Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Land!” 

A blessed word, after the long weeks at sea.

The shout arose from the sailor standing watch at the ship’s prow, leather-bound spyglass in one meaty paw. At that single utterance, every passenger aboard the Explorer found themselves immediately drawn topside, and the snow-tressed Elezen girl standing on tiptoes to tilt over the tarred and salt-crusted wooden railing was no exception. The ocean crossing from Sharlayan was long and rarely uneventful and the ship’s passengers had spent most of it below decks, weathering the heavy rains and stomach-turning waves from perilous storms grown only more tempestuous in the handful of years since the Calamity.  

A burly Roegadyn crewman standing nearby, his hands busied with rope, squinted sharply at his unexpected visitor. She ignored his presence with a single-minded determination- there were more important matters afoot. Her focus lay upon the half-obscured outline of grey-blue and faded silver that broke the endless monotony of the open sea. Setting one patten-clad foot in the deck railing, she hoisted her weight up and forward to get a better view.

“Alisaie,” a young voice cut in, sharp and authoritative, “get down from there. If you lose your balance you’ll fall overboard.”

“I won’t lose my balance.”

“I sincerely doubt the good crew of our passenger ship would fancy diving into the water to pluck you from the waves, sister.” Alisaie spared a glance over her shoulder, bristling at the speaker. He could have been her mirror image right down to their attire, save the blue ribbon fluttering from its secured place at the base of a thin length of braided platinum hair, identical to her own. “You can see perfectly well with both your feet upon the deck.”

Alisaie responded with an indignant huff, but lowered herself so that her feet were once more flush with the oaken planks. “Seven hells, if there is one thing I will not miss about this journey, it is your incessant clucking.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Alphinaud. Like a mother hen, if she had fewer feathers than words.”

“I am only trying to look out for you. For both of us.” His brow knitted as he spoke- with either worry or disapproval, Alisaie couldn’t say. “Father would never let me hear the end of it if I let you fall into the ocean of all things.”

“I know! I know.”

“And if you keep fidgeting with your hair-ribbon like that you’re going to lose it.”

As if to punctuate his words, an errant gust whipped the end of her braid from its loose pin between her fingers. Her eye caught a flash of bright red from the tapered ends of the ribbon as it fluttered in the salty breeze like a loosened sail. 

“Yes, mother,” her fingers fell away to fidget at her sides instead, “Do I have your permission to remain above deck, at the very least?”

Alphinaud gave her a startled series of blinks. He hadn’t slept well on the trip, being far more prone to seasickness, and the deep bruised circles beneath his eyes gave them an owlish cast. “Of course you can stay here, if you like,” he said. “It’ll be several bells before we reach the harbor, after all.”

Gods! Why are you always like this? The furious thought flitted through the shallows of her mind, surfacing briefly with the flare of her temper. It’s hardly a wonder that father wouldn’t trust you to-

Hells. Wasn’t worth it. Like as not he’d barely noticed her fatigue let alone her frustration. 

Alisaie suppressed an exasperated sigh and watched her twin’s retreating back for a moment as he made his way down the stair into the bowels of the ship, before turning her attention once more to the encroaching sliver of shoreline that sat just beyond the white-capped waves. 

Landfall couldn’t come soon enough.

~*~

"It's seen better days, hasn't it," he opined, "Tupsimati."

They had only just managed to scrape together the funds to afford proper furniture, rather than borrowing pieces or using what few battered desks and chairs remained upon the premises. Surplus cots and side tables for the shared sleeping quarters were still in the process of arriving at the Waking Sands, piece by piece, at great expense and after a good deal of haggling over the cost to bring them by chocobo carriage from Ul’dah. 

Given the recent rise in imperial activity throughout the region, none of them had felt it particularly prudent to advertise their presence to the realm at large and so in the years since the merging of the two organizations, much smaller in the wake of the Carteneau disaster, the center of operations had remained austere by dint of necessity. There was little of value or note even in the solar save the large mahogany desk with its teak inlay - a gift (others might call it a bribe, he thought with sour good humor) from their erstwhile landlord - and the reliquary which had been mounted upon the wall since that fateful day of their ‘founding’. 

His companion stood behind the desk with her back to the door, and her posture had not once wavered from the moment he had entered to the moment he had spoken. 

"As have we all, Thancred." 

He did not miss the gentle rebuke within her words. The smile that played upon his lips became faintly rueful - as conversation starters went, he supposed it had been rather lacking - and without another word approached until he could round the desk to stand at her side. Five years barely seemed enough for all the growing she had done, assailed by mysterious visions and driven by internal conflict over her strange gift all the while. 

Nevertheless, in that short amount of time the girl he had known had become a charismatic young woman. 

As Thancred watched the paths of her fingers in their idle drifting, crossing the surface of the newly varnished wood over grain and groove, he followed her gaze to its focus upon the wall. The mounted case which she now contemplated was new, although its contents were not. It sat a few fulms behind and above the bulky mahogany desk at the solar’s heart, and tucked behind the transparent bulwark of crystal glass lay all that remained of Louisoix Leveilleur’s final and heroic deed: the crest of a splintered cane with a stone bearing the symbol of Thaliak. 

Metaphor, he mused, for the disaster wrought upon the realm five summers past. Or perhaps one better suited for the old man’s ghost- one which seemed to linger still within these halls.

“You don’t seem as well pleased as one would expect.” His words rang through the sandstone-walled solar, their echoes hollow and bland. He noted with some small concern the distant cast to her expression, as though she were listening to something he could not hear. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Hm? Oh, no. ‘Tis not the arrangements which bother me. In fact, I think this shall serve our needs quite well for the time being.” Her fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against the desk’s surface and her attention returned to the broken artifact above. “...Not a day goes by that I don’t find myself wishing Master Louisoix were still here with us. I suspect in my heart- I like to think- that he has gone to a well deserved rest. But I still…”

She didn’t finish the statement, but further words were unnecessary. Sorrow muted the bright spring sky blue of her eyes. 

“I shouldn’t carry on like this,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” 

“It is unbecoming of me to bemoan my lot. Everyone has lost so much to the Calamity, and we have borne far lighter burdens than most.” Her shoulders slumped for just the briefest moment before righting her posture again, but not so quickly that it escaped Thancred’s notice. “Even so, I can’t help but wonder what he would have done differently. Whether or not he would have negotiated better terms for-”

“Minfilia, please.” Her hands, seemingly placid at her sides, gripped the leathers of her tassets with a nigh-bruising force. Thancred unfolded one fist with care, as he might have done with an infant’s fingers, cradling them in one rough palm. “I don’t think anyone here is expecting you to be Louisoix Leveilleur, or even to fill his shoes. Besides which, the circumstances are entirely different.”

“I suppose.” 

“Everyone else has had to start anew on some level or other. We’re hardly an exception,” Thancred shrugged. “And you have the words from your vision to guide us.”

“Yes,” she said, with a note of quiet conviction. He answered with a brief squeeze of her fingers before releasing her hand. “Yes, of course.”

“If you think this ‘crystal bearer’ She mentioned will make themselves known soon, then ‘twould be a benefit to us all to keep our eyes open for their coming. Would it not?” Thancred paused. “Is that what you wished to discuss?”

“Once the others arrive, yes.” Whatever hidden place to which Minfilia’s mind had wandered in that moment, she had clearly returned from it. Her gaze was clear and steady and her voice firm. “Truly, ‘tis wonderful - and serendipitous - that we have managed to keep this roof over our heads. And of course, I am grateful for the sultana’s continued assistance-”

“If not her ministers’ patronage,” Thancred said dryly. 

“Quite.” Minfilia drummed close-trimmed nails thoughtfully against the desk. “But I do worry that it isn’t enough. These advantages will avail us little if we do not take steps to sustain our presence. It has been nearly five summers since we chose to join forces and disband the Path, and we are still struggling merely to make enough coin to pay for this space.” 

His smile faded and the furrow of his brow deepened. 

“I can’t help but feel as though I’m missing something. Should we be concerned about our funds?” 

“Tataru came to me a few days past. We’ve received notification from the East Aldenard Trading Company stating that the lease on the land will be up for renewal by the end of the year, and that the rate will be increasing accordingly.” Minfilia winced. “...By which I mean to say: yes, I think it prudent to find other means to fund our activities. She agreed.” 

“Then seek other means we must,” he shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I think Tataru is within her rights to be concerned. The whole realm is still barely keeping its head above water as it is. We can ill afford to remain dormant, especially if it means insolvency.” 

“Nor can we tarry overlong in debating the best approach to our other concerns,” she said. “The beast tribes have made it clear they will not wait for us to replenish our numbers ere they attempt to summon their gods yet again.”

“And there is also the Empire to consider,” Thancred pointed out dryly. “Two new castra in the space of as many years. Either the Garleans turned to engineering projects to amuse themselves, or the Black Wolf has been quite busy.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“Hm. Not as such, but... I have received requests from the sultana as to whether or not we believe there is aught to fear from the Garleans. More than once.”

“It’s a valid concern,” Minfilia pointed out. “Castrum Meridianum is but a stone’s throw away from one of the biggest Syndicate concerns in the realm.”

“Yes, and what concerns me the most is that at present I cannot say definitively, one way or another, if we face further incursions. We need more information on their movements.” 

“On that we most certainly agree. I realize we’re stretched thin, but we need more people.”

“Agreed. But all things considered, I doubt any of us have the time or inclination for a recruitment drive. Necessary or not.”

Minfilia said, very carefully: 

“Perhaps not. But… if, while you are afield, you should happen to come across more… talents, then ‘tis all the better if you send them our way. Not everyone you meet will be suitable, of course, but some few will and I think we can only be stronger for it if we increase our numbers as we go.”

Thancred flashed her a roguish grin. “That’s a very roundabout way of saying you wish for me to return to Ul’dah, Lady Antecedent.” 

“I didn’t mean-”

“You could have asked! As well you know,” he countered. “I have enjoyed my little vacation, but there is much to be done still.”

“If you prefer,” Minfilia said, her eyes twinkling with suppressed amusement, “I could send Urianger to the sultana’s court in your stead.”

“Urianger! Gods forbid. He’d hate every second.” He could just picture it. Bookish, eccentric Urianger looming over the diminutive lord of the Syndicate’s trading routes, intoning a passage from one of his scrolls. “I see no need to fix a method that is not broken. Leave us each to our own devices. I’ll go to Ul’dah and do what I do best.”

One of her slim brows tilted. “Charming the local maidens?”

“Young lady,” he said, dark eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth, twitching upwards, betrayed his hidden mirth. Minfilia only laughed and patted his smooth cheek.

“Jests aside, there are other reasons I would have an ear kept to the ground just now, and I would hardly trust anyone else with such a sensitive task. Will you do this for me?”

His teasing smile faded as he looked down at the person whose steady presence he prized above all else upon the star. She was his family, this slim graceful girl with her wide eyes and gentle, knowing smile and quiet strength - it would be easy to mistake her softness for weakness, not to see the steel within. 

So thinking, his keen eye caught the slight tilt of Minfilia’s chin. 

She was not asking, he realized. She was informing him. All she needed was the affirmation they both knew would be forthcoming, and she awaited it with her customary patience. And why should she not expect it? There was, after all, precious little she could ask of him that Thancred Waters would not be willing to attempt. He knew it as well as she did. 

His smile returned in force.

“Tell me what you need from me,” he said, “and I’ll see it done.”

Chapter Text

Castrum Abania, 9th Sun, Third Umbral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

The room was cold and its silence sterile, broken only by the sounds of a dry ticking from the digital wall chronometer and the soft and regular sighs of a sleeping man. 

Silence in itself was hardly anything to be remarked upon, let alone a surprise. The research and development floors were always kept clear of unnecessary chatter in favor of the sound and rhythm of industry, small gears turning amidst the well-oiled machine of imperial conquest. Standard procedure, that. Especially when the work that took place away from prying eyes was exacting and often hazardous.

But for several hours, the relative darkness and the ambient cycling of the console's processor had been interspersed only with the low rumble of the central air unit and the rhythmic rattle of footsteps without the corridors, and Nero tol Scaeva had been awake for most of the past thirty hours. He had finally fallen asleep waiting for one of his processes to run and lay half-sprawled over the metal surface of the table: limbs immobile and lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he drowsed at the empty work station he’d appropriated upon his arrival in the lower levels. 

When the chiming began, it went unheeded at first. The timer had been set in this instance to ring without cessation, however, and after a few minutes had lapsed the sound began to send him drifting wide from his dreaming state by ilms. The transition from sleeping to wakefulness felt reluctant: heavy and sluggish, a pearl diver kicking against deep currents, breaking the surface tension of consciousness through brute force. 

He blinked slowly, once, then twice, attempting to reorient himself.

The noise was also aggravating an incipient headache. Nero righted his posture with a tired grumble and smacked the damned thing until blessed silence reigned once more, before reaching for the mug he had left on a borrowed coaster (long since gone cold. His own fault, he owned). Sipping at its contents with a distasteful grimace - whoever had brewed the coffee, they had added too much water and the result was something weak and listless and far too bitter - he turned his attention towards the old Allagan testing module and its compiling readout.

It appeared to be reaching the end of its cycle. So he thought, until the activity scrolling across the screen flickered in place and pulsed once, twice, an arrythmia within the steady heartbeat of the machine. Nero swore under his breath when on its heels, a brief error message superimposed itself over the readout in black-bordered white. One he’d seen with far too many of these devices recently. 

[Unable to read file. The current application will be terminated.]

An annoyed sigh escaped in a hiss between his teeth.

Brow wrinkled in thought, he stared at the screen for a few beats. This was but one of many datalog volumes his team had salvaged at the original site. The initial discovery had excited him - it had excited everyone, in fact, including the legatus - as it well should have done, but getting the godsdamned things to yield the fruit he sought was quickly proving to be an exercise in tedium. 

Although Ultima’s original hardware was in surprisingly reasonable working order, several of the tomestones they had found in the same space had not proven to be nearly as resistant to the vagaries of time. Thus far, only a handful had relinquished their secrets without issue or delay. Not entirely unexpected, given their age and the conditions in which they’d been found, but unfortunate all the same. 

The tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion was not a patient man by nature, given to rather more direct methods of approach, but as a man of thirty-four winters with a good fifteen of them spent in the legions, he had very much learned the value of that particular skill. It was one he had developed through years of trial and error and the innate understanding of those traits his chosen craft required.

Magitek was not ineffable. It was parts and pieces that fit together neatly like a puzzle in the absence of human error. To guide and to create with these tools required a methodical mind and observant eye, as well as a certain degree of acceptance that on occasion one simply could not rush the desired results.

This was one such occasion. The end result, of course, would be worth the means. Or so one might fondly hope.  

Nero leaned forward and compressed the small button until the module had powered down and all that was left was the rumbling rattle of the castrum's central air unit (always running this time of year). A gentle tug freed the small tomestone from its moorings and he held it aloft to study the detailing, periwinkle-blue eyes squinting and straining against the red-tinged light from the fluorescents.

The small grooves caught the ambient lighting from the walls with each idle spin between his fingers. They seemed to mock him with each little shimmer: ancient secrets so painfully close to discovery that they lay mere ilms from his grasp. Secrets which promised a long and tedious process if he wished to claim them.

...Well. He’d do it, of course he would. Aught he deemed necessary - good, bad, or ugly - in order to see Project Ultima to completion.

Even were it not his primary directive, he had always had every intention of plundering their contents at his leisure for the challenge of it and the knowledge to be had. This was but the least method at his disposal. There were some few other options he might employ, which might serve to successfully extract the data into some readable format that he could put to use.

While the old datalogs were fascinating, he wasn't spending his time reading them for a history lesson. No, what he sought was preliminary information, something upon which to safely extrapolate. Ideally he'd end up with a dossier of sorts which he could use to catalogue the Weapon’s original abilities, and enough code to piece together an operating system more or less analogous to that of Allag, albeit one powered by ceruleum instead of aether. If he could simply- 

A much lower-pitched sound than his armor’s onboard timer - not an alarum but a harsh, flat buzz - cut through the quiet of the lab. Nero’s first inclination was to ignore it in favor of his study, but a second followed quickly on its heels, and a third. That, unfortunately, meant someone was expecting him to answer. 

With a barely suppressed yawn he toggled the small red switch next to the wall’s built-in communications device.

“Scaeva. Engineering," he said, keeping his tone clipped and curt- the voice of a man who would brook no disturbances. "State your business.”

The response he received was a very audible swallow followed with a hoarsely uttered, “Lord tol Scaeva?” 

“Speaking."

"My lord?"

Nero sighed. "Speaking. As in 'with whom do I have the pleasure.' Name and rank." 

“Oh. Terribly sorry, my lord. I, erm, Quintus pyr Blasio. Lord, uh. Tribunus. Sir.”

Seven hells. Not a name Nero recalled, though he rarely had reason to trouble himself over memorizing the personnel that manned every garrison between Ala Mhigo and the Velodyna fringes. Some poor bastard who was likely the first man flagged down for runner duty by his direct report, no doubt. Some poor bastard who was also either too dazzled or too shit-scared of speaking to the legion's top brass to string three coherent words together. Just what he needed.  

“...Go on,” he prompted when the man said nothing further. 

“Lord tol Sc-”

“I daresay we’ve both established our identities at this juncture," impatience and lingering drowsiness rendered his response a sardonic drawl, for all its erstwhile civility. "The message, if you please.”

“Message, my lord?”

“Yes. The message. That is why you’ve called to interrupt my current litany of scheduled tasks, or so I assume?”

“Ah... y-yes. Yes, my lord.” The speaker at the other end of the connection paused, and on its heels came the sound of a clearing throat. “Ah, Lord van Baelsar asked that I, er, that is, he requests your presence to discuss-”

“He wants me to attend a meeting,” Nero cut in. “When and where?”

“Half four, my lord. Ah- in Sector VI. The administrative complex south of the new hangar.”

Half four- the man was definitely nervous, he thought. Well, it was five minutes past 0400 now. With the identification checks and elevators taken into account, that gave him about ten minutes' leeway. The timing would be somewhat tight to work in, perhaps, but it was perfectly feasible.

Ragged breathing crackled across the link; the only other sound was the flat drumming of Nero’s fingertips upon the metal surface as he mentally rearranged the next hour he’d dedicated to other tasks. It was an inconvenience to be certain. He was going to have to run the process once more after some adjustments were made, and clearly, it would need closer supervision. Meaning the sleep he knew he needed was not going to be an option. 

But this summons still amounted to an order, and hardly one he could disregard or countermand. Heavily classified weapon project or no. 

“Understood," he said at last. "Inform the legatus that I will be along presently."

"I will, Lord tol Scaeva. I-"

"In future, do make some bare attempt at brevity when delivering messages, tessarius- for your own sake.”

Another gulp. “Of course, my lord. I’ll pass alo--”

Before the hapless soldier could waste more of his precious time stammering out another response, Nero flipped the switch and cut the connection. 

Nero was a practical man, one rarely wont to let trivial annoyances linger. As he set the artifact aside to reach for the fountain pen at his elbow and drew a small leather-bound planner from the desk drawer, a habit he’d kept since his Academy days, he could already feel his focus shifting, moving onwards. He rolled the pen thoughtfully betwixt index and middle fingers, eyes flickering away from the planner to linger briefly upon the blank console screen.

No doubt there was also more useful information to be ascertained from the old Meteor Project dossier; he’d request another copy of the relevant files through the proper channels once the meeting concluded. In the meantime, it seemed a progress report was likely to be expected upon his timely - and fully conscious - arrival. Strict self-imposed schedule notwithstanding, it wouldn’t do for him to be the only one empty-handed. 

He flipped the notebook open to a fresh and empty page, tilted the ink nub, and began to write.

Chapter Text

The anguish of the earth absolves our eyes 

Till beauty shines in all that we can see. 

War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise, 

And, fighting for our freedom, we are free.

---Siegfried Sassoon, 1886-1967

-----o-----

Old Gridania, 14th Sun, Fourth Astral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

It was a hot midsummer morning and the forest belonged to the cicadas. The dry and hollow whickering buzzed between the leaves, cutting through the oppressive wet weight of the air as if to assert the insects’ supremacy. From her perch upon the rough-hewn bench near the entrance to the Archers’ Guild, Aurelia Laskaris found that even remaining perfectly still was no respite: not from the heat nor the weather, and certainly not the clouds of midges that seemed to swarm over everything and everyone. More than once, she espied an Adder or a Wailer strolling past the cramped bench in the hastily repurposed waiting area, muttering curses and swatting at the clouds of insects so thick the air looked gray in places. 

With a heavy and somewhat disconsolate sigh, she turned her attention back to the threadbare rug that lay upon the wooden planks a scant few ilms below her sandaled feet. Across the room, near the lectern by the door, she noted a strangely shaped brownish stain of unknowable origin- something that had at some point sunk deep into the fibers. The longer she sat with naught else to occupy her, the more it usurped her attention until all she could do was stare at it and nibble on the end of the forelock she had twisted around her index finger. 

“Are you really that nervous?” her minder’s voice murmured at her shoulder. 

Keveh’to looked as bored and miserable as she felt. Dressed in his bright yellow Grand Company overcoat and matching uniform, the man who had been her minder and friend for nigh on five summers now watched her with a knowing light in his grey eyes. Like her, his face was dewy with a thin sheen of sweat, and his ears flickered every time one of the insects attempted to make a landing upon them.

“I’m only about to discover whether or not the Hearers deem me sufficiently reformed.” Aurelia’s gaze lingered upon the outline of that stain. Her brow itched with collected sweat, most maddeningly so about her third eye, but she didn’t dare lift the kerchief she wore. Not even to scratch. “My former enemies hold my very life in their hands. Naught about that could be nerve-wracking, surely.”

Was it blood? Wine? The Garlean couldn’t take her eyes off it. It was inexplicably vexing.

“You aren’t too nervous to be your usual cheeky self, I mark,” he said dryly, blocking the elbow she sent his way with a nimble swat of his palm. “Watch it! This coat is new.”

“What? One little jab to the ribs isn’t going to muss your uniform, Sergeant-”

“Lieutenant.”

“Right, Lieutenant Epocan now. My mistake.” He scoffed, but Aurelia took no notice of it; her attention had already wavered, and now fixed firmly upon the stained rug. “...What if they change their minds?”

“About what?”

“You’ve got a perfectly good set of working ears, Keveh’to. Sentiment is turning strongly against-” The soft fall of golden waves upon her shoulders shifted side to side with the swivel of her chin as she tilted it towards one of the nearby guardsmen. “...against people like me.” 

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“The hells you don’t.” Her voice dropped to a murmur, though her words were no less vehement for her discretion. “I’m sorry to sound so cross, but you know very well why I worry. What should become of me should they decide to send me packing back to the gaol?”

“They won’t,” he said, but she thought she detected enough uncertainty in the man’s voice that the butterflies in the pit of her belly began to flutter once more. “...Well, they’d be fools if they did.”

“That isn’t a comfort, you know.” 

“And if you're that worried about appearances," he reached for the hand that hovered at her chin and tapped the back of her wrist, "walking into an arbitration chamber with a mouthful of your own hair isn't exactly what I would call a solid first impression.”

Scowling at the rebuke, she let out a soft and petulant huff but tugged the end of her forelock out from between her lips and settled her fidgeting hands back into her lap. 

She wasn’t convinced, of course. Judges were as fallible as any other soul upon the star in her experience, and no less swayed by popular sentiment or personal grudge- although, she conceded in silence, it wasn’t as if she could control the outcome. 

Logic wasn’t enough to assuage her concerns. Four years ago, when she had helped to save a small outlying settlement and dismantle an imperial cohort that had threatened it- that should have been the end of them. In truth, she and Keveh’to had both been lauded as heroes at the time. But four summers was more than enough time to forget, reports or not, and from the rumors Keveh’to had heard, the XIVth Imperial Legion looked to be steadily applying pressure against the still-fragile and rebuilding city-state. 

It wasn’t just that. She’d overheard anxious whispers of her own in Hyrstmill. An ominous gloom settling back into Larkscall, the eastern edge of the Shroud that bordered Ala Mhigo. Machina and steel-clad imperial patrols spotted in an ailing and slow to recover Twelveswood. Wailers and adventurers alike, gone missing. 

She cast another sidewise glance at the man by the door, but other than a disinterested nod in her direction he made no comment or gesture. 

Hells, this interminable waiting. I’m going to go mad if I have to sit here for another-

“Conjurer Aurelia Laskaris and Lieutenant Keveh’to Epocan,” the bland voice from the desk startled her enough that she felt an unpleasant twist in her stomach. She sat suddenly ramrod straight, eyes wide. “The adjudicators will see you now.”

“It’s about bleeding time,” the Miqo’te muttered, tail smacking against the flat of the bench. He gave his charge a curious glance. “Are you alright?”

“Just a touch of nerves.” Posture ramrod straight, expression displaying a calm she most certainly did not feel, she set her pattened feet upon the rug and stood. “Do I look presentable?”

“...You look soaked in sweat and uncomfortable.”

“Reassuring,” Aurelia said testily, “thank you.” 

Keveh’to shrugged. “Just like everyone else here. You won't stand out.” He swept one arm towards the closed door, a grandiose gesture that fell somewhat flat. “Ladies first.”

For a moment she felt as unsteady on her feet as she had been that fateful day five years past, bedraggled and dirty and ill, limping alone into a rain-dampened keep for a tribunal to decide what should become of her. She exhaled, quickly wiping her sweaty palms against the hempen weave, and righted her posture once more. Keveh’to was correct, of course; surely this was naught save a formality. They’d either extend her sentence on the work program or they would shorten the leash, and she had only to find out which they had chosen.

And at least this time she wouldn’t be alone. 

Squaring her shoulders, she made her way through the door and past the open training area, up a brief staircase, and behind the heavy oak partition that separated the guild hall. The two masked men bracing the door stared at the approaching duo, their lips set in a bland and unreadable line. Other than a curt nod in the Keeper’s direction, the guards seemed to pay neither of them any particular mind.

Keveh’to paused, shrugged, then lifted a fist to rap on the oak panels.

“Enter,” called a mild baritone voice. 

The heavy doors swung open with a ponderous creak upon brass hinges, and the Keeper and his imperial charge crossed the threshold into a room that to Aurelia’s critical eye was clearly a repurposed private office. Three people sat at a long desk: one Hyuran woman in the ash half-mask of a Wood Wailer, two men, one of whom she recognized. His gaze caught hers, and he acknowledged her with a polite inclination of his angular chin.

“Mistress Laskaris,” Vorsaile Heuloix said, and if the man’s voice was not precisely warm, it lacked the painstaking effort at civility she remembered from her first journey to Gridania five years ago. 

Aurelia allowed herself a small smile. “Commander Heuloix.”

“It has been some time. I trust you are well.”

Somewhere behind her she heard the door click shut. “As well as one might expect.”

“Excellent.” His lips quirked, and with that twitch of his mouth his sharp features softened somewhat. “Let it be known that the Grand Company appreciates your timely response to this summons. I surmise we also have the Lieutenant to thank for that.”

“She was in Hyrstmill on behalf of the Conjurers’ Guild,” Keveh’to spoke up at her side, smiling wryly, “so it took a fair bit of time, but yes.”

“Well, we’re all present now.” Vorsaile gestured to the two masked strangers. "Swethyna Brookstone and Lewin Hunte. The commanders of the Wood Wailers and the Gods’ Quiver, two divisions of Gridania’s defense force, whom I have asked to be present today.”

Aurelia nodded to each in their turn, but her brow remained furrowed. “If I might beg your pardon, Commander, I admit to some curiosity as to why there is not a representative of the Council of Hearers present. Will they not also be needed to preside over this hearing? I was given to understand that theirs is the final say.”

Behind the table, the three exchanged meaningful glances. Vorsaile shook his head.

“I’m afraid that either you or Lieutenant Epocan have misunderstood,” he said. “This is not a hearing. The Council and the Elder Seedseer have already made a decision regarding your case- or rather, the Elder Seedseer has exercised her authority to do so.” 

Her heart took a sudden and sickening drop into her stomach. Keveh’to seemed to sense her distress; his hand pressed into the center of her spine, whether to keep her upright or keep her from bolting out of the room it was unclear. She found herself feeling suddenly quite appreciative of his presence in either case.

“Well,” she swallowed with difficulty past the tight sensation in her throat, “one hopes that you would not keep a lady in suspense. Go on.”

The commander of the Yellow Serpents did not frown or glare or smile, only inclined his chin gravely. “I quite agree,” he said. “Swethyna, may I have the papers, please?”

Papers?

Lips still set in that neutral line, the masked woman flipped through a sheaf of documents on the table’s varnished surface until she found what she sought, plucked them from the stack, and passed them to the Elezen. He reached for the inkpot at his left elbow with one hand, collected the papers with the other, and placed them on the far side facing Aurelia and her minder.

“Mistress Laskaris,” Vorsaile Heuloix said, “after careful review of the particulars - including your actions while a novice of the Conjurers’ Guild assigned to the village of Willowsbend - it is the consensus that you have proven yourself a friend and ally to the people of the Twelveswood. Furthermore, you have comported yourself in a manner befitting the realm’s most stalwart defenders. It is remarkable enough to witness such conduct from any one individual, let alone a woman who once served under the White Raven's banner. You have the thanks of the Grand Company and the Council of Hearers alike, and of course Kan-E-Senna herself.”

“I… thank you.” It felt utterly inadequate but it was all the response she could manage, unsure as she was what this speech presaged. “I did only what anyone else would have done.”

“I beg to differ- but that is beside the point.” Vorsaile cleared his throat and reached for a small box that sat on the lip of the table. “The Elder Seedseer wished to offer you a place in the ranks of her honor guard, but the Council of Hearers made it clear they would not countenance your appointment to such a sensitive position.”

That did not surprise her. Gridanians were a hidebound people, more so even than her own countrymen, and she had seen over the years how people like Keveh’to were shoved to the fringes of their society. If they wouldn’t trust a Keeper of the Moon even when he wore the colors of their Grand Company, she knew there was precious little chance they would extend that trust to her.

“However,” he continued, “there are conditions to which they have agreed- which brings us to the reason for your summons today. In light of your valorous and compassionate actions in defense of the realm and its people, the Eorzean Alliance and its Grand Companies have decided to grant you a full pardon, and consider your time served.”

Aurelia faltered, staring at the assembled commanders in open astonishment. She was… she wasn’t going to a gaol? Or being reassigned? 

“As such,” the small wooden box opened with a click; within it lay a small, plain brass signet ring engraved with a pair of serpents twined about a staff, “it is hereby decreed that you are to be created a citizen of the city-state of Gridania, with all rights and privileges included therein.”

She couldn’t speak. Her eyes stung. It’s sweat, she told herself. Bloody stifling in here.

“Aurelia,” Keveh’to had drawn alongside her while she stood frozen in place. The Keeper’s tail wrapped carefully around her leg, twitching with a slow and soothing rhythm against her knee. “You’re looking unwell. Are you all right?”

“I’m… no. No, I’m- I’m fine. Better than fine, in fact.” Her lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful; it’s simply that this wasn’t what I had expected to hear today. It’s a bit of a shock, I suppose.”

“A good shock, one would hope.”

The commander of the Grand Company interrupted their hushed conversation with a soft hum to clear his throat, then gestured to the inkpot with polite emphasis. “For our city’s records,” Vorsaile said, “we must ask that you append your signature to your citizenship papers. If you would, please…”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, of course.”

She took the quill in hand, musing as she skimmed the text, the tip hovering at the edge of the inkpot. Five years ago she had been in just such a position- only then it was to formally cast aside her title, defecting from the Garlean Empire under terms of unconditional surrender as a prisoner of the Eorzean Alliance. She would never again be Aurelia jen Laskaris, VIIth Imperial Legion medicus. The vagaries of time and circumstance had forever placed her past beyond any tangible reach.

She was Aurelia Laskaris now, initiate of the Conjurers' Guild and - as of today - a citizen of Gridania. An Eorzean.

Forcing herself back to some semblance of composure, she bent over the documents. The quill scratch and the crispness of turning pages were the only sounds in the room other than the ticking of the wall chronometer. Her vision was so blurred she could barely see the writing on the paper, the loops and arcane curves of her own Eorzean script, but in moments it was done and she was setting the quill neatly back in its pot. 

Vorsaile scattered salt across the wet ink, tapped them onto a small groove in his desk, then folded the paper and pressed a nub of half-melted wax against the seam. All of this, followed with the press of a heavy-looking brass seal, and the deed was done. 

Aurelia was free.

“Thank you, Mistress Laskaris. That will be all.” Vorsaile held out the ring box. Aurelia took it and stared at its contents for a long moment, feeling strangely numb. “If you have any questions…” 

“I have one,” Keveh’to said wryly. “What’s with the ring?” 

“Hm? Ah… well. That signet ring is one normally granted to Serpentbearers upon their initiation into the guard - a small act of defiance on the Elder Seedseer's part, one suspects. In any case, it is a tangible reminder that your service has been recognized.”

She traced the engraving on the ring’s surface with one fingertip. Its brass curve gleamed in the late morning sunlight slanting through the nearby window.

“She asked me to inform you that this bauble is not entirely ceremonial. There is a small enchantment upon it which enhances the wearer’s focus in combat- should such a boon be needful.” Vorsaile paused for a beat; at that moment, his polite smile became something closer to a sly grin. “...That said, this is not to be considered tacit permission for you to go about picking fights with imperial soldiers. Even if you do catch them starting forest fires.”

“I shall endeavor to be on my very best behavior, Commander Heuloix. You have my word,” a small laugh escaped her lips. The sound of it brought back a semblance of equilibrium; she felt her nerves begin to calm. “Please give the Elder Seedseer my regards. I owe her a great deal.”

“She would no doubt return the sentiment.” Vorsaile reached forth a hand. “Allow me to offer my congratulations, Mistress Laskaris.”

She took it in bemused silence, unaware of Keveh’to’s eyes upon her.

~*~

“You don’t seem well pleased,” he said. It was the first either of them had spoken on the short walk back to the Canopy. Aurelia kept fidgeting with the writ she had signed, opening the broken wax seal on the parchment and reading its contents with a deep frown knitting her brow, as if she still couldn’t quite believe what had transpired.

“I am,” she insisted, somewhat weakly. “Very much so.”

“Most people in your position would be overjoyed. A full pardon- and citizenship? There are people who have been here twice as long that haven’t enjoyed such favor.”

“Some would think it ill-deserved.”

“Does it matter what other people think?”

“It might, if they feel preferential treatment is being shown to an imperial-”

“Former imperial.” 

“It all seems rather too simple.”

“Mayhap. But sometimes matters really are that simple.” The Miqo’te shrugged. A small throng of giggling children sprinted past them on their way to the amphitheater, shouting at each other. Engrossed in some manner of diversion they had spun between themselves, no doubt. Perhaps it was also a sign of the changing times that they paid the Keeper of the Moon and his companion no notice whatsoever. “Seems to me you’re overthinking things. As usual.”

Aurelia dabbed her sleeve against her damp face and said nothing. Keveh’to didn’t understand what she was getting at, and she didn’t feel the wherewithal for another argument-- but his gaze upon her was equal parts sympathetic and concerned.

“All right, spit it out,” he said. “What’s really bothering you? It isn’t actually what happened in there, is it?”

“What? No, it’s-” 

“Well, what then?”

“I don’t… I don’t know if this is really where I want to stay,” she said. “And citizenship makes me feel… I don’t know. Bound to the land, somehow.”

“What? Why? People come and go from Gridania all the time.”

She offered no reply save a helpless shrug.

They were passing the rebuilt aetheryte plaza. In the space of those five short years after the disaster which Eorzeans now called the Calamity, it had become a bustling and lively place. The throng milling about the glowing crystal included townspeople and merchants as well as the much rougher-looking adventurers in their motley collection of gear. Just as with the children, few even glanced at Aurelia as she and Keveh’to crossed the shallow bridge in the direction of the Carline Canopy. It had been a long time since she had felt like a local curiosity, for which she was silently grateful.

She paused upon the slope and its moss and stone path leading to the inn’s entrance, looking out over the placid and glassy surface of the river. The great waterwheel creaked in its slow and unhurried way upon each turn, and on the far bank, the warm wind rustled the leaves of young saplings. 

“I don’t understand why you think leaving the Empire means all your plans have to change.” Keveh’to shrugged. “You can still be a chirurgeon in Eorzea, you know.”

“I know.” 

“If anything, there’s more of a need for people with healing skills now than before. ‘Sides, you’ve got that kit of yours, don’t you? The big one with all the tools and such?”

“Many of the medicines in it cannot be replenished. I would need tools and reagents that simply don’t exist outside the Empire.” At his grimace, she added, “I think given time and closer study I could duplicate certain of them, but Eorzean methods of alchemy are quite different from ours. I suspect that in order to do what needs must, I would need to become quite proficient indeed, and I’ve not the first inkling where to start.”

“It can’t be that different.”

“You’d be surprised. I would explain it but we’d be here the rest of the day.”

“And I’d not understand the first bleeding thing about it even if you did.” His lips split into a wide grin. “Nor care, I’m afraid.”

Aurelia scoffed. “At least you’re honest.”

“Just saving you the trouble. Anyroad, you don’t have to make a decision now , do you?” He began to descend the gentle slope of the hill towards the Canopy, ears forward and tail twitching. “Sleep on it. Take some of Miounne's jobs while you give it some thought.” 

The conversation ended as they reached the stone-laden path and passed through the ornately carved doors to the Carline Canopy’s main entrance. Aurelia paused mid-step to linger upon the threshold, her gaze sweeping across the restored common room. The stairwell entrance to the recently rebuilt airship dock was now open, and nearly every table in the establishment seated bustling throngs of adventurers, merchants, and other assorted travelers. The buzz of their conversation filled the room with a low hum, broken with the occasional shout or guffaw from one party or another. 

"Assuming Miounne has any work available," she chuckled. Some few of the hopeful newcomers had formed a queue that appeared to be growing by the moment. Even from this short distance, she could see the bright flash of leve cards clasped in gloved and gauntleted hands. “I haven’t seen the Adventurers’ Guild this busy in ages.”

“Aye, not since the Twin Adder opened recruitment five years ago. Mostly new faces too; look at that. She must have her hands full.”

He was right, she realized, upon closer inspection. Most of the would-be adventurers were clearly new to the business, fresh-faced and quite young. There were a few hard-bitten veterans among the lot, but not as many as one might expect. “I wager that trend shall only continue. What with all the displacement from-- oh, she’s seen us,” Aurelia pointed at the hand waving from the desk. “Come with me and say hello?”

“Might as well,” he sighed with mock resignation. “She’s already seen me. There’s no escaping her.”

“Don’t be cheeky. Come on.”

She began to weave her way through the crowd with Keveh’to close behind. A handful of the adventurers watching from the queue glowered at the pair, clearly assuming they intended to jump the line, but Aurelia ignored the hostile stares and kept pushing her way past until the pair had reached the desk. Miounne’s smile was radiant at the sight of them, if rather fatigued. 

“Aurelia! And Sergeant Epocan-”

“Lieutenant.”

“Yes, yes, of course! I remember now, Lieutenant. So sorry. My mind is in half a dozen places at the minute.” The Canopy’s proprietress made a vague motion with one hand. “I hate to be so abrupt, Aurelia, but I’ve been looking for you. E-Sumi-Yan asked me to send you on to the Fane - your ‘earliest convenience,’ he said.”

“Why? Is aught amiss?”

Miounne shook her head. “He didn’t elaborate. Shall I ring him and let him know you’ll be along?”

“Oh, no, please don’t trouble yourself,” she glanced at the growing line of visibly impatient adventurers, “Lieutenant Epocan can call him.”

The Miqo’te protested, “Wait, why am I - hey!”

She all but dragged him away from the counter and towards the concierge, out of earshot of most of the crowd. The man at the desk offered a polite and noncommittal smile as they passed and made for the staircase leading up to her room. Keveh’to was still bristling, his tail lashing the air.

“I’ll not be a moment,” she said. “We can go our separate ways at the plaza.”

“I’m not even your minder anymore, let alone your personal secretary,” he grumbled, even though he was already reaching for the small device clipped to his ear. “...Right, well. Just remember you owe me one.”

Aurelia flashed him a quick grin before she opened the door and slipped inside. 

The small room was as austere as it had been when Miounne had first let it to her five years ago. She had not acquired much in the way of personal possessions since; there had hardly seemed a point while serving a sentence, after all. There was the field kit she had been allowed to keep along with its contents - what little remained now - and her own small traveling pack with its botany log and change of clothes and her mother’s locket. Next to this sat the small wand she had been gifted by the guild before setting off to Willowsbend. All that she truly owned in the world sat in this one small corner. 

She reached into the pouch on her plain leather belt and drew forth the ring box and the neatly folded parchment: both symbols of the changes to come, for weal or woe. In the meantime, she thought, official proof of her new legal status was not something she felt it would be wise to risk losing. The papers she tucked securely into her botany book before replacing it, pulling the drawstring of her bag taut, and buckling the clasp again. 

Once that was finished she opened the ring box and after a moment’s hesitation removed its contents. The brass winked at her from the center of her half-open palm. It was not the sort of thing she would have normally worn, and it was a touch too wide for her ring finger. She removed it to slip onto her index finger instead, and there it remained secure. 

Satisfied with the fit, she set the box on the side table, grabbed her wand to hook onto her belt, and made for the door. The ring was warm and weighted on its perch. A reminder of the new start she had been granted. 

A rap on the door: “Aurelia?”

“One moment!”

Her feelings were no less mixed than they had been before she had quit the Archer’s Guild an hour past, but they were also not something she had time to consider right now. After she had returned from the Fane, perhaps.

She made her way to the door. E-Sumi-Yan would be waiting.

Chapter Text

To the somewhat prosaic Aurelia - whose healthy wariness of magic was a product of her imperial education - the Stillglade Fane carried about it a mysterious air. Much like the Black Shroud and its eternally youthful shepherds, it seemed to move on its own and in its own time, observing the world around it as time passed but almost untouched by change. Seasons came and went and with them the cycles of novitiates, marked by the fall of leaves to give way for the growth of the new. All moved in their turns beneath the boughs of the great old-growth tree.

As ever, entering the grove felt like stepping into another plane of existence. Aside from the odd figure in hempen robes and wide-brimmed hat making the rounds between patients, it appeared as solitary and peaceful as ever.

Brother E-Sumi-Yan awaited her arrival at the guild hall entrance with a pleasant smile and the usual air of serenity about his soft and regular features. The old Padjal had never given his true age and Aurelia had never asked, though it was not necessary: she knew from his manner and from some of his recollections that he had a good century on her at least. As with all of his novices, he treated her with the amiable familiarity an old man might bestow upon a favored granddaughter.

Truth be told, it was why she looked forward to their visits.

"Well met, Aurelia. Punctual, as ever. I thank you."

"Guildmaster." She bowed from her waist, just a few ilms, enough to show a student's proper deference to her teacher. "Mother Miounne said you had need of me. Something about a request."

"I do, but it can wait for the time being. Will you take tea with me?"

“I suppose I can hardly say no if you went to all this trouble.” The modest service, Aurelia noted, was already laid out with two cups at the ready. She made her way to the empty seat at his gesture. “Please don’t say you held up your breakfast to wait on me.”

“Not at all. Please, sit. I’ll pour.”

Tea was the customary herbal offering, paired with a small plate of lavender scones and a little tin of something she thought was butter but appeared to be lemon curd upon closer inspection. Aurelia patiently cut open a pastry and helped herself to a small dollop which she spread as he filled her cup. It was a few degrees cooler here within this shaded bower than the rest of the city, and she was grateful for the boon. 

“Now then,” he reached for his own cup in turn as she sipped, “how did your morning meeting fare?”

Ah, she thought. He already knows. I suppose I should have assumed as much. “I’ve been pardoned-- over the incident in Willowsbend, so Commander Heuloix said. The Elder Seedseer had them make a citizen of me. Frankly, I had all but assumed the matter forgotten.”

The words felt as strange on her tongue as they sounded in her ears, as if she were attempting to speak a language she did not recognize. But he merely nodded, not seeming even the slightest ilm surprised.

“We can be very slow and deliberate at times, but rest assured no one here would have forgotten your service. Least of all Kan-E-Senna.” Smiling, E-Sumi-Yan reached for a scone of his own. “Citizenship is among the greatest rewards in her power to bestow. In truth, I can think of precious few I would consider more deserving of it.”

“Thank you, Guildmaster.” 

He made a hum of acknowledgment and took an experimental sip from his cup. For a few minutes neither spoke, busying themselves with their tea and taking in the deep quiet of the grove. She could hear the warbling of wood thrushes among the melancholy whicker of cicada calls, and the occasional warm breeze stirred the branches high overhead. Beneath the fragrance of her tea were the distinctive scents of river water and damp soil, scents and sounds with which she had grown intimately familiar in the past four years. 

“The wood is recovering,” she said aloud.

“Hm?”

Aurelia set the cup aside with a small clatter. “Guildmaster, I’ve been... thinking. For a while now, if I’m honest.”

The Padjal remained silent, the tilt of his head an indication that he was content to listen. A sharp gust blew a stray wildflower, stem and all, onto her dalmatica; one of the children playing along the lanes without must have picked it and discarded it before an adult could stop them. Gently she plucked the flower from her chest and held it betwixt her index finger and thumb as she stared down at it. 

“I’ve had my entire life dictated to me as far back as I can properly remember.” The star-shaped petals spun with the motion in a tiny burst of color, white tips with a red throat. With great care Aurelia tucked the wildflower stem behind one ear, where its little blossom peaked coquettishly over linen darts and golden hair. “I think the last choice I made for myself was to request a provincial posting when I enlisted, and that was a rare allowance. My family always made all the important decisions.”

“You needn't explain yourself, Aurelia. I understand your position. More than most, I believe.”

“Do you?” 

“As you know, the Padjal are born to serve the needs of the forest and to act as its intermediaries. In the most literal of senses.” E-Sumi-Yan lifted his right hand to brush one of the horns that crowned his head, curving upwards from his mop of sand-colored hair. “My parents surrendered me to my compeers shortly after my birth, in order that I might learn as soon as possible those sacred duties which were expected of me. We are not given a choice in the matter. Sooner or later, we must all obey what we are called to do.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. Her gaze traveled downwards into her emptied teacup. “I had forgotten,” she said. “Pray forgive my selfishness.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” He reached across the small stump that served as their table to pat her hand. “Most of us reconcile ourselves to our fate early in life and find acceptable outlets for our energies - personal pursuits that will not interfere with our charge. For you, there are no such limits.”

“That’s just it. I don’t know if I would be able to do what I want to do, if I remain here.”

“Had circumstances not conspired to bring you to Eorzea permanently, what would you have done then?”

“I suppose I would have finished out my enlistment, barring further misadventures. After that, I wanted to go... oh, I don’t know. East, perhaps, to Othard. Or south." She chewed on her lower lip in thought. "Actually, I would have liked very much to go to the southern provinces. If not Ala Mhigo then somewhere nearby- Werlyt, perhaps. I confess, I hadn’t thought too far beyond the end of my tour.”

“You have the freedom now to decide for yourself in truth,” he said gently. “A life spent healing others is a noble pursuit. There are certainly no lack of opportunities here.”

If he only knew how close his thoughts were to Keveh’to’s. She allowed herself a chuckle.

“That much is certainly true.”

“But?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean precisely what I said, Aurelia." He folded his hands in his lap, calm grey eyes fixed on her face. " 'Tis quite plain to me that you harbor doubts. Are you not content to remain in Gridania?”

Unbidden she thought of her mother’s parting words. Take the new life you have been granted, Vittora cen Remianus had said, and live it.  

What shape, then, should that ‘new life’ take--

"I will take no offense if your answer to this question is 'yes,' you know. You would hardly be the first young person upon the star to be afflicted with wanderlust."

“In truth, I would like to continue my studies,” she admitted. “I’ve learned much more about botany in my time here than I would have expected, and for that opportunity, I am immensely grateful. But the gap in my education is a weakness. Eorzean alchemy appears to involve the synthesis of aether housed within appropriately aligned crystals, not only in regards to reagents but to the tools themselves. Neither of which I possess. Nor do I yet have the understanding necessary to attempt it, even if I did.”

E-Sumi-Yan’s brow knitted thoughtfully. “You raise a good point. The Twelveswood boasts skilled hedge witches and amateur apothecaries in abundance, but few alchemists of mention. If you seriously mean to enrich yourself-”

“I do.”

“-then you could do worse than to make inquiries with Frondale’s Phrontistery. They are the foremost institution of such learning here, and even if they cannot take you the Alchemists’ Guild might still prove a fount of useful information. Both are located in Ul’dah, far to the south and across the Thanalan scrublands.”

“Would they accept a late enrollment, do you think?”

“I cannot say.” He spread his hands as if to say these are not questions I can answer. “But so long as you were capable of aught your studies would require, I cannot think it would serve as much of an impediment.”

“If you think they might allow me to enroll, then I would very much like to do so.” 

“You are a talented healer and I would much prefer you remain here with us- but that is not my decision to make.” His smile took on a rueful cast. “If memory serves, you will require letters of recommendation and introduction in order to enter the Phrontistery-”

“That is the way of things in the Garlean Empire as well,” she said, trying and failing to keep the eagerness from her voice. “If you would be willing to vouch for me, that is.”

“I am. If your mind is set, say the word and I shall make the necessary arrangements.”

For the first time in a very long while, Aurelia felt something in her stir with genuine excitement at the idea. Ul’dah! New sights. New land and a new city. A new school, with all the untapped possibilities that would bring. 

“Before we discuss this matter further there is a small favor I would ask of you, which brings us to today’s business. The guild has had a request from the Bannock.” E-Sumi-Yan reached into the sleeve of his robe and withdrew a neatly folded square of parchment. “A missive arrived this morning from Galfrid, one of the Twin Adder’s drill instructors. There has been suspicious activity around Lifemend Stump as of late.”

“The moogles’ glade?”

“The very same. Due to its sensitive nature, I would rather not send it to Miounne. I was hoping you might be able to see to the matter in my stead."

"Of course. Should I go to the Bannock first?"

"No need. There is a witness who has been in touch about the same issue, and he should be able to provide more information directly.” He handed the parchment to Aurelia and stood from his seat, indicating their meeting was over. She took it and tucked it into her belt as she followed suit. “Should you find anything which merits further investigation, pray report to the Bannock and relay it to Galfrid before your return.”

“I will.” 

“And be on your guard. Even so close to the city, the wood often cannot tell friend from foe." Abruptly, E-Sumi-Yan's easy smile faded to take on a most serious cast indeed. "Even its shepherds.”

==

The Lifemend Stump lay perhaps a half-league to the southwest of the city, nestled within the central Shroud. Despite the heat of the day, the greenery and the rushing sound of water from the nearby river made the journey a relatively short and peaceful one, and she took the opportunity to sort through her thoughts as she walked.

Aurelia thought she had made peace with the notion that her homeland was lost to her. But once one came down to it, she wasn’t sure that a quiet life in the forest was truly what she wanted. At least not for the rest of her days. Gridania was a lovely place, but she had come here as a prisoner, after all. Perhaps that circumstance was the core of her conundrum. 

Just this once I would wish to be the captain of my own ship.

To her mind, E-Sumi-Yan’s very lack of resistance to her wanderlust spoke volumes. Perhaps he simply thought that some time spent away from the forest broadening her horizons in Ul’dah would change her mind and convince her to stay- or at the very least dispel any grand illusions she might have of the world without the Shroud, once the novelty of it all had worn off. 

“What have we here, kupo?”

Aurelia drew short so abruptly that she nearly tripped over her own feet and over the edge of the riverbank into the water in an attempt to correct her balance. The familiar round form of a moogle floated perhaps a fulm away from her face. Its tiny leathery wings fluttered furiously, the most immediate sound by far in the still summer air. They were much smaller than the fluffy body they held aloft, and as the moogle studied her with open curiosity she watched it list to one side under its own weight. Its bright orange pom twitched atop its head.

“Good morning,” she managed. “Um…”

“So Kupto Kapp was telling the truth, kupo!” the moogle performed a triumphant spin midair, “You can see us!” 

“Ah... yes. I’m- that is, my name is Aurelia. Are you-”

“Oh, I mean you aren’t supposed to be able to see us. Not unless we let you, kupo. But I guess it’s all right since he said the Elder Seedseer asked you to come here and help fix the Twelveswood and all. Usually the only ones who talk to us around here are the Padjal so this is a fun change! ...though this means I did lose my wager with him, kupo…”

“I’m sorry,” the Garlean attempted to (politely) interrupt this cheerful outpouring of words, “but I really must be on my way. I’ve been asked to-”

“Come to the Lifemend Stump! Yes, yes, I know all about it. Brother E-Sumi-Yan told me I should expect someone, kupo. If you’ve come to have a look for yourself, I can be your guide!”

“That’s very kind of you-"

"You're Aurelia, you said? I’m Kuplo Kopp! Pleased to meet you, kupo! This way, Miss Aurelia, this way!”

Once again her reply went nigh unheeded as the creature performed another circular turn of joy, this time about her head. This was clearly going to be one of those moments in which any response she might give would be meaningless, and it was just as obvious that she had a companion now whether she liked it or not.

Just as well. The entire endeavor would give her something to do other than ruminate.

So thinking, Aurelia let Kuplo Kopp take the lead. The path diverged at the river’s edge, snaking into a small cavern next to the waterfall. The well-worn rocks magnified the rush of the current into a grinding roar that drowned out all other sounds. Cool spray struck her cheeks and dewed her clothes on her passage, a welcome respite from midsummer heat- though she knew she could not linger, as tempting as the thought might be. 

Beyond the rush of water upon rock the rustle of leaves reaching her ears once more. Before they could draw closer, she reached for the moogle and grasped the pom antenna on his head. The moogle let out a startled yelp.

“Ow! That hurts, kupo!” His tiny wings fluttered with wild indignation. “Didn’t E-Sumi-Yan teach you any manners? You aren’t supposed to pull on a pom like-”

“Hush,” Aurelia interrupted. She let her free hand drop to her belt. Her fingertips brushed over the stem of her wand, registering the slightly roughened texture of its bark before closing about it in a ready grip. “Let me make certain the area ahead is clear.”

“Clear?”

“Just be quiet.”

Stealthy movement was not precisely what Aurelia would have called her strong point. She was a healer, not a skirmisher. Even during the Willowsbend incident, she had relied upon her wits as much as what paltry magic she had at her disposal. But she had learned while foraging in the depths of the forest how to move quietly and avoid the notice of poachers and bandits, and she put that knowledge to use now. Each step she took, she did so at a slow and steady pace, in order that the wooden clack of her pattens upon stone would not alert a potential intruder.

