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“My star, are we putting all of your books wherever they fit or would you like them organized?” G’raha asked from where he sat on the floor. There were several boxes around him and unpacked books were stacked higher than his head. It was a testament to the years Kiah’a had called the Rising Stones home. When he arrived, he only had the clothes on his back and a small bag. Now he had accumulated enough belongings that he needed help to move out.
Kiah’a shook his head.
“It matters not. I’ll have to rearrange them when I unpack.” Kiah’a glanced about, taking in what was left. He had been preparing for the last week, trying to be done with time to spare before his classes were supposed to begin. Most of his belongings were already shipped off to Old Sharlayan thanks to what felt like a fleet of postmoogles. All that remained were the necessities — some clothes, equipment, toiletries — and his books. Thankfully his partners had volunteered to help. Rather, they had insisted when Kiah’a made the mistake of complaining about how long everything took with just one hand.
Sidurgu grunted as he set another armful of books on the ground next to G’raha. He might not be as physically strong as Kiah’a, but he had twice as many arms, was almost twice his height and, most importantly, he didn’t mind being relegated to carrying heavy things. “Last ones,” he said. “Anything else I can help with?”
“No, you’re already doing more than enough,” Kiah’a quickly reassured him. “I did say that I could finish this myself.”
Sidurgu and G’raha gave him almost identical looks of doubt. To say it was disconcerting was an understatement. Kiah’a threw his hand up in the air. His stump mirrored the motion but, obviously, lacked a hand to gesticulate with.
“Fine, do my dirty work. See if I care.” Next to him, his carbuncle chirped. G’raha gave Kiah’a an affectionate smile.
“I cannot speak for Sidurgu, but I know that I am happy to assist.” G’raha held up a large tome. Kiah’a squinted so he could read the title — Lyngsath Hyllbornsyn’s Guide to Cooking For the Uninitiated. “Though — and I say this as politely as possible — have you ever read this?” G’raha asked.
Kiah’a was not blushing, but it was close. His good eye held G’raha’s gaze with great effort. “It was a gift. You cannot just discard a gift.”
The book was absolutely not a gift, but neither Sidurgu nor G’raha had to know that.
Sidurgu waved a hand in the air. “If you want to be rid of anything, I am certain Rielle will take it. Ever since we visited Old Sharlayan, she has wanted to read everything she can get her hands on.”
“I think Rielle is a bit young to need to worry about such things. We shall bring it to Old Sharlayan, then, and if we do not use it then someone studying will surely find use for it.” G’raha put the book in a nearby box. He seemed less willing to take the book and more hoping to avoid Rielle from getting the wrong idea from an ill-thought gift. Kiah’a decided not to say anything about it.
“Can I leave you two to keep packing? I’m going to take these to the postmoogle,” Kiah’a explained, gesturing to the packages of clothes that he had just finished securing. He had shoved most of his attire in his bag and armory chest, but even that had its limits. What remained were the bits that he almost never wore, but was too much of a hoarder to toss.
He had spent so long limited to what he could fit in a single bag. He relished having the option of excess.
Sidurgu nodded. “We can finish here. It shouldn’t take much longer,” he said, as if he wasn’t surrounded by books.
“Though, if you wish to locate a few more boxes that would not go amiss.” G’raha beamed at Sidurgu as he sat next to him. “May you pass the twine? I think this box is fit to burst.”
Assured that Sidugru and G’raha would not be upset at being left alone, Kiah’a grabbed his two packages and headed out of the Rising Stones. The bar was not very full since it was still early afternoon, but Kiah’a still nodded politely to the barkeep and the few adventurers who were relaxing between quests. One of them got up to open the door, but Kiah’a’s carbuncle beat her to the punch. The aetherical construct pushed it open and waited for him to be out before trotting after him.
The Mor Dhona postmoogle was very familiar with Kiah’a’s face at this point. Being the Warrior of Light did not grant him clemency from the moogle, who sighed heavily as he approached.
“Are you not done shipping everything yet, kupo?” the poor thing asked. Kiah’a shook his head. “Very well, I shall deliver these to Old Sharlayan on your behalf… Come rain or shine or storm or… Just give them to me—!”
Kiah’a did not yelp when the moogle grabbed the packages from him with the force of an angry dragon, but it was a near thing. He soon found his hand free and his coin purse much lighter. He watched the moogle fly off, the tiny thing somehow soaring even with his bag stuffed full. He sighed.
