather a stout chocobo of the same lavender hue as her eyes. She mounted up and sent him out of the forest. Only once he was certain she was gone did he shakily climb down from his tree. It wasn’t fear that had him shaking however; it was excitement. He was on an adventure!

With a hero!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thancred smiled slightly as he nestled Kal'istae’s hand beneath his cheek, his lips pressed against her pulse point. Her breathing had eased, deepened, and he was certain now that as they spoke - as they felt - she knew, and was responding. “She is most surprising,” he agreed softly. “One would never think to look at her the deeds she is capable of - but nevertheless, she is capable of much and more. I was - I still am, to a point - horribly envious of her prowess.”

On the other side, G’raha Tia skimmed his fingers along her arm, following the faint tracery of veins beneath her indigo skin as he nestled his cheek against her palm. “I, too, have harbored more than a little jealousy of her,” he admitted softly. “I desperately wanted to be a hero when I was a child, but I had neither the disposition nor the ability. To be a scholar? Yes. To be an archer - I had some small skill. But to be a hero? No. And when I met her, I was so terribly jealous of her. To think that someone so small, so delicate, so… lovely… could change the course of an entire star just by existing.” He sighed. “It wasn’t fair.”

The gunbreaker chuckled, although the sound lacked humor. “Fair? What is fair? Certainly, she has more than her fair share of skill, but think, G’raha Tia, what it has brought her.”

“Oh, I know,” the miqo’te replied soberly. “But young me had no idea what she would face. Or the part I would play in her story. I only wish I had had more time with her - although I suppose it was just the right amount. Enough to begin my fall, to make her the lodestone for my heart’s compass - not enough to give me pause when I realized the sacrifice demanded of me.”

He rolled his head, brushing a kiss lightly over her pulse, feeling it beat, strong and slow against his lips. “When Biggs’ descendant awoke me in that dark future, the first thing I asked him was ‘Where is Kali? Where is the Warrior of Light?’. And he broke into tears. Never, ever do I want to see anyone cry like that again, as if his heart had been shattered. It had. As had everyone’s. I remember…” He trailed off, his eyes avoiding Thancred’s.

“I thought I died with her,” the gunbreaker said, his breath exhaling in a rush.

G’raha Tia was silent for a long moment. “Not with, but shortly after. You, with all the rest, were gone by the time I awoke, of course. So many were. Almost all…” He trailed off. “But no, my friend. You still lived when she was taken by Black Rose. I am told… it was a tale to break hearts. How do you think I knew how you felt?”

Thancred fought down his tension, unwilling to let it infect the woman tucked between them. “I know that someday I may be forced to walk on without her,” he said softly. “At least with her, the potential of her fate has been clear since the first. I only hope I have the fortitude to continue on in her honor.”

“You will,” G’raha Tia replied, his voice soft. “I promise you that. Should it come to pass that her fate is the ultimate sacrifice, I promise, you will stand tall and fight on in her name. But,” he added, turning scarlet eyes on her sleeping face, “I am not convinced that will be her fate. What she endures is beyond what any other hero of her name has faced; surely, surely fate will give her a just reward.”

In his words, Thancred could hear a hint of pleading. “I am certain,” he agreed softly, and met the miqo’te’s eyes as they slid to him. “Her fate has been so cruel; I cannot believe Hydaelyn would compound cruelty with cruelty. There must be a reward for what she has endured. What we,” he added, “have endured.” 

They fell into a brooding silence, each trying to recapture something of the earlier ease. Finally, Thancred sighed. “I remember the first time I realized there was something particularly special about her. We’d been working together in Thanalan trying to find out what was happening to some missing people. We suspected the Amalj'aa, and we were not incorrect, but it was more than that. There was a hyur working with them, and a traitor among the Immortal Flames. It led her right into Ifrit’s claws.”

G’raha Tia sucked in a breath. “I heard about that. Her first primal.”

Smiling, Thancred reached out to skim his hand lightly against her ribs. G’raha Tia watched him. “Yes. She’d already begun to make a name for herself among the adventurers - now the Grand Companies were starting to notice her. I went for help; I underestimated how long it would take me to gather up enough Flames and Brass Blades… and I underestimated how quickly she would quell the primal. By the time I’d arrived, she’d already sent Ifrit back to the aether, with nary a scratch on her.” He nuzzled into the hand beneath his cheek. “I was horribly embarrassed - here was this sweet-faced young thing, barely starting her career as an adventurer - and she’d single-handedly destroyed a primal while I’d been off taking my sweet time. And, gods, I was so jealous. I knew I could never stand against a primal like that. Had I been there, I’d have joined the rest of those poor sots in tempering - and I’d have joined them on the chopping block after.

“I took her back to Minfilia and made sure everyone knew exactly who had done all the work. And that, I think, was the start of my downfall.” Thancred closed his eyes, squirmed closer to Kal'istae. “Come on, G’raha Tia. She’s still too cool for my liking.”

