Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I jolt awake, nauseous and blood rushing in my horns---wait, what?

“Ye alright?” I don’t know the language this man is speaking, but I do. His accent is strong, and yet part of my brain registers it as heavy Scottish. But I’ve never heard of Scotland. “Ye were tossin’ and turnin’ something’ fierce. Bad dream?”

“Y-yes,” I latch on to the excuse. Bad dream, bad everything. I’m Tomoyo Nanashi, struck out from Raen Othard refugees to try and make my way in the world. And if I got back to the Garlemald bastards that took our home, all the better.

But I’m Tanya Walker of Oregon, human and civilian and lover of fantasy and science fiction. And I’ve seen some of this before from the other side of a screen.

I shove down the jittering panic that wants to rise, reassured somewhat by the heavy axe at my back. My father’s gift to me when I left. Perhaps not the finest weapon out there, but one he made with his hands and with prayer that it would keep me safe and shed the blood of Garlemald when they inevitably returned.

“Lookin’ peaky there, lass,” the man (merchant) says, looking sympathetic. “First time on a ship like this?”

“Not since I was...young,” I reply. We were smuggled out by Lominsa pirates turned, well, pirates against Garlemald. Bless the Admiral for overhauling the city, though who should do the blessing is a question I shove into the back of my head. 

Existential crisis later. Like when I’m on land.

“Could just as well be the aetheryte crystals we’re passin’ by,” the man says. “You’ll get used to it, I’m sure.”

Aether. Right. Marauder now, but I’ll definitely look into picking up magic when I can. That’s...that’s going to be important if that dream is an indication of anything.

I only half pay attention to the conversation with the old man, though I take him up on his suggestion of getting some air. The smell of the sea is familiar at least, having lived within an hour’s drive or ride to the coast in both lifetimes. I take hold of that and focus on it. Well, at least until we pass by one of the damned Garlean ships as it takes pot shots at us.

The crew shoo us back down below the deck, and I tune back into the conversation in time to hear the old man ask, “So, what d’you intend on adventurin’ for? Gold? Glory?”

Despite myself, I remember the one character I’d set up in the game, playing this section, and choosing the silent option because I wanted to choose ‘Knowledge.’

“I...want to know more about the world,” I say hesitantly. Eorzean Common has multiple formality levels in it’s language, and the sudden influence of an English speaker in my head has scrambled the relative ease with which I could use that. “I did not have much in the way of opportunity to do...well, anything. Nothing that truly drew me anyhow. So. Learn of the world, learn of myself, and if I can get back at the Garlean bastards while doing that?” I shrug my shoulders. “All the better.”

“Hah!” the merchant barks. “Now that there’s as good a reason as any to venture out into the greater world! Way those bastard would have it, all’d be under their thumb in short order, and t’would be a cryin’ shame to see that happen! Not least of which ‘cause we’d all be dead or bowin’ our heads to the shites.”

“And you wouldn’t be able to make as much profit if there were only one set of customers to cater to,” I say with a slight smile, knowing well that businessmen are the same no matter where you go.

That nets me another round of laughter, and I notice from the corner of my eye two heads of white hair. A glance nets me two familiar faces, even though I’d never seen them before. A pair of Elezen twins. Future members of the Scions.

Oh hell, what were their names again? They were French-analogue...is that Sharlayan then? No, the Holy City has a lot of French names as well...must be the base of the original Elezen language then. Dammit, I can’t remember, not off the top of my head. Too much information spinning around.

The rest of the trip passes in a blur as I put forward the veneer of normality. I have some gil on me that could last me maybe a week, but with food, drink, and now recording implements very much a concern, that shaves down my spending money something fierce. So that means I’ll likely be picking up a job or two right out the gate to pad my purse, then retire for the night to plan and panic in equal measure.

I do have a moment of trepidation when I’m approached by Yellowjackets right off the boat, and then I remember the kidnapping cases occurring in the area thanks to Leviathan worshippers. Or Tempered, my new memories of the early parts of Final Fantasy 14 were not the clearest, not with years and information bleeding together. Thankfully, I’m let go and I proceed to the Drowning Wench without delay to present myself to the keeper and my ticket to the Adventurer’s Guild.

Baderon Tenfingers has as just a heavy accent as Tanya had always imagined him to have, which made just listening to him something of a journey. Still, with the city being much bigger than the human woman’s memories suggested, this meant that his instructions on getting around the place would be direly needed if I were to avoid getting lost and potentially shanked in a dark alley.

A habit not quite mine kicks in as I reach into a pocket for something to write with, only for me to curse. My mother did tell me to take at least some parchment and ink with me, but in trying to pack light, I told her that I wasn’t certain it’d survive the sea air. Not a lie, the fog would’ve wrought merry hell on any unsecured paper or parchment, but I really should’ve brought the ink. More the fool me.

“Yer wantin’ to make a list o’ that?” I suppose I’m not the first to do so, if that’s the retired fighter’s response.

“Yes,” I sigh. “And in my enthusiasm, I failed to account for the fact that while my memory is good, it’s not perfect, and that the names here are not what I’m used to hearing.”

The older man chuckles. “Aye, Roegadyn Old Speech can be a challenge for th’ folk off the mainland, and yer from a bit further out than most.” Roegadyn Old Speech, huh? Wonder if it’s a Welsh analogue. Or maybe Cornish.

Still, the man’s nice enough to write down the locations for me, though the spelling of the names I’m given has part of me quietly despairing. The rest of me tells that part to shut up and politely ask how to pronounce a person’s name in the future so that I won’t make an ass out of myself. I even get a map out of the deal, which will see me saving a few extra gil today.

And so begins my ‘illustrious’ career as an adventurer, doing the tour of the city and what fetch quests I can fit in for the rest of the day. Getting lost half a dozen times cuts down exactly how many tasks I can complete, but I still have enough to get a night at the inn, a solid if greasy meal of fish and chips, some watered down wine, and (the most expensive bit here) a journal with a travel pen and a well of ink.

Really, for a city choke full of pirates and semi-retired criminals and adventurers, the fact that I only had to punch three arseholes in the kidney when finding my way back to the Aetheryte Plaza is probably a good sign. As well as a credit to the Lady Admiral, of course.

I sigh as I sit on the bed, dragging the bedside table over as a makeshift desk. I’ll be pleased if I earn a room for good in the city should I survive defending Western La Noscea from a bloody Ascian, but it’s not something I can count on long term. A number of the ‘mechanics’ of the game don’t and never have translated to real life here on Hydaelyn. Maybe a discount is what’s applied here…

I shake my head. Focus. I take the pen and dip it into the inkwell, then carefully write on the first page, ‘Property of Tomoyo Nanashi,’ in both Eorzean Common and English. And I can read both without issue.

I can’t just write everything I know down, unfortunately. I may not have the Echo, and I don’t know if I want it. But those who do have it are omniglots in a way few beings are that I’ve heard of in either world, and the written word might not be a barrier, I fear. So if I write anything regarding future events, or at least the broad strokes that I know of, it’ll have to be in code or through oblique references.

And with the better part of 40 extra years in my head rattling about, along with all the stories and differing cultures that comes from living on another Star, that will hopefully be easier than it would be otherwise.

I write down the dream of the red masked Ascian. Possibly Lahabrea, which I label as BBEG of ARR. I note that the twins were on the ship, but only describe their hair. I admit to my mundane entry into adventuring, and leave out that if I am a designated protagonist, I’ll make sure to value the lack of high stakes. All of this is capped under Day 1.

I draw a line to act as a page breaker and consider what I should write down. How should I couch Tanya’s life and studies…?

I then blink. Well, she wrote more than one story, even if she never finished any of her projects. I could just try and write her life as one, with putting down the high lights tonight and adding more later.

Unfortunately, it seems I share her inability to fully stay on topic. By the time the clock tower of the city indicates that its 2 bells in the morning, I’ve written of her family and childhood, but I found myself expanding on life on Earth, the country she’s from, some of its broad history, and how a society and world could build itself without magic or aether. When I force myself to quit for the night, my hand is cramping up, and I’ve already filled more than a dozen pages. Thank the Stars for the quick dry ink and the magic that makes it relatively available, otherwise I would’ve already made a mess of the journal.

Though I do have an idea bouncing about in my head on how I could publish Tanya’s life; have her be the medium through which to tell the stories of Earth, such as Harry Potter, Star Wars, Dragon Age...though not any of the Final Fantasies or Kingdom Hearts. I’ve no idea if any of the Shards match any of the previous games, but considering some of the optional bosses in later areas that could be in the world include Cloud of Darkness from III, ExDeath from V, and bloody Kefka from VI, I really don’t want to risk some nosy Ascian catching a thread and realizing I’m not just a brutish Au Ra. And the less said of Kingdom Heart’s metaphysics applying here, the better.

Is it hubris to assume I will be the Warrior of Light? A better question. Can I afford not to calculate the possibility that Hydaelyn might ask/shanghai me for the position? Not with this many lives in the balance. Not if I want to live with myself. 

If I don’t become the Warrior, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll publish Tanya’s life under fiction while doing adventurer jobs for money and the opportunity to learn. You don’t need to be the Warrior to have access to multiple job classes, and Tanya’s perspective has given me a new interest in magic and how it really works here. I do recall one of her musings being that aether could well be the fifth fundamental force of this universe, given that even alien organisms such as Midgardsormr and Omega can manipulate it. 

So, yes, if things go...if I’m not on the rails, to borrow a Terran term, then I can manage. The sudden addition to my memories is an unexpected and somewhat unpleasant surprise, and I can already tell it’s muddled with my language center, but it’s not as if the skills I’ve built up all my life here have been replaced. I’m still a good hand with a war axe, I still have the basics of blacksmithery, and my tendency to get lost hasn’t worsened. 

...I may join the Culinarian Guild though. Recreating American and German cuisine could be interesting, and another potential source of income.

That being said, if I am on course to be a/the Warrior...well, I’m not sure. It was Shadowbringer that brought Tanya’s attention to the game and lore, and she’d only recently tried her hand at the game herself a bit before she died. She hadn’t even finished A Realm Reborn before the accident.

That means my actionable information is all late game, so to say. Even the most immediate life I could save is all the way in Ishgard. Haurchefant? Not that I have the foggiest as to how to pronounce that, seeing as my French/Elezen is non-existent. All I remember is that the Warrior of Light was traveling with him when the two got sniped, and he took the blow.

I make a note, literally, to research just how good or not healing magic and potions are. And to get at least one White Magic class under my belt. I doubt magic would be able to save someone if they suffered the complete destruction of a vital organ, but anything below that threshold…

The third bell of the morning rings, and I force myself to put the journal and ink away, and turn off the lamp. I have no idea if I’ll be able to sleep tonight, but I should try anyway. I’m not going to be 20 forever, even if it might be my second time.

-x-

It’s at nine bells when I pull myself out of bed with a groan. I’m in good enough shape not to have been sore from all the running around I did yesterday, but lack of sleep is never pleasant, and my dreams had been strange, fleeting things. No repeats of maybe-Lahabrea though, so I’ll take it.

I decide that the cause was likely the sudden information influx into my mind, and that my poor brain is still stuck doing catch up with sorting it all. Nothing for it but time, if that’s the case. I wash my face and brush my teeth, and take this chance to help reaffirm my sense of self as I look into the mirror.

For a Raen Au Ra, I’m a hair under average in height. Five fulms even, which translates to five feet, give or take an inch or two. I’m not sure what to make of the fact that our measurement system matches American Imperial so well; the chances of that should be astronomical in a very literal sense, and yet…

Blonde bangs drift over one eye, and I make a note to grab a hair pin to keep it out. Impaired vision is no good. At least it’s short, so maintenance will be easy. Maybe I can grow it out when I’m more comfortable with myself again.

If that were all, I’d be able to pass as a somewhat short human. But the ivory scales and horns, as well as limbal ringed purple eyes, mark me as distinctly a native of Hydaelyn. I run a finger over one horn, a long born habit when I’m deep in thought. With the sudden memories, I’d expect some measure of dysphoria, either with the thought that I’d been Hyur or the fact that I’m Au Ra, but the lack of that is more disconcerting than I’d care to admit. From my perspective, I’m completely Tomoyo, just as I’d been completely Tanya.

Well, all of Tanya’s musings on the issekai genre and self inserts have been good for something, as well as her stint with philosophy classes when she was in university. In the event of death, and in the extreme off chance, intact reincarnation, the old identity is to be retired and put to rest. Take what is good and useful of Earth, it’s knowledge, and people, and use it to try and better the new home you find yourself in. Remember, but don’t linger, and try not to die with too many regrets.

Easier said than done of course, but the idea of actually being dead rarely bothered the woman, only the process of dying and leaving behind loved ones. The concept of the soul and reincarnation was one of the very few things she’d been willing to take on faith and faith alone. So cherry picking what’s useful and letting some memories fade would not violate her final wishes.

Still, I should burn some incense on behalf of her family and friends. I don’t know what’s happening to me or why, but the sense of loss is real enough that a basic ritual is the least I can do.

I make another mental note to find either the main temple or the temple district within the city. Limsa Lominsa may predominantly worship the Navigator, but there should be a place of worship for all of the Twelve, if not smaller churches for the other gods. I don’t think Tanya would feel much ill will in my inheriting her memories, nor would she possess me even if she were given the option due to her despising beings who do just that; free will and the power to choose for oneself was something she held in great esteem. Harboring the legacy of the dead is no small thing however, and while aether did not exist on Earth, it does here. A prayer for her family’s loss, and a prayer for her loss. Just to be safe.

I do my set of warm up stretches and make the decision to take up some hunting requests after the visit to the church. Nothing too challenging, just see what I can make up for spending yesterday. At least I know how to dress basic prey animals I might find. Aren’t there---no, wait, dodo’s here are toxic. And that’s why they aren’t extinct yet. Urgh, I’ll have to learn how to process them properly so I won’t poison myself.

Resigning myself to the literally bloody mess that will be my life for the next week or so, I finish up with my stretches, arm and armor myself, and step out into the city proper.

Honestly, Limsa Lominsa is rather beautiful in the day, what with the white and white washed stone and (relatively) modern architecture. The city itself has been around in one form or another for centuries, that much is true, but the Lady Admiral has definitely started laying in the foundations for permanent infrastructure and long term expansion. Granted, I could do without the dead fish smell that seems to permeate everything, but that’s the downside of a port city, and I reckon I’ll get used to the constant noise as well.

I do suppress a wince as a heavy cart rumbles by on the cobblestone, the sound hitting my horns in a way I’m not accustomed to. Not something Tanya would’ve noticed, but Au Ra horns, I now understand, give us better hearing in the subsonic ranges, and that’s the kind of sound that travels for malms.

...I almost thought in miles instead of malms. Well. Now I also know what the term ‘mental contamination’ means first hand. Urgh.

A little asking around points me to the main temple located in the lower part of the city. I suppose it’d make sense for worshippers of the Navigator to keep it close to sea, though I’d reckon that there’d be other temples higher in elevation on the island if only to avoid utter destruction in the event of a tsunami or storm surge.

The building itself once I find it is of older make than most of the city, or at least it looks it to my untrained eye. I’m not too surprised by this; pirates are a superstitious lot by nature, so it makes sense that some of them would try to appease the Navigator, the goddess on which they’d rely on the most. I step inside to find some similarities to Christian churches in that there are some pews to sit in for, I presume, larger services. Nothing like the temples of Douma I've heard of, honestly. And instead of incense, I find candles that can be burned for those who follow the other gods of the Twelve.

I take two candles, and after a few moments of thought, place them on a smaller altar for Althyk, the Keeper. His domains of time and space would mean that my prayers would be more likely to reach the correct ears, both here and on Tanya’s Star.

Well. If any gods actually exist.

I shake my head at the thought and light the candles, kneeling in seiza and clapping twice before bowing my head in prayer. 

‘For Hannah, the mother. For Thomas, the father. For Cassie, the sister. For Kera, the dearest friend. Theirs is a loss most grievous, to bury a daughter and sibling before her time. Though the death be accidental, may the one responsible for it be brought to justice. And if any message may be passed on to her kin, may they find comfort that her memory lives on in another world, and that it may bring light to it, in one form or another.

‘For Tanya, the daughter, sister, and dearest friend.’ I falter, unsure of what to say. Was I Tanya, in some way? Memories maketh the man, after all, and I have most of her life in my mind now. But the soul was a very real thing here, and I had no way of knowing if I carried her soul within mine somehow, or if it was only the memory of her life that I now held. The only way I’d be able to get definitive answers for that question would be to ask Hades, and that was both unfeasible and beyond a bad idea.

‘If she is truly dead, then may she find peace in that her life mattered and has made an impact on two worlds. That no matter what will pass, I will write of her and render her memory as long lived as I can. And that, should the best and worst come to pass, I may yet live her dream to watch the sunrise on another world.’

And if we shared a soul, or if hers within mine...well, we’ll make the best of whatever comes.

I clap twice, ending the prayer, and rub at my face with a sigh, a lump in my throat and eyes warm. Identity crisis or no, Tanya’s death would badly affect her mother and best friend. Her relationship with her father and sister were more strained, but it still wouldn’t be an easy time for them either. And for that, my heart hurt.

I stare at the altar, my thoughts drifting in a melancholy manner. In fact, I was lost enough in them that I start a bit when the voice of an older man breaks the silence.

“Would an open ear be of any assistance, young one?”

I look over to see a Lalafell man dressed in priest robes. Despite their diminutive stature, I know damn well it doesn’t stop any one of the species from being a doughty warrior or devastating mage. One only needs to look at Shantotto for an example of that, even if she’s from XI rather than this Star.

Doesn’t change that a lot of them look cute though.

“I promised I’d light some incense for a family who lost their daughter,” I say quietly, conscious of the few others in the church around me. “Except that I hadn’t remembered that Eorzeans don’t burn incense for the dead or prayer.”

“Some do,” he corrects me. “But it can be difficult to store correctly so close to the sea, thus the offering of candles in place of it.”

And expensive to replace if it gets fouled frequently. That makes sense. 

“If you will permit me the question, was she someone you knew well?” the priest asks, a kind expression on his face.

I muse on the question. “Yes and no,” I answer. “I know her story well, but I never met her myself.”

“But it is a loss nonetheless,” he tells me. “‘Tis kind of you to give remembrance for her. I am sure she appreciates it.”

I shrug. “She...wasn’t particularly religious, honestly. I think she’d appreciate the sentiment, but would rather I take her story and try to do some good with it rather than offer prayers to gods she never venerated.”

The priest smiles. “I’ve met her like before. Those who would rather make their mark in the memory of others, and that any approval of the Twelve be incidental rather than sought after.”

I slowly nod. “That...yes, that sounds like her, from what I know,” I admit. “She didn’t reject the idea of gods outright, but didn’t seek out one to worship. Not after she came of age.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Not many pray to the Keeper for the dead,” he says.

“She wasn’t from Eorzea,” I say. “Nor her family. I hope that he’d be willing to pass the message on, so to speak, to her mother’s god, if nothing else.”

“And being the god of time and space, his reach would encompass the lands beyond Eorzea,” the priest nods. “A logical choice in that respect. And a kind one.”

I sigh. “There’s not much we can do for the dead,” I say, equal parts to myself and the Lalafell. “But keep their memory and honor it. And I know what she’d want me to do with it.” I bow to the altar, and then turn and bow to the priest. “Thank you for listening, sir. I appreciate it.”

I get a small reminder of our cultural differences when he returns the bow in a more Eorzean/Western style, versus my Eastern style. “You are welcome, and should you ever need another ear, feel free to ask for any of the priests and priestesses here. All are welcome.”

I mull over the offer. “I might come back in a week or two,” I say. “But I need to finish getting myself established in the Adventurer’s Guild before I can meditate too long on spiritual needs.”

“I wondered,” his smile broadened. “I wish you luck in your quests, and may the Navigator guide your way.”

The solemn beginning of the day, fortunately, does not match the tone of the rest of it. A couple more fetch quests help me continue to get the lay of the city better; something I missed yesterday thanks to my sudden...condition, was that there are still signs of building and reconstruction scattered around the area. No wonder a good chunk of the architecture is modern, when they’ve had to rebuild after Dalamud and Bahamut.

I shiver a little at the thought. I hadn’t fully conceptualized back then just how disastrous the fall of the artificial moon was, nor the fact that it could’ve been so much worse. Our refugee camp turned village in a nearby island further along the archipelago struggled with flooding, salted land from ocean surges, and that Bahamut’s release had thrown so much debris in the air that the year would’ve earned the title of The Year Without Summer were it not for the calamity naming conventions. That was a very lean time, all told, and not even the impetuousness that comes with being a teenager prevented me from helping where I could. Either in my father’s forge or at the loom with my mother who tried to salvage and weave new bandages when she could, but work meant food. At that point, if you were relatively healthy and didn’t work, you didn’t eat.

Now with Tanya’s additional perspective of being an astronomy nerd, I realize that Dalamud could’ve been so much worse. A hollow construct instead of a solid moon that broke apart in the atmosphere meant that as devastating as the damage was, it was spread out instead of potentially cracking the continental plate had it fallen directly onto Eorzea. The 7th Calamity was certainly an apocalypse, but not one that set us all back into the Bronze Age such as the 4th, which ended the Allag Empire. Nor did it trigger a multi-year winter, which could very well have resulted in a mass extinction event comparable to the Cretacous period. Forget about the end of civilization, it would’ve been the end of most life on the planet.

I take a breath and file that information away. Nothing I can do about it now, other than do what I can to help rebuild, I suppose. And adventurers bring in resources and income to the various cities they patron. And right now, that’s Limsa Lominsa.

For the afternoon hours, I make my first trek outside of the city gates and start learning how to hunt the local animals, culling pests like the wharf rats (my first Rodents Of Unusual Size, I can’t help but note dryly), the oversized lady bugs (higher oxygen content in the atmosphere for larger arthropods and animals in general? Or side effect of aether in the ecology?), and the floating jellyfish (Magic. Bloody magic). Baderon’s amusement is clear at getting a pouch full of the things, and when he offered me to try some...well, I can verify that the texture is very much like boot leather, when it doesn’t squish like slimy, soggy bread. It’s that, more than the taste, that had me nearly losing what little I had in my stomach.

“Hahahaha! I think yer the firs’ ta take me up on tryin’ ta eat one o’ these bastards,” he exclaims after I spit the piece out in a nearby tobacco spitoon. “Fer that, ya get a meal on the house!”

“Give me a minute or two to make sure my stomach won’t just toss it all back up in a fit of mutiny,” I groan, which just nets me more laughter.

When the sun begins to dip down, I’m back in my room at the inn, having made at least some of my money back after spending so much on writing implements. I make a note in the diary to write to my parents by the end of the week, then frown in thought. Would it be safe to do so? Then again, it’s not like I’m actually confirmed to be the Warrior of Light at this stage, so...yes. Write to them, at least for this month, and if something comes up...I’ll tackle that when I get there.

I glance over the first entry regarding ‘canon’ and snort. ‘Red Mask dream. Remembered. Weird twins, Elezen, white hair. Side quests. MSQ to Farms shortly(?). Earn rep. Meet Y-CNJ. Meet ‘Mum.’ More Farms. Blue pirate problem. Bring extra meds. Tank surprise. Black Mask? Get a feel for Island, help out when able. Fishfolk problem. Underfolk problem? Black Mask. Y-CNJ again. Grill for answers? Watch for bison, bring rope if convinced to fetch for cow patties.’

That last bit was added because I distinctly recall that being Tanya’s first death in the game, and I’d rather not get trampled by aurochs if I can help it, and I am not limited by game mechanics. A grappling hook, some rope, and a bucket or sack and trowel would make that go a lot quicker and would be safer for both myself and the herd animals.

Is this written in code? No, but without context, the casual snooper would be rather confused at the simplistic string of information scrawled down, and that’s if English can be casually read by your average Eorzean.

I do want better security, but for now it’ll have to do. It’s not like I’m on anyone’s radar at the moment.

I bullet point my tasks for the day, then continue to write down Earth’s history and some of the cultures. I only give broad strokes to the World Wars, and make no mentions on how nukes worked. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the Allagans and Ascians unlocked the secret of the atom, but that’s one bottle that can stay closed for a goodly while longer until the war with Garlemald is no longer a problem. And a quick skim through of my memories have me grimacing. That could be anywhere between one to three years, depending on the time frame of everything.

This time I get to sleep at a saner bell; midnight rather than three in the morning. I light the alarum candle, with bits of metal that will topple down at 8 in the morning when it burns to that level and clatter on the metal plate below it, and tuck in. The next week or two won’t be easy, but hopefully I’ll learn whether or not I’m a person of interest by then.

Chapter Text

It’s nearly two weeks after I’ve moved into to the port city when I’m bade to visit the Summerford farms and lend a hand there. My pulse kicks up a notch when I realize that this may very well be the first step one might take in the original story of A Realm Reborn; I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down some, which Baderon catches.

“Nerves, lass?” he asks.

I make a so-so motion. “Monster hunting is fine, and it’s been interesting at the Marauders Guild,” I say. “I’m just finally getting used to the city and everything in an hour or two’s walk. I’ve been known to get lost on occasion.”

The retired adventurer chuckles. “Happens to e’eryone, and don’t feel bad about it,” he tells me. “Island’s mapped out pretty well if yer needin’ one, and only fer a few gil.”

“I’ll take that then,” I accept gratefully.

Another mechanic that doesn’t match up with reality is being locked out of the chocobo rentals until you visit that particular station. Oh the birds will ditch you if you jump off, but I haven’t heard a bad thing about riding one. Except maybe for the smell. Not as bad as horses, but any animal that might be stabled has at least a little musk to it.

Exploring greater La Noscea is enjoyable, so long as I avoid those oversized hornets; both lives had I the bad luck of getting stung by bees as a young child, and now I’ve a hatred for wasps, hornets, yellow jackets, and similar insects.

Not honey or bumblebees though. They get a pass. The rest can piss off.

That being said, the island is a lot bigger than the game would have you think. Teleport is a massive boon for the individual’s travel time, but you can’t transport bulk goods that way; only yourself and what you can carry in your pack, spacial expanded or otherwise. On foot, going from one end of the island to the other takes about three or four days. And the entire archipelago is probably a week’s worth of sailing before the Admiral’s hold of the territory weakens.

It’s a reminder that scale is very relative as I travel, and that I’m going to be on the road and out under the stars a lot.

Helping around the farm for the next few days is...well, it goes. Finding louts who aren’t enthused of the job change, and in one memorable case, physically dragging a grown man back when he refused to budge and made fun of my height. I had to bite back a laugh at the face he made when I made it clear that I can and will deadlift someone near a full fulm taller than me; his compatriots were not so restrained. 

Auri women may be short, but only Garleans beat us out when it comes to being physical powerhouses. How else would we keep up with our ridiculously tall menfolk?

The next three days see me becoming a familiar face around the farm. Not reacting when Y’shtola passes through is...difficult. So much of the material I’d seen of her was after she’d lost her sight in a forbidden ritual that allows people to dive into the lifestream. Her clear blue eyes and keen gaze...gods. Gods and stars and suns. This is really happening, isn’t it?

I let myself have a good cry that night, when I teleport back to Limsa. I see the future looming before me, and it terrifies me that I might be central to so much tragedy. I want to run away from it. Be anywhere but here. I’m not hero material. Hells, I’m only just 20! I’m not ready for any of it!

I cry myself to sleep, and when I dream, it is of a much beloved story that rarely strayed too far from my thoughts for one reason or another in Tanya’s life; the Lord of the Rings was classic and beloved by many, for nearly anyone could find something to connect to in the tale. 

It is Moria; a bit like in the movies, in that I hear the music Howard Shore had composed for the fallen kingdom, faintly buzzing my horns. I do not know if I am next to Frodo, or am Frodo as he says, “I wish it need not happen in my time.”

And Gandalf replies, grey eyes and grey beard, and with a terribly kind voice; “So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” The slight flicker of an orange ember, grey smoke veiling everything.

Then the dream shifts, fades, and I wake up, heart heavy but mind calmer. I breathe for a few moments, the room gloomy with the lightest touch of dawn tinging the sky. I light the candle and write down the dream before I can forget it.

There’s so much of the world that is outside of our control. As Tanya, I acknowledged this, and learned to live with it. Being a civilian, disabled, and living through a pandemic taught me much of learning how to accept what I cannot change and how to muddle through hard times. ‘This too, will pass,’ was a motto of mine when things went south, in my late twenties and early thirties. Nothing is permanent. Change always comes for you. What you can control is how you react to it.

As Tomoyo...well, my brain is still developing the final touches of my frontal cortex. There will likely be times where my judgement is compromised for one reason or another. If I find the Crystal of Water, it will be my choice to accept Hydaelyn’s intervention or not. The question is, what can I do that would help, versus literally anyone else?

Short term? Not much. Ascians mucking about, though I shouldn’t have to worry about the Unsundered for a good while. Two or three Primals in, I think. The Garleans and Gaius’ nonsense. Maybe I can get him started early on waking up to smell the shit his higher ups have buried him under, maybe not. As an American in that other life, I knew well how complicated one’s relationship could be with their home country. And if I can’t convince him, he’ll see for himself, sooner or later; a man with no active magic hunting as many Ascians as he had during Shadowbringers is no fool, regardless of the question of if he could permanently kill them.

I’m not enthused about the idea of being the Warrior of Light. If I am not a fragment of Azem, later stages will get very, very tricky in terribly short order. But that is outside of my control. If the Water Crystal comes to me, I’ll ask the personality template imprinted onto the World Crystal. Well, if I get the chance to.

If only I could remember her name. Something regarding Final Fantasy XII’s pantheon, I think, but I never played anything of Ivalice; XII released at an awkward year for me, and the RTS games...the less said about my skill in those the better.

I sigh. We’ll see how much I have to do soon enough.

The next day, Sevrin is his fool, money grubbing self. The matter is handled easily enough, after thumping a few heads and driving idiots off. And then I am bid to investigate a grotto.

My stomach sinks, but I square my shoulders. The moment of truth, then.

Y’shtola announces herself by reading off the inscription on the altar. I huff, a little amused and annoyed at the same time by her sense of drama.

“You do realize I grew up in these parts, right?” I can’t help but say. “You can’t help but learn of the Navigator around here.”

“And yet, such words well describe in which the way the citizens of Limsa Lominsa live their lives,” she replies with a small smile. “A litany for those lost to the sea, and a bid for those who perish on land to return to it.”

I shrug. “The sea is older than all civilizations put together, and will remain when our cultures are naught but dust and memory. Of course people venerate it.”

“You are the adventurer I have seen about Summerford Farms,” Y’shtola’s eyes brighten a little. “I had thought that perhaps I had been on the trail of the kidnappers, but it appears I had missed my mark.”

“That makes both of us,” I shake my head, only to jump a little when a loud THUMP, followed by a roar, rings out into the cave.

“Perhaps we are not so amiss then,” Y’shtola says, her smile widening a touch even as the goobbue starts to bear down on us. “I suspected that the aetheric disturbance here was no natural occurrence.”

I draw my axe, touching my own energy to lend strength to my limbs. “We can theory craft later,” I say. “Let’s deal with the ambush for now.”

“Agreed,” the Conjurer brings out her wand. “On both accounts.”

It’s my first time working with someone on the field who isn’t a fellow marauder; Y’shtola does a wonderful job of blunting the worst of the poor beast’s blows while I draw its attention with war cries and hard strikes. A couple of smaller samples of its species show up to try and complicate matters, but some quick Stone work from the Conjurer trips them up, giving me the chance to sever spines and break limbs with my weapon. 

The big bastard takes a bit more coordination to put down. The tripping hazard strategy works once or twice, but while my weapon can bite through the hide, the bones are just a touch too hard for me to really cut through like I need to.

“Fuck!” I wheeze when it bats me to the side, a quick Cure silencing the screaming of my ribs. “Ys, any ideas!?”

I can just see the mild irritation flicker from the corner of my eye in her face at the nickname, but she’s on the ball. “With many larger beasts, the insides are frequently more vulnerable than the hide!”

“Yeah, but how---wait, you’ve got Aero, right?” I call out as an idea blinks through my mind. 

“A standard spell for any Conjurer,” she answers.

“Great! Can you rip the air out of its lungs?” I duck under a flailing limp.

I don’t get a reply immediately. It is a pretty harsh action, and something about white magic work being for nature probably means that inflicting that kind of suffering isn’t seen as terribly kosher, but---

“Yes. Your thoughts?” she asks, light gathering around her for a cast.

“Ripping the air out it will force it to open its mouth,” I hastily shoot out. “I can jam it open with my axe, and you can start chucking Stone down its gullet ‘till it goes down!”

“Ugly work,” she remarks, but there’s a thread of steel in her voice. “Wind, come to me!”

The goobbue immediately feels the lack of oxygen in its oversized lungs, its mouth open wide even as no sound comes out. A lash of my axe at a knee to bring it down to our level. Jamming the head of the weapon against the top jaw, metal scrapping bone and teeth, and my heavily armored boot against the bottom jaw. I throw my entire body into keeping the monster’s mouth wide open. “Now!”

“Earth, heed my call!” Three chunks, then six, then nine all clogging up the goobbue’s throat. It gags, struggles, but it can’t get upright anymore. I clamber on top of it, and with a hoarse shout, bring my axe right down between its eyes.

Green blood sprays everywhere. Two more strikes, and its death throes finally cease.

I spit some of the biomatter out and grimace; I rather doubt any diseases are communicable between species, but I lived through the COVID years, I know what zoonotic viruses can do. Urgh, I’ll be pissed if I get sick.

I step off the corpse and look over to the Miqo’te woman, only to blink as a shiny spot of blue catches my attention. A hexagonal crystal, glowing softly.

Oh. Oh boy. Now’s the question. Do I pick it up?

Only I don’t get a choice in the matter because the damn thing begins to float from where it had rested; I blink, and I am then in a black space, the crystal hovering between my hands, glowing brightly.

Below me, an arcane circle etches itself into being, as blue as the stone between my hands. Six spaces around me, outlined in a style I’d never seen before. Then the crystal shines bright, and cool power flows upwards. My eyes follow its path, and something glimmers far above. The aether splashes against it, the sound of rushing water filling my horns.

“Hear...Feel...Think…”

And the sky shifts; from black with glowing white, to a portal to hell as fire falls from the sky.

The End of Days. The soul deep trauma that exists in all Amaurotine shards, large and small.

‘Oh hell,’ I think, resigned. ‘Not even an interview? Not even a chance to ask if she’s made the right choice?’ The Mothercrystal needs Azem’s fragment. Otherwise, the power she’ll invest will be for naught.

The vision changes. When I can see again, I’m floating in an unknown space, shimmering blue and violet all around me. The lifestream?

“Crystal bearer,” the voice rings out again, a shard of blue crystal hovering now in front of me. “I am Hydaelyn. All made one.”

I wrestle my focus together, to project as loudly as possible. ‘You are the Primal made by the second faction of Amaurot, after the summoning of Zodiark. You bear an Amaurotine in your heart, your directing intelligence. Unless I bear the soul shard of Azem, the last to bear that title before the summoning, I am not the one you need. You need them. Without them, your well of power will run dry and all will die, either to the Unsundered, or to Fandaniel’s madness.’

Silence. Silence. And then she speaks. “Thou hast seen a shade of the future that casts its pall over this Star.”

‘Yes.’

“Would thou still walk upon the path of the Light, if thou once bore the mantle of the Traveler?”

‘I would work to save as many as I could,’ I say. ‘I don’t care that you’re a primal, only that you don’t temper people. If working with you means more can be saved, I’m fine with that. But the crystals of light need to go to Azem’s fragment. You need them, a lot more than some lost soul of Earth.’

“Thou art a daughter of this Star,” she says, and I blink in surprise. “Thou hath traveled far, my child. Now, thou hast returned.” Movement from below, and I see a second crystal. Then a third, and suddenly I’m before the mountain that is Hydaelyn, the Primal of Light. “The Darkness of that ancient past once more rises, presaging the end to all Life. The power to banish it dwelleth within the Crystals of Light. Wandering child, seek them out, and lay claim to them.”

My heart skips a beat, then a second. ‘Wait, I said you need---!’

“Fear not, my daughter,” and there is something kind in that voice, comforting, and I’m beginning to see why people call her the Mothercrystal. “Thou doth bear the strength in thine heart. Have faith, and the Light shall forever dwelleth within thee.”

The rock solid certainty, not just in her voice but literally radiating from the massive collection of magic before, takes the edge of the protest forming in my thoughts. I’m not sure this is the best path forward, but…

‘Are you sure?’ I ask, because if she’s wrong, if I’m not them…

“Have faith, dear one,” she says again, and I don’t hide the flicker of doubt in my heart. “If not in thyself, then in this truth. That as long as thou walketh in the Light, thou shalt never walk alone.”

Color in the corner of my eye, and I turn to see a Miqo’te with bright orange hair, light glimmering about them. And then a Roegadyn man passes by me, leaving a trail like a shooting star. I sigh.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ I grouse. ‘Fine. But I reserve the right to grumble the whole way!’

Laughter rings in my heart and head as I find myself flying through that strange space, racing along the plains and valleys across the crystal’s form with other souls that shine and glimmer in this strange space. And then I’m directed up, towards the shining sun. 

“Go now, my child, and shine thy Light across all creation.”

And then I’m back in the cave, the Crystal of Water in hand and my body flat on the floor.

“How fare you?” the conjurer asks. “I admit to some alarm when you collapsed, but I found no measurable source of your affliction.”

I straighten up, blinking. “You...missed this?” I say, holding up the magic rock.

Blue eyes widen. “That...that is a Crystal of Light! Where did you find such a thing?” she exclaims. 

“It dropped from the goobbue,” I motioned towards the corpse. “I wasn’t planning on picking it up initially, but then it started floating and then…” I shrug. “Well. You hear about people getting visions. Now I’ve got first hand experience.”

“How so?” The keen look in her eye is mildly nerve wracking, and it doesn’t help that I’m still shaken from meeting the Second Primal face to...face? Eh.

“So, uh, we don’t have a lot of stories about the World Crystal back in Higanshi,” I start, which is true; Ma's the one who's the most religious of the family, so she's the one that educated me on gods and the like. “Honestly, I never put much stock in them. I could buy the existence of the little gods easily enough, but the big ones seemed...too big, I guess? Except, now I’ve met her. This,” I lift the crystal up. “Floated into my hands, and the next thing I know, I see the sky raining fire, a voice telling me to ‘hear, feel, think,’ and then I’m before the World Crystal. Some ancient darkness is rising again, she said, and the Crystals of Light can push it back. So she wants me to look for them.”

“How fascinating,” Y’shtola. “This day truly has been a source of revelations---oh. I should mention that I found this,” she pulls out a rope knife. “Imbedded into the goobbue’s back. I imagined it is what kindled the poor creature’s fury. I suspect the instigators are of the piraticle sort.”

“I mean, most sailors have a knife like that,” I shrug as I get up. “But I get what you mean.”

“Beg pardon?” she frowns in puzzlement.

“What?” I blink, and realize I’ve slipped into English. “Oh gods dammit, sorry, wrong language.”

“...No matter.” Right, Echo, she’ll have understood my words regardless of how I speak them. She flips the knife so that she pass it to me, handle first. “I suggest you pass this on to your patron and give him the news.”

“Pirates of one stripe or another,” I say with a nod as I accept the minute bit of evidence. “I’ll see you around?”

“I am sure you will,” she responds with a nod of her own. “May our paths cross again in the light of the Crystal.”

And with that, she’s gone, no doubt to report her findings to her fellow Scions. Could be better, but it could be a hell of a lot worse.

Oh fuck, what am I going to tell my parents? And what the hell am I going to do with the Water Crystal, I can’t just stash it in my inn room, that’s ridiculously insecure! 

Without warning, the glowing mineral vanishes from my hand, and I feel a coolness settle into me, in the same non-directional place that hums whenever I attune myself to an aetheryte.

...Did it just shack up in my soul? Rude. And weird. And I’m not going to think about it right now. I’ve got evidence to hand in and some other, serious thinking to do.

-x-

My thoroughly rattled state is enough to give me the rest of the day off, and I head to Limsa and spend some of my earnings on the nicest cake I can afford; watered down wine is the most alcohol I generally touch, but getting drunk in my current mood is beyond stupid. So comfort food is my next best option.

I scribble down a quick overview of the day’s events, and after a few moments thought, give a very general account of the vision from the Mothercrystal. I don’t feel entirely comfortable referring to her by the same name the planet goes by; did the Amaurotines name this world, or did people name the world after her when visions of her become a thing? No way of knowing right now, I didn’t think to ask. And any information gained from the primal, as generally well intentioned as she is, is automatically suspect without verification.

I snack on my cake as I consider my options, taking a little comfort in the bustle of the city around me. Get visited by the closest thing to a true blue goddess in these parts, and the world still moves on without you. On the one hand, it’s a good reminder. On the other, I know just how high the stakes will raise eventually, and it’s...well, stressful, put politely.

My memory for A Realm Reborn isn’t the best, but I am starting to recall names and faces a lot easier these days. Some time for the memories to settle in my brain and get sorted is part of that, I think. That being said, there’s a lot I don’t know, and that lack is intimidating. What good does it do me to know that a Douman born Garlean ponce will be the host to Fandaniel when not only is there a good chance he’s not a host yet, but the information won’t be actionable for a year or three?

Right. What do I have? Thancred’s possessed by Lahabrea at some point, so I have to work on the assumption that he’s possessed now until we find a way to drive him out of the Scion. A memory tickles at me. Didn’t Thancred not remember a thing whenever Lahabrea took the wheel? I don’t know which is worse honestly; remembering all the awful things the body thief does when he takes over, or not recalling a thing and living with those blank spots for the rest of your life. I suppose I’ll have to talk with him later when it’s relevant.

What else? The twins I saw earlier. Alisaie and Alphinaud. Not a clue how to pronounce their last names, my French/Elezen continues to be terrible, and ironically enough, the Echo may put paid to any attempts to learn the language manually. Oh well, ease of communication is a boon I won’t pass lightly.

I remember the kids have...problems. Chips on their shoulders, from their grandpa’s death and their parents being complicated people. Their mom dressed them the same, didn’t she? Why would you do that, that stifles the growth of the kids, it’s not cute. And their dad’s a big wig of Sharlayan. Some kind of politician, I’ll have to look into the political structure of the island at some point. I do recall half the fandom seemingly rising up in arms when he throws the two out of the family, so I’m already inclined not to like him much. Prick.

Y’shtola...Well. Conjurer she might be, but that she went with my plan shows the hints of the brutal philosophy that accompanies black magic which she takes up later. Wasn’t that critical at some point? It was later in the timeline...not Heavensward, so probably Stormblood.

Urgh, I barely remember anything of that expansion. Hell, I didn’t even finish A Realm Reborn; I spoiled myself a fair amount on everything up to Shadowbringers, but what I did read and research was scattershot. And then I saw the first Endwalker trailer and decided I’d play up to that point, then experience the rest for myself after seeing 5.3 lets plays and crying when Elidibus died.

Why, oh why did I not look up spoilers? I groan quietly and rub at my head. Fandaniel’s an omnicidal maniac who wants to burn the world down while he does, and the blonde knock off Sephiroth from Garlemald...fuck, what was his name? Zi...Xe? No, Zenos! Well, knock off Sephiroth isn’t quite right, the sociopathic princling is supposed to be well past seven and a half fulms, wasn’t he? Yeesh, and I keep thinking Da is tall. I do recall that Zenos wants to absorb the Mothercrystal’s counterpart so that he and the Warrior of Light can have one last epic throwdown before the end of it all.

Except now the Warrior of Light is me. Which means I’m going to have to survive him. Fuck.

And that’s all I know about endgame stuff. Not good.

I take another bite of cake, trying to ward off the encroaching anxiety and stress with sugar and chocolate. Focus on the now. Big picture stuff when you actually can affect the big picture, which sure as shit won’t be until you kill your first primal, I remind myself. Though which primal that is...hrm. Coin flip between Shiva and Ifrit I think, that’s how it usually goes. No, wait, isn’t Shiva a Heavensward raid? There was a weird Shiva raid in Shadowbringers, I remember the awesome boss music, but…

Dammit. Too many holes, and while I know I know some of it, it’s just not coming to me. Too much data, not enough structure. I have to wait, I think.

OK, near future, what’s coming next? More Sevrin shenanigans, I think. That golem set on me by an Ascian cultist. Doubt the idiot even had his memories of Amaurot kickstarted honestly. Visit the training hall and brush up my aether-reading for projected attacks, I’m pretty sure that thing had AOE skills.

It’s nice that’s not something restrained to the Echo. Anyone can technically do it as long as they have the ability to even attune, it just needs training like any other skill. And Garleans that can’t see or sense aether somehow with their third eye generally have reaction times that let them read those attacks coming anyway; injuries from such blows generally happen because you couldn’t react in time, got cocky in thinking you could tank the damage (something the guild leader is very adamant we don’t fall to), or were so wide spread you had no way of getting out in time anyway.

Right. Golem. AOE’s. I won’t go looking for the Ascian, best not to spook him into moving early.

Urgh. Plotting and trying to predict this shit is going to suck. 

With my treat finished, I head to the inn to soak and do more ‘worldbuilding’ for Earth based stories. I’ll worry about adventuring shit tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The next four days see me back at the farm and helping about the place. I get paid for my trouble, I get to practice field dressing some of the animals and monsters I hunt, and it’s generally not the worst way to pass the time. I do bring extra tools when that one guy asks for auroch shite; like hell I’m walking into that natural pen they’ve claimed, it’s up and over the wall with my rope and harness, and staying near that wall so I can bolt back up it when needed. And it is needed a couple times before I get enough of the stuff.

Seriously. And humanity managed to domesticate animals like that during the last Ice Age? Without magic? I’m feeling some serious respect for those distant ancestors and their bronze plated balls.

And then Sevrin goes missing with a few of his fellow idiots, last seen heading towards Woad Whisper Canyon.

I stretch out my muscles, sharpen my axe, and bring extra potions. I need to remember to pick up Physik from the Arcanist’s Guild one of these days, the fee’s not so bad so as to encourage more skilled healers around the city. I’d like to learn full blown White Mage stuff, but that needs to wait until I’ve got access to a chocobo and the other cities.

I find a number of the idiot’s friends in rough shape, and patch them up to the best of my limited skills with potions and bandages. All of them still have the strength to limp away, fortunately, and I tell them I’ll save Sevrin from his fool self, if only because he did genuinely try to save them from getting killed by the Serpent Reavers last second.

I don’t hold back against these pirates; I don’t know how many of them are Leviathan’s drowned, how many are just in it for the cruelty and kicks, or whatever other reasons they might have for getting involved with the Sahagin’s more violent factions. But I can’t cure tempering, and there’s an Ascian waiting in the wings. So I aim to kill as quick and clean as possible, and try to ignore the nausea the smell of so much blood induces.

And then a strange, atonal voice rings out in a language I’ve never heard, though I understand every word uttered. A voice with multiple harmonics that makes my horns buzz, my gut clench unpleasantly and my nerves jangle.

The golem pulls together and I sharpen my focus to read the aether that animates it; minor keys, sharp high notes. The invocation he used indicates that he might have summoned a voidborn for this, so I’m not sure if that’s the sound of the Ascian’s aether or the demon’s.

I go for joints to destabilize it, and the core to put it down permanently. The cultist talks some shit, but as long as he isn’t throwing spells at me, it’s safe enough to ignore him and keep myself the center of attention so that Sevrit doesn’t get crushed. Any extra witness to Ascian shenanigans is useful.

Then the notes scream up in pitch and I throw myself to the side, dodging a strike that would’ve turned me to paste as a Terran. As it is, that would’ve been at least one broken bone. But it gives me an opening, and I lift my Da’s axe high and break the crystal the golem is formed around, causing the aether to blow out like an orchestra losing its tune. 

That convinces the Ascian to run. I restrain a snort, both in amusement of the sound the aether gave when I killed the golem, and in disgust at the goon. Suddenly I have a vague understanding as to why Emet-Selch looks down at us, if this is all that the lowest level of the group can manage. It doesn’t make it right, what he and his plan to do, have done in the past. But the despair he expressed in the original timeline makes a little more sense now.

Then Y’shtola strolls into the canyon, calm as you please. “And the snake slithered away. I am only glad he did not have the chance to sink his fangs more deeply into you.”

I open my mouth to respond, only for my horns to start ringing like mad and pressure build behind my eyes. Oh hell---

I see Y’shtola, elsewhere and just a little elsewhen, wearing those goggles and thinking aloud of who the pirates might be and what their plans are. And then she worries over the summoning of the primals, and then my head rings again.

And suddenly I’m on the docks in Limsa, Y’shtola looking out over the sea as she ponders the state of the world’s decaying stability. No, not to the sea. Up. I follow her gaze, and my blood goes cold; the red moon looms low in the sky, just beginning to graze the atmosphere in its descent. How the woman can be so calm in the face of it, I can only chalk up to her not quite knowing what it contained and how bad impact could’ve been. Gods. I’m going to have nightmares of the Calamity tonight, I can just feel it.

The worst of the ringing fades, but I’m not back yet. She marvels aloud of the artifact she’s using, seeing aether as she’ll eventually see it when she loses her vision. She’s given a little gift from a flower girl, accepts it, then notices that the flow of the energy is off. Seasong Grotto.

I open my eyes, and I find I’m on my back on the ground. Again.

“What do we have here?” Y’shtola’s voice breaks through the throbbing in my head before something chimes. “'Tis I. Regrettably, no. He eluded me. Understood. I will inform the commodore.” Right. Linkpearls. Basically radios. That’s...actually incredibly useful. I should look into getting one.

Then she turns to me and says, “You collapsed from your exertions. Are you suitably recovered?”

I make a face and carefully sit upright, cradling my head. “Maybe. That’s the second vision I’ve had this week. Ow.” I rub at the area near the base of my horns, breathe for a few seconds, then stand, wincing at the changing blood pressure in my head. “I feel I owe you an apology Lady Y’shtola,” I say. “I saw a...memory?” I struggle to find the words for a moment. “You were wearing your goggles there,” I point to them around her neck. “And were thinking aloud. Something about the pirates, and beastfolk, and then…” I I take a breath. “And then you worried about primals, and the memory shifted further back in time.” I shiver. “You were watching Dalamud from Limsa’s docks. I’m...probably going to have Calamity nightmares. Again.”

The conjurer blinks slowly, and I’m afraid I might’ve said too much. “I see,” she murmurs. “Thank you for informing me. I suppose Staelwyrn told you my name?”

I nod. “I saw you around the farms, and asked for verification that he knew of your presence. I didn’t look to pry in your business past that.”

She inclines her head. “Sevrin here has apprised me of what had transpired. His account has explained how you came to be attacked by a golem of all things.”

“They’re not intelligent, right?” I say. “Just...magic machines that take orders, according to my understanding.”

“Just so,” she confirms. “But though it be mindless, its inner workings are arcane. Far more complex than what mere pirates would be able to deduce. Thus, one can conclude they are no mere pirates---these wretches serve the Sahagin. As to their purpose...we shall get to the bottom of it.

“I will deliver Sevrin to Staelwyrn. I dare say his employer wishes to know of his state,” she says, the steel in her voice more than enough to keep the cutthroat in place even were he not remorseful for his actions. “When you’ve recovered, pray visit the man as well. I imagine he will be most pleased to see you.”

“I’ll follow along in a bit,” I promise, gently kneading my forehead with the palm of my armored hand. “And...sorry again. I swear I’m not this strange on a daily basis.”

Her lips quirk up. “Perhaps not. I am sure we will speak again.” And with that, she’s gone, Sevrin in tow.

I leave the canyon, but take a break at the lip of new cliff-face that got carved into the island when Bahamut passed by. Did I say too much, when I admitted to seeing the memory? Might’ve, but the idea of not being honest about that sort of thing doesn’t sit right with me. Not to mention how bloody invasive that was.

It may be a sign though, I consider as I sit on a crate, watching the sea glimmer in the mid morning light. The Warrior’s unique Echo ability was postcognition in the game. I was worried that it would be past life memory, like with...Kryle? Kryile? Can’t remember their name fully, but a Lalafell with the Echo who is or will be a member of the Scions. 

But then, the memory came separate of the Echo, I remind myself. Why it came with the opening vision of Lahabrea, I have no way of knowing right now, so it stands to reason that the two are different things. 

Still don’t like how invasive it is. It’s creepy as hell, especially since control over the power is non-existent. 

I remind myself to outline a letter of apology to the Admiral soon; after I take down the Ascian goon along with some Sahagin, I’m going to get a close acquaintance with her memory of Carteneau. That is not going to be pleasant.

Though if I do bear Azem’s soul, that begs the question. How in the name of the entire multiverse did they wind up on Earth, of all places? The reincarnation cycle is pretty stable and deliberate here, isn’t it? Unless it’s something a past iteration triggered for one reason or another?

Oh maybe it's just someone's memory that got transferred over here; information is a lot easier to transport across space and time, but that brings up the question of who, how, why Tanya/me, and why not someone with a much better grounding of the game, lore, and timeline?

I blow out a breath and run a hand through my hair. Too many questions, and no way of answering them. Not without raising very awkward questions myself, and potentially putting myself on people’s radar far earlier than healthy.

Nothing for it. Visit the farms, wrap up things with Sevrin and make sure he doesn’t get the chopping block. As long as he doesn’t backslide and is willing to actually put work towards the society the Admiral has built here, I’m willing to leave things be.

-x-

My work at Summerford Farms doesn’t net me free room and board at the Drowned Wench, but it is at a steep discount that puts some breathing room back into my budget, much to my relief. The Guild fees I pay aren’t unmanageable, but I’d like to start sending something back with my parents’ weekly letters sooner rather than later.

Speaking of letters, I really should go and outright visit them when I get a moment. Writing of my vision doesn’t seem like the safest option, and soon enough things are going to kick into high gear that makes my relation to them hazardous on their end of things.

Should I go before or after that mess with the Sahagin? Probably sooner, I’ll be hopping between cities fairly frequently should that follow the primary timeline, and when I get down time after that is very much a question up in the air. 14’s style of story telling was very flexible when it comes to interpreting how long each story arc took, which means I have no real way of knowing how much time before Endwalker hits. Could be one year, in which case hello burnout, or it could be between three to five as I’ve seen some people interpret. 

Not as long as five, I think, because travel times generally aren’t that awful unless there’s absolutely no access to aetheryte networks where you’re going, and with aetheryte networks intact even in Othard, I don’t see it being that bad. 

I sigh, fiddling with the new journal I purchased. Stop fretting over long term right now, I tell myself. Yes, things are going to get crazy, but you’ve got time. You’re still a sprout, so unless you start blabbing about everything you know, you won’t be seeing the likes of Lahabrea until past Titan, at least.

Right. Get a letter penned for Ma and Da and ask for a good time to visit; Da does work for the Blacksmith Guild when he isn’t metal working at our village, and Ma’s one of our best weavers after the Calamity hit, so they can be pretty busy at times. I’d much rather have this conversation only the once.

Ma, Da

Adventuring work is going well for me. Baderon Ten-Finger is pleased enough with my work that I’ve got reliable room and board in Limsa, so I’m still nearby. Got asked to help around one of the farms further inland. Hard work, but I only had to get auroch crap once! No Ma, I didn’t fight them, I had a wall I could climb down with some rope and get back up if they noticed I was there, I didn’t even get a scratch.

Did run into some pirate troubles. Not thrilled at having killed people, but if my first kills were some of Leviathan’s drowned, then at least their souls are cleaned of the serpent’s power.

Something else did happen though, and I really should talk to you two in person. Let me know when you’re either in Limsa or at the village for more than three days, and I’ll do my damndest to be there. I’m fine, physically. Just need to touch base and recenter.

Love you. Tomoyo.

I send the letter before I can dither anymore, then get ready to report to the Marauders’ Guild. First step with that oversized auroch from the class quest? We’ll see.

-x-

I bounce around the island with various tasks for the next couple of weeks, keeping up a steady income and trying to save up a good nest egg, just in case. With Tanya’s memory came a sense of frugality that cautioned spending too much on stuff I won’t use frequently, with journals and inks being my greatest expenses outside of arms/armor maintenance and food.

I do sign up with the culinary guild working out of the Bismark, though. Cooking will be a useful skill while out in the field, as rations are...well, rations, and not that great. And with magic, travel cooking kits are nowhere near as cumbersome as one would think they’d be, and bags of holding mean I can tote along a fair few tools and ingredients before I risk being over-encumbered.

...At least I wasn’t reborn in Skyrim. Nirn doesn’t have chocobos, moogles, or other adorable beings like them.

I did find myself accidentally gaining a rival in the guild; the master wanted to cheer up the poor man after a botched order turned into a bout of depression, and asked me to cook him a grilled trout. Fish is easy enough, being such a staple part of a Doman or Higanshi diet, but Limsan as well; it’s one more reason why a number of Raen had settled in the archipelago when our northern cousins went, well, north.

My guildmate takes the meal as a challenge after he tries it, as it seemed I’d lucked out on the timing and cooked it perfectly. Better over than undercooked when it comes to fish thanks to personal experience with food poisoning in my last life, I’d already decided, so learning I nailed the timing was a pleasant surprise. What wasn’t so much was that he decided I was now his rival. At least he gives me a good prep knife to make things even when he saw the basic pan I’d used for the meal. Good knives are expensive, I should know because Da makes them.

I learn how to prep dodo properly as well; the poison sac of the animal takes some fineness to remove, and I hope to eventually learn whether or not the breath weapon of the animal is just a toxin, or if it might have a bacterial component to it due to stories of people getting pneumonia after the initial toxin is flushed out of the system.

Baking is my favorite subject though. I’d loved sweets as Tanya, and the rarity of them in this life hasn’t lessened that love in any way. The timing is tricky, but most of the guild doesn’t mind my singed cookies too much when I share them anyway.

Then, one morning, I’m bid to the Moraby Drydocks and lend a hand where I can for the building of the new flagship for the thalassocracy. 

I chew on my tongue as I make the trek, trying to remember what’s relevant here. Wasn’t there pirates? I think it was pirates. Reavers? Maybe. I really don’t remember this part of the timeline very well.

On the one hand, I was right. Pirates. Lots and lots of Reavers, as well as the father of the man in charge of building the Victory, a retired pirate captain who did not appreciate being pushed into said retirement by the Admiral.

I’m not sympathetic. Those that still want to pillage and plunder can sign up to bother the Garleans like everyone else. Those that refused are just sore they don’t have access to victims who can’t fight back anymore, and I have an axe for those who would go and find such victims.

On the other hand, it’s not just pirates, it’s also Sahagin. And the plan to blow several holes into the Victory turns out to be a distraction so that the Sahagin can haul the civilian population of Swiftperch to who knows where and do who knows what to them. Probably try and temper them to Leviathan or use them as sacrifices in a bid to summon the primal.

Thank every benign power on this world for Teleport and the aetheryte system. Otherwise I’d have to run half way across the island to get to where I need to go and try and head off the worst of the assault. By the time the fishfolk actually attack, enough of the Yellowjackets are present that the non-combatants can get the hell out and away from the worst of the fighting.

It’s awful. A crush of bodies behind me, because I’m a marauder and we’re at the front of the fighting to shield the more fragile fighters at the back, and a crush of bodies in front as the Sahagin try to stab me with spears, fry me with spells, and when all else fails, try to pry my armor off with their bare hands.

We have casters keeping us intact, but so do they; my wounds are sealed almost as soon as they happen, and archers try to snipe the Sahagin spellslingers, but my armor is still slick with blood from both sides, and the smell of burst entrails makes my stomach roil even as I cut bellies and throats open.

And then dark falls, unnaturally quick, and I find myself alone. The Ascian from before shows himself, black full mask and with complete confidence as he rips a voidborn from the 13th Shard to this world, and I’m back to fighting for my life.

It’s the demon’s aether that screeches high to my horns; the Ascian’s is barely a whisper. Whether it’s because he’s just that weak, untrained, he’s suppressing, or the tempering is irrelevant. Kill the summoner, and you can kill the creature.

Y’shtola throws her hat in the ring, breaking through the barrier and keeping me in one piece as I dance around the gargoyle-like creature while going straight for the mage. He backpedals at the ferocity I pursue him with, but I give him no time to breathe, barely any time to cast, and what I can’t dodge I take on the armor if it’ll kill him quicker.

Unlike the story, he doesn’t even get last words when I take his head off his shoulders. The voidborn disintegrates, and so does his body, leaving behind a black-purple crystal. Y’shtola says something about my aether and the Ascian, but I’m so tired as the adrenaline in my system crashes that I barely register a word. Getting back to Limsa and staying on my feet as the lady Admiral comes down herself to express her pleasure at my work takes more energy than I care to admit, but it seems she recognizes my lack of reaction for what it is. Mercifully, the celebratory dinner will be held the day after tomorrow, giving me a day to rest and process everything.

What sharp, short dreams I do have that night, it's of blood, scales, blades, and screaming. I keep the lantern on, and by four bell, I sit at the window and just wait for sunrise.

Chapter Text

After a night of frequently interrupted dreams that smell of blood and viscera, I’m debating trying to catch the ferry to Little Far-East as the Lominsans call our island on the archipelago, but it seems my parents caught word of what happened and made the trip first, because as I step out down to the common area of the Drowned Wench, in step my parents.

Kaede, my Ma, is shorter than I am at four fulms eight ilms, while Da, Vien, towers over all but Roegadyn and the leaner Elezen at six-eight. Ma’s hair is white blond, with horns curving down to frame her face, and her eyes are a warm brown with no limbal ring; Da’s hair is a red so dark it’s almost black, and his eyes are a piercing blue, made all the more intimidating by the glowing ring we share, his horns also sweeping low.

Some folks look at us and don’t see the relation very well, as I got my hair from both Ma’s mum and Da’s great grandad, while my eyes are a color that’s cropped up off and on in Da’s line for the past ten generations or so. And that my horns don’t map with theirs had a few of the kids mocking me as a bastard child too.

But our tails are exactly the same, sharp tipped with hard scales that definitely can pierce under the right circumstances, and I’ve got Da’s blunt manner and Ma’s temper that she channels into her weaving when it gets too much.

Seeing them suddenly makes everything that much more real, and I’m so glad I’m not wearing armor because I’m running at Da and leaping to his arms before I can think.

He catches me easily, his years as a blacksmith giving him more than enough strength to keep me up even as both of my parents express their surprise at my behavior.

“Tomoyo.” Ma sounds like she can’t make up her mind whether she should be cross at me for making a scene, or worried at such an open display of affection; I’d been pretty excited, if nervous, when I first left for my new work, so maybe she expected me to be more reserved in public? I look down from Da’s hold, and sure enough, even her face all but shows the conflict she’s feeling.

“Sorry Ma,” I say, my smile slightly wobbly. “I just...yesterday was hell. I’m so happy to see you two.”

“Combat with the Sahagin, we’ve heard,” Da says, gently putting me down. “Though you seem well.”

“Physically, I’m fine,” I assure them. “And while it was...not great to experience a scrum like that, what with it being my first time, I know that I’ll only get better from here. But, we should find some place to talk,” I say, because passing up this chance is not something I’ll do. “Baderon? You’ve got a private place so I can chat with me folks?”

“Aye, I’ll get ye a room,” the retired adventurer nods. “And a little food and drink besides.”

“Thanks! You're the best!” I grin at him.

He laughs. “And make sure ye tell Miounne that when ya see her in Gridania!”

“Eh?” That comes from both me and my Ma, but he just grins. 

“I won’t be spoilin’ the surprise just yet, lass,” he says.

I shrug, reckoning he’s talking about the envoy business, but there’s no way I should technically know that yet.

We move to the private room and I usher them to make themselves comfortable. “Had I known you’d be here, I’d have had something to snack on at least for you two,” I say ruefully. “I signed up with the Culinarian guild and I’m practicing my baking skills.”

“The Culinarians? Not the Blacksmiths?” Da asks, but he doesn’t sound upset over it.

I shrug. “Smith work is good work, but it’s not something I’m passionate about,” I admit. “It’s fun to do every once in a while, but baking feels more rewarding long term when I make people smile after making treats for them.”

Ma’s face softens into a smile. “I am glad you have found something beyond fighting,” she says. “I thought perhaps you would follow in your father’s steps when you finished adventuring, given your lack of passion for the loom.” Being a weaver, Ma did teach me the basics, but outside of the Calamity when everyone with an onze of skill was needed to weave bandages, sail cloth, twine, rope, anything...I think I still have calluses from that, honestly. I’d helped, back then, but it was duty.

Something in my face must show my unease, because their focus sharpens. “I know you weren’t too thrilled by my choice, Ma,” I start, sitting down at the table. “I just didn’t know how to explain that I needed to find myself. Find who I am outside of the village, the blacksmith’s daughter.” I take a breath. “Ma, you were the one who told me stories about the World Crystal and the little gods when I was little. Do you remember?”

She blinks. “Yes?” she confirms uncertainly, likely wondering what brought this on. 

“I...had a vision,” I decide to be upfront. “I met her. The World Crystal. Apparently, some ancient evil is on the move...and I’m the best candidate in place to stop it. I’ve been empowered. You haven’t noticed I haven’t been speaking Common, Nagxian, or Higanshin this entire time, have you?”

Shock crosses their faces. “One of the powers I’ve got is the ability to understand all languages, and to be understood by anything with the ability for language,” I tell them. “I’ve...also been granted memories of a past life. It’s…” I rub at my face. “It’s not all settled down yet. I’ve noticed I switch between Common and the mother tongue of my previous life, English, frequently and only realize it when I get looks for my strange speech, because English was.” I frown. “What was the phrase? Right, ‘socially blind.’ It lacks the formalities that Common and Higanshin still have, so I tend to sound very straightforward when I use it.”

“You are using it now?” Da asks, and I nod. “Why?”

I chew on my tongue for a few moments. “To remind myself that this is real,” I say. “That these memories, these...patterns of thought that came from a life that was different from mine, are not just the product of a lost sanity.” I shake my head. “I don’t know how to prove anything, and I won’t blame you at all if you don’t believe me. But you deserve as much of the truth as it’s safe to give, at the least.”

Ma looks worried. “Tomoyo, child...what sort of danger is it that the World Crystal warns of?”

“She was pretty vague,” I say, not liking to omit the information, but just being related to me now puts them in danger. “Darkness of some kind that threatens life. The Sahagin attack was instigated by someone in a black, armored cloak with a black mask on his face. He...well, whatever his magic was, it was enough to pull demons into our world.” They both pale at that, and I rush to reassure them. 

“I’m fine! I’m fine. That’s another boon the Crystal gave me. I’m not invincible, but passive auras and effects from their like don’t hit near as hard as they would otherwise. And I had help, too. I…” I deflate a little. “I’m...not really thrilled at the idea of being a chosen one or something. Because, well. I read a lot of stories in my last life, and if you were a chosen one? A lot of times your life wasn’t much fun. But. If I really am the best suited for the job right now, then what can I do other than try?”

“Must you?” Ma whispers, and oh no, she looks like she’s going to cry. “Could you not leave this for another?”

“Hypothetically, I probably could,” I admit. “But do so, and live with myself after? I’d torture myself with the ‘what ifs’. Doing what I can now, knowing I’ve done my best? My previous self learned how to do that, to an extent at least. And if I can find someone more worthy of the mantle and pass it on, fantastic! But if not…” I shrug helplessly. “I have to try.”

Da shakes his head. “And share the fate of the last chosen?” His voice is hard, angry, but I can recognize now with my extra years that it is born of worry. “Naught can even remember their names and faces!”

“I know,” I say quietly, unmoved. “I’ve already gone over this a dozen times in my head. There is only one guarantee the Mothercrystal gave me when I accepted. That as long as I walked with the Light, I would never walk alone. I’m not looking to die, Da,” I emphasize. “I know how dangerous this could get. But if I can find a good crew to work with, my chances of getting erased as they had drops like a stone. And the conjurer who helped me against that cultist doesn’t work alone. If nothing else, she can point me to a group who can help me, and I, them. I’m not going into this completely blind,” I gentle my voice. “But you deserve to know.”

Ma stands from her chair and circles around the table, and I meet her with a hug. “You’ve already decided,” she says, heartbroken.

“I have,” I confirm, apologetic. “I won’t ask you not to worry, but I will ask you not to believe everything you might hear once rumors inevitably spin up around my career. I’ll confirm what I can when it’s safe to, but don’t be surprised if there’s silence on my end for a while either.”

“You think you will make enemies,” Da’s lips are thin, but the worst of his anger seems blunted a bit.

“I know I’ll make enemies,” I tell him, carefully disentangling from Ma. “Which is why I want to keep you safe. It’s a good thing most Eorzeans rely on horn shape to try and tell relations.”

“You think you would face Garleans?” Ma’s hands worry at the fabric of her dress.

“Possibly,” I shrug. “Not soon, I don’t think, but given that they’ve still a foothold on the continent…”

A little of her nervous energy calms. “You seemed excited at the idea of fighting Garleans, when you first set out.”

I grimace. “I still want to get back at them for everything,” I say. “But I’m aware that the situation is more complicated than what’s visible on the surface now. Nearly forty years of extra memories...they haven’t settled, not fully, but I understand so much more of how and why the world works the way it does.”

“Tell us of your life,” Da motions for me to sit back down as Ma makes her way back to his side. “This life you lived before.”

I blow out a breath. “She...was a scholar, sort of,” I start, dropping into the chair. “She never got published, not formally. Her health wasn’t the best. But she never stopped learning what she could, whatever interested her. And there was a lot that interested her. For example,” I perk up. “I now understand why there’s a chance I’ll have a Hyur kid if I get together with someone in the future, and how that mechanism of life generally works!”

Genealogy works a bit weirdly when you have cross-race couples; outside of extremely rare instances, or unless there’s Garlean genetics present, the kid will generally favor one parent or the other. Hyur traits are usually dominant, but if the Hyur had, say, Miqo’te ancestry and got together with another Hyur with the same race lineage, then there’s a chance that their kid will be Miqo’te rather than Hyur.

It does mean that people tend to keep meticulous family records these days, to prevent surprises like that from causing infidelity accusations. And in my case, Ma’s great-grandfather was Hyur, so the potential is in my line now for Hyur kids.

Of course, in saying this, I find myself giving my parents a crash course in genetics, recessive and dominant traits, and why in-breeding is a bad thing, especially for hominid species like us. Learning that I’d been Hyur in my past life had Ma tilting her head a bit, but Da’s more focused on the fact that souls do, in fact, perpetuate after death, so that’s something that sees our conversation meandering through questions on what the soul is and the philosophy around it.

“Honestly, the existence of the soul was the one thing my previous self took entirely on faith alone,” I shrug. “Our understanding of aether back then was...not good.”

“Do you know when she’d been born?” Ma asks curiously.

I blink, then frown. How to answer this? The tech levels mean I should probably cite Allag or there abouts, but the lack of magic...hm.

“I’m not entirely sure,” I say after a moment. “Because we didn’t understand aether very well, we focused more on the physical sciences and technology, like Garlemald. The only thing I’m entirely certain of is that I’d been born before Dalamud existed. That’s one place where my memories trip me up,” I say, seeing their astonishment. “That when I look up, a part of me finds the single moon entirely normal, when the other part of me still occasionally wonders where the second one is. So...sometime before the Allag empire? Not too long before, but none of the dates or calendars line up, so.” I shrug.

“The Third Astral Era,” Da identifies after a moment. “If that is not five thousand years in the past, it must be close to it.”

Blacksmith he may be, but Da’s been taking advantage of the fact that it’s easier to be literate in Eorzean Common than Higanshin, and is relatively well read as a result. Wish I’d taken the chance to study up myself, but...oh well. I should have time with the Scions.

“Probably,” I say. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that I’d incarnated in between then and now, and that I just don’t remember it. If the Mothercrystal thinks these memories are the most relevant, then I suppose I’ll take her word for it.”

“You should not speak so casually of the gods,” Ma chides me. “Especially not if you’ve been blessed.”

I make a face. “I...on the one hand, you’re probably right,” I say. “On the other, Tanya, my past self, was almost aggressively agnostic. She didn’t care who or how you worshipped, as long as you didn’t hurt anyone or use religion to hide behind when hurting others, and she was staunchly neutral on the question of if gods existed.” Da looks baffled, and I shrug. “Give her hard proof that a god existed, and she would’ve believed them. Give her hard proof that they didn’t exist, and she’d believe them. But as there was no proof, she decided not to get terribly invested on the question of their existence, and just try to live life as a decent person. So in this, the memories aren’t that useful, because it throws many of her preconceptions overboard, and the many questions my encounter has inspired have no source that would answer.”

“Do you not speak for the World Crystal?” Ma asks, confused.

I shake my head rapidly. “No, no, I’ve no active contact,” I’m quick to say. “Whatever this is, it starts at her end of the equation; I’m just the...I don’t know. The hired help? She wants me to do something, she’s told me, but how I go about it seems to be entirely my choice.”

Da frowns at hearing that. “That seems…negligent,” he says, ducking his head slightly when Ma gives him a reproachful look, but doesn’t take back his words.

“Maybe,” I shrug. “But the whole thing would rub worse if she bossed me around too much. I’d rather minimal handholding than too much in this case.

“Anyway, that’s…that’s my life so far,” I finish lamely. “I have trouble believing it’s only been a moon. The past couple weeks have moved so quickly.”

“What can we do to help, Tomoyo?” Ma’s question makes my mind stall for a moment. “If you have been chosen by the gods, what can we do to aid you?”

It takes me a second or two to gather my thoughts to answer her seriously. “Keep yourselves safe. No,” I cut my father off before he can say anything. “I mean it. As long as I have reasonable confidence that any enemies I might make won’t try to use you against me, I’ll be that much more focused on the job and not worrying about you guys. If you see anyone dressed in a black cloak with blackened brass or bronze armor attached to it, with a strange mask covering their faces, put space between you and them as quickly as you can without drawing suspicion to yourselves and get the highest ranking member of the Maelstrom you can on the horn immediately. Those guys are bad news, I’m just not certain how bad yet.”

“Worse than the Garleans?” Da asks, and I’m starkly reminded of the prosthetic hidden under his trousers; it took him years to fully adjust to losing his left leg below the knee, and then one more to get the replacement fitted just right so he could work at the forge for more than a few hours without irritating the stump and surrounding tissue.

I make a so-so motion with one hand. “Only because they’re completely unknown factors in my view,” I say. “Garleans, we generally know what they want. These guys…once I’ve got a better handle on the context and goals surrounding them, I can re-evaluate.”

“Surely you will need materials and supplies, especially if you are to travel across the realm,” Ma speaks up, her voice firmer now that she has something to focus on. “Clothing and tools suited to La Noscea will not hold well should you be bid to go north in service to the World Crystal.”

I nod after a moment. “There’s no need to rush it, Ma,” I say. “But…winter gear probably wouldn’t go amiss.” Ishgard’s a frozen hellhole, I remember that much, and I suspect Gridania’s climate is much more temperate, comparable to the Pacific Northwest I’d lived in my old life. In contrast to the tropical weather and heat here, I’m definitely not packed for that. “Or desert gear, if I have to go through Ul’dah and the environs there.”

Her eyes are keen and clear, a sure sign of her mind already drawing up initial designs and lists for material. “The latter will be easier to create, so I will send it your way first,” she states.

“Just let me know of the material cost, and I’ll send half the gil your way,” I talk over her initial protests. “I’m not made of money now, no, but neither are you, and once I have a nest egg going I can at least give you that much.”

“How well does the axe serve?” Da asks, voice serious.

“Well for now, and I’m taking care of it,” I promise him. “If, in the future, you send a brace of tomahawks my way, I won’t say no. I’ll let you know if that changes within the next moon or so.”

He gives me a sharp nod, and I smile, utterly relieved that they seem to be…if not taking it well, then accepting of the circumstances.

“Hey, how about I take you two to the Bismark for breakfast tomorrow morning?” I offer.

“But that would be expensive!” Ma protests, and I grin widely.

“Culinarian, remember? I get a discount, so as long as no one orders the high end auroch steak or the really expensive stuff, I can cover one meal.” I then admit sheepishly, “Consider it a preemptive apology gift for the stress and worry I might give you guys later in the year.”

“You needn’t trouble yourself on our account,” Da says, but I can be just as stubborn, and I take a different tactic.

“Then consider this my way of enjoying the ‘huzzah, we survived the Sahagin for another moon’ party that’s going to happen tomorrow evening.” I make a face at the thought of the banquet. “I mean, the chance to talk with the Admiral’s nothing to pass by, but the rest of the hob-nobs? Urgh.”

“Tomoyo!” Ma chides, but her eyes are laughing and I call that a victory. 

“Please Ma, Da?” I clasp my hands together and try to bust out the puppy eyes. “I don’t know when we’ll be able to sit together and have a nice meal again after tomorrow. The little gods know I’m just going to be busier after word gets out over Swiftperch.”

And that’s enough to convince them. It’s a little mean to use that card, but I really do want a nice, normal meal with them that doesn’t concern things like past lives and meddling gods and world saving adventures. Staying grounded, keeping in touch with my roots. That’ll help keep my feet under me as the world changes around me, and I change with it.

Right. Apology letter to the Admiral as well. It’d be nice if the Echo didn’t kick me over the head with her memory of Carteneau, but I won’t hold my breath on my luck. It’s never been good before, and I certainly don’t trust it now.

-x-

I scribble in my journal early the next morning, nerves over the banquet waking me up when dawn started creeping above the horizon. I’ve already laid out my nicest pair of slacks and tunic in anticipation for it, though my clothing’s more casual this morning so that I can do some baking and meet my parents for our breakfast at the Bismark.

Writing down stuff about Earth helps sort out what knowledge I’m drawing from is current and what I’m pulling from my past life, but I should try to at least outline what my day to day life is right now; gods knows that if I survive Endwalker and beyond, whatever that might look like, this’ll all get published someday for generations down the line. Best to highlight I start out pretty normal, yeah?

I don’t go into too much detail regarding the fighting at Swiftperch; honestly most of it is a blur now, save for the gargoyle voidborn, the Ascian, and the blood on my armor. Should I see if there’s a wake of some kind for the Yellowjackets who lost their lives at the battle, or is that self-flagellating? I did all I could without going overboard with the recklessness. Reasonable risk is one thing, but with the mantle the Mothercrystal’s all but shoved onto me, getting myself killed needlessly will do nothing but spread misery and death, not least of which starting with my parents.

I breathe for a few moments. This is just a balance I’m going to have to figure out the long way. My memories will only do so much good outside of tapping into the coping mechanisms I picked up from the various therapists I’d had in my last life.

And then another thought comes to me, and I start to write down the symptoms of autism; I was considered high functioning for most of my life, though my ability to get by as an adult was not optimal for a capitalist society come the pandemic in the 2020’s. I suspect I’m more neurotypical in this life, as I can read facial expression and tone much easier these days, but with memories comes patterns of thought and coping mechanisms that might trip me up if I don’t keep an eye on my own behavior. We’ll see what bleeds through and what doesn’t.

The city clocktower rings out for six bells, and I stash my journal in my pocket space. Best keep it on me at all times, just in case someone snoops.

The guildmaster’s pleased to see me when I reach the Bismark, and I help out a bit for the breakfast rush with prepping fruit and veggies in between baking some basic chocolate chip biscuits for my parents to take home with them; the chocolate’s on the expensive side, but dammit, if I want to make them cookies, I’m making them some ruddy cookies!

And then a fellow apprentice pokes at my side and lets me know that a pair of Au Ra that matched the description I gave earlier are here, and I wrap up the treats and head to the table reserved for us.

Breakfast is wonderfully normal. Ma talks about some Thavnair silk she recently has had the chance to experiment with when one of our villagers returned from an overseas trip with some of the Admiral’s sanctioned privateers against the Garleans, and my open curiosity of her work has her pleasantly surprised. I feel a bit bad for having been more dismissive of her craft when I’d left, but given my lack of patience for crochet and knitting in my past life, I think that sort of work with my hands just generally isn’t in the cards beyond the basics and necessity.

I do make a note to practice the surgeon’s stitch when I patch my clothing; until I get a good handle on white magic, that’s the next best thing I’ll have for patching myself up. Ow.

Da’s quieter, but then, he’s the kind to collate information before making quick judgement calls, and work is steadier for him now that the Hand Guilds are properly recovering post-Calamity. So he orders one of the sweet-meat pies, Ma orders a somewhat lighter stew, and I go for a shepard’s pie with a berry muffin and green tea for all of us. It’s no matcha, but it’s a little taste of home that’s done well here in La Noscea, and I could use the kick to get through the day.

When I give them a cookie each to try and the bundle to take home, seeing Da having to restrain himself from going for another one has me grinning like Starlight’s come early.

Definitely a bit of normalcy I’ve needed today; it’s been weeks since I’ve felt this in the moment.

Once I’ve seen my parents off for their own business in Limsa Lominsa, I go to get ready for the banquet this evening. Dress shoes that are surprisingly comfortable are gifted to me by way of Baderon being a boss, so I wash up and spend the next few hours going over my journal with a critical eye and a brush dipped in ink to black out anything that might compromise my status as someone aware of the upcoming timeline.

Right now, the only one who knows that I know is Hydaelyn. I’d like to tell Minfilia, but until Lahabrea’s pushed out of his personal spy, I can’t even consider it as an option. Honestly, a quick once over of the outlined future in my head tells me that there basically is no good time of telling anyone until after Emet-Selch and Elidibus bite the big one. By which point most of my intel is out of date and useless anyways.

Urgh, why did I not look up Endwalker spoilers?!

I find several places where I’ve slipped up and carefully strike them through. Names, mostly, as it’s the people I remember the best right now, though I also edit any mentions of light and dark aether out, because that’s not a discussion on the Source until after we get back from the First. Well, if I live that long anyhow.

Then the candle I lit to keep track of the time drops the metal pegs, snapping me out of my editing spree and prompting me to finish getting dressed in my nice clothes.

It’s not quite business formal, but it’ll do in a pinch, I feel, and Baderon agrees with a thumbs up when he sees me. And Limsa’s fashion is eccentric even at best of times, so I won’t stand out much, save for my scales and tail.

The party starts out normally enough. I’m polite to anyone who greets me, giving them a small Eastern style bow as I shake a few hands offered to me. There’s a number of Yellowjackets and Maelstrom soldiers about, some of them survivors of Swiftperch, and I spend some time with them as they toast to both the living and the dead. I also spy Y’shtola in conversation with others, but I chose to follow the flow of the crowd rather than go right for the woman. In this, for today, let the cards fall where they may.

I take care to avoid alcohol when I can, and don’t drink anything stronger than watered down wine even when some of the officers rib me a little for it. At least until I say that the last thing I want to do is make a fool of myself in front of the lady Admiral, which gets some laughs and sympathy.

Eventually, the current of the party goers drop me off in front of the Commodore and Y’shtola, and I feel a little vindicated for not trying to force the matter. Better to build relationships organically, yes?

“And how fares the hero of the hour?” Y’shtola asks, bright blue eyes and silver hair all but gleaming in the lantern light.

“A little nervous,” I admit with a sheepish smile. “I mean, I was hardly the only one at Swiftperch, so I’m glad to see the others who made it here as well.”

“Don’t talk down your own accomplishments, Tomoyo,” the Commodore says. “Were it not for your quick action, this feast for the living would more like than not be a memorial to the dead.”

I make a bit of a face. “I…I’m trying to keep in mind that I did well,” I say hesitantly. “I just…that was my first pitched battle with so many people involved. It could’ve gone so much worse, I know that. But telling myself that doesn’t help much when I dream about the smell and screaming.”

Both give me sympathetic looks at that. “You will adjust to the worst of it over time,” Reyner promises me.

“If it makes sense, I wish it weren’t necessary,” I grimace. “Knocking some skulls together and breaking a few bones here and there is one thing. Culling aether-mad animals, dragging in criminals, those are all things I feel I can do with confidence. But that level of violence…” I shake my head. “I don’t remember much of when we fled from the Garleans and the raiding they inspired, but was it that extreme? I can’t understand why people would do that to each other willfully.”

“Would that our world be a kinder place,” Y’shtola says. “Sadly, we are in need of those who can stand against the many who would commit atrocity against the defenseless.”

I huff harshly. “And that’s why I have my axe,” I state. “Go after people who can’t fight back? I’ll give them one chance to back down, if I can afford it. And if not? Then at least I’ll make it quick as I can.”

Then Admiral Merlwyb Bloehiswyn makes her entrance, and I have to breathe to the count of four to keep my form steady, if not my heart. Her speech starts with honoring my deeds, and I flush in response to the applause I get, so I turn to the largest concentration of the crowd and give a steeper bow than I had earlier this evening, then turn to the Admiral and do the same for her.

She then praises the courage of the Yellowjackets who stood with me, and the Maelstrom that stood against the pirates and Sahagin that were committed to the frontal attack. It’s good that they get credit for their effort too. Something the game didn’t show as much, I think, though that was probably a writing choice or budget issue.

After the last round of applause, she steps down from the dais and joins the tiny crowd of three I’m a part of.

She’s a stunning woman, physically. Steely hair and eyes, tall in stature and with a self assurance not many have, she epitomizes what many consider to be the Sea Wolves of the Roegadyn race. Were I the sort to find women attractive beyond aesthetically, I’d probably find myself with a moon sized crush on her. As it is, I still have something of a hero worship for Merlwyb, even with my new memory revealing her flaws as well as her virtues.

“The pirates you had encountered with their tattooed faces call themselves the Serpent Reavers,” Merlwyb states after accepting a glass of wine from the Commodore. “They are wretches and cutthroats who have promised themselves, body and soul, to the primal Leviathan.”

I hiss between my teeth. “Drowned?”

“Many, yes,” she nods. “From what we have been able to gather, they intended to swell their ranks by spiriting away the souls of Swiftperch, and any other unfortunate who might cross their path. 

“I need not tell you the depth of the animosity between us and the Sahagin,” she says, and I return her earlier nod. I did spend half my childhood here after all, and the fish-folk hadn’t done much to endear themselves to the Raen when they tried to push my village off an island that they hadn’t even been using at the time when we’d settled there. “How any seaman worth his salt would come to worship the fishback’s god is a question for a more temperate mind than mine.”

And given the fact that she had to execute her own father with his personal pistol, though I can’t recall if it was the Death Penalty, after he’d gotten tempered by Leviathan…I get why she has a grudge. But we haven’t done too well by the kobolds or the Sahagin after contracts and treaties were drawn up, my memory reveals, as Limsa’s industry and need for resources expanded past initial estimates.

“But, thanks to you, our citizens may rest easy knowing that they will not be dragged into the shadows by those excurable curs,” she smiles slightly, and I duck my head shyly for a moment before reminding myself that it’s OK to be proud of saving people and straighten myself. 

Then something shifts, making me frown a little as I tug on my tunic to see what’s gotten out of place, only to feel a cool weight in the front pocket.

“That glow…” Y’shtola’s eyes widen as I pull out the mysterious item, only for me to cut off a curse as I find the Crystal of Water in my hand.

“By the Navigator,” Merlwyb breathes. “What—?”

“The Crystal of Light,” Y’shtola’s gaze shifts to me. “You brought it with you here?”

“Normally, I think it stores itself in my aether, if not my soul,” I grouse, trying to find a decent spot on my person to stash it away. “I’ve no idea why it decided to all but fall out of my person in public!” For lack of better options, I stick it into my ‘inventory’ for now, resisting the urge to mutter about willful Macguffins. 

