Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"The crux of the matter is that Eorzea simply lacks the vision to see beyond their immediate troubles to the greater pattern beyond."

Alisaie rolled her eyes at her brother's speech, lying back on the bed in his dormitory room to stare at the ceiling. "The crux of the matter, dear brother, is that this is perhaps the third most pretentious speech I have heard from you in our time at the Studium. And that's not for lack of competition."

"It's simple sense, Alisaie." Alphinaud carefully set several of his smaller school texts into a large valise, already half full of clothes and personal effects, and turned back to his bureau. "We are well into the Seventh Umbral Era, and yet the problems of the end of the last era still linger. Certainly some time to rebuild and regroup was to be expected, but the city-states have mired themselves in trivial affairs while letting the larger threats of the Garlean Empire and the Ascians remain—"

"Oh, gods, Alphinaud, you don't need to tell me that part. I've heard it so many times before, especially when you were lecturing Father about it. Beast tribes, internal politics, jockeying for transient advantage… What I don't know is why you think it's your responsibility to do something about it."

Alphinaud lowered another carefully-folded set of clothes into his valise. "Grandfather's followers remained in Eorzea after Carteneau, remember. The Circle of Knowing lives on, though I've heard reports that they've joined with their erstwhile allies in the Path of the Twelve to form a new organization. Which speaks well for their dedication, but without Grandfather's knowledge to show what needs be done, I fear they, too, are lost. They need a light to guide their way."

"And you think you can be that light."

"Who better? Papalymo was one of Grandfather's finest pupils, but evidently neither he nor Urianger have taken the reins in his absence. The leader of the Path of the Twelve, Minfilia Warde, is said to have great diplomatic skills, but the lack of action on her part forces me to conclude she lacks a certain sense of initiative — she too is likely caught up in the minutia of solving immediate problems."

"You really think you could do better, do you? I don't see the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance being particularly eager to listen to a child who's yet to even complete his studies yet, prodigy or no. And I can't imagine Warde will be pleased to hand over her organization to you, either."

"That's no excuse not to try." He put his final possession into the valise — Adelphoi, the grimoire his grandfather had once gifted to him — and began the arduous process of trying to get the case to close around its overstuffed cargo. "Remember, that to ignore the plight of those one might conceivably save—"

Alisaie slammed a hand into the mattress beside her. "Don't you dare!"

Alphinaud jumped at the sound, barely keeping the valise under control. He looked up at her, seeing her drape her other arm across her eyes.

"Don't you dare take his words and make them all about you." She wiped a hint of tears from her eyes with her sleeve, and tilted her head to glare at her brother. "You think you're the only one who heard those words? You think you're the only one with the memory of him looming over you, every day?"

"I… No, I didn't…"

"Losing Grandfather… it hurt us all. They never found his body, you know… not that they'd expect otherwise, with the damage Bahamut caused, but…" She trailed off. After a pause, she continued more quietly. "Rumors from the survivors say he was seen casting a final spell before the dragon's breath engulfed him. Something that caused some of the adventurers on the battlefield to just… vanish. I know if he were still alive, he'd have made himself known by now, but…"

"Alisaie…" Alphinaud reflexively reached out a hand to comfort her — and inadvertently let go of the not-quite-closed valise. It sprung open, flinging his smallclothes all around the room.

"Oh, hells." Alisaie kicked herself upright off the bed and took the valise from Alphinaud's hands, effortlessly squeezing it shut and latching it. "This is exactly your problem, you know. So caught up in your high and lofty ideals that you lose sight of what's actually happening around you."

"I-I'm not that bad!"

"No, you're worse." She sighed and pushed the valise back into his arms. "Honestly, I get the feeling that by the end of this I'm going to be sick and tired of pulling your pampered tail out of the fire every other day."

He blinked, clutching the valise to his chest. "Wait, do you mean—? You're going with me?"

"You'd hardly last a minute out there in the world at large. Someone's got to keep you safe." She paused on the threshold. "And… if there's even the slightest chance Grandfather is still alive, I can't just pass it up. Even just knowing what really happened to him that day…"

Alphinaud set the case down, stepped over to her, and put his hand on her shoulder. "We'll find out. I promise you. There will be other issues to attend to, to be sure, but I have no doubt that finding the truth of what happened at Carteneau will be an integral part of what we must do. And I will be by your side when we do so."

"…Thank you." Alisaie put her hand on his for a moment, then stepped out of the room. "We'd best get moving. I've got to pack, and then we'd best tell Mother and Father that I'm leaving with you…"

"Leave that to me. I expect I can have them coming to terms with the idea by the time you're ready."

A grin slowly crept on to Alisaie's face. "Oh, I doubt that, brother. I have every confidence I'll be done packing in half the time you were."

In fact, it turned out to be a tenth.

Chapter Text

Alisaie watched her brother with a mixture of pity and scorn as he leaned over the rail of the ship once more, clutching the wood for dear life. She'd anticipated many difficulties in their quest to take up Grandfather's legacy. This was one she had not anticipated.

"You know, there are boating courses at the Studium. Swimming, as well. You're telling me you never even looked into taking one?"

"I — nngh — I had a rather full course schedule. Arcanima, political science, aeth—" He was interrupted by another heave. Rising back up gain, wiping his mouth, he continued, "I never even looked in to the more frivolous courses."

"Friv— Alphinaud, we lived on an island nation. A nation of several islands, even. You're telling me you never once thought knowing anything about boats would be useful?"

"Not compared to — hurrrrf!"

Watching him now, Alisaie rather regretted packing archon loaf as their primary ration for the trip. Nutritious, it was, and filling, too, but it rather sat in the stomach like a lump of lead. She wasn't as bad off as Alphinaud, but she definitely felt a little less than hale and hearty as the ship shifted back and forth.

"We—we're only five days out from Limsa Lominsa," Alphinaud managed, trying to steady himself. "Once there, we can attune to the aetheryte, and…" He was cut off as the deck seemed to drop out from under his feet, then suddenly lurch back up again at an angle he was quite sure shouldn't be physically possible, and his stomach refused to go along with either motion.

Alisaie groaned. Five more days of this, including stops at several ports along the way. Then, once their business in Limsa Lominsa was done, another ship to Aldenard proper, and then a trip from the port to Ul'dah in a chocobo carriage, swaying underneath its balloons, and eventually a much longer carriage ride all the way to Gridania…

"Come on." Alisaie grabbed Alphinaud by the back of his collar and yanked him to his feet. "We're headed to the galley, and I'm going to whip you up a batch of a seasickness cure I learned in those oh-so-frivolous boating courses."

"Will it… will it settle my stomach?"

"It might. Or it might knock you unconscious until we actually make landfall. Frankly, at this point, I'd consider either one a win."

"…At this point, so would I."

Chapter Text

Admiral Merlwyb narrowed her eyes. "I'll thank you to take your feet off my desk."

"Don't see why," Rhoswen said, leaning back a bit further in her chair. "I ain't going to be doing it. Way I see it I'm doing you quite the favor just comin' up here in the first place, instead of calling you down to the Missing Member like everyone else as wants to treat with me."

Merlwyb pushed down her irritation, and rested her elbows on her desk, folding her hands in front of her face. "Be that as it may. We need to talk about the contribution the Sanguine Sirens will be making to Operation Archon."

"Aye, that we do. More specifically, we need to talk about why you actually think we'll be contributing anything at all."

"I'm certain the messenger I sent had all the information about the battle plan necessary. Our part in the coordinated operation—"

Rhoswen waved her hand dismissively. "I know why you need me. Getting a blockade around Castrum Marinum, that's going to take not just my Sirens, but all the other big fleets and crews workin' together. What I don't know is why in the seven hells we'd be going along with it."

Merlwyb's eyebrow twitched. "You'd be 'going along with it' because you agreed to certain civic duties when you were licensed as privateers."

"And you've got a 'certain civic duty' to hold the Trident every seven years, but we're a few years past due now, ain't we?" Rhoswyn finally swung her boots off the desk and leaned forward to fix Merlwyb with a steely eye. "You want us to leave off our usual schedule of piracy for blockade work. And the thing is, blockades don't give a lot of plunder. Not unless they last long enough as they start trying to get blockade runners past us, but it sounds like you're planning a faster job than that."

"So it's money you want, then?"

"Would be a nice start. My ladies, they're all for brave adventure, but they've got bills to pay like everyone else. Food and drink, weapons and tools, and most of 'em have a fine lad or lass in town what's expensive to keep. Sometimes a few. And the ships need repairs and care, and we've got to account for the risk the Garleans'll sink one of 'em. It all adds up, Admiral. And if you can't keep us supplied, we're going to have to go elsewhere for the coin — maybe raid the sahagin, maybe find a nice fat merchantman sailing out to Thavnair."

