Chapter Text
“We’ll be together, that’s what the elders say. And if the elders are saying it, it must be true!”
The blind innocence of childhood; of dreams and hopes shaped by those who would stand tall and tell you that they know better; that their years and experience should be the foundations of knowledge for generations to come. Tradition, culture, religion, justice, rules. Rules, rules, rules.
Told so easily to the ears of babes, who wish to do no more than succeed in the eyes of their bearers, their teachers - and so, will soak that knowledge as truth, never questioning the darkening burden that lurks behind.
Nix and Sol are just that; two youngling Viera, shaped entirely by their clan’s wisdom, at the tender young age of twelve moons.
Deep in the forested woods of Dalmasca, behind creeping ivy and o’er treacherous waters, are the nomadic Norn clan, later referred to in the common tongue as Lifeweavers. A clan that changes that which it calls home often; meandering through the frozen reaches of Skatay Range, the jungled heights of Golmore, and the lush warm forests that border onto the city state of Dalmasca. It is a clan spoken of in myth and whispers; quickly dismissed as folklore and nothing more - for it is a clan that reaches beyond the boundary of mortality, and directly intervenes with the Lifestream.
Those are all very big words, big tasks, all taken to heart by one, small child. Of twelve full cycles, there is but only one passing of the moon left until all that changes. Until everything changes.
Nix isn’t sure he wants anything to change.
He’d snuck out early from dinner - away from the sombre tales, warm food, and hesitant watch of the elders. The grove in which they’ve taken to settling in is vast and holds many nooks and crannies for the Youngling to venture off to; in search of silence, to settle his anxious thoughts.
Padding across the darkened, overcast grove, the light of the camp fire diminishes into little more than a soft glow as he distances from it. The shadows of the tall, interwoven branches above create a slowly encroaching net of darkness as he breaches the border of the clan, and pushes through the boundary of shrubbery - into the wilderness beyond.
One more night. One night of normality, of peace- and then what?
His stomach turns as he considers it; the trial.
The elders call it his rite of passage, they say he’s ready - he’s sure he’s not. And even if he is, then-
“Nix!” A hushed, but clear call in the silence of the wood, as a voice rings out just behind him. The patter of feet follow, before-
“Oomph-!” Sol trips, crashing through the foliage Nix had only just breached, and lands face first in the dirt at the older Viera’s feet. Hands scramble to push himself back to his footing, as big blue eyes gaze up at him - and Nix recoils mentally from that fondness in the other Youngling’s innocent gaze.
“Where are you going?” Brushing dirt from his clothes, the blond stands a head shorter than Nix, and the elder Viera refrains from the urge to pluck stray leaves from those haphazard locks - now dusted with the undergrowth in which he plummeted to. “Dinner’s not done.”
“I’m not hungry.” Nix frowns, clenching his fists at his sides, lest he give in to that brotherly intention. “Go back.”
Sol blinks, confused, and glances briefly back over his shoulder. His gaze scans the distant source of firelight, ears twitching slightly as he picks up on the distant drone of conversation. He’s no inclination to return to the festivities without his brother, and as his attention returns to the stubborn, dark haired sibling, it’s resolute.
It’s that very resolution that tugs at the elder brother’s icy resolve - warms it, and allows it to relent. With a sigh, Nix closes the small gap between the two, and begins to pick at the foliage littering the blond’s hair. “You’re an idiot.”
Sol grins, eyes shining from underneath tousled bangs, “I know.”
“Not a compliment.” He continues to pull select pieces of dirt and leaves from the blond’s hair, as the two fall into a relative silence - Sol, beaming with childlike innocence and victory, and Nix, plucking, mulling over his inevitable defeat to the youngling’s curiosity.
Though twins in age, the two could not look more different. Sol, with his sunny demeanour, light hair, and bright blue eyes - the absolute personification of the sun itself, as far as Nix is concerned. If Sol were that, then he considers himself the vast night instead - dark hair, darker eyes, and no such positive personality. Two sides of a gil-piece, so very different in nature, and yet twins borne from the same parents.
The only similarity between the pair, according to the elders, is their aether - each, a near replication of the other’s. A person’s aether tends of bear the marks of the individual, and yet, to some of the elders, the two twins are entirely indistinguishable - which, on plenty of occasion, has had each called by the other’s name.
Old blind fools, Nix muses, couldn’t tell a chocobo from its arse.
With a second, and hopefully the last, sigh Nix moves to crouch slightly, offering his back to the sunshine boy. “Come on. Tante will yell if you return bruised and dirt-clogged.”