“She had a vision of Her when we ambushed by the goobbue a fortnight ago,” Y’shtola informs the Admiral, who’s regained most of her composure. “This, combined with her feat against the Reavers and the Sahagin, is proof that the Mothercrystal has chosen her champion once again.”

Merlwyb nods. “Y’shtola’s conclusion is clear, and I see no reason to disagree. You are the vessel of a higher power.”

“Only because I asked if she was absolutely sure I was the right choice,” I cut in, before I deflate a bit. “I told my parents, and Ma and Da are not that thrilled about it, and I don’t blame them. No one remembers who the last Warriors of Light were, only that there was more than one.” I shake my head. “What if I go the same way they do? Will Ma even remember bearing me at all? It’s an honor, but…”

“‘Tis also a burden,” the Admiral agrees. “It speaks well of you that you understand this. Even so, if She has chosen you, then your deeds may yet shape the fate of nations. What do you know of their tale?”

I shrug. “There was more than one. Then the Calamity happened, and suddenly all that anyone can remember is that they existed, that they helped…but their faces, their names, even their race. All gone, washed away by light.”

My memory of Ardbert’s group is intact. I can dredge up that he had a Roegadyn Paladin, a Miqo’te Archer, an Elezen Black Mage, and a Lalafell White Mage on his team. Their names are beyond me, mostly because I just hadn’t read up much on the questline that’s about putting to rest the Cardinal Virtues that took their bodies on the First. But whether or not they were the Warriors here until the twins’ grandfather teleported them away, or if it had been an entirely different group…oich. The complications of multiple, intertwined timelines.

“Like you, they were not born of this land,” Merlwyb begins. “Yet they stood with us ‘gainst the corruption of the primals. When the Garlean Empire began its conquest of the realm, these heroes joined the Grand Companies and reforged the Eorzean Alliance. And at the Battle of Carteneau, they took to the field beneath our banners, to fight for everything we held dear.” Her gaze goes distant. “It was on that day, in the midst of hell, that we lost them.” The thread of shame in her voice is impossible to miss.

“Every soul that survived that battle will never forget how it was to fight beside them. We are proud to call them our comrades,” she continues, and I take a careful, slow breath, bracing myself for when the Echo will act up. “And whenever we strain to see their faces in our mind’s eye, naught but their shadows appear to us, set against a blinding light. Ask any true Eorzean, and the story will be the same. Thus, our reason to call them the Warriors of Light.” Her silver eyes return to me, that slight smile on her face. “When I look upon you, I find myself reminded of them.” 

The smile fades as her Admiral mask returns. “Keep that Crystal safe. In time, I believe the Mothercrystal will make it clear Her reasons for bestowing it upon you.”

“Yes, Admiral,” I say with a nod.

She returns it. “Heed well Her words, Tomoyo, for it is Hydaelyn Herself who speaks.”

Well, the second primal at least, which is still no small thing—

And then my horns begin to ring like mad as pressure builds behind my eyes. “Oh. Oh no, Y’sh—!” I reach out to the conjurer if only to stop myself from dropping like a rock, but any response is drowned out by the Echo as it pulls me under the tide of memory and history.

When I can think again, what comes first to me is the smell of ash and fuel and death. Fire stains the sky red, and a part of me wonders how more people hadn’t awoken to the Echo when Bahamut broke free that night, the streaks of light so much like the End of Days.

I watch and listen as the commanders of the Grand Companies direct their forces through the final stages of Carteneau, before all hell broke loose. Louisoix, that’s the name of the old man that stopped Bahamut. He did something, but the exact memory floats out of reach, and I let it go. There’s a reason I’m being shown this, and it’s not just for context of what kind of hell Carteneau became—

Wait. Something’s on the cliff, watching the commanders. A person? All I can see is the silhouette, and the woman leading Gridania’s forces seems to notice it too. A flash; red mask, fanged, a chilling smile. Cold creeps down my spine. Lahabrea.

Well. Good to know that Thancred wasn’t possessed at this point in time. He’d been at a shrine, praying to one of the Twelve for Louisoix’s plan A. That’s a data point I didn’t have before.

The child-like woman (Kan-E-Senna, the memory seems to whisper) seems to sense the presence of the Unsundered, but she makes the judgement call to focus on the battle in front of her. Understandable, really, she’s already got people dying down below. Sending scouts haring off to track the Ascians would probably just add more to the pile of corpses that came out of this mess.

I duck instinctively when a stray artillery strike nearly wipes the command post, but Gridania’s reputation for protection magic is well earned. A shell of magic blooms around them, only light and some displaced air bleeding through.

Then, the memory shifts. It has to be some time later, because Bahamut’s damn near ready to break through the shell of Dalamud. All three commanders are trying to get in touch with their militaries; I can’t even twitch a smile at the inadvertent Metal Gear Solid reference the leader of Ul’dah’s military (Raubahn) makes, not when the stench of burning flesh---and fuel? Why can I smell gasoline?---is so apparent. The Gridanian commander makes the call to retreat the adventurer forces, if only so that the primary armies might buy Louisoix enough time for his plan A to take effect, and prevent more bloodshed at ground zero when the dragon primal breaks loose. Which it does as the order to fall back is given. Of course.

Then the small woman…I just realized she had a pair of horns, like a Terran devil. Her headpiece drew the eye away from them. She looks back to where Lahabrea had been, only for the Ascian to have vanished. Then she directs her attention back to the rampaging primal and the Archon who’d save them all.

And then the memory shifts, but this cannot be the Admiral’s memory, because it shows Lahabrea and another Ascian. The Unsundered’s multi-toned voice makes my horns buzz unpleasantly as he monologues over the destruction Bahamut wrecks across the continent.

So the Echo doesn’t just show memory, but triggers full on post-cognitive visions. Because I rather doubt Lahabrea would show this sort of thing willingly unless his arrogance is even higher than I’d initially estimated. 

The second Ascian has a black mask, and I squint. Full mask, but the lines across the lower half…the imprint of fangs. Lahabrea’s snarling design at the top, with the ‘mouth’ closed by the lower half. One of Lahabrea’s direct underlings then? I’d have to see if the other Convocation keep cultists the same way he does to tell for sure.

“Soon, the planet will regain its true form,” Lahabrea declares at the end of the memory before breaking out in laughter as the Calamity reaches its peak.

Chapter Text

When I wake, it’s with a pounding head and light already streaming through the window to my inn room. I’m on the bed, still in the clothes from last night. I grapple about for some water to rinse the cotton out of my mouth, then drink some more to try and take the edge of the pain in case it’s from dehydration.

Fuck’s sake, even expecting it, that still threw me for a loop. It’ll be a good day when the Echo doesn’t knock me down on my ass for hours on end.

There’s a small batch of fruit left on my nightstand, so I carve up a couple of pears and munch my way through them in order to get something in my stomach, then just cover my eyes for half a bell or so and let the headache recede. 

Right. Letter to the Admiral for apology, then…envoy work. Eorzea declaring that the Seventh Umbral Age is over at some point, and to mark the calendars as the beginning of the Seventh Astral Era.

Ah shit, I’ll have to redo the dating in my journals when I update them. I’d just gotten used to using the date fractions we use too!

On the upside, getting to visit the other cities. Here’s to hoping I don’t get airsick.

But first, letter.

Admiral Merlwyb Bloehiswyn,

My apologies for collapsing in the middle of the banquet. With visions of the Mothercrystal have come visions of another sort, and I’m afraid to say I don’t have any kind of control over this power. Twice now have I seen the past centered around another; once with Miss Y’shtola, and now with you.

My sincerest and humblest apologies for seeing the memory of the Battle of Carteneau without your permission. I do not like how invasive this power is, but as I said, I seem to have no control over it. Please pass on these apologies as well to General Raubahn and Lady Kan-E-Senna, as they were also prominent figures in this vision.

I frown, tapping the butt of the pen against my chin. Should I mention the vision of Lahabrea? Oh, but that’d probably piss off Merlwyb and Raubhan because Kan-E-Senna decided to keep quiet. Maybe bring it up with her, then, when I do the whole envoy thing? Yeah, probably best to talk with her about it, see what she makes of it. If nothing else it might do her peace of mind good to know she wasn’t just imagining the whole ‘being watched’ thing.

I won’t say anything about him trying to reform the world. No one has good notes on the Sundering outside of the Ascians at this stage, so yeah, best to sit on that for a while until actual evidence of it crops up for the Scions at the least.

I wrap up the letter with a last nicety and put it in an envelope. It’s not much, but it’s also better than nothing. After that, I get changed, do my daily rituals because self-maintenance is important, then head down into the Drowning Wench’s main room.

Baderon teases me some for collapsing as I did at the banquet, and I take it with all the good grace I can muster; better to look as if I’d over-celebrated rather than suffered strange visions. The first is normal, but the second sparks speculation that I need to keep an eye on. Until I get a good reputation built up, getting seen as weird could put future work and my family at risk.

I make it to the Admiral’s office and bow to her, handing the letter over in Eastern fashion.

“My apologies for collapsing as I did,” I say sincerely. “This has at least a general explanation for it, to the best as I understand the situation.”

“Y’shtola spoke to me of you suffering from visions,” the woman states as she accepts the letter, and I nod awkwardly. “Do you believe this will be a frequent occurrence?”

“I…don’t know?” I admit. “This is only the second time it’s happened, but…well, I wrote what the contents of it were. At least the broad topic of what I’d seen. It was…not good, and I’m not surprised it hit me that hard.”

I try not to fidget like a child when the Admiral tears the envelope open and scans the contents of the letter. “I see,” she says, but she seems more thoughtful than angry. “Even a glimpse of that time would rattle the most stalwart of men. I accept your apology, though no fault is your own.”

“Thank you,” I slump in relief. “It’s…as I said, it feels incredibly invasive, and I really wish it’d give more warning before I start—” I wave about the air in an attempt to communicate my frustration at it all, and she chuckles a little.

“Perhaps, in seeing some of the worst our world has to offer, your constitution for these visions will improve,” she says.

“One can only hope,” I sigh. “If I got known as a fainter, none of the others my age in the village would ever let me live it down.”

She barks out a laugh. “Let that be motivation then,” she says with a small grin. “Now, I called you here for a task, if you would be willing to hear me out.”

I blink, then nod. “It’s the least I can do,” I respond. 

“I have here two letters to my peers in Gridania and Ul’dah,” she gestures at her desk. “In saving the lives of those who dwell in Swiftperch, you have proven yourself trustworthy and stalwart, and I would see you represent Limsa Lominsa as you take these messages to the Elder Seedseer of Gridania and the Flame General of Ul’dah.”

I swallow reflexively as nerves flutter up. “I-I can deliver the letters, certainly,” I say. “What time would be best?”

“As soon as feasible,” she tells me. “I would ease your journey with this,” she hands me a slip, and I read it over. An airship pass, authorized by the Admiral of the Thalassocracy of Limsa Lominsa.

“The air docks are repaired?” I say without thinking.

“Indeed they are,” Merlwyb answers with a smile. “They are not available to all and sundry yet, as the Garleans yet have the artillery to shoot down airships, but for you, the way will be open. The missives themselves contain my wish to see a memorial organized for those that fell in the Battle of Carteneau. Though rebuilding yet remains, it is time to look to the future, and to the Seventh Astral Era that lies within our grasp!”

I nod after a moment. “I’ll drop a letter for my parents to let them know I’m leaving La Noscea,” I say. “Then I’ll pack and take the first airship out.”

“Excellent,” Merlwyb looks pleased. “Should you wish to discuss your vision with Raubahn and Kan-E-Senna when you meet with them, it would likely be a good time to do so then.”

I chew on my tongue for a moment. With Raubahn, I don’t see the need. But Kan-E-Senna? “If they’ve the time,” I say. “And if I can work up the courage.”

A smirk crosses her face. “Fear you the people in power more than the Sahagin?”

“At least with fighting you usually know what to expect,” I sigh. “Politicians? That’s a whole ‘nother barrel of fish.”

Another laugh. “Best not say that to the Flame General,” she says with a grin. “Few are the people I’ve met with his lack of patience for pretty words.”

I smile sheepishly, because going over the vision, yeah, that tracks. “Noted. Alright!” I knock my fist against one horn lightly. “Letter to parents, pack, ship, get the missives to the cities. Oh! I need maps! And then back here. Right.”

I give her one last short bow before I’m shooed out of the office, and I scribble a quick note to my parents letting them know I’ve got clearance to use the airships and that I should be back in within three days or so. I’ve no idea how long the trip will be, given the distance that’s going to be covered, so pad out the travel time just to be on the safe side.

The first ship out is to Gridania when I get to the landing (I have to remind myself not to call it the airport), and my pass means my first trip out is at a discount. The airships are a fair amount larger in real life, able to ferry at least two dozen people at once around the continent, and most of us passengers are bid to remain below deck, if only to minimize fall risks.

I’m more than fine with that; I can figure out the hard way if I still have a phobia of heights at a later date. 

It takes nearly seven hours to get to the forest city of Gridania. I stretch and stumble a bit as I follow the small crowd exiting the air-landing, needing a few moments to rediscover my land legs after my first flight. Good news though, I don’t get airsick! Certainly luckier than that one Vieran lady who’d spent most of the trip curled into a ball with a bucket nearby.

The city doesn’t have a Bismark, but they have a number of eateries that the Gridanian leader of the Adventurer’s Guild, Mother Mionne suggests to me freely when I report in. Sweet woman, she even offered me a bit of ginger for any airsickness, which I accepted with a bow and a sheepish grin. 

The architecture of the city strongly reminds me of Rivendell from Lord of the Rings, with perhaps a less ethereal sense to it. There’s a lot of life and lushness, no doubt about it, but that life is what seems to keep this place rooted in reality versus the…fragile, for lack of a better word, feel of Imladris in the movies. 

And something that acts as a strong counter to the typical ‘elfy’ feel of the city, the cuisine frequently offered here reads to me pretty German, what with the sauerkraut and mashed popotoes being a frequent side to order. Not as much meat on the menu as I’d like, but there’s also sausages to help with that, and it’s just. Very grounding somehow, but weird. Huh.

Well, now that I think of it, it’s not that weird because inevitably you do get people who pickle, prep, and cook the same thing in the same way once you scale out far enough. There’s only so many ways one can pickle cabbage after all, and Gridania doesn’t have the spices for kim-chi, for example.

Still, it’s a bit odd, the similarities of Earth and Eorzea that exist here. Mint, thyme, peaches, potatoes, apricots, carrots…by all rights, the differences should be starker. Is there a distant link between here and Earth, as there had been for Final Fantasy 13? Or is it just a statistically unlikely case of convergent evolution?

I shake my head, then grab some mashed popotoes, fresh veggies, and sausage. I doubt I’ll see an answer to that question any time soon. Best get some food into my stomach before I meet with the Elder Seedseer.

After getting my hands on a map of the city and its surrounding environs, plus getting pointed in the right direction of where to deliver the message, I actually do find myself meeting the deceptively young woman face to face. I think I remember something about her being several centuries old, but whether she’s outlived a Vieran elder or not I can’t recall.

“So you are the Lominsan envoy,” Kan-E-Senna says as I’m allowed to approach. It’s not often I run into a woman who’s about the same height I am who isn’t auri, though I quietly wonder what’s up with the horns. But it’s rude to stare and question that sort of thing, so I just bow in greeting. 

“And an adventurer besides. The realm owes much to you and yours.” Her smile is a small but warm one. “On behalf of our fair nation, I bid you welcome.” 

“Thank you lady—,” no, wait, shit, is that the right title? “Lady Seedseer?” Oh stars I just put my foot in my mouth, didn’t I?

Her smile widens just a touch. “I am Kan-E-Senna, Elder Seedseer of Gridania, and leader of the Order of the Twin Adders, our nations Grand Company. Should titles be required, lady or elder will equally do.”

I can feel my face heat up in embarrassment. “Thank you for your understanding, Elder Seedseer,” I say.

“I understand you bear a message from the Admiral.” Seems she’s gracious enough to look over my own social clumsiness, so I pull out the letter and offer it Eastern style.

She accepts it and opens the envelope, reading through the letter in short order. “A memorial service in remembrance of Carteneau. That five years have passed since the devastation of that night.” She looks up from the letter. “Pray tell, adventurer, what do you know of our conflict with the empire?”

I grimace. “That they have been trying to take over everyone, here and in Othard,” I say. “Carteneau, from what the Admiral told me, was…the end, if extreme, result of that attempt.” Formal, formal, she’s a national leader, stick to Common!

She nods. “Then my counterparts have educated you in this tale. That is well.” Another glance through her letter. “That a wolf has now been sniffing about her stables…pray tell her that I will offer what counsel I can.

“But first, my friend, I would tell you more of the Garlean threat.” What’s this about a wolf? Something buzzes in the back of my head, but I focus on the present. 

She gives a very general account of Garlemald and their rise in Ilsabard, that they went from just one more small country like those scattered around here to the expansive empire due to their sudden spike in technological innovation half a century ago. Bit by bit, they conquered their neighbors until a little like America, they’d spread from sea to sea. And then they turned their gaze to Eorzea.

I try not to twitch when Kan-E-Senna mentions the first emperor. Reigning, huh? So the ancient, astral bastard is still alive at the moment. At least that means he’s not directly on the field, so I don’t have to worry about Emet-Selch for a while longer. According to the Seedseer, he should be towards the end of his life; four score winters…that’s…80 plus years old. So he became dictator-for-life in his thirties?

And of course, the man hasn’t chosen an heir since his first born passed away, which means there’s no formal chain of command when he finally bites it. That’ll spark the first Garlean civil war which will put Varis in charge, and likely lead to a second wave of refugees from the East to Eorzea after we kick the occupying 14th Legion hard enough for them to pull back some.

Wolf…Black Wolf. Gaius. Ah shit, Imperials are sniffing around La Noscea? That’s…that’s not good.

And the Seedseer confirms that memory; Gaius van Baelsar, commanding officer of the 14th. And while everyone’s been busy trying to patch themselves together after Meteorfall, he’s been pulling on resources from back home to further cement his position. So if he makes a push, she warns, no one’s in a position to retaliate.

And as if that’s not bad enough, the continent still has primals getting pulled in by the beast-folks; false gods they might be, but you’d be hard pressed to find many entities that can brainwash as thoroughly as they do in most other Terran fiction, so that’s a threat no one can ignore either. 

Kan-E-Senna declares the Garleans to be of higher priority. I’m not a hundred percent sure if I agree with her on that, large scale, but if the imps are poking at my home, I’m glad if this era’s Ur-White Mage is willing to lend her weight behind us.

She pens a formal agreement to the memorial service and one of her guards receives it. 

“Your work here is done, my friend,” she nods to me. “I will send my reply to the Admiral forthwith.”

“Thank you very much, Elder,” I say with one last bow. I hesitate for half a second, wanting to talk about what she sensed at Carteneau…but there’s so many people, out here in the open. So I take the dismissal and retreat, chewing on my tongue in consternation.

Is talking to her about Lahabrea that important? I don’t know. I feel like I should, if only to get someone else aware of the third party activity, but what am I gambling if I do say something? The lack of certainties is terrifying, and the absolute last thing I want to do is draw Ascian attention to myself any earlier than I have to.

No. For now, I’ll keep quiet.

With the sun going down, I decide that it’d be better to travel to Ul’dah in the morning. I track the times of the airships, note the one flying out at seven bells tomorrow, and reserve a seat before taking the rest of the day to explore and get a feel for Gridania.

It’s definitely cooler up here than in La Noscea; being a temperate forest, the climate is actually closer to my old home in the Pacific Northwest of Earth. Rains are fairly frequent this time of year, with spring solidly grabbing hold of the region now that we’re into the fourth month of the year.

I pause and check today’s date. Second Umbral Moon, eighth sun, fifth year, Seventh Umbral Era. Or, as I’ve written it in my journal on the way over, 04-08-05/7U. After the formal declaration of the era change, I suppose I should start writing the dates as XX(Month)-XX(Day)-XX(Year)/7A(Era).

A bit convoluted, adding the Eras to the list, but it’s an important part of the calendar here. Still, hard to believe it’s been a full month now, as I’ve told my parents. And the calendar is longer here than on Earth, with the lunar cycle being 32 days rather than 29. Still 12 months, which is nice and consistent, but the weeks are eight days rather than 7.

Simply put, the Hydaelynian year here is nearly a month longer than a Terran year, at 28 days longer, 27 if one counts a leap year. That, plus the moon, now rising high enough to show through the trees, is all the evidence I need to believe that this world and Earth are not reflections of each other.

Earth’s moon Luna bears a number of deep scars from incredible impacts it took in place of the planet below, ages ago; these became the dark ‘seas’ astronomers later labeled as the various Mares, which are in truth plains of basalt rock that had cooled from the large lava lakes that were created at the impact sites. 

Menphina, while perhaps about the same size as Luna, not only looks to orbit much closer to Hydaelyn than Luna does to Earth, but does not bear the same impact scars Luna does, and the basalt Mares seem to reside at the sides of the satellite, bleeding to the dark side of the moon rather than crowding the face of it. The rabbit of the moon myth from Doma is made from different crater sites mapped out in older times; as the basalt plains had been forged over 2 billion years ago, if Hydaelyn is even as remotely old as Earth, that means that if the two worlds were reflections of each other, the points of divergence were from so far back in time as to essentially render the two separate worlds anyway.

I shake my head, forcing myself out of my drifting thoughts. I’d better attune to the aetheryte here before I forget; continental Teleport may be wince worthy expensive right now at half a thousand gil, but the convenience of it later will definitely make attuning throughout the region worth it when activity kicks up. For now, attune, get a room, and update my journal before crashing for the night.

-x-

Southerly winds means my trip to Ul’dah is made in good time, only four hours versus the seven yesterday. It still leaves me a little wobbly when I get off the airship, having to weave around a crowd made of many more Lalafell than I’ve usually encountered.

It doesn’t surprise me to learn that there are segments of the city built entirely for the little people; with only their reputation as merchants, scholars, and mages making them equals in the eyes of a number of the more racist folk of Eorzea, having a space to claim as your own and not build to larger scales must be a great comfort psychologically speaking.

If Gridania reminded me of Germany in some ways, then Ul’dah has me thinking of old Baghdad, before the House of Wisdom was razed by a pissed off and provoked Mongolian Khanate. The smell of spices and perfumes are everywhere here in the upper level of the city, and I have to restrain the urge to rub my nose a bit at the strong scent. I’m not entirely certain if my auri physiology means my sense of smell is stronger, or if just some of the hypersensitivity I’d had in my last life has carried over. We’ll see if the outside is much better after the missive is delivered.

After an hour or two of waiting, I’m allowed to see General Raubahn. Despite him being a Hyur, he’s built like a Roegadyn tank, scars proudly on display. I don’t know much about him, honestly, but if the Admiral respects him, then I’ll just gather data before coming to any conclusions. 

“Ah, a guest from Limsa. I thought I smelled stale ale.” Rude. “I won’t hold it against you. If you’re half the warrior Merlwyb says, ‘tis a wonder you don’t reek of dead Sahagin.” Slightly less rude, but don’t imply I don’t maintain my armor—is what I want to say, but keep behind my teeth.

“Welcome to the sultanate of Ul’dah. I am Raubahn Aldynn, General of the Immortal Flames. But you did not come all this way to trade formalities.”

I take the letter from my side and hand it over, my bow a little more shallow compared to the one I gave the Elder Seedseer, but no less respectful in intent. He’s quick to tear open the envelope, grimacing as he reads the contents. 

“Carteneau…aye, I remember bloody Carteneau,” he grouses, and I don’t wince even as the memory of his shouting for a missing unit echoes through my head. “Do you know what happened that day, adventurer? When we took to the field against the Garleans?”

Maybe a bit more than you’d like. “That was the day the moon fell,” I say solemnly. “I remember the dragon flying by the archipelago, and the aftermath. Being directly under it…must’ve been so much worse.”

He harumphs, but doesn’t deny it. “At least you know some,” he says. “And that the wolf is causing trouble…well, the Admiral knows my thoughts on that subject. Wolves are beyond taming. ‘Tis only a matter of time before they bare their teeth. So it was with the Garleans fifty years ago.”

I get a similar history lecture regarding the Garleans and their conquests…but that it only kicked off after they started dicking around with magitek is a new data point. Did ‘Solus’ dig up old projects left buried from his time with Allag? Find a brilliant enough mind to educate on the basics of magitek, then just let them loose? I’ve a lot of questions, and very few ways of getting answers.

Raubahn is no happier than the Seedseer about the Garleans still parked on the continent, and is equally aware of how fragile the equilibrium is right now. That he’s not near so prideful to admit Ul’dah’s current difficulties skirmishing with their own beast-folk, and that they’re not ready to deal with primals on top of the mess, sees my respect for the man go up several levels. Maybe that’s just Tanya’s biases talking, expecting an unwillingness to admit to weakness, but then, he wouldn’t be a general if he wasn’t able to see the reality of things.

“We are a realm divided, adventurer. An alliance in name only.” The grim tone he says this just cements his hard-won wisdom in my eyes. After all, a trade empire is reliant on much more than the force of arms and singular countries.

The Garleans are established as the primary threat in his eyes, like with Kan-E-Senna, and agrees that the memorial would be a good first step to re-establishing the alliance. With that, he pens his own missive, and it’s handed off to an aide. And with that, my job is done. As soon as it’s polite to, I beat feet away from the noble’s quarter of the city; this place is way too rich for me to be fully comfortable here, even if Raubahn strikes me as an alright sort.

Where Gridania is cold, Ul’dah bakes; I wore my armor to impress the General that I was martial minded, but it doesn’t take long for me to change out into cooler clothes so I won’t feel like a boiled egg. Window shopping is fairly interesting and a decent way to pass the time, and I learn that they have coffee here!

I don’t go for it, but the smell is absolutely unmistakable, and the temptation is present; what stays my hand is the fact that I only gained a taste for the stuff after years of mochas, lattes, cappuccinos, and other heavily sweetened (and therefore currently very expensive) drinks in my last life. If I dove right into the bean flavored water now, I’d just get bitter, bitter, bitter. I can refine my palette for it when I join the Scions.

I also do a quick tour through the various guilds I can join as an adventurer. Were times better ones, there’s actually a solid chance I’d join the Miner’s Guild; it’d be a good way to send stuff back to Da for his work, and geology in general was one of my favorite subjects in my last life. Pugilism also looks to be good fun; I tried to take self defense before, but my body…well, I dislocated my left shoulder on accident my second class into Brazilian Jujitsu. And then my doctor said my joints just weren’t suited for any hard martial art because of my extended ligaments, and that I’d been born with small ball-sockets. Meaning any hard contact would likely lead to repeated dislocations.

Just thinking about it brings back the pure salt I felt at hearing that bit of bad news. I decide that if time permits, getting some hand-to-hand training should go on the list. Plus, Monk class in Stormblood! Who doesn’t want to be as awesome as Rock Lee and Maito Gai?

Thaumaturgy isn’t quite as high a priority as Conjury for me. Being a Black Mage looks pretty boss, and the idea of slinging elemental spells around is a nice one, but I’ve heard some of the magic requires faith to learn it, and…well, when I know that the Mothercrystal is just a very refined primal, how can I pray to gods if I’ve no idea that they exist, and know that they generally can’t exist on this world without getting Primal’d? 

If there’s a second school of thought in black magic that follows mathematical formulae over prayer and belief, I’ll strongly consider it. But for now, Conjury takes priority for magical studies.

Gladiator’s guild gets a hard pass from me. The showmanship and bloodsport offends my Terran sensibilities, and Paladin work just means more gods and faith. No thanks.

Goldsmith, Weaver, and Alchemy guilds are given at least a quick check over. I’d actually considered becoming a jeweler when I was a kid this time around before the realization that adventuring was more within my means, but the question of what I’d do with anything I made other than sell or gift it turns me away. Sure, there’s the fact that they’re also basically the Clockwork Guild when it comes to delicate machinery and the like, but…time is a commodity right now, and burning it on stuff that isn’t practical doesn’t feel right. The weaver’s guild sees me going through some of their stock to possibly send back to Ma at a later date, and if nothing else, I can admire the artistry here. And Alchemy definitely perks up my inner chemist, but the question of would I have time to delve into the studies and really get a handle on things sees me demuring on joining today.

Naturally, in between all this wandering around, I get lost half a dozen times despite the map I have out nearly all the time. I get a number of looks for being the tourist, but not quite as many looks for having scales; there’s a small population of Raen who live this far north, and even some scattered Xaela that survived the massacre outside Ishgard before they fled for anywhere not Coerthas. Hells, there’s several Viera I spotted as well, as more of the reclusive folk begin to trickle into the wider world and out of southern Othard. Probably will be a while before…oh hells, what were they called. The lion folk that showed up in Shadowbringer! From Final Fantasy X!

Balls. That’s going to bug me all day.

By the time I turn in for the night, I’ve a list of spices, threads, and ores half a malm long, and all outside of my immediate means unless I want to be reckless. Travel and own food expenses first, I remind myself. You can get Ma and Da shinies once you have a steadier source of income. 

Still, all in all, a good day. Not often I’ll have the chance to play rubber-necking tourist and have fun with it. Goodness knows this peace won’t last forever.

-x-

After I get back to Limsa and report to the Admiral, it’s a week of small jobs around La Noscea and more work at the Bismark as I learn how to make palatable rations; if I recall correctly then I have three dungeon runs in each region coming up, and it’s more likely than not going to be day trips for each location. I also get better, more expensive maps for Eorzea’s three main regions, and swing by my home village to visit Ma and ask about clothes.

Far-East Town, or Little Far-East, depending on who you asked, was gradually beginning to like any Chinatown you’d see in the States, as more and more people began to see this place as home. In another generation or two, it could really be something special here in Eorzea. The place was more or less founded by a number of refugees who bailed out of Higanshi, Doma, Nagxia, Azim, and Koshu as the Garleans expanded their reach and triggered political, military, and economic instability that saw a steep increase in not only raids from the empire, but a lot of crime rings and pirates. One of the reasons Ma got out of the Higanshi and left for the mainland was because the higher ups in Higanshi refused to guarantee the safety of the smallfolk if it’d risk their neutrality. No matter how much she might’ve loved her homeland and culture…it was no way to live, and she knew it.

It was a gamble, my parents getting us out of the East when they did. But Da’s respected for his work now, and in the last couple of years has nursed a moderate scholastic bent. Ma misses Higanshi, but her weaver work is no longer so constrained, nor does she have to fear the nobility and rich near as much. I was young enough to adjust to the move and languages when we arrived, and while it wasn’t easy…hindsight, instinct, and my selfish gladness that they’re alive tells me it was the best decision to make at the time.

There were a few kids playing on the street, wearing both children’s yukata made of light linen and Limsa’s more typical tunics and trousers of waterproof wool, and not all of the kids were Au Ra and Hyur; the archipelago’s been a melting pot of Eorzean culture for centuries, and while it's far from perfect with a number of folks having to compete with the locals for work and resources…the Calamity saw a number of people set aside the worst edge of their racism and fear of others. It’s still there, if you look for it, but mutual suffering has a way of pulling people together.

I wave to several familiar faces, but my goal is in sight and my focus there.

“Tomoyo-chan!” Ma exclaims when I poke my head into the house. “Oh, you’re here! Are you staying?”

“Baderon was indicating he’s got a job for me soon, so not for long,” I say apologetically, and hold up a basket. “I brought mixed berry muffins.”

Ma’s mouth twitches up at the corners. “I see someone has gained an affinity for sweets,” she says. “Thank you for sharing. Your father loved those biscuits, I nearly had to fight for my portion!”

I snicker at the mental image of little Ma smacking Da on the shoulder so she could grab at a treat. “Glad they went over well,” I say with a grin. “And I hope these are good too.”

“I’m sure they will be. But I imagine you came for more than just a visit.” I duck my head apologetically, but she says, “No, do not be ashamed. When the gods call…well. I’m just glad you’re trying to make time for us. Now, what do you need?”

“I don’t need heavy winter gear,” yet, I think to myself, “But I am going to have a job in Gridania and it’s cooler up there than in Limsa. My rain gear’s good enough for their storms, but the cold will get to me if I’m not careful.” After we fled the eastern continent, a lot of the kids my age, and even a number of adults, went through survival training for as many environments as we could try to simulate, in case we had to run again, so I have the basics of forest and steppe survival. My desert survival needs work, but as the Scions are stationed there, I imagine I’ll be able to work with them to bring myself up to speed in short order.

“And desert, I recall you saying,” she nods firmly. “You went to Ul’dah and Gridania? Tell me of it.” 

As Ma moves around the house/workshop, I tell her of Ul’dah’s ridiculous heat, plentiful scents and people, and of some of the fabrics I spied in the Weaver’s Guild there. “Let me know what you’d like for Starlight and New Year’s,” I tell her. “If I can’t come myself, I can at least send you something when it rolls around.”

She shakes her head as she pulls out a tunic made of a thicker material than what you’d usually see around La Noscea, though for sailors who trend northwards, this sort of cut would be familiar. “You may have to resize your armor a touch, but it should keep you warm and relatively dry, especially if you still have your storm cloak.” The tunic, and the matching trousers, are colored a warm, earthy orange/brown, like clay yet to be fired. Not bad with the tan darkening my skin and the sun bleaching my hair.

I try them on, then put the armor over them. Wool, or a wool/cotton mix, I think, and the colors don’t clash with the steel I’m wearing either. Excellent.

“I’ve still got my cloak, Ma,” I assure her, grinning. “Thanks again for this, it’s definitely going to make work easier.”

“Vien is almost finished with the throwing axes,” she says as she pulls out a second set of clothes. “I’ll admit I had a little trouble with the desert wear; I had to ask Cota what one might wear in the warmer areas of the Steppes that would still work with your heavy armor.” She looks to me. “Do you plan on only being…” She trails off uncertainly.

“Just sticking with marauder work? No,” I shake my head. “Conjury, white magic, is on the list of things I want to learn, but without an easy way to get between cities for now outside the long flights…I need to save up for a chocobo, I think, before I can dedicate the time.”

“That is…Gridania, yes?” she confirms, and I nod. “Are there any skills in Ul’dah that drew your attention?”

“Pugilism, hand to hand combat,” I say with a small grin. “Useful in case I have to go somewhere unarmed.”

“You’re not going to go to the arena there, are you?” she suddenly asks, alarmed, and I rapidly shake my head.

“No no no no, not a chance,” I hastily reassure her. “Tanya’s culture didn’t look kindly on that kind of bloodsport, and honestly, now that I’m aware of the…let’s say heavily grey markets that tend to crop up around things like that—” I make a face. “No, not happening. Not in this life at least.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry, Tomoyo-chan, I just…the thought of you bleeding out on those sands…”

“There would have to be a very good reason for me to get anywhere near that arena, even as just a spectator,” I say seriously. “Like, people's lives are at risk, good reason.”

A somewhat strained smile creeps up her face. “Your speech is slipping again, dear,” she points out, and I wince.

“Sorry,” I say. “The memories are settling better, but it’s easy to slip into the language when I’m around people I trust.”

That seems to help her mood some. “I am glad that the language comes from love, then. But you must take care when speaking to those who do not know of your mission! The gods forbid some ruffian gets the wrong idea and tries to, to—” she flaps her hands, the sleeves of her yukata swinging.

I snort. “Don’t worry about that Ma,” I tell her. “Any man tries coming on to me and doesn’t respect my saying no, he’s going to be in for a very rude surprise. Quite possibly from my foot.”

“Oh, but what if you find a man but come on too strongly for him?” she frets as she lays out some lighter clothes; two robes, two tunics, a flowing pair of trousers made for warmer climes. 

I blink owlishly at her. “Eh?”

“...Do you not wish to marry?” Ma asks.

“I.” I blink a few more times, the question throwing me off entirely. “I have no earthly idea,” I finally say, because it’s true. “Tanya never married as she never had the inclination to like males nor females, and while I’ve had a couple of crushes, I’ve no idea how much her memories will change my personal views and interests.”

“I suppose it is a good thing I failed to convince your father to take us to Higanshi,” she murmurs after a few moments. “After all, the Admiral has not married and the people respect her.”

I resist scrunching my nose at that. “I suppose Higanshi had certain views of when women should marry?” I ask reluctantly.

“Yes,” she admits. “Though at least you would’ve had leave to learn your father’s craft. Not even that would’ve been proper a century ago.” 

I fail to resist and make a rude noise in the back of my throat. “I love you Ma,” I say. “And I love the village. But I don’t know Higanshi. The people are what make a culture, or at least it should. Keep the good that lets us shine, and let what stifles us stay behind.”

“I wish it were so simple,” she sighs, and I move over to hug her.

“It sort of is,” I say into her shoulder. “It’s just people want to make it complicated.”

She chuckles, but it's a sad sound. “When did you become so wise, my daughter?”

“Well, extra memories,” I pull back a little from her hold. “If I didn’t learn something from them, it’d be squandering her gift, wouldn’t it?”

“The World Crystal?” She brushes some of my hair to the side, now long enough to tuck behind my horns.

“Her too,” I nod. 

“Ah, of course. We should make an offering for Tanya-chan,” Ma hums. “But first, try these! I want to make sure they fit! You have built so much muscle these past two moons!”

“I know, isn’t it great?” I say with a grin as I start to plunk my armor to one side. “I can already carry a man two and a half times my weight across my shoulders if I need to get him out of a sticky situation. I’m hoping to get to three times my weight by a half year out!”

“Forgive me if I say I hope you do not have to test that strength in combat,” Ma says as I change clothes again, carefully folding the cool weather gear for the warm weather. “I am afraid that with your armor, it simply will not aid you as needed, but it should serve you well should you be in the back lines of combat rather than at the front,” she concludes after a few moments of critically examining me.

I nod. “That’s fair, and I do appreciate your help, Ma. This’ll definitely help later on.” If nothing else, I can save a while longer for that chocobo.

“Be careful when you travel, Tomoyo-chan,” she implores quietly as I change one last time to my current gear. “Promise me?”

“I’ll be as careful as I can,” I say seriously. “I’ve got a lead for a group that might help me, I just need to wait a little longer before they might contact me.” Best be non-committal on details, just in case. 

The town bell rings, telling me it’s nine in the morning. “I need to head back to Limsa,” I tell Ma apologetically. “Give Da my love?”

“Of course,” she says, and I get one last hug from her before I pack the new clothes into my bags of holding. “Though you might catch him if you visit the Blacksmith Guild; he’s taken new commission work there.”

“Good for him!” I grin. “I’ll see if I can swing by after I finish up Baderon’s work for me.”

A ferry trip later, and I’m at the Drowning Wench to get my new mission. Commodore Rayner asks that I, and a small team of adventurers who’ve also agreed to take the job, poke about a cave that may or may not host pirates or Sahagin. I’d give it a coin flip on what we’d run into. On our way out of the city, I see a group of bickering adventurers, the healer of the group getting ribbed none too gently for her skill or lack thereof according to her fellows.

My memory tickles a bit. Wasn’t there a healer who felt responsible for the death of one of her fellows? Palace of the Dead questline? Hrm, not sure, never played that section myself. I scribble a note of their descriptions in my journal, just in case.

On our way the Sastasha cave system, we do short introductions for each other; an Elezen conjurer will be our team medic, I’m the designated tank, and we’ve got a Hyur archer and a Lalafell thaumaturge to round out our damage dealing. The Yellowjacket there relieved that someone not him gets to kick the hornets’ nest to see what’s inside. Cheerful sod, isn’t he? At least he hopes we won’t run into Reavers and fish-folk, not that I have high hopes about it.

There’s a number of civilians who are being held hostage as we push through the caves and carve through several pirates; being the Marauder means I can get attention on myself right quick and provoke the idiots to focus on me rather than try to use the hostages to escape. The healer and archer keep the back clear so the civvies can get out, and I make a note to do as the Lalafell did and buy a pack of chalk to mark my way through future dungeon runs.

However, it’s not just pirates as we get further into the caves and closer to the sea. Soon enough, I’m cutting through Sahagin as well as a dwindling number of pirates, and the spellcaster leading them packs a nasty punch. Having back up helps immensely in keeping up with this fight, but the other three are long range fighters, so I’m frequently stuck in the middle of things to help them keep space while the archer and mages snipe and dance around for better angles.

It’s not the worst fight I’ve been in, but it’s definitely in my top five of unpleasant ones once I finish pulling my axe out of the last Sahagin’s skull. I take a few minutes to remove my gauntlets and greaves so that I can at least put some burn paste on the sore spots there; even after we looted the pirates for ethers, the conjurer’s out of breath and shaky from low stores, and I give him some of my food and water as a ‘sorry for getting hurt so frequently’ gesture.

The Yellowjacket is busy helping care for the civilians who made it out; a quick headcount checks for all of them, and I hand out some of my tastier rations to the younger ones so that they’ve something in their stomach to help cushion the worst of the shock they might be feeling. Then we all ‘port back to Limsa, and I give one more round of thanks for the team before I split off to get cleaned up a little before reporting to Baderon.

He’s fielding another group of adventurers when I get there. Friendly enough, I suppose, if a bit boastful and potential glory hogs. But that’s more adventurers than less, sad to say. The only reason we’re not called mercenaries more often is because we tend to do odd jobs with Hand and Land crafts as well as Battle crafts. I just stay polite and accept their advice with a small bow of my head.

Baderon takes the news of Sahagin with more surprise than I expected. “Ye hardly seem rattled by the fishback’s ambush,” he notes.

“I mean, given I was there at Swiftperch, I reckoned they’d like another crack at taking my head,” I shrug. “I literally thought it’d be a coinflip between pirates or Sahagin. Turns out the coin landed on its side.”

The retired adventurer snorts. “Rotten luck that. Still, ‘tis a good thing ye hit them when ya did. If’n there’s no mystery ship to be had,” which was what spurred this investigation in the first place, “then at least we won’t have more scaled bastards settin’ up shop behind our backs!”

I accept my pay as he says, “Ye probably’re ready to turn in for the day, but I’ve gotten word from our sister guild in Gridania if yer willin’ to lend an ear to their plight.” He gives me a sardonic smirk. “If they’re askin’ fer help from a bunch of pirate folk, then ye can bet it’s no skip through the glade, but I reckon ye can handle a bit of a scuffle in the forest.”

“Good thing I’ve gotten some clothes meant for the clime,” I say with my own sharp grin. “What do they need?”

“Miounne’s been recruitin’ folk for somethin’ going down near Gridania,” Baderon tells me. “Yer interested?”

“Hm…suppose I should book an overnight flight then,” I say, pulling out my journal to make a note.

“Or ye could teleport straight there in the mornin’,” he points out.

I wince. “That’s near six hundred gil,” I say. “I can afford it, but it’s a bite out of my finances.”

He blinks. “Six…lass, ye do ken ye can mark certain aetheryte fer frequent travel and get a discount?”

“Eh?” I can what now?

After the asshole finishes laughing at me, I find out I could’ve saved a fair amount of cash by registering certain aetherytes as ‘frequent flyer’ essentially, and get a nice reduction in teleport costs as a result. It’s all I could do to avoid facepalming. I’d forgotten this was a mechanic in the game!

On the one hand, it’s probably a good thing, because it means I’m accepting this as real, which is important. On the other hand, I still feel like an absolute idiot, because I’ve burned a fair amount of gil for not realizing this.

Fortunately I don’t have to run around and re-attune to everything; Baderon marks down Limsa as my home point, with Ul’dah, Gridania, and Aleport for frequent visit discounts. I can add three more, but for now I hold off, wanting to mark at least one outpost or settlement between the other capitals to ease travel, as well as save a spot for the Scion’s base, or the aetheryte closest to it anyway.

With the home point, I can teleport to Limsa for free once a day as long as I register that with the folks in charge of keeping an eye on aetheryte traffic. So that should save me a pretty penny.

With the mark down, it’s now not quite 300 gil in order to teleport to the other capitals. Much easier for me to manage as long as I don’t slack in taking jobs!

It’s with a happier (proverbial) wallet that I turn in for the day, doing some basic accounting to keep track of my finances; I was usually decent with money in my last life, but I did have one or two times where I overdrew, and it would be awkward to repeat that particular mistake with physical money on hand. 

There is the slight crimp in my mood that comes with finding that one of the burns I took earlier today left a shiny scar on my right thigh, but it’s the size of three finger widths and doesn’t hurt or feel tight when I gently pull at the skin to check it. As long as I keep my vitamin C intake up, the scar won’t unravel and cause problems.

…Huh, hadn’t remembered that scar tissue was an active process when it came to the body maintaining itself until now. No wonder scurvy was such a killer.

Then it’s updating my journal and writing a short letter to my parents to let them know I’m leaving La Noscea again. If Da finishes the tomahawks in between jobs, the cheaper teleport means I can meet him in town to pick them up.

A thought occurs to me and I check the sun’s position. Nope, Da will have taken the ferry home by now. Damn. Could’ve visited him at the smithy guilds, but I got too focused on my stuff. I sigh. Next time, I tell myself and write a reminder. I’ve still got time.

Chapter Text

My first cross-continental teleport leaves me a little disoriented for a minute from the time change and, well, from yeeting myself through the planet’s lifestream to cross some thousand malms and change. 

If nothing else, I do love the English language for its incredibly eclectic slang, even if I can’t use it without confusing everyone in earshot. 

Miounne’s pleased enough to see me, and I’m quickly informed of the job I’ll be handling with a second team, given some of the plentiful issues still plaguing the Twelveswood after the Calamity. A batch of cultists that worship Dalamud are making a menace of themselves in some of the deeper forest areas and have holed themselves up in a crypt where those whose religions bid them to bury the bodies intact rather than burn them or return them to the earth/sea are kept. I’m asked to clear them out of the Tam-Tara Deepcroft, and am given a small guide of what kind of beasts I might run into on my way through the Shroud.

I make a face when I see the giant scorpion like bugs labelled as Diremites, and Miounne makes a sympathetic noise when I point at the picture with a ‘WTF?’ face. I make a note to avoid the creatures if I can help it. There’s arachnophobia, and then there’s that. Christ. Christ and Crystal. Yuck.

It’s a two hour trek through the forest to get to the Croft. Honestly I’d have gotten lost at least once on my way there, but the lancer on our team’s native and leads the way while the gladiator and I manage to politely argue over who gets to take point this job and who gets to focus on DPS, the arcanist more than happy to keep out of the debate.

Ma’s work keeps me warm when the weather turns and a cold drizzle kicks up, so at least I’m not wet and miserable on top of it all.

By the time we get to the dungeon, it’s around noon or thereabouts if my sense of time isn’t completely broken. There’s a whole swarm of walking skeletons when we reach the entrance to the catacombs themselves, and it takes some patience to bait out two or three at a time so we don’t get bloody swarmed by them and the literally burning fireflies. I’m not sure if the dead are just animated by aether, or if the spirit of the dead person left an imprint somehow on them and they’re acting on those impressions. I don’t think they’re like Dragon Age undead, the corpus being borrowed by a spirit of some kind. We’ve got some supernatural beings like spirits and demons, but I’m pretty sure the meta-physics work differently here.

Should probably look that up, but later. We’ve got a cult to clear out first.

Said clearing out is not fun. Honestly, it’s not the shambling corpses wandering about that bother me; they’re all skeletons that don’t have any rotting bits left to them, so that’s fine. No. It’s the fact that these artificial moon worshippers somehow grokked on how to summon voidborn, which means they start slinging around demons like it’s some godsdamned horror movie. Fortunately it’s just the lower level imps and gargoyles they pull through, but I wonder what research or information they stumbled on that gave them the ability to bring the victims of the 13th Shard here to the Source.

Huh. I’d forgotten that a lot of these demons used to be people. But before I can ponder too much more on the subject, we wind up in the middle of a pitched fight against ghost of all things, though whether he’s pissed off more at the cultists for mucking about or us for raising a racket winds up being a moot point after I eventually kill the former and the gladiator knocks down the latter until he quits getting up.

Thank the stars for teleporting magic. I don’t have to wind the whole way through the catacombs, just gather what we’ve taken from the cultists and follow the others as we ‘port back to Gridania. I’m not quite as beaten to hell and back as I’d been for my last dungeon crawl, but a kindly conjurer passing by soothes the worst of my aches before I swing by to a forge to get the dents in my armor beaten out; while they do that, I head over to the landing (not the airport) and hand over a couple cultist crests to Miounne as I give a report.

Apparently she’d been a bit worried about sending me out with such a minimal team to deal with the group, as several other questers didn’t make it through their missions; some raised voices pull my attention over, and I see the healer from Limsa taking a lambasting for one of their group dying in her care.

I wince. I do want to learn conjury…but the thought of someone dying on me when I’m trying to pull them back from the brink is a fearful one. But why use such cruel words when it’s clear she’s already beating herself up for her mistake?

I get my payment, which will just cover today’s and tomorrow's teleportation. Not the best paying job I’ve taken, but it’s work that needs doing, and I need to get myself further on the Scion’s radar before they’ll reach out to me. Miounne lets me know that Ul’dah’s also got a job for me, and I tell her I’ll teleport to the city tomorrow to meet her counterpart there, a Lalafell by the name of Momodi.

I pick up my undented armor, and check my budget to see if I can afford upgrading any of it. Greaves and gauntlets are fine for now, but the chest and sabatons took a beating these past few fights. I’m not entirely certain how much longer they’ll hold without gaining a critical flaw in the metal. 

One more big job and I’ll hopefully be able to afford upgrading my armor, I note down when I break at the inn. Then I open my ‘life journal’, as I’d labeled the front of it, pen in hand but not yet writing as I consider what I’d forgotten. Or rather, what I’d remembered.

I don’t have all the details, but apparently enough of my memory has settled enough to let me recall that ‘demons’ are the residents of the permanently dark aether stained 13th Shard. The Ascian’s first attempt at retrieving a piece of Zodiark, they overloaded the world with dark aether, though what they’d hoped it would do for them I’m uncertain. All that it did do was transform the residents of the 13th in monstrous beings; not all of them have lost their sanity, I do recall that the All Saint’s Wake, or as it was called on Earth, Halloween, had a voidborn running around alongside a circus to make sure their compatriots captaining the celebration didn’t actually hurt any people. But most of them are, unfortunately, if not outright beastial, then driven mad by their altered state of being.

What does it say that the dark versions of Sin Eaters can retain their minds? There are terribly few demons who have retained the ability for speech, but a handful is still a significant number compared to, what, Vauthry? I think he was the only sapient Sin Eater that had ever been spawned from the lot. It’s a question I have no way of answering right now.

I wonder if that means the Amaurotine shard-souls that live there are permanently lost. Who is my counterpart there, I wonder? Do they still live? Are they long dead? I have an Amaurotine soul shard myself, otherwise I’d never be able to support the Echo. If those people can’t be rejoined, the term inspiring some disgust in me, it would explain why in part the Ascians are as mad as they are. That a part of their people are permanently mutilated, and that it’s entirely their fault. 

I huff. I wonder how much of Emet-Selch’s denial of us as people is his insufferable sense of superiority, and how much of it is an attempt to keep his fraying mind on an even keel. Maybe I can ask that if/when I reach the First.

But none of that is stuff I can write down. Nothing of that is public until, what Crystal Tower at the absolute earliest? Oh hell, the Cloud of Darkness is going to be an absolute bitch of a fight, isn’t it? Urgh.

And then a thought makes me pause. Cloud of Darkness…and there’s boss fights against ExDeath and Kefka, aren’t there? Huh. I wonder if Y’shtola’s been yoinked into the Dissidia storylines yet, or if that (sort of) happens later. It’d probably be safer if that was the case, but it’s still an interesting question.

Again, not something I can address right now, except in the most obliquest of sense. I’ll have to table that for some other time.

In my journal, I bitch about the undead, cultists, voidborn, and the cold rain endemic to these parts. But the food is good, and I add some potential recipes for mashed popotoes to take home. Note to self, check for prices on getting my own chocobo tomorrow. I don’t recall exactly how you get access in the game, and it’d be nice to have sooner rather than later.

-x-

I get up at way too early in the morning, just before dawn and with a very strong cup of tea, in order to get to the Adventurer’s Guild in Ul’dah before the day heats up to high hell and back. I check in with Momodi who’s very open to my application thanks to good word from both Baderon and Miounne, and she tells me of my next dungeon run. 

I bounce around a few people to get all the details, and what I learn surprises me a bit.

Hecatoncheires? The old Greek hundred handed giants? Well, they don’t have a hundred hands, but they did have a lot more than most bipeds, and Ul’dah once used that to their advantage in the Bad Old Days when they enslaved a tribe of them to work in the mines. Now those mines have been reopened, and someone blasted through to the old cave system that was collapsed on the lot when they rebelled, and I’m being asked to help put this old shame to rest.

The face I make makes my displeasure clear about this, and the mining conglomerate rep is honest enough to admit that this is a mark against Ul’dah’s old practices, but any attempts to communicate with the giants has failed thus far. What Immortal Flames company men have been pulled are busy enough just containing the area, which is why adventurers are being bid to be the strike force.

I accept the mission, but it’s not with pleasure. Cultists intentionally stirring up shit is one thing, but these are a people whose dignity have been stolen and then literally buried and forgotten for who knows how long. Little wonder they’re killing people on sight, who wouldn’t in their shoes?

But the civvies haven’t asked for any of this, and they’re the ones paying the blood price. If the giants can’t or won’t be talked down, then there’s not much of a choice as there’s nowhere to relocate them if that were even an option. Urgh. What a mess.

I get a quick crash course on how to use firesand charges to blow through blockages that might crop up; handling explosives was not something I had expected to learn until I had the option of learning the gunnery class (no, Machinist, that’s the term), but I take notes, focus, and practice as much as they’re willing to permit me until they give me the green light. I’ll not get a license to use black powder charges outside of one time shots, but the seriousness I express when learning how to handle the dangerous material has the older Roegadyn man pleased with my apprentice level progress.

I try not to think of how other adventurers probably screwed around with this stuff and lost limbs for it.

I wear the lightest clothes I can under the leathers and armor that can still stop the chafing that comes with wearing full plate, or near it anyway, then rent a chocobo that’ll take me to the closest settlement to the mines. 

If I’ve experience with low deserts, I don’t remember it. It’s already hot at only 10 bells, dry as the dust the chocobo kicks up, and even the breeze only helps so much. I’m glad the inventory magic means I can carry several gonze of water on me with minimal fuss, because keeping myself hydrated will be critical in this environment. 

Getting directions to the Copperbell Mines is easier than finding the crypts at least, and meet the three who also accepted this job at the entrance; another arcanist, a lancer, and a thaumaturge. Not a bad balance of close and long range. We all get a few warnings from the guard about how badly mishandling firesand can go; I nod and make agreeing noises in all the right places, and then we are bid to clear out the worst of the mines.

Honestly, the caves down here are creepier than the crypts. Why is that, you ask? Well, at least in the crypts, I didn’t get jumped by electricity slinging spriggans that come out of nowhere, nor did I have to deal with giants that pull a Kool-Aid man through the living stone to bludgeon us to death. The end result leaves me a bit on the twitchy side as we make our way through the mix of natural caves and carved rock, straining my hearing to the limit to sense any vibrations that would signal another hecatoncheires ambush. Beings that big have no right to move that quietly, especially when Au Ra are supposed to have an advantage with subsonic hearing!

It turns out that despite it just being a few hours training, I’m the one who’s most confidence handling the firesand; I strip my gauntlets when we came across the supply, so I could pack the stuff properly, then put the sealed packs in my hammer space. I make three charges in total, hoping the rule of three will apply here, then carefully wash any remaining black powder from my hands with water in order to make sure no spriggan will spark any remaining explosives that could possibly be sealed in my armor.

A few booms and some pissed of giants later, and we find the leader of the former slaves. I would have tried to talk him down, but the lancer moves first, much to my aggravation. So it’s with a heavier heart I take up my axe and aim to kill.

 A flicker of thought, wondering if I should’ve packed more firesand for grenades, but I lack the training for that, and they can be thrown back. So I focus on going for the joints and weaker spots in the giant’s rocky form, keeping the attention on myself as the lancer and mages go high. Knees, elbows, anything that will slow him down and give us breathing room.

I take a couple glancing blows, but thankfully the giant projects like a child ready to throw a tantrum, so I don’t get anything worse than a few bruises that’ll be black and purple for the next day or two and some more scuffs in my armor. He makes the mistake of reaching down to grab me like a doll, and the lancer scurries up his arm and bury the blade of his weapon between his eyes.

The other giants that were coming to his call scatter back into the depths of the mine, and I stop the others from perusing. Our supplies are short, their boss is dead, and clearing out the entire mine is the work of a large scale team, not four people. The conjurer’s fine with that, the thaumaturge a little reluctant, and the lancer accuses me of being a coward, but I just tell him that if he wants to get himself killed, he’s not dragging others down with him.

We get out of the mine, report that the boss giant is dead, then I teleport back to Ul’dah with alacrity. It’s a bit passed noon, which means it’s roasting to be out in the sun in full armor.

I start to navigate my way through the city to get back to the Adventurer’s Guild, only to grind to a halt when I come across a scene that has me gritting my teeth and my memory tickling. A woman in rough spun clothes is getting cornered by a merchant and some toughs, accusing her of thievery and implying that she can ‘pay them back’...with her body.

I roll my tongue, crack my neck, and let the Limsan brogue Ma tried to train out of me free as I step between the thug and his goons. 

“Now, ‘ere last I ‘eard, rape wasn’t no punishment for thievery,” I drawl, settling my heavily armored self in front of the civvie. “If’n ya got a thief in Limsa Lominsa, ya take it to the Yellowjackets and let the Admiral’s men deal wit’ it. So, I reckon if’n this lady ‘ere stole, you take it to the Sultana’s men and let ‘em deal wit’ it.”

“And what business of this is yours, lizard?” the merchant sneers. “You’re not even from Ul’dah, so turn your tail around and let us get our due…recompense.”

I snort, not bothering to hide my derision. “Lizard? Tha’ the best ye got? Heard worse from tiny tots.” I roll a shoulder and let my axe fall to my hand, letting the head of my weapon clank loudly against the paved road. “‘Ere’s my offer. We talk this out like civilized folk,” I slip into the high dialect I usually use for a moment before letting the brogue return, “Or if’n ye and yers insist, I’ll insist right back and send ye cryin’ fer yer mums.”

“Ah, but I saw that wretch steal with my own eyes not half a bell ago!” the scum crows. 

“No, no, I payed for that food, I swear I did!” the woman counters, keeping herself behind me.

I open my mouth to question the man’s evidence, only for my horns to ring. I hiss, lifting a hand to my temple—

The civilian behind me, at one of the booths just outside the city, exchanging coin with the man as he gives her the wares—

And my eyes meet the merchants as the Echo fades.

“Now, ‘ere’s the thing,” I let some of the brogue bleed away from my words. “Ye say ye saw the woman steal. I saw her trade coin. Two words, against one of yers. What’s say we talk to the merchant his own self, and see what he says?”

The thug stiffens, his eyes going wide. “Fine! I suppose we’ll add you to the fun then!” The toughs draw their weapon as the merchant backs up a few steps.

I roll my neck and heft my axe up to one shoulder. “Ye get one chance, gents,” I drawl. “If ye walk, ye get to walk under yer own power. If ye come at me, yer leavin’ with broken bones. At best.” The axe isn’t great with blunt damage…maybe I should ask Da about a kanabo or a warhammer.

Then again, they’re wannabe rapists. They’ll be lucky to walk at all if law enforcement gets their hands on them.

At first the toughs are cocky, one of them darting in close to grab the civvie; I put a stop to that right quick by slamming the flat side of my blade down on his wrist, creating a loud crack sound as the bones give. 

That seems to be the signal, and I roar, pouring my energy into the sound to draw their attention to me and away from the woman, giving her space to get out of the way and into hiding. A Roegadyn comes at me, only to get a broken knee for his trouble, followed by two Hyur getting a dislocated hip and a snapped shoulder respectively. The Elezen who thought he was smart earlier tries to snipe me with a thrown dagger; I block the projectile with a gauntlet and launch myself at him, making him backpedal as he tries to reposition. 

Turns out that the extra thirty ponze of armor is enough to let my five fulm ass knock a six fulm plus Elezen right on his arse. I crack the haft of my axe across his nose and shatter it, then smack it again on his forehead to encourage him to stay down. 

The last two Hyur try to jump me, and the fact that they’re wearing heavier armor means I take the blade against that armor; I have one wheezing wetly on the ground in half a minute with broken ribs and possibly a punctured lung, while the last has another shattered knee. The merchant, seeing me saw through his men like so much firewood, decides to cut and run, and I snort in disgust.

“What did I fucking say,” I mutter, deeply irritated by the whole thing, then glare at the crowd that’s gathered. “Ye think this is a feckin’ show?!” I snarl. “A woman damn near gets gang raped and all ye can do is gawk?! Shame on you! Shame on you and your families for failin’ ta teach you how to be decent people!”

That gets the rats to scatter; damn Ul’dah’s bloodsports for giving these people the worst kind of Bystander Syndrome. The thugs, those that can walk at least, pick up those that can’t and hobble away, and I let them with the promise of, “If I see you shits pulling something like this again, you’ll not walk again.” Whether it’s because I’ll break their spines or their necks, I’m not certain myself, and the threat sees them off.

“I thought that you might require reinforcements,” a familiar voice rings out, and I turn in surprise to see Y’shtola helping the woman out of her hiding spot. “But it seems you took care of the issue quite well.”

“I’ve gotten used to being outnumbered,” I say with a shrug, then turn to the civilian. “Are you alright ma’am?”

“Y-yes, my lady. Oh, thank you, thank you so much. I…” She’s shaking a little, and I can hardly blame her. I dig in my bag and bring out some of my travel rations. 

“Here. You’ve just gone through a nasty shock, your system will need a little food to cushion it,” I tell her kindly. “It’s just road rations,” I assure her when she tries to protest. “But I got the ingredients at the Bismark in Limsa, so I know exactly what went in it and that there’s nothing cut.”

She bites her lip, then accepts hesitantly. “Thank you, my lady. I’ll…I’ll not forget your kindness.”

“Anything like that happens again, you tell Momodi of the Adventurer’s Guild, and I’ll go break some more knees,” I say. “Gods know there’s always more scum like that then there are people who’ll crack down on them.”

“Indeed,” Y’shtola speaks up, and her sky blue eyes are warm. “I am glad there is a kind ending to this particular tale. Do you need further escort?” she asks the civilian.

“No, no,” she shakes her head. “After a scene like that, I think I’ll be left well alone for a time.” She bows to the both of us, and I let her leave.

“Urgh,” I rub at my face. “If this were Limsa, the Yellowjackets would’ve swarmed those tits faster than you could sneeze.” The Admiral’s rule is still relatively new, but the patriotic fire she inspires in many of the citizens means that most of those who sign on to the Maelstrom and Yellowjackets do so as supporters of her vision for the city and its surrounding environs. Long term, that kind of loyalty can be pretty dangerous, but the woman’s made it clear she’s not in this job for life, and the young but fierce pride of the institutions she’s founded means there hasn’t been time for institutional rot to set in that sees this sort of shit swept under the rug. Oh, there’s corruption, there always is. But Merlwyb comes down on it like a sack of bricks when it’s dug up, and her steely sense of fair play means that no one gets favored or pilloried, which further cements her position.

Well, except for the beast folk. But that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish that has no swift solution.

“Perhaps,” Y’shtola nods. “But you were here, and you ensured that no injustice was committed. Though I did notice you had reached for your horn for a moment.” Her head tilts, slit eyes sharp. “A glimpse of the past?”

I smirk. “Seems the Mothercrystal wasn’t on that merchant’s side,” I shrug. “It was a glimpse, like you said, but that was all I needed. She bought that food, fair and square. I doubt it’s anything that would hold in a court,” I add with another shrug. “But it did mean that stepping in was the only reasonable response.”

She smiles. “I came in search of you to offer you a proposal.” Eh? “What I witnessed has only cemented my decision.

“I am a member of an organization known as the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.” Ooh! “Within our numbers is one who also bears the power you have been blessed with.” Eeeeeeh, iffy on the blessing bit. “If you would seek answers, or aid, speak with Momodi, and she will inform you of where to go.”

“...Is this time critical?” I ask after a moment, not wanting to look too eager even though I’m all but chewing at the bit to say yes. 

She shakes her head. “Pray take the time you need to make the decision. It is not one that should be made in a hurry.”

I sigh. “Thanks, Y’shtola. Oh,” I rub my neck sheepishly. “And sorry for calling you Ys a couple of times. It was presumptuous of me, but with the rush of fighting the goobbue, and then me feeling the episode incoming at that party…”

“As long as you make no habit of it, there is naught to forgive,” she says. 

I deliberately make no promises, because whip-snap decisions are always done in the heat of the moment. 

With that we say our goodbyes and part ways. I get back to the Adventurer’s guild, and tell Momodi that the giant’s leader is dead and what had happened out in the streets, giving the best descriptions I can for all involved parties.

“Bad business that,” she shakes her head when she hears of the fight. “I’ll talk with the General’s men, you won’t be getting into any trouble for helping that woman.”

I get my pay, but stay in my armor for the rest of the day as I tour the city to get an idea of chocobo prices. There’s a fair chance I’ll get jumped for knocking some skulls together, and I don’t feel comfortable walking around unarmed. Urgh.

Buying a chocobo outright is…not cheap, but what convinces me to wait is the maintenance. If I sign up with a Grand Company, I can get around the worst of both prices as long as I do some work for the Company every fortnight, or so I’m told. I demure when I’m asked if I’m interested in volunteering for the Immortal Flames; if I do sign on for a military, it’s going to be for Limsa and the Maelstrom. I’ve got more leeway there, for better and worse.

With that data gathered, I park myself in the Adventurer’s Guild inn, clean myself up, add to my journal, and work on further world building for Earth. Best enjoy when I can do half days like this. Though I should consider whether to approach the Scions tomorrow or hold off for a day or two. Hm. I’ll write a letter to my parents and mention I’ve got the lead for the crew I’m looking for, then send it off. We’ll see how I feel about it in the morning.

Chapter Text

It’s an hour past dawn when I pull myself out of bed and get ready for the day. I head to the aetheryte plaza so I can pay the moogle there to send the letter; it’s not terribly costly as long as it’s just a message, and because moogles are everywhere, you can send your message to damn near anyone on the planet as long as even one is present in the settlement you’re sending to.

To my surprise, I find myself the recipient for three letters and a package. Da finished the set of tomahawks with a note of how to care for them and the cost of materials; I make a note in my journal to send the money his way next week, as well as extra for Ma since she didn’t tell me how much the new clothing cost. 

The other two letters are from the Bismark and the Marauders Guild. Time to do class quests, it looks like. And these can be all day affairs, so I book out the next two days to do that, then rest up before I meet with the Scions.

Hoh boy. That’s nerve wracking, now that the time’s fast approaching. But for today, off to Limsa.

The Axemaster is both pleased and surprised to see me hauling along a new set of throwing axes at my waist; not everyone studies ahead on what the Guild offers, and he drills me with proper throwing technique and aiming for several hours before I’m sent out into La Noscea for monster hunting. It’s a mean bastard, and I get knocked around once or twice before finding a good chink in its natural armor and bleeding the creature out. Then to further test my endurance, I’m bid to practice my rock breaking abilities, using the ambient aether of the environment to prevent my weapon from breaking against the stone while strengthening myself.

By the time I’m done, my muscles are sore and I’ve made enough gravel to pave what feels like a quarter of the island, but the Axemaster’s pleasure at my stubbornness is a good thing to see; the added enchantment to the set that sees the throwing axes return to my belt after a time is even better. I close out the day with some more tomahawk practice, wanting the ability to reliably snipe at least a larger target from afar before I set out to poke at my first primal.

I’m leaning towards Ifrit being the candidate there, if only because Shiva and Ifrit are usually the first summon spirits to come along in a Final Fantasy story, but I’ll know for certain when I hit that quest line.

The next day sees me working at the Bismark; my so-called rival is down in the dumps over a botched order of miq’abobs, where he grabbed the wrong grade of meat for the meal, and when I try to mediate with the customer, said consumer tells me he’s considering seeing the man kicked out for the mistake. I find that a bit much for an error anyone would make in the middle of a lunch rush, and remake the order myself in order to convince the customer to lay off.

I might bake more than cook, but since I’ve got the right ingredients going, it’s all a matter of timing. It takes a couple of tries before I’m satisfied with the finish of the char while ensuring that the meat isn’t undercooked, and the customer’s satisfaction sees my co-worker’s career secured for another day.

The boss is actually pretty happy about my actions; he values his student’s well being and passion for the craft over customers getting swotty, and I get a good knife as a thank you for watching out for my fellow apprentice.

I spend the rest of the day helping out with the lunch rush while making more road rations, stocking up for my next leg of adventuring. I have the feeling that things are going to get busy.

-x-

I scrawl the date on my journal as 04-21-05/7U before I leave Limsa for Ul’dah; as much as a part of me is tempted to take a few more side jobs, this is real life, and neither the Garleans nor Ascians will wait for me to progress the main quest line. So I have a soothing chamomile with my breakfast porridge before I ‘port out, then speak with Momodi on finding the Scions.

I get the location of Vesper Bay from her, a port town where most trade from Limsa comes into the mainland. It doesn’t have an aetheryte itself, if I recall correctly, so I head for the rental chocobos and brace myself for a long day’s ride. 

The bay is south and west of the city, so I have to cut through much of the central and western part of the desert, changing chocobos out about every hour as I do so. I do stretches in between each leg of the journey, not quite swallowing the curses about the saddle, because ow. I’m not used to riding this much!

But it’s good practice, so I exchange a little more money and ride out again, passing by where I’d turned off several days ago to hit Copperbell mines before I make it to the settlement Horizon and attune there. It…looks vaguely familiar, though the ruins past it when I ride for the last bit before the Bay are much more recognizable. I wonder if all this had been laid out when Bahamut hit, or if these columns had been leveled out years before that? I suppose I could ask the history of the area later.

By the time I make it to Vesper Bay, I just spend a few minutes doing nothing as I stretch my legs out and try to work through the pain in my rear and tail. Urgh, and this town has no aetheryte. At least I attuned to Horizon’s crystal, which should cut future trips down by a few hours. 

Vesper Bay isn’t a big city, but it is a busy town, being a trade hub and space to commune between Limsa and the mainland. When I feel like I can walk without hating myself, I take my time finding the Scions’ base, knowing I’m going to be in and out of this area quite a bit.

I might not have finished ARR, but even I know of the jokes of ‘return to the Waking Sands.’ Oich.

After half an hour or so of wandering about, I eventually find the base and introduce myself to Tataru, a cute and well dressed Lalafell with purples eyes near the same shade as my own. She’s been expecting me, so I don’t need the passcode to get into the basement below. Oh, what was it? It was a reference to one of the earlier Final Fantasy’s, I know that much…

I take a nervous breath, then knock on the door to Minfilia’s office. Hearing a woman’s voice call out, I open the door and step inside. 

Minfilia at the center, and I almost wonder if she’s a Dancer with her preferred outfit. Y’shtola and Thancred to my right, the conjurer in light colors versus the…rogue? Yes, dual knives, he was a rogue at this point, wearing mostly black. To my left, Yda with her odd mask, Urianger in concealing robes, hood up and with what looks to be alchemist’s goggles, and…Papalymo, that’s his name, with a staff. Black or White Mage, I don’t recall. All future co-workers. Hoh boy.

“So you are the adventurer with whom I’ve heard so much,” Minfilia starts off. “Well met, my friend. My name is Minfilia, and I am the leader of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

I bow formally. “Tomoyo Nanashi. Thank you for the invitation.” That’s polite, right?

“Please, be at ease.” Guess my nerves are showing. “You are among friends here.” She moves to take a place behind her desk, though she doesn’t take a seat. I approach, still a touch unsettled, until I’m standing with the other Scions. Y’shtola gives me an encouraging nod, which does help a little with the anxiety of the situation.

“No doubt you are ripe to burst with questions,” Minfilia draws my attention forward. “But have patience; all will be revealed in due time. 

“First, let me begin by telling you who we are and what we do. We are the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, an order that transcends political boundaries. Our single purpose is to preserve the future of Eorzea. Among our gravest concerns are the godlike primals.” I nod, showing that I’m following so far.

“Their existence is a bane, not just upon Eorzea, but the world at large,” she continues. “And we have striven to find a lasting solution to the threat they pose. 

“Our order is home to a number of individuals who bear a special gift, much like yourself. This talent takes various forms, but one holds particular interest to us. Tell me, have you ever inexplicably lost consciousness?”

I shrug. “Y’shtola was there for two of my episodes. No, wait, three, if we’re counting the initial vision of the World Crystal.”

Minfilia nods. “This is a power that transcends the boundaries of the soul. The power of the Echo. This power allows you to pass through the barriers of a man’s soul, and hear the resonations of their past.”

“Wait, soul?!” I exclaim before I can stop myself. “Bad enough I’m peeking into another person’s memory without permission, but you’re telling me I’m invading their soul?!”

“...I’ve not heard it stated in such a way,” Minfilia admits after a moment of surprise. “Though I understand the discomfort that might accompany such a thought. Nonetheless, it is a power you have been entrusted with by Hydaelyn Herself. With the Echo, it is possible to witness the past, and even interact with the events held within the memory, though you will not be able to affect the outcome.”

That’s what has me concluding it’s not just memory vision I’m dealing with, but full on post-cognition, though I’ll keep that to myself until Thancred is elsewhere. Until I know whether or not Lahabrea is taking his body for a joy ride, I can’t risk saying more than what I should already know.

“For another blessing, the Echo will allow you to know another man’s mind, even if you should not comprehend his words. Equally, the other will be able to understand you, though you might not know their tongue,” she continues, and I tilt my head as I consider that. 

My parents hadn’t noticed I was using English until I pointed it out to them. Do they hear the meaning first, and then can listen for the words? I think I need to test the omni-glot ability the Echo provides; whether it’s hyper-empathy, intent projection, or something just weird about Amaurotine souls, more data on how it works can’t be a bad thing.

“In short, the Echo is a truly extraordinary gift. And it is strong within you,” Minfilia concludes, drawing me out of my musings. “It is only a shame we cannot use it whenever we so choose.”

I snort, then say, “Sorry, sorry. I just suppose I’m glad to know that I’m not the only one with fainting problems.”

She chuckles. “It can be inconvenient at times, but with experience, the Echo’s deleterious effects will lessen.”

“Personal experience?” I guess with a smile.

She nods. “Indeed. I too possess the Echo.

“With that established, let us return to the subject of the primals.” Huh, no mention of our tempering resistance? “As long as they exist, our realm cannot make the steps towards true peace. Measures must be taken; measures that transcend boundaries, be they faction, race, language, or creed. And to do so, the Scions require the aid of those with our talent. Make no mistake, the Echo will be instrumental in dealing with the primal threat.” Ah, an oblique reference to the anti-tempering aspect.

“I know not what it is that you desire, nor what drives you to be an adventurer in Eorzea. But I firmly believe that the power we possess was given to us for a purpose.” I nod in agreement. “Why else would the gods entrust man with a gift so extraordinary, if not to have him use it?” Ah, well, that bit needs some working, but shush, self.

“And so I implore you,” Minfilia raises a hand to me. “Lend us your power.”

I shrug. “I mean, it’s why I’m here. Get answers as to what the Mothercrystal wants, get answers as to what this power is, what it’s for, and what it can do, and get a crew that can support me while I do the work she wants me to do.”

She smiles at the ease of my agreement. “Naturally, your aid will not go unrewarded. We are fortunate to have a number of influential allies, and at a word from me, they will gladly afford you certain privileges that might otherwise be denied you. The right to employ retainers, for example. Are you familiar with them? They are individuals who may be relied upon to manage your assets and belongings on your behalf.”

I tilt my head again; my past self had been playing the free version of the game due to tight finances and a reluctance to shell out until I’d finished with the main quest lines at the least, so retainers wasn’t something I had any experience in. “I’ll need to be told how that works at some point,” I admit. “Commoner from Limsa Lominsa, after all.”

Tataru slips into the room and places some documents on the desk. “The papers you requested, my lady.”

“Thank you, Tataru,” Minfilia says warmly.

“The pleasure is mine,” the small woman all but chirps, stepping away from the desk.

“By way of a welcoming gift, I have taken the liberty of adding your name to the retainers' registry. As of now, you are entitled to employ the services of a retainer,” Minfilia says, and I raise my eyebrows. Confident, wasn’t she? “You will need to consult a retainer vocate regarding the particulars of this arrangement, but believe me when I say that retainers will prove invaluable to you in your adventuring endeavors. Let this gesture serve as evidence of our commitment to do all in our power to facilitate your personal objectives.”

If only I could trust the safety of my family to them, I think, but I just nod. “Thank you.” What else is there to say?

“And so, I ask you formally,” Minfilia slides the documents to me. “Will you join the Scions of the Seventh Dawn?”

“Aye, I will,” I nod. “No one person has ever made a difference on their own; even the most famous of figures in history had a crew behind them, whether or not history remembers them.”

“Well said,” she smiles brightly. “Tell me, does the name Sharlayan ring a bell?”

I make a so-so motion with one hand. “It’s supposed to be the capital of knowledge in this part of the world, right?” The twins are from there…and aren’t most of the people here from there as well?

She nods. “It used to be one of Eorzea’s six city states, and was once located in the northwest of Aldenard.” The upper half of the continent, if I recall correctly. “They were the keepers of history and knowledge, both old and new, and their mastery over magic and aether was unsurpassed. Even the Garleans knew to fear them.

“Among their number, there were a noble few who devoted their lives to safeguarding Eorzea’s future. When the realm began its descent into chaos, and their countrymen fled for the motherland, they alone chose to remain here. These noble men and women were called the Archons.” OK, so this lot from New Sharlayan, not Old Sharlayan, where the twins are from. That's why people were so jazzed to visit Old Sharlayan when it was introduced in Endwalker.

“Those same brave souls stand before you now,” Minfilia gestures across the room. “The masked woman is Yda, and beside her is Papalymo. The two are charged with surveying the Twelveswood.”

Both Yda and Papalymo greet me, the young woman a lot more bubbly than her more stoic partner.

“Hello there!” Yda waves cheerfully.

“Welcome,” Papalymo nods. “I had every confidence that you would join us.”

“Ah, me too!” the pugilist quickly adds, and the two of them give each other a look before refocusing. Bit of a vitriolic partnership, is it?

“Okay, my turn to introduce someone!” Yda declares. “That there is Thancred!”

“He is our man here in Ul’dah, this jewel of the desert,” Papalymo states.

I turn to the white haired Hyur as he nods to me. “Welcome to the team.”

“Glad to be here,” I answer with a small smile. 

“I believe you’ve already met Y’shtola,” he gestures to the conjurer. “Limsa Lominsa has the pleasure of being under her care.”

“Aye, we’ve met,” I can’t help but grin a bit, and she chuckles in response. 

“Last but not least is Urianger, who presides over all affairs within these halls,” Y’shtola takes over. “Pray seek him out whenever you have questions.” So he works with Tataru and Minfilia regarding logistics and intelligence, I’m guessing?

“‘Dawn may banish even the darkest night…’” he says, and it feels like he’s quoting something. In the corner of my eye, I see Minfilia giving him a look. “...The words of a dear friend. I am glad of our meeting.” 

I bow my head politely.

“At the Battle of Carteneau, our leader was taken from us. But we did not stray from our purpose,” Y’shtola explains. “We sought out Minfilia and others with her talent, and together established the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

Oof, she just sort of got tossed into the role of leader, without much in the way of build up? The weight of that kind of expectation must be crushing. Especially with the shattered remains of Louisoix's staff hanging above her head at all hours.

…Wasn’t that thing important later on?

“Along with the Archons, those blessed with the Echo play a pivotal role in our endeavor to forge a brighter tomorrow for the realm,” my Echo-sibling takes over. “Oh, I should also introduce you to Tataru, our clerk. She ensures that everything runs smoothly.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance!” Paper-pusher she might be, but I recall that the woman was absolutely critical to keeping the Scions in one piece as an organization when the members began to drop like flies after being pulled to the First.

“Pleasure’s mine,” I say.

“In time, I hope you will come to think of us as family,” Minfilia’s voice is warm. “But without further ado, I would assign you your first task.” Let’s see, what was it again?

She turns to Urianger. “Have the documents from the Students of Baldesion arrived yet?”

He nods. “They have only recently been received, my lady.” Moving to her desk, he hands a sheaf of papers.

She takes the one at the top and reads it over. “We’ve received a request from the Immortal Flames,” she states. “Thancred, would you do the honors?”

The Hyur clears his throat. “Some days ago, a crystal caravan registered to Amajina & Sons Mineral Concern was waylaid and divested of its cargo.” Internally, I wince. Elemental crystals are essential to primal summoning, and that this starts with crystals going missing isn’t a good sign. “But there is more. Within a bell of the robbery, several people were reported missing from the shantytown outside the city.”

“At a glance, one would assume the involvement of bandits, kidnappers, and coincidence,” Minfilia says. “Such crimes are hardly uncommon, and the Immortal Flames deal with their like almost every day. However, this time we have reason to believe that a primal is involved.”

“I know enough of the problem with primals to see where this is going,” I say with a grimace. “The Sahagin tried to make off with a bunch of civilians in Swiftperch, likely in a bid to try and sacrifice to Leviathan.”

Thancred nods. “The evidence left behind implicates the Amalj'aa, who are known worshipers of Ifrit.” And there’s my first summon. Great. Time to look for fireproof everything. “If we then consider the objects that were taken, there is no room left for doubt─the crimes were committed in the name of a primal.”

“That you may better understand the nature of our struggle with the primals, I would have you play the leading role in this investigation,” Minfilia says, and I raise a hand tentatively. “Yes?”

“I’ve got…no formal training in investigating anything,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I mean, I’ll help, certainly. But I don’t know the area, the people, I’ve not had formal survival training in desert environments, and I’ve already made an enemy out of one merchant…”

“You will be working alongside Thancred for this instance,” Minfilia assures, and I sigh in relief. “If there is aught you need, pray speak with him.”

“Ever at your service, fair lady,” he gives a light, playful bow, and I snort.

“I’m going to need a lot of help at first,” I say with a smile. “Let me know if I start annoying you.”

And then it looks like the meeting is about to wrap up, so I take a deep breath, then call out, “Before everyone leaves? Sorry, sorry, I’ll try to keep this brief,” I promise with raised hands. “It’s just…sooner or later this would come up, and I’d much rather it be sooner. Minfilia, how often is the Echo accompanied by past life memories?”

Grey-green eyes blink in surprise before she answers, “There is precedence, but I have not heard it accompany the ability to peer into the past. Whyfore?”

I slump. “Great, so I’m an outlier,” I admit, pinching the bridge of my nose. “So, about the same time as the vision from the Mothercrystal,” I need to come up with a better term for the primal, I’ve already got two mums! “I also got nearly 40 extra years of memory dumped into my head. It’s about…sixty percent processed, I’d estimate?” I make a so-so motion. “But it’s left a permanent mark on my language skills, which people will notice sooner or later, especially since we’re going to be working together more frequently than not.”

“What sort of mark on your language?” Y’shtola asks, tail slowly swishing from side to side.

“So I’m not entirely sure when my last life was,” I preface. “But the language I was born into last time around was what another had described as socially blind. We did used to have the ‘thees, thous and thines,’ but that was some three to four hundred years before I was born.” I shift to English. “Technology and society marched on, and the language changed with it. When I discussed the linguistic weirdness with someone I trust, they pointed out that it can come across as particularly straightforward and blunt. You’ll probably hear this shift when I’m talking about particularly intellectual topics such as philosophy or science, because that’s simply the language that I’ve got the most education in regarding those subjects. I just lack the vocabulary in Common to keep up otherwise, due to my background.”

“I see,” Y’shtola murmurs. “When you had first awoken from the vision…you apologized for using the wrong language. I thought it simply odd phrasing at the time.”

“I almost missed that you had shifted languages just now,” Thancred tilts his head, curious. I try not to read too much into it. “It seems that the Echo’s translation ability is particularly strong in your instance.”

“Right,” I swallow my nerves and nod. “So, a forewarning; if I seem to be coming off as overly blunt, crass, or too familiar in terms of language, it’s probably because I’ve slipped into English without realizing it. In that instance, feel free to bonk me on the head with a book and tell me to talk in Common. I’ll need the reminders.”

Minfilia nods. “Thank you for your honesty, Tomoyo,” she says. “I understand it may be a difficult topic to broach, and your trust is appreciated.”

“If any of you have questions, feel free to ask,” I invite. “Though I will request that if I say I’m not comfortable talking about something, you leave it be. Not all of the memory has settled yet, and I’ve plenty of holes that have yet to be filled, and might remain empty.”

“So, how old are you, then?” Yda asks guilelessly. Papalymo looks fit to scold her, but my laugh interrupts that.

“All together? Something like 57 to 59 years old,” I answer with a grin. “Though my current youth means I usually feel like I’m in my mid twenties, except when I’m grumbling at the recklessness of twenty year olds, in which case I betray my middle age origins.”

“57 to 59? Do you not know?” Yda tilts her head.

I shrug. “I mean, do you remember your first two years of life? I don’t remember much until I was three or four,” I admit. “I was 39 when I died in an accident. I’m 20 years old today.”  A slight shift from most people in the room accompanies that, but I continue, “And the calendars have changed a bit since my last round in life. I haven’t run the numbers yet, so that’s the closest I’ve been able to pin my accumulated age.”

“Yes, well,” Papalymo clears his throat. “Thank you for that information, and we will keep the language concerns in mind. Is that everything?”

“Yes, thank you for your time,” I say, back in Common as I bow to the room. With that, most of Scions start to file out, and I breathe once it’s just myself, Minfilia, and Thancred. Eep.

“So, um.” I fidget awkwardly. “Do you have questions?”

Minfilia’s smile is a little more of a smirk. “Many,” she says. “But now is not the time to satiate my own curiosity. When you are more comfortable speaking of your previous life, feel free to inform me. But if you find the task daunting, do not place that pressure upon your own shoulders. All things in due time.”

My shoulders slump a little. “Thanks for your patience,” I say with relief. “It’s…well, it’s a bit much, all of this idea of being chosen by a deity and such, on top of the extra memory. I’ll do my best when it comes to figuring out what happened to the civilians, as well as what’s going on with the Amalj’aa.” 

“Let me know when you are ready to set out,” Thancred tells me. “If you’ve need of supplies, there is a storeroom in the back.”

I nod. “Will do, thanks. I’ll get a—I’ll explore the building first, as I’m going to be working with you all for a while.” Gah, watch the idioms! ‘Getting a feel’ could mean an entirely different thing here!

With that, I step out of the office and start what is likely my first round of many while here in the Waking Sands. First up is Y’shtola, who greets me with a question. “Is there anything you wish to know immediately?” she asks. “I have the time for one query before I must depart.”

I blink, then tilt my head a little. “How old is this organization?” I ask.

She smiles a little. “Before the Calamity, we were the Circle of Knowing,” she states. “When Sharlayan was evacuated in favour of the old city, some seven years ago, we remained here. There was a sister half in our structure however, made of people like yourself called the Path of the Twelve.”

I make a face at that, and keen blue eyes sharpen slightly. “You disapprove?”