At least this will be over soon, he thought. He should be finished tomorrow, and then he would never have to sleep in the Rising Stones again. It would be a good riddance, truly. He’d never have to deal with the leaky ceiling or the way sound echoed through the entire building. His apartment in Old Sharlayan didn’t have any drafts and he wouldn’t have to share a kitchen with a horde of other people.
He would live with G’raha as he worked on earning his archon marks. They’d get to make a home together, with Sidurgu and Rielle visiting as often as possible. Of course Sidurgu had been invited along, but he had no interest in leaving Ishgard. Even if Rielle spoke about traveling, Sidurgu was happy to remain in the Forgotten Knight for the foreseeable future.
Still, Kiah’a didn’t let that dampen his excitement for the future. A real home was the sort of thing that he never had imagined as a child. He’d have an actual house, one with four walls and a roof. He’d have a bed he returned to each night, a library full of old books, and a bathroom that didn’t get cleaned enough. He could go to lectures and visit the Last Stand whenever he wanted.
It would be perfect. He just wished it was easier to get there. Perhaps that would help quiet the stirring in his stomach.
Kiah’a headed down the hill to the Rising Stones. The sunlight sparkled off a few puddles left by last night’s rain. He breathed in deep. In the distance, he swore he could see the Crystal Tower gleaming. He tried to think of how many times he had walked the streets of Mor Dhona. What was once a barren outpost had grown to a functioning town, with people living there who weren't just hardened adventurers barely scraping by. It had been strange when the Doman refugees left, but their absence was filled by many new citizens — not just merchants and adventurers but families too. The Scions would hardly be missed — and Tataru would still be around, after all.
Mor Dhona would continue along without them and that, Kiah'a knew, was the whole point. It would just be different.
He headed into the bar, carbuncle trailing behind him, and then stepped into the Rising Stones. Tataru wasn’t there today and it was quiet except for the soft whistle of wind sneaking through cracks in the walls. There was a tug in his chest. It felt wrong to not see Thancred at the bar or Y’shtola discussing aetherology with someone at a table. Alisaie should be cleaning her rapier while Urianger reorganized his cards.
They would never be in the Rising Stones at the same time again. Oh, Kiah’a was certain that they’d visit. Tataru had all but demanded that of them. But they would not be the Scions.
This would not be his home.
To his utter mortification, Kiah’a felt his eyes start to burn and his chest tighten. He never liked this sensation — he felt like he was about to cry.
He was used to new things. One of the earliest skills he honed was to change and adapt. Twelve knew that he had done so time and time again. He left the Coeurlclaws behind as a teenager. He helped move the Scions from the Waking Sands into the Rising Stones. He even started to settle in the Crystarium, back when the Scions and Sidurgu’s return to the Source was uncertain.
So why in Hydaelyn was it now that the finality of the move was getting to him? He was an adult who had killed gods. He had stopped the end of the world. It wasn’t like he couldn’t come back to Mor Dhona whenever he wanted.
Hells, he was looking forward to what came next! He and G’raha had debated wallpaper for a week before settling on a forest green for the living room and red for the dining room and connected kitchen. They already knew where all their furniture was going to go. That wasn’t the behavior of someone hesitant to start a new life.
There was no reason for him to be upset, but that was the only explanation for the emotions that made his head pound and his chest squeeze.
“Kiah’a?” G’raha called from down the hall. “Is that you?”
“Aye. Sorry, I — I got distracted.” Kiah’a rubbed his face. He had the urge to sit down and start crying. He would rather let an airship dangle him upside-down over the Peaks than cry in front of his partners, so he just took a deep breath and sucked it up. “How is the packing?” Kiah’a asked, going to his room. G’raha and Sidurgu were both still sitting. A number of books had been put in boxes, but there were still many more to go.
“It’s going well. We were thinking of taking a break in an hour and getting lunch, then we can finish the rest.” G’raha’s tail flicked back and forth. “Is aught amiss?”
“What? No, I’m fine,” Kiah’a replied defensively. Sidurgu raised an eyebrow at him. He said nothing, but Kiah’a knew that he knew something was wrong. Kiah’a crossed his arms. His carbuncle slinked between his legs. “Just sick of packing. Should have thrown all of it out, or donated it to some refugees or something.”
