Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On a windswept isle in the southwestern corner of the realm, amidst the roiling waves of the Rhotano Sea, lies the city-state of Limsa Lominsa.

To this haven for bandits and brigands, cutthroats and curs, seekers of both freedom and fortune, comes a lone adventurer.

Lone, yet not alone, for the hero’s star is blessed by the light of the diety Rhalgr,

and her arrival has drawn the gaze of the nation’s patron diety, Llymalaen.

 
What realm-shaking fate has He deigned to walk beside her upon

and She descried in the churning waters of this mortal’s future?

          If there was one solid truth, it was there were as many Adventurers as there were stars in sky- ever expanding as names flourished and brightened, ever waning as they faded and slept on, but always a constant in the world.

          A bit in the waning department in the past years, though Brennan could hardly fault anyone for the slight dip in numbers. Big, unnamed shoes to fill, after all, and bigger unnamed troubles besides. He, himself, but a mere tradesman, a peddler, with no skills that would enable him to make such a drastic career change. But, it had been some time since the disaster that tore land and hearts asunder, and new blood had started making their way to the city-states of Eorzea. Youngin’s dressed in the new Adventure Guild standards and out to make fortunes and fame worthy of bard songs; a fire in their bellies, courage in their hearts, and determination in their every air.

          The mi’qote didn’t... exactly fit that mold. Well, besides having uniform provided.

          A nightmare in her heart and mind, more like, and distress on her every line as she tossed and turned in her seat. Anguish on her sleeping face, crinkling with every strain and whimper against whatever demons attacked her and nearly crushing the butterfly tattooed on her left cheek in weight of her fear. Twisting her head, tossing the dark tails framing her face in turn as she desperately dodges whatever is there. Fists clenched tight, a drop of red escaping between her fingers-

          The room was empty, save for elezen twins besides, and neither of them were being helpful. So, he did what he thought anyone should do when someone was in trouble, and stepped in.

          “OI! Y’all right, lass?”

          She gasped, startled, but to Brennan’s relief, her eyes snapped open, revealing them to be a teal and pink, her left and right, respectively. Pupils as large as marbles- a Moon Keeper, staring somewhere past him, unfocused, unseeing. Clouded. Awake, but not aware. Furious, even. Where had this nightmare taken th’ lass? She has yet to even step a foot on her journey- What was she dreaming?

          Then, she blinked and the shadows dispersed as suddenly as they had taken her.

          What a strange little star.

          Carbuncles.

          Just the word made her eyes light up, dwarfing the noon sun with their radiance and accompanied with a smile that could move the coldest of hearts. At least, that was the narrative Brennan found himself writing in his head. Were he not already a salesman, he fancied he could write a book or two.

          What reason would this one have for donning the garb of a New Adventurer? This young lady, this dreamer of a different hope- not of bard songs, or power unmatched. Not of notorious renown nor of riches to fill a thousand coffers. The treasure she sought was a simple one.

          “I wish to summon carbuncles!!”

          Oh?

          On the deck of the ship that ferried her to her destination, the docks of Limsa Lominsa, did she make her proclamation, her voice gone from soft and shy to driven. Buckled down and glaring, daring him to challenge her wish, and it made Brennan take measure of her more seriously.

          Maybe not the mold and all it entails, but what else could this one be...? Short, probably the shortest adventuring mi’qote he’d ever encountered, just barely coming up to his own chest. Hair, black as midnight even in the light, streaked with blue, like rivers, down the bundles twice-banded into three puffs at her cheeks, feathered short at the back in a simple reconstruction of a mi’qote tradition. The violet ink of the butterfly distinct against her lightly tanned skin and soft stripes, dancing gently with every word she spoke and every expression on her face- a marking she expressed was her mother’s heritage for mastery of healing magicks.

          “Healing is like the twist of fate,” her answer to his question earlier about the interesting tattoo, “The fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. The smallest impact makes the largest of changes. Or, so my mother always says. I think it’s just pretty, though.”

          Brennan lifted his eyebrow, confused some with the clash of prior information. A healer, yet heading for the Arcanist guild?

          “An’ forgive this ol’ man fer ‘is dumb question, but ye’d not be more int’rested in conjurin’? Of th’ forest of Gridania, considering yer prior trainin’?”

          Her mouth dropped some and her eyes widened- clearly, she had been expecting a negative response, and Brennan could give her none. Not when this star was proving more interesting than previously thought, and he would rather follow in the wake of her tale than ignore it.

          And for his willingness, she rewarded him with a smirk.

          “No ser. Carbuncles or bust.”

          Of course, so different was this little star that she did not register saving him from cannonfire as her first successful act, a rescue, mind, as an adventurer. Of course not. Not her inkling just before getting hit and tackling him to the wooden planks, not the bodily drag back down below deck (and she was certainly much stronger than her tiny form led one to believe) and not the demonstration of the mending spells at her fingertips. Just that brilliant little smile, the shake of her head against his praise.

          “Goodness, no, ser! Anyone else would have done the same!”

          Naïve, sweet little star.

          Maybe not a star to fit the mold, but one who will break it? Make her own?

          She bore the uniform. It counted. Never mind that she wasn’t registered yet- the girl was newly minted in Brennan’s eyes with this and, eager though he was to meet with his clients, he’d not have the girl go unrewarded before going their separate ways.

          So, when the ship had reached the docks, plank and anchor both dropped, he stopped this strange little adventurer who only wanted carbuncles. This little mi’qote who started in a nightmare and will hopefully end up with her dream in the coming days. He held out an accessory, a ring of white metal- a measly little thing, admittedly, but he had not planned on meeting any life-saving adventurers today- dropping it in her open palm with a grin.

          “Consider this payment fer savin’ me arse back there. It ain’t much, but should help ye fer a bit on yer journey.”

          Surprise writ on her face, but also joy and denial of having done anything miraculous. “Ser- I couldn’t possibly accept this!”

          “Nonsense, ye rightly earned it, err...” Brennan drew a blank. In all his yammering, had he once asked what to call this new star? No, no, he hadn’t. He normally asked. Normally- first for everything, he thought to himself. “Jus’ realized, I never got yer name.”

          ”Ahh, did I... I didn’t, did I?” She hummed, but had to shift her bag before she could answer him, those twin kids pushing their way rudely past the two of them. The annoyed look she threw at their leave matched his own feelings, but she switched immediately back to him with a nod.

          “Trionfi, Ser. Trionfi Fortuna.”

          “Trionfi Fortuna, huh?” 

          And isn’t that just the luckiest of meanings? ‘Triumph’ and ‘fate,' a fine name for a little star.

          Brennan nodded to himself, humming. A catchy name, too. Easy to remember. One to attached to all manner of bard songs, if she were to work hard.

          “Tell ye what. Become the sort of storied personage I can brag about havin’ met. Even bein’ th’ greatest summoner of Carbuncles in all of Limsa, an’ we can consider us square. How’s that?”

          “Deal, ser Brennan!” A clumsy salute, with a clumsier bow, hand clutching the ring like it held all the secrets to her future. Her laughter rang out, joy and sunshine, and he was suddenly not the only one looking her way anymore, not with that smile and that glittering gaze, and he wondered how many would fall under her spell.

          But, a peddler doesn’t make money just standing around, and he glanced at his pocket watch, sighing at the time. “And, it seems I must leave you, lest I be late for my appointments. Take care, lass, and don’t forget our deal!”

          And with all the flourish his old bones muster, Brennan gallantly bowed before this little star born, waving as he walked away, and hoping against all hope that this one would not fade into obscurity like the rest. Her name would ring true, he prayed to the MotherCrystal, to the Twelve. And that maybe, on his travels, he might hear it and some measures of her successes, and meet up again on the road to hear her tales.

          And her shout carried behind-

          “Trionfi Fortuna, the Greatest Carbuncle Summoner! Please look forward to it, Ser Brennan!”

          What strange, strange little star.

Through peril and hardship, discovery and triumph,
May the Destroyer grant her strength,
And the Navigator guide this brave soul on her life’s voyage...
 
Till sea swallows all.
And worlds break.

Chapter Text

          Baderon Tenfingers, at two years till his fiftieth- twenty of those running the Drowning Wench, and the twenty before being a resentful son and then a rebellious pirate- had seen many, many things. All manner of vicious curs and lofty foes, stalwart companions and yellow-bellied cowards, lusty maids and innocent ingénue. The banding together of the city-states, adventurers of all walks of life joining as one to face a foe, united regardless where they hailed. The fall of a moon. The rise and disappearance of some of their greatest heroes...

          So when, Trionfi ‘All-I-Want-Is-Carbuncles’ Fortuna stepped off the Lift less than a month ago and on to his roster, he thought that he knew what to expect.

          And he got it exactly.

          Along with all that shyness-is-a-lie-energy that came with it, because the second she formed the little bouncing beast, the scream that resulted ensured that everyone in Limsa Lominsa proper knew, if not at least heard, about the newest adventurer they had. The wake of destruction that followed only cemented her reputation as the local bubble of joy- one who happily ran out the gates to rid the paths of the vicious ladybugs and wharf rats that insisted on forever plaguing the outskirts of town, carbuncle at her heels and spells in her palms.

          But, destruction needed direction. And space to grow.

          Can't keep her here forever.

          Baderon glanced down at the request that had been received.

          Jobs had been steadily on the rise again. For a lot of the newer adventurers, most things were pretty town centered- Some stall guarding, some random errands around town, deliveries, item fetching, and the aforementioned pest extermination. Nothing that really took them far. No more than a few yalms outside the city proper. This recent notice, however, said that Red Rooster Stead needed assistance... with the sheep. Among other things.

          Some of his more experienced adventurers were available, but he had no doubt they would find the farm work too menial. The newer ones could make the trek- it wasn’t terribly far that a porter was needed, but many might be unwilling when they learned what tasks were involved. Trionfi fell into the latter category, obviously, being the new guppy of the rotation, and while she had already completed the goal she had set out to do coming over to Limsa Lominsa... well, now she was eager to go about and show off her new companion. And seemed good with animals. Perhaps, she might be interested, if only for a chance to pull farther from the gates and explore with it? Maybe. Never hurt to ask.

          Thal's balls, why was he stressing about sending the girl out for -farm work- of all things? A far, far cry from how he used to treat all the newbies that crossed the threshold half a decade ago. When he was right prickly bastard, warning them off at the dangers and that they were better off backing out. Now, here he was, as good as a doting mother hen over a little mi'qote who had 'trouble' practically written on her forehead.

          “Mornin’, Baderon...”

          And speak of the devil.

          As if summoned by his pondering, the little mi’qote herself shuffled over, as put together as possible for her 'non-morning persona', though groggy for it. Nothing askew this time, luckily, and properly dressed in her orange cotton robes. Trionfi, slowly, slumped in to the seat in front of him before promptly dropping her forehead to the counter. Her carbuncle, clutched in her arms like a stuffed toy, looked very put upon with its chin on the table. Baderon chuckled, pocketing the paper and his musings as he observed the two who seemed to have become a staple of his days.

          “G’mornin’, Trionfi. G’mornin’, Kiri.” A musical little trill, as the thing seemed to like being addressed. “Yer timing is impeccable.”

          As one, both arcanist and arcane beast grumbled and lifted their heads. “Hnnmm?”

          “I’ll tell ye once ye’ve woken up a mite more. Yer usual, lass? I think Adroit might ‘ave a fresh batch o’pastries up.”

          “I love you forever, Baderon, feed us please!”

          Ears flicking up and sitting straighter, tails wiggling and winding in anticipation. She eagerly inhaled the scent of the fresh coffee with a quiet little ‘ah!’ as he poured it in to the cup he placed before her, along with her own little pitcher of cream and bowl of sugar cubes. Delicately swiping four cubes with her free hand to plop in her drink, she shifted the rest before her carbuncle, and became suitably distracted attacking her coffee while Baderon made for the kitchens.

          The Drowning Wench was no Bismarck, but his cooks could pull off grub that satisfied. Cheap and delicious, so it was just right for people low on funds. Which, again, the newbies tended to fall into that category. And Baderon readily had a bleeding heart, willing to lend them a hand and a leg up in any way he could. He plopped an extra fish-shaped pastry on Trionfi’s plate when he could sneak it. Adroit Fire never seemed to mind, pretending to be occupied with his stove as Baderon made his way back to the counter with her order plus one.

          Only to stop short, narrowing his eyes.

          The lass was being chatted with by a familiar figure in a poor disguise. One who didn’t even to bother to hide his voice from him. And the borrowed fisherman’s hat, with its wide brim, did little obscure the lines of the thin face, and even if he wasn’t wearing green and white, Baderon knew everyone. He'd be a poor Adventurer's Guild Leader otherwise, so why would he think the barkeep wouldn’t recognize him? Why was he hiding, anyway?

          No... One side of the man noted. Business? So soon?

          Too soon. The other side reared and roared and, rather protectively, demanded an explanation.

          Which, he would get, but not with the assumed subject within earshot. Baderon settled for casting a glare at the man, interrupting their conversation with the placing of his plate before the mi’qote and a smile when she turned to him. “A new friend, lass?”

          “This is Mr J! We just met.” She cheerily dove at her meal, carefully picking one up by its tail with a lick of her lips. Her pupils seemed to get wider at the sight of it. “I’ve been looking at the Fisherman’s Guild. I loved fishing with my father, and wanted to pick it up again- and Mr J said he knew them.”

          “Neighbors of a sort.” Their third wheel provided helpfully, Trionfi nodding enthusiastically as she chomped at her food. The old man could hear the grin as the arcanist seemed to not notice the exchange between the men in the slightest. “Though, miss, ya might also want t' consider visitin' th' Dutiful Sisters as well. But, i was jus’ commentin’ on her wee beastie there. Cute lil bugger.”

          “Isn’t she?”

          Kiri crunched on a sugar cube, face glued to her bowl, ignoring everything.

          Trionfi placed a crumb-laced kiss on her forehead gem. “And ready for anything... OH! Speaking o~of! You said you had something for me, Baderon? Another mission?”

          Mission. Baderon mused with a smile. Never 'request.' “Of a sort.”

          He pulled the paper out, ignoring the extra’s curious look, unfolding it and holding it out.

          She glanced at it. Then at her fingers, buttery and dotted with evidence of her feast. Then down at Kiri, sugar sprinkled in the fur around her mouth, munching away, before she, very gently, pulled the carbuncle out of her 'breakfast.' The frantic scrambling and the look on summon's face was hilarious- Baderon didn't think their eyes could get that wide- as she looked up at her arcanist in shock and betrayal. And, pulling a very teary-eyed, kicked-puppy look to meet Trionfi's pouty and pleading one, even as she was shifted towards the paper. A battle of wills between... well, weren't they technically part and parcel with one another?

          Immovable object meets unstoppable force? 'Is?' Does that work if they're the same?

          "Please, Kiri?"

          Paradox aside, mi'qote won over carbuncle, much to both his and their extra's interest, as Kiri caved and delicately plucked the paper from his hands. Shook it out so that the fold was undone some, before tilting back enough that the written side was up and Trionfi could lean over and read.

          “...miss," The 'neighbor to the Fisherman's Guild' asked, "Ain’t th’ thing just an extension of ya?”

          “Mm-hmm.” She shrugged with an enigmatic grin, her eyes still tracing the words. "Why, yes, Mr J. Yes, they are."

          She left it at that, much to Baderon's amusement and the man's frustration, as she looked it over. An upward flick of her eyes to the top, and she was reading it again. Silent. Maybe she wasn't interested. Maybe it wasn't time yet.

          “I know it ain’t exactly glamorous, lass. Ye can say ‘no.’"

          “I’ll do it.”

          She seemed almost offended. Determined too, but he actually couldn't tell if she was just posturing for his sake. He pressed. “... ye sure?”

          “Well... someone needs help, right? And when someone needs help, we do our best for them. Even if all it is, is just taking a little burden off their shoulders... Saving... savin' 'em from their woes...”

          As she said this, Trionfi turned her gaze toward and Baderon found himself caught off guard by the strange glimmer in her eyes, the strange and familiar lilt to her last words. Hazy, curious, as if she'd gone somewhere else in her head for a moment. Kiri had turned too, though she gave no implication or insight to what was happening, merely tilting her head as the arcanist did hers.

          And her last sentence. That sounded awful familiar. Had he said those words before?

          It felt like an eternity, seeing the girl space out, before she snapped back. Like nothing happened. She grinned wide. “Or am I wrong?”

          “... No." Baderon shook his head, but no doubt that their now silent guest was paying even more attention. Better to try and send her along. "No, yer right, lass. D' ye have any questions 'afore ye 'ead out?”

          "Hmm..." Trionfi hummed as she shifted, wiping the grease from her hand and the crumbs from her lips. Kiri dropped the missive from her mouth, and slipped from her summoner's arms to the ground, sitting beside her expectantly. Standing from her seat, the mi'qote bundled up the remains, sugar and all, in a bag and, to Baderon's dismay, plopping the proper amount of gil for three pastries, sugar cubes, and a coffee before him. He tried to push some back at her but she smoothly ignored the attempt, and picked up the paper instead. “Which Gate should I go out?”

          "Tempest Gate, lass." He sighed. She wasn't going to let him win. "An' wit any luck, shouldn't take ye any longer than sunset to finish up an' comeback."

           "Then we'll be back in time for dinner!" Trionfi winked, waving as she walked out, Kiri at her heels. "Thank you, Baderon, I'll see you later! Pleasure, Mr J."

          "Pleasure's all mine, miss."

          "See ye later, lass!"

~*~

          Trionfi and Kiri disappeared around the corner. And Baderon waited a heartbeat. Waited. And waited-

          “Well, she’s certainly more interestin’ than expected.”

          -before he turned and faced the remaining with a cool stare.

          “And ain’t it interestin’ seein’ ye up this early, Jacke.”

          Caught, though absolutely uncaring of the fact, the sod, Jacke Swallow, Guildmaster of the ‘Dutiful Sisters of Edelweiss’ glanced up past the brim of his borrowed hat with a smirk and a bit of mischievous cheek in his blue eyes.

          “Aye, an’ a fine mornin’ t’ ya, Baderon. Could this friendly, neighborhood man o' th' sea bother ya fer a cup o' tha' swill ya call coffee?”

          Baderon rolled his eyes, putting cup before the younger man. He can't help but snark some as he poured. “Ye never skulk out this early, Jacke. An’ ye never bother wit’ any o’th’ newbies.”

          “Can't a man come see th’ lady tha’ nigh on caused th' Eighth Umbral Calamity by voice alone? That wos her wasnit?”

          “Jacke.”

          The thinly-disguised rogue had his coy look turned to the door Trionfi had darted out, and at that, the elder man increased the daggers in his stare. Enough that Jacke had to laugh, tutting at him as he broke his light of sight with the exit to give his full attention.

          “Now now, none o’ tha', Baderon. Kebbe merely suggested I come up t' see th' newest.” The red-head grinned, chin resting on his fist as stirred his cup of coffee. “Trionfi Fortuna, twenty years o'age and' part o' th' Arcanist Guild- Th' one tha' wos shoutin' from bridge to bridge 'bout her lil’ summon two weeks ago.”

          “Yer scoutin' a bit early.”

          “And I’ll not have you interfere with her studies.”

          The two of them turned to see Madam Thubyrgiem Guldweitzwyn approach. Acting Head of the Arcanist Guild...

          And Trionfi's teacher.

          Alright, this morning is getting too outta hand... Trouble even when she's not here.

          She settled in beside the Rogue with a stern look on her face and a glare beneath her glasses that told him she heard everything. A glare she did not break, even as her hand went to grasp at the cup of tea Baderon put before her. As she sipped, she cast the men a look above the rim that could freeze the Thanalan deserts. Baderon had to concede his side of their discussion to her- he didn't want to stand in the way of her questioning.

          “Madam, I mean no disrespect t' th' Melavaan's Gate, o’ course.” The rogue put hands up in defense. “But, y’know how Kebbe is. Sharp as a wit, an’ twice as keen. Yer girl caught her eye when she came by wit one o' th' deliveries.”

          Ah. That's how he knew about her, to come up long before the noonbell. A random delivery done at just the right time, seen by just the right person. Baderon glanced at the roegadyn woman, seeing that she pieced it together as well, though still none too please and dusting her voice with frost.

          “I see. And are you certain it wasn’t just because Trionfi was bringing Bismark sandwiches?”

          “Kebbe... actually had forgotten 'bout th' food when yer little pearl snuck up on Lonwoerd.”

          That earned him a wide-eyed stare from the both of them. Baderon frowned- the doorman was nigh on impossible to get by, let alone take by surprise. His stature, too, was impressive- roegadyn men oft were, and he tended to intimidate enough that many would nearly step off the bridge in effort to avoid him when walking by. There was a reason the man was chosen to keep watch of the front gates of the 'Dutiful Sisters.'

          The right time, the right person, the right skill...

          “She JUST learned to summon her first carbuncle, Jacke.” She hissed.

          “Aye, an’ from what I've seen, she's talented.” He narrowed his eyes.

          Jacke was serious. Not that Baderon expected a fight. Not between Guildmasters, and not out in the open, but Jacke rarely got serious about things beyond his job and the Code. There was something about the whole thing, about Trionfi Fortuna, that made the man antsy.

          "I may not know much 'bout how fancy magics work- me skills is wit me stabbers an' all. But, I've seen yer students, Giem. Their beasties don't do what hers do, an' not so quickly."

          Thubyrgiem frowned. He's been keeping an eye on the kid. As the rogue pressed.

          “I’m... I'm not lookin’ fer a hero. None o’ us are, o’course. None o' us want t' help 'em, train 'em up, then ask'em to save th' world only t' lose 'em again... No heroes till... till they're ready."

          Oh. All three of them paused, and the air grew heavy in their little corner of the Drowning Wench.

          Most days were fine, but the memory of the Calamity and all it tore away from them burned.

          Of their heroes lost. An unintentional sacrifice, one made so that all of Eorzea could live, All their names, but one, forgotten, and such a thing shamed them considerably. Warriors of Light was the only moniker they could give. A lofty title, one that inspired hope but also despair. It made the concept of heroes one that they both admired, but feared creating. To let their little adventurers have wings, let them grow... give them every advantage, every skill.

          Help them become heroes, but try not to make the same mistake again. Don't forget them, don't lose them. They are keepers, yes...

          But, we can't keep them here forever.

          "I'm.... jus' sayin', if she has a skill somewhere in there for stabbers, she is welcome.”

"...I will inform her your door is open when I feel she is ready, Jacke.” The woman conceded, but still gave him her best mama-wolf glare. Equilibrium again. Baderon relaxed as the air lifted, the message coming across. “And not a moment before. It will be her choice in the end if she joins you in the shadows.”

          “The Dutiful Sisters await wit’ baited breath, milady." Jacke bowed as best as he could in his seat, dispelling the last of the heaviness with his jovial tone and another quirk of his lips. "Though, do forgive Kebbe if she might make a friend out o’ th’ lass. When I said she snuck up on Lonwoerd, I meant she made him jump in th' water."

          Satisfied, Baderon left the two of them to their discussions, deciding he'd had enough of an exciting morning and to go back about his business. Passing off the dishes Trionfi left behind, he moved to go through the rest of the missives, sorting and seeing whom else he could distribute what.

          But, there was a sound, like a high pitched bouncing, that caught his attention, and he glanced up. Floating right in front of him, a little Post Moogle decked in their usual blue hat and red bag.

          And in its tiny little paw, a letter.

          "G'morning, Master Baderon-kupo!" It fluttered and twirled. "Message from Summerford for you!"

Chapter Text

            Being an Arcanist... was actually pretty difficult.

            After all, it involved the splitting of the caster’s aether in to two.

           Not too much, obviously- it wouldn’t do to render one’s self entirely- but, focusing it, pushing it through the ink and geometry within grimoires to form carbuncles was the skill an Arcanist was required to master. Forming and maintaining the shape, as well as controlling it like one would a puppet. Running about and dodging, flipping through their grimoires for the right page for the right spell to push their aether through, and making sure you didn’t spend yourself silly that your well dries up… well, yes, being an Arcanist required a modicum of multi-tasking, stratagem, and awareness.

            This, on top of being in charge of customs for all of Limsa Lominsa meant that the pool of candidates for Melavaan’s Gate and its Arcanist Guild was, more often than not, quite small. Which was not a bad thing, because it also meant it was tight knit, with nary a thing going on without the rest eventually finding out.

            “Trionfi’s gone again?"

            And find out quickly they would. Especially when the current pool consisted of one.     

            Murie, Receptionist and first contact for Mealvaan’s Gate, glanced up from her mug of tea and her book, her concentration interrupted by the clattering of bags and trays. All three of her arrivals- R’baharra, P’tahjha, and Mozen- in various states of wear and tear from the day’s work of pushing paper, inspecting boxes, and getting yelled at more than once about tariffs and taxes beyond their control, as they plopped in at their table. The former two slumping in their seats across and beside from her, respectively, and the latter’s shorter stature requiring assistance to his place opposite her corner.

            “And hello to you lot, too.” The nod she received from both mi’qotes and the wave from the lalafell as they moved to their seats satisfied her need for a proper greeting. She waited until they’d settled some, digging into their food before answering. “And, yes- she’s been given another mission.”

            They all jolted in surprise.

            “Another one?” Mozen asked, poking at his sandwich. “Wasn’t she just on one the other day? I didn’t think new students were allowed so much independent study.”

            “Adventurer before Assessor, remember?” R’baharra reminded him, spearing a vegetable with her fork. “She’s on Baderon’s payroll before ours. Unless she switches careers later... Besides, I think she’s been doing well on her own. Better than you, anyway.”

            “Hey!”

            P’tahjha chuckled, giving Murie a wink that made her blush. “Now, now...Let’s not sour our lunch hour with fighting, you two. And just because we’re one short today, doesn’t mean we need to speculate on what sort of mischief our little bird has gotten in to.”

            The receptionist nodded. “Indeed. Thank you, Tahjha.”

            “Of course, love...”

            A comfortable silence fell over the quartet, Murie returning to sipping at her drink and reading her book. But, it dawned on her that they were still too quiet, not even the sound of munching happening. She peeked over her reading to see all of them staring at her intently.

            “...So,” The Basilisk tribe mi’qote drawled, casting her a sly look. ”Where IS she, anyway?”

            “Tahjha!” Murie scowled. Her book thudded against the table. “Did we not just say we would leave it? We can ask her when she comes back.”

            “But, what if she needs us?” Mozen piped in, voice drenched in conspiracy. “Who knows what sort of trouble our little newbie is getting in to?”   

             “You three just want to gossip.”

            “Guilty.” He grinned. “Just a little excitement for the day that isn’t just contraband and complaints. Come on, Muriiiiee... Lyhia tells you everything- where’d she go?”            

            “You’re impossible...”

            “How about a little plausible deniability for you then, our dearest keeper?” R’baharra tapped a finger to her nose, elbow on the table as she leaned forward with a smirk. The lalafell and her fellow Sun Seeker turned to her, the knowing tilt of her lips intriguing and secretive. She whispered, “I overheard that Baderon sent her out to Summerford for a spell. Lending ‘em a hand and all for a few days. Am I warm, Murie?”

            Oh. Summerford? That’s it?

            The other two turned to Murie. The Midlander could only give them her best glower. Which answered the question of truth.

            Mozen leaned back in his chair with his sandwich and a disappointed sigh. “Ahhh… Orange-picking it is, then. How... wonderful.”

            “Well, I think it’s a bit more exciting than helping Moegramm with de-fleaing his sheep...”

            Anti-climatic. Pitying their poor little bird and her new farm task, they went back to their meal. Murie picked her book back-up, flipping for her page as she settled up against P’tahjha, who was slowly stirring the soup in front of her idly. Mozen munched happily while he questioned R’baharra, going over things for his future test in to becoming a full-fledged Assessor.         

            Moments like this were precious to the four. After all the craziness that followed with re-building and fixing everything, the fact that Limsa had come so far, that everyone had come so far, was wonderful. That they could look forward to every day having such peace was a blessing. And they even had a new student to keep an eye on! Though she was already assigned a supervisor, it took a village to raise an arcanist, and as she was the only one at the moment, she took the brunt of their attention.

            But, ahh, what peace lasts long without someone to ruin it?

            P’tahjha tensed, her stirring stopping. “But, aren’t there... wasn’t there word of people disappearing... out not too far from Summerford?”

            The reminder planted itself, blooming slowly, and pulling them back out of their reveries as the thought flowered. Yes, there had been word of folks vanishing into thin air as of late. Mostly out farther, near Aleport, but creeping closer, even coming as near as the Lift. A missing people report here, a rumor there. One or two occasionally crossed their desks, letting them know to be extra vigilant. It was not common to find, but every so often, someone was stowed and shipped in boxes like so much produce. And, when that happened, there were only so many reasons why someone was in a box ready to be sent to Twelve knew where- but it was never good.

            Mozen gave voice to their foreboding thoughts. “...Slavers? Pirates? Reavers?”

            “All suspicions until the Jackets get a better lead...” The mi’qote replied in turn, tapping the side of her bowl. It seemed her appetite had gone with her dawning horror. ”And gods, Trionfi’s out there on her own, isn’t she?”       

            “I can’t imagine it would be anything so malicious as Serpent Reavers, though. What would they be doing so far from the Sahagin grounds?” R’baharra piped in. “Slavers or Pirates, I’d bet on. And, I’d imagine she’d be able to handle that, wouldn’t she?”

            “Yes, but she hasn’t even been here a month...” P’tahjha crossed her arms, glaring at the table. Where her mind was, they couldn’t tell, but her words weighed heavy. “It feels like… she might be getting pushed out a little quickly, though, don’t you think?”

            She caught the confused looks on their faces. “I mean- not that I don’t think it’s great she is getting so much work and stretching her little wings. But, she is still our charge, still our student. Still fine tuning her skills, and as good as she is for a beginner, she is still learning to control the aether of her carbuncle. She hasn’t even started on her Topaz one- Is it really a good idea to send her out, even if it’s only a possibility of... of, worst case, Reavers, skulking about? By herself?”

            The silence stretched till it started to to sour. All of them, veterans in their own right as both arcanists and assessors, P’tahjha herself even having witness the Calamity herself… they all knew the perils that lay beyond the walls, land or sea. Knew what dangers were out there. All manner of horrible, terrible things and monsters and deeds. Things that could happen to their little bird, their new little guild member, and they were stuck here. If it was, as she had said, as bad as Serpent Reavers, the enthralled, coming to cause havoc on the civilians...     

            Except... Murie let out a little, “Oh,” that drew their attention.

            “I don’t know... if it would assuage your concerns, but...” Murie hesitated.

           Not that she wasn’t concerned herself, but K’lyhia, Trionfi’s Supervisor, had all but sparkled when she regaled the woman with word of the Moon Keeper’s first test. The Foreseer was sharp, had an eye for talent, as well as being talented in her own right. It was how she became a Chief Assessor so quickly in the first place. Her words held weight, and something in the Foreseer’s manner just made it... hard to believe Trionfi would fail any challenge set before her.  The girl hadn’t done anything more than put-down a few creatures and inspect a few boxes, and K’lyhia spoke as if she could see her slaying beasts and titans far larger.

            With that in mind, the hyur lifted her drink from the table, and placed her book in her lap. “Lyhia gave her a 90% on her initial evaluation.”*

            SLAM.

            “90?!!”

            The hyur winced at their volume, the bang against the table, but nodded, hands clasped tight around her luke-warm mug. Thankful that the tension, the anxiety, broke but now she had them back to their usual antics. Beside her, her dearest had something of relief on her face, and that made sharing the little tidbit worth it.

            “Lyhia gave her a 90%?!” R’bahhara repeated, though it was hard to tell if it was in despair or in surprise, or both. Probably both. “On her initial test?”

            Mozon was most definitely in grief. “I got a 65 on my first evaluation... How could she have scored so high? How?”

            “Evaluations are based on various factors, you know this.” Murie stated matter-of-factly. “Reaction time, strength and form of your carbuncle, strategy and tactics, and keeping that all in mind whilst under pressure... you know, the things our Guildmaster stresses?”

            The trio chimed together, joking, “Which one?”

            She cast a sour face at them. “Both? Reason and strategy, strategy and reason. Two steps ahead of your opponent, but ready to switch your gears at a moment’s notice.”

            “Which, I am quite pleased that you recall such nuances even after all this time, Murie.”

            The voice of K’lyhia fell over them as rain, each of them turning to see the pink-haired Sun Seeker leaning over them with a soft smile. Book at her hip, papers in hand- she looked to be about her business and just so happened to have come across their conversation at a good time.

            A good time for interrogation as the lalafell raised his hand in greeting. “And there she is with excellent timing! Lyhia, lovely, is it true?”

            “What is, Mozen?”

            “You gave our little bird a 90% on her first test?”

            Blinking, the Chief Assessor cast a questioning look at Murie, who dutifully met her gaze. Coughed gently into her fist, but that was all the sign K’lyhia needed that, yes, she had broken protocol and admitted to something that should have been at the discretion of the people involved to admit to. A glance at the eager, anticipating faces of the others told her it was for a particular reason, and goodness, it didn’t hurt to want brag a bit about one’s trainee.

            “Yes. And it was a well-deserved 90%- her form was a bit novice, but she handled the situation admirably. There is such potential in her arcanima.” The Foreseer grinned as their eyes widened, save for Murie who merely placed her items back on the table now that she deemed it safe. “Truly, it was almost as if watching our wandering Guildmaster at work- though unpracticed and unpolished. There was a flow to her, every flip of a page, every twist that reminded me of him. She even answered my question about her reasons of her strategy somewhat as he did. Funny, that.”

            “I simply do what feels right,” Trionfi had said, tilting her head and placing a hand on her hip. Her Carbuncle had chosen that moment to bound up and draped itself upon her shoulders, staring at her just as intently. It had thrown K’lyhia off some from the lesson she wanted to bestow, but she’d recovered quickly enough that she didn’t think her new student had noticed.

            Covering her lips with her hand, the Chief Assessor giggled at the memory, though she wouldn’t share being caught off guard with them. Instead, she flicked her gaze between each of their still shocked faces. “Does this sate your curiosity about our girl?”        

            R’bahhara leaned her cheek against her palm. “If it’s not too prying, just to compare... what did the Guildmaster give you when you first tested, Lyhia?”

            They counted the split second that the girl’s face softened at the mention of the missing man who headed their guild, smiling gently behind her hand as she answered. “Teacher gave me an 83.”

            Oh. The new girl scored higher than K’lyhia?

            P’tahjha had a considering frown. “Wait, so... what exactly does that mean for her... ‘potential’?”

            “Well, encountering a threat at level over 9000 was the calculated threshold for failure.” K’lyhia’s adjusted her glasses, nodding even as their confusion turned in to horror.

            “W-wait, Lyhia, over 9000?!”

            “9785 to be exact! But, fear not- I will be working on getting her past that. My goal by the end of the year to increase Trionfi’s capabilities to be victorious against threats at 9900. Mayhaps even over 10,000? She is a girl of possibilities and probabilities, and I will draw them out.”

            She clapped her hands together, her smile stretching in to a wide, almost maniacal, grin, and each of them stared in shock as she seemed to get pulled from the reality of their conversation and in to line of thought they were too afraid to follow.

           “Which reminds me! I do have some potential lesson plans for her return that I simply must go over with Madam. If you would all excuse me!”

            They had lost her to her planning. With a skip in her gait, the Chief Foreseer moved past them, muttering under her breath and giggling with every step about the strategems, training, and whatever plans she had to push their newest prodigy higher.

            Another pause. Their meal was getting an awful lot more exciting than they wanted.

            Mozon gulped. “...y’know, I think I’m ok with my 65%. And I’m sure, Trionfi’ll be fine out there. It’s just orange picking. What’s the possibility it’s actually Reavers?”

            They all nodded, finally getting back to their meal, pitying the poor new girl and her 90%.           

Chapter Text

            “Hey, Staelwyrn? I think the adventurer Baderon sent is comin’ up!”

            Relief. That was the first thing that hit the former-pirate at those words, as he glanced up with the notice from one of his farm-hands. The sun was setting on the horizon, the day’s work coming to a close, but it shed a pretty back-drop for the new arrival as she approached. Soft purples, oranges, and pinks, complimenting the blue and teal of her travel clothes and the magick fox that bounded at her side as they came up the path. The sun-setting casting a glow about them.

            ‘Trionfi Fortuna,’ Baderon said her name was. Couldn’t miss her- a tiny slip of a mi’qote, an arcanist with a penchant for keeping her summon out. Dark hair streaked with blue, and each of her eyes a different color, pink and green. She’ll be shy at first, but she’ll work hard and brighten quickly, so take good care of her.

            (The latter part had been said with some hint of a warning, even as the old seadog laughed it off some. But, Staelwyrn knew he wasn’t kidding.)

            She stared in awe at the rows and rows of trees, un-heeding of the curious stares directed at her and of the direction she was heading in- Twelve, she’s gonna run in to somethin’ if she’s not careful- so he made his way to greet her at the gates. Front and center, and hard to miss.

            Which seemed to be the right thing to do, since his movement caught her attention, and she turned that gaze of hers, pink and green, towards him. And then promptly squeaked before rushing up to meet him, stopping just short and dripping into an odd little curtsy. Her carbuncle plopping beside her and bending forward in turn. Like he was the bloody Sultana. And then, she spoke, her voice soft, quiet, shy as Baderon, had described.

            “Good evening, ahh...” She glanced at a piece of paper in her hand. ”Sta... Staelwyrn?”

             “Aye, and ye must be the adventurer that Baderon promised to send along. Thank ye fer comin’. We need all th’ help we can get.”                                                                           

            When Staelwyrn started his little corner of not-quite-paradise, he hadn’t expected it to come easily. Not after having spent nearly his entire life on the sea, swaying with her every curve and bending to her whims. The ocean was a mistress you feared, but he learned her ways- she had plenty and gave of her bounty so long as you showed her respect and weathered her tempers.

             Land? There was a lady Staelwyrn needed guidance with- she had to be courted, to be dined and dressed before she would share her treasures with you. But, should you succeed, should you take care of her, she would gladly give and take care in turn, and you’d not need to worry a mercurial attitude in between. She could be stalwart and stern, but she would provide.

            Going from rope burns to calluses from tools and tilling, salt sprays to mud and loam was a work in progress. But, he was still a Captain, even without a ship, and he had men and women to clothe, house, and feed- the Admiral gave him, all of them, a second chance, and he was determined to woo his new lady properly to make good on her deal.

            Now, if ONLY his crew would stop making things even harder. They acted like it was the end of the world to listen to the botanists he’d brought on and harvest a few oranges. You would think after having lived in the aftermath of the Calamity, watching their ship get ripped apart by the resulting tides, would put things into perspective.

            Which is why, out of desperation, he’d hoped his friend had someone with a firmer hand, a firmer drive who’d be willing to step in and help with catching them up. If not to get his crew to listen to orders, then to at least make it so that it wasn’t such an over-whelming list of tasks to handle when they left. On top of providing a bit of protection, what with the worrying rumors of the kidnappings happening there abouts, he knew it was a bit of a tall order to get someone out here who’d be willing to do farm work as well as a bit of guarding.

            But, Baderon had promised. And here she was.

            Pulling out of her little dip, she beamed at him.

            “So he mentioned- and I’m sorry I’m a bit late. I have never been out for longer than an afternoon from town, so it took bit to get packed.”

            “Well... ye made good on the old seadog’s word, so that’s good enough in my book.” He uncrossed his arms, motioning for her to move ahead of him. “C’mon, lass, let’s get ye and yer little friend settled in. Trionfi and Kiri, right? I don’t s’ppose he talked t’ ye ‘bout me much- ‘ol’ bastard’ is what he’d call me.”

            There was a giggle that she held back, telling him, yes, Baderon said that, and he couldn’t help but laugh, too as he ushered her up the hill. He explained the farm, its birth, its rise, its troubles- she nodded enthusiastically, hanging on his little speech. It wasn’t a long one; just enough to let her know where they were coming from and why she was there to help, but it lasted the whole walk to the top of the hill, and she hadn’t lost interest so far.

            The two of them turned, and he heard her breath catch, her eyes wide as she took in view. Staelwyrn had to admit, Summerford Farms made a pretty sight. The rows of tall trees dotted with oranges, like tiny little suns, just ripe for the picking, the fields of emerald grass stretching for malms beyond it, before reaching the distant ocean. Framed by the darkening horizon, violet fading in to black, and glittering with stars, the world seemed endless. But, nah- he had his corner here, and was content to keep it.

            “Tomorrow, I’ll introduce ye t’ Gurcant and Bhridraeg. They’ll be teachin’ ye ‘bout what needs t’ be done ‘round th’ place.” She nodded again, and the little carbuncle jumped and draped itself about her shoulders like a scarf. As one, they turned to him. “But, fer now, we got a bed fer ye t’ settle afore dinner. Jus’ follow th-”

            The door beside them slammed open, and his train of thought cut.

            Of course, nothing’s ever easy, is it.

            He pursed his lips. Even without turning, Staelwyrn knew exactly who it was that interrupted, who was leaving even as the smell of their evening meal was wafting out the kitchens and the rest of them were gathering for the night. Ignoring the questioning look of the little adventurer and her summon as she glanced to the side, he called out to the intruder.

            “A bit late t’ be headin’ out, isn’t it, Sevrin.”

            A huff. He sees Trionfi’s eyes narrow, and he can feel the press of a glare in their direction. No response, not that he expected one, as the blonde hyur shoved his way past them. Dressed in his old pirate gear, loose shirt and red bandana, he didn’t give any response, didn’t give any excuses. Just the slightest turn to look over his shoulder at them, at her, the Adventurer, with the dirtiest look the kid could muster, before he stomped off down the hill.

            “Well...” Staelwyrn could feel a headache coming on. Rubbing his forehead as he watched the boy’s form walk out into the quiet night.  “Ye can take the pirate away from th’ sea, but ye can’t take th’ sea away from the pirate. Some o' me strays tend to be th' worst of 'em.”          

            “...I can see why you asked for help.” Trionfi folded her arms, and he can see the resigned look in her eyes as she turned her attention back to him.         

            “Aye. Still think yer up fer it, lass?”

            She smirked, giving him a wink and a shrug. “I’ll give it my best shot. Just don’t fault me if I end up smacking a few heads.”

            “Lass, if ye can get any o’ them boyos in line some, I will double your pay and give ye the best damn report that not even th’ Admiral herself can ignore ye.”

~*~

            Three days.

            Three days, she’d gone from shy with a bit of sass to sparkling loud, becoming chattier as the days went on and she learned each job that needed doing. And while she had been clumsy at first, more than once nearly toppling off a ladder, she learned fast.

            Of course, with this jump in enthusiasm, that revealed a trait best kept under wraps-

            “Hey, Staelwyrn!” Her shout carried over the tress somehow. “’Orange’ you glad you asked me for help?”

            As did the groans of everyone, and some ‘booing’ besides. And, as always, Bhridraeg is the loudest of her deniers, even as he fed her little carbuncle another slice of a freshly picked and peeled orange.          

            “Lass, it weren’t funny the first time, wot makes ye think it’s funny the next twenty?!”

            “It’s a bloody classic, your humor’s just ‘sour’, Bhrid!”

            “Staelwyrn, I think this one’s defective. Is it too late to return ‘er?”

            “Awww, you won’t find a ‘bitter’ adventurer than me!”

            But, terrible jokes aside, she seemed to give his botanists a bit of levity to their days, banding together and setting about their tasks with a bit more positivity. And his crew, while still reluctant, somehow were wrangled up in better time that he recalled them. Jobs were actually getting done in a reasonable amount of time. They were catching up, slowly but surely.

            Though, she asked not to be sent back out to get the loam again. Someone had forgotten to check on the state of the aurochs and no one knew they were in a mating frenzy when she’d rolled by. Two hours later, and with nearly double the amount asked, she came back harried and out of sorts with a murderous look in her eyes and demands for a shower. *

            She was given first dibs on dessert that night.

            Through it all, he noted with increasing concern that Sevrin was getting dodgier. The boy had always been a little stiff, a little reluctant, but he seemed to get increasingly twitchy and rebellious lately. Especially after that first night when realized an adventurer was among them. Still sticking to his old pirate garbs instead of his farming ones, as if that meant the changes in their lives didn’t mean a thing to him. Disappearing without a word, and dragging his three partners in crime oft with him to hide in corners and avoid as many of their tasks as they could get away with.

            Which, wasn’t very much, actually, not anymore- It took only the one time she was sent to search for them, before she was able to stay hot on their tails, pun very much intended. Her carbuncle, as expectedly efficient of one from Mealvaan’s Gate, hunted down her targets the moment it seemed to sense they’d wandered again, and bringing the fuming woman right after to scold them and drag them back. Ignoring their leers and snide comments in her own little way (her glare could melt the hull of a ship), and plowing right through their reluctance to get them back on track.

            Staelwyrn wasn’t sure what sort of magic she was using to make it happen, but he wanted whatever it was she was on.

            But, even with the small problems, he was still happy with the way things were turning out. They only had the lass for six days, and he was happy to see that they were making the most of it. Baderon had lucked out having this one show up, and he was more than prepared to write a glowing record for her after the job was done.

            And as they rolled in to the fourth day, he hoped he wouldn’t have to call on her regarding the other part of the request. But, that would have been much too good to be true. Adventurers seemed to be lucky like that.

            One of the farmhands came up to him, wringing his hands and shaking some as he approached.          

            “St...Staelwyrn?”

            He spared him a glance, “What is it, lad?”

            “There’s... there’s been sighting of some people spying on some of the workers.”

            Slowly, he stopped. Frowning, and gave the nervous botanist a questioning look.

            “’Spyin’...?’”         

            “Aye... it’s... it’s hard to see, but it looks like they... may be in the grotto... and they may have the... the blue-tattoos... of the Reavers, sir...”

Chapter Text

            Now, when Y’shtola had first set about to investigate the fluctuation of aether in Seasong Grotto, thoughts of facing the kidnappers and how to best subdue them were most prominent in her mind.

          Wand at her waist- firmly set but within easy access, ether and potion bottles in case of emergency, as well as linkpearls ready to be launched for back-up at a moment’s notice, she was prepared to face any and all manner of ne'er-do-wells that might be hiding.

            What she had not expected was a small figure already curiously scouting the rather empty cave with a carbuncle sniffing about besides.

          Maybe I missed my mark? Unusual. She frowned. And disheartening in terms of trying to stem the kidnappings. But, maybe the grotto wasn’t as much of a let-down as it was appearing to be? An unexpected change in plans, yes, but it did not mean it should be overlooked. So, she pulled back to wait, to watch, narrowing her eyes to get a better gander at the cave’s occupant.

          Ahh, most definitely not a pirate, but one of Baderon’s Adventurers. A newer one, if Y’shtola’s ear to the ground was accurate (and it usually was). Black hair in a style similar to hers and carbuncle at her side- were she to get close, the conjurer was fairly certain that would only confirm her guess as to whom it was that stumbled into the middle of her investigation. One who had been proving herself an asset to the town, even as untested as she was. A fortuitous meeting, if Y’shtola’s guess that the girl was also on the investigation of pirate sightings in the cave was accurate.

          She was looking up at the tablet, the movement of her head indicating she was reading it, albeit slowly. Like she was trying to commit to memory what was there, before her head tilted and her ears skewed in what Y’shtola recognized as confusion. She’d seen Y’mitra’s ears and head tilt similarly many times as a child when she had a question about something she didn’t understand.

          The conjurer, her mind made up, called out,

“I am the waves that bear. I am the winds that guide.

I am the evening stars. I am the morning sky.

I am born of the sea. And there shall I die.”

          The Sailor’s Requiem. Y’shtola long since memorized it, and while not every adventurer need know it, it was still a rather beautiful prayer. The adventurer turned, revealing her heterochromatic eyes, the blue streaks in her dark hair, and the purple butterfly on her cheek, confirming the Sun Seeker’s suspicions.

          “I had thought myself on the trail of the kidnappers, but it appears I have missed my mark.” She smiled, moving up to stand just beside the girl.

          Trionfi Fortuna- no wonder she was out here. The farm was the closest with civilians and former pirates alike and, thus, currently the most vulnerable place so far from both town and the YellowJackets stations. And if she was there, it wasn’t too far to guess she was sent out to investigate too.

          The girl merely blinked and nodded, but remained silent. Toeing the ground as she glanced away a bit shyly. Y’shtola hummed at the action. She was a little meek for an adventurer, but the fact she was an arcanist was still a promising factor. A temporary partnership would be beneficial for searching about the Grotto, if the girl would agree to it. Two heads, better than one, after all.

          “I can only assume you’re here also to look in to the kidnappings. Perhaps we could team up to look about th-“

          A loud, ear-splitting screech interrupted.

          They both turned towards the source, seeing a large, enraged goobbue flailed wildly with thundering steps towards them. Y’shtola found herself getting yanked out of its path by the shaking, wide-eyed arcanist, causing the beast to slam mightily into the wall and get even angrier.

          It twisted about to face them, and bearing all four rows of its teeth, roared in their faces. And the disturbance by both sound and aether flux seemed to have summoned more creatures, bogys and their bloated bodies emerging from the walls in to the forming fray.

          The little ingénue adventure, poor girl. Y’shtola could feel the echoes of her trembling through the material of her shirt, the small whimper as she realized they were surrounded now. Her carbuncle had darted to them, growling low as its hackles went up.

          She could work to try and get the girl an opening. Get her out of the cave, back out to Summerford to bring back help. Y’shtola might face some difficulty, but she could get by on her own. No need to put this one through such a trial yet-

          “I’ve...”

          Trionfi’s voice was fragile. Y’shtola dared a moment to take an eye off the beast, surprised to see her opening her grimiore. The ink on its pages lit and shimmering as the nervous girl pushed her aether through the shapes, but her gaze was full of determination.

          “I’ve got this!”

          “Mrr!” The carbuncle.

          “We’ve, I mean! Erm, can you cover us?”

          Y’shtola smiled.

~*~

          Y’shtola had only turned her back on Trionfi for a moment.

          The battle won, bogy’s dispersed and goobbue down, the aether slowly returning to normal, the only task left was looking in to the goobbue’s countenance and how it came to be set upon them. Something she even more strongly suspected was plotted and not random happenstance. She’d only just knelt beside the felled creature when her impromptu teammate’s little companion suddenly flipped around from facing her to whipping a gale spell behind her.

            Its movement startled her, and she drew her wand back out with a twist of her body, ready to deal with what had deigned to sneak up on them.         

            She was met with nothing. Instead, the magicked winds had swirled and billowed about the arcanist herself. Her back turned, her body tilted and pitched sideways in the air, and Y’shtola realized that the girl had been falling, fainting- as the spell very gently slowed her decent to the grotto floor.

            That does not bode well!

            Abandoning her quarry, the healer ran over to the fallen arcanist, healing spells at the ready and already running through a mental list of things to check as she dropped to the girl’s side. Delicately turning her on to her back, moving her head so as to check both airways, nose and gently prying her mouth open to listen for breathing. Odd that her teeth were actually quite flat, instead of sharp canines, but Y’shtola placed that observation aside for now.

            “Thank the Twelve...” She whispered, brushing strands from the young mi’qote’s forehead. No paleness there, just eyes shut and a some-what tense expression. “She still draws breath.”

            She felt for a pulse, a heartbeat, then eyeing any bumps or injuries her impromptu patient may have sustained during the fight that could have prompted such an unusual reaction. Nothing. But, she was satisfied that everything seemed in place, at least. Shifted the girl so she’d lay more comfortably, wondering if maybe it was just the inexperience. Probably hadn’t yet felled anything any bigger than her carbuncle until now, so something like this may have stressed her. She cast a healing spell anyway, one meant to regenerate health gradually while not at her side, in case it proved mercurial despite the appearance of stability.

            “Curious, as well...” Brushing the dirt from her pants, she turned towards the third member of their party, whom had turned back to keep an eye on their fallen foe. An impromptu look out, it seemed. “That you are still present, even though your mistress is asleep, little one. Or, are you telling me there is more to you than most other Carbuncles?”

            It didn’t look at her or answer, merely flicking its ears back in response, tail twitching rather flippantly. Carbuncles normally vanished with the loss of their creator’s conscious. Without the effort needed to maintain them, they simply returned to their source. That Trionfi’s carbuncle maintained its shape, its form, its presence, even in light of her being shut down was… quite interesting, to say the least.

