Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the Tower of Zot abruptly collapsed, no one knew what happened. They just… came to, lying on the island where it once stood with the unconscious bodies of the Arkasodara strewn about none the worse for wear. Though most stumbled to their feet, G’raha remained unconscious as the Scions gathered to observe their surroundings. Or… if it was only G’raha unconscious, then that lessened their numbers, but Alphinaud felt a cold pit form in his stomach. Turning again, the others shot him perplexed looks, watching as his face turned white upon meeting them again properly.

“Where’s Alisaie?”

Their own confusion morphed into panic as eyes scanned the small isle again, but neither hide nor hair of the younger twin appeared. She was not caught under any of the Arkasodara, nor was she in the waters around; and when Varshahn arrived with his Radiant Hosts to help, all that was uncovered was her rapier. The weapon was rarely gone from her side these days, and to find it apparently tossed into the tide without the owner had Alphinaud worry more. There were no leads - there was no immediate reason why she would vanish with nary a trace, but as Meteor stared at the rapier, Alphinaud observed the Warrior clutch his head.

The Echoes of the soul, and of the one whose aether was attuned to the crystalline blade and all those who neared.

( “You will be perfect for a cautionary measure.” )

“Fandaniel…” Meteor soon gasped, lowering his hand. “He has her…”

“Gods be good… pray, tell me that was not what you truly saw!” Alphinaud exclaimed, almost begged, eyes wide and staring.

He hoped, he prayed desperately in his mind, but Meteor closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Twas all it took to make the elder twin’s heart plummet.

( “Come now, my dear. Lend your voice, lend us your voice. Sing of the sorrow, of the despair… of the End we desire…! … Did you not say you would grant a gentle and kind death?” )

Sequestering himself within their room in the Andron upon their return to Old Sharlayan, he stared across at the bed occupied by a pink crystalline blade and its red accelerator. Afternoon had long given to night, but he didn’t dare leave or even look away. If he did, he worried the weapon would be gone - and part of him hoped the blade would be summoned. That would mean Alisaie could fight, and wherever Fandaniel held her, she could potentially escape. But bells dragged on and the sword remained unchanged. He didn’t understand. Why did that Ascian take her? What could he mean, that she was a ‘cautionary measure’? There had to be a reason, but naught came to mind - or, no, naught on the subject came to mind, because for all he could theorise, he didn’t want to imagine what his sister may be subjected to. He’d only been apart from her for involuntary reasons once before, and it wasn’t long until they were reunited. Even so, he knew she was with Meteor - he knew she was safe; and the one who called them away as well ended up being a staunch ally - this was the worst-case scenario. He couldn’t even inform Father or Mother. 

A knock on the door brought him to heavily lift his head. Turning to look at the door, he made sure her sword was never gone from his vision.

“... Come in.”

He should have locked it, but… but what if Alisaie did escape and just teleported to the Aetheryte? He didn’t want to lock her out; she would want to rest after such an ordeal. Of course, all hopeful thinking and his heart still sunk to see Meteor and the others enter in her fabled place. Disappointment must’ve been writ plain across his face for the Warrior stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll find her, Alphinaud… we will. Either on our own, or we’ll pry the answer from Fandaniel.”

“How? Where do we start? Why must we wait to start searching?”

He knew he was asking such foolish questions and being almost borderline childish, but this was his sister - his twin - in the hands of a nihilistic Ascian bent on world destruction because he wanted to die. Of them all, he supposed Alisaie had been most vehemently opposed and interfering with his Tempering efforts, but it wasn’t much in the grand scheme either. The Warrior of Light was the greater threat to the Telophoroi, and he’d even admitted as much. They couldn’t wait; Alphinaud didn’t want Fandaniel harming his sister, but no one before him had an answer.

“... The plan is to head to Garlemald itself,” Estinien reminded him. “We’ll keep our ears sharp, and wring his neck should we get there without any new findings.”

“We’re sure to hear something. He’s a talkative bastard,” Thancred pointed out. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he taunted us along the way.”

“Until we take leave on yonder journey, pray, Lord Alphinaud, eat and rest…” Urianger urged, presenting a bowl to the young man. “Thou must maintain thy strength… and if my Lord doth wish, we can provide company during your evening vigil…”

Stay and make sure he slept, no doubt that’s what he truly meant. But Alphinaud accepted the bowl quietly, gazing at its contents. The soup of the day from the Last Stand, he believed. A wise purchase to make, since he didn’t know if he could stomach anything more solid. If only she were here - she’d been wanting a bite from the Stand before they left. Their pizza was always the best, and their favourite. Nodding without lifting his head to them again, he stepped back to seat himself at the table set for two.