Leaf-shaped patterns of shadow dappled the sun’s glare at the far end of the craggy tunnel, and Aurelia slipped past and behind the tree’s trunk to survey the area more closely. It didn’t take long to dispel her worries: the glade lay still and pristine, by all appearances undisturbed. 

She let her hand fall back to her side, posture relaxing somewhat as she took in the natural beauty of the place. Shafts of sunlight poked holes in the canopy high above to shine down upon wildflowers and tall grass in the places it could touch, and small yellow butterflies drifted from bloom to bloom. Somewhere not too distant she could hear a thrush’s call. 

And at the center of the clearing---

The massive breadth of the Lifemend Stump lay at the glade’s heart. Though Aurelia herself believed in no gods, she had learned much of local custom and folklore over the past handful of years, dwelling among the people of the Black Shroud in more remote settlements. This place, one the Padjal called “branch of rebirth,” was sacred to the moogles. The smallfolk left items here to be mended, usually things with deep sentimental meaning. People rarely lingered, for it was considered extremely ill fortune to do so, though on occasion some souls tried to catch a glimpse of their benefactors.

There was a blade, a very crude one, stuck into the center of the stump. Aurelia’s brow knitted into a deep frown.

This is surely not one of the locals’ doing. 

Her sense of caution renewed, she drew closer to have a better look. Whomever had done the work had done so with violence and purpose; a segment of the leaf-and-acorn resin mosaic so artfully impressed into the stump’s surface had cracked beneath the force of the blow and defaced it. Broken pieces lay in sad and cracked fragments around the point of ingress. 

Who could possibly have done such a thing? Surely it would have been no one from the city. She could hardly imagine the Coeurlclaws or really anyone from the local Keeper communities defacing something that belonged to the moogles. The hunters and trappers among them quite often depended upon the creatures’ largesse themselves. And precious few of the bandit crews that called the forest home would dare venture this close to a Wailer outpost, for fear of--

“Oh, look! There’s someone else here ahead of us!”

Aurelia startled at the cheerful trill. She righted herself and turned in the direction it had come: not from the mouth of the cave, but from a small stand of nearby ash saplings. The voice’s owner was waving at her: a young Hyuran woman, perhaps a year or two Aurelia’s junior. Everything about the stranger’s attire lay open and loose, from her shirt and very short pants to bright crimson plated thigh-high boots. But the most remarkable thing about her was the strange contrivance which sat atop her head and over the half-mask she wore. It looked almost like a magitek device, Aurelia thought, something an army engineer would wear. Like safety goggles, only more ponderous.

Kuplo Kopp fluttered anxiously about the woman’s willowy frame, and the movement of his wings drew Aurelia’s attention to the Lalafellin man who trailed behind. He wore the robes of a mage and the same curious headgear as the woman. His lips were pursed with something akin to displeasure. 

“Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we might resume- oh dear.” He drew towards the center of the clearing, brow as deeply furrowed as Aurelia’s own. “Is that-”

“A sword in the stump? Oh. That’s… bad. Really bad.” She turned her attention away from her companion to settle upon Aurelia- or, rather, it seemed that way from her body language, given all of her face that was visible under the heavy headgear was her lips. Her chin tilted from side to side in a way that felt oddly birdlike. “Um, you weren’t… responsible for this, were you?”

Aurelia opened her mouth to answer, but in the same instant found herself surrounded by glowing pom and cloudlike fluff.

“What? Oh, no no no, Miss Yda, not even close!" cried Kuplo Kopp, with a flurry of his wings and another spin about her head for good measure. "Miss Aurelia would never do such a thing, not at all, kupo! The stranger I saw wore dark robes, and anyway, she’s been sent by Brother E-Sumi-Yan!”

“Hm,” the mage grunted. He leaned forward to peer at something through his goggles; clearly, he had taken the moogle’s denial at face value. Aurelia was relieved to find herself no longer the subject of the pair’s scrutiny for the moment. Even the girl’s attention had turned back to her diminutive companion, who now busied himself with some sort of adjustment to his goggles while he muttered under his breath. 

“...How are the readings, Papalymo?” The woman Kuplo Kopp had called Yda was fidgeting, rocking idly from heel to heel in a manner that indicated she was not accustomed to standing still for long periods of time. “Do you see any disturbances?”

Papalymo tapped a small button on the outer rim of his headgear. The bottom half flipped upwards on a hinge--- not goggles, then, Aurelia amended; some kind of visor. “Yes, in fact, I do. This one is exactly the same as the last. Newly manifested, mind, but quite visible. At this rate-”

An icy chill ran down her spine in the moment before the air in the glade seemed to turn thick and heavy. Through the screen of the canopy a cloud blotted out the sun and the wind began to stir itself into a gale with increasing speed- no mild summer breeze, this. It lashed at her clothing and skin as if it were throwing handfuls of invisible needles.

“Oh hells,” she muttered, unslinging the wand from her belt.

In the moment the other two moved to react in kind, the wind became a loud and throaty roar that drowned out the sound of falling water: one echoed by the lumbering movements of a large treant. The seedkin crashed into the clearing with an angry bellow. Its cry shook the surrounding leaves and rattled the broken pieces of resin upon the stump’s surface, and the grinding sound of the wind seemed now to rumble into their very bones. 

Papalymo shrugged the carved bone staff from his back and offered Aurelia a briefly questioning glance. “Kuplo Kopp seems convinced of your innocence,” he said. “Thus I shall take him at his word and trust that weapon of yours isn’t ceremonial.”

“No more than is yours, I should think.”

“Excellent. Then you can watch our backs, if you would be so kind. Yda! Draw that blasted thing away from the Stump! No point in making matters worse.”

“On it!”

Yda took a running leap towards the rampaging creature without hesitation, her position marked with a bright flash of crimson and gold as her body twisted midair into a hefty kick that connected with a sound thwack against the treant’s trunk. 

"Over here,” she called, dancing into stance after stance with each pace that lured it away from the center of the clearing- in time for a cluster of other, smaller seedkin to spill from the trees. They made a beeline for Papalymo, only to find themselves caught in the sudden magical pyre that surrounded him. 

“Hurry up and take that thing down,” he shouted at his partner, drawing his staff back for another cast, “unless you want to be eaten!”

“All right, all right! I’m trying! ”

Determined not to lag behind either of them, Aurelia called forth a condensed handful of wind-aspected aether to dance at her fingertips for a brief moment, before spinning the globe into its branches to rip at its leaves and splinter its branches. The treant yowled its rage to the skies, gnarled hand-like branches thrashing wildly. Yda wove through each attempted blow with the sinuous grace of a serpent as her brass-clad knuckles landed hit after hit.

Another burst of flame made short work of the smaller creatures, and as they fought she could see the treant’s swipes begin to slow: its wrath, for a small mercy, was now all but spent. Aurelia duly turned the earth against it as Papalymo did the same with fire, stones and flame smashing and scorching trunk and branch alongside Yda’s swift fists.

Between their combined efforts, the creature finally crashed to the ground with a heavy groan and lay still. The trio stared at each other, each in various states of singed, bruised and sweaty. Without a word Aurelia reached for Yda with an outstretched hand. Cool aether suffused her skin like water as her wounds - mostly superficial - closed in the next instant.

“Thanks,” the pugilist panted, wiping at her brow with one forearm. “Erm. ...Sorry about all this.”

“It’s nothing I’ve not seen before.” After assuring herself that none of them had suffered any grievous injury, Aurelia tucked the wand back into its leather loop on her belt. “Unfortunately, the forest has been rather sensitive.”

“Ugh! I know. It’s bloody hideous.” Yda braced her hands on her hips. “One little fluctuation in the aether and you get something like this. We’re lucky you came along when you did.”

“Likewise. What brings you and your friend to Gridania?”

“Hm? Oh, we’ve come here lots over the years!” Aurelia did not miss the brief glances exchanged between the two strangers before Yda replied, perhaps a little too brightly: “...That is, we’ve come from Ul’dah-”

“Yda,” Papalymo began, his voice sharp, but she barely glanced at him before plunging on ahead.

“-to conduct our annual aetheric survey in the Twelveswood!” The fists made a clanging sound as she hastily hooked them back onto her belt before thrusting out a hand in greeting. Bemused, Aurelia accepted her vigorous handshake. “I’m Yda Hext and this is Papalymo Totolymo. Nice to meet you!”

“Yes, yes, very good,” Papalymo huffed an impatient sigh, “Now that we’ve introductions out of the way and we are no longer in immediate danger of being devoured by the local flora, might I suggest we do what we came to do and go before we press our luck?”

“Right! Right. Sorry.”

As the pair argued, Aurelia had caught the flutter of something out of place from the corner of her eye-- a feather, split and ruined at the ends, bending listless and forlorn in the cooling breeze that whispered through the cavern and into the glade. She knelt to study the corpse which the feather crowned. It was an Ixali warrior, adorned in trappings much more elaborate than she had seen before.

There were footsteps crunching through the grass at her back. Aurelia stood, dusting her hands off on the front of her dalmatica at Yda's approach. 

“Oh, you've found something!"

“Yes,” Aurelia said. "Our culprit, I don't doubt."

She caught the yellow of Papalymo's robes as he joined them, squinting at the corpse through his visor lenses. “So it would seem- and that is not just a scout, either. That is a chieftain." He let out a soft whistle from pursed lips before adding: "I don’t suppose you might be able to tell us what killed him?”

“Not at a glance, no.” She looked back down at the dead Ixal. “I suppose the wood might have retaliated against him, but to be certain of that I would have to take a closer look with the proper tools. Which I do not happen to have on hand at present.”

“Pity. ...Well, I don’t suppose that is as important as the obvious fact that their war bands have ventured far too close to Gridania for anyone's comfort," Papalymo said. "It’s quite possible they’re acting under orders. Of course, that begs the question as to whose…”

“A question which I am sure the Twin Adder will be most anxious to investigate themselves,” Aurelia interjected, keeping her answer polite but brisk. This encounter was growing stranger by the moment, and as curious as it all was she knew a report would be expected soon. “Would either of you mind terribly if I take that sword back to the Bannock with me? I'll tell the Grand Company they’ve got a body to collect.”

“Hm? No, by all means.” 

The Ixal's ritual blade was embedded a good few ilms into the stump’s surface, but it was not a stout thing and one good yank was enough to dislodge it. Aurelia hefted it over her shoulder; it was a bit heavier than she had expected, but she had run enough minor errands in this part of the wood on the guild’s behalf over the last few years to have a rough idea of where things were. The Bannock wasn’t far and the extra weight wouldn't slow her enough to matter.

“Please take caution while traveling through the wood,” she said. “It isn’t always welcoming to outsiders.”

For the first time since they had met, Papalymo finally offered her a genuine smile. “No," he agreed, "it isn’t.”

Aurelia raised her free hand in a friendly wave and crossed the glade towards the cavern. Had she chanced to look over her shoulder, she would have seen that the pair lingered to stare after her long after she was out of sight.

Chapter Text

Papalymo Totolymo considered himself reasonably worldly for a man of Sharlayan. As the favored protege of the late Louisoix Leveilleur, many of the star’s most tumultuous events in the last twenty summers had taken place beneath his watch: from the mass colonial exodus to the motherland, to those final dark days before the Seventh Umbral Calamity. He still remembered offering prayers at one of the great standing-stones as the Empire unleashed Bahamut - that ancient and terrible primal bound by Allagan contrivance - upon the fields of Carteneau. 

So too did he recall his master’s sacrifice. Papalymo was not what one would call particularly devout, nor had he placed as much stock in such things as coincidence or fate. But the events he had witnessed had gradually softened his harder stances, and the more he saw of the world, the more he thought he understood what Louisoix had meant. 

Faith had, after all, saved Eorzea in the end.

He watched that slim, straight back as its owner sidled into shadow and disappeared from sight. At first glance, the woman hadn’t seemed all that remarkable- much like any other Guild conjurer they had met in the past handful of years. But this time he thought there was something about her that was... different. The aetherovisor had-

“Papalymo? Are you listening?”

“...Hm? Yes,” he said with an absentminded nod. His hazel eyes lay fixed upon the emptied cavern entrance. “Well. That was… most edifying.”

“Edifying?”

“Educational.”

“What was educational about it? The sword? The Ixal?” Yda blinked in obvious confusion. It was quite clear that the two of them had taken something entirely different away from that encounter. “I thought you knew about those already. Or did you mean that conjurer?” 

Preoccupied with checking and comparing indicator readings, Papalymo barely even acknowledged her. “Yes.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, I did.” 

Yda’s chin tilted in the same birdlike fashion Aurelia had noted upon their meeting, and her lips pursed briefly as she tapped her index finger against her cheek. “Actually, now that you mention it… I just thought of something.” 

“Hm.” 

"Is it just me, or did it seem like that woman was able to see Kuplo Kopp?”

“....And this occurs to you now? Honestly, of all the questions to ask!”

"What- well, you did ask me, Papalymo."

She pointed this fact out with the cheerful self-possession that rarely failed to annoy him, specifically when she employed it against him. Yda knew he hated it, so of course she did it at every opportunity.

Silver-threaded blond curls drifted across the edges of the aetherovisor with the movement of his head from side to side, as the Archon cut off his lecture before he could properly begin. From his long years of experience with her, he knew there was a greater than zero chance it would all fall upon deaf ears anyway.  “...all right, yes, that did appear to be the case- and don't you give me that look."

"What look?"

"That smug one you always get when you-"

"When I'm right? Hmm?"

"Oh, for the love of everything, Yda!"

"Go on. 'You're right, Yda.' Say it."

"Yda-"

"Saaaay it," she repeated, in a teasing little singsong. Papalymo scowled at his young partner before he realized she couldn't see his expression beneath the unwieldy visor, only the petulant purse of his lips. Pointless to fight the tide, he thought with a sort of exasperated fondness.

...He supposed he could allow her one small concession.

"Yes, yes, all right. Fine. You were right," he said testily, ignoring her tiny cheer and accompanying fist pump. "But don't get ahead of yourself. As to what significance that might bear, provided there is any, only time will tell.”

“Will it? I certainly hope so,” she retorted, bracing her hands on her hips. “It’s not as though you ever tell me anything.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I just said it! You never tell me what’s going on!” Yda’s pout lifted into a sly smile. “...Unless you don’t know either?”

“Of course I do! Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“-and even if I didn’t,”  he huffed, “I certainly wouldn’t admit it to an insolent child!”

Yda did not take offense. Her laugh, tinkling like wind chimes, followed the pair out of the clearing.

~*~

After bearing the blade and news of a corpse to a surprised but very grateful Galfrid Mossback and his fellows, Aurelia entered the Fane to see E-Sumi-Yan conversing with one Kuplo Kopp. The moogle lifted a paw as she strode towards them.

“Ah! Aurelia," the guildmaster said. "Welcome back. I trust your return was without incident.”

“Yes, it was fine. The walk was most refreshing.” She hesitated; her gaze flickered from E-Sumi-Yan to his current conversation partner, hovering midair with open curiosity stamped all over his tiny face. “Although… I have something to ask, if I might?”

“Of course. Thank you for your assistance, Kuplo Kopp. Pray give my regards to the others.”

“I will, kupo! Wonderful to meet you at last, Aurelia!” he piped, adding a chipper backflip for good measure. “Don’t worry, I’ll say hello to Kupto Kapp and Kapna Kugi for you!”

The little creature had taken wing into the trees before she could respond, although E-Sumi-Yan’s expression was one of mild-mannered curiosity as they watched Kuplo Kopp disappear into the tree line. 

“You had not told me you were acquainted with the moogles.”

“A bit of an exaggeration,” Aurelia hedged. “I met a couple of them by chance when I first came to the wood. They were quite helpful, as I recall.”

He squinted at her. Opened his mouth- then shut it, as if he had been about to say something and thought better of it, and cleared his throat. 

“We have a good rapport with the moogles,” was all he said. “What was it you wished to ask?”

“When I was in the glade earlier, there were two others who arrived shortly thereafter. A Hyur woman - a pugilist - and a Lalafell gentleman. I asked after their business in the Shroud, but they were quite evasive.” Thoughtfully she tapped her temple. “They each sported some peculiar contraption. I thought at first perhaps they were customized sets of spectacles. Mayhap a magitek visor of some sort, but if so it was surely not of imperial make.”

E-Sumi-Yan was smiling.

“Ah,” he said. “You’ve met Yda and Papalymo.”

“Adventurers?”

“Scholars. Aetherologists from Sharlayan, if memory serves. But you may safely lay any suspicions you have to rest - they are friends. Their assistance over the last few years, particularly with regards to the Garlean Empire, has proven invaluable.”

Aurelia only nodded. The pair had been strange, and their exchanges clearly born of long years of personal intimacy, but neither had come across as threatening.

“Now- as to the matter we discussed before you took your leave…” He muttered something under his breath too softly for her to catch and began to pat down his robes. “Ah! Here we are.”

The neatly folded and wax-sealed parchment in his hand bore the mark of the Conjurers’ Guild and, she could see, the Padjal’s own painstakingly neat script. E-Sumi-Yan glanced at it for only the briefest of moments before he held it out for her to take. 

“I took the liberty of discussing the matter with Miounne while you were running that errand for me. She has already agreed to send word ahead to the Adventurers’ Guild in Ul’dah, I expect.” A stray breeze ruffled his sandy hair as he inclined his chin, smile unwavering. “She should have another letter of her own ready for you when you return to the inn.”

“I- oh,” for a second time in the space of a day Aurelia found herself taken aback. “This… goodness, you work very quickly.”

“Oh?”

“I confess I had thought a letter of introduction might take some days to draft, not bells.”

“Not at all! I had the time to spare, and at any rate I have written many such letters in my time. They are quite formulaic.”

“I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken-”

“Lest you misunderstand, Aurelia, this is no more than I might otherwise have done for any of my novices,” there was no visible change to his expression but his tone was so firm it might almost have been a reprimand. “This letter does not guarantee your enrollment into the Phrontistery. ‘Tis but a window of opportunity, and little else.”

In other words, he could get her into Ul’dah and secure her lodging. Anything beyond that would have to be accomplished by her hand and hers alone - she was not surprised; she had a rough idea of Uldah’s love of self-made success stories. 

But Aurelia was not unaccustomed to such uphill battles; if she could make her own way in Gridania despite her ignorance of its customs when she had first arrived in the Shroud, she was quite sure she could manage matters in Ul’dah. A chance was all she required, and here it lay, in her hand.

“Well enough to my thinking that you have provided it,” she said. “You have my thanks.”

His serene smile turned somewhat doleful. “I would be remiss not to admit that your absence will be felt. But I will not be one to clip your wings, either. Now go. Give Mother Miounne my regards.”

“I will.”

Perhaps you will return to the wood as a guardian once more, E-Sumi-Yan mused as she passed from the boughs of the Fane. Most heed its call, in the end. But I will only accept it from you if that is what is meant to be. 

Even for foolish notions of sentimentality, he knew it was not his place to tangle the Spinner’s weave.

~*~

“I am beginning to wonder,” Alisaie Leveilleur declared to no one in particular, “if there are any other cycles of weather in this place beyond ‘rain’ and ‘purple.’ “

No one answered. Not that she had expected otherwise.

The young elezen spared a sullen glance at the dodo tenderloin on her plate - rubbery with gristle, lukewarm, and unappetizing - before resuming her people-watching out the nearby window, or what there was of it. Only one of the panes had tempered glass in; the other three were covered with some sort of oilcloth, no doubt to proof the opening against the region’s frequent afternoon showers.

There wasn’t much to see, truth be told. Revenant’s Toll had washed away in the floods following the Carteneau disaster five years past. Although the adventurers who ran the town were rebuilding, the new town - if one could properly call it that - was essentially a glorified leve outpost. Albeit, she allowed, it was a leve outpost with a bar, a boarding house, and some tents attached, but at this moment in time still little more than a burgeoning bump in the road. Its new location sat well up the ascent onto the escarpment this time, some five malms north of the old camp.

Alphinaud had observed that the new location was far more strategically advantageous, and had been more than happy to explain his theory at length without any prompting. Alisaie had scant interest in such matters, and had tuned her brother’s lecture out in favor of exploration after only a few minutes.

Mor Dhona had been a very pretty place once, so they had been told, lush and green. But most of the old rainforests had been destroyed, first by the great battle between the Garlean Empire and the Dravanian horde, then by Dalamud’s descent. She was grateful that for a small blessing, the window seat she had chosen did not afford her an unhampered view of the Carteneau Flats. At its epicenter grew the massive crystalline half-sphere that had settled into the face of the land like a pockmark with its shattered Allagan structures poking haphazardly out from unstable, poisonous facets. That was where Grandfather had-- where he had--

Her gaze returned to her emptied teacup.

“Are you not hungry?”

Alphinaud stood at the edge of the table with a refilled trencher and a fresh pot. She shook her head. 

“Just the tea, thank you.” Alisaie all but snatched the pot away before he had even finished setting it down, grateful for the momentary distraction. “I’ll pour it myself.” 

“You really can see the Keeper from here.”

“What?” 

“The Keeper of the Lake. So-called.” Her brother peered out the window as he seated himself at a positively glacial pace, deep blue eyes scanning their surrounds. "See? Over there, wrapped around the HRS Agrius. ...what’s left of it, at any rate.”

Following his gaze as she poured her tea, Alisaie could just see the outline of the gruesome landmark that sat in the center of Silvertear Lake. The protruding wreckage of the doomed imperial dreadnought shimmered dully in shades of black steel and flaking vermilion paint, only barely visible in the gloaming. Without the imposing structure, the decomposing remains of the great wyrm Midgardsormr wound tightly about its sheared and exposed hull: the final embrace of a murderous lover. Over it all loomed the blue-white silhouette of a very tall crystal spire, glowing with a strange ambient light. It put her in mind of a lighthouse watchtower in a fog bank. 

“So,” Alphinaud had turned back to his trencher, “have you made ready, sister? We depart on the morrow.”

“Not yet." As ever, the long and careful sip she took from the cup helped her to gather her thoughts. She set it down with a quiet porcelain rattle before she continued: "I want to go down to the Flats once more before we leave."

“Why?"

“To see if anything was left behind.” 

"No." His refusal was adamant. "We’re pressed for time as it is. Even if we weren't, anything of value will have been removed years ago.”

Nerves frayed by fatigue and frustration, catching the annoyed lilt in his voice, she felt herself bristling. 

“Have you even tried to look?”

“Alisaie-”

“All I ask is another day to make inquiries. One day. ”

“And I am telling you we don’t have one day. The itinerary-”

“Oh, sod the bleeding itinerary!” she burst out. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you simply didn’t care to assist me at all!”

Alphinaud’s fist, still holding his fork, slammed against the table with enough emphasis to rattle her teacup saucer and splash a few droplets of its contents onto the table. She expected some sort of surprised rejoinder, or - far more likely - yet another calm (and rather condescending) explanation as to why it would be impossible to continue her search without more resources. Implying yet again, as tended to be his wont, that her requests to seek more information as to their grandfather’s whereabouts were merely part and parcel of a childish whim.

Instead, the flash of light in his eyes was that of wounded anger: one of Alphinaud’s rare displays of ill temper- or, perhaps, the grief he so rarely allowed himself to display in public. His lips were drawn into a thin, taut line and his eyes, the same deep blue as her own, appeared for a moment to be suspiciously bright. 

“That was unkind of you,” he accused. “You are not the only one of us who misses Grandfather, you know. Nor wishes for his safe return, if there is a return to be had."

"I'm aware."

"And you know he would not have wanted us to neglect tasks of monumental importance solely for his sake. That was never his way.”

"I just… Alphinaud, we promised each other," the strident pitch of it was close enough to a plea to make her cringe, but there was little help for it, "If there’s even the slightest chance he might still be alive-”

“The chance is slim to none. You know that.” He would not meet her gaze. “And even so, we cannot linger. Grandfather’s successor will be awaiting our arrival and she is certain to have more accurate information on his whereabouts than nearly anyone you would meet here.”

“But... oh, all right. I suppose you make a valid point,” she said. You’re right, as per bloody usual. One hand curled into a fist atop the roughened wooden surface; the admission stuck squarely in her craw, but Alisaie knew full well there would be no peace between them did she allow the rule of her pride to stay her tongue. “...And that was unkind. Forgive me.”

Alphinaud said nothing for a long moment. Worry had just started to nag at the corners of her conscience when his slim, unblemished fingers reached for her hand. She relaxed her fist and allowed him to lace his fingers with hers, then in her turn covered her brother’s hand with her other palm. It was a gesture meant to placate as much as to comfort, but she supposed that particular river flowed both ways.

“We’ll come back,” Alphinaud said at length. His sigh, a long-suffering thing, seemed to close the space between them. “All right? We’ll come back. I just think we should see to his outstanding obligations first and foremost. Once that's done, you can take as much time to investigate as you like.”

Somewhat suspicious of the gesture, she peered at him from beneath her snowy veil of fringe. “Do you mean it?”

“At the first opportunity," he added. "I swear it.”

Alisaie squinted at him for a careful moment before she withdrew her hand. She drummed her fingertips upon the table for a moment, then picked up the fork that lay alongside her long-abandoned trencher. He blinked when she jabbed its business end in his direction, a movement that might have been amusing were it not also vaguely threatening. 

“...I’m going to hold you to that."

“Of course you will," he groused. "You always do.”

His surly retort prompted Alisaie to finally flash a strained grin. It was the first smile she had spared for him since the pair had stood together on the deck of their ship and watched the city shrink to a bare glimmer on the horizon, swallowed by the endless dark of the open sea. Full of undaunted optimism then, the siblings had been of one accord. The weeks spent at sea and on land had eroded it, but Alisaie at least had not lost sight of her purpose.

And I will hold you to your word this time as well, little brother.

She lifted her teacup in a mock toast and watched as he followed suit.

“Well. To the road on the morrow, then,” she said. “And Gridania.”

“And Gridania.”

The meeting of the twins' cups chimed with their sealed bargain. Without the town of Revenant's Toll, the pall of dusk continued its descent.

Chapter Text

The day Aurelia Laskaris left Gridania dawned damp and foggy: as mundane and unremarkable a sendoff as one could possibly wish. The heat wave had relented overnight and the wind with it, and the trees’ leaves hung still and sparkling with droplets of dew. Pale rays of early morning sun filtered through the low-hanging wisps of cloud and collected dust motes and small insects in their wake. The quality of it reminded her of L’haiya’s lace curtains, the way their softness and the delicate patterns and filtered sunbeams had always framed the sitting room windows of her girlhood home. 

The driver of the chocobo carriage aimed to set out from the city before full daybreak. Thus she stood in drowsy silence along with half a dozen other passengers set to board, watching the lalafellin teamster as he and the Canopy’s porters secured the larger bags. Barring any unforeseen incidents, the carriage’s route would take them south past Quarrymill, through the marshes near old Amdapor, and south into the high desert of northeastern Thanalan until they reached Ul’dah.

It had taken her all of three days to conclude her affairs: there was, after all, no property for her to sell, nor any anxious relatives to wheedle her into remaining. 

Watching the small man loop his handfuls of hempen rope to secure over boxes and bags and other people’s assorted belongings, Aurelia felt a certain twinge of wistfulness that she had not expected. The forest city was not quite home, but it had served as the closest thing she had to one for nearly five years. But it was not enough to keep her. The excitement of the road ahead had not left her, and she faced the morning with bright eyes and a clear mind. The sun was up and so was she.

Keveh’to did not share her optimism, that much was obvious with a mere glance. The Miqo’te stood at her side with an expression one could only describe as pained. His ears lay flat against his fluffy hair, and his fawn-colored bottlebrush tail lashed emphatic and agitated beats against her leg. 

“I know I’ve asked you half a dozen times now,” he said quietly, “but are you absolutely certain about this?"

Her answer was the same as it had been each time he had asked: 

“As certain as I shall ever be.” 

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“Yes, well,” she felt a twinge of annoyance at his pessimism surface at last, “as one recalls, ‘twas you who made the suggestion that I consider further study afield.”

"When you told me you’d give the matter some thought, I didn’t expect you to come back to Miounne’s place the same day with a letter of introduction already scripted and sealed.” His arms folded over his chest and he stared up into the canopy. “E-Sumi-Yan must have had that letter already waiting to give to you, whatever he said.”

“Perhaps. It’s not as though he would have told me if he did.” Aurelia looked down at herself and smoothed the pleats of her skirt yet again. All of it, from head to toe, was new. It felt so odd; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had new clothing. “Thank you again,” she continued, somewhat awkwardly. “For the traveling attire. It's quite fine.”

Keveh’to shrugged. A dull rosy flush crept up the sides of his neck. “It’s Ul’dah,” he said. “They’ll toss you out the gates on your arse if you show up looking like a beggar.”

“Hells below,” she tried to make a jest of it with a soft laugh, “you make it sound as though they’ll have a fashion inspector awaiting my arrival.”

“No. But I’ve known my share of that lot, and ‘tis not unlikely they’ll hit you with a demand for a hefty bribe at least once.”

“Yes, I’ve heard stories from some of the others.”

“And for goodness’ sake, Relia- please do yourself a favor and be careful about the company you keep. No one needs to know about you-know-what.” He tapped his temple with a humorless smile. “Ul’dah is a great deal more cosmopolitan than our humble little forest abode, but even they might balk at that.”

The stare she gave him could best be described as obstinate, with the hard set of her jawline. “...I might be ignorant of many Eorzean customs, but I should like to think I am not that much of a fool.”

“I’m trying to watch out for you.”

“Rest assured, I do appreciate the thought.” Still so glum. She frowned at him, “I thought that this decision would have pleased you. You made no secret you were tired of watching me mope about.”

“I- yes. But-” 

He opened his mouth, stuttered into empty air, then sighed. 

The other passengers milled about them in a somnolent shuffle, muttering to each other and passing bags back and forth. A pair of snowy-haired elezen twins in clothing as new and fine as her own brushed past Aurelia and Keveh’to without sparing a second glance, their identical braids and hair-ribbons stirring in a cool and sluggish breeze from the riverbank. She waited for the pair to pass well out of earshot before she continued, as gently as she could manage:

“This isn’t goodbye forever, you know.”

“I know.”

“They gave me honorary citizenship. I think I’m obligated to at least visit from time to time.” Another jest, one which failed in a like manner as the other to crack his solemn visage. “But I do fully plan on returning once I’ve completed my studies.”

“Right. I understand that. It’s…” His ears swiveled forward, then back, still flattened unhappily against his hair. “...Never mind. It’s not important.”

“No, go on.”

“It’s a trifling personal matter. Naught that you should worry about.”

“If you have something to say-”

That stony stoicism faded at last, relaxing into a smile, but it was as sad a smile as she had ever seen Keveh’to Epocan give anyone. “Matter of fact, I did. Once. But I see now that I’ve gone and waited too long,” he said cryptically. “Saying it now won’t change anything, and I wager I’d only feel worse if it did.”

“I’m sorry.” Aurelia worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “Truly, I am.”

His smile stretched into a grin. It made him look far more like the man she had come to know, the friend who teased and needled her and let her talk herself into momentous decisions. “You’ve no cause to be sorry for anything, my friend. The fault is mine own if there’s fault to be placed. I’m just being sentimental, I suppose. And, mayhap, a touch selfish.”

“Last call for luggage,” bellowed one of the porters. “If ye don’t bring it up now, ye’ll be carryin’ it yerselves! ‘Tis a long road ahead! Last call for luggage!”

Aurelia looked down at herself, then the bags at her feet. She only had the three pieces: her salvaged field kit, her herbal bag, and the pack which held in it those few trifling personal possessions she owned, including her mother’s memento mori. The field kit’s thick carbonweave strap perched on her shoulder, its tripartite-link imperial insignia long since removed by her own hand (Rhaya Wolndara’s angry reaction to the sight of it had been a valuable lesson in precaution) and its once-hefty weight now considerably lightened with even her most conservative usage of its contents over the years.

“Well,” he said after a moment, with transparently forced cheer, “let’s be about it. This lot won’t load itself.”

“The field kit needs to stay with me,” she drew out of reach when he stretched out a hand to take it from her shoulder. “Too many fragile items. Glass and the like. I’ll not trust it to the vagaries of a draught chocobo.” 

“Fair enough.” 

He picked up the others and made his way toward the waiting porter as the small collection of passengers began to mill towards the slatted steps. A Highlander man drowsed near the front of the carriage, hand wrapped loosely about a wine bottle and otherwise oblivious to the world. Aurelia double-checked the small leather belt she wore to make sure the letters Miounne and E-Sumi-Yan had penned were intact; a fine mess it would be if she were to lose them on the journey. 

“Aurelia!” 

The matronly Duskwight proprietress of the Carline Canopy stood head and shoulders over most of the passengers, and she quickly drew their attention as she made her way towards the small gathering with a swift and decisive stride. The Garlean offered her a small smile. 

“Good morning to you, Miounne,” she said. “Come to see me off, have you?”

“I certainly have. I hope you weren’t planning on leaving us this morning without breaking your fast, girl,” was Miounne’s brisk reply, though she returned the smile as she held out her hands. In them, she carried a steaming tin cup and a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “I set aside one of my eel pies for you. ‘Tis a bit chilly as well, so I thought some hot tea might do you well on the road. Don’t worry about the cup; I have plenty of them.”

Touched by the gesture, Aurelia carefully took the cup and the wrapped pie, one in each hand. 

“You didn’t have to do this-”

“I know,” Miounne said, a wry smirk tilting her lips. She wiped her hands on her apron. “But I did. The pie is heavy and should keep your belly full for a day or two. You’ll be changing carriages at the station in Highbridge to the Sunroad trail; you’ll want to get more supplies while you’re there-- make sure you have plenty of fresh water. There’s naught betwixt Drybone and the city save malms of scrubland, and this time of year the water holes will be too low to sustain travelers. I imagine the Calamity will have made the pickings slim for hunting as well.”

Aurelia nodded. 

“Once you pass through the city gates, make your way to the Quicksand. That’s where the Ul’dahn Adventurers’ Guild operates; the proprietress’ name is Momodi Modi. I sent word ahead that she’s to expect your arrival within the sennight. All you need to do is give her your name and mine.”

“I... yes. I’ll do that.”

“And please, Aurelia dear- do take care in Ul’dah. It is a very different sort of city from ours. You are a kind woman with the best of intentions and there are those who would…” Miounne hesitated. “...Well. I’ll not fearmonger; I’ll wager you’ve heard enough of that. But I would ask the Twelve to watch over you nonetheless- if that’s all right, of course.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, she watched Keveh’to’s back, the way his officer’s overcoat pulled taut across the shoulders as he passed her bags to the porter, then cast her eyes down at Miounne’s parting gifts. 

The sight brought back a memory of the last time she had left behind the familiar to set out for the unknown: fresh from her schooling, set to board a train at the capital’s processing center after she had enlisted in the imperial army. No one had accompanied her. Not to give her well wishes or helpful directions, or even to wave their farewells from the platform as the train departed for the tunnels bored beneath the mountains and into the heart of Castrum Pinnaculum. She had gone to the station alone, had left alone, and for the first few weeks of basic training, she had struggled alone.

But she was not alone now. Perhaps she no longer owned a marvel of a garden, or slept in a fine bed, or wore silks, but since coming to Eorzea she had made more friends in this past handful of years than in the previous decade. That had to count for something.

Aurelia stared into the steaming teacup and swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat with considerable effort, then looked at the other woman with glassy blue eyes.

“I’d like that,” she said at last. “And thank you, Miounne. For everything.”

Before the woman could muster a response Aurelia had turned away and hurried towards the lowered carriage steps. She didn’t want to lose her nerve or shed tears, not today, and she still had one more farewell to give.

Keveh’to reached the steps first; he plucked the carbonweave strap from her shoulder and slung it over his own the moment she drew near. “Let me pass that up to you once you’re seated,” he said. “You can’t carry both your breakfast and this great bloody thing onto the carriage.”

She was the last to board. The wooden stair was showing its age and it creaked even under Aurelia’s slight weight as she made her way onto the covered deck. The platinum-headed Elezen twins she had seen earlier sat in the back near the cargo across from the last empty space: the one in blue was wholly absorbed in perusing a tome while the one in red dozed upon their companion’s shoulder. Neither of them paid her any mind as she set her teacup and snugly wrapped meal upon the open seat. Nor did any of the others, for that matter.

Mayhap this part was not so very different from that long ago train ride after all. 

Aurelia chuckled aloud, though the sound lacked humor, and turned towards the other end of the carriage at the sound of swift footsteps. Keveh’to had come up behind her to deliver her remaining bag. The half-empty imperial field kit, still large and cumbersome for all it lacked much of the weight it once bore, smacked with a quiet dull thud against his thigh with each step. His expression was unreadable as he set it down at her feet.

“Suppose Mother Miounne already said it so I don’t need to,” he said, “but I will, anyroad. Take care of yourself and be careful who you trust. And if there is trouble and you need to leave for any reason, you always have a home here.”

“Keveh’to-”

Before she could finish what she had meant to say his arms had wrapped about her shoulders in a heavy embrace, tail wound around her calf.

“Write to us once in a while, will you?” he muttered in her ear. “Just… just so we know you’re doing alright. Even if it’s something about your alchemy that I- I mean, we don’t understand.” 

“Or care about,” Aurelia said wryly. She knew full well that Keveh’to was not asking her to write to Miounne. Her arms tightened about his shoulders in return, just for a brief moment. “...I’ll write as often as I can manage.”

“Good.” 

The Miqo’te looked for a moment as though he wanted to say - or do - something more, but instead released her with all haste, tail flickering and ears swiveling with his discomfiture as he went.

Aurelia said nothing further as she took a step backward and turned to the seat where her tea and morning meal awaited. It was easy enough to spare him his blushes, to pretend that her focus lay upon how best she might secure her bag under the seat. Once that was done she picked up the teacup and took a thoughtful sip, placing Miounne's eel pie upon her lap. She was too full of nerves to be terribly hungry but that would no doubt change within a bell or two. 

His retreat down the narrow steps came just in time for the porter to lift and shutter the low-slung door behind him with a brisk snap. Aurelia felt her eyes prickle and burn but her composure held fast, and when she turned about and lifted her free hand to wave at her friend it was with a bright smile on her face. 

Her minder - her friend, now - gave only a half-second’s hesitation before he waved back. At his side, Miounne too lifted her hand in silent farewell.

“Quarrymill!” the driver shouted. “Next stop, Quarrymill!”

Following upon the heels of the teamster’s call came the draught chocobos’ twin kwehs. She braced herself and her teacup a moment before she felt the sharp initial jolt of the carriage’s forward motion. Within seconds it smoothed into a sedate and seamless drift as the wind aether filled the balloons overhead, and they were off down the half-paved cobbles that led to the Blue Badger gate. In moments they would pass out of the city and turn onto the southbound road. 

For the final time, Aurelia allowed herself a glance over her shoulder, back over the lip of the carriage and in the direction of the Carline Canopy. Keveh’to, it seemed, had chosen to remain outside the chocobo paddock. He stood stiff and unmoving save for the tail that lashed erratically at the air, his hands shoved into his deep pockets and his mouth turned in a downward bow she could see even from here. 

His words drifted across her mind like errant clouds. 

I’ve waited too long. Saying it now won’t change anything.

She kept her gaze upon the dwindling figure until the carriage had rounded the bend and the Shroud's heavy foliage had blurred the splash of bright yellow into meaningless color.

~*~

Watching the commotion below from his perch upon a flight of corrugated metal steps, Nero tol Scaeva knew what was coming next. The cohort’s work had come to a screeching halt and several of the engineers had gathered about to investigate the rear quarter panel of the left leg. None of them seemed to know what orders they were to give or be given if any, and the resulting confusion left them milling aimlessly about like ants puzzling at a stray piece of food someone had dropped on the floor. 

Thus it fell to him to restore order, as much as he would rather not: his presence alone would subject him to fearful kowtowing and stammered excuses. He knew he could be a hard man when the situation called for it, but he liked to think he was also a fair one, and even the greenest of the signal corps had no reason to fear his wrath so long as they could explain themselves to his satisfaction.

Still, he was a Garlean, and the provincial fear of his countrymen was deeply ingrained into the army's conscripts -- ingrained where it was not beaten.

No help for it, I suppose.

He made his way beneath the iron scaffolding that surrounded the warmachina's exoskeleton at a brisk pace. The clatter of his sollerets upon the metal tiling set an easy and unhurried rhythm as he crossed the open floor until his stride slowed to a full stop mere fulms away. The engineers' chatter, quiet but idle, dwindled into an anxious silence. 

One of the engineers, a tiny Auri woman with her lavender-tinted hair bound in regulation braids, went visibly pale at the sight of his approach but to her credit did not make a show of flinching from him, and even had sufficient courage to offer up a salute as was proper. He folded his arms over his chest and peered down at her through the visor of his helm. They stood close enough that he could see how her forearm - still stiffly crossed over her chest - trembled at his proximity. 

“Architectus,” he said very calmly.

“Y-yes, my lord?”

“As you were,” she dropped her salute, but her back remained ramrod straight and the tension did not leave her shoulders. He continued as if he had failed to notice, “I mark a number of you performing a very serious study of this warmachina’s leg joint, in lieu of performing your assigned tasks.”

Her swallow was audible even through his helm’s transceiver, but her stone-faced stare did not waver. “Apologies, my lord. There is-”

“I believe I have stated on multiple occasions that we have a schedule to keep, and not a terribly lenient one at that. Perhaps the cohort is in need of a reminder.”

“My lord, please,” the woman blurted, then winced almost immediately, “I am sorry to interrupt. But you see, there’s a problem.”

Shite and swiving hellsfire, if I never hear ‘there’s a problem’ again in my lifetime it will be too soon. Still, unlike sas Junius it was not in Nero’s nature to vent his spleen upon hapless messengers. He released a long-suffering sigh instead - only somewhat dramatized for her benefit - and watched those large ocean-blue eyes break their impasse at the sound. They flickered nervously up at his face, then down, then back out to stare at that fixed point past his waistline.

“Of course there is,” he said aloud. 

“My lord?”

His own fault, he surmised, for expecting any other response to his bit of japery. “Never mind. Continue.”

“Yes, my lord. We ran the initial tests using the Vanguard H-1’s specifications, as dictated. The operating system ran as expected upon startup. But when we tried to proceed with full activation... well, we tried to switch over from the H-1 but it caused a power surge and nearly started a fire- as you see here. As it is we’re dead in the water. She won’t power on at all now.”

“I assume our engineering teams ran down their checklists for aught that might have compromised structural integrity, prior to attempting the activation.”

“Just so, my lord. Circuitry, fuel lines, motherboards-- it was all green.” She bit her lip. “If… perhaps we might speak to the quartermaster and requisition another part. Or perhaps a larger-”

“The next step up would be the specs for a low-velocity assault craft,” Nero interrupted dryly. “While I share your readiness to explore all possible options, I think it unwise to blindly run through every single spare part at our disposal hoping for a result. Aside from the obvious risks, ‘tis inefficient. We do not have a great deal of time to make what amounts to an educated guess.” 

“I- yes,” she stammered. “I apologize, my lord, I should have thought-”

He waved an impatient hand. She fell silent as instantly as if he had slammed a door shut in her face. “Who is your immediate superior?”

“Valens nan Varro, my lord.” 

“Kindly inform him that the activation test has been delayed pending an internal review. We will reschedule after I have spoken with the legatus.”

Now she was staring at her feet, her face pale once again. “...He will be sorely displeased if he discovers we have failed you, my lord. Sorely.”

“Ah, yes. A terrible burden indeed, the primus architectus' personal inconvenience. Unfortunately, we shall all have to bear it,” Nero said briskly. He did not care to argue the matter with a subordinate; such behavior would undermine his authority, and the engineers present were well aware that his word was the final say. 

“But-”

“If nan Varro is displeased with the decision and wishes to contest it, then he may take his grievance up with me directly.”

Her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, not in relief but defeat. Beneath his helm, Nero raised his brows at the response but said nothing further. 

“Yes, my lord.”

“And I expect an incident report on my desk by 0700 tomorrow morning. Posthaste.”

Her answering salute was stiff and formal, expression as stony and unyielding as a statue’s. Whatever emotion he had spied was carefully hidden now; the wall was back in place. Curious.

Curious-- and irrelevant. He had neither the time nor the wherewithal to waste in wondering after it.

Nero passed her without another word, her fellows hastening to clear a path for him as he approached the enormous back leg. There were scorch marks on the edges of the chassis panel, he noted; exposed copper fibers trailed from the opened casing like wilted ivy creepers. The ends were blackened and a thin line of smoke still curled in slender lines; the smell was acrid and familiar and the castrum's ventilation system would disperse it within a half hour.

One hand hovered just over the scorched plate as he studied the sight, with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. 

Retrofitting Allagan technology was not a precise art, as much as it pained Nero to admit it. Some artifacts worked so readily with Garlean magitek that the process was as swift and smooth as if it had been meant for their hands all along. Others were far more complex, and thus more time-intensive. The Ultima Weapon had been his longest project to date, and the tribunus laticlavius had to remind himself that the machina had been experimental even to the greatest scientists of its age: a groundbreaking anti-eikon countermeasure that partnered the arcane with the mundane. A seamless blending of aetherology and engineering, borne of man’s ingenuity. 

Blended---

Ah.

“My lord?” a timid voice echoed at his back. The engineers were watching him; they had gathered a respectful six fulms away.

“...This is not a public spectacle,” his hand fell away from the plating. “See to this mess. I want the machina checked from top to bottom for aught that could possibly cause further delays. Exposed joints, chassis warping, blown fuses, exposed wires, all of it.”

"My lord, the test-"

"Is no longer your priority," his impatience filtered through as a short, barked command. "Attend to your tasks. I will not ask you twice."

The gathered cluster of engineers sketched their salutes and scattered like mice, scrambling to obey before any of them could experience the implied consequences for perceived insubordination.

Nero watched them in silence for a few beats before taking his leave. He made his way back along the catwalk and up several flights of steps, to one of the administrative bays that oversaw the hangar. Once he was certain of his privacy, he removed his helm with a soft and relieved sigh.

It was a mere press of a button after that to open the transceiver link and set it to a specific frequency. Static hissed in the confines of the empty office for one second, two, before the link became stable and there was smooth air and Gaius van Baelsar's gruff baritone:

“State your business.”

“Lord Gaius. Have I interrupted something?”

“Yes, but naught of particular importance. For a small blessing.” The legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion sounded vaguely put out, but not irate. An encouraging sign. “I take it you have something you wished to discuss.”

“I do. The activation test failed. I should have an incident report within the next 24 hours that will list the particulars.”

“Again?”

“Indeed. This is why,” Nero took a deep breath, “I should like to request that the Weapon and all hands involved in the project be transferred to the research facility in Agelyss Wyse.”

“The Vylbrand coast? That is not exactly shouting distance from Gyr Abania. And there are certain dangers present which make your proposition quite risky.”

Refusal to take risks will not garner the results we seek. "With all due respect, my lord, you did not assign me this project with any fond hopes that I would remain complacent,” he could almost feel his commanding officer bristling at his bluntness, “and these failed tests have made it abundantly clear that - as you will recall that I posited, against protest from certain quarters - ceruleum combustion alone will not be sufficient to bring the Weapon back online. Not at full capacity.”

“What do you propose?”

“I will get to that eventually, but first and foremost: I need data. Current data. Simulations and conjectures will only get us so far.” He glanced out the bay window at the massive machina, a dormant monster, each opened claw the size of a juggernaut. “The Weapon was designed to do far more than subdue eikons, and we have merely scratched the surface of its capabilities. But scratching is all we will manage if we remain here.”

Nero managed - only just - to keep the excitement out of his voice. The Black Wolf of Garlemald was a straightforward man, he knew from long years of experience: interested in results, not theories.

“I understand this, but you are also asking to upend our timetable for the sake of a hypothesis.” 

“A hypothesis with its foundation in the methods the Allagans used to create and maintain Dalamud- as Lord van Darnus would attest, were he still with us. I think it a safe assumption that the Ultima Weapon operates upon a similar methodology.” Van Baelsar’s only response was a sigh of consternation. Nero continued, “And yes, it would move our overall timetable forward a few weeks. I admit it.”

“Nearly two months,” the legatus said sourly. “You understand that even if I agree to your proposal, it is not something that can be immediately enacted.”

“I would not expect to presume thus, my lord, of course.” There was bureaucracy involved, and the logistics of moving entire teams between castra -- not to mention the machina itself. Well, Solus zos Galvus had not built the Empire in a day, either. “I realize there are protocols to follow. I only ask for consideration-”

“And due consideration will be given, tribunus- in due time. At the very least I must needs contact the Occidens praefectus and discuss the matter. We will speak on this anon.”

“Yes, my lord.” 

He could afford the wait. In the meantime, there was much yet to be done- and new plans to be made. When the legatus called for him again, as he inevitably would, Nero would be prepared to explain what must be done ere their goals could be met. Allag’s mighty Weapon would awaken from its slumber by his hand, and he would receive his fair due at last. There was no one and nothing now to keep him from reaching forth to take what was rightfully his.

This victory shall be mine and mine alone, he thought. And you, old friend, will be as chaff in the wind. Discarded and forgotten.

Beneath his twin veils of tempered glass and chromed crimson steel, Nero tol Scaeva began to smile.

Chapter Text

Reality did not sink in straightaway, for the first day covered territory Aurelia knew well. Her memory tracked familiar ash groves along the roadside, and the dappled pink and yellow of lady’s slipper and late cowslips in those sparse places where sunlight could still touch the forest floor. Their petals rippled in the same gentle whisper of wind that sighed through the overhanging canopy of maple and oak and elm.

The village of Willowsbend, where E-Sumi-Yan had sent her to pass her time at the feet of a Hearer in the applied study of Gridanian conjury, lay somewhere out here in the southern reaches of the Black Shroud: nestled betwixt copse and creekbed and the scattered remnants of Gelmorra and Amdapor. She had spent only a short time there - a scant handful of months - but the sights and sounds of the forest brought a fond smile to her face nevertheless. 

In truth, she would have loved to take a day to turn off the road and catch up with Goody Miller and the lively weaver’s gaggle of children. But she knew the path of the carriage would not take them any closer to the village than the small and easily-missed dirt track which would veer sharply off the main road and into the deep forest, a scant five malms northeast of their first destination. She was afforded only a moment’s glimpse of the familiar malmpost sign with its faded lettering before it disappeared in a cloud of road dust to blend back into the deep green of the Shroud's late summer foliage. 

Despite all the Wailers’ warnings of wandering bandits and hostile Ixal, they encountered neither. The draught chocobos kept their sedate and steady pace all the way into Quarrymill, whereupon the carriage stopped for some few bells to collect another merchant while offloading an elderly Lalafellin couple. There was little else to do while they waited, so Aurelia ate a few bites of her meal and watched from her seat over the edge of a tome she pretended to peruse, as the teamster and porters huffed and puffed and muttered some choice curses beneath their breath.  

Still, grousing and countless midge bites aside, the work was done soon enough. The two small figures had barely cleared the steps before a porter came in behind them to lift the adjustable stairwell and snap it back into place. 

The carriage jostled with the motion and the teamster took it as his cue to declare, in the high-pitched and strident voice he had used in Gridania: 

“Highbridge! Highbridge, by way of Rootslake!”

Aurelia took a few more bites before reluctantly wrapping the other half to keep for her supper. As she moved to put the tome away, she caught the eye of one of the snowy-haired Elezen twins. The one with the blue hair ribbon met her eye and nodded once, grave and formal, the very picture of restrained civility. She gave a nod in return, unsure if she should speak aloud or not, but the youth’s eyes were already drooping shut like a sleepy cat’s. 

The moment passed, if there had been a moment at all, and with another sharp pitch forward the carriage set off once more. 

Rootslake marked a liminal space on the edge of the Shroud, a low-lying marsh betwixt thicket and the gently rolling hills where the trees began to thin and change. The wetlands clustered at the feet of old Amdapor: one last vestige of the great flood that had consumed the great city and its fellows in the twilight of the Fifth Astral Era. The air here was considerably warmer, wet and stifling, and just on the edge of fetid. Flax plants flourished in the water, wild and lush, some stalks taller than Aurelia’s nigh six fulms. 

Not normally one to disturb the Shroud’s growth, she nonetheless found herself compelled to collect a sample and reached out a hand to snap a bloom loose when the carriage drifted close to an overhanging cluster.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, lass,” a jovial voice echoed from the front of the passenger bay, one with an accent she recognized immediately. “These elementals don’t take kindly to folk passin’ through their wood an’ pickin’ everything in reach all willy-nilly, like.”

The carriage had already passed the plants in any case, and she lowered her hand to set it back in her lap. 

“I merely wished to study it. I don’t have an entry for Shroud flax in my logs.”

“You’re a botanist, then? Surprised t'hear you'd not already have your hands on it.” He set the bottle he had been nursing down upon the weathered planks at his feet. “Flax grows like mad out in these parts. Practically a marsh weed, it is.”

“A weed, you say?" Aurelia's attention was now focused wholly on the blossom-crowned stalks and the long leaves rippling with each sluggish eddy of air that stirred in their passage. "I see! That does make a bit of surface sense.”

“Does it?" His brow furrowed with mild bemusement, a motion she failed to notice with her eyes fixed on the leaves curling over her fingers. "...I’m not sure I follow.”

“Oh my, yes. This species of linseed isn’t native to Eorzea, you see. Linum usitatissimum was introduced to Aldenard by Lalafellin traders some few centuries past,” she recalled the brief footnote from one of the tomes in her father’s study. “Via the Near East, of course - as these sorts of things tend to go.”

“Mm.”

“-although one would imagine that eons of selective evolution and possible cross-pollination with native plants have made for significant variations in this particular strain, however slight, and-” Abruptly she trailed off, embarrassment coloring her cheeks upon the sight of the man’s confounded stare. “...Oh.”

“You’ve lost me. Select- what now?”

The briefest of urges to attempt further explanation crossed her mind for a brace of seconds before she decided to let it lie. She hadn’t intended to subject him to an impromptu lecture, after all (and her aunt would have chastised her for carrying on so).

“...Never mind me, ser. I’m just rambling on a bit. My area of study, you see.”

“Sorry, lass,” his amiable smile had returned in full. “Don’t mean to be rude, only I don’t know hardly anything ‘bout plants meself. Other’n the ones that make it into my collection o’ wares. Spices and the like.”

“Fair enough.” The ambient light was not as sharp as it had been even minutes ago. A glance at the thin sliver of sky visible from her seat showed that the sun had fled beneath a heavy cloudbank. “When should we be reaching Highbridge, do you know?”

“We’ve some bells yet afore we even pass out of the swamp. Not until nightfall, I’d wager. Take it you've pressin’ business there?”

“No. My destination is further afield.”

