Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After days of being trapped within her lungs, Jill finally let go of the breath she had been holding in.

In many ways, Hugo Kupka’s attack on the Hideaway was as surprising as it was, in reality, inevitable. His regard—or lack thereof—for Cidolfus Telamon was hardly a secret. But in the wake of Benedikta Harman’s death, Kupka’s open disgust for the woman’s former lover was only made all the more public, and all the more uncontrollable. And it was all too apparent that Kupka’s grief and need for revenge had found a scapegoat in Cid and his small band of misfits.

Perhaps it was the fact that their focus had been entirely on planning the destruction of Drake’s Head, as well as the plans needed to make a safe enough escape after their work was done. 

Or perhaps they had all been willfully ignorant, choosing to look away from what stalked the outskirts of their little refuge in the hopes it would simply vanish into the space that they were choosing to ignore. Jill didn’t want to think too much about it, as much as her mind was prone to wander toward such trains of thought. Nothing could be done about what was already past, there was no use dwelling when the present made demands that must be met if they were to ensure their survival. 

Days of running had followed the destruction of the Hideaway, every moment filled with fear that Kupka’s men would discover them and finish their work. But, the survivors of his wrath had evaded him for the time being, and the quest to make a ruined airship into a livable home became the next hurdle in front of them. 

After holding her breath for so many days, Jill struggled with the fact that it didn’t come any easier now that it came again. Any attempts to calm its quickened cadence only brought about more worries, more thoughts of what still needed to be done, and what had already passed, and what they would do when (not if) Kupka found them again. A weight as heavy as Titan himself sat on her chest at all hours. 

She used the support of a makeshift balcony to support herself. She held onto the thin wood tightly while she tried harder and harder to regulate her breathing. Her mind raged without work to occupy it. 

But Gav was insistent. No one was to accept her help until she took a breather, no matter how much the work needed to be done. A command issued to all within earshot while he and Dorys began opening one of the few casks that had come along in the supply lines set up by their allies and the Cursebreakers in the field at the time of the attack. 

Jill couldn’t help but watch the movements of her fellow survivors on the pier below with a macabre glint in her eyes, taking account of who was not among the assembling crowd, all eager to take their rest as night fell over them. As removed from them as she was given her current vantage point, the weight of the last few days settled upon her shoulders, further compounded by losses suffered and weathered in the years before this one. 

She was yet to reach her third decade of life and had already known and lost as many homes. 

How long would this one house them, house her?

The thought forced a breath that felt more like a bolt of lighting through her chest and down into her sternum. The irony of that particular sensation was not lost on her. In the aftermath of what befell Cid at Drake’s Head, Jill wondered if the shock was somehow his aether’s fault. 

A warm hand settling on her left shoulder brought her out of her thoughts abruptly. 

“Clive.” Jill half-gasped his name, her attention snapping in his direction. 

His hand did not shrink away despite her surprise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Gav said I’d find you up here.” Clive explained, undeterred by her surprise, his concern so visibly prevalent. “Are you alright?” The question that accompanied his gesture was offered in a voice no less warm than his touch.

Jill sighed as her heart relaxed instinctively in his presence. She leaned forward against the balcony, arms folded over one another. “Are any of us?” She wondered. 

Seeing him now, she realized how much she had missed his presence at her side in the days since losing the Hideaway. She was accustomed to his presence so much so that the chaos and fear had made her take it for granted—a blessing yet unrealized in the wake of its sudden commonality. It struck her that she would have considered such a reality impossible not long ago, if she had considered it at all. 

They were partners of the highest faith, and the members of Cid’s settlement knew it, too. She and Clive both knew the whispers debating just how deep their companionship went that were exchanged between botanists and the kitchen hands alike. In fact, she was certain she had once overheard Kenneth and Gav placing wagers on when the proverbial ice would break between them. 

Not to be confused with Shiva’s literal ice, of course. 

Little did they all know that both parties harbored the same question. 

Jill began to suspect it was no coincidence that they were so conveniently brought together in this moment, while their compatriots were all down on the lower levels of the airship’s hull, reveling in their own much deserved reprieve. She could practically hear Gav shooing Clive off in her mind’s imagination. 

“Have you had any rest since we arrived?” Clive asked her gently. “The skin under your eyes is black as this water.”

Jill obliged him with a weary smile. “Judging by the looks of your own, I’d say I’ve gotten as much as you have.” More to the point, she continued: “I’m catching my breath, at least. I just finished helping Charles and Cormac move the last of what’s left of the greenery into the backyard.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” Clive snorted softly. 

“It’s got a ring to it.” She half-chuckled in kind. “What about you?” She asked.

“I was with Tarja. You know, she has more supplies than I could have imagined. Before I tried to organize them, anyway.” 

“And?” She prompted, raising her brow in a knowing look. 

“And she ordered me to take a break after I nearly dropped one of her tincture boxes. Gav was kind enough to let me know where you were, and...” He trailed off for a moment, searching for the right words. “With everything that’s happened, we’ve barely seen one another.” He couldn’t get his mouth and voice to cooperate in the effort to explain how wrong that fact felt after so much time together. 

Jill couldn’t help but to revel silently in the way that warmth of his spread through her, tempering her ice. She found herself in a similar internal struggle when she tried to convey how she felt the same abject wrongness in the lack of his company in her day to day life. And neither could she quite verbalize how even more acutely it sat with her, given the ordeal that preceded their separation.

She most certainly couldn’t bring herself to admit that he was the one home she was entirely unwilling to lose. Ever. 

“Did you check on him?” She opted to say instead. 

A beat of hesitation. “I did.” Clive confirmed. “Briefly. He’s sleeping, or was close enough to it when Tarja banned me from the infirmary.”

“How was…how did he seem?”

“I don’t know how he’s still breathing, truthfully.” Clive admitted. “Neither does Tarja. By her reckoning, either she’s better than even she knew…” They shared a small laugh at that. “Or…there really must be someone out there looking out for us Dominants.”

Jill hummed pensively. She nearly shivered. “I’ll never forget that sound. The way he screamed.” Her gaze fell back to the brine lapping at the ruined bottom of the airship. “He’s done so much. It’s almost unfair that he survived.” She stiffened, unable to raise her gaze again. “That sounds cruel.”

“I understand. I think that’s why he’s struggling, too.” Clive removed his hand from her shoulder, almost forgetting it was still there at all. It felt so natural, their proximity, especially after surviving Hugo Kupka’s wrath. “Does Mid know?”

“Cole’s stolas came back this morning.” Jill informed him. “She knows what happened, at least. It sounds like she wasn’t too agreeable to staying in Kanver, but Cole somehow managed to talk her out of leaving school for the time being.”

“Good.” Clive gave an approving grunt. “We’ll see to getting them reunited soon. It’ll be good for him, but we need to be smart about our movements, now more than ever. The last thing he needs is for anything to happen to her.”

The quietness that blanketed them then was comfortable, not borne out of a lack of things to say. They needed this. Just to stand together again. To live in the fact that they were alive. There were losses, grief walked among them as another survivor, but there was still hope, and still much to do.

“They’re looking to us now. Have you noticed?” Jill asked him, nearly whispering. 

Clive’s eyes remained fixed on the activities below them. “Whatever happens, he won’t be the same.” How could he be? “I suppose…”

“It’s only natural?” Jill supplied. “He did tell us, did he not? In the inner sanctum?”

I can think of no one better than you—both of you. 

How much weight a dying man’s words held when he did, in fact, not die remained to be seen.

“Perhaps.” Clive leaned his weight against the slim lumber that made up the railing of the slap-stick balcony, mirroring her. “You’re far better suited to it than I. You’ve handled all of this so well.” His pinky grazed against hers just so.

Jill’s eyes darted quickly to their hands before regrouping to his face. “Clive…”

“I mean that. Daughter of the Silvermane.” He smiled at her, encouraging her to take the praise. “He’d be proud of you.” He insisted, naturally drawing closer to her with every word. “You told me once that your father began teaching you the North’s traditional sword form before your fifth birthday. And the day he did, your mother began instructing you in the art of politics, as well.”

Even if it were only mere months ago rather than the lifetime it felt like, she still recalled the way he hadn’t so much as leaned away from her in Lady Hanna’s barn. And now here he was, initiating such contact without a hint of hesitation. How little they knew then. 

How little they knew now. 

“Those lessons didn’t last long.” She reminded him, nudging his shoulder with hers. She couldn’t help her own smile. The smile he seemed able to bring out effortlessly. “And I was too young for much to really gain much purchase, except for how much my hand hurt after practicing with him for too long. Survival and the tools to achieve may have been a love language in the North, but…” Her voice hesitated speaking the woman’s name aloud. “The duchess didn’t see a purpose in continuing such a pointless education.” 

She knew without so much as a glance that Clive would be stiff as a board. She could feel it in the way the slight measure of her shoulder rested against her. 

Old wounds, though they still had yet to heal. 

“Besides, I think you give yourself too little credit.” Jill raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him with an upward tilt of her chin. “I seem to recall the multitude of lessons you were made to attend. I’m sure Torgal does, too.” 

It was boring without you. We remember. 

She pursed her lips, her confident mask faltering for a moment as the thought passed unspoken. 

Clive chuckled tiredly, the sound devoid of any true mirth. “I’m afraid I wasn’t the best student when it came to the art of politicking.” He confessed. “I wish I could blame my mother for that.” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean…” He sighed, defeated. 

“Let’s hope neither of us are ever called upon to be orators.” She quipped. “I understand.” She assured him, mimicking the same grace that he was so kind to offer her just moments before. 

His smile was meager, but it was more genuine than his sardonic chuckling at the mention of his mother. “We’ve already been doing it, in a way.” He mused. “Stepping into it formally seems so much harder than simply just…doing it, somehow.”

“We’ll manage. We always do.” She reasoned, fully convinced. “I think I’m right when I say we’re both far better versed in allowing our actions to speak for themselves, anyway.”

“Always.” Clive repeated, almost like a prayer. He went quiet again, those blue eyes of his surveying the air in front of him for want of fortitude. 

The breeze was calming, unlike the wicked winds that constantly blew through him, Garuda’s might thriving in his veins. It felt as though the wind itself guided his gaze upward, encouraging them both to seek wisdom in the heavens above. And so Clive did. 

In the dying light of evenfall, Metia shone above their heads. Ever at her post, even when her celestial sisters retreated for their daily repose. They had been children the last time they stood together like this, seeking answers in the stars. 

Well, not quite like this, if Clive’s memory held true.

Clive turned around, putting his back to the rail before bringing up his forearms to hold him in place. Jill watched him, and he watched from the corner of his eye as her curiosity gave way to a flash of recognition. She shook her head, amused, before closing her eyes. 

Her breathing was calm now.

“Jill.”

He said her name after a time, in a way that made it feel like it was only meant to be spoken by him. 

“Yes?”

“I…” He stopped, thinking better of his words. 

A dusting of pink touched his cheeks. All at once, he felt a fool and yet braver than he had ever felt before. 

Emboldened, he began again. “We took an oath with Cid when we officially joined his cause. It feels only right to do something now. To mark the occasion.”

“You want to take another oath?” A soft, humored puff of air accompanied her query. 

“Perhaps a promise instead.” He amended lightly. “Whatever you would like to call it, let it mean that we’re united. That we’re together.” He issued more seriously, and then his hand overtook hers on the railing, enveloping it before turning her palm face-up. 

Jill studied their hands, stunned by his forwardness. She scrambled for a way to break the sudden swell tension, to diffuse the way her cheeks burned, to dissuade herself from wanting more. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have a scrap of crystal for the occasion.” She recovered quickly, just barely. 

“I had something else in mind, truthfully.” He said as two of his fingers slowly pulled downward at the soft blue fabric of her sleeve, exposing her wrist to the night air. 

It was hard for Jill to remember so many things about the northern lands that served as her birthplace, primarily owing to the lacking years in which she was able to call them her home before she was taken away from them. But certain things, certain stories, certain attitudes, certain traditions were eternally ingrained in her. She saw them in Gav sometimes, those comforting reminders that their homeland did, in fact, exist, once upon a time, and yet lived on in small ways. 

Rosaria’s traditions were more readily familiar to her, however. She was more cognizant of them—both due to age and the amount of time that she was exposed to them compared to those of her first home. Rosarian traditions were learned behaviors rather than the instinctive acts of her home that were engraved into her. Maybe the intentional knowingness made them all the more cognizant to her. 

This, she knew, was one of them.  

Rosaria boasted many traditions and behaviors in regards to hands in particular; all of which were inspired by the hardworking, resilient nature of her people. Most of them could be traced back to the morals present in the original tale of the Founder. So many parents were keen to express their pride and familiarity with their children by touching a fist to their child’s heart—an act she could recall Elwin bestowing upon both of his sons over the years spent at Rosalith. On the other hand (no pun intended), ignoring a hand outstretched in aid was considered one of the rudest acts one could commit, while not offering a hand at all was a sign of distrust and broken fellowship. 

By law, treason against the duchy was to be summarily repaid with the severing of the offending hand. 

The most intimate of bonds were made manifest in body language specific to the hands of lovers. The need to constantly feel the touch of your loved one. Whether it be a simple linking of fingers, the holding of hands, or any of the other myriad ways the duchy’s couples had developed outward ways of displaying their affections over the long years. 

One book on the topic of court etiquette Jill was still able to recall detailed the act of kissing the inner wrist and knuckles to signify one as your irreplaceable help-mate, your partner in all things. She also remembered her young self being absolutely smitten with the idea of someone, someday, feeling so strongly about her. 

The only person she had ever seen offer up the so-devoted gesture firsthand was the late Lord Commander, Rodney Murdoch. It was a private moment, stolen in between lessons with a certain young First Shield and Lady Hanna’s own busy schedule as a lady of the court. But it stayed with Jill forever, seeing that partnership solidified in such a way. It made her yearn for that sense of belonging all the more in the throes of her life as a perpetual outsider.

All these things she knew from books, with some cemented by her own observances of them, cataloged away in the folds of her mind so she could play at being a Rosarian before she came into her own. Coming from her, the gestures would be clumsy, the mimicry of an outsider still trying to find her place. 

Clive may have been an outsider in his own family, but he all but bled the red of Rosaria’s brazen standard. 

To him, such acts were as natural as the ones she retained from her own home. While there were gaps in her education and room for error or misunderstanding, the same could not be said of Clive. How his hand held hers, how he moved aside the fabric of her sleeve to leave her wrist bare. That was no accident on his part—and how could anyone ever mistake it as such?

Clive wished he could read her mind, and that she could read his. Did she understand where his words were failing him? His gaze was intent, willing her to understand him. 

He needed her strength. 

He needed her, a voice in his head corrected. 

“I...” His voice faltered. 

I need you. I almost lost you. I cannot lose you. I cannot do this without you. I need you to understand all of this. 

Jill had known her own feelings for the man standing by her side for years. Truly, since he was but a boy and herself just a girl. Those feelings hadn’t so much as wavered in the face of his reported death. And they had only exploded upon their unexpected reunion in the Defile, almost in spite of its violent nature. 

“Clive…”

“Please.”

Clive’s hands, normally covered in the fine red of the leather gloves he wore, were as exposed as his intentions. Though Jill wouldn’t know it until much later, when he finally mustered up the courage to tell her, he had removed them earlier that day with this in mind—this had been in his mind all day.

It had been so for many years, truth be told. 

That night in Lady Hanna’s barn played in his mind. He wanted this that night, too, though his rage and grief held him at bay, unmoving, that night. It was different now, in some ways. He was the one pressing forward now, with her permission. He could no longer help himself. 

They were different now. 

In the emptiness of the lonely balcony they stood upon, with only Metia as a witness, and in the way she looked at him, Clive found his resolve. 

Jill nodded, affirming her understanding of his intentions and urging him to act upon them, her blessing compelling the same as any bestowed by Metia or the Phoenix. With Jill’s blessing granted, Clive found strength to match his resolve, and raised her hand to his lips, turning her palm facedown again. So close to his eyes was her hand now that couldn’t help but catch the signs of the curse that ate at her being, that would continue eating away at her if they could not put an end to its deadly march. 

He would not allow that. 

He pressed the first kiss into the calloused skin of her first two knuckles. 

Irreplaceable. 

Then the next three. 

Help-mate.

When he turned her wrist upright again, gentle as ever, he stayed himself, his eyes turning up to her face. “Together.” He concluded. “In all things.”

“Together.” Jill returned, her eyes alight. “In all things.”

The words spoken, Clive pressed that sacred final kiss to her wrist, his lips grazing the skin where her wrist became palm. His breath tickled as he pulled away, despite his urge to continue. Even this was not enough for him. Even this was not enough to convey the depth of what he felt for her, nor how those feelings both shook him to his core and planted his feet all the firmer all at once. 

“May I?” Jill asked softly, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“Yes.” The word passed from Clive’s lips in a breath, barely audible. 

Clive could have melted at the way she claimed his hand, switching their dynamics effortlessly. She followed his lead, that desire she felt as a child fueling her further. The first of his knuckles, bruised from battle. Irreplaceable. Then the rest of them in line. Help-mate. 

“Jill.” He breathed her name, sacred and solemn as she turned his wrist to face upward.

At last, her lips graced his wrist with their touch.

“Together. In all things, Clive Rosfield.”

When their eyes met again, they met with an entirely new understanding of one another. Jill leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. Clive sighed, closing his eyes. Peace, the sensation unfamiliar to him, spread through him like wildfire. Their hands interlocked at their sides, unwilling to be parted. It was Jill who moved first to further officiate their vow, reaching up onto her toes just so. 

She seized his lips hungrily, and he met hers with the same fervor. The lingering taste of Molly’s brown on his tongue surprised Jill for a split second, though its taste was much more agreeable like this. Though the pair’s lacking practice made the movement awkward, but nonetheless genuine for it. Their foreheads met once again, both of them content.

“It’s not an oath.” She decided at last, to Clive’s temporary confusion. “It’s a promise. Our promise.” 

Clive’s eyes lit up as he caught the meaning of her words. “Our promise.” He affirmed. 

Jill rested her head against his chest. In reply, Clive buried his face in the crook of his neck. They fit together so well, so much so that Clive wanted to kick himself for not doing this all the sooner. 

“I think we ought to celebrate with a drink.” Jill suggested after what could have been an eternity spent just like that. 

Reluctantly, Clive moved away from her, one of his hands remaining in hers. “It’s only a matter of time before someone comes looking for us.” He reasoned. “And I daresay we’ve earned it besides.”

“I’m sure we’ll need it, too.” Jill noted. “You know how much Cid likes a drink after a long day.” She stole another, quick kiss.

“Indeed.” Clive said through a smile, following her out of the empty quarters. “I’m sure we’ll have our fill of long days and longer nights before the end.”

Jill waited for him on the stairs while he closed the double doors behind them. “But we won’t be alone.” She pointed out. “Never again.”

“It’s a promise.” He concluded. 

The couple moved in stride to return to the interior hull of the wreckage that would now be their home, unaware of the small audience that had borne witness to their vow from their own vantage point, Metia besides. The tower opposite the balcony had already been dedicated as the mess, but for tonight, it made a perfect perch for the two oldest members of the Hideaway as they nursed smoke rings from their pipes. 

Charon took a slow, smug drag. “Just you wait, you old sod. I may only have one good eye left, but I can still see well enough to know there’ll be more kippers running about.” She chuffed.

Harpocrates laughed—the sound quiet so as to avoid detection. “And who would have thought the Warden of Ice could turn so red?” He shook his head. “A Rosarian Shield’s kiss to the palm…” He hummed wistfully. “Almost as good as a vow of marriage.”

“Aye. Emblematic of the old ways they used to follow, yes.” Charon waved him off. “Don’t try giving me one of your lectures. You’re better off saving ‘em for the one’s that’s needing ‘em.”

Harpocrates chuckled knowingly, watching on as the two burgeoning leaders joined the rest of their little band. Peace was a rare commodity, and growing rarer by the day. But as he and Charon watch the two burgeoning leaders take their place among the members of their little band, peace is exactly what he felt. 

If their future were to be held in Clive and Jill’s hands, then they were in good hands, indeed. 

Chapter Text

— 5 Years Later —

“I think that’s the last of it, Uncle.”

“Excellent!” Byron clapped his hands together grandly. “Whenever you’re ready to depart, then, my boy. The Velkroy awaits.”

Clive stepped out of Obulus’ boat and back onto the pier, giving the small vessel a once-over to confirm that all of his uncle’s supplies and accouterments were tied down securely for the journey. Most of what had traveled with the older Rosfield to the Hideaway had promptly gone into the small community’s coffers. What still remained was meant to aid Byron’s endeavors in Kanver, though what exactly those endeavors entailed remained a mystery to Clive, aside from his uncle’s general scheme. 

“My affairs are in order, save for one.” Clive assured him, his gaze already fleeing toward his destination beyond. “I won’t be long.”

“I’ll be here when you’re ready to cast off.” Byron tapped a fist to Clive’s chest, nodding. “In the meantime, I’m sure Obulus would love to hear of my exploits in the highlands hunting wild chocobos with your father and grandfather.”

Obulus, certainly, seemed less enthused than Byron by that prospect, though that would do little to deter one with the fortitude of Byron Rosfield. Clive could hear Byron already off to the races as Clive himself made tracks toward the infirmary until he stood in front of its door. Clive adjusted his weight, rocking from foot to foot awkwardly as he collected himself. 

He should have come here before now, well before it was almost too late. He and Jill had returned from Rosalith over a week ago. Clive cursed himself. With no time left to lose, he knocked on the door, announcing his presence before stepping within. 

Torgal lifted his head eagerly, his tail thumping against the stony floor where he had made his bed—at the foot of Jill’s cot—where he had dutifully remained since Tarja had ordered the Dominant to bed rest days past. 

“Ah, Clive.” Tarja’s attention turned from the herbs on her desk at the sound of his entry. 

She smirked in that foxlike way of hers, as if she already knew what—who—he was here for. Clive supposed it wasn’t much of a mystery, given the presence of the Dominant of Shiva. Regardless, he wanted to believe they weren’t really as obvious as the rest of the Hideaway played at them being.

The fact that Gav’s wager remained unclaimed gave him some hope, anyway. 

 Jill obliged him with a small smile from where she sat on one of Tarja’s cots. As far as Clive could tell, the two women were the only ones occupying the space at present, which did plenty to soothe his more awkward nature. Before silence could linger, Tarja cleared her throat. 

“Off to the Velkroy, are you?” Tarja cocked her head to the side. 

Clive nodded stiffly. “Yes. We’ll be leaving anon.” He confirmed. 

He watched for Jill’s reaction. She still looked so tired. And with little wonder. Shiva’s toll was high, and Hugo’s timing after Ironbolm couldn’t have been worse. The only good thing that came from Titan’s scheme, in Clive’s opinion, was that she was finally getting the rest she needed, but was so oft to refuse. 

“We? I hope that means you’ll be taken that uncle of yours.”

“It does.”

“A mercy. If it weren’t for the passing family resemblance, it’s a wonder any would believe you two shared blood. You, as quiet as a Gregorian church mouse, and him with a voice that could wake a hibernating Behemoth.” Tarja quipped. More seriously, she added: “I suppose I’ll be seeing you here again once you return. Do try to keep the damage to a minimum.”

She was toying with him, Clive realized. 

He conceded to her game without much resistance, if only to spare himself the inevitable fate of losing to Tarja. 

“I couldn’t leave without seeing you first.” He said to Jill, the quirk of his lips making him look like a bashful young marquess again, rather than the man hardened by life he was now. His smile was more apologetic, with the faintest air of wryness as it turned on Tarja. “I’m sorry to intrude, Tarja.”

“You’re not intruding.” Tarja assured him, a hand on her hip as she took in the measure of him. 

Tarja was not surprised to find his attention was not keen on her. Rather, his gaze wandered left of her, compelled like tides to the shore toward Jill. Jill’s eyes locked on him with a familiar, quiet intensity. 

Tarja’s eyes flicked between the once-noble pair. 