Merlwyb grimaced. The city's coffers just didn't have the coin for this. But what could she do? Far too much of the city's fleet had been sunk in the Calamity, and it had only been in the past year that they'd been able to start building replacements. They were at a shadow of their former strength. She needed the Sanguine Sirens, just like she needed every other pirate crew operating out of Limsa Lominsa. And the service of greedy privateers didn't come cheap.

She loved her city-state, she truly did. But sometimes she envied the others. The Monetarists of Ul'dah could have hired the crews she needed out of pocket change. Oh, to have those resources at hand…

Raubahn was bent over a map table when his adoptive son walked in. "Pipin. Fine timing. I need the timetables for our deployments near Northern Thanalan. And then I'll need to send word to the Sultansworn to see if they can spare any units to support our lines."

"Yes, General." That was the first hint that something was wrong. Even during serious work, it was more common for Pipin to call him 'Father' than anything else. Calling him by his title was a sure sign something demanded the full attention of Flame General Raubahn Aldynn.

"All right, Vice Marshal, what is it?" he said, straightening up and turning towards his son.

"The Third Main Brigade, Fifth Squadron, is short on weapons and armor. Critically short, in fact — they won't be able to deploy."

"What? Damn it, I know we just bought them an entire shipment of new arms not a moon ago!"

"Yes, General. And when they reported to the warehouse to collect their equipment this morning, they found only a few of the crates they'd been supplied with actually contained what they were supposed to. The remainder were stuffed with rocks and straw."

Raubahn's fist slammed into the table. "Gods damn it! The damn Monetarists again." It was easy to see what had happened. Some rich bastard had decided it was worth cheating the Flames, giving them a fraction of what they'd paid for and pocketing the difference. Gambling on the idea that peace would last long enough that no one would ever actually check on what had been provided, beyond the first crates they passed over. Or at least not until the trail to find out who actually had done it had gone long cold.

"Someone's going to hang for this, I swear it," he growled. It was probably an empty threat, he knew. Whoever had done this was probably too well-protected to ever face justice. At most he'd get some patsy a few layers down, some clerk or middle manager who had offended his superiors and been deemed an acceptable scapegoat to be thrown in the way of Raubahn's wrath. And whoever'd actually gotten a tiny bit richer by throwing their countrymen's lives to the wind would get away clean.

"All right, I want a full inventory of all the arms and armor the Flames can get their hands on. Backup supplies for all the units, worn out gear we were going to retire, anything we've got. Double the bounty we're paying for adventurers' gear, too. With a little luck, we can scrape together enough to keep them in the field."

He sighed, leaning back onto the table as Pipin saluted and hurried out of the room. There were days he didn't relish living in a mercantilist hell like Ul'dah. Oh, to be like the Gridanians, where the nobles kept to themselves and the people had faith in their leaders…

"Completely off-limits?"

The Keeper of Entwined Serpents saluted Kan-E-Senna. "Yes, High Seedseer. Your brother has been communing with the elementals, and they are most incensed by recent Garlean activity in the East Shroud. They have decreed that no mortals should travel certain paths until they are appeased — and that includes all the land routes from the Central Shroud to the East, and any boats coming across from Gridania."

Kan-E-Senna tapped her staff on the ground pensively. All around her, Gridanian officials were scattered through the Lotus Stand, talking in groups of two or three, trying to plan their offensive against Castrum Oriens. And now the elementals had thrown a huge complication into those plans.

"How many of our troops have the anima needed to make the journey there by aetheryte?"

"I'll have to check, my lady, but my initial estimate: a good number, but not enough to properly hold the line against the Garleans, not even with the sylphs of Little Solace supporting them. If we reorganize our units, transfer some anima-rich soldiers who would otherwise have been taking part in the siege of Castrum Centri… though that could result in breaking up units, which is always poor for cohesion."

Kan-E-Senna sighed. "Yes, I know. What of the path through the Mun-Tuy Cellars? Is that forbidden to us?"

"Why… no, I don't believe it is. Or at least your brother didn't mention it. But it's a tight path to transport whole squadrons of soldiers through, and there has been considerable Coeurlclaw bandit activity in the region…"

"Still, it is an option. Start deploying units to the South Shroud to begin the march there, and I will personally go to entreat with the elementals. Perhaps we can yet placate them enough to allow our forces through without risking the Greenwrath…"

The Keeper saluted, and Kan-E-Senna watched him as he departed. The elementals gave prosperity to the Twelveswood, and keeping them pleased was part of her duties as Elder Seedseer… but at times like this, it was worse than tiring. Sometimes she envied Admiral Merlwyb. A nation where all were free to do as they pleased… Wouldn't that be so much easier to deal with?

Chapter Text

"As a matter of fact, I have thought it over," Thancred said flippantly, leaning over the bar in the Rising Stones to secure one of the more expensive bottles while F'lhammin's watchful eye was off duty. "And I can absolutely conclude that being a father holds no interest to me."

Urianger stood impassively off to the side, watching Thancred without much sign of what he was thinking — though the hood and goggles were always good at masking that regardless. "And yet thou hast pursued the fairer sex with more vigor than any three men I have known."

"The one has absolutely nothing to do with the other," Thancred said, dropping into his seat and removing the cork from the bottle with his thumb. "Or at least it doesn't need to, if you take the right precautions. Which the ladies of my acquaintance and I have been quite thorough about, I assure you.

"Be honest, Urianger, really," he continued. "Me, as a father — can you actually imagine that? It's quite ridiculous. When I'm not out doing things I'd feel quite ashamed to expose a child to, I'm risking my life infiltrating Garlean bases or scouting the beast tribes or getting possessed by Ascians. None of them conducive to raising a child to be healthy and happy."

"What of thy relation to the Antecedent? After thou didst rescue her from disaster in Ul'dah so many years past, thou didst take an interest in her life far beyond obligation."

Thancred waved a hand dismissively. "I like to think of myself as more of a rakish big brother to Minfilia than anything else. The type who alternates between lending a hand when she's in need and setting a bad example when she's not. F'lhaminn has been far more of a parent to her than I have, undeniably."

He took a long drink straight from the bottle, wiped his lips with his sleeve, and continued, "No, I assure you, I'm quite content with my bachelor life. Let others play the parent — I've got more entertaining things to occupy myself with. Such as saving the world."

"As a matter of fact, I have thought it over!" Ryne said indignantly, hands on her hips. "And I assure you, I'm going to be perfectly fine taking care of myself once you're gone back to your world."

"I'm not saying you won't," Thancred said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I just worry about how many little things might come out of nowhere to blindside you. For most of your childhood, you were locked up with Ran'jit taking care of all your needs, and since then you've been on the run with me. Which has given you admirable strength of character and superb fighting skills, but I worry it may have left you unprepared in the field of, for instance, planning a food budget or picking out your own clothes."

Ryne huffed, shooting Thancred a look every bit as sharp as the daggers he'd gifted her years ago after their first escape from Eulmore. "I'm not a child! You might as well worry that I won't be able to… to wipe my own nose!"

"Can't you? I'm sure I've got a handkerchief around here somewhere."

"You know what I mean!" Ryne folded her arms, trying to calm herself down. "Besides… I'm not going to be alone. You know that. The Exarch and Lyna have both assured me that I've got a room in the Pendants for as long as I need it. I've met more than a few people here who are willing to help me with day-to-day troubles, especially in the Facets. And if I ever desperately need your advice, I can just dash off a letter and a certain friend of ours is sure to have it in your hands within the day."

"The great Warrior of Darkness, reduced to playing postmoogle? Ah, how the mighty fall." The two of them both had to laugh at the image. "It might not always be as quick as that, mind you. The two of us are both going to have our hands full with the affairs of the Source — I don't think you should count on daily visits." He took a sip of the coffee he'd left cooling on the table before him when the whole argument started — the Second Serving was one of the Crystarium's smaller, more out-of-the-way establishments, but they made the best coffee in all of Norvrandt, if you were to ask him.

"There's just so much I always wanted to teach you," he said, "and now that my time here is running out, I realize there's just not enough time. There probably wouldn't be enough time if I were to stay here until you were forty summers old. Tips on day-to-day life, inspiring your plans for the future… Hells, I haven't even taught you the first thing about romance. What's going to happen the first time some strapping lad or winsome lass catches your eye, and you end up making a fool of yourself over them?"