“Bound for Ul’dah, are you?”

“Aye, that I am.”

“Mm. I see. You’ll be plannin’ to switch carriages at the station, then.” The smile that spread across that sun-weathered face was a knowing one. “Hope you’ve got the coin to spare. It’s become more difficult to purchase passage down the Sunroad.”

“What? Why?”

“The Calamity, of course. Things have changed since the red moon fell. Used to be a body could take a rig like this one across the desert on the old Allagan trade roads and’ the worst that might happen was runnin’ out of water. Nowadays… well, the land’s turned wild, so they say.” The man shrugged and shook his head. “Beastmen, bandits, an’ Garleans, an’ the godsdamned Brass Blades’re still the greatest scourge of all of them.”

Aurelia arched a skeptical brow as he reached for the bottle at his feet and took a long drag from its contents. 

“For all the purported dangers, you don’t seem all that bothered by the prospect of traversing the desert. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

She had half expected him to take offense but he only cackled through a mouthful of wine; rivulets of it dribbled down his chin and into the fabric of his worn dalmatica. 

“Ain’t got a choice, now, do I, lassie? No sense in frettin’ about everything in the realm that could send me to the Twelve’s arms too early, an’ most of the time the lizardmen have bigger concerns than my piddlin’ operation at any rate.” He pointed at her. “Heat’s still the biggest killer out here, even so. Friendly advice, you’ll want to be stockin’ up your water supply when we get t’Highbridge.”

“I shall take your advice under due consideration,” she said, and that was the end of the discussion.

Sunset spiraled down into dusk like an unraveling scroll, and it was not until twilight that they reached the far southern border of the Black Shroud. Once the sun sank so low that its light could no longer touch the forest floor, the small man in the driver’s bench ahead reached for the nearby lantern dangling from the coach with a soft grunt and tapped something atop the glass. A small mote of light illuminated the road, its flickering wan and feeble; she squinted at it in mild bemusement until she realized that its contents did not consist of a wax taper as she had thought, but rather a tiny chip of fire-aspected crystal set to shining like a candle.

The Ala Mhigan merchantman was watching her with some combination of speculation and open curiosity as she gawped, his smile unreadable. Aurelia quickly looked away, trying to appear as though she had merely sought to check the grimy malmpost just barely visible on the far side of the path. 

Careless, she chided herself. Sometimes it could be easy to forget that certain feats of magic - such as imbuing a crystal, a skill she herself had yet to learn - were as mundane as breathing in this land. She’d do well not to marvel like some backwater bumpkin at every one she saw, if she truly didn’t want to draw more attention to herself than necessary.

The light in the sky had given way to full night by the time she saw the first outlines of the windswept rock formations in the desert, outlined by a dazzling array of stars. Fireflies arose in soft and sparkling clusters from the tall grasses along the side of the road as if to escort the carriage. They flared and blinked in and out of sight like the signal lights atop a castrum wall, and the wind that struck her cheeks was cool and dry and no longer fetid. They had left the marshes behind. 

All that lay ahead now was, as her father would have said, terra incognita.

~*~

Cockcrow the next dawn heralded a clear sky and slightly chilly air, and as the sun burned away the fog from the river Aurelia sat in the early morning stillness and listened to the sounds the world made. The low and rumbling thunder from the nearby falls was a soothing and constant counterpoint to birdsong; beyond that she caught the distant, idle bleating of aldgoats making their way to the sparse grasses to graze. It was a pleasant reminder of the cool early mornings she’d known as a girl in Ala Mhigo, even a similarly arid clime at that - albeit one which only saw significant heat in the summer seasons. 

Thanalan would be a different story: the bright and punishing heat from the sun baked the hardpan earth and its low-lying scrub with little in the way of cloud cover to offer reprieve to the desert’s inhabitants. It would remain hot and dry until dusk came once more. 

She wasn’t looking forward to that, but for now she was determined to enjoy her day.

Having purchased two waterskins - now securely tucked into her traveling bag - the Garlean perched upon the thick slab of sandstone that passed for a bench and ate the remains of Miounne’s eel pie, mindful of the innkeeper’s warning that there would not be many places to find water between here and Ul’dah. There was little else to do now but await the call to board the chocobo carriage that would bear them south through Drybone and into the canyons.

People began to mill about and cluster around the benches as the sun rose in the sky and the air warmed from pleasant to uncomfortable, and Aurelia began to wish she had purchased a hand fan while she was at market. She could feel the sweat gathering on her brow but didn’t dare remove the hempen head covering she had donned for the trip; all it would take was one good gust to have angry, frightened expressions and questions she didn’t want to answer.

It was midmorning by the time a sour-faced Highlander stepped out of the paddock and announced to the collective dismay of all gathered:

“There’ll be no passage to Ul’dah today or tomorrow.”

Groans and shouts arose in the wake of the announcement, abrupt and loud enough to wrest Aurelia’s attention from the wild primrose she was sketching in her herbal. A few fulms away she caught a familiar flash of snow white and crimson hair-ribbon, as one of the Elezen twins moved forward with the surge of the crowd to get a better look.

“All right, all right, don’t get sand in your feathers. The carriage will be back in operation in three days. Routine maintenance.”

“Aye, and what of our money?” someone demanded. “I’ve already paid for that seat!”

The Highlander, an Ala Mhigan by the sound of him (Aurelia was beginning to realize that quite a lot of refugees from the imperial occupation had made their way south into the desert over the years), shrugged in an open display of indifference. 

“If you’ve already paid for a seat, wait for the cart. Two days won’t do no harm.”

“Unacceptable! I have a very important meeting I must attend!” another man, this one garbed in fine silks, shouted over the din. “The Syndicate shall hear of this!”

“Complain to whomever you like, but the carriage’ll be leaving when we say it leaves, and not a moment sooner or later.” Unfazed, the man’s expression remained as impassive as stone. “If it’s that bleeding urgent, then you can try your luck on foot to Drybone. Ticket prices are non-refundable, though.”

His tone brooked no argument, and the ensuing cries of outraged anger fell upon deaf ears as he resolutely turned his back and entered the small counting-house nearby. 

Aurelia had to fumble for the flap of her satchel in order to put the tome and her pencil away before she slung her bag and her field kit over one shoulder. Their combined weight made her stagger slightly before she gained her balance but she paid it little heed. 

She stared doubtfully at the larger parcels sitting by the bench. They weren’t all that heavy, but transporting them by herself would still be a challenge. 

I’ll have to figure something out. Mayhap a porter in Drybone or the like would suffice. That is, if I can convince someone to get me that far. Of course, she had no idea how far a walk that would be from Highbridge, but surely if walking was a suggested option it couldn’t be a long distance. 

Failing that...

Her eyes scanned the disgruntled crowd - now beginning to disperse - until she spotted a familiar weathered face beyond, loading bags of goods onto a small cart. The merchant had not noticed her stare, though she could sense she was certainly being watched by someone. 

“Um,” she said. “Excuse me, ser.”

He didn’t even pause at her polite address, and she wasn’t sure if he was ignoring it or if he simply hadn’t heard her. 

“Ser, a moment of your time, if you please,” she repeated loudly, the pitch of her voice as strident as she could manage without seeming presumptuous. The hand on the stairwell grate paused - as did the man attached to it - for a brace of moments before he turned around to look at her. His bottle-green eyes were alight with surprised recognition. 

“Ah, the travelin’ botanist!” Jostling the weight of her bags so as not to look quite so bereft of personal dignity, Aurelia inclined her chin in a polite nod at the man’s jolly and informal mode of address.  “A fine morning to you, lass.”

“Yes, quite.” She decided to skip the usual pleasantries. “Would you be able to tell me how long it would take to get to Camp Drybone from here?”

“By carriage or by foot? Sure you’ll be finding out for yourself in a few days. About all you can do when the carriage is out of service is wait for it to come available again.”

“Perhaps, but as it happens I have something of a time constraint.” 

“Sorry to hear that, lass, but there’s really nothing to be done. The weather out here’s real hard on the wagon trains- parts’re breakin’ all the time. Most folk have somewhere to be, I’m sure,” he grunted, passing off another bag to a lalafell to tie off on the back of the rig, “but it’s no use decryin’ your fate or raisin’ a fuss with the teamsters. Best to cool your heels and take in the falls for a day or two.”

She thought about simply cutting her losses and asking someone else or even waiting for the carriage repairs to be done. Her younger self would have done just that, but as was increasingly the case in the past five years Aurelia found she preferred to act as the need arose. 

“Indeed. As the weather seems quite fair, however, I think I might walk the distance and rent a chocobo porter.”

“What... you mean to travel from here to Drybone on foot?"

“You said yourself there’s naught to be done. And if there is no other means of transportation at present, I see little other recourse if I’m to reach the city for my business." Aurelia's shoulders lifted and dropped in a shrug that she hoped appeared nonchalant. "I’ve water to spare and I have enough gil to purchase a small croft I can push along the road if needs must.”

“Handsome lass like yourself, traveling the Sunroad on foot alone, loaded down with baggage and no weapon in sight?” He stared at her in open disbelief and she could see he thought her quite mad indeed. “You’d be robbed blind - worse than robbed - before you cleared sight of the bridge. And even if you weren’t, there’s no way you’d make it to a safe haven before nightfall. There’s bandits and wild dogs and Amalj'aa-”

“I suppose that is the risk I shall have to take.”

“Now see here, miss, you can’t-”

“Well, I should be about it if I wish to make Camp Drybone before sunset.” She shifted the field kit so that the strap did not dig so deeply into her clavicle, and began to turn away. “Thank you for your time, good ser.”

“Wait.”

The interruption came from the direction she had last seen the two platinum-headed twins. The one with the blue ribbon had set aside a book and a pencil (much like her own setup, to Aurelia’s surprise) and now stood to address them, long and slender scholar’s hands brushing meticulously at the seams of dark breeches and a fine leather-trimmed dalmatica.

Once satisfied that no stray piece of dirt of lint dared show its face, the youth approached with a confident stride Aurelia was quite sure she herself had never possessed at such a tender age.

“Good morning to you, ser,” the greeting was as easy and calm as if they all sat about a table breaking their fast over fine tea and crumpets. “My sister and I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with this lady regarding travel arrangements.”

“Alphinaud,” the girl with the red ribbon hissed, but went ignored as her twin plunged on ahead.

“I’m afraid we also find ourselves in a bit of a bind over this delay. I realize this is highly irregular but if it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, might I implore you to provide us passage to Ul’dah? We’re willing to pay quite handsomely for your trouble, of course.”

“Seven hells, lad,” the now-exasperated merchant exclaimed, “I’m not a passenger service! I haul dry goods and spices to Scorpion Crossing. I’ve no escort save my driver and his chocobos, and we’ve no way to vouch for your safety.”

“We can handle the hazards of the road ourselves quite readily, I assure you,” the youth replied with a smooth smile. 

“Well, I suppose-”

“And if you’re willing to take us, then surely you have space for the lady as well? One would think ‘tis better to accept all our company for a time, knowing you’ve not consigned anyone to the vagaries of a dangerous desert road.”

The man’s expression now was one of pure consternation. His brow knitted into a deep frown as his gaze bounced from Aurelia to the young Alphinaud and back again, taking a moment to glance over his shoulder at the small cart. 

At length, he released a sigh of resignation and ran a hand through his short-cropped blond hair: already visibly damp with sweat from the rising heat.

“Go get your bags, the lot of you,” he said, “and bring them here. Find something else in the marketplace to occupy you for the next half-bell--”

“Thank you, ser!”

“--and come back separately. An’ for the love of the bleedin’ Twelve, don’t tell anyone. I’ll be swarmed like a bunch of jackals fightin’ over fresh meat if this gets out.”

“You’ve my promise,” Aurelia said. “Your kindness and generosity is most appreciated.”

“No need to twist the knife, lass,” and this time she could not fail to notice the wry note in his voice. “I’ve already given my word. Here’s hopin’ none of us regret it, eh?”

Chapter Text

Sheltered beneath the green hempen canopy of their host's chocobo carriage as it trundled down the old Allagan Sunroad, Alphinaud Leveilleur shifted beneath the soft sleeping weight of his sister's form where it lay braced against his own. The day was far too hot already, and the young Sharlayan could feel rivulets of sweat trickling down the back of his neck from the base of his damp hairline and into the linen of his simple dalmatica, purchased new in Gridania. His pattens, for all that they were of quality make, had not been worn enough to suit his feet yet, and they pinched at his instep and the sides of his toes. 

Not that he was complaining. It would have been far worse had they attempted the journey on foot.

It was in these solitary moments - few and far between as of late - that he let his mind worry at the far edges of his choices, doubt gnawing at him with small sharp teeth. Alphinaud was not wont to publicly second guess himself, but even so ‘twas often these days that he found himself wondering if they had truly chosen the right path. In nearly the same breath he would do his utmost to push his hidden fears back into the dark recesses of his soul. Surely Grandfather had had the same moments of self-doubt when he had set forth on his own journey.

Alphinaud was quite certain he would have encouraged the pair of them to take whatever measures they saw fit- and on that note, he found himself once more grateful for their grandsire's posthumous largesse. Among the personal effects sent back to Sharlayan in his absence had been a detailed journal of the places he had been across the realm. That was to remain safely in Alisaie’s keeping, and they had both made the decision to travel in this simple gear rather than the fine clothes their mother had insisted they take along. The less attention they drew to themselves for now, the better.

The old Archon was not the only relative who had encouraged them in their endeavor, and although he still had mixed feelings about it, in the end, he was glad he had not turned down aid where it was offered– oh, for myriad reasons, of course, but by far the most important boon had proven to be their personal coffers. Traveling through a Calamity-torn Eorzea was proving to be far more expensive than he had hoped, and that was the case throughout the realm. Once upon a time, someone in the Carline Canopy had groused within his earshot, you could take a family of four over land by carriage at what it now cost for one person traveling alone. 

Alisaie too had grumbled under her breath about his antics when he had returned to her, having secured them passage across the desert. But 'twas the best of a bad lot, and his sister for all her fire was no more keen to take her chances on foot than he- quite unlike that Hyur woman who’d been sharing the road they had traveled since Gridania.

He couldn’t help but admire (and, in part, envy) the adventurer’s boldness. For all her polite demeanor she had clearly been prepared to walk if it had come to that. It was foolhardy, but remarkable enough to catch his attention. Precious few would have even considered the idea, much less attempted--

A strangled groan interrupted Alphinaud's musings, and he glanced towards the front of the small carriage. Its source was, of course, the only other passenger aside from himself and Alisaie- the woman who had so confounded their reluctant benefactor earlier. She wore a set of simple, serviceable leathers that shone with their newness. 

Back in Gridania he had immediately pigeonholed the stranger as another would-be adventurer: just one more in a sea of countless others they had met since making landfall in Limsa Lominsa. No doubt this one hoped to make her fortune abroad, like so many others who had found themselves displaced by the Calamity. She dozed fitfully in the punishing heat, every bit as drenched in sweat as Alphinaud himself, her head rolling slowly from side to side as if she warded away unknown horrors in her nightmares. He could see her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap. Her fair skin bore an almost deathly pallor save for the hectic flush that had branded itself across her cheekbones, and her limbs were visibly trembling. 

The tradesman caught his eye, a worried frown on the aging man's face mirroring Alphinaud’s own expression as he glanced at her again.

"I kept meaning to ask you before, lad, but the lady botanist there don’t happen to be travelin’ with you two, does she?" he asked. His Ala Mhigan accent compressed the vowels and rolled over the ends of his words like the wind over the hard-packed desert sandstone. Alphinaud shook his head. 

"I'm afraid not."

"Mm. Well. Best to wake her. If she takes a mind to start cryin' out she could attract the sort of attention we don’t want." He reached across the narrow space and placed a hand on the adventurer's shoulder, and shook her lightly. "Hey, lassie. Wake up. Open them eyes."

She only groaned in response. That must be quite the nightmare, Alphinaud thought. 

"Hey.” Louder this time, the hand on her shoulder giving a firm jostle. “Hey!"

The woman stiffened in surprise, stirring at last, and the merchant released her shoulder to brace his elbows on his knees as he watched her regain consciousness. Violet-blue eyes, framed by lashes several shades darker than her loose waves of hair, opened slowly, pupils constricting against the sudden glare in an attempt to focus. 

"Are ye all right?" the merchant asked kindly. She lifted a trembling hand to blot at her cheeks; the golden fringe beneath her hempen kerchief was soaked in sweat. "You were moanin' something fierce. Sweatin’ buckets besides."

"Thank you for your concern. I'm fine.” Her hands, which had balled into fists, relaxed by degrees with the rest of her as the tension flowed out of her willowy frame. “A long and very strange dream, nothing more. I apologize if I've troubled you."

"No trouble at all. You ain't lookin' so good though, if you don’t mind me saying so."

"I do have a rather nasty headache," she admitted. "The heat, no doubt."

"Mayhap. More likely you’re just feelin' the effects of the aether." The look he gave her was a shrewd one. "Aye, it hits nigh everyone when they first arrive in Eorzea, some more than others. You'll get used to it."

Alphinaud let his weight relax slowly against Alisaie’s side, feigning a light doze while he listened unnoticed. Father would have chided him for this- would have told him that eavesdropping on a trivial conversation like this one was something a child did and was therefore beneath him. But Father wasn’t here to chastise him for it, had always otherwise counseled him to use his Twelve-given senses, and the woman had caught his attention back in Highbridge.

Besides, it would keep his mind occupied on the final leg of the journey.

"I should think ‘tis most like to be the heat," the adventurer admitted, if rather unsteadily. “It doesn’t get this hot in Gridania. I’m afraid I’m quite unaccustomed to it.”

Alphinaud was full aware that tidbit was for the merchant’s benefit. He had suspected all along that she wasn’t from Gridania; there was a certain air to forest-born folk he’d witnessed during their own limited time in the city that the stranger simply did not possess. She had just the barest hint of an upwards lilt laced into her words- little more than a faint vestigial echo of that belonging to the merchant. Otherwise, it was very much the sort of voice he knew best from formal dinners and teas and soirees back home in Sharlayan. 

Highborn, then, Alphinaud concluded, wherever she was from. That in itself was noteworthy; in his experience highborn ladies did not generally take to the open road as adventurers or sellswords without some very interesting reasons indeed.

Leave it be, Alisaie would have told him. It’s not our business why she’s here, and you’d not think kindly of her if she were to pry into ours.

Still, his curiosity was piqued. Silently he took the Hyur’s measure through half-open eyes. She seemed ill at ease but by the way she flushed with either the heat or aether fever, he surmised her discomfort was not due to a poor attempt at dissembling at least.

"Aye, could well be that too. When me an' me brothers first came south from Ala Mhigo to Vylbrand - hells, must be a score of summers past now - we were every one of us sick from the heat. Laid up for a week at the Drownin' Wench... though mayhap it were the seasickness and the rum 'ad somethin' to do with it. Anyroad, we were in Limsa for-"

"Brass Blades!" a voice called from without the carriage, somewhere at the side of the road. 

Around the passengers, the carriage frame shuddered for a moment before the transport drew to a halt. The brace of chocobos let out a chorus of uneasy kwehs, shifting in their harnesses. 

“Speakin’ of attention we didn’t want…” His story interrupted, the garrulous merchantman sat up straight, motioning to the adventurer that she should stay silent. “You just let me handle this.”

"You there, halt!"

From beneath the canopy, men in red armor could be seen surrounding the wagon. None had yet deigned to draw their weapons but Alphinaud could see their hands resting upon the hilts, tensed and ready to draw at a moment's notice. 

"Here now, what's this all about?" the driver retorted from his seat, audibly annoyed. The leader lifted one mailed hand and wrapped it about the reins of the nearest draught animal with a smile that didn’t reach his dark eyes.

"Routine inspection, friend. We'll only be a moment."

Perhaps detecting no imminent danger – or merely thinking himself immune to their ire – the teamster sighed. "...Well, get on with it, then. I’ve got a schedule to keep."

"Don’t mind if I do. Blades! Search the carriage!"

Alphinaud pretended to stir, yawning and putting on the most convincingly disoriented expression he could muster. The merchant, meanwhile, glanced at the first of the three men who now stood at the back of the carriage rummaging through his goods. He hadn't moved from his seat at their approach and his bottle-green eyes, while watchful, weren't alarmed or afraid in the slightest. If anything they held a sort of knowing resignation. 

"Where are you bound?" one of the soldiers demanded.

"Why, fair Ul'dah, of course, ser. And as my driver says, we’ve got a schedule to keep. I've a spice shipment meant for one of Lord Lolorito’s priority clients that's two days overdue as it is."

"And what's in this 'spice shipment,' then?" The man's arms folded across his chest, his smirk mocking. It was clear to Alphinaud that he didn't believe their host and was simply humoring him. If the merchant noticed, however, he made no sign. "Let's hear it."

"Dried Althyk lavender. Cumin. Garlic cloves an’ polar bear furs imported from Ilsabard by way of Radz-at-Han. Other things of the like," the merchant said in a mild voice. He shrugged his shoulders, seemingly unbothered by the belligerence of the armor-clad men. "I'm naught but an honest peddler, friend. So don't be too disappointed if you don't find nothin' worth mention, aye?"  

One of the Brass Blades assigned to search the packs paused long enough to jab a threatening finger in the merchant’s direction with a fierce scowl. 

"Mind that tongue of yours if ye prefer keepin’ it in yer head!" 

"Of course, Lieutenant. Ye got a job to do, an' all."

The man’s eyes narrowed still further with mingled suspicion and displeasure for a few beats before a mote of spite crept into them, a hard and unyielding shine like a gil coin cast into the sand. Without breaking eye contact he unhooked a small pouch from his belt and held it aloft, his expression a triumphant sneer. 

"Captain!” he called, grinning, “come look at what we found! Somnus!"

The leader released the reins. Hand resting at the top of his scabbard, he sauntered to the back of the cart with a derisive laugh and a rhythmic jingling of his chain mail. Beneath his cloak of half-sleeping lassitude, Alphinaud tensed– he sincerely hoped this wasn’t going to come down to a fight. Or a mass arrest, for that matter. 

I'd rather not explain to Grandfather's friends why they must needs pay to have us released from an Ul'dahn gaol...

"An 'honest peddler,' eh?” The man’s smile had not once been what one would call pleasant but it was downright ugly now, and the disdain as he stared down his nose at the merchant was almost tangible. “Since when do 'honest peddlers' deal in illegal herbs? You're in a lot of trouble, old man. You'll rot in a dungeon to the end of your days... unless you can afford the fine, that is."

No one in the cart moved. The adventurer in her new clothes seemed visibly affronted but otherwise watched the proceedings without comment. Alphinaud silently applauded her for that---she had a touch of common sense, at least. They were all foreigners, and making waves in this sort of situation would likely make matters worse for the poor man. 

The merchant, for his part, neither paled in fear nor exploded in anger. He simply offered a rueful laugh. The resignation had returned in full, something on the edge of bitter that Alphinaud didn’t quite understand. 

"Ah," he said, "business as usual."

Reaching for the coin pouch at his belt, he made to get to his feet.

Alphinaud would never be quite certain afterward what had transpired in that moment. As the Brass Blades jeered at them and their leader gestured to their benefactor to come forward, that he might negotiate their bribe, everything seemed to happen all at once. The merchantman began to draw himself into a standing position and at the same time the woman grew very still, her dark indigo eyes flaring wide in alarm as she froze in place, as though she were a startled doe in the line-sight of a huntsman’s arrow. 

But it did not last more than a bare second at most, surely. She lunged forward - much more swiftly than Alphinaud would have credited - and snatched a handful of the man's yellow tunic, then yanked downward. 

The force behind it caused him to lose his footing and stumble backward against the wooden bench. In that same moment, the telltale whistle of loose fletching presaged the path of the arrow that struck with a solid thud against the floor of their carriage. The merchant yelped in surprise and fright, and mere seconds later, a shout echoed from the ridge above.

"Amal'jaa!" 

As if on cue, a half dozen large, powerfully built lizard beastmen abandoned their cover in the scrub, seeming to materialize like wild desert spirits as they sprung their ambush. The keening zip of more arrows followed suit and over the top of the mesa, more of their fellows came scuttling down from the ridge, their own weapons at the ready. 

"Amal'jaa!” the cry went up, repeated, now tinged with desperation. “To arms, to arms!"

The bribe- and any further altercation- was forgotten.

The vermilion-clad ringleader cast a sullen glare at the cart and its occupants, then at the attackers pouring down into the gully, and let out a string of angry curses. "Seven hells," he swore, drawing his sword. "Consider this a warning! Now go, all of you! Make haste!"

Their lalafellin teamster didn't need telling twice. The reins cracked and the chocobos bolted away from the fracas into the desert as if a pack of voidsent nipped at their heels; the woman tumbled forward with a startled hiss and would have plowed straight into the twins had the merchant not caught her arm, and she wasted no time in taking her seat and bracing herself with grit teeth, feet planted against the wooden planking and hands gripping the bench.

But there were no further sounds of arrows or aught else as the cries of the skirmishers faded into the distance. Gradually the carriage slowed back to its former sedate pace, and Alphinaud spared one more glance down the path in the direction they had come. There was no sign of the men in red or the Amal'jaa war party.

The merchant’s relieved sigh was a long, gusty exhalation ending on a short laugh. 

"Seven hells! That kind of excitement ain't good for the heart.”

"At least we're shut of those awful bandits." The woman's lips were set in an angry, disapproving line. "Have those men no shame?"

"Hm? Oh, they’re not bandits. The Brass Blades are the Ul'dahn city guard, and serve the Syndicate- on paper an’ in name, anyroad." With a grunt the merchant settled himself back onto his bench, watching as the dust clouds they had kicked up in their hasty retreat concealed the road behind them from view. "But a lot like common bandits, they are, aye. You’ve got that part right, an' no mistake. Them bastards'll have the shirt off your back if they fancy it."

"How can you properly guard a city if your security forces are all corrupt?"

"Eh... I wouldn't go that far, lass. There's some good eggs among the lot too, it’s just it can be terribly hard to tell who can be trusted an' who's on the take, an’ who’s been bought by… ‘other interests,’ we’ll say. Best to practice discretion and just avoid ‘em altogether. That way you’ll be knowin’ you’re safe for sure."

She grimaced but nodded her assent. 

"But thank the gods for sendin' some beastmen to the rescue, eh?" Once again he leaned forward, laughing in earnest, his elbows resting on his knees. "Mind keepin' an old man company until we arrive? Them young'uns ain't much for conversation."

Alphinaud, weary of feigning sleep, instead did his level best to appear bored and disinterested when the adventurer looked curiously in their direction. As it turned out, he needn’t have worried about providing a cover; the glance she spared was a cursory one at best. Her attention turned almost immediately back to their host.

"Brendt's the name, an' peddlin's me trade,” he continued. “And you, lass?"

“Aurelia.”

“Aurelia. Well, Miss Aurelia, much obliged. I owe you for what you did back there. Had you not acted so quickly, the day an’ this new tunic would’ve been ruined.” He chortled at his own joke. “And you’re come down to Ul’dah for… what was it again? Botany?”

“Oh. No, I’m a chirurgeon by trade, you see. I’ve come south to further my education at Frondale’s Phrontistery.” That soft rosy flush rose in her cheeks again, Alphinaud noted. “...Although I confess I am not averse to the odd adventure as I go along, should the opportunity present itself.”

A delighted grin crossed the merchant's weathered face. 

"So you’re an adventurer after all! I thought I noticed a spark of wanderlust in them eyes. Though if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, you don’t strike me as the type to leave your home on a whim. Seekin’ a touch of excitement? Extra coin to line your pockets?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alphinaud watched her smile fade. The discomfited expression returned as she dropped her gaze to her hands, once again tightened into fists. At length, she let out a heavy sigh. 

"Forgive me, Master Brendt, but if it's all the same I'd really rather not go into detail. Suffice to say my reasons are both varied and complex."

"If you ain't inclined to tell, then I ain't about to pry into yer affairs," he said gently. "The Twelve know I'm a mouthy old bugger but I sure as hells ain't no busybody."

Some of the anxiety in her expression faded with her small, shy smile. "Thank you for your understanding. I appreciate it."

"Aye, of course. We all got our secrets, don’t we? And speakin’ for myself, I'd rather mine stayed that way, which is why you’ll not see me stickin' me nose where it ain't welcome. Just you be watchin’ yourself down here, alright? Fortune and glory are all well and good but breathin's more important than aught else. Ain't much profit nor excitement in bein' dead, and that's a fact."

"I'll be the very soul of caution, you've my word," she replied, carefully smoothing nonexistent wrinkles out of her clothes. Hesitation flashed across her fair features before she added, “Though I plan to take in as much of the city as I can while I study. This is my first trip to Ul’dah, after all.”

“That so? You’re in for quite the treat, then. Beautiful old city, one of the oldest in Eorzea. Devoted, so they say, to the worship of Nald’thal above all the gods.”

“So they say?”

His eyes twinkled with emerald mischief as he grinned at her. “Between you an' me an' the chocobos, the only god that lot truly worships is gil, and as much of it as they can get." 

One of her brows arched upward and disappeared beneath the border of the head covering she wore, indicating her opinion of that particular statement.

“Bold words, considering the source.” 

Undaunted, the merchant laughed, slapping his knee. “Aye, well, I’ve been as good as my word, haven’t I? Let this well-traveled old man fill you in.”

The day wore on, and the heat shimmered in iridescent light waves from the desert floor and mingled with the dust, and Alphinaud found himself drowsing in truth as he listened to Brendt's exposition. How the Amal'jaa incursions had plagued the outskirts of Ul'dahn territory for many years. How the Garlean Empire was no doubt planning some kind of reprisal; it had been five years, after all, and there was rumor of a new castrum far in the northern reaches of the desert. How the city was supposedly ruled by a young sultana, but in truth, the true power of the city-state lay in the hands of its Syndicate: an assembly of oligarchs who would rid themselves of her in a heartbeat, were they not concerned it would end with their own heads on the block in an open people's revolt. 

All in all, Alphinaud found himself rather impressed by the man’s rambling monologue. Brendt might describe himself as naught but a simple peddler, but if so he was one with an uncommonly astute read on the city's political pulse. He tucked away all he had heard in a corner of his own mind; the information might be useful at a later date.

"But it's all comin' to a head now," Brendt was saying. "These factions have been squabblin' over control of the city for years, throwin' the weight of' their wealth against each other with no signs of stopping. Twelve help the poor sods who get in their way when it finally spills into the streets- and it will one day, you mark my words."

"It all sounds rather an unpleasant mess if you ask me- and isn't it rather hazardous in such a clime to peddle your wares alone, Master Brendt?"

"Ha! Well, they say war is a gift to merchants like myself. Need breedin' profit an' all. And as much as I hate to say so, I'm inclined to agree," he admitted with a rueful smile before glancing over one shoulder. "Ah! Here we are, lass. Behold! Ul'dah, the jewel of Thanalan, the city where sand becomes gold!"

Traveling from the far lands of the Northern Empty to Eorzea for the first time in his life, bolstered upon the strength of his family's funds and their grandfather’s connections, Alphinaud himself had never seen Ul'dah. He might have been amused at his fellow traveler’s open wide-eyed wonder as they crested the mesa had the spectacular view not nearly knocked the breath from his own lungs. The sandstone spires of the ancient city seemed to rise out of the desert floor for malms, a lone majestic sentinel standing its watch over the sands.

It reminded him a little of the illustrations he'd seen of Ala Mhigo in history books, but there was a resplendency about this place that Gyr Abania's stolid-walled capitol city lacked--a weight that it acknowledged and bore proudly upon its stone shoulders, like a stately sultana bedecked in her crown jewels. 

The Hyur seemed similarly awestruck. "My word," she breathed, "what a lovely city!" 

"Aye, it is, so. Many a fortune's been gained and lost within them walls, lass---not all of it money, neither." His smile didn't fade but a certain sharpness entered his tone as he added: "There's beauty there, but also treachery. Mind that when you set foot on those streets, you hear?"

She smiled. "I will."

As if acknowledging that it must give way to the massive oasis, the scrub and rock of the high desert receded to low trees and tall dry grasses as the wagon rattled its way down the slopes into the valley towards the city gates, and it was there that the wagon drew to a stop and Brendt stepped down onto the dirt road.

“Well, friends, this is where we part ways,” he said. “I’ll have the porter unload your bags, but I’m expected down at the Crossing.”

Alphinaud watched the woman regain her feet - she was willowy and rather tall, he noted, for a Midlander - and pick up her bags. Once she had made her way down the steps after Brendt the peddler and he was certain they were alone, he leaned in to shake his sister’s shoulder, only for Alisaie to knock his hand away with a flip of her wrist. She sat up with a catlike stretch and something of an exaggerated yawn. 

“Oh,” she said. “We’ve arrived. What fortuitous timing.”

Her eyes were clear of any redness and her cheeks smooth. She had been feigning sleep for some time-- probably ever since the commotion with the Blades, he thought.

Still, he said with some surprise, “You’re awake?”

“Of course I’m awake. It was impossible to sleep with all that yammering on about politics. If he weren’t so loud it would have put me into a bloody coma.” Alisaie sat up, fingers combing through her hair as she tried to right the wind-tossed mess that had been made of her braid. “Ugh, this is going to take forever to brush out. Well?”

“Well?” he echoed.

“Did you get any other information?”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t you ‘what’ me.” His twin’s finger, bony and blunt, jabbed into his ribs with bruising force. “You’ve been puzzling over that woman nigh since Quarrymill.”

“Well, yes, but you can hardly blame me for being curious. I’ve just been trying to figure out where she’s from, that's all."

"And?"

Alisaie almost looked disappointed, giving him cause to wonder what she'd been expecting him to say. All he could offer in return was a lame shrug.

"She’s not an Eorzean.”

“Neither are we.”

“Strictly speaking--”

“Alphinaud.” Alisaie’s mulish glower stopped him mid-sentence. “You’re about to be pedantic. Don’t.”

“All right, all right.” He crossed his arms, frowning at the woman’s back, just visible over the lip of the cart. She was engrossed in some conversation with their host, the words too faint to be heard from this distance. “Still… I could swear I’ve heard that accent somewhere else before. And the way she carries herself is-”

“So is there aught you learned about this woman of interest, or relevance,” Alisaie interrupted dryly, “or are you just entertaining yourself by playing boy detective?”

“...The latter, I suppose,” Alphinaud conceded. He reached for his fine leather book satchel and looped it over his head. The weight of their grandfather’s gift settled at his hip, a familiar comfort. “I was thinking perhaps we ought to properly introduce ourselves.”

“She's preoccupied, and we’ve other matters of pressing importance to attend to first and foremost.” Alisaie had already plucked her bag from the seat and stood, and now she waited with ill-concealed impatience for her brother to join her. She shifted from foot to foot, one of her patten-clad toes tapping upon the worn wooden planks. “Such as this meeting with the general of the Immortal Flames. The meeting for which you promised a not-insignificant chunk of our traveling funds to ensure punctuality.”

“And it was worth every gil.” His retort betrayed his growing impatience more than he had hoped. The heat might be getting to him. Just a touch. “General Aldynn is a very busy man, Alisaie. If it weren’t for Grandfather’s name I’m not certain we would have been able to get past-”

“Yes, yes, all right. Not the point.” She shook her head with a soft little chuffing noise. “Well, come on, then. Let’s get our things and check in. We might as well do what we came here to do.”

They clambered down the steps and made a beeline for their luggage - only one bag apiece. 

By the time they had approached the peddler Brendt to pay him for his trouble, the tall golden-haired Hyur woman had already passed through the gate, much to Alphinaud’s private chagrin. It was unlikely they and this ‘Aurelia’ would chance to meet again, he knew. Ul’dah was a large city, and their paths clearly led them in different directions; a student of medicine was not like to have any cause or opportunity to mingle in the same circles. What curiosity of his that remained would necessarily go unsatisfied.

But as he peered up at the worn and ancient walls, he found himself wishing her well, regardless.

Chapter Text

In her dreams, the world ends, over and over.

All around her, the land groans in upheaval.  Darkness blankets the sky like an opaque cloak– the countless lights she so loved to see fled seemingly forever beyond her ken, their myriad-faceted faces turned away from the broken firmament as if the heavens cannot bear to witness the sight. Fire raining from the sky: bright orange streaks, cauterizing the air in the wake of the dying meteors' blazing paths.  The stars wail like the lamentations of souls as they fall.  

She knows this dream. It has plagued her nigh as long as her memory has existed, and yet she has never retained precise details of it upon waking. In the space between moments– snapping back to full wakefulness in a cold sweat, L’haiya crossing the room with a kerosene lamp to see to her young charge– it has ever been lost, collapsed into vague sensory recollection. 

But this time the dream is different. She does not awaken to her nursery, or the heavy plush weight of borrowed sheets, or the cold sterility of a castrum barracks. The fire, the darkness, the horrible sounds of death and half-remembered destruction-- they recede as one and after a time she finds herself–

–simply adrift. 

Aether wreathes her frame, carries her along an invisible current like gentle fingers, cradling her in a massive and unseen palm to bear her to this unknown destination. There is nothing to bear her weight but a sea of blue and yet she feels no fear when she draws herself to her full height. Her heels click softly with each stride upon this transparent surface. She is unafraid but the feeling is disorienting enough that she cranes her neck back and tilts her chin up, unconsciously seeking a point on a limitless horizon.

The gesture leaves her to stare at a nigh-blinding light, shining down from above to illuminate all it touches with a bright and formless radiance.

(The sun..?)

Before she can ponder the sight further, a bone-deep chill prickles its way along her limbs, and in that split second of hesitation something – someone – tears a hole in the air like shears through linen.  Cold, violet-tinged aether ribbons outward like blood from a wound before its tattered edges recede in a low and grinding roar of black. A figure lingers where the rift had been moments before, sneering at her from behind a menacing-looking mask of some sort– no face to be discerned in that fathomless nothing, only a silhouette of sorts. A man, perhaps, one roughly her own height. If her eyes do not deceive her.

Black robes. Red half-mask. Lips stretched in a bloodless, menacing smile. 

Every muscle in her body grows taut at the sense of impending danger. She takes a slow and cautious step backward, hand tightening about her staff--

Staff? 

Yes, a staff, one such as a Hearer would wield. And strange robes, snow-white with geometric crimson trim, made of a fine snowy silk she doesn’t recognize, and boots of delicately tooled leather. 

She puzzles over it for only a moment before a familiar voice resounds within her very bones, a voice she knows, somehow– whispering from the recesses of her conscious mind:

If thou wouldst pierce the Darkness, child, thou must make thee a blade of Light. 

Slowly, as if over the course of a hundred years, she raises the weapon. Aether billows around her feet in a great gale, tossing her hair about her shoulders, shot through with sparks of brilliant gold. Above her forms a corona of light: a disk with brilliant, blinding edges. It cuts through the unnatural miasma like a blade.

Armed thus, she seeks once more the face of her adversary.

The cold smile beneath the borders of that twisted mask had faded as the light grew in strength, and it stretches now into an angry rictus. One hand, clad in black leather, raises aloft. She catches for just a moment the wicked silver curve of claws before dark aether writhes about them like a morbol’s tentacles and the masked figure breaks into a swift sprint towards her. The mouth is locked open in a silent battle cry.

She raises the staff in the face of danger, standing like a wall against the oncoming attack. Light and aether surge about her arms like the waves of a storm-tossed sea. 

Light, to stand against Darkness---

=

Aurelia awakened at the sound of a crash and the painful thump that followed. Jolted so unceremoniously awake, her eyes flew open and she saw naught but white.

She gasped aloud in mingled shock and fear, heartbeat fluttering like a bird's wings buffeting the bars of a cage, before other sensory information began to make its way into the sleep-addled jumble of her thoughts. Her head throbbed indignantly where her fall had struck it against the floor. She could still only see endless white but realized that it lay close against her face and it was touching her nose... and it was scratchy in a way that was suspiciously reminiscent of her cheap cotton bedsheets.

It didn’t take a master sleuth to figure out what had happened: at some point during her dream, she had rolled right off the mattress of the old four-poster bed. Now she lay tangled in the pile of bed linens that had (thankfully) cushioned her fall somewhat. 

Hells, not this again…

When she was very small, sleepwalking had been a semi-regular occurrence. The incidents had occurred with less frequency over time; the last time it had happened Aurelia had awakened on the cold steel floor next to her bottom-level bunk in the Castrum Novum barracks. She had been in the middle of a recurring nightmare about Dalamud (one which, in retrospect, seemed eerily prescient) which she had decided to keep to herself for fear it would cut short her deployment. And again this morning, for the first time in five years.

She couldn’t even remember what she had been dreaming about. Something about a man in a red mask-- a fragmented piece of the same dream she’d had while dozing in the chocobo carriage yesterday. Devoid of context, it meant nothing to her now. There was a sense of deep sadness but as ever, anything beyond that was long gone. 

Aurelia dragged the linens away from her face with a muffled curse and stumbled to her feet, staring into the dresser mirror next to the borrowed armoire. Her eyes were dull and bleary from her deep and exhausted sleep, and her hair more closely resembled a destroyed bird’s nest. With half the golden locks dragged over her face and sticking out every which way, she looked like--

“Seven hells,” the Garlean mumbled. “I look like a spriggan.” All I need is a giant rock.

She ran her fingers through her hair to tame it as best she could. Her fringe ran as riotous as the rest; she managed to drape the half-curled mess of it over her third eye enough to conceal it from immediate sight, but she’d need to wear the kerchief outdoors to ensure it stayed that way.

“Miss?” a voice called from the hallway. Aurelia prodded at the small lump on her temple with a wince.

“Yes?”

“Mistress Momodi asked that I inform you breakfast will be served for another two bells in the common room. Shall I lay out clothing and towels for your bath in the meantime, miss?”

She exhaled, softly enough the maid on the other side of the door wouldn’t be able to hear it. “Ah… yes, that will be fine. What time is it, do you know?”

“Quarter bell past seven o’clock, miss.”

“Thank you. I shall be down to the baths presently.”

“Of course, miss.”

The bath was a blessing: fragrant with rose hips and the sweet herbal scent of a familiar-smelling lavender, a variety that did not grow in Gridania but one she recognized all the same. Aurelia sank into the warm water with a sigh and shut her eyes as she took her time to wash away the rest of the road grime from her skin and hair. Yesterday she had been far too tired for anything but a sponge bath, tired and feeling vaguely unwell, and was grateful that Mistress Momodi had thought to offer it.

Her initial impression of the lady was a memorable one despite her fatigue. Momodi Modi was a middle-aged, blunt-tongued Lalafell, and as different from the elegant, even-tempered Miounne as was the night from day. She had greeted Aurelia with a friendly smile, but all in all she gave the impression that she was far more shrewd and observant than she let on.

“Ah, you would be Miounne’s lass,” Momodi greeted her cheerfully as she looked over the letter Aurelia slid across the polished surface of the desk. “Fresh off the carriage from Gridania, by the look of you. And ‘Aurelia Laskaris,’ what a lovely, charmin’ name! Just rolls right off the tongue, it does. As you can see, I’ve been expectin’ you, Miss Aurelia-- but I do hope the trip wasn’t too much. You look about to faint dead away!”

She forced a smile. “I’m feeling a bit under the weather, I’m afraid.”

“Aye, that’ll be either too much sun or too much aether. Lucky for you, the remedy for what ails you is a good night’s sleep in either case. Why don’t you go ahead and sign my ledger? Right here. You’ll not be able to meet with the Alchemists’ Guild before the morrow, so there’s no rush. Take your ease for the night.”

Aurelia had done just that - after enduring a bit of somewhat ribald joshing from the proprietress (her cheeks still burned at the memory of Mistress Momodi’s saucy remark about ‘the many manhoods’ of her acquaintance, not least in part because Aurelia had no such acquaintances to muse upon), and as her waking disorientation began to fade away she found herself enjoying the sort of excitement she might have felt were she years younger. 

That old girlhood thrill of discovery. How many times had she and Sazha dreamed of just such an adventure as this one she was experiencing now? Exploring the far southern frontier of Aldenard, taking wings to fly over the walls of Ala Mhigo and face whatever might lie beyond the bounds of the Empire?

They had dreamed for years of seeing the Thanalan desert and the great trade city that crowned it before time and circumstance had separated them. In the year immediately after his death, the thought would have brought with it a sharp pang of grief. Aurelia still felt the loss in truth - there was the same momentary sense of realization as ever, waiting just around that corner - but it didn’t hurt the way it had even a year ago. The memory of him brought a smile to her face as often as it ever had but there was far more of fondness in it than sorrow; the sting felt faded and distant now, like the daguerreotype tucked within her locket. 

Time is dulling the wound at last, old friend, she thought. I hope you can forgive me for it.

So thinking, she reached for her mother’s memento mori on the small side table to drape about her neck, let it fall under her collar to hide beneath her kurta, then checked the head kerchief she wore to ensure it was securely in place before she made her way down the steps. 

Breakfast was a more varied spread than she had expected: some kind of flatbread and bean spread with cubed cheeses and fruit, and a fragrant mint tea, served hot. She was in a much better mood when Momodi waved her over to the front desk.

“Here you are. I’ve got you a map of the city,” Momodi said, passing it across with a little wave. “Mind you pay attention to where you’re going, now- there are some areas of town where you’re like to get taken for all you have if you don’t keep your wits about you. The aetheryte plaza’s just down the way, you’ll want to stop there first thing so you can attune-”

Aurelia gave a doubtful blink at the mention of an aetheryte but said nothing. Imperial prisoners were, of course, forbidden from using the aetheryte in Gridania. Even after her pardon, it had not occurred to her to make use of it before she had taken her leave of the city. The majority of aetherytes even within the bounds of the Empire were not built with Garlean physiology in mind, save a small handful within the capital.

Heedless of her charge’s skepticism, Momodi continued her monologue. It was well-rehearsed, Aurelia noted, but it lacked the cynical air she might have expected. The proprietress seemed every bit as accustomed to fresh adventurers as Mother Miounne, if a bit more frank about her expectations. 

“-and that’s that. Now, I know that you’re here to further your studies, but you might as well know the facts before you get any false hopes.”

“Facts?”

“Aye. Ul’dah’s an expensive place to stay, Miss Laskaris, let alone live. As much as you seem like a lovely girl- and mind you I believe you are, Miounne's an excellent judge o' character- I can’t feed and board you out of the goodness of my heart.” The Lalafell was eyeing her closely, and despite her apologetic smile those bright mahogany eyes had lost nothing of the sharpness Aurelia had noted yestereve. “If you don’t have a good amount of savings built up to pay your way, you wouldn’t be the only one. But you might consider picking up some work for coin while you're gettin' to know the city.”

“In Gridania I often ran errands for the Botanists’ Guild. ‘Tis how I was able to pay my passage south.” Aurelia paused for a moment to finish off the last of her tea with a satisfied sigh. “You know the city.”

“Like the back of my hand.”

“I assumed as much. Have you any suggestions?”

“Bein’ that this is the headquarters for the Adventurers’ Guild an’ all, I have open leves right over at that desk,” Momodi smiled with a pointing gesture and a shrug. “Or if you’re of a mind you can go offer your services to folk what seem like they need it. Errands ain’t glamorous, I’ll grant you, but gil is gil. ‘Course, if you’re just lookin’ for glory or excitement, there’s always the bloodsands-”

“No offense, Mistress Momodi, but I don’t think the bloodsands are really quite my speed.” Laughing, Aurelia set down her cup and held up her hands. “I’ll go visit Frondale’s Phrontistery first and give the matter some thought, how’s that?”

“Fair enough. You can explore the city as you go.” Momodi made a waving motion with her hands. “Off with you, now! Your room will be waiting for you when you return, I promise.”

~*~

Ul’dah was quite a different sort of city from Gridania. Aurelia had known it would be so, of course. She had heard stories as a girl of the so-called jewel of Thanalan, but most of them fell far short of the reality. 

As she set foot onto the well-worn cobblestones toward her destination her senses were assaulted from all sides: merchants hawking their wares from all corners of the realm (and beyond; she was quite certain she espied a Thavnairian rug or two), the mingled scents of cooking meat and spices both familiar and foreign, the shouts and laughter of playing children. Above it all was the brassy beat of a tambourine keeping time with the troupe of young Miqo’te women dancing in the open plaza, mere fulms from the foot traffic passing to and fro. 

People here took great pride in their city, she noted. Even the humblest shopkeeper seemed to carry himself with a certain worldly air that in Gridania would have been unseemly. Adventurers seemed just as plentiful in this city as they were elsewhere, but the stall merchants paid them little mind. Neither did the city watch, for that matter. Her apprehension from Brendt’s warning notwithstanding, the hard-faced men and women in the vermilion mail of the Brass Blades did nothing save glance in her direction with mild disinterest as she descended the sweeping steps from the Quicksand. It took only moments from there to blend into the crowds milling from stand to stand along the Ruby Road. 

The stretches of faded blue sky visible above the market streets and alleyways narrowed as she made her way into the older parts of the city until she passed beneath an archway and entered a rotunda of some sort. It was about ten degrees cooler within than without, the scents now that of more expensive perfume notes such as oudh and amber.

The sound of running water seemed to come from everywhere. Unlike the open dusty streets of the main gates, this part of the city had mosaic-laden fountains at nearly every intersection, their burbling soft and pleasant and reminding her of the similarly opulent structures which had graced Ala Mhigo’s administrative district. Most of the people she saw were guardsmen of some stripe, but they wore white and deep blue, and judging by the expensive cobalt chasing in their silver armor Aurelia surmised they must be garrisoned in the palace itself.

The few civilians she espied in the maze of halls and purple carpet were swathed not in linen but in fashionable silks and leathers which likely cost more than the cart she had arrived in. Most did not deign to notice her in her simple and obviously new attire; those that did gave her a wide berth with distaste stamped across their powdered and kohl-lined features, scorn she was clearly intended to see.

“Oh, for the love of- another adventurer?” In the close and echoing chamber, the woman’s scornful sigh might as well have been shouted to the rafters, “What in the world can the sultana be thinking?”

“Now, darling,” a man’s voice answered, as bland and disinterested as if they merely discussed the weather, “you know as well as I that ‘tis by royal decree. As their social betters we must remain civil.”

“Yes, but Colsi- all this common rabble wandering the palace halls! Her lord father would never have countenanced such a thing.” 

“If the sultana feels they serve a purpose-”

“Purpose? We have plenty and more of that ilk already if you ask me,” she sniffed. “I daresay they'll let in anyone these days. The Immortal Flames would welcome the meanest Ala Mhigan pauper like a dignitary if they thought it would advance their agenda.”

“Darling-”

“Or even a Garlean. Can you imagine what her fa-"

“Riripa, keep your voice down,” the man admonished with a sharp hiss, and that was the end of that conversation- what Aurelia could catch of it, at any rate. They turned the hall corner and their whispers went with them. 

She exhaled, resisting the sudden urge to laugh aloud. It had only been a passing complaint, she knew, the petulance of the wealthy who viewed adventurers and other outsiders as little more than a strain on the city's treasury (if not the tax rolls). Regardless, the linen bound in its neat and pressed folds over her brow - blonde fringe and all - felt precariously transparent, as though all that stood betwixt her secret and potential disaster was a stiff breeze. 

They’ll let in anyone these days , Aurelia thought to herself. Her ribs began to ache from her own suppressed mirth. Seven hells, if they only knew.

Her footsteps echoed loudly against sandstone as she hurried on her way. She didn't want to be late.

=

Upon first blush, Frondale’s Phrontistery was all but indistinguishable from the other recessed corridors and entryways which branched off the stone walls of the rotunda. Aurelia nearly passed it before a flash of chirurgeon’s linens caught her eye and drew it to the back of a youthful-looking Elezen man, ducking under a weathered stone archway. She wiped her sweaty palms on her leathers as she approached, feeling quite self-conscious.

“Er,” she ventured, somewhat nervously. “Excuse me.”

“Hmm?” 

“I’m… er, looking for the guildmaster.” The man was the very picture of a scholar, perhaps her age or a couple of summers her junior. Hazel eyes peered at her from behind wireless frames, but with mild-mannered curiosity rather than censure, and Aurelia felt herself relax the slightest touch. “Or whomever it is I’m supposed to speak to about entering the Phrontistery.”

“Ah,” the man said, and the look he gave her was an appraising one. “A patient?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I’m… well, I’m a prospective student, I suppose.” Anxiety returning anew, she tried to hide her rosy cheeks by digging in the small pack she had thought to bring along. “I have a letter of introduction– two letters, I believe. One should have come to you already from Stillglade Fane.”

“Stillglade Fane… oh!” His eyes came alight with his sudden animation. “You must be the young lady that the guildmaster mentioned. Miss Aurelia Laskaris, if I have the right of it?”

“The very same.”

“By all means, Miss Laskaris,” he reached for the heavy door, “do come in. This is not our main hall but it is quiet at this hour. ‘Twill serve as a more private venue for our discussion.”

The door proved a surprisingly effective method of silencing the outside world; as soon as it closed behind her she could feel the pall that settled over the small, darkened foyer. There were muffled murmurs and the occasional cough from unseen rooms down the hallway and that was all. He gestured to a small plush chair, one that had obviously been fine once but now showed its age, worn as it clearly was by a parade of many backsides over the years. 

“It’s quite clean, I assure you. This part of the building is a small children’s ward, and most of its furnishings come from donations. House Thorne in particular.”

The Elezen clucked his tongue, and having little and less context for the action, Aurelia said nothing and seated herself instead. Her host leaned over the low counter and rummaged about with a soft series of mutters before resurfacing with a small book, then found a chair facing hers across a simple but very stout-looking end table.

“Well,” Aurelia tried to laugh, “and so here I am, Ser…?”

“Oh! Twelve take me, my manners! Terribly sorry.” He set the book on the table and offered forth a hand. “Damielliot, at your service. I bid you welcome to Frondale’s Phrontistery- or, I should say, one trifling portion of it.”

“You have multiple halls, I assume.”

“After a fashion. This ward is… well. I am its director, but the work and study of alchemy is performed elsewhere, although we are staffed with novices and fully-fledged graduates alike- ah.” Damielliot cleared his throat. “Apologies. This ward has been my home in more than one sense for some few summers. Please feel free to interrupt my tangents.”

Aurelia shook her head with a soft laugh and wondered if he was this diffident with everyone or simply was unaccustomed to receiving guests. 

“I happen to find it all quite relevant to my own interests, Master Damielliot, but I shall endeavor to keep us on track. As it were.” 

He flashed her a quick and grateful smile in return. “Now, regarding your visit,” he continued briskly. “We did receive a letter of introduction from Gridania stating that a novitiate in the Conjurers’ Guild had expressed interest in studying alchemy, but-”

“Potioncraft in general,” Aurelia corrected, “of which I assume alchemy is one art among many. I must say, I’m quite surprised my name is one you remember."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I was under the impression that your… facility? Academy? receives numerous such inquiries. Guildmaster E-Sumi-Yan said-”

“Ah,” Damielliot interrupted. "You are an adventurer, are you not?”

“Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all; ‘tis simply rare to receive students from the Black Shroud. Conjurers do not tend to leave their forests much less seek outside expertise. And your manner of speech is passing strange to my ears.” He paused. “...Although I do believe I mark something of Ala Mhigo in it.”

Aurelia raised her brows.

“I’m not a refugee if that’s what you’re implying. Even if that were the case, I sincerely hope it would not influence your opinion of me or any estimation of my skills thereof.”

“Of course not, but-”

“To answer your question: yes, I am an adventurer," a small white lie she felt no need to correct at present, "but moreover I am a student of medicine. I have made an extensive study of healing arts in lands beyond Eorzean shores, Master Damielliot. Simply put, I believe the mastery of Ul’dahn alchemical traditions will enrich my current repository of knowledge.”

“Enrichment. You mean that literally as well as figuratively, I don’t doubt,” and this time a dry, rueful note entered his voice. “Many have darkened these steps in search of coin and personal glory, Miss Laskaris. No doubt the healing profession can be lucrative for those willing to apply themselves, but I warn you: mastery of Ul’dahn alchemy is both time-consuming and expensive. It requires a well-honed wit, sharp intellect, deep pockets, and a great deal of mental fortitude. You will spend far more coin than you earn, at least in your first handful of years as a professional practitioner. Many never break even in the breadth of their careers. Knowing this, are you still willing to learn?”

I spent my formative years in service to the White Raven, my friend. I am not so easily dissuaded by promises of hardship. Were this the Empire, it would have been her immediate response— but in Eorzea it was inadvisable at best, needlessly foolish at worst. He would not take it as the good-natured reassurance it was intended, and she was wary of any response that might cast confidence as arrogant seeming in the eyes of a stranger. 

Best to keep her responses neutral and amiable until she had a better pulse upon common sentiment of foreigners–and Keveh’to’s parting warning still reverberated soundly in her memory. So thinking, Aurelia lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. 

“I have not yet shied away from any challenge of my skill nor that of my wits. You may rest assured I am not about to do so now.”

Even that was possibly a stronger show of spirit than she had intended, but if he was offended by it she saw no anger flickering in his passive, pleasant expression. 

"Excellent. Now should you wish to study to become a chirurgeon, that is a different process which-”

“I don’t,” Aurelia shook her head, then clarified: “Or rather, I already am a chirurgeon. I’ve a license to practice in- well. I did practice medicine, in the land from whence I hail. One assumes however that this would avail me little beyond its borders.”

“I see.” He gave her a long, thoughtful look, but did not press her further. “...In that case the Alchemists’ Guild and its basic lessons will be the best place to start if you are here to study potioncraft. I certainly don’t mean to denigrate your existing knowledge or skills, Miss Laskaris, but you will eventually have to work with the guildmaster if only so he may assess your skills before allowing you to accept official commissions on our behalf. The Phrontistery has a certain reputation to maintain, you understand.”

“Truthfully,” she confessed, “I had all but assumed you were the guildmaster.”

His soft laugh rang like a bell in the quiet emptiness of the modest parlor. 

“You flatter me. My mother previously held the position, as it happens, but as for myself I believe I am quite content to remain where I am.”

“Will you and I be working together?”

“Quite possibly, though it will depend on the nature of the work. Has Mistress Momodi informed you of the, ah, realities of attending our academy? There is a scholarship available to offset the costs of tuition, but it is unfortunately only open to those who meet certain criteria-”

“And as an adventurer, I presume I do not meet them.”

In his defense, Damielliot at least had the grace to appear apologetic. “I’m afraid not.”

“It’s quite all right,” Aurelia shrugged, with a flippancy she didn’t feel. Life in Ul’dah was going to take a certain degree of mental adjustment; she was quite certain that the Gridanians had never placed such frequent demands on her coin. “I had made plans to pay for my room and board in any case. I don’t suppose it will make much difference to add your fees to my list of expenses.”

“If it is helpful, several of our alchemists would be grateful for an extra set of hands to aid them with their work,” he gestured to the figures in white coats milling about the open space, “and more than willing to compensate you fairly for their use of your time.”

Aurelia blinked. “I would not have assumed that to be the case, novice as I am.”

“Ah, but you forget! This is Ul’dah. People in this city expect to be paid, particularly adventurers,” he said. “And we place few restrictions on such opportunities here. You can earn as you learn, so to speak, and the Phrontistery heartily encourages a hands-on approach- provided it is done with supervision.”

Doubtless she would be put through her paces, but she would expect no less for a learning institution of the Phrontistery’s fame. 

And really- it wasn’t as if she had much in the way of a choice. She had seen with her own eyes what happened to those who couldn’t make a go of it in Ul’dah. Those unfortunates languished within and without its walls, begging passerby for coin and scraps of food, or huddling for warmth against the biting cold of desert nights within tents patched together from threadbare hempen cloth and animal skins. The city-dwellers had little and less sympathy for them: so far as they were concerned the refugees’ lot came from their refusal to assimilate, a lack of the ambition considered vital in order to succeed. 

In truth (and she would never have opined it aloud) Ul’dah reminded her - in some decidedly uncomfortable ways - of the imperial capital. Still, she was determined to put her best foot forward and if this was the way of things, then so it went. She would do what she had always done and adapt to the situation as the need arose.

“Well then,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster, “let’s be about it.”

~*~

The days and nights wound onward, tumbling into the slow end of summer like sand through an hourglass-- yet there was scarcely a difference to be felt.

In theory, the dunes and mesas and scrublands of Thanalan were no stranger to heat. But late summer was invariably the hottest, driest part of the season and today was proving to be little different from the long, scorching days which had held southern Eorzea in its grip for the past fortnight. Heatwaves shimmered from every rooftop in Ul’dah, and the streets were peppered with the sight of colorful cloth parasols and silk-draped palanquins as the elite sought to shield themselves from the Warden’s gaze. Those without the means to take such measures instead covered themselves in hempen robes and cloaks like a priest of Nald’thal, or dallied beneath the few alleys in the city that boasted an overhanging roof while attempting to cool themselves in the shade with a waterskin. Merchants and adventurers alike squinted into the brassy, cloudless azure sky and grumbled about the heat and wished for a spot of rain or even the barest breeze. 

All in all, business as usual.

The interior of the Arrzaneth Ossuary was one of the few structures in Ul’dah that proved impervious to the stifling heat, and it was there that Thancred Waters found himself on this particular afternoon. The atrium was cool and dark and slightly fetid, just as it had been five summers past; the thin layer of sweat and road dust upon his skin seemed to freeze on contact with the air inside, like an invisible shroud doused in myrrh and purified creek water. Spicy-sweet smoke twined in thin ribbons towards the lofts overhead from the copper censers the thaumaturges kept alight at all times and aside from hushed murmurs or the odd scrape of passing footsteps from a robed fellow of the guild, it seemed a tomb in all aspects. He stared at the massive statue with the mark of Nald’thal at its base, head swimming, shivering from the chill.

‘Twas here, he thought to himself, fingertips tracing the sigil a barest ilm from its surface. Here, where I knelt and prayed to the Twelve for succor. 

Closing his eyes and casting his senses back far enough to relive those tenuous moments five summers past, he fancied he could still feel the levin-like prickle of aether upon his skin as his thoughts flew to Louisoix’s side— his thoughts and the hopes and wishes of an entire nation. 

An entire realm, he corrected himself. And it still hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t been enough.

He’d thought it would be easier with time, but coming back to Ul’dah alone brought back a flood of memories. Not all of them were happy ones, either. Walking through the gate brought him unbidden the panicked screams of a crowd and the roars of a rampaging goobbue, and the tears of a young girl. The day he’d met Minfilia had never left his memory for even a moment.

After all, it wasn’t just her life that had changed so irrevocably.

With a heavy sigh, Thancred rocked back upon his heels; sand and sediment grit crunched softly underfoot for a brief moment before he found his balance mid-squat. There was no changing the past, of course. He knew that better than anyone and so did she. There was no bringing back those who had been lost. Not her father, not those who had perished in flame and fear, and not-

(Louisoix.)

Louisoix, presumed dead but still missing.

Come now, you’ve work still to be done, he berated himself. Time to stop moping about and see what you can see.

He lifted the heavy goggles from the stones where he had set them at his side. They were of Sharlayan make, one of a set of six aethersight devices currently on loan to Minfilia from one of her close acquaintances within the Students of Baldesion. In days past, it was said, the most puissant of mages could peer into the mysteries of the aether without the need for such contrivances. The visor was a marvel of modern engineering, one that had in past years served a vital role in their work. Every time he used them ‘twas as if he could reach out and touch the motes which danced before his eyes. 

And now as ever, he would resist the urge to revel in the sight lest he miss the greater picture for the wonder before him– just as he needed to put aside the world’s distractions in truth. It was no great analogy but it would serve. More now than ever, he had to focus on what was important and for now, his top priority was to safeguard this child of Minfilia’s still trying to find steady ground for its first real steps into the world it meant to protect. Louisoix was not here to cushion his steps or hers should they falter. 

No, it all laid upon his own strength now. No more gallivanting about.

I’ll get it right this time. I swear it.

Noonday heat impacted his body like an invisible wall when he set foot through the exit. The sun’s glare blinded him for a brace of moments, and he blinked a few times to clear his vision before quickly making his way towards the nearby fountain. Other than the odd city guardsman the streets here were silent and empty but that was not at all unusual. Precious few were willing to linger so close to the Ossuary even in the light of day; the thaumaturges were for all intents and purposes a funerists’ guild and the dead tended to make people nervous no matter their walk of life or profession. 

Smallfolk superstitions also meant he wouldn’t be disturbed if he were to take a quick peek about. Thancred dropped the goggles over his field of sight and with an upward flick of his thumb flipped the bottom switch resting perhaps an ilm or two from the curve of his cheek. Aether limned the outline of his extended hand like a glove. 

He paused to adjust the series of minute dials along the frame until the images of the city came into focus… and his brow creased in a thoughtful frown. There was a disturbance in the aether. It appeared in the visor as a sort of blankness, or perhaps hole was more apt. Rather than thinning to naught as it had in those dark days before Dalamud’s descent, it seemed to be composed of ambient aether that had inverted somehow. It was also more than recent enough to cause him concern. 

“That should be dealt with sooner rather than later,” he muttered aloud. 

In his mind’s eye, he consulted the map of Ul’dah he had long since committed to memory, and as he feared the source lay to the south and east of the Gates of Thal. 

The Sultantree. Seven hells, he thought with a grimace, definitely sooner. Mayhap Papashan would be of some assistance, or at least one of his men might have seen something. 

Another flip of the switch and the aetheric effect faded and was gone. He pushed the visor up and was greeted with nothing but bright afternoon sun, faded paint, and the baked edges of weathered sandstone. A Roegadyn man in the vermilion mail of the Brass Blades cast him a disinterested glance from the bottom of the Ossuary’s stair as he turned a corner on his patrol and was gone. Thancred exhaled.

He descended the steps with quick and graceful movements, the sound of his passing muffled by the stone as well as his habit, now ingrained, of keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible– obviously he didn’t want to raise any sort of alarum if it wasn’t necessary. As such he kept his gait unhurried and his strides just swift enough to be brisk. 

Aside from the strange apparatus perched upon his head, few took any notice as he passed the market stalls to duck into one of the labyrinthine alleyways that made up the back end of the Sapphire Exchange. This was another part of the city few were wont to enter without reason, which had ever served him well when pressed for time- it was inhabited primarily by unfortunates deemed unfit for the bloodsands or the brothels (for a multitude of reasons), petty criminals, and destitute refugees. 

Every city had its shadows, and Ul’dah’s were lined with pearl. 

He saw faces both familiar and foreign as he made his way past hastily erected tents and stalls, unlicensed storefronts with fenced goods, the odd dove plying her trade, with a polite nod to all and sundry. Thancred had grown up in just such a place. His manner now might seem easy and amiable, even refined, but he had once been one of Limsa Lominsa’s numerous wharf rats, an orphan living off the poor scraps he could beg, or fencing baubles he could steal from the unwary. The streets had been one of his most formative teachers, and his lessons learned well. Shadows saw and heard things most did not, and ‘twas wise to be on friendly terms with the smallfolk within them. 

On any other day, he might have taken his time to make purchases in order to glean aught of higher value during the exchange of friendly small talk but that would have to wait for a more opportune moment. There was little time to tarry–

“What’s– ‘medicine for the sick’?”

The raucous burst of bitter laughter that followed gave him pause and he glanced over one shoulder to follow it to its source. The voice was deep and gruff, with the broad vowels and upward lilt of an accent Thancred was well accustomed to hearing; Ala Mhigan refugees had been commonplace in Ul’dah even in the handful of years before the Calamity.

But it was the Hyur woman who caught his eye with a flash of golden hair and sun-reddened fair skin, dressed in the simple attire of a fresh-faced adventurer. She stood before the man, studying him with solemn dark blue eyes and a gravely earnest expression. Although she fidgeted with her hands at her waist as if she were pleading or nervous, she did not cringe or quail from the confrontation. Stout-hearted enough, Thancred thought, if perhaps foolhardy.

“We know full well what that mentor of yours is up to,” the man scoffed. “I’d wager even he has no clue what it does. ‘Medicine!’ We’re not fools.”

“Shall I return it in that case?” the woman asked. There was just the slightest hint of the same accent in her soft voice, barely eclipsed by another which… sounded foreign to his ears and yet somehow at once very familiar. The puzzled furrow in Thancred's brow deepened even as he remained motionless: waiting to intervene on her behalf if it came to that. “If you need the professor to vouch for its safety, then I would be happy to assist.”

For a moment Thancred thought the man might strike her. He watched one of those large hands ball into a tight fist along the dirty surface of his worn breeches as if the impulse had likewise occurred to him-- and then the moment passed as quickly as it came. His fist snagged a handful of fabric instead. 

“...Tch, lass. Don’t you be payin’ me no mind."

"I've angered you."

"Aye, I'm angry, but not at you. 'Tis piss and vinegar, naught else. We’ll take it.” Bitterness collapsed so abruptly into resignation and self-loathing that Thancred winced at the sound of it. “Beggars can’t be choosers, so they say.”

“Has Master Alewyn not offered you proper compensation? If there is something else I can do to help, then perhaps-”

Why do you feel the need to linger? ‘Tis clear enough the man poses no threat to her. Best you continue about the business that brought you this way and leave them be.

That inner voice was entirely correct, of course. He had come this way following a shortcut for Scion business, not to eavesdrop on what was either an adventurer or a Phrontistery student on a routine delivery route. He needed to find Papashan, and quickly.

But as he slipped back into the shadows and continued on his way, he thought again of the young woman and couldn’t help but shake his head in an effort to dispel the image. Oh, she was passing handsome to be sure, a newcomer to the city if her sun-reddened cheeks were aught to go by, and that sweet demeanor held a certain appeal all its own- but he had no doubt that novelty would wear off soon enough. Precious few retained any vestige of such innocence; a few moons and a handful of leves and she’d be as shrewd and coin hungry as most adventurers who made the city their base of operations. Ul’dah tended to have that effect on people, and most ended up devoured by their own hubris, spit out onto the bloodsands or into the streets. And her looks… well, that in itself wasn't truly remarkable. He had seen his share of fair maidens and then some. The city was full unto bursting with them, from the adventurers’ guild to the pillowhouses.

Still, the rare compassion she had offered to a man most would not have glanced at twice settled itself in the back of his mind like a roosting bird. It was this he found himself musing upon when he turned the exchange over in his mind, well after he had left the alleyway behind.

Well, I’ve been wrong more than once.  

Chapter Text

“Miss?”

Aurelia didn’t respond right away; her gaze had turned towards the street where she was sure someone had been eavesdropping on their conversation, and she shook her head at the sight of the empty alleyway. There had been the sharp prickle of gooseflesh up her arms, the one she always felt when something or someone entered the far range of her third eye’s perception. So she had turned around, and– 

“My apologies, Master Landebert. I thought I heard something.” Aurelia tried to shrug it off with a smile. “Don't mind me. I’m only jumping at shadows, I suppose.”

Odd, she thought. I could have sworn there was somebody there.

“Rats, no doubt. They’re bleedin’ everywhere in this hole.” Landebert shook his head. Despite the Ala Mhigan’s haggard appearance and the dull cast of ill health lending a certain pallor to his dusky skin, she could tell he had been quite physically fit at one point in his life. “Listen, miss, I appreciate the thought - all of us do. But I’ll wager even them high-minded dabblers over at Frondale’s don’t have any answers as to what truly ails us. That Alewyn hasn't come right out and said as much, but as I said, we’re not fools.”

“What did he tell you?”

His pursed lips twisted into a moue of open distaste. 

“That there’s a leech down the Exchange who might be willin' to help. Told us he’d be more than happy to give us the name if we'd prefer bein' bled out to his awful bloody brews, provided we had the coin.”

Aurelia was unable to stop herself from grimacing but managed to stay her tongue. She had strong opinions about such practices - one of her professors had referred to it as “the pinnacle of ignorance and dangerous to the patient besides” - but she, like Landebert, was no fool.

“Between you and me,” he continued, “I suspect balancing our humours would still work a sight better. …Not that I s'pose it matters at all.”

“Why not?”

She immediately regretted the question; the refugee's expression as he looked at her now was exasperated, if not the slightest bit condescending. “Miss, none of us have gil for the barber’s fees or any other medicine at that. The Phrontistery’s got us ‘twixt a rock and a hard place, and I’ve no doubt he knows it.”

“I see.”

There was little else she could say. He was probably right.

Landebert turned his head and spat for emphasis. A thin stream of spittle struck the cobblestones only to evaporate in moments beneath the blazing summer sun. “You want my advice, lass, you’ll steer clear of that whole miserable lot if you can. I know you meant well. There’s precious few of your ilk who would even take a delivery job what brings ‘em to Pearl Lane, ‘specially one that isn’t like to pay worth shite. …He is paying you, isn’t he?”

“In experience.”

"Experience?"

“Paid work is for graduates and fully-fledged Phrontistery alchemists, so I’m told.” 

Aurelia shrugged as if to say it can't be helped. Landebert barked out a hoarse, phlegmy laugh, bitter and derisive and knowing. 

“Sounds as though we’re not the only ones bein’ taken for all we’re worth. Experience, my arse.”

She said nothing, only caught an errant forelock curl and wound it about one finger. Sweat trickled down her brow under the rough homespun, catching on the rim of her concealed third eye and drenching her fringe. It itched horribly, and she wanted more than anything to rip the cloth away and scratch until she could relieve the discomfort, and that was the one thing she couldn’t do. 

Faced with the grim truth of the Ala Mhigans’ predicament in Ul’dah, Aurelia knew full well how much of it could be traced to her countrymen and their insatiable thirst for domination. One might reasonably lay some of the blame upon the Ul’dahn citizens themselves for their shoddy treatment of the displaced, but Landebert and his fellows would likely not even be here were it not the direct result of imperial aggression. She still remembered as a young child wondering aloud to her Dalmascan governess why her father had said she mustn’t be allowed to associate with the people in the market square. Wondering why they never smiled, why they would never look at any of the officers, why anyone would want to run away to the southern frontier.

Of course, as an adult, she could see for herself why, but acknowledging the truth of the matter did nothing to better their lot. A more worldly woman - or at least a more pragmatic one - might turn away and pretend she had seen nothing, and she knew Alewyn would be sorely vexed if he discovered what she was about to do–but she couldn’t walk away. She refused to walk away. 

It would not be the first time in her life that Aurelia Laskaris had - in her own quiet way - defied the established order of things, and it was not like to be the last. She cleared her throat and shrugged the satchel on her shoulders until it hit the ground with a soft clink, then reached down and unfastened the clasp. Sandy, sweat-damp tendrils of hair tumbled over one shoulder to brush at her cheeks but she ignored it. 

Hells! I know I’ve got those tinctures in here somewh– Ha!

With a triumphant smile, she plucked the small bottle from her stash, closed the bag, and stood to her full height once more. Intimidating, it was not - even at a glance she saw that were the man to unfold himself from his defeated slouch he would easily stand over her - but the point was not to intimidate. She held the corked bottle out to him in one half-opened hand, the top clutched securely betwixt her fingers. 

“What if I told you I have in my possession common remedies which I create for my own personal use? Medicines which have naught to do with Ul’dahn alchemy and definitely also work as intended?”

Landebert eyed Aurelia as if she had just offered him a bottle of rosewater and told him it cured the bloody flux. “Another cure-all?” he scoffed. “Keep it, miss. I’ve tried a dozen of these blasted things for the sake of his gil and they’ve all been as empty as a Garlean promise.”

“Oh, this is not a panacea, I assure you. Not even close. But it’s at least effective against mild pains and fever.” She couldn’t help a rueful smile. “More so than going down the barber’s for a bleed, and I'm sure it's superior to the brews you've imbibed.” Superior in that it did literally anything at all- not that she was so imprudent as to say so.

“How do you know? How common are these remedies of yours?”

“Common enough that I know for a fact your barbers are like to keep them on hand.” At the skeptical narrowing of his eyes she added with a soft laugh, “I don't deal in wild concoctions and the like. ‘Tis naught but a willowbark tincture, Master Landebert, such as you might find in any of the shops on the Exchange. A simple thing, scribed in your ladies' healing herbals, for that matter. No dubious experimentation needed.”

“Where in the hells did you get your hands on willowbark? The conjurers wouldn’t even let us touch the Shroud’s deadfalls, let alone aught of use.” He scratched at the dirty stubble on his jaw. She could almost see what he was thinking- willowbark was inexpensive and plentiful in the Shroud, but difficult to source in Ul’dah outside the Alchemists’ Guild and far too expensive for most denizens of Pearl Lane to afford. “...Suppose you’ll be wanting some sort of compensation if it’s proper medicine.”

“Don’t worry yourself about the coin.”

“But-” 

“I’ve the means to make as much as necessary.”

Landebert squinted at her for a moment longer, but she held his gaze. At length he shrugged, a listless lift and drop of his broad shoulders. 

“Not much to lose, eh? Wager it’s worth a try.”

With that statement he plucked the bottle from her fingers, and his lips curved in a faint smile for the first time since they’d spoken.

It was a guarded and half-tilted thing, to be sure, but it was a smile nonetheless. The sun half-obscured his face for the glare and the heat was still punishing as ever, but for probably the first time since arriving in Ul’dah Aurelia barely felt her incipient headache. She was smiling fiercely back at him, heart fit to burst from her chest with this small triumph. She hadn’t realized just how much she had missed the simple joy of using her skills just for the sake of it. Such a small thing, that happiness.

And yet what wonders, in truth, it did to lift her spirit.

~*~

“Aurelia!” Momodi’s voice, bright and strident, cut through the background chatter and ambient noise of the Quicksand’s dining hall like trilling upper keys on a pianoforte. “There you are, lass. A moment of your time, if you would kindly?”

Aurelia paused mid-stride, blinking owlishly at the diminutive figure waving her over to the counter– and realized that the normally cheerful proprietress was not smiling. Her stomach took a slow and lazy drop through the floor. She was already tired and hot from the day’s labours, one of which included her own impulsive offer to brew a potion for the refugee denizens of the city slums, and suspected she had taken too much sun along the way. All she wanted was food and a hot bath but she could suddenly feel her pulse pounding in her temples, and her throat felt so constricted it was a chore to swallow.

Of course, Momodi was far more forthcoming and measured than her aunt had ever been; surely she would have requested a private audience if there was a problem. Still, for that brace of terrifying moments, crossing the space from the threshold to the concierge, she was seventeen summers once more and enduring her guardians’ displeasure at some perceived slight– or misbehavior, or social error she was supposed to have self-corrected without further prompting.

“Mistress Momodi? Is something the matter– did I forget the week’s board?” 

“What?” 

“I’m fairly certain I paid yesterday morning,” she rushed on ahead, rummaging in her bag, “just before I left for the day’s lectures, I mean. But I can certainly check on my funds if you need me to do so. I’m so terribly sorry if-”

“Aurelia! Breathe, lass, breathe.” Momodi… did appear tense and unhappy, but her expression was just disconcerted enough for Aurelia to realize that this was not about the rent. The landlady shook her head, hands waving to cut off her boarder’s hasty apology. “Naught is amiss with your room. This concerns a different matter entirely.”

Panic faded, abruptly, to profound embarrassment. 

“I… yes. Apologies.”

The Lalafell's answering smile did not meet her wine-dark eyes. Their gaze shifted this way and that for a handful of moments before Momodi crooked one small finger to beckon Aurelia closer. Her voice dropped to something just above a whisper, a low and conspiratorial rasp:

“You’ve been with us about… oh, a moon now?”

“Give or take a few days, yes.” Some days, like today, felt much longer. 

“Well, you’re certainly startin' to make a name for yourself around the city. I’ve been hearin’ enough about you from the lads here, sayin’ how reliable and thorough the clients all tell them you are. And I thought to myself, why, if anyone would be able to- well,” she cleared her throat. “Never you mind! The praise can keep for a tick. In the meantime, I have a job for you. An important one.”

“What- you? For me?”

“Aye, I do. It’s… more in the nature of a favor, to be honest.” The little face looked as solemn as she had ever seen it. “But first I need your promise that you will not breathe a word of this affair to anyone. And I need you to hold yourself to it. Are we clear?”

“Is my confidence in question?”

“Not as such, no- but the walls have ears, if you catch my meaning.”

Aurelia did. She had already encountered on her runs for the Alchemists Guild a number of clients who demanded non-disclosure agreements upon acceptance, though precious few of them were in any way legally binding or even enforceable. Most thus far concerned the delivery or usage of a ‘secret formula’ or five, such as the delivery assignment she’d accepted for Alewyn earlier today which had taken her into the slums. 

Ul’dah was not without its dark side. There was a certain cutthroat attitude underlying the city’s professed love of the free market, a self-serving and impersonal cruelty beneath the wealth and elegance on display. Even the medical profession was subject to the whims of coin and glory: she had seen very quickly that at least as many of the Phrontistery’s students were there as a means of moving up the social ladder as held actual interest in the work itself. Those fortunate enough to complete their schooling guarded their alchemical formulae with the jealousy of a fairy tale dragon watching its treasure hoard. 

But she said none of this aloud. Momodi probably knew about all of those under-the-table agreements, truth be told. The little woman, for all that she was known as the Quicksand’s owner and overseer of the Ul’dahn Adventurers’ Guild, seemed to have a finger in every pie in the city.

“Crystal clear,” was all she said. “I’ll not breathe a word of this to anyone. I swear it.”

“Good. Good,” the slight forward sag of her tiny shoulders belied the palpable relief in Momodi’s tone. “I’ll have your things taken back to your room. I’ve been instructed to send my best freelancer along at, and I quote, ‘your earliest convenience, Mistress Momodi, if you please’. Meanin’ it’s like to be urgent.”

Relief faded into chagrin- she understood what she was asking, at least, but Aurelia held out her dusty satchel with an internal sigh. So much for a bath and a meal. 

“Sorry, love. I know I’m askin’ a great deal, but it really is very important… more than you know. You’ll be finding the client in the old dispatch yard.” She raised one small finger to her lips, a mum’s-the-word gesture. “And remember: not a word to a living soul.”

=

Flagrant orange streaked in vibrant color through the faded blue and the darkening edges of the sky. It was quite close to dusk, and a pall of dust hung thick in the air from the long and hot day, although the encroaching night already held a silent promise to bring relief from the oppressive heat. The wind bore a pleasant chill and smelled sharp and fresh if somewhat earthy. Despite her fatigue from the day’s work, Aurelia could not help but walk with a certain spring in her step.

It did not take long to catch sight of what must have been the dispatch yard: the detritus of mass-scale industry had a distinctive appearance to it that was impossible (to Garlean eyes at least) to mistake for aught else. Old memories conjured forth an image of the old train graveyard, one she'd seen along the route to Laterum a handful of times as a student: a visible landmark from the commuter railway which ran between the large outlying tradesman’s town and the imperial capital’s outer administrative wards. Once upon a time, it had been necessary to pass through that yard on a connector shuttle from the senate building in order to board the only train that led northward, out of the city. 

Of course, this relatively modest platform was nowhere even remotely close to a structure on that scale - there was no magitek anywhere in sight, for one thing, not that she would have expected to find such things in Eorzea - but the empty boxcars and piles of fresh-cut lumber and the long steel lengths of track were all the confirmation she needed that she was in the right place. 

Except there was no indication that it was in use; no laborers were anywhere to be seen either. Perhaps it was the end of their workday, but she would have assumed at least a small crew would still be present, wrapping up a final task here and there before taking their leave.

Her footfalls slowed, then paused as she scanned the area with a thoughtful frown until she caught movement from the corner of her eye. A small figure was waving her over.

“A mighty fine evening to you, miss!” it called. The bright, rasping voice was easy and friendly, and the initial moment of tension she’d felt at the sound of another person faded. Upon closer inspection she was directed to its source: an elderly Lalafellin man in khaki coveralls and a plain linen tunic with its long sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She raised a hand in a greeting of her own, offering a small smile as she did so.

The moment she had closed the distance between them, the little man’s hand dropped, and his arms folded across his chest as he stared up at her. “Mm. Adventurer, by the look of you. How warm am I?”

“Fairly,” she admitted. 

“Good enough for me. You wouldn’t happen to be one of Mistress Momodi’s younglings by any chance, would you?”

“She said I was to meet someone here,” she watched his shoulders drop, in much the same relieved fashion as Momodi had done when she had accepted the task. “My name is Aurelia, and I assume you are the someone in question, Ser…?”

“No ‘master’ or ‘ser’ necessary, lass. You can call me Papashan.” 

“Well met, M– Papashan,” she caught herself. “Are you the stationmaster?”

“Aye, that I am. But only in name, I assure you– just a tired old man attempting to live out my retirement in peace. Not that we’ve had much of that in the last five years.” The roadmap of wrinkles around his mouth stretched with his smile, as did the crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes. “Anyroad, if Momodi vouches for you then that’s plenty good enough for me. I’ve got my hands full just now and I could use some help. How familiar are you with the terrain outside the city gates?”

“Not… as much as I should like,” she confessed. “I’ve not been in the city overlong and none of my work has yet given cause for travel. But I’ve a good memory for directions and I don’t get lost easily. Why? Am I here to search for someone? Something?”

Something furtive flickered across the old man’s face that was gone almost as soon as she noticed it. “Well,” he said at length, hooking his thumbs in the empty belt loops of his coveralls, “might be as simple as you say. You’ve got a sharp eye, I hope, Miss Aurelia? Good perception? Short of night vision, that’s what we’ll need out here.”

Somehow, Aurelia managed to keep a straight face. 

“You can count on me,” she said. “Where should I start?”

“With this.” He reached into the satchel slung over his shoulders and, nodding to himself with evident satisfaction, presented its contents to her as though he were handing over a bag full of precious stones. The stare she gave him was blank and uncomprehending.

Pretzels…?

“Apologies, but I’m not… quite certain I follow.”

His brow knitted as he stroked his mustache for a few moments. After a long sigh, he met her gaze.

"I'm loath to tell anyone, and in truth I don’t know if I should even be telling you, Miss Aurelia. But I suppose we can't keep this quiet much longer. You see… a young noblewoman from a very prestigious family has run away from home. I've been ordered to see to her safe return, which is all well and fine- but she’s, er, given us the slip. So to speak."

"Are the Brass Blades looking for her?"

“Heavens, no! I wouldn't call upon the city watch unless I had no other choice- and she must be found, and quickly. Should word of her disappearance spread, I fear others with less honorable motives might take an unwholesome interest of their own and join the hunt. We must find her before that happens." Papashan gave a full-body shudder. "Should she come to any harm- it hardly bears the thought."

She had attempted to run away from home as a child herself once after a particularly heated argument with her father. Furious over her defiance and the trouble she’d caused in forcing him to send out a cohort squadron and the city watch to find her, the consequences had been dire to her young mind: among other things, he had confined her to the villa for nearly a fortnight for good measure.

Aurelia herself had been relatively unimportant as far as such things went in the Empire, being the only daughter of a gentleman officer who was of trifling consequence himself. Whoever this lady might be, she must be important indeed for a simple missing person search to be considered so very sensitive. You’d think the poor man had misplaced a member of the imperial royal family.

"At the moment," continued Papashan, "I have the Sultansworn - the sultana's personal guard - assisting me in the search. Thus far, it has been fruitless."

“So you need an adventurer’s assistance.”

“Aye. I asked Momodi to send me someone she thought could be trusted and,” his smile was genuine enough, if rather strained, “now I have you, Miss Aurelia. If you could be a dear lass and take those to the men on watch, mayhap find out if they’ve seen anything? Maybe keep an ear to the ground yourself, while you’re out and about? The more of our own people we have looking for her, the quicker we’ll find her.”

Willing herself to ignore the mouth-watering scent of the fresh food, she nodded.

~*~

Thancred was loath to admit how easily his previous resolve had been swayed. The aetheric signature he’d glimpsed earlier in the day was present enough, but no one had seen anything to indicate it was any more than a signature yet— or at least, the pressing issue most at hand had not turned out to be supernatural in nature. Papashan had been rather more terse and closemouthed than usual, and it had taken Thancred offering his services to get information out of the old man. He was far too busy panicking over his errant charge to have noticed aught else. 

Of course, Thancred knew the lady in question well enough not to worry overmuch, though he had agreed to join the search. He felt no particular hurry; Papashan had even prevailed upon the Adventurers’ Guild for aid, though he couldn’t imagine someone trustworthy enough to be privy to something like this. That was between Papashan and Momodi, however, and in the meantime he’d check all of the usual haunts for any sign of their treasure.

Still, he let his mind wander as he kept an eye on his surroundings, mostly thinking of the entertainment he had originally sought for the evening. Which was – to say the least – certainly a more appealing prospect than seeking the source of this aetheric aberration, as vitally important as he knew that task to be. 

If only duty did not call. Alas, matters were what they were. 

He thought, wistfully, of the two ladies he had encountered in the Quicksand when he’d stopped to check and see if any messages had been left for him; as of late he’d taken to introducing himself to the various visitors and adventurers making their way through and into the city for business and pleasure alike. Most were little more than the lost and the young, seeking opportunity and hope in whatever work there was to be found, and he could hardly cast blame for it. The Calamity had left many homeless and destitute, and as many would-be adventurers were sending coin back to their families as were keeping it for themselves.

As it happened neither of the women had met Minfilia’s criteria (or his own for that matter), but they were nonetheless happy to linger and chat with him long after their companions had quit the table– and both had seemed quite amiable to the suggestion of a later rendezvous. A slow grin stretched its way across his face at the memory of them. One a Midlander lady, a highborn by the fine perfumes and the expensive sunsilks she wore, the other an Elezen lass in the attire of an adventurer, tall and lissome and–

His fond musings conjured, unbidden, an image of honeyed tresses and the echo of a quiet, calm voice in a Pearl Lane alleyway. Feeling oddly chastened, Thancred dismissed the intrusive thought and stared up into the bony boughs of a nearby tree.

In any case, there would be no willing lady on his arm, not this evening. He was alone in the middle of the Thanalan scrubland taking readings for Urianger’s later analysis and waiting for the Sultansworn's backup search party to arrive. Papashan had assured him that Momodi of the Adventurers' Guild would be sending one of her freelancers to assist in short order, but so far Thancred's only companions were the night sky and the cricket song whickering into the still, cooling air.

"No rest for the weary, I suppose," he said aloud.

Determined to set himself back to work, he snapped the aetherovisor lenses back into place. What he saw knitted his brow with a concerned frown, replacing for now his thoughts of a soft bed and soft partners to warm it. The dark aether he’d glimpsed earlier in the day was much more readily visible now, and closer to the source he could see that it was stronger than he had supposed before. There had, of course, been an increase in aetheric disturbances all over Eorzea, but closer inspection proved this wasn't an ambient current.

This had... intent, somehow. 

The night began to feel unnaturally still and quiet, and Thancred felt the surface of his skin prickle beneath his light linens. He knew that Papashan was concerned for reasons that were wholly related to Ul’dah’s increasingly precarious political situation, but there was something more malevolent afoot tonight than any scheming Monetarist or their henchmen. The old man was right: they needed to find her, and quickly. He couldn't wait any longer for Momodi’s adventurer to make themselves known. 

His feet crunched over sand and scattered gravel, then drew to a stop as he perceived the massive shape of the old growth tree that overlooked the city from the northwestern wall. Thancred frowned — surely she would not have been somewhere so obvious as that all along, surely Papashan had already considered it — before shrugging to himself. He'd looked everywhere else, and at this point, it wouldn't be long before people started asking inconvenient questions.

Come now, dear lady. You’ve led us all quite the merry chase, but it’s time to retire for the evening.

Course now set, Thancred was off, his mood lifting along with his quickening pace. Perhaps there would be time for a late-night meal - and good company - at the Quicksand after all.

Chapter Text

Aurelia dusted the salt off her fingers, trying not to look too forlorn as the silver and cobalt-clad Roegadyn in front of her took an enthusiastic bite of the last pretzel she’d had on hand. It was full dark now, sagebrush and scrub and sandstone all one amorphous black mass outside the flickering circle cast by the Sultansworn’s torch.

“Just what I needed- I’ve not had a meal since I broke my fast this morning. Give Papashan my thanks when you see him again, adventurer,” he said. He had the grace to look abashed, at least. “But I’ve little and less to report, I’m afraid. I’ve seen naught this evening, save sand and more sand. The occasional cactuar.”

She nodded, unsurprised. The others had said much the same when she had asked. “Have you searched everywhere in this area?”

“Aye. We searched one of the refugee tent towns by the gate over there-” he pointed, and after a moment of squinting Aurelia finally saw the idle flutter of a weather-beaten hempen tarpaulin tilted over its worn wooden frame, hanging by precarious threads. “Came up empty-handed. Papashan asked me to watch the Black Brush road for any signs of her but between you and me, I… hope her ladyship didn’t come this far out unattended.”

“Because of the gullywash, I suppose.” The ravine that ran beneath the bridge was steep and difficult to see even in the daytime. She’d heard her share of stories from Phrontistery students treating hapless refugees and travelers who had ventured too close to the edge and fallen arse over teakettle into the shallow waters below.

“Oh, no. Well, that too, but… this is bandit territory, miss. Nasty, ruthless lot they are.”

Aurelia offered him a wry smile in return, although she doubted he could see it in the poor light. “Bandits are often ruthless, Sergeant. An occupational hazard, one might say.”

She intended it as a jest, but immediately realized it had fallen flat when he didn’t laugh. 

“You’ll not have heard of the Alacran, I’ll wager. Or the Quiveron gang.”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Well, your average highwayman don’t care about naught save your purse, but that lot don’t stop at robbery. They’re suspected of snatchin’ up women traveling on their lonesome in these parts. The Brass Blades can’t prove anything yet, but there’s rumors about pillowhouses and pleasure barges involved if you catch my meaning.”

Well. That certainly would explain the warning. “And let me make a guess - there’s been an uptick in that sort of thing since the Calamity.” 

“Aye, you’ve the right of it, and it isn’t just farm girls or fine ladies either. They’ve even gone after lady ‘venturers a time or two.” He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable discussing such a subject. “…Not that I doubt you’re capable of lookin’ after yourself. Papashan wouldn’t have sent you out alone if he thought you were a green lass fresh off the carriage, and we’re close to the city gates anyroad. But there’s still a risk to you, miss, and I’d be remiss not to mention it. Mind your surrounds after dark.”

“I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

If his intent had been to raise the stakes of her search, she thought grimly, it was a rousing success. 

After she had bid him farewell and retraced her steps down the hill to a rock formation overlooking the road, Aurelia paused to take a mental inventory. She hadn’t seen anyone traveling along the main routes, nor anywhere around the dispatch yard or surrounding settlements.

That didn’t leave very many options remaining. This part of Thanalan did have some variance in the terrain, more than she had expected from what she’d seen of it on her trip into the city from Gridania. However, precious little of it seemed like a good place to find a young woman— mostly low scrub, shallow washes, and spindly thorn-bedecked mesquites. Except…

She found her eye drawn to the enormous live oak tree just over the next hill. It was several centuries old. The locals called it the Sultantree, and Aurelia knew it as an easy landmark for merchants on the road, even visible in places from some of the taller buildings within the city. Momodi had told her once that it was planted in honor of the very first sultan— or maybe that had been Wymond? She supposed it didn’t matter.

Truthfully, to Aurelia’s mind, a giant tree didn’t seem a likely place for young highborn ladies to conceal themselves. On the other hand its boughs and roots certainly appeared large and deep enough for all but the largest races to seek shelter (or a good hiding place, she thought wryly). If nothing came of it, she seemed to remember seeing several worn-looking outbuildings only a few yalms down the same stretch of dirt road. None of them appeared to be inhabited, which meant she wouldn’t disturb anyone should she choose to take a closer look.

I suppose that settles things then. I'll start with the tree. If that doesn’t work… well, I suppose the shanties are next. 

Mindful of the guardsman’s warning, she set upon her way with her eyes fixed upon that great silhouette against the sea of stars, its leaves and branches swaying gently as if to beckon her onward.

~*~

Oh, Sultantree… hallowed spirit of my line, forgive me my weakness.

Thancred caught the flash of pink and cream linen well before the forlorn little whisper reached his ears. The Lalafellin woman knelt at the foot of the great tree, tucked into a gnarled tangle of roots that protruded like sun-bleached bones from the surface of the hardpacked desert floor, and he saw instantly what a simple task it would have been for her to conceal herself from passing eyes. She remained utterly motionless, head bowed before a trunk thrice again as wide as she was tall, as if prostrating herself before its mercy.

It didn't surprise him to see her here. The Sultantree stood as a testament to the lasting power and prosperity of Ul'dah's rulers, after all. 

"Please forgive me. I beg of you." Her voice cracked upon the echo of her plea. Closer inspection revealed eyes like twin emeralds, awash with unshed tears. "My failings have cost us dear."

If she said aught else Thancred didn’t catch it. Every muscle in his body had gone tense, his focus shifting into combat readiness. Someone else was there: lurking beneath the tree’s heavy boughs, nigh as well-concealed as the hapless girl begging her ancestors for clemency, and closing the distance on steps so light he would never have sensed them, had a brief flash of movement not caught his eye.

His hands fell upon the hilts of the daggers he kept on his belt, unfastened the straps that bound them, prepared to draw— and then faltered, his stare no longer grim but instead nonplussed.

The figure had stepped into what paltry light the moon cast upon the road and its surrounds. He could see now it was a woman wearing the simple attire of a novice adventurer, sporting a worn kurta and simple leather boots and a hempen kerchief on her head. Her long legs were encased in a pair of simple cloth breeches. 

It was none other than the Hyur lass he’d glimpsed in that Pearl Lane alleyway. The one with the medicine.

So confused was he by her presence that Thancred forgot for a fleeting moment to conceal his own comings and goings. He didn't see the small branch underfoot, and the crack it made beneath his step was loud and piercing, breaking the tranquility of the night. 

The figure in pink stiffened at the noise. One fist dashed away the moisture at the corners of her eyes with obvious haste before she took to her feet with a swiftness he found truly impressive for a woman her size.

"Show yourself!" she demanded. 

He shrugged, stepping into the clearing with a lopsided smile and a brief glance at the other woman. Silent but open suspicion knitted that pretty brow, and he saw that her hand hovered about her waistline just as his had done earlier- but it was clear that her caution was borne of a protective impulse rather than a hostile one.

Thancred felt the tension flow out of his limbs. He passed her with a jaunty swagger in his step, hands tucked behind his head and posture relaxed as though he had not a care in the world. No one else need know that the primary purpose behind his show of nonchalance was to signal that he was no threat. 

"As you command, Lady Lilira," he said, sweeping one arm out in an exaggeration of a courtly bow with his emphasis on her title. "Pray forgive my selfish desire to assure your safety."

Lilira braced her hands on her hips and lifted her chin with all the imperious air she could muster. The expression on her face was mulish and defiant; he would hardly have been surprised if she had challenged him to combat on the bloodsands in her next breath. "I do not recall requesting an escort, ser. Simply pretend we never met and continue on your way."

"Come now," he wheedled, "you and I both know I can do no such thing."

"And whyever not?"

"Because it's not safe for you to be out here alone. If the jackals don’t try to make a meal of you, something else will." 

"Excuse me," a third voice interjected mildly. “Lady Lilira, is it? We hadn’t realized you were engaged with personal business. Pray accept our apologies if we startled you.”

Thancred glanced over his shoulder at the adventurer as she stepped forward, and found himself studying her with far greater curiosity than he had spared her earlier in the day. His native Limsa Lominsa was a port city and the entirety of Eorzea had passed through it at some point, so he could place nearly any soul he encountered by voice or mien alone. It was a talent he had employed often over the years for various reasons. She was rather taller than he had realized at first blush, though not really remarkably so, and her noticeably measured speech pattern had a cadence to it that came from none of the city-states as far as he could tell. 

Of course, foreign adventurers were an increasingly common sight in Eorzea these days, so that meant little. What interested him was her demeanor; Thancred could see immediately that wherever she had come from she had not been some popoto farmer’s daughter. She carried herself as though she were clad in sunsilks and rubies rather than roughspun and simple leathers, all without a single shred of self-awareness. Highborn more than likely, though at a glance a less discerning eye would see nothing but another one of the masses.

At any rate, any perceived tells she had were almost unnoticeable in comparison to the Ul'dahn noblewoman’s air of haughty indignation. Until she had spoken, Lilira seemed all but oblivious to the adventurer's presence; the lady in question was presently occupied with staring Thancred down. She scowled at him as fiercely as an ill-tempered aurochs with a boil on its arse.

The tearful, vulnerable girl he'd glimpsed but moments ago was gone. So much for discretion.

“Mistress Momodi tasked us with aiding in the search for you this evening, my lady,” the adventurer continued in that same soothing tone he’d heard her use before, as though the trio sat in a sidewalk cafe on the Ruby Road in their most expensive finery sharing tea and biscuits. “We would be full glad to let you have a moment alone, but I would ask that you please return with us when your business is finished. Papashan is near beside himself with worry.”

“Then you may go back to the station and tell him all is well,” Lilira’s reply was so airy it was almost dismissive. “As you say, I have business of a personal nature requiring my attention- which someone saw fit to interrupt. I shall return anon.”

Thancred pretended not to notice the thunderous cast of her glare as he cast a friendly grin at the adventurer, any lingering doubts dispelled by that earnest appeal. So she was the help that Papashan had promised, then. "Allow me to offer you congratulations on finding our elusive young charge! I’m afraid you'll have to forgive Her Impetuousness. What she lacks in discipline, she more than compensates for in stubbornness."

"Well," Lilira scoffed, with a stamp of one tiny Thavnarian leather-clad foot, "I never! If that is how you feel, then you may continue about your business as I bid you before.”

"With all respect, my dear lady, I must decline your kind offer. I can’t leave you here by yourself. It’s not just wild animals.” His smile faded. “There are worse things afoot.”

“Such as what? Bandits? Ghosts?”

“Pick your poison, my lady. The point is that we aren’t safe out here.” No one is. That disturbance in the aether— it feels as though the dead are watching us. “And regardless of my fears, whether you believe them unfounded or not, I’d rather we all return to Ul’dah in one unscathed piece if it’s all the same to you. Now, let’s get back to the station; Papashan will want to reward this young lady for her assistance.”

The adventurer in question showed no sign that she had heard any of the conversation since speaking. She had turned her back to them as they bickered, and Thancred caught the flash of movement and a toss of moon-muted gold as her long hair turned away along with the rest of her slim frame. Her eyes lay once more upon the road. 

"Miss?"

“I hate to interrupt you but something’s coming,” she said without preamble, sharply, then pointed past the tree to a fork in the road where it turned towards the outline of a nearby hilltop. “Over that ridge.”

Thancred could see nothing at all; to his eyes the road was as empty as it had been when he left it. But all the same he had not missed the note of urgency in her warning, one which sent a cold, preternatural chill winding down his spine. It felt as if someone had taken a block of ice and dragged it along the nape of his neck. 

“Are you sure?” 

Before she could respond an awful, scraping cry pierced the quiet solitude of the desert night. There was a flapping noise, like a loose tarpaulin left to whip in the gale of a sandstorm, and out of the darkness he at least caught sight of the culprit, or part of it: a great set of leathery wings carrying a hideous creature aloft. It closed the distance with uncanny speed.

From her belt she drew what appeared to be a small branch or a sapling—he recognized that, too— with a swift tilt of her chin, eyes narrowed and posture tensed. 

“Fairly certain, yes!" 

A voidsent, and a large and nasty one at that. How in the seven hells she had noticed before he had— well, that was a question Thancred would have time to ponder at his leisure. For the moment there was more pressing business afoot.

"Fair enough.” I suppose the stationmaster will have to wait. “Dear Lilira: for my sake, please stay out of harm's way. As for you, my friend--please remain where you are!"

==

Aurelia had not seen much in the way of combat in recent years outside those spots of the forest which required conjury skills to make the land habitable again. There had of course been a brief incursion by one of the XIVth Legion’s cohorts into the southeastern edge of the Black Shroud a few years past— a swath of the forest near Quarrymill still bore the marks of the Garleans' passing, not that they were immediately discernible from those scars left by the Calamity. But even her slew of odd jobs since arriving in Ul’dah had mostly consisted of deliveries, messenger service, and the occasional pest control.

Voidsent were rarely seen in the wild. They tended to find places where the veil was thin enough for them to slip through weak spots and tears to take a physical form, or they were the result of attempted rituals gone awry. In short: a very different challenge than giant rats or imperial conscripts.

E-Sumi-Yan had warned her that the creatures were a known (if uncommon) hazard in some very old parts of the Twelveswood, but Aurelia herself had never seen one in person. Her familiarity began and ended with the occasional illustration in aetherology texts. This creature was enormous, ten fulms in height at least, and each of its sharp talons were easily the size of her companion’s daggers.

But there was no time to process that, or to protest the stranger’s orders. Or to worry about whether or not her own fledgling martial skills were up to the challenge. 

Lilira’s emerald eyes flared wide in surprise and alarm; she scrambled back, further into the ancient tree's embrace. The last Aurelia saw of her she was ducking behind another outgrowth of exposed roots as the two Hyur readied themselves, guarding her position.

In moments the creature was upon them: slavering like a rabid beast and just as eager to rend the pair of them asunder. Aurelia raised the small wand in her hand, undeterred. 

No matter its twisted appearance, a creature of the void could be subdued just as any aether-maddened treant. Her handful of years in training with a Padjal master had informed her knowledge of such situations and the manner in which a forest guardian addressed them. The strategy in question was simple and straightforward: a summoned sphere of wind aether, followed with earth, a two-part effort to wear down stamina and create a distraction her opponent could not ignore.

It meant maintaining a balance between keeping the voidsent’s attention while also staying out of reach of its claws, but that was of no moment. She would deal with those issues and any others as they arose. Better she place herself at risk than allow the thing to swoop in and carry off the retreating Lilira. 

Though she supposed it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, the strange man was clearly the more experienced fighter of the pair of them. His swift knives and flashy footwork were difficult not to watch. Combined with her spells it confounded their prey, trapping it between their attacks until its strength began to flag in earnest. 

Realizing the mortals’ defense had cheated it of a meal, it let out a sharp yowl of frustration. An answering chorus of small cries pierced the air, and a flock of smaller voidsent spilled into the small clearing. The man uttered a loud, mocking sigh.

"Lovely! It's gone and brought friends."

"Divide and conquer," Aurelia said briskly. "I can take care of them if you’ll kindly keep that large one off me— and mind the claws!”

He blocked another vicious swipe with a low grunt. 

“Consider it done, miss adventurer. And mind yourself in turn. If I have to bring you back to Mistress Momodi in several tiny bits, that conversation is going to be terribly awkward.”

“Not as awkward as it’ll be if the city watch finds what’s left of us. Just keep it busy!”

Fortunately, the smaller creatures were not nearly as robust as their leader; they came in waves but most of them discorporated in a hiss of dark aether from a single spell before Aurelia could sustain more than minor scratches. She cast her eyes toward the road for any sign that more might be arriving. Seeing none, she turned towards the large voidsent to come to the Eorzean's aid just as he plunged one of his razor-sharp daggers into its midsection. 

The construct shrieked in pain and fury, its wings flapping in long and erratic beats as it struggled to keep itself aloft. As it reared back for one last attempt to gut him, the man swept one agile leg up and around in a vicious roundhouse, aiming for the hilt of the dagger still caught in its ribcage.

Aurelia saw her window of opportunity: when the creature reared back its claws to swipe at the rogue's face she immediately countered with a handful of earth-aspected aether, blasted into its opened maw.

The man’s blow struck true at the same instant, his heel centering all the force of her attack into that one narrow target. His blade punched in and down and with an ear-splitting howl the voidsent collapsed to the ground, flailing and spitting its rage to the sky, talons digging furrows into the sand. It lingered for a mere handful of moments before its artificial form could no longer maintain its shape, then vanished in a cloud of dark smoke in much the same fashion as its fellows. The aether it left behind dissipated into wisps.

Freed from its target, the dagger dropped to the ground with a thud. All at once, the cold and altogether unpleasant sensation twisting at her temples disappeared. There was only the cool evening breeze, gently fluttering through her dirty clothes and sweat-soaked fringe, and at her back the reedy calls of crickets and toads from the nearby creekbed. Serenity had returned to the evening, at least for the moment. 

Aurelia released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in a soft, relieved sigh. 

Satisfied that neither she nor her battle companion had sustained any injuries worth mention, her next thought was for Lilira. Papashan’s young Lalafellin charge appeared quite unscathed, thankfully. The noblewoman was peeking her head with great caution from her hastily discovered hiding place and peering out at her defenders. Aurelia waved.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

“I should be asking you that question, shouldn’t I?”

“You’re very fortunate, you know,” this glib observation from a few fulms at her back. The handsome stranger knelt upon the gravelled sand, and Aurelia watched as he retrieved his dagger from its resting place on the ground. He tilted it this way and that, examining it with a critical eye and a nod of satisfaction before sliding its flat along one thigh to wipe away the dirt. “You wouldn’t have made that thing more than a mouthful, Lilira.”

That scowl returned in full force. “Very funny.”

“Why, thank you, my lady! I rather thought so myself.”

Lilira’s lips pursed as though she meant to renew their earlier exchange before apparently thinking better of it. She crossed her arms with an annoyed huff.

“Would one of you mind telling me what that was?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say in any real detail—such things are regrettably not within my wheelhouse, you understand.” The white-haired rogue shrugged. “A denizen of the void, obviously.”

