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tiraviarp · 2 years ago

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The Makings of a Beast pt2

((WARNING: this story contains major depictions of bullying, xenophobia, fictional racism, anxiety, and dysphoria. Read at your own risk and take care of yourself.))

Young R’thipra Halusyn was once a curious boy, filled with desire and curiosity and wonder of what the world held. Up until he first stepped foot outside his family’s mansion, he’d held tight on the belief that he would be able to talk with the children his age throwing rocks into the ocean, sit on the ledge of the great wall and dangle his feet over the empty air, to live and be free. Time and experience, however, taught him painful lessons of how prejudice and disgust could live in the hearts of even the most inconspicuous people. To be forgotten in mind but not in heart, to be acted upon when no solution to their instinctive confusion presented itself, to be built upon as a foundation for how to understand their neighbors.

So, when he stepped out of the great oaken door on his own for the first time, eyes immediately adjusting to the harsh sunlight, his battle-scarred mind conjured endless possibilities. The glamour that coated his body and transformed him into how he truly saw himself was at the top of his mind.

None but his family, Sylbgeim, and Ezeane knew who he was beneath that glamour. Surely that would mean that he would be left alone, as long as he kept the secret contained. He was Rhylsoemr Halusyn, but without the obvious marks of his heritage, Aleport would have no reason to set him upon the path that they did. What would they see him as, then?

He soon realized that a better question to ask was, would they even see him? Because, for the first time in his short life, there were no looks of confusion, of disgust, or pity. He neither felt stares rake across his back, nor hurried glances to and away from his form. Discomfort and unease were nowhere to be found on the faces of Aleport’s citizens in his presence – in fact, hardly any seemed to notice him at all. And of those that did look at him, they were short, simple affairs: with some, he could feel their minute curiosity; with others, it was simple acknowledgment of his existence.

It was a form of invisibility that he’d not dared think he’d ever be allowed when he was a child. To simply be able to exist without being bothered, to be acknowledged as a presence but otherwise be left alone, with back straight and voice unmuted.

It was so sweet a relief that R’thipra nearly cried on the doorstep.

________________________________________________________________

The next day, the childhood curiosity long abandoned dragged him out onto the streets.

There were no dreams of being adopted by the children of Aleport this time. He now knew what lay beneath their visage of innocence; where they could fool their parents that they had never done evil in their life, he knew different. Simply better to exist in this odd invisibility, to walk confidently and freely as he never could before, unburdened by the myriad stares that used to follow him.

And it was with this mindset that R’thipra finally let himself bask in the other, safer childhood fantasies. The ledge of the great wall made for an interesting bird’s eye view of the city – from the safety of the highest point in town, he took note of all the alleys between the buildings, the nooks and crannies in the stone the city was built upon, the way the sunlight reflected off stone and made the streets glow bright white like the heavens. The sunsets were luscious and bright as always, but the open view of the wall versus the enclosed secret spot let him watch the oranges and pinks and purples filling the sky all the more easier.

It was odd, to sudden think of the city he’d long learned to despite as something that could be beautiful. Not as beautiful as the secret spot, though. The wind here was harsher, tossing the strands of hair not caught in the braid all over his face, unceasing and refusing his glamour the time to return the strands to their otherwise immutable position. Unlike outside the city walls, the smells of the city flowed upward and showered him in the stink of fish and sweat. And, of course, the waters in the port were so far away and so churned that they didn’t shimmer in the sunlight.

And when he ventured onto the streets themselves, he found himself thanking that he’d adopted Father’s eyes. The brightest parts of the day always left anyone unfortunate enough to have normal eyes squinting and stumbling as the floor grew blindingly bright, and all R’thipra could do was make sure no one was around to hear his laughs or see his smirks. It was his favorite part of the day, where all the sailors and merchants were forced into hiding under the awnings and inside the various shops and left the streets all to himself.

It was an unfortunate coincidence, really, that led him to consider something he hadn’t realized.

One of those days where the sun was out and the streets were blinding, he’d noticed just too late that the sky was darkening earlier than expected. The streets were due to be full of merchants soon, and the swell of the crowd surging to the dimming sun was something to behold from afar, not be in himself. And so R’thipra ducked into a nearby alley to escape the tide, only to bump into a woman leaving the same way.

She stumbled, but didn’t fall. Under the clamor of voices steading growing outside, he could hear her mutter something under her breath, but couldn’t make it out.

“’Scuse us, kid.”

R’thipra squinted at the shape of another person in the darkness of the alley. That voice was familiar. That woman was familiar, too, somehow.

It was only when the woman looked up at him and when the man stepped out of the darkness that R’thipra realized who they were.

The fishmongers had changed quite a bit in the years since he’d last seen her. There was an odd tilt to woman’s hips, combining with bowed knees to make her the picture of an aging working woman. The man had obviously suffered a debilitating injury sometime years ago, with his leg being replaced by a wooden strut. Both wife and husbands wore gray hair and adorned themselves with large spectacles that magnified their eyes to bloated proportions.

R’thipra’s heart caught in his throat.

“Sorry t’ ‘ave bumped into ye, kiddo,” the woman said with the barest hint of a wobbly smile. “These glasses ain’t workin’ for me anymore, plus all of the hells-damned light…Ye know ‘ow it is.”

He mutely nodded.

“But…hm.” He felt more than saw the woman look him over. “…Ye’re the new one in town, ain’t ye? The one that walks around like a dodo with its ‘ead cut off, lookin’ around but never doin’ anythin’ with it.”

How could he even say anything to them? They’d never listened to him before, had labeled him immediately as a thief and attacked his heritage. And yet, here they were, interacting with him unwittingly once more.

The man was peering closely at him, too. “…Yer right, dear. Are ye lost, kid? Lookin’ for somethin’? I didn’t see ye get off any of the boats, but ye’ve been wanderin’ around town long enough that it makes me worried for ye.”

“Aye, aye,” the woman nodded sagely. “Did ye come ‘ere lookin’ for someone? Everyone knows everyone in this town; tell me a name, and I can get ye t’ them.”

There was an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew that no one save family and friends would recognize him; the neutral looks he’d attracted when first stepping out into the sun as R’thipra guaranteed him neutral attention. Yet, he was unprepared for this kindness, this truly opposite behavior.

They were looking at him expectantly, much like concerned parents asking a child to tell them what was on their mind.

He had to say something. But what?

“I…” R’thipra cleared his throat. Forced himself to breath out and relax his tense muscles and the tall stance he’d unconsciously made. “I’m visitin’, aye. My Father.”

“Yer father?” the man echoed. “What’s ‘is name?”

“R’halu.”

He could see the moment their mind recognized the name, the odd expression crossing their faces. Before they could say anything, R’thipra’s mind worked in overdrive, searching for the words to halt their advance.

“I ‘aven’t seen ‘im since he left t’ live ‘ere. Didn’t really get a chance t’ get t’ know ‘im, y’know? And ‘e’s lettin’ me stay with ‘im while we catch up.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “So, yer from ‘is tribe then, huh?”

R’thipra quietly nodded…then hesitated. “…I am, but I didn’t grow up with the tribe. I just grew up without ‘im or any of his family, over in…Wineport. I’m not used t’ bein’ in a place like this.”

It was an entirely scuffed story, scrambled together on the fly. The fishmongers were old enough to have witnessed Father coming down from the tribe to live in Aleport. Wineport was on the other side of Vylbrand. There was no reason why Father would travel such a way to have a child unknown to everyone until now.

But, miraculously, they bought it. The expression settling on the woman’s face said as much. “…’e never told us ‘e ‘ad a third child,” she murmured in wonder, eyes wandering to the mansion.

He grunted. “I mean, ‘avin’ a child as a Tia? ‘e was just tryin’ t’ keep him and me safe.”

“Huh.” The man furrowed his brows. “I wasn’t aware Seeker culture was that strict.”

R’thipra faked a shrug, ignoring how his heart hammered in his chest. “Not strict. Tradition exists for a reason. Ye wouldn’t understand it.”

Every second they kept him in his conversation, the more he could feel his story unravel at the seams, the more the discomfort of a conversation with people who hated him caused uncomfortable prickles along his skin. He prayed his glamour hid them.

After a period of disconcerting silence, the woman finally spoke. “Well, kiddo, if yer gonna be ‘ere for a bit, I’ve got a bit of advice for ye: wander around aimlessly any more, and the Yellowjackets are gonna want t’ ‘ave a talk with ye.”

“Aye, they’re always on the lookout for thieves. Yer skulkin’ about might land ye some unwanted attention,” the man added. “So be careful out there, alright?”

“…I will.”

The fishmongers looked at him oddly. Did he miss something?

“…Thanks…?”

“There ye go, kiddo!” The woman laughed brightly, and as she stepped forward, R’thipra had to step out of her way. Dimmed as the sun was, her and her husband could finally step out into the street. “I know our ancestors came from rough seas, but there’s nothin’ a ‘thank ye’ can’t make better.”

