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This is not how she imagined their reunion on the First to go.
“First explain this other presence in your company. The one I know not.”
Y’shtola’s words feel like a knife slipped between her ribs, her careful voice familiar to Ziyue in its tone and cadence but foreign in the way the wariness and hostility are aimed at her. Thancred and Urianger shoot her twin looks of pity before the latter states her innocence, slow but confident.
“You truly thought me a sin eater?”
Ziyue meant for the words to come out in a light manner with a wry smile on her face, but the sudden lump in her throat makes them take on a raspy quality instead. She winces and steps back, Y'shtola eyeing her with wariness and curiosity and brows drawn in a thoughtful crease before signaling to the others to put their weapons down.
“Come, I would give you a proper introduction to Rak'tika and its people.”
Ziyue takes to observing the changes to Y’shtola as she and Urianger talk. Her choice of attire has obviously changed, and she notes the new cane she now holds. Her demeanor is different as well—more sure of herself, her stride more confident, her voice befitting of a leader. It’s not that Y’shtola has changed so much she practically feels like a stranger, Ziyue tells herself. Thancred and Urianger converse with her like they did back on the Source, so it shouldn’t be any different for her either. Y’shtola’s endless thirst for knowledge hasn’t changed at all even on a new shard, and the sight of it is so distinctly familiar it aches. She tears her eyes away from her form to study Minfillia instead, ignoring the dull pain pulsing a song of betrayal in her chest.
Minfillia is shy but sweet and Ziyue had already taken a liking to her the moment they met. She idly wonders if Thancred had been the one to tie her hair like that, the pink ribbon laced through blonde hair like the Minfillia on the Source had. She makes a mental note to be gentle to the girl, disapproving of Thancred’s harsher attitude towards her. Perhaps Alisaie and Alphinaud could befriend her?
“If we are all clear on our next objective, I suggest we leave to gather ourselves and prepare,” Y’shtola says, pulling Ziyue out of her thoughts. “Ziyue, would you mind staying behind?”
She blinks at her in reply, leaning against the wall as the others walk out the room. Urianger closes the door behind them and it’s just her and Y’shtola left.
Alone.
The silence stretches out uncomfortably for moments, and Ziyue can feel her tail start to lash about in agitation as Y’shtola studies her with her arms crossed. She turns her head away from the other’s burning gaze.
A soft exhale that sounds like a sigh, and Y’shtola finally breaks the silence.
“Come here.”
Her body moves without thinking. She doesn’t realize this until she’s standing right in front of Y’shtola, and her face flushes when her brain catches up with the current situation. Y’shtola had already been taller than Ziyue on the Source if only by a few ilms, but the black heels she wears now makes her taller by almost an entire head. It makes her heart flutter and skip a beat. She tilts her head backward to look Y’shtola in the eyes.
Y’shtola is still looking at her with a frown on her face. Ziyue shifts on her feet, unsure of how to proceed with this newer version of Y’shtola. What were they, anyway? Close enough for displays of intimate physical affection perhaps more suited to lovers than friends, close enough for gentle teasing and good-natured flirting, but they had never discussed the nature of their relationship as it blossomed over the years. Did Y’shtola ever think of her as she went about her duties as a leader on the First, or were they now effectively strangers?
“What are you thinking about in that pretty little head of yours, hmm?” Y’shtola murmurs, stepping forward so that the distance between them turns nonexistent. She raises her hands to cup Ziyue’s cheeks and swipe her thumbs over her freckles, under her eyes. Ziyue is sure she can feel the lingering heat in her cheeks and tries not to twitch or burst into tears beneath her tender touch.
“Y’shtola,” she starts, soft and uncertain. “I... how have you been?”
A small smile curves Y’shtola’s lips even as the crease between her brows grows deeper. Her hands slide to Ziyue’s shoulders, then to her collarbones, where a large, ugly scar sits beneath the high collar. Ziyue stops breathing.
“I have been well,” Y’shtola says, fingers tugging at her collar. “The Night’s Blessed are simple but good people. The Rak’tika Greatwood is quiet enough to make studying here pleasant.”
“That is good to hear,” she replies. Uncertain of how to move forward.
“And you?”