            But, again, she could focus on that later. Her patient stable, her back watched, Y’shtola set back about her task. Undesirable though it was, she determinedly ran her eyes and hands over the still form and leathery skin of the goobbue, its body rapidly cooling in the chilly cavern. It would need to be moved once they were done here- something to report along-side this most unfortunate and unusual incident. Not finding anything in the front, she made her way around to its back, thankful it had fallen on its side rather than forcing a need to flip its giant body about.

            Which certainly proved more fruitful. Her fingers brushed against something- long metal, leather strips, a handle- at the middle of its spine, and she hummed with satisfaction, and tugged. Once, twice, and the suspected source of strife came free. Side-stepping the small, growing pool of resulting blood, Y’shtola brought the object in to the better light of the torches.

            A knife.

            “How barbaric,” She frowned at the stained blade in her hand, before glancing into the beast’s dead gaze. “That you should be used recklessly, and with so little regard for your life...”

            “Ahh...?”

            A voice? Oh, but from behind her. Turning, she saw the Moon Keeper struggling to sit up, a hand to her forehead and wincing mightily with the effort.

            Y’shtola sighed and rushed over.

            “Slowly, now, slowly... don’t push yourself.” She chided gently. Putting the knife down, the healer knelt again and reached over to help the girl sit up. Slowly, as she had bid, and carefully, as most patients were supposed to after a tumble. Truly, some adventurers could be quite stubborn when told to take better care. Thankfully the arcanist heeded and let Y’shtola control her rise. She was light, luckily, and it was easy enough to get her upright, steady and still with a hand upon her back.

            Though, the look in her eyes was concerning. Wide, hazy. Like she was still lost in whatever dream had taken her whilst she had fainted. Y’shtola didn’t have much time to ponder on it, to try and draw her out herself- not when the Carbuncle dashed over, yipping loudly before it butted its head against the girl’s side and nearly toppled her back over. Nevertheless, it seemed to do the trick, jolting Trionfi out of her shock as she snapped her head up to finally meet with her gaze.

            Pink and teal, big as moons and oh so innocently awake and confused as they blinked the sleep from her eyes. Y’shtola couldn’t keep the somewhat wry smile off her face. “And there you are. I was rather worried when you collapsed after the moment of our victory.”

            “Collapsed? I...?” Trionfi glanced down. Y’shtola watched as she slowly dragged her fingers along the smooth stone of the ground, bright pink rapidly spreading across her cheeks as it dawned on her that, yes, she was on floor. Daring a look out of the corner of her eyes, she grinned sheepishly, no longer shy, “Well, that’s awkward. Thank you for taking care of me.”

            “T’was nothing, no harm done. You are awake and alive, and the goobbue is neither now. And full glad am I not to have to tell Baderon that I lost one of his charge.” Y’shtola held her hand out, mustering as soft a smile as she could for her patient. “Can you stand?”

            “I think so..., but erm...”

            More blinking, this time owlishly as she stared at Y’shtola intently. Scrutinizing.

            The conjurer tilted her head in response. “Is ought amiss?”

            “What about you?”

            “’About me?’”

            “Yes. You’re not hurt, are you?”

            And suddenly there’s a gentle pull on the aether around them, a wand in the girl’s hand and a green light emitting from its smaller branches. A healing spell. There was no mistaking the soothing sensation, cool and refreshing, falling over her skin. No grimoire out for this, and her carbuncle was still curled up at their side, unperturbed and still wholly formed, despite the switch in arms.

            Curiouser.

            It was interesting being on the other end of Cure spell from someone else again. As the only healer for her own private group, she was oft the one distributing them for wounds suffered, both to herself and to the others. Cute that this little adventurer had thought to check on her designated mender, despite the fact Y'shtola could cast it on herself fine and that she had been who was just on the floor not moments before.

            The spell ended, and Trionfi sighed. Then, cringed. Like she had realized she had done something silly- but her next words were not quite what Y'shtola thought she was going to address. “Sorry, I’m still... in the habit of resorting to wands for healing. The Physick spell is on the third and fourth pages for easy reach, but my fingers still slip sometimes. Pay no mind to this twig.”

            “... I see.”

             Interesting. Y'shtola watched as Trionfi carelessly stuffed her worn wand in one of the robe’s many pockets, before taking hold of her proffered hand, and the Sun Seeker could pull her to her feet. Somewhat wobbly as she got up, but she did not go back down- a good sign. The Carbuncle uncurled, taking its summoner’s upright and standing self as permission to bound up her leg and settle about her shoulders, arcanist and fae-beast back to rights.

          Satisfied with their recovery, the healer bent to scoop the knife back in her hand. “And thank you for your concern, but I am fine. You took the brunt of the blows, as well dealt the heavier portion of damage. Truly, I think you had this well in hand even without me.”

            “Please don’t say that. The thought of fighting something that big alone is terrifying.” Her gaze turned towards the corpse still blocking part of the opening, a frown marring her face as her eyes flicked briefly to the object Y'shtola held. "Those things are usually so docile around here. I take that blade is the reason for its change in behavior?"

            “Astute observation. Indeed, an effort steeped in cruel forethought, it was lodged in the goobbue's back. A knife, most commonly used for the cutting of rope- particularly, by men of a seafaring persuasion.”

           "...pirates?"

           "It seems the most likely answer..." Y’shtola found herself somewhat surprised, but please by the girl’s deduction. She was sharp, picking up on the clues, and while she looked certainly perturbed by the sight of the goobbue corpse, she didn't let it hinder her surveying of the area. There was potential there.

          She let the silence carry for a moment, before catching the arcanist’s attention by holding the knife out to her. “Your patron would probably appreciate knowing their possible involvement with this. I suggest you give this to Staelwyrn with your report."

            The adventurer startled, eyes wide even as she took the knife. "Wait, how'd you-"

            "A little difficult not to notice the yelling of citrus fruit-based word play across the field."

             "....ahh. Sorry not sorry."

            "Such honesty." Y'shtola chuckled, breaking off into a hum under her breath as crossed her arms. Watched as the girl carefully wrapped the evidence up in a cloth before storing it in one of the many charmed pockets her robes had. Handy were the pockets spelled to hold more things than was obvious.

          There was one last thing the conjurer wanted to address. Not content to let sit the girl’s fall, however brief it was- as a healer, she felt it a bit awkward to have such a thing happen on her watch.

          "Before I take my leave of you,” Trionfi glanced up, curious, her carbuncle echoing her stare in a way that Y’shtola found both interesting and a touch unnerving. “I must beg your forgiveness. As the more senior fighter, I should have been more mindful of your inexperience and taken more of the burden. I had not meant to cause you such distress enough to faint."

          “Oh!” The Moon Keeper shook her head. “No no! It... I mean, it’s not like it wasn’t scary. At first. But, I... no, I didn’t faint because of that.”

          Y’shtola stared. The confusion on her face must have been terribly evident, because Trionfi brought her hand back up to her forehead as she concentrated. Her eyes going somewhat distant again, though she stayed firmly in the present as she fought for words to explain.

          “I don’t know, but... I thought I saw something... then my head started to hurt, and I swear, I closed my eyes for just a second...” The arcanist squelched her eyes shut. ”There was a voice? And I opened my eyes, and I’m suddenly floating in a starry space and there is an absolutely giant crystal right in front of me. A towering crystal! Bigger than aetherytes, even!”

            The last part was said with some flailing, the girl stretching her arms wide above and below her, as if to try and provide a visual as to how massive the entity was.  

          That caught the pale haired mi’qote’s attention. Bringing one of her arms out of its cross, she tapped her knuckles against her cheek as she went over the sparse explanation. Zeroed in. “A ‘towering crystal’…? And a voice? Well, that’s certainly an odd thing to dream ab- Oh.”

            Oh. 

            Fighting off the urge to stare too closely, Y’shtola resorted to tilting away her head some. Cast her gaze askew beneath her lashes to get a better gander at the girl. She’d brought her hand back to her forehead, fingertips massaging her temple as she fought to clear her mind.

          It’s not possible, is it? Looking at her just so, the pose was oddly familiar. Nigh on identical to at least two others the Sun Seeker knew who oft did the same. Both of whom, while not in the habit of fainting, were certainly not unfamiliar with random visions and voices being pressed upon them. And giant crystals. Especially the giant crystals. Does... she have the Echo?

            “That is an interesting development indeed...” Y’shtola conceded, smiling reassuringly. It wouldn’t do to jump to conclusions quite yet. Not with the matter currently at hand to focus on, but she didn’t think it would be wise to forget the girl’s name entirely, either. Better to shelf it for now. “Towering, talking crystals aside, I would still suggest getting some rest as soon as you’ve returned, Trionfi Fortuna.”

          Trionfi grinned back, hands clasped together in delight at the thought. “Oh, believe you me, I plan on it.” 

          “Good. The coming days promise little, I fear. For me, at least.” Y’shtola winced at the thought. “In any case, I must continue my investigation and inform the Jackets that a little clean up is needed. Will you be alright getting back to Summerford on your on?”

          “I’m fine now, errr... um!”

          “Hmm?”

          “I can’t believe I forgot my manners.” She was all limbs as she scrambled, only to dip in to an elegant curtsy, much to Y’shtola’s amusement, her carbuncle nearly toppling off her shoulders with the suddenness of it. “It was a pleasure to battle at your side! May I know your name?”

          “...so formal all of a sudden!” Y’shtola couldn’t help but tease, the girl flushing pink at her words.

          “Well, it’s only right that I learn the name of my very first party member, is it not?”

          Her very first...? Well, most of the Leves and smaller tasks about the younger adventurers certainly didn't require more than one. Forming a party to take down monsters was a grand undertaking that most wouldn't venture toward till a bit later in their careers, and by that time, most were either already firmly in their groups or so eager to leave without so much as an introduction and good-bye.

          That she was so eager to remember her name as her very first partner was... touching. Sincere.

          “...Y’shtola.” And how could she offer any less, bowing just the same. "And the pleasure was mine."

           The younger girl giggled, pulling out of her stance and nodding eagerly. "Thank you, truly! If you ever need a girl and her carbuncle to keep you company when facing monsters, tell Baderon to call for me! Let's just... try to aim for something smaller next time, please?"

          “Heh. I shall keep that in mind."

          A secretive smile on her lips, Y'shtola waved as she turned to leave her newest acquaintance- she had a report to write and a most curious tidbit to relay to her fellow Scions.

          "May our paths cross again under the light of the Crystal.”

Chapter Text

           The night was lively and loud. Laughter echoed into the night, the smell of fire-roasted meats and vegetables wafting in the air, the thumping of wooden steins filled with ale clattered in hearty toasts and slammed on tables. Sloshing and yells, and someone had brought out a lute and started playing a hearty tune, a few voices joining in some drunken melody near the shimmering light of aetheryte.

            Sevrin hated it.

            Not that he didn’t enjoy a good party. One with booze and beautiful women besides was always welcome. But, gods, he hated this one. And more than that, he hated the reason they were having it.

            “Come on, you gotta ‘goobbue-le’ that drink in one go!”

            It was her last night here. Her six days being a sore sight on the farm were done, and tomorrow, she was to make her way back to Limsa and be on her merry do-gooding way. While Sevrin was all too happy to get rid of the nosy little adventurer, it seemed many of the others had fallen under her spell. The damned farmhands, sure, no doubt it was gonna happen, but the rest of the seafaring lot? Gone. Especially after they’d heard about the harrowing ordeal she had face in the grotto.

            One little brush with a moss monster and they were fawning all over her.

             “Y’ reckon th’ lass would be up fer a lil fun a’fore she left?”

             And even more annoying was the lot of three beside him who, even while they stayed with him in the shadows, away from the light and the laughter, all seemed to have been afflicted with those same star-struck eyes.

            The question itself came from Aylmer, of course, ever with a crude quip- the dark-haired midlander stroked his goatee and sported a ridiculously lecherous smile while he sat on top of the barrel. His eyes focused on the miqo’te giggling in the middle of the group across the way.

            Sozai Rarzai smacked the man’s leg, the only part of the man the lalafell could reach with little effort, and pulled a swig from the bottle he held. “Not wit yer ugly mug, lout. ‘Nd yet got Wauter over there already tryin’ his luck and failin’.”

            “Bet ‘er beastie would probably sooner nip a man’s balls off a’fore lettin’ anyone get to ‘er, though.” Eyrimhus chimed in, laughing as he slapped the man on the back. His larger size, though he was not quite as hefty as Staelwyrn, still knocked the man some off his barrel with the force. “Wouldn’t try it, Aylmer.”

            “I dunno. Might be worth it t’stay docked ‘nd try.”                    

            Sevrin frowned. 

            When he had first joined the farm, he was on his own. Tired, hungry, desperate. Staelwyrn, the bleeding heart, took him in. But, he talked too much, trying to pry out his past, but some things were best kept buried. The older man didn’t need to know, and the Sevrin didn’t need to bring his demons in to this place, didn’t need to give them room to grow, looking for scales in the shadows or for a knife in his back-

            (Shut up shut up, don’t think about that. A hiss at the back of his head, snapping, scowling. Coiled, tense. The kidnappin’s just slavers. You’re safe here. Serpents can’t get ya. Yer free.)

            So, he kept to himself.

            But, these three joined up about the same time he did, and the blonde found himself in their company more often than not. Got to know them as much as one could former pirates with shady pasts, and formed their own little group amongst the cattle. He might even dared call them his friends. And they did what they pleased, keeping their ears open for word of new and attended ships, whether to board or to commandeer, eager as they were to return to their old life. None of them were interested in making a home here, and if Staelwyrn complained, it was as easy as vanishing for a few hours to get him off their backs for a bit. The sea was where they’d belonged, and they’d be damned if they’d let some wench, even if it was the so-called Admiral, tell them where to moor themselves. 

            Least, that’s what he thought.

            “Yer not seriously fallin’ fer a landlubber now, are ye?” He sneered.

            The three of them stopped. Quiet, all teasing gone. Each of them turned to him with shrugs, the brunette hyur underlying his with a displeased frown.

            “If I had a woman like that t’come home’t? Wouldn’t mind keepin’ me feet on th’ ground.” The frown turned in to a scowl. “She also saved our asses when yer deal went south, Sev. Leavin’ us t’ them gobbies while ye ran off wit th’sack!”

            Oh. He was still pissed off about that. Sevrin had to admit, it was not his best moment. The plan had been to sell off the oranges to the little buggers instead of to the Jackets who ordered them, and pocket the money for themselves, only for the goblins to turn on them and try to take the loot, money, and their lives. And he ran, without even bothering to check if they had followed.

            But, the lass had been there. Sent to find them, her carbuncle nipping at his heels, as always, and he never thought he’d be so relieved to see the adventurer’s angry face.

            He cringed. “I... I got ye help!”

            “Aye, an’ it’s her we owe! She did a real heroic thing fer us, gettin’ us outta yer bloody mess!” The other two remained silent in the wake of their arguing, letting Aylmer yell at him, palming his forehead. Sighing, like he’d realize something, but didn’t want to say it out loud. “Gods... always excuses wit ye. Why we still follow ye is beyond me...”

            Sevrin flinched. 

            The four of them hadn’t had a tiff like this before. Sure, he’d done a few questionable things about the farm, but they’d always went along.

            But, he’d never dragged them so far in to danger before.

            He looked down.

            “Look,” Sozei broke the silence. “Of yer gonna sulk like a little bilge rat in yer little corner, I’m gonna go get some grub ‘nd join th’ rest.” Standing up and, brushing off his pants, the lalafell started walking away, waving his bottle around. “Th’ least we can do t’ thank her fer savin’ us is t’ see her off proper.”

            “I’ll come with!”

            “Me too!”

            Suddenly alone, the blonde watched as the three of them made their way towards the light of the fire. The sounds of surprise, as they joined, echoed back.

            Sevrin sunk deeper into his corner, turning his back to the sight.

~*~

            He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. Two or three hours, maybe. The sounds and smells hadn’t died, but they turned faint in the cold night air. The songs had quiet, leaving nothing but the murmurs of conversation. The moon had traveled some, higher now, casting a gentle glow on every surface.

            It's the soft rustling of grass that caught his attention, pulling him out of his sullen, empty state of mind. Small, dainty, delicate steps, but not bothering to hide the fact that it was coming closer.

            He glanced up. Frowned.

            The carbuncle.         

            Big eyes, bright and staring intently as it sat across from him. In the moonlight, it looked almost ghostly, like a spirit sent to haunt him.

            This act, this sitting and staring, Sevrin had become extremely familiar with. It was similar to what the thing did every time its little adventurer was sent out to find the lot of them. Zeroing in on them before they’d even take more than a sip of grog or get more than a few minutes into a nap. Sneaking out from behind a wall or out a bush, settling out of the corner of their eyes, just enough that they never noticed until the miqo’te was on them. Unnerving, efficient, and, he had to admit, impressive.  

            Out of reflex, he glanced around, but the girl wasn’t anywhere near. Just the little blue fox, with its hair-raising little stare, right in his line of sight. No sounds, no other movement, not even the gentle wiggle that most of its kind seemed to tend towards. Just sitting there, being creepy, still as stone and bathed in white.

            Probably still thinking it had to find him.

            He scowled.

            “Kit, ye can stop now, ye know.” One of its giant ears flicked. “Yer job’s done. Ye can lay off th’ huntin’.”

            Its head tilted, curiously, like a pup. Scrutinizing. Then, both its ears bent back, gaze sliding into half-lidded contempt. Thumped its tail against the ground with a huff, as if it to say, ‘Yeah, right.’

            Sevrin opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. It was a little soul-beastie. Why was he HAVING this one-sided conversation with this thing, anyway? But, he supposed he preferred it to arguing with the girl herself (and arguing with his friends)- the thing couldn’t talk his ears off. And it was better dealing with the disturbing fluff ball’s beady-eyed attentions than her wide-eyed simpering.

            Couldn’t end up like those fools over there, suddenly falling over their laurels to please her.

            He took another swig, leaning back against the boxes. “Whatever. Do what ye want.”

            It was quiet in his little corner, at least, and he could stay in his own head. Not needing to mind the accusing stares of his friends, and the party would keep the rest away for the night. Maybe he could even stay hidden come morning. And then, with the adventurer gone, avoiding Staelwyrn and his pestering would be easy again, and the boys would be back to themselves, and they’d be free to do as they pleased.

            “Kiri?”

            Should have known it wouldn’t keep. Sevrin thought bitterly, She’d come searchin’ anyway.

            “Kiri, what are you doing ove-oh! Sevrin! There you are!”

            With considerably less grace than her creature, the miqo’te stumbled in to his field of vision, saccharine smile on her face and glowing less eerily than her summon. He ignored it, taking a longer pull from his bottle. The sheepish edge to her expression off-set the constant staring of the carbuncle she was picking up off the ground. “Sorry! She’s got a mind of her own sometimes. Sozai said you were out by yourself, and I guess she thought she needed to find you.”

            Sevrin grunted.

            “Staelwyrn’s looking for you, too.”

            He turned his head, leveling her with a stare. She met it with her own, unperturbed and still smiling. Either she didn’t care that he was being as apathetic as possible, or she was too stupid in her own head as some ‘hero’ to get his message. He let her wait, let the silence stretch between them. Let her look at him in his little corner, the isolation he had voluntarily put himself in, away from the others and away from her.

            “Why not come join us? There’s still plenty to go around... You don’t have to stay so far.”

            Sevrin didn’t like the look in those eyes. The carbuncle’s was still registering as scornful- that he could handle. Anger, arrogance, spite... But, hers was a cross somewhere between pity and sympathetic and understanding-

            “Sevrin?”

            It bloody itched.

            Trying look all innocent as she kept going, “It doesn’t... have to be so hard, you know. You could absolutely make a great living out here! And Staelwyrn’s doing all he can to make things easier, and you’re not alon-”

            “I don’t need yer advice, lass!”       

            It felt good to snap.

            It made her frown. A real one, finally, not the soft little displeased things when she was dragging them back to work. Something different from her ridiculous hero persona, deeper, hurtful. The girl was a right pain in the arse. One teensy little fight, and it had her thinking she had the answer to everything, and she needed to reminded otherwise.

            “I don’t need anythin’ from ye.” He waved his bottle around, watching as some of the liquid sloshed out, but he didn’t care. “Jus’ worry ‘bout yerself an’ be on yer merry way come tomorrow, ye hear? I can deal wit me own problems on me own time, ‘nd I don’t need help from some landlubber hero.”       

            She was silent.

            To his surprise, instead of anger or frustration, or even the yelling and telling off he’d come to expect from before, there is nothing. For a moment. Her little pet was certainly unhappy, with its sudden sharp edges to its shape, its eyes slit and narrowed in a way that sent a chill up his spine. Like it understood everything, and was furious for it, and there was a difference between hunting and hunting. It slithered up her arm, not breaking that gaze, its eyes from him. A watcher, a guardian, more snake right now than fox. Staring, glaring-

            And the moon vanished behind the clouds, casting everything in gloom.

            But, slowly, the lass’ brows lowered. Her lips straightened, her head tilted up, and her gaze turned in to chips of ice. A shadow over them, glacial darkness and disappointment, and somehow that was worse than her ever present optimism. It brought a burning tightness in his chest, dropped a stone down his throat that he can’t swallow, and it’s all he can do not to look away.

            Her arms free, she pulled something out of her pocket. A salt-stained letter, wax bound and with his name crudely written on it, between her fingers.

            “This came for you.” Her voice was level, empty. Different from the sing-song and light heart she was earlier. A flick of her wrist, and it landed perfectly just at his feet, a corner dug into the dirt.

            She turned on her heel, neither of them bothering to look back. They’re done. He got the point across.

            So, why does it not feel like he won?

            “Good night, Sevrin."         

            And they walked off.

            It took Sevrin a moment after they’d gone, her steps had faded, to realize he wasn’t breathing properly. It’s a struggle to get air back into his lungs, to will the tendrils of shame in his throat away. Without the gravity of her gaze, he can swallow again, but it’s painful and sharp, and he’s parched, and his bloody ale does nothing for it. The bottle is tossed, forgotten and useless.          

            But, tomorrow, she’ll be gone, he reminded himself, reaching for the letter. Switched his focus, unwilling to dwell on the unpleasant encounter anymore. And I’ll naught have to deal with such trite any longer.

            He tore the chunk of wax off, tossing it into the grass somewhere. There was a small warning bell going off in his head, now that he’s focusing on the paper; no one wrote letters to people like him. He had no one important. No one to report to. Just his three mates and his comfy lot in life he’d get back to once the pain in the arse was gone.

            He flipped the paper open. It was a bare thing, only a few bold, scrawled lines.

            And at the top-

NO ONE BETRAYS THE SERPENT REAVERS.

              He felt cold.

~*~

            The sun hit the horizon. He’d stayed out all night. He hadn’t slept a wink.

            The words in the letter, still crinkled in his hand, played over and over in his mind.

NO ONE BETRAYS THE SERPENT REAVERS.

BUT, FOR A PRICE, WE CAN FORGIVE YOURS

THREE LIVES

COME TO THE CANYON

            How did they know? How long have they been watching. Are they watching now?

            The hisses turned in to panic screeching, his fingers still frozen and cold as he held the paper tight between them.

            They were asking for three lives. They knew. They knew. He abandoned them, and asked for replacements that they knew he had to free him of his debt.

            On... on one hand, they were his mates. He might be a lousy leader in some ways, but they still followed him, still looked to him. Last night was a one off, a payment to a woman whom, yes, saved them from the greedy gobbies who had threatened them. But, in the end, they were his to take charge of- not Staelwyrn, no matter how he thought, or anyone else. They trusted him.

            But, there was the shadow of the Reavers, their blade hanging above his head. They would find a way to make him pay otherwise.

            Give up a piece of his life here. A piece of his life in a tribute to give to them, is what they were asking. Do so, and he could be free. Never again have to worry about looking over his shoulder, waiting. Watching. Haunted by the shadows of his past, of the life he left behind.

            His shackles broken, his betrayal undone. He could live on the damned farm or where ever he wanted in peace. The Serpent Reavers would leave him alone.

            He’d be free.

            All for the price of three lives.

            ...

            “Oi, lads.”

            Aylmer, Sozai Rarzai, Eyrimhus... all of them. Forgiven him for last night already, it seemed. They gathered when he called, curious and yawning for the early hour. If they notice his shaking, the bags under his eyes, they make no comment. Merely giving him their attention again.

            Sevrin swallowed hard.

            He felt cold.

            “What’dya say to skiving off and havin’ some drinks instead today? I got a place that’s outta th’ way that no one’ll find us.”

Chapter Text

            “Of course it’s all the way on the other side of the fields!”

            Y’shtola growled under her breath, legs pumping as she approached the wooden structure that was the Skylift.

            It was lucky she had decided to stop by Summerford to check on her little patient.  Oh so very, very lucky. Staelwyrn had been in the middle of explaining to her the situation, gesturing in the direction Trionfi had followed her carbuncle in when a terrifying quake carried across the plains. Y’shtola felt the sudden wrench of aether, one so strong that the man had felt it as keenly and went absolutely pale.

            The hand held aloft shook.

            “She’s over there,” came his horrified realization.

            That was all Y’shtola needed before she launched herself back out the gates. She broke in to a run, moving at as fast as a clip she could go, and pushed past it hard. Lungs burning with the effort, swearing under her breath, which she knew was unbecoming, but Twelve be damned, the girl had been terrified facing a goobbue even with the conjurer at her side. This sounded much bigger, much worse, and shook the land and twisted the very soul of the land and she was alone.

            “Keeping moving, Shtola...” She mumbled under her breath, the plan rushing through her head. Every monster in the area seemed to sense the danger, either from her ire or from whatever had caused the distuirbance, for she encountered no troubles. “First, let us figure out where she is.”

            It was as if the gods had heard her, her luck holding steady- voices, loud ones, carried on the wind as she approached the cliff’s edge. Her ears twitched at the sounds, picking up on their words.

            “Never should’ve trusted him! Idiots! IDIOTS!”

            “He didn’t do it in th’ end!”

            “Doesn’t excuse th’ fact th’ yellow bellied coward tried in th’ FIRST PLACE. At least his goin’ back on his word was good fer somethin’...”

            Sounded like she had the right marks to start with. Accents of former pirates, complaining about someone who sounded like they liked to shirk duty, as Staelwyrn had described?

            She launched herself over the railing and landed with a thump, much to the surprise of whomever was talking. Brushing herself off, she met the gazes of three men, staring at her in awe and shock. She gave them a dark little smile, even as her eyes belied the promise of pain.

            “You would not have happened to see a young woman rush through here, have you? Short, carbuncle at her side, dark hair-”

            “Y-you know Trionfi?” The lalafell hopped up immediately, eager and desperate. “Th’ adventurer lass?”

            To the point, as she liked. She turned the dial up on the sharpness in her smile, “I am here to look after her well-being. Where is she.”

            “That-a-way, miss ‘ealer!” The roe, gesturing frantically in the direction Y’shtola suspected. The canyon. Isolated, far, and out of reach. No one would think to search there until it was too late. “She went that way t’ try ‘nd help out the bloody lout out of th’ right mess ‘e made! Please, ye gotta help ‘er.”

             “I will look out for her. You boys just get back to Staelwyrn and let him know of the situation.”         

            “A-aye, miss!”

            Without a second glance, she sprinted. Rushing down the planks, she could hear the sounds of rocks grinding, spells whistling through the air, the disturbance of aether getting thicker the closer she got. An all too familiar presence lingered in the air-

            No. Is she by herself against an Ascian?

            And she pushed harder.

            The sounds got fainter the closer she got. Worrisome, for she could not tell if that meant Trionfi was winning or if she was in further trouble. Winding around the bend, she yanked out her wand and a spell ready on her lips, ready to jump into the fray against-

            A clattering, collapsing pile of rocks, with a magick core that fizzled out and shattered.  

            Oh. Y’shtola blinked, taking the scene in before her.  Well!

            Trionfi wasn’t facing her, but her shoulders heaved with every breath, her tail twitching, alert and suspicious as she stared at the newly crumbled foe. Her right hand still stretched forward from casting her last spell, and her book still humming with her energy. Kiri, at her side, wound up and all sharp angles and raging fury. They were standing between said former enemy and a young man collapsed on the ground, this ‘Sevrin’, Y’shtola surmised, who was half curled into a ball, half staring at the girl in awe. 

            The small arcanist who faced a creature nearly five times her size, defending a civilian.

            And to think she was afraid of the goobbue just the other day.

            Bringing her hand down to her side, Trionfi broke her stare down with the rocks and whipped her gaze upwards, Y’shtola following suit, still at the ready. To where a hooded man watched them from high above, and, of course, conveniently out of reach. He vanished just as quickly as they noticed him, muttering his displeasure about the girl who had bested his magicked automaton. His overwhelming presence and the disturbance of the aether went with him, leaving the four of them alone in the stone clearing.

            It was over, for now, and it was a testament to just how much the fight took out of the Arcanist when her summon flipped up in the air and dispersed, returning to the girl of its own accord. The action dropped their group down to three, and the restoring of her aether seemed to snap her out of her battle mode- Trionfi went from sharp attention to fluttering and fidgeting. All limbs, and less grace. Twisting about, clumsy in her own body as she finally noticed Y’shtola’s presence.

            And immediately subjected her to an anxious gaze and a soft whimper of, “Y... Y’shtola~a...”         

            Trionfl was overwhelmed. Book tucked tight against her chest, her free hand covering the butterfly on her left cheek as she cast wide eyes towards her. It is rather adorable- her younger sisters often had that looked when they had done something beyond what their mothers had advised. Y’shtola couldn’t help but tease, “... I thought you said you did not want to face anything larger than goobbue alone.”

            “I-it just kind of happened...”

            Kind of happened, indeed. The healer gazed over at the crumbled stone, smiling a bit wider and made sure the moon keeper could see her approval. “Well, for ‘just kind of happened,’ you did very well, Trionfi. In the face of danger, you stood firm, and defended someone who needed help- that was very brave.”

            Trionfi still looked distressed, but she slowly nodded. Took a deep breath as she calmed down.

            Then, she bit her bottom lip. Hesitated only a moment, before turning to the man who’d come up near them, but just out of the way, with worry. Her fingers twitched, briefly going for her pockets, before brought her book up and opened it. They started winding about the geometry on the page, “Are...are you alright, Sevrin?”

            The young man beside them startled, like he was surprised the girl was even addressing him. If he were a miqo’te as they were, Y’shtola imagined that his ears would be pinned back and his tail tucked between his legs, what with the way he curled in on himself. Rubbing his arm, turning away some, with shame evident in every line of his body. And he was doing his utmost to hide his pain, tugged his shirt this way and that to cover the bruises, and doing so poorly.

            Before he can protest, Trionfi had already pushed a small bit of her already staggered aether through the ink, activating it, shaping it into its spell. A small healing one, a weak Physick that ate the power she fed it, but it takes none the less. The cut on his lip vanished as he spoke, and some of the blue and purple on his skin dimmed. “I’ll... I’ll live.”          

            She smiled, ending the spell with a sigh. “I’m glad. I was afraid y..you were gonnnn-...”          

            Y’shtola she saw it. Now that she was watching, it was there, that split-second warning-

            Trionfi’s eyes went blank, their moons flickering out.

            Hand flying up to her forehead, mouth trembling open with the echo of a fading gasp. Her book clattered on the ground. Her limbs jolted sharply, collapsing inward, a marionette with her strings cut, and she pitched sideways-

            “Trionfi!”

            “Tr-Trionfi!”

            Y’shtola staggered. Just the barest amount of time to catch the girl as she fell, but that sign made all the difference. Stopped her head from slamming into the ground. And it only added more weight to her suspicions.

            She might have the Echo.

            Seeing it again, the way she moved, it was now all too familiar. But, that did not mean Y’shtola did not have some concerns.

            The most forefront one was her reaction was much, much harsher than the ones Minfillia and Krile went under. As if she was getting hit harder than Y’shtola had seen happen to either of them. But, if it was the Echo, if she was hearing the Mothercrystal, experience could account for the disparity in reaction; they had been about it for most of their lives. Could suffer visions whilst standing and come back as if they had merely temporarily daydreamed, returning to the present like nothing happened and relay all they learned besides.          

            This seemed like it was new to the arcanist. Her words back in the grotto implied as such, and in turn, meant her body was untrained, unused to the strain of which the power placed upon her. She recovered quickly after well enough, but she kept fainting in the interim before, which was detrimental, especially should it happen in the middle of anything important and no one was there to help her.

            But, nothing to do for it now, except to wait again. The boy knelt beside her, hands shaking with uselessness as he looked at her for something to do. Then scrambled to remove his shirt to provide a make-shift pillow, brushing off some of the dirt and sand besides. He folded it as neat as he could, considering its state, and handed it over

            Y’shtola took it wordlessly and set it under the girl’s head before she set back about the proper motions- Her mouth and nose for breath. Pulse, heartbeat. Again, as before, pale, stressed, but alive, and gods the girl was going to be the death of her.

            Her eyes rolled to the blonde beside her, focusing on him. And -this one- could have been the death of her.

            But, any cutting insult she may have had died with the look of guilt, shame, and fear in his eyes. He kept flicking them between her and the girl, unsure which to look at for signs of, well, anything, it seemed. An answer. What to do. He was lost.

            She frowned. There were still splotches of blue and purple blooming on his chest, still cuts the girl’s meager spell had not been able to address, and once the adrenaline wore off, he was going to feel it something awful. And he was going to worry himself sick at this rate.

            “She is fine, boy.” Y’shtola sighed, putting him out of his misery as she stood, moving away to give the girl space. “Come. Let me see to your wounds- it would probably upset her when she wakes to see you in still in such dire straights, and I have magic to spare. You can tell me what happened whilst I work.”

            Luckily, unlike the way Staelwyrn had described him, he seemed to willing to listen now that his brush with death was over. He followed her, looking back with worry and wincing with the effort to stand and move. Allowed Y’shtola to run her diagnostic on him, staying still. The Reavers had done a number on him, but he was survivor, clearly, and she had her reserves to use her spells a little more freely.          

            And he talked. Voice hoarse at first, but he pushed through it, explaining how they came to be beset upon by the golem. How he had led his companions here under a vaguely explained false pretense, his subsequent about-face, and Trionfi’s rush to his rescue. How her carbuncle plowed in first with a gale spell that knocked the Reavers away from him, and how she dove in to the clearing and threw her book (he laughed a little at her incredulous look) at the male in the middle as a follow-up to keep him down. Then, the fox’s subsequent jump atop him to grab it back, and tossing it back to its summoner.

            This opening swept into a fight that the three thralls quickly abandoned, and the hooded man entered with a wave of his hand and an arcane rock beast that made the land tremble.          

            And Trionfi had set upon it, fierce and without fear, and tore it down like it was nothing.

            “That is... quite the tale. And you are a lucky man- nothing broken, all bruised.” She clucked her tongue, filing the story away in her mind as she went about her mending. “And she is alive. You will not have a death on your hands today.”

            If it was possible, the man went even paler at the thought, his eyes widen with the realization of it. Still tense under her hold, he flinched at her even stare and coolness of the cure spell.

            “An’... an’ what about... about me fri...mm…” He struggled for a word. Y’shtola highly doubted ‘friends’ would be applicable- not after this, not after how they spoke of him and the way he wore his guilt. “Companions?”

            “They are fine. They should be availing your employer of the situation by now, actually...” To which, Staelwyrn may have already sent word to Baderon about the situation, given how dire it was. Something Y’shtola probably should do as well.

            “Do be a dear and keep an eye on Trionfi? I must needs make a linkpearl call myself.”

            He nodded, standing loosely and letting her cure do its work while he kept guard.

            Satisfied he was obeying and everything was as in hand as they could be, the sun seeker moved farther from the two, out of earshot. Tugging out an iridescent sphere, about the size of a cherry, she ran her finger over it, seeking the little button hidden away that would activate it.

            With a deft press, it hummed to life, ringing loudly to inform the holders of the rest of the set that one was activated. She brought it up to her ear.

            There was a brief second of shuffling, and then, “Shtola?”

            “Tis I.”

            “It has not been long since your last call... are you alright? Do you need help?” The worry in the voice made the miqo’te smile a bit. Even with every reassurance of taking every precaution, Minfillia never ceased to fret.

            “I am alright. Just calling in to report.”

            “Ahhh, could it be that our dearest healer has caught the culprits?”

            Thancred. Y’shtola sighed, ignoring the flirtatious tone the hyur was using to try to draw a reaction out of her. “Unfortunately not. They got away from us before I could apprehend them. But, our suspicions seem to be correct- their claws are immersed deeper than expected, and the kidnappings happening around Limsa are connected.”

            Silence greeted her little bit of news, the tension of contemplation thick amongst them all. Each of them had been performing investigations of their own, in their respective city-states, in to the happenings around them. Thancred had spoken of feeling some unease near the Sultanatree, and both Papalymo and Yda had thought there was a disturbance in the Lifemend Stumps' clearing... but, nothing happened. Only hers had given any sort of lead.

            Luck, or unluckiness, she wasn’t certain which it was that had her path bore fruit, but it was something.

            “’From us’...?” Their resident thaumaturge picked up on her intentional wording, drawled out the phrase.

            Y’shtola hummed. “Indeed. I will explain in detail later, but I wanted to let you know the situation has been handled.” 

              “Ah... perchance, you had some assistance? From the little kitten?”

            “Thancred.”

            “Just intrigued, Shtola.” The man chuckled, and she could almost picture his coy little smile as tilted his head. “The way you spoke of her is not so dissimilar to how you do of Y'mhitra. Would that I could meet the lovely blossom whom so quickly has inspired such praise.”

            “And I would ask that you behave yourself some, if that day should come.”

            “You wound me, milady. I am always on my best behavior.”

            “You two...” Minfillia sighed, and dutifully, the two of them ceased. “As interested as I am in this second encounter with your… well, I guess at this point, she might be considered your candidate now? It will have to wait. Shtola, would you be so kind as to inform the Commodore and the Admiral of the situation whence you return, please?”          

              “Of course.”

            “Papalymo? Yda?”

              “We are not far from the Conjurer’s Guild.”/”We’re on it!”

              “Thancred?” 

              “I have a meeting with The General and Her Impetuousness within the hour.”

            “Then, we have done all we can do for now. Shtola, please stay safe, and keep us apprised of the situation should anything change. We look forward to hearing about this later.”

            “Until then.”

            Y’shtola pressed the button again, the ringing signaling the end of the call as the device quieted in her hand. Back in her pocket, and she returned back to the present, and turned.

            Trionfi was staring at her.

            Sharp, alert. Awake, thank goodness. Moon-like pupils whole and bright again. There was a curiosity in those eyes, now... an edge of doubt as well, and she was ignoring the fidgeting blonde Midlander in favor of watching her.

            If the conjurer had to wager a guess, the arcanist had seen something, and that something involved her; where she had been jovial and congenial after waking in the grotto, this was quite the opposite reaction.

             Y’shtola sighed. She hoped that the gift, and the Mothercrystal had been kind enough to not reveal too much of her hand so soon. Nothing, at least, to hint terribly much about the Scions- it would be quite awkward were she to ask questions regarding things yet to be introduced to her when they were just starting to take measure of her in turn.

            After all, how does one explain the plight of an entire realm to a girl just barely gone beyond the eyes of her teachers?

            Better to keep to the status quo for now. The Sun Seeker put on her best assuring expression, coming back over to the duo. Cure spell in hand, she let it wash over the girl once more. “There you are... Is ought amiss?”

            Those eyes flicked towards the device around her neck, Ahh, she saw something of the aether-sight goggles?, then back to her face.

            “...no. I am... ok.” Was the quiet response as the spell faded from her skin. She took the hand Sevrin awkwardly offered out to help her up, using it and his strength to get back to her feet, and handed his shirt back to him. “Thank you, Sevrin.”

            “Uh... yer… yer welcome.”

            “And thank you again, Y’shtola.” Trionfi still cast a smile in her direction. Gentle, as if to ease the edges of the wariness she was projecting. “That’s twice now you’ve helped me when I was in trouble.”                                                                 

            “It was nothing, I assure you. Merely right place, right time, but I am glad of it none the less.”

            “Mmm.” The sound she made was one of acquiescence. Sevrin handed over the grimoire she had dropped, and with it, she flipped to a page. Her fingers traced over the symbols. Circles, lines, dots, and even without the goggles to see it, Y’shtola could feel her aether flow and pool, soft and delicate as honey.

            “...Y’shtola, may I ask you a question?”

            Kiri slid back into existence. Twining about her mistress, she settled in her usual place about her shoulders, content to drape lazily about as the book was placed back in Trionfi’s holster. Contemplation, a deliberate slowness to her movements. She bent her arm about her waist, the other tapping against her cheek in thought. The conjurer idly noted it just so happen to be the side her butterfly was tattooed upon, every press making it looks like the wings were fluttering.

            “What... is it that you do?” The gears in those scrutinizing eyes turned. “I had thought you to be a fellow adventurer, what with your mention of the investigation into the kidnappings... but, you seem to know... and understand more of what’s going on.”

            How much to share, Y’shtola kept her face carefully blank as she met that bi-colored gaze with her own lighter one, And how much to keep until we decide whether or not we should reveal ourselves to her... 

            Between them, Sevrin bit his lip, but kept quiet. Glanced down and away, and made busy putting his shirt back on. The Sun Seeker was grateful for the lack of input, content to handle only Trionfi’s suspicion.

            Taking a deep breath, the pale-haired miqo’te sighed. “That is a fair question. To start with, allow me to illuminate some on the creature you hath just fought. I would imagine that you are not familiar with its workings?”

            “The masked man had referred to it as a ‘golem.’”

            “Indeed.”  Y’shtola gestured over to the remains, “It is a mindless automaton. Inert, as you see here, save for when commanded otherwise. And so arcane are its workings that no ordinary pirate could hope to control such a thing. But, the enemies you encountered today? They were no ordinary pirates...“

            Trailing off, she looked at the man with them. He was set back to rights again, still looking away, but there were a few fresh beads of sweat dripping down his face. He knew of what she was talking about, deeply. More than he had mentioned otherwise, but that part was not her business. But, he picked up her left off sentence.

            “Serpent Reavers, miss...” His reluctant explanation drew the Moon Keeper’s attention, as both she and her carbuncle shifted to look at him. He kept his head down. “They’re... they’re in league wit ‘em scalebacks. Th’ Sahagins. An' they weren't... they weren't s'ppose t'have access t' power like that.”

            Nodding at his clarification, Y'shtola pulled Trionfi's attention back to her. “They are not. So, as to your question? I am a... naturalist, of sorts. Surveying the aether in hopes that it may provide clues as to these recent predicaments.”

            Her eyes went to the goggles again, her gaze one of understanding, if only still peppered some hesitation. It is not the whole truth. Not a perfect explanation, but it seemed Trionfi was willing to let it be for now. Her smile returned, full throttle and with a hint of an apology, where as Kiri seemed to have fallen asleep. "I see. Thank you. Not that I don't trust you but..."

            “Nay, worry not. I know how it might seem, but I promise that I am here to assist. To which..." The conjurer glanced up at the sky- it was difficult to gauge the exact position of the sun from where they were, but she could tell that some time had passed. And though healing has been dispersed between her two patients, rest was still the best medicine, and there was naught left to be done here. "I think it best that I escort the two of you back. Staelwyrn will wonder what has become of you both and, once again, I must inform the Yellow Jackets of more clean-up..."

            As well as compile another report, marshal her thoughts, and prepare to avail her comrades of the latest developments. A never-ending trail of paperwork, along with, now, keeping an eye on what Minfillia seems to feel might be a candidate to join the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Perhaps another test of character...

            But, what were the chances that she would encounter Trionfi Fortuna a third time under such dire circumstances?        
          


          

Chapter Text

           The stack of reports was... rather impressive.

            A quarter of an ilm thick, in total. All finely penned on fresh parchment. Neatly scripted words, cursive and written with absolute care to portray every detail cleanly and sufficiently on one. Another, a little rougher, a little blunter, but no less worth its weight in words, with splotches of stray ink and a few criss-crossed pieces. And there are several other smaller ones, no more than a paragraph or two on a page, each written to their respective writer’s tastes and hands, but all with one thing in common.

            The name of an adventurer: Trionfi Fortuna.

            Written bright and bold, framed with as many praises as could fit between the parts that actually spoke about what happened. The report attached to the original missive that started this mess stated that he had tripled the original agreed reward amount, on account of the increase in danger and for ‘surpassing expectations.’

            Reyner dropped them on the table, where they landed with an impressive thunk.

            “Alright. Once more, please, so that I have this in hand...” He leaned over the stack, hand on his head from the headache that had formed, and glaring at the chuckling man across from him. He tapped a finger on the very top report, the one with all curls and round letters. The last one he had read, and the one that had taken the longest because he had to go over it four times.

            “Her original mission was assisting with Summerford’s current load of farm work regarding their crop of oranges…”

            “Aye.”

            “Which drew her into the investigation regarding the recent increase in kidnappings due to sightings in the area by the nervous farmhands.”

            “Yep.”

            “Encountered our resident Scion, who just so happen to be drawn over by a coincidental flux of aether to the very same grotto Miss Fortuna was in. And where they were set upon by an enraged goobbue, and found a clue that hinted at the involvement of pirates.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Said pirates, to which one of the now-former employees of Summerford, a Sevrin Poole, just so happened to have been a part of. And, just so happened to have recently escaped from, due to them having become Sahagin thralls in the past year, and from whom he received a letter of threat whilst they were about the place.”

            “Mmm.”

            “Upon such, he followed to the canyon, only to turn his back on them again, and Trionfi went charging into the rescue, where she ended up facing and defeating a golem, of all things, as well as discovering that the Serpent Reavers are indeed tied to the kidnappings AND to those the Scions are hunting down."

            “That’d be th’ gist of it, Commodore.”

            “...I am going to need another drink, Tenfingers.”

            The proprietor grinned, reaching behind him to tug on a hanging rope. “A’course.”

            “Thank you.”

            The thirty-eight year old leader of the Yellow Jackets drained the whole of his mug in one go at the promise of a refill, exhaling deeply once he’d finished. He didn’t want to impair himself terribly- it was early in the day yet and there was still much work to do. But, Baderon had offered the good stuff for this meeting, and now Reyner knew why. Wanting the world to tilt some, just enough to make what he had read seem less absurd, was a fair reason to partake more than normal.

            Not that the series of events was not impossible. Merely... highly improbable. Painfully coincidental, and, if he were honest with himself, extremely unlucky. Or lucky, considering that the girl had succeeded.          

            And he truly was quite impressed. Enough so that he did a little digging of his own into this mysterious newcomer. With how often her name appeared in this most recent shaking of the realm’s status quo, it was only natural that Limsa Lominsa’s most prominent protector of the people find out who she was, pulling out the smallest files and doing a round of inquiry.

            What he had found out only baffled him further.

            A newly budding arcanist with her first grimoire. Madam Thubyrgiem had said she was still only on her first lessons in arcanima. Hadn’t even so much as looked at the secondary carbuncle yet, though the way she stared at him, eyes wide and mouth suitably dropped might have changed her plans. There was also one of the Foreseers, Trionfi’s personal teacher from what he’d gathered, who had eavesdropped poorly, and happily babbled about, ‘increased potential’ or something.

            Jacke had been a bit less than cooperative at first, but when Reyner had mentioned the escalated situation, offered up some information. 'The Little Edelweiss,' he intoned. The daughter and only child of retired adventurers, whose names were mysterious kept off records beyond a ‘Madame Fortuna - CNJ’ and a ‘Ser Nhila – LNC.’. They could have dug farther, but of respect, neither of them pressed it. To top it off, V’kebbe had unofficially assigned herself to the Moon Miqo’te’s side, without so much as the midlander’s by-your-leave.

            All the other Guildmasters offered up varying ranges of either encountering her with a fond first meeting, or merely hearing of her and were ambivalent. In all? Trionfi had been in town no more than a month, and for many was just barely a footnote on a page. And most of the jobs her name had been recorded beside had just been about the city and had involved minor things- relighting lamps, assisting with the cleaning of the roads, vermin extermination. She was not properly equipped or experienced enough, by normal standards, for the level of difficulty of which her mission had gotten.

            She had every right to turn away from the situation once it was clear it was quickly heading out of her league. But, she had not. She had not turned tail when the going got tough, and instead she got tough and got going. And won against the odds.

            Where IS that refill?         

            It was the sort of thing that bards enjoyed hearing about, and more loved singing about, even if it was the smallest of ditties: The little lady, just starting out in the world, and her fox summon, defending a reformed scoundrel against pirates and a beast of stone.

            Eorzea could certainly use a little bit of hope like that.

            In the form of a little rambunctious young miqo’te with a penchant for courage and carbuncles, who seemed to find the most random string of trouble this side of Hydaelyn that managed to get her name on near everyone’s lips in town. Again.

            And, add to that, she had the apparent interest of one Y’shtola Rhul, whom had written out her own personal account, which he had read four times now, which meant by extension the interest of the rest of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Which also put the poor girl squarely in their Admiral’s sight. Which could be either a good thing or an increase in paperwork.

            It's going to be paperwork. It's already paperwork. He sighed, the Baderon matching it with his own.

            “Swear, trouble’s writ on her forehead. An’ yer not th’ only one who came by t’ double check they read right.” The bar owner chuckled. “Giem stopped by, not long after ye visited her, askin’ if th’ report was really ‘bout her student.”

            “I’d imagine my appearance and questions had set her ‘Mama Wolf’ senses aflame.”

            “Puttin’ it lightly. But, she seemed proud an’ satisfied by th’ time she finished grillin’ me... ahhh, but, ye didn’t request t’ meet jus’ to get measure of me girl either. Merl’d never task ye fer somethin’ so simple.”

            “Can’t keep anything from you, you old coot.” Reyner grinned. Of course, the man was still sharp for his age, and he pulled out an envelope from his inner breast pocket. Tossing it on the table between them, so that the mark of the Admiral’s office, properly set and sealed in wax, was face up.

            At the sight of it, Baderon’s eyebrows flew up to his temple. Gingerly picked it up, and turning it over to the front, eyes taking in the name on the front as he hummed.          

            “This is...”

            “Yup.” The Commodore grinned. “Seems our exalted Admiral was rather moved by the lass’ words and deeds, and what with results of the information he so generously provided, decided to bump his timeline up. The boy is, as far as the YellowJackets are concerned now, a non-issue.”

            “...meanin’ th’ lad’s prolly gonna be entirely m'problem now.”

            “Indeed, though something tells me you don't mind." Reyner laughed. "But, I was told to bring this to you immediately. Where'd you even send him, anyway?”

            “Ahhh... ‘bout that, Commodore-“

            The door creaked open.

             “Baderon?”

             Oh, speak of the devil.

             The voice that filtered through was familiar. Male, low and uncertain, and Reyner found himself lifting an eyebrow at the intruder that stepped inside.

             “I’tolwann told me ye needed me at t’ Chef’s Table, but I dun know wot... she...”

             Baderon turned, smiling. “Yer in th’ right spot, Sevrin. Ye got th’ order?”

             A stiff nod. “A-aye...”

             “Close th’ door behind ye, lad.”      

             The blonde obeyed, keeping his head turned down as if to hide his face, but there was no mistaking who Baderon’s new employee was. Which answered the question Reyner had of where Baderon sent the kid when he’d offered to take care of him- should have guess the man would keep him close. And no doubt for the sake of their little adventuring miqo’te and her worries for her first rescue.

             Reyner got a better look at him as Sevrin slowly crept closer. He looked different- no longer dressed in his old pirate rags, sodden grey and bleeding red and worn from his injuries, he was in the standard uniform of one of the Drowning Wench’s staff. Plain, brown, an apron about his waist, and unlike the ladies managing the floor, he had a matching bandana about his hair. It looked similar some to his old one, though the change in color made him look much more humble.

            And in his trembling hands, a tray with two fresh mugs of the good ale.

             Reyner was aware of the nervous glances Sevrin cast at him. He couldn’t fault the man, though. Only a few days ago did he have his life in his hands, but that was the past. This was the future, and he would do his utmost to set the man at ease.

             Coughing gently in to his gloved hand, he caught the blonde’s attention, his blue eyes wide as a startled deer’s. Hands aloft, stopping short picking the cups from his tray. He wasn’t shaking anymore, thankfully, but he was wound up and still as a statue.

             With a reassuring smile, Reyner tilted his head in greeting. “Sevrin, fancy seeing you about. I know it’s only been a few days, but you’re doing well, I hope?”

            “M...M’fine, Commodore. C-commodore Reyner. S…ser...”

             “Good to hear.”