He watched silently, feet planted in place, as the fishmongers walked back over to their stall and relit their grill. The man waved a hand over to him. “Come over ‘ere. How about some of the best smoked tuna ye can find on this side of Vylbrand? We can’t give ye much of a discount, unfortunately, but we guarantee ye’ll like it.”

R’thipra’s eyes roved over the fish. They still smelled just as good as they did years ago, when he’d actually wanted one. The uncomfortable prickles turned into little stabbing needles on his skin, striking his nerves and making him feel sick from stress.

A part of him wanted to spit on their offer, the part whose wounds were still fresh and salted. The other part of him just wanted out, now.

“No. Ye can keep yer fish. I…need t’ go.”

As he spun on his heel and stalked back toward the mansion, he could feel their confused gazes on his back.

________________________________________________________________

The issue was twofold:

R’thipra Halusyn simultaneously existed and didn’t. He existed in flesh and body, but there was no evidence of it. There was no story to explain his sudden appearance, nor where he had been all this time.

At the same time, he didn’t know how to talk to people; to live and behave as people would expect of a citizen of civilization, to hide away his feelings about the people he might encounter one day, to say his proper ‘hello’s and ‘thank ye’s and ‘goodbye’s with true and genuine intent.

He glamoured because he saw himself as a member of Father’s sept. He had no desire to interact with Aleport any more than what was necessary. He’d had his fill of exploring the city he’d been denied all his life. There was nothing that stopped him from living out in Oakwood, living off the land as he had been for so long, only emerging from the once-wood to spend time with his family.

And yet…

Emerging to replace that urge to roam the city streets to his heart’s delight was a sense of wonder far different than what he’d experienced before. He knew of Aleport and Limsa Lominsa and Oakwood, but what else? Unversed in living in the city as he was, he had only heard mention of the Black Shroud and Thanalan a few times in his life, more in talks of trade than what the regions were like. Coerthas and the Far East were name spoken even fewer times, and only once did he hear of a Near East, a Thavnair, a Sharlayan.

What were they like, he wondered. What were their people like, he wondered still.

Soemr wasn’t fit to travel. Father and Mother’s business spanned far and wide – if there was a chance his name and face spread, he would only be inviting trouble.

R’thipra was fit to travel, but he hardly existed at all.

He would need to rectify that.

________________________________________________________________

It seemed like Father’s work schedule became busier and busier with each moon that passed. Some nights, he was fast asleep before he awoke to the sound of the front door opening, followed by an exhausted, ragged sigh. Other times, Father didn’t return at all until the evening of the next day.

Despite his duties, however, he had always made time for his children when they needed him. Thus, when R’thipra asked to speak with his privately, he canceled everything for that evening and took him to the most secluded place he knew.

The salt-laden wind blew over them as they made camp near the smallshell pond in Oakwood, disturbing the fire they’d built to keep them warm. And over the sound of crackling fire and accompanied by the smell of roasting meat, R’thipra spoke his thoughts.

“You are correct. R’thipra Halusyn does not exist, as far as Limsan records would say,” Father mused. “To legally change your name from Rhylsoemr to R’thipra would require time and, likely, gil paid out to the right people. Corruption exists far past the streets in this nation.”

R’thipra’s heart sank. “But it can be done, right? Otherwise, if people try t’ look too deep…”

“Mhm. They will find that R’thipra is a cover name and make further assumptions about you.”

If there was one thing that he could learn with absolute truth about the world, it would be why people always felt the need to focus on things, to dig deep and unravel mysteries that were none of their business. Why they could not accept the things clear as day in front of their eyes and leave them to their own devices. His life would be so radically different if others learned not to care.

As the moon rose in the sky and stars illuminated the darkness, he and Father spoke quietly over the bright flames of how to convince others to defy that nature. And as the night wore on, his frustrations mounted and mounted, as they realized how far they would need to go to make R’thipra Halusyn exist.

“I have already broken my sept’s traditions by having you and Rhylbryn. It would be of no consequence for you to have been born to another Miqo’te woman before meeting your mother.”

Why did he have to pretend that his Mother wasn’t his family, but a stranger he hardly knew?

“…Then, Bryn wouldn’t be me brother…”

Why would he have to tell others that Bryn was his stepsibling, or worse, just a friend?

“Mhm. If you were born and grew up elsewhere, we also would not know each other, nor would you know anyone in Aleport.”

Why would he have to smile while he re-arranged his life and his relationships with his family and Aleport, just so that people wouldn’t dig deep enough to find the problem they caused in the first place?

By the time they had an outline of their new connections, R’thipra couldn’t tell if his exhaustion was due to frustration or the hour of the day. Their journey back to Aleport was a slow one, the gravity of his situation weighing heavily on both of their shoulders. With flickering torchlight in sight, he breathed his final thoughts into the still air.

“…I froze up when I talked t’ some of them, though.”

Father slowed to a stop, inclining his head; a gesture for him to continue.

“…’ow did ye do it, Father?” R’thipra questioned. “’ow did ye learn t’ talk the way ye do, t’ talk with people who didn’t like ye and when ye didn’t like them?”

Father hummed quietly, gathering his thoughts.

“People are people, and they are chiefly concerned with their own affairs,” he eventually said. “When they approach me, it is for a purpose. By fulfilling that purpose quickly, they leave me to my own devices. Even as the head of a company, that principle works. It works better as I learn to anticipate their needs, work around them, and limit our contact.

But that is not something you can learn in one or two interactions. It is something honed over time and with much practice. And you will need to learn fast, R’thipra.”

Would he ever be free of Aleport and people, he grumbled to himself. Father only gave him the smallest of sympathetic smiles.

“I know of a way to give you that opportunity.”

________________________________________________________________

Setting up that opportunity was going to take time, Father said. Much like legally changing his name, there was nothing that could be done immediately. All he could do was simply wait and bide his time, wait for Father to push his pieces into place and see how they fell.

That left R’thipra with plenty of time of spend by himself. With Aleport once again proving to be inhospitable, though in an entirely different way than he was used to, he did as he always did: escaped past the city walls.

Oakwood under the daylight felt so right now with his glamour. When the plague had descended upon Soemr’s mind, the once-wood made him feel infinitesimally small, a bumble beetle hiding in the shadows of the cliffs. The waterfalls had stood as towers in the distance, presiding over the terrors that he’d learned about first-hand; they sent the clear message that he was never to return, or else forfeit his life in return for his curiosity.

But now, the land seemed to transform entirely. The features were familiar and muscle memory still took him down the paths he’d traveled for years, and yet his new perspective breathed new life into the land. His height shorter, he now saw small lines of crystal embedded into rock, tiny hideaways for prey, and the secret lives of insects in migration, among others, all because he was now eye-level with so many fine details. While his tail and ears were simply cloaked extensions of his aether, they sometimes brushed against grass and bush alike as he walked, and it was more grounding than he realized it ever could be. And when he caught sight of his reflection in the waters of the smallshell pond, all he saw was a young Miqo’te man enjoying his time in the sunlight and smiling into the wind.

There were no thoughts of anger against Aleport, no icy tendrils warping his mind into seeing himself as Aleport did, no fears of his ability to do harm and break fragile things. It was simply a return to form, to existing in a space that loved him as much as he loved it, without a care in the world; but now it sparkled and shone under the sunlight, glistening with its new coat of paint.

Once again, it was peace, it was tranquility, and it was what made him feel alive.

His axe was sized for Soemr’s hands; and while R’thipra was still strong enough to wield it, his hands were smaller, and each swing threatened to topple him forward into his prey. One two many instances of him falling atop a bloodied animal carcass taught him that he needed to be much more careful with his strikes, to hold back his strength. Crushing his prey with overwhelming force would no longer be an option.

He found that the smallshells were perfect to practice on. While their shells were tough and reflected light batterings, there was a thin margin between breaking through the shell and pulverizing it entirely – he knew it existed, and all he needed to do was find where it was and test his balance and reflexes. It would take some time to find the line, and, unless he wanted the smallshell population to go extinct, it would take time to allow them to recuperate.

It was on one such venture that R’thipra gained a lesson in awareness. Lying in wait in the bush surrounding the lake, he spied upon the small congregation of smallshell feeding on a bounty of small fish washed inland by the high tide. With how tightly they were compacted, one or two of them were bound to wander away in search of uncontested food – and as one made signs of breaking away from the pack, his grip on his axe tightened. Mentally, he counted each step the smallshell took, measured the eyesight of its companions, and waited with bated breath for the opportunity to strike it when it was truly alone.

The smallshell took its first step out of the water, alighting upon muddy grass. He felt the muscles in his legs tighten like a coiled spring, ready to launch out of the bush and test his strength –

Pain, red and sharp, struck his ankle so quick and unexpected that he gasped. With the pain came something bright flashing in the center of his chest, and with the flash came a strong wave of disorientation and nausea and dizziness. The assault on his senses overrode everything, and through the haze of adrenaline and pain and disorientation, he yanked back his leg and lashed out behind him with the axe held tight in his hands.

