Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Isra was being haunted by a ghost.

She had started to feel it back on the First with Emet-Selch, and the feelings had only grown through the Final Days and Elpis. A ghost that overwhelmed her with a sense of growing familiarity, and a longing that filled her stomach with dread. Her soul, longing to be whole.

And even as she went about her days in Sharlyan accompanying G'raha and helping with rebuilding the Students of Baldesion and tried so hard to anchor herself in the present, the thing inside her never stopped. She had to shake herself when she had the feeling of looking through another's eyes at a suddenly unfamiliar Sharlyan, and more than once G'raha had to break her from a reverie where she stared into space for minutes on end.

And the dreams. By gods, the dreams.

The reconstructed Amaurot had truly been a shade. Half-remembered flashes of a brilliant city and an even more brilliant world haunted her, feelings and images disconnected and disjointed in what felt like a desperate clawing search for something that no longer existed in her memory. She woke in the middle of the night, sobbing, unable to explain to a patient G'raha why. He always soothed her back to sleep, tucking her into his chest and purring gently. For that, she was grateful.

The longer this went on, the more she stayed inside, not wanting to be caught in one of her episodes in the middle of the city. She fought off the thoughts desperately, didn't even want to think the name 'Azem' lest it summon them as some kind of phantom. But nevertheless, Azem's life suffused Isra's own, and more than once she had moments where she could not tell who she was. Brief, but terrifying, and for more than one reason.

It was almost as though she wanted it.

She did not tell a soul that her mind cried out to be completed, to be consumed. She couldn't. The desire was...wrong, she could feel disgust growing in her stomach whenever she recognized the feeling, but she couldn't help it. No matter what, she could not let anyone know.

It was one of those days where she was prepared to spend her waking hours in bed, lights off, when G'raha opened the curtains. If Isra had been able to groan, she would have.

"I know you don't want to, but I think it might be good for your health if you were to accompany me today," G'raha said. "You can refuse, of course, but it's really nothing very strenuous, and...I would greatly appreciate the company." Isra peeked from under the covers, and the soft, concerned look G'raha was giving her was too much to resist. She sighed, then threw off the covers.

“All right. But don't expect me to be very...warrior-of-lightish,” Isra signed. G'raha grinned, and went to hug her. 

"You know you don't need to put on a show for me to be impressed with you, my dear." Isra chuckled. He was lovestruck, but then, so was she. She buried her head in his neck and tried to chase away the feelings tickling at the edges of her consciousness. Please just let me have this, she thought to herself.

It was indeed not a very strenuous day, and Isra spent most of her time chatting with Krile and some of the students at the Academy, their primary destination after a short stop at the library. Eventually, though, Krile too had to leave for some or another meeting with a professor, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Or, well, mostly alone.

She was trying her best not to eavesdrop, but some students in the main hall were fervently debating a theory one of the others had recently posited. It mostly flew over her head; she had never been formally educated in these things, and her forays into magic were primarily based on intuition. It was the reason she liked the bow better. It was a simple principle with a simple execution.

It was a while into the discussion when she could start to feel her mind wander in that characteristic way. She shut her eyes hard, trying to anchor herself to the present, pinching her arm, but her body felt...heavy and light at the same time, somehow.

"Your values are obviously off! The equation doesn't account for some sort of base aetheric interference that's skewing the numbers!" One of the students, an orange-haired miqo'te boy, was saying.

"Clearly it's a factor of the environment, not a base interference," the theory's author said. "And that can be measured and adjusted for in practice!"

"Only in a laboratory--"

As they continued to argue, Isra blinked, suddenly finding herself at the small blackboard the formulas had been written on, making a few quick strokes and adjusting the formula.

"It's neither base aetheric interference nor environmental, the formula's coefficient needs to be adjusted here and here," she found herself saying, or trying to say. As always when she tried to speak, it came out in a broken whisper, but somehow every student around her seemed to hear. She finished and stepped back. "It should work now--" she blinked, and suddenly the feeling was gone, and it took all her strength to keep herself from falling to her knees as a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed her. She leaned against the wall instead and found herself fighting off the urge to dry heave.

She hadn't understood a single word of what she'd just said.

"By the gods, she's right," the miqo'te boy said, before turning to thank their anonymous benefactor only to find that she was no longer there.