A slight blush colored her cheeks. "Please! I'm not at all worried about that any time in the near future." But Thancred couldn't help but notice the way she half-turned her head as she said that, giving her a view out of the corner of her eye of the cafe's counter, where Gaia was giving a well-deserved chewing out to the hapless clerk who'd gotten her order entirely wrong. (She had very strong opinions on the best blend to go with their coffee biscuits.) A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Thancred's mouth. One of his biggest regrets was how he wouldn't see that particular drama play out.

"Besides," she said, forcing herself to look straight back at him, "I doubt you'd have much to tell me about all that, anyway, not in a practical sense. I can't imagine you as being the romantic type at all. Oh! Are you all right?"

"Perfectly fine," Thancred said in between coughs, wiping off his face. "Coffee's better after you've choked on it a bit." He set the mug down as Ryne patted his back to help him breathe. "In any case, I'll have you know I was quite the lady-killer in my younger years."

"Maybe if the women in question were fifteen-fulm-tall primals trying to kill you first. I really can't see it otherwise."

Thancred really couldn't place the complicated web of emotions churning inside him at this woeful assassination of his character, and was in fact a bit relieved when Gaia called Ryne over to the counter to help carry the replacement coffee order and the extra plate of biscuits the clerk had offered as an apology. But he did slowly become aware of the pair of eyes fixed on him from the doorway.

"If you're going to laugh at me, now is absolutely the perfect time," he said, without turning his head.

Urianger gave only a small smile. "Fatherhood doth suit thee," he offered quietly.

"Oh, be quiet," Thancred said.

But he couldn't quite wipe the smile off his own face, either.

Chapter Text

"Just how old are you, I have to ask? Ninety? Perhaps a hundred?" Y'shtola was perched on the edge of a table as she watched her master bustle around the dimly-lit cave, stacking tome upon tome haphazardly.

"Old enough to have heard every jibe you could imagine about it, young enough that I can still tan your tail for making them." Matoya lifted her cane as she walked past Y'sthola and gave her a light thwack on the rear, making the younger girl jump down to the ground, tail lashing in mock outrage. "And if you've enough energy to sit around asking stupid questions, you can at least make yourself useful. See if you can't find where I left volume four of Ahldagynn's Commentaries on the Gerun Oracles. It's utter nonsense, of course, but the old coot will never let me hear the end of it if I don't give it back."

Y'shtola knew what passed for her mentor's filing system better than Matoya herself did at this point, and headed straight for one of the tables in the back. "I'm just saying that after a certain age, one might think twice about staying behind in a damp old cave when the entire rest of the nation is leaving one behind."

"Ha! I'll be glad to see the back of them. I can take care of myself perfectly well, especially with my brooms and the poroggo about. And without having to waste time listening to those fools in the Forum blather on about politics and justify my every action to them, perhaps I can finally get some actual research done for once."

Y'shtola pulled a thick tome out of a stack of near-identical books, verified its title with a quick glance, and brought it over to where Matoya was sorting through the contents of her desk. "I hope you enjoy it. I'm sure I'll be at my wit's end out of boredom when you don't have me haring off on yet another wild errand."

Matoya's head snapped up at that, and she glared at Y'shtola. "What? Don't be ridiculous, girl. You're going back to the motherland with all the others. I can't be bothered to take care of a child on top of all the other things I'll me needing to do here. You're, what, seven years old now?"

"I was seven when I started studying under you! It's been a good few years since then!" Y'shtola snapped reflexively at her mentor, but as she put the book down on the desk, she looked more worried. "You're… really kicking me out, then? There's no way I can stay?"

"Oh, child." Matoya put her hand on Y'shtola's head — something she wasn't quite tall enough to avoid just yet, even if she'd grown since the day she'd first come to this cave. "You've wasted more than enough of your youth taking care of an old woman. And I've wasted more than enough of my twilight years taking care of an impertinent brat." Y'shtola couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're tenacious enough that you'll be able to take care of yourself by now — and there'll be plenty of opportunities in the homeland you'd never be able to get here."

"Master Matoya…"

Matoya pulled her hand away and shuffled over to turn her attention to the book Y'shtola had retrieved. "Now, now, sentimentality doesn't become either of us. We'll both be fine on our own, you know that as well as I do. And honestly, I don't have a bit of doubt that ten or twenty years from now, you're going to wander back in here as if nothing ever happened, needing my help with some arcane matter and assuming I'll drop everything to help you."

Y'shtola didn't need to hear it to know there was an unspoken 'and I will' underneath those words. She smiled, a little weakly. "But still, I've been under your care all these many years. I'm not at all sure I remember how to go it alone."

"Who's to say you'll be alone? You're not half the recluse I am; I'm sure you'll have friends and colleagues by your side before you know it." Matoya scribbled something down on a piece of paper, tucked it into the tome, and turned to hand it back to Y'shtola. "Here, my last errand for you. Take this book and return it to old Leveilleur. He's a fool and a pain in my posterior, but I've no doubt you could worm a few favors out of him."

"Leveilleur? As in the prominent member of the Forum? The last I heard, he was stepping back from his position for a while to help raise his young children."

"Not him, you dolt, his father! Archon Louisoix. The son's not even worth thinking about. Old Louisoix — he's still a fool, but I can't deny he's clever in his own way as well. You could do worse than learn what he has to teach you — though I advise you to throw out any blatherings he makes about 'prophecy' or the like. Foolish stuff — the world's what we make of it, no more and no less."

Y'shtola nodded, holding the book to her. She wasn't sure what to do. Sentimentality really didn't come easily to her, and even less so to her master. But she was still the woman who had essentially raised her for much of her childhood. To think how far apart they'd be…

Matoya made the choice easy by prodding at Y'shtola's ankles with her cane. "Well? Off with you girl! Neither of us are getting any younger, though in your case that can only be an improvement."

Y'shtola had to smile at that. "All right, all right." She took a deep breath. "Farewell, Master Matoya. I won't say it's always been fun, but apprenticing under you has been quite the experience."

Matoya nodded impatiently and waved her off. It wasn't until Y'shtola was almost out of the cave that she murmured to herself, "Goodbye, Shtola. Be well."

Maybe she didn't remember about Y'shtola's acute Miqo'te ears. But Y'shtola liked to think she'd known just what she was doing.

Chapter Text

'Twas the night before Starlight, and all through the flat,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a rat;
The tree was all trimmed out; the lights all aglow,
In hopes that the Saint of Nymeia would show.
My minions were nestled all snug in their beds;
While dreams of Verminion fought in their heads;
My bond-mate in her heal set, with me as a tank
Had just queued a roulette to add tomes to our bank.
When out in the Goblet arose such a clamor
That we cancelled the queue and switched to RP glamour.
Away to the window I flew with a flash
And peered out to the plaza as there came a loud crash.
The greater moon cut through the desert's cool haze
Revealing the wonders below to my gaze.
And the spectacle there I will never forget —
A magnificent sleigh, and eight flying mammets,
With a white-bearded driver so strange and so quaint
That I knew in a moment he must be the Saint.
More rapid than tank queues, his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
'Now, Vivi! Now Gigi! Now Moomba and Choco!
On, Hildy! On, Ultros! On Whyt and Kupo!
From the top of the bluff to the long waterfall,
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!'
As Dragoons and Red Mages from Titan's tall ledge,
When faced with an AoE, jump right off the edge,
So off of the Goblet's high cliffs did they fly,
Then looped high above dizzily in the sky.
And then in a twinkling I heard from the roof
A mighty crash, breaking springs, and a man crying 'oof.'
As my wife said to me 'No way he could survive it,'
He burst into the room (we'd not set it to 'private').
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
Though his clothes were all torn up and blackened with soot.
A pair of black spectacles perched on his nose,
And his body he flexed to a glorious pose.
His muscles — they glistened! His laughter, a tonic!
As he switched from a pose to a dance that's iconic.
The dots on his forehead were six, in two rows,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snows.
A goldsmithing hammer was tucked in his belt,
And the heat from his presence near caused me to melt.
He was taller than I was (and I'm not petite),
With the broadest of shoulders I ever did meet.
His extravagant gestures knocked the books from my shelf,
And I couldn't help laughing in spite of myself.
The sight of the tomes raining down on his head
Told me full well I had little to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went right to the tree,
And took out his hammer, quick as can be.
He set out to crafting, and before I could speak
Made it fifteen fulms tall, with bewildering technique.
Its lights turned to torches, its branches to jewels
(Which I'm certain broke several crafters' guild rules.)
As we stood there bewildered, he jumped out of the door,
And had mended and mounted his sleigh ride once more.
And I heard him exclaim, as I watched him dumbfounded,
"Mander-Starlight to all! May your gifts be compounded!"