The impact trembled through his axe, the familiar feeling of crushing through hard shell and meat and brain. But it was far overshadowed by the slice of gripping, sharp, barnacle-edged claw through thin skin –

And in the span of a single tick, the world exploded into light.

The unraveling of compressed aether, the dissolution of form and substance. The flaying of color from his being and his entire identity. The sensation of a piece of rubber being stretched too far and tearing itself apart, rebounding and striking sensitive flesh. A sickening feeling instantly brewing at the pit of his stomach, that something very, very wrong had just occurred.

When the light dimmed and faded, he opened his eyes to see the green skin of his hands, the brown hair thrown wild across his face, the swell of muscle along the arms that gripped the axe suddenly fit right for his hands.

Soemr looked down to his ankle, where pain continued to radiate. Though his mind was still reeling from the sensation of his glamour snapping, he saw that the wound there was hardly deep, more than a scratch but less than a wound. The smallshell that’d snuck up on him was a broken pile of mush and shattered shell next to it, his blunted blade of his axe dripping ichor on his pants.

Dimly, he was aware of the sounds of splashing coming toward him, the angry sounds of smallshells disturbed from their feast. But something was ringing loud in his ears, drowning it out.

“Your aether is an array protected by flesh and armor. Your glamour is an array, too, but much more fragile. It will lay atop your skin like clothing, but it can be torn apart just as easy as paper if the skin is wet. If the base array is damaged, the array relying on it for structure will fail, too.”

Ezeane had emphasized how fragile his glamour really would be, but he’d failed to realize the severity of it. Barely more than a bleeding scratch on one area of his body would completely shatter the array.

A gray claw speared through the bush he was hiding behind. Instinct drove Soemr to pull back, the claw missing his shoulder, and he used the momentum to scramble back away from the bush. Breathing hard as if he’d just run the length of a cliffside, he gripped the stone wall behind him and clambered to his feet. Legs shaking under the strain of disorientation were joined by a sudden surge of vertigo and renewed nausea as the environment swelled large like a fishbowl around him.

The smallshells were much smaller than him now, smaller than he’d ever realized they were. Memories of fighting them had been altered to fit the perception of his Seeker self. Did he really swing so low with his axe to defeat them? Fighting through the vertigo and attempting to imagine it made it feel impossible, unreal, making his mind spin even more as they advanced toward him with claws raised.

Soemr did as he always did since first entering Oakwood: fight. Savage downward swings of his axe missed, carving deep grooves into mud and sprinkling him with dirt. His attempts at dancing around the smallshells were clumsy at best, a far cry from his previous triumphant battles, and only earned him more scratches on his ankles. Rather than alighting his senses, the pain combined with the disorientation and vertigo to blur everything until he was left blindly swinging below him.

But even though they outnumbered him, smallshells were smallshells. Inelegant strikes occasionally found their mark, and the unbarred strength of his strikes caved in their defenses. One by one, they fell, their bodies creating barricades for future smallshells to conquer. And eventually, his axe demolished the last one standing, and the pond fell silent.

This was not a victory, Soemr thought. This was not a hunt. This was a pathetic, hasty defense against smallshells. Frustration simmered in his veins as his legs shook, his mind only settling into place once the fight was over.

Somewhere, deep within him, the ice chuckled.

________________________________________________________________

He couldn’t glamour while he was injured. This, he’d expected from major wounds, from deep slashes to broken bones to coeurl claws. The slice inflicted by the smallshell’s sharp claws were nuisances and bade him rest, but they collectively weren’t a major wound. Why, then, was his glamour refusing to form?

Soemr stared down at the little pink glass square and questioned why it was so powerful, yet so fragile. Strong enough to let him live the way he wanted, to banish the insidious doubts clinging to his mind and open the endless world of possibilities of his life, and yet all of that could be stolen away from him by the snapping of a smallshell’s claws.

Such a fragile existence, R’thipra was. An image of a lean-muscled son of a tribal Miqo’te that could be torn apart so easily.

It was okay. It was okay, Soemr thought to himself, as he watched the wounds on his ankles slowly heal. He knew that R’thipra would be a tradeoff: now, in addition to having immovable, unnatural ears and tail, he would have to be careful with wounds. He would just have to learn to be impossible to hit. Many years were spent thriving in Oakwood and hunting his meals; he knew the capabilities of the animals there, so it was simply a matter of putting that information to use.

There were other things as well: environmental awareness, so that he wouldn’t stumble into a bed of thorns; wearing clothes more suitable to fighting, so that any strikes would have to carve through leather and dense cloth first; fighting strategy, so that the swings of his axe wouldn’t carry him into his preys’ jaws. So many things he would have to consider, so many training plans to implement during his recovery.

Soemr wrote down every thought, every plan, in black ink. In the time between planning, resting, and daydreaming of glamouring once more, he picked up his new paintbrush in too big hands and painted lush landscapes of challenge and success and life. And when he felt the tell-tale pricklings of ice forming at the edge of his mind, heard his voice begin its whispers once more, he grit his teeth and struck down doubt and weakness before they could reach the canvas.

He could do this. He would do this. He had triumphed over the near-impossibility of making his glamour, and he would not let that work go to waste.

________________________________________________________________

Time, as always, wore on. The wounds from the smallshells healed, new wounds were gained from training, and Soemr stockpiled furs and meats and claws from his practice targets for sale. This time, he would buy his own armor himself, he promised – and as R’thipra made his final trade of animal parts for gil, then traded that gil for thick cotton garb, his mind breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t had to steal from his family once more.

He got better at controlling his swings, learning to keep his hands high on the axe’s shaft to how much he had to swing out of balance. He learned to always keep his eyes peeled, ears open, senses on high alert during his hunts – the blood of his ancestors knew how to sense danger before he would ever know of it, Father commented one day, and so he opened his mind and heeded the advice of his instincts as well.

“Ye know Soemr,” Bryn spoke up one evening over family dinner, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with alcohol, nudging R’thipra with his shoulder, “I’ve been… *hic!* lookin’ into apprenticeships l-lately, and I keep *hic!* h-hearin’ people talkin’ about…s-sewin’ those prisms ye use into *hic!* their clothin’. Y-Ye ever thought about that…?”

His own mind, while softened by the ale he’d been drinking, clung onto the idea even through the throes of hangover and sickness. When next R’thipra appeared in Aleport, it was in its shadows, listening in on conversation from craftsmen and merchants before fleeing to the safety of the mansion with new prisms in hand. In the bright light of Bryn’s workroom, he fumbled with needle and thread over his favorite black shirt; in the dim light of Mother’s workshop, he grappled with tiny drills and screws over his axe. Sun after sun after sun was spent hunkered over his glamour dresser, making anchor point after anchor point, tying the sequence of aether running through the prisms together into a network that could be manipulated, and through sheer grit and determination, his shirt and axe shrunk before his eyes into comfortable forms.

When next he stepped beyond Aleport’s walls, the axe swung effortlessly through the air. His stance remained solid and his grip on the shaft perfect.

Injuries became less and less frequent. R’thipra walked the halls of the mansion more often than Soemr did. One day injury free became two, then three, then five, then ten. The ice retreated back to the darkest corners of his mind, falling silent once more.

With the challenge conquered and faith in himself proven, his mind was freed up to focus on the other things that made him feel happy. Glamour had freed him to live his life as he wanted to twice now – what else could it do for him, he wondered.

He sewed more prisms into clothes and converted them to his new size. The sounds of drilling echoed throughout the mansion, a byproduct of his many attempts – and eventual success – at creating a paintbrush he could resize. By sennight’s end, there was nothing he couldn’t resize within the bell.

Ezeane had also spoken of glamour as transformation, however. The glamour of R’thipra was akin to the example of the woman turning into a frog; but what of invisibility? Of changing the appearance of one item to another, unbound by his own personal aether like his Miqo’te glamour was?

The joy of discovery ran golden through his veins, washing away exhaustion and hunger. For every prism that exploded in his hands from being overloaded, three more would be placed on the dresser, ready for trial. Hunchbacked, staring into the glassy mirror that showed the aether frozen inside each prism, he carefully spun a delicate web of anchor points and arrays to correlate with the structures of his clothing. When the first successful trial made a pair of socks disappear within a prism, he was abuzz with excitement; and when that prism was set within the dresser, when the socks overlaid his images’ bare feet in the mirror and his updated glamour plate projected those socks over the pair he was wearing in reality, he nearly wept with joy. One by one, each item in his wardrobe reduced into prisms that he could hold in his hand, and the glamour dresser soon sat alone in it.

Invisibility was a much larger issue, one soon found he could not tackle on his own. A glamour prism could reflect the appearance of something that already existed, could enlargen or shrink items when it was tied to other prisms with the code to resize. Experiments with the prisms yielded little; without a proper grasp on the magic and manipulation occurring within the glamour dresser, there was little he could do beyond theorize and shatter more prisms.