( “Here, eat! It’s your favourite snack, remember? Syrup-coated apples, though, I heard they were called ‘candied apples’ in these new eras.” )

The march through the Magna Glacies was bitterly cold even if Alphinaud barely shivered. Nouliths at his back, rapier at his waist despite his inability to wield it, he walked on with the caravan, eyes sunken as sleepless nights became the norm. By no means was this due to preparation with the Contingent, but searching, scouring the best he could for anything that might lead him to Alisaie. And it wasn’t like he was alone in the effort; Thancred and Estinien had chanced scouting ahead while the Eorzean Alliance readied for Ilsabard. G’raha, Urianger, and Y’shtola with Krile’s assistance decided to try Matoya’s Crystal Eye and if they could trace Alisaie that way, but they reported interference before attempting other means. Meteor, for his part, did not leave Alphinaud alone; even during his failed attempts to rest as he awoke with a start before barely a bell could pass, nightmare after nightmare a plague upon his restless mind.

And when Vergilia van Corculum led the IIIrd Legion to attack, it was difficult to concentrate on the battle itself, but beneath the Tempered ambush, he thought he saw something glinting in the ice field. Nouliths steady by his shoulders, he locked onto it, readying to fire, but his eyes narrowed to try discerning it further. Long ears upon quadrupedal form, beady black eyes, and a tail that waved behind it, divided into three - if not for the ruby adorning its forehead, he would assume a wild fox, but ‘twas unmistakably ruby carbuncle. But how? Its form seemed thin, like it might disappear, and he panicked. Breaking away from combat, he ran towards the aetherial creature, praying to himself that it was no mere illusion. Just as soon as he neared, it turned and vanished from sight. Snow broke as he came to a stop, and he stared at the spot where it had been, noting how the snow had been crushed by its form.

So, it had been there, but who could’ve…?

Kneeling down to examine the spot more closely, something else shimmered from the snowbank. Though it chilled his fingers to reach for it, they enclosed around something even colder: metal. Thin, arching, a decorative band which - pulling out further - was attached to a book… no, to a grimoire. Matching… a pair… 

“A-Adelphoi…”

He still had possession of his…

… Garlemald - they had to get there now .

( “They’re coming… they’ll take you away. If only I’d had the chance to let you fly, but until then… sing. Sing for them my answer.” )

The Tower of Babil had loomed ominously ever since their arrival, but no more. To say affairs in Garlemald were abysmal was rather understating conditions that continued to swiftly decline despite their best efforts - the only way to end this was to confront Fandaniel and Zenos. Still, there was more going on that could not be explained, such as how the felled Tempered among the ruined city proper would rise again. Some unexplained power caged their souls and refused to let them die, mending their wounds and leaving them to shamble about once more. It could be no manner of magitek doing that - at least, that’s what Alphinaud believed. Instead, and strangely enough, he thought he felt a spark - an intense concentration of fire-aspected aether, but no burning heat. If he had to describe it, it was more warmth like the breath of a gentle exhale or spring wind; and then, they rose. His first thoughts were an exceptionally powerful healer somewhere inside and under Fandaniel’s control or among the Tempered, but the fire threw him off.

What could it be?

Inside the Tower, there were plenty of gaols to examine as they climbed with prisoners to be freed, but it was only near the top Y’shtola raised a hand. There was still another level they needed to ascend, but her eyes were scanning the walls, following currents which none of them could see.

“... That way,” she soon said, “The aether is collecting. No doubt what’s the cause of our resurrections. Come, we cut off the source so those souls may rest and our allies need no longer fight them.”

Alphinaud nodded, just as the others did. The beast waiting for them at the top was not going anywhere and they needed to make sure it didn’t return either. Thancred took the lead guarding Y’shtola though the floor was quiet here; Meteor remained with Alphinaud, but the young man said nothing. He thought they would find Alisaie here somewhere, but perhaps finding her grimoire in the snow had been a red herring. Surely, Fandaniel was taunting them, telling them that they’d never see her again. The shuddering sigh that escaped him as the door opened, even his optimism was finite; and for all they’d seen, she could already be gone. Taking a breath, a gentle wash of fire aether made him lift his head.

“By the Twelve…” G’raha murmured and Alphinaud agreed.

What a piteous creature they came upon, locked within that chamber with all-too familiar Allagan technology enclosing them. ‘Twas barely bone and flesh, their chalk-white skin bruised and scarred from whatever tortures Fandaniel had subjected it to, yet only its throat was bandaged. They must have been a person once in a sense, but they were closer to beast than man. Their arms and hands, all the way from the shoulders, had become wing-like and feathered; and their legs and feet, scaled with wicked taloned claws. He’d thought it just skin before, but he actually believed their body may be layered by fine down. Several long tail feathers flowed from their lower back, the plumage terribly unkempt like the rest of themselves, and their shortened white hair was in particular a tangled mess. By its worrying appearance, that it had flinched at their arrival enough to rattle its metal cuff and chains was a miracle, hinting they were still alive. Alphinaud was unsure if that was a testament to its will to survive, or another need compelling it to do so. And when their chains rattled again, they all watched as talons scratched the floor, and winged wrists pressed against the ground - a poor attempt to crawl away from them; he couldn’t imagine it was capable of flight or had the opportunity to learn. Doing his best to ignore their physical state, he pulled back his attention to take it in as a whole, and the appearance soon clicked. Though the feathers lacked pigment, it was the shape, and the way aether gathered at the tips, glowing almost as though they burned and the warmth that ebbed from its form.

