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Chapter Text

It was not that Minfilia Warde had meant to seemingly abandon her companions - the Scions of the Seventh Dawn - as soon as the veil of amnesia had been raised from their eyes. She had been forgotten by them, and had fought to claim her place as an ally. But her path had taken her away from them. And to aid Belias, the Gigas, she had become more then aware how little she knew about the tribes of Eorzea. She had not known that the Gigas had a ruler, for example, until the Moogle known as Kurin had informed her such. And so, when the Ultima Weapon had fallen, Minfilia left. She left to befriend the tribes across Eorzea, to ally them with Belias' nation.

Minfilia - and Fordola - had not expected it to take months. Going between them, doing tasks to shore up trust. Aiding them with their issues. The two lay on the beach of Western La Noscea, napping in the nursery - Minfilia resting in Fordolas' grasp, as the clutchfather watched the two of them. They'd returned to bring some oranges, before collapsing exhausted.

The gentleness was interrupted by the snarl of Sahagin, an intruder was coming! Spears held to... the very calm-looking Y'shtola, who stopped her step. "We've been looking for Minfilia. May I come in?"

At her voice, Minfilia began to wake. Her ears - still mutated and changed from her deed of sealing away Primal with fae magic, kobold-esque now - twitched at the sound of her dear friend. Her scales, warmed by Fordolas' burden of carrying the essence of Ifrit, gleamed in the sunlight. Standing gently, Minfilia shook Fordola a little. "I'll come out to you. Apologies, friends."

Walking though her Sahagin friends, Minfilia stopped a little before her Miqo'te ally, averting her gaze. Minfilia could not explain why she felt that distance between the two of them. Not physical, but... well. She'd slaved with them not remembering her. And now that Y'shtola had her kind gaze trained on Minfilia, it felt wrong. Had she earned this? Y'shtola, meanwhile, stood as firm as always.

By the Twelve, she was beautiful. Somebody Minfilia wished she could be like. Fordola stretched, following Minfilia, listening in.

"We are relocating from the Waking Sands," Y'shtola stated, watching Minfilias' expression grow angry. "We have gotten opportunities to escape from under the... issues that our current home has."

"And what issues are they?" Minfilia replied, her voice firey.

"For one, your conquest of Ultima Weapon has caught the attention of others. And since you were hard to find, they came to us." Not even to Belias! Then again, Minfilias' relationship to the Lucavi was well-hidden. "From all across the nation. We decided, as a group, that we could not pledge ourselves to their causes.

The Syndicate has begun to threaten us. The lack of aetheryte is the least of our concerns."

Continuing to speak, Y'shtola could see that Minfilia was not swayed. "It was Alphinaud who came to bring us an idea. We shall be relocating to the neutral territory of Mor Dhona--"

"--Mor Dhona is not neutral!" Minfilia finally said, her voice raising. Sahagin paid attention, ready to fight for her. Y'shtola took a step backwards, calculated. "Mor Dhona is the land of the Gigas, and Belias has decided to become active again! The Tonberry work with adventurers, and some Kobold have decided to settle in the mountains there! And you dare call them neutral territory?" Her hands bundled into fists, her glare building. Y'shtola had not expected such.

But she was not afraid. "To the three City-States we worry about - and the other nation asking for our aid - Mor Dhona is neutral. I do not mean to dismiss the rule of Belias, but... there is still a lack of respect for the beast tribes of Eorzea."

Outward appearances. Minfilia had been focusing on building her ties to the beasts, before she could build them with people. For while the Echo made it easier to bond with her new friends, but people... people were different. Her focus did not waver. Her anger did not fade. "Have you discussed such with the Tonberry? Your relocation, I mean."

"Yes," Y'shtola said. "They were quite interested, especially when Tataru offered them new cooking recipes.

Papalymo has made this choice, after weeks of discussion. I decided it was best to let you know, before you entered the Waking Sands and found only Urianger there."

"--Urianger is staying behind?" Minfilia asked, and Y'shtola nodded. "But why? Is he not one of us?"

"Somebody has to, and he volunteered." Did he truly volunteer? Did he do it because he didn't want to move, or was it because he didn't want anybody else to miss out? Thankfully, Minfilias' anger was fading. Oh, she was still pissed off. But she could share this with Belias, later.

Minfilia turned back to look at Fordola. Before nodding, and looking back to Y'shtola. "Is that all, then? You simply came to inform me?"

"Not exactly. Before we move out, a guest has come to the Waking Sands - one who wishes to meet with you." Notably, Y'shtola did not say a name. "I feel it would be best if you met with them before we moved."

Letting out a sigh - why was she so secretive, if she now remembered? - Minfilia gave a firm nod. "Tell your mystery guest I shall be there within the next few days. I should be able to take a break then." She moved towards Lutia, to mount the larger then normal Red Chocobo, and then Y'shtola spoke up again.

"You have not gotten yourself a caravan yet?"

Pausing, Minfilia looked to herself. She'd wanted one, yes. But with her new job, and her focus on the beast tribes, she hadn't gotten the time. Y'shtola then gave a little smile. "I believe our mystery guest may be able to provide such, as well."

Would that Y'shtola would put a name to the mystery, but Minfilia never pushed. On the other hand, Fordola did - pushing past Minfilia slightly, tongue beginning to flicker like one of the Amalj'aa that summoned Ifrit into her. (The Ivalician method, as the Ascian had deemed it. Which was a little strange - why would it be named after that lost land? Was it only invented after Allag fell?

Or did it come from those from the Conflict, those weird immortals that Minfilia was not quite comfortable with?) "Oi. Y'shtola." Fordola began, tail hitting the ground. "Y'think yout can put a name t'our mystery friend? Or are you gonna keep us in the dark?"

A shake of her head, and Y'shtola confirmed her thoughts though words. "This... guest is still wanted by many people. Even now. Thus, I must be careful. It is nothing negative, mind you."

But they'd need to trust Y'shtola. Lutia let out a scream - the Chocobo beginning to grow impatient. Lutia was still skittish and disliked sitting still while she had somebody on her back. Fordola got the message, and climbed on behind Minfilia.

"...I will need to trust you," Minfilia said, "and shall be there as soon as I can be."

It was a pity, to Minfilia, that she could not go over to Mor Dhona to make her report to Belias. However, the trip back to Limsa Lominsa was slow enough - Lutia had an aversion to certain paths, especially those which were too dark-coloured. It also gave her time to calm down, time to grow less bitter over them.

However, the boat to Vesper Bay was a little more interesting. Minfilia planned on resting on the deck, as Fordola sunbathed. She did not, however, expect to see the larger-then-average Xaela - who could only be one person. One of her friends - Bolormaa, of the Dotharl. Adventurer who aided her.

In her hands was a large, pure Water Crystal. From the bulge in her pouch, there was another she was storing. Minfilia approached, a little quietly, so that she could assess the mood the darker-skinned Xaela was in.

But before she could get too close, Bolormaa turned on her heels - and quickly stashed the crystal in her bag. (Which, from the flash of it, seemed to be an Earth Crystal.) "Minfilia!!"

Before Minfilia could protest - as if she would - Bolormaa had lifted her into a hug. They rubbed noses together, and their hair tangled ever-so-slightly. They were close to the same tone, after all - even if Bolormaas' faded to a soft pink, and Minfilias' had begun to fade to a ever-so-slighly lighter blonde. Setting Minfilia down, Bolormaas' large tail had begun to wag. It still carried scars on it... but a lighter section had regrown."I didn't know that Au Ra tails regrew," Minfilia commented, as she unfurled her own tail.

Bolormaa paused. Looked to her tail. Looked back. "Most don't. But a few do. It's not as strong in that area anymore." As if to show off, Bolormaas' tail began to hit the wooden boat a few times. (It really didn't show much.) And then, Bolormaa flopped down. Offering a hand, Minfilia sat next to her. "I didn't know that you were in La Noscea."

"I was. I was working on my relations with the Sahagin. What were you doing?"

"Oh, well," Bolormaa said, getting out the crystals. "I... um. There's this big tower, in Mor Dhona?"

Here they went again, Minfilia thought.

"And the Sons and the Gigas wanted to hire adventurers to survey and study it. To see if there's anything..." Bolormaa was fidgeting in excitement. "Well, anything to help Belias! And also anything ancient Allagan! Actually, we're waiting for a Sharlayan scholar and historian to arrive, as well, to come and help... or so I've heard! Which is weird, because I'm an Archon, but--!"

Bolormaa then stopped. And gave a little whine. "Sorry. I got excited."

Minfilias' scowl she'd not noticed had faded, replaced with a warm smile. "Pray do not feel ashamed. I was almost worried you'd gotten involved in harming the people of Mor Dhona.

The Crystal Tower is sacred to the Gigas." Minfilia dare not add it, but she also thought it - she was certain some people would abuse all of this.

Sagely nodding, Bolormaa smiled. "I know." She looked out to the sea, gently. Eyes closing. "My own beliefs are often mocked. And I'm often mocked for what I am. So I don't want to hurt them."

A beat. Before Bolormaa grinned, re-opening her oddly hollow blue eyes. "Oh! You can meet Bartz! He's my friend!" Minfilia tilted her head. "He's the one I was telling you about before Ultima Weapon - the one who I met after the Nadaam? Brown hair, a little dopey, trying to help his beloved?"

"Zid--"

A voice said from behind Bolormaa and Minfilia, before Minfilia turned, her ears twitching. Was this the brown-haired man that Bolormaa had just been talking about? He seemed to be - in loose blue clothes, a comfortable tunic. He was pale - almost too pale - with dull red eyes and white hair. If Minfilia didn't know better, she'd mistake him for Cordis. (But he was a Hyur, and Cordis - the Warrior of Light who had vanished - was a Viera.)

Right away, he had a mix between an embarrassed grin and a regular smile on his lips. "Sorry. You looked like a friend of mine."

"But she is a friend of yours," Bolormaa said with a smile. "Because she is my friend. And you're my friend."

A beat. Bartz thought. And then he nodded. "You know when they're good people, Bolormaa." He slipped down on the other side of Bolormaa, offering both her and Minfilia some of the food he'd gotten. Fish, of course, cooked nicely. "Do you think you'll get to Gridiana in time?"

Bolormaa shook her head. "No. So I hope that the other adventurer can do what he needs to... and doesn't hurt himself." Pausing, Bolormaa looked over to Minfilia. "A Primal was summoned while I was collecting the crystals. Um, but a bit of a weird one.

I didn't know that Moogles had a god."

"They don't," Minfilia replied, a little concerned. "They don't have a creation myth like ours - but they do have figures in their mythology which could be seemed in a sort of similar light. One was summoned five years ago, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes," Minfilia replied, nodding to the others. "It was actually one of the most dangerous, before Dalamud fell." She recalled that there were rumblings that Titan and Leviathan both were close to being summoned, but something had stopped it. Something stronger then the Gods, perhaps. "But-- pray tell, who has been sent to fight them?"

"Another Ala Mhigan, actually!" Bolormaa said, as if Minfilia knew all Ala Mhigans. "His name is Arenvald, and he's a good boy. He survived the slaughter." Her grin wide, Bolormaa nodded. "When we could not get in contact with you, he begged to learn how you'd stopped Primals."

"...You told him." Minfilias' face went pale. "Did he learn the side-effects--?"

"--He did." Suddenly, Bolormaa looked serious. "Do you really think I'd let somebody get changed without... you know?"

Suddenly, Bartz spoke up, looking between the two of them. "You seem pretty wound-up, Minfilia - was it? What's up?"

"What is up," Minfilia said with a soft sigh, "is that I am being left out of major choices - both in Mor Dhona and when it comes to Primal." Minfilia grumped quietly, leaning backwards. "I understand I was unreachable by most, but I did not even feel my glyph - and yet, the Scion wish to move close to the Gigas' land?"

What was she to either side? Bartz put his hands in his lap, looking upwards. "You know now." His voice was not demeaning, however. No, he seemed to understand more then Minfilia could get from his words. "And since they'll be closer, you'll be able to get information from both groups faster, right?"

Damnit... this Bartz fellow was charming, kind. "You're one of them, aren't you?" One of the eternal Warriors, who came from before time for some form of Conflict. Minfilia knew quite a few of them. She had befriended some - Lightning and Snow, for example. And others - such as Prishe - were her enemy. 

Bartz grew quiet. Frowned. "...Yeah. Yeah, I am. But it doesn't make anything I say more or less important." His voice barely wavered, as he leaned forward. "Trust me - even if you've got some power, it's not a bad thing making friends with people from all walks of life."

Minfilia looked him over. Honest, charming, and kind. And he truly didn't seem to be hiding anything. "What brought you and Bolormaa together? I heard that you were in the Steppe, but other then that--"

"Well, it's actually a funny story," Bartz replied, now beaming. "I've been looking for a cure for a rare illness. It's hit another of us immortals - leaving him stuck and... sick. But I ended up bumping into Bolormaa and she offered to help."

"Bump into?" Bolormaa replied, tail hitting the ships' deck. "You were injured! I had to make sure you were okay, and I took you back to Esthar."

"Right, right," Bartz said. "And then we decided to head out together, after you were spooked."

"Not my fault! Their leader feels... wrong."

Minfilia listened, until a term she'd only heard from Belias came up. Bartz had a sombre look. "Of course he feels wrong, he was one of those Twelfth Cyclers."

"Pardon me," Minfilia said, "but did I hear you right? Belias told me of those ones - the ones like Lightning. That they sacrificed themselves, but then... something happened?"

"Right," Bartz replied. "The six or seven - maybe eight - who got caught up in it came back wrong. I don't think that Belias would know too much about it - he's only as old as the third Ivalice."

"...Third Ivalice."

"Yeah. There's the one Vaan was from, the one Ramza was from, and the one that was made here on this planet."

Every time Bartz said something, Minfilia had more and more questions. Those, however, would need to wait, as Vesper Bay came into view - and as Fordola came out from belowdecks, letting out a loud yawn. Standing up, Bartz stretched as well - as did Bolormaa. "So. Bartz and me will report to Papalymo and check on Arenvald. And you, Minfilia--"

"--will come with you. I wish to see this other who'd give himself to aid in a non-lethal Primal fight. Besides. Papalymo called for me to meet with somebody else."

Chapter Text

The Solar was cramped, even if most of the objects and items within had been packed up. Those which could not be moved had simple glyphs placed nearby, so they would not be disturbed. At his desk - now empty - Papalymo stared at the group who entered. He was expecting the tall Xaela Bolormaa, and he also still had a seat for the exhausted Arenvald, who’d barely moved since returning. His skin covered in sweat, his armour stripped so he only wore smallclothes, the half-Hyur could barely catch his breath. Small wings flapped on his back, unnatural and slightly fluffy. Fur was still pushing its’ way out of his flesh, held back slightly. Honestly, he should have been resting - but he had insisted, in his actions, that he wanted to greet Bolormaa.

Thankfully, Yda was keeping an eye on him from one of the corners of the room. And in her arms, Lyse was in her Sylph form, half-asleep in the dulled light.

But the others - the white-haired Hyur with a presence even he couldn’t ignore, and Minfilia and Fordola… Papalymo felt he had to stand to speak to them all.

"Did the Primal get sealed?" Bolormaa asked, as she put a hand to her chest. "Because, uh…"

"It did," Papalymo replied, his tongue a little softer then she expected. "But unlike Minfilia, it seems Arenvald is struggling to keep his form together."

"Duh."

Fordola stepped forward. And then over to Arenvald. While the two hadn’t met before, they were both carrying Eikon energy, in one way or another. She forced his head up, and looked into his eyes. "Hey. Arenvald, was it?"

He weakly groaned. "You need to rest. Now. Trust me - this sort of stuff is overwhelming." Before anybody - least of all Arenvald - could protest, Fordola lifted him up and carried him out of the room. Minfilia couldn’t help but blink a few times, reaching out a hand once she realised what was happening, but lowering it again. Bolormaa chuckled.

"Haha… Ala Mhigans are cute," Bolormaa said, before growing a little serious. "Anyway, the next time we meet will be at the Rising Stones, correct? I will miss here."

Papalymo averted his gaze, for he felt Minfilias’ anger building. And so, he addressed her. "Yes, we will be moving there. I know that we didn’t tell you, Minfilia, nor did we consult you. But the Waking Sands will still belong to us, as well - we all know how much this place means to you."

"It’ll be home, and we’ll have another home, and they’ll both be… homely!" Yda added from the corner, still shrouded in shadows. Minfilia and her hadn’t gotten to talk much after she learned that Yda was a runaway Garlean noble… but Yda hadn’t changed. She was a goofball, optimistic… the sort of woman you wouldn’t have expected to come from Garlemald. "Right, Papalymo?"

"As always, you made no sense, Yda." (Papalymo loved it. Papalymo loved her, even if she annoyed him.) "But… yes. I am so, so sorry that we could not reach you until now."

…She held back her true feelings again. Minfilia couldn’t help it. "The guest you have for me - might I also ask… has Thancred been well?" Another person she should have checked on. But unlike Yda, Thancred… it was more complex. He’d forgotten. And he’d also been possessed by an Ascian, Lahabrea. It was awkward - what would they say to each other?

There was a silence, Papalymo looking awkward. Bolormaa looked to Minfilia. "He’s been in and out of medical care. His flesh is deathly cold. I think he’s in care right now?" Even if she spoke so innocently, Minfilia felt her heart skip a beat. Like the touch of that Raen Au Ra… huh. Her hands couldn’t help but fist up. Bolormaa continued, worried. "So, he hasn’t been avoiding you either. But we’re worried - it’s from the Ascian influence, we think. Y’shtola has been trying to help, and Urianger-- well, he’s been no help."

"Yeah!" Yda added, with a huff. "Come on, he should be! He made the magic which let you seal Primal, and that makes you change, but then he can’t change Thancred back?" As Ydas’ arms tightened, she stopped suddenly - making sure she didn’t crush the Sylphic Lyse who still slumbered. "Uh, anyway - so that’s what’s happening with us."

Belias would know how to help, Minfilia reasoned internally. "I’ll meet with him once you’ve moved into the Rising Stones, then." A deep breath inwards. A shake. "And Cordis? The... true Warrior of Light? I hear he’s returned."

Nodding happily, Yda beamed. "Mhm! I think he said he was off investigating something about some... stuff? He was quite vague about it." Yda was ditzy as always, but was honest as well. "He’ll be around the Rising Stones? I think?"

Good. She wanted to meet the Warrior of Light. The one who was destined - chosen - by Hydaelyn, lost in the Light. They had so much to discuss. Another inwards tremble. "And - our guest?"

Papalymo finally got off of his chair, nodding to himself. "She’s made herself at home."

Minfilia followed, carefully, cautiously… not ready for what she’d see.

Meanwhile, Fordola forced Arenvald down into bed, a frown on her lips. Thank the Gods they’d kept the medical bays ready to go. His fever was not breaking, his body struggling.

…She would have fought it, herself, honestly. If she hadn’t been turned into that beast. Hesitating for a moment, Fordola put a hand to his forehead. Before lifting it, sweat dripping from it - he shifted away from her touching it. "Listen. We might be different, but--"

"…you’re Ala Mhigan as well?" Arenvald managed to choke out, looking up at her. "Please don’t touch my head. Personal reasons."

Right. Fordola sat up straight, her mind going back to being a commander. Before she could speak more, Arenvald was focusing on her. "…you’ve got the same tattoo Yda has," he commented.

"…Yeah. Yda’s a friend of mine." Fordola mumbled, closing her own eyes. "I’m not quite Ala Mhigan, though.

…I worked for Garlemald. But now‘m one of you."

Fordola hoped that’d get him to understand. And so, she didn’t let him speak. "Now, listen. I was th’first that Minfilia sealed. And she didn’t suffer like you, just passed out for a bit. You-- do you have the Echo?"

Arenvald coughed. "Yeah, but-- can we go back? You worked with Garlemald? Why?"

Fordola let out a sigh. "Arenvald. Why do you fight for the Scions?" She’d turned it back on him? Arenvald gave a grunt. "Because I want to be a hero, and help fight against those who want to hurt us."

"It’s basically the same for me, but our places were switched," Fordola explained calmly. "Ala Mhigans decided t’kill my dad, because he’d chosen Garlemald. For safety." She had no clue he was not her birth father - though it did not matter. "And I chose to fight for Garlemald, so that I’d be able to protect those I cared for. Fightin’ against those who I thought wanted to destroy us."

The silence was broken by Arenvalds’ shudders. "Point is," Fordola said, "we’re similar right now. I was turned into Ifrit, and you tried t’seal some Moogle God." A deep inwards sigh. "Don’t struggle. You need to accept this."

"Kupo…" Arenvald replied, without realising. As he said that, his body seemed to calm a little.

"Like it or not, we carry these marks. And if you’re fighting it, then you shouldn’t have sealed somebody!" Her voice had raised just a little too much, Fordola trembling as she screamed it out. She hadn’t had a choice to become this way - he had!

More silence filled the room. And then… laughter? Both of them suddenly broke from how serious they were looking at each other. Arenvald, of course, was the first to crack. His body relaxing, his illness clearing up. Fordola tried to stifle her laugh, but smiled warmly. "My name’s Fordola. ‘m with Minfilia. Y’know, just some dumbass Ala Mhigans hangin’ out."

Arenvald snorted weakly - before letting out a few more coughs. The change had tired him out - hurt him. His eyes closed slowly… and he smiled. "We’re just a bunch of dumbasses, huh…"

Not every room had been put away - for example, the lounge area Minfilia found herself entering. Usually, she’d take note of the atmosphere, the soft carpet she stepped onto, the sweet homely scent.

But that was not what Minfilia focused on. No, sitting in one of the soft couches was…

"…Lhaminn?"

Her voice was less then a whisper, the sort that Hyur wouldn’t hear. Face going pale, Minfilia remembered. She’d seen her adoptive mother-- wait, no. The grave was a mass grave, and she’d learned of her passing from the Ascian, Lahabrea. Still, hope had died, and she had mourned.

She had mourned so many, as the other figure - the Miqo’te - stood shakily. They met each other in the middle of the room, both near-silent.

F’lhaminn was the first to move, holding Minfilia tighter then she ever had before. Minfilia returned the hug in kind, a whimper in her throat. F’lhaminns’ hands moved to touch Minfilias’ kobold-esque ears. Minfilia learned into the touch, her tears saying more then words could ever say.

Papalymo left them, knowing that this wasn’t a place for him.

Eventually, F’lhaminn spoke - as she kissed Minfilias’ forehead. "I’m so, so sorry… I somehow forgot you, dear Ascilla… don’t worry, Papalymo and the other Scions of the Seventh Dawn filled me in.

I am so, so proud of you."

Those words broke Minfilia. She wanted to talk, to tell her more, to ask her more - but only wails and tears came out. Purrs and sobs mixed together, as she just tried to control herself. A chance she never thought she could get… and now she had that smile looking down at her, the age of suffering though the Calamity visible on the Miqo’tes face.

Minfilia rested her head, and finally caught her breath. "I’ve managed to befriend lots of other tribes, Lhaminn. And I-- I’ve even managed to find a safer place for those who want it."

"I know, Ascilla," F’lhaminn replied, as she began to groom Minfilia. Usually, Minfilia would shrug off the licks, but she wanted the love. "You united many tribes, and took down a Garlean superweapon. And you managed to do it your own way."

She understood…! "But."

Minfilia tried to stand to attention. F’lhaminn gave her a little smile. "You don’t know much about your other parts, do you? They might not be fully Miqo’te, but I want to help you."

--Of course! Beaming, Minfilia bunted against her. "I’d love that. I-- I missed you so much. Oh, and I can introduce you to Belias - he’s the King of Mor Dhona, and he’s employed me to help, and…!"

F’lhaminn sighed internally, dreamily. This was the daughter she missed so much. Even if she had forgotten her, there was a gap in her heart. Her fingers laced though Ascillas’ hair, F’lhaminn couldn’t help but notice how much she’d grown up. She wasn’t her little girl anymore - but she was still her daughter, and she would help.

Far away, in Mor Dhona, Thancred leaned against the thin wall of one of their temporary medical tents. They’d set it up in the abandoned Castrum, and were still tending to a few of the men found alive in North Thanalan. Imperials and Alliance both. If it were up to most of them, the Imperials would have been slaughtered, killed. But then again, they all held information. Not just information, but there was a sense of duty to not kill unless they absolutely had to. Or so Penono had drilled into him. To think, a Tonberry was tending to them, leading the efforts.

Thancred still had the frozen skin. He knew why, but couldn’t tell anybody. And the Scions kept trying to get him treatment, and he couldn’t refuse. Urianger had even tried to speak up, but he was not a master of the Ascian. And he’d been like this after Lahabrea left his body, so…

Slumping his head a little, Thancred sighed, looking at his hands. He knew what would await him if he fell to slumber. The unseelie, and those who claimed him and their King, the Fatebreaker who saved them from fading away, had become one. The optimistic and kindly Shivan, who called him father. And the cold knight Raiden, who claimed he would never replace the former King.

Urianger would be there as well, of course. For he was born there, and came though to here. He’d promised to help, and yet--

--ah, right. He’d come here for a reason. A difficult Hrothgar. (He’d never seen a Hrothgar before! In fact, they weren’t… how long had they existed?) If Penono couldn’t get him talking with kindness, he’d use his tongue to get information out of him. A name, their former duty - anything!

Turning the corner, Thancred saw the scene. A large cat-like boy, he was quite fluffy. While his fur was black with red markings, he had golden hair draped over his shoulders, tangled and matted from lack of care. Penono the Tonberry sat on a stool, giving little frustrated grunts - eyes lighting up more as she saw Thancred enter.

Thancred sat at the foot of the bed, and looked to Penono. "So, this is the one?"

"Mhm. They was found near-death at the bottom of the Praetorium. While they’ve been nursed back to health, they hasn’t said a word since arriving.

We know he can make sounds. They made sure we knew when we were stitching up their wounds." At that, Penono couldn’t help but chuckle a little - her fish-like tail beating against the back of the stool.

Hm. Thancred looked at her size, then to the patient. "I have an idea. But I’ll need you to get me some supplies…"

Soon, Thancred had set up - with some privacy. Tubs, water crystals, soaps… this Hrothgar needed a wash, and needed to be spoiled. He’d turn up the charm. Even if something about him seemed familiar. And now the Tonberry was gone, Thancred could prep the room. He removed his own shirt, so it wouldn’t get too dirty. Small feathers had begun to grow on his flesh again - tiny, but signs that he wasn’t Hyur. If his changed eyes didn’t make that obvious. His sclera had turned a dark grey, nearly black, after his Ascian possession.

He made sure the Hrothgar was comfortable - he felt quite light to manipulate, even as the patient growled lightly. A threat, but one Thancred didn’t fear. Perhaps it was because of his frozen hands? Those wouldn’t be comfortable. Luckily, he had some sponges.

But first, he had to brush and wash that hair. As he lathered up his hands, and then the sponge, and then the hair, he looked over the man. Scars, of course. Ones long-healed, and ones freshly tended to. They both carried both… "If I didn’t know better," Thancred mused to himself, "I’d say you were a conscript. I believe Hrothgar came from close to the Garlean capital?" Thancred knew how to move his hands. Examine the others’ body. "Your neck - you’re quite muscled, but not the way of a trained solider would be."

No, this Hrothgar had ever-so-slight strains, he’d had to train up quickly. There were no magitek implants, either - his skin and fur did not hum or tingle, and Thancred did not feel an odd feeling looking at the other. His hands now began to stroke the neck and chest of the messy Hrothgar, moving up to his hair.

It had been washed before, of course, to get rid of the blood and dust and dirt. But it was still dirty, caked with sweat. His fingers began to unknot the others’ hair. "Hmm… if I had to guess, you’d be from one of the many tribes without Queens. Lost, without a purpose."

"…still have one," the Hrothgar finally mumbled. And that was not a lie - because, technically, he did. For he was Lahabrea, and he was still loyal to Zodiark. He only spoke because he still heard Hades, he still had his desires and dreams and love for him. He also had no clue about what Hrothgar believed or what he had to do.

His voice was a dark deep growl. Hurt, but not too much. Smoke, Thancred reasoned, as he continued to wash the others’ hair. "Might I ask your name?"

"…Zale," he replied. He could not give his title. This-- this would be safe.

None knew the name Zale. None would point out what it meant.

"Zale, then. My name is Thancred - I’m not an enemy, I promise." Everything Thancred said was far too gentle - with a tiny bit of edge, of course. "None of us are. You might have worked for Garlemald, but it’s not my place to pass judgement. Especially if you were a conscript."

Giving a gentle whine, Zale closed his eyes. He’d cracked. And all it took was thinking of Hades. A story, though. He could come up with that. "They did not listen, Thancred. I am a scholar from far away, who was brought to aid in the restoration of their Weapon - I could not refuse." It didn’t take much to make that up, mind you. It was all true, from a certain point of view. "I’m scared."

Thancred nodded to himself. "I’d be scared too, in that situation." He strained out one of the sponges, and cracked another water shard. "Garlemald would want you dead, then."

"They would," Zale grumbled. For other reasons, but still. "But is it better then what the Grand Alliance would do? I still helped raise that beast from slumber. I still nearly doomed your men, if not for..." Hm. What would he call them?

Thankfully, Thancred thought that Zale had finished talking. He was trying his best to not freeze the other. "That’s true. They’re looking for anybody they can try. Or simply kill. With Gaius dead, they’re looking for people close to him."

Gaius was dead? Zale closed his eyes again. Pathetic. He opened them again, looking to Thancred. "I don’t want to die, Thancred.

…Who are you with?"

As he worked, Thancred tried not to show his curiosity. A scholar from far away… perhaps he could help. "I work with like-minded people to study and stop the threat of-- you call them Eikon, yes? Or at least Garlemald did."

"Ah, yes. Summoned though crystal and will - they’re one of my topics of study, in fact."

That made Thancred stop, linger. "You’re serious?"

"Yes. I… pray do not mistake my intentions. I know I would still be a criminal, Thancred." Yes, this lie was working. And he would not need to give them much - just enough to not challenge their methods. Mitron and Nabriales would be pleased. And he’d get his body back. "Please."

Sighing, Thancred leaned back. "I’ll need to ask the boss. But it would be a shame to lose any knowledge…"

Chapter Text

Papalymo had expected Minfilia and her adoptive mother would take a while to finish up, sure. But it was nearly midnight, and he could still hear laughs and happy squeaks from their room. Ah... how kind.

Papalymo shuddered, feeling a presence behind him. "Yda, I know. But we’ll let them have their time - without you."

Silence. "We’ll get the Chocobo ready... tomorrow..."

Slowly turning, Papalymo almost expected to see Urianger looming over him. But instead, there was nothing. Swiftly, he pulled his sensor over his eyes, and he could see it. Hidden from regular view, an Ascian looming over him, with a beak-like mask. He couldn’t tell colours though this aetherial sight - but what Papalymo could tell is that there was, well. An Ascian. In their home. He drew his cane, and the Ascian floated backwards slightly. Not touching the ground.

That didn’t matter to Papalymo, as fire and ice flickered at his staff.

Within a moment, he was slammed though the door, letting out a horrific scream. Minfilia and F’lhaminn barely dodged his body.

Minfilia and the Ascian locked eyes. "...If you wish to speak with me, come outside," he said, his voice steeped in the ancient tongue. "I raise no hand against you and yours. But yours do not extend the same courtesy."

She did not like this, as the Ascian hovered away - outside, out of the Waking Sands. But Minfilia gave a glance to F’lhaminn - a nod, quietly. "Pray take care of Papalymo. I’ll find the source of this." She dare not risk frightening more then had to know there was an Ascian here. One seemingly only she could see.

(Minfilia did not notice the way Urianger looked, as they walked past him, as Urianger looked towards the stairs. A lingering glance, eyes begging to see more of that gentle white, a curiosity Urianger wanted to understand. He would have looked at Lahabrea the same, if he’d not been in Thancreds’ flesh. It was a bit of a risk to the Scions.)

Swiftly, Minfilia made her way outside. The full moon lingered over them, the only light in the dark night, illuminating the floating Ascian in white - their red mask looking as crimson as Minfilias’ own Ala Mhigan heart. They looked to Minfilia, and smiled. "I am told that you are the Warrior of Light. But I would know for myself."

No. She was no Warrior of Light. What were the Ascians saying about her? Minfilia took a hasty step forward, only able to stop herself when his dulled voice cut though the crisp air once more. "I shall walk north, and you may choose to follow. Know, however, that you will be waylaid if you do - you may even perish. Should you survive, we shall speak anon."

Just as the Ascian asked, Minfilia went north. She left Vesper Bay, though the Footfalls, towards Moondrip. Monsters - Voidsent - littered the path, clicking and striking at her. Of course, Minfilia had to strike back. She had to knock them out - leaving them to recover. Soon, she arrived at the small fishing spot. The full moon glimmered in, illuminating the waters within - the only light in the cavern. It lit up the white-robed Ascians’ body, gold shimmering and nearly blinding Minfilia.

The Ascian tilted their head. "...I see you live - good. You are a curious one. Her Blessing beats within, and yet—"

"Pray explain yourself," Minfilia said firmly. "Why would one of your kind come to the Rising Stones?"

"I could ask the same of you. Why would one of your kind use..."

"I asked first."

Both of them looked at each other - neither moving. The lake separated them. "As a showing of goodwill - my name is Minfilia Warde. I am the emissary of the newly re-established state of Mor Dhona, serving under their King."

The Ascians’ mouth twitched. "I am Elidibus. I am the emissary of the one true God."

Names exchanged, both of them still remained still. Remained trying to read each other. His eyes narrowing behind his crimson mask, Elidibus spoke as plainly as the Ascian could. "You will go where the Wild Rose blooms. Who gave your organisation such a passcode?"

He found it queer, just like Lightning did. A long fallen ally of the immortals. Of the Conflict. Minfilia put a hand to her chest. "While I was not there at the time, it was a passcode my father used. For those he could inform. He told me a faerie tale where an orphan boy and his new family were recruited into a war, with that phase giving them protection."

"A faerie tale," Elidibus repeated quietly, amused. "You build your organisations’ trust on such?"

"Pray do not speak like that. Show a little more respect to faerie tales, Ascian." A beat. "Besides. I simply work with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn - I do not choose what they use as their passcode."

Elidibus replied in kind to Minfilias’ reply, a calm washing over him. "You are simply their ally? Interesting."

Minfilia finally found her full voice. "I fight not simply to stop your schemes, but—"

Raising a hand, Elidibus stopped her. "You fought to stop Lahabreas’ plans. Not mine. He was... disobeying orders." Or so Elidibus had heard. There was no reason to lie. "Our plans continue."

Wait— what? Minfilia bit her lip, trying not to show her thought process. Her horror. Thancred had been possessed and hurt so much - and it wasn’t even an Ascian ploy? "You lie!" Minfilia replied, shouting.

Elidibus went cold. His voice became monotone. "In what time would an emissary lie about such? I have come to try and make amends for his... failure, but I do not take to such insults." Elidibus began to move - to float past Minfilia again. Just as in her vision, his legs were unusable. "Your ignorance shall be the end of you, Child of Cosmos.

As it was, so shall it be again. I promise you this."

Minfilia turned, to try and chase him. But Elidibus vanished, as many Ascians do.

The moonlight from the pond glimmered. There was silence for a long while, as Minfilia fell to her knees. This was the second time she’d met a new Ascian and insulted them. But Lahabrea - if he hadn’t been following their plans, then what had they been doing? Tears began to stream from her face.

That is, until she heard footsteps. Footsteps that were familiar - Minfilia looked up, and Thancred loomed. As soon as he’d finished with Zale - with Lahabrea - he’d returned to Vesper Bay. He’d used one of the few teleportation tickets that Urianger had made, since he heard Minfilia was returning. But, well.

Word spread quickly. And what it meant was that Minfilia was looking up at the cold-skinned Thancred, their eyes both showing so very much. Neither of them moved for a few moments.

It was Thancred who moved, to wrap Minfilia in his arms. He still knew they hadn’t talked since Ultima Weapon fell, but this would be okay, right?

Minfilia pressed her head into him. Her own body was warm, couldn’t feel the cold, due to her bond with a Lucavi. And yet, her tears still froze against him. Her fears and angers didn’t let themselves vanish. "...Another Ascian—" Minfilia choked out, before gulping down her feelings. "An Ascian in White struck down Papalymo. I followed him.

Their plans continue."

Even if Lahabrea hadn’t been following them, to think all she’d done meant nothing—! Thumping a hand against Thancred, Minfilia looked up at him. "And you! Were you avoiding me? Were all of you afraid—"

"You made yourself quite scarce, Minfilia," Thancred replied, his voice firm but calm. "But... you’re right, as always. I was afraid.

...how could I have forgotten you? How could I make it up to you?"

"...It’s hard," Minfilia admitted. "To handle it." Now both of them were on the floor, next to the moonlit pond. A few fish were visible, swimming silently. "I, too... I suppose I was afraid."

It was so much easier when they’d forgotten. She could pretend she wasn’t hurting. "I missed you, Thancred.

...we should go back, I— my family— my mother’s alive."

"The songstress?" Thancred replied, surprised.

Nodding, Minfilia remained cuddled up to Thancred. "She’s alive... and you’re alive... and even if we’re still clueless about the Ascian, we can do this."

Movement, but neither of them noticed it. Perhaps it was just the wind, as a figure waited outside the cavern. "His name was Elidibus. He called himself their Emissary.

...I know it’s wrong, but—"

"It’s not wrong to hold bias, Minfilia," Thancred replied softly. "They’ve hurt us."

"I don’t believe that any Ascian could ever work with us, Thancred. Even as an emissary. I would sooner work with Garleans then Ascians."

Both of them laughed, as Thancred - and by extension, Minfilia - began to stand. And that’s when they saw the silhouette in the cavern entrance. Minfilias’ eyes narrowed - it only took her a moment to recognize the other.

"Prishe."

The outsider - the immortal - stood there, now leaning a little. "Took you long enough." As always, Prishe had a teasing tone in her voice - but there was something deeper underneath. A look too firm. Under the moonlight, Minfilia couldn’t fully make her out - but there were more scales on her face, crystal crawling up her. She looked like an Au Ra now, but that shine was unlike them. "Hey, wait a second. You’re not wearing the gift I got you!"

The gift— "The stolen Temple gear? I’m no monk." It was not Minfilias’ place. Prishe dug into her pockets, and then got out a small golden gem. A job stone...?

Thancred gave a protective grunt, and Prishe looked to him. "Come on. Like you haven’t taken weirder gifts," she replied, speaking as if she knew Thancred well. Thancred gritted his teeth. "Don’t you trust me?"

The way she spoke... Minfilia looked between the two of them. "Thancred..."

Oh dear. Thancred knew that tone of voice. "I’ve never—"

"Did you sleep with her?" Minfilia finished, her tears now gone. A look of concern entering her voice. Even as Thancred shook his head, he could feel her doubts about it.

Looking to Prishe, Thancred narrowed his eyes. Funny. He swore he had seen her before. But she wasn’t his type? He tried to laugh it off. But before he could try and shake it off, Prishe spoke up again. "I guess you could say that?"

Both of the others looked to Prishe. She couldn’t help but giggle. "Anyway, that’s not why I followed you, Minfilia." It was almost amazing how fast her mood could change, how she could go from teasing to having such a serious look on her face. "For one, I wanted to see... well. Elidibus. Seeing him confirmed something important." Of course, Prishe didn’t say what it was. She sounded a little sad as she said so. "And second of all - you’ve befriended some of the Twelve, right?"

Minfilia took a step backwards, into Thancred. How did she know— but now, she could not deny it. "No fair! They suddenly appeared, and you get to be their friend? I’ve wanted to meet them for ages!"

Wait. Minfilia could get information. "How long—"

"Oh, um - not too long ago? Can’t have been before you were born." Prishe replied. "But the myths - those have existed for a long time! And some of them sounded fun to meet!" How swiftly her face changed.

But Minfilia knew. She knew that she could not trust Prishe - even if Thancred had begun to smile slightly.

That is, until Prishe went quiet. She raised her hand. A linkpearl - it looked different. Older? She listened. The others couldn’t hear it - but Prishes’ expression grew dark. "They— what the fuck? And you didn’t know?" She lowered her hand, looking to the two others. Prishe shook her head. "Sorry, wanted to tease you two more. But something— something important’s come up. Maybe you’ll hear from Lightning that I caused it.

But we don’t want this place to die either. Got it?"

With that, Prishe suddenly vanished - tapping a ring to do so. A few moments passed, and Minfilia finally let herself relax. Thancred looked to her, a little chuckle in his throat. "Things just keep happening to you, hm? I... don’t blame you for leaving us."

"And I don’t blame you for not tracking me down," Minfilia replied. Leaning into him, Minfilia smiled softly. "Let’s go back to the Waking Sands. For one last night..."

Chapter Text

Before Minfilia could move to the Rising Stones - before she could go to Belias and make her report - she had one last stop. A small broken shrine, a little outside Ul’dah - no longer maintained.

"Might I finally ask… what’s goin’ on?" Fordola said, leaning against a nearby cliff. Minfilia shushed her, as she got out gil. Not too much, but it looked old. Minfilia looked back to her, eyes soft.

Before looking back to the shrine. "While those of Ul’dah worship Nald’thal, and have marks to them within - there are smaller places such as this, constructed before the rise of Ul’dah as a nation." Her head lowered. "And I would rather not leave tribute inside."

It was not because she did not wish for the desperate to steal the money. Hells, she wished she could give more. But instead, Minfilia wished to make sure it went to who she was trying to summon. Because… "I was thinking about what Prishe said. And I think that I… well, I should be proactive in meeting them.

Perhaps they can aid against the Ascian threat."

Or perhaps they can aid both Ala Mhigans and those of Mor Dhona. Shakily, Minfilia put the old gil on the side of the shrine - before snapping it in half. A few moments passed, before - fwoom! White flames began to bubble from the shrine, and turned to black ash. In the dark blue sunset, like oil slicks stretched across the sky, the smoke almost seemed to gleam the same gold as the gil. And as the two Ala Mhigans watched, it began to curl around and turn into a rather… cute shape. Almost like a ghost doll, limp and as black as death itself. It wore a cloak, black with golden marks adorning it. Wealth and death as one.

Minfilia had to stand tall. Had to stop herself from hesitating. "Pardon me, but might you be--"

"The Lord of the Underworld? Not exactly," the cute little creature replied, gazing up at Minfilia - its’ tiny hood shifting slightly. Deep pink eyes stared back, ones Minfilia almost swore she knew. "That’d be Hades. But he’s not around right now, and there’s not much of a need for a Lord, but I’m still taking care of it. As always~"

A pause.

