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L’ndanya knew she had arrived in a time and place that was not her own without even needing to open her eyes.
The patch of earth she had landed on was, mercifully, quite soft, a fragrant bed of tender grass that filled her nose with a mixture of scents she could not place without considerable effort, at least at first - unable to focus on aught else besides the blinding pain that pulsed behind her eyes for several minutes. Eventually, as her senses returned to her, she found the light perfume of Lavender wafting up from below as she shifted in place and crushed the soft grass beneath her weight, mixed with the lingering fragrance of what she could almost swear was Belladonna leaves.
She knew both scents well, and while they were not exact, they were close enough to dredge up familiar feelings that demanded she find a measure of comfort where only unease and disquiet had taken up their permanent residence in her soul.
The former was an integral ingredient in the Echo Drops she never adventured without, more as a matter of habit rather than out of true necessity. They served as persistent reminder of a time when her wits had been dulled, her strength waned, because she had foolishly allowed herself to succumb to the weakness that stubbornly bled from the long-emptied veins of love long dead. A weakness that in truth disgusted her and that she could ill afford to succumb to, for she was once again alone - the friends who had once fought bravely by her side now little more than empty vessels - and it fell to her to bring their souls home.
The latter served as the main ingredient in the most potent sleeping potion she had been able to concoct in the years that passed since the days she spent adventuring through Mor Dhona and uncovering the secrets kept within the Crystal Tower. A time in her life that had both thrust her unexpectedly into the arms of a man who consumed every last onze of her being, and that had also found it fit to deal her the merciless blow of his abrupt loss which flung her even farther forward into the depths of tumultuous despair. This potion had been her last, best, most desperate attempt to force herself to quiet her mind in unwelcome slumber when her nightmares insisted on keeping her awake night after agonizing night.
And it worked, if only for a time. She often managed to rest for several hours at once - a shallow, insincere attempt at sleep at best, but sleep all the same - until she inevitably awoke in tears, screaming a name that she otherwise refused to speak aloud. The smell was a familiar, unsettling, and excruciating assault on her very being, even now.
If the damnable memories that the mere scent of this place had dug up from their shallow graves were not enough, L’ndanya soon realized that the very aether around her was thin, unstable, and unbalanced. She could sense the disturbance - electric and stagnant at once - and it reminded her immediately of the aether that decayed and festered in the Thirteenth shard. Ice coursed through her veins at the realization, and the implication of what might await outside her firmly shut lids caused her to choke back bile. It was unnatural - nothing at all like the aether on the Source - and it was wrong.
All of this combined caused her stomach to finally turn in earnest - whether it was the smell itself, the influence of the aether, or the concussion she supposed she must have suffered from the fall, she couldn’t say - and in that moment she retched onto the ground beside her as she felt her head spin and stars spotted her vision.
Get up, she demanded of herself, open your godsdamned eyes.
Her eyes obeyed, but her legs did not.
She gasped as suddenly as her eyelids flung open, being forced to take in her surroundings more quickly than she could truly process the sight of them. Bright violet leaves blowing gently in the wind on tall, climbing trees that all but consumed the horizon, joining together to form a sprawling forest that spanned malms ahead of her: vast, endless, and imposing. Low rocky outcrops spattered the terrain, and the grass and foliage blanketing the forest floor matched the color of the leaves almost exactly.
Though none of this - despite how fantastical it was - truly shocked her; no, what truly captured her attention was the light blazing within the firmament that encapsulated the ground beneath it. Brighter than the midday sun, it consumed the expanse above as though each star in the night sky had simultaneously exploded to occupy not a pinpoint in the heavens, but the entire sky; a light that overlapped and multiplied upon itself the more you looked, each fighting for dominion over the rest.