             Gently, and impressively for a man so new at this, their drinks were set before them. Not a single slosh or spill, even with the stack of reports in the way.

             “Baderon not causing you much trouble, is he?”

             The old man choked at the question, coughing as he glared at the cheeky smirk on the man’s face.

             “Tis... better than I deserve.” Sevrin admitted, tucking the tray under his elbow. There was still a hint of shame in his eyes, in his stance. But, also a new glint in them, too, a spark, as he nodded to the man in question. “But, ’m grateful fer his kindness. An’ it’s nice not t’ have’t look over me shoulder so much.”

            Baderon grinned. “We look after our own, ye can count on that. An’ Tri’d have me balls fed t’ her beastie if I let ye get hurt. ‘Didn’t save his life only t’have’im lose his head,’ didn’t she say?”

            “Sumthin’ like that, ser. Wos too busy tryin’ not t’ piss meself.” Sevrin’s lip quirked up, hesitantly humorous, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to smile but was going to anyway. “Though, couldn’t tell ye if it were cuz o’ ye, Commodore Reyner, ser, or cuz o th’ lass.”

            “Wouldn’t blame you if it were the latter, by your eye-witness account.” The brunette chuckled, picking up the fresh tankard. The first sip was refreshing, and the world tilted, as he had hoped, slightly enough. Yes, it was believable a lass of twenty summers, freshly anointed as an arcanist, to go from picking oranges to taking down a golem in a fell swoop. “She’s a fierce one.”

            “Aye, that she is... um, Ser. Commodore.”

            Silence. The courage Sevrin had built spent with his joke and he turned his head back down, but Reyner didn’t begrudge him for it. Suddenly being considered a Lomisan in full now, and thus, under the Commodore’s protection instead of a pirate and an outlaw, was no doubt jarring. Even being able to sit at the same table and converse, perhaps not as equals but at least amicably, was a new experience.

            Luckily, Baderon took over. Gestured grandly with a chuckle, drawing their eyes to him as he pushed the extra ale towards the quiet blonde. “So, yes. I do know where th’ lad is. Ye can tell Merl she don’t have t’worry. We gots things well in hand.”  

            “Excellent. My thanks, Baderon. I do believe this concludes my business today.”

            Reyner decided he’d occupied the Table long enough. Confirmation achieved, message delivered, and, after he drained the rest of his refill, suitably buzzed to face the rest of the day and paperwork, he stood. Careful not to cause Sevrin any more discomfort, he picked up the pile of reports with a finality and offered the two of them a hearty Maelstrom salute, all business again. “I’ll be in touch. Keep sharp, old man.”

            “Ye do th’ same, whippersnapper.”

            “Sevrin.” The young man jumped, again, and Reyner broke his stern countenance for a moment with a smile. “Do th’ lass proud.”

            “Ay...aye, Ser. Commodore Reyner. Take...take care.”

~*~

            Sevrin released the breath he held the moment the door closed behind the man in uniform, collapsing in to the now empty chair and frowning at the bartender who saw fit to chuckle at his stress.

            "Ye could've warned me!"

            "Ahhh, but ye can't avoid the Commodore forever now, lad." Baderon pushed the extra mug closer. "Meant what I said 'bout ye bein' one o' mine. An' that means yer a citizen under his protection, too. Even if it's a bit o'a'round-a-bout way gettin' ye on board."

            The honest admittance to the sentimental thought made Sevrin pause, his hand just barely gripping the handle of the extra cup. Such a constant easy going attitude and ready acceptance reminded him too much of Staelwyrn and his blasted kindness. Offering his best ale. Made it difficult to say 'no' to the man who'd taken him in, seen fit to help him live out his sentence personally instead of leaving it in the hands of a random Jacket, on the simple word of his savior.        

            Which is why when the head waitress shoved the tray and mugs at him, barking orders, his only question was where was this 'Chef's Table?'

            But, gods, could have done without seeing the Commodore so soon after my head was just at his mercy.

            "Yeah, well..." He chugged a bit down, willing the liquid to clear his suddenly tight throat. "Probably thinks 'm bloody terrified o'him, now."

            "An' arent' ye?"

            "Can't ye hear me knees shakin' over yer creakin' bones, ye bloody old coot?"          

            "Ah, an' there's me other whippersnapper! Wonderin' where ye squirelled off t' there!"

            There's a rhythm the Drowning Wench had, Sevrin learned, and it's one that the old man made easy to follow, easy to slide back in to when Sevrin found himself uncomfortable. Joking insults, complaining about his old age, even as the man's hawk-sharp eyes took everything and everyone in. Something he was grateful for as he took the ribbing with good humor, letting the blonde cool the atmosphere to a level where he wasn't feeling quite so... choked up, as it were.            

            Until now, he doesn’t remember the last time he’d cried, and it was becoming a far too common thing since he started getting dragged in the gentle wake of Trionfi Fortuna.

            On their return to the farm, he let the dam break and admitted to everything. Relayed the truth of his past to Staelwyrn and, surprisingly enough, the adventuring lass, both listening intently without interrupting as he spoke. Every woe laid bare, every weight he’d carried since he’d left his past behind. From his past as a Serpent Reaver before they’d turned, right up until his almost betrayal. Tears had streamed down his face, and with his blubbering and their soothing presence, it lifted the gravity from his chest and he could breathe.

            “Catharsis, to relieve thee of emotional burden.” the healer lass, Y’shtola, had hummed before she left, with her mysterious smile and pointed gaze. A reminder that, despite her words, he was not quite yet free. But, the holder of his new debt was not a difficult one to please, nor did she seem actually wont to take advantage of it. She was, as far as he could see, either the most forgiving person he'd met or the most forgetful.

            But, after the tears had cleared, after the secrets had been said, he knew his only course to even start making up for any of it was to turn himself in. The YellowJackets would have already gotten word, and it would be simple enough to walk to the guild of the Marauders, at the Coral Tower, and admit himself. Packing up his meager belongings, not even his old friends to see him off, he arrived there the next afternoon. Knees knocking, facing Commodore Reyner with his confession and expecting, at best, being sent to the gaols for life or, at worst, the gallows for death.

            Then, Trionfi had stormed in, the sleeves of her violet robe flaring and fluttering about her like a butterfly's wings. Carbuncle blazing bright at her side, the miqo'te's gentle tones bore a thunder beneath that commanded the room as she changed his course. Again.

            Which is how he ended up here. Bound to the city-state, and living out his now absurdly lightened sentence at the Drowning Wench, under the eye of the Adventurer's Guild Master.

             Said Guildmaster who was still regarding him with a curious gaze.

            "She's too bloody nice," Sevrin admitted, scowling because the man was going to know who he meant anyway. Every time he thought on his circumstance, he kept coming to the same conclusion. "Ye got an adventurer lass takin' pity an' dolin' mercy on a scoundrel like me. Th' one that nearly got'er killed. She ought t' have'er head checked."

            That drew a smirk from the man. "Ye think she was wrong t' save ye?"

            "'M thankful, but she coulda done better than pull me sorry arse outta th'fire I built."

            "Ah, but 'cause ye still live, Reyner got information that was able t'help."

            At that, the ex-scoundrel couldn't help but perk up. When his punishment was being decided, he'd offered up any and all of his knowledge of the old Reaver haunts and routes. Wasn't sure if they were going to be useful, being more than a year old, but if his old crew and Captain were really kidnapping folks, it didn't hurt none to give it anyway. And he hadn't offered it to lighten his sentence. The Commodore had seemed surprised when all he asked was to make sure they tried to rescue any other lost souls like him, if there were any left. He wasn't the only one who wasn't happy with the turn to the scalebacks, but he was the only one crazy and desperate enough to have left as he did.

            He must've looked like an eager child at Starlight because Baderon didn't let him sit long. "Aye. There weren't much, but a small handful of yer old crew who were left behind still live. All with themselves intact, too, though their talk of a strange, white-scaled sahagin aiding them is a mite out there. They're too weak t' move right now, but I figured ye'd like t'know."

            Sevrin stared. Emotions, again, welling up inside as he swallowed hard. His eyes threatened another round of blubbering, but he fought it down. Took a deep breath, willing himself to not burst in to it again. "Th...that's good. Lot'o'them might... might like it at Summerford. If... yer taken suggestions, maybe check... with Staelwyrn?"

            Baderon smirked, but nodded. "Aye, 'll keep that in mind. But, don't doubt our girl, ye hear? She put her faith in ye, an' ye did good, lad. Keep it goin'."

           "Well, I got a lot of time t' think 'bout more ways t'. Bein' under yer care... a-an'...?"          

            The bartender was holding out an envelope.

            It was a small, average looking thing, but the sight of it and the sudden change in subject, again, made Sevrin tense.

            The last time one was handed to him, it was...

            ...salt-stained letter, wax bound and with his name crudely written on it..

            He shook his head free of the creeping memory, pushing its winding scales from his mind and stared at the letter between the man’s fingers. The Reavers don't know where he is, and Baderon would vet anything that came in. His fear-fueled hesitation was over-ridden by his common sense kicking in, and he took it.

            Soft, was the first word that came to mind, the fine and elegant quality of the paper almost like downy feathers between his calloused fingertips. The surface unstained and moon-white, with his name neatly scripted in thin curls- never had he seen his name written so... so carefully. So gently. It was a little strange having 'Sevrin Poole' and 'elegant' in the same thought.

            He turned it over, hands brushing over the seal, and his breath hitched.

            No...

            He looked up, but Baderon’s expression was covered by his mug, leaving him and this mysterious letter alone.

            Glanced back down again. Pressed against the image, willing it to give way beneath his touch, to reveal the wax to be a figment of his ale-filled imagination. Oh, but gods, his imagination was never that creative to begin with, and the detail of the Admiral’s symbol on such shiny wax was too good for his own memory.

            He ran a finger under it, delicately popping it from its place, and it came lose. It unfurled in his hand, the folds opening like the petals of a flower, and he slowly took in the clean and precise writing. And read.          

            And read it again.

            A Letter of Pardon… already? He read it again, even as his eyes decided to blur the words with tears. And... and from the Admiral herself? Bloody hells stop crying, you daft fool!

            "What..." He choked out, looking up at the man. "What does this... Why...?"

            “I know it’s a bit soon...” Baderon smiled. “But, this was part o' th' reason Reyner came by. I mean it when I said ye did good, lad. So, yer sentence is up."

            It wasn't even a week. He hadn't done anything, and he was already free. So, he took a deep breath, clearing his mind and, a bit calmer now, looked down at his ticket to freedom. Ran his fingers over the seal, a reminder that it really was the genuine thing. Glanced over the words one more time. It was great. Really, it was, knowing that he was no longer bound...

           But... it still felt sorely unearned.

           The blonde couldn't help but sigh."This weren't just cuz o' me, though. Trionfi's word is good as gold, ain't it. An' it's only gonna get better'." And her luck is probably going to get worse.

           That Baderon only continued to smile was all the answer he needed. That cinched it. The girl was going to need someone to watch her back some, and it weren't fair lettin' Baderon handle it all when he's got the whole of the Adventuring Guild to run.

           "Not bad fer a newbie, I guess." Sevrin took a deep breath. Tears and feelings back under control, he managed a smirk back. "An' it weren't even four days an' yer already tryin' t'kick me out, old man."

           The red-head guffawed in to his sip. "Now, 'm not tryin' t'kick ye out, lad. But, yer free t' go back t'th’ farm, if ye want, an' ye don't have to worry 'bout any debts here. I know th’ old bastard’d welcome ye back.”

           "Ah, no debts on paper, but on me... me conscience, there is. I still owe th' lass. Still owe ye fer stickin' yer neck out, too. It's me own honor on th' line at this point."

           To Baderon's, and his own surprise, Sevrin found himself standing from his chair. He had so many words to say, things to try and get his point across. But, action spoke louder- what good is a promise if you don't show you're sincere on acting on it from the start? So he bowed, as low as he could. Nearly smacked his head on the table, but he veered his head out of the way enough to speak properly

           "Baderon, please hire me."

           "Lad-"

           "I know it's askin' a lot, an' I know I c'n go where I please, now, but I'd... I'd like t'stay. Please. T'help some. I'll do ye proud, an' prove that it weren't a mistake savin' me t' the both o'ye."

             From his position, he couldn't see Baderon's face. The man was quiet in his contemplation, the only sound in the small room that of his gulping down of the rest of his ale. Sevrin's own cup was nestled to the side, still half full, but he wouldn't be able to drink till he got his answer.

          He held his breath. Waited.

          Baderon plopped his tankard down. "...alright."

          Took a second for the word to register, but Sevrin shot up. "R-really?!"

          "But," He held a finger up. "'m not gonna go easy on ye."

           "'ll work hard, ser!"

          "'M down'ere at th' sixth bell."

          "'ll be available by th'fifth!"

          "Yer gonna start wit bussin' tables an' washin' th'dishes."

          "They'll be th'cleanest they've ever been!"

          Baderon grinned. "Ye also oughta finish that ale."

          Sevrin laughed, "YES SER!" and chugged it down. It really was great stuff, and even as the world tilted for him, he knew this was the right decision. When he finished, he wiped the back of his mouth with his sleeve, and nodded, heart light and feeling like everything was going to be fine. "Ye'll not regret this, Baderon."

          "I know. Ye get back t' work now, lad. Tell Tolwann t' show ye where we keep th' cleanin' stuff an' t'show ye th' ropes. I'll follow shortly."

          "Yes ser!"

          Letter in his pocket, tray and his empty mug in hand, Sevrin walked out the door. And caught the tail end of Baderon's fond, but very put upon sigh,

          "Welp. Better get started on that paperwork."

Chapter Text

          “Trionfi, if you would kindly turn to page fifteen, we’ll begin there.”

          Just a bell after sunrise, in the training room below Mealvaan’s Gate, Madam Thubyrgiem Guldweitzwyn waited patiently. Her grimoire held aloft and open, watching as their current and sole student followed her instruction.

          Trionfi was humming as she turned them one by one, Kiri draped as usual about her shoulders, chewing on a sugar cube. Both as cheerful as could be, despite the early hour and barely five days out from the mission that prompted this impromptu class. But, even if the girl was upset any, Thurbyrgiem knew today’s spell would put the pep back in the girl’s step.

          Her song trailed off, and the elder arcanist couldn’t help but smile at the realization that dawned on the girl’s face.

          On the page? Triangles and squares. Hexagons and pentagons instead of circles and lines. Shapes to imply strength, shields, and structure. Far different from the page dedicated to the Emerald Carbuncle.

          She looked up, heterochromatic eyes wide as dinner plates.

          “T-Topaz Carbuncles?” Her tail fluttered, her mouth suitably dropped and a nervous joy in her voice. “I’m learning the Topaz Carbuncles today from you, Madam Thubyrgiem? Oh, but isn’t that normally saved for the end of the first year...?”

          Thubyrgiem smiled, nodding. “I’m making an exception, and since Lyhia is on another assignment, I am handling your lesson this time.”

          And because no one thinks to tell me, her Acting Guildmaster, that my most inexperienced student is facing life or death situations already. Not even Trionfi herself.

          The young lady had either played down or not entirely realize the level of danger she had been in when she’d told her the story, and once the Sea Wolf had sussed the truth from Reyner and Baderon, she set about adjusting her timeline. Nothing wrong with doing something so decidedly heroic, of course- she was absolutely proud of Trionfi for stepping in and handling her circumstance admirably.

          But, if she was going to end up in such dire straights so soon, the least her guild could do was make sure she was Twelve’s damned equipped for it.                 

          And learning to summon Topaz carbuncles was best place to start. Unlike their Emerald brethren, they were meant to function more as defenders. Not that the teal ones weren’t capable, but where their make-up usually required softer shapes for form and flow at the side of their summoner, Topaz were built for the brunt of battle. Akin to using a shield instead of a bow or casting magic, they needed to be in close quarters to the opponent for their attacks to connect.

          They normally weren’t even glanced at till the latter part of a student’s first year. Just to even form the tougher, tighter matrices, let alone holding it and using it, required advanced control on one’s aether. But, again, making an exception.

          The Moon Miqo’te needed a more unyielding companion to battle at her side, one meant to balance her ranged spells to its point-blank skills. Opening up her repertoire and giving her more options. And if her control of her Kiri was any indication of talent (and, as Jacke so helpfully pointed out during their little tiff, it was) there was a very good chance Trionfi was up to the task.

          And speaking of the little summon, Kiri seemed to be eyeing the page with an almost satisfied look on her face, tail swaying back and forth just behind her summoner’s head. The emerald nuzzled against Trionfi’s tattooed cheek, as animated and affectionate as always, the arcanist’s free hand scratching behind her ears. The two were in agreement to the lesson and seemed quite ready to begin.         

          There’s just one thing to address, first.         

          The Sea Wolf roegadyn turned her pointed gaze to the other occupants in the room.  

          “And don’t the lot of you have jobs to do?         

          Sheepish smiles crossed the quartet of faces (which so happened to be that of two miqo’tes, a hyur, and a lalafell, which sounded like the start to a bad joke) she was calling on. All of which, were settled in make-shift seats comprised of the many practice crates and barrels off to the side. The only male among them saw fit to add some cheek to it as he hollered back, “LUNCH BREAK, MADAM!”

          Murie slapped her forehead. Trionfi giggled.

          “...Lunch break.” Thubyrgiem repeated.

          Three of the four (Murie kept her face in her hands), content with their poor if painfully true excuse, and Twelve, I thought I taught them better, nodded so vigorously she could hear their spines squeak. Didn’t seem worth it to point out none of them had food. And they had been slacking off for more than their designated hour.

          “I see.” She sighed. At least, as assessors, they were of a proper excuse to be in the basement, watching their lesson. Which left only the matter of their extra guest. She turned her sharp gaze up again. “And you, V’kebbe?”

          Settled next to the designated peanut gallery, the red-haired rogue-in-disguise tilted her head at the attention on her, casting a secretive smile and shrug. But, then she made vague and familiar gesture in the air, a flick of her fingers, and a particular and subtle twist of her wrist as she answered.

          Code: Defend.

          “Moral support, Missus Giem!”

          Oh. She pressed her fingers to her forehead, sighing deeply. Played up the part of the put-upon instructor as her mind whirled, glancing at the girl beside her from the shadow of her hand. Bodyguarding, then.  

          Not that she thought that anyone would be after the girl. She hoped, dearly, dearly hoped their little bird, their little miqo’te was safely off radar. But, with the situation as deep as it was and the involvement of the Scions, the possibility of a target on her back now was all too real. But, so long as she is within Limsa’s walls...

          “Fine, you can stay.”

          “Me thanks, m’lady!”

          The other three cheered. “Yay, Keb can stay!”

          Murie merely sighed again.

          A five-man audience for their little newbie, though Trionfi didn’t seem all that bothered, waving at them with a giant smile on her face and relief in her eyes. Kiri purred loudly, and she caught the seemingly-approving look the little summon sent her way.

          Thubyrgiem smiled, shaking her head as she turned to her pupil. “Are you alright with your adoring fans in the rafters, Trionfi?”

          “As long as you truly don’t mind...” Her inquiry was careful, head tilted, but the hope there was adorable.

          “I don’t.” Satisfied the girl wasn’t going to feel too distracted (well, any more than they already were) she nodded. “But, we’ve dawdled long enough. Shall we begin?”

          A demonstration, first, as she slipped back into her role as instructor, feathered pen in hand. The most basic exercise, carefully conducting her aether through its tip and pressing it to the page. Tracing the opening shapes in their proper order, the ink lit up as she pushed the power through. Explained the difference in the flow, the sharper corners where it needed to bend, and the closed shapes instead of the lines that branched out towards the edges of the paper. It was important to follow it exactly, lest a glitch in the formula cause the carbuncle to malfunction or warp in unintentional ways.

          She didn’t commit the energy, though. Not yet. Slowly seeding it for now, and showing the process of how her aether weaved tighter so Trionfi could see and understand.

          “Wot’s she learnin’ ‘bout, anyway?”

          (The peanut gallery. Whispers, but let it not be said a teacher’s hearing was not excellent.) 

          “Madam Thubyriem’s been worried ever since it came down the grapevine our little bird was dealing with some Reavers-“  

          “I didn’t mean to jinx her, I swear.”  

          “-and a golem. She’s getting a bump up on the next lesson- the Topaz carbuncles.”

          “Ahh. Ain’t those a bit advanced? Moz, I swear ye only jus’ mastered’em last week.”

          ”Har har, Keb.”       

          Kiri’s ears flicked, turning towards them, but otherwise left it alone. Luckily, Trionfi did not pay their commentary any mind, entirely fixated on the lesson. Her fingers flexed and fluttered against the parchment, ink glittering with barely pressed power beneath their tips. Her pen was still holstered on the book’s spine.

          Thubyrgiem wasn’t sure if the girl realized she was doing it, so focused on her show of skill, keeping just at the edge of activation.

          “Do you have any questions so far?” She let go of the spell, pulling her aether back and rendering the page inert. Trionfi startled out of her focus.

          “N-no... I think I get it.” The grin on the miqo’te’s face was a sheepish, but she gestured animatedly as she spoke. “My aether is going to be pulled more taut, and I have to hold the intent. Similar... uh, recipe to Kiri, but different? Like... baking bread.”

          “...”

          “Errrr...”

          “...wot?”

          She blinked. “...baking bread.”

          “They’re both bread! They use the same basic ingredients, but they... have differences to them? Like using different flours or... or butter that’s room temperature versus cold...? But, in the end, it’s bread, it’s just different how you start!”

          The Sea Wolf stared.

          Kiri placed her paws delicately on her summoner’s bright pink cheek, stop, please, giving the carbuncle equivalent of a sigh.

          “...I...” Stuttering, Trionfi giggled nervously. Her tail came up and she took it in her free hand, clasping it to her chest. “I swear, that sounded a lot better in my head.”

          “Ahhh.” A strange analogy, but Thubyrgiem thought she understood what she was trying to get at. Maybe. “Well, as long as... you understand? Here’s how it looks all together.”             

          Pressing the pen again, she pushed her aether through, faster this time, and allowed the spell to click into place. Symbols sprouted, supping from her energy and will, and shaping it. Feeling and watching for the moment the split was completed, when she could grab it, and cast it into the air. One last little push and with a delicate pop, a topaz carbuncle leaped from her hand, somersaulting once before gracefully landing on all fours.

          There was an excited gasp as Trionfi clasped her book to her chest in delight, embarrassment completely forgotten.         

          “Aaaaahhhhhhhh, it’s like sunshine!” The fae beast merely jiggled in place, staring blankly up at her. Tail swished about, and Thubyrgiem waved her hand, making it run about the room in a circle before coming to a stop at their feet. The miqo’te giggled, sheer adoration on her face. “I think I can sort of see the difference. It’s certainly a lot more defensively built.”

          Nodding, Thurbyrgiem had Topaz run across to attack one of the boxes set in the arena, executing a ferocious headbutt that shattered it. “Once you’ve mastered it, you’ll be able to cast spells from a distance, while your Topaz takes point for you. Controlling it effectively will take practice and time, but I just want you to be able try to form it today.”

          “Ok. That sounds like a reasonable goal.”

          “Do you feel up to an attempt?”

          “C-can I? Already?” Trionfi jumped, but hummed sadly. “I’ll have to dismiss Kiri, won’t I.”

           “I’m afraid so.” Thubyrgiem nodded. “Splitting your aether more than once is dangerous.”

          “Agh, but think about how much fun fighting with two carbuncles would BE!”

          “Trionfi...”

          “TWO CARBUNCLES.” Trionfi burst into giggles, before sighing. “Yeah, I know. Kiri, do you mind...?”

          Chirping in reply, followed by a gentle lick to the cheek she was pressed against, Kiri began to slowly slide down from her shoulder. Her form dissolved, becoming a sparkling ribbon of aether that winded about Trionfi’s form and sank into her skin, returning to the miqo’te’s body. 

          “She’s gonna try her hand at it?”

          “This’ll be interesting...”     

          “Should be! From wot I’ve seen, she’s pretty talented? A’course, yer the experts.”

          “Well, she IS something of a prodigy, according to Lyhia..”

          My, they’re vocal over there. Both Lyhia and V’kebbe had the right of it, though. And, again, Jacke’s observation from a week ago was not wrong. There really was something delightfully animated about the girl’s summons, showing so much more personality and individuality than most were capable of.

          Also, outright responding to a name? Self-dispersion, self-governing?

          Levels of control varied, of course. And they certainly, they could take on aspects of their caller. If one were unwilling battle, in their deepest heart of hearts,  why... the carbuncle would run off, regardless of what commands might travel betwixt summon and summoner.

          Of course, this could also be a result of Trionfi’s absolute obsession with perfecting her craft. Eorzea’s Greatest Carbuncle Summoner- enough that she imbued each with a little bit of her soul that they could respond accordingly.

          Kiri successfully vanished back into her caller, Trionfi grinned as she held the book up.

          “Ok, so, you said, start here! At this corner, and flow outwards.”

          “That’s right. Don’t feel like you need to rush it. Take your time to learn. Just follow the shape as best you can, and let your intent seep. But, if you feel it waver, don’t be afraid to pull back and start over.”

          She nodded.

          “Oh oh! You guys want to make a bet?”

          “Really? Bad enough you’re all so nosy, you’re going to gamble on her, too?”  

          “...yes?”         

          “100 gil she takes till the evening bell to form one properly!”

          “Mozen, are you mad? She’s Lyhia’s ‘over 9000’ potential. She’ll get it by noon.”

          “Baharra, Mozen, really?! Tahjha, talk some sense into them, please.”  

          “Sure- 100 gil she’ll get it in an hour.”  

          “...why are you all like this...”

          Trionfi furrowed her brows in concentration, taking a deep breath before she pressed her hand to the page and slowly fed her aether to it. It was easy to follow her progress. Her fingers fluttered over the ink as it lit up in activation, the first shape filling from corner to corner before sliding to the next one. It was very clean, very precise. Very practiced. The guildmaster narrowed her eyes.

          Is... this what Lyhia meant about the girl’s potential? She paid more attention to the miqo’te’s moves. To anyone else, the slow, deliberate pouring of her power would appear to merely be the care of an amateur- one who had watched and was imitating what she saw to the best of her memory.

          But, to her sharp, many-years-as-a-teacher gaze, she could see an eerie grace to Trionfi’s form. An edge of familiarity, though she remained stiff and timid. Like her body seemed to recognize the action, even as she herself was uncertain, and her hands moved thus. Performing the exercise incredibly well for a beginner, the layers building, weaving properly as she pursed her lips. It was just up to Trionfi whether or not she’d attempt to complete it, or if she was going to pull back and redo.

          Not that she needed to, really. Her tracing was perfect for her first time.

          And she wasn’t using the pen.         

          “Y’all should be ashamed of yerselves.”  

          “Ho ho ho! So says the *cough* rogue element.”          

          “Oh, thank the gods. Kebbe, you are a voice of reason.”

          “Don’t worry, I got our girl, Murie. 200 gil.”         

          “What?! Kebbe, no-“

          “A high roller tonight, eh? We’ll meet it. What you betting, Keb?”

           “You’re doing very well, Trionfi.” Thubyrgiem praised, dutifully ignoring the crowd in favor of her student. Besides, she was curious what V’Kebbe was going to say.

          “Thank you. I have good teachers.” Her focus didn’t break. Her eyes remained on the page, becoming half lidded as she relaxed into the practice. “Do you... want me to try to summon?”

          “If you’re comfortable. Don’t feel pressured to get this perfect on the first go, though.” She reminded the miqo’te gently. “I just want you to try.”

          “I’ll do my best...” Trionfi looked up, and the guildmaster felt her breath catch at the smile and confidence there. “After all, another carbuncle means another way to protect people, right?”

           Aetheric symbols sprouted, a halo of light, and her spell a seed. She grasped it, and threw it in to the air, and from her fingertips, it bloomed -

          “She’s gettin’ it on ‘er first try.”

          - perfectly formed, glittering, sun-gold fur, and keen obsidian eyes. Her first try. Her first try, indeed, and it is flawless. With a flick of her wrist, a topaz carbuncle, all her own, emerged from Trionfi’s first cast and landed in the center of the room. It pivoted about, nimble and poised, nose twitching as it glanced about the room before zoning in on the miqo’te who formed it.

          Her hand was still held out as she met its stare.

          Then, to Thubyrgiem’s shock, it placed its paws in front, lowered its head and let its hind quarters rise. Its tail gently fanned and wound about its side, like an arm coming around to bend to a human’s chest. A bow. A hello.

          Prodigy, indeed.

          “Riku...” Trionfi breathed, dreamy and awed. She dropped in to a curtsey before the little summon, smiling wide. “Won’t you join me on this journey?”     

          It blinked, tilting its head like it was saying, do you really need to ask? before letting out a low, rumbling murr and nodded. The room echoed with her resulting squeal as she held her arms open and the newly dubbed Riku sauntered into her arms and curled about her shoulders.

          Thubyrgiem couldn’t help but reach out to pet it, Trionfi’s very first Topaz, solid and soft and perfectly, absolutely whole.

          “An’ that’ll be a thousand gil from th’ lot o’ya.”  

          “I wasn’t a part of this, Kebbe, no.”

~*~

          Evening approached faster than she expected, the lesson having flown by once it was established that Trionfi had, essentially, zero issues forming, maintaining, and even actually controlling her Topaz.

          By no means was her combat prowess with Riku perfect. But, the fact she was already controlling it... pardon, him, as well as she was, was an amazing step. By the time the five o’clock bell tolled for the evening, the miqo’te was tired and sweaty but deliriously happy to have another carbuncle as so soon and able to have him execute some of his skills with little trouble.

          So, they stopped. Only for her to be dragged off by her fanclub to get cleaned up and have a celebratory dinner at the Drowning Wench. No doubt, also, to visit her strange sixth addition and to show Baderon her newest friend.

          All in all, a productive day.

          The file she had on Trionfi as a member of the guild needed to have today’s progress notated, so it’s with that, she finally retired to her office. Nothing in the Gate portion seemed to have gone awry, even with four of their normal day staff taking an impromptu off day. Thubyrgiem counted that as an extra win, on top of having done something for the girl to help her along her adventures.

          It was in the midst of writing that her door was knocked upon and in walked said girl’s instructor.

          “Good evening, Lyhia.”

          “Madam Thubyrgiem.” The Sun Seeker, as always, the very image of professional, even as it was clear that she was eager to begin her inquiry. Looking around, shifting from foot to foot as she bowed. “Good evening! I trust you are well?”

          She smiled. “I am. How did your inquiries go?”

          “Nothing solid, but it does seem like there is a suspicious, boat approaching. Sources say it is a merchant vessel, but I’ll be keeping an eye on it, and plotting to obtain assistance should it come close enough to warrant inspection.”

          “A perfect first inspection for Trionfi, then?”

          K’lyhia’s ears perked up at the mention of her underclassman, and her smile grew wider. “Indeed! I’m guessing it went well today?”

          “Better.”

          “I knew it!” The Foreseer dropped into the seat before her, leaning expectantly over the desk with a grin. “Do tell! How did our little prodigy do?”     

          Amused by the jump in subject, she obliged the younger woman. Regaling her with the events of the morning and afternoon. The initial nervousness and the following joy and confidence at getting her Topaz solid, formed, and named (“His name is Riku, by the by.” “’Riku?’ Oh, that’s so cute!”) on her very first cast. The drive the girl had, ignoring the suggestion of a lunch break, and instead insisting on working through until dinner on moving him around and learning his attacks.

          K’lyhia’s excited smile never wavered- if anything, it only became more fond, nodding as if everything she expected and predicted for Trionfi was coming to fruition. At the end of it all, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and legs.

          “I suspect...” The Chief Assessor grinned. “That, should she keep at this pace, there is a chance she could... advance farther.”

          Her odd comment made the Sea Wolf narrow her eyes. There were more spells to teach in the grimoires, but no other carbuncles beyond Topaz that they taught. Maybe if she were to apply at the Sharlayan Academy, but that was unlikely.

          There was only one... well, two other possibilities, but they were... ancient. And extinct, by all accounts and the lack of any Soul Crystals. And no modern day teachers with proper knowledge. Not like Dragoons with their order in Ishgard or White Mages with the Padjal to guide them; only old, dusty texts and long, rotted ruins and people blindly floundering about.

          A dangerous endeavor, and something beyond the girl’s capabilities. Must I protect her even against her upperclassman’s aspirations?

          “Oh?” She drawled. “Do tell.”

          “Tis just a thought, Madam Thubyrgiem.” The miqo’te tapped her nose, her voice hushed with conspiracy. “Let us continue to see her through the lessons as normal. Should the time come that my theories prove themselves, I shall avail you of them.”

          “If I could have you avail this wild plan of yours to me now, I would appreciate it greatly, Foreseer K’lyhia.”

          “Ahh, but I can see in your eyes you have already guessed it.” K’lyhia smirked, a mischievous glint in her eye. “As expected of our dearest Acting Guildmaster Thubyrgiem Guldweitzwyn- for in speaking it out loud, I fear I may jinx her.”

          Thubyrgiem sighed, palm to her forehead.

          “You jest.”

          “Some- but, I would rather be safe than sorry.” A shrug. “Mozen keeps apologizing for even the whispered implication of Trionfi encountering Reavers while she was at Summerford. And it was an awful string of bad luck, I cannot help but take some superstition in account.”

          None of them were going to let that go for a while, it seemed. 

          “You... are sometimes as infuriating as Rhid.” And goodness, the Sun Seeker is absurdly pleased, despite the lack of a compliment of being compared to their ever-wandering actual Guildmaster. But, there is the right of it. She was thinking ahead- far, far ahead, for the very possibility that Trionfi might one day be powerful enough to help revive the lost arts of Arcanima. A single branch, at least- to ask for two, when people were only of capable of safely holding one Soul Stone was impossible. But, that was something a long way off, and Lyhia needed to be reminded her student was still just that.

          “Very well. As illogical as I find it personally, your... reasoning is sound and I shall leave it for now." Thubyrgiem leveled her gaze. "Just do not forget, we are already rushing her- let us not push her too hard, hmm?”

          “Only as much as she allows, I promise, Madam.”

          And truly, that is all anyone can ask.

Chapter Text

          And after all that ruckus, all the back and forth, all the reports and checking in and the ‘Is it true? Did she REALLY?!,’ from every nosey passer-by, everything at the Drowning Wench seemed to just... slide right back in to normal.

          Oh, sure- word did go out to be careful on the roads and warnings of pirates in the area. A little heightened security here, a little more precaution there. But, gradually, when nothing happens, people inevitably stop thinking about it. So, within a week, the bar regulars returned to their usual conversations, missives were back to being town centered, and the day-to-day grind of Limsa Lominsa became just that again.

          It was the kind of sudden stillness that made Baderon’s hair stand on end. Too short a gap in between the peace and the level of trouble. Too quiet now, too calm. The eye in the middle of a storm he couldn’t see. He hated being blind like this. When his instincts were telling him something was going to happen, but there was no indication when or where.

          There was one thing for certain, however... the rather distinct feeling a certain miqo’te was going to end up in the middle of things. Maybe it was the escalation in danger biasing him some, or that fact that even in his roster of dozens, she stuck out, but he couldn’t shake the sensation that there was something else out there, rather hurriedly ushering her down a particular path. 

          But, until some sign showed up, there was nothing to be done beyond going with the flow of things. So, he took a deep inhale every morning to prepare for the worst, and an exhale every night when nothing happened and left it at that.

          There were some suitable distractions, at least.

          Training Sevrin, for one thing, was going swimmingly. When he said he was going to prove himself to them, he did not hold back. And while not quite yet a model employee, he was a fast learner. He learned to balance dishes when clearing them and how to make them spotless when washing, and barely needed any correction after a little bit of time. The former vagabond still tended to freeze up when Reyner stopped in, but he was doing very well. Even Tolwann, stern as she is, was absurdly pleased with his progress under her tutelage, and the rest of his crew seemed to take to the young man when they realized he was genuine.

          He also was being tasked, unofficially, in another capacity.

          “Tri, stay an’put th’ book down, please. Yer omelette’s gettin’ cold.”

          Which he was currently working on this morning.

          The lad’s voice carried through the open door to the kitchen, stern as he was willing to be in the face of his savior. Which was very, considering how avoidant she was lately. Not of the blonde or of the Drowning Wench, no. More like, she was... dodging food.

          Since she’d summoned Riku, there seemed to be an almost strange shift in her focus. She started picking up all sorts of books, opting instead to devote her attention to their words instead of her meals. It wasn’t worrisome at first- she still showed up for the occasional treat. Baderon just figured the lass was excited to learn more of her craft. But, then Sevrin informed him after a bit she wasn’t even taking to pastries much, either, slithering out without either of them able to stop her. 

          “Aye, an’ it wos even made by Baderon ‘imself!”

          And, then, there was V’kebbe- still sticking to the girl like glue when not on a task for the Rogue’s Guild, and more than like, acting as back-up for Sevrin. She confirmed Trionfi wasn’t just studying- she was practically down-right obsessing. Feigning energy when they paid attention, but when they weren’t, allowed whatever it was she was doing to completely monopolize her mind. The Stray explained that she even had to remind the girl to drink at least some water mid-session. That she was here, this early, was a boon to his and Sevrin’s plan to try to get their Moon Keeper to slow down.

          “He normally don’t cook meals here, so yer getting’ a real treat, love! Th’apkallu omelette is a speciality o’ Vylbrand, an’ Baderon’s one o’th’best at it.”

          “Would you say he’s...”

          And... there’s the lass herself... she wouldn’t...

           “’Egg-ceptional’ at it?’”

          She did.

          Groans of absolute pain. A crowd of them. Probably one from himself, too, but he was too busy trying to block out the moment.

         “Tri!”

          “Oh gods...”

          “Perhaps... he is ‘egg-cellent?”

          “Tri, love, no.”

          “Aghhh...”

          Maybe I should…step in... The old ex-pirate sighed, emerging from the kitchen and relinquished control back to his roegadyn chef (who still had his face in his palms) to face the jokes that may come. At least, her punning tendencies meant she was still relatively her normal self. But, he stopped short, staying in the shadow of the doorway. Observation first.

          At his bar, he caught sight of the trio... pardon, quartet, what with Riku wrapped about his mistress’ shoulders and-...and was he chewing on one of her hair-tails?- settled right in the center and far from either any of the exits. Sevrin stood, one arm cross over his chest with a dour look on his face and fingers against his temple. V’kebbe, opposite him, gently prying a book from stubborn fingers, looking just as put-upon as her co-hort. And between them, Trionfi half-simpering, half-pouting as she was separated from her reading.

          Two against one might seem unfair odds, but against the arcanist, Baderon thought it rather even. That the red-haired miqo’te had not let go to facepalm was impressive.

          “Ahhhh, Kebb- Ok, fine, fine...!” The dark-haired miqo’te sighed. Her ears bent back, tail drooped farther down, giving each of her ‘opponents’ her own sullen stare. “I’ll stop. I guess. Please don’t lose my place, though? And Riku... really, it wasn’t that bad! Or is this rebellion not about the pun?”

          The little beast gave her a level stare, before tilting his head towards the plate in front of her. His tail came up, gently bopping the side of her head with the flat of it.

          “Oh. Ok, I guess I can eat a little bit, so could ya let go?”

          He didn’t, but he ceased his chewing, at least, merely keeping the bundle of hair in his mouth. A murr, one of satisfaction, as he patted a paw against her tattooed cheek. Like a parent who heard their child but knew better than to just turn their back. Good try, but no. Staying here.

          “An’ I know how t’hold a place in a book, love...” V’kebbe chose that moment, now that they were successfully keeping their friend contained, to flip open the book she held. While she’d seen the lass in her full-blown study mode, it seemed she hadn’t been able to get a measure of what she was studying till now. Baderon watched her green eyes gradually grow wide, tracing over the page, before coughing lightly and whipping around to the girl with a decidedly concerned look. “Wh-what are ye readin’ anyway...?”

          The Moon Keeper froze. “Just… some arcanima stuff?”

          “...Trionfi...”

          “I promise! Just some arcanima stuff!”

          With the way the Sun Seeker returned to glaring at the page and how Trionfi had been with the book, Baderon found it hard to believe it was just ‘some arcanima stuff.’ He couldn’t see the title of what it was from where he stood, but V’kebbe delicately placed a napkin to hold the spot and slid the book closer to his side of the bar. Sent a look his way, one that screamed, ‘help’, her ears twitching some as she tilted her head. Agitation. Just what was Trionfi getting in to with all this studying?

          “Thought I heard a familiar voice out here.” With the sign from V’kebbe, Baderon felt he couldn’t stay out any longer. He emerged from his place, careful to keep his tone even and a smile on his face as Trionfi turned her attention to him. “All th’moanin’n’groanin’, I thought me bar was bein’ assaulted.”

          Sevrin cast him a grateful look, pulling out a set of utensils from his apron pocket and pointedly dropped them beside the plate. She stuck her tongue out, blowing a raspberry. “By ‘er terrible jokes, aye ser. Scarin’ off th’patrons.”

          “Hi, Baderon! Ignore him, he just can’t take a ‘yolk.’ Too ‘soft-shelled.’” Trionfi fired off, completely unheeding of the sounds of disdain for her humor (someone rage quit the room, which was... unusual, but he paid his bill, at least.) Baderon did his best to keep his face neutral, while on either side, miqo’te and hyur were dying from the second-hand shame.

          But, regardless of her terrible jokes, she seemed to realize they had her.

          So, knife and fork in hand, she started to cut into her meal. Slowly. Ever so deliberately slowly, as if she wanted to drag it out. Her eyes darted back to her book, to each of her friends on either side, before back up at him. “But, ahhh... Seriously, though, Baderon.... thank you, but you really didn’t have to make me this. I’m fine. I promise.”

          So she said, but Baderon looked her over, closer now that she was stting. Her countenance was still bright and cheery. She still sang soft, wordless tunes under her breath when he’d seen her, and was all smiles and squeals and enthusiasm. But, there was a slight slump of her shoulders that he could see. A trembling to her hands as she made bite-sized eggy bits. A smile that didn’t quite reassure him that she was ‘fine.’

          And Riku, too, was not... quite as bright as he was a few days ago. More of a dull ochre than sunshine gold. Something of which the carbuncle noticed, if the way he chided his mistress meant anything. He could only fathom the little fae beast was worried, caught between wanting to leave so as to ensure she had energy enough to stay afloat and leaving her alone in this somewhat run-down state.

          Not fine.

          “Yer carby says otherwise, lass.” At his observing statement, Riku purred, patting his mistress’ cheek again. Like he was saying, listen to the old pirate. He knows. And she went from half pouting to full on.

          Baderon nodded to Sevrin, who promptly plopped into the free seat. Not too close, not to crowd her, but enough that she knew he was there to keep company. And to express worry, as he also slid the cup of water he’d brought next to her. He also moved the bowl of sugar cubes close, too, but Riku didn’t seem like he was going to dislodge himself any time soon.

          “Sit. Eat. At least rest a lil bit, fer our piece o’mind, then ye can get back t’studyin’-” He leaned over to where V’kebbe had slid her book, and caught the title. And his own eyebrows shot up because, while he was not well-versed in all the manner of books available for Arcanists, it was not difficult to surmise what made V’kebbe blanch. “’The Art of The Grimoire: A Guide to Shapes and Inks?’”

          The Moon Keeper blushed. “Just some arcanima stuff... ? Light reading?”

          Baderon found himself exchanging a look with the other two, frowning deeper. “Lass... nothin’ wrong wit thinkin’ ahead... but, creating grimoires is a lil’farther down th’ line, ain’t it?”

          “I’m j-just focusing on the compositions. Really!” Even with her exhaustion, she still protested vehemently at their dubious looks, cheeks cooling with the insistance of her words. Riku finally let go of her hair, nuzzling gently against her face in reassurance. She placed a gently kiss to his nose, before putting her knife and fork down and clasping her hands together. Took a deep breath.

          “Just... I want to know they fit together and all. Shapes and th-the types of inks used. Wanted to see if there was a way to streamline the spells some. O-or at least, shorten the cast time without disturbing the make-up… I-I don’t...”

          Trionfi bit her lip, nervously darting her eyes about, like she was making sure no one was going to eavesdrop. Hunched her shoulders as she whispered just low enough for he and her friends to hear, but she did not break her gaze from his once they met.

          “I don’t want to be caught unprepared again. I need to be faster. Stronger. And I don’t want to... agh, pass out, again, too. It’s a little... uncomfortable, considering Y’shtola had to save me twice from cracking my head open. I don’t want to be a burden.”

          Oh. Now there’s a feeling Baderon recognized. He mentally kicked himself, though- should have checked on her a little sooner, a little closer.

          He thought of the reports again. He hadn’t had them as well memorized as their Commodore, but he could recall most of the basic details. How they only spoke of her success, only regarded her heroics in the face of her trials, with little to no mention of any flubbery on her part. Something many Adventurers dreamed of; having their great deeds praised, their good jobs commended, and their faults ignored.

          But, what happens in the aftermath to the Adventurers themselves? When you get past the tales and glamour? What goes through their minds?

          Well, that depended. Every heroic soul reacted differently to their first big mission and Baderon tried checked on each of them as much as he could. As much as they would allow, anyway. Some would keep going, moving on to bigger and better things. Moved out of range, out of Limsa’s arms, never to look back. Some stayed, others became something else. And others, still, went stagnant. Never moved on, never improved. It was a mixed bag.

          And for Trionfi? Here it seemed to manifest, and he could read it:

          Fear of failure.  

          Or maybe a drive, would be a better word to use. She wasn’t... out right afraid- more like concerned. Angry. Determined. Something had awakened and was pushing her beyond her desire to merely summon carbuncles. She was already viewed as a prodigy, a hero in bloom... but, all she saw was where she faltered, where her weaknesses lay. She may have been successful in protecting Summerford, stopping the golem and the Reavers, saving Sevrin, but...

          ‘I scraped by. Just barely got through...’ In her eyes, in her voice, in her actions... an uncertainty in her victory. ‘But, I can do better. I want to do better.’

          “...ye’d have t’go t’Ul’dah.”

          Trionfi blinked.

          He smiled. “Th’alchemists are th’ones who make yer grimoires. Ye’d have to see if they’d be willin’ t’teach ye. Give ye some o’their secrets, an’ insights t’creatin’ ‘em.”

          Beside her, V’kebbe startled, tilting her head curiously, eyebrow lifted as he elaborated. Sure to give Jacke an update on what exactly was going on later, of course, but she seemed to consider his advice to their little pearl. And Sevrin looked... not lost, but a little put out. Maybe concerned he might be encouraging this odd spiral she seemed intent on. Baderon wasn’t, though- And actually, the Alchemy Guild’s Master himself was a prime example of what would happen if Trionfi insisted on following her current habit. Not that he blamed him, but should she cross paths with the eccentric man...

          “Their Guildmaster, Severian is an... odd one, t’say th’least, but ye’d get along, I’d imagine...” He reached over to pat the Moon Keeper’s head. “Though, I wouldn’t recommend copyin’ his work ethic as ye are now. We don’t need two alchemists neglectin’ carin’ fer themselves.”

          “Ye got that right.” V’kebbe muttered under her breath. He shot a warning look to her, which she responded with a shrug. Trionfi didn’t seem to notice, still focused on him from beneath his palm.

          “How do I get to Ul’dah?”

          “A chocobo could take ye there, but it’d have t’be as good as th’Gran’Company ones- tough as nails, come’s when ye whistle, ‘cause it’s a long trip. Th’porters can’t take ye where ye haven’t been, lest ye get lost an’ can’t figure yer way back, an’ they only do shorter distances. Similar t’not bein’ able t’teleport there if ye haven’t been. Boats heading there have been scarce lately, too.”

          He pulled his hand back, and crossed them against his chest. She leaned forward, following, eyes bright and wide and intent.

          “An’... well, faster, but even harder is a pass fer th’ airship. Wot wit th’ troubles about, it’s hard t’ justify given everyone an’ their grandma a ticket t’th’ travel th’skies. Merl...” He coughed. “Pardon, th’ Admiral ‘erself is probably th’ only one who’d be able t’permit it witout a’massive amount o’paperwork.”

          “O-oh...” Her ears tilted down, tail uncurled, and Baderon felt his heart crack a little at the disappointment on her face. “So...so, it might be a while till I can travel there?”                                  

          “Aye, lass... but, ye know what that means?”

          “Hmm?”

          “Ye don’t need t’jump outta th’ nest so fast!” He grinned. “Take yer time, an’ enjoy yer youth! Explore, try new things! No need t’borrow trouble where there ain’t none. Ye got us t’ do that.”

          “Yeah! An’yer not a burden!” V’kebbe plowed in to the girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Riku yelped and dove off, dropping to the counter and scowling up at the rogue. She stuck her tongue out at the beast, before laughing. “Yer still learnin’! Still comin’ in t’ yer power. Ye may be good, lass, but yer still a wee little blossom. Ye don’t need t’take on so much so fast. An’ye can ask fer help!”

          “Aye! Le-let us help ye!” Sevrin piped in, drawing both girls’ attention. To Baderon’s amusement, his cheeks were bright pink, and he looked away from them while he stuttered. “Ye helped me, Tr-Tri. Least I can do is... is th’same. However I can.”

          V’kebbe narrowed her eyes at him. “We can.”

          “W-we can.”

          Trionfi’s bottom lip trembled. She looked at each of them, tearing up. Baderon could still see some hesitation there, some uncertainty, but otherwise, she seemed much more relaxed than before. “OK... I guess... I guess I can slow down... I’m still going to read into this! Because, I dunno... it’s interesting! But, that’ll just mean I’ll be more prepared to meet Guildmaster... Severian?- gods, Sev, his name is too close to yours- errr, with questions. I’ll one day get to make my own weapon! Or, at least, commission a very specific one.”

          “Atta girl.” He found himself sighing in relief, chuckling.  “I know ye’ll get yer chance t’get’t Ul’dah ‘ventually. Just take it slow fer now.”

          “Yeah yeah... What’s it like over there?”  

          “Take a few bites outta yer omelette, an’ I’ll tell ye ‘bout it.” He tapped the edge of her plate, and she flushed. “Made it fer ye meself, ‘member? Keep yer strength up when yer not savin’ ex’-scoundrels from rocks.”

          Sevrin scowled, crossing his arms.  “I take a offense t’ that, ser.”

          “He ain’t wrong...” V’kebbe let the lass go, freeing her arms up and giving the boy a pointed grin. “Scrawny lil’thing. Ye gotta bulk up some if yer gonna catch any...one’s eye.”

          His face went red. “I-I don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout, V’kebbe!”

          She laughed, but Trionfi seemed oblivious, focused very, very much on the piece she’d speared. Melancholy gone now, her eyes glittered as she inhaled the aroma with a fiercely exaggerated inhale. Her stomach growled in response. “Baderon, you made this?”

          “I’ve been known t’cook from time t’time.” Baderon couldn’t help but preen a little, watching carefully as Moon Keeper finally, finally, took a bite. “What do ye think?”

          “It’s...” The glitter became mischievous.

          “Lass, n-“

          “EGG-QUISITE.”

          “-o.”

          More sighs. Riku shoved his face in the sugar bowl, crunching awfully loud for an aether creature, and Trionfi let out a giggle. Giving in, though she dutifully ate, occasionally slipping a piece to her summon and asking questions. He answered what he could- explaining the desert heat, the different guilds, his counter-part, Momodi. Their leader, the Sultana, as opposed to an Admiral- She seemed excited, even despite knowing it was a far-off plan, and resigned to being patient. Calm.

          ...calm...

          He heard the familiar sound of chimes, followed by high-pitched bouncing. To his right, a mail moogle fluttered in to existence, twirling and bobbing in the air, and toting its little red bag.

          Baderon felt a chill crawl down his spine.         

          “G’afternoon, Master Baderon-kupo! Letter from the Skylift for ya!” It chirped, rustling about in it pack. “Seemed pretty important, and he asked I get it straight to you!”

          “Oh, that so?” Very odd. Too calm. Too specific.

          “Mmm hmm! Ah, here!” He pulled an envelope out, one marked for the Adventurer’s Guild specifically, and held it out. As always, an unassuming little thing, but the sight of it made Baderon's stomach flip. But, his duty was to take it, so he did so, gently sliding it from the little moogle's hand. He thought it would be the end of it, but then it tapped the paper, tilting its head some. Towards the counter, where the trio sat, its pom swaying from side to side. “Also, it’s a little odd, but Wyrkrhit did have a little extra request I convey to you personally.”

          Flip. “Oh?”

          “He asked that if a Trionfi Fortuna was available, that you might ask her first-kupo.”