"No, I wished to ask if you were truly Nald’Thal - or which of the two you were? I apologize if that is rude."

The creature nodded, with a hum. "I’m both. They’re so often worshipped as one, after all." A beat, as a tendril extended. "So! What did you summon me for? It’s often desperate people who try this."

"Do they succeed?" Fordola asked, gazing over slightly. Her gaze was full of judgement, as always. The small creature - she could smell it now. Maybe it was part of being fused with Ifrit - but she could smell that it was full of aether. More full then even a Primal.

Nald’thal bowed a little. "No, not always. Only if I’m interested. And you two - you’re really interesting."

"How so?" Fordola asked, interrupting Minfilia - who, thankfully, was going to ask the same thing.

With a chuckle, Nald’thal hovered closer. "Well, because I didn’t think I’d see your souls! I can’t say too much - I promised Thaliak and Althyk - but I… remember you."

Minfilia knelt - so that Nald’thal did not need to float so much - and gave a soft frown. "We’ve met three of your kind already. Halone recognized me, and saved my life. Rhalgr and Byregot have come with me, to a nation I am aiding - the land of the Gigas.

I have come if not to petition your aid, then to let you know. I aim to find all of you - to reach out to you."

Nald’thal had but one question. "Why?"

Why… Minfilia closed her eyes. "Meeting Rhalgr was not my intention. Neither was meeting Halone. But-- if we are to keep this star safe, then I need to make more allies. I know I’ve not the strength to protect those people myself.

And since the Twelve are real, I wish only to make sure they are not my enemy - or the enemy of the people of our home." She was crying. Minfilia did not realise she was crying until a slimy tentacle brushed at her eyes. Nald’thal was staring up at her. Eyes wide. (They looked like Lalafell eyes?) Minfilia wiped her own eyes, and smiled warmly. "My apologies. I… I care so much for this realm. I may simply be an emissary for Lord Belias, but I want peace."

"…You’re so sweet," Nald’thal replied, trying not to choke up. "Just like when I used to know you-- well, not you. But… how much do you know?"

"I know," Minfilia said, holding back her shivers, "that you and the other Twelve came from another reality. One similar to ours. Rhalgr told me that you were once Spoken, who lost your forms and came here due to trying to save the star in your own way.

Halone also said she knew a woman like me, who they… murdered, in pursuit of their ideals."

But, gods, she knew so little. Her shoulders slumped, her body slumped. Nald’thal hovered, deep in thought. Before they gave a little smile. "It’s-- it’s okay. I can imagine they’d either want to not hurt you or would just… not remember much. Or both!" A giggle, one too familiar. Minfilia tried not to shudder, as Nald’thal eyed her up. "It’s true. We knew somebody just like you. Because… well!

As you probably know, different worlds which are so close - well, we have similar people. And you were well-respected, as the leader of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn."

The leader, instead of an emissary who worked close to them. It made sense. She could see herself taking such a role… if she’d not vanished. "But you awoke as one of the Gods, as well. She awoke as the avatar of Hydaelyn.

And then - the Ascian came to us."

The Paragon-- Minfilia suddenly tensed. "What did they want?"

"One of theirs had awoken as their God, Zodiark. But the others had lost their powers - they were weaker then Garleans," Nald’thal recalled. "They… we didn’t trust them. But Hydaelyn and Zodiark met up.

And then, they tried to become one."

Silence. Nald’thal closed their eyes. "I think the other of the Twelve blame themselves, in their own way. We could have stopped them." The tiny God were beginning to shudder, and Minfilia put a hand to them. That is, before Fordola spoke up, and they both looked to her.

"How?" A beat, and Fordolas’ expression was fixed in a slight smirk, anger burning behind her eyes. "Sure, you were made into the Twelve. But, like… how does that stop two Gods from choosin’ to do something unpredictable?" She sneered. "This is why Lord Solus and Lord Gaius said we shouldn’t fucking… believe in all that bullshit.

Still. It’s all done now." Fordola tried to backpedal verbally. "And I don’t think it’s all bullshit anymore. Two powerful things deciding to mess with something we don’t know the results of… did they test it out? Did they consider if it went wrong?"

Minfilia was about to scold Fordola, before Nald’thal floated up to her. "They didn’t. In fact, Hydaelyn barely told us she was going out! But we’d been talking about why the Twelve - and other creatures were waking up, and she got super upset, so we thought she was going to just get some fresh air."

"And then she ended up killing everybody," Fordola replied, sighing.

Nald’thal shook their entire body. "I don’t think she meant to!"

"But she did!"

Minfilia then cleared her throat. They both looked to her. "…I believe that she did not mean to destroy your home, Nald’thal. But she did act quite rashly, Fordola, and caused this. I cannot claim to understand Hydaelyn - the one who inherited her wills’ - reasoning. But if I may?

She may have seen a chance to stop Zodiark, and the spread of darkness. Even if I cannot see myself working with Ascian - if there was a chance to weaken them, and stop all of-- this conflict, in a single motion? I cannot say I would not do similar." Perhaps she would do worse. Minfilia didn’t know. And that scared her. 

Thank the gods that she had calmed the tension between Nald’Thal and Fordola… Minfilia had to get them back on topic. "Nald’thal. I will not ask you to come with me, nor will I even ask for your aid.

No, I simply wished to let you know that there is a place for you and yours, if you wish to visit. We are close to Silvertear Lake." Minfilia had another thought on her mind, and she had to voice it. "That, and I hope that you are watching the threat of the Paragon. If you and yours have come that close to the Paragon, you must know the proper path forward."

Quietly, Nald’thal looked over Minfilia. Was that… pity in their face, as they pulled their tiny hood over their eyes once more? "…I am aware of what might be a path forward. And I also know that you need to find your path, Minfilia.

We’ll meet again. We will."

And with that, Nald’thal was gone. Silence, across the Thanalan warmth.

"What the fuck was that?!" Fordola finally said, breaking the silence. "Ominous piece of shit!"

Minfilia chuckled, her eyes warm as she looked to Fordola. "That was ominous, yes. But we’ve a new ally, Fordola.

Now, we can return to Mor Dhona."

Thankfully, the trip back to Mor Dhona was quiet. Calm. Lutia the Chocobo barely got spooked though North Thanalan, and Minfilia looked upon the now-reclaimed Castrum in the territory of Mor Dhona. She recalled that they’d not yet chosen what to do with it - Belias and her. They had enough room for the current citizens, but they also could not let room go to waste - especially with the Corpse Brigade now living and working as guards. As they approached the Toll, one stopped them - Minfilia stepping off the bird, and giving an Ala Mhigan salute.

"Emissary Warde."

"Fulke. I’m back - my apologies for the delays," Minfilia replied, as she let the soldier look over her. And then look over Fordola, who gave Minfilia a look. As they finished up, Minfilia began to stroll towards the mountains which Belias called his castle.

"You remember his name?" Fordola asked.

Minfilia nodded. "It’s part of aiding them. Don’t you remember the names of your soldiers?"

With that, Fordola went quiet. Sad. Before whispering. "Do you think they think I abandoned them?"

Thinking, Minfilias’ steps slowed. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news," she said quietly, "but Garlemald has likely declared you dead." And such was more painful, in a way. Minfilia knew that well. From her own situation, to how she just learned her adoptive mother lived, she had seen how that grief changes people.

So, as they walked, Minfilia looked upwards. "Perhaps someday, we will find them. And--"

"--and they’ll think I’m a monster and go after me," Fordola dismissively said, shrugging. Her warm tail flicking. "I just hope they don’t do anything stupid without me."

They both went quiet. And soon, Lutia was left outside as Minfilia went to make her report. Fordola, for her part, didn’t want to go see their sheep-like gigas ruler - she’d rather be outside, taking in the sights. Mor Dhona was a beautiful place, truly. Even if she’d heard it was where Lord Gaius had failed quite spectacularly. Her eyes went up to the coiled dragon corpse, and she chuckled. "Not so tough now, are you?"

"I wouldn’t say that," a familiar-to-her voice said - as the brown and pink fluffy dragon who was once Elezen, Chlodebaimt, landed next to her. "I still hear something from him."

Fordola looked over at the cursed Elezen - makeshift armour placed over his chest. Huffing. "He’s a skeleton."

"But there’s still something in there," Chlodebaimt said. "It’s like tales of Nidhogg, where their flesh can be regrown. Until their very souls are purified and destroyed, dragons cannot die."

Another religious thing? Chlodebaimt continued, now sitting as he stared up at the skeleton. "When Midgardsormr finally cries, that’s when the War shall escalate and one side will fall. Or so the stars and the Holy See say."

"Are you gonna keep fighting?" Fordola then asked. "Even if you’re a dragon, you seem to be yourself. I mean, I didn’t know you before, but you’re a good guy."

That got a chuckle out of Chlodebaimt. "They shot me for flying over their territory. I think I’d die if I tried to help my Ishgardian brothers and sisters… oh. Have I ever told you about my family?"

Fordola shook her head, and Chlodebaimt began to talk…

Belias had been slumbering, as his doors burst open violently. His eyes snapped open, under his mask - as Minfilia rushed towards him, before punching his knee. With a little frown, Belias held out a claw to her. "Little Minfilia, what--"

"You should have told me!" Minfilia said, glaring up at him - anger in her face. "About-- about everything!"

"Did you not wish to not be a ruler, Minfilia?" Belias’ voice echoed, though the empty chamber. "But… you are right."

Pulling Minfilia onto his lap, Belias sighed. "If my allies had decided to move close to me, I would have wished to know." His touch was kind, caring. A hug, though not as personal. And in that moment, Minfilia wondered: how many people had Belias loved like this? How many had he cared for? Her head dipped, and Minfilia tried to calm herself. Belias continued, gently. "I felt it suitable that all was prepared for your return.

Tell me, have you made new allies?"

Oh! Right! Minfilia remembered her true purpose for having been away for those months. "Yes. Actually, it’s better then I imagined! I’ve-- there’s a whole group I’ve become allied with - of the major tribes of this region of Eorzea. I know I should have reported as soon as we had forged our allyship, but I had some more work to do - I’ve decided not to pursue the Siren as allies."

As Minfilia rambled on, about the politics of the land, Belias couldn’t help but smile. She was coming into her own, and she was… happy. Even if he’d been a little rude to her, this is what he had hoped. With a low rumble, Belias began to pat her back.

Until Minfilia stopped, quietly. "You’ve let people explore the Crystal Tower?"

"Aye. I do not have the heart to tell the Gigas the truth of the matter - but it is not a tower to the Gods. I know this already." And yet, Belias sounded so soft, even to this rejection of their faith. "Dear little Minfilia, I believe that within it is something dangerous. And when there is danger, then heroes must be able to enter.

I believe your friend, Bolormaa, is one of them." Minfilia nodded at this, finally relaxing. His reasoning was just, and yet…

"I will not let them defile the tower, nor what it stands for. Worry not. I cherish them, little Minfilia."

His reassurance relaxing, Minfilia began to drift off into sleep. She was so tired, and hadn’t even realised it. "Rest well, Little Minfilia," Belias whispered.

"The air feels strange…"

Even as Belias sat, unable to move as Minfilia slept, he could feel something wrong in the air. A terrifyingly foreboding feeling.

Chapter Text

It was not that Minfilia Warde feared seeing the true Warrior of Light. The person who she had guided before vanishing, the person who should have been the one to fight the Ultima Weapon. She did not fear him. She shouldn’t. They were both victims of the Empire, after all. And yet, as she settled down with a warm tea across from Yda, Minfilia could not help but hesitate. The Rising Stones - as she had been informed they had called their new base - was a wonderful place, really.

"There has been no word from Alisaie, then?" Minfilia asked, as she swirled her spoon around in her cup.

Yda sighed. "Nope. Which is weird. Alphinaud, either. But, you know? I think I know why."

Minfilia prickled. Yda continued. "We all got our memory back of you, right? And the other forgotten people. But I remembered... well, I heard the stories about Alisaie.

During that big Sharlayan exodus, she... didn’t make it. She’d fallen really sick, and her father couldn’t delay." Yda was looking down at her own drink - a coffee as light as her soul. "So, whoever that girl is, she’s not Alisaie."

At that moment, the door opened - the two pausing their conversation to look up. And up on the top of those stairs was Cordis.

Leaning on his cane, Cordis was paler then Minfilia remembered. His hair and skin were both near-white, he looked so very fragile. Viera claws which had overgrown wrapped tenderly around his cane, which seemed to also be his axe? There were grooves an axe head could slot into. Purple eyes looked down upon the two ladies, and Cordis limped down to them. Exhaustion painted his face, from his creased forehead to his stubble, even if he had a large smile plastered over it. "Pardon me," Cordis said quietly, "I appear to be late."

His expression so soft, Cordis sat at the table, looking between the two of them. His long Viera ears twitched. "You wanted me to... oh. Minfilia?"

The two gazed at each other. Focused. Cordis spoke so gently, as Minfilia studied his tired face. "It’s been a while. We both got caught up in... whatever happened, did we not?"

Minfilia nodded. "Yes - nobody could remember either of us. But you... did you fall forward in time as well?"

"I did. I woke up back in Dalmasca..." Cordis said, before looking to Yda. "It’s changed a lot since I left."

A Dalmascan man... "How did you get back, if you don’t mind me asking?" Minfilia asked, honestly curious. Garlemald had stolen his home, kept it chained and broken. As she asked, Cordis grew a little upset.

Still, he would answer. "I don’t know why, but— they bombed it, Minfilia. Nothing’s left. But that also means there aren’t many imperials left." Small comforts. "So I found my way across the border. Then got caught up in some stuff...

...but I eventually made my way onto a boat, and ended up here."

Before Minfilia could ask, Cordis frowned. "I can’t remember how I got on the boat. Last thing I remember is seeing an airship graveyard, but with a beautiful tall tree.

And then I blacked out, and then I arrived back just after... well, after you did it!" Cordis slapped Minfilia on the back, expression utterly changing into a deep smile. "You managed to scare off Garlemald! The Black Wolf is dead!"

...Dead? Minfilia had not killed him. For she felt life was far more of a punishment for him. Had he killed himself? No, he would not dare. Minfilias’ anger bubbled again under her flesh. And yet, she dare not speak up on it. "With Ultima Weapon gone, and the XIVth weakened, the Scions can look towards the Ascian threat," Minfilia said. "And I can aid the Gigas, and others who require such aid."

"Oh, right," Yda said, sipping her coffee. "You’re going all Path of the Twelve again, right?"

"Not quite," Minfilia replied, as she drank her own tea. "I hope to help others with the Echo, but I also hope to branch out and help the native tribes of our home in this role. For... well.

Men will not listen to those who they don’t see as equal, but they deserve a voice. If I can be that voice, then so be it."

Cordis listened, and then gave a soft nod, a little reassuring nod. "Seperate, but together. Like the Path and the Archons were." Both of the ladies looked to the white-haired Viera, as Cordis looked back. "I’m still the Warrior of Light. Even if I’ve only just returned.

So... I’ll do my best to help both of you."

Even now, Minfilia felt the kindness she remembered from Cordis, back when his hair was brown, and his eyes were not so dull. They had been allies, after all. But Alexanders’ meddling - to claim and enthrall Cid, the Primal stated - had done quite some damage to the Warrior of Light.

How much had Alexander needed Cid? What was so important about him— ah. "Cordis?"

"Yes, Minfilia?"

"Have you..." Minfilia began, her voice suddenly quiet, "gone and seen Cid yet?" They were lovers, after all.

Cordis suddenly turned a bright red, before looking to the table, which was suddenly quite interesting. "Well - Cid’s busy. Him and some others are looking into the Crystal Tower. And I don’t want to distract him."

"I doubt he’s working all the time," Minfilia replied, a little smirk crossing her lips. "Go on, go and surprise him."

Embarrassed, Cordis looked down at the table, shuffling slightly in his chair. "Perhaps... perhaps tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Yda asked, a little louder then she should have. "But it’s still light! And it’ll be for a few more hours!"

Shaking his head, Cordis tried to hide his frown. "I know, I know. But... no, it’s fine." Both sides being so quiet, so hard to penetrate - Yda shrugged. Adventurers. Even if Minfilia was less of an adventure, and Cordis was more of a heroic figure. If they’d just talk...!

Then again, Yda didn’t have a foot to stand on, still wearing her mask around friends. Still hiding herself, even if Minfilia knew the truth. Cordis did, as well. It was really an open secret among friends. Gulping down the last of her coffee, Yda leaned back. "So! Cordie! Why don’t you tell Minfilia and me about what sort of things are happening in the East?"

As Minfilia listened to Cordis, Bolormaa - the gentle-hearted Dotharl - was quite a bit away. It may have been noon, but the skies in the South Shroud did not seem to know that. She’d been sent to collect aethersand, you see - and there was apparently some here, near an old shrine. And now, she had passed though a small cavern, into Urth’s Gift.

Her stance strong, Bolormaa was looking around. The air was stiff, hard to breathe. A familiar scent begin to coat everything - fresh blood. It was almost calming - except that Bolormaa couldn’t see what had been slaughtered.

Taking a step forward, and then another, Bolormaa quietly stalked though the wild Shroud. Water flowed, bugs fluttered, but there was no sign of a hulking hog or whatever she’d been told to look for. Perhaps she could find the aethersand if it was not so dark, so... tense.

Bolormaa quietly climbed hills, crossed the trickles of water. Odd. Bugs and beasts were slain around her - but they were not the hog she’d been told of. Gleaming white crystals began to jut up.

In front of her, Bolormaa then saw a massive beautiful crystal, clean and light. It was the brightest object in the area, almost like a white flame, calling to her. The Au Ra took a step forward. And then another. A black blot laid on the ground. The aethersand...?

No, it was a blade. A black blade, ancient and dark. And as a weaponsmith, Bolormaa couldn’t help but rush over, kneeling and examining it. It was beautiful, preserved perfectly. Gently, one of her hands hovered over the blade—

—and Bolormaa couldn’t grasp it, a dull pain suddenly forcing her hand to clasp shut above it. Again, she tried to grasp it, but the same happened. For whatever reason, the blade refused her hand. Letting out a frustrated growl, Bolormaa tried again.

Until she felt a figure behind her. The blade on the ground vanished, turning to aether. Barely turning in time, Bolormaa could barely make out the features of what was behind her. A centaur of sorts? Clad in armour, the blade now fused to its’ hand. While the area was dark, so dark, the figure gleamed like the sunlight itself. Blues and yellows blended together, the figure seeming out of this world. The creature looked down at her, before stomping once.

Once was enough. For Bolormaa was distracted, and thus, she was an easy target. Her stomach prone, the usually proud Dotharl was now stuck on the ground.

The figure and the strange blade both left her sight - silent, so silent. Managing to get to her knees - before coughing up blood, and falling again - Bolormaa let out a cry of frustration. Her guts felt like they had rearranged themselves, and she could barely think. Shifting again, she at least laid her head on the massive crystal structure. This was quite the struggle - had she grown weak?

No, horses were dangerous, when used to fight. Even if that hoof almost felt like a paw...

Moments passed, and Bolormaa felt herself fading in and out of thinking. Until she felt a soft touch to her body, and Bolormaa moved to grab her weapon.

Next to her, a Miqo’te sat. Medical supplies taken out of a sack. "I’m not here to hurt you!" The Miqo’te chirped in surprise, voice quiet. "I just need to lift your dress to check out the injury."

Groaning slightly, Bolormaa let her weapon drop to the ground. With swift fingers, the Miqo’te began to examine her abs - rubbing an ointment into the injury. Bolormaa hissed, tail lashing. Still, she knew the importance of the pain. As the stranger wrapped bandages around her, Bolormaa noticed something.

His neck. "...Archon?" Bolormaa mumbled.

The Miqo’te twitched, ears pricking. "Y-yes. How do you..." Then, his gaze turned to her. Though it was dark, he could see her scales, on her thick neck - and her own Archon mark, blended into the Xaela scales. "You’re one too?"

"Yes," Bolormaa replied, the healing properties of the salve already helping. "My name is Bolormaa - um, what’s yours?"

"My name is G’raha," G’raha replied, as he sat up. Watching over her - there were no enemies, but still. "I just arrived recently - Sharlayan is in a bit of a panic right now, but that’s not why. Have you heard of the Crystal Tower?"

Still stuck laying down, Bolormaa chuckled. "I’m helping with that exploration. I’m curious, you know - there may be Allagan weaponry there. And by studying intact relics, it might help me continue my work." Almost forgetting her pain, Bolormaa began to move her hands as she talked. "You know, I didn’t see it for long, but there was a sword here. You know, belonging to the thing that hurt me. It looked old! I wanted to look at it!"

Remaining at her side, G’rahas’ tail begin to swish. "I’ve heard stories of this area - I believe the blade you’re talking about is from the Third Astral Era. It was the blade of a man known as Odin, who was an enemy of the Allagan Empire." Excitement was rising in his voice, with an accent barely audible that Bolormaa had not heard in her travels. "While this likely isn’t the selfsame Odin - unless they, too, re-appeared like the tower - it’s still an interesting coincidence, isn’t it?"

"It is!" Bolormaa replied, both of their tails swishing in rhythm. "From my studies, weapons from that era were often repurposed and broken apart for use in the post-Allagan era. It’s harder to find intact examples. Which is a struggle when you want to study and reverse-engineer them."

"Why?" G’raha asked.

For a moment, Bolormaa hesitated. Before giving a big grin. "My tribe believes in rebirth. And I help them - by carrying what weapons they used to use, and being able to recreate them as they were. Or by improving them, with modern technology." She flinched, waiting to be mocked. But instead, G’raha continued to smile at her, gently. So, Bolormaa continued. "While I do respect there are some who’d find it strange to combine old and new methods, or that it’s even wrong to focus so much on fighting... I like it."

His hands now resting on her injury, G’raha continued to strengthen the bandages. "Traditions are traditions. Mine bring me comfort as well, you know." Bolormaa gazed up at him. "But they’re not fighting-related. My own tribe used songs to pass down our history." His voice had taken on a musical feel, almost like a lullaby. "We both treasure the past in different ways, don’t we?"

Nodding, Bolormaa looked up at the Miqo’te, managing to focus on his red hair. "Mhm. And we both want to explore it."

Replying with his chipper tone, G’raha nodded. "We’re both going to be exploring it soon. As soon as I heard of the Tower, as a young boy, I’ve dedicated my life to it.

My future awaits there. At least, that’s what it feels like."

"Fate!" Bolormaa shouted, before she noticed G’rahas’ ears press back from surprise. "I mean, um, it might be fate. I believe in it, as well. But not as much as a Mol or something, I don’t think the Gods are telling us stories." A chuckle, as Bolormaa finally sat up - now looming ever-so-slightly over the Miqo’te. "But I like to believe that just as us Dotharl are reborn over and over, we’re drawn to certain places. Not just because of old memories, but because we’re going to make new memories there."

Both of them babbling, both of them gazing at each other, Bolormaa and G’raha didn’t notice time slipping away, time they should have been using returning to Mor Dhona. Their time was being spent simply talking, about past and future both... and, for this moment, all felt well.

As the sun began to set, and their drinks - others having been prepared - emptied, Cordis stood. "I believe I should be going," he said gently. "There’s a monster I’m hunting that only appears at night." Cordis seemed to be in quite a rush. Minfilia nor Yda would stop him - as he left, Yda stretched.

It had been quite the day - listening to these two young ones. Nostalgic. Closing her eyes, Yda let out a light sigh. If only Lyse was here, and not busy making sure that the Moogle were calm. Made sense, but still. The family was nearly all together! Fordola napping in a side-room, Papalymo still at his desk—

—the door slammed open. Yda and Minfilia both looked up, and Yda suddenly stood to get a better look at the tired-looking figure in the doorway. A figure she hadn’t seen in years, nor expected to see. Even as the other was covered in sweat, even as the other shuddered tiredly, there was no mistaking her.

"Moenbryda—?!"

Before Moenbryda could answer, Yda clung to her. "Moenbryda! You should have told me you were coming—!!"

Her voice shaken, Moenbryda pushed Yda away slightly. "I didn’t want to have to come. It’s nice to see you, but— listen, I need to see Papalymo."

Minfilia stood, concerned, to examine Moenbryda. She was much like she’d heard Urianger describe her once - her skin as dark as twilight, while her hair reminded him of the waning moon. (She would put it less poetically.) Her body was strong, muscled, and beautiful - the sort of woman that Minfilia wished she could be. And her eyes, even if they carried a burden Minfilia would not know, held the kindness of a thousand promises yet made.

...Urianger had a way with words, that was for sure. Moenbryda was finally calming, as Yda began to lead her to the door. But then, she stopped. "So I don’t freak out when you tell Papalymo, what’s going on?" Yda asked, as Moenbryda tried to look to her.

After a long moment, Moenbryda now leaning against the wall, she looked right at Yda.

"They’re evacuating Sharlayan, Yda."

With those words, Yda suddenly turned serious. Hands put on Moenbrydas’ shoulders, firm. "...We’ll call a meeting in the morning, Moenbryda. I know we probably don’t have time, but you need to get cleaned up. And we—

—we need to call everybody in. Not just because we both know Uri misses you, Moen."

Minfilia took a step back, looking to the door, until Yda looked towards her - a kindness in her voice. "That includes you, Minfilia. You’re one of us Scions, even if you’re also working with the Gigas?" A questioning tone in her voice, as if Minfilias’ relationship with Belias was a secret.

...Minfilia hadn’t quite explained it to her, to be fair. That she was emissary, and his little princess. A role made of memory, but a role she would play. If only to aid the many native tribes of Eorzea. (Someday, she would make sure Belias saw her as herself.) Nodding firmly, Minfilia stood. "Then I shall see you in the morning. If Sharlayan is truly evacuating, we shall need to work as fast as possible."

Chapter Text

The dawn sun beamed down, as Minfilia couldn’t sleep. She had heard tales of Moenbryda - and in all of them she was never that shaken. So as the sun peaked above the crystalline hills of Mor Dhona, Minfilia found herself staring at the wreckage of the Agruis. The Father of all Dragons curled around it, in defense. Two corpses, still pulsing with energy. If it was not so horrifying, it would be beautiful. From the angle Minfilia stood, sunlight beamed though the open maw of the now-dead dragon. Lutia rested next to her, the red chocobo refusing to leave her side.

Distracted, Minfilia did not notice somebody had come to stand next to her - Bartz, who had a soft smile on his face. "Nice to see a good dragon--"

Jumping, Minfilia turned - almost as startled as Bartz at her reaction. A calm crossed her face. "Are you talking about the Dragonsong War, or something connected to immortality?"

Shrugging, Bartz looked back up to the wreckage. "The latter, I guess? Our big threat isn’t that guy. But he’s also sort of like him."

Bartz closed his pale red eyes, thinking. "The Worldeater took our homes from us, even before the Conflict. Not that we knew that, mind you - and neither did the gods. Once we ended it the first time, though, our homes were re-made."

"...until it came back?" Minfilia asked, cautiously. She didn’t want to force out more information about this, but... more and more, Minfilia was realising that eventually, this would threaten Eorzea and the star at large.

Nodding, Bartz frowned. "The second time was worse, because the new gods weren’t as strong. And some of the recreated worlds came out... wrong.

You remember how I’m trying to help somebody?" A deep sigh. "He was one of those who came back wrong. Something about alternate timelines not working out?"

Minfilia listened quietly, as Bartz picked up a pebble. "His dad was part of those from the cursed cycle." The way it was said so off-handedly - that was just like Bartz, huh? Throwing the pebble, Bartz watched as the water bounced it off. "So it’s been passed down.

People can’t help being shaped by their dads."

That stung more then Bartz likely thought, as Minfilia looked away. Her father... she truly had been shaped by him, hadn’t she? She, too, gathered information on primals and fought for Ala Mhigo. His death still fuelled her, a fire burning in her very soul. But the way Bartz said it - Minfilia would not dare ask, but she wondered if he felt similar. 

Continuing, Bartz gazed back upon the rising sun - the shine reflecting off the crystalline landscape. Beauty surrounding them, from tragedy. "I still haven’t found a cure. It’s why I’m still here." A deep breath, before Bartz looked back - not at Minfilia, but at Lutia. A shine appeared in his eyes - Bartz suddenly lightening his mood. "She’s a good bird. Not too flighty, but has a good look in her eyes?" Moving a hand to pet her, Minfilia had no time to warn him about how violent Lutia was with strangers, how skittish she was--

--Lutia did not strike at Bartz. No, she let him stroke her beak, scratch at the feathers just above it. A soft coo came from the chocobo, as Lutia relaxed. Stepping aside so she wasn’t in the way, Minfilia chuckled gently. "You’re good with them?"

That same sorrow re-entered his eyes, as Bartz continued to pet Lutia. "I used to travel my home with one. They make for the best companions.

I actually know another one here--"

Before Bartz could explain, talk of his new friend, Minfilia felt her Linkpearl vibrating. Raising a hand with a weak smile, Minfilia took the call.

"Minfilia! You’re late!"

Papalymo was loud on the other side, his voice sounding panicked. But of course he couldn’t keep his composure if Sharlayan was in trouble. "My apologies, Papalymo - I let time get away from me. I’ll be there anon."

Hanging up her linkpearl, Bartz leaned in a little. Minfilia sighed. "There is an incident I need to aid in coming up with a solution with." As she spoke, it was as if Bartz knew what it was - his somber expression growing moreso.

"I won’t keep you, then. But-- Minfilia, was it?" Minfilia looked to Bartz, and he put a hand to her. "Be careful, okay?"

People arriving so swiftly had been quite the scene. Of course, Lyse and Yda were the first there - Yda slept in the same bed as Papalymo, after all. And Lyse slept in a flower pot in the room over, in her sylphic form. (She had a bed, but she’d begun to embrace her reborn nature more recently. Around the time that Yda admitted her secret.) Picking her up - after slipping into something more then a simple nightgown - Yda carried Lyse out towards their meeting room. Papalymo led.

Y’shtola was the second to arrive, looking even fresher. A few books in her arms - study material from the night before. It was when Thancred arrived that the four looked up. "Thancred," Papalymo began, eyes narrowing. "What do you have there?"

For with him was Zale - the Hrothgar who was secretly Lahabrea. Standing tall, trying to be inconspicuous. Black fur illuminated a little too much by the dawn light. Thancred was sipping at his morning drink. "It’s a quite nice coffee. You should try it." A pause, before he casually sat down. Not mentioning Zale.

Y’shtola looked to the Hrothgar, eyes narrowing, tail flicking. "I was not aware we had a new recruit. Is this a situation like Minfilia, or...?" suspicion dripped from her every word - while she knew Thancred would not just bring a fling in, something felt familiar about how the Hrothgar stood.

Leaning on his chair, Thancred looked back to Zale. "Oh, right. Everybody, this is Zale. He was captured by Garlemald and recently liberated - remember, the man I was interrogating?

His area of study was Primal, and he’s quite sharp." As Thancred talked him up, Zale remained quiet - keeping his own eyes on Y’shtola. She was a smart one. Not that he respected any of them - not that he should. They were mortals. Even Thancred - who he’d failed to wake up properly, who couldn’t remember - he dare not respect him. Else they would become real to him. And he would not be able to rejoin them, in the end. "I thought we could see if he could help us with this... well. Figuring out if we can help Sharlayan."

It was not the answer that Y’shtola appreciated, that was for sure. She continued to watch Zale, as he slowly sat down. Barely fitting one of the seats. "I was not aware Garlemald conscripted Hrothgar," she said plainly.

"They do, but usually more up north," Yda replied, before growing a little shy. (Of course she knew more.) "I mean, um. I imagine that if he’s an expert on Eikon, he’d have been brought in to handle Ultima, right?"

Y’shtola frowned. "True. But if that’s the case, should we trust him?"

Papalymo cleared his throat. "Thancred told me about him," he admitted. "He’s not really one of us - he’s still a prisoner. He knows that if he acts up, he’s dead." From Papalymo, that sounded threatening. "But Thancred is keeping an eye on him. Aren’t you, Thancred?"

As Thancred nodded, Y’shtola leaned back. "Do not let your heart - or any other organ - mislead you, then." The group continued to talk, mostly about nothing, until Urianger arrived - barely noting Zale, as he collapsed into his seat. He looked exhausted.

None of them had to question why, because Moenbryda followed him, also looking exhausted. But not like Uriangers’ - she looked frail, pale, much unlike the Roegadyn any of them knew.

Zale suddenly snapped to looking at Moenbryda. Biting his tongue. Moenbryda gave him a glance for less then a second, but far too long for his liking. Fear suddenly filled his body, and Zale stood - not to loom, but to leave. "...I think I shouldn’t be here," the Hrothgar said, trying not to stammer. A primal fear had filled him, one that he masked with a little smile. Thancred looked up at him, cautiously, trying to figure out what’d happened. But none of them could stop him from leaving.

Moenbryda, most of all, didn’t protest. Yet she gave Zale another glance as he left, a look that said a thousand words. He’d best not flee.

Silence filled the room. None of them wished to begin, wished to make Moenbryda speak twice on the matters going on. She still looked as if she was about to cry once again, Urianger leaning against her. Tataru coming in, making sure that they all had drinks.

So when Fordola arrived without Minfilia, Papalymo was about to reprimand her - before sighing, and raising his hand to his linkpearl. "I’ll call her in."

Everybody was there. And so, Moenbryda could begin - her voice unable to hide her fear, her horror. "A lot of people have left Sharlayan, as you’ve all probably noticed. A lot of travel requests were suddenly accepted, and the gleaners have been sent on snipe hunts. Looking for things that don’t exist." (How would Moenbryda know that? She did not say.) "But before I left, I went to my parents."

A quiet echoed around the room. Minfilia had questions - but perhaps Moenbryda would explain. Barely able to keep her limited composure, Moenbryda looked to Urianger, voice dropping. A raspy whisper escaped her lips. "It’s an evacuation. They’re bloody well evacuating the entire colony. And they aren’t telling anybody."

"What-- why?!" Papalymo demanded to know, as Moenbryda shuddered. Urianger gave her a weak little touch, trying to calm her. At his outburst, even Yda leaned back. Papalymo never raised his voice like this-- but to be fair, it was an important question.

One that Moenbryda had to try and answer. "Well, as you can probably predict, the Forum isn’t saying anything. Hells, they didn’t even say this was one!" Anger began to overwrite her sorrow, a desperate way to do anything. "If it wasn’t for my dad and mum telling me to take everything I could, then-- then I’d be as blind as they want us to be.

How are we meant to help if we’re blind?!" Moenbryda hadn’t noticed she’d stood, that her voice had begun to vibrate and sound wrong. Until she saw the looks of others, and continued. "Prototypes of aetherytes which were meant to let people teleport without attuning were failures. Dad - Wilfsunn - felt guilty about that. Thankfully not many people were sent that way, but--"

A pause. Choking up, shakily. Eyes glazed over. "Something woke up. Something... bad. And if it can’t be contained, then everybody is gonna die. So they’re doing something rash and stupid - not that I know what it is."

Wait. Minfilia half-raised her hand. Gaze looking to Thancred. "I believe I might have another piece of information. I-- we met with one of the immortals, the woman known as Prishe." One she’d told the Scions about before, of course. "She was... teasing Thancred, before she got a call and ran off."

"Teleported off," Thancred corrected. "And she claimed she’ll be blamed for it. So, whatever’s happening... it’s likely a Paragon scheme."

Thancred said that because of the robes Prishe wore. Minfilia dare not say otherwise - she had a weird feeling about the Ascian thing. Yet, why else would one wear those robes? Her head lowering, Minfilia kept looking at Moenbryda - who had the oddest look in her eyes.

Unreadable, but angry. So very angry. "We’ve studied Paragon schemes, right? They tend to not want to destroy the star." Suddenly, her words were guarded, every one chosen carefully. "If they’d caused it, we’d know.

Anyway, I don’t know how long until the Forum does what they’re gonna do," Moenbryda admitted, quietly. "How long until anybody who couldn’t leave is... well. Dead and gone."

"And those who do survive?" Minfilia then asked, her voice suddenly growing serious. "I cannot believe that they all can survive on whatever gil they were given, whatever stipend they were able to scrounge up." It was Y’shtola who first realised what Minfilia was thinking, beginning to tap her fingers against the table.

"Refugees," Y’shtola added. "Hundreds of them, at the very least. Some of them may re-settle on Val, if that is possible."

But the others... "Moenbryda. Where did your boat arrive?"

Blinking a few times, Moenbryda looked over Minfilia. "It arrived in Vesper Bay. But that’s because most of us on that boat were scholars and the such. Any general boats would likely have to stop by La Noscea and Limsa Lominsa to get checked over. Why?"

"Because," Minfilia said quietly, "I may not be able to aid them and their home. But we cannot let them get swallowed whole by those who’d use them." Her back had begun to warm up. "While I still shall need to speak with Belias, I know that Castrum Centri is abandoned yet livable. If we can set them up there, then they’ll be... safe. At least, moreso then whatever nation tried to take them in.

Gridiana could not, for would the Elementals not protest? Limsa Lominsa is still slowly integrating Kobold, and would likely end up with pirates abusing the most charming of Sharlayan refugees. And I dare not think what would happen to them if they went to Ul’dah and petitioned for aid. I know how cruel they can be." Taking a deep breath, Minfilia let her sharp look pierce everybody. "I cannot let any other nation be treated like Ala Mhigans."

"Any other nation?" Y’shtola asked, lips curving into a little smile. "Why, you’re taking this quite seriously. Does anybody else respect Mor Dhona like you?"

Her ears twitching, Minfilia frowned. "No, not yet. However, while I await their arrival, I shall speak with Merlwyb and see what can be done on that front."

So, that was that. Moenbryda stood, quietly. Brushing her messy hair out of her face. "I just hope nobody has t’die... I mean, I’m still mourning Louisoix. Did... did anybody ever find his body?" All it took was a shake of their heads for Moenbryda to shudder again. A mix of sorrow and anger--

--and quite suddenly, she turned to the door. "I... I need some space. Thanks for wantin’ to take care of them, Minfilia. Th’rest of you - well... we’ll figure out what caused it better when more people come, won’t we?" Urianger stood to follow her, but Moenbryda shook her head. "Just need some space, okay?"

With that, Moenbryda half-ran out of the room, far too fast. The door slammed shut, leaving the Archons and others in a state of stunned silence. What could they do? What should they do...?

As soon as Moenbryda left the room, Zale was there. Still, so still. "You." Moenbryda was on-edge, voice dropping to a whisper. "With me, now."

Zale dare not disobey. For while her flesh was that of a Roedagyn, he could see another underneath. There was only one soul, and that terrified Zale. Moenbryda moved outside so swiftly, outside and away from people. As soon as nobody was watching, Moenbryda effortlessly opened a portal - pulling the Hrothgar though. Though to the void where they rested between missions - to the land where the Chrysalis lingered.

"Explain yourself, Lahabrea," Moenbryda said - trying to mask the sorrow she still carried. "I come all the way here, and you’ve had your powers locked away."

"To be fair," Lahabrea snorted, finally able to speak in that ancient tongue he missed so much, "it was you who did this. Your other half, Mitron."

Moenbryda - no, Mitron - tilted their head slightly. Ah. Something must have happened with the half who was ruling Garlemald. It was quite the unique situation. One soul, with two lives. It had become an easy system, however, one used to cherish their eternal soulmate. It was a pain, however, when one side decided to do... something this drastic. "Why."

Lahabrea ran a hand though his hair - golden and orange, like fresh embers. His claws caught on knots, and he rolled his eyes. "A punishment. I attempted to wake and ascend Emet-Selch, and also gave the Heart of Sabik to man - which ended in it being used to cast Ultima." A beat, as Mitron stared holes though Lahabrea. "I aimed to cause a Rejoining - one of the other shards has to be close to one, yes? Lord Zodiark is dying, and--"

"--you think we don’t know that?" Mitron replied, darkly. "It is not your place to go against the plan, Lahabrea. I see why you’re being punished now." Said so plainly, it almost un-nerved Lahabrea. But that’s what this half of Mitron was like.

Not that Mitron would admit there were two sides of themselves. That they’d... well. Sundered themselves. The coward they were, Mitron wouldn’t dare call themselves any less then Unsundered, whole. "You’re letting Lord Zodiark die."

Mitron raised a hand. Calling for silence. Before giving a soft... smile? "There is no more need for Lord Zodiark." Speaking so very clearly, Mitron seemed as if they’d give more information...

...but didn’t. Lahabrea snarled. "How dare you--"

Suddenly, Mitron changed the subject. "I’ll be leaving this body here for the night. Look after it, wouldn’t you?" With a casual shrug, Mitron gave a few little sounds.

There were too many questions. Lahabrea hesitated, before touching Moenbryda. A beautiful Roegadyn body. "You got too close to mortals again, didn’t you?" It wasn’t really accusatory. "You’ll end up like Nabriales, if you don’t stop. You already have, haven’t you?"

Touching his hand back, Mitron barked out a laugh. "You’re one to lecture about changing. Unlike how you are now, Lahabrea, I’m going to see if I can chain up a monster."

"You know what’s happening," Lahabrea replied, ignoring the comment about himself.

"Of course I do," Mitron replied. "It’s one of those... mini Worldeaters. The ones who Zodiark stopped before Hydaelyn." Mitron lowered their guard, for a moment, letting their sorrow leak though again. Their anger. "They’re so weak, Lahabrea. We couldn’t stand up to the big one, and they’re not able to take down this little one. Children fightin’ children.

I can’t let them die to this. If that makes me like Nabriales, then so be it." White eyes gleamed at Lahabrea, focused on him. "I’ll be back. After all, I need to find Loghrif.

...I need to find Loghrif, Lahabrea." Mitron repeated, trying to ground themselves. Trying not to relive traumas eternally replaying in their mind. "Besides. Can’t let Igeyorhm take all the glory. She hasn’t told me the full story, but--"

"--Igeyorhm is in Sharlayan," Lahabrea said in a deadpan voice. "She’s meant to be dealing with Ishgard." Just what were the others up to?! How much had the others been keeping from him? 

Beginning to pace, their patience finally wearing thin, Mitron gazed at Lahabrea. "You’re not the only one who works too hard. She likes keeping her eye on all sides - Dravanian, Sharlayan - all of those who had influence in that Dragonsong War." A thousand years of conflict - of course it was of interest to the Ascian. "Those plans are at, excuse the term, a crescendo."

Mitron then opened a portal back to Mor Dhona, outside the Rising Stones. "Once you head though, it’ll close. Don’t take too long, okay?"

