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Chapter Text

“...and it’s not as if she would have come back for it, anyroad – Hm?”

Thancred and Alisaie rounded the corner to find Wynne sitting in the middle of the floor, eyes shut and focusing intently on something. After a moment, the familiar twist of shadow poured from her hands and solidified into Pitch’s body. Her other half blinked, shook her head, and dissipated again.

The two watched them repeat this process a couple times before Thancred finally spoke up. “May I ask what you’re doing?” he said, stepping forward to lean against a conspicuously empty chair. “Has your shadow started coming in with a crick in its neck or something?”

Wynne opened her eyes and blinked up at her interlocutors. “Ah, well,” she started, “we were talking, and Pitch thought to try having her remain in our body while I control the shadow. It’s been… more difficult than expected, though.”

She tried another summoning, and almost immediately let out a huff of frustration as her shadow once again took on Pitch’s distinctive presence. Pitch followed suit with a louder, more drawn-out groan before flopping spread-eagled onto the ground, tail-tip flicking at her side.

“This shouldn’t be hard,” she groused. “We had to spend weeks just figuring out how to pilot this thing in the first place. Why is it so much trouble for me to not do that now?”

“Well, the process is quite automatic by this point,” offered Wynne. “This is like trying to train ourselves to lead with the opposite foot while swordfighting. Only, inhabiting our shadow was such a difficult task to begin with that any divergence is all but guaranteed to make us drop it.”

“And then you catch yourselves by falling back into established habits?” said Alisaie, circling closer to the pair. “Hmm. I may have an idea. Try it again. Go as slow as you can.”

Pitch gave her a doubting look for a moment before she let her body dissolve into swirling darkness. Wynne gathered it up, took a couple steadying breaths, and then slowly began reforming it again. As she focused, Alisaie slowly crept around behind the pair.

Right at the moment the shadow took on a recognizable shape, she leaned in directly behind their head and clapped her hands as loud as she could.

There was a general flailing and shouting.

Once they picked themselves up off the floor, they stopped, glanced around, and turned to look at each other.

“…Well then,” said the shadow.

“I cannot believe that’s what did it,” said the body.

The two fully got to their feet, Wynne more unsteadily than Pitch. She leaned on Alisaie for support, who said nothing but was radiating smug satisfaction with the intensity of a small furnace.

“Dear. This feels… shockingly unpleasant,” mumbled Wynne. “It’s like having all my bones on inside-out.”

“Speak for yourself,” replied Pitch. “It’s always fit me like a glove. Maybe even better than our ‘real’ body.”

“Yes, well, our situations are different. I’m our body’s original inhabitant, and you’re… you.”

“I’m you! How is it different!?”

“You’re not – I mean, you are, but–” Wynne threw her hands in the air. “Our existence is complicated!”

“Was there any particular reason you were doing this,” interjected Thancred, “other than as an excuse to bicker with each other?”

“Oh! Right!” said Pitch, and without further preamble she ran up and scooped Wynne into a devastating hug the likes of which only a Warrior of Light could manage. “I wanted to be on this side of things for once,” she continued, leaning her cheek affectionately against her other half. Wynne squirmed for a moment before returning the gesture.

“You two really are something to behold,” sighed Alisaie.

“And I wouldn’t want to be anything less,” replied Pitch.

Chapter Text

“It’s almost time. Have you finished the dress?”

“Mostly,” she sighed, glancing at the counter where it was laid out. “I did what I could for the shoulders, but the arms were a lost cause. I think there was some kind of enchantment on it as well, but that was on its way out when we got the thing. The client said it didn’t have to be a perfect restoration as long as the end result was presentable, right?”

“Just so. I have it in writing. But you’re certain it is presentable? And your repairs haven’t changed the measurements?”

“It’s fine. You know I’ve never turned out bad work, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“I should hope not! Not on a commission for Tataru Taru of all people.”

If the sentence had come half a second later, she would have choked on her drink. “T– what do you mean Tataru!? The – the boutique Tataru!?”

“The very same. Apparently it’s for a close friend of hers.”

“You didn’t think to tell me this earlier!?”

“Didn’t want to stress you needlessly.”