Isra had, in fact, fled outside, collapsing and hyperventilating. This isn’t funny anymore, Azem, she thought to herself, not that it ever was. She covered her face with shaking fingers. I am me. I am Isra of Ul’dah. I am an orphan. I am 24. I am Isra of Ul’dah, I am an orphan, I am 24, I am NOT–

“Isra? Isra, are you all right?” Small footsteps and a concerned voice alerted her to Krile’s approach. She whipped her head around, furiously trying to dry her eyes and return her breathing to normal, trying to will away the feeling of her mind floating, disconnected from the world around her.

“Fine,” she signed, but Krile didn’t stop looking at her with concern. “Okay, not fine. I…I don’t want to distract from your work, Krile. This is just…Warrior of Light stuff.”

Krile shook her head. “I saw you in the main hall, Isra. It is most certainly not just ‘Warrior of Light stuff’, and you are most certainly not okay. And have not been for quite a while.”

Her mind was too disjointed to make a reply, already sneaking off into a haze. She slapped her arm, hard, and Krile gasped. “I’m sorry. I…I’m going to go back to my room. Come once you’ve finished your business,” she signed, and before waiting for Krile’s reply headed quickly for her room.

In the haze of sleep, it was much more difficult to deny the way her mind wandered. It was Emet-Selch’s and Hythlodaeus’s faces, disconnected scenes and feelings attached to those two, warm friendship and disgust and horrible pain mixed up into one ugly dream. She shifted between faces. She was Isra, she was Azem, she was both, sometimes. It felt like falling, over and over again.

A voice cut through the haze, and suddenly her dream was as clear as day, and it was just her. Just Isra.

“Hush, now. These dreams can hardly be called ‘beauty sleep’, now can they?”

Isra wanted to cry out Hythlodaeus’s name, but could not say anything.

“Your friends will be there shortly, dear. Now hurry and meet them, and perhaps you can sort this through.”

She gasped, sitting bolt upright in bed where she had dozed off, exhausted. Indeed, both G’raha and Krile were already in the room, G’raha evidently trying to wake her gently and surprised by her sudden and violent awakening.

“Isra, are you all right? Krile told me there was some kind of incident at the Academy,” G’raha said, squeezing her hand. “Is it about these panic attacks you keep having?”

“And the way she seems to stare off into the void for minutes on end,” Krile said. At Isra’s guilty look, her gaze softened. “Of course I noticed, but it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We all have moments like that, but not as often as you, it seems.”

Isra took a deep breath. One, and then another. Grounding, centering. Her heart had ached hearing Hythlodaeus’s voice again, but it had eased her mind somewhat, and she finally felt like she could focus.

“Something is happening to me, and I don’t know what,” Isra signed. “I…you know about Azem, right? My unsundered self from the time of the Ancients?”

G’raha nodded. “You’ve mentioned them before, haven’t you? Something having to do with that crystal that you were given by the shade in the constructed Amaurot.”

Krile, however, furrowed her brow. “I don’t recall hearing anything about this. At least in not so much detail.”

Isra quickly filled Krile in, and fleshed out some details for G’raha–he had seen the two Ancients with his own eyes, but her journey in Elpis had been sparingly detailed. It had been too painful to discuss at the time. She told them how Emet-Selch, Azem, and Hythlodaeus had been close friends, and how they had ended up separating during the first Final Days.

“And now, somehow, I feel…this is going to sound absolutely insane, but I feel as though Azem is haunting me somehow. Like I’m–like I have been inheriting their feelings and experiences, but not of my own accord. It comes and goes at random, and it feels like…” She didn’t want to say this part. “It feels like I’m being almost…consumed.”

Both their eyes narrowed in concern and alarm at that, and she knew they were thinking of the Ascian’s tendency to invade living bodies. “It’s not like you’re fearing, I just…”

G’raha’s eyes welled up, and he suddenly embraced her. “Oh, Isra. We’re going to learn all we can about what has happened and try to help. It feels as though I’ve only just found you again–I don’t want to lose you.”

Isra’s eyes watered too, and she buried her head into his shoulder, letting her tears soak into his shirt.

“I saw you adjust that formula with the students,” Krile said, cautiously. “Can you describe what happened? How you felt?”

Isra sniffled and separated herself from G’raha. “It just happened. As if by instinct. I wasn’t even listening to them, and suddenly I was there and knew exactly what to do, but I didn’t understand a single word. And my first instinct was to speak, not sign.”

