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She longed for the warmth of a fire-lit hearth, a gentle incense, a room illuminated only by candlelight. The sounds of wind carrying a heavy, powdery snowfall would creep through the otherwise quiet room, barely audible over the crackling of the fire. Sounds she once thought to be unsettling would be of a comfort, a reminder that she was somewhere safe. Snuggled in the plush lounge chair, with a thick woolen cover over her lap and a good book - no, good company - and a lovely, strong red wine. Perhaps even something sweet.
It was a scene she yearned for, something to keep her going even in the depths of dark despair. She had travelled half the breadth of the world, had seen so many amazing, unbelievable sights and cultures, and yet nowhere had felt like the home that Ishgard had become. Her actions there hadn’t just been the work of the Warrior of Light - it had been the work of Celeste Saika, a lone Auri woman, a woman with a personal, invested interest. A woman who wanted to give back the kindness and respect that hadn’t just been shown to her, but to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn as well.
The Lord Commander too, though he was perhaps a special case. She had taken a fondness for him that had edged passed the line of friendship so long ago, she had forgotten when it began. When she looked at him, her chest constricted, her stomach flipped, and it took all of her might not to drag him into a corner and confess everything , even though she didn’t need to, even though she knew it was pointless, even though they’d had that conversation already .
‘Not yet, not yet…’ She had said to him one night, voice cracking and quiet, her shoulders tense. She had wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms. The urge yet lingered.
It wasn’t a game of playing hard to get or anything of the sort, it was a concern of safety, of neutrality, of her duties and his . Her duties had kept her away from Eorzea with nary time for herself, despite her wishes and longing for respite, his kept him almost perpetually trapped in his office, consumed by work for Ishgard, the Temple Knights, the Eorzean Alliance. Instead, their all too fleeting conversations had been in letters that took months to travel back and forth from the edges of the world. They were as quick as a moogle could move across the planes of Hydaelyn; memoirs of adventures, travails, gossip, of things she could convey to him and no other. Every one was a treasure.
Even now that she was back in Eorzea she wasn’t at rest. She was at an encampment on the edge of the Ghimlyt Dark - the land passage between Ala Mhigo and the Empire. Whether it due to an aetherial imbalance, or something otherworldly, it remained dark as its namesake. Trenches, combat magitek, fences and magical barriers littered the barren land. There was always some kind of fire in the distance, the scent of smoke hanging heavy and low in a futile attempt to mask the scent of blood and death.
The moon wasn’t visible, and even the stars refused to show themselves. Were it not for the light of magic and magitek -- and the perpetual fire on the horizon -- the area would be encapsulated in darkness. Perhaps, once, she would’ve felt fear at the sight. In the distance she could see soldiers, could hear the clanging of metal on metal, the sounds of gunshots and large, armoured automatons, the telltale sounds of powerful, potent magic being cast. Injured soldiers struggled, others yet carried the bodies of their fallen comrades.
Where other men and women wavered, she remained stalwart. Where other men and women refused to look at the devastation, Celeste was consumed by it. It lit a fire in her heart that she had thought had long since gone out; the desire to protect, the desire to save, the desire to see no more destruction and death.
The reports of sightings of Zenos from the scouts did little more than sharpen her resolve. Of the leaders of the Alliance and high ranking soldiers, there was none among them that could hope to stave off the Garlean Prince should he decide to attack in earnest. She would rather they didn’t even take the risk - the onus to protect them was on her . There was nothing any normal person could do against a monster like Zenos, Ascian in his body or not.
Only a weapon of light could hope to defeat or forstall a weapon of darkness.
It wouldn’t be a repeat of Rhalgr’s Reach or Yanxia. This time, she wouldn’t be working with a soul stone that was cut in half, half deprived of its aether. This time, she wouldn’t be working with a soul filled with despair and grief. This time, she had the resolve, the strength. This time, she had come to terms with her demons.
Still she dwelled. Despite everything, she felt herself faltering for just a moment, her thoughts wandering to places they shouldn’t. She knew what she had to do: what she always did. The battlefield was where she was most comfortable, where her prowess as tactician and fighter shined, where she danced . It was a violent means to an end, and yet she delighted in it -- in the time between the seconds, in the moment between life and death, she felt a rush. The satisfaction of saving those in need was her motive, and the resulting saved lives an encouragement to keep going .
She wanted battle, yet she wanted peace. She wanted to save people, yet she would condemn others to death without hesitation. She wanted him , yet she was beholden to her neutrality, to her duties as the Warrior of Light.
Her eyes closed. She stilled her breathing. Once more, she allowed her dreams to take hold, to give her something to live for, to fight for, to die for, that wasn’t just mere survival, or the future of Eorzea, or whatever nation hinged their survival on her that moment.
Instead, she imagined a future of peace and quiet, of hope and love and a sweet sanguine wine.