“…Why would there be voidsent here? And how?”

“Your guess would be as good as mine. It’s the ‘who’ that interests me.”

Aurelia, noting that the pair seemed quite familiar with each other, left them to their banter and occupied herself with watching the road for further signs of trouble. Scanning the terrain while the lady and the stranger occupied themselves with their speculation, a small shimmer of bluish light caught her eye— something out of place amidst the dull shadows. Probably a pebble or a stray coin, she thought. Maybe even a button- those talons had been both quite large and quite nasty, and they had each looked a bit scuffed at the end of it. 

Lying where the creature had disappeared however was not a coin or a button, but an oddly luminescent - and symmetrical - gemstone.

The crystal was a clear, pale blue, and it shone with a soft light. The source was very obviously not the moon; even to her relatively untrained eye it was very obvious that whatever caused it to glow like that, the illumination came from within. She knelt alongside it, fascinated by the sight. It reminded her of cave flowers she had seen as a child, blooming only in the absence of the sun. Strange, but beautiful.

Maybe the creature dropped it…? But no, surely not. This isn't the same sort of energy at all, or the same feeling of dread. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. And yet—

The aether housed within its facets seemed to pulse like a searchlight, as if drawing her into its influence. E-Sumi-Yan had warned her long ago about the risks of handling magical artifacts without knowing their origin, but the possibility of unintended consequences was the furthest thing from the Garlean’s mind. 

This warmth… where have I felt this before? 

Heedless of anything but the crystal, she reached for it with questing, curious fingers. A very distant part of her registered some mixture of surprise and alarm: the crystal took on a sudden motion of its own, and before she could draw herself away it lifted itself from the ground as if to propel itself into her hand.

The moment her fingers brushed the smooth, cool surface, she felt an almost sickening drop in her stomach as the ground seemed to fall from beneath her feet into nothingness. At the same instance, a blinding veil of white light dropped itself over her eyes like a curtain.

A clear, bell-like voice drowned out all other sound, as if the very star itself had noticed Aurelia's presence. It resonated within her bones, her mind, and the halls of her soul, and it said:

|| Hear ||

Chapter Text

6AE 1557, RABANASTRE

It was a very late night and darkness had settled upon the villa like a shroud. The adults were shut away in her mother’s sickroom, even Mama’s friend Elle, leaving Aurelia to sit a vigil of her own upon her mother’s worn pianoforte bench. The door to Mama’s room was just across the hall from her conservatory but Aurelia wasn’t allowed inside and for a long time now all she had been able to hear from the other side were quiet whispers.

Aurelia could feel her eyes trying to fall shut with each steady tick of the wall chronometer; it was well past her usual bedtime, but she tried her best to ignore it. If Elle found her asleep she’d take her to the nursery and then she wouldn’t get to see Mama at all.

Mama was really sick, Aurelia knew that much. Last winter she had moved from the big bed she shared with Father into a separate bed in the downstairs guest room, when climbing the staircase became too much for her. Nowadays she mostly just stayed in there and slept and Aurelia almost never got to see her anymore, even to play the pianoforte.

Just be patient, she told herself. Mama will be better soon enough. That was what Elle always said when her mother had her sick spells.

But Mama wasn’t getting better this time. That was why--

As the clock ticked onward she counted the passing time in a state of uneasy boredom, feet swinging back and forth, chewing on the errant golden curl she’d plucked from her coiffure while no one was watching. Father would be cross if he caught her eating her own hair like she used to do when she was a little baby, but he wasn’t here to see her. No one was. 

She flexed her fingers into the worn gobelin pattern of the seat upholstery and stared at the ebony fallboard covering the instrument keys; a thin patina of grey dust layered its smooth surface. The whispers didn’t cease, and the door didn’t open, and she began to be afraid. The medicus had been inside ever so long. She couldn’t imagine what they must all be talking about.

Was Mama getting better after all? Was she worse? Aurelia didn’t know.

It was so quiet for so long that when she heard the door hinges creak she nearly fell off the bench in surprise. Elle was standing just over the threshold, giving Aurelia a very strange - and unreadable - stare.

“Relia,” she said after a moment, beckoning with a wave of her hand. “Come here, darling.”

She hopped down from her perch, smoothed the wrinkles from her pinafore, and crossed the conservatory floor. The Miqo'te woman reached down to take her hand, and that was when Aurelia saw the angle of her ears: they were tilted back, flat against her head.

The little girl's unease pooled in the pit of her stomach and fluttered like moth wings.

“Is Mama all right?”

“It’s time to say goodnight.” Elle wouldn’t look at her. “Come with me now.”

Aurelia followed, her steps dragging and reluctant. She didn’t like her mother’s sickroom. It was cold and it smelled like antiseptic and she avoided it whenever she could. But she felt her spirits lift just a little bit when the door shut behind her: Mama was lying in bed and smiling at her. She was awake!

“Come up here with me, sunshine,” she said, patting the space at her side. “I want us to talk for a little while. Just the two of us.”

“Just the two of us?” Aurelia echoed. She glanced at the two grownups standing on the other side of the bed. The medicus looked on, expressionless. Meanwhile Father—

Father was sitting in the chair with his face buried in his hands.

Mama seemed to notice at the same time Aurelia did, and her head lolled to one side on her pillow until her gaze fell upon him. “Julian,” she said, gently. Father said nothing but he lifted his chin after a long pause to stare at Mama. His eyes were red-rimmed and very bright. “Accompany L’haiya outside, please. I’ll not be but a few minutes.”

"No," Father said. His voice was flat, determined, but Aurelia could hear it tremble for the briefest moment. “I won’t leave before—”

“You promised me this much.” Mama’s voice was quiet but very firm. “I want to speak with our daughter. Alone.”

Elle’s eyes- the color of sunsets- darted back and forth between Aurelia and her parents, tail lashing forcefully at the air, and seemed to make a decision. She cleared the edge of the bed in a brace of brisk strides to join the two men on the far side of the room. 

“Lord Julian, Lord Flavius,” she said, “let us make our way to the parlor and give the ladies some space, shall we? I’ll have someone make coffee- or tea, if you prefer.” 

Without waiting for a response she took Father's arm and coaxed him to stand. He startled at the contact, his stare blank and bewildered, and glanced back once at Mama before he obeyed. As he followed her out the door Aurelia thought about the time she had got separated from Elle while on errands in the city marketplace— she’d only stopped for a moment, long enough to admire a pretty porcelain doll. When she had looked up, she realized she was alone. 

Her father’s face looked the way she had felt then. 

Mama leaned back against her pillows with a strained, wheezing sigh as the door shut behind the others. “That’s better. Come here, sunshine.”

Carefully she climbed onto the bed. Elle would have made her take her shoes off, but Mama didn’t seem to care; she wrapped an arm around Aurelia’s shoulders and held her close without speaking for a long time. Underneath the medicine smells lay the gentle scents Aurelia knew so well. Fresh paper and inks and her tea rose sachet.

“I love you, Mama,” Aurelia said. She meant it, she really did. And when Mama kissed the top of her curls just like always she found it easy to play make-believe— like she really was just giving her mother a goodnight hug.

“I love you, too,” her eyes seemed as misty as Father’s all of a sudden. “One day you’re going to become a very great lady.”

“When I grow up and you’re all better, I’ll have a house with a lot of roses and two pianos. That way we can play them together every day. And I’ll always make sure we have fresh mangoes.” Aurelia recognized the answering smile her mother bestowed upon her: it was the way adults smiled when they weren’t really happy but tried to pretend anyway. “…You look sad, Mama.”

Mama’s hands smoothed gently through her hair. “I am sad.”

“Why?”

“Because one day soon I’m setting out on a long journey. And I have to go alone.”

“Where are you going? Did the medicus tell Father to send you back to Garlemald?” Aurelia didn’t understand. “You’re coming back when you’re better, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that sort of journey, my love.”

“But… but who’s going to teach me piano and pick flowers with me? And kiss me goodnight? Father’s always with the army, and if Elle’s going with you-”

“No, L’haiya will be here. But she can’t-” Mama stopped, turned her head, and lost her words in a coughing fit. Aurelia forced herself to wait, hands folded in her pinafore, until her mother continued: “…She’s going to stay and help your father. But she can’t do everything alone. She's going to need your help.”

“Me? She needs my help?”

“Yes. Your father- he’ll have his duties of course, but-”

“He’s going to be very sad,” Aurelia finished.

“Yes.”

“Because you’re going away and he’ll miss you.”

“Yes.”

“So will I!” Her chin wobbled. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know, sunshine.” Mama’s voice cracked as if she were about to cry. She didn’t just look sad now-- she looked scared, too. “I know you don’t. But you have the strength inside you to do what needs must. So I… I need you to be the strong girl that I know you are, and help your father and Elle as much as you can when the time comes.”

“But-”

“Please. Can you do that for me, Aurelia? Can you promise?”

She didn’t want to. She wanted to say no. She wanted to run out the door and up the stairs and hide under her blanket with her stuffed animals and squeeze her eyes shut. Maybe then— maybe when she woke up Mama would be waiting for her at the door with a smile to tell her she was late for her lessons and all of this would just be a bad dream. She could—

She could—

She couldn’t.

“Yes, Mama,” Aurelia whispered. “I promise.”

Relief and pain twisted her mother’s mouth in the moment before she embraced her once again, cheek pressed against the crown of her head. “My sunshine,” she whispered. Her chest hitched with silent sobs. “My brave little beacon. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She wasn’t sure what to do or say. Mama and Father never cried in front of anyone and she had seen both of them reduced to tears tonight. Wherever it was she was going, Mama was afraid to leave them behind, and her fear scared Aurelia too.

But Mama had asked her to be strong. So, she would be strong.

Eyes dry, Aurelia curled silently into her mother’s arms and let her spend all of her sorrow. It was there she remained, letting hot tears drip into her hair, until the lamp's wick guttered low for want of ceruleum and she heard L'haiya's footsteps beyond the closed door.

~*~

|| Hear. Feel. Think ||

My sunshine. My brave little beacon.

Her mother’s voice was a distant echo as she fell, the sigh of the wind through trees.

It had been years, long years, since she had thought of that moment let alone in vivid detail. She didn’t know why it would have been with her now, going down and down and down, stomach turning at the sensation of freefall. The world around her had disappeared entirely; she could make out nothing in her range of perception— and then her feet struck something solid.

|| Hear ||

Cautiously, Aurelia opened her eyes.

She didn’t recognize the odd sigil beneath her feet. Arcane circles, six evenly spaced, spun within a circular border, swift and precise, like the gears in a clockwork automaton. It was too dizzying to watch for longer than a few moments but as their incessant rotation slowed between a brace of beats, the crystal in her hand sparked once more to life.

At the same instant one of the six empty circles flared and pulsed. Light surged even as the crystal disappeared before her eyes, waxing brighter and brighter, until a pure, burning pillar of aether erupted from the circle’s center to explode overhead. The sound that echoed in her ears was not unlike that of a shattering glass as the sigil beneath her feet likewise flickered and vanished.

Motes of light showered about her frame, streaking through the darkness.

What is this— where am I?

|| Hear ||, commanded the disembodied voice once more. The repeated exhortation rang through the fathomless space, vibrated in her bones, a counterpoint to her twisting gut and pounding heart. || Hear. Feel. Think ||

Upon the edges of its echo she could sense a low thrum of collective whispers: the wordless chorus of a multitude of souls sighing in tandem.

—and an all too familiar sight. Falling stars whistled past her frame upon their descent in hot blasts, streaking celestial fire and weeping heavy smoke she could not smell. For a long and disorienting moment she felt herself back upon the Carteneau Flats, staring at their doom, the slow and ponderous descent of the red moon in those seconds before it had erupted to rain death upon all it saw.

Dalamud, or mayhap the same dream that had plagued her for most of her life, Aurelia could not have said which, and

(this was your fault, the someone screamed, your fault, your fault-)

the dreamy terror of it all left her with a sense of standing almost outside herself, watching while unable to act or speak or even move. Her occasional nightmares were common enough that she had grown more or less accustomed to them, but never in her life could she recall dreaming like this when she was fully awake.

Either she was going mad, or—

|| Crystal Bearer || 

Deep and calm, that voice. An endless ocean with slow and gentle currents. Its presence filled the space around her, even and soothing, and Aurelia’s pulse began to slow. 

|| I am Hydaelyn, || it said. || All made one. ||

The streaking meteors faded away, one by one.

Beyond them she could see now the swirling, tranquil azure blue of the aetherial sea, its currents flowing into a single point of light like a beacon guiding wayward ships into its harbor. The surface beneath her feet dropped away, and there was a moment of razor-edged panic before Aurelia realized she had not fallen with it. She hung suspended mid-air, buoyed by some invisible force.

|| Light once shone throughout this realm, but it has since grown dim. ||

Beneath the weight of the voice and its power, her mother’s ghost continued to whisper in the space between heartbeats: a restless soul left to languish within the halls of her memory. I didn’t bring you here, it said. Verdant eyes, a sad smile, a beloved shade’s ephemeral form dimming like a dying star as it turned away from her.

Fading from her sight forever. 

I didn't  bring you here. You brought yourself.

|| A vast and terrible darkness rises in its stead. Should it remain unchecked, it will devour all life on the star. ||

Slowly the light began to take shape—and as it did, the scope of its size was made manifest. As it solidified the shape grew and grew larger still until at last Aurelia found herself face to face with an indescribably massive wall of blue crystal. It filled her sight, stretching nigh as far as the eye could see.

|| This… cannot continue, || the voice intoned. There was no mistaking the note of underlying urgency, and she felt a chill run down her spine. || I have come to entreat you. ||

Entreat me, Aurelia thought, struggling to process the words. Entreat me to what?

She had not realized she had spoken her confusion aloud until she saw as much as heard the mournful plea ripple through the crystal's facets, each twice again the size of her own body:

|| You must deliver us from this fate. ||

Such a simple request.

And an impossible one. Aurelia was but one woman, and in truth she did not believe she was even a particularly remarkable one at that; she had ever drifted through life doing what other people wished of her while longing to strike forth and see beyond the horizon.

Now she was free. She had chosen her path, stepped away into the unknown to chase after her dream of a better future. To take her life and live it, as Sazha had wished, as her mother would have wished. In the end she had traded her highborn status for a comfortable if sometimes lonely anonymity: in Eorzea, she was just another face amidst the masses. One displaced soul in a sea of the same. 

Besides which, the fact she was talking to a giant sentient crystal— the entire situation felt farcical on its face. Absolutely absurd. Were it not happening to her right now, the very thought would have beggared all belief.

This is mad, Aurelia told herself. Utterly, completely mad. I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t know who - or what - it is I’m talking to. I don’t even know if I want the answer to that question.

Yet she felt a response fall from her shock-numbed lips, regardless of her growing trepidation.

"I don't understand. What… is it that you want from me?"

|| You must hear. Feel. Think, || it repeated. || Above all, you must have faith. ||

I need you to be as strong as I know you are.

An invisible current rippled gently at her back. It took only a nudge and an unspoken suggestion to act: she launched herself forward and up.

That warmth was like a summer breeze. It whipped at her hair, rippled her linens, whistled through her fingers and past her ears as she wove about the crystal, aether shimmering in her wake like the vapor trails from an airship. The speed of her flight sent her kerchief tumbling away, releasing her long hair in a shower of gold; she shut her eyes as the soft tendrils tickled her cheekbones and fluttered behind her to merge with the bright path she cut through the endless deep of the aetherial sea.

A thousand reflections of herself caught her eye as she passed. Something seemed to lift, pull, and she was flying upward— up, and up, and up, red to orange to white: a phoenix reborn into blinding illumination.

As she ascended, the dream’s tenuous grip on her went slack. The crystal guttered, a vast but singular candle in the murky deep of the sea, before it vanished from sight.

|| Go forth, my child, || its fading voice whispered, || and shine your Light upon all creation. ||

~*~

She was lying upon something gritty and uncomfortable. Rocks pressed painfully into her cheek, her arm, her hip. 

After a long and disorienting moment Aurelia blinked, and the blurred shapes of the tree and the pink outline of Lady Lilira began to sharpen in focus. She drew herself into a sitting position with a visible wince, but not before checking to make sure her head covering was still firmly in place. Once she was certain of it she began to hastily comb rocks and stray dust from her hair.

That… had been such an odd dream, and now she felt- well, not to put too fine a point on it, she felt ill. Her mouth was dry as a cotton boll and her head throbbed indignantly, the ominous roiling of her belly warning her of dire consequences should she make any sudden movements. 

The silver-haired stranger squatted at her side, his eyes fixed upon her— and yet his face was a nigh-perfect mask, very nearly unreadable. The sight of it, and her own inability to discern what he might be thinking, made Aurelia uneasy. She averted her own gaze with all haste, but she made the mistake of tilting her chin too quickly, and a fresh round of lightheadedness assaulted her.

"Not the most opportune moment for a nap, miss," he said mildly as she swayed in place and cursed beneath her breath. “Lilira and I tried to wake you but you were completely senseless— a surfeit of aether, I imagine. I had half thought I might have to carry you back to the station."

“Miss? Are you quite all right?”

That was Lady Lilira, bless her, her girlish voice strident with worry. Aurelia managed to turn towards the sound of it, though that motion did her fragile stomach no favors, and swayed unsteadily in place as she tried to get her bearings. “I- I think so?” Little wonder that the Lalafellin noblewoman didn’t appear convinced. She sounded uncertain even to her own ears. “What happened?”

“We were talking and you simply collapsed of a sudden.” Eyes like polished emeralds studied her, a tiny frown indexing her brow, before she turned her attention to the stranger. “The voidsent was clearly stronger than we thought. Perhaps you should take her back to the stationmaster-”

“No. No, I’m all right. I just… need a moment, that’s all.” The stranger held out a hand, a silent offer of assistance, and Aurelia took it. He was a good deal sturdier than he looked and it was a simple enough task for him to pull her back to her feet. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, but she kept her balance well enough. “Have I missed anything?”

“Naught of vital importance, I’m afraid. We were pondering who might have sent us all these friends to play with when you collapsed.” The Midlander man’s lips finally tilted in a faint, rueful smile. "Don't suppose the answer would have come to you in a dream."

She shook her head. "I saw a strange crystal lying near the voidsent’s body and thought to investigate,” she said. “Until I laid hand to it I was perfectly fine— no aether sickness whatsoever."

Aurelia regretted the words as soon as she said them. He squinted at her, brow furrowed, now studying her as though she were some rare artifact he’d stumbled across in a ruin.

“Is that so?”

She shifted nervously from one foot to the other; she hadn’t meant to call so much attention to herself. “That is,” she said hastily, “I was just thinking that I remember, ah… hearing? Reading? about the properties of corrupted crystals as a student back— back where I come from. …or perhaps it was a discussion I overheard. Idle speculation of some sort or other. You know how scholars can be.”

Her knowledge of such matters in truth extended only to those bare essentials she had been required to learn for her medical studies. An aetherologist Aurelia was certainly not, but he didn't have to know that.

"Mm. Interesting.” His tone was quite casual, but his posture and his stare were anything but, and she was relieved when he made a noise to clear his throat and continued: “I really should be off. I need to report this voidsent summoning. That's the sort of thing we would rather like to discourage, all things considered."

"Once I've my wits about me I can escort Lady Lilira back to the dispatch yard. Papashan will want to know she’s safe."

"In that case, I shall leave her in your capable hands," he began, but the lalafell stamped her foot, scowling fiercely at him.

"How dare the pair of you pass me about like some swaddled babe!" With an indignant huff, she stalked past him, in the direction of the railway depot. "I shall return and report to Papashan myself. I'm not a child in need of a governess!"

The stranger only shrugged. His smirk hadn't budged an inch; it was clear this had been the result he sought all along.

"As you wish,” he drawled, “Your Impetuousness." 

Aurelia watched Lilira's annoyed retreat, wiping the last of the visible gravel and sand from her breeches. "I should probably go after her."

"Aye, a wise notion. She's not like to find more trouble- not tonight- but it never hurts to be cautious."

Hastily Aurelia dropped her gaze, cheeks burning beneath the sense of his continued regard. While his wit and relaxed demeanor gave the impression of an idle, silver-tongued wastrel, she suspected it was little more than mummery, as if he could see right through her. “Before I forget myself," she added, "thank you for your assistance."

"Think nothing of it. If anything, you lent me a hand. I merely happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“Or wrong time,” she observed wryly. “Depending on how you view such things.”

His eyes flared with momentary surprise, but his grin cracked open in a guffaw on his next breath before she could even worry she had given unintentional offense. “Ha! Well said. At any rate- pray permit me a fond wish that we might soon meet again.” The stranger’s eyes took on a mischievous glint. “In the meantime, friend: do try and stay awake!"

He lifted his hand in a friendly wave, his amiable smile lingering for just a moment as he turned to walk back towards the city walls.

And in the next instant (or so it seemed), Aurelia was alone once more. The night wore on in silence save for the shrill and reedy chorus of toads and chirping crickets.

Still, she could not bring herself to move. She stood shivering and weary in the cool, dry desert night, the star-studded sky above no longer a familiar comfort, and wrapped her arms about herself. It wasn’t fear that she felt, not precisely. After all, there was nothing and no one - man nor beast, nor any creature of the void - left to cause her harm. 

But... she couldn’t get the image of that enormous crystal out of her mind. And that voice—

"Oh, stop it," she grumbled at last with a long-suffering sigh. "It was just a dream. Go collect your coin and sleep it off."

A dream, of course, that was all it was. It could hardly have been aught else. Either that, or she had been speaking to a--

Stop. None of that, now. Best get back to the station before Papashan sends out his search party for me as well.

With that, she sought and found the road back towards the dispatch, legs regaining their former strength as she walked. She would let it lie for tonight. It was best for her own peace of mind not to even think that such a possibility might exist, and she had little and less time to dwell upon the matter just now in any case. Preferable - and far more rational - for the entire episode to simply be a figment of an overwrought imagination. Or a strange hallucination brought on by a bout of aether sickness, as the other two had assumed.

But in her heart of hearts Aurelia already knew that sleep would be a long time in coming. If there was any sleep to be had at all.

Chapter Text

Despite her fears - nighttime musings aside - the world did not stand still for the strange doings beneath the Sultantree. It wasn’t long before Aurelia’s recollection of both the incident and her dream quickly faded from immediate recall. Time wore on, and routine wound itself like a shroud about her memory, and eventually, it became just another completed leve (albeit one of the stranger jobs she’d taken) with a good story attached.

Well. A good story, had she known anyone she trusted enough to whom she might tell it.

One individual, at least, seemed thankful for her intervention: after she had given her report to Momodi, Aurelia found a very generous bonus awaiting within the contents of her weekly pay packet from the Adventurers’ Guild– for handling the matter ‘with utmost discretion.’ The Quicksand’s proprietress was so grateful, in fact, that Aurelia found herself offered the pick of leve requests. Most of it was easy, simple work that could be done when she wasn't in the midst of her studies, granted, but work was work and coin was coin, and with Momodi’s trust in her skill and discretion came more leves and better rewards.

In the meantime, Aurelia had business of her own to attend.

Plain leather satchel held securely under her arm and kerchief in place, the Garlean wound her way through the marketplace crowds, bypassing colorful stalls and shopfronts and the throngs of adventurers gathered at the retainers’ plaza. After that came a familiar series of side alleys that grew steadily narrower as she approached the Pearl Lane district to meet her client. 

Having made her decision to help the refugees as much as she could, Aurelia found herself no longer willing to worry about the possibility that her activities might be discovered, let alone condemned. The reactions of most adventurers to leves of this nature, and the alchemists who posted them, had convinced her that the lion's share of them would never deign to personally set a toe onto this side of the city. 

Landebert awaited her arrival with his customary patience, arms folded over his broad chest (exposed to the relentless sun as always). He still watched her approach with a stoic expression and a steely eye, but the wariness that had been so omnipresent upon their first few meetings had faded with his cautious familiarity. Aurelia reached into her satchel and in moments she held out the modestly sized leather drawstring bag. Its contents made a faint, muffled clinking sound within the secured pouch, and her client wasted little time in taking it from her.

“These are for Gerthilde and her wee girl, eh?” His focus wavered back and forth between her and the two bottles he had emptied into his hand. “...Which draught is which?”

Aurelia tapped the side of the bottle as if she had not noticed his close study.

“Willowbark in this one, for the fever—”

“Aye, I recognize the label now. And this one?”

“That’s atropa. It’s a muscle relaxant.”

“A muscle relaxant? What’s that for?”

“It should soothe the child’s throat enough to let her rest— but she is to give her no more than two very small drops every eight bells. Tell your friend she absolutely must follow these instructions without fail, no matter the circumstance. If there is no change, I would rather she stop using it than take any unnecessary risks.”

She did not elaborate beyond those strict instructions, thinking it might only scare the mother into refusing to use it at all. Atropa belladonna was native to a region of southern Ilsabard that her people knew as Locus Amoenus, but belladonna also grew in fecund abundance within the southeastern parts of the Black Shroud. The Gridanian smallfolk knew it as 'nightshade,' and there was only a marginal difference between its medicinal uses and its lethal poison.

Landebert squinted at her, expression dubious— but nodded after a moment’s consideration.

“Aye, I’ll tell her.”

“Good.” His sigh made her pause in the middle of lifting her bag. “Is aught amiss?”

“...I don’t understand.”

“The instructions? They’re very important. I can repeat them if-”

“No, miss, not the instructions. You. Why do you keep coming out here, when we’ve no coin to pay you? Why would you want to-” His explosive stuttering faded into a harsh and frustrated sigh, punctuated with a dry cough before he cleared his throat. “...Never you mind. ‘Tis folly to waste your time and your stores like this if you ask me, but I suppose that’s your business.”

Aurelia winced. An act that must have all the seeming of being driven by pity- that was something most Ala Mhigans in her experience would have been loath to accept with any sort of grace even if they acknowledged their lack of other options. She hadn't considered how it must look to him.

“If it’s a bother we can work out some sort of payment, but my offer was — and is — kindly meant.”

“I know you intend us no insult. They’d refuse it if you offered outright, but ‘tis their need that drives me, miss, not their pride.” The haggard resignation had returned to his face, but his shoulders did not slump so much as they had once. “Or Rhalgr preserve, mine own.”

“Yes, well.” She couldn’t argue with that. “If there is a need for me to call upon your friend and her daughter, or the child’s condition worsens, please send word to Mistress Momodi at the Adventurers’ Guild. I’ll come immediately.”

With that Aurelia took her leave, winding her way about emptied crates and half-rotted piles of garbage and dirty pallets, some occupied, towards the nearby marketplace– trying as she always did to ignore the small, nagging bite of guilt she felt at the sight of them. She could feel eyes in the shadows lingering upon her back as she passed, and moments later fresh air and the heat of the afternoon fell upon her once more. 

~*~

The Quicksand was bustling with its customary late-day activity when she stepped through the batwing doors at the side entrance from the Ruby Road. Its sounds of conversation and camaraderie were a steady stream in her ears, nothing of which she could quite distinguish, and put her in mind of a swarm of honeybees idling with a low and contented hum about their hive.

There was an empty table available, for a wonder. Aurelia dropped her bag in one of the chairs and dropped her weight into the other with a long and weary sigh, removed the text she'd borrowed from the Phrontistery's stacks-- then realized she was too weary to make a proper study of it. Instead, she laid her cheek to rest against her arms, folded over the table’s rough surface.

She wanted to keep helping Landebert and his community, but she also knew Alewyn wasn’t going to be put off indefinitely. She’d already overheard him grousing about refugees failing to hold up their end of "the bargain," and–

Someone had entered her space. 

“You look absolutely beat,” the someone said. The stirring of her senses, enhanced as they were, distracted her from her worried thoughts. Judging by the volume and the angle of the sound's direction (a mere fulm or two overhead), they must be standing quite close indeed, likely at the lip of the table.

She cracked her eyes open to see that she was correct- and found herself quite surprised in the process, for her gaze fell upon a familiar set of dark hazel eyes and platinum locks. The latter framed a pleasant, handsome face that bore an equally pleasant - and speculative - grin. 

“Can I sit?” he asked.

The Midlander man’s posture was friendly and quite relaxed, even though she could see that the hand on his left hip sat only ilms from one of the sharpened daggers sheathed and hanging from his well-tooled leather belt. Aurelia wasn’t much in the mood for company, truth be told, but it would have been unforgivably rude to refuse him a seat with so little free space on the dining floor as it was.

She nodded. He dropped onto the stool much as she had only moments ago, with a sigh of relief.

“I was in the mood for an early meal and Momodi’s place always draws a crowd at the best of times, but then I saw you at this table with empty seats and thought-” As if thinking better of his sudden river of words, he paused; Aurelia watched a soft rosy flush color his cheeks. “... Ah, seven hells, I’m sorry. I’ve entirely forgotten my manners. Waltzing up to your table like an old friend and assuming you remember me. …You do remember me, don’t you?” 

“We met back at the Sultantree not quite a moon past,” she said. “I do remember.”

“With all that was happening, I don’t believe I ever gave you my name.” He cleared his throat and stretched one open hand across the table. “It’s Thancred.” 

Somewhat bemused by the man’s friendliness, she took it. “Aurelia.”

“Aurelia. Lovely and fitting.” He squeezed, shook twice, then let go. “Well met, then, Aurelia. Might I buy you a drink? It’s the least I can do, all considered.”

“Thank you, but no. Practicum is tomorrow morning. I need a clear head.”

His brows lifted in open, frank curiosity.

“You’re a student, then? I had assumed you to be one of Momodi’s adventurers.”

“I am also that. Or at the very least, I accept small local contracts through the guild in my spare hours,” Aurelia looked down at her opened tome, trying to keep her tone politely indifferent. “As with aught else in this city, furthering one’s education requires one to front coin for the privilege.”

“And do you enjoy it?”

“Most of the time.”

“Mm.” His fingers tapped an idle rhythm on the tabletop; she flushed at the intensity of his gaze upon her, and it was obvious that he had noticed, for one corner of his mouth tilted and he flashed her a mischievous wink. 

“It keeps me well occupied,” she insisted. Even to her own ears it sounded defensive, an unconvincing excuse.

“I’m sure it does. But I certainly hope you’ve not spent all of your spare time in study and work. Ul’dah is a city of many pleasures and you do yourself no small disservice in eschewing them.”

“That would imply I have the time and the wherewithal to partake even if I wished to do so. Such is rarely the case.”

“I see.”

“You are welcome to share my table if you wish,” she added, somewhat primly, “but I fear if you come to me in search of one of your ‘pleasures’ as you call them, you shall go away from the Quicksand empty-handed.”

His dark eyes flared wide with surprise, and for a moment Aurelia thought she had offended him before he burst into peals of hearty laughter. “I do believe this is the most genteel rejection that I’ve ever received from a lady,” he managed, slapping one open palm against the table’s surface. “You’re quite accustomed to men like me, aren’t you?”

“Not as much as you might be given to assume.”

“Hm. Well, then.” Still chuckling, he said: “So, tell me, my friend. Any more odd dreams? Have you seen aught of the crystal as of late?”

The crystal. He hadn’t really seemed to believe her at the time, and now he was teasing her openly, in the middle of a crowded tavern. The thought that she might be the butt of this stranger’s private jest, handsome and friendly or not, left Aurelia annoyed enough by the prospect to stiffen her posture and steel her resolve.

“Question the veracity of my tale as it pleases you, Master Thancred," the stare she turned upon him was as frosty as those she'd given to any man who had sought to toy with her, Eorzean or Garlean. "But consider that I have afforded you the benefit of the doubt in my dealings with you. I would appreciate it if you would pay me a modicum of the same respect.” 

His smile faded at the corners of his mouth as if finally understanding that he had pushed her too far– although it did not vanish entirely.

“Forgive me. My intent was not to mock you, nor to pry into your personal affairs. I only meant to ask-”

“Well, well, if it ain’t Thancred and my favorite adventurer!” They both turned towards the piping voice to see Momodi waving from a few fulms away. Her brisk stride indicated a sense of purpose, and Aurelia silently thanked whatever twist of fate or happenstance might have occurred to bring her hither (and put an end to Thancred’s questioning). “Just the two folks I was lookin’ to find, as it happens.”

“Ah, Mistress Momodi! The loveliest rose of all Ul’dahn gardens, in full bloom before me.” Somehow, even sitting half-folded over a shabby tavern table, the bow Thancred offered managed to seem the very picture of gallantry, Aurelia thought. “You must share your secrets with me, madam. By the Twelve, I’ll wager you haven’t aged a day in the past five summers.”

The Lalafell cackled, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture, but the broad smile she bestowed upon him was decidedly pleased. “Get on with you, you rogue! That silver tongue of yours doesn’t work on me.”

“Alas.”

“Probably doesn’t work on Miss Aurelia there neither,” her eyes twinkled with good humor, “just in case you were wondering.”

“No need to warn me, Momodi. The fair lady has just finished making me quite aware of my tongue and its lackluster finesse,” Thancred replied with a glance in Aurelia’s direction and a somewhat exaggerated grimace. She felt another blush creeping up her neck and looked hastily down at her satchel. “More’s the pity, but so it goes.”

“Aye, well, I’m sure you’ll recover from the blow anon. There’s a message for you at the front desk an’ a request besides– you’ll want to be speakin’ with Ototo for the details. Sounded a bit urgent if you ask me.”

“My services perpetually are in high demand, so it would seem.” He unfolded himself from his friendly slouch over the table almost instantly, springing to his feet with a vigor that indicated at least some of his earlier fatigue had been feigned for Aurelia’s benefit. “My apologies once more, Aurelia. Thank you for your company, and a fine day to you both.” 

And with that, he was gone. Momodi shook her head at his back as the two women watched him stroll towards the concierge with an easy, nonchalant gait.

“An odd one, that Thancred Waters,” she said.

"Indeed." 'Odd' doesn't begin to describe it. Every time we meet it feels like he's trying to catch me in a lie. "I met him outside the gates a few sennights past. A very eccentric sort."

“Well, if you're concerned about him, don't be. He's harmless enough. You’ve naught to fear from him.” Momodi's grin could only be described as wicked. "Unless, that is, you’re the sort of lass to fall prey to a charmin' face and a quicksilver tongue. You'd hardly be the first. I've heard stories enough about him."

Aurelia chose to ignore that.  

“Is he a friend of Papashan’s?”

“Papashan? After a fashion, I suppose? He’s well acquainted with the sultana– but then, so it goes for the whole of his order, or it did. Anyroad,” her landlady continued, “I’ve come with a message for you as well. Master Damielliot at the Foundlings’ Ward wants a word.”

“...Damielliot?" Her heart skipped a beat. Trying to ignore the tightness in her throat, Aurelia asked: "Did he happen to say what it might be?”

“He wouldn't have done, not to the likes o’ me," she shrugged. "It were a novice that brought the summons while you were out, so I’m sure it’s Phrontistery business of some sort or other. He did say ‘at your convenience,’ so I don’t think it’s an emergency if that’s what you mean.”

“I see.” She bit her lip. “I’ll go see what he wants.”

“This late in the day?”

“Momodi, we’ve bells before dusk yet. I’m certain he’ll still be there.” Struggling to bite back her sigh, Aurelia reached for her satchel and clambered to her feet. “And if I’ve time enough to sit at a table cooling my heels, I’ve time enough to respond to the assistant guildmaster.”

She couldn't imagine why he would be calling for her at this hour of the day. The thought nagged at her for the entire duration of her short journey from the Quicksand’s lobby to the cool and quiet sandstone arches and lush fountains of the Hustings Strip as her anxiety slowly mounted.

By the time Aurelia reached the entrance to the Foundlings’ Ward, she was tense from head to toe and quite prepared for the confrontation she had half convinced herself was about to take place. As she strode towards the entryway, the doorman on watch stared at her as though she were some fantastical creature– or, perhaps, he was unaccustomed to strange women marching up to the door of a hospital as though they meant to do battle.

“Can I… help you, miss?”

“Master Damielliot has summoned me. Pray let him know I have arrived per his instructions.”

“I do believe the director is finishing his reports for the day and plans to retire anon. Mayhap tomorrow-”

“Today,” she interrupted, flashing a quick and forceful smile. It was the same tone her Aunt Marcella had often taken when she would brook no argument, and as much as she had detested it when she was its target, Aurelia had found that selfsame forcefulness did have its uses on occasion. Particularly in Ul’dah, for some reason. “If you please.”

Her face must have been a veritable thundercloud despite her best efforts at civility, for the hapless man took one look at her and blanched. 

“I… ah. Yes. At once. This way, miss…?”

“Laskaris.”

“Aye, Miss Laskaris. I’ll let him know he has a visitor.”

I have done nothing wrong in aiding the refugees with my own time and money, Aurelia told herself firmly as she followed him across the threshold. Naught deserving of guilt let alone censure. 

The man opened the door to the small waiting area and shut it behind him; she heard receding footsteps and then silence.

The parlor was cool and dark. No one manned the nearby counter, and only one small crystal lamp glowed there, its mediocre light spilling across wood and stone in an almost eerie glow. Aurelia sat in the same old chair with the threadbare upholstery she had claimed upon her first visit and waited for a scant few minutes, her foot tapping restlessly against the floor before she realized that this would not be a quick meeting. 

After a quarter-bell had passed she abandoned the appearance of outer serenity in favor of taking an anxious turn about the room. 

Surely this was about something else. Alewyn would have expressed his displeasure to her personally. He had been the one to show her how to synthesize aether from a crystal her first week in the guild when he could have left her to her own devices to struggle and fail instead; he had a litany of flaws, but a lack of fortitude was not one of them. She doubted he would leave such an important personal matter to a superior. Even for the sake of bureaucratic spite.

Unless the Guild considered her interference an infraction sufficiently serious to involve themselves despite his wishes in the matter. In which case she was—

“Damielliot?”

Startled by the sound after long minutes of silence, Aurelia gasped and froze mid-step.

The bewildered voice was young, very young indeed, and when she looked in its direction she found that it belonged to a boy, one staring back at her with as much surprise as she surely wore herself. He looked to be a Roegadyn if his height and the broad bridge of his nose were aught to go by, but she had never seen a child so pale and drawn. Unnaturally dark circles seemed carved into the hollows beneath his hazel eyes, giving him the air of one aged far beyond his tender years. 

“Who are you? Are you a visitor?” He coughed, a wheezing, dry thing that made Aurelia think, with a surprisingly deep and sorrowful pang, of her mother. “ ‘Tis late, miss. After hours.”

“I’m waiting for Master Damielliot.” 

It was as good an explanation as any, and the lad seemed to take it at face value. “Sorry if I scared you, miss. I heard footsteps in the hall. And muttering. Woke me up.”

“Isn’t it a touch early to sleep?”

“We always have our nap, this time of day.” He offered a listless shrug, as if to say he felt the silence and darkness of the ward should be self-evident. “And then we get a meal, and a bell or two to do as we like or attend to our studies, and then the day is done. Damielliot says plenty of rest is the best medicine. As good as any potion he could give us.”

Aurelia found she had little and less to say to that bit of wisdom– it was not dissimilar to what she would have recommended in her own capacity as a licensed medicus, after all.

“Is the ward quiet at this hour every afternoon, then?”

The boy coughed again. “Suppose it is, miss.”

“Of course. I’m sorry to have woken you.”

“No worries, miss. I was in my room reading and dozed off, that’s all. Not like there’s anything to-”

“Miss Laskaris?” a familiar voice called down the short hallway, then: “Little Thorn! You should be abed, young man.”

The boy’s face fell.

“But Damielliot,” he protested over his shoulder, “I’m not the least bit tired! Why can’t I just sit in the parlor and read?”

“Because you know as well as I that what you actually want to do is talk to my guest,” came the answering voice. Laden with amusement, it echoed down the corridor alongside the steady rhythm of footfalls. “You can talk with Miss Aurelia another time.”

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse, I promise!”

“You know the rules.” Damielliot was turning the corner now, looking rather scruffier than Aurelia remembered from their initial meeting. While he never raised his voice, there was a stern note in it that would brook no argument. “Even if it’s to lie down and read, you should be resting.”

“Aw…” Little Thorn’s thin shoulders slumped forward in silent defeat. “I just wanted to see what was going on.”

“Aye, and now you’ve seen all there is to see. To bed with you. Go on, lad.”

Features arranged in a sulk fully fitting of the boy he still was in truth, Little Thorn trudged back down the hallway and into a side room. Damielliot shook his head at the sight, although he wore a faint smile as he entered the parlor. “The isolation is hardest on the older ones, I think,” he murmured. “They see their friends out and about doing things they can’t. It gets to them, and who can blame them for it?”

“They feel stifled by all the rules, I imagine.” 

“Oh, certainly. I remember my own frustrations all too well- I was a patient in these halls once myself,” he said. “And it’s for their own good, just as it was for mine, but that is exceedingly difficult to explain to the young. I take it you received my missive?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Please, have a seat.”

She did, but the coiling tension in her limbs refused to dissipate, and it took every onze of willpower she possessed to keep from fidgeting. Her fingers laced together and she clasped them until the knuckles turned white. “Master Damielliot,” she began, “if this is about the Guild-”

“The Guild?”

“I had… assumed that my summons had something to do with the Alchemists’ Guild, yes.”

“Hm. Well, I suppose it does in a manner of speaking. I sent word to Mistress Momodi because I wished to discuss a work opportunity with you.” Aurelia let out the breath she had been holding as he continued: “She says you’re a botanist.”

“She exaggerates. I’m a novice. A hobbyist if anything, albeit an enthusiastic one. What does the job entail?”

“You would be accompanying a Phrontistery intern and a master alchemist to the outlying communities between Ul’dah and the Concern outpost in Black Brush Station. Dealing with pests, gathering any reagents they require for their potions, that sort of thing. It’s of longer duration than the simple leves about the city and it would take you away from Ul’dah proper for a fortnight or so– which now that I think about it, that might be why I’ve not had interested parties prior.”

“Why? They shan’t be asking me to clear giant rats from a cellar somewhere, will they?”

That made him laugh. 

“I suppose you’ve found yourself in that situation a time or two, eh? No, it’s not overly complex work, but we are in need of an adventurer who can also assist them with basic medical care, and there are few who are able to do that sort of work–” his nose wrinkled in momentary distaste, “or, frankly, willing to do so. The job doesn’t pay as much as some others of similar time constraint.”

“I see.”

“You had mentioned prior experience as a chirurgeon. Might I, ah, ask after your credentials?”

She forced a laugh.

“You may, but I doubt you shall be well pleased to discover from whence they come.”

“I can surmise by your manner of speaking that you are quite educated, Miss Laskaris– and as I seem to recall from our previous discussion, you yourself are not Eorzean, which would rule out any of the learning institutions with which I am familiar. Might you hail from Sharlayan? If the Studium does not wish for you to involve yourself-”

Well, she thought with an internal wince, he had asked. If she dithered now it would reflect far more poorly on her than any honesty. “Not Sharlayan,” she said quietly. “My ‘credentials,’ as you so prettily phrase it, come from the Imperial Magitek Academy’s Valetudinarium.” 

She sat ramrod straight, very still. Her fingers ached from the pressure of her own grip as she awaited his response. Five years after the disaster at Carteneau, it was still never a certain thing when any given Eorzean discovered her origins whether they would respond with censure or not.

The chirurgeon maintained his composure well in the face of her revelation, to his immense credit– although Aurelia was certain she saw him freeze in that brief moment before his brows disappeared beneath his fringe with surprise. After a long pause, he adjusted the spectacles perched on his nose and cleared his throat. 

“Well,” he said, his soft tenor a great deal more measured than she would have expected. “I suppose that would explain the accent I wasn’t quite able to place.”

“Pray accept my apologies; I promise it was not my intention to deceive you. I should have said something before-”

“No, no,” he raised a hand as if to emphasize his interruption, “I would rather have known. All things considered, it would be reasonable for you to perhaps have some… reservations about the work in question. It does involve working with the refugee communities near the station, and I do agree that an adventurer of your, ah, heritage is not like to be very popular with them. But…”

“But?”

“Due to our current personnel shortage and need for quick communication, I might have spoken with some of them in the city yestereve. They interact far more often with adventurers than I do; I am rarely able to leave my duties even to meet with fellow Phrontistery alchemists, let alone the city at large, and I thought to ask for their input. You were suggested by name.”

Now it was Aurelia’s turn to stare in visible surprise. This conversation was… well, it was not going at all the way she had feared, and that was a good thing, but it still left her feeling very much on the back foot. 

“What? Who would have given you my name?” She was little more than a courier. There were adventurers in the Quicksand who regularly spoke about the places they’d traveled, the monsters they’d slain, the rewards they’d reaped— Aurelia just delivered messages and packages around the city; her studies disallowed much more than that.

“I don’t suppose you might have formed an acquaintance with a gentleman by the name of Landebert? He does paid work for the Alchemists’ Guild on occasion.”

“I know of Landebert, yes…”

“I see.” Damielliot hesitated, then tapped his brow. “By any chance would he happen to know about-”

“No, he does not,” Aurelia said sharply, “and I should very much appreciate it if you kept this information to yourself and yourself alone. I must be circumspect, for the sake of my own safety. Even were that not the case, ‘tis highly doubtful the smallfolk would understand or accept my presence in their midst if they knew, regardless of the circumstances that placed me here.”

“You have naught to fear from me, Miss Laskaris. Confidentiality is my watchword with my patients. I think I can manage to extend the selfsame courtesy to a colleague.”

Relief left her giddy and nearly punch-drunk. She nodded, expression carefully composed, but her hands relaxed their crushing grip on her fingers. They flexed in her lap, reddened and stiff from their confinement.

“At any rate, I should like to offer this job to you before posting it to the leve board, but I would advise you not accept it if you find yourself too attached to the city’s comforts. There are several encampments requiring attention, and you will find yourself traveling between them as you aid the others in seeing to their hurts.”

“When would the work commence?”

“On the morrow. One of the faculty from the chirurgical college will arrive at the guildhall with further instructions. She’s picking up one of the junior Phrontistery alchemists as well, so you would be following her lead.”

She puzzled the matter over in silence. As helpful as Momodi's extra coin had been in paying for her room and board, she had found her work with Landebert and his friends to be far more fulfilling, despite the lack of any tangible reward for her efforts at acting the apothecary without guild approval.

The notion that she might get to work as a chirurgeon again— and learn more about the native flora of Thanalan in doing so— was too opportune a chance for her to ignore. And if it also meant a refreshing change of scenery...

At last, Aurelia smiled.

“In that case, Master Damielliot,” she extended her hand, “pray let her know that I shall be awaiting her arrival.”

Chapter Text

Castrum Centri, 7UE 5, Mor Dhona

How long has it been now? Fifteen years, I should think. 

Gaius van Baelsar was not a man given overmuch to extensive self-reflection. A veteran of decades of campaigns in foreign lands, it was his experience that such habits had a tendency to lead to second-guessing one’s choices, which in turn led to endless waffling, which risked unfavorable outcomes in the long term. Circumspection might be an admirable trait in a provincial viceroy, but all too often an ill-afforded luxury for a battlefield commander. 

He, of course, happened to be both.

A cursory squint at the wall chronometer confirmed that he had a few minutes still to himself. Beneath the fluorescent glare of the interior running lights and the sodium lamps, through ilms-thick tempered glass, he continued to peer into the magenta-tinged fog that hung over Silvertear Lake like a magical shroud.

His Radiance’s Ship Agrius had been the largest and mightiest of the Empire’s dreadnought-class battleships, fresh off her commission and on her maiden voyage into Mor Dhona– and beyond that, Eorzea: a frontier ripe for the taking. 

Frumentarium had advised during preliminary planning that there were dragons in the Abalathian mountains, of course, but by all accounts the creatures kept to themselves high in the upper reaches of the range. They had spurned the company of man in favor of long centuries of isolation. No one had expected more than token resistance, let alone the events which unfolded as the dreadnought's shadow darkened the dappled waters fulms and fulms below the clouds.

Fifteen years, and the bitter taste of defeat lingers still. 

Gaius remembered the battle as vividly as if it had happened only days past: the rapid staccato of gunfire, the explosions when tooth and claw ruptured fuel lines and shredded wings and dragon-flame set their ships alight midair. Cursing at the helm over the communications arrays, the shouts of engineers on the bridge, the frantic wailing of alarums as the hull was breached-- and finally a triumphant shriek as the ancient wyrm pulled the mighty battleship under, water pressure and the crushing grip of its coils snapping the Agrius in twain. 

Likewise, the aftermath. Limping back to Ala Mhigo with nary a ship of the fleet not in sore need of repairs, debriefing the list of casualties to the stunned silence of his surviving tribunes. It was the note in the margins – hastily scribbled in his own hand – which had haunted him in the years since. All souls aboard, lost. 

The first great defeat that Garlemald had suffered in decades, and it had happened on his watch. That monument to his failure remained even now in the center of the lake, largely undisturbed by the catastrophe five years past. The flare of wings, each the size of a township, stood as trees in a gale: bent with time and the elements, but unbroken. Barely visible through the fog he could see bleached ivory against vermilion and the bones of the creature’s spine still wrapped like ivy around a broken steel hull. 

Midgardsormr, the so-called Father of Dragons. Gaius chuffed a rueful sigh.

And like that corse in the waters, Eorzea is plagued by its own folly. Rotten nigh to its core— yet it must be saved.

All had vanished quite nearly overnight, scorched beyond salvage by an eikon’s fire, but rather than press their advantage His Radiance had given orders to withdraw to Ala Mhigo and fortify the border. Yet Gaius had not withdrawn, not entirely. Stronger nations than the fractious Eorzean city-states had fallen to the XIVth Imperial Legion in the past.

Over the last five years his intelligence network had helped to slip troops across the wall piecemeal, displacing remote settlements to build and staff new fortifications. All of it done in plain sight, and the work was not what he would have called easy. For the lion's share of that time Gaius had carefully walked a tightrope to keep both his emperor placated and the Alliance quiescent. 

It was not the approach many of his peers would have taken, not when a realm seemed so weak as Eorzea was just now. But appearances could be deceiving, and just as with Ala Mhigo, Gaius knew their success required him to play the long game. Thus he would repeat those things which had served him well in the past. He would observe the enemy's movements, bide his time, have Frumentarium deploy any tricks in their arsenal he deemed useful, and strike when the opportunity presented itself.

Now it seemed that opportunity might be upon them at last. 

“Lord van Baelsar?”

The optio was nervous. Gaius could hear the quiet shuffle of army-issue boots upon the corrugated flooring but barely spared a glance over his shoulder to the door. “Yes?”

“Lady sas Junius and Lord sas Arvina have responded, my lord. They're on their way from Castrum Abania.” 

"I see. And tol Scaeva?"

“Yes, my lord, he's here. He was down in the hangar relaying orders to his architeci when the runner found him."

Earlier than expected. Well, the man was nothing if not punctual. “Show him in. I will speak with the others once they arrive.”

“Yes, my lord.”

It was not long before he heard the clatter of cermet plate cross the threshold of the office doorway. Gaius turned away from his contemplation of the entwined carcasses in the center of the lake to greet his tribunus laticlavius with a silent nod. Unlike his fellows, Nero tol Scaeva rarely cared to wear his helm when he was not upon a battlefield. It sat tucked securely beneath his left arm as he waved away the saluting men standing guard at the door. 

“Close the door and we may begin.” He clasped his hands at the small of his back, waiting a few beats until he could hear the rattle of the automated steel locks sliding into place. “I'd hoped you might enlighten me personally as to the reason behind these recurring failures.”

“My lord has no doubt read the report. I did include all pertinent details. The attempt was a partial success, but the core would not fully engage and several components were damaged. I chose to postpone the test for safety reasons." There was no mistaking the defensive undertone in his words. "Unlike nan Varro, I happen to prioritise our personnel for efficiency's sake.”

"I read the report, and I'm aware of the sequence of events. I merely wished to call upon your expertise. You are, after all, foremost in your field upon this particular subject."

It would be unnecessary to prompt him further. His second was more than happy to talk about his pet projects and weapons research, and this one had been love at first sight. 

Temper placated, the younger man set his helm upon the table with an air of authoritative calm, seated himself, and leaned back against the cushioned chair (sparsely cushioned, but the furniture in imperial castra were not known for their creature comforts). When Nero saw that Gaius was still waiting in an expectant silence, he laced his fingers together with a faint creak of carbonweave and enamel.  

“My lord, let me first impart a rudimentary explanation of our team's process."

"Go on."

"As you are aware, Allagan technology did not make use of ceruleum as we do. Their warmachina used a fire-aligned elemental aetheric ignition. They're simplistic devices, notably so- leading one to believe that these vehicles were meant to be operated by pilots given basic instruction. Conscripts, in other words. Aetheric ignition systems were the standard during the latter years of Third Astral, particularly with the advent of mass production due to their war with-"

Gaius cleared his throat. “A succinct explanation will suffice, tribunus.”

With little more than a pause and a brief lift of his brows the other man nodded. Some shadow scurried across the surface of Nero’s eyes, but it was gone ere Gaius could even confirm it was his words that had put it there. 

“…Under normal circumstances," Nero continued, "retrofitting Allagan warmachina poses little difficulty, provided one is familiar enough with both systems to understand their similarities and differences. Is that satisfactory?”

"It is. Continue."

"From what few of the log files remain intact, it appears that for the duration of the Meracydian campaign, Allag only deployed this particular machina a handful of times- I suspect because its resource consumption was what one might politely term 'prodigious'. Notable even among its contemporary fellows."

"I see."

"That said- all is not lost, my lord, not by any means. As it happens, I believe the solution to our little conundrum lies within Eorzea itself."

“You're being cryptic, Nero. Can this limitation be overcome or nay? We cannot afford needless delays."

“I agree entirely, my lord," Nero said. "We must act as soon as possible. Preliminary aetherological surveys to be conducted in each region to establish a baseline. New data, as we previously discussed, which I will gather myself in the interest of time. Authorization for this undertaking will of course be--”

“You have it. Do what needs must.”

“Thank you. And the other request? From R&D?”

“Likewise granted. As regards the Lominsan navy- has your man espied aught of concern to us?”

“No. The thalassocracy's privateers continue to be our primary local nuisance. Dealing with the occasional frigate of rum-soaked profligates is hardly beyond the capabilities of the existing garrison at Castrum Marinum, however, and I’m certain you would rather not risk undue attention. Have the other tribunes been debriefed?” 

“I will speak with Rhitahtyn and Livia once they arrive. They will pass along orders to the praefecti on a need-to-know basis.”