G’raha winced. “It certainly sounds like some kind of possession,” he said, and that feeling of anxiety welled up in Isra once more.

Krile put a hand to her chin. “Not exactly. It sounds to me more like some kind of subconscious influence more than anything else. The only thing that doesn’t fit is the knowledge. Isra, you…never had any formal education in magical theory or Aetheric manipulation, correct?” Isra nodded. “So it’s certainly not dredging up any memories from childhood. Would Azem haave had this kind of education?”

Isra was suddenly very certain. “Yes, they would have had a formal education and then an apprenticeship to prepare them for their role as Azem.”

“I wonder…” Krile furrowed her brows. “Isra, would you agree to some very light experimentation?”

G’raha scoffed. “Experimentation?”

Krile shook her head. “It’s nothing like you’re thinking, G’raha. If it is Azem trying to–communicate, somehow, then perhaps our best course of action is to try to trigger this state intentionally.”

“It’s not that easy. Even when I’m having one of these episodes, I don’t have clear memories. It’s more like I feel…influenced, somehow.”

“What if it’s dangerous?” G’raha said. “What if she loses herself to them, and we can’t get her back?” Isra cringed. A mixture of hope and disgust reared its head at the statement. She wanted it, somewhere in her heart. “I will not endanger her consciousness–”

“Relax, Raha, please. I know what I’m doing,” Krile said, smiling. “Nothing so extreme. Have you ever heard of mesmerism?”

As it turned out, neither of them had. It was supposed to be some kind of state where one could access their subconscious through focus and relaxation. It sounded…dubious, but given that it wasn’t meant to be unpleasant, Isra was at least appeased. Krile assured G’raha that the state was voluntary and could, with the right application of aether and words, be exited at any point.

It was almost dark by the time Krile, G’raha, and Isra found themselves in a darkened room, illuminated only by dim candle light. Lavender-scented oil rested in an oil burner, and Krile was guiding her through breathing exercises, progressively relaxing Isra’s (admittedly) sore muscles. G’raha watched with intensity as Krile subtly manipulated the aether around her to send her deeper into a relaxed and focused state.

“Now, Isra, I want you to rest your mind for a moment. Let your mind relax just as your body does, and let the part of you that influences your conscious mind speak freely,” Krile said. Isra nodded after a moment, imperceptibly.

“Now…do you remember what you did earlier today, on the white board at the academy?”

“Yes,” she said, verbally, and her eyebrows furrowed when her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “The students were arguing about a theory. Base aetheric influence and environmental factors. But their math was off.”

“Did you understand what you were telling them?”

“Yes.”

“Despite never receiving a formal education in these topics?”

“I…did receive one,” Her eyebrows furrowed further. “It was a long time ago. Not…not in this body.”

G’raha stepped forward, concern clearly written on his face and in his voice. “Who are we speaking to?”

Silence, but Isra’s face was cycling through several emotions at once. “Answer me,” G’raha insisted.

“Raha, please–”

G’raha’s eyes snapped down to Isra’s hand, which was weakly fingerspelling. S…T…O…P…

“Krile, she wants us to stop!” G’raha said. Krile nodded, and began to withdraw her aether and speak soothing words beckoning Isra back to the waking world, but not before her face showed great pain.

“Please, don’t, it’s dark–”

Krile only stuttered a moment, but finished the words that would bring Isra back into wakefulness. She opened her eyes and immediately wrapped herself in her own arms, assuming a fetal position on the chair.

G’raha rushed to her side immediately, holding her in his arms and rocking her back and forth. “Isra, it’s all right. You’re all right. It’s over.”

Krile, for her part, seemed remorseful. “I’m–I’m so sorry, Isra, I didn’t mean to cause you distress, gods.” She pulled out her aetherscope and examined her. “Her aether is…chaotic. Bright. Something has happened, but I didn’t intend it.”

Isra was crying, but unable to sign. She clung tight to G’raha to the point where her fingers dug into his back, but he didn’t mind. He continued to whisper reassurances into her ear.

Two days later, Isra had not left their shared room. Krile had taken on G’raha’s responsibilities to care for her. She was still signing very little, and seemed gripped by something only she could sense.

“They’re right there,” she had signed. “I can feel them and I can’t let them break through.”

Which, of course, was a jinx.