The miqo’te understood, and wriggled closer on his side. As Thancred hooked his arm loosely across her waist, G’raha wrapped his own just above him, drawing himself closer to her. “I remember seeing her there, standing before Lyna. She was in blue and purple, all steel and chain with lance in hand. She looked a little pale, a little shocky; no surprise, given that she’d found herself somewhere that was not only unfamiliar, but clearly otherworldly. And before her stood the Crystal Tower - but she was most certainly not in Mor Dhona. And yet, she stood firm against Lyna’s questioning, ready to defend herself.”

Thancred exhaled. “I remember seeing her kneeling between Ryne - Minfilia - and Ran’jit, winded and stunned by his power, but still determined to protect my charge at any cost. Everyone else was in significantly worse shape; I think, despite his words, Ran’jit was terribly impressed by her. I had to do something. I couldn’t let him hurt her further; I couldn’t let him near Minfilia. I never let anyone know how much fighting him took out of me.” His arm flexed about her. “Five years,” he whispered. “I’d spent five years trying not to miss her and failing horribly. Utterly. Kal'istae,” he called, just to watch her breathing deepen. “Kali, come back to us. I already miss you again.”

“She said my name,” G’raha Tia murmured, “and the world about me expanded. She knew me. She remembered me. And by all the gods, I wanted nothing more than to run to her. To take her in my arms, to hold her, to tell her how desperately sorry I was. But I had a part to play; I had to save her. And to save her, I had to die.” Tears gathered at the edges of his eyes and he pressed his face into her limp hand. “I had to die so she could live. A sacrifice I was more than willing to make. Ah, Kal'istae,” he whispered. “Come back to us.”

She lay between them, still, limp, pale - but her breathing had strengthened, her pulse beating strongly against their lips. Beneath their embrace, she warmed, and, comforted by this sign of life, both men allowed themselves to slip into a doze, lulled to rest by the promise of her return.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thancred woke to darkness, the lights extinguished, the curtains drawn. Kal'istae’s hand was still tucked beneath his cheek, and as he turned his head to brush his lips over her pulse, he felt her heart beat strong and sure. Closing his eyes, he took one deep, trembling breath after another until the threatening tears retreated.

Beneath his cheek, he felt her fingers shift and his head jerked up, startled. Her hand followed, skimming lightly over his face, and as he looked at her, he could see the faint glimmer of her eyes in the gloom. “You saved me,” she whispered. “Both of you. Why?”

Although her tone was questioning, he could feel the bite of censure. “Because I will not lose you so easily,” he whispered, and her fingers stilled on his face.

“I’m so tired,” she sighed, and he shifted, moving to rest his head against her shoulder. He felt her stiffen, then untense, and her fingers began to skim through his silver hair. “I just want to sleep. I am so tired,” she repeated.

He trembled. “I know. You can rest, Kali. You don’t have to leave us. You just have to tell us you want to rest. We won’t let anyone disturb you until you are ready.”

He felt her lips brush against his forehead and trembled again. “Will you stay with me? Both of you?” she asked, and he lifted his head to see G’raha Tia watching him as her hand cupped his face. “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be without you.”

Thancred met G’raha Tia’s eyes, then closed his own. “We will. We’ll never leave you, Kali, not as long as you will have us.”

“Never,” G’raha echoed, and Thancred felt him slide in, mirroring his own position until they both curled against her, their heads tucked on her shoulders, their arms embracing her. “We will be by your side as long as you want.”

She turned from Thancred, her lips brushing across G’raha Tia’s hair. “Right now, forever sounds good. Sleep. Let us sleep.”

They felt her slip under again, and slid down with her.

[eclipsedefflorescence]

"The Arctic, overall, has the classic lines of a desert landscape: spare, balanced, extended, and quiet... The apparent monotony of the land is relieved, however, by the weather systems moving through, and by the activities of animals, particularly of birds and caribou. And because so much of the country stands revealed, and because sunlight passing through the dustless air renders its edges with such unusual sharpness, animals linger before the eye. And their presence is vivid.

Like other landscapes that initially appear barren, arctic tundra can open suddenly, like the corolla of a flower, when any intimacy with it is sought. One begins to notice spots of brilliant red, orange, and green, for example, among the monotonic browns of a tundra tussock.

A wolf spider lunges at a glistening beetle. A shred of musk ox wool lies inert in the lavender blooms of saxifrage... The wealth of biological detail on the tundra dispels any feeling that the land is empty; and its likeness to a stage suggests impending events. On a summer’s walk, the wind -washed air proves deathlessly clear. Time and again you come upon the isolated and succinct evidence of life — animal tracks, the undigested remains of a ptarmigan in an owl’s casting, a patch of barren-ground willow nibbled nearly leafless by arctic hares. You are afforded the companionship of birds, which follow after you. (They know you are an animal; sooner or later you will turn up something to eat.) Sandpipers scatter before you, screaming tuituek , an Eskimo name for them. Coming awkwardly down a scree slope of frost-riven limestone you make a glass-tinkling clatter — and at a distance a tundra grizzly rises on its hind legs to study you; the dish-shaped paws of its front legs deathly still... [But already, even in uninhabited lands], one cannot miss the evidence of upheaval, nor avoid being wrenched by it. The depression it engenders, because so much of it seems a heedless imposition on the land and on the people, a rude invasion, can lead one to despair."

- Barry Lopez, Arctic-Dreams: Imagination and Desire in a Northern Landscape