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A bitter wind snatches wisps of hair from his braid and sets them flying, while the hard rock beneath him emanates chills up his thighs and rear. Were it not for the comforting arm over his shoulders and the warm body seated at his side, G’raha Tia might have frozen solid hours past. Admittedly, he might make for a fetching Miqo’te statue, but the change would serve no purpose save as a testament, mayhap, to where his regret has landed him.
Above G’raha spans a navy dome bespeckled by an unfathomable multitude of bright pinpricks; nearly all the heavens are spread wide, without a single cloud to mar the view, but the silhouette of a dragon’s corpse ─ membranous wings still raised in triumphant defiance ─ blots out the stars over the center of Silvertear Lake. To the far left of his perspective sits Syrcus Tower, its blue glow outshining even the brightest of stars, but G’raha doesn’t mind the Allagan creation dominating one corner of this horizon. Had Galuf not assigned him this massive mystery he would be home, in his own bed, likely reading some history or other ─
No. No, he wouldn’t. Home no longer exists.
The stars double, and then triple, and G’raha ducks his head as tears cascade over wind-chilled cheeks. He’d believed that grief had its limit, but with every thought of home ─ the Isle of Val, the Students of Baldesion, his friends and colleagues ─ he learns anew that it is impossible to run dry of tears.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this! He was supposed to go on an adventure, to uncover Allagan secrets, to assist Garlond Ironworks and a team of researchers! He was supposed to do his part and then return west, ready to report his findings before moving on to his next assignment!
“But there will never be a ‘next assignment’,” he murmurs thickly, shaking his head to hasten his tears’ descent down to his lap.
“G’raha?”
“I ─” He turns to bury his face against the Warrior of Light’s chest, feeling the Hyur’s fur collar tickle against his forehead as he attempts to regain control. It isn’t fair to pile all of these thoughts on Vahl’s shoulders again and again; his Warrior has more than enough to worry about without adding G’raha’s misery to the mess. “It’s ─ it’s nothing.”
Vahl doesn’t respond, and as the silence drags, G’raha’s guilt compounds exponentially. He tries to let the moment stretch, but with every breath his lie grows larger ─ louder ─ and he finally gives in.
“The Students,” he says, his eyes burning and his nose itching. “I’m never going to work with them again. With Galuf. Clive. Ake’tan. Krile.” Speaking their names bursts the dam and he closes his eyes as tears again overwhelm him. “I’m sorry. I’m ─ I’m sorry, Vahl. You must be tired of this, of me ─”
“Only in that I can’t help.” Vahl’s arm tightens around G’raha’s shoulders. “Would a distraction make things any better? Minfilia asked me again about booking passage to Sharlayan, if that’s the path you decide to take. There’s a ship leaving tomorrow ─ but you don’t have to decide now,” he adds hastily, shifting awkwardly on their rocky cliff overlooking the lake. “The offer stands. For whatever ship, on whatever day.”
It is G’raha’s turn to stay silent. No matter how Vahl phrases it, the inflection is off; the despair lingers just beneath the surface. Every word is flavored with the knowledge that Vahl cannot follow, should G’raha decide to leave.
And what a surprise that is! What an unexpected complication! G’raha came to Eorzea seeking adventure and Allagan mysteries, and while he’s had his fair share of both it seems his greatest gain is a soul to stand by his: a partner. A friend and lover, yes, but with every passing day his relationship with Eorzea’s Champion becomes something a little deeper, something a little more vital, something he depends on far more than he should.
With every day he falls a little more in love with this dark-haired, blue-eyed Hyur, and it seems the feeling may very well be mutual.
But the Students of Baldesion must come first. Galuf and Krile and all the rest: his colleagues and companions cannot have vanished without reason. The various islands they called home could not have disappeared without someone ─ or something ─ being at fault. G’raha must return, if only to assist the Forum with their investigations. He owes the Students that.
He owes them far more.
“Will you manage?” he asks, but once the words are out they seem too personal, too presumptuous, and he rephrases. “Will NOAH manage without me? With Syrcus Tower. Unlocking, exploring, rendering dormant.”
“Of course.” Vahl makes it a full ten seconds before adding, “I think.”
G’raha snorts; he enjoys the burst of dry humor for what it is, even as his damned melancholy drags, drags, drags. “ Please be careful.”
“We will. I want you to come back to good news. You returning only to find we’ve made a crater of the thing would be…disappointing, I suppose.”
“Don’t even joke. Syrcus Tower created a Calamity, Vahl. Better it stays locked than you take that kind of risk.” Even saying it he knows it is an impossible request: Cid and the Ironworks will proceed with their plan. The tower will be opened whether G’raha is there or not.
Which means Vahl will enter it…alone…
G’raha closes his eyes. Is that a gamble he is willing to take? He was chosen for this role to provide information and guidance on all matters relating to Allag, particularly the risks associated with entering such a powerful structure. What does it say about him if he chooses to abandon the cause?
But he isn’t choosing to! Circumstances changed! No one could have foreseen this mess, least of all Galuf himself, and there is no precedent! He cannot draw from the history he loves so dearly because never has a landmass been wiped so thoroughly from the face of this world. Not without flooding, or earthquakes, or devastating magicks ─ not without an obvious cause!