“Well I’m stressed now! Oh, gods, now I’m thinking of all the places I might have fouled it up.”

“Mm. I’m sure you’ve done well enough. Considering the condition it arrived in, I daresay making it wearable at all is a massive achievement.”

“Actually, yeah, what’s the story with that, anyway? How did a formal dress end up half-burned and half-shredded?”

“Perhaps the wearer was attending that summit that was attacked by birds?”

“Birds that breathe fire?”

“We’ve had stranger things here, since the Calamity.”

“Ugh. And here I thought I’d be free of this shit once I left Tural.”

“You could still go back.”

“Nah, I like it here. The weather’s surprisingly nice, and the people are–”

“Hello!” chirped the stranger as she ducked through the door of the shop. “I’m told you have my dress ready?” She straightened up and set a letter on the countertop.

The elder of the two weavers picked it up and read through its contents before handing it to the younger, who went to file it away and returned with the dress. Neither of them broke their tense, bewildered silence.

“Oh, it looks incredible!” said the stranger as she took the dress, either oblivious to or politely ignoring the weavers’ stares. “Thank you ever so much! I’m quite fond of this one, so the thought that I might never get to wear it again was starting to weigh on me. I’d love to stay and chat a bit, but I’m on a tight schedule today, so I’ll have to take my leave – oh, but here!”

She tossed a surprisingly hefty pouch of gil onto the counter before turning to the door. “An extra reward, on top of what Tataru’s promised you,” she called over her shoulder. “Fair winds to you both!”

She then proceeded to slam her crystalline antlers into the door frame, swearing loudly before ducking outside again. The weavers stood in silence for a while longer.

“…Surely that wasn’t…?”

“I… believe that was the Warrior of Light, yes.”

“So when Tataru said ‘close friend’, she meant that kind of close friend.”

“Apparently so.”

The younger weaver let out a long, shuddering sigh.

“I’m… going to go lie down, if it’s all the same to you?”

“Go ahead. I’ll close up shop.”

“It’s barely third bell, though.”

“I’m aware. I intend to join you.”

“Ah. Yeah. Sounds good.”

Chapter Text

Day eighteen of the voyage across the salt, and Cordelia was already starting to feel like pulling her own ears off. It wasn’t just that she got restless on long boat rides, although that was certainly a large part of it. It was that everyone else was so utterly at home on the sea. Wynne and her family were spending almost every day fishing and talking shop with the crew, Erenville was taking notes on their catches, and even the twins seemed mostly unbothered. In fact, the one other person who seemed like they were at all affected was the noble who was her reason for being here in the first place.

It reminded her of similar trips she’d made in her old life. Back before… Well. She only had a few mental states worse than “bored out of her skull”, and thinking about all that was a quick route into the worst of them. Better to stay focused on the here and now, mind-numbing as it was.

When day nineteen started with her climbing above deck at the break of dawn to find some kind of mechanical pixie perched on Wynne’s head, she was mostly just happy for the break in routine.

“So,” she began, tentatively sitting down beside the pair, “who’s your friend?”

“My – oh! That’s right, you haven’t properly met Dana yet, have you?” replied Wynne.

“Couldn’t say I have.” She stopped and turned the sentence over. “…What do you mean by ‘properly’?”

“Well, you’ve seen us fight together plenty of times, but she’s never shown you her avatar before. To be honest, we actually forgot she hadn’t until now!”

The pixie stood up straight, fluttering its wings to balance on Wynne’s head. A pleasure to meet you, fellow warrior, it curtsied. I am Durindana, faithful sword of the Ladies Fey.

Cordelia blinked back at it. She was familiar enough by now with the way her soulsense – or the Echo, as people here called it – took in the words of others and fed her a parallel stream of the raw intent behind them. But feeling that intent by itself, with no words and barely even a gesture to accompany it, was a new and deeply strange experience. It was like having her sense of touch reduced to texture alone, without location, pressure, temperature, or anything else that normally accompanied it.

Not to mention that, absent the ambiguity of speech, she knew for a fact Durindana meant that “faithful sword” fully literally. The heavy, ornate blade strapped to Wynne’s back glimmered in time with the pixie’s cut-crystal eyes.