And beyond this, what she found most strange was that it was not only the most brilliant light she had ever seen fill the sky, it was also, somehow, the most barren. Instead of giving life to the land below, it seemed to siphon it off with greedy abandon. There was no warmth to it - indeed, she found herself shivering almost as much as she had done as she escaped to Ishgard through the Coerthas after the Bloody Banquet in little more than a light robe and dress boots that did nothing to cut against the biting sting of the northern wind.
In like manner, she was wholly unprepared to exist in this place she had been called to - and yet exist she must; in the same way she had always and ever been forced to do, she would endure. She would fight, and she supposed she would suffer; but by now, this was an inevitability, and the where of it mattered far less than the why. She groaned heavily as she attempted to pre-emptively shrug off the weight of the burden she knew was to come.
Her confusion continued to grow as she pushed herself to unsteady feet, crying out as she realized that she must have landed squarely onto her knee, spraining it in the process.
Cursing, and clumsily focusing the limited healing magicks she knew on her injury, she scanned her periphery for anyone - friend or foe, it mattered not - who could tell her where in the Seven Hells she was.
If it so happened to be the person who had called her to this place, all the better, she decided - she had a score to settle, and while her words so often failed her, her Grimoire did not.
***
What came to pass as L’ndanya attempted to navigate her way through the forest felt as unreal and terrifying as a lucid nightmare. She wandered without aim under the cover of the shadowy canopy, shielding herself as best she could from the light that blighted the land with its very presence.
A voice soon filled her mind without warning, one that was so unexpectedly familiar that she knew she must be imagining it, for it was the voice of the Warrior of Darkness speaking to her, seemingly from both beyond the rift and the grave.
“From endless dreams I awake…” he whispered incredulously - a question as much as it was a declaration - and she shook her head at how poor of an attempt she had clearly made at healing herself after her fall.
She continued to follow a path that was so conveniently placed, she found herself wryly considering that it would not be so far-fetched to assume it had been cleared specifically for her - either by a benevolent force wishing to lead her away from the danger, or a dark force determined to lead her toward it.
Either way, she mused, it was far better than standing still and simply waiting to be found, and so she continued her trek toward a clearing that lay straight ahead, where she could faintly see the dwindling smoke of a campfire curling and rising into the air.
As she approached, L’ndanya found the silhouette of a stranger looming just ahead of the trees, stoking the fire absentmindedly and seemingly without so much as a care in the world as he basked in the solitude that surrounded him. He puffed on a long pipe, his concentration suddenly and visibly broken as he twitched his head back at the sound of the leaves and fallen branches compressing and splintering beneath her boots.
“Excuse me,” she managed before he turned around and her breath was stolen by a sharp gasp when she found before her a face she knew - or at least, one she thought she knew. She recognized him as the man who had seen to her safe arrival in Limsa Lominsa after the Calamity. But it was not him, not exactly. As she examined his face, and as he spoke, she realized it was not the selfsame person at all - and yet the resemblance was so uncanny that she found herself staring at him in stunned silence while he attempted to greet her.
Her brain failed to process much of anything he said, for she had barely been here half a bell and already was exhausted beyond measure and stretched far too thin for her own liking. And yet, something he said quickly caused her mind to race at a furious pace, her heart threatening to rip itself clear out of her chest as each word found itself tugging against her soul with a truth she wished nothing more than to reject, but ultimately could not bring herself to deny.
“And when, pray tell, did we last have a dark night? Over a hundred bleedin’ years ago, that’s when!”
His hearty laugh rang out and echoed against the trees, while she stood in terrified silence, managing nothing more than a light tilt of her head and a soundless stammer as he turned his attention to her curiously. He had clearly expected her to find humor in the absurdity of his joke - else at least a somber acknowledgment of the grim situation they found themselves in, able to do naught else but laugh at their shared misfortune - but instead what he found was blank confusion, and he seemed all but certain that she was feigning her bewilderment, for what other explanation could there be?
“Humph. Ye got that look down to a T - I’d almost think you meant it, lass.”
He paused and suddenly his face fell as he slumped down onto a small log that sat behind him.