Until several months later, when he strode through Limsa Lominsa’s markets by Bryn’s side, when he spied a stall laden with glamour prisms of all colors of the rainbow, cushioned in the folds of red velvet. Standard prisms he’d been using all this while; hollow prisms that allowed one to transfer the paint and ink stored within to color the item to be glamoured; stacks of plates promising to widen the possibilities of fast wardrobe changes. In the center of the display rest a small wooden chest lined with black velvet, full of prisms of sparkling gray.

“Emperor’s New prisms, they’re called!” spoke the salesman over the clamor of the street, urging him closer. “A new type of prism made fer those wantin’ t’ prove somethin’. Apply them t’ yer gloves and they disappear! T’ yer shirt, ye get a chance t’ show off all those muscles without getting’ cold! T’ yer pants…well, do I need t’ say more?”

The raunchy grin the salesman was giving both him and Bryn sent a shudder down R’thipra’s spine. The slide of his eyes between the two of them meant he wasn’t hitting on them. The inability for the man to perceive who he really was was as encouraging as the insinuation was revolting.

“We��re friends,” R’thipra spat, the lie bitter on his tongue. But he was faced with little choice but to buy from the man, and once again, he found himself hunched over the glamour dresser once more. Hollow prisms inserted into the dresser’s dais to empty out over plain linen shirts and pants to dazzle in bright and unusual colors, then refilled with bottled paint and emptied all over again in test after test. An Emperor’s prism soon joined the dais, and in the test that turned a belt invisible, he could feel it still lashed around his waist even as his fingers seemed to skim over nothing. Once more the drill appeared in his hands, biting a new slot for the prism under the last, and once more did he return to the dresser to manipulate the array into accepting it. The next morning, R’thipra stepped outside onto Aleport’s bright streets empty-handed, the comforting weight of the glamoured axe on his back soothing the nerves that would have assailed him otherwise.

The trashcan next to his dresser may have been full of exploded prisms, paint may have stained his fingers deeper than a single wash could clean, and his mind may have been flagging from exhaustion while his heart continued to beat with excitement. But the remnants of his work told a story of how his dedication to his cause could make what would otherwise be metaphorical examples come true.

It was not a lesson he would soon forget.

________________________________________________________________

“The preparations are complete, R’thipra,” Father spoke over family breakfast, one perfectly average morning. “When you are finished eating, wait for me by the door.”

He couldn’t recall eating food as fast as he did that morning. Perfectly cooked dodo eggs over easy went down tasteless and half-chewed and seared scallop and buttered biscuit were inhaled so recklessly that he nearly choked, all guzzled down with fresh juice from the oranges of Cedarwood’s orchards. He always took the time to savor Bryn’s cooking, but his Father calling for him meant only one thing. Father would never lead him astray.

Mind abuzz with thoughts, he found himself pacing in front of the door as he awaited him, boots scuffing negligently against marble. It felt as though an eternity passed before Father stepped into view at the top of the stairs, straightening the collar of the tuxedo that still looked far too small for him.

Dagger-sharp, blazing, intense eyes peered down at him, scrutinizing and investigative. But R’thipra knew no fear; knew that he would never exploit what he saw in him that caused him to chuff lightly.

Swift chocobos carried them toward the glittering spires of Limsa Lominsa, so far in the distance. And no sooner than he set foot in the city was he spirited away to a private studio hidden amongst said spires, whirlwinds of measuring tape and cloth and pins and hands surrounding him, touching him without warning while chatter and numbers flew in the air around him. Surreal and unbelievable as the display of skill and artistry was, he couldn’t help feeling the uncomfortable lump growing in his throat at being manhandled so casually, Ezeane’s warnings echoing in his mind.

And yet, even as his arms were guided into the sleeves of a sleek black suit, comfortable pants and shoes replaced by foreign slacks and dress shoes, and itchy jabot tied to his neck, Father looked on at him with an approving nod.

“We will get you a properly-fitted suit soon. I apologize; I should have gotten you fitted sooner.”

Properly-fitted suit? He should’ve been fitted sooner? R’thipra’s mind was spinning. Someone was trying to tug a comb through his hair, but no matter how many times it was pulled through, the glamour remained stubborn. Father simply waved them off.

The next thing he knew, they was walking down a walkway suspended over the bustling streets of the city. Between catching snippets of conversations floating up, he heard Father coaching him to stand straight, to hold his head high and confident, to take his hands out of his pockets and look ahead to the door at the end of the walkway.

Fathered opened the door and stepped inside. R’thipra followed. As La Noscean sunlight spilled into the lamplit room, the eyes of every well-dressed man and woman fell on him.

The lump grew in his throat. He looked to Father.

Father was watching him closely. Was he waiting for him to do something? He swallowed nervously, looking back out to the crowd of seated businesspeople, trying to sort out his thoughts while his heart beat loudly in his chest –

Father cleared his throat to break the silence. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to join us today. I assure you, this will not take long.”

For as large of a man was he was, Father’s footsteps were light and tactful. If R’thipra had not seen him out of the corner of his eye, he surely would’ve missed the silent steps he took to the empty pair of chairs at the head of the table.

“Before we begin, however. I would like to make an announcement.”

Half of the eyes in the room turned to look to him. The other half remained pinned on R’thipra. He forced himself to breathe.

“While I currently have no plans for retirement, we all know the importance of planning. ‘There is no better time to act than now’, many of us would say.”

Finally, Father turned his attention to him again. “As my son and potential inheritor of Halu and Hollstyrwyn Construction & Prospecting, R’thipra will be joining these meetings and more from now on. By shadowing us now, he will be better equipped to handle these affairs in the future.

“Please, give him a warm welcome.”

________________________________________________________________

His official duties were simply ‘take meeting minutes’, ‘form working relationships with adjacent companies’, and ‘learn the roles and responsibilities of leading Halu and Hollstyrwyn Construction & Prospecting’, according to the contract he signed after the meeting. Even if his mind wasn’t dizzy and exhausted from sitting in that meeting, the technical words would’ve made no sense to him.

“Simply put,” Father explained when they were alone in his office, “you will be accompanying me to my meetings and writing notes on what is said. In addition, you will be listening and watching me talk with people of various walks of life.”

It was an unspoken contract between him and Father: take potentially inheriting the family business seriously, and learn how to navigate people in the process. He could understand that. A favor such as this wouldn’t have been easy to set up, even as the co-owner of the family company. Father and Mother weren’t the only employees, after all.

“You will not be expected to interact with these people until I deem you able to. As you watch me during these meetings, I expect you to learn and practice what you observe. I will be sharing with you my insights as well, with the belief that you will not repeat the mistakes I once made while learning.”

He wouldn’t be safe from the inquisitive eyes of the business people, but would receive protection from having to field their questions. It was as safe as it would get.

It was the best opportunity R’thipra would ever get. Simultaneously, it was the best way to exhaust him to the very core.

In that first meeting, full of stares boring into him and silent expectations and wonders whispered to the air, he held no illusions that this would be an easy task. He would conquer it, do whatever it took to ensure R’thipra Halusyn would properly exist, whether that mean wade through the muck of interaction and prying eyes or dragging himself down to the level of their thought processes. He would do it even if it meant complete and utter exhaustion, physically and mentally, because it would be worth it in the end. He would exist in their minds.

Trudging through Limsa Lominsa all day, day after day after day, blurring bells together until he couldn’t make sense of them anymore. His only glimpses of sunlight being the rays that streaked through the window of Father’s office, since he and Father would leave for the city before the sun rose. Resisting the siren song of his bed to speak with Father about what he had noticed and learned that day, and further resisting by standing in front of the mirror of his bathroom, clutching the replacement of the porcelain sink he’d broken what felt like an eternity ago, and practicing facial expressions in the mirror.

To make a friendly smile, pull up at the corners of his mouth, and shut the eyes like he was laughing. To make a polite smile, do nothing with the eyes, pull more on the corners of the mouth, and perhaps show some of his front teeth. To make a smile to show no mercy, only pull up on one corner of the mouth, and raise the eyebrows some to show more whites of his eyes.

To feign surprise, raise the eyebrows to open the eyelids, and stretch the brow horizontally. To feign fear, open the mouth and tense the lips, raise and draw the eyebrows together, and raise the upper eyelid but tense the lower eyelid. To feign anger, lower and draw the eyebrows together, tense the lips, and stare hard at the subject.

“If you control the way you appear, you are the one in power. In that position of power, you may lead, or you may follow – the role you play does not matter. As a leader, you may steer the conversation and the emotions of the followers; as a follower, you may lend credence to the leader or reject them.”

Appearance, and how it was interpreted, was powerful. He’d learned this lesson very thoroughly when he was younger, when he was Soemr, curling into himself in hopes of blunting the cutting words and beliefs thrown at him from Aleport. When he finally cast of his shield and stood tall and undaunted, he was seen as a beast; when he fended off the coeurl in Oakwood and triumphed over the silent battlefield of Aleport, they bastardized him into something terrifyingly, immovably strong. Even his own mind surrendered to its power, as icy chains and thorns ripped and teared at his love for himself, borrowing Aleport’s voice first before mocking him with his own. The chains were only cast off when he embraced his ancestry fully and dedicated his mind, body, and soul to changing his appearance to fit his dreams of love and community.

