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Mahri took to the walkways of Limsa Lominsa at night. Since she got here (even before she met up with Jack), it’d been a habit. No, “habit” didn’t quite hit the right chord. The action was a ritual. It superseded her ritual facepaint, not wanting to be recognized by her signature black bandit stripe.
She’d hit the walkways every night, always around the eve’s seventh bell, and wander through the city. It’d be a new experience every night, even if she’d pass through the area before, and that newness was terrifying and addicting all at once.
This night, she found a performance out on the stone walkway’s circular-cut close to the Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss’s building out in the docks. Mahri stood up on a wood-and-rope bridge up above, watching the dancers sway and listening to the music play. She closed her eyes, humming along a bit to the tune.
“Ye’ve got a good sway there, cat.”
Mahri’s eyes snapped open, and she looked to her left. She saw a roegadyn woman, tall and bold at the base of the bridge. Slowly, curiously, Mahri approached.
“Thank you,” she replied quietly.
The roegadyn woman shook her head. “Nay, the bird doesn’t thank the bard for complimentin’ ‘er plumage, does she? Stop slouchin’, kid, eyes up at me.”
Mahri stood up straighter. “Ah, um, sorry-”
“Oh Oschon, preserve me tits,” the woman exhaled all at once. She looked Mahri straight in the eyes. “Kid, ‘ow long ‘ave ye had this sway with fire?”
Mahri stood up even straighter. “How-”
“Eyrikhra Glazitarwyn, at yer service.” She posed, shoulders back, bold and resilient. “Any nicknames, and I’ll punt ye into the next Calamity, savvy?”
“... what?” Mahri blinked. “Um...Ember, I guess.”
“Cute, did yer parents name ye that because you belched fire as a wee kitten, or is that the fakest, most cardpaper name ye give to strangers at night?” Eyrikhra smirked viciously down at Mahri.
“It’s a nickname of mine,” Mahri answered, frowning. “For reasons that you’ve, somehow, observed.”
Eyrikhra gestured at one of the nearby lamps. “Oil lamps, kitten. Guess what they’re lit by?”
Mahri paled. “I’ve better control than-”
“Fire in ‘em was swayin’ the same way ye were,” she replied. “Same timing too. Right to the tune. If that dance company’s smart, they’ll say they did it on purpose. Now, I study aether and its flow. Ye wouldn’t think it, what with all this-” Eyrikhra gestured at herself in a brandish way “-that I had enough energy left over to build a brain, but ta-da.”
“So, what are you offering?”
Eyrikhra raised an eyebrow. “Who says I’m offering anythin’?”
Mahri crossed her arms. “At yer service,” she parrotted in a close-but off mimicry of Eyrikhra. She furrowed her eyebrows at the tall woman. “What. Do. You. Want?”
Eyrikhra put her hands up. “Mutual beneficial arrangement. I study your stuff, and we turn that study into better control. Sound good?”
“Why on Llymlaen’s blue sea should I trust you?” Mahri asked.
Eyrikhra shrugged. “Because I’ve got the same shite as you.”
Mahri blinked. “What.”
“Well, I think it’s th’ same,” Eyrikhra amended. “Uncle taught me the ways of them Ala Mhigan monks when I was a wee lass, but it went sideways—affected the aether too far around me. What should’ve been that bit that monks do to up their speed in a fight turned into me makin’ dust devils. Went on a damn quest to figure out why.”
“Did you ever find out?”
“Nope.”
Mahri blinked again. “No?”
“Nope,” Eyrikhra answered. “Because it became too important to figure out ‘ow it worked ov’r why it was here. Ye know how it feels, to have damn invisible muscles that could hurt anyone ‘round you without so much as a conscious thought from ye, don’t you?”
“...my ears smoke if I get overwhelmed,” Mahri answered, looking down at the bridge they were standing on. “I...I have nightmares of what’ll happen if something like that happens when I’m not in control.”
“I get too pissed, I shake walls a bit,” Eyrikhra replied. “Never brought down any buildin’s, but...th’ fear always ‘aunted me a bit. S’why I had to stop looking for a why.”
Mahri sighed. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Mahri shrugged helplessly. “Let’s...do this. This thing you’ve proposed.” She squawked when Eyrikhra scooped her up and whooped.
“This,” Eyrikhra replied, “is m’ workshop.”
Mahri looked around the space. It was somehow both messy and tidy at the same time. It was tucked into a small, refurbished warehouse in the Moraby Bay docks.
“Crew’s all out today, but Oddball should be about. ODDBALL!”
“Shout louder and the horses in the Steppe will hear you, ma’am,” a clipped, deadpan voice answered. A xaela not much taller than Mahri stepped out from a filing cabinet, navy blue skin and scales a marked contrast to the rather mundane shirt and suspenders she wore.