Chapter Text

The cozy bower wasn't in truth all that far from Slitherbough, but it might as well have been in another world. The lush greenery of the Rak'Tika Greatwood and the dense canopy overhead made countless little spaces like this, comfortable and intimate but walled off from the world around them.

Runar looked around it nervously as Y'shtola led him into the little clearing by the hand. "Master Matoya, while I would never decline your company, should you not be on your way to the Crystarium? Your journey home—"

"—Will not be ready for a little while longer yet," Y'shtola interrupted. "And for one as skilled with the aether as me, the Crystarium is but moments away by aetheryte. And so, I have a plan to fill the remaining time." She pulled a blanket out of the basket she was carrying, and with a deft flick of the wrist spread it across the forest floor. She then pulled out a bottle — the Night's Blessed's finest honey mead, flavored with fruits of the forest. Not quite as sophisticated a tipple as could be found on the Source, but quite amazing for what they had to work with. "The two of us are going to sit down, drink our way through this bottle, and talk. Openly and honestly, holding nothing back. And should the conversation lead to anything else, well, we'll deal with that as it comes up." Just in case he hadn't grasped the meaning of that, she gave a wink to him — which seemed to do the trick, if his abruptly more nervous body language was any indication.

"Master Ma—" She cut him off with a finger pressed to his muzzle, quieting him.

"Runar, when I came here, I knew that within a relatively short span of time, I would have to either return to my homeland, or die. I told myself that it wouldn't do to get too attached to the people here. That becoming close to them would only hurt both them and me when my time came." She popped the cork out of the bottle, and poured the mead into two glasses from the basket. "And now, with the wisdom and experience gained from my time spent among you, supporting the Night's Blessed and saving Norvrandt, I can safely say that was all a load of bollocks."

She took a long sip from her glass and sit down, with Runar nervously following suit. "Even back in my old homeland I held myself aloof. Always the observer, ready with a witty remark or caustic observation, never a participant in the joys of life. My mentor — who I took the name you know my by from — was perhaps my role model in this, though she at least had the excuse of being exceptionally old even when we first met."

She fixed her gaze on Runar, who was still fiddling with his glass. She could see his aether circulating through his body, swift and nervous, which was charming in its own strange way. "And now, looking back, that seems very much like cowardice. A way to protect myself from being hurt while calling it wisdom."

She downed the rest of her glass, and reached over for the bottle. "Well, I've had quite my fill of cowardice. And of holding myself aloof. Right now the worldly pleasures of a good drink and fine companionship sound very appealing indeed — and I hope to find that I'm brave enough to embrace them, even if they make the separation more painful. And I can't think of a finer way to do so than with you."

It took a few drinks to bring him the courage, but in the end, Runar couldn't help but agree.

Chapter Text

Alisaie buried her face in her hands as she and her brother stepped out of the lift, having just descended from the Command Room into the Drowned Wench. "Alphinaud. Please tell me you did not just try to tell the Admiral of Limsa Lominsa that you knew better than her how to deal with pirates."

Alphinaud looked over at his sister, baffled. "Why shouldn't I have? You heard what she was saying — she's had quite a bit of difficulty bringing the disparate crews of the nation together, and I wanted to offer assistance."

"Despite the fact that you have absolutely no experience in the art of governance, or significant interactions with pirates."

"No, but I've read several very thorough works on political science and negotiation in a professional setting, and I received top marks in my courses on diplomacy back at the Studium. So I really think I have significant expertise in—"

"Reading a few books and knowing how to say what a teacher wants to hear doesn't qualify as 'expertise.' Certainly not when you compare it to the sort of experience the Admiral's had through, oh, her entire life to date, sailing with pirates and then ruling over them."

"That's still not grounds to just throw out my advice. I think that a solid grounding in theory can often illuminate new paths that might otherwise not occur to—"

Alisaie sighed. "Alphinaud, as I recall you had some rather high-handed, theory-based 'advice' for me on dealing with menarche."

Alphinaud turned bright red. "That was — I mean, I had read some interesting literature on the topic, and you were obviously having difficulties! I just thought I could help you get through the struggle!"

"'Interesting literature' which turned out to be one medical text. Written by a man. Relying on research from, what was it, three other men?"

"…Four."

"And the recommendations included three things I'd already done long before you lectured me about them, two that would have been hazardous to my health, and one that anyone who'd ever seen a woman should have known is physiologically impossible." She shook her head. "There are some fields where no amount of book learning will match up to even the slightest bit of actual lived experience. Knowing what menstrual cramps are like is one of them. And I'd submit that the political aspects of trying to wrangle highly individualistic and antagonistic criminals into a coherent nation is another."

"…Was I really that bad about it?"

"Did you see the look on Merlwyb's face when she ended the meeting? I swear if she had her guns on her we'd be dead right now."

Alphinaud slumped, all the pride gone out of him. "I should really go back and apologize. I never meant to try to… to minimize the hard work she's done. Maybe I do value theory above practice too much…"

"You absolutely do. But you're getting better. I remember when we first arrived in Eorzea — gods, you were insufferable then. You're changing and growing, and I for one am pretty proud of that." She put her arm over his shoulder. "But… maybe let's wait until she cools down a bit? Another virtue you could stand to learn is when to take yourself out of the center of attention. Barging right back in there to salve your conscience would still be making it all about you instead of her."

Alphinaud leaned into his sister's side a bit. "I've got a lot to learn, don't I?"

"Welcome to the world, brother dear."

Chapter Text

I wonder if they believed me about the grapes?

Elidibus did, of course. He's so young, so earnest, so serious. He'd never believe one of his elders in the Convocation would stretch the truth to him. Give him a few centuries dealing with the endless debates and discussions in the halls of the Capitol and a bit of that will be ground off him, no doubt. But for now, it's something precious and wonderful.

Hades, on the other hand… he'll see through it right away, once Elidibus tells him. Just like Hythlodaeus did, if the way he laughed when we were talking about my plans is any indication. Hades is one of the smartest people I know, and absolutely the most perceptive. He'll know for sure that there's more to it than just grapes.

I mean, it's not as if I was actually lying. The grapes here are incredibly good. They're just… not the whole story.

"Azem! You came!"

As I crest the rise, I give a wave to the old woman waiting by the lip of the crater. She's been tending to this area for nearly five centuries now, a member of the community living at the foot of the volcano. Some have already evacuated, some are patiently waiting in their homes, accepting that the lava will engulf them soon. But she's here for a different reason.

"I said I would, didn't I?" I take the crystal Hythlodaeus gave me out of my robes. It's one of Lahabrea's works, of course — even though he never touched this particular crystal, the pattern of aetheric designs captured inside it bears his unique style in every resonation and harmonic line. "I just needed to get the right tool for the job."

"Well, well," she says, coming to my side to get a closer look. "I've never seen an actual concept crystal from the actual Bureau of the Architect before. Around here, we mostly get by with what we can imagine ourselves." She probes it a little with her mind, getting a feel for its shape. "This thing will suck up the essence of fire from the volcano?"

"Yes, exactly. Then I'll take it to an uninhabited island — there are some ones south of here that should do — and dissipate it."

"Dissipate." She sounds a little skeptical. "I've rarely created living things, but in my experience they rarely take well to the prospect of 'dissipation.'"

"Well, I'm not saying it'll be that simple." There'll probably be a fight, to be honest. There always is. But honestly, that's pretty thrilling, too. "But I'll manage. I do have ways to call on help, if I need to." The friends I've made, the people I've helped — so many of them have offered to help me in turn, and so I developed a way to bring them to my side when needed. Would four of us be enough this time, I wonder? For a creation of Lahabrea, perhaps twice that would be better.

"Well, better you than me. I'm sure to have enough work just getting this place tidy again after all this mess." She gestures to the lip of the crater — and indeed, I can see that some of the rock formations have crumbled into the churning magma below since the last time I was here, while others have been sprayed with lava — cooling a little now, but still the first precursors of what's to come. "I've nearly gotten charred half a dozen times while I was waiting for you."

"You didn't need to stay, you know. You could have gone to reassure the others, or evacuate yourself."

"And miss the chance to see a member of the Convocation in action? Please. I'd throw my mask into the volcano if I thought it'd get me a better view of you at work."

I laugh at that. "All right, but stand back a safe distance. I'm fairly sure there's little danger, but this much fire can be a bit volatile to work with."