Clive cleared his throat, still awkward as he addressed the physicker. “Do you mind if we…” His question withered under Tarja’s gaze. 

If it were possible, her smirk became even more smug. “Not at all.” Tarja sauntered between them, her arms wrapped around herself. “Rodrigue is out with the Cursebreakers picking some herbs, and I could do with a change of scenery myself.” She moved past them, her air of knowing following her as she went “I’ll leave you to it.” 

She kept her eyes on them until she closed the door. 

“Oh, Tarja!” Gav stopped himself just in time to keep himself from running chest-first into Tarja, who was just shutting the door to the infirmary behind her. “Why’re you closing the door? Vera sent me to grab—”

“Is anyone actively dying?”

Gav lips pursed until he shook his head. “Not that I know. I mean, suppose we all are, but—”

Tarja crossed her arms, raising a lethal eyebrow. “Bleeding out?”

Gav put his hands on his hips. “No, but—”

Tarja squared up to him, closing what little berth remained between them, her presence overcoming the differences in their height. “Then come back later.”

“But—”

Tarja rolled her eyes, shoving Gav away from the infirmary with growled: “I said later.”

“Why?” Gav pressed, though he did little to fight against her ushering push. “Who’s in there?”

“Stick your nose somewhere else, hm?”

The wood planks of the door did little to muffle the conversation outside until the participating parties were too far away to be heard at all.  

Jill and Clive shared a quiet, fleeting laugh. 

With the infirmary all their own, Jill rose from the cot; the correspondence she had been pouring over to pass the time were forgotten as she closed the gap between herself and Clive. She embraced him with every ounce of strength she had recovered in the past week, shutting her eyes when he wrapped his arms around her. 

“This is it, isn’t it?” Jill’s voice smoothed as their shared laughter faded. 

Clive loathed answering her in the affirmative. “Yes.” He relented at last. “One way or another, this must end.”

He held her even closer to himself. This would not be their final embrace, he would make certain of that. But he couldn’t help but to hold onto her as if it were, less and less willing to let go as each moment went on its way. 

The choking black smoke as Rosaria burned around him. 

Fear was a constant companion in Clive’s life. 

Kupka’s hand around her throat, closing so tightly her voice did not have room to scream past his fist. 

The fear of a storm bearing down on the massive windowed doors that closed off a balcony from the interior of his childhood bedroom. The fear he felt the night he lost Joshua, the agony that accompanied it, too. The fear that accompanied him as he, a boy of fifteen summers, was marked with the poison ink that forever identified him as a Branded in the service of the Sanbrequois army. 

The life of an outlaw, too, was a life of constantly looking over your shoulder. A life of fear. 

The strangled sound of her cry as Men of the Rock clapped crystal fetters around her wrists, preventing her from priming. 

Clive closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers to remind himself that they were not there. She was not there. She was with him, now, in the Hideaway. 

I would not have you melt, little snowflake. 

Hugo’s words in his ears, making him flinch as if they were a blow to his head. 

“He had his hands around your throat.” Clive’s voice rasped. “I can’t get the sight of it out of my head. He should never have…I should never have allowed…” The muscles in his jaw flexed as he struggled to hold the sweep of his emotions at bay. “It must end.” He repeated, his voice firm. 

“Would that I were going with you.” Jill lamented. 

Jill took his hands in hers. The skin of her neck was still tender and bruised, but slowly, the deep purple was giving way as her body mended anew. She guided his hands to frame her upper neck and cheeks—she did not flinch. Not from Kupka, and certainly never from Clive. 

She needed him to understand that now. She hoped her actions spoke it into his mind. She could tell him herself until she was blue in the face, but she knew he needed to see it.

Clive wanted to tell her that his mind would be all the clearer, knowing she was safe here. 

But it would have been a lie. 

“Leave it to Tarja to be the one force that could ever separate us.” Clive’s attempt at levity was appreciated, but the invisible blade that hung over their heads still remained. 

It would continue its perilous game of pendulum-swinging until Hugo Kupka breathed his last. 

“I let him take you from me once. And what’s worse is that you were the one hurting, and I allowed my own fears and hurt to keep me from seeing to your hurts. And now I’m leaving you again.” He swallowed, shaking his head. “Forgive me, Jill. That was unworthy of me. You deserve better.”

Jill’s expression softened. She took his hands in hers, guiding them to frame her neck and cheeks. She pressed her forehead to his. “You know, I wasn’t afraid of him. What I was afraid of was what you would do to get me away from him.” She informed him. “It seems that it is the whims of the world to test our bonds. Let it. We’ll prove ourselves. We always have.” She said. “I know you’ll come back to me.”

“Always.”

“Then there’s nothing to forgive.” She stood up on her toes to press a kiss to his forehead. “And just because I do not go with you, does not mean I won’t still be with you.” 

Clive’s brow twitched when she pulled away from him, equal parts reluctance and confusion. 

Jill, in contrast, moved confidently as she pulled her hair over her shoulder in order to untie the aquamarine ribbon that dutifully held its shape. The silver of her hair cascaded like starlight against her back, now unrestrained. She had always been singular to him, but his heart could barely contain what he felt now. 

She smiled, as if she knew his every thought simply by looking at him. 

Clive stood in place, his eyes followed in obedience while she crested around him. He watched her over his shoulder, wordless. Jill tied the ribbon around the well-used hilt of the blade that had once belonged to Elwin. Pleased with her work, she returned to her place before him, taking his hands in hers once more. 

“Together in all things.” She reminded him. “Even when we cannot be together.”

“I’ll come back to you.” He swore. “As soon as this is all set right.”

Jill nodded. “I know you will.”

His kiss was gentle, and familiar after so many months, and yet no less spectacular than the first kiss they had shared that first night here, so many months behind them now. He was careful with her, but Jill felt every inch of his love all the same. 

Clive’s lips lingered against hers for a moment. “I should go.” He said at last. “Before Uncle sets in on poor Otto, or, Founder forbid, he and Cid cross paths. I fear you’d be cleaning up that mess for weeks.”

“It would certainly help the time go by.” Jill hummed in agreement. “Although I’m afraid that would mean our missives would fall to the wayside in the meantime.” 

“And we wouldn’t want that, certainly.”

Torgal whined, nosing his way between them. Clive chuckled as he knelt down to ruffle the wolf’s mane. Ever the excitable pup, no matter how much of a war hound he was when set to the hunt. Clive scratched him behind his ears. 

“You keep an eye on her while I’m gone, alright?” Clive said. 

Torgal made a soft noise somewhere in the back of his throat. Clearly, he was as unhappy as Jill to remain here, rather than at his side. Nevertheless, Torgal bumped his head against Clive’s before returning to Jill, sitting as perfect poise, as if already on guard. 

Clive chuckled as he rose back to full height. “Thank you, boy.”

Torgal barked. 

Clive extended his hand toward the door. “Shall we, my lady?”

Jill nodded. 

She walked with him, seeing him back to the lift before her journey came to an end, with Torgal at their heels. She was exhausted after a week of little movement, her strength yet to return to her, but she refused not to stand with him until they had to be parted. Elias jerked his head downward, beckoning Clive toward the lift. 

Clive’s gaze returned to Jill. 

Hortense had completely stopped a conversation with Libuse. Up on the landing leading to the main deck, even Dorys struggled not to gawp. Below the lift, on the pier, Byron’s own nosiness was more than apparent. 

Jill noticed the attention, too, wrapping herself up tighter in the gray wool of her shawl, hoping it could somehow ward off all eyes—save for Clive’s. She pursed her lips in a half-cocked smile, apologetic. As if she had anything to apologize for.

“Och, Cid.” Charon’s weathered voice called from the aforementioned landing. “Don’t be a blushing milkmaid now. Kiss her, you great lout!”

The hush that fell over the Hideaway—the parts of it in earshot of her proclamation, anyway—somehow more anticipatory than the glances that preceded it. Like all of Charon’s sage counsel, Clive could find no fault with it. Suddenly, after months of discretion and careful maneuvering, Clive no longer cared who could see them, and who could not. 

Let them see.  

It was a perfect kiss, one that lingered on both their lips so much longer than their lips longer on one another. 

A chorus of different oh’s, gasps, and other proclamations flitted about the open air. Neither Clive nor Jill heard any of it, nor did they hear when Charon barked at anyone who dared hem or haw at them. They completely missed the toothless annoyance in her tone when she said: “I swear, it’s like you lot have never seen two people kiss before, find something better to do!” 

They certainly didn’t see the grin on Charon’s face before she turned heel to return to the Toll. From somewhere up at the mess, a voice that could only belong Otto’s boomed out: “Everyone! Quit your gawping and get back to your duties. Cid, Gav, pay up!”

Jill sighed, loathe to pull away. “I think they know.” She said at last. 

Clive snorted a laugh at Jill’s assessment. 

Good, he decided. He wanted them to know. 

He had wanted them to know all this time. He was hers, she was his. Her everything. His everything. No speculation, no wonderings. Clive squeezed her hand, as ready to go on as he was ever going to be. When rejoined his uncle, his stride was confident, the tails of her hair ribbon-turned favor blowing in the breeze behind him. 

Jill stood by Hortense’s stall, her vigil unwavering until the small boat was entirely out of view. 

When Clive Rosfield faced down Hugo Kupka for the last time, it was with his father’s sword in hand. The dark glint of his blade shone in stark contrast to the aquamarine fabric that remained tied around the hilt as it cut through his opponent. 

History would remember it as the Battle of Titan Lost.

The death of a Mothercrystal was the preamble to aether fallout. 

Before the fall of Drake’s Head, the last Mothercrytal to die had done so well before the birth of most of the Hideaway’s members, save for the most senior among them. To Bearers and non-Bearers, it was a horrible spectacle, but bore no physical threat to them, as the crystal’s fractured pieces would evaporate before they could do anyone harm. The influx of aether did nothing to Bearers as their bodies unknowingly repelled the excess of aether not stored within their own body. 

But to Dominants, whose Eikons feasted upon aether within and without, and ever hungered to draw upon it, the fallout was like a drug. So acutely aware of such an event were their bodies that Jill and Cid immediately felt it when Drake’s Fang fell. 

And just before it had come the shockwave of the death of Titan. 

Jill had been in the middle of discussing possible lookout posts for Cursebreakers near Lostwing with Dorys—still new to her appointed position as captain of the Cursebreakers—when she felt it. Titan’s death shook her to her core, stopping all flow of thoughts and words at once as his colossal presence faded away to nothing. 

Before she could stomach the relief that coursed through her body, overflowing from Shiva’s instincts, Jill’s muscles tensed. There were leagues and leagues between the deadlands of Bennemure and the arid desert that housed Drake’s Fang, and yet the spread of aether loosed from its form was so immense that it crossed those miles in mere moments. 

“Jill?” It was Dorys’ voice that brought Jill back to herself. “Jill, are you alright?” When she did not receive a reply, Dorys hung her head with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I knew I should have left this until you were ready. Tarja said—”

“I’m alright, Dorys. Truly.” Jill’s faded accent caught on the emotion of her words, the shock. Her eyes hung on the horizon as if she would be able to see the events that had unfolded play out for her there. 

Of course, the deadlands beyond offered no such clarity. 

“I need to speak with Cid. Can I have you finish this with Cole?” Jill asked, though it was more of an instruction than a question, as dazed as she was. Before she could even finish the request, she was making her way away from the table at the mess where they had been assessing the map of imperial lands for the better part of the morning. 

She may have relented to Tarja’s orders, agreeing to remain behind while Clive and Lord Byron traveled on to the Velkroy, and beyond to Kanver and Hugo Kupka’s palace home, respectively, but that didn’t mean she liked it. And it certainly hadn’t meant she had done much resting. While not nearly as demanding as a fight against Kupka, Jill’s actions in the days since Clive and Byron’s departure conjured the image of a hammer with an endless supply of nails in the minds of her fellow outlaws. 

Hugo Kupka was only one piece in a million-part puzzle, and the rest could not be ignored for the sake of just one. No matter how big of a piece he was. And no matter how much Jill wished to see him die with her own eyes. 

Together in all things. 

She and Clive lived by their words, even when it meant their paths had to parallel one another. They still walked to the same end, and they still acted as one. Jill would be lying if she said it hadn’t stung, being betrayed by her body after Ironholm. But her part to play was here for now, though she resented the limitations of her body even as she accepted that fact. 

How funny it was to be granted a taste of godhood, only to find it a shackle. Jill may have resented those limitations, and often did feel that resentment, but she refused to feel any shame. 

Shiva, more so than any of her brothers or sisters, was known to be the most unrelenting and demanding of the Eikons. True to her nature, her ice was cruel and biting, and demanded endurance of her Dominants, just as one would weather a storm. The longest lived of her former vessels were the ones who lived in times of peace, who rarely took to the field in her image. It was believed it was for that exact reason Shiva chose to set her mantle upon the clans of the Northern Territories, so known for their resilience. 

No matter the hardiness of her breeding, Jill’s years as the Ironblood’s preferred war machine had guaranteed a swift deterioration as they demanded she prime again and again and again. 

While her body ached under the weight of Shiva’s power, the accompanying curse was more than glad to make its progression slow and torturous, content to kill her slowly, not unlike a late-season frost on a freshly sprouting harvest crop. 

The aether that swirled in the air practically compelled the two present Dominants toward one another. Just as Jill was bounding up the stairs that lead to the main deck, Cid was coming through the doors of the shelves, bursting through with an urgency that started those occupying the tables of the ale hall nearby. The moment their eyes met, Jill knew that he had felt it, too. 

“Not here.” Cid said curtly when they met in the center of the main deck, all business. “To my solar.”

His second solar, to be exact. Smaller than the first, tucked into a little room beside the backyard, perfect for privacy. The distance from the main causeway of their home also dissuaded people from coming to him with matters that they needed to submit to Clive. 

Hence why Cid had designated the chambers in the middle of the main deck to be Clive’s abode. Always in sight, always in mind. 

After all, Cid had said, what’s the good in Cid the First being dead if no one’s letting him rest in peace?

Jill followed him in lockstep, barely able to contain herself as they marched toward the privacy of his solar. They didn’t slow down, they couldn’t. Not even the questioning remarks of Sybil or the worried look on Bohumil’s face could stop them as they hurried on their way. By the time they reached the solar, they were both barely containing themselves. 

Jill pressed her back to the door, closing them away from the rest of the Hideaway. Cid moved to his desk, bracing himself against it. 

Drake’s Fang had fallen. 

Titan’s Dominant had followed suit. 

“He really did it.” Jill shook her head, unable to help her smile. 

It had really happened. She was really saying those words. 

Cid matched her quiet stupefaction. “I’d give my other arm to see that bastard licked by Ifrit’s flames.” He was practically shaking. 

A five year long nightmare was over.

“Lovely day, hm?” Cid mused in an attempt to prompt conversation. 

“Lovely, indeed.” Jill agreed, already considering their next steps. “Do we tell the others?”

“No. I don’t think so. We’ll leave that for Clive.” Cid’s lips quirked into a fleeting, mischievous smile, eyes alight. “Let him have his cake and eat it, too.”

Sometimes that particular glint in his eyes would harken memories of that same shining in her father’s eyes to the forefront of her mind. 

Jill snorted. “If it were anyone else, I would agree with you. I hope you don’t expect a speech from him.”

“The man’s defeated Titan single-handedly. If that blasted brute couldn’t kill him, a few words won’t.” Cid shrugged. “Probably.” He took a deep breath. “How are you holding up? All this aether has to be driving you mad. Or Shiva, anyway.”

“She’s…impatient.” Jill ceded. 

“And Ramuh remains quiet.” 

The influx of aether in the air made the blunt end of his elbow ache, but no other effects that he could discern made themselves known. After five years, the remnant of his upper arm still remembered the cursed and dead weight that had been amputated after Drake’s Head. Tarja’s quick action was likely the only reason he was still breathing, right behind whatever miracle had preserved him until he was in her care. 

Cid had not called upon Ramuh since his “death,” and with the affected sinew of his forearm effectively hacked off just below his elbow, the curse had apparently stopped spreading. Whether it was an effective stopgap or not to quell the ravages of the curse remained to be seen, but Tarja and Cid hadn’t given up on their evaluations. If something could be done to aid Bearers and spare them any of their suffering, it was worth the pursuit.

Even if it did mean being Tarja’s personal lab rat. 

“I need to see to the others.” Cid said. “Make sure they’re all settled. You should get yourself to the wastes. Let Shiva have her fun in a safe place. The deadlands can’t be made any more dead, after all.”

It was one of my lessons hard-learned after the fall of Drake’s Head. Eikons drank deep of the blessing, and the fallout of a Mothercrystal’s death left them all but drunk. The only remedy was a good prime, until the excess aether seeped from their pores like alcohol. 

“Right.”

“And tell Obulus I’ll take care of your fee.” Cid waved her off. “There and back, if he asks.”

“Thank you, Cid.”

Under normal circumstances, priming—whether the half or the whole of it—would have been a strain that her body would have rallied against. But the excess of aether made it a need, one she would feel relief after. It was a strange phenomena, one they were still trying to understand, but as Obulus’ ferry ushered Jill to the safety of the shoreline of their lakeward home, she cared not for why’s and how’s, only that it was so. 

She waited until Obulus was out of sight before she began to let the aether flow through her. 

She walked inland with no destination in mind. Any beastmen or other monsters trying to survive in the deadlands would be the only collateral if Shiva decided to prime in full, and the threat of a semi-primed Eikon would keep them from acting upon their curiosity. So she walked, drinking deep of the curse they had all so long believed to be a blessing. 

Her skin began to take on the frost-whiteness of Shiva’s complexion, the Eikon’s fractals spreading across her entire body until she was wreathed in the Ice Queen’s element, a crown of jagged ice circling her head. Her silver mane blew freely behind her in the gusts of her self-contained snowstorm, unbound. 

Once she was certain that Shiva would demand no more of her than their semi-primed state, Jill’s mind was left to wander freely. It was the first time she and her Eikon existed together in a field of repose, rather than raining calamity down together on a field of battle. 

It felt like absolution. 

Clive returned to a hero’s welcome. 

Every step he took toward their future was for a reason, though glory or fame or reward were never among them. The pier was crowded, relief turning to elation the moment Cid prompted him to declare Hugo Kupka dead. It was no sooner that the word went out across the makeshift village that orders for celebration rose up. 

Goetz was tasked with helping Molly and Maeve open up casks. Yvan stoked cooking fires, preparing to ready something to eat to go along with the abounding spirits of the night to come. Blackthorne helped Delphine and a few of the porters move tables aside while Lukahn tuned his lute to provide musical accompaniment to the revelry. 

Even as seemingly every soul in the Hideway converged upon the main deck and the adjoined ale ball, Clive noticed Cid leaned against the bar, the older man watching as his prodigy took everything in stride. He was clearly pleased with his choice of successors, though he raised his cup in recognition. Just to be safe. 

Clive tipped his head in thanks, lingering in place for a moment too long. 

“There you are, Mr. Conquering Hero!” Gav’s boisterous voice caught his attention above the din. 

“Here I am.” Clive’s arms lifted from his sides in a small display of presentation. 

“About time we christened this place proper like, hm?” Gav slapped Clive’s shoulder. “Come, grab a drink.”

“I need to check the missives first.” Clive said with an apologetic look. 

Gav pouted. “Hugo Kupka is dead.” He pointed out. 

“I know. I killed him.” Clive shot back. 

“Damn right, you did!” Gav snaked his arm around Clive’s shoulders, no small task given the span of them. “Now, I know you’re not the most social chick in the chocobo clutch, but even Blackthorne’s cutting loose. And Jill’s gotta be around here somewhere.” As he spoke, Gav scanned the crowd. 

Where was she, come to think of it?

“I’ll leave the imbibing to you all. It’s well-earned.” Clive slipped himself free of Gav’s one-armed embrace. “I need to catch my breath, and we’ll need to get back to it in the morning.” He insisted. 

“And it can all wait until tomorrow.” Gav countered. His mirth faded as he studied his friend’s sulking (well, even more so than usual) demeanor. He sighed in defeat. “You can rest, you know, Clive. Cut loose. Enjoy the life we’re trying to make better with all this hard work. You preach it to the rest of us all the time.”

“I know how to cut loose.” Clive straightened his posture, his frown deepening.

Gav's smile rekindled itself now that he had the unshakeable Cid the Second on the defensive. “Prove it. Listen to your own sermons once in a while, eh?” He dismissed himself with the waving of two fingers—a Northern gesture he had seen members of their band, Jill included, use. “I’ll save you a pint.”

Clive nodded, lingering long enough to watch Gav join the festivities, the blonde man joining Cid at the bar, with Torgal ducking excitedly to lap up any lost food or drink. The music and conversation swelled, and Clive found himself blessedly forgotten. 

He took full advantage of it, planning to make himself scared. 

And when he did, he found Jill standing beside the doors to their chambers. 

At first, the room beyond had only housed him, though Clive had argued he didn’t need so much space. His room as a boy had been spacious, but his years in service of Sanbreque had taught him to live on little. Cid had been the one to insist he could enjoy a few perks, and a decent lodging was the least of life’s little pleasures he could treat himself to. 

However, just before he and Jill had left for Rosaria becofe their journey to Ironholm, the rather economic decision had been made between them for Jill to spirit her things into his room, hopefully without much notice. If anyone had noticed Jill’s chambers had been taken over by Asta and Edita, thus far the good graces had been maintained not to mention it. Not even Solange had been heard making mention of the rooming changes thus far. 

Thus far. 

Jill smiled down at him, and Clive found himself beckoned onward by the sight of her. 

“Shouldn’t you be in the infirmary?” He asked, his voice rapt. “You’re still recovering. You’re…”

He would not say weak. Jill Warrick was so many things, but she was never weak.

“More than capable of sleeping in our bed again and freeing a cot for those who need one.” She finished for him. “I’m glad we agree.”

Clive’s shoulders fell slowly as she moved past him, unable to do anything but chuckle at her. He knew better than to try to change her mind. He watched her as he moved toward the bed, noting the progress she had made in her recovery since her departure. 

She was still pale, but her eyes shone with their usual gleam again. The bruising on her neck was nearly gone, the skin almost back to its normal shade. Almost. 

Jill sat herself on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under the other, the black tunic she wore far too large—one of his, in provenance—and pooling in her lap. The breeches she wore protected her legs from the chill that rose from the lake’s waters; rather than doing anything to preserve her modesty, for which the tunic would have been sufficient enough for the task. 

Without a word, Jill gestured for him to join her. 

He did so, gladly. 

“It’s over. You did it.” 

“You were with me.” Clive told her. “All I could think of was those we’ve lost to him, and the years spent afraid…how he hurt you at Rosalith. It would hardly have done to disappoint everyone, least of all you.”

Jill took in the measure of him, now that he was seated beside her on their bed. She could see the fatigue in his features, and the smallest mite of relief underneath. It was a hard won victory, one they would all be feeling; no doubt alongside many hangovers in the morning. He could no more completely hide his victory than the rest of them could deny that their lives had changed. 

“Oh. I nearly forgot.” He moved to pull Invictus from its sheath on his back so he could undo her ribbon. “I suppose it’s time to give this back.” He mused as he worked. 

For all their work to change the world, neither of them could quite let go of their traditions. Some things, they had long since decided, did not deserve to be damned to oblivion. 

“Like you said, you were with me.” He noted. 

Jill watched his hand as they undid the bow. Once it was undone, Clive placed the strip of blue in her hand. 

What better time to revive one from her home than tonight, when he had come home to her? When the monster that had stalked their lives and haunted nightmares for the past five years had been slain? It was a night for celebration, and Jill could think of no better way to mark the occasion than this. 

“What are you thinking about?” Clive asked, his voice warm against her cheek, the question asked after he pressed a kiss there. 

She hummed as he drew back, content. “Do you know how couples used to get married in the North, Clive?”