It was no different in the world of business, it seemed. He was very familiar with the power he was meant to wield.

There was one more aspect, however, that his opponents had the advantage in. The appearance and its power to sway the hearts and minds of others was one half of the solution. The other half was the power of the voice to introduce ideas and desires.

Father’s business associates came from all the corners of Hydaelyn and spoke with the language of their home cities. The Gridanians invoked law and tradition; the Ul’dahns sweetened honeyed words of mutually beneficial deals; the Lominsans a mixture of sly double-speak and swaggered bravery; the Far Easterners revolved around the topic and assured mutual agreement before going for the throat.

“If you demote yourself entirely to play their game, they will always outplay you. No one will have as much experience playing their game than themselves and their cohort. Respect their game and wade into it to gain their trust, but never lose sight of your goal and yourself. Any partner worth working with is one that will work with you and your game.”

But he was not looking to enter the realm of business, as much as Father plied him to. He had no desire to manipulate nor steal. Business relationships followed much the same rules underlying rules as other relationships. If R’thipra Halusyn was to exist, he would need to make his own game.

He was born in bred in Lominsan society. As much as it had harmed him, as much as he loathed it and wished to be free of its influence, it had shaped him and his voice. Accented and choppy as it was, he couldn’t muster the brash and the swagger, nor the charm that belied doublespeak. There would be no reason to try either; he would be called out before he could speak his first word, and he refused to play that game anyway. No, he would play a different game.

Father had been living in Lominsan society for decades, and yet his voice remained unaffected by Lominsan influences. He stood strong against the demands of other games and played just enough to ensure cooperation rather than domination. His words were chosen with care and spoken with attention to the other nations’ games while preserving the sanctity of his own.

It was a voice rightfully bared by R’halu Tia, once nurtured from birth by a strong community and birthright. Even in his frustration and rebellion against the norms of the tribe, he gave back to them when it was needed, and held them still in deep regard.

Confidence born of love for family, stubbornness born of a wanting to make things better, and belief that things could change. Rejecting the influences of evil societies wanting you to submit and ask for nothing more.

That was Father’s voice, and that would be R’thipra’s voice as well.

Now, it was simply a matter of if the sum of his life’s experiences, and his determination to be heard, would triumph over his opponents.

________________________________________________________________

He quickly learned that there no breaks given in Father’s line of work.

Shadowing his footsteps led him to realized that his dedication to his work knew no bounds. Meetings were organized by him nearly every day and concerned any topic possible, ranging from the fiscal to the personal. Time spent outside the meeting room involved stacks of parchment, books as thick as his unglamoured arm, and a quill inkwell that required replacing every bell. And in the scarce moments where people nor paperwork called his attention, he spoke his thoughts aloud in brainstorming sessions that led to uneven, hurried, messy, real-time training scrawling across blank parchment. At every waking moment of his work duties, his mind was split between business work and training himself. Every waking moment he was off-duty was spent on practicing his lessons.

There was simply too much to do in too little time. For every project finished, two would start. And as the sun set and he was relinquished from his Father’s shadow, there was still no end to his personal work.

A sennight passed. He drifted on longing dreams of golden fields and cool breezes.

Then, two. The imprint of his face and the way it stretched under his command remained visible in the corner of his eye.

A moon passed. He felt as though he was suffocating under the weight of paper and gray.

Then, another. When was the last time he could truly think?

He knew all too well the limitations of the mind, what burdens it could bear before the foundation began to crack. This was just another trying test of its tenacity. This was not the fault of the jeering ice lancing at his mind, of the voices of Aleport continuing to dig at his vulnerabilities.

He was in control. This was an investment into his future as R’thipra Tia. He could do this.

In brief moments of lucidity, he caught snippets of conversation not related to their work. Discussion held over stacks of the Mythril Eye, its pages flipped to articles about the Grand Companies desperate for new recruits to fight against the Garlean Empire. Hushed whispers of the red moon Dalamud waxing and waning in brightness, of how it seemed to grow in size against the stars in the sky.

Recruitment drives and the glow of the heavens mattered little in comparison to his future.

So, exhausted as he was, he bent his head and got back to work.

________________________________________________________________

“Summer, are you…okay?”

Three days of respite. Finally, a break. It had apparently been planned for quite a while; before he would officially start meetings the day before, the room was abuzz with lighthearted and relieved chatter for the break Father afforded them.

It was his first time back in his sanctuary of peace and tranquility. A day of near-comatose rest stole his first free day, but he wasn’t going to ignore the calls of golden fields outside Aleport’s walls and the cool respite of Oakwood’s any more. Even if their voices were faint, barely a whisper on the wind flitting about the noise of schedules and paperwork and lessons occupying his mind, who knew when next he’d have the time to simply exist in peace?

And yet, for all his tired mind conjured up task lists of enjoyment and fun – of plunging himself into the rush and joy of hunting, of retreating to the shade to spread paint on canvas and relieve the stress of his new day-to-day life, of simply closing his eyes and sleeping -, his mind and body wouldn’t cooperate, save on one thing. Thus, he found himself sitting in the secret spot, staring listlessly out at the shimmering sea that once filled him with peace and wonder, that now only served to give his eyes a reprieve from people and paperwork.

He knew everything had dulled, but to not notice that Sylbgeim followed him? He was losing his edge.

“…Yeah, I’m alright.” It had took R’thipra several moments to realize that turning his gaze to her wasn’t a true response. “I’m just…takin’ a break.”

Her scoff wasn’t unkind, but neither was it kind. She took a seat beside him, her legs dangling off the cliffside. “’Taking a break’ really just means you’re doing nothing. Your father’s working you down to the bone, of course your brain hasn’t had a chance to have some downtime!”

R’thipra could only grunt an affirmative, closing his eyes.

“Why are you subjecting yourself to this, anyway? You obviously hate it. Bryn and I miss seeing you around, too.”

Right. The last time he’d spent a significant amount of time with Sylbgeim was before Father had offered him his work-based solution. Bryn, of course, was a regular attendee of family dinner nights, but said dinners were hazy in his memory.

“…It’s all goin’ –“

‘Going’. It’s ‘going’, don’t drop the ‘g’, R’thipra.

“…going t…o be worth it in the end. It’s…just a lot of work right now.”

“It’s a lot of work, alright.” She snorted loud. “You look like a walking corpse.”

“I do…?”

“Gods, Summer, yes you do! If I hadn’t have spoken up, I’m sure you would’ve passed out and fallen into the ocean!”

“…I’m not that tired,” he mumbled.

“The last time you mumbled like that, it was when we were first meeting as kids.”

“But at least I’m not shying away from y…ou right now.”

He heard her scoff beside him, imagined her brushing her hair out of her face in agitation. “Yes, you aren’t, but I’m thinking that’s more because we’ve known each other for so long. The whole town knows you as the Miqo’te slinking around the shadows, you know.”

His face felt a little odd. Why? It felt too good to keep his eyes closed, though. “Mm. I know.”

“Not that you’ve been around very much, with your job and –”

Something smacked him hard in the chest, startling a wheeze out of him. Eyes flying open, he saw staring him with a stern glare.

“Yep, you absolutely were going to fall off the cliff. You almost did just now!”

Did he really almost just fall off? Maybe it was more than just his senses and thoughts that were dulled. He could tell he was trying to form words, but in that moment, all that came out was a nonsensical grumble.

“Come on, we’re moving away from edge.”

Sylbgeim was tugging at his arm, yet both of them knew it was futile. Neither of them could expect her to be able to budge him, let alone drag or carry him. He simply weighed too much; his glamour wouldn’t change that.

So, it was with a perilous feeling of heaviness that he drug himself over to the cavern wall, where everything was doused in shade and the sea hidden from view. Perhaps the view could go to someone who could appreciate it more than him at the current moment.

“…Now do you understand my worry?”

R’thipra raised a hand to rub at his eyes. Absently, he wondered how bad he looked if he was this tired. “Aye.”

“How long are you expecting to do all of this, Summer? It’s only been a moon, and you’re already like this.”

That was a good question. How long was he intending to do this? Two moons had passed already, yet there was still much more work to be done. No one would say that he wasn’t a diligent student – yet for all of the countless bells he put into studying and practicing his expressions and words and tone, he knew he was far from master at it. Hardly more than an apprentice, really.

“You can’t keep doing this. It’s not healthy for you.”

“But I ‘ave t’.” Shit, he’d slipped again. His mouth was speaking the words before he could think about them. “If I don’t, I can’t exist.”

“Are you really going to be existing if you’re constantly burnt out and unable to enjoy life?”

“It’s…only goin’ t’ be temporary.”