His second’s expression showed neither surprise nor doubt. Not for the first time Gaius peered into those wintry eyes, shrewd and inscrutable, and wondered what Nero tol Scaeva might truly be thinking. Beneath his self-confident swagger and scathing wit, the man held peers and subordinates alike at arm’s length. He was forthcoming enough with information, quick to put his technical expertise on central display at a moment’s notice, but still there remained an invisible wall none were allowed to breach.

If only—

No, Gaius told himself. That is impossible now. What’s gone is gone. 

“We are of one mind,” Nero said at last. If he had noticed his legatus’ sudden perusal, he gave no sign of it. "Is there aught else, my lord?"

“There is another matter, but we will speak of it later. Dismissed.”

After a few moments there was the scuff of metal upon metal and the door shut with a discreet click, and he was left to resume his study of the landscape below. Sparse sunlight, diffused through layers of cloud and aetherbanks, glittered along the outer rim of the crystal that all but engulfed the remains of Dalamud’s core. Despite the aetheric miasma it remained visible even at this distance, a bright red-gold scar. 

The task of bringing Eorzea into the fold now falls to us. I mean to see it done, once and for all.

Should their good fortune hold, if Nero’s speculations were even somewhat accurate, he would soon have in his power the means to take the realm without a single shot fired. They risked much for this gambit, but the reward… a new province with all Aldenard brought to heel at long last might well prove to be his redemption. 

Time would tell in the end, of course. As a people Eorzeans were resilient and stubborn; he had learned that much from his own bitter experience. It would be foolish in the extreme to assume that victory would be theirs without a fight.

If anything, the Black Wolf was counting upon their resistance. 

~*~

“Hey! You lot! Present yourselves for inspection!”

The barked command rang across the small, dusty square where Aurelia currently sat, helping Mistress Fifiri’s assistant Morris take stock of their remaining provisions. His lack of focus made it slow going; he kept casting anxious glances in the direction of the aetheryte at every loud noise he heard. With the influx of hopeful adventurers approaching the Immortal Flames for work, there was quite a bit of noise in Black Brush.

“By the Twelve, lad,” the same loud voice blurted, this time in open exasperation, “are you having me on? You couldn’t stand up to a one-legged coblyn in that bleedin' rust bucket. Get yourself to a proper armorer and come back when you're ready to take this leve. I’m not going to be the one to haul you back to Mistress Momodi atop your godsdamned shield.”

Patience beginning to wane, Aurelia reached over and gently tapped the young man’s shoulder.

“Morris.”

“Wha?”

“Is aught amiss? You seem distracted.”

“Oh! No, nothing at all. I just…” He trailed off, squinting into the brassy sky. Aurelia said nothing, just took a long swig from her recently refilled waterskin and waited for him to continue. “...I guess I wasn’t quite expecting… all this?”

“All what?”

“This.” He jabbed one finger down the southern trail, in the direction of the settlement they’d just come from. “I know that being a chirurgeon and being an alchemist are two different things— that’s why they’re separate disciplines in the Phrontistery and all, of course, but. It’s… I thought…”

“You thought…”

“It’s stupid,” Morris muttered, and she suspected his flush was not entirely from overexposure to the sun. “Stupid and bloody naive. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Why? Who do you think I’m going to talk to? The cactuars?” Aurelia spread her hands. “You’re a Thorne, aren’t you?”

“On my mum’s side.”

“Either way. Your family has an estate in the palace district. Who’s going to take the word of a drifter like me over yours anyway? Even if I were of a mind to say anything?”

He cast her a cautious glance. “...You really won’t say anything to the director?”

“Why would I?” Aurelia held out her waterskin. “Here, drink this. It’s hot as hells and you look about to wilt.”

Morris accepted gratefully, tipped the skin back, and took two pulls from it. Water dribbled down his chin and into the fine linen of his dalmatica, much newer and more expensive than her own simple homespun. 

“Thanks,” he wiped his lips with the back of his hand as he passed it back to her. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you. It’s just… well, you know, I thought…”

“Go on.”

“…When I decided to attend Frondale’s Phrontistery I thought it would be… hells. I don’t know. Dignified work, I suppose.” 

“Dignified work,” Aurelia repeated, lifting a brow.

“Aye, well… you know the sort I mean, surely. Tonics and remedies. Treating minor illnesses. Not rooting about the dirt and lancing boils and cleaning bad wounds and treating the bloody flux and- and other things like that. I know how awful it sounds to say aloud, but I really didn’t sign up for–”

“Ugly work?”

Morris blinked at her. “Pardon?”

“Ugly work.” She tied the waterskin back to her simple leather belt. “Healing of any sort is hard work and often just as thankless. At best it’s mundane– endless bells of preparing your reagents and dressings. At worst, someone dies on your watch and you’re the first one to take the blame. It would be nice if one could help people and make good money while doing it. But between you and me, usually the best paying parts of this profession are…”

“Are what?”

Aurelia grinned at him. 

“Boring, Morris. They’re bloody boring.”

“...Aren’t you a novice alchemist? How would an adventurer know-”

“Adventurers come from all parts of the star and all walks of life, friend. You’d do well to remember that.”

Her rebuke was mild at best but it still set the tips of his ears alight. “Er. Right. Yes, you’re right. I apologize; other than seeing students in the lecture halls I really don’t… leave my house all that often. I suppose it’s a bit obvious.”

“A bit. If you – oh, there’s Fifiri right over there.” Aurelia pointed at the small figure waving them over from the bottom of the hill. “I wonder if something’s come up.”

“That ‘something’ is a decent meal, some shade to rest in, and a chocobo porter back to the city, I hope,” Morris retorted, shouldering the heavy packs with a pained grunt. “I’m famished and I’ve been carrying this luggage so bleeding long I can’t feel my shoulders anymore.”

“Think of it as field experience.”

“Oh, very funny.” Scoffs aside, Aurelia didn’t miss the relieved smile that had crept onto his face as he turned back towards the dusty road. “Come on, let’s go see what she wants.”

==

That something, as it happened, did turn out to be a meal and a drink, in the comfortable open seating of the Coffin and Coffer— although Aurelia herself spent most of it sipping her tea in silence while Fifiri dictated her final report to Morris. The Hyur lad was a dutiful enough scribe, writing in a small and cramped hand from margin to slightly crooked margin. 

It was a common enough situation: Aurelia’s nebulous status as ‘adventurer’ made her, if not extraneous, at least somewhat invisible to her clients. Today she found herself feeling nothing but grateful for the reprieve. While the other two occupied themselves talking about the cases they’d seen and what sort of potential they had as learning experiences, she let her mind wander to the plight of the people themselves.

"The lad wasn't bothering you, was he?"

Aurelia looked up, surprised. The accent was one she knew well, and hearing it in this context was nothing short of a shock. 

She set the cattail in her hand down upon the cloth she'd spread for another round of drying - Frieda's instruction had served her well here - and wiped her hands on her apron before she acknowledged the woman with a brief shake of her head. "Not at all. I was just as inquisitive when I was of a tender age."

A brief frown knitted the refugee's brow as she spoke. She was quite pretty, with coal-black hair and pale grey eyes that nonetheless took Aurelia's measure with something close to knowing. Despite herself, she swallowed nervously.

But if she had at last been recognized on sight, nothing was said. Instead, Aurelia found herself staring down at the woman's proffered hand. "I hope the others haven't been too hostile," she said. "My name is Laelia." 

Aurelia clasped it with a nod. Laelia’s palm was softer and smoother than her own, free of blemishes and blisters, a bit moist, and carried a faint floral scent— rose water, or some sort of lotion. It was clear she hadn’t always lived like this.

"Well met, Laelia. Have you been here long?"

"The better part of a year, now." Laelia hesitated, as if she wanted to say more - or ask Aurelia a question - but in the end she added only, "If you need any help, please let me know. I've enough time on my hands these days."

"I think I'm all right for now, but- is there aught I should know about the health of the refugees? Flux? Vermin? Mistress Fifiri hasn't exactly been forthcoming."

Laelia shook her head. "Only the odd aches and pains-- a few elder folk plagued with rheumatism, the odd chill. I don't believe we've seen anything more serious since you arrived."

"And the Brass Blades. They've left you be?"

A soft scoff: "As much as they're wont to do so. We've not a pot to piss in between the lot of us, and that makes us barely worth their notice much less their trouble. Unless they're finding reasons to arrest the young ones for picking pockets."

The temptation to ask what had brought her to this pass was strong - five years after the Calamity, Garlean defectors were still a rare sight in Eorzea - but whatever Laelia’s reasons, Aurelia didn't doubt they were just as compelling as her own, and the other woman had no reason whatsoever to trust a stranger with her personal affairs. 'Twas most like they were ships passing in the night, each to their own harbors, never to be seen again. 

“Aye, that's been my experience as well. The Blades aren't overfond of adventurers, but they're more likely to shake down the stalls in the Exchange than ask after my leve scraps."

"They've been observing you and your team this past sennight, you know. I've caught them turning an eye to the camp a time or two. But they've not come near any of us since you arrived." Laelia's answering smile was humorless. "No doubt they think we've all got some sort of plague. Routine visit or not."

"If you’re concerned for your city workers, I’m certain Mistress Fifiri will make certain to give Wallcreek a clean bill of health. You needn't worry about that."

"Good. I've enough worries as it is."

"The boy?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, I'm not his mother.” Those fair, slim hands smoothed down the apron she wore over her plain skirt. “She's... a businesswoman. Pearl Lane. Keeps odd shifts. I watch Eadric there while she's working-- usually it's nights only, but the cost of food has gone up so she's been gone more often trying to find clients." Laelia shrugged. "He's a good boy. It's no great chore."

Aurelia knew full well what she was pointedly not saying: Eadric's mother hadn't the coin or the good fortune to secure work in one of the more upscale pillowhouses near Ruby Road. That too was far from an uncommon story. Plenty of refugees who had fled to Ul'dah to begin a new life ended up earning their coin either on the bloodsands or on their backs.

"He's lucky to have such a fine guardian," Aurelia murmured. “Have you plans to remain here?”

Laelia shrugged, not looking at all eager to continue the course of their conversation.

"I've nowhere to go. Home isn't an option and it seems Ul'dah won't have us, so Wallcreek it is for now." She sighed, the sound light and soft like a spring breeze. "...I should go find the boy before he goes into the tent with Mistress Fifiri and I'm subjected to another lecture. A fine day to you, Miss Aurelia."

With that, Laelia turned away and strode back toward the tent flap, ducking under and out. A blast of desert heat followed in her wake and ruffled her night-black hair.

Aurelia watched her go with a swell of sympathy.

“Does something trouble you, adventurer?”

She blinked. The alchemist was studying her closely, a frown indexing her tiny brow, and even Morris’ gaze was some mixture of curious and concerned. “What– oh, no. I’m sorry, Mistress Fifiri. I’m afraid I didn’t catch what you said.”

“I said you’ve done solid work this week,” Fifiri said. “Remarkably helpful bedside manner. Professional. Quite a far cry from the oaf I expected them to send me.”

“Ah,” was all a very surprised Aurelia could muster, but Fifiri hadn’t seemed to notice. 

“Yes, quite. You know, I thought you were having a bit of a laugh when you claimed to have chirurgical experience but– well, never mind. I know you adventuring sorts aren’t keen to talk about where you come from so I’ll not press the issue. But you were taught very well, wherever it is you studied.” A pause, then somewhat stiffly she added: “...I merely thought you should know.”

Blunt-tongued as ever, but there was a certain gruffness in the older woman’s tone, and her rounded cheeks looked a bit rosier than usual. Either she was blushing or she’d taken too much sun these past few days, but Aurelia was too taken aback by the compliment - the first she’d received from Fifiri - to pay close attention.

“Thank you, Mistress Fifiri. I do appreciate the opportunity to observe your work.”

“I’ll have Master Damielliot send payment to your guild upon our return. I must submit my final reports, but he will ensure you receive appropriate compensation.” Fifiri waved one small hand before clambering down from her seat. “In the meantime I’ll go make arrangements with the porter for the trip back myself. You may join us, or not, as you desire.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” Aurelia promised. She hadn’t finished her dodo tenderloin yet. For a roadside tavern with a name clearly born from someone’s gallows humor, the food at the Coffin and Coffer was uncommonly good, and the three of them had been subsisting on spiced oatcakes, hammerbeak jerky, and boiled water since departing the city.

“Oh– and don’t worry about coin for your meal. Either of you. I’ve taken care of it.”

Once he was certain she was gone, Morris leaned towards her with a conspiratorial air. “She likes you,” he said. “A lot. Don’t be surprised if you get more work from the Phrontistery in future.”

“I don’t know if I would go quite that far.”

“I would. I’ve been studying with Mistress Fifiri since my first year in the academy and she doesn’t bother with platitudes if she doesn't like someone."

"Ha! I suppose I should count myself fortunate then."

"Aye, she wasn’t at all pleased to hear from Master Damielliot when he said he'd requested you, not at first. I've heard her say more than once that you lot are naught more than brutes. Glorified sellswords- her words, not mine– and she makes it a point not to hire adventurers unless she has no other choice. Never mind buying your lunch! She’ll hardly even cover my tab most times.”

Aurelia smiled. “I doubt her gesture has put her back very much coin. This place is a watering hole for Concern miners, after all.”

“True. Still, though. …What I guess I’m trying to say is, she’s better with potions than people. So I’ll thank you on her behalf. And mine, too. Watching you has…”

“Watching me what? Pick flowers? Make dressings? Score leaves for sap?”

“Well, yes, but– the way you talk to people? Actual sorcery, that. The little girl with that nail in her foot, the one who wouldn’t let Fifiri touch her-”

“All I did was tell her a fairy story. A simple trick to distract a frightened child.” She speared a forkful of gravy-tossed popoto. “Bedside manners aren't something the Phrontistery can teach you, Morris. That's learned over time.”

“Fair enough.” Seeming content to let the subject drop, he stood, bracing his hands on the back of the chair as he shouldered his bags. “Anyroad, I think I’d best be off. Mistress Fifiri doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Are you coming back with us?”

“I think I’m going to ask about and see if there’s aught that needs doing here first.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s very kind of her to offer, but I’ll be fine on my own. I can rent a porter if need be.”

“Mayhap I’ll see you about, then.” He lifted a hand. “Take care.”

The moment she was alone again Aurelia set her cup upon the table with a quiet sigh. She didn’t think Morris or the alchemist really understood. And why would they? Both of them came from money, lived in a part of town so fantastically expensive the seclusion created its own echo chamber. They had no idea how most of the city lived, let alone those in deepest poverty.

Aye, and you were not so different, once. 

There was no denying the truth of that intrusive thought. She knew all too well the faults of the girl who had boarded the express train to Castrum Pinnaculum, too sheltered to understand the significance of what she’d taken upon herself. Too sheltered, too naive and - as much as she hated to admit it even now - too selfish. Any desire she'd had then to help others was such a distant second to her primary concerns that it could properly be called an afterthought. 

Seven years (it felt like seventy, some days), one calamitous disaster and a host of experiences later, Aurelia felt herself to be far less selfish and perhaps a little more worldly. But even she couldn't truly imagine how difficult it must be to actually live in the refugee encampments. Hard enough to be destitute within the city walls, let alone to languish within tattered windbreaks while Ul'dah lay close enough for them to touch. 

If the chatter about Ul'dah's streets were aught to go by, the numbers of refugees pouring into tent cities like Wallcreek and Stonesthrow only continued to grow.

The tavern door slammed open, making the cup on the table rattle with a thin chiming noise. Aurelia's quick forward lunge managed to keep it from forsaking its perch in favor of the floor (although a few drops still hit the table and the back of her hand). Her momentary irritation gave way to curiosity as a burly Roegadyn in the vermilion of the Brass Blades crossed the floor in broad, firm strides. 

“Wystan! Wystan, we found it!”

While she wasn’t one to eavesdrop, the man wasn’t exactly being subtle; he'd all but announced his arrival to the room full of patrons. Nor was the raven-haired Midlander man in his simplistic but well-made tunic and breeches, all but knocking his bar stool to the floor as he leapt from his seat. 

“Truly? Is it as I thought?”

“Aye, it’s there! The vein, just as you said it would be— right in the ruins, by that old entrance! Come, quickly!”

The guardsman was out the door as swiftly as he’d come, his companion all but scrambling to shoulder his bag and follow. There was the clatter of heavy footsteps on the deck and down the stairs and then—

Silence.

What in the hells was that all about?

The aging Lalafell barkeep was watching her. He shook his head slowly from side to side as his eyes tracked towards the exit, wiping out the innards of an empty mug with a threadbare hempen scrap as he did so. A wry half-smile deepened the creases in his sun-weathered face. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he shrugged, setting the wooden tankard aside. “He’s been wavin’ his coinpurse about the Coffer for the last sennight tryin’ to get warm bodies down to the ruins.”

“What ruins?”

“Oh, you didn’t know about old Sil’dih? What’s left of it you can see down in the canyon,” he gestured in the vague direction of southeast, “up the hill that way. There's rumors of an untapped silver vein, if you can believe that.”

Aurelia frowned at the swinging doors, still creaking slowly back and forth on their rusting hinges.

“I’m the first to admit I’m no miner, but if there were an ore vein this close to Ul’dah wouldn’t someone have already come across it by now?” 

“Aye, that was my thinkin’, an’ I told ‘im as such. The Concern’s had all but sole mineral rights in this part of Thanalan long as I can remember, and if there was aught of value to find it would’ve been picked clean before the lad was a twinkle in his ma’s eye. Mayhap fool’s gold or hematite, if there’s anything at all— but he wouldn’t be put off no matter what I said.”

“I don’t understand. Why would he…” 

“Chase a story like that?” Unconcerned, the small man reached for another cloth. “Could be any number of things, miss. But I know from the little ones what follow ‘im about like wee ducks, he’s from that camp in Stonesthrow.”

Aurelia knew Stonesthrow well enough. “I just finished a job there for the Phrontistery.” 

“Then I guess you know what it’s like. Might be as desperation’s made him willin’ to believe just about anything if it’ll get him out of that hole.”

"It's possible," she admitted. It was true enough, of course, but…

Something’s not right.  

A chill prickled across her limbs from the nape of her neck right down to the fine hairs on her forearms, making her shiver despite the dry afternoon heat. Before she could second-guess herself, Aurelia reached for her belongings and pushed the chair back so she had room to stand. 

“Where’s the ruins from here? How do I get down into the canyon?”

“What? Well, there’s a fork off that path at the top of the hill that’ll take you down into the ravine, but miss, I really don’t think it’s a good—”

“My thanks.” She passed her satchel across the bar’s stained surface. “Keep this behind the counter for me, please? I’ll return for it anon.”

He squinted at her for a moment as he took her belongings to tuck into his counter shelves, as if weighing the wisdom of warning her about the road’s dangers. But if he had aught to say, Aurelia never heard it. She was already out the doors.

Chapter Text

To Aurelia’s relief, it was no great challenge to follow the trail. Shortly after their encounter with the imperial army in Willowsbend four years past, Keveh’to had taken it upon himself to teach his Garlean friend some basic wilderness survival and tracking techniques for use in the Black Shroud, and she had anticipated the possibility they might come in handy.

She needn't have worried about that, she saw now. Even with entirely different terrain taken into account, the men had left tracks in the dirt so obvious a child could have seen them. 

Equally obvious were the ruins themselves. A crumbling facade was plainly visible as she crested the hill, even with heat waves rippling upward and distorting her vision. 

The path down lay just off the road, little more than a half-forgotten hiking trail, and Aurelia wasted no time in following it downward. Stands of dried scrub and low-growth mesquite trees littered the descent but she was careful to keep her footsteps as quiet as she could manage, slipping from stands of scrub to gnarled tree trunks to rock outcroppings until she had reached the last few fulms and could not advance further without making her presence known. 

Fortunate for her that this part of the canyon was shallow, and almost a glorified gully-wash after enduring heavy spring rains. Everything seemed to echo here, including her own footsteps. But her trespass had gone unnoticed beneath the sounds of multiple men’s voices, raised and tense, a conversation which was quite audible now that she was close. 

The young man from the tavern was there - she saw the distinctive orange-and-gold pattern in his fine clothing, though it was dirty and much the worse for wear now. He was struggling to pull himself upright from the cracked rubble of what had once been a paved path. Blood trickled profusely from a scalp cut down his cheek and into the fine linen of his dalmatica, and Aurelia could see a mottled purple bruise forming on his cheekbone, swelling his eye shut. Even bruised and battered he was the picture of pathetic dignity.

Five figures in vermilion armor fanned out in a half-circle around him to prevent escape even as a sixth loomed over his prone form: the man who’d rushed through the Coffer’s doors not a quarter bell past. 

“Thal’s balls, boy,” he gasped, wiping a tear from his eye, “I can’t believe you fell for that fish story. An untapped ore vein in a city?!”

Their mocking laughter echoed against the stone like the raucous calls of rooks. 

“Godsdamned fool. What did ye think was goin’ to happen?” the Roegadyn jeered. “You’d strike it rich and get yourself a cozy seat among your betters, and the Syndicate was going to what— stand aside with their thumbs up their arses an’ let you?”

Wystan coughed, spat sand, and finally managed to sit up and stare at his attackers with a slackened jaw. His eyes were the size of tea saucers.

“What— the Syndicate?”

From her hiding place, Aurelia tensed. This man had been careless, that was plain to see. It was common enough knowledge within adventurer circles that most of the Brass Blades were on the various payrolls of the elite but that didn't seem to have crossed his mind when he'd started on this venture, and by the looks of things his endeavor had clearly annoyed the wrong people. 

“Finally sunk in, has it? Too late for you, sad to say.” The Brass Blade popped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, set his hand to the hilt of his sword, and drew it from its weathered-looking leather scabbard. “Terrible tragedy though, ain’t it, for a promising young lad like yourself. Slippin’ on the rocks an’ fallin’ to your death. Them little friends of yours’ll be cryin' into their mothers' skirts for sure.”

“No,” Wystan stammered, hands held out in a plea, “n-no, wait, please. I won’t say anything, I-”

“Don’t worry, boy. We’ll make sure not to let the carrion eaters feast too long before you’re found.” 

The sound of sliding steel rang in Aurelia’s ears as the vermilion-clad guardsmen drew their blades in tandem, advancing forward in a bid to prevent their prey from any attempt at escape. Hells below, she thought, they mean every word. They're really about to kill him right here in front of me.

Well, she knew she wasn't going to just sit there and let it happen. She had to do something. What that ‘something’ was— she didn’t exactly have a plan in mind, but just as had happened four years ago, there wasn’t time to make one.

She'd have to do the same thing here: improvise, and hope it all came out in the wash.

Swiftly she righted herself from her crouched position and barged through the scrub brush. Sharp thorns snagged at her breeches; a couple managed to slice through fabric to scrape her skin, but the sting was only momentary and the point was to make her presence known. As Aurelia had hoped would happen, the wall of vermilion wheeled about almost as one, their swords flashing like running lights beneath the afternoon sun. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said. The assembled men exchanged bewildered glances, but their leader recovered quickly. The flicker of surprise that crossed his face was gone nigh as soon as she’d seen it.

“Well, well, would you look at that? Seems you’ve still got some friends left after all, Wystan.” The man's grip on his blade relaxed ever so slightly; he didn’t see her as a threat. Good. “ 'Least you won’t die alone, eh?”

Wystan’s chin tilted towards her then back to his attackers, a slow to and fro swivel, but beneath his astonishment fear still shone hard in his eyes like an overbright twinkle. “Let her alone,” he panted, ragged and shallow, one hand pressed against his side. “She’s- she’s got naught to do with this, it’s-”

The guardsman ignored him. Gravel crunched beneath boots as the others advanced upon her, intent now upon the interloper who had no doubt overheard the entire plan. 

“Run, miss!” Wystan shouted at her, his voice thin and breathless. 

Aurelia did not run. Her eyes tracked from one face to the other, watching them pace about her, grins on every face: a collection of crimson-clad alley cats looking for all the world as if they intended to play with their kill first. The warning was appreciated, but unnecessary.

She already knew they would have had no intention of letting her walk away, not knowing she’d been an accidental witness. She would have to fight her way out and hope for the best. 

Well, perhaps it wasn’t that dire. She’d become more adept with her casts as the more varied nature of her leve work had provided the opportunity. A quick burst of wind would buffet them before they had time to draw their swords. I’ve faced far worse than a pack of armored jackals like these. If I can simply keep a clear head-

Before she could draw so much as a mote of wind, a hard knot curled taut within the depths of her stomach. It came upon her unawares, along the sensation of a nausea-inducing drop, as if someone had picked her up and tossed her over the canyon’s edge. Invisible fingers rippled down her spine and the small hairs over her arms and traced an icy spiral about the rim of her concealed third eye. 

Danger, that horrible sensation shouted at her. Danger is here.

As if sensing in their own turn that something had gone awry, the Brass Blades and their leader froze mid-step.

They peered warily about their surrounds and in that moment a deep, resonant voice thundered throughout the canyon. A cold breeze whipped through the scrub and through her hair. Debris struck her cheeks and blew sand into her eyes; combined with the unnatural chill it felt like the harsh, stinging pelt of sleet.

“O mournful voice of creation—”

Something sour and acidic rose at the back of her throat, the curdling sensation in her belly nigh overwhelming. 

She had felt it in the Amdapor ruins deep in the southern Shroud, at the Lifestump, and again at the Sultantree in that tense handful of moments before the voidsent attacked. The sinking feeling, the chill washing over her skin, the heaviness on her shoulders as though someone had placed a thousand tonzes on her back. Beneath it the all-encompassing presence of something—

Something—

Dark.

“—grant this humble stone a soul, that it may wake to life!!”

A crack and a rumble erupted at their backs, as though what remained of the city meant to collapse upon the hapless intruders. 

Stones shuddered and pebbles rattled, and before their astonished eyes great slabs of rocks rose from the ground, held aloft and frozen in place by some invisible force for some few moments before they began to coalesce into something else altogether. Aether whispered and whistled about the craggy boulders as they began to fit and lock together like assembling puzzle pieces. Arms, fingers, legs, a torso, empty sockets where eyes would have been-

As one, the guardsmen broke ranks and fled towards the hillside path, leaving their injured quarry cringing and terrified upon the broken cobbles. Aurelia’s gaze fixed itself over the creature’s shoulder and squarely upon the black-robed figure perched (floating…?) upon a weathered column: arms raised aloft, fingers curled into fists. 

It gave a hollow cackle, bright and triumphant. 

“You are strong indeed, to have bested my familiar,” the figure said. Behind the full-faced black mask its voice grated in her ears, the scrape of a whetstone against metal. “That much, I will allow. But can you outmatch this?” 

Massive arms flung wide, the construct roared its rage to the heavens and lunged for the lone woman at its feet with a single mighty swipe.

==

Damn it.

Thancred flipped the goggles into their open position to squint at the station aetheryte, scanning the surrounds for signs of aught that might be suspicious. He saw nothing beyond the usual assortment of miners, refugees, and novice adventurers swarmed about the leveboards. A bead of stinging sweat trickled into his eye, one he removed with an impatient swipe of his thumb.

A familiar chime rang in his ear. He cast one more glance about the plaza and the deck of the Coffer and Coffin before lifting his hand.

“Have you found them?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, loath as he was to do so. “I’ve combed every ilm of the tracks between Black Brush and the depot and the only things lurking in those tunnels are the coblyns.”

“Might it be possible that the information we received was in error?”

“Possible, yes. Or we were deliberately misled.” Thancred exhaled, eyes still tracking along the dusty roads for any sign of passage — chocobo prints, boots, anything. “I’m outside the tavern. I’ll check and see if anyone’s seen or heard aught of note.”

“All right. Pray report once you’ve made contact.”

Be safe, said the pause before the connection lapsed. His fingertips fell away from the shell of his ear. 

He loped towards the saloon, sandaled feet clattering upon the worn boards before pushing the batwing doors open to a... mostly emptied dining hall. Well, he should have expected that, he supposed; it was nearing mid-afternoon and most of the clientele were probably back at work in the mine by now. Thancred could hear Roger, the proprietor, arguing with someone in the kitchen.

“What can I do you for?” a mild voice called. It belonged to a Lalafellin man of indeterminate age, employed in cleaning emptied ale tankards for future use. “Come to quench your thirst?”

“My thanks, but my business lies elsewhere. You wouldn’t happen to have seen anything or anyone… unusual in the past bell or so, would you?”

“You’ll have to be a touch more specific than that.”

Thancred glanced at the handful of adventurers in the far corner of the room. “Looking for an associate of mine. He’s wearing robes,” he replied— carefully. He would take no chances with alerting his target. “Black robes.”

“Black? Afraid not.”

“Activity, then. Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?” He tried on a conspiratorial smile. “My friend tends to, ah, cause a bit of commotion in his wake, you see. Not exactly the subtle sort, if you understand what I mean.” 

The Lalafell snorted. “A blasted fool boy and his hired Brass Blades man crowin’ about an ore vein in the ruins. You ain't the first to ask. Some adventurer decided to go after them once they left too. Ran out of here like her house was caught on fire— hopin’ to offer help and fleece a bit of extra coin for her pocket, no doubt."

An ore vein? That close to the city? "Suspicious claim, if you ask me. I'm surprised anyone would have believed it."

"Aye, it didn't make no sense to me neither. I tried to tell her it wasn’t a good idea to get involved but…” He shook his head at the sight of Thancred’s furrowed brow. “Lemme take a guess, you’re thinkin’ of going up there too.”

“The thought had occurred to me, yes.” 

“Well, that information seems important to you." The man's brows raised nigh to his hairline. "Seein' as that's the case, maybe you can pay me back with a favor.”

Typical Ul’dahns. His fingers twitched at his sides; the longer he dawdled, the greater risk the trail would turn cold, and he was all too aware of the fact.

“Name it,” he said.

“Tell the lass she best return to the Coffer by the end of the day if she wants her things back." The Lalafell shook his head. "I’m an alehouse man, not a retainer. She didn't even offer me a pittance to hold it.”

“I’ll give her the message if I see her.”

“If you leave right now, you might could catch her— an’ I hope you do, for her sake. She’s like to find herself shipped back to wherever she came from in a real coffin, stickin’ her nose in Blades business like that.”

Thancred acknowledged the sour observation with little more than a lifted hand and a friendly farewell as he shouldered his way back through the doors. The desert heat felt like the backdraft from a furnace, and with a wince he couldn’t help a moment’s regret that he had no time to dally in the relative cool of the tavern. 

He paused at the fork in the road and squinted up the dirt path, braced by cacti and wind-weathered sandstone. Despite its proximity to the well-traveled Sunroad, the ruins in question lay nestled in the throat of a narrow segment of the Black Brush canyon, mostly obscured from the casual eye of merchants and other passerby by rock formations and the trees that clung to what little fertile soil it held with a stubborn tenacity.

Such a boon would make it a tempting, even likely, choice of hidden meeting places for miscreants of all sorts who wanted their unsavory business to go unnoticed. It wasn’t much of a lead but it was a lead. 

Thancred had made it halfway up the hill when the ground beneath his feet began to lurch and shudder: an earthquake that was in no way natural but just as real and violent as any other he'd experienced. He stumbled, dropping to one knee to keep his balance with one hand at a sheathed dagger on his belt and the other braced against the ground. 

Shallow tremors rippled under his fingers, pebbles rattled, and beneath that he heard footsteps, moving fast against hard-packed earth. In moments there appeared no less than a half dozen Brass Blades, spilling forth from the lip of the canyon and onto the downhill path as quickly as their feet could carry them.

“Move!” their leader barked. His pale hazel eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, cold sweat running in rivulets down his temples. “This weren’t part of the bleedin’ plan! Godsdamned— Lolorito didn’t say naught ‘bout fightin’ no monsters—”

A deep-throated roar drowned out the man’s remaining words, and a flock of grackles burst out of the nearby canyon in a raucous black cloud. The guardsmen lost what paltry nerve they possessed; their leader bolted down the road like a spooked chocobo and they wasted no time in following, leaving a bemused Thancred behind in a flurry of heavy footfalls and jangling chain. It was like watching a herd of antelopes with a predator snipping at their heels. 

Whether his target was to blame for this turn of events or not he had no idea. But it hardly mattered now; if there had indeed been some sort of arranged meeting at the ruins, it had clearly gone quite awry. And the adventurer the barkeep had complained about— there was no sign of her either. Either she had quit the scene beforehand or those men had left her behind to face whatever they fled on her own.

“Seven hells,” Thancred muttered beneath his breath, and broke into a sprint. 

In the handful of minutes it took to reach the top of the slope he saw a grim scene laid before him: one figure lay unmoving upon the sand while a second dodged the swipes and swings of a massive construct, a creature made of stone and aether. Wind whirled around them, buffeting scrub and the low-growing desert trees.

Beyond and above it all, perched upon an outcropping of rock and collapsed granite, arms lifted and hands curled into claws, was a third. Black robed, black masked, and by the looks of things, the cause of all the chaos. Also the very man he'd been seeking, as it happened. At least some kind of silver lining was coming out of this.

But the construct’s attacks were flagging, he could see that in short order. Shambling to and fro, it listed and pitched through the shallow water in churning splashes. Akin to one of the Coffer’s ale-addled patrons, exhausting itself in its own mindless rage. Swiping wildly at its target, bellowing its frustration with each dodge—

By the Twelve, is that Aurelia? 

He recognized the adventurer in a matter of moments. Tall, slender, loose waves of golden hair fluttering about her shoulders from beneath her ever-present kerchief, which was doing a remarkably admirable job of staying on her head all things considered.

“Impossible!” came the furious shout from above, muffled by the mask the robed man wore. His face was concealed but there was no hiding the shock and growing desperation in that cry, nor the jerking movements as he struggled to keep his own creation upright. “Never have my magicks been so sorely tested! How could you—”

If she could hear her enemy's tirade she gave no sign; she was focused on dodging the construct and it was a near thing; she'd missed a heavy blow by only a sliver. A grimace flashed across her face as she rolled into the water and regained her feet, but she didn’t relent; another ribbon of wind spun from her fingertips as she skipped back and out of its reach once more. 

Thancred would remain still no longer. His target was so bent on the subject of his ire that he hadn’t noticed a third party join the fray, and with any luck would remain oblivious long enough for him to act on the opportunity.

Sandaled feet crunched into dirt and gravel with his dash across the rocky streambed as the creature took another swing at Aurelia. He made sure to give them both a wide berth so as to avoid catching the robed man’s eye, leaping from rock to rock with each step, ascending the rubble and closing the distance— and he threw the dagger in his left hand.

Whether his shallow strike was ill luck or ill timing, he could not have said. The blade’s trajectory went high and ever so slightly wide, its razor-sharp tip catching at the fabric of the hood rather than the shoulder as he had intended and dislodging the full-faced mask. There was a startled cry of pain— he had struck his mark, at least— and the mage's hands dropped to clutch at his exposed face.

His slender body twisted in Thancred’s direction, and in the heartbeat's breadth before the figure disappeared in a howl of cold shadow, he caught a pair of wide green eyes.

In the same instant as his own feet landed upon the now-deserted pedestal he saw Aurelia’s clenched fist open, palm splayed in the construct’s direction. The resulting blast of aether punched it through the midsection, as if she’d thrown a lance rather than a spell.

It shambled backward two steps, three, four, legs wobbling under its own weight in a last bid to keep its balance… but without a controller to make it dance upon his aether-strings it was naught but a pile of rock. With a final sigh it collapsed in on itself in a mighty clatter and hiss, and a gout of muddy water rained down upon the emptied wash like hailstones. 

Aurelia didn’t wait for the dust to settle or the birdsong to return; she was already running towards the unconscious man. She hadn’t noticed Thancred yet, which gave him time to drop his visor into place and make a quick scan of the surrounding aether. 

With any luck, he’s left us a handy trail to follow.

But a few moments of searching later he had to admit defeat. There were traces of an alien signature around the ruins, enough to indicate that the man had been physically present, but beyond that, nothing of any use for tracking.

He let out a long sigh and a soft curse, lifted the visor and set it back in its resting place, then turned to face the lady adventurer and the man she had just rescued. Fortunately the latter seemed to be none the worse for wear as he pushed himself up from his elbows to sit on the gravel.

“Hells, but they gave you a thrashing,” Aurelia said, brow creased with worry. “Can you stand?”

The man was a Midlander like them, with short dark hair. He wore clothes of an uncommonly fine make for the people who lived in Stonesthrow - or Black Brush itself, for that matter - but it was covered in dust and soaking wet in places, and his bruised face had an alarming gout of blood streaming down one side. Some had soaked into the collar of his linen shirt and sunsilk vest.

“I," he stammered, face pale beneath his bruises, "th-there’s so much blood-”

“Aye, there’s a small cut on your head that needs tending. Rather dramatic little things, scalp cuts. They almost always look worse than they are.”

“Oh. That’s… good. I think.”

“Do you feel sick to your stomach? Lightheaded?”

“My head hurts like anything, but that’s all.” His fist smacked against the ground without any real force. "Stupid! I'm so bloody stupid. He was right. I'm a fool. And if it's Lolorito who-- I can't stay. I have to-"

“All right, all right," Aurelia soothed. "You're not going anywhere like this. Sit still and I’ll see what I can do.” 

Before he could move or curse his lot any further, her palm was pressing gently against his jaw. A cool watery glow sank into his bruise-mottled cheek, and her patient’s eyes fluttered shut, expression one of relief- at least for the time being, Thancred thought. That would change soon enough. It was clear the young man was starting to see the enormity of what he'd stepped in.

In the meantime, he ought to report back as promised. He turned away and tapped the small device in his ear.

“It’s me,” he said without preamble. 

“Any luck?” 

“I wish I could say yes.”

“Oh, no.” Thancred winced; he knew just by the drop in her tone that she was trying to mask her dismay. Trying to spare my feelings, more like. “What happened?”

“Our person of interest quit the scene.” He couldn’t say more than that. Hopefully she would understand. “I’ll debrief you in full when I return.”

“I would ask that you return to Ul'dah first. General Aldynn says he might have something that can help us.”

There would be time to berate himself later. “Very well. I’ll be there anon.”

After the connection ended with a small ping in his ear he looked over his shoulder to see the pair watching him, one with open curiosity and the other with a somewhat flinty gaze. Thancred managed to find it in him to grin at the sight. Still annoyed with him, then.

“Master Waters,” Aurelia acknowledged with a nod. 

“Ah, Miss Aurelia, we meet again! The Coffin’s bartender asked me to have you come retrieve your things before they close for the day— but you’ve been busy, I see.”

“I see. And that’s why you were here?”

“Of course not,” that was a half-truth easy enough to grant her, “but I am a man of my word, and I’ll admit that when I saw the Brass Blades stampede down that road screaming about monsters I might have been a trifle concerned for your welfare.”

“Your concern is much appreciated, but I had the situation well enough in hand.”

“So you did.” The edges of his grin turned rueful as he tapped the curve of the aetheric visor. “My Sharlayan colleagues sent me into the field with the means to investigate aetheric disturbances, but I’m starting to wonder if it might not be more efficient to simply follow you about. You’ve quite the knack for finding trouble.”

That earned him a laugh, albeit a cautious one. “I’m sorry to say that despite appearances, my day-to-day isn’t usually quite this eventful. You’d be very disappointed. And deathly bored within a bell.”

"Oh, I very much doubt that." Still smiling, he turned his attention to the injured lad. He still remembered her prickly response in the Quicksand; best not to press his luck with her for now.  “Well met, friend. I trust you’re unharmed, Master…?”

“Wystan,” the man mumbled. He was young, younger than the woman healing him, though no longer a boy. “ ‘Tis just Wystan. Thank you for your concern. And you have my thanks, miss, for what you did. It was very brave of you.”

“You’re welcome, but it was no more than what I hope someone would have done for me in the same position.”

Wystan shook his head. “You don’t understand, miss,” he said. “No one cares about refugees. No one saves people like us; we have to do it ourselves. That’s why I wanted to…”

“Wanted to what?”

“…Never mind.” His eyes fell shut and a bitter laugh escaped his lips in a short, barking burst. “Just what I said before. I’m a fool. But you have my thanks all the same. They’d have cut me down and left my body for the jackals had you not arrived when you did.”

Aurelia frowned as the man clambered to his feet on unsteady legs. “Surely you don’t plan to go back by yourself if those men are still after you?”

“It’s too dangerous to stay here.”

“Well, let me come with you. I can do that much, at least.” She cast Thancred a questioning glance. “Might you care to come with us?”

“Anything for the lady,” he replied, with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel. He picked up the dagger that had come to rest a few fulms away from the pillar and noted the smear of drying blood on it. “I’ve business in the city so I can’t dally, but the alehouse is on my way.”

The three of them made their way up the hill, Wystan pale and silent, eyes cast to the sand and back bowed as if he’d been struck a crippling blow. Aurelia was busy frowning at him, so it fell to Thancred to watch the road, but fortunately the return trip was short and the road was free of other travelers. There was no one to remark upon her wet hair and damp clothing, or Wystan’s filthy and bloodstained tunic. 

As their charge passed through the doors, he grasped Aurelia’s shoulder before she could follow. She turned towards him, mouth already opening in what he assumed was a protest, but he shook his head.

“Before we part, Miss Aurelia, I’d like a word.”

“Master Waters—”

“You know full well my name is Thancred,” he said. It was lighthearted chiding, but chiding all the same. “Please. I’m not nearly wealthy nor respectable enough for anyone to be calling me ‘master,’ let alone a lady.”

“Should I not? We barely know each other.” 

“We don’t know each other well, no, but this is the second time we’ve fought together. I’d like to think we’re no longer strangers at the very least.”

She flushed, faltered, and said nothing, and he knew he must have struck a nerve. The restless tension he could feel trembling through her willowy frame seemed to recede, however, and some of the stiff formality went with it. Her shoulder shifted beneath his grip, relaxing somewhat: she was still wary, but willing to listen.

“Very well. Thancred it is, then. What did you want to tell me?”

“To be careful.”

Skepticism muted that indigo stare. “Is this a lecture?”

“It’s advice. Listen, I know you’re-” Thancred paused as a trio of dirt-encrusted men passed through the doors and made a beeline for their pickaxes, then let his voice drop to a murmur just loud enough for her ears to hear. “…I can tell just from what I've seen of you that you’re not the sort to walk away from someone in distress."

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"Playing hero in Ul’dah is not without its consequences. That little trap you dismantled today was no accident.”

“If you mean to warn me away from the Brass Blades, you needn't bother. 'Tis common knowledge that they exist to protect the city's wealth, not her people. I wouldn’t have gone after them today if I thought he wasn’t in immediate danger.”

“That’s very noble of you and all, and I agree that it's important to remember they're on the take-- but you should know who they’re on the take from. Does the name ‘Lolorito’ ring any bells?”

“They did mention him, but I didn't-" She hesitated, something like worry clouding her eyes. Good. He'd gotten through after all. "So that means-”

“Aye, that Lolorito. The chairman of the East Aldenard Trading Company. He’s a wily old whoreson, and not the sort of man an adventurer should trifle with, even if she means well. He didn’t obtain the power he wields by leaving loose ends.” He squeezed her shoulder, gently this time. “As you saw for yourself today.”

All of a sudden she looked ill, he thought. Pale and drained. Concern for her own part in what had transpired, or was it something else?

“You’re worried about something,” she said. It wasn't a question, he noted with considerable surprise, barely aware that she'd freed herself from his grasp with one swift shrug. "And it’s naught to do with this."

"I suppose I am. And no, it isn't."

"How did you just happen to be in the area, anyway?”

“Personal business."

"...My aunt's pretty floral hat."

"It's not something I can talk about right now. Just have a better care for yourself, all right? I don’t want to see you come to harm.” He conjured up the most dazzling smile he could muster. “…But I’m not here to lecture you, as you pointed out. I'll leave you to gather your things, but since I assume you'll be heading back into the city, would you kindly pass along my best to Momodi?”

Her frown lingered, but with a sigh she nodded her assent. 

Once all this is settled, she and I will need to have a chat. The sooner, the better.

For now, it would have to wait. If today’s events had made only one thing clear, it was where his priorities should lie. That robed man was trouble, and could not continue to run about Thanalan unchecked. It was very likely he was the one behind the attempt on the sultana, and how he hadn't managed to kill Aurelia with that stunt was a mystery in and of itself.

Regardless, it was only a matter of time before his antics escalated. First things first: a conversation with the general.

Still, it was more difficult than Thancred had anticipated to make his way back to the road with naught more than a wave and a smile. He hoped she would be all right. 

Chapter Text

“And that’s the long and short of it.” 

“I see.”

The despondent adventurer was unable to bring herself to look up from her tea, the set of her shoulders tense and unhappy.  Across the concierge, behind the desk’s polished surface, she could hear someone dusting the rows of lockboxes. “Then tell me truly: on a scale of ‘I think you’re overreacting’ to ‘a hermitage in the Abalathian mountains sounds nice this time of year,’ how badly have I made a mess of things?” 

Momodi said nothing for a long moment; Aurelia hoped she was just taking her time to digest the story, but the woman’s silence wasn’t helping her worries. Only fulms away at her back she could hear the usual bustle of the Quicksand and its patrons going about their daily business. It made the gravity of her current woes seem all the more incongruent. There was a distinct possibility that she had just pasted a target on her back and yet the world moved on without her, oblivious and uncaring. 

Not all that surprising, really, when she thought about it. That was the essence of Ul’dah.

The cluck of Momodi’s tongue drew Aurelia’s attention back into their hushed conversation.

“I believe you’ve precious little to worry about, for what it’s worth,” Momodi replied with a slight shake of her head. “No one’s so much as breathed a word of your involvement. Though I can’t say the same for the young man you’ve rescued. He’s about as welcome around these parts just now as the plague, poor lad.”

Aurelia winced. Poor Wystan.

All the good intentions in the world couldn’t save him. She wished she could feel any sort of surprise. The Syndicate took as draconian an approach to safeguarding their political power as they did the flow of trade. Aurelia had seen the same sad state of affairs play out in her own country just this way; full well she knew it was not her place to judge. The Garlean Empire’s ruling class would have crushed such perceived insolence with the same degree of ruthlessness.

The lot of the refugees would never have been changed merely by one man and his hope for prosperity. Pity that understanding the situation as it stood didn’t make her feel any better about the bald-faced injustice of it.

Better about her own rather precarious position just now, come to that.

“But what of those men? They saw me. Surely they-” A memory came to her mid-sentence, a brief snatch of hushed conversation near the doors of a roadside alehouse. She leaned towards the other woman, brow furrowed. “...Thancred said something to me about 'loose ends.' Would Lord Lolorito really have let his own men die out there? Just to protect himself?”

“I ain’t sayin’ what I think about that and neither should you,” Momodi said, her low tone sharp and incisive- and laden with warning. “Any businessman with his wits about him’ll be careful to keep his hands clean, but the gods know there’s rumors aplenty if you listen in the right places."

“Then-” 

"What’s true and what’s not doesn’t matter, Aurelia. Money talks, and a wise lass wouldn't be spreadin' such claims about.”

She punctuated this with an uncomfortable shrug, more than enough indication they shouldn’t be discussing such matters in a public place. 

“I know how it looks,” her fluted voice had lost much of its usual buoyancy. Aurelia sighed into her tea again. “There’s an ugly side to this city, and I know you’ve seen more than your share of it lately. But don’t let this sour your view of us. Most folks who live here are no different from you— just tryin’ to get by from day to day.”

“I know. It’s just… some days it seems like a good deed never goes unpunished around here.”

“Oh, that ain’t just Ul’dah, love. That’s the whole of the realm, sad to say. It’s awful hard to be kind— that’s just the way of the world, much as I wish it weren’t. Most folks just tend to look out for themselves first. And there’s plenty who’d say it was naught but foolishness, riskin’ your life for a marked man, but…”

“But?”

At last, the smile returned to Momodi’s face. “I think what you did was a noble thing,” she said. “Compassion like that, foolish or not, is in very short supply these days. You care more about people than coin, and that’s more than worthy of respect.”

“It’s good to hear that.”

“But you aren’t feeling much better about it now than you did when you came in here.” 

“No,” she confessed. Those mahogany eyes lit upon her face with open sympathy.

“Would it help if I sent you elsewhere to lay low for a bit? I’ve got some folks in a depot to the west of here lookin’ for someone reliable to help out. I wager you could do just as much good out there as here.”

“Maybe? I shall have to talk to Damielliot about it if I’m to be gone longer than a day or two. I've already been away for a full sennight of field work. …Though what I’d even tell him, I can’t imagine.”

“Don’t you worry yourself about that, Aurelia. He has naught but good things to say about you, and even if he’s not happy about it he’ll be patient enough to give you as much time as you need— extenuatin’ circumstances and all. Besides, he knows you’re an adventurer, right? Travel’s expected in your line of work. Easy enough for me to give him a story without puttin’ you in a bind.”

The ghost of her upbringing rattled its rusting chains in the back of her mind, and Aurelia heard herself reply: “Only if you truly have need of me elsewhere, Momodi. I’ve no desire to be an inconvenience to you or anyone else. Not when I’ve brought this upon myself.”

“Now, now, none of that. I know I told you not to come callin’ every time you stubbed your toe,” the small woman was already reaching for a worn black ledger beneath the desk mid-lecture, “but you’re one of the ones I’d make exceptions for without askin’ questions. You always pay your board on time and you never give me cause to ask if the work you take on’ll be done and done proper.”

“I… thank you,” Aurelia repeated, at a loss for aught else to say. No doubt Momodi had practical reasons aplenty behind her offer- more than mere charity, anyhow. Even so, just knowing that there was someone looking out for her was a comfort she hadn’t experienced since she’d left Gridania. 

She hadn’t realized how much she had missed it.

“Think naught of it. I’d rather put your worries to bed than risk losin’ one of my most reliable people for good. For tonight, you just sit back and let me handle things. We’ll speak more of it on the morrow.”

=

Momodi worked as fast as ever; the sprightly little rental chocobo awaited her as soon as she set foot outside the Quicksand the next morning, watching her approach with dark and intelligent eyes. Aurelia hesitated for a beat - as accustomed as she was by now to seeing them everywhere, she had never actually ridden one of the beasts, after all - before her doubtful stare prompted the stablemaster to assure her that his mounts all knew the roads well. All she had to do was tug the reins and follow the malmposts.

“You’ll want to take the bridge north of Scorpion’s Crossing towards the mine. Get her to the keep in Horizon,” the man instructed cheerfully, “and we’ll do the rest. Safe travels, miss!”

Aurelia was surprised to discover how much better she felt on the road, with the gates at her back and the road at her feet and the morning air soothing her cheeks. She had some time to herself before she was due to make her introductions, and it made the journey feel pleasant, almost leisurely. As such she took advantage of the free time she had: frequent stops to examine this plant or that, taking cuttings and scribbling illustrations and brief notations in her pocket journal. There would be ample time to study them later, but it was best to have aught that she would need on hand in case she forgot what she was about.

Not for the first time the Garlean noted (with a touch of chagrin) that the act of compilation would be easier done with a recording module. But there was no sense in wishing for things she couldn't have. It had been a good five years since she had had any access to magitek beyond the contents of her scavenged field kit.

As her porter rounded the bend and the town's gate came into sight, she felt her heartbeat pick up for a moment or two at the sight of the two burly figures in vermilion mail standing watch. Neither of them cast more than a cursory glance in her direction, however, and Aurelia passed through the opened gate without comment or incident.

The town of Horizon sat nestled at the edge of what seemed to be a large bluff, its iron-barred gate braced by a weathered sandstone wall— a natural fortification, she thought, recalling her long-lost texts on such matters. ‘Town’ might have been something of an elaboration, as this wasn’t much more than a barracks, a few warehouses, and a couple of dusty vending stalls with an aetheryte attached. Yet it was still remarkably busy for all that. The open plaza was bustling with laborers, well-dressed merchants, and the chirps of draught chocobos. 

Carefully, reins in hand, she dismounted before the stable on legs that felt somewhat unsteady, shouldered her belongings, and drew Momodi’s documents from her belt. Which warehouse she was supposed to check first, she had no idea. They all looked alike to her eyes.

“Why, hello there!” 

Aurelia looked up from her perusal to see a middle-aged Lalafellin man in a finely tailored tunic, waddling towards her at a pace as unhurried as the turning of the aetheryte in the plaza. “May I help you?”

“Well, help is what I’m hoping for,” he chuckled at his own joke. “Mistress Momodi told me she was sending over an adventurer from her guild to pick up some of our outstanding leves. Described you to me, too— or at least, I hope it’s you! Else this is going to be a very amusing story for us both when we part ways. Are you Aurelia?”

“Yes. You must be Master Dadanen.”

“Just Dadanen is fine, thank you.” The merchant hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his breeches with an expansive smile. “Well then, Miss Aurelia, I bid you good day and well come! You’ll find we’ve a much higher opinion of adventurers here in Horizon than they do in the city proper.”

“Thank you. Though if you don’t mind my saying so, the town seems a bit…”

“Incomplete? Aye, well, we’re something of a trading hub. Calamity didn’t hit us as hard as some other places so we’ve miners from the Concern loading product from their digs, merchants coming in from the port west of here with their wares, the Brass Blades covering this part of the desert from their station. And so on and so forth.”

“You’re quite busy, then,” she said.

“Well, that’s where you come in. Trade routes are starting to warm back up again now that the roads are seeing more travel. I’m not bemoaning the coin - of course not! - but we’re finding ourselves a bit short on skilled hands as a result. There shan’t be any shortage of work to be had while you’re with us, rest assured.”

Aurelia nodded, realizing this must be Momodi's condition for her assistance.

Well, why not? She was willing to deal with a tedious fortnight or so of culling pests for a little peace of mind. 

~*~

There were pests in abundance even in the desert, most of them down in the partially excavated Sil’dihn ruins just to the west of Horizon. Aurelia found the work to be mostly physical labor, as rough as anything she’d done in Ul’dah, primarily consisting of slogs through muddy water and enduring midge bites to trap peistes when she wasn’t running messages between the traders’ warehouses.

In short, precious little of note let alone monumental importance. Thanalan’s elite - and even many of its commoners - shared roughly the same regard for adventurers as they did refugees: dirty, uncouth foreigners, worthy only of the menial tasks they themselves saw as either trifling or beneath their dignity (and usually in her experience it was some combination of both those things). Five years into the realm’s recovery, there was still plenty of work even refugees wouldn’t do, or failing that, work hazardous enough to require a sellsword’s muscle in order to see it done. 

As such, that bare fortnight she’d projected was indeed about all the ‘novelty’ she could stand, at least where clearing stray traps and wild jackals were concerned. When Dadanen took her aside one afternoon and asked her to look into a missing shipment from the nearby mine and ensure that "naught untoward" might have waylaid it, she agreed with perhaps a touch more enthusiasm than he had expected. 