He blinked, eyes wide. “No.” He said plainly, before swallowing. “No. But, if I were to guess, I would imagine it would be in a ceremony. Vow exchanged. Rings. Like any nation on Storm. With exception for local variations, of course. Their own traditions and the sort.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong.” Jill said with a small smile, looking down at the ribbon as she wrapped and unwrapped it around her knuckles. “I can remember attending one ceremony with my parents, before I was brought to live at Rosalith.” She met his gaze. “They shared their vows, and then they took ribbon, like this. And they bound their hands together. They called it handfasting.”

Clive’s eyes followed as she unfurled the fabric once again. 

“I read once that it was meant to show that two people were bound together. Even when the cord came undone after the ceremony, their bond would remain unsevered.”

Clive’s lips twitched. “Sounds most familiar…” He said knowingly. 

“Doesn’t it just…”

They both quieted, both looking at the ribbon around Jill’s hand. The sounds of the party going on just yards away from them may as well have been a million miles away. In the quiet sanctuary of their chambers, with the question hanging in the air between them, there existed only the two of them. 

“Clive…” Jill’s spine straightened, her heart felt like an arrow, ready to be released. “Marry me.”

Before he could blink, before he could breath, before he could think, before he could do anything else, he kissed her. He kissed her until he couldn’t bear not being able to see her for another moment. Had she always tasted so sweet, or had those words somehow made her lips all the more intoxicating?

“Is that a yes?” Jill laughed, the lightest air of breathlessness in her voice. 

“Yes.” Clive exhaled. “I have no ring to give you, though, and I fear I don’t know how to bind our hands.”

“Neither do I.” Jill said with a shrug. “But we’ll make do.”

This was just for them, after all. Who was to tell them they were doing it wrong?

Jill moved closer to him, and Clive followed her movement, until their knees overlapped. She guided his arm upward, until their fists met. The book she read hadn’t given instructions, merely speaking about the sentiment behind the gesture, and why such a tradition was believed to have become so important in Northern marriages. 

It had also detailed what colors of cords stood for what. Blue was for fidelity, she remembered. And how fitting that was for them, she thought now. She laced the fabric around their wrists, binding them together. When she was done, Jill handed one end to Clive to tie together with hers in a simple slip. 

“And I believe you’ve already taken care of our vows.”

Our promise. 

Clive smiled knowingly. “Together in all things.” He recited. 

“Together in all things.” Jill echoed. 

“Until death us do part.” Clive added, quoting the old phrase. 

“No. Not even then.” Jill amended lightly. “Together, even through death.”

“Even through death.” Clive agreed. 

Yes, that was much more like them, wasn’t it?

The Hideaway had learned of them formally after their kiss by the docks, but what happened in this room was just for them. Their hearts and bodies were theirs to share with one another, and theirs to share alone. No matter what others knew. And so it would remain as long as they both had strength left in their bodies. 

Jill initiated their next kiss, framing his cheek with her unbound hand. Clive hummed softly when she leaned into the kiss more and more, the urgency picking up until…

Until…

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time in the months following their confession, their promise, that they had done this. Little time was needed for Ifrit’s warmth to melt Shiva’s ice, and sharing a bed only lasted so long before they were sharing themselves, too. Jill pulled herself into his lap, until her intentions were entirely clear. 

Oh. 

“Jill…are you sure? You’re still recovering.” Clive pointed out. “Tarja said you should take things slowly until...”

Until…

Founder, he couldn’t think clearly anymore. 

“Then we’ll go slowly…” Jill barely breathed out the words against his ear, her breath warm and welcoming. 

And if she was sure, then who was he to disappoint her? 

Chapter Text

“Remember, I’m a Branded.” For the first time since their reunion, Clive almost smiled. “Your Branded, my lady.”

Jill’s stomach churned. She hated this ruse of theirs, no matter how many times they practiced it. She understood why it was necessary, but every time they were forced to play these roles, it made her sick. Unlike every other unfortunate soul in history who bore the Brand, the circumstance of birth that put that mark on his cheek had not been being born able to wield magic, but being born to Anabella Rosfield.  

No one was deserving of the Brand or the abuse that came with it, but Jill found his own marking all the crueler for it.

Jill cursed that woman’s name every time Clive was forced to walk behind her, everytime he was forced to remain silent while she carried on a conversation, as well as their ruse. She would curse Anabella again for Joshua’s death, and the death of Elwin and his loyal Shields at Phoenix Gate. At her whim. For her own benefit. 

“It’s alright.” Clive would always whisper to her before they crossed into a new town proper. “Believe me, I can think of much worse hands to hold my leash than yours.”

She hated that phrase. Despised it. She did not want her hand to hold his leash, she wanted it to hold his hand. And she hated that he accepted that it could not be so with such grace. 

He was the one blessed by the Phoenix, and yet Jill would find her blood boiling over so quickly that one would think it was her. Every town regarded him with the same disregard, and he would simply follow behind her, not a sign of malice or discontent in his posture. He played a part he was never meant to play with such skill, and no protest. 

It was grotesque. 

“Brick shithouse of a Branded, that one.” One grocer commented as they passed by his wares, neither Clive nor Jill sparing him a sideways glance as they continued on. “What do you think a dame like that’s doing paying out for a bestie like that?”

“Look at ‘im. She’s bedding him, no doubt.” His stall-mate shot back. “And it’ll serve her right when she’s handing over an obligation to the constables in a few months.”

Jill had refused to look at the merchants, but she looked to Clive for a fleeting moment. His gaze simply urged her onwards. Jill turned face, picking up speed. She cursed Anabella once more. 

How she hoped that one day she would get to do so to the woman’s face, and not just the memory of her. 

That day came on the mighty wings of Bahamut.

Chaos reigned supreme in the streets below and the skies above Twinside alike.

Fires could be seen from their position well above the city now, uncontrolled bonfires all spaced out underneath the blossoming white petals of Drake’s Tail. Above their heads, the Phoenix flew in quick pursuit of the draconic prince. Jill and Clive continued to find their path through the crumbling skeleton of the one splendiferous seat of power that had housed Twinside’s parliament, undeterred by the madness that surrounded them on all sides.

Bahamut roared out a baleful sound, so loud that it rattled stone and dust underfoot. The Phoenix screeched in reply, and Clive would have sworn it was a plea. He could practically hear Joshua’s voice, so much older than the childish trill Clive had once known so well…

Please, Your Highness! Think of your people!

Hugo Kupka’s body was cursed ash, indiscernible from the sands of the Republic’s desertlands, now two months on from the fall of Drake’s Fang and his body along with it. A fate deserved and granted for crimes intended and summarily enacted. While meeting as boys may have been brief, Dion’s sterling reputation had ever preceded him, and there wasn’t a doubt in Clive’s mind that these actions were not his own. Joshua’s own testament to the prince’s character only solidified Clive’s resolution. 

Dion Lesage did not deserve to die in this apparent madness.

The aether running rampant throughout the city was overwhelming to the palates of the Dominants within its current. Little wonder, given the size of Drake’s Tail. Clive struggled to keep his head clear as Ifrit clawed at him from within, demanding release like a hound pawing at a door. Clive was certain the impossible Eikon would have the chance to have his way soon enough.

The Eikonic clash above was no doubt equally heightened, given Bahamut’s apparent madness. 

Clive struggled to get air in his lungs through the assault of the aether. “Jill!” He managed to call over the battle overhead, extending her a hand up onto the next level of debris. “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine!” She replied, sounding surprised by the fact herself. “All things considered, anyway.”

Clive didn’t understand how she could be.

Perhaps she was simply adapting to their change in altitude faster than he. The higher they climbed, the thinner the amount of aether that hung in the air. It was a flimsy assumption, Clive would admit, but he was grateful for whatever the answer was nonetheless, even if his mind could not help but wonder what the truth was. He pushed it from his mind once more.

It was a question for later. 

He pulled Jill up onto the remaining flooring alongside him. They ran, taking the broken stairway two at a time until they came to the remnants of a hallway. Before them, a smoldering door hung half-off its hinges. Just beyond, Clive swore he could hear voices.

“Wait.”

He hesitated, holding his hand up to keep Jill back as they crept closer. His hearing focused now, straining beyond all other noise. When the voice spoke again, Clive’s gaze narrowed. He knew that voice. He knew its owner.

He wished he could have forgotten.

After Rutherford escorted Jill to a guest room for the night, Byron led Clive to his study for a drink. It felt like they had a lifetime to catch up on, and only so few hours to do so. After drinks were poured for each of them, stories began to flow, as well. 

They spoke of everything, though Clive tried to spare the more gruesome details of his time as a Bastard. Byron repaid each tale with one of his own, speaking of everything from the aftermath of Phoenix Gate to the High Houses’ attempts to keep Rosaria afloat, and a few of his more high-spirited exploits were peppered in between. 

They spoke of Anabella, too. 

“We all knew what she was capable of, but none of us ever truly believed she would go so far.” Byron told his nephew, studying the amber-colored leavings of his drink. He swirled the remnants in the glass contemplatively. 

Clive’s brow twitched. “Did we?” He wondered. 

Byron studied Clive, unable to ignore just how much he looked like Elwin now. He always had more of his father in him than his mother, but clearly that had only grown more true with age. It was a small boon, but to Byron, it may as well have been priceless. The world needed more men like his late brother.

“Uncle?” Clive’s voice brought him out of his ruminations.

What harm was there in telling him now? 

Byron leaned forward in his chair, settling in for his next tale. 

“Not that you need anymore turning from that awful woman…” Byron sighed, a sober sound coming from such a vibrant personality. “But a story comes to mind that I feel you’ll not have heard before.”

Clive leaned forward in his own chair, rapt.

“As you know, as you saw, and as I’m sure you can still recall, your mother doted on Joshua from the moment he was born. And she continued to do so until, well, up until he no longer suited her purposes.”

Clive’s fist tightened around his own glass. How could he ever forget? He still heard Joshua’s cries at night when sleep eluded him. 

“Prior to whatever accord was struck that convinced her she needed to set her sights on another sire, Anabella was adamant about her marriage to my brother, along with the station and power afforded her by being the woman who would give birth the next Phoenix, the promised one to replace your grandfather.”

“She couldn’t have known. No one could have.” Clive said. “Neither you nor Father inherited after Grandfather passed.”

“No, we did not. For all we knew, the Phoenix had died with our father. And yet she was unwavering. The Phoenix would rise anew from her body. You know the family history, my boy. There were generations missed here and there when the Phoenix would lie dormant. Eikons are fickle.” Byron gestured toward the tapestry mounted on the wall next to the fireplace, stitched with their family’s lineage. “The bloodline was secure, but anything could have happened at any time.” The older man’s lips twitched into a fleeting smile. “And then came you.”

“And the Phoenix rejected me.” Clive’s face showed no such emotion. 

“I wonder now.” Byron mused, his finger tapping against his glass as he continued to regale his nephew. “I may not be a scholar on matters of Eikons and Dominants, but we all know Dominants are bred and born, not created. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if this…Ifrit has been with you from before your first breath, just as the Phoenix chose Joshua once he came to be.”

Clive chewed on that. He hadn’t considered such a thing. Within him, Ifrit stirred, as if confirming his uncle’s theory.

“Even with your unique gifts, the Eikons whose powers you self-prime with do not reside with you or claim you as Ifrit has.”

“I…suppose.” The younger Rosfield said. 

“Especially in families where Dominants are expected to be born, like ours, babes are tested shortly after their mother is delivered of them.” Byron’s eyes watched something on the horizon beyond the window behind Clive, something Clive did not see. “Your father was so proud of you, Clive. Before you were even born. He was the same with you and Joshua. You were his prides, his greatest joys and his greatest triumphs, Dominant or not.”

If only he could see you both now…

“Uncle?”

Byron blinked, coming back to himself, and to his tale. “When you were born, Clive, Anabella pushed your testing even quicker than most. Your father wasn’t tested at the time of his birth due to our father’s stake on the inheritance, according to the family records. I was similarly exempt, by the same source.” Byron explained. “Mary told your father and I that Anabella didn’t so much as reach out to you when you were delivered.”

It wasn’t a surprising revelation, yet Clive still felt his chest tightening and the muscles of his jaw pulling similarly taut. 

“The moment you were born, she demanded the physick see to your testing. Your aunt was the first Rosfield to hold you, to ask if you were a boy, if you were healthy. And once the physick and abbot informed your mother that you had not inherited the Phoenix…”

Clive pursed his lips.

“It’s a wonder she didn’t hire an assassin. Or pay a Bearer to poison you, only to then have them discovered and executed so as to assure she was not found out. She remained confined with you, per the custom. Mary tended to her after your birth, as sisters-by-law always have...if she hadn’t broken that tradition to alert your father, we could have lost you.” Byron’s fists clenched, just as infuriated as he was that day. “She refused to nurse you, let alone look at you or hold you. I know I’ll never know what it is to be a mother...but I cannot fathom a woman who would let her newborn son nearly starve all over something as unpredictable as Eikonic inheritance.” Byron shook his head, gaze lost in the fabric of the Dhalmekian rug under their feet. “Elwin never forgave her, though he hid it well, to his credit. From that day on, it haunted him. If she could not love her own child unconditionally, if she could watch him starve without a measure on remorse, then what else was she capable of? I fear Phoenix Gate was an answer he still hoped her incapable of.”

“Father...never told me.”

Byron leaned back in his chair. “I’m not surprised. He tried not to put undue strain on the relationship between either of you boys and that contemptible woman. Founder knows she didn’t need any help. That I know you know. It was rare to see my brother downright murderous. When he saw the state you were in, and once he heard Mary’s account...I think even Anabella, in all her pride, was afraid.”

Clive tried to imagine that sort of hatred in his father’s eyes, and found himself lacking.

“If she hasn’t already, I’m sure the day she learns that the son she saw as her failure awoke as a Dominant of Fire after all will be a most embarrassing day for her, indeed. And it’s no less than she deserves.” Byron said. “If you ever cross her path again, Clive, I’d be careful. If there’s anything that woman hates more than those she sees as her inferiors, it’s being humiliated.” He advised. “Would that I could forget the cries she loosed that night…”

“It was supposed to be you! Why didn’t the Phoenix choose you?” Anabella leveled an accusatory finger at her firstborn son, her other hand shielding her youngest son behind her. 

Clive couldn’t help but think of the account his uncle had shared with him, and wonder if she had begged the same question of the Firebird on the night of his birth as she did of him on this one. 

“I did my duty. I bore Elwin a firstborn son of the Phoenix’s chosen line. I did everything I was meant to do. Clearly the fault was with you, and yet no one understood.” Anabella’s fury rose within her, and she surged toward Clive. 

Before Anabella could reach him, Jill raised her rapier, keeping Anabella at its length. With each step, Jill pushed her back more and more and more. Anabella lifted her chin, shying away from the end of the blade as she retreated to Olivier, once again protecting the boy behind her. 

“I see you are as you ever were, girl. A savage.” Anabella spat at Jill’s feet. “A savage little animal who doesn’t have the good sense to respect those who raised her.”

“How dare—”

Jill held up a hand, killing Clive’s condemnation on his lips before he could finish. 

Once upon a time, the insult would have eaten away at Jill. Now she wore it as a badge of honor. There wasn’t a reality that existed where she yearned to be in the good graces of Anabella Rosfield. 

Or Anabella Lesage, as it were. 

Internally, Jill smirked. She supposed that, if anything good had come from all of Anabella’s wicked deeds, it was that she had unintentionally impeded Jill from the misfortune of sharing a family name with her.  

“Archduke Elwin raised me.” Jill corrected, her words as sharp as her steel. “Lord Commander Rodney and Lady Hanna raised me. Caoimhe and Alexandre Warrick raised me.” Jill stepped forward again, forcing Anabella to kneel before her. 

“Mother.” Olivier said quietly. 

Clive knew about Anabella’s third son—his half-brother, he realized. Seeing him in the flesh made it—made Olivier—reality. Clive’s mind struggled to find his voice again, to even begin to formulate questions that could lead to answers that could lead to some semblance of understanding.

He wanted to understand. He had never understood her, never been able to parcel out what went on behind those cruel eyes of hers. All the weight that Joshua had struggled to simply exist under as a boy began with the bulk of her lofty expectations. 

“You already had Joshua.” Clive said as came to stand beside Jill, his fists shaking at his side as he joined the confrontation. “Was he not enough?”

Something lit within Anabella’s cold gaze. “Joshua…” She breathed out his name. 

Clive wondered if it was the first time she had spoken it since that wretched night. 

“Joshua. My world. My little bird.” Her voice was haunted, all edge and malice gone. “They weren’t supposed to hurt him. He wasn’t supposed to die. It should have been you.” She snapped at Clive, echoing her own words. 

Clive took her lashing once more, squaring his shoulders. 

She didn’t know, then. 

“Mother, have you not looked out your window?”

The gods themselves couldn’t have divined upon better timing. 

No sooner than Clive raised his question did the carmine-plumed body of the Phoenix crash land on what was left of the antechamer’s once-immaculate floor. Anabella cried out, covering Olivier with her own body, the boy himself making no sound. By the time Anabella looked up once more, Joshua had released his primed form. 

“Joshua!”

Clive took no pleasure in the theatricality of the timing, instead rushing toward his young brother’s falling form, sliding onto his knees and catching Joshua in his lap before his head hit the floor. A panicked, cursory glance confirmed that Joshua was fatigued, but uninjured. 

He was alive. 

It took everything in Jill to keep her guard on Anabella rather than rush to Clive and Joshua’s sides. She had longed for such a reunion since the night they were all torn from one another, though she had only begun to believe it truly possible after the fall of Drake’s Head. She would just have to hold fast to her patience for a little longer.  

Bahamut’s thunderous warcry demanded all of their attention. Jill looked up at the massive Eikon before looking back to Anabella and Olivier. No doubt it was them Dion was searching for. In his aether-frenzied state, would friend exist separately from foe?

Clive looked up, too, already planning his next move.

Dion wasn’t the only one with excess aether to burn through. 

Bahamut’s massive head reared back, light emanating from his maw. Before he could release the barrage of light, Jill summoned Shiva’s ice to her finger tips. Like sunshine against the snow, Bahamut’s concentrated light met the frigid exterior of the barrier Jill aimed over Clive and Joshua and reflected back at Bahamut, leaving the brothers unharmed. The Eikon bellowed as he was blinded by his own element—a temporary state, but one that would buy his would-be targets time to act. 

For all her fire and fury, Anabella was little threat compared to Bahamut himself. For now, their attention needed to be on Bahamut. They had to act quickly. 

“Jill…”

In her semi-primed state, the air cooled around Jill, and Clive couldn’t help but gape at her as she approached him. She sheathed her rapier before signaling for Clive to relinquish Joshua to her. He complied without hesitation, trusting her unwaveringly. 

Behind them, Anabella cowered, shrinking back from the scene with Olivier. “Shiva…”

Jill didn’t spare the former duchess so much as a backwards glance. “Go. I have him.” She said to Clive, reassuring him. 

“Right, then.”

Flames engulfed Clive as he marched toward the jagged edge of the destroyed antechamber. In another life, he would have been First Shield, standing against foes who threatened the duchy. In this life, he still marched in his brother’s name, until Ifrit rose from the flames just before he reached the edge of the precipice. 

Ifrit had no wings to command, but he did not need them.

Without hesitation, he leapt from the edge, hurling himself toward Bahamut. 

The moment Ifrit was out of sight, Joshua began to stir in Jill’s arms. He coughed, sitting upright, guided by her hand. It took him a moment to process his surroundings, and to match the features under the pallor of Shiva to a face he knew well. 

“Jill.” He embraced her with all the strength he could muster. 

“Joshua!” Jill laughed shakily, hugging him with the same ferocity. 

“It’s you.”

“It’s you. You’re really alive.”

Joshua’s small laugh was still boyish, despite how many years removed he was from his childhood now. “Just barely.”

Torgal barked, never one to be left out, nuzzling against both human’s cheeks with his wet nose. 

“I missed you, too, Torgal.” Joshua said as he lifted his head as well as a hand to pet one of the wolf’s large ears. He looked around, locking eyes with his mother for only a moment. 

“Joshua!” Anabella breathed out.

Joshua forced his gaze away from Anabella’s immediately, seeking refuge in Jill’s instead. “Where’s Clive?”

Jill looked beyond them, to the missing corner of the room, laid bare to the smoke and aether-filled night air. 

“No.” Joshua felt the air leave his lungs in a rush. 

“Joshua, hold on.” Jill held his wrist in a bid to keep him down. 

“I’ll be fine.” He said with a small smile, closing her hand within his. “With all this aether in the air, it would be a shame not to take flight once more.” 

“You never did like being left behind.” Jill released her grip with a sad smile. 

“We’ll stop the prince, and then we’ll all be together again. You have my word.” Joshua vowed quickly, rising to his feet with her aid. 

His eyes flicked back to his mother and half-brother for the quickest instance. 

“I’ll watch them.” Jill answered before he could ask it of her. “Be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” 

Joshua raised his arms. Licking flames gave way to wings as the Phoenix rose into the night sky. The Firebird’s body blotted out the moon until he aimed himself downward in pursuit of the two other Eikons. 

The sounds of the airborne battle were terrible and fierce. Jill held her breath, ignoring how violently her stomach churned as she watched on for a moment. Eventually, she turned her attention to her two charges. She said nothing as Anabella was forced to face her, the older woman getting to her feet.

Slowly, Jill relinquished her Eikon’s power, warmth unthawing her skin, the Eikon returned to her hibernation. 

“You are every inch your father’s daughter.” Anabella said bitterly, hugging Olivier closer to her skirts. “Outsiders who bore witness to the end of their adoptive homeland. How very proud he would be of you.”

Jill ignored the attempt to get under her skin. She was no longer a child, and she would no longer allow Anabella to be her tormentor. “You were no more my mother than you were to your own sons. You betrayed your blood, your people.”

“To produce an heir worthy of bringing this continent under his reign, who would bring honor to his name and his blood.” Anabella hissed. “I did my duty.”

“You were never a mother. You’re a monster.” Jill felt her face flush, the heat of her hatred pooling into her cheeks. “You destroyed your family. How could you?”

“How could I not? I did what had to be done to preserve my family’s blood.” Anabella issued her confident rebuttal, her scornful gaze bearing down on Jill. “And what do you know of the sacrifices of motherhood, Jill Warrick? What do you know of the burden of bearing noble blood?”

“Nothing at all.” Jill admitted. “But I know I would sooner cut off my own hand before I raised it to strike either of your sons.” 

“How very noble.”

“Hell is too good for you.” Jill cursed, the words sweet on her tongue after so long biding time in her mind. “Your line will continue, Anabella, that I can swear to you. But it will be without you, and you will be nothing. Everything you are and everything you’ve ever done will be nothing.”

Light shone overhead, far above the three, ending the conversation effectively. Jill hurried out to the ledge that Clive and Joshua had disembarked from, trying to make sense of the explosion. She could barely tolerate the intensity of the light, shielding her eyes and squinting as she tried to look through the space between her fingers instead. 

Torgal’s growl came too late for Jill to react. 

A dagger pressed to her throat, an unseen hand pulling her head back sharply until her neck was exposed to the blade. Jill clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out. She closed her eyes, refusing to act until the moment was just right. 

“Conjurer!” Anabella practically snarled in her ear. “Jill Warrick is a guttersnipe, a worthless trophy. She is no Dominant, merely an Ironblood’s whore. Clive and Joshua Rosfield are dead. You will not trick me.”

“Jill!” Clive’s voice made Jill open her eyes. 

Thank the Founder.

“Let her go.” Joshua demanded, moving past Clive as the elder of the pair shouldered a now-unprimed Prince Dion. 

“It cannot be true.” Anabella’s grip on her dagger faltered at the sight of her sons. 

It was just the opening Jill needed.

In one swift motion, Jill disarmed the former duchess, knocking the bejeweled dagger from the older woman’s grasp before ducking out of Anabella’s hold entirely. Jill walked backwards to join the two brother’s and the barely conscious Dominant, her eyes keen on Anabella’s movements.

Anabella gasped, scrambling to pick up the dagger. 

