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περιθωριακός (Liminal)

Summary:

“Forgive me the snip. But I doubt one of Azem’s station has ever lost their fitness for the seat before. Not in your years, or mine. Not with this cataclysm on the horizon.”

Venat falls silent. She gazes at where Aisa’s fingers meet the pool, deep brown fading into faint purple, as the light bends. They move faintly. Gently. Caressing the water, and the space between flesh and air. There is little she can offer, for what lies ahead of him. Little else aside from what he already has.

“...That matters naught to me, Aisa. Whole or not, you will have me by your side.”

Notes:

this story is me putting words together, reading them back, realizing they hint/point at something, and then pretending i intended for that to happen. welcome to whose line is it anyway let's make some stuff up! for context this is set a little bit after my work 'ένταση (Strain)' and before the first half of my other work 'βουστροφηδόν (Boustrophedon)', just sort of exploring aisa's relationships post fracturing his eyesight.

this is my sixteenth entry for FFxivWrite 2026, for the prompt 'Liminal'.

Work Text:

“... and this fractured your sight, your very eyes, altogether?”

 

Venat’s voice carries gently in the room, echoing through stone arches out into the impossible gardens that open the space. Aisa’s private quarters are a paradox in design, white marble sculpted into nests for extinct flowering trees, all lit by a perpetual dusk. She soaks her feet in the seamless pool carved into the white stone, swaying the peculiar flowers beneath the water. Venat could almost swear she’s seen those somewhere before. Aisa lounges beside her, doing his utmost to melt into the cool stone.

 

“Yes, Venat. Would you like to see? I’m told it’s quite the sight.”

 

He does not turn to face her, his eyes shut. His hand has slipped into the pool, and traces ripples into the water’s surface. They lap gently at her legs. Venat hums thoughtfully to herself.

 

“There’s no need, Aisa. I’ve heard it taxes you to open them.”

 

Aisa laughs drily, his brow not quite furrowed. So the talk has reached even her.

 

“No doubt the Convocation has their concerns then, if they’re so loose lipped.”

 

Venat flicks a few drops off her fingers and into Aisa’s face. His nose wrinkles, and he lets out a sound of affront.

 

“The Convocation has always had their concerns and their complaints, particularly for those who bear the mantle of Azem. It comes with the station.”

 

Aisa brought up a sleeve to wipe the water from his face, but leaves his arm there. The dull pressure eases the throbbing. He smiles from beneath it, wry.

 

“Forgive me the snip. But I doubt one of Azem’s station has ever lost their fitness for the seat before. Not in your years, or mine. Not with this cataclysm on the horizon.”

 

Venat falls silent. She gazes at where Aisa’s fingers meet the pool, deep brown fading into faint purple, as the light bends. They move faintly. Gently. Caressing the water, and the space between flesh and air. There is little she can offer, for what lies ahead of him. Little else aside from what he already has.

 

“...That matters naught to me, Aisa. Whole or not, you will have me by your side.”

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