On day 3, Isra was feeling a little better, or at least grounded, so it was high time G’raha and Krile took her out to the Last Stand to eat some food that wasn’t takeout or the bland food most of Sharlyan seemed to prefer. It was a pleasant afternoon, and the bay was beautiful; they sat near an empty spot on the wooden deck near the restaurant, and G’raha ordered his customary burger, with Isra indulging and ordering steak.

“I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better,” Krile said. “Again, I’m so sorry. I truly didn’t intend for it to be such an intense experience.”

Isra shook her head. “It’s fine. I don’t even remember most of it.”

“How have your…episodes been? Any better?”

Isra looked down. “I…don’t know.”

“It’s mostly been confined to dreams,” G’raha said. “You talk in your sleep.”

Their late lunch finally arrived, and the trio gladly dug in. In between bites, G’raha kept going. ‘“Honestly, the way you go on about Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, I’m beginning to worry that I should be jealous.”

“Don’t be. Hades is infuriating and Hyth is a tease,” Isra’s mouth said, and the conversation stopped dead. Krile and G’raha could both feel the sudden change in aether and knew instantly that this was different from the other times. Isra stopped mid-chew, looking at both of them without recognition. 

“Oh gods–” Krile began, but ‘Isra’ swallowed and leapt from her seat, running towards the center of town and away from the Last Stand. G’raha stood up to follow her, but evidently she was running purely on adrenaline and quickly outpaced him. 

“Raha, wait!” Krile yelled, and G’raha hesitantly waited for her to catch up. “Perhaps chasing after her is not such a good idea?” 

“What if she gets lost? What if–what if something happens to her while she’s in this state?” G’raha said, slowing down, and then stopping. “We can’t just let her go, Krile.”

“If this is Azem, it stands to reason they would be more than capable of caring for themself, wouldn’t they? Perhaps we can reach them via linkpearl?”

G’raha’s mind was racing, but he nodded. Krile put hers in, and waited. G’raha did the same.

Finally, the linkpearl was picked up. “Stars damn it all, what is this–what is wrong with my throat–” The whispered voice on the other side said.

“Hello? Azem?” Krile said, blindly hoping the familiar title would elicit some reaction. “If you can hear me, put this in your ear, and we can talk.”

“I– Why is my ear up there what on Etheirys–”

“Please, calm yourself,” Krile said. “We can explain everything.”

Azem was crouched behind a pillar and quietly losing their mind.

It had come suddenly, consciousness, and they almost didn’t notice when it happened until they were faced with two unfamiliar people and a perfectly good steak right in front of them, which was promptly forgotten when their fight or flight reflexes kicked in, which had served them very well in the past and they weren’t about to disregard those instincts now.

First things first. The throat. Not thinking about the ears or what they were absolutely certain was a tail, but they could barely whisper, and it was painful. They were about to repair the damage when they realized that this was clearly not their body, and they had no right to alter it. Instead, they magnified the volume of the words coming out of their mouth to more clearly speak through this device they had shoved in this body’s cat-like ear.

“Fine. I’m listening,” They said.

“You…are Azem, correct?” a male voice said. Must be the male from before.

“I am, yes. And who, exactly, are you?” they asked.

“My name is Krile, and my companion is G’raha Tia.”

“Good. Knowing names is a good first step,” Azem said. “And where exactly am I? And in whose body? And–oh damn it, what’s happened to my aethersight?”

“In order, you’re in Sharlyan, and the body you’re occupying is Isra’s. She is a dear friend of ours, and we’d very much like it if you returned her in one piece. As for your aethersight, I can only guess that it’s a function of your body not…exactly being made of the same stuff as before.”

Isra. That sounded familiar, somehow. But why?

"All right," they weren't familiar with Sharlyan, but that hardly mattered. They needed to find Emet-Selch before--

The full weight of memory slammed down onto their head all at once, and they screamed, or at least tried to; Krile and G'raha Tia both said something, but Azem couldn't hear it.

"You're not serious," they said to a stony-faced Emet-Selch. 

"I am. And the rest of the Convocation is in agreement, Azem. We will summon Zodia--"

"Hyth, don't do this--"

"--'s for the good of the star, my dearest student, please understand--"

"I cannot abide by this! I cannot! I will find another way--"

"Pandora, don't--"

Krile and G'raha found them collapsed and sobbing on the ground, with some onlookers debating whether or not they should help.

