Chapter Text
Year of the Realm 873- Winter
Undying Safehouse
Winter wrapped Tabor in a strange, solemn hush as the night grew longer and the cold deepened. The air bit sharp with frost, and as Jote crossed the courtyard toward the Phoenix’s private chambers, her breath drifted before her in pale white clouds. She shivered, though nothing felt as cold as the silence between her and Joshua.
They had not spoken since returning to the Undying safehouse nearly a week ago. He had been taken straight to the healers, and in his absence, her world had dimmed, falling utterly sunless, and as bleak as the dark sky above. With him, her days had been filled with gentle smiles that lightened her burdens, clever words that challenged her mind, and a quiet companionship she had long since come to crave, and now, keenly missed.
But her affection for him did little to quiet the rage—the hurt—that burned through her. She cursed herself for the moment she had let him persuade her to stay behind. Had she known he meant to challenge a god, Jote would never have allowed it. Yet she should have realized something was amiss. Joshua’s voice had been too soft, his assurances too careful. Still, she had seen the tomes he’d been reading late at night. Why had she not figured out what he intended?
Only now did she understand that he had been protecting her, unwilling to let her be hurt again after Caer Norvent. Ever since their escape, he had urged her not to overexert herself, not to take unnecessary risks. He was always reminding her that duty was the enemy of freedom, that he was a Dominant, and it was his burden to bear the danger in others’ stead.
And yet, how could he have been so reckless as to bind a god within himself? The Phoenix protected him for now, but they both knew such a spell could not last. A few years, perhaps. And all the while, that divine flame would heal and consume him in turn, its power hastening the Crystal Curse’s spread, shortening what little time he had left.
Jote had seen it in his eyes the night he returned. How he already knew the cost of what he’d done in order to protect his brother, and how deeply his actions would wound her. That was why he had not met her gaze when he explained.
It had taken all her strength to bring Joshua back to Tabor. He could scarcely stand, scarcely stay conscious. More than once he’d nearly slipped from their chocobo’s saddle, and she had clutched him tight, unwilling to let him fall.
“I’m sorry, Jote,” were three words he had whispered far too many times on the road home.
Those words had haunted her in the days that followed. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his pale face, heard the wet rattle in his chest, felt his weight against her arm as she fought to keep him upright. And though he had survived, the memory of how close she’d come to losing him made it impossible to face him so soon.
At last, she had gathered the courage to see him again, though only after receiving several missives and, finally, a visit from Cyril himself urging—no, commanding—her to go to His Grace.
“His Grace and I cannot understand why you have ignored our summons,” Cyril reprimanded, his tone sharp, though tempered with restraint.
Jote only stared at the ground, silent for a long stretch, her throat tight with fear and anger. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled with both.
“He could have died,” she argued.
“He is the Phoenix,” Cyril replied, his tone calm, resolute. “We do not question His Grace, Jote. We serve. Have you forgotten your duty? Or are you simply blinded by your affections?” A long sigh followed. “You cannot allow your feelings to cloud your judgment or compromise your purpose.”
The words stung, though she kept her expression composed. She bowed her head in obedience.
“Of course, my lord. You are right,” she answered quietly. “I will go to His Grace at once as he bids.”
And so she found herself here now, standing before Joshua’s chamber door, her pulse thrumming in her throat, her anger and fear twisting together into something she could no longer name. Yet beneath it all, something softer stirred. Longing perhaps. And a fragile seed of joy.
How she had missed him. How she loved him, despite what he had done, despite how deeply he had hurt her.
It was a love she could never confess to anyone else. A love she had barely dared to admit to herself. It had taken root long ago inside her, in the quiet spaces of their youth. With every kindness he had shown her, every shared laugh, every gentle touch, it had been nurtured. Eventually it had grown, slowly, quietly, until at last the flower had bloomed, filling every corner of Jote’s heart.
