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Serendipity knew the man rubbing his wrist in the doorway was a new recruit, because he looked like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be here. She set down her hammer and the especially testy thaumaturge’s staff she’d been working on for one of her junior members to watch him. Would he let Jemime register him, or would he turn tail and run like so many other hammer-shy hopefuls?
The man—a Miqo’te who seemed to be in his mid-twenties with shocking red hair—looked around the Goldsmith’s guild with wide, equally red eyes. Nobody had noticed him yet over the clatter and clang of a dozen other guild members working on commissions, or the thick, foggy belch of the smelter that momentarily hid him from view. When the smoke cleared, he was still standing there, and that was when Serendipity made her way over to him.
“Welcome to the Goldsmith’s Guild! I’m Serendipity. Nice to meet ya!” she said cheerily, wiping her hand free of grease on her skirts and offering it to him. He took it firmly—confident, despite the hunch in his shoulders and the nervous swish of his tail. His hands were not soft like she expected, but calloused around the tips and the base of his fingers.
“Likewise,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth, and undeniably cultured. This man was well-educated and foreign—Sharlayan, perhaps?
“My name is G’raha Tia,” the man continued. “I was hoping—or, rather, I am interested in joining your guild.”
“Perfect!” Serendipity directed him over to Jemima at the receptionist’s desk, who greeted the newcomer with her usual perfunctory grin and a thick sheaf of paper.
“We’ve received a rather large influx of guild members ever since Milhu’a Yhiyo’s rise to fame,” she mentioned as G’raha filled out paperwork with deft, nimble fingers. She noticed G’raha chuckle to himself. “Oh! Is he your inspiration as well?”
“Something like that,” G’raha admitted. He signed his name in long, looping letters. Definitely well-educated.
Serendipity clasped her hands together as G’raha handed the papers back to Jemima, who began processing his registration. “That’s wonderful! Milhu’a has been wonderful for the crafting guilds, his work has been recognized the next world over for its quality.” And to think, she played a part in molding the famous artisan into who he was today–! Milhu’a was Serendipity’s favorite success story, even if he was currently too far away in Ala Mhigo to visit more often. He had his own apprentices now, teaching the refugees ways to support themselves with their craft. They were due to be back in Ul’dah soon to present the Sultana with an orchestrion made of her crown jewels, but she hadn’t seen him yet. She had asked Momodi to keep her in the loop if she saw anything.
Jemima handed G’raha a membership card, a gold-embossed cardstock with his name drying in sharp, dark ink. “Welcome to the guild, ser,” she said warmly.
Serendipity bounced on her heels. “So!” she said. “Now that you’re all set, what are your goals here? Just learning, or is there something in particular that you’re looking to accomplish?”
As she spoke, she led him back over to her desk, and he followed on her heels. She was slightly taller than him, but that wasn’t necessarily uncommon for hyuran women and miqo’te men. She plopped down on her stool and spun around, coming to a stop facing him.
“I'd like to learn to make a ring,” G’raha Tia said with unexpected straightforwardness. “A bonding ring.” Now when he spoke, it was from someplace deep in his chest where a wellspring of determination erupted.
Serendipity couldn’t help the excited noise that left her. “That’s so romantic!” she gushed, clasping her hands together under her chin. Oh, to love someone so dearly that she'd make them a ring of her own! She had no such person in her life at the moment, but—and she firmly ignored the brief flash of Aistan in her mind’s eye—it was enough to live vicariously through others.
“You’ll want to start with just familiarizing yourself with the tools,” she started, rummaging around in her drawer for an adequate beginner’s set. Her fingers felt the worn handle of a file older than she was and a heavy, chipped hammer. “Here’s a file to get you started, and here's a hammer. Don't worry about breaking either of them, we keep them handy for beginners.”
Making a ring was simple enough, but Serendipity remembered well what it was like to hold a hammer for the first time. It took a while to feel confident with the heft, to blur the lines between wood and flesh until the tool was an extension of oneself. She smiled kindly as G’raha tested the weight.
