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As a young boy, Kotyan had heard many tales of Ul’dah, the jewel of the desert gilded in gold. It was modern, and chaotic, and glamorous, and so much more the Azim Steppe could never be. He loved the quiet plains of his home village and the stories by the nightly fire, he did, but he ached to know what else the wold had to offer. Many in his tribe had their own voyages at his age, his father among them. Some left and never came back, but most did. They were eager to bring new technology, new culture, new ideas to their tribe, but ultimately many of the village felt the pull to come back to the Steppe, where they were free to soar on yols and cherished as part of a tribe, working together to bring abundance and joy to their people.
When Kotyan spoke of his dreams to travel, his father’s eyes shined. His mother was more pained, sad to see her little Kotyan leave, afraid he wouldn’t come back, but she agreed it was better for him to decide for himself whether he wanted to accept what the world had to offer. Kotyan’s parents made the arrangements for him to travel to Ul’dah, stay at an ex-tribesman’s city flat, and continue his studies in performing arts and combat.
The first thing Kotyan saw as he approached Ul’dah was the endless sea of tents. From a distance, it reminded him of home, but as the carriage inched closer it became apparent just how small the tents were, how beaten up they had become, how filthy everything was. Refugees begged for food scraps and coughed in the desert heat. Until that moment Kotyan hadn’t understood why the Eorzeans frowned upon those who foraged and slept in tents, since that’s what his people had done for centuries.
It was a mockery of how the Steppe people lived. He didn’t feel so eager about living in Ul’dah anymore—what kind of nation lets its own people, refugees or not, starve and succumb to feral disease? His people would never abandon someone to the wolves like that, not even an enemy.
Of course, being young, he was sheltered from a lot of the cruelty his own tribe perpetuated in order to gain territory and dominance over other local Steppe folk. Some of that cruelty came from his own ancestors. How else would they have grown so wealthy and prosperous and well-connected if not through combat and conquest?
“They treat the poor here as if they’d rob the keys to the city!” he remarked, chugging the rest of his ale. “How does the Syndicate sleep at night, knowing they hold the means to end their suffering and they choose to keep them impoverished instead?”
Momodi polishes a glass. “I hear ya, dearie, but you shouldn’t be runnin’ your mouth in public like that. The walls have ears.”
“Let them hear me!” Kotyan slurred. “If it’s a fight they’re picking, I can take anyone in a duel.”
Momodi raised a brow. “Goodness, lad. There’s always a way to off someone in the quiet of the night. Thal’s been witness to more than a few of those in my own inn. It forced me to tighten up security over the years, and even then I can’t keep tabs on what shady business every adventurer who blows through my doors gets involved with. I just do my best to keep my nose out of any of it if I can. And you should, too. Better you learn to pick your fights well before you get into shite you can’t wade out of so easily.”
The blood drained from Kotyan’s face as he heard the proprietor’s lecture. He hadn’t expected this sweet Lalafellin woman to talk of murder so matter-of-factly, as if it were a part of her daily life. If trouble crawled even to someone like her in this city, then it was sure to come roaring for someone who provoked the powers-that-be. Kotyan wasn’t stupid; sheltered as he was from his parents’ political gambits, he was nonetheless privy to the savageries whispered among the village-folk. But in the plains, it was impossible to sneak up on an enemy against the open wide terrain. Fights were won by might, and tricks of stealth were kept at bay by nature herself. Momodi’s story was the first time that Kotyan had felt truly alone, despite the crowded dining hall. His neighbors here would sleep through any struggle if it meant their peace. He wondered, is this what the city did to men?
He dove into his drills the next day at the Pugilist’s Guild. Perhaps the punching bags could bear the weight of his paranoia that sooner or later he would cross the wrong man in this city. How could he possibly avoid offending anyone, when he barely knew the rules and towered over the Hyur and Lalafells that made the majority? Perhaps it was this very vulnerability that caused the people to become so shifty, he mused. He didn’t need to rely on poison or sabotage to defeat anyone, but the same could not be said even of his own father, if the rumors were true.