“I don’t know what to do,” he admits quietly, his words the only sound save the gentle lapping of the lakewater below them. “I cannot abandon my friends to their fate, but neither can I leave NOAH to complete this task without me.” He says nothing of leaving Vahl, as if departing without him will not be unbearably painful. He knows ─ he knows ─ that they will eventually take their own paths forward, but he had not thought to rush their separation quite so quickly.
And, as if leaving his heart behind is not bad enough, returning to Sharlayan to investigate will be a task he undertakes largely unaided. Whatever phenomena or force took the Isle of Val from its rightful place, it is unlikely to be captivating enough to motivate all ninety-nine members of the Forum to stay their own projects.
To be alone…? Again…?
First Corvos and now the Isle of Val: family born and family found; both lost, beyond his reach, missing or departed or ─
He’d been young, the last time. Young enough to view what came as an adventure, rather than a loss. He’d said goodbye without truly grasping what it meant for him ─ for his future, for his family, for his homeland ─ and it had been some time before the true weight of his departure hit him: why he’d been sent away, the life that remained to his tribe, the likelihood that he might see any of his family ever again…
Quite a few years have passed between then and now. He has no illusions regarding what it means to do this alone, and the thought of it terrifies him. Where will he even begin to look for answers? He is a follower, not a leader: a historian, not a detective! He isn’t even a mage! If the Isle’s disappearance is magical in nature, how is he ever to counter it, let alone unravel the reason behind it?
“Maybe, if the situation in Ul’dah calms down, and if the beast tribes relent, and if the Empire falls back ─” Vahl sighs, already sounding defeated. “Maybe, if all of that comes to pass, I can go west with you. To help you search.”
Such a collection of “maybes,” each more unlikely than the last! Vahl is bound to Eorzea and it to him; with a new primal rearing its head every few weeks, he cannot very well go gallivanting off west, no matter how much his partner might need him.
It goes both ways, does it not? G’raha would do anything to have Vahl with him in Sharlayan, but Eorzea’s Champion needs G’raha here; needs him at the tower; needs his expertise and insight into a matter that promises to be messy. If G’raha returns to Sharlayan, he knows the rest of his team will continue without him ─ for good or for ill.
Is it cowardice to stay in Eorzea? His fear of what awaits him in Sharlayan ─ unhelpful academics, a mystery without a starting point, a life without friends or family ─ pushes him towards remaining in this unexpected familiarity, but is it not justified? As he told Vahl, Syrcus Tower enabled a Calamity! Surely Galuf would want him to put this to rights before turning his attention elsewhere!
Unless Galuf is alive. Unless all of the Students are alive, somewhere. Fighting. Waiting. Hoping. How is G’raha to know? He won’t know unless he goes west, and going west requires a courage he isn’t sure he has.
“How do you do it?” he asks, pulling away from Vahl’s chest to look at his face. His Warrior’s attention is on the stars above, the myriad of constellations spreading like glitter across velvet, and even at G’raha’s question he keeps his gaze oriented skyward. “How do you find the strength? Where do you find the strength? To keep adventuring ─ to keep moving forward, when you cannot be sure the path ahead of you is the correct one…if there even is a correct path…”
Vahl’s smile is crooked and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Because who could do it if I didn’t try? If you know of another ‘blessed’ by Hydaelyn, please let me know. As it stands, the responsibility is mine.”
“Duty drives you?”
“Ah. No, not quite. Not alone…” Vahl falls silent, his gaze dropping to the lake below them, and just when G’raha prepares to move the conversation elsewhere, Vahl takes a deep breath. “I want to know. I want to see what waits on the other side of that hill, those cliffs, this lake. I want to explore, to scout, to wander. I want to help people, G’raha, especially when I don’t know that anyone else will. So ─ duty, yes, but curiosity, too. A pinch of wanderlust. And…”
“And…?”
Vahl wrinkles his nose. “And I enjoy it. The fighting part. It’s not a ─ a fashionable thing to admit, I suppose, but in the thick of things? The heat of battle? I’m happy there. Not because of the danger, but…”
“The thrill?”
“Ugh. Barbaric.”
“I don’t think so. Why wouldn’t you take pleasure in your own skills? It isn’t as though you challenge civilians, or murder in cold blood, or…” G’raha trails off, noticing the pained look on Vahl’s face, and tries again. “Duty and pleasure, then.”
“And you ask, because…?” Vahl’s brilliant blue eyes finally meet G’raha’s own mismatched pair. “What motivates G’raha Tia?”
“Adventure?” That doesn’t sound quite right, and he frowns as he searches for the words. “I suppose I find myself wanting to know, too, but ─ I want to uncover history. I’m no fighter ─”
“You’re a damn good shot with that bow,” Vahl interrupts. “Better than I ever could be.”
“Well.” Now is not the time to preen, but he can’t stop his ears from twitching with pleasure at the sudden compliment. “Thank you, but ─ but the point I was trying to make, I suppose, is that I find myself motivated by the world around me. By learning from history. Which…is exactly what I’d be attempting were I to return to Sharlayan. I’d be investigating, discovering, learning…” He tilts his head to again stare past Midgardsormr’s corpse. “Though I hardly know where to begin. To do this all alone…”
“Would you be more helpful here, or in Sharlayan?”
