As Franz made his way through the forest, every step seemed to become heavier and heavier. He had been overexerting himself again that evening. And just the day before, he had foolishly healed at the Grindstone. Even the Garlean had to be aware of his limits. Of how little aether there was left to merely sustain himself.
Slowly, he continued to trudge further on. The cottage wasn’t far. There would be a bed there. It would be quiet. Peaceful. He wouldn’t need to deal with anything else. Wouldn’t rest be nice? To just...sleep a little?
The previous week had been a blur. A mix of emotions and feelings. Of sacrifices he had never planned on making. Lives he had not decided to save of his own volition. But there he was, doing it anyways. Wouldn’t hurt to think things through at least some of the time. You plan to make it back to Garlemald in this state? If what he’d been told was true, he likely shouldn’t have even been walking.
Garleans are not born with aether reserves, nor can they wield aether.
But I’m different. Things were done to me. I’m no longer who I was.
In his dealings with the Keeper, he had been subjected to vary forms of treatment. From when the boy had lept at him, in an attempt to steal what little aether he had at the time. How the feeling of it being drained felt as if pieces of himself were being torn off. The throbbing pain that had followed. The marks similar to a burn that lay underneath. And yet, he had come to watch the Miqo’te. Almost interested in how he had become able to use such a skill. It didn’t resemble any modern methods, such as the ones in arcanima or in thaumaturgy. It was more...violent. Greedy. Desperate. Like a starving animal. And so he’d continued to watch after ensuring he would be safe himself.  The Keeper boy had at least been decent at conjury, it seemed. Franz had found him healing at some of the Grindstone matches, likely as a way to scope out new victims for whatever plan he had. Franz didn’t like it, but he also didn’t know the other people. To him, if he wasn’t involved, he didn’t need to concern himself with it.
Self-centered idiot. It wasn’t untrue.
As the days had gone on, he’d had to deal with the anxieties that had built up. How he couldn’t solve all of his issues on his own. Of how powerless he truly was. The insecurities that had nearly drowned him in life. His days had become tormented by the thoughts of what he’d done wrong, of what could go wrong. Of how he was simply “wrong†himself. A Garlean hiding away in Eorzea. He didn’t even acknowledge his proud heritage. Instead, he glamoured over his birthright and braided his hair to look like he had escaped from the Ala Mhigan colony. He should honestly have felt repulsed by it.
But doing so had its benefits. People had come to trust him. Some had even become trusted enough to learn more about who he was. Where he was from.
And Franz needed that. So far away from his family, from his homeland, from anything that felt familiar, including his own memory, he needed that trust. With the death of the Duskwight alchemist, he had been given a chance at living a life again. And he nearly threw it all away again. Closed himself off from those who only wanted to help. That he’d started appearing in public at all had been to the work of others. Of nights spent in Fallgourd Float, confessing his every sin and fault.
His days had begun to improve again. While he may not have remembered more of himself, what pieces of himself he had recovered were enough to keep going. To trying being happy again. He could remember their smiles. Lydia and their daughter. He wished every day that he might remember her name, even at the cost of never remember his own. “Franz†was good enough. It was what people knew him by these days. Not just “the Unnamed Mercenary who always wears a mask to hide his face.†He’d begun to smile again.
Then it happened. A recent visit to the Black Shroud. What should have been a peaceful day, spent lightly observing Castrum Oriens, became a plea for help. To spare a life nearly lost. He’d heavily considered just leaving. It was the Keeper after all. Would he not be doing Eorzea a favor by letting the creature perish?
But it wasn’t just the Keeper that day. The creature that lurked within him had taken over, moving it like a puppet. It asked. Pleaded, even, to have the life of its host saved. Franz could not comprehend it. It, a creature of the void, wanted a live host. Nothing in any of the studies he had acquired spoke of anything quite like it. Naturally, he made an ass of himself and taunted it, unaware of how much more power it could be while unrestricted.
There hadn’t even been time to react. To recoil from the pain. What the Keeper may have been sufficient at, the voidsent was much better at. He had managed to fend off its first attempt to suck away his life. An act of desperation. Franz had declined its offer to save the host. He had been specifically selected for the task. And Franz wanted nothing to do with it. He asked only a single question to the puppeteering voidsent.
“Why should I help you?â€
A simple enough question, he thought. There could be any number of answers.
Franz received none. Instead, he was convinced by another. Apparently the Matron of the Keeper host. He wasn’t sure why.