“... They’ve been Tempered by Phoenix,” he whispered, his heart pounding in his throat. From his peripheral vision, he saw Urianger pale.

“Such knowledge was undisclosed, lest any leader mentioned…”

“Nay, ‘twas possible for the Garleans to extract the combat data of Nael van Darnus from within the Coils. ‘Tis also possible the record of our confrontation could similarly be recovered,” Meteor cut in, his face pulled and teeth bared. “We’ve not crossed the Phoenix itself, but still, this must be what sustains the Tempered outside and keeps them coming back.”

“An undying army fueled by the Phoenix’s immortal flames,” Y’shtola sighed. “Fandaniel undoubtedly forced summon after summon. Still… it’s odd…”

“What is?” G’raha asked, having knelt beside the Tempered who shielded its face. Being so close was rather risky, but they did still have the warding scales on hand; and the Tempered wasn’t behaving as most Tempered did. Alphinaud noticed the miqo’te man’s eyes steady and narrow in his examination. What was he reaching into his pocket for?

“We’ve established that continued exposure to a Primal’s aether causes the physical changes, yes?” Y’shtola continued, a hand resting on her chin. There were nods all around, and Alphinaud too nodded, his brows furrowing as she wondered where she was going. “Phoenix by legend is a being overflowing with fire-aspected aether. However, this individual’s aether remains balanced.”

“‘Balanced’? But, how could they be transformed then? Their aether ends up in stasis until it’s exposed again,” Thancred pointed out, crossing his arms. “... Unless, even with a few summons, each exposure stripped them of their form piece-by-piece. The Phoenix is not Ifrit after all.”

“Perhaps. ‘Tis a theory, but considering how much aether would needs be expended to raise an army again. And, without ample crystals to aid each summon, more aether would be taken from the summoner.” Y’shtola nodded, closing her eyes only to have them open and gaze down. She appeared to be examining the room again, following points which all came back to the affected chained to the centre of the room. “... Unless, their body harboured the Primal directly, but not the selfsame Primal as with many before. But for the transformations to be permanent… it’s a miracle it’s only to this extent.”

“... I don’t think that’s it either,” G’raha stated and Alphinaud blinked. The older man was holding his… warding scale? Lip curling, his ears dropped. “I think Fandaniel may have fused a warding scale to their body.”

“What…!?”

But before it could be pointed out, their wings batted G’raha away and the afflicted turned away and curled into a trembling ball. For as peculiar as their being was, they’d yet to say a word. Alphinaud wondered if that was due to the throat injury given the bandage, but how? Would that not heal as the Phoenix? Not being able to scream, unable to release any stress in some way - such a terrible existence. Staring longer, he soon cocked his head. The curled plumage that stood where ears likely once rested, there was a silver cuff of sorts he hadn’t noticed before, and the patterning on the metal... Unconsciously, he raised a hand to his left ear, touching first the delta prism that dangled before feeling the engravings and bevelled decorations on the clip.

“What should be done with it?” Estinien asked, breaking both silence and Alphinaud’s attention. His eyes drifted to his companions, and he watched their expressions darken. No one answered, but looks were being exchanged. Consideration, contemplation, but slowly, hands twitched - weapons were being considered.

“... Tempered or no, their form has been made undone by Fandaniel. We’ve not the slightest what else he may have done to them beyond making them suffer,” Y’shtola said calmly, her voice far too levelled for Alphinaud’s comfort. He knew what she was insinuating and he felt awful that was the only conclusion they could reach. Whoever they used to be, what little remained was only because of the warding scale. Were it ever to be unfused from their body or the warding’s power fade, they would become the Phoenix’s thrall truly - his Grandsire’s soul would be plucked from the aetherial sea for untold destruction due to Fandaniel’s design. If only they had a method to treat those turned; Gods, if Alisaie was here, she would refuse, she would argue against it, she would demand they not kill.

“Wait…! They don’t behave like any Tempered we’ve witnessed before. Surely, we could find a method to treat them while the scale still works!” At least G’raha raised a protest, but he was part of the reason Alisaie found a cure at all. Still, Alphinaud bit his lip. It was also G’raha that had said the treatment would not work once their bodies were gone. “There must be, we can’t give up on them like this!”

“And? If Fandaniel takes them again?”

“Then we stop Fandaniel here and now… pray, we haven’t come this far to just…!”