“…It’s… good to meet you too…?”

Durindana pantomimed giggling, filling Cordelia’s mind with the pristine shape of laughter minus all the sound. I am certainly no village smith’s blade, she fluttered. I cannot blame you for being caught off-guard.

Cordelia sighed and rolled her shoulders. “And here I thought Wynne’s little entourage couldn’t get any stranger. Do you meet a lot of talking swords in your profession? Have I been missing out?”

As far as we are aware, I am the only one of my kind, Durindana stared. My maker has yet to publish the process required to grant a weapon a soul, and even with that knowledge, it takes a warrior of rare talent to nurture it to maturity. And, considering what I am… Lady Wynne often muses that it may be for the best there are no others. She sat back down atop Wynne’s head, wrapping one tiny arm around her ear. Although… it would be nice to have sisters someday.

The sword’s final thought came with the faintest tinge of a deep, far-reaching melancholy. One Cordelia found all too familiar.

“…It would,” she said. “People shouldn’t be alone.”

Wynne’s eyes widened a fraction at that, but Durindana’s gaze was unwavering.

I am not alone, Lady Verna. I travel with the Ladies Fey.

“Is that enough?”

Durindana turned to look out over the sea.

…I am unsure. I may never be sure. But I know that I would choose no other life.

Cordelia gave her a faint nod. Wynne gently pulled the sword from her back and set it in her lap, both palms over the flat of its blade. A gesture of affection, Cordelia supposed.

They watched the sunrise over the sea for a few minutes before Durindana suddenly spoke up again.

Enough moping! she flared her wings. Do not think your distress has gone unnoticed, Lady Verna.

“My – what?”

You have been pacing the deck every afternoon for a week! You are a warrior with nothing to fight, and you know not how else to occupy yourself. Thus you suffocate in your idleness, and I will not suffer an ally of the Ladies Fey to be tormented so! Lady Wynne, let us duel her!

Cordelia shrunk back, raising her palms. “I – okay, I appreciate your concern, but where’s this about a duel coming from exactly?”

Lady Wynne’s past bouts with you were all using practice swords, Durindana inclined her head. Since you find yourself in such dire need of entertainment, I should very much like to spar with you properly this time!

“I don’t – I mean, you’re right I’d love anything different at this point, but – well, no offense, but you do seem awfully sharp for a friendly match—”

“No, no, this sounds great!” Pitch suddenly manifested on Cordelia's opposite side – teeth and claws, she had to get this woman to stop doing that – and sprawled against the railing, one arm dangling over the side of the ship. “We’ve got a sage onboard, you’ll be fine.”

“Well, I – I suppose in that case, I… could be convinced?”

“I’ll fetch the twins, then,” said Wynne, already making for the door to the hold. “Oh! And the Third Promise as well. She’ll love this.”

Cordelia watched in silence as they disappeared belowdecks. Once again, her strange new companions had dragged her into some strange new farce. And once again, she was struck by how much it was starting to feel like… home.

She withdrew the spear that she always kept in reach, laying both palms on its haft. People shouldn’t be alone. That was the one and only thing that drew her to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, back when they’d first met. If she’d had the choice, she never would have chosen them. She would never have left her old companions to begin with.

But she hadn’t had the choice, and so here she was. And, all things considered…

This life could be a lot worse.

Chapter Text

“We’re lost.”

“We are not lost. I know exactly where we are.”

“Then where are we, Pitch?”

“…Give me a moment. I’ll have it again, I just need to see a street I recognize.”

“So you admit that we’re lost.”

“I’m working on it!! Would you just move over and let me focus!?”

Wynne grudgingly withdrew her mental presence and let Pitch take full control of their body. She stretched briefly, pictured their destination – a small bookshop called The Black Sheep nestled in the depths of the city – and tried once again to trace out the way there.

Her phantom memories of Ishgard’s tangled innards continued to slip through her fingers like smoke every time she consciously reached out for them, leaving her with only vague intuition to navigate by – aside from her crystal-clear certainty that the alleyway she’d insisted they take was definitely a faster route to their destination, if only she could remember the rest of the directions. For someone who owed so much of her existence to a soul crystal, she was getting awfully fed up with how cryptic they liked to be.

