Chapter Text
Leaves crunching beneath bare feet. Her breath, shallow and uneven, echoed in her ears like a distant drum. Messy auburn hair, once neatly braided, now whipped around her face in wild strands. Too-big ears pinned back—fear? Confusion? Something unfamiliar pulsed through her, a rhythmic thrum that resonated deep within her chest. T'ivah walked, clutching her absurdly long, fuzzy tail to her chest, trying to ground herself in the moment. But nothing felt solid. Everything around her was muted, swirling like a dream just beyond her grasp, a reality she couldn’t fully process at only 12 summers.
The world spun, and her nightdress—once a delicate pink—now hung in tattered strips, stained and muddied. A pulse of heat struck her, as if the very sky had caught fire, flames licking at her skin. She staggered back, only to see it—faces, contorted and familiar yet horrifyingly distorted, swarmed around her. They whispered, taunting, shadows of people she could almost remember but had never known, their features morphing into grotesque forms. Fear and pain gripped her mind as she nearly doubled over, stumbling through the pain.
Hear.
The screams of terror pierced through her thoughts, sharp and guttural, mingling with the thunderous roar of gunshots. Each shot rang out like a death knell, echoing in the overwhelming darkness, drowning out the cries of the innocent. And above it all, the searing roar of flames consumed everything, illuminating the shadows that danced around her form, flickering between the familiar and the unknown. The sky rumbled as if it were alive, shaking her very bones.
Feel.
Then came the heat—a searing light from within, burning her from the inside out. It coiled around her like a serpent, threatening to split her apart, skin cracking as if it could burst into a thousand pieces. Every heartbeat felt like magma coursing through her veins
Think.
Her mind raced, a torrent of memories that aren't hers, vague and haunting. A crumbling city, once vibrant, now reduced to ashes. Shadows creeping through the streets, dark figures twisting the reality she once knew into something monstrous, grotesque. People she might have loved, their faces twisted in agony, lost in the depths of despair. The air crackled with an ominous energy as a flash of eyes, bright, blue, piercing through the darkness coalescing around the form of someone dripping with blood black and thick as tar.
Hear. Feel. Think.
The words floated through her mind, disjointed and jarring, like a lifeline in an ocean of chaos. What was she supposed to think about? What could she feel, except the gnawing emptiness in her stomach, the burning ache in her feet, and the numb terror gripping her?
Hear. Feel. Walk.
But the world twisted again, revealing scenes of devastation. Skies burning, collapsing in on themselves, the very fabric of existence unraveling. A cacophony of screams and cries echoed in her ears, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood, pooling around her like a drowning tide.
Hear. Feel. Run.
RUN!
A twig snapped. Her honey-gold eyes sharpened in an instant, locking onto the source of the sound. A wolf, jaws wide, teeth glinting in the faint moonlight, leaped toward her. In that moment, pain shot through her—a deep, sharp sensation, as if she could feel the weight of countless deaths pressing down on her. The visions wrapped around her, blurring reality into nightmarish shapes, each flash threatening to swallow her whole. Without thought, her body acted. She dropped to her knees, narrowly avoiding the creature's bite. Silence fell in that heartbeat, a chilling pause. No scream escaped her lips. Her small hand gripped the hilt of a knife she hadn’t remembered holding. With a swift motion, she shoved the blade into the wolf’s ribs, feeling the warm, sticky wetness of blood coat her fingers. The creature yelped in pain, as she used the momentum to shove it off of her.
And yet, the visions churned—her mind was a maelstrom of horror. A world on fire, buildings crumbling, ashes raining down like snow, the faces of loved ones morphing into monstrosities. She couldn’t breathe beneath the weight of it all, the burning pain of death wrapping around her like a shroud, blood covering the ground her little feet dug into.
When has she started to run? Pulled herself off of her feet? She didn’t remember when she grabbed the knife, didn’t remember packing the small bag on her back. All she knew was the unrelenting drive to escape. But why? From what? The wolf was gone now, its painful howls lost in the distance, yet her legs kept moving. She kept running.