          Out of the corner of his eye, Trionfi's ears perked up, and Baderon immediately felt his stomach drop.

Chapter Text

Wyrkrhit, Head Skylift Operator – SkyLift Savior

          When it rains, it pours, so the saying goes.

          Wyrkrhit had always been a stout believer in that saying and, so far in his life, he’d yet to be proven wrong.

          Travelers, after the Calamity, had been few and far between. With the new dangers and everyone’s attention on picking themselves up first, venturing had been the last thing on near everyone’s minds. But, it was not an attitude that could last forever. Not if they wanted to work towards rebuilding, towards repairing. Not if they wanted to move forward.

          So, when travel meant trying to find a way to over-come the newly rendered cliff borne of Bahamut’s rage, it seemed almost impossible a problem to overcome. Gone was the level ground and easy, long plains to cross to bring goods in- now, there was nearly insurmountable gap betwixt two pieces of land, one so much higher than the other, connect. To be unable to do so meant that anyone who wanted to enter Limsa Lomins could only do so by going the long way around, and that was more hassle than finding a way to get up the cliff side.

          The man supposed he could thank the money-minded merchants and entrepreneurs with their deep pockets for being able to put their rivalries aside in the name of progress- materials and supplies were needed to do any rebuilding in the first place, after all. That such strife managed to bring rivals together for a little bit to get this mess of planks and pulleys called the Skylift built, even if only it meant they could resume their market competitions again.

          And, he had somehow been put in charge of the damned thing. Ensuring it was well maintained and protected, a neutral party who could ensure everyone got their turn to go up the elevator with their goods. Had systems set for getting people safely up the ramp, and their heavy carts without any fear of sabotage. But, with so few using it after the thing had built, as travel had been mostly meant for the wealthy who could purchase protection, there wasn’t much of a problem with his small crew and precise procedures.

          And, as all things did, they worked well for a while.

          But, something seemed to be in the air recently. There was a veritable flood of people traveling. More needing use of the SkyLift to move up and down towards and away from Limsa Lominsa. More than the merchants and salesmen. People with families and their whole lives in their carts, others with livestock and birds to bring to the Grand Companies, weapons deliveries, even new and fresh fruits and vegetables, too. It was like the world was slowly becoming normal again.

          Oh, full glad was he that spirits seemed to be higher and people much braver about traveling, but the sudden deluge meant that his carefully planned routines were slowed to a crawl. Every hand on deck was needed to keep their lines orderly now, and with the focus on the larger job of moving people up and down increasing, it meant that some smaller jobs ended up on the wayside.

          Ensuring that they had the proper materials to help those waiting for their turn with their perishable items, smaller packages needing to reach the right hands for faster processing and even getting more help, ridding the path of the pests for safer travel... menial work, really. But, it built, and built, and now it needed to be done. He just wasn’t even sure if an Adventurer would be interested in doing such banal things.

          Then, Staelwyrn had come by with a delivery of oranges, and mentioned a name of a young woman who’d helped him recently (and really, Wyrkrhit thought the name sounded somewhat familiar? Something about some ruckus at the Canyon? But, oh, he had other things to worry about..) Said she was the right sort of adventurer, one who wanted to help, and suggested he try with Baderon to see if she was available and was interested in lending a hand.

          So, he took a chance, telling the moogle to relay it, unofficially and off the record, of course. He didn’t want to seem like he was giving the lass more of a chance than anyone else, but the ex-pirate had a weird sort of confidence in his advice that he couldn’t just ignore.

          Were that they warned him she was little spark of energy once she was used to you, darting about and throwing more puns than he could keep up with. He enjoyed them, even if the rest of his workers and patrons didn’t. Not always fast on the draw, but her delivery (hah!) had punch.

          But, jokes aside, it was load off his back. Having the lass to rely on for some of the smaller tasks that had been just waiting, getting some extra water cores, too, to keep some of the waiting produce fresh was a boon. He’d only asked for her for the day, and it was clear that was probably all he needed her for because they’d be able to keep up now that she had helped them catch up.

          He was ready to pay her double what he promised, as soon as she came back from her last package run to the Foremast.

          “Sir!”

          Wyrkrhit startled out of his thoughts, looking up as one of his men called for him. “Aye?”

          “The merchant with that special delivery for Swiftperch is coming back!”

          He squinted at the approaching figure that was pointed out. Sure enough, out of breath and staggering, a young Midlander approached, sans cart and cargo, and collapsed before them. He remembered the man getting checked in not more than an hour ago. A whole carriage, but one simple set of millioncorn seedlings kept in back- his travels had brought him to Limsa to drop off most of his stock, and this was his last leg. They'd laughed at the absurdity of using the elevator for a little plants, before he'd been on his way. Now here he was, and there was a rush to get the man some water and check his injuries besides. None that they could see, just fear in the man’s eyes and a desperation to get somewhere safe.

          “Ser, what happened?” Wyrkrhit frowned. Now that the man was settled, they could take measure of what was going on. “Th’ roads clear today- had someone take care of pests not a few hours ago.”

          “Weren’t on the roads,” Was the gasped reply. “There was a shadow in me cart, ser. Hissing and seething! I weren’t gonna a take a chance on me life over a bloody plant, so I ran.”

          Ran and left his cart halfway between here and its final check point. Odd. They didn't hear anything during his turn on the lift... Ahh, but the roegadyn winced. Swiftperch was where he was going, that's right... He was familiar some with the place. Small little settlement, barely a thumbprint on a map, but there was an aetheryte in the drafty place. This thing was a special request, specifically for the one farmer, Lyulf, there, hoping that it could change that tiny town’s fortunes. It was not his job to see this through, wasn’t his job to get it taken care of... but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the lonely little town.

          “If I could get someone t’ go with ye t’get it,” Gods, why was he offering this? He wasn’t sure he could actually get anyone to go. “Would ye be willin’ t’finish up the job?”

          “Sorry, sir, I’ve had enough today. I’m washin’ my hands of this!” The merchant stood, throwing his hands up as he walked away. Unwilling to listen now that he’d calmed down, and not even bothering to look back with his shout. “If ye can get someone crazy ‘nough to fight a monster over a plant, they’re welcome t’keep th’pay left there!”

          And then he was gone before Wyrkrhit could muster a response.

          Great. Now he had this to deal with, too. An unintentional addition to his plate, but that was his own decision. He knew there was a Yellowjacket stationed over there- he’d send a man over to the Foremast, now that they had free hands, get word over there so at least the poor sod wouldn’t fret over a package that would never arrive. It was the least he could do.

          “Is... everything alright, Wyrkrhit?”

          Oh. He turned. Trionfi, returned and clearly done with her last job if the lack of the box meant anything. She was carrying her carbuncle in its place, looking at him with worry as she got closer. “I heard shouting.”

          “Just a bit of trouble, lass.”

          “Ahh.” A pause. “Anything we can help with?”

          He stared.

          Well. She could. Would she, though? It really was a... not an easy task, necessarily, but also not a very majorly important one. And he’d already asked a lot of her, and this was rather out of bounds of what was on her missive. It was a delivery, yes, but not for him. This was out of... concern. Out of goodwill, rather. That was on him, though, and not on her.         

          “Lass, I couldn’t.” He sighed. “I already asked a lot of ye today, and you just finished yer last task-”

          “Wyrkrhit.” Her finger came up, and he stopped. There was a grin on her face as she tilted her head. Her carbuncle tilted too, ears twitching, and let out a sharp, little bark. Like it was trying to make sure he focused on the miqo’te next words.

          “How can we... ‘lift’ your spirits?”

~*~

Lyulf, Farmer at Swiftperch – Millioncorn Kitty

          Lyulf looked up at the town’s entrance for what felt like the umpteeth time, nervously gripping the rake in his hands. He searched for any movement, for any sign at all that any body was approaching.

          There was no one. And he could feel the day growing long on his back while he waited for his delivery.         

          To anyone else, such a shipment would be nothing. A small, inconsequential seedling for a simple farmer in the middle of no-where. But, to him, it was, quite literally, his final hope... so, when Fraeloef had informed him that the head of the Skylift had sent word that his merchant had turned tail without the millioncorn plantlings, the farmer was absolutely livid at first. But, then that dissolved in to worry when he mentioned that the cart apparently had been beset by a hissing something that spooked the man in to abandoning it. Someone was already being sent to check on it, see if they could deal with whatever was there and could salvage his plant, but the chances for the latter were slim.

          Gods, first the land was being unworkable on his return, then the cuttings he’d spent his entire savings on purchasing and getting hand-delivered getting attacked?

          “Misery sure loves company, don’t it.” Lyulf muttered. He kicked the dirt. “The calamity took my family, you have to take the farm, too? My luck couldn’t get any worse...”

          Like a cheeky answer, a wind rolled in and slowly lifting his hat up. The thing fluttered precariously, and Lyulf dropped his tool to slam it back down, turning his head up.

          A moving shadow on the hill caught his eye and he froze.

          Oh?

          There was a... little lass, dressed in light blue, making her way slowly, daintily down the hill. At her side, a bounding yellow glow, the sight of what only could be one of those carbuncle things that he’d seen with some of the arcanists in the city. Unique little fighting companions that few could wield. More often they were either a customs official in Limsa...

          Or an adventurer.

          His heart jumped into his throat, he straightened from his slump, and fought the urge to dash forward. Was it possible? Did this miss (a miqo’te, he could see her ears and tail now that she was closer) take the sudden request? Could he perhaps not be so unlucky?

          As she approached the gates, his hopes rose higher when he saw she was holding something tightly to her chest. Glanced about, her dark hair mussed from her walk, but seemingly determined to find... whatever she was trying to find. Him, hopefully.

          Lyulf held his breath, watching as the girl’s carbuncle bat at her leg, before bouncing over to the nearest YellowJacket officer. Fraeloef, of course, as always. Hopefully not asleep at his post today. It circled around the roegadyn, much to his amusement, before she approached.

          At whatever question she asked, Lyulf found the taller man’s finger pointed at him, and her eyes, aqua and pink, easy to see from even this far, turned towards him.

          “Ahhh...” The miqo’te’s sang a little, meekly approaching. “Ly... Lyulf?”

          He nodded. “A-aye! You... wouldn’t happen to be...?”

          She beamed, and for a moment, Lyulf felt his heart skip a beat. The lass was all sorts of pretty- he wasn’t normally one to be swayed by a lovely face, but there was something about her smile, the warmth and confidence, that seemed to calm his concerns and worries.

          They were further banished when she held out the delicately wrapped and neatly bundled package to him.

          “I... think this is yours.” Her words were like music to his ears. “Millioncorn Seedlings. They looked alright when I retrieved them, but I tried to be careful as best I could.”

          Lyulf felt his hands shake, but fought to keep them steady as he gently accepted the plant. “Thank you! You... you don’t know what this means for me! For this place.”

          He peeled back the cloth, peering down. All the leaves, green and vibrant without any sign of damage, and the roots looked healthy and ready to be planted. None the worse for wear, what with its own little adventure. He felt relief, enough to cast a smile at the curious miqo’te.

          “Truly, I thought Nymeia had forsaken us when word had gotten that the merchant had seen fit to abandon his cart to shadows. Spent the whole of my fortune on this thing, and thought at the very least, disaster would await until I had this thing planted... Lucky is it that you were around, miss...?”

          “Trionfi, sir. Trionfi Fortuna. And this is Riku.” The curtsey she gave was followed by the wave of her arm, open to catch the yellow fox at her side. She hefted it over her shoulder, where he found it entertaining that it seemed satisfied to become a scarf. “And it was nothing, really. Right place, right time. We’re glad to be of help.”

          “Well, Miss Fortuna, please allow me to offer you some hospitality after your trek. Heh, I guess ‘fortunate’ is probably a better word to use, eh?”

          She laughed at his dumb joke, and he grinned. He couldn’t very well let her leave without at least a drink of water or something. A place to sit and rest some at his humble little table in his little home, which he was thankful he’d cleaned recently so at least it was somewhat fit for a guest. Mindful of his new plants, though, he made sure to put it in a safe spot first before heading to the kitchen to find the lass some sustenance.

          “Though, if it’s not too prying, miss, the message wasn’t very clear. What had caused the merchant t’abandon his cart?”

          “Shore slugs.”

          “Shore... slugs...?” Lyulf paused, dipping his lips in to a frown as he considered the answer.

          That was strange- millioncorn hailed from the deserts, from Thanalan. There were no shore slugs there. They were found on the shore, because people were terrible at naming things sometimes. Perhaps, they hitched a ride during the transport through Limsa? But, for such a rather obvious, slimy, smelly and frighteningly large creature to have snuck aboard with nary a notice... Goodness, something really had it out for his millioncorn plan.

          But, this adventurer... what good fortune that she was near enough to be able to retrieve it, and that she was kind enough to take the time to do so. These adventuring types were always on the move, never stopping much to help folks like him. Always more eager to fend and fight off the biggest and baddest things out there- they made for better bard songs, after all.  

          “Well, thank you none th’less for dealing with them. They’re vile things.” Lyulf placed a glass of water, as she declined anything else, before her and, at her request, a little empty bowl where she dumped a handful of sugar cubes. Cubes her little summon attacked with gusto, hopping on the table and settling in. “You came all the way from the Skylift, you said?”

          “Yup! Just helping about the place when Wyrhrkit asked me to handle this!” She laughed. Her hands fluttered while she chatted, telling him of all the little tasks she had done earlier that day. She made it all seem exciting, even if he knew delivering packages wasn’t exactly thrilling work. There was a bit of a tight-lipped, stilted air to her answers when he asked about any of her other, earlier tales of her adventuring, but he didn’t pry. Everyone had a right to their secrets. And before he knew it, he looked out to see the sky had gone dark.

          Lyulf winced at himself. “Yikes! Sorry to keep you, Miss Fortuna. I didn’t mean to steal your day like this. No one much t’talk to out here that... we don’t talk t’ every day...”

          “Nah, I get it! This was actually our last task for the day, and sometimes it’s nice just getting to sit down for a bit.” She grinned, petting her little carbuncle. “We haven’t had a chance to go this far out before, so thank you for giving us the chance. Even if it was unintentional.”

          “Not a problem... ummm…”

          He paused. Looking again out the window, he noted that even the lighthouse yonder had already been lit for the night, though it seemed... less bright than usual. Huh. But, none the less, he knew it was late for travel by chocobo, and he had no idea if Trionfi had a way back to the city.

          “I know adventurers sometimes have the ability to teleport back, but I got a small guest room, if you needed a place t’crash for th’night for a Porter in the morning to the city.”

          “Oh, no I don’t want to put you through the trouble! We can find our way back, no probl- GAH!”

          She yelped as she stood, her arm stuck, and he looked down.

          The little carbuncle was gripping her sleeve with its teeth, legs braced against the table, staring up at her. It tugged twice, insistent, and whatever it was communicating, she started to frown. Shook her head, only to be answered by another tug, and her leaning down to try and work its teeth off. Trying to be stealthy, but doing poorly, because he could still kind of hear her whisper, “Riku, what’s gotten into you? We don’t want to impose on our host like this!”

          It thumped its brilliant, golden tail against the wood. Shook its head, ears flopping, and tugged again.

          “I am NOT that tired, you take that back!”

          Another tug, and something that sounded an awful lot like thread ripping-

          “-Ok, OK! Fine! I guess getting out of town is ok once in a while.”

          The little thing let go immediately, hopping down from its spot, to lick its paw at her feet like it didn’t just get into an argument with its summoner. And Trionfi had the most sheepish, pink-cheeked smile on her face that he couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “Ahh, I... guess Riku wants to stay. If it’s not too much trouble.”

          “Not at all. I feel like a glass of water isn’t enough to thank you for this. I can promise a delicious dinner tonight, and a great breakfast, too.”

          “Ahhh, then we look forward to it. Riku, thank the nice sir, ok?”

          It let out a what Lyulf fancied was a satisfied little purr.

          He left her for a bit to go hunting through his closets for some extra blankets to get the guest room fixed up. Since the night tended get chilly, he wanted to make sure it was well furnished for the unsung hero of his family’s farm.

          He’d just gotten a bundle in his arms, when he heard soft, dainty footsteps, and saw a brilliant yellow glow out of the corner of his eye. Lyulf blinked, turning to see the little topaz carbuncle, sitting just by him.         

          “Ahh, Riku, was it?” He smiled. “Come to pick out some blankets for your mistress?”

          It tilted its head, eyes unblinking, tail flicking from side to side, and Lyulf couldn’t help but feel a little unsettled. After some more staring, it walked forward, past him, actually, and stuck its head in to the closet. There was a moment of unseen rustling, and the hyur frowned, twisting to try and get a gander what the little thing was doing. He nearly tripped over it, though, when it took a sudden step back, pulling its head out of the closet.

          In its mouth? A dusty, familiar-looking, leather bound book, tied up tight with a feather bookmark in the middle.

          The yellow beast backed up till Lyulf could see it lined up right before his feet. Its head bent back to stare up at him before it, rather pointedly, dropped its prize. Then, with a flick of its tail, it wandered back in the direction of the kitchen.

          Odd. Was his only thought. Well, the carbuncles were used by the Melavaan’s Gate officials to seek out things of interest in cargo. Perhaps, it was just practicing? On its own?

          That it would zero in on his father’s old journal was rather funny.

          But... well, it was funny up until he actually retrieved it, and started reading the thing, later that night. By candle light, after dinner was had and his guests were settled, he went straight to the bookmark. He skimmed it slightly, wondering why he had a feather there, why the carbuncle had thought to bring the book to his attention.

          Then he sat up, devouring the words again, slower. And then, started from the beginning, absorbing all he could.

          There’s... treasure father hid? Something that could help the farm?

          Well... with any luck, Trionfi might be interested in one more mission before she returned back to the city.

~*~

Fraeloef, Yellowjacket, Stationed at Swiftperch – A Light in the Darkness

          Fraeloef frowned, staring off into the distance, just yonder to the cliffs, where the lighthouse stood tall and proud.

          And dim. Dimmer than he recalled.

          Narrowing his eyes, he compared it to the previous night. Normally, the blaze was bright against the darkness, but it...yes, it seemed that there was less glow to it. Was Khansyws ok over there? Did she know the bomb was going out? Did she need help?

          Not something he could go off to check, unfortunately, especially not when his post required him to not leave the confines of Swiftperch, even on his off hours.

          Ahhh, but there was that little adventurer he saw come in earlier that day, the one who’s appearance tugged at his memory. The one that delivered Lyulf’s plant, who ended up staying the night. Odd, but fortunate that she’d chosen so. He’d only hoped she didn’t leave too early, if only to avail her to check on the lighthouse and her keeper in his stead. He went to bed later that night, plan in mind, and hoped the fire of the lighthouse would hold at least till the dawn.

          When the sun rose, and the dodos crowed, Fraeloef woke and dressed, walked outside to begin his shift and seek out the assistance of the miqo’te.

          He saw Lyulf at his little field again, plowing away determinedly, carefully, and the YellowJacket felt his stomach twist. Had the girl gone away already? Was he resigned to sending a report out, and leaving the lighthouse keeper, Khanswys, waiting for several days for assistance?

          Despite his silent musing, the young farmer seemed to have sensed his stare. He stopped his work, hand up in greeting with a goofy grin on his face. “’Lo Fraeloef! G’Mornin’ t’you!”

          “Mornin’ Lyulf.” He returned, glancing about. Came closer, so that he could speak without shouting, even if this voice would carry in the quiet town. “Hate to disturb your work, lad, but you wouldn’t happen t’know if the little adventurer lass already went back t’Limsa, do you?”

          To the YellowJacket’s relief, the young hyur shook his head, wiping his brow as he settled into the conversation. “Nah, she’ll be back soon, if you needed her fer somethin’. She was kind enough to help me with another task to revive the farm.”

          “Another one?”

          “This one’s sure to help bring some life back to this place! From my father’s journals! A secret treasure I must’ve bookmarked and plum forgot till now- I’d wager past me just never had the guts to brave that flock o’dodos yonder to tackle it... guess it’s lucky we got an adventurer stoppin’ by all the way out here, eh?” Lyulf gave a broken-toothed grin, nodding. “Could give you some excitement, too.”   

          He tried his best to keep the skepticism out of his voice. “So you say.”

          “Yup. Least, I’m hopin! I know it’s hard guardin’ us here in this backwater place, what with nothing constantly happening, so here’s hopin’ th’lass is successful in makin’ it more lively, yeah?”

          Fraeloef chuckled, but sighed, turning his gaze to the hills beyond the town gates. Not that he didn’t think the peaceful post was awful, but he really couldn’t fathom why he was out here guarding in the middle of no-where in the first place. Nothing but rocks, and grass, and the occasional stray dodo or roselet that couldn’t be taken care of with a few well-placed whacks. Why they’d have Yellowjackets stationed this far from either the Foremast in Middla La Noscea and the Aleport was baffling.

          Oh well. He was getting paid a decent amount, at least, for such a dull position.

          “Ah! She’s come back!”

          Lyulf’s elation broke through his melancholy, startling out of his stare to notice that, yes, the lass was dashing back towards them. A box in hand, grinning like a maniac, even with a bevy of feathers sticking out of her hair and clothes, her tail wagging behind her like a wild flag in the wind. At her side, her carbuncle bounded, the teal one this time, also decked in feathers.

          They crossed the gates, skidding to a stop just before the farmer. The little fox shook itself free of its decoration, but the miqo’te didn’t seem to care, eagerly holding the prize out. Worn, and wooden, and locked, a box just a bit smaller than her arms could hold.

          “Lyulf, I think I found it! I hope this is the one, anyway!”

          “Aye, thank you, Miss Fortuna! Let’s see what’s in it.”

          Fraeloef found himself lifting an eyebrow, but walked away to give the two a bit of privacy whilst they concluded their business. Oh, Miss Fortuna? She wouldn’t happen to be...

          He hadn’t paid attention much when that lass had first come in and asked to be directed; too busy trying not to fall asleep, but he knew the name. Hell, most of the YellowJackets did. Reyner had given them fair warning to keep an eye out for the lass, distinguishable by her heterochromatic eyes and violet butterfly tattoo on her cheek; The favorite of Baderon’s, and a magnet for trouble.

          Well, trouble seemed to involve trooping about Swiftperch, offing dodo birds to help a farmer find a box, but if that’s how the Navigator guided her here, he suppose it was a good thing she was on hand.         

          The box didn’t seem to be quite what Lyulf was looking for. None the less, he seemed satisfied, accepting and keeping the treasure close before he gestured towards the guard. She turned, and Fraeloef found himself straightening some under the sudden attentions, both carbuncle and arcanist eyeing him intently as they approached.

          “Mister Fr-Fraeloef?” She questioned, curtseying slightly. “Lyulf said you needed to ss-speak with me?”

          He nodded. “Aye, lass. Heard you were an adventurer. I got a job fer you, if you got a moment to spare- it’s a bit of an urgent situation.”

          “Ahh, of course!” She straightened. “How can I help?”

          He relayed his reasoning to the girl, his observation, and her eye followed where he pointed. She nodded dutifully through-out, a frown on her face as she squinted, like she was assessing the light herself as best she could in the daytime. Her carbuncle, whilst she was turned, jumped on her shoulders, nearly knocking the girl over, but she stayed upright. Then, it started plucking feathers from her hair, taking each in its mouth delicately before dropping them to the floor.

          Trionfi turned to him, unheeding of the grooming. “Yeah, it... it’s a little hard to see from here, but it does seem less bright. I think.”

          “Indeed- however, I’m unfortunately not allowed to leave my station to see if ought is amiss. If you’ve time, I’d like to ask you to check on Khanswys, the Lighthouse’s Keeper and make sure she’s doing alright. I know it seems minor, but it’s important the beacon is lit properly to guide the ships-“ Fraeleof crossed his arms, lifting eyebrow. The girl was nearly free of feathers in her hair. “I can make this an official request, as well, on behalf of the YellowJackets.”

          “No need to go that far. I don’t mind going to check on her for you- I could use a bit more fresh air before returning to the city.” Trionfi was a giggly one. And there was a glint in her eye. The wind kicked up and her smile was framed in a bevy of the fluff her summon had just spent removing.

          “You could even say... I can make sure you’re... ‘en-light-ened’ about the goings on over there?”

          “L…Lass. Just go. Please.”

~*~

Khanswys, Keeper of Brewer’s Beacon – She Who Set Us Up The Bomb Arm

          “Bloody hell, where’d th’ thing get th’ strength t’escape all of a sudden...?”

          It was not a good morning. Hadn’t been a good night, either, what with the ruckus at the top of the tower, only to wake up and find out the pesky bomb that had been making the lighthouse... well, a LIGHThouse, had escaped.

          Which wasn’t a problem at the moment, with the sun out and all. But, gods, this couldn’t be left for long. And, she needed to inspect the damage too, but she also needed to head out and deal with the bugger before it got too far. But if she couldn’t even survey what needed to be fixed, getting the bomb back would be for naught...

          “Err, pardon me?”         

          Someone all the way out here? The lighthouse keeper turned, wondering who in the world would be detouring to her little corner.

          Oh! A cat girl. One of the miqo’te, and a one of those book-using magicians by the looks of things. She had one of those little blue fox beasts at her heels, sitting and staring at things intently. The girl herself, was a short little thing, dark hair, butterfly drawn on her left cheek and hands twisting together while she bit her lip. Nervously waving, but she straightened up once the roegadyn faced her.

          “Hi, um... Fraeloef sent me to... check on you, uh... Miss Khanswys?” The wee little lass bobbed a fancy little bow. Cute. “Said something about the lighthouse not being as bright.”

          “HAH! That’s puttin’ lightly, no pun intended.” That explains her arrival. Least someone was looking out for her, and the girl was giggling at her unintentional word play. “Me bomb’s gone and buggered off, an’ that’s th’ thing that keeps th’ fire goin’ in th’ furnace up top! Can’t rightly call this a lighthouse without a light, ye ken?”

          “No, I suppose not... Umm… Anything I can do to help?”

          “Help…?" Huh. Now that she thought about... there’s not much out here ‘sides grass, grass, and more grass, and the occasional beasts to fell. The girl is a tiny, lithe littling thing, but looks could be deceiving. “What’s yer name, kid?”

          “T-Trionfi Fortuna, Miss Khanswys. And this is Kiri.”

          “Trionfi and... Kiri. Might you be an adventurer?”

          “Y-yes ma’am!” She nodded so frantically her little tails flicked and bobbed. “Just... just starting, sort of! I’ve never been this far out from Limsa. I was just lending a hand over at Swiftperch, when Fraeleoef asked me to check on you.”

          “Ahhh, thought ye had a look a strength ‘bout ye! Could I bother ye t’help me out with this right mess?”         

          Which, luckily, the lass was quite agreeable. A wee little bomb should be no trouble for a fighter like her, and she only needed to fell it and bring back its claw without getting her eyebrows singed off. The piece alone would suffice for a little while, till she got assistance obtaining a more docile bomb.

          With the little miqo’te taking care of one half of her problem, Khanswys could check on the other. Trooping up the steps, some of her basic tools in tow, the roegadyn hoped whatever damage on closer inspection wouldn’t be too difficult for her meager skills to fix quickly.

          But, nothing is ever that simple.

          “Of all th’- blast it!! A’course, if ain’t one thing, it’s another!”

          CLANG, went the furnace, her fist slamming against it. The damned thing was bent, broken, too warped to hold a live bomb. It was lucky she suggested the adventurer just get the arm. If she’d brought the whole thing alive, there’d be no place to put it, and all her effort would have been for nothing.

          Khanswys did her best, trying to force metal in to a make-shift ... something. At least enough to hold the claw aloft and set things ablaze with little trouble, before she made her way back down. Trionfi, her timing impeccable, it seemed, already returned, her eyebrows still quite in place and none the worse for wear. She beamed, holding up the brazier with the glowing claw upon it.

          The lighthouse keeper couldn’t help but smirk. “Got the little ashy bastard, eh?”

          “Yup! Glad to be able to give you a ‘hand’ with this!”

          “Hah! Yer alright, kid... thank ye fer takin’ it down. But, alas, I gotta ask ye another favor, if ye don’t mind.”      

          Truly, luckiest of days, that she was blessed with a visit from such an amicable adventurer just when she needed help. And, hopefully, Fraeloef could get the word to the right person in Limsa to get her damned furnace fixed soon.

~*~

H’naanza Esi, Forgemaster of the Armorer’s Guild – Victory and Triumph

          H’naanza Esi, Head of Naldiq & Vymelli's and, more importantly, Forgemaster of the Armorer’s Guild, was not happy.

          Beside her, her second and head of the Smithing Guild, Brithael Spade, handed back the paper she’d given him with a frown of his own. Quietly slipping out a flask of ale, its pungent scent wafting towards her, but she chose, this time, to pay it no heed. If anything, she’d probably need a sip or two herself. “Agh. We can’t seem t’ catch a break lately, eh Naanza?”

          She nodded, not trusting herself to speak without hissing as she took it back. Read over the document again, scowl deepening with every word. It was the latest report from Ahtbyrm, stationed at the Moraby Drydocks, having come in that morning with all urgency. On it? An update on their current project, and not an encouraging one either.

          Progress had fallen behind. Significantly so, and not for the first time, the miqo’te found herself cursing their circumstances under her breath. It was simply not acceptable. Especially for this.

          They were building first of the Maelstrom’s newest warships.

          Since the Calamity, most of the efforts of their guild had been borne towards restoration and recovery. It stung that their most powerful ship and most of their armada, people and vessels both, had been torn asunder in that slaughter, but building their people up, healing and repairing what they did have came first.

          Of course, Merl was never wont to sit on her laurels without a plan.

          It was not long before she had set them on drafting their most important assignment in the five years following the tragedy. This was meant to be the first and most powerful ship for the rebuilding of the Maelstrom’s fleet. A symbol of the people of Limsa Lominsa. A sign of restoration, new beginnings, and the future to come.  

          Victory was to be her name. A dedication.* A reminder.

          We live. The miqo’te could see the dragon primal in her mind’s eye, its fearsome fires, its palpable rage. The Garlean Army and their destruction in their hubris. Pushing every ounce of venom in the thought, every iota of grief of friends lost, directing all of it towards the phantoms. You bloody bastards, we -live.-

          To falter now, when the ship was almost complete, was unthinkable. But, the Builder preserve her, it seemed like everything was going wrong. Shortage of supplies. Shortage of artisans. A back-log of smaller jobs that needed doing before larger ones could get done. And, of course, all the paperwork and tracking of the various adventurers they had to hire to get those extra hands. Short contracts, obviously, because what would-be hero wanted to spend time helping build a ship, anyway? But, they managed, and none of it had ever been large enough to cause a stand-still... until now. They needed extra help to focus on finishing the ship or it wasn’t going to be finished by Merl’s requested deadline.

          The most concerning part of the report, however, was Ahtbyrm’s man that he’d sent to retrieve a recent delivery from the near-by port was missing. Hadn’t been heard from in a whole day- and she knew Fyrilsmyd was ungodly prompt with checking in with the Head Shipwright, so something had to be wrong. And to say nothing of the lack of manpower to spare to even go searching...

          When it rains, it pours.

          “Excuse me... Sorry to bother, but I have a message for Forgemaster H’naanza...?”

          Her ears twitched, turning her attention away from her frustration to focus on the voice that softly mentioned her. Beyond the sulking hyur beside her, just past their pupils and across the room, she could see a form in blue pastel colored robes, dark hair with miqo’te ears, and the familiar emerald glow of a carbuncle encompassing her neck. An arcanist. No doubt, an adventurer, but she wracked her brain for which of them could be here seeking her out with a message.

          Then, the girl turned, following the direction Receptionist G’wahnako pointed, and it was unmistakable which one of the Adventurers Guild’s little ones this was.

          That teal-and-pink gaze was unique as they came, and brighter and warmer than the fires of their forges. 

          She weaved around the other armorers and apprentice smiths, ears pressed against her head and nose crinkled. Clearly unused to the clanging of weapons and armor being hammered to high heaven and the assaulting scent of smoke and ashes, but she determinedly, if shyly approached, only to stop short at the top of the stairs. She brightened, recognition on her face as she caught sight of the hyur beside her. Her solemn expression now cheerful, the butterfly on her cheek fluttering with the grin that appeared.

          “Oh! Brithael, is that you?”

          “A-ahh, Tr-Trionfi, lass!” The man whipped around so fast he nearly toppled over the railing. And to H’naanza’s amusement, there is an unmistakable flush to his cheeks, though, it was difficult to tell if it was from the girl or from the drink, the latter he quickly slipped back into his apron. “F-fancy seein’ ye on our side o’ th’ Aftcastle!”

          “It is! Haven’t seen you around the Wench as much lately, so I was getting worried.” She laughed. “But, I guess this explains how you can come by so often- I didn’t realize you worked here.”

          “A-ah, I didn’t... know I didn’t mention it...”

          And he didn’t mention that he was familiar with Baderon’s little favorite. Probably due to his frequent visits to the Wench. Bound to run in to her. But, feeling pity for him and grateful for the brief respite of levity, H’naanza smirked, stepping in to help him. “Hard to believe, but this stuttering lout is actually my fellow Forgemaster. For the Smith’s side of Naldiq and Vymelli’s, as it would be.”         

          As planned, the Arcanist’s attention shifted, giving Brithael a moment to collect himself, but unplanned as it had shifted off him entirely now, Trionfi’s focus and awe now on her. “Oh! I didn’t... that would make you, Forgemaster H’naanza, then, wouldn’t it?”

          “Aye.”

          “Ahhh, sorry! I didn’t mean to ignore you... my manners are awful.” The carbuncle on her shoulders purred, nuzzling her cheek before using its tail to tap on her arm. The one that held a piece of paper. And she perked back up, dipping into an oddly graceful curtsy befitting of a royal greeting. Overly polite and unnecessary, but the older miqo’te couldn’t help but find it endearing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Forgemaster H’naanza. Forgive me for the bother, but I have a message from Fraeloef at Swiftperch.”

          “Fraeloef? Odd.” Suitably righted again, Brithael’s expression shifted to one of concern. He watched her take the note Trionfi held out, popping it open. “Surely, nothin’ at Swiftperch needs attention that ‘e’d send somethin’ directly to ye...?”

          H’naanza stared at the words on the missive. Read them twice, before looking up at their messenger. “...Brewer’s Beacon needs a new furnace...?”

          She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “Yeah. Umm...  I guess the last bomb may have... caused some damage to it? I helped Khanswys set up a temporary light getting a bomb arm, but long-term, she said she needed a live bomb and the current furnace couldn’t hold one as it is now...”

          At her explanation, H’naanza exchanged a disturbed look with her fellow Guildmaster, the same thought no doubt running through his mind.

          The furnace should not need to be fixed, because they had just sent someone last week to reinforce and tinker with it. One of their best smiths, even, with the materials to match. And the bomb that broke out? Been there a whole year, with no problems, and not a hint of aggression or strength to do any damage. Especially not after they just strengthened their damned work!

          But, Fraeloef’s signature was unmistakable on the missive. It was not a joke. And the adventurer? No prankster, no mere face in the crowd.

          Brithael might come off as a buffoon sometimes, but his instincts were decidedly on par when it came to trusting people. ‘Reliable and a little silly,’ Baderon said, when speaking of his favorite. ‘Exemplary and magnet for trouble,’ Reyner shrugged, when asked about why he was keeping tabs on the newest rising star of their fair city.

          ‘A candidate,’ Y’shtola Rhul casually dropped, as if her word did not hold such weight in the circle of Limsa’s Guild Masters. A purposeful flick of her tail, an enigmatic smile over her shoulder, before she vanished again on whatever mission she was on for the Scions.

          H’naanza’s mind spun. This missive was timed either very, very well or very, very poorly... and it was something that would also have to be dealt with quickly. No lighthouse at the cliffside was a disaster waiting to happen, but that meant taking away from their already decidedly low man-power.

          Oh, but... here was a solution right before her, wasn’t there?

          “You’re Trionfi Fortuna, aren’t you.” She finally settled on.

          “Ye-yes, that’s me, ma’am! Ohgods,Iforgottointroducemyself...”

          “No harm done, it is quite well known who you are.” And gods, isn’t it something of a coincidence? The lass shared meaning with her own pride, her own accomplishment, the flagship Triumph.

          The same ship that brought Merl home after the Calamity.

          Victory and Triumph. HAH.

          She shoved the note at her partner. “Brithael, see to this, please, as soon as you can. I want a new furnace built so that Khan doesn’t have to worry for sometime.”

          “Uh, sure, but what ‘bout th’ Victo-“

          “I have it, Brithael.” She sent him a stern look, cutting his argument short, and tilted her head to the girl between them. Realization, as he flicked his eyes to the arcanist, before his face softened, and he nodded, taking the paper in hand.

          “Aye, Naanza. I’ll get on this. I’ll catch ye at th’Wench later, Trionfi. Ye keep outta trouble, ye hear?”

          Trionfi hummed, tapping her nose, her as she grinned. ”That goes for you, too! Try not to imbibe too much more than you’re already in to now, hmm?”           

          He waved her off with a chuckle and another pink tint to his cheeks, walking down to start on his assignment, leaving her with the adventurer. Whom was nervous again, by the way her tail wound and bent around her waist, her gaze darting this way and that- unsure of whether or not this meant she was excused or if she should say something.

          H’naanza found herself smiling reassuringly at the young woman, turning fully towards her, and putting to rest her fears. “Now then. If I may, Miss Fortuna.”

          She snapped to attention. Her carbuncle turned to her, too. “Ye-yes, ma’am?”

          “You don’t have any pressing matters at the moment, do you?”

          “Ahhh, no... Honestly, we just got back from assisting out at the Skylift and Swiftperch... it’s kind of a long story?” Trionfi cradled her cheek in her palm, clearly thinking deeply about whatever string events brought her here. “It just so happened that we ended up returning back here.”

          Just so happened. H’naanza felt herself too practical to believe deeply in things like ‘fate,’ but this girl made it awfully difficult not to at the moment. “To which, I find it to be extremely good fortune that you were brought to our doorstep. I’d impose upon you another job, as we are in desperate need of assistance.”

          Surprised. Shock, curiosity, before the arcanist slowly nodded, ears perking up. Her little fae beast stared deeper, a unnerving little gaze, tail flicking back and forth behind the girl’s head.

          “Our Head Shipwright, Ahtbyrm, needs help with tasks surrounding our latest project at the Moraby Drydocks. I’d like to hire you, and send you over right away to lend him some assistance so they can focus on getting the ship built within our deadline.” She winced inwardly- it sounded so unappealing, especially for a girl that had just dealt with wrangling a bomb. “I know you just returned, so I am asking a lot requesting you so immediately, but we are in a bind-“

          “Yes.”

          The candor and swiftness of the answer stopped her. As did the little smile Trionfi gave. She didn’t expect the girl to agree right away, would probably beg off for a day’s respite, but no. Her hands clasped just so in front of her, the gentleness in her eyes, and the aura of calm, of sang-froid. Like she knew everything was going to be just fine.

          H’naanza let go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Do you need to go pack?”

          “Deep pockets.” She shook her head and winked, patting said pockets. “Hammer space.”

          I don’t know what that means, but ok. “Well, if you’re... already set, go out the Tempest Gate and head right. Cross the bridge and it will lead you there. I can relay to Baderon about hiring you, so you don’t have to worry about checking in.”

          “I’ll be on my way, then.” She bowed again, another deep, formal one, but much more confident now. Even more grace. “Thank you, Forgemaster.”

          “No, thank you, kid. You’re a life saver.” H’naanza smirked. “And you can just call me H’naanza. No formalities needed. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you more often around here.”                   

Chapter Text

          Night had fallen deep, and the sounds of the day stalls closing and evening markets opening greeted Y’shtola as soon as her feet touched the ground and her hearing came to. Teleporting never ceased to be a bit disconcerting, but she was none the less thankful for the convenience and for her ability to utilize it whenever she sought to return to her post. A good stretch helped work the remaining kinks in her body, before the conjurer decided going the long, slow way to her destination to stretch her legs was best. Heading towards the lift, she finally let out the sigh she had been holding back the past few days.         

          Her little excursion from Limsa Lominsa had been meant to be something of a reprieve. A chance to break away from her mission, from the salt of the sea and to be with friends for a bit, and while she appreciated their Antecedent for her kindness and concern, Y’shtola truly preferred the busyness of her work to idle hands.

          Yet, I cannot fault Fillia for her trepidation…

          As she passed by N’delika and N’tanmo, the pink-haired miqo’te twins caught her eye and subtly nodded to her in greeting, neither breaking their conversation with their audience. She caught sight of a little gimmer of metal on them when she nodded back. On each of their lapels, silver pins, commissioned the shape of flaming circle; a meteor. Commemorations worn by the inner circles of each city-state. She would have to pull hers out soon.

          In a month, the anniversary of the Battle of Carteneau would be upon them. Five years, to the day, since the Calamity. The day they lost their dearest mentor, Louisoux, the Warriors of Light, so treasured and admired and yet forgotten, and so, so many innocent lives.

          Without fail, a thick cloud of heavy sorrow and melancholy would gradually fill every corner of the realm. Every Guildmaster would begin to bury themselves in their work, solemn and struggling to recall, wondering if it was one of their students, their prodigies that had made the sacrifice. The Grand Companies, with so many young commanders at their helms, pushed themselves harder, trained more fiercely, so they would not have to suffer those losses, those horrors seen on the battlefield. Civilians told stories of the legendary five who gave themselves for the good of Eorzea, and held their families just a little closer, just a little tighter.

          And as for she and her fellow Scions? The others handled it in their own ways. By joking more, by dodging, by burying... and well... she could admit to throwing herself against the grind, if only it meant she could scrape through the day without the painful emptiness dogging her every step. Things had gotten better over the last four years, certainly. Gradually. Minfillia helped by being their pillar in such times, always with a smile, always checking in, and requesting their return to the Sands so they do not forget hearth and home to rest and rejuvenate. Which was what this was. And all of them had followed her prayer...                            

          Except... Thancred.

          The roguish bard had not shown up.

          Cited his pursuit of a lead as the reason for his lack of appearance, yet when pressed, the carefree attitude and particularly provocative word choice implied otherwise. And the fact that he tended to sound both ways for both things made it difficult to ascertain which was actually his reason for not joining them...

          Hmm...

          Grehfarr saluted her as she approached, hitting a button to open the door to the lift, allowing her to step inside. She smiled, seeing his pin on as well, before offering her own nod in turn just before the door closed. Alone, however briefly, thoughts persisted, because much as she and her fellow Scion tended to disagree, she still worried.

          Actually, now that she was thinking about it, Thancred had gradually been becoming... more avoidant? This time of year. He was normally not one to deny Minfillia’s summons, so dedicated was he to ensuring his charge was always heeded. But, there had been something to these, for lack of a better term, ‘wellness checks’ that seemed to bring forth the slither-outer in him. Whether he was uncomfortable sharing his feelings directly about their loss or if he did not feel he needed to talk, she could not surmise.

          Or perhaps, his pursuits were his chosen way of dealing with his sorrow?

          Well, in either case, he had not shown up the week Minfillia had bid them to return, to ensure their health. At least, not until the last minute, when he slid in to the solar, all askew and sheepish apologies. He cast a wink her way as she was preparing to head out, bidding her to wish her little candidate well from him. A little teasing to get a rise out of her, which she dutifully reminded him, again, to behave should things go well. Hopefully. Which is why, rather than to return to her investigations immediately, she would be starting with a different mission.

          She stepped off the lift, blinking when a familiar face and voice called to her, “Welcome t’ th’ Drownin’ We- ahhh, M-miss Rhul!”

          “Sevrin. You are looking well.” She found herself giving the young man a once over, taking in his every change. The well-kept uniform, fuller cheeks, his less haggard countenance. He looked better. Much better than the torn and broken man she’d left in the care of Trionfi and Staelwyrn all those days ago.

          Gods, had it really been that long already? Nearly two weeks, by her count. That he’d changed so, and how quickly too, really was a miracle, but she would be keeping that bit of astonishment to herself. The boy didn’t need to be reminded. “Is Baderon still in?”

          “Aye. Erm, did ye want th’...” His voice softened further. “Th’Chef’s Table?”

          Y’shtola couldn’t help quirking her lip. He was learning. “The counter will do today.”

          “Yes, ma’am.”

          Amusingly, he offered her his arm, carefully tucking the rag he was using opposite from her and stiffly leading her in. She could sense a few eyes, a few hitches in the din of noise around her, but ignored it for the grin that bartender favored her with.

          The blonde delicately led her to the stool just before him, before nodding and leaving them to their privacy.

          “Lady Y’shtola,” The old man kept grinning. She spotted his pin, as she returned his smile. “Welcome back.”

          “Tis good to be back. And I am delighted to see Trionfi’s foundling seems to be settled in well.”

          “Aye, better than expected.” He chuckled, pulling a mug from beneath the bar. “Th’ usual, I take?”

          “Please.”

          “Mmm. An’, will th’lady be only stayin’ fer a drink today?”

          “We shall see.” She hummed, tapping her finger to the bar’s surface with a tilt of her head and a sharp smile. “There is a chance I might stay up till dawn.”

          His eyes narrowed slightly.          

          “I see.” There was a vague wave of his hand, a flick of his fingers, before he turned to prepare her order.

          All around, she caught the barrier of sound getting louder. Voices moving from mere conversation to boisterous laughter and shouted challenges for others to drink more ale. The bard in the corner sang louder, drawing his audience in rapturous clapping and joining in the words and something about tossing coins. I’tolwann’s voice carried over it all, raucous calls for orders and bodily moving chairs and tables to scrape on the stone floors and encircle the room. Sevrin audibly gathered plates and utensils, filling the little spaces with clumsy clattering and clinking and swearing besides.

          Y’shtola leaned forward some as Baderon slid her mug of tea to her. “Thank you. Rather lively lately.”

          “Isn’t it? Th’ locals are still their usual count, but it’s th’ adventurers. More comin’ in an’ wit it, more commerce.” He smirked. “Lot to do with our little lass. Her tale of gumption is slowly bringin’ ‘em shoreside. That she’s one o’ours is makin’ ‘em think this is a good place t’start. Not that Momodi an’ Miounne ain’t great teachers, too. We jus’ got lucky.”

          “So we have.” The conjurer blew some of the steam, willing the liquid to cool some. “And, speaking of our lucky little pearl, what trouble has she gotten into that has you this tense?”

          At her question, the man winced. A small thing- he wasn’t trying to hide it, not from her, not when he was caught. She could see the worry even as he recovered. “Yer eyes are sharp as always, lass. I got word she was commandeered by Naanza th’other day. Specifically.”

          Well that’s... unexpected news. She tilted her head. “Specifically. For the Armorer’s Guild.”

          “Aye.”

          She sat straighter, taking her mug with her. Stared at him above the rim. Blew again, thinking. “... the Victory?”  

          The Guildmaster tapped his nose, and Y’shtola could not keep the frown off her face. The building of the Victory was not a secret. Not exactly. Adventurers, freelancers, any spare help they could get needed to be recruited to help in anyway they could, after all. But, to pick out Trionfi by name?

          “What happened?”

          Another voice. “Ahhh, I can answer that, Lady Y’shtola.”                 

          She rolled her eyes in the direction of their interruption. Tankard in hand, Brithael slid into a seat beside her, devoid of both his heavy orange apron and his goggles, meteor pin on his sleeveless shirt. He leaned against the bar, nodded in greeting to the older man before giving her a little bow of his head. “Not very excitin’, really. Jus’... odd.”

          “How so?”

          “She came t’ us with a missive for a furnace we’d already ‘tended t’, and reinforced. A week ago.“ He took another swig of his drink. “Naanza ain’t superstitious in th’ least bit, but clearly, this had her spooked. Right as th’ Victory’s head shipwright sent fer help, too.”

          That caught Y’shtola’s attention. Lower La Noscea was a relatively uneventful place, save for the occasional rowdy wildlife and the unnervingly beautiful Salt Strand. Nothing particularly untoward or dangerous. In fact, most of it was being converted into farmland, and even a section was being carved out just outside the Red Rooster farms where residential homes were planning to be built. The way the Forgemaster spoke, though, seemed as if it was more than just being short-handed for ship building that the Moon Keeper had been sent out for.

          She must have had a look of profound concern on her face because the hyur gave her a wry grin. “Not to worry. It got back t’ us she took care of th’ major issue today. Found an’ rescued, an’ got things back on track. None th’ worse fer wear, though, I think Ahtbyrm has seen fit to hijack her entirely for th’ duration of her stay. She should be back in a few days time.”

          “Ah. I am... truly not surprised, actually.” Y’shtola finally took a sip of her tea, soothing and warm and calming, before she gave them both a soft smile. “But, it is good to know she is settling nicely. And your project is in excellent hands, Brithael. Merlwyb need not worry.”

          “That’s a relief.” He sighed. Baderon filled his mug again. “Thank ye. Deadline’s in a month. That these problems sprouted like this, an’ so close... ‘nough to drive a man to drink. Well, drink more than normal.”

          Close. Very close to the anniversary. Rather coincidentally, now that she thought about. Y’shtola turned to their host. “...what WAS she doing before she got sent to Moraby?”

          His answer was a piece of parchment gently placed in front of her.

          She picked it up, well aware of the blacksmith leaning over her shoulder to peek, but allowed it. Not like the information would be kept from the circle of Guildmasters. It was a list, penned in the red-head’s neat handwriting, with little flourishes of information here and there. An easy thing to read. Then, to read again, and a third time, before she slowly lowered her arm. “This is... just as ridiculously linked together as her last line of missions, Baderon.”

          “Aye. Would that we could see wot’s at th’ end o’this line. Least, if it’s pirates or ‘nother golem, she’s well prepared.”

          Brithael’s head shot up. “Ye think th’lass is in danger?”

          “Only from her own string o’beginner’s luck. Think' 'er guild's got a runnin' bet somewhere 'bout it.” Baderon explained. “But, it weren’t as though she went lookin’ fer trouble, lad. It jus’ found her. An’ she got there th’same way this one’s leadin’; entire line of weird circumstances tha’put ‘er in th’right place at th’right time. Whether by th’ Navigator’s hand or Hydaelyn herself, is hard t’say.”

          Y’shtola kept her cool, hiding her smile behind another sip. The Twelve may have had a hand, but she was still of the thinking the Mothercrystal was somehow leading the girl on this path, what with her strange visions and the oddity of everything else. She just wished that the goddess would either be more subtle or less random and aggressive in her guidance.

          “In the end,” She handed back the list, pulling both men’s attention back to her. “We can only surmise Trionfi is going to end up in dire straights. Again. To which, I would appreciate knowing if anything should come up. I would like to see that my patient is not caused any more undo stress.”

          “A’course, Lady Y’shtola.” The old man carefully folded up the list as he spoke, sliding it into his pocket. “Would ye be needin’ a refill?”

          Y’shtola shook her head. There was little else she would be able to do for Trionfi till she returned, but until then, her priorities would shift more into her investigations. “I think I shall turn in after this.”

          Baderon make another gesture, and the din around them lowered. Less clattering, quieter. The bard slipped into a softer tune, a ballad. Sevrin ceased his swearing while he cleaned and I’tolwann went to the back to grab more orders. No longer a cacophony of noise, it was much easier to pick up on the small, subtler sounds.

          Her ears twitched.

          The sound of missteps, someone clumsily tripping on their feet towards the bar. Y’shtola whipped around in time to catch a robed, petite body from falling into the free chair beside her. There was a squeak, as hands scrambled to push herself back up, the Sun Seeker helped the unwitting victim to righting herself.         

          A brunette hyur, glanced up at her from beneath a large brimmed hat, mortified and muttering rapid apologies. An adventurer, a rather new one, Y'shtola figured, if her nervous countenance and rather common equipment meant anything.

          Luckily, the bartender sought immediately to step in, recognizing her. “Easy there, Miss Pureheart... Ye alright?”

          The girl turned to him, sheepishly fiddling her fingers together once she was able to stand on her own. “Ye-yes! S-sorry, Mister Tenfingers!”

          “Geez, Edda, you’re such a klutz! Watch what yer doin'!”

          She flinched, head down as three others approached; A hyur man was who’d spoken so derisively, this one in armor, flanked by an elezen sporting a lance and leather and a lalafell in robes and with a staff. None of them seemed very impressed as they looked at their companion, chiding her even as they finally reached her. For every whispered reprimand her miqo’te ears could pick up, the more she saw the girl tense.