“We’ll start you with making some copper ingots,” she explained, and rooted around in her junk drawer for loose ore. Her previous guildmaster never hesitated to click his tongue at her “organized mess”, but Serendipity’s system was a calculated collection of disarray. Some called it madness. She called it efficient.
G’raha took the proffered rocks from her with a suspicious look. Serendipity said nothing, just pretended to wait. This was her favorite part, though Jemime would accuse her of scaring off the new recruits every time she watched them puzzle out how to turn a few hunks of rough-hewn stone into a smooth, shiny ingot.
“Um,” G’raha started, tilting his head to the side. Serendipity took pity on him and giggled.
“Don’t worry, I’ll show you how to do it,” she said. “First we’ll melt the ores down. Next, we’ll set it in the mold, like so…”
G’raha watched her actions carefully, with a tiny flick of his ears every few seconds. It had been a while since she’d had such an attentive pupil. The last was probably Milhu’a himself, and he’d gone on to outclass her in almost every conceivable way. She hoped that G’raha would do the same.
As the days passed, and G’raha dutifully attended his lessons, Serendipity began to take more and more of an interest in the young man. Somedays he seemed almost regal, others, barely different from any other young man. He was exceptionally well-traveled, often referencing stories from lands as far-flung as the Far East or Ilsabard. His stories were captivating, his manner of speaking addictive to listen to, and his passion for improving his skills infectious. Whomever he was promised to was a lucky person indeed.
One day, as they sat side by side, Serendipity working on a chondrite needle as a gift for Redolent Rose and G’raha on his thirteenth silver ring out of twenty-seven, she decided to broach the subject.
“So,” she broke the comfortable silence of tapping metal and whirring files. “Tell me about your soon-to-be fiance.”
G’raha colored and he missed the ring with his hammer. “O-oh! Well…” He trailed off, still red as a garnet, and chewed his lip.
Serendipity nudged his foot under the table encouragingly. “C’mon! You wanted to make an eternity ring for them, right?”
She would be lying if she said she hadn’t been wondering about this mystery lover. They were a frequent character in G’raha’s stories, but he was always careful to never mention a name or any identifying features. The most she had to go on was that they had long, thick hair, and were also a Miqo’te.
Who was the one that captivated G’raha’s heart? In her mind, such a person would have to be noble, regal, princely…but someone who was sentimental enough to desire a handcrafted ring. Mayhaps a wealthy merchant or noble, someone who could buy anything except for love, and who would melt when presented with something lovingly crafted by their betrothed.
She didn’t know of any wealthy merchants or nobles in Ul’dah who were Miqo’te, though.
“He’s the bravest, strongest, kindest man I know,” G’raha started, and the airiness of his voice told Serendipity that she was in for another wonderful story.
“We’ve only known each other for a short time in the grand scheme of things, but I feel as though I’ve known him for a lifetime,” he continued. “I could recognize him by the way the air changes when he walks into a room. He commands attention, even if he doesn’t realize it. Every eye is drawn to him, but he only has eyes for me.
We’ve shared enough adventures for this life and the next, yet each stokes the desire for another. He owns my past, my present, and my future. I would like nothing more than to keep making him happy for the rest of my days.” G’raha’s voice, melodic as ever, brightened with warmth as he spoke of his mysterious lover. Serendipity squealed and kicked her feet.
“That’s so cute! It sounds like something out of a fairy tale,” she sighed dreamily as she set down her tools. “Oh, I know you’ll never tell, but I wish I knew who he was!”
G’raha opened his mouth to answer, but whatever he had to say was drowned out by the doors slamming open. Serendipity jolted in her seat.
Milhu’a Yhiyo strode into the Goldsmith’s Guild, trailed by his three apprentices from Ala Mhigo. He made a beeline for Serendipity, then came to a screeching halt when he saw who was sitting beside her.