With that, Mitrons’ body - Moenbryda - fell limp. If one was to look over the body, it would seem as if it had slipped into a deep sleep, a dream. Lacking a soul, but no worse for wear. Trying to protest but knowing it’d get him nowhere, Lahabrea - Zale - let out a grumble and a growl.

The Unsundered were too damned reckless. And when would they give any answers? Nabriales was too busy obsessing over a dead time, and Mitron was... Mitron.

Chapter Text

G’raha Tia and Bolormaa Dotharl had no idea about the chaos happening in Sharlayan. Nor did they know the struggles the Scions were going though. No, the two of them had finally returned to Mor Dhona. Bolormaa leaned on the smaller Miqo’te, her tail curled around his waist. Her injuries from the mysterious swordsman still ached, but at least she could move around. The two of them were still rambling to each other - currently, they were discussing the implications of the crystaline blood which matched the tower itself. 

As soon as the two approached, Rammbroes couldn’t help but smile. "Wrangled up my ally, did you? Did you get the--"

"Aethersand?" Bolormaa asked, chirping happily. "We did!"

G’raha, meanwhile, tried to detangle himself from the Dotharl. "And I saved her life as she did." Pride swelled in his voice - pride easily ignored by Rammbroes.

As they exchanged the sand, Bolormaa slipped to the ground, holding her body once again. Rammbroes turned to go find Cid - and G’raha remained standing over the weakened woman. However, he couldn’t help but look up at the tower - his ears twitching violently. There was somebody watching...? Huh. Perhaps it was the Gigas, curious. Or perhaps the other tribes who lived here. It was odd, but nice. The sounds here were far more varied then back in Sharlayan - much less controlled.

Soon, the proud Cid Garlond walked over, holding the four shaped crystals. They gleamed and bubbled with elemental power. "There. That should do the trick!"

Rammbroes gave a little amazed gasp. "Excellent work! We now possess all four of the "fangs" required to pierce the Crystal Tower’s defenses. My compliments, Master Garlond!"

Raising a hand, Cid shook his head. The midday sun gleamed off the fangs, as another limped into the scene. Cordis, who moved to lean against Cid again. "Oh, it was a trifling matter, I assure you." Cid said, looking over to the resting Bolormaa. "Bolormaa here is the one you should be thanking.

Anyway, by my reckoning, there’s nothing stopping us from striding up to the Allagans’ front door!"

But before Cid could speak more, suddenly a familiar Lalafell and Roegadyn rushed up, out of breath. "You can’t go without us, Chief!" Biggs insisted.

Cid shrugged - hiding a small wince, the clicking returning. Alexander whispering to him. "Biggs! Wedge! Come to lend a hand, have you?"

Biggs nodded, as Wedge looked at the scene in amazement. "Well, it’s not every day you get the chance to study the wonders of the Allagan Empire, is it? Their technology makes Garlemald’s look ancient!"

Ah. That’s why the clicking was there. Cid looked to Biggs, then to Cordis as he spoke. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, lads, I really do, but we’re not here to take this knowledge for ourselves." His voice dropping, enthusiasm leaking from it, Cid couldn’t help but try and quiet both the men and the God by him. "Twice in the last decade, the promise of unimaginable power has prompted men to meddle with technology they do not understand, and the realm has been dragged unto the very brink of oblivion on both occasions.

We shall not be so irresponsible as to risk another." Nor him or Alexander would. A small smile crossed his lips. His gaze slightly shifted downwards. "Wedge, do you recall our company’s creed?"

The Lalafell nodded, voice louder then Cid. "Y-Yes, Chief! It’s, um, 'Freedom through Technology'?"

Yes. "Exactly. Freedom." A thing Cid no longer had, but it was okay. "When we forsook our homeland, we swore that we would have no truck with machines that could be used to promote tyranny. That has not changed.

Should you feel tempted to break your oath, remember this:" Cid took a pause, as Cordis gave that firm nod that could inspire nations. "The wonders of the all-knowing Allagan Empire could not save their civilization, and have damn near doomed ours. Twice.

That is why we must explore the Crystal Tower, and, if needs be, seal away its secrets."

G’raha gave a little click from his position next to Bolormaa. He looked upwards, tail swishing. "A compelling viewpoint." He jumped to his feet. "It is unyielding wills such as yours that have defined the course of history." Excitedly, he strolled over - offering over his hand. "I believe an introduction is in order. I am G’raha Tia, one of the Students of Baldesion. I look forward to joining you and yours on your groundbreaking expedition!"

But as Cid took G’rahas’ hand, he suddenly stumbled. His feet suddenly felt unstable, and as he tried to remain standing for the sake of Cordis, he felt the selfsame Hyur trying to hold him up. Alexander was trying to see though him, and it wasn’t working. All that Cid could do was let out a weak little whine, as he slipped into unconsciousness. Biggs and Wedge rushed to check him over, Rammbroes let out a small swear under his breath, and G’raha Tia stared.

Far away, Bartz had barely moved. Midgardsormr watched the scene as well, the corpse aware. "Hey, old man?" Bartz asked, finally, his conversation having grown quiet as the group met. The wind blew by him, a quiet answer that the Father of Dragons was listening.

As he always had been.

"You felt that too, right?"

It had been so long since Midgardsormr had spoken, moreso though the currents around them. Then again, corpses were not the most talkative. "The Gods stir. The old die - the new sprout."

Bartz swore he heard a laugh in the ancient voice enveloping him. A joy - even as the air seemed to be filled with something terrifying, something which reminded him of times he’d rather not think about. His breath slowed, Bartz took a step forward. Before stopping himself. "But the last time this happened-- you know what happened. Friends of ours told you."

Friends Bartz knew were still out there. Pondering the other, the one older then him, Midgardsormr lowered his voice once more. So that none would mistake it for the Dragonsong, none of his children would think they had to come for him. "You have been preparing."

Shrugging a little, Bartz sighed. "We have. But... you know? I thought we’d have more time. I still haven’t figured out how to help my boyfriend. And we’re still all splintered."

"Since my birth." Midgardsormr knew these Warriors were his elder, but he still looked upon them as if their positions were switched. The wind was building in intensity, whispers leaving the two of them. "Do you trust them?"

A simple question, and one which Bartz couldn’t help but give a simple answer to. "I’m not one to follow gods or all that - sure, I’m one of Cosmos’, but we’re friends - I think? So as long as the new Gods are good people, I don’t think we need to worry. Except for them getting corrupted."

Which, as Bartz said it, he realised was a big problem. "Then again, most of Chaos’ Warriors ended up inside Zodiark. And with him--"

"That is his problem - not yours," Midgardsormr mused, before the wind began to die down. He was growing tired. It was rare he spoke for this long, even with one of those he had grown to see like kin. "Keep watch. Prepare.

Your war begins. Mine shall soon conclude."

Cid woke to the face of his beloved, of Cordis, leaning over him. Ears brushed against the top of his head. Eyes gentle, Cid mumbled - barely realising where or when he was. "Caught me, did you? Won’t sneak off again..."

Gently, Cordis continued to brush his ears against the other, filled with affection. "We both will, and you know that. But you haven’t been sneaky since... since we met again." An unspoken secret, Cid then snapped his eyes open. Cordis smiled, pulling back. Now that he’d woken, it was clear Cid had been placed on the ground, kept stable. A soft coat put under his head, and Cordis was sitting by his side.

Cid groaned. "The ticking... the ticking..."

"Did it say anything...?" Cordis whispered, having been told earlier about his state. 

Shaklily, Cid tried to form words. It took a few moments. "No, I-- Alexander didn’t--" His gaze turning to G’raha - who watched with concern, Cids’ own face turned dark. "I don’t know what’s up with that boy."

"I don’t think there’s anything up with me?" G’raha replied curtly, ears ever-so-slightly pricked backwards. "But I’m sorry. Didn’t know my touch was so electric."

Standing, Cid dusted himself off. "It’s a whole thing," he mumbled, holding a hand out for Cordis to join him. "Not your fault."

Giving a chirp in reply, G’rahas’ tail began to swish. "So then, our fellowship is complete, and all stand ready to step into the unknown! Three cheers for NOAH!"

What a strange fellow, Cid thought, as he raised an eyebrow. "...Noah?"

"That is the name I have chosen for our little collective," he explained, as he looked around. From Cid and the Ironworks, to Bolormaa, to even Rammbroes. "Given our differing backgrounds, we cannot very well call ourselves the Sons of Saint Coinach, can we?" A pleased purr entered his throat. "And we must have a memorable appellation if our venture is to leave its mark in the annals of history."

A pause, as G’raha pondered how best to explain. "I could claim that NOAH stands for "Nominated Observers of Artifacts Historical," and so it does, technically─but my true reason for choosing this name stems from the fact that it is shared by a vaunted Allagan archmagus."

"Oh?" Bolormaa asked, looking upon G’raha calmly. "Could you tell me more?"

Just before he could begin, Rammbroes spoke up. "Now that the pressing matter of what to call ourselves has been settled, it is time we set forth to brave the outer defenses of the Crystal Tower. Is everyone ready to depart?"

With a loud cheer, the group began to move. Bolormaa and G’raha, of course, discussing the history of the person known as Noah. Sliding in front of the group, G’raha spoke proudly. "Esteemed colleagues! The secrets of ancient Allag beckon!

Let’s not keep them waiting any longer!" Taking control of the situation, G’raha could barely hold his excitement back. "Bolormaa - you and I will join the engineers at the Crystal Tower’s main gateway, where we will endeavor to neutralize the structure’s outer defenses."

Giving a small tsk, G’raha looked over to their Roegadyn friend. "Rammbroes, meanwhile, will remain here and oversee the operation." A pause, a dramatic shrug. "Given my knowledge of Allagan history, it seems logical that I should lead the expedition itself... though I admit the role does not exactly befit my status as an observer."

Bolormaa nearly spoke up, to ask if there is truly anything as an observer, if history was not manipulated by everybody - but she did not. His actions would sooner reveal his thoughts on the matter...

"Still, we can but make use of the resources at hand. Assuming all are in agreement, let us proceed forthwith to the large, lopsided gate found to the southeast."

There was something strange in the air. None of them wished to say so, as the towering statues pulsed with energy, energy that represented the elements that Bolormaa had found crystals of. It wasn’t the same energy... yet none dared mention it, lest they would need to focus on it. "I say... The energy radiating from these statues is...palpable," G’raha mumbled, his single red eye beginning to ache ever-so-slightly.

Cid stood in front of the Miqo’te. "Lucky for us that it is. One might otherwise stroll past them..." he stated, firmly. "Feast your eyes on the elemental defenses which prompted our lengthy preparations. These sentinels prevent would-be intruders from advancing to within twenty yalms of the tower’s inner reaches."

"...No matter how swift they may be," G’raha commented, even as he continued to glance around, sniff. No, something had gotten past them, he wished to scream. But he had no evidence.

"Happily, the crystal fangs we took such pains to craft should spare us the inconvenience of instantaneous annihilation. Here, allow me to demonstrate." Cid said, beginning to move forward. Cordis let out a silent protest.

"Cid, it’s too--"

"Dangerous to allow anyone else to risk his life testing one?" Cid replied, adding a bit of softness to his reply. "Quite right. I made the damn things ─ it’s my job to see that they work. It won’t be like last time, Cor."

He stood firm, getting out his elemental fang - holding it up to the statue. It shot a laser - almost reaching Cid, before it was reflected. The statue froze, the power surged, and everything stopped.

"...Hah! Success!"

Handing out fangs to the others, the defenses were soon dissolved. And yet, both Bolormaa and G’raha noticed the same thing. They moved in front of one - the formerly firey one. Bolormaa put a hand out to prevent G’raha from stepping forward. "Do you see it?" she asked.

G’raha nodded, tail curling around his leg so it did not move the dust any more then they needed. The ground had ever so slight imprints in the ancient dust, ones far too modern. Else they would have faded away. And there were scratches in the statue, small metal flecks mixed in. "While Allag did have robots, the rebellions didn’t have access to metals this fine..." G’raha mused, as he then looked to Bolormaa.

Bolormaa was sketching the footprint as swiftly as she could, in her leatherbound journal. "And these soles - they’re not Allagan-style, from either side."

Cid came over to them, looking over both of their shoulders. "Are you saying we’re not the first though?"

Turning slightly, Bolormaa nodded. G’rahas’ voice was oddly fragile. "We need to be careful. We all know that Dalamud crashed and things came out, right? Might be from there."

He was denying that anybody could have done this first. "The entrance to the tower is near at hand. My blood fairly sings with anticipation!" he chirped, trying not to show his concern. "And we’ll find this person too."

Cid sighed. "Actually, speaking of blood, I have a proposal."

Bolormaa spoke over him. "Hey, G’raha. Let’s go disable the defenses - with our knowledge, we’ll be safe!"

Before Cid could suggest sending in a proper band of adventurers, the two excitable friends had taken off. Sighing, Cid looked towards the Tower - Cordis resting against his love once more. "We’ll. We’ll do what we can, Cid. They’ll let us know when we can go in."

Chapter Text

It had been quite the adventure. Hours passed, and Cid waited as his body recovered. As the sun set, Cordis gave him a little forehead kiss, before standing up. “I have to go.”

Cid felt the clicking, and knew he couldn’t protest. Alexander was telling him what was right. Another moment where he cursed the being who consumed his very being. Cordis was being shady, as his smile shifted. From gentle love to a polite confusion. Before he simply walked away, no more words shared.

Cid didn’t have long to linger, long to ponder the situation. His linkpearl suddenly lit up - and as he answered, Bolormaa was oddly subdued for somebody who was in her element. “Cid, we— we found something. Well, someone. I think you need to come see this.

Don’t worry! It’s safe!” Of course, Cid couldn’t find words - but gave a grunt in reply. Standing, he looked to where Cordis had gone. No, no sign of the Viera. Brushing one hand though his hair, Cid walked over to Biggs and Wedge.

And soon, they were off. As the moonlight hit the path, it felt different. The air stiff, the relics beginning to glow deeply. It was beautiful, in a way. Well, it would be, if Cid did not hear the clicking at every moment. Alexander was curious, too curious. Though the clicking, Cid could see movements of people he’d never seen before. A young woman and a man with strange devices, shielding themselves from the lasers without disabling them. A foppish man in clothes far too fancy leading them, seeming unafraid. This was recent, Alexander whispered. And yet, Cid could not give more answers.

As they went into the labyrinth, Alexander went quiet, and Cid could think for himself again. The path laid out by the two adventurers was comfortable, safe. But there were scars in the very building. Rubble lined the path, impacts and craters having to be avoided. Again, Cid heard the whispers of his Primal. These were even more recent. So there were multiple things coming and going?

Descending, that was when the Ironworks arrived at the stairs outside of the labyrinth. Bolormaa came rushing up, wiggling as always. “You’re here— all of you! Sorry we couldn’t show you the whole place - you would have loved it! There was a system of electrical circuits which were meant to keep a Behemoth controlled but they didn’t quite work and instead it attacked us! And - and they had Voidsent binded to the tower! G’raha thinks they were summoned by now-gone Evokers, but I insisted there must be runes carved into the floor!

So we began to look over them, and—”

“Bolormaa,” Cid began, trying to hide his frustration - a bit of sourness from Alexander still whispering to him. A sickness building in his chest. He’d listen later, sure, but he’d come here for… “What did I need to see? Is this place safe yet?”

“Oh.”

Bolormaa lowered her gaze a little, before bouncing up again. Her mood couldn’t be ruined. “Yes, it’s safe. We killed everything. Except— we found somebody here already.”

Somebody, Cid repeated in his head, quietly. Stepping forward, the night sky and the Crystal Tower now visible. There were stairs up there, the exit to this place. But his gaze lowered, to where G’raha and the one already here was.

Oh, godsdamnit. That silhouette was far too recognizable. Even if he’d removed his helmet and his shoulder pads, Cid would always know Nero Scaeva from his body language. Running up, Cid felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Why would Nero still be wearing his imperial armour? A coat was draped over them, barely hiding them - unless…

No, Cid couldn’t continue that train of thought - as if Alexander was hiding it. Instead, he stopped to one side of Nero - G’raha on the other, Bolormaa and the others following. Nero was staring up at the tower, eyes glazed over. Nothing seemingly behind them, as his lips moved.

No words came out. Cid looked to the Miqo’te on the other side. “Can you hear anything?”

G’raha shook his head. “We found him here like this. Thought the Ironworks would have an idea,” the red-haired Miqo’te admitted, dragging a hand though his hair in frustration. “He’s Garlean, isn’t he?”

Cid looked back at Nero. Nero didn’t react. Was that kinder than how he’d reacted last time? Cid still wished, deep in his heart, that Cid did not see him like such - a thrall, a failure. (He was glad Nero was alive. But… ) Before Cid could linger too much, however, a voice knocked him out of his thoughts.

Wedge was looking down at a small device they’d brought in. “There’s a lot of interference - Chief, what should we do?”

It took a moment for Cid to reply - Alexander whispering again - before he gave a smirk. “Remember the disrupter we built in? It should be fine.

G’raha, was it?” G’raha felt his ears prick up. “Get back, we haven’t tested how this sounds to Miqo’te.”

Before anybody could scramble away, Wedge pressed a button on the machine - and there was a loud burst of static. It was not simply G’raha who flinched and covered his ears - everybody fell to the ground, covering their ears, magic flickered though the ground. Runes and glyphs lit up for a moment, almost seeming to turn into chains focused on Nero.

The static faded, and Nero fell to his knees. Still not moving. His breath was still as always, his eyes now dulled. The group looked around at each other.

Biggs spoke up, finally breaking the awkward silence. “We’ll get him out of here, then?”

Nodding, Cid looked to Nero quietly. “We all have questions.

…Make sure he can’t run.”

Now, Cid knew a few things about Nero. And one of the things he remembered? He’d actually never seen the man asleep. Back in the academy, he assumed that Nero simply woke early and went to bed late. But now, he looked over the man they’d laid in the moonlight. Wedge and Biggs were discussing how to strip him of his armour, in case it was armed. Meanwhile, Bolormaa and G’raha were busy gushing about their adventure to each other.

Yet, Nero did not feel like he was out cold, or asleep. His eyes were shut, true. And yet, he felt like he was still taking in information, never sleeping. Hands twitching, third eye gleaming ever-so-slightly wrong.

Cid couldn’t speak on that, of course. Unconsciously, one hand went to his own third eye, before pulling his goggles up to hide it again.

A moment passed, and within that moment, Nero came to. Staring up at his enemy. His rival, Cid. “…fretting over me, Garlond?” Nero hissed out, suddenly feeling the after effects of whatever they used to disable him. Sickness - damned sickness - pushed at the forefront of his head. As if he’d just been on the edge of discovery, and now it was robbed from him! His fingers tensed, as he stared upwards. “Save it. I don’t need some thrall—”

“—What were you doing there?”

Quite suddenly, Nero saw another enter his vision. He swore he had seen them before - the red-headed Miqo’te. Yes… he’d seen him while he was…

…what was he doing? Nero couldn’t admit he didn’t know. Something had called him, and he’d followed. His eyes closed quietly. “You wouldn’t understand, catboy.”

His tail twitching, G’raha leaned closer. “Then— how?” As Nero opened his eyes, he felt something odd. Something else he couldn’t explain. But looking into the others’ face, he almost felt like he needed to tell all.

Not that he would. “Obviously, I walked in.”

“You… walked in.” G’rahas’ disbelief was clear.

Nero chuckled. “Obviously. I don’t think you and yours would understand taking the simple path,” Nero added, before gesturing towards Cid. “Especially not with him.”

Cid grumped, as Nero pointed to him. “It’s not that we had to make it complex, it’s that you’re saying something impossible. If you’d just walked in, you’d be dead.”

“And yet, I’m not,” Nero replied. Anger tickling at his throat. “Or is that what your Eikon tells you?” Nero made sure to raise his voice. Loud enough for everybody to hear. “You little thrall.”

Before Cid could prickle and reply, he felt a dark shadow over him. “Chief. What’s he on about?” Biggs asked, voice a little shaky. “He’s just trying to un-nerve us, right?”

Cid sighed, as he wiped sweat from his brow. How long had he been sweating? “…didn’t want you to find out this way,” he admitted, “and don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you or anybody.

But— Nero!”

His head whipped around, as Nero attempted to flee. Before he could stop him, Bolormaa was suddenly there - standing in front of the armoured Garlean. “Stay. I have questions, too.” Nero gulped, as he was towered over. Carefully, he backed away. Bolormaa then tilted her head - and got out some sturdy rope. “I did not want to have to do this. Is it okay?” G’raha nodded - it should be okay. But Cid was now distracted. Not only Biggs, but Wedge and even Jessie were with him as they sat in a circle.

“I didn’t quite survive the Calamity,” Cid explained quietly. “A Primal needed a subject they could see the star though, and, well, I was there.

Still don’t know why they chose me, but that’s why I’ve been hesitating sometimes.” Another deep sigh inwards, as Cid looked down to his hands. Wedge shakily put a hand to one of them. “I’ll understand if you don’t trust me anymore. But the Primal - Alexander - isn’t bad. They don’t want to ruin the star - no, they want to see it improve.” Every word out of his word - was it true? Was Cid saying what he thought, or was Alexander controlling his words?

Cid couldn’t say. Nor could he say if the others would think of them as his words. Still downcast, Cid continued. “Alexander - I don’t even know where they are, or if they’re eating aether. But nobody’s reported any Primal like them.” Nor would they. Cid could feel it, in his head - that calming presense, that desire not to consume. They had laid building bricks when they could, and now simply watched. (Not that Cid knew what they’d done.)

There was silence from the Ironworks, uncomfortable silence. Biggs whispered to himself, none of them hearing it. Until Jessie spoke up. She’d been waiting for them to finish up for the night, and they never had. “Do you still see yourself as Cid?”

Cid nodded.

Jessie leaned forward a little. “And you’re not a threat to us.”

Cid nodded again.

Jessie then gave a little smile. “Then there’s no problem. We’ve all got issues - some Garleans have an unhealthy attachment to their Emperor. You’ve got an attachment to some sort of God. So unless that God of yours is going to compromise the Ironworks more then you would, we’re good.”

“A-and - if you’re still Cid in there, then it doesn’t matter!” Wedge added, his hand still gripping to Cids’. Tears falling more then any of them expected.

Biggs wiped his own tears away. “We lost you once, Chief. We’re not going to lose you again.”

As Cid began to get sappy with them, Nero could only watch - his legs now tied together, as Bolormaa worked on his arms. G’raha watched as well, tail very slowly swishing behind him. “What did you see in the Tower?” G’raha then asked, half-looking at Nero. Nero was quiet. “I always wanted to see it, as well - ever since it re-appeared. It’s a beautiful thing… I never thought it’d be real.”

Nero tsked, barely looking at the Miqo’te. His eyes almost seemed to flicker.

“It’s an Allagan relic. What else would I see? Other then something I want to investigate.” A beat. “But I guess I’m not doing that alone anymore, now am I?”

G’raha couldn’t help but smile a little, chuckle to himself. “It seems you’ve been roped into NOAH. Not that I mind - even if you get on Cids’ nerves - I guess - we can always use more help. Especially if they can get past death lasers without turning them off.”

“Actually,” Nero said, “they’d been deactivated before I got there.

I think somebody else has gone though before,” Nero mused. “And broke them on their way out. But they can’t have re-entered - otherwise, all the traps would have been destroyed.” In the back of his mind, Nero could feel knowledge throbbing. There had to be a better reason they couldn’t have re-entered, but it was just out of reach. “Who knows - there might be escaped Allagans wandering! Perhaps I should go look for—”

“I am not letting you free,” Bolormaa said firmly. “Not until we decide what to do with you. Have you forgotten what you did?”

Nero stared quietly, blinking a few times. “Oh… oh, right! Ultima Weapon! I’d nearly forgotten. Oh, don’t worry. ” Relaxing into the restraints, Nero gave a smirk. “I’m not with the Empire anymore. Let’s let bygones be bygones? Besides, the catboy’s right.

We both have the same objective. Why don’t we work together, hm?”

Chapter Text

The stars loomed over Mor Dhona, and the Seventh Heaven was no exception. Many had wondered why there would be a bar here, even before people had begun to build up, long before the contract with the Gigas. Then again, it made for a good place to relax. The Rising Stones, after all, was connected to it.

"So, like… do they work for the Scions, or what?" At the bar sat three women - and Lyse had to ask. She had a rather exotic Ala Mhigan drink she was nursing, holding tightly between her fingers. "Because I think it’s very weird that we’d have a barmaid."

Yda - who sat next to her, with a heavier drink of Garlean origin - shrugged. "It’s not a bad thing, is it? But I can ask Papalymo later. I think that she was just looking to not run a solo bar anymore?"

"And we were in the market?" Lyse replied, tilting her head.

"Both of you are talkin’ like she’s not listening," Fordola snorted - on the other side of Yda, having already finished quite a few drinks. She was quite a heavy drinker - even if she was the youngest of the three. Minfilia had gone to La Noscea, and Fordola had decided to stay behind.

"Oh, that’s quite okay," the bartender said - her voice having a crystalline tone that Fordola recognized straight away. She dare not say it, however. One of those Warriors - she wasn’t in the mood to handle their bullshit. She probably wouldn’t remember it in the morning. "They can have their theories."

Not that the bartender would reveal the truth. Be it mundane or serious, this was more fun. Returning to her work, the bartender gave a little smile to herself. "But I do work closely with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn - and since it’s so late, I doubt anybody else will be coming."

In other words - none of them had to hide who they were. Straight away, Fordola let some of her glamour fade - letting her form shift and her body become more lizard-like. Lyse gave a little chuckle into her drink. "Finally! This One… well, this one knows she was born a Hyur, but the Sylphic tongue comes so easily…" Lyses’ joy turned to sorrow far too quickly. "This One misses being Hyur."

Fordola looked to Lyse, and shrugged. "Me too. It’s so fucked up we’re like this, but can’t fight it. Just… need to accept it, god damn it."

Yda looked between both of them, her expression turning slightly soft. "You know," she said quietly as they spoke, "I never thought both of you would meet - or that you’d get along."

That made both of them stare at her, until Fordola gave a little sigh. "Yulia." Everything went quiet. "You spent a lot of time in Sharlayan, right? Th’cowards who fled when Garlemald wouldn’t just roll over." A pointed glare. "What makes Sharlayan so much better? Why did you keep runnin’?"

Yda looked down to her drink, quietly. Of course she’d be asked something this deep. While she was worrying for Sharlayans’ safety. At the same time, it was a valid question! "Sharlayan isn’t perfect," she began, careful with every word. "It’s isolationist. It hoards whatever it can, and is… like, super secretive? Not even Papalymo knows everything. But on the other hand…"

"On the other hand, they mind their own business, so they’re not gonna fuck things up?" Fordola interrupted, slamming down her glass. She looked into the emptiness, giving a snort. "‘course, I never liked thinking about politics."

"That’s why, isn’t it?" Lyse asked, as she sipped gently at her drink. She couldn’t have anything as hard as the others - if she could complain, she would. But it was because she was a Sylph. "Why you’re not with Minfilia in… where did she go, again?"

"She’s going around to the leaders of th’nations to see if she can handle th’Sharlayan refugees," Fordola replied. "Which is more then they’d do for her."

Yda rolled her eyes. "Come on, they’d let somebody in. Sharlayan, I mean. As long as they didn’t try and kill them?" A pause, as Yda considered. "Or if they’d disrupt everything. There were quite a few Ishgardians which were turned away, or so I heard." Heretics, who were close to death, who wanted anything but that.

And yet… "Did they at least get put out of their misery?" Fordola asked, not waiting for an answer. "I don’t get it, Yulia. You… you had your life made. ‘m certain that Lord Solus would have forgiven you."

As her chair skidded across the wood, Yda stood up. Her lips curving into a frown. "Do you really wanna know how he’d react?" There was a darkness in her voice, one she hated to bring up. "He’d continue to look at me like I was a monster. He’d want to hand me over to his weird boyfriend. Or he’d want to just toss me and Varis into a small box and see who lived and who died. Or he’d wonder openly why we weren’t fish." With every word, Yda shuddered. With every word, she stepped towards Fordola. "I didn’t know how he treated me was wrong, of course. He’d tuck me in and get me all I wanted.

But Sharlayan - it might be full of stuffy idiots who think they’re smarter then they are, but I felt love from them, okay?" Her voice cut out, as Yda realised how terrified she was. Perhaps she worried that somehow, Solus would hear this. Perhaps she worried that Fordola wouldn’t believe her.

Perhaps, she actually worried the barkeep would turn her in. Her feet beginning to buckle under her weight, Yda was worried she was about to slip.

Before Fordola could reply, however, the door slammed open. The ladies turned to look, and Alisaie stormed in. She looked a wreck, a heavy cloak covering most of her body. Hiding her fears, Yda stood tall. "…Alisaie. Come to join us ladies?"

Trying to push past them, Alisaie grunted. Until she realised she wouldn’t escape explaining herself. "…I just heard about Sharlayan. I… I need to check on Urianger. So… I was going to get some supplies, and head on over. He needs people there to take care of him." 

Yda suddenly shook her head. "What about you, though?"

"What about me?" Alisaie mumbled, bundling into her clothes. "I can’t even find Alphinaud. I just need to do whatever I can." For those who remain.

Alisaie did not expect what happened next. Suddenly, she felt a weight around her - but before she could escape, she realised what it was. A hug. A comforting hug, the sort she hadn’t had for years. Not since the Flood of Light in her world. Sure, she sometimes got comfort from the twin Kings, but this was different.

How much did Yda care? How much should she care? Alisaie didn’t notice that she began to cry. That she shuddered in Ydas’ arms - before feeling more arms around her. Fordola, giving a soft snort. Alisaie couldn’t read their moods, couldn’t tell why they were doing this.

But did it matter?

Sharlayan was as doomed as her home had been, Alisaie could feel. If only she understood what was going on…

Ever since Mitron had returned to Old Sharlayan, horror filled every one of their sensations. The aether was fraying, fading, being fed into something unseen. The air was filled with secrets and whispers of what was wrong. Most people had already evacuated - even if they did not know that was what they were doing. A sickness was spreading though the people, and Mitron could barely watch.

It was happening again. As Mitron watched, they gave a little snarl, letting their form begin to shift. Ascian cloak melted away to a dark blue cloak, as their body began to grow taller and taller. A Black Mage-esque coned hat sat comfortably on top of their hidden face, and large broken wings stretched from their back. It was uncouth to transform around others, true. But if they could allow more to flee, then they would. Large tentacles curled from under their cloak, unfurling like a newly bloomed flower.

Some may call these forms transformed. Mitron, however, saw them as what their heart desired them to be. It was time to head to the seas, to stimulate them. The currents were not often something which the Ancients saw fitting to manipulate. But this was an emergency. Mitron would make up for it later. Ships were leaving - they were so fragile compared to what came before. Or what Garlemald had made. Mitron knew they couldn’t manipulate them too much. But, gifting them a little bit of the seas’ power - it would save them.

But as they worked, they could not help but overhear something. No, somebody they’d hoped to not hear. But where this sort of disaster loomed, it was the once voice - the one presence - that would follow after.

That damned Warrior of Light. That damned being. Mitron watched, quietly. Ready to interfere. Ready to damn them both.

The Warrior of Light, still wrapped tightly in his white robes, had to choke back his own feelings on the matter. Soon, this place would burn as well, all these people would be naught but power for his God. His pale eyes focused on Prishe, the one who never burned. The one who’d come rushing as he summoned her. "There is no mercy nor compassion in the world. It is better to... embrace the chaos, for in the end that is all."

Every word dripped like darkness off his tongue, as he looked upwards. The sky was dull, clouds covered the moon. Even the Gods wished not to watch this. Those selfsame Gods who had begun this, so very long ago - in forms now long dead. Raising a hand from under his cloak, skin burned away and replaced with crystal so very long ago, the Warrior of Light continued. Calling to the Planesgorger he knew was here. "Now the universe is broken, lost its force. Turn your back on all you have loved..."

"Hey."

It was far too easy to interrupt him, and the Warrior of Light looked to Prishe. "Not to interrupt your drama, but they’re planning on stopping it. Least, that’s what I’ve learned?"

Prishe sounded far too optimistic, and the Warrior of Light tilted his head a little. Lowering his arm slightly. "Yeah, it’s a bit of a longshot, but that’s why I’m here. To help the people who’re trying to flee."

"...flee?" The Warrior of Light mumbled, his voice growing more and more tired with every passing moment. "You know what this child awakening means."

"Yeah, it means they’ve got to prep for the big guy," Prishe replied, a smirk crossing her lips. Her steps unstable, Prishe took a few steps away from her ally. Just so he wasn’t quite leaning on her as he was.

Perhaps she sensed what was coming. The clatter of a wheelchair being knocked over, the rush of wind - and the Warrior of Light was pinned to the ground, pale white hands curled around his neck. For one who was meant to be calm, the Warrior of Light knew exactly who was there.

"Elidibus," the Warrior of Light stated, far too calmly for one being strangled. His voice echoed not from his mouth, but from his very being. "This will not help."

Elidibus hissed, his calm demeanour that he showed to the outside world gone - replaced with pure anger, pure vileness. "You did this! You-- you’re doing this!"

A hand slid between his throat and his attacker, and the Warrior of Light spoke again. "You are right. Direct your anger at me - but do not let it consume.

I thought you better." Nostalgia filled the Warrior of Lights’ voice - as Elidibus grew madder.

For was this other not taking it seriously? His strength did not waver, as long as Zodiark--

Magic began to bubble at Elidibus’ hands. Tears hidden under his mask bubbled along. "I shall end this!" Before he could strike, however, the Warrior of Light struck the other in the stomach. Hard enough to distract, but not hard enough to leave lasting injuries. Coughing up spit, Elidibus loosened his grip.

"Elidibus. You hate me."

It was a statement. Standing by Prishe, the Warrior of Light pulled up his cloak. Covered, they looked nearly the same. "Let your hatred be your power. Let it overcome you. Perhaps you can stop this.

...likely not. These people..." The Warrior of Light took a pause, looking to Prishe. His expression had not changed this entire time. "Do what you can. All of you." Trying to leave dramatically, he took a step. Before realising he couldn’t.

Prishe was holding his arm, making sure that the Warrior of Light did not trip over his body. "You’re still sick."

They nodded weakly. "I am. Shinryu is…" they began, before their words trailed off. Distracted by Elidibus trying to stand, before Mitron suddenly appeared out of nothing. Tentacles lifting their emissary back into his wheelchair, settling him in. Before Mitron loomed over both Prishe and the Warrior of Light.

"This is our territory. For the glory of Lord Zodiark, let us handle it."

Mitron was afraid of how Prishe may reply. She was one of them - a monster. Until Mitron saw her smirk. "Well then, for the glory of… well, Cosmos, I guess? Myself? I’ve got something to do here. So if you can handle not fighting us, we’ll let you do whatever."

Prishe kept the Warrior of Light away. Mitron kept Elidibus away. But it was the former who vanished first, tapping his own ring before vanishing in a strange portal. Prishe shrugged and sighed. "Hopefully he’s not headed down. Even if it’d be nice to tell him see you later."

Elidibus, too, vanished - and Mitron was left to hover there, high over Prishe. There was a moments pause, before a third figure appeared. A chill filled the air, as Mitron turned. "My, my. And here I thought you had some dignity, Mitron."

Igeyorhm.

She looked a mess as well, her hair barely brushed. Her form still shifting and contorting into her usual form. "You trusted me with Sharlayan. And Ishgard. And your other half trusted me with the Hunt." Even with that list, Igeyorhm did not seem frustrated. No, there was a satisfied smirk on her face. "I can’t believe you think I needed help."

"That’s not why I came. I— Moenbrydas’ parents," Mitron said, stumbling over their words. "I came to make sure they…"

Igeyorhm quietly shook her head. "Their research was needed for the plan. And they need to monitor it."

"…I see." There was no arguing it, and yet, Igeyorhm them looked to Prishe. "Does your plan include how to stop the beast?"

There was a tense moment. Prishe bit her lip. "Not exactly. But I’m going to talk to Hydaelyn." A beat. "Because you might not believe me, but I didn’t want Zodiark dead either." A hand over her chest. "Neither of us wanted things to get this fucked. So I’m gonna go punch Hydaelyn in the face and ask her some things, and see what’s going on."

There was a long pause. Mitron held back swears. Igeyorhm then spoke, landing between them - ice spreading below her, cracking as soon as it formed. "The Sharlayan Forum has finalized their plan to destroy the beast. At midnight tonight, as our Lord hangs above us," (for Zodiark was not dead, Zodiark could not be dead,) "they will be… saturating this land with aether. It may destroy them, it may not. But since this is something that they were warned about…

They’re willing to die."

"—I see." Mitron said, giving an oddly soft smile. These people would sacrifice themselves for a better future? Like themselves. These little sundered were just like them. It would still end in the death of some mortals they loved. Mitron turned back towards the sea, before Igeyorhm spoke again.

"I have some news you might be interested in, for when this is over." A pause, as Mitron looked back. "I have located Loghrif. However, she is… not in a good place."

"Explain." As Mitron loomed, Prishe couldn’t help but look between the two of them. They looked… kind. Gentle. Like the people who came before - sure, they weren’t actually kind.

"She is trapped in the fragments of Dalamud, in that mortal body of hers."

Chapter Text

When coming to Limsa Lominsa, Minfilia had not expected to feel so… nervous. She had bested Merlwyb once before, but that was a more dire situation. For most, the threat of a Primal was of more concern then a refugee crisis. Of course, Minfilia knew both were horrific - she knew how Ala Mhigans struggled. And, loathe as she was to admit it to herself, those of Sharlayan may not have the strong wills of Ala Mhigans. They may not find anywhere to shelter - or, worse, be taken advantage of.

She could do this. She had to. She stood out in front of Zanthael, feeling far too exposed in the Bulwark Hall. Pulling her coat a little tighter, Minfilia spoke with a slight bounce. “I must see Merlwyb. ‘tis an emergency.”

The Roegadyn looked down at her, looked her over. Expression barely readable. “You’re the one who stopped Ultima Weapon, right? I can show you to her.”

And with that, Minfilia was face-to-face with Merlwyb. In her office, looking out to the sea. Merlwyb had a slight grimace upon seeing Minfilia, but didn’t say why. Instead, she shook her head. “Can’t imagine you came here for a nice little break, Minfilia.”

“You know I don’t take such,” Minfilia replied, her eyes sharply focused. “Tell me, have your people noticed any boats arriving?”

“They have. They’re still a bit out, but they’re not any threat. Did you come here to—”

“—They are refugees, Merlwyb. Ones who seek to find a new home.” Minfilia began to pace, trying to bury her little worries. “We both recall that the Kobold, Sahagin, and Spoken of La Noscea are already struggling to survive with the meagre resources you and your people hold.” A pause. “These people cannot be housed here, else the conflict between the many tribes will erupt.”

Minfilia hid that she didn’t know if Titan could be summoned again. However, her lips curved into a frown. “Such could cause Leviathan to be summoned. Even if I could then seal them, you must understand it is something I would rather not have to do.”

Finally, Minfilia paused to let Merlwyb speak again. Now she’d managed to speak though her thoughts. Merlwyb was still, tapping her desk slightly. “These… refugees. Where, exactly, are they coming from?”

“Old Sharlayan. I was informed by linkpearl.” A lie, but an easy one.

Merlwyb stopped, and gave a huge inwards breath. “I can imagine them leaving instead of dealing with their problems. And then making it our problem.

What is it you want to do, exactly?”

Confidence finally coming from her, Minfilia gave a little smile. “I wish to take them in.” A beat, as Minfilia bowed her head. “I have been aiding Belias, the Gigas - and the traditional custodian of Mor Dhona. He has given me permission to seek and bring these people in - as he did with those Ala Mhigans who wished for it.”

Quietly, Merlwyb pondered this. “Ah, yes. Nanamo recently mentioned quite a few people were moving from Ul’Dah, to an unknown point.” A chuckle, as Merlwyb made sure she was looking Minfilia in the eyes. “And here we’d suspected it was Ascians.”

They hadn’t told others where they’d gone…? Minfilia should have expected such. But she could not help but feel anger as Merlwyb continued, her voice calm like the sea. “You know that no Grand Company sees Mor Dhona as anything but free real estate.” Still, there was kindness in her eyes. “And I can’t simply accept that some Gigas has come to claim it. Then again, Minfilia, you’ve proven yourself as stronger then half of those so-called rulers - even if you’re not even the ruler.

Aren’t you?”

Minfilia shook her head. “No. I am Belias’ Emissary. We both know it’ll take a lot to be respected, but— I have come not to establish such with you. Not yet. We’ve nothing to offer in exchange.”

“Except,” Merlwyb said with a sly smile, “an offer to take people we can’t take care of.” Now leaning on her desk, Meylwyb stretched out. “I think that’ll be enough for now. Not that I can come help you - but you’ve an ally in us.”

Minfilia was quiet for a few moments, processing it. Her voice shaking. Her tail uncurling, beginning to swish. “…I shall be certain to tell Lord Belias,” Minfilia whispered, before speaking louder. “I do not know how many refugees are coming, but I shall work to get them to their final space. Thank you, Merlwyb.”

 It only took until Minfilia had gotten past the marketboards, the Arcanists’ guild, before she couldn’t hold it together any more. Sure, she had gotten what she wanted from Merlwyb. But she now knew her position - and it was not a place of power. Even if she had slain Ultima Weapon and had the blood of a man she hated stained upon her soul - one she had tried to force to live - they saw her as naught more then some adventurer. Her body shaking, Minfilia let out a loud scream, feeling her fluffy ears standing on end. She cared not if she caused a scene.

That is, until she heard somebody else. “Hey, you got it out?” Minfilia turned sharply on her heels, to face the other— ah. She’d seen him before, fishing in Aleport. A man who did not fit into the fashion of this star. If she had to guess, he was one of the Warriors. Yet, his face looked too soft. Not like many of the others she had met.

That, and he looked geared up to fish. Minfilia lowered her gaze. “…I didn’t scare any fish off, did I?”

The other looked away for a moment, slightly leaning to the side. “That’s not the point - there’s more out there.” He offered a hand out - gloved. “I’m Noctis.”

“Minfilia,” Minfilia replied as she shook his hand. “I’m not okay. I don’t think I… got it out? Is that how you put it?”

Noctis nodded slightly, in thought, before he got out a second fishing pole. “Come on, they’re biting right now. Might help you get your mind off things.”

Soon, Minfilia was seated next to him. “Is that why you fish?” she asked, quietly.