“You’re certainly not acting like it’s going to be temporary! You’re practically killing yourself. When’s the last time you painted, huh? Did any hunting, stayed the night out in Oakwood?”

Too long, his mind whispered. He chose to remain silent.

Sylbgeim sighed long beside him. “There’s a lot going on right now, Summer. You’ve been watching Dalamud, right? Have you been approached by any Maelstrom or Yellowjacket soldiers about recruitment?”

The expression that twisted itself on his face must’ve been appalling. He could feel it sit wrong on his face, could hear Sylbgeim’s intake of breath. It took conscious effort to wipe it away.

“…Sorry, that was wrong of me to say. Even with your glamour, I think they’d figure out that you aren’t interested in fighting their battles.”

“No, I’m not,” he simply grumbled.

“The point I’m trying to make,” she continued after a moment, “is that there’s a lot of concerning developments going on right now. This isn’t the time to waste away bent over paperwork and worrying about making yourself exist to other people. They’re saying that if the Grand Companies fall, the Empire will be subjugating us.”

“Good luck with…that…”

He was startled awake by the sound of snapping fingers too close to his face. Had he nearly fallen asleep again?

“Summer, please. Pay attention to what I’m saying. Everyone’s feeling stress right now, and it’s going to be a while before it lets up. You shouldn’t be adding to your stress by working yourself to the bone. This could be your only chance to rest and recover.”

R’thipra blearily blinked his eyes. “Father’s not stoppin’…though. Everyone’s stayin’ workin’. I need to…”

“Fine then.”

Suddenly, the warmth of her hand disappeared. He craned his neck to watch Sylbgeim leap to her feet, hands were clenched by her side. Her mouth a scowl.

“I’m going to talk with your Father.”

“W-What…?”

“I said, I’m going to talk with your Father. If you aren’t going to listen to me and get your rest, I’m going to make you. Starting with talking with him and giving everyone, and especially you, more breaks.”

Legs that were thankful for the reprieve refused to let him stand at first, instead nearly pitching him back down into the ground. Bracing himself against the rock wall behind him worked better, even if they still felt like they were ready to collapse under his weight once more.

“’e’s busy, Sylbgeim. Ye…ye can’t just talk t’ ‘im like that.”

“Oh yes I can,” she called back. “I’ll just bring it up the next time I’m invited over for dinner.”

Sylbgeim turned her back to him, staring up at the rock wall at the back of the secret spot. Fingers had engraved a climbing path up the wall over the years, evidence of their need for reprieve from the difficulties of their lives.

Once a sanctuary to escape Aleport and its people, now a temporary place of refuge for him to scurry back to when had the time to spare.

When thinking of it like that, something intangible weighed heavy on R’thipra’s heart.

“Fine, I’ll…talk t’ ‘im. Try t’…be more balanced with it.”

She turned back to him slowly, eyes searching him.

He swallowed thickly, trying to meet her eyes. It was more difficult than expected. “…I’m sorry. I…wasn’t tryin’ t’ blow ye off or…anythin’. Yer right about everythin’. I’m just…not thinkin’ straight.”

For just a moment, there was a tenuous silence between them. He was ready to flinch when the peace shattered.

Then, Sylbgeim smiled, strode up to him, and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Unexpected warmth blossomed in his breast, chasing away the exhaustion clinging to his body.

It felt nice.

“Apology accepted, Summer. I know you’re trying the best you can to make everything work out. I just don’t want you to destroy yourself in the process.”

Slowly, he felt himself hug her back. Glamoured as R’thipra, she was too big for him to hug properly. Glamoured as R’thipra, she practically enveloped him.

It was warm. Comfortable. Safe.

He breathed out a slow breath.

“I’ll…try not t’.”

________________________________________________________________

He wouldn’t get the chance to tell his Father. For the very next day, the realm would change forever.

The very next time he saw him, when he finally returned from his break, he spoke only one thing to his family:

“Pack what’s important to you. We’re going away for the day.”

His tone was grave, warning, knowing something that they didn’t. They had no choice but to obey the fear.

At noon, their small contingent left through Aleport’s open gates and strode into Oakwood. There was no birdsong, nor sound of creatures scuttling around. The breeze rolling in front the sea felt stale and bitter all at once.

R’thipra’s hackles raised. Something was horribly, terrifyingly wrong. And yet, Father hardly spoke a word the entire way, expression as stoic as the cliffs around them.

It was only after he led them into the rock tunnel, already cleared of the yarzon that normally inhabited it, as the sun began to descend beneath the horizon, that he spoke.

“I was with my sept until this morning. It was meant to be a normal visit, but our Warden’s Word caught my attention.”

The seer of the sept, R’thipra recalled from one of his conversations with his Father. One who reads both the sky and the ground to heal and divine the future.

“Like us, he has been watching Dalamud. Starting two days ago, he said he saw the spark of life within the moon. It has only grown brighter since.”

The meaning was clear. The dark tunnel was meant to be a shelter, away from the world as they dealt with Dalamud’s descent and the life it held. Let the people of Aleport deal with the destruction it would wrought, Father’s intent said, while he would focus on keeping his family safe.

And he and the Word would be proven right. As the darkness descended upon the sky and sleep took them, they were shaken awake by the trembling of the ground. Nighttime burned as bright as daytime as fire rained down from the heavens, accompanied by the piercing roar of the Elder Primal.

They could hear the screams of Aleport rise above the city walls as well, as their world was forever changed.

R’thipra squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fall asleep.

________________________________________________________________

When morning truthfully came and they finally stepped out of Oakwood, Aleport was a shadow of its former self.

What walls that still stood, once pristine white granite, were soot-stained and scorched and cracked in irreparable ways. So too were the stone pavers lining the ground, uneven ground no longer safe to walk blindly and easily on. They ended abruptly the further they went into the town, sidewalks rather than paths leading to the wooden piers that lay in shambles in the ocean along with the planks that once made up the merchant ships tied to them. Amidst all the still chaos, the stink of fish boiled and roasted alive in the sea hung in the air like a miasma, clinging to the people shuffling through the wreckage of their lives with blank faces and red eyes.

R’thipra’s nose was well-trained and knew the underlying scent of blood and char was not from fish. Without conscious thought, he turned away at the sight of red and black staining the ground under fallen bricks and ship debris.

It was clear that his family was fortunate: reports from Limsa Lominsa and other cities spoke of total destruction in some areas and major damage in others, let alone catastrophic loss of life. The dragon that had rampaged across Eorzea and ushered in the Seventh Umbral Calamity had shown no bias to the other city-states either. From the elementals of the Twelveswood falling quiet, to the refugee crisis in Ul’dah, to the dramatic transformation of Coerthas into a hell of frost, there was no end in sight to the new troubles plaguing Eorzea.

It was simply another stroke of fortune that Mother and Father already worked in the industry of dredging fresh stone from the land and creating homes and buildings from them. There were endless clients, endless projects to work on and endless lives to repair. As an employee of their company and member of their family, it was only natural that R’thipra would be asked to help.

If the work before had exhausted him to his core, the thought of more demanding work now, and for people who were begging his help now but couldn’t care less about his life before, sickened him. It was a simple and agreeable deal between him and Father: less hours of work at the company and less practice, in exchange for spending his free time feeding and taking care of everyone else in the family.

Less time for practice, more time for spending in Oakwood and doing what he did best. No longer an activity by himself and serving only himself, but supporting Bryn and his parents and avoiding the skyrocketing prices of goods burning away the profits of the family company.

In a period of crisis, it was much safer to become self-reliant. Work with others when it’s advantageous, but don’t become dependent.

And if there was anything R’thipra would leap at, it would be becoming less dependent on Aleport and the people of Limsa Lominsa. They never had his best interests in mind, after all.

________________________________________________________________

There was one issue with his plan: he was no longer invisible.

He was the only one not mourning the loss of life or way of life, after all. Where the citizens of Aleport shambled through the streets with blank gazes or used what little energy they had to pick up the pieces of their life, he remained unaffected, untouched, strong. An outsider to their lives, simply sharing the same space as them for his own goals.

Sluggish as they were at first, he felt their gazes sweep over his back, watch him from where they were huddled in corners trying to put their minds back together. Even with years blunting their sting, he was acutely aware of it. Experience taught him well that once they began, they never stopped; they only changed their intention.

As the moons passed into years, as Father and Mother disappeared more and more often into their work and reaped the rewards, as R’thipra was allowed to meet alone with Father’s business partners between hunting days, Aleport’s walls were gradually rebuilt and as its people gained light in there eyes once more. And finally, the day came for it all to change.

“’ey, kiddo! Give us a ‘and over ‘ere, why don’t ye?”

The fishmonger woman waved at him from the beginnings of the new dock, large crates stacked tall and imposing beside her. The intention was clear; he no longer had the courtesy of their voices being silenced.

The prickle of anxiety returned as it had when he’d first encountered them as R’thipra. When would he ever be free of it? Not as soon as he’d hoped. Perhaps interacting with the town in such a casual manner would always unsettle him.