          And Y’shtola fancied she had never seen Baderon’s face go so cold before. His blue eyes turned in to ice and a frown fixed itself upon his face. A glance behind her at Brithael revealed he was frowning, too, eyes trained on the young man behind the girl, the most vocal of the three berating her. She leaned back towards the Forgemaster. Eyed the telltale unmarred polish and shine of the metal plating on the man, she spoke softly, “One of your more recent customers, I take?”

          “Aye. Bought a new set o’armor just th’other day.” He took hard, long swig of his drink, eyes narrowed. Gulped and gulped till Y’shtola was sure he’d drained the whole thing. “He was jus’ like this ‘bout ‘er there, too. If a little more toxic, since it weren’t under Baderon’s eye. Pardon me, Lady Y’shtola.”         

         He raised his tankard high-

          BANG!

          -drawing every eye, and startling the trio out of their dressing-down of the young conjurer. Y’shtola didn’t even bother to hide her amusement, as the man’s shocked face peeked out from beneath the helmet he donned, looking towards the source of the sound. The rest of the bar had gone silent.

          Brithael’s glare was barely-softened by the distorted smile. “Sorry. Hand slipped.”

          "...r-right." The gladiator turned to the two at his side. "Liavinne, Paiyo, we'll meet you at th' table. Ye got our orders?"

          The lalafell nodded, still eyeing Brithael warily as he and the lancer abandoned her duo. Y'shtola couldn't help but back him up a little, giving the two departing a narrowed-eyed stare of her own, before returning her attention to her tea. The crowd went back to their conversations, everyone dutifully eyeing the man as he got the gumption back to approach the Adventurer's Guild Master.

          "Evenin', Baderon!" The hyur grinned, like the past few minutes hadn't happened. Like the whole room wasn't currently watching him closely now. "Got any big requests today?"

          The ex-pirate frowned deeper, pouring the quietly glowering Brithael another drink. She swirled her tea, keeping her eye on the scene, interested in gauging the measure of the two of them. "Thought I told ye that Moraby needs Adventurers t' help wit their ship commission, Avere. That's th'biggest one right now."

          "Aww, c'mon, Baderon, that ain't good enough for the bards!" Y'shtola pinned her ears to her head. He whined like a child, and made far too much noise collapsing in to the chair beside her. She pointedly leaned away, avoiding his flailing hands, while beside him, the girl, Edda, kept her head down, still standing. "We wanna be like that newbie girl! Trionfi! Takin' down pirates an' th' lot! Mashin' golems up fer breakfast, barely jus' outta trainin'! We need t' the fame an' th' money fer our weddin'! Right, Edda?"

          "Y-yes!" She startled, nodding frantically, her chin up as she smiled a little. "She's only just s-started, but to rescue someone and face a monster down like that? W-we only wish we could be just as brave!"

          Y'shtola hid her smile behind her sip. So, this is what he meant by more adventurers were being drawn in by her. Beginner's Luck indeed. Though, after seeing the two of them sshe personally felt this... Avere could stand to be less infuriating. The young conjurer was too much of a wallflower for her to get a decent read, but her timidity did her no favors, either. Were she pull away from his influence, she might become something, but for now, she was as a shaking statue.

          "Speakin' of..." Avere whipped his head to the side, grinning wide. "Sevrin!"

          The Scion followed his gaze. The blonde held a tray of empty plates, frozen in the spot just behind the counter. Eyes wide as an antelope doe caught in a spotlight, a reluctant frown.

          "Could ye tell th'story again? 'bout how th' lass saved ye?"

          At his words, she saw Sevrin twitch. Hesitate again. The quiet rattling of dishes betrayed the trembling of his hands; something Y'shtola saw Edda catch, because the girl's hands were up and she was trying to stop her... 'fiancee' from pestering the poor man, but Baderon jumped in for her. Gestured for the foundling to make for the kitchen door, which he took immediately and darted away, before the Guildmaster turned a furious glare to the newbie. “I’d ‘ppreciate it if ye’d stop harassin’ m'employee ‘bout his harrowin’ experience, Avere. Ye can request the troubadour sing somethin' iffin yer itchin' t'hear it again.”

          “But, Baderon, excitin’ tales of newbie adventurers like us getting a good start like that? And he got a front row seat!” He pouted again, seemingly immune to Baderon's anger. Flailed again. Y'shtola found herself leaning more against Brithael to avoid the man with no concept of space as he took up too much. “That’ll be us one day! Rescuin' folks an' gettin' recognition! Bein' heroes! Well, if you get better at healin’ an' throwin' potions, Edda.”         

          She deflated. “I... yeah... sorry...”

          He rolled his eyes, and Y'shtola couldn't keep a straight face anymore. She scowled. As a conjurer, she knew how hard healers worked to perfect their craft. Mastering the balance between maintaining their team's health and assisting with taking down a foe. Something that took time and effort and practice, and there was no human who would be perfect right away. To put down his partner, new as she was, and to be engaged, to boot?         

          "Well," She interrupted, drawing their attention to her. "You had best think long and hard about what adventuring and 'being heroes' mean to you before you get in over your head. Trionfi's actually off on her next mission."

          He jumped, leaning forward. Too close. "She is?! Where?!"

          "Helpin' out at Moraby." Brithael said from behind her. "Wit th'ship buildin'."

          Avere stared, blinking.

          A few seconds ticked by. She could see the moment his brain processed what the Forgemaster said. because the little boy immediately sputtered and scowled. Unsatisfied at being picked on, he grabbed Edda's wrist and dragged her away. Beside her, the blacksmith gave a satisfied chortle, and Baderon only shook his head as the duo went in the direction of their companions.

          "Bloody hell, pushin' such a dumb request on us..." Avere muttered, but it was still loud enough for her to catch. "...What sort of excitement could happen at a drydock, anyway?"

         What, indeed...

         Y'shtola felt a shiver go down her back.

Chapter Text

          “Of course it could be pirates...”

          The words quietly left Ahtbyrm’s mouth, re-reading the report once more, eyes narrowed with contempt before he turned them to look at his companion. Ghimthota, Storm Captain and head watch of Moraby Drydocks, stood by with a pinched expression on her own face, standing at attention and nodding solemnly at his response.

          “I suspect so. Can’t imagine anyone else wanting to camp out there.” She said, voice and body tense. “Three days now. C’nangho’s been keeping her eye on them, waiting to see if they go, but they... seem settled in. What for and why so close, I’ve my suspicions.”

          “None of them good?”

          “Are they ever good?”

          He hissed. “Blast it.”

          Of course. Of course just when things seemed to be getting back on track again, something like this had to rear its ugly head. Can’t get a long enough moment’s peace to focus on his Twelve’s damned job.

          And it was too much of a coincidence. The mysterious storm that had waylaid his shipwright and his supplies, one that had no records anywhere besides Fyrilsmyd’s eyewitness account that it happened. Something he suspected as the work of the Sahagins. And now, mysterious vagabonds, suspected to be pirates, camping just outside and out of sight of their walls. It all had his instincts screaming something was in the air.

          Ghimthota cleared her throat.

          “As such, I would like to discuss formally assigning someone to assist us with investigating them.”

          As she spoke, she tilted her head slightly, eyes roving to a spot just out of the corner of his eye. And stayed there. Pointedly stay there. He turned to follow.

          Not too far from them, he could see a figure of pastel, blue this time weaving around numerous piles wood. She traded places with her matching blue carbuncle who perched on one of the stacks, keeping track as she kept counting the bundles of lumber before turning to relay it at the rapidly writing lalafell behind her. It was late, the sun falling, but the little adventuring girl, the one who’d appeared one day with a smile and a missive from his boss, was still hard at work. Had been since daybreak, now that he thought about it. Did she eat at all yet today? He frowned, trying to recall when he’d seen her vanish from the dock to fetch a meal, and it deepened when he realized he couldn’t.

          “Lass!”

          Her carbuncle reacted first, twirling about to face him, but he could see Trionfi’s ears stand up and her tail stiffen a second after. She paused, slowly turning around towards him with her mouth open and fingers poised mid-count. Eyes wide, nervous, ‘what did I do?!’

          He sighed, shaking his head. “After you’re done here, you can turn in. You worked hard today. Pick it up tomorrow.”

           She blinked slowly, before grinning wide, and nodding frantically. Her tail wagged and wiggled, and she bounced around and resumed, her little summon hopping to and fro as she moved faster, much to the amusement of everyone who watched. And some disappointment. They knew she was off-limits for new tasks now, and he’d not have his crew relying too much on the poor girl and drive her to exhaustion.

          Satisfied, Ahtbyrm turned back to the Captain with his eyebrow lifted, an ever so slight, knowing smirk on her face.

          He drawled, “’Someone,’ huh?”

          “Indeed. Quietly, though.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of his office, lowering her voice. “And preferably out of earshot of said possibility so we don’t undo your so careful guidance in moderation.”           

          The man couldn’t help but shake his head, but he knew all too well she was right, and led the way.

          With the door firmly closed behind them, the Head Shiprwright turned to face the Captain.

          “’Formally request’ as in, you think the lass is the right adventurer to assist you with something this sensitive.”

          “Guilty.”

          He had questions, concerns, but stopped before he could launch any of it, eyeing his fellow roegadyn curiously. There was a mischievous glitter in her eyes, a twitch to the corner of her lips. She wasn’t denying her blatant favoritism.

          Oh.

          “...you’re still amused by the lass helping that candlekeep get you that flower.”

          “It was cute!” The Storm Captain broke her stance and into a smile. His suspicions cemented further by the girlish giggle. “That she would do something so... so adorable! Going so far out of her way for such a silly little task to get a ‘flower’, well... weed, really...”

          “Never mind that you’re allergic to the damned things, huh Ghim.”

          “Hells yes, never mind.” She tapped her nose. “I’m no miqo’te or au’ra, but this nose is familiar with the scent of seedkin, too. And she smelled heavily of pollen when she returned, so I know it wasn’t just a mere jaunt.”

          He chortled. “And that explains why you’ve yet to toss it.”

          “It is the effort I praise, not the object.” The lady huffed. “And, honestly, more for her than him. I don’t begrudge him the kind thought, but she did all the work. In her name, I will, at the least, pay him a visit once the Admiral has the ship christened.”

          Then she grew more serious. “But, it still speaks volumes to me. And in light of everything she’s done the past few days for the Victory, you can’t deny you’re thinking the same thing, Byrm.”

          Ahtbyrm crossed his arms, pondering over her words. Indeed, it was such a small report. Barely a paragraph on a page, really, and not even an official missive. But, she had it right of it. The smallest actions belied interesting things.

          With the note from H’naanza all but ordering him to take care of the girl even while he was ordering her around, he’d been on guard. Something, something Baderon’s favorite something. Girl was probably born with a silver spoon in her mouth and with nary a care in the world, but he wasn’t about to baby some newbie just because the head of the adventurer’s guild had a soft spot for her. He told her as such- nothing here for layabouts.

          Oh, but then she... well, he’s not sure what was going on in her head, but she doubled down, and doubled down hard. First, by finding Fyrilsmyd, then again by retrieving important supplies that should have, by all accounts, been lost to the qirin. Then, again still, rushing around the port, helping where she could with tasks large and small, and he was sure that silver spoon bore her a silver tongue because she was charming anyone and everyone who so much as exchanged a single sentence with her. Even Ghimthota was under whatever spell she cast, and she kept assisting even far past what he’d ask for- things she didn’t have to do, but did any way, and then enough more that he’d have to stop her from going without resting.

          And about this... measly little flower. Weed, actually. She’d gone and helped someone so far out of her way just to... to help them.

          And how many adventurers out there still had    that kind of heart? How many people?  

          He might not like the kid, but he couldn’t deny that she made it awfully difficult not to trust her. Not with the way she carried herself and that earnest smile and the willingness to help people she barely even knew. A rare kind of selflessness. A rare kind of girl.

          Ahtbyrm sighed.

          “So, I suppose we’v-“

          “Shh.”         

          Ghimthota held a finger to her lips with her gentle shushing, and he quieted. Watched as she carefully, quietly back up towards the door. Head tilted, listening, and he strained to followed suit.

          Then, he leapt out of his skin when she banged her fist against the door and roared, “...are the LOT OF YOU MAKING BETS?!”

          There were voices swearing and the sound of clattering beyond the wood slab. Clashing and half a dozen footsteps running quickly away, C’nangho’s fading, ‘NOOOOOOOOOOO, MAAAAAAA’AAAaaaaaaammmm!’ carried off into the distance. The distance being her post on the other side of the Twelve’s damned docks.

          When all was quiet again, he couldn’t help but give the woman confused look. “’Bets?’”

          She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Anyway, do you agree, Byrm?”

          “If you trust her, Ghim.”

          “I do. Do you?”

          “Yes.” He didn’t need to think about it. He trusted her. She earned it by far. “She’s still a little guppy in my eyes. Too cheery by far for my tastes, but, she hasn’t left yet, and I swear, if we don’t let her re-direct that energy from running deliveries and counting supplies, she’s going to bombard us with more puns.”

          At the last bit, the Storm soldier barked out a laugh, shaking her head as she saluted, “Send her my way tomorrow. I’ll take her from there.”

~*~

          The next day, good news came in the form of Trionfi agreeing to the request. He caught the hint of a scowl when he’d informed her of suspected pirates lurking about, her eyes darkening slightly with fury. It was there, just for a brief moment, before her blue summon thumped its tail against her leg and the shadows vanished, back to her weighed professionalism.

          It was the first and closest expression Ahtbyrm had seen that could be qualified as volatile. Trionfi had often bounced between shy or smiling in the few days she’d been there, and the sudden shift was a bit unnerving. “You alright, lass?”

          “Yeah. Just... you know...” She gave a wry little smile. “Possibly pirates.”

          “Possibly pirates.”

          She left after that, leaving him to re-focus on his tasks at hand, and he pushed the strange reaction a bit farther to the back of his mind. He figured she must have had a bad encounter with pirates. Not that there were very many other types of encounters with them, and he couldn’t exactly blame her. He knew first-hand what shite situations pirates oft brought with them.

          ‘First-hand’ is putting it lightly, he thought dourly, but shushed the intrusion and got back to work.

          The sun climbed high, higher, till it was right above him, and he made the call for a lunch break. Grabbing three boxes from the simpering Wafufu, he opted to use his time to see if Trionfi had reported back.

          It was easy enough to locate the Captain, her bright red uniform stark against the white stone and blue sky. She greeted him with a strained smile and a thank you for the food, but made no move to dig in. He tilted his head, frowning at the concern in her eyes and the lack of appetite. “...Trionfi?”

          “Returned. Hale and hearty. Helping out again somewhere.”

          He sighed in relief. She didn’t match it. “...and her report?”         

          The look Ghimthota cast him was grim, stony, and his gut twisted. Bad news. Of course it’s definitely pirates. More than the like after the boat, just waiting for it to be finished so they could attempt to commandeer it. He voiced his thought as he sat, wanting to attempt to at least eat some, to which she merely nodded.

          “Already have the others doubling their patrols. I’m not leaving you high and dry, my friend. But, that’s... that’s not all.”

          He scoffed. “There’s more?” More than pirates possibly coming to steal the Victory?

          She laughed. “Isn’t it always? When it rains it pours, and honestly, it’s not the fact that it’s pirates; they’re predictable. It’s when pirates are being unpredictable that things become problematic.”

          Gods, that’s just what he needed, more problems. Surprise problems. He gestured for her to continue, resigned to not eating himself, and carefully wrapped his lunch back up.

          “I suspect the Victory isn’t their only goal; one of them was making talk about, ‘getting me boy back,’ and the like.”

          Ahtbyrm felt his veins turn to ice and a chill shoot down his spine. Snapped his head up to her and swallowed hard, fingers clenched around the knot he’d just tied. “Did... Did she catch a name?”

          “No. Just she said it was an old Sea Wolf.” The Maelstrom officer frowned. “But, roe who become pirates are a gil a dozen. What boy could one of them be looking for out here?”

          A boy who’d left his father, a boy who left a life of piracy to forge his own path, the Shipwright lost his appetite.

          In his mind’s eye, an argument between kin, one blinded by the past and one bound in the present. A young man leaving in the dead of night, stealing a boat and leaving his fate and future in the hands of the Navigator. Taken in and re-forged under the care of a stern miqo’te and an amicable hyur, both first teachers, and then colleagues, then friends and in a way, family. He never offered any answers of his origins and they never asked any questions, simply trusting in him, this rascal that washed up upon their shore, and he trusted them in kind, not to leave him to drown.

           And for five years, he carved his own way, clawing out from his father’s shadows. Saw the scars upon the land and vowed not to make it worse. To set a balm using his skills with ships and boats, and to make a better difference. He’d not be a burden on the world if he could help it.

          He thought he’d left his past behind.

          Just because it’s an old pirate looking for his son doesn’t mean a thing.

          And as she said, roegadyn pirates were a gil a dozen. Really, abundant as the sea itself.

          So...

          It can’t be.

          No.

          What are the chances?

~*~

          It was hours later, when he’s dragged out of bed in the dead of night, hands tied behind his back and set before his ship, that Ahtbyrm finds out the really bad news.

          His chances, while painfully slim, were bloody rigged.     

          “Da!”

          The silhouette and outfit, the heavy pirate drawl and booted footfalls, and the all too familiar face twisted in contempt. But, Ahtbyrm is more shocked than angry, more annoyed than scared, and shouting is all he can do to with his hands tied and his father being an absolute fool.

          “Da, bloody hell, what in blazes are you doin’?!”

          “Tryin’ t’ knock some sense in t’ me boy!”

          Gods, it’s like their last argument all over again, only this time there is more than his own future at stake. It’s everyone’s here. If he so dared to think it, it was even Limsa’s... dread as he sees so many of his friends fighting tooth and nail to keep the attackers from getting any closer, from fulfilling whatever Twelve’s damned goal they’ve got in mind, but it’s absolutely chaos and he can’t tell who’s winning in the darkness. They’d even gone as far as to bring ma jool to the fray, adding to the pirate’s already disturbingly keen forces.

          He feared the worst.

          “Y-you don’t know what you’re doin’, Da-”

          “Don’t I?” The elder man sneered, and Ahtbyrm fought a flinch at the madness contained there. “Here’s me boy, runnin’ ‘bout wit these self-righteous shites, turnin’ ‘is back on th’ life is pa gave ‘im.”

          “St-stop!”

          “An’ this bleedin’ eyesore here’s gonna be payment fer this betrayal. I’m thinkin’ a pile o’splinters’ll send a message, eh?”

          “No, you can’t d-”

          “AHTBYRM!”

          “BYRM!”

          Two shouts, followed by grunts and yells. He glanced over, watching as a brilliant, golden blur darted about, knocking down opponents who tried to stand in the way of the women coming to his aid. It’s a comical sight, the way the little fox beast twists in the air, not missing a beat as it goes for the next victim. Anyone who didn’t stay down, was immediately followed up by the smack of a book, the flat of an axe head, or a staff to the face, leaving a trail of out-cold pirates and mercenaries.

          The only downside to their timely interference was the attention it pulled from the man holding him hostage. The old pirate dragged out a low whistle, “...an’ wot do we have here...”

          “Let him go!”

          Ghimthota’s shout was unmistakable as she came to a stop just a bit away, and wary. The way she kept glancing at him, cautious of his tentative position. Trionfi just beside her with her carbuncle at her side, and C’nangho behind both, the three of them glaring at his father with anger.

          Not that it seemed to bother the fool. He laughed, taking each of them in turn. He can see them slide over both miqo’te girls, though he can see the ugly desire in them, eyeing their form fitting robes before his eyes fell to the Captain. He curled his lips at the red of her uniform. “Puttin’ in wit th’Maelstrom hard, I see. An’ lettin’ yer nose be led ‘round by a buncha wenches, even. How far ye’ve fallen, son.”

          A gasp.

          “S-son?” C’nangho repeated quietly.

          Ahtbyrm can’t see their expressions, but oh, he can feel the sudden tension, the shot of ice down his spine as disbelief fills the air. He’d gone all this time with them without speaking of his family, of his parents.

          Now, they knew why, and the fear of their reaction gripped his throat and dimmed to world to this pinpoint.

          His old man smirked, giving a little bow, even as he kept his leer up. “Aye, Ahtzapfyn the Absorbed, lass. An’ this here’s me ungrateful son, Ahtbyrm, t’ wit, ye’ve been workin’ fer.”

          There was pressure of shock, of gazes heavy and accusing, and he couldn’t meet them. Couldn’t bear to see the utter betrayal there, the hurt. Something that his da seemed fit to rub salt in to.

          “Oh ye, didn’t know? Surprise! Ain’t it sumthin’? A son o’mine! A pirate, leavin’ t’becomin’ a Shipright, an’ buildin’ ships fer th’ bloody ADMIRAL!!” The pirate captain laughed, slapping his thigh, mocking, gleeful. All around them, jeers from his lackeys as they realized what was going on, the revelation of his past the all consuming reason for the lull in action.

          Ahtbyrm cringed, sinking deeper into himself as his father crowed.

          “Guess yer Shipwright ain’t as right as ye thought ‘e was!”

          More howls of laughter, the words hung in the air and he could feel the wills of the women dwindle in the wake of them. He didn’t know what to say himself, kept his head down, his lips shut. Deny it? No... no, he’d not lie. But what could he even say? He’d kept this from them, all of them. For good reason, for reasons to protect both him and them...

          But, gods... in his shame, he couldn’t find the words, the voice to defend himself. How could he defend himself, when the truth was thrown in their faces?

          Is this my punishment for keeping this from them?

          If it weren’t for me, this wouldn’t have happened.

          If I weren’t here, they wouldn’t be in trouble like this.

          If I...

          I...

          ...I...?

          His thoughts slowed, his mind registering a strange... sound. No. Not just a sound.

          Humming.

          He thought he was hearing things, but... there was humming. A soft little song, sweet and gentle, and even in the din of scorn that filled his ears, it stuck out. Got closer, twined about him and lifted him out of his sorrow, slowly, until it had tugged him out of his spiral and he could focus on the sudden pair of heels that slid into his view.

          And the carbuncle that sat beside them, its head tilted, staring at him.

          “Trionfi...” He breathed, daring a glance up to her face.

          Funny. Like regular cats, he knew miqo’te could see well in the dark. Moon Keepers more than Sun Seekers. It’s what made them great hunters, great fighters to have during watch at night. Yet, he didn’t think their eyes glowed like their four-legged brethren did, though...

          Hers did, like her song, crystal clear and reaching out to him in the darkness. Pink and green, focused on him, unfathomable and bright. He met them head on, allowing whatever spell she was casting weave blanket of calm over him as she kept the melody going, and she kept watch of him, grimoire tucked under one arm. He held his breath, wondering what she was doing.

          Then, she smiled.

          “So?”

          Cutting through the laughter, the single word echoed loudly and Ahtbyrm found himself swallowing hard. There was a... difference in the girl when her melody ended. Gone was the little catgirl who darted around like a fairy, replaced by... by something else. Something slow and deliberate and the slightest bit unnerving how far removed this side of her was. It certainly took his father off guard as he realized the girl had moved from where she’d been before. He whipped around.

          She stood between them, father and son.

          “...wot? How’d ye-”

          “So?” She repeated, rolling her eyes and she turned fully to face the elder roe. He could only see her back now, nothing of her face, but her carbuncle stayed put. Watching him, as its mistress addressed the intruder.

          “So, he’s your son. So what? Is that supposed to mean something?”

          Trionfi crossed her arms, leaning back some. He imagined she was leveling a gaze of disdain at him. One that was clear, as Ahtzapfyn stared and sputter, “...ah, yer! Yer th’ green lil ‘venturer, that wot came ‘bout our camp yesterday!”

          “Trionfi Fortuna,” she gave a mocking little bow. “And this is Riku. Riku, say hi to the stupid man.”

          The carbuncle twisted its head around and let out a hiss.

          Ahtbyrm chortled; the girl and beast were absurd.

          “Now, you didn’t answer my question.” She examined the nails on her free hand, before tilting her head towards the older man. “Is the... ‘revelation’... that he’s your son supposed to mean something?”         

          He glanced at his father, the furious confusion on his face. The growl of contempt- he knew the man had no love for anyone who stood against his ideals, his beliefs. Firm was he in that pirate life was the only life, and glory would come to those who would stay with it, even in such trying times. It was the very source of the argument that inspired Ahtbyrm to leave, after all, and Trionfi was tap-dancing on it. “Yer a damned foolish girl if ye don’t understand it.”

          “Oh, I understand things clearly.” There was a dangerous edge to her voice, even as she shrugged, lackadaisical and confident, and unheeding of the anger she was facing. The Shipwright wasn’t sure if she was brave or foolish.

          “You, as his ‘father’, think it’s your right to dictate his path. You, as a pirate and his father, think it’s right to take him back to whatever little hole you crawled out of to bring him back down to your level because you think it’s the only way.”

          Her voice rose, a finger delicately tracing the spine of the book and curled the slightest bit into a claw. Her head never shifted far, and her direction never switched.

          “You, as a ‘father’ who is UNHAPPY that his son is making his own way, think it’s right to destroy his work, his ship, something he’s put his heart, and soul, and sweat tears in to building, just because it represent things that YOU don’t think are what should be important to him.”

          Silence.

          “Am I warm?”

          His father sputtered. “Everythin’ in this world’s gone mad! He’s me son an’ a bloody pirate, an’ if ye don’t think that’s a big dea-“

          “We are NOT OUR PARENTS!”

          Her book snapped open, and with a rush of aether and a roar, she whipped her arm to the side. From her finger tips, he can see spell fly and hit a ma jool mercenary that tried to sneak up to her square in the chest. It fell to the ground writhing, screaming as the magic weakened it, palpable and potent that Ahtbyrm could see the wisps of violet twisting his aether, before her golden carbuncle pounced and shut the lackey down. It slammed its tail, encased in a glittering hard, shield, into its face and knocked it out. Riku twirled in the air before landing on its chest, promptly sitting down and licking its paw as it watched, waited.         

          He stared. Everyone stared. Trionfi’s shoulders heaved with the force of her shout and her fur bristled, and even though he couldn’t see those brilliant glowing eyes, he could feel the burn of them even from behind her. And his father, for all his bluster and experience, was rooted in place at the ferocity there. Ghimthota and C’nangho and the soldiers they rallied, out of the corner of his gaze, straightened, shocked.

          Trionfi lowered her hands. Her ears flicked back, her fur and body line smoothing back out and her tail which had wound up curled back down. Tranquil again. “You might be his father, and he might be your son, but that doesn’t matter. It matters what he’s doing now. And what he’s doing now, with his own two hands, is building something to give the people of Limsa hope for the future.”

          “Future? Future?” His father snapped out of his stupor. “Tha’ship is a sign o’everythin’ wrong in this world, an’ it deserves nothin’ less than gettin’ blown t’smithereens! I’ll have me son back, an’ we can end this farce. Th’admiral ain’t got any idea wot powers be there, but she’s gonna learn.” His face twisted in rage. “An’ a green girl like ye oughta listen t’yer betters ‘bout how th’ world is an’ stay quiet!”

          Her fist clenched, but only for a second, and slight enough that he didn’t think anyone but he caught it. Her fingers fluttered, before coming up to tap on her open page and she let out a heavy, quite put-upon sigh. “Well, I tried. I guess that’s that. Ahtbyrm?”  

          At her sudden switch in attention, he startled and looked up. Her eyes had... surprisingly seemed have dimmed in their glow, no longer stark against the shadow, but it was still easy to sense her smile. Reassuring and sweet, Trionfi tilted her head, ears bouncing up as she addressed him with an easy candor.

          “What would you have me do about this vagabond?”

          Ahtbyrm blinked. “D...do?”

          “Yes. Weird how this suddenly became a bit of a family matter, but it doesn’t change the fact that this still falls under the missive sent in by Forgemaster H’naanza. They ARE attacking the Victory, after all.” There’s a thoughtful edge to her words as she shrugged, her hand still placed softly on the ink of her page. “And, seeing as I was hired on by Naldiq & Vymelli’s, your orders are my orders…”

          Trionfi grinned. “Aren’t they, Head Shipwright?”

          Ahh. It clicked. That’s her game.

          He could feel his doubts fade, his fear quiet. To have someone stand by your side, believe in you. She was paying his trust in turn and, funnily enough, that seemed to be enough. Seeds of doubt that lingered, their roots wrapped tight about his heart burned away in wake of her fierce defense of his character. He only hesitated a moment, grinning right back.

          “Aye, lass. They are.”

          “Excellent! I’m glad we established that.” Trionfi winked, her butterfly tattoo fluttering. “Your orders, then?”

          “Pray,” Even with his hands tied behind his back, Ahtbyrm straightened as best he could, casting a glare at his father. “Beat the tar out of this bloated sea slug, Trionfi.”

          “With pleasure! Let’s bring victory to the Victory! Ghimthota! C’nangho!”

          The Captain saluted quickly, the ringing as she drew her axe echoing in the air. “We got you, Trionfi! Focus on the big one, we’ll cover you!”

          His father sneered deeper, tugging his own axe from his back. His lackeys started arming up again, shaken but still following his lead. “So, that’s all it takes, huh? A few pretty words from a lil’girl, an’ yer all buddy buddy again, eh? Guess I ought knock some sense in t’th’lot’oya.”

          She giggled, high and maniacal, the ink of her grimoire lighting up and casting shadows on her face.

          “Riku! Let’s show him what it is his son is building for!”

          At her rally, her carbuncle leaped on to her shoulder and she darted towards the old roe.

          Now, Ahtbyrm knew she was a small, tiny thing. That much was no secret. He had to crane his neck down so much that he started stepping back to stop the strain on his muscles while still meeting her stare properly to talk. And even, sitting as he was, he was still tall enough that was still a bit of head tilting to look at her.

          But, that was him- it was more disconcerting seeing her face down an enemy his size. Hell, a bit larger even. And next to the old pirate, he could see the height difference in a spectacularly terrifying clarity.

          “Come on, lass...” He muttered under his breath. "Don't let him win!"

          But, she was good as using that difference to her advantage. A quick little thing, feet feather light as she whirled and twisted and threw spells quick as you please, and with Riku at her side, it seemed to make up the difference in stature. She’d moved left, as the beast would slide under, one weakening and manipulating his aether and chipping at his stamina whilst the beast would under mind him, clawing and biting where it could before pulling back and out of reach.

          It’s an effective strategy. One that had his father fast getting frustrated, his swings sloppy as he’d move where she was, only to have her be two steps ahead, twisting and darting backwards before going back in.

          Trust her, his brain helpfully sang as he watched. Trust that she can finish this. Trust that she can win.

          Oh, but even for all her grace and determination and talent, she was still a newbie, still unpracticed, and still did not know much of the world. Knew nothing of what others could be capable of.

          He saw it before she did, but wasn’t fast enough to warn her.

          The old man flicked his arm out. A rattling of metal, a flash of bright orange, and with a cry, Trionfi’s arms were bound tight against her body. Her grimoire clattered to the ground.

          “TRIONFI! Da, let her go!”

          Ahtbyrm strained against his bonds. Could hear yelling, Ghimthota’s roar echoing across the way as he saw her scramble forward to help, only to be blocked off. More lackeys pouring out of the woodworks, standing in the way of anyone getting to arcanist to tug her out of his father’s grip.

          His father tugged, laughing mockingly as he dragged her close. The miqo’te struggled against her bonds, straining against the aetheric chain and hissing, her teeth bared.

          “Lookit wot I caught! A wigglin’ lil... cat-fish!”

          “Your...” She grit her teeth, glaring as he breathed in to her face. “Your puns are bad, and you should feel bad!”

          “Oh, I dunno, lass.” He leered. “I’m feelin’ pretty good right now.”                  

          There was a flicker of shock in her face before she grinned.

          Ahtbyrm saw, in the brief moment the pirate had focused on her, he’d forgotten her summon-

          He went for the wrong target!

          -and it was something Riku took full advantage of. Coming up behind his mistress’ captor, it leaped, rocketing in a full-body faceted shield into the vagabond’s head. The clattering of his axe dropping to the ground. From the summon’s maw, an inhumane growling as it took little heed beyond trying to break the pirate’s concentration enough to let Trionfi go by clawing and biting.

          Which worked. Sort of.

          She dropped to the ground, only to watch as a big meaty hands grabbed her carbuncle and wrenched it from his face. It let out a squeal as it was yanked away, though its fight kept it snarling and spitting in the face of the roe.

          Ahtzapfyn, his face now scarred and red streaked, roared, - “Ye fuckin’ brat o’a beast! I’ll KILL YOU!”

          “YOU LEAVE RIKU ALONE!”

          Trionfi was like a streak of blue lightning.

          There’s a shout and cry of pain, and all Ahtbyrm saw the carbuncle drop as the miqo’te grabs him and rolls far from their target. There was blood splurting, a sharp, splintered end of what he could only make out as a branch was shoved into the arm that dared to attempt to harm the summon, its leaves crinkled and dripping crimson, and gods she’s terrifying, how did she even shove that thing through his arm?! Where did she even get it?!          

          But, it was enough. Enough time for the girl to grab her grimoire back in hand, whipping open a page and throwing her all into a single spell. One that practically warped the air as she launched it, twining about the man, and draining every ounce of his remaining strength in a cloud of violet.

          He crumpled. Fell to his knees and then tilted till he was completely curled on the ground. Raging, angry whimpers, hand still clutching tight to the arm stabbed through as it stained the white stone scarlet red, and it occurred to the Shipwright that the docks had suddenly gone quiet. All around, everyone had stilled, watching the sight that was the little young adventurer proudly standing before the giant she had downed.

          Trionfi had her book in hand and an arm holding her carbuncle to her chest, her eyes trained on the man on the ground.

          Above, the sky turned pink. Dawn was breaking.

          “Victory..." She exhaled, breathing hard, but straightened. "Is mine, Ahtzapfyn. Stand down. For your son’s sake. And yours.”

          There was a wheezing sound.

          Then, bitter laughter. He rolled on to his back, injury still curled against his chest.

          “...I... I must be getting’ old... Lettin’ a green adventurer get th' best o’me...”

         The battle was over. Clattering as weapons were dropped and calls out for surrender and mercy filled the air.

          "Da!" Ahtbyrm struggled to his feet, unable to stop his stumbling on to Ghimthota when she rushed to him. He leaned heavily, limping towards the prone form on the ground.

          “Ah... m... m'boy...”

          Trionfi stepped back, letting him get close to his father. Though, didn't let up on her glare, she tilted her head and let him know he could trust her to watch his back.

          But, his da... sounded tired. Resigned. Done. The last of the miqo'te' spell fading, leaving naught but a tired old man. He, tilted his head towards him, before glancing up at the wooden ship past.                           

          “That ship..." He coughed. "That’s a bloody big one. Big an’ nasty lookin’..."

          The sun broke the horizon.

          "... ye made that, did ye?”

~*~

Ghimthota, Maelstrom Captain at Moraby Drydocks - Cloudy Day Girl

          Deep clouds gathered on the horizon, even as the shadowed sun rose higher, throwing a curtain of gloom over the docks. The smell of thunder, a promise of rain and melancholy. Fitting, considering the night they’d had and odd, considering the successful outcome. 

          But, the Captain didn’t stray. Her eyes still searched as she walked, a piece of parchment tucked carefully in her hand.

          Luckily, it was easy to locate the hero of the hour despite her short height. Curled up in a corner a ways away from the ruckus of clean up. Yellow carbuncle dozing in her lap as she idly petted it with one hand, the other clasping something she kept staring at. There was a listlessness to the younger woman, and she barely shifted when she approached.

          “Trionfi?”

          Arcanist and summon glanced up, both tilting their heads as their ears flopped to the side. Blinking, as the miqo’te gave a weak and tired smile.

          “Hi, Ghimthota...”

          Well. First and foremost, check on the girl before we start sending her off on another mission.

          Sliding into the space beside the young lady, the roe looked her over slowly, closer: the tired expression, the dull color of the fae beast, the stained pieces of wood in her palm. A far cry from the warrior from last night, exhaustion seeming to have settled into her. “Have you been hiding here this entire time?”

          Trionfi bit her lip, before nodding slowly. “I just... needed some place quiet. That was... I...” She paused, before shaking her head, and replacing the frown with a smile and a cheerful tone. “I’m sorry, I’m fine, really. Don’t worry. I should really be asking if Ahtbyrn is alright- he’s the one that just had the family drama explode.”         

          The switch in her demeanor is a little disconcerting, but Ghimthota let her change the subject, sensing the discomfort beneath her platitude. “He is, though I think the shock of his father’s re-appearance seems to have exhausted him. But, after a day or two of rest, I’m sure he’ll be back on his feet again.”

          She let out a sigh, relieved, scratching her pet under its chin. He purred. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

          “And you?”

          Blinking. “Hmm?”

          “Are you alright, lass? I’m no magic user, but you were throwing a lot of heavy spells last night...”

          There’s a brief flicker of something there. Surprise, maybe. Fear? Not long enough to get a good read, before she broke out in another smile. “I am! I just... needed some space.”

          As she trailed off, it was apparent the girl was either trying to convince herself or her, but couldn’t quite seem to commit to one or the other. In either case, Trionfi’s hand opened as she spoke, distracted again, as she revealed the shards of wood she held.

          Now that she could see it closer, Ghimthota recognized what it was.

          “A conjurer’s wand? Was that what you used to...” She mimed bringing a hand down on her left arm, recalling all too well the scream and the shock that followed it. 

          Trionfi winced, but nodded in confirmation. “Mmm. Though, I don’t think they were meant to be... used like that.”

          “Heaven help us if healers were given more sharp objects than blunt ones.” Ghimthota chuckled, “Still, that was creative and a bit of a surprise; I didn’t know you were a practitioner of conjury.”

          Her hand clenched the pieces tighter, and she paled. Riku brought his tail up and gently fanned it over her fist.

          “...my mother taught me.”

          Trepidation. Fear. Relief? A myriad of emotions flickered in the girl’s eyes, and Ghimthota can only surmise the reason for any and all of it. Another defiant child, maybe, (which would be ironic, all things considered, but it would explain the girl’s vehement cry in Ahtbyrm’s defense) or a gift given now in need of repair, though broken for an honorable reason. But, while she was curious to the girl’s reactions and why her family would teach her healing but have her learning arcanima instead, the Captain knew better than to pry.

          Besides, now that she established the girl was still hale enough to be somewhat hearty, there was a much more terribly pressing matter that needed to be dealt with. Loathed she was to give it, though, but there was really no other options available.         

          She gave the miqo’te a wink.         

          “Well, don’t you worry, lass, she won’t hear it from me. Do forgive this sudden urgent change of subject, but I did come with a purpose and a message. Well, two messages, really.”

          At the admittance, Trionfi perked up, every line of her body pulling out of her sulk and into attention. The summon unwound itself, butt up as it stretched before hopping up and settling about her shoulders. She tilted her head curiously, putting the pieces of wood and her memory and melancholy back in her pocket.

          “Byrm wanted to see you off himself, but since he’s been put on mandatory bed rest for a few days, I come baring his thanks and his apologies in his stead.”

          “Apologies? He doesn’t need to apologize for the actions of his father.”

          “See, I said the same thing, but you know how he is. He feels responsible, but I told him the best way to thank you is to get better and ensure the Victory is completed.” She waved her hand in the vague direction of the ship. “Which, with your help, we are well back on track and I will be increasing the amount of security to ensure that nothing else tries to interfere.  said that your payment will be sent to your accounts post haste.”

          “Thank you.”

          “Don’t thank me quite yet...” She held up the paper she’d been clutching, wincing some as her bi-colored eyes trained themselves on it. “I still haven’t told you the second message.”

          Much to both their surprises, her yellow carbuncle stretched forward, mouth open expectantly. Ghimthota couldn’t help but stare as his eyes met hers with an almost impassive look. Waiting. She chuckled, holding it towards his mouth so he could grasp it tight between its teeth, tail gently swinging back and forth.

          “Right. I guess your little guy can smell where this comes from- it found amongst his father’s belongings.”

          Her mouth dropped in to a little, ‘oh’, hand coming up to take the paper from the little fox. Gently, she unfolded it, reading it before her eyebrows shot up.

          “It’s... a code?”

          “Aye. We can’t make heads or tails of it, but...” The Captain sighed, crossing her arms and leaning back some. “I hate to ask this of you so soon after you’ve already done a lot, but Baderon is very, very good at breaking codes. If no one in the Maelstrom can decipher it...”

          She tilted her head. “You want me to bring it to him to see if he can read it.”

          “That’s the gist of it. You need not do anything else past it, but in case it’s urgent...”

          “Say no more!” Trionfi placed it in one of the pockets of her robe, standing as she did so and all smiles again. “I was about to head back anyway, and it only makes sense that I bring it to him since I need to check in.”

          “You are a life saver, dear. Literally and figuratively.” She stood as well, relieved. Much more relieved, knowing that the young woman was handling the situation. There was a little bit of awe, too, that the girl was able to pull herself back up by her bootstraps and get back on the chocobo, so to speak. Still, she had to check. “You sure you’re ok though, lass? Did you need anything before you headed out?”

          “Nope, I think we’re all set and it's just a message delivery.” The miqo’te dropped in to a courtesy, much to her amusement. All manners again and politeness, even as she was leaving. “Thank you, Ghimthota! It was a pleasure working with you! Please convey my thanks back to Ahtbyrm and tell him I look forward to the Victory’s dedication day!”

          “I will. Stay out of trouble, Trionfi Fortuna.”

          And as the girl vanished into wisps of light, Ghimthota could hear a distant roar of thunder.

          A flicker of lightning.

          She could only pray that it meant nothing.

Chapter Text

Baderon & Sevrin – Kerfuffled Kitten

          The world seemed to stutter when she entered.

          The bartender and the foundling both slowed their work when the saw glittering blue fur out of the corner of their eyes, the hum of a wordless song reaching their ears.

          Surprised, they turned. They honestly had not expected Trionfi to be back quite so soon, what with word having just got back to them about the recovery and clean-up of the drydocks. Perhaps a bit more time to rest and some food, considering what Ahtbyrm had sent. (Poor man was still a shaking mess when he’d sent the call, but promised them his full report would be forthcoming.)

           Framed by the gathering clouds in the sky, the Moon Keeper walked in none the worse for wear, not from an open elevator but, instead from the entrance to its right. That she had opted to travel via crystal to the Aftcastle instead of taking the time to speak to the twins or the Lower level Lift Operator sprang warning bells, and the two of them exchanged looks and converged as she tentatively approached the counter.

          Her song stopped. She blinked up at the two of them, glancing between, before biting her bottom lip. Kiri patted her mistress’ cheek. Trionfi shyly toed the ground with a scuffed boot.

          Baderon broke her silence first. “Lass?”

          “Sorry.” She apologized twice in that moment. Once with the word, second with her tone, as she held out a note. Baderon saw the younger man go tense, his gaze flicking over as the bartender grasped the paper in hand. Unfolded it.

          His blood ran cold at the sight of the familiar and foreboding scrawl. Sahagin code.

          Which could only mean... Reavers.

          Of course.

          He turned his gaze back up to the girl. “Where did this come from?”

          “It was on the man that attacked the ship. Ghimthota said you might be able to see what it says.”

          Of COURSE. Of course it so happened to be on the man that so happened to attack the same ship the lass so happened to be guarding. OF COURSE.

          “Aye, her instincts were correct. I do recognize these letters.” Instead of crumpling it like he wanted, Baderon held it by a side between two fingers, waving it about to stem the urge. “It’ll take me a bit t’ sort this, but I’ll get it t’ye quick as I can.”

          Sevrin leaned close. “Can... can I help?”

          Trionfi turned to the blonde in shock, and the old man couldn’t help but give him a worried look.

          “Ye sure, lad?

          “I’ll... I’ll be fine. I know Sahagin code.” He wrangled and twisted the towel in his hands, but Sevrin held his determination firm. “One... of the f-few things I managed to sneak b-before I ran. I can help.”         

          This time, Baderon exchanged a glance with the arcanist, though he found a seed of pride planted behind his concern. She tilted her head, and he could see the question in her eyes. If he thinks it’s a good idea to dreg up more memories.         

          Ah, but the boy had promise to do what he could. Wanted to prove himself. And if he felt like he could help with cracking the code, especially when time was of the essence, then Baderon wasn’t wont to turn down an extra hand.

          So, he shrugged. “Two heads are better than one. Tri, iffin’ this is as serious as I think, can I count on ye t’ run it t’Reyner?”

          To the old man’s relief, she nodded, smiling. “However I can help!”

          “Yer a doll. I’ll have Adroit whip ye up an omelet while ye wait.” A heartbeat, before the man narrowed his eyes and the girl went stock still at the sharpened attention. “Twelve knows ye prolly didn’t eat a’fore ye left, did ye.”

           The miqo’te blushed.

~*~

Reyner – More Trouble

          With the upward flick of his pen, the last document for the morning was reviewed, signed, and finally, FINALLY placed to the side. Reyner could only sigh in relief, putting his pen down as he reached to down the whole of his now cold coffee.

          The morning had been a long one. Full of drills and meetings and paperwork. But, it had also been very... ideal, for lack of a better description. Everything beginning and ending on time, with no distractions, no sidetracks, and no sudden problems to address before sliding into a grey afternoon. He’d even had a report on a certain adventurer’s midnight foray and its resounding success cross his desk with nary a mention of much else beyond the unusual appearance of the Head Shipwright’s father.

          In all, Reyner couldn’t find a reason to complain. He was done by the time the afternoon bells had rung, and the noon sun (what little of it he could catch behind the clouds, anyway) slowly started leaning west, and everything had been caught up.

          So, why does it feel like something is still not quite right?

          The feeling at been sitting in his gut all morning. Even as he handed off the pile to be filed and sorted, even as the day dragged on, the Commodore couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder, couldn’t help scanning the room, waiting for something to cut the string of tension. None of his soldiers seemed to feel it as keenly, but there was definitely a bit of unease in the air.

          Maybe a bit of a stretch might help. He stood from his desk, leaving his cup and remaining mess for later cleaning, and made for the stairs. A little jaunt up to the mini-overlook usually helped to get his thoughts together. A chance to watch his troops and the Marauders at work, and perhaps assist in some of their training. Not that he could interfere much often, but sometimes it was nice to just stand about instead of the rush and bustle of fending off attacks and organizing defenses on their perimeters.

          A vacation. Reyner leaned against the railing, A vacation sounds nice. Maybe to Costa Del Sol...

          “Commodore?”

          “GAH!”

          He jolted, whirling around at the voice and hissing an explicative when he banged his knee against the banister. His eyes fell first to the very tips of miqo’te ears fluttering up and down before they lowered to the face of a very, very amused and familiar arcanist, as always, cheek-to-cheek with one of her carbuncles around her neck (this time, her blue one, it seemed.)

          “Miss Fortuna!” He coughed and straightened, doing his utmost to cover his shock before glancing about, hoping no one saw his momentary fumble. (But, if anyone did, they were smart enough to not make it know.) When had she snuck in? “Fancy seeing you here. Returned from Moraby, I see?”

          “Just a bit ago.”

          “Well, you did good out there, milady. As always, we thank you for your hard work as a citizen of Limsa Lominsa.” He bowed, briefly taking his hat off as a man of etiquette. She was, in light of everything, a model adventurer, and deserved the added bit of touch to her praise. “Would that many others show such brevity.”

          “N-no praise needed, Commodore, I-I’m only helping p-people where I can...” She stuttered, turning a brilliant shade of red at his gallantry and he couldn’t help the smile at the way the end of her tail found its way into her grasp. The fluffed limb was shyly clasped to her chest with one hand, whilst the other remained behind her back as she looked away. “It’s... it’s what we’re supposed to do...”

          “It is. But, you’d be surprised how many out there tend to forget that.” Reyner pulled out of his pose, placing his hat back on his head. “But, I do not mean to embarrass you, Miss Fortuna. Was there something you needed?”

          “...sort-of-yes?”      

          She rocked back and forth on her heels, turning her head slowly to give him a wide, almost... sheepish smile. Waited. Hmm.

          Also, it was quite odd that she was here. He didn’t recall that she’d gotten permission yet to look into other vocations- though, he’d be the first admit he’d be amused and a little terrified watching the little lady brandishing a giant axe in to battle. And he hadn’t summoned her to review or receive any reports and he wasn’t putting any rescues of hers on trial again. Which could only mean one other thing...

          Oh.

          “You...” He narrowed his eyes, before letting out a sigh. “Baderon sent you.”

          “...yes. It’s a bit urgent...” From behind, she brought out a note, wincing as she held it out to him. Her other hand clasped her tail a bit tighter. “Sorry.”

          “Don’t be, it’s part of my job...” And part of a not-so-quiet-afternoon.

          The note was two parts, and both had his hackles raised. One, smaller and below the large script, was the familiar and hastily written words of the bartender. The messy scrawl a clear sign of the bartender’s urgency when he’d penned it. The second, larger lettering was characters every YellowJacket became familiar with: Sahagin letters. Not everyone could readily translate them, but it was universally acknowledge that it never boded well to see.

          And the translation Baderon had written only confirmed it, its content alarming. He read it twice, ensuring he understood properly, before looking up at her.

          “An attack on Swiftperch?”

          Trionfi nodded, frowning deeper. “This was found on the... the pirate that commenced the assault on the Victory. I was tasked with bringing it to Baderon, and both he and Sevrin translated it. However...”

          “However…?”

          “They both think the attack on the Drydocks was meant to be the feint, and Swiftperch the main, instead of the other way around.” She let go of her tail, confidence returning as she relayed her message. “But, my presence made them nervous, and they moved forward with the former. Botched the whole thing, whatever it is they’re doing.”

          “But, they think that means their attack on Swiftperch is still a possibility?”

          “All but certain. It’s just when that’s the question.”

          “Huh...” He folded his arms. Wracked his mind for any reason possible, and could come up with little for the spearhead of an attack to happen on Swiftperch, of all places. “Which is... truly odd. Honestly, could this note not also be a feint in and of itself? Swift is such a small settlement. Naught with much resources that they could use. What manner of dastardly plan could they have with making a little town in the middle of nowhere their main point...?”

          “Well, unless their future plans include fields of millioncorn and wheat...”

          Reyner cocked his eyebrow at her odd commentary, which she met with a beaming smile and fluttering hands. “Lyulf, he’s a farmer that lives there! He had an order that got a little delayed, but I was able to get it to him. He’s gonna bring some life back to the town with those crops.”

          “I... see.” He pondered. He did seem to recall a report somewhere in the last few stacks mentioning a mishandled plant delivery that Trionfi had been dragged in to the last few days. Not that he was keeping track of the girl, no. But, it seemed like if there was trouble afoot to watch, she was one to follow and there was a running bet going on that seemed to have started leaking in to the Maelstrom about her string of luck.

          And, there’s this sinking feeling again. Reyner looked over the letter. Odd, truly, that this letter... just so happened to have been on the right person at the right time. What is it that awaits in the shadows? And is it for her or for us?        

          “Well, while I concur with Baderon and Sevrin that the Drydocks was meant to be a diversion, Swift is actually one of several possible targets for a main thrust.” He pursed his lips, and held up a hand to stem the shocked and semi-apprehensive look the arcanist cast him. “Not that I would leave them to fend for themselves. I can still marshal Yellowjackets to serve as reinforcements, but how to divide them is the questio-”

          SLAM!

          “COMMODORE! SIR!!”         

          Of course. The sinking feeling twisted as Reyner turned his attention to the solider that had thrown the doors open. Of course. He moved forward, doing his utmost to keep his face and his tone from belying his thoughts as the man dashed up the stairs three at a time before coming to a stop before them

          “Report.”         

          “It’s the Sahagin, sir!” The Jacket saluted, panting. “They’ve launched a large-scale assault on the South Tide Gate! Their forces threaten to overwhelm our defenses within the day! The garrison is requesting immediate reinforcements!”

          OF COURSE.

          “By the Navigator...”  His apprehension snapped, burned and set his blood boiling, his frustration mounting. Reyner clenched his fist. “I guess my decision has been made for me... Muster the troops. Prepare to march.”  

          “Aye, sir!”

          Trionfi watched the man leave, trepidation on her face. She gulped, and Reyner found himself the subject of her intense gaze, the gears behind them turning.

          “A... a few days ago, when I... saved Sevrin. He mentioned that the Sahagin are in league with the Serpent Reavers. And the Reavers are the ones suspected to be kidnapping people...?”

          “That is correct. Which very well means that this attack may just be another feint. One that I cannot simply ignore, but that would mean that Swift will be left vulnerable and... might explain the note that you found on that pirate...”