In the time it took her to fall to the floor, Dion seized an opening of his own. Without Anabella in the way, Olivier stood on his own, impassive, covered in the blood of the father they shared. It was in that father’s name that Dion lifted his spear, falling from Clive’s grip as Dion aimed it for the puppet of a boy. 

It struck true, and the image of Olivier was no more. 

Anabella’s shrieks melted into a horrible symphony with Dion’s triumphant and weak laughter, blue fragments drifting in the air between them. His efforts spent, the prince allowed his injuries to claim him, lulled into nothing by the peace of his final triumph and the knowledge that he had severed the string that had strangled his father. 

Anabella’s panic was palpable. Dagger in hand, she scrambled madly toward Dion’s prone form, ready to deal a killing bow. Clive moved first, putting himself between her blade and the defenseless Dion. With a furious cry, Anabella sunk the blade into Clive’s shoulder instead. 

Disarmed, she staggered backwards, falling to the floor once again and scrambling to the place where Olivier had vanished. She was consumed by the emptiness. Even as she cried for the boy, Jill and Joshua moved to Clive’s side, Anabella’s presence completely forgotten. 

“It can wait!” Clive hissed, doing his best to ignore the blade in his shoulder before lifting Dion with his unwounded arm. “We need to go. The foundation won’t hold, and we need to get toTarja.”

“The Phoenix should be able to—” Joshua’s words were lost to a coughing fit. 

Before his legs could give out, Jill caught him by the arm, taking his weight against her side. 

“Thank you.” Joshua managed, just barely. 

“Let’s go.” Clive issued, fighting past the burning that radiated through his shoulder when he moved.

“Wait.” Joshua looked toward their mother, halting any progress. “We can’t leave her.”

Anabella gripped the toy soldier that had been in Olivier’s grasp, cradling it as she rocked. Soothing it as she would have soothed the boy. She was as oblivious to their presence as they had been to hers once she drove her dagger into Clive’s shoulder. 

Joshua limped forward, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go, Mother.” He said firmly. 

Trembling, Anabella dared to look at him. She blanched, horror stealing all color from her face. She pushed away from Joshua’s hand, gasping. Joshua recoiled, only to be caught once more by Jill. 

“Begone, spector! Begone!”

“Mother…” Joshua tried. 

“We cannot force her to come, Joshua.” Jill said quickly as the floor rumbled beneath their feet. 

Anabella offered no further reaction as she wailed at the floor. 

Joshua relented. “Let’s go.” He sighed, defeated. 

The group had barely made it beyond the city gates when the blast palace gave way, succumbing to the damage it had suffered. They only lingered longer enough to watch the cloud of dust and debris explode into the sky, indecipherable from the smoke from the fires that still raged across the city. Not a word was said as they slouched homeward. 

Clive lifted his head at the sound of an opening door. 

Jill shut the door once more. A bowl rested against her hip, some supplies tucked between it and her body. Between Dion and Joshua, Tarja and Rodrigue had their hands full. Jill had stitched many of her own wounds over the years. The one dealt to Clive’s shoulder by Anabella was physically simple, nothing Jill couldn’t manage. 

“Rodrigue is tending to Dion’s wounds.” She informed him somberly. “Tarja is seeing to Joshua.”

Clive nodded stiffly. It only made sense. Tarja had tended to three Dominants for five years, and had far more experience with the non-physical wounds that sometimes plagued them than her apprentice. Rodrigue was still learning, and a head wound would surely prove more simple to treat than what ailed Joshua. 

“But he’s alive.” Jill reminded Clive as she sat her supplies down on the overturned crate that served as a bedside table. 

Clive nodded again, blue eyes watching as Jill rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands in the water-filled basin she had brought in front of them, carefully helping him remove what clothing they could manage to before they turned their attention to the dagger itself. It didn’t help things that Clive’s blood practically glued the materials together, nor that he had lost so much additional blood as he shouldered Dion’s dead weight back to the Hideaway. 

Down to only his white tunic, which would also need mending, Clive readied himself for what came next.

“Ready?” Jill poised her hand around the dagger’s hilt, handing Clive a cloth to staunch the bleeding before she braced her other hand on the back of his shoulder. 

“Do it.”

Jill didn’t hesitate. 

Clive released a breath through clenched teeth as the blade slid free from his skin. The moment he felt Jill remove the dagger in full, he used his opposite arm to peel off his tunic, leaving his torso bare as he pressed the cloth to the wound, shivering as his body struggled to process the terrible sensation. He did his best not to make much noise. 

He had been stabbed more times than he cared to count, but it never got easier. 

Jill’s brow knit as she put her own hand over the cloth, applying pressure and allowing Clive to remove his own hand. He gripped the sheets beneath them until the pain subsided enough that he could speak again. After what felt like an eternity, he caught his breath. 

“I’m alright.” He assured her. 

Jill took him at his word, though the expression on her face made it clear she was still wary. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”

“No.” Clive shook his head, his voice still rasping. “You can close it now.” 

Once the bleeding slowed enough for her to see the edges of the wound, Jill did just that. Her touch was gentle, more so than Clive was used to when it came to wound care. Even Tarja could be rough. Sometimes, Clive thought, she did it just to prove a point about not being so reckless out in the field. 

“Are you alright?” Clive asked softly. 

Jill’s work did not pause or flinch as she released a breath that could have been a chuckle. “I think I should be asking you that.” 

“My mother put a dagger to your throat.”

“And then she stabbed you with it.” Jill pointed out. 

“If only that were the worst thing she’d ever done to me.” Clive quipped bitterly.

“But how are you?” Jill asked. 

“I don’t know.” Clive admitted with a heavy sigh. “It was…a lot. I’m exhausted, but aren’t we all?” He was silent for a while. “My mother…do you think she made it out?”

Jill answered him honestly. “I don’t know.”

Clive accepted her answer. “And…how are you?” He prompted once more.

Jill smirked, somewhat amused by his persistence. “I’m fine.” She replied.

Clive snorted, careful not to move and disrupt her needle. “You’re just as worn out. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Oh, can you?” Jill hummed, raising a poised eyebrow, her attention remaining fixed on the task at hand. “Observant.”

“You give me too much credit, I fear.” Clive told her. “After all, what sort of husband can’t tell when his wife’s tired?”

Husband and wife. 

The words sent a thrill up Jill’s spine. Their little secret. Words shared and exchanged only within the sanctuary of their chambers. Clive’s gaze softened, taking comfort in her presence as she continued mending his flesh. 

He couldn’t imagine a better distraction.

“There. Finished.” Jill declared at last, tying off the end of the thread before disposing of the bloody needle. “Tarja gave me some herbs crushed into a salve, too. She said to put it on the cloth when we cover the stitching.”

Clive glanced down, marveling at her stitchwork while she stood to clean her hands of his blood and prepare the strip of cloth with the poultice. The moment she opened the small canister and the smell of the concoction reached her nose, her stomach threatened to empty its contents on the spot. She braced herself for a moment, wretching. 

“Jill?”

Her eyes found a bucket in the corner near the door leading to the balcony. She all but leapt for it—not a moment too soon. As she emptied the contents of her stomach, meager as they were, she felt a hand on her back. 

“I’m sorry.” She managed once she was done, her stomach settled. “The smell must have gotten to me.” She pushed the bucket away from her, catching her breath. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Clive’s expression was equal parts concern and confusion.

No.

Jill nodded. “Come on.” She stood up. 

“I can take care of that. I don’t want you to get sick again.” He rose with her. “Come on. To bed.”

“Clive.”

“I’m right behind you.” He shot back, waving her forth. “You wouldn’t fight with an injured man, would you?’

“You ridiculous man.” Jill muttered under breath, relenting to his fussing as he guided her back to their bed. 

Once she sat, she held her hand under her nose. Clive coated a strip of cloth and placed it accordingly before slipping the ends one under the other. He couldn’t resist a quick smell of the empty canister as Jill’s attention turned to Torgal, the wolf coming to rest his head in her lap.

Certainly, the mixture’s smell was medicinal, and notably potent, but Clive’s stomach remained unperturbed. He shook his head, replacing the canister before joining Jill. She moved closer to the wall, allowing him to climb into bed beside her. 

Before long, exhaustion got the better of Clive, lulling him into a deep, much needed sleep. Once he was sure they wouldn’t be bothered by his presence, Torgal leapt up onto their feet. The frost wolf turned a few times before settling himself down in his usual spot, his ears pricked and alert even as he closed his eyes. 

Jill’s eyes remained open, staring at the wall in front of her while Clive slept soundly behind her, her stomach still churning as she waited for sleep to take her, too.

Chapter Text

If Cid’s lessons had taught his two young protégés anything in the past five years, it was that nothing ever went according to plan. 

And if it did, it was probably a trap. 

Little effort had been expended by Joshua and Jill to sneak into the Far Bank district of Kanver. The silence between them had been comfortable, their presence to one another familiar, even if such an excursion was one they had never taken together. They had both seen more than their fair share of conflict in the years since their separation. 

Now, that fact became another reason the quiet streets had them so on edge. 

There was no sign of life, let alone an Akashic horde. 

They pressed onward through the city streets, wondering what it would have looked like only days before, filled with its people going about their daily business. As they kept their guard up, they also reveled in one another’s company. Strange circumstances had often led to stranger bedfellows, so they were sure to appreciate the familiar companionship they both offered. 

“It’s strange, not seeing Torgal with you. You two were always inseparable.” Joshua said, trying to ease some of the tension while still keeping his voice low. “Still, I’m glad you sent him with Clive.”

Jill chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s been worse than ever lately. I wasn’t sure he’d go.”

“Clive or Torgal?” Joshua teased, earning a small laugh from her. “Perhaps the stench of cat warded him off.” He suggested. 

Jill gave him a questioning look. “Cat?”

“Jote’s.” Joshua clarified. “A trained familiar for going where she and I cannot, and to relay messages not otherwise safe with a stolas.” He shook his head. “He’s a mangy little tyrant.”

“I see.” A beat. “So…Jote?” Jill bumped her shoulder against Joshua’s, raising a smug eyebrow to match the smirk playing on her lips. 

The younger Rosfield looked away from her quickly, a vain effort given the redness that had instantly come to his cheeks. 

“As I said, she’s my attendant.” Joshua insisted. 

“Oh, I do not doubt it. But do not doubt that I saw that ring on her finger, too.”

“A practice of the Undying, in the event the Rosfield name should stand on the brink of dying out.” Joshua told her. 

The flow of conversation halted as Joshua vaulted himself over a pile of rubble that blocked their otherwise unbroken pathway. Once he was clear, he turned to offer a hand to Jill. Jill smiled, accepting before following his lead. 

“So, an arranged marriage, then?”

“Not dissimilar.” Joshua admitted. As loathe as he was to put such terms to…whatever it was he and Jote shared. “It’s recent. I tried to tell her it was unnecessary, that I didn’t want her to do anything she was unhappy with.”

“She seemed quite happy to me, back in Tabor.” Jill noted slyly. “You both seem rather happy. A fine match make, if you ask me.”

“Oh, indeed?” Joshua nudged her shoulder just as she had his. “And what about you and my brother?”

Jill had to bite her tongue, lest she reveal their own matrimony. She had longed to share the news with Joshua, as she knew Clive did, too. Doing so without him here, too, wouldn’t be fair.

“We’ve always been close, Joshua.” She reminded him. 

“Oh, yes, I recall.” The younger Rosfield smiled. “I also recall him once nearly tripping over Torgal because he couldn’t stop staring at you. He’s gotten no more subtle with his maturity, Jill. And you, I fear, have grown less subtle.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Joshua Rosfield.”

“Is it still insinuation when apparently the entirety of the Hideaway—including my own good lord uncle—witnessed the two of you kissing on the deck?” Joshua shot back, quietly triumphant. 

Jill pursed her lips for a moment. “It wasn’t the entirety.” She corrected lightly. 

Joshua put a hand over his heart, feigning an apologetic bow. “Of course. Forgive me my bit of exaggeration. Most of the Hideaway, then.”

Jill rolled her eyes good-naturedly. 

“I think it’s wonderful. You two deserve every happiness. I might be overreaching, but I don’t think I’ve seen either you or my brother quite as happy as when you’re together.” Joshua told her. 

“We were both incredibly happy to see you again, need I remind you.” She pointed out. 

“I know, but it’s not the same thing, and I know you know what I mean. You’ve never looked at me like you were one accidental brush of the hand away from bringing me to my knees.”

Jill shook her head in defeat, blushing. She moved ahead of him, picking up her pace. Joshua simply laughed, maintaining his own stride. 

Their separation didn’t last long before Jill stopped at a villa. The ornate carvings of the door were destroyed now, as the door had been sundered in two. 

“What is it?”

Jill instinctively recoiled from the scene before her. She pulled the collar of her outer coat up to cover her nose to ward off the stench of blood and death. Beside her, Joshua swore softly. 

“Founder.”

Clive’s assessment had proven true—locked doors were little use against an Akashic horde. 

Joshua carefully picked his way through the bodies. Fine clothing adorned each person. The Far Bank was a wealthy district, indeed, but these people appeared to have been a cut above even that. Joshua pulled his ragged scarf up over his nose, holding  the rich red material in place as he dared to kneel down, further investigating the wounds of the victims. 

“This residue…” Jill grimaced. 

The stench of death was terrible enough, but the lingering aether was so repugnant that it created a heavy film on her tongue as it wafted from the bodies. Another reminder of the slaughter that had taken place. 

“It’s bitter.” Jill noted. 

“Dark.” Joshua agreed pensively. “The stench of Darkness, to be exact.”

Jill frowned, quickly catching onto his meaning. “You don’t think…”

“I pray not, but I fail to see who else could be responsible.”

Odin. 

Warden of Darkness. The enigmatic Eikon and his even more elusive Dominant. What would he be doing in the Free Cities?

How could he have…

“You don’t think he could somehow be controlling the Akashic, do you?” Jill questioned as her eyes caught on the sight of a small toy tucked under one of the bodies. 

She looked away quickly. 

“I wouldn’t begin to know how he could achieve such a thing.” Joshua rose, having surpassed his fill of the slaughter and finding himself unable to stomach it any longer. “But I also don’t believe in coincidence. Death and Darkness have both made a bed here.” He mused as he and Jill exited the villa. 

“We should bury them properly.” Jill’s voice barely registered above a whisper. “Once we know the city’s secure.”

“Of course.”

“Then, it seems the dead will have to wait.”

Jill moved in front of Joshua instinctively, scanning the seemingly alleyways and city streets for the source of the voice. She found him—a silver-haired man in a suit of fine armor the same hue—standing poised upon a nearby roof. 

He smiled down at them smugly. 

“Who are you?” Joshua demanded. 

“Now, now, Your Grace.” The man bowed his head politely. “Where are our manners?”

“Answer him.” Jill stepped forward, drawing her blade as she marched toward the stranger. 

“Such a cold greeting.” The man’s chuckle was light, unperturbed, as he leapt down onto the street, holding his position yards in front of her. “I suppose the fault is mine for expecting anything other from you, Shiva.” He shook his head. “Very well. You may address me as Sleipnir, of House Harbard.”

Joshua drew closer to Jill. “Odin’s battle-mate.” He said quickly. “An Egi.”

“Ah, so you are the brain to your brother’s brawn, Phoenix.” 

“What does your master want with him?” Joshua asked, flames licking at his tongue. “Answer me!”

The man, Sleipnir, as he had identified himself, clicked his tongue, unperturbed. “I do hope you will save that fire for my friends. Do show them the way. After all, my lord has prescribed them to your tutelage.” He snapped his fingers. 

Jill searched for any sign of what he had summoned, or what he had meant to summon. The streets remained still and silent. And then, Sleipnir donned his helm. 

“Forgive me my brief introduction. I only meant to see with mine own eyes the threads which ensnare our chosen one so.”

Chosen one?

“Clive?”

“You will not touch him.” Jill surged forward. 

Before she could reach the Egi, an Akashic beast roared past him, meeting her steel with its own fetid weapon. 

“Jill!”

The horde descended upon the two Dominants in an instant, breaking the deathly silence that had plagued them thus far. In the chaos of the battle, both Jill and Joshua lost sight of the man who had summoned them. So thick were the throngs that neither could concentrate on anything but cutting them down. 

Survival instinct urged them both on as much as the need to return to Clive’s side. 

It was bloody work. Akashic made for a relentless militia. They did not feel. No death, not pain, not fear. They would not stop until they were cut down. 

“Jill!” Joshua called above the din, kicking a now dead fodderman to the ground. “Can you lure them to that eyecatcher? I think I can bring it down on them.”

“I really hope you can do better than think, Joshua!”

“I can do it!”

Joshua fell back, allowing what remained to pursue Jill as she made her way to the folly structure in question. He summoned flames, angry and scathing to the palm of his hands, concentrating it there until Jill gave him her word. He just had to wait for her word. 

“I’m clear! Do it!”

Joshua sent the flames hurtling with a snarl. 

The Akashic made no sound of pain, made no sound at all aside from their characteristic, senseless snarling, as the flame caught on their flesh and ate at it like tinder. The force of the explosion rocked the stony but flimsy structure Jill had led them to, bringing it down on their heads in a large eruption. The flames ate and ate until the only sound that remained was the sound of their crackling against their decimated prey. 

Fleetingly, Joshua wondered if Clive could see the fire from districts over. 

“We need to go.” Joshua said. 

Jill nodded. She didn’t need to be told twice. 

The pair cut through the streets, letting the dying light of evenfall guide them when they would have otherwise faltered. Despite their urgency, by the time they reached Clive’s position in the open air of the courtyard in front of the Agora, they were already too late. 

A man who could only be Barnabas Tharmr himself smiled wickedly as his blade struck against Clive’s in a sickening clash. Jill and Joshua remained silent, forcing down the reflex to call to Clive. They couldn’t afford to distract him. 

Not now. 

Not against such a foe. 

A simple maneuver brought Clive to his knees, Barnabas’ blade mere inches from his throat. Clive braced himself, his sword still gripped firmly in his right hand. Familiar currents of aether made his heart pound all the faster. Without looking away from his warden, he knew who had come upon the scene. 

“And so you march once more unto the inevitable.”

Joshua felt his heart drop into his stomach, every prayer and petition he had issued in their mad dash woefully dismissed in the presence of Odin’s Dominant. Beside him, Jill drew her sword from its sheath again. He reached for her wrist, staying her hand. Jill glared at him, battle instinct heightening her every reaction. 

“Stay back!” Despite its authority, Clive’s voice was pleading in its commandment.

“I do hope you enjoyed your time with our Liege’s other servants. Phoenix. Shiva.” Barnabas all but sneered in their direction. “Are they not a wonder?”

“The Akashic?”

“Such a crass name.” Barnabas shook his head. “They are men, after all. The perfect portrait of the divine’s mercy.”

“What?” Joshua questioned under his breath. 

“He’s insane.” Jill declared under her breath. 

“The Almighty’s chosen you may be, Mythos, but it is clear that you must still be taught what glory awaits.” Barnabas’ cutting gaze was raised next to Jill and Joshua’s. “You all have so much left to learn, and to accept, before our Father’s will can finally be made complete.”

“Our Father?” Clive all but scoffed. “You can’t mean that creature.”

Barnabas made no move to stop him when Clive got to his feet, the latter’s sword poised to attack anew should the King of Ash move to resume their dance.

“He’ll have to keep waiting.” Clive shook his head. “My mind is my own. It will never be his. We will never be his.”

“Even now you fail to see the end that awaits us all.” Barnabas walked backwards, dropping his borrowed blade to the ground before raising his now unoccupied hand to the heavens. “We Dominants are nothing if not his chosen prophets, after all. And you, his beloved psychopomp, Mythos.”

Clive roared, charing forward once more.

Barnabas stood his ground. 

“Just as a father reprimands his children so that they may learn to their benefit, the lord has gifted me this weapon so that I may remove these scales from your eyes.” A twisted black blade gleamed in his grasp, formed from concentrated aether. “And you are certainly not the first willful child he has had to put the rod to. Be grateful he has still seemed to show such mercy.”

“Mercy?” Clive questioned as their blades met again. “Is that what he calls flooding the world with aether?”

“But of course.” Barnabas parried another would-be blow with ease. “How else would he kill our wills and open our eyes to his truth?”

They are men, after all.

The shock of the revelation staggered Clive, creating an opening for Barnabas to law him low once more. He barely felt the blow in comparison to the weight of every Akashic—every poisoned man—he had slain. Of course, he knew they were people. He had just never realized, never thought..

Blood poured for a wound on Clive’s cheek.

He still only felt cold.

“You understand now, don’t you, Mythos?”

“I understand.” Clive looked to Barnabas, his gaze murderous. “And I am not Mythos.”

“But Mythos can only be you, Clive Rosfield, no matter how much you wish to deny it. The vessel which would allow paradise to return. As the aetherfloods bring us back to our true selves, so will Mythos bring the lord back to his proper seat of power. All will be as it should be.”

Clive gathered himself, attacking with renewed vigor. 

“But if the rod will not suffice, the scalpel will do what must be done.” Barnabas summoned a second blade, his expression grim. “For the will that cannot be tempered shall be excised. This is the will of Ultima.”

Clive was losing himself to every feeling and thought assaulting him from within. Barnabas rebuffed every attack with cool detachment. He took advantage of Clive’s every opening. Small slices that Clive ignored, fought past.

Jill realized exactly what Barnabas was planning where Clive was too blind to see now. Barnabas intended for this to be a war of attrition. Death by a thousand cuts. Any other time, Clive would have seen right through such a plan.

She couldn’t bear to watch for another moment.

“We have to help him.” She said. 

Joshua balked, torn. “But how?” He shook his head. “Jill, I’ve heard tales of your exploits, but neither of us can match Clive when it comes to swordplay. Look at him.” He could barely bring himself to spectate the struggle once more. “Barnabas is in control here. If Clive can’t best him, what hope have either of us?”

Jill looked away from the scene before them, answering Joshua’s hopeless question with a simple reply: “Shiva.”

She was serious. Joshua’s eyes widened. He took her hand in his, hoping the Phoenix’s flames would warm her.

“Jill, you can’t.” He insisted. “You forget, I’ve spent time in Tarja’s care, too. You cannot prime.”

“I can.” Jill nodded. “She wants to.”

Joshua’s brow twitched. He looked towards his brother once more, then back to Jill. He swore under his breath, wondering why it felt like they were playing right into Barnabas’ hand.

“Get your brother and get to the Ironworks. And leave.” Jill’s gaze could have bore a hole through his very heart. As she spoke, Shiva’s ice began to spread through her veins, a winter cloudburst threatening to turn into a blizzard. “She won’t give me a choice, Joshua. This is the only way, and we don’t have time to argue. Clive doesn’t have time—”

They were already out of time.

Before either of them could move, Barnabas sent out a sickening red wave of aether, cutting through Clive’s middle. None of them could have stopped it. Clive had no time to dodge it. It was the full summation of Barnabas’ authority, bestowed upon him by his puppet master.

Everything slowed. 

Jill felt all heat leave her body as Clive’s legs faltered beneath him. Barnabas stood, blades at ease. Blood soaked cobblestone—Clive’s blood, slick and hot. Time itself could have been at a halt, only resuming when Clive’s body fell to the ground, unmoving.

“No!”

Joshua rushed to his brother’s side, ignoring the way his body protested against bearing with such a weight, the struggle made all the worse by Clive’s limpness. Torgal pushed his head under Clive’s torso, helping Clive get his feet under him as Joshua slung his brother’s arm over his shoulder. Clive coughed, his body trying to find the ground again.

Jill took advantage of the moment to make her own move against Barnabas, putting him on the back foot as her rapier attacked with the violence and weight of a broadsword. Just as it had been an opening for Jill, it was a perfect distraction for Joshua to make his shambling escape with Clive. Torgal was on their heels, the hilt of Clive’s blade in his mouth. 

Jill had to trust that Joshua had seized his opportunity to escape. 