Even if she wouldn’t be able to lift the boxes herself, there were plenty of people around to help. There was no reason to bow and help and be consumed by the fervor of a town trying to rebuild.

So, he put on his best, most polite, most apologetic smile. Curved his eyebrows in to enhance the look, wished that his ears would aid him when they couldn’t, and spoke as best he could with his chosen voice. “I apologize, I can’t delay in preparing this,” he replied lightly, motioning to the sack of herbs and fruits he’d harvested that morning. “I hope someone else can help you though.”

He didn’t wait to hear her response, turning away. Made himself not look back to gauge her reaction, or to see if she did receive help. There was no reason to see if her eyebrows knit in confusion, if her lips turned down into a frown, or if she heaved a long sigh. There was no reason for him to help the reaction stick in the back of his mind, to nag and pull at his attention until he caved and overanalyzed it for bells and bells. Her problem would be solved by the time the sun rose, anyway, by someone else taking pity on her.

And while the number of eyes on him rose in Aleport, it happened again far from town, another set of moons later. As the newly-replaced streetlamps illuminated the darkening streets of Limsa Lominsa one evening, he could feel a pair of prying eyes fall on his back. From the meeting room behind him, one of Father’s associates called out to him.

“Hey, R’thipra! Come here a second, will you?”

An arm wound around his shoulders, belonging to the man’s subordinate, a shrew-faced mole who he’d often heard snarking about his Father behind his back. The ooze of his touch remained even as R’thipra jerked away, away from the room and toward the Lominsan skybridges.

Faux politeness would not work on these men, like it had for the fishmonger. They were masters of the arena of pretense; he was still a novice in comparison, and his bells of practice would never beat experience. And yet, it was a similar case to the fishmonger in terms of his visibility. Father never lacked for business anymore, and ransom was a sound business choice for many struggling in this city.

He took a deep, slow breath, hand hovering over the pocket of his glamour plate. Made sure he was just behind one of the hanging overhead lights before pulling on the aether within. Watched as the men’s eyes traveled up and beside his head, to where even he could see the shine of his axe out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m being expected,” is all he said, staring them in the eyes. “Though I’ll be sure to tell my Father you wanted to speak with me.” He made sure not to turn his back as he stepped away, smothered his expression to blankness as he watched them until there was a wall between them. Only when there was no way for him to agitate them into action did he loosen his breath and teleport back to Aleport, slamming shut the front door and locking it thrice.

The final piece of proof to his sudden visibility came not with a polite smile and a request, nor a slimy smile and an attempt at coercion, but a simple look of confusion.

The gaggle of once-children, now the same age as him, had never stopped wandering the streets of Aleport even throughout the slow recovery. Glassy-eyed and faces aging with time and stress far surpassing what their physical age declared, they were likewise ghosts in the crowd, shuffling soleless-shoed feet along the ground with heads bowed. Their hands were always occupied with stones and logs and nets and sacks of all manner of goods, the weight made their movements slow and unsteady, the load far too large for their rapidly changing bodies.

Only a sennight after he’d dissuaded his would-be kidnappers with a glint of steel, as he took to the streets cast in the shadow of the skeleton of a new ship, R’thipra passed the broken child as he clumsily bore his heavy cargo toward the pier. Amid the sounds of hammers cracking on wood and shouts from rusty throats coming from above them, there was no reason for an encounter to happen.

And yet, as he continued up the street and toward his home, he felt the boy lift his head and stare at his back. His gaze was neither stabbing nor tearing nor raking, but rather muddled and confused, as if he were struggling to see through a haze.

The dissonance R’thipra felt behind him was terrifying in its innocence, asking only a single question.

“Who are ye…?”

Despite his best efforts, his body turned to the voice. The broken boy’s eyebrows were furrowed, his expression the same as if he was trying to wake up. Even when R’thipra spoke his name, the broken boy remained quiet, still staring with that odd expression. Then, almost imperceptive, there was a shift: the barest hint of his eyes focusing, narrowing, the sign that he’d captured a thought.

“Ye…live with ‘alu and Rhylbryn, then.”

The hairs stood on the back of his neck, and not because of the coastal winds blowing off the sea. For once, he couldn’t pull up his polite, disarming smile, nor anything resembling even a neutral expression. There was no way he’d be able to respond to that.

The conclusion he eventually arrived at was to distract and disarm. “Don’t ye ‘ave t’ deliver that soon…?” he fumbled instead, gesturing to the cargo in his hands. “Ye’d better get goin’.”

He watched as those hazy, scrying eyes widened in shock, then deadened once more. Became the one staring at the broken boy’s retreating back, frozen in place until he rounded the corner and he was safe once more.

Clearly, the shock of the Calamity had passed, enough for even those affected most to look outward to the people that passed them by. To question them, to experience them as something more than shadows passing by while they dealt with their grief. His existence drew their attention more than anything else, it seemed.

What could he do?

________________________________________________________________

His answer came in the form of a flier.

“The Adventurer’s Guild of Limsa Lominsa welcomes any who want to walk the path of wanderer and adventurer! Journey past the horizon and become the savior people need in these dark times. If you dream of broadening your experience and line your pockets with gil while doing so, speak with Baderon in the Drowning Wench.”

There was no way he could sign up for the Limsa Lominsa Adventurer’s Guild, no way to guarantee he wouldn’t be subjected to wandering the island and spreading his infamy among those who could hear tales about himself in Aleport. Halu and Hollstyrwyn Construction & Prospecting operated in the other city-states, but their headquarters on Vylbrand made for a vulnerability should bad word of R’thipra Halusyn spread.

But should there be Adventurer’s Guilds in the other city-states, existing outside the gossip of Aleport and Limsa Lominsa? It would be a chance to make his dreams come true: to learn about and explore the lands and cultures beyond the Vylbrand shores, and to escape Aleport’s circle of influence once and for all. There would be no better opportunity.

Before lofty dreams could be realized, a plan had to be put in place. Routes researched and sketched, tools to procure, and partnerships to be thought out. He read through and took notes on a stolen schedule of passenger ships sailing into and out of Limsan ports between casts of his fishing pole; listened in on chatter between other adventurers about their experiences in other lands and noted them on his growing collection of maps; organized his belongings into what could be taken with him when injury or bad weather kept him indoors.

He waited, and waited, and waited, until the stars aligned.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and R’thipra packed his notes away in the fleeting light, his Father stared across at him over his desk. “You have been keeping yourself quite busy lately.” His tone was quiet, idle, the start of something conversational but not quite making it there – the difficult transition between his business side and his fatherly side. “What are you planning?”

Even as one of his sheafs of notes stubbornly refused to slide smoothly into his bag, R’thipra lifted his head. There hadn’t been a reason to hide his ideas and plans; it was only natural that someone would catch on eventually, and Father was never one to let things slip by unnoticed and uncommented on. Now, he was left to consider how to frame his desires.

“I’ve…been considering what I want to do with my life, Father.”

Father’s gaze was neither critical nor demeaning, but it was questioning and expectant. “…What paths have you considered?”

“…I assume I can’t go up and live with the rest of the sept, like you used to?”

Father simply shook his head, his gaze almost mournful. “It is not safe up there.”

When would he tell him why? The waterfalls below the sept served as the spawning ground for the coeurls, yes, and the rocky path leading above them swarmed with kobolds from a hostile order. Yet, R’thipra doubted these were the dangers Father spoke of.

He couldn’t ask. Father wouldn’t elaborate. A standstill was all that awaited that potential conversation, his desire of meeting his sept a distant one. This was not the time to fight that hopeless battle, as much as the possibility of never achieving that dream curdled his stomach.

This conversation was to start his other dream, the dream of venturing across the lands of Hydaelyn. He needed to stay focused.

“Until the time is right for me to meet them,” R’thipra sidestepped the topic politely, watching that mournful darkness lift from Father’s eyes, “I’ve decided to become an adventurer. I’ve been planning routes and lodgings – in places far away from you and everyone else, it’s better to not go in blind.”

Father’s expression remained silent and neutral at first. To those not well-versed in his company, his silence would be deafening, demanding them to cobble together and present more information for his judgment. R’thipra knew it was simply his face of contemplation and pondering; to not show affection or disaffection should they sway the outcome before he presented his thoughts.

Soon, however, the space around Father’s eyes crinkled into a strange smile of their own. “To plan and research the journey ahead of you will lead you to success, R’thipra. Will you share them with me?”

The desk that had been two papers away from being cleared for the evening was soon covered once more. The lanterns that had almost escaped being relit were lit once more, and as their hunched over the desk and motioned from one map to another, their shadows cast dances on the walls behind them. Quiet conversation gave way to experienced advice and warnings and recommendations; quill pens dipped in ink to cross out and rewrite lists of who to trust, what routes to take, and what towns were most likely in need of his services.

