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By the time they reach Urianger’s home in Il Mheg, the light might still burn in the sky, but each of their bodies burned for rest. The structure was not built for guests, and so Thancred and Alphinaud ended up sharing Urianger’s room. At the same time, Mahri found herself with Alisae and Minfillia (or, as Mahri stubbornly called her, Minifillia) in the house’s sole guestroom.
Alisae fell into her bedroll; the second everything was settled, the young elezen began snoring like a snarling beast.
Mahri had put her bedroll close to the door, on edge, and wanting to take advantage of her light sleeping to be a security system of sorts. Minifillia had claimed space nearby her, something that surprised her.
“Mahri?” the young girl’s voice whispered, the light airy note cutting through Alisae’s snoring.
Mahri looked over, her eyes meeting with hauntingly familiar shades of blue. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“Is it...” Minifillia snaked one of her hands to the back of her neck, a nervous tick Mahri knew from one Thancred Waters. “Is it alright if I ask you something that might be...a little personal?”
“As long as I get the right to say no,” Mahri answered, “I don’t see why not. Shoot.”
Minifillia asked, slowly, like a baby lizard taking its first steps after hatching. “How do you keep going? With everything going on?”
“Well, for one, because my life’s always been like this,” Mahri answered. “I’ve never known anything but chaos.”
“Really?”
“Despite what Thancred might say in moments of deep self-deprecation,” Mahri answered, “he’s not responsible for my life getting like this. If it wasn’t this, it’d be running from the guy who thinks he’s my dad and wants to use me as a weapon.” Mahri hummed. “An experience you might find deeply relatable.”
Minifillia shuffled, scratching the back of her neck again but with her other hand this time. “...a little bit.”
“I still would have tangled with Ifrit, one way or another,” Mahri replied. “That one was all but inevitable. Not destined, just y’ know, it lines up with a couple of different MOs there.” Mahri ran a hand through her orange-flecked hair and sighed. “Actual advice, though?”
Minifillia sat up a little straighter, moving her bedroll closer to Mahri’s.
“Big thing is to don’t just say optimistic shit just to say it.” Mahri huffed. “It’s not kindness. Unless you truly believe you can back it up, you’re just saying hot air and taking up dialogue space where real solutions could be. However, that’s not to discount the power of running your words.” Mahri gestured with her hands a box-like shape. “Words shape folks if there are two things behind them: a plan and weight. You figure out the balance between hot air and actual good shit, and then it’ll help.”
“You keep going because of words?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Mahri asked. “Thancred up and called me a hero, then I became one because everyone kept saying it. There are expectations. And, hells, someone has to do all this saving and galavanting and dirty work to keep the world around us working. If someone wants to be pretty about it, call me a hero and shit, that’s their wasted energy on me. But those pretty words around me? The Warrior of Light and shit? It gives people hope. And I don’t want to take that away from them, just because I don’t agree with the pretty words.” She huffed. “Sunk cost fallacy is why I’m here, I guess.”
Minifillia smiled softly as if realizing the punchline to a joke Mahri had just told. “That and you care, right?”
Mahri laid back on her bedroll. “I care way too much, kid.”