“Odny Kha, I’m in charge of Ms. Glazitarwyn’s papers.” She adjusted her glasses. “I edit them so that not even the academics in Sharlayan can say shit.”
“Damn right!” Eyrikhra wrapped an arm around Odny’s shoulders. “Oddball’s a miracle, straight from the Azim Steppe! She also contacts folks to get ‘em published in accessible places too. Damn good hands with magitek too. But we ain’t here for a meet ‘n greet, we’re ‘ere f’ TESTIN’!”
A bit of testing later with various magitek tools, and Eyrikhra had one thing to say.
“Feck, ain’t seen anythin’ like this ‘fore.”
Mahri chewed on a bit of beef jerky. “Then, you can’t help me?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that just yet,” Eyrikhra replied. “S’just a difference of what’s happenin’. I do too much outward reach and snatch the air by its balls, but what yer doin’ seems to go from a bit in ye that other fire aether recognizes. Real shite recognize real shite, savvy?”
“That...lines up with what others have said, from their observations.”
“Good, means I’m not shitting crazy bricks over here with these readin’s.” Eyrikhra hummed. “Can’t hurt to try my method on your shite. Call it an experiment.”
“Okay?” Mahri finished her bit of jerky. “What does your method entail?”
“Ye ever ‘ear of Thavnair?”
Mahri racked her brain. All she could remember was seeing the name on a map. “Kind of.”
“Big city, lots of culture, but the relevant bit ‘ere is Kriegstanz,” Eyrikhra replied. “It’s this practice, very hush-hush, that uses aether to manipulate folks to feel better like a magic antidepressant. Never saw it personally, so I dunno how well it works. I’ve got books on it, though, which has got the theory down well enough.”
“So you do Kriegstanz?”
Eyrikhra laughed. And laughed. And laughed until she doubled over.
“Feck no,” Eyrikhra answered finally, still chuckling a bit. “I wouldn’t touch shite like that, manipulatin’ others’ aether to get at their emotions, for lotta reasons. It’s ethically questionable shite and not to be fiddled with lightly. Proper teachers and lessons to even approach that kind of thing. Plus, I’ve no interest in that sort of effect. But the theory behind it, the manipulating aether with physical movements.” She snapped her fingers a couple of times. “That was my starting point. Not like there’re any red mages for me to talk to about their stuff, rest their souls.” She clapped her hands, and a breeze followed each of her movements. “So! I have Atemstanz. Dance of the Wind. We’re going to try to make ye a Feuertanz. Dance of th’ Flame. There’s already somethin’ in you that’s having fire move when you’re not thinking ‘bout it, so I think it won’t be too hard to start the thinking version.” She rolled her shoulders back. “Just...lots. Lots of trial ‘nd error.”
“So...where do we start?” Mahri asked.
“How about a little-”
“Graduation night, kid, how’re we feelin’?”
Mahri looked up at Eyrikhra. “I feel ridiculous.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” Eyrikhra nodded sagely. “That’s the point o’ th’ get up.”
Mahri looked down at her exposed midriff. “I don’t get this.”
“S’all about the long con, Rhivesa,” Eyrikhra replied quietly. “Ye said ye didn’t want folks recognizing you. Between the mask, the hood, and the sex appeal, nobody’ll recognize ye.”
“Wait-”
“‘fore ye get yer knickers in a twist, no, I ain’t sayin’ ye don’t look good normally. But ye dress conservatively, which is fine that’s yer style. Which is exactly th’ point of flippin’ yer style on its head fer a costume. ‘sides, ye still have trousers. Yer not even showin’ cleavage. ‘nd I didn’t take ye for an Ishgardian-lite to be so conservative t’be so shy about showin’ off yer damn fine calves.”
Mahri flushed under her domino mask and crossed her arms over her chest. “Let’s get this stress test over with.”
“That’s a very adjacent spirit, kid.” Eyrikhra pulled them out into the main walkway and pushed her out into Hawker’s Alley’s center. She whistled. Her crew, hidden amongst the crowd, pulled into a “spontaneous” band.
People pulled away from Mahri, forming a ring around her as the music began to play, and she began to sing. “I am the firebird!” Two-step, her anklet was jingling in time with the drums. “I am his daughter!” Another two-step. “I am the firebird's child! I am a firebird! I am his daughter! And like the flame, I am wild-wild-wild-wild! WILD!”
“I am the firebird! I am his daughter! I am the firebird's child! I am a firebird, the boldest song you've ever heard Join in the dance, and make it wild, wild, wild! Join in the dance and make it wild!”
Mahri swayed, following through dance steps and sheer instinct. It wasn’t like this was a planned, choreographed showcase: this was an improvised affair from top to bottom. The only thing practiced was the song; she knew the lyrics, she knew the beat, but the decision of what moves to do was entirely hers to choose. She had to listen to the flame in her and make the flame around her listen to it.
