#sorry ixal from the fractal continuum (hard) i'm co-opting you for Purposes

[last-flight-of-fancy]

oops another 5k of self-indulgent wol backstory time~ today in flavours of 'how did baby hallima get from the mountains of coerthas to the shroud anyway' featuring a pair of ixali who have no idea what they've picked up.

wol: Hallima, he/they Au Ra

(Present day) timeline: Shadowbringers, shortly post-return from the First

Mazel Qualan had always been an oddball of a chick, or so he has been told. Curious and with a love of tinkering, it set him apart from his fellow fledglings for both good and ill. It made him valuable of course, not every fledgeling had the mind to create something from nothing, but it also made him strange and other, which tended to be frowned upon within the strict hierarchy of the Ixal.

That fact was likely why he was on this mission, probably. Sent to scout the distant mountains to the west of the Shroud for suitable settlement locations. A job both important, requiring a flexible mind to catch potential problems, and absolutely miserable to actually do.

He's not alone, at least. Kotoli Totoloc is right there grumbling next to him, serving as his escort through the unknown and dangerous lands. Mazel still isn't entirely sure what he had done to endear Kotoli to him, since she was basically everything an Ixali should be- physically strong, knew her place on the social hierarchy (much higher than him), and covered in tough, beautifully earthy feathers so thick it made her look almost plump.

Meanwhile Mazel was scrawny, his few green tinged feathers scattered erratically down his body, and could not for the life of him stay out of trouble. But endeared to him she was, and it was by her will that he had been saved from exile multiple times already.

(It wasn't that he didn't know the rules of the flock. It was just that most of them didn't make any sense and no one would explain it to him satisfactorily)

"Colder up here." Kotoli says conversationally in their native tongue. "I like it."

"It's different." Mazel is a little jealous of Kotoli's thicker plumage at the moment, but he cannot deny it soothes some neglected part of his soul to feel the thin, brisk mountain air across his feathers. "Dry."

"Hm. It is." Kotoli nods. Then she kicks some of the snow powdering the ground. "Somehow."

"All on the ground, not in the air." Mazel shrugs. Kotoli tilts her head at him, indicating she doesn't quite understand what he's saying, but shrugs it off. She doesn't often understand, but she does trust him to, and this is one of the many things Mazel likes about her. It's more than most of their flock bothers to give him.

"Next location over the rise. Not far if we scale the ridge." Kotoli says, pointing to the northwest. It won't be the easiest climb, but plenty doable for a pair of healthy young Ixal- even one as underwhelming as Mazel. He clicks to himself as he considers his rough, hand-drawn map.

"Should take the long way. Must be able to transport materials to build." He counters. Kotoli considers this and then nods.

"True. Long way then, take short way back."

They set off, trudging through the snowdrifts. It's Mazel's first real experience with snow, and finds it both different and similar to wading through shallow water. Easy at first, but slowly wearing down on muscles rarely used. Even Kotoli, who he knows has made this trek before, seems to feel it after a while.

"Why winter?" She asks after a while, roughly halfway up the winding path. Snowflakes have begun to drift gently from the sky, slow and meandering without a breeze to disturb them. They take a short break to catch their breath and gnaw on some over-dried jerky from their packs.

"You scout in summer, yes? Prime location, excellent drafts." He says, she nods. "This is good, but must see location at worst too, be prepared for changes."

"Ah, you clear the skies for me once again." Kotoli nods and then barks a laugh. "Always so smart, Mazel. More than worm-brains back in the nest."

Mazel can’t help but preen a little at the compliment. Maybe their other nestmates didn’t understand, but Kotoli did, and she was the one who mattered. To him anyway. Larger flock politicking notwithstanding.

They make the rest of the journey in relative peace, skirting by a small pack of canines and arriving at their destination without incident. Mazel begins to look around in earnest, searching for potential faults or dangers that may not have been obvious in the warmer summer months. Mazel for her part walks the perimeter, having already assessed the defensibility of the area on her previous scout, now she thinks about potential patrol routes and emergency escapes they might use.