“It’s crueller to let them live longer as thus…”

As they debated on their next actions, Alphinaud yet again watched the creature kick feebly at its chains and flap its thinned wings, scattering feathers around. It could do no else, and after serving a vessel to Phoenix, it probably couldn’t starve to death; at least, not at the common rate. Another look around, there did appear to be remnants of… food stuffs. Rotted, with some turned to ash likely during the summons. Then it had already been trying to die, or just refused all Fandaniel offered. Kneeling down beside them, he frowned and raised a hand. He couldn’t be the one - he couldn’t bring himself to slay them despite the fact it would end their suffering. However, he would put them to sleep so they wouldn’t have to hear the Scions argue - could be spared further pain if they decided to grant them mercy. It would just take a mome-

“... anyone hear me?! Please… please stop this…”

His hand froze and he choked on the incantation.

“A… Alphi… Alphinaud…!”

Blue eyes widened and his arm began to shake.

“... Meteor? Is everything alright?” He heard Estinien speak, but Alphinaud didn’t turn his head. Instead, he stared at the ‘Tempered’ as they raised their head, pale hair failing to obscure their face… and radiant blue eyes. The face - the shape reflective of his own, and the cheeks stained by tears - they’d been crying this whole time, but their lips did not move.

“Brother…i-it’s you. Please, don’t kill me…”

Brother… brother… 

“O-Oh Gods…” he gasped, daring to lay a hand on their - her - shoulder. “... Alisaie?” Any chatter behind him ceased and eyes bored into his back. However, he didn’t turn his head away. He continued staring into those luminescent eyes overflowing with aether; or perhaps those were the fresh tears flooding her eyes instead. Her body shook with silent sobs and she lowered her head, but didn’t lean against him. She curled in on herself instead, wings raised, but unable to wipe her eyes using them - she could only shield her face as more came. And Alphinaud just… he couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t recognized her - not from behind and almost not from the front. What Fandaniel had done - by the Twelve, that’s what he meant; that’s why he took her specifically. His face was wet before he realised and his hand slipped from her shoulder, fingertips curling away to not disturb her stained feathers.

“H-He’s made you… You summoned him.”

And by her love for their Grandsire, she would have the strongest connection, the most knowledge on the Primal. If she cried harder, no one heard her. Instead, her anguish only seemed to reach him through his mind. How?

“Couldn’t stop… have to live… so you could save me…”

“… you’ve been transformed… you’ve been reviving Tempered Garlean Soldiers,” he whimpered, knowing what it meant, but he couldn’t - they couldn’t do this, but they had to… but he’d been looking everywhere for her. Having lowered her wings, her wide eyes were staring and her teeth gnashed tight behind her lip. Pleading - of course she knew what he was implying. She shook her head vehemently, chains rattling as she pulled back.

“No… No, I’m not… I’m still here! I didn’t… that was not in my control…!”

“The warding scale fused to your body maintains your sanity… you… you know we…” his voice trailed, but his hands balled into fists. No, he could never, and he wouldn’t allow anyone else either. Removing his jacket, he wrapped it around Alisaie’s shoulders, knowingly enclosing her wings, and pulling her into his arms to hug her close. Even with the material between them, he could feel her shoulder blades shift sharply beneath his hands and the bones in her wings dig into his chest to push him away, but he wasn’t letting go. “We’ll take you back to Thavnair. There must be a way to undo this.”

“Aw, then no sororicide today? How disappointing…”

Alphinaud’s head snapped at that voice, and he bristled seeing that… bastard intrude, but he would. Thancred had said Fandaniel was talkative… and the Ascian was smiling as always before them which infuriated Alphinaud more. “And I’d done all that work to make you believe she was Tempered. After watching you cut down the Tempered left and right on the Carteneau Flats, this end result was… still entirely predictable. Well, take her away if you want, I’m done with this little bird. Couldn’t even muster a single destructive flame I desired, but the undying army was a satisfying distraction.”

“Never… I refused. We’re meant to save the world…”

Alphinaud rubbed his sister’s back. Ever had she fought, even when an Ascian purposefully manipulated her form into the perfect host for Phoenix. Before he could say anything to Fandaniel, he disappeared into his portal to return to Gods’ know where, but it did remind Alphinaud that the tower still needed to be conquered. Keeping Alisaie shielded by his body as he rose, several blasts from his nouliths managed to break the chains securing her to the floor. And after making sure she was comfortably bundled in his jacket, he lifted her into his arms with terrifying ease. She needed proper rest and succour to put on weight properly again, and to learn to use her new limbs until they could reverse this - if they could at all. Turning slowly, he didn’t know what the others might be thinking, but he had already decided.

“... I need to take her back. Apologies as I meant to see the Tower whole before descending, but–”

Meteor shook his head. “Nay, take Alisaie, and see that she’s treated well. Only a few of us need to reach the top.”