He pitied her, she realized, though she found no clear reason why that is the emotion he chose to land upon, and she shook her head again to rid herself of the trepidation that plagued her while he offered her a swig of whatever spirit was contained in the half empty bottle he clutched firmly in his left hand. Her eyes scanned the label, written in a script she could neither recognize nor decipher, and yet despite this she reached out for his offering, graciously accepting as her fingers skimmed across a beautiful turquoise ring that adorned his index finger.
She took a swig from the bottle - a tepid red wine that was at once unquestionably well past its prime, and in her current state of distress also the most delicious thing she could recall ever having tasted. She considered with a deep frown and tense sigh how desperate she must truly be to dull the panic that swept across her as swiftly as a thief slinking through the shadows.
“They got to ye too, did they? Poor beggar. That explains it then. You’d better ‘urry along to the town nearby; just head East thorough the trees and aim for the shining tower-“
She dropped the bottle, which landed on the forest floor with a light thud, spilling the remainder of its contents as the man shot a disapproving glance first down at the bottle and then back up at her. She found herself choking lightly on the last sip she had taken as she snapped her attention back to the man with a wild look claiming her face in response to his words.
It couldn’t be, she reasoned, “shining tower” could be anything. To assume it was the selfsame tower she had bid a mournful farewell to that very same day - the one that made a willing captive of the man who had forever sealed both her heart and trust behind its doors - was folly at best, she knew. And yet, a pit formed in her stomach, urging her to listen to her instincts and accept that despite how incredible it seemed, she was not at all wrong to suspect it.
“Tower? What sort of Tower? What does it look like? How do I get there?” The desperation in her voice was clear; and she truly could not care less how frenzied she sounded, nor how very like a rabid beast she felt as she found herself less and less able to control herself with each moment that passed. She had made far worse first impressions, after all, and she’d be damned if she squandered the chance - however remote and unlikely it may be - to find a connection, any connection, that would explain how she had arrived here, and most importantly, how she would bring herself and her friends home.
Of course, if that connection also carried with it the chance that he was here - wherever here was - then all the better, she conceded.
“Eager, aren’t we lass? Can’t say I blame you - one of the few safe havens left in this godsforsaken world, it is. Ye can’t miss it - the biggest settlement for malms around, with a gleamin’ blue tower that pierces the sky above. Now go on, friend,” he urged her kindly, “they’ll take good care of you in the Crystarium.”
Her mouth agape, she found she could do little more than nod as she was summarily dismissed from his camp. His eyes no longer met hers, and she turned herself back toward the path she had followed, supposing that she was heading East as instructed even though she had no means of truly being sure.
Finally, from between the trees, it came into view as if summoned from her memory that very moment. How she had missed it she did not know - but there it was, all the same.
The Crystal Tower. A beacon of hope rising to ever dizzying heights despite her distance from it, gleaming even more brilliantly under the oppressive light above which - appearing to have taken great offense at being outdone by the light that the tower seemed to emit rather than reflect - glowed even more adamantly than it had before.
Normally she would have found some reason or another to doubt her own eyes - but in this moment, she found none, for it was unmistakable. Having spent every moment she could manage in plain sight of it since the day she parted ways with the Sons of Saint Coinach, she had memorized its silhouette, its color, and most of all the faint way that it caused her soul to stir and cry out at the mere sight of it. All the same, and all inexplicably here, in this place that was decidedly not Mor Dhona, and not of the Source.
Before she realized what she was doing, she broke out into an agonizing run, her lungs burning as she forced them to take in breath after frantic breath, while her heart clamored wildly within her chest. If it took every last onze of her strength, she would arrive at the tower. Whatever came after was incidental - for it called to her, demanding her presence - and she would see to it that she answered that call even if it killed her.
***
She was forced to stop in her tracks as she reached a gate manned by several guards, the most intimidating of which was a tall Viera woman with a shock of pure white hair framing her face. She watched L’ndanya with a stern, implacable expression, barring her path with little more than an impassive stance and an unspoken threat flashing in her eyes.