I focus on the crystal as she steps away, and it begins to float over my hands. I run a little bit of my own aether through the pattern within, and begin extending it according to the directions implicit in its design. And as I do, I deliberately hold back. I could, of course, simply channel some of my own aether into it, and manifest the creation that way. It would be easy, and stable, and it could last for years if I do it right, maybe even centuries if I put enough effort into it. It's the common, recognized, proper way to do it.

But instead I leave a void inside, a hollow structure begging for energy to give it shape and form. And then I reach out and let it touch the raging fire aether charging itself within the heart of the volcano. The power rushes to fill the emptiness — draining away from the volcano to give this creation form. As it does, the lava — the physical manifestation of the aetherial fire that has surged in this region — cools and darkens, stops churning and bursting. It has lost the aspect of energy that gives it heat and activity, and so it is returning to the rock it once was.

And that energy fills the matrix, giving it all the power and strength that the lava has lost, and all that it would have released in a matter of days, to rupture this island and destroy all upon it. Nothing of it fades, but undertakes a fiery change, to something wondrous and new.

The matrix is finally suffused with enough power, and it launches upwards into the air, consuming its own crystal as the final spark of its creation. I look up into the sky, darkening the eyes of my mask for just a moment as it seems to almost merge with the sun. Then it — now she — comes crashing down again, landing on the lip of the volcano, flames rippling out around her.

She rises out of a crouch, throwing back her mane of hair and laughing fiercely. Her ornate mask, gold and garnet, glimmers in the fading light of the volcano. "I, Ifrita, live! I am here at your command, to burn and dance and fly!"

As Hades has said time and time again, I've never been perfect about the detail work. The core of the being before me is of course Lahabrea's flawless work. But the little flourishes and side-elements — the gracefully curving horns, the lively personality, the mane of glowing orange hair — I'm pretty confident none of those were in his original design. My mind wanders a little as I create, or gets spontaneous fleeting thoughts of similar designs I've made in the past, and they manifest. Is the glowing necklace of fire-red gems because I was thinking of the southern islands? The locals wear the likes of them there, though made from shells. Is the mask because my companion mentioned sending hers into the flames? I can't say for sure. A truly disciplined creator — Hades, or Lahabrea himself — can tailor a design perfectly, and recreate it in exact detail a thousand times over. I've never been quite that good.

Still, I think there's some joy to be found there. The brilliance of something new each time, knowing that if I created a thousand Ifritas, they'd be a thousand slightly different beings, each bringing something unique and unprecedented to the world.

I take a moment to compose myself, looking on my and Lahabrea's creation with, I'll admit, a little bit of pride. Then it's back to work. "Ifrita, I need you to travel from here to a small, uninhabited island to the south. There, you will be dispersed."

"Ha! You may well try! And what a glorious fight it is sure to be! How our hearts will sing in the flame!" Flame flared around her, and coalesced into a pair of glorious, burning wings. She leapt into the air, and looked down at me with a savage, eager grin. "Come, my creator! Let us race! I dare say I shall reach our destination well before you!" And she flew off, leaving a shimmering trail of heat as she made her way south.

My companion finally emerged from behind a rock, staring after the creation. "My word. Are they always so… exuberant?"

"Aheh. No, not always. My eagerness to create her may have spilled over."

The products of creation magic don't have souls, of course. Their personalities are limited, engraved into them by the way we designed them. But sometimes, watching them act, I wonder how much that matters. Does Ifrita see me as I see her? Though her time in this world is brief and mine long, is there still enough of a heart in her to relish what she has?

Food for thought. But for later. I've work to do, lest she get distracted, return to a populated area, and inadvertently unleash the power within her.

"I wish I could stay longer. But I've work to do. Will you tell your people all's been done, and they don't need to flee now?"

"Ha! You couldn't stop me. I promise you, centuries from now, everyone here is still going to be talking about the good work Azem did for them…"

I look out over the landscape as Ifrita flies away. Down the slope of the volcano, with scrub grass and shrubbery eking out survival on little slopes and shelves. Across the little town at its base, with white spires rising above the fields of grape vines. Across the sparkling ocean, the scent of salt on the wind reaching me even this far above, even past the scents of sulfur and soot rising off the cooling magma.

I'd never see a sight like this in Amaurot. Or indeed, anywhere else in the world. This great big amazing beautiful complicated messed-up world, with a million different vistas to look out from, myriads of people to meet, creatures and plants and creations and experiences that I'd never know if I just sat around in the Capitol. Every single one of them is different, and every single one of them is a wonder, and every single one of them deserves to be protected. If I can do even a little bit to keep them intact, to make the world as strange and wonderful a place as it can be, whether it's something as grand as the lives of thousands of people or as small as a handful of grapes… then I'm happy.

I put my fingers to my mouth and whistle as I channel my aether. This is a creation I designed myself, and one that I know by heart. Even if I'm a little imprecise on others, this one's always what it should be.

I ruffle my bird's feathers as it appears beneath me, then turn to give a wave to my companion, who waves back, still a little awestruck. With a mighty cry, the bird leaps into the air, and we're soaring, following the shimmering point of Ifrita into the distance.

I'll have to stop at the village on the way back, though. Just to pick up a souvenir for Elidibus.

Because really, the grapes here are awfully delicious.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Old Sharlayan had more than its share of, it was libraries. Mainlanders marveled at the size of the Great Gubal Library, even in its ruined state, but all of the most valuable texts were removed from it before the exodus, and taken back home to supplement a collection so huge they were absorbed almost unnoticed. There were general libraries that matched the size of the Royal Palace at Ul'dah or Saint Reymanaud's Cathedral in Ishgard, with collections housing texts on every topic from dark forbidden magics to beekeeping. Supplementing them were countless smaller libraries on specialized topics — some only marginally smaller than the general collections, some small enough to be housed in a repurposed broom closet, but all of them containing a striking depth of knowledge in their chosen field.

The Hall of Prophecy was on the smaller side, but it still took up two large rooms with high galleries around each, with shelves from floor to ceiling. And it was there that Urianger Augurelt was burying himself in his work, tomes stacked so high around him on his study carrell that he was practically hidden from view.

"Urianger! Are you still here? Honestly, it's been days!"

Practically, but not entirely.

Urianger didn't look up from the book he was perusing. "Pray dismiss not my endeavors, Master Totolymo. Prophecy is aught dense and unyielding to even the most learned eye, and yet through deep study we may yet discern truths that may yet shape our future. I have little doubt but that my lucubrations will bear fruit, in time."

Papalymo reached up and took a sheaf of Urianger's notes from the desk. "I see you've been casting a wide net, at least. Everything from the Gerun Oracles to the Dreamer's Gospel." He tossed the pages back onto the desk. "I can't say I think much of the reliability of either, but at least it's commendable diligence."

"I base my study not on the prophecies alone. Within these halls lie many volumes of commentary, analysis, and comparison that add depth and texture to the mere unadorned verses." He gestured to the stacks of books around him. "And weaving all together, mine observations point to a conclusion most troubling. The end of the Sixth Astral Era may loom on the horizon. Yet I cannot be sure." He took the notes that Papalymo had been examining, and paged through them to look at one specific section, comparing it to the book he was reading. "Alas, some of the volumes I had hoped to consult are at the nonce on remove from these halls. The Divine Prophecies of Mezaya Thousand Eyes are of use, yet what I truly sought were Jainelle Arcannois's analysis of the verses. The poetic structure Mezaya used reveals much and more that is inobvious to casual observation, yet I lack sufficient knowledge of poetics to understand them in the depth she did."

"Arcannois's work? You know, it's quite the coincidence, but I may just be able to help you there."

That got Urianger's attention, and he looked away from his books to meet Papalymo's gaze. "Truly?"

"Oh yes. I recently overheard Master Louisoix discussing it. He's been curious about how certain prophecies pertain to some observations he's made on current activity within the world's aetherflow and the political situation on the mainland. He was actually asking your friend Moenbryda about whether some of his conclusions match with her observations of the aether — oh, I say!"

Urianger hurried to mop up the ink spilling out of his toppled inkwell. "Mine apologies. Thy mention of Miss Wilfsunnwyn startled me." He finished his desperate cleaning, and started carefully examining each tome to make sure he hadn't gotten any stains on them, purely coincidentally avoiding Papalymo's knowing gaze. "Ah… thinks't thou that Master Louisoix would be wiling to allow me to consult his copy of the Arcannois? Glad would I be to answer any questions he has that mine knowledge of prophecy might aid him with…"

"I'm sure he'd be willing to give you a look." Especially, Papalymo reflected, because that's exactly why he checked out the book and told Papalymo to mention it to him. And while he hadn't explicitly said to mention Moenbryda, Papalymo really couldn't think of a reason Louisoix would be discussing obscure and frankly boring tomes of commentary on prophecies with her if not to lure in the boy with a painfully obvious crush on her that he was still denying.