“I shall accompany him,” G’raha offered, stepping forward. “It will be a trek back to Camp Broken Glass and we don’t know how others may respond should they see her. I can at least explain while Alphinaud tends to her and provide some protection.”

“I’ll join them as well and send a missive to Thavnair… They could begin developing a treatment plan if that is the destination you want,” Estinien said, his eyes meeting Alphinaud’s as he spoke. That would leave Meteor, Thancred, Urianger, and Y’shtola to reach the top in order to stop Fandaniel if possible, but Alphinaud had confidence in them.

“And if the alchemists in Thavnair are unable, there may be a solution in Allagan records,” G’raha noted. “I do recall reading they had a terrible fascination with chimerical research.”

“Aye, thank you, both of you,” Alphinaud said, grateful for their company and consideration. All that was left to see was if it would work, and if Alisaie would recover. His eyes dropping to Alisaie, she had turned her head to his shoulder and had her eyes closed. The light had dimmed in her feathers and soft breaths suggested she was asleep, but he still worried. He couldn’t believe this had happened, nor did he understand how she managed to communicate. At the very least she still could, but it was obvious she struggled. Biting his lip, he looked towards Estinien and G’raha before nodding, and allowed them to walk first while following after them. 

“You’ll be alright, Alisaie,” he whispered. “I promise you… you’re safe.”

Chapter Text

When she came to, Alisaie had to wonder when she ventured onto Azys Lla. So briefly did she recall their arrival at the top of the Tower of Zot, their fight with the Sisters kept miraculously swift with all of them capable of combat and without fear of enthrallment; but then the shaking started and the Tower threatened collapse. Then, how could…? But her eyes grew when the roar bellowed forth and rattled the very wall, and a sickly miasma of corrupted aether washed over her, leaving her ill. It tripped the Warding Scale still within her pocket causing it to glow, and it was enough for her to realise this was not Azys Lla.

“Well, a good morning to you, my dear!”

It took far less time for her to react to that pretentious voice oozing such vile delight. However, her springing to her feet resulted in her nearly tripping, a shackle to a chain barely several ilms long keeping her locked to the centre of the room. Hands snatching her waist, she found herself unarmed as well and could only ball her hands as a result. Gnashing her teeth, she leered at Fandaniel, maintaining what distance she could but having that much breached so quickly. She swung as he appeared before her, but he stepped aside, foot hooking her chain to make her fall - not that it stopped her. She just caught herself and prepared to rise, but he actually kicked her back to the limit of her chain and stomped on her ankle. Wincing, she covered her pain with a glare, nails scratching the ground beneath her as she focused on him and his sickening smile.

“Aren’t you so energetic? But I didn’t expect any less from you… Such spirit is what led you to curing the Tempered, after all.”

“And, your point?” she hissed, trying to find the moment which she could move, but Fandaniel didn’t remove his foot. In fact, he seemed to grind down, not that she would yell.

“What? I cannot compliment such valiant efforts? They certainly have caused trouble in my plans…” he went on, crossing his arms and almost pouting. Such actions only made her bristle. “Ah, but now, you have those Warding Scales. Troubling things, ruining my efforts beyond, but no matter. Things continue apace unhindered.”

Unhindered? For all their efforts? She tried not to allow her expression to break still, but perhaps a little dismay betrayed her for his smile widened. Removing his foot, he strolled over her, leaning close to her face where she leaned her head back.

“So? You kidnapped me to tell me this without an audience? Sounds like a mistake on your end.” Given how forthcoming he had been before regarding his dramatics, it just seemed peculiar he wanted to pass up such an opportunity to gloat or goad the Scions as a group. “We saved lives. ‘Tis enough to forestall some of your efforts.”

“Yes, you’re all quite persistent on saving lives and living when you needn’t put so much effort into this struggle,” he sighed. “‘Twould be simpler to lay down and accept death. No more suffering, no more wasted effort on those souls already doomed; naught but the peace and quiet eternal nothingness will bring.”

Was he attempting to goad her into an argument? ‘Twould be a rather pointless thing that would merely go around in circles. And perhaps her silent glare was just enough for him as he waved a hand.

“But let’s set aside debates for now… after all, I’ve brought you here for other reasons.”

Alisaie balled her hands again and remained quiet. If he’d deigned to speak this and cease the dramatic pauses... But a chill spilled down her back as he eyed her this time, that usual obnoxious smile much more sinister somehow.

“As you know, we paragons have not been ignorant of you and yours’ activities throughout the realm. And you’ve all been quite busy! Defeating primals, ending wars, halting Cataclysms and Rejoinings! … Stopping… Elder Primals from being reformed…”

Gooseflesh rose across her body as her veins iced at those words, and her eyes opened gradually as he continued, the distance between them far, far too little. His eyes thinned and lips curled higher.