Only recently had she understood that her feelings were more than mere affection or devotion. When Joshua had staggered back to their camp and crumpled to the ground, coughing violenting with far too much blood spilling from his lips, she had felt her heart break clean in two.
And in that moment, she had known with terrifying clarity: she was in love with Joshua Rosfield. And that his death would be her own.
Jote’s heart felt as if it might burst as she lightly rapped on his chamber door and announced her presence. No answer came, or at least none she could hear. Tentatively, she pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
The room was dim, steeped in smoke and shadow. Incense curled in delicate spirals from the burners set upon every table and shelf, each wisp a silent prayer for the Phoenix’s recovery. Or perhaps they burned to purify the corruption of the fiend now trapped within his chest. She did not know truly. But the scent was soothing, familiar, almost like an embrace.
When her eyes adjusted to the haze and gloom, she finally saw him lying on the bed. As she came closer, each rasping breath he drew stabbed more painfully at her heart. She moved carefully, the soft swish of her skirts barely making a sound. Yet his eyes fluttered open as if he knew she was there and she was met with beautiful blue.
“Jote…” Joshua murmured, awe threading through his voice, as if surprised she had come. “I’m…” He stopped, and she knew the words he could not bring himself to speak yet again.
I’m sorry.
But he didn’t repeat them and she was glad for it. Instead, he said simply, “I have missed you.”
Her chest tightened. “I…” Tears sprang unbidden, and she looked away. “Forgive me,” she whispered, the lie already on her tongue, as she rubbed at her eyes. “There is far too much smoke.”
She crossed to the window nearest his bed and opened it. The bitterly cold air rushed in, and she drew it into her lungs, letting it steady her racing heart.
Joshua remained quiet, watching her. She returned and pulled a chair close to the large bed. As she lowered herself into it, he slowly sat up, and the opening of his shirt revealed the terrible crystal glowing faintly above his heart. Her stomach lurched, and she shifted her gaze to her hands, where they tightened around the fabric of her skirts.
But then his hand covered hers. His grip was warm and strong, and suddenly the chill that had settled over her these past days began to recede. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if it was his magic, but it was not. It was only that her heart had begun to beat again. That at last, a small ray of sunlight had pierced through the shadows that haunted her every waking moment. That he was here, with her, still.
For the first time, Jote noticed how much larger his hands were than hers. His fingers were long and slender and they curled around her own with ease.
“Thank you for coming,” he told her quietly.
"Your Grace… I’m sorry it took me so long. I—I…” She could not bring herself to tell him she was angry at him, so she pivoted. “There was so much to be done since our return.”
Joshua let out a soft, knowing chuckle. “I am no fool, Jote. I know you are cross with me.”
Her head shot up, lips parting to deny it, but he was quicker.
“It is alright. Truly. I understand.” His smile was gentle, though the pain behind it showed in the faint furrow of his brow. “You have every right to be upset. I did not tell you my true intentions. It is not that I did not trust you… but I knew you would not have allowed me to do what I must to protect my brother.”
Jote could only stare at him. He was right. She would not have allowed it.
When she finally found her voice, it trembled. “Why…?” The single word barely bridged the space between them. “Why, Your Grace?”
His eyes softened, shadowed with regret, and he tilted his head slightly as if urging her to continue, to name what wounded her.
Jote drew in a slow breath. She would not cry. She could not afford to appear weak before His Grace.
“Lord Marquess is supposed to be your Shield. He is meant to protect you. I am meant to protect you. It is my duty. As it was your brother’s. Yet you…” She swallowed hard. “Yet you refuse us both. You did not even allow me the choice to follow you into danger.”
Joshua’s mouth remained a thin line, sorrow etched deep in his eyes, but he said nothing.
Her hands clenched, knuckles turning white. “We are supposed to protect you, to die for you if we must. Not the other way around! You should not have gone after me to Caer Norvent. You willingly let Benedikta capture you for me. You risked exposing who you are because of me. Then you lied to keep me from the chamber where Ultima dwelled.” Her voice trembled, each word fueled by the fury and terror she felt. “You should not—you should never—have trapped a god inside yourself even to protect your brother!”