It was all for the best, though. Louisoix had seen a lot of the same things young Urianger evidently had, though coming at it from different angles. He needed a team of experts in various fields to confirm his theories — and then work to prevent them from coming true. Papalymo was privileged to be among those experts — as was the accomplished aetherologist Moenbryda. And though young, Urianger was an expert in prophecy and the analysis thereof unmatched by anyone in all Sharlayan.

If it took a little social engineering to get him out of his books and into the circle, well, that was effort well spent.

Chapter Text

My soul is gone. Yet something of me remains.

Not for much longer. But I, the true me, anticipated this, or something like this. And so he, I, performed one last act of creation magic. One last pattern stored in my most precious memento.

It's appallingly ironic. So many times Azem spoke with me, blathering endlessly on about philosophical questions of what the true nature of the soul is, how much it was morally worth, whether soulless creatures have an inner life, how they compare to natural lives. I always thought it an incredibly pointless subject. And yet now I have the answers my old friend sought from direct experience.

Though I won't for much longer.

I raise my fingers, or the shadow of my fingers, and with a snap, invoke my old friend's favorite spell. (Of course I learned it, though I never had cause to use it. Before the fall, all but one of the people close enough for me to call were ever within our fair city. And after the fall, I preferred to work alone — the others quickly grew insufferable, especially the ones who were but fragments of who they had been.)

Elidibus looks shocked as the spell takes hold, reaching into the gap between worlds and plucking out those he just there to die. (All of them Azem, I realize as I feel them — oh, there is the one who killed me, true, but the others, too — shards from other realities or times past. I wonder how much Azem, the real Azem, would laugh to see it — a spell to bring friends together, now bringing fragments of just one person. Male and female, tiny and large, sensibly-garbed or in ridiculous costume that more than anything else speaks of their relation to their original self…)

(Though it's not as if we're strangers to wearing ludicrous masks, any of us. I wore a mortal body for more than half a century of late, dealing with the aches and pains and griefs and sorrows of growing old, and it was but the most recent of many. And Elidibus, before us, taking up the guise of his perfect hero. He's striven so hard to be the face of Zodiark for millennia now, being the sensible and driven one who can look past the immediate troubles to the grand scheme — yet at the same time he's still just the lad he was when he stepped into the darkness and turned to crystal, never growing, never learning. Well, naturally. Even a primal with a soul is a primal still.)

I take a moment, just a moment, to watch the tableau before me. Elidibus, shocked and even horrified at the betrayal I represent. And Azem, and the fragments… Such tiny minds, but is that gratitude I see in them? Relief? Joy to see me again? Pah. Sentimental nonsense. This is a time of endings, not reunions.

And so I turn away. Acknowledging their feelings with naught more than a dismissive, lazy wave of my hand.

It doesn't do for an actor to milk his encore, after all, lest he rob it of all its power.

Better to take the bow and be done with it. Let others remember the performance fondly instead.

And then, as I fade, I know no more.

Chapter Text

Truly, this is the best of all possible worlds.

Had the Light not engulfed all but Norvrandt, what would Eulmore be, but a mere regional power in a world vaster than I can imagine? Instead, my realm is the greatest of all that survives, save one rival that we are destined to grind beneath our feet.

And had the Light not ceased its advance when it did, Norvrandt too would be gone. Instead, we remain, alive and thriving.

Had the Sin Eaters not come to threaten this land, I never would have found that I am their king, the one who can tame them and use them. The world would remain lawless and chaotic, instead of being bound to my might.

And had they not come to be tamed by my hand, we would have no meol, which brings the people closer in spirit to the Sin Eaters, that they too might be tamed. People would not recognize the glory and goodness that is me.

Even the escape of that damnable girl was all for the good. Had she not broken free and run to the arms of the Exarch, Ran'jit would have continued to preach caution. He would never have agreed to set forth and take dominion over all the lands from them.

And even the arrival of that utter menace, the Warrior of Darkness, the ruination of my dominion, was for the best. For had I not been driven to reject my home, consume my servants, flee beyond where I stayed in comfort, would I ever have awakened to my true powers? Would I have ever become this glorious, beautiful god?

No, all that has been was needed. All that I have endured has given rise to this. My perfection.

And now all I must do is strike down the dark menace before me, and my apotheosis will be complete.

I will be perfect, righteous, eternal.

And this world will be mine. Which is itself the best of all that is possible.

Chapter Text

Alisaie sometimes bites her nails when she's distracted or stressed.

The Crystal Exarch has a tendency to assume he knows what he's reaching for without looking, and then use it accordingly for a few seconds until the differing texture sinks in (which caused the very embarrassing incident where he forgot he'd moved his letter opener to put his dinner in its place).

Y'shtola has picked up an undue fondness for flower-based wines after her time in Slitherbough.

On a bright, sunny day, Sadu will occasionally break out into uncontrollable laughter without any provocation.

Despite not being very close to her late sister, Lucia still carries around the last letter they exchanged before Livia's death as a memento.

The Vath deftarm has spent unreasonable amounts of time trying to learn how to ride a chocobo, to no avail, because it's what adventurers do. He's not giving up any time soon.

Feo Ul delights in exploring the dreams of their lovely branch's allies and retainers, to see just what the strange world they come from is like. This has tended to make the dreams much stranger and more memorable.

Alphinaud constantly struggles against a bad habit of taking complex situations at face value and assuming he understands them completely. He's gotten better about it since the days of the Crystal Braves, but it's an ongoing process.

J'olhmyn gets very upset with anyone who so much as intimates that she's romantically interested in Alpa, but even more upset with anyone who says they're not involved. (She's resolutely avoiding thinking about what this means.)

Hunberct Longhaft is really quite puzzled as to why people seem to find his forthright discussions of lever maintenance, military unit maneuvering, and the delivery of packages upsetting.

Admiral Merlwyb keeps herself calm and collected through long and frustrating political meetings by vividly imagining the most obnoxious speakers being introduced to her guns.

Lord Lolorito can never resist showing just how smug he is, no matter what the situation.

Arenvald has a soft spot for kids, and will sometimes delay or derail a mission because there's an unsupervised or orphaned kid he wants to make sure gets properly cared for.

Of all the inventions of the diminished races, Emet-Selch had to admit that theater is the one that comes closest to making their existence justifiable. He loved peppering his dialogue with allusions to long-forgotten playwrights that no one but him remembered.

One of Lyse's more minor regrets is that, during her time pretending to be Yda, she was so caught up in the role that she never really bonded with the other women of the Scions, for fear of breaking character. She would have loved to go out for drinks with Moenbryda or taken Minfilia shopping (but then, Yda had bad taste in clothes too), but now she'll never have the chance.

Lyna has thrown herself into her job as Captain of the Crystarium Guard as her way of repaying the Exarch for raising her and giving her a family — and as such, she has completely missed the massive number of men and women who are head over heels for her (and wouldn't believe it if you told her).

Inspector Briardien occasionally finds himself unconsciously mimicking some of Hildebrand's curious postures when he's thinking too hard about a particularly absurd case. He's always mortified the moment he realizes he's doing it.

Ronitt and Ozogg are both under the impression that all Gogg-Tholl courtship must be carefully disguised as a fight, so they can have plausible deniability. Historically speaking, they've got a point.

Godbert Manderville would look at you quite oddly for suggesting he has any foibles or eccentricities at all.

Chapter Text

"Wedge, you fool of a Lalafell! You've got the bleedin' thing in backwards!"

"What? I — Oh! Oh oh oh!" Wedge fumbled with the engine housing, removing the dangerously hissing device moments before it would have caused a rather unpleasant explosion. And then juggling it back and forth between his hands because, it turned out, the heat building up in it hadn't gone away the moment he yanked it out.

"And where the bleeding hell are your gloves?" Biggs continued as Wedge finally managed to dunk the device into a water trough, letting out a huge cloud of steam. "Honestly, your mind's gone all everywhere today! I take my eyes of you for one second and you damn near blow us all up!"

"It was just a mistake! That's all! It could've happened to anyone!"

"Mistake my arse. You're better than this, Wedge. You'd never make such a dangerous slip-up unless there was something so on your mind you couldn't see anything else. So fess up! What the hell's got you so in a dither?"