How tempting it was for L’ndanya to simply draw her Grimoire and strike her down where she stood; for how dare this woman keep her from the tower; how dare she try and keep her from him. The audacity of it sent her reeling, and she hissed lightly, parting her lips to insist that she be granted passage, only for the other woman to claim the first words.
“Halt,” she instructed, raising a hand in warning as her instructions were met by L’ndanya with a vicious glare, “Every face in this city I know. Yours, I do not. This is the threshold of the Crystarium, stranger, and I am its gatekeeper. If you would enter, you would first answer my questions. From where do you hail?”
Her tone was abrupt, threatening, and intimidating. And yet it was no match for her, L’ndanya thought, as defiance shone behind her eyes, and she gritted her teeth in an attempt to endure such a ridiculous display of power. This woman had no idea who she was - not so much as an inkling of what she was capable of - and she saw red as she was forced to simply accept her demands as though she were little more than a kit being scolded by their elders.
She was not in her own time, nor in her own world, she knew, and so she had little choice but to play along until she could figure out how to navigate her way through it. It was time to play politics, loathe as she was to do so, and so she relaxed her stance and drew her lips up in a stiff smile that did not reach her eyes. The closest approximation to a friendly expression she could muster; and it would have to do.
“Greetings, and apologies for my…hasty arrival, but I harbor no ill intent, I assure you. I hail from the Source and need only find a friend who I believe resides within the city proper.”
“The Source?” the guard repeated, her eyes narrowing as her tone cut through L’ndanya like a blade. “What is this cryptic nonsense? Had you given me an honest answer, I would not have barred your way - but instead you chose concealment…”
The guard trailed off and drew her weapons - a pair of Chakrams that glinted and gleamed as they reflected the ever-present light - and L’ndanya reached for her Grimoire as she charged forward, only to sweep past her entirely and cut down a large ivory monster that had appeared behind her without so much as a sound.
L’ndanya’s breath hitched in her throat and a strangled gasp passed her lips as she watched the fiend slump to the ground with a sickening thump, and nearly immediately dissipate into the aether, leaving behind a lone relic as proof that it had existed: a turquoise ring, identical to the one worn by the man she had parted ways with mere minutes before.
Yet again, her stomach churned as the guard broke the silence between them once more.
“That one had eaten. It must have gulped down the whole hand, ring and all.” Her voice was shockingly callous, and L’ndanya barely considered this a reaction give the gruesome discovery they had both just made.
She found herself unconsciously clenching her jaw, holding herself back from the choice words that bubbled up and demanded to be released. However, before she could, the sound of hurried footfalls drew her attention away from the guards and toward the hooded figure of a man who was practically flying on foot toward them.
“Everything alright, Captain?” he asked, coming to a sudden yet effortlessly graceful stop just behind the Viera guard.
The very first syllable he spoke lit a fire within her so fierce that she thought she may be consumed by it there and then. She knew that voice - she would know it anywhere. It haunted her every waking minute and tortured her in her sleep. She recalled the sound of it expressed not as words but as breathy moans against the shell of her ear; and could never forget the way it sounded calling her name in the dark.
“Quite alright, my Lord. Just a stray Sin Eater, and a weak one at that.”
L’ndanya’s mind was static as she watched his lips twitch upward at the sound of his title. Lord, this guard - rather this Captain - had called him, and he seemed terribly pleased with himself when she did.
He seemed to ignore the Captain’s report as he turned his attention to L’ndanya, his teeth catching his lower lip in a hungry bite for but a moment before his lips curled upward to form a knowing grin. Had there been any doubt in her mind before, this single act would have erased the very trace of it. His reaction betrayed far more than mere recognition at the sight of her, and she flushed scarlet when she finally allowed her eyes to flick upward to find his.