G’raha took a deep breath, but Sidurgu beat him to the punch.
“We can break now. I am feeling hungry,” Sidurgu said. He made to stand, but Kiah’a shook his head.
“No, we should finish up the books.” Kiah’a squatted next to a pile. He grabbed books and tossed them into the nearest box without a care. G’raha let out a garbled noise that didn’t quite escape his lips.
Kiah’a didn’t stop. He knew he was acting frantic, but if he slowed down then he could start thinking and he didn’t want to think. He balanced carefully on his heels as he threw books into a box, hardly noticing even if their edges were bruised or the pages crumpled. His tail swayed back and forth. His carbuncle chirped next to him, trying to get his attention. He ignored it. When it tried to headbutt him, he dismissed it with a flick of his wrist.
He heard someone call his name, but he ignored them. He couldn’t even tell if it was G’raha or Sidurgu. His thoughts were entirely preoccupied on how quickly he could put things in boxes, not even caring if they were properly placed. The sooner this was over, the sooner he would never have to think of such things. The sooner he could go live his own life in Old Sharlayan like he wanted.
The sooner he could forget Mor Dhona and the Rising Stones and the place that had sheltered him for years.
“Kiah’a, please look at me.” Sidurgu did not touch him, but he placed his hand on top of the book in Kiah’a hand. It jolted Kiah’a out of his thoughts, his good eye focusing on him. Sidurgu was very expressive and today was no exception. There was concern written on every ilm of his face. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing happened,” Kiah’a snarled. He yanked his hand away. The book fell to the ground.
“‘Tis alright if you do not wish to speak of it, but just know that we are here,” G’raha rushed to assure him. Usually having his partners offer their aid was welcome, but today Kiah’a felt too much like an open wound being poked and prodded. He grit his teeth, fangs showing as his upper lip curled.
“There is naught to discuss,” he told them both. He stood and began to pace. His tail lashed out behind him like a snake. "We still need to finish packing these books. Then there is the matter of emptying the bathroom, which is a task I can complete alone, and ensuring I haven't forgotten any armor or weapons. T'would be appreciated if you could assist with that, given the size of the Rising Stones and my tendency to hide things. I—"
Sidurgu stepped in front of him. Suddenly having a large Auri man in his way was very effective to pull Kiah'a out of his thoughts.
“We are taking a break,” he said. Kiah’a fumed.
“I do not need a break!”
“Then tell us what is amiss,” Sidurgu replied. His gaze softened. “I am not angry — neither of us are. But we do not know what to do if you do not tell us.” He was right and Kiah’a knew it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
There was the familiar, if irrational, urge to pitch a fit. To just stomp his feet and march off. But Kiah’a was older and had seen the end of the universe. He wouldn’t stoop that low.
He swallowed his frustration, uncurling his fist.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, and the words felt like nails in his mouth. He looked away as he suddenly was overwhelmed by how gently Sidurgu’s eyes were resting on him. “I went to the stupid postmoogle and walked back and when I got here I felt like chocobo shite.”
“Are you ill?” G’raha asked, eyebrows furrowing.
“No, not physically.” Kiah’a did let out a sharp exhale. He crossed his arm over his chest, tucking his hand under his armpit. “I don’t know. ‘Tis foolish. Let us finish packing and be done with it. I’ll feel better in the morning.”
Sidurgu and G’raha glanced at one another. Kiah’a had a sinking feeling that he would not be getting what he wanted.
“Is it like when we were uncertain if we could return from the First?” G’raha continued. Now that the proverbial door had been opened, he would not let it close again. Kiah’a cherished that about him, but it still prickled him at that moment. “Are you worried about the move, perhaps? There is a great deal to be concerned over. I would not hold it against you.”
“I’m not worried about the move,” Kiah’a insisted, and he meant it. “I know what that feels like. I know ‘tis going well.” He huffed, hunching his shoulders. “I swear I am not being obstinate. I do not know how to describe it.”
G’raha considered him for a moment before patting the ground next to him. “Perhaps both of you sit and we can discuss it further, without having to strain any of our necks?”