She extended a chakram out, and a small ball of flame formed within the ring of magitek. The crowd could be heard in hush awe around her under the music, like rabbits’ feet under the brush. She flipped the chakram into the air, the fireball following it. She caught it, and the fire dripped onto her hand like a syrup.
“To see a maiden dance around a fire is not so strange, but fire dances round the limbs of this uncommon maid!” She swang her hands, the fire extending from one hand to the other. It felt like a blanket; it didn’t tear into her. “Real shite recognizes real shite” indeed. “Be brave enough to burn, and you'll be brave enough to fly!”
She felt a characteristic cold sweep over the crowd, and she instinctively followed it to see a set of moon-silver eyes lit in pale purple. Arkas was leaned against a wall, outside of the crowd, tall enough to see her over it from his small perch.
“Join your sister Solace as she lights the morning sky!” She threw both chakrams into the sky, the fire following them up, and forming a bird in the sky as she twirled her arms. She went through the chorus again, the firebird she made flittering around her as she gyred through step by step.
“Wonders of the water, air, and earth are all the same. You'll never know a wonder like the wonders of the flame!” The bird landed on the ground, forming a circle around her. She did a quick one-two step, the fire moving to her feet. It began to crawl up her as she raised her arms, settling onto her back before spreading wings of flame swept from her. “Freely fly as what you are and never walk in shame! You must not fear to blister if you'd live a life in flame! I am girl and firebird, and Solace is my name!” The chorus was becoming easy as breathing, even as she had to maneuver with the wings.
“If you're brave enough to dance, then you are brave enough to fly! Forget what's right and proper!” She felt Arkas’s icy aura strengthen, and she welcomed it with a smile, letting it help her balance her awareness of her flames. “You won't know until you try! If you're brave enough to fly, then you are brave enough to burn!” She threw her hands and chakrams into the air, the fire following the movement. It landed in front of her as a contained sphere on the ground. “Take my hand and join me in the Carnival of Dawn!”
Mahri swayed towards the flame, and it swayed back, swiftly forming into the silhouette of a woman. The two danced around each other through the chorus’s next repetition, separate but twins in movement and beat.
As the drums began to slow like a heartbeat, Mahri reached a hand out to the flame. “Sister, will you follow me?” She hid a gasp of surprise as the flame shook its head. She reached inside of herself, doing a quick pirouette. “Sister, will you dance with me?” The flame shook its head, and Mahri felt her anxiety rise as she could hear the crowd muttered. “Sister, will you follow me?” The flame shook its head again and Mahri could see it settle into a pose she knew all too well.
It was one she did when she was anxious. Didn’t know to trust. Apprehensive.
Mahri took a deep inhale. “Sister Sorrow, walk with me!” She closed the space between them and took the flame’s hands. Something clicked within her. She smiled from ear to ear, singing (off-pitch now, but couldn’t find it in herself to care enough to stop smiling), “Like a flame, you must be wild...I am a firebird.”
The fire seemed to stare at her a moment before losing shape and climbing over her limbs. For all that was rational, Mahri’s voice should have been as off-pitch as it had been for that brief moment (grinning did not make for a good forge of sounds when singing), but something in her was helping. That beat of acceptance — Twelve, they’d chosen the firebird because of Flicker, her aetherial mutation coming from a literal firebird bennu and for how famous legends of firebirds are throughout the star, but that clicking...what did this mean? She tried not to focus on it as she went through the chorus again. This experience wasn’t about the why right now; this was about control. And she was thriving in that.
“You must not fear to blister if you'd live a life in flame!” She stopped her feet, spreading her arms. The wings extended again. “Freely fly as what you are, keep dancing just the same!” She threw her chakrams into the air once more, and the flame followed. She clapped, and the fire dissipated into the air like fireworks. “You'll never know a wonder like the wonders of the flame! I am girl and firebird, and Solace is my name!”
Mahri caught her chakrams as they came back down, panting. She looked at the crowd. She squirmed. So much attention...this much usually meant bad things, should she run? But then...the damnedest thing happened.
The crowd began to cheer.
She stood, arms slack, eyes wide, as she could hear whoops and hollers. The next bits blurred, as the shock hit. She could remember Eyrikhra’s voice telling people where to leave their gil, Odny’s gentle hands as she led Mahri out through back alleys and back into the warehouse, Odny helping her change back into her clothes.
“...that was all me,” Mahri muttered at one point as Odny wiped the makeup from her face.
Odny had smiled and nodded. “It was.”
Mahri couldn’t sleep the rest of that night. She prowled the streets of Limsa well into the dawn, finding a perch on top of the Aftcastle.
“I would have expected the firebird to be back in her nest by now,” Arkas’s voice came from behind her.
She flipped him off tiredly. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“I imagine the adrenaline was a lot.”