Next to her, G’raha stiffened like he’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Serendipity barely had time to question it, before Milhu’a checked how secure his mask was and then pointed one gloved finger at the man next to her.
“You,” he said with no small measure of incredulity.
“Me,” G’raha squeaked.
Milhu’a vaulted over the railing and planted both hands on Serendipity’s table. He placed his face inches from G’raha’s. “You’re supposed to be in Sharlayan.”
G’raha swallowed audibly and then gave a weak smile. “Surprise?”
It was impossible to see any expression behind Milhu’a’s wooden mask, but Serendipity swore she could feel the scrutiny in those two circular eye holes. She would give money to say that Milhu’a’s eyes were narrowed right now. She stared, wide-eyed, at the scene in front of her.
Milhu’a finally seemed to notice that he was the center of attention. He leaned back and took in the guild as a whole: the dozen or so other apprentices at their workbenches in shocked silence, Serendipity and G’raha sitting side by side, his three Ala Mhigan students shuffling uncomfortably behind him. His tail lashed, and then he straightened up and readjusted his mask.
“What’cha making?” he asked G’raha, reaching over to pluck a finished silver ring from the crate. He held it up to the light, appraising it carefully.
Serendipity wondered if she should intervene. Did Milhu’a and G’raha know each other?
“None of your business,” G’raha retorted, but there was no real heat. He snatched the ring back from Milhu’a. His face was nearly scarlet.
Rapt audience forgotten, Milhu’a’s tail lifted playfully as he hopped up to sit on the table, either unaware or uncaring of the eyes on the two of them. “What do you mean, none of my business? It’s so my business. I can’t think of anything more my business, actually.”
He reached over G’raha’s workspace to grab another handful of rings. He held them in the palm of his hand with three fingers, then used his index and thumb to peel the glove on his opposite hand off. Underneath the unassuming grey cotton, Milhua’s skin was richly tanned and scarred—not crafter's hands by any means, but Serendipity had never been able to get his day job out of him. He slid one of the rings onto his fourth finger. It fit perfectly.
Milhu’a held his hand out to better see the way it looked. He made a noncommittal noise, tilting his hand this way and that. Then he slid it off and dumped all of the rings back into the crate.
He looked over his shoulder at G’raha’s tomato face. “Nice work,” he said as he scooted off the table.
G’raha seemed to have recovered from his earlier shock, and now a scowl laid over his features. “Thanks.”
“You’re terrible at keeping secrets.”
“Not as bad as you. Don’t you have some spriggans you need to go terrorize?”
Milhu’a laughed out loud, a joyful, throaty noise. “Students, actually. Kids, say hi.”
Milhu’a’s students, who were almost certainly the same age or older than him, waved from their posts by the receptionist’s desk. All of them shared an equally bewildered look on their faces. Serendipity and G’raha waved back.
The doors opened again, and Emeloth poked her head in. “Milhu’a!” she hissed. “Audience with the sultana first, guild after!”
Milhu’a’s shoulders dropped. “Ah, shit. Oops. Coming, coming.” He made his way to the entrance, waving his students along. Before he left, he turned back to point at G’raha again.
“We’re talking about this tonight,” he said.
“No we’re not,” G’raha called back.
“What—the hells you mean, no?”
“Bye,” G’raha called back. “Have fun. Give the Sultana my regards.”
Milhu’a answered with his middle finger sticking through the doors right before they closed with a heavy thud. Almost immediately, the guild erupted into gossiping. Milhu’a was notoriously secretive, and even those he called friends had never seen him without the mask or the thick canvas hood.
Which begged the question—who in the hells was G’raha Tia?
“G’raha,” Serendipity started, still staring at the door that Milhu’a exited out of. “Be honest with me. Is Milhu’a Yhiyo your fiance?”
G’raha laughed at the expression on her face, so hard that he had to gasp for breath and wipe a tear from his eye. “If everything goes well,” he said when he finally stifled his giggles. “That bastard.”