Kiah’a snorted but did as he wished. He sat away from his partners, still feeling too activated for physical touch. Neither Sidurgu nor G’raha took it personally. They both knew him too well and respected his boundaries, even if the two of them were opposite — they enjoyed a gentle touch for reassurance. Kiah’a saw G’raha put his tail over Sidurgu’s tail. Sidurgu glanced at him but didn’t point it out and didn’t move. G’raha’s ears wiggled.
It helped soothe the tension in Kiah’a’s shoulders. Or maybe it was just the fact that he didn’t have to tilt his head up to look at Sidurgu anymore.
“You have gone through a lot in the last few months,” G’raha said as if he hadn’t also been fighting for his life. He was the one who turned into a crystal bridge. Sidurgu had only faced Blasphemies in Ishgard — like only suffering burns on half your body instead of all over. “Perhaps ‘tis the stress catching up with you?”
Kiah’a rubbed his chest as he considered it. Usually he felt stiff, almost, when the stress built. It would make it hard to breathe and he’d start to move on instinct rather than active thought.
“Nay, ‘tis not that sensation. T’was more sudden, like a bolt of lightning out of the blue.”
“You seem too coherent compared to most of your usual fits,” Sidurgu agreed. In another context, it probably would have been insulting but Kiah’a knew that he meant well. “Are you certain you wish to continue packing? ‘Tis not as if you must be done by a certain date. Tataru will not mind if your things are still here a while longer, and most of your belongings are already in Old Sharlayan.”
He was correct, but the idea still brought a deeper frown to Kiah’a’s face. He tried to focus, to shift through his frustration and general anxiety to understand what was making him so upset.
“I want to move,” he said slowly, “but I am unhappy about it.” There was silence as all three of them processed his words. G’raha broke the silence.
“T’would be possible for you to stay here, at least for a time, and utilize the aetheryte to attend classes in Old Sharlayan. Perhaps ‘tis a tad unusual, but you are the Warrior of Light — exceptions can be made,” he pointed out. Kiah’a rolled his eyes. His enrollment in the Studium was already an exception, considering he had no formal education beforehand and wasn’t even a resident of Sharlayan. Besides—
“No, he said he would like to move,” Sidurgu pointed out. Kiah’a nodded, glad that he did not have to repeat himself.
“Do you want us to do the rest for you?” G’raha asked. Kiah'a made a face and G’raha held up his hands in surrender. “What is making you unhappy about the move, then?”
Kiah'a scowled. “If I knew, I would tell you.”
The three of them fell into an uneasy silence. Kiah'a had an itch under his skin, a buzzing that went hand in hand with the stress that sat in his chest. He wasn't tense, which was almost worse. If he was, he could just do his breathing exercises until he calmed. Right now, all he wanted was to run. He was sick of wanting to run.
G’raha shifted. He looked like he was about to say something, but couldn't quite force the words out.
“This is useless. We should just finish packing. I'm certain my mood will improve as soon as we’re done,” Kiah'a declared. He stood, tail swinging behind him. Neither of his partners moved.
“May I ask another question?” G’raha spoke up. Kiah’a nodded. He wrapped his arm around himself, the pressure helping ground him. “Do you feel this way every time you need to move?”
Kiah’a rolled his eyes. “Save for the Waking Sands and a brief stay in the Carline Canopy, ‘tis the first time I have ever lived somewhere with a roof.” There was a moment of silence, one just long enough for Kiah’a to grow self-conscious. “You both know my childhood was unconventional. Is this information that surprising?”
“I suppose it should not be,” G’raha replied after a moment’s thought. “It sounds as if this experience is unsettling. ‘tis a normal reaction by my estimate.”
“When Fray and I first had to leave the shelter of our master, the both of us experienced great disquiet,” Sidurgu admitted. He looked at Kiah’a not with pity, but with compassion. “You may feel complicated emotions over simple matters. You may be glad for the change and worried for it.”
“I know that,” Kiah’a snapped. He took a deep breath. His heart was beating rapidly but he tried not to let it control him. “I… I think it feels unfair.”
“Unfair?” Sidurgu echoed. Kiah’a looked away, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.
“The world ‘tis a cruel and cold place, and I know that better than most. Yet I cannot help but think that I should not have to leave.” Kiah’a closed his eyes. Unbidden, images of the Shroud came to mind. “I have never really considered any place my home. I have lived in many locations, but a place where I feel safe and secure? ‘tis a dream. There is nowhere safe and secure. Until…”
“Until the Rising Stones,” G’raha finished for him.