“Only on a personal basis,” I say. “The idea that I represent a deity in anyway is…disquieting.”

“Even when you met the Mothercrystal?” she asks, now curious.

I shrug ineffectually. “For the most part, she talked at me, not to me,” I explain. “I don’t speak for her or anything, it was only the one encounter. Sure, she gave me a task,” I add. “But I haven’t the slightest idea of how to start going about it other than working with Minfilia and hoping for the best. Not exactly prophet material, am I?”

She hums. “I think I understand your intent,” she says. “But if we are to recover from the destruction of the Seventh Umbral Calamity, we must work together and unite in a singular purpose.”

“I’ve got no problems with that,” I say, shaking my head. “Certainly a more constructive use of my time over wandering the continent and hoping to get lucky.”

She chuckles. “I wish you luck in your investigation, Tomoyo,” she says. “And take care of your words, yes? You’ve slipped twice now.”

I blink, then re-examine what I’ve just said. “Gah! Ten years of diction practice rammed into my skull, all down the drain!” I grumble, flushing even as I move away, warm laughter behind me.

The stockroom is busy. I do a double take when I see a man who looks just like the merchant I met on the ship to Limsa, only wearing a different colored tunic. In the game, I probably would’ve dismissed him as the developers recycling models, but…well, the doppelganger effect is very much a thing in real life. Could just be a case of this.

Yda looks ready to pepper me with half a million questions, only for Papalymo to dissuade her when I pass by. Urianger is exceptionally cryptic when I take a moment to speak with him, and having to take what feels like half a minute to decode his speech even with the Echo has me feeling particularly self conscious over my own language issues. I get some paper from the quartermaster so I can scribble a quick note to Ma, though I don’t address her as that, asking about good fire resistant material in the event of fire specialist spell slingers. Then I add some cash to the letter so she can send a note back via moogle express.

There’s a number of other people in the storeroom, resting or recuperating from missions, or waiting for their next assignment. A half-blood Ala Mhigan, no guesses for what race the father was. I don’t express any pity, just state that anyone willing to help is welcome from my end of things as long as they don’t endanger civilians. When he challenges me that he used to be a bandit, I just ask if he robs civvies anymore. When he says no, I shrug, say, ‘don’t endanger the civvies,’ and leave it at that.

The Miqo’te who overheard the conversation approves of how I handled it. He even calls the young man lucky, that he isn’t bound to a single purpose or people; not sure how I’d say it’s lucky to be the product of rape, but at least he’s not judging the lad based on his ancestry. 

And then there’s a young man who swears he was a member of the Scions, back when they were the Circle, if only his memory wasn’t on the fritz. I can’t help but wonder if he survived Carteneau, and was too close to the incident that saw the Warriors ripped out of the collective memory, but I keep the possibility to myself. I don’t recall all the details of what Louisiox did to stop Bahamut, but I do know the knowledge was need-to-know only. Memetic hazard? Urgh, looks like this guy isn’t the only one with memory problems.

With some more water stored away, as well as burn pastes and potions, I return to the office and say to Thancred, “Alright, ready to go when you are. Where to first?”

“As you know, your mission is to investigate a crystal robbery and a spate of abductions,” he begins. “Crimes which we believe to be connected. Assuming we are correct, it is like that any discoveries we make in relation to one will further our understanding of the other. Now, since the attack on their caravan, our friends at Amajina & Sons Mineral Concern have doubled security over all their shipments. In light of this, it is my judgment that the abductions should be our priority.”

“Where were the kidnappings occurring?” I ask, my journal out and pen ready.

“According to our preliminary findings, the majority of the missing were last seen in the vicinity of Camp Drybone, so that would seem a fine place to begin,” he states, and I note that down.

“Central…? No?” I see him shake his head.

“Eastern Thanalan. Have you attuned there?” 

“No,” I say. “Haven’t moved through this region much yet.”

“Today will be your opportunity,” he says. “You can take a rental chocobo from Black Brush Station to Camp Drybone. A fellow by the name of Isembard serves as the camp's de facto leader. Pay him a visit, and see that he gives us his full cooperation.”

“Oh joy, more hours of chocobo riding,” I sigh before scrawling down the name. “If nothing else, it’ll train me before I get my own.”

He chuckles. “I’ll not miss the saddle sores myself, when the aetheryte network was down.”

“Oh that must’ve been awful,” I wince as I put away my notes. “Right, I’ll meet you there then.”

“Godsspeed, Tomoyo,” he says before he teleports. Show off.

“Oh, before you leave,” Minfilia stops me as I make to head out. “I should inform you of our pass phrase when out in the field. If ever one of the Scions or our allies ask for it, incorporate the term ‘wild roses’ into a sentence, and you will be accepted.”

That was the early series reference! Firion from Final Fantasy 2! Not that I ever finished the early 00’s remake on the Game Boy advanced, but I did put in over a hundred hours into the Dissidia duology, and now I’m glad I did.

“Wild roses, fit it into a sentence somehow. Got it,” I nod. “…Not gonna lie, feels like secret agent stuff. Which is something that makes my not-so-inner child happy, but at the same time, I’m kind of pants at acting, so…”

The blonde hides a laugh behind her hand. “No need to worry, Tomoyo. Thancred will be of assistance for anything stealth related you might encounter for the time being.”

“Thank goodness for that,” I sigh. “OK. Wild roses. Thanks, and…I’ll see you later.”

I bid Minfilia farewell, then Tataru when I pass her on my way out the base. Time to prep for my first primal.

Chapter Text

By the time I ride into Drybone, it’s the late afternoon, and my bum is yelling at me for getting on the chocobo. I do my best to ignore it, because I’m going to be doing this a lot in the future, and the more practice I get, the better off I’ll be.

Fortunately for me, Isembard’s open with the idea of working with me. Seems Minfilia’s approval and word has weight in these parts. 

One of his current concerns are dead civilians that have been killed while visiting a nearby church to tend to the dead; and because no one’s quite sure who’s been doing the murders, getting the bodies is now left up to me, as the locals are thoroughly spooked. Understandable…but ripe corpses reek to high hell.

Some quick money changing hands nets me some blankets I can use to handle the corpses. I make note to get a solid pair of leather gloves, as I doubt this will be the last time I’ll be handling bodies like this, and I don’t want to do that bare handed. That’s a one way ticket to illnesses of all kinds.

Tracking the poor sods is as easy as following my nose at a certain point; I’m familiar with the stench of decay thanks to the Calamity, though I hadn’t had to handle bodies at the age of 15, thankfully. My stomach churns a bit when I do find the bodies, bloating a bit as the sun and insects have done their work, but I tighten my belt, use the blankets for handling, and get them wrapped.

A thought and a question informs me that I can actually store the bodies in my ‘inventory’, though I make sure to do that in one of the packs that don’t have food or water. It feels slightly disrespectful, but at least I only need to make the one trip.

Once the bodies are returned and are handed off to some Nald’Thal priests, I’m bid to get to know the people as the sun goes down, as well as invited to stay the night. I accept on both accounts, though trying to gently fish for information from the civilians around here doesn’t net me much. It’s not the best end to my day as Isembard admits that it’s possible the people have come to only trust their gods rather than strangers, but for now, there’s not a lot I can do about it. Maybe some side-questing here will help earn me some trust.

I send the note to Ma via the moogle here, then take care to clean my armor of any potential remains before wiping down for the day and getting to bed.

-x-

I wake not too long after dawn; with the long day I no doubt have ahead of me, getting a cup of tea going starts with a fireshard dipped into my water to warm it up, before I fish it out with a long spoon and drop a tea ball stuffed with mediocre green tea into the cup. The little metal ball wasn’t my cheapest investment, but it helps to keep a clean cup when you’re on the road or with minimal resources to draw on. 

Half an hour sees that washed down with some rations, and I armor up with a little more energy than I started with. Let’s see what the day brings.

Isembard’s busy with something that came up before the sun rose, so I get to asking about what I can help out with myself. An older man mentions that the church could use an extra hand about the place, so I find myself in the employ of a few of the…not the employees. What’s a good term for those who work at a church, but aren’t in charge? 

When I ask, I’m bade to use the titles Sister or Brother, so I suppose they’re basically monks and nuns there. Fair enough. 

I hunt for both meat and flowers, to give a man a last meal and fetch an offering for the dead; the goat meat is easier than it could’ve been with the tomahawks, letting me snipe at a ram to draw it away before I dance around a couple of charges and kill it with a strong blow to the head. It’s the first time I’ve field dressed this particular species, but they’re not tricky like the dodo and its poison sack, and I render as much as I can; what won’t be eaten by the injured man can be donated to the camp.

Finding a sprig of Althyk lavender takes me nearly a bell or so, as the goobbue it grows from is rather out of the way. A traveler tells me it originated from Coerthas, the region of Ishgard, and wandered across the entire continent during the Calamity before it came to rest here. I carefully take three cuttings, and leave the rest to grow.

Unfortunately, that extra trip took time the injured man couldn’t afford. I wince when I’m told he passed away from his wounds; the monk still appreciates the effort I went to, but that the people are resistant to grief because of everything they’ve gone through…not heartening to hear.

I leave half of the meat with the church, and deliver the other half to the camp, as well as the organs and bones that were intact when I rendered the animal. The bones can either be used to extract marrow, or dried out for scrimshaw work, and the organs, if cooked right, also have quite a bit of nutritional value to use.

Isembard is thankful for the gift, promising that the youth of the camp will enjoy it, before I get on to further business. Apparently his attention had been pulled away to tend to another dead civilian overnight, though this one was not murdered, thankfully. He’d been busy embalming the body, and asks that I deliver the deceased to the church for proper burial.

Easy enough. A reticent man named Marques directs me where I need to go on the grounds, and lends me a shovel for the digging. Didn’t expect to actually bury the poor sod, but if they’re that short handed…well, I’ve got the muscle power for it.

I tend to the task, and when that’s done, try to gently question the monk what he might know of the locals and what’s happened recently. He admits he doesn’t know the people too well; I wonder if he’s on the spectrum, given that he hasn’t turned fully my way to talk to me, but it’s not my business. I thank him for his time when he gives me the name of a sister who’s got a better feel for the area, and move on.

The nun tells me that while she does take confessionals, that she doesn’t have any intel for my investigation regarding either the murders or the kidnappings. I quietly doubt that, but I’m the newbie here, and maybe three people in the immediate region know that I’m with the Scions, Thancred included in that number. So I thank her for her time as well, and head back to camp.

Speak of the devil, or at least think of him, and he shall appear. When I update him on the situation so far, Thancred seems to agree with my low level doubts, though when he says she’s likely the only one who could take the locals by surprise, I counter with the possibility that she instead takes confessional privacy exceptionally seriously and is reluctant to break another’s confidence. Isembard sides with me on this, and invites me to talk with the children, who she frequently interacts with in order to verify her character.

There aren’t a lot of kids in Drybone, but there’s a few who are openly curious about my horns and tail. One particular squirt is even brave enough to ask if he can touch my tail; I just tell him to be careful of the barbs, as they can hurt, and to be gentle. With the Miqo’te population as present as it is on the continent, most people have a certain level of awareness on how sensitive tails can be and the etiquette around them.

The kid is then willing to talk about the nun once he finishes marveling over the ivory scales, and tells me that she went looking for some treasure he had lost, and that she’d promised to have been back already. He asks me to go look for her, and I agree when he gives me the location.

As stocked up as I am on potions, there’s no need to delay. And sure enough, the nun’s cornered by some half rotted spearmen. A few bashed brains, followed by some potions and bandages, I escort the woman back to Drybone and drop her off at the inn to recover.

Isembard’s further convinced that there’s no way the woman has anything to do with the brewing affairs plaguing the area once I update him.

Thancred approaches me a few minutes later to discuss an idea.

“There is an Amalj’aa encampment not terribly far from here,” he states. “Perhaps we can find more information should we investigate it.”

I open my mouth to respond, only for the whistle of a moogle to cut me off.

“Delivery for Tomoyo, from Kaede, kupo!” the little spirit announces.

“Oh, thank you,” I say, accepting the letter. I’m quick to open the folded envelope; Ma has lamented more than once the lack of good origami paper, but she’s made do a number of times, and this is just one example. I scan the contents, then nod.

“How quickly do you want the check on the camp done?” I ask the Sharlayan.

“Is this critical?” he motions to the letter.

“Sort of,” I shrug. “I’ve got an in with the Limsan Weaver’s Guild, and asked them about fire-resistant wear. It’ll be a bit pricey on my end, but I can pop into Ul’dah and should be able to get a good set of clothing that won’t light up or melt under my armor unless the fire’s above average forging temperatures.” Specifically, Ma mentioned of potion treated wool that should be in the markets, along with an entreaty to be careful. Just because the cloth would be fireproof, didn’t mean I’d be, nor would it protect me from heatstroke from extreme environmental factors for too terribly long.

He blinks, then tilts his head a little. “That sounds a touch defeatist, if I may be so bold.”

“Plan for the worst, hope for the best,” I counter firmly. “I’d rather have and not need, then need and not have.” I’ve got literally protagonist grade luck, and I don’t remember much of this arc. There’s very little I can do to change the outcome knowingly, so best work on the assumption that I’ll be fighting Ifrit at some point.

After a moment’s thought, he says, “I can give you the address for a shop that may cater to your needs, to save time.”

“That would be appreciated,” I accept with a smile, and stash the latter in my inventory. 

With a quick teleport, I’m scouring the winding streets of Ul’dah for the location Thancred’s given me; I find it after half a bell and asking several folks for directions, and internally cringe at the price for a tunic and trousers that have been treated with fire-resistance potions. Still, it’s life or death when it comes to primals, so I haggle a bit, hand over the gil, and change out at the inn before returning to the camp. All in all, maybe 45 minutes.

“That was faster than I had anticipated,” Thancred says with some surprise as I ‘port back in.

“Because I’m willing to ask for directions,” I say. “That being said…sorry to be potentially crass, but am I being paid for this mission?”

“Of a surety,” he nods. “To ask you to risk your life without enough coin for food and drink would make little sense.”

I sigh in relief. “I don’t want to downtalk volunteer work,” I say. “But equipment and maintenance is expensive when you’re on the road. I’ll probably have to take some side jobs in order to break even.”

Thancred looks at me for a moment, then pulls out a small book, or perhaps a journal. Then he taps the spine of it on my head. “Common,” he says with a smirk.

“Oops.” I duck my head sheepishly. “Thank you for the reminder.”

I chase away the thought that he’s cute when he smiles; that path lies a lot of stress, a high potential for heartbreak, and a metric load of drama. And that’s without considering the possession issue and the bevy of ethical and moral dilemmas that it represents. I’m so glad for these memories right now, otherwise there’s a fair chance I would get a crush on him, at least surface level. 

Thancred marks my map for where the Amalj’aa camp lies, and I make my way to it on foot; chocobos are useful, but the idea of risking one of those animals against the tempered is not a happy one, not to mention I’d be liable if the animal got hurt. No, best to hoof it in this case.

There aren’t a high amount of the beastfolk there; possibly most of them are out and about doing whatever business they’ve got doing in the name of their idol. There’s some scouts, and I’m not sneaky enough to get by them. 

Fighting the Amalj’aa is like fighting a fellow tank, even when they’re spearmen or archers. What with them in the neighborhood of eight to nine fulms tall, and built like brick shit houses, taking down even three of them requires patience for openings, speed to take advantage of them, and the ability to roll off getting knocked on to my ass. Still, my armor is tough, and so am I, and they hardly have any armor at all. My axe bites deep, and I finish them off rather than let them bleed out on the desert grounds.

Once the worst of the blood is cleaned off, I rummage around for anything out of place. Memory is gradually tickling, but there’s still a shit ton of blank spots about this segment of the story. I don’t know if it’s memory or intuition, but a stack of papers, pamphlets really, are unearthed after a few minutes. I grab the lot, then haul ass. No point in hanging around for the scouts’ friends to find the mess.

On the surface level, the advert talks of Nald’Thal in his role of the god of wealth. A different memory kicks in; Pluto, Hades, the Roman and Greek gods of the dead and all things under the earth. Hades, the true name of Emet-Selch, one of the Unsundered. Did he have anything to do with the religion of the Twelve? Or was it a case of memory bleedthrough from Amaurot?

I shake my head and return to camp. Not something that’s relevant right now, even if it’d be interesting to know.

I hand the small stack of papers to Thancred, who gives them a critical eye. His time here has him fairly certain they’re not from the local Order, which begs the question of who’s printing the things, and why they’re in Amalj’aa hands. I bounce over to the nun I saved earlier to double check that conclusion, and she agrees. On top of that, she mentions that there are clothes that have been stolen from her organization. But who would steal habits and robes?

When I let Thancred know, he suspects that someone’s disguising themselves as a member of the Order. I make a face, but admit it’s probably likely. We inform Isembard, and he swears to keep an eye out for any such imposter.

With that, Thancred states that he’ll poke around some more to see what other intel he can dig up. It’s late in the afternoon, but despite the heat, my new clothes seem to be working fairly well in keeping my temperature manageable. Huh, hadn’t expected that to be a thing, but that’s a really nice bonus. I still make sure to carry plenty of water, but without feeling like a baked popoto, I get some more side jobs done bringing in food and resources to the camp and making up some of the gil I spent for equipment. 

By the time I’m done for the day, it’s somewhere near 10 bells in the evening. The stars twinkle merrily, the moon is a slim crescent, and if nothing else, I think I’ve made a small difference to the people who live here.

It’s not a bad thought that accompanies me as I crash for the night, dreaming of sands, stars, and twin suns.

-x-

When I find Thancred in the morning after tea and breakfast, he has mixed news. He thinks he can lure out the false priest by disguising himself as a vagabond and looking for work around the camp, but I’ve got more trouble with that thanks to my being a busy body the past couple of days, on top of probably being the only Raen in this part of Thanalan. 

The Archon, however, has a solution. He hands me a shimmering potion in a vial, and I tilt my head in confusion.

“‘Tis an imitation of the Fantasia potion,” he tells me, and I reel back in surprise.

“Fan—the shapeshifting potion?!” I whisper in shock, not wanting to advertise I have something like this.

“An imitation only,” he states. “It produces an illusion you may customize, rather than a full change of form, and only lasts for a single sun. For our purposes, it should work quite well.”

“...Do I want to know how expensive this was?” I don’t even try to hide my wince at the thought. Because I’m pretty sure the ‘change avatar’ potion was paid with real money in the game, and I have no idea how that translates here but being ouch-inducingly expensive.

He laughs quietly. “If it concerns you this much, know that Tataru cleared the expense,” he says, and I relax a tad. “You need not worry yourself, Tomoyo. This is hardly the first time we’ve done something like this.”

“If you’re sure,” I say after a moment. 

“I am,” he states, then hands me a slightly smelly package. “To further sell the disguise, change into these once you’ve chosen your glamour. Use the code to inform me when you are finished.”

“What should I look for when you’re undercover?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I will wait until you finish, and approach you when you’ve gathered what intelligence you can. Do you remember the code?”

“Aye, I’ve got a mnemonic for it,” I tap my horn. “Be back in a bit.”

I duck into the inn and consider what shape I want to borrow. Not my old one, I decide after a moment. That chapter of my life is done, and trying to reach for a face I no longer have probably wouldn’t do favors for my mental health.

I shouldn’t borrow any faces I might meet in the future either, that just screams bad life choices. So maybe an appearance from my last life, just not mine. My best friend was heavy set, which doesn’t lend well to the hobo disguise. Mum…too close to my old shape, first daughters tended to lend themselves strongly to their mothers in my mum’s line.

My sister, I decide after some more thought. I’d be on the short side compared to her in life, but if I borrow her frame from her late teens to early twenties, it’d line up with mine well enough, as long as one didn’t look at my muscles. Keep the hair dirty blonde rather than the bevy of dyes she frequently subjected it to, tied up in a messy bun. After a few more moments, I reluctantly leave out her tattoos, but keep the cutting scars. The Tree of Gondor is simply too distinctive to keep, I feel, but I don’t want to erase her history entirely, even if we hadn’t gotten along late in life.

I down the potion before I can change my mind. A see through figure appears in front of me, and with some focus, I apply the appearance I’ve chosen. I try to trigger the finalization by hitting a mental ‘enter’ key, and sure enough, I’m a short, pale Hyur female with hazel eyes, dark blonde hair, and scars that indicate a difficult life.

I open the package and try not to wrinkle my nose at the heavily weathered clothing in them; I’m not sure how the dirt and stains were applied, and I don’t know if I want to know. But I change into them, double check the matted hair my sister bore at this time is tied up securely, then leave the inn.

Thancred only notices me when I approach him. “Yes?” he asks neutrally.

“Our hopes and dreams lie in a field of wild roses,” I say with a slight smirk. Poetic? Sure. But I’m a nerd, and making references is fun, even if most won’t get them.

He blinks, then gives me a professional once over. “Well done,” he praises. “You hardly look yourself.”

“Which is the point, yes?” I shrug.

“It is,” he nods. “But you would be surprised how many fail to consider how to disguise the shape of the face or the torso.”

“Well,” I reach to rub at the back of my neck, but change that to scratching at my cheek, as that’s a tell of mine. “I’m…borrowing my sister’s appearance. From Before.”

“...I see,” he says. “I would be interested in hearing of your logic later, if you’re willing.”

“Sure,” I shrug again. As long as he doesn’t dig into the ‘world building’ of my past, I don’t see much harm in giving some personal details. It could help with my cover, even.

With that established, I bounce around the camp, looking for simple work like weaving and tool maintenance. I get a couple of looks for the illusory scars on my wrists, and get rebuffed on every level for being a new face with no history in the area. It’d be disheartening if it weren’t just as planned.

I get approached by someone in Order robes and handed the pamphlet matching the ones I picked up from the Amalj'aa camp. With that done, I duck back into the inn, change out of the gross clothes and into some civvies and wait in the public square.

“Nicely done,” Thancred’s voice startles me, and I smack his thigh with the flat of my currently invisible tail on reflex which makes him hiss.

“Well don’t sneak up on me!” I tell him, annoyed. “Skies, you’re lucky I didn’t throw something at you!”

“Apologies,” he says, rubbing at the spot. Honestly, he’s lucky I didn’t hit him with the barbs on my tail, that’d probably cut through the cloth of his trousers. “I’ve discovered there is a camp for the impoverished some ways east of here. Its isolation makes it a good target for the abductions. I suspect our mark will be there.”

“Well, that’s something,” I grouse. “Do I have to put on the disguise again?” 

“It would be for the best, yes,” he nods, and I grumble. 

“Right, let me eat something and fill up on water before we head out,” I say. My meals haven’t been terribly steady the past few days, and I should really treat my body better and not wear it down into the dirt by working the whole day through by doing what are essentially 10 hour shifts. I’ll need that energy for later months.

A quick hunt and field dress accompanied with rations and tea makes for a decent meal; I need to get more dried fruit and start carrying more vegetables with me in order to round out my mineral and vitamin intake. I share with Thancred, who doesn’t turn me down, to my quiet pleasure. The Calamity and the year after it were very lean times indeed, and not everyone’s recovered to find times of plenty again. Turning down free food would worry me.

“I hadn’t known you were a Culinarian,” he comments in between bites of lightly spiced goat meat.

I shrug. “I’m no expert,” I state. “But armies have been marching on their stomachs for over five thousand years. Good food means good morale and a more healthy body that’s resistant to disease. And malnutrition can kill just as surely as an infection can.”

“True enough,” he grants. “Though you could be a little more generous with the pepper.”

I stick my tongue out. “And burn my tongue off? No thanks!” My lack of spice tolerance has, if anything, gotten worse this life. Probably because heavy spices weren’t usually used in our food back home, due to the expense. Plenty of salt, and some peppers for those who liked it, but I’ll generally pass on the capsaicin. 

He snorts at this. “How do you expect to be successful as a Culinarian then?” he asks, his smile telling me he’s ribbing me.

“By not burning my customers, and by giving them options to add their own spice,” I immediately counter. “Well, when I can afford it anyway. I’m still at the apprentice level, so that’ll probably take a while.”

“Fair enough,” he grants. “And my thanks for your generosity, Tomoyo. Were it more often I could eat my fill of fresh game and food.”

“Like I could eat all that by myself,” I gesture to the parts still cooking over the fire. “Well, if I kept in my preservation bag, maybe I could do that in a few days,” I amend. “But really, it’s easier to cook for others than just myself.”

“Common,” he says with a smile, and I duck my head. “Will you commit to the Culinarian path when you finish adventuring?”

“Mmm,” I hum in thought around my tea. “Maybe. I like making people happy with my food.” I should send more treats to Ma and Da. And when I’ve got the cash, maybe scale up and send enough for the kids in the village. “I don’t necessarily have a good head for business though. I’d need someone to help me run the numbers and man the front if I were to found a restaurant or something.”

“...You don’t sound committed to the idea,” he points out after a moment.

I shrug. “That’s if I live long enough to retire,” I say neutrally. “We all know what happened to the last group of people who took to the field against Garlemald and the primals. There’s nothing stating the same won’t happen to me.”

He blinks in surprise. “You think you would end as they did?” He sounds a little upset, and I internally wince a little as I realize I’ve reminded him of Louisoix’s death.

“I don’t know,” I say, trying to gentle my voice a little. “I’d like to think it wouldn’t happen, but realistically, there’s no guarantee either way. The Crystal made no promises save that as long as I walked with the Light, I wouldn’t walk alone. Whatever that might mean.”

He takes a breath, and for a moment, I myself am reminded of the angry and bitter man he’d been in early Shadowbringer. But that passes as he says, “I will do everything in my power to ensure that such a fate will not come to pass.”

I slowly bob my head in acknowledgement. “I appreciate the support,” I say tentatively. “It…probably won’t come to that any time soon. What few stories I have heard of them and other figures of history like them…well, I think we’ve got a little more time before things escalate to that level.”

“I pray that you are right,” he states, and we finish the rest of our meal in a slightly tense silence.

When that’s done, I change back into the smelly rags, and we march out to the encampment. It’s pretty ramshackle, even more so than Drybone, despite a…well, a debatably fresh source of water nearby. 

Education on disease is a bit mixed in this time period; how much influence aether has on illness is a hotly debated topic on every level from town healers to big city chirurgeons, though basic hygiene is becoming more and more common knowledge. Unfortunately, maintaining that hygiene can be costly depending on what you do and don’t have access to. I make a note not to drink from the nearby pond, because I have no idea what the folks are using it for and how they dispose of waste in the area.

It takes a little while before the fake priest comes along, and to my immense displeasure I recognize the slug. Thancred must see the murder in my eyes, because he’s quick to take control of the situation, grilling the bastardous merchant who’d lead those toughs into trying to gangrape that civilian from last week. He swears that he’s being forced to kidnap people by the Amalj’aa, but I don’t buy it for a minute. It takes most of my self control to bite my tongue as Thancred eventually lets the roach scurry off.

“What has you so incensed?” he asks cautiously.

“Did Y’shtola tell you of our last meeting?” I question once I’ve banked some of the rage back into coals.

He shakes his head, so I have to explain.

“I caught that, that bastard,” I damn near spit, because honestly that’s an insult to bastards, but I can’t think past the anger. “Leading a group of thugs against a refugee woman, accusing her of theft and trying to pressure her into selling her body to them in exchange for not turning her over to the officials.” Thancred looks thunderous; good to know his reputation as a womanizer doesn’t preclude some basic respect for women. “They made the mistake of doing that in front of me. My only regret is that I didn’t get to break some of his bones along with the toughs.”

“I did hear something about that with the rumormongers,” he says thoughtfully. “I hadn’t realized that was you. Good work.” 

I’m not ashamed to say I snorted like a bull. “It’s probably best you interact with him,” I concede after a few seconds of stewing. “I don’t trust my temper around him.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Ungust,” he promises. “Would you be willing to update Minfilia on our progress thus far?”

I take a breath, then another. “I’ll do that,” I say. Urgh, that the shitbag was our only lead sucked.

I teleport to Horizon, change at the inn there, then realize I’m going to have to use the password to get into the Waking Sands because the glamour is still up. That’s a little awkward, but it should wear off by tomorrow morning.

It’s about three in the afternoon when I get to the base. I greet Tataru, saying, “It’s me, Tomoyo. Thancred got the illusion potion, and,” I gesture to myself.

“Hm,” the Lalafell gives me a critical once over, but doesn’t immediately reply.

“Right, uh.” What did I say to Thancred? “Our hopes and dreams lie in a field of wild roses.”

Violet eyes brighten. “Oh that is poetic,” she says with a smile. “Welcome back, Tomoyo, but needs must on ensuring identities.”

“It’s fine,” I shake my head. “Operational security and all that. I’ll go and report to Minfilia in her office, if she’s free.”

“The solar, but yes, she has the time,” the administrator nods. “And you worried about your investigational abilities!”

I snort. “Thancred did a lot of the leg work,” I tell her. “I mostly just kept things moving.”

“Every bit helps!” she insists. “Now go and inform her of your progress, I’m sure she’s looking forward to it.”

I scoot down the stairs and into the office, or solar, as I suppose it’s called. Unlike earlier, there’s now a scattering of chairs in front of her desk, and she looks up from a stack of paperwork.

“Tomoyo, welcome,” she greets with a smile.

I open my mouth, then blink. “Wait, I don’t look like me. How did you know?”

“Your gait, for one,” she says. “You walk as if you’ve still a tail, despite the illusion.” Huh, hadn’t realized the tail influenced the way I walked, but I suppose it’d make sense. “Your armor has not changed, though I note some of your clothing has.” OK, fair enough. “And your aether is…distinctive.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it, I suppose,” I say for that last bit. “Right, report. Uh, where to start…”

“Please, take a seat,” she invites. “You’ve no need to stand on ceremony.”

I do as offered as I wrestle my thoughts together. “Good news, we found out who’s kidnapping civilians,” I start. “Bad news, it’s the merchant I made an enemy of last week when I knocked his toughs black and blue for trying to gang rape a woman.”

Her lips press together in a thin line. “I recall Y’shtola’s report,” she says. “That is unfortunate indeed.”

“Worse news, he’s our only lead on this mess, so we just can’t hand him off to law enforcement just yet,” I grimace.

“‘Worse news,’” she repeats, the phrase apparently drawing reluctant amusement. “I find myself tempted to make that part of your report.”

I shrug. “Whatever helps, I’m just…let’s just say Thancred’s in charge of interfacing with the man, because I don’t trust myself not to punch his teeth in at the moment.” I need to get a better grip on my temper, this isn’t productive.

She nods. “I understand the impulse, but we needs must find more information on when and how the Amalj’aa might summon Ifrit. I will second your motion to make Thancred the primary agent to speak with the merchant.”

“I know, I know,” I say. “I’m sorry my control’s so shoddy, it’s just…before, I didn’t have the ability to stop that kind of crime. Now I do, and the idea of just letting it slide makes every sense of justice, ethics, and decency seethe. I need a little time to let my pragmatism take the fore.”

“It speaks well of you that you would see justice done,” Minfilia says gently. “Let us resolve the matter of Ifrit, and we will turn him over to the Immortal Flames of Ul’dah. After all, there is a price to be paid to selling the people of Thanalan to the Amalj’aa,” she adds with a hint of steel.

I nod. “Some might not care about the plight of one refugee. But that, they can’t ignore.” I take a breath. “Alright. What’s next?”

“For the nonce, I would advise you get some rest,” she tells me. “I have a minor task for you tomorrow while we speak with the Immortal Flames to organize an operation to uncover the progress of the summoning of the primal.”

“I’ll not say no to the down time,” I tell her. “Can’t wait for the illusion to wear off,” I can’t help but grumble. “It’s weird wearing my younger sister’s form.”

Minfilia tilts her head a little. “Of this life, or your previous one?” she asks.

“Last one, I was Hyur,” I respond easily, adjusting my light helm as my borrowed hair made my scalp itch.

“Would you indulge my curiosity for a moment or two?” At my nod, she questions, “Is it strange, being born of another race?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” I let my intrigue of that show. “But really, I’m more weirded out by the lack of dysmorphia I have regarding both my lives. My tail and horns are as natural to me today as was the lack of them when I was Hyur. I really don’t know why or how that works, by all rights there should be something not adding up.” I give a big shrug. “On the other hand, I don’t want to complain about it, because there are people who are born the wrong gender and such, and I should consider myself fortunate that I don't struggle the way they do.”

“An interesting assessment,” she says. “Would you tell me of your sister?”

I feel my expression fall. “It…our relationship was…complicated,” I summarize badly. When she looks ready to apologize, I shake my head and say, “If you do want to know, I’m alright with telling you, it’s just. Not simple.”

“Would it aide you to speak of it?” she asks.

“It wouldn’t hurt,” I say after a moment. “Though, let me know if I’m running over on your time; I’ll be starting at the beginning, as I understand it.

“Our childhood was fairly good, as I recall it. Dad worked, Mum stayed at home, took care of us, volunteered at school to help keep an eye on us. I needed extra help, as I had…does the term Autism Spectrum Disorder translate at all?” I ask.

“In Sharlayan, it was known as Silent Eye Syndrome, I believe,” she says as her Echo parses the question. “There was some controversy as to whether the affliction had more extreme forms, or if it was a separate disease. Considering the word ‘spectrum’, it seems the former is likely.”

I nod. “I had a relatively mild case, but it still took me something like three or four years of speech therapy before I could use proper terminology, along with learning social skills. Still, I got off lucky compared to my sister.” I grimace. “What does Borderline Personality Disorder tell you?”

Eventually, she shakes her head in a negative. 

“Right. It’s a complex personality disorder that, well, borders several others,” I start. “My sister was born with it, but it didn’t kick into high gear until she hit puberty and dad left us. Dad’s side of the family has—had, a long history with mental health issues. One great uncle had schizophrenia—” Minfilia winces a little and I nod. “Yeah, he got institutionalized. Another distant relative, not one we ever met thankfully, was jailed for sexual assault against a child. My dad’s sister had…I can’t remember if it was Bipolar 1 or 2, but it left her disconnected with reality at times and made her hazardous to be around when it happened. Everyone thought Dad was normal, but he was just better at hiding his own Borderline, and no one knew what to look for, nor was it easily diagnosed back then.

“If I were to summarize Borderline in one line, it’d be ‘I hate you, don’t leave me,’” I sigh. “Borderlines have the traits from narcissists that causes extreme black and white views of the world; you’re with me or you're against me, you’re the best thing in the world or the worst. Rarely is there an in between, unless they are trained or train themselves to look for the grey in life. My sister also struggled with the extreme euphoria and suicidal depressions of Bipolar; something like half a dozen suicide attempts between ages 15 to 19.” Minfilia’s shock brings a mirthless smile to my face. “Yeah. That wasn’t fun for anyone. Dissociation that could be found with schizophrenia, pathological tendencies that could be found with Anti-social Personality Disorder, aka sociopathy…” I shake my head. “Not all of it was my sister’s fault, her worst traits. Her mind literally attacked itself. Didn’t change the fact that I couldn’t live with it after she stole from Mum and I, and that we eventually had to choose whether to help her preserve her sanity at the cost of our own, or keep ourselves stable and kick her out.” I shrug sadly. 

“If there’s one thing I learned from that, is that you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. There were times my sister was able to stay away from alcohol and drugs, and when that happened, she would go to therapy, talk with professional medics of the mind, take medicine that would help keep her mood swings regulated, learn, work, draw, play the violin…” I sigh again. “She’d have made a hell of a lawyer or musician if she could’ve stayed clean. But the chemical addiction called like a siren, and it was…I don’t know. I don’t know why she’d drink or use drugs, because I literally lacked the structures in the brain to have that floaty effect alcohol gives neurotypical people. It made fundamentally no sense to me, and I still don’t quite understand, because she ruined herself. Her mind, her memory, her body. Maybe it was the self-hatred that frequently accompanies the disorder. But if she couldn’t admit or want help, then there was nothing I could do. She was twenty five when we kicked her out.” Another shrug. “We burned ourselves out trying to care for her, when she refused to care for herself. Enough was enough.”

“That must’ve been very difficult,” Minfilia says quietly. “To watch a loved one waste away.”

I nod, a lump forming in my throat despite the peace I’ve made with it all. “I love her. Still love her. Never stopped. But.” I swallow and push back the tears. She’s dead. I’m dead. I’m not Tanya, not anymore. Put it to rest. “You have to choose, sometimes. Sometimes, love means walking away, so that it doesn’t turn to hate.” I take a breath and press the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Urgh, stupid over emotional twenty year old—oh.” I realize. “That’s why my temper’s so out of control.”

“Beg pardon?” Minfilia sounds very thrown by the sudden subject change.

“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my eyes, the biting edge of the sadness fading with the minor revelation. “I just remembered that, well, at least for Hyur, the frontal cortex of the brain,” I point at my forehead. “Which is the part that’s in charge of critical and rational thought processes and decision making, doesn’t finish developing until your early twenties for females, and mid twenties for male. I don’t know if that’s the case for auri, but it’s fairly likely that it is, which means my emotions will still get the better of me until I’m…” I make a so-so motion with one hand. “Twenty three or so? That’s about when things settled last time anyway.”

“So late?” she asks with some astonishment. “Though…I suppose that would explain a few of my observations.”

“Like the fact that twenty year olds can be absolute dumbasses,” I say with a grin, and she bites her lip, but isn’t quite able to stop a smile.

“Thank you for sharing some of your past with me,” she says once her mirth is under control. “You honor me with your trust.”

“Anyone would be curious in your shoes,” I say. “There’s some things I can’t talk about yet—” A lot of things really, but no one needs to know that yet, “Because my mind is still sorting everything out. It could be a while before that finishes, it’s a lot of information. I don’t mind talking about personal history though. That’s…mostly settled. Oh,” I remember to add, “If Thancred swings by and asks about the shape I chose, you can tell him what I told you. He wanted to ask, but we just didn’t have the time to talk about it.”

She nods. “I will keep that in mind. Now please, get some rest. It has been a long few suns for you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I give her a slight bow, and step out.

I get a room assigned to me, a single, surprisingly. I thought I’d might have to share, given how busy the Scions seem to be. Still, I won’t complain about the privacy. With the sudden down time I have, I take the time to pen a letter to my parents to let them know I’ve found the crew I’d been hoping for, including that they’ve got someone like me with them. After that’s done, I open my journal to make a note to send that letter off in the morning, and start to pen the symptoms of as many developmental and personality disorders as I can recall in English. It’d be good to pass this knowledge on to the Scions and the public.

On the margins, I add ‘Minf. Social Link Rank 1 achieved. High Priestess.’ No reason I can’t reference other games just because I’m in a Final Fantasy world. Then I scribble potential arcanas for Y’shtola (Moon/Star), Thancred (Lovers/Hierophant), Urianger (Magician), Yda (Strength/Chariot), and leave a blank space next to Papalymo. I don’t know him well enough, nor do I remember him well enough, to conclude what characters he could match in any of the Persona games. I suppose I’ll just have to see.

Just as I’ll have to see if I make for a half decent Fool. No pressure.

 -x-

Minfilia gives me the basics of materia as they work on this world; like in Final Fantasy 7, they’re the gathered experience and memory turned into crystalized material, but instead of enabling spellwork, they’re attached to weapons and armor and add that skill/strength to your own. So, more like Ability Materia from the other game rather than Casting/Command Materia.

It takes me a moment to make sense of how the mastercrafter goblin talks when it comes to this sort of thing, but his apprentices help out there, having learned how to keep up with his particular diction. Just because the Echo can tell me the words, doesn’t necessarily formulate understanding without at least a little effort on my part.

Maybe that’ll improve later. We’ll see.

Past that, I’ve got the day to myself, so I do another round of the Waking Sands and do my best to cement the less familiar faces into my memory. I know that, logically, not everyone will live to see the start of Endwalker, much less Heavensward, but these are real life people now, not just characters, and the sooner I can get that through my thick skull, the better. I help catalog a new shipment (and learn that I have the bad habit of flipping a couple of characters to how they’d look in English rather than Common, to my embarrassment), sort stock, and some smaller chores before Minfilia calls me into her office in the evening. 

“I have recently received a message from the Immortal Flames,” she says, tapping a paper on her desk. “They have a plan to lure out the Amalj’aa, so as to capture them and learn the location of the abducted civilians. Ungust shall be the bait. Thancred would’ve been our representative in this operation, but another matter has arisen, and he will be unavailable on the morrow. Would you go in his stead?”

I nod, rolling my shoulders as my heartrate ticks up. “I can do that. I’ll even promise not to punch Ungust unless he does something particularly egregious,” I add with a slightly unkind smile.

She chuckles. “Your restraint is appreciated,” she tells me. “I have received a promise that the Flames will ensure that he will be tried for his crimes, though the punishment may be lessened due to his claims that he was working under duress for the beast tribe.”

I snort derisively. “Duress my left foot,” I say. “The kind of person who’d lead an assault like that on the civilian is one who’d sell people willingly into slavery. Mark my words, he’s just saying pretty words in order to get out of trouble.” Born and raised in Drybone the asshole might’ve been, but I’ve seen enough of that kind of behavior to have at least a rough idea when rehabilitation is likely to work, and when you’d need a shit ton of time and resources to try and dig out the better person buried under a malm of muck. Ungust is under the second category, of that I am certain.

“I understand your skepticism,” Minfilia acknowledges. “But as you said yourself yester’eve, he is our only lead for the moment.”

I sigh. “I know. I’ll keep my opinion behind my teeth,” I promise. “Just…don’t be surprised if this plan goes a bit pear shaped, yeah?”

She tilts her head a little. “Pear shaped is an odd descriptor,” she says, a thread of amusement in her voice. “I find myself looking forward to learning more of your previous past.”

“Heh, be alarmed if I use the term ‘ploin shaped’ instead,” I tell her with a slight grin. “That means things have really gone to hell in a handbasket.”

I can all but see the questions shining in Minfilia’s eyes, but she waves me away. “Off with you! You’ve a busy sun before you!”

“Offing!” I laugh, hopping out of the chair and trotting out of the solar. I probably shouldn’t abuse Common the way English got abused in my last life too frequently, but if nothing else it makes my manner of speech memorable.

I go over my gear a couple more times before it’s time to sleep. Burn pastes, potions, fireproofed clothing, the lightest armor I feel comfortable using in pitched combat for speed…There’s no guarantee that I’ll face Ifrit tomorrow, but better safe than sorry.

That night, when I dream, it’s of a moon set afire, and the smell of burning flesh.

Chapter Text

Dalamud dreams mean I get shit for sleep, so I have some extra strength tea with my breakfast in an attempt to wake myself up when the alarum candle clinks next to me. That, plus a cold, quick sponge bath at least gets the gears in my brain catching, though I’m sure a measure of my grumpiness is visible when I meet with the Flame Sergeant in charge of the operation when I get to Camp Drybone. 

He’s welcoming, and blessedly, is quick to get to the point. The merchant asshole is getting used as bait at a location called the Invisible City; a grouping of ruins that got exposed after Bahamut’s rampage ripped a layer of sand and earth right off of them, or so I'm told. There’s a number of low level demons in the area, he warns me, so I’ll need to step lightly as I get to the marked spot where I’m to help with the ambush.

OK, easy enough, I think as I secure everything one last time and march out. Now where’s the tripping point? If there isn’t any, I’d be very pleasantly surprised.

Ungust the idiot plays his part well enough in luring out the Amalj’aa…except that there’s a metric fuckton of the oversized bastards, a lot more than what had been planned for.

And then the merchant giggles, the sadistic light in his eyes making me grip my axe all the more tightly as we get surrounded. But it’s not just one scumbag, of course it isn’t. One of the Flames is on the take, and now the two of them are selling us out to the lizard folk without a single care to the consequences.

“Permission to murder?” I murmur to the Sergeant, my rage building higher the longer they speak.

“Permission granted,” he growls. “Men, break the encirclement!” 

It’s a vicious, bloody grind that ensues as I pour all my fury into a warcry and draw attention to myself; I lose track of the amount of limbs I cut or damn near cut off, but the Amalj’aa have their own healers, and more of them besides the three conjurers tagging along with us. And despite my best efforts to keep that attention on me, those healers get sniped by oversized arrows and, in one case, a thrown javelin. And the beast folk are throwing enough bodies between my fellow tanks and damage dealers that we have to choose whether to treat our comrades or let them die as we try to break out.

Eventually, the decision is made for me. I take half a second to try and breathe after a fire spell washes over me, leaving me hissing with the heat even as the wool takes the worst of it, when something cracks me across the back of my head hard enough to knock my leather helm off, then a second time. When I wake, the sky is dark, my head is pounding, and those of us that aren’t bound up have most of the fight kicked out of them.

“Where are we?” I croak. “What happened?” Fuck, I probably have a low to medium grade concussion. And no time to try and treat it. I grab some water, eyeing the Amalj'aa guarding the one way out, but they make no move to stop me from treating myself.

“I fear the Amalj'aa mean to give us to their god as an offering,” the Sergeant says grimly, hands bound before him. “If I must die, then let me die a soldier's death─with steel in hand!”

I hiss between my teeth as I fish around for a potion, then down that as well. “Fuck. Well, now we probably know what happened to the kidnapped folk.” It’s very much a grey lining on a black stormcloud. The worst of my headache recedes, even if it doesn’t fade completely. Though that could be dehydration and low blood sugar as well, given the late hour. Stars know how long I’ve been out.

“The primal, have they summoned it yet?” I ask.

“The site is that way,” another man points out. “The beasts have said they will take us to the Bowl of Embers for tempering.” I check my equipment, and am surprised to find everything where it should be. “You can’t mean to lock horns with the monster, can you?” I hear incredulousness in his voice.

“What other option is there?” I bite out. “Just roll over and die?”

“They say no one leaves that place with their minds intact,” the man counters. “What makes you think you’ll fare any better?”

Officially, I don’t have anything guaranteeing I won’t be tempered. After all, Minfilia failed to mention it. Then again, I know that it’s not part of the Blessing of Light, but an intrinsic function of the Amaurotine soul, along with the omniglot capabilities. But is it safe to say?

“What other option is there?” I repeat, my voice quieter, but I push steel in it. I’m afraid, yes, shaking a little with the adrenaline pouring into my system. But with the past sight comes the tempering resistance. Not immunity, not against the like of Hydaelyn and Zodiark, the planetary primals. But resistance, and for this, it’s more than enough.

Maybe it’s just a trick of my overactive mind, but something seems to settle in a couple of the people trapped with me. But before anyone can respond, the Amalj’aa guarding us calls out, “Rejoice, heathens, for your worthless lives shall soon have meaning!” That seems to be the cue to get the prisoners on their feet, and we’re shuffled into the summoning arena.

A quick look around sees me corrected about the time; it’s not late, but rather midday. However, the sun is covered, blocked by…is that the moon? Or an artifact of the summoning ritual? I’m uncertain, and I place the question to one side to be pondered later. 

The lizard folk call out to the fire god. Maybe Ifrit does exist elsewhere as a divine entity, but all they get is the primal, which drops from the eclipse and before what might be the high priest of this tribe. He is bid to temper us by said priest, and then two more victims are dragged forward.

I am unsympathetic when I see Ungust and the Flames soldier who joined him. Honestly, a part of me is more pissed that I didn’t get the chance to kill them myself; never before have I understood why our ancestors, Terran, Au Ra, and otherwise, would put heads on pikes before all this, but now I know why it’s a reaction. Not a good one, not a kind one, but now I understand.

I’ll be the first to admit that I flinched when blue fire washes through the arena, the heat unpleasant but tolerable. But I shake it off, take a breath, and ignore the sound of the other soldiers dropping in artificial religious awe as best I can. 

“Impossible!” the high priest of this Amalj'aa tribe snarls. “By what sorcery do you resist my master's will!?”

I don’t answer, just shrug my axe off my shoulders and into my hand.

 “Could it be...? Your soul already belongs to another!? Yes, that is the only explanation!” he concludes.

“Forsooth, thy frail mortal frame can serve as vessel to the blessing of but one,” Ifrit rumbles. “Yet I smell not the taint of another upon thee…” Interesting that the Crystal doesn’t register to their senses. I wonder why that is?

“The truth of thine allegiance waxeth clear─thou art of the godless blessed's number,” the primal snarls, and I can’t help the slight smirk at that. Godless is right, if nothing else. “The Paragons warned of thine abhorrent kind. Thine existence is not to be suffered.”

“Then come here and do something about it,” I bare my teeth, and the Amalj’aa clear out while fire floods the arena.

Ifrit’s fast for his size, but so am I, and I feel something energizing me as I close in on the primal; a thrown hatchet just whizzes past its face when he weaves, but that gives me a chance to go for the knee, which I do relentlessly. The fire flares high, but the protection I bought holds so far, and I only break out in a serious sweat instead of reeling back in agony.

Knees, hips, crotch, anything that’s in immediate reach is fair game. Physical blows are tanked on my armor, fire is danced around when I feel his aether screech high in warning. Ifrit talks a lot of shit, but everything I have is concentrated on putting him down. Then the bastard places several spikes around the arena, and memory tickles; AOE, party wipe, triggers when you go too fast through the boss fight.

Heh. Bit flattering I’m able to push him that hard by myself. Still, I swipe through the nails with several blows, as I’ve no interest in trying to take a tank-buster attack without any abilities to counter that, before turning my attention back on the primal.

Then something he says catches my attention. “The blessing of Light...defies me!?” Why in the shit is Ifrit talking about a blessing of light when it's about fire?

No matter. Even as the heat rises, the primal’s movements are slower, less coordinated. When he sweeps low to try and catch me, I take that opportunity and lunge; shoulder check Ifrit’s head up, ignore the pain there, swing the blade of my axe into its throat, and with a second lurch, cut all the way through.

Ifrit sways, then topples. And as the aether literally bleeds away, a red light remains, glimmering in place of a corpse.

Ah. That blessing of light. Now how in the shit did the Amalj’aa get their hands on one of the Light crystals? Did she do it as a test? Ascians trying to scatter the things so I or other empowered folk can’t use them? Something else? I’ll have to ask if or when I get the chance.

Like before, the crystal floats up, and I take it gently in hand. A glimpse of the summoning circle, a wave of heat, and I give myself a full body shake to focus on the here and now.

I feel like I’m being watched. Possibly Ascians, as I did kill one of their number, but at this stage, it doesn’t yet matter. I need to figure out what in the hell to do with all the tempered now that their ‘god’ is gone.

Then I see Thancred rush into the arena, along with a number of Immortal Flames. Hm. Wonder what caught him up?

“Pray forgive my lateness! I was delayed by a congregation of Amalj'aa zealots,” he says in a slight rush, and well out of breath. “I swear, each seemed more evangelical than the last.”

I shake my head. “It is what it is,” I say. He’s…probably telling the truth, seeing as he did bring back up, but I’ve reasons to harbor quiet suspicions. I just need to keep them quiet. 

“I see the Bloodsworn wasted no time extracting the captives. No less than I'd expect from the Flame General's hand-picked men,” he says as he follows my gaze to my fellow hostages.

“Too late for them, though,” I say sadly. “Ifrit’s gotten to them. By all rights, I should be right there along with them, but somehow…” I shake my head. “I can only assume the Crystal’s given me a counter for that. Something,” I give a flinty look to Thancred. “That would have been very nice to know beforehand.”

He winces and ducks his head. “In Minfilia’s defense, we had not anticipated you fighting the primal yet,” he says. “Had I known this mission would prove so dangerous, I would never have left you to face it alone. You have been given a veritable baptism of fire.”

I lightly kick him in the shin. “Too soon, and not funny,” I grouse, but exhaustion is setting in, and my head is throbbing. “I’m ‘porting back to Drybone, I’m fairly sure I’ve got a concussion, and I’d rather get it treated sooner than later.” Not to mention getting various burns and bruises sorted out; my shoulder is screaming like a bitch, but there’s still enough adrenaline in my system that I don’t feel I can reliably diagnose myself.

“I will meet you there,” he says with a nod, and with a bit of focus, I throw myself into the lifestream.

-x-

I’ve got most of the supplies I need for treatment, so it’s mostly a matter of getting a helping hand in getting a few of the worst burns wrapped up in cream and some physik spells cast on the bone deep bruising. As for my head, I’m advised to take a couple days off from extreme activity; nothing too taxing on the mind, and nothing overly strenuous on the body. A few moments wondering what I could do points me to cooking, and I reckon the folk of Drybone would appreciate a couple days worth of meals as long as they can provide the ingredients. 

I take a seat in the main square of the camp when Thancred approaches me. I gesture carefully to the empty spot next to me, my other hand holding a cloth wrapped around a chunk of ice a kindly thaumaturge produced for me that’s being gently pressed against the sore spot on my head. 

“I feel as if I should apologize again,” he starts with. “I was too late to be of use, either of you or for the captives.”

I sigh a little. “How much control did you have over the situation?” I say. “Because that’s what denotes fault. Ungust was the one that made the choice to sell us out to the Amalj’aa. He did not have all the control of the events, but he used what control he did have to try and profit. I blame him a lot more than I blame you, not that he’s going to be anyone’s problem anymore,” I add grimly.

“...I thank you for your kindness,” he says after a moment. “Though you are, at least, correct in that he will no longer blight the people of Thanalan.”

“Better he would’ve answered to the Sultanate than to be tempered to a false god,” I bite out before I can think, then mentally curse.

“False god?” the potentially possessed Archon asks. 

I shake my head, then wince as it throbs in protest of the movement. “I’ve only a few ideas of what primals might be,” I say, hastily trying to build a cover for my words. “I don’t have enough data to really present proper conclusions,” I add in English. “Without that data, it’s just…gut feelings and first impressions. I wouldn’t care about who’s worshiping what, if it weren’t for people getting hurt.” 

He nods, his own expression neutral. “Would you be willing to explain why these impressions lead to your belief?” he inquires, his voice only giving me curiosity.

I grimace. “It’s a shit scientist that builds a hypothesis on anecdotal data alone. Of course,” I add a tired snort. “There are so many reasons why trying to run any kind of replicable tests with primals is a bad idea, so I won’t be able to gather proper data that way any time soon.” I shrug gingerly. “If I can wrangle my train—my string of logic into something coherent, I’ll let you know. Right now it’s just a jumbled mess.” I gesture to my head. “The concussion doesn’t help any, so…”

He gives a sympathetic grimace. “I well imagine it wouldn’t. Still, amidst all our misfortunes, there is still reason to rejoice. Ifrit is slain, and by your hand, no less!”

“Can I just say I’m really, really glad I got the fire-treated wool?” I sigh. “Because I’d probably be a lot worse off had I not done that. Only one third degree burn after tussling with a thrice damned fire primal, can you believe it?” I let the incredulousness bleed into my voice. I’d thought I’d earn myself at least one third degree burn from that, but only the one? Mind, I’d need a new pauldron for my left shoulder, but that’s a small price to pay, and the scar should heal quite cleanly as well thanks to magic.

He smiles. “That is the deed of no ordinary individual, Tomoyo. Not that I ever thought you were ordinary. On the contrary, I have long suspected that you have the potential to shape the fate of this realm. What can I say? My fine eye for talent remains undimmed.”

I snort and look away, a bit of a blush rising to my cheeks for a few moments before I remind myself that though this could be Thancred being his infamously flirty self, it could also be Lahabrea being his creepy stalkery self, and I have no way of knowing which is which right now.

Thankfully ignorant of my inner turmoil, he continues, “Minfilia will be proud beyond all reckoning when she hears of your deeds. I trust you shan't object to my bearing the tidings to her. That way I can claim to have contributed something to this mission,” he adds somewhat sheepishly.

I give him a lazy wave. “Go on ahead,” I say. “Doctor’s—healer’s orders,” I correct myself forcefully. “Are not to teleport while I’ve got a light grade concussion. Chewed me out for ‘porting in with one, apparently that’s a recipe for disaster.” Fucking language bleed through, I internally grouse. 

Thancred’s snort tells me that I might’ve said that last bit out loud, and I flush again. “In such a case, then pray, take your well earned rest. Take some time to relax, and return to the Waking Sands when you are good and ready. We can discuss matters in more detail then. Just don't take too long, will you?” he adds a little cheekily. “The realm's problems won't solve themselves.”

“Two days down time,” I tell him. “I’ll probably cook around here for that time, that’s not overly strenuous, and it’ll keep me busy. I’ll see you then.”

He nods and gives me a warm smile. “Until then,” he says, then stands and with a last wave, teleports off.

I sigh, then take a club to troublesome hormones. No crushing on Thancred, I firmly remind myself. He’s off limits for like, half a dozen reasons. Least of which he's mooning for Minfilia, I well remember the complicated emotions he had towards the Mini-Min as I’d titled the girl in my head before she received a name.

…Ryne. That’s her name, or at least, it will be. And then my head throbs, and I head back to the inn room I’m borrowing to rest up a bit more. I’ll save the thinking for tomorrow.

Chapter Text

In between dozing off the concussion (with regular check ins to make sure I don’t fall into a coma), and doing cooking and prep work for the camp, I find the time to write a letter to my parents. It takes me a while and several re-writes before I’m satisfied with what I have; trying to keep them in the loop without giving away critical information is a tricky balance to strike.

Ma, Da

Before anything else happens, I want to let the both of you know I’m alright. I know, not terribly comforting that’s my opening line, but you need to hear that before I go any further.

So, good news about the World Crystal’s blessing. I can’t be enslaved by primals like Leviathan. Bad news, I learned that the hard way when I had to fight Ifrit, the primal of fire for the Amalj’aa. 

Sorry to be so blunt about it, but I want you to hear it from me first before the rumor mill kicks into high gear back home. If it helps, I killed the bastard and got one step closer to finishing the task the Crystal set for me.

The Scions are good folk. Haven’t really locked horns with anyone so far, even with some of the rougher personalities that are part of the crew. Their boss is like me, as I mentioned before, though she forgot to tell me about the anti-tempering thing. I’m going to scold her for that, let me tell you.

I’ve got one angry burn, but thanks to Ma, that’s about the worst of it. I’ll be taking the next day or so off to rest and recover before reporting in. Thanks for the suggestion Ma, it helped a lot. And Da, thanks again for the axe. You made one that killed a primal!

I might be able to swing by La Noscea in a week or two, but for security reasons, I’d rather come to you than you to me. I haven’t told anyone that I’ve got living family about, and for now I want it to stay that way until I’m more familiar with the Scion’s security and how well they can sit on sensitive information. Especially when it gets out that I killed a ruddy primal.

Send a note back so I know a good time to visit the both of you, either at the Guilds or elsewhere. Just, not home? I know I’m being paranoid right now, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Love and hugs. Take care of yourselves.

Tomoyo

I send the letter along with some extra cash by moogle mail; I don’t have a lot of gil on hand right now, but I reckon I’ll get at least some when I report back in with the Scions. Though after this, I’ll probably have to save up a bit for a new breastplate and pauldron set, the one I’ve got is fairly beat up after my tussle with Ifrit.

Skies, I still have trouble believing that went…I don’t want to say well, because no small number of people got tempered, but. OK, large scale it was middling, but on the personal level, I can say it went well, because I only came out of that with one scar! How much of that was the Blessing riding herd on my skills and abilities, and how much of that was, well, me? No idea. Best to err on the side of caution and assume that was more the Blessing right now. Hopefully as I get better and refine my skills and strength, I’ll have more confidence that I’ve earned that kind of kill on my own accord.

Hm. Two Crystals of Light. What’s next then? Water, Fire, Ice, Lightning, Earth, Wind. Titan was the second primal, so Earth, I guess? Hopefully that won’t be for a while, I’d rather have that kind of heart attack only once a month, please. Preferably every other month.

Well. Could be worse. Just wish I could’ve done something for those poor sods lost to Ifrit. But there’s no cure for tempering, and there won’t be for at least a year, likely longer. Nothing for it now, and I need to acknowledge that.

For now, finish healing in Drybone, drop by Ul’dah for a wash up, then head to Horizon and hoof it for Vesper Bay. Hopefully I’ll get there before the worst of the hooplah starts.

-x-

The next day sees me walking into the Waking Sands a bit past noon. I sigh in relief to be out of the high sun, and Tataru greets me happily.

“The hero of the hour returns!” she exclaims, and I rub the back of my neck as I push down the reflexive urge to deny the title. “Thancred told us the news upon his arrival,” she adds excitedly. “He is presently in the solar, giving a full report to the lady Antecedent.”

“I’d better head down there, if only to help give the complete picture,” I say. “And to make sure he doesn’t talk himself down too much; he did most of the leg work on the investigation itself, after all.”

She nods, some of that peppy energy fading. “He was quite upset that you had been placed in such danger when he had been following a separate, if related lead.”

“I’ll do my best to set that straight,” I promise. “The fault lies at that merchant’s feet, not him.”

With that, I head downstairs and into the solar, hearing the tail end of Thancred’s report.

“--- Yes, by some miracle, she survived─but that does not excuse the fact that she should never have had to face such dangers alone. I failed her, utterly.” Oh boy, I need to head that off ASAP. No angsty Thancred for as long as I can help it, thank you kindly. “Just as I'm failing you all…”

“Oi, what did I say about control, and the lack thereof?” I butt in, making both the Archon and my Echo-sibling startle. “Not to pull the ageist card, but here’s some advice from a 40 year old woman; shit happens, and sometimes there’s naught anyone can do about it. Best we can do is choose how we react to situations that happen outside of that control. If you did everything you could, then that’s simply how the cosmic dice fell. All we can do is pick ourselves up, patch ourselves up, and keep moving forward.”

“Tomoyo!” Minfilia smiles brightly. “Wisely said. You would do well to listen to her in this, my friend,” she directs to Thancred, who nods uncertainly. 

“You’ve an impeccable sense of timing,” he turns to me. “I had just finished regaling Minfilia with your heroic exploits.”

I fail to resist the urge to make a face at that. “If you can beat yourself up about not being there in time, I can beat myself up about not getting those people out before Ifrit could temper them,” I say, the corner of my mouth twisting down. “Realistically, there probably wasn’t much I could’ve done. But that’s a lot of people who will get executed for one of the worst reasons possible.”

“Nonetheless, you have done well to return to us,” Minfilia states firmly. “Thancred has recently finished regaling me with your tale. It is a tragedy that lives have been lost to the primal, but further tragedy has been averted for your actions in slaying Ifrit.”

“The perils you faced were undeniably great, yet a part of me believes that I had no cause to fear,” the Archon says, some of his confidence now returning to him. “And now we can put paid to our long investigation. As we suspected, the Amalj'aa undertook both the robbery and the abductions with the aim of summoning their primal, Ifrit.”

“Nor is this tale limited to Ul’dah,” Minfilia picks up. “Similar incidents have been reported in Gridania and Limsa Lominsa.” Hearing that makes me hiss between my teeth.

“I daresay you've been curious as to how these crimes are linked to the primals,” Thancred says. “Permit me to explain—yes?” He seems a little thrown off when I raise my hand.

“Uh, I know I’m not the best educated person here, but we do have stories of Leviathan and Titan back home, so, uh, I can tell you what I know and you can correct me?” I offer, not terribly interested in getting a lore drop on stuff I already know.

He gestures at me to go ahead, and I take a breath. “So, primals. Three ingredients, at least from what I’ve observed when Ifrit was summoned. People that worship the entity in question, elementally charged crystals that line up with its concept, and people who have a solid idea of who-slash-what they want to summon,” I summarize. 

“A succinct explanation,” the Archon nods. “Though once summoned, primals require substantial amounts of aether to persist, drawing it not only from those sacrificed to them, but from the very environment. Thus, the crystals.”

“Which is why elementally charged crystals are controlled material throughout Eorzea,” I conclude, and both he and Minfilia nod.

“It is for this reason that incidents involving crystals can often be traced back to a primal,” she states.

“What some do not realize is that primals already exist within the aetheric currents of the world, even when all is well,” Thancred continues. 

“However, when the world is plunged into chaos, those who worship the primals cry out to their gods for deliverance from suffering,” Minfilia picks up. “These cries serve as a beacon toward which a primal's essence is irresistibly drawn. It is this coming together─or ‘aetheric coalescence─which grants the beings physical form.”

“I hadn’t realized that primals exist without people to call on them,” I admit slowly, my brow knitting together as I consider the implications. “So, in response to the desperation, when they are called upon…is that why they temper people? To expand their power base in response to the perceived threat?”

Thancred crosses his arms as a thoughtful expression colors his face. “An interesting question,” he says after a moment. “For the most part, it is thought that they are simply ill content with what faith is freely given by their worshippers. Thus, their tempering of resistant mortals. A process you yourself was subjected to.”

“Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me,” I say with false brightness before turning a very flat look to Minfilia, who flushes a little. “And when were you going to mention that the Echo had anti-tempering capabilities?

“I apologize for failing to address that.” That she doesn’t even try to waffle has me dialing back the ‘not impressed’ stare into ‘I’m listening.’ “We had evidence of the potential summoning, but had not realized that the Amalj’aa were so close to completing their ritual. You have my sincerest apologies for the failure to prepare you for such an encounter.”

I sigh, letting the very last of my annoyance bleed away. “Apology accepted. That said, I suggest adding an unofficial motto to the Scions’ standard operational procedures. ‘Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.’ Plan for worst case contingencies as well as best case, so that way no one gets particularly unpleasant surprises. We’re lucky enough that it was me in that position, unless you’ve got the Echo?” I look to the Archon, who shakes his head. “Yeah, that would’ve ended badly if he were there too. No harm done to us this time, but we can’t count on the likes of luck or chance. One cannot plan for everything, but we can try to cover as many of our bases as possible.”

She nods. “I thank you for your forbearance in this matter.”

“To return to the subject at hand,” Thancred speaks up. “The recent incidents all share a common trait: meticulous planning. Such elaborate designs are a new development, and one which fills me with an unshakable sense of foreboding.”

I tilt my head. “Are you suggesting that there’s a third party in all this?” I ask.

“For the nonce, we’ve no evidence of this,” Minfilia says. “Though I cannot discount the possibility. Until such a time we have gathered further intelligence, pray not concern yourself overly much. There will be much more work in the future, but you have earned a time of rest.”

Hm, a break between arcs? “Any idea how long?” 

“A fortnight, with perhaps an error of half a week,” she answers, and I smile.

“Rest, and training,” I say. “I’ve been planning on taking some lessons in conjury, and the downtime is perfect for that!” I punch my palm in enthusiasm.

“You would step unto the path of white magic?” Miniflia asks, not bothering to hide her intrigue. 

I nod firmly. “It’s all well and good I can take on men three times my size and win, but when it comes to saving lives and putting people and places back together? Killing people isn’t the answer, not long term. We need to heal, to mend, to create bridges of understanding between us and the beast-folk, at the very least. Eorzea’s divisions only give Garleans the advantage…” And then I take a breath. “Then say we drive the Imperials off the continent somehow. Then what? War begets more war begets more suffering and hatred. The violence has to end, sooner rather than later.” I shake my head. “I don’t pretend to know how to do that, but my extra years give me the ability to glimpse at the patterns of history, and I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

“I do not think you are wrong,” the woman says, kindness in her eyes and voice. “It brings gladness to my heart that you would seek peace were it possible. These are thoughts that well reflect my own.”

“It is a noble goal,” Thancred agrees. “And I wish you luck. But I must take my leave; I’ve my apologies to pass on to the Flame General for the losses of his men.”

I wince a little. “Pass mine on as well? I bear some of the responsibility too,” I say.

“I will,” he states, and leaves the solar.

“I’m worried about him,” I murmur to Minfilia. “How bad is his workload, if he’s the only active agent in Ul’dah?”

Her own expression is pinched. “Sadly, he is the most competent of the Scions, and the Archons. Of all of us, he requires the most flexibility in his work, and so he is not assigned an active partner.” She shakes her head. “We all do what we can to support him. If you would add yourself to those numbers, you are welcome to.”

“I think I will,” I say, then realize something. “Oh, right! Have I mentioned the Crystals of Light at all?”

She blinks at this, then shakes her head. “No…no I believe you have not,” she says.

I laugh sheepishly. “Right, so. Uh, punting Ifrit back into the lifestream, or wherever it is that primals faff off to when they’re not bothering us—” My exceptionally irreverent terminology has Minfilia hiding a smile behind her hand. “Saw me earning the Light Crystal of Fire, and isn’t that a mouthful? Anyhow, right before he corked it, Ifrit complained that the ‘blessing of light rebelled against him’ or something like that.” I frown. “I’m not sure if she’s testing me by making the crystals hard to earn via combat, or if someone else found the things and are scattering them across the continent to make sure Echo bearers can’t get to them easily.”

Amusement fades to consideration. “That is a fair question,” she says. “One not answered easily. Perhaps in gathering more, you will be able to find that answer.”

I grunt. “I just hope that if it’s the second option, the baddies aren’t intelligent enough to scatter them world wide,” I say. “Because that would put a crimp into things.”

“Such dire truths stated so colorfully,” she smiles. “Have faith in the Mothercrystal. I am sure you will find what you need.”

I grumble half-heartedly. “I’ve already had two mums, I’m full up there. And calling her Hydaelyn makes my inner writer complain about clarifying between the planet and the entity.” I huff. “Really should find a personal title for her if nothing else.”

Minfilia tilts her head slightly. “Y’shtola said that you were once…aggressively agnostic? Does this stem from that?”

“Partially,” I confirm. “Like I told Thancred, I’ve got no proper say in what is truly a deity or not, because there’s absolutely no proof that’s for or against the existence of gods. I’m a little more inclined to believe that the Crystal—” and then a good, somewhat snarky title hits me, and I snap my fingers with a grin. “Auntie Crystal!”

“Wh-what?” Minfilia questions with a slight laugh.

“Like I said, I’m full up on mums,” I explain triumphantly. “And I really don’t like having to define between Hydaelyn the entity and Hydaelyn the world. But you can never have enough aunts! So, Auntie Crystal.”

My Echo-sibling covers her face and shakes her head. “Perhaps you should not use that title in public,” she suggests, but there’s suppressed laughter in her voice. “Though given your rather unique situation, perhaps I should be thankful it isn’t more indecorous.”

“I’m not that bad, am I?” I mock pout. “And it’s not like she’s bad as gods go,” I add with a shrug. “Most I wouldn’t trust with a pet rock, nevermind with anything of actual importance. At least she seems to actually care whether or not we all get killed.”

“Were the gods of your people cruel?” she asks, worry now present in her voice.

I make a face. “That’s…complicated, and quite frankly a discussion probably best left for another day,” I admit. Mostly because I haven’t a clue how to explain Christianity properly at the moment. “You’ve probably got a backlog of paperwork to fight through thanks to the shenanigans Thancred and I got up to, and I need to figure out how sign on with the conjury guild, and not embarrass myself when folks find out the only active spell I know is Teleport.” The very basic cantrips that go into cooking and smithy work hardly count, given you’re usually using the crystals involved in the work to kick start the spells for you.

She lowers her head in acknowledgement. “I am glad you have returned to us,” she says gently. “If not entirely unharmed, then at the least whole.”

“Glad to be back,” I say in return with a crooked smile. “Sorry to make things more complicated for you.”

“Never apologize for surviving,” she says sternly. “And never apologize for coming from a conflict with injury. We may not have known each other terribly long, but I like to think of you as a friend,” she adds with a little less confidence.

I blink, then rub the back of my neck as my face heats. “I’d be happy to be friends,” I say, pushing through my bashfulness; you never know when it might be the last time to say ‘I love you’ to someone, platonically, romantically, or otherwise. And just because I’ve an idea of what’s to come, doesn’t mean I know the details of everything. I know Minfilia gets pulled to the First, but if that’s at the end of 2.5 or sometime in 3.+, I haven’t the foggiest. I know there’s a badass Roegadyn woman who becomes a Scion, and winds up instrumental in taking down a high level Ascian, but it costs her her life. I know Thancred’s possession can be released, but not how.

They’re people. Being people, I’m going to get attached. And trying to keep myself locked away from them emotionally will just hurt me more in the long run, at the very least in my own development as a person.

Doesn’t change the fact that it’s going to suck. Knowing just enough to be a threat to the big bads, but not enough to change the details…what a curse, sometimes.

The delighted smile Minfilia gives me makes my own embarrassment well worth it, and we part on that good note.

Chapter Text

After swinging by Tataru’s table to pick up my pay (which will nicely cover a new breastplate, thank the stars), I teleport over to Ul’dah and do a quick check of their prices on heavy plate armor, then board an airship to Gridania. It’s a coinflip on whether heavy armor will be more expensive being in less demand in the Twelveswood, being the home of predominantly Healer/DPS classes, or cheaper due to that lesser demand than when compared to Limsa and Ul’dah, being the home of the starting Tank classes. Worst comes to worst, I can pop over to Limsa for free and haggle with some of my Da’s friends in the Armory Guild, though it’d crimp into potential learning time for Conjury work.

Luck is with me, the heavy plate is a few dozen gil cheaper here. I get a new breastplate fitted, with only a few adjustments needed because of my shorter size. Were I as small as Ma, I’d possibly need custom work, but being on the taller end for auri women, it means I can use female Hyur specced armor almost as frequently as custom auri armor. 

Putting down the pay and promising to pick it up the next day, I head over to the Conjury guild to see if I can apply. 

At least, that was the plan until I get a moogle whistling at me, waving an envelope. “Letters for Tomoyo! From Kaede and Vien, and from Axemaster Wyrnzoen!”

“Thanks,” I say with a smile, accepting them. Class quest, at the least. Should probably get that done before I sign up with the Conjurers; Kujata isn’t going to kill itself after all.

I plop down in a cafe like establishment with a cup of mint tea as I scan through the letters. Reading that the kid who’s lost his parents to the rabid auroch has gone missing is more than a little alarming, and I resolve to burn today’s free teleport to get to Limsa as soon as I finish my parents’ letter.

I open the elaborately folded paper that Ma uses to close envelopes, rather than expensive wax, and find my Da’s blocky and precise handwriting.

Tomoyo. It is good of you to be honest with us, but your frankness gave your mother perhaps more fear than needed. It may be wise to direct such news in the future to myself, so that I may frame the information in such a way to give her less alarm.

I wince a little at reading that. 

None the less, let me state my pride in you, that you have felled such a threat to the people of the desert. I am sure we will hear the news come through the city in short order, three suns at best. It is a fearsome thing to know that you came face to face with one of the beast tribes’ gods, but that you have prevailed in a task that took an entire company of mercenaries in the past to accomplish is no small thing.

Any reservations I may have felt in the World Crystal forcing you on to this path has been rested. Should you have need of anything, ask, and we shall do what we can to deliver.

I smile a bit, and place the letter in my bag. I can’t blame my father for having doubts, either to my own abilities or to the Crystal for choosing me; what parent wants to see their child pit against armies and artificial gods? But I come by my straightforwardness from more than my past life’s memories; Da tends to be blunt in his own way unless his craft or family demands deftness. He wouldn’t say it, or write it, if he didn’t mean it.

It’s good news to hold in my heart as I teleport off to Limsa and report in to the Marauder’s Guild. 

Missing person reports means time is against me, so I don’t hesitate to front the teleportation costs as I work on tracking young Sighard, who likely decided to try and do something about the auroch bull himself. I bounce around the island a couple of times with magic and chocobos to try and get ahead of the lad before he gets himself killed, working with one of the guild’s dedicated spell casters to try and pin his location. Finally, we find some of his belongings not too far from Aleport, and then the Axemaster himself joins in on the search. 

And a good thing too. When we do find little Sighard, he’s surrounded by a pack of jackals that are looking to make a meal out of a child caught out alone, bleeding from several gashes and at least one bite. I don’t hesitate in joining the Guildmaster in cutting the animals down; wolves and bears eventually learned to be leery of humans when we proved to be the more dangerous animal, and the sooner the predators of La Noscea learn the same lesson, the easier it will be to live alongside them. 

I express my admiration to Solkwyb as she treats the kid’s wounds, and admit my intent to learn some of the healing arts myself.

She wishes me luck, but also warned that I should only choose one or two classes to build from; a jack of all trades might be better than a master of one, but spreading myself too thinly would jeopardize my training if I intended to kill Kujata.

It’s a fair point, and it’s something I consider as I get back to Limsa and swing by the Smithy guild to see if my Da’s in.

There’s a whiff of stale ale as usual around Guildmaster Brithael as I poke my head into the main entrance. Still, despite being a functional alcoholic, he rarely misses much, as he spots me in a couple of heartbeats despite the noise and movement about him.

“Oi, V!” he calls out. “Yer kid’s here!”

“Wow, way to ruin the surprise,” I snark, and he just laughs. 

“What’d be a real surprise would ye bein’ any taller,” he says, and I mock kicking him in the shins in retaliation.

“Tomoyo,” Da’s tone is lightly chiding as he moves away from his work bend; looks like he was in the last stages of his current project, a two handed maul. 

“What, I didn’t actually kick him!” I exaggerate my innocence.

“Not like two years ago,” Brithael snickers. “Tha’ left a bruise!”

“Well maybe if ye’d quit pickin’ on me height—” I start, but Da bonks the top of my head with a karate chop, which his way of saying ‘knock it off.’

“I will return shortly,” he promises to his Guildmaster, who waves him away.

“Yer ahead by near a full sun,” the Hyur says. “‘T’aint as if the work’ll walk off on ye.”

So we step out of the loud and busy smithy, letting a stone wall separate us and the worse of the noise.

“After your letter, I had not expected you to come home this early,” Da says.

I shrug. “Got a letter from the Axemaster; there’s a quarry that we’re working on hunting down, and a kid went missing trying to avenge his parents going after it. I teleported in, ‘cause missing person cases get more fraught by the hour. The kid’s scratched up and bitten a few times, but he should make a full recovery, according to Solkwyb.”

Da nods slowly. “Your quick actions saved a life. I worry, at times, that life as an adventurer might see you miss the smaller challenges and hardships people suffer from day to day. I see that worry is for naught.”

I smile. “I don’t blame you for that. A lot of adventurers are in it for the glory and the gold. The gold’s useful, aye, but I could do without the glory bit,” I add with a face. “Glory tends to get wrapped in politics. Yuck.”

My heartfelt noise of disgust startles a laugh out of my Da. “Your mother would scold you for your lack of eloquence,” he says with a small grin. “But I’ll keep my silence, for I could not agree more. You’ve my sympathies, and my prayers for luck when you find yourself moving in the halls of power.”

I groan and thunk my head against the railing. “May that day yet be far, far off,” I plead to whatever benign power is willing to listen, and pout a little at my Da’s chuckles.

“Oh, right,” I perk up as a thought comes to me. “So I’ll be ‘porting off to Gridania for white magic training, but while I’m here I might as well do some more cookery practice. What would you and Ma like?”

He rumbles a little in thought. “Plainly put, what you’ve already given has been excellent,” he says. “I would be content with whatever you might offer, and I’m sure your mother would be the same.”

I blow a strand of hair out of my face. “Doesn’t narrow down my options much, does it?” I point out. “Alright, do you want something chocolatey, flaky, or fruity?”

“Price is no concern?” he checks, and I shake my head.

“Not with the guild discount, and the Scions’ pay,” I assure him. “Not sure what all I might get for bashing Ifrit’s skull in later, but they made sure I was compensated when I got back to their base.”

He nods firmly. “Good. In that case…I suspect your mother would appreciate the chocolate.”

I grin and nod. “She said you liked the cookies a lot.”

He coughs sheepishly. “I did, yes. And a reminder, Tomoyo. Common.”

I blush. “Right, right. Apologies. Still working on that.”

“As quirks go, it hardly is the worst,” he says, then adds with a wry smile, “But your mother would be most disappointed to learn that all her diction work went to waste.”

“I knoooooow,” I whine. “I slipped straight into Limsan brogue when I knocked some would be rapists on their arse, and one of the first things I thought was that Ma would’ve been so upset about the accent coming right back.”

He coughs again, and this time it sounds like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing. “I doubt that it would be the only thing to upset her in that situation,” he says after he’s got control of himself again. “But as you are here now, whole and hale, I am assured you walked away from that, and they didn’t.”

“Weeeeell, I didn’t kill anyone,” I made a so-so motion. “The Sultana’s law men would’ve been annoyed by that. But I broke some knees and bones, so they won’t be trying that again any time soon,” I add with a grin.

His own smile shows teeth. “Good.” I get a solid pat on my shoulder, and I’m heartened in that he barely budges me. “You’ve grown strong Tomoyo. I’ve said it already, but let me say again how proud I am of you.”

I straighten up and give him a hug. “Thanks, Da,” I say, a little muffled by his leather apron. “You and Ma being willing to support me means…it means a lot.”

He returns the hug, then gently pushes me back. “I’ve work yet to do,” he says a little apologetically. “But I will be spending the night here should you have need of me.”

I nod, then pause. “Hey Da, how much would a kanabo cost as a commission?” The kanabo, back on Earth, is known as the oni’s club; having a four foot metal studded warclub would give a new meaning to ‘speaking softly and carrying a big stick,’ and would give me some slightly less lethal options when it comes to dealing with enemies I either can’t afford to kill, or would rather avoid killing.

“Spiked or studded?” he asks, though his confusion is clear.

“Studded,” I answer. “It took a bit more care than I liked not to cut limbs off when it came to those idiots in Ul’dah, so having a blunt weapon when I’m not intending to kill, but still has similar weight to a war axe, would be useful.”

“Hmm…depending on the wood and metal…” I can see him running the numbers. “Between two thousand to four thousand gil, at a rough estimate.”

I wince. “Right, I’ll commission that later,” I say. “At least when I’ve got a bit more of a financial cushion. Hopefully that’ll improve next moon.”

“Say the word,” he tells me, and I nod. “Take care, my daughter.”

“You as well,” I say with a smile. “Love you Da, and give my love to Ma when you see her.”

With that, I head to the Bismark, wash up, and help with some of the restaurants prep work before doing some experimentation to make some brownies; the ratios are trickier to get just right, so I wind up with one set of what’s essentially singed chocolate cake, which my peers in the guild happily help themselves to when I offer it for anyone who’ll eat it, another batter that winds up far too dense (that I wrap up for the village kids, as sugar and chocolate is a rare treat, and the density means it’ll keep for a while), before I finally nail the consistency and get a couple sheets of brownies for my parents and for them to share with visitors.

I also help the Guildmaster cheer up one of his long term employees whose suffering her own bout of depression with a gift of dried plums and a raised horn to listen. She’s annoyed at first at the older man’s meddling, but the present of her favored food and an earnest listener seems to help settle her a bit. Depression’s no quick thing to get over, but I hope it helps get her started on a happier path, wherever that might lead.

It’s sundown when I swing back to the Blacksmith’s Guild to drop off my food gifts; I watch Da whack away more than one questing hand with a metal file that are attracted to the smell of baked goods, and I grin and wish him luck.

All in all, not a bad way to pass the day. Here’s to hoping the next week or two will be just as peaceful.

-x-

It’s bright and early when I get to Gridania, and the Conjury Guild is tucked away in a quieter part of the city. Makes sense; magic backfiring tends to be on the destructive side, and you also don’t want too many distractions for those that are starting out, or those that are working on high level castings.

My adventurer status sees a discount of the guild fee and application, which is really nice; juggling Marauder, Culinarian, and Conjury fees was a worry of mine, but my previous work in clearing out Tam-Tara Deepcroft seems to work in my favor. Still, I need to remember to start doing accounting more often. Being late in payments won’t be a good look for a future Warrior of Light.

The Guildmaster is a deceptively young looking man with pointed ears in the style of Middle Earth elves rather than the Elezen of this world, and has a similar pair of horns that I had almost missed when I first saw Kan-E-Senna. Seedseer E-Sumi-Yan is his full name and title, but he introduces himself as Brother E-Sumi as his preferred designation, and accepts my application easily enough; he expresses some interest when I admit to him that this is my first formal school of magic.

“It is clear that you are not one to rely on might alone,” he says. “As might alone would not allow you to overcome the like of Ifrit,” he adds in a quieter tone, and I duck my head.

“That’s already going around?” I don’t quite whine, but it’s a near thing.

“The elementals took notice of you and your power when you crossed the borders of the Twelveswood,” he shakes his head. “For those of us who can perceive them, it is clear enough what you have accomplished while in Thanalan. Tell me, Tomoyo Nanashi, what draws your attention to the art of conjury?”

“Well, if I were to list all the reasons, we would be here a while,” I admit with a small smile, relaxing a little now that it's clear I won’t be the talk of the town just yet. “Healing would very literally be a lifesaver in my line of work. I hadn’t set out to be some great hero when I started adventuring. I wanted to learn more of the world, and through that, learn more of myself. Magic, beyond some basics of the forge and cookery, is not something I ever had the chance to study in depth, being a refugee from Othard.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It speaks well of you that you would seek the art of healing, but know that is not all which defines conjury,” he says, his small stature belying the weight of age in his eyes and voice. “To pursue this path, one must come to know, respect, and harmonize with nature, with the very essence of the earth, air, and water of the realm. Heed well the wisdom of the elementals, and your path will be a sure one.”

After a moment, I ask a question that I’d never seen answered to my satisfaction, in my short time with the game. “What are the elementals? I’ve heard much about them, but I feel as if I know nothing of them. Are they spirits? Manifestations of aetheric elemental energy?” I shrug helplessly, trying to express my question with body as well as voice.

“You are not as ignorant of the ways of magic as you might perceive yourself to be, given the vocabulary you use,” E-Sumi says with a slight smile.

“Terminology I picked up in self defense being surrounded by a bunch of Sharlayan Archons,” I admit with a slight blush as I rub the back of my neck. “They are all...very well educated, and it’s obvious how behind I am at times. One more reason why I’m here.”

“To answer your question in part, the elementals are, indeed, spirits,” he begins. “The Twelveswood has been their home for as long as written history has existed.” Which only goes so far, given all the Calamities the Ascians had kicked off. “Once, mankind had dwelt alongside them, in strength and unity. Then mankind transgressed, and in their fury, the Elementals drowned Eorzea.”

I blink, then groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Someone kicked off a war, the Elementals were caught in the middle, and all hell broke loose,” I summarized; one of the Calamities saw a Shard destroyed by water aether; I wonder how the Ascians kept that clusterfuck going.

“You would do well not to make light of the tragedy and hardships that befell the survivors of that conflict, nor the suffering and wrath of the elementals.” And I am reminded that as youthful as he looks, E-Sumi is very much like his peer; I don’t know how old Seedseers can get, but I remember something about their people able to reach two to four hundred years old, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’s not much younger than that.

I wince and do my best to back pedal. “That’s not---I didn’t mean to joke about anything,” I hastily say. “It’s just. Uh, how to say this...have you ever met anyone else with the Echo?”

“I have, yes,” he says, still stern in eyes and voice.

“I, er. Past life. The more things change, the more they seem to stay the same,” I say lamely, then sigh. “It’s just. The people of the continent have somehow survived seven events that should have rightly annihilated most life present. There’s clearly some kind of pattern, but we just seem to keep falling into the same pitfalls and traps that destroyed our ancestors.” Sure, I knew why it kept happening, but for those who didn’t? Not all of the despair in my voice is faked.

His severe aura seems to soften a little. “You are the kind to laugh in the face of pain?”

I shrug. “It’s either laugh or cry. And I’ve got a few too many people looking to me for strength to do the latter publicly.”

He nods. “Have a care for your words,” E-Sumi instructs. “But I acknowledge the lack of malice in them.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Sorry again. I’m just trying to understand what the elementals might be; they sound terribly alien, and the lack of knowledge is a little frightening.”