Maybe that way? No, judging by the angle of what little sunlight made it this far down, that road led out of the city, which in Ishgard meant it ended suddenly with a plaque venerating some saint or other followed by a precipitous drop into the Sea of Clouds. Assuming that they were still roughly on the east side and hadn’t gotten completely turned around?

Hells with it. She closed her eyes, spun in a circle, and headed off down the first alley she saw when she opened them again. After about two hundred paces, she realized she was going back the way she came, made an about-face and repeated the process.

After three hundred paces down the second alley, she found herself standing at the same intersection she’d been at ten minutes ago.

“Would you just teleport us back to the plaza and take the normal route?” groaned Wynne. “Or ask for directions, for that matter? We’re going to be late.”

“I swear I have it this time. This street feels really promising.”

“Pitch, you’ve said that a dozen times in the past bell—”

The pair rounded a corner and emerged onto a wider street crammed with grimy pubs and dusty shops. Immediately across from them, a battered sign declared in faded letters:

THE BLACK SHEEP – BOOKS – CONSIGNMENT – OCCULT PARAPHERNALIA

“Oh, ye of little faith,” cackled Pitch, leaning against a nearby wall. “I told you I knew the way down here! If we’d taken your route, we’d still have another half-dozen flights of spiral stairs to go.”

Wynne wrenched their body upright, sighed aloud, and crossed the street, smiling in spite of herself at the triumphant laughter filling her head.

Chapter Text

Wynne stood outside the plain wooden door of the Fey residence, eyes fixed straight ahead, hands trembling. It shouldn’t have been this hard. She just needed to reach out and knock. Her family would accept her. They always had. They accepted her when she upended all her plans to go out and risk her life in combat on a near-weekly basis, for gods’ sakes! Surely this wasn’t any different.

She just had to step inside, reassure them that she really was alive and safe despite everything and the letters she’d desperately smuggled out of Ishgard were not in fact forgeries, and tell them that…

That their daughter was…

That she wasn’t… herself, anymore.

“Hey. Wynne, no. You’re exactly as yourself as you ever were,” said Pitch. “It’s just that now you’ve also got… you know. Me.”

“That’s just it, though. When you’re in control, I’m not me. I’m you.” Wynne wrapped her arms around herself, taking a half-step further from the door. “And I love you. Don’t ever think I don’t love you. But it’s… It’s scary sometimes, giving myself up like that.”

“I’d have thought the scary part was when I wasn’t giving you a choice,” Pitch muttered darkly.

“You’d think! But it really isn’t! Now that I know what’s happening, and I have to consciously accept it for myself…”

She took a long, tense breath in. The late afternoon salt air tasted like every summer of her youth. Gods, she missed this place.

“I made you a promise, Pitch. We’re together, now. We keep each other in balance. And I’ll learn to live like this. It’s just...”

“It’s hard.”

“It’s so very hard.”

She let out her breath. Stood up straight. Slowly raised her hand towards the door—

Celyn Fey pulled open the door of her home, stepped halfway through, and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her younger sister standing outside.

Her face lit up, and she immediately rushed in for a hug. “Wynne! Wynne, you’re back! You’re alive! Oh, thank the Twelve – we got your letters of course, but with everything going on we were still so worried – have you been well? You sounded like a right mess for a while, there.”

Wynne slowly, tentatively returned the hug. “…It’s been a long, long few moons, Lyn. Could… we talk inside? Ah – wait, no, you were heading out for a reason, weren’t you—”

“It can wait, sis! It can bloody wait, come sit down! The others will be back in a bell or so. Come on, Mum found some more of those ginger biscuits you love!”

With that, the two found themselves dragged away into the depths of Wynne’s childhood home.

“...Weird,” murmured Pitch.

“Hm?”

“I know all these rooms, in a sort of abstract way, but they don’t feel familiar. They’re not… part of me, the way they’re part of you.” She took another bite of her biscuit. “Same with these things. I mean, they’re fantastic, but it feels like I’m having them for the first time, not the hundredth.”