Noctis shook his head. “Everybody needs hobbies, and this is mine. Especially with the new rumours. Have you heard them?” With nary a second to shake her head, Minfilia continued to listen. “There’s a large fish that’s been sighted by coastlines. No… it’s not quite a fish. Looks more like a blob of water came to life and grew bear ears.”

His excitement easy to hear, Noctis continued as Minfilia listened. “I haven’t seen it yet, but that’s part of the fun. It might be a myth, but—”

“Your kind have time to investigate myths,” Minfilia said quietly. Noctis paused, looking at her with a quizzical look. “You’re one of them, right? The immortal warriors.”

At that, Noctis grew quiet. “I heard that we’ve been getting tangled up again. You’re one of the reasons why?” he replied, his voice a whisper. “Lightning told me to look out for a blond-haired lady.”

Minfilia nodded. “I do not claim to understand it all.”

“That makes two of us,” Noctis shrugged, looking back to the sea. “I’m one of the newer people summoned before everything changed. A lot of the older people are dead, and—”

“They’re not immortal?”

“Not really,” Noctis said, his voice growing softer. “Either we choose to die, or somebody makes a weapon out of a manikin. Either way, when we die, our souls are reborn as new people and become part of this land.”

There was a sorrow to his voice that Minfilia dare not force answers from. Noctis sighed, looking down to the sea. “Something big’s happening, and we’re all choosing sides. But I want a bit more time before I need to.”

Minfilia looked out to the sea as well, to the distance. “I fight for Eorzea. And yet, it’s harder then it looks. I… believe that your fight and mine are one, Noctis. But I’m mortal.

What use does a mortal have in an eternal conflict? I can’t even make people believe that Mor Dhona belongs to the Gigas…”

Noctis returned to looking to the sea, as he pulled up another fish. “It’s a new perspective, isn’t it? A lot of us— and a lot of them— well, we withdrew from people.” Shuffling a little as he cast his next line, Noctis tried to give a half-smile. “We’re just not used to how things are. Some of us are still sleeping - and some of… Spiritus? Chaos? The other side, well. They’re tied up with Ascians.”

With that, Minfilias’ gaze focused on him again. Noctis seemed relaxed, but there was a tenseness she could feel from him. “You’re the one… destined… to fight them, right?” That word, destined. It sounded a little awkward as Noctis said it. Minfilia nodded, and Noctis tried to give a better smile. “Then either way, our paths are going to cross.”

Quietly, Minfilia continued to pay attention. Before she spoke, a whisper. “A uniting force…”

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it,” Noctis replied. “You can’t obsess over every little thing, or you’ll end up lost and probably dead.” Even as he continued to reel in fish, as Minfilia still caught far less then him, Noctis sounded so… kind. Was that what it meant to be immortal? As Minfilia gulped back a slight sob, Noctis smiled awkwardly at her. “Do you have any hobbies of your own?”

There was a long pause, before Minfilia smiled weakly. “I’ve not had time for it, but I quite enjoy mining. Seeking rare rocks - there’s some beautiful ones out there.”

“Then,” Noctis said quietly, “why not go do that when things get too much? Just you and your rocks - and some friends, sometimes.” It sounded like such a simple solution, and yet… Minfilia wouldn’t have thought of it. Perhaps. Perhaps—

—her thoughts were interrupted as Minfilia looked up, suddenly seeing a boat in familiar colours. A boat from Sharlayan. Standing quietly, Minfilia bowed to Noctis. “Ah… I have to… go. I’ve my own duties. Sharlayan— across the sea— has fallen, though I’ve not all the details.

They need not suffer like the Ala Mhigans.” Even if it was an utterly different situation, Minfilias’ heart beat for the injustice she was certain would have come for them.

At the mention of Sharlayan, however, Noctis suddenly looked a little awkward. He glanced up at the boat, a few people now visible. He looked back to Minfilia, before standing in a hurry. “I, uh—”

“Bad blood?” Minfilia asked, seeing though any excuse he could have made. “I understand. I… hope we meet again, Noctis.”

With a slight relief in his eyes, Noctis nodded. “You could say that. Listen, you probably get warnings from our kind a lot.” That was an understatement, Minfilia thought - their histories and biases were obvious. Still, she’d listen. “But there’s a woman. Her name is Stella.

Don’t let her know you know me. She’s working with the one who started all of this.” Every word was tense, scared. Noctis’ fishing pole vanished into nothingness, as he looked away from the ship. “I don’t know how to help her. But she wants things I can’t give her,” he said, so very firmly. With a wave, Noctis then ran.

Minfilia sighed a little. Stella, huh. Perhaps she could help answer questions, even if she’d keep Noctis’ involvement secret. There was no point in antagonizing any of these immortals - ally or enemy.

She would have so, so much work to do, in but a little while. But she felt a little better about everything - her chances, and her duties. Perhaps Fordola or Milleuda would like to come out mining when they got a break…

Chapter Text

The worst part was waiting, or so Minfilia believed. Waiting for ships to get packed, unpacked, and packed again. Waiting for transport to get organized.

There was nothing else she could do for the Sharlayan refugees. They had payment, they had temporary housing. Most of that being half of that being the very ships they’d crowded onto. Once again, Minfilia found herself listless.

The afternoon sun filtered though her window, the inn room warm and inviting. But her bed was messy, forgotten dreams having thrown blankets around. Pillows barely supporting Minfilias’ head as she found herself waking, not having realised she’d fallen asleep. The buzz of an incoming Linkpearl call roused her from her slumber, any dreams forgotten, a dull sense of comfort fading.

The voice on the other side was gentle, loving - and yet, one she still couldn’t help but bristle at. Alisaie. “…I believe you are in La Noscea right now. I need to see you at Wineport. Today, if possible.”

Alisaie may not be of this star, but she held no sorrow in her voice. Did she not mourn for Sharlayan? Was she with Alphinaud - or even Urianger? No, Urianger wouldn’t have come out that far, Minfilia reasoned. But before she could reply, before she could ask any of these questions, the linkpearl went quiet. Alisaie had hung up on her! Whatever was going on, it must be secretive.

Perhaps it was related to something Alisaie asked earlier. When she was strong enough, she could help her…

It was times like this that Minfilia wished Fordola had come with her. For the strength she had. Not just physical, but the ability she had to cut though the bullshit.

There was no use delaying it. Minfilia had nothing else to do.

And so, she found herself in Wineport quickly. A teleport and a short Porter ride, and she was in the town square. Just as she thought, Alisaie was waiting - but her clothes were heavier, covering more of her body. She was speaking to another cloaked figure - a Miqo’te, Minfilia guessed, from the stance. Both of them had gentle smiles - as Minfilia approached, however, the Miqo’te suddenly stared in her direction. She could see his face clearly.

His face looked… tired. Eyes wide, with heterochromia - one brown, one blue. If not for that, she would have almost thought that Alisaie was talking with Prastha. They looked so similar! But before she could approach and introduce herself, the Miqo’te ran off. Alisaie shrugged, before striding over to Minfilia.

“Who was that?” Minfilia asked.

Alisaie shook her head. “A friend of mine.”

That wasn’t an answer, Minfilia thought, but she knew Alisaie wouldn’t give her more. Instead, she went back to business. “You called me,” she stated. “Is this something that happened in your time?”

Alisaie nodded, still looking to the gates. “I called upon the other Warriors, not just you. I’m surprised you got here first—”

—oof! It was sudden, from the sky, as Alisaie was suddenly gripped tightly. Lifted into the air. Bolormaa was suddenly there? Without missing a beat, Bolormaa walked over to Minfilia - still gripping to Alisaie - and picked her up into the group hug as well.

Laughing, Alisaie looked up. “—were you waiting for this?”

“Yes?” Bolormaa said, looking up to the ceiling of the nearest building - a red-haired Miqo’te giving her a thumbs up. “G’raha Tia said it would make for an impressive entry. Was it?”

Minfilia couldn’t help but chuckle as she looked over to Alisaie, then back to Bolormaa. “Who’s G’raha?”

“Oh! He’s my new friend,” Bolormaa said cheerfully. “He’s one of the Students! He was sent to study the Crystal Tower!”

Ah… right. “I heard of such,” Minfilia said - still in Bolormaas’ death grip. “From Belias and the Gigas. I’m glad to know you’re there, Bolormaa.”

That kindness… Alisaie couldn’t help but smile as she saw it. They were full of love… they were perfect to help her stop Bahamut early. But she was still waiting—

Ah. Her feathered ears twitched, and Bolormaa turned. Another had arrived. Cordis— and Moenbryda? She hadn’t been invited, Alisaie thought, her expression dropping slightly. Cordis awkwardly stepped forward, before stumbling - leaning back on the unstable on her own feet Roegadyn.

Bolormaa had her simple-minded smile on her face, as she bounded over - still carrying Minfilia and Alisaie both. Wiggling violently, her tail suddenly lashed out, wrapping around the newcomers. “We’ve quite the friend group! You’re… the Warrior of Light and a friend, right?”

Cordis nodded quietly, and Moenbryda chuckled. “Yeah. I’m… Moenbryda. I came here from Sharlayan because… because of. Well.”

“Well what?” Bolormaa asked, utterly ignorant to what was going on. G’raha approached cautiously as well.

“…It’s gone.”

Without hesitating, G’raha stopped right in front of Moenbryda, right next to Bolormaa. “What—? You’re serious?”

Moenbryda nodded quietly. “Yeah. I… it’s gone…”

“But,” Minfilia said quietly, “a lot of the people of Sharlayan - and a lot of their knowledge - has been saved. It’s far too little, of course, but…”

G’raha went quiet, looking to the dirt. Alisaie, too, was quiet. She whispered, thinking none would hear it - not even the Miqo’te, as she tried to hold back a sniffle. “It was meant to be Val…”

Moenbryda heard it, however. She was listening far too intensely to anything - it was part of her Ascian abilities. Hm. Just one of the reasons she’d come along. Instead, she spoke so gently. “That’s why I came along with Cordis. I needed a distraction - and Uri isn’t the best at keeping secrets from me.”

An easy way to explain it. Moenbryda didn’t want them to know the truth. Alisaie sighed. Tried to shrug, but she was still in Bolormaas’ arms. “I can’t stop you, can I… within where we’re going, there are threats of enthrallment.

If any of you become thralls, I won’t hesitate to put you down.” Alisaie lied. She would hesitate and cry and beg for a better way. Even if they weren’t hers. “But before we can get in, we need to get though the nearby Castrum.”

Struggling out of Bolormaas’ grasp, Moenbryda gave a little smile. “You know, I don’t think they’re going to be much trouble. What, with Gaius gone.” While the group didn’t realise it, at that moment, Moenbryda - well, Mitron - was using her powers. A simple removal of any water in the air… choking them, weakening them, as everything became unstable if only for a few moments. It’d be disoriantating.

As the group set out, however - finally free from Bolormaa - G’raha trailed behind. Quietly, Bolormaa moved to walk next to him. “…are you okay?”

His tail flicking quietly, G’raha looked to the ground. “Sharlayan’s gone.” He repeated it, a little louder.

It took Bolormaa a few moments. She was Dotharl. She had no home - if her home was gone, they would simply move to another. And still… “I’m sorry.”

Still, she thought she understood. G’raha looked to her, trying to smile a little. “It’s the second time I’ve lost my home,” he admitted. “I’m an orphan. When I was young, my family… my people were invaded by Garlemald. And I was sent away.” There were words left unsaid, but Bolormaa didn’t need to hear them.

Instead, she gave her usual smile, her tail trailing behind her. “Then… how about, when we’re done investigating the Crystal Tower, we find the truth behind what’s happening with Sharlayan? Places are not simply gone.”

His eyes did not sparkle. Yet, he forced a smile. “…I guess not,” he mumbled, tail flicking even more. “It does sound a little strange, now you put it that way. They were prepared for anything - they’re the ones who moved everybody out of a city in mere days.”

“Exactly,” Bolormaa nodded. “And they are the ones who would have found a way to fight back. Without excessive violence, I mean. They… dislike violence.

They feared I was too violent while I was studying there.”

G’raha stopped. Stared, before his eyes turned gentle. “They’re cruel, aren’t they? To people who’re different. Why, they thought my red eye was a bad omen. But yet, I’m the survivor, and they’re gone.”

Her tail now curling around G’rahas’, gently as she could, Bolormaa looked up to the bright sun. “Even those who didn’t get to run away are probably still alive. And if they’re not - well, they are likely going to be reborn. Staying when all else is doomed is strong. Not as strong as fighting, but.” Ah, yes. Her beliefs. Bolormaa knew they were not a comfort to many non-Dotharl, but G’raha cracked a tiny smile.

Their chat was interrupted by a loud cracking sound. The very metal of the Castrum was beginning to grow thin, crumble. Alisaie - the one leading the pack - held her arms out. Not letting anybody past, as the entire area began to rumble. Cordis dropped to his knees, and Moenbryda suddenly wrapped Minfilia up protectively.

Moenbryda knew this would happen, but had to act the part of worried guardian. She looked to the others. “—are you sure it’s safe to go down there—?”

Alisaie whipped around. While she sounded confident, her eyes were wide. (Did they look blacker then they’d been before? Less Spoken? Minfilia was surely just seeing things.) “It has to be. Why wouldn’t it be? That was just Garlean stuff that collapsed.”

She was kidding herself, but Minfilia shakily moved out of Moenbrydas’ arms. “…I believe that if… if more collapses, I can summon Belias to save us.” If things truly were urgent, as Alisaie said, then… they couldn’t just wait for things to calm down, right?

…right?

Alisaie nodded in agreement. “And I can call ‘An— an ally.”

Minfilia quietly began to walk behind her again. “Was that who I saw you talking to?”

…Ah. Alisaie nodded. “He’s from the same place as me. But… he’s shy.”

The follow-up question Minfilia asked - it was a little hard for her to get out. She didn’t want Alisaie to get too scared of her - of any of this. “He looked like Prastha.”

Sigh. Alisaie looked to the ground. “They’re brothers. Prastha is the second-born - my friend’s the first-born, and they had a third-born. But he was in Garlemald when…”

This was the second time Alisaie had witnessed the end of so many, Minfilia realised, and shook her head. “You don’t need to say more.”

“You might, later,” Moenbryda said, poking her head between the two. “Like, who’s Prastha, Minfilia? And what’s going on?”

She was so cheerful. Recovered from the fear she’d shown earlier. “Prastha was an imperial spy who now works for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. You’ll probably meet him soon.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Cordis mumbled, speaking more then he usually did. “But he’s very scared. I… don’t blame him. I don’t like the Empire much…”

That’s right. Cordis had been fighting five years ago. The group now gathered and calmed again, Alisaie began to lead them once more. “If I recall my history right,” Alisaie said confidently, “this Castrum was only newly-built. Maybe that’s why it fell so easily.

It was the one that Rhitahtyn and his Cohort were stationed at. But—” Alisaie said, her steps slowing, “they chose here for one reason.

To examine the shard of Dalamud under here.”

Alisaie had stopped, as she began to prepare her bow. There was an entrance, stairs that led into the inky blackness. Looking between everybody, Alisaie nodded firmly. “We’ll be fighting Allagan machines, and dragons. G’raha - I believe you’ll be able to pass though the safest, so you’ll lead.”

G’raha tilted his head, baffled. “After him - Cordis, Moenbryda. You’re good at fighting, at getting enemies to target you. So you’ll be next. Bolormaa, stick close to those three.

Minfilia and I will take the rear.”

There were few protests, as they went underground. Garlean infastructure soon faded to Allagan, and both G’raha and Bolormaa were chatting between each other - excited, far too excited for what they were doing. Comparing what they saw here to the Labyrinth of the Ancients, contrasting it with stories they’d read or seen in their travels, depending on the person. It was as if they’d forgotten where they were and what they were to do. To be fair, they were mostly standing on an elevator. Sometimes, monsters would drop onto the platform - Allagan creations. Beautiful, but terrifying. Each one of them dangerous - Bolormaa having to protect her allies, and yet looking so excited.

That is, until the elevator stopped. Alisaie stopped for a moment, before she flew out - rushing out without waiting for the others. (Something was wrong.) The others rushed to follow—

G’rahas’ eyes lit up, in both excitement and horror. “These are Allagan Defense Systems - and they’re still working! After all this time!” He was almost chirping, as Alisaie bit at one - latching on with her teeth, having forgotten her bow. (Something was horribly wrong.) The others followed - Cordis and Moenbryda chopping at it with their axes, Bolormaa healing them, and Minfilia standing back. Feeling a dread build in her stomach.

No… wait. This was that magic - Blue Magic, was it? She could feel it though her veins. But she couldn’t quite reach for it yet. She had to rely on her fists - beginning to punch at the orb-shaped node.

As it fell, however, a larger one appeared. Patrolling, it seemed. But as Minfilia locked eyes with it, she felt the power within surge.

Everything went black. Minfilia felt herself falling unconscious - not in the Echo kind of way, but in the very tired and injured way. Had her Blue Magic just combusted within her? But as she slipped away, she could hear… celebration?

It was not long until Minfilia awoke, back on the elevator, moving downwards. Alisaie was looking her over, as Bolormaa pumped her full of healing magic. “If only she could have done that on what’s coming up,” Alisaie mused. (Her skin was even more pale. A slight amount of white liquid dripped from her mouth - not quite blood, but similar.) “—Minfilia? Awake?”

Minfilia weakly nodded. Bolormaa perked up. “That was so cool! You stung like a bee! Your tail went straight though it!” So that’s what it was. Minfilia let out a little groan. She still felt like her insides had gotten re-arranged.

“I doubt I can continue fighting,” she said gently.

“Then don’t.” It was Cordis who spoke, leaning against the wall. “Watch. Remember. And then, we can fight better next time, with your notes.”

And yet, Minfilia wanted to protest. She wanted to fight - that was what made a hero, right? What could make her shine like the Warrior of Light who now overshadowed her - both figuratively and literally? He was the hero they wanted. She was not as naturally skilled as him.

Alisaie coughed slightly. Minfilia looked at her with concern. Quietly, Alisaie shook her head. Cordis continued, quietly. “I don’t want you to die. Not like the others…”

…That’s right. Minfilia hadn’t heard anything about the other Warriors of Light, the crew that followed Cordis around. Everybody went quiet, the only sound the clunking of the elevator. Alisaie didn’t even continue to give advice on how to fight next.

Until, again, the elevator stopped. Alisaie turned, and rushed out - once again, a feral mind taking over. The others had to rush and follow - this time, Bolormaa helping Minfilia stand and move. Metal turned to crystal - dragonblood frozen in aether.

Alisaie had not told them of the dragon down here, neurolinks chained around the beast. Power radiated from her very soul - but Minfilia could feel something under the power. A mix of rage and sorrow. But the neurolinks still radiated, the power pushed them back.

Except for Alisaie, who ran forward without a care, a brightness coming from her body. Wordless roars as the two suddenly began to fight. The dragon soaring upwards, twirling around to try and knock the maddened Elezen off of her. The others scrambled into the arena as flames and burning light surrounded it. G’raha let out a chirp at the group!

“It’s a— we’re on Bahamuts’ claw!“

The very claw of the Dreadwyrm, having chained up one of his thralls. As G’raha chirped, he fired an arrow at the dragon. It clashed off scales, the beast screaming as both him and Alisaie.

Violently, Cordis then threw his axe - knocking Alisaie off of Twintania. Knocking the dragon to the ground.

Breaking the neurolinks. Lightning aether sparking around everybody. There was silence for a few moments. The first to stand again was Minfilia - quickly taking stock of the group. Moenbryda seemed the most hurt by the sparks. Cordis had collapsed, his legs giving out. Bolormaa and G’raha both were now shielding each other. Alisaie was out cold.

But the dragon looked to Minfilia. No— looked though her. Venom in her voice, the dragon spoke. “Man returns,” the dragon said, a vicious streak in their language. Only understood due to the Echo, Minfilia believed. “Bahamut is a beast caused by Man. Blood forever stains you and yours.”

The power of the dragon made Minfilia hesitate, as she talked. As flames bubbled in her mouth. “Man enslaves. Allag must burn—”

“Allag is gone,” Minfilia stated.

The dragon let out a dark laugh, gurgling and deep - eyes turning to G’raha. “You lie. That one is Allag.” G’raha tried to protest, but another spark from the broken neurolink made him shudder - he understood? Minfilia noted that. The dragon continued. “I am Twintania - I do not belong to Allag.”

With that, Minfilia saw what Twintania was doing. Her flesh was beginning to glow, warm and firey. An almost appetizing smell filled the air. “And I do not belong to the Ascian.”

Twintania collapsed. Body cooking, life fading. A moment passed - the neurolinks sparked again, before finally fading. As the light faded on it, the entire room grew dark. Except for the white liquid dripping from Alisaie - now not just her mouth, but from a wound from Twintania. Before anybody could stop her, she’d begun to feast hungrily on the dragon corpse - her body contorting, her jaw unhinging like a snake. While Minfilia had seen this before, the others hadn’t.

Bolormaa, however, was not focused on the horrifying scene in front of her. No, she was healing everybody the best she could. Her tail brushing against everybody to help them up. Moenbryda, once again, letting Cordis lean on her - looking him over curiously. G’raha shaken, clearly, but silent.

There was an exit nearby. An Allagan teleporter. As the group went though, Minfilia lingered behind - waiting for Alisaie. It was quite horrific what she was doing, but— Minfilia had to make sure she was okay. That she wasn’t going to just stay here. As she finished swallowing Twintanias’ corpse, Alisaie did not get up from the ground. She looked bloated, but oh-so-pale. Minfilia reached out a hand - Alisaie seemed to not be paying attention. Her skin seemed to be crawling, similar to how Fordolas’ did when she—

—fuck. In a rush, even though her own pain, Minfilia forced Alisaie up. Dragged her though the teleporter.

On the other side, the group had stopped. They were in some form of Allagan control center - G’raha was already at the panel, poking at it. Bahamuts’ heart - crystalline and still-beating - lay in front of them, suspended as flesh, bone, and muscle were half-constructed.

So that’s what Alisaie was trying to stop. Minfilia looked around in a panic, her voice suddenly gone, when her ears twitched.

The cloaked man was there, alongside the horse-like Carbuncle which Alisaie had been so close to. The creature now had saddles filled with a deep black liquid. The Miqo’te - Prasthas’ brother - took a step forward. Another.

His voice was so quiet, she barely heard him. But he held out a hand - his arms were covered in long sleeves, thick fabric hiding any sign of the skin underneath. “…Let me save her.”

There were so many questions Minfilia had, but she managed to choke out one. “Do you know why she’s turning—?”

The mysterious man nodded. Still whispered, in a way far too familiar to be a coincidence to Minfilia. “She hasn’t been eating properly.”

Alisaie trembled again, her clothes barely hiding something shifting underneath, her face locked in a look of pure horror and pain. The cloaked Miqo’te held out his hand again. Quickly, Minfilia stepped aside - and he shoved some of the blackened liquid down her throat.

The twitching calmed, and Alisaie was out. Harshly, the Miqo’te placed her on the beast of burden, and turned to leave. Ears twitching far too much under his hood - if he was trying to hide his race, it wasn’t working. He knew his way around, however - stepping though the teleporter out of there.

“—There. That should slow the process, but we’ll need to find other panels,” G’raha stated, proud - having missed the entire thing. Moenbryda was staring up at the slowly building Bahamut - and for a moment, she saw him.

For a moment, Mitron saw Loghrif, in the shell Loghrif had taken this lifetime. Moenbrydas’ eyes widened. So it was true - Igeyorhm hadn’t deceived her to calm her terrified heart. She reached a hand out for a moment, before again looking to Cordis. Of course he’d not seen it. But there was something too damn familiar about Cordis as well. Mitron would need to bring that up next meeting.

For now, the group was exhausted. They had to return somewhere. And Moenbryda had the perfect idea.

“Hey… let’s go back to the Waking Sands.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Urianger did not expect guests in the Waking Sands. It was simply that he already had a guest, even before Minfilia and her crew came to visit. More then one, but only one of them was examining his body, giving him little kisses as he remained still. Touched him, both above and under his robes. Stroked his slightly furred ears, a frown on his face, ice almost spreading though those same ears. “Your tail…”

Urianger shook his head quietly. “It is as I said before, Thancred. It shall not grow back - simply remain as a sign of the depraved mutilations Man is able to give.” Urianger was, after all, more fae then man. His words betrayed the soft gaze he gave from behind his goggles, relaxing into the touch of one of his beloved. His dear knight, and his dear king, in one. “I’ve not found a solution for your touch yet,” Urianger then mumbled. It may be comfortable to him, but it made him feel…

“You mean that fucked up touch that makes him feel like a corpse?”

The two lovers looked over, to where the voice came from. Fordola, leaning against one of the walls. “Yeah, you’d better fix that if you wanna not freak people out.” She was one to talk, mind you - as she shifted, the ground sizzled slightly in her grumpiness. She had only arrived recently.

Thancred managed to snort. “Not as much as your heat. If Minfilia wasn’t fireproof, you’d burn her pretty quickly.” It was said with a little affection - sure, Thancred was uncertain about Fordola, but at the same time… well. The heart wanted what the heart wanted. It’s what he told himself, and what seemed to make everybody happy. Still. “And besides. Corpses aren’t this cold for long.”

“Aye,” Urianger said, a little smirk crossing his own lips. “The consumption maketh sure of that. And wards placed to prevent Voidsent.” Satisfied he’d quietened Fordola, Urianger went back to inspecting his beloved. Fingers stroking his body. “Hm. Perhaps if we could meet with the Lord of the Gigas and—”

“—no.”

It was a firm no, something Thancred rarely gave. “I’m not allowing anybody any control over my body. No pledges, no— nothing.” Not after Lahabrea…

As if on cue, the door opened a little. Zale - Lahabrea - had arrived, carrying supplies. “Has Moenbryda returned yet?” he asked, voice full of as much concern as he could muster. “She was still weak, and…”

Thancred noticed right away a shadow hiding behind Zale. Eyes focused, until he could tell… Alphinaud? Alphinaud had followed. “Finally. You’ve been harder to find then me on a good day, you know that?” Thancred said relieved. “No, Moenbryda isn’t back yet. Did you get the book?”

Zale nodded, before looking down a little at Alphinaud. “I found the boy in Ul’dah looking for similar things.” A pause, a deep sigh. “He knows.” As Zale ushered in the shaking youth, Thancred and Urianger quickly untangled, and Fordola raised an eyebrow.

Alphinaud was quiet, so quiet, but he stepped inside. He looked as if he’d not slept ever since Sharlayan fell. His gaze was haunted, his dark skin paled. Fordola, however, could feel something else. His very aether felt… weird. Perhaps it was because of her connection to Ifrit, but she could feel it far too strongly.

“Hey, can stress fuck with aether?” Fordola asked, her tone more serious then intended. The group looked around, and were surprised when Zale replied.

“Yes, it can. Where I came from, there was once a time where stress and distress caused our innate magic to go out of control. Our aether was found to have been overcome with such feelings - even if it’s not known how or why, even now.” A pause. Fuck, wait, his backstory he’d made up— “At least, that’s what I was taught. It is why many of my generation had limited aetherial manipulation abilities. For most of those who survived that incident were those who were… weaker, in a way.” There. That should make these non-Ancients believe that he wasn’t telling them about events from the ancient, ancient past. His eyes betrayed how calm he sounded - there was a sorrow unspoken.

Thancred looked up, then back to Alphinaud. Zale continued, putting a hand behind Alphinauds’ head. “I’ve made sure he’s not going to do anything reckless.”

“…it’s not reckless,” Alphinaud mumbled back. Thancreds’ ears perked up, listening further - Alphinaud was mumbling, quieter then most could hear. But Thancred could read lips. A handy skill. “We’re already spread too thin…”

Something to talk about when the boy wasn’t as shaken as—

—the door opened again, Moenbryda in the lead of the group. Minfilia and Bolormaa following, G’raha and Cordis talking in the very back of the group. “Hey. We finished… oh.”

Moenbryda hadn’t expected the group to be this big. Zale… especially not Zale. But she couldn’t drop her facade. “So… d’you think it’s safe to chat with everybody here?” she said, flopping next to Urianger. The others stood around, as Thancred and Urianger both stood.

Urianger lowered his head - trying to avoid seeing Fordola crashing into Minfilia, the two of them beginning to pepper each other with kisses, filling the room with soft laughs. (Such lovebirds.) “Of those in this room, many would have to be informed of the progress of this investigation. The Warrior of Light was the one we asked for help, and it was Lady Alisaie who suggested both Minfilia and Bolormaa to become allies.”

“And then I invited Raha, since it’s Allagan,” Bolormaa added. “And he’s a master of Allagan things.” Firm nod!

Urianger took her comment into consideration. “He would know the risks of allowing this knowledge free, as a fellow Archon, as well. Alphinaud…

Alphinaud, I believe we can trust you as well.”

Alphinaud nodded quietly. “Pardon me,” Zale replied, “but this news - it won’t shake him too much, will it?”

“…Hm.”

That was not a good sound from Moenbryda. Both her and Zale locked eyes again, and Zale began to slightly put down the book he got. He spoke to Moenbryda, not to the others - Lahabrea, speaking right to Mitron. “If I ever speak of what may be said about this mysterious quest, you may cut my tongue out and rob me of what little I have left.”

Moenbryda gave him a look - before her gaze softened. “He sounds serious. So I think we can let him stay.”

Urianger almost spoke up, saying it wasn’t her place to decide - until Fordola brought up a good point. “Oi. Where’s Alisaie, anyway?” she asked, as Minfilia pulls her lips away from her. With a deep sigh, Minfilia looked to the group.

“Before we talk, we should make sure we’re all comfortable. It was… quite the surprise.”

Moenbryda had made the group promise not to interrupt as the group talked about the Coils of Bahamut. Each of them talking about what they saw. Cordis talking about the monsters, the terrible dragon trapped down there - and how even now, Bahamut likely lives. G’raha and Bolormaa spoke of the Allagan infrastructure, and how it could prove many other theories - such as the mythical floating continent. How Dalamud was beautiful, in a terrifying way. Like the Crystal Tower, G’raha made sure to point out. Minfilia was quiet, letting Moenbryda finish first. How she escorted Alisaie, and… how she saw Louisoix.

(As Moenbryda said that name, Zale noted the tone of voice. That same tone that Mitron would use for Loghrif. So that’s what this was about.) Alphinaud tried to speak up, but that was when Minfilia began to talk.

About Alisaie. About Twintania speaking, a tongue that was full of bitterness and anger. Calling G’raha Allagan, and claiming they would not be a thrall of Ascian nor Allag, before killing itself.

But Alisaie… “Alisaie overworked herself, and her aetherial imbalance threatened to kill her. Another ally of hers came to save her, and they fled.”

She was finished, and expected many questions. But she did not expect for Alphinaud to sound so angry. “…Why?”

Why? “Why is she overworking herself? Is she still pretending to be part of House Leveilleur?” That made everybody look at him. “I— the final letter from home. I got a reply to my question.”

Urianger crossed his arms, in thought. “I did find it queer that I did not recall her once the cloud of amnesia faded - once we remembered people like our dear Minfilia, and the Warrior of Light, Cordis.”

“That’s because she’s trying to use us,” Alphinaud said bitterly. “I don’t know why she decided she should find the truth about Bahamut. And about our grandfather—” As Alphinaud shuddered in anger, Urianger placed a hand to his head gently. “—I’m scared.”

“If I may?” Minfilia said quietly. “I… She…”

“She what?!” Alphinaud snarled.

“She’s worried about you,” Fordola said quite firmly, “because she’s from another world. Like th’Void? Except they still have their minds.”

Everybody turned to attention. Even Moenbryda, who was busy keeping her eyes on Zale. “So, she might not exist here. But if you suddenly saw somebody who was like family, wouldn’t you wanna help them?”

“What th—” Alphinaud began, before Minfilia interrupted her.

“—Fordola, I promised that I wouldn’t tell her secret—”

“And?” Fordola said, with a shrug. “I never did. Besides, I— okay, fuck. Are we just tellin’ everybody our secrets?”

A pause, nobody stopping her. Fine. “I sort of know this myself? You all remember how I was part of Ultima Weapon, right?” As Fordola spoke, her accent shifted so easily. From Ala Mhigan, to a perfect Sharlayan one. “The souls of us three became one for a bit.” Her accent returned to her regular one. “So, it’s cheatin’, but… I saw her. I saw how fucked she gets trying to help family.”

Wait. Bolormaa hit her tail against the ground. “But I thought that Ultima Weapon was made of Ser Haurchefant, you, and some feral beast. Was that beast from her… home?”

Fordola nodded. “He was. He…

…was the Alphinaud from her home. He was one of the first to turn into a monster. But she kept feeding him, even barely eating enough for herself. And his mind was beginning to return.” Beginning, Fordola made sure to mention. Not returned.

Everybody was staring. Thancred had an eyebrow up. G’raha stared wide-eyed. Moenbryda chuckled to herself, sounding so very unsure. Zale held one of Alphinauds’ hands, as Alphinaud seemed to be barely listening, disassociating.

It was Moenbryda, however, who first spoke up. “…You know, that sounds like you’re just a little hurt in the head, right? We all know that even if there were other worlds, they’d be more like the Void.”

“I don’t know,” Urianger said quietly. “We all know of the Warriors immortal who wander our land. Who is to say they have not caused other lands to be born, those walking ‘tween ours?”

“I have to agree with Urianger,” Thancred said - not letting it slip about the lands with faeries.

No, that was Bolormaas’ job, as she looked firmly at Moenbryda. “I actually went to one. Um, it was when we were going though the Palace of the Dead? We met some nice people and they let us come though. But they were not of here.” A few wags of her tail. “I am more well-traveled then anybody here, and I can confirm that as true.

But… if there is another world, I wonder if there is another Bolormaa.” Her thoughts seemed distracted from the serious subject, but she carried a soft smile on her lips. A happy thought.

Thancred sighed. “I thought you disliked lies and secrets, Minfilia.”

“I do, but, sometimes you need to. For the better good,” Minfilia replied. “Even now, there’s much doubt about this story. And I have little proof. But…”

“But?” Thancred replied, not noticing how deep in thought Urianger was, listening to Minfilias’ wisdom. She took a little after him, huh?

“Prastha. The Miqo’te who worked for the Empire. We’ve not shared any of this with him, but he is from that other world. Thus, would he not confirm our story, if asked? About details we couldn’t have possibly planned with him?”

“…It’s true, they didn’t call him up,” G’raha confirmed. “Or anybody. We spent the trip back here recovering, mostly.”

“…they’re not lying,” Cordis suddenly said, firmly. His eyes looked half-glazed over, having just left an Echo vision. “I… I saw a gate. Alisaie leaving it with a cloaked man and an armoured man. They seemed to be friends.” Or more. Cordis was beginning to fiddle a little, from his place on the floor. He was barely about to speak, himself. The visions were taking more and more out of him, unfamiliar senses pulling at him every time he returned from one. A deep feeling of longing. Yet Cordis continued to speak. “They were… arguing, though. A disagreement…

…ask Prastha about Kujata. Ask him about the beast of Ul’dah, who tries to cross into their home day after day.”

“It’s not just Mor Dhona it tries to enter,” Fordola said, eying Cordis. The Sharlayan accent re-entering her voice, a little frightened. “It’s also been spied trying to get past Gridiana, by Alisaie and me— him.”

As they discussed, Minfilia reached up to her linkpearl - before motioning to quiet them. Their own linkpearls clicked on - a group call, in secret. “…Hello? Prastha, are you available to talk?”

The other side - Minfilia could tell it was quiet, gentle, and somewhere she did not know. There were the sounds of something dripping. Prastha spoke in that same voice he always used - a little bit scared, but full of life. “Minfilia— Minfilia! It’s been a while. What’s—”

“I need your help confirming something, Prastha.”

Right away, fear entered Prasthas’ voice. “…y-yes?”

Minfilia tried her best to sound calm, but her duty was getting to her. “Tell me of Kujata.” A pause, knowing he’d feel quite alarmed. “Worry not. Whatever you say will not cause me to hurt you or anybody related to your land.”

There was a long silence. Before Prastha spoke. “…I do not know how much you know. But Kujata is the Primal who was once— was once our friend.” Already, Prastha sounded fragile. “Our ally. He had left his post to return to Ul’dah, when the destruction began, and his willpower caused him to change.”

Another pause. “Kujata. I believe it was the name of a beast in La Noscea before? But it was fitting. A monster who we had to keep within their territory. If they returned to their station - to Ala Mhigo - he may have assimilated power with the Primal of there land.”

Every word gifted the listeners with terror. None more then the secret Ascians - Moenbryda and Zale met eyes. Moenbryda - Mitron, in particular, was realizing what this meant, and she struggled to remain quiet. Prastha continued. “It recently nearly got into Mor Dhona. Before us from our home found that this land existed.”

Prastha went quiet. There was a deathening silence. Before he spoke in a whisper, his voice haunted. “…I don’t want to talk about Kujata anymore. I… need a break.”

Before Minfilia could say anything, he hung up.

Urianger spoke first, quietly, to Thancred. “So our theory…”

Thancred shook his head. “As soon as this is done, we’re going to check on Prastha. But…”

“…It’s true,” Moenbryda said, looking from Zale to the quite notably horrified-looking Alphinaud. “So she wanted to…”

Replace her Alphinaud? No, if she was busy trying to help her Alphinaud… “They come from our future,” Minfilia said quietly. “A future where Ala Mhigo is free. But then… something happened in Garlemald.

Alisaie wants to live. But she probably—”

“—Already knows what’s down in the Coils of Bahamut. But she’s still sending you there,” Alphinaud said, his voice growing oddly strong. “For what reason? Is her truth truly so important that she’d risk all of you!?” Alphinaud barely noticed that he had stood, his legs shaking like jelly. “She decieved us all, and now she aims to fight beyond her means - and for what?”

“Bahamut is still waking—” Minfilia tried to interject, but Alphinaud gave an inhuman snarl at her.

“And she could not ask all the Scions to help? All of those with the Echo? I know Bahamut is a risk, but is it better to risk you? Or the newly-returned Warrior of Light?!”

Before Alphinaud could continue, however, a voice rang though the hall. Louder, more authorative then they expected. Zale. “Calm!”

The Hrothgar snapped at the entire room, and silence filled it. Zale continued. “I do not know you nor Alisaie,” he said with a confidence fitting the Speaker, “but you both have fair points. I cannot give Alisaie motive, but if any of us could alter time, would we not use that to seek quicker resolution to disaster?

And yet. Alphinaud, you are correct as well.” Zale held Alphinauds’ hand, gentle but firm. “Her recklessness has left only confusion and anger in its wake.

When she is recovered, I recommend we bring her in, and learn her side of the story. We may also inform her about Fordolas’ state, to see if she is aware that her Alphinaud is still alive. Until then, do not hold malice where there may be simple fear.”

Everybody - except for Moenbryda, who knew why - stared at Zale. Zale slumped a little, letting his tone relax. “…or, that is what I recommend. I— know I am simply a scholar, but…”

“No, that’s… actually a good plan?” Thancred said, a little baffled at how this Hrothgar who had barely spoken before had such skills. “We keep this knowledge, and use it to understand more. If it’s truly possible for them to travel, and they really know the future, then…”

“Even knowing the future might not help,” Minfilia said quietly, “but if she knows that we don’t care…”

Minfilia didn’t know she only spoke for herself. For some of them. Alphinaud continued to tremble quietly, to himself. He… he didn’t get it. He’d agree with Zale, of course, but…

Chapter Text

The meeting was still going. But things felt… a little calmer. “You have memories from both of them, yes?” Bolormaa asked, looking up at Fordola - who still had barely moved.

Fordola nodded. “And they’ve got mine. Which means somewhere there’s an Ishgardian bastard who knows this as well, as well as the monster.” A deep sigh. “Again, it’s pretty much cheating.” Her voice had begun to shift again, into an Ishgardian accent. “It would have been much nicer to get to know them - then again, who even knows if they’re keeping Garuda alive.”

The way her voice shifted… Minfilia stood, so her and Fordola were eye-to-eye. “You’re still Fordola, though. My beloved Fordola.”

Voice back to normal, Fordola grinned. “If I wasn’t Fordola any more, now that’d be fucked up.”

Neither of the two noticed the interest that Moenbryda was paying to them - but Urianger did, with a soft smile. “They fill a room with their affection for each other,” Urianger mused - before Moenbryda turned to him, with a little laugh.

“And we don’t?” Her simple question caused him to turn red. “I mean, there’s three of us, and two of ‘em. Right, Thancred?” While Urianger nor Thancred noticed it, really, Zale noticed how much Mitron was playing it up. She knew, didn’t she. Their souls - Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch. She had to know how she was barging into the very love that he’d wanted for so long. What an Unsundered jerk.

Instead, Moenbryda hopped up, giving them both a little nuzzle. “Well, I’m still tired from fighting for my life. Still got the bedrooms set up?” Urianger nodded, and Moenbryda left. Cordis stood to follow, with a quiet nod.

It was still late afternoon, but they had just crossed quite a bit of Eorzea. Slowly, one-by-one, people filed out of the room. Zale with Alphinaud - Alphinaud finally speaking to the Hrothgar as they moved. “About that book…”

“Right,” Zale smiled. “You were curious about summoning beings from other realms. I still don’t quite get why Urianger thought it would help Moenbryda…”

“Her… her parents,” Alphinaud whispered. “They studied teleportation. Maybe they were thinking about Flow. But I—

If my family truly is dead, then I could use those techniques to get closure.” Alphinaud said, as Minfilia couldn’t help but listen. Chuckle to herself.

Zale shook his head. “You would more likely summon a beast then a soul. The lifestream is cruel, the gods moreso—”

“—Wait,” Minfilia said, stopping them. “As soon as I’ve helped move the refugees, I’ve an idea. If we seek to ask about the underworld, I know somebody who can help.”

Zale perked up, utterly perplexed, until Minfilia continued. “Nald’thal.”

Damn. And here he’d thought that Emet-Selch had really woken up. Alphinaud, however, had a little shine in his eyes. “…I’d like that,” he mumbled, as Zale continued to escort him. “But… later.”

Soon, the main room of the Waking Sands was empty, except for Urianger. Urianger sighed, leaning back a little. He could rest for a little…

Urianger didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep - no, it was not sleep. He’d not returned to the land of the faeries - his home. Instead, he’d been dreamless, until his eyes opened slightly. Another figure was against the darkened wall, barely able to stand, trying to sneak by.

The white-robed Ascian. Both of their eyes met - one masked, one goggled. Before the Ascian could teleport away, he stumbled again - barely hovering above the ground. Urianger strode over confidently, before offering him a hand.