She didn't know why.
The exhaustion settled in slowly, creeping through her limbs like an insidious fog. The cold numbed her, her head pounded, and her vision blurred in and out of focus, taunting her with echoes of those familiar yet terrifying faces. She needed to stop. Just for a moment.
When did she sit down? When did she lie down on the damp, cold earth? She didn’t know. All she felt was the overwhelming need to rest, even if only for a little while.
As she lay there, the chaos of the world began to swirl around her. And then, it came again.
Hear. Feel. Think. Keep going. Do not stop.
The voice echoed in her mind, more of an order than a comfort. And even as she fought against the heaviness of sleep threatening to pull her under, a flicker of awareness ignited within her. She had to survive. She had to keep moving.
With a sharp intake of breath, the young girl forced herself to her feet, stumbling forward once more into the night as her bones screamed and skin burned raw. The world beyond her vision threatening once again to permeate her senses, she forged ahead.
T’ivah’s eyes fluttered open, her body sinking into a bed so soft and warm that for a brief moment, she didn’t care where she was. The ache in her limbs told her she'd been through something—something difficult—but it was distant, like the memory of a dream that hadn’t quite settled into reality. Her mind, foggy and disoriented, searched for clarity.
She blinked, taking in the dim light of a small but well-furnished room. The walls were wooden, worn but clean, adorned with tapestries of soft hues, earthy tones that made the space feel comforting, like a home long lived in. A small, unlit oil lamp sat on a desk in the corner, it's shelves held stacks of parchment and books, organized with care, as if it was used frequently but lovingly. Her eyes drifted to the shelves on the opposite wall, cluttered with small trinkets—vases with flowers, jars filled with herbs, and odd little carvings that gave the place a personality of its own.
Her head ached as she sat up slowly, taking in more of the room. A woven rug with intricate patterns stretched across the wooden floor beneath her bed. And there, in the far corner, tucked behind a low partition that shielded it from view of the door, was a small bath just big enough for one person. The implication of running water caught her attention
She winced as she shifted, feeling the sting of bruises and cuts that hadn’t fully healed. Her arms and legs were marked with signs of recent strain—scratches from branches, bruises from what felt like a fall. What had happened? How did she get here?
The sound of a creaking door broke the silence, and her heart leapt into her throat. T’ivah froze, her eyes darting to the entrance as a tall figure entered the room. He was older, miqo'te like her, his skin lightly tanned and weathered from years under the sun and marked with he telltale warm markings of a sunseeker, his dark hair shot through with silver on the sides. He moved carefully, almost cautiously, as if aware that his presence might startle her. His blue eyes met hers, soft and steady.
“Ah, you’re awake.” His voice was low, calm—almost soothing, though it did little to ease the tension building in her chest.
T'ivah’s gaze flicked toward the door, then back to him. She didn’t speak, didn’t know if she could. Her throat was dry, and her mind was racing, trying to piece together the fractured memories of where she was and how she’d ended up here.
The man seemed to sense her wariness. He raised his hands, palms out, in a gesture of peace. “It’s alright. You’re safe. My name is O’sesi Nuhn. What's your name little one?”
Safe? The word barely registered. T'ivah shifted her legs under the blanket, her muscles tense, ready to spring out of bed if she needed to. But her body was weak, and she knew she wouldn’t get far in this state.
“ T'ivah. “ she said softly
“You were in bad shape when I found you,” O’sesi continued, his voice gentle, yet firm. He didn’t move closer, keeping his distance from the bed. “How are you feeling?”
T’ivah swallowed, her voice rough when it finally came out. “Where am I?”
O’sesi nodded, as if he’d expected the question. “You’re in Amalgam. Were a small village Far south of Garlemald, on a little peninsula outside of occupied territory… It’s a sanctuary of sorts, for people who have nowhere else to go.” He watched her carefully, his eyes flicking over her bruises. “I found you just beyond the edge of the woods. You were alone.”