It is on this walkabout that she hears something curious.

A sneeze.

Mazel is surprised when Kotoli whistles for him, not expecting her to need him at all during this part of their scout, and rustles to her side quickly on the far side of the area.

He finds her squatting by some barren bushes, staring intently at something further down the cliffside. He clicks at her in question and concern, a sound not unlike creaking branches, and without turning her gaze she gestures for him to look where she is.

He does so, but even with her guidance it takes him several seconds to spot what she had; a lump in the snow that he had initially assumed to be rock was in fact fibrous, and it was very slightly moving.

“Featherless one?” Mazel whispers. Kotoli does not answer him aloud, but draws and keeps her knife at the ready as she cautiously moves down towards it.

Another sneeze, tiny and small, muffled by fabric.

In fact if Mazel didn’t know any better he would swear it sounded like-

“SCEE!” Words too slow, so he screeches his call instead and it works, stopping Kotoli in her tracks and startling the little lump into revealing itself.

“What are you doing?” She hisses at him, standing above the tiny creature and knife still at the ready. Mazel lopes down to her, getting a better look at their target.

“Had feeling. Was right. Look, hatchling.”

She does, and the small featherless thing stares back at her with eyes so bright they could rival the glow of sunset.

“Like no hatchling I’ve ever seen.” She squints at it, turning her head this way and that. “You sure?”

Well... Okay, now that he can see it properly, it’s definitely the weirdest hatchling he’s ever encountered, but he also doesn’t know much about any of the Featherless races in general, let alone what their young look like. All he knows is that it’s probably not one of those tiny peoples shaped like popoto’s- he’d never seen one of those come in blue. Ergo, it must be a hatchling.

Which is still staring at them. Silently. Which is kind of odd for a hatchling of any species. Mazel quirks his head a little and leans down to inspect the little thing more closely.

“What are you doing?” Kotoli asks, dubious. Mazel sniffs at the tufts of not-feathers on the hatchlings head- hair? Yes hair was the right word.

It sneezes again, the sound somehow even more small and pathetic than before.

Mazel picks it up along with the cloth wrappings it had been bundled in, retying it and bringing it to his chest to conserve what warmth there was.

“What are you doing??” Kotoli repeats, this time with more incredulity.

“Is hatchling.” Mazel states the obvious. “Too cold.”

“Not our hatchling.” Kotoli counters. “You remember what happened last time Featherless hatchlings came into our domain.”

“Yes yes, I do.” Mazel clicks softly, a reassurance, and Kotoli waits for his answer. “Cannot keep. But cannot leave here, it will die.”

Kotoli considers this.

“Abandoned? Could be sick.” This was the most common reason such happened amongst the Ixali, where resources could be scarce at the best of times.

Mazel shakes his head.

“Smells of blood. Look.” He invites her closer and she accepts, sniffing at the now shivering bundle. A low growl lifts from the base of her throat, one he recognizes well; protective anger.

“Lucky hatchling. More than blood, smells of slaughter.”

They both know luck was only part of it. There was good odds that someone had made sure the child survived, probably at cost to their own life.

“Would be rude to deny divine winds.” Mazel says at length. The gods are not something Mazel invokes often, and Kotoli knows this, so it is that she discards any remaining doubts from her mind and moves on to planning.

“Then Garuda’s will is felt.” She nods. “Bring hatchling to Shroud, return to other Featherless, and let the winds take it where they may.”

“Long way back.” Mazel points out. “Stone settlement closer.” He doesn’t remember what the Featherless call it, something about dragons, but that seemed to be the case for most Featherless places in this area.

“Too close.” Kotoli shakes her head. “Smell again; metalwork, not beast-stink. Other Featherless’ did this. Tiny One’s enemies may lie in wait there.”

Good point. Mazel nods.

“Come, Tiny One. We fly now.”

-

“Bit late to be going out, isn’t it?”