          “The people of Swiftperch could be kidnapped?!” She whispered, her ears going flat as she looked at him in horror. Her carbuncle placed a paw again on her cheek, mrr’ing slightly, as if to comfort the already agitated arcanist.

          “Or worse.” Reyner admitted. He frowned, crossing his arms and going over his options. Their forces were going to be strained enough as it was and, if the way things were going was any indication, little time to decide his move. “It’s times like this I wish that Warriors of Light were still around. But, wishes will avail us naught...”

          And of course this happens now. Of all times.

          He thought back on the conversation he had with Baderon several days ago. The ridiculousness of everything that happened, and the fact they it circled around this one young Moon Keeper girl. Grabbing oranges to grotto to golem. Now, Deliveries to Drydocks to defending to-

          “Commodore?” Her voice broke through his musing. “I can help.”         

          He met her gaze. “Miss Fortuna...”

          “I’m sorry, I’m... not them.” She smiled softly. “I don’t wish to take their place. But, I... we! Can still help! The people there are kind and if there is something we can do to help, please let us.”

          The thought crossed his mind, but he hesitated. Unwilling to fulfill the last section of wherever this path was leading her, unwilling to shove her towards the shadows that insisted on pulling the young adventurer towards them at an alarming pace.

          But, the promise in that smile, in her words settled his doubts. Her quiet confidence for one so little, still doe-eyed and untried made him believe that she could face whatever was going to be thrown at her. Hope, in a strange way.

          She might not be a Warrior of Light now... but...         

          “Trionfi Fortuna... and...” He searched his memory. ”Kiri?”

          The little carbuncle purred, tilting its head, its ears flopping over.

          The Commodore nodded. “You may serve in their absence. Make your preparations, then with all haste, make your way to Swiftperch and lend your strength to the squads I can spare.”       

          “I’ll head out now! And don’t you mean,” she grinned, the light of a teleporting spell glowing faintly in her hand. “Swift-ly make your way over?”

          “Trionfi...”

          “I’m going, sir!” She giggled, her body winking away as she winked. “I’m going!”

          Above, the rain began to drum against the roof.

~*~

Fraeloef – The Cat-valry

          The clouds above cast a shadow as long as the aetheryte over Swiftperch.

          Through-out the day, they had gathered. Slowly, ominously, as if the sky itself were being forced to set a particular stage, a curtain of rain falling over the sleepy little haven. And if it weren’t enough that the air was filled with tension from the unusual storm, the word that the South Tide Gate was under attack sent a shiver of unease through the townsfolk.

          However, Aleport was between them and the nest of the Sahagin with a larger contingency of Jackets, as well as the numerous armed forts that dotted the area. Surely, if the assault would spread far, that they would not need to worry over much, both for the lack of resources their town had to offer and the amount of resistance the scale-backs would meet en route.

          That was the logic Fraeloef held to, trying to keep spirits high in the drizzle, as the people tried to keep to their routines.

          Well, that was until a very familiar miqo’te popped into existence right beside him, letting out an indignant squawk when she was immediately pelted with rain.

          He’d recognized her, because who else ran around so often with their carbuncle like a scarf, but it was Lyulf who called out first. He stood up from his rushed work protecting his garden, blinking in shock.

          “Miss Fortuna?”

          The arcanist turned to him, grinning wide as the little beasty fanned its tail out and holding it above both their heads like an umbrella.

          “Good afternoon, Lyulf! Just dropping in!”

          “Hah, quite a day to visit, miss.” He grinned. There was relief there too, one the Yellowjacket could sympathize with. “Were you the one that brought this storm in?”

          “I hope not. That’d be a...” Fraeloef could feel a headache. “Cat-tastrophy!”        

          “Lass, no please.” He interrupted, drawing both their attention to him.

          “Sorry, Mister Fraeloef, sir.” She was most definitely not sorry. “To business, then, if I may? Reyner asked us to assist you in defense of the town.”

          At that, the roegadyn couldn’t help but double take. The Commodore sent the girl in as the cavalry? Just her? Not that he doubted the girl’s enthusiasm, but he had his concerns about her capabilities and the fact that the man had only sent one person. “You sure you’re up to it?”

          She nodded, both sets of ears bobbing as her carbuncle let out a little purr. “We are! We’ll do everything we can to help to protect everyone here.”

          Simple inspiration, but he could see the stars re-forming in Lyulf’s eyes again at his hero’s proclamation. A few others picked up on their conversation, relief appearing on some, a bit of apprehension and concern for the girl, but everyone remembered the sweet little miqo’te who tumbled in to try and help their little town. That she was back again in the pouring rain, lending a hand to the Yellowjackets seemed to weave a string of calm through the unease in a way his reassurances couldn’t seem to.         

          Well, if she’s certain and it helps the townspeople...

          He sighed, nodding. “Alright, lass. Get settled in. We’re still waiting on the extra troops the Commodore is sending, but if you need to prepare or anything, now’s the time.”

          Trionfi’s eyes lit up, and she giggled, before rounding on the farmer. “Yes, sir! Lyulf, did you need help with... whatever it was you’re doing?”

          “Uhh, just... setting some mulch to protect the plants?”

          “Let us help! It’ll go ‘mulch’ faster with two people and a carbuncle!”

          With the adventurer occupied dragging the hapless hyur, Fraeloef found himself placing a hand to his forehead, trying to fight the throbbing at his temple from her insistent word-play.

          It couldn’t have been more than half a bell later when the delicate whistle of more teleporting filled the air, a wall of bright yellow dropping in and familiar voice calling out.

          “Fraeloef!”         

          “Ryssfloh, sir.” He saluted the older roegadyn as he approached, the rest spreading out. “Good to see you.”

          “Wish it were under better circumstances. Anything to report?”

          “No, as far as we know the Gate is still being held, but we’ve seen nothing over here.”

          “Then, hope is still with us that this is just a one off.”

          Despite the more seasoned soldier’s words, the fact the Ryssfloh was even here meant the Commodore believed otherwise. A glance at the others who had arrived, a combination of new and some old faces, the full spread of classes across them, only cemented it.

          Fraeloef pursed his lips, performing the Maelstrom salute, “Understood, sir.”

          The man turned, giving a few orders to the troops, taking command and shoring up their defenses. Nothing loud enough to break the calm or inspire panic, but clear enough that there was going to be a fight. A few more minutes, before he turned back. “Did our reinforcement come in, Frae?”      

          “Yes, about that, sir...”

          He gestured over to Lyulf’s little starting plot. Trionfi was handing over the shovel she was using back to the farmer, stretching some while her carbuncle clung for dear life, still dutifully keeping its tail up and failing to keep the rain off its mistress.

          Ryssfloh’s eyebrows flew up, and before Fraeloef could say anything, the other man was already bellowing, “Well now! This IS a surprise! Miss Fortuna, fancy seein’ you out here!”

          At her name, he saw the arcanist jolt and whip around, and this time, her carbuncle did fall off with a squeal. She caught the thing just in time, though, one arm holding it like a plush while the other waved wildly in recognition.

          “Mister Ryssfloh!” She turned, saying something to the farmer, before running over to join them. She bobbed a little curtsey. “It’s good to see you!”         

          “You, too, little miss!” He laughed, crossing his arms. It was like night and day, the face the man put on when dealing with newbie adventurers versus his troops. The more fond of one he was, the friendlier and louder he got. “When Reyner said he’d sent reinforcements, didn’t expect it to be you.”

          “Well, I figured, since I was already there, I could come help.”

          “So you did. What have you been up to lately?”

          She launched a bit in to a story. Something about deliveries and a ship and pirates, things his fellow soldier nodded enthusiastically, but with a look of someone who already knew what was going on. Like, he’d already heard whatever it was and was none bothered by hearing it again, despite his innocent question. Curious.

          “Ryssfloh, sir,” He interjected when their back and forth slowed, turning to the man curiously. “You know the lass?”

          “Aye!” Rysssfloh grinned, patting the girl hard enough on the back that she pitched forward a bit. “Nearly a moon and a half ago, weren’t it, that you walked off that boat shouting about being the greatest carbuncle summoner?”

          The girl went scarlet, flailing as she tried to both hide and signal the man to cease. “Ssss-sshh, Mister Ryssfloh!”

          His fellow officer was laughing uproariously, shaking his head as he gave a thumbs up. “You bear little resemblance to that wide-eyed whelp I met fresh off the ferry, lass. ‘Specially if Rey’s trusting you to watch our backs.”

          Trionfi pouted, and he laughed again. But, Fraeloef was surprised to see his expression go soft; the same look he had when he talked about his little sister and all the hard work she was doing in her research. “Well, I suppose, you know just as well as we do the importance of this place. Millioncorn and wheat, huh?”

          The Moon Keeper blinked, before nodding with a grin. “Millioncorn and wheat, sir.”

          And, weren’t it just a little odd that right at that moment, the rain ceased. Sort of. In the town proper, at least, like the eye of a storm... just outside the gates it was still coming down. Harder, now, as if it was a curtain to hide the town from any that would try to look inside.

          As if stirred by a force other than nature.

          Fraeloef saw Ryssfloh’s eyes narrow as he glanced up at the sky, before he turned towards the gate. A rough, salt-worn voice carried loudly, interrupting everything.

          “‘Ere now, I thought all them Yellowjacket worms was meant to be busy!”

          A group of Reavers, the blue of their face paint stark against their pallor, drowned-toned skin. Malicious grins, and axes on their backs, they walked in from the arms of the storm as if on a mere stroll and not ready to assault a small town.

          The townsfolk started running to their homes, scrambling to get out of the way and out of the sight. Lyulf called out specifically for the arcanist to be careful as she yelled back at him to hide.

          Fraeloef and his fellow Jackets moved forward to stand between the people and the pirates. Ryssfloh made his way front and center, Trionfi at his heels, the two of them wearing furious expressions as she let her hissing carbuncle down and lightly placed her hand to grimoire.

          There’s a wry smile on the older man’s face. “Seems Swiftperch was the main target, ‘eh? Baderon’s instincts at it again. And thanks to Sev, too.”

          She nodded, her ears flat against her head, tail shaking with anger. All of them kept their eyes on the thralls as they came to a stop just a few yalms away.

          The one in the middle was obviously the leader of this damned operation. The biggest and meanest looking of them, his head full shaved and more scales than skin. He sneered as the sight of them. “That useless scrag ain’t followed the plan, ‘as ‘e.”

          One of his left hands frowned. Fraeloef straightened under his stare, the soulless eyes scanning the Yellowjackets line. “Now what? Pull back and wait for our Sahagin brothers?”

          The leader spat. “Piss on that! We ain’t turning back empty handed!”

          There was the hissing of metal and fluttering of wood and pages as everyone on either side started to bring their weapons to bear. And beneath it all, a low sound that vibrated in the air. A rumble.

          “Remember, no killin’ the small folk, or it’ll be your blood what stains Lord Leviathan’s altars!” He taunted, twirling his axe in his hand. “The yellow bellies ye can butcher at will! Them dirt eatin’ slugs’ll be crushed under th’ ful might o’ th’ Serpent Reavers!”

          The rumble got louder, deeper than thunder, and it took Fraeloef a minute to realize Trionfi and her carbuncle were growling. The fur on both of them had gone sharp, spiked, and her lips were pulled back in a frightening expression on a girl that normally smiled. Her fingers were dancing with aether against a page in her book, the symbols lit and her palm filled with a violent purple.

          Ryssfloh let out a little exhale. “Lass?”

          “I will not let them break.” She was still there enough to respond, luckily. Though her gaze, with her pupils as pinpricks, eyes bright green and piercing pink, never broke from the enemy before them. "Lyulf. This town. I won't let these Reaver break them."

          “Good. Not one bloody ilm.”

          “Not one bloody ilm.”

          Her hand was lightning, the air filled with the smell of skin burning with miasma and a cry of pain, and Fraeloef threw himself in to the fray.

Chapter Text

            “Miss ‘ealer!”

            An address that Y’shtola had not thought she would return so soon to hear again.           

            She had thrown wide open the door to the Summerford Farm’s mess hall, each slamming against their respective walls with a bang that shook the room. A dozen and a half pairs of eyes turning towards her, a familiar trio addressing her specifically, recognizing her fearsome expression and stern countenance. She imagined she must have looked a sight, drenched from head to toe, the flickering of lightning behind her as she stared at the lot of them, unable to keep the furious determination from her face.

            And, indeed, she was just so. She did not expect to visit the sleepy abode this soon. And for the same reason she had several weeks ago, once more dire straights. She looked over the crowd before zeroing in on the roegadyn leader and uttered one thing.

            “Trionfi.”

            Everyone went pale. Staelwyrn frowned before turning to an elezen wearing a chocobo apron. “Abelia.”

            “SIR! This way, Miss!” She shot up and ran out in to the rain, Y’shtola hot on her heels towards the stables.

            Were that she had another option on hand than utilizing a Porter. But, it could not be helped; not with how limited her options and time.

            It was Sevrin who had been sent to inform her of Trionfi’s return and subsequent mission. The news of the attack on Drydocks the night prior and then the attack on the Gate this afternoon had rippled in the web of the upper echelons, so naturally she had caught wind of it. That would have been enough to send her flying with the news of the Beastmen’s involvement. Y’shtola imagined she would have eventually found her way over to assist.

            She should have bet that Trionfi would have also been dragged in.

            A rare miscalculation, one she would address with all haste. When the foundling had found her, more than half-a-bell after initial word, the look in his wide and frightened eyes told her all she needed to know, even without the name and explanation from his lips. Dread sinking in her stomach, she reached out through the aetheryte network and found Swiftperch blocked. An attempt to connect canceled nigh on immediately, dropping her back down with the heavy thump of both feet and frustration. 

           The Sahagin do NOT have the power block aetheryte travel! Not by themselves!

            And of course, it is a lonely little place. Out of the way, out of sight and mind for many, and had barely any teleportation or foot traffic. Most only there for a spell and a sync, and then gone again. Had things gone to plan, no one would have noticed. Not until the Jackets there failed to report in, or someone unluckily stumbled upon them, and by then, it would have been too late.           

            It was a good thing they did not block anywhere else. Too noticeable, too obvious... but, while Aleport would be closer, she ran the risk of being dropped right in the fray of battle. The doors possibly blocked, becoming a target herself if Sahagin were abound. There was only one other option, if she was going to intercede in the path Trionfi was getting dragged towards.           

            The Porter was frantically unlocking the door. “Did you have a preference, Miss Rhul?”

            “Just the fastest, please.”

            “That would be...” The woman exhaled a laugh as the door gave way to her push. “That would be Storm, then. Of course.”           

            Y’shtola cracked a smile, holding firm to her concentration as she mapped the path she would take in her mind. Back to the damned cliff again, but shoot past the canyon. Push fast, push hard, make for the border lined by the plateaus, and rush down the hill, and pray to the Twelve and Mothercrystal both that she was not too late.

            It was funny. That she would, in the midst of her investigations, get so distracted and concerned about the well-being of one adventurer. Oh, but Trionfi was... odd. It was difficult not to be amused, charmed, and perturbed all at once, and granted, the possibility of her Echo was something Y'shtola would unashamedly admit was the absolute thing that put her front and center. Also, the girl’s penchant for helping and getting in to all strange manners of trouble, despite the seeming insurmountable odds... and WINNING, all but ensured there was no way she could be missed. And whether or not she meant to, and she was going to draw the attention, both the well-meaning and ill-willed.

            Something we can help steer some, should she end up joining us, but first, must needs actually ensure she survives.

            Her eyes roamed the stalls, searching till she found the one marked for the bird she sought. Above the door, a feathered head eyed her curiously, brilliant blue eyes blinking, wide and awake and unmoved by its name sake thundering outside.

            It let out a little wark in greeting, and her hand fell to the latch.

            Ahead of her, the woman turned at the sound of metal clinking, her hands clasped about a leather belt strap. “I can saddle ‘im up for you, Miss.”

            “No need.” The bird had no lead, no reigns, but he obeyed readily enough, as if he knew what she was seeking. And she would not question the good fortune of his immediate obedience following her to the door. “I shall release him whence I have reached her.”

            He lowered, allowing her to pull herself upon it, before it shot out of the stable and the gates with a cloud of hay and feathers in its wake.           

            The ride dragged. The sky continued its ceaseless weeping, her field of view shortening, the roads getting muddier. And then, she felt it- a twist in the river of aether that carried even this far. Unmistakable the direction, it swelled and pinched and tore and Y’shtola dug her heels just a bit more into the bird’s sides. Urging Storm to go faster, please, and he responded with the drop of its head and a kick of his heels, wings out as it moved from a run to a sprint.           

            On either side, the view was naught but a blur, and Storm saw the edge before she did, his legs bending in preparation, and she clung tight in response. Leaping off the cliff’s side, the bird landed an impressive distance away from their launch point, and that much closer to their destination. And closer to the heavy pull in the air, the sky above going from dark blue grey to a deep, consuming amaranthine.

            “Of course she would be at the eye of this storm...” She muttered. “Where else would she end up?”

            As they reached the top of the hill, she felt her chocobo falter, its bravery challenged by the tension that filled the air. Just ahead, the town, veiled in a cloud of that self-same devouring purple, the rain giving way to a mist that all but isolated the town from prying eyes and warning those with weak constitutions to stay away.           

            Y’shtola Rhul of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, of course, was no such person.

            Given that her chocobo wasn’t human, she couldn’t fault it for stopping short a few yalms away. Where the clouds and booming noise above did not deter him, the monsterous, blood-curdling roar that suddenly filled the air send Storm fluffing and squawking in hesitation. She shushed the yellow-feathered beast, soothing him only briefly before dismounting. “Go back, Storm, I can go from here.” And she sprinted without looking back.

            Forward, forward, the rain slowing to nothing the closer she got, filling with the gravity of miasma and thickening void, and she pulled out her wand. And just like her approach at the canyon, the whistling of spells and barking growls fast fading, and the conjurer wondered again if the girl was to be lucky a second time or would she stumble into carnage.

            “Whence springs your preternatural might?!”

            A shout. Layers on that shout, the echoing voice of a familiar foe, but mired by... ahh, wait, was that fear? Never had the Sun Seeker ever even thought she had heard those of their ilk sound so afraid, but this one seemed quite frightened and full of disbelief...

            She dashed through the gate in time to see why.

            A pale beast, a demon, a harbringer of the void. With wings and blades the size of its arms in either hand; with claws and teeth and standing twice as tall as the golem. A terrifying vision, dwarfing the tiny miqo'te and her summon by a dozen fulms.

            It took one large, intimidating step, before it... crumpled at Trionfi’s feet.

            Well, Y'shtola pondered with amusement, How far this little ingénue hath come in so short a time.                      

            The arcanist had a few tears in her clothing, but aside from being out of breath, seemed not the worse for wear. Her emerald carbuncle stood at her side, bright and brilliant and ever with the heroes of yore, both with their backs to her, silhouetted against the light of the aetheryte. Her hand out again, thrumming with light as the traces of her Ruin spell finished its effects, the beast's very life force soundly snuffed out, drowned and torn apart and rendered thus. Never mind the fact that it had been just girl and summon alone, without a Yellowjacket in sight, who felled it.

           Carnage, indeed, not of the arcanist, but BY the arcanist.

            And some yalms away was her remaining opponent. Though his mask hid his expression, his body told all. The masked mage shivered, taking a momentary step back as he regarded the little Moon Keeper and her pet with awed disdain.

            "You..." He growled. "Who ARE you?"

           "Why, the Greatest Carbuncle Summoner ever." Trionfi was all cheek. Even with her ears pressed flat against her head, every bit of fur on end in clear distress, she seemed to combat such emotions with a jovial countenance tinged with fury. The hold on her book tightened as she regarded him. "Who are YOU?"

           A gloved hand flew up, burning with dark aether. "Your demise, little girl!"

           "NO!" Y’shtola sprang forward. "She does not stand against you alone, foul shadow!"           

            That this lesser shade of its masters was not running this time, seeking to instead challenge the adventurer. Perhaps he thought her weakened now after facing the demon. Or even that fear she sensed in his words was pushing him to try to eliminate her here and now. Before she became a problem in whatever dastardly plan they were concocting, before she became strong enough to challenge anyone else, because gods the girl just took down a voidsent by herself.

            I'll not let them tear her down when she hath just begun to shine!

           Earth magic responded to her call, and she flung the largest rock she could muster as she ran in. It missed, the hooded man jumping from her targeted spot, but it mattered not. Interruption was her game, and getting him away from her the goal- she had made it less dense, and it exploded on impact with the ground. Dust and dirt kicked up in a thick cloud, blinding him, screeching and coughing from her offensive as he stopped his spell and backed off.

           Trionfi whipped around. "Y-Y'shtola?"

           She gave the arcanist a wry smile as she came up beside her. The reprieve she bought them was small, just enough for her to take slightly better stock of the young woman's condition. Eyes are clear, no concussion, but clearly lacking sleep. No wounds, bar that small cut on her cheek...

           "Where did you..." She sputtered, "When did... how find...?"

           "Questions later, oh Greatest Carbuncle Summoner." A delicate wave of her wand, and tiny wound vanished. The Moon Keeper blinked awake, her hand coming up to touch the butterfly gingerly, where the cut had been. A vain fix, Y'shtola could admit, but anything to give the girl a boost. "Our business is not yet finished. Are you two able to go a second round?"

           "It matters not how many you are!"

           She grabbed the smaller miqo'te about the waist, her ears filled with a surprised yelp as she yanked her out of the path of a blast of fire, just barely singeing both their tunics from the residue heat. The masked mage stood, growling as he prepared another assault. 

           "All shall fall before me!"

           "Says the man who ran away last time..." Trionfi mumbled under her breath, and Y'shtola could not help but chuckle. The two of them straightened, and though the Moon Keeper still gave off an air of exhaustion, she still seemed to have enough energy to give an entertained little smirk. "We can keep going. Can you cover us?"

           A smirk that Y'shtola found she could only meet with equal enthusiasm. "Of course."

           "Thank you. KIRI!"

            "Mrrrr!"

           Y'shtola fell back as arcanist and fae beast threw themselves forward in to formation.

           At first, the two had some difficulty. Maybe from the fact they were handling a very different kind of opponent than they had faced before- one that was able to cast magic just as she could. Stay at a distance and still cause harm. A point made poignant by a blizzard spell that burst from the man's wand, Trionfi screeching from the sudden chill and burning ice on her skin. Y'shtola rushed to sooth and banish the effect with her healing, esuna and cure flying out in succession, concern writ as the adventurer re-centered herself.

         But, green and pink eyes narrowed. Focused. And the Moon Keeper took a deep breath.

         Trionfi danced.

         There was really no other word for it. With her book clutched tight in her hands, palm pressed to a page, she strafed and pivoted, and neatly side-stepped a spell mere ilms before it hit. Her tail twined out of the way, hand flying out with a charged spell in retaliation as she came back around. Backing up with a skip, evaded his next attack, hissing slightly when the frost nearly touched her toes, but did not pause her prepping of another spell. Kiri weaved her wind blades and blasts between. She blinked again, and even in the dim light and mist, it was hard not to notice how her pupils seemed to shift in size, zeroing in on another spot and moving just before his attack hit. And this is how it went- every step delicate and purposeful as she dodged fireballs and icicles on elegant twists and tip-toes mere moments before they landed.

         A far cry from the stumbling about she had done so many suns ago in the grotto against the gobbue. No wonder she was able to fend against the demon.

         The thrall certainly was not expecting such trouble from her. Her strikes might not have been frequent, what with her focus on evasion, but the amount of aether she was pouring into each spell made sure her every hit count. Her handling (or self-aware personality, Y'shtola suspected) of her carbuncle was near automatic, and did not let up on her own interference. And the mage couldn't seem to touch the arcanist at all. Frustration manifested as his attacks became more haphazard, more sloppy. His aether weakened, his form growing haggard- Trionfi was winning against an opponent that so many veterans would have had a problem with, and Y'shtola had not done much beyond the occasional cure for close calls. She found herself suitably impressed and the robed man suitably perturbed. "What is this?! No mortal should have this kind of power!"

          "What?" Trionfi quipped, laughing as she dipped out of the way of a flame. Her fingers toyed with a ball of violet and green before launching it. "You haven't seen an arcanist before?"

          "Foolish child, your carelessness will be your undoing! The wisdom of the Paragons will not be brought low by the likes of you!"

          Y'shtola frowned. The Paragons? Then, it truly is as we feared... Full glad was she that their foe was so talkative the more unraveled he became. It was not often such information was gifted so quickly nor so obviously-

         Trionfi stumbled.

         The mage had brought his staff back, arm winding about his hip in a familiar position. Sparks, bright and purple gathered at the tip, and she took a step back. Uncertainty, her ears pinned back, hands hesitating on her page. Her eyes narrowed. "'Th-...thunder?' Y'shtola?"

         "Earth magic!" To her beck and call, against the hooded mage, she summoned forth another stone. Large. Larger, please! "To me, if you have none!"

         "Not me!" Trionfi pressing her hands to the cover. Crystals, each engraved with a mark of speed, grew and swirled about her with a sharp whistle. Swiftcast.* "RIKU!"

         Kiri flipped, purring as she burst in to stars, a galaxy of aether and power that surrounded the arcanist and slipped in to the page she had turned to. The floating runes swirled and merged with it, ink and aether and light combining faster than a blink, pressing and humming loud enough that Y'shtola could practically see the shift without her goggles. Smoothly grasping the sun-bright spell, the shift of gears and the speed did not hinder her... Nay, it was just another step in her performance.

         The hooded mage was still charging, though from his most awkward grunts, it was clear he was nervous and rushing. Trionfi took the sphere in hand, controlled as she prevented it from casting. She squinted harder. What is she looking at? "I... I think... we have time enough to actually stop the cast!"

          Y'shtola risked a glance. "What makes you say that?"         

         "Ju-just a hunch! But, we gotta move!" The Moon Keeper grinned at her. "You ready to 'rock?'"

         She laughed. Amazing was the girl, keeping her summon in its pre-formed state without a sweat, where the Conjurer could feel a touch of dampness on her forehead from keeping her stone from collapsing or launching from her hands.

          Minfilia, yes, this girl is my candidate. "Only if my dear partner is ready to 'roll.'"

          "Let's bring this guy back down to earth!"        

          They moved as one. Y'shtola huffed and heaved her rock forward. Trionfi, amusingly, wound her arm up, stepped back, and pitched her spell forward.

          There was grunt and cry as her rock connected, this time not missing as she knocked his arm from position, the sickening snap of dislocating (or breaking, she wasn't entirely sure which she was hoping for) bone, but to her disappointment, he was stubborn. The spell was still building even as he limply held his arm up with his uninjured one. A screech followed up, however, Riku bursting from his ball. Giant, golden furious beast that used the momentum to built by his mistress to get closer to their foe, and the distraction and pain the healer had caused to grasp...

          ...the wand?

         Like a dog playing a particularly vicious game of fetch, he grasped the oversized stick with his teeth as he flew past, yanking it out of his hand and pulling it well out of reach. The man yelped, thunder completely interrupted now without his source of focus and with one arm unusable, vulnerable now. Twisting in the air, Riku made an about face, landing some fulms away. Slammed a little paw into the ground, brilliant, gleaming topaz vines erupting at his command and stampeded towards his target. They split and spread, crawled and crackled, surrounding the mage before bursting in to circle of hardened, crystal earth. It crawled and crept, up, up, and over his feet and up his ankles, rooting him in place.

            "Y...You!!" He grasped at a thigh, trying to yank out his legs, for purchase on the smooth crystal encasing them, or anything. Sans wand, sans two hands, sans movement, his options were few. A realization that caused a familiar sign, a red sigil, appear before his face- a last ditch attempt, dark mist erupting from his body. The air turned stale, his corruption leaking once more as he accessed his borrowed magics.

          Y'shtola cried out, tugging once more on the elements. "Finish him before he tries ought!"

          He laughed maniacally, more smoke emerging, and Trionfi wrestled for another page. Pushed her aether again, rushing to get the spell out as a portal slowly began to emerge...

          Cracking. The sound of glass shattering slowly, and the Sun Seeker caught the angry eye of the Topaz Carbuncle as he brought his head around and slammed the stone of the staff against the golden crystal. A crash, a piece breaking off, large and long. Sharp, rising from the ground, levitating. A spear.

          A flicker of gold...

          and one end burst through the mage's chest, red dripping from its tip.

~*~

          Y'shtola did not turn her back on either their fallen foe nor the arcanist. Not even an ilm of relaxation. Not until she saw the mist fade and the sky clear. Not until Riku's trap had released and the crystal dispersed. Not until she saw the corpse hit the ground. Not until she was absolutely certain Trionfi wasn't going to hit the ground following a fight for a third time.

          Instead, a heartbeat after the sky, the field, the town had cleared, the sun setting over the horizon, the younger miqo'te was rushing past-

          "...'scuse me!"

          -quickly bending over a bush, and poorly trying to muffle her retching.

          The Scion blinked. Riku, whatever fury had taken him to take such a drastic and fatal move, dropped his snapped weapon in favor of checking on them. Well, Trionfi, really. His glance over to her and subsequent... nod meant that he was probably satisfied that their healer was fine, and took to expressing comfort for his summoner. Sitting beside her, tail wrapped gently around one ankle as she heaved and gagged while her lunch escaped.

          At that, Y'shtola did look away, both to give the girl a bit of privacy and dignity, and to check her pockets for tinctures or potions to help. As long as the girl was making noise, she could be certain she was not fainting. "Take your time, dear."

          "'ppreciate it! S-sorry!" Gasping. "Just... everything caught up at once..."

          Y'shtola paused, tugging out a flask of water and one of ether. Her gaze fell on to their surroundings, the calm now allowing her to properly assess the field they had been fighting upon. She would need to for her reports, both for the Scions and for Limsa Lominsa. With the clouds and darkness cleared, she could see bodies strewn about. No Yellowjackets among the lot, luckily. All were of Reavers, their drowned-blue forms paler in the sun. While some sported clear signs of blade cuts, both of axes and daggers, there were more than a few that sported scorched flesh, burned violet and poxed. Miasma spells, ones that the conjurer could only assume were enhanced by angry will gone awry. No doubt the cause of demise for more than a few.

          Oh.

          A glance to their final opponent, his body motionless, lifeless, a giant hole through his chest. A tad gruesome, but whether the move had been entirely self-governed or a vestige of some command Trionfi had subconsciously given or a bit of both, it was effective. And not entirely unwarranted, either, if Y'shtola was being honest with herself- putting down the one orchestrating of the mass of kidnappings was nothing minor. Many people were going to sleep a lot better tonight, and Minfilia was going to be pleased with the conclusion of their investigation and the sound proof their hunch was correct. 

          But, that is neither here or now. There was time enough first to make sure a certain trouble magnet was hearty and hale enough to release from her impromptu care. She waited patiently till Trionfi had been reduced to just deep inhales and light dry-heaves, offering her the water first as she returned. "Here."

          "Thank you..."

          "... was this your first time taking someone's life?"

          Trionfi stopped mid sip. Apprehensive, a distinct unease as her ears flicked with unease. Dragged out the pause with a spot of rinsing, but Y'shtola was content to give the girl time to answer. A few more minutes of waiting. Riku still had not vanished, which meant the girl was still to rights, still remaining under foot as he kept to her without jumping up as they were normally ought to do. 

          "I..." She finally began, rolling the neck of the bottle between her fingers have a particularly long drink. "Yes. Not that I wasn't sad about the gobbue either. But, this was... different. They were trying to hurt people. He was trying to... kill me. Even at the Drydocks, with how angry that pirate had been, they..." Trionfi paused. Turned her gaze down. Y'shtola waited. "They stopped. The masked man wouldn't stop. Baderon and Sevrin... said they, the Reavers... wouldn't stop."

          She let out a shaky sigh, "So. I had to make them stop.'" and took another drink.

          "You did." The conjurer looked at the line of bodies again: strewn, yes... but, not one of them had gotten much farther than a fulm beyond the awning in to the town. Impressive, considering how many there were, and no doubt the Yellowjackets were also a force to deal with on their own. Unbidden, Y'shtola could not help but give in to the urge to pat the younger miqo'te on the head, shocking her out of her sip as she looks up. "And thanks to you, Swiftperch is whole and safe, and this will no doubt bring an end to the string of kidnappings. You should be proud."

          "Hnm."

          "And if it helps, you can think of their ilk as... well, not quite human." Y'shtola moved her hand, maneuvering the girl's head now that she seemed settled. Turning this way and that to get a better look at the girl's extent of her injuries. Three battles back-to-back, even with a small touch of mending between- she dropped the ether in the girl's free hand as she continued. "They gave up any trace of their humanity when they allowed themselves to join hands with savage beings, as you well remember your little foundling escaped. Kidnapping, slavery and human trafficking, amongst other monstrous deeds. They have no care for much else beyond their own ends and those of their Masters."

          "The Paragons, right...?" Trionfi asked, straightening. She seemed eager to move beyond her nauseous episode, latching on to the slight shift in subject and pouring her full concentration in to it. And despite Y'shtola's reluctance to move on from assuring the girl, if this is what she needed at the moment, she would oblige. "Or, no wait- The Sahagins own the Reavers. Only the masked man..." She frowned again. "What's a 'Paragon?'"

          Y'shtola sighed. Of course the man's blathering would also be caught by the young woman. But, perhaps, better sooner than later to explain to her. And this was part of obliging, and should things go to plan, Trionfi would need to be availed in full anyways. But, carefully, Y'shtola. That is a ways away. One piece for now. She put on a reassuring smile.

            “Paragons... they are the Bringers of Chaos. Or Ascians, if we want to be proper.” Just the basics, and as distant as possible- no need to let on how much danger the kitten had been in, despite how easy she handled it. Jumping from a voidsent right directly in to their highest suspects... She leaned over to pop the cork off the concoction, gently guiding Trionfi's hand up in a silent order to drink and replenish her energy. “Not something I want you to worry too far much about, little one. Just be rest assured that they are being looked in to."        

            Before she drank, Trionfi asked, “Have you Sharlayans encountered these Ascians before?”

            “Once or twice, but never quite like thi-”

           Y'shtola froze. The young adventurer was eyeing her curiously, throat bobbing as she dutifully drank the healing potion but didn't let up on her stare. The Sun Seeker pulled away, tapping her cheek thoughtful as she mentally combed every conversation (a total of three, really) for when she would have mentioned anything of her past. She could not have, could she? She had always prided on herself on being prudent, being careful with conversation, with information. That she would let something slip was unlikely. And those who knew of her in Limsa would not spread the information so freely, either. The only other option...

           “I have... never spoken to you of my homeland." She answered slowly, frowning. "How did you know from whence I hail?”

          Trionfi's dark tail slowly swayed back and forth in amusement at her question. The kind of sway that gave kittens away when they were play hunting- Mhitra often acted the same when she sought information, delighted when she learned something new that aligned with her ideas. And as heterochromatic eyes flicked to her goggles, there was a vague shrug and an innocent smile. No words, just a soft hum.

          But, that was all the answer Y'shtola needed. There could be no mistake now. The Echo. It has to be. She must have seen a vision... She knows the aether-sight goggles are Sharlayan, and she knows I am, too. Perhaps I have been too free with my enthusiasm for the new technology that has emerged from our home.  Minfilia was going to be ecstatic.

          That just left her with this awkward conversation. A newbie dragged far too deep, too quick and with too many questions and with Y'shtola not enough leave to give answers. The Mothercrystal would not be kind enough to possibly interrupt with a vision now to save her, would she?           

          Improvise, Y’shtola.            

          “Ah. I do begin to see.” She settled for a bit of truth, anyway. Trionfi perked up a bit, frowning, but she pressed anyway. "You have been blessed with a special gift."

          "G-gift?"

          "Indeed."

          She laughed. "I don't know if I call fainting a gift, Y'shtola."

          "I...suppose that one way to consider it, but you would be surpris-"

          "MISS FORTUNA!"

          She snapped her mouth shut at the dual-voiced cry, relief flooding her veins though she kept her expression even. Thank you, Ryssfloh and random farm boy. Thank you, Hydaelyn. Saved just in time by the timely emergence of the town's folk and return of the Yellowjackets. Instead of continuing, Y'shtola took advantage of the distraction and turned her attention to ensuring Trionfi was suitably straightened out, looking not too worse for ware, pressing the stoppers to each bottle and patting her hair down. Riku quickly clamored up his mistress' shoulder and wrapping himself around her neck, looking quite haughty as he cast his onyx eyes over the growing crowd. Trionfi had barely enough time to store her potions before the Yellowjackets reached her first.

           "Thank the Navigator you're alright, lass." Ryssfloh was out of breath- blonde braids damp with perspiration beneath his helm as he gasped every other word. Behind him, a small squad moved to secure the perimeter. "Had we known you'd be set upon, I'd've left you with a squad! Or six!"

           Y'shtola cast her gaze aside. Gone were all traces of the frazzled newbie, replaced with a calm smile and an elegant tilt of her head. Impressive. "I'm sorry I worried you, Ryssfloh, but, as you can see, everything is all right. And I had Miss Y'shtola's aid."        

           "Do not sell yourself so short, dear." The Conjurer wasn't about to let the girl play down her own contribution of three consecutive fights. Without even setting out to, she could see the hope budding slowly in the eyes of those here she had saved. "Despite what I am sure was a rather exhausting fight against the Reavers, you still held your own against both a voidsent and his summoner."

          "Aye, that she did!" The farmer piped in, waving his hands about wildly. Drawing the attention of all as he wove the tale he saw. "Ye shoulda been there, ser!! Didn't get to see much myself, what with her yellin'. 'GET BACK INSIDE!'" He went high pitched, everyone laughing at his imitation. "But, blimey! Miss Fortuna, that was a right scary beasty from what I saw! Bigger than you by malms! And twice as loud, most of us were shakin' in our homes!"

           A pause, the villagers all nodding in agreement.

          "But, ye saved us, Miss Fortuna!" He grinned. "You're a hero! Thank you!"

           "Yes, thank you!"

            "Thank you, madam adventurer!"

          A choir of more thanks followed, the rest of the townsfolk following the young man's lead and gathering around the girl, all the while Trionfi stuttered out her protests and denials. Y'shtola smiled, shaking her head before turning back to the Yellowjacket captain, walking past him some ways. He followed and once out of earshot of the civilians, she came to a stop. "By your return, am I to assume that the Sahagin's attack hath ceased?"

           "Aye, right as soon as the sky cleared off, they turned tail. We had heard the roar- loud enough to carry right over the cliffs, but by that point, we were too far and the scalebacks were fiercely preventing us from breaking off to come help." Ryssfloh's eyes narrowed behind her, and she followed. Some of the officers had gathered around the fallen mage, prodding and examining, with one compiling information as the body slowly dissolved in to purple mist. "But, as you say, Lady Y'shtola... she had it well in hand. I take, that over there is the one pulling the strings? Getting the Reavers to spirit folks in the dead of night and... making trouble?"

           "A trifle simplistic, but not inaccurate." There was a question in the man's eyes, one that had her crossing her arms as she gave him a wry little smile. "He had also the foresight to block off Swiftperch from the network with his storm, so I had to make my way over the old fashioned way. As for why you see his corpse before you, my guess is that he had, had enough of a certain adventurer's interfering." He cracked a small smile. "Of which, I am thankful. His hubris has brought an end to his terrorizing the people, this plot, as well as my investigation."

           Ryssfloh hummed. His voice dropped to a whisper, giving her a lifted eyebrow as he joined her in watching Trionfi escape her crowd and make her way over to them . "Hmmm... which investigation, Lady Y'shtola?"

           "Both." Y'shtola cleared her throat. A brief warning glance to his knowing smile, before turning her attention to the red-faced arcanist as she finally joined their little circle, one hand wrapped up in Riku's tail. "All done?"

           "Y-Yes." Trionfi sighed. "It seems like everyone's ok. And Fraeleof said they could handle the clean-up."

           "Aye, lass, you've done enough. Pretty sure we Yellowjackets can take it from here." Ryssfloh laughed, all boisterous energy again, seriousness giving way to relief and sheer joy at everything settling back to normal. And keeping her distracted, seeing as the mage's body had vanished, leaving behind a shattered violet crystal. "You had better get back and check in. I'm certain Baderon's worried, and I know Reyner will be grateful for your report."                   

           At his words, Trionfi released Riku's tail, all signs of her embarrassment vanishing as she gave the tall man a worried look. "Are you certain you don't need me to stay? Surely an extra pair of hands would make things more..." A grin. "...'swift?'"

           "HAH!" Ryssfloh let out a heart guffaw, shaking his head as she bounced a bit on her heels. A return to her puns a sure sign to Y'shtola that, yes, the girl was just fine now. "Get some rest, lass! We'll see you when we're done here. Try to stay out of trouble till then, aye?" At her nod, he turned to Y'shtola, offering her a deep bow and slight wink. "And, as always, Lady Y'shtola, your assistance is grately appreciated. Do... kindly give our regards to the Scions."          

           The conjurer twitched. He did not.

           But, the man slid out of range and back into the role of leader, ordering about his officers as they took stock and count and whatever else needed to be done to get Swiftperch going again. Leaving her to wait with bated breath for Trionfi to pounce on the little tidbit the Captain had dropped. But, whatever line of thought went through the arcanist's head, she seemed quite content to leave it at their by-play. Though her tail twined back and forth once more in hunt and her eyes were wide with curiosity, her mouth settled in a soft, harmless quirk of her lips. "I guess... this is where we part ways?"

           "Ahh, I am afraid so, though I wish were not so soon after reuniting." And truly, Y'shtola meant it. While not knowing the girl beyond fighting beside her, healing her, and the interest as an Echo user, on a personal level, she found herself enjoying the meager time spent with the young adventurer. Her energy and joy seemed boundless, and she would no doubt be an excellent addition to Scions. Should things go to plan, of course. But, even if not, she was looking forward to the next time they would meet. The Sun Keeper smiled fondly. "I have no doubt, however, we shall meet again. The thread of your fate weaves quite an interesting tapestry, Trionfi."

           "If you find out who I can speak to about making it less interesting, please send them my way?" Riku purred as she laughed at her joke, pressing his cheek to his summoner's, her eyes twinkling in the sunset as she cast Y'shtola happy smile. "Not that I'm not grateful to have met you or for the chance help people... but, less interesting would be nice for a little while."

           "I will see what I can do." Y'shtola teased. "Something smaller than a golem this time, not larger?"

           "Yesplease!"

           She sagely nodded, chuckling, before allowing her expression to turn serious once more. "Do not hesitate to speak with Baderon, however, should you feel you need to. You have witnessed a lot so quickly, and I would not have you relapse."

           "Or faint?"

           "Or faint. However, even though I cannot see you to the man himself, I can ensure your teleport is uninterrupted. Have you the energy?"

           Before Trionfi could respond, however, Riku very gently slid from her shoulders, dissolving in to a star-bright mist that sank in to her body. When it was just the two of them, she sighed, pouting. "Yes."

           Y'shtola held her commentary. Instead, bid the newly dubbed hero a goodbye as she too, winked from the town. Before pulling a sphere out of her pocket, thumb lifting from the button, and bringing in to her ear as she left the not-so-sleepy little town.

           "Good evening, Shtola! Another update so soon?"

           She smiled. A few more clicks, plus extra rustling that followed as the two of them were joined by the rest. "Good evening, Minfilia, everyone. And indeed. Are you, per chance, available to chat? I have quite an interesting report to give that simply cannot wait to be written."

           "I see... Shall I bring Tataru in to pen your words for this call?"

          "Please."

Chapter Text

          Water and sunlight. Good soil and tender care. Time, attention, maybe the occasional song. A smile, a hello, a good morning. A well wish, a whisper, a good night.

          Small things. Simple things. All the things a flower needs every day to ensure that it grows healthy and strong. Blooming bright and brilliant as its petals unfurl, each one colorful and unique, like fallen stars reaching up to touch sky.

          Like edelweiss.

          Like people.

          Like her. 

          So, really with the perfect storm (and there’s a pun somewhere in there she’s not going to touch,) it shouldn’t have come to a surprise that Trionfi was growing so quickly.

          “Shouldn’t ye be workin’?”  

          The question is snapped out, waspish, harsher than she had intended, but V’kebbe couldn’t take it back now. She clenches and unclenches her fist, eager to hold a stabber in her hand, if only to keep busy, but she’s out of the shadows and, despite not changing  entirely out of her the green of her guild, she’s not to wield them unnecessarily. So, she settles for the twist of cloth between her fingers and a twist of her head towards her company. Company she just snipped at.

          Gods, she felt a bit like a cur. Worse than one, considering the poor foundling was suffering just as much as she. More so, probably- with permission and a familiarity of the lay of the land, she had more leave and more skills than he did, what with him being a civilian and all. But, she wasn’t given leave. And while she had no problems pushing Jacke to let her have her way, this time... this time, he gave her the frostiest stare she’d ever see on him, and while they had a handle on the shadows, he needed her to bloody stay put. Just in case.

          So, here she was, with a now miffed Sevrin Poole at her side, standing in near the main aetheryte, watching. Waiting, with every blink of a teleport in not being the Moon Miqo’te they sought setting the two of them more and more on edge as the seconds ticked.

          The blonde is out of his busboy uniform, standing just as stiffly and anxiously besides, and giving her a frown for her attitude as he holds up a hand. Between his fingers, she can see the shimmering surface of a red linkpearl, the mark of the Adventurer’s Guild prominent even in the dimming sunlight.

          “I am.” The look his gives her is both withering and worrying She winces, his voice low and flat as the light in his eyes. “An’… shouldn’t ye be out there, Miss V’kebbe?”

          Ok, I deserve that. Cripes. “Wot, do I look like a Yellowjacket to ye?”

          “...No.” He scowls, and turns away.

          The way he says it means he had guessed she was a guildmember, but not which guild. Didn’t recognize the remnant of her outfit that she hadn’t bothers to change out of. Hadn’t caught on yet about I’tolwann, either. Which was just as well- he might be one of Baderon’s, but that didn’t give him access to all the Wench’s secrets. She nearly sighs until he continues, “But, I’d figured ye’d be the first out there tryin’ t’find ‘er in the all clear.”

          “I would but me job’s here.” Snapping again. Reign it in, Kebbe. A bit calmer, “And me guildmaster’s ropes’re pulled tighter than a corset. Least I can do is stay in range if he needs t’put me back t’work. Till then, though...”

          Till then, the two will wait. It seems to satisfy the hyur, and with everything ok again between them, V’kebbe is left back to wait with her thoughts and fluttering hands.

          Jacke’s the one who picked it, actually. The codename: Little Edelweiss, and doesn’t that just set off all sorts of alarm bells in her head.

          All coy and secretive the morning he returned from visiting the Wench and seeing her for himself. But, he looked at her, his second, his friend, with a melancholy in his eyes, a strain at the corners of his mouth even as he gave her a handsome, awful, brittle smile.

          He saw it, too.

          Trionfi’s footsteps were softer than shadows and lighter than air. Something that only veteran rogues, ones with years of experience and determination or thorough and talented teachers, mastered. Jacke, Underfoot, and even herself had to consciously think about making noise as they walked. Trionfi was just a few years younger than they, but there was nothing in Jacke’s subsequent research that implied any training between two parents who were veterans of guilds from Gridania for her to be able to do the same.

          She should not have been able to sneak up on Lonwoerd.

          V’kebbe had thought it merely a girl with natural talent, someone to pilfer for their ranks. Jacke saw otherwise. Little Edelweiss. The Arcanist’s little bird, little pearl, little newbie... was going to be their own little edelweiss someday. Should she choose, of course. Their doors would never close to her.

          But, tiny snow-white star clusters, all fluff and fur and wearing half a dozen little crowns... V’kebbe thinks that particular flower... doesn’t quite suit her.

          Or at least, not entirely. Not in the way the rest of the guild thinks it’s suppose to mark her- the innocent novice, the tenderfoot adventurer, one who had yet to earn her scars or stabbers, or to even step beyond their threshold. However, V’kebbe’s a stray and a rogue, not a bard or a florist, and she can’t seem to figure out what flower it is that does suit the girl, so ‘Little Edelweiss’ sticks because Jacke picked it and doesn’t bat an eyelash when she insists on being Trionfi’s tail after his glass smile sets her on edge.

          Don’t stifle her, he warned, but don’t be surprised if she grows more like a weed. Settin’ her roots here one minute before she’s been carried off th’next. The thread of fate is bound tight 'round that one.

          And this event, loud enough to put the whole of the city-state to a halt, would no doubt be the thing that lets that thread tie her to the spotlight.

          “How long’s it been since th’ all clear?” Sevrin’s voice interrupts her thoughts. Quiet this time, fingers pinched and pale gripping the linkpearl. 

          “’Bout a bell.” She replies, but fights to give him a little grin. “But, ye sent Miss Rhul after her, didn’t ye?” He nods, slowly, and V’kebbe feels her hands unwind just a touch more. “She should be fine. Miss Rhul’s th’ right sort, iffin’ a lil’ strange. But, she an’ ‘er coves’ ‘re strong, an’ wotever Trionfi’s facin’ out there, she’s got her.”

          Sevrin nods slowly, a small smile breaking across his lips. “A-aye. Baderon’s told me Miss Rhul might seem calm, but she’n hers, are ones you don’t mess wit.”

          “Sound pieces of advice. They even got one o’ ours in their ranks,” She laughs, but twists away with a hiss under her breath. “...never mind that he doesn’t even come by with so much as a ‘hello’ fer ‘is ‘sisters’ when he returns from wherever he vanished to fer ten years 'nd stays in th'bloody desert of all places...”

          “Pardon?”

          “Nothin’, love.”

          He doesn’t look like he’s ready to drop it, but the rogue is saved by the call of their names as a familiar figure comes around the large crystal.

          Trionfi, safe and sound, clothes a bit mussed up and torn here and there but there are no cuts, no bruises, no indication of what she went through as she gave the two of them an amused smile.

          “Awww, were you guys waiting for me? You didn’t have to.”

          That neither of her carbuncles are with her is concerning, but they dash over anyway, and she can hear Sevrin letting Baderon know of the update.

          “Well, yer th’ only one who got commissioned specifically by Reyner ‘imself, so a’course we were worried.” She hugged the girl tightly, looking her over closer now. Exhaustion, but relief in her bi-colored eyes. “It ain’t every day th’ scalebacks are so bold as to launch a blatant and complicated attack like that.”

          The Moon Keeper nods, before Sevrin informs them that Baderon wanted her to check in over there in lieu of Reyner being currently too occupied for a report, as he wanted hers personally delivered considering the circumstances.

          Something V’kebbe approves of because, despite the right as rain appearance, Trionfi still hasn’t called out her carbuncles, and that’s more than enough reason to usher her towards the elevator.

~*~

          The bar is surprisingly empty.

          Of course, what with the call for everyone to go to ground to avoid crowding the streets for Limsa’s soldiers and defenders, it was to be expected. Many choosing to board up in either their rooms or with their guilds, lending aid if they could and staying out of the way if not.

          Baderon, ever fulfilling his duty as a Guildmaster, stayed on call behind his counter, I’tolwann at his right. The two of them perked up and looking at the three of them anxiously.

          V’kebbe gave her fellow miqo’te a subtle nod as she and Sevrin both stayed on either side of their charge before giving the elder man a smirk. “Found ‘er!”         

          “That ye did.” Baderon gave a wide grin, though she could see he was worried poured his all in to keeping his appearance up. “Welcome back, lass.”

          “I’m glad to be back.” Trionfi’s smiled softly back. She didn’t sit, though, instead looking about the room with concern writ on her face. Her eyes had to have gone over at least twice before she spoke again. “Everyone... everyone here is safe, though?”

          “Aye. All th’ civilians have been ensconced. Yer flock may’ve been a might displeased ye got sent out again, but I told ‘em ye were in good hands an’ ye had look outs.” He tilts his head, frowning some as Trionfi remained silent and staring at the empty tables. “Is... everythin’ alright lass?”

          V’kebbe catches the slightest flick of her ears. Hesitation, the pause of her tail’s sway. Before she looks over to them all, a fragile smile on her face as she finally sits down.

          “... yeah. Just tired.”

          The rogue doesn’t believe that’s it, and by the look on the three others, none of them do so either. But, she’s had a night, a day, a week, and they let it slide.

          Instead, V'kebbe settles into a chair beside her, and complains to Sevrin about whatever comes to mind. The blonde scowls, bantering back and donning his apron as he hands off the linkpearl, while the bartender slides a cup of tea and a bowl of sugar cubes in front of the arcanist as he works his gift of gab. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to put the room back in to a semblance of its normal rhythm.