“Mmmmhmmm.” She put her hand down into her lap.
She felt more than saw him as he sat next to her. “Did you write that song?”
“No,” Mahri answered. “Brainstormed, answered questions, but that wasn’t me.”
“It’d require you to have more self-awareness than you currently have, I suppose.”
Mahri turned and shoved a hand against his shoulder, to playfully shove him. He didn’t move an ilm. “Twelve grant me patience...”
“Has it become a sore topic to point out that you are utterly terrified of letting people see you as you are?” Arkas asked. His voice was more genuine than Mahri could handle right now. “Though, I suppose the costume should have been a giveaway that you are still hiding.”
“Yes, Arkas, I am hiding,” Mahri replied. “The minute people don’t think I’m normal; I’ll be run out and hunted down.”
“What proof do you have of that? Why not...how did you put it...” Arkas settled his hands on his knees, tapping his fingers to an unheard but recognizable beat. “Why not freely fly as what you are?”
“Please see my statement of run out and/or hunted down,” Mahri answered, running a hand through her hair. “I bet it’s easy for you. You have somewhere always to belong. I don’t. It’s my responsibility to stay mild, appear mundane, keep people comfortable. Individuals are exceptions, but groups of people have a habit of seeing something different and then getting scared. Rightfully scared. I’ve a weapon that I can’t put down.”
She pointed down at the Yellowjacket standing watch below them, unaware of them being up here. “That guy? He can hang up his axe whenever, giveaway his pistol. Me? I sneeze wrong, and there won’t just be mucus in the air. And that’ll never stop. Cordelja and now Eyrikhra both say, from two highly different practices of scholarly study of aether, if I try to get rid of this, I will die.” She snorted. “Most folks with aether aspected with too much of one element physically mutate, and I’m the lucky-unlucky bitch who doesn’t fully aesthetically mutate-” she gestured to her orange hairstreaks “-but gets to be too healthy to the point of it being too messy to revert it back.”
“That’s because this is what you are now,” Arkas replied. “Always risky, changing what you are.”
“Well.” Mahri sighed. “It’s more like the classic conjurer’s conundrum.” She started gesturing with her hands to emphasize her points. “Guy damages his eye in a fight and a conjurer could, in theory, heal that. But it gets trickier over time, right? The guy maybe hurt it out on the sea ages ago, and his mates gave him an eyepatch. His whole state of being, his ability to see, restructures itself around only having that one fully functioning eye. The conjurer heals the other eye and, suddenly, the guy has worse sight than before. Because his body, the minuscule muscles in his eyes, readjusted to only one eye. So having both now is fucky-wucky because he’s gotta retrain himself to have both eyes again. The whole process is so delicate that most conjurers, if they’re smart, don’t even try the whole thing and just let the guy have his eyepatch.”
“Your body has restructured itself to the fire magic-” Arkas paused, correcting himself “-fire aether in you.”
“Yep. The weird thing is is that, by all rights, fire aether’s not supposed to act like this. By classical Sharlayan study, fire burns, consumes, turns stuff to ash. This variant is helping and healing.”
Arkas hummed. “When I was about...let’s call it the equivalent of a child,” Arkas began, “my mother threw me out of our home.”
Mahri frowned. “Why?”
“She didn’t say.” He looked out over the rosy fingers of dawn as they touched the sky. “She threw me onto a planet- a star in the middle of a continent-wide fire. Coast to coast, it all burned the same: the forests, the grasslands, the buildings, even some of the lakes. I tried to stop it.”
“Did you?”
Arkas laughed. “No. I was a child. An arrogant child-”
“That hasn’t changed.”
“-but a child.” Arkas reached over and ruffled Mahri’s hair between her ears. “She left me there long enough that I could look out over the land afterward. I saw life bloom again.”
Mahri frowned. “How?”
“Life always finds a way, no matter the obstacles,” Arkas answered. “I was there long enough that I could see that this new life was taller. Stronger. Hardier. My grandfather found me at that point and brought me home.”
“Did he say why your mother threw you out?”
“Yes, because she’s a bitch.” Arkas simply shrugged at Mahri’s dropped jaw. “I learned a lesson regardless, even if she never intended to teach me one.” He held his hand out to her, and she slowly put her hand inside his. Her lithe, spindly fingers brushed against his callused ones. “Fire may burn. It may destroy. But by that breakdown into raw energy, life flourishes.” He curled his fingers around hers. “It may be feared, but fire always finds a home within every household for its warmth, for its renewing energy.”
Mahri felt tears well up in her eyes. “Arkas-”
“Keep warm, Mahri.” Arkas wrapped an arm around her, more as an invitation to sway against him than a command. “Don’t fear it. Be it. Be you.”
Mahri leaned against him and began to cry. He held her until she finally, finally, fell asleep.