"Move aside," G'raha ordered authoritatively, and they did so without hesitation. G'raha picked up their light frame, putting an arm under their shoulders and another under their knees. They were crying out incoherently, their voice somehow louder than it had been before. "Krile, we need to get them somewhere safe. Let us return to the annex."

Neither Azem nor Isra awoke from their seeming nightmare by the time they made it back, and nobody questioned a very protective G'raha carrying his unconscious partner into their shared room, with Krile following close behind, putting some calls out to the formally disbanded Scions--although all had occupied themselves elsewhere, nearly everyone immediately volunteered to come to Sharlyan. While they waited for them to arrive, G'raha waited by the bedside, not caring whose hand he was stroking--Azem's or Isra's. Regardless, they seemed to calm down with the repetitive touch and soothing words.

Internally, though, Azem's memories were beginning to catch up to them, and they were beginning to fear that they had just done something horrible.

Not only were their own memories accessible, right up until the moment of the sundering, but also many of the memories of this Isra's life. And as they searched the depths of their aether for signs of her, the memories of their former colleagues possessing the bodies of unwilling men and women came unbidden. And it was horrifying.

What had they done?

They found it, then, Isra's aether, asleep but unharmed, and Azem breathed a sigh of relief. They knew that they hadn't somehow possessed this body out of nowhere; after all, the last memory they had was of the sundering, which must have happened a long time ago. And this--

Ah. 

They didn't know how they'd missed it before. Isra's aether was the same, or nearly the same, as theirs, which would mean that she was a shard of Azem, presumably changed by many rebirths to be just an ever so slightly different hue. And...perhaps they hadn't noticed it before because their own aether was the same, but all of it was stretched remarkably thin. Although that would make sense for Isra's soul, what about theirs? Shouldn't it be more substantial?

Unless…

Hm. This would warrant further investigation, and Isra's consciousness showed no imminent signs of waking. 

That would need to be fixed later. But for now…

They awoke to a room full of unfamiliar-familiar people, all arguing amongst themselves.

They knew their names from Isra's scattered memories. The one called Thancred was watching them like a hawk and tensed up the moment they opened their eyes, hand ready to reach for his weapon at a moment's notice.

"It's awake," he said, and the rest of the crowd turned to look. There was Thancred, Y'shtola, who was obviously looking into their aether, Alisaie (though without her brother, Azem noticed), Urianger, and Estinien, all looking at them with guarded eyes and anxious expressions. Azem resisted the urge to roll their eyes.

" It has a name, you know," they said, cringing. Their voice was still loud enough to hear, but essentially just an amplified whisper. They could fix that, if they just made a small adjustment to the existing modification. They sat up, closed their eyes and concentrated on making sure their words would have their own timbre.

Clearly, the others thought they were up to something nefarious. When Azem opened their eyes, hands were on weapons and Y'shtola's eyes were narrowed in suspicion. "I'd say we're due for an introduction, then," she said.

Finally, Azem noticed that G'raha and Krile were behind them, looking vaguely guilty. Azem shot G'raha a plaintive look. Back me up here, before turning back to the assembled Scions.

"As G'raha Tia and Krile will have no doubt told you, I'm the one you know as 'Azem'," they said, pleased their voice modulation had worked. "Although considering the title no longer holds much weight, you can refer to me as Pandora, if you'd prefer. That would be my true name."

Their gentle tone clearly threw the assembled group off guard. "There's no need for us to fear them. From what Isra has told us, they were against the Ascian's plans from the beginning." Ascian. Azem's mouth twisted briefly in distaste, before returning to their neutral expression.

"And yet, it's possessing their body just like they do," Thancred said.

"Don't be too hasty, my friend," Y'shtola said. Azem smiled, knowing the woman would have figured it out. "Their aether is almost indistinguishable from Isra's. In fact, I recognize it. It's been there this whole time, just compacted. I had assumed it was just a part of Isra."

"But--"

Azem chuckled. "Ah, you're clever. I like that. But you're not entirely wrong in your assumption. My working theory is that I was a part of Isra's soul, locked away after the sundering, and spared the lifestream's cleansing for however many lives it's been until now, when the combination of another part of our soul being returned and unlocking certain memories...opened a door, as it were."

"So thou hast been slumbering inside our friend's soul for nigh on twelve millenia," Urianger said. Azem blinked in surprise.