When his bloody knuckles started to stain the punching bag, one of the monks stopped by him with a cross look. “I can understand the eagerness of youth to train until you drop, but you need to rest if you are to keep your body and mind fresh and ready for any situation. Come, I’ll tend to your hands.”
Kotyan wanted to argue with the man, to keep punching until his mind shut up, but he knew the monk was right. It pained him the way the monk looked at him, as if he was worried Kotyan would square up with a couerl for fun today. Kotyan stretched his arms and followed the monk.
The monk sat the Au Ra on a cool stone bench by the prayer pool. He scooped some of the blessed water into a bucket, and he washed the Au Ra’s hands gently, examining the older calluses that lined his fingers. The monk coughed, and then he spoke. “Tell me, do you always seek the training ring when you’re troubled?”
Kotyan’s eyes widened at the question. “How did you know?”
“You have the hands of a fire spinner, and plenty of smaller burns across your arms and legs, but none of the scars of one who has seen battle firsthand.”
“Maybe I’m so good at fighting that my enemies don’t have a chance to touch me.”
“Do not be offended. I’m glad for you, that you haven’t seen war. I pray you never do. There is no honor in bearing witness to the worst that mankind has to offer.”
“But isn’t that what we do? We train to fight so we can protect our families?”
“Aye, ’tis why we train, but still it is better to train for war that never happens. You cannot stop an army alone.”
“Then why bother at all, old man?”
The monk laughed. “Insolent boy. If you truly believed that, I wouldn’t be treating your bleeding hands. You are right, in the end it is strength that determines battles. However, remember it is wisdom that determines who wins the war.”
“That’s all well and good, but how do these vague musings help either of us?”
“I do not want to see you make the mistakes I did. That is all.”
“You can’t just say that and then not tell me the story!”
The monk’s face grew solemn. “Very well. But you may not like what you hear. When I was a little over your age, maybe twenty suns of age, I got what I wanted. I beat the reigning champion of Ul’dah’s gladiator ring. I was not lacking for strength or skill. And I kept that title for a long time. Long enough that I found someone to start a family with. I could have stayed at the ring, too, if I weren’t so foolish, but a general in the Brass Blades lured me away with promises of riches and glory. Ah, but a glorious victory in war! That’s what would cement my legacy, he said. Why did I care so much back then? Well, it doesn’t matter why. I’m sure I told myself something about securing my children’s future or some other nonsense like it. I was gambling with their lives and mine. I had honor, but many around me did not. Many, both Blades and opponents, were quick to pillage and desecrate innocent civilians’ homes. The homes of the people they were supposed to protect, even. What do you think happens when people go around committing senseless murder? Do you think they care whether I personally wronged them? Of course not, and they were right to hate me; I did not stop my comrades from doing as they pleased, and when I was higher up I turned a blind eye to what my men were up to so long as the missions were completed. I was complicit for letting them go unpunished. Eventually, someone looking for revenge found my name among the men, and they killed my family while I was away on a campaign. At first, I also wanted revenge, but the culprit was quickly caught and when I saw their face, I knew I could not punish them for lashing out in grief. The same grief I felt, because of them. There were thousands out there who felt the same because of me and my men. If I wanted to stop this, I would need to hold my men accountable for their atrocities, hold myself accountable, and refuse to stand by when I witness injustice. I tried to bring my squadron to trial, but the case was dismissed and I was court martialled for insubordinance. I served my time in prison, and when I was free I decided I would be a monk to inspire others to become good people. It does not erase my sins, but still it is what I must do.”
“So what you’re telling me is that if I see something wrong, I should stand up and fight?”
“Yes, but also no. I’m telling you to be careful not to cause unneeded suffering. You are responsible not only for yourself, but for those around you, and you should not kill unless you must. You must be a role model, if you truly wish to follow the path of the monk.”
“I will do my best,” Kotyan said. “Thank you for sharing. I can’t imagine how painful that have all been.”
“Go, be on your way now.”
As Kotyan approached the archway to the Guild, he looked back over his shoulder to thank the man. “Thank you, sir.”
The man was already gone by then. Kotyan never got his name.