Barnabas demanded every bit of her attention as their blades struck again and again, neither contender willing to cede control of the fight to their assailant. They were both relentless; a clash of will against duty. Jill parried once more before aiming her left hand at the ground, her ice coating the ground, forcing Barnabas to retreat lest he lose his footing. 

He froze, assessing her with a curious glint in his dark eyes. His head cocked to the side. “Tell me, Shiva, why do you insist upon vexing the heavens so?”

“I should be asking you the same question.” Jill took a breath, smiling wolfishly through her heavy breathing as she drew her feet together in a readied stance. “I do not bow my head under the weight of your heavens. Nor do I kneel at the throne of a false god and his false prophets.”

“You will be made to.”

Black tendrils snaked around Barnabas’ body, leaving behind a suit of black armor when it left him, his two blades returned to one. A battle between two semi-primed Dominants was rarer, rarer than Eikonic clashes. Given the swell of Shiva’s fury, Jill didn’t know how long she would be able to hold her Eikon at bay. 

She needed to end this. Quickly. 

“Let’s not stand on ceremony.” Barnabas said before donning his helm. “The blade exposes all. Come, show me who you truly are, Shiva.”

Jill moved faster than before, matching even Barnabas’ speed. 

“Good, good!” Barnabas praised. “The Warden of Ice.” He grunted, blocking another blow. “I see Mythos has yet to claim you. Well, your Eikon, I should say.”

Jill ignored the barb, pressing his defenses.

She had never felt Shiva like before. She was an angry Eikon, to be sure. Furious. A blizzard that always threatened to bury those in its wake. But this rage was different from the anger of being made to prime and wound her beloved Dominant time and time again for a battle she cared not for. 

This was different.

This rage had been harbored for much longer, and was even deeper than the rage of being used as a tool. Jill felt every bit of it as if it were her own. It fueled her as it cried for blood. Repayment for a crime unforgiven that Jill could not imagine. 

And beneath it all, a flood of sadness and aether, equal parts maddening and familiar.

Barnabas must have felt it, too. He stopped, his blade still at the ready, though he made no move to attack her. Jill remained on alert, not trusting that he wasn’t trying to confuse her. The world quieted as Barnabas surveyed her.

At last, he spoke again.

“You have done something…something the Almighty did not intend. Can you feel it?” Barnabas’ helmed head seemed to search the air itself for answers. “Everything has changed.” His visor, and his gaze behind it, aimed at her once more. “What have you done?” Confusion—concern—colored his voice.

Let it be his undoing, not mine.

Jill kept her composure as she answered him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

Then, Barnabas did the unthinkable.

He laughed.

“Ah, there you are, Psyche.” He said, mirth coating his voice. “The very defiance of humanity brought to fruition. The very essence of the bonds of consciousness.”

Shiva’s voice chilled Jill’s spine.

No more.

Obediently, Jill sheathed her shoulder, accepting Shiva’s power as she prepared to prime. The world fell away as Shiva rose into the air, leaving Barnabas beneath her. Shiva lifted a hand, summoning ice from the moisture in the air around her.

Barnabas raised his blade to mirror her.

Shiva!

Ifrit!

The king’s attack would find a new mark before it reached Shiva, erupting across the courtyard turned battlefield in a sickening red flash. 

The world could have ended and Joshua would not have noticed.  

Sparse as they were, the sounds of the Ironworks were as distant to his ears as the crashing of the great waves against the coast of Ash. Night’s veil had long since fallen over them, obscuring sky from sea as candles were lit around the enclosed port. Mid’s crew hurried to and fro above deck as they enacted her orders, just as far-flung to Joshua’s senses. 

Mid herself had sat in a daze beside Jill’s prone form. 

“I…didn’t know you two were so close.” Joshua said at last, no longer able to stomach the silence with only his thoughts for company. 

Mid almost cracked a smile. Almost. “She’s been like a sister to me. Anytime I’ve deigned to come down from on high to visit my old man and his friends, she’s always made sure to spend time with me.” She explained. “Her and Clive both took me under their wings, really.”

“I know the feeling.”

“I sure hope so!” Mid all but chuffed, puffing out her chest proudly. “One of ‘em’s your actual brother. And you and Jill may as well be siblings.”

Joshua’s own lips nearly reached a smile before settling back into place. The thought swirled in his mind as he studied Jill’s features. He felt the same way. He had since they were still children.

He wished he had it in his heart to curse her stubbornness, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. 

“Course, if your brother would stop kicking ‘is feet and hop to, she could be your lawful sister, anyways.” Mid concluded.

Joshua hummed. “Well, there’s not much to do about that until we get her would-be groom back, then, is there?”

Mid looked down. “She and Clive have never let me down, y’ken?” She sighed. “They’ve gone to the hells and back getting me my stupid supplies more than once, and I can’t even get the bloody engines to work. Heck of a way to repay them.”

“Oh, they’ll be alright. Both of them.” Joshua reassured her. “Whatever their machinations, Barnabas and his master needs my brother alive. I was able to mend his flesh before—”

His words were lost as Jill roused.

Mid shot up from the bed, helping Joshua as they both kept Jill from moving too quickly.

“Mid? Joshua?”

“It’s alright, Jill. We’re safe.” Mid told her. “We’re at the docks.”

Jill waited for the world around her to orient. She shook her head, leaning forward. Physically, she was sound, as far as she could tell. No wounds, no signs of her battle with Barnabas. Save for the ache in her joints that always followed an episode of priming.

“Clive?” She asked at last.

Mid shook her head.

“After you went after Barnabas, Gav found us. I managed to heal my brother’s wounds…”

“Joshua?”

“We saw you prime, and I couldn’t stop Clive. But…it wasn’t only Clive.” Joshua tried to explain.

Shiva!

Ifrit!

“Ifrit.” Jill concluded for him.

“Yes.” Joshua sighed, clearly fatigued. “Barnabas was set to attack, and Ifrit intervened. He took the full force of the blow. There was so much steam that neither Gav or I saw what happened next. We found you collapsed and unprimed, but Barnabas and Clive were already gone.”

“My men and I saw the Galleon leaving port.” Mid added. “And we all knew they wouldn’t take off without her king.”

Jill’s hands balled into fists. “How long ago?” She asked quietly.

“Hours now.” Mid said.

“You were in no shape to move.” Joshua told her.

“Well, no time like the present, then.” Jill said, pushing herself off the bed.

“What? Now?”

“You just woke up.” Joshua chided.

Jill turned heel, hands on her hips. “And Barnabas has that much time between us. We can’t afford to wait. Mid?”

Mid’s eyes darted to the side as she frowned. “The Enterprise ain’t ready yet.”

“How quickly can she be made ready?”

Mid shook her head. “That’s not it.” She said, finally. “We’ve got no want for manpower. It’s the engines…they’ve got a mind of their own. If we set sail, she’ll blow us all to kingdom come before we clear the Ironworks.”

“And what can we do to change that?”

Mid blink. The smallest smirk touched her lips, wry as you’d like. “What, seriously?”

Jill raised an eyebrow.

Mid fidgeted, that wryness fading. “I…I don’t know.” She sighed, frustrated. “I was trying to figure it out before I came to check on you. I’m at my wit’s end with ‘em.”

Jill thought for a moment. “What if Cid were here?”

Mid shrugged. “Knowing him? He’d see what I can’t after one look.”

Jill nodded. “Well, then let’s get him here, shall we?”

A cursory look showed that her rapier and sheath had been rested against the cabin wall. She moved to reclaim it, settling its familiar weight against her hip before fastening the belt in place.

“I’ll come with you.” Joshua offered, following Jill’s hot-heeled exit from the cabins of the Enterprise.

“I’ll travel faster alone.” Jill told him. “Besides, someone will have to keep an eye on things if Mid’s going to keep working on the engines. With any luck, Cid will have wasted time traveling here at all.”

“Right!” The young engineer slapped Joshua’s back as she followed in line behind him and Jill up the narrow steps that led to the main deck of the massive airship-in-the-making. “Looks like you’re on babysitting duty, birdbrain!”

“There truly is a first time for everything.” Joshua mused.

Mid laughed. “Oi, greybeard! Give me a hand!” She whooped, already pulling Joshua into her wake as she pointed him in the direction of the hatch that would lead them down to the engine room.

“Lady Warrick!” Byron’s temporary annoyance melted into relief when he saw who had accompanied Mid. “Are you alright, my girl?” He crossed the busy deck to embrace her—carefully so.

“No worse for wear.” Jill promised. “I know she’s high-spirited, but do you mind helping Mid? She’s going to work on the engines.”

“It’s to be a pursuit of the Black Galleon, then?” Byron harrumphed, nodding as he let go of Jill. “If my lady commands.” He ceded with a bow. “And what of you, dear girl?”

“Mid believes her father’s help could make the difference here.”

“Ah, a trip to the Hideaway, then?”

“A quick one.” Jill added. “A mad dash, if I can manage it. The sooner we catch Barnabas, the sooner Clive is out of his hands.”

“Do give yourself some grace.” Byron advised. “Joshua told me what happened at the Agora. You’re of no use to anyone if you push yourself past your limits.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, I fear I’m as reluctant to lose you as I am either of my nephews at this point, Your Highness.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine.” Jill laughed softly. “After all, a trip home can’t be any harder than facing off against Barnabas Tharmr.”

“No, I suppose not.” Byron chuckled. “Well, I suppose putting up with that little kipper is a small price to pay for Clive’s sake.” Byron sighed dramatically. He sobered. “If I may?”

Jill arched an eyebrow, bemused, but nodding her consent nevertheless. After a moment, Byron raised his fist, pressing it gently over her heart. Jill inhaled, remembering each time she had watched Byron and Elwin bestow the gesture upon Clive and Joshua, as well as other children and relatives she never knew. All exchanging the same sentiment, one she had never been part of.

You’re one of us.

“Godspeed, Lady Warrick.” Byron bade, his voice thick.

Jill nodded. “Thank you, Lord Rosfield.”

“Byron, if it pleases you. Uncle, if it pleases you even more.” He insisted. “Please.”

“Alright.” Jill couldn’t help a smile. “But only if it pleases you to call me Jill.”

“A fair exchange, Jill.” He bowed his head. “Be careful.”

“Oi, you old bag of bones!” Mid called. “Shake a leg! Just don’t throw out your hip on the way!”

Byron rolled his eyes. “Do hurry back, though.” He bade slouching toward the deck hatch as he did so.

Jill disembarked the ship altogether, following a plank-laid path down to what could only be the entryway to the Ironworks. The round doors were barred. And acting as their guard was none other than Gav, who perked up at the sight of her.

Beside her, Torgal moved ahead, obliging Gav with his own greeting.

“Look who’s up and at ‘em!” Gav called as Jill approached, already knelt down to receive Torgal. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“The Hideaway. We’re getting this ship sailing and going after Barnabas.”

“Shoulda known Mid would rope you into this mess as soon as you were awake. She had me down in the engine room earlier.” He told her. “You, uh…sure you’re up for traveling so soon?”

“I don’t think Barnabas is going to take my condition into account, Gav.” Jill pointed out, appreciating his concern regardless. “Are you going to allow me to pass?” She half-jested.

“Oh, I doubt I could hold ye back even if I did mean to.” Gav drawled, shuffling his feet. “There’s been no sign of the hordes since the king made himself scarce, so Kanver should make for safe passage, leastways.” He explained, already removing the wood plank that served as a barrier before pushing one half of the door open. “I’d still make tracks if I were you.”

“Of course. Thank you, Gav.”

“You gave us all a scare back there, you know.” He told her, rising so he could walk through the outer pathway with her. “We’ve already lost one Dominant today. Don’t do anything to make us lose another.”

“I won’t. Promise.” Jill waved him off, heading into the city proper.

Gav hesitated. He began to move back into the safety of the Ironworks, and then he stopped. He turned around again, cupping a hand against his mouth.

“Oi, Silvermane!” His thick Northern accent carried itself well over the distance between them, becking Jill to stop and look back.

Gav squared his shoulder. He lifted his index and middle fingers, pressing the side of his index finger to the space between his eyes. He held that pose for a moment, before sending those fingers pointing in her direction.

An old Northern gesture, one he and Jill had obliged one another with plenty of times.

I see you.

Jill returned it in kind. 

Satisfied, Gav nodded his head once, holding his position until he could no longer see Jill. Once she was out of sight, he made his way back inside the Ironworks, barring the inhabitants within from the outside world again. Gav resumed his post, already alert for sounds of Jill’s return.

Or, gods forbid, the hordes.

Outside, Jill stuck to the backstreets and alleyways, planning to make her exit from the city by keeping to the least-populated parts of town. Just because the hordes hadn’t been seen didn’t mean they were gone. She couldn’t get careless, not when time was already against them. She pressed onward, determined.

Ifrit.

Deep within her, Shiva stirred once more. The Eikon was restless, but did not threaten to consume Jill as she did before. Jill picked up her pace regardless, spurred on by the Eikon’s insistence.

Hang on, Clive. We’re coming.

Chapter Text

Awaken, Child of Fate. 

Clive jolted awake, unsure of what exactly had roused him awake. That uncertainty pooled into his muscles, ignoring instincts and putting him on edge as he surveyed his surroundings. The familiar paintings of Rosarian conquests past on the wall told him where he was, but not how he could be there. 

Rosalith? 

As Clive rose from the chaise, he noted that the familiar clinking of his armor did not accompany the movement. Instead, he wore vestments of black and red, suited more to court than a battlefield. An ornate mirror gilded with carved goldwork on his right confirmed the red tunic he wore, tucked into a pair of black leather pants, were indeed not his normal attire. 

He touched his cheek, the reflection in the mirror following his actions. 

No scar. No brand. 

What is going on? 

The sound of footfall approaching stole his attention. Clive reached for his sword, only to find it missing. He lowered his hand to his side, fist balling as he waited. When the doors of the antechamber opened, his body relaxed. Though the woman’s kind face and gentle smile sparked a memory, her presence here did little more to soothe his reeling mind than his own presence here. 

What is going on?

Clive’s lips wanted so badly to beg the question of the woman, but instead they asked: “Lady Hanna?”

Hanna, alive and alight, stepped into the antechamber where Clive resided, her cheeks flush and her smile widening as she embraced him with a tenderness Clive remembered from childhoods spent summering with her and her late husband. 

“My Lord Marquess.” She bade with a kind and weary laugh.

Clive nodded, at a loss for words. There was blood on the apron she wore to protect her simple gown from the offending fluid. And beyond her, from the room she had come from—his childhood bedroom, Clive vaguely noted—an infant’s cries. 

What is going on?

“Just as shocking this time, eh? You’re white as a sheet.” She chuckled knowingly before tapping the side of her nose. “Jill’s rather eager to introduce you to your new daughter, so shake a leg. Labored twice as long this time, and she’s still somehow got a bit of energy left to her.” 

Jill? New daughter?

“Oh.” Clive cleared his throat, doing his best to hide his confusion. “Thank you.” He couldn’t quite help the tugging in his chest that compelled him forward. 

“Oh, Clive.” Hanna chuckled again, stepping out of his path. If she thought his behavior strange, she didn’t show it. “Off you go, now. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting, and you’ve got two waiting on you.”

Clive moved past her in a daze, out of the antechamber and into the bedroom beyond. The simple bed of his childhood was gone, replaced by a grand piece, one obviously meant to be shared. In that moment, it indeed held two bodies. The sight took the breath right out of Clive’s lungs. 

“Jill.”

Beside the bed, an older woman moved to press a kiss to the younger woman’ sweat-laden brown. Silver braids obscured her face until she turned to smile at Clive. From Jill’s descriptions, he was able to identify her at once. 

Caoimhe. Jill’s mother. 

“I’ll give you three some privacy.” The woman’s thick Northern accent was gentle. She embraced Clive before taking her leave of them, sparing one last glance at the small family before departing.  

“Clive.” Jill’s voice was worn—more so than he could ever recall hearing it. No doubt a result of the effort spent to deliver the infant tucked to her chest. “Don’t be shy.”

Despite her evident exhaustion, those starlight-gray eyes of hers shone as clearly as the moon when she smiled at him, beckoning him closer. As he acquiesced, maids tending to the cleanup parted, bowing to Clive and offering friendly congratulations to him and final praise to Jill before taking their leave with blood-soiled sheets in hand. 

Now alone, Clive sat down on the bed beside her, one of his hands meeting hers as he tucked it underneath the blanket loosely covering the child.

What is going on? 

The question kept repeating itself in his mind, fainter now given the scene before him.

The newborn feasted contentedly, unperturbed by her new spectator. A thin crown of black hair graced her head, but that appeared to be the only thing she had taken from her father. Despite the nebulous appearance synonymous to all newborns, Clive could make out Jill’s features distinctly. 

His heart melted in his chest, warming his ribs and his belly, too. The more he studied her, the more the situation facing him impressed upon him, the more his questioning faded from his mind.

“What do you think?” Jill hummed quietly, conspiratorially. “Will her sister approve?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” He half-laughed, enraptured as he stroked a finger across their daughter’s warm cheek. 

You have a sister. 

“She’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

“I try.” Jill quipped before he claimed a kiss from her. “You should go let everyone know their vigil can end at last. We’re not going anywhere.” 

Clive didn’t want to leave them, but he nodded nevertheless. He kissed her again, then pressed a kiss to the soft hair of the daughter’s head before forcing himself to leave them both. He made it out of his room—their room—and down to the throne room before he wondered who exactly he should be looking for. 

His tentative answer came in the sounds of joyous celebration beyond the doors leading out to the Down Gardens. 

There, he was greeted to festivities the likes of which he could never remember taking place in the gardens before. Shields, dignitaries, and his own family members—both immediate and distant. When his arrival was noticed, the cheers emboldened, tankards and shouts raising in his direction. 

At the bonfire nearest to Clive, he saw his father, with graying hair and all.

Fleetingly, he wondered if Jill’s father was somewhere within the throng, too. 

“My son!” Elwin laughed, clasping his arm around Clive’s shoulders, unfazed by the surprise Clive couldn’t hide. “The Shields sing and recite their oaths anew throughout the gardens. Tell me, is there finally cause to celebrate?”

“Finally, indeed, Father.” Clive confirmed. “Jill was safely delivered of our daughter just this past hour. She sent me to come and make it known to you all.” He looked around, searching for the presence of one who was no ghost. “Where’s Joshua?”

“Another granddaughter!” Elwin announced to the rest of the assembly, as boisterous as the red hue of his tunic. He turned back to his son once the returned cries of joy died down. “And, as for your brother, well, has been passing the time in the company of Jote, to the surprise of no one.” He pointed. “Last I saw they were down yon. You might run into your mother.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“And congratulations, Clive. May she bring us all as much joy as her sister.”

“Thank you.”

Clive moved on in search of his brother. But the image of his father, alive, seared itself into his memory. The man had never known a gray hair in life. The same question returned to his mind. 

What is going on? 

As he passed by, Shields saluted and offered congratulations. Among the revelers was his mother, a contented smile on her face as she spoke with Emperor Sylvestre. Clive tried to hide the stab of discomfort that ran through his body, emanating from his shoulder, at the sight of his mother. 

“Apologies again for the results of the morning. It must have stung, watching your own rider lose at the tournaments.” Sylvestre was saying. 

“A new grandchild will be consolation enough.” Anabella waved him off smartly. “What about you? I’ve heard a rumor that young Dion failed to attend this little fete due to family matters.”

“Indeed, it is no rumor.” Sylvestre returned her smile in kind. “He recently laid the laurel on a young girl who saved his life after a rather untoward entanglement with the fiend, Odin. Kihel. Crown Princess Kihel. She’s young, only ten years of age.” He chuckled warmly. “We’re all absolutely taken with her, you’d think she was our own flesh and blood. And that hair of hers certainly makes for some resemblance to dear Terence.”

“A funny coincidence. A shame the little family couldn’t attend, though I understand well the fatigue of new parenthood. Still, I trust that I speak for us all when I say I can’t wait to make a proper introduction between her and our little graceling. I’m sure they’ll keep us all on our toes.”

“Oh, I do not doubt it. To have that kind of energy again.” Sylvestre lamented harmlessly, catching sight of Clive’s approach. “Ah, and there he is.” He raised his goblet in Clive’s direction. “The Dominant of Ifrit!”

“Oh, my darling boy.” Anabella reached for Clive. She didn’t recoil from his sheer presence, no, she embraced it, embraced him. 

What is going on?

“Your Grace.” Clive greeted stiffly, her warm embrace foreign to him.  

“Since when do we go by titles among kin, my dear?” Her eyes studied him, glinting with concern. “You look as if you were the one who just waged war in the childbed.” She quipped. “Is all well?”

“Sorry, Mother.” The title was as wrong and as unfitting as the flattering—genuine—smile on her face as he apologized. “Yes.”

“Well?” Anabella prompted. 

Oh. 

“A girl.” He recovered quickly.

“And Jill?”

“Exhausted, but thrilled.” Clive informed her, finding himself relaxing in spite of himself, if only to keep his mother in good spirits. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Sylvestre excused himself. “Happy day, young lord.”

“Indeed. Thank you, Your Radiance.”

“Does my new granddaughter have a name yet? Her sister is still campaigning for her choice. Last I heard, your father was attempting to explain to her why, as endearing as it is that she wishes to name her new sibling after a Moogle, it may not be the most fitting name.” Anabella chuckled.

Clive couldn’t help but smile at that, recalling a similar suggestion from himself when it came time to name Joshua. “I’m afraid the delay is my fault this time.” He admitted, not knowing how he knew so. “Jill named our firstborn, so she said this one falls to me.”

“A wise woman, and a weighty task. One I’m sure you’ll rise to. You’re my son, after all.” She kissed his cheek. “I need to go see to some of our other guests. We’ll talk again soon. I expect a formal introduction once she has a name.” 

“Of course.” Clive bade. He blinked, stupefied. 

Once more, she assessed him, that warm glint in her eyes that he had never seen fall upon him. Then, when she apparently had her fill, she made her way back into the fray of partygoers.

Clive stood alone, feeling small. 

This isn’t right. 

“Oh, have you seen Joshua?” Clive called after his mother. 

“Down by the river gate. He and Jote were giving themselves a break from the festivities, I believe.” Anabella pointed down the path, twisting her skirts about her in the motion, resuming her stride toward the castle. 

Clive swore under his breath. 

He needed to talk to his brother. Now. 

Thankfully, Joshua was indeed down at the old gate. Clive recalled the forgotten little path well, even in the dark away from the bonfires. Torgal had loved to torment the fish in the little river that gave the gate its name in his days as a pup, with his three human watchmen never far away. 

As reported, Jote was with Joshua, the forming sporting an outfit of the family’s red, unlike the subdued hues of the uniform the Undying wore. Both of them were obviously at their leisure, so far away from the more cantankerous festivities closer to the castle. 

“Brother!” Joshua greeted exuberantly, leaping from the low stone wall where he and Jote sat together. “If you’re here, then it must be over.” He laughed as he embraced his older brother.

“It is.” Clive affirmed, hugging Joshua with the same fervor. 

“Is Jill alright?” He asked eagerly. “And the babe?”

“Both are completely fine. Jill’s spent, but well and in good spirits.” Clive said, unable to help a smile. “And you have a new niece.” The joy those words brought him forced him to bottle his question up, ignoring it.

Joshua lit up. “How wonderful. Should I expect to be introducing this one as Nektar Rosfield?”

“Ah. She got to you, too, hm?” Clive noted. 

“And Jote.” Joshua smiled at the young woman still seated on the wall. “And Uncle Byron. And Aunt Mary. And our great-aunt.”

Clive snorted. “Founder help us all.”

“She would make quite the politician.” Jote pointed out.

“She may have actually convinced Uncle.” Joshua added, signaling his intent to rejoin the fray nearer their castle-home. 

The trio walked together, Jote keeping a keen eye on the brothers. Clive found himself assessing her presence. She seemed much the same as he knew her to be—though perhaps less rigid, and more at ease. He made special note of the fact that she wore the same ring he knew her to wear, the same ring he knew Joshua to have given her. 