Alone. The word echoed in her mind, pulling at something buried deep within her. She struggled to latch onto it, to remember, but the memory danced just out of reach.
“I don’t remember…” she muttered, more to herself than to him.
O’sesi remained quiet for a moment, then slowly approached the desk, pulling out a small pitcher of water and a cup. “It’s common for people to have trouble remembering things after trauma.” He poured the water and set the cup on the bedside table before retreating a few steps. “Drink when you’re ready. You’ve been through quite a bit.”
T’ivah didn’t reach for the water yet. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, still wary. “How did you find me?”
O’sesi crossed his arms, leaning against the desk now, his expression thoughtful. “I go on patrols from time to time, keep an eye out for travelers or anyone who might be lost. You looked like you’d been running for days.”
She blinked as a slight throb in her head offered flashes of her own stumbling feet through the underbrush, but the rest remained a blur.
O’sesi seemed to sense that she wouldn’t ask for help directly. “I’ll get my daughter. She’s a skilled Conjuror, much better with healing than I am. O’roura can take care of the rest of your injuries.”
Before T’ivah could protest or question further, O’sesi turned and exited the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Slowly she reached for the water, giving it a cursory sniff, it smelled clean, before nearly downing it and setting the cup back on the table…
The room’s warmth seemed to press in on her as she tried to make sense of it all. What had she been running from? Who was she running to? It gnawed at her that she couldn’t remember any of it. Her body ached with every shift, but it was the ache in her mind that made her chest tighten. She took a shaky breath, staring down at her dirty hands. What if she never remembered? What if—
The door opened again, this time more gently, and a young woman stepped inside. Her blonde hair was neat and tidy in its bob, her pale skin barely showing the faintest hint of a silvery white clan marks and her eyes a clear shade of blue that held both warmth and something T’ivah couldn’t quite name—perhaps a wisdom that exceeded her age. She couldn't be more than two or three summers older than T'ivah .
“You must be T’ivah,” the young woman said softly, her voice carrying the same calming effect as her father’s. “My name is O’roura. Father said you were awake.”
T’ivah didn’t respond immediately, still cautious despite the woman’s soothing presence. But O’roura didn’t seem to mind. She moved closer to the bed, her hands folded neatly around a small branch decorated with ribbons.
“You’ve been through a lot,” O’roura said, kneeling beside the bed to gently examine the cuts and bruises. “But you’ll be alright. This may sting for a moment.”
T’ivah stiffened as the aether surged through her, the warmth of it soothing the pain, knitting skin together and easing the ache in her muscles. She could feel the magic, a soft hum that resonated in her bones, making her feel just a little lighter.
“I don’t even know what happened,” T’ivah said quietly, the admission slipping out before she could stop it.
O’roura looked up, her expression sympathetic. “It’s alright not to remember everything at once. Your body’s been through a lot of stress. Sometimes it takes time for the mind to catch up.”
T’ivah said nothing, staring at the wall. Time. It felt like time was slipping through her fingers, and the more she tried to grasp at it, the faster it disappeared.
“Would you like me to draw you a bath?” O’roura offered, standing and motioning toward the small tub tucked away in the corner. “It might help you relax.”
T’ivah hesitated, but her body was exhausted. A bath would help ease the lingering soreness and perhaps being clean might clear her head. She nodded slightly.
O’roura smiled and moved to the tub, pulling a lever the water began filling the tub, steaming slightly from the heat. Heated running water….a rare commodity for a small village to have. The girl was quiet as she prepared a bath for this stranger in her house. She pulled a few jars from the shelf, adding a fragrant mixture of herbs to the steaming bath. As she worked, she spoke softly, her voice filling the space between them without demanding too much of T’ivah’s attention.
“You’re safe here, in Amalgam,” O’roura explained. “It’s a village for those displaced by war, refugees from the Garlean Empire, and others who’ve been caught in the chaos. My father built it as a place where people can recover, find themselves again.”