Hallima pauses at the door out of the Rising Stones, hand still on the handle.

“Says one who should be abed.” They answer.

Alisaie scoffs.

“According to my body I’ve been asleep for weeks, and it’s rather had enough.” Her chair creaks as she leans back in it. “I’m not the only one.”

“Indeed she is not.” That’s Alphinaud’s voice, and Hallima finally turns, dropping their hand from the door handle. Alphinaud steps out from behind the nearby counter with two mugs in hand. “Krile assures us that things should return to normal within a few days. Hopefully.”

Hallima nods. That’s good, all things considered it could have been much worse. Alphinaud tilts his head at Hallima, curious and a little concerned.

“Where were you going, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Dreamt of old memories. Wanted to clear my head.”

“Would you like company?” Alisaie asks a simpler question.

Hallima nods.

-

Releasing the unfeathered hatchling back to its own kind does not go entirely to plan.

The first couple batches of travelling merchants don’t even notice the bundle on the side of the dirt road, not helped by the unnaturally quiet babe-ling within. Mazel creeps in to move it further into line of sight, cursing the blind featherless idjits the whole way.

He does not want to be the centre of another kidnapping incident between the Gridanian’s and the Ixali, not the least of which because he would almost certainly end up dead in the process.

“The hell’s is that?” Says the armoured guard of the next caravan, looking over the shoulder of his merchant ward. Said merchant may be less disgusted, but seems no less confused by the babe.

“Are you sure it’s one of them?” Kotoli hisses at Mazel from their spot hidden in the bushes. Mazel wishes he was, but what little surety he had is quickly dwindling.

“Do you have a name?” The merchant asks the babe.

.... Mazel also wishes he’d thought to ask that question. Or anything at all. He’d sort of assumed the child was too young to speak, given it’s complete silence, but to his surprise the child quietly answers-

“��al’ma.”

“Alma?” The man sets the child down, and kneels to be closer to their level. The child shakes their head.

“Haaa-lli-ma.” They enunciate slowly this time, trying their best to form the word from a mouth still unused to forming words at all.

“Hallima. A fine name. Where are your parents? Family?”

Hallima says nothing, turning their tiny head towards where the two Ixal are hidden, and after a long moment the merchant seems to take that as an answer. He sighs softly, like he’s seen this sort of thing before.

“How old are you kid?”

Hallima stares blankly at the man.

“Sir, we have a schedule to keep.” The guard reminds, attempting to stifle his impatience but failing.

“Right, right.” The merchant sighs again. “Well, I know not what sort of beast-kin you are, but Gridania isn’t far. Someone there will know what to do with you.”

“You’re bringing it with us? You can’t possibly be serious.” The guard says in open shock. The merchant shrugs.

“You would have me leave him here? Whatever he may be, he cannot be more than five or six summers, no older than mine own daughter. Mayhap you can, but I could not sleep soundly having left a child so young to fend for themselves.”

The guard rubs at his eyes tiredly.

“I understand, I do, but with the recent near all-out war with the bird-men over misplaced children I am loathe to tempt the fates with another incident so soon.”

“Does this look like a bird to you?” The merchant holds Hallima up.

“Look, you have obviously made your decision, and I remind you again that we are running behind schedule. Do what you will, but let us continue on.”

“Of course, of course. Come little Hallima, a new journey awaits.”

“Garuda’s winds guide you to greatness, little one.” Kotoli whispers, and then the two return to the depths of the Shroud.

-

“You’re up late.” Y’shtola’s voice makes Thancred look up, though he doesn’t react much otherwise. He’d heard her coming.

“Seems like no one can sleep tonight.” He comments mildly, tilting his chair back onto two legs and balancing there.

“Understandable, considering.” Y’shtola nods. “May I join you?”

“By all means.”

She takes a seat on the far side of the table, a cup in her hands. A small burst of aether later and the cup begins to steam. She blows on the lip of it gently before taking a sip.

“You miss her already, don’t you.” Y’shtola says at length. Thancred sighs.