At least certain things remained the same. 

As they walked, Joshua supplied his brother with an endless list of names, ranging from the historical to the personal. Clive laughed at some, recalling the people who bore them before. Every so often, Jote would oblige them with her own suggestion, though she remained content to be a spectator rather than a participant. 

“I’ll be sure to share them with Jill before we decide.” Clive promised, ignoring the voice in his head that told him he needed to change the focus, to ask Joshua the questions that plagued him. 

“I look forward to seeing them both.” Something took Joshua’s attention from his brother. His lips turned upward in a mischievous smile. “You’re in trouble now.”

“Shall we go see what food has survived the night and leave your poor brother to his fate?” Jote suggested as she came to Joshua’s side. 

“I think we must if we hope to enjoy any of it.” Joshua offered her his arm, still smirking at Clive. 

Clive frowned quizzically. 

Then, he saw what Joshua and Jote saw. 

Who they saw.

“Papa!” A silver-haired girl raced to him, her arms outstretched. 

Clive knelt down to receive the young girl in his arms instinctively. 

Her smile and hair were perfect replicas: entirely Jill. But those eyes—he knew those eyes were his. He rose again, holding her close to himself. She smelled of the celebratory smoke of the bonfires, and honey candies, and Torgal—a scent most familiar to Clive. He also caught the smell of the ancient waters of Port Isolde in her platinum halo of hair, sweet and saturating. 

Did they take her there often? Clive couldn’t help but wonder. 

“Hello, you.” He greeted. 

“Granddad says I can’t see Mama yet.” The girl, who couldn’t be more than five years old, informed him. “But I want to. We all could hear her crying earlier. She was even louder than Commander Tyler’s singing.” She informed him with all seriousness in her young voice. “Is she okay? Did someone hurt her?”

Clive laughed airly in spite of himself, unable to resist the urge to kiss her forehead. “She’s just fine, little one. And you’ll see her soon enough, I promise.” 

He couldn’t stop taking in her features, committing them to memory—as if he could ever forget them now that he had laid eyes on her. That was his nose, wasn’t it? And Jill’s cheeks, rounded and pink with all the joys of childhood. 

The sense of sheer euphoria in his chest was consuming. He never wanted to let go of her. 

You’re mine. You’re ours. 

What is going on?

The question made Clive’s stomach turn. He willingly pushed it away this time.

“You promise?” 

Clive nodded. “You have my word as First Shield of Rosaria, my good lady.” He vowed. “And guess what? Your sister is with her.”

“Finally.” She practically groaned. “Why do babies take so long to come?”

Clive shook his head. “That is a question for someone far wiser than I. I’m sure your mother would like an answer, too.” If he didn’t stop smiling soon, his cheeks would surely burst. But he didn’t care. 

Jill. Your mother is Jill. You’re our daughter. Our firstborn daughter. 

“There you are, little one!”

“Granddad!”

“Thought you’d given me the slip, did you, little one?” Elwin chuckled playfully, taking her in his arms when she reached out for him. “Your father may be the greatest Shield Rosaria’s ever known, but don’t forget who taught him everything he knows.”

“Sir Rodney!” The little girl chirped.

“Hey, now.” Elwin chuckled, pressing his forehead to her, throwing her into a fit of giggles. “You wound me, dear lady. I was referring to myself.”

“Oh. Of course. Sorry, Granddad.”

“I suppose I’ll find it within myself to forgive one as fair and just as you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Now, I believe your grandmother was looking for more teacakes, but she was worried she would have little luck without her favorite hunting companion.”

“That’s me!”

“Is it?” Elwin feigned surprise well enough to convince the young girl of its sincerity. “Well, then I’m afraid I must let you go.” He sat her down with a groan. “Your granddad’s getting old.”

No longer in someone’s arms, the young girl took off in search of her grandmother. She stopped for a moment as her feet hit the steps preceding the doors of the throne room. For a brief second, she turned to wave at them both, then dashed inside through old wood doors. 

“This is too good to be true.” Clive sighed to himself, his smile slowly fading. 

“Drink it in, my boy.” Elwin advised, pressing his fist into the center of his son’s chest. “My dearest memories are from the day of your birth, and the night of Joshua’s. They still feel more like a dream than reality sometimes.”

“A dream…” Clive repeated, watching the way his breath swirled in the winter air. When it cleared, his vision, too, was clear. 

His father frowned, quickly noticing the change in his son. “What’s wrong, son?”

“This is a dream.” Clive admitted at last with a sad chuckle, the illusion broken. The truth swirled in the night air before him, dancing until it dissipated altogether. “Or a farce, or a cruel joke.” He put his hands on his hips, frustrated with himself. “I don’t know what to call it, but it must be some scheme of Ultima’s.”

Any doubts were removed when Elwin’s eyes flashed a sinister blue. Clive remembered Olivier, the way his eyes shone just the same. Clive felt no threat, at least. There was no instinct to reach for his sword, which was missing from his person. 

The visage of his father sighed in defeat. 

“Is it truly such a cruel thing?” Elwin mused. “Why go back? Why not let it all go, my son? Don’t you wish to rest? Are you not tired?” He clasped his son’s shoulder, his grip just a mite too tight to keep up the façade. “Is this not all you ever wanted? Your home safe, your family assured, your due given, Jill as your partner, mother of your children, and yourself a beloved father to those dear young lives?”

“Jill is my partner.” Clive removed the thrall’s hand from his shoulder. “She could no longer say the same of me if I were to remain here.”

“You would go back for her? You would burn the world all for a woman?” Ultima’s voice seized control of Elwin’s, drowning it out altogether by the time his question was asked in full. “Oh. But that would not be apt, would it? She’s the woman. Is she not?”

Clive blinked again in a bid to adjust his vision to the darkness obscuring his surroundings. 

“If you would deny the dream, perhaps you need the proving ground instead.”

Whatever mercy had been present in Ultima’s farce was removed with the searing pain of attunement. Attunement with an Eikon. No, this wasn’t no Eikon. This was a god. 

Ultima himself. 

Clive thought his jaw would break before he stopped screaming. His body convulsed under the strain of the unquantifiable influx of aether. He screamed, and wailed, and cried.

Until there was no sound. 

And darkness became light. 

And then Clive felt himself falling comfortably to the undefined floor with no idea how he had become weightless in the first place. Then he saw the great black wings that eased his descent back into darkness as the wings faded once more. 

“What have you done?” Clive managed, his chest heaving. 

“Consider it a gift, Mythos. You are going to do us a great service, and your actions so far should be rewarded.”

A soft light shone over his head. 

Moonlight. 

“You!” Ultima snarled. “You cannot be here!”

Awaken, Final Warden. 

The voice was soft. Feminine. It almost sounded like—

Jill.

Every question flew from his mind. Jill. He needed to get back to her. Clive closed his eyes, blocking everything else out. 

Awaken, L—

When he opened his eyes, he found himself where he truly was. 

His arms were bound behind his back, burning wickedly—crystal fetters, no doubt. His body ached like it never had before. Barnabas’ handiwork, everything came flooding back to him. Ashen accents echoed through the wooden hull caging him in.

It wasn’t real. 

Not the girl with gray hair and blue eyes. Not his father. Not his mother’s kindness. 

But Ultima…had he been real? Had his gift been true? Power coursed through his veins, unfamiliar and divine. Clive shook his head. He wasn’t sure of anything, save for where he was in truth.

This was the belly of the Black Galleon. 

Cid groaned as he dropped the stack of books onto the desk in front of Harpocrates. The loresman studied the stack, and the Dominant with his arm perched on top of it, with wide eyes and puzzled lips. Cid smirked, flexing his eyebrows animatedly. 

“And what do we have here, Cidolfus?”

“Gifts from one of Vivian’s friends.” Cid said with a shrug, clearly waiting for a showering of praise and awed exclamations. “A collection of archaic and otherwise thought lost texts.”

“Really?” Harpocrates blinked, eyeing the titles engraved into the spines with a new interest. 

Cid hummed in the affirmative. He held up his hand, waving. “Please, hold your applause.”

Harpocrates leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Well, really I should be lauding our resident strategist, shouldn’t I?”

“Well, perhaps. But I’m the one who saved her smarmy book dealer’s tail.”

“Very good work, Cidolfus.” Harpocrates conceded at last, smiling proudly. “Very good work, indeed.”

“Thank you, Harpocrates.” Cid huffed dramatically, standing upright and putting his hand on his hip. “Really, I thought I’d lose my other arm before I got a little bit of credit.” He sniffed, still smirking. He gestured to the books. “Anything good?”

“I don’t know, really.” Harpocrates admitted. “I’ve never heard of some of these titles. Which could bode well.”

“Or could make for a pile of crock.”

“Your words, not mine.” The loresman noted. “Vivian didn’t want to peruse any of these?”

“She said we get first dibs. She’s been too busy studying Waloed’s military history.” Cid reminded him. “Told her she could just ask me, but…”

“Well, you’ve been so awfully busy.” Harpocrates said, smiling wryly.

“I know! Clive and Jill best hurry home before I go to Kanver and drag Mid back here myself. People might get the wrong idea about who’s in charge around here.”

“Speaking of your recent conquests, how are our new tenants? The women from Twinside and our draconic prince?”

“The prince, according to Tarja, is finally awake, though he still hasn’t deigned to speak to anything yet. And the women from Twinside? Not from Twinside, as it turns out.” Cid said as he plucked one of the books from the stack. The spine bore no title. He raised an eyebrow. “As it so happens, they’re from—”

“Cid! Cid!” Tett and Crow’s excited voices rang out in a cacophony, the twins hurrying into the stakes and immediately flocking to Cid. 

“What, what!” Cid held up his arms, smiling wryly. “You know, it’s not fair to fight a one-armed man.” 

“More like one and a half!” Crow pointed out. 

“Mh, fair enough.” Cid half-laughed. “Now, what are you two all up in arms about?”

“Miss Jill’s back! Obulus is bringing her to the dock right now!”

Cid raised an eyebrow, smiling fading somehow. “Just Miss Jill?”

The twins nodded. 

Harpocrates and Cid exchanged glances. 

“Children, why don’t we work on your conjugation today? Tett, you were getting rather good with it.”

Tett and Crow both groaned, but released Cid, moving to their desk to resume their studies. Cid sat the unmarked book down without another thought, trying his best not to think of too many worst case scenarios before he had heard Jill’s report. It was a feat, to be honest, since Elias had apparently decided to take his precious time bringing Jill up to the boarding deck. 

Cid kept his distance, allowing Jill to give her thanks to Elias once she had disembarked. By the look on her face, her return to the Hideaway alone was much less of a homecoming than ever. She looked defeated, but the glint of determination in her eyes said she refused to return in failure a second time. 

Before Cid could grab her attention, someone else did.

“Jill? Can it be you?”

Jill turned toward the voice immediately, eyes widening. “Lady Marleigh?”

“Oh, my sweet girl!”

The older woman practically threw herself from Hortense’s stacks, embracing Jill furiously. Cid crossed his arms, watching the scene curiously. Despite his own questions, he allowed the two women their reunion before he interjected himself. 

“Refugees from the aftermath of Twinside.” Cid sauntered up to the pair, smirking. “Though I get this strange impression that you two know each other.”

“I know them all.” Jill couldn’t help her smile as she scanned the rest of the deck, picking out familiar faces from the Iron Kingdom now intermingling with the people of the Hideaway. “How did…” She looked back to Marleigh in wonder, her gaze questioning when her voice failed to. 

“We did what had to be done.” Was all Marleigh said. “And once it was done, we took to the Crystal Road, hoping to start fresh in the Dominion without fear of the Ironbloods lashes.”

Jill frowned. 

“It was already in flames when we arrived.” Marleigh said softly. Her lips twitched, eyes cast hopefully upon Cid. “It was your man here who found us just outside city gates, and when he heard our tale, he offered us a place here.” Marleigh stroked back a strand of Jill’s wind-swept hair with a familiar touch. “We both kept our word.” She said.

Jill nodded. “That we did.”

“And I wouldn’t have agonized half as long debating how mad Otto would be had I known they were friends of yours.” Cid said, clearing his throat.

“He says as if I’d turn ‘em away.” Otto groused as he came to join the group, Tarja on his heels until she broke loose to fuss over Jill. “The whole point of this damn place is to hide people away, after all.”

“Did you prime again, Jill Warrick?” Tarja scolded, still mindful not to overstep Marleigh as she drew close to study Jill. “You’re white as ash.”

“You primed?” Marleigh fretted. “Oh, Jill.”

“I did, but I’m fine.” Jill promised, accepting Tarja’s fretting rebuke. “I didn’t have much choice when the royalists made their presence known, and Joshua tended what he could.”

She would not mention Shiva’s adamance and its affect on the matter.

“Royalists?” Cid questioned, ruffling Torgal’s head. “What were they doing there?”

“It’s a long story.”

Tarja frowned. “Even the Phoenix can’t stop the curse, you know. I know you don’t choose to prime on a whim, but—”

“I know.” Jill soothed, smiling tiredly. “Thank you, Tarja.”

Tarja’s gaze remained skeptical, but she didn’t have time to press the issue further as Cid tapped Jill’s shoulder, drawing her attention. 

“Jill, not that I’m not happy to see you, and all…” Cid he prefaced once he had her eyes on him. “Mid?”

Jill sighed. Right. To the point. “She’s safe. I would have brought her back with me, but she refused to leave the Enterprise.”

“And the others?”  Tarja interjected. 

“With Mid.” Jill said. “They’re all safe, for now, but Mid needs your help, Cid. It’s the ship’s engines, she can’t seem to temper them. She thought you would have an idea.”

Cid considered her words, humming. “I might have a few in mind if it’s for her. Just need to grab my toolkit and we can take off.”

“Thank you, Cid.”

He waved off her thanks as he aimed himself toward the interior of the airship. “I still don’t understand why this couldn’t have been done here.” He called over his shoulder. “Surely the beastie would have survived in port until the royalists left the city.”

“They did leave.” Jill told him. Bitterly, she added: “With Clive.”

Cid stopped dead in his tracks, then turned to face her. “‘Scuse?” He raised an eyebrow. 

Tarja swore under her breath as Otto’s expression turned murderous. 

Jill swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Barnabas and his men took the whole city. They knew Clive would come, and he was what they wanted. It was a trap. The Galleon makes for Ash as we speak, with Clive on board.”

“Barnabas took Clive?” Cid scoffed, stunned by the audacity of her report. “Does Barnabas know who he is? Does he know who holds that boy’s heart as if it were her very own?” He shook his head, still disbelieving, thinking while sea leagues in an instant as scathing questions seared the air between them all. “I knew the man had spent too long in that darkness of his, I watched it eat at him, but I didn’t think he’d ever do anything so foolish.” He took a moment to collect himself, quieting, then chuffed under his breath. “I leave for less than a week to run some errands and you go and get taken by the Warden of Ash.” His tirade concluded, speaking as if lecturing Clive directly.

Jill took a step toward him, anxiety growing with every minute spent at the Hideaway, which meant another minute Barnabas was able to get away from them. “Well?”

Cid shook his head. “Well, we don’t have a moment to lose, hm?” He resumed his course from before, frustration clear in his demeanor. “Give us half a mo, Jill, and we’ll go. Get Obulus ready, will you?”

”Right.”

“And where do you think you’re going, hm?” Otto questioned. 

“To say goodbye to my retirement, I suppose.” Cid shrugged, walking backwards toward the entryway to the main deck. “You keep this place upright, alright? I’ll be back before you can miss me, old man.”

“Like you ever really retired.” Otto rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Jill, keep an eye on him, if you can spare one. I promise your friends are in good hands with us until you all get back.”

Marleigh pursed her lips in a small smile, patting Jill’s hands in confirmation of Otto’s words. “I know they are.” Jill assured him. “And I’ll do my best with Cid.”

“That’s all I can ask of anyone.” Otto lingered for a moment, quickly adding: “Bring ‘em home safe, will you?”

“I will.”

“Our boy, too, if you can manage, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“And take care of your own hide while you’re at all that.” Tarja ordered, squaring up to Jill. “You’re not invincible, Jill Warrick, no matter how thick that skull of yours is. I like you well enough, but I’d prefer to see you in my infirmary less.”

“I will certainly endeavor to make myself scarce.” Jill said with a polite laugh. “Come on, Torgal.”

“Elias, get those gears moving!” Otto ordered. 

Jill returned to Obulus, who had waited for her return at the dock. Jill paced the length of the dock until Cid finally descended the lift to join them, the leather holster of his supply kit tucked under his intact arm.

“Hop to it.” Cid issued in his usually gruff slyness. “I’ve heard the Einherjar is a thing of wonder, and she’s got enough time on us as is.”

Obulus frowned, pausing for a moment before continuing his preparations. “Didn’t you technically design that brute?” He questioned. 

“Did you?” Jill followed Obulus’ question with her own, equal parts surprised and not surprised at all. 

“I’ve got to have some secrets for myself, don’t I?” Cid teased freely. “That man has taken more from me than a care to count. I won’t let him use my designs to further his own. Not for one more day.” His bid at levity fades as he gave his final pronouncement, stepping foot into the small vessel before offering his hand to Jill, who accepted. 

Torgal boarded next, followed by Obulus. 

Had either of them paid enough mind to the matter, Jill and Cid would have been able to return home and declare themselves new holders of the Cursebreaker record for travel speed to the Free Cities. As it stood, Dorys’ record would remain unchallenged.

No sooner than the two Telamon geniuses were reunited were they out of sight, engrossed in their work with the mythril engines in the belly of the Enterprise. Whatever happened below deck, Mid’s crew kept working, and her Hideaway allies filled in the gaps where they could. 

Until Cid and Mid finally returned, covered in grease and smiling triumphantly. 

“Well?” Gav prompted. 

Mid was all but bouncing on her heels, looking to her father. 

Cid shook his head. “Oh, no, you do the honors, missy.” He said with a bow, a proud smile on his features. 

Mid’s smile lit up her whole face. She stepped into the middle of the deck, hands on her hips. “Boys, pull anchor and haul arse! We’ve got a warship to catch!”

If the Enterprise’s crew wasn’t running at full-tilt, then Mid’s call put them in overdrive. Mid herself was no less invigorated, hurrying toward the helm to make ready at her own station. Cid chuckled, clearly pleased, and Jill joined him. 

“All she needed was her father, then.” Jill said. 

“No.” Cid drawled. “She had the solution. All she needed was to be shown that she had it in her.”

“So…do we have a plan for when we catch up to Barnabas?” Gav asked warily. “Or are we just showing up and hoping for the best?”

“Why can’t we ever just make it simple?” Cid offered, moving to the side of the ship. “Grab Clive and put the Galleon in the Naldia’s depths, and go home. Preferably in that order.”

“Those are objectives, but not a plan.” Jill pointed out. 

“No doubt Barnabas will be anticipating a fight.” Joshua said. “Or will be looking to start one, anyway. He has his master’s vessel in hand. He won’t let him go easily. We need every possible advantage.”

“I can try to cover our approach.” Jill suggested. “I don’t know if Barnabas will see through it, but I can thaw and unthaw the water enough to create a fog. That may help give us an edge.”

“I won’t put Mid and her men in danger.” Cid told the small strategy group. “Not to complicate already complicated matters. I’d like to keep distance between us and the Einherjar.” He bobbed his head. “Course, I’d also like to see that ship burn before the water takes her, but...” He finished his sentence with a sigh. “There’s also the matter of actually rescuing Clive.”

“I’ll go.” Jill said. “He’s going to hate that we’re risking anything for his sake, anyway. I just need a way aboard.”

“I think I could help with both matters.” Joshua said, looking to Jill before looking to Cid. “It’s not quite ash, but Shiva’s mist will make wonderful cover for the Phoenix to rise from. Bahamut is his natural opposite, but perhaps fire will suffice. At least long enough to distract him once you’re aboard, Jill. And if some of his flames happen to burn the Einherjar as kindling…”

Cid was quiet until his laughter built up in his chest. “I like your spark, Firebird.” He wagged at finger and Joshua, still laughing. “Now, as long as the waves comply, we’ll likely be meeting up with dear old Odin just off the Shadow Coast. Shall we discuss an exit strategy?”

Jill fought to maintain her focus on the conversation as the Enterprise left the Ironworks behind. She had never been seasick before, but the speed of the giant ship aboard the waves was also something she had never experienced before. The rolling in her gut rejected her assessment. 

Torgal nuzzled into her hip, helping her keep her balance. 

Clive was jarred awake by the feeling of rocking. Violent rocking. 

No longer did the Einherjar move effortlessly through the tides, instead being jarred to and fro by a force Clive at once knew had to be Joshua. The Phoenix’s aether hung like embers in the air around him, speaking to the provenance of the sudden alarm rising on the deck above him. He could make out Odin’s dark matter, as well, no longer just a presence, but a force to be reckoned with.

Shiva. Ifrit’s voice all but purred. 

Indeed, the Warden of Ice left a touch of chill in the air, one that became all the more real when a familiar voice greeted him. 

“Clive!”

Joshua’s plan was, in a word, spectacular. 

Not one to do anything by halves, Joshua had waited on the bowsprit since the moment the Black Galleon was but a black dot on the horizon. Not unlike a bird on a perch, more than one deckhand on the Enterprise thought. While he kept his vigil, Jill allowed her ice to skim the surface off the water, letting up at different junctures in order to create the mist that now spread leagues ahead and behind the Enterprise’s body. 

And just before the Enterprise came within firing range of the Einherjar, Joshua primed. As soon as the Phoenix spread his wings, Jill moved into place, climbing on his back just before he took to the stormy skies above their heads. Below them, Mid cackled like a madman.

Barnabas awaited on the ship’s mast. 

Not unexpected. 

The Phoenix’s battlecry rang through the air as he circled the warship, one of his feathers tracing the outline of the deck, frightening the deckhands and allowing Jill and Torgal to board the ship unnoticed by Barnabas. The king set his sights on the larger prize: the Phoenix. Barnabas primed himself, leaving behind his back ship in favor of his monstrous black stallion. 

All according to plan, and leaving Jill to focus on her own task. 

“Where is he, Barnabas?” Jill questioned under her breath. 

The crew of the Einherjar fought viciously. Waloeder tactics were known for their need to overwhelm any enemy that came for them, stamping out each conflict quickly. Jill would wear them down, ignoring the ache in her bones—the price she paid for priming in Kanver.

A price she would gladly pay again.

If they did not fall to her, Torgal saw them to their end, tearing out the throats of any who made the mistake of crossing his path without mercy. 

The battle in the sky waged just as fiercely, the Phoenix’s fire cresting a grand display against the dull sky.

By the time the Northern pair made it down to the belly of the beastly ship, blood fell from her rapier in thick pools, leaving a trail for any who were foolish enough to follow it. After dispatching a final contingent, Jill wiped the blade clean against her belt before sheathing it. She scanned the narrow halls and cabins as she stalked them. 

A particular door sat in the corner of the room—there. 

She could feel Ifrit—feel Clive—stronger than ever before. 

The door was unlocked, inviting her in as she pushed it open. 

“Jill!” Clive’s voice was strained, residual pain and fatigue evident despite any efforts to mask them. While the blood from his wounds had dried, it was clear they still needed attending. “How?”

Her eyes continued to study him, needing to know that he was sound enough for the time being to run. Once she was as certain of his condition as she was going to get, she allowed herself a moment of relief. He was alive. The rest could be dealt with later. 

She brushed a hand against his cheek. 

She wanted to hug him, but refrained for fear of inflaming his wounds with such pressure. She would not be able to hold back if she wrapped her arms around him, nor would she be able to move on. She would just have to make up for it later, she resolved, when their lives weren’t so imperiled. 

“Let’s get you out of here.” She moved behind him, undoing the fetters that bound him with the lockpick so astutely provided by Gav. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” Clive told her. He bared his teeth when the fetters began moving against his skin. “I don’t know what they’re planning, but Ultima’s eye is on you now, too.”

“Together in all things, Clive Rosfield. I intend to keep my promise.”