Her voice broke. The tears she had fought so hard to restrain spilled freely now, and with them came all the fear, anger, and helplessness she had carried over the past week. She couldn’t meet his gaze anymore and lowered her head. Her tears fell on his hand, and though she expected him to pull away, Joshua did not. He only held it tighter.
His other hand gently brushed her cheek, his thumb wiping a tear from her eye. Still, Jote could not look at him. And yet, in the quiet, tender touch, in the warmth of his presence, she felt the ache in her chest soften, if only slightly. It was as though the weight of the last week was being absorbed into the strength of his hands, leaving her raw, but somehow lighter.
In that moment, she wanted to tell him everything, to pour out the jumble of emotions that twisted through her heart: the fear that she might lose him, the anger that he had taken such peril upon himself, the love that had grown quietly, relentlessly, until it filled every corner of her chest. But she did not. She could not.
For a time, neither spoke. The stillness between them was heavy and fragile. At last, he broke the silence.
“It is your duty, as it was my brother's, to protect me, yes,” Joshua stated softly. “Yet it is a burden I never wished for you to bear. I am my own man now. I can wield a blade. I can command flames. I am a Dominant. I am not the helpless boy Clive remembers, nor the sickly one you first met.”
Jote knew this was true. Joshua had grown strong, not just in mind and heart, but in every quiet strength that mattered. He was no longer the shy, broken child she had met years ago. He was resolute, kind, understanding, stubborn in ways that sometimes frustrated her, yet fearless and capable in ways she could never match. Every one of these truths was a reason she loved him.
“I know this, Your Grace,” she whispered, finally meeting his eyes. She drew a deep breath. “I do… but—”
“I know you wish to protect me, Jote. And I know it is not simply because I am the Phoenix.” His smile was gentle, though it did not fully reach his eyes. “And that… that means more to me than you could ever know. For I wish to protect you as well. You and Clive… there are no two people more important to me. I could never let anything happen to either of you.”
That small confession sent a pang to her already bleeding heart. His thumb brushed under her eye again, capturing another tear.
“You may never forgive me for what I have done,” he continued, “and that is a burden I must bear, just as this fiend is now my burden to carry. But I only wish you to understand why I went after you at Caer Norvent, and why I trapped this god inside me to save Clive.”
Joshua should not have been the one protecting her or anyone. She was the knight, the Shield, sworn to stand between him and all that would harm him. Yet the way he looked at her now, so earnest, so achingly sincere, made her fold. He had been denied so much in his life, and still his first thoughts were of keeping her safe, of keeping his brother safe. And though this knowledge troubled her, it also filled her with a quiet, unnameable joy.
In the end, Jote could only nod. What more could she say? She could not tell him that the thought of the Crystal Curse spreading over his beautiful heart broke hers. She could not tell him that she would gladly trade her life for his, for he would never allow it. She could only be here beside him, in what way he allowed, for however long fate would grant.
Her eyes fell on the gleam of the purple crystal again, and a cold dread washed over her. Even trapped inside it, how far could Ultima’s magic and influence reach? How would he affect Joshua? How could the fiend hurt him?
Joshua spoke again. “Will you… continue to remain at my side as my attendant?” he asked, his voice careful, almost hesitant.
“O-of course,” she answered, her throat tightening. “I never meant to offend, Your Grace.”
Slowly, gently, he withdrew his hand from her cheek. “You did not. I only… I have missed your company, and feared I might have lost your trust as well as your companionship.”
Her heart ached at his quiet confession. “You have not,” she whispered. Then, after a pause, she added softly, “How are you feeling?”
Jote already knew the answer. His skin was pale, his eyes glassy and rimmed red. Faint bruises of violet shadowed beneath them, and his cheeks were more hollow than before, carved by sleepless nights and pain.