“That obvious?”

“Tis only natural.” She shrugs. “And despite your vocation you are not an especially difficult man to read.. Off the job, at any rate.”

“For all you know I’m always on the job, and this is an act too.” He gives her a classic rogue-ish smirk and waves his fingers at her. She snorts derisively.

“After all we have experienced that would be a con worthy of only the most talented of saboteurs I should think.”

“You don’t count me among them? I’m insulted.”

“I do not believe I stated one way or the other.”

The playful bickering feels nice, cloaked in the gentle night shadows of the Rising Stones. Eventually this too peters out and they return to quiet contemplation.

“Saw the Warrior heading out with the twins in tow.” Thancred comments. “Not sure where Urianger is though.”

“... He’s in the Solar.” Y’shtola says quietly. Thancred closes his eyes. They both know what that means.

“We’re all missing someone tonight it seems.” He sighs. “What about you?”

“Hmm?” Y’shtola pretends at not following his line of thought. Thancred isn’t in the mood to play that game right now though.

“Your friend from the First. I saw the way he looked at you. You going to miss him?”

“Mh, no.” Y’shtola closes her eyes, though Thancred knows as well as anyone that her ‘sight’ hardly needed them to be open. “I will see him again soon enough.”

“Heh. Of course.” He chuckles a little. Nothing ever could stop Y’shtola when she was on a mission.

“When I do, you are welcome to join me.” The offer is... Surprisingly soft and tentative, coming from Y’shtola.

Like she knows how much it will hurt.

“Don’t.” He says. “I miss her to death, but I can’t live always hoping for something that only might happen. I’ve made my peace.”

“I see.” Y’shtola says, though her tone says ‘I understand.’ He trusts that she does.

“Not that I doubt your ability to do the impossible of course.” Thancred smirks teasingly. “But there isn’t much I can do for such an endeavour and I would rather put my energies where they’re more useful.”

“Of course.” Y’shtola smiles. She knows that feeling well.

-

“Back again, Little One?” Kotoli says it without looking up from the leather hide she’s in the midst of working. Hallima puffs his chest out in offense.

“I’m not little anymore!” He says, all defiance and youthful delusion. Kotoli cackles and clicks her beak at him. He still only barely reaches her elbow in height.

“Little little, will always be Little to Kotoli. Tiny Babe-ling found in the woods.”

Hallima pouts angrily, hopping up onto a nearby seat fashioned from a preserved tree stump. He pulls a hunk of bread from a pocket and chews on it sullenly.

“Shouldn’t be here, Little One. Cause a stir.”

“Why?”

“Gridanian’s come looking.”

“No they won’t. Wood Wailer’s don’t care what urchins do ‘s long as they don’t catch us stealin’ stuff.”

Kotoli tries not to growl, but a low one escapes her throat anyway.

“Foolish no-feathers. Would be wind-blessed to have you.”

“It’s cause no one knows what I am.” Hallima mutters. “Don’t wanna risk it. ‘Specially with people getting sick lately.”

“Stupid.” Mazel steps into the half-tent, shaking his head. “Plague-Sickness looks like metal chainwork in skin. Not horns and scales.”

“Excuses, like always.” Kotoli snorts. “Awl?”

Hallima looks around, finding the tool tucked next to his wooden seat, and delivers it to Kotoli.

“What are you making?”

“Bag, for carrying.”

Hallima settles in to watch her work, leaning against the bench and resting his chin on crossed arms. Mazel shuffles about in the background, setting up a cooking fire and putting a pot on to simmer.

“Why’s it sometimes it’s like sewing and sometimes like hammering nails into it?” Hallima asks. Kotoli clicks at him to keep his hands away from any potentially injurious work.

“Sometimes need strength, sometimes flexibility. Sometimes both.”

“Can I help?”

“Next project. I teach you.”

“Okay.” He settles back in to watch. “... I wish you could take me.”