G’raha’s response is immediate, though so, too, is the shame that being honest brings him. “Here. Unmistakably here. The tower is Allagan, Vahl. NOAH consists of brilliant men, but none of them are Allagan scholars. None of them know what I know.” He covers his red eye automatically, making the familiar gesture as a sort of comfort ─ as a reassurance, mayhap, that he is still on his proper path. “You remember why I was sent away from Corvos?”
“Of course.”
“Allagan history. An Allagan eye. That Allagan tower.” G’raha gestures to the pillar of glowing crystal to the south. “Galuf chose me, you know. I would have volunteered, but he picked me himself. Said it might very well be the most important Allagan research of our time.” The memory of his excitement ─ his pride, his curiosity, his urge to go, go, go ─ fades as he remembers why they are having this conversation. “But now he’s gone. Finding him is more important than unlocking the tower.”
“Is it?”
“I…” Words desert him, but what are words against the cacophony in his head, the maelstrom in his chest, the knots in his belly? He has hope and good intentions, but how far can one Miqo’te go on a wish and positive thinking, especially when that positive thinking simply masks the kernel of despair already taking root? A return to Sharlayan will not bring about the closure he wants, not in the timely manner his mind requires; it is far more likely to highlight the gravity of the situation. To stand on a ship, the deck bobbing in the constant sway of ocean waves, and search ─ and search ─ and search for any sign of the Isle? For a scrap of cloth, a fragment of rubble, a floating piece of the life he so desperately wants not to be gone?
The thought proves too much to bear, and he again curls into Vahl’s side, pressing his cheek against the cold metal of Vahl’s breastplate as he drags in one shuddery breath after another. He’d lost his life once, been forced to leave it behind as a means to save him from his family’s fate; had he been too careless in assuming the Students would exist forever? That he would never endure another painful farewell? Mayhap he had, but living in terror of what tomorrow might bring will ruin what joy he still has! What excitement, happiness, and love he can still find! What good he can still do!
“G’raha?”
This had been his assignment. His last assignment, chosen by Galuf Baldesion himself: his duty, his goal, his purpose. He knows just how dangerous Syrcus Tower can be ─ can hazard a guess at what might wait within its crystalline walls ─ and that risk is unimaginable.
“I’ll stay.” The words echo across Silvertear Lake, voiced far louder than he’d intended, but his conviction only comes across all the stronger. “Here, with you. With NOAH.”
Vahl makes a sound ─ quickly stifled ─ and it takes the Hyur a few moments before he tries again with words.
“But the Students of Baldesion ─ if you are the last survivor ─”
“Then I should finish the last assignment given to me,” G’raha interrupts, though not unkindly. “I was chosen to be here, in this place, at this time, and if I hadn’t been…” His voice drops. “I, too, would be among the missing.”
“Gods.” Vahl’s arm tightens around him. “Gods. Don’t ─ don’t say that again. Please.”
“Mayhap I was meant to be here. Mayhap our work with Syrcus Tower is meant to happen. I cannot know, of course, but I have to believe Galuf would want me to see this through. To finish this task, wherever it may lead.” He takes Vahl’s calloused hand to gently kiss the back of the Hyur’s cold knuckles. “After that’s done, I’ll return to Sharlayan. After we’ve solved this mystery and safely locked the tower. Then I’ll help investigate. Help search…” He doesn’t say for survivors; even that meager hope chokes his voice, builds pressure behind his eyes, makes his nose itch. He doesn’t want to be the last man standing; he doesn’t want that responsibility.
No matter how confident he is or what Vahl might say of him, G’raha does not want to do this alone.
“I’ll go with you,” Vahl announces, and quickly adds, “If the city-states and the beast tribes and the Empire give me some breathing room. If I can. When I can. I promise, G’raha.”
Such a promise! Such a convoluted set of circumstances to fulfill before they ever have a hope of seeing it through! Yet the mere idea of it ─ journeying with Vahl, solving this mystery, venturing out against gods-know-what with his partner at his side ─ wakes a fire in G’raha’s heart, and he finds himself smiling in earnest. “I believe you.”
The Hyur leans over him to kiss the top of his head, directly between his ears. “You mean a lot to me, G’raha. I want to help: for you, and for your family.”
Family. Corvos and the Students and ─ and maybe ─
“Vahl?”
“Hmm?”
“You can drop the ‘g’. If you’d like. ‘Raha’ is easier to say, and ─ I mean, if you ─ if I’m not ─” He stops, aware his cheeks are turning red and his tongue is already tied in knots, and attempts to collect himself. “What I mean is ─”
“Raha.”
His ears perk up at the same moment his tail thwacks Vahl’s back, and his blush stretches right to his hairline. “Ah. Exactly like that.”
A second kiss, this one against G’raha’s cheek, and then a finger under his chin tilts his head up towards those brilliant, bright blue eyes.
“Let’s head home, Raha.”