“I am certain you have met their more diminutive cousins throughout Eorzea in your travels,” he says. “Many such sprites exist in all lands that may host life.”

I blink, then realize what he means and facepalm. “Oh! Why didn’t anyone say as much?” I exclaim, a little annoyed at how I missed that the small element sprites peppered all over the world are the baby versions of the Twelveswood elementals. “Well now I feel like an idiot. Still alien, but not as other as I feared.”

“Correct,” he states. “Many struggle to understand the intent and desires of the elementals. Thus, it falls to we Seedseers, and many conjurers, to listen, divine, and execute their will. In becoming a member of the Guild, you must learn to set aside much of what life beyond the Twelveswood has taught you, to accurately ascertain this information.” He must see the flicker of discomfort cross my face, and he relents, “I do not ask you to do this in perpetuity. Some of what you will learn here may not see much use beyond our borders, and your duties will likely take you far across Eorzea.”

At that, I bob my head, a little tension releasing in my shoulders. “Eorzea’s home, but I can’t be bound to any one nation,” I say. “Thank you for understanding.”

“You are not the first Warrior of Light to pass through Gridania,” he states. “You will not be the last.”

I rather hope I will be; not being the last means I died, and some other poor sod will be stuck with this job, dealing with primals, Garleans, Ascians, and the likes of Zenos and Fandaniel. Not ideal.

Ideal would be cutting the cycle. Ideal would be ending the conflict between Zodiark and Hydaelyn. Permanently. 

I file the thought away for later, and say, “So, what’s the first step? Past the paperwork I mean.”

He smiles, but it seems a little fragile at the edges. “The first step is to hone one’s ability to perceive and manipulate aether. This requires a calm, yet flexible mind, open to the world around one’s self, and resistant to mundane distractions. I speak, of course, of meditation.”

I don’t even try to hide my wince. This is payback for bringing up the bureaucracy, isn’t it? “I don’t suppose you teach moving mediation?” I ask hopefully.

-x-

Learning how to consciously manipulate aether is definitely interesting, though it wasn’t overly intuitive at first. Attuning to aetheryte for the transportation network is one thing; the crystal actually does most of the heavy lifting, and all you have to do is match the frequency it produces. Different people sense it in different ways; for me, I hear an almost tuneless hum, and being something of a singer in my past life during my middle and high school years thanks to choir, it’s fairly simple to match the sound, my aether mimicking my intent.

Active casting, of course, is a different beast. Teleport is a matter of Destination, Deliberation, and Determination, to borrow a concept from Harry Potter. Have the target in mind, see yourself there and the hum of that particular crystal, and then…well, trust the flow of the lifestream to take you there.

Honestly I’m surprised I’m so comfortable with it when I took a moment to think about it during my time in Gridania. The casting is a little like Harry Potter, but the action and spell is much more like Star Trek’s method of teleportation in that you’re converted from matter to energy and back to matter. Just thinking of how many safeties the Sharlayans had to put in place when it came to reinstalling the aetheryte network makes my head swim a little.

Then there’s figuring out meditation, something I’ve never been good at, and it proved to be a bit of a stumbling block the first three days, even with the moving meditation practices that the Guild used for busy minded folks like myself.

Finding my own aether was like trying to find my own scent; something your brain usually blocks out unless something is wrong or an outside force alters it. And it didn’t help that I had two elemental crystals that had shacked up in my soul of all things, which were very distracting and shiny and complicated the matter further.

My breakthrough came to me when I took a late night stroll and sat in Gridania’s aetheryte plaza after a difficult string of dreams. Being at around two in the morning, there were very few people moving through and using the teleportation network; adventurers, messengers, specialists being called in for one matter or another. When the place isn’t packed with comers and goers, the humming of the crystal is rather relaxing, and I feel myself matching it.

Then I blink. I’m not singing at all, and yet I can still hear the frequency coming from myself. The aetheryte is a weighty bit of refined magic; maybe I can find my own frequency by intentionally de-synching myself?

I close my eyes and simply focus on the sound, letting it buzz in my horns and aural canals. Now, how to pull my energy away from the crystal so that I can hear what the baseline is?

A slight, sourceless tug, a whisper that comes from nowhere, a glimmer of white-blue behind my eyelids.

Hear.

A note. A simple, solid C, the start of almost any octave when you’re just beginning to learn music.

I hum, low in my throat, and the sound that matched the aetheryte then brings itself down to that humble space, and suddenly I feel settled in my skin in a way I hadn’t since I woke up on that ship to Limsa.

Oh. That’s my magic. My aether. I see no color, but the sound is comforting, and I feel warm despite the cool night air around me.

“I see you have made progress.” I open my eyes and find Brother E-Sumi sitting next to me on the bench, a small but pleased smile on his face.

“You were right,” I admit sheepishly. “I was trying too hard. It’s...difficult to separate what I’d learned in my past life, to set it aside when it provides such a wealth of information I’d otherwise never have a chance to learn. I knew I was getting in my own way, but…”

He shakes his head. “That you are willing to admit to your error, and have found a path to rectify it, is enough for me,” he says. “May I expect you in the Guild come the morrow?”

“Now that I don’t feel as if I’m breaking my skull against a brick wall,” I say dryly. “Aye, I’ll be there.”

Thanks Auntie, I think in Hydaelyn’s direction; she didn’t have to nudge me, but she did, and I appreciate the help. Any progress I can make will hopefully save lives.

Over the next two weeks, I get a feel for the earth and wind elements that come with the class; culling some animals whose populations are reaching a critical high point, learning what to look for when it comes to corrupted aether pools of wind and earth, that sort of thing. The air stagnation was a nasty shock, as I got my ass swarmed by half a dozen wind sprites, getting a very personal look at what kind of damage they could dish out to the unwary. My Marauder armor would’ve been able to tank it well enough, but the cloth armor didn’t really hold up. Even with a second mage present who sealed my wounds almost as soon as they opened as I tore down the offending sprite that kicked this off, I was woozy with blood loss by the time the core collapsed and the other monsters fled. 

Brother E-Sumi earned brownie points when he replaced my bloodsoaked robe outright with a new one, apologetic over how quickly that particular task had escalated.

At least it wasn’t Ma’s clothes that I ruined, so that’s a bonus.

I also get introduced to Sylphie; like me, she’s in this line of work predominantly for healing, but the way she eschews any sort of combat magic has my eyebrows raising. Admitting you don’t have the stomach for it is one thing, and perfectly understandable at that; the only reason I didn’t puke my guts out the first time I killed a person was the fact that I’d become at least somewhat adjusted to the sight of mangled corpses after the Calamity. But rejecting the ability to defend yourself wholesale? Even my past self would have jumped at the opportunity to kick ass like a full blown White Mage can. Her behavior just isn’t intuitive for me.

I learn from a guildmate that she’s trying to emulate her mother. I feel some empathy for the kid when I hear that, as I’m told that the dead woman had no talent or ability to harness combat magics. Losing a parent can be devastating. I know I’m lucky that both of mine survived not just the flight to Eorzea, but the Calamity as well, and I count that blessing every day. Honoring a loved one is understandable, even laudable.

And then I step back into the Guild after changing out of my ruined robes and hear Sylphie say that she’s almost ready to cast Raise. I respect that work ethic if nothing else, but why does E-Sumi go pale?

“Should I learn you have attempted to cast that spell, I will have no choice but to expel you from our order!” he declares, the fury in his voice almost covering up the worry in his eyes. Almost.

The girl whirls on her heel and storms off, and I meander over to the Seedseer. “Feel free to tell me to butt out if I’m overreaching,” I begin. “But why is it dangerous that she attempts to cast Raise? You said I’m not far from that level myself, yesterday.”

He releases a breath, and I can all but hear the two hundred years he’s lived in that sigh. “Remind yourself, Tomoyo, what aether you summon when you cast Cure.”

I blink. “The earth, the root of all things. The water, for the life it feeds. And the air, for the life it breathes,” I recite; philosophical it may sound, but there’s elements to truth in all of that, pun unintended. Without earth, we’d be all dust in space, and while not all life needs water on this world, most of it very much does, and of course, most forms of complex life deal with oxygen in one form or another, be it metabolized or respired.

“And what occurs should you not have steady sources of this aether at hand?” he inquires, slipping into teacher mode.

“A steeper aether cost from your own energy pool,” I answer, crossing my arms and tilting my head to one side. “It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that Raise is intensive, given that one is literally pulling the very recently dead back from the brink, but how high is that price?”

“To cast Raise twice will pull half of one’s aether, and that is if they have sufficient supplies of earth, air, and water aether at hand,” he says, expression grim. 

“...How bad is it if you don’t?” I ask hesitantly.

He shakes his head. “That she should consider this path at all is my mark of failure as a teacher,” he says.

“Have you told her how dangerous it is?” I push a little; how many times has this sort of thing happened because the adult doesn’t explain why not to do the thing, rather than give orders and expect to be obeyed? E-Sumi-Yan is no controlling bully, but it’s been a long time since he had the chance to be young and stupid. “If she thinks it’s just another energy cost, she probably expects she can eat---er, accept it and keep going.” Too informal, stop slipping into English, I remind myself.

After a moment, he says, “I will take that into consideration.”

“Um, hello?” We both turn to see Yda. “Is now a bad time?” she asks a little awkwardly.

“Archon,” E-Sumi nods to her. “Have you need of something?”

“Minfilia asked if I could fetch Tomoyo for her,” the young woman fiddles with her gloves. “Seeing as we’d both be in Gridania, I volunteered!”

“Times up for studying,” I sigh. “That’s a shame.” Despite the late nights of anatomy textbooks (which used a lot of Allag medical terminology, being the local equivalent of medical/scientific Latin it seems), hours of meditation, both moving and still, learning how to properly cast magic was a lot of fun. That I got to help people and had a few runs in local clinics was also an educational experience.

“You are always welcome to return,” Brother E-Sumi says. “For now, it seems duty calls.”

“Thank you, Guildmaster,” I say with a smile and a bow. “It’s been a pleasure, and I hope I’ll be able to come back soon.”

“I’ll walk with you to the plaza!” Yda chirps, and I nod.

“So how’s things?” I ask, before I bonk a horn and rephrase, “I meant, how are things going in the Waking Sands? And the fall out of Ifrit’s death?”

Yda giggles, and I see a glimpse of blond hair under the back of her helm. “Well enough, if busy,” she says. “Can I say I like the way you talk? It’s so friendly!”

I grin sheepishly. “Thanks, I appreciate that,” I say honestly. “I just know I shouldn’t probably be that familiar with folks in public, so I should try to just stick with Common.”

“It’s fine if you use your native language with me,” she insists. “What’s it called again?”

“English,” I answer. “We came by it as a trade tongue from a more expansive country before my part of that old empire broke away, seeing as we were colonies separated by a full ocean.”

“Oh. A bit like Garlemald?” she tilts her head.

“Eeeeeeeeh?” I make a so-so motion. “Yes and no? Yes in that they could be absolute arsholes to the people they colonized, and unfortunately we kept some of that after we broke away and our own borders expanded.” I wasn’t going to pretty up America, but I wasn’t going to dress it down entirely either. It had its strengths and flaws, like all countries. “We were getting better about things like racism and gender inequality about the time I died, though xenophobia was on the uptick because of demogogues trying to get into power.”

“Sounds a bit like Garlemald,” she hums. “They started out as a…republic, I think? And then suddenly there’s an emperor and he’s taking everyone over.”

I wrinkle my nose. “We had an elected ruler who certainly would’ve liked to become emperor, but thank what benign powers exist, our systems were just robust enough to prevent that. He did damage to our democratic institutions, I won’t pretend otherwise. But it could’ve been worse.”

“Huh. Were you Garlean before?” she asks guilessly.

I blink, then shake my head. “Nope, just a Hyur. No fancy-schmansy third eye to speak of.” Hm, I wonder if Garleans have a fourth cone-rod cell in their eyes, now that I think about it…

“A fourth what?” Yda’s voice has me realizing I said that out loud.

“Oh, uh. So, most—well, Hyur, I honestly don’t know much about other races,” I correct myself. “We have three parts of the eye that help us see colours. These parts, or cells, register green, blue, and red colors, so everything we see is technically a mixture of these colors. If you’ve got a fourth cone-rod cell, that might let you see yellow, which would give you further sensitivity to changes of color, and let you define a lot of shades that those with the three base cells wouldn’t register.”

Yda scratches at a spot just under her mask. “That sounds really complicated,” she admits. “I thought eyes just…saw light!”

I shrug. “The body is an incredibly complicated machine, and I’m just scratching the surface, even with my old knowledge. All the technology and magic in the world just gives one the ability to get better details, but it takes time and people to put those details together and figure out what puzzle piece connects to where.”

Yda snickers. “That’s a silly image! A person as a puzzle!”

I grin. “But is it wrong?”

She shakes her head. “No, I like it. People are confusing sometimes. Like Papalymo! He’s so serious all the time! I wish he’d be happier, but when I try to cheer him up, it just seems to make him angry.”

“People are complicated,” I agree with a little sadness. “And you’ve all been through a hell of a time of it, after the Calamity. It could be he’s still hurting from that, and that’s what makes him prickly.”

“...Then how can I help?” she asks, kicking a stone across the worn road, and I remember that she’s probably one of the youngest Scions save for the twins and…Christ, I’m probably one of the youngest as well, aren’t I? Physically at least. The thought is jarring.

“I’m not entirely certain,” I say. “I don’t know Papalymo well, so what would help or hinder is beyond me. The best thing any hurting individual can have is a strong support circle, so that when they do stumble and fall down, others will catch them and help them back on their feet.” I shrug. “For now? Just be you, and be there.”

She hums in thought, then comes to a stop at the bridge just before the aetheryte plaza. “Thank you Tomoyo,” she says. “I might not understand a lot of the more complicated stuff, but…you didn’t tease me about it. Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I might have a leg up on the physical sciences, but I’m still lagging way behind when it comes to aether related…” I wave about my head. “Everything.” My lack of eloquence makes her snicker. “Hug for see you later?”

I can’t see her eyes, but she seems surprised by that. “Sure!” Before I know it, I’m getting picked up by the brawler, and I laugh as I return the hug.

“Thanks,” I say with a grin when she sets me down. “I’ll see you.”

“Mh-hm! Bye!” she waves before trotting off, and I ‘port off to Horizon.

Chapter Text

A relatively short chocobo ride later, and I find myself back at the Waking Sands.

“Afternoon, Tataru,” I greet the clerk. “I was told Minfilia wants to see me?”

“Oh, yes!” Huh, is it just me, or does she seem a little nervous? No, that’s not quite it. Not guilty, but maybe sheepish? “She is free at the moment.”

“Right, thanks,” I nod, wondering what’s gotten the Lalafell a bit shifty, but I’ll either find out or I won’t. I head down stairs, greet the guards, then crack the door open to the office.

“Knock knock?” I say out loud, seeing no one but my Echo-sibling in, but well aware of how irritating interruptions can be if you’re in the middle of paperwork or the like.

“Ah, Tomoyo! Come in,” she invites me, and I slide into the room. “How fares your education in conjury?”

“Well, actually,” I say with a grin. “Not entirely sure if I’ve got innate talent for it or if the Blessing is boosting my capabilities, but I’ve got a solid grasp of Stone, Aero, and Cure, and the Guildmaster expects I’ll qualify for tutoring in Raise if I keep that progress going.”

“Well done!” she praises, and a little kernel of warmth burns in my heart. “Few are those who express such skill so quickly. We can discuss this further at a later time, however.

“Until not so very long ago, you were but one of the many adventurers seeking to make their way in Eorzea,” she says, and I tilt my head a little at the subject change. “But for your character and courage, you were raised to the esteemed post of envoy. Thereafter, you traveled the realm, aiding those in need without thought of reward, confirming to Yda and Papalymo that the Scions would benefit from your aid. And no sooner had you joined us than you personally bested the primal Ifrit.

“You have achieved a great deal in a short time, and won fame in so doing. Alas,” she smiles. “Fame does not come without a price, as you will soon discover.” My stomach drops a little. Oh no, please no politics…

“We have guests, Tomoyo,” she says. “Or rather, you have guests.”

Thank the stars that it’s members of the Grand Companies that enter the solar, and not politicians. I hide a sigh of relief even as all three give me a recruitment spiel. Though my act as Ifrit-Slayer wouldn’t have gotten out quite so quickly had a certain clerk not blabbed. Extensively.

I suppress a grimace at that. Just one more reason not to talk about my existent family and any connections to Little Far East I might have. Sure, if someone digs they’ll find Ma and Da, but they’ll have to dig. No need to make the work easier for the likes of Lahabrea and Gaius.

…Right, Gaius Baelsar. Van Baelsar? Von? Something like that. Right asshole at the moment, though he may be an ally later. Hrm. Think about that later.

My thoughts are pulled away, and I don’t express any embarrassment that I’ve spaced out through the entire lecture regarding the Grand Companies and what they represent. Oh well, it’s information I grew up with, and I already know I’m going to sign up with the Maelstrom. It’s home, it’s where I have the most pull at the moment, for whatever that’s worth right now, and I respect the Admiral the most out of all the Commanders.

When Minfilia passes me a linkpearl, I give a small bow in thanks. “Remind me how these work?” I ask.

“A small infusion of aether, and the knowledge of who you are attempting to communicate with,” she says. “If that person does not bear a linkpearl, you will hear a low buzz, rather than the ringing chime.”

“Got it,” I nod, and hook the ‘earring’ part around the base of my horn and gently insert the actual pearl into my aural canal. “Well, at least that fits,” I mutter. “It’ll be good to have an emergency contact, if nothing else.”

My fellow blonde nods. “Before you depart, be sure to speak to Tataru. She will apprise you as to where and when the remembrance services are due to take place.”

“Right. One more grand tour of Eorzea,” I say with a slight smirk. “Should probably take the airship,” I add with a frown. “All that teleporting gets expensive after a while.”

I do a round of the Waking Sands before heading out, checking in with folks. Urianger is apparently trying to dig up more intel on Dalamud; when he first speaks of ‘the wyrm of midnight’ I’ll admit my mind instead leapt to Nidhogg of Heavensward infamy.

“So, are these prophecies or…?” I tilt my head in confusion.

“’Ere do fortellings of the Calamities exist,” he nods, and oh boy that’s not comforting at all. “Though here, it is as like as not that we must instead gaze upon the past, if we are to divine the secrets of the fallen moon. Mayhap thou wouldst share thine thoughts? If thou were born before the rise of the red moon in thine elder days, what wouldst thou make of it were that self to lay eyes upon it?”

I chew on my lip thoughtfully once I’ve decoded some of his terminology. “If Tanya saw it before the Calamity? Without any magnifying lenses to get a better look at it, she’d probably conclude that it was just a captured satellite, an asteroid caught by both the planet and Menphina’s gravity. With proper magnification?” I shake my head. “I remember seeing it fall. I remember the lines visible upon it, far too regular to be natural. The sheer amount of effort, industry, and material required to design, construct, and launch such a megastructure boggles the mind. And then add the…absolute nightmare of a dragon was locked inside that thing.” I restrain the urge to invoke Bahamut’s name, because I’m not certain if that’s fully public information.

“Whoever made it, however it was made, whyever it was made, had as broad a powerbase as Garlemald, at absolute minimum,” I state. “Likely greater. And even if my history isn’t the best, even I know that only Allag qualifies for that.”

He nods, though I can’t read anything from him thanks to the high hood and goggles. “My thanks, Lady Tomoyo,” he says. “If e’er you have questions, you need only ask.”

“Happy to help, and same to you,” I say with a slight smile. I might feel a bit awkward around the man, but it helps to know that his extreme formality is just his default, rather than from any source of condescension or perceived superiority.

Y’shtola’s around this time, so I drop by to say hi as well.

“Hullo Y’shtola!” I say with a grin. “How’re things going in Limsa?”

“Common, Tomoyo,” she reminds me, and I duck my head in apology. Then she smiles slightly. “Thus far, all is, if not well, then is not deteriorating, which is acceptable.”

“That’s good,” I sigh. “Limsa’s home now, so no primal things happening on that front is a relief.”

“Quite,” she agrees. “I heard of your work regarding Ifrit. I am sparing in my praise, so know that you’ve impressed me.”

I blush a little and rub the back of my neck. “It was…I definitely could’ve used more warning I was going to butt heads with that thing that day,” I admit. “Fighting wise, I got through it with only one scar, but the amount of deaths…”

She nods. “It is fortunate that Thancred arrived when he did. Had he been but a moment later, I shudder to think what may have transpired.”

“If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have had a crack at the bastard at all,” I grimace. “All the skill in the world can’t make up for bad, or good timing. Thankfully, his was good. I’m really, really glad I didn’t have to do that investigation alone. It…probably wouldn’t have ended well.”

“Your humility does you credit,” Y’shtola states. “Pray, do not lose sight of it.”

I quickly shake my head. “Definitely,” I say. “Nanashi means ‘No-Name’ after all. At first it was just a placeholder for Eorzean paperwork, but now, I suspect, it will serve very well as a reminder.”

She blinks in surprise. “A strange choice,” she tells me. “But an interesting one. As is the choice you will have to make in the next three days.”

I make a face. “That’ll be fun,” I grouse. “Oh well, at least I’ll be able to see the commanders in real time rather than in someone else’s memory.”

A few more steps in my round reveals that the snarky Miqo’te who respected our half Garlean agent is out and about on a mission. Said halfblood seems a bit worried about him, and I’m glad to see the building friendship. The man with the muddled memory seems to have found another who might be in his position, if it weren’t for the fact that the masked Elezen refuses to say a thing. Weird.

I wish the merchant luck as he packs his wares, and he returns it.

And finally, I find Thancred.

“You’ve put us all to shame with your performance in the field,” he greets me with a smile. “If I am to keep up, I dare say I shall need bigger knives.”

I shake my head. “It’s my job to draw the attention of the big bastards, so the damage dealers can sneak around them and lay in the hurt,” I say. “I do the shouty, you do the stabby, and Y’shtola can scold us both for being idiots when she’s patching us up.”

He snorts at my juvenile summery. “I see you’ve learned our dynamic well,” he grins. “Though you’ve stepped unto the path of conjury yourself, it seems.”

Oh, right, I haven’t changed out of my robes. Hrm, if these are just social visits, I’ve got no reason to put on the heavy armor. “I’ve got some of the basics down,” I say with a shrug. “But it’ll be a bit before I’m authorized to use Raise.”

He frowns slightly. “How long have you been practicing the art?”

I rub the back of my neck with a blush. “Ah…not quite a fortnight?” I admit.

“So quickly?” he asks, eyebrows raising high.

“Well, I honestly don’t know how much of it is me, and how much of it is---” I flail around a little, mentally and physically for the term before spitting out, “Auntie Crystal.”

He blinks at me slowly. “I…beg your pardon?”

Urgh, my face feels like its baking. “I’ve already had two mums, I’m full up there,” I say in my defense. “And my inner writer throws a fit everytime I have to differentiate between Hydaelyn the planet and Hydaelyn the entity. But she called me ‘daughter’ the first time we properly met, so I don’t want to just rebuff the family thing, and you can never have enough aunts, so…” I shrug helplessly. “Auntie Crystal.”

He covers his face for a few moments, and his shoulders lurch a few times. Suddenly I wonder if Lahabrea might be hearing any of this, and I have to swallow my own snerk as a nickname for Zodiark sparks through my mind. Auntie Crystal, and Uncle Rock. Heh.

“I do not know whether to be appalled at the near blasphemy, or amused at the carefree nature of the title,” he says once he’s got his composure back, a hint of laughter still in his voice.

“Well, the way I look at it, if the deity in question is alright with being referred to on a casual basis, then they’re probably not the type to smite you without warning,” I say with a grin. “Being the thin-skinned sort really isn’t healthy, either in relationships or in general.”

Again, he covers his eyes for a few seconds, then clears his throat. “I did have a question, if you’ve the time.”

“Sure, what is it?” I invite.

“I once asked you why you regarded Ifrit as a false god,” he says, and the memory dawns on me. “Is it possible that you could clarify?”

“Mmmm…give me a moment to get my thoughts in order,” I request. “And don’t be surprise if I slip into English either, it’ll be easier to sort it out that way.” At his nod, I sway back and forth a bit, my tail swishing as I try to pin down a good explanation that doesn’t hinge on my metaknowledge.

And then, graciously, one clicks. “So, back in my old life,” I start. “The idea of gods was…how to say it? Aetherial means a different thing today, back then it referred to something…intangible. Not real, not in the physical space we reside in. Gods, especially the god predominantly worshiped in the country I was born in, weren’t seen as physical entities. Sure, there were stories about messengers coming down from on high and people empowered and what not, but never the entity himself showing up. As such, by the time I was born, the idea of gods physically manifesting in the world was, at least culturally, seen as…fake. Gods acted through people, or events, or chance. They didn’t, well. Materialize like Ifrit did.

“And, in the region of Higanshi, Doma, and Koshu, you’ve got the concept of the little gods, which I believed in easily enough as a child,” I continue. “Say you and your family lived in the same house for ten generations. That’s enough time for the place to gain a spirit of its own, its own kami. The legend of the Klabautermann, of ship spirits that arise from well loved and well maintained ships, that’s also an example of a little god. Again, they typically don’t physically manifest outside of the most extreme situations according to the stories, so…” I shrug. “The idea of a god just appearing if you pray to it? It stinks. Of what, precisely, I’m not sure, but it just feels deceptive.”

After a few moments, he nods. “The logic is a touch strange from my perspective, but it is consistent,” he says. “Thank you Tomoyo.”

“Sometimes having an outside perspective can help,” I say with a smile, then admit, “And sometimes it just makes a mess of things. Right things, right places, right times.”

“Few truer things I’ve heard,” he smiles. “Best of luck on your travels.”

“Thanks. See you when I get back, hopefully,” I wave a goodbye as I head out.

When I get to Tataru’s desk, the Lalafell gets my attention and bows her head a little. “I, um…I’m sorry about all the attention you’re getting,” she says. “I may have sung your praises a little too loudly…and often…to too many people.” I’m careful not to show my wince on the outside; this is why I’ve not breathed word of my parents to any of the Scions. Right now, we’ve got shit for OpSec. “Next time, I'll be sure to hold my tongue─literally, if necessary.”

“Please do,” I let my shoulders slump. “All this attention is incredibly strange for me, primal slaying or no.”

“Yes, well, I suppose you want to know when and where the memorial services are being held?” She offers me a slip of paper. “This has the time, date, and location of all the ceremonies. Barring delays, your trip should start in Gridania and end in Limsa Lominsa. Oh, and I heard there will be a special guest attending the memorial in Ul’dah!”

“Special guest, huh?” I take the paper and look it over. “Well, looks like they accounted for people taking flights at least. I should be able to hit all of them up.”

“Teleport is quite the boon, but not everyone can afford, or are able, to cross the continent like you,” Tataru nods. “So allowances have been made for travel times.”

“That’s a relief,” I sigh. “Tight schedules are always stressful.”

“Aren’t they some of the worst?” she commiserates. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time. Have a safe journey!”

“Take care of yourself, Tataru,” I nod to her. “Anyone gives you guff about paper-pushing, ask if they can juggle the finances you do.”

Her surprised and pleased laughter has me grinning as I leave the base. Maybe she’s got a loose pair of lips right now, but I doubt that will last long, and she really isn’t all that bad. Time to schedule some flights.

-x-

The flight to Gridania gives me time to update my journal, which had been languishing since my fight with Ifrit. I describe the salient parts of that quest line, with perhaps a few more insults to Ungust just for good measure, and sketch out the scar that the primal left on my shoulder, which looks something like an irregular six pointed star. Its healed quite cleanly too, not even the sensation of pulling skin when I do my morning stretches, just a shiny patch of silver. I don’t mind the mark, really. That I walked away at all is good. Only the single scar? Either a good sign of my skill, or an indication that Auntie Crystal is carrying me hard right now. No matter what, I’ve every intention of improving.

I also write profiles for all the Scions that I’m familiar with, to reinforce what I should know versus what I do know; tripping myself up with metaknowledge hasn’t happened too badly yet, but my impulse control isn’t fantastic right now. I need to be careful with my words.

It’s later in the day when I get to the forest city, and I reserve an inn room for the night, as the memorial will happen at around noon tomorrow. After a solid dinner and a nice bath, I crawl in to bed and dream of airplanes and my family, both of then and now.

The next morning dawns bright and clear, so I keep to my conjury robes; I thought I’d might need an extra layer for cooler weather, but to my surprise we’re well into the fifth month of the year, which means…holy shit, we’re solidly in spring. It’s been two months?! Sure, months are several days longer than on Earth, but…two months and I’ve killed my first primal. It feels like it’s been longer, but maybe that’s just because I’ve kept myself so busy.

Third Astral Moon. How weird it is to lose track of time like I’m 30 again.

I’m a little early to the memorial, and find a seat at the amphitheater in one of the middle rows. I don’t want to be called out and recognized if I’m in the front, but being seen at the back might be insulting? So the middle should be the safe call. Heh, almost like I’m in class again.

I don’t recognize the Seedseers behind Kan-E-Senna; I’m a little surprised not to see E-Sumi up there, but maybe he’s busy with Guild stuff. I ponder what little I learned of them in my time with the conjurers, which basically boiled down to the fact that they’re at least about as long lived as Viera, though apparently Kan-E-Senna is actually amongst the youngest of the lot at 28, which surprised me at the time. I had honestly thought she was the oldest of them, given her title as Elder, but apparently she’s so in tune with the elementals and the woods themselves that they felt her worthy of the title.

Then, part way through Kan-E-Senna’s speech, a quiet voice speaks up next to me. “Do you see the Gridanian standard? There, hanging behind the Elder Seedseer.”

I damn near jump out of my scales with a muttered, “Jesus,” and look over to see---what the shit, Alphinaud and Alisaie?! What are they doing here?

“The entwined serpents represent the unity between Hyur and Elezen. An elegant symbol, do you not agree?” the male twin says quietly.

The Seedseer continues to speak, so I turn my attention mostly back to her, though I’ve got a horn tilted slightly to the twins. I’m also trying to get my heartrate to calm down, because Christ and Crystal that startled the hell out of me.

During a short lull, the boy introduces himself. “If you’ll permit me, Alphinaud.” He pauses, but Alisaie doesn’t look to be in a cooperative mood. “…And my sister, Alisaie.”

“Tomoyo,” I nod to him, and then we both fall silent as E-Senna continues.

“On this day, five years ago, countless Eorzeans laid down their lives that we might behold another dawn. Please join with me in honoring their memory.”

The girl next to her brother snorts. “And how do you propose to honor the memory of those you cannot remember, pray tell?”

“Perhaps something like a shrine to the unknown gods?” I murmur, and see curious glances directed my way.

“It’s an old practice,” I keep my voice down for the sake of others. “And done in Higanshi, I think. If you’re not sure you’ve honored all the gods properly, then build a shrine dedicated to the gods you don’t know about and leave offerings.”

Alisaie’s lip curls unpleasantly, and I nod a little. “Feels a bit dishonest, but some folks believe in covering their bases.”

Once the speech wraps up and people start to filter off, I stand up and turn my attention fully to the twins. “You two…you were on the boat to Limsa,” I say, and while Alphinaud nods, Alisaie gives me a surprised look. “Back…oh, early Second Astral Moon?”

“I saw at a glance that you were a fellow traveler,” the brother states confidently, and memory tumbles a bit. Don’t these two have something of a chip on their shoulder? Shit, right, Louisoix was their grandfather. “You might call us students of history, sampling the realm's remembrances in pursuit of...enlightenment.

“The Gridanians are unfortunate enough to have to contend with two beast tribes,” Alphinaud continues, lecturing really, but I don’t remember much of the local beast folk. Even if his tone grinds my gears a little, it’s still valuable information he’s handing out. “The Ixal are unquestionably the more troublesome, being of a naturally warlike disposition, and want to summon their bloodthirsty primal, Garuda. The sylphs, by contrast, are peaceful in nature, being mischievous rather than malevolent, and have long been on friendly terms with the Gridanians─until recently, at least. Alas, they have grown aloof, a change observed at roughly the time they summoned the primal Ramuh.

“The Gridanians have no love for war, and they consider open conflict a last resort. Though they clash with the Ixal ever more regularly, you may be assured that they do so in self-defense. As for the sylphs...they are as yet bound by a peace treaty, though one wonders how long it will be before it is broken.” Gee, hopeful, isn’t he?

“The Twelveswood was grievously wounded during the Calamity, leaving Gridania vulnerable to attack. The people are hopeful that restoring the wood─and thereby the power of the elementals─will put an end to their woes. Yet how long will that take? Centuries, I'd wager. Meanwhile, the Ixal will continue their incursions, spurred on by Garuda and her insatiable appetite for destruction.

“Whether the Gridanians like it or not, sooner or later it will come to all-out war. And when it does, the Order of the Twin Adder will need all the help it can muster.

He looks at me thoughtfully. “...How valuable might the aid of a capable adventurer prove to them then? Well, perhaps we will find out─if the Elder Seedseer's words fell on fertile ground...” And with that, the twins depart, hardly leaving any room for words on my end.

That kid really likes the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he? But I remember how strong and kind the two of them become in Shadowbringer, the collective children of the fandom, along with Ryne. There’s true, real potential in them. But right now, they’re hurting, and being, what 16 to 18 years old? Yeah, that doesn’t make for consistent and logical decision making. I wonder what their parents thought, when the two decided to leave for the mainland.

Though now I’m wondering if the two are dressed the same intentionally to confuse people, or had that done to them by said parents. If it’s the first, well, all the more power to them. If it’s the second, then I’m going to smack someone with a rolled up newspaper. It’s not cute to suppress the individual development of siblings, especially twins. Some people…

With still half the day left, I book the next airship trip and get to Ul’dah, recording the meeting with the twins in my journal. I’ll need to buy a third one soon, this is filling up. I wonder…no, storing them outside of my person’s a bad idea right now. Not until Lahabrea gets punted out of Thancred, at the very least. I’ll just have to budge some room over in my bag.

I’m glad that I decided to stick with robes when we make landfall in Ul’dah. Being well into spring means it’s just getting hotter in the desert city; I can’t believe I’ve been so focused on my tasks that I’ve barely noticed the changing of the seasons.

Still, it’s nice not to be in a rush. After reserving a room at the inn and eating a sort of stir fry with plenty of veggies, I wander around the city until I find what’s essentially a public library, partially funded by the Sultana apparently. Browsing the fiction section is good fun; they even have sci-fi! Though they call it ‘speculative’ fiction because magic is just another part of science in this world, and reading the summaries, you get a lot more of what Earth would call urban fantasy than not. Still, there are a few stories of what worlds without aether and magic might look like, so trying to write about Earth wouldn’t be that unusual.

I spend until closing just reading in the library, find a nice corner to settle down and lose myself in a book about an adventurous pirate crew sailing in space, getting in fights, and finding wonderous and strange worlds to explore. It’s a pleasure I hadn’t had the chance to try much this life, what with our lack of resources when I was young and then my own focus on practicality. I mourn what the child in me had missed out on, but I promise to myself that not only will I try to at least read some fiction along with practical history and texts, but to live long enough to write of Earth and tell some of its tales after the worst comes and goes. Who knows, maybe I’ll have a book or two on these shelves, decades down the line. That’d be a good thing to be known for.

-x-

Being in the Husting’s Strip is still weird for me, being far too rich for my twice over common blood, but I do my best not to show my discomfort as I settle in with adventurers, nobles, and other commoners like myself as General Raubahn starts his speech. This time, I spot a pair of white haired kids in the corner of my eye, so I don’t jump out of my boots when Alphinaud sidles up next to me.

“There, at the Flame General's back flies the Grand Company's standard,” he whispers. “Note the sigil. The golden scales of order balance the jewel of prosperity with the flame of might.”

“Fitting for a people of a dual god,” I whisper back.

“Great and many are the gifts our nation has given the realm,” Raubahn continues to speak. “In Eorzea's darkest hour, on the killing fields of Carteneau, none spent more in blood and gold than we. Thus was the VIIth Imperial Legion laid low!”

“So that’s how it happened? How soon history forgets,” Alphinaud mutters, and I nod.

While I don’t think Raubahn is a bad man himself, I’m not moved by speeches of riches and glory. Ul’dah has a few too many similarities to America during its hyper-capitalist years in the early to mid twenty first century, and quite frankly, I broke myself trying to survive in that environment. No thanks.

Then the massive Hyur looks down and directs a “Your Grace” to someone I can’t see, before he kneels down for a moment. When he straightens, he has his arm raised to shoulder height, and a Lalafell woman sits on his arm, the two of them somehow making what would be a silly position both dignified and heartwarming.

“People of Ul'dah! I, Nanamo, seventeenth of the line of Ul, address you,” the woman opens with. So this is the Sultana? I wonder why she wears so many pink gemstones. A variety of rose quartz, or something closer to lapis lazuli?

“Much has been made of the wealth of Ul'dah,” she states gravely. “Yet those who measure that wealth in coins and carats are gravely deceived. For the true wealth of Ul'dah lies in the health, happiness, and hopes of her people.

“Beloved subjects, I bid you raise aloft the torch of Ul'dah, that her Flames might serve as a beacon for all Eorzea to see!”

Hm. Good words. Pretty words. I wonder how sincere she is? I can feel memories flitting about, but reaching for them just scatters them like a school of fish. I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see, for now.

As the crowd scatters once Raubahn gives his closing words, Alphinaud greets me with a slightly cool smile. “Fancy meeting you again.”

“Don’t suppose you and your sister intend to reach the memorial in Limsa?” I ask him, making the lad blink for a moment.

“Yes,” he confirms, and I smirk a little.

“I’ll get you and your sister a seat on the next flight there with me,” I offer. “My treat.” If only so that the kid will stop ambushing me.

“That will not be necessary,” he turns me down, and I shrug. “But thank you for the offer.” He turns and looks back at the banner of the Flames. “The Ul'dahn have a long history of conflict with the Amalj'aa, the beast tribe that worships the primal Ifrit.”

I make a rude noise in the back of my throat. “We’ve met.”

He gives a mirthless chuckle. “I am not surprised. The Ul'dahn do not shy from confrontation. If aught threatens their precious prosperity, they will seek to crush it. So have they dealt with Ifrit thus far, smothering his flames each time he is stoked to life.

“Yet he is but one of several problems. Though they have been quiet these past five years, the Garleans have not gone away. Meanwhile, refugees continue to arrive in droves, and Ul'dah has no clear policy on how to deal with them.”

“Which just leaves those displaced civilians vulnerable to those who would prey upon them,” I say, unable to keep all the darkness out of my voice. “I’ve seen that too. I don’t think Ul’dah is a bad place by itself. It has plenty to offer in terms of the Hand and Land guilds, I respect that. But the mono focus on wealth…” I shake my head. “I’ll help if I’m needed against the like of primals or Garleans. But this will not be my home.”

“So swift a decision?” he asks, though there’s no judgement I can hear in his voice.

I shrug. “I’ve the least connections here, outside of a group that lives in one of the settlements. Well, another settlement’s alright too,” I add, because Drybone Camp, while poor, bears a hardy people that I can respect. “But Ul’dah isn’t home.”

“I see.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “Until we meet again then.” And the twins are gone. At least I got a word or two in edgewise this time.

Right. Time to arrange my last trip for the day. It’ll be good to see home for a bit.

-x-

The smell of the sea is a comforting one, even if I could still do without the smell of dead fish. Oh well. The flight was a little delayed thanks to a storm front that passed through, but the wind aether that’s used to keep the ships up, alongside the magitek engines, manages to cut through the edges with only some turbulence. I wasn’t one of the ones who needed a sick bucket, but I wasn’t too far from that point honestly. Urgh, I did not miss this part about flights.

When we touch down, I’m with several wobbly legged folk who are quick to duck under the awning and get down to the second level of the city and away from the wind and rain. It’s not a full typhoon, thankfully, but weather like this is exactly why I have a storm cloak.

I wave to Baderon as I get to the Drowning Wench. “Got a room open?” I ask.

“Always do fer ye,” he nods with a grin. “Oh, yer Ma popped in yester’morn. ‘Parently ye said hi t’yer Pa and not her, and she seemed a might bit put out.”

I wince. “I was on a bit of a time crunch,” I weakly defend myself. “’Suppose I should poke my head into the Weaver’s Guild to see if she’s still in the city. Oh, what time is the memorial service again tomorrow?”

“Ten bells, and not a jot later,” he tells me. “Ye’ll have yer room when ye get here.”

“Thanks Baderon, I’ll be back!” I call out, throwing on my cloak and trotting off to the nearest aetheryte so I can get to the Guild in good time.

The Weaver’s Guild building here in Limsa’s a fair amount smaller compared to the one in the desert, mostly because a number of the members are scattered all over the island. Making rope, sail cloth, clothing, blankets, and dozens of other things that are required for a functional thalassocracy, most of the members don’t dwell within the headquarters located in the city, unless they’re making a delivery or picking up material or an order.

That’s why Ma can usually work from home, unless she needs particularly specialized tools or materials for a commission. So it’s a lot more chancy if I’ll find her at the Guild rather than the village. It also doesn’t help that I just don’t know Miss Webbklyng near as well as Brithael.

Luck isn’t with me. I poke my head into the guild building to see if Ma was in, but she apparently left early in the morning to beat out the storm. Understandable, but still a bit disappointing. Oh well, nothing for it but leaving a letter of apology for missing her. I hope she liked the brownies, and that Da left some for her.

The storm lasts for the rest of the day, but it’s a familiar sound to fall asleep to, so I wake up the next morning well rested. I change back into my heavy armor for the day, as it’s a bit more water proof what with the light drizzle we’re still getting, and get to the elevator just a few minutes before the memorial is scheduled to start.

Again, I plant myself in the middle of the crowd, being one of several Raen and some few Xaela in the gathering, so I don’t stand out quite as much as I had in Gridania and Ul’dah. The Admiral soon comes forward and starts her speech; the reminder that the city has passed its seven hundredth anniversary some time ago is a good one, to help instill some national pride in the new union Merlwyb has founded.

I don’t jump when Alphinaud sneaks up on me again, reckoning the rule of three would work with me here. Sure enough, I hear his voice as he murmurs, “Did you look, as the Admiral bid you? It is a rather stirring standard, I must say. The crimson field is meant to signify the blood of fallen crewmates, while the black longship represents a pirate vessel.”

“I grew up here,” I say quietly. “So it’s a familiar sight.”

Like the other commanders, Merlwyb speaks of Carteneau and the losses there, and like the others, she states that no other country shed more blood. I can’t blame Alphinaud’s cynicism here; suffering is not a competition, and all sides of that conflict lost that day.

Even the Ascians, I suddenly remember. I still don’t know what Louisoix did, but he did something that blunted much of the damage Bahamut wrought across the continent. There’s a certainty in my heart that they sought much worse casualties…so yes. All sides lost at Carteneau.

“Freedom... Yes, they have always been rather fond of their freedom,” the young man says skeptically. “Much as the beast tribes have. Small wonder─beneath the surface, one would struggle to tell them apart.”

“I won’t pretend that Limsa hasn’t broken treaties and agreements,” I say quietly. “In that, we’re in the wrong. Which is why I support Minfilia’s long term view of building bridges with the beast folk. What better place to start with than here, in Eorzea’s youngest formal polity?”

Of course, the Admiral puts a bit of a crimp in my words as she lambasts the Sahagin and the kobolds, though she doesn’t hesitate to do the same against the Garleans. Still, there’s no doubting the woman’s a naturally charismatic speaker; she’s got the whole crowd applauding her in short order when she wraps it up.

“And so we meet again,” Alphinaud says, his sister remaining sullenly quiet.

“And so we do,” I give the two of them a nod.

“You had stated that Limsa had broken agreements earlier,” he plucks at the thread I dropped earlier. “Am I to be correct to assume you are familiar with the region?”

“I was about eight years old when my family fled the Garleans that were pushing into Othard and the nearby areas,” I say. “Most of us were smuggled out by Limsan pirates turned privateers against the Empire. This archipelago likely holds the highest concentration of Au Ra in Eorzea, and we are all aware of the debt we owe the Admiral for taking us in. Especially after what happened in the north,” I add with a grimace.

“Ah, yes.” Credit to the kid, for all he’s stuffy right now, he looks about as happy as I do regarding the massacre of the Xaela committed by Ishgard. “The Holy See has ever been suspicious of outsiders. Sad to say, Au Ra such as yourself are often regarded as stranger than most.

“But to return to the matter at hand. It seems as if you’ve come to a decision regarding the Grand Companies,” he states.

I nod. “The Admiral isn’t perfect. I’m aware of the problems that we at least partially started with the Sahagin and the kobolds. But the cycle of hatred and bloodshed is a little newer here than it is in Gridania and Ul’dah, what with their histories going back millenia, in one form or another. And despite those flaws, the Admiral is the kind of leader you might find once every few centuries, who leads and holds power not for the sake of it, but because she genuinely is the best choice. Once she finds a successor who won’t scupper all of her hard work, I’m certain she’ll be more than happy to hand the helm over to them when the time comes.”

“A capable adventurer such as yourself would be a valuable addition to their crew, of that I have no doubt,” Alphinaud says. “Though I expect the Maelstrom standard will be dyed a darker crimson before ‘ere long.”

I sigh. “That’s just the times we live in,” I say tiredly. “Were that peace and dialogue more viable options. Until that time, when violence is raised against those I care for, I will raise my axe in return. Oh,” I speak up a little when it looks like the twins are ready to leave. “Good luck to you two, in whichever path you choose.”

It’s not the worst note to leave things off at, I think as I head back to my inn room, though my train of thought is disrupted a bit when my linkpearl chimes gently. A little fiddling as I duck under an awning in the road to get out of the rain sees me figuring out how to answer the thing.

“Hullo?”

“Tomoyo,” I hear Minfilia’s voice. “This is Minfilia. You are well, I hope? Would I be correct in thinking that the final remembrance service has now concluded?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” I answer.

“Wonderful! I trust you remember our guests from the Grand Companies? Well, delighted though we are to have them here at the Waking Sands, it would not do to keep them in suspense any longer than necessary. In short: hurry back!” She doesn’t sound overly stressed, but those folks were a bit over the top in complimenting her…she might be getting tired by that.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” I say. “It’ll take a while to fly and ride there though. I should be able to get there today, but it’ll be late.”

“There should be a ferry in Limsa that will take you to Vesper Bay,” Minfilia reminds me, and I lightly facepalm.

“I completely forgot about that,” I admit to her chuckling. “In that instance, I’ll see you in a while,” I respond, then close down the link. I could, technically teleport to Horizon, but with only about three thousand gil immediately on hand, I’d rather save that for food, water, and other necessities. Sailing will take a while, but if it’s just one hundred and change gil transport versus airship and another two hours on chocobo back…well, no contest.

Good thing I don’t get sea sick these days.

It’s not a fancy ship that regularly ferries passengers to Vesper Bay, but I’ve got space to duck below deck for some writing and hard thinking, as something had occurred to me while I was looking for the Weaver’s Guild.

When I entered Limsa in the first half of the Second Astral Moon, it was as if I’d been in the city for the first time. But that’s patently untrue, as I now recall coming with my parents to the city at least a couple dozen times, though I never had the chance to wander too far from the Guilds, especially when I was younger. The sudden deluge of otherworldly memory seems to have, at least temporarily, buried those memories until they became relevant.

Not being able to remember all of Tanya’s life until the memory sorts itself out? Weird, but expected. Not being able to remember all of my life until I need it? That’s a lot more uncomfortable to realize.

Then again, the brain is very much a flawed computer when it comes to data storage. Memories degrade, get warped, or just gets outright deleted if it never gets shifted to long term memory storage. Suddenly I’m very glad I started writing my journal, and feel frustrated that I can’t feel safe enough to try and write my metaknowledge and full life as Tanya; it feels far, far too dangerous to try, especially this early in things.

Having cause to be paranoid sucks. I’ll need to go over my journal again to see if I need to blot anything out for meta. And maybe try to be a little more detailed about day to day stuff, if only to make sure I don’t forget anything.

Despite the rattling realization, I do manage to doze on the ship for a few hours before we hit the docks. The town bell rings once further into the Bay; looks like I made good time taking the boat.

I give a passing wave to Tataru and make my way to Minfilia’s office. I give a bow to both the Adders and Flames representatives and say, “Though I am deeply honored by the extended invitations by the Elder Seedseer and the Flame General, I have made my decision, and will sign with the Maelstrom and the lady Admiral.” I straighten and look at both officers. “Many Au Ra such as I owe her a debt when she sheltered us after the Garleans came for our lands and people, and this is a debt that I, personally, cannot ignore. I will still do all that I can as a member of the Scions to aid Gridania and Ul’dah. Please pass that on to your superiors.” 

The disappointment is impossible to miss, but both men assure me that a position is open for me if I ever change my mind. The Maelstrom representative is quite happy for the development, and gives me the directions of how and where to sign on with the military arm of Limsa Lominsa.

Thankfully, I’m allowed the rest of the day off; that much traveling over the past four days or so is a lot, and a little downtime is appreciated. When the Maelstrom officer files out, I turn to my boss and ask, “Anything else, past the sign up tomorrow?”

“I have erred in failing to tell you that you will have a weekly stipend as a member of the Scions,” Minfilia looks a bit ashamed. “Please visit Tataru to ensure that your pay is given to you. It makes for a poor organization that does not pay its champion an appropriate sum for their work.”

I blink. “Huh. Thought it’d be a job by job basis,” I admit, then shrug. “I’m not too upset; we all make mistakes, though I won’t turn down the money; teleport gets expensive after a little while, even with the discounted stops. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Your graciousness is appreciated,” she bows her head a little.

“You found the wrong, admitted to the wrong, and addressed the wrong,” I shrug again. “There’s a lot of adults who wouldn’t do that, so that fixes it all in my eyes.” And it’s the truth too; the extra pay isn’t something I’ll turn down, as I hadn’t taken up too many jobs while training my conjury work, but I don’t want to clean the Scions out when they’ve got a dozen other irons in the fire at the same time.

A quick drop by Tataru sees five thousand gil put in my purse; that’s no small amount of backpay, and it means teleport’s open for use again as long as I keep doing a few side jobs a week. I thank her, she thanks and apologizes to me for missing this bit of accounting, and it’s just one of those weird polite back and forth things before an agent returns to the Sands, sees us flustering, and flatly breaks it up.

So that’s how that day ends, and I’m just grateful to crash into my bed after a quick dinner of soup and dried fruit. Time for military bits tomorrow.

-x-

Rising early the next day, I kit out in my Marauder armor, settle my axe across my back and my tomahawks at my belt, and have a quick but solid breakfast of eggs, hard bread, and goat meat; it’s more likely than not that today will be a long run, though perhaps the Maelstrom won’t put me through too many paces given my actions at Swiftperch and my credit for killing a primal on my own.

I use my free daily teleport to Limsa, and report in to the office of the Maelstrom at the Aftcastle at seven bells.

The paperwork is expected, and thanks to my increased reading skills, easily parsed through, though I have to take my time to make sure I keep my written Common consistent; I’ve the bad habit of switching certain symbols around to match their English counterparts, and that’s no good for government paperwork.

About half way through the documentation though, a scout comes rushing in; an airship, civilian, got shot down somewhere around Cedarwood. By imperial anti-air munitions.

I hiss between my teeth, and have no issues getting volunteered by the officer to poke around for Garleans and getting any civvies out. I’m not too terribly enthused by the ideas of fighting conscripts, as they’re usually not in the war of their own volition, but there’s nothing I can do about that. They’re in La Noscea, and those loyal to the likes of Solus zos Galvus are not welcome.

All this bloodshed for a fucking Ascian plot. It makes me seethe, so I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve got fair targets right now.

Teleport continues to be a boon. The squad of Maelstrom soldiers lead the way as we rush through the area, following the faint trail of smoke drifting up to find the crash site. Sure enough, it’s surrounded by Garlean foot soldiers, who don’t seem to be pleased to be discovered outside of their base.

It’s a short but ugly fight. The spearmen and the sword/board users have some kind of light armor that’s much tougher than it looks, so I don’t so much cut limbs cleanly off rather than mangle them in their sleeves, breaking bones and shattering joints where applicable. If I find clean strikes for the throat, I go for it; I don’t want them here, but that’s no excuse for cruelty. Kill them clean and quick when you can, for yourself, your people, and for them as well.

Once the soldiers are dead, the officer calls out to the ship to check if anyone’s alive. Then two familiar forms show their faces, and I have to shut down the grin that wants to spread across my lips. Holy shit, it’s Biggs and Wedge! I don’t know which is which, but I did remember that they were my second favorite iteration of the duo, right next to Biggs and Wedge of FF7 Remake!

A quick round of introductions informs me that the Lalafell man is Wedge; a nervous, twitchy sort of person, but he did just get out of a life or death situation, so that’s entirely understandable. Biggs is the towering Roegadyn, who seems to be calmer and more steadfast, at least now that it seems they won’t get taken by the Garleans to be imprisoned or worse due to their work with Garlond Ironworks.

Garlond, Garlond…right! Cid! So they’re his students then? To hear that he’s been missing since the Calamity isn’t good, though I’m certain he’s survived. Maybe the Scions know something? I’ll have to ask later.

For a first mission, all’s well that ends well. The poor bastards that tried to go after the Tiny Bronco (oh I do love that name!) are going to get buried in an unmarked grave; no one wants the jackals swarming the area, or worse, coeurls. The engineers swear they can get the ship flying again shortly, so we head back to Limsa to get a report in.

The officer’s pleased with the results, as no one wants to lose the Ironworks and what they can do; memory tickles that the company and their people is important somehow, but details escape me again. With that, I get inducted at the lowest level, but I’m fine with the rank. Guts and glory can go to those who want the attention. I just like the option of having back up while puttering around the island.

I finish the binding oath with the traditional ‘’till sea swallows all!’ No need to mess with a good thing when it’s there, yeah?

Hardly a minute after I’m done, Minfilia calls. I consider for half a second answering with ‘moshi-moshi’, but that’s just a Japanese specific greeting that I doubt it’d translate too well even with the Echo, so I refrain.

“Hullo,” I open the link.

“Good day, Tomoyo.” Yup, it’s my boss. “I’ve just received word from an officer of the Maelstrom that you have finished your first mission. My congratulations, Private Nanashi.”

I blink. “That was hardly a minute ago,” I say in surprise. “If that. Word travels awful fast.”

“You are the focus of a certain amount of attention,” she points out, chuckling at the ‘urgh’ this gets from me. “Though you are now a member of a Grand Company, there are matters requiring your attention with the Scions. Pray return to the Waking Sands at your earliest convenience. There are some friends here whom I am eager for you to meet!”

“Friends, huh? Alright,” I roll my neck. “Should be by in an hour by chocobo.” With this, plus Maelstrom pay---wait! “Ah, make that an hour and a half? There’s something I need to check, but I will get there soon.”

“I will see you then,” she says warmly before closing the link.

Earlier, I’d wanted a chocobo for ease of travel; if I do a few jobs for the Maelstrom, then I’ll be able to earn my own bird, and they’ll take care of feed and maintenance, though I’m strongly advised to help care for the animal so as to forge a strong bond with it. So I can’t get one today, but doing that within the week should well be feasible!

I’ve even got a couple of names picked out. Bocco for a boy, after Final Fantasy 5, and Claire for a girl, after Final Fantasy 13. People can trash on that game all they like, and there are a number of negative points that I agree with, but I’ve always been fond of the characters and some of the world building, so paying a little homage to it makes me happy.

Though, honestly, screw the ending of 13-2. I hate it when writers kill off their main characters! Looking at you too, 15! Couldn’t even get the golden ending in game form, just a stinking book that never got published in the States…

Grumbling about shoddy writing is what accompanies me through my trip from Horizon to Vesper Bay, but I try to shake off the grumpy mood when I hit the entrance of the base. No need to take out any temper on the others after all, they’re not developers or writers.

I get to the solar and knock on the opened door as a matter of courtesy.

“Come in,” Minfilia bids with a smile. “You’re quite early.”

“Realized I could get a chocobo through the Company, then realized I need to build some credit first before I can actually get the bird,” I answer the unspoken question. “So I’ll probably do some work around La Noscea through the next week if you don’t have a job for me.”

“It is a wise and valuable investment,” she agrees. “Chocobos can be very loyal companions, even battle alongside you given training and time. But, for the nonce, I would speak of your recent heroics.”

“Eh?” I blink.

She smiles widely. “The recruitment officer for the Maelstrom called to regale me with the tale of your actions. The pride in his voice was palpable! When last we spoke, I said that I wanted you to meet some friends, did I not? Well, I neglected to mention that you have already met.” She looks behind me and says, “Tataru, please bring them in.”

I turn around as the Lalafell woman invites a familiar pair of me through the double doors. Oh, Biggs and Wedge again! Well that’s convenient.

“’Suppose that’s one way you learned about my shenanigans so quickly,” I say with a small grin as I turn back to the Antecedent.

She chuckles, and the engineers speak up.

“I don’t think we’ve properly introduced ourselves,” the Roegadyn says, a faint Limsan brogue in his voice. “I’m Biggs.”

“A-and I’m---I’m,” poor Wedge’s nerves seem to be acting up.

“For gods’ sake, spit it out, man!” Biggs ‘encourages.’

“W-Wedge, at your service!” he completes with a bow.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” I say with a short Eastern bow. “Tomoyo Nanashi. Glad I could help.”

“I am pleased to say that Biggs and Wedge will be staying with us for some time,” Minfilia announces as she comes around her desk. “Magitek driven machines such as airships are becoming more and more vital to the city-states of Eorzea. As a neutral party, it was judged that the Scions were to be the keepers of this technology.”

“And having a bunch of Sharlayan scholars who have the know how of at least the underlaying principals of engineering no doubt helped,” I observe, and she nods.

“As well educated as our Archons are, we were in need of true experts. Thus, Garlond Ironworks were kind enough to send two of their very best.” Her statement makes the two shuffle at the flattery.

She turns to them, and continues, “And so our happy family continues to grow. On behalf of the Scions, I bid you welcome to the Waking Sands!”

With that, there’s a small celebration to make the engineers feel comfortable. I help with the cooking, and only botch one set of skewers by letting them stay on the makeshift grill too long when I chatter with the folks who come for the food. I try to stay away from anything alcoholic; I have a little tolerance given the more lax attitude towards wine and ale in Limsa, but now that I’m aware of how valuable my brain cells are…I can revisit that stuff when everything’s finished settling. Until then, no thanks.

Wedge comes by for second and third helpings, and I’m more than happy to load up his plate; it’s a good atmosphere that fills the base, and it’s a warm feeling that follows me when the hour grows late and it becomes time to turn in. I add a few notes to my journal, then crawl into bed.

I don’t know how long these kinder days will last, but I’ll treasure them as much as I can.

Chapter Text

The next day starts out pretty calmly; I get up at 9 bells, do my daily stretches and warm ups, then help out around the base, mostly with food and moving stock about now that the merchant who’d been making business around here’s moved on. Brendt, I think his name was. Looked a hell of a lot like the man I met on the boat to Limsa, but again, the doppelganger effect’s a real thing, so it could be coincidence.

Near noon, I’m called into Minfilia’s office for a new job. Not a lot of down time, but life moves on like that, and I did spend my ‘vacation’ studying and training, so it’s partially on me if I find myself too busy. Just need to watch my stress levels and make sure I don’t burn out. I’ve had enough of that my last life time, I’ve no interest in doing repeats.

I feel almost under dressed wearing casual tunic and trousers, with only my travel boots unchanged from running around yesterday when I enter the office and find that it’s a full meeting.

“Tomoyo,” Minfilia greets with a smile. “I see you have been keeping yourself occupied during your time here.”

I shrug. “Well, just because I don’t have any training in logistics or acquisition doesn’t mean I don’t know the importance of it. I’ve got the strength to haul around two men, might as well put it to use, right?”

“Every hand counts,” she agrees. “Though now that you are here, I would ask if you are prepared for a task that would see you in the Shroud.”

“Don’t see why I wouldn’t be,” I say. “Just need a few minutes to get changed and cleaned up, and the details of the job.”

Minfilia nods. “Urianger. Have the documents from the Students of Baldesion arrived?”

Baldesion…where have I---right, G’raha Tia! I think they’re a bit like the Circle of Knowing? Can’t remember if they’re based out in Old Sharlayan or if they’re on the continent…

“Aye, my lady. Shortly after dawn have they arrived,” he says, passing the sheaf of papers to her.

She scans a particular page, then says to me, “We have conducted a study at the behest of the Order of the Twin Adders. Yda, Papalymo, a synopsis, if you would.”

“Our task was to survey the behavior of the sylphs, a beast tribe indigenous to the Twelveswood,” the Lalafell mage starts.

“Oh, how to describe them,” Yda tilts her head to one side. “They look like...gysahl greens? Floating ones! That worship the primal Ramuh.”

“So…plant people?” I ask for clarification.

“Mm-hm!” the martial artist nods.

Papalymo clears his throat, perhaps a bit annoyed at getting interrupted. “Though technically a ‘beast tribe,’ sylphs are blessed with a relatively personable demeanor, making peaceful dialogue a viable option.”

“Offering us an invaluable opportunity to learn what the beast tribes know of the primals,” Minfilia adds, and I nod, seeing her point.

“While Ramuh's existence is well documented, the sylphs do not─or perhaps, can not─summon the primal any longer, insofar as can be ascertained,” Papalymo continues. “Until such time as we know for certain, it would be unwise to assume that the threat posed by the primal has passed.”

“Quick question, Ramuh’s…what’s his element?” I already know he’s lightning based, but I want to cover my bases. I think he’s the least aggressive of the base six? But I’m not entirely certain of that, I do know he’s a raid boss at one point…

“Lightning,” the mage confirms. “Though should he be summoned, his temperament, as previously recorded, indicates he will be less aggressive than the more current threat, Garuda.”

“But because we don’t know if Ramuh’s been summoned, Gridania’s left wondering what they should be worried about, or if they should be worrying at all,” Yda adds.

“In short, it is essential that we approach the sylphs in as diplomatic a manner as possible,” Minfilia summarizes. “Words and actions can be misconstrued. The only sure way to communicate our intentions is the Echo. Winning the sylphs' favor may well bring us a step closer to mitigating the threat of the primals. Will you help us?”

I rub the back of my neck as a thought occurs to me. “The biggest problem I’m seeing from my end of things is my complete lack of training for any kind of diplomacy,” I say. “Add to my bad habit of falling back into a particular blunt manner of speech…”

“It may be that the Echo reflects your frankness in response to your expectations,” Thancred says thoughtfully. “If you frame your words in a more tactful manner while still using your previous language, it may be that fewer will notice the change.”

I hiss between my teeth. “Nothing for it but practice,” I say grimly. “Because that manner of speech didn’t come naturally back then. I just hope I don’t trigger a live fire situation. I’ll do my best,” I tell Minfilia. “But it might not be a bad idea to draw up a back up plan. Just in case.”

“I am grateful,” she inclines her head. “And I have faith that your good heart and nature will reflect truly through the Echo. That, if naught else, will be a good first step.”

“Lovely!” Thancred smiles. “Well, much as I'd like to help, I'm afraid I would be of little use to anyone in Gridania. A veritable babe in the woods.”

“No one’s perfect,” I say with a grin and a shrug. “Though I’ve got a bit more survival training for jungles. We’ll see how well that translates.”

“Yda and Papalymo, however, should be able to see the forest for the trees. Is that not so, Minfilia?” He turns to our boss.

“Would you be willing?” she directs to the two Scions.

“Leave it to me!” Yda cheers.

“Us, Yda, us,” Papalymo scolds.

On that somewhat humorous note, the meeting breaks up; I go to my room to pack my meager belongings and change into my heavy armor. Conjury work might be more approachable with the sylphs, but even the off chance of running into a primal has be wanting the extra protection.

On the other hand, all this metal…hm. And rubber, while present in the economy, is far from cheap. What other insulants against electricity are there? Wouldn’t want to wind up like Cross from This Bites, after all. Scars from where one’s skin melted from the heat of electrified metal armor does not appeal.

Oh, but we’ve got a pair of engineers I can talk to about that! Perfect!

I swing by their spot in the storage room. “Hullo Biggs, Wedge. I’ve got a quick physics question.”

I can’t see either of their eyes thanks to their work goggles, but they exchange a look with each other before Biggs opens with, “Well, if we can help. What do you need?”

“There’s a remote possibility I might find myself tussling with a primal of a lightning nature,” I say. “I usually wear heavy armor for combat, but I realize that all the metal’s not a good idea for running against that kind of element.”

“No, not usually, especially if it hasn’t been through treatments to render it aetherically neutral,” Biggs winces. “And that kind of armor tends to be expensive here in Eorzea. The Garleans answer that with their carbon weave armor, of course, but we’ve not the equipment to make that sort of material here.”

I blink rapidly. “Carbon nanofibers?!” I exclaim before I can stop myself.

“You know of it?” Wedge jumps up from the box he’d been sitting on.

“Er, sort of? You two were in on the meeting, so you know I’ve got the Echo, right?” The two men nod. “So, with it comes memory of a past life for me, and since it was well before Dalamud was ever raised, and before the Allag Empire was anything but just another country---well, suffice it to say while our physical sciences were pretty good, our aetherical studies lagged behind quite badly. So I know of stuff like carbon nanofibers, I don’t necessarily know how they’re made or everything they can do. It was still a fairly new development before I died, the tech only being a couple decades old at best.”

“Well, a shame you don’t know how they’re made,” Biggs admits. “But that makes it a bit easier to explain. The Garlean armor isn’t purely carbon-fiber. If it were, it’d conduct electricity a lot better, though it’d insulate better from heat as well. But since it’s not something you’ll be able to get your hands on easily, it’d be better to either look for armor especially treated against lightning aether, or go for leather or cloth armor, as they wouldn’t conduct as much, and would release any resulting heat quicker as well.”

“Hm. Looks like I might be getting live fire practice as a conjurer, at least for a bit,” I say thoughtfully. “Thanks for the advice, I appreciate it.”

“Best of luck, Tomoyo,” Biggs nods to me.

“I-if you need anything built, you know where to find us!” Wedge adds, and I smile and bow to them both before doing my rounds.

Urianger is digging for information on Ramuh, though he doesn’t have much beyond the fact that the entity is likely responsible for the prevalent stories and myths of ‘the old man of the woods’ due to his appearance of a sage and frequenting the parts of the forest where the sylphs live; he also confirms the memory that stated he’s one of the least aggressive primals when I ask about potential temperaments, so that’s a bonus.

A’aban Tia and Arenvald, the Miqo’te/Garlean halfblood duo have just gotten back from a job with the Flames, sabotaging the Amalj’aa’s supply of crystals to prevent any further summonings of Ifrit. Though Arvenald’s statement regarding the casualties the Flames took…well, he’s emotionally invested in the Scions now, as cold as it is to think. A former brigand, now worrying about how many military men and women died? That’s development, if nothing else.

I also meet a new member, Haribhert. He’s not interested in going over his backstory, which is entirely fair. I just welcome him to the group and hope he’ll find what he needs while working here.

Then I see someone I’d almost missed because he happened to look just like the merchant who only left a couple of days ago; it’s the merchant from the boat on Limsa, when I first woke up with my new/old memories!

“Tis certainly been a fair while since we last met!” he laughs when I sheepishly admit that I can’t recall his name. “And as the tales go, they say you’ve had a time of it! Th’ name’s Brennan, lass. I’m offerin’ my wares here while the Scions keep an ear low for my brothers.”

I wonder if those brothers might be the introductory cha---people who the Warriors meet on their way to the differing cities. Sure enough, they’re merchants themselves, and he’d lost contact with them after the Calamity. With a start, I realize that the man I simply thought was a doppleganger the first time I came to the Waking Sands was likely Brennan’s brother, and I tell him as much when describing him. Hearing that at least one of his brothers is alive brought him joy, but who can blame the man for wanting to meet them face to face? I take a few minutes to chat with him, verifying that yes, I cracked some skulls regarding the Sahagin and some of the nastier pirates around Limsa, yes I clashed with the Amalj'aa, yes there was a merchant selling people to them, yes, I did technically kill Ifrit, no I don’t want to talk about it because the whole thing scared my socks off and a lot of people died when they didn’t need to.

“Bad business that,” Brennan grimaces, looking as if he’s just restraining from spitting on the stone floor. “Gives the worst sort of look for us merchants, and makes our jobs that much harder for the rest of us. Damn that fool to the seven hells.”

“Honestly, I didn’t understand while some cultures put heads on pikes until that happened,” I admitted with my own frown. “But then his execution didn’t even take his crimes into account. Fuck tempering,” I bite out. “If only for that, I’ll face Ifrit and however many else I’ll need to in the future so that fewer people are...mutilated.”

“I’ll drink to that,” the merchant raises a flask. “The gods grant rest to the poor bastards who’ve earned it.”

“Grant rest to everyone,” I say with a tired sigh. “Death is the great equalizer. As far as I’m concerned, once you're dead, that’s all debts paid and all grudges...well, not erased, but answered for.”

He grunts around his drink. “Suppose that’s why yer the one with the job then,” he says. “That’s a far sight kinder than many folk I know.”

“Eh,” I make a so-so motion. “Less kinder, more aware that I only have so much energy to invest in grudges. I’ve got a lot to do.”

A rough laugh. “Fair enough, lass! Fer what it’s worth, I’m glad ye’ve got the job.”

“Heh. Thanks Brennan.”

With that, my rounds are done. Y’shtola’s busy reading, and stars know how much I used to hate it when someone interrupted me when I was in the middle of a research bender or enjoying a good book, so I’m not going to poke my nose there while she’s occupied. And anyone I hadn’t checked in on are busy with their own conversations; butting in is just rude unless invited.

I’m packed, I’ve got my conjury set on, with the two handed cane because I like the option of bopping people on the head if they’re being idiots (though I definitely shouldn’t get so close as to need to bop people in the event of a fight), my bags have rations and water (should make some more rations soon), and…yeah. That’s everything. Off I go to Gridania!

-x-

Thankfully, the weather’s clear when I drop into the aetheryte plaza. Warm sun, a nice breeze, and flowers all over the place are in full bloom now that we’re in high spring. The weather could turn quickly of course; living in the Pacific Northwest for most of my life taught me not to rely on stable weather systems, so I still have my stormcloak near the top of my bag just in case rain does decide to visit.

I report to the Adders’ officer for the job, and find Papalymo and Yda have beaten me there.

The officer is glad that someone’s willing to poke at the sylphs to see if they’re willing to talk and keep to the peace treaty; no doubt he doesn’t want to gamble the lives of his own soldiers for this job in case it goes south, and it doesn’t help that adventurers aren’t known to be the most diplomatic of peoples. His ‘beastmen will be beastmen’ comment rankles me a bit, as not only is it blatantly racist, but just feels inaccurate in a number of ways. Being plant people, of all things, should push them further away from the title of beasts, not closer. Urgh.

There is some bad news; there are tempered sylphs about, and the officer wants to know from the untempered sylphs in Little Solace if they’re going to be a problem or not. It seems that no one is quite certain if the sylphs have actually pulled off a summoning already, or if the tempered are simply present from the last time they did. That’s partially what this envoy thing is all about.

His extra warning about sylph etiquette being little like Eorzean standards has me quietly praying to whatever benign power’s willing to listen that they’re not too much like the pixies of the First. That fae like whimsy and temperament is no small amount of alarming for an old fan of the Dresden Files.

Still, Yda and Papalymo seem to have high hopes for this mission, and that boosts my own confidence a bit. Time to hit up Hawthorne Hutt and find the Adders’ officer stationed there.

A couple of chocobo rides later (and nowhere near as sore as I used to be! Awesome!), I get to the settlement, only to be immediately pulled into a side quest regarding hornets going after the local apiaries.

I am very, very glad I picked up magic; without it I’d have had to have done something ridiculous in full armor to get the swarms to buzz off, and I know I still would’ve gotten stung something nasty for it. But with Aero, I can buffet the insects away from a distance and shred them down with razor wind until they cut their losses and go anywhere else. Urgh. Hate the things. Hate them so much.

I get bounced around a few times trying to get further intel on the sylphs and how to interact with them without pissing them off; the chloro-folk have only gotten more twitchy around hominids now that Garleans are starting to poke about the Shroud again, which is just the sort of news I wanted to hear today. Better to have it than not though, even if I could’ve done without some of the fetch quests that I got pulled into on the side, though the extra gil is a nice benefit.

One of those fetch quests is quite useful though, in that it nets me a suitable guest gift for the sylphs. Apparently the milkroot of the ochu plant has similar effects as alcohol does to hominids, and the specimen I dug up (and subsequently had to Stone and Aero to death), will much more likely than not go over well with the chloro-folk.

It’s also a good thing I thought to handle the reeking thing with gloves. The old man who’s the closest thing to an expert on the sylphs only touched it for a minute or two and started to get dizzy, though whether that’s from the smell or any toxins his skin might’ve absorbed is up for debate. Hopefully he can sleep off the effects.

I check in with the local Adders’ officer one last time, and he gives me a letter directed to the elder of the sylph tribe. Penned by Kan-E-Senna no less, to express Gridania’s desire for peaceful relations. And given that the Ixal are apparently kicking up a fuss, they’re really keen on avoiding a fight with the chloro-folk nearby. No pressure.

Seeing the sylphs for the first time…well, I understand now why Yda described them as flying gysahl greens. They do look a bit like people shaped cabbages with wings, and calling them chloro-folk is entirely accurate as they apparently live mostly off of sunlight. There’s a faint sort of ringing hum that accompanies each sylph, and they all seem to wear masks of some kind as well, with varying expressions. I’m reminded a bit of Studio Ghibli’s work on nature spirits; these people would fit right in with such a setting.

To open dialogue at all, I need to do a little dance, as apparently the art is highly regarded by the sylphs. It’s not something I’m overly skilled at, but I’ve watched more than one jig done by sailors in the past---some of them are actually quite approximate to Celtic river dancing from Earth, and imitating one of the short routines one of the Gridanian’s around here shows me isn’t completely impossible for me. I cap it off with a deep Eorzean style bow, and the sylph is delighted by both the dance and the gift. Though, honestly, they seem more enthusiastic by the milkroot, but whatever works to get the peace talks going.

Aaaaaaaand then Yda and Papalymo crash the party, and Komuxio feels as if I’d deceived them for this. Which scuppers that plan thoroughly.

“Ye couldn’t’ve waited until I had the chance to really have a conversation with them?” I ask the two quietly, a bit of my brogue slipping out in my annoyance.

“I’m sorry, Tomoyo,” Yda rubs her ear sheepishly. “It just looked like it was going well, and it’s important to get the Elder Seedseer’s letter to the sylph elder…”

“I suppose we acted in haste,” Papalymo sighs. “But if peace is to be secured, we must reopen dialog with the sylphs before they have the chance to summon their god again.”

“Say, Tomoyo, are you in the mood for dancing?” Yda perks up. Does she have an idea?

I shrug. “I just know one or two Limsan jigs, nothing fancy.”

“Well, you went through all that trouble to learn the sylphs' traditional greeting, but you've greeted hardly any of them,” the young woman says. “While you're at it, why not dance for the Gridanians around here, as well? Why, if I were a sylph, I'd be beside myself with delight to see an adventurer sharing my culture with his own kind! Me? Of course I'd be happy to join—ow, ow! There go those bloody leg cramps of mine acting up again!”

I raise an eyebrow, wondering if she genuinely does have cramps, or if she’s acting to get out of potential embarrassing herself. It’s a coin flip, honestly.

“If cramps are a regular problem, then you probably have a potassium or phosphorus deficiency in your diet,” I say seriously. Real talk; the first time I’d been 12 to 13 years old I had awful cramps from that, which saw me eating at least one banana a day for half a year, along with supplements. Never made that mistake again. “I suggest adding more nuts and dairy in your diet for a moon or three.”

Papalymo gives his partner a look that indicates his suspicions of her faking it, and he says, “I will help in this,” like it’s a threat.

“Er, no need to overthink this!” Yda stammers out. “As long as your heart’s in it, I’m sure they’ll understand!”

I wonder for a moment if the Echo really can make up for body language; it’s a very interesting question, and if that’s the case, then I feel a little more settled about Minfilia sending me on this mission.

So I talk with some of the Gridanians stationed here; the one that taught me the initial jig shows me a couple more, and I practice for a bit, focusing on my intent to both greet and welcome the other party. It passes muster, so I tentatively add it as a data point in my mental corkboard concerning the Echo’s translation abilities.

With that, I start to tap-dance my way around the camp before talking to the various sylphs that live in Little Solace. A dye maker, a weaver, and a particularly sleepy example of the people are all a part of my audience; honestly by the time I’m done I’m a little out of breath. Dancing is intensive work; there’s a reason there’s arguments to make it a sport competition Before!

Still, it did the trick, and though I still can’t meet with the elder to deliver the letter, the sylphs aren’t averse to my presence anymore. Progress.

The sun is on its way down, but Papalymo’s suggestion of helping around the settlement with side quests isn’t a bad idea. With Garleans about, it only makes sense that the chloro-folk are jumpy. So I pop over to the healer’s tent, who has a solid idea of what sort of help needs doing around here.

Beast culling, doable, if a little more tricky while I’m running conjurer. Might need to change out to my armor when it comes to killing the lizards. Or just woman up and get used to dodging and moving around while fighting, should probably do that. Gathering plant material, either food---no, no, photosynthesis, and probably they subsist on aether as well, so they likely subsist primarily on energy. Not that I know what such a diet would be called…

The limbal ring in my eyes gives me better than average night vision, at least compared to my human self, so I feel fairly comfortable in hunting down the animals that could be a danger to the sylphs as long as I’m careful, sneaky, and have a good casting position. Sniping with Stone from a ways off is always a good strategy, even if I can’t always aim quite where I want to for a quick kill strike. Still, unlike in the game, I only need a few well placed hits with a rock going 70+ malms per hour in order to bring the beasts down, especially when I hit the skull and disorient them with Aero casts.

Honestly, finding the bushes the sylphs want takes longer, so by the time I find the forest road again and get back to the camp, the sun has fully set and the stars are just starting to shine.

Fortunately, Komuxio is still awake, working away at what looks like thread. At first they’re abrupt, but the offering of both the bushes and the information that the worst of the animal threats in the area have been culled mollifies their temper quite a bit.

“Many walking ones come to these ones' abode, but few are friendly like dancing one,” they say after a moment. “Perhaps this one was wrong not to trust dancing one, after all. Return to this one when the sun next rises, dancing one. This one would ask something of you then.”

“Of course,” I say. “I will see you at dawn.”

“Well, that’s progress!” Yda cheers quietly as I find their tent and drop myself next to it. “Do you think you’ll be able to talk to the elder tomorrow?”

I shrug. “Might have to run one or two more favors before that happens,” I say. “But I think it’s possible. Still, I’m going to be running all over the Shroud tomorrow, then I need as much sleep as I can get.” I don’t have a tent (need to fix that), but I do have a bed roll and plenty of blankets for when the temperature inevitably drops.

“I will maintain first watch,” Papalymo states. “Yda the second, so that you may be optimally rested for the ‘morrow.”

“Thanks Papaylmo, I appreciate that,” I say with a smile and lightly bow my head.

“Oh, why do I have to have second watch, Papalymo, it’s the worst to wake up in the middle of the night,” Yda complains, even as she helps me set up my bedroll in their tent. “Please say you have some of Tataru’s tea?” she then asks plaintively.

“Yes,” he sighs. “I have some of her brew, if it will mean you will let Tomoyo sleep.”

That seems to cheer her up some, and it doesn’t take long for me to drift off to the sound of their mild bickering.

-x-

A nearby stream the next morning is my source of both cleaning up, and waking up; it’s not quite fresh snow melt anymore, but it’s still freaking cold!

With that done, I wear my conjury robe, but have my heavy armor in my pack and ready to change into in case the day requires heavy fighting. I find Komuxio outside of their tent, and they greet me first.

“This one asks dancing one for forgiveness,” they begin. “These ones have many troubles since walking ones last came to our abode. This one must be careful. Always careful. But dancing one is not like other walking ones. This one can trust dancing one. This one would ask dancing one for help.”

“What is it that you need?” I ask politely.

“Strange walking ones with bodies of steel come to the home of these ones.” I resist the urge to hiss between my teeth. “This one thinks steel ones come from Empire. Where Empire goes, many living ones become dead ones. Trees fall and bushes burn. These ones' home is in danger. Danger!”

I nod seriously, already resolving to dig out my heavy armor; it’s more likely I’ll run into conscripts and their non-Garlean fighting force, which means magic users; I’m not confident yet to face off against enemy magicians while running the class myself, so it’ll be tank work today.

“This one begs of dancing one to help this one know more,” Komuxio pleads. “Dancing one is friends with these ones and walking ones, yes? Dancing one must speak to these ones here and walking ones in hut-house and find out more. This one has bad feeling. This one fears steel ones are after something. But this one should speak no more. Go, dancing one. This one depends on kindness of dancing one.”

“I’ll do what I can to find out more. You’ll likely see me later throughout the day wearing heavy armor for better protection against the Empire if I find them this far in the Shroud,” I inform the sylph, and they bob up and down.

“Dancing one can be a friendly steel one? No matter, as long as imperial ones do not harm these ones and friendly ones!” they say decisively.

With that done, I duck into the tent, Yda sleeping through the entire time while I change into my marauder armor. When that’s done, I start to poke around the camp to see if anyone’s noticed potential Garlean activity in the area.

Sure enough, sylph and Gridanian alike have spotted strangely armored folk further into the woods, but there just isn’t enough man power amongst the Adders to investigate, and I certainly wouldn’t want to throw the sylphs against Garlean steel, as fragile as they appear to be. Returning to Komuxio with the information, it turns out they know the area the imperials have been spotted in, so they mark my map and highlight where the supplies the Garleans are moving in might be kept.

Time to do some digging.

I find the pile of supplies, as well as a squad of Garlean conscripts. This far into the Shroud, it’s a bad sign that they’re getting this brave and this close to Gridania, so I shrug my axe into one hand, take a hatchet in my other, and throw it into the back of the neck of one of the goons.

The surprise serves me well, and it doesn’t take me too long to cut through the soldiers with only a few bruises and enemy blood to show for it. Rummaging around the pile of boxes nets me a quartermaster’s list, finely detailed. Food, water…but rock and earth samples? What do they need that for?

I hoof it back to the camp and share what I’ve found with the sylph, who’s quick to identify that all of the foodstuff and rock samples are local. Now it’s not just a question of why they want this stuff, but how they were able to identify and harvest the material.

Espionage. How lovely.

This gets forwarded to the Adders while a second matter is given my attention; while I was poking at the Garleans, one of the younger sylphs has wandered off, and is sufficiently missing that Komuxio’s worried the kid’s gotten themself eaten.

I’m beginning to wish I had the time to get a chocobo, but I need a day or two in Limsa to earn the initial investment for it. Urgh, I knew time would be a limiting factor, it just sucks it’s biting me this early.

Still, some areas to search help cut down the time wasted, even if it takes me nearly two hours tracking down the young sylph, only for them to float off in an angsty huff at getting approached by a walking one. Apparently they don’t like how reliant the camp is on Gridania’s good will, but going off by yourself when you’re literally made of plants and magic…well, there’s a dozen reasons why that’s not a good idea.

I teleport to Hawthorne and take a chocobo back to the camp to cut the time down and tell Komuxio that the child isn’t willing to be approached by someone like me, but when I tell them which direction they went, the older sylphs panic, as that’s ‘touched one’ territory. Ie, tempered. Not good.

So it’s not just Komuxio who comes with, but Papalymo and Yda too, to ensure we’re not thoroughly outnumbered should the tempered sylphs cotton on to our presence. And it’s a good thing they came; not only do we get ambushed by the purple colored sylphs, but they bring along a morbol---what long time Final Fantasy fans would recognize as a Malboro. Paplymo shows his thaumaturge chops by throwing second tier spells like candy while Yda keeps the damned thing’s attention as I focus on the tempered sylphs and carve through them with my axe.

It’s grim work. Depressing work. Honestly, I’d prefer to fight the malboro, but they want to drag the young sylph and get them tempered as well, and that isn’t an option.

Finally, the tentacle’d plant is driven off after the last of the tempered fall, and the young sylph is convinced after the terrifying experience to come back to camp with us.

Those two quests took up a good chunk of the day, and I spend some time next to the stream to wash off the blood and sap that’s splattered on my armor and axe; maintenance is important, and even if I’ve gotten a number of stamps of approval from the chloro-folk, there’s no need to spook them by looking like a vengeful ghost.

Once I get back to camp, I approach Komuxio about potentially talking to the elder of their people. Only to get some pretty mixed news.

“This one must ask kind one's forgiveness,” they start, the Echo translating how upset they are. “This one made promise to take kind one to see elder one, yes? But this one cannot... This one cannot because...elder one is not here. Elder one is not anywhere. Elder one went into forest yesterday, but has not come back...”

I hide my grimace. Of all the rotten luck! Maybe if I’d have worked through the night…but what’s done is done. Dammit it though, the timing of this is just the worst.

“This one is worried. Elder one often goes into forest, but never, never for this long. Kind one will help find elder one, yes?” they ask.

“Of course,” I answer with a nod. “Finding them would be the best for all peoples here.”

They bob, and something about them feels relieved. “Near where elder one disappeared is the home of a walking one named Buscarron. Buscarron may know what happened to elder one. This one would talk to Buscarron...but walking ones do not always trust these ones. Would kind one talk to Buscarron for this one? And kind one comes from Gridania, yes? In Gridania live many kind ones, yes? This one begs of kind one. Please go to Gridania and ask fellow kind ones for help. And please hurry—these ones are not safe until elder one returns.”

I pass the news on to the Adders officer here, and he hands me a note so that his counterpart with the Wood Wailers can spread the news to keep an eye out for the elder; looks like a fair chunk of Gridania’s military force, from rangers to bowmen to lancers will at least be aware of the situation, which can only help. The more eyes, the better.

“If the missing elder is anywhere in the South Shroud, then Buscarron will know about it,” Yda says confidently. “He’s a friend, and his bar is the best place for gossip around!”

“Though it is strange that Komuxio would ask you to look there, as no sylph enters the southern part of the Shroud in recent memory,” Papalymo adds with a frown. “Nonetheless, discerning the motive must wait. It is imperative that we find the elder before the worst should happen.”

“Agreed,” I say. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a strong tea or coffee on you? I’m going to be working through the night, I think.”

The Lalafell purses his lips. “Let us see what we find first when we make contact,” he says. “To push oneself too far could be detrimental to the search.”

Mrgh…I suppose he’s got a point. It’s not like I can trigger the next quest just by talking to people right off the bat. As much as time can be an enemy, if I need to wait for a lead, then it can be a bit of an ally in preventing burnout.

Some rented chocobos mean we get to the South Shroud in good time; I attune to the aetheryte at Quarrymill, and then we make our way to Buscarron’s bar.

It looks to be a rough crowd that hangs about here; I get some looks for my horns and tail, but my heavy armor and obvious axe means no one’s stupid enough to start anything with me.

Buscarron himself reminds me a bit of Baderon; he’s heard rumor of a sylph this far south, but not much beyond that, and especially no identifying marks of it indicating that said sylph is the elder. As it’s nearing eleven bells, he offers a bunk for the three of us given that I’m friends with the Scions he’s familiar with. It seems we’ll have to wait for news to trickle in.