Kotoli pauses in her work momentarily before redoubling it. Mazel leaves tending the pot to pat Hallima on the head.

“Would be wind-blessed to have you.”

Kotoli straightens, finished satchel held in one claw, turning towards Hallima.

“Truth is, Little One, Ixali just as foolish as featherless. Exile and death for those who consort with outsiders, no thought beyond old pains and revenge.”

“Would not be safe.” Mazel adds, aggrieved. The words feel rot-hollow. “Even talking risky, to bring outsider into our borders would be to invite entire clans wrath.”

“Can do little, but try what little we can.” Kotoli presents the satchel to Hallima, who takes it automatically in surprise. “Good bag, won’t get wet. Many hidden pockets for important things.”

“For me?” The bag is almost comically big for him now, but it won’t be long until it looks downright small at his hip.

“For you.” Kotoli nods. “Good bag important for roofless.”

“One more thing.” Mazel fishes something out of his own hip satchel, bending down to pin something to the cured leather.

“What is it?” Hallima asks, running fingers over the small but intricately detailed iron loops that a pair of brown and green feathers dangle from.

“Old good luck charm.” Mazel says. “Tradition of Garuda’s blessing. Made for flockmates before long journeys.”

“Also identifier.” Kotoli adds sombrely. “Metal inscribed with clan, feathers for individual. Any Ixal honour-sworn to return one to its home if found.”

“Now come, there is soup for growing hatchling.” Mazel returns to the pot on the fire, and prepares to dole out food.

It’s watery and thin, the unidentified meats within cut into tiny chunks, but it’s appreciated all the same.

-

Hallima hadn’t fully understood then, the significance of that little charm. How they had marked him as flock- as family, even if that sentiment would never be honoured by either Gridania or other Ixal. Nor had he understood that the charm worked both ways; to keep a piece of the flock with the traveller, but also for the flock in return to keep a memento of the traveller should they pass while abroad.

They couldn’t have taken him in. They couldn’t even make arrangements with someone who could. All they could do was give him what little they had to give and a good luck charm to allay some of their worry.

He can feel those aged feathers brushing against his arm even now, pale green and earthen brown, innocuous as he makes his way through the darkened paths.

Though darkened they do not remain for long, the glow of the Crystal Tower shining against the sky’s black canvas. They go past the canyon and up the stonework stairways, the peripherals of researchers and archeologists scattered in various partially hidden corners.

“I thought we were rendezvousing with the Sons of Saint Coinach to retrieve G’raha Tia in the morn.” Alphinaud says, looking to Hallima in question. Hallima nods.

“We are.” He says, taking a seat on the edge of the raised path, legs dangling over the edge facing the Tower. “I just... need to think.”

“I see.” Alisaie hums, and then takes a seat next to him, plopping herself down as if it’s an afternoon picnic and not the middle of the night in a deserted ruin. “Can we help?”

“Hm. Maybe.”Hallima stares out at the glow of the tower as Alphinaud sits on his other side, one leg tucked up under him while Alisaie swings hers idly, waiting patiently.

They remain that way for a while, the echoes of time gentle against the canyon walls and crystalline structures.

“Why did you leave Sharlyan?”

“You know why.” Alisaie quirks an eyebrow. “To follow in Grandfather’s footsteps. To... Understand them.”

“Mh.”

“What brought this on?” Alphinaud asks. Hallima hums to himself, thinking.

“Did you know that it wasn’t until only recently that I realised you have parents?”

“What?” Alisaie laughs a little in surprise. “Of course we have parents. Surely we must have mentioned them at least in passing?”

“I thought they were gone, dead or out of the picture. The way you spoke of Louisoix, I thought him your only guardian. It wasn’t until you made some comment in the First that I figured out that you weren’t speaking of them in the past tense.”

“Ah, well..” Alisaie shifts awkwardly. “It would not be a stretch to say that we were much closer with Grandfather than we were with our parents. I was, at least. Which isn’t to say that Mother and Father were negligent, but Grandfather understood us in a way no one else did.”