Clive’s breath hitched in reply to the way the fetters rebelled against being removed. “Of course.” He affirmed, his voice meek. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry. I should have been here sooner.”

“No…” He trailed off. He cleared his throat before speaking the same words she had said to him after their encounter with Kupka in Rosalith: “I wasn’t afraid of him. I was afraid of what you would do to get me away from him.”

Though he couldn’t see it, he could practically feel Jill’s fleeting smile. 

“It’s bad enough being emasculated.” She said knowingly, diverting the guilt she knew he must be feeling. She knew what he meant, and she knew he needed reminding of their partnership given the darkness that had surrounded him since his capture. “The burning is just cruelty.”

The moment the fetters clattered to the floor, he spun around to embrace her, not caring for the pain that exploded through his body. She was worth a little pain. He clung to her, his shaking hands desperate for her, stripped of their usual red gloves. He stroked her cheek before one of those same hands took her hand by the wrist, settling a kiss there. 

Thank you. Thank you. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine now that you’re here.”

He would not mention how his arms ached, not from the fetters, but from the missing weight of a little girl with her hair who did not exist, and likely never would. 

Jill smiled at him. Her gaze shifted to his own wrist. 

He nodded surely. 

Careful of the angered skin where the fetters had lain just moments before, Jill raised his hand to her lips. He didn’t flinch, not even when her lips met the agitated red flesh. He wrapped that hand around hers. 

Torgal barked, sorting out his own reunion by bumping his head against Clive’s.

“I missed you, too, boy.” Clive chuckled affectionately, pushing him back carefully.

Torgal wagged his tail, looking at Jill.

“Come on. Let’s go, you two.” Jill rose to her feet first, guiding him upwards. “We can save the sweet nothings for later. Joshua’s about to burn this ship.”

Clive got to his feet with an effort, only balancing himself when Jill ducked her head underneath him so that his arm rested across her shoulders. He opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. They needed to hurry, after all. 

As they made their way towards the stairs that would lead to the main deck, Clive laughed—almost. 

Jill raised an eyebrow at him. “And what’s so funny?”

“Nothing. This just reminds me of that time in Port Isolde. You know, with the pirates?”

Jill scoffed good-naturedly, watching on carefully as she motioned for him to go up the stairs first. “I don’t recall Barnabas Tharmr being among their numbers.” 

“No, but he would have added some more color to it, certainly.”

As they made their escape, Clive began to find his footing on the bobbing ship’s deck, though Jill made sure to stay close to his reach just in case he lost it again. He couldn’t help but note the voracity with which his captors had been dispatched. He knew Jill’s handiwork—and Torgal’s—as well as he knew his own. 

The top deck was a graveyard, but that was not what caught Clive and Jill’s attention.

“Joshua!” Clive shouted for his brother, not caring how futile the effort was, nor how the smoke of the burning ship filled his lungs. 

The cry of the Firebird rang clear in their ears as a mountain of water rose to obscure him from their view. The sea split in two as easily as a piece of parchment. Unmanned, the Ashen warship had no choice but to follow the mercy of the waves. Clive grabbed Jill and Torgal, holding onto them both so tightly he was certain his fingers would break.  

“Hold on!”

“What are you doing?” Clive demanded of the roar of the crashing waves. He realized in an instant what she meant to do. “Jill, no.”

“Unless you’ve grown wings and haven’t told me, she’s our only way out without going down with the ship.”

Consider it a gift, Mythos.

“Actually…” He picked her up, borrowed strength shooting through his being, restoring him. 

“Clive!” Jill wrapped her arms around his neck instinctively. 

“I’ve got you.” He said quietly. 

Black wings spread behind him in a magnificent display, raising them airborne with a simple flourish. The Phoenix made his final pass on the ship, carefully picking up Torgal with one of his talons before ascending once more and firing a barrage that at once assured the ship’s fate as well as created a barrier between them all and Barnabas.

Within mere moments, the great Einherjar had sunk between the abysmal divide, a voice following its descent:

Very good, Mythos. 

Chapter Text

Ifrit was furious, desperate to join the fray against Barnabas Tharmr. 

No. 

What Clive felt was not Ifrit’s usual eagerness to sate bloodlust. What he felt now was a feeling familiar to Clive, although it was strange to feel it amplified in such a way, both within and without. Ifrit was not desperate to burn out an overexcited flame. He was desperate to get to Shiva’s side. 

Clive couldn’t say he wasn’t of the same mind. 

Joshua grimaced as he once again tried to shoulder his brother’s weight. “Help me get him up.” He managed to say. “Clive, come on.”

“Jill—”

“She’ll be fine, Clive. I swear to it. We need to get you out of here first.”

“No, no.” Even as he protested his brother’s plans, Clive struggled to get his feet underneath him, his flames igniting along his shoulders and arms. 

“Clive, you can’t—”

Clive growled, his eyes aglow. 

Above them, Shiva rose into the air in her full glory, and Clive grew all the more desperate. Ifrit grew all the more desperate. He was beyond reason. Joshua had no choice but to let go of him, unable to restrain him, even with Gav’s aid. 

Unencumbered, Clive all but dove forward. 

Shiva!

Memories of Kanver played behind Clive’s eyes as he stared into the small fire before him, as fragmented and patchwork as those memories were. He felt Ifrit like a fire in his chest, on guard since Barnabas’ arrival in Kanver. Clive had never felt the Eikon so insistent before, and it seemed Ifrit wasn’t keen on returning to his normal state of complacency just yet. 

Ifrit!

Jill’s return brought him out of his thoughts. 

Shadows from the fire danced across her body, the darkness of the night doing nothing to obscure her beauty. Her silver hair hung loose over one shoulder, still wet despite her attempts to remove seawater from it. She braided her fingers through it as she approached him, tying it off with her faithful ribbon. 

“Ready?” He asked quietly. 

Jill nodded as she sat in front of him, offering her hands to him. Clive smiled tenderly as he accepted them, focusing on concentrating a fraction of Ifrit’s warmth into the palms of his hands. Not too hot, not Infernal heat like what he summoned back in Kanver. 

Just warmth. 

Warm enough to soothe Shiva’s chill and thaw Jill’s near-frostbitten fingers. Jill watched as tendrils of reds, blues, yellows, and other shades of aether rove around their conjoined hands. They sat like that until there was nothing left behind but a mutual warmth. 

Then, he brought his lips to their hands, releasing a warm breath against them.  

“How does that feel?” Clive asked when Jill withdrew her hands from his grasp. 

“Much better. Thank you.”

Jill flexed her fingers, testing them. The bite of the frost underneath her skin was receding into a cool flood of water, ebbing away under the ministrations of Clive’s flame-heated touch. A tentative sense of normalcy had passed over them in the hours since their arrival on the Shadow Coast. 

“Good.”

With enough hours to consume the rest of the day and usher in the return of the night skies, the pair now found themselves dry and mostly recovered from the day’s assault, while their clothes still sat drying near the campfire Clive lit hours ago. 

Jill leaned against him when he extended an arm for her. Exposed, she felt the natural heat of the rest of his body against her cooler skin before they even made contact. A ghost of a smile flashed across her face. 

“What’s so funny?” Clive asked, lacing his fingers through hers. 

“Oh, nothing, really.” She hummed, watching the dark waves lap at the shore. “I’m glad this isn’t the first time we’ve seen one another in such a state, or I imagine this would be a lot more awkward.” 

A true assessment, yet she still couldn’t bring herself to name their current state. 

Clive’s own lips twitched into a smile as he leaned his head against hers. “We’d probably be sitting on opposite ends of the shore, with our backs to each other, in complete silence.” He said in agreement, pleased with the laugh it earned from her. 

Settling, they took to watching the water together in a more comfortable silence. Eventually, Clive’s eyes fell from the shoreline, studying their interlocked hands, Jill’s head now resting against his shoulder. Too many thoughts ran through both of their minds, and the day had required too much from either of them to deal with the majority of them. 

“I hope everyone’s alright.” Jill said. 

“They made it.” Clive said softly. “Mid knew exactly what to do once the waves split. And she did it well.”

Jill’s shoulders relaxed. “Cid will handle the rest, then. We talked about it before we caught up to the Galleon. He’ll know the vicinity, at least.”

Jill sighed, praying the dawn would bring clarity to the questions their latest encounter with Barnabas had raised.

Clive pressed his lips to a closing gash on the back of her hand. “This is new.” He noted. “Did you get it in Kanver?”

“You’re not the only one who fell to his blade.” Jill admitted. “Back at the Agora, he called me Psyche…he asked me questions, too. Like he was prodding me. I didn’t care at the time, I was only worried about making sure you and Joshua got away.” With a tender smile, she added: “I’m afraid someone else had other plans.”

Clive’s almost snorted, accepting her gentle reproof. “Don’t they always?” He swore under his breath. 

“I wonder, now, though…he said everything has changed.” Jill shook her head. “He’s mad.” She decided at last.

”If nothing else, we can be sure of that.” Clive agreed.

They both quieted. 

“Clive…” She began, stopping for a moment. “Those wings?”

He swallowed. “A gift from Ultima.” He admitted, the faintest twinge of burners creeping into his voice. 

It felt wrong, using his power at all. And yet he could not deny that they would not be here now without it. Was there truly no resisting him?

“He invaded my mind…sometime after Kanver.” 

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her of the dream hidden within the nightmare. Their loved ones all alive and well. Their daughters. A future that faded with each passing day, and a history that could not be changed. 

“He attuned with me when I wouldn’t bend to him otherwise.” Clive continued. “Even now, I feel him.”

Jill pressed her forehead to his. 

“Jill…”

“He won’t have you.” She said with certainty. “No matter what he thinks. You are not his monster. Don’t let him make you believe anything else, because it isn’t true.”

Her words, and the unyielding faith they spoke to, drove a dagger into his heart. “How can you be so sure?” That dagger carved the question out of his chest, leaving him open and bleeding. 

“Clive Rosfield, ever looking to save others, but failing to see that sometimes you need saving, too.” Jill mused. “You call upon these powers in the service of others, in spite of the cost to yourself. It doesn’t matter who granted you this power, nor for what purpose. What matters is what you’ve used it for.”

“I’ve used these powers for my own purposes, time and time again, with little regard for the pain of others.” Clive’s free hand gripped at the rocky sand that surrounded them. “I hated Kupka with every fiber of my being.” He told her, a terrible realization dawning after months of nightfall. “In another life, if our roles were reversed, I could have been him.” To admit it aloud felt like relieving a weight that had sat on his chest since the day Kupka and his men tore through the first Hideaway. “I had enough hatred in my heart to kill him twice-over. I would kill him again, that I only could.” Clive’s fist clenched. “He hated Cid because he blamed him for Benedikta’s death. He hated me for killing her. He hurt you to make me feel what he felt.”

Death and madness played in his mind. 

The things I would do for you…

“Kupka. Benedikta. Bahamut. Ramuh. Barnabas. If they could not defy Ultima and his will, why should I be any different? What if I’m beyond saving, Jill? What if I’m just as much a monster as Kupka was? As Barnabas is?”

“Monsters don’t worry about salvation, and whether or not they’re beyond it.” She told him, placing a firm kiss to a scar on his knuckles. 

She remembered the day he received this particular scar with exacting detail. They were but children in Rosalith, and he had taken the brunt of a fall from a tree to protect her from it, cutting his hands and arms on some rocks below the tree as thanks for his good deed. She pressed another kiss to the scar, and his second knuckle. 

Irreplaceable. 

“You’re still that same boy I grew up with.” She told him surely. “And you still insist upon bearing every burden on your own in order to spare those you love, just as you did back then. But you won’t do it alone anymore.”

Slowly, she raised his hand to her chest, placing it over her heart. 

Clive’s eyes widened. It was not the touch of her that stunned him, but what she was implying with it. 

Together in all things.

“That’s the difference between you and men like Kupka and Barnabas, Clive. You’re not alone, and we will not let you fall. Not while we have the strength to hold you up.” Jill concluded, removing all doubts there could be about her intentions. 

“Jill…I can’t ask this of you.” He said, breathless. “I don’t deserve it.”

“You’re not asking for anything. I’m trusting you with her, just as I trust you with my heart, and my future. It’s alright, Clive.” She nodded her approval. “She’s saved me. So many times. And because of her salvation, I’ve been able to save so many. Now I’m going to save you.”

“You already have.” He breathed. “Every time I’ve needed you.” 

His blue eyes shone as aether—Shiva’s aether—swirled in the air around them in a magnificent display. 

“And I always will.” She promised, her skin turning white as snow, tinged with blue. “I would trust none more than you with our strength.” Her voice shifted. 

Shiva. 

A chill ran up Clive’s spine. Out of all Eikons, Shiva was most familiar to him apart from his own. He knew her presence as he knew Jill, as he knew his own. But taking on her essence left his hands shaking. However, the chill shifted throughout him, settling like morning frost. 

Moments later, he felt a wave crash into her chest, flooding down into his abdomen. Their two Eikons interacting, Ice and Fire now together in one body. The sensation rocked him to his core, a feeling only shaken by the weight of Jill’s body against him once more. 

Just as Shiva self-primed of her own will, Ifrit rose to greet her. 

“Ifrit.”

“Shiva.”

Clive held her in his arms, offering what comfort he could while she adjusted. Her breaths were ragged, but Jill realized her body’s reaction seemed to come from the relief in the places where the curse’s grip was strongest on her being—her hands and spine. Its hold remained, but its vice was markedly diminished. 

The aether around them faded, leaving them in the darkness of the night, illuminated only by their small fire once more. 

“Together in all things, just like we said.” Clive recited, promising it anew. “Our sins, our pains…we’ve carried them together all this way. And they’ve made us stronger.”

“Strong enough to defy fate.” Jill assured him. 

Just like that day when they were children, sheltering from the storm that raged around them in that grove of trees. For all that had changed, they were still the same. Less clothed at the moment, more scarred by life, just as scared at times, but still just Clive and Jill, weathering storms together.  

“To defying fate.” She kissed him, reveling in the sea salt taste on his lips. She hummed when their lips parted. “You do good, and your heart is good. There’s nothing to fear in that.”

Her breath was touched by Shiva’s chill, though it melted like a snowflake on Clive’s tongue. 

She smiled as she laughed. “What is it?”

“Your smile…I never knew a smile could bring me so much joy. I love you.” He rasped, no other words existing in his mind. “I love you. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” She kissed his nose. “Through whatever comes next and death beyond, Clive. I love you.”

Fire sparked along Clive’s skin, familiar as the act of calling for Ifrit, ignited by her kiss. Jill was equally eager as their kiss deepened, Shiva’s frost rising to meet his flames. Tempering one another, just as they always did. Just as they always would. 

They passed the rest of the night in one another’s embrace, their bond solidified once more.

When dawn broke, Clive awoke alone. 

He looked around for Jill when he rose to collect his clothes, finding hers already missing. Just as he finished fastening his bracer, the sound of retching caught his attention. Clive followed it, finding Jill knelt further down the coast. 

He hurried to her side, kneeling down in a position that was becoming all too familiar. 

“Oh, gods. Did I wake you?” She managed. “I was trying to be quiet.”

“Oh, Jill.” Clive chided gently. “Don’t worry about me.” 

“I’m alright, really.” Jill assured him, still panting from the force of her body’s dry heaving.

“No, you’re not.” Clive shook his head, pulling her braid back behind her shoulders. 

He sat with her as she suffered through another bout. 

Her stomach continued to wage with her body, even when she had nothing left to give. 

“Clive, really. I’ll be fine.” She insisted as she straightened her spine, her hands pressed into her knees. “I’m just exhausted. Nothing to be worried about.”

“Jill Warrick, I can count the number of times I’ve seen you sick on one hand. And three of those instances would be owed to the past few weeks.” Clive said, concern dragging down his brow. “Once the others come, we need to get you to Tarja.”

“We can’t let Barnabas get away. Not while we have him on the backfoot.” She insisted. 

“We’ll be seeing him again soon enough.” Clive sighed, leaning her against him. “Whether we like it or not. Right now, you’re my only priority.” In a tempt to lighten the mood, he added: “I’m afraid our words were no good if I let you die of dehydration.”

Jill closed her eyes, swallowing before the rawness of her throat made her grimace past the small smile his words had earned, too tired to argue with him. “We need a plan.” 

“We’ll think of one.” Clive said. “Eventually.”

In the back of her mind, Barnabas’ words echoed again. 

You’ve done something, something the Almighty did not intend. 

She closed her eyes, willing her mind elsewhere.

What have you done?

Vivian heaved a sigh, sidestepping closer to a table as Joshua paced past her, her eyes not so much as leaving her book for a second. Seated at said table, Mid’s eyes followed the heated debate with diminishing interest. Long since situated in the chair next to the younger woman, Harpocrates watched on, as well, with thinly-veiled concern coloring his weathered face. 

Gav took in the scene before him, wondering what he had walked himself into upon arriving at Vivian’s nook. 

“We would know if there was another Dominant out there.” Joshua insisted. “The only fool among us who couldn’t be bothered to tell an Eikonic presence from his own backside was Hugo Kupka.”

“Unless it’s a new awakening.” Clive suggested, ambivalent. “A recent one, I mean. It wouldn’t be all that strange, given other current events. And…deaths.” He finished awkwardly. 

Cid tipped his head in concession. “Thank you, Clive.” He looked back to Joshua, waiting for his rebuttal.

“Would Ultima allow it? Now, of all times?” Joshua wondered. 

“Ah.” Cid snapped his fingers. “That begs the question of how much control he has over that particular process, then, does it not? If humans have gotten away from him, it’s safe to assume the Eikons might not be as under his thumb as they once were when it comes to awakenings.”

“I suppose it isn’t the first time we’ve been brought to task on our understanding of Dominants and Eikons.” Dion added, assessing his fellow Dominants.

“What’s wrong?” Gav asked, leaning close to Mid as he did so. 

“The Dominants are all on the fritz, is what.” Mid supplied. “Talking about this Eikonic presence they’re all feeling.”

“The Motes of Water died out ages ago, we all know that.” Joshua pointed out. “If there was any kind of descendancy, can’t we assume that we would have seen evidence of it before now?”

“Hm.” Gav hummed. 

The four non-Dominants watched the row together now, Vivian included. 

“Not necessarily!” Cid rebuffed. “The same was thought about Ramuh, before yours truly awoke. For all we know, a surviving member of the clan assimilated with a different people group and the line was just presumed lost. Besides, Phoenix and Bahamut are the only two who kept themselves tied to a specific bloodline, and who knows about their Dominants before those families were ever established.” He mused. “For all we know, Leviathan looked for certain characteristics, or regional birthplaces for her Dominant.”

“Were you all providing wise counsel?” Gav looked to Vivian and Harprocrates.

“We were trying to, in regards to the coming trip to the Spine…” Harpocrates trailed off. 

“Until one the Sons of Fire got a little, well, heated, if you’ll forgive the pun.” Vivian concluded, annoyance sneaking its way into her voice. “They’ve been debating this presence that’s been bothering them since.”

“And is just now conveniently reappearing?” Joshua, the aforementioned son, challenged Cid with cool disregard. 

“When the Eikons’ creator is rearing his ugly head in order to act out the plan for which he created them all in the first place? Oh, yes, very convenient.” Cid quipped, using his new flint to light a cigar. 

It was quite the sight.

“You ever seen hunting hounds after you blow one of those real high-pitched whistles?” Gav asked, taken in by the scene before them, and unable to unsee the similarities his mind had drawn together. 

“Yes. And yes, it’s exactly like that.” Mid kicked her feet up onto the table, wrapping her arms around them. “Surprised you didn’t come lookin’ sooner. They’ve been at it for over an hour.”

“All we know for certain is that it feels akin to an Eikonic presence.” Clive crossed his arms pensively, praying that fact would quell Joshua and Cid for the time being. 

He could feel a dull ache forming at the base of his skull, sure to only get worse if they continued to talk themselves in circles. 

“Primogenesis could be a factor.” Joshua added. “As our resident strategist so astutely noted, no one is exempt from its effects. It only makes sense the Eikons would be agitated if they feel they’re being threatened by the very hand that created them.”

Cid hummed curtly, thinking back to his tirade when Jill returned from Kanver. Does he know who holds that boy’s heart as if it were her very own?  Those had been Ramuh’s words more than his own. Cid knew how besotted his two young charges were with one another, they all knew from the moment the pair was reunited in Tarja’s old infirmary. 

But Ramuh had seemed to speak of something beyond just a mortal love affair. A secret half revealed to his Dominant. One Cid was still trying to make sense of. 

“It could also be connected to the Mothercrystals.” Jill suggested. “It started not long after Drake’s Tail fell...” She quieted again, pursing her lips.

“Death throes of a fading resource…” Clive mused. 

“It’s at least plausible.” Cid granted, tapping some ash from the end of his cigar. “Though I daresay it should begin to grow weaker, and this presence has gotten stronger since you lot returned from Ash.”

“Could it be Ultima himself?” Dion suggested.

Joshua stopped pacing, putting his hands on his hips. “This presence is distinct in whatever it is it’s trying to convey.” 

Clive shook his head thoughtfully. “Yet not distinct enough to give us any real clue as to what it is.”

Joshua frowned, ceding his brother’s point. “It is ancient like Ultima, however. But the same could be said of each Eikon.”

“They do seem just as irritated as hounds.” Vivian muttered under her breath. 

Gav cleared his throat. “Oi, anything, uh, we can help with?”

A unanimous: “No!”

Gav and Mid exchanged glances. Taking that as a cue, both made hasty excuses to take their leave. Gav nearly ran into Mid as they opted to go in the opposite direction from one another. Mid patted his chest before zooming past him to freedom. Gav laughed sheepishly, five sets of Eikonicly charged eyes on him, and he took off toward Hortense’s small setup. 

Vivian snapped her book shut with one hand. Deciding it best to leave the comfort of her nook until they settled down, she offered an arm to Harpocrates. The old man smiled kindly, accepting her arm, and the pair left with a measure more grace than their younger compatriots. 

With their numbers down from nine to five, the quintet found themselves at an impasse. Joshua remained tense—irritated by the lack of clarity rather than with his peers. Cid continued taking drags from his cigar, content to mull over his thoughts in silence. Jill studied the wood slats of the flooring under her boots, Clive at her side and close enough to trace the back of her hand with his own. 

“We’re talking ourselves in circles.” Clive was the one who broke the silence. “Since we can’t come to a consensus, perhaps we should all take time to step away from the situation. We can look into it again once we’ve had the time to refocus.”

“Seconded.” Cid drawled. “I was due to meet with Otto, anyway. Need to get things in order so this place keeps running while we pay tribute to the king.” He patted Joshua’s shoulder before departing, making sure the boy knew there were no hard feelings. 

Joshua smiled tersely, shambling in place with no excuse for departure. 

“I believe I should make myself useful, then.” Dion bowed, ever polite, before taking his own leave, heading in the direction of the backyard.

Clive turned his attention to Jill. Despite the frequent stream of the debate, her voice had remained scarce throughout. Her mind was elsewhere, somewhere he couldn’t follow, and it showed in the way the gray in her eyes churned like stormy seas. 

You’ve done something, something the Almighty did not intend. 

Clive stopped tracing the back of her hand with his knuckle and held it instead. “Hey.” He said quietly, his voice as gentle as a breeze. 

Jill blinked one, twice, then looked toward him. “Hey.” She repeated, humming slightly. 

“Are you alright?” He asked. 

“Never better.” She feinted his concern effortlessly, even managing a brief smile. “Just thinking about everything, that’s all.”

“Alright.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to go look for a book, I think. See if Harpocrates has something in the stacks that could shed some light on this.” He decided. 

Jill sighed. “I think I’d better get to Tarja’s.” She said at last. 

They had returned to the Hideaway in the dead of night, and Jill had refused to wake their overworked head physicker at such an hour over a stomach ache. Besides, fatigue had finally beat out the nausea, and Jill would have let the world in just to climb into the bed she shared with Clive and give into sleep. And Clive was not about to tell her otherwise. 