“More evidence our memories are separate, then?”

“Guess so. Fury, that’s weird to think about. We’re sharing the same brain, right? How’d we get it to box things off like that?”

“You know as well as I do.”

“Not at all?”

Wynne nodded, and then immediately froze as she realized she was in control of their body again. Celyn gave her a strange look.

“Pitch. When did you give our body back to me.”

“When’d you give it to me? I certainly didn’t ask for it.”

“I don’t know! Sometime when we were walking in, I think?”

“Well, cut it out! We can’t be fighting over this now of all times!” Pitch curled her tail into her lap, then uncurled it as she realized what she was doing.

“I’m not trying to—”

Celyn leaned forwards. “Um. Not to rush you or anything – you take all the time you need, really – but, well, you said you wanted to talk inside and then you’ve been dead silent this whole time? Is everything okay?”

“We have to say something, Wynne. Come on.”

“I’m not – I can’t—” Wynne’s ears started to flatten down against her head before she caught them.

“Well I’m not doing it! She’s your sister!” Pitch’s ears pinned all the way back for a moment.

“I’m going to – she’ll think I’ve lost my mind, Pitch. I’ll break her heart.”

“She’ll think that anyway if we don’t say anything. And if I try and do it for you, I’ll just cock it up like I do with everything else in your life.”

“Hey. No talking about yourself like that.” The shift in Wynne’s focus was palpable, and Pitch felt her straightening their back and steadying their unsteady body. “You’re not a monster, Pitch. You’re just you. You’ll do fine.”

“So you can pull yourself together for me, but not Celyn?”

“It’s not like that! I’m just—” Seemingly by reflex, Wynne pulled away from their body again, and they nearly toppled out of their seat before Pitch took control.

“…Neither of us wants to be the one to do this, huh?” she mused.

“I’m just… I’m scared. She deserves to know, but… you know what Lyn means to me.”

“…Yeah. I do.”

And with that, Pitch set the remaining half of her biscuit down, stood up, and looked straight at Celyn.

“Your sister is two people now,” she said, out loud. “I’m Pitch. Nice to meet you.”

Wynne’s scream of wordless panic almost made it out of their mouth as well.

“I-I’m sorry?” boggled Celyn. “You’re what? Who? You’re saying you’re not – I must have misheard you, what??”

“There,” Pitch continued, turning to the side. “We brought it up.”

“Pitch I wasn’t ready I still don’t know what to say how am I supposed to—”

“You’re the Warrior of bloody Light! You’re scared? Do it scared, then! You’ve done harder feeling worse!” She turned back to Celyn. “Sorry. Sometimes Wynne needs a little push.”

She flopped backwards into her seat again, handing control back to Wynne as they fell. Wynne laid there stunned for a moment before she gathered herself enough to speak.

“…hells, she just went and did it. Okay. Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. Lyn, I – that was – I’ll… start at the beginning, I suppose.”

“Yeah?” said Celyn, craning around to the side as if she could see Pitch hiding behind her sister. “I… I trust you, sis, but this is gonna need a lot of bloody explanation I think.”

A bit of tension left Wynne’s shoulders. She nodded silently, then closed her eyes to gather herself a little more.

“…I told you that I was under a lot of stress in the Maelstrom,” she began. “It came to a head with the whole, ah, regicide thing, but… I think, even if that hadn’t happened, I would have broken down at some point. There was a part of me that looked at what was happening, what I was doing, and I just couldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t accept it. And, eventually, well…”

Wynne shrank into herself, wringing her hands. “There are a lot of ways a person can break. As it turned out, for me, when that angry part of myself couldn’t make itself heard any other way, it… started developing a voice of its own.” She sighed and looked back up at Celyn. “And then, when I started losing faith in myself, when I didn’t have the strength to go on, she, well… She took over for me.”

Celyn’s expression slowly shifted from bewilderment to quiet concern, but she gestured for Wynne to continue.

“We had some… issues, at first. But we’re learning. Figuring out what parts of us are shared and what parts are separate. How to give each other room to live.” Wynne untensed a bit more, leaning against the armrest of her chair. “We have to trade off control of our body and that’s been bloody strange to adapt to,” she chuckled, half to herself.