She soon found that this, however, was impossible, for he had cast a glamour to hide the remainder of his face from view. She had to keep herself from scoffing as she wondered whether he truly thought this would prevent her from recognizing him the instant he arrived - or whether it was even for her benefit at all. He was a smart man; smart and far too clever for his own good, so whatever his plan was, she knew it ultimately did not involve such banal attempts at fooling her.
She spent another drawn out moment to properly take in the rest of him, immediately recognizing the ornate robes he wore as belonging to that of Allagan Royalty - a fitting ensemble for the bearer of the Royal Eye, she allowed - though she found herself quite bemused by the question of whether he wore them out of convenience, desire, or mere habit.
As her eyes continued to explore, she found that his body had succumbed to some manner of corruption - somehow, it was as though the very crystal from the Tower itself had claimed his right hand and arm, creeping up his neck and streaking across his cheeks. The Archon Marks that once adorned his neck, and that he had labored so many long years to earn, were now forever claimed by the Crystal Tower itself, a reminder of where his true duty and loyalty now resided.
“Ahh,” he purred, his voice rumbling deeply in his chest, “I see you’ve met my guest. I will see her escorted to the Crystarium myself, if you’ve no objections?”
It was a question, but he did not wait for a response. L’ndanya’s ears pinned and her tail flicked anxiously behind her as he gracefully approached her, placing a light hand on her lower back, urging her forward as he made his way past the Captain.
“Come with me,” he insisted in a breathy whisper, “I will answer whatever questions you have when we are somewhere more…private.”
She didn’t dare object and allowed herself to be guided by his achingly familiar touch, walking a touch slower than she normally would have if only to feel the weight of his hand pressed into her back as it was forced to repeatedly adjust to the pace of her gait.
“Very well,” the Captain called after him, “I’ll inform the others that your guest is to be given the run of the city.”
The captain’s words were punctuated with weary sighs as she watched him steal L’ndanya away with a spring in his step the Captain had not seen in years, and she paused to watch him curiously before continuing in a hurried voice to ensure her words reached them before they were well out of earshot.
“Pray forgive my less than cordial welcome. May the rest of your stay be a pleasant one.”
L’ndanya looked back over her shoulder and feigned a smile, flicking her tail once more by way of silent response and reluctant thanks. If truth be told, the words had disappeared from her mind just as soon as she had heard them, for she had much more important matters to attend to in that moment, and she would not allow herself to be distracted for even a moment longer.
“Raha,” she hissed, stopping in her tracks as he turned to face her with an amused expression on his face, “what in the Seven Hells is this about? What have you done?”
The amused expression did not fade, and for a moment she truly thought that the only response she might receive was the mischievous chuckle that escaped his lips.
“I must say…I am a touch disappointed you figured it out so quickly. I was hoping you might find yourself more thoroughly fooled - perhaps even dance around the truth for a moon or two as we play a delightful game of coeurl and mouse, as it were. But I should not have underestimated you, my love. Gods how I have missed you.”
She stood in stunned silence. He was being incredibly forward - incredibly unlike himself - but she supposed that after the years that had passed, he could not be faulted for it. She yearned for him, every nerve alight with a desire that had gone unanswered for years, a need she never thought would be satisfied again. If he too echoed such sentiments, it was no wonder that he found himself unwilling to mince words in that moment.
And yet, despite this, she found herself absolutely livid; he had abandoned her, left her without a single warning and forced her to remain behind while he sealed himself away for eternity behind doors that refused to so much as budge; and she found herself unable to decide whether she wished to throw herself into his arms, or unleash the full wrath of her fury on him and demand answers.
“I suppose you expect us to pick up exactly where we left off, then? You should be so lucky, my Lord.”
His face fell as she scolded him, her eyes narrowed and arms crossed defiantly across her chest. He exhaled lightly and walked toward her, stopping so near that she would need only lean forward an ilm or two before she found their lips pressed together, claiming each other once again in reckless abandon.