Sleep doesn’t come quite so quickly tonight, and when I dream, it’s of skittering things in the dark.

Chapter Text

There’s still no word of the sylph elder when the sun rises. I’ve got a steaming cup of Tataru’s brew in one hand and a forkful of scrambled eggs in the other as I try to force myself to wakefulness. Once breakfast is done and paid for, Buscarron decides that if we’re going to hang around, then someone is getting put to work. Guess who the lucky volunteer is.

I suppose it’s better than just sitting on my tail all day, and he promises I’ll get some pay for it, so that’s more money to put to the chocobo and to my armor. I remind myself to earmark some for my parents as well, should all go well.

The hour’s early, but that just means instead of folks being blackout drunk making a menace of themselves, there’s hungover cranky people making a menace of themselves as they try to get alcohol back into their systems to chase away the headache. I get to play bouncer for an hour or two; I’ll admit it’s amusing for a bunch of grown ass Elezen and Hyur men to at first not take me seriously, then reconsider their options when I bodily lift one of them to make the point that I can and will throw them out if they keep being idiots. Fortunately, that only happens the one time, as the rest only need the cat treatment; a bucket of cold water dunked over their heads to get them to stop and think for five seconds.

Still, it’s educational to learn that Duskwight Elezen get a lot of guff for preferring a more hermitage lifestyle. Apparently more than a few Gridanians consider them poachers and brigands. When I point out that if that really were the case, there wouldn’t be much of them left in the area even after the elementals went into hibernation, he laughs and laments that more people could use some common sense that I apparently have.

Honestly, while Buscarron might be a bit sketchy, and his patrons certainly seedier, that he’s established a neutral territory and has it enforced and respected so well is no small feat. If nothing else, I can respect that whole heartedly.

After the morning shift comes and goes, I’m encouraged to go around and see who might need help around these parts. Well, that’s a cue for sidequesting if I’ve ever heard one, so I find the rest of the day occupied with countering Qiqirn activity, culling some animals that are over-predating on the fish in the nearby river, and helping a woman pay her respects to the once living treants that lived in this part of the forest.

At least with all this running around, I feel like I’m a little less inclined to get lost without warning.

It’s maybe five bells in the afternoon when Buscarron asks for a favor. He had apparently saved a Qiqirn’s life after the Calamity, and the rodent-like man paid him back by working in the bar for some time before striking out as a merchant. But it seems he left something behind; a jeweled earring. The bartender asks if I could deliver it to Teteroon, and I agree once I learn he should be located La Noscea. I can use my free teleport for the day to get to Limsa Lominsa, and get a lead on the Qiqirn’s location there.

Hell, maybe this work with the Adders will give me the credit needed to get the chocobo I could dearly use. Wouldn’t hurt to check, would it?

And so I throw myself into the lifestream, now more used to cross-continental teleports. It only takes a few seconds to orient myself and get to the Alley for my lead on Teteroon; I get bounced to another merchant, a relative of Teteroon’s, and learn he’s further inland after I bribe him with a couple of chicken eggs.

Upper La Noscea. Haven’t been to that part of the island; coeurls live there, and naturally my parents didn’t want their kid anywhere near such dangerous animals. I swing by the Aftcastle to see if I can get the bird I’m after; sure enough my work with the Adders counts to me, and a few minutes of paperwork, and perhaps another half hour of finding a bird that likes me, I am finally the proud owner of a male chocobo.

 “How does Bocco sound as a name?” I ask him as I pet his feathers, learning how to put his saddle and barding on properly. The stable hand snorts, but I ignore him.

The massive bird cocks his head inquisitively, then warks. “Bocco it is then!”

It’s a bit of a shame I can’t ride him in the city, but I can teleport with him, so we pop into Western La Noscea, as that will lead to the half of the region that I need access to; there’s a path on the eastern side of the island as well, but the region is cut in half by a deep body of water that flows from the mountain, and is contested kobold territory. No need to borrow trouble where there is none for me at the moment.

Once Bocco is oriented after the teleport, we’re off on our first quest together, making the trip at a good clip, winding our way further inland and weaving around monsters that look at us funny. Chocobos might not be the fastest land creatures, but they’re generally fast enough that most predators decide it’s not worth the expense of energy to go for it.

I find the trading post Teteroon is stationed at, the sun touching the horizon, and return the earring. I can’t read his face very well, his elongated snout throwing off what I usually look for, but his voice sounds emotional when he realizes that Buscarron not only remembered him, but thought to return this to him.

Enough so that the Qiqirn is intent on creating a return gift for the man who saved his life. No guesses as to what ‘firewater’ might be, though why on Earth, and off of it for that matter, he might want coeurl whiskers for the mix is a question I’m not going to ask. Honestly, someone needs to found the equivalent of the FDA on Eorzea; what people put in their booze is just insane!

I leave Bocco at the trading posts to track down the cats; one tries to pounce on me, but instinct has me moving before it can actually make contact. Guess I’m getting a combat sense, now that I’ve been at this sort of thing for the better half of three months.

I render as much as I can when I do kill the cats; the fur will sell well at the city, and someone can always use the bones for something. The meat is tougher and not too popular to cook, but I could send the good cuts to the village via moogle post and send the rest to the farms for composting.

When I return to the outpost, I’m a bit of a mess, and Teteroon bids me to wash up in the river while he makes the firewater. By the time I’m done, he’s got a good sized jar sealed up and ready for transport, with clear orders that it’s to remained closed for a year to ferment properly. I promise to pass the jar and message of thanks on; it’s clear that Teteroon is quite fond of Buscarron, and I’m glad to see such a friendship last despite the distance.

I put the jar in my bag, hop back on to Bocco, and send us off to Quarrymill; the poor bird’s a bit woozy from that trip, so I stable him there while I make the last leg of the trek on foot.

Buscarron’s not just pleased at the news when I tell him that Teteroon’s doing fine; the jar of firewater has him outright tearing up and blaming the onion ninjas for it. I hide my grin, and promise not to say anything about any softness before he waves me off for the day. I expect it’ll be an early morning tomorrow, so I crash with my fellow Scions again, sleep coming easier this time. If I dream, I don’t remember.

-x-

The next day, unfortunately, is not a calm one. Sure it starts out alright, up at dawn and with a simple but good breakfast, and we even get word of sylph sightings! Buscarron marks it on my map, and I scarf down what’s left so I can head out immediately; the sooner we find the elder, the better. That he’s been missing for 48 hours is not a good thing.

But when I do poke around the indicated area, I don’t get sylphs. I get fucking Garleans! It’s a damn good thing I’ve kept my heavy armor on, because I get swiped by a sword and board user a couple of times before I recover from the ambush and start wailing on them with my axe.

It's only a small squad, fortunately, and they didn’t have a healer with them, so I carve through the lot in a few minutes. Then I switch the axe out for my mage crook and patch up the worst of my cuts and bruises; it’s not efficient to heal when still wearing heavy armor, as mage robes have enchantments that make casting easier, but you can do it if you don’t mind paying a steeper mana price.

Then I hoof it back to the Druthers at all speed, and make a note to pick Bocco up after I report this in to ease movement through the woods.

Buscarron is about as pleased as I am at this development; that is, not at all. Being a retired member of the Wood Wailers himself, he knows the patrol routes and where all their spy-towers are, so he’s certain enemy troops wouldn’t have been able to penetrate the forest so deeply without someone noticing something…unless someone got them through willingly.

Spies. Great.

While he chews on the problem, I ‘port back to Quarrymill to pick Bocco up and ride him back to the Druthers. I get a few looks for having Maelstrom red on his barding rather than Adders yellow, but having muddled about as a friendly adventurer for the past couple of days here, no one gives me guff about it.

The half hour ride was apparently enough for the bartender to have an idea; when it comes to crimes like this, he follows the old adage that’s served law enforcement for multiple worlds. Follow the money. One of his regulars has gone from basic soup and a single ale to buying the best meats and wines Buscarron can offer, and the ranger shouldn’t be able to make that kind of money while being a Wailer. Which means he has a side hustle of some sort.

The young man’s name is Laurentius. Very Latin, and that trips me up slightly on the mental level. Maybe he’s a half blood, or has ancestry that goes back to the Garleans before they got pushed so far north in Ilsabard?

No matter. It takes some tracking, and with the help of some of Buscarron’s sketchier friends to corner the man. And it’s a good thing I had the back up, questionable comments about my tail and all; the idiot calls in his own back up, and we get jumped by more Garleans. Even if the poachers who’d helped me had snipped at each other for half the time we’d been tracking, the second the outsiders show themselves, they entirely mean business. They almost outright kill Laurentius as well, before I put a halt to it and get him escorted to the nearest Adders post. If he’s going to die, let it be by the Seedseer’s orders. Besides, they need to know exactly what the fool had sold to the Garleans, and the more data, the better.

Buscarron’s pleased that only Garleans died today once I return and stable Bocco outside under an awning; the weather’s finally turned now that the temperature is dropping and the sun is going down, black clouds moving in overhead. No rain yet, but the grumble of distant thunder has me pulling out my storm cloak just in case.

He gives me some warm soup and watered down wine as Yda and Papalymo pile into the bar to get out from the encroaching bad weather, and we spend the next hour or two of the evening taking a breather and just…being, for a bit.

Finally, word comes in; a sylph by the name of Noraxia zips into the bar itself, exclaiming just where the elder’s wound up. The bartender informs me that the Thousand Maws of Toto-Rak is an abandoned dungeon, certainly no place for a sylph, elderly or no. Not a clue what it means or what the place’s original role was, but it’s more than what I had for the past three days. So despite the lateness of the hour, and the crashing thunder now directly moving overhead, I march in ahead as Yda goes to fetch reinforcements.

At first the Adder’s guard in front of the Maw wasn’t inclined to let me in, but having both Buscarron’s word and information on the elder sylph Frixio gets the man to relent and let me pass, so at least I didn’t have to bully the man for doing his job.

It’s a little nerve-wracking to solo this dungeon, but time is quite literally of the essence. The killer plants are tolerable, and not that durable. The bugs are unpleasant, as despite my extra years I have a slight atavistic reaction to them. Strangely enough, as long as they don’t resemble spiders or bees too much, the size actually takes away some of the fear, my hindbrain putting them in the same category as crabs and lobsters. I really, really could’ve done without the slime though; the stench is something awful, and I’m going to have to get new boots entirely. And a shower. And a bath. Just to be sure.

And one of those explosive egg sacs teaches me to snipe them with my tomahawks. Ow.

I’m also not terribly pleased to be forced to fetch power cells in order to pass certain areas; some of it looks like Garlean tech, which is indicative of why the elder might’ve fled this way if he was trying to get away from the bastards.

Finally, I drop into the core chamber, expecting some bug boss. The webs and more glowing green goo certainly lends credence to the idea of a hive queen, but when I see what’s actually waiting for me, I feel my heart skip several beats; a humanoid figure in a black cloak and darkened bronze pauldrons, spiked and menacing.

I freeze in place and grit my teeth. An Ascian!? Here?! Not good, not great, but if it’s a lower level one I can at least forcefully discorporate them...but the back decorations on the robe. The goon didn’t have that. The ‘wings’...was that for Convocation or Unsundered?

Darkness…

I wince as Hydaelyn’s voice lances through my skull. Yes, Auntie Crystal, I know, you don’t need to state the obvious!

Maybe the primal’s contact with me is what prompts the Ascian to turn around; it takes most of my composure not to stiffen, and the rest of it not to try and reach for my axe when I see that fanged red mask.

What the fuck. What in the flying fuck is Lahabrea doing here?!

Something of my anxiety must’ve registered, because I hear him laugh even if he doesn’t open his mouth. Then that strange, multitonal voice rings out; though it sounds slightly less alien in person rather than hearing it through a memory, the condescension in his voice makes my hackles rise.

“[Ah, the might slayer of Ifrit comes to me now.]” I don’t react, I can’t afford to. Giving anything of my knowledge away would be literally cataclysmic. “[Such focus. A countenance that bespeaks understanding. Such an intriguing power, the Echo. I must needs choose my words with care.]

“Mayhap I might if I deign to speak in my guest's crude tongue. We meet at last.”

The sudden switch from Amaurotine Old Tongue to Common, not to mention the somewhat polite bow, makes me blink, and I tilt my head slightly as I focus not as much on his words as I do his voice. He doesn’t sound much like Thancred, but he could just be pitching his voice differently or using the many tricks voice actors can pull to sound like a completely different person.

“I am Lahabrea of the Ascians, servant to the one true god.” Thanks for the confirmation, asshat. Not like I needed it, but it’s one more data point I can now share safely with the Scions.

“Yours is a most fantastical tale. Truly absorbing,” he sneers, and I shuffle slightly to settle my stance into something less ‘frozen deer in the headlights’ and more, ‘ready to move at a moments notice.’ “It is a tale to tell Eorzea's children before bedtime. And it will soon be dark, Bringer of Light.”

The Dark Minions…

At least this time her voice doesn’t send a nail through my temple. Come on Auntie Crystal, you can come up with a better appellation than that, I snark. But I appreciate that she’s paying attention right now, because my pulse is right in my throat to be honest.

“All that stands between this world and darkness is an irksome anomaly in the aether—the Echo,” Lahabrea continues to monologue, and I’m inclined to let him. “Yes...yours is a most fascinating tale. Alas, like all good tales, it must needs come to an end. But fear not…” He gestures behind him, and a rush of dark aether flows out from his hand and into a newborn mite. The little thing chitters and starts to writhe.

Hear…Feel…The presence of evil…

I know, I know! I think back to her. I’m nowhere near ready to punt him yet, you’re going to have to wait on that! I settle into a reaction stance, but don’t draw my axe just yet. I do not want to provoke the fucking Unsundered into even thinking of taking me seriously yet.

“For the end of your tale is but the beginning of another,” the Ascian says with a cold smile. “The tale of the Crystal's demise!” The sigil of his office glows in front of his face, and dark aether washes through the room; I don’t know why it makes the temperature spike, but I can already feel myself sweating a little. Honestly I’d expect it to be cold---

No, light is cold for stillness, dark is warm for chaos. Passive versus active, Umbral versus Astral.

Despite my entirely legitimate fear, I have to restrain a slight snort as he fades into a portal, even as the aether creates a barrier around the room. What a wasteful expense of energy. No, wait, his mark of office is shining through over his face, so he’s being a drama king.

And then I have a great big bug trying to chew my head off, and speculation is left for later.

The durable shell of the mutated mite isn’t the worst to deal with; the poison it spits up is, burning like a bastard in open wounds and causing me to lose time more than once as I fish for antidotes from my side bag to keep the symptoms manageable while I put the creature out of its misery. When it does finally fall, I lean on my axe for a minute or two as I let the antidotes do their work before I down a hi-potion with a shudder. And if I’m also trying to let the worst of the adrenaline rush fade out, well, no one knows but me.

Note to self; see if I can brush up on the basics of alchemy at some point to figure out what goes into the medicine I use and how they work.

Then a cocoon falls from the top of the cave, muffled chimes prompting me to move over and help fish out my missing target from the rough silk.

Introductions go well, all told. The elder, Frixio, is glad to avoid becoming mite food, or a further target from the ‘shadow ones’ as he labels Lahabrea. And then I find out what drove him here to begin with, thanks to the Echo---a squad of Garleans that had passed through Little Solace. Not good.

I do squint at the memory for a moment. Is that Nero? The voices aren’t very clear unfortunately; whether that’s because sylphs don’t hear the same way I do, that I hadn’t met these people before, or some other limitation of the Echo, I’m not sure. I do remember that he was a right proper sod for a while and that he butted heads with Cid a lot…

And then the memory ends, and I file the information away for later as I escort the elder out of the dungeon, both of us glad to be rid of the place.

Outside, I fiddle with my linkpearl as I dither for a few moments, wondering whether or not I should inform Minfilia of who I encountered. I mean, that’s what the device is there for, right?

Urgh, but what if that pushes the Ascians to move against her early? I know she got kidnapped at least once, if not twice by their hands; the Scions are sitting on an artifact of power that had even the Unsundered interested in it in the form of the remains of Lord Louisoix’s staff. A horn that was used as the catalyst? Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t get consumed when the man became Phoenix (oh hey, I remember why no one talks about his fate now, he got turned into a fucking primal, the poor bastard), but then, I don’t know much of how that horn is supposed to work. Hell, if I recall correctly, the writers never really followed up on it either once Heavensward comes around.

Fucking hell, Lahabrea. I thought I had at least until Titan before he’d show his ugly mask to anything resembling the public. Of all of the Convocation to run into, only Fandaniel or Emet-Selch would be worse, and…dammit, has ‘Solus zos Galvus’ actually keeled over yet? Not entirely certain there, you’d think something like that would get celebrated by half of Eorzea once the news leaked, so I’m leaning towards no…

Shit. I’m really hoping that this encounter was canon, and that I hadn’t pushed an early intervention on accident somehow. None of us can afford to tangle with the Unsundered this early in the game, literally. I don’t recall if his final boss fight happened at the end of 2.0 or 3.0, but that uncertainty is what led me to believe I had at least a little more time before I got this kind of attention!

I shake my head. Focus. Lahabrea’s active and now I’m on his radar. For now, it’s probably best to keep any reports to Minfilia in-person. And to give nothing I wouldn’t be alright with falling into Thancred’s unwitting hands.

So for the moment, I refrain from cutting up the chain of command. I’ll tell Yda and Papalymo when I meet up with them again.

The elder grants me the time to at least rinse myself off at the Druthers; due to my actions earlier in the day regarding the Garleans, most of the skeevier folks that pass through here give me the privacy I rightly deserve, though I keep the wipe down quick so as to head off any idiots who might be tempted to peek anyway. As soon as I finish, Buscarron hands me a gift of rose oil to pass onto the sylphs and a permanent welcome to the Druthers should I have need of it. I give him my thanks, buy a replacement pair of boots, whistle for Bocco, and let the elder hitch a ride on my shoulder as we move on.

-x-

Yda and Papalymo are present when I get back to Little Solace, a little cleaner and more ‘human’ feeling. Frixio’s comfortable letting us know what kicked this whole situation off in the first place; having spied on Garlean activity, he and his second accidentally got the imperials’ attention, which forced them to flee into the South Shroud. The elder wound up in the Maw, and that’s where Lahabrea wrapped him up to feed to the mite nest there.

Unfortunately, while I do respect my co-workers, it doesn’t twig on them what said ‘black cloaked one’ could be, so they just turn the conversation to Ramuh and Gridania’s alliance. Bad news, Ramuh has in fact been summoned. Good news, he’s not itching for a fight despite having tempered some of the sylph tribe, which knocks him down several pegs on the priority meter. Basically, as long as we leave the tempered alone, they’ll leave us alone. The tempering isn’t ideal, but the rest of it, I’m quite fine with.

Frixion pens his own letter for Kan-E-Senna, which gets handed to me to be delivered. He’s intent on keeping the peace between Gridania and the sylphs, so…all in all, it seems the mission is a success! Thank the stars.

Before the two Scions leave, I beg a moment from the elder’s time before I pull my co-workers to one side and speak in quiet tones.

“I saw the man in a black cloak in the Maw,” I whisper, face serious; outright saying ‘Ascian’ in an unsecured camp all but screams ‘bad idea’.

“A man in a black cloak?” Yda rubs at just below the edge of her eye shield. “Oh, why do I feel as if I should be more worried by that?”

I restrain a sigh; I don’t remember her true name, but I know that the woman has taken the place of her dead older sister, who was the true Archon. Not that Yda is stupid by any means, but the past five years have not been conducive to completing her education, if she ever were inclined to do that to begin with. Not everyone is a scholarly type after all.

Papalymo clearly understands what I’m getting at though, as he gives an unimpressed look to Yda. “Such news bodes ill,” he says with a grim nod. “Well glad I am that you came from your encounter unharmed, if not entirely unscathed.” Lalafell generally have a better nose than a number of species, and I huff in reluctant amusement.

“It was a lot worse earlier,” I tell him. “And as soon as I’m done here, I’m heading back to Gridania for a full shower and bath to get the rest off.”

“Well, we’ll deliver the letter so you can do that quicker!” Yda chirps. “And make sure to get some sleep, Tomoyo! You’ve been working since dawn, and it’s nearly ten bells now!”

“I will,” I promise. “And then it’s to the Waking Sands for me to give Minfilia a debrief.” With that, the two are off, and I return to the elder.

I get my second surprise for the night---the elder Sylph tells me he has a gift, granted in gratitude for saving his life and putting my best foot forward for the sake of peace between the hominids of Eorzea and the sylphs; he pulls on aether that tastes of ozone, causing a brightly glowing crystal of familiar shape and a violently violet hue to appear.

I start a little at the crackling sound it makes, shocked that I’m getting Lightning Crystal so easily. Sure, the Water one came from an encounter with goobbues, but I thought I’d have to punch out another Primal for the others after Ifrit. Well. 

I accept the Crystal with a formal Higanshi style bow, and a vision flickers briefly before my eyes. Hydaelyn’s summoning circle for calling upon allies flares to life around me, two crystals occupying the spaces around me. And the Lightning crystal sets itself in the third spot.

The moment passes, and the elder’s dismay is palpable. “Oh, kind walking one’s fate is far, far crueler than this one imagined!” he exclaims.

I shake my head. “I know,” I say gently. It’s a little nice to see someone who understands just how high up the water will reach for me though, instead of being blinded by the wonder of the Mothercrystal’s intervention.

“The crystal will be very important in walking one’s future,” he states, surety all but radiating from his tiny frame. “Walking one must be sure to keep the crystal safe!”

“I will, I swear,” I vow. I don’t know what kind of damage might happen if either Gaius’ goons or Lahabrea’s get their hands on any one of these elemental magic rocks, and I’m not finding out the hard way if I can help it.

And then I’m bid to carefully observe the tempered of Ramuh by the elder’s second in command. Simple enough, so long as I don’t get jumped by Garleans, monsters, or the tempered themselves. Last task for the night before I crash for a day or two. Hopefully.

Fortunately, nothing of the sort happens. I don’t enter the tempered’s territory, so they leave me be. The local fauna and mobile flora aren’t any more aggressive than usual. And it seems the Garleans haven’t gotten this deep into the forest yet. Or maybe some have and wound up paying for it. Either way, it’s a relief to call for Bocco and make back for Gridania. 

The ride back gives me time to think on what happened the past two hours. An ambush by one of the godsdamned Unsundered for one.

Fuck. Even if I’m low priority, I’m now on Lahabrea’s radar. I told my parents I drew the attention of unfortunate forces already, and that I might have to cut contact for weeks or months at a time due to my missions or for their safety. I thought I had another primal or two to deal with before this had to happen. I close my eyes and breathe. 

Worst case, then it’s just until Ishgard, I tell myself. End the Dragonsong War, get my name cleared when that clusterfuck in Ul’dah goes down, and I can afford to show my face around Limsa Lominsa’s greater archipelago again on a more casual basis.

I make a mental note to write one last letter to them, explaining at the least that things had escalated faster than I had initially estimated, and that I wouldn’t be able to visit or do more than send gil to them for a while. A part of my pay as one of the Maelstrom’s soldiers already goes to my father’s forge, so it’s not as if they’ll be left entirely out in the lurch.

If the Ascians really want to target my family, there’s not much I can do to stop them, I know. But at the very least I can avoid making it easy for them. Or for any potential Garlean assassins. Looking at you, Varis.

...Seriously, I was not expecting fucking Lahabrea to show his face---er, mask, personally before Titan at the least. Christ and Crystal, my memory’s shot. The fact that I’m going to be flying through much of ARR and Heavensward almost blind is not good for my anxiety. And forget about Stormblood, my investment in that plotline had not been high. Urgh, that’s going to be a mess. 

At least I won’t get cocky about Zenos. And if I can stop...which well-intentioned idiot was it that threw Nidhogg’s eyes into a ravine? Was it Aymeric? Might’ve been Aymeric. Well, prevent that, and maybe Zenos won’t get it into his head to replace Elidibus as Zodiark’s Heart. Unless Fandaniel is his bastard self. So don’t count on that.

Uuuuugh...I’ve got so much to dooooooo…

But first report to the head of the Twin Adders. Then I can rent a room out and pickle myself like a prune before crashing. And food. That’s important.

Giving the good news to Brookstone goes smoothly right up until I get a call from Minfilia over my linkpearl. He’s kind enough to let me take it, likely buoyed by the fact that he won’t have to coordinate a war on two fronts, and I turn my attention to my boss.

“Yda and Papalymo have just given their report on your progress in Gridania,” she says warmly. “I would pass my full congratulations and gratitude to you in bringing peace between the Sylphs and the people of the Twelveswood.”

“Glad we could find the path of least bloodshed,” I say, not bothering to hide the tiredness in my voice. “And that they made it back alright. I’ve more to pass on, but I’m...probably an hour out from falling on my face and sleeping for a sun or three.”

Minfilia chuckles. “I know that well. Pray, rest as you need, then return to the Waking Sands at your earliest convenience when you can.”

I blink at nothing in particular as I try to parse out the Brit-speak politeness from any potential urgency. “...Can I be honest and say I don’t know if you’re telling me if I can sleep and take the next day off, or that you need me back yesterday because things are about to fall apart?”

“You may always be forthright with me,” the Gladiator says. “Mayhap my challenges with our shared gift are not the same as yours, but know that there are days I struggle as well. Take the morrow to rest, my friend. It would do no one good to overtire yourself.”

I stifle a yawn before speaking. “There’s a term for that I learned, actually, from Before. ‘Burnout.’ Hopefully we’ll all have some downtime soon so that none of us are at risk.”

“I pray that you are right. Sleep well, Tomoyo.” The connection cuts, and I turn back to Brookstone.

He waves me off. “You are all but swaying on your feet, Lady Tomoyo. If aught arises that requires your aid, it can well wait until the morning.”

My lips pull up in a tired smile. “That bad off, am I?” My chuckle cuts off any protests. “I’ll be in the city for the rest of the day tomorrow if you need anything.”

Getting food delivered up to my inn room is a blessing as I wash off the dungeon’s muck, with a little lavender oil to take the edge off my rising crankiness now that I can finally relax. Honestly, I almost skip supper in favor of my bed, but knowing that my blood sugar will be somewhere below the mantle in the morning convinces me to scarf down the soup and bread, along with a few strips of jerky; meat isn’t unknown in Gridania, but the local diet definitely trends towards vegetarian when it’s convenient.

If I dream that night, I don’t remember.

Chapter Text

Tataru waves me through the entrance to the underground base, and as I approach the solar, Alphinaud leaves it. I wonder if he’s a formal member yet or simply leaning on his connections thanks to his grandfather?

I set the thought aside as Minfilia greets me, and I shut the doors behind me as I enter.

“I had been looking forward to congratulating you in person owing your actions in the Twelveswood. Your efforts have seen needless conflict averted,” the blond says with a smile, Yda clapping cheerfully as I step up next to the fighter.

I give a small shrug, smiling a little. “All’s well that ends well,” I say. “I’m glad that we don’t need to fight more people; our list of enemies is long enough as is.”

“Well said,” she agrees with a nod.

“And with that, we may strike Ramuh from the list,” Papalymo declares. I still find it weird it’s pronounced ‘Ram-moo’ rather than ‘Rah-muh’ as I’d always read it.

“What’s next?” Yda speaks up. “Leviathan and the Sahagin?”

Oh I hope not. I know that was a bastard of a fight owing its tail and reflect magic in the game on one of the difficulty levels; reality’s going to be a lot less kind, and I don’t relish the idea of dancing solo.

Papalymo makes a noise of dissent. “The Lord of the Whorl has shown no response to the Sahagin in recent times. While they remain as aggressive as ever, they lack the quantity of crystals required to summon their god.” I mentally nudge at the Water Crystal, checking that it’s where it’s supposed to be. “As with the Sylphs, we may leave them to their own devices, for the time being at least.”

“‘For the time being’ bears repeating,” Y’shtola speaks up. “We can ill afford to be complacent.”

“Admiral might not be happy about it,” I say with a shrug. “But active primals, or borderline active, take priority.”

“Just so,” the Lalafell nods. “Unless we know the minds of the beast tribes, we cannot predict with any certainty which primal may be called upon next. This being the case, we must proceed with all haste that due prudence allows.”

I mentally sigh. I’d hoped to be able to take a break for a bit, but that looks like it won’t be on the schedule. Oich.

“Any word on Titan?” Yda tilts her head to the side.

Y’shtola answers. “The Maelstrom bears close watch on the kobolds. We shall hear from them ‘ere long, you may depend on it.”

“Indeed,” Papalymo says. “Now, of all the known primals left active in recent times, we have---”

“Gridania!” Yda straightens, excitement in her voice expressing what her mask hides. “No, wait, Garuda! Who is the primal of the Ixal who live near Gridania, yes, that’s what I meant.”

“Air element, yes?” I double check; my Final Fantasies had been on the middle aged side, ala 7 and 9, though I did play most of 13 and 15 at one point or another.

“Just so,” Minfilia answers. “And with so many malms to cover between the few of us…” she sighs a little. “Would that there were a more efficient way to conduct our search. Were he still with us, we should not long have wanted for a more practical solution.”

I bite my tongue. Frankly put, the teleportation system in place is already a miracle of both technology and magic; I don’t know how much of it is maintained by the Mothercrystal, and how much of it is recreated feats from Allag or perhaps even Amaurot. But the lack of people does put a crimp in things, and I don’t know how to come across as supportive of Minfilia’s role as leader without potentially coming off as crass to their loss of their Lord Archon. It’s not easy to leave that kind of tragedy behind, and he left very big shoes to fill.

“She’s not wrong there,” I hear behind me, and I look over to see some of my favorite allies of the Scions, Biggs and Wedge. “Where are you, Chief?”

Oh. Right, Cid’s still missing. And no one from the Scions have the slightest idea where he is.

My fellow Echo bearer shakes her head a little and puts a smile on. “One sure step at a time. For the moment, the Twin Adders will handle all matters pertaining to the Sylphs, under the wise forbearance of the elder Seedseers.” She gestures to all of us. “I bid you all to take a moment of respite. You have more than earned it.”

With that, the others accept the dismissal; Urianger is the only one who hadn’t spoken up during the entire meeting, but then, he’s still ‘well intentioned manipulator’ right now, so I’m not too surprised. It’s hard, being fond of people who you don’t truly know, and who haven’t committed to the growth you know they’re capable of.

I stay behind, intent on giving Minfilia at least a better idea of what I’d encountered in the Maw. I don’t think they know of the rankings that exist in the Ascian faction, so that’s a bit of a spoiler I feel is safe passing on thanks to physical observations.

“You wish to speak with me?” the Scion asks, moving around the desk so that we can talk face to face.

“I don’t know if Papalymo or Yda had the time to tell you,” I start with, my expression grim. “So I thought it best to tell you here. I had an encounter with an Ascian, down in the Maw. He introduced himself as Lahabrea; he wore a red, fanged mask, and the back of his robe bore decorations I had not observed on the one I encountered in La Noscea.”

Unease crosses the woman’s face. “Twelve preserve us,” she breathes. “Before the Calamity, the Ascians took great pains to maintain their secrecy. That they would cast aside this veil bodes ill.” Her eyes flick from side to side as she thinks. “We must take advantage of the lull in primals presented to us to investigate this Lahabrea. Learn all we can of his designs and secrets. I dread to think---”

Before Minfillia can finish, a shriek pierces through the solid wooden doors; adrenaline shoots through my system as a hand goes to my axe.

“Tataru!” my boss exclaims, and we bolt to the stairs, ready to fight whatever might be threatening the Lalafell woman; Tataru is perhaps one of, if not the most critical of the non-combatant Scions. If she dies, this organization may well be doomed in short order!

And then I hear the faint humming that constantly precedes a Sylph’s presence and pull my hand away from any weapon, sighing quietly in relief despite the grim look on their mask. False alarm. I’ll take it.

Minfilia is as surprised as the rest of us at the presence of a Sylph this far in the desert. Said chloro-folk doesn’t seem to care at the looks they’re getting as they approach me.

“At long last, this one finds Tomoyo!” they exclaim. “This one is the most dependable of these ones! Am sent by elder one Frixio to help the walking ones!”

They then turn to Tataru and curtsy, their leaves rustling. “This one is known as Noraxia. This one comes as a friend. Let these ones be friends!”

Credit where credit is due, Tataru picks herself up off the floor, dusts her clothes quickly, and says with just a slight shake of her voice, “P-pleasure to meet you, Noraxia.”

And with that false alarm over with, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn return to work, some brainstorming on how a Sylph might be of help, some grumbling about the scare, and Minfilia and I returning to the solar after assuring Noraxia is welcome to rest with us to recover from the heat when they complain about wilting leaves.

Back at the solar, the subject matter is more grim; I’m keenly aware that Thancred is just outside the room, so I must choose my words with great care. If only I knew for certain who Lahabrea’s current host is!

“Ill tidings it is that the Ascians have stepped out of the shadows,” Minfilia says, sitting at her desk. “And this Lahabrea...we must learn more of him if we can.”

“I don’t know much other than what he told me,” I say with a frustrated shrug as I lean on the side of her desk. “That he supposedly serves ‘the one true god,’” I let some of my scorn show here. “That he sought my death, and that said death in part would see the death of the crystal. Presuming he’s speaking of the Mothercrystal, one could suppose that is one of their end goals.”

“Any observations you have are welcome,” she says with a thankful nod. “Scarce little exists of them due to their secrecy.”

I chew on my tongue for a moment, considering my potential words. “I think...he might’ve been more important than the other one I faced earlier,” I say hesitantly. “If only because, usually, the fancier the bad guy presents themselves, the higher up on the food chain they tend to be. And the decorations on the back of the robe, while not bright, expressed a measure of color, namely purple against black, and the brightly colored mask.”

“A fair supposition,” she grants, an apologetic thread in her tone being added as she says, “But not one we can say with any certainty.”

I shake my head. “You’re right on that. With so little data to work with, we can’t draw any firm conclusions. Lack of information can kill just as easily as bad information.” Then I sigh and let my shoulders slump. “I wish this bastard had a better sense of timing though. I’d been hoping to get some further guild work done for both conjury and marauder training before the next big fight with a primal.”

Minfilia is silent for a moment. “For the nonce, you may indeed have some time,” she says. “While we must get to the center of the mystery that is Lahabrea, investigation takes time, as I’m sure you know. Should news of a primal rise, or should a lead on the Ascian be found, I will call on you with the linkpearl.”

I blink, then smile. “Thanks boss. I know it’s a bit of a pain for me to go off like this, but I do want to be at my best; I don’t know how much of my work against Ifrit was me, and how much of it was the Blessing doing the heavy lifting. I’d like the next time to be more of the former and less of the latter, because slacking off is absolutely bad form.”

She chuckles. “The drive for self-improvement is hardly a negative one, in my eyes. It would not surprise me to learn that the Blessing magnifies what is present. If your best becomes better, then we are all the better for it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I nod. “Right, I’ll pop down to Limsa for a while and do some work around there. Though maybe take a day or two off, just to recharge.” I give a shaky laugh. “Not going to lie, seeing that Ascian there scared half a year off my life. Need to bring my stress levels down to something a little more manageable.”

“I bid you well then,” she says. “And good luck in your ventures.”

A smile quirks up my mouth. “Thanks Minfilia. You make sure to get some rest too. Personal experience speaking here, burnout is awful to muddle through, so it’s best not to get to that point to begin with.”

Her eyes glimmer in good humor as she says, “Only if you take your own advice,” and my laughter rings out as I leave the solar.

I ‘port down to Limsa and take a chance to breathe for a minute, listening to the crowd as people come and go. Then I march up the Marauder’s guild, looking to further train my skills and strength.

If the likes of Lahabrea and his minions are going to be more active, then I absolutely need all the help I can get.

The Axemaster is well pleased with my drive, and sets a couple of tasks for me to do; going up against a whole pack of jackals on my own is a pain in the ass, but if the animals are the ones making the mistake of breaking their teeth against heavy steel, then I’m just doing Darwin’s job in helping clean out the gene pool. Still, Wyrnzoen isn’t quite content, so I find myself picking up Solkwyb as we head out to lower La Noscea to poke around the salt strand for potential trouble makers outside of the Qiqirn that usually hang around there.

We chat a bit on the walk there about both axe skills and conjury; almost having the clearance to use Raise already seems to impress her, so…I guess I’m doing good on that front? I know my personal sense of expectations are skewed thanks to the canon WoL being able to juggle…let’s see, that Shadowbringers trailer. Archer, Warrior, Dragoon, Monk, Samurai, Dark Knight. Meteor was very melee oriented, wasn’t he?

Huh. I remember his fandom given name. Hadn’t expected that to cross through.

But I’m not him. I’m just me. And if three people are now vouching that I’m making decent progress so far, then I should take their word for it and accept the compliments with good grace. Just wish it was easier to not listen to the anxiety of not being good enough.

We get to the Salt Strand and find ourselves ambushed in short order by a whole squad of marauders. And they’re being led by a very familiar figure who barks out orders to focus on me.

Wyrnzoen, you’re not near as subtle as you think you are.

Still, it is a good chance to test how well I can draw attention to myself and keep the fighters away from Solkwyb while juggling damage against multiple targets; the explosive strikes that are endemic to the class pull on external aether rather than internal reserves, which is why melee classes are frequently defined by exceptionally strong willed and stubborn bastards. We don’t pull on our own energy to change the world around us, but rather bully the world into changing by sheer force of will and only a trickle of our own aether.

Finally, I wear the lot of them down to just the Axemaster, and it’s a test of willpower, pain tolerance, and sheer bullheaded grit to grind the big man down. I get more than a couple cracked bones for my efforts, and even after Wyrnzoen finally calls it quits and drags my poor guildmates home, I just sit on the salt plain for a few minutes as Solkwyb grouses about stubborn family and patches the worst of my fractures.

I’m gonna need a new pair of greaves now. Good thing I’m good for the money.

When we do get back to the Guild after a couple of teleports, the Axemaster is back in his usual armor and says that I’ll be ready to take down Kujata as soon as they get word of the beast’s locations, and that the whole guild will be standing with me. I punch the palm of my fist at hearing that; this quest isn’t level locked, only time locked. We’ll see when he’s ready to send word on the giant bull.

Still, it’s pretty good to hear that in some respects, I’m ahead of the curve. Kujata’s the end of the Marauder quest line, with the Warrior job opening up shortly after. Could be this time next month I’ll have my very first soulstone, and isn’t that a thought? I wonder what it’ll be like to interact with one.

With that done, I retire early to the inn; I did fully intend to take a day or two off and just cook or read, though before I can relax I decide to write a letter to my parents explaining that contact will definitely be going down. Just ghosting them could probably be considered safer, but it’s also an asshole move, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Ma might worry herself into an ulcer if I did that. So, one last letter, to be sent off after I leave Limsa for the next main job. Hopefully they won’t be too mad.

I have to re-write it a few times, either for giving too much information, or not enough. Eventually though, I have something that, even if it’s not satisfactory, is at least enough. Oh, forgot to pick up my pay from Tataru for the work with the Sylphs. I’ll send the letter from Vesper Bay then. Not like Lahabrea doesn’t know we’re there already.

Hm. I wonder how many of those ‘this is what’s happening with the bad guys’ cutscenes I’ve missed. I think a few of them have happened by now, introducing the Garleans to the audience. Nothing I can do about it right now, though I wish I remembered more from this time period.

With the letter done, I start to update my journal, being very careful about what I do or don’t describe regarding the Ascian, and then further write about the sylphs and what I’ve learned about Ramuh. Then, as an afterthought, I add a note that Auntie Crystal talked to me again unprompted, unless the Ascian counts as prompting. So I know she’s at least somewhat paying attention.

Doesn’t she interface a lot more regularly with Minfilia? I can’t quite remember, but I think that’s the case. Something about the Voice of the Mother or a similar title.

The idea of a title like that makes something in my brain itch, and not in a good way, and I let the shudder run down my spine. As primals go, and as order gods go, Hydaelyn’s pretty decent. But it’s still a coin flip on whether or not she’ll die during the events of Endwalker along with Zodiark. Not just because she’s a primal, but in that she’s a relic of Amaurot. If the collective people of today are to cut themselves free from the tragedies of that past and the unbroken world…

Well. That’s for the future, and not a concern for today. For now, she has my back, and I have hers. We’re more useful to each other alive than dead, and our shared goals align. I can work with that.

I pop out of the inn for a few minutes to buy a couple of more journals and more wells of ink for further writing; time to flesh out more of Earth’s world building I think. If I’m going to live long enough to retire, then I need to do a lot of planning for potential writing if I’m going to have any kind of audience for the stories I’d like to bring over into this world.

-x-

The next week or so is filled with calmer side jobs at the Bismark and with the Maelstrom, where I find myself lending another hand to one of my guildmates; the same woman fighting with either depression or perhaps a physical ailment is still under the weather, and that worries the boss. He wants to get her to eat properly, but the aldergoat he has on hand is not a meat the woman is fond of.

Well, if the meat by itself is the problem, then maybe treat it so it’s less gamey? The Guildmaster lets me at the ingredients storage, so I dig up some garlic (all the way from Ilsabard, must’ve gotten grabbed by privateers, and just a hint of what your middle class Garlean might eat in day to day life), sea salt, and just a little pepper to rub the meat before cooking it until there’s a neat grid of char marks.

Sure enough, the rub has my guildmate finishing off the plate, reluctantly impressed that I’ve managed to make aldergoat palatable for her. The respect I show to her as an upperclassman of the guild, and the respect I show to the food, has her passing along a finer chef’s knife when she looks at my equipment and sees what I’m making do with. I bow and thank her for her gift, and spend the rest of the day helping out at the restaurant. It’s busy work, hard work, but the only blood is when an apprentice cuts himself on a knife and the meat that’s brought in to be butchered by another adventurer. I get to learn how to treat auroch meat, something that will definitely be valuable when it’s time to take down Kujata---no, wait. There’s a chance the damned bull has something like Mad Cow Disease. What a waste.

Oh well, it’s still a good lesson to learn. I’m at the point where I can solo one of the smaller beasts anyway, and that’s a lot of eating to be hand for a town should I bring it in. Waste not, want not.

Then, early one morning, the linkpearl goes off, waking me up at around dawn.

“Hullo?” I mumble groggily once I remember how to trigger the ‘pick up’ spell.

“Oh, did I wake you?” Minfilia’s voice comes through clearly. “My apologies, I…what is the time?”

“Um…” I squint out the window. “Sun’s coming up in Limsa. Uh, I set my candle to…seven bells? I think it’s about five in the morning.” Then something clicks, and I ask, “Did you stay up all night?”

“It seems I may have,” she says ruefully. “My sincere apologies for waking you Tomoyo, I had not realized it was so early.”

“You need to get out in the sun more,” I grouse as I sit up in my bed, stretching out. “Being underground all the time throws off your mental day clock. There’s been studies about it. Plus it’s bad for your mental health if you don’t get regular sun, ‘s where seasonal depression comes from.” Then a yawn slips out, despite what effort I can dredge up to keep it quiet.

“You sound like Tataru,” she says with a slight laugh.

“Tha’s cause Tataru’s right,” I mumble, sliding out of bed and rummaging around for day clothes. Wood floor’s cold, where’s my socks?

“Treat yourself to some tea, my friend,” she tells me warmly. “When you have broken you fast, pray return to the Waking Sands as soon as you are able.”

“New developments?” I say, a little more alert at the idea of a lead on Lahabrea.

“I am afraid not,” she negates. “We needs must have more eyes on the problem, it seems.”

“All hands on deck then,” I say as I dress myself, one of my horns catching on my tunic for a moment before I carefully unwedge it. “Right. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

“I look forward to your return,” she tells me before closing the link.

Once I’m dressed and armored up, I spend a little extra coin on not just a solid breakfast, but a cup of milk coffee and extra sugar. The drink is sharp on my tongue, but that’s my inexperience with the flavor rather than any defect, I suspect, and the milk cuts the worst of the bitterness down to something more manageable. When I’m finished, I head to the stables, saddle up Bocco, and teleport us to Horizon. Once that’s done, I stop by the moogle there for a moment to send my letter and two thousand gil off to my parents.

I wish I could deliver better news to them, but if we’re actively poking after Lahabrea…I’m not giving him free hostages if I can help it. Bad enough he’s got Thancred.

It’s a half hour’s ride to Vesper Bay, so I get to the base early, check in with Tataru and pick up my pay, which well makes up for what I sent to Ma and Da, then take a breath before stepping into to office.

Let’s see what the next arc has in store.

Chapter Text

Kaede and Vien are always pleased to get letters from their daughter, since she’s decided to travel. True, Limsa Lominsa was not far from where they lived, but the chaos after the Dragon God had been unleashed still had its marks over much of the archipelago. And rumors have been flowing from the city that Garleans were once more on the move.

Vien is quietly glad that Eorzean common, for all its strange script, is easier to read than the symbols of his homeland. Here, he was literate. A feat not all smiths could achieve in Nagxia or Higanshi. And his daughter’s experiences have, if nothing else, pushed her to master her letters at an incredible pace.

Ma, Da

When we first talked, I said that I drew the wrong kind of attention when I repelled one of the Sahagain’s plans, and because of that, I might have to drop out of contact for weeks if not months at a time. 

I thought I had more time. One of the leaders of the bad guys showed himself. I’m fine, he just set a monster on me, and neither myself or the hostage suffered worse than bruises. 

I’m sorry. I thought I had more time. If things calm down soon, I might, might be able to contact you. But right now, it’s too dangerous to do anything more than send gil on the occasion when I’m sure no one will notice. 

Keep your horns high; you’ll hear rumors of what kind of nonsense I’m going to get into soon enough. I swear by all the gods, great and small, I’m going to come home to you as frequently as I can. It’s just going to be a while.

Don’t believe everything you hear of course, especially if some idiot or another claims I’ve died for whatever reason. The World Crystal is invested in my existence, and as long as I’m as careful as I intend to be, I won’t go down easily, or anything remotely quietly. Keep that in mind while I’ve gone silent.

I love you. Be careful. If you see strangers in black, armored cloaks and strange masks, let the lady Admiral know immediately. 

I love you.

The letter is worrisome. At least Tomoyo knows better than to tell them not to worry, but Vien wonders what depths his daughter has stumbled into. Their first encounter after her Blessing had been...challenging, in its own way. Learning that she had been chosen by the World Crystal was incredible news, but Kaede quickly realized just how much danger this had put Tomoyo in. And their warrior daughter not only agreed, but told them just what the blessing had done.

It’s heartening, in some ways, to learn that the soul persists after death. Tomoyo’s past life had been from a strange era that she couldn’t readily identify, peaceful and without war. But it had its own forms of challenges that Tomoyo claimed in later letters that gave her more tools to handle the conflicts she would likely encounter, and the scars these would inevitably leave her.

“Would that I could record all the scholarly knowledge I have in my head now,” she had written at one point to them. “But this Warrior of Light crap is going to leave me far too busy for that.”

That was another jarring thing; Tomoyo was still herself in so many ways, but her manner of speech had definitely changed thanks to the memories. “Nearly forty years of speaking one way, and twenty years of another,” she had responded to one of his letters. “Most days I can keep it straight, but it’s so easy to slip up when I’m around people I trust or love.”

So much of her was their daughter...but the age in her eyes, gained quite literally overnight, rattled him still. 

Would that the gods had left his family be. But he cannot control the likes of fate, and so he turns to his forge; Tomoyo had written of learning multiple Hands of War along with healing magic. He cannot fight by her side, but he can certainly supply her with arms needed to do battle against the enemies of the gods and the world.

-x-

“My apologies again for waking you so early, Tomoyo,” Minfilia offers when I step into her office.

“Don’t worry about it,” I shake my head and take a seat at one of the chairs in front of her desk. “It happens. So, no news on primals or Ascians?”

“Just so,” she confirms. ““At present, we know little and less of the Ascians,” she begins. “That destruction follows in their wake is the only certainty. I should not be surprised if they are responsible for the chaos that wracks the realm,” she adds with a frown. “If my fears are correct, then we must do all in our power to stop them.

“I have sent word to the three Grand Companies in a bid for cooperation.” Steel enters her grey-green eyes. “And the Immortal Flames responded to the effect of a potential sighting.”

I keep my breathing steady, not showing the relief of the fact that they’re nowhere near my parents. For now.

“This is intelligence we can ill afford to ignore. Go speak with Flame Commander Swift in the Hall of Flames in Ul’dah to inquire further. How you might proceed in the investigation, I leave to your discretion.”

I roll my neck, joints popping. “Commander Swift, Hall of Flames. Got it.” I wish I had a lick of training in actual investigation; crime dramas do not a guide make. Oh well, I should be able to liaise with professionals. And Thancred will likely be in the area. Not guaranteed, but likely, and that means we can keep an eye on each other.

Poor bastard. I don’t want to sus him, but until we drive Lahabrea out, I can’t know if or when he’s being possessed, my aether sense just isn’t that refined. And the former Speaker wouldn’t have lasted this long if he didn’t have some sense of subtlety. 

“Pray keep in mind that we are courting the unknown,” Minfilia reminds me. “Be safe, Tomoyo.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promise her.

I don’t take off immediately; I’ve got teleport, so I don’t need to run or ride the whole way to Ul’dah, and with no immediate emergencies, I can afford to take things at a slightly slower pace; something the game doesn’t express in the best ways, thanks to the ability to choose your own pace and the story waiting on you until you get back. So, while I’m here, I do my rounds.

If I’m going to be really stuck this hero role, then getting to know the people I’m going to work with is the least I can do, and not just the Archons either. Shepard, Hawke, and the Inquisitor are just some of the leaders who come to mind when it comes to people that wouldn’t be the worst to emulate in this position I am in and will be in the future. So, like them, I check in with folks whenever I’m in the Waking Sands.

I see a couple of new faces; a Miqo’te male from the Students of Baldesion, likely one of Urianger’s contacts. He’s a bit on the abrupt side when I ask what project he’s working on here, just telling me he’s not here to speak with me. Rude.

Another is a Hyur woman, a conjurer’s whose lost her crew and leader of her band. That’s…ow. I make a note to keep an eye on her, because that kind of trauma can easily lead to spirals of negativity that’ll get herself or others hurt.

Urianger is open to some discussion today. In fact, he opens with Louisiox’s staff, who’s role in the story I’m starting to remember more of.

“Dost thou knowest the import of the broken staff within the solar?” he asks. “It fell from the grasp of Archon Louisoix, the man who, in his abiding love for all Eorzeans, shielded us against the storm of the Calamity.”

“I can see why you all kept it,” I nod after a moment. “Though…can I be a bit frank, for a moment?”

He tilts his head, and I say, “How long has Minfilia been working with you all?”

“Since the time of our founding, or very near it,” he answers.

“So she knew the Archon. And then when he passes, she’s pushed into his role with…well, how much preparation has she had?” I ask gently.

“The fates can be most cruel,” he acknowledges with a nod. “But the lady Antecedent once led the Path of the Twelve, and has roseth most highly as the leader of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. We all beareth the utmost confidence in her.”

“I’m not saying she hasn’t earned it,” I shake my head, grasping my wrist as I try to find the words to explain my worries. Though it is good to know she’s got experience in leadership. “It’s just. Well, in my old life, there was something called Imposter Syndrome. Where you get the credit for some great deed or find yourself in a role of importance, and there’s a part of your mind that’s absolutely convinced that you’ve done nothing to deserve this, that you’re a fake and everyone will find out and turn against you. It’s illogical of course, but the mind is actually quite the flawed machine when you bring it down to the basics.”

“Beareth thou these thoughts?” he questions, and there’s a warm thread in his voice I hadn’t heard before.

I shake my head. “Not yet,” I say. “But I expect to, sooner or later. Minfilia, she’s got a reminder of what she needs to live up to, day in and day out hanging over her head. It’s a hell of a motivator, but it can bring a person down too. Especially if they’re the kind of person who thinks they shouldn’t burden others with their own worries and things like that. She’s got the weight of half the continent on her back.

“I’m the new kid on the block,” I say with some self-recrimination. “There’s not a lot I can do to help behind the scenes, because I’m needed out in the field. But she’s known you guys for years, so…” I shrug lamely. “Just keep an eye out for her, when the stress gets to be a bit much?”

“We all will,” he nods. “Thou art kind, and keen of eye to foresee such possibilities.”

“Sometimes I’m just a twenty year old woman still figuring out how to be an adult, nevermind a proper adventurer,” I admit. “And then there’s days where I’m closer to forty and can see the patterns on the wall as they form, if only thanks to life experience. Not often, but it’s a little more frequent these days, now that things are settling more and more.” And then a different memory triggers. “Oh, crap, I forgot to hand this off!” I dig in my bag and pull out a thinner journal and hand it to the Elezen.

“This is everything I could think of on personality, learning, and executive dysfunction disorders,” I explain. “There’s some stuff I couldn’t translate in Common for lack of proper terminology on my end, and I just don’t know where we’re at with neurology right now, so some of it might not make a whole lot of sense, but I’ve done my best to keep the information as accessible as possible. If you’ve got questions, I’ll try to make time after I finish the current investigation.”

He accepts the book carefully. “This will be of great value,” he says after a moment. “The afflictions of the mind art difficult to divine in source and cause. Even should only a portion be of use, it is still more than what we doth wield presently.”

My smile is a little uncertain, but I’m glad he’s not annoyed it’s so late. “Worse comes to worst, you can reverse engineer how we got to the conclusions we did,” I say. “Which is still good data to work off of. It’s a crap hypothesis if you can’t run tests to try and disprove it, right?”

“One should not invest oneself too much in a singular postulation,” he agrees with a wry smile. “I wish thee luck in thy quest, Tomoyo. And mine thanks for thine work.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, hiding my relief and taking the dismissal for what it is. I like Urianger, but he’s got a way of making me feel particularly self-conscious, even when I think he doesn’t mean to.

Biggs and Wedge are still cooling their heels in the base, as presently there isn’t a ton to do outside of ferrying some of the Scions about with the Tiny Bronco. I’ve no idea where that thing is parked, and with teleport and Bocco, I don’t think I need to, so I just commiserate with them a bit as they talk about their teacher. I know we get Cid back, and that he has memory problems at the beginning, but how, when, and where any of this gets addressed is beyond me at the moment. So for now, all I can do is lend a sympathetic horn and let them vent a little.

The Miqo’te/Mhigan duo are back at the base; Arenvald is getting ready for his first mission and meeting with Minfilia, which makes him nervous. I wish him luck, and promise him that the boss isn’t going to be harsh with him. A’aba Tia, when I ask if he’s seen any masked folk poking around the Amalj’aa while he’d been on his last job, mentions that one of the lizard folk did say something about such a thing…but that he’s got no further details, on accounting that all of those Amalj’aa were doing their damndest to kill him at the time. Fair enough.

Y’shtola wishes me luck on the job, and warns me not to let my guard down. No problems there, given that I’m already a bit paranoid, but no need to tell her that.

I do one last round of the storage area, only to see a familiar face in unfamiliar clothing. A new merchant…? No. It couldn’t be!

“Excuse me,” I approach the Hyur in yellow clothing. “You wouldn’t happen to know a man named Brennan, would you?”

“And how d’ye know the name?” Gods, they even sound the same!

“Because he passed through here a less than fortnight ago,” I tell him, and I get to see a man torn between celebrating and mourning. After a few moments, he chooses the former. 

“By the Traders, my brother’s alive!” he cries out in joy. “One of them, at least! If ye see him again, tell him Bremont’s still kickin’, and I’m sure with a better pocketbook at that!”

I laugh. “Happily,” I say, accepting the quest. How often will I get to deliver good news, after all? “Though I hope you have a chance of telling him yourself.”

“Aye, but ‘tis a merchant’s lot to be on the move,” Bremont says. “Hardly the first time I’ve missed a folk lookin’ for me or me for him. By the Twelve,” he takes a sharp breath, like he’s forcing back tears. “Thank ye for this, lass. The whole damned year’s been a slog, but yer words have more than made up for it!”

My grin gentles. “I’m glad. I can also say I saw your second sibling, as he was the first to pass through. I had no idea he was related to Brennan, otherwise I would’ve told him that I’d at least met one of his brothers.”

“Bit of a shame that, but what matters is that they’re all alive!” he says with a laugh. “If yer keepin’ an eye out, bring word when ye get it and ye’ll be gettin’ a discount, I swear by Nald’thal!”

“I will,” I promise. “Good luck and godspeed if you leave by the time my current task is done.”

“Same to you, lass!”

Outside of the storage area, I see Thancred sitting at the bench which leads to the staircase up to the Bay. “How are you doing?” I ask him. The man looks tired, shoulders slumped and shadows under his eyes.

“Well enough,” he says with a small shrug. “A sennight, and hardly any progress to speak of. It is frustrating to encounter such a difficult trail that stops and returns at the strangest of times and places.”

“Well, these guys have been sneaking about under everyone’s noses for who knows how long,” I say. “I doubt we’re the first to try and poke the hornet’s nest with a stick, and if we’re really unlucky, we won’t be the last. They’ve had time to figure out how to cover their tracks.”

“True enough,” he grants. “Though it is no less dispiriting.”

I make a face. “Sorry. I’m not too good at the encouraging thing.”

He gives an amused huff. “’Tis no fault of yours. I wish you better luck than what I seem to have.”

“Yours’ll pick up again,” I say with certainty. “All things pass in time, bad times included.”

With that, I’m out of the base and at the entrance. Tataru offers a snack as she wishes me luck on my way out. I’m happy to accept the biscuit I step out into the mid-morning sun, the temperature already beginning to rise. OK. Let’s get this quest on the road.

-x-

Speaking with Commander Swift sees mixed news come my way. He claims that there had been a man who saw someone matching Lahabrea’s description...only for the poor bastard to wind up dead two days later. I’m not entirely certain if it’s a case of a jumpy civilian fingering some random stranger, as black cloaks are hardly in short supply in Eorzea, or if it could be a case of an Ascian trying to cover up their activities in the area. The Commander kindly marks the location on my well used map of Thanalan, and with a quick Teleport, I’m off to Drybone.

I find the merchant Swift spoke of at Highbridge after a half hour ride, and talking with him and a few others in the area nets me...very little. Almost everyone agrees that there are rumors of a masked man in black, but understandably, no one really knows much past the idea that he exists. Most everyone is too worried about the Qiqirn raids going on that jeopardizes the camps and digs here.

Hihibaru, the Lalafell acting as my contact at the moment, does bring up the question that someone might be organizing the beast-folk behind the scenes; I know that a Ascian was giving the Amalj'aa a hand with Ifrit, but not which Ascian, due to my own faded memory. Could well be there’s a mook of the group here stirring up trouble.

I stop to think for a moment. My memory, as patchy and unreliable as it is, has actually been getting better at remembering relevant lore. Part of that could just be the extra information settling into my long term memory storage in my brain; I could hardly remember Alphinaud and Alisaie’s names in the beginning, but now I can confidently list all Archons of the Scions, a number of the relevant movers and shakers in Heavensward, and even some of the people who will be involved in Stormblood.

...I can’t wait to watch Y’shtola eviscerate Magnai’s pride.

I shake my head and file the thought away for later. Investigation first. There’s still plenty of daylight to burn, even with a minor dust storm kicking up.

Well, there would be plenty to do, if anyone knew anything; lack of intel means I spend most of the day helping around camp, getting some food and supplies delivered for a little coin. I’m not particularly hurting for cash right now, but the good will could take me some distance, and I know better than to work for free. Most merchants are generally in the business for their pocket book, with the kindness of their heart generally a distant second to third concern. They’re still people, mind, but balancing kindness with practicality is important.

Helping out the archeologists is good work though. Had the world been a kinder place, it would’ve been fun to dive into that line of work.

I crash in Drybones camp, grateful that I’d packed extra blankets in Bocco’s saddlebags; deserts are cold at night, and Thanalan is no different. The next morning at Highbridge is when I get a proper lead.

Hihibaru said he saw a man last eve matching my description, close to the border of the desert that leads into the Black Shroud, interacting with the Qiqirn. What they might’ve spoken of, he can’t say as he’d not been close enough to listen in. But one party or another, he suspects, used a smoking coal fire to signal the other for the meeting, freely handing me the supplies to start one myself.

I give him my thanks, give one last check over of my equipment, then call Bocco. It’ll be beast-folk or Ascian today, and I don’t want to go into that unprepared.

Naturally, my paranoia doesn’t pay off when I find a good spot to set the fire; I don’t recognize the uniform of the man who attacks me, drawn to the smoke, but the paper he was carrying when I behead him is mostly clear of blood, letting me make out a prayer to the Destroyer of the the Eorzean pantheon. 

Hrm. Not sure what to make of this. Maybe Hihibaru’ll know more.

I get educated that Rhalgar is the patron deity of Ala Mhigo; currently under Garlean rule, it was one of the city states of Eorzea. Isn’t that where Zenos is stationed currently? Or is he over at Doma, still? Either way, yeesh. And it turns out there’s a Little Ala Mhigo here in Thanalan, for refugees who couldn’t adapt to Ul’dah for one reason or another.

I sigh internally. Racism. It’s the same stupid shit no matter where you go, and desperation only makes it worse.

Luck would have it that Hihibaru has a daughter there, so that’s my next lead. I bid the merchant goodbye and saddle up. Should be able to get there before nightfall.

Some of the seriousness in my mind does get broken up when I hit the southern desert, as I get a look at one of the iconic monsters of Final Fantasy: Cactuars! Well, Sabotenders as the locals call them, but they’ve got the ability to eject their quills at high speed, basically making the cactuars. I can’t help but grin. What a weird and wonderful world this was, despite everything! And having the chance to explore it is definitely a blessing!

Little Ala Mhigo itself is stationed in a dense outcrop of rocks and caves, offering shade and shelter to the people hunkered down there. It’s...not great. Not the worst, but then, it’s been five years since Bahamut, so I’ve seen a fair amount of worse. But the smell of unwashed bodies, not quite properly disposed waste, and the thin, angry faces doesn’t bode well for these people’s long term prospects.

Dammit. No one should have to live like this. But what to do about it? Lahabrea takes priority at the moment, but…

I’ll talk to Minfilia about it later. Dammit. What a mess.

Hihira, the merchant’s daughter, knows nothing of cloaked menaces. So I pass on her father’s well wishes, and am pointed to the leader of the camp, not far from her own tent.

The old man goes straight to the point. “Who are you? What’s your business? Be quick about it,” he barks.

“My name is Tomoyo,” I introduce myself simply. “I am here in pursuit of someone. A man in a black cloak with a red mask. Have you seen anyone of the like?”

“A masked villain?” he grunts. “And pray tell why we should help you? We’ve enough concerns without answering to the whim of every outsider.” I open my mouth to answer, but he waves me away. “Begone with you. You will not waste my time.”

My mouth twists down, but I nod my head and step away. Time to find a way to earn some trust then. Nothing new.

That, combined with talking to the local Flame Guard, is what takes the rest of the day. Staying the night in LAM is a coin flip on whether I’ll get stabbed in my sleep or not, so I crash at Ul’dah, having attuned to the aetheryte present in the camp.

The next morning, I get word from one of the soldiers who are in charge of keeping an eye on the Amalj’aa that he’d spotted someone matching the description speaking to some folk of the refugee camp. But the local captain of the guard, when I mention this to him, warns me that I won’t be able to pull the information out of anyone. The small tasks I’d done yesterday means the hostility is a little lower, but trust is another matter. And the only way I’m getting that is forging a connection between myself and the Ala Mhigan resistance group.

...The Scions have a few of those agents in our group, don’t we? Hah! And this is why I do my rounds! I knew it’d pay off!

And praise whoever came up with the aetheryte network, because a trip that would’ve taken most of the day is instead only most of a bell. 

I pass by Thancred, and I feel a touch more confident of the situation if he’s here and not out and about; could well be I’m tracking a lower ranked Ascian or even just a mortal patsy of theirs in this case, which is...well, it’s something.

“Morning, Thancred,” I greet him with a small smile. 

“A fair morning to you,” he nods. “How fares your navigation through Thanalan?”

I rub the back of my neck sheepishly; it was this Archon that netted me the high quality map of Ul’dah and its environs because I I’d otherwise get royally lost. “Better, now that I’m attuned to most of the teleportation network in the area and that I’ve got Bocco,” I say. “Any luck in your investigation?”

“Less and little,” the man shakes his head, unenthused but not sounding discouraged. “Though…could I borrow a moment of your time?”

I drop next to him on the bench, open curiosity on my face. “Sure, what do you need?”

“This Ascian is elusive, and, sad to say, you have been the only one to encounter him thus far,” he says seriously. “Minfilia has given us all the description of your encounter and his appearance, but would you be willing to share your thoughts with me? Mayhap a more direct account will aide me in my investigation.”

My heart lurches as I blink at him. I’m more certain than not that the Unsundered is hitching a ride in Thancred’s body right now, if not actively steering him, so if I agree, I have to be really fucking careful with my words here. “I’m…not sure how it’ll help, but if you think it will,” I say uncertainly with a shrug. “Uh…where do you want me to start?”

“Your first thoughts and impressions of him, perhaps?” he offers.

I blow out a breath, buzzing my lips a bit. “OK, give me a few seconds to round up my thoughts,” I tell him. “They can scatter like spriggans at the slightest distraction.”

After maybe half a minute, I start carefully, “The first thing I noticed, when I recognized the uniform anyway, was that it was fancier, much more so on the back, than the individual I fought at La Noscea. And when he turned around to face me, his mask was half mask of a rather violent shade of red. The expression carved into it was…angry.

“OK, before I speculate,” I motion in front of myself like I’m putting up a billboard, “Giant disclaimer here, don’t take my word for it, because these are extremely preliminary thoughts and conclusions entirely based on anecdotal data!”

“And it’s a poor scientist that relies on it alone,” he remembers with a smirk. “I am aware.”

“Right,” I slump with relief. “Because the absolute last thing I want is someone getting hurt because they thought I knew what I was talking about and then I wound up being wrong. So, all this, is anecdotal data.

“That being said, my first instinct when I saw him and registered all that was that he was very likely to be higher up in whatever hierarchy the Ascians might have as an organization. Mostly by the usual logic, if the bad guy’s fancier than the others, chances are he’s more important. Now, whether he’s just a mid boss, one of several bosses, or the big boss of them himself, I’ve got not a single clue and refuse to try and give any conclusions on that without more data.”

“Did he say anything that caught your attention?” he asks after a moment of thought.

I pause and mull over potential answers. “When he introduced himself, he said, and I quote, ‘I am Lahabrea, servant of the one true god.’ What in all the hells this one god is, was, could be, I haven’t the slightest of clues. Could well be he was bullshitting on that as well, given we’ve no idea how old this faction is nor what culture they draw from. For all we know----well.” I shrug, cutting myself off before I can say anything stupid. “We don’t know anything, so I’m deeply confused by what he meant by that.”

He frowns. “That is puzzling. And concerning. Religious zealots are no small opponents.”

I shudder. “Don’t need to tell me twice,” I make a face. “The sort of horrors people will justify in the name of a ‘sincerely held belief’ can boggle the imagination.” Then I shake my head and sigh. “But that’s a rabbit trail. Uh…he said something about my death heralding the death of the Crystal? If he’s a religious zealot, then it’s a faction that’s an enemy of the World Crystal, but…” I tilt my head and frown. “There’s no stories I know of that speak of a rival god?” I lilt my voice high in question at the Archon.

He shakes his head. “I know of no such god in any of the religions I’ve studied.”

I rub a hand over my face. “Which means he was either bullshitting, or we’ve got something new to worry about. Great. Just what I wanted for Starlight.”

A light pressure against my pauldron tells me he’s put a hand on my shoulder. “Whatever the truth of it, you are here and alive. That is no small thing, and it is one I am grateful for.”

I duck my head slightly before looking over to him with a smile. “Thanks. Fortunately he just sicced a giant mutated mite on me, so I just got a bit dinged up and burned through a chunk of my antidote supply, but that was the worst of it.”

“You did not fight him yourself?” he asks, and I can’t quite swallow the hysterical giggle that erupts from me in time, though I cover my mouth and shut it down a few seconds later.

“Ah, no, no I didn’t,” I say with a very nervous smile. “This is just instinct and intuition talking, but I’m pretty sure if I tried anything, Elder Frixio and I would’ve been mite food.”

He gives me a worried frown. “Do you truly think he’s that powerful?”

“I don’t know,” I emphasize. “But if your survival instinct is screaming at you, it’s usually for a good reason. When it comes to my chances in a fight---” I shake my head. “Ask me again when I’ve got, like, three or four more primals under my belt.”

The worried look doesn’t go away. “If you find yourself in direct pursuit of this fiend, take caution,” he bids me.

“That goes double for yourself,” I tell him sternly. “I’ve got Auntie Crystal keeping an eye on me, most of you don’t have that.”

He smirks slightly and shakes his head. “That you borderline blaspheme the Mothercrystal still boggles the mind,” he says in a lightly teasing tone.

I shrug. “Frankly put? Unless or until she says something about it, I’m sticking with it. And so far I haven’t heard a peep regarding the title, so she either doesn’t care or is alright with it.”

“Well, I’ve taken enough of your time,” he says, a clear dismissal. “And Minfilia’s. Thank you, my friend.”

“I’ve got crap for proper data, but, it’s something, right?” I say with a shrug. “Anyhow, see when I see you,” I say as I stand up and wave goodbye.

I step into the solar, and Minfilia greets me with a smile. “Tomoyo! Are you here to deliver news?”

“Yes and no,” I say with a small sigh, sitting at one of the chairs in front of her desk. “There are reports of a black cloaked, masked man in southern Thanalan, interacting with the Ala Mhigan refugees there. But without a way to win the favor of their leader, who has ties to the resistance cells in Ala Mhigo itself, I’m not going to be able to dig any further. They’re...very bristly, and considering how bad off they are, I can’t blame them.” I look up to her. “I’ve been trying to get to know some of the people who work with our group, and I recall that we had two...agents? Who’ve worked in the area of occupied territory. Can we use that somehow?”

She hums in thought, leaning back in her chair. “Your assessment of Little Ala Mhigo is unfortunate in its accuracy. I too, am unsurprised in their loss of faith with their fellow man. The city state has, after all, been in enemy clutches for nigh two decades now. And as neither of their fellow nations bear the strength to retake it, many Ala Mhigans now suffer on the fringes of society, downtrodden and discriminated against.” Pain flickers across her face. “Would that we could ease their suffering. But I fear naught short but retaking their nation would be enough.”

“And of course no one has the military for that given primals and Garleans parked on their doorstep,” I grimace. Then a thought occurs to me. “Hang on, isn’t Ala Mhigo desert territory? Harsher than Thanalan?”

“‘Tis a high desert, when compared to the warm sands of Thanalan,” she corrects gently. “But yes, their clime is most frequently a difficult one to endure.” She pulls out a map from a drawer and shows me the locations of the city.

“Huh. No wonder the Garleans targeted it,” I observe; it seems to sit on a land bridge between Eorzea and Ilsabard, the continent the Garlean Empire started from. A mountain chain takes much of the land bridge though, which would explain why Ala Mhigo sits at a high elevation. “Which way do the high wind currents blow, through here?” I ask, circling the surrounding landscape of the occupied territory.

She blinks for a moment, then brightens. “From which the rains would usually come?” When I nod in reply. “Frequently, they come from the north,” she traces its path. “Though some years see wet winters when the winds shift to flow from the northwest.” Which cuts to the ocean labelled the Northern Empty. 

“I’m surprised their winters aren’t as bad as Ishgard’s,” I observe. My grandparents lived in the American high desert themselves, so I’m familiar with the environment that sort of climate produces.

“Before the Calamity, the Holy City was not locked in eternal winter,” she tells me, and I blink. Huh. Hadn’t known that. “Though it is not unheard of for the realm to suffer debilitating cold at times when the winds shift unexpectedly. 

“To return to the matter at hand, it just so happens that there is a native of Ala Mhigo among the Scions. Your observations and memory for our people serve you well,” she adds with a smile.

I flush slightly. “Getting to know the help is never a bad thing,” I say. “And, well, I’m drawing from the practice of other leaders I’d read about. I-It’s not my idea.”

“The source of this impulse does not matter when it aids you and others equally,” she says. “I would introduce you to him, to assist in your investigation.

“Seek out Hariberht. He joined our cause in hopes that it would lead to his homeland’s liberation. While he spares no effort to that endeavour, I am sure he would be pleased to help you,” she says. “He is currently between missions, and is likely to be in the storage area.”

“Got it,” I nod decisively. “Thanks Minfilia. I’ll let you know if we get anything concrete.”

Hariberht is respectful when he greets me. “Tomoyo Nanashi, the rising star of the Scions. Is there aught I can do for you?”

“There is, actually,” I bow my head politely to him. “My investigations regarding the Ascians has led me to Little Ala Mhigo. He may be interacting with members of the refugee camp, and if I am to ascertain precisely who he may be targeting, I need to gain the trust of the leader at the least, if not more.”

The man hisses between his teeth. “That’s no small task ahead of you,” he says. “Such a feat can be difficult even for my fellow countrymen, nevermind someone from beyond the borders of Eorzea such as yourself.” His tone is a touch apologetic, and I shrug. I can’t help what shape I was born in, nor my location.

“I would like nothing more than to help,” he continues. “But my name carries little weight with that lot. I had left the Resistance in favor of the Scions, and they’re not inclined to forget it.”

“They perceived it as betrayal?” I ask with a slight wince.

“At least abandonment, which is little better,” he grunts. “They’ll have nothing to do with me, but not all of the Resistance is the same. Albreada, a woman in the Quarrymill, is a contact of mine to them. Mention my name, and she’ll not lead you astray.”

“Thanks for this,” I say with a nod. “I appreciate it.”

He huffs, but is a little less dour. “An Ascian causing trouble among my countrymen is not something I’ll stand,” he says. “Give him hell when you catch him.”

I smirk. “Will do.”

-x-

Once more, praise Teleport. A trip at least two days by chocobo-back or several hours by aircraft is only a few minutes, giving me plenty of time to dig around for intel.

The contact Hariberht sends me to isn’t best pleased to hear of him; apparently they had a thing, and him leaving the Resistance did him no favors in her eyes. Explaining that someone might be trying to take advantage of the refugees mollifies her enough to point me in the direction of the local cell leader.

And now I’m very, very glad I’ve taken levels in white magic; the cell leader isn’t comfortable with me treating one of his wounded men, who’s injury is at risk of going sceptic, but handing a few potions over nets me some points before I’m bid to try and get some proper medicine and aid from the locals of Quarrymill.

This is also the first time I run into myself and the elementals, at least according to Albreada, being at odds. Apparently she can’t treat the man, she claims, else all Ala Mhigans risk getting banished outright from the Shroud. I bite my tongue; I can’t hear them as some conjurer’s can, whether it’s due to a lack of natural talent, my own skepticism, or perhaps the Mothercrystal taking up most of my magical ‘bandwidth’ so to speak is anyone’s guess. If Albreada is right, then I can understand the call she’s making. But why would the local conjurer do what she can’t if the elementals are speaking up?

I’m proven right; she won’t lift a finger, as the elementals are against it. When I press for why, I’m told that they remember the Autumn War some eighty years past, when Ala Mhigo attempted to invade when the spirits’ strength had been great and woodsin still a thing to be feared. They hadn’t forgotten, and they hadn’t forgiven. That the refugees are tolerated to exist within their borders is already a compromise from the elemental's side of things, and no one's willing to push further.

I give a frustrated sigh. Blue and orange morality at its finest. I give the bad news to the cell captain, then ask what I can do to help.

He asks for antelope horn to craft a medicine, and I agree after a moment; I rather hope I won’t be getting bitten for doing this by the Woods, but I need this lead. The Ascians take priority for now. Worst comes to worst, I can ask Brother E-Sumi for instruction on appeasing the elementals later.

I shove away the grumbling thought of kissing up to such fae-like beings. They’re real, they’re here, and I need to respect that for now. Skies am I glad I signed up for the Maelstrom and not the Adders.

Finding the antelope is simple enough, though when I kill them, I work to render as much of the animal as I can rather than just leave it to rot with only the horn; I was taught that using everything is how you respect the animal you kill; skin for the leatherworkers, bones for tool and scrimshaw work, meat that I can cook or donate, and the offal for composting. Magic pocket space is one more blessing in this line of work, as the stuff won’t decay as long as you wrap it properly.

Busccaron not only knows how to use the horns properly, it turns out, but has some of the anti-infection medicine already prepared. I trade the horns with him, and make a note to ask someone to investigate if the horns truly do have antibiotic properties, or if it’s something else in the medicine itself. 

Delivery goes well; it’s past noon, so I break at the Quarrymill and share the antelope meat I’ve harvested before cooking some for myself. The local healer gives me a look, but doesn’t say anything, so I eat in peace.

When I return to the small encampment next to the village, the captain is speaking with one of his men. He then turns to me and damn near begs for me to find one of his missing men. In fact, the man who’s injury nearly went septic.

How in the hell is he standing, much less gone off somewhere if he’s in that bad a shape? When I ask, no one has a clue, save for Albreada, who’d seen him leave for the southwest while I’d been eating. And going by the letter he’d left the woman, he had no intention of returning alive.

As tough as the people of Hydaelyn are, compared to squishy Terrans, he hadn’t wandered off too terribly far. Hell, the man can barely stand; when a goblin ambushes the two of us, he just has the strength to back away as I go full tank and taunt the scavenger before they can target my charge.

When I shake the blood off my axe, the Resistance cell captain comes barreling through, likely attracted to the noise. Equal parts thrilled that he’s alive and furious at his stupidity, the captain physically carries his brother-in-arms back to camp. I only refrain from offering to help because the poor soldier’s pride is already black and blue from this.

The sun is beginning to go down, and the captain’s voice is warm when I bid them good evening; hopefully, this is enough to get an in with the Thanalan cell, as well as just generally a decent thing to do.

Sure enough, I get a letter of recommendation from the cell captain the next day when he asks how he can repay me. He seemed a bit confused at my bright grin, but shrugs it off in favor of his medic when the man says that his injured soldier has a good prognosis.

And no retaliation from the Woods so far! Better and better. I’ll keep an ear to the ground, just in case.

At first, the old man in Little Ala Mhigo, Gundobald, is just as gruff as last time. But the letter proves to be exactly what I needed. Apparently he’d thought the captain to have been dead due to lack of contact, so this is good news to pass on, as well as expressing my reliability.

And finally, he acknowledges seeing a masked man near the camp, and is willing to discuss it. Thank the stars.

The suspect, according to Gundobald, has been meeting with the younger members of the camp in secret. Or as secret as it can be, given that this cell leader is aware of the problem. He’s willing to lend his weight to my investigation, allowing me to name drop him in order to get the intel I need.

One kid is jumpy about the subject, swearing up and down that the whole thing is a bad idea until I make a mistake and show that I didn’t know exactly what they’d talked about. She clams up. The second is clueless. The third doesn’t know anything, but is willing to mention to others that I was interested in the subject. Whether to warn them an outsider was snooping or to warn them away from the suspect, who knows. And the last expresses his genre savviness by stating that he stayed far away from the cloaked man, all but smelling the trouble on him. Good lad.

Gundobald isn’t pleased to be vindicated about his worries, but he’s not entirely unsympathetic to the kids around here; having been in a similar situation himself, he admits, means he knows well the anger and spite that drives him, as it was the same thing that had Ala Mhigo overthrow a despot ruler two decades ago, only to leave themselves vulnerable to the Garlean invasion that followed directly after. 

Gundobald’s second draws my attention after the short history lesson and speaks quietly to me. That an outsider has gotten the approval of the old bear has the informal leader of the youths here interested, and he’s apparently willing to speak with me. I agree to meet with the lad, out in the desert and away from prying eyes.

Hah. Three guesses what will happen, and the first two don't count.

The area is perfect ambush territory. The kid is, predictably, suspicious, thinking I might be Garlean. And the ambush is, predictably, amature. None of these idiots are even wearing any armor!

I take care to avoid killing anyone, though there’s definitely some cracked bones spread about in response to their stupidity. Honestly, do they think this heavy armor and battle axe is for show?

Gundobald is equally unimpressed, and understandably unhappy at the news I deliver. And the whole situation takes an even grimmer turn when a young woman stumbles into the camp and limps towards the old man.

Her voice shakes even as she at first tries to hold herself high. She doesn’t say what, exactly, the Corpse Brigade, the former royal guard of Ala Mhigo did to her, but the limping, the tremor in her knees, and the bruises and tears say enough. A beating, and rape.

White hot fury flashes through me, but I bank it as I step forward. “Ma’am? I’ve some skill in healing magic. I would lend you aid if you are willing to grant permission.”

“Help from an outsider?” she spits, but I do not react. “What help can you offer when even Ala Mhigans…” Her eyes shutter. “Gods...can I even call them that. Can I even call myself that?”

“You are of Ala Mhigo,” Gundobald rumbles, fury in his eyes. “Whatever poison they might have dripped into your ears is only that. Poison. Be strong---I swear that these villains will pay for what they’ve done in due time. But tell me, does anyone else know of this?”

“Wilred,” she rasps. “He saw me outside. He was so angry…”

The old man breathes, then turns to me. “I will tend to Bertliana,” he states. “Though your offer is appreciated, I would bid you to find what the young ones make of this. I fear that they may do something rash.”

I bow my head. “If you’ve need of me, please, let me know,” I say. “Circumstances such as this are why I took up the mage’s crook as well as the axe.”

I move around the camp and find a few things; a map, a knife used for hunting and skinning that one of the kids fumbled before scurrying off, a woman the same age as Bertliana swearing bloody vengeance against the Corpse Brigade and entirely willing to swear herself to Wilred’s cause, a lad who’s sure that they’ll gain the power to fight back against Garlemald, and of course Wilred himself, praying to the Destroyer in front of a small shrine. The kid isn’t impressed to see me...and he claims I won’t be able to stop them, as they intend to claim the crystals they need. 

My heart jumps a beat. “You’re going to summon a fucking primal?!” I hiss quietly, just having the sense not to screech in the camp, as much as I want to.

“We don’t answer to you,” the idiot bares his teeth in an ugly expression, but when I reach out to collar the brat, he scurries off.

I hiss again, fury winning out over fear, and I spin on my heel and head for Gundobald.

“That look in your eyes bodes ill,” the old man says. “What news?”

“Those idiot children are following this map,” I hand over to him the knife and map. “And they’re looking for crystals. Magic crystals. The cloaked man is giving them the ingredients to summon a primal.”

He unrolls the map and swears under his breath. “Those children are unranked and unblooded, all. Forget the madness of summoning a primal, the Amalj’aa will butcher them to the last before they get within a hundred yalms of the crystals.” His eyes are hard as he looks to me. “They are headed east. If we hurry, mayhap we will cut them off before they kill themselves.”

The sun is high in the sky as we race out of the cave system, the heat oppressive and the air dead. And by the time we get there, there’s less of half a dozen of the teenagers, all shell-shocked with Wildred being the only one upright, though he’s not much better off.

“Wilred!” Gundobald barks. “Is this all who has survived?”

The young man’s face is pale, almost bloodless. “This...it wasn’t supposed to happen like this! We...were supposed to get the crystals. Get the power to reclaim our homeland! We...we were…”

“Pull yourself together, lad!” the old man snaps, clearly out of patience.

Wilred jumps. “W-we were going to make an offering of crystals to Rhalgr!” he rushes out. “To summon him, as the masked man taught us! We planned to sneak into Zanr’ak, to make off with the lizardmen’s stache, but…” he chokes. “So many dead...gods forgive me…”

“Heathens!” Whatever else the idiot would say is cut off as Amalj’aa cross the bridge, weapons in hand and snarls on their faces. “You will pay with your souls for your trespass!”

Gundobald steps forward, and I follow. My face is grim as the rebel leader states, “I regret the transgressions of my kin, but a soul is too high a price to pay for youthful folly.” He swings the lance off his back and declares, “For all their failings, they are the hope of the Ala Mhigan people, and I will guard this hope with my life!”

I shrug my axe into my hands, silent. Reaming out the young fool here won’t do any good, and I imagine the Amalj’aa here are as tempered as the ones I faced earlier. I hate it, but talking won’t do much good.

The fight is a slog; Amalj’aa are big, tough, and can take a beating. And it doesn’t help that they’ve got tempered spellcasters at their side. I draw attention to myself with a war cry, supercharging it with my aether to pull their focus over while the old man finds the critical points with his lance. Hot blood spills over my armor and some on my face as I cut through beast-folk and hominid alike, grim determination pushing me through as our own caster keeps the worst of my wounds sealed when I take blows for our weaker members.

When all is said and done, there’s nearly a dozen corpses at the bridge, and the youths don’t look much better for the violence.

Gundobald, being an old hand at this kind of thing, approves of my work, wishing that some of them would learn a thing or two from me before bidding us to return to their temporary home.

And then Wilred pipes up about those fucking crystals.

I lose my temper, stomping over to the teenager and grabbing his collar, pulling him down to eye level. 

“All you’re going to do is summon a fucking primal if you use those crystals,” I hiss, teeth bared. “Because all you need for those things is elementally charged crystals, prayer, and idea of what you’re trying to summon. You won’t call the Destroyer. You’ll make a fake, and that fake will temper everyone around it and destroy everything around it! And then I’ll be the one cleaning up your mess when everyone here is dead when I have to kill the damned thing!”

“Wh-wha---?”

“Those tempered wretches are the result of those touched by a god, Wilred,” Gundobald steps up, a hand placed on my shoulder, and I reluctantly let go, pushing the boy back. “Is that what you desire for yourself and your friends?”

“N-no...no one said anything about---” the boy swallows. “The masked man told us we could defeat the Empire if we summoned Rhalgr! He swore---!”

“He lied,” I bite out. “That’s what they do. They lie.” This fucking idiot. Even as a child in my first life I wasn’t this stupid!

“Enough!” Gundobald’s voice could grind boulders. “I would hear the rest of this sorry tale back in Little Ala Mhigo. I imagine Tomoyo would hear it as well.”

I take a breath to try and calm my temper and nod. I wonder if that group of Corpse Brigade shits are an option to hunt right now. I could use with some guilt free targets, and rapists like that are about as guilt free as it gets. A lot of Garleans are conscripts. Brigands? Much more fair game.

We make our way back in stony silence to the camp before the old man gets Wilred to talk.

I find myself disappointed. The Ascian, whichever one it was, just gave them the ingredients list for primal summoning and left. The kids, so desperate for any kind of change, didn’t even question it. Just the one visit? It seems sloppy that the Ascian would be spotted, unless he spoke to multiple people over the course of the week or so.

And when Wilred starts to despair over their current lot in life, Gundobald doesn’t tolerate it, and I nod in agreement with the old man. Though I’m a little surprised, and maybe a touched pleased when he reminds the kid that it was an outsider who pulled his ass out of the fire.

“Sorry I tried to kill you,” the kid awkwardly apologizes, and I sigh.

“You’re not the first, you won’t be the last,” I say, because as much as I do still want to chew him out for being stupid, he really is just a kid. And it’s going to sink in pretty soon that he’s just gotten a lot of his friends killed. “Just, please, for the love of peace, don’t go trusting suspicious masked figures in black? Oh, and that reminds me, what color was the mask? It’s important.”