There’s a shuffle of movement as Sol clambers on, and Nix straightens up, tucking his arms underneath the younger sibling’s legs to keep him steady, as Nix continues his previous walk into the wilderness.
He’s content to walk in silence. His talkative brother, however, is not.
“Do you think it’ll hurt?” Comes the ominous question, merely a few minutes later, and Nix refuses the urge to glance back. It should be a peculiar, out of place query - and yet the weight of tomorrows events weigh heavy enough on his mind for it to not be so.
He keeps his gaze fixed on the undergrowth, carefully picking his way around tricky tree roots. “No,” He lies, “It’ll be like falling asleep. No different to any of those naps you sneak when you think Tante’s not looking.”
Sol frowns. From his position atop the taller Viera’s back, he’s at no vantage point to guage the other’s expression, and can only trust the tone and word alone. There’s a joke in there, too, but the topic outweighs the attempted humour. That, and it’s not like Nix to joke. Always so stalwart and serious, instead.
It should be a comfort, but it falls short. “Tell me how it goes again.”
There’s a small snort of frustration from Nix, “You been napping in class too?” He asks, shifting his hold on the legs at his waist as he steps over a particularly tall root. In the most even, educational tone possible, he recites the crap they’ve been fed.
“As Norn, it is our duty to become one with the Lifestream, before it deigns to take us at full. Our trial shall assimilate us to the ebb and flow of the afterlife, allowing us to leave a portion of ourselves within, before returning to the mortal plane of the Star, renewed, and invigorated.”
As the sound of distant water reaches his ears, he adjusts direction to meet the river. “From there, our Ward begins. Where the tribe may wander, we too shall follow, protecting from afar, and carrying the knowledge for the next generation.”
Big words, for a child, and yet he’s memorised them regardless. If only to reassure himself that the trial is but a stepping stone. Once they’ve begun their ward, they’ll be free of the restrictions of the inner tribe.
“Invigorated and renewed?” Sol repeats.
“We’ll get to do all the shit the elders do.” Nix shrugs, caring little for his turn of words. “Spells, healing-”
On his back, Sol absently waves his hand in front of his own eyes. He watches as the faint outline of his gestures mingle with the lingering darkness; he can just make out his light skin in the dim light. Abruptly, he puts both hands over his eyes.
The action catches Nix’s attention, who finally slows, and turns awkwardly to look behind him at the child’s odd behaviour.
“..What are you doing?”
“Like this, right? This is what we’ll see?”
It takes a moment before he realises what he’s doing - mimicking the Elders. For each one of them has eyes that reflect the lifestream itself; pale, pearlescent, and without pupil. An altered vision as a result of the immersion into aether that dense, primal, strong enough to permanently scar one’s vision.
Or, bless it, as the elders would correct. “Put your hands down before you fall.” He waits, as Sol blinks and returns his grasp to his shoulders instead. “Not like that. They can still see. Just.. different. I suppose.”
Sol’s silent for a few more moments as he thinks it over, before shaking his head. “I don’t want that.”
“I know.”
And he does. It pains every inch of his soul that his brother has to take the trial. Nix cares not for himself - but everything, for his brother. If there had been any way to spare him, he’d have jumped at the chance.
Instead, they are both set to partake in the trial at the break of dawn. And instead of sleeping, they’re wandering aimlessly into the thick of the forest.
But they’re together. That’s what matters most. And tomorrow, Nix will make sure he takes the trial at the same time. There’s no way in seven hells that he’s going to leave Sol without a hand to reach for in.. in there. In the lifestream.
There’s a sick nausea pooling in the pit of his stomach, accompanied by a chill. He shudders, then masks the action by shifting his hold on Sol’s legs once more. Whatever happens tomorrow, he’s going to ensure that Sol makes it out of the lifestream - even if he has to fucking push him back to the Star himself.
“Like I said. Just think of it as a nap. It’ll be over quickly, and then we can leave, Sol. We can find a nice patch of forest to camp in, you can hunt game and I can ward the boundary. Just the two of us.”
It seems the right thing to say, and immediately lightens the youngling’s mood. “We can make a cabin in the trees! And collect firewood, and herbs - oh! Can we have a garden too? I know we have to move, but maybe we can take some of it with us each time?”
And with that, Nix leaves the blond to ramble on, only occasionally offering nods of encouragement, or hums of approval at the wild and wondrous plans the blond starts setting out - in quite some detail. Though Warding is to be done on one’s lonesome, Nix has no intentions of such. They are twins, and together they’ll stay - regardless of tradition.