And yet somehow, she resisted, allowing him enough time to close the distance himself, an arm curling around her back to press the length of their bodies together, stopping just short of a kiss as he whispered his reply against her lips.
“I have no need of luck, my love; you will find me more than capable of orchestrating my own destiny.”
Her breath quickened and she trembled at the ominous edge to his words. He suddenly leaned back and loosened his grip on her, and she quite nearly flung herself forward to finish what he had started and claim the prize he had so cruelly snatched away from her. Instead, she fought against her instincts, still affected by the dark edge that had taken hold of his voice moments before, and she stood in place, watching his expression transform.
A kind smile spread across his face where an irritated glower had just been. His voice became light and his words danced on the wind, accompanied by a tune his voice sang for her and her alone that was both loving and bashful; much more reminiscent of the man she had once known, and she found herself instantly sinking into the nostalgic comfort he offered her.
“But wherever are my manners. I must apologize, I was…overwhelmed by your arrival. It has been far too long, and being able to communicate with you through the rift but not properly call you here was frustrating at best. And for this I owe you an apology as well, as I purposely obscured both my face and voice in these encounters - for fear that you may have acted in haste to unearth answers prematurely.”
He bowed low and lifted his face briefly in what she could only presume was an attempt to lock eyes with her, not that she could truly be sure, she lamented. Nevertheless, he sounded more than sincere, and she relented - even if only slightly.
“Have you any idea what you’ve put me through?” she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes as she watched him rise. She could sense the tension hanging between them, and he looked away before deciding to respond.
“An inkling, yes. And once again, I can only beg your forgiveness. But you will soon come to understand that matters here have forced my hand - and I assure you it will all be explained in due course. For now, what you must know is that the realm in which we stand belongs to one of the thirteen reflections of the Source - the First, to be exact. During my time here, I have been awarded the rather…grandiose title of Crystal Exarch, and have spent every spare moment of the past century attempting to find a means by which to call you here.”
L’ndanya’s blood ran cold. A hundred years, had he said? Impossible, she told herself, none of this made any sense - and yet there was no trace of deception in his voice, and she knew she truly had no reason not to take him at his word.
“Raha, by the Twelve…how?” she managed, struggling yet again to form words in the face of such implausible circumstances.
“This is not the place,” he replied harshly, before a flicker of what she could only assume was regret transformed his expression. He caught himself quickly, and averting his face from her gaze, his tone immediately softened, as though he were attempting to soothe a wounded animal.
“Let us continue our talk inside the Crystarium. I would prefer privacy; as would you, I am sure.”
With this she could not argue, and she simply nodded her head as he took her hand with a smile, his spoken hand clinging to hers more tightly than he would once have done, and she gladly found herself clinging back, anxious to ensure he did not slip away from her a second time.
***
When they ascended the tall steps that led them to the doors of the Crystal Tower, L’ndanya found herself frozen in place. The familiar feeling of loss awoke in her heart at the mere sight of them, fiercer than ever, and she grew weak as the trauma born from the last time she had stood in front of these gates all but brought her to her knees.
“Is aught amiss?” The Exarch asked, turning to face her as she stared blankly upward
“Just like that, then? The Tower doors lie open, and we are free to come and go as we please?” Her voice came in barely a whisper, breaking as she choked back a deep sob that fought to escape from her chest.
The Exarch exhaled sharply and approached her cautiously. He brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, caressing her cheek lightly as he did.
“How thoughtless of me not to realize….my love, I assure you, we are in no danger of having them seal us out or in. It will take far more than the Dossal Gate to separate us this time, I promise you.”
She could muster little more than a nod by way of acknowledgment, and with no small amount of effort, she found her legs carrying her forward in his wake, passing through the accursed gates and into the heart of the tower itself - through winding staircases that she was familiar with, into a room she was not.
The Ocular: the Exarch’s personal study, he informed her, where they could speak freely and without fear of being overheard.