The old Copperbell mine was the closest landmark to the town, only a quarter-bell's walk down the dirt path. Aurelia could see the man her employer had described well before she reached the entrance; he was loitering a few fulms from the edge of the road with his pickaxe leaning against one of the wooden fenceposts, looking very put out indeed.

Other than that, she could see nothing she'd call 'untoward.' At least she could tell Dadanen his shipment hadn’t been waylaid by bandits as he’d feared. 

“Are you Drunken Stag?”

Dark eyes narrowed in that sun-weathered face. “Who’s asking?”

“Dadanen said he’s missing some crates that were due yesterday. Asked me to look into it.”

The man did not offer an apology, nor did he attempt to bluster or make excuses. Instead he turned his head and spat a thin stream of tobacco-stained spittle into the sand before tossing his chin, somewhat violently, in the direction of the mine shaft. Which, she realized upon closer inspection, was sealed shut. “Well, he’ll bloody well have to wait, just like the rest of us. Mine’s closed, on the Concern’s orders.”

Aurelia frowned. “What? He didn’t say anything about that.”

“End of day yesterday. Safety reasons, they said. Seems some incident down there’s kicked up a right ruckus.”

“Do we know what happened?”

“Does it matter? Godsdamned pain in my arse, whatever the hells it is,” he growled. “Beasts, voidsent, Garleans- it’s always somethin’ these days, everywhere a body turns! How’s a man bloody well supposed to feed hisself anymore?”

Aurelia bit back her sigh only with great difficulty. Dadanen was not known for his patience despite his polished manners, and Momodi had already warned her he was not an easy man to please. The more quickly she could return (preferably with whatever it was he’d asked for), the better. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could help this move faster.”

“Mm.” His squint lost its hostility in favor of a speculative cast. “…Might be as there’s something. Don’t think there’s aught you can do about the mine, but I'll tell you this much: most of Dadanen’s ‘product’ ain’t missing, just scattered, like. Nashachite from the upper shafts— the last few crates they managed to fill before the Concern shut us down. ‘Tis like as not the coblyns’ve got to ‘em by now, though, so if you could--”

“You need me to clear them out.” Aurelia already knew the shape of the request; it was work she'd done countless times since her arrival. He might as well have handed her one of the mark sheets she'd seen pinned on a separate board near the Exchange in Ul'dah. “I’ll round up what stones I can get back as well, if you can give me a description of them.”

“Hmm?"

"The stones you were mining," she repeated. "What do they look like? I've never seen nashachite before."

"Oh, right. Should’ve figured, I guess- most of you adventurin' sorts look to be foreigners these days. No offense, lass.” One finger scratched idly at the sweat-soaked folds of his bandana. “...Nashachite are green stones. Look like emeralds almost but kinda milky an' the color's... well, you’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em. They’re the only gem what still comes out of old Copperbell.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Much obliged, miss ‘venturer. And take your time. Ain’t like none of us're goin’ nowhere.”

Coblyns were a type of soulkin she had only encountered since coming to Thanalan. Tenacious rock-eaters with few natural predators, they tended to infest areas in large numbers and that made them difficult to remove once they’d claimed a foothold. Aurelia had discovered the paltry trick to dispatching them quickly and efficiently - as it happened, coblyns really didn’t like having rocks tossed at their crystalline shells, magical or not - so it didn’t take long to clear the rocky areas around the shafts.

Unfortunately, it was too little too late. The creatures had made themselves a tidy feast of the nashachite. After most of a day’s work she was only able to refill half a crate, much to their mutual chagrin. 

“Hells,” Drunken Stag grumbled. “Reckon we were too late.”

“I’d wager something is better than nothing.”

“We’d better hope Dadanen sees it that way. Still, that should be enough to save him from the worst of his troubles. There’s naught else to be done until the mine’s cleared of whatever the hells they found down there. He’ll have to be happy with what he gets for now.” The miner sighed ruefully into the contents of the box, removed his kerchief, and mopped his sweaty brow. “Need help haulin’ it back to town?”

Aurelia hefted the box onto one shoulder with a soft grunt, ignoring the surprise that flickered across his face. If anything she found the sight somewhat amusing. Larger men in particular always seemed a bit nonplussed when they witnessed a woman of her build doing any sort of heavy lifting.

“I’m fine.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Much stronger than I look, as it happens.”

“I can see that. Well, just be careful out there, you hear? We been hearin’ about shady sorts on the roads as of late. You just give a shout if you need help.”

“There’s bandits this close to Horizon?”

“There’s bandits damned nigh everywhere these days, hard times bein’ what they are. We hear about ‘em shakin’ down refugee camps and lone travelers all the time. Only this lot’s not been showin' themselves to be all that particular, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for a pretty lass like yourself to be caught out on your lonesome once the sun sets. Too dangerous.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, “you have my word. It’s not a long walk from here and I’m armed.”

Nevertheless, she took his advice and picked up her pace as much as she could once she left the mine behind her. The sun was fast sinking below the line of the bluffs.

=

Dusk heralded her arrival and as she'd hoped, Horizon's gates still stood open. In another bell or so the Brass Blades would draw the gate shut until cockcrow. Anyone unfortunate enough to arrive after the town curfew would be forced to find their own shelter, be they miner or merchant.

She passed the bored sentries with a soft sigh, juggling the crate on her shoulder into a more comfortable position. A cool, dry breeze whispered at the wisps of golden hair that had escaped confinement to curl at her temples and tickle the shells of her ears. The days were beginning to turn short and the nights cooler, a sure sign of incipient autumn even in this part of the world. 

Dadanen awaited her return in front of his warehouse office door, one small foot tapping impatiently against the cobbles. As Drunken Stag had predicted the merchant was none too pleased to have lost so much of his ‘product’ but beyond a vague grumbling kept his promise to pay her for the retrieval. He gestured to a nearby porter to retrieve the box of stones, passed her a small bag of coin, then paused to study her with a thoughtful frown.

“And you’re absolutely certain it was coblyns that got the lion’s share of them?” 

“Drunken Stag seemed to think so.”

“Mm. Well, I’d like you to go talk to the Blades on my behalf anyhow, first thing in the morning. One of them was actually asking me the other day if I might spare you for some work, so that’s two dodos with one stone, so to speak.”

Hells. She tried not to wince too visibly.

“…A Brass Blade is asking for me?”

“Aye. 'Twould seem young Fufulupa’s needing a runner for a message, or something of that nature. He didn’t elaborate on it, but I’m not surprised he requested you by name. You remember how impressed he was with that job you did for him, I’m sure.”

“The one with the midges?”

“The very same! The very same. But while you’re talking to him, ah… mayhap you could pass on a little suggestion to have the mine and the markets watched more closely for a few days? Just in case… well.” Dadanen’s smile was as false as it was broad. “Just in case. Not that I’m questioning anyone’s integrity, you understand. But it never hurts to be cautious, eh?”

Chapter Text

Aurelia was not keen on making herself known to the local enforcers of Ul’dahn law on a good day. The possibility that word of what had happened near the Coffer might have reached beyond the city guard, and her involvement therein, made her even more reluctant to do as Dadanen had asked. But she’d learned long ago that putting off unpleasant business did no one any favors, least of all herself. 

Thus she was up at cockcrow, with a quick wash and a hasty meal from her pack’s mess tin while she summoned the wherewithal to actually approach the Brass Blades’ compound so that Dadanen could have his complaint lodged. Despite his assurances she knew the man firmly believed his nashachite had been stolen, not devoured. Doubtless that was the real reason he was sending her onward, not due to a request from a local guard. But she was hardly in a position to say so to his face.

On the other hand, Aurelia remembered Fufulupa well: a young Lalafellin guardsman with silver-blue hair and a loud, carrying voice. His display of thanks when he’d found out she had singlehandedly put an end to most of the town’s midge infestation by destroying their nests had been very enthusiastic and not a little endearing.

More to the point, he was one of the very few Brass Blades she had ever met that she found to be both amicable and honest. She found it very difficult to see Fufulupa laying a trap for her or anyone else (if anything, he reminded her of a younger - and much smaller - Keveh’to). Certainly there were far worse people who could have taken notice of her.

It wasn’t difficult to find him; he was on gate duty today. He looked about to jitter right out of his armor at her approach— she wouldn’t have to enter their compound at least, she thought with no small amount of relief— and offered her a bow so deeply formal it was as if the sultana herself had set foot before him. 

“Miss Aurelia! A very good morning to you, my lady. What may I do for you?”

Aurelia shook her head. She’d told him a hundred times if she’d told him once not to call her ‘my lady’ but she supposed she could let it slip this once for the sake of time. “I’m told you were looking for me. Also Dadanen thinks someone might have stolen-”

“Nashachite?”

“…That, yes. The foreman thinks it was probably coblyns, but he wanted me to file a report, so…” 

“Understood, my lady! Say no more.” The young guardsman’s bright smile acted as counterpoint to his sharp, smart salute. “I’m sure Captain Baldewyn will be happy to place more of us on watch if it’ll put Dadanen’s concerns to rest. Who knows, we might even find something! Did he tell you about the job?”

“Only that you were looking for a runner.”

“Oh, it’s not a message, it’s a missing person— our usual runner. Seseli was supposed to take a message down to Lost Hope for me, but she hasn’t returned yet, and with all these attacks lately I’m worried something might have happened. I can’t leave my post to check on her but I know you can handle yourself well enough...”

“This is really a job for the Blades, isn’t it? If it’s official correspondence?” 

Fufulupa flushed like a guilty child, as though she’d caught him in the act of some mischief. She raised her brows. 

“Well, I… er. The truth is…” he shifted from foot to foot with a soft clink of his vermilion mail, “…I may have sent her of my own accord and told, um, a little white lie. Captain Leofric’s stationed at Lost Hope these days. He’s a good man and my good friend, and we’ve kept in touch since he left Horizon, but he never responded to my last letter. I was worried, so I wrote another and asked her to go to the outpost and make sure he received it.”

“I see.”

“I-I was going to tell Captain Baldewyn, of course! I simply wasn’t expecting this to happen.” At the sight of Aurelia’s thoughtful frown, he added hastily, “I’ll make certain you’re paid extra for the trouble. Out of my own pay packet, even. I know I’m asking for a very big favor, and you’ve already done so much for us as it-”

“You don’t need to worry about the gil,” she interrupted, and tried not to sigh at the relief that bloomed across his small face. 

~*~

Sunset over Vesper Bay from the vantage point their quarters afforded them was always a fantastic sight. The placid waters glittered beneath the gradient sky, pallid blue to pink-streaked orange, and beyond that the disc of the early evening sun, slipping by ilms below the horizon as day gave way to dusk. Minfilia Warde could see the first pinprick points of light that marked the stars, if she squinted hard enough. 

She shut her eyes and let a briny breeze stir the fine wisps of golden hair along her temples. In another bell or so that air would have a chilly bite, but for now it retained a pleasant, dry warmth that whispered against her skin. 

Sometimes Minfilia liked to come out on the short promenade and take in the view while Tataru was wrapping up the day’s affairs. The solar office was large and contained more than enough space for her needs (to say naught of Urianger’s quickly expanding library), but it lacked windows, and she was still not accustomed to being confined to a single room all day. It chafed at her no matter how much she understood the need not to draw attention to herself.

Out here she was, if not entirely divested of her worries, content in the moment. For now that was enough.

“Fancy meeting you here, Miss Antecedent,” a voice said at her back. “Taking the night air?”

“I half thought you’d have returned with a lady friend on each arm,” she teased. Full well did she know that beneath Thancred’s cavalier, flirty exterior lay a kind and steadfast heart. His loyalty was first and foremost to her: Master Louisoix might have passed the proverbial baton to her, but in his eyes she would always be the closest thing he had to family. A beloved younger sister. 

In the past few moons particularly, she had come to accept that connection with a great measure of comfort. No matter what storms they might weather in the days to come, she would always be able to depend on Thancred. 

“Oh come now, you know perfectly well I would do no such thing.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Mission debriefs make for remarkably poor date nights, for some strange reason.” He was grinning at her, clearly unfazed by her jest. “So I’ve been told.” 

Minfilia bestowed a warm, brief smile upon her companion before tilting her chin upward once more. “It’s a lovely evening,” she said. “We can talk out here if you’d like.”

“Tataru might object. You know she hates to miss out on all the latest gossip.”

“I can give her the particulars tomorrow. How is Raubahn?”

“Busy as all hells, same as us. He said there’s a few likely candidates in the Flames he can spare if we’ve need of them.”

“That’s very kind of him.” She folded her arms over her chest and felt beneath her palms the sharp prickling of gooseflesh raising the fine hairs from wrist to elbow. The warmth in the air was beginning to fade in earnest. “Truthfully, I was hoping the grand company might have found something that we could investigate on our own. These missing shipments bear further inspection.”

“The general is worried about it too, believe me— we spoke of it at some length. He’s got his people on the ground looking into the thefts and disappearances as we speak. Said he’d be in touch the moment he had a solid lead, but there’s a few angles they’re still working.”

Minfilia exhaled. “I see.”

“Give him time. He’s no Lolorito, but he still has plenty of underground connections from his bloodsands days. He’ll turn up something, I’m sure of it.” Thancred’s smile did not meet his eyes. There was an unhappy tension lingering there, one she knew all too well, and sure enough she watched him shift his weight from foot to foot, a fidgeting motion that betrayed his inner turmoil more surely than any words. ”Listen, I…”

“Thancred, you don’t need to apologize.”

“Yes, I do,” he said shortly. “I’m the one who wagered on that source, and I lost. I should have… I don’t know, taken a closer look at our other-”

“Our opposite number has too many fingers stirring the pot not to show their hand. We’ve tracked them down once. I’m certain there will be other chances.” Still smiling, Minfilia reached out and laid a careful hand on his shoulder. “And you came back in one piece. That’s what matters to me.”

“This does rather put us back at square one, you realize.”

“Then we’ll start over from the beginning if needs must. We don’t have so many people that I’m willing to see any of us take unnecessary risks.”

Thancred’s answer was a short and rueful laugh. “To tell the truth, I think the only part I played in the entire business was to scare him off. The woman he was fighting when I got there should get the credit, seeing as she did most of the work.”

“What do you mean? What woman?”

“You’ll not believe it, but it’s the exact same lady adventurer I ran into outside town a few sennights past. You remember her, right?”

“Possibly…” 

“The Midlander lass studying at the Phrontistery. The one that I said reminded me of you a bit.”

“Oh! Yes, thank you. I remember her now. Whatever was she doing all the way out there alone?”

“Kicking a hornet’s nest.” Slowly his smile faded. “I took her aside and talked to her about it. Hopefully she had the sense to listen– but aside from that…”

“Go on.”

“This was the part I wanted to talk to you about. Our masked friend wasn’t alone– he’d reanimated one of those constructs near the old waterworks ruins. You know the ones.”

“What? Those things are-”

“Deadly, aye. One novice adventurer, going toe to toe with a Sil’dihn stone guardian on her lonesome and naught but a conjurer’s kit? That thing should have ground her bones to dust.”

“That’s quite the feat, I agree. Not many can hold their own against-”

“No, Minfilia. She didn’t just ‘hold her own.’ She defeated the godsdamned thing. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.”

She couldn’t miss the note of awe that had crept into his voice. Thancred was not a man easily impressed, and hearing his account, she couldn’t say she faulted him for it. “Do you think that perhaps…?”

“She did mention something about a crystal the first time I met her. I’d say there’s a good chance the answer is yes.”

Minfilia felt hope swell in her chest— hope, and relief, in equal measure. 

Could it be? Have we finally found the one She was talking about?

Thancred wasn’t exaggerating by much, she knew that. The rulers of old Sil’dih had often deployed stone guardians as protectors of burial grounds and other sacred sites in its halcyon days. Many a Concern miner (and hopeful tomb-robber) had learned the hard way how brutally effective they were. What were the odds of finding an adventurer powerful enough to fend off such a threat with minimal aid, especially one awakened at the behest of an Ascian’s foul magicks? 

Of course, it could be a coincidence, but she doubted it. The only folk generally capable of such feats were, in her experience, Echo-blessed. 

“I should very much like to speak with her myself if at all possible. Do you think you could find her again?”

“It’s likely. Adventurers don't tend to stay in one place for very long, but if she’s in the city to study medicine as she says, we may be in luck. She’s not like to stray far from Ul’dah until her studies are done, and in the meantime there’s a few others Momodi’s sent my way that I’d like to talk to before they leave town.”

“All right. I trust your judgment, Thancred, you know that.” 

Minfilia cast her eyes out to the sea. The outline of the moon shone atop each ripple that lapped at the sea wall like the lights of a crystal. For the first time since she could remember, she felt the invisible weight she had carried since Louisoix’s death begin to ease itself - ever so slightly - from the yoke it had placed upon her shoulders.

Everything is going to be all right. I can feel it.

~*~

“Oh, thank you, miss!”

“Think naught of it.” Aurelia shouldered the field kit with a smile. The chocobo made a quiet wark and nudged its rider in the back with the curved surface of its thick beak. “She seems to be feeling better already. I wouldn’t ride her for a few days, though. That foot needs to heal, and it’ll do so faster if she’s not bearing additional weight on it.”

“Aye, I’ll be careful. I should be getting back if Fufulupa’s as concerned as you say- but miss, only if you’re certain about this.”

“What, delivering one message? I’ve done far worse, and I have two good legs and plenty of daylight left. All I need is directions.”

“All right. It’s easy enough to find— just follow the mine car tracks on your way down the ridge, turn left when you get to the Coffer and Coffin, and the road'll take you straight into Black Brush. The encampment’s about a malm or so to the northeast from there. But mind your surrounds. Lost Hope’s a bit… rough.” She gave her injured beast a gentle tug of the reins. “Come along, old friend. I’ll get you some greens once we’re back.”

I can safely say that’s the first time I’ve ever had a chocobo for a patient.

Satisfied that the pair would be all right off on their own, she turned her attention back to the dusty road beneath her feet. There was little else of note in her surrounds other than the narrow rail ties running parallel alongside, and that in itself was not a novel sight to her all considered. Beyond the bounds of Ul’dah, the desert was wide and lonely, malms of scrubland and rock formations stretching in every direction, and the eerie rustle of wind in the brush never failed to make her feel slightly uneasy. She supposed it would stay that way until she was acclimated in truth. 

But she had few complaints - after all, she’d known from the outset that her relocation was a personal favor disguised as a temporary reassignment - and once word had spread, one job had of course led to another, and that was how Aurelia now found herself alone on a desert road, covered in grime and sweat with a Brass Blade’s message in her bag. 

Despite the worry about Lolorito that still nested at the back of her mind, her steps felt light and her heart calm. This wasn’t quite the future she had envisioned for herself as a bright-eyed medical student at the Academy, perhaps, but there were worse outcomes. 

Momodi could have sent any novice adventurer with a half-sharpened blade and a basic understanding of where they might stick the pointy bit, and she knew that. 

She peered down at the message in her hand - somewhat crumpled and worse for wear - and smoothed out the crease that had formed during its short-lived chocobo ride. Fufulupa was one of the most high-strung men she’d ever met but a good sort, for a Brass Blade. He hadn’t cut corners on the message, either. The wax seal, bearing the imprint of a stylized rose, was still intact. 

With a rueful smile Aurelia tucked it into her satchel and continued onward. 

A scant half-bell later she crested a small hill and paused for water and a brief respite in the meager shade of a mesquite tree, squinting against the sun’s glare. Not too far from the Coffer and Coffin she could make out the haphazard collection of patchwork tents dotting the shores of a small oasis— that had to be the refugee settlement Fufulupa’s messenger was talking about. Even from this distance it made the shoulder-to-shoulder tents and windbreaks of Wallcreek and Stonesthrow look like Ruby Road palaces.

She adjusted her satchel, tucked away the waterskin, and made the descent. 

There was an unhampered view of the encampment once she was out of Black Brush; each step that brought her closer only served to underscore the camp’s squalor. The tents were barely that- little more than tattered scraps of cloth worn thin with their unceasing exposure to Thanalan’s sandstorms and straight-line gales, and unlike the tent cities outside Ul’dah’s walls there was precious little in the way of good windbreaks on this side of the ridge. Faded and torn hempen canvases flapped with each gust of the western wind, their frayed edges catching upon the spiny arms of the cactuars that surrounded them. 

She thought then of the Standing Corses — earth scorched and rendered barren, brittle bones of trees clinging to a last vestige of life — and felt a strange combination of pity and unease. 

Aurelia glimpsed movement within one of the tents and nearly stopped to speak until she noticed the pallid, thinned hand curling in a fistful of dirty cloth. There was something clutched in the fingers, something it set upon bare hard-packed sand before it went still and limp next to the threadbare pallet. Glassy eyes glittered like quartz from the half-light within, their owner’s gaze locked upon a fixed point beyond the path. Whatever the cause might be, the person was completely oblivious to her presence. 

She moved on. A hollow-eyed woman crouching upon the ground with a basket of dried reeds caught sight of her and clutched a spindle-thin toddler to her chest, lips tight with mistrust as she glared at the passing newcomer. On the other side of the path a dog growled anxiously at her approach, more skin and bone than aught else, and before a third tent an old man muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath while poking listlessly at the sand. The weathered splinter he held in his fingers was blackened at the end and worn soft.

It took long moments before she was able to piece together the difference between this camp and all the others she’d seen. Wallcreek and Stonesthrow teemed with stories of loss and desperation, but there remained a sense of shared community in the face of their hardships. While Fifiri and Morris did their rounds and Aurelia did their busywork, she was always waking up to noise and movement. Young mothers buying butcher’s scraps at hastily erected market stalls, children at play, the elderly tending to their household tasks while those looking for work traveled back and forth through the city gates (beneath, of course, the watchful eyes of the Brass Blades). 
 
Life, in short. This place was—
 
“Who are you?”

Three figures in familiar vermilion had noticed her as she entered the small clearing: two men and a woman. The man crouched by the fire cast an indifferent look in her direction and went back to polishing the helm in his hands. A tall woman with the look of a Highlander stood at a cookfire, nursing the contents of a small iron pot. 

The other was the man who had addressed her; he had braced his hands in the dirt where he lounged. Aurelia paused mid-step, expecting him to interrogate her or grab his weapon or at least stand to meet her face to face. Instead he remained seated in the same nonchalant posture, staring up at her in expectant silence from beneath indifferently kept shoulder-length dark hair. It was without a doubt the strangest reception she’d received from the city guard yet.

Nevertheless, she had a job to do and she would see it done. 

“I’ve come from Horizon to deliver a message.”

“Bollocks,” the woman said, casting Aurelia a sullen glance as she removed her hand from the ladle. “There’s only one runner willing to come out here from the barracks, and that’s Seseli.”

“I found her on the road. Her bird was injured so I offered to take it the rest of the way.” She reached into her satchel — slowly and carefully — and removed the neatly sealed document. The woman made no attempt to stop her, but it was clear from her furrowed brow that she wasn’t convinced. “Sergeant Fufulupa sent me looking for a Captain Leofric. I have a letter with the seal on it.”

“Stand down, Amalberga,” the unkempt Brass Blade grunted, hauling himself upright with a rattling jingle of his chain mail. “I’ll handle this.”

“Leofric-”

“No bandit’s going to resort to trickery to enter the camp, not when they’ve the numbers to take it by force. Let me see his message.” 

Aurelia dropped the sealed missive into the sand-coated palm of Leofric’s glove, where he studied the pattern impressed into the wax seal with a thoughtful hum. “He said he’s written you several times and heard nothing back— he offered to pay me from his own purse. I suppose he was worried about you.”

“Suppose he was, if he sent you all this way out of pocket.” The Brass Blade shook his head with a rueful sigh. “…Far too earnest for his own good, that lad. I wish he’d stop calling me his captain.”

“Are you not a captain?”

“Not anymore. Demoted three moons past. I accepted a transfer out here instead of dismissal- the polite way of telling me my career is over.” Leofric’s hand clenched into a fist, crumpling the scroll in his hand, and tossed it into the fire pit. “That’s why Amalberga and I are here, ‘guarding’ this bump in the road. Welcome to Lost Hope, adventurer. This is where dreams and ambitions come to die.”

He didn’t sound angry or even bitter; there was naught in his voice or his mien save a flat, grim sort of acceptance. Aurelia wasn’t sure what to say, so she decided to change the subject the best way she knew how. 

“Someone in a tent back near the road is in a bad way. I saw-”

“Aye. I know who it is you’re talking about,” he interrupted. “Not much you can do for her though. Some of these folks over time have got themselves a taste for the dreamweed. It’s always been a popular pastime but even more so these days. More’s the pity.”

“I thought the Blades had a standing policy to confiscate somnus.”

“Who’s going to be doing the confiscating? The most powerful gangs have somnus dens hidden throughout the desert— raid one, and two more take their place. Even if we were of a mind to risk it, it’s just the three of us overseeing this place. Not like any other soul gives a Qiqirn’s arse about these poor bastards.” He spat into the fire pit with a grimace. “Anyroad. You’ve done your job, now you should get moving. No point in wasting daylight.”

The gruff dismissal failed to conceal his worry; Aurelia could see it in the deepening crease in his brow and the unhappy bow of his mouth. “Surely there must be something I can do to help.”

“You’d be better off helping yourself. The quickest way to do that is to go back the way you came.”

Her inner pragmatist agreed with him. It was already mid-afternoon and all things considered, she was potentially in enough hot water as matters stood. But all she could see in her mind’s eye was that dull and sightless gaze from the tent. Somnus or no, the despair had been palpable since she set foot in this place, and if it was within her power…

Well, Seseli would have let Fufulupa know she had gone on ahead, surely.

“And leave you all in dire straits? I’m sorry, but I insist.”

“Miss-”

“I can’t pretend I haven’t seen this. Let me see to your people’s ills.”

“Not a chance,” Amalberga said, before her superior could reply. She folded her gauntleted arms across her chest. “None of these folk would trust an adventurer farther than they could throw one. ‘Twas hard enough a sell to let the sisters in Drybone tend them. Why’re you so bleeding set on this, anyroad?” 

“I’m a chirurgeon - and an alchemist - by trade.” The entire time, Leofric had been squinting at Aurelia and taking her measure. Fighting the impulse to fidget beneath his inspection was difficult enough without complicating matters. Best to do what she’d been doing since she set foot in Thanalan and stick as close to the truth as possible. “Adventuring is something of a sideline.” 

“That so? Huh. A ‘venturing barber. Don’t that beat all.” He braced his hands on his hips and, for a brief moment, glanced out in the direction of the road with an expression that was almost wistful. The moment passed nigh as soon as she'd seen it come, and when he turned his attention back to her it was with a resolute nod. “Well, if I can’t stop you I can’t stop you. But you’ve been warned. Don’t expect aid or sympathy if there’s consequences for it.” 

Aurelia nodded. 

“Suppose you’ll be needing supplies and such.” 

“I have everything I need. Aside from our  friend near the road, do any of your people have complaints?” 

“Loaded question if I’ve ever heard one,” Blayves scoffed from his perch at the campfire. “Easier to wonder what they ain’t complaining about, if you ask me."

“Jests aside,” Leofric said with a warning glance at his underling, “we’ve a number of folk with the trots and a couple with lung agues. I'd say that most of these folk truly need isn’t something you or I can give them. Water. Proper shelter. Some godsdamned dignity— nigh all of ‘em fled their villages with only the clothes on their backs, and the powers that be won’t lift a finger. Sure you saw the tent cities for yourself on leaving Ul’dah.” 

“I did." Would that I were in any position to provide more. But unfortunately she could not. She was not Kan-E-Senna or Cheerful Sparrow for that matter, but Aurelia had her own ways of helping, and she needed Leofric to see that. There were things she could do for them now, not just in some distant and nebulous future. "You mentioned stomach upset. Has there been aught beyond that?” 

“Not that I’ve seen. Blayves has been keeping an eye on it, though. Last godsdamned thing we need is another case of bloody flux spreading through the settlement. We’ve troubles aplenty as it stands.” 

Another case? That doesn't sound promising...

“If it's been an ongoing problem, then I’d like to check the camp midden, if there is one. Their water source too.” 

“Don't know about a midden, but there's a small pool I know the refugees use to fill their waterskins and aught else that's needful. I can take you out there myself while these two keep watch. You sure you'll not be needing a basin or aught else? In case their humours need balancing or… whatever it is you lot do.” 

“Not necessary. Fouled water is more like to be the culprit than bad blood, and I don’t bleed my patients in any case.” 

The looks they gave her were decidedly skeptical but at length Leofric gave her a slow nod. For now, at least, it seemed he was willing to listen. 

“Fair enough. That pool's just down the ridge that way," he pointed, "on the far side of the Heir from here. Follow me.” 

Chapter Text

“Seven hells,” Aurelia swore. “This is their drinking water?” 

Her words didn’t carry along the rocks, muffled as they were beneath the forearm hastily clamped over her nose and mouth.

The stench was absolutely horrendous. It was by far the worst smell she’d ever encountered. She’d been very surprised to learn that the refugees weren’t using the creek that ran through the caves as it was much closer to the settlement and less risky, but she’d seen for herself the runoff from the nearby mine polluting the water when Leofric led her through it. 

Aurelia stood at the edge of the pool, thankful for the spare set of worn water boots Amalberga had (grudgingly) lent out. Her steps had sunk nearly an ilm into a patch of slimy mud. Before her eyes lay stagnant water, partially coated in green algae bloom, its still surface broken here and there by suspicious lumps and choked with patches of tiny grey-white dots. 

Any faint hope - or assumption - that the people of Lost Hope had found a better water source were solidly laid to rest. She coughed into her arm, fighting the urge to dry heave as Leofric watched her with tired eyes. 

“And bathing. And washing,” the Midlander said at last. “There’s another pool on the far side of the cave system that’s much cleaner, but it’s too close to Amalj’aa territory and most folk don’t want to take the risk. Not with all the travelers that have been going missing. We’ve already had a few leave us to look for work in the city — hells, Black Brush — and never return.”

“I take it that’s not been reported,” she said, unable to keep the rebuke out of her voice. The disgraced captain shrugged, but this time it seemed more helpless than nonchalant. 

“It’s like I told you before. No one gives a damn about a few missing refugees, especially not the sort who frequent this camp.” 

“Well, silver lining, I think it’s safe to say the problem has presented itself.” Her eyes scanned the trees and scrubby bushes clustered about the bank until she saw what she was looking for. “Hand me that piece of deadfall, if you would, Cap- Leofric. I want to see something.” 

With a soft grunt and a grimace he squatted down and reached, carefully, until his hand could grasp the stick with touching the mud or the algae-slick water. After she took it from him he wiped his hand along the leg of his breeches, then coughed to cover his gag when Aurelia knelt in the mud to lower one end of the withered thorny branch into the filth.

When she made an experimental stirring motion with it, Leofric gave a full-body shudder. “Between you and me,” he muttered, “I don’t know how they stand this either.” 

She managed a strained laugh. At least the nose-blindness was setting in. 

“Please tell me they’ve been boiling it before using it to cook. The alternative is too much to bear.” 

“Pretty certain they do. There’s eft and orobon in the waters, but they taste of silt. I’m told a long cook time helps to make the meat more edible—what there is of it.” Leofric shook his head. “I never thought I’d eat something that actually made me miss aldgoat steaks.” 

Once Aurelia’s makeshift probe ventured beneath the algae she felt the branch snag in something ponderously heavy. 

“Oh hells,” she winced. “There’s definitely something in there.” 

“I’m almost tempted to say leave it be. What we’ve seen is dire enough.” His lips drew back in a disgusted rictus. “… Go on, girl, don’t keep us in suspense.” 

“Right. Better brace yourself.” 

With painstaking care she fished her catch out of the water only to fling it onto the sands with a revolted curse. The marmot on the other end had been dead and decomposing for a few days, if its stiff limbs and bloated belly were any indication. About a fulm or two at her back, she heard Leofric losing his own battle to keep his innards intact. 

“I was right,” he grunted, spitting another mouthful of bile into a stand of low-grown prickly pear. His face was the color of paper. “Should’ve left it be.” 

“Then the problem would only get worse.” 

“True.” That appraising look of his returned in force, although with a touch more warmth than it had held before. “You’ve a strong stomach.” 

“A learned skill, I’m afraid.” 

“And a certain... air about you, at that. I'll confess, I thought at first that you must be some well-heeled lady playing at ‘venturing. Leeching, too.” At the sight of her raised brows Leofric added (rather hastily), “Well, then. Doesn’t matter what I think, does it? Apologies, miss adventurer. First impressions ain’t always right, I suppose.” 

Aurelia spared him a smile. “I think I can overlook it this once. For the greater good.” 

“Gracious of you. So what now?” 

“Now? We dispose of the corse. Then we go back to the camp and tell people all water is to be boiled until further notice— and no more bathing or washing their clothes in the pools or streams directly.” 

“That’s not going to make you very popular, you know.” 

“ ‘Tis well I’m not here to win a popularity contest.” She managed to regain her feet, breathing through her mouth in an attempt to escape the putrid stink of waterlogged decomposition. “It’ll help to stem any further sickness in the camp, and that’s what matters. Now let’s find some kindling and burn this godsdamned thing before it attracts something worse.” 

==

It was perhaps two bells past when they returned to Lost Hope, both filthy and stinking of sweat and smoke. Amalberga awaited them at the roadside entrance, arms folded across her chest and brown eyes hard as granite.  As they drew closer, Aurelia espied a livid bruise forming along her jaw.

“What took so long?” she demanded, casting a fierce and accusatory glare from her superior to the woman at his side. “You told us it would be quick. Just a walk out to the pool and back.”

“We’d have been back sooner, but we found the source of the flux. The water’s been fouled,” he dug a scrap of stained linen and wiped his sweat-soaked brow. “We’ll need to tell the camp to-”

“No time for that right now.” 

“Hold on, hold on. ‘We don’t have time’? Did something happen?” 

She let out a sigh that could well have been taken for disgust if not for the flat, angry shine in her eyes.

“It’s the godsdamned Quiverons. Again. You hadn’t been gone a bell before that lot came strolling into the camp like they owned it.” 

“Again? Seven hells, this is the third time in the past fortnight.” Leofric ran a hand down his stubbled cheek. “…Any injured?” 

“Blayves tried to send them on their way. Got a nasty clout over the head for his trouble, the damned fool,” she growled, then winced as the movement pulled at her own bruised cheek. “Not that I’ve room to talk. Shouldn’t have tried to step in but the whoresons helped themselves to most of our stores. And my bleeding coinpurse, as if that weren’t enough. I don’t doubt they’ve gone to piss it all away down at the Coffin.” 

Aurelia caught her lower lip between her teeth and cast a thoughtful stare out towards the road. Orange-tinged light from the fading afternoon sun stretched the cactus shadows like taffy. “Surely they would have had better spoils from one of the caravans.” 

“The Sunroad caravans are well guarded— there’s always at least a full squad for escort,” Leofric pointed out. “Why would anyone risk a skirmish with half a dozen Brass Blades when there’s a safer option? There’s hardly anything here, that’s true, but what little we have is easy pickings for that lot.” 

“I can go fetch them back for you.” 

“No. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”

“They won’t hurt me.”

Some vestige of steel must have been present in her voice, because the two Brass Blades cast a long look at her, then each other.

“…Their compound sits nigh atop the Clutch, girl,” Leofric said carefully, as if trying to decide how to best refuse her offer. “Even if the bugs don’t make a meal of you, the camp’s lookouts would sight you before you were halfway up the hill.” 

“I’ll be fine. I know how to stay hidden.” Not that there were many places to hide, but nightfall was coming fast— they were a bell out from sunset, no more than that. If she timed her arrival well enough, they would be on even footing. “Besides, I don’t think that any of that lot can see in the dark. They’d fare no better than I would, at any rate.”

“I still don’t think you should-”

“Oh, let her go, Leofric!” Amalberga snapped. “Thal’s balls, man. If she’s so keen to take on the entire gang by herself, it’s her hide.” 

“Thanks,” Aurelia said, not quite able to keep the wry note out of her reply. “I'll try to be careful. How far is their lair from here?” 

The other woman squinted at her for a long moment. It was quite obvious Amalberga thought her mad, but if the sour twist of her lips was aught to judge by, she was also not nearly as scrupled as her superior about letting an especially insistent adventurer walk into certain danger.

“Their ‘lair’ is a shack and some tents maybe a quarter bell’s walk from here. It's a windbreak and little else, for now. Their leader might be there too, adventurer-- if you’re really feeling lucky.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” Leofric said, and for the first time Aurelia truly understood what Fufulupa saw in the man. His brow knitted with genuine concern as he watched her double check her belt and satchel. “I mean it, miss. We can figure out a way to replace the food they took— make some kind of arrangement with the Concern fellows and their suppliers. Even if there’s no help from Horizon, Black Brush is just down the road.” 

“I’ll be fine,” she repeated. She shrugged her black bag from her shoulder; it hit the sand with a muffled thump. “Just keep watch over this for me, would you?” 

“Adventurer-“ 

Aurelia was already walking towards the dirt path. 

“If I’m not back over that ridge by cockcrow,” she called over her shoulder, “then you can sound the alarum.” 

~*~

It was what her governess would have called a soft night. Other than the occasional whicker of a cicada and bird calls, all was still save for the brisk breeze sweeping down into the basin.

The fresh air smelled especially sweet after a day spent digging around in the filth of a soiled river embankment, burning an animal carcass. She kept one hand upon her holstered wand as she walked, careful to keep the crunch of her footsteps against the dirt and gravel as muffled as possible. Bad enough if she alerted people to her presence, let alone a hungry antlion. 

Aurelia was glad that neither Leofric nor Amalberga had chosen to insist she remain. It was clear they didn't much rate her chances but she didn’t really want them to know how green she was in truth. Basic military training or no, she was no fighter and had never claimed to be such, and there were things about her own aether that as a woman raised in a society bereft of magic she still had much and more to learn. She still didn’t know how she had managed to take down that stone creature- had it truly been a mere sennight? It felt as though it had happened ages ago.

She supposed she ought to be more worried about just how she was going to deal with a passel of bandits with naught save her wand and her wits, especially not knowing how many there were, or what feats they themselves might bring to bear against her.

But it didn’t matter. If the Brass Blades watching the camp weren’t able to do something, then someone had to step in. 

About a quarter-bell into her walk she paused at the side of the road to get her bearings. Black Brush lay a couple of malms at her back, and from the bend into the shallow gully she could just make out the shape of an incline. Atop that there was the faint but telltale flicker of multiple campfires, and the moving shadows of men.

“There you are,” Aurelia whispered.

She moved with especial care through the patchy brush, just the way she’d learned to walk in the Shroud, footsteps deliberate and quiet along her path as navy gave way to star-flecked black. It was a new moon tonight and there was precious little other than sound to mark her passing. The wind made her nervous- she still smelled strongly of sweat and ashes, and she’d be lucky if they didn’t smell her before they saw her.

But as she drew closer she realized a good stink wasn’t going to matter overmuch. The entire camp smelled like road dust and a ripe armpit. And even if it hadn’t, should the sounds of raucous laughter and idle chatter just ahead be aught to judge by, the miscreants in question were devoting far more of their attention to their cups than their surroundings.

Good. That would make things easy. 

“Damnation! Wasn’t anything to split today from that whole take,” a nearby voice rumbled. “Waste of bleedin’ time. You'd think them Blades might’ve had some coin, at least.”

“Don’t rightly know what you were expecting from a bunch of refugees, mate. Ain’t one got a pot to piss in ‘twixt the lot of ‘em.”

Don’t rustle, bush. Don’t rustle, bush. Slowly Aurelia unhooked her wand from her belt, leaned forward a brace of ilms, and squinted at what she could see of the two figures sitting before the fire pit. A Roegadyn and a Lalafell– neither an uncommon sight in Thanalan. 

She tensed at the soft rustling from the scrub beneath her feet, but the moment passed without incident and the noise went unnoticed (or most likely, the bandits had merely attributed it to the wind whistling around the rocks). 

The Lalafell continued to tend to the roasting rabbit carcass he was turning on a makeshift spit. Fitful firelight flickered like candles over his slouched shoulders. “What I want to know is, when’s the Baron gonna give us some real jobs?” he complained with a heavy sigh. “We could be pullin’ so much more than bags o’ popotoes and loose change.”

“Can’t say I got complaints meself. Easy work’s easy work.”

“Aye, stealin’ from poor folk’s easy enough, sure, but that’s the point. They’re poor. There’s no gil in it. No bleedin’ challenge, neither.”

“Not for you, mayhap.” 

An ugly cackle echoed across the pit.

“Ha! That Blade stuck you good, did she? At least you managed to cut the purse before she decked you for good measure.”

The Roegadyn’s thin lips drew down in a sour tilt. “…Don’t you be flappin’ that tongue of yours to the others, now. You hear me, Jijikuno? I mean it. Last thing I need’s for them to find out that punch came from a lass half my size.”

Aurelia had heard enough. She drew herself from her hiding place, shrugged her buckler onto her forearm, and cast.

Before the astonished bandits could react, the sphere of wind aether spun from the tip of her wand to strike the spit full force. It collapsed into the fire pit, rabbit and all, and in its wake a handful of stray embers caught the small gale. Propelled by the wind shear, they blasted outward from the pit and straight into a nearby tent canvas. With a dull whump, the dry, sun-brittled fabric burst into flames.

“Fire!” the Roegadyn shouted. “To arms! Invader in the-”

Stone hurtled into his temple and struck him senseless. He crumpled to the sand. 

His Lalafellin companion let out a frightened bleat and bolted for the relative safety of the main camp: an attempt at escape which availed him nothing at all, for the night wind - so soft and pleasant upon the road - was far stronger upon the crest of this hill. It took only a brace of seconds for a sharp gust to send burning pieces of canvas aloft and into the remaining tents. As old and faded and brittle from heat as they were, they were little more than kindling.

Aurelia hastily snatched a cloth from her belt pouch to cover her nose and mouth. 

Despite the alarum raised (an attempt had been made, at any rate), none of the bandits had yet spotted the slim figure hurrying up the hill to its zenith. They were desperately trying to save their ill-gotten gains, yanking boxes and burlap sacks and personal belongings from their tents as fast as they could manage to toss them into haphazard piles on the sand. The fire’s hungry roar nigh drowned the alarmed shouts and pounding footsteps running to and fro.

“Water!” a strident voice roared, from the entry to the rickety shack a couple of yalms away— another Lalafell, this one rather more richly attired in a robe that looked new and a thaumaturge’s staff gripped in one small hand. “Get sand if you must but put it out, you thrice-damned fools!”

The two men flanking the worn wooden doorframe darted into the clearing and down the path towards the tents, scrabbling furiously at their belts for their waterskins. Aurelia watched them go, mind spinning over the possibilities now left open to her. These men didn’t seem terribly strong on their own.

If she managed to convince their leader to stand down or simply to leave the refugees be, then perhaps--

She cast forth another handful of earth-aspected aether, aiming at his shoulder. The small man staggered backwards with a curse on his lips but kept his footing, eyes darting about for the attack’s source, and as he did Aurelia stepped out of the shadows and smoke with her wand in hand.

“You,” the bandit leader spat, teeth bared like an angry jackal’s. “You’re that Hyur bitch my men saw near the mines. Poking about our business, were you, adventurer?”

Aurelia took a minute to think about whom he might be referring to and came up with nothing. She hadn’t been paying very close attention to the figures milling about the shaft entrances at the time, not when all her focus had been upon retrieving Dadanen’s gemstones (and helping a hapless foreman avoid his employer's misplaced wrath).

“Who put you up to this?” he demanded without waiting for a response. His eyes, narrowed to small and deadly slits, reflected the flickering light from below. Flames seemed to leap from his dark and dilated pupils as though he were a denizen of one of the seven hells. “The Concern? That meddling fool Fufulupa? You should’ve left well enough alone.”

She turned a steely gaze upon his small face.

“No one ‘put me up’ to anything," she said. "I do as I please.”

For a moment they stood at an impasse, each staring down the other. Smoke from the fire still rose despite the bucketfuls of sand flying in great arcs towards the ruined canvas, beginning to dissipate now but still heavy on the air. It tickled her throat in a distinctly unpleasant fashion and she had to sit hard on the urge to cough.

The scoundrel’s lips drew back in a sneering rictus, exposing a small row of yellowing teeth.

“I am Ser Baron von Quiveron Esquire III,” he announced. “Mark that name well, adventurer. 'Twill be the last you ever hear.”

Ser Baron von— what? Did he just string together a lot of noble-sounding titles and call it fine? 

She might have laughed if the situation were even slightly less serious. As it was, a few beats of nonplussed silence was all it took for Ser Baron? Quiveron? (why was that name so familiar?) to realize that his threat had not had the chilling effect that he had hoped. His mocking smile faded by ilms until his teeth disappeared behind the flat, angry line of his thin lips. 

The marbled stone crowning his staff shimmered crimson as he raised it again and she understood he meant to cast whether she was prepared or not. 

No time left for aught now save a quick defense. Aether surged around her, drawing forth an earthen barrier that sank into her skin. Fire exploded across her arms and licked at her clothing but it was gone as soon as it came, sinking into her shield and leaving her unscathed. Quiveron gawped at her in unconcealed shock.

His sudden yowl of rage, nigh as incandescent as the flames that surrounded them, rose into the night air like a castrum siren. 

“I’ll show you!” he screamed. His small feet minced and stomped in the sand as he waved his staff in wide and furious circles. “No one crosses the Quiveron gang and lives! No one! I’ll make you beg for death before I’m done with you!”

An icy coldness dug its shards into the pit of her belly. He was about to do something; an unwholesome purple-black cloud now whirled about the red eye of his staff, as if he had plucked a wisp of darkness from the very sky itself. 

In that moment Aurelia acted upon sheer instinct, instinct and some half-remembered knowledge: she reached into the land and grasped at its aether and pulled, as hard as she could.

Suddenly she didn’t feel the heat from the fire at all anymore. She imagined herself lifting the massive rocks from the corpus of that mighty construct, the creek water rushing around her ankles, the hot afternoon wind against her cheeks. Earth and water heaved beneath her frame, yielding to her demand with a shout.

“Br-” he began, but whatever spell Quiveron had meant to cast was halted in its tracks, dying mid-utterance upon his lips as Aurelia’s earth-powered waterspout slammed into the center of his midsection. It sent him careening through the air and over the lip of the upper path, tumbling back-first into one of the tents that had not yet been extinguished and wreathing his fine linen robe in flames. 

Over the roaring of the fire she could hear the man’s screams, now loud and desperate- and agonized, and her gut seemed to drop as though she were in freefall.

Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare. You didn’t have a choice, a small voice snapped in the back of her mind. He forced your hand.

And he had. She couldn’t deny the truth of it. He meant every one of his threats, she had seen that much within the baleful mica glitter in those eyes. But the knowledge did naught to settle her churning stomach. 

The screaming had stopped. Her legs quivered, hip to ankle, like a newborn fawn’s. 

Stop that. Pull yourself together. There’s bound to be something in that shack; no doubt the little bastard was keeping the choicest spoils for himself. Now get moving. You have as long as it takes them to realize their leader’s beyond saving. 

That curt, angry voice finally set her frozen legs to moving, albeit she felt like a clockwork toy wound with an invisible key. Her steps felt stiff and unnatural as she stumbled across the threshold and into the remains of the old Brass Blades guardhouse. 

It didn’t take more than a glance to see that the inner voice’s assertion was correct: this was where the gang’s leader had been stashing the best of the food his men had pilfered. His stores were hardly what one would call a king’s ransom but there was more than enough to ensure the refugees of Lost Hope would eat well at least for a fortnight or two. 

She cast another look about the dusty room, squinting as her eyes adjusted, and in the opposite corner saw a small rickety table covered in all manner of books and papers. Upon closer inspection there sat a small leather pouch atop a pile of scrolls, drawn closed with a cord. Aurelia hefted the pouch in one hand and heard the clink of gil.

She had no idea how much a guardswoman’s pay would be, but surely this would be enough coin to satisfy Amalberga and buy aught else that was needful for the camp besides. 

With two swift motions she looped the cord securely to her simple leather belt… and as she turned away from the table to grab the bags of food a snatch of red caught her eye. Red wax, carmine-colored and marked with a very familiar seal. She had delivered an official scroll bearing just such a seal not twelve bells past. 

The Garlean frowned at it, tracing the waxy petals of the stylized rose with one fingertip. One of Fufulupa’s letters, maybe…? 

Worth investigation when she had a spare moment, but that moment was not now. She shoved the document into her belt pouch with all haste as she crossed the room, then hoisted two large bags of food over her shoulder. The hefty weight of the pilfered treasure staggered her in place for a heart-stopping moment; with a grimace she braced her legs and shifted her back until the load she bore was steady enough for her to stand upright and move quickly. 

Due to the prevailing course of the night breeze, the guardhouse and the thorn-laden scrub at its rear had yet to catch any of the remaining embers. Aurelia swiftly slipped from the doorway, using the long shadow of the building to move like a hunting wolf as she sought another path down from the hill to the dirt road- and found one: the scrub had concealed a narrow outcropping of rock and dirt just wide enough for one person to pass. It would be somewhat risky going down but if she was careful she’d be able to make it back to the camp without drawing attention. 

By the time Quiveron’s men made it back to the guardhouse, it was to find the door standing wide open, two sets of footsteps clustered in the sand, and no intruder to be found.

Chapter Text

“You killed him?”

Aurelia felt an uncomfortable prickle on the back of her neck. 

The two Brass Blades were still staring at her in open astonishment. It had been nearly a quarter bell since she strolled into the camp with her trophies to explain that Ser Baron of the Inexplicably Pretentious (and unreasonably long) Name would no longer be bothering the people of Lost Hope, and both of them seemed a bit stuck on the notion that she had taken care of the bandits on her own.

“He didn’t leave me much choice,” she said. The words fell flat on her ears, almost emotionless, only increasing her unease. 

Leofric was the first to recover: he put away the sword he’d brandished at the sound of her approach. The tension in her limbs relax by bare ilms- perhaps she would not have to contend with the arm of the law, after all. 

“I see you’ve brought back spoils. What’s in the sacks, then?”

“I took as much from their food stores as I could carry. It should keep the folk here for a fortnight or so.” She unlaced the coin purse from her belt pouch and tossed it in their direction; Leofric had to lunge to catch it. The gil inside jingled softly upon impact with his open palm. “Not the purse they stole from Amalberga, I’m afraid, but one hopes it will suffice.”

“Adventurer-”

“I need to wash up,” she gestured to a nearby stand of rock and cactus with a jerk of her chin. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Tired and in low spirits, Aurelia excused herself before either could protest and made her way past the windbreaks. Her sense of purpose and focus had faded with each step she took away from the bandits’ camp, and now she felt every ilm of her fatigue and her back and shoulders ached from the load she’d carried back with her. 

It wasn’t that she feared fighting, but even on her sojourns within the depths of the Shroud as a conjurer, she had never found herself forced to fight another human being to the death. Disabling berserk forest spirits or an arcane guardian was one thing, even losing a patient in an operating theater was difficult but something she had long accepted as part of her profession. To deliberately end a man’s life was…

I can still hear his scream in my ears.

She sat down on the rock. The wind felt chilly against her sweat-dewed skin and as she took her waterskin and wet a rag from her pouch she could hear her teeth chattering lightly. There wasn’t enough for more than a sponge down, cleaning her arms and hands and face, but even that was better than nothing. 

Aurelia lifted the piece of cloth to her face and began to wipe until her cheeks - and her arms from elbow to fingertips - felt raw and the rag came away stinking of wood smoke. She felt slightly better for it, but her thoughts still strayed to the bandit leader’s final moments. 

Did I do the right thing…?

It sat as ill on her shoulders as those bulky sacks she’d dragged down the hill. Regardless, the thing was done. He was dead. She could hardly take back her actions now.

With a sigh she set the rag aside and reached for her satchel. The scroll she’d found sat atop a change of clothes and a near-spent sachet- she grimaced at the stale smell; she was really going to have to make another one soon- and she paused as its wax seal winked at her in the wan moonlight. The small hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

Maybe she should leave well enough alone and take it back to Horizon with her. It bore an official seal, there might be a reward for finding it, and she might attract unwanted attention from the Brass Blades if she opened it— she didn’t know what sort of consequence that carried in Eorzea, but in Garlemald, it could land the offender in an imperial prison and she’d heard enough about the city’s oubliettes to know she should avoid them. 

Then again, Aurelia thought, that still begged the immediately relevant question: how official correspondence had found its way to the desk of a criminal. It could have simply been stolen along with one of their raids, but something about that explanation didn’t sit well with her.  

“Adventurer?”

She let her ears track the direction of the voice; it was too dark to see anything among the clusters of scrub, but she recognized the speaker well enough.

“Up here, Leofric.”

She heard grit moving beneath footsteps, a muffled curse, and a soft grunt before a watery shadow fell over the narrow path a fulm or so away. The moon glimmered fitfully along the outline of a vermilion breastplate.

“Oh, good,” he said. “I half thought you might be, ah…”

“Just a sponge bath. It’ll do for now.” Aurelia tied off the waterskin. “Next time I’m in Ul’dah, I plan upon taking a very long soak at the Quicksand.”

He chuckled, but it sounded hollow. A few moments lapsed in uncomfortable silence, and overhead she heard Leofric clear his throat.

“About what happened tonight-”

“If needs must, I’ll make a report for you,” she said. “I know that what I told you likely amounts to a confession as far as the guard is concerned.”

“Don’t worry yourself about that, lass. The Quiveron gang has been a thorn in our sides for ages and anyone who’d prey upon a place like this… they’re naught better than carrion birds. Might be unseemly for me to say so, but I’m willing to look the other way and hope the wretch died screaming.”

“He did.” Her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. “Awful as he was, I take no joy in my part.”

“You really are an odd one, you know.”

“Am I? Precious few people in the world can truly stomach the thought of killing.”

“Normal folk, mayhap. Your profession’s different. I’ve met far too many of your ilk who’d go ten malms out of their way to slit a man’s throat if they thought there was half decent coin in it.” His feet shuffled in the gritty sand. “Whether you enjoy bloodletting or not, you’ve put me and mine to shame.”

Aurelia glanced in his direction, distressed. “I wasn’t intending-”

“No, no. Not- I mean-” The glint of his breastplate shifted with his own uneasy movements. “...Hells with it. Can I sit?”

“Aye, if you like. There’s space right there behind you. Mind the spines.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.”

She waited, listening to the clink and rattle of his armor as he (somewhat awkwardly) situated himself. The moon shone through the gaps in the foliage and she could see the solemn tilt of his lips as he looked at her. 

“What I mean,” he continued at last, “is you’ve more stones than the entire Horizon garrison put together and I’m very much in your debt. Even if you don’t believe it was worth much.”

Aurelia almost said thank you, but she didn’t feel that was quite the proper response, so she settled for:

“I’ll try to be worthy of your opinion.”