“…you do not fear me,” Elidibus whispered, voice harsh and a little jumpy.

Urianger shook his head. “I do. But you have not attacked me - nor are you able to in this state. If you strike me, I shall defend myself.” It was said so matter-of-factly that it caught Elidibus off-guard, if only for a moment.

This man was far more gracious then the others he had reached out to. The leader of this organization and the one who caused Lahabreas’ punishment. His claws digging slightly into Uriangers’ hands, Elidibus rose - with Urianger moving him to the nearest seat. Slumping over, Elidibus cursed this body.

Ever since he had awoken again, ever since the Unsundered needed him, he’d felt in so much pain. Not that he could tell the Unsundered. Not that he dare let them know how he ached and cried for the salvation of a healer. From beneath his mask, he looked Urianger over. “What is your purpose in this organization?”

Urianger was able to settle, when he had an idea. First of all… “Doth thee wish for some water?” Honestly, Urianger did not even know if Ascians drank. Elidibus gave a slight nod, and watched in slight nostalgia (for what? for when?) as Urianger got out some glasses, and broke a water shard into each. Fresh water flowed out, enough to fill them. “I shall answer your question, if thee shall answer mine. I will not ask anything too outlandish - I do not expect to learn of what you desire.”

Urianger smiled a little, as he gave the glass of water over. “But perhaps the Emissary of Mor Dhona hath rubbed off on me. I want to know what common ground we may share.”

Elidibus looked up. Elidibus eyed Urianger, trying to read him. And then, he nodded. “Very well. However, I asked the first question.”

“You did,” Urianger replied, “but we required terms fore I speak. I am a prophet, who seeks to learn from the past to help the future.” A pause, as he began to sip his water, barely dropping his guard. “I also protect the Waking Sands, for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have moved to a better tomorrow.

…And you? What is your purpose to the Ascian?”

Hm. Elidibus tilted his head. “I am the Emissary. I shall aid my fellow Ascian seek the one true God, Zodiark.” A pause. “What would lead a fae to aid mortals?”

Urianger dare not lie. “I was swapped with a mortal child in their youth - and have grown to love this star, as much as my own.” And yet, Urianger still did not quite know how to explain the why. And yet, a little smirk crossed his lips. “You are able to see that?”

Quietly, Elidibus nodded - before giving a little grunt of pain. “It is easy to see past the flesh - to see what one is. I am surprised a fae like yourself cannot,” Elidibus admitted. “You are still young, then?”

“‘tis rude to ask about age,” Urianger mused, before laughing. “But to one such as you, is everybody not young? I hath read the stories of Ascian involvement in Calamities. I cannot imagine that it is different ones involved in each.”

While neither of them realised it, both Urianger and Elidibus were beginning to relax as they talked. Neither of them stopped sitting stiffly, but their lips were not as tense. “You’re well-learned,” Elidibus commented. “But I do not see you as young.” There was a pause, as if Elidibus was pondering if he should add more. Until he frowned. “Do you have somewhere… I may lay down, to continue our conversation?”

Urianger paused. Before observing Elidibus - he was not trying to decieve him, was he? No, Elidibus trembled with tiny aches, it was obvious to say. Taking his hand once more, Urianger nodded. “I set up a bed in this room for myself. You may lay there.”

…It was Carbuncle-themed. Elidibus blunk a few times, before looking to Urianger. “You like them.”

“I do,” Urianger commented. “I’d not seen one until Moenbryda showed me a stuffed doll of one, when we were little. Oh— Moenbryda is another who works with us Scions.”

All these names that would slip though his mind. But there was one thing Elidibus remembered from before. He was now in a lower position. He closed his eyes - even if Urianger could not see it. “Wild roses?”

“Aye,” Urianger said quietly. “Their symbolism - fragile flowers that cannot survive, stained by war… it is a beautiful thing.”

Elidibus felt words bubbling in his throat, words long forgotten. And he spoke, without thinking. “A world where we can overcome what we have lost, where even the rain and the wind can provide us with strength…”

Urianger stared down. Elidibus went quiet again. Both of them couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the softness the white-robed Ascian felt. Elidibus spoke again. “…I am sore, and I do not know why, Scion. Madness drips from my lips.”

“And the other Ascian do not aid you?” Urianger asked - no longer caring about his promise.

More moments passed. Elidibus shook his head, slowly. “That is not their duty. Their duty is to Lord Zodiark, not I.”

That answer did not satisfy Urianger. He stood, to grab down some potions. “While you are in here, you are my guest. And I shall not allow you to be in too much pain,” he said - knowing deep down this was a bad idea. Had Thancred been too kind and was that why he’d gotten possessed? And yet, he began to make up a potion. “I have one more question, Elidibus.”

Elidibus quietly looked up. Urianger was working hard. He could almost see another in his place. “You are able to see that I am fae, not man. Are you able to see deeper? If my flesh was ripped from my soul, could you see deeper?” It was idle curiousity from Urianger - he didn’t know who he was before, nor that souls carried such marks.

Elidibus looked upwards. Names would be okay, wouldn’t they? “No. Between us three, it is Nabriales who can see who one was. I can see what one is, and Mitron is blind to it all.”

“Those are—”

Raising a hand, Elidibus smiled softly. “You said. One more question - and I answered.” He gazed at the solution Urianger made up. Crude, but… “A sleep draught. To calm my pains, correct?”

Urianger nodded, a little frustrated. “Aye. In lower doses, it allows the body to operate without pain, even if you stay awake. I know not if it shall aid Ascian.

…You are welcome to come back for it, if you do not harm any of my Scions,” Urianger said quietly. “You carry much more knowledge then I - I shall only ask for such as payment.”

A simple deal, but Elidibus knew better then to simply agree. “I know you are fae. And you know that us Ascian and your Scion shall eventually need to fight - for we both follow different paths.

Until then?”

“Until then.”

Gently applying the balm, Urianger gave a little sigh. “If you wish to stay tonight—”

“I cannot,” Elidibus admitted. “I still have other areas to go - to assist my others, with our tasks. But…

…thank you, Scion.”

Chapter Text

The morning came - as did the time that Alphinaud dreaded. He remained indoors, near the entrance of the Waking Sands, as he watched Minfilia stride out with all the confidence he had lost. Zale remained near him - it was odd, a little, that the Hrothgar had become protective of him. They had been strangers… and yet, it was a little comforting.

Minfilia, however, was filled with doubt. She stood firm, in front of the first people to disembark. It was but the second time she had to do this. And once again, the woman Noctis was afraid of, Stella, was leading the group. This time, however, Minfilia had somebody else. Fordola was by her side, to keep her confident. Her body was twitching, her tail curling around Minfilias’ own tail. Smiling as politely as she could.

“As I have told you in La Noscea, caravans have come to bring you to Mor Dhona,” Minfilia said softly. Chocobo and porters both were chatting to each other. “While it is not as well-constructed as Sharlayan, you shall be as safe as you can be.

Pray, do not cause conflict, however.” Looking from Stella to the group, Minfilia had a slightly stressed look on her face. “The land I take you to is ruled not by Hyur or Elezen, but by Gigas and Tonberry. They… have had Men who have hurt them, and live with Ala Mhigans who lost their home many years ago.” Her voice grew stronger. She took a step forward. “I know that those of Sharlayan can remain calm, but pray do not be afraid. Please.”

Stella listened. The crowd listened, but let her talk for them. “This world is filled with mysterious things, Emissary.” Her voice had such a strange accent - perhaps from the other world… but her placid smile and painted-on expression was creepy to Minfilia. Not that she’d admit it, of course! This was a diplomatic mission, to aid those who required it. And yet… was this why Noctis was afraid of her?

Minfilia could not say. Stella continued. “We will be thankful to you and your people, no matter what has happened.” Every word was laced with a second meaning that Minfilia could not figure out! Or so she felt. “Thank you.”

The two played politics, with simple platitudes and dancing around meanings. And Alphinaud couldn’t help but peek out slightly - before Zale put a hand to him. “She’s not of this star,” Zale mumbled - and suddenly, Alphinaud snapped to look at the Hrothgar. “Why, then, place her in charge of this operation…?”

“Sharlayan doesn’t— you know, I hadn’t— she’s like Alisaie, probably.” Alphinaud replied, trying to find his voice. It barely worked - a whisper, hoarse and filled with more hatred then the boy had ever thought he had. “Using the chaos of something happening to slip in, un-noticed.” Like a monster, Alphinaud dare not say.

Zales’ eyes closed. He sighed, quietly. He gave the gentlest frown. “Perhaps. Perhaps not - even if she was ascended to a position due to chaos, she would not be the one to lead such an exodus. Where I came from, at least, that would never happen.”

Where he came from… Alphinaud looked to the ground a little. “We’ve both lost our homes.” And as he said that, Zale almost wanted to yell at the child. That yes, they may have both lost their homes, but nothing here was a fraction of what he had lost. But he had to remain hidden - he could not out himself as an Ascian, nor out his disdain for these people. A disdain that burned bright, or so Zale told himself. But there was something about this child. Perhaps it was his accent, or the way he carried himself.

Zale thought for a moment. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

…He’d have to track down Igeyorhm. But that could wait. For now, he watched as the first caravan was loaded up - Chocobo letting out loud sounds, Sharlayan refugees getting ready to cross the deserts. Minfilia relaxing, leaning against the statue. The way she leaned reminded Zale, once again, of what once was. “…Alphinaud?” Zale then asked, looking to the boy again. Alphinaud slightly nodded. “I may not be able to be of aid to you in your future plan. I do agree that these nations have no desire to work together without a major threat - but…

…I do wish to aid you, in the way I can.” Was it because Alphinaud reminded him of those who were lost? Of those he had lost even before the Sundering? Or was it his way of manipulating these Scions, to prove that he should truly get his Ascian body and abilities back? Zale was not sure. “My travels have taught me much. Let me… let me teach you, when I am not under the watchful eye of Thancred and other Scions.”

Alphinaud prickled. “You’re not my father, you know.”

Ah. Zale shook his head. “Did I come off as trying to be such? No… I would wish to be a teacher and mentor.” Especially if his thoughts were correct, and Alphinaud had been left in such a serious situation. How dare such happen. With the gentlest of touches, Zale looked back at the group outside. Minfilia stepped away from the group, under the statue there. Letting out a tired sigh. From here, as she was in the shadows, Zale could see Azem. Exhausted after another job well done.

Nostalgia wasn’t the best thing to wear, and yet he couldn’t help but linger on it. That is, until Minfilia came walking towards them, back inside. She was whispering to Fordola, anger masked by muttering. Clawed feet digging slightly into the ground as she stopped, looking at the two of them. A smile came up. “Zale. Alphinaud. I… it worked. I managed to get them on their way.”

“But.” It was not said as a question - Zale knew that there’d be a catch.

Minfilia sighed. “I don’t think it’ll be that easy. The eyes of Ul’dah are on me.” A pause, as she looked between the two. Alphinaud might know what she meant, but this Hrothgar… “Sharlayan is full of smart people - they could easily be used to make more gil then even the gods would know what to do with.”

“That’s right,” a new voice said. Minfilia turned, to see a rather fancily dressed Lalafell. Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re from the Mirage Trust, aren’t you?”

They nodded. “Master Teledji Adeledji wishes to see you. He will not take no for an answer.”

Minfilia bit her lip, about to shout out in anger. Before she looked to Fordola in her arms. “Take me to him, then.”

For an important meeting, the fact that Minfilia was led to a darkened hidden room that almost felt like a prison cell was not a good sign. The only light that flickered were small candles, and Fordola in her lap. She was adorable in her smaller form, Minfilia had to admit. Her ears still hidden, her tail curled around her legs, Minfilia almost felt like she was a caged animal, with some form of inspector coming to see if she was fit.

Across from her, the Lalafell known as Teledji Adeleji sat. A jewel in a sandy prison, he stood out even more then even her. Minfilias’ weapons had been put to the side, and thus she seemed harmless. “Is this not something you want the entire Syndicate to be involved in?” Minfilia asked, breaking the silence.

His voice pointed, Minfilia knew that Teledji was already holding all the power. “The Syndicate does not need to know,” he said - in a tone that Minfilia knew meant that they would not believe whatever happened here, if she spoke out. “I have had people following you and your process. Emissary of Mor Dhona, was it not?”

Oh. Minfilia felt a chill. “Yes. Under Belias, the Gigas.”

“A figure that is not recognized as holding any power,” Teledji said, looking to the table. In one hand, he held papers. “But one that you… clearly respect.”

Minfilia was quiet. Listening, as Teledji placed the papers on the table. “While it is disgusting to negotiate with beastmen, I have come to you with a proposition.”

Already, Minfilia knew, she’d say no. Just for calling him a beast. Her lips curled into a frown. Listening more. “Currently, nobody recognizes your claim of Mor Dhona and the surrounding land. Why, if the Syndicate voted for it, it would only be your militia that could stop your territory from being claimed.”

“Is such a possibility?” Minfilia asked, her voice quiet. Controlled. “I do not believe any nation wishes to claim land that requires so much work to make livable,” she added. It was such, such hard work. She was so tired, but she dare not show it.

Teledji leaned back a little. “There are whispers, you know. Reclamation plans.” Teledji dare not mention the bill mentioned was his own plan. “But it does not need to be violent, if you simply joined with us.”

Minfilia was quiet for a long while. Before she let her Ala Mhigan accent take over. “…Tell me, Teledji. If I did such, then what? Would you destroy the culture of those who’ve come to try and build a new life? Would you force us to become Ul’dahn, to waste our lives on gil that never elevates us, or would you prickle when people leave to return to their homelands?

If you were hoping to bribe or convince me, Teledji, then you should have known who I was.” Standing - making sure to hold Fordola as she did - Minfilias’ expression turned dark. But a little playful. “‘tis a pity your memory does not seem to have returned with everybody elses.”

As she began to leave, Minfilia knew - her heart sped up, her fear set in - she had just made a powerful enemy. But she also knew she could not give up her morals for a sliver of safety. A shiver filled her entire soul… her steps were slow, but forceful.

Minfilia would just need to protect herself and her people better. She should visit Belias…

Chapter Text

Speaking to Belias would not come for some days, however. As Minfilia returned home, she felt her tiredness overtake her. She’d worked so very hard - little wonder, then, that she had collapsed to sleep. Days turned to weeks. The world kept moving. The Sharlayan people who had moved in to the nation had been at odds with Ala Mhigans quite a bit - but not enough to call Minfilia from her rest.

Until now. Minfilia was barely dressed, looking at her hands - why, oh why, had her body suddenly begun to rebel doing much of anything - when Milleuda burst in. She didn’t feel the need to avert her eyes - instead, she strode over to Minfilias’ drawers, throwing over clothes. "There’s a problem, oh wonderful Emissary," Milleuda said in a half-endeared, half-mocking tone. "Between people here. Before you ask, no, I couldn’t diffuse it.

Those arrogant Sharlayan bastards--"

"Shush," Minfilia said, giving Milleuda a small kiss. She had finished getting dressed, and had a little smile on her lips. "It cannot truly be that difficult. They may have different viewpoints, but they agreed on the laws of this land when they came here."

"And you think they’re keeping their word," Milleuda replied, as the two began to leave Minfilias’ room. Milleuda prickled a little at the Hyurs’ tail curling around her leg, but relaxed. It was just hard to get used to - her beloved, even after all she’d put her body though. Minfilia sighed, rolling her eyes.

Her voice was still so gentle, even as she fought her tiredness. "I know it would take a lot for them to simply listen, but I hoped--"

"Hope has sure worked out for you, hasn’t it?"

Minfilia stopped. Quietly looked to the ground. Stopped movement. "‘tis a struggle. But it’s better then the squalor of Little Ala Mhigo - I do not want to make them think I would allow them to return there - and yet, those of Sharlayan do not know of that, now do they?

I wish I did not have to consider all of this. I am emissary, not ruler - but Belias has little ruling experience. Gigas are different then Man."

Milleuda shrugged back, her voice growing a little gentler. "And here I thought that you saw all tribes and Man as the same."

"That’s not it," Minfilia replied, as they finally began to move again. "I simply see them as equal. It would be cruel and wrong to see them as the same - as wrong as seeing an Au Ra and Lalafell as the same." She looked to her claws, and then back at Milleuda. "Each different Spoken - each of us - has our own skills. Our own bodies. Our own thoughts. I would not dare claim we are the same.

But two different groups of Hyur-- they should know better!"

Milleuda gave a little sigh. "You’re naive, Minfilia, if you think like that."

And perhaps she was, but Minfilia knew she had to save her energy. Because when there had been conflicts, usually, she’d need better arguments - geared towards the person.

Gods damn it. It was Stella, standing in the road against a Highlander, who stood barely able to hold back their anger. Minfilia strode over. (A few Tonberry keeping them seperated.) "…Thank you, my friends," Minfilia begun, nodding to the fish-like creatures. "What seems to be the problem?"

The Highlander - a friend called Basil, Minfilia recalled - gave a snarl. "This lass thinks we shouldn’t try and clear off some things in th’Flats," he said with a frown. "There’s been weird stuff coming from near the Tower, but since they’re not in our towns, she thinks they’re not a threat?"

Stella - with her strange-feeling aura - nodded. "If we simply slaughter creatures outside of our nation, will we not end up bringing more attention to us? Will we not bring war and strife? I believe that is not what any of us want." Every word that dripped from her mouth felt cutting, both strong and terrifying. Minfilia felt an aura of distrust, of pain, from the woman. Was that why Noctis feared her?

Minfilia did not show this. She dare not.

"Stella. Do you know why the Crystal Tower is currently off-limits?" Stella shook her head. Minfilia stood firm. "It has recently been unsealed by the Garlond Ironworks, and is still being secured. If there are truly creatures and monsters coming from near the tower, they may be Allagan threats." (Honestly, what was taking the group? Why hadn’t they continued to explore inwards, was there an issue she could help with?) "I do not wish for war."

"But you are not their leader," Stella replied coolly. "What does Belias wish for?"

"Our wishes are one."

The group turned. Basil gulped. Belias towered over them, the kind-hearted Lucavi. "The Gigas have fought over this land for era." Stella glared up at the Gigas. "After the time of Allag, their… experiments… are no longer welcome.

Or would you claim Sharlayan would not kill a wild beast that lingered just out of their territory? That they would not seek to keep their land safe?"

Silence. Until there were footsteps, and a muffled laugh. Minfilia turned - oh! She knew that uniform! A Gleaner! The Gleaner - with purple hair, and the tell-tale white scales of a Raen Au Ra - snorted. "Nah, they’d outsource it to our kind."

Stella looked between them. "Is it not true that the Flats don’t belong to you, though?"

Ah. Minfilia nodded quietly. "Currently, it belongs to nowhere. However - that was before Belias woke once again. As his emissary, I hope to negotiate ownership without bloodshed of those who are able to discuss such matters." Those with intelligence and sapience, in other words.

Belias nodded sagely. "But even then, we must defend ourselves. And while I am loathe to admit it - those we slaughter have made for the food we require to sustain ourselves."

Basil nodded. "Right. You see, this place isn’t growing anything."

"‘course it wouldn’t," the Gleaner mumbled as they crossed their arms, "because it has the messed up aether. No crops has made this a very hard place to settle."

"And we’ve taken on a bunch of refugees," Basil added. "Without them, you’d probably have a better point."

Stella continued to stand still. (Too still.) Belias looked down at her. Minfilia could feel the fire in her back tattoo still - something was wrong. "You’re one of his, aren’t you." Belias was snorting slightly, flames beginning to shudder from him.

Stella blunk a few times.

"I cannot force you out - I wish not to lose track of you," Belias said quietly. "But if you wish to cause chaos, then I shall be forced to do so, Ascian."

Mistaken identity, but Belias could not know. Belias could not know that she was not an Ascian, but one of the group dedicated to the Worldeater. They both were similar, if you were to ask the Lucavi. Stella did not correct him, but she did not change her expression. "I simply wish to act upon the morals of Sharlayan," she said calmly. "No more, no less. I will not accept you slandering me with a title you do not understand, simply because I do not fall in line."

With that, she walked away, and Minfilia let out the breath she did not know she was holding. Her attention could now turn to Belias - and as she eyed him, she noticed something odd. Her expression grew a little wary again, as she spoke quietly.

"A quill, Belias?"

Belias softened, putting a claw around Minfilia - his other hand waving Brish off. "I… you spoke of me living in the past.

You were right, little Minfilia," he said gently, kneeling. "But I want to be better. There is a friend, however, who I knew from long ago. One I’ve not contacted since I emerged from my stupor."

With the gentlest of smiles, Belias looked upwards. While Minfilia would not notice, Belias looked towards the corpse of Midgardsormr, with his voice growing softer. "He has been a friend of mine since before my most recent soul," Belias admitted, "one who knew me before this lifetime. We both know what it is to mourn those we cherish, and we both know what it is to care for mortals.

I… hope to send him a letter, so that he knows I am alive." Belias could not be honest with Minfilia, when it came to this. He kept this secret close - for it would cause the chaos often left for Ascian.

Belias had to get in contact with Vrtra, to make sure that Mor Dhona was safe. To make sure that he was doing his best. Thavanir was a nation that Belias admired - and was so proud of his dear friend for keeping around. (At least, he thought it was still around. There had been so little news that Belias could have gotten, especially as he mourned what was.)

His claw moving away from Minfilia, Belias stood up straight. "M-my apologies, but I must return to my work."

Smiling up at Belias, Minfilia couldn’t hide her own pride. "I hope your friend still lives, Belias. I’d love to meet them someday. But-- my report? My information on the new recruits and people?"

Waving a hand, Belias shrugged. "I have already noticed. Dear Minfilia…"

"--I fear that the Syndacite of Ul’dah will not recognize our nation, Belias. They attempted to bribe me with such to make our nation part of theirs." Disgust filled her voice, and Belias paused. Minfilia looked right up at him. That same Ala Mhigan anger and passion that carried her forward was on full display. "We can never let that happen. Many of those who’ve migrated here have suffered under them before. As soon as we’re of no use, they will throw us away."

Belias looked down at Minfilia, his mask shifting slightly, sliding down the tiniest bit. His woolen coat heating up - triggered by the anger built within Minfilia. "Calm, little Minfilia," Belias whispered, unable to hide his own snarl. "You know I will not allow such. The people of Mor Dhona shall be safe, from both Man and God and all in-between.

You have done well learning about this, my dear Minfilia - my dear emissary. It means," Belias said with a snort, "we need not waste energy on converting them to our side. However - there is no need to fight against them."

Was Stella right…? Belias continued. "If they come for us, I shall burn all of those who mean to hurt us. War-- war is not something we should hope for. Yet know I am prepared."

As Belias spoke, Minfilia could almost hear his voice grow distant. She did not even think of war. "Our shared enemy is still the Garlean Empire. We do not need to think about that, yet."

"…You’re right," Belias said, snapping out of it. "We can focus on the kinder things."

"Such as your friend!" Minfilia smiled, her anger fading. Her pulse calming, a sense of calm beginning to come though her.

Said calm would be broken quickly, however, as footsteps suddenly sped towards them. Minfilia spun around, and saw-- Lyse was there, stopping just before she crashed into the other Highlander.

"Minfy! I’ve been looking for you! Well, not me, but actually Papalymo. And then I told him I’d come to get you because we’re friends, and-- anyway!

There’s been signs of a Primal summoning, and it’s time to go figure it out!"

Ah. Of course. Minfilia sighed, putting her arms around Lyse. "I’ll go get ready - but did Papalymo call anybody else first?"

"Of course! Cordis is handing things, but it’s better to work together," Lyse admitted, not noticing Minfilia tense up oddly. (Minfilia did not know why she was wary about Cordis. But, well.

She’d work with him. He was the Warrior of Light, after all.

Chapter Text

The Rising Stones had begun to look like a proper base. People making themselves comfortable, warmth and love coming from them, Archon freely talking with Scion... Minfilia still felt out of place as she walked though swiftly. Even as some people waved, others smiled as she passed... Minfilias’ heart hurt. A scar that she’d thought healed, bleeding openly...

She managed to stumble into the Solar without showing her anger, facing Papalymo once more - Lyse by her side. But she stumbled onto quite the scene. Cordis leaning in the corner, and Papalymo looking exhausted. Yda was sitting in his lap, nearly squishing him. She had the cutest little smile on her lips - her eyes sparkling. (Her third eye still hidden, now by a circlet.) Minfilia was glad, at least, one of them did not seem to be taken by the situation.

Before Papalymo could speak, however, Cordis spoke. "Leviathan, of the seas." Minfilia looked over to him. "The Primal of the Sahagin. Likely summoned out of desperation, not out of the desire to conquer." There was a darkness in his voice that Minfilia could almost recognize. "The larger challenge will be getting it to shore. Unless you have gills, that is."

That almost seemed to be an honest question. Minfilia shook her head, but gave Papalymo a chance to speak. "Yes, thank you. We called you in particular, Minfilia, for you aided the Kobold and Limsa Lominsa reach a non-violent resolution. While we still need to destroy Leviathan, I believe you may be able to do the same again."

"And which Warriors will come with me?" Minfilia asked, her head bowing. Diplomacy. "Negotiations with Merlwyb are quite intense, as you may know. Last time, I had Alisaie, but..." She was still gone. Sick, taken by the cloaked Miqo’te.

"That’s what I wanted to get your opinion on," Papalymo said. "Cordis insisted on coming on this trip, but you can have your pick of allies."

It didn’t take long for Minfilia to decide. "I would like to travel with Arenvald - and, if possible, Lyse as well. Fordola will be with me, and..."

"Oh! You want an Ala Mhigan group!" Lyse cheered, suddenly perking up. "I wanna go! Can I, Yda?"

Yda had not been paying attention - she’d been trying to get comfortable on Papalymo. Her head whirred, and her smile grew. "You haven’t wanted to fight for a while, you know! I’d love you to go! But, um." A gentle hand pet Lyses’ head. "Don’t get yourself changed, okay? I... you’re already working hard with your glamours, but I don’t want you to get more messed up."

Messed up. Was that how Yda saw Minfilia, she wondered. A glance down. "I imagine it would not be good to delay our trip," Minfilia said sharply. Burying these feelings. "I shall inform Lord Belias, and then we’ll take—"

"—oh, right." Papalymo interrupted, quietly. "I have a gift for you— Yda, stop squirming— which will help. While your place with us is not the most explainable, you are one of us. And you travel more then others of us - thus, I have granted you your very own chocobo caravan."

With everything going on, Minfilia hadn’t been thinking about such. But as Papalymo said it, her eyes sparkled slightly. "Thank you. Then I shall meet them where it’s parked - I hope Lutia is not too afraid of it."

The caravan itself was nothing special - it could fit the group in, and it was clearly durable, but it seemed more made for just one or two people. Which, honestly, made sense. If Minfilia was going to travel, she’d usually be with just one or two other companions. Not this many. Lyse had dropped her glamour, returning to the Sylph body she had been gifted to save her life. Fordola rested as the Mammet-sized Ifrit she could become, in a bowl of fire crystal shards - stretching out as she eyed the others. Cordis rested quietly in the storage room - he insisted, because nighttimes were no good for him - and that left Minfilia and Arenvald up front. Watching Lutia pull the caravan - they had to get to Thanalan again, to get a boat.

"Remind me again?" Arenvald asked, tilting his head. Fluff from his collar shifted, from how he’d sealed the Primal of the Moogle. "We can’t use an airship because..."

"Because it would spook Lutia. She still has bad experiences - and she deserves not to be scared," Minfilia replied quietly, looking to her red Chocobo. "Besides. I’ve heard her kind can drop meteors if they get too upset."

"Right, right, kupo. The red ones are the spicy ones - they used to come around Gyr Abania sometimes, right?" Arenvald asked - but Minfilia knew that tone. He wanted to know, because they both hadn’t experienced it. The little tremble in his hands, the sorrow in his eyes.

Minfilia leaned back. (She did not know.) "I believe that this one - Lutia - came from across the sea. Some form of Dalmascan one. I..." A gulp. "She was rescued from a Garlean ship. I imagine her and her kin were to be used as weapons." The ground below them seemed to grow quiet, even as Lutia continued to pull across the caravan path. "I imagine a lot of them will still be used as such - the Maelstrom took quite a few in. You know I cannot help but worry about such.

Arenvald?" Minfilia asked, now sounding quiet and uncertain. "Do you think that Chocobo have the capability to become Spoken?"

The sounds didn’t return to Minfilia, as she felt a lump building in her throat. She couldn’t explain it - but the idea that Chocobo could develop, that they could be like the tribes she helped—

"—the beaks," Arenvald said, breaking though the silence. "So unless their beaks change, they wouldn’t be able to speak."

"...Forgive me. I think I missed what you said?" Minfilia said in a whisper she didn’t know she had in her.

Arenvald blinked. Once, and then a few times - before putting his firm arms around her. "You worried about all of this? You’ve been doing pretty good so far, Minfilia. Better then a lot of us. You figured out this way to stop Primal. You managed to defeat Ultima Weapon, and bring some peace for a little."

Arenvald smiled warmly. When he closed his eyes, his face looked more Moogle-like... Minfilia couldn’t help but smile a tiny bit back. "I simply wish not to be forcing Lutia into this. She was traumatised by Garlemald..."

"And you’re not?" Arenvald replied, before gently sighing. "They... I... they’ve caused problems for me, too. From birth," Arenvald whispered, trembling slightly. "But it’s not just that, is it?"

Staring for a moment, Minfilia nodded quietly. Arenvald continued, neither of them paying attention to where Lutia ran. "I wasn’t part of the Path of the Twelve. I was too young when Dalamud fell, and was confused and lost. But it means I didn’t forget you - if I had, I’d be beating myself up.

A lot of them over there are." Arenvald bit his lip. "I’ve had visions of them. It’s not been pleasant."

"Not pleasant," Minfilia replied, a darkness entering her voice. "Not pleasant is standing in front of those you respected as your mentors, and your own damned brother, and not being recognized. Tataru... she was one of my closest friends. But after these years, it still stings to think on the previous months."

Why was she admitting this to Arenvald? Minfilia felt her anger bubbling more in his arms. Her tail began to swish more. A venom built on her words. "I know everybody remembers now. That the meddling done by a Primal beyond our power has been reversed. But simply having that happen doesn’t change that it happened!"

"Ow."

Minfilia pulled back. Her claws were digging into Arenvalds’ arms, blood dripping down them. She trembled, but Arenvald looked her in the eyes, firmly. "Keep talking. Maybe you’re having troubles because you haven’t been." He sounded so kind. Was it because he was Ala Mhigan? Because they shared blood, in a way?

Minfilia nodded, looking back out at the land they travelled. Not noticing that Fordola had stretched out, joining them. Perhaps he was right - that her sickness, her tiredness, was because she hid this. But there were... "There are few people I can lean on, Arenvald. Somehow, I’m surrounded by those with their own issues. Belias, who struggles with who I am, even if I am his emissary. The Archon, who still wish to stop this Primal threat. And those gods and immortals from a time before ours.

Compared to them, I’m... I’m not even a fighter, in the end."

Arenvald closed his eyes, leaning a little. "You seem like a fighter to me," he said. As she gave a little grunt, Arenvald smiled. "I mean, I fight with a sword, and you fight with talking to people, right?" Even as Arenvald talked, Minfilia felt a distaste in his voice. (Was it because she’s not a fighter? Was it because she was weak, fragile? Minfilia once again buried those feelings, at least. The boy was trying. Oh, how he was trying. They had both seen the horrors, and felt their minds change as they sealed Primals.)

Minfilia took a deep breath inwards. "You’re right. I... I managed to best Merlwyb in a battle of wits. That’s not a common thing, is it? She’s who gave me Lutia, of course. But if I’d not had the conviction of a fighter, then perhaps the Kobold would have summoned a stronger Titan. Perhaps Titan would have caused more injuries.

Perhaps I would have had to put more people in danger." Minfilia felt herself calming a little, even if she hid so much. "And then, we sealed Titan - even if the creature was stolen by Alisaie.

Gods, I hope she’s okay." No, no, Minfilia bundled into herself again, biting her lip - a tiny bit of blood dripping from it. "She’s sick. But she refused to slow down, Arenvald."

"Like you, kupo?"

Silent between them. Minfilia found her voice again. "She was bleeding white," Minfilia commented quietly. "I’ve been trying to rest, Arenvald. But the world keeps moving.

I don’t want to take this on alone."

A gentle squeeze from Arenvald. "Then you don’t need to. We’re allies, remember? Friends. Even if we’re all a little odd. I... I’m here to support you. It’s what us Ala Mhigans need to do, together."

Chapter Text

Minfilia had seen Merlwyb so many times. Every time she ascended to see her, however, she felt a fear in her stomach. Because each time had been regarding Primals. As her hands shook a little, Minfilia put on a brave face. What was her plan this time? They had to hunt down Leviathan to seal the beast. Perhaps, if they had a large enough boat... but then, they’d need to find the beast. And she had to make sure that the others didn’t get caught in the magic - this was not their burden, to have their body change so much. They were here to weaken Leviathan. 

As the door slid open, Minfilia looked upon Merlwyb - for once, Merlwyb looked the tiniest bit unguarded, her hair unkept. Wild. Quietly, Minfilia stepped inside. Turning to face the other, Merlwyb frowned. "Minfilia. So you’ve been apprised of the situation? 

Let us waste no time, then. According to our best intelligence, the Sahagin should not have had enough crystals to summon their God." 

"Yet, they did," Minfilia replied. Her voice was firm - barely noticing that there was a flutter behind her, before - poof - Lyse was back as a Hyur as well. She would remain more guarded, then. Not that she wasn’t going to be. 

"Even as we speak, the Maelstrom makes ready to evacuate whatever coasts we can." A pause, as Merlwyb let out a slight internal sigh. "Including the Kobold and Tonberry. They’re still helping us out, Minfilia." There was a tinge of that common racism, that common hatred of the beastmen. Even now, it dripped from Merlwybs’ mouth. If this wasn’t a case of life and death, then Minfilia would have fought back more. 

Lyse then spoke up, her voice quiet. "And you’re just gonna let the Sahagin who didn’t do anything wrong get drowned and turned into thralls?" Unlike if Minfilia said it, there was less anger and less confusion. 

Merlwyb paused. Stared at them. "You know you’re talking about the enemy, right? Even if there’s friendly Sahagin, they’re behind enemy lines. And they need the sea to live." 

Stepping back, Lyse grumbled a little - Minfilia putting a hand to her. "This is not the time to argue about what they may or may not need. However, we need to aim to not allow any casualties. Limsan, Tribe of the Land, or Tribe of the sea. 

Thus, our most important goal. I’m certain you’d agree that we need to lure Leviathan away from La Noscea." 

Merlwyb nodded quietly. "Right. I’ve got a guy tracking the beast. But then, there’s a problem. It doesn’t like listening to people or gunshots - and in the open sea, he’s in his element." 

"And we can’t just use a boat?" Lyse popped up to say, before Minfilia and Merlwyb both looked to her. 

Slightly leaning back, Merlwyb sighed. "The best way to lure it would be crystals, but there’s no boat big enough to hold that many. And if they sunk, that’d just make the beast stronger." 

As Lyse and Merlwyb began to debate, Minfilia cursed to herself. If she’d hunted down more of the Twelve, perhaps, she could call on them for help.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the elevator shuddering, moving. More guests... more time trying to appear like she wasn’t falling apart internally. Minfilia moved away from the door, curling her tail around herself. Lyse blinked a few times, before shaking her head. "So, if we had, like... two big boats, maybe we’d have enough?"

"Even if we did--"

"Corrupted crystals," Minfilia interrupted with. "They have a similar aura from afar, but would nullify some of Leviathans’ power. I know how to get a lot." It was bravado, but she knew that she couldn’t let it slip.

Merlwyb would strike at any weakness, and Minfilia dare not give her the chance. "Simply supply the crystals, and prepare a vessel. I’ll do the rest." She would need to contact Alisaie, if she was healed. Gods, she hoped Alisaie was okay.

The door behind her opened with a loud creak.

It was Noctis.

"Hey, just came to give an update. It’s currently north of La Noscea," Noctis said quietly. A tremble in one of his hands. "Still doesn’t seem interested in striking, but we both know that won’t last." Finishing with a sigh, Noctis then looked around - his face brightening as he saw Minfilia, before freezing up for a moment.

"Thank you, your highness," Merlwyb said with a small smirk, "and you’re already familiar with her, then?"

"I am," Noctis said quietly. Suddenly a little flustered. "She didn’t know, though."

Lyse suddenly looked at the young man. "Waitwaitwait-- the highness thing isn’t just a nickname? Are you royalty??"

A shrug. "Was. Back before all of... this." Noctis ended his sentence with a bit of a wave of his hand. "Chosen by the crystal, too. But that’s in the past."

With a quick bow of her head, Minfilia internalized it. "So that’s why." She took a few steps forward. "Then you know time is of the essence when it comes to dealing with this."

Did Noctis just avert his gaze a little, Minfilia wondered. But at the same time, he didn’t disagree. "Then," Minfilia continued, "I shall go to get us the way to corrupt the crystals."

Before any of the others could complain, Minfilia was gone.

Darting to a dark corner of Limsa - one of many - Minfilia gently raised her hand to her Linkpearl. Thoughts racing. Heart beating. She was already betraying her words. She wasn’t saying the truth to them. But how could she? That man was another of the immortal beings, and once again, they were involved. Her legs felt weak, her stomach dropped.

Was this really who she was? Was this really the same woman who had saved the star? Her breathing was getting heavier. Everything was getting dizzy--

--and then her arm was there. A familiar grip, the slight warmth of her claws digging into her arm. Fordola. Her eyes focused, looking right into Minfilias’ very soul.

"Hey. Sit down for a moment," Fordola said, a fish in her mouth. A… raw fish. Just flopping around a little. The absurdity of it made Minfilia pause, stare, before following her instructions. "Tell me. What’s goin’ on?"

A sharp inhale. And Minfilia explained her meeting. Explained the impossibility she promised. And the involvement of those above them. By the time she finished, Minfilia both hadn’t noticed that Fordola had finished eating her fish, or that her cheeks were slightly damp.

"Sounds like bullshit, if you ask me," Fordola said, looking to the side a little. "You’re comparin’ yourself to those old guys, and you’re also actin’ like a complete idiot. Affectionately, y’know? You’re like this. Give, and give, and you keep thinkin’ it’s up to you."

With a warm smile, Fordola gave Minfilia a kiss on the cheek. "And it’s why I love you, you know. You’d do anything to help others. So… instead of just tellin’ you to calm down, let’s handle this. First, we call up your contact. Then, if he says no, I’ll go beat him up."

Quietly, Minfilia almost spoke, before Fordola continued – her scaled tail swishing gently. "While that’s goin’ on, and while you’re going and getting these tasty crystals fixed up, well. That’s all you need to focus on. Don’t worry about the rest. Don’t even worry about the stupid immortals. We can figure out Noctis later. Okay?"

Figuring him out-- well, each of them did need to be understood. Lightning… Bartz… even Belias. Was that what she was doing?

"If he’s going to help, he’s going to listen to us. You’re not going to follow him."

Minfilia nodded softly. Gently snorted. "…Right. I’ll get to work."

And once again, her hand went to her ear. Tuning in. Thoughts turning to how to ask. The voice on the other end was gentle, as always. The imperial spy turned Scion ally. From that other world, the world which the Gods had left to rot.

"This is Prastha. Uh-- what’s up?"

"Prastha," Minfilia said quietly, her voice firm in her resolve. "I know you know Alisaie, and I know you will know how to contact her. I know she was sick, but I have need of her abilities."

Minfilia continued to explain, Prastha making soft hms and purrs as she talked. Before Prastha replied. "You’re not going to like this, but – I can get you to her, but it’ll be in Mor Dhona. Your territory. But it’s also where my brother has his den."

His brother. The mysterious black cloaked Miqo’te. Minfilia did not protest. "If that is the case, I shall be there tomorrow. Pray set up a meeting in the…

…I suppose it is a palace, isn’t it? If you speak with Milleuda, then she will let you in. Or Snow."

Prastha almost protested, his voice rising, but Minfilia cut him off. "I will not take no for an answer – if Alisaie falls sicker, the palace is the best place to be."

And with that, the meeting was made. Minfilia nodded her head, looking to Fordola above her. "Pray tell the others."

Perhaps it was more comfortable to be within Mor Dhona. A place where, sure, there were problems. Stella, for one. And sure, Belias was currently not there. But Minfilia felt safe here, seeing the mix of Ala Mhigans, Sharlayan refugees, and even a few immortals. She was… she was in the place she felt most comfortable, Minfilia realised. Her home. She did not need to think on what the place was before, even if she had seen it even before the crystal. Nor did she need to think of the Scions who forgot her, even if they’d moved nearby.

She would need to talk with Papalymo about that. She was beginning to get ideas.

But Minfilia arrived, still in her travel clothes, and Milleuda rushed out. "Minfilia! There’s a visitor, and--"

"Alisaie and her guardian, correct?" Minfilia asked, and Milleuda made a face. "I invited them. For my own needs, mind you." A beat. "Fordola helped. I know you two both still…"

"Disagree?" Milleuda replied, coldly. "You could call it that, or call it what it really is. She still carries the scars of Garlemald, and I the scars of the fall of Ala Mhigo. I respect your feelings on her, and I just hope that she is not poisoning your mind as well."

A cold glance back at Milleuda, as Minfilia kept walking. "You think too little of me, Milleuda. I care, but I also listen."

Milleuda followed, her footsteps heavy. "And you listen too deeply, words cutting into your very soul. Our guests are waiting – shall I lead them to a meeting room?"

"I am aware, Milleuda – my heart may be hardened, yet I need to harden it further – but I still wish to let those who follow the same path as me in.

And yes, please. I shall get changed and meet them anon."

And so it was. One of the meeting rooms – still carved out of stone, with statues of Lucavi around. Minfilia had not been here before, but she could name the statues. Beings of Ivalician myth. Demons. Yet, Belias had not left a statue of himself. Minfilia slipped in, now wearing a simple purple dress. Something befitting an emissary. On the other side of the table were the two of them – Alisaie looking healthier, but closer to a monster. Her scales had continued to consume her flesh, and her eyes were more unfocused. Feathers draped over her face, her hair now fully changed. By her side was the other, the mysterious man she cared for. He kept his face hidden, even though she’d seen it before. He wore fabric to hide so much of his body. Quite different then Alisaie, Minfilia would comment, but she had to be polite.