"It's...been that long? Truly?"

It was at this point Krile stepped forward and addressed Azem. "We have no reason to mistrust you, but we must address the most pressing concern. Is Isra…"

Azem smiled. "Still here? Of course. I confirmed it myself while I was unconscious. Her aether is...asleep, for lack of a better word. It seems the stress sent her consciousness into a dissociative slumber."

"Can you wake her?" Alisaie said, storming to the front of the group to look Azem in the eye. "All of this is just talk until we know she isn't gone. Forgive me if I'm a little skeptical."

Azem sighed. "I can try, but she needs time to recover. I...may have put her through some things the last few weeks. Not on purpose, and I regret any distress I may have caused. But if she is asleep, then she likely needs the rest. If it goes too long, I can try to awaken her by force. But that's a last resort."

"So what are we to do with you until then?" Thancred said, and although he had calmed down a bit, he still looked ready to fight should the need arise. "Just...keep you here until then, under guard?"

"Oh, stars no," Azem said, moving to get out of bed. "What, do you think the professional traveller wants to be cooped up in a room for who knows how long? Absolutely not."

"I don't think letting you go unaccompanied is the best idea," G'raha said. "Certain concerns aside, what if Isra wakes up in an unfamiliar location alone, with no memory of how she ended up there? It would be terrifying."

He did have a point. "From what I can recall, all of you were busy with some task or another that took you to the far ends of Etheirys, am I right? So...take me with you. I can take turns," they said, grinning. "Not only would it mean I would remain under guard-- " a pointed look at Thancred, "but it would give me a chance to explore what has become of my home, and get to know my shard's dearest companions. What say you?"

Chapter Text

Master Matoya was a harsh teacher, but in some ways, she reminded Pandora of Venat. A much older and crankier Venat.

Y'shtola had volunteered to take the 'first shift', as it were, and given that she and her master seemed to enjoy dipping their toes into the secrets of the arcane, Pandora was certainly interested in learning whatever it was this age had to offer. Krile had made sure they knew as many details of the world as they would need in order to get by without undue suspicion--it was a gesture of good will, but Pandora kept the notes on them regardless. G'raha, who was clearly head over heels for Isra, gave them a goodbye they could only describe as conflicted. They felt bad for keeping him from his love, but it's not as if they could help it.

Their aether was even already attuned to the nearby aetheryte; it felt slightly different to travel, but all they needed to do was picture it in their mind, with Y'shtola helpfully providing a description for Idyllshire. Describing the aether in the town was almost more useful than imagery.

Master Matoya immediately noticed the difference when Pandora walked into the cave, admiring the hidden entrance. "Someone wears a familiar face, Shtola. Have you noticed your companion isn't who she seems to be?"

Pandora blinked. "Oh, she's quick. That's where you must have picked it up. I'm afraid we're at a disadvantage. My name is Pandora, and I am...well, this is complicated…"

"An unwilling stowaway, perhaps," Y'shtola said, smiling in Pandora's direction. "Master Matoya, Pandora. Pandora, Master Matoya. My teacher, and the woman who raised me."

"And our gracious host, it seems," Pandora said, giving a quick bow. Not for the first time, they reflexively went to adjust their mask only to find it was absent. That was going to be a hard habit to break. "How did you know?"

Matoya scoffed. "The way you carry yourself. It's completely different. Spotted it the moment you came in."

Huh. Pandora wondered how Isra normally walked. They would need to ask about that later.

There was much work to be done, and to Pandora's delight, they were able to explore the surrounding area, and get to know the people of Idyllshire. They were always accompanied, either by Y'shtola herself or by one of the frog-construct things Master Matoya had at her disposal. They found that Y'shtola made a wonderfully stimulating conversation partner, and if she ever grew tired of Pandora's probing questions on the nature of life on Etheirys, details about their currently shared species, and growing up under Master Matoya's tutelage, she certainly didn't let it show.

"Tell me," she said over tea one evening while both of them were scouring the shelves of the nearby library, dusty tomes set in haphazard piles all over the floor. "I have answered many and more of your questions, and I've been happy to do it. But...I am dreadfully curious about the society from whence you came, and all our information was from a rather biased source."

Pandora looked at her curiously. "If there's aught you wish to know, I'd be happy to tell. Why are you so curious?"