T’ivah watched as the steam from the bath curled into the air, the smell of the herbs easing some of the tension in her shoulders. “Recover?” she echoed, the word feeling foreign in her mouth.
O’roura smiled faintly, her hands moving to adjust the temperature of the bath. “Everyone’s been hurt in some way. Some physically, some emotionally. We all have wounds to heal, and Amalgam gives people the space to do that.”
When the bath was ready, O’roura stepped back, giving T’ivah space. “I’ll help you to the tub. You shouldn’t strain yourself too much yet.”
T’ivah nodded, allowing O’roura to assist her as she stood, her legs shaky but holding. As she made her way to the bath, she caught sight of herself in the mirror for the first time. Bruised. Tired. Her face was streaked with dirt, and her hair matted, but beneath it, she saw someone she barely recognized.
O’roura helped her peel her once pink nightdress off of her and sat her on a small stool before methodically wiped her skin free of dirty and sweat and what looked suspiciously like dried blood off of her battered body. It was the type of damage a young girl of only 12 should never have to experience but here she is. O'roura washed her hair and tried her best to pick the prickers, leaves and dirt out of her ears and fluffy tail. Some of it wouldn't come out until it had been full brushed and clean unfortunately. And through the whole thing the girls were silent.
Once she was in the tub, the heat immediately soothing her aching muscles. T’ivah let out a small breath she didn’t realize she was holding, sinking into the bath as the herbs worked their magic.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” O’roura said, stepping back but keeping within earshot. “If you need anything, just call for me.”
T’ivah watched her leave, then closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the water envelop her. It was the first moment of peace she had felt in what seemed like a lifetime. Her body relaxed slowly, the tension melting away with the steam. The herbs O'roura had added released a calming, floral scent that filled her lungs and helped to quiet the swirling storm in her mind.
For a long time, T'ivah didn’t think. She simply let herself float in the sensation of being submerged, the sound of the water faintly lapping at the sides of the tub. Her thoughts, which had been a whirlwind since waking, began to settle. But with the calm came flashes of memory—broken images that slipped in and out of her mind like quicksilver.
Running. Trees closing in. The sound of footsteps, fast and heavy, not her own. And then, darkness.
Her eyes snapped open, her heart racing as the fear clawed its way back to the surface. She could still hear the faint echo of those footsteps, the panic that had gripped her. But everything else was blank. Why had she been running? Who—or what—had been chasing her?
T’ivah’s hands gripped the sides of the tub as if grounding herself would keep the memories from slipping away again. But they wouldn’t come into focus, no matter how hard she tried to grasp at them.
A soft knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. O’roura’s voice called through, gentle and unobtrusive.
“Is everything alright, T’ivah?”
T’ivah took a deep breath, steadying her voice before responding. “Yes… I’m fine.”
There was a pause, and then O’roura spoke again, this time more carefully. “If you’d like to talk about anything, I’m here to listen. No pressure.”
T’ivah didn’t respond at first. She wasn’t sure what she would say, even if she wanted to talk. But the idea of staying silent, trapped in her own head with these fragmented memories, was suffocating. After a long moment, she spoke quietly.
“I can’t remember… why I was running.”
There was a soft cream and click of a door being opened then closed. And she would see O'roura moving across the room to the bed. The girl began pulling the blankets and sheets off, somewhat messy from T'ivah resting without being cleaned, and remade the bed as she spoke.
“Sometimes, the body remembers things that the mind tries to forget,” O’roura said gently. “It’s a protective instinct. You’ve been through a lot, T’ivah. It’s okay to give yourself time.”
T’ivah nodded slightly, though she wasn’t sure how much time she could afford to give herself. Something about the urgency of her fragmented memories told her there wasn’t much time to waste. But pressing too hard now would only make things worse.
“Do you have any idea… what happened to me?” T’ivah asked, the question coming out hesitantly. She felt vulnerable, exposed, even as she sat in the warm water.