"I know I have called you here without much notice. But I do not think Alisaie is in a state where she can move alone," Minfilia said, getting straight down to business. "I wish to make an offer."

The man was quiet, before he spoke. Gruff, his voice sounding unused. "And that offer is?"

"I require a large quantity of corrupted crystals. From what I have observed, Alisaie has the ability to create what we need if I am to supply her with crystals.

These are needed to prevent Leviathan from drowning many innocent people. If we can lure it…"

Again, the man was quiet. Leaning back. His hood hid any movement of his Miqo’te ears, and he had no tail to judge any emotion from. "And what do we get? I have been feeding her without needing the help of people here."

"Other then food without burden," Minfilia said, "I am willing to offer you the aid of the Sharlayan medical staff here, alongside the Tonberry. You may visit freely, and I will allow you to remain living in Belias’ nation without any further questioning. Clearly, you wish not to be questioned on much.

While I do not know much about you, I know Alisaie has come from hardship. As has Prastha, and any others from your land." At the mention of Prastha, the man prickled – biting his lip slightly. "So… allow me to feed her for my own purposes – as well as requesting such at later dates – and I shall let you stay without question."

This is when he spoke up. "…her corruption only goes one way, you understand. And if it is not correct, what then? Will you simply give up?"

The voice was so familiar. It tore though Minfilia, triggering her anger at being forgotten, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. "No," she said firmly. "I would find another way. And I would find a use for the crystals – perhaps Garlond Ironworks has a use for them?"

There was a weak groan from Alisaie, focusing for a tiny bit, looking over the hooded mysterious man. "…I think it’s a good idea, dad…" she mumbled, before going back into her trance. Both the hooded man and Minfilia paused.

"--I am not her father," the hooded man said quietly. "While I help her and the people of… you’re aware. Perhaps in her fever, she is mistaken." But in that moment, Minfilia had that pain in her chest again. It felt like an Echo vision trying to manifest, yet nothing came forth. "But as for your offer… very well. You have resolve to protect your people."

He stood. "Lead me to the crystals, and I shall bring Alisaie." Alisaie weakly got up behind him, slightly biting onto his arm. A black ichor dripped out – similar to the white liquid that dripped from Alisaie. Minfilia would remember that, as well.

Right-- crystals. They had a store of them in another of the chambers. Not for a summoning or anything, but any which had been extracted as they cleared paths and made homes. It was guarded both by people and by their loyal dragon knight, Chlodebaimt. As Minfilia passed him, he held out a fluffy paw. Minfilia smiled, and gave it a soft pat.

"Lady Minfilia, I have news," Chlodebaimt said, before frowning a little. "It’s-- it’s likely not much, but,"

"Tell me," Minfilia replied, as she looked away from the cloaked man and her friend Alisaie. "If it is truly not much, you would not report it."

"…I can hear the Song. If only a little," Chlodebaimt admitted. "I hear His tones, his hatred and anger. It’s not enough to control me, but you know that if I can feel it…"

"Which one?" Minfilia asked. There were a few different possibilities. All of them were dangerous.

"Bahamut."

In her head, Minfilia began to run the calculations. If the Song was beginning to reach her friend, then Bahamut was beginning to stir, thus she would need to get the group together after Leviathan was tended to. "Chlodebaimt. If it becomes too strong, please tell Snow. I’m certain he can stop you."

"Why trust him?" A familiar voice said, ringing out. Minfilia turned with a bright smile.

"Lightning--!!"

Chapter Text

“You’re back from Esthar?” Minfilia asked, almost out of breath, surprised as the Hyur-like woman leaned against the wall. “Did you find what you—”
Behind the group of them, suddenly, there was a blur. And Lightning was suddenly being clung to by Bartz. “How’s Squall?!”
Barely prickling, Lightning looked down at Bartz with a tiny frown. “He’s a little better, but not well enough to come out of the city. Seems it’s beginning to clear up.”
Minfilia had never seen Bartz look so relieved, his eyes sparkling like never before. “So he’s—” Bartz sniffled a little, gripping to Lightning even tighter as if to not slip onto the ground. “I’ll need to find Zidane and let him know! But, uh, not until the old man mentions what’s going on.”
At that, Lightning snorted a little. “It’s not like we have forever, Bartz. Not with the threats. But—” Lightning paused, gently forcing Bartz off of her, “—until then, this is a good enough place to stay.”
Minfilia gently sighed. “Belias is away right now. But— if I may ask for some advice? You two are aware of Noctis, correct? Prince Noctis?”
Again, Lightning snorted. But Bartz got a funny look on his face. “Yeah, I know him. Not as well as others, though.” Taking a step, he began to glance around the corridor, until he had to kneel down and get out some paper, and a pencil. He began to scribble out three circles. “So, right,” Bartz said quietly. “Lightning and me come from this first one. That’s the first Conflict, Cosmos versus Materia.” Hastily, he connected the first and second circles. “Lightning and the others of the twelfth cycle died between that and the thirteenth, so we call them two different things. But that was meant to be the end of it?”
As he explained, Minfilia swore she saw a sadness in Bartz’ eyes. “So, we stopped the Conflict, and that was that. We said our goodbyes, and went back home. But then me and everybody else got called back, by the new Gods.” The third circle. Bartz tapped it. “This is where Noctis and some others first appeared. So they were new to this. And we were going to end it again, but then…”
“Well. That’s where our friend betrayed us,” Lightning said curtly. “The one who works with the Worldeater.” A glance to Minfilia. “That’s what we call the force we’re fighting. The one Prishe and her ilk are working with.”
“Right,” Bartz nodded, keeping focused on the piece of paper. “The one of us closest to— wait, first. In these first two circles, in the first cycles, we had Lady Cosmos. She’s sort of like Hydaelyn,” Bartz said, trying to simplify how he explained it. “And then for the new time we were summoned, there was another one. Materia, who was still young. Anyway, the guy closest to Cosmos was— well, wait. Did we ever get his name, Lightning?”
A shake of her head. “No. Never asked. Titles are good enough.”
“If you say so,” Bartz said. “Anyway, so the Warrior of Light decided to go off and give himself to the Worldeater, to Shinryu. And that started everything. So… I guess there’s different tiers of immortal? It goes my group, to Noctis’ group, to those Ascian.” A beat. “But as for Noctis, he’s never really adapted. He’d keep an eye out for his reborn friends— oh, right. That can happen too.”
Minfilia was already lost, and her face showed it all. Lightning looked to her, no longer leaning. A half-step forward. “Sometimes, souls come back together. Might be the gods meddling, might not be. Not all of them were trapped like my friends.” Even as Lightning said it, Minfilia felt the weight on her very heart. “They’re not always the same, mind you. They don’t have the memories—”
“—Like Bolormaa, then?” Minfilia whispered. “Like her beliefs, but you people have likely tracked it.” You people. She didn’t mean to say it that way, but—
“—so that’s it.” Lightning looked right at Minfilia. “You see it like we’re different then you.” Minfilia went deathly silent, for Lightnings’ piercing glare could shatter glass. Before her expression relaxed. “It’s one way to see it. You weren’t chosen by the Gods to fight an endless war, but you’ve been caught up in it.” While she still spoke harshly, there was a kindness deep inside her voice. She stepped over Bartz, and was face-to-face with Minfilia. “You’ve been branded, and been unable to figure out your part in this.”
Minfilia stared, before she felt herself trembling slightly. “Before I got wrapped up in this, I wanted to help others. But my hands still tremble when I think of the bloodshed I’ve caused. We both know that victory cannot come without it, yet—”
“You’re not the one who should be fighting, you think.” Lightning said. “Not when there’s so much left you don’t understand.
…You want to know about Noctis, then?”
She usually didn’t talk this much, but Lightning was back to business. Her comfort done. “Noctis is a strange case. Usually, the Worldeater simply devours a star once it has drained the power it needs from it. But his star and mine appeared around the same time.” Now, Lightning had begun to pace. Thinking back. “At least, that’s what I learned. Twin lands, split by some unknown force. When we were in the other world, we traveled together. Me, him, and that traitor – at least, for a time. He’s a good kid. Nothing like the other royals.”
“Because,” Bartz said, giving a little smile, “he had a lot of stuff grounding him. Like his friends! His world is pretty weird, but it sounds like he just got to be a normal guy.”
“…It’s not too strange,” Lightning replied. “It has a technological level less then mine, but higher then Garlemald. But Bartz is right. He had good friends, and a good heart.”
“Which is why he doesn’t talk about being royalty too much,” Bartz added, stretching out. “Which I get.” Especially seeing how fragile Minfilia was. “You working with him or something?”
A sigh. Minfilia looked to the other room, to the crystals. The two were still devouring them. She’d never seen Alisaie eat so viciously, and the cloaked man was wiggling his Miqo’te tail happily. “I suppose I should tell you.
We aim to hunt Leviathan. Before anything goes wrong.”
“Oof. That’d be hard on him,” Bartz said, frowning and packing up his illustration. “Leviathan took his fiancee, you know. And some traumas just don’t heal. It’s sort of the curse of us immortals. We’ve got forever to mourn, so some of us just take forever on it?”
“Right,” Lightning said quietly. “To hold onto who we were, we need to remember.” Perhaps, Lightning thought for a moment, it made them similar to the Ascian.
“Anyway,” Bartz said as he stretched up. “So, he’s probably stuck between a rock and a hard place. We can survive Primal attacks, but… man. We care about you people. And I care about you, Minfilia. Otherwise I would have kept wandering.”
“You care too much, Minfilia,” Lightning added. “You don’t need to do everything.” With that, Lightning turned to leave. Before giving a glance over. “As for dealing with Leviathan – you’ve got your allies.”
“Right,” Bartz said with a nod. “And unlike us guys, and gals, and anything in-between – well, you’ve got a lot on us. We have age, but you have your companions.”
“And who’s to say I’ll keep them?” Minfilia blurted out. Lightning stopped mid-step. Minfilia felt a rush of anger fill her again. “They’ve all forgotten me once before, because of a Primal. I couldn’t stop it before— I still can’t see them like I did before.”
“…And that’s why you try and take this all on,” Lightning said, looking Minfilia over. “Fear.
The Gods of this world meddle in cruel ways. But.” An odd confidence entered Lightnings’ voice. “You can tell we’re strong, right?”
Minfilia nodded quietly.
“If the Gods dare to meddle like that again, I will personally kill them. Even if they attempt to rob us of what makes us us.” Unlike her calm demeanor, Lightning sounded like the very storm she was named after. Minfilia couldn’t help but feel intimidated. “I have fought the gods before,” Lightning explained, “and we have no reason to put up with them.”
“…Alexander. The Primal Alexander did it. By mistake.”
Lightning looked away a little. “I see. I’ve known them before. But… my offer stands. Trust in us, Minfilia.” A beat. “It’s hard. I know.
At least, give it a thought. Sounds like your guests are done.”
Just like Lightning said, the cloaked man was standing – as was Alisaie, who shook herself a little, before staring at Minfilia. Her eyes shining, even if they looked wrong.
Alisaie bounded over and gripped to Minfilia, as Lightning walked away – Bartz following, further into the cavernous palace. Their voices slightly echoing, Bartz talking about Hope. But that didn’t matter! Alisaie was gripping to Minfilia, whimpering the tiniest bit. Staring up at her. (Alisaies’ flesh felt like a doll. She felt inhuman. But she was still Alisaie.) As Alisaie spoke gently, her teeth – far too pointed, with more of them now – seemed to shine slightly. “Minfilia— Minfilia, you’re okay as well!”
For once, Minfilia let herself relax. She smiled warmly. “You are too, Alisaie. I was so worried… your companion – who is clearly not your father in any way – has been tending to you.” Minfilia felt cheerful adding some snark, and Alisaie snorted. “My apologies for worrying you.”
“Hey, I worried you too,” Alisaie replied, beaming. “Thanks for the aether. It… well, you know I need to stay balanced. But why? And how’d you get… snrk… dearest father to go along with it?” Her face showed such relief. “He’s been trying to avoid you.”
Minfilia shook her head. “I gave him an offer none could refuse. Such as medical care for you.”
“And all you asked for in exchange was… feeding me?”
Minfilia began to chuckle, as she noticed the hooded figure leaving the room as well, nodding sharply to Chlodebaimt. “There are many situations that require corrupted crystals, especially when it comes to countering Primal. And if it prevents you stealing another sealed one…”
Suddenly, a thought. And Minfilia froze. “…Titan is devoured, yes?” Alisaie nodded a little, and Minfilia let out a quiet swear. “Then stopping Leviathan is even more important. If the Kobold are too afraid, they could summon Titan – and two Primal warring is far too dangerous.”
The hooded man walked up to them, looking between Alisaie and Minfilia. “Then you have your crystals. Let’s go, Alisaie—”
“—because I shouldn’t bond with her, right?” Alisaie replied, letting go of Minfilia. “Believe it or not, I’m not like you. I can’t just not see them like our old friends.”
With a very Miqo’te hiss, the hooded man turned and began to walk off. “They’re not them, Alisaie. And they never will be. Come. You need to rest if you’re going to continue your quest, are you not?”
Alisaie paused for a moment, looked between Minfilia and the hooded man. Frowned. “This isn’t over!” she said, as she rushed after him— stopping as Minfilia reached out an arm. “Hm?”
“Alisaie— once I’m done with Leviathan, we need to talk,” Minfilia said firmly – and Alisaie gave a curt nod, before vanishing behind her companion.
And once again, it was just Minfilia and Chlodebaimt. Minfilia looked to her former-Ishgardian ally, and gave a little sigh. “It’s a lot, Chlodebaimt. Do you think I made the right choice?”
Chlodebaimt looked back, before moving to give her one of the leather sacks, to place the crystal clusters in. “If I may – I shall make sure an eye is kept on that Miqo’te. But you have a good heart, Minfilia. You don’t need to harden it. A harder heart would have left me to die, or slaughtered me right there.” If he still had an Elezen face, his look of affection would have been far more visible. Respect.
Gently, carefully, Minfilia began to collect the crystals. They were dangerous, sure, but they were help. And she knew how to handle them. “I believe only an Ishgardian heart would have. Chlodebaimt… I’ll be back anon. Before Belias returns, I promise.” For a moment, Minfilia nearly said more. For a moment, Minfilia nearly mentioned that she was truly beginning to rule, in some ways. (Her fears, coming true.)

The return to Limsa Lominsa was a lot easier then last time – even if Minfilia now had to carry bags of corrupted crystals, the hair on the back of her neck standing on edge. Not only that, she nearly dropped them when a voice shouted across the Aetheryte plaza – Arenvald waving to her, concern crossing his face. “‘Filia! You just ran off—?”
From near him, Fordola tsked. “He wouldn’t move until he knew you were back,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Both of you have hearts bigger then your brains.” But her gaze was unfocusing as she looked at the bags. Something in her brain was telling her something was wrong. Her tail curling around her legs, she tsked again. “You got them, then.”
“Yeah— hey, it’s okay.” Minfilia smiled warmly, walking over. “I just forgot to listen to your advice, Arenvald. Needed it beat into me a little more.
Anyway, I fufilled my part of the deal. Corrupted crystals. Pray let me go get things ready.”

Chapter Text

Days passed tensely. Minfilia dare not voice her worries about Titan, lest Merlwyb learn things had fallen apart. Instead, she spent the time resting up, and working on battle plans. The Drydocks were awake with activity, preparing for the catch of a lifetime.

It was during one of these times that Noctis walked in, watching as Minfilia looked between Sahagin scripture, historical records of Levithan, and a battle map she’d gotten drawn up. Concern laced her face, as she tapped on the map.

“Bad time?” Noctis asked, half-knocking on the inn door.

Turning, Minfilia shook her head. “I actually meant to talk to you about this. Your aid in this endeavor is appreciated, of course, but…”

“Is it the Prince thing?” Noctis asked, flopping onto the bed. (One of his legs seemed a bit stiff, Minfilia noted.) “I know, it’s a bit awkward…”

Again, Minfilia shook her head. “No, my reaction to such was over the top. I am… simply tired of how clueless I am about the situation around everything. But this isn’t about that,” she stated, as she stood up. Picking up the small figurine of him on the battle map, she sat next to him. Let her top slip a little, so he could see the burn marks on her back. Scars left by all of this. “No, I wish to ask…

…are you truly okay with aiding us with this?”

A pause. Noctis blinked a few times, before averting his gaze a little. “Why wouldn’t I be? This is my home as well.”

“Bartz told me you had trauma related to this,” Minfilia admitted. “I dare not pry further. There are… some creatures… I cannot face, due to my own trauma.”

Oh. That hit a nerve, and Noctis was oddly still. “…I think it’s time for me to tell you everything about Stella. And Lunafreya. If we’re going to be open, it’s better if I start from there.”

Still, Noctis didn’t sit up. He lay with an arm over his face. “The Leviathan of my home was pretty different. But she—

Well. I was meant to make a pact with her. But during it, she got attacked. Got riled up. And during all of that, Lunafreya was killed by… well, by somebody who ended up chosen by the gods of the Conflict to be even more immortal then before.” After speaking, Noctis groaned so loudly Minfilia almost thought it was a rumbling outside.

“These gods seem to choose the best and worst sort of people,” Minfilia commented. “Heroes and villains…”

“To keep some sort of eternal war going.” Noctis said, quietly, before returning to his story. “Eventually, I was summoned. A bit before him, actually. I made friends, got stuck being immortal, but eventually we came to here.

And then, eventually, that’s when she appeared. Stella. She claims none of that stuff happened. That Leviathan wasn’t even an Astral, that Astrals didn’t exist.” Noctis’ voice was getting louder and angrier. “That every time my friends were reborn and we got to be together, she should have been there. But— I never knew her! Even if she’s part of Lunafreyas’ family— she would have told me if she had a secret sister!”

A pause. Noctis catching his breath, wiping at the wetness now on his face. “So I decided to avoid her. But I— the thing is? Some of the way she moves, she talks, she acts— I can see Lunafreya in it. So I don’t know what she’s done with her, but I just— I just want to know.

Maybe hunting down Leviathan will give me answers. Maybe the Astrals got reborn here, as well. Isn’t the strangest thing I’ve seen.”

After he finished talking, Minfilias’ resolve had been built up. “Then… if you wish to help us, then I shall let you. And— I know it is not my duty to do so, but I will seek answers on Stella. She is currently in Mor Dhona – my… nation, I suppose. She’s trying to cause issues, but it’s under control.” At least, as much as it could be. Still, she had a question. “Just for the record – could I have the name of the man who caused this? Since he is likely around.”

“…Ardyn,” Noctis said though gritted teeth. “But you probably know him better as Ardyn Lux Izunia.”

Ah. That name rang a bell. Minfilia had heard whispers, way back, that Emperor Solus had been in bed – figuratively – with a man keeping him alive in his old age. Gossip, and yet now it was more. “Of course immortals have their hand in Garlemald.”

Noctis looked like he was about to not say something, before: “All of this is a sick game between us Warriors and the Ascians. ‘course they’re messing around in empires.” Both of them sounded so sick of it. “Can we just focus on Leviathan now?”

“Right,” Minfilia said, moving back to the wooden table. “What is your plan?”

Noctis looked to his hands a little. “You know how I’m good at fishing?”

“…You plan to fish them up,” Minfilia said. Doubt in her voice.

Noctis heard it. And shook his head. “If we can prevent Leviathan from being in the sea, then that’ll nullify a lot of their strengths. This boat is going to have those glyphs carved into it, so you and your friends just need to weaken them. It’s… it ends up okay, doesn’t it?” Noctis asked, now gazing at Minfilias’ Kobold-like ears. “Does it hurt?”

“It does,” Minfilia said quietly, “but it also means that the Primal is sealed. That it cannot hurt others.” Something she had to repeat to herself, over and over. Even with Titan devoured, it still meant that Garuda and Titan could not be summoned. (Could Ramuh have ever been summoned, with Rhalgr around?) “And once Leviathan is sealed, we can interrogate them. Learn who they were before, and how they were summoned. And then we can work with the Sahagin, now we are not at risk of being wiped out.”

Noctis nodded, though noted Minfilias’ serious expression. It reminded him of… ah. “You’re pretty good at this planning stuff,” Noctis noted. “You know, after this, if you need more help around the place—”

“—as long as it’s not around Stella? Of course,” Minfilia said, nodding back. Before getting back to her battle map. So it’d be her, Lyse, Cordis, and Arenvald – Fordolas’ reaction to the corrupted crystals was a little unnerving, so she’d be backup. From the corner of her eye, Minfilia noticed Noctis’ fidgeting a bit more – but she didn’t want to make him talk more then he needed.

It was dusk when Merlwyb entered. “The boat’s ready, Minfilia. Once again – I’m going to owe you and your adventurer allies much, if this works.”

Minfilia nodded back. “You know, all I ask is for this to be solved – and if it does go wrong, for it to not reflect badly on Mor Dhona. At this current time, Lord Belias is elsewhere. Thus, if this fails, it is but his rogue emissary that failed.” Every word Minfilia said was trying to protect others, not herself. “Though I doubt it will come to that.”

This was the Minfilia Merlwyb loved to see. Full of courage and confidence. “Right. Your crew awaits.”

Noctis following, Minfilia made her way to the customised boat. Lyse giving a bit of a yawn – she was a sylph under her glamours, and it was growing dark – and Cordis giving a bit of an odd look. Even though Minfilia said no, Fordola was there as well – leaning a little on her slightly-Moogled ally, Arenvald. They all got on the boat, setting out into the grand seas around La Noscea.

Time passed. The corrupted crystals lit the deck, Noctis preparing for the fishing of a lifetime. Fordola was keeping her eyes out, staring outwards. Sensing where Leviathan was, slightly shifting and calling out movement. Arenvald and Lyse sat back, conserving their strength – as Minfilia stood anxiously pacing, and Cordis stood still – looking to the full moon now and again. Each of them had their plans.

Fordola raised a hand. Sniffing in the air. “It’s around here,” Fordola snarled. “But… something feels wrong.”

Minfilia let out a little sound. Fordola sniffed again. “Smells a little fishy, if you ask me.

—I wasn’t tryin’ to make a pun or anything, but I dunno. Might be the corrupt crystals messin’ with my mind,” Fordola admitted, sitting down as Noctis got out his fishing rod. It’d still take time – and the full moon was over them. As if it was giving them their blessing.

Yet, as it turned to the middle of the night, Minfilia felt something strange as well in her heart. The feeling like her Echo was trying to warn her of something. But there was a rumble. A glow from the sea.

And then— Leviathan, above them. Screeching in an inhuman manner, a melding of the beast and a strange coating of metal. Primal did seem to take from their summons… so some form of armoured fighter? Minfilia had to think about this, as the fish pulled at Noctis – until he— summoned a blade? Knocked the beast down with it? Before any of them could consider what he did, they had to rush in to fight. To defeat the beast.

Minfilia was near the edge. It was fine. Her fists felt strange, but she summoned strength from within – she could feel what felt like Rhalgrs’ energy coming from them, lightning sparking against the metal and scales. She could barely see the others, as she focused on the tail. Not noticing that Cordis had stopped striking.

Elidibus looked to Minfilia. It seems that he had awoken on this trip – Elidibus had paid attention to what was happening. What he could do. While he was not one to cause the same conflict of his brethern, but Minfilia… she was a threat, Elidibus could see. She was cruel to him, and was so very curious. Too curious.

All it took was one movement. One seemingly accidental slam into her.

Minfilia wasn’t focused on Cordis, mind you! She was busy helping, about to call out that they should use the powders. But within a moment, Minfilia fell. She stared upwards, unable to scream fast enough – and saw the dark look of Cordis, of a man that should have been the Warrior of Light, filled with hatred. With malice no one person should have.

The sea engulfed Minfilia, and nobody else noticed.

Chapter Text

Far from them, under the full moon, two men passionate about Allag sat. Now, there were plenty of reasons to keep Nero unable to leave. Most of them being worried about what he’d do, since he was a bit of a cruel guy. But still, G’raha had found himself curious about the other. Thus, he’d slipped away to sit with him, in Neros’ little room. G’raha noted that the bed was unused, the sheets not disturbed. Papers scattered, written in ancient Allagan. Written far too recently to simply be things they’d found.

But if the bed wasn’t used, where had Nero been resting? Nero, right now, sat by the window. Looking out to the tower, with that glazed over look. He barely reacted when G’raha sat next to him, dressed in everyday clothes. “Hey, Nero—”

Nero turned suddenly, his expression a little cold. “What is it, catboy.”

Huffing, G’raha looked outside. “If you’re going to get back there, you should be calling me G’raha. But… it looks beautiful, doesn’t it? The Crystal Tower.”

Nero sighed a little, leaning back. Seemingly no longer compelled to stare out there. “It doesn’t look right. But that’s probably because it’s surrounded by ruins. Why, there should be a city around it.” The way Nero talked, slipping into a long-lost accent, made G’rahas’ ears prick up. “Or at least their imperial palace. It’s in quite a different style to the Garlean one, even if Garlemald tries to copy the elegance and beauty of Allag. For one, Allag wouldn’t have allowed any of these refugees to settle. They would have made prime fodder for Lord Amons’ experiments.”

“…Excuse me?” G’raha said. There was a lot he wanted to question.

“Excuse me what?” Nero replied. Blinking. “What did I say that was so wrong to you?” There was a blink, Nero shaking his head a little. “I was just saying that it does look rather beautiful.”

“No? You were being weird and acting like Allag should still be around,” G’raha said, pouting a little. “While I do agree that some elements of it could improve this era, there’s a reason it fell.

Also, you called the historical figure Amon a Lord.”

More blinking. Nero stared at the Miqo’te for a moment, before shaking his head and looking outdoors again. “I said no such thing. Perhaps you need to get your ears checked, cat.”

“Maybe you need to stop being rude,” G’raha commented, frowning. Looking from the Tower to Nero. His stance was firm, as one of his hands gripped to the windowsill. An odd glow came from his hands, lighting it up… huh. That same glow sort of came though his clothes as well, from his back. Curiously, G’raha poked at the brightest of it.

Nero snapped around. “What are you doing,” he asked.

G’rahas’ ears pricked back. “You’re glowing, Nero.”

Rolling his eyes, Nero looked away – before taking off his shirt. “Yes, I glow. I’m surprised you don’t.” Yes, there was a dull blue glow under Neros’ skin. “Then again, only my brother glows like me.”

Before G’raha asked about said brother, however, his eyes focused. He knew that skin on Nero. That… was not skin. No, it was a synthetic material made in the Allagan empire in its’ final era. Curiously, G’raha touched it again. Yes, it looked a lot like skin, he knew. And it felt like it. Yet, who of this era would know…

Suddenly, an idea. “Nero, stay— stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Nerk tsked, leaning back a little, onto the glass window. “I can’t leave, I’m your prisoner.” Yet, Nero respected that? It felt odd. G’raha dashed off, and Nero looked at his hand. Why did so many people think it was odd? His glow, his deformities. Of course, somebody like Garlond didn’t have them. But Garlond was a nobleborn man, thus, if he had? He could have gotten them tended to, fixed. Just like he fixed his body when it did not conform to how he felt as a person. Just another privilege of nobility and having contacts, Nero thought. But there were plusses to his conditions. He didn’t need to waste his time with sleep or eating. He didn’t need to bother with most forms of armour – he had his shoulder pads built in, and they didn’t hurt to touch like some tumours might. He was unique. Plus, the glowing – the light blue pulses that sometimes turned red? They helped illuminate areas when he was working.

Perhaps he was different. But he was better. Still, the way that Miqo’te acted— why did he care? Perhaps he was going soft. Even if he’d felt the same odd loyalty to Gaius, at times. Was that Miqo’te truly as charasmatic as Gaius? As willing to let him poke and prod at Ultima Weapon?

“There’s some form of data coming though,” Nero heard, and snapped out of his thoughts, “that seems to imply something is wrong with you.”

Leaning back against the window, Nero laughed internally. “Ah, so you’re running diagnostics, Aulus? Inform me next time. I would have gotten more dressed.”

In his mind, he could hear the comforting sounds of his dear brother. Dear? Well, without each other, they wouldn’t have gotten so far. They both had deformities, were both seen as wrong before they showed their skills. Even if Nero had ascended further up the ladder for now. “Can you recall the shade of red of his eyes?” Aulus asked, “and send it to me? I believe it is lowering your resistance to commands.”

“That sounds strange,” Nero replied, as he complied. Both of them ignorant to how many people couldn’t do this. Couldn’t communicate within the time between seconds. “There. It’s similar to the red I’ve been trying to replicate. I still don’t get why you prefer purple.”

“Because,” Aulus replied with a slight screech, a slight bit of anger, “that colour is one of those… special Allagan colours. You’re the Allag expert, not me.”

True, Nero thought. “And what does your data say about this red? I… can’t seem to think about it for long.”

“…It seems to do the same for me,” Aulus replied, his voice growing darker. “Ask the Miqo’te about it. If it happens with other people, then we may have a good new defense tactic against our projects being discovered.”

“Or,” Nero said, “them asking about me. Still keeping it secret?”

“Of course. I’ve recently been assigned to work with Lux Izunia on a project – and he rambles about this and that, but doesn’t seem to care about my former companion. Face it, Nero – you’re a traitor to the Empire now. And a coward! It’s quite amusing to see their perspective. I’ll send you the audio next time I overhear some.”

“That is not needed, Aulus.” It was said so simply, as Nero could now hear footsteps and giggling. It had been less then a minute, he’d estimate. How slow their words were. “I’ll leave you to listen to this, however. To see what I need to put up with while captive.”

The door opened. G’raha walked in, looking behind himself a little. And even though she had to kneel a little, Bolormaa followed – closing the door behind her. Her tail barely fitting in without awkwardly curling around. Still, the Au Ra lady couldn’t help but stretch out, taking up even more room. Nero kept focused. How could one Au Ra be so big? Their eyes met.

And then, Bolormaa looked down at his odd malformed skin, and her eyes lit up. Leaning towards Nero, Bolormaa almost forgot to speak. “So! G’raha told me about— um, your skin? Can I touch it?”

Before Nero could refuse, G’raha nodded. “Yes, I believe it’s synthetic skin from the Allagan era – usually used to mend injuries. But maybe it’s not? Nero, she won’t hurt you.”

And yet, G’rahas’ desires seemed to make Nero calm. Yes. It’ll be fine, having a stranger prod at his skin. He turned again so his back was showing to her, slightly slumped over. Bolormaas’ hand went to stroke it, and as she prodded at it, her fingers held some of it. “Now, G’raha. You were nearly right. But this seems more like the synthetic skin made to cover prosthetics. That was developed due to the discomfort some showed seeing replaced limbs. Which still baffles me. The difference is that it’s a bit thicker, but—”

Oops. Bolormaa froze – she’d torn the skin she was tending to. But as she froze, as Nero tensed up, as G’raha felt his fur poof up – there was no blood dripping from him. No, it was more like a tear in fabric. Gently, Bolormaa went in to prod more, with her claws, and Nero recoiled. “What are you doing—? It’s going to be a pain to mend that here.” Unlike the two Archon, Nero didn’t seem concerned about the tear. Not freaking out that now, Bolormaa and G’raha could see what looked like a light built into his back. “Honestly.”

In his mind, Nero was also complaining to Aulus. “See what I need to put up with?”

Yet, G’raha was prickling. “Nero, you— what are you?”

Whipping around to face him, Nero gave a bit of a glare. “I am a pure-blooded Garlean. What, have you never seen one before? This close?”

Even though G’raha disliked it, he had noticed how he could influence the man. “I want to look a bit more. I suppose I haven’t seen one this close. But— can Garleans really replace the spine?”

Urgh. Nero turned again. Let the Miqo’te touch his wound. Stretch his skin – it was more stretchy then other skin, G’raha noted quietly. This wasn’t flesh. It was that sort of synthetic skin, him and Bolormaa could debate the sort later. And with that, he could stretch the small scar and see—

“Nero. There’s— you’re— Bolormaa, you’re not gonna believe this.”

Bolormaa peered in. Stared. Before her eyes widened and she collapsed backwards. Even though he was unnerved, Nero laughed a little. “I suppose she didn’t expect it. Ah, I’ve also been asked to forward a message to you.” A beat, as Nero listened to Aulus’ anger. “If you dare harm me, the might of the Empire will be focused on you. They’re watching, after all.”

“Well, if they’re watching,” G’raha said as he tried to seem cool and collected, “they know that this place is where they failed before.” G’raha continued to peer, his tail swishing under the moonlight. He could trace metal, pure metal that was the sort rumoured to be used in… “Hey, Nero. Mind if I ask you about your past?”

Nero sighed. “If you must, catboy. Why, want to hear about my trauma? Not that you likely have any.”

Grumbling, G’raha weighed up a few options, before: “I’m an orphan who had a lot of his theories dismissed and was bullied for my red eye.” Just. Straight up said it. “If not for being an Archon and having a lot to study, I probably would have turned out pretty bad.”

Nero tsked, even if his expression softened. “What is with that red eye?”

“You just said the Empire is listening. Can’t tell you,” G’raha pouted.

Nero waved a hand. “Fair enough. What do you want to know? What is there to know? I was from a lowly family, worked my way up, then got overshadowed by Garlond.”

G’rahas’ hands left the small cut. “But before then? What about your childhood? I— I’m just trying to figure out where you came from.”

Leaning back more, looking back to the Tower, Nero made a quick movement. (He didn’t want his brother overhearing.) “I don’t remember much before my teenagehood, catboy. My parents said I wasn’t too remarkable, except for my expertise in Allagan matters. When I started showing those? Well, I was their so-called ticket to a better life.” There was something resembling love in Neros’ voice. He cherished them. “Hah, but now I’m seen as a traitor? They’re hopefully in hiding.” Yet, there was something that made Nero concerned. He finally gazed down at the unconscious Au Ra sprawled on the ground. “…she has the Echo, does she not? Perhaps you’ll get to ask her.” As Nero spoke, there was an odd metalic sound from his throat.

G’raha didn’t quite like to jump to conclusions. But everything he’d put together… his hands wringing a little, he looked to Bolormaa twitching on the ground, then back to Nero. “I… don’t want to… well, I’ve got a theory, Nero. But to figure if it’s the truth, I’m going to need to do something a little weird.”

“Weirder then all of this?” Nero chuckled. “Listen, cat— G’raha. You’ve gotten me curious. Do whatever you want.” As G’raha hesitated, he noticed how relaxed the man in front of him was.

And so, gently – but still rather grossly – he began to carve a seam down the synthetic skin. In order to allow it to be mended – it had to be after this, right? But he stopped when he got to Neros’ pants – moving upwards now, to the back of his neck. He ignored the rumble in Neros’ neck, as he moved his claw across it. He could ignore the movements, the sound. It was a dissection. With the person alive.

Thank the twelve that Nero had the sense to close the curtains to the world outside, shifting a bit uncomfortably as he did. The cut though his neck was done, and G’raha paused. There were two options to… to skin the guy. He could cut though the arms, or he could treat the skin like some form of twisted tank top. He paused. Before noticing Bolormaa beginning to wake. His fingers froze again, worried about being judged. Before he gulped, and began to trim around his arms. What Nero would think of as tumours, but were more clearly shoulder pads hidden by this false flesh.

As the cuts were complete, G’raha gently pulled the skin back. His suspicions were confirmed. “You’re— that isn’t the body of a Garlean.” A gulp. An odd fear filled G’rahas’ whole body. “You’re some sort of automation, Nero.” How would the man respond? But before Nero could react, would react, Bolormaa spoke from the ground.

“...progress report...”

G’raha knelt by her, Nero seeming to tense up at the tone she spoke in. “Bolormaa. Bolormaa, what did you see?”

Bolormaa did not react. Her eyes - oddly blue, almost as blue as the light inside Nero - were flickering open and closed. “From the twenty-four who… twelve will be kept… the others donated… WEAPON Project…”

Twitching, Bolormaa looks right at Nero. Her words soft, filtered from what she had seen. “Out of the subjects, the twelve selected have the ability to manipulate matter. If these are…” A cough, as Bolormaa tried to sit up. “…their forms can be modified though time… but there is… there is no time to let them grow.”

Suddenly, Bolormaa grabbed the person closest to her, who happened to be the startled G’raha – who let out a yelp. “It’s a smart idea, isn’t it? To use automations to—!!” With that last sound, with a half-laugh, Bolormaa seemed to shake off the vision. Eyes turning from glee to horror. “…G’raha? G’raha!” Her entire body began to tense, before she began to weep. “I— I— G’raha…”

“Calm down,” G’raha said, feeling himself beginning to panic. “What did you see? It’s— related to this, isn’t it.” Nero was peering over, holding some of his skin in his hand. (He was fine. He was fine. Perhaps he wasn’t a Garlean. But that was fine. Wasn’t it? Had to be.)

Her breath half-caught in her throat, Bolormaa tried to smile. “Well. I… I saw Allag, G’raha. The real Allag from back then.” Holding up a hand, Bolormaa was wiggling, even if she was in a panic. “There were scientists. They were carrying a bunch of… eggs? But they had mechanical things in them. Are eggs still eggs if they have mechanical things in them?” Even in her state, Bolormaa couldn’t help but ask the important questions. “Anyway. He… Ser Amon… Ser Amon was there.”

G’raha began to rub Bolormaas’ back, for tears that never came. It was strange. They barely knew each other, but he wanted to comfort her like she was one of his closest allies. His heart ached to see her in a panic. “You saw— the actual historical figure, Amon?” G’raha asked quietly, no longer focused on Nero, who was listening intently.

Bolormaa nodded. “I— I did. He was talking to the person I was seeing the vision from. I don’t know who they were.” Should she have? A forgotten person, who worked with him? “I think it was before— well, from the environment, it was before Xande had been brought back. The Tower did not exist, because it was not there. A-Anyway… he was telling them about plans for these eggs. The Children of Omega, he called them…”

Both of them were interrupted by Nero, talking in an oddly tense way. “Stop. Sounds like you were seeing quite the personal moment, lizard.” Not only was there a tenseness, but Nero was speaking in that nearly-Allagan way that Bolormaa had been. “And before you ask – no, I don’t have memories of then. But it seems familiar enough.” Familiar enough to shake him to his core.

Bolormaa stared at Nero. G’raha did as well, but softer. “Then— you’re one of them?”

Nero shrugged, looking at the shuddering lizard and the comforting catboy. Before gripping some of his synthetic skin in his hand. “Maybe. Maybe not. Even if I’ve got this body? Clearly, I’m still Garlean.” A pause. “It’s what I made of myself. If people around me knew about this, then things would have turned out a lot different.” Had his natural advantages helped? Perhaps. If he was truly this Allagan device, of course he could work with them. His hands tightened. “But this changes little. Except now it makes sense why the Tower calls me.

It wants me back? Then I’ll show whoever wants me how much better I’ve been then them. I don’t know why they left me out here,” Nero said with a bravado common to him, “but I’ll make them regret it.” Even now, arrogance laced every word. Nero closed his eyes, before a bit of sense came over him. “Are either of you able to… stitch me up?”

That got Bolormaa out of her shock, the horror she saw that she could not put into words. “Oh, right! I’m able to! Um, it will leave scars, probably.”

A snort, as Nero rolled his eyes. “You think? Just make sure they look good.” A beat. “Oh, they’ll look impressive either way. Far more impressive then any scars either of you two have.”

Chapter Text

Minfilia Warde did not know how long she had been falling, drowning. It felt as if she was falling though the sky now – it felt as if she sea had parted for her, and her alone. Water parted for ooze parted for— clean air, far too clean.

Minfilia sat up. This was— this was not the seas, but it was familiar. The same apartment she’d had a vision in before, with—

"Uncle Hythlodaeus!" her voice said, at the footsteps of the silver-haired man. Hythlodaeus leaned on the back of their leather couch, a little chuckle in his smile. This is how it always was, Minfilia could recall. They’d both get home early, and his husband would be working late, or her mother wouldn’t have told them she had found a new adventure to go on. (How could she recall so much? This wasn’t her life.)

Hythlodeaus paused. Approached, and put a hand to her. Minfilia felt herself suddenly in control again, no longer moving to a dead persons’ will. "There. It’s such a pain, isn’t it?" he said, his fingers now lacing though her hair, so long. So untamed. "I’ve missed you."

Minfilia felt so small, awkward. "This is that land from before, isn’t it? Why am I here again?" Though Minfilia had her own answer, she wanted to hear the answer from this being, that was not always there. Were they ghosts, now haunting a long-gone land?

With a swift motion, Hythlodaeus began to… braid her hair? "Now, now. It’ll get all in the way," he hummed out, "and neither of us want that. As for why you’re here…

…well. You’re not dead yet, at the very least. I suppose you wanted something comforting."

"And this is a comfort? A land where I am not myself?" Minfilia asked, letting herself relax into the care. Into the love with no strings attached. She let out a breath, let out the air she was holding. If she had drowned, then she would feel a rush of water—

—but nothing, even as she swore the sludge and water was returning. "Perhaps it is more that you do not hold any responsibility here," Hythlodaeus said. "You can simply be yourself – whoever that may be." Hythlodaeus’ hands were gentle. Tugging the right amount, focused yet free. "Here, you can be loved by somebody who cares for you without needing anything of you."

Oh. Minfilia – in this body not her own, not scarred by the choices she needed to make – froze up a little. Her expression softened, as she looked up at this man. Who had the gentlest look, and the softest voice. "Yet such is impossible."

"How so?" Hythlodaeus asked. "You are loved. You need not do what you do."

Minfilia sighed, looking back to her comfortable robes. "The star needs somebody who will do such. After all, the—

—The Warrior of Light tried to kill me. Hythlodaeus, the one fated to be our hero tried to kill me."

Ah. Hythlodaeus gave a soft smile, even as the smell of the sea water began to bubble around them again. As the fear began to return. Yet, the gentle love Hythlodaeus was giving her began to calm her. "How cruel! I’m surprised you two are fighting – you and him used to be like family, you know." Perhaps Hythlodaeus saw things Minfilia couldn’t. (It made her wonder. Was he a vision, or— what was he? Other then somebody comforting her, in the moment.) "Ah, don’t mind my rambling. It’s the rambling of a silly old uncle."

Leaning back into him, now ignoring the fact she could smell the sea, Minfilia looked up at the man. "I don’t know. You’re more sensible then some people I know," she commented, "even if I know little. About this city… about this time…

Hythlodaeus? Do you mean well?"

Stepping back a little, Hythlodaeus made a mock offended sound. "Please!" A beat, stepping back to where he was. "I imagine you worry about many and their plans. But I can tell you this," he said, now moving around to look her in the eyes. Kneeling gently. "I do not wish you any harm, Minfilia. I only want what is best for you, and you alone." His words resonated, and Minfilia felt calm. Calm enough to reach out, to be held like a father would hold his daughter. (Was it the same? It was so similar. For a moment, she was that little girl with her father, ignorant and safe from the world outside.)