"Nothing!" Wedge blushed bright red as he glared up at his partner. "I don't have anything on my mind but getting this engine working! Now let's just get back to— hey!" He jumped up, trying to grab at the wrench Biggs was holding just out of reach.

"Nope! Scattered brains in the workshop lead to scattered everything when something blows up. You're gonna tell me what's on your mind, or we're not — ow!"

Wedge grabbed the wrench as it fell from Biggs's hands, the Roegadyn having lost his grip when Wedge stamped hard on his toes. Biggs glared down at him. "Oh, that is it you little sack of popotoes! I'm gonna wring your neck!"

"Yeah? Go ahead and try, you great big lummox!"

The scuffle lasted only a few minutes before being interrupted by the door of the Mor Dhona workshop creaking open.

"Wedge? I made some more of the cookies from earlier, and I wanted to see what you thought of them. I added a little more cinnamon, but I'm not sure—" Tataru cut off as she took in the scene before her. "Wedge! Biggs! What in the world is going on here?"

"Oh! Oh, it ain't nothing, Miss Tataru. Just me and Wedge getting into a bit of an argy-bargy, that's all." Biggs ruffled Wedge's hair, then released him from the headlock he'd gotten the smaller engineer into. "We were just having a disagreement about, er, about…"

"About the next model of the Thermocoil Boilmaster!" Wedge jumped in enthusiastically, desperate to put the whole squabble behind him. "I was thinking of adding, um, a new heating element, yes, that would be able to flash-heat the water in a third of the time!"

"Yes, and I objected because, ah… Right! Because if the new heater accidentally got installed backwards, it could set fire to the whole kitchen! Yes, and Wedge didn't think it was a problem, because who'd be fool enough to install it backwards?"

"Aheh." Wedge rubbed the back of his head and shuffled his feet awkwardly, an abashed smile on his face.

"Well, that's no reason to get into a fight," Tataru said, reaching up to put a platter of cookies on the work bench. "Honestly, the two of you are best friends — you ought to be able to work things out better between you!"

"Ah, but it's because we're best friends that we can fight like this!" Biggs said, reaching down to take a tiny cookie between two fingers. "We know there ain't no harm in it, and it's good for the brain to get a little activity sometimes."

Wedge nodded eagerly, even as he reached up to take a cookie himself. "Biggs doesn't mean anything by it! And I've come out on top more than a few times, too!"

"Oh, aye, because you fight dirty!"

Tataru sighed and shook her head as the two engineers started their squabble up again. "You boys."

And, angled so that Tataru couldn't see his face as he and Wedge scuffled, Biggs gave a sly grin. "So, still think there weren't anything on your mind?"

Wedge, bright red, could only respond, "Shut up."

Chapter Text

"Go, Angelo!"

Nothing happened.

Alisaie dropped back into the chair with an exasperated huff. "Gods, how long is this going to take?"

Alphinaud didn't look up from the book he was reading through, the Mor Dhona breeze riffling the pages. "Patience, sister. Remember, it took a while to adjust to the aetheric conditions of the First, as well."

"That was a day and a half, at least for me. It took longer to have the Crystalline Mean make a sword and focus that worked with my magic. It's been over a sennight now and I'm still not feeling an ilm closer to getting this to work."

"It's a spell that's never been performed on the Source, as far as we know. The product of an entirely different magical tradition. And you're still recovering from your body spending a significant amount of time soulless, while your soul went through countless traumas, not limited to those related to the transfer process. I'd still consider you to be displaying great skill if you had it done within a moon."

"A moon? Alphinaud, I can't wait a moon! I've already been idle too damn long. And…"

"…And you're worried about Ga Bu."

Alisaie leaned back in the chair, staring up at the sky. "How could I not be? After all the progress I made with Halric and the others, I was so sure I'd be able to help him, too. He was on my mind every time I went to Mord Souq and saw everyone there, happy and healthy and getting on with their lives. And now, knowing he'll have to wait, suffering while I try to get this damn conjuration down…"

"He's in good hands with the Maelstrom right now. He'll still be there when you're ready. And if you can undo his tempering, you'll be doing something for him that's never been done before. No matter how long it takes, it will be a good thing. And I know you're doing this as fast as anyone could. Beating yourself up because you can't go even faster won't help anyone."

She sighed. "You're right. I know you're right. That doesn't make it feel any better. To be so close and yet so far away… I've been summoning Angelo without incident for so long now, and every time I fail, it just gnaws at me."

"Why not try to get yourself back into the mindset of when you first created him? I doubt we could find the same ingredients Beq Lugg tasked us to gather, but simple clay should be easy to find. Molding the clay with your hands might help you mold the aether with your mind."

"That's—" Alisaie stopped herself as the idea rolled around her mind. "—actually not a bad idea. Gods know I always learned better through doing than just letting my mind run in circles. Maybe it'll help it click." She mentally ran through the process she'd done with Beq Lugg in the Inn at Journey's Head. Gather the ingredients, mix them into clay, mold them into her image of—

She glared at Alphinaud. "And if this turns out to be your way of getting to laugh at my sculpting skills again, so help me I'll—"

Alphinaud waved his hands frantically, shaking his head. "No, no! Nothing of the sort! I swear! I just want to help!" But there was something about his face, a hint of a nearly repressed smile…

Alisaie pointed at his face. This probably wouldn't work. But gods, the satisfaction if it did.

"Go! Angelo!"

Chapter Text

Ran'jit yanked at Minfilia's arm and practically threw her back into her bedroom. She stumbled and dropped to the plush carpet, pain running through her arm. Ran'jit simply stood there, looking down on her, arms folded behind her back, as she slowly got to her feat and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"You have much to answer for, young lady."

The room didn't look like a prison. It was luxuriously appointed as only the Eulmoran elite could manage. A writing desk trimmed with gold leaf, with writing and painting supplies carefully arranged in its cubbies and drawers. Old books on subjects ranging from etiquette to fairy tales. An array of plush toys, each of them individually quite adorable. Vases of flowers changed daily by the bonded servants assigned to her. A little table where she could eat or work on crafts projects. Everything a young girl could want.

Except for windows. Or a door she had the key to.

"Perhaps you have forgotten the rules that you have lived under your entire life. More likely you chose to test them. In either case, it is not to be tolerated."

He paced before her, deliberate steps that kept her full attention on him. "You will remain in your room unless called for. You are not permitted to leave without an escort, and that only for specific purposes. On good behavior, you will have the permission to walk the halls of the Canopy once a day for exercise, accompanied by myself or no fewer than three guards; this privilege may be removed at any time if you abuse it or are being punished for other transgressions. Your meals will be brought to you three times a day; you will eat all that is provided to you promptly. You will be instructed by me and selected scholars of my choice; you will follow lesson plans and do any further reading and exercises you are instructed to on your own time. You are to be in bed promptly at nine bells in the evening, and awaken at six bells in the morning." He gave her a stern look. "Must I go on? You know these as well as I do."

"…No, sir."

"And yet you have violated them all. Some cases are surely simple lack of discipline, but others are deliberate rebellion. The one we will cure with time. But the other is inexcusable." He shook his head. "What was your reason for today's defiance?"

Minfilia twisted the hem of her skirt in her hands, looking down at the beautiful carpet under her feet. "I… last time I was out for a walk, I heard other children. Talking. Playing. I wanted to see them, talk to them. I've… never had a friend before. And I just felt this… this longing. But the guards wouldn't let me go. So next time the bonded came to clean my room, I secretly jammed the lock, and…"

"Foolish. You went out unsupervised, with no one to watch over you. Do you know the danger you risked by doing so? Even Eulmore is not perfectly safe. And had you found your way to one of the balconies, where anyone on the shore or in the sea would have line of sight to you, or any flying beast be ready to drop from the sky…" He shook his head. "You could have been slain."

Minfilia cringed at the thought, and at the harsh judgement in Ran'jit's voice. He stopped in front of her and took one shoulder in his hand — the grip tight enough to be uncomfortable, but not quite enough to hurt.

"Minfilia, you must understand. What I do, I do for your sake, not out of cruelty. It is this world that is cruel. Harsh and unforgiving. Too many times has it taken you — has it taken the previous bearers of the name Minfilia from me. Often in front of my very eyes. Whether by monsters, bandits, beast tribes, wild Sin Eaters, or the anarchists of the Crystarium, if you were to go out into the world, you would be dead. And I will not have you suffer that."

He gestured to the opulent room around her. "Here, you have everything you need, by Lord Vauthry's grace. Even now, as the world ends, you will want for nothing. You will be safe, and your life will be long, and you can be happy. If you simply accept the constraints that must be placed on your life, all will be well."