Y’shtola has taken to feeling at her hair, fingers brushing through the short strands. Ziyue had let Tataru trim it before she journeyed to the First so that it wouldn’t grow too long and get in the way during combat.
“I recall Alisaie saying you were on the front lines with the Alliance forces at the Ghimlyt Dark before she was summoned. I assume the Garleans were driven back, or you would be far less content to spend so much time here on the First. Did you face off against Zenos?”
“I did,” Ziyue answers, voice strangely tight. Y’shtola’s fingers are cool against her skin, but that damned scar Zenos left on her starts to burn again. It remains an ugly reminder of shame and her own weakness that she has taken to covering up with high-collared undergarments and chokers. She tenses as memories of her near-death flood her mind, the easy way the blade had cut through her healer’s robe, the searing pain accompanying the spray of blood. Her Echo screaming for her unresponsive body to move. A familiar presence bearing her away moments before the world faded to black. She swallows.
Perhaps noticing her brief loss of composure, Y’shtola slides one of her hands onto the small of her back, the other coming to rest against the back of her hand. Ziyue lets out a shuddering breath and buries her face in Y’shtola’s shoulder. She tells herself there’s not a lump in her throat, and it’s simply the dust in the dark room making her eyes water.
“It is good to see you all again,” Ziyue murmurs against her shoulder, determined to speak normally. “Alisaie especially. She had made me promise not to leave her, and then... well. I’m just glad you’re all safe for now.”
Y’shtola hums at that. Her touch, firm but careful as always, eventually causes her to relax after a few moments. Ziyue sighs and unwillingly lifts her head, blinking away the remaining wetness in her eyes to look into Y’shtola’s face.
“About our earlier meeting,” she starts, taking note of Y’shtola’s wince at her words. “What did you mean by my aether bearing too much light? Enough for you to mistake me for a sin eater no less.”
“Your aether is suffused with so much light it is near blinding to look at,” Y’shtola says, confusion and concern creasing her brow once more. “I know not the extent of how much more Light aether your soul can take before you succumb to the Lightwardens’ corrupted aether yourself.”
She pauses as if she wants to say more, and Ziyue waits patiently. Y’shtola’s expression doesn’t change, but her ears flatten against the side of her head for a brief moment before relaxing again.
“It is... unsettling, to say the least,” she continues slowly. It’s as if she’s pondering every word as she speaks. “The light overshadows anything else that might be in your aether. I no longer know the shape of your soul, its every shift in tone and hue as I once did.”
Ziyue does not understand, but she moves to place a hand on Y’shtola’s arm in a bid to offer comfort. Y’shtola places her hand on top of her own, the other coming up to stroke at her cheek once again, running her thumb along her freckles. Ziyue flushes at the simple but pleasant intimacy of the gesture.
The sudden flare of warmth on her face doesn’t go unnoticed by Y’shtola, lips curving into a faint smirk before her expression turns serious.
“You were hurt by my words then, were you not?” she says softly, and Ziyue tenses again, cursing her body for its honesty. “I apologize for any pain I caused.”
“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known it was me in the first place.”
Ziyue’s reply is firm, the last of any lingering pain in her chest washed away by the peace Y’shtola’s presence brings her. Her heart beats a staccato rhythm of hesitation for a fleeting moment before she takes Y’shtola’s hand into her own, lacing their fingers together when the other doesn’t pull away.
Y’shtola’s eyes go wide in shock. She blinks at Ziyue, an uncharacteristic display of emotion and vulnerability, and Ziyue feels her heart clench, more heat finding its way to settle from her cheeks all the way to her neck. She squeezes Y’shtola’s hand and hopes it conveys all the emotions she cannot put into words.
The surprise on Y’shtola’s face melts into something more tender, and she squeezes back, seemingly content to leave her hand in Ziyue’s warmer one. Her other hand brushes Ziyue’s bangs aside, and she leans into her touch.
The First is both strange and wonderful, hidden knowledge and stalwart allies and dangerous enemies lurking in every corner of this new world. However, she can tuck all those thoughts into the back of her mind for now and focus on the present for a moment: Y’shtola’s fingers laced in hers, the cool if slightly dusty floor pressing against their robes, a familiar and comforting presence lying against her side.
This was not how she imagined their reunion to go, but it turned out well enough in the end, did they not?