“Eh?” Wilred blinks. “Erm...I. Honestly don’t remember.”

I groan and slump. Dammit. Still don’t know if it’s a goon, Convocation, or Unsundered. He tries to apologize again, and I wave him off.

“Don’t worry about it. We still have more information than when we started, and that’s the important bit. Go try to sleep,” I tell him. “That second wind is going to give out soon, and there’s a fair chance you’ll pass out when that happens.”

When he leaves, the old man turns to me. “You have my thanks, Tomoyo. It gives me hope, that there are souls as kind as you out there. We have little to offer, but you may always find respite as long as we are here, in Little Ala Mhigo.”

And that’s the end of my mission here. There’s no more intel to be had on the Ascian. I bow to the elder of the camp, call on Bocco, and make for Vesper Bay. Chances are I’ll crash there for the rest of the day once I make my report. Oich. What a mess.

Chapter Text

“Welcome back, Tomoyo,” Minfilia greets me as I enter. “I am reliably informed that your travels took you to both Quarrymill and Little Ala Mhigo. Tell me,” she bids me to take a seat. “Were you able to learn aught about Lahabrea?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I drop into the chair after setting aside my axe. “I do know that there was an Ascian about Little Ala Mhigo telling a bunch of teenagers how to summon primals, not that he told them it was a primal that they would summon. Said it’d be Rhalgr. The kids took him at his word, tried to raid the Amalj’aa stronghold nearby for their fire crystals, and most of them died as a result. But when I asked their little ringleader what color mask the man had, he said he couldn’t remember. So it could’ve been Lahabrea.” I shrug. “Or it could’ve been an Ascian like the one I killed in La Noscea. There’s no way to know for sure.”

She frowns. “Sad to say, it seems like the sort of plan the Ascians would employ. There are many ills that benight the land, and while many can be attributed to the Calamity, some seem to be directed by a malign will.” She looks to me. “We must press on and learn more, while events remain quiet on the primal front.”

Before I can reply, a high voice cuts me off, though it is muttered. “All work and no play makes for a dull Scion.” Huh, I hadn’t noticed Tataru at the bookshelf.

“Hm? Did you need something?” said Hyur turns to her peer.

“No, nothing!” Tataru rushes out the solar, and I have to bite back a snort.

The Archon clears her throat and continues. “Mayhap we ought to rest a while before we continue further.”

“Just because you’re not on the field doesn’t mean you’re not working hard,” I assure her. “Stars know all this logistics work and intel tracking would make my head spin. A break sounds like a good idea.” I roll my neck. “And I could use the chance to actually catch up on my reading. I hadn’t known that Gridania was originally underground before I saw Lady Kan-E-Senna’s speech, much less that Ala Mhigo had picked a fight with them almost a century ago.” I sigh. “I have so much history to catch up on.”

She smiles. “It is good that you would expand your horizons, but pray, remember to sleep and truly rest,” she reminds me. “No one man may know all things. It is no evil to rely on others for knowledge.”

“True, but,” I stop and chew on my tongue a little as I try to figure out how to phrase this. “I wasn’t a master in my last life in any chosen field, but I was well educated, and proud of it. I enjoyed learning of the world, and that much hasn’t changed, even if the how’s of the learning have. To not know things that are obvious to a number of people rankles that pride something fierce, even if it was from a lifetime ago. So I’m going to talk to Y’shtola and ask for a couple of good history books. At least one for recent history and another for a broader timeline.”

“Then I wish you joy in this endeavour, and will see you in two days’ time,” she bids, and I stand. 

“Oh, do you want anything to eat, by the by?” I ask her before I leave, making her blink. “I’m just. I don’t know, just thought I’d offer to get you something from one of the cities if you have a craving for anything since you’re working so hard. Treat yourself, you know?”

I feel a little stupid, but I meant what I said about her busting her butt over the paperwork; administration is no cushy job, despite the nice office; she’s juggling a lot of spinning plates, and just because she’s hiding the pressure, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

Her laugh is a little breathy. “I wouldn’t want to put you through the trouble, my friend,” she says, and I can’t help but feel happy that she’d regard me as a friend, and not just a fellow Echo bearer.

“Are you kidding?” I say with a grin. “We didn’t have teleport last time around, it’s bloody amazing! I can pop down to Limsa for cheap oranges and be back up here in less than an hour, or swing over to Gridania for their mashed popotoes! I’ve had to remind myself a dozen times over that ‘hey, you can teleport, you don’t have to plot the course by chocobo-back and measure the trip out in days!’ I mean, I’d probably do the trip tomorrow, but it’d seriously be no trouble to pick something up for you if you want.”

Her smile is warm, and there’s something bright in her eyes. “Thank you, Tomoyo. For now, all is well, but I will keep your offer in mind.”

“Do that,” I tell her. “I mean it, it’s the least I can do for you all giving me a place and a group of people to ground myself to. If I’d been alone dealing with this…” I wince at the thought. “Probably wouldn’t be in the best mental place, honestly. So, consider this me trying to say thank you.”

“And you are most welcome. Now shoo!” she waves me away playfully.

“Shooing!” And with that, time to make like Uncle from Jackie Chan Adventures and do some research!

-x-

Unfortunately, research has to take a back seat. Tataru actually passes me a letter from the moogle out in the town had directed to me; the familiar, surprisingly flowing script from the Axemaster tells me it’s time to hunt down Kujata. I tell Tataru to let the others know I’ll be in Limsa for at least a day, if not two, for a high level hunt with my Guild and the Maelstrom, and I’m off.

Reporting into the guild gives me a short list of things to do before we actually kill the damned auroch. First there’s keeping the kid, Sighard in the loop that we’re taking it down today. Fair enough, and understandable, so I don’t begrudge that task at all. It helps that even if the Stead isn’t on the aetheryte network, I have Bocco now who helps cut the travel time down significantly.

The kid is fearful, but hopeful, and begs that I ensure the beast dies. I solemnly promise him that it’ll be dead by sundown; as dumb as it was for the boy to try and go after it himself, that does take a certain amount of guts most people just don’t have.

Then I pick up my teammates; Solkwyb and Broenbhar, who will help take down the auroch once we track it to its final location.

Sadly enough, that’s not too hard given that it’s just crashed through a trade caravan, leaving a few more scattered bodies, a lot of wreckage from the caravan itself, and some animals that were attracted to the mess. We clear that out, and finally find Kujata.

Honestly, I wonder if he’s eaten crystalized something in order to get that big; little wonder the locals call him the Mountain, he’s looks to be as big as the semi-truck that killed me in my last life, and is likely not much lighter either.

Most fights are relatively short. Anywhere from seconds to maybe a couple of minutes at most. This isn’t one of those fights. Even a mythril axe would’ve only been able to bite so deep into the fat, muscle, and bone of this beast, so it’s not so much of felling it in a single mighty blow, as much I do try for that, but the death of a thousand cuts. Joints are especially my preferred target to try and bring Kujata down and limit his movement, as his charges are sure to kill at our current level. Even a glancing blow from a low sweeping horn breaks three of my ribs despite the armor itself holding, forcing Broenbhar to focus the animal’s attention to him while Solkwyb makes sure I won’t drown in my own blood.

Magic is an incredible equalizer for the fight, thankfully, so it’s with patience, stubbornness, and three ethers tossed our conjurer’s way that we eventually cut through a back and foreleg, hobbling Kujata to the point where he collapses. Even so leveled, he thrashes his head about, so I have to duck twice more under his horns before I can get in close enough to drive the head of my axe through an eye and into his brain, finally putting the damned thing out of everyone’s misery, including his own.

“There’s no way he’s natural,” I pant harshly, leaning against the still bleeding corpse. “In size or demeanor. Rabies? No, fuck, what’s the right term. Lockjaw?”

“I know of what you speak,” Solkwyb leans against her staff, tired but pleased. “There are more insidious illnesses that can drive the aurochs mad, though we don’t know how or from where this affliction strikes. It’s possible the beast was but one more victim.”

“And with that possibility, much suffering with it,” Broenbhar rolls his shoulder gingerly after Solkwyb forced it back into its socket. “Whatever the reason, his rampage is at an end.”

“Problem is if it’s diseased, we can’t render the meat,” I sigh, straightening myself now that there’s some oxygen back in my system. “What a godsdamned waste…”

That’s when the Axemaster shows up, with Sighard and his grandfather in tow. Getting the starry eyed treatment from the kid’s a bit weird, especially since I’m still covered in blood and eye fluids from killing Kujata, but at least I got a promise from the boy that he’ll train until he’s 19 before he signs on with the Marauder guild. Whether he’ll be a ‘hero’ like me when he grows up, only time will tell.

Hopefully he won’t have to go on the same kind of adventures I’ll be pushed into. That’s not something to wish on another.

‘This world has had its fill of heroes.’

The memory makes me twitch, and I shove it aside. Gee, thanks Ardbert, like I don’t have enough on my plate as is! Don’t need his depressing early-arc shit talking, not to mention the obnoxiousness that’ll follow from Emet-Selch in that arc.

Still going to nail that Ascian to a wall for founding Garlemald if nothing else.

I shove that thought to the side as well, and focus on the congratulations I’m getting from my guildmates for landing the final blow. Wyrnzoen tells me to meet up with them back at Guild headquarters once I’ve had the chance to maintain my armor and weaponry (see, getting all the blood and gunk off of me), and they teleport off.

Still a damned waste to just leave the corpse here, but I suspect the guildmaster will tell someone about it and they’ll get professionals to deal with it.

I track down Bocco, strip out of my armor, and saddle up on him before ‘porting us back to Limsa. He gets stabled, and I get to the inn so I can take a bath to try and feel like an Au Ra again and less an axe murderer.

The thought makes me snort. Oh my god, I’m a legitimate axe murder. I just keep my targets to appropriate ones. It’s a dark as hell joke, but I still quietly snicker under my breath.

When I no longer look like a horror movie villain, I report back to the guild. Wyrnzoen admits that as a whole, I’ve nothing more to learn here, and that he’s proud of how far I’ve come in the span of the better part of four moons. If I’m to improve as a warrior, then I must step out further into the world and explore my options there, though I’m welcome to return and teach at anytime.

That being said, he did get a report a few minutes ago of strange activity off of Costa del Sol; if I’ve the time, he’d be pleased to see my help in sorting out whatever might be happening down there.

I accept, because even if it’s around 4 bells in the afternoon, the weather is still clear, and I’ve got another day or two before I might be called back to the Waking Sands. It’s a little surreal to think I technically qualify as a master Marauder when I step out of the building and see the setting sun. And that’s it’s been not quite three months…let’s see, local equivalent of March, to…it’s summer now, a week before Third Astral, or our version of July. Christ and Crystal.

Solkwyb tags along, wanting to make sure I’m actually good to go and fight and not internally bleeding to death or some other awful fate that could befall me after a brawl like that. I’ve got zero problems with that, and she’s nice enough to rent a chocobo so that we can both ride out to eastern La Noscea, as none of my travels have taken me out in that direction yet.
 

Costa del Sol, at least Eorzea’s version of it, is a stretch of beach bought out by a rich businessman. I can only guess he’s from Ul’dah, with a name like Gegeruju, and it seems to be both a settlement and a resort. I attune to the aetheryte for ease of future travel, and we ask around to see what might the problem be.

The answer? Giant ass turtles that are swarming the beach. This isn’t their usual nesting grounds either, so no one knows why’re their plaguing this part of the island, but the owner wants them gone, and the security team has their hands full with…something. Leaving the two of us to deal with the mess.

The reptiles only show up after a large armored figure did, but said figure vanishes not long after the turtles start to swarm. Solkwyb and I have our hands full dealing with the animals, and then a different mysterious figure shows up to help us. Well, maybe different, I didn’t get a good look at the first guy, and I’ll admit to being a bit sus about him. At least until he introduces himself as Curious Gorge, with a remark that no one had better laugh or ask about the name.

Oh. This is the guy in charge of the Warrior questline! Solkwyb seems as surprised as I am, and she says she suspects he might have been part of the disbanded Company of Heroes that once challenged Titan. She reckons that if I want to improve my bladework, I should try to see if I can get some training from him.

I agree, and wish her luck in her future endeavors before she ‘ports off to Limsa to link back with the Guild. Then I whistle for Bocco, and follow Gorge to the Hidden Falls further down the coast.

It seems the fight gave the Roegadyn a good first impression, and he’s favorably inclined to me when I slide off Bocco and approach him for the possibility of training. In fact, he’s impressed enough that he grants me a Warrior soulstone, containing the impressions and lessons of dozens of generations previous that once held this same crystal.

I show suitable awe and respect when he gifts it to me, knowing well that this is just one ticket to actually being a proper Warrior of Light. The crystal is warm, even through my gauntlet, shining a brilliant red that reminds me a bit of the Fire Crystal now hiding out in my soul.

With the soulstone, I can now attune armor sets to it; it’s not advised to do it in combat, but I can switch from one set of clothing or armor to the other by changing out which jobstone I’m attuned to at the moment, letting me be a very cheap copycat of Erza from Fairy Tail.

I give a deep bow in thanks to Gorge for this gift, and he seems a little flustered from the respect, but pleased as well. After that, I’m told that he needs time to decipher the ancestral texts that he’s been studying to learn further secrets of the Warrior class, and he’ll send me a letter when he’s made progress.

Once I’m out of sight, I can’t help but do a little dance of excitement, and Bocco dances with me, warking happily. First class upgrade! Holy shit, I can’t believe I’ve gotten this far! It’s only the start of this leg of the journey, but dammit it’s a good one!

I drop by the Guild to let the Axemaster know everything’s gone well, the head to the inn for one last wash down and crash for the night. The dreams could stand to be better than the clamor of battle and the smell of blood, but for once there’s no sense of tragedy to them, so I let the rage in the dream wash me clean.

-x-

The next day sees me training and practicing some, getting used to wearing a jobstone under my armor; the crystal whispers of amplifying and directing my rage into power, and that’s not something I want to use around teammates until I have a solid grasp of it. So I take some jobs for the Maelstrom and the Adventuring guild for the first half of the day, hunting work mostly, getting used to the idea of being angry but not letting myself be lost to it.

Honestly, being a Warrior might not be too different from being a less collaterally destructive Hulk, it seems. Well, that may be the ideal at least, with Gorge’s talk of the inner beast. Still, getting angry is one thing, controlling it a second, and keeping that anger without it spiraling up or draining out a third problem. It’s going to take more than a day or two of practice to get this down, so when noon strikes, I get back to Limsa, clean off the blood and donate the meat to folks who could use it, and ‘port Bocco and I to Horizon so we can get to the Bay.

I spend the rest of the day, and a bit of the next morning reading and relaxing, which does me some good. And given that it was history I dived into, I feel like I have a better grasp of the time scale the Ascians have been playing with. I knew the Fourth Calamity happened about 4-5 thousand years ago, but past that I didn’t really know much of the disasters that marked so much of the world. I knew why they happened, Unsundered trying to bring Zodiark and their world back, but the details of the events escaped me.

The First Calamity is shrouded in mystery. No one is even sure just how long ago it happened with the best estimates pinning it between eight to ten thousand years ago, but scholars, after the Sixth Calamity, suspected that it was caused by too much wind aether after comparing mineral deposits from the two disasters. I wonder if it might’ve been the transformation of the 13^th shard into a dark world that kicked off that disaster; wasn’t one of the Convocation in charge of that project? Urgh, I still don’t remember much, but I think it was one of the Sundered members responsible.

The Second came after mankind learned the ways of stone and metal; our version of the bronze age, most likely. And like the bronze age, it suffered a catastrophic collapse. What sparse records exist indicated massive volcanic eruptions that triggered devastating lightning storms. Most agree that this meant it was an overabundance of lightning aether that kicked things off, again thanks to mineral records in the form of highly magnetized ore and glassed rock and sand from this time period, but some argued it could’ve been fire as well. Me, I question if the Ascians didn’t tie the Rejoining to a supervolcano, or worse, a chain of them, and then just let it blow. It’d be a terribly efficient way to trigger this sort of thing.

When mankind recovered and crawled out of the shelters they’d been driven into by the year long storms and ashfalls, magic had been discovered. And so the Second Astral Age saw the formation of various religious doctrines...and of course, crusades in the names of those various gods made in their minds. Nald’thal, it was thought on Earth, was a sideways version of Emet-Selch, being the god of the dead and wealth, things also associated with the Greek god Hades. Given the cult of personality the man has founded around ‘Solus zos Galvus’, I ponder again if he had a hand, intentionally or no, in creating the pantheon of the Twelve.

And then something happened in Eorzea that brought the Second Era crashing down into the Third Umbral Era, ushered in by historic heatwaves, devastating wildfires, and a drought that researchers suspect permanently altered the climate of Thanalan from grasslands to desert.

And the Ascians bitch about us altering and perverting the world. Didn’t they have a hand in the Burn as well, that wasteland of aether eating death?

The Fourth, of course, saw the end of the Allag Empire when they hoisted Dalamud into orbit in an attempt to use the primal Bahamut to harvest solar energy and direct it to the planet below. Turned out it worked a little too well; what should’ve been a targeted energy transference instead all but nuked the planet, triggering megaquakes that likely shook the entire world on its axis. As someone who’d been born into earthquake country in my last life, even reading abbreviated accounts of what had to have been multiple 9.0+ quakes on the Richter scale made me grimace and do a once over of the base to consider how well it’d stand up to a lower scale shake up, just to make my scales stop itching.

The Fifth Calamity triggered what scientists would call a mini Ice Age, though details of what might’ve caused it are scarce. All that is known is that it made an ice bridge which allowed the Miqo’te to return to Eorzea, thanks to oral tales passed down the tribes various histories. When I asked Urianger if he knew anything, he admitted that if anyone did, they weren’t telling.

The Sixth Calamity is also known as The Great Flood; I’d probably be able to find more information in Gridania once I work my way up the Guild from Brother E-Sumi, but I can at least guesstimate that the Ascians had something to do with the war that saw the elementals pitch the mother of all bitchfits and drown a significant chunk of the continent. If Thanalan had made any progress on regaining its soil health after the Second Calamity, the Sixth probably put paid to that when the water rushed through and swept anything resembling top soil away. By all rights, Gridania should be nothing but scablands like what one would find in Washington State, but magic, it seems, means that nature can cheat like a motherfucker.

And finally, the Seventh. The one where the whole world got to experience the joke ‘that’s no moon’ in the worst way possible outside of having an actual Death Star parked in orbit. I know now that the impact was blunted by Archon Louisiox becoming Phoenix and syphoning a lot of the aether the Ascians used for the Rejoining, and even looking around the continent critically shows that we got off incredibly lightly for having a small moon dropped on us. Doesn’t change the fact it was fucking awful to live through.

Though what element the Ascians’ tried to dump on us…first impression says fire, because Phoenix and, well, everything was on fire for a bit, but they already did that with the Third? Hrm. Need more data. More data!

I still have some of this research and consternation bouncing in my head as I step into the solar to report for my next mission.

“While you were attending to business in Limsa Lominsa, some new information arrived to us by our friends in the Sylphs,” Minfilia begins. “An individual fitting Lahabrea’s description has been sighted in the North Shroud. The sighting comes with a report of mysterious deaths occurring in the selfsame area. I suspect our man is involved. I would have you continue your investigation there. Twelve willing, we will pick up on Lahabrea’s trail once more.”

“North Shroud, weird deaths, might be murders. Got it,” I summarize. “And the Sylph elder saw Lahabrea himself, so if they suspect that’s the man they saw, I’ll take their word for it.”

“Noraxia will have more to say on the matter,” she nods. “Pray speak with her, then proceed as you see fit. Godspeed.”

“Alright. I’ll pop back in if I get a solid lead or hit a dead end,” I return the nod, then head out.

I start with Noraxia for my usual rounds. 

“Kindly walking one seeks out the sinister one? Then heed this one’s words well!” she chimes. “This one is friends with a walking one in the Ashcrown Consortium. According to friendly one, a digging one named Medrod had an encounter with a masked scary one! It is certainly the sinister one!” She shivers. “This walking one should seek out the digging one Medrod. Digging one is to be found in Fallgourd Float, in the Northern Shroud.”

“Thanks Noraxia,” I say. “If all goes well, I’ll chase him out of the Shroud entirely.” Well, not really, but maybe make myself enough of a nuisance that he decides it’s not worth the effort at the moment.

My rounds pick little new news with everyone; understandable given that it’s only been a few days, and despite teleportation and airships, things can go slow for a while before picking up speed like a freight train. Still, it’s not a bad thing to touch base with folks, so that’s what I do before teleporting to Gridania.

I felt a little silly for never going far enough into the North Shroud to actually hit the settlement there, so it’s a ride on Bocco for a few hours before I attune to the aetheryte there for easy travel. Never know when you need a quick teleport out. Then it's off to find my man, who’s lurking in the tavern and not in the best shape.

It takes a bit of coaxing and a tankard of mead to calm the poor miner long enough for him to explain what he’d seen, but talk he does. According to him, there’d been a man in black in the area with a monster in tow, what he said was essentially a flying eyeball with teeth. I recall the type of monster he described, having seen a number of them in other Final Fantasy settings, but not remembering the actual name of the things. Not too far from the suspect was the mangled corpse of a woman, and the miner is convinced that my target works for Thal. 

I mentally sigh but don’t say anything. What’s with death gods getting a bad rap? Honestly…

When he wonders why I want to know and I say I’m looking for information, he’s taken aback, but his friends are supportive of it. Apparently his breakdown was difficult for them, which strikes me as a tad callous, but then, we’ve all seen shit during the Calamity, so I can sort of understand where they’re coming from. Still, the mead and kind words has netted me a small batch of allies for the investigation, so it’s not all bad.

Not that I’ll look to drag them into the fighting if there’s any. That wouldn’t be kosher.

Medrod’s friend Aideen gives me an MO for the killer; every victim’s face has been mutilated, and every one has been female. Interesting, if odd. The Unsundered struck me as equal opportunity misanthropes, but then, my memory isn’t the most reliable anymore. We both agree that the local reptiles aren’t likely to be responsible for it; like most animals, zizs are opportunistic hunters, and hominids are frequently too much trouble unless they’re going about on their own, nevermind the fact that the rest of the bodies are uneaten.

However, the lead she does have has my attention. I don’t know what a person’s dying rancour is supposed to look like, but the Aideen suggests poking around the southwest to see if there’s any truth to the oversized rock that might bear those...grudges, I guess? And then she hands me a stick of dynamite. She calls it firesand, but I damn well know it’s basically dynamite. Not gonna lie, makes me a little nervous to handle it again, but respect it like you would a firecracker mortar on the fourth of July and I’ll be good. Right?

...Might want to practice my throwing arm with my tomahawks for a few minutes. I only ever packed the stuff last time, after all.

Before I leave I have a word with Medrod’s other friend, Ivaurault, who might also have a lead. A sighting of the monster that might’ve tagged along with my suspect, to the west of here. Worth poking around and my objectives are in the same area, so I’ll tackle both at once.

Naturally, it starts to rain when I step out of the bar. I sigh. Good thing I wasn’t looking for footprints, or scents for that matter.

The location I’ve been given is where most of Gridania’s mining happens; there’s plenty of fungi growing about the area, and more than a few fauna such as the lizardy zizs, big and buggy banemites, and some rogue earth golems that’ve complicated the extraction of mineral wealth. I fully expect to get lost here, and the chalk markers I normally use these days will get washed away in the rain. It’s a damned good thing my map is durable and water proof.

I have to clear out a particularly aggressive ziz that wants to poke at me while I poke around for the mystery monster. Nothing but a grumpy, oversized banemite that decides Bocco and I would make a good snack. I hack it apart and let Bocco have some of the organs once I check them for toxins; just because they like greens, doesn’t mean chocobos won’t turn their beaks up to meat or bugs when the opportunity passes them. Birds like Bocco are classified as 'terror birds' for a reason back on Earth.

And as for the mystery rock? Turns out the weird sounds are just clumped up lightning crystals that squeal and hum. I suspect that the noises people complained about has a relatively mundane explanation as a result. I snort to myself, amused despite the waste of time. That magic crystals are ‘mundane’ is a hilarious dichotomy when looking at my last life, but compared to ghosts, they really are. That I play the role of mythbuster here is an entertaining thought.

Turns out I was right. Aideen’s disappointment and contrition just makes me chuckle as I tell her my thoughts on busting the ghost myth, and she agrees that it’s a little funny. And though his lead didn’t get me anywhere, Ivaurault still hands me some gil for taking down that banemite; turns out the thing had been menacing merchants and miners for years.

The lack of progress has the three friends putting their heads together, and they don’t seem to mind me overhearing. The men are frustrated that they both saw the same monster in two completely different locations, only for the woman to make the obvious conclusion. That there’s multiple of the buggers. That, of course, brings no comfort to anyone, because it’s not too hard to believe that means there’s more undiscovered bodies.

That bit of data’s enough to scare the three off of poking around further, and I’m completely fine with it. I thank them for their time and saddle up on Bocco to dig around further.

My humor’s becoming morbid if my first thought is ‘Hey kids, wanna see a dead body?!’ Damn you Team Four Star.

-x-

The ravine continues to be lousy with aggressive monsters; Bocco weaves through several of them before I have to cull a couple of mites and another ziz. Finally, towards the drop off, I find an almost faceless, female corpse. And flapping over it is a monster that matches---that’s what the bastards are called, Ahrimans! 

Chocobos are no joke; twice the little shit is out of reach, and twice my mount leaps high and either grabs it with his beak or kicks it down into the range of my axe. We make short work of it, and then I go about the solemn duty of taking one of my spare blankets and wrapping it around the body before loading it across Bocco’s back. I can walk the rest of the way back.

It’s not the quickest route we take, but it's the safest one for Bocco’s burden; when we reach the guardpost, the man in charge is understandably disheartened at my discovery.

According to him, no one’s reported a masked figure, but the Ahriman’s have been mucking about with corpses throughout the Central Shroud. And since the faces have been destroyed, trying to figure out who exactly to inform has been tricky.

And then classically sharp Elezen eyes catch a clue; a lily symbol that had been spotted on a previous victim. It’s not much, but it’s something. Oi vey, who’d have thought I’d have to double as a homicide detective as an adventurer? I don’t even have any training for this!

Still, it’s a little flattering that law enforcement would trust me enough to hand over evidence like this. Worrying, because what if I was possessed or something? He doesn’t know me by anything but reputation! But...flattering. So I accept the button and teleport over to Gridania to see if anyone knows about a noble house or organization that uses the lily symbol.

I talk with Mother Miounne about the case and ask if she recognizes anything regarding the button or the symbol on it. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know herself if the sigil bears any import, but after she pushes a bowl of antelope stew and mashed popotoes my way that I can’t quite say no to, she passes me on to a trail of people that leads me to Ursandel.

The older Elezen lets slip that the flower is a familial sigil, and when I tell him where I found the button, I hit gold. Not only does he know of the murders, but he knows who’s responsible. Who, in this case, can perhaps lead to what; mental illness and trauma can, of course, lead to reprehensible acts, but if Ahriman are voidborn, then there’s a chance the killer is a patsy of Lahabrea’s.

Lady Amandine Dartancour is the name of the suspect, and Ursandel once worked under her. Physically scarred by the Calamity, her confidence broke completely...until men in black wearing masks began to visit her.

Gold and diamonds, this lead may be. But blood diamonds and bloody mines, this Haukke manor. 

I recall there’d been a dungeon with a number of low ranked Ascians, and the long term question of their fates was never addressed. Is this the one? Might be. Best swing by the Adventurer’s Guild and see if I can’t pick up a team. Solo’ing this would not be a good idea.

Chapter Text

Good news, there’s a few people willing to poke at a nest of demons and see what sticks its head out; a Lalafell Astrologian, making me wonder if they’re from New Sharlayan or left the Old, a reticent Vieran Pugilist who’s kicks I’m certain would shatter a man’s spine given her legs, and an Elezen Archer who’s more than pleased to avenge some of the murders going on around here.

Even before we step into the manor itself, the grounds are thick with Ahriman flapping this way and that; how anyone could miss this, I can only chalk up to the isolated nature of the estate, and that the free release of the voidborn was likely a recent development. Bocco gouges out an eye or three while I force the doors open, the Archer dissuading any other demons from getting too close before we cross the thresh-hold. It’d have been nice to have another Scion in case there are Ascians, but---

...I forgot the linkpearl. Dammit. Note to self, call before I go dungeon crawling next time and see what kind of backup Minfilia can rustle up.

As within, so without, the manor has demons and gribblies aplenty. Walking skeletons, and I don’t want to consider what all the flesh was put to use for, as the corpsefly swarms here only do so much damage over time. Several possessed women bear wings and an aura of fear that catch me a time or two before I learn my lesson and read their damned aether when they project their attacks. Thank the stars for the Astrologian, and I accept her scolding with all due grace as I did rather earn that. A few former members of the household that were tougher than the rest have also been demonized, though patience, footwork, and the Viera putting her heeled boot through a half rotted skull makes for gradual progress.

It’s grim work, and I take little joy in it. To test your skills are one thing but…these were just people, victims of circumstance and manipulation. If I get my hands on the low ranked goons responsible for this, I’m going to wring their necks with my bare hands.

Wards keep me from just making like a firefighter and cutting our way into Amandine’s chambers, so we have to hunt for the keys that have the same resonance as parts of the ward. Classic, as the Lalafell explains, but it’s classic because it works; if you know what the weaknesses of the wards are, you can account for that, versus trying to create a ‘perfect’ defense and getting a nasty surprise when it fails on you. It makes sense, and actually having a logical explanation for a freaking puzzle mechanic wasn’t something I’d expected to get today.

We put to rest more undead, and my blows against the voidborn are as quick kills as I can make them. The dungeons cells are oversized down here, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s some mild spacial manipulation at work. Why else would the doors and ceiling be scaled so high?

When we finally do reach the bedchamber, Amandine is gone. All that’s left is the voidborn wearing her skin. The fight is a pain in the ass, as expected. Not only does she sling spells around like a mid level black mage, but one of those purple lanterns imbedded into the sides of the impromptu arena explode, leaving me swearing a blue streak as I bat fire out of my leathers. That teaches me to ignore obvious AOE casts!

Balancing the activation with the lanterns and bleeding out the void mage is a thrice damned pain, back up or no, and I’m left with bruises, burns, and stiffness when she summoned a couple Ahriman to try and paralyze the lot of us. It’s with no small relief I see the woman collapse and dissolve into a pyre of dark aether, and I lean on my axe, trying to catch my breath.

After such a fight, the others are more than ready to just get the hell out, and I promise to follow them in half a minute, and they promise to keep the front door guarded until I’m ready to meander on down and catch up with them.

Unfortunately, letting myself be alone for even a few seconds proves to be a mistake.

“[Darkness has taken root within these halls.]”

“[Sprung from the most unlikely of seeds.]”

“[One cannot help but admire the irrepressible spirit that quickened it to life.]”

And then I hear the now familiar atonal sound that accompanies the Amaurotine tongue, and I stifle a groan of aggravation as I turn around to see two lower ranked cultists step out of the shadows.

And they are low ranked; black masks means not Convocation, though I’m not sure if full mask means they’re just people given a bit of juice before being tempered to Zodiark, or if they actually have memories of the lost city. Might be the latter in these two’s case, given their use of the old tongue.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, adventurer,” one of them says, sounding…relatively polite. “You are every bit as intriguing as our master gave us to believe.” Ooh, thank you for that data point! I’ll be taking that home with me.

“It is no ordinary mortal who can acquire one Crystal of Light...much less three,” the second says. Shit. Were we wanting to keep that a secret? I don’t know if that was supposed to be secret, and now I’m worried I slipped up somewhere.

“The Crystals make you strong, and it is to that strength that the Light is drawn,” Rude Mook says.

“Hydaelyn chose well,” Polite Mook adds.

“A pity that your existence is irreconcilable with our own. We cannot well allow you to continue upon your present course,” and back to Rude Mook. Are they twins or something? Which bargain bin did Lahabrea dig these two out of?

I drag my axe up to one shoulder in response to the not so subtle insinuation of violence, and that seems to do the trick in convincing them to do something else, because Polite Mook demurs, “Alas, we came here not to play, but to take the measure of your strength for Master Lahabrea. That task now accomplished, we take our leave of you.”

Cultist confirmed. Great. I just manage to bite back, ‘You boys go do that,’ because as much as I’d like to gut them, I’m not in the shape to take on both. One or the other, maybe, but not both at once, especially not if they start slinging around voidborn.

They vanish into a portal not unlike the corridors of darkness in Kingdom Hearts, and I drag my sorry carcass back to the entrance. The Astrologian gives me a top off in terms of pain, releasing the last bit of my stiffness, and we cull a few more of the Ahrimans before leaving the property for good and going our separate ways.

Time to deliver the news to poor Ursandel.

“What news have you?” the man desperately asks when I present myself to him after getting the worst of my injuries seen to by a professional. “What state of the manor? What have you seen?”

“You’ll want to sit back down,” I bid him calmly, but I think my apprehension leaked through as he tensed. 

“Was it as I feared?” he almost whispers.

I sigh, motion to the bench, and we both sit. “The men in black were cultists,” I explain to him. “I am investigating them, and their group. The two I met in the manor itself work for my primary target, and…” I shake my head. “Amandine, was she a mage of some stripe?”

“A thaumaturge, aye,” he answers with a nod. “And of some skill.”

“They taught her how to summon voidborn,” I tell him grimly. “And it seems, at the end, she had summoned one into herself. I made the end as quick as I could. I’m sorry.”

After a moment, he shakes his head. “No, my lady. There is no blame upon you for your part in this. Would that I could’ve done more to prevent her fall...that she consorted with devils.” Then he looks down to me. “Thank you, for allowing her to pass on. I pray she will find peace in the beyond.”

“As do I,” I say quietly. “She’s not their first victim, and in all likelihood, won’t be their last before we push on against them.”

“I know not if these masked villains are the same who led my lady astray,” he admits. “But it is plain to me that they are of the same vile brood. Should the chance visit you, promise me that you will repay unto them tenfold the woe that they had lay upon others.”

“I do not spread suffering. I end it,” I state. “They will answer for their crimes. How it comes to pass, time will tell.”

“...You are right,” the old Elezen grants. “The Twelve know that I’ve no right to speak of justice, as my own cowardice and silence has seen many innocent people lose their lives for naught.” Something firms up in him. “I will confer with the authorities and admit to my part in this tragedy. I can only pray that the gods will have mercy upon my soul.”

I nod my head to him. “If nothing else, you can lead them to the first victim. That would help bring a touch more peace to those who grieve.”

With that, my time in Gridania concludes after a few hours rest and some food. Time to debrief my boss.

-x-

“Welcome back, Tomoyo,” Minfilia greets me with a smile. “Full glad I am to see you safely returned from your journey into the Twelveswood. How fared you?”

I drop into the chair with a sigh. “It...well, it went,” I say as I look for the words. “On the upside, found the murderer, the motive, the cause, and method. Even found some Ascians, though they were black masked. And got my personal theory confirmed that black mask does, in fact, mean lower ranking, because the two that confronted me after I killed the patsy they were using for the murders referred to a ‘master’ Lahabrea. So that’s progress. On the down side, there’s still a number of civilians dead, with no way of knowing precisely how many people said patsy, one Lady Amandine, used in pulling in voidborn. And interrogation isn’t an option, because she herself got possessed and I had to put the woman down.” I shake my head. “The manor is still lousy with demons. I imagine it’ll be a while before the Adders are done clearing it out.”

“What can you tell me of Lahabrea’s minions?” she asks, and I smirk a bit at the term.

“Well, minions is right, I think,” I start. “Black full masks, usual spikey robes, though their robes were a bit plainer in appearance. Apparently they were there to assess my progress or strength or something. Though,” I add with a frown, “They were able to perceive that I bear three elemental Crystals of Light. If we were hoping to keep that a secret, that cat’s out of the bag.”

Steel glimmers in her grey-green eyes. “The devils taunt us,” she concludes. “There is no doubt; the Ascians have begun to move in earnest. If only we knew to what end.”

“That they’re displaying this indicates confidence, even arrogance,” I say. “If we’re careful, we might be able to use that to our advantage.”

“Indeed,” she nods. “That we are aware of the encroaching darkness is no small thing. Alas,” she doesn’t quite sigh, but it sounds like she wants to. “We can only do so much. It is clear to me that we Scions are too few in numbers to protect this realm unaided.”

I wince and rub the back of my neck. “I’d been hoping to ask if you could lend back up the next time I have to move through something like the manor again,” I admit. “I managed to pull through with some help, but that’s because I tend to load high with potions, antidotes, and burn salves. But if we’re spread too thin…”

Her expression is grim. “We needs must alert the three nations to the presence of this elusive enemy, and recommend that they heighten their vigil. There is no shortage of misery in this world, and the Ascians will undoubtedly take advantage of such suffering. Yet, come what may, we must not lose hope, for that is precisely what they desire.”

“I know a thing or two about rolling with the punches,” I say. “They’ll not grind me down that easily.”

She smiles. “For the moment, we have gleaned all we can from the information present to us. I feel that we may set aside the investigation, if only for the present. A matter has arisen that requires your attention,” and she raises her hand when I straighten, “But for the moment, you may rest. The hour draws late, and your task was no small chore. Inform me when you feel prepared, and I will call for the others, that we may council.”

“...If you’re sure it can wait for the night, then I’ll see you at nine bells tomorrow,” I say after a moment.

“Then nine bells it is.”

That wraps up our meeting, and my mind spins on what might be next. Titan? Maybe. Leviathan could be an option, and going by the patterns, the Ascians will hit Limsa next. I broadcast my worry about my parents to the Mothercrystal, but explicitly don’t ask her to intervene. I know her tank is starting to run dry, and it’s only going to get worse, so I can’t request that she save two people when she could move to save a country. But it hurts, knowing that they might be at ground zero for a primal attack.

Fuck. What a mess. I don’t know if I’ll get much sleep tonight.

Chapter Text

The next morning sees the entirety of the primary Scions present. And the subject requiring me specifically quickly becomes apparent.

“The Maelstrom requests our assistance,” Minfilia starts, and I hold back a swear. Of course it’s happening near home, as much as I’d hoped to be wrong.

“Pertaining to the copious notes they sent on the kobolds, I presume?” Y’shtola asks, and my heart sinks. Aw fuck. Titan?

“Yes, and no. It has more to do with their findings, which portend a much greater threat than any beast tribe,” Minfilia says.

I don’t hold back my groan. “Titan. Fuck.”

For once, I don’t get looks for my cursing as my fellow Echo bearer nods. “It is as Tomoyo says. A gathering of kobolds near Limsa Lominsa has reawakened Titan.”

Once the shock of it passes through the others, she continues, “Our task will be to slay the primal. The Maelstrom has sworn their support for the endeavor.”

“Evacuation and crowd control, I’m guessing?” I ask, my mind now racing. “Also, I need as much intel as you can pass on for fighting Titan. Going in blind is not wise.” I remember that Titan, in game, introduces one of the first party wipe mechanics. Understandably, I’m nervous about that.

“Sadly, we know little of it, though we will pass what we can along,” she promises me.

Y’shtola turns to me. “Years before the reformation of the Grand Companies, two primals Leviathan and Titan, chanced to converge upon the sea wall, wrecking untold devastation. There, by the grace of the Navigator, were the mercenaries Merlwyb hired able to fend them off.”

I grimace. “I heard some about it, but understandably, folks don’t like to talk about it much.”

Y’shtola nods. “And yet, it did not take long for the beast tribes to regroup and summon their primals once more.”

“Thankfully, their second coming was decidedly short lived, but that is beside the point,” Minfilia cuts in. “So long as tormented souls exist, the world will never be rid of primals.”

Quietly, I wonder if this has been a hard and fast rule of the Star, or if primals only became a problem after the Amaurotines had started mucking about with ‘concepts.’ No way to find that answer now.

“The Maelstrom has been keeping a careful eye on the beast tribes, and the kobolds in particular, ever since,” Y’shtola says. “Which brings us to the matter at hand.”

“As I said, we know scarce little of Titan, unlike Ifrit,” Minfilia shakes her head. “The only force known to have bested them---the group modestly known as ‘The Company of Heroes’---has since disbanded, and mercenaries are not known for keeping chronicles.”

“Expect the worst,” Y’shtola states. Jeez. Thanks. Apparently my flat look states my thoughts, because she adds quickly, “The Maelstrom’s help is, of course, appreciated, but it is still possible that we could find ourselves overmatched. ’Tis a pity the kobolds lack the gentle disposition of the sylphs. A peaceful resolution would be more than welcome.”

“Building a bridge between Limsa and the kobolds will have to come later,” I state. “For now, the primal takes priority.”

“Just so,” the conjurer agrees. “Let your steel speak for you here, though I would say that no one would think you were a coward were you to decline.”

“No one here maybe,” I grouse. “But I grew up near Limsa. There’s not a chance I won’t move to protect it, and through it, my home. Besides, being immune to tempering means I’m one of the few that can actually get close to the bastard to make something stick without gambling my soul. That’s an obligation I can’t well turn down without a good reason.”

“Thank you,” Minfilia says gratefully. 

“We can’t very well send Tomoyo to Limsa Lominsa without Y’shtola, can we?” Thancred speaks up.

“May I ask that of you, Y’shtola?” the Hyur woman turns to her peer.

“I never thought it in question,” she replies primly. 

“Ever reliable,” Minfilia praises. “Very well. We will spare no effort to win victory.” She looks to me. “You may count on the full support of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

“And I, for one, deeply appreciate the reinforcements and aid,” I say. “It’ll be good not to go alone, for once.”

The others get their marching orders; Thancred to rouse what he can from Ul’dah’s Company, and Yda from the Adders. Urianger is asked to poke at the Baldesions, as well as send word to Alphinaud; I wonder how the kids are doing. Not enthused about the idea of them getting too close to a primal, but...well, they’ll be of great help against Bahamut. Bah, Hydaelynan practicality versus Terran sensibilities. Papalymo is asked to compile what they do have on Titan, and Y’shtola and I are to head to the Sailor’s Ward. But not before packing, of course.

This means I can do a real quick round of the storage room; Bremondt is still around, selling his wares, hoping to stay a little longer to try and find one of his brothers before he moves on. Haribehrt is grousing about the state of our food supply, and I offer to try and pass word to the Bismark to see if anyone’s willing to work with the Scions. Noraxia’s figured out a glamour that lets them pass as human, for the most part, and has been assigned one of our sprouts to keep an eye on them so that no one picks on the disguised sylph. His friends are pretty pleased about it, and one of them muses on getting the young man some armor; I hand over some gil in support. Biggs and Wedge are a bit anxious, what with little to do past maintaining the Tiny Bronco until we find out what’s happened with Cid. Wedge is outright worried that Cid’s dead, but I’ve got no way to comfort the Lalafell without getting into spoiler territory. And Urianger is talking with that rude Baldesion from earlier, which hopefully means we’ll be seeing something from that quarter. We’ll see.

With potions in hand, and a bottle of good coffee to help pick me up through the morning, Y’shtola and I teleport to Limsa and speak with the Storm Commander.

Apparently the kobolds had kicked up activity about a month ago, scrabbling for crystals. And then we get a surprise visit from Admiral Merlwyb.

I respect and admire the woman, I really do. Not many would’ve been able to forge a functional society out of Eorzea’s Tortuga, and she’s not only done it, but I’m certain that the moment she feels it safe to, she’ll relinquish power to another and be happy about it. That said, the woman is not without her flaws; contracts drawn between Limsa and the beast-folk, the Sahagin and Kobolds both, have not been honored on our end, so it’s little wonder they’re fighting back against Limsa’s incursions now that the city’s interests have turn landward, eating through what had been their territory for centuries, at least in the case of the kobolds. And her casual racism against them...well, she’s got reasons. It’s the Sahagin that pushed her to kill her own father when he became Drowned. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s not right.

Fortunately, I remember to salute her; I’m not a full time soldier, as evident by my lack of uniform, but I do wear a sash around my waist of Maelstrom red to indicate which Company I’m a part of, and she is my commanding officer at the end of the day.

Credit to Y’shtola, she doesn’t hesitate to fire first when she points out that the kobolds have fair reason to fight back, if not for summoning their primal. And the Admiral doesn’t look too pleased. That being said, the Roegadyn admits to the sharp point, and the fault she bears for letting the situation get so bad to begin with, but both agree that priority first goes to the safety of the civilians of the city and archipelago. And that’s the tone that starts my investigations into the so called Company of Heroes.

My first lead is south. One of the mercs retired and became a miller, or so I’m told. Personally, all the more power to him I would say, because gods and Crystal and stars know a peaceful retirement isn’t too likely in my future. Except that he’s a braggart, can’t even get Titan’s name right, and the less said about his fashion sense, the better. Rats, goobbues, and then he tried to dither me into a third hunt before he gets interrupted by an annoyed miller; turns out the goobbue was supposed to be his job, and I’m well past suspecting that this particular idiot hadn’t been anywhere near Titan.

Sure enough, he’s a fake, and it’s proven in the classic Lominsan way; the miller finds a pair of boulders for us to crush, and I suspect he’s a retired marauder himself thanks to this. The braggart tries to sabotage me of course, but I side step around his wild swings, face tank the debuff he throws at me, and split my boulder in half.

My real lead is in Costa del Sol, the braggart admits, so I whistle to Bocco for a ride, and offer Y’shtola a spot.

Only to hear the flash of a teleport. Oh yeah. Oops.

It’s as nice an area as when I first saw it; the sun is rising high, fine sands are tossed about by the wind, but it’s not so bad as to get into your eyes and mouth like in Thasalan. I see why it’s premier beachfront property. I leave the aetheryte plaza and start looking for the man I’m after.

He’s not too impressed by what he sees, and I can’t fully blame him. A five fulm Au Ra girl, and Y’shtola is maybe an inch or two taller, even if we both carry ourselves high and I’m in full plate. Y’shtola talks me up a bit, citing my fight with Ifrit for credentials, and he’s a little mollified by my resistance to tempering...but here is the first hint of Titans party wipes when he speaks of how the primal took some of his best people. He wants us to prove our mettle, and I see Y’shtola’s tail outright bristle when she reminds him of the time limit, but he won’t be swayed. So the conjurer heads off to interface with the Maelstrom while I try to win the favor of the semi-retired merc.

...Let’s just say I do not appreciate being an errand girl and having to hop around half the continent all for some rich fop’s feast, especially when I’m conscious of the clock ticking. I do it, but I don’t like it. Especially since some of this captain’s people are less than savory. To be expected, one doesn’t sign up to be a merc because they’re the picture of mental health, but some of these individuals definitely bring up my more violent impulses.

I’m honestly not sure if said impulses have always been there and my life on Earth simply was calm enough to almost never inspire them, if my recently acquired Warrior jobstone has fiddled with my temper, or if the Au Ra’s long history of conflict might have a biological source. But it’s my choice to act on it, and I refrain from doing so.

U’odh Nuhn, which I know the latter bit is a title but not for what, reminds me far too much of some of the meaner khajiit from Skyrim for him to make me entirely comfortable, and if Landenel the Elezen isn’t some form of sociopath, I’ll eat a full bowl of natto, given that he threatened me to hang me by my entrails if I told his current boss of his checkered history. Yuck!

It really says something when the politest of the lot so far is the goblin, Brayflox. Who leaves me with an escort mission, and no, being able to kill a dragon doesn’t make up for the fact that their contribution to the so-called feast is a particularly rank example of blue cheese! The sooner Titan keels over, the better.

And what was a dragon doing this far south anyhow? Aren’t they all supposed to be still bothering Ishgard?

And then, of course, I’m bid to fetch wine, because you apparently can’t have cheese without wine. Gods and demons, there’s a fucking primal brewing in the center of the island, but here I am, in the jungles of La Noscea, hunting for someone that will give me access to wine. I breathe, then breathe again, and then one final time, put a leash on my temper and impatience and hunt down the vineyards. 

Thank the stars for Bocco. If time holds, I might be able to get at least this done before the sun sets, though I don’t relish the idea of fighting a primal in the dark.

Though I can’t see anything bad about helping a severely traumatized veteran getting some peace and quiet. That’s a sidequest I don’t begrudge, and to hell with the fact that he’s an ex-Garlean conscript. War doesn’t care who suffers, and I don’t have to like someone to help them. And encouraging said ex-conscript and Shamani the blind Lalafell ex-merc, now wine snob, to reconnect isn’t a bad thing.

Then I accidentally...well, not revolutionize the wine industry, because Drust really deserves the credit for finding that extinct Bacchus grape strain, but I’m the delivery mechanism, so...yay? Hopefully the Admiral will be happy enough about that to let me crash tonight instead of hopping directly on to Titan, because the sun’s down and it’d take half a gonze of coffee to keep me going.

Y’shtola, at the least, sees my exhaustion for what it is.

“You’ve the look of one who’s seen the seventh hell and returned,” she says.

“I’ve been across half the damned continent in eight hours,” I don’t quite snarl. “And I haven’t eaten since this morning. And there’s still a thrice damned primal to worry about. And I’m cranky, I’m tired, and while not all of this was a waste of time, it certainly feels like it.”

She shakes her head. “That a guest should be expected to supply the victuals to a party. Held in her own honor, and while Titan’s shadow looms over us all! It beggars belief.”

“Wait, wot.” I blink at Y’shtola in stupefaction. 

“My thoughts exactly, if put somewhat plainly,” she nods. “I admire your stoicism. Had I been asked to endure such ignominy, I fear I should have accepted my lot with less grace.”

“…Well, it sucked, but it could’ve been worse,” I finally say with a long sigh, mentally giving up for the day. “And I did help a couple people in genuine need, so…”

“Lady Nanashi! Lady Y’shtola!” A high voice cries out, and we both look over to see a Lalafell man skid into a rather admirable seiza bow. I’ve never seen him before, but the fine clothing has me suspect that this might be the merchant who’s bought out the beach.

“A thousand pardons for this unspeakable discourtesy!” he exclaims. “I was wholly unaware of your true identity! Had it been known to me, I would never have allowed my man to subject you to such atrocious ordeals!”

...Well, this is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. A sincere apology generally goes a fair ways to soothe my sore temper, and today is no different.

“Oh come now, she must’ve sensed something was amiss.” The captain, and his band of motley misfits round the corner. “Surely you didn’t think I sent you across the breadth of Eorzea for a banquet?”

“Spare Tomoyo your mockery, captain,” Y’shtola says cooly, blue eyes bright in the sunset. “Your intent was unclear to me until this very moment. And unlike me, she has no knowledge of your traditions. Mayhap you would be so good as to enlighten her.” Her tone made it clear this was not a suggestion.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as something clicks. “Did I just get hazed?” I say incredulously.

“Allow me to explain,” the Roegadyn speaks. “We five were chosen by our brothers and sisters, and before the Company disbanded, we each swore a solemn oath. That each man or woman who would follow in our steps would be proven, not by reputation, but by deed. Each would be god-slayer would be judged by the individual, by their own criteria, and if they were found wanting, they would be turned away without a second thought. But if she were found worthy, then we would support her cause, as our oath demands.

“Ever has there been brave souls who would match their strength against a mighty foe in this world, but all too few are those who can truly make a difference in such a struggle. To throw away lives needlessly against an enemy they’ve no hope against is worse than futile,” he continues. “Titan is not one to be challenged lightly, and we would not be party to deaths of those who were unworthy.”

“Which is why you spent such time testing Tomoyo thoroughly,” Y’shtola drawls. “Time well spent, I am sure. But tell us captain: what is the assessment of you and your fellows?”

The maybe sociopathic Elezen says, “She’s a brave one, I’ll say this much. Even after I warned her of the cost to her life.”

“Her skill is undeniable.” Now the Miqo’te speaks, or rather, purrs. “She stalked her prrrey as well as any child of the sands, and strrruck prrrecisely when the opportunity prrresented itself.”

And Shamani’s turn to give his assessment. “Too many adventurers are in the work for glory and gold,” he states, and I try not to express my thoughts on the hypocrisy here, given, well, mercs. “Tomoyo, however, is a kind and generous soul, and I am certain she has no shortage of allies who would fight by her side.”

Brayflox takes a breath through their mask before saying, “Wily uplander is talented plansmaker! Tricksy foe for mighty rockman!”

“I can only concur with my comrades’ assessments,” Wheiskaet states. “We five of the Company of Heroes hereby judge you a worthy challenger of the Lord of Crags, Tomoyo Nanashi! Cast him down, and write a new chapter in the history of Eorzea!”

I accept wordlessly, tired, frustrated; I vaguely get where they’re coming from. People die to primals, and vetting them isn’t the worst idea...but, come on.

That seems to be the signal to start the feast, and since I’m apparently the guest of honor (fuckin’ you wot mate?), I’m invited to drink, eat, dance, and be merry. For tomorrow, I’ll earn the title of Titan’s Bane, or die trying.

Fuck it. I’m generally a teetotaller when it comes to alcohol because I couldn’t process it properly in my last life, but one glass won’t kill me. Being pushed to interact with the Miqo’te dancers is a bit embarrassing though; I’m not really sure where my sexuality is this time around, as the memory dump has very likely skewed things towards the ace scale, but I’m pretty sure I’m not actually interested in women. Y’shtola rescues me and directs me to the food.

Which, despite my misgivings about eating tortoise egg, exotic worm meat, and blue cheese, is actually really good. And while I’ll never consider myself a wine snob, the one glass I do have is sweet, flavorful, and sits warmly in my stomach.

Huh. I wonder if the Bacchus strain is a descendant of the grape vines Azem saved all those millenia ago? Wouldn’t it be funny if that were a thing.

Each member of the Company has a word of advice to give as we eat. Keep your head in the moment is Shamani’s statement, because when you’re fighting Titan, what matters is your team. Brayflox reminds me to fight smart, which is fair, given the shitfest this has the potential to be if I just try to facetank the primal. The older Nuhn says to trust my experiences and instincts; second guessing goes to bad places in battle. The captain praises my fortitude and acknowledges I’m not likely to break in the face of the primal. And Lanadel...just tells me to ‘give Titan his regards.’ Prick. 

I drop down next to Y’shtola when I finish my food, almost completely peopled out after all that talking.

“You are kind to indulge them,” she remarks. “This banquet is as much for them as it is for you, whatever they may claim.”

“‘Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die,’” I recite. “Don’t remember who said it from Before, but it’s not the worst advice. Plus, I did say I hadn’t eaten today. I needed the food.”

“It seems crass, to celebrate as if you have already claimed victory,” she grimaces slightly, and I nod in agreement. “The battle has yet to begin. The hour draws near when the captain must make good on his word to bring us to the lair of the Lord of Crags. Though not, perhaps, before you’ve had a few hours’ sleep,” she grants when I can’t suppress a jaw cracking yawn in time.

“If nothing else, primals aren’t quiet,” I point out. “If he moves, we’ll know all the way down here. Sorry to say, Y’shtola,” I give her a wry smile. “I’m only mortal, the Mothercrystal’s chosen or no.”

“Something to keep in mind,” she grants with her own sarcasm.

The owner of the property lets me crash for the night there, though to be honest at this point I’d take a hammock between two trees and chance the flies I’m so worn down. When I fall asleep, I dream of volcanoes, giants, and rumbling earth.

Chapter Text

The dawning morning is a wet one; I made sure to have plenty of non-caffeinated tea after that wine, so I don’t have anything resembling a hangover despite my complete lack of alcohol tolerance when I go to talk to Wheiskaet on how to tackle the primal.

I’m directed to Upper La Noscea, another new area, and Bocco responds to my call faithfully. Even the pouring rain and rumbling thunder overhead doesn’t put him off too much, though we both eye what I’m uncomfortably certain is a Garlean fortress that’s planted directly on the other path around the mountain. When did that get there?

Not my problem right now, as much as I hate to say it. Titan takes priority. Drust might want to move away from Wineport, or all the way into the settlement though. I’d hate for them to grab him again.

I’d probably appreciate Camp Bronze Lake and its hot springs more if it wasn’t pouring rain. I can only hope the weather won’t drown out the whistle I need to blow to draw out the captain’s comrade.

Thankfully it seems my luck is decent today. Riol, after I find him, reveals that the kobolds have an aetheryte; this surprises me, as I thought the highly refined magic rocks were mostly of Sharlayan make. I could buy the goblins cracking the secret, as their tech isn’t anything to sniff at. No pun regarding their masks intended.

Y’shtola, it seems, caught up with me, or outright teleported to the camp just now. She explains that while it’s technically unamplified versus what we ‘Mankind’ folk have, fundamentally there’s no difference between the two types of crystal. This aetheryte was how the Company managed to get to Titan’s location, as the cave system of O'ghomoro is apparently quite maze-like. And the mines which the kobolds have claimed as home was an outright city, according to Riol. So it was reasonable to question if they had their own aethernet to get around without tripping over every trap they’d laid down.

Y’shtola points out that the Company should’ve had to attune to the system the way we do, only for the merc to claim they had Sharlayan help to get into Titan’s chamber. That gets Y’shtola mumbling, and I wonder if it was Archon Louisiox who pulled that off. If that’s the case, then little wonder he still casts a shadow to this day. Still, after a few moments thought, the conjurer reckons she can do it, and Riol agrees. Seeing as Y’shtola is quite literally the expert on aether here outside of maybe Urianger, I’ve got no problem rolling along with their plan. So we leave the camp to scope out the kobold aetheryte.

I do quietly wonder at all the ruins located around here. Wreckage from Bahamut, obviously, but who built it?  Limsa Lominisa has been around in one form or another for around seven centuries, so…pre-Sixth Calamity? Older? Could it be kobold make? A question for later.

The aetheryte is lousy with the small sapients when we get there, as expected, so we have to clear them out. I make it as quick as possible; nothing about this situation is fair for them; maybe tempered, maybe not, and pushed to their backs against a wall. Dammit Merlwyb, why did you let it get this bad?

Y’shtola says she should be able to amplify the aetheryte, which will be my ticket out of the cave system apparently. Given that ‘dungeons’ tend not to have a lot of ontological inertia, I can understand why she has to park herself out here, but it sucks that I’ll be soloing again. At least the Maelstrom guards will make sure she doesn’t get jumped.

I nod to her when I’m ready, and she drops me in; when the rushing white of teleportation bleeds away, I’m deep underground, standing very close to a flattened chunk of earth crystal, and surrounded by kobolds.

Understandably, they’re not happy about my being an uninvited guest; for once their tempering works to my advantage. Had they tried to swarm me, I would fall to overwhelming numbers eventually, but the indoctrination pushes them to summon Titan, then get out of the line of fire. Works for me.

The kobolds aren’t wrong in saying that they’re pushed into a corner. I know I’ll be having a word with the Admiral about this when I can; as a lowly private, there’s only so much I can do as a member of the Maelstrom, and with missing half the crystal set, I don’t feel I’m a full fledged Warrior of Light just yet. But any influence I can use within reason to push for more peaceful resolutions should be pursued, I feel.

I push that thought to the side. Focus on the now, I remind myself as Titan forms around a core of earth crystal. Pull a Shepard later.

I say nothing as the kobold elder lambasts me, and I say nothing even as Titan recognizes me as Ifrit-Slayer. The tempering makes words useless. I just shrug my axe down to my hands, harden my aether, and let the whispers of Gorge’s jobstone help me channel my rage.

Patience, stubbornness, and strength. They continue to serve me well, but these are also traits of Titan, so the fight is a grind in several ways; I have to dodge more than one dropped boulder, and lingering anywhere near the edges, I learn, is a very fast way to fall to my death when the primal literally shears part of the arena down with his terrakinesis. My helm gets dented a couple of times when this happens due to not being able to really do much but find the least aether rich area of the AOE attack and tank the worst of it.

Then Titan does…something, and instinct screams as a simulacrum of the primal is summoned. That thing needs to go down, and go down now. I listen to that instinct, be it from the soulstone, memory still partially buried, or the ancient I was once a part of, it doesn’t matter. My axe glows for the power I’m channeling through it, and with several well placed strikes, I kill the simulacrum and force the primal to show itself once more.

Again, it cuts down the space I have to work with, but I’ve got an idea of its patterns, and the Blessing lets me force my way through the stone prisons it tries to trap me in. While the artificial god tries to justify itself, I just scream as I finally cut through the core of it and carve out the Earth Crystal of Light.

This is going to be a pattern, isn’t it? The thought makes me tired.

Even as I grab the crystal, the back of my neck itches, and I turn, but the blue flash of Hydaelyn’s summoning circle blanks out anything I might’ve been able to see. The feeling fades; who was watching me?

Then there’s the sound of someone ‘porting in, and I jump slightly. Thankfully, it’s only Y’shtola, and I put the hatchet back on my belt.

“I feared I might arrive too late, but I see you had the matter well in hand,” she says with a slight smile.

“Celebrate later, we’re still arse deep in kobold territory, and I just bearded their god in his den,” I say. “If they aren’t fit to tear us all to pieces now, they will be shortly.”

“Assuredly,” she agrees, even as a corner of her mouth twitches up. I wonder if she finds my colorful language amusing now a days? “I will teleport you to the aetheryte in Zelma's Run, and we will rendezvous at Camp Bronze Lake. Agreed?”

“Wait, what about you?” I ask, alarmed at the idea of leaving her behind.

She shakes her head. “I will follow anon. There is something I must investigate before I depart.”

“…Be careful, Y’shtola,” I plead.

“I will, worry not,” she says with a slight smile, and I find myself thrown in the lifestream, then shortly ejected back out to the beastfolk’s aetheryte.

The wrench I’ve thrown into the kobold’s plan is more than enough to keep them distracted, so I can slip back out to the camp in short order. The worst of the storm seems to have passed, though it’s still an unpleasant misting drizzle that dampens everything.

Fortunately, Y’shtola does in fact show up after maybe fifteen minutes later, only a little worse for wear and ears twitching from errant raindrops.

“Word will soon reach the Maelstrom Command,” Y’shtola opens with. “Protocol requires that a representative of our order inform the high commander of the mission's success. I would leave that to you, if you would allow me one more moment of your time.”

I tilt my head inquisitively. “What do you need?” I ask; I don’t particularly care about the credit for killing Titan, but Y’shtola’s rarely asked anything of me, so now I’m curious.

“I met a woman in Limsa yesterday,” Y’shtola says neutrally. “She identified me by name, and introduced herself as Kaede. She asked after you.”

I wince. Oh Ma, dammit. “I’ve been letting people draw their own conclusions about my family situation,” I grant. “But that’s because I don’t have a good feel for your organization’s operational security. And after Tataru went to all and sundry about Ifrit…”

“You questioned whether or not it was safe to speak of them,” she concluded, displeased. “I understand the fear one might have for their loved ones safety, more so given the fame and infamy you will soon have directed your way. ‘Tis still unkind of you to deceive the others so.”

“All an Ascian has to do is shuck their robe and mask, and no one will know if they’re a member of the cult or not,” I state sharply. “I doubt one has actually infiltrated the Scions---” Liar. “---But what of the wide variety of agents and contacts others have? We have no way of knowing. Until I’ve got a better feel of how things are run…” I deflate. “Please, Y’shtola. I’m…beyond lucky that they survived the flight from Othard and the Calamity.” I feel a lump in my throat. “Just. Let me keep them safe for a while longer. A moon, maybe two.” That should be enough time, right?

The woman sighs. “I do understand,” she says, her voice a little kinder now. “Very well. Two moons. But not a sun longer, understood?”

I bite my tongue to try and keep the tears at bay, nod, and bow deeply to her in thanks. “Not a sun longer,” I agree, wiping away at the water on my face. “Ok…Ok…go to the Aftcastle, report to the Maelstrom…and get a new helm,” I pull off the one I’m wearing. Titan made a good try of trying to crush my skull in. “And then…report in to Minfilia?” I look to Y’shtola in question.

“T’would be wise, yes,” she nods. “I will meet you there.”

“Right. See you later,” I say, and with that, we part ways.

I pick up Bocco and ‘port us to Limsa, where he gets stabled as I head to the Aftcastle to report in. Thanks to linkpearls, word spreads ahead of me of Titan being no longer a problem, and Commander Rhiki is quite pleased with the result. No longer am I a mere private now, but Private Second Class. I restrain the snort of amusement at the bump, but it means a bit more of my pay can go to my parents, so that’s something, and it wouldn’t do to appear ungrateful.

Then my own linkpearl chimes, and I pick up the call. “Nanashi speaking,” I open up.

“Tomoyo,” Minfilia’s warm voice comes through. “Y’shtola has just reported to me of your victory. Allow me to pass on my congratulations.”

“Y’shtola gets part of the credit for letting me in through the backdoor,” I say. “Otherwise we’d have had to cut through the mountain itself, and that probably wouldn’t have ended well.”

“That both you and Y'shtola emerged from O'Ghomoro unscathed is no small feat,” she agrees, “Why, Tataru and the others seemed as glad of that as they did of Titan's fall!”

“Tell them thanks for the support for me, yeah?” I smile a little.

“You may tell them yourself soon enough,” she says. “After all, you can look forward to a hero's welcome! We'll be awaiting your return at the Waking Sands. There is much to discuss. Godsspeed.”

With that, she closes the link, and I sigh a little.

“No rest for the wicked?” Commander Rhiki asks with a smile.

“Good work is just awarded with more work,” I confirm with a shrug. “Oh well, nothing for it. At least I’ve got a good crew helping me out.”

“And that counts for half the battle,” she nods firmly. “Pass my thanks on to the Scions.”

“Will do, Commander,” I salute her, then start out for the Alley. Still need to replace my helm; bit of a shame because this one didn’t cut into my field of view like some of the heavier ones do, but the extra protection…something to balance out.

I do pick one eventually, a mix of magically hardened leather and steel plate reinforcing it. It needs a bit of an adjustment for my horns, but that’s done in half an hour, so I grab a quick lunch, get extra food supplies from the Bismark, then get my new piece of armor.

After that, it’s prepping Bocco for another run from Horizon to Vesper Bay; the ferry just takes too long in comparison, and I’d like to get the report done sooner than later.

Still…why do I have a churning feeling in my gut? Like something’s going to go wrong? I scan my memories, but nothing pings. I shake my head. Can’t force it, so I just have to wait and see.

I saddle up on Bocco, then toss the both of us into the lifestream.

Chapter Text

The minute we materialize into Horizon, I give Bocco just enough time to get comfortable again before pushing him on to the Bay. I might not be able to remember what it is I’m worrying about, but it’s possible my subconscious has put something together before my waking mind has. If that’s the case, then acting with all due haste is better than just idling about.

When we get to the base, there’s a muttering crowd of merchants and civilians about, and I pause. We’ve never gotten this much attention from the locals before. What the hell is this about?

I tie Bocco off to one side, then I push past the crowd, frowning severely; did someone make a fuss about Noraxia? But one of the civvies mentioned something about screaming. And when I enter the base itself, the fact that Tataru isn’t at her usual post is concerning.

Downstairs, I immediately find it’s dark; even before my eyes adjust, I can smell an awfully familiar coppery tang in the still air, and in seconds I see there’s a Lalafell body in a puddle of blood on the floor, one of the usual guards. My heart jumps into my throat. Minfilia gets kidnapped, I knew that, but I thought I had more time before this!

I rush through to the solar, jobstone warm against my chest as I note more bodies. Some might be unconscious, but others still have their eyes open, holes ripped through them, and I know they are dead. I shoulder-check the door open. Axe in hand. No sign of my Echo-sibling, and Noraxia is in their sylph form, the humming preceding them weak.

I crouch next to them, and they whisper, “This one...is glad that walking one is safe.” They reach for me, and my horns ring loudly before my surroundings dissolve and my postcognition kicks in.

The memory begins with Minfilia finishing our conversation just an hour ago. I watch her walk before the frame where Louisiox’s staff is set, and she speaks to it, claiming that his light shines through me. And then a gunshot rings out.

Garleans. Conscripts swarm through the base, cutting through a number of the lower ranked Scions, but their commander is encased in power armor. Fullblood Garlean in all likelihood, and I’d bet good money she’s one of Gaius’ mid-boss minions. 

Fuck. Ultima Weapon. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about.

The memory shifts around in third person; Tataru is hiding in a corner behind a box, her small form serving her well. Minfilia drops a rare but heartfelt ‘Dammit,’ before turning to Noraxia with explicit orders to stay out of sight so she can leave a message. And then she hands herself over to the Garleans, if only to prevent more bloodshed. The memory scares the shit out of me for a moment, as the Garlean woman fires a shot from one of her ridiculous wrist guns, but she just grazes Minfilia’s cheek and ear, who barely flinches. 

Minfilia wonders how they knew to come here, but whatever realization she has is cut off when Noraxia tries to shield Minfilia with their body, only to get a roundhouse kick to their tiny form for their trouble. I see the other ‘main’ Scions escorted out under armed guard...and the ones wounded put to the sword at the commander’s orders.

Right. I don’t care if Gaius is fond of this one, the first chance I get to break both of this bitch’s knee caps, I’m taking it. I watch her execute one of her conscripts who keeps killing the wounded, and then the memory ends.

Pressure behind my eyes pound with a migraine as I come back to the present. Below me, Noraxia croaks out, “Walking...walking one Minfilia asked...this one to…” They wheeze a moment. “In...in case this walking one returned. This...this one was to say...at church...in east Thanalan...walking one must claim...sanctuary.” Their voice breaks. “This...this one tried to...protect walking one Minfilia from imperial ones…”

“You did what you could,” I whisper. “You gave me the message. You showed me the memory. That’s more than enough.”

They whimper. “For...give this one…” My throat closes, and I take them into my arms, holding them gently as they passed. Tears spill, but I blink them away after a few moments before carefully setting the sylph's body down.

Church in east Thanalan. Sanctuary. Break down later.

Fuck.

I don’t stop to check the bodies for anyone I recognize. I can’t cope right now.

East Thanalan. That’s...Camp Drybone. Is teleporting safe? Might not be. But Bocco is waiting outside because I rode here, so I swing up onto his back and make for the east, full speed. 

I don’t know what to do when I hit the church. Was Thancred there? I don’t remember, I was too focused on the commander and Minfilia. Fuck. It’s possible Lahabrea leaked the location of the Waking Sands through him in this case. Classic for Ascians to play both sides, I know that Ultima Weapon was him whispering into Gaius’ ear just as he whispered into Nael’s for Meteorfall. 

Or maybe we just have a Garlean spy. Not everything’s an Ascian plot, people are fucking shits sometimes.

Fuck.

It’s past sundown when I reach the church Thancred and I had investigated when we were poking around the Amalj’aa and that idiot merchant selling people to them. Fighting Titan had actually not taken that long, it’s trekking across the desert on chocobo-back that took time. It feels like it should be midnight, but I have no idea how much time has actually passed. What am I going to do?

I don’t know what I look like when I push one of the doors open and shuffle up to the priest; he looks worried, I think, so it’s probably not good.

“I need to claim sanctuary,” I say hoarsely, and I realize how dry my throat is.

“Of course, my child,” he says gently. “You’ve the look of one who has endured great suffering. Please, tell me how I can aid you.”

“The...Vesper Bay. Do you know.” Words are hard, but inspiration strikes when for the strangest reason, Firion of Final Fantasy 2 passes my minds eye. Wild roses. Of course. “Do you know of the wild roses there, sir?”

Understanding crosses his face. Thank god. “You may speak freely here, young one,” he tells me. “We are all friends of the Scions.”

I force myself to breathe for a moment. “Garleans came through Vesper Bay,” I state. “Minfilia and a few other Scions have been taken captive, alive. The rest are dead. Minfilia managed to leave a message behind, to tell me to seek shelter here.”

The older Hyur pales. “How could this have happened? You are certain Minfilia was taken alive?”

“The Echo grants me the ability to see into the past,” I say. “One of the Scions stayed alive long enough to trigger the vision for me. I know for certain that Tataru, Urianger, and Minfilia have been taken alive. A few others, but. The memory happened so quickly that I only retained so many details.”

The priest turns to the altar for a moment. “Let us pray no further harm comes to them,” he murmurs.

“‘Heaven helps those who helps themselves,’ Father.” I try to keep the bite out of my voice, but I’m not sure if I succeed. “The gods won’t do a thing if we don’t lift a finger to change the situation.”

“I have not heard that truism before, but I agree,” he turns back to me. “You, however, are in no current state to pursue the surviving Scions. Please, rest, my child. I will pass word along, that more information might come our way so that you might take action later.”

He’s right. I know he’s right but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m so very, very angry. But acting on that anger is a choice, and acting on it right now won’t change anything, so I drop on a pew, grit my teeth, and press my gauntleted hands against my face, trying not to scream.

“I know of Minfilia’s strength.” I hear the old man sit down next to me. “I have known her since she was a child. I have sworn to do anything in my power to aid her brother and sister Scions. I would not bid you to shed your worries, but to have faith in your comrades, if not in the gods.”

“It’s. It’s not just that,” I croak, not looking up at him. “I...today’s the first time’s someone’s died in my arms. I was...beyond lucky not to lose my parents in the Calamity. I’ve seen bodies often enough, made them myself now too, but.” My eyes are flooding again. “I don’t care that she was a sylph! I don’t care that people would call her a beastman. She was a person! She wanted to learn, wanted to teach, wanted to try and build something between us and her people! And now Noraxia’s dead,” I try to swallow the sob. “And now I have to somehow let the elder know, and this might just put paid to the peace between the sylphs and Gridania, and there’s still primals out there, and now the fucking Garleans are throwing their hat in the ring. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Tears are no evil thing,” the priest says. “Shed them for your comrades, then stand strong for them after.”

And so I have a good cry, there in that church, at least for a few minutes. For Noraxia, for the fear and pain of Minfilia and Tataru and Urianger, because I don’t think he’s a full field agent at this point and Tataru is not a fighter, for whoever else is alive and scared and jailed, and for those who died just so that bitch could flaunt her power.

And I cry a little for myself as well, because this is the first time someone has died in my arms, but it won’t be the last, and I hate that I chose this path even when the alternative was just as intolerable.

I do calm down eventually, and use a cloth to wipe my face. The old priest hands me a cup of something steaming. Chamomile. Good call.

“Ah, Marques,” the priest bids someone over. A man in a monk’s robe with the hood up comes over; he’s on the taller side of things, even with his body language passive and carefully not confrontational, broad in the shoulder and clearly with some strength. The hood is on low, but I can see some of his bearded face. And more importantly, that he’s got something across his forehead. Colorful. Goggles?

Wait. Tall, Hyur sized, goggles across the forehead. And that beard!

“This is Marques,” the priest draws my attention. “He’s a trifle shy, but should you need assistance, you may speak with him.

“I should explain; he is a survivor of the battle of Carteneau.” Holy fuck, it is him! “I understand your surprise,” and oh shit, I’m projecting with my face. I quickly school myself with a sheepish look. “And I am afraid to say his experiences have scarred his mind. Had we not taken him into our care, he would have surely perished in the desert.”

The priest turns to Marques, or rather Cid nar Garlond and says, “Marques, I want you to look after Tomoyo. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” he replies.

Oh, I owe the poor man an apology. He probably thinks I hate all Garleans, when it’s just that I hate a few of them very intently, and I’ve just had a new one to add to my personal shitlist. But first, to ascertain if his memory’s intact or not. If it’s not, then best keep my mouth shut for now.

...He’s tall compared to me, but really is quite short for a full Garlean. I almost reach his shoulders when I subtly try to measure my height against his, when I stand up and introduce myself properly.

I’m given a small bunk to crash in, a bit like a cell in those old European monasteries, thanks to the fact that I claimed sanctuary, so I get some simple rations into my body and more water before the exhaustion of fighting a primal followed by some rather intense emotional trauma catches up with me and forces me to sleep. In thanks for the food, once I’m conscious and upright later, I ask if ‘Marques’ needs anything.

He looks like he wants to demure at first, but when I say that just sitting still will do no favors for my own health, he admits that he needs some tinkering tools for a pocket watch he’s picked up. I’ve got no problems helping along Cid’s engineering skills, so I change out into my conjury gear for my trip out; my marauder armor’s a bit too distinctive right now, and I am trying to lay low.

The sun is crawling up over the horizon when I step out of the church and head down to Camp Drybone. I give the stink eye to the merchant who tries to fleece me for more than the tools are worth, and a few minutes haggling means not all of Cid’s money up and disappears. He seems a bit surprised to have left over cash when I hand the bag and tools over, but pleased enough, and I leave him to his tinkering. For the next bell or two, I read up on the history of the church, though later I’ll admit that I honestly didn’t absorb much on a permanent basis owing to, well, everything that happened. 

Then Cid comes over, confessing that while he repaired the device he had on hand easily, he’s not sure how he knew to do it. I offer a sympathetic horn; outright saying that he’s a defecting engineer from Garlemald probably won’t go over well for any number of reasons, but the least I can do is let the man work out his thought processes out loud. Rubber ducking, as programmers would call it.

He seems a little rattled from how easily it came to him, and gives me the clockwork so that it can be buried with its owner. A slight waste in my view, but I’m the pragmatic type when it comes to burial concerns, and I know not everyone shares that. 

The sister I pass the watch to seems surprised that such a sophisticated device was here beyond Ul’dah, and worries that the deceased might’ve been a Garlean spy. And then she starts to wonder how Cid---Marques, I really should use his given name right now before I slip up---knew how to fix it.

Thankfully, the subject changes before I feel the need to head her off that train of thought. If nothing else, that tells me that probably only the priest knows of Cid’s race, if that. And I’ll do what I can to help him keep his cover, at least for now.

Unfortunately, the subject change is that of...well, the bodies of the Scions that died in the incursion. 

I don’t want to go back. Not really. But I feel like I should try to see if Brennan’s brother made it out OK. Biggs and Wedge...should be fine. Oh Christ and Crystal, the kid who’d been so proud to be Noraxia’s bodyguard. Hariberht, did he play a role in Stormblood?

I shake my head and smack a horn. They’re people. Not just characters. Don’t disassociate, that does you no favors!

If nothing else, I should at least try to help identify the bodies. Fuck but I’m glad Alphinaud and Alisaie are nowhere near here. They’re going to see their fair share of horrible shit soon enough. 

Nald’thal’s believers here were kind enough to take care of Bocco when it was clear I was in no state to. I feel bad for neglecting him and write down a note to get him a bushel of gysahl greens the next time I pass through Gridania in apology; I don’t care what kind of mounts I might get later, Bocco is my first good boy and I love him.

We set out late, and I ride through the night across the desert. With the limbal ring, my night vision is actually pretty good, and Bocco’s strides are confident. When we reach the Waking Sands, dawn is slowly creeping up the sky.

The merchant who’d been shafted with clean up duty apparently doesn’t recognize me, and is more than happy to leave me with the few remaining corpses to be put onto the lichcart. I recognize them. The rude Baldesion. Noraxia. Both of Arenvald's friends, the first who's name slips from me, and A’aba Tia. The guard who always greeted me with a nod when I entered the base downstairs. And all three of those oddballs who weren’t quite sure if they’d been part of the Circle of Knowing or not.

Fuck.

I don’t know what I’m more disconcerted by; that I’m glad I’ve got experience handling bodies from that case in the Shroud and Drybone, or that no one local seems to realize that I’m a Scion myself. Sure, there’s been a few Au Ra that have entered the mainland over the past decade, but I’ve already heard of the Xaela contingent getting slaughtered in Ishgard years ago, with most of the Raen staying in La Noscea due to the similar environs of our homelands. We’re not that common in these parts.

I use teleport to take Bocco back with me to Camp Drybone. Not all of the graves will be nameless, but enough of them will be that it makes my stomach sour and any patience for travel dry up. Maybe Minfilia has records that we can use later to at least make a memorial to the fallen. It won’t bring them back, nor will it necessarily let the dead rest any easier, but we all can burn incense or leave offerings for the sake of our own hearts if nothing else.

According to the sister who suggested I make the trip in the first place, most of the victims died quickly. Noraxia wasn’t one of them, not that most would be able to see that on a sylph’s form. I ask that the sister ensure that they too, are treated with care, regardless of their race; informing the elder will be difficult enough as is, and the possibility of disrespecting the dead scuppering the peace treaty is not a chance I want to risk.

I’m pleasantly surprised when she says that it would be best that Noraxia be returned to their people so that they could be given their full burial rites. Apparently she agrees that death is one of the great equalizers between races and that all, in that manner, should be given their due respect.

So, with conjury gear still in place, I accept the little bundle that is Noraxia’s body and board Bocco. I can keep going for a little while longer before I sleep for the day.

I leave just as the rains are setting into Thanalan. At least something weeps for the dead Scions.

Chapter Text

The sylphs are understandably quite upset over the loss of one of their own, especially since Noraxia had claimed to be one of the most capable of the tribe. That she did not die alone, and that she had acted in great courage seems to bring some measure of peace to them. And thankfully, they don’t seem to blame mankind as a whole for their loss. They call the Nald’thal priests ‘praying ones’ and vow to remember their kindness, and I feel something ease slightly in my heart. It’s callous to worry about alliances in this moment, but I can’t just turn it off. There’s too much to juggle now.

That Kumixo demands that we call on the sylphs when we take the fight to Garlemald...long term, it’s a good sign. But it’d feel cruel to throw them into the meat grinder such a conflict would be. We’ll see what happens. 

Then it’s back to Thanalan, the rain now a full deluge. Camp Drybone sets up flash flood preparations, moving stuff up higher levels and into the cliffs they carved part of the outpost into. I trek through the mud and water back to the church. The water’s cool, but not cold like it is when Gridania rains. I’m ushered into the church when I get there, my robe soaked through and generally looking like a half drowned lizard. I vaguely recall Bocco getting stalled, but after I’m given a warm soup to drink from, my memory honestly shorts out.

It...takes a few days before the worst of the depression fugue wears off. At least I recognize it for what it is, when I come back to myself. Three suns, I’m told by Marques, when I finally think to ask him. That’s how long it’s been since I returned from corpse patrol.

I rub at my face tiredly. I wondered if I’d struggle with depression this time around. Looks like the answer’s yes. And me without my mood stabilizers.

I’m beginning to see why the Dark Knight questline happened in canon.

I file that thought to the side, and decide to talk to Cid. Staying here will only mean it takes longer to rescue the others. Let’s see what our amnesic engineer needs doing.

Cid’s jumpy when I approach him, but after a little coaxing, he tells me that he’s feeling watched, and not the good kind. It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you; I know Nero’s looking for him, so I’ve no problem checking the graveyard for any unwanted eyes that might be prying.

Whatever else might be said, the man’s instincts are sharp; I stumble across a Garlean conscript staking out the area next to an overturned gravestone. I don’t think he expected me to bait him out as a conjurer, then quick-swap with my Warrior soulstone; it’s not an advised stunt to pull, because you are, essentially, nude when you do that for the split second the shift happens, but his sword and shield means that busting out the heavy armor is a better idea.

Cid’s both vindicated and unsettled at being right, naturally wondering why he’s being stalked by soldiers. He asks for some space while I pass on word to the Father what happened. 

And credit to the priest, the second he realizes there’s imperial attention on his church, he immediately wants to call for back up from the Immortal Flames. I make ready to march out in my heavy armor. No more time for subtlety, not if they’re coming for Cid.

Then a surprise comes walking into the building in the form of Alphinaud. I feel my eyebrows raise up. Hadn’t expected the kid here. Is he looking for me, Cid, or something else?

“I had hoped to be the first to speak with you,” the teen says as he strolls in. “How unfortunate.”

“For…?” I raise an eyebrow, shifting in front of the non-combatants instinctively.

“At ease, adventurer.” Oich, I’d forgotten how condescending he is in the beginning. “I come here not on behalf of the empire. Rather, I seek the means to revive the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. And to that end,” he then turns to Cid. “I have come in search of a legend; the greatest engineer of our time. Master Cid Garlond, I have come for you.”

I restrain the urge to facepalm. Does the kid not realize his memory is on the fritz?

“I fear you are mistaken, child,” the priest cuts in. “He is but a poor soul who has borne witness to the horrors of Carteneau. Pray, leave us in peace.”

“Wait…” Cid starts to speak, but pain quickly overtakes him as he reaches for his head, collapsing to his knees.

I rush over to his side as Alphinaud says, “Hear me, Cid. Eorzea needs you!”

“The man’s memory is shot,” I say sharply. “You’re not going to bring it back by yelling at him.”

After a few seconds, he finds the strength to stand, though his shuffle tells me he’s likely still in pain. He looks to the priest, the two seemingly having a conversation in silence. 

The old man comes to a decision. “I will return shortly.” And as promised, he comes back with a box, atop it a hammer. “Cid, was it? These belong to you. I had thought you bore the mark of greatness. It seems that I was right. Though our time was all too brief, I felt as if my son had returned to me for a time. You brought joy to an old man’s life.

“But it seems that it is time for you to aid those who truly need you.”

Cid doesn’t answer, picking up the hammer thoughtfully and examining it. Then he looks to Alphinaud.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Alphinaud Leveilleur, at your service,” the teen states. ‘Le-va-yeeur.’ So that’s how you pronounce it. “As a Scion of the Seventh Dawn, I too stand against the primals and our imperial foes, as my grandfather once did.” So he did formally join? Mrgh, something to ask the boss lady when we get her back.

“‘Tis no secret what has befell our order at the Waking Sands. Word has already spread across Eorzea,” he continues. Glad I already told my parents not to buy any such claims of my getting killed too easily. Hope Ma doesn't worry herself into an ulcer. “The repercussions are far greater than you realize. In the wake of the Calamity, the three great city states have focused their efforts solely on reconstruction. Leaving the Scions to combat the primal threat unaided.”

“Do you have a point to this?” I ask. “Because without a lead on where the surviving Scions have been taken to, I’ve no way of rescuing them, not to mention going on my own is more likely a suicide mission than not.”

He nods. “We will not forsake our companions, nor our duty, not even when we are brought so low and hope seems lost.

“The Ixal have summoned Garuda once more, and the primal torments the people of Coerthas as we speak.” That’s Ishgard’s area, isn’t it? Dammit, better dress for the cold. Where’d I put my waterproof leathers? He nods at my grimace. “Her appetite for destruction far exceeds that of other primals.” And that. Yeah, that’s not good.

“Worse, our Baldesion colleges believe that in her present incarnation, she surpasses both Titan and Ifrit in strength,” he adds. “Yet, therein lies an opportunity; should we somehow slay Garuda, it would serve as a warning to the other beastribes, that even their mightiest gods can be felled.”

“Buying time and breathing room isn’t a bad thing,” I say, rolling my shoulders. “But we need a plan to rescue our comrades. I will not leave them in the hands of the Garlean military, not when the commanding officer of this particular incursion all but stated she intended to torture Minfilia.”

“That will come in due time,” Alphinaud states, and I remind myself that he’s a kid. Fairly sheltered, still grieving his grandfather’s loss, probably worried half sick about his sister if she’s already wandered off, and that makes any teenager bristly at best. And those quills, for him, come in the form of condescension. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to smack him with a book. “In order to bypass the storm that is her sanctuary, we will need an airship.” He turns to Cid. “Your airship.”

“I...I have an airship?” the man stammers.

“You had a pair of students,” I say. “They built one, the Tiny Bronco. Unless the Garleans have impounded that?” I look at Alphinaud.

“It has since been taken, yes,” he confirms, and I ‘tsk.’ “Your ship was last seen over the skies of Gridania shortly before the Calamity. We will begin our search there.”