"Who is this person?" Minfilia finally asked quietly, as she felt so small. Safe.

"Her name was Philautia," Hythlodaeus said gently, now brushing though her unbraided hair. "She was a child of a grand adventurer and the lord of the underworld. She felt she had to live up to her past, as well." Hythlodaeus continued to treat her like she was his child. Gently. Kindly. "But she shone in her role as Azem, inherited from her mother."

"Was she… me?" Minfilia asked pointedly. "Is that why I see such things?"

"Fufufu… you’re perceptive. Yes, you were Philautia, before the world broke." And yet, Hythlodaeus seemed to hesitate. "But unlike others, I do not think this means you must take her role." He spoke of Belias, of the one who saw her as his princess. "No… I think these times are important to learn from, but you are Minfilia. Beautiful, brave Minfilia." As he spoke, his eyes seemed to shine. "You have accomplished much, and deserve to let yourself rest on those deeds – if only for a little."

That was what Minfilia wanted. It was what she needed. Her tears dropped, and her body collapsed in exhaustion – Hythlodaeus catching her. Letting her cry, letting her slip to sleep. For she’d need her strength later. Because he could tell she would keep pushing herself.

A pity.

The ocean splashing against the territory usually called Mist was calm. Leviathan had faded, and with that, the ocean beginning to grow angrier and angrier. The calmness washed onto the small beaches – no longer used by adventurers, but used by Kobold who were having breaks from their new homes.

But near one of the walls, curled up, Minfilia began to wake up. The waves curved around her, like a gentle hug. Beginning to wake up, Minfilia wiped at her eyes. A vision, a dream – whatever Hythlodaeus did for her, he protected her. Or did he? As Minfila woke up, she saw a creature above her. At first glance, it seemed like a portion of the sea itself was hovering above her, a bubble – but no, it had more of a tail, and arms…? Some form of creature. As Minfilia stared, it put a paw to her. A cat-like paw…? The touch of the creature felt like the sea, almost drowning her again.

Perhaps this was—

"Llymlaen?"

Gently, without judgement, Llymlaen nodded. Hovering over Minfilia, eyeless but with a cat-like smile. "You are favoured by Nald’Thal." A feminine voice came from the deity – nostalgic, Minfilia would say. Similar to one of her allies— hm.

Each of the Twelve had been one of the Scions from another star. And Minfilia dare not use her other name, but perhaps she had placed a name to the creature. "I did not know that. I had simply asked for them to know my desires," Minfilia said truthfully, still trying to clear her throat. She could still taste the sea.

Llymlaen bubbled gently. "Nostalgia clouds all of our actions," they said, "including hers." A pause, the creature leaning down more. Playfully, hovering just above Minfilia. "I saved you as a favour. You truly wish to meet us all?"

Meet. Negotiate. Work with. Any of those words could fit. "I do. If only to let you know you need not be alone. I do not know how old you are, but Lord Belias is from the era of Ivalice, perhaps even before then." For even Gods would feel loneliness, Minfilia felt. She had seen it from Halone. "But…

I apologize if this is forward, but might you have once been known as Y’shtola Rhul?"

Llymlaen hovered. Pondered. Before amusement crossed their face. "You’re smarter then you appear. That was the identity I held before I was force-ascended into this role, yes." Minfilia let out a sigh of relief, as Llymlaen stroked her cheek with some of the water dripping from her cheek. "I am the seas now. There is much to learn from those who pass though it. I feel it though my very being. Even the most threatening conflicts feel so small…

It is humbling, Minfilia." Llymlaen gave a happy gurgle, before pulling up a little. "But I saw you fall, and Nald’Thal asked me to retrieve you. The magic that you and yours were using is quite visible," she commented, and Minfilia lightly groaned.

Before a panic filled her again. "They’re— nobody else fell, did they? They’re safe, right?" Trying to sit up, Minfilia sat up right into the watery bubble above her – her breath growing sharp, her body shivering and panicking again as Llymlaen pulled back, so she could breathe without inhaling water.

"They are safe," Llymlaen said, "yet they did not end up capturing Leviathan. After you fell, they used the spell – but the smaller Leviathan dashed away, though the seas.

I believe he is attempting to get to Garlemald." A pause. "That is the direction he is heading, at the current moment." Even now, she could feel the movement. The direction, the currents. "It is quite an interesting way to deal with Primals, I must admit.

In our star, before all ended, many would become both Primal and God. In the end, we did not see each other differently – simply both beings forced into a new life." A history lession…? Minfilia flopped back down, the sand sticking to her body and hair and fur. "The Warrior of Light united us under one banner. They even united us with any of the Ascian who lost their abilities who came to us."

Ascian and Scion, working together—!? Minfilia prickled, and the sea itself could sense the fear. "I will not lecture you on how they are similar, for they are not. But they were given a chance.

Ah… as for Leviathan, and your methods. Be wary." For a moment, Minfilia could feel Y’shtolas’ glare, her judgement. "Do not lose yourself, Minfilia, to the bindings you do. Remember that your mind is your own – even if your flesh twists and changes, even if you begin to question who you were before – do not lose yourself."

There was a pause that felt far too long, before the dripping bubble of a creature, the dew drop-like thing, dissolved into water once more.

Drenching Minfilia. For a moment, Minfilia thought she was alone, until she saw a nutkin sitting by her side. Earth crumbling from its’ tail, moss and leaves growing on it, yellow markings that looked stitched— two of the Twelve.

"Oschon, then?" Minfilia said, as she pondered if she should get changed.

The nutkin nodded with a shrug. "I suppose where one of us goes, the other follows." His voice was rough, as if he rarely spoke. Even so, his voice was familiar to Minfilia, and she decided it was fine to say so. If she was wrong, then… well, she’d be corrected.

"Have you been watching over me, Thancred?"

A squeak. A half-laugh. "That obvious? No, I’ve been a bit busy to watch you – and besides. You have your own to do that," Oschon said, jovially. "Even if it’s confusing. What, with how many alternates there are. Then again, I missed you."

Minfilia let him bundle in closer to her, dirt turning to mud. Kindness coming from Minfilia and Oschon both. "Your Minfilia… she vanished, didn’t she? After her and Zodiark attempted to become one." Oschon nodded, as Minfilia offered her hand. "I know that you’ve lived longer then I – and have likely looked for her – I believe she would have survived."

Oschon chirped, curiously. "You’re full of hope, now aren’t you. Even after everything?"

Hm. It was true, but… "One of us has to hope," Minfilia whispered, looking outwards. "I’ve been though a lot. I’m afraid of what would happen if I did not hope for a better world." She felt the touch of the deity against her hands, gripping a little. "And if there’s aught I can do, I will do it. Even if some of those who I negotiate with and fight for do not appreciate my work."

The thoughts bubbled back up. The worries, the anger. "Would your Warrior of Light have struck at any of their allies? Would they have watched as one of their own fell to the abyss?"

Oschon gave a quick nuzzle. "You know, I don’t remember them—"

"—I see." Minfilia quickly, said, prickling, cutting off Oschon. After a moment, though, she went quiet and explained herself. "I was removed from time, Oschon. I do wonder if Althyk— anyway, I have recently returned, but until it was mended by the very same Primal which broke it." Minfilia didn’t realise her voice was raising, as she shivered slightly from the sea water covering her body. "They forgot me. I was only recognized because of old records and the such. Being forgotten hurt." And she fears it. She fears it so much, her fingers digging into her other arm. "Are you certain you don’t remember anything of them? Anything at all?"

Ah. Oschon grew quiet, tail twitching, looking out to the sea. Silently cursing. "It’s been a long time since then, Minfilia. We awoke here in a long-gone era, watching over you and yours. Without the Heart of the Star calling us back, we simply lingered, making sure more damage wasn’t done.

The Warrior of Light… they were there to unite us when we first changed. With a smile and a laugh, they carried the weight of the star, and our own fears. They reached out to those who were once enemies, when they were forced into the roles of baby deities, or disconnected from what they were. Garleans… Ascians… and with their abilities, they ended the Garlean War. Not cleanly, but…

…well. They were remarkable."

"But who were they?" Minfilia asked. "Their deeds show they were kind and firm. Yet—"

"A Viera," Oschon said, eyes closed. The sea speaking – was he hearing from another, or was he remembering? "A Viera man, who would always stop and ask why when we had a task to do. Who never wanted to fight. Yet, he was there for us.

His name was Salil – his city name." A pause. "You do know—"

"Viera choose a new name as they find their place outside their home. A forest, or the desert sands," Minfilia said so gently and kindly. Her fears beginning to fade. "Salil – ‘tis a beautiful name. But they’re…"

Oschon now was digging a little in the sand, letting it soak into his paws. "I hope they’re here – perhaps they’re happy reborn and getting to be free of their struggles." A sigh, as Oschon began to bury himself slightly. Tail still sticking up and out. "Then again, you’re the one out of us with hope."

After a long time, Minfilia – still shivering slightly – picked up the Nutkin-like creature. Gently stroking her hand though his tail. Truly, as she stroked it, she could feel the fresh dirt turned over for farmland, the firm stones which hid the best gems, the smoothest of minerals. Nostalgic, with the scent of the mines. With a feeling like that, how could she not hold hope? How could she not forgive? "I hope Salil is out there, in one way or another.

…Oschon? I know it is forward of me to ask for help, but I want to know. Is it within the power of the Twelve to calm these fears? They have begun to overtake my thoughts – and it has been dangerous."

Relaxing into her pets, like he was a mere animal, Oschon let out a few squeaks. "I think I know just the person for you. But are you really willing to see them? It might not work out well."

A hm. Minfilia nodded. "I think if I know things aren’t going to work out well, it’ll at least be something I can manage.

—you know where others of your kind are?" Minfilia suddenly said, perking up.

A pause. Oschon tilted his head. "Why wouldn’t I? I know the lands. But not everybody is ready, you understand." A little stretch, rolling to show his belly for pets. "But I’m certain you helping out and also just being there is spreading." It was hard to take him seriously as the deity in the form of a squirrel and also connected to her brother was nearly rolling around in joy in the sand. "When the time is right, for example, I know Althyk would love to meet you. He’d likely have answers about time. But, I was thinking…

I think knowing more about your fate would help, and Nymeia has been hanging out around people a lot."

Minfilia had gotten cleaned up quite quickly, and Oschon had led her to their airship landing – not speaking around people, because that might seem a little weird. Instead, Minfilia had been given a scrap of paper. A ticket, Oschon had reassured her.

But as they flew on the Airship, Minfilia had a question that couldn’t be held back – she held Oschon close, whipsering. "Is it possible for you to take on a more Spoken form?" Could he be who he was before? She assumed that it would not have been easy for their land to accept small creatures (and large) claiming to be the Twelve.

Quietly, Oschon replied, nuzzling her. "I could – actually, Nymeia tends to. But this is easier to wander as. Less people suspect me like this."

A simple answer, as Minfilia was distracted. She knew that light, that annoying light overshadowing Little Ala Mhigo. She’d seen it often when she was mining and earning her keep, before Yda found her and before this adventure began. The Gold Saucer. A sign of what the rich would rather do then help their fellow man. She was aware that some Ala Mhigans were employed there – working to rise up from nothing – yet, the whole thing left a sour taste in her mouth. She would go in, talk to Nymeia, and leave. There was no need to upset one of the Syndicate. Oschon gave her a little squeak. "Once you get in, ask to enter a Triple Triad tournament. They supply you a deck, and she’ll make sure to meet you."

The glitz and glamour was beautiful, however. Beautiful and distracting. Oschon gently squeezed her hand, before jumping to the ground. Sticking by her foot, so the Gold Saucer would not distract her. Right. Triple Triad. She’d played a bit in her youth. But did the game matter?

Soon, she was signed up for a game of Triple Triad, and given her cards. Minfilia began to look though them. That is, until she got a poke on her shoulder. One of the people working here. "Your opponent has wished to meet with you in a private room," they said firmly. In a way that Minfilia could not say no to. It made her prickle, put up her guard. Which, perhaps, was the best idea.

As she entered the overwhelming private room, a single woman sat across from Minfilia – as the worker left. The woman wore a gentle white veil, a mask hiding the rest of her face. Well, Minfilia squinted a little – there was no face to be seen beneath the mask, it seemed – a blackness filling the area it should be, the backing of the veil. What made Minfilia curious, though, was the Ala Mhigan style of clothes she wore. Why, if she couldn’t tell better, then she would mistake them for the clothes of a monk. A pacifist monk. Her visible skin below the neck was covered in star-like tattoos. With a firm look, the other slid over a deck to choose from. "It’s finally time for us to meet, then? Choose one of the decks, and I’ll have the other."

Without looking, Minfilia took one. "I suppose there’s no hiding what is happening, is there?" She tried to look confident, and yet…

Her cards. She looked them over, as Nymeia flips the red and blue coin. She played swiftly, while Minfilia took her time choosing her card. "Is it true, then?" Minfilia asked. "That you know what will be? That fate is pre-determined?"

Nymeia let out a little laugh. Rough and gentle at the same time. "Not exactly. Like… see how you claimed that card of mine? If fate was pre-determined, I’d be fully thrashing you."

"But yet, you are known for winning much of the time," Minfilia pointed out. "Far more then normal."

Nymeia leaned back, before she played a card that made Minfilia pause. She gazed at it – the orange-haired girl feeling familiar, and yet not. "Well. Here’s the thing, Minfilia. Fate is… well, while it’s not predictable, there’s less possibilities then infinite. Like, this game. They supply us with two decks of five. There’s nine places each card can go – and every card placed gives you less possibilities."

Minfilia played her next card – Merlwyb – and flipped the card of the orange-haired girl. "Yet… they have many cards they can choose for us," Minfilia replied. "Thus, there are many places things may begin, and then less possibilities?"

Nodding, Nymeia placed down a card of one of the elder wyrms. Honestly, Minfilia was beginning to wonder, and she had to voice it— "Who authorizes these cards, anyway? I cannot imagine a being like that would allow such."

"You know," Nymeia said, "I don’t know that." But as they played their final cards, it was a draw – and Nymeia began to wiggle happily. Excited, her mask shaking a little. The decks were replaced. Another game.

But this time—

"I know the twins never agreed to such," Minfilia scowled. Nymeia perked up a little, with a chuckle.

"I think it’s a way that the Gods show who they care about," she said before a pause. "Yes, us Twelve believe in Gods."

"We do," Oschon said from his place on Minfilias’ lap. "Not just because we were once mortal. But because there are things we can’t explain."

Nymeia tilted her head, before: "But you’re worried, aren’t you?" she said, beginning again. "That it’s fate for you to continue to get betrayed by those you care for. Or suffer to make things better. Right?"

Minfilia was quiet, playing her card. Before she let out a small exhale. "…yes. I fear that I’m going to be broken by the deeds I must do. To bring a better dawn. I know that such is silly when there are those above me – you Twelve and the immortals – but I cannot simply stop."

"Nor should you," Nymeia said, whatever expression there could be on her lacking face showing compassion. "Not because of fate, but because your perspective is important." Placing the card down, Minfilia looked over it. It reminded her of Hydaelyn…? Of what she thought the being was like. "But… hm. Okay, I’ll tell you a bit of your fate, but. Like. Not in the way that’ll be too detailed. Because that might distress you. Because… well, I can imagine that’s why you hunted me down."

A deep pause. A breath inwards. And Nymeia spoke, in the gentle tone of the Ancients. "Your fate is tied to the fate of this star, yes. Not just because of your deeds, and not because of Philautia."

Philautia— her soul from before was important. Minfilia had figured as such. "No, I see you bringing on revolution. On being able to change minds, and change the very star. It will result in pain and betrayal, but inaction would as well. We both know that you could never sit by as things burned. Courage has grown, as has your group of allies. Even unlikely ones! Though, I guess, the fact you’ve been making friends with the Twelve is pre-tt-y unlikely, huh.

And in the end, all is well."

As Minfilia and Nymeia played games and got to know each other, there was shouting in the Solar of the Rising Stones.

"You can’t keep running, Yda!"

Yda slammed her hands on the desk, a little playfully, in front of the frustrated Papalymo. "I know. But I can keep trying."

"Yulia viator Galvus—"

As Papalymo gave Yda the full name ultimatum – as her face dropped a little under her mask – there was a quiet snarl. The door was open, and Thancred loomed at the entrance. There was a darkness in his stance, a glare in his eyes. Yda blinked once, then twice, then gave a wave. "Well! Looks like you’ve got a new guest bye—"

And she was gone. Thancred walked in, the door closing behind him. It only took him a few moments to cross to stand above Papalymo, only bothering to stand behind the desk to give his hands – which were quivering – a place to go. The bags under his eyes blended with the blacks of his eyes. Thancred was pissed, and for a moment, Papalymo felt true fear.

"We need to talk."

Thancreds’ voice rumbled with the anger of the faerie king, the tremble of beings far beyond Papalymo. "I heard you chose to send Minfilia on that little Primal trip."

Ah. Yes. Papalymo looked to his desk – the paperwork documenting the trip littering it, stained with tears and sorrow both. Noctis had been quiet as he reported the facts, and Arenvald… had not been. Lyse had blamed herself. And Cordis seemed to have little to say. How could the four of them lost their ally? Their friend? "She is the master of sealing them away, and her abilities—"

"—her abilities? By the Twelve, Papalymo, she was already exhausted." Thancreds’ tone did not change. No, not except for the lowest of snarls. "She went along with it because she trusted you, and her allies."

A piece of paper that Thancred had been gripping now lay on the table, scrawled in anger. "I quit, Papalymo."

"What— Thancred! This is rash, even for you! She wasn’t even one of us—" Oops. Papalymo only realised that’d make things worse as he saw Thancreds’ eyes narrow.

"And why was that, Papalymo. Because she got herself involved in the politics of the realm? Because she worked alongside those of the nation we now live in?

If getting involved in politics made somebody not one of us, then you’d be acting different about Alphinaud and his recruitment drive for that new organization of his. The Crystal Braves, was it?" Before Papalymo could get a word in edgewise, Thancred leaned down – his face suddenly shifting, as a second set of eyes opened below his regular ones. Glaring with the same intensity as the first pair. "We’ve meddled enough, don’t you think? Choosing not to align ourselves fully with any nation is still a statement. And now we’ve carved out land in one of the most fragile nations there is." Even though his anger, there was something different about Thancred. His anger was directed, yet was it fully his own?

"So. Unless you actually stand for something more then her ideals, stolen due to that Primals’ influence—" Thancred snarled, angry at Alexander as well, "—I cannot stand with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. I think I’ll go join her nation, so at least her memory is taken care of."

"Thancred, that’s all well and good, but— your face!" Papalymo stammered out, his concern clear. A pause, as Thancred felt it – and felt the new eyes, pausing. "And— at least wait until we find a body or anything. She might still be alive."

Ah, hope. Thancred lowered his hand and face both, to look at the Lalafell. "And if she is? Will you toss her to the wolves again?"

"Of course not." Papalymo stated, even if he knew her talents would be important. "And as for our political connections – well! You know we chose Mor Dhona since it still seemed to be outside of the influence of the City-States. None of them took this declaration seriously, so why would they think we aligned with them?"

"Minfilia," Thancred stated, as he blink his lower eyes. Closed them, opened them again. As if it were natural. Perhaps this was part of his fusion with the Faerie King. Perhaps not.

"…Because she’s their emissary, you mean?" Papalymo replied, quietly. "…Was."

"You’re lucky, Papalymo," Thancred stated, as he turned away. "If Belias was here, he’d likely be less generous."

#

It had been a rash decision. But Thancreds’ hands still shook with anger, as he left the Solar. Nearly pushing past the Hrothgar sort of in his way. Zale, who could recognize that look in his eyes. He’d seen it before, after all, after Azem had left. The mix of betrayal and anger and sorrow. And yet, Zale was less concerned about that. If this awoke Hades properly, so be it. In his heart, however, Zale would admit he didn’t want to see that face. "Thancred, I—"

"I quit," Thancred said, turning back on his heels. Trying so hard to keep those secondary eyes closed. "Which means you’ll probably need a new keeper. I know, you liked me."

Ah. So that was it. Zale peered at Thancred, frowning. "I will not try to stop you. But if that is the case, I would still like to be, ahem, kept by you until my loyalty is proven." Said loyalty was still strange to the former Lahabrea. "I feel that I can split time between your observation and my caring for the young Alphinaud."

His back slouching a little as the two moved to one of the empty tables, Thancred sighed. "What would you do if Alphinaud died, Zale. Would you stick around?"

Zale looked to the table, trying to ignore the sudden pain he felt. "…I had a son before, Thancred. He is dead, and nothing can be done for it. I mourn him." It was true. He mourned him, as he mourned many from before the Sundering. "Alphinaud reminds me of him. Bright and strong-willed." Fragile, experimented on, left in the dark. Broken, but not knowing it, and not accepting it if he were to explain.

Thancred quietly nodded. "You’d choose him over me, then. Then you understand why I did this.

Nobody… they took advantage of her. Me, too." Thancred insisted, and Zale could still see Hades doing the same. Of course, it was different. Azem could not stand by idly as they harnessed the same gods they had feared to protect themselves. She had insisted there was another way, and stormed off. Back then, none of them had time for this. After all, he himself had been far too busy.

"And I’d just begun to calm her," Thancred continued, "and reconnect with her after our memories returned." His head hung low, Thancred was beginning to tremble a little. Tears coming from all four of his eyes. "I should have gone with her. Protected her."

Raising a hand gently, Zale placed a paw to Thancred. "You cannot protect somebody all the time," he said quietly. "Else she would have resented you. Or you may have drowned, become nothing."

"That would have been better," Thancred replied, before cutting himself off. Looking right into the Hrothgars’ eyes. "You— haven’t reacted. To my change." A distraction, Thancred coped, to mask his own sorrow.

Zale could tell it was a distraction, of course. And he couldn’t tell him that it was because of Hades, but… "In my home, it was… uncommon, but known, that the soul could react with the flesh. Your soul was… shaken up, I believe, from the little that I’ve learned." Thancred raised an eyebrow, as Zale continued, sounding the right amount of confident. "Perhaps in a previous life, your soul was a beast. But such can be mended, with magic."

"Glamour," Thancred said quietly, before covering his mouth gently. "Gods. I hope Urianger understands my choice. But he’s a master of glamours. Minfilia…

…Minfilia was proud of her changes, I think." Thancred then muttered, letting his head slump into the Hrothgars’ fur. "I was always scared for her. Even when I didn’t remember her."

The pains of these gods made Zale tremble. Alexander had existed in some form since before Lord Zodiark, after all. The cruel gods who meddled, not the gentle god who protected. "What now?" Zale then whispered.

"Let me mourn," Thancred grumbled. "And get me a drink. A strong one."

Instead of that, Zale remained by Thancred, an arm around him. If he closed his eyes… for once, he was not lost in the nostalgia of what was. He was almost surprised when he didn’t imagine Hades gripping to him, but could feel Thancreds’ little trembles, the sorrow of a man trying to hold tight.

Perhaps it was fine that he was not Hades. Even if it amused him that Hades required the aid of Hythlodaeus to look normal.

Suddenly, there was a cheerful voice breaking though the sorrow. "Drinks, huh? How about I get them?"

Zale glared up. Moenbryda. Mitron. They communicated swiftly with their glances. The woman was alive, Mitrons’ gave showed. This mourning is a little silly and funny. Zale snorted, putting his head back down. Thancred mumbled something into his fur, and Moenbryda strode off to get them the hard stuff.

Gods, Zale hated his position. Except for the way Thancred gripped to him, his scent a comfort. Eyes closing with a soft purr. This, too, would pass. Minfilia lived, though. Yet, he could not just say that.

Hopefully, she would return soon.

Chapter Text

Perhaps, Thancred pondered, he shouldn’t have drunk so much. Days later, and his head still hurt. Yet it was a simple price to pay to forget the pain of losing Minfilia. The splitting headache that he longed would take him out, at times, was more then enough.

Yet today was not the best time for it. He was finally able to drag himself the short distance to the new-ish town... city... settlement in Mor Dhona. Grovel for a job there, in memory of Minfilia. Make himself presentable, and keep the extra eyes closed. Then tell Urianger the good and bad news. Y’shtola, too.

But the main obstacle? Milleuda. Minfilias’ girlfriend, the one who wasn’t as firey as Fordola in a true sense, but her tongue was just as slick. Came from being one of the Corpse Brigade, he supposed. He was still wary of such, but Minfilia had believed in her as well. And now Milleuda was... well, she wasn’t the captain of the guard, but she was their face. The captain was a dragon, and that would put Ishgard on high alert. Hells, it wasn’t common knowledge – Thancred only knew because knowing things was what he did.

Thus, as he walked though the place – with houses having been built up on the crystal, in many different styles, he finally saw her. Or, more, she saw him, approaching a little stiffly. Her eyes focused onto him, like he were a wolf striding into a den of rabbits, and she was the mutt protecting it. She placed her hand on her hip. “Waters,” Milleuda snarled, her voice almost as unwelcome as her stance. “What do you want.”

Thancred knew his charms wouldn’t work on her – she could see though them. Thus, he let himself slump slightly. Still putting on an act, but doing his best to appear put together. “We both know what’s happened. I want to offer my services as—”

“—We already have a city whore,” Milleuda replied, even as she began to usher him towards Belias’ palace. “But I’m aware you’ve got more then that,” she added, blade by her side.

As soon as they got inside, Milleuda moved to a meeting room, sitting Thancred across from her. A small window was the only illumination, yet the room felt cozy. Personable. “With Belias across the sea, and Minfilia... gone, I have been taking command of this nation, as the head guard. Even if those immortals act as if they’ve got more say then I.” Milleuda sat back, a slight snarl in her throat. “I imagine you’re here because of Minfilias’ fate.”

Thancred nodded slightly, before he spoke. “Minfilia is dead, but her dream is not.” He had to admit, part of her dream had been separate from him, and separate from the Scions in general. She had spoken a lot about working with them, yet had gone on her own path. “A nation where all can co-exist. I have left the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, and now want to give myself to her dream.”

Milleuda examined his face closely. (She could see the slits that hid other eyes, yet didn’t know what they were.) What she could see, was a broken man wearing the mask of calmness. The sort of expression she remembered from her youth, from Corpse Brigade members who’d survived the purges. Still, she gave a little snort at him. “And what if she still lives? That’s the thing, isn’t it. Strange stuff happens here, Waters. She claimed to be consorting with Gods – and we also have not heard of the destruction Belias would bring losing his precious ‘Little Minfilia’.” Then again, Belias was in Thavanir, and stories would take a while to reach them. “Will you slink back to your Sharlayan allies with your tail between your legs?”

“No,” Thancred said truthfully. “I’ve made my choice.” His expression grew a little darker, his hands bundling into fists. “I’m tired of her running. And I’m tired of chasing her. So, please.

I’ll do anything here. Though I’m better at—”

“—I have a job for you, then,” Milleuda said, looking Thancred over. “Minfilia once informed me that Teledji Adeleji threatened her. Find out more.”

Thancred nodded quietly. Espionage. An expertise of his. Milleuda nodded back. “You may begin when you’ve finished up any other business – I doubt war is on the horizon, even with our leaders gone. I do not enjoy having to lean on them, but Lightning and her ilk do hold power we cannot.”

Myths and tales of demi-gods. Milleuda stood up, looking to Thancred with a firm look. Thancred matched her look, standing a little after her. They shook hands, the contract made.

Yet that was not the only one giving a similar look to another. No longer in the Gold Saucer, back at the beach, Oschon – the little squirrel – looked up at Minfilia with a firm and loving look. Nymeia had come with them, flopping into the sand as the sea played with her. Deities in the flesh, full of love.

Yet, Oschon seemed worried. “What now, Minfilia?” he asked, as his long tail swished. Crumbs of dirt and rocks fell from it. “You’re still having a crisis of faith, aren’t you?”

Minfilia sighed, sitting down on the sands herself. Where the land met the sea... where Oschon and Llymnaen often met, she supposed. “I can’t hide from the Gods, can I.”

Oschon quietly nodded. “You’ve seen a lot more then me,” Minfilia continued. “You’ve likely seen this before. The fight between Ascian and Man – it happened in your reality as well. But they didn’t have these other immortals involved.”

Oschon chirped, the Nutkin flopping down. “And you’re running from it.” Before Minfilia could protest, he raised a paw. “You’re seeking answers from others, but then running from what you find.”

Nymeia sat up, before flopping dramatically again. “I dunno. She’s pretty traumatized, or so the stars told me. Still,” Nymeia commented as she began to make a sand angel of sorts, “part of it are sort of messy. Like... you and the Scions. You’re pretty isolated from ‘em, right?”

“And yet,” Oschon said, now teaming up with the Hyur-like deity, “you’re expecting them to reach out, I imagine.”

“And why do you imagine that?” Minfilia asked, barely noticing her hands bundling into fists, sands and rocks falling from them.

“...the Minfilia I knew was the same,” Oschon whispered. “She tried to push herself and expected everybody else was the same. But we weren’t. None of us thought the same as her...”

“...and not simply because she had become the deity Hydaelyn,” Minfilia said quietly. “Hydaelyn Herself speaks much differently then any other. She has a beauty I cannot explain.

Would that she could speak more,” Minfilia commented, “so that I—”

“You want another to dictate your path.” Oschon now stood on Minfilias’ stomach, a paw placed down. “Because there’s far too many you could wander down. You have just so many conflicting fears and worries.”

There was silence, the ocean waves seemingly pausing under the moon, as if even the sea waited for Minfilias’ answer, for her reply. Minfilia took a deep breath inward. Before her voice stolen, her anger and fear and sorrow overwhelming her. Pressing more into the sand.

“...You were always good at reading me, Thancred. Even if you’re from another place, you know me.” Her voice was a whisper, a secret to those near her. “I do appreciate your advice, Nymeia. Seeing my fate. But... I’m scared of reconnecting with the Scions. Especially after I decided to go my own way, after defeating Ultima Weapon.

And I hate that it seems Gaius was a coward. That I’m praised for a kill I tried to stop. Now we must be concerned with him coming back as a Primal, or something similar.” Yet, that was getting off topic. “I know that Alexander gracefully returned the memories it broke. Even so, it doesn’t change the pain I felt from my former allies.

I keep remembering that, and pushing them away. I can’t help it – but I should.” Even now, Minfilia trembled as she said it. “I cannot expect them to do all the work. But nor can I.

I can’t do all that I’ve promised myself. And I hate it.”

With her worries laid out, Minfilia began to sit up, slightly shaking her hair out. Oschon remained on her, clinging slightly. “...because you’re just following your own sense of morality.

Come on, then. Let’s go fix some problems.”

Oschon settled on her, and then Minfilia paused. “You’re coming with me?”

“Ooh! I’m coming too!” Nymeia cheered, sitting up as well. “I wanna see Rhalgr again.”

It was that which helped Minfilia put it together. Following the beliefs of Ala Mhigo... heh. Yda and Lyse together, even in deityhood. Her lips curved into a smile. “Rhalgr’s been staying in Belias’ nation – Belias currently isn’t there, and—”

Oh. Minfilia froze. “They likely— oh. I would have fallen, and— we need to go.”

Now, Minfilia could teleport, but she needed to lead these two deity. Yet, she began to run, even before she fully stood up. For if she was truly seen as dead, things would not be going well.

Minfilia wasn’t the only one suffering, nor was Thancred the only one being destructive. No, as Yda strode out of the Rising Stones, she looked up to the young-old guy jumping from – and then stabbing and teleporting back to – the banner of their building. Flying backwards, stabbing it again, and moving so freely.

Almost too cheerfully, Yda waved. “Hey! Noctis! How ya doing?” The knife he was throwing landed in the lamp post next to her, and Noctis teleported to it – half-sitting on the lamp post, looking down at the older woman.

“Just practicing,” Noctis replied. “I was rusty when we were fighting. I’m glad your sister’s fine, but...” Trailing off. Quietly. “But if I’m being dragged back into this fight, I can’t let myself get worse.”

Every word was said with a half-tremble. Every pause held the sorrow that Noctis refused to voice. Leviathan had claimed two, and this time, it was his fault. (Was it? He should have kept his eye on her. Not because she couldn’t defend herself, but because of his own role in this.) “So, I’ve been trying to hit the same spot over and over.”

Already sensing what Yda wanted to ask, Noctis cracked a tiny smile. “It’s a skill my family line has. But, uh, I had to train it as well. I can also lend the power to others, but—”

“—I want it! I mean, unless it’s aetherial manipulation. I can’t do that,” Yda admitted, lifting her hair to show her Garlean third eye. “But since you’re one of those guys... uh, well, I don’t know if you guys use aether or other things...” Ydas’ cheer was fading to confusion, as she began to tap her foot against the stone of Mor Dhona. A strange silence filled the air, though, as she expected Noctis to reply.

Not noticing that he was staring out the gate, the one towards Belias’ kingdom. His eyes were wide, glowing a slight pink, before he tossed his dagger the other way, violently. Vanishing in a moment, as Yda then saw the reason why. The blond-haired, white-gowned woman who walked so confidently. Not seeming to care that Noctis was moving, that seeming to care that the very air felt toxic. Her steps were near-silent, barely lingering on the concrete. Before she seemingly teleported as well, suddenly by the other doorway.

How curious... Yda perked up a little, frowning internally. Some sort of drama? Might as well follow, she thought, as the woman was out of view.

Noctis didn’t know where he was running. He couldn’t go towards the Castrum, it’d become housing. Nor could he turn around, for she’d catch him. Perhaps, if he fled into the Tangle, fled past it— well, either he’d be able to avoid her, or he’d be above the Lake. And he’d be able to dive in. A few broken bones would be fine. Anything to avoid the feelings he got from her.

Noctis had long-accepted that he was one of the two survivors of his world. He’d seen this world grow from times before – even if anybody had been here, they had died. And they’d been reborn, sometimes remembering, and died again. Yet, this strange Stella... she’d claimed to know him deeply, and she’d not died and been reborn before.

She was a monster in the flesh of somebody who looked so much like Lunafreya, acted so much like her. A doppelganger that reminded him of one who had never been reborn. Never appeared. (Perhaps Stella was just like Lunafreya, and he’d forgotten. So many things had been lost in his long life.)

Soon, the warm mist of the lake – even though it was so far down – raised into the fog around the mark of the Scholar. One of those Gods. The sort who now lingered in Belias’ land.

But Noctis was cornered, and he knew it. He dare not turn his back on the figure who came to him calmly, nor to the stone that the God was connected to. His breath was harsh, his lip quivering slightly. “...What do you want?” Noctis finally said, confidently. One foot forward. “I’ve told you I don’t want to see you, Stella.”

Stella stood as confident as him, looking though him. “I do not recall that,” Stella said quietly, a whisper that pierced his heart. “What I do not understand is why you deny our past, Noctis.”

“And what past is that?” Noctis replied, still holding his ground.

“I— we knew each other closely,” Stella said, now stepping closer to him. Her aura still felt toxic. “I know this, in my heart.”

Without thinking, Noctis didn’t retreat – even as she closed the gap between them. Her fingers moved to brush against his clothes. “I don’t know why you’re afraid, Noctis. This is how it should be. Us, together—”

“—no. It isn’t,” Noctis replied, his eyes darting to the side. “I don’t know if you’re like those who died in that one Cycle I’ve heard about, but your memories are wrong.” Yet, even as Noctis said it, he didn’t quite believe his own words. But why? That had to be the case. “I never knew you, Stella. I did know somebody, but—

Her name was Lunafreya.”

That name seemed to make Stella stall for a moment, look away. There was a tenseness from her, before: “I... that name. I recall it, from somewhere. But I cannot remember—”

“Of course you can’t remember,” Noctis hissed, stepping towards her. Their faces up to each other, as Noctis leaned on his good leg. “Because she’s the one who I knew. She was my fiancee – I loved her.” And all Stella was... she was an imposter.

Stella did not step back. Her gaze focused on him, his eyes flickering with magic.

Quietly, then, Noctis whispered, the tiredness of the chase beginning to catch up with him. “What do you want with me, Stella.”

Stella lingered for a moment more. “You will listen to me?” A pause. Noctis still looked like he was about to run, and Stella could hear footsteps. That other woman, that unimportant one. And there was another sensation, something else watching. And yet, Stella had Noctis where she wanted him.

Her hand suddenly took his, holding it tightly. Noctis slightly recoiled. “You are one of the few things I can recall. I can barely even recall my family. I thought that if we worked together, I would remember.”

Yet, she ignored Noctis’ discomfort, still gripping his hand. To Noctis, she felt so much like he remembered as well. Just that tiny bit of strength held within... damn it. His guard dropped. “And then...?”

“And then perhaps I can find answers as well,” Stella said firmly. “I... too, want to know who this other woman was. Why me and her share so much.” As her voice trembled, Stellas’ aura almost felt more... regular. Her skin felt fleshy, instead of the strange mockery of it. Wait... as he felt her hands, he realised the feeling he’d had from her hands as they shifted.

Crystal. Something inside Noctis shifted, he felt sick, as he began to realise a little what Stella might be. Some form of Manikin...? But then, she’s not anything that existed before, was she? Manikin were copies of living people, not like this. Not... corrupted like this.

Corrupted... was Stella a corrupted manikin of Lunafreya this whole time? The idea made Noctis feel sick to his very soul. If that could even be true, he—

“I’ll help you,” Noctis said firmly. “I’ll... help you.”

Stella almost collapsed into his arms – exhausted, feeling alive, soft tears beginning to form on her eyes. Any bravado vanished.

And that’s when Yda spoke up. “...hey, you okay, Noctis?”

Noctis didn’t know. Yet he gave a tiny little nod. “Let’s get back to somewhere less Morbol-smelling. I— me and Stella have a lot to discuss.”

And yet, as Noctis held Stella, Yda approached to walk next to him. Again, giving that soft smile. “Well, you know! I can help you two sort things out! Y’know – Prince and runaway Empress! Well, child of the Emperor, but Garlemald doesn’t really have a succession plan? So I’m not really...”

Noctis was quiet. Glancing slightly at Yda as she rambled, weakly smiling. So she was... hm. He wondered. But he couldn’t ask that now. A gentle kindness came from her.

But for now, Noctis, Stella, and Yda made their way back to a safer place...

Chapter Text

Perhaps, in retrospect, Zale hadn’t been sleeping enough. But he had to try and be there at the best time. Where? Why, wherever Igeyorhm was working. It could be her back in Ishgard, or she could have decided another project took her fancy. She was often doing whatever she felt like, and calming down the Unsundered afterwards. It helped that she didn’t tend to fuck things up like he did, and often lingered close to Mitron. Favoritism was a thing, it seemed.

Yet, the early morning frost soon brought familiar footsteps – though in a slightly heavier coat then normal. Zale looked at the approaching Igeyorhm, catching her fist as she approached. A violence they both shared, as he moved to kick her feet out from under her – only missing because she teleported slightly back. “Why, Lahabrea. You’re getting slow.”

Zale rolled his eyes. “And you’re getting predictable. But this isn’t about us.” Every word was said sharply, a fire burning within. A passion Igeyorhm hadn’t seen for quite some time. “It’s about the boy.”

Now this was interesting. Igeyorhm landed on the snow, looking over Zale. He wasn’t dressed for this place – for the Hall of the Seven Echoes was colder then normal. Especially in these small pockets, areas to hide and scheme. “Which boy would that be…?” she said, a bit of a smirk on her lips.

“Don’t play dumb, Igeyorhm!” Zale roared, his anger overwhelming him, as he managed to get a grip on her. Slamming her body against the wall by his side. It wouldn’t really hurt her, but the message was there. “What did you do to Alphinaud.”

Ah, so this wasn’t their usual method of greeting. Igeyorhm put a hand to his paws, the ones pressing her against the rocky walls. With a swift movement with her other hand, she removed her mask. “His father was a mule. You know cases where Ascian and man lay together end in such, and his father was Loghrif.” It was said so casually. Yet Zales’ eyes grew wider, angrier. Still, Igeyorhm continued. “He’s a sweet man, if not overly concerned with appearances. And far too dedicated to Hydaelyns’ failing plans. But, when I got pregnant? When that body decided it wanted to carry children?

I knew it would come with complications.” Now, Igeyorhm had slipped out of Zales’ grip, moving to kick him from behind. Yet Zale reacted quickly, whipping her foot with his tail. “We were to have twins. Both were seemingly born healthy.

Yet, only one body was born with a soul, the other soon fading.” Igeyorhms’ movements slowed. Was that sorrow? “A child with the blood of the ancients… none of us knew how he would grow.”

Zale gripped her again, his paw now around her neck. “And you decided it was better not to tell him.”

“I decided,” Igeyorhm said calmly, “not to tell his father. However, Alphinaud clung to his father, and was not showing any strangeness. Thus, I felt it best not to cause distress.”

“Even when he left the nation? You had to know he’d begin to show signs of something,” Zale snarled, his claws now out. “You left him to burn out, didn’t you. You wanted him to cause more damned chaos for Lord Zodiark—”

“—I am not like Athena,” Igeyorhm said, and Zale flinched at the name. Igeyorhm moved again, now just out of reach – her gaze on one of his arms, a quiet apology. “If that mortal body of mine was not dead, I would have been sending him information.” Her voice was growing softer. Still with that coldness that only Igeyorhm could make sound kind. “Yet now, he is unstable due to a loss not even we could handle.

This is not something I anticipated, Lahabrea.”

Zale was shaking in rage, his claws now piercing the rock behind him. Scraping down it like a wild beast. “And you have no plan? Or are you busy meddling in the war of dragon and man?”

“You are my plan,” Igeyorhm retorted, now landing with a little huff. “I know you wouldn’t be able to resist caring for the boy, once I saw you getting involved. And you know the price of failure better then any. Thus, I decided to trust you with this, even without your abilities.” A little smirk, as Igeyorhm strolled towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And perhaps, if you can keep him safe, I can put in a good word with his step-grandmother Mitron, hm?”

“You know Mitron is right there, correct?” Zale asked, now barely looking at Igeyorhm. “If our dear unsundered overlord wants me back, they can do it themselves.” Huff huff. “But… very well. I’ll take care of him. I’ll teach him what I can.” And yet, Zale did not move. No, he was trembling in his rage, consumed. Igeyorhm moved her hand to his cheek, tenderly.