"I spoke of it to Isra not long after we returned from Ultima Thule, actually. But...I wish to record what we know, and publish it for others to see. I deeply regret any forgotten knowledge, and what I was able to gather at Anamnesis was not at all a complete picture."

Pandora was silent for a moment, watching dust motes drifting in the light from the windows. "He said...he told Isra to remember us."

"He did. I intend to make sure it is not just one of us that does. Knowledge of your society and culture deserves to be remembered by those that succeeded it," Y'shtola said.

Pandora didn't know they were crying until a tear fell on one of the pages, darkening the parchment. "Oh," they said.

"What is it?"

Pandora sniffed. "I just. It didn't hit me until now. Everything I ever loved is gone. I'm alone," they said. "Look at me, the living fossil."

"I didn't mean--"

Pandora shook their head. "No, it's not your fault."

A moment of silence passed between them while Pandora tried to dry their tears. They didn't even truly know what they were crying about. The people? The city? The world? Or the Unsundered, who they had not allowed themselves to think about for fear that they would break down entirely.

"You have spent so much time since waking trying to convince us that you meant no harm, that you were just like us. I think you may have not let yourself embrace those ugly feelings." Y'shtola closed the book she was reading, and made her way over to Pandora, sitting down next to them. "You are allowed to feel pain. You are allowed to mourn. I shan't tell a soul."

Public displays of affection were not encouraged in Amaurot--it was as unseemly as showing one's face. Pandora found that they could not give less of a damn about social convention as they cried into Y'shtola's shoulder, trying to keep themselves from making too much noise in the stillness of the archive.

More time passed, and it seemed Y'shtola was just as hungry for information as Pandora had been. Rightfully so–Anamnesis had only yielded some clues, but in the same way one doesn't write lengthy diatribes on the uses of a salt shaker, the actual minutia of Ancient life was unknown. Explanations on culture, the details of everyday life and work, were of utmost importance. Pandora was deeply impressed with the thoroughness of the mage's research, although it seemed exacting standards were the norm in the Matoya household.

Soon, though, their time had come to an end. It was the last night of Pandora's stay in the Matoya residence, and their hosts had decided something delicious was in order. Eating so often was another thing Pandora was getting used to–the constant need to seek out food, prepare it by hand without the aid of creation magic, all to do it again a few hours later was, quite frankly, exhausting. Despite this particular feast being for Pandora's departure, Master Matoya's stare left no question that they would be helping with the preparation.

"So, have you found the experience helpful?" Y'shtola asked ad they sat in the crisp night air, staring at the sky. "Staying here, I mean. I gather you don't often stay in one place very long."

Pandora laughed. "True enough, though I gather staying put this long is quite unusual for Isra and the Scions. But to answer your question, yes--your insights were quite invaluable."

"As were yours. I daresay I'll have several volumes based on your tales alone."

A beat of silence passed. "You know, you're a clever person. One of the cleverest I've met, really. What made you trust me so quickly? Aside from your aethersight, which I admit I envy."

"Well, there is what I said before. I have seen your aether before, so it's not as if you were a new entity. Just not one we'd had the pleasure of speaking to," Y'shtola said.

"Right. But what if I had been untrustworthy after all?" Pandora wasn't sure why they were asking, other than idle curiosity, but their shoulders tensed up in anticipation of the answer anyway.

"Isra is a part of you. I admit, even in that room as I encouraged cooperation, even I wasn't entirely sure if you could be trusted. But Isra is perhaps one of the most trustworthy people I have ever known. She has never once been selfish or unfair, not when it counted. And surely, if her soul came from yours, that must be a part of you, too." Y'shtola looked at them and smiled.

Pandora smiled back. "I hope I can live up to that."

"I'm sure you will. Ah, before I forget–I thought this might be useful," Y'shtola said, rummaging through her bag and pulling out a book with a plain cover, leather stained a beautiful red. "Admittedly, the color choice is influenced by Isra's preferences. But I thought you might have use for a journal in your travels."

Pandora took the journal, neatly tied so it wouldn't fall open. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship, and they appreciated it all the more knowing it was made by hand. "Thank you, Y'shtola. I really appreciate this!"

Y'shtola nodded. "Think of it as an expression of my thanks for your company. And for putting up with Matoya's demands."

The two devolved into laughter, watching the sky and chatting for hours more.