“Father is often kept away by his duties in the Sharlyan Forum. Mother tries of course, but Grandfather.. He had something special.” Alphinaud adds. “So when he left for Eorzea, I think we all knew it would not be long until Alisaie and I followed.”

“Feels like a lifetime ago now.” Alisaie chuckles. “Hard to believe it’s only been a few years.. Give or take the ones in the First.”

Hallima turns the feather charm over in his claws. Over and over. Thinking.

“You wouldn’t be the first person to ask why mother and father allowed such a thing,” Alphinaud says, trying to intuit Hallima’s thoughts. “Nor whether we regretted it.”

“Hm? No, I know those answers.” Hallima shakes his head. “I think it simply took me by surprise that I hadn’t put the pieces together before. Maybe I didn’t want to.”

“Why?” Alphinaud asks, curious.

“Selfishness, I suppose. Taking you under my wing like was once done for me, only to realise I was the one with pinions clipped.”

“Now hold on, if I’m reading this metaphor right that’s utter malarky.” Alisaie grows stern. “Maybe we have advantages from our background, but we surely would not have made it this far without you.”

“Agreed.” Alphinaud nods. “It was your support that pulled me up onto my feet again after the betrayal of the Crystal Braves, kept me moving forward. I cannot rightly say that would have happened without you there. Please, do not sell yourself short, friend.”

“Right. Of course.” Hallima smiles. Despite it all, it was sometimes too easy to doubt his importance to those around him beyond that of simple strength and Hydaelyn's Echo.

“So.” Alisaie says then. “How does this tie to G’raha Tia?”

Alphinaud blinks, looks out at the Crystal Tower ahead of them, and then back to Hallima.

“Knowing things. Not knowing them. Truth and lies and the unintentional variants of both.” Hallima sighs. “I knew it was him. Long before Mt. Gulg. I just... Couldn’t figure out why.”

“None of us could.” Alphinaud points out. “And how could we? A future timeline rent undone and then travelling to another version of our reality solely to prevent a single persons untimely demise? It does rather beggar beleif.”

“Hiding his identity and trying to play the part of villain in order to assuage any guilt we would bear at his passing does not, however.” Alisaie frowns. “He is all too ready to throw himself to the flames should it keep others warm.”

Hallima remembers watching the doors of Syrcus Tower close between him and a much younger G’raha Tia, and cannot deny this is true.

“Not unlike certain other adventurers we know.” Alphinaud says mildly. Hallima pouts at him... But can’t really deny that either.

Maybe that’s why it bothers him so much. Because it is too easy to see himself doing the same thing under such extraordinary circumstances. He still doesn’t like being lied to- even by omission. He has a lot to talk about with G’raha in truth once he is returned to them.... But he gets it.

“I have to.” Hallima shrugs. It’s simply a fact. “The world’s don’t stop needing to be saved just because I’m having a bad time, and I’m usually the only one capable of doing it.”

One foot in front of the other. Esteem stirs somewhere deep within.

“Unfortunately that much is true.” Alisaie shakes her head. “Still, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care of yourself afterwards- and don’t think I’ve not noticed you scratching at your chest ever since Mt. Gulg. If you won't use that balm we got you for the scar I will drag you to Alphinaud or Y'shtola myself, see if I don't.” She lightly punches his arm, teasing.

He beleives her. It wouldn't be the first time she had done such a thing. Alphinaud laughs along with her.

“The important part is we’re here now, and while our next disaster is surely incoming, it is good to take these moments while we can.” Alphinaud says. Hallima nods, still turning his charm over in his claws.

“What is that? You’ve been fidgeting with it a lot lately.” Alisaie asks.

“Ah, your Ixali friend gave that to you, did she not?” Alphinaud thinks back. “What was her name again...?”

“Kotoli.” Hallima murmurs. “Kotoli Totoloc.”

“Oh?” Alisaie looks between the two, surprised and curious. “You met her?”