It’s at some point between the discussion of various strains of sunflower, and Sol’s current capacity in healing potions, that they finally come across the destination that Nix had been intending for from the start.
Finally, after one last push through the undergrowth and looming shrubbery, they break out into a clearing. Above, the night’s sky is visible, and to their trained eye, so are the slow movements of emerald rivers within; wisps of the lifestream, dancing overhead in anticipation of tomorrow’s fate - an ouroboros of colours, present if only to watch over the upcoming trials. It’s beautiful, and Nix finds his step faltering slightly as he nears the river; gaze glued to the shifting hues.
“Woah.” Sol exclaims, equally caught up in the beauty of it.
That awestruck exclamation is enough to bring the briefest of smiles to Nix’s expression, as he comes to a stop at the riverbed. “Yeah. Cool right. Every six years, timed with our trials, our ancestors return to watch over us - or, at least-.. That’s what the books say.”
In tradition, every six years, two events coincide. Firstly, the return of the lifestream in it’s visible state - and only within the vicinity of the Norn’s homesteads; where they return to see the trials through.
Secondly, the trials themselves. Taken as near as to a child’s twelfth cycle on the Star. All younglings of age undergo the event, and those that return, are approved for warding.
Finally, the return of the Warders. Returning home to collect the successful young, into apprenticeship, and to ensure the future of generations to come. Whatever that means - no one’s given Nix a clear understanding of exactly what that entails.
“C’mon, get down. You’re not as light as you were last time.”
Six years prior, when they’d taken to watching this spectacle. They’d been forbidden from watching the trials themselves; yet the memory of the overheard lifestream is just as keen, and as vivid as that which his eyes gaze upon today.
Sol slides off with a grumble; though with little malice. He’s still entirely fixated on the swirling veil above, even as Nix moves to grab his hand and pull him over to the riverbank. There’s a small incline at the edge of it; enough for him to rest his back against as he sits down on the mossy grass, pulling his brother along with him.
Nestling into Nix’s side, Sol’s attention is fully caught by the shifting overhead sky.
For the next hour, the two brothers lie in relative silence, watching as the veil of the afterlife and beforelife both continues to shift and sway over them; a beautiful spectacle that Nix finds himself determined to lose himself within - keenly aware that as serene as the flow is, it takes as much as it gives, and to tap into it is no small feat. Successors of the trial are few; less than a handful per year, yet he’s determined to count Sol at least amongst those - come this time, tomorrow. If not himself too.
It’s by no surprise at the second hour, that as Nix returns his gaze briefly to his brother, it is to find him sound asleep. Head resting to Nix’s chest, he’s far since lost to rest - and Nix isn’t as cruel as to wake him.
Carefully, he reaches into his own pocket, and withdraws a small pouch. Untying it one handed is quite the remarkable feat; and takes a good few minutes, before his fingers finally dip inside and seek out what he’s after. Two cool stones drop into his palm; carved glass, from the very rivers that they are currently nestled beside.
Each has the rune which designates the owner; night, for Nix. Day, for Sol. Runestones, to hold their aethers.
It’s customary to do it yourself; and yet Nix isn’t leaving any of this to chance. Whilst he trusts his brother’s ability practically; he’s not so keen to risk anything. Slipping two fingers to the slumbering Viera’s wrist, he closes his eyes, and allows his mind to wander.
Away from the material plane; away from distractions of sound, smell, colour - everything. Until only aether remains. Until only one aether remains; the slow and comforting flow of his brother’s stream. He can feel the pulse point under his fingertips, humming with untapped potential - and yet, a surprising level of calm, and fragility notwithstanding. Gently, he pulls on that connection, and allows the aether to slip around his forefingers, before coaxing it into the runestone.
From there, he does the same for himself too - pulling on his own aether; which by nature is far more wild and haphazard than Sol’s.
With both runestones filled, he slips Sol’s into the Viera’s pocket; and his own, to his. No matter what comes of the trials tomorrow, they are prepared.
Gently moving to sit, he leans down - pressing his forehead to Sol’s.
“No matter what, we’ll do this together. I don’t give a shit what those old geezers think. We train together, trial together, and ward together.”
It’s a promise spoken to the wind, at best. For Sol’s deep in slumber, and there’s naught but the presence of the lifestream to hear that vow.
Slipping his hands under the sleeping blond, he moves to pick him up with ease. Despite their similar ages, it always astounds him the difference in build; where Nix makes up in muscle and brawn, Sol excels in deftness, and lean agility. The movement doesn’t stir the youngling, and carefully, with both runestones on their rightful owners, Nix slowly begins the return to the village.
One step at a time,
One promise, at a time.