“My airship?” Cid seems to be tripping over that still, until something dawns on him. He takes his things and slides into the back. When he returns, he’s in familiar garb, having shucked the monk’s robe. I wonder if he’d always had silver hair, or if Carteneau had shocked him white? He looks a bit nervous, so I give him an encouraging nod, and he smiles.

“Come, then! Let us put an end to the primals! Together, we will show the world that the Scions are still a force to be reckoned with!” Alphinaud declares, and I stifle the sigh I want to heave. This is not going to be easy for so many reasons, I can already tell.

I learn that Cid’s ship was named the Enterprise, and I am a little amused, even if I don’t show it. I’m a Star Wars fan myself, and Square Enix had proven to be long time fans as well. I don’t know if the writers have any kind of influence on this world, or if they’re just channeling the tale of the Star with some author bias here and there, but that clearly shows a Trekkie made it on to the writing crew if nothing else.

The Enterprise had last been seen in northern Gridania, headed towards Coerthas, so once my preparations are complete, I go ahead of the two to Fallgourd and talk to the Adders guard who I conferred with regarding the Ascian cult murders. He’s glad my tidings aren’t so grim this time, but he doesn’t have much more than what’s publicly available. He does, however, have an eye witness at the watchtower of Alder Springs, so I hop onto Bocco and ride there.

I’ve seen the scars of the Calamity before. No place has been truly unaffected on the continent. But it’s obvious that this part of the Shroud was closer than not to the fighting. The fungi here are resilient, as are the mites, but the wood seems to have given up here. I see what they mean when they say the elementals are weakened, in this place. I can smell frost in the air.

According to the watchman, the ship indeed was headed north, but the precise location was not something he could confidently pin down. Getting records from the Ishgard astrologians was a possibility, he said, but not a good one because of how isolated the so-called Holy City had become after the Calamity. 

I...don’t think I’m going to Ishgard this early in things. I’m quite certain that the original timeline doesn’t see any of the primary Scions go there until after the Bloody Banquet, our very own version of the Red Wedding. Note to self; break Sahi sas Brutus’ kneecaps when I get the chance. Can’t kill him because then I won’t know who Fandaniel’s possessing, but crippling him for a bit is an option, yeah?

Not likely that will happen, but a girl can dream.

...Was it Sahi or Sasi or...? Fuck it, who cares, he’s a little bitch. More importantly, figuring out where the Enterprise is!

Which does, in fact, mean going through the Coerthas Highlands. I double back to Fallgourd and buy cold weather gear, because if there’s one thing I know about the region, is that it’s permanently cold these days. Didn’t used to be, according to Minfilia, but Bahamut fucked a lot of things up.

Thankfully they stock it year round despite the fact that it’s high summer right now due to the fact they’re right next to Coerthas. Third Umbral Moon, not quite half way through the month. Gods, I don’t know if it should be longer or shorter, but suddenly I feel as if I’ve no time.

I try not to think about Ma’s promise on making me heavy winter gear; letting them know I’m alive is hazardous right now, especially if the Garleans get more bold at acting closer to the capitals. I just have to hope the show down with Garuda is public and flashy enough for the rumor mill, so they can hear I’m still kicking that way.

Now dressed for the frigid weather, and my first snow of this life, Bocco and I sally forth to the Observatorium.

That’s very Latin of them. Isn’t that Garlemald’s thing? Whatever.

The shift in climate is pretty rapid once I cross some kind of invisible border. The temperature drops like a rock, frost starts crawling all over everything, and then the snow is visible, a blinding white line across the horizon. Bocco squawks a bit when he first steps into the stuff, but powers through it admirably after a few minutes of encouragement and adjustment.

I don’t expect a warm welcome when I hit the settlement, and I’m not disappointed, though at least I’m not automatically thrown out for being Au Ra and accused of consorting with dragons. I grit my mental teeth when I’m blocked from entering the Observatorium, put on my best customer service face after buying a map of the region, and get to side-questing.

Fetching a missing soldier, ferrying a few supplies, get pranked by a mischievous merchant, and...dealing with a haunted snowman? Haunted, but chill, and not in the cold way. I do appreciate missions that don’t need an axe all the time.

It’s a bit weird how Elezen heavy the population is. I mean, I knew Ishgard was primarily built and ruled by them, but spending half of my childhood a stone’s throw away from Limsa Lominsa, you get used to mixed, colorful crowds quick. The sameness of it all here is odd.

I also realize, when I look at my newly purchased map, that the area I’m in is Dragonhead. Isn’t that where Haurchefant is stationed? However you’re supposed to pronounce his name, my French/Elezen’s always been shite.

I am eventually allowed into the Observatory once words gets ‘round of my well intentioned meddling. Getting access to the records is predictably more difficult. Honestly, it’s a bit hard to take these people seriously with their silly hats that immediately bring to mind Mickey Mouse in the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, but I bite my tongue, hide the smile, and talk with the head of the Observatory.

Not that I want to smile after speaking with him. I knew I wouldn’t like the religion up here, what with it basically being The Thirty Years War Catholicism, Eorzea Edition with Extra Gods, but hearing people talk about heresy and crusades and being dead serious about it makes my skin crawl and scales itch. How much of that is Terran sensibility and how much of that is Limsa’s more casual relationship with the Twelve is up in the air. 

And then there’s an inquisitor visiting. Because of course they’ve got an inquisition. Ick.

He gives a side eye at my horns and tail, but he doesn’t throw me out on my arse, thankfully. Apparently word of my intention of finding the Enterprise has gotten around, and he warns me of how badly the local weather systems have shifted regarding sudden blizzards and storms. Given I’m Lominsan in all but blood, he’s not wrong to advise me, and I thank him seriously.

My good deeds do make the head astrologian less bristly, but he still refuses me access to my lead. Fortunate it is, then, that one of his assistants aren’t so stingy.

A friend of the woman in question went missing in the vicinity of Ixal territory. That’s already bad news, but the fact that Garuda is active makes it time critical. So I take a minute to resecure my gear, scarf down some rations, and step out into the cold.

...And then a delivery moogle waves me down.

“Mail for Tomoyo, kupo! From Curious Gorge!” 

Ah. I’ve leveled up enough for the next step in the Warrior side quest, have I? Hm. I accept the letter, then scribble a note that I'll be delayed a bit to be passed to him; rescue/retrieval first, then meet up with him, because getting further along in the Warrior class can only do me good.

I need to get better at conjury though, and soon, keenly aware of a man maybe a few malms away who’s clock is ticking fast. Dammit, not enough time!

The Ixal here are tall beings, especially raptor-y. How they don’t freeze through their willowy frames I’m uncertain, save for that magic is probably responsible, like with many supposed impossibilities of this world. My supply of tomahawks serve me well here; it’s not the way of the Warrior to snipe from afar, but it certainly makes my job easier.

Fortunately, I don’t need to do more corpse retrieval. The man’s alive, if a bit frost bitten and twitchy. He is, however, something of a xenophobe, so the second he sees my horns and tail, he takes off through the route I opened when I cut through the Ixal.

And then back to the Observatory. Why doesn’t this place have an aetheryte? Why does the tower have so many stairs? And why is there no railing?! This is such an OSHA violation, I hate it. Do I want to know how many people have fallen to their deaths here? Or worse, gotten chucked over the ledge? The thought makes me shiver in my furs and armor.

The assistant is much more gracious than my rescuee, clearly unimpressed by her colleague’s recklessness. And what she gives me is...well.

In helping out as I have here, I have apparently aided one of Ishgard’s High Houses. Hypothetically, if I petition the lord of his area, Portelaine, he can introduce me to the other High Houses as the lord of Durendaire, and I might get my intel that way.

I’m quick to scribble all this down in English, not even trying to do the right spelling. Fucking politicking already?! Oh I am not ready for this, and Tataru is still a prisoner of war! She’s the one who’s supposed to be good at this sort of thing!

And no, I’m not asking Alphinaud for help on this. Until he drops some of the chip on his shoulder, trusting him with social situations like this...well, it’s a toss up which of us is worse, honestly, but at least I can convincably get by on the excuse that I’m a foreigner. Alphinaud, being Sharlayan, and a child of one of their higher level politicians at that, won’t get off so lightly if he trips up.

Then something clicks in my brain and I make a face; the inquisitor wasn’t just talking about survival in the weather, he was telling me to focus on the Enterprise and not muck about with Ishgard’s politics. Augh! This is why I hate high society and it’s two faced ways of talking! It’s not as if I want to be here either, jackass!

Fuming quietly, I track down the lord and captain of the Observatory, and he’s interested in what I want in exchange for questing through his territory the way I have. And the rule of three kicks in to bite me in the arse; three tasks for the three other High Houses. 

Track down a porter’s wares after he got jumped on the road. Simple enough, and inventory magic means I can carry quite a bit. The question is, of course, what did he get jumped by? I refrain from asking, but only just. The balance between appearing courageous and fool hardy is something I still need to figure out.

Judging the sun’s position behind the clouds is difficult when I step out. I might have a bell left of daylight, or three, I’m not certain. But as long as conditions aren’t white out, I feel as if I should try to finish the mission. I whistle for Bocco, and proceed the search.

I would’ve flipped a coin for Ixal or draconic sympathizers for being the suspects of the porter’s position. The coin lands sympathizers, as three jump me when I track the last of the missing shipment. I don’t take prisoners; I don’t know what Ishgard does to ‘heretics’, but if they’re anything like the Catholic church of yester’age, it’s kinder to kill them quick out here then bring them to the camp.

When I bring the haul back to the tower, it turns out I actually grabbed something extra from the stash. Something that belonged to a Lord Francel, apparently. 

When the finely crafted box is opened, a necklace is laid out on the table, only for the captain to swear. To me it just looks like a red crystal formed in the shape of a claw or tooth, but Portelaine calls it a ‘draconic rosary’, and I wince. Fuck. I think I just signed someone’s death warrant, and given how ploin-shaped the Dragonsong War is, there’s no telling if this lord is being set up, had been sheltering people who wanted out of the conflict, or was forcefully converting people to support Nidhogg. 

That puts any introductions to the High Houses on hold, which I don’t mind, honestly. It means I have time to track down Gorge, get out of the cold, and maybe even work on my conjury. If I’m not a full blown White Mage by the time Ultima Weapon is a problem, then I think I’ve fucked up.

Before I can leave though, the captain’s second asks for a moment of my time and a favor. I ask him to keep it quick; the sun’s almost down, and I’m not familiar with survival in high winter.

In whispers, the soldier begs me to warn the ‘heretic’ lord of what’s coming his way. Apparently this guy had served him for years, and thinks it's a frame up.

The only reason I eventually agree is because he mentions that if the inquisition gets his hands on him, it won’t end well for his family, not just the lord. So I saddle up again and head for the tradepost located between here and Camp Dragonhead.

The password is edelweiss, the Swiss flower. I work it into the conversation when I track the noble down easily enough, asking if he’d seen one for a job of mine. Sadly, the species may well be extinct in this region. 

I tell him what was found in luggage marked with his seal. He denies everything of course; I honestly don’t care as long as he doesn’t work for Nidhogg and doesn’t hurt innocent people, but saying as much won’t fly, so I just mentally sit on my tail and get ready to listen for a bit.

Only to damn near actually fall on my tail when I get handed a letter of recommendation for Haurchefant. Fuck all the ducks, I am too tired for this shit, but getting the lead kickstarted is something I desperately need. I bow my head in thanks, accept the letter, and scramble to wrangle what’s left of my fraying nerves to muster my best neutral face for the lord of Camp Dragonhead.

He’s not dead yet, I tell myself as I get back up on Bocco, the bird warking at me. He’s not dead yet, and if you play your cards just right, he won’t die at all. Not sure if I can get him out of Heavensward unscathed, but I knew he took a gut wound that punched through a shield and armor, which is what killed him. So don’t let him get hit. That’s what Rescue is for. Simple.

Gods I hope he’s not over the top like he’d been in the Japanese writing. If he’s flirty in private and once we know each other, that’s one thing as long as he respects boundaries. If he’s not...I don’t know how well I’d cope.

I tap my linkpearl and mutter, “Alphinaud.” The two are still waiting at the Shroud for word, and this development indicates things are going to take longer than intended.

“Have you the location?” the kid immediately opens up with.

“No, there’s a complication,” I tell him. “The only ones that might know of the Enterprise’s location are the astrologers at the Ishardian Observatory. But their leader is a tight lipped---well, if it’s not related to their war against the dragons, he’s not going to share it,” I prevent myself from swearing in front of the kid. Give him a little time to get used to me before I start dropping curses left and right. “So now I’m stuck trading favors with representatives of the High Houses trying to get someone who will give me the location.”

“By the Twelve, Ishgardian politics?” Alphinaud seems as thrilled as I am about it.

“I’m Au Ra, how do you think I feel about this?” I point out. “I’ve got a letter of recommendation for Camp Dragonhead. Hopefully the two of you can crash there a bit while I do more horsetrading.”

“Horse…? Oh, yes, Othard native,” the boy mutters to himself before cutting the link.

Well, here goes nothing.

Camp Dragonhead is less a camp and more a full-blown fortress, with high walls, bristling ballistae, and plenty of guards. The seal on Francel’s letter is enough to get me in, even with a number of looks at my horns and tail, and I get Bocco some shelter and sweep off some of the snow his feathers accumulated before I find where the lord is stationed at.

I step into the main fortress; it’s warm, which is nice change of pace, but I don’t relax. I’m Au Ra in an Ishgard stronghold. Not a good thing to be, I remind myself.

Haurchefant is at a large, almost oversized desk, located in what looks to be a combination of a main hall and a war office. Pale hair, sharp features that tend to come with Elezen, though not as razor sharp as some. Given that he’s the commanding officer of the fortress, the stacks of scrolls, papers, and books that almost bury the desk proves it. I can only imagine how much paperwork and logistics he has to juggle; not something the fans remember often, it seems. 

“Ah, the unmistakable swagger of a well traveled adventurer,” he opens the conversation as I approach, smiling. How much of my ‘swagger’ is me trying not to sway from tiredness is in question, but that there’s not even an ounce of hesitation about my scales is promising. “If you’ve come to pay your respects, be at ease. I’m not one to stand on formality. Truth be told, I would welcome many and more of you brave souls here---but, pray tell me, what brings you here this late hour?”

I place the letter on his desk and say, “Through a string of events, I recovered what I’m told is a draconic rosary that might or might not belong to a noble.” I shake my head. “As I am a stranger to the matters of this land, I can make no informed opinions on this. I can only hope that the truth is pursued, honestly and justly.”

With the swipe of a knife, he opens the envelope and reads through the letter quickly. “If there is any justice in this world, these charges will see no serious consideration,” he states as he stands. Good skies, Elezen trend towards tall, but Haurchefant is threatening to hit ‘towering.’ He’s a bit taller than Da! “It is beyond inconceivable...ah. Yes, the letter made mention of a pressing matter you needed attending to. What that might be?”

“Five years ago, the airship Enterprise flew over this region on its way to the Battle of Carteneau,” I state. “It never arrived. I need its location, whether it be intact or not, and the sooner, the better.”

He hums in thought. “I fear it may prove difficult to find eyewitnesses to these events, for while we did not participate in the Battle of Carteneau, Ishgard was embroiled by our own internal conflicts at the time.” Not surprising; without intervention, the ‘Holy City’ would wage war with Nidhogg’s lot until the sun goes nova. “It may take time before progress is realized Nevertheless, I will look into the matter and share with you any findings I make.” Then he salutes, a formal gesture as he declares, “In the meantime, please enjoy the hospitality of Camp Dragonhead. I will see to it that you are afforded every courtesy as a guest of House Fortemps.”

And with that, myself and my two companions are granted rooms, food, and drink. Alphinaud tried to talk some, but it took everything I had to finish my food and tea before I crashed. If I dreamed, I don’t remember.

Chapter Text

“Look, I’m sorry for falling asleep when you wanted to talk,” I sigh at breakfast, the three of us at a table in the mess for Camp Dragonhead. “But I’d been on the move for fourteen bells straight. I was running on pure willpower when I talked to the lord of the fortress last night, and I consider it a small victory that I didn’t pass out in front of his desk.”

Alphinaud still looks sore; teenaged pride never changes. Especially not teenagers with something to prove. “That we are forced to meddle in Ishgardian matters of state for an airship,” he mutters. “It beggars belief. Gods, if Alisaie were here, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Could be worse,” I say after washing down some bread with strong tea. “They didn’t throw us out because I’m Au Ra.” 

“I thought you knew nothing of Ishgardian politics,” Alphinaud eyes me.

“Every Au Ra heard of the massacre once word got out,” I remind him grimly, and he has the grace to look abashed. “There’s a reason there’s almost none of us this far north.”

“Massacre?” Cid looks alarmed.

“Some years ago, a group of Xaela refugees sought to find a home in Coerthas,” Alphinaud takes the chance to educate him. “As the clime was more similar to their homeland in Othard, or so I’ve been told.”

“I’ve never been to the Azim Steppes,” I say. “But the longitude is about right when you line everything up on a map. A lot of we Raen,” I motion to my pale scales, “Are used to warmer climes down south. The dark scaled Xaela trended to the north.”

“Indeed.” The kid looks a little miffed at my interruption, and I have to hide a smile behind my cup. I’m going to have too much fun ruffling his feathers if I’m not careful. “Unfortunately, they had not known of Ishgard’s...temperament towards outsiders. Given their war against the Dravanian Horde---”

“Hang on a tic, I thought they were warring against dragons.” Am I laying it on a bit thick? No, backwater Lominsan refugee, should be fine.

“They are one and the same,” he says impatiently. “As I was saying, the unfortunate resemblance between the Au Ra people and the Dravanians, or dragons, saw the people of Ishgard react to the refugee train as an invading army.”

I make a rude noise. “And given that most of their fighters probably died fighting Garlemald, most of what showed up at their doorstep were craftsfolk, children, and elderly,” I keep my voice down, but my bitterness is apparent. “What few survived...well, we got word down south.” I shake my head. “I’m never telling my parents I came here until all’s said and done. They’d worry themselves sick.”

“...Why would they do that?” Cid asks.

“What, Ishgard kill civilians?” I clarify, and at his nod, I shrug. “Fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the other, fear in general. Fear makes you stupid. You react with instinct, not with aforethought, and when the fear is finally gone, you’re left with your mistakes and the question of if you’re mature enough to try and fix what you broke or if you double down on your actions and try to pretend nothing bad happened.” I sigh. “No matter where you go, people are the same. Good and bad. Just so happens the bad here hurt my distant kin.”

Alphinaud looks at me, but some of the annoyance has bled away. “I had not expected such a nuanced, yet simple, answer.”

“I didn’t get into adventuring just to crack some imperial skulls,” I state, deliberately not looking at Cid. “Learn of the world, and just maybe you’ll learn something of yourself. That’s what I’d hoped for when I started out.” And I huff in dry amusement. “And then the Mothercrystal came calling and suddenly I have forty extra years of perspective on life and how people work.” I shrug. “Could be worse, but stars, I won’t say no to the downtime.”

“But with that time, Garuda becomes more established in Coerthas,” the Arcanist points out.

“True, but what can we do about it without the Enterprise? Nothing,” I counter. “So today, rest, get food into your systems, stay warm, and if there’s no news tomorrow, I’ll head off to Limsa for a bit.”

“What? Why ever for?” the teen startles.

I look at him for a moment, seriously balancing the question of trusting him with information of the Warrior soulstone or not. It is, technically, proscribed, though that will hopefully be rescinded soon. “I’ve a teacher,” I eventually answer. “And he’s a new technique to pass on to me. Missing out on it when one needs every tool to bear against a primal would be foolish.”

The kid makes a face, but concedes after a few moments. “Do you have your linkpearl?” he asks.

“I do,” I say. “If news comes in, let me know and I’ll teleport in within a minute, unless I’m waist deep in monsters or something. If no news continues, I’ll swing by Gridania and continue my conjury studies.”

“Conjury...healing magic?” Cid confirms hesitantly.

“Partially, and my primary focus,” I tell him with a nod. “I...well, I’ve already had a friend die in my arms.” Fuck, I could’ve tried healing Noraxia! The thought comes to me, and I rub at my face, breathing through the fury and self-recrimination. 

“The moment we receive word, you will return to Camp Dragonhead,” Alphinaud declares, and I feel the need to put my foot down.

“The only reason I’m doing as you say right now is because Minfilia’s a prisoner of war,” I say quietly, doing my best to keep any edge out of my voice. “I am shite at collating and networking information and raw data, and I know this. For you, that seems to be a strength. But the moment we get the boss lady back, I’m listening to her again. Got it?”

His lips thin. “Do you think me unworthy to lead the Scions?” he asks sharply.

“...Do you want the honest answer, or the polite one?” The question makes him blink.

“Both,” he states.

“Politely, you’re on the young side. You’ve talent, no one should rightly deny this, but you’ve been away from Sharlayan for, what, three months? No one goes into a job and starts at the top. We all have to work our way up and get experience, because making mistakes at the bottom of the rung is a lot less likely to get you and your charges killed than when you’re at the top.” Honest, and polite. See, I can tact.

“And honestly?”

I bite my lip. “You’re trying to fill your grandfather’s shoes. You want to be as great as him, but how can you when no one knows who Alphinaud is?”

His eyes shutter, and I know I’ve lost him for the moment. He sets his cup down, mutters his excuses, and leaves the table. I sigh.

“He loves his grandfather,” Cid observes, and I nod.

“I may never have met the man, but just about every living person on Eorzea owes him a debt that can’t be repaid,” I say. “The legacy he left behind is that of a giant, and I’m afraid Alphinaud and Alisaie will cripple themselves trying to live up to it.”

“I can’t imagine,” the engineer says sadly. Can’t imagine trying to follow such footsteps, or the love that would push one to that path?

“Hey, Cid?” I pull his attention over. “When it comes to your memory, don’t try and force it, alright? Healing and recovery, these things don’t happen overnight. Just take things one step at a time, one day at a time. And if you ever need to talk about anything, anything, let me know. I can always lend a horn.”

He opens his mouth to ask something, then suddenly looks abashed and closes it. I raise an eyebrow and smile. “Yeeeees?”

“...How can you hear if you’ve no ears?” he asks after a moment, and I chuckle.

I brush my hair aside to show him the aural canal just below the base of my horn. “We don’t have the flexible tissue around the ear like most folk do,” I answer, letting him look for a few moments before letting the hair fall. “The horn’s connected to the hole, so they help us hear very low bass sounds. In fact, we Au Ra probably have the best range when it comes to hearing low sounds. That being said, our ability to hear high pitches isn’t great,” I add. “Probably a bit below Hyur average actually.”

Keen intelligence peers through his eyes, and I soon find myself talking about the physics of sound, resonance and how it works at the general level, and what one can potentially do with it, both constructive and destructive. Honestly? It's a great way to pass the time.

When Alphinaud returns, hours later, he doesn’t look at me, but he’s a little less angry and a little more thoughtful, so maybe, hopefully, it's a sign of progress. He’s a little snot right now at times, but every once in a while I see the young man that had half the fans wanting to outright adopt him after Shadowbringers, and, well. Given who his father is, I might just actually offer adoption eventually. We’ll see. Don’t count your dodos ‘till they hatch and all that.

-x-

Gorge is happy enough to see me when I link up with him the next morning. Well, he would be, if his self-confidence weren’t denting some at my rapid progress; I hate seeing people like this, especially when I at times feel like I’m cheating with the Echo and the Mothercrystal’s blessing fueling me. And make no mistake, I’m well aware I’d be a smear on the ground at this point without that blessing, so that just makes this extra depressing.

The history of the Warrior class isn’t a happy subject, to compound the matter. The inner beast as they call it, the rage I summon, had been taught recklessly by the city states of yester-century...only for it to predictably backfire. Gorge’s people were driven out as a result, because it’s never your fault for fucking up, oh no.

Gorge, however, seems to miss the possibility that the reason his tribe could use the skill without tragedy was because they learned control as well as rage; more than once has the soulstone whispered when I felt myself on that brink, which convinced me to box breathe if I had the time, and give me something to focus on if I didn’t. But I can’t get a word in edgewise before he’s off to Wineport.

Oh boy. Am I going to have to sit on a man near twice my height and well three times my weight? I sigh, and follow.

I get directed to the east side of town to deal with the monster problem, while Gorge stations himself at the west. Getting there means I pass by the Garlean fortress, and I still don’t know when that got there. I give it the stink eye, then plant myself in my assigned station.

Fire breathing raptors and evil toucans; the numbers are the bigger problem, so I tank the light blows and step around the attacks that register to my aether-sense and just methodically get to work. Fire, step to the side, swipe at the neck, wind blast behind, side step again and break the body with the flat of my axe, take the claw swipe on the gauntlet, duck under a tail, cut through a leg…

I don’t have time to render the corpses properly, so I just cut what I can quickly and hasten back to Wineport. Instinct tells me there’s something afoot, and I’m proven right when I hear screaming in the town.

The captain of the militia and I storm in to find Gorge in a controlled rage as he clears out the last of the monsters that broke the cordon. I sigh to myself in relief, glad to see my worries were unfounded.

Then a civvie calls him a monster, and he snaps out of the rage to see a lot of the faces he’s getting. My heart sinks, and I start to trot over, wanting to show them that it’s not that bad, but when he spots my approach, he tells me to stop; the man’s voice is heartbroken. He leaves the town, downtrodden and pensive. 

The captain has a good head on his shoulders, and calls out the hasty judgement of the civilian, even if Gorge had scared a number of folks with his combat style. He assures me that he’ll sort this out and Gorge will be welcome into the town at any time, and I thank him politely before 'porting down to Costa del Sol and heading up the beach to console the Warrior.

Well, now we know why his people might’ve been driven away from the city-states. The berserker state scared folks, and without the guidance of something like the jobstone, might have actually been uncontrollable. This conclusion has Gorge willing to hit the books again, and I am reminded that he passed the stone to me because he couldn’t perceive his own’s whispers.

I wonder if it’s the Echo that lets me do it, or if I actually have some innate talent the impressions approve of?

I hide another sigh. Hello Imposter Syndrome, I wondered when we’d meet. Thank the stars I had therapy in my last life. At least I know what to look out for.

Half the day is done, and I check in with the moogles for any messages. Nothing, so I port over to Gridania. Time to grind my white magic.

-x-

While Brother E-Sumi is impressed by my work ethic, he voices his concerns when he approaches me some two days later.

“You risk wearing yourself thin, Tomoyo,” he warns. “To rush conjury endangers yourself and the people you seek to aid.”

I grimace. “I know,” I admit. “But the Scions, what of us survive, are prisoners of war or scattered around the continent. My lead on the solution to Garuda will go nowhere until I get word from the soldiers near Dragonhead in Coerthas---” and the face he makes there has me snorting a laugh. “Yeah, I agree with you there. Not a friendly bunch, and it’s too damned cold. I lived in La Noscea for half my childhood for stars’ sake, I’m lucky I remembered to pack winter gear.”

“You seek the airship that vanished north?” he asks, and I nod.

“I will get a lead eventually. But...I know I need some time to rest and process,” I say haltingly. “I know that. But the commander who captured the Scions at the Waking Sands...she said she couldn’t wait to hear Minfilia scream.” I uncurl my fists when I hear the wood of my cane creaking under my grip. “I don’t know what they’re suffering right now. But there’s a good chance that they are suffering. And when we get them out, I can at least patch up the worst of it, after I finish breaking some Garlean kneecaps.”

“Your drive is commendable,” he tells me. “But you are not at peace with yourself, and that lack of stability can be dangerous if left unaddressed.”

I heave out a gusty sigh. “I know. But Eorzea doesn’t have therapy anymore,” if it ever had it of course, and seeing E-Sumi’s head tilt has me elucidate, “Mind-healers essentially, though it’s a very complex topic and requires a thorough understanding of how minds work and why they do what they do when reacting to negative things in life. And most of the people who I would talk to are behind Garlean bars. Or in hiding. So. Garuda. Conjury. Hit the limit with my Wa---marauder training, so.” I shrug helplessly.

The slight upward twitch of his lips tells me the Seedseer sees straight through my slip up, but he doesn’t call me out. Wonder if he’s old enough to remember the Warriors, or if he can feel the jobstone. “Finish your meditations,” he orders. “I would see you meditate at least one bell a day while here, preferably two.” I grimace, but nod. “And should you wish to speak of your experiences and concerns, I am here. I may not understand it all. But I am here.”

I bite my tongue, because that offer touches me a lot more than I thought it would. “I...thanks,” I say when I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I wish I could. Talk about it all, but. It’s not safe.” Not with Laha-I-burn-through-bodies-like-a-chain-smoker-burns-through-packs-brea. The thought of him pulling a suicide scry and die while wearing Thancred like a meat suit makes my stomach turn.

The mediation...it helps ground me a bit. Reinforces that this is reality, that I’m not floating along by game rules and regs. And I care for Bocco, getting him that bushel of greens I meant to gift him...fuck, has it really been a week since their deaths? Almost. Christ and Crystal. The Waking Sands will feel haunting if and when I return.

Three days pass, with me checking twicely with the moogles for messages each day. The Guildmaster seems to take pity on my restlessness, and I get to learn the basics of water magic.

Purging a tainted water sprite is a hell of a lot calmer than the run in with the air sprite cluster; I do have to Cure myself a couple times for the deep bruising it gives me, because water doesn’t compress when it flies at you at 50+ malms an hour, and that hurts like a bastard. But I take care to keep it out of my lungs, nose, and mouth, so I get through it fine.

The water specialist’s lecture is nothing new to me, but I sit through it all the same; I’ve done enough college work from Before that made this simple. So of course life throws a curveball at the both of us and I find myself elbow deep in bleeding men and women thanks to a rampaging herd of antelope.

I go through a couple of ethers before the worst of the damage is patched; no one dies on me, thank Christ and Crystal both. But the antelope are just causing more and more wounded, so because I’m adventurer stock, I’m sent to cull them to stem the tide.

Balancing combat and healing magic is a bastard and a half; I’m not used to being on the backlines, and the water sprites that try to snipe me don’t help matters at all. But even though some of the Wood Wailers get beaten up a fair bit, none of them die on my watch, and that’s a win in my books. That being said? Let me heal in a clinic any day over combat healing. Those that do this for a living are the same breed of mad as quantum physicists. Incredible, admirable, necessary, but fundamentally strange.

When the antelope go down, I see Sylphie tending to the soldiers who were already downed. One isn’t breathing, and the light she exudes grows brighter and brighter as she pushes her aether to its limit. I think she actually triggers a limit break, because my own black and blue bruises fade before my eyes a slight washes over everything within several yalms...and then she collapses with a wheeze.

Despite her assurances that she’s fine, E-Sumi-Yan, now in full combat gear, approaches with a contingent of mages in tow. Too little too late, I can’t help but think tiredly, but what else is new? And going by his face, Sylphie just tried to use Raise despite the law he laid down.

It’s not my place to get into the middle of this argument, I know that. It still doesn’t sit proper in my gut to stay to the side as the two shout at each other for a bit, and then Sylphie storms off. E-Sumi doesn’t sigh outright, but he looks like he wants to as he watches her run, and then he asks me to follow up on her, knowing full well he’d just set her off again.

I do as bid, and find she didn’t go far. Mostly because she’s trying to cast, only for nothing to happen.

I just manage to refrain from hissing between my teeth. I know how to live like a muggle thanks to almost 40 years experience, but to people who’ve always known magic in one form or another, and then lose that?

I try to convince her to at least let me guide her back to a settlement, if not Gridania itself. After some cajoling, I get her to Hawthorne Meadows before promising to leave her alone, then port back to the guild. 

Brother E-Sumi’s glad that she’s alright, but when I inform him of her loss of power, and that the girl admitted to the fear that she might die as her mother did, he finally explains what happened to the dead conjurer. 

The Guild teaches to use the balance of water, wind, and earth aether when one heals because the world, plainly put, has that much more energy to offer than one’s own self. Sure, if you eat and rest and sleep to regain your energy, you can, technically, front the cost yourself. But as frequently as conjurers heal, you inevitably build an energy debt and you can’t keep up. This is what killed Sylphie’s mum in the end.  

What makes the situation even more tragic is that Sylphie’s got even more talent than her mum for healing, but her overenthusiasm means she’s burnt out that much earlier. And no one wants a case of Generation Xerox.

I see the lesson here Hydaelyn, I think tiredly. But if I’m going to avoid burnout, then I need more time.

A faint hum, a flash of white blue behind blinking eyelids. She hears me, but I can’t hear her. And I’d not be surprised if she’s focused on Minfilia right now. Fair’s fair after all, she needs the support.

There’s a bit of good news at least; I’ve got clearance to use Raise and a couple of the meaner spells in the white magic tree. There’s limits, of course, to pulling people back from the brink. The heart and head have to be intact, and more than half the liver. One lung or kidney must also be intact, as you can only reconstruct so much of a damaged organ, and you can’t replicate completely ruined ones. If you’re fast, you can prevent sepsis should you cleanse and heal a gut wound, but that needs to be under a minute of catching it or you run the chance of blood poisoning. And when I ask E-Sumi of the six minutes until brain death should a patient stop breathing, that actually gets him thinking and saying that he and some of his best will be running tests on that when they can.

Looks like I’ve contributed to medical research, even if it was just asking a question. At least that’s something positive.

The next day, I get a call from Alphinaud. I’ve had my chance to breathe. Back to work.

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing Coerthas has going for it, is when the nights are cloudless, the skies are the clearest on this side of the continent. When did stars glow green; or is that a planet? Oh, to think that life would exist on our next door neighbor...how can the Ascians look up to this and feel nothing but despair, and not wonder? I’ll never understand.

It’s this that passes through my mind as I stare up into the pre-dawn sky for a few moments after ‘porting in. I can’t see myself as any kind of astrologer; Tanya had too much love for the science of astronomy, and the thought of tangling something as...prone to personal interpretation as tarot cards with the movement of the stars means I can all but here the Terran scoff in the back of my mind.

Still. If there’s solid math behind the prognostics work, then it might be of use. And saving the Sharlayan scholar who wants to spread her home’s work to the rest of the world is a good thing. I’ve got no idea if the twins’ dad has any connection to the Bibliotec faction in Old Sharlayan, but said faction is rank evidence that the so called city of knowledge needs a thorough shake up and house cleaning. Much like Congress in America, now that I think about it.

Honestly, I might pick up more from the geomancer I’d meet on that questline rather than the astrologers. Geology’s also good fun, and the magic might be easier to wrap my head around in all likelihood. Using millions of years old light to tell the future? I’ve no faith in that, and without faith, you need a shite ton of math to back it up for it to work.

Stupid impressionable aether. Bet that’s a leftover of the Amaurotine creation magic, biting us all in the ass in the most obnoxious way possible. Bah!

“Tomoyo.” Alphinaud’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look over to the teen. “Lord Haurchefant has sent word. If you would speak with him regarding the Enterprise, perhaps we will finally be able to answer the primal threat of Garuda.”

“Right,” I say before covering a yawn. “Urgh, just wish it could’ve waited until the sun was up. I’m going to need coffee or tea to wake up all the way. Oh, and Alphinaud?” I turn to him. “I’m sorry for the harm my words may have done. I’m...I have trouble with tact and manners at times, and I’ve been reminded that brutal honesty needn’t always be brutal.” A bit of advice from my first life, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. “So, it might not be worth much, but you have my apologies.”

He looks at me for a few moments, his expression difficult for me to read. “What is done is done. For the nonce, we have greater concerns.”

“Aye,” I say quietly, and head down to Haurchefant’s office; I wonder if the man’s gotten any sleep yet, or if he’s just up early.

The tall Elezen has a steaming cup of something next to him as he reads over some paperwork, so he’s probably just starting his day. “Ah, Tomoyo,” he gives me a nod when one of his soldiers announces my presence. “I’m afraid to say that the matter of finding the airship has stalled some; despite my attempts, it seems that the High Houses are for the moment unable to fulfill your request. But you may be able to lend some assistance in this endeavour, as there are influential individuals within each House that is not unsympathetic to your cause. I’ve sent various missives to their representatives in Ishgard, but I suspect it would expedite the matter should you personally make inquiries.” 

“...I am aware that Au Ra are not kindly looked upon in this region of the world,” I say hesitantly. “Are you certain?”

A flicker of shame passes through his eyes before he firms up. “For some, your fears would bear merit, but I assure you, they are upstanding members of society who would not shame others for mere appearances.”

I write down the names he gives me; Ninne of Fortemps, Cravellin of Haillenarte, and a second shot to try and convince the head astrologian of my case now that I’ve a connection to Fortemps. And Haurchefant says he’ll cover House Dzemael himself, which lightens my load a little.

The sun is slowly creeping towards the horizon, pale blue washing out the stars above as I start to poke around the fortress and neighboring environs for information. Ninne knows nothing of the airship, but shares gossip about Francel and the accusations against him. I hide my distaste for the topic and let her chatter for a bit before thanking her for her time. Cravellin is equally useless, though I understand his stress given what his family is dealing with. And the head of the Observatory refuses to pull the stick out of his arse; I wonder how much of it is because he’s just that much of a stickler for the rules, and how much of it is because the inquisitor’s presence in the area is making him nervous.

...I wonder if I’m going to butt heads with that investigator. I’d give it a coin flip’s chance at this rate.

I ‘port back to Camp Dragonhead, frustrated by the lack of progress. And an hour later, I’m allowed into the lord’s office, and he doesn’t have much better news.

“By your countenance, I take it you did not learn anything of use,” Haurchefant sounds at least a little sympathetic, so I take a breath to try and calm the worst of my bristling temper. “Nor did I, I fear. It seems the whole of Coerthas is consumed by this talk of heretics in the High Houses. We can only hope that my sources in Ishgard proper provide more pertinent information.

“In the mean time, I would make a personal request of you, adventurer,” he says, and I nod for him to continue. Whatever else, we do need to stay in his good graces, if only to keep a roof over Alphinaud and Cid’s heads. Nevermind the political connections I’ll need for Heavensward.

“It concerns Lord Francel, of whom much has been whispered in recent days,” he continues, a thread of worry entering his voice. “I have received a report that he and three knights were seen heading north towards the Steel Vigil.”

“Do you need me to check in on them?” I ask, and he smiles with some relief.

“Yes,” he confirms. “The outpost was long ago overrun by the Dravanian Horde, so I am not certain what he intends to accomplish with such a small force. Whatever his motives, I fear for his safety. Pray journey to the Steel Vigil and see if Lord Francel's party requires assistance.”

I get the area marked on my map, then get Bocco saddled; it’s something to do while Haruchefant’s people poke around for intel, if nothing else.

On my way to the Steel Vigil, I consider the potential reasons for Francel bolting there with a small squad. A suicide charge for redemption? Going to the dragons if he’s going to get killed by inquisitors anyway? Actually a sympathizer, so getting out while the getting’s good with what he can? I don’t know enough to say. All I can do is check in on them and ask.

The sun is well high in the sky when I find the Steel Vigil, as the area is called, Bocco weaving between the aggressive ogres of the area and ice sprites drawn to the climate; clouds are racing in overhead, and I hope I won’t have to fight in a blizzard when I track the noble down.

The man’s injured, bleeding a fair bit. A quick shift of my jobstone sees me patching up the worst of it, even as he tries to warn me away, nervous about the dragon nearby.

“I see it,” I tell him sharply. “Hold still, and when I distract it, get your men out.”

And I do see it; the dragon isn’t too terribly huge as these things go, but it’s as tall as my father were it to stretch its neck high, and a good deal longer counting the tail. And the stomping feet makes it impossible not to track even if it were a full whiteout blizzard. Subsonic hearing is good for some things.

And then the big bastard comes flapping in, and I realize the one a few yalms away’s just a youth; this example I doubt is an adult, not compared to the elders of Midgardsormr’s brood, but it’s a sight bigger and breathes lightning at me.

I shift to Warrior just in time to catch the worst of the damage, swearing a blue streak that’d make any pirate proud as I take my axe to the dragon. What joy might be had at fighting a real life dragon is dulled by the fact that they’re people too, however oddly shaped and regardless if they were originally born with wings or not. Fuck but this war can’t end soon enough.

The burns under my armor smart like a bitch, but I don’t let it stop me; after I kill the big one, I see the smaller dragon going for one of the knights. I throw a tomahawk to get its attention, and make myself a massive pain in the ass until it flees.

Then I spend the next few minutes patching the lord and his men up, before tending to the worst of my own wounds. The young Lord tries to explain that the Vigil once was the charge of his family and that he’d wanted to regain honor by taking the fight to the dragons, but I only give him so much verbal space for justifications, as well as pointing out all of their wounds with a glare. After having a stern word for all of them for putting themselves in danger and getting the promise they’ll teleport out, I take my own advice and ‘port Bocco and I to the camp, and give word to Haurchefant.

“What did you find at the Steel Vigil?” he asks, pushing aside a small stack of paper as I weave around the war map.

“Have Francel and his men teleported in?” I ask him, and the man next to Haurchefant’s desk speaks up.

“We just received word moments ago, yes,” he confirms with a nod, and the Lord Commander of the fortress sighs in relief.

“Fra---Lord Francel,” I correct myself, because like hell I’m good at keeping the high society rules in mind in my speech. “He wanted to try and reclaim the keep somehow from the dragons.” I shake my head. “He and his men might have a few scars, but I patched them up and all but bullied them into teleporting back to Dragonhead Camp, so…that’s that.”

“A reckless plan, but at least your intervention saw their lives intact,” Haurchefant says gratefully. “I have news for you as well. A witness to the final flight of the Enterprise has been found. Alas, there is a complication.” He chuckles when I slump in place a little.

“It has become common knowledge that you paid a visit to Lord Francel at Skyfire Locks not long ago. Upon learning of this, the witness became understandably reticent to make your acquaintance, for fear of being seen in the company of a woman who might later be declared a heretic.” Oh for the love of peace, of course it’s a local zealot. Urgh. “A not unreasonable fear, given the zeal with which Inquisitor Guillaime has conducted his investigations. In any case, if we wish to obtain his testimony, we must first clear Lord Francel's name─and, by association, yours.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and breathe for a moment or three. “And…how am I, or we, supposed to do that?” I ask. “I’m not exactly trained in the critical art of criminal investigations.”

“Let us start at the beginning,” Haurchefant rests his elbows at the table, his chin against his folded hands. “Consider the draconian rosary found in the chest you yourself recovered. If you would, please tell me of the incident in question.”

I blink, then nod. May as well. “I was retrieving stolen goods from dragon sympathizers. One of the items in question was a sealed box marked for Lord Francel’s House, him specifically. The seal was intact when Lord Portelaine opened it, so the only thing known for certain right now is that it was placed into the box before shipment.”

“If the rosary was not his,” Haurchefant muses aloud. “Then someone else with access must have planted it.” Keen blue eyes look to me. “Here is what you must do: return to Skyfire Locks and speak with Rickeman. He works closely with the porters who ferry goods across Coerthas, so he may have some inkling of who could be responsible.”

“Understood,” I say with a sharp nod. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

Bocco’s good to go for another ride, and it’s only dusting a bit when it comes to the snow, so I set out for the half hour ride and get ready to poke around.

Said man in charge of the porters around here isn’t happy with the idea of the rosary being planted; turns out that there’s been multiples of the things discovered, and the thought of that scale of sabotage against Haillenarte has him incensed enough that he’s willing to work with me on this case.

...Hm. Wonder if the inquisitor might be doing it? Wouldn’t be the first time a religious extremist pulls a false flag. Hells, could just be a noble rival who wants the house to go down for one reason or another.

Seems the man actually shares my thoughts for a moment, as the knights and inquisitors are the ones who inspect the shipments. But he dismisses that line of inquiry, because he thinks they’re loyal too, and so reluctantly says that it’s most likely one of the porters he knows, even if he hates the idea.

I’m not sold on the thought, but don’t say anything. You can’t get invested into any particular suspect unless and until the evidence says otherwise. Even I know that much.

The porters aren’t best pleased that I tell them someone’s planting dragon rosaries into their cargo, but the fact that I’m not an inquisitor looking to burn or hang someone for my career is enough to let me inspect some of the shipments. Ignoring how this is probably against a number of laws both here and on Earth, I poke around. Dzemael’s clean, but both shipments labeled for Haillenarte have more rosaries. 

Sure enough, the porter says that it was a knight that inspected the packages before he loaded them in. Given that he allowed me to look through it, he’s either not too invested in this scheme, not likely given inquisitors in the area, was kept in the dark that he’d be transporting them, or was a clueless patsy entirely.

How am I caught up in a church crime drama like this, I sigh to myself as I head back to Haurchefant.

“Sorry to say, Lord Haurchefant, but it looks likely that someone in the local knights or inquisition is not who they say they are,” I tell him, showing him the rosaries I’ve wrapped in cloth. “These were bound for Haillenarte, and the packages had been examined by a knight, female. All for Skyfire Locks.”

“That beggars belief!” he protests, looking over the evidence. “This...excess of draconic rosaries should be a clear indication to the inquisition that this is naught but a clumsy attempt to sully the name of House Haillenarte.” His gaze turns to me. “It is good you returned when you did. Lord Francel’s trial is upon us, and this arrives just in time.”

I hiss between my teeth. “Sir, this might be presumptuous to say, but what if it’s an inquisitor who’s doing this?” I ask, getting a sharp look from the Lord Commander. “All kinds of law enforcement officers, secular and religious both, have framed up others to make their careers look good. What if?”

“...I dearly hope this is not the case,” he says after a moment. “But I cannot dismiss the thought out of hand. Not if a knight indeed looked over the parcels, and either missed these entirely, or placed them...herself, you said?”

I nod. “According to the porter at least. He should still be here.”

“I see. I will gain the name from him shortly,” he states. “In the meantime, I would ask that you deliver a missive to Inquisitor Brigie. I must compose a response for the Holy See, but I would have her know that House Fortemps asks---nay, demands that the trial would be postponed until a full investigation is conducted.”

“Here’s to hoping she’s the sensible sort,” I mutter, well aware of Elezen hearing, but not particularly caring. Because when it comes to ‘inquisitors’, high hopes aren’t something I have.

I find her on the battlements within the keep itself, and while I get a flickered look at my horns and scales, it’s not as sharp as the previous enforcer. Bad news; the trial’s already started, and it’s lead by the same guy I met last week.

I rush down the stairs and slam open the door with my shoulder. “Bad news! The trial’s already happening at Witchdrop, and she said he’s going to walk with the fallen heroes of Ishgard!”

“Madness!” Haurchefant exclaims, standing from his desk and startling several of his underlings. Though maybe that was my sudden entrance. “The inquisitor does not have sufficient grounds to subject him to that manner of trial!” He shakes his head, then takes a breath. “I will not stand by and allow an innocent man to die. Tomoyo.” Sharp blue eyes look to me. “I would dispatch you with one of my knights to Witchdrop and ask you to forestall the trial until such a time I can arrive in person to appeal to inquisitor Guillaime. I will endeavor not to keep you waiting long.”

“Get your man a chocobo, I’ll be going on mine myself,” I state, and he nods. “Mark it on my map?”

He does so, I take it back, saying, “If it looks like Guillaime won’t stop? I’m not against fighting him, but I know it won’t look good.”

“Do as you must,” he states, and I don’t show my surprise. “We must keep Lord Francel alive.”

I nod, spin on my heel and storm out the keep, Haurchefant right behind me barking out orders as I whistle for Bocco. As soon as his chosen knight is saddled, we’re off.

-x-

I don’t know the local methods inquisitors might use for execution. Drowning? Not in these temperatures, most of the rivers are ice now. Fire? Maybe, if that’s Halone’s thing as the Fury. Hanging? Considering it’s called Witchdrop, likely.

When we get there, Francel is perilously close to a ledge that hangs over a small but deep ravine. The knight, Hourlinet, says, “We must try to reason with the inquisitor, Tomoyo, but if his guards decide that we are a threat, we must needs prepare to defend ourselves.”

“I’ll try to avoid killing them if it comes to it, but worst comes to worst, I’ll handle the guard if you can get Francel away from the drop point,” I tell him, wishing I’d commissioned that kanabo from Da before Titan. “Because something tells me Guillaime isn’t terribly open to reason right now.” Please don’t tell me they kill people like this. Fire’s a god awful way to die, but the smoke tends to choke you out soon enough, and freezing means at least you sleep before everything shuts down.

“Whatever happens, the inquisitor must not be harmed!” Hourlinet adds last second before we go down to confront the lot.

As expected, Guillaime isn’t inclined to listen, and the knight with fancier armor than the rest is the first to draw his weapon at the perceived slight of stepping into church business. I shrug my axe into hand and draw their attention to myself; Hourlinet has some conjury experience and hangs back, keeping the worst of my wounds stemmed while I break bones, knees, and shoulders to bring them to heel.

First the healer’s knocked out, then the archer, but the sword and board user refuses to go down even when I break his elbow, crush his foot, and break at least three ribs. Grimly, I recognize that for whatever reason, this particular bastard isn’t going to give up until I knock him out, or kill him.

So, naturally, just when I find an opening to take him down, a freaking wyvern decides to drop in and say hi. Loudly, and with fire.

“Piss off you overgrown handbag!” I snarl, not in the least bit pleased at this development, as it makes us look like sympathizers. But given that it's going after Hourlinet and I---

Hourlinet, myself, and Haurchefant, I correct as the Elezen comes blazing in on chocobo back, buying the two of us some much needed breathing room; I refocus on the suicidal knight, letting Haurchefant take the dragon as he’s got the most experience between us when it comes to fighting them. 

Finally, after earning my own dislocated shoulder and a ringing headache after taking a shield to the face, my axe buries itself into the knight’s throat, decisively removing him from the picture. And cutting free a cord that drops a familiar red claw.

The wyvern buzzes off, and the three of us are left surrounded by groaning bodies and a pissed off inquisitor. But the rosary shows him that one of his men wasn’t his, and that the situation with Francel is obviously more complicated than it was on the surface.

He agrees to stay his hand for now, and I’m appalled to learn that these people have witchcraft tests ala the Dark Ages of shoving people off the cliff to see if they’ll transform into dragons or not. Fuck’s sake, I hate organized religion! Or, well, Tanya did, but shit like this is just proving her point!

Again, Guillaime tells me to get my goal and get out of Coerthas. I say, “I want to be here as much as you want me here. As soon as I know where the Enterprise is, I’m gone for good.”

We take Francel back to Dragonhead camp, and on our way, Haurchefant tells me, “I commend you for your restraint against the inquisitor’s men. Many would not have the skill required to hold back as you did.” Now that we’re out in the weak winter sun, his silver-blue hair matches the nearly clear sky above us; I hadn’t actually seen the blue hints while in the fortress.

I grimace and roll my sore shoulder, Hourlinet having set it back into place. “I’ll accept ‘I was just following orders’ to a point,” I respond. “A lot of people were afraid of that man, and for fair reason, what with the frame job going around. I don’t like killing. I will if I have to, but it’s not something I take joy in. Granted,” I admit ruefully, “I’ve probably ended a few martial careers when I went for the knees the way I did with some of them, but better they’re alive and learning from their mistakes rather than dead and at the bottom of that ditch.”

“Still. ‘Tis a measure of kindness many wouldn’t give,” he says.

“Hm. It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” I ask. “Some will resent me, I don’t doubt it for a moment. But I can live with that.”

He smiles. “I must say, it was a pleasure to fight alongside a skilled and brave warrior such as yourself.” I hide my smirk, the jobstone warm against my skin. “Without you, Lord Francel surely would have perished, and I myself likely lying dead at the hands of a wyvern and a heretic.” Any amusement dies a cold death. “I am certain with this service you have provided with House Fortemps and House Haillenarte, we will find your answer for the location of the Enterprise.”

When we return to the fortress, the sky is going dark, and I head inside for the night, tired and starving after running around the region all day.

“You became involved in the matters of the inquisition?” Alphinaud sounds appalled, and I can’t say I fully blame him.

“Not like I wanted to,” I grumble into my cup of chamomile tea, keeping my voice low. The kid’s ears are sharp enough to pick my words up anyway. “But the only witness is apparently a true believer, and the idea of consorting with a ‘heretic’ scared them off. Proving Francel innocent of wrongdoing was the only immediate path forward. Not that it was a bad thing to do,” I add. “But I don’t like mucking about in religious politics. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

Cid pushes over an apple my way, and I smile. As shy and reticent as he is right now, he’s still quite sweet when he wants to be, and I hope we can have a good relationship when he gets his memory back.

Alphinaud sighs. “Do you truly think this witness is credible?” he asks. “After no response from Ishgard all this time?”

I shrug. “What choice do we have?” And that’s the rub, isn’t it? “With no lead, trying to comb the entirety of Coerthas would take months, and that’s if the Garleans...well, the Empire doesn't come down on all our heads,” I amend my words. I should really stop bitching about the Garleans as a race, and shift to the polity. Call them Imps, like the Galactic Empire from Star Wars? It’s not that off base…

Alphinaud clearly doesn’t like it, going by his expression. “If nothing comes of this in the morrow, I will further my own investigations,” he states. 

“Might as well,” I say. “Stars know I’m getting tired of the cold.”

“That makes two of us,” Cid agrees.

Chapter Text

The next morning, perhaps an hour after dawn, I’m introduced to a rumpled Ishgardian astrologer. Sure enough, he’d been on observation duty when the Enterprise passed through the skies, and he claims it went down near the Stone Vigil, west-northwest of our present location. 

On the outside, I bow my head in thanks for the information, but on the inside, I’m both heaving the biggest sigh of relief and thanking Auntie this bit is over. I won’t rest easy until I get as many of the Scions back from the Imperials as possible, and knocking Garuda off her block is (hopefully) one step closer to that goal.

Unfortunately, the Stone Vigil is in Dravanian hands. Which means one of two things; we need an army, or we need the Tiny Bronco, if it’s a touch less secure. I say as much to Alphinaud when I tell him the situation. He suggests that I ask Haurchefant if he’s willing to lend a few soldiers to my cause, and I reckon it can’t hurt to ask.

I pop into his main office, and my expression must be a positive one going by his smile as he says, “Oh, so you've at last located the Enterprise? I believe congratulations are in order!”

“Stone Vigil!” I say with no little victory in my tone. “Finally a hard data point to dig into!”

His own good humor, however, fades at hearing that. “Oh…I am afraid that outpost has been held by the dragons for years.”

I slump again, and turn my despairing groan into a long sigh. “Alright, how bad is it?” I ask.

“All access is restricted by decree of House Durendaire,” he says apologetically, shaking his head. “And so is well outside of my remit. What I am able to do is write a letter to Lord Drillemont of Whitebrim Front and request that he grant you permission to enter. That said, I fear my influence alone will not suffice, so I suggest that you request Lord Francel do the same.”

“Right,” I nod, already tired at the thought of yet more horsetrading. Christ on a cracker, this had better pay off, not just for getting the Enterprise, but getting the Scions a foot in the door for Ishgard later! “I really do appreciate this, Lord Haurchefant,” I add. “I don’t know if Garuda has been bothering your borders yet, but when we get our hands on the ship, I’ll clear her well out for you.”

He laughs. “Such boundless confidence! Truly splendid,” he says with good cheer. “I will pray for the success of your mission, Tomoyo. It may be that we will not see each other for some time, but know that you are always welcome in Camp Dragonhead, so long as I am the Lord Commander.”

I give a short, Higanshi style bow. “We’ll see what fate the Crystal will bring us,” I say in farewell before leaving.

I can see the shade of what other people admired in him, a lifetime and a world ago. That steadfast loyalty he has is no small thing to behold; if I can prevent his death, I can only hope he’s willing to build something positive with the Dragons in the future.

Francel is open to putting a good word in for me, though he warns me that we still don’t know who was trying to put the kibosh on his family, and that they’ll probably come for me. Given that I’m wanted by both Garlean military and Ascian cultists, I promise him I’ll be on the lookout; it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you after all. 

I take point to clear the path for Alphinaud and Cid on chocoboback, who will follow on rented birds once I get clearance through to the keep. On my way through the Whitebrim, I can spy Ishgard itself in the distance. Tall gothic spires that loom in the grey sky, walls and castles and keeps, all built on and likely into a singular pillar of mountainous stone. The epitome of a medieval European city in the minds of many Terrans, I’m sure.

Personally, I’m reminded a little of the Warhammer series and its aesthetics, with perhaps fewer skulls. Its society will change in the future, but for now, it has about as much appeal as 40k or Fantasy’s big locations. Maybe, hopefully, I’ll be able to see the good in the place when the war ends, or more likely, the good in the people.

Maybe when the worst of the war passes, the weather will start to warm up a bit, too. What would Coerthas look like in high spring or summer? Not something I’ll see soon, so I set the thought aside for later pondering.

When I get to the keep, the guard isn’t inclined to let me through at first, even when I show him the letters. Still, he relents after some convincing, and I can at least bring Alphinaud and Cid out of the cold and indoors. I get the runaround from several people when I try to locate the lord of the fortress, though Cid considers making himself comfortable helping out the infirmary by fixing up their more delicate tools when we find the lord, while Alphinaud glances more than once at the roaring fire in the mess hall when we pass through.

Drillemont is not impressed when I state my business, even with Alphinaud trying to back up our case, and him introducing Cid by his full Garlean name. The lord is shocked to learn that Cid survived (I find myself corrected that his name particle is nan rather than nar), and given how bad the Calamity was, I can’t blame him, but before anyone else can say anything, in comes fucking Guillaime.

I almost jump out of my plate armor when he comes up behind us, and then have to restrain the urge to deck him when he starts slinging pejoratives about us in front of Drillemont. My suspicions that he might’ve been behind the planted rosaries increases as he talks, and he scuppers our chances of getting into dragon territory easily.

Well aware at how sharp Elezen hearing can be, I keep my opinions on the shitty inquisitor behind my teeth, and settle into win people’s trust the long way. Time for more sidequesting.

Hunting, fetching, a round of white magic through the infirmary that...probably wasn’t canon? Fuck it, I took levels in healer, I’ll heal if I want to! Though whoever named the local fox-rodents chinchillas has shit for naming skills. Those little bastards are mean!

Cid puts his own skills to good use making a few tools for the chirugeons. I’ve got no problems helping out there, though I do almost slip up and call them doctors instead of their Eorzean terms. Could probably get away calling them surgeons? Urgh, the memories have mostly settled, but the language bleed through is a bitch and a half to deal with.

It doesn’t help that it seems for every good deed I do, the inquisitor follows my footsteps and natters on about my suspicious origins and our unknown motives for doing anything decent. I have to breathe through my rage several times, the jobstone warm against my chest, but by all that’s holy and damned alike, if he is someone that’s being set up to be a mid-boss later, I’m going for the knees as soon as I get the chance.

Even Cid doesn’t like him, and right now he’s the nicest person I know!

Our first day at Whitebrim comes to a frustrating close, the three of us chewing through some rations as most of the meat I’d hunted earlier had already been gobbled down by hungry knights.

“Before we can make any progress with Lord Drillemont, it seems we first must convince the inquisitor we are not his enemy,” Cid concludes. “But how will we manage that?”

“Search me,” I shake my head, swallowing some jerky. “Think he might begrudge my actions to save Francel’s life, so I’d not be the best one to win him over.”

“Do we know anything of the man?” Cid asks, and I shrug. He looks to Alphinaud, who’s unsure expression makes him look as young as he really is.

“I suppose I can ask around,” I say after a moment. “Figure out what his policies are, what he supports outside of what you expect of inquisitorial folk, what people think of him. That sort of thing.” It’s not a bad idea; if he’s new, that supports my personal guess that he’s not a legit inquisitor, though I remind myself not to get too sold on the idea. He could also just be an overeager political officer who wants to climb the ranks, and sees us as convenient scapegoats to show off to his superiors. 

“Do so,” Alphinaud says assertively. “When you find what you can, report to me in the square.”

“Tomorrow morning,” I sigh. “Urgh, I can’t wait until we can head back south. I miss the sun.”

-x-

Guillaime’s stationing here is recent, I learn. Within the past three months or so, he’s saved a few lives, has charged a lot of people with heresy and has seen the charges stick, and...that’s all I can get out of folks. One woman spits at my feet for poking about, but I shrug it off. I don’t care about their war or religion, I just need intel that indicates I might be able to work with the man, or get him to shove off elsewhere.

Alphinaud is shivering by the time I’m done collating what pitiful data I can gather, and I take a cloak out of my pocket space and wrap it around him.

“That is unnecessary,” he chatters, but noticeably doesn’t refuse the cloak. “I’d hoped we would be away from this region as soon as we found the Enterprise. I had not expected us to get embroiled into local affairs.” He shakes his head. “Nevermind that. Have you found aught about the inquisitor?”

“He showed up a few moons ago, saved a man’s life apparently,” I shrug. “Beyond him rounding up heretics, though, no one’s got hard numbers for me, as no one really wants to chance talking about him, or are entirely supportive of his purpose.”

“Hm.” Alphinaud frowns. “Though it should not surprise me to learn he is held in high regard...I am beginning to suspect he has other reasons for hindering our path forward.”

You and me both kid, I think, though I glance around to check if folks are listening in, hiding it with a stretch.

We go over the exact wording of what little I’ve gathered, and Alphinaud, being sharp as a scalpel, picks up the loose thread in the testimony. Either the soldier wasn’t actually where he said he was, or the inquisitor, when hauling his unconscious cargo back to the keep, lied about where he came from. The way the kid phrases the path he should’ve taken versus what he did seem to take confuses me, but he’s kind enough to mark the map where he wants me to investigate in order to verify the backstory we got.

It takes an hour or so to get safely down the gorge the keep rests above, finding a path that could take the weight of my armor as well as myself, on top of getting the climbing rope secure. When I do find the spot Alphinaud pointed out, I get jumped on by little plasma sprites; let me tell you, wearing all this metal, padded by leather or not, isn’t fun when you’re getting electrocuted.

Once they’re cleared out, I see what the unusual shape in the snow is. A dragon, and a fairly big one at that. No way for me to know if it’d been someone whose shape was changed or if it was natively a dragon; I don’t know the identifiers for that, if there are any at all. There’s a hint of color under the fresh snow, and some digging nets me a surprise.

“Well well.” It seems our inquisitor is a fake after all, as there’s the body of one that rests here in the gorge. I have no issues now in deeming Guillaime as an enemy.

Searching the corpse nets me a letter; bringing the body back with me would just get me pasted as a heretic, at least for now, so I leave it as is with an apologetic thought to the dead soul and take the note back to teen.

“You took your time,” Alphinaud says, still wearing the stone grey cloak I gave him.

“I might be a hundred ponze soaking wet, but with the armor I’m between a hundred and twenty to a hundred and thirty,” I tell him. “Finding a safe way down took a bit.”

He clears his throat, his ears turning pink. “Ah. Yes. Have you found anything?”

“What do you make of this?” I ask him, handing over the paper.

He scans through it once, then twice. “Hm...given the contents of the encyclical, I do believe you have just made the acquaintance of the real inquisitor Guillaime.”

Before he can say anything further, I put my hand on his head and whisper, “You’re not the only one with sharp hearing here. Watch your words.”

His annoyance with me is clear as he brushes my hand off. “We do not know who this imposter is,” he says, but his voice is lower at least. “Nor why he has decided to oppose us. We must move. Now.”

“Best thing I’ve heard all day,” I say with a sharp grin. “Question is, how to do that?”

“As Lord Drillemont has already been turned against us, I fear the encyclical will not be enough to convince him of our claims,” Alphinaud says, eyes distant as his mental gears spin up. “But what might persuade a man so quickly against the word of two High Houses?”

“Blackmail?” I offer.

“Perhaps.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “The cook did say that he respects the words of his knights. If a certain knight could present evidence that would support our testimony…”

I hiss between my teeth. “Tell him the person who saved his life is a fraud?” I whisper.

“‘Tis our only path forward,” he says grimly. “Take this and tell him of what you found. Help him recall the truth of that night.”

“I’ll...I’ll try,” I say, but I know a charisma play isn’t my strongest suit. Skies, I need a minute to consider my approach.

Maybe I can use my genuine uncertainty to my advantage though. It’s a bit of a dick move, I hate manipulating people. But we can’t waste any more time here.

“Joellaut?” I poke my head into the infirmary. “I...l learned something. I need your help.”

The Elezen is surprised, but seems open enough. “With what, miss…?”

“Tomoyo Nanashi. It’s...about that night. I wanted to know more about the inquisitor, what he’s done to help people here, but. When I went to the scene where you’d been rescued, I found this.” I give him the letter. “And a body. An inquisitor’s body.”

“Are you insinuating that he is an imposter?” the man is aghast. “No, no!” Before I can say anything else, he holds up a hand. “He is a true servant of the Fury. If you think there is veracity in your ridiculous tale, then I bid you to speak with Ser Prunilla, who was there at the eastern gate when he saved my life!”

“Then I will speak with the knight,” I nod my head and back out of the situation before it can spiral any further.

The woman is automatically suspicious. I see the light of recognition in her eyes before she quickly claims not to know anything of me, then rejects the documents out of hand and insists she knows nothing of the matter.

“Do you want to be the one known for letting an imposter wear the robes of an inquisitor?” I say quietly, but with a hard edge in my voice. “Speak to me of that night when Joellaut was brought back to the keep.”

Whatever else may have happened, it seems she’d been keeping quiet for a while, because that was enough pressure; it comes spilling out that she and Joellaut were ambushed by dragons, before a voice called out in the dead of night. Keep the secret of this, and they would live. Talk, and they and their families would suffer. When they agreed, out comes the imposter into the moonlight, and in ‘rescuing’ the knights, he’s hailed as a hero. And that’s when he starts condemning innocent people to death as heretics, left and right. With planted rosaries. 

The woman was too scared to come forward to her lord, but she did trail ‘Guillaime’ when she heard of Francel’s trial, found the fake’s stash of rosaries, and planted them herself to be sent down to Skyfire Lock in hopes of it blowing the case open.

She marks the location of the stash on my map, and I assure her I’ll bring the case to a close. I whistle for Bocco, tell Alphinaud to get Cid and hunker down if he thinks we’re scuppered, then haul ass to get the stash before it can be moved.

I find the box of rosaries exactly where they’re supposed to be. Nidhogg plot, Ascian plot, Garlean plot, or something else I wonder? Either which way, we’ll be finding out shortly.

I get to the barracks, stride right up to where Drillemont is like I belong here and drop the box of contraband on the lord’s desk.

“And what is this supposed to be?” he curls his lip.

I pop open the box to show the rosaries. “A conspiracy.” Then drop the bloody certificate next to it. “Just outside your keep is the body of a dead inquisitor. The true inquisitor Guillmaine. All those heretics this imposter has rounded up? People caught up in a plot that’s duped everyone in the region.”

It takes maybe half an hour for them to find the body, but that, plus everything else is enough, thank the Mothercrystal. 

“To think that the inquisitor was a heretic!” Drillmonte is clearly not pleased, but his anger isn’t directed at us. “It seems I owe the three of you my sincerest apologies. I will permit you to enter the outpost, but I would beseech you---help my knights and I to bring this infernal imposter to justice!”

My grin likely shows a few too many teeth. “Gladly,” I say. “He’s killed dozens of innocent people, and there’s no such thing as a good reason for that.”

“He is on his way to Snowcloak, to condemn yet another soul for heresy,” the lord states as he stalks down the stairs, the three of us following. “If we make haste, we may arrive in time to prevent further tragedy.”

“Alphinaud,” I say to the teen as we move. “That book means you’re an Arcanist, right?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“Keep an eye on Cid?” I look to him. “I know for a fact at least one Garlean commander wants his head on a pike. I’ll deal with the faker.”

“A fair arrangement,” he assents, and I’m glad his pride doesn’t kick up a fuss right now. “Rest assured, he will be safe with me.”

“Thanks.” Time to make good on my promise to break some knees.

-x-

It’s a four man squad that bolts out of the keep on chocobo-back; myself, Drillemont who’s taken levels in Gladiator/Paladin, an archer, and a conjurer. Hopefully it’ll be enough, as the old man didn’t dare move too many knights away from the border of dragon territory.

We move west and south, down to a frozen river where the faker is looming over a girl in white; for a heartstopping moment I think of Ryne, so far in the future, then shake my head viciously. 

Doesn’t matter I don’t know this kid. Save her, get her out, then kill this son of a bitch clean and quick.

I’m not surprised to learn he’s a Dravanian sympathizer; if he hadn’t killed innocent people, I’d empathize more with his pain. This whole war is fucked, and this is just one more bloody example why. 

He lets the girl go, if only because he’s more interested in killing us when Drillemont calls him out. His weapon of choice is a book; an Arcanist like Alphinaud. His confidence about the situation tells me he has back up waiting in the wings, so I’m not surprised to see the ground bound lizards that have stone eye to throw around. Transforming into a dragon in front of us, not as expected, but I knew that it was possible as well. Could really have done without the body slams; I pick myself up off the floor twice in order to get our healer, and then the old lord out of the way. Fucking ow.

And then the wyvern comes into play, because of course it does; our archer gets torn in half before I can draw its attention elsewhere, and the smell of viscera makes me grimace.

After what felt like hours but was likely minutes, both dragons fall. The wyvern stays dead, and the dragon’s form fades away. Seems the old man was right when he called it a glamour. The faker doesn’t seem to care that he’s dying. Only that he paid blood for blood in this fucking war. He swears that the dragons will tear me apart at Stone Veil, then crumples as the last of his blood drips out of his body.

Drillemont orders his body to be left to the carrion feeders. I wonder if any dragons will pick him up, or do they not do anything with their dead? I doubt Nidhogg’s brood would care either way…

It’s a solemn silence that follows us back to the keep, the archer’s body wrapped up as well as we could for his own funerary rites. 

Alphinaud is glad that this whole mess is over with. I agree, but wish he’d show just a little more tact, not that I have much right to talk there. The three of us go to Drillemont’s usual place in the barracks in order to secure our pass into Stone Vigil.

Drillemont acknowledges that he was hasty in his condemnations against us, praises us for our efforts against the heretic, and seems generally pleased to be proven wrong about the Scions and Cid being dead. Pleased enough that I get a fairly hefty bag of coins for revealing the imposter, and a promise that he’ll speak with the other House Lords to see that I’m rewarded properly. Alphinaud pushes for our next step in our journey, but fortunately the old man is in a good enough mood to be alright with letting us move through the rest of his lands.

He does warn us while the ship was impounded by Ishgard soldiers when it made landfall there, since it's now in dragon territory, there’s no way to honestly know whether the ship is there, has been moved since, or if it’s intact in anyway. 

Alphinaud states that we will move to the Vigil, with or without the help of Ishgard. And really, our choices are slim, so I give my agreement. Drillemont promises to send word ahead so that his people can expect us at the least, so there’s that.

The day is half done, so we pack up to at least get to the forward camp. If there’s still light, we might move ahead. If not, then we’ll spend the night with the soldiers there then move in when the sun rises.

I make sure to get extra blankets for Alphinaud. That kid risks freezing to death at this rate.

It’s not that far from the keep, and thanks to our actions, two knights and one of Drillemont’s mages is willing to at least push us part way through the enemy’s territory before they have to get back to their post.

The whole dungeon is lousy with dragons of course, and I’m glad for the back up; more than one ambushes us with fire breath, and I have to let Alphinaud and Cid lag behind in order to draw out the more aggressive beings with the knight and lancer. Two larger specimens take time for us to wear down, dodging lightning and fire blasts that leave my armor scorched and hair standing on end under my helm.

When we reach near the end part of the dungeon, the soldiers have to turn back. There’s a few reasons why I suspect we’re at said end part, mostly because---

“Look there! It’s the Enterprise!” Alphinaud points. Yes. That.

“Yes...just beyond that enormous sleeping dragon,” Cid’s a lot less enthusiastic, and I don’t blame him.

“Guess I should park myself here,” I sigh, gently setting the head of my axe on the ground. “Just in case.”

“My thoughts exactly,” the teen nods. “Cid─you and I will sneak aboard the Enterprise and prepare it for launch. If the beast wakes, we may need you to provide a distraction until we are ready to depart. You can manage that, can't you?” he smirks at me.

I roll my eyes. “Can I distract a dragon, like I haven’t been doing that this whole hour,” I grouse half heartedly, waving the two of them on to go ahead.

“That settles it,” Alphinaud’s all but grinning now. “Shall we, Cid?”

“If you say so,” the engineer says uncertainly as they start to creep along.

Butting heads with the dragon is something I expected honestly, given that I’ve got the Main Character curse, in what had been a video game setting no less. I was not expecting Laha-fucking-brea to be lurking on the rooftop of a nearby building, and I tense, hand on a tomahawk in case he goes for the kid or Cid. It’s very much a mixed blessing when he instead phases down to appear in front of the dragon.

“So you mean to slay Garuda next? Interesting. Most interesting,” the Ascian sneers as his form blinks into view. “And you are aware that her strength greatly exceeds that of your previous primal conquests?” I just shrug, not trusting my words to stay simple enough. “...A testament to the fanatical devotion of her followers. The Ixal are nothing if not zealous.”

For a second, I wonder if the ‘her’ he was referring to was Auntie; I wonder what he’d think of all this if he knew I knew the truth of this conflict. Not something I’ll ever learn. The man’s far too gone, and has likely been so for centuries at this point.

“In spite of your past achievements, I labor to believe that you will best this foe,” he shakes his head a little, as if disappointed in me. “Yet, only a fool would underestimate the great Bringer of Light, slayer of Ifrit, bane of Titan. If any mortal is capable of defeating the Lady of the Vortex, it is you.”

I settle into a reaction stance, as that is alarmingly complimentary, and that’s never a good sign coming from a Big Bad Evil Guy.

He smiles and sweeps a hand to the dragon behind him. “Win or lose, the battle should at least make for an entertaining spectacle…assuming, of course, you live that long.” Black aether pours out of him, the temperature spiking to my senses, and I lift my axe up from where the head had rested on the ground, adjusting myself for a fight as the dragon stirs, wakes, then roars.

“Let us see how well your blasphemous gifts serve you this time, crystal bearer!” Lahabrea declares, and I bare my teeth in a snarl and curl my tongue away. Says the Amaurotine who’s bent creation for destruction, but I can’t say that. For half a second, it looks as if he might stay to watch, or even fight as his seal flares across his face, and fear rises with the rage, but he vanishes in a portal, and I’m left with the dragon.

Thank fuck. I’ll take the dragon, dragon is good. Still not ready to butt heads with who I’m pretty sure is a possessed Thancred at this point.

Unlike the rest of the flying lizards from earlier, this big bastard is an ice dragon, and has no compunctions about dropping AOE bombs when it decides to take off and poke at me from afar. A few tomahawks to the face followed by some insults convinces it to come closer, where I can actually lay in the hurt and put the poor being down.

I’ve no way to tell if it’s sapient, and no way to talk it down, not that Lahabrea’s power would let me do it. The fight against the bug was easier, if only for this.

When it’s finally down for the count, and I’m feeling more than a bit freeze burned, I hear a high chime from above. I look up, and my eyes widen in delight.

“Thanks for the free ice crystal, bitch!” I can’t help but chirp poisonously as the Light Crystal of Ice floats down to my grasp. The summoning circle flashes in my mind, and the magic rock makes its home in my soul with the others. Hah, fucker fucked up there! With this, I just stand a chance against Garuda!

Unless Thancred’s pushing him just a bit, from the inside? Hard to say.

Alphinaud’s voice snaps me out of my train of thought. “Tomoyo! You’re alright?” He a little out of breath, and seems stunned by my victory, which, rude.

“Eh, bit of light frostbite,” I say, switching my gear out for Conjurer for a minute as I focus on a couple of Cure spells. Getting the water aether for the structure of it is a little tricky with all the ice magic that’s been tossed around, but I patch up the worst of it before quickly shifting back to Warrior. Brrrr! 

“Definitely could’ve gone worse though,” I finish. Wait, why does the kid look a little flustered?

He coughs. “Yes, well. Thank heavens for that. For a moment, I feared I would have to find a new champion.”

I snort. Doubly rude! “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” I say with a sharp smile. “You’re stuck with me.”

“I suppose I should thank the gods for sparing me the inconvenience,” he snarks, only to duck when I reach to ruffle his hair. 

“You sassy little so-and-so!” I can’t help but laugh at his audacity, though a part of that is probably the adrenaline still running high in my system. “How’s the Enterprise?” I shift the subject.

We head to the ship, and I’m impressed that it appears to be in one piece. Cid grants that she’ll fly, but it won’t be a smooth ride out of Coerthas when Alphinaud prompts him. That doesn’t stop me from cheering and Alphinaud from punching his palm in a rare display of martial delight, his borrowed cloak fluttering in the breeze. 

We both find places to hang on to as Cid kicks start the engine. It takes a few false starts before it stays on, but once it does, we’re able to lift off and finally get the hell out of Coerthas.

The trip is biting cold in the beginning, and I’m triply glad that I gave Alphinaud that cloak; even with magic he probably would’ve risked frostbite without it on his extremities, but even a little less burden on his aether reserves means he’s that less likely to suffer permanent damage.

With the howling wind, there’s no conversation to be had until we reach Gridania and park ourselves there, and even then there’s silence for a few minutes as we all relish the fact that we’re not freezing our buttocks off.

“Next time we head north, let’s all get some winter gear, aye?” I suggest, shaking dripping water out of my thawing helm.

“Aye,” Cid sighs.

“If I’ve anything to say of it, there won’t be a next time,” Alphinaud huffs. “At least not once the Lady of the Vortex is slain.”

“The Enterprise is not ready for that kind of trip,” the engineer states firmly. “She needs much more work before anything else happens.”

“...You are correct,” the kid accedes. “The wind barrier is an incredibly destructive force from the ground, and will not be too terribly better from above. We must needs gather the resources necessary to repair the Enterprise.”

“I’ll do what I can to help.” I promise, but at that point, the day catches up with us; Cid stays on the Enterprise, while I go look for the inn to clean up and crash in. When I dream, it’s of shimmering crystals and a single, empty space.

Chapter Text

Come the morning, I scribble a quick note to Haurchefant to let him know the female knight who slipped the rosaries is innocent of wrongdoing; I actually have to write a second version because I found myself using the term ‘whistleblower’ when that’s…definitely not local. I add that an apology about my suspicions of the inquisitor being right, but that the axe being thrown at Francel’s family should be paused, at least for now. I pay the messenger moogle a little extra to make it a priority; wouldn’t want the woman to get in trouble for kicking the case open far enough for the rest of us to dig around for the truth.

After that, the morning sun sees me checking in on Cid. He paces slowly before the ship, focused but fairly calm.

“It eases me, to look at her,” he admits as I approach. “It’s as if I’ve been reunited with a part of me that I had not known was missing.”

“Not surprised, if you built this yourself,” I say, leaning on the handrail. “You probably don’t recall the legend of Klabautermann?” He shakes his head. “They say, especially in Limsa, if you take care and lovingly maintain your ship, it can gain a spirit itself. These spirits, the Klabautermann, are said to appear only when the ship is doomed, but they show themselves because they love their crew so much that they go the extra malm to get their crew to safety.” I look to the Enterprise. “If there’s any truth to the idea, then in a number of ways, this ship is your child. I’m not surprised that your heart remembers her, even if your mind doesn’t.”

“A fanciful way of seeing it, but not entirely inaccurate,” Alphinaud pipes up from the overhang behind us. “As he did design and build it.” He comes down to our level with a smile and a letter in hand. 

“I bear good news! The Seedseers have granted our request, and we may house the Enterprise here for as long as required to repair her,” he says, and I sigh in relief.

“I could probably convince the Admiral to let us base out of Limsa,” I say. “But I’m glad we don’t have to detour even further out all the same.”

“As am I,” he agrees. “As every hour we leave Garuda be, the stronger the primal grows. If we are to wrest control back to these lands from her fell talons, it must needs be soon.”

“Time is what I need,” Cid states. “Frankly, it’s a miracle she’s carried us this far. I doubt she’d have made the trip so far south had we not been given leave to stay.”

“What do you need to get her past the Vortex?” I ask the engineer.

He turns to the ship, silent for a few moments. “Beyond time? I am not entirely certain. If the tempest is as bad as I’ve heard Alphinaud say, I’m not sure if she can get us through the worst of the storm.”

Alphinaud sighs, clearly frustrated. “Blast it. There must be a way to brave the fury of the elements.”

I’ve got nothing useful to add, but after a few seconds, Cid straightens. “The elements...that’s it!” He turns to the kid. “If we use the power of a corrupted crystal, we could clear a path through the storm and save the Enterprise from a battering!”

“Of course!” Alphinaud brightens. “To use the properties of a crystal to alter the elemental composition of the barrier! It seems so childishly simple in retrospect.”

“Oath of the engineer,” I say, to counter the condescension the kid’s channeling again. “Keep it simple, stupid. Leaves less room for mistakes to kick us in the teeth. Question is, what kind of element do we need to get through? Earth?” Would the Light crystals be of use here? Maybe. Should I bring them up?

“Whatever we use, it must be of an element that Garuda cannot control,” Cid states. “With certain modifications, the Enterprise could deliver us to the Howling Eye in comfort, however hard the primal blows.”

“All this rests on our ability to retrieve a crystal with sufficient properties,” Alphinaud cuts in. “Have you any idea where we might acquire one?”

I make the call and tentatively raise my hand. “So, uh, the Mothercrystal bade me to find the Crystals of Light, when I started out,” I admit. “I’ve got five out of six elements. Actually, wind is the only one I lack, and I’ll probably get it when I kill Garuda. Though,” I now frown. “That’ll likely mean the Ascians will show up again, so keep your distance when I’m in the scrum.”

“Again?” the kid exclaims as he turns to me.

I open my mouth, then realize that I never did say that Lahabrea showed his ugly mug yesterday. “Yyyyyeah...that dragon didn’t wake up on its own. On the upside, the fact that he let the dragon do his dirty work for him meant I earned the Ice Crystal, so it all worked out!” I say happily. Thanks for the freebie, bitch!

“I...am unsure if we can use them,” Cid says after a moment. “But it may not be a bad idea to keep them as a reserve plan, should a scholar I know in Drybone Camp not have a lead. I...well, ‘Marques’ met him, and for some reason or another he was happy to speak with me of his aetheric studies, corrupted crystals being his pet subject.” He shakes his head. “It was observed after those discussions that poor Marques had an uncommon knack for theoretical science.”

Alphinaud looks to me and I sigh. “I’ll go. Give me the name of this man and I’ll see what I can dredge up.”

“Good woman,” he smiles. “I will remain here and help Cid with the repairs.”

Well. Off to the desert then. At least it will be warm.

-x-

The scholar is enthusiastic, if nothing else, when I find him and broach the subject of corrupted crystals. Apparently I remind him a little of Cid, who he calls daft. Rude, but the amnesia did no favors except keep him out of Garl---Imperial hands.

The way the man talks of corrupted crystals reminds me how Terrans handled radioactive material; I make a note in my journal to ask Urianger at some point if lead and tungsten, should we have the ability to smelt the latter, is enough to contain the energies the crystals radiate. The man’s kind enough to give me a container to hold the crystal, but warns that approaching it will be hazardous, if only for both the radiation and the lifeforms it will attract.

Bocco makes the trek to Highbridge in good speed, and I speak to the scholar’s associate. The Lalafell is a bit full of himself, but having dealt with Alphinaud for days on end, I shrug off the ego and listen closely to his instructions on mining the things.

...Kind of wish I had the time to join the Miner’s Guild for this, if only for the experience I’d have gained. Oh well. 

Now it’s off to the ominously named Burning Wall. Should be neat to see if nothing else.

I do pull Bocco to a halt when I see an Amalj’aa a few yalms into the cave system, but he makes no aggressive move towards me.

“Hullo?” I call out. “May I pass by?”

“You would not kill me for my skin?” the reptilian person growls back.

“If you do no harm unto myself or others, I will do no harm unto you,” I state firmly. “I’m just passing through.”

He snorts, but doesn’t raise his spear. “Do you as you like.”

“Thank you,” I say, and we move on.

Huh. I knew not all Amalj’aa were tempered, but to meet one in person is still a bit of a surprise. Encouraging though. I suppose I’ll speak with him more post-Shadowbringers.

The cave cuts through the high rock and leads out into a massive crater of glowing crystal; fire or earth aether is my guess, going by the brownish-red colour, more likely the former given what the Amalj’aa used to summon Ifrit. It is a wonder of colour and beauty, but I keep in mind how dangerous this task was supposed to be for my long term health. Hanging around all this solidified aether can’t be good.

“Bocco, head back to Drybone, alright?” I say as I get off my mount. “I’ll see you there.”

He warbles, so I pat him. “Drybone. I’ll be back.”

He looks at me for a moment or two, then turns and does as bid. Best boy, and I’m not risking him to radiation.

There’s golden phlurbs about, little sheep like critters that remind me of a Pokemon from the later games. Oh, what was that region? The one that was basically the UK and Scotland! Galar? Something like that. That sheep shaped Pokemon was one of my favorites back then, super cute, and these are too, altered by the aether they might be.

The mirrorknights I was warned about are much more disturbing. Mutated people in armor by their appearances. Garleans that died here? The armor doesn’t look local. I’ll have to ask when I get out.

It takes an hour or two to find a safe path to the place marked on my map for the highest quality crystal I can get. So far I feel fine, but then, radiation poisoning symptoms only set in later. Does the Echo protect me from that kind of thing?

I snipe one mirrorknight with a tomahawk, drawing it over and away from its companion before putting it down as quickly as I could, then move to the second and do the same. Finding a fracture in the cluster, I chip away it with the hand hammer provided to me, then pick the chunk up with a pair of cooking tongs from my own kit (making a note to thoroughly decontaminate them later) before putting it in the jar. Once that’s secure and stashed into my pocket space, I teleport to Drybone camp.

Bocco’s pleased to see me after I change out of my armor and into my Conjury robes. Not sure how to treat the metal for potential toxicity. I could ask Da---

I breathe. No, no I can’t, not yet. Fuck. The awful question of would this be easier if I just cut contact passes through, but I reject it. I love them, and maybe it’s selfish of me, but can’t I be both the Warrior and have a family?

I get the crystal back to the professor...only to find that the damned thing is wind aspected! Fortunately, when I ask about radiation worries over my armor, he assures me that the metal wouldn’t retain the energy unless steeped in the environment over the course of several months, and that it might actually be a boon in shielding me from the worst of it while I go harvest a second sample. 

Ah. He’s a Baldesion. Might be best to keep the fact that I’m a Scion to myself for now, if they’re angry about losing one of their own in the massacre.

My next location is over in west La Noscea; close to home if nothing else. I recall the cluster that grew over Titan’s chamber, and reckon that’s my target. Though learning that the Imperial encampment in the east is getting bristly enough to try and kill wandering scientists isn’t thrilling. Really should do something about that sooner rather than later.

The woman stationed in Aleport is willing to work with me once I make it clear I’m with her teacher. It seems the cluster is actually in the Umbral Isles, which she can’t get access to, and I reckon her attitude isn’t helping matters even if she’s not intentionally trying to piss people off. I offer to try and get information on why they’re blocked off for visitors, much to her relief.

One talks about ghosts and hauntings, another warns that the place is nothing but death, and the last explains that the shores are essentially unnavigable after the Calamity, meaning death to sailors. Little wonder the locals of the city don’t like it. 