There was a gentleness to her touch that Zale ignored, instead snarling deeply. Even his Hrothgar body had scars from what happened. “We’re not going to replace you, Lahabrea,” Igeyorhm reassured. “It was… cruel to awaken the Heart, but the death of Lord Zodiark is hurting us all.”

“I don’t get it.” Zale now whispered, his breath slow. “Why didn’t they fight against it? Why weren’t they raging against the heavens? We need Lord Zodiark. The Final Days—”

“—I know. I know…” Igeyorhm was almost sounding motherly. The mask she wore, then. “But… Lahabrea. I want you to listen. Not to the sounds of this land, but to beyond.”

Silence. Not just silence, but Zale could feel Igeyorhm using her own abilities. What the others called the Echo. And as she did, as the silence of nature struck him, Zale realised one terrifying – both in the good and bad way – thing.

It was silent. The skies no longer screamed out their melody, nor did the star itself. There was silence, the sort that lingered before the Final Days. And between the two, between the cousins, there was a silent understanding.

Lord Zodiarks’ original duty was complete. Thus why Lord Zodiark would have begun to crumble, why souls from within were beginning to return. “…what does this mean for Elidibus?” Zale asked quietly, not wanting to confront any of his other questions. Igeyorhm shook her head, cluelessly.

For now, the two remained in silence. Igeyorhm placing one hand to Lahabreas’ arm, the other cupping his face, giving him gentle pets. She knew that, eventually, she would need to leave and continue working.

And yet, for now, they both needed the comfort. Lord Zodiark was slowly dying, and there was nothing they could do.

Far away, the fact that nobody could seemingly do something to stop the death of Lord Zodiark hit differently. Nabriales was half-asleep, looking up quietly from his tree nest as he noticed the wind beginning to blow. A bitter wind, the toxic air seemingly growing worse. But even with that, he dare not let his tree die. As his eyes closed again, the burning wind rushing over him, a voice called out.

Cracking one eye open, Nabriales looked to his side. Ah. Mitron. “What’s up?” Nabriales asked, stretching out even more. This was the half that had been Solus, it looked like. “Finally die?”

“You got me,” Mitron said, seemingly standing on air. “That body finally gave up. It was fun! Dying, I mean.” A long pause, as Mitron seemed to have something to add. “Oh, right. I decided to frame that other immortal. I thought he could use some silliness.”

“Ardyn, right?” Nabriales replied, a chuckle in his throat.

Nodding, Mitron stepped closer in the air. Not quite touching the tree. “He’s become too relaxed, so I made it look like he poisoned me. By poisoning myself.”

But Nabriales knew what this really meant. “So who won?”

Right down to business! Mitron pouted, now hovering just above Nabriales, before flopping down on him. Now, usually, Mitron was bigger then Nabriales. They had a love of using a feminine body, looking like a Roegadyn. But for now, Mitron was Lalafell-sized. Comfortable and not touching the tree. Mitron knew how defensive Nabriales was of, well, her. That Viera that he was attached to, her corpse grew into this tree.

Both of them were slaves to sentimentality. How cruel. “Well, Nabriales. Garlemald is a nation of chaos and cruelty. And I still need to reunite with the other me, but from what I’ve heard, Sharlayan is a nation of cowards and false harmony.

But… Nabriales! I think we have a bit of a problem with the contest.” Without waiting for the brown-haired Hyur to respond, Mitron continued. “You see, the prize is causing a calamity. But… that’s the problem! Because—”

Mitron tried to continue, but Nabriales lazily covered their mouth, expression growing dark. “So we’re going there. The death of our dear Lord Zodiark,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “It didn’t have to be this way, did it? We could have noticed when you became Solus.”

“Or,” Mitron mused, pushing away Nabriales’ hand, “perhaps when we began to hear about familiar souls. But I’m blind, and you’re focused on your favorite little nation. Of course we didn’t notice until it was too late.”

Nabriales tsked, shifting a bit. “I’ve got a legacy to bury, Mitron. You’d understand if you were in my position. But… what now? We can’t try and rejoin Lord Zodiark if he’s falling apart.”

Getting more cozy, Mitron looked up at the other. “Actually, that’s not my concern, either! Even if it’s horrific. No… with Lord Zodiark falling apart, we would have expected the Final Days to continue. We never mended the star, only sheltered it.”

“From the Sound,” Nabriales mumbled. “But it hasn’t— have you noticed the silence?” With Mitron nodding, Nabriales let out another soft snarl. “Either you’re both blind and deaf, or something has happened to silence it. Now, neither of us really were involved in the concept, just looking over it—”

“—I still think Lord Zodiark should have had gills,” Mitron added, Nabriales half-ignoring the Lalafell.

“Our duty, Mitron. All we’ve done. It’s been all in service of restoring a god who’s now falling apart. I ruined those I cared for, all for that— all for nothing!”

Nabriales suddenly sat up. A hard breath to his voice, anger boiling over. Mitron gave a little chirp, seeming less fragile then the Hyur-shaped Ascian. “I was going to Ascend her, Mitron. We’d discussed it. She would not be one of us, remembering the past, but— I’d have a companion to rely on. Like you and Loghrif.” Every word was not directed towards Mitron, but towards the tree. Towards Fran. “But we needed a Calamity, and we could use what Vaan had done before. It was so easy to get him to do it.

…Do you think I mourn Ivalice, Mitron?” Nabriales asked, as he stood. As Mitron was tossed down, before hovering by Nabriales. “No. I mourn the few I came to love. Those who now look at me with scorn . But you don’t get it, Mitron.

Because you have Loghrif.”

Mitron stared, before trying to offer out a hand. Offer out understanding, but it was not taken. “…Well, I guess we won’t be discussing what’s next.

Though, what are you planning? Those sundered are already long-gone. Except for that demon, but we both know he’s likely consumed the soul you cared for.” Mitron didn’t realise just how much of a sore point he was hitting.

That is, until Nabriales whipped out his scorpion tail and knocked Mitron away. “Nothing has changed, Mitron. Even without Lord Zodiark, I can’t stop my schemes in Ishgard. They’re close to finally killing some of those damned immortals.” His voice was low. “And… I think it’s time for me to move on, Mitron.

But how can the villain move on, if their heroes still live? If they still breathe and continue to play out their parts? Oh, dear Mitron.

I think it’s time to play my part to its conclusion. After all, you’ve come to whatever conclusion makes sense to you. The other you will be complete soon, and thus – won’t it be fun to watch me destroy my obsession?”

Nabriales laughed, a sorrow bubbling up though his throat. He mourned already, but he had mourned so much for who he was. What was another step off the cliff, descending into darkness even more?

Chapter Text

Bolormaa and G’raha had been sleeping in the same bed. Honestly, the two of them hadn’t even asked the other about it. It just felt right. The sun shone into their shared room, in one of the many half-constructed homes of Mor Dhona. With a stretch, Bolormaa began to wake – before blinking, and flinching at the buzz of a Linkpearl call. G’raha, too, began to twitch his ears and tried to silence it. "Good morning, G’raha," Bolormaa said – removing her Linkpearl for a moment. Examining it, wondering if she should answer it.

For his part, G’raha pressed his to listen – and both Bolormaa and G’raha could hear the shout. "—gone missing, and the Tower is beginning to spew out monsters!" The voice on the other side was Cid, sounding both terrified and angry. "We need to see what’s going on, right away – we’ll be meeting in about an hour in the Labyrinth."

While they listened, Bolormaa had already begun to get dressed. Hiding her body behind a divider, as she got her usual robes on. G’raha peered over at her muscles, her strong body. And the bruises on her torso… "Once we’re done this," G’raha asked, admiration in his voice, "we should hunt down that beast that hurt you. So we can check out the blade…?" Honestly, G’raha thought it’d be so cool to do more with Bolormaa. She was a real hero! And a real adventurer!

As she slipped on her upper gown, Bolormaa looked over at G’raha – who was now getting dressed as well. "I’d love to. How much do you know— well, I’ll just say it. Us Dotharl don’t tend to let something best us, unless our flesh has perished." Her tail now wiggling, Bolormaa picked up her staff. "But we’ve gotta make sure things are fine. Do you think it’s…?"

A quiet hm, as G’raha looked to his hands. The same hands that had so easily controlled Nero. The tower and him were connected. Just as G’raha had a connection to it. But if he was some form of automation, perhaps the tower called to him, and he finally went to show them how much better he was then whatever was within. But should they tell the others…?

Perhaps he’d change his mind when he saw how many Cid had called to. It seemed he’d contacted Milleuda, as well – since there were those of Mor Dhona in attendance. Including Milleuda herself, who was tending to the dragon Chlodebaimt, giving his armour one last check over. Lyse and Yda conversed with both Papalymo and the tiny Rhalgr, as Arenvald watched in awe. Meanwhile, on the other side of Cid (and Cordis), Lightning was discussing something-or-other with Y’shtola (Y’shtola seeming to glance at Minfilia and back a bit), as Noctis and Stella both tried not to disrupt. All together, there were fifteen of them. As G’raha and Bolormaa arrived, Cid was about to begin – when G’raha took a deep internal sigh, and went up to him.

"Listen, Cid. There’s something you should know," G’raha whispered. Cid looked to the Miqo’te, stress in his eyes. "It’s about this. And Nero."

"—If it might help us figure out why, then fine. Tell me. But quickly – we don’t know what’s in that tower, but it’s gotten the attention of them."

(Them, in this case, being Lightning and Noctis. Some had to stay behind, of course, to make sure Mor Dhona wasn’t left defenseless.)

G’raha explained. Nero was an automation, like the sort Allag used as warriors, except he came from a program that seems to have been connected to Ultima Weapon. He’d been buried and forgotten, and then found again. Cid listened, his heart aching. (The clicking of Alexander telling him it wasn’t a lie. The comfort of his God was one thing that kept Cid sane.)

Thus, Cid had to change the speech he’d gotten ready. "…Ahem. It seems that we cannot fully blame Nero for his actions, even if they’re reckless. However, our goal remains the same. Enter the tower, secure the tower, and make sure that nothing within is a threat to Eorzea – before we can study it. That does include any excitable researchers, by the way." That was said right at G’raha and Bolormaa, who were now standing ready. Bolormaa peering at his bow, mentally calculating if it oculd be improved. "As such, we shall split into three groups of five. In order to wrangle said researchers, they’re with me. As is Cordis.

The rest of you, make groups. Make sure you’ve got a healer with you – we don’t know what’s going to be in there."

As Cid paused, the groups began to form. Suddenly, Cid felt a tug on his leg. He looked down, and he could see Rhalgr chirping at him. "Hey, the Ala Mhigans all decided to go together. Mind if I join your group?"

It felt so strange that the Twelve were real, even now. But Cid nodded. "I haven’t seen what you’re capable of, but if we need to destroy stuff, you’re our— gal."

Rhalgr nodded. "Oh, I saw that hesitation. Technically, none of us have what you’d think of as gender. So it’s fine whatever you call us. As long as it’s not savages!" The small floating creature floated right up to Cids’ face. "You get it, though. Don’t ya, Alexander?"

Cid – Alexander – then spoke to Rhalgr. "You know your place here, Rhalgr. You will not compromise this star, and fufill your role." Shaking his head, Cid took back over. "—Alexander made you come here?"

A shrug. "We’d need to ask Althyk, honestly," Rhalgr replied with a chirp. "Because I’m clueless. Honestly, I miss him."

Cid then looked over. Seemed that everybody was set. Milleuda was with the dragon and the otherworlders, Y’shtola and the Ala Mhigans were together.

It was time to explore. 

Yet, inside, Nero was already exploring. The sounds had gotten too much. He was still broadcasting to Aulus, Aulus trying to keep Nero focused. Every step Nero made was not of his own will. "It’s so strange," Nero commented.

"What is?" Aulus replied. There were so many things that were wrong – what, exactly, was strange?

Nero chuckled. "The stairs. We know – and saw – that Allag has many forms of teleportation. Why would they use stairs in their tower?" It was something so simple. The blue of the crystal – almost blinding, honestly, and quite tacky, or so Aulus thought – reflected Neros’ reflection as he walked upwards, guided by an unknown hand.

"That’s what you’re concerned with." Aulus said in a deadpan. To Nero, the voice was filled with static. Something blocking it. If Nero went much further, he’d be along.

(Had either of them ever been fully alone, since awakening?)

Aulus didn’t want to admit it, either, but he was so curious. He wanted to poke into the backrooms, the rooms Nero walked past. The creatures of the tower ignored Nero, as he moved. Before he paused, walking from one set of stairs to a path that seemed to assemble itself in front of him.

Nero blipped gently. "There are so, so many things I need to work out, Asina. Starting from the stairs is simply logical."

It really wasn’t.

Nero stepped onto the path, the silver steel, yet felt a deep fear in his very essense. His soul, if he had such a thing. His head began to ache, as he approached a door in the wall. A hand went to it, shuddering slightly.

The door opened.

Inside was what seemed to be… a living area? This high in the tower? If not for the crystal coating on the outer wall, it would even be able to look down upon the former empire below. A table with a tree though it sat in the middle of the room, with scattered tomestones and tomestone readers covering it. The ground was stone, carved out of crystal. But the side tables of the room—

Well, there was a corpse there, frozen in time. A corpse that looked a lot like the murals and paintings of Amon that Nero had seen, blood dried below him. Star charts and odd flowers surrounded him, ones that glowed in many rainbow colours. (Yet most of them were grey or purple, especially the one that the other corpse gripped tight in one hand.) Nero was focused far too much on the body, staring. "Are you seeing this bullshit, Aulus?

…Aulus?"

His communication channel was blocked. Nero paused. And then heard a click behind him, from the other side of the room. Out of control, Nero turned. Another Amon…?

This one was alive. His movements were swift, as he approached Nero. Touched his cheek (with gloved hands). His face – Elezen, blue-skinned, a twisted mirror of Nero – twisted into a soft smile. "Ah. I missed you, Theta. Look at you."

Nero snarled. "Why, I didn’t think somebody’d force me to their side. In fact, I don’t think it’s quite right." Nero was still trying to appear confident.

The stranger – the second Amon – looked into Neros’ eyes. Behind his eyes was a distaste. "You’re still disobedient. How sad. Fine."

He stepped backwards. Nero couldn’t follow. "You simply don’t remember. But your mind does. Theta, report." Nero hadn’t noticed that Amon had switched to speaking in Allagan.

Nero, however, did notice when he began talking without wanting to. A voice that wasn’t him. "Unknown time has passed since the Crystal Tower was frozen. None have attempted to enter until five years ago, when the Crystal Tower re-appeared. Silvertear Lake has been breached. Contact has only been made with Tau Weapon.

Ascian activity is currently unknown. It has not been monitored.

Voidsent activity— Voidsent activity? What am I on about?" Nero finally snarled, snapping out of it. Shaking his head.

Amon tsked, walking over to the corpse. The other him. Gently placing a hand to his back. "You are so clueless. Poor Theta. You must have been so lost.

Do you see this, Theta?" Even now, Nero felt that name in his very essence, yet he denied it. "This man was an Ascian," Amon explained. "He was killed – yet, not by me. A pity.

I am his clone." Now turning back to Nero, Amon – the clone Amon – gave a twisted smile. "And you are mine. From a time before I figured out how to raise Lord Xande from the dead."

The clone Amon then raised a hand – and gently placed it to Nero, stroking his cheek. Gently carrassing his cheek, up to his hair. Checking over every hair, fussing over this robot of a man. Pausing as he peered, saw the scars. "It seems you’ve been getting into trouble, my dear," Amon whispered, his voice focused. "Then again…"

Another swift movement, as Amon forced Nero to stand, pulling him back by his hair. Nero tried to protest, but his voice was now fully stolen.

"You were always a failure of the program. Let me guess – you’ve lost those memories? Answer me."

Again, he spoke with a voice betraying his horror. "No memories remain from before the Tower began to awaken, 25 years ago. Your signal awoke myself and Tau Weapon – the others are unreachable at this time, and likely destroyed by the passage of time. However."

Damn! Nero wished he could shut up, for once in his life! "Ultima was found in their other form, and used, and discarded."

"Ah," the second Amon said, now sitting on the corpse of himself. Gently placing his free hand to the wound – something sharp stabbed though him, to cause it. "So that’s how it is.

You know what to do, then, don’t you?"

Get out of here, Nero wished he could say. Reclaim himself. Perhaps even prove he didn’t need this man. But instead, he felt the mechanics in his body beginning to wiggle under his flesh. "Locating Omega Weapon to insure nothing comes in the way of Lord Xande." Fuck. Even the way he saluted felt wrong and gross. It wasn’t Garlean, but it was similar. "What happened to Lord Amon? The original."

The clone paused. Removed his finger from the wound, the white glove still stainless. A slight scowl entered his voice. "One of those immortal beings came in here and killed him. How rude! Claiming he wasn’t like he was before." A snort. "Does it matter if we’re who we were before, Theta Weapon?"

Nero found he could talk. He just couldn’t disobey, it seemed. "It seems you’re pretty attached to who I was before."

"Oh, I’m not," Amon replied, coldly. "You’re just a machine. Whatever you have in there is just a glitch, Theta Weapon." Finally, Amon turned away, and Nero felt as if he was in control of his faculties again. Without thinking, he reached for a gun, a blade, anything—!

"I expect those intruders who have broken the seal on the Crystal Fortress will find me and kill me, Theta Weapon," Amon said, looking to the ceiling. His voice oddly calm. "And so, I am glad you are here—"

Bang.

A bullet, right though Amon. Though his head. There was a long pause, before Amon turned again on his heels. He bowed, as he removed his hat. And… his mask?

The Duskwight-like face didn’t look amused – as black blood dripped down his face, the bullet lodged in his head. A face that mirrored Neros’ own. Green eyes too gentle for the monster in front of Nero tilted upwards in delight. "How rude. Would you interrupt a play before your cue? Honestly! That’s more horrific then any experiment I’ve done!" As he spoke, Nero felt himself losing more and more control, the thoughts of serving this man corrupting him. Like a primal…? "Theta Weapon. I was going to let you scurry back and die to them. At least, then, you would have been useful.

But… no."

Amon had now stood, at the door. "You will be playing a far more important role in Lord Xandes’ plan, Theta Weapon.

Activate the failsafe."

Chapter Text

"So."

Even if they were meant to be rushing, Bolormaa and G’raha were in conversation as they ascended Syrcus Tower. Cid was half-breathless, Cordis limped as he kept one foot in front of the other, and Rhalgr chirped and danced around, often hovering over to the Ala Mhigans. Yet, Bolormaa was leaning up, looking at one of the teleportation crystals – G’raha peering a little beyond it.

"So?"

"Do you think they use the same technology as aetherytes?" Bolormaa asked, poking the cube. "Or, well – is this the same as an Aetheryte?"

G’raha prodded at it as well, tail beginning to swish. "I don’t think so. Unlike aetheryte networks, there’s no attuning to these." Yet, he tapped a claw against one. "I do think it’d be fun to have a bit of a look at these after this, though. I wonder if they could be used for teleportation back here…" 

"The range, you mean?" Bolormaa replied, chirping. Ignorant to the fact that Cid was calling to them, trying to get them to move on – they had a fight to do. "Well, I imagine the further away, the higher risk there is. I mean, what if you only half-teleport? Or end up in the lifestream?"

"Could somebody survive that?" G’raha asked – before, quite suddenly, Lightning was next to the two of them.

Her expression was half-tired, half-annoyed. "Yes, you could. Now get moving. You’re the only two not ready." They had already defeated Scylla, mind you. G’raha had gone on about how much this proved, that the story of hound-headed mages weren’t just stories, and he felt so bad that they couldn’t try and calm her to talk about her. But madness had gripped those inside. Bolormaa nodded, placing her hand to G’raha with a gentle smile.

"Well. We can poke around later. We will, right?"

Lightning looked at Bolormaa, a slight sadness breaking out in her heart. That familiar feeling kept bubbling up. But she had no reason to express it, as Bolormaa shoved G’raha foward playfully.

Y’shtola stood by Lightning, as Lightning charged at the large man before them. Yet, even though combat, she focused on the other woman. "You cannot deny it forever," Y’shtola mused. "Even if you have eternity."

"This—" Lightning cut at the massive beast (Glasya Labolas, who G’raha Tia pointed out was not a man he wished he could talk to) "—is not the time, Shtola." Lightning thought the sounds of combat would mask that word, mask that she showed that she cared about Y’shtola in such a deep way - and that Y’shtola accepted it, seeing as Y’shtola had not just blasted Lightning out of the way.

But Glasya Labolas was not a strong man. As he fell, his blood staining the platform below them, there was an undignified snort from Milleuda. "Wow, didn’t know you liked each other. And here I thought the Scions and Mor Dhona were enemies."

"What gave you that impression?" Y’shtola asked, strategically pivoting the conversation as they moved upwards. (There was a whine in the air, a sound that she could hear. From a quick glance, Y’shtola also noticed Cordis’ and G’rahas’ ears twitching in annoyance – and Arenvalds’ new Moogle ears, as well.) "I believed that we had shown no resistance to any of your leaders’ plans." Every word was chosen so very carefully, to show her feelings. Now, Y’shtola did not mind that they lived on the land that belong to the tribes, nor did she mind that they were reclaiming it. What she did mind, however, was how Papalymo spoke of it.

"Papalymo claimed our move was to move to a less… politically active area," Y’shtola said, and Milleuda let out a roar that only a Corpse Brigade member could.

A beat. (The whine was growing louder.) "So he moved to the place where hounds and beasts come together? I knew Ul’dah was full of the worst kind of people, but he decided that the Gigas was better?" Milleuda needed to wipe a tear from her eye, as Arenvald gave a little snort as well. "But, seriously. Your group – they’re meant to not be political?"

Y’shtola nodded, her ears closing slightly, knowing where this was going. Their shared thought. "Yet, with your actions in Eorzea – while they do not favour a single nation, they still alter the very fabric of the nations.

I’ve heard the rumours, Y’shtola Rhul. Of that child. And his plans." Alphinaud. His new paramilitary. "If his foolishness causes trouble for Lord Belias, I will not hold back."

"It isn’t the time," Lightning the snorted, "for this kind of thing."

For the source of the whine was now visible. As the stairs ended, a stage sat in front of them. Chairs filled with skeletons – corpses? – sat surrounding it, arms forced into a mid-clap. The sound of false clapping was pumped into the stage area, as Nero tol Scaeva sat in the middle of the stage, whining with the dullest of looks forward. He sat splayed out, like a toddler who tried to stand up and failed horribly. His eyes dull, having shifted to a purple colour.

Ropes had been tied to each of his limbs, like a puppet. Tying them to the top of the stage. It was G’raha who tried to rush forward first, but Bolormaa put out her arm. Whispering to him. "Shoot from here. Need to get ‘im free without hurting him."

"For answers, right." G’raha nodded. Moving to draw his bow. But even as G’raha prepared himself, Cid couldn’t help himself. (Alexander couldn’t help itself.) Cid stepped forward, his own strings pulled tight. One man approaching the other.

Perhaps it was the pathetic way that Cid moved that snapped Nero out of his whining. His eyes focused on the other, but words did not come to either of them. Nero huffed. Others tried to make their way onto the stage, but as they did – as Rhalgr tried to move up first – an aetherial barrier went up.

"Come now," the cruel voice of Amon echoed, many of the group prickling at it, "please don’t interupt the show. You’ve plenty of seats."

"I’d rather not," G’raha said, his ears pricking backwards as he realised who this was. (For her part, Bolormaa did not voice her curiosity. Had any of them met him before?)

"Hecking, are you…" The voice echoed, before the skeletons began to rise up – and began to fight against the group. Of course.

But on the stage, Nero was the first to talk – his voice more robotic, his mouth not moving. "Hah… come to laugh at me, Garlond? I can believe it."

Cid did not talk. Alexander did, stealing his voice. "There are many possibilities that lead from this." Yet, as the Primal spoke though Cid, Nero glanced at his face. For once, he did not mock it – for in his weakest state, he could see Cid also looked horrified. Bah. Was Garlond fighting too? Nero hoped so. "However." Alexander looked up beyond, to behind the stage. "I can only see one possibility for you. You made that choice for yourself, then?"

Of course. Of course even the bloody Primal that controlled Garlond cared more about others then him. Nero felt his blood (blood? Did he even have blood?) boiling, an anger he hadn’t felt for at least a few weeks. He trembled. He raised a hand, the ropes tightening, trying to keep him looking so fragile. And yet, Nero grabbed one of Cids’ legs.

Alexander looked back at him. (Cid looked to Nero, baffled for a moment.) Nero snarled. "If we’re meant to be having a duologue, then don’t get bloody distracted by the man behind the curtain!" Nero snarled, and Alexander paused for a moment. Was he considering his words…? "That damned man back there sent out a signal. It called to me. And I can’t disobey – and usually, I don’t want to. Sound familiar, Garlond?"

Nero then looked to those below the stage, fighting skeletons. Sneering at them. "Let me guess. You think I wanted to come here? No, for once, I was going to wait until all of you were ready." A snort, even as he was still stuck, unable to gesture as he wanted. "Even if you couldn’t have gotten in without me. Turns out I’m from this Tower, and this clown— well, he wanted me back.

But." Nero said, his resolve not faltering, even as a shadow loomed over him. He could tell his ropes were loosening. "He forgot one thing."

Nero then turned, getting the first hit on Amon. Finally! Actually getting him to react to the hit, unlike the gunshot. "Nero Scaeva doesn’t belong to anybody. Perhaps Garlond belongs to some Primal. Perhaps you all belong to something else.

But Nero Scaeva is free—"

Amon pulled Neros strings close. Suddenly pulling the man into his grasp as he stepped forward, holding him like a broken doll. "Aw. How cute," Amon mused, as he looked at him. "He has no idea! But you do, don’t you." He looked right at Cid. At Alexander, speaking as if he was an old friend. "You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long." A fake softness entered Amons’ voice. "I don’t get it."

Now, he looked to the crowd. They had defeated his creatures, and now were trying to disable the field. Some of them striking at it, others looking for the generator. "So many of you are older then even I. You, of all people, should understand. We’re doomed.

…But you’ve heard all of this before. From before I was born."

Amon clicked his fingers – one arm still holding Nero, and the field fell. Some of the group fell forward. Noctis, for example, almost fell before warp striking to the top of the curtains. Stella stepped forward, reaching out her arms to grab him, both of their expressions awkward even in this combat situation. "Kill me, then. And pay the price."

There was no hesitation. Lightning suddenly darted forward, knocking Amon down. Nero went flying, his body flopping like a rag doll – a loud cracking sound coming from him. She then knocked him upwards, as Snow charged up and cracked Amons’ skull with a single swing of his fists.

Yda and Lyse both stared in awe. Before Yda gave a laugh. "So, uh, we should learn from him then—"

"Yda! Concentrate!" Papalymo yelled, as he shot off fire and ice below the oddly easy to strike opponent. Amon wasn’t dodging, nor fighting back. But the whine had returned. Nero wasn’t making it on purpose – no, the Miqo’te of the room could hear it more clearly, and it was coming from his body.

Within moments, Amon was dead. Most of the group rushed forward. But Bolormaa, G’raha, and Cid lingered behind. Cid put a hand to his head, weakly. "Thanks, Alexander. You’re a real help."

G’raha began to untie Nero, and Nero looked up at the Miqo’te. "Is he gone?" Nero asked, and G’raha nodded weakly. "Don’t lie to me, boy."

"He’s there bleeding out. Just— sit up and look at it?" G’raha replied, his fur puffing up. "Why would I lie about it?"

"Well," Bolormaa said, not noticing how serious the situation was, "if you wanted to question one of the meanest meanies of Allag."

G’raha whipped around to look to her, with a baffled look on his face. "He was trying to kill us!"

Nodding a little, Bolormaa hummed. "We lived, though. But—"

"Can you two stop flirting?" Nero sneered, managing to push himself upwards. Skin fell from his arms, and sparks came from his body, mostly his torso. A black liquid dripped from his body. "I can still hear him, you idiots." Even as he spoke, any sense of his Garlean voice was fading, replaced by the mechanical voice deep within him. "He… had my face. Amon had my face."

"Because he gave it to you," Bolormaa said quietly. "Because he wanted you as… as…"

"A replacement," Nero mumbled. His eyes closing. "Seems I’ve got something else to solve. But you. You had a vision where you were there, weren’t you? With my siblings."

Bolormaa nodded, as Cid and G’raha listened. G’raha kept one ear focused on the battle he could hear elsewhere, but he was concerned about Nero, he had to admit. "Yeah. I was there. I think that Bolormaa worked in Allag, at one point. Anyway, I never told you what Ser Amon was planning, did I?"

Nero raised a hand. His blue glow had turned red. "You didn’t. But I suppose I’ll let you tell me, now. It’s a pity I didn’t get to discover it myself."

Bolormaa let out a deep sigh. "Okay, so. They didn’t know if they could bring back the dead. I mean, Ser Amon didn’t know. So when he managed to get some of Omegas’ eggs— um, Omega Weapon lays eggs, I guess? — anyway, he planned on using some of the children to bring back Xande."

"Since that was his obsession," G’raha said, crossing his arms. "Also, we don’t really have historical records of anything Omega. Just rumours that it’s buried out somewhere in Mor Dhona."

G’raha was trying, he really was.

"He… you’re his robotic replacement."

Nero then shook his head. "You know what’s funny? I’m not even the replacement of that guy." A snort, as he tried to get to his feet. "He killed the real Amon. He’s a clone." Why did Nero find it so funny? Well. "So… he’s not even getting replaced.

Not that I’m going to— well. Nobody can be rid of me that easily. Eh, Garlond?"

Cid did not reply. (The ticking was too loud. Alexander was screaming though him, using his mind and aether to calculate… something.) However, instead of being stilled like usual, Cid suddenly picked up Nero – even if he was heavier then a regular person, Cid picked him up like he was nothing. His voice, when it came out – was it Cid talking? Was it Alexander? It was hard to tell. "You’re not dying here," one of the two said quietly. "That includes being overwhelmed by this other mind."

Nero tsked. "So we’re missing the action, then," he said quietly, letting down his guard for a moment. They were to live, then. "You’re going to miss the fireworks."

"Unlike you," Cids’ body said, now sounding a bit more like the man then the machine, "I can trust in them not to bugger things up. We came to see what activated the tower, and that’s what we did."

"—A Voidgate."

Cid could finally think for himself again, Alexander no longer controlling his movements. But as soon as he’d gotten bask to their base camp, exhaustion had overtaken him, and he’d collapsed. Both him and Nero were now laying on the ground. His legs severed from his body – but perhaps he could fix him.

Yet, he looked at the group who had returned from the Crystal Tower, expression brow with worry.

There was a pause, as the group tried to decide who was talking for them, before Lightning stepped forward. "Yes. After the death of the being up the top of the tower—"

"—The flesh and blood Xande," G’raha added, "who’d been frozen in time to try and save himself from the Calamity."

..yes, and his death called a Voidgate opened, but it was not large enough for the being within to pass though." Lightning let out a harsh sigh, shaking her head. "It continues to tear at the Gate, however, and we cannot let that happen."

Cid nodded. He didn’t know why she showed such conviction— "Because it’s another one of the Gods’ Warriors," Noctis said, stepping forward, actually sounding authoritative. "One of them who fought on the… other side."

"Right," Lightning nodded. "Not all of those who fought for Chaos and Spiritus were evil, but some were." As she spoke, she looked to Snow, and he blunk a few times, before shaking his head.

"You aren’t including me in the evil group, are you?" Snow asked, and Lightning snorted, before closing her eyes.

"Even if I had, I gave you my blessing." But then, Lightning looked sad for a moment. "Doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve changed. And she’s…"

A wave of sorrow seemed to hit them, before Milleuda spoke. "As the highest authority of this nation at the current moment, and until Lord Belias returns, I shall have guards posted at the Crystal Tower. They shall inform us of any changes to within, or any signs of increased Void activity.

You." Milleuda looked to G’raha, right in the eyes. "And those you work for. You will be expected to find a way to solve this issue." A pause, as Milleuda considered her next action – before she looked to Rhalgr, kneeling slightly. "And you. Lord Rhalgr, breaker of worlds. I expect your assistance as well, if you may."

Milleuda paused again, before shaking her head. "What would Minfilia say if she lived, to know I, too, grew to work alongside the Gods as she hoped to…?"

"…I would be proud of you."

There was a silence, as the group looked across the crystal-touched plains, to see Minfilia with a nutkin nested on her, and another smaller creature dancing around her – one that looked like a tiny cloaked sage, with a veil of starlight. She looked so very tired, but— she lived. Leaning on a cane, Minfilia gave a tiny wave. Minfilia had to brace herself, though, as Lyse launched herself towards her in a big hug, Yda following. "My apologies for the delay…

I’ve much to say." Minfilia laughed weakly, as Milleuda stood over the pile of Ala Mhigans, Arenvald also joining in the cuddle pile. "When I’ve gotten a good nights’ rest…

I need to talk to the other Scion. To everybody."

But for now, Minfilia could be held tightly, and the Tower would hum on.

Chapter Text

There had been many meetings held inside the Rising Stones already. Tables were moved, food was provided for once. Minfilia had gotten there early, still leaning on her cane as she took her seat between Fordola and Milleuda. Fordola gripping onto Minfilias’ tail tightly under the table. Milleuda settled for giving Minfilia a sideeye glance, her lips curved into a slight smile.

That is, until the door slammed open, and Thancred stood in the doorway. He looked a wreck, barely stopping as he rushed to stand across from Minfilia. He barely stopped himself from running into the table. "You’re alive—"

Minfilia stood, her tail curled around Fordolas’ hand. "I am. I— nearly died, but—"

Thancred gripped to Minfilia, having climbed over the table – knocking away some of the flower decorations, yet not knocking any of the food away. Polite, even as he shook, having forced Minfilia into a tight hold. His multiple eyes focused on her.

For a moment, Minfilia felt her breath hitch, almost seeing another scene. A man in those black robes of the Ancients gripping her, another voice whispering what Thancred said. "I should have been there for you."

—Had Minfilia fallen into an Echo vision? She couldn’t tell. The man who gripped her was not Thancred, but it was not another. "You shouldn’t do things this dangerous. You have your allies—"

"And my allies were there. But…" Minfilias voice was not her own, either. But she closed her eyes. She had to tell the group, anyway. It was just the four of them right now. "One of them turned against me."

"Who?" The stranger in Thancreds’ skin asked, holding her tighter. Fingers pale, slightly clawed, but not digging into her clothes (her robes)? "Who dared hurt you, Philautia."

Perhaps Thancred had called her by name outside of the vision, perhaps not. But Minfilia spoke – yet she felt her words changed by the vision as well. "Fynn struck me down. He should not have— I think something is wrong."

"Fynn – but he is our Emissary," Thancred (?) said coldly, the vision now overtaking Minfilia. The white-haired man by Minfilia – while she did not know him, she knew he was Philautias’ father. And that there was a bubbling dread in her gut, talking to him. "It makes little sense."

"It happened," Minfilia said sharply, "even if you don’t believe it."

A shake of the strangers’ head. "Then he has been influenced by those Warriors too much. I shall need to talk to him." There was such a confidence in this mans’ voice – controlling the situation. "And until I have done such, you are not to talk to him unless it is during a Convocation meeting."

A step back. Minfilia didn’t know why, but she stepped back in a mix of anxiety and anger. "You think that your words can change things, father? They did not change things with mother, now did they?"

Her father went quiet, before pinching his forehead slightly. His mask still covering his face – even in private? "It is different, Philautia. She had already made her mind up." So much was left unsaid, things that Philautia would know but Minfilia didn’t, in this echo-like state. Things that would explain why Philautia seemed afraid to speak up.

Things that would explain why Philautia spoke so quietly. "I want to know his reasons, Emet-Selch." So that was this strangers’ name…? "We shall talk to him together. We are both of the Convoncation – pray do not think I cannot handle myself."

Even with this confidence, Minfilia felt a pit of sickness in her stomach—

—as she woke up from her vision, having been moved to the ground for safety. Thancred was still sitting by her, letting out quiet whines. Fordola had gone into her tiny Ifrit form, curling up on Minfilias’ stomach to keep her warm, as Milleuda stood guard. Others had arrived during this time – Zale and Alphinaud watched as Zale explained, quietly, the best way to tend to somebody in the middle of a vision like this. Papalymo, Yda, and Lyse were seated, while Arenvald was already eating. And Urianger loomed over Minfilia with his usual gaze, Moenbryda leaning on him with the strangest look on her face. While Minfilia couldn’t see them, she could also hear Bolormaa and G’raha talking – about something Allagan, it sounded like.

Minfilia sat up quickly, before letting out a groan – the rush of her sitting up made her tremble, feel sick. Thancred put a hand to the back of her head, keeping her stable. His hands were still so cold, but it was fine. His face filled with concern, he spoke in a whisper. "You don’t need to tell us what you saw in that vision." Not yet. But his expression darkened, as he leaned in. "Did Cordis really…?"

Quietly, Minfilia nodded. She’d gotten the message out, before being consumed by the other world. Thancred cursed under his breath. "He’s not at this meeting. We can talk freely."

Right. The meeting. A discussion about… everything. After a few more moments of fussing, Minfilia took her seat. (For a moment, Minfilia wondered. Were meetings like this something that Philautia went to? Where she discussed what she had seen, experienced, to others who had their own duties?)

Papalymo stood, to begin the meeting. "First of all – this feast is to celebrate that Minfilia lives, and that Leviathan has been stalled." His voice was firm, not betraying his own feelings. "While it is a pity that Leviathan was not caught, it has not caused any trouble, and so we can keep an eye out and stop the sealed Primal when it is sighted again." Papalymo gave a bit of a sharp inhale. "However, this is not all fun and games.

There have been multiple issues in both the organization of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, and our relationship with the new nation of Mor Dhona. Thus, I hope to fix these issues."

Minfilia looked right though Papalymo. Before giving a glance to Milleuda, who had already stood to talk. "Issues? You call this all… issues? You don’t even respect this nation! You do your deeds without even informing us!"

Papalymo was about to speak, to reply, until Yda spoke. In an oddly calm manner, as she chewed some of the Basilisk Steak. "When we were planning to move here, nobody saw Mor Dhona as a beginning nation. But we didn’t come and try and take over the infrastructure Lord Belias was setting up, now did we?"

Milleuda snarled. "Instead, you came here to slip the chains of Ul’Dah. Do you truly think you have your freedom here?"

"Many of us cannot go to Gridiana," Yda continued, taking this all in and speaking almost like the secret Garlean noble she was. "The Elementals dislike some of us, you know. Or do you think they actually know how to forgive Ala Mhigans?"

Taking her seat again, Milleuda shook her head. "So you would choose the nation which cannot fight back, full of those left without another home."

A little shake of her head. "La Noscea was also not an option, since our operations tend to be more focused on the mainland." A swift movement, as Yda removed her mask, letting the pearl of her third eye to be seen. Milleuda suddenly glared, about to stand up and jump Yda, before Bolormaa stood – banging her hands on the table, distracting everybody.

"You’re all being weirdoes about this!" Bolormaa said, her tail still curled around G’raha – who was as red as his red eye. "They’re settled here now, so why not just… talk about that?" Sitting again, Bolormaa looked to G’raha, before shaking her head. "Honestly. It reminds me of the Steppe, how they would rather snipe at each other then discuss what’s important." G’raha tilted his own head a little, before closing his eyes gently. This talk of politics and debate reminded him of dinners in Sharlayan.

Milleuda let out a little sigh. "Fine. I’ll muzzle myself, for now." Her fingers dragged across the table as she took her seat, a burning hatred in her eyes lazer-focused on Yda.

Minfilia then finally spoke. "I do not mind that you and yours have settled in Mor Dhona. What I do mind is that, for one, you treat it as politically neutral.

My own grievances come from how you and yours treat me. However, I do know it is partly my fault." Her own heart had been hardened by her fears. From the scars Alexander left in time. Even now, Minfilia looked at these people – these Archons – and remembered the aching of her heart. "I tried to avoid all of you, because of previous incidents.

It was wrong of me to do so." A bit of a pause. Minfilia frowning, looking to her meal. She did not feel hungry. "Yet. I am no warrior. I have met many allies, and have found myself making allies. However, I have found myself being sent out with an expectation to fight.

Not for Mor Dhona.

But for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn."

There was silence for a moment, before Papalymo spoke up, a whisper half-held in his throat. "I did not think of it so. You have the Blessing, and you are the engineer of the current method to prevent Primal re-summoning. With such, I thought it was the best use of your talents."

"Yet," Minfilia said, her voice now slightly shaking, "such nearly led to my death."

Papalymos’ eyes met Minfilias. "What would you have me do, Minfilia."

What did she want out of this…? Minfilia put up a hand, to silence Milleuda who had begun to shift in her seat. "We both know that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and the nation of Mor Dhona have already been working together, and both have the same goal. You and yours also know that if we were to merge, it would mean that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn would become a political target from the three City-States." Diplomacy, though, had to work. "However. Such a target is likely already being painted on all of you. Not just due to your location, but due to my work with you. What independent organization would keep a diplomat of a new nation employed?

Thus," Minfilia said, her voice raised, standing now, "I wish to offer you and yours a place in Mor Dhona. Once Lord Belias returns, we can figure out more."

There was a silence. People considering it. Before Thancred snorted a little. "I wonder if that’d count as me being re-employed by the Scions." Minfilia gave Thancred a slight glare, and Thancred shook his head. "I left them after you— vanished. And became a guard of yours." Forever the knight, Minfilia thought with a slight smile. Before she frowned again.

"Well, if you put it like that…" Yda chirped, leaning back a little. Looking relaxed for having shown who she was. They were all friends, after all! "I think we’d make good residents of Mor Dhona. Especially if it means we don’t get into trouble. Plus, it’ll make it easier to help you, Minfilia."

"Help… me," Minfilia said quietly. "Even after how rude I’ve been to you and yours."

Urianger finally spoke up, leaning slightly on Moenbryda. "Time broke for thee. Who would not fear the Gods would do it again?" His words hung in the air. "Some may not forgive." (Urianger forgave her.) "Some may hold it against you. But in such times… you have proven your resolve, your heart. Yes – you may be guided, and you may guide."

"Urianger put it quite well," Papalymo said, firmly. "You’re traumatized. It doesn’t make up for it, but it does mean…

I accept your proposal. Once your Lord Belias returns from his overseas travel, we shall negotiate further."

And so, while it had not been placed on paper, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn had become part of Mor Dhona – part of the new nation run by the Gigas. Minfilia found herself still not eating as conversation became lighter, Zale beginning to tell stories from his own youth, tales that were fascinating and a good distraction. (None of them seemed to realise these stories were from a completely different era.)