Celyn considered her in silence for a long moment.

“…That was Pitch talking earlier, right? Can I… talk to her again?”

“Ah? Y-yes, of course. Um. Let me just…”

“Wh – hey, hold on!” Pitch shouted internally. “I thought we agreed this was your conversation—!”

Celyn watched intently as her sister’s eyes fluttered shut, opened again, then darted around the room in mild panic.

“I. Um. H-hello? I… wasn’t planning on being part of this little chat, if I’m honest,” mumbled Pitch, compressing herself further into the chair. “Was just going to get Wynne to start it and then hang back.”

Celyn just stared at Pitch, quiet and awestruck. “…You are different,” she whispered. “Even your voice.” After a moment, she rose from her chair and started slowly crossing the distance to Pitch, looking straight at her the whole time.

“Hey, wait, hold on a—”

And then she leaned forwards and scooped her into a loose hug, resting her head on Pitch’s shoulder.

“Last time I saw Wynne,” she said, “she looked like she was about to fall apart. She’s tough, but I know she has limits she’ll never admit. The whole time she was away, I was terrified every letter we got would be the last. We all were.”

She tightened the hug as she continued. “I don’t quite understand how all this works, but… you’re the reason she came back, aren’t you? She did fall apart, but you put her back together.” Celyn stifled a sob. “You brought my baby sister back to me. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“…Barely,” scoffed Pitch. “I almost got her killed.”

“You didn’t, though. She’s still here. You’re both still here.”

“…Yeah. We are.” She leaned into Celyn’s embrace. “Sorry. Wynne keeps telling me I need to be better at accepting praise.”

“Well, you’ll be getting plenty of practice once our folks get home, that’s for certain!”

Pitch blanched and pulled away from the hug again.

“Alright, you,” giggled Celyn as she released her. “Tell me about yourself, then! What do you do in your spare time? Do you get any, for that matter? Does Wynne forget to keep up her posh accent with you the way she does with us?”

“Oh, she’s been terrible about the accent,” sighed Pitch. “Every time she goes out drinking with Tataru I have to listen to her acting all high and knightly through the densest brogue in the damn city.” She cracked the smallest smile. “Of course, I’m also drunk at that point, so it’s a bit easier to put up with.”

Celyn graduated to full-on cackling. “She’s an unbelievable woman, isn’t she?” After a bit more laughter, she steadied her breathing and fixed Pitch with an intense stare. “…Hey. Wynne’s still… awake in there, right?

“Yeah. She, um, really appreciates that you’re taking this so well.”

Celyn nodded. “If I say I love her right now, can she hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

She broke into a grin again, and Pitch couldn’t help but mirror her. “Well, it’s as true as it always was. And I’ll say it again. Love you, sis. …Both of you.”

They kept chatting long into the night.

Chapter Text

“…You know, it’s funny,” said Wynne, as the last of the chorus of sin eaters crumpled to the ground. “Out of everything I’ve seen here, I think this is what hurts most.”

Wynne gestured across the shell beach at the waters of Kholusia, eerily still as ever. Alisaie gave the eater a final stab to the throat for good measure, then turned to follow Wynne’s gaze, flicking its luminous used-to-be-blood from her blade.

“The sea? I mean, it’s depressing to look at, sure, but so’s everything else on this forsaken shard.”

“Alisaie, I practically grew up on a fishing ship. From the day I was old enough to follow my parents onboard, I spent more time at sea than on land. It’s the foundation of who I am.” She sighed and sheathed Durindana. “Nowhere here is pretty. What Vauthry’s been doing is reprehensible, to be certain. But this…”

She stared across the silent, murky expanse, from the shallows choked with abandoned wrecks out to the grey-green clouds on the horizon where the sea piled up against a wall of solidified Light.

“…It’s dead. This world really did end.”

The two stood in silence for a few moments.

“Well,” started Alisaie, “it’s not going to get any better if we just keep standing around here moping, O Warrior of Darkness.”

“You’re right,” sighed Wynne. “Let’s be on our way.”

As they climbed the grassy slope and moved inland, she turned back to let her gaze linger on the sea one more time.