Neither of them got much sleep that evening, but it prepared R’thipra well enough to announce his plans the next time his family gathered. Under the warm light of the chandelier and surrounded by the intoxicating aroma of their feast, he cleared his voice and spoke in the expectant silence that followed.

“I’ve decided that I want to become an adventurer, away from Vylbrand. Starting in a moon’s time, I’ll be heading to the Black Shroud to register for the Adventurer’s Guild and begin my life there.”

________________________________________________________________

The evening of his announcement was one that R’thipra would never forget.

He met Mother and Bryn’s shock with smiles and reasons. Platters of food lovingly baked and broiled weren’t forgotten, though they were gently pushed aside in favor for all of the documents he and Father had marked on. Between traces of his finger on crinkled papers and reassurances spoken aloud, he carved into salt cod and offered still-warm biscuits around the table. When all of the documents had finally been explained, he continued to talk and talk with soft voice and warm tone, watching the worry gradually melt away into contentedness and pride.

Lit bright by the chandelier hanging above them, Bryn broke custom and stood first, pulling him out of his chair and into an embrace fitting for such a gentle soul as he was.

“Ye know we’ll miss ye,” he murmured softly, to be heard only by his ears. “But we know ye ‘ave all the reasons in the world t’ go out there. Whatever ‘appens out there, know ye’ve always got a safe place ‘ere.”

R’thipra normally wasn’t one for long hugs. Yet, for the first time in his life, he never wanted the hug to end.

Soon, Mother had stood and stepped forward, hugging him as well. Being sandwiched between two Roegadyn meant that he could hardly see, but he could hear Mother’s muffled voice above him calling for Father to join as well. And not even a moment later, he felt another pressure on his side, rough stonelike skin catching on the fabric of his shirt.

Time dictated that they had to eventually split apart, but he carried those feelings with him into the following morning, where he called Sylbgeim to the secret spot. As they and Bryn gathered under the shade of rock and basked in the cool saltwind breeze flitting about them, he announced his plans. And she, too, embraced him; not as gentle as Bryn had, but with similar warmth and fondness, wrapped in package that was simultaneously tight and comforting.

Her voice, normally so strong and confident, seemed to catch in her throat. “…I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, Summer. But you’re going to have a wonderful time in the Shroud, I just know it. You’re going to be able to live wherever you want, talk with whoever you want…and you’re going to be free.”

So warm. So loved. The two embraces, one from his blood family and one from someone he considered family besides, filled him with such strong emotions that he felt as though he could burst into tears at any moment. For their sakes, he held them in.

A moon was a moon, but it passed by shockingly quick. Preparation dominated his days: deciding what he could and couldn’t bring from the collection of items in his room; studying and practicing techniques that would prove useful to him on his journey; double- and triple-checking his plans and documents were up-to-date and reliable. The irony that his journey would begin on a ship departing from Aleport wasn’t lost on him, and it required a special type of preparation on its own. What time he would leave the mansion for the boat, where would be a safe place to stay if he had to wait, what he would do if Aleport residents boarded the boat as well, among so many other variables.

And between everything, his modified glamour dresser was open, his reflection barely reflecting in the foggy mirror as he applied everything Ezeane had taught him those few years ago into creating a glamour that could protect him should everything about his departure go wrong.

It all culminated on the eve before his departure. The belongings chosen to accompany him on his trip lay spread out across his desk and bed in their appropriate groups, his important travel documents and plans bound in folder at the forefront, the modified glamour dresser seated tall above them all. A knock sounded on his door, and as he opened it, everyone he’d known and loved stood on the other side with arms full.

“The Thanalan sun’s brutal, from what I ‘ear,” Bryn spoke first, striding into his room with a smile and setting his bundle on the bed. “So, I made ye some clothes fer the weather. Lightweight ‘empen shirts and pants that’ll cover ye up from the sun, and the shirt’s reversible, too. There’s goin’ t’ be thieves, so wear the gray side out fer them, and the white embossed side out when ye finally get t’ Gridania.”

Sylbgeim was next, setting her load down next to Bryn’s. “And Bryn couldn’t make a hat in time, so I made that! Well, it’s made of reed instead of cloth, but it’ll keep you well-shaded, I swear. If you’re going to be starting a new life overseas, you’ve got to have a good backpack to carry everything too. Trust me, the last thing you want while traveling is for your pack to break, so I got you a big leather one.”

“If yer goin’ t’ be doin’ a lot of adventurin’, yer not leavin’ without these.” Mother placed a small, but heavy-looking, leather sack beside the backpack. “Sharpenin’ stones made by me, fer when ye’ve got t’ sharpen yer axe. On yer way through Thanalan, see if ye can stop by Mutamex’s workshop – goblin’s free t’ teachin’ people ‘ow t’ meld materia t’ their weapons, and yer first set of materia’s in there. Ye’ve got t’ stay safe out there.”

Last but not least, Father stood before him, placing a sizeable, hefty coinpurse in his hands with the slightest of smiles. “You have been saving your gil, but the traveler’s road is more expensive than you know. Inside this wallet is 20,000 gil; enough to afford any essentials you may need, and more to spare settling into Gridania. Use it wisely, and it will save you.”

His room was more cluttered now, the total sum of his belongings growing heavier by the tick, and there was even more work to be done now: ensuring the clothes fit him well, adjusting the backpack to ensure his back wouldn’t hurt, mapping more locations, and budgeting the generous sum to his needs. On the eve before his departure, where his actions now would dictate how much sleep he could get before boarding the ship and remaining alert until it made landfall, he now had much more work to do.

And yet, R’thipra couldn’t do anything but smile and finally shed the tears that he’d been holding back, that’d been gathering more and more as each gift was presented.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed, clearing his throat and gathering his voice. “Thank you so much. I…know it’s going to be a long road, and it’s not going to be easy. I’m going to get through it, thanks to all of you. I’m going to make it through Thanalan, get the whole of Gridania to trust me, and then I’m going to settle in and build my life from the ground up.”

“Exactly! And you’d better not forget to keep in touch,” Sylbgeim grinned, thumping him gently on the back. “Linkpearls and Moogle mail. We want to hear all about it, as well as make sure you’re doing okay. It’s a big world out there.”

“You know I will,” he responded with a good-natured smile. “I’ll probably get homesick pretty quickly, being away from you all. Be sure to pick up the pearl when I call, okay?”

A chorus of ‘yeah!’s and nods resounded through the room, each person with a smile lighting their faces.

“Now, let’s ‘elp ‘im get packed, yeah?” Bryn’s voice spoke over the chorus, and they responded once more, spreading across his room. “Summer, ye tell us where t’ put things, and we’ll do it.”

He couldn’t ask for a better family.

________________________________________________________________

The next morning, as the seafog rolled in and the sun started to peek over the horizon, a young Hyuran man with purple eyes left his family’s mansion for the last time in a long, long time. Backpack comfortably settled on his back and the hood of his jacket pulled over his head, he waited beside the side of the passenger vessel tied to the furthest most dock down the lane.

A bell later, he stood aboard the ship, facing Aleport in all its glory. The fragile rays of sunlight warming the stone walls made it look almost beautiful for once; the morning calls of the birds beyond its walls, enticing. Standing atop the highest wall of the city, his family and Sylbgeim stood to see him off, waving.

“We’re off!” called the captain further down the ship’s length. “Next stop: Vesper Bay!”

With a bright smile on his face, the Hyur waved back to them. And waved and waved, until they became as dark smudges atop the wall, then eventually, nothing.

The sun had truly risen above the horizon, casting bright light over Aleport. It stuck out as a brilliantly gleaming white burr on the otherwise gray cliffsides and yellow-grass plains atop them.

He’d long ago said his goodbyes to the city, back when he’d forsaken the life and the people within those walls for the plains and once-wood outside. There was no reason to say them again.

He turned away and descended into the ship’s hull.

________________________________________________________________

The clothing Bryn had so lovingly made for him wouldn’t survive the trip. It was made to endure the sun, not the brutality he would face.

The hat and bag Sylbgeim had gifted him wouldn’t either – one would be forgotten to float atop the desert winds, and the other would be ripped apart and its contents stolen.

The sharpening stones would never see a use, and Mutamex would never lay eyes on the materia Mother had gathered for him.

Father’s money would be half-spent on necessities that wouldn’t matter in the end, and the other half would be stolen as well.

R’thipra Halusyn as he was would not survive the journey. The R’thipra Halusyn that would return would be a broken and fragile thing, his mind consumed by a level of anxiety and paranoia he’d never experienced before and wouldn’t know how to work with.

Months later, years later, he would wish he’d never departed Aleport the day he did, traveled the way he did, acted the way he did. There would be no going back to his life before.

Fate had never been a kind mistress to him, and it had no reason to change its ways.

#ffxiv rp #ffxiv #r'thipra tia #the makings of a beast ffxiv #story #tw: bullying #// bullying #tw: xenophobia #// xenophobia #tw: racism #// racism #tw: anxiety #// anxiety #tw: dysphoria #// dysphoria

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