O’roura hesitated for a moment before answering. “When my father found you, you were alone. There were no tracks around you—no signs of anyone else. But… it looked like you’d been fleeing from something. Something that scared you.”
T’ivah’s breath hitched. That fear, the same fear that had gripped her when she woke up, crept back into her chest. She clenched her hands into fists under the water, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I don’t know what it was,” she whispered, half to herself.
O’roura’s voice was calm, as if she could sense the rising panic in T’ivah’s words. “Whatever it was, it’s not here now. You’re safe in Amalgam. No one will hurt you here.”
Safe. T’ivah wanted to believe that. But the nagging feeling of dread that gnawed at the edges of her mind told her that safety was temporary—fleeting. Whatever she had been running from wasn’t gone. It was out there, waiting for her to remember, to make a mistake, to slip up.
The bathwater was beginning to cool, and with it, her body was starting to stiffen again. Slowly, T’ivah climbed out of the tub, drying herself off with the towel that O’roura had left for her. She dressed in the clean, simple clothes that had been placed in a basket nearby—soft, well-worn fabric that felt comfortable against her skin.
When she stepped back into the main room, O’roura was waiting, sitting quietly at the small desk in the corner. She looked up as T’ivah entered, her expression kind but searching, as if waiting to see if T’ivah was ready to talk more.
“Do you feel any better?” O’roura asked, though her tone didn’t press for more than T’ivah was willing to offer.
“A little,” T’ivah admitted, though she still felt the weight of her fractured memories hanging over her.
O’roura stood and gestured to the bed. “You should rest. Your body still needs time to heal, even if my magicks took care of the worst of it.”
T’ivah hesitated, feeling like she should be doing something—anything—but lie down and wait. But her body was still weak, and she knew she wouldn’t get far even if she tried to leave.
“I’ll be just outside if you need anything,” O’roura added, sensing her hesitation. “My father will want to speak with you when you’re feeling up to it.”
T’ivah nodded silently, climbing back into the bed. The mattress cradled her body, the softness pulling at her heavy eyelids. Despite her anxiety, her exhaustion quickly took over, and soon she was drifting off again, her mind falling back into uneasy dreams.
When T’ivah woke again, it was darker. The oil lamp on the desk had been lit, casting a warm, flickering glow across the room. She wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep, but the quiet in the air told her that it was late—perhaps even the middle of the night.
A soft knock came at the door, but before she could respond, O’sesi’s muffled voice drifted through the wood.
“T’ivah? May I come in?”
She sat up, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders for comfort. “Come in.”
The door opened, and O’sesi stepped inside, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the lamplight. He carried a tray with a bowl of something that smelled delicious—some kind of broth, savory and rich. He set it down on the small table beside her bed, offering a faint smile.
“I figured you might be hungry,” he said, stepping back to give her space. “O’roura says you’re healing well.”
T’ivah nodded, though she didn’t reach for the bowl right away. Her mind was still clouded, but there was something comforting about the presence of the older man, something steady that anchored her in this strange place.
“I wanted to ask you,” O’sesi began, his tone careful, “if anything has come back to you. If you’ve remembered anything about how you got here.”
T’ivah stared down at her hands, still unable to shake the fragmented memories. She shook her head, frustration boiling beneath her calm exterior. “Not really. Just… bits and pieces. I remember running. I remember being afraid. But I don’t know why.”
O’sesi sighed softly, nodding as if he understood. “Fear can make memories difficult to piece together. It has a way of distorting things, making them harder to grasp. But you don’t have to force it. Sometimes, it’s best to let the memories come in their own time.”
T’ivah frowned. “But what if I don’t have time? What if whatever I was running from is still out there?”
O’sesi’s expression darkened slightly, though his voice remained calm. “If something is chasing you, we’ll deal with it. Amalgam is protected. No one will hurt you here.”
He was so certain, so confident in his words. But T’ivah couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—that the danger hadn’t passed. Still, what could she do in her current state? She barely had the strength to sit up, let alone fight whatever threat was out there.