He let go of her shoulder, though she could still feel the memory of his hand, and turned away towards the door. "I will speak with your tutors about increasing your socialization. There are ways to provide it without putting you at risk. But it will be under carefully controlled circumstances. No more of this foolish wandering."

He closed the door behind him, and Minfilia heard the definitive sound of the lock clicking shut. Entirely drained by the events of the day, she fell backwards onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The ceiling she would be trapped under for the rest of her life. She knew nothing would ever change.

(Until the day, barely a sennight later, when it did, as a man with a gunblade kicked down her door and held out his hand to her…)

Thancred put his hand on the top of Ryne's head. It was a gentle, warm, human touch, something connecting the two of them. Once she'd found it a little condescending, a sign of her controlling him, but that had been back when she still had the shadow of Ran'jit looming over her and he was still too tied up with his feelings for the real Minfilia to say what he was really feeling. Now, it was a sign of their bond.

"This is it. In just a few minutes, you're going back home, and I'll never see you again."

Thancred smiled softly. "We can't say that for sure. Y'shtola is dead set on finding a more convenient path between the worlds. Perhaps she'll succeed."

"But it's not likely. And even if it happens, it won't be soon."

"No. Likely not."

Ryne suddenly lunged in and wrapped him up in a tight hug, startling him. "I'm going to miss you so much. I never had a family before I met you. Ran'jit was the closest thing, and he was just awful."

"He was. Though I think he did care in his own odd way."

"Oh, he cared. But he cared about Minfilia. I was just the same as all the other girls who'd been the Oracle of Light. He never saw me as a person. You did."

"It took me long enough. I'm chagrined to say for the longest time, my feelings about you were tangled up with the original Minfilia, and I wouldn't admit it. I'm not so different from him in that way."

"But you didn't stay that way. You saw what an ass you were being about that, and made yourself be better. You even helped me choose a name all my own."

"More like pushed it on you."

"I liked it, though. If it had been something that didn't speak to me, I wouldn't have kept it all this time." She looked down. "To have someone think I was a 'blessing' instead of a burden or a prize to keep caged… That meant a lot to me." She looked back up at him with a smile. "I never did get a last name, though."

"There's nothing stopping you! Why not pick one out yourself?"

"Hmm… You know, we've been traveling together for more than three years now and I still haven't ever heard what your last name is."

"Waters. Though I'll warn you it's not a name with any kind of proud heritage to it."

"Maybe it could be. Plenty of people would be proud to be associated with you."

He smiled. "I'd be honored if you took it. But you don't have to. I already picked your first name for you. You might find one you like better. Or even take your beloved's name should you get married."

Ryne looked away, a little color coming to her cheeks. "That might be difficult."

"Because Gaia doesn't remember her last name either, you mean?"
Her eyes widened and she smacked his chest with the back of her hand, turning much redder. "Thancred! It's not like— I mean, we haven't even—!"

He laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'm not going to be here to embarrass you in front of your true love, whether that's Gaia or someone else, so forgive me for taking the chance while I can."

Ryne huffed. "Oh, you are impossible!" But she smiled. "…I'm going to miss that."

Thancred smiled back, and then drew her into another hug, his strong arms wrapping around her. It wasn't like Ran'jit's strength, forcing her down and controlling her. It was a strength that drew out her own, a strength that reminded her that he was there for her, but that she could be there for herself, too.

"Ryne, I never thought I'd be a father figure to anyone, and gods know I haven't been the best one. I've made so many mistakes, and caused you pain I can't justify. But you've risen above it, and become such an amazing person. Wherever you go in this world, whatever you do, whether you choose to walk your path alone or bring friends and eventually family with you, whether you are a hero fighting monsters or a builder restoring the world or a mother raising new life or something I can't yet imagine — I will always be proud of you. No matter what. I hope you can always remember that when I'm gone."

She hugged him tight. "I will, Thancred. I will."

Chapter Text

The Convocation was divided. A rare occurrence, always fleeting. But not this time.

"Hades, you can't be serious. I'd think you of all people would be skeptical of this course of action…"

"We are in session, Azem, and since you're actually here for once, I'll thank you to actually use my proper title, just while we're on official business. And I see no alternative. The laws of the star are fading. We must weave them anew."

"But not like this! This proposal is… monstrous. I can't find another word for it. Sacrificing half the population…"

"…is better than letting them all die because we did nothing. We would force no one, use no coercion or tricks. If we simply make the danger known, and explain that our plan will mend it, we will have no shortage of volunteers."

"But can we really tell them the plan will work in confidence? Zodiark… it's an amazing concept, to be sure. But nothing like it has ever been tried before. And looking at it, I see so many places things can go wrong."

"You worry too much, my friend!" Lahabrea forced a smile, trying to mediate between his arguing colleagues. "I've put my all into the design of this concept, and I can assure you that, fueled by sufficient aether, it will have both the power and the finesse to reweave the fraying threads. There's no risk there."

Azem turned to face the Convocation's Speaker. "That's not my worry, Lahabrea. I know you're by far our most skilled creator of phantasms. I'm sure that it could do what you say. But that's not all there is to it. Even if you can accept the lives you're sacrificing, surely you can see the danger of it all. Channelling countless lives to create a being so heavily aspected towards one polarity of aether — we couldn't bear that weight, not even all fourteen of us together. It would… twist us. Warp us. Down to the very soul." Facing Emet-Selch again, Azem continued, "You can see the strength of our souls better than anyone. You know I'm right."

Emet-Selch's brow furrowed. "Even if you are, what of it? I say again: there is no alternative. And surely damage to ourselves is far less of a sacrifice than that we'd be asking of the people at large. We'd be terrible hypocrites if we shied away from that."

"There is an alternative. Remember, all this started with a sound. Countless people the world over have reported it — they heard the sound, echoing up from deep beneath the ground, and then they lost control of their creation magic. That is what is unweaving the laws as we know them. The consequences of every stray thought and primal impulse becoming real."
"We're well aware of that," Emet-Selch said. "But how does that help?"

"Something must have made that sound. If we can find out what it was, we can learn how it did it. Study it, control it, negotiate with it, kill it if we have to. It might give us a way to undo its effects, to solve the problem without resorting to the Zodiark project."

"Be reasonable. Travel halfway across the world, delve deep into the earth to find something when we have no idea what it is or if it even exists, and then try to understand enough to come up with an alternative plan? We can't afford to spend that kind of time," Emet-Selch said.
"We can't afford not to! Zodiark might reweave the laws of the star, stabilize the world. But if he does so without finding the real source of the problem first, it will always be there, lying in wait inside the reformed world. What if it has the power to resurge someday, and overcome Zodiark? What if all our sacrifice is for naught?"

"We can ensure it won't be!" Igeyorhm pounded her fist on the rail in front of her. "If Zodiark is not strong enough to contain whatever threats may come up, we will be by his side. We can guide him to new threats, plan what is needed to contain them, and if necessary channel more aether in to him to give him the strength he needs."

Azem was aghast. "More aether? You're already sacrificing half the world's population! One or two more challenges and you'll have nothing left to give!"

"We'll think of something! We always do. But we'll never have the chance if we aren't bold enough to take this first step."

"Enough!" Elidibus cut in. "It is becoming increasingly clear that tempers are running high on this issue. I blame neither side, but it is time to leaven our emotions with reason. Please, be calm, everyone."

He waited a moment for both Azem and Igeyorhm to take their seats again. "It is true that the Zodiark plan requires drastic measures. None know this better than I. But one way or another, this calamity pressing down on us will not be averted without drastic measures — whether they be the summoning of Zodiark or the journey into the unknown that Azem would ask us to gamble on."

Azem tried to cut in again, but Elidibus raised his hand. "We all know the arguments in favor of the Zodiark project. Azem has presented the argument against, and an alternative plan. We will vote now, and let our consensus guide our path. For good or for ill, we must take action. Any further delay would serve to make any plan we decide on come too late to do any good."

The vote — the final vote of the Convocation of Fourteen — was decisive. Thirteen in favor. One against.

Normally that would be the end of it. But this was a decision that ran against everything the one believed. One that could not be accepted. And so the Convocation splintered. One defector, breaking off from a body that would never be whole again.

And one splinter begets others. Venat's faction splintering from the public at large, when the plan to supply sufficient aether became unacceptable to them. And then the world itself splintering into fourteen, when god fought god.

And at times, Emet-Selch would look at the state of the world, the fragmented shards and the twisted mockeries of true life, and despair. All this chaos, all this loss, all this destruction, from a single splinter. If only they could have prevented this.

If only they had made Azem stay.