“I’m sure you remember, that project was one of Allag’s greatest achievements. Ah, yes, one of many great accomplishments of the Empire that I sorely miss… My fondest memories were entertaining my fellow men with the most amusing experiments, seeing how they reacted and desired more. Those subjected to my whims, little more than toys as they screamed and wailed as they were sacrificed body and soul; slaves to the Empire and fodder to their cruelty for entertainment.” Alisaie didn’t like where this was going and felt the trembling in her fingers; but she tried to hold her anger clear even as her fear grew. Fandaniel and the experiments he spoke of - her thoughts again drifted to Azys Lla, its numerous documents on vile and unethical treatments of people the Empire captured and imprisoned. And there was a name attached to many studies whether to approve them, or reject - like finding the cure for Tempering.

“I have no one to entertain but myself this time…” She pulled herself back on her elbows, but she couldn’t get far enough as he grabbed her chin. “But I, Amon, will make good use of you. You will sing for me a beautiful song of rebirth and help expedite this star’s demise…”

Paling, her jaw tensed as her teeth gnashed tight. She would not! He would never make her! But even if a shred of her defiance could be read in her eyes, her silence only made him laugh.

“That’s right. Keep fighting… that indomitable spirit shall fuel you to rise ever higher.”

He didn’t even have the courtesy of exiting her gaol normally, opting to disappear before her into his portal, his touch a phantom still upon her chin. So she knew what he intended on doing, but she knew naught how to leave or to try informing the others. Seemed he had the forethought to remove her linkpearl. Hopefully, she would be spared some time before Fandaniel decided to–

Fire… no, that wasn’t it. 

If only it was, charring and burning her skin, but it seared far deeper than a flame upon her skin could. Lightning, then, perhaps? Burrowing its way through her skin to make her muscles spasm and legs give; having her collapse and bore into her skull. Even then, that didn’t seem correct for the pain - Gods, the pain - she’d never felt anything like it before, but there was naught more she could try comparing to. Would being flayed alive be less painful? She could only wonder and so briefly as her vision flickered and her mind popped, synapses fired and misfired… and shut down without consent. Her throat - funny how that was the actual pain she could process as she stared lamely ahead from the ground, her limbs still twitching and her eyes half-opened. Or, was that her throat? It hurt - it hurt , horrible raw and she could taste iron in the back of her mouth. And that she couldn’t feel anything else, but she just wasn’t sure. A deep, wine-coloured robe swishing before her eyes and black boots peeked beneath as someone re-approached her, but she could not make herself look up.

“How…? Down to… don’t… useless dead… however, you will…”

What were they - what was he saying? She could faint process…

“Aetherial… only then… and your body…”

She tried turning her head, wetness touching her cheek and oozing from both ears. She could smell… blood? But salt…

“Did you not… gentle and kind…”

Quiet, they were just standing there, but darkness was creeping into her vision. A sigh, the robes swishing as they turned, but no more…

No more…

…

…

“Oh, Alisaie… my sweet grandchild…”

…

…

She couldn’t move next she came to, not that she had any desire to try. Aye, she still wanted to escape, but it was taking longer for sensation to return to her body. During that time, she began to wonder how long it’d already been - no doubt the others had since noticed her absence, mayhap even knew more, but she doubted they actually knew where Fandaniel had taken her. Hells, she didn’t even know where she was. While the internal structure looked like the Tower of Zot, it felt different. She assumed whatever vile force that activated her Warding Scale was likely the culprit, but that didn’t factor much. There were so many towers all externally structured the same, but they could all have their internal differences. Which one might Fandaniel bind her to, she wondered, for this… plot of his.

Shaking her head, Alisaie struggled, but slowly sat up and rubbed her head, brows furrowing. Twelve, her head was pounding. She didn’t know if she might retch from that pain or from her nausea. Drool was caked on her chin, and a swipe at her ears revealed dried flecks of blood; and Gods, her chest. It’d been her throat that felt scalded before her fainting, but this - though, if whatever Fandaniel had done had centred on her chest, mayhap that’s why the pain had migrated to her throat when she lost feeling everywhere else. Raising a hand, she rubbed at the top of her sternum, fingers tracing over her bone… No wait, she calmed herself, that was not her bone jutting from her skin, but then, what was it? Tracing again, she outlined a strange plate and… gems? Jewellery? When had her top been removed, or had it burned off? Either way, she chanced glancing down, and her pupils shrunk. The shimmering, alchemical gold coating, the smoothed form and its lingering ridges of the scale that naturally decorated around the affixed crystals that amplified the ancient aether housed within… And if only it was that, but her hand - not just there because her arms…! Eyes bulging and fingers shaking, her gaze fell over both arms and down her body, and it was all the same: the barest shielding of something soft(?!) coated her skin. Feeling her face, her eyes widened - it was there, too.

“Seems you’ve reawakened, and not a moment too soon.”

Hands ripping away from her face, Alisaie snapped her head once more to that voice, just as unpleasant as always. And yet… she hated that hearing it made her blood run cold. Fandaniel traipsed closer, but stayed several fulms away, circling around with a hand on his chin and a smile growing over his face.