O’sesi seemed to sense her inner turmoil. He stepped closer, resting a hand on the back of the chair beside the bed. “You’re not alone, T’ivah. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together, everyone in this village will back you. It's what we do. We protect those who need protecting.”
The sincerity in his voice gave her pause. She hadn’t been alone for so long that the idea of relying on someone else felt foreign, uncomfortable. But there was something in O’sesi’s words that soothed her, if only a little.
T’ivah nodded slowly, unsure of what else to say. She still didn’t have the answers she needed, but at least she wasn’t facing the unknown completely alone.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
O’sesi offered her a faint smile before stepping back toward the door. “Get some more rest. We can talk again in the morning.”
As he left the room, T’ivah leaned back against the pillows, her mind still buzzing with questions. But for the first time since she’d woken up in this strange place, she felt the slightest glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—she would find the answers she was looking for. After she ate this delicious smelling soup.
The river gurgled softly as it wound through the familiar woods, and the sun hung high in the sky, casting warm golden light over the peaceful scene. T’ivah sat on a smooth rock at the river’s edge, her legs stretched out in front of her, bare feet trailing in the cool water. Her red dress was hiked up for ease of movement, and her hands rested in her lap, one picking absentmindedly at the edge of the fabric while the other smoothed the wrinkles away. She had finished hanging the laundry, the fresh breeze working at drying the linens and clothes flapping softly behind her. A basket of dry laundry sat beside her, but for now, she stared at the river, lost in thought.
Her hair was tied in low pigtails, the ends curling in soft, natural waves now that she was older. Her clan marks had long since appeared, stark against her skin, an irrefutable reminder of her heritage. But even that seemed distant, just another part of the puzzle that was her life here in Amalgam. This village, tucked away in the trees, had been her home for the past 9 years, and she had come to love it—had come to call it her own. The people, the land, and especially O’sesi and O’roura, had become her family. Yet, despite everything, she couldn’t shake the growing unease.
A sigh slipped from her lips as she trailed a finger through the water. She didn’t hear O’roura approaching until her footsteps crunched softly on the rocks.
“You’ve been quiet lately.”
T'ivah didn’t look up, but she knew the voice well enough. O'roura always had a way of noticing things others didn’t—especially when something was wrong. T'ivah bit her lip, watching as her reflection in the water rippled and broke apart.
“I’m fine,” T'ivah muttered, though even she didn’t believe the lie.
O'roura sat beside her, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she looked out at the river. “You’ve been coming here a lot. You’re doing it again now, that thing you do where you say you’re fine but I can see you’re not. What is it, Ivah?”
The use of her given name sent a pang through T'ivah’s chest. It was such a familiar nickname now, one used by the people she loved most in this world. She sighed, long and heavy, and after a moment of silence, she spoke again, voice softer this time.
“I don’t know what it is... I just... I feel restless. Like I should be somewhere else. Doing something else.” Her eyes flicked over to the woods just beyond the riverbank. “But this is home. I’ve been here for years, Roura. Everyone here is family to me now, but...”
“But you’re not content,” O'roura finished for her, her voice understanding. “You’ve felt like this all summer. I’ve noticed. You don’t smile like you used to, not in the same way.”
T'ivah finally turned her gaze toward her, searching O'roura’s eyes. “I don’t want to leave. I love it here. I love you. I love Sesi. This village means everything to me. But I can’t help feeling... weak.”
“Weak?” O'oura frowned, clearly puzzled. “You? Ivah, you’re one of the strongest people I know.” The blonde sat up and leaned forward to look at her near sister. One of the long, thin braids poking out of her bob fell over her shoulder
“No, I’m not,” T'ivah replied quietly, shaking her head. “You’re a healer. You save lives. I can barely heal scrapes and bruises. You’re strong, Ro. You’ve always been able to protect yourself and others. But me? I can’t even protect the village if something were to happen. I just... I don’t have that power.”