Kiah’a opened his eyes again, forcing himself to look at his partners. G’raha’s expression was soft and sad, his eyes wide and eyebrows drawn low. Sidurgu had a grim understanding. He knew exactly what Kiah’a was speaking of.
“Old Sharlayan will be a good home,” G’raha assured Kiah’a, eyes brightening. “I was quite nervous and scared when I first came from Corvos, but everyone is quite welcoming and accepting once they are familiar with you. Besides, I shall be there and I shan’t let you want for anything.”
“You cannot promise that,” Kiah’a replied, tone harsher than he meant. He felt a stab of guilt as G’raha flinched. “That is — I know you shall do your best, and that is all I can ask of you.”
“You have always deserved my best,” G’raha murmured. Kiah’a nodded, the weight of G’raha’s words settling over his shoulders. He could know G’raha for a decade, for a century, for a thousand years and he would never fully comprehend the depth of devotion that G’raha had for him. It was frightening as much as it was reassuring.
Kiah’a scooted across the floor to be closer to his partners. He wasn’t within touching distance yet, but it no longer felt like there was a chasm between them.
“I must sound ungrateful. I know that I am exceptionally fortunate to study in Sharlayan at all—”
“You have saved the star time and time again. If they did not make an exception, then they would be ungrateful and fools besides,” Sidurgu interrupted. He crossed his arms as he tilted his head at Kiah’a. “You do not need our permission to be sad to leave here. There is no shame in mourning the loss of something, even if you are the one who gave it up.”
Kiah’a rubbed his chest. He would not have immediately described the situation as such, but what other way could he? After all, he had agreed to help disband the Scions. He was partially responsible for the group going its separate ways. He wanted to make a life elsewhere, so in turn had to give up the life he already had.
It would be worth it, but he would miss the familiarity and comfort all the same.
“This is awful,” Kiah’a said with a choked back laugh. “Whyever do people move if this is how it feels?”
“‘tis part of life, is it not? To cry and laugh, to mourn and be joyful — we must take the bad to appreciate the good.” G’raha stood. He reached out for Kiah’a, hand offered but not insistent. Sidurgu also got to his feet, though his movements were more hesitant. “Thank you for speaking with us, my star. Pray, never fear your honest word. I know how difficult it can be.”
Kiah’a took his hand, letting G’raha pull him to his feet before embracing his partner. He was quiet, letting the moment exist by itself. G’raha was warm and solid. Kiah’a felt exhausted, but he could trust G’raha to hold his weight.
“You both are overkind to me,” Kiah’a murmured when he pulled back, looking up to meet Sidurgu’s gaze.
“‘tis no more than you deserve,” Sidurgu replied, his turn of phrase echoing what G’raha said earlier. “We may not be able to fight your battles, but allow us the ability to stand by you while we can.”
It was easier to say than do, but Kiah’a nodded all the same. He reached out with his hand and exhaled softly as Sidurgu’s hand wrapped around his. Neither of them were wearing any armor and Sidurgu’s nails scratched lightly against Kiah’a’s skin. It had been a very long time since Kiah’a felt threatened by how much larger Sidurgu was. Now the difference in size was comforting — not that Kiah’a couldn’t hold his own in a fight, but sometimes he wanted to shut the outside world out and having a tall and broad-shouldered partner was helpful for that.
Occasionally it felt constricting, but Sidurgu always respected his boundaries.
“What are you thinking?” G’raha prompted, tilting his head at Kiah’a.
“... Perhaps we do take a break for lunch and then finish later,” Kiah’a said slowly. His face flushed a bit at the concession, but he was trying to get better at admitting when he was wrong. “I cannot imagine that Tataru would have concerns over us eating in the main room.”
“Hardly.” G’raha’s ears perked up. “I saw a new booth open in the market the other day — a fusion between Limsan and Doman culinary tradition. Perhaps we see what they have to offer?”
“That sounds pleasant.” Kiah’a stepped away from his partners, running his hand over the fabric of his robes to smooth them out before reaching up to touch his small braid. “Sidurgu, does that satisfy you?”
“It does.” Sidurgu’s gaze softened. “Let us be off, then, and be sad with good food and full stomachs.”
Kiah’a couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “Aye, ‘tis far more pleasant than being sad without.”