She found her thoughts wandering - and she once again searched his face for the eyes that were hidden behind his glamour.
His eyes…how desperately she longed to see his eyes. She clung fiercely to the memory of them, unwilling to release it from her mind’s firm grasp.
Other memories she was more willing to forfeit; they carried with them too much pain once she had been forced to accept that she must carry on without him, and that he would one day exit the Tower only to find a world absent of her…if, that is, he were ever to awaken at all.
She had willed herself to forget each and every stolen glance, every feather-light touch, every knowing smile and joyful laugh that rang out into the air as they adventured together through Mor Dhona and forayed into the Crystal Tower.
Indeed, on occasion she had even managed to suppress the memory of the first time he had taken her hand without a single word, lacing their fingers together tightly with only the briefest flash of a knowing glance between them as he led her to his tent and pressed his lips against hers with a fierce need that stole her breath away.
For so long she had refused to acknowledge the way her body ached for his touch, the need it had to be allowed to once more feel the weight of him on top of her as his fingers danced across her skin and he thrust into her with abandon, coming undone time and time again in helpless response to a longing and need that seemed to span lifetimes and ages rather than the scant few moons they had known each other.
But despite everything she ached to forget, the memory of his eyes was forever burned into her soul. She saw them each time she closed her own to succumb to the sleep that claimed her when she was at long last too exhausted to press on.
The curiosity that shone with the light of every star in the night sky even in late into the evening while they lay together inside their dimly lit tent, limbs blissfully entangled, as he read to her tales and history from long-forgotten tomes as though he were revealing to her the deepest secrets held in his heart.
The mischief that lingered when he suggested they steal their way back inside Syrcus tower “simply to have a second look around,” while the rest of camp found itself enthralled by blissful slumber.
The determination that burned with a ferocity rivaling even the fires born of Ifrit, set ablaze as he fought at her side and into the uncharted territory of the Thirteenth shard.
The battle between pride and anxiety that transformed them when one Royal eye became two, binding his fate to Allag and to the Tower itself.
The pain that dimmed them, snuffing out the light of hope that had once shone so brightly within them, two glimmering crimson embers crumbling to ash as he bid her farewell, his final words to her drowned out by the sound of the accursed Dossal Gate closing behind him, sealing him away and binding him to his fate, and she to hers.
She knew his eyes. Knew what they held within them - and knew what they did not.
And so, as she stood before him once again, watching as he at long last lowered his hood, she found herself transfixed. She stared into the darkness where she knew she would find them as the glamour slowly dissolved into the aether, her heart refusing to beat as she waited in blissful anticipation of once again finding in them the long-abandoned light of hope.
And when she finally saw them again, peering deeply into the eyes that had claimed her soul and set her entire world alight, she was horrified by what she found.
The darkness of his glamour would have been preferable to the darkness she now found behind it; for in his eyes, she saw only one irrefutable truth: he wore his face, but the G’raha Tia she had known and loved was long dead.
Before she could react, he walked toward her, his eyes never once leaving hers as a shuddering sigh left his lips.
“How many years have I waited for this moment?” he murmured, as he raised his spoken hand to her face and rested two fingers firmly under her chin; a silent demand that she keep her gaze fixed exactly where it was, and practically daring her to look away from him for even a moment.
“I have suffered so long without you, and finally – finally – you have answered my call. I swore to myself that I would do whatever it took to reclaim what time had stolen from me – even if history itself must be unwritten, then by the gods let it be unwritten. And now, at long last, we shall re-write it together, my love.”
He finally allowed their lips to meet, and the only thought she could summon at that moment was how suddenly cold and terrifyingly possessive his kiss felt.
He once sang her entire ballads with nothing more than the movement of his lips against her own - and once again his lips spun a tale, but now, the story they told allowed her to glean a single truth.
He was, as ever, a man of his word, and if he had anything to say of it, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would never let her go again.