“Wonderful! Progress has been made. Already have your soft down growing in.”

“Down…?” Alisaie glanced at her shoulder, unwilling to drop her eyes any lower lest he step closer. All he did was nod once, his eyes gleaming.

“Aye! Isn’t it marvellous? Your body is accepting its new form swiftly. And that Warding Scale will make the perfect focal point to channel all that new aether.”

But she was only partially listening, her mind having nearly shut down when he mentioned ‘new form’. She didn’t understand. How had he… how could he possibly have? Did he… make her summon somehow? There’d been the faintest voice whispering her name, but that was not possible; she hadn’t tried to… but whatever he’d done to her had made her body lose control.

“I see you seemed confused…” he went on, Alisaie slowly coming around to process his words again. “I’m trying another method, as I have no interest in your Tempering. And as you have no interest in summoning, you best serve as little more than a link. How close can I bring you to the Aetherial Sea… and how many times will you be returned? Why don’t we see? Will you be granted mercy?”

“You—!” She snarled, wincing at her voice and the burning in her throat - so that had been there - but Fandaniel took his leave yet again. Despite her expression still twisted in fury, fear lanced its chilling path up her spine. Last he departed from her gaol, she was subjected to pain in short order - and he’d been plain what his intentions of her were. Trying to kick at her chain and cuff, her actions did naught but bruise her bare feet and heel with frantic kicks, metal digging into her ankle as she tried to even rip her limb free. All she succeeded in that part was scratching her skin till it was rubbed raw and threatened to bleed. And yet, she tried and tried further still, feeling the prickling dance about her body.

Again, blinding pain and a burning throat - it felt like she was choking on blood as she screamed and… oh, she was screaming. That made sense, as her body was being torn asunder to nothing; she stayed conscious for a far shorter time than before, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

She didn’t feel herself hit the ground.

Someone… please…

… anyone…

…

“If only I could protect you. If only I could do more, but… your soul… I cannot bring your soul over…”

“G-grandfather…”

…

If only, if only, for awakening again, she didn’t want to bother getting up. Barely she’d croaked, and she could not feel her limbs; and yet, if all felt like fire anyway. Even the great frigid cold of Ilsabard would probably not do anything to alleviate her pain. Curling into a ball, she flinched when her eyes partially opened because something was wrong - very, very wrong… It wasn’t that she couldn’t feel her legs, but the weight was different. The feeling of her calves pressing together, sliding against the other, it was off. Not… smooth, but rigid and rough. And trying to flex her toes, the number that she felt move was wrong …

One, two, three… she tried again.

One, two… three…

Trembling, she dared to try looking down.

Besides having grown more feathers, her breath caught at the sight of her legs. From the knees downward, dark grey scales stood out in high contrast to her paling skin and covered the entire length of her calves down to her very feet. Or, what had once been her feet, but these were no longer. Three long toes tipped by curled black talons - and there was a fourth on the ankle, but it didn’t know how to move - she didn’t know how to move it. And as she tried to kick these bizarre limbs off and rattled her chains again, the more it sunk in. And the more she kicked and rattled and tried… tried because this wasn’t happening, this wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her… If only she could reach them and pluck each feather and scale off by hand, but only then had she realised she’d been restrained.

“Ah, yes, I can’t have you hurting yourself.”

There was an irony to Fandaniel saying that, but Alisaie could not muster the energy to glare at him. Instead, she watched, wanting to leer, but too exhausted to manage more than her brow twitching and narrowing her eyes. He, in turn, watched her back, cocking his head with his hands behind his back.

“Do you not enjoy your new appendages? You’ll learn to walk… and run… all in due time.”

That was - she raised a brow, confused. What on Hydaelyn did he mean by that? Seemed that statement had bewildered him as well with how quickly he shook his head.

“It brings you closer to your Grandsire, after all!”

And there it was; Alisaie’s brow immediately furrowed in her glare and Fandaniel just laughed. When he knelt down, she wanted to turn away, but she could not manage to sit up like this - and while she could roll over, he preemptively blocked such movements with his foot. Were she willing, she’d bite his boot, but she refrained, choosing instead to attempt to move away. Still, this Godsdamned chain… it limited where she could retreat to which was barely a few fulms from the centre of the room.

“There’s a small matter of food…”

“I’m not hungry…” she grumbled despite the contrary. Why in the Seven Hells would she take food or drink from him anyway? When was the last time she drank? Seems her answer was wholly ignored since he drew out candied apples. That wouldn’t be a substantial meal; she raised an eyebrow at the bizarre offering. But glancing up at him again, something about his expression was… happy.

“Here, eat! It’s your favourite snack, remember?” he said, eyes gleaming all the while. Her favourite snack? Furrowed brows again, it was quite unnerving how insistent he was, and how he didn’t seem to be looking at her at all. “Syrup-coated apples, though, I heard they were called ‘candied apples’ in these new eras.”