“I could come with you.” He offered. 

“So Tarja can kick you out when you get too nervous?” Jill teased gently. “I can’t tell which gets her worked up faster: Clive the patient or Clive the company.” She shook her head. “It’s stress. She’ll probably laugh at me, really. Go, interrogate the books.”

“Fair enough.” He relented, albeit unconvinced of her diagnosis. “See you later?”

She nodded. She gave his hand a squeeze before letting go and moving past him, heading for the stairway beyond. Torgal followed her, rising from the spot under Vivian’s expansive desk to act as Jill’s shadow once more. Clive remained in place, watching her go with a contemplative scowl on his face. 

“Brother?” Joshua tapped his shoulder against Clive’s. “Is everything alright?” He inquired, his eyes following Jill’s path. 

Neither said a word as they watched her disappear along the winding stairs that led beyond the mess.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” Clive said, even as he worried for her.

“You mentioned the shelves. Would you like some company? I have some reports from Cyril I with Harpocrates until I could see to them. Once I’m through them, I could write to him, perhaps explain the situation?”

Clive nodded, ushering his brother onward.

Wherever Harpocrates and Vivian had opted to take shelter from the Eikons, it was not the stacks. Not even the twins or Samson were to be found within the makeshift study. Strange, but not a first, and an unusual occurrence the brothers intended to take full advantage. There wasn’t a living thing in the book-packed room, save for a small orange cat.

The creature slept atop a stack of papers, which appeared to be Joshua’s reports, if his brother’s irked expression were any proper indication. Joshua marched forward, glaring harmlessly at the cat. The cat looked up at him, meowing quietly, but making no move to clear off the papers. 

“Well, I suppose that’s one report I won’t be reading.” Joshua sighed, though he seemed a little too pleased at the thought of having his load lightened, enticed by the myriad of books strewn about.

Clive arched an eyebrow. When the cat looked up at him, purring contentedly, he decided to chance picking it—her, he discovered—up. The orange of its fur looked almost red in the room’s scant light. She purred furiously as Clive scratched her under her chin.

“She’ll never leave you alone now.” Joshua informed his brother as he finally selected a tome.

Clive hummed curtly. “I didn’t know you were a fan of cats, Joshua.”

“She’s not mine. She’s Jote’s.”

“Which means she’s yours.” Clive smirked knowingly. “Isn’t that right, girl?”

Joshua pooched his lips while his brother remained distracted, refusing to look up from his book.

“Does Jote’s cat have a name, then?”

“Carrot.”

Clive laughed quietly, lowering down to let the feline go free. “And people say that woman doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“Says who?” Joshua looked up.

Clive shrugged as he moved to find a book of his own. “Mostly Gav. But he also thinks he’s the funniest man to ever be born this side of the Southern Isles.”

“Ah.”

For the first time since they were boys, Clive and Joshua sat together in silence. The two young men lost all sense of time, pouring over their books of choice hungrily. Gone were the fables and reprints of their favorite knight’s tales, replaced now with history books that spoke on the nature of Eikons, Dominants, and the different theologies of the realms. 

Clive’s eyes skimmed the same line for the fourth time before he finally gave up. His mind wandered to Jill, again and again. He couldn’t focus on the words in front of him, not while his mind debated what could be wrong with her. 

He sighed, praying he was just being paranoid. 

The way Ifrit all but paced about in his mind did nothing to reassure him. 

The door to the infirmary muffled the sound of laughter within. 

Jill frowned, stopping just short of the door, noting the sound with no small amount of intrigue. One, she could identify as Tarja’s, as rare as it was to hear. The other laugh belonged to someone older, and sounded like another woman to Jill’s ears. 

It was almost enough to make Jill turn back, a perfect excuse to leave Tarja to her free time and for Jill to come back later. 

But Jill knew she couldn’t. 

Her stomach churned as fierce as a hurricane in such close proximity to her goals—to an answer she was sure of, but far less sure of what it would mean. She was no stranger to this room, nor to its keeper. She was a stranger, however, to what brought her to this door today. 

She raised her hand to knock, knowing she wouldn’t be able to turn back once she did. If only because Tarja wouldn’t allow a medical mystery to go unsolved. Not if she could find the answer. And if Jill held her own suspicion, no doubt Tarja would make short work of her case. 

What have you done?

Jill shook her head, steeling herself, before bringing her fist to the door.

“Door’s open!”

Jill had almost hoped Tarja wouldn’t reply.

No turning back.

“Ah, Jill.” Tarja regarded her kindly, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. She nodded toward her current company: Marleigh. “Didn’t expect to see until after you all returned from Ash.” She said, still chuckling. “Lady Marleigh was sharing some of the Ironblood’s healing techniques with me—secretive as they are about them.”

“Oh.” Jill nodded, still bemused. 

Marleigh covered her mouth as she tried to suppress her own laughter. “And then I had to tell her about the time Danica mixed root of the valley into the officers’ tea.”

“Good old valerian.” Tarja hummed, shaking her head. “What can I do for you, Jill?” Tarja settled further when Jill remained quiet for a beat too long. She turned away from her desk, a hand on her hip as she raised a critical brow at Jill. “Is everything alright?”

“I can go, if you’d like.” Marleigh offered, concern spreading across her weathered features. 

“No, no…I actually think I’d prefer it if you stayed.” Jill told her. 

Marleigh had been a matron in the tongue of their captors, meant to be a warden among prisons while being a captive herself. But she had been more like a mother, refusing the cruelty that would have afforded her more luxury and freedom among the Ironblood. Her presence may have been unexpected, but it gave Jill a small measure of comfort, just as it had in the Iron Kingdom. 

Tarja leaned against her desk, arms crossed as she waited for Jill’s word. 

No point in feeling shame now, after all.

“I…haven’t bled.” Jill said at last.

Tarja blinked. “Oh.” Was all she said.

Marleigh’s face spoke of surprise unspoken, while an inevitably seemed to play in Tarja’s eyes. 

“It’s been over two months.” Jill elucidated, her arms crossed behind her back as if she were giving a report. “I’ve never been so much as a day late. Not even when I was under the Ironblood’s thumb.”

Marleigh moved to the younger woman’s side, taking her hands in her own. Jill held onto them fiercely.

“I’m pregnant.” The words spilled into the air, forever solidified as they left Jill’s mouth. She met Tarja’s gaze. “Aren’t I?”

“Two missed cycles is fairly telling.” Tarja said, guiding Jill toward one of the cots. “I suppose I don’t need to ask who the father would be.” She continued in her usual dry wit. “I’m safe to assume you didn’t take any measures to prevent such a thing.”

“We did at first.” Jill admitted flatly. “It’s been well over a year since the first…” Her cheeks reddened, refusing her from continuing her sentence. “We assumed it wasn’t necessary.”

Tarja snorted. “So there was ample opportunity, then.” She surmised, gaze scouring her desk. “Have you had any other symptoms? Tender breasts? Nausea? Food aversions? Smell aversions? Cravings? Fatigue? Increased urination?”

Jill’s brow furrowed. “Those can all be signs?” She asked, clearly dubious, looking to Marleigh with Tarja preoccupied. 

Marleigh nodded. 

Tarja smiled knowingly. “And more. Those are just the most common culprits.” The physicker shook her head. “Honestly, the dedication with which matrons of court will teach you girls about anything so long as it’s not actually useful to anything should be commended were it not so absolutely cowardly.”

Jill thought, tracing back through the past few months. “I’ve been throwing up.” She said. “That salve you gave me, after we returned from Twinside, for Clive’s stab wound…that was the first time.” She recounted times as retrospective triggers since, finishing with her bout on the beach the morning after Clive’s rescue, and his suggestion that she seek Tarja’s aid. 

“He’d put a fussing hen to shame.” Tarja almost lauded. “But I’d say he has good reason this time. Smell aversion and morning sickness.” She noted as she took down Jill’s symptoms in a small ledger, naming the symptoms. “Since you’re here, I’m assuming you want to know for certain, rather than wait for the quickening—when you feel the baby start moving. Depending on how far along you are, that could still be months from now.” 

Jill swallowed, nodding. “If there’s a way to know sooner, I want to know.” She confirmed.

“I can do a cross examination.” Tarja told her, a vial and syringe in hand. “All I would need is some of your blood. And urine.”

“You can tell by that?”

Tarja nodded. “There are certain properties about blood that change once a woman’s with child. Using the magnifier Cid designed, I can look for the differentials. I could give you something of a guarantee in minutes.” 

“And…the urine?”

“Insurance. In case I would misread the blood. I can have the blood read like that, but urine usually takes a few days, sometimes a week.”

“How do you assess that under the scope?” Jill questioned, grimacing. “I understand the blood, but…”

Tarja chuckled. “I don’t.” She reassured her, explaining the process quickly. “I don’t even have to touch it.” She concluded. “But, odds are, this is all just formality. Extra insurance.”

“Let’s do it.” Jill decided. “Days is better than months.”

“Alright.” Tarja nodded. “Roll up your sleeve. You choose the arm for the draw. Marleigh, do you mind grabbing me that stool there?” She asked as she tied off part of Jill’s left arm.

Marleigh obliged, placing the stool on Jill’s left and guiding her arm to rest against it, her wrist upward. Tsrjs cleaned her forearm with an orange, odorless liquid before teasing Jill’s veins. When she found one, she picked up the syringe again and aimed accordingly. 

“Ready, Jill?”

No.

Jill nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

Marleigh’s hand came to Jill’s right side, patting the small of her back reassuringly while Tarja took the draw. Jill grimaced as the needle pierced her skin. 

“Is this a bad time to mention I’m terrible with needles?” Jill quipped, gazing darting to the floor to the right. 

“Well, you’re being very brave.” Tarja shot back, focused on keeping the plunger steady on its course. 

It took mere seconds before Tarja was taking her prize back to her desk and requesting Marleigh’s assistance in bandaging the small puncture site. The older woman happily obliged, grabbing some clean cloth before returning to Jill’s side. Jill wouldn’t have known if Marleigh had declared her work complete, Jill’s own attention concentrated on Tarja’s back. 

It felt like an eternity, but in truth was only a matter of minutes. Tarja hunched over the bizarre piece of equipment, the scope, assessing a portion of Jill’s blood on a small glass swatch placed underneath its concentrated eye. Jill braced her hands against her knees, tension spreading through as she waited. 

And then Tarja turned around. 

“Well?”

“You’re two for two so far.” Tarja told her. “Do you still want me to cross-confirm it?”

Jill inhaled sharply, nodding in a daze. “Yes.” Her voice sounded so far away. “Please.”

“You can give me the sample…”

Jill listened to Tarja’s instructions and advice with varying focus, only coming back to herself when Tarja cleared her throat. 

“Now, I know better than to waste my breath trying to convince you not to rush off to Ash with the others…”

“Well, I’ll need something to distract me, won’t I?” Jill reasoned, smiling flimsily. 

“But, I want you to bear in mind that you’re very likely pregnant.” Tarja said firmly, hands on her hips. “Nothing else has been able to keep you from priming, so maybe this will. Unless it stands between you and dying, don’t do it. I’d prefer it if you never summoned the Ice Queen again, but at the very least, don’t do it until I’m able to do some research. Surely you’re not Shiva’s first Dominant to fall pregnant. Hells, maybe even one of Garuda’s…”

“I’ll try.” Jill promised. “I always try.”

“I know you do.” Tarja studied her with those too wise eyes of hers. “I think you’ve had more than your fill of me. We can talk more once you’re back. After all, no matter how far along you are, you’ve still got months to go.”

“Right.” Jill said faintly. “Thank you, Tarja.”

“Unless you have any questions for me?” 

Jill shook her head. 

“Alright, then.” Tarja nodded before offering a reassuring smile. “Chin up, Jill. It’s going to be fine.”

“Thank you.” Jill said again, standing up. 

Her legs may as well have been useless. Jill wasn’t sure how they even managed to carry her out of the infirmary. She stopped just short of the stairs to the mess, trying to shake off her daze. 

“Jill!” Marleigh called.

Jill turned, confused. “Lady Marleigh.”

“Here.” Marleigh placed a small burlap bag in Jill’s hands. “It’s ginger. I’m glad Tarja had some.” She smiled warmly. “To help with the sickness.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, sweet girl.” Marleigh embraced her former charge, humming sympathetically. “She’s right. It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine, you and Clive, and this little one.”

Clive.

“Lady Marleigh…do I tell him?”

Marleigh’s ever-kind eyes softened as she brought a hand to Jill’s cheek. “I think that’s one question only you can answer, Jill.” She said apologetically. “However, if I may say, if you don’t, time may do the talking for you.”

Jill pursed her lips. Why did it feel like it always came back to time? And why did it feel like they never had enough?

“Jill, my girl, my eyes may not be what they once were, but that man’s love for you would still be obvious even if I were entirely blind. I could see it when you two came to destroy Drake’s Breath.” Marleigh recalled. “He looks at you like he would give you the world if you but asked for it. And you look at him like he hung all the stars in the sky just for you.” She gave a small pat to Jill’s cheek before taking a step back. “You’ll come to the right decision, whatever that may be. And whatever comes next, you two will face it together—of that, I’m certain.”

“I hope you’re right.” Jill admitted. “Right now, I don’t feel certain of anything.”

“You’ll find your footing.” Marleigh assured. “You always do.” She shooed the young woman. “Now, go on. Don’t let this old lady keep you any longer than she already has.” She didn’t want for any parting from Jill before returning to the infirmary, a small smile still playing on her features. 

Jill lingered a moment longer, tucking the small back within her belt before moving on, her mind still wading through the storm of questions and doubts it now weathered. She descended the steps to the mess, giving a cursory nod to a group of Cursebreakers that were taking a break at one of the tables. 

Torgal barked, leaving his resting spot near the map table and rejoining her. Jill couldn’t help but smile at his pup-like eagerness, kneeling down to accept his affections, which delighted the wolf to no end. She chuckled, ruffling his thick gray mane. 

“You knew this whole time, didn’t you?” Jill asked quietly.

Torgal’s tail wagged all the harder, if it were possible, clearly thrilled that she had uncovered the knowledge that had been his alone for weeks. 

“We really couldn’t ask for a better hound, you know.”

Torgal nosed at the back fastened to her waist. 

Jill chuckled as she pushed him back. “You do deserve a reward, but I’m afraid those are for me. Come on, let’s go see if Lady Charon has anything new in.”

It seemed that the only thing that could put distance between her and her four-legged shadow these days was the promise of food. Before Jill could rise back to full height, Torgal had bounded off in the direction of Charon’s Toll, somehow even more invigorated than before. Jill couldn’t help but shake her head, amused, as she began her slow pursuit of the wolf.  

With less amusement and more sobriety, she realized that Barnabas’ madness held one small grain of truth:

So much had changed, but not everything. 

Some things would always remain the same. 

Like Torgal. 

“Carrot.” Jote scolded, drawing out the cat’s name.

“She’s alright.” Clive assured the Undying scout, chuckling as the feline made herself scarce, leaping down from Clive’s book at once. “I hadn’t been retaining much, anyway.” He admitted, rising from the desk he had claimed hours ago.

“I didn’t mean to disturb, Lord Marquess. Please don’t leave on my account.”

“Clive, Jote, please.” Clive chuckled knowingly. “I don’t think there’s any need for such formality.

“Of course…” She trailed off awkwardly, still unable to bring herself to say his name. “So…have you learned anything?” She gestured to the piles of open books, trying to alleviate some of her own awkwardness. 

“Nothing of value, I’m afraid.” Joshua admitted, giving in to defeat. “These texts all hold valuable information, but nothing relevant to current concerns. I thought maybe I could put out word to our friends in Tabor. Perhaps Cyril would, however.”

“Or would know of a book or a scholar that may hold answers.” Jote added, nodding in agreement. “I’m sure you’ve done what you could.”

“We’ll keep looking. Just in case.”

“Once we’ve returned from Ash, anyway.” Clive added before looking again in Jote’s direction. “How are you finding the Hideaway, Jote? I worry we may have dropped you into the fire without so much as a frying pan.”

“Not at all, Clive.” His name was tenuous in her voice, but it was a start. “What you’ve all done here is incredible. I feel as if I’ve gotten my bearings here faster than I did when I took my oaths as an acolyte.”

“That’s nice to hear. We’ve certainly tried.”

“I would say you’ve done more than try.” Jote amended carefully. “This is singular. Your lord father would be proud to know his son played a role in this.”

Clive shrugged. “Cid laid the foundation, after Mid’s mother laid the groundwork for it. I simply helped build it back up after we found this place.”

“Kupka’s actions were vile.” Jote agreed. “A few different people here have been more than willing to share their stories of that night with me.”

“They’re an honest bunch.” Clive said in agreement. 

Joshua smiled to himself, watching the exchange quietly. He would have continued to do so until either his bride or his brother noticed his gaze had Jill not come knocking. Torgal poked his head in through the open doorway, a large femur bone secure in his jaws. 

“Hello, Jill.” Joshua greeted the gray-haired duo. “Torgal.” He bade. 

The hound would have given his own greeting, were he not so preoccupied with his current prize. 

“We’re not interrupting, are we?” Jill questioned, eyeing the group. 

“Never.” Joshua assured her. “What brings you to our little book club?”

“I need to steal Clive, if I may?” Jill looked toward the man she called husband, a faint glint in her eye. 

Husband. Father of her child. 

Jill’s heart skipped a beat at the thought. It was like taking him in an entirely new light. 

“What can I do for you, my lady?” Clive offered. 

“A few Cursebreaker initiates require a particular demonstration in swordplay, and August and Dorys are otherwise indisposed at the moment.” Jill explained. “I was hoping you’d be willing to lend me a hand.”

“As you wish.” Clive moved to join her. “Impeccable timing, you know.”

“Oh?” Jill hummed, matching his roguish smile. 

“After all, you two haven’t had much privacy since we’ve made it back.” Clive pointed out, trying as inconspicuously to look at the ring on Jote’s finger when he glanced back at his brother and Jote over his shoulder. 

Jote cleared her throat, hiding her blush with her un-bejeweled hand.

“Don’t overdo it, you two.” Joshua warned his brother, keeping a cool composure. “Barnabas will require us all to be in top form.”

“Then this will be good practice.” Jill shot back before looking playfully to Clive, who stood just inches before her. “I’m sure you’ve learned that work in the Hideaway is never truly done, and he’s hidden among these books long enough for one day.”

“It was nice.” Joshua said.

“It was.” Clive agreed. “We’ll have to make a habit of it.”

“Indeed.”

Clive tipped his head in Jote’s direction before leaving the pair alone.

Once the doors closed, Jote came to Joshua’s side, mirroring his position, her back pressed to the same desk. They stood together in silence. It persisted long enough for Carrot to overcome her wariness once more, rejoining her masters.

“Did your discussion with the other Dominants provide any enlightenment?” Jote inquired. “I noticed Harpocrates and Lady Vivian spent most of the afternoon at the atrium.”

“Things got a little…spirited.” Joshua admitted.

“Oh?”

Joshua bent down to scoop up the orange cat. “It doesn’t make sense.” He told her. “We can’t even decipher who we’re feeling with any sort of certainty, and yet Cid seems convinced it must be Leviathan, with no credible reason.”

“Maybe he has reason.” Jote mused, leaning against him. “Don’t the Dominants of Ramuh enjoy the benefits of a deeper understanding of the nature of the world? Could it not be possible for him to have an intrinsic knowledge of such things, even if he himself cannot put it to credible defense?”

Joshua sighed, defeated. “Perhaps Ramuh should have chosen you for his Dominant, you know.” He hummed softly. “Wise as you are, even when you use that wisdom against me.”

“I’m never against you, Your Grace.” She assured, smiling as he took her hand and began to kiss each finger one by one. “But every so often, that means seeing what you don’t see.”

“How many times must I remind you, Jote? You know you can call me Joshua.”

“I know, Your Grace.”

He hummed, savoring the feeling of her lips against his. “You know what I do see?”

“What do you see?”

“My brother and Jill. They’re hiding something.” His gaze fell to the ring on her finger.

“You don’t think…” Jote looked up at him. 

“I do think.” He smiled, feeling rather conspiratorial. 

Jote hummed thoughtfully. “Good for them.”

“The better question is…did they beat us to the punch, or did we beat them?”

“Joshua.” Jote said his name in much the same way she said Carrot’s, although he could hear so much more affection in the way she formed his name.

His smile widened as he reveled in her affections, more than happy to return it in kind. 

Clive wasn’t sure who would beg for mercy first: their designated batch of Cursebreaker hopefuls, or his back. 

Ember in particular proved himself to excel at a level of flexibility Clive didn’t possess. More than once, Jill had had to save him during their demonstration, keeping his own form balanced by using her own natural grace to distract Ember when he threatened near-snakelike maneuvers. Still, he was glad to believe his beliefs about the boy’s second chance proven worthy. 

Anyone who could move like that would make a fine scout. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough for this round.” Clive said, trying to hide how winded he was. 

He was relieved to see Jill was just as through with the matter. 

“Do we meet approval?” 

“You all did more than meet approval. We’ll make sure to report as much to Dorys and August.” Jill assured the young woman who’s scar was still healing, more than pleased that her words further ignited the spark of hope in the younger woman’s eyes. 

“Get yourselves to the showers and make sure to get some supper in.” Clive added, dismissing them. “You’ve all earned it.”

The trio exchanged excited whispers, collecting their training gear before the two new recruits followed Ember to the showers. Once they were out of both earshot and eyeshot, Clive heaved a heavy breath. Jill let loose, as well. 

“Are we getting old?” He wondered aloud. 

“Bite your tongue, Clive Rosfield.” Jill warned harmlessly before finally feeling heart heart slow, and her breath with it. “They were just…excitable.” 

As they both went about their own methods of cooling down, Jill felt the exertion begin to catch up with her. Her stomach twisted. She hid a grimace as she pulled a small finger piece from the bag Marleigh had given her, immediately focused on the taste. Relieved, she went about stretching out her back. 

“What are those?” Clive inquired. 

“Candied ginger.” Jill replied. “Lady Marleigh thought they would help with the nausea.”

“And…what did Tarja have to say about that?”

Jill nearly froze, ironically enough.

She recovered well enough. “She had some thoughts.” She said. “She’s running some tests, too. She should have a clear picture before we return from Ash.”

“Oh.”

Jill turned to him, gear in hand. “I’m not dying.” She reassured him before stealing a quick kiss.

Clive savored the taste of ginger, warmth on his tongue. “And you’re not going to share these thoughts with me?”

“And ruin the surprise?” She teased, even as her heart fractured at the expression on her face. More seriously, she added: “Soon, I promise.”

“Not like you to keep secrets.” He noted, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

After all, they had almost as much privacy here on the training deck as they did in their chambers. 

“Speaking of secrets…” Jill diverted quickly, resting a hand against  his chest. “Joshua and Jote?”

“Her ring is beautiful. Joshua has good taste. In rings and secret brides.” Clive added knowingly, chuckling softly as he kissed her neck. “How long do you think before they admit it?”

“How long did it take us?” Jill said teasingly. 

“Far too long.” Clive replied. “And it will take far too many lifetimes and a band above value to make up for it.”

“I have you. And you have me. What need do we have of rings?” Jill exhaled, his breath warm against her jaw. 

“You deserve one, nevertheless.” He pulled back, the desire to look into her eyes temporarily winning out over the need to taste her lips once more. 

“You’ve given me enough.” She assured him. “More than enough. For more lifetimes than I care to live unless I can share them all with you.”

“Whatever you wish.” Clive swore. He pulled her flush to himself, taking her hands in his, pressing a kiss to her ring finger. “One day.” He promised her anyway.

Jill studied him, blue eyes eclipsing her entire world. She needed no proof to know the depths of his feelings. If she did, the evidence that lay between them was more than enough. 

Once upon a time, she never would have imagined her heart would be able to hold so much love. And now, her mind wondered how long she would be able to harbor it. She closed her eyes, blocking out everything but the feeling of being in his arms. 

She didn’t need countless lifetimes. She just needed this one with him.