          And gradually, Trionfi’s smile shifts. A little more real, a little less forced, and she pipes in with worse puns as she latches on to their jokes, and eventually, V’kebbe thinks their little newbie will be finally be ok. They can’t be there all the time. Not as much as they want to for their friend, but when they can, they will, and that seems to be enough.

          It’s the sight of them all facepalming as Trionfi asks if Baderon can ‘guaran-tea’ that he’s going to rest after she’s reported in that the Commodore walks in to.

          Reyner, looking as though he had gone through the wringers himself, flanked on either side by a Yellowjacket (though one of them, a green-haired lalafell woman, rakes her eyes over V’kebbe’s clothes, and a curious look of disgust appears that the red-head has to hold back to call her out) steps in with an amused smile.

          “I see the attacks have yet to cease.”

          Baderon gives him a little smirk. “May need to rally th’ troops again, Reyner. This one’s not goin’ down easy.”

          Trionfi perked up, whirling around with excitement and relief. “Commodore!”

          “C-commodore, ser...” Sevrin, meanwhile, stuttered. Clearly still nervous, but he didn’t shy away like normal.

          V’kebbe only gives him a nod, leaning back against the bar as he approached, his officers shifting to more relaxed stances. The lalafell still hadn’t dropped her revulsion, only toned it down as Reyner continued, bowing deeply.

          “Good evening, everyone. My apologies for keeping you, Miss Fortuna.”

          “No no! You had your hands full! It’s no trouble, really!”

          “Still, rather unbecoming to leave a lady waiting.” He laughed, straightening with a wave of his hand. The non-lalafell Jacket takes out a pen and a notebook. “I’ll not keep you overlong. If you could give me the basics right now, you can submit a more thorough report after you’ve had some rest.”

          Trionfi nods, but V’kebbe can see apprehension on her face as she takes a careful, long inhale. The way her hands clench tight for moment, her eyes closing makes the Sun Seeker tense herself. Like she was working to pull up the memories, before she actually launches into it.

          A demon, is what she clings to. A Voidsent, a large one, summoned by a cloaked mage after a fight with the scaleback’s thralls. All on her own before their Scion is able to get to her to begin a third fight she barely listens to. An escalation none of them expected, even as Trionfi does her best to play down her role, she doesn’t seem to realize that to any and all of them, a large and powerful summoned Voidsent is not something you take on alone.

          Not something you take on alone and win.

          V’kebbe (and she knows behind her, I’tolwann as well) is able to keep her face schooled, but everyone else is doing poorly. Sevrin’s all but stopped any pretense of cleaning with his mouth dropped, and both Reyner and Baderon had their eyes wide as even the lalafell woman had dropped any semblance of procedure or disdain in favor of staring at the Moon Keeper with an unbelieving expression.

          When she’s done, Trionfi is calm, though sheepish now as she gives a resigned Reyner an apologetic smile. “Ahhh... I can’t seem to give you a break, can I?”

          “N-no harm done, Miss Fortuna. Just part of the job.” V’kebbe stifles her laugh as he turns to take the written account from his officer, looking it over with a look of despair. “Admittedly, though, this will need to be escalated, so I guess I won’t be sleeping any time soon yet.”

          “Sss-sorry...”

          “Don’t be. You saved so many people. You put a stop to a series of kidnappings. You aided the Yellowjackets and did a service for Limsa Lominsa, one many will not be forgetting any time soon.” He smiled. “You have proven yourself time and again, and I know many of our officers who’ve returned from Swiftperch are still talking about you. You did very well.”

          The arcanist blushes deeper with a muttered thanks and V’kebbe watches. There’s a lot here that’s not being said on both sides. Things she’s sure Trionfi’s leaving out, but is probably saving for writing down or doesn’t feel is important. And things that are just between Guildmasters by the little glances that pass between. But, after it all, the look Baderon gives, simultaneous proud and concerned... he knows now that the circles of gossip firmly have her name now. Have her story, and it’s going to only grow from there. Y’shtola’s had her eye on the girl for her little group, and this just adds more appeal to her as a candidate for the Scions.

          And... Reyner said ‘escalate.’

          There is only one person he can possibly escalate to.

          ... don’t be surprised if she grows more like a weed. Jacke’s voice echoes.

          Little Edelweiss.  

          Maybe not so little anymore

          So, she interrupts, swinging her arm about the yelping girl’s shoulders, grinning and throwing everything just a little off balance to keep steady.

          She doesn’t know what lies ahead now for her friend, especially if there’s possibility of her leaving the safety of Lominsa’s walls. But, at the very least, V’kebbe can buoy her spirits where she can and made sure he girl kept growing, never allowing her to wilt. “An’ ye were worried ‘bout bein’ strong! Yer doin’ fine!”

          “I... I guess?”

          “Ye did leave one detail out, though...”

          Confusion. “I did?”   

          She gives Trionfi a mischievous smirk. “Did ye faint this time?”

          “K-Kebbe!”

Chapter Text

          “’A butterfly flaps its wings in the Black Shroud... and subsequently a storm ravages half of La Noscea,’ or something there after.”

          “I wouldn’t call it ‘ravage,’ Admiral.”

          “Ah, but you do not deny that a storm hath come, Marshal.”

          Tucked high above Limsa Lominsa, in the Command Tower overlooking its white stone bridges and wooden decks, it’s dingy alleyways and bustling streets, Merlwyb Bloefhishwyn takes a small sip from her coffee as she finally looks up from report in her hand, trailing her gaze across the room towards the only other occupant in her office.

          Dark circles under her eyes and the insurmountable stack of even more reports on her desk bely the long night and early morning she has had following the successful defense against the Sahagin attack. Yet, despite her exhaustion, there’s no denying the amused look she casts her annoyed friend and second, accompanied with a quirk of her lips.

          Eynzhar Slafyrsyn, Grand Storm Marshal of the Maelstrom Grand Company, gives a gentle huff as his only answer to her query, and Merlwyb can’t help but bark out a laugh at the gruff front 58-year old Sea Wolf put up.

          “Well, in any case, it has been quite a while since everyone has been so lively.” She added her paper to the pile, settling her now free hand around her cup to absorb the little warmth left to it.

          Indeed. How refreshing it was to see her troops so enthusiastic and her citizens less melancholy again, especially at this time of year. Long had it been since they she had witnessed such freeing smiles, felt such budding joy in the air of the town.

          And she owed it all to one Adventurer, it seemed. The aforementioned ‘butterfly’ in the saying, with a tattoo to match.

          Trionfi Fortuna.

          A name that crossed her desk more than once in recent weeks, however odd it was to see a Midlander-styled surname tied to a Moon Keeper miqo’te...

          But, that was simply a side note to everything else. The missions under her name seemed to exponentially escalate that Merlwyb had Reyner double check the work because such things could not have gotten so out of hand, could they? Such suddenly dangerous work for a young arcanist to have handled by herself, but lo and behold, Baderon confirmed the truth of them. Various eyewitnesses, too, a certain Scion included. The stories they relayed back to her to put the proof to the reports were... astonishing, to say the least.

          It was enough that she had even been so inclined to move up the Letter of Pardon for the ex-pirate she rescued. The information he provided helped saved several lives, and his change in attitude had shown what sort of example Trionfi was capable of inspiring.

          And now this. The unearthing of the most recent source of their distress, the subsequent thwarting and dismantling of an attack and a string of kidnappings, and to top it off, Y’shtola received the lead she had been searching so long for. All this with nary a man lost and the people declaring Trionfi a hero who felled a demon.         

          A single flap of such little, new wings making such a large difference. Were she not about, I fear we would have lost much and more.

          “And because of such an unusual, but welcome change to our course, I do believe it time for the last stage of my plan. Time that I make a choice.”  

          Putting her cup down, she reached into her desk drawer, in a secret compartment, and pulled a small piece of jewelry- A silver ring. One with a rectangular setting, engraved with the words of her office, and a smooth sunstone, the symbol of the Maelstrom beneath its crimson veil. Unmistakable in its design, it winked in the sunlight as she held it up between her fingers for him to see.

          Normally, such a thing was reserved as a mere gift- something commissioned (and quite rarely so, truly) to mark a favored of the Thalassocracy, a sign of trust. But, with the few small personal touches Merlwyb added, she wanted to give little extra meaning for this particular Lominsan Ring. 

          “What say you, Marshal?”

          Eynzhar’s expression finally shifted, recognition, shock, followed therein by contemplation. She could practically see the line of his thoughts as he picked up on her unspoken question.

          What say you to me picking this particular Adventurer as my Envoy?

          He hummed, smiling a bit before he became a wall of stone again. “Is that wise? To receive a sign of your trust and approval is one thing, but... an outsider, bearing your name, your message? Won’t it smack of distrust? That you choose no one personal and rather someone of distant standing like an Adventurer to see to the Leaders of Ul’dah and Gridania?”

          “But, that is exactly why she is the perfect candidate.” Merlwyb smiled, staring at him through the hole in the ring. This little joust was not unexpected- she may have to defend her choice to others, and despite how much she preferred a little show of force to get her point across, that might be rather frowned upon at a state banquet. “After all, the Warriors of Light themselves were just mere Adventurers at first, were they not?”

          “So, how fitting to choose an Adventurer like they were, who has proven herself a hero to the people, a kind heart and stout ally, to be my voice. How fitting on the fifth anniversary of the Calamity, she would go forth bearing a message of unity as they inspired. Of remembrance and strength as we greet the dawn with our heads high, and prepare to move forward together.”

          How fitting that she has caught the eye of the Scions as did those she unwittingly follows in the footsteps of.

          It was not the entire speech. There would be more fluff to tug at hearts (she has none of the elegance of Kan-E nor that of the charming dual quality of Nanamo’s sweetness and Raubahn’s robust forwardness, but she makes do), and more posh words added for the party she was planning for tonight when she asks Trionfi to be her Envoy. But, it’s enough of a start that Eynzhar nodded his approval, smirking.

          “An invite to the celebrations tonight, as well? Poor girl needs a little meat on her bones.”

          “Always seeing right through my plans, dear friend. But, of course. Tis only fair that the reason for the celebration be offered a seat.”

          “Then, let us actually meet the girl first afore any of these grand plans you have for her take place, aye?”

          “Hah!” She tossed the ring up, snatching it from the air just as quickly. “T’would be a good start! You have something in mind?”

          “Ryssfloh mentioned she was heading to the Coral Tower ‘bout now. Something about dropping off a more thorough report.” As he spoke, he walked over, standing at attention just before her desk. “I can have him request she stay longer. Perhaps, to regale the lot of them with her tale of heroics at Swiftperch? Navigator knows the running bets on her Luck didn’t have ‘Demon’ anywhere on the list, and they’re probably itching for the full story.”

          Not that she could blame them. The reports could only convey so much, after all. If she hurried, perhaps she could catch a bit of the tale herself.  

          Mind made up, Merlwyn stood from her desk. “Make it so then, Marshal. We shall head down shortly to meet Miss Fortuna after I have prepared and made a few arrangements for the banquet and airship on the way... hmm?”

          He held his hand out to her. An expression full of business and eyes twinkling with mirth. “Then, with your permission, rather than the Commodore, I shall be the one presenting your favor to Miss Fortuna.”

          She blinked. While someone of high rank was often the one to present such a gift, it had never actually higher than immediate Maelstrom command. In this case, yes, it would have been Reyner, both as the one to have requested her aid and as one of the highest ranking officers in Maelstrom that normally would have been tasked with something so symbolic as handing an Adventurer the Lominsan Ring.

          Normally.

          “I would have it no other way, Eynzhar.” Grinning, Merlwyb dropped the ring in to the palm of her right hand man. “Let us go meet this new hero of ours, shall we?”

~*~

          Once Merwlyb deemed herself presentable, and after one last cup of coffee, she set out for her self-appointed mission, Eynzhar at her back.

          It’s a short jaunt from the Lift that leads to her office, down to Bulwark Hall and to one that carries her up to the Aftcastle. As promised, she puts in word to get the Airship up to snuff for travel, as well as put in word for the banquet tonight, before she finally led the way to the Coral Tower. There, however, she had them stop in the shadow of the door.

          Tucked in the center of the room and in a circle of officers, along with what she recognized as the second in command of the Rogue’s Guild, had to be the girl herself. Clearly, Ryssfloh was successful sending out the order to keep the girl talking, and Merlwyb wanted a moment to observe her.

          A Miqo’te with a butterfly tattoo, violet and bright on her left cheek, as the reports stated. A carbuncle curled around the back of her neck, tail swishing back and forth as its mistress spoke animatedly and with a smile to the gathered around her.

          Quite a short little thing that she was dwarfed so by her audience- Trionfi couldn’t have been more than four and half fulms in height. Dark hair pulled in bundles that framed her face, tips of her bangs and tails blue, and even from here, she could see the bright pink and green of her heterochromatic eyes, their pupils round and wide as Moon Keepers’ could only be. Dressed in a simple skye blue mage tunic and dark leggings and boots, matching book at her hip, she was clearly the epitome of a novice arcanist.

          Really, aside from the tattoo and the multi-colored eyes, which even that wasn’t too unusual, Miss Fortuna seemed to be like pretty much every other adventurer to grace their shores.

          But, of course, we all know that is not truly the case.

          She caught snippets of the conversation, and the dozen or so puns on ‘swift’ and axes that made everyone groan and one man face palm repeatedly. At the sight of his reddened forehead, however, Merlwyb decided she might want to save her Jackets from death by wordplay.

          So, she stepped further into the room, allowing the light to fall on her and Eynzhar and for Reyner to notice right as she entered. His eyes flew wide, but he made no other indications that gave her presence away. Not that it stopped V’kebbe from noticing as well, following the Commodore’s line of sight. Between the two of them, it seemed that Ryssfloh had not given them the reason for asking to keep Trionfi there.

          The carbuncle, to her surprise, twitched as well, twisting its head ever so slightly towards her, but giving no sign to its summoner of her presence. Simply watching with its bright eyes, a delicate swish of its glittering tail.

          But, as for the two humans, they blinked, before glancing at each other over Trionfi’s head, then back to her. Then, an ever so slight tilt towards the miqo’te between them. The question of, ‘you’re here... for Trionfi?’ writ there.

          Merlwyb grinned.

          “So, this is the adventurer I’ve been reading about in your field reports, Commodore?”

          Her voice cut through the chatter, and she held in her chuckle as those that hadn’t noticed her presence, whipped towards her in shock and Trionfi jumped a good two fulms in the air before hunching down. Her Jackets scrambled to move in to position on either side to herald her entrance with salutes and standing in attention, calls of ‘Admiral!’ and ‘Ma’am!!’ echoing in the room. V’kebbe dutifully stepped back with a little bob of her knees, but remained loose in her stance as she watched.

          When the scramble stopped, there was a clear path to a very confused Trionfi.

          “Aye, Admiral.” Reyner nodded in answer, though she could see his exasperation at her antics as he moved to stand at her other side with his own salute and a gesture towards the arcanist. “I present to you Trionfi Fortuna. Miss Fortuna, may I present to you Admiral Blufshwyn, Leader of Limsa Lominsa.”

          The young miqo’te stared. Her mouth dropped open and her cheeks turning pink, casting the butterfly on her cheek in a rosy glow.  But, it was only for a moment, before she collected herself and dipped into elegant courtesy, one hand holding out the edge of her tunic and the other pressed upon her heart as she bent low.

          “It… it is an honor, Admiral B-blu-fish-wyn..!” To Trionfi’s credit, her pronunciation was close, and she was careful with every syllable in her sudden stutter. She pulled up, nervous, clearly, but her smile was bright and kind, and Merlwyb can’t help but return it, seeing a bit of what it was that had so many charmed. “What can I do for you?”

          “Do for me?” She laughed, shaking her head. “My dear girl, you have already done quite a lot for our fair city. Ever since you stepped foot in Limsa Lominsa, not a day goes by that I am not regaled of your exploits by Commodore Reyner and Baderon in turns!”

          Mortification replaced the serenity there as Trionfi whipped her gaze towards the aforementioned brunette, who simply smiled, shrugged, and whistled as innocently as he could under the scrutiny of the room. The rogue behind her sighed, shaking her head, even as Merlwyb continued on.

          “First rescuing the farmers at Summerford, as well as Baderon’s newest employee, from the mechanisms of a mage and his golem. Your assistance at the Skylift, your kindness towards the civilians at Swiftperch, and the Lighthouse keeper. And, at the Drydocks, defending the very future of our fleet, the Victory, from destruction. Such are the tales they have shared, each one more extraordinary than the last, and I have been suitably impressed.”

          “However, Miss Fortuna, it is your most recent endeavor that brings me here today...” She smiled wide as the excitement in the room wound up with her words. “For the woman who thwarted the Sahagin’s plans so soundly, and has proven herself an ally and shown herself to be a good and stalwart heart to the people of Limsa Lominsa... I would like to present to you a gift.”

          She made a gesture, one that had Reyner covering a noise of shock as he stepped back in favor of Eynzhar stepping forward. A ripple of sharp gasps and murmurs of surprise as the Grand Marshal held his hand out, revealing the Lominsan Ring in his palm, glittering in the light of lamps in the room.

          For all the bubbly enthusiasm she had heard her capable of, the Trionfi here was surprisingly subdued. Quiet, though she suppose anyone would be nervous knowing they were speaking with the highest authority in their city. For, indeed, as gentle as you please, the Moon Keeper took the ring from his hand, cradling it in her palm like a baby bird as she looked towards her with a soft uncertainty. “Are you certain, Admiral B-Blufshwyn? Not that I’m not thankful, but this is too much, surely.”

          “Come now, what good is high regard without just reward, after all? Ha!” She couldn’t help but chuckle as the little ingenue, still uncomfortable in the face of her praise, nodded stiffly. “Though, simply receiving a ring, grand as it is, is rather dull for one’s efforts in such dangerous tasks. I also came to offer you an invitation.”

          “A... an invitation?”         

          “A seat of honor at the celebratory feast tonight is the least I can offer to the woman who foiled the Sahagin so soundly, would you not agree?”

          Oh, at that, her officers lost all decorum, and she should not have found it funny that Reyner went quite slack-jawed. That she was inviting an Adventurer, one without even an officer’s rank, to a state banquet, was going to spin through town. Not to mention the food-envy- The Bismarck always catered every state banquet, no matter how short notice (powers of the Admiral, after all), and tonight would be no different. Maybe she should have offered it in private? But, ah, she did rather enjoy the happiness and pride everyone shared, all for the girl still looking quite lost as to why everyone was suddenly all a flutter.

          V’Kebbe, luckily, seemed to have recovered and had her back, if the way she leaned forward and was rapidly whispering in the arcanist’s ear was any indication. Trionfi’s eyes grew wider, before she slowly nodded, and curtsied again. “I...I happily accept if you’ll have me, Admiral and... and if it’s not too much trouble.”

          “Not at all, dear girl, there is none other I can think deserve it more.”

          Merlwyb could feel her plans slowly falling in to place as she pulled the invite from her pocket for Eyznhar to pass to her, before bidding her some small advice and leaving to continue preparations. Even before she crossed the threshold, she could hear the Jackets break rank, their voices loud and excited for their newest hero.

          But, for the Admiral, there was still much and more to be done till the eve. Perhaps, she could see if Baderon would share with her the adventurer’s favorite meal so that she may ask it of the Bismarck. Maybe having something familiar might put her at ease. And what is a party without cake? As the guest of honor, she should like to have it be a flavor Miss Fortuna preferred.

          And... well, speaking of familiar, Y’shtola knew the girl... and the conjurer also played a very large part in everything as well, did she not?

          Perhaps, one more invitation to pass along, hmm?

Chapter Text

                       The sun was setting when Y’shtola made her way down to Bulwark Hall, casting a lovely amber hue over the white stone and sky slowly filling with stars. It was a fine evening, clear and breezy, filled with a buzz of excitement at the news that had flown through the grapevine.

            That an Adventurer, the one who’d saved Swiftperch, was attending the banquet.

            Which meant, the rest of the town would be gearing up to throw their own celebrations. The crowds were certainly much larger and louder at this hour than average, a few slapped together food stalls set out to take advantage of it. Drinking abounds, tankards on the street, and she was sure the Wench and other bars were slowly becoming full to bursting with people wanting to toast to the hero and to the Maelstrom for a successful defense.

             But, for her, the state banquet was her course. Slipping quietly in the circle room, straightening the Meteor pin on her lapel, the conjurer made a beeline for the lift to the Bridge. With a wave and a smile, she called out to the man guarding it. “Good evening, Zanthael.”

            “Lady Y’shtola, good evening to you as well.” The Storm Sergeant saluted, grinning at her. “Here for the banquet, I assume?”

            “Indeed. The Admiral said it was in the briefing room this time, I believe?”

            “You are correct. However, my apologies, Lady Y’shtola,” He glanced around the room, “I would offer to escort you up, but I have been tasked with seeing to a particular guest afore I leave my post.”

            “A particular guest, you say?” Y’shtola tilted her head. She had an inkling of who it might be, as most who attended these small galas knew the different rooms they could take place in. Even still, she followed his line of sight, casting her own gaze to each doorway. “Perhaps I can help. Whom are we looking for?”

            “An adventurer with fancy shoes, though lotta good that description does me.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he gives her a shrug. “It’s a good thing I know what this particular adventurer looks like, though.”           

            “A certain arcanist?”

            He tapped his nose. “With fancy shoes.”           

            “Ahh, then it appears I can be of assistance.” Y’shtola smiled, “I have not had a chance to speak with our dear hero in less strenuous terms and would enjoy the chance before we submit her to such a prestigious crowd. I can keep a second eye out, and you can escort us both. A fair compromise, would you agree?”

            “You drive a hard bargain, Lady Y’shtola. The company would be greatly appreciated.”

            And Y’shtola felt she would be glad for the company to the party, but she did not voice it, merely kept to her vigil as they waited and chatted.           

            While the conjurer did not quite mind such festivities (and Merlwyb’s were certainly more palatable than most, very much thanks to the amusing pirating rivalry between Rhoswen and Carvallain,) Y’shtola found was rarely inclined to suffer idle pleasantries for long. Something she feared was a by-product of her Mentor’s teachings. And she normally would have Thancred, Tataru, and in the past three years, Minfilia, to serve as buffers, all of them with strengths in socializing she did not have.

            Not that she intended to use Trionfi as one for this, but she genuinely was looking forward to a chat with her that did NOT involve a life-threatening situation she needed to heal her through.

            Third... or Fourth...? Time’s the charm, perhaps. A chance to speak candidly as contemporaries.

            “Miss Y’shtola?”

            She, and out of the corner of her eyes Zanthael as well, jumped, whipping around

            Trionfi stood there, hands up, backing up a step with a sheepish look. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you two.”

            “N-no harm done, lass.” He voiced for both of them, as she straightened herself out some. He coughed, covering up his surprise as best he could. “Good evening to you, Miss Fortuna. Those are some quiet feet you got there. Dressed in some fancy heels, too, I see.”

            “Ah, yeah! Baderon and Sev picked them out, and everyone pitched in!”

            Trionfi giggled. Indeed, the shoes were new, the leather shiny and prestine, with a gentle heel that gave the short miqo’te an extra inch. She did a fancy little hop, twirling twice, before stopping with her toe pointed forward and carefully brushed down her tunic. One that Y’shtola noted was a little fancier than normal, dark blue with silver thread etched in swirling patterns into the sleeves that caught the candlelight. If she hadn’t marked her for an arcanist already, she would have assumed she was someone of a high position at Melavaan’s in her get up.

            “They’re too kind, but I guess they’re right when they say I have to dress nice. Ly- er, K’lyhia, my upperclassman at the guild, let me borrow this shirt, too, since I don’t have much and Kebbe helped me with my hair since it’s been a bit of a rat’s nest lately.” She tugged gently on one of her hair tails, grinning at them with a bit of hesitation, uncertainty. “D-do... I look ok?”

            “You look lovely, dear.” Y’shtola smiled. “And if anyone should disagree, well... we have joined forces before. I would happily do so again.”

            Trionfi burst into laughter at that, but the relief that was much more prominent. The way her expression smoothed some, and her body tensed less. No carbuncle about her, not for so formal a setting, so it probably would not go away entirely. But, Y’shtola figured it was a good start. The food would hopefully do the rest- the Bismarck’s catering tended to do wonders for everyone’s nerves.

            “The same goes for me- you look lovely as well, Miss Y’shtola. You look very much like, uh... You.”

            “Well, I do try.” She hummed, nodding, before glancing over towards the man patiently waiting for her asides to finish. “But, now that we’ve suitably established that we are both quite suitable, what say we allow this fine young gentleman to escort us upstairs? Tis almost time.”

            “Yes, thank you Zanthael for giving us a ‘lift’!”

            They both froze. A heartbeat, before they slowly turned towards her with lifted eyebrows.

            Trionfi quirked her lip. “That’s my only one for tonight, I promise. Serious business.”

            They both sighed.

~*~

            Oh.

            But, of course. Serious business indeed, because not even a party Trionfi is attending can be simple, can it.

            Less of a question, more of a statement. If there was a running bet as to how the Moon Keeper was going to fair at the party, Y’shtola doubted that this particular instance was anywhere on whatever board was drawn.

            It... it’s a...

            That, mid-conversation, a glow more extraordinary than that of the candles lighting up the room would interrupt. One that caught the eye and prompted her own commentary, confused as to what could be causing their dear arcanist to suddenly gleam and glow so, the spark centered about her heart, stark against the dark fabric.    

            But, as if in answer to her unspoken question, something began to emerge. Slowly, softly, and much, much larger than any Soul Stone.

            A large hexagonal cut of a shimmering blue gem.           

            It’s a Crystal...?!

            Shocked, the young woman gasped as it slid out from her aether. One hand came up to catch it, before the other quickly followed since each alone was smaller than the rock, fumbling to keep hold. Then, she carefully cradled it in her palms before holding it out in confusion.

            It winked and sparkled, a bright beacon, the brightest of them.

            “That...” And, oh, Y’shtola could not even bother to keep the awe out of her voice, because this... was beyond her expectations. Absolute proof that this Adventurer was much and more. Minfilia was going to be ecstatic. “That is a Crystal of Light!”

            “A... a what?” The Moon Keeper blinked, frowning.

            “A Crystal of Light...” The conjurer thought back, trying to pinpoint when Trionfi would have been given the precious stone, when the MotherCrystal would have taken the time the contact her. One did not just stumble across such a thing, after all, but Hydaelyn had a very interesting track record of calling out.

            She watched the myriad of expression cross the younger miqo’te face. The furrow of her brows, the surprise at the its sudden appearance. And the lack of control she had at its insistence on emerging, and uncertainty with which she handled the Crystal, all bespoke that this blessing more than likely a recent thing. Then, it hit her- right at the beginning.           

            “When we faced off against the gobbue, you mentioned a vision. Of a towering crystal, did you not?”

            A slow nod, Trionfi’s eyes wide as she looked down at the object in her hands.

            “Yeah. With... with a voice.” She whispered, inhaling softly before intoning in a melodic voice that sent a shiver down the Sun Seeker’s spine, “Hear... think... feel...”           

            That sealed it. Significant that it was she was gifted with the Echo, that in and of itself alone was enough to warrant Scions scouting her. But, this. THIS. To be ever so particularly bathed in Her light? To be Blessed, essentially hand-picked by the Mothercrystal Herself? Twice the strength, twice the blessing...

            Ah, but she hath already shown herself to be worth the Goddess’ attention. Should really come as no surprise that she was given it- the ‘when’ of it is a touch off, but Hydaelyn hath always worked in mysterious ways. 

            Trionfi didn’t look particularly thrilled, however, her attention drawn to the Admiral who heaped another string of explanations about the significance of what she held. Her small hands clasped about it, her frown deepening both in recognition and in apprehension enough that the conjurer was sure she had heard this story before.

            Warriors of Light.

             And Y’shtola could not fault her. It was a lofty title to live up to, a hard example to follow. The heroes, with little connections to their land, who united and saved Eorzea from destruction. Beacons of hope in the depths of despair, without names, without imagery, a faint vision just beyond them… And yet...

            Beside her, Merlwyb smiled softly, casting a look aside that Y’shtola returned with a lifted eyebrow. There was a moment of silence, because she knows what Merlwyb is thinking, because she’s thinking it to.

            “You... are not from here.” The Sea Wolf stated, “Eorzea and her people are naught but strangers to you. You did not need to help as far much as you did.”

            “But, that doesn’t matter. You do what you can. To ignore people who need help is just wrong.” Trionfi whispered, shaking her head. There was an assuredness to her expression, at odds with the soft stutter in her voice. “If... if someone is hurt or in danger, you help them. You... you don’t need to be a Warrior of Light to do what’s right... erm, Madam Ad-Admiral B-Blufshwyn.”

            As she spoke, Y’shtola could see the crystal glittering ever so slightly brighter. As if in response to its holder’s words. But, mortification slid into Trionfi’s face, even with the addition of her honorific. Probably feeling as though she spoke out of turn, especially to someone so high up as the leader of the Thalassocracy. But, Merlwyb, for all her long-winded, round-about compliments, spoke for both of them so straight forwardly in the next moment.

            “...when I look upon you, I cannot help but be reminded of them. Those heroes bright and brilliant against the darkness.”

            Trionfi’s mouth dropped open again, and after a bit longer, her cheeks pinked and she was suddenly so very, very shy under their gazes with the softest of ‘Thank Yous’ uttered.

            Indeed, it is a compliment of the highest order that an Adventurer could have, being compared to such legends. She looked anywhere but either of them, hands clutched tight about the stone, and pulled even tighter at her chest, in lieu of no carbuncle to occupy her, every line in her body disbelieving of the words bestowed on her.

            But, she had earned it. Rightly so. And Y’shtola hoped that over time, especially if she did end up joining the Scions, (and very much, she hope shed would) Trionfi would be able hold her head high at such praise. But, that is something that can be learned much later. She is, for all the sudden rush of experience under her belt, still new in the eyes of her betters. And in her own eyes, as well.

            Merlwyb, too, picking up Trionfi’s sudden unease, smiled gently again and easily redirected the conversation to bring her back out of her shell. “Keep that Crystal safe, Miss Fortuna. For, odd and frightening as it is now, I am certain She will make clear her reasons for bestowing it upon you.”

            Trionfi nodded, exhaling slowly, her cheeks cooled, though she still looked slightly lost as she glanced back between the two of them.

            “Do... do you think so?” She murmured. Wary and confused, and honestly Y’shtola felt a little guilty for keeping such things from her, for not yet offering to bring her to the Waking Sands to meet with everyone and answer her questions. Soon. “I’d very, very much like to know what is going on with me. With this. With... everything.”

            “All in good time. And when She does speak, heed well Her words, for it is Hyadelyn Herself who reaches out to you.”

            Y’shtola felt the hair at the back of her neck stand on end before the woman finished speaking.

            A pinprick that multiplied a thousand fold, as Trionfi’s mouth opened to reply, but... her eyes... oh gods, her eyes, the familiar way her pupils vanish with nothing but haze in their wake, blank oceans of pale rose and viridian, left no doubt as to what just happened.

            The muffled sound of glass shattering echoed in her ears and the Crystal in Trionfi’s hand burst in to glitter in her palms, before her aether swallowed it back up beneath both hers and Merlwyb’s shocked gazes.

            Something the latter was clearly unnerved by. So as not to disturb the rest of the party, she dipped her volume low for just her miqo’te ears. The smile she kept is soft, but just the slightest bit strained with concern. “Y’shtola, what is happening?”

            “The Echo.” Quiet right back, Y’shtola schooled her face into calm, standing straight.

            The roegadyn woman followed suit, even as her eyes widened a fraction more and her voice filled with incredulousness, “...now?”

            She nodded, wondering if the Mothercrystal took Merlwyb’s suggested ‘all in good time’ as in to mean ‘right now.’

            But, for one moment, one glorious, miraculous moment, Trionfi simply stood there, frozen. Gone, of course, the blankness of her stare between them evidence of that, but unlike the other two times the conjurer had borne witness, Trionfi had not crumpled. Is it sad that she called such a thing a victory?

            With her back to the rest of the room, the volume of music and conversation covering their own, it would look simply as though they were still having a quiet, though one-sided chat. Even if Trionfi’s ears and tail were taught as iron, her body lacking any animation with all the stiffness of a corpse, were that the girl could successfully return from wherever she had been called to, no one would be the wiser.

            Of course, one must never ever speak so soon, and really, she should have learned that the girl could not avoid her third faint.

            But, she was well prepared this time. After a few tense moments that felt like hours, Trionfi’s irises flickered, as if she was fighting to pull out of her vision, to return to the present. Swaying and sweating, her ears twitched then flattened, like they were trying to keep unpleasant sounds out, and her tail fluffed and bent. A nightmare, then- something harder, harsher, holding her tight till it finished, her eyes open wide as she watched a phantom vision.

            Then, the battle to awaken lost, her lids slid shut, and she tilted over.

            A small grunt of effort on her part, Trionfi falling neatly into her arms, and to the conjurer’s credit, she did not so much as stumble, keeping the Moon Keeper aloft before slowly lowering her. It was the grotto and the canyon once more, checking her breathing, her nose and mouth and pulse, but with an audience and help on hand.

            “Is she alright?” Beside her, Reyner, calm and collected, but tense with urgency.

            The way his eyes flicked over Trionfi, before glancing between her and the Admiral. A question there, because of course she mentioned the fainting spell, albeit confidentially, to him as well. His back to the rest of the room, effectively blocking line of sight to their operations from the rest of the murmuring, curious onlookers. The spotlight was on them, on her, and he was helping set the stage for a graceful and timely exit.

            She hummed in response, voice matching his, fingers moving about as she felt her neck, seeking the thrum of her heart. Strong. Good. Trionfi graced her with a further answer with a little bit of a snoring-snort that cause her to laugh a little. Then, out loud, she gave a sigh of relief. “She will be. Tis exhaustion, no doubt, Commodore. Three battles back to back, wasn’t it?”

            He caught her gaze, nodding and agreed with his matter-of-fact tone, just as loud. “Aye. And anyone would be tired after a battle with the Reavers, a Voidsent, and its Summoner. That she still mustered energy to attend is dedication.”  

            “Dedication, gumption, and a great measure of stubbornness.” Merlwyb chuckled, kneeling down beside them.

            Something that sent a buzz of shock through the rest of the party- first the word that Eynzhar had been the one to grant Trionfi the Admiral’s favor, now a measure of attention by the Admiral herself. There weren’t many social politics in Limsa, not like the Sultanate and the handling of her many snakes nor of Gridania and the courting of the spirits of the forest, but anything that involved Merlwyb directly or closely, would inspire more gossip.

            Ignoring their audience, the gunslinger turned to them with a smile. “I would see to it, then, that she be excuse the rest of the evening to suitably recover, and to discuss a most important matter at a later time. Bid Baderon to inform her I would like to see her when she is available tomorrow, Lady Rhul?”

            A dismissal, though one framed with anticipation, as she gave the Sea Wolf woman a secretive smirk and nod. “Of course, Admiral. Commodore, might I bother you for assistance?”

            Reyner was already gently slipping his hands under her back and knees, not even waiting for his, ‘Of course,’ to escape his lips before he careful stood with their most delicate and now snoring bundle of improbability.

            A Crystal of Light, and the Echo. Hydaelyn’s Chosen.

~*~

            The moment the Lift’s doors shut, blocking out the sudden resurgence of conversation, Y’shtola turned to her companion with a small smile.

            “Thank you for your assistance, Reyner.”

            “No need for thanks, Miss Rhul, I’m happy to help.” He glanced down at the girl in his arms, frowning at the fitful expression even as she grumbled and drooled on his lapel. “Miss Fortuna doesn’t need any more rumors to dog her on top of this. I can’t say I haven’t done much on my end to stem it, either, so this is the least I can do.”

            She chuckled, sighing. “Not that I think there is ought much you would be able to do to stop them- her witnesses spread word uncommonly quickly.”

            “Summerford and Swiftperch?”

            “And your Yellowjackets, a sizeable portion of the Maelstrom, and the Drydocks, and gods who know who else adding to it.” Y’shtola hummed. “And no doubt, once Merl’s spoken with her on the other matter, there will be more.”

            He laughed, even as she could see the question in his face of how much more paperwork was probably going to end up on his desk.           

            Another walk in a surprisingly empty Hall, with Zanthael fussing some before letting them go, and Lift ride later, they were greeted by the sight of a very stressed blonde busboy and red-haired miqo’te, the two of them seeming to have waited for the door to open. Looking like they were mid-argument, stopping only when the ding of the lift interrupted and she stepped off with Reyner and Trionfi in tow.

            Sevrin moved forward first, his mouth open and no fear in his eyes as he went to address the Commodore first.

            “What happened t-“

            “Hush, lad.” To Y’shtola’s relief, Baderon came up behind them, a hand on the boy’s shoulder and his mouth clicked shut. The old man took one look at the girl in Reyner’s arms and sighed, turning to the younger of them. “We don’t want t’cause more fuss than needed. Help ‘em up th’ stairs, ye’two, I know ye both know her number already. Mytesyn?”           

            The Innkeep already had his hand out, a key being dropped in to Sevrin’s before he turned to stand guard. Key in hand, the two dashed up the stairs, leading Reyner since he had no idea where Trionfi’s room was. Y’shtola knew it would be somewhere in the ‘Adventurer’s Wing,’ but the doors were so numerous, the help was no doubt appreciated.

            She waited for him, the old Guildmaster ushering her through, before closing the gate himself and escorting her after the three. Out of earshot of the ground floor, he cast a glance at her with a small smile.

            “...too much cake?”

            She paused. Processing the question, she tilted her head just enough to give the old man a look of exasperation. There are a dozen and a half ways to ask what he wants to ask, all mired in casual wording and dialect. Things that are already in place and much easier to compile into a coded sentence, but he chooses, of all things, to use food. There had to be a joke in there somewhere she was not getting, but for now, Y’shtola would humor him.

            After all, Minfilia was going to laugh when she hears that Baderon was referring to Scion business regarding Trionfi as ‘cake.’

            “Some cake.” She responded, resuming their trek, though she added a bit of seriousness, knowing he was probably also asking about her appetite, too. “And, really, she had a bit of everything, even if the dear heart ate like a mouse.”

            “Least ye got’er t’ eat some.” He shook his head, leading her down a twist and then a turn. “Dunno if I should be proud she pushed ‘erself t’make an impression or upset it caused her t’faint.”

            “A bit of both seems reasonable, but honestly, tis no fault of her own. ‘Mother’ seems very, very adamant about contacting her at the strangest of times.” Y’shtola tapped her cheek, pondering. “I do so wonder what it was this time. But, even with my curiosity, I am just thankful that it happened here, within reach of aid, rather than after her victory at Swiftperch.”

          “An’ after th’ last two times ye told me, I’m quite grateful of that meself. But, something tells me there’s more t’ this?”

          “A moment more of your time, please, once we have seen to her, and I can explain more.”

          They soon reached Trionfi’s room, where Reyner and Sevrin were waiting just outside a slightly open door, the former calmly, and the latter shifting from foot to foot. From the looks of it, V’kebbe was probably inside trying ensure Trionfi’s comfort by changing her out of her party clothes and keeping the men outside whilst she did so.

          Y’shtola leaned against the door, calling out and asking if the rogue needed help.

          “Aye, if ye could?” The whisper-shout came through. “Girl’s dead as a brick, and just as malleable.”

          The conjurer tried not to laugh, slipping in.

          But, then the state of Trionfi’s room left her speechless.

          The room was spacious as any room she had had herself when she stayed the Mizzenmast, but with the clutter everywhere, you would not think it so. Random accessories and robes and pants all over the floor, though a surprisingly neat pile of old grimoires was carefully tucked in a corner. One wall held a shelf full of various books and graphic novels, little minion figures covering every open space between. Another corner full of plush toys, not just of Trionfi’s beloved carbuncles, but spriggans, moogles, at least a dozen chocobos in various job hats and colors, and a cait sith with its little crown and cape perched precariously a top the pile. A few posters here and there of singers, shows, plays, and musicals, including an ornately framed and signed one of ‘Opera of Maria and Draco’, a silhouette of the titular female lead holding a bouquet on a balcony against a starry night.

          And that was not even talking about the insanity of pencils, pens, inkwells, open books, and reams of both marked and unmarked paper that were haphazardly strewn on and around her desk.

          Clearly, the girl had made herself at home.

          Her bed itself, at least, seemed to have been untouched by the chaos. Either that, or they had managed to clean it off before Trionfi was summarily deposited on to it.

          She made her way over where V’kebbe was carefully maneuvering the girl to try and get her in to her sleeping gown, shoes off and hair already undone from its careful tails. She was not making it easy, flopping this way and that, and for all her small size, it was clearly a trial for the rogue to move her thus alone. But, together, they managed to get Trionfi dressed and tucked in, in short order, before calling out to the men outside and having them all enter, Baderon closing the door to ensure privacy.

          A moment of silence, as each of them took in the soft, even breathing of the girl in the bed, the conjurer gently pulling the blanket up and tucking the girl in. Brushing her hair from her face, she smiles as Trionfi mutters softly under her breath, but does not budge.

          She looked so much more innocent. It was hard to believe that, just a few minutes ago, she was holding a Crystal of Light out.         

          “Too much cake.” Y’shtola proclaimed, whipping around to give the two youngest of them a stern smile as they both straightened under her gaze. V’kebbe’s eyes had narrowed slightly, even as she pondered on the implications of the sentence, and Sevrin seemed just confused and even more alarmed. There was no doubt that they wanted to ask questions, wanted to pester as to why their friend was like this. Sevrin, in particular, having witnessed his savior passing out once before. But, no, not this time. She was giving the reasoning, and there would be no attempts to pry more from their friend, even if it was from a place of concern.

          As if sensing their intent to protest, Baderon stepped in, cutting off any they might have had with a pat on both their heads. “Aye. She jus’ needs rest right now, an’ while I know we usually try t’ take care o’ her... this time, we jus’ gotta let ‘er be on this. Cake, aye?”

          They glared at him for a minute, before glancing back between her and their sleeping friend. A particularly loud snore as Trionfi grumbled and twisted bodily to the side broke the sour look on their faces, and had all of them snickering a little.

          “Ye see? She’ll be fine.” He gestures to the door behind them with a shake of his head towards it. “Ye both oughta head back. Leave th’ rest t’rest an’ t’ th’ healer in th’ room. Ye can bug ‘er when she’s better.”

          “F...fine, old man.”

          “Aye, Baderon.”

          “Good. Both o’ye head back. Sev, tell Tolwann I’ll be back down when we’re done here.”

          Grumbling. But, Reyner stepped in, and the blonde’s nervousness seemed to kick back in right at that moment when offered to walk with them back down, seeing as he was not certain how to escape back out. The Sun Seeker no doubt he also wanted to make sure they did not double back, and that was just as well. Not that she thought they would break their unspoken word, but Trionfi had a tendency to make people over-worry. Y’shtola was certainly no stranger to the feeling, especially now with the new information she’d learned today.

          Taking the key back from his employee, he ushered the trio out, watching silently as they exited, making sure the door was closed again, the sound of their footsteps vanishing down the hall and leaving the two of them with her patient.

          He glanced around at the room, the look on his face quite not-surprised at the mess, before turning to her with an extra sigh. “Is there ought else, Y’shtola?”

          Y’shtola hesitated. Part of her wondered if she should let him know, the new bit of information she’d learned about her candidate. Chosen, ever so particularly. The fact that she was certain they would be, with her permission, extending an offer once the others had gotten measure of her. Instead, she smiled softly, “Merl bid that I ask you to send Trionfi up to her whence she awakes.”

          “Again?” That caught the man’s attention, and she couldn’t help but smile at the shock on his face at the Admiral seeking a third audience with their little pearl. She had a suspicion herself for the sudden interest the Admiral had in the adventurer The offering of her blatant support, then the speech and chat Merlwyb had given at the banquet before the Echo had soundly interrupted any further conversation. The constant comparisons to the Warrior of Light and their journey across the lands, uniting nations.

          He stared at her, and she could see the moment realization dawned there within, because he groaned and slapped a hand against his forehead.

          “Bloody hell. Why’d I have t’ open me big mouth.”

          Well. That was unexpected. “Baderon?”         

          “Is that why she’s ‘avin’ th’ Airship Landin’ be prepped?” He asked the ceiling, running his hand down his face. Without waiting for it to respond, he faced her with a frown. “Jinxed th’ lass I did, Y’shtola. Not that this opportunity isn’t good fer her, but it weren’t even a week I was jokin’ ‘bout ‘er settin’ sail. Now, she’s gonna be leavin’ in two days time.”

          “She has... yet to extend the offer.”

          “But, ye know Trionfi’s not gonna turn it down.”

          The absolute certainty in his tone made her pause because, despite not knowing the arcanist as well as he did, she knew this to be true. Maybe out of Trionfi’s strange sense of duty that insists on helping with everything, no matter how odd or simple. Maybe for the desire to travel, expand her horizons. Maybe just because she had nothing better to do, and rather wanted to get away for a bit. But, no matter the reasoning, he was right.

          She was not going to turn it down.

          (and part of her wonders if they are still talking about the same thing)

          The two of them stood there, slowly turning to look at the young adventurer tucked tight in her bed, sleeping deeply and soundly, unheeding of the conversation about her going on a few fulms away. Her expression smooth under the veil of rest, free from Echo’s call and mortal problems.

          Innocent. Ingénue.

          Hydaelyn’s Chosen.

          “’She’s a Keeper,’” Tentative, melancholy. Resigned, though at his saying or the pun, she was not sure. “But, can’t keep ‘er here forever.’”

          He exhaled, turning to her with a stare that bore so many nameless ghosts behind it, pinning her where she stood and she knows he means something different now.         

          “Ye make sure ye watch over ‘er out there too, aye, lass?”

          Y’shtola’s nodded. "I will pass on the message."

Chapter Text

Sevrin – The Girl to Do Right By

          “Keep an eye on th’ Wench, lad.”

          Was all the warning Sevrin got before he found himself standing nervously behind the counter, greeting people as they came in. He wasn’t alone, luckily. I’tolwann was right next to him, doing the actual manning, and S’dhodjbi had the floor with her team, and it was early enough yet that they didn’t have much anyone beside the regulars and a few early risers.

          His mind was entirely elsewhere.

          “'Too much cake'…” He muttered under his breathing, palming his face and frowning. Words last night, and words before the man vanished up the stairs to the Inn- both in reminder and in warning, in seemed. And he didn’t believe it, not for a second. Not with the appetite on Trionfi when she WASN'T stressed and hyper-focused on something, not with her carbuncles and their fondness of sweets. But, both Baderon and Miss Rhul insisted, gazes needle sharp and voices dripping saccharine, and with the way V’kebbe completely backed down and the Commodore moved to close ranks, he knew he had no choice but to go with it.

          Didn’t mean he had to like it, though. “'Cake' my arse.”

          “Ain’t gonna shame what yer in t’, Sev,” A wooden crate spoke, clattering loudly on the counter and blocking his view. The sweet and bright scent of citrus filled the air, and he jolted at the familiar voice. “But, y’keep that up, yer face’ll get stuck that way.”

          The blonde stared before a familiar face popped up from behind the obstacle, relaxing on top of it. Complete with his smarmy little smirk and awkward goatee. “Not that yer face ain’t ugly already.”         

          “A-Aylmer?” Sevrin breathed out, eyes wide. He hadn’t seen the man since he’d left the farm. Since... since he’d nearly gotten him, Sozai, and Eryimhus killed. It was startling, to say the least. The friendly look on his face, the prim and neat forest green uniform of a Summerford employee. Dark hair tucked neatly under the tan colored headband, sporting the farm’s logo. Every bit the opposite of what they were a mere dozen suns ago.

          He’d almost taken a step back, before he remembered himself. No... no running. Took a deep breath, and under the brunette’s gaze, offered a nod with as much of a smile as he could muster. “We-welcome t’th’ Drowning Wench, Aylmer. What can I do ye for?”

          His greeting was met with a blank look, before Aylmer burst out laughing. All out, stomach clutching, knee slapping laughing. Sevrin could feel his face growing hot.

          Luckily, no one in the Wench paid it much mind, and after a bit, Aylmer took pity and straightened, wiping a tear from his eye, but never dropping the grin from his face. “Guess I owe th’ old bastard 200 gil. When he said ye’d been pardon an’ were workin’ honestly, didn’t believe ‘im. No offense.”

          “None... none taken.”

          And he could say that sincerely. Considering the note they had parted on, this was... unexpected. Sevrin was surprised the other man was even deigning to speak to him, let alone standing there without punching him in the face.

          But, he could take the hint for what it was, letting water stay under the bridge. Instead, he glanced at the box still between them. . Between the slats of wood, he could see sunshine orange spheres, large and plump, piled one on top of the other. “Is… that...?”

           “Fresh delivery from Summerford.” The other hyur patted the top. “Compliments of th’ boss, as a thank ye fer all th’ help th’ ‘venturin’ guild has done lately.”

          He quirked his brow. “Th'guild?”

          A cough. “Th’ lass. Representin’ th’ guild, a course. Anyway! Sent me along to drop ‘em off an’ t’ ‘take me time comin’ back.’” He snorted, finger quoting, but kept smiling, expression going softer than he’d ever remembered. “I see why now. Good t’see yer not wastin’ this second chance, mate.”

          Oh.

           Sevrin heard the olive branch for what it was, but he wasn’t... sure, if he was actually worthy of it. Vulnerable, in the face of his old companion that he’d betrayed. He took a glance to the side, seeking council from the rest of the Wench’s employees. I’tolwann had her back turned, to give them privacy, and stepped more forward. A gesture behind her told him she had things. Beyond, the floor staff each gave him nods and waves as they went about, handling orders and clean-up in his stead. Giving him time.

          They had his back. ‘One o’mine,’ Baderon’s voice echoed.

          He tried his best to swallow around the lump in his throat, willing his eyes to stop getting damp. Don't cry here, fool, stand strong! Be honest! “I’m... I’m tryin’. Don’t wanna... let ‘em down. Got a rep t’ protect now an’ not just me own...”

          Aylmer nodded knowingly. “Th’ little miss backed ye.”

          “Aye. Dunno why, but... ye know, puts things in perspective...” He let out a deep exhale. The words on the tip of his tongue, but so much easier to say now than they used to be. “An ‘fer wot little it might be worth now, mate... ‘m sorry fer wot I did.”

          For a moment, those dark eyes flickered, and Sevrin couldn’t read him. A small silence between them, the muffled sound of the Wench behind them framing the moment. Then, he nodded, punching his shoulder lightly with a chuckle. “Aye, I know ye are, ye bloody crybaby. Seein' ye like this, all humbled... I know yer heart's changed. Yer forgiven, so long as ye do right by 'er.”

           “Do what by who now?”

          He jumped at the voice. Alymer did too, nearly toppling the chair he pressed against over as they both turned to see the voice’s owner.

          “T-Tri!” Sevrin recovered first, diving for the edge of the bar where she stood, one hip popped with a smirk. “You’re alright!”

          “If it ain’t th’ lil miss ‘venturer!” His friend said, giving the miqo’te a grin.

          Trionfi nodded. Dressed, conscious, and actually toting Kiri around about her shoulders, she gave a little courtsey. ”Good morning, Sev! Indeed I am! It's just been a bit of a week and I g-guess the cake put me over the top..." Sevrin found himself frowning a little at her explanation, but chose to let it slide "I just stopped by to visit before I go to my meeting... And nice to see you too... uuhhhm,” she crinkled her nose in thought, “Aaaaaa...Aylmer?”

          “Be still me heart! Th’ heroine remembers me!”

          The blonde punched him in the shoulder. “Sorry. I seem t’ ‘ave a cockroach that found his way in. Lemme get th’broom.”

          “Oi!”

          They slipped into a bit of back and forth, trading jabs, but laughing anyway, and somehow, Sevrin thinks the air feels lighter between them. Not the same, not like they were before. But, this is something new, a new start, and hopefully he can, as Aylmer put it, do right by Trionfi's trust.

         Speaking of, their aside also gave him a chance to observe the arcanist a bit more, just out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't allowed to pester, but he could damn well make sure the lass was ok.