There is one man who made it to the Umbral Isles and back, so I head to the jail as he’d been arrested...but his talk of something singing to him ratchets up my nerves something fierce. Ifrit, Titan, Garuda...yeah, Leviathan should be coming up soon. Is this poor bastard one of the drowned?

He asks me to pass on something to a friend of his. A feather, so iridescent in the sun it looks as if were spun from gold. Finding the person in question is easy. Making sure not to kick the lecherous Lalafell when his eyes wander is a little more difficult, but my obvious armor and axe works for me once more. He’s got a lot of missing workers on the island, and he doesn’t have the gil to pay a company of mercs to clear out the undead troubling the fortress. I agree to do the job at a discount if he gets me and my companion a ship there.

Honestly I’m half tempted to leave the civilian behind when she makes it clear she’s not keen on going in person, but reminding her of her studies and her wanting to look good for her teacher is enough to get her to come along. 

But she’s a bit too much of a dodo to actually do more than set foot on the island. She shoves the hammer and pot into my hands and decides to hide in the ferry until I’m done getting the crystal. Oich. At least it’s not an escort quest?

The man guarding the remains of the castle/lighthouse is not inclined to let me in, not even to clear out the potential gribblies inside. Mostly because the work crew is more concerned with the undead swarming to the south of here. If I cull their numbers, the foreman swears he’ll get a crystal out of the mass himself.

There’s three adventurers on the beach, scavenging for treasure and what not from the ruined ships nearby. But they all speak of a voice, sweet and alluring. A siren of some sort? A spell? One of them acknowledges the danger, and the other speaks of it drawing the dead into the water, which might be why they walk again.

I head back to the foreman and ask if he’s got wax I can stopper my ears with. Just because I’m resistant to tempering doesn’t change the fact that I should avoid risks when doable.

When he asks why I want to block my ears and I tell him of the singing others report, he goes pale. I give him a hard look, and tell him to assume the worst and spill the details, because if I managed to kill Titan, my luck’s going to be bad enough to run into whatever he’s afraid of.

Instead, he pushes me over to the lecherous Lalafell who’s arrived on the island, who actually does have information when I tell him why nothing’s changed. 

Sure enough, it’s sirens. Bird/people hybrids that the folk around Aleport had tried to render extinct some time ago, owing to the fact that they enslave people with their song, then enslave the corpses when they literally give up the ghost. 

That I had the mind to ask for plugs before has him actually looking at me as a person now; not wax, but specially shaped and enchanted brass to block the sound of the siren is what he gives me. We get to the beach the siren’s been targeting, then build a campfire to lure her out.

It takes a few hours, and by the time there’s activity, the sun’s set and the wet air is cold. Movement catches my eye, and when I look over to the Lalafell, he straightens quickly from the doze he’d slipped into. I stuff my ears, then ready my axe. Time to kill one more creature of myth.

Well, I would if she’d only get in reach! Sure, I can swim in full plate, but not fight, and the waves of dead and water magic she uses is enough to make me hesitant to push too far forward without back up. After what has to be five rounds of corpses to throw at me, the siren instead calls it quits rather than get closer, despite my taunting.

The old sailor calls it good enough for now; depriving her of her main defense force means she’ll bugger off for a while, which will give his men time to rebuild the keep. When he asks why I’ve been so helpful, I just tell him I’ve something to gain from it as well, and not to worry about it.

Back at the keep itself, the foreman keeps his promise, and I get the crystal in the pot. I’m pleased I don’t have to do a dungeon run, at least for now, though it won’t surprise me I’ll be back someday to put the siren to permanent rest. Grizzly stuff, but mastering folk like that just isn’t kosher. 

Turns out the little scholar took the ferry back while I was away, so I go to Aleport and track her down. She’s surprised to see me alive and well. Rude. But she approves of the crystal sample I got, and when I ask her about what it’s type is…

Fire. Which, great, Garuda can’t control fire! But if I want to still the wind, I need ice! Or a light aspected crystal, but good luck getting that outside of the First, and I don’t think the Flood has even kicked off yet!

And now it’s off to Gridania. At least I can let Alphinaud know that I’m finally on the right track, because the sun has long since set, and I’m bushed. 

When I hit the aetheryte plaza, a moogle squeaks at me for my attention. “Letters for Tomoyo! From Curious Gorge, and Haurchefant Greystone!”

Oh. Nice. Haurchefant’s letter is a quick thank you for letting him know about the knight Prunilla (that was her name), assuring me that she’s not in trouble for her actions and a further thanks for the services to House Haillenarte and to Ishgard in revealing the imposter. And along with the letter is another bag of coins that I’m almost afraid to count, going by the weight. Well, if nothing else, I think my actions have cemented him as a future ally when we have to flee to Ishgard after the Bloody Banquet.

As for Gorge…am I on the level 45 or 50 job quest? Not sure, but this is definitely something I want to do before taking down Garuda. And showing Alphinaud the soulstone should convince him to give me the time.

I swing by the landing (still trying not to call it an airport), and poke my head around the deck of the Enterprise; Cid’s holding up a light while keeping an eye on Alphinaud as the kid is buried in some of the gut-work of the ship, his smaller stature making it easier for him to reach things.

“Hullo?” I call to get their attention, and the teen yelps a bit, squirming as he tries to wiggle himself out of the machinery.

“Evening, Tomoyo,” Cid nods. “Any news?”

“Well, your contact knows where to find crystals,” I start with. “But…the first crystal I got was wind based. That obviously wouldn’t work. Second was fire, which Garuda can’t control, but it’d probably risk turning the vortex into a firestorm, so that’s out too. Turns out we need an ice crystal if we’re going to punch through the wind wall. Good news, there should be some in the Shroud, but the sun’s gone down and I’ve been running around a quarter of the continent all day. So I’m doing that fetch quest tomorrow.”

“Is that wise?” Alphinaud asks as he extricates himself, his white hair hidden under a grease stained cap and a smudge of black oil unsuccessfully cleaned from one cheek. “The more time given to the primal, the more dangerous she becomes.”

“And me running around half dead from lack of sleep risks my getting chewed on by the local flora and fauna, which could add substantial recovery time before we could move anyway,” I shrug. “Look, I want Garuda dead as much as you do, but I have to respect my own mortal limits. I’ve done the whole ‘work myself into a nervous breakdown’ song and dance before, I’d like to avoid a repeat, especially because there’s lives hanging in the balance. If I need to be at my best, then that means getting at least six hours of sleep and three full meals a day.”

Alphinaud makes a face, but his lack of argument tells me he can’t find a counterpoint. I’m fine if he doesn’t like the truth, as long as he accepts it.

“If it’s an ice crystal we need, then it’s an ice crystal we will wait for,” Cid states. “When you get it, we’ll be here.”

-x-

Next morning, I track what should be my last scholar for this quest chain.

Instead of a stable location for the crystals, I get to hunt a spriggan down and try to pry an ice crystal out of its gut because it’s apparently eaten the entire local supply. Not the grossest thing I’ve done, but ew, all the same. The trick is finding the bastard, which the scholar has named ‘Giggity’ for some godsforsaken reason, lure it out of its lair, and deal with it then.

Why Giggity? Urgh.

I have Bocco get me through the Central Shroud, and eventually find where what seems to be most of the little rabbit like creatures of the Twelveswood make their home. That’s...that’s a lot of spriggans. Like, a lot of the little bastards.

The surface level ones, fortunately, aren’t too aggressive. But the ones below in the warren? Along with the earth golems tromping around down there? I try to clear a couple out in order to buy some breathing room around my target, but when the big spriggan comes out of hiding...well, I kill the big bastard, wrench out the first crystal that falls out of its gut, then haul ass out of the warren with three golems and a half dozen spriggans on my tail.

Fucking ow. Titan didn’t hurt as godsdamned much! Nearly killed by a bunch of mob monsters, what an embarrassment…

As soon as I’m able, I teleport to Bentbranch and patch myself up there, and get my armor undented from the golems. Again, fucking ow. Lucky I didn’t break a horn down there.

When the scholar tells me I got an earth crystal, I restrain the urge to deck him. Why can’t I just use one of the fucking Light Crystals instead of this bullshit?

Then I almost really do punch him when he says it’s a joke and that’s it’s really ice. My flinty glare is enough to get him to hand it back, and he adds that the professor would like it if I could track down Marques for him at some point for a talk/lecture.

I make vaguely agreeable sounds, take the crystal back and march off to the airship.

Cid’s pleased at the delivery, and at the speed of it too. “Three days, and we’ll be set to sail,” he tells me, and I smile at that bit of good news. 

“Excellent. Time enough for me to meet my teacher in La Noscea,” I say.

“And what would this teacher pass on to you?” Alphinaud asks, a little irritable.

I restrain a snort. It’s not like he’s the one who ran around half the continent and almost got crushed by a golem. “Know what this is?” I show him the jobstone.

“A soulstone, ob---wait.” His eyes widen a little. “A Warrior soulstone?”

“Mm-hm,” I hum, putting it away. “My teacher is helping me unlock the techniques lost centuries ago. It might still be technically proscribed information, though, so it’s still a bit hush-hush,” I raise a finger to my lips with a smile.

“I see.” His gaze is sharp. “Yes, the strength of the warriors of eld would serve us well here. Do you truly think you can master the skill in three days time?”

“I do,” I state.

He nods. “Very well. Then we will see you then.”

“Bright and early!” I promise.

Chapter Text

Gorge’s efforts of combing the records he has have borne fruit. The ancient hero who eventually fell to madness once wore customized armor that granted him at least a portion of his power, from what I can parse of the veritable history lecture he gives me. Not that I begrudge the man having the chance to discuss the findings, getting to geek out over this stuff can be fun, he just wanders a bit through the topic before he gets to the point.

Anyway, the armor was split across his students; helmet, gauntlets, breeches, boots, and the chestplate. Each student, after a time, was reluctant to part with the armor once they bore it, but fortunately, good sense took over and they all mutually agreed to keep the armor pieces separate, so as to prevent another episode like the one that took their teacher from them. 

Gorge is interested in the rune sets engraved on the armor, and is curious to see if he can replicate the power reliably; if that were the case, he reasoned, then none would have need to envy the Warriors of his people, as they too would have access to the power.

…I’m beginning to see why he has the title of ‘Curious’ now. It’s a kind thought, but I can already see the execution of the idea going wrong if it’s not done very, very carefully.

He gives me the location of three graves, where the armor has been buried with the original students, and promises he will visit the other two sites himself. I ask if I should just take a rubbing of the runes, but he tells me that he grants me permission to take the armor itself; it’d be more accurate if he had the armor on hand to copy the runeset. 

Honestly, I’m not sure how well or badly this will end, but it’s also a piece of his people’s history I would be retrieving. As long as the armor would go to his tribe eventually, it…should be alright. 

As long as no ghosts try to dropkick me. Tam-Tara Deepcroft feels like a lifetime ago, but I still remember that thrice damned revenant that threw a fit at both the cultists and myself.

I start with the location furthest north, all the way up in Coerthas. I break out my cold weather gear so I can get around the place easily, then teleport Bocco and I to Camp Dragonhead, and start the journey.

The grave in the Boulder Downs is hidden behind a waterfall. I’m doubly glad for the waterproofing of my stormcloak; it may have been originally designed for La Noscea’s typhoon seasons, but it shields from the freezing water well enough. I have to clear out some oversized newts that like to spit mucus far too much at me for my liking before I can get too close to the sealed chest just in sight; naturally when I poke at it with my axe to test for defenses, an oversized arthropod that brings to mind a landbound nautilus makes a go at me.

It takes a few tries before I can break its armor open and get to the squishy bits, but the worst of the damage I take is my cloak getting slimed. I push the corpse to one side to get it out of the way, then retrieve the chest as quickly as possible and drag it to dry land. Cold!

To my surprise, it opens easily enough, but the warmth in my jobstone indicates the potential reason I don’t have to crack the thing open. Huzzah for friendly security wards? I’m not going to complain much, it makes my job a lot easier.

I fish out the gauntlets carefully, tuck them into my pocket space, then teleport with Bocco down to Camp Tranquil. The swamp is muggy, but it’ll take a while before I warm up enough to make my current outfit too hot.

I cut through the camp and follow my map to the location Gorge marked out. This grave is also guarded, and this time it’s an oversized newt, likely from Coerthas that wandered south. I don’t hesitate in culling it; invasive species are no joke, and I receive a bodily whack from its tail for my troubles. 

I mutter and grouch as I pick myself up out of the muck, annoyed that I’m going to have to clean my cloak and armor, not to mention some of the fur lining under it. I don't care if this swamp is one of the nicer ones, cleaning my stuff is going to take forever!

I dig up the chest, pop out a pair of boots, slide that into my bag, and ‘port to Ul’dah real quick and stable Bocco so I can duck into the Quicksand to try and get the worst of the mud washed off. Yuck.

Momodi’s inn, happily, has a laundry service, so I leave my winter wear here and change out to desert wear after scrubbing myself clean. I’ll swing by to pick it up when I get the last armor piece. 

After a few moments thought, I leave Bocco at the stables. I’ve been riding him pretty hard these past two weeks, so letting him rest would be wise.

I teleport to Horizon and bite my tongue as I move through Vesper Bay on foot. I haven’t really journeyed past the port town, so finding the closed off mine is a bit of a surprise. The guards warn me of the monsters, but it’s more obligatory than anything since one of them recognizes me as Ifrit-Slayer. I push through the mine, smacking one of the flying blobs when it nearly runs into me. It just flaps off, so I don’t have to deal with aggression, fortunately.

When I’m out the other side, I make a face at the environment opened to me. Sickly green fungi sprouts around the place, rooted in what might be a dried lake bed or swamp. I’m leaning towards swamp given the oversized pond skaters and aggressive toads that seem to live here, apparently not bothered too much by the lack of water. One of the toads makes a go at me, and cutting its tongue off convinces the rest I’m not worth the effort.

Well, convinces most of them. I find the grave, and it’s being squatted by a particularly mean example of the local toad breed. It refuses to be scared off, so I do the no-damage dance as best I can while hacking its oversized body to pieces. Ugly, messy work, and I wish some of these animals would just leave me be!

I pull the chest out of the fungal stalk that had grown around it, holding my breath against any spores, get the armored trousers out, stash them away, and teleport off. I’ll take a bell or two to relax and wait for my winter gear before heading to Gorge again.

-x-

A quick, but mercifully not steep fee for my laundry, and a check on Bocco to see him dozing in his stall, I ‘port to Costa del Sol and jog along the beach until I hit the falls where Gorge usually is. 

He’s there, perfect. What isn’t is that he bids me to actually wear the armor, rather than just copy down the runes. I’m…not a hundred percent certain on this; each student only had the one bit for a reason. Would three threaten to influence me? 

When I point out that there’s no way the armor would fit, given it was designed for Roegadyn folk, he counters that such quality armor can and has resized itself in the past for its wearer. Well, so much for that excuse.

I step away, get changed behind a rock, and start with the trousers. They’re hilariously oversized at first, but Gorge was right on the money; they rapidly shift until they fit comfortably, even accounting for my tail and not too warm despite the fur lining parts of the set. The boots do the same, supporting everything perfectly despite that I haven’t broken anything in. And then the gauntlets, to complete the package, shrink until they’re almost gloves.

…I don’t think this is Ardbert’s armor, I observe as I look over myself. No, no, the red doesn’t fit. But the fur tripped me up for a moment, and I shake myself to try and get rid of a deja vu that hasn’t happened yet.

Hm. Outside of the magical refitting, I’m not noticing anything weird. No sudden anger, no surge of power. Maybe the edge of exhaustion from traveling is removed? But that could be a placebo effect because I’m looking for a change. Well, nothing for it then.

Gorge has to do a double take when he sees me, as he hadn’t realized I’d changed out for a moment. He gives me an approving nod, and seems quite pleased when I mention I don’t feel any different before or after donning the relics. He’d found the fourth piece, he said, but it had no reaction to him, so he’s hitting the books again to check its legitimacy. The location of it is at Red Mantis Falls here on the island, if I want to check it for myself.

Looks like I’ll be fetching all the pieces then. Oh well.

Sure enough, the grave’s only an hour’s walk from Wineport; the oversized jungle cats keep their distance, likely recognizing that I was not worth the trouble to try and eat, and I find the fourth marker with only a little poking about the river.

The cats leave me alone. The gigantic mantis, however, is not so wise. 

The exoskeleton is tough, but like with any armor, there’s weakness in the joints for flexibility. My strikes fly fast and true as I limit its movement by hewing its wings, then the legs after dancing around a few lightning strikes from its forearms. I finish it with a head strike, wash the ichor off my axe, and pop the chest open and retrieve a helmet.

A car sized river frog croaks at me. I give it the stink eye, and it decides the dead mantis makes for the better meal.

‘Port to Costa del Sol again, and I examine the helmet. To my mind, it looks a bit silly; the large horns look like I’d be trying to compensate for something, especially as an Au Ra, and I just lack the sizable frame that would make the style look good as it would on a Roegadyn. I also worry a little about it restricting my field of vision too much; it’s why I don't go for the heaviest helmets I can get, because I need the ability to see the enemy coming and react to it.

I head to the Falls and slide the helmet on. It shifts, and I’m glad it can account for my horns. But I think I’ll ask Alphinaud about basic glamours for disguising helms. I know Drillemont did it, having caught a glimpse of the full helm he wore before the glamour was reapplied. Maybe it would also answer my concerns about my field of view.

I do admit though, I feel slightly less worried about getting clonked on the head with this thing on. At the very least, it makes headbutts more viable than they already are.

Gorge sees me with four out of five pieces, and gives me a serious nod. The lack of power he had received from the helm was due to the dimming of his soulstone after Wineport, he tells me. He had found the final part, the chest piece, but it too, had no reaction to him. Likely a security measure to ensure that he would not fall to his inner beast, which ups my already considerable respect to the smiths and enchanters that worked on the set.

And then he asks me a question I had not expected. “What would you do with this power, Tomoyo, were you to claim it?”

I blink, then consider how to answer. “Have you heard of the titles I’ve gained recently?” I ask him.

“Nae,” he shakes his head. “Much of my focus has been on the ancient records of my ancestors, though I am sure you have accomplished much.”

“Ifrit Slayer. Titan’s Bane.” He straightens. “I have the Echo. I’m immune to tempering from the primals,” at least the low level and intermediary ones, “And thus I am bid to fight them where they rise. In three days time, my small team and I will go to Coerthas, and destroy Garuda.”

Gorge nods slowly. “A laudable goal, and one you have a good chance to achieve, with such idols already felled.”

“I also need to rescue some of my friends from the Garlean Empire,” I add solemnly. “Getting through Garuda is my path to getting them out from imperial hands.”

He’s silent for a moment. “What would you do, Tomoyo, if you had the Garlean curs responsible for the suffering of your comrades before you?”

A fair question. “Good question,” I tell him. “Impulse already has me wanting to break the commanding bitch’s kneecaps for her transgression. She killed a fair few people who are part of the organization I’m a member of with her callousness. That being said? If I got a surrender of good faith, I’d respect it.” I sigh. “I’d be gritting my teeth the whole time, in all likelihood, but killing prisoners of war when they do surrender in good faith is not done. At least it damn well shouldn’t be.”

“...I am satisfied with your answer. Your map.” I hand it over. “If you would search for it, it is in the most northern part of the Coerthas Central Highlands. But please, my student, if you feel for even a single moment that the rage might overcome you, rip the armor away and be rid of it. I care not if you toss it from the highest mountain or into the depths of the deepest sea. Do not lose yourself.”

“Yes, Sensei,” I say seriously, and his smile is a little sad as he carefully marks a spot.

“I wonder if I am worthy of the title, at times,” he says. “It seems you teach me more than I you.”

“I’ve heard that’s normal, especially for the first time teachers,” I shrug. “I know that D—a blacksmith I know had a few rough spots before he got used to apprentices. And if it wasn’t for you, I’m pretty sure Titan would’ve turned me to paste, so don’t be too hard on yourself.” I smile up at him. “Maybe the way forward isn’t clear right now, but I think you’ll find your footing again and be a fantastic Warrior.” And I mean it too. He’s not just a quest teacher, Gorge is genuinely a good man, and I’m glad to have met him.

“You are a good woman, Tomoyo,” he tells me. “And I hope your strength will be just as stalwart.”

I feel a blush starting to crawl up my face, so I clear my throat and say, “Alright, I’ll be off. Hopefully I won’t get caught out in a blizzard.” 

Luck is with me, for the weather is frigid but clear. I only have to wear my winter tunic under the non-enchanted plate, because the rest of it keeps me nice and toasty, which is quite the blessing. No chances of frostbite on my extremities as long as I’m not stupid.

The grave marker’s perhaps two hours' march from Camp Dragonhead, which means I have to skirt past dragon territory; I whack a smaller dragon a few times on the snout with the flat of my blade before it gets the message and pisses off. Then I go further north, now into what I’ve been told is ogre territory.

I’m not sure if ogres are beast folk or in that very grey area between sentient and sapient. There’s no hint of clothing, armor, or weapons in their claws, but their bipedal nature still has me hesitant on labelling them as mere animals. Possibly in the neighborhood of chimpanzees and gorillas, back on Earth. Intelligent, sapient, but not organized beyond family units.

There’s two planted right in the path I have to navigate, so I snipe one with a well placed tomahawk, nailing it just below the back of the skull, dropping it in one blow. That gets the other’s attention, but I’ve already got my axe in hand, and I take a minute or two to study its movements before severing the Achilles’ tendon and then cracking the skull into nearly two.

The tomahawk’s enchantment has already triggered, returning it to my belt, so I don’t have to wrench it out of the other ogre. Hopefully the bodies won’t go to waste by the local fauna, they’re too bipedal for me to be comfortable even thinking about eating.

The last chest is closed, and I wonder for a moment if Gorge really did open it; then I resist knocking my hand against my horn. The chest wouldn’t be out in the open if he hadn’t found it, would it? Dumbass me.

Still, that probably means the glowing blue ogre is a new addition as it pokes around the cave, snorting loudly. Maybe it smells Gorge around here? I sigh. Knowing my luck, it’d try to eat the chest plate if I left it be. Dammit.

It’s a longer fight, if only because its hide is remarkably tough and requires multiple hits to cut through, with its joints being only a little less stubborn. The morbid thought of me lacking a Pokeball for the obvious Shiny passes through my mind, making me snerk before I yelp and dodge a rather nasty overhead blow.

Care, patience, and stubbornness. I grind the orge down, and finally bury my blade into its throat. I grimace as it chokes on its own blood for a minute, but by the time it topples so that its head is in reach, it’s very nearly dead already. Messy. I need to get better with clean kills.

It’s with a heavy sigh I nudge the chest open with a boot, but I don’t get the chance to pick it up before a familiar voice calls out. 

Gorge has caught up, and he asks that I hand over the armor.

I blink, but comply. It is his people’s heritage after all, but why the suddenly prickly behavior?

He doesn’t answer, simply tells me that if I have an issue about this, to speak to him back at the Falls. It’s with bemusement I watch him walk and ‘port away.

I hope he’s not going to try and wear it again. He doesn’t strike me as that reckless, but I’m worried. 

I follow him not long after, and find myself in the middle of a rainstorm. The worst of the water seems to be repelled by the armor, but I pull out my stormcloak anyway as the rain comes down in sheets, using a little mage light to traverse the beach until I reach the Falls.

He hasn’t had much time to settle into his usual spot when he sees me. But before he can say anything, I speak up, pitching my voice so I can be heard over two sources of rushing water.

“This armor is your heritage, Gorge. All of it. If you ask it of me, I’ll hand over even the soulstone if you think me unworthy. I wouldn’t like it, admittedly, I feel as if I’ve far to go in learning what I can do. But I’d do it, because this art and this armor were born of your people. Just say the word.”

He looks taken aback for a moment, and it takes him another to reply.

“It is not a question of worthiness, Tomoyo, but a question of control. Can you say with absolute certainty that you would keep that control over your inner beast were you to don the breastplate? When a part of you still struggles to restrain your wrath against those who might not be able to fight back?”

Ah. I grimace, but nod. “I see your point. On the one hand, I’d argue that it’s not a question of if I feel the emotion, but how I choose to act on it. On the other…”

“There is still doubt,” he states. “And as long as that doubt exists, I cannot let you attempt to wear it. I could not bear the thought of having to cut you down were you to lose yourself.”

“I understand,” I say. “What will you do with the armor then?”

“I will guard this piece from all seekers unless and until there is one worthy to claim it,” he says. “As for the rest…I bid you, use it to fulfill your quest in slaying the primal and saving your comrades. Walk with your rage, until the day you feel you have absolute control over yourself. Then return to me here. I will wait.”

I bow formally. “I will return, Sensei. It may take weeks or moons, but I will return.”

It’s with a heavy air I leave, but I understand why this is going the way it is. Control is vital; more than once my temper has very nearly gotten the better of me, though I’ve yet to strike someone while within its grip and outside of battle. It’s a little disheartening, but the idea of just being consumed by a blood rage…no, better be safe than sorry. Turning into a Khornate berserker is about the last thing I want to do.

Against my chest, the jobstone pulses warmly, and I hear the whispering of the many, many voices that once bore this crystal before me. With the rage, I now know that it can fuel a wide ranged ability that will cut through multiple foes.

I ‘port back to Gridania, dripping wet with storm water, and crash at the inn. I’ll let the others know I’m back tomorrow.

When I dream, it’s of the wind and the rain, and the smell of burning fuel.

-x-

The next morning, I take it slow and wake up on my own time. I do get out of bed by ten bells, then spend another hour updating my journal. Following that, on a whim, I start scribbling down some ‘achievements’ I might have gained over the past…what, near four months now? Stars, it can’t have been much more than that. 

Some example achievements include ‘May I axe you a question? - Enter the Marauders Guild for the first time’, ‘Sprout’s First Quest - Accept your first adventurer job’, ‘Gotta Hand It To You - Apply for a Job of the Hand’, and ‘Waaaaaghrrior! - Gain the Warrior Soulstone,’ for the more lighthearted things I’ve accomplished.

For the legitimately good things I’ve done, or more serious situations I’ve survived, I waffle a bit on whether I should stick to silly titles or add more weight to them. ‘Meeting Auntie Crystal’ for my first vision of Hydaelyn is a silly version, because I refuse to take her too seriously, even if I do have some respect for her. My first encounter with Lahabrea is tentatively labelled, ‘Surprise! - Meet a BBEG for the first time’ in reference to how little I’d expected that. Gaining the Crystals invoke their respective tropes; Making a Splash, Playing with Fire, Shock and Awe, Dishing out Dirt, and An Ice Person are written down, all in English of course. I’m not dumb enough to record any of this in Common, and there’s still a chance I’ll blot some of this out later.

Taking down primals just have me borrowing my titles gained from that so far. And my post-cog ability is given the achievement ‘Echoes of the Past.’ Yes I’m a cheesy tit, but this is my journal and I can be cheesy if I want!

My first encounter with the Ascians in general I eventually title, ‘The Shadows Stir’; meeting the leaders of the Grand Companies adds ‘The Golden General,’ ‘The Silver Admiral,’ and after a full minute of brain farting when it comes to finding a shogi piece for Kan-E-Senna, ‘The Child-Like Seer’ in homage of The Never Ending Story. 

I call it quits after that, do my stretches and self maintenance, then pop down to the Enterprise to check in on Cid and Alphinaud.

“I’m back!” I call out.

“Welcome back!” Cid returns, approaching the ship’s railing. His hands are workstained, but he looks fairly cheerful. “Is that new armor?”

“On loan from my teacher,” I say as I come aboard, my borrowed helm held at my hip. “If nothing else, it’ll be useful for the upcoming fight.”

Alphinaud pokes his head up from some displaced grating, spots me, then pulls himself out. Looks like he’s been using my cloak to shield his clothing from the worst of the grease. Honestly, it’s good to see that he’s been busy helping Cid, so I don’t mind at all.

“It looks…incomplete,” the kid says.

I nod. “It’s all heavily enchanted, but the chestplate is the centerpiece, and therefore the most dangerous of the set.” That gets some eyebrows raised. “My teacher was worried that I might lose myself to a blood rage if I put it on, so he’s guarding it until either a more worthy applicant arrives, or until I have the control necessary to don it.”

“Who is more worthy than Titan’s Bane?” Alphinaud asks doubtfully. 

“The blood rage would rob me entirely of my sanity,” I state, shaking my head. “I don’t blame my teacher one bit for making that call. I’m fortunate enough he’s letting me use the rest as it is, since it belongs to his tribe in truth.”

“A tribe of Au Ra?” Cid asks tentatively.

I smirk. “A tribe of Roegadyn,” I answer. “The armor was originally fitted for a male Warrior, but the enchantments are advanced enough to refit for a wearer that has sufficient control.”

“Impressive work,” Alphinaud says reluctantly, and I stifle the urge to ruffle his hair just to bump his ego a bit. “A shame you could not complete it.”

I shrug. “Honestly, I’m happy with what I have. I don’t have to worry near as much about the heat or cold, my reaction times are better, and I can get a stronger result for the same amount of force used.” There’s no way those ogres should’ve gone down as easily as they did without me pouring a massive amount of energy into my axe; enough so that I’d risk breaking it entirely. The thought of having to replace Da’s gift makes me grimace, but honestly, it’s about time. My funds are comfortable enough for that.

“Oh, right. Alphinaud?” I turn to the teen. “Do you think you could teach me that glamour trick some folks use to hide the fact they’re wearing a helmet?”

He blinks. “It is a basic cantrip. Do you not know it?”

I shake my head. “There was never a need to learn when I was younger, and it’s only recently I’ve gotten in tune with my aether enough to do active casting outside of Teleport. Hells, it’s only in the past couple of months I worked out a basic magelight.”

I internally roll my eyes at the condescension that nets me, but he agrees easily enough. It takes a few times of me watching him cast, then trying to imitate the flow of aether to disguise the helm; when the light refracts around it, but not completely, Alphinaud and Cid express interest at the phenomenon; apparently botching it this way is rather weird. 

“It’s probably the same mechanism you get when you stick a spoon in a clear glass and it looks like the spoon’s been severed,” I explain as I try to figure out what went wrong. “Light bends differently in air than it does in water, and I’m trying to convince the light hitting the helmet to bend entirely around the helmet, but not around my head. Urgh, do it again, Alphinaud?”

He casts again, and after three more tries, something clicks and only the faintest of outlines can be seen when the sunlight hits the helm directly.

“Bah! Good enough!” I don’t want to think about the mathematics of what I’ve just pulled as I put the helm on, the heavy weight settling comfortably. It probably treads somewhere between relativistic and quantum, and that path lies tearing one’s hair out and crying into textbooks.

“I feel as if…Do you know why the light acts differently in water?” Cid asks curiously even as his thoughtful expression indicates his brain is chewing through potential implications of…well, either the miscast or my short explanation of refraction.

“Water’s denser, so the light slows down,” I say with a shrug. “Glass is denser than that, so it slows down even further, so the visual information your eyes see registers the difference and presents the illusion the spoon isn’t connected right even when it is.”

Alphinaud opens his mouth, looking like he’s ready to protest, only to close it as his expression falls into thoughtfulness. “Discarding the effect aether has on the world around us,” he murmurs. “What you suggest is logical.”

Wha…? Oh. Oh fuck all the ducks, the idea that aether plays footsie with the fundamentals like the speed of light has me wanting to thump my head against a wall. “I’ll be the first to admit that my understanding of aether is elementary at best,” I put the disclaimer out there. “It really wasn’t…wait.” I frown. “Did Minfilia tell you about my Echo abilities?” I ask the kid.

“That you bear the past sight as well as memories of a past life,” he nods.

“Past what?” Cid’s surprise is clear.

“Long story short, I’ve got the ability to randomly get visions of the past, generally centered around a person, but not always focused only on them,” I say. “In addition to that, I remember a life where I was born Hyur sometime before Dalamud was launched into orbit, but the exact details of where and when my life was are…fuzzy. My people didn’t have a solid foundation on what aether was nor what it could do, so we focused instead on the physical sciences like Garlemald does these days.”

“Could you not cast magic in that life?” Alphinaud asks, picking up that thread quickly.

I shrug. “I never tried, so I honestly have no idea.” And it’s the truth too. “Fortunately, conjury makes sense from the philosophical side of things, so I don’t have too many problems trying to wrap my head around it. But the more faith based phenomena like astrology or paladin work?” I huff. “Forget about it.”

“I think I understand that,” Cid murmurs. “Though now I wonder; if light can be slowed down…I can’t remember, what is its default speed?”

I open my mouth to answer, only to realize that figuring out the speed of light was what let Einstein write down one of the fundamental principles of relative physics. E=mc^2 Also known as the formula that let the Americans and Russians figure out nukes.

Something on my face must’ve showed, because I’m getting concerned looks from both members of my team. “Tomoyo?” Alphinaud asks cautiously.

“I…just realized that probably talking about this isn’t the wisest of ideas,” I breathe, carefully sitting down as my head spins with panic. “It…some of those studies led to…dark paths in the few decades before I was born, Before.”

“How could the study of light lead to darkness?” Cid asks, baffled.

I shake my head. “Too much light, too much darkness, both are awful things,” I whisper. “Cid…you’re a good man, and I trust you with my life. But this knowledge led to superweapons. Please, do not ask.”

Something akin to realization passes through his eyes. “Garlemald,” he says quietly.

“They’re…probably not far from figuring it out, honestly,” I say, and that knowledge is haunting. As awful as it is, thank all the benign powers that might exist that Varis went for gas weapons rather than nukes. “Technology wise, my people were only a few decades ahead on most levels except for maybe flight when I died. If they…” I shake my head. “Multiple Carteneaus.”

Both of them pale, and I nod. “Now you get it. We only ever used them in anger twice. Two hundred thousand dead. That was…about 40 years before I was born. And Garlemald doesn’t have half the restraint my people did, sad to say.”

“Say no more,” Cid shakes his head. “I understand. I’ll not ask.”

I don’t hide my relief. “I’m sorry to bring it up, I really am,” I tell him. “But that’s the scale. And, Cid? I don’t care that you’re a full Garlean.” He tenses up slightly. “No, I’m serious. With Garlemald, it’s the institution that’s the problem. Most of the civilian populous there probably just wants to get on with life, look after themselves and theirs, and let the world spin on. Most of them probably don’t know the extremes their government gets to, because dictatorships tend to treat them like mushrooms; keep them in the dark, and feed them shit.” Cid snorts, and Alphinaud makes a face. “I’m…I’m trying to work on not using Garlean as a pejorative, because racism is a collective negative in mankind, and the fewer racists, the better off we all are. So, if I start bitching about Garleans instead of Imperials, as I should instead, feel free to hit me with a manual or something.”

“I…thank you, Tomoyo,” he says after a moment. “Though perhaps I’ll simply use words rather than violence to point out mistakes,” he adds with a slight smile.

“That works too,” I huff a laugh as I stand up. “Hokay, now that I’ve scared half a year off my own life, I should get some practice in with my new skill for the next few hours. I’ll be by at…say, five in the afternoon? Lend you two a hand to help finish up, even if it’s just handing off tools or getting light at a better angle.”

“With any luck, we should be finished by sun down,” Alphinaud states, though the slight distraction in his tone tells me he’s still thinking about the unintentional lore bomb I’ve dropped.

Urgh, awful pun. Bad taste, much morbid.

“And when we finish up, everyone gets a good night sleep,” I add with a light clap, keeping in mind the Elezen’s hearing. He looks ready to interject, so I cut him off and ask, “Do you want our pilot steering while sleep deprived? Because studies were done, and that’s the same as driving while under the influence of alcohol in terms of hazards.”

“I will not pilot drunk,” Cid’s voice brooks no argument. “And not without at least six bells of sleep. I might not remember much, but I do know that anything less is not acceptable.”

I nod. “We all need to be at our best when we’re taking the fight to Garuda. So I’ll see you this evening.”

So I spend most of the day bouncing between hunts, testing my new AOE skill and getting used to how it synergizes with other moves. I do drop by Ul’dah real quick to transfer Bocco to Gridania, who’s now well rested and raring to go. I placate him with some greens and grooming, and enjoy the peace that comes with bonding like this before I get to the airship and do what I can for the last of the fitting. Sure enough, it’s most handing off tools and handling lights, as Cid and Alphinaud take care of the delicate work.

We finish up by nine in the evening, and despite my nerves, I do manage to drift off. If I dream, I don’t remember.

Chapter Text

Cid has a couple of bunks on his ship, but I elected to spend the night at the inn, if only because it could very well be the last time I’ll have the chance to stretch properly for who knows how long. When I took on Ifrit, the stakes escalated, and when Titan fell, I returned to the Waking Sands to find most of our crew dead, kidnapped, or scattered to the winds for their own safety. I’d rather err on the side of caution and assume a paradigm shift of equal significance will kick in once Garuda’s torn down.

The alarum candle clanks at 7 in the morning, and I do my stretches and triple check my supplies, armor, and weapons; much to my weirded out annoyance, I’m beginning to have to tie my hair up to tuck it under my helmet because of its growth. If this keeps up, I’ll have to braid it or something. Good thing I’ve got the basics of that learned from Ma.

Once I’m physically set, I drop into the Conjury guild for a quick word with E-Sumi.

“Guildmaster? I know with conjury work, you’d rather I learn by doing work around the Shroud, but given, well,” I gesture around me. “Everything, I was wondering if there were any texts I could take on the road so I can learn as I go. I reckoned that, worst comes to worst, I come to a block in my learning, I could always write a letter to the guild.”

The Seedseer considers my proposition for several moments, his expression introspective. “Why do you feel you must accelerate your progress?” he asks. “You have mastered Raise sufficiently to be given clearance to cast it on the field. You have learned the second level of Stone. What is it that you seek from this art?”

I chew on my tongue as I struggle to think of an explanation that doesn’t rely on future knowledge that has more holes than Swiss cheese. “When I first came across the massacre at the Waking Sands,” I finally say. “I held Noraxia as she passed. I didn’t even think to try and heal her, because it wasn’t second nature. I need to get past that mental block, to trust my magic as quickly as I’d trust my axe. If I had the time to learn here, I’d take it, but while the others are in imperial captivity…” I shake my head. “I can’t take the risk that they’ll be hale enough to successfully jailbreak when we do find where they are if I delay. Thus, time.”

E-Sumi takes a minute to mull over my words. “When you have slain Garuda, you may return here for a text,” he states. “However, in truth, you will learn more should you stretch your wings while doing your work. I understand you have come to know your armor and axe, and rely on them. It is a risk to take up an entirely different style of combat when you are so used to your preferred method. But should you wish to continue forward and match your personal vision, then it is one you must take. It is a simple fact that at this point in your development, experience will be your best teacher.”

I try not to grimace, but I can see the wisdom in his words. It’s not like I’m level locked out of quests in real life…but running around in robes with a staff, rather than heavy armor…well. Suppose I’ll just have to woman up and get used to it.

Just…after Garuda keels over.

“I understand,” I say quietly and bow my head to the short elder. “My thanks for your patience.”

“The time given to us is a gift to be cherished,” E-Sumi says, his solemnity betraying his two centuries of age. “Pray, do not let your fear of the future consume it.”

Ah. That is a risk, isn’t it? To be so busy preparing for what's to come that I lose sight of the present… I nod. “I’ll do my best. Thank you for your wisdom.”

“I wish you luck in your quest.”

Despite the pressures of what’s to come still existing, I feel a touch more settled as I leave the Guild. It is no small thing that I’ve got Raise under my belt in, what, two and a half months of work and study? Part of that is probably my artificial light aether alignment thanks to Auntie Crystal, but I’ve busted my ass to get the progress I did. I’m not thrilled by the idea of pulling Healer instead of Tank for the next few quests that aren’t boss battles or dungeon runs, but if that’s the next step forward, then that’s just how it is.

I get to the docks and find Cid at the gangplank, looking even more anxious than what I feel; if even Lahabrea’s willing to admit I’ve got a chance against Garuda with four Light Crystals, then having five balances the scales even more. And good money says that the primal’s sitting on the sixth which will…well, I’m not sure what they’ll do, past giving me a leg up against Ascians and the higher ranked primals like Alexander and Bahamut.

“Ah, Tomoyo,” Cid sees me, his voice breaking me out of my train of thought. “Good morning. Are you prepared for the flight?”

“As much as I can be,” I say with a shrug. “Extra potions, bandages, food and water to keep everyone topped up for the trip, extra cloaks because it’s Coerthas…you and Alphinaud need proper winter gear,” I squint at the engineer.

He coughs, a sheepish expression crossing his face. “Ah, I appreciate the thought, but it’s unnecessary for now. That being said, we are ready to leave at a moment’s notice. The crystal has been set and all looks to be in order. Though I’ll admit that there is a minute but present possibility of failure of the generator working—” Oh, that’s anxiety I recognize, and I cut in as gently as I can.

“Cid, you’ve already pulled off a miracle in getting the Enterprise working again. And if something goes wrong with this crystal, we do have a back up in the form of the Ice Crystal of Light,” I remind him. “I’ve got complete confidence in your work and skills, and for all that Alphinaud is a little sharp around the edges, he trusts you too. We’ll get through this, I’m sure of it.”

Cid takes a steadying breath. “Thank you, Tomoyo,” he says. “I…well. Thank you for your trust, and for reuniting me with the Enterprise. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the man I once was, but here, in this place? I am home.”

I smile. “Recovery doesn’t happen overnight, and the man you are now is a good one. If worst comes to worst, then if you cannot find the old chapters that made up your life, put pen to paper and write new ones.”

“Indeed!” We look up to see Alphinaud leaning against the upper railing. “It is clear to anyone with eyes that your skill remains unchanged, Cid. The loss of memory may be tragic, but it is not something that should define you.” He makes his way down, looking over the Enterprise in a pleased manner. “Apologies if I kept you waiting. Is there aught yet keeping us?”

“Good to go here,” I shrug.

“Everything is green,” Cid shakes his head. “We are ready to make for the Vortex.”

“Excellent!” the kid grins. “Then let us away!”

We board the ship, Cid makes his last minute checks, and in a few minutes we’re ready to take off. And then Alphinaud makes says the cheesiest line I’ve yet heard from him.

“Enterprise, engage!” he orders with a dramatic sweep of the arm, and I have to bite into the leather covering my fist to stifle the laughter as I hear Picard and Kirk in my head echoing the order.

Credit to keen Elezen hearing, the kid looks my way with narrowed eyes.

I grin and shake my head. “You accidentally made a reference that’s old when I was young,” I’m quick to explain. “The Enterprise was the name of a ship in speculative fiction series called Star Trek.” Speculative fiction being the current term for science fiction, though science fiction is catching on in certain circles. Typically younger ones for those that can read for leisure.

“I’ve not heard of this book,” Alphinaud says before realization crosses his features. “This was something of your previous life?”

I nod. “Star Trek was quite popular and had a number of iterations over the course of…oh.” I blow a strand of hair out of my face as I do some quick math. 60’s to the 20’s… “Sixty-ish years? Something like that. About a decade after its first serialization, my preferred series Star Wars was published and proved to be equally popular. The followings had something of a rivalry going,” I add with a grin. “My best friend was a Trekkie, and we’d tease each other for our tastes.”

The kid looks thoughtful. “‘Tis a shame that nothing of either tale has survived the Calamities,” he says a little tactlessly, and I can’t quite hide the wince.

“Well, it’s a bit much to ask,” I shrug. “Three…well, two and half world ending disasters, it’s a shock anything’s still around of older times,” I correct myself, which earns my own sharp look from Alphinaud.

“Two and a half?” he presses.

I keep a neutral face as I say, “I might not have known before my memories came back, but quite frankly, Dalamud’s fall should’ve done a lot more damage. We’re lucky enough the damn thing broke open in atmosphere, nevermind that it was hollow.” I don’t hide my shudder. “If it’d been a solid satellite making impact against the planet’s crust…frankly, we’d have been looking at maybe a sixth of the continent glassed.”

He grimaces, and I sigh. “I don’t mean to speak lightly of the battle that took your grandfather,” I say. “But what I know now…that society is still in one piece on the continent, that Ishgard can still butt heads with the dragons and that the Garleans—well, the Imperials,” I correct myself. “That they can still kick things around and cause trouble…we got off damned lucky.”

“Was it luck, I wonder,” Alphinaud phrases it as a question, but his tone indicates otherwise. Does he already have theories about how his grandfather countered Bahamut?

“I doubt it.” This comes from Cid, and we look to him. His gaze is distant as he carefully removes his hands from the steering apparatus; not a wheel, I realize. Two contact points that he touches, but how does he control it from there? “I might not recall much, but. No, it wasn’t simply luck that saved us.” He steps away from his post, and I quietly hope the airship has an autopilot as he looks out across a thankfully clear blue sky, then removes his goggles.

“I don’t remember much,” he repeats. “But I know I did not fly this ship alone. I had a crew. Friends. And there were others…adventurers like you.” He looks over to me, third eye now clearly in view. “Just how long---” Then suddenly he clutches his head with one hand, cringing, and I move to get to his side before he might collapse.

Only to find my own head ringing, and I mutter “Oh hells,” before the Echo sucks me under.

“Just how long have I worn these damn goggles?” Cid’s voice is clear as day, and the first thing that registers before my vision clears. I see a clean-faced Cid in nearly the same position he’d been in, goggles in hand, on the Enterprise, looking out to the clear night sky.

Then, like with Y’shtola, the Echo rings again, pulling the both of us further back in time. I see an adorable Cid as a child, and if he’s older than 13 in this, I’d eat a leather boot. At least now I know he comes by the silver hair honestly. He tinkers, reads, and outlines blueprints, clearly taking some joy in creating what he can as an older Cid narrates fondly of those lost days.

And then he speaks of his father, how Meteor became his obsession, and my heart hurts. Nael was tempered by Bahamut due to their access to the control module for Dalamud. And Louisoix suffered the same fate, even when he was exposed to the primal for only minutes, at best. Did the same thing happen to his father?

An older Cid left his father in favor of Gaius; I’m not too surprised to learn this, as Cid had to have come to Eorzea somehow, and Gaius is the one in charge of the invasion for this part of the world. And though I’m resolved to stop the man’s intent to use Ultima Weapon, I’ll admit the Garlean is, compared to most of his peers at least, a Noble Demon who genuinely thinks he’s doing the right thing.

Meteor project takes Gaius too, though at least he isn’t tempered, and Cid ditches the Empire to found the Ironworks. The same company which saves the First in that split off future.

The scene returns back to the first memory, and is a heartwarming one; it’s a late night flight, Wedge is napping on a pile of books, and Biggs looks like he’s not too far behind. Cid shakes his head at the both of them, only for him to see something from the corner of his eye and turn away.

A light glimmers as it approaches the ship. For a moment, I’m rendered blind, and when I can see again, there’s a figure outlined by shining white---myself?! No, it looks like Tanya---now Ardbert?! What is this?!

The figure, shifting rapidly with each blink (Viera woman, Lalafell man, Elezen of indeterminate gender), places something in Cid’s outstretched hand. His goggles. And then the light bleeds away, the Warrior vanishing as if they’d never been.

After a moment, Cid places the perhaps goddess given gift across his forehead, a special lens in the middle specifically for his third eye. When his apprentices see him, they give their full hearted approval.

That cemented Cid’s desire to live and fight for Eorzea in his own way, to turn magitek from only warmachines to something greater.

And then the Echo releases us, and I can breathe.

“I had forgotten how wonderful it was. The wind in your hair, the endless sky...” Cid’s voice has a surety that wasn’t there before. He turns to me, and I can see the man is now fully present, no longer distracted by trying to remember something out of reach. “That light…was it you?”

I shake my head. “It can’t have been!” I exclaim, not bothering to hide my shock. “I was fifteen when, when Dalamud happened.” I dredge through my memories, all of them, in an attempt to find an explanation. Was Ardbert the last Warrior of Light, the one at Carteneau as the trailers implied?

But that wouldn’t make sense, I realize. I could easily believe Louisoix managing to transport the Warriors to another Shard in a bid to get them out of the crossfire, but there’s a tripping point to that logic. Ardbert bears a single soul-shard, while those on the Source bear seven---or perhaps six-fourteenths? If the Voidborn never merged with their counterparts… Unless the Calamities force a more even distribution when the worlds and souls are forcefully merged, meaning everyone has one-sixth of their once collective soul?

But then there’s the question of if everyone alive gets their soul-shard when the Calamity kicks off, or it only merges after they die and go through the reincarnation cycle; do you have to be born after the Calamity to have the newly culled shard attached to you?

Too many questions, and no way to get the answers before Shadowbringers.

I shake my head again. “Perhaps it was the last person to bear this particular mantle?” I ask uncertainly. I’m hardly the first of the Warriors of Light; perhaps I simply bore some metaphysical resemblance to the one Cid met, and the Echo tangled that perception up.

“What do you speak of?” Alphinaud demands, apparently a bit miffed at only getting half the conversation.

“The Echo just triggered,” I tell him. “And, well, Cid’s got his memory back.” At least a goodly chunk of it. I don’t think he’s got everything, but for now, with the core of him returned, so should his confidence.

“Indeed I do,” he says, placing the goggles back on. “Perhaps it was your predecessor I saw. Perhaps it was you. It could be we might never know the full truth,” he states. “Nonetheless, the Enterprise was made for this! To carry Eorzea's protectors into battle!” He takes his position at the helm, a broad smile on his face.

“Cid?” Alphinaud seems taken aback by the man’s returned confidence. “What do you remember?”

“Alphinaud, my boy─sorry to have been such a burden,” the engineer nods to him. “I remember everything. My name, my people, and my purpose. Everything.” Well, not yet, I remember something about multiple trips into his memory, but the details can literally wait. “Come! It would be rude to keep Garuda waiting!”

Cid’s enthusiasm makes me grin, with perhaps a few too many teeth. “And that just wouldn’t do, would it?”

He laughs loudly. “Surely not! I suggest you two to hang on to something!” In the distance, growing rapidly, is the Vortex the others have spoken of, looking nothing more like the eye of a hurricane embodied. Perhaps not too far from the truth, describing it like that.

Growing up around sailors, I get the two of us tied to the railing in short order with some well placed knots, then whoop aloud as we dive through the wind wall with barely a shred of turbulence.

“Told you your tech would work!” I shout over the roaring. “We don’t even need the back up plan!”

“It’s always good to have one!” he calls back, and I cheer as we break through into the eye proper and start descending.

Poor Alphinaud’s a little more shaky when we disembark, but he gets his composure together in fairly short order after a minute or two to breathe.

We reach the front gate marking out the Ixal’s home territory, the area eerily silent due to the eye’s walls being around us.

“All our efforts...all our travails...all of it was for this,” Alphinaud looks at the gate, pale but resolute. “Make ready, Tomoyo. The end is nigh, for her or us.”

“Never go into the fight doubting you’ll win,” I tell him. “Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer, but defeatism will end you just as surely.” Wait, did I just quote Darkest Dungeon? Holy shit, I did. I bop down the amusement; I can laugh about my nerdiness later.

“No time for second thoughts,” Cid agrees, a heavy looking hammer in one hand. I wondered what he might fight with, and now I know. The Warrior in me thoroughly approves.

The gates swing open freely, and we stride into the clearing…basically uncontested, despite the numerous Ixal. I take in the scene before me, and my eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“Who dares intrude upon my sanctuary?” a harsh, feminine voice demands. “Your insolence shall not go unpunished, landwalkers!”

From the skies drops the so-called Harpy Queen, though in my mind, she matches a bit closer the Simurgh of Worm infamy; a few too many wings in odd places, like her head and at her heels, though the entirely inhuman structure of her face robs any angelic mien to her.

“Twelve preserve…she’s huge!” Alphinaud breathes, and my pulse kicks up a notch. It’s a good thing that attempts at tempering generally aren’t subtle things, so I can get them out of the way in case she tries to pull something.

“As I live and breathe,” Cid’s eyes are elsewhere, having noticed the same thing I had. “Amalj’aa and kobold prisoners. But what for?”

“Well, at least we’ll have the witnesses you wanted, Alphinaud,” I say, unslinging my axe before resting it on my shoulder. “I’ll need you two to keep the Ixal off my back while I deal with Garuda. Can you do that?”

Apparently the primal heard me, because she starts to cackle. “Hear you this blasphemy, my children? These landwalkers would bring me low! You who are bound to crawl upon the earth should revere me─FOR I AM THE WIND!”

Cid makes a rude noise at the back of his throat. “Did we not take to the skies, and slip your defenses!? We are bound by nothing, Garuda!” Ah, gotta love the Garlean irreverence towards the ‘divine.’ I might not like their enforced atheism, but in cases like this, it’s useful.

“You think your playthings give you strength?” the primal all but howls in both rage and laughter. “They will not help you here, landwalker. This is my realm, where none can challenge my supremacy! Struggle though you may─I shall slake the roots with your blood, and festoon the canopy with your ENTRAILS! HAHAHAHAHAAA!”

“Huh. Y’know, threats of disembowelment aside, the lack of thee’s, thous, and thines still makes her technically more polite than Ifrit or Titan,” I observe faux-neutrally.

Behind us, the Ixal start to shriek. “We’ll handle the Ixal,” Alphinaud declares, bringing out his tome as Cid readies his hammer. “You deal with Garuda!”

“Not a problem,” I say with a too wide grin. Patience, stubbornness, and the willingness to shed my blood in order to bring her down. I can do this.

My tomahawks see heavy use here as Garuda flits this way and that through the battlefield, making me bust my tail in order to keep up with her. Urgh, my first proper example of a Get Back Here Boss! Not ideal to be a tank in this situation, but on the other hand, a lot of her razor winds get blunted on my heavily enchanted armor; I get a few bleeding knicks on my face and hands, but the enraged shriek she gives when the glamour on my helm flickers and shows that bit is solidly protected too has me restraining a laugh.

Better to save my breath in taking her down after all.

More than once I have to duck behind some cairns set up in the area when she tries to AOE the entire field, and she sets up a second vortex that narrows the fighting arena even further. I don’t quite lop off a wing when she gets down to my level for a taunt, but even though the limb technically heals, I can sense I’m gradually wearing her down.

The little windlets she spawns I could do without, but their fragile enough that my full belt of tomahawks is just enough to break them. I’m keeping my AOE shields, thank you!

The biggest hint that I am making progress, of course, is when the primal starts to shriek about her power, though she’s not kind enough to be as specific about the Blessing of Light as Ifrit had been. Still, I don’t complain when the wind wall breaks and Garuda falls back a bit, though her gloating when she straightens…isn’t a good sign.

“What!? How in the hells─!?” I hear Cid behind me, but I don’t chance to look back, keeping my focus on the primary threat.

“HAHAHAHAHAAA! This...is...MY REALM! You have no hope here! None! NONNNE!!!” she shrieks. “Did you truly believe you could defy a god, landwalkers!? My power is limitless! My children legion! And they have rendered unto me a wealth of crystals. Their gifts sustain me, their faith empowers me! None save my children will 'scape the reckoning, mortals! And those who would use my crystals to waken the rest shall realize the folly of their faith! Then all shall worship none but me! The one true god! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEEEEEE!!!”

Well, the monologue was useful in catching my breath if nothing else, but if she’s literally regenerating thanks to the prayer she’s getting, what are our options?

“Of course! Worship! So long as the Ixal keep praying, she will never fall!” Alphinaud summarizes.

“Then we’d best stop them!” Cid states.

“Be quick about it!” I shout. “I’ll keep her busy!”

But even as the two break away, I’m not quite fast enough to block a wind strike that blows them over and on to their asses. I slide to a stop in front of them, axe brandished and teeth bared threateningly.

Again, Garuda cackles. “No harm will come to you, my children!” she croons before smiling like a shark. “This is only the beginning, landwalkers! All who oppose me shall suffer for their defiance! Soon, the worms of the forest shall receive my judgment! The desert vermin next─their walls of stone will not shield them from the tempest! And then will I take vengeance on the sea lice! Their wooden boats cannot outrun the wind! Tremble, mortals, for I shall visit you all in time! And all shall be mine! ALL MIIINE! You, landwalker─you who dared to raise your hand against me─you shall be the first to pay for your sins! Not with your death─but with your LIFE! You will serve me, landwalker...to your last breath!”

“If you want me, then come and claim me,” I dare her, stepping forward as I spread my arms out wide, my axe still in one hand. Behind me, Alphinaud whispers something, but it’s lost as glowing blue wind slams down in a cyclone around me.

Unlike that time with Ifrit, I don’t flinch. As powerful as she is, she’s still only a third rate primal compared to the likes of Bahamut or Alexander; with the Echo, it doesn’t matter if I only have six or seven parts of a soul, it’s still enough to no sell this, I’m certain.

“No, NO!!! I claimed you! You should be MINE!” Real fear now shows on her face, and the Echo rings, not just in my head, but around my form. Instinct prompts me to reach out, and a glint of light shines from the primal’s chest.

“I’m going to borrow this for a while,” I whisper as the Wind Crystal of Light rips away from the construct and flies into my hand.

The glimpse of the circle, the rush of wind around my horns, a flash of blue. That’s the full set. Now what?

Well, for now, deal with the primal that’s still floating, and now a lot more nervous. I tap my axe heavily in my hand, and hide the grimace when I notice a hairline crack biting in the blade. “Shall we have a proper dance this time?”

“Why do you not tremble at my might? Why do you not beg for mercy!? Why do you not DIE!?” The absolute confusion in Garuda’s voice and face would be pitiful if it weren’t such a threat to the continent.

“Is that all?” A male voice, metallic flang. I turn my head to glance over, and mentally swear up a storm when I see the power armor and distinct, two horned full faced helm. What in the fuck is Gaius van Baelsar doing here?!

“Oh Lady of the Vortex. Oh mighty Garuda!” Ballsy of him to taunt the not-dead primal, but then, gunbladers are also tanks. “Of all primals, the most terrible. I say again...IS. THAT. ALL!?”

“Gaius?” Cid breathes, his shock evident in his voice alone.

Despite being quiet, it seems the General notices him anyways. “Ah, Cid, my boy. You look well─for one who has forsaken kin and country. I wonder, what else you will forsake before the day is done.”

“What?!” The shock is rattled a bit by anger, and I hold out my axe across him.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I mutter, mind racing. “He’s a general, generals don’t leave their armies behind. If he’s here, where’s the rest of them?”

Alphinaud sucks in a breath as the puzzle presented to us starts to look off, and we all brace ourselves for what’s next.

“Is that all?” Oh boy, we ignored Garuda. “IS THAT ALL?! Insolent mortal! I shall make you suffer!” Wait, why is she turning to us? “That foul stench... I see now... She has touched you! Very well then…”

“Uh-oh.” My tone is more resigned than anything.

The other beast folk start raising a racket, the Amalj’aa pleading to Ifrit while the kobolds call out to Titan. But even as they cry out, their bodies suddenly dissolve into energy, red and brown colored hitodama floating up into the sky. Did she just rip out their souls?!

“What is she─” Alphinaud rushes up next to me, and I grab him by the shoulder to keep him from getting too close. But then the kid goes white in the face. “Twelve preserve, she cannot mean to─”

Whatever he was about to say is cut off by Ifrit dropping from the sky, with Titan following shortly after. Oh, I think faintly. This might be why Garuda and Ifrit are a merged fight in the Eden raids. That’s. That’s not good.

“No... No, this is all wrong...” Alphinaud shakes his head, trying to deny what he’s seeing, only to yelp as I hoist him over one shoulder.

“Time to go!” I shout, and Cid’s right there with me as we haul ass away from the battlefield and make a beeline straight for the ship.

Behind me I hear Garuda demand that the other constructs submit to her, and my gut drops further at the realization she’s going to bloody eat them. Shit, this has just gone south in so many ways---!

“BEHOLD THE GLORY OF THE EMPIRE!” Gaius roars behind us, and we clamber up onto the ship.

I drop Alphinaud on to the deck, get him harnessed safely as it looks like he’s still a little shocky, then swing around to try and figure out what the hell’s going on as Cid starts the engine.

Something heavy slams into the area we’d just vacated, and when the dust settles, a vaguely draconic mecha unfolds itself. I say vaguely because while the upper half looks far too much like Bahamut for me to be comfortable, the lower half is like a lizardy centaur. It grabs hold of Ifrit by the head, clenching down hard enough that the primal roars in pain, only to dissolve into so many pyreflies; shortly that too is gone, absorbed by the mech.

“Oh fuck,” I whisper, then turn to Cid. “Get us out of here, now! Before he turns that thing against us!”

The Enterprise’s engines kick in, and we start to lift off, but I still watch as Ultima Weapon tears into Titan, then Garuda, drawing in their power into it as well. A flicker of something catches my attention, and I look up to see one of the Empire’s weirdly shaped fighters. Standing on it is a figure in black, with a red mask.

“We need to go we need to go we need to go!” I chant under my breath as we start getting some space between us and the Allag Weapon, the Legatus, and the Unsundered. Holy fuck this is the worst kind of encounter I’ve gotten yet. Jesus tapdancing Christ on a pogostick and Auntie Crystal on a unicycle.

“Twelve have mercy! What chance have we against such an ungodly creation!?” Alphinaud cries out, thoroughly rattled by how badly this has gone. “And just who is that armored devil?!”

“Legatus Gaius van Baelsar, 14^th Legion,” I state grimly, and at Cid’s surprised look, I shrug. “I picked up some things from your memory. Sorry.”

He shakes his head even as he steers the ship further away from the conflict. “He leads all Imperial forces in Eorzea,” he continues my track.

“Of course, the Black Wolf,” the teen grits his teeth. “How could I not realize? Grandfather mentions him in his journal!”

“I was never so naïve as to think the man would abandon his ambitions,” Cid says darkly. “But these developments are beyond my worst expectations. What have you all been doing these past five years? How could something of this magnitude have escaped the Alliance's attention?”

“Because they had Ascian help,” I glare in the distance where I’d seen Lahabrea. “I suppose you didn’t see him lingering up on one of the fighters, but he was watching us, as I was worried he would.”

“That…that would explain some of it,” Alphinaud says hesitantly, still shaking a little but no longer white as a sheet. “We heard no whispers, saw no signs. In the wake of the Calamity, the Empire seized land and built outposts, but that was the extent of their aggression. Or so we thought.”

“Then I would ask where in the seven hells did the Ascian find that thing?” Cid demands angrily. “And why give it to Gaius?”

I breathe, my own temper rising now that some of the fear has bled away. “I usually don’t care about this sort of thing, but gods fucking dammit, he stole my kill!” I growl. “If I’d acted sooner---rgh!” I cut myself off, pacing across the deck as my tail lashes about irritably. What ifs get us nowhere, I know that, but fuck, I’m pissed!

“The fact does remain that Garuda is no longer a threat,” Alphinaud unclenches his hands where he’d gripped the railing. “While I take no comfort in the manner of her downfall, it does mean that we may safely put the matter of the primals to one side─for the time being, at least.”

I growl again in my throat, then frown at the warm pulse of my jobstone. “Oh hell,” I mutter, then switch out to conjurer. Sure enough, the sharpest edge of my anger is gone. I take a deep breathe, blow out some of the negativity, then ask, “Alright, primals are temporarily out of commission, but the Imps have a new toy. Now what?”

“That weapon poses the greatest threat to Eorzea,” the teen states as he starts to undo the ropes I’d bound him with for safety’s sake. “We must needs find a way to destroy it. But before that, discovering what we can of it should be our priority.” He smiles, a little tremulous, and I can’t help but respect his ability to put on a brave face after all that at such a young age. “Let us make for Vesper Bay. We shall rebuild the Scions.”

“I vote for rescue mission!” I raise my hand. “Because taking on that thing alone is not a good idea. Minfilia and the others have been imprisoned for…stars, how long has it been?”

“Now that the sun is beginning to rise?” Cid points out. “Perhaps 22 days since you came to the church.”

Eight days a week here… “A bit over half a moon,” I say with a grimace. “That’s a long time to be in Imperial hands, when one of the commanders was intent on torturing Minfilia.”

Alphinaud closes his eyes for a moment, but what he might be thinking, I can’t tell. “All is not yet lost, my friend─for we bear the light, and shall surely lead our people from the darkness.” Not everyone can say that with steel in their spine and mean it. That he can…I nod.

“Though, perhaps you should patch yourself up before we make landfall,” Cid says, making me look over to him in confusion. “You’ve more than a little blood on your face.”

“Huh? Oh!” Right, Garuda cut me up a bit. “Is it really that bad?” I fish around for a cloth in my pack.

Alphinaud steps forward and squints at me. “It seems as if the worst have closed already,” he says, then brings up a hand that glows white. I’d barely noticed the stinging on my face, honestly, but what was there fades completely. “And…” Then a minor flash, and the stickiness of the blood is gone.

“…I have got to learn that trick,” I say intently. “Do you know how much time that’d save me from cleaning out my armor?” Is this why a number of characters rarely look more than ruffled in cutscenes and such in the game? Well, besides engine limitations and Japan’s cultural squick against blood of course.

“It does not work near as well on cloth,” Alphinaud says, but there’s no mistaking the pleased look on his face. “Perhaps I can teach you the basics before we reach our destination.”

Learning Final Fantasy’s version of Presdigitation occupies our attention as dawn approaches, at least until we set down in Ul’dah, and I’m glad I switched out to conjurer wear. It’s the tail end of the Third Umbral Moon now, aka June-ish time, so it’s going to be brutally hot.

“Vesper Bay now, or after some sleep?” I ask, letting myself sway a bit in the lift on our way down to the Emerald Strip. “Because I don’t know about you guys, but all that shaved about half a year off my life from pure stress. I’m more than ready for some sleep, especially since we’ve just pulled an all-nighter.”

“After we reach the Bay,” Alphinaud shakes his head, and I grimace.

“Just to warn you, while I did help get the bodies out…I don’t know if anyone’s cleaned up the blood,” I say. “It’s. It’s not going to be a pretty sight.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he nods. “I understand.”

As we walk down to the central part of the city, Cid says quietly, “That weapon did not just destroy the primals. It ate them. Gods know what else it can do.”

“And did you see the way it articulated?” I add, not bothering to hide my astonishment as I revisit the memory. “There’s no way that thing is entirely mechanical. If it’s not at least partially a biological construct, I’ll eat a leather boot.”

That gets a short snort from the engineer even as he wrinkles his nose at the thought. “Doable, if ill advised,” he says. “But I think you might be on to something. If only we had a way to confirm the hypothesis.”

“That’ll have to be for later,” I sigh.

“Indeed,” Alphinaud breathes carefully. “That was an experience I would rather not have again. Though,” he looks to me for a moment before we make our way to the street level of the city. “Something has been troubling me, Tomoyo. Shortly before the Black Wolf took center stage, when Garuda attempted to claim you as her own, I could have sworn I saw...” he trails off for a moment.

“Garuda was empowered by the Light Crystal of Wind,” I tell him quietly. “In at least partially defeating her, I was able to claim it.” I almost say ‘reclaim’ it for some reason, but I’ve never handled the damn things. Unless some of my pre-incarnations have signed up for Warrior of Light shenanigans before? I suppose it’s possible…

“I see,” his eyes are bright. “That means you hold all six elements.”

“What that means, I don’t know,” I warn him. “Maybe it means I can stand at more even footing against the like of Ascians, or maybe it’s just the first step of reaching that power through the Crystal’s…” I wave about for a word. “I dunno. Intent?” I run a hand through my hair, now thoroughly mussed thanks to helmet hair.

He hums, then changes the subject. “Returning to the subject of our earlier discussion, we may consider the matter of the primals closed until further notice. No beast tribe will dare summon their god so long as that weapon exists.” He huffs. “Truly, a more effective deterrent I could not imagine. It almost seems a shame to plot its destruction.”

“Just wait until he turns it into a siege breaker,” Cid points out. “Or worse.” Alphinaud’s own grimace puts paid to that line of thought, thankfully enough.

Because Cid’s a fullblooded Garlean, he needs someone to pull him along with Teleport, so Alphinaud does that while I get Bocco transferred from Gridania to Ul’dah. I let him rest for five minutes after the trip, then teleport once more over to Horizon. The other two rent their own chocobos, and we all ride out to Vesper Bay.

I did wonder how the paradigm would change when Garuda bit it. What a mess.

Chapter Text

If there’s one relatively decent thing about entering the Waking Sands in its present state, it’s that the abandoned base is cool and dark compared to the baking desert. Even when it’s only nine bells in the morning, it’s still getting ridiculously hot.

Cid looks shaken as I poke around the ruins of the storage room. “I…had no idea it was like this,” he says quietly. “The rage and despair you expressed when you came to the church. I understand it now. At least in part.”

I breathe out a sigh. “Yeah.” Still, there’s something odd, but I can’t quite figure out what. Broken crates, pots, damaged vases and the striking dummies are in pieces. But something. Something is out of place and I can’t put my finger on it.

“Does aught strike you as odd?” Alphinaud asks with a low voice as we make our way to the solar.

“Yes, but what?” I counter.

“I see signs of recent habitation and movement,” the Elezen answers, and I tense.

“Wait,” Cid pauses, moving to hold us back, but I grab the back of his collar and pull him behind me as I shift back to Warrior.

“I’m the one with the heavy armor, you’re the one with delicate hands,” I state bluntly. “Let me poke the potential hornet’s nest. We can’t risk you.”

Cid looks as if he’s about to protest, but Alphinaud whispers, “She’s right. Let it be.” So he subsides with minimal grumbling.

I carefully crack open the door to get a peak inside---only to find a familiar figure leaning against the boss’ desk. “Yda?!” I slip up, and she startles upwards.

“Who’s there?!” the fighter springs to her feet, fists ready to fly, but Cid and Alphinaud push past me, and she hesitates. “Alphinaud…Tomoyo!” Then she sees our newest addition and exclaims, “Cid?!”

“Holy shit, please tell me I’m not hallucinating,” I rub a hand against my face. “Or that this is fake.”

“I…” She sounds choked up. “Am I dreaming?” OK, so we’re both rattled. That actually helps settle my nerves about doppelgangers and possession as she sniffs.

“Not that I'm aware of!” the older man shakes his head, smiling. “It's been a while, Yda.”

The poor woman’s knees give out, and I’m quick to get to her side and give her a hug as a few tears drop. “I...I don't believe it,” she croaks. “I was sure you'd been…”

“We’re alright,” I tell her soothingly, and strong arms hold me tight enough to make my ribs protest a little even through the armor before she lets go. I don’t look her way as she reaches under her mask to wipe away her eyes, and then she stands up, and I with her.

“This place has seen better days,” Cid looks around the trashed office, perhaps trying to give Yda a subject to grasp on.

“Uh...you know, I wasn't actually here when,” she swallows and shivers slightly. “I-I was still in talks at the Adders' Nest. The first I knew about it was when I came back, and...and I saw...”

“Same with me and the Maelstrom,” I say quietly. “I found the bodies and…” I take a breath. “Well.”

She nods. “The church had taken care of the bodies at that point---” So she came later, after I’d helped remove the corpses, “---but that still left...the stains.” She rubs her arms. “I-It was hard to know where to start...if Y'shtola hadn't been here to help me---”

“Y'shtola is here too?” Alphinaud asks as I perk up.

“Yes,” Yda nods. “But she's not here right now. She's gone to Ul'dah to meet a man who might know what happened to the others.”

“So that’s…Biggs, Wedge, Thancred, and Papalymo who are still missing,” I mutter. “I remember seeing Minfilia, Urianger, and Tataru getting taken when the Echo kicked in, but the vision moved so quickly, I just couldn’t…retain much more.”

“Papalymo and Minfilia weren't among the dead, according to the church,” Yda says. “Y'shtola thinks they were taken somewhere.”

“Hrm, so Papalymo might’ve been taken prisoner too?” I frown. “Not good…but not the worst either.”

“Taken upon the orders of the Black Wolf, no doubt,” Alphinaud states.

Cid looks to him with a frown. “Why would he want them?”

“Because they possess something he desires: knowledge of another power that can be brought to bear against the primals─one that Gaius has yet to harness,” the kid answers. “The Echo.”

I hiss between my teeth. “That’s right, that bitch was looking for me too. But Minfilia gave herself up to try and prevent the others from getting killed.”

Alphinaud nods. “Gaius will be aware of its existence, as well as the immunity it grants the gifted to the primals' influence. Powerful though his Allagan weapon may be, he would doubtless desire such protection.”

“We sure the tech’s Allag?” I double check.

“Why else would it resemble Bahamut so?” the kid points out. “And who else once developed such wonders?”

I concede at that; he’s right, of course, but I want to keep the stories straight so I don’t reference something I shouldn’t know yet.

“He means to use Minfilia to gain an understanding of the Echo,” Alphinaud continues. “None of which explains how the Empire came to know the location of the Waking Sands in the first place,” he adds with a frown.

“Well that bit’s obvious,” I shrug. “Someone, either on accident or on purpose, sold us out. Probably not one of the Scions themselves, but how many of the Archons’ contact networks know of this location? One word to the wrong person…” Sure, it was probably Lahabrea being an asshole, but there’s less then zero evidence of that, and Occam’s Razor is very much a thing. Not to mention that stupidity can do just as much damage as deliberate malice.

The teen sighs. “The Empire has shown their hand, and now we must act. It is up to us to rebuild the Scions and save Eorzea. Can I count on you, Yda?” he turns to the young woman.

“Wha---oh, yes! Yes, of course! Whatever you need!” she perks up.

“We can discuss our next move upon Y'shtola's return,” the teen says decisively. “For now, I say we rest.”

“No complaints here,” I roll my neck with a groan. “Lucky that I’m still young enough for all-nighters…”

“Speak for yourself,” Cid sighs as he leans against the desk. “I’m not old, but that young? Not anymore.”

As we middle aged in heart if not in body bitch and moan, we all settle into the solar for at the very least a nap. Finding a good position to keep upwards in case of a rapid response being necessary is awkward with my tail in the way, but eventually I drift into a light REM sleep.

Or at least I did.

Hear… Feel… Think…

I groan mentally even as the Echo pulls me under again; second time in, what, 48 hours? I find myself looking up at the End of Days again for a few seconds, before I’m once more before the mountain that’s Hydaelyn’s true body.

“Bringer of Light,” her voice radiates from everywhere and nowhere, her voice warm and proud. “Brave gatherer of the Crystals… Thy soul burneth bright!”

Yeah, I’ve got the lot. Now what? I ask, a little annoyed at getting woken up for this, but reckoning it’s probably important.

“Ware thee the bearer of the Crimson Brand, for he is the Avatar of Shadow, whom Death attendeth always,” she cautions, and I squint at her.

Unless you’re saying Emet-Selch is active outside of his role of Emperor, I don’t think that’s quite accurate, I point out.

Something bumps against my sense of self, like a poke to the forehead but everything got poked. Alright alright, I’ll hush.

“The Crystal shall be thy salvation─thy blade and shield both,” she states. “Steel thyself, for at the appointed hour, thou shalt stare into the Heart of Darkness.”

…OK, Elidibus showing up early would be pretty bad, I grant. I’ll keep an eye out.

“Go with caution, my child, but fear not─for I am ever with thee.” And with that, I startle awake, and shake my head.

“Urgh…visions are a trip,” I mumble, rubbing at my eyes as I try to convince my body that no, I’m not actually floating or falling. Christ and Crystal, that’s disorienting.

Then the door opens, and I jump to my feet, heart pounding before I realize that Y’shtola’s back.

“Y’shtola!” both Yda and I exclaim, and I just restrain myself from hugging the reserved conjurer.

“Tomoyo,” she greets with a smile. “That you and Alphinaud are safe…and.” She blinks, shock flickering across her face before she regains her composure. “And Cid.” Then the smile returns, brighter. “That we five should meet each other thus defies simple explanation. It is as if the benevolent hand of Master Louisoix guided us still.”

Well, probably Auntie Crystal hip-checking one or two things to prevent events from spiraling too badly---no, wait, he’s Phoenix, he might be able to hip-check things himself too. Huh.

“He would not see us undone so easily. Not now, when the need is so great,” she continues, unaware of my train of thought. Steel returns to her eyes and voice. “I know where Minfilia and the others are being held.”

“Where?” I straighten.

“An imperial stronghold in the heart of Mor Dhona─Castrum Centri.”

That has more than one person hiss in consternation, but I’m frowning as bells ring with nothing answering. “Mor Dhona, Mor Dhona,” I mutter, tapping near the base of one horn. “Didn’t something happen there?” Mor Dhona’s just north of a different part of the Shroud, isn’t it?

“You are recalling the events that saw the great dragon destroy the Imperial Dreadnought Agrius at Silvertear Lake fifteen years ago,” Alphinaud states.

I snap my fingers---well, I would’ve had I not been wearing armor. “Right!” Midgardsormr kicked the Imps’ shit in at the behest of Auntie Crystal. I think it was her that nudged him anyway, but either way, it put paid to that invasion route, as the Dreadnought was a massive investment of resources that they couldn’t replicate even once a decade. Which is why we haven’t seen another one since.

Though it wouldn’t surprise me if Varis finished building another one by the time Heavensward comes around. That’s not going to be fun, if that’s a thing.

“The rescue of our allies will be no small undertaking,” Y’shtola says. “Even under normal circumstances, breaching the defenses of an imperial castrum would be a highly dangerous proposition. But now that Castrum Centri houses prisoners whom the Garleans deem valuable, we may be confident that they have taken additional measures to ensure the stronghold's security. If we are to free our friends, we will require an effective strategy. And if we are to formulate an effective strategy, we will require intelligence.” But then a slight smile crosses her face. “I believe I know a man who may be able to assist us in this: Lord Portelaine of House Durendaire. He is stationed at the Observatorium in Coerthas. Let us go to him, and beseech his aid.”

I blink in surprise. “Wait, Portelaine? I know him!” At Y’shtola’s asking glance, I say, “Well, we’ve got the Enterprise, but we needed help in tracking down where the ship crash landed. So we asked the Observatorium, but that meant getting Portelaine’s approval, and that lead to a bunch of horse trading…” I sigh. “On the down side, politics,” I shudder, and Yda makes a sympathetic noise. “On the upside, I think I’ve gotten the Scions’ foot in the door of every High House except for Dzemael, so…yay?” I finish uncertainly.

Y’shtola smirks. “No small feat,” she says. “But then, nothing is ever small with you.”

I groan and cover my face with my hands. “It’s not like I wanted to get involved, it’s just one thing led to another and another and---wait.” I cut myself off and stare hard at Alphinaud and Cid. “Winter gear. We’re not going to Coerthas without you two dressing properly this time!”

“It’s the height of summer!” Alphinaud protests. “And your cloak served well enough.”

“You nearly got frostbite last time!” I fire back. “And Cid---”

“I will manage well enough with a cloak,” he says, very little compromise in his voice. “Your concerns have merit, my friend, but time is our enemy. Find a little something more for young Alphinaud, but then we must go.”

I squint at him. “Your constitution had better be that good,” I grouse. “Hypothermia’s no small thing to fight with.”

“As bad as Coerthas can be, the capital of Garlemald is worse,” he promises with a shake of his head.

…Oooooh. Right, they’re well above equator compared to Eorzea; the lack of complete world maps means I’m not sure how high their latitude is, but it’s probably around or above the 45^th parallel. I sigh and give in. Right…I think I know where we can get warm, if not perfectly fitting gear for Alphinaud in short order. “Y’shtola, you met Kaede,” I turn to her and pull out one of the money bags given to me. Seeing the gold coins versus the silver I usually deal with is…intimidating, but I pick out about 3000 gil worth of money. “She promised to make me some heavy winter gear, and as Alphinaud is only an ilm shorter than me it should fit fine. If you’re willing to swing by Limsa and pick it up, pass on what she’ll accept and keep the change.”

“And you cannot go yourself?” the conjurer raises a brow.

I wince. “She knows exactly what to say to guilt me into staying, and there’s a dozen reasons why that’s a bad idea. She knows you’re my co-worker, but doesn’t know you near as well to do the same.”

“This is not truly necessary,” Alphinaud tries to insist, and I make to try and address multiple concerns at once.

“If you’re worried about the clothing being too feminine, that only applies to formal wear of which I’ve got the grand total of one set back home,” I start. “She’s well aware this needs to be gear that holds up in the field, and…look, on our way out of Coerthas the first time, your fingers and ears were just starting to turn blue. I’d really, really like to avoid a repeat. Please?”

That I make absolutely no effort to hide my worry has the kid very reluctantly subsiding. “Two bells,” he finally concedes. “If Y’shtola cannot retrieve the gear before that, we must move on.”

“I agree,” the conjurer nods, and I give in.

“Two bells,” I support. “I need a new axe anyway,” I shrug off the blade my father made for me. “Not sure what Garuda did, but one more fight like that and the head will shatter.” I had a feeling this would happen sooner or later, but it still hurts to replace the weapon when we don’t have the time to get it repaired.

“Mmmm, food, water, weapons, cloaks, supplies…” Yda ticks her fingers. “How about we all meet back here in two bells?”

Once we get it verified that it’s about 1 in the afternoon, the Scions scatter to get prepared for the next leg of our journey. I definitely could’ve used more sleep, but time is of the essence, and I’ve been wanting to rescue the others for two weeks now. It’s about time we’ve gotten the chance.

If nothing else, my work in Coerthas means I can shell out for a buccaneer’s bardiche when I move through Ul’dah’s shopping districts in order to find a good weapon. Something of mythril make would’ve been nice, but I save that for the armor. I’ve just enough vanity not to spring for high armor (not to mention that’d mean switching out Gorge’s gifts, which no), so I go for the lighter haubergeon; the plate is steel, but the chain is mythril which will catch most projectiles and blades trying to go for under the arm or for the joints.

I also stock up on more mundane rations and medical supplies now that my party has grown to five, and get Bocco transferred over to Dragonhead so we can make the (relatively) short trip to the Observatorium. Seriously, why does that tower not have its own aetheryte? Seems either lazy or cheap, if it’s that important to Ishgard’s war against the dragons.

Bah. I can always ask later.

I’m back at the Sands before three bells, and Y’shtola returns not long after, a bundle in her hands.

“The seamstress has asked that you send word sooner rather than later,” the conjurer says primly, and I wince a little.

“After we figure out who sold us out and how the Garleans grabbed everyone,” I say.

The package has a thick fur lined cloak of earthy colors, with careful stitching in silver on the inside that shows Ma took the time to take it to a specialist for enchanting. Not cheap, and I’m extra glad I sent so much money her way. Hell, I might’ve underpaid her, and as soon as Thancred’s not being puppeted about, I fully intend to swing by and make sure both my parents are properly renumerated.

Alphinaud doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with the gift, but as that represented my biggest stickler for the next mission, accepts it easily enough. Yda’s already kitted out for cooler weather, wearing a bodysuit of some kind under her usual outfit, and Y’shtola also has her own stormcloak for bad weather.

With that done, it’s a quick teleport that gets us to Dragonhead, and onto the next leg of our quest.

Nothing seems to have changed when we get to the Observatorium via rented and owned chocobos, and Portelaine’s happy enough to see us, especially as it seems Drillemont’s passed along that I’d been a part of the Scions when I’d been meddling in his territory. He and Y’shtola go back a bit, and keeping an eye on Imperial activity from the south is apparently a part of his remit here.

He gives us a letter of introduction when we tell him exactly what we’re after. Not only does he confirm that people matching Minfilia, Tataru, Urianger, and Paplymo have been seen getting escorted to that region, but another event has kicked up a fuss hardly an hour ago; an imperial airship went down not too far from House Dzemael’s territory out here in the highlands, which might have a lead for our investigations. My heart is in my throat when I hear this; the worst case scenario of the Imperials transferring everyone out to Garlean territory flashes through my head, and I once more feel the clocking ticking against us as we get ready to head west.

Y’shtola knows this area better than I, and I’ve got no problems with letting her take point as we head to what’s apparently an underground fortress that belongs to Dzemael. We don’t enter, but then, we don’t need to because the knight to whom the letter is addressed to tells us that a pair of prisoners had busted out of the airship when it’d touched down not a bell ago, with Imps hot on their heels.

He's got no descriptions for us, but one of his men does when we’re bounced over to the Aurum Vale. One big prisoner, and one very small.

“Biggs and Wedge,” Cid and I say at the same time. The two had tried to get further into the Vale when the knight had been away, but weren’t able to break through the gate securing it, so they’ve sprigganed off elsewhere.

Now, by necessity, we all split up to find any trace of the two engineers; Y’shtola’s a confident tracker, Yda not far behind her in ability, and Cid’s used to the cold, but my experience in winter conditions and Alphinaud…well. There’s a reason my area is kept from the Vale to the river, with the kid’s being as big on the other end of the canyon we’re in.

It’s a good thing it’s high summer to be honest. Coerthas isn’t warm by on any level, but it means we’ve got more sunlight than last month that should give us another…three hours or so for the search? Granted, Biggs and Wedge might not have that time, but it’s better than nothing.

I almost dismiss the tracks for chinchilla or rabbit prints when I first see them. Would have, had it not been for evidence of a small body tripping over something and falling face first before they picked themselves up and continued on towards the river.

Wedge.

I remind myself not to rush as I stalk through the snow; it hasn’t snowed yet, but the clouds crawling in over the sky could change that in short order, and the tracks of one doesn’t indicate where the other has gone. I lose them when I hit the shores of the river not too far from a low bridge that’d been built over it, but I don’t need preternatural senses to pick up the rapid clickclickclick of chattering teeth coming from under the stone work.

“Wedge?” I whisper, not wanting to spook the poor Lalafell. “It’s Tomoyo, we’re here to rescue you.”

A panicked squeak comes from under the bridge. “P-please don’t eat me, I promise I’m not tasty---w-wait.”

I duck my head under, seeing the shivering engineer, and I’m glad I got the helmet glamour working; those silly horns likely would’ve startled what life’s left in the poor man right out of his body.

“Tomoyo?” he gapes at me for a moment.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking for you and Biggs, along with the others,” I say. “Need any help to get out of there? Can you feel your toes and fingers?”

“N-no frostbite yet,” he chatters as he craws out from the corner he’d tucked himself into. “But I’m not…oh, Tomoyo, it was awful!” I can hear the tears in his voice even as he forces his goggles up to wipe at his eyes.

“I don’t doubt it,” I say gently. “Let me call Bocco, there’s a tower not far from here we can take shelter in, I’ve made some friends here in Coerthas on accident a while ago.”

A short, sharp whistle from the one I’d been given by the Maelstrom requisitions officer---two and half weeks ago? No, closer to a month than not---has Bocco bolting to my side, warking happily.

I get Wedge situated at the front, then curl my cloak around him to try and warm the poor man up some; conjury can do a lot of work, but frost bite is not especially suited for this field of magic. Still, I manage to help him cycle his aether to at least keep his temperature stable as we start making our way to the tower at the end of the canyon.

“So, good news,” I say over the sound of crushed snow and the biting breeze. “We found Cid. He lost his memory after Carteneau, but the Echo was useful for once and helped him regain the broad spectrum of what he lost.”

“Wait, Master Garlond?” he exclaims, slightly muffled under my cloak.

“The one and the same,” I say cheerfully. “He’s pretty cool, I like him a lot. Oh, wait, he’s got a linkpearl, I forgot that!”

I tap into the ‘peal. “Cid, it’s Tomoyo. I found Wedge. No sign of Biggs yet. We’re heading to the tower at the end of the gorge here, it’s the closest shelter from where we’re at.”

“He-he went off in a different direction,” Wedge pipes up. “To try and lure off our pursuers.”