He gave a faint, weary smile. “Not my best, I confess. Merely… tired from the spell and…the effects after.”
Her stomach sank at the admission. He looked utterly exhausted.
“Is there aught I can do for you?” she pressed gently, her hands tightening in her lap once again.
Joshua bit his lip, looking away almost shyly. “I ought to rest… I know it, and yet… I find I cannot bear for you to leave just yet. Would you stay… and lie here beside me?”
Jote’s eyes widened, her heart hammering so loudly she feared he might hear it. She drew a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him, yet duty and propriety had long been etched into her. She could not lie upon his bed, no matter how large it was, as she had in childhood. Back then, gods had not haunted them. Back then, innocence had sheltered them, and his only concern had been mending his broken body and mind.
“W-we are no longer children, Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I… we… it would be improper. Cyril knows I am here… should he arrive—”
Joshua’s smile wavered, tinged with regret. “Ah… indeed. Forgive me, Jote. You are right. I should not have asked.”
His hand slowly slipped from hers, and with it went the warmth that had anchored her. The brittle winter air seeped back in, leaving her shivering. With careful effort, he turned onto his side, away from her, and pulled the covers back over the crystal embedded in his chest.
“I can remain here in this chair if you like…” she offered, hesitant.
“No…it is alright,” he murmured, his voice low, almost swallowed by the quiet of the room. “I shall speak to you later, then.” His tone softened further, fragile and distant, as if saying farewell. “Good night, Jote.”
Jote blinked back the fresh tears threatening her eyes and steadied her voice. “Yes, Your Grace. You need only call for me.”
Then she rose from the chair, bowing her head, a tide of regret and heartache pressing against her chest as if it would swallow her whole. Every instinct urged her to stay, to bridge the small distance between them, yet she restrained herself. Duty ever wove invisible chains around her heart.
Each step toward the door felt impossibly heavy, as if she were moving away from the warmth of him, from the quiet light that seemed to pulse in his presence. Her fingers lingered on the knob, her gaze flickering back to his curled form on the bed. She traced the curve of his shoulder, the faint glow of the crystal embedded in his chest, committing him to memory as she always did. His golden hair caught the pale moonlight spilling through the only open window, forming a halo around him, and in that light he seemed untouchable, luminous even. He was a single flame in the darkness that drew her against her will, tethering her to him by its quiet, impossible pull.
She heard the siren song and then, before thought could stop her, her legs carried her back. Back to him. Back to where her heart longed to be. He blinked in surprise as she drew back the covers, his breath catching when she slipped into the bed beside him. Yet his arms opened without hesitation, drawing her close, closer than propriety or reason would allow. He held her with such intensity she could scarcely breathe, yet she had never felt safer, never more certain of love, than pressed against him.
She let out a contented sigh as his heat wrapped around her, taking the chill with it.
“You are so cold,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing her ear.
“It has been cold since our return,” she admitted, though the truth ran deeper. She had been cold since their fight—cold in body and in spirit.
“Then stay here, where it is warm,” he murmured, and she swore she felt the ghost of his lips against her hair.
Jote only nodded, closing her eyes, breathing in his smoky, ash-laden scent, letting his warmth seep into her bones, filling the hollows she hadn’t known were empty.
It was no surprise when Joshua drifted into sleep within minutes, his breathing even and slow, lashes fluttering as if chasing dreams. She watched him, heart hammering, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. She could scarcely believe any man could be so beautiful in both heart and body, and that he cared for her, even in the smallest measure.
Suddenly, a surge of daring rose in Jote. She leaned closer, lips brushing the curl of his hair, and whispered the words that had hovered at the edge of her heart since the day she thought she might lose him.
“I love you.”
She knew he would not hear her, yet she smiled against the curve of his shoulder, letting the confession fall into the quiet, satisfied simply to be here, at his side. At last, she closed her eyes as well, surrendering to sleep, warmth flooding through her after so many days of frost.