Chapter Text
The first time Nivienne prays it is when she has just been asked to deliver an invitation to the leaders of the three city states of Eorzea. While she is undaunted at the prospect of the actual meetings with these heads of state, there is one obstacle that stands before her that she cannot not surpass on willpower alone.
Once again she tries to calculate if she has time to travel by sea instead, but the anniversary of the Calamity is only days away and this task has been entrusted to her alone, so she will rise to the occasion.
Even if it means stepping foot on one of those blasted airships.
As she has the thought she feels the shadow of one of the giants pass over her and Nivienne shudders. How do they even stay in the air? If it crashes down would she even survive it? Do they have lifeboats? Aether currents? Anything?
Unfortunately for her, her distress does not go unnoticed in the markets of Limsa Lominsa and it is all too obvious that she is far from her home in the Shroud. (a journey taken in a nice safe ferry)
A voice calls out to her, disarmingly jovial. "Afternoon young miss! Got a spot of nerves for your first trip on one of the ships?" A large Roegadyn man approaches her armed with nothing but the sharp wit of an experienced swindler.
"No - of course not.” Nivienne answers too quickly. “They're just ships. People fly in them every day."
The man laughs, but not unkindly. He is a professional after all. "Ah I see, one of them sensible types are you? Well if you were a bit unsettled I could hardly blame you. Those giant metal husks always seem to me to be ready to fall out of the sky at any moment!” He leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice before continuing. “Why, just the other day I heard one of the engineers complaining that they never get the time they need to check the things over before they're sent back out.”
“Oh?” Nivienne squeaks. She honestly should know better than to listen to this, but they don’t have many airships back home, and she can count on one hand the number of times she’s actually seen one in person before this week.
"That's right!” The man bellows and Nivienne flinches. “The damned companies are driving their profits up by sending more ships out faster! No time to keep them in ship shape! Which is frankly irresponsible I say! I watched some of those things go down during the Calamity, and Thal’s balls do they go up when they hit the ground - nothing but some desperate prayers and a flaming pit left over.”
“I-is that so?” Nivienne tries not to look too distressed but she has lost what little colour she had, and her new companion is ready to make the easiest sale of his life.
“But luckily I've got just the thing for it…”
And so a fool and her Gil are quickly parted, and Nivienne holds fast to a wonky carving of The Wanderer’s sigil, decorated uselessly with some shells and beads from nearby shores.
Unconcerned with her questionable purchase, Nivienne focuses on the more looming problem of her journey. She holds the little charm in her hands and realizes she has no idea how to actually use it.
She finds somewhere quiet, or at least somewhere where no one will hear her talking to herself, and stares down at the sigil in her hands. "Well Oschon , you're-” she hesitates. It isn’t really like this with the elementals, and besides that no one back home particularly cares for them either.
She starts again. “Oschon you’re in charge of travel right? and the winds? Just - ensure a safe landing for me if you could. Um. That is all. Thank you.”
She doesn't feel any different. She's not sure if it worked, but she is jolted from her thoughts by the announcement that the ship is leaving shortly, and that any remaining passengers are to board immediately.
Nivienne takes one last longing look at solid ground and sets off in the first steps of a very long journey.
---
The second time Nivienne prays, she is in the Rising Stones watching over the bodies of her comrades.
Bodies may not be the right term - they are alive, but elsewhere. From what Krile has managed to gather their souls have left their star entirely, and Nivienne has been searching for them ever since.
She is standing outside the door, and she is impossibly tired. She hasn’t been sleeping much between trying to aid in the remaining Scion’s research and dashing to the front lines of Imperial’s invasion.
She hasn't visited the Archons yet. Nivienne rarely visits the Rising Stones at all - she was well aware that she was disruptive. Her temper is short and her patience thin. It is a sharp change from her usual demeanour, but these are no ordinary times, and she doesn’t have the motivation to pretend to be dealing with them well.
She pushes the door open gently and it still feels too loud. As it closes behind her she doesn't bother bringing in additional light.
It feels like a crypt.
Barring when they first collapsed, and when Alphinaud was brought to them, she has been avoiding standing vigil at their bedsides. If she is being honest, it’s not because she can’t find the time. She just can’t stand to see them here like this. They look dead already.
She looks over the faces of Alphinaud and Alisaie. It’s harder to tell them apart like this. So much of how she thinks of them is in motion - doing things and saying things, smiling, laughing, crying. It's the easiest way to tell them apart honestly.
She will fix this. She has to. But she needs to explore every option, and plan for every eventuality.
Nivienne knows Lalai and Cait Sith have already grown suspicious at her more pointed questions about the Void. She knows that Matoya is very close to properly locking her out of the Great Gubal Library (not that that would stop her) and she knows that every time Raubaun sends her into another fight, he looks like he’s second guessing if she really needs to be the one to do it.
She’s been burning a lot of good will these last few months, and she needs to ensure she isn’t wasting any of her resources.
Even this one.
She came to visit the Archons in hopes that it could tell her something new, but they lie just as lifeless as they always had. She knows during the Calamity they turned to the twelve to petition aid. Prayer has never sat right with her, and since her experiences with the Primals and King Thordan she has regarded it with even more suspicion.
But she is no hypocrite, and when Nivienne said she would do anything she could to bring them back, she meant it.
She closes her eyes and thinks of what to say, and who to say it to, before finally settling on the core of the issue.
Oschon - Wherever their souls have traveled, please bring them back safely.
It might be a waste of time. But she has to try.
She turns away and gets back to work.
---
The third time Nivienne prays, she can’t stop thinking about the end of the world.
Although she would argue that is old news now, as the Final Days have been averted and she has been found victorious once again.
Not entirely victorious though, she will admit, after all she is dying. She tries to laugh at her little joke but fails to summon up the energy. Oh well, it's not like it matters much at this point, she's all alone here.
At least she is fairly certain she is dying alone now. She doesn’t have the strength to turn and check, but Zeno's ragged breathing had fallen silent at some point, so either it has stopped, or Nivienne's hearing is beginning to grow faint, just as the darkness also seems to be closing in around her vision.
There is blood pooling around her from a number of wounds, but more damningly she has expended a significant amount of aether, and doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than lay here.
And it isn’t even a comfortable place to lay down and die, I should have brought something to lie down on. She thinks deliriously.
She thought if she could just do this, to save the Source and its shards, then she would be able to die in peace. She did even more than that - she saved Metion, she rescued her companions, she got to say goodbye to the ancients and secure their legacy on Etheris.
All in all it had been a rousing success.
And yet-
Nivienne finds herself desperately wishing to survive this experience. It feels almost selfish at this point to ask for more, but she wants to go home, to be with the people she loves, and who love her in turn.
She doesn't want to die alone here.
She doesn’t have the energy to move her lips, but she whispers her prayer anyway.
Please Wanderer - take me home.
She is met with silence. She can't really bring herself to be surprised.
Oh well, at least I tried. Alisaie would be furious with me if I didn't at least try.
There is a dull sound of metal hitting the cold floor beside her, and a bright flash of light as the teleporter activates.
The light fades over where her body once was.
She hits the ground hard, but it is no longer the strange nothingness of Ultima Thule, but rather the metal interior of the Ragnarok.
The chorus of familiar voices in rising panic fade out as she loses consciousness. She has just enough presence of mind for one final thought before she succumbs to her wounds.
Thank you.