“Briefly.” Alphinaud nods. “It was during the mission to remove Garuda as a threat. Hallima wanted to try and talk the Ixali down, since he knew some of them. He brought Kotoli on to help try and do that.”

“Considering how that mission ended, I’m guessing that didn’t exactly go to plan.”

“Wind-Kin! I too bask in Garuda’s Will, but what we do here is not divine winds, it is crashing gales. Do not do this!”

“No.” Alphinaud grows sombre. “I’m afraid not. We had to run when Gaius appeared with his newly finished Ultima weapon, but not before Hallima’s friend was enthralled and nearly all the beastmen present had been slain.”

“Oh. That’s horrible.” Alisaie says it with such genuine emotion. “If she survived maybe I could-”

“No.” A single word, and all the implications therein, is all that needs to be said. Alisaie reaches out to hug the Au Ra, her arms barely reaching around his broad shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry too.” Alphinaud says, posture slumped in contrition as he thinks back to that time so long ago. “I barely gave any thought to the way you had lost a friend back then. A pittance of words and then I returned to grandiose plans to save the star and my selfish desire to be a part of them. It was truly unfair of me to brush your loss aside like that.”

“You didn’t know her.”

“No.” Alphinaud agrees. “But I did know you- Or rather, I should have known you, considering how we had been working together. But I didn’t. And I wouldn’t until the Red Banquet knocked some sense into me. So... I’m sorry.”

Hallima smiles down at him, pulling him close to join the hug. Long since forgiven, though the official apology is still appreciated.

“It was her that encouraged me to take up the Adventurer’s life, you know.”

“Really?” Alisaie says, curious. Alphinaud’s brow furrows as numbers quickly add up in his head.

“But you’ve- How long did you know her?”

“Long enough.” Hallima shrugs. “Her and Mazel fed me when they could. Taught me the basics of alchemy and leatherworking, that sort of thing.”

Alisaie’s eyes widen a touch as she comes to the same conclusion that Alphinaud had moments earlier. Kotoli was far more than a mere aquaintance.

“Mazel?”

“Her flockmate.” Hallima says, and he holds up the greenish feather on his charm. “Bonded pair. Never quite figured out whether it was a siblingship or romantic or what. Maybe something else entirely, I only really saw Ixali culture through their lens, and they never thought it necessary to explain.”

“...What happened to them?”

“Kotoli had been urging him to join Echtal Nine for a while. Sezul is her cousin, apparently, and Mazel was always something of an outcast I guess. He wouldn’t leave without her though.”

“I’m guessing once she passed, then...?” Alisaie asks, hesitant that the answer may not be so rosy, but Hallima nods.

“He did. Threw himself into the dirigible project. Nothing else existed.”

“Will find the ancient paradise! Cannot do it for Kotoli, but can do it in her name. Rediscover our ancestral home, take back our wings!”

“I remember the report, on Azys La you helped one of the Echtal Nine discover their lost history. How the Ixal were created to be military fodder for the Allagans.”

“Yeah.” Hallima nods again. “That was Mazel.”

“Oh.”

“He didn’t take it very well, did he?” Alisaie intuits.

“No. He said that wasn’t the homeland after all, and if they must they would make one. Then he left Echtal Nine, and no one knows what happened to him after that.”

“I had no idea...” Alphinaud says quietly, contrite. “I will keep my ears sharp, and if I hear anything of him I will let you know”

“Thank you.”

-

Far away in another land entirely a pale green dot trudges through knee deep snows. Even bundled in layers of fabrics and furs it is hunched in cold, but it trudges on determinedly. Heavy packs adorn its back and a sturdy walking stick is held in a clawed hand.

There are an array of adornments along its vestments and bags, but one stands out amongst the brightly coloured feathers and beads; an ironwork charm wrought in intricate loops. Inside is inscribed ‘Scions of the Seventh Dawn’, and on the end dangles a single pale Raen scale. Despite its newness already it shows signs of wear from being handled often.

The figure trudges on. It will not come home again.