“And if there’s aught any of us can do to repay you, just ask.”

…The letter. “I don’t know about repayment,” she reached into her satchel, “but while I was looking about their stores, I found this lying on a desk with some other papers. At first I thought it might be one of Fufulupa’s letters to you that was waylaid, but I’m not so sure now that I’m thinking on it.”

She held it out to him. The topography of shadows shifted over his face as his brow knitted.

“Do you need something to break the seal?”

“No. But I’ll need some light to read it.”

“I think I can help with that. A moment, pray.” She reached into the bag, shuffled about a few items, and felt around its contents until her hand closed around a familiar metal object. “Here,” she said, pressing the button at the base, and watched the man nearly fall off the rock.

“…What the hells is that?”

“Magitek.”

“I’ve eyes in my head to see that much, adventurer. I know it’s magitek, but what is it?”

“A handheld light. I use it when I have the need for it. Close reading and fine work, that sort of thing. ‘Twas a gift from a Maelstrom officer I met in Carteneau. He scavenged it from the battlefield.” Aurelia shrugged, a gesture far more casual than her inner caution allowed. It wasn’t a lie, of course, but it wasn’t quite the full truth either. Not that he needed to know otherwise. “I saw no harm in keeping it.”

Leofric squinted at her for a moment but didn’t seem willing to press. Instead he reached for his belt, drew forth a small knife, and slid the blade beneath the paper until it met wax.

“Well, anyroad,” he said, “let’s see what purpose this was meant to serve for our neighbours on the hill, eh?”

Aurelia sat in silence while he read, listening to the reedy noises of insects and shielding her bared arms against the cool air. The frown he wore indexed its shadows more deeply into his features as the minutes wound onwards. 

“I think I could see in more detail were it full light,” he said at last, “but what I can make out is damning enough on its own. This is a variation on Brass Blades cipher writ in Baldewyn’s hand— and it’s addressed to that so-called Baron.”

After all she’d seen, she couldn’t find it in her to even feign surprise. “Trade routes, I presume.”

“Aye. It's a list of 'em, mostly shipment scheduled to and from the Concern and the Immortal Flames. Departures and estimated arrivals overland betwixt Black Brush and Horizon, and Drybone to the east of here. Details of their contents— mostly sunsilks, nashachite and iron from the local mines. The usual export fare. And this one is…” He paused, chewing on his lip. “Well. That’s a bit odd."

"What's odd?"

"...Baldewyn's gone and marked certain shipments in red, like.”

“So he's directing their raids? Like as not it means there's aught of especial value in them for some buyer or other." She supposed that was self-evident, but 'red must mean it's important' seemed a relatively safe assumption. Important for what reason, she couldn't say beyond that. "Black market value, possibly...?"

“Could be,” Leofric said, though he didn’t sound altogether convinced. “Looks like there’s more on the next page.”

Her arm was beginning to ache in protest but she kept the light aloft while he shuffled the papers. The final message was brief, taking up less than half the remaining space, but Leofric’s lips drew into a grim line. 

“…There’s more, sure enough- a reminder, looks like, for a meeting they’ve had in the works for some time. It refers to a previous letter- and… ‘The crossroad near the king’s head. Be there. Our friend will take care of the rest.’ That’s where it ends.” 

“King’s head?”

“Aye, don’t make much sense to me either.” He scratched his chin, then handed the letter to her. “Either way, seems good Captain Baldewyn’s been working with the bastards this whole time. I wish I could be surprised, but I'm not. We all knew he was dirty. Shame there’s not much to be done about it at present.”

“But-”

“This is how most of his ilk operate, adventurer. Plenty of Brass Blades pass along their inside information to gangs like the Quiverons. Usually for a cut of the take - as you saw for yourself, there's not much coin in this work.” The weary expression she’d seen that afternoon emerged once more. He stood and dusted off the seat of his breeches. “I mislike it myself, but as I just said- there’s naught to be done.”

Aurelia stared up at him, jaw slack.

“What- so that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You’re just… going to let this all go? You're not going to tell anyone what he's been up to?" I risked my hide to bring this to you and you're telling me it was a waste of my bloody time! "What about the settlement?”

“We’ve managed well enough so far keeping our heads down.”

Aurelia took a deep breath against the taste of bile on her tongue; her patience was worn thin and the effort to stay her tongue took all the remaining forebearance she could muster. 

“I’m leaving on the morrow to return to Horizon, and I don't know when I'll be in these parts again. Where do you think that’s going to leave Lost Hope when the bandits return?”

“Baldewyn’s the entire reason I was sent to this bleeding waste,” he snapped. “I’m disgraced. Untouchable. No one’s going to listen to the likes of me, even if I were of a mind to try. What do you think I’m supposed to do about it?”

The weary sorrow, the blood on her hands, the exhaustion- it all ceased to matter. They receded into the background and as if she’d gained a second wind the Garlean drew herself upright, five fulms and ten ilms of unbridled ill temper. She hardly towered over him, but the guardsman was nonetheless sufficiently taken aback to retreat a step or two away from the rock.

“I would expect you,” she bit the words out, sharp and precise as bullet fire, “to do what you claim you joined the guard to do and protect these people.”

“I already told you-”

“You thanked me for my service and swore to repay your ‘debts.’ Fine. Lovely. Empty platitudes, all of it.”

“They weren’t empty,” he began, dark eyes narrowing, but Aurelia wasn’t finished.

“They’ll just find someone else— some other strongman to hide behind. They’ll come back, Leofric. Not tomorrow, likely not even a sennight, but they’ll come back. You know that.”

He didn’t respond. She snatched her things from the ground, clicked the penlight off, and tossed it into her satchel.

“I understand your feelings more than you realize. But there won’t always be a passing adventurer to solve your problems for you,” Aurelia said flatly. “You've the means now to change your lot-- it's right there in your hand. If you choose to do naught save sit about your campfire and wallow in self-pity, don’t be surprised when nothing happens.”

Even now it was difficult to see his face but she thought he might be gaping at her. Without another word she shouldered the bag and strode through the brush, back towards the camp and her bedroll.

~*~

She slept precious little. Slivers of dawn peeked between the rocks before Aurelia had had more than a scant two or three bells of peace, and the act of dragging herself out of her bedroll came with the sensation of a thousand-tonze weight on her back. Still, she would reach Horizon by midday if she left after taking a few moments to break her fast, she decided, pulling a shard of water crystal and her skin from her bag. She could rest once she had checked on Fufulupa.

Grey light glimmered fitfully over the dirt path and Aurelia let the soft quiet of early morning soothe her while she filled the waterskin and fortified herself with some of the heavily spiced dodo jerky she kept in her satchel. 

By the time she shouldered her belongings and stood in final preparation to set out, she could see the dawn’s liminal grey yielding to the colors of sunrise. They slanted pale pink and orange over the top of the mesa. 

As she made her way towards the sleeping camp and its intersection with the Black Brush road, the sight of Leofric awaiting her there, ill at ease, surprised her enough to stop mid-stride. He looked as exhausted as she felt. He wore only a linen gambeson and a pair of heavy breeches, and carried a small box in one hand. The other rested upon the pommel of his sheathed sword.

“Adventurer,” he said. 

Aurelia answered with a stiff nod. “Lieutenant.”

“Can you see it from here?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just over yonder. The bandit encampment where you were last night— ‘tis a malm or so past the station. Look. That way.”

With some reluctance, Aurelia’s gaze tracked the terrain in the direction of his pointing finger. Barely visible were the results of her grim work - burnt timber and cloth in notable disarray - and beyond that the shabby wooden guardhouse: somewhat singed, but otherwise intact enough. 

Upon closer inspection, however, she realized that she had not crested the hill after all. The guardhouse she recalled was merely an outbuilding. Above and beyond it, at the peak’s end, stood the ruins of a large home. Its weathered bones loomed over the jackals’ leavings, but save a single west-facing wall there was naught left but splintered wood and blackened, collapsed sandstone.

Leofric’s hand dropped, and Aurelia quickly looked away before the sun’s glare could further sting her eyes. “Mayhap you’ve heard the name Eolande Quiveron.”

“Aye. The former director of Frondale’s Phrontistery.” 

“This was her summer home. A lovely Belah'dian manor, once.” He shook his head with a sigh. “Lady Eolande sat upon the Syndicate until she passed five years ago. Calamity reduced that place to rubble of course, but ever since then that hill’s been swarmed with all sorts of ne’er-do-wells trying to claim the family name. Though… if they’re looking for her money they’ll be waiting a long while.”

“What makes you say that? Did she have living kin?”

“Her only son managed to survive the Calamity but he’s shown precious little interest in politics. From what I’ve heard, he chose to put the lion’s share of his inheritance into keeping the Phrontistery’s charity program afloat. Taking care of sick children, or something of the like.”

Aurelia’s jaw dropped. 

“You don’t mean– Director Damielliot?”

“Aye, I think that’s the name. One of your clients?”

“My sponsor. Since I joined the Alchemists’ Guild I’ve been doing some work for him in their charity ward where I can make the time.”

“Well, this lot settled into what’s left of his mum’s home and they’ve been a bleeding nuisance to every refugee camp this side of Thanalan. At least they’ll never have the money to do more than pick the meat off the carcass." He spat, tobacco juice and contempt, full into a nearby patch of sand. "Small consolation, that, but here we are.”

Aurelia almost couldn’t imagine it. Damielliot was as highborn as she was. Kind, gentle, mild-mannered Damielliot who had taken her under his wing without a second thought, the heir to both a sizeable fortune and the family business and all it entailed.

Little wonder why he hadn’t told her, she thought. For most Eorzeans the wounds left by the Calamity still bled even now. Perhaps the death of his mother was too difficult a memory for him to dwell upon overmuch. Or perhaps Damielliot had merely found that his calling lay outside the Syndicate’s chamber. Certainly he seemed to find his work with the refugees and their children to be more fulfilling than the pursuit of power for its own sake.

She could hardly fault him for that.

“Why tell me this?”

“…Truly? I don’t know.” What remained of his smile, rueful as it was, faded away entirely. “Suppose I just thought you should know what I asked you to do last night. Something about the Quiverons– the real Quiverons, and their pretenders both. Since you took care of my problem for me and all.”

Despite herself, she winced at his pointed words. “Leofric-”

“Anyroad, there’s one last favor I need to ask, if you’re willing.” At her slow nod, he held out the box. “I’d be much obliged if you’d take this back to Horizon with you and give it to Fufulupa.” 

“What is it?”

“He’ll know it himself when he sees it.” Leofric sighed. “Should’ve given it to him a long while ago. But better late than never, eh? Tell him I’ll write back as soon as I can.”

Aurelia smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be very happy to hear from you.”

The guardsman hesitated, lips parting, then shut them with a resolute shake of his head– clearly whatever he had been about to say, he’d thought better of it. 

“My thanks, adventurer,” he said. “Safe travels.”

Chapter Text

As concerned as she was for Lost Hope’s welfare, Aurelia felt a strong sense of relief now that she could put thoughts of it - and any associated memory of that bloody night in the Quiverons’ camp - behind her. When she rounded the bend to enter Black Brush Station, she spared a glance over one shoulder, but she could no longer see the faded windbreaks and dusty pathways from that stretch of road. In that moment it felt as if the settlement had been swallowed whole by the rock formation that held its inhabitants and their sorrows in its stolid embrace. 

The Garlean knew full well that all she had really managed to do was buy them a brief reprieve from the raids. But if there was any silver lining to take away from this entire affair, she’d prevented the bloody flux from spreading through the refugee camp, and that was something. Misplaced pragmatism aside, the former Brass Blade captain had shown genuine concern for the people under his watch— as he should have done. Aurelia could not have left him today with naught save the previous day’s instructions, had she any suspicions that it might be otherwise. 

I’ll come back in a sennight to see how they’re faring. Just to be safe. If naught else, I can check their water and make sure it’s potable. They would be all right on their own, in the meantime. She hoped.

The sun sat high overhead in a cloudless sky as she set foot through Horizon’s gates. For all that she felt far more care for her comings and goings than usual, Aurelia felt a bit silly when her caution was met with nothing out of the ordinary, at least so it appeared. Certainly the Brass Blades on duty seemed to agree: although several of the garrison were able to recognize her at a glance (that in itself gave her no pause. She was a familiar face to Horizon's town watch now, alongside a small handful of other adventurers), the two men seemed as bored as ever when waving her through. Still, she felt keenly the weight of the parcel she carried, even hidden from sight as it was at the bottom of her satchel.

A part of her wished she’d never caught sight of that godsdamned letter at all. Knowing as she did now the scope of Captain Baldewyn’s perfidy, and how limited her ability to act upon that information would remain as long as Leofric was unwilling to come forward with his accusations-- all of it sat ill with her personal sense of justice. 

But she could no more uncouple the burden of this secret from her shoulders than she could travel back in time and bring a man she’d killed back to life. It was as simple as that, and she had to let Leofric deal with the fruits of his own inaction. Best to deliver his parcel as he’d bid, wrap up her work in Horizon, and set her feet back towards Ul’dah. Momodi would be glad to see her and she’d be able to breathe easier. 

With any luck she’d given Lolorito’s paid lackeys ample time to forget all about that incident at the ruins near Black Brush, although that was a concern for another day. First things first. Find Fufulupa, deliver the parcel as she’d been asked, and then—

Fufulupa was not at his post. Standing in the little man’s place was a fresh-faced young Highlander woman of no more than twenty summers at the outside, arms folded over her brand new chestplate. All the better to let any potential cutpurses and thieves see the weapon she wielded on open display, no doubt.

“Erm,” Aurelia began. Long-lashed dark eyes narrowed at the sight of her approach, but the guardswoman’s threatening aura didn’t relent even an ilm. “Are you new here?”

“And who’re you,” came the sharp retort, “that I should be arsed to tell you?”

“I- yes. My apologies. I’m looking for Sergeant Fufulupa.” Fool, you should have said that in the first place! “Have you any idea when he’ll return to his post?”

“What do I look like, his personal assistant?” the woman scoffed, but after a moment she motioned towards the pulley-laden cavern opening with an explosive sigh and an impatient jerk of her armored chin. “…The Sergeant went down into the caves with a bunch of robed folk - those thauma-whatsits. Visitin’ from the city, Captain Baldewyn says. He weren’t far behind him.”

“Thaumaturges…?”

“I s’pose?” the Ala Mhigan replied with an impatient shrug. “Escort work for some high-rankin’ guild somethin’-or-other, I’ve no doubt. Listen, adventurer- if you want to stick your nose in his business so badly, you can go down there and ask him your own bleedin’ self. I got work of my own here, an’ you’re keepin’ me from my duties. Off with you now.”

She managed to suppress a sigh of relief; the guardswoman’s ill-disguised eagerness to rid herself of a nosy adventurer had - quite efficiently - served to override any lingering suspicion regarding said adventurer’s line of questioning. The Horizon garrison knew Aurelia well enough but she had no way of knowing how many of them Baldewyn’s scheming had compromised. 

Now you’re thinking like an Ul’dahn, a part of her piped up with sour amusement. This was far too much like her memories of the imperial capital for comfort. 

The descent was not unlike stepping into a different clime entirely. Aurelia had been down in these muggy shallows more than once over the past sennight or so (and in the process had made some useful - if somewhat disgusting - discoveries about the medicinal properties of orobon livers) but still she winced when the damp, fetid air rose up to meet her as she made her way down into the ruins. It felt, as always, like a wet and invisible slap against her skin. 

Some manner of structure had stood here once—probably some public works project or other; columns she recognized as being of Belah’dian make shored the rock formations overhead. The sheer number of old ruins she’d found in her Eorzean sojourn still did not fail to surprise her. From Amdapor to Sil’dih to Allag, numerous civilizations had come and gone and left their calling cards upon the land. Gazing upon the cracked sandstone columns and toppled statuary, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of legacy a place like Ul’dah would leave in its wake. 

“Over here! Miss Aurelia!”

Fufulupa stood a few fulms away with one mailed hand resting on the pommel of his gladius. He heralded her approach with a wave and a cheerful smile, then braced his fists on his hips with a short, brisk nod: the very picture of solemnity even for a duty on a (likely uneventful) sentry post. 

"There you are." She didn't bother to hide her relieved smile. "Good afternoon, Sergeant."

“I trust you’re well! I was a bit worried when you didn’t return, but Seseli told me you’d gone on ahead and delivered my letter to Lost Hope yourself.” 

“Her bird was looking poorly, so I thought I’d go the rest of the way on her behalf and make sure your message arrived safely. I see you’re not on market sentry duty today?”

“Aye, Captain Baldewyn’s assigned some of our green recruits to the rounds. He’s brought some important guests today. Folks from the Thaumaturges’ Guild here to check… something or other. Wards out in these ruins, I reckon. They like to make sure no one’s going to stumble over anything dangerous. Well… no more dangerous than the usual danger.” Fufulupa shrugged, though his smile didn’t waver. “The rest of us are on the roadsides to keep an eye out for beasts and bandits and aught else that might be a problem while they’re working.”

“I see.”

“So, you met with Captain Leofric? Did he seem well? Has he got all my messages?”

After a fashion. “He seemed to be in reasonably good health when we spoke. He actually gave me something to bring back to you.”

Fufulupa appeared equal parts surprised and relieved. “It’s terribly kind of you to have gone to so much trouble. I must admit, I had been worrying that something might have befallen the captain. ‘Tis dangerous work, guarding these refugee camps out in the wilderness, especially with all the bandits roaming about as of late."

"Very dangerous," she agreed.

"He’s a brave one, he is, insisting on that post. Everyone thought he’d gone mad. I did too, I’ll not deny it— most Blades treat the Lost Hope as a punishment detail.” Fufulupa shook his head. “But really, I shouldn’t have expected less of him. Captain Leofric always did look out for the smallfolk.”

Aurelia noted the admiring shimmer in the young man’s eyes and sat hard upon the impulse to do aught more than offer him a nod of vague assent. He'd unwittingly provided another missing piece of the puzzle. ‘Twould seem the story circulating about the barracks was that Leofric had volunteered for his current position, then-- a far cry from the story he had told her. Little wonder so few of the Brass Blades garrisoned in Horizon had questioned the man’s “transfer,” if that was the story Baldewyn was peddling about.

Nevertheless, Fufulupa appeared troubled about… something. He was shifting from foot to foot again, eyes darting furtively to and fro in his round little face. 

“Sergeant? Are you well?”

“Oh, yes, I’m well enough. It’s just…” He trailed off midsentence. Hesitation stamped its mark upon the downward bow of his mouth before he met her gaze once more and the bright tenor of his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper: “…Miss Aurelia, there’s something I need to show someone and I… I think it’s only fair that it be you. Since it involves you and all. Can you meet me in the fisherman’s village?”

“…Fisherman’s village?”

“Aye, a little spot the locals call Crescent Cove. Not sure how good the fishing is, but I reckon it must be decent. Captain Baldewyn likes to go out on their pier and cast a line and hope for a nibble on his rest days sometimes.”

“Of course I can, but what about your post? Are you not going to be reprimanded if you leave?”

“Brass Blades scheduled for the patrol routes are expected to move about now and again. Crescent Cove is part of this beat, so I’d simply be making my rounds earlier than expected. We like to keep the bandits on their toes, so I can't imagine why he'd be cross at me for doing a proper job.”

“But if I should cause you undue trouble-”

“You’ll not cause trouble,” he assured her. “The villagers shan’t be well pleased to see us. They never are. But it can’t be helped if we want to be away from prying eyes.” He made a good point. If there was aught in the way of sensitive information to share, the bottom of a lift in a wide open space was not an appropriate setting for it. “In case you haven’t been there before— Crescent Cove lies at the end of that last fork in the road before you reach the end of the pools. You can’t possibly miss it. I’ll see you there in a quarter bell.”

Fufulupa raised one hand in a quick salute and was off at a brisk pace before she could argue. Aurelia watched him make his way down the road and almost set out to trail behind him out of pure habit, but a vague gut feeling stayed her feet for a moment in favor of silent observation. Other than the odd adventurer moving about the shallows here and there, doing the same tedious work she’d grown accustomed to herself, she saw no one— not even the Brass Blades Fufulupa had said were in the area.

No sight of the mages the guardswoman had mentioned, either. The contents of that intercepted letter continued to worry at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn’t scratch. 

On the heels of her unease she could feel the small hairs on the back of her neck prickling: the same sensation she’d felt now and again ever since Carteneau. She awaited what must surely be coming in tense silence, but for a small blessing there was neither a pain in her head nor any loss of sight. Whatever might be amiss, it seemed as though it was just loud enough to be a minor nuisance and little else.

“Jumping at shadows now, aren’t we, Relia,” she muttered aloud. Although the uneasiness lingered, she heard no voice and saw no light. The giant talking dream-crystal was apparently taking a rest day.

She could smell Crescent Cove before she saw it; the weathered shacks rose into sight over the rocks as she crossed a low-slung bridge that was little more than a wooden plank walkway. The columns and the caverns began to recede from sight with each step, giving way to open waters and a sunny sky. 

Her nose wrinkled at the briny air but the breeze was pleasantly cool and the village empty of Blades— Aurelia saw only a woman sitting on a barrel and mending nets and a handful of fishermen on the docks about their own business. An old Lalafellin man sat a few fulms away from the men unloading their vessel with a small fishing line in the water and a tackle box at his side. The barest hint of morning breeze carried his cheerful monotone whistle into her ears. For a moment or so, she envied him.

After ducking beneath two fishing nets and squeezing herself through the gaps between rows of salted anchovies drying upon pungent-smelling racks, she found Fufulupa waiting for her at the mouth of a small cave.

“Thank you for coming. I mustn’t tarry overlong,” his small face was drawn into a perfect picture of solemnity, “but I’ve enough time to show you what I found.”

Behind him sat two full crates of—

“Nashachite!”  

“A fishwife came up to me while I was patrolling the Cove yesterday and led me to the cache. ‘Twould seem one of her young ones stumbled across a smuggler’s burrow while playing with his fellows."

"I'm surprised a child would have found it that easily. Surely they know the Blades patrol here if you have a routine that you follow."

"That's just it, Miss Aurelia-- he shouldn’t have found anything out here. This cave system hasn’t been in use for years. Most of it collapsed during the Calamity, and what’s not under rock is under water. The smugglers who used to run their operations skimming off the mines’ve long since moved on to brighter shores and easier pickings.” 

Aurelia understood. “And smugglers are no more wont to leave their treasures unattended than bandits.” 

“Exactly. Yet here we are.” His frown deepened with the small shake of his head. “This is Dadanen’s missing shipment. The one you reported. I’d wager my next fortnight’s pay on it.”

“Oh, Fufulupa, that’s a good thing! Dadanen will be so pleased to find out it’s been recovered.”

“Yes, but don't you see? We’ve found the thieves’ lair! One of them, anyroad." One small fist met the meat of his palm with a muffled clink. "A new smuggling operation, playing out right under our noses for the past nine moons. If it gets out that we let this go on so long we'll look like we're on the take. Blind fools, at the worst. We have to do something now.”

“I assume you've a higher authority you can report to?" she asked hopefully. "When Dadanen’s man comes to retrieve his goods I'm sure he'd be willing to sign a statement.”

“I’m afraid we can’t wait that long. If these blackguards know that one of their caches has been discovered, they could move their operations before the Brass Blades are able to catch them in the act. No, Captain Baldewyn must be informed immediately!”

Oh no. “Sergeant, before you do that-- there’s something that I need to tell you.“

“I’ll meet you back in Horizon once I've spoken with him. He’s certain to reward you handsomely for your work. This is big, Miss Aurelia! This is very, very big!”

“Fufulupa, wait! Come back!” she called, alarmed, but he was already halfway across the bridge.

She might as well have tried to warn the cliff face for all the good her foreknowledge was doing her just now. Aurelia muttered a curse beneath her breath. If only he hadn’t come across those crates before she’d had a chance to talk to him— but it was too late for what-ifs now. He was going to make an attempt to alert the garrison, because of course that was the choice an honest man would make. 

I can’t let him go out there by himself. If he confronts Baldewyn alone…

Her feet were moving before she could even finish the thought. She ducked the racks and nets and sprinted across the bridge after Fufulupa, splashing through the shallows and kicking up raucous cries from nearby waterfowl. They went unheeded, as did the curious glances of the small handful of adventurers she passed, embroiled as they were in their tasks. All she could think about was what might happen if she didn’t catch up to him. 

The crossroads were as empty as they had been when she passed earlier, but out of the corner of one eye Aurelia caught a flash of familiar vermilion.

As she drew close she could hear voices, rough and rumbling mutters that could easily have blended into the echoes of water and rock had she not paused to listen. Some half-forgotten instinct gave her enough pause to muffle the sound of her own approach, and that foresight rewarded her with the study of a local landmark. Aurelia had seen it countless times on her own errands: the remains of a statue that surely had once stood tall enough to be seen for malms. A regal-looking face with a weathered diadem perched upon its brow, one fashioned from granite rather than sandstone.

A flash of memory from that intercepted letter. The king’s head. 

Aurelia lingered near the road a scant few fulms away from the clustered black robes and lacquered brass, crouched behind a nearby outcropping. It wasn't the most comfortable hiding place but it obscured immediate line of sight to her position just enough to keep all save the keenest of eyes from noticing the would-be eavesdropper.

Fufulupa had already arrived - she could see him gesturing excitedly to the burly hyur with his rose-chased helm - which meant she was too late to stop him from attracting Baldewyn’s attention. With any luck, if the situation went awry she might at least be able to assist him. As she’d feared, the first snatch of conversation to reach her ears was more than enough to spell trouble.

“You godsdamned fool!”

The bright smile on the little man’s rounded face began to fade.

“Captain…?”

“I tried to keep you out of this, Fufulupa,” Baldewyn’s hand hovered over the hilt of his sheathed weapon, ready to draw. “You should’ve kept your head down. The family’d get their nashacite, I’d get my gil, and there’d be none the wiser. It didn’t have to be like this but you’ve left me no choice.”

One by one, figures in brown robes materialized from the cover of the dense fog that surrounded the ruined monument like silent wraiths. Fufulupa’s chin moved this way and that as his focus darted to and fro between each face before finally settling upon Baldewyn’s grim and unsmiling visage once more. Something about the sight seemed to rally him; his own brow knitted in a deep frown and his lips thinned to a taut line.

“Surely you must know these crimes won’t go uncovered forever, Captain. If Lord Lolorito finds out-“

The corrupt captain’s laugh was akin to a bark— a loud, mirthless chortle. “What about Lord Lolorito? I’m acting on his authority. We’re the Brass Blades, boy, not the Immortal Flames! We do this for the coin. If a hero’s what you want to be, you should have-”

Aurelia had heard enough.

Drawing herself upright from her crouch, she stepped from behind the rock into full view and began to close the distance. She could feel her wand tapping gently against her thigh through the hempen cloth she wore with each step she took. Baldewyn’s tirade cut off mid-sentence as he stared at her in blank-faced confusion. 

“If you’re going to run a proper thieving operation, you really should be more careful to ensure your privacy, Captain. I’d wager the fishermen in the cove could repeat the entirety of your plan back to you by rote if you asked.”

Unimpressed, the man sneered down his nose. “Another would-be bloody hero, eh? Supposed a fledging adventurer and young Fufulupa gave their lives this day to protect our guests from bandits, then— what a waste. The bastards will have got away with the nashachite, of course, but it can’t be helped.”

With a single fluid motion he drew his blade from its scabbard. The color drained from Fufulupa’s ruddy cheeks.

“Captain, please- let Miss Aurelia go on her way. It’s true I asked her to help me find the nashachite, but she’s not involved in this business. Not beyond what I-”

“Not involved?” a third voice snarled. The robed figure leading the van of his fellows stepped forward-- another Lalafell, Aurelia saw. “That adventurer friend of yours is arse-deep in our business and it ends today!”

 A small gloved hand tossed the hood back to reveal a hauntingly familiar face, one that stole her breath with shock and fear for a single moment. She felt as though she'd seen a ghost.

The mouth twisted and its single grey eye burned alight with a killing rage: one focused squarely upon the young woman standing a mere handful of yalms away. Its owner jabbed a finger in Aurelia’s direction, his other hand gripped tight about a long ram’s-horn staff. "Do you remember my twin brother, Hyur?" the mage spat. "You damned well ought to! You murdered him in cold blood not two suns past!”

Oh, shite and hellsfire. She hadn’t thought anyone might have seen her face in the bandits’ encampment, let alone anyone who might recall the look of it well enough to relate the entire sordid tale (to an ally quite capable of holding a grudge, at that; how in the seven hells was she supposed to know that this was a family-run operation?).

“I am Ser Baron von Quiveron IV, Esquire, and I will have my vengeance!”

Aurelia felt the curling twinge of danger-sense in her belly even though it was hardly necessary: she knew the moment he raised the staff, its tip glowing orange with fire aether, that it was far too late to mull over her regrets. The man was in no mood for aught less than violence.

“Take them!” Baldewyn shouted, lunging at his underling. “Time for the two of you to do your duty and die for Ul’dah!”

Chapter Text

Fufulupa’s instincts were sharper than Aurelia had credited. Light flashed from the flat of his blade and sent his foe stumbling backward blind with his parry. 

His swift counter shocked the assembled bandits into action. A robed Elezen man sprinted towards him, a crude-looking polearm readied and aimed for his side. Aurelia had seen a version of this pincer tactic used by the Gridanian lancers not only during her sojourn in the Shroud but as a field medic in skirmishes near Castrum Novum. The bandit meant to run the good Sergeant through before he could mount a defense.

But she had learned how to counter lancer tactics from four years under Keveh’to’s tutelage. 

For his trouble the man received instead a conjured stone against his own unprotected side. When he wheeled about to look for its source, spear waving wildly through the air, a second burst of earth-aspected aether met his temple and dropped the Elezen into the water with a wide splash.

“Miss Aurelia, watch your flank!”

Fufulupa’s cry of alarm dragged her focus away from the fallen man. The Quiverons’ new leader had finished casting his spell.

Aurelia reversed course, taking a brace of steps backward. A fireball sailed through the air with a crackling roar and landed in the water where she had been only moments beforehand. It fizzled and snuffed out on impact, like a candle doused in a bucket. 

Another bandit - this one a wiry Miqo’te - sprinted towards her with cesti-armed fists at the ready, as fire aether swirled about the bandit boss’ raised staff once more. Aurelia tried to assess the odds as quickly as she could. Four armed Blades and half a dozen Quiveron bandits that she could see, not counting Baldewyn or the new gang leader. Lingering to cast another spell would place her too close to the Baron’s co-conspirator (and his heavy armor and weaponry) for comfort; if she moved too far away from the pugilist she wouldn’t be able to look after Fufulupa.

This may be a challenge, I fear.

Reflection of reds and orange flickered in the water and caught the Garlean’s eye. Gracelessly she tossed the sphere of wind aether she’d been gathering towards the second fireball, not to block its trajectory but to redirect and disperse. She felt a flare of heat when the narrow miss caught at her sleeve, and the fire bit at her upper arm as it passed, leaving a sooty streak over hempen homespun and shortening a part of forelock in its wake. The attack itself went wild, exploding in a burst against a rocky outcropping perhaps five fulms to her left.

She grasped at the damp and heavy humidity in the air and the shallow seawater at her feet, then ducked into a forward somersault towards the pugilist, putting herself directly in his path. One fist was already drawn back in preparation to attack, and Aurelia was well aware that magically enhanced strike would be at least as painful as the burn on her singed arm.

Or it would have been, had the man thought to consider that her recklessness might be feigned. His scarred lips stretched in a triumphant grin for a bare second before the aether-powered waterspout released from her clenched fist took him full in the chest and sent him flying into the weathered marble. Aurelia winced at the sound of his head cracking against the rock as he slid down to its base and lay still.

Ser Baron Number Four let out a yowl of thwarted fury.

“I’ll hang your head from a bleeding pike! ” he shrieked, stomping his feet in the shallows. He was about to cast another spell-- ice this time, Aurelia noted from the color of the aether gathering around his small hands. “There’s far more where that came from!”

She cast a quick glance at Fufulupa. The guardsman would be unable to reach her in time to protect her from another attack should the Baron choose to keep his focus upon the fount of his ire, and as a novice she did not possess the means to dispel these magicks herself. She would have to act quickly or otherwise find herself faced with an impossible choice—

“Baldewyn! Drop your weapon, you thrice-damned blackguard!”

The voice rang through the caverns like a fanfare.

As one, the assembled fighters turned their focus upon its source. A lone figure charged towards the corrupt captain of the Brass Blades, gladius drawn, the short blade winking bright prisms in the stray beams of sunlight from the ruin’s half-crumbled stones overhead.

Fufulupa gasped. “Captain Leofric!”

Baldewyn’s sneer faltered in surprise, then recognition, then contorted into a rictus of fury. Fufulupa and Aurelia all but forgotten, he pivoted to meet the newcomer’s blade, and the resulting clash of steel rang like a clamor of bells through the caves. As he struggled against the sword that now blocked him, Baldewyn uttered a deep and guttural growl, but try as he might he lacked the strength to contend with his former superior by sheer brute force alone. 

After a moment of tense struggle Leofric’s powerful parry sent him staggering backwards in heavy, waterlogged footfalls.

“What in the seven hells are you doing here?!” he panted, wiping his muddy face with his free hand. His gaze darted wildly to and fro, as if seeking an avenue of escape and finding none. “How did you know-“

“I know,” Leofric parried a stray swing from his former superior with a guttural grunt, “because Fufulupa has chosen his friends wisely.”

Baldewyn’s fellows would be of no aid to him. Those still on their feet now hesitated, weapons lowering as they watched the two Hyur hack away at each other. It was not a duel so much as a grudge match, and an easy victory was no longer assured. Not only did their assumed ally within the Brass Blades have at least one honest subordinate remaining who had proven himself unwilling to look the other way, he had reinforcements of his own, both at least as strong and skilled as the captain himself.

Whether Fufulupa had drawn the same conclusions or not was unclear, but--

Something was moving. 

She glanced over her shoulder to see the self-titled Baron once again readying himself in a casting stance: clearly he thought to take his window of opportunity for another attack while her attention lay elsewhere. The icy aether she’d noted moments ago strengthened and solidified, shimmering around his hands as it continued to spiral upward towards the glass focus - glass and not crystal, betraying the Quiverons’ meager means in truth - crowning the Lalafell’s staff.

Aurelia still held her wand at the ready, for a small blessing. Best to deal with him now rather than later.

She sent another handful of stones flying across the water, this time aimed at his face. She didn’t seek to do more than incapacitate him - the memory of his brother’s burnt and broken body still sent a visceral shudder down her spine - but even if she missed, knowing that she posed a credible threat might be enough to break morale and defang Baldewyn entirely.

The bandit leader met her eyes the instant he realized his attempt at a surprise attack had failed. She didn’t have to hear him to know he was swearing at her as he moved to intercept the spell’s trajectory— and his haste turned her counterattack into a resounding defeat. Coalesced earth aether met the center of the Baron’s staff with unexpected force, splintering the poorly maintained wood in a blast. The focus flickered, pulsed once, then twice, then all but launched itself into the air as the aether within destabilized and exploded into countless shards midair. 

Aurelia hissed in alarm and only just managed to shield her eyes from stray debris. Some of the glass sliced into her sleeve and pelted her chest and kerchief-covered head, but by some miracle none of it pierced her skin.

Ser Baron Number Four was not so fortunate. He dropped the ruined weapon as though it had bitten him, spitting curses as razor-sharp glass sliced into his unprotected cheeks and only barely missed his eyes. His chin snapped up as he turned to face her, color drained from his plump and bleeding face, dark eyes the size of tea saucers. Rage still lurked in their depths, but something of fear had started to creep into that bright-eyed stare now too, giving it a wild and desperate gleam.

Lips grimly set, Aurelia reared back her clenched fist and all but threw her handful of aether at her newly disarmed opponent, as if laying a punch into the air. The Lalafell had mere seconds to raise his glass-shredded palms - neither artifice nor spellcraft, merely a fleeting protective instinct - before the blast took him off his feet to tumble arse over end through the shallows and into the rocky road with a loud and pained groan.

He’d live, she thought, and tried not to dwell on the relief she felt.

She had not forgotten the remaining bandits—none of whom had come to their new leader’s aid against her in the scant half-minute it had taken her to disable him. There were four left now, and not one of them dared to approach. They stared at her from a good five yalms away, gathered in slack-jawed and round-eyed silence. It was clear that this encounter had not gone according to anyone’s plan.

Aurelia raised the maple wand that still thrummed in her hand, and pointed with deliberately calculated ease at each of them in turn, indigo eyes flat and steely.

“Well?” she said. “Which of you would like to be next?”

As one the line broke and fled: darting through the shallows and towards the relative safety of the road as fast as their feet could carry them. On the heels of their retreat a cacophony of rattling metal and splashing water seemed to punctuate her challenge, making her all but jump out of her skin.

The wand slipped from her fingers. “Seven hells-“

Fortunately years of clumsiness and near-misses with fumbled reagents had left her reflexes in decent working order; she was quick enough to catch her weapon before it could fall into the water (although not without a bounce or two she dearly hoped no one else had witnessed). She gave her surrounds a quick study for good measure, and once she’d satisfied herself that there was no second ambush imminent or reinforcements on their way, Aurelia tucked the wayward implement back into her belt to prevent further mishaps.

As she turned in the direction of the sound she’d heard, the sight that greeted her made it clear why the bandits had fled so suddenly: they’d lost not one leader but two. Fufulupa and Leofric, as one, held their blades at Baldewyn’s throat. The Hyur knelt in the ankle-deep water with his hands raised in surrender, eyes tracking nervously between the two Blades who had brought him low.

“Damn you both,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “you’ve ruined everything!”

“I think we’re the least of your troubles just now.” Leofric adjusted his grip on his gladius and Baldewyn’s throat bobbed with a nervous swallow. Aurelia felt it plain what the man was thinking: he knew precisely what he would have done were their positions reversed, and no doubt expected the same treatment in kind. “Start talking.”

“I’ve nothing to say to the likes of you.”

For his part Fufulupa remained silent, though his fighting stance was as ready as ever. His azure-eyed stare looked rather bright, however, and the tip of his sword trembled ever so slightly. He was staring at the disgraced captain as if he’d caught him in the midst of a tumble with his beloved.

“Your partner is dead, his second is out of the fight - courtesy of our adventurer friend here - and your plans are undone,” Leofric’s tone was all business, cold and matter-of-fact. The haggard, listless man she’d met at Lost Hope was gone, replaced with this decisive stranger. “There’s no reason left for you to resist.”

Baldewyn turned his chin and spat into the water, the picture of contempt. 

“You’d best stay out of this, Leofric. When he finds out—“

“Who’s ‘he’--actually, don’t answer that. I think I can hazard a fair guess.”

“Then you know what awaits you in Ul’dah. Release me and go back to that hovel of filth in the desert and I might look the other way. If you continue to interfere in my business, I’ll show you no mercy, and neither will-”

“And what mercy,” Aurelia interrupted, “do you think Lolorito will show you , Baldewyn?”

The man’s scowl deepened. “The hells are you blathering about? Do you think me a fool, woman, to believe threats from some unknown—“

“She’s telling the truth, you know,” Leofric continued, ignoring Fufulupa’s stunned stare. “Every soul between Crescent Cove and Lost Hope knew about this meeting, you arrogant fool. I had only to ask one of the locals for directions. I can only imagine Lord Lolorito’s surprise, once he discovers that some rank-and-file in the middle of bleeding nowhere has been using his name to advance a personal agenda.”

“What do you— are you saying he knows?! ” Baldewyn blurted, his rugged face blanching. “But— but I’m a captain, why would he care if—“

“I was a captain too. And we both remember what happened to me. At your behest, no less.”

The heavy slump of the man’s armored shoulders told Aurelia the rest of the story. Baldewyn hadn’t given up by a long shot, but even he knew when he was beaten.

“Fufulupa,” Leofric said quietly, “go collect that Quiveron and shackle him. We’ll see to his hurts in a gaol cell. Miss Aurelia, with me.”

“Captain,” Fufulupa began, but Leofric shook his head.

“There’ll be time to talk later. Let’s see to this first.”

~*~

Leofric’s delay, as it turned out, had been in rounding up the Brass Blades whom he knew weren’t on the take from Baldewyn or his Quiveron allies. A dozen guardsmen arrived on scene within the quarter-bell, including the stern-faced young Highlander guardswoman who Aurelia had addressed earlier. Some of the cautious chill had eased out of her expression as she acknowledged the adventurer with a brief nod of approval, before fastening heavy shackles on the hands and feet of the semi-conscious Baron.

“Solid work, ‘venturer,” she said, hoisting the tiny man over one shoulder. Limp and clad in his soaked robes, he looked remarkably like a kitten someone had shoved into a wet popoto sack, and despite herself Aurelia couldn’t help but feel briefly sorry for him. “Don’t have much use for your sort most of the time, but this was well done.”

“Thank you.”

“If you would, pray let the captain and the sergeant know that we’ve another squad checking the perimeter now for bandits. Best to make sure they don't have no reinforcements hiding in the cove to spring their fellows later.” The guardswoman shook her head with a faint clicking of her tongue. “Rhalgr’s teeth, I can’t believe they were smugglin’ all that nashachite right out under our bleeding noses. Dadanen’ll be fit to have kittens when he finds out.”

“I won’t tell Dadanen more than he needs to know if you don’t,” Aurelia replied with a straight face. “As long as there’s no further incidents, all is well, I suppose. I think he’ll just be grateful to have his shipment returned.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across the woman’s lips.

“I appreciate the quick response,” Leofric sheathed his blade as he approached, all business now that the immediate danger had passed. His gaze flickered from the woman’s hasty salute to her prize, then over the sulking, long-faced bandits and - last but not least - to the silently fuming Baldewyn who stood flanked by two burly Roegadyn. “Excellent work, Corporal. Take this lot down to the gaol and keep them under close guard. No one is to deal with them except those present– just in case. I’ll be along presently to take statements.”

“Aye, Captain. I’ll pass along the order.”

She trotted away with her prisoner, gesturing to her fellows without a glance back.

“Before we see to this,” Leofric said, turning to a confused Fufulupa, “I think there’s someone here more deserving of the rank than I am.”

“Captain…?”

“Captain no longer. As such, I was planning to have our mutual friend here give you something in my stead. But now I’m thinking it’s only fair that I present it to you myself. Miss Aurelia, do you still have that box I gave you for safekeeping?”

Aurelia reached into her satchel for the item and handed it over to Leofric. The Hyur opened the box lid and removed its contents, then knelt before his friend to present it at his level.

“Captain Fufulupa of the Rose,” he said formally, “pray accept your badge of office.”

Fufulupa stared in open astonishment at the brass-chased thorns and petals of the rosebud styling along the dagger’s hilt, then at his former commander.

“This is… I… wait, me? ”

“It’s difficult to think of anyone more deserving.”

“But you- aren’t you coming back to us?”

“No. This post rightfully belongs to a stronger man than myself.” His gaze strayed towards Aurelia and his lips tilted in a faint half-smile. “I’d just about given up on it all, but I met a certain adventurer recently who offered a new vision. It’s not easy work, but… maybe I’m right where I should be for now. The folk of Lost Hope need someone who believes in them. Just as Horizon needs you , Fufulupa.”

“I don’t know if I’m qualified to-“

“You believe in the ideals the Brass Blades were founded upon. You care about the people under your watch, and you’ve the bravery to stake your own life in the defense of both. That’s a rare gift these days. There is a dire need for men like you in service to the people.” His voice was soft. “Please, my friend. If you accept, I can continue in my duties knowing this town will be in good hands.”

“Cap- Leofric. I…” He clutched the dagger to his chest like a precious jewel had been entrusted to his care. “I accept this honor, on one condition.”

“Name it.”

Tears welled in the guardsman’s eyes. “Answer your letters.”

“I’ll take that as your first order of business, Captain.” He squeezed his fellow Blade’s shoulder. “Shall we go see what Baldewyn and his friends have to say for themselves?”

~*~

After meeting with Dadanen to confirm that the missing shipment was indeed once more in the merchant’s possession (and accepting a startlingly large bonus; the reward he offered would pay her room and board to Momodi for the next three moons at least), Aurelia found herself descending into the depths of Horizon’s modestly sized holding area. The Brass Blade who had unlocked the door for her had warned her to watch her step - the lighting in the gaol was very poor - but Aurelia’s concealed third eye made navigation in the dark a simple enough affair under most circumstances. She proceeded without incident, fingertips drifting gently across sandstone and steel bars with each step she took between the haphazardly-spaced torchlights. Now and again it was possible to see dim shapes moving about in the cells, but none of their inhabitants paid her any mind until she reached the door at the far end.

“Ma’am,” the guardsman said. “The Cap- sorry, the lieutenant- will be ready for you in a moment. Please wait here while I let him know you’ve arrived. It may take some time.”

“That’s fine, guardsman. Thank you.”

A brief but familiar choking panic seized her as the door fell shut at his back; her stomach roiled unpleasantly for a heartbeat then receded to a dull unease. 

Aurelia exhaled and rubbed her eyes and pushed past her internal frustration. The episodes were less frequent as time passed, at least there was that. It was easier to remind herself each time that she had survived the past five years and would continue to weather whatever the future might hold in store. She was an adventurer now by choice, after all, something that was merely a distant dream to her cosseted childhood self. Free. At least on paper.

…Freed from the ghosts of Carteneau, however.

Might as well ask for the moon, a part of her scoffed. Maybe the giant talking crystal has some ideas. If you ever see it again.

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered aloud. 

“Hey. Adventurer.” Aurelia’s high-pitched yelp of surprise echoed against the close stones at a frequency that made her ears quiver painfully. “Thal’s balls, woman!”

“That’s-“ She could place the voice now. “Aren’t you… Baron Quiveron?”

“Excuse me?” the voice huffed back. Aurelia blinked once, twice, and as her eyes adjusted to the shadows it was easier to see the Lalafell’s tousled hair peeking from his dirty cowl. “How could you have forgotten so quickly?”

“In my defense there were quite a lot of things happening.”

“My name is Ser Baron von Quiveron The Fourth. Esquire.”

“That… have you considered a… shorter version, perhaps? Something more-“

“More what? How will the common rabble know of our noble lineage without the title?”

“What noble lineage? You’re not even a-“

“Really, this is why no one likes adventurers,” the bandit sneered. “Born and raised in a hedgerow, the lot of you.”

“Now see here-“ 

“I suppose civilised manners would be too much to expect.”

“…Never mind.” She didn’t feel like being steamrolled by this absurd little man and there was no conceivable way she was going to unpack all of his nonsense in the next five minutes. “Ser Baron, then. What-”

“Von Quiveron. The Fourth. Esquire. ”

“…Ser Baron Number Four, and I am not repeating all that,” she retorted, cutting him off mid-protest. “What do you want?”

He scowled at her, but seemed to have conceded the point when he finally said: “That friend of yours has got his man asking us questions. You adventuring types take requests for coin, don’t you?”

“Provisionally.”

“Then I’ve one for you, if you can put in a word for me.”

Aurelia folded her arms over her chest, even though she doubted he could see the gesture. He was going to make certain she heard him out regardless of her own feelings on the matter. I might as well humor him. “Go on.”

“Ten percent of our take if you convince them to let me go.” At the rude noise she made in return, he chuffed a loud sigh. “…Just my bleeding luck I’ve found the only adventurer in all of Thanalan who hates coin. Why in the hells not? Too greedy to settle? Or you want more than just gil, I suppose?”

“You and Baldewyn tried to kill us. I don’t think ‘greed’ is the word I’d use.”

“You killed my brother.”

“While he was trying to kill me. If you’re going to say something like ‘this makes us square,’ first of all, it bloody well doesn’t, and second, if you’re thinking of trying your luck elsewhere you might as well save your breath.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Leofric and Fufulupa are a different sort from Baldewyn altogether, that’s what. I’d wager they’ve handpicked your gaolers to ensure you don’t bribe your way out of this cell before they can decide your fate.”

“That’s-“

“They certainly won’t listen to a passing adventurer even if I were inclined to accept your proposal. As you so colorfully demonstrated mere moments ago, my sort aren’t rated much higher in the Ul’dahn imagination than bandits ourselves.”

“Why in the seven hells did my brother have to run afoul of you,” the man lamented. “All right, fine. I amend my terms. You find a way to arrange for a minor infraction of some sort - a slap on the wrist instead of a cell in Halatali prison - and I tell your friends what’s not in the letter you stole from my brother’s camp.”

Despite herself, Aurelia paused— a pause long enough to let him know he had the upper hand at least for the moment. 

“How did you know about that…?”

“Surely you don’t believe those louts in the camp were more than muscle?” Ser Baron Number Four’s sour laugh was more akin to a bark. 

“Do you mean they were his guards?”

“No. They’re jackals, adventurer, the sorts who take up this ‘trade’. Mercenaries in all but name, like you. Hard-pressed to lace their own chausses and figure out the sharp end of a blade, never mind anything else.” The little man’s chest puffed outwards with pride, hard to miss even in the poor light filtering from the top of his cell. “I handled my brother’s communiques.”

So this man was a spymaster, then. Or what passed for one. “If the Brass Blades already know who sent that letter, and you’ve confessed to sending Baldewyn orders, I fail to see what other information you believe they would find useful.”

“You’re not looking at the larger picture. You know he was part of one operation, adventurer. That leaves a hells of a lot that you don’t know, including the names of those who’ve been pulling the strings here. That’s why you need me.”

Aurelia offered a shrug. “Baldewyn surely wasn’t privy to that much. He made it clear he thought his connection was to Lolorito. Leofric already knows it wasn’t-”

“Baldewyn was dim as an orobon.”

“But if your information is sound,” she continued, ignoring the bandit’s interruption, “I can pass it along to the captain and let him decide what it’s worth."

“And then?”

“How should I know?” She shrugged. “What he does with it is up to him.”

“You’ve been in Ul’dah too long,” groused the bandit leader. “You bargain like a damned Exchange merchant.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The rasp of sollerets were approaching the closed door. “Unfortunately, it appears our time is up.”

A small hand shot out between the bars of the gaol cell and grasped her wrist. Aurelia’s hand balled into a fist, preparing to intercept—

Paper…?

“Get back, you,” the guardsman thrust one mailed arm between them and dealt a rough shove to the Baron’s chest. The Lalafell stumbled back, spitting a curse. “Sorry, ‘venturer. Should’ve had someone keepin’ an eye on the little blighter but I didn’t think he could do aught with them cuffs on.”

“No harm done.” Aurelia’s fingers curled around the edges of the scrap Ser Baron Number Four had shoved into her palm as her mind raced. “Is Leofric ready to see me?”

“Aye, he’s just finished talking to one of the prisoners. Come with me, miss— and you had best be in that corner keepin’ your hands to yourself when I get back,” he scowled at the bandit leader. The Lalafell’s lips drew back in a resentful sneer, but he said nothing as he retreated towards the wooden cot against the far wall.

Leofric awaited her at an empty table in one of the rooms just beyond the gaol’s blocks. There was a brief knit to his brow and a sharpness in his gaze as she settled herself into the opposite chair. “Is aught amiss?”

“I’m not sure.” She offered a brief smile. “Where’s Fufulupa?”

“Looking over the duty roster at my suggestion. He’ll want to re-assign every soul who was on Baldewyn’s routes. We don’t know who was and wasn’t compromised, and I don’t doubt it’ll be rough going for a while. Some of this lot were used to their easy assignments and extra coin.”

She nodded her approval. “So you’ve been handling this alone thus far.”

“Aye, not that I expected much from this round of interrogation. Most of the Blades involved weren’t privy to any sensitive details. They were just taking bonuses to their pay packets to ask no questions. I’ve yet to speak with Quiveron’s men, but I’d be surprised if even he knows that much, given he’s only had the position for a couple of suns. He’s the younger brother of the one you-“

“The one I killed, yes.” Aurelia’s smile drew tight. “He was quite put out when he saw me. That was a nasty surprise.”

“If you’re worried about retaliation, don’t be. He’ll not be going anywhere for a long while if I have aught to say about it.”

“What about the smuggling ring?”

“Baldewyn’s still silent as the grave, but one of his co-conspirators rolled over. There’s another cache out close to Vesper Bay just out of sight of the harbormaster that needs collecting.” Leofric shook his head. “We thought those caves were abandoned after the Calamity, but ‘twould seem they’ve reopened for business in the years since. Fufulupa will want to have a dedicated patrol out here going forward.”

“That should spell good news for the Blades.” At least this particular gang probably wouldn’t trouble Lost Hope or the local fisherfolk for a little while. “I’d wondered why the guard had such a minimal presence.”

“Baldewyn’s influence, no doubt. …Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes. Although,” his gaze on her face sharpened as she continued, “I had an interesting exchange with their leader while I was waiting for you.”

“Really. That Quiveron? I’m surprised.”

So am I. “He said he might have some information that would interest the Blades. I don’t know. Perhaps he felt I could make a case for clemency.”

Leofric snorted. 

“He can keep dreaming. The Quiveron gang are a bottom-feeding scourge and an insult to the memory of a great lady; all of Thanalan will be safer with him in a gaol or worse. And he’s only been their leader for a paltry few days. I fail to see what ‘information’ he could possibly have.”

She let her shoulders drop in a short shrug. Fatigue from lack of sleep was beginning to gnaw at the edges of her focus. “I told him I’d pass on the word and you could decide what to do with it.” 

“I can’t imagine he was well pleased,” Leofric said wryly. “But I would take his word with a grain of salt if I were you. I’m sure his interest lies only in saving himself.”

“Before the guard came in, he gave me something.” She unfurled her fingers to reveal the somewhat crumpled scrap of paper.

“What’s it say?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I didn’t have a chance to look before your man showed up.”

“Well,” his brows lifted, “let’s see it, then.”

Aurelia extended her hand so he could pluck the paper from her grasp. He read it to himself muttering beneath his breath.

“‘Azima 33.’ That reads like… a date, mayhap? Nine, thirty-three. That’s tomorrow. Number after looks like it could be a time.” Leofric passed it back to her. “No idea about the rest of it.” 

“If it’s like that letter…”

“It isn’t. This is written in plain Eorzean. Even so, I still can’t make hide nor hair of it. Cryptic as all hells.”

She unfolded the scrap and silently thanked the stars above that L’haiya had insisted she learn her Eorzean letters alongside Sazha all those years ago. For all his lofty airs, the Lalafellin bandit’s handwriting was barely legible.

“Any thoughts, Miss Aurelia?”

Aurelia’s eyes fixed on the scrawled words.

Azima 33. 19th ½ bell.
Death and Taxes. 

For want of a Crowne the Kingdom was Lost.