         And for the most part, she seemed so. Kiri, the best indicator of anything Trionfi wouldn't tell you about her health, was bright as her namesake. A brilliant emerald green and fluffier than normal, tail swinging back and forth as she stared at his friend. Probably remembering all the times she help her mistress going hunting for them not that long ago. As for Trionfi herself, she was smiling with amusement, head tilted just so. Aside from a touch of exhaustion in her stance from the week she's had, of course. Sevrin assumed last night was a similar episode to what happened the day in the canyon, when the Moon Keeper's eyes turned in to glass and she collapsed like a broken mammet. It's this particular memory that has him worried, has him taking the slightest step past the implied warnings when his banter with Aylmer dies down.

         "Tri," He spoke as casually as he could muster, leaning against counter. Confidence, coolness. "Ye sure ye should be up? Ye were pretty much in a dead faint when Miss Rhul an' th' Commodore brought ye down."

         Her tail paused. There's an odd look that crossed her face, hesitation and apprehension, her mouth opened slightly but stopped. Her eyes flicked up, then down, and for a moment, Sevrin thought she might reveal to him the secret tightly kept between her and the strange conjurer. But, her smile returned, soft and calm, and reassuring, like nothing was wrong. The arcanist shook her head. "I'm fine, Sev. Like I said... just a bit too much cake. Sugar crash and everything. No need to worry." 

          "If...If you say so." He sighed, glancing at Alymer, who shrugged back. Clearly, even being out of the loop, he didn't believe it either.

          "Well, no worries, miss- we got just th' thing!" Never the less, he moved in to re-direct her, slapping a hand on top of the box with an exaggerated wink. "We got so many oranges t' perk ye right up! Jus' tell Baderon t' make ye some fresh juice o' these puppies an' ye'll be right as rain!"      

          There's the briefest of nose twitches as her attention diverted, her ears perking up at the mention of 'oranges' and seeing the Summerford logo. A slow, mischievous smile slipped on to her face as she looked to each of them.

          “Hmmmm.”

          The blonde felt his stomach drop. “Tri-”

          “Would you say-“

          She drawled. Slowly.

          He balked, “Wa-wait, no-”

          “-this delivery is-”

          “NO!”

          “-very a-PEELING?”

         Silence in the bar.

          “Annnnn’ yer done, lass!”

          Like some sort of scruffy, gruff pirate-angel, Baderon swooped in from nowhere, bodily scooping the girl up like a sack of popotoes over his shoulder. No one batted an eyelash, the girl giggling and not resisting at all as she was dropped right in to the open doors of the lift, Kiri clinging for dear life with a put-upon expression on her face. “Ye’ve said yer ‘Hellos’, now get t’ th' Admiral fer yer meetin’!”

          “Aye-aye, sir!” She saluted, still laughing, before calling one last parting shot before the doors closed.

          “’ORANGE’ YOU GLAD I STOPPED BY?!??!”

          An echo of various faces getting palmed, Baderon let out a loud sigh as he walked over to them. “That girl... I swear will drive us all insane."         

         Sevrin shook his head, reaching for the apron he'd abandoned in favor of watching the counter. "I fear she may 'ave already succeeded, Baderon."

          He laughed, sliding back behind the counter and grabbing the box, calling over his shoulder while he moved towards the kitchen. "Guess th' old girl's condemned, then. Better burn th' place down."

         "Thought it was th' Drownin' Wench, not th' Burnin'."

          "New era, new name." The Guildmaster laughed, disappearing behind the door before coming back out with his hands free. A hand came up, sending a signal that had the rest of the Wench employees moving back in their places. "Thank ye for holdin’ th’ fort, Sev." He turned to the brunette. "An' fer th’ delivery. Aylmer, was it?”

          “Aye, sir. Still new t’ th’ biz, but th' boss's been bloody good t'us. Patient." Aylmer smirked, "Also, Staelwyrn asked t' tell ye, 'Ye better be take take care o'yerself, ye bastard. An' of our' lil hero.' Somethin' 'bout comin' by t'kick yer arse iffin' anythin' happened t'er.”

         "...well, ain't them some familiar words..."

         There's a wry twist to the older man's lips as he crossed his arms, his gaze far and away, as he stared at the elevator he had just dropped the miqo'te off in to. A blink, before that twist bent higher, a fond, proud, and resigned smile that made Sevrin worry. 

         "Stick around till th' lass comes back from 'er meetin', aye? She's sure t' 'ave somethin' excitin' t'share."

~*~

Edda Pureheart – Envoy Envy

            “DID YOU HEAR?!?"

            Edda winced.

            Avere’s voice was very distinct, sharp and slightly whingy, and even when jubilant, it sounded harsh in her ears as his shout carried down the market.

            Such a ruckus drew the attention of those around her, not just their teammates, Liavinne and Paiyo Raiyo, as they shopped in the stall over. She hoped it would not yet be a repeat of the scene at the Drowning Wench so many suns ago. The thought of it was still embarrassing, the way that the Guildmasters chided her the gladiator for his insincerity.

            But, if she did not respond in particular, she knew he would be unceasing in his already thinly veiled annoyance, and she did not want to deal with that, along with Liavinne's flirting with him and Paiyo's snide remarks, the rest of the day.

            So, she straightened, pulling away from the frowning stall keeper and turned towards her approaching fiancée. He clattered to a stop before her, breathing heavy from the exertion of running about in no less than his full armor- of course he’d not heeded her pleading to not trounce about so, either.

            She strained to smile, “Hear what, Avere?”

            “It’s about Trionfi!” He gasped out. “She’s the Admiral’s Envoy!”

            Oh.

            It was as though an orchestrion record scratched suddenly, the word cutting through the din of noise around her and the whole of the market shocked into silence. Quiet enough to hear a pin drop, all breathes held.

            Liavinne was the one who spoke first. “...Envoy?”

           Avere nodded so hard his helmet nearly fell off, slipping forward, before he shoved it back with a grand smile. "Envoy!"

           The crowd picked back up in a rush, doubled its conversation in intensity and all Edda can hear echoing is the awe and shock.

           The Admiral has an Envoy.

           And not just anyone was picked. After all, Trionfi Fortuna was the name that had been on everyone’s lips for some time, only growing in notoriety since her victory and defense of Swiftperch the day before. The newbie adventurer, not even arrived half a year’s out was to be sent to Limsa Lominsa’s sister city-states, to speak directly their leaders on behalf of theirs. Bearing what message, no one knew, but that such a wee child they’d seen flitting out and about catching the Admiral’s eye just so...

            Edda swallowed hard, watching as Avere eagerly turned to their teammates, eyes gleaming and babbling a mile a minute about the newest gossip to share. The brief glimpse he caught of said Adventurer, sporting the ringed Sigil on her right forefinger marking her both as a favored of the Thalassocracy and now its Envoy, all but rushing about, seemingly to prepare for her coming trip. People not part of their group leaned in, clearly eating up every word that dropped from his lips.

          It wasn’t like she didn’t understand. On the contrary, she admired the arcanist very much herself. And what budding adventurer wouldn’t be drawn in by stories of someone just like them, young and new, rising so quickly in esteem? Performing great deeds and being called hero by those they saved, and so early on in career? But, there was something to those stories that seemed to make Avere more reckless than he already was ought. ‘A real adventurer’s adventurer’, he’d called her, finding thrills and trouble that made her get noticed. And that was probably what the difference was between the way they viewed her.

          Where Edda saw her as a source of inspiration, someone to aspire to, Avere saw a person to imitate, someone to eventually surpass. Never mind the aplomb with which Trionfi must have had with facing a demon so suddenly in the midst of a Sahagin attack or for handling anything else the rumors said. He didn't even consider that perhaps she had advantages, extra training, something else that they might still need to work towards to get to her level.                

          And as Avere spoke, she could see the gladiator’s eyes burned with an all-consuming drive. She felt her stomach drop slowly to her feet with every word, hands growing clammy and cold, the stuttering, rapid thrum of her heart...

          With this now, the introduction of their newbie to the other city-states, recognition on a growing scale, the rung has moved even higher. He’s determined to follow it. He wanted the same taste of fame and fortune as she. He wanted the same taste of notoriety as she, the same commendations, the same renown.

            “After all, if she can do it on her lonesome,” He laughed. “It should be a cinch with the four of us, right?”

           Paiyo Raiyo jumped. "Yeah! We've got this!"

           The elezen merely gave her fiancee a coy smile. "With you leading us, of course we can do it, Avere."

           "Hah, thanks! Hear that, Edda? We're gonna be heroes, too!"

            Edda swallowed hard, wanting to voice her fears that it might be too much, that none of them were a prodigy like she was, please, don't take on more than you can handle...                                                           

            ...but all she can do is smile.

~*~

K’lyhia, Head Foreseer of Melavaaan's Gate– Assessing the Assessor

          “I’m so sorry I’m late, Lyhia!!”

          “Ah, there she is.” Glancing up from the file in her hand, the rose-haired Sun Seeker whipped around at the sound of Trionfi’s voice echoing down the stairs into the training hall. All around, their fellow Arcanists paused, each of them pulling briefly out of their sessions to face the doorway as their youngest and now most-popular student stumbled in.

          Trionfi, a carbuncle about her shoulders, skid to a stop just at the entrance, leaning against the wall.

          “I...” She gasped out, waving. “I’m here!”

          “CONGRATULATIONS, TRI!!”

          The room erupted into applause, everyone calling out additional congratulations. Mozen, the first shouter and ever the loudest of them and some how was down here why is he down here and not upstairs doing his job, ran up to her grinning wide. “90% potential, eh, Envoy?”

          “I-” At his words, Trionfi turned beet red, sighing and shaking her head as she glanced over all of them with a pout. “I literally just told Baderon not even a bell ago. How?”

          “Don’t underestimate Lominsans, lass.” R’bahhara piped in, having apparently snuck downstairs from her duties to join them. Along with a sighing Murie and a cackling P’tahjha beside her. “Anything that may or may not give us an excuse to throw a shindig is going to weave its way through faster than you can blink.”

          “But, to think!” The P-Tribe miqo’te crowed, throwing an arm around their youngest’s shoulders with a grin. “One of ours! The Envoy of the Admiral! I’m not even upset I lost the bet!”

          Trionfi blinked. “Bet?”

          “Nothing! Don’t worry about it.”

          The rest of them gathered around, offering their own well wishes and questions to the still overwhelmed Moon Keeper. Through this, however, K’lyhia took a moment to take stock of her student. She’d caught wind of the fainting spell Trionfi had suffered at the banquet the night before, begged off as exhaustion from multiple fights back to back and too much cake. Something she was both pleased with due to her judgment of Trionfi’s merit and potential and concerned by, since she... had not expected her dear underclassman and student to have suffered such a high level battle so soon.

          What is done is done, however. Trionfi had proven herself more than a force to be reckoned with, and Klyhia’s only course now was to do what she did best: Assess. For while she had such plans to help push their most prodigious student to new heights, she was still mortal and needed to be watched over.

          A touch frazzled, there were, however, no dark circles under Trionfi’s eyes, no gauntness to her cheeks that she can see, meaning despite everything, she had gotten some decent sleep and food somewhere along the way. Her countenance is as spritely and alert as she was normally wont, even if there was the tinge of exhaustion to it. No puns quite yet, but that was fine- because the most assuring thing was the sight of Kiri woven about her shoulders, tail twining and ears twisting towards every address towards her mistress, her fur shining bright and brilliant even in the lit room. At the Foreseer's stare, the carbuncle seemed to preen, nodding gently as if to say, 'yes, yes, she is well.'

          Trionfi seemed to be, more or less, back to her old self, and in good time. And while K’lyhia was loathed to pull her student away from getting more rest and again, not wanting to push her too much, there was still the matter of her first assessment- in all the ruckus, she had yet to perform one, and that would simply not do before her maiden voyage. So, with any luck, this would be quick as a whistle. But, first...

          “Alright, everyone, that is quite enough.” K’lyhia pulled the attention back to her with a clap of her hands and sharp smile at the lot. “Trionfi still has a lesson and work to do today, as do all of you. We can reconvene later to discuss a guild celebration for her newest title. That means, get back to work! Front desk crew especially, that means you, Mozen!”

          Groans followed her command, Mozen protesting loudly even as Murie bodily dragged him off, but off they went, clearing the way for her to beckon Trionfi to her.

          “Good afternoon, Trionfi. Kiri.” She chuckled, leading them to the back where she was stationed. A bit more privacy for their discussion and away from prying, gossiping ears who might be eager to place more ridiculous bets that no one ever wins. “I take the meeting with the Admiral went well, if over long?”

          “Well? Yes. Over long? not so much- it was rather cut and dry.” Trionfi shook her head, twisting the symbol of her new status around her forefinger with a nervous smile, before carefully hiding it under her palm. “And... well, of course you know what it was for. No, I was actually waylaid by a request.”

          “A request?”

          “Mm hmm. S’dhodjbi and I’tolwann said there was apparently a madman with scissors running around terrorizing the Lower Docks?”

          Scissors? Madman? K’lyhia paused, frowning. Wait a minute-

          “But, all that turned out to be was a rather strange, crying elezen requesting assistance with retrieving items from Gridania and Ul’dah...” She sighed. “And since I’m headed over there-“

          “You volunteered to assist.”

          “Well, it was the only way to calm him down- his crying was terrifying people.”

          The Foreseer had an inkling as to who it was that had commandeered the girl for such an out-of-the-way request- not a one of the Guilds weren’t familiar with him, after all, both of his trade and his penchant for losing the tools of said trade. But, much as she was annoyed by him bothering their student with this, it was better than having him terrorize the town with his crying. Maybe waiting a few days for his replacements will prevent him from losing them so readily again in the future.

          “As always, so kind and willing to help, but make sure you take care of yourself, too, little bird.” K’lyhia let out a little sigh. “But I digress- let us attend to the matter at hand. With your skill, it should not take too long, and you will be able to relax afterwards. You leave on the morrow, correct?”

          Trionfi straightened at the shift in subject, nodding. “Yes. Around the ninth bell.”

          “Perfect.” Clapping her hands, the Foreseer turned to grab file she had left there and handed it to her underclassman. “Plenty of time to perform your very first Assessment before you leave the nest and have a party after. A right of passage, if you will. And also, good experience, should you return and want to devote yourself to the Melavaan’s Gate side of things for a time between missives.”

           “That might be nice for a while...” The Moon Keeper gently scratched her carbuncle behind the ear, smiling at the rumbling purr as she grew wistful. “A chance to not deal with anything trying to kill me for a bit.”

          “Oh, over taxes and tariffs, you would be surprised how volatile people can be...”

           She pointed to the top page when Trionfi flipped the cover open, the paper within showing the picture of their target.

            “There is a boat just outside Aleport that will serve us well. The Morningstar is her name, and though she has just come within range recently, she has thus far not docked which is suspicious. Submitting to our inquires is the law when entering the waters of Vylbrand, so we can properly assess their contents, record, and charge accordingly. However, it appears the Morningstar is remaining anchored off shore, and thus, has refused to submit to an inspection.”

            “And that is where we come in.”

            “Indeed. We will be arriving with a boarding party and a warrant to have them comply, after which, you and Kiri or Riku will lead the assessment whilst I and our companions question the crew.”

            “Seems... simple enough. No way for me to mess this up.”

            “You will be fine, Trionfi.”

            Even with her assurances, her student lifted an eyebrow, frowning. “But, ah what do we do should they refuse?”

            K’lyhia grinned.

            “There is no refusal in this. And if that must be demonstrated by force, so be it.”

~*~

Brithael Spade, Forgemaster of the Blacksmith’s Guild – To Ship Safely

            Brithael grinned. The clang from his hammer, sharp and intense, was a most satisfying sound as he fit the last, brand new rivet. Brushing his fingers over it, ensuring the head of it was flush and snug tight in place before he was content enough to step back and survey his work.

            Perfect.

            He grinned wider. Even with such a small timeframe, the airship looked much better. Not that it was in terrible shape, what with the minimal maintenance that kept her in relatively good condition. But, considering it had been quite some time since the she’d had been thoroughly tended to, there was still some dust on her deck and rust on her joints. A few rivets to replace. Sitting in one spot, doing its best to prevent Garlean Empire’s eye from falling on them by never lifting off at all. The poor girl.

            But, with this, hopefully, she’ll no longer be hidden away. A test spin later tonight under cover of darkness, before her big journey tomorrow. Make sure she was sound, but Brithael was confident in his work. It was why he even offered to personally oversee it in the first place. Didn’t want to leave the safety of their little Envoy in the hands of just any one of his pupils’, and there was a part of him that wanted to impress Trionfi a bit with his work. She had no real need for metal-forged tools, so this was his only other way he could think of to show some appreciation for the girl who seemed to be saving everyone’s ass lately.

            Exchanging his hammer for the towel at his belt, he wiped the sweat from his brow and face, hopping off the deck back on to solid ground. The sun was setting slowly, meaning he’d finish just in time to catch some dinner before he’d have to come back to oversee the test. A little clean-up, and a trip to the Bismarck sounded like a worthwhile treat for a job well done.            

            The heard the tell-tale whirring of the Lift approaching interrupted his planning, however, and he turned to see who dared. Ryssfloh? The man stepped off the contraption, holding a hand up in greeting as he smile. “Afternoon, Bri! How’s the old girl fairing?”

            The old roe was dressed in his Yellowjacket uniform, axe strapped across his back and still sporting a few bandages from the attack. Though he looked a mess, he didn’t seem overly bothered by it. In fact, there was a measure of excitement there that was unmistakable when he looked over the airship, taking it all in its semi-revamped glory.

            Brithael grinned, tossing his towel on to his shoulder, head held high.

            “Afternoon, Ryss! She’s as safe as I can make ‘er in so short a time. Helped that she’s been kept in decent shape. Just so long as we don’t attempt a windstorm till we get her more updated.” He laughed, shaking his head. “But, fer th’ few bells to Gridania? To Ul’dah? Jus’ a lil’ test, a full tank, and she’s should be ready t’fly on th’morrow.’

            “Hah! That’s good to hear...” His tone, soft and wistful. “Hopefully, it’s a matter of time before even civilians can take to the skies without the blasted Garlean’s breathing down our necks.”

            “Aye.”

            There was a rather loud sigh from behind them.  

            “Still think they oughta add actual doors to th’ design, Ryss.”

            He jumped at the third voice intruding on them, but the Yellowjacket simply shrugged with an amused glint in his eye. “Miss Fortuna’s is a smart lass, Jacke. I’m sure she’s knows not to stay too close to the sides.”

            “Why there’s even an openin’ wide as a gobbue’s maw is th’ question. One wrong step an'-” A long, drawn out whistle. "Pancake."

            The Rogue came up on Brithael’s other side, clearly having somehow snuck in with the taller man, giving him a smirk and nod in greeting.

            “Evenin’ t’ ye, Bri. Jus’ wanted t’ come by, make sure ye coves were tidyin’ that tub up proper.” Jacke waved a hand vaguely at the ship, right where there was a cut in the railing that connected to the dock’s stairs. “Ye should add a door.”

            Brithael frowned. “We can’t just hammer a door in willy-nilly, Jacke. It’d take some doin’, an’ ‘m actually the only one on this”

            He understood the other man was just looking out for their Envoy too, in his own way. In fact, there had been a bevy of folks that had been asking after the girl when the word got out, wanting to know if he wanted help with the ship fixes (he didn’t) or if she needed any new tools or medicines, particularly after her fainting spell at the party (something Baderon was fielding). But, while he got it, Brithael wouldn’t deny he was a bit miffed. He wasn’t head of Smithing side of Naldiq & Vymelli's for nothing, even if that fact also caused nothing but headaches.

            Still... He frowned at the empty space, tugging a flask from his apron. He has a point. Why IS there no door?

            “I can see ‘bout adding in extra rope iffin it’ll make ye feel better, but fer now, this’ll have t’do.”

          The red-haired stared at him in consideration, frowning, before he let out a laugh, placing a hand on his hip. “Bene, bene. I can see ye worked hard, Bri, ‘m just bein an arse. I know Little Edelweiss is safe in your capable handywork.”

          “Damn straight.” He popped the cap open, waving his canteen around. “Not lettin’ th’ lass suffer a ship fallin’ ‘part mid-flight. Baderon’d have me head. An’ that’s on top of a growin’ list. 'll get it in 'afore the test, promise ye that."

          Riiiiiiiiiiing!!!

         Brithael made to take a sip from his drink, but a sudden shrill sound interrupted. The ringing of not one, but two Linkpearls, echoing in tandem the room. He glanced down at his pockets, noting his was silent, before both Jacke and Ryssfloh pulled their own out.

          Each of them was lit, pulsing with insistence.

          He exchanged a wary glance with them, before dutifully turning his back. Pressing his flask to his lips, he tried his best to not eavesdrop as both men clicked theirs on.

          “Kebbe?”

          “Commodore, sir?”

          His best being rather poorly. He can’t help it, what with the concern that grew on both their faces as they spoke in to their respective LinkPearls, Jacke clenching a fist and Ryssfloh full on scowled. He caught a few swears and something about an assessment, and a ship, and suddenly Trionfi’s name is dropped, and he’s switching from being barely subtle to not subtle at all. Already slipping to their side when each of them ends their call within seconds of each other.

          It’s Jacke that spoke first, casting a sideways glance at the taller man with a hiss under his breath. “Doesmaga*?"

          Ryssfloh’s scowl deepened. “Aye. Seven hells, of all people...”

          The two of them looked ready to murder someone, but Brithael found himself struggling some to recall a face for the name. “Who’s this... ‘Doesmaga’ an’ do I need t’tell Naanza? Is Trionfi ok?”

          “Ahhh, caught that, did you?” The Yellowjacket chuckled, low and angry, and such a shift from his normally jovial self, from the brief but amicable conversation not moments before. Made a chill go up his spine. “Doesmaga Poisonheart. If ye wanna tell Naanza before the warning goes out, ye can, but not much we can do right now. Boat’s vanished from the shore, we’re still working on getting a report from Trionfi, and Melavaan’s asked to spearhead the operation.”

          “...Melavaan’s asked to spearhead...?”

          “An assessment went... a little awry, so to speak.”

          “Puttin’ it lightly.” The rogue muttered. “Of all of th’ marks t’run in to, that jus’ so happen t’ be on th’ tub they’re watchin’.”

          “What, wait...” He trailed off.

          This Doesmaga was a mark, and one infuriating enough that he had both a Yellowjacket and a Rogue nigh on radiating bloodlust. There were many things that he knew made the former mad, but the latter... most things Jacke handled, he did so with candor. A smirk, maybe the barest hint of a glare, but not like this... unless...

          Oh.

          The answer snapped in the place, slavetrader, bloody hell, didn’t Trionfi just finish up with those kidnappings?!, and it must have shown on his face because Jacke’s gave a wry smile. “Ahhh, ye ken?”

          “Trionfi’s-

          “-fine. Shaken and frustrated, but fine.” Ryssfloh interrupted, though he spoke slowly. Carefully. “It was her evaluating Foreseer, K’lyhia, whom was... incapacitated... and they were forced to retreat.”

          Incapacitated. There was little that could faze the Arcanists of the Gate- stories of all sorts of strange and disturbing things they sometime came across getting smuggled, they couldn’t afford to be flustered. Needing to be able to do their jobs in the face of someone shipping fruits and vegetables just the same as discovering a dead body in the confines of a box. That a Foreseer had gone down...

          There was more to this, but it wasn’t his place to pry. Didn’t mean he didn’t get it, though. What with the way Ryssfloh hesitated, but how he spoke deliberately conveyed enough. That sort of fear, that feeling of helplessness when faced with your tormentor.

          Gods, what were the chances?

          He clenched his fist. 

          “If...” He caught both their attention, just barely holding back the growl in his voice at the situation. “If Melavaan’s Gate needs different weapons when they go after th’bastard. Somethin’ a bit sharper or blunter, say... tell ‘em t’come by the Guild. I’ll set ‘em up.”         

          Jacke and Ryssfloh both stared at him, before each of them grinned, sharp as the rogue’s stabbers, nodding.

          “Don’t tell Trionfi, though.” Jacke advised, though his tone was entertained despite his warning. “Kebbe said th’ lass was furious when she came to, an’ we might be hard pressed t’prevent th’dove from runnin’ off to mill’th'Mark on ‘er lonesome self.”

~*~

Thubyrgiem – The Brightest of Gems

           The bells had struck ten times when Thubyrgiem heard a tentative knock on her office door.

          Odd. The hours for lessons had ended a while ago, with most foreseers, students, and intermediates already returned to their homes for the day. A skeleton crew remained at the counters to handle any late night arrivals who needed to be checked in, and as far as she knew, there were was no meeting scheduled with anyone so late in to the night.

          But, considering the... concerning events that happened earlier day, she surmised it to be one of two people.

          “Come in.”

          “M-Madam Thubyrgiem?”

          Trionfi, then. It was much too early to consider a nurse from the Infirmaries.

          The voice that called out to her was uncharacteristically quiet. Soft, scared, carrying through the opening door with an uncertain little Moon Keeper peeking in. She felt her heart twist at the pain on that normally smiling face, and motioned her forward with her hand.

          “Come take a seat, my dear.”

          Trionfi did as she bid, gently closing the door behind her, allowing the Acting Guildmaster to get a look at her. A book, clasped tight in her arms, different from the grimoire at her waist, and Riku wrapped even tighter about her shoulders, his fur dim in the light. Her hair mussed and out of place from its usually bundled tails, framing her face in short, wild rivulets and her cheeks streaked with long dried tears, a crack along the butterfly that lay there. She looked the very picture of sorrow, slowly dropping into the offered seat, keeping her head down.

          Thubyrgiem pushed all her paperwork to the side of her desk, giving her full attention to the girl before her, putting on her most comforting smile.

          “Good evening, Trionfi.”

          “G... good evening, Madam. S-s...ss...” She winced. “Sorry to barge in so late.”

          “Not at all. I am just glad to see you are well. Kebbe was kind to keep you company.” She hummed. Indeed, the rogue had reported back, saying Trionfi had gone back to her room not an hour after reporting in when she’d been denied permission to go after the target. Opted instead for reading and researching, of what she did not know, but the girl was fueling that anger into something, and the rogue had stayed with her as long as she could till Jacke had to pull her. That was nearly four bells ago, and while, clearly the girl here now was in despair, she was much calmer than the incarnation earlier. “Though, I will admit to some concern for your visit at this hour, what with your early day tomorrow. Are you alright? Did you need tincture to help you sleep?”

          “N-no.” An inhale, tilting her head up some to stare at her nervously past her bangs. “Actually, Madam, I had a qu-question.”

          The book in her hands was placed on the desk, and Thubyrgirm recognized the cover as one of the extra curricular Trionfi had been studying. Ones that actually delved into the creation of their focus weapons, rather than just how to use it. Something she herself was not an expert on, but she knew most of the basics on what went into their creations. What was needed, the process of putting them together at its most elementary stage, though she had never done so herself. Baderon had mentioned the interest to her more than once. Along with the very quietly expressed fear of failure he’d seen in Trionfi’s eyes. 

          Of which, she hoped the child didn’t consider today’s mission a failure by her own faults. No one could have predicted the turn of events. It was one chance in a thousand, and today just so happened to be that one.

          But, setting aside the thought for now, she nodded. Quite determined to support her student, no matter the case for why she was delving in such a direction of her studies, she would hear and answer her questions to the best of her knowledge

          “If an arcanist is separated from their tome... how do they... what do we...” She struggled for words, scrunching her face up. “I mean. It’s not like with a blade. They can just pick them back up and go again. But, with us... we rely on our magic, our aether, and our own concentration to maintain our Carbuncles. We need a focus. And if we lose grip on both our grimoire and on concentration enough for our Carbuncle’s to cease... We don’t... have a back-up. Do we.”

          The Sea Wolf frowned. “No. No, we do not. Just try to get our tomes back in hand as soon as we can.”

          “But... but, that’s just it...!”

          Her voice tight with desperation, she changed course and began to glare at the book in front of her. “What if we don’t? Like...like with Lyhia? She was so terrified and he knocked her hard in to the pillar. Hard enough she lost control of her carbuncle, and terrified enough she couldn’t get to her tome. What do we do in scenario like that? Is there a way to... to, I don’t know... summon without a tome?”

          To... summon without- ? Thubyrgiem could not help but stare, baffled. Grimoire-less summoning? That’s not- But, even before the suggestion could settle, Trionfi, clearly not noticing her look, continued to rant at the book like she expected it to answer. “Like, have a spare page for emergencies? Maybe... maybe a swift cast and re-summon our carbuncles combination spell, till we can retreat or attempt to retrieve our focus? At the very least, once we have our carbuncles out, we’re not quite so helpless, but there’s nothing in any of the books I have that talks about anything like that!”

          This was... certainly not the line of questioning she was expecting. Truth be told, she was expecting... well, considering the girl had already been looking in to streamlining spells, she prepared for inquires on how to make a grimoire. Something she would then have explained vaguely about K’lyhia’s rather unique attachment to hers… But, despite the unexpected shift, she would be lying if she didn’t think it was both incredulous and rather inspired. Grimoire-less something would be taking things far beyond, but speaking about carrying something smaller? A single page for a single spell? Something she did not think anyone had even thought about, herself included. And if their illustrious Guildmaster ever did, he certainly gave no hints of it.

          Trionfi grit her teeth, Riku murring quietly as he pressed his face to her cheek, trying to keep her calm. “I’d... I’d never seen anyone look so haunted, Madam. The way she seemed to just... she wasn’t there, she’d gone somewhere else, and she was screaming and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I couldn’t even stop the bloody pirate from throwing her tome over the rails. And we... we both know...” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We both know she won’t summon with any other one...”

          Thubyrgiem paused. “Did she...?”

          “She did not have to... with how worn its pages, the creases in the cover, and the way she never lets it out of her sight, it wasn’t difficult to realize how important that one is to her.” A deep breath. “And I’m guessing that that this Doesmaga is not just another run-of-the-mill vagabond to her, either.”

          “No. No, he is not.” Leaning back against her chair, she sighed, nodding. It did not make her happy to speak of this, but, considering what Trionfi went through, she deserved at least the basics. And it seemed like a thorough explanation was not needed for she already put most of it together. It was just a matter of a few more details. “Before Lyhia found her way to us she was his... prisoner. We found her in a box, shackled and bound, masked by the scent of fish and brine, being transported by Doesmaga Poisonheart. To be sold.”

          “WHAT?”

          Launching from her chair, Trionfi slammed her fist against the desk, fury in her face and every edge of her pressed back and tight. There’s a slight snarl at the corner of her lips, and even her carbuncle, feeding off the emotions of his mistress, had his aetheric fur on end. All the realization combined with the regret of having let the man who hurt her friend and teacher go burning in her eyes. “He’s a slave trader?! He was going to sell her?!”

          “Yes. And he would have succeeded in doing so had it not been for the keen senses of our Guildmaster and his Carbuncle.”

          At the rest of her words, the miqo’te calmed down some, dropping back in her seat. Though, despite the relief, there’s a frown on her face. “Our... ahh, right. You’re... only acting in his place.”

          “I am, but do not let his absence fool you. Hrid is a brilliant arcanist, if a bit unsocial.” Unsocial was being kind, of course- the spirited young Seeker showed up only when something interested him, and had none in teaching their students. Which is just as well, for she feared K'hrid's brusque attitude would chase half of them off. Thubyrgiem did so wonder what he thought of the situation; probably thinking it both irritating at the man’s return and bemused at the chances of it happening as it did. “But, yes. He and his carbuncle managed to rescue her whilst... on an assessment very much like the one you just went on. Getting Doesmaga exiled, and in the process, giving Lyhia her very much loved tome and setting her on the path that led her to where she is today.”         

          Trionfi blinked, her mouth dropping opening in understanding. “He’s the reason she... ahhh, I guess that makes more sense why she always seems very enamored when she talks about him.”

          “Mmm... putting it lightly.”

          “And it was... very, very bad luck that we encountered the man who tormented her on this assessment... and that she lost her tome... just before I had to leave.” She bit her lip. “Maybe... maybe I should postpone my trip?”

          “Absolutely NOT.”

          At her sharp tone, Trionfi jumped before she shrunk down in her chair. “As admirable as it is that you want to stay by her side, you know Lyhia would never forgive herself if she knew you made the Admiral wait, just for her. You do not have enough clout to make such a decision, and it is hubris to think so.”

          Her ears bent back in shame as she sank deeper. “I- I didn’t mean-! I just-!”

          “Want to help, I know. But, you can help best by going as scheduled tomorrow, and delivering the Admiral’s message, as you were entrusted with.”

          At her reminder of the duty she had unwittingly been drawn in to, Trionfi glanced down at her hand, where the ring, bright red and shining silver, sat heavy on her forefinger. Her eyes ran over the words engraved on it, frowning deeply, before she pulled her hand close to her chest and nodded.

          “Y-yes ma’am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t... Lyhia will be fine, right?”

           “Yes. We’ll let you know if there’s anything more to be done, dear. Just focus for now on your visit. Besides,” She cracked a grin, because if there is anything positive to drawn from today’s experience for her, it was this. “If you want an answer to this newly borne question of yours, perhaps it is fate that you were chosen as Envoy. Did Baderon not tell you the Alchemist Guild is in Ul’dah?”

          A heartbeat, before back up her ears went, eyes widening. “I... yes! He said they were the ones who made our grimoires!”

          “There you go. Under normal circumstances, you would probably not have even been able to go over there until, at the very least, until a year from when you arrived. Maybe more. But, your deeds have gained you notoriety, and with that, opportunities given early.” Reaching over, Thubyrgiem gently tapped the cover of the book. “So, while I may know some about the theorycrafting that goes in to creating our grimoires, if you want the absolute break down beyond what these provide, they would know best.”

          She paused. “Or... rather, Severian would know best.”

          “Ahhh, the Alchemy Guildmaster, right?”

          “Indeed. Take to him what you have learned and what you are proposing, and he will be able to tell you if it’s possible.” She inhaled, before exhaling with a slow smile. “I’ll even go a step further, and give you full permission to take on any vocations you deem necessary for success.”

          “M...ma’am?” Shocked, Trionfi blinked rapidly at her, whilst Riku looked on calmly, nodding.

          Thubyrgiem found it amusing that the little carbuncle approved so readily, even as her stomach filled with a bit of dread. Had it really only been a few weeks ago that she had agreed to let Jacke know when Trionfi’s probation would be lifted? She had been prepared to offer it up, back when it seemed like a far-away thing, when she was still considered so very new to everything. But, the miqo’te had been rapidly pushed through every channel, much faster than she expected. The only thing left, really, was to open the gates and let her spread her wings.

          “You have exceeded mine, and Lyhia’s expectations spectacularly. Whether or not you choose to pursue other interests is entirely up to you. There is actually a guild already interested in inviting you, which I can relay when you return. But, the option is yours, with the highest of recommendations.”

          “I... I can learn to craft grimoires now?”         

          “If you can convince Severian to take you on as an acolyte, I would imagine so.” The acting guildmistress found herself laughing a bit- the thought of the blonde genius being chased down for more jobs to do by the diminutive girl would certainly be something. “He’s stubborn and difficult at the best of times, but I have a feeling you are going to surprise him, my dear.”

          “I... I!! Thank you, Madam T!” Trionfi dashed around the desk, throwing herself at her in a hug as her ears twittered and tail wiggled. Riku's face was squished somewhere in there, letting out a very loud sigh while she tittered. “I’ll... I’ll do my best! Just you wait! I’ll convince him! Or... or at the very least, find out about those pages! Something to help Lyhia! And the rest of the guild! No worrying on grimoires getting lost!”

          The bells struck eleven times before she was able to convince Trionfi to finally return to her room to get some sleep.

~*~

Minfilia Warde – The One to Wait For

          It was very late when Minfilia Warde finally looked up from her work, her mind tugged away by the sound of a knock echoing in empty Solar room. She could feel it by the cramped tension in her muscles from sitting hunched over, the chilly night air of the desert, the dryness in her eyes. Full well, she remembered starting warm, in late morning while the sun was rising high, and to think so much of the day had passed, that she scarcely remembered it beyond the sight of ever growing concerns writ upon each report.

          And beside her fingertips, her linkpearl, quiet and still the entire interim since she'd gotten the call that something had gone wrong in Limsa Lominsa.

          A part of her was set on to continuing with her work, to keep going, as was her responsibility and to keep her mind off her other worries by these worries, but a second round of knocking bid her to think otherwise. T’would be rude, after all, to ignore it.

          “Come-...hm-” She croaked out, voice reminding her of its lack of use, and she cleared her throat. “Come in!”       

          The scent of chamomile and honey drifted in first. Door creaking quietly as it was opened, her visitor taking a brief moment before shuffling in. A delicate nudge of hips in lieu of both hands being occupied by the two mugs he bore shutting it closed.

          She stood to both stretch and receive him, taking one of his burden away when he approached. A smile graced her lips as she breathed in the gentle steam, casting him a soft look. “My thanks, Uri.”

          “Thou owe thine thanks to our most attentive and amiable Tataru.” The taller man nodded, a small smile cracking at the corner of his lips, clasping his own cup in his hands as he settled at her side. “She bid me to bring this forth, so that thou might rest, if only for a moment. Thou hast been working deep into the night quite a bit as of late.”

          “There is much that needs to be looked in to, I’m afraid... ” She sipped slowly, savoring the heat and gentle floral sweetness as it soothed her throat and she felt herself relax more. Perching at the corner of her desk, she sighed, glancing at the endless piles of paper on her desk, lingering longest on the linkpearl, before giving him a tired smile. “Speaking of Tataru, I hope that her candidates are settling in alright? Ahhhh... Arenvald? And his companions, A’aba, and Aulie? A bevy of ‘A’ names.”

          “As well as can be, things considered.” Urianger gestured vaguely in the direction of sleeping hall, nodding, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy at the news. “Though, his companions are still wary of thine intentions, they have agreed to stay and meet thee on the morrow to discuss more of our mission and of Master Lentinus’ Echo.”

          “Tis heartening to hear... at least one thing is going right.” She sighed deep into her cup. “It feels like everything seems to be going wrong these days.”

          He hummed in consideration of her words. “Thou speaketh about more than thine usual worries.”

          A laugh escaped her, despite the melancholy she felt. “Am I that obvious?”

          “Unfortunately, or fortunately. Thou weareth thine most munificent heart so readily.”

          Minfilia could only hum back, seeing as he was not wrong. A slight failing of hers, if one could call it that. In the presence of friends was her inability to hide things from them, and Urianger tended to be more observant that most. “I suppose so. Is this the part where you ask me to tell you what is wrong, and I confess?”

          “Only if thou feels at ease with confessing.” He smiled. “Thou knowest well mine capability for keeping thine words in confidence. Even from thine self-appointed guardian, should thou wish it.”

          “Ahhh, well, these are not things I cannot hope to keep from the others, much less Thancred.”

          Minfilia gathered herself with another draw from her tea, thinking of where to start. There was so much recently that seemed to become impossible to pull the strings of chaos apart to see how every knot and strand connect- the sudden silence from some of the beast tribes and increase in sighting in others. More civilians vanishing in Thanalan and the Shroud and caravans getting attacked was seemingly on the rise, with no survivors to ascertain the culprits. All things very similar to Y’shtola’s reports on the recent Sahagin incident that she had no doubt as to them being related, and possibly in service to a Primal summoning.

          Such matters every Scion were well aware of, concerned over constantly- the ‘usual worries,’ as it were, even with an urgent twist that started to press as of late. But, she did have two... newer concerns- things that blindsided her earlier in the day, and were of a higher consideration. They hovered as ghosts, just at the back of her mind, on top of everything else.

          She sighed deeply, choosing her starting point quietly. “I fear we may have lost Hummingway.”**        

          “Lost...? Ah...” Recognition clicked, and a solemnness took over his voice, lowering so that it did not carry. “Codename Hummingway. One of the Flames... agents, if mine memory serves me? Castrum Occidens?”

          “Yes. His last message mentioned there was rumor of movement... and a new weapon. One much larger and more powerful than their Magitek Armors, being brought in.” She pursed her lips. “He was going to attempt to get guard duty near the landing... to try to get a glimpse, to get more information.”

          “And he has yet to report back in.”

          She nodded. “It has been nearly a moon since the message. There has been nothing after.”

          He sucked in his next breath with a hiss, hands tensing around his mug. Even with his goggles on, Minfilia knew his eyes were crinkled with just as much concern as she was feeling. The knowledge of something stirring, yet not knowing what. What new weapon could they possibly have on hand, and how to counter it? And, of course, the loss of yet another life in the name of ensuring the safety of Eorzea, but unable to retrieve a body. She did not think the Garleans would be inclined to hand him over if they asked nicely.

          Not to mention Hummingway’s position and assignment was one that had been treated with the utmost secrecy. None but the upper echelons of both Scions and Flames should have been aware of it, and it bespoke ill that he was found out at all.

          “Tis concerning, indeed.” Urianger said. Slowly, carefully, because ‘concerning’ was quite the understatement.  “If thou wish it, I might relay such grim tidings to Thancred in thy stead, so that he might inform the General of the possibility of a breech.”

          “Thank you, Uri, but no. That, I would prefer to do so myself.” Minfilia shook her head. “T’would be better that the Antedecent handle so delicate a matter as informing our Master of Shadows of the loss of one of his shades, even a borrowed one. Let him decide then if he would prefer I relay it to Raubahn, or if he might want to... shoulder the responsibility as the correspondent there.”

          “If... if that is what milady wishes, I shalt not deny thee.”

          There was a reluctance to his agreement, but he knew her reasoning was sound. Ever kind in his own way, taking on burdens he needn’t in the name of her peace of mind, Uri was. But, Minfilia knew her surrogate caretaker best, and Thancred would probably take the blow less harshly with her relaying it.

          That is, if she could get him stop for a moment.

          Another thing she was worried about. While she herself was not going to deny that she was just as guilty of staying up late due to work, she at least was wise enough to know when to give herself a moment’s reprieve. He was actively avoiding any pause, odd hours on the rise and never resting for more than half a bell before he was off again on some interest or assignment she didn’t recall assigning. A pattern that repeated every year, as surely as the Anniversary itself rolled around, and did not show a sign of stopping.

          Of course, it was quite possible that, instead of doubling his work load, he was simply indulging endeavors to lose himself in his more amorous past time. Thancred was notorious for vanishing off to do both, and tended to speak of them with the same aplomb, but goodness, with such frequency of late, surely he was not attempting to deflower nigh on every maiden that stepped on Ul’dah’s sands-sewn streets?

          A thought that had her face palming. Dearly as she adored the man who flitted in and out of her life, whom she had come to see as brother, in-frequent father-figure, colleague, and friend... he could be exasperatingly obstinate when he wanted to be. She did not want to have broken hearts knocking upon their door again.

          “Thou haveth the same expression last time he brought trouble to thy doorstep.”

          “Ahh, do I?” Minfilia laughed, pulling her hand away from her face. “Forgive me, my thoughts strayed. I am merely wondering of when would be a good time to bring this up to him. He has been gone so oft as of late with scarce hints of how he is doing that I fear this may press upon him farther. The others have their options- Yda and Paplymo have each other, and Shtola is level headed enough to know when to speak up. Thancred...”

          The elezen quirked a smile. “Is notoriously adept at brushing over any and all concerns before absconding out of thine reach?”

          “To put it thusly. More than like, he may think the failure his in some strange round-about way. But, it cannot be put off over long.”

          He nodded. There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes that she catches his head subtly roaming her desk, settling on the linkpearl that kept quiet vigil- revelation, thoughtfulness, all at once in the lines of his lips. An idea, it seems, one that has him clearing his throat.

          “There... may perhaps be something thou might have interest in attempting? If I might wager, milady, that thine other worries involve the lateness with which we have not yet heard from Lady Shtola on our most anticipated candidate.”

          Minfilia sighed, nodding again. He was quite correct. The other blindsiding news was from their conjurer, who relayed that an incident had occurred and she did not know anything beyond that involved the girl they were all anticipating meeting and that a buzz of discontent had arose. There was no word as to exactly what happened, not yet, but she was going to update them on whether or not this would affect the trip.

          “Your wager is correct. At least a good six bells ago since she had relayed to us of the incident. I hope Miss Fortuna is alright... I was so hoping to be able to make ourselves known to her.”

          “Should she contact us with glad tidings, I would implore thee to belay thine order, if thou wouldst heed mine suggestion.”

          She blinked. Delay their introductions and the offer to join the Scions? Even after it has been certain she holds Echo and Crystal of Light, both? She thought Urianger would be enthusiastic to have the possibility of an adventurer they’d come to dub Hydaelyn’s Chosen on hand.

          But, as he spoke, he tapped the top of one of the piles. The one they both knew contained copies of Trionfi’s Guild papers and list of current accomplishments. And her background, what little there was to obtain of it, anyway.  

          “Though, mine own excitement cannot be denied, I feel it... prudent to suggest that thou insist on each of our comrades perform their own observations and provide you with an assessment of their own making whence she has flown by.”

          A frown. “Is Shtola’s word not enough?”

          “Au contraire, milady. It is the heartening reports of our most taciturn conjurer that have borne this idea of mine. There are three reasons I would propose this to our most beloved Antedecent. The first addresses the nature of her voyage.” He held up a finger. “She is on a mission of a most diplomatic consideration- to impress our own agendas upon her whilst she is on travails by the Admiral’s hand t’would be most unbecoming.”

          Ah, when put that way... He had a point. Merlwyb had done them a favor by allowing Y’shtola to have both the hint and the unspoken permission to inform them of her intent to make her Envoy, that she would be sent to each of their cities, Ul’dah included. Such a kindness should be held a loft on its own without them intruding upon it.

          As she glanced at him, another finger joined the first. “Secondly, Lady Fortuna, by Lady Shtola’s observation, doth only recently realize she carries a Crystal of Light. A second blessing, marking her beyond the Echo. T’would be in our best interest, perhaps, not to rush forward in respect for how recent the revelation. Especially in light of Lady Shtola’s unspoken confidentiality with her.”

          Urianger paused, chuckling a little under his breath. “Full well do I remember Thancred’s recollection of thine colorful response to his reveal of thine life-long gift to our mentor.”***

          At that, she felt her cheeks grow warm and she knew she was blushing. Vague memories surfaced, of the fury that filled her at the bard’s breech of confidence, the feel of the cold metal in her palm as she reach for the dagger he’d offered with intent to use it on him for perceived betrayal. (and part of her still wondered why he’d given it at that moment, if he would have actually let her. Her stomach still turned at the thought, just how self sacrificing was he actually?) She did not imagine Trionfi, from Y’shtola’s description, would respond in such a manner, but she would concede to Urianger’s second point, none the less. The miqo’te had a lot to absorb, and with this trip, precious little time to absorb it. Stepping back for a bit to give her space would be the courteous thing.

          Just these two alone, she felt was enough to concede to his request. But, Urianger still had his hand up, waiting patiently. She gave him a look at he strange insistance, putting her empty up down on the desk. “Alright. Those are fair. And third?”

          At that, Urianger gave a most wistful and saddened smile, moving his counting hand to tap the pile of reports again. Taking a deep breath, he began.

          “’Where there is darkness, there will always be light.’” ***

          At the familiar words falling from his lips, from his damnable perfect memory, Minfilia felt herself stiffen. “You will see the truth of this, Minfilia, when one who bears the light comes to stand before you. One who is gifted, like you.’”   

          He put his mug next to hers, gaze never breaking.

          “’Together, you will greet the dawn.’”

          Of course he remembers. Of course. With the coming of the Anniversary came also the first and last time she met the man who helped raise night on near all her friends and comrades. A second father-figure, though by mostly letters, who last words to her were that of a prophesy of one to come. Of one to wait for.

          And for five long years, there had been nothing, not a single adventurer who walked through those doors who shared the Gift that seemed to be the one of whom Louisoux meant.

          But here? Here, the man most astute and well-versed in legacies and prophesies and finding the betweens in-between... was he...?

          Minfilia tilted her head. “...you think she is the one he spoke of.”

          “As our mentor said, thou shalt not know until thine eyes hath lay upon her. But, from the Crystal of Light’s appearance combined with her most unusual thorough-line of missions and the praise and success therein, tis difficult to dispute. And tis clear the Mothercrystal hath an amusing sense of humor.”

          He met her tilt of her head with one of his own, back down towards the reports between them.

          “Summerford. Seasong Grotto, perpetually in shadow, yet there, Lady Shtola had light shed upon her investigation and on her candidate. The Woad Whisper Canyon- woad are small flowers that hath a yellow hue, bright as the sun, though the paint they beget is blue. The restoration of light to Brewer’s Beacon, and the most blatant of meanings of her name, as Forgemaster H’nannza stated to have found both amusing and ridiculous, the ‘Triumph’ that brought their most beloved Admiral home, giving life to Victory.”

          Oh. The blonde stared, mouth dropping slowly. The connections were far, far out there, and yet, as Urianger laid them out, they made... an absurd sort of sense. Summer and sun and light and the Triumph that helped Merlwyb see her way out of the Calamity. And ever was she thankful for Urianger’s most astute attention to the smallest of details and considering sense of humor for the wordplay that seemed to be everywhere that she missed in the midst of everything she was handling.

          Yet, he went on, more somber with his next words.

          “Arriving on a ship that hath been attacked in transit, though without the battle aboard, no serpent. An encounter with a pirate in league with the Sahagin, yet this time, hath turned a new leaf instead of turning over comrades. An encounter with Lady Shtola, awakening her Echo, though this time, she faints nigh on immediately and is gifted a Crystal. Lastly, an encounter with an ascian, our shadowless... and this time, a victory is wrought, pierced by a blade of golden earth.”

          Her mouth snapped shut. There were precious little memories of the original Warriors of Light before they became as such, and what little was there was hoarded selfishly and known only to a select few. Mostly small recollections of their deeds, of encounters, and of course no names or faces or anything to credit them, just vague senses of presence. Those days for her were so full of anger and rage at the loss of her father, at the twist of her fate, and she was only mostly aware of the stories that were for the hero (or heroes) who came from Ul’dah. But, Urianger had committed all bits and pieces of them to memory, and that he was able to draw such lines between past and present, an almost redone, successful version of the Lominsan hero’s start to Trionfi's... made the hair at the back of her neck stand on end.

          She waited. Watching as the man pulled himself together out of the depths of his melancholy where he'd drowned himself to pull the knowlege from, before he cast her a smile once more. “Tis because of these that I implore thee to ask they keep watch and wait for now. That, perhaps, t’would give them and thee a small reprieve from the search for Beast Tribes and shadowless mages whilst they observe her as she walketh amongst the people. To see that faith is not lost and that hope yet still exists in this realm, much like Lady Shtola has."

          He chuckled, low and wry. "Much like I hath begun to believe again."

         At his admission, Minfilia could only reach out and clasp one of his larger hands in hers. Cold, clammy, shaking. Not often did the man show emotion, or at least nothing large or grandiose- Moenbyrda could read him the best of any of them, but she had learned and picked up on the smaller signs a bit. It hurt him to admit to admit his weakness with his request. That he was just as shaken as the rest of them, despite Louisoux reassurances there would be a new dawn.

          Five years.

         "I do not gamble lightly, milady. Thou knowest this...." He gripped her hand tightly, but gently. "I would place everything on this lady of fortune." 

         "I..." Her voice cracked again, and she cleared her thoat. "I will ask the others to take a break from their current assignments to watch over her. Zero contact, unless it is of a dire situation, however, but... I think the others will not complain of a lighter assignment."

          And a lighter assignment for all of them meant Thancred might relax. And the promise of hope? Might well balance the news she would be sharing with him in the next few days. A lighter assignment, a chance for Trionfi Fortuna to acclimitize her knowledge of Echo and Crystal of Light both, and then we shall see if Urianger's bet is a jackpot.

         Urianger let out a sight of relief, and his hands stopped shaking. "Thank you, my dearest Antedece-"

         Riiiiing!

         They both jumped, turning towards the sound's source. The once-inert pearl blinked and flickered insistantly, casting a soft light on her desk and breaking the seriousness of their conversation with its soft chimes. She exchanged a look with the elezen- this late, on this particular pearl, one shared only between the heads of the Scions... well, it could only hopefully be one person.

        And with any luck, bearing good news to end a tiring evening. A welcome, if sudden, interruption, if such were the case.

        Letting go of his hand, she reached for device. Delicately held between her fingers as she brought it to her ears. Finger paused just over the button, Minfilia met his gaze behind the goggles, nodding.

         "If we're going with 'light' references..." She smirked. "Is it not also interesting that the one of us who found her is a Seeker of the Sun?"

        He barked out laugh, smothering it with the CLICK! of the pearl turning on, and she called out in to it- "Shtola?"

        “Indeed. And my apologies, my friends, for the extremely belated call, but I was able to receive an update.”