O'roura studied her for a long moment before speaking again, her voice calm but firm. “Ivah, you’ve done so much for this village. People rely on you. You’re always helping everyone, solving their problems. They look up to you, even if you can’t see it. It’s not always about magic or strength, you know. You have a different kind of strength. Even during the calamity, when all those people showed up looking for refuge you refused to turn even one of them away even though father was prepared to. You gave every one of them a shred of hope to hang onto. That's always been your power, helping people. But maybe... maybe it’s time for you to find more.”
T'ivah’s brow furrowed in confusion. “More?”
“Maybe it’s time to go on an adventure,” Roura suggested, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “You don’t have to stay here forever. The Twelve brought you here for a reason, and maybe now, they’re telling you to go find that reason. Limsa Lominsa is just a boat ride away. You can join a guild, learn magic, cooking, maybe learn to use that knife Rana gave you, whatever you want. Or if that doesn’t feel right, Gridania has the Conjurer’s Guild. My mother learned conjury there. You have options, Ivah. You don’t have to stay.”
T'ivah’s heart fluttered at the thought, but at the same time, fear coiled in her chest. “But... what if I’m not ready?”
“You are,” O'Rroura said softly but with conviction. “I’ve seen it in you for years now. You’re not meant to stay in one place. You were always meant for more. For adventure.”
Ivah swallowed hard, staring down at the water again. “I... I guess I’ve thought about it. Traveling. It might help, might make this feeling go away. But... I don’t want to leave. You, Sesi... this village. Even Rana as annoying as he may be, the horned idiot..”
O'roura was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, her voice soft but resolute. “You can always come back. It’s not goodbye forever. If you attune to the aetheryte crystal in the port town, it’s only a few hours ride. You can visit whenever you want. Limsa is a big city, but it’s not that far. Also don't bully that poor man where he cant defend himself” She nudged T'ivahs arm the same way their Auri friend did when he was grumpy at the girls bullying him.
T'ivah knew Roura was right. But the uncertainty gnawed at her. “What about your mother?” she asked, hesitant, her voice catching in her throat. “Do you think she’ll come back?”
A pause hung between them, heavy and unspoken, the truth lingering there in the quiet. O'roura didn’t look at her, but T'ivah could see the pain flicker in her eyes, the faintest glimmer of hope holding on.
“She’s alive,” O'roura said, more to convince herself than anyone. “She has to be. Maybe... maybe she’s out there saving lives, or she was displaced in the calamity, trying to find her way back. But... either way, she would want you to follow your heart, Ivah. if she'd had the chance to meet you before leaving, she would agree with me.”
T'ivah’s chest tightened, but she nodded slowly. “I guess... I guess I’ll think about it.”
O'roura’s smile returned, wider this time. “Good. And if you decide to go, I’ll be right here when you come back.”
With that, she reached down and peeled off her shoes, stepping into the river with a playful grin.
“What are you doing?” Ivah asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing,” Roura said innocently, before kicking a splash of water directly at Ivah.
Ivah screeched, flailing as the water hit her, soaking her dress and sending her fresh, dry laundry basket toppling over into the water. “O'roura!” she cried, jumping to her feet. Without hesitation, she charged into the water after her, not even bothering with the poor, upended basket.
O'roura laughed, darting out of T'ivah’s reach as they chased each other deeper into the river, splashing and shouting like the sisters they were. The melancholic pain that had weighed on T'ivah’s heart seemed to lift with every splash of cool water, and for a moment, the world was right again.
By the time they dragged themselves out of the river they were drenched from ear-tips to toe-tips and panting with laughter. As they approached the house they spotted O’sesi standing at the open doorway arms crossed, frowning in mock fatherly disapproval.
“You girls aren’t coming inside like that,” he said, his voice stern but lightened by the small smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Not until you and the laundry are dry.”
Passersby snickered as they walked by, offering sympathetic smiles, and Roura and Ivah exchanged guilty looks before bursting into laughter again, accepting their reprimand with good humor.
For now, the weight of the world could wait until after the chores were done.