What was he going on about? He offered a slice stabbed upon a fork, but what was the point? Remember? Besides, fed or not, he would soon leave and reactivate his device, destroying her body and sending her near adrift to the Sea. Why she’d yet to cross the threshold, she didn’t know; and if she had to cross herself, she couldn’t remember trying. Then, was this his perverse way of giving her a final meal? But all that talk from before, he hadn’t wanted her dead for his plotting, from the sounds of it. Then again, if her death may hinder his plan, perhaps… accepting it would be better. Alisaie didn’t know… she just couldn’t comprehend his logic or thoughts, but when would it end being subjected to it?

And he seemed to snap back to his previous self in a moment, setting the tray before her but out of her possible reach before leaving. Staring at the apple slices, at the one still upon the fork’s prongs, ‘twas the contrasting vision between sweet fruit and almost living walls that became her last thought, seared into her memory seconds before her body was ignited.

…

…

The chain rattled on her ankle staring into the swirling expanse; of waves that reminded her of the ocean and aether that danced like twinkling stars. She was but on the shore, unable to approach the warm tides that could drag away her body and soul, leaving only her thoughts to reach out. There was a coalescing light so blinding, but so familiar, that rose almost to greet her; and yet, he too remained away.

“... What do I do? Why can’t I cross over? Why can’t I join you?”

“Becoming the embodiment of Phoenix, no longer can you so readily rejoin the Aetherial Sea. If only…”

“No… no, please, I can’t go back…!”

But she could feel the chain physically pulling her back. Fighting, or struggling, there was little she could do besides cry out.

“Try to find a reason, Alisaie. Live… for you cannot die…”

…

…

No words could describe what she was feeling. 

Discovering she had wings, dying again, waking to have grown more feathers, and dying again, again, and again… Waking just to repeat, she withered down to bone, spending bells lying awake and listening to Fandaniel ramble when he bothered to enter. At some point, she vaguely recalled him mentioning his ‘Lord Zenos’ didn’t care much for her shrieking; not that it mattered, because what had been the point of her talking at all? Wings made for poor appendages to do much with, and talons could hardly be used unless she was sitting up. When would the draconic aether in her scale be filled next? And when that aether would rush out, it left her feathers ‘burning’ until the residual aether faded - but oh, if they could just burn out; if only she could just… burn away. Faintly, she still held hopes of being saved, but should anyone find her now, what would they think? ‘Twould not surprise her should they assume her Tempered and lost, but their mercy may be preferred. Having not seen her grandfather in her last subsequent visits, it worried her what that meant, or if he intentionally kept himself away.

She wanted to go home, but she wasn’t welcome there.

Biting her lip, she shut her eyes tight, holding back tears that she could somehow still shed.

She wanted the Scions - she wanted her brother… she wanted and wanted… anything …

To have this stop…

…

…

… Ilsabard was frightfully cold as she knew it would be, but the coat her brother procured at Camp Broken Glass kept most of it at bay. The blanket which she was bundled in and obscured from others kept the last of it away, and it was so easy to just close her eyes and sleep beneath it. Waiting for a response and possible transport to Thavnair, Alisaie couldn’t manage to sleep forever. Waking, she found herself leaning on an all-too familiar shoulder, one which she no longer shared appearance with. Still, Alphinaud did not push her away, but she felt his arm hold her closer, his apparent conversation slowly gaining volume and unabated by her stirring. Her drifting eyes managed to glance past his shoulder, making note of Estinien and G’raha. It was G’raha who was speaking, the blurred words of some other Allagan research going in one of her feathered ears and out the other; she just didn’t care for much of it at present.

How much longer did they have to stay here? She didn’t want there to be any chance of Fandaniel taking her back to that awful gaol and hear him babble nonsense before making her use her new magicks again. Mayhap she couldn’t die, but at least those tortured souls she sustained could move on. Just one simple relief for all that weighed upon her, but…

… what now? 

What could she do with the Final Days so near? She could not speak, she could not wield her rapier, and she knew naught how to control her aether anymore. And though she felt no ill towards the Scions, the discussion within the gaol at the Tower enforced just how others would perceive her. Even if there was a chance to restore her body, how much? Would it possibly be permanent? She couldn’t fathom having any chance of getting her hands back at all. Could she even hope to feel a shred of normalcy ever again?

Fingers combing through her shortened hair drew her swiftly from her mind and her eyes locked with her brother’s. Her outpouring of frantic emotions and words, it was something else that she would have to work on because she could somehow transmit them to others. How much she’d passed to him, and to the others, Alphinaud’s concerned gaze said enough. Eyes falling, she hadn’t meant to, but… they understood. A shift on her blanket had the cloth draw snugly around her and his arm tightened its hold. What would happen now?

…

…

… She wished she knew.