Even after the fact, the question had stayed unanswered. He continued on his path. The cottage was in sight. He was close. He could rest soon. Try to recuperate. A quick look at his hands and arms had shown his glamour was fading. The injuries begging to show through. Cuts. Bruises. Parts of him that felt as if somewhere were missing. As if he would break apart if any stress were put on him. But I’d been fine just a few bells earlier. And he had. He’d strolled through the Lavender Beds. Seen Kage again. It had been peaceful. Pleasant. Perhaps lifting up the Lalafell had been too much, but the two girls had laughed at it. Even cheered when he did so with just a single hand. It was behind him at this point, feet dragging on.
Flashbacks of the event leading up to his state continued to play in his mind. The Keeper Matron had beegest to save the life of the boy. He accepted. Told them to wait near the Hawthorne Hut, where he was bring the boy afterwards.
It never quite happened that way.
He had cast away his own safety in the endeavor. When his aether reserves emptied out, to turned to using himself. Sacrificed his blood and body, directly converting it to aether to finish the spell. The voidsent had been forced to endure all of it. Of the pain associated with regrowing so much flesh. But the stab and gunshot wounds inflicted on the Keeper’s body had vanished. And with it, Franz had found himself in the state he was in now. And he had further stolen from himself to heal at the Grindstone, a glamour hiding the damages he’d sustained for making such a decision.
He could see the details of the door. It would only be a few more fulms until he was there.
But Franz wouldn’t make it. Instead, he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. For anything really. His vision blurred. He lost the sensation of touch. I don’t want the pain of dying once more. It was already too much! The thoughts screamed in his head as he fell towards the ground, unconscious before he could ever feel the drop.
Slowly, he continued to trudge further on. The cottage wasn’t far. There would be a bed there. It would be quiet. Peaceful. He wouldn’t need to deal with anything else. Wouldn’t rest be nice? To just...sleep a little?
The previous week had been a blur. A mix of emotions and feelings. Of sacrifices he had never planned on making. Lives he had not decided to save of his own volition. But there he was, doing it anyways. Wouldn’t hurt to think things through at least some of the time. You plan to make it back to Garlemald in this state? If what he’d been told was true, he likely shouldn’t have even been walking.
Garleans are not born with aether reserves, nor can they wield aether.
But I’m different. Things were done to me. I’m no longer who I was.
In his dealings with the Keeper, he had been subjected to vary forms of treatment. From when the boy had lept at him, in an attempt to steal what little aether he had at the time. How the feeling of it being drained felt as if pieces of himself were being torn off. The throbbing pain that had followed. The marks similar to a burn that lay underneath. And yet, he had come to watch the Miqo’te. Almost interested in how he had become able to use such a skill. It didn’t resemble any modern methods, such as the ones in arcanima or in thaumaturgy. It was more...violent. Greedy. Desperate. Like a starving animal. And so he’d continued to watch after ensuring he would be safe himself.  The Keeper boy had at least been decent at conjury, it seemed. Franz had found him healing at some of the Grindstone matches, likely as a way to scope out new victims for whatever plan he had. Franz didn’t like it, but he also didn’t know the other people. To him, if he wasn’t involved, he didn’t need to concern himself with it.
Self-centered idiot. It wasn’t untrue.
As the days had gone on, he’d had to deal with the anxieties that had built up. How he couldn’t solve all of his issues on his own. Of how powerless he truly was. The insecurities that had nearly drowned him in life. His days had become tormented by the thoughts of what he’d done wrong, of what could go wrong. Of how he was simply “wrong†himself. A Garlean hiding away in Eorzea. He didn’t even acknowledge his proud heritage. Instead, he glamoured over his birthright and braided his hair to look like he had escaped from the Ala Mhigan colony. He should honestly have felt repulsed by it.
But doing so had its benefits. People had come to trust him. Some had even become trusted enough to learn more about who he was. Where he was from.
And Franz needed that. So far away from his family, from his homeland, from anything that felt familiar, including his own memory, he needed that trust. With the death of the Duskwight alchemist, he had been given a chance at living a life again. And he nearly threw it all away again. Closed himself off from those who only wanted to help. That he’d started appearing in public at all had been to the work of others. Of nights spent in Fallgourd Float, confessing his every sin and fault.
His days had begun to improve again. While he may not have remembered more of himself, what pieces of himself he had recovered were enough to keep going. To trying being happy again. He could remember their smiles. Lydia and their daughter. He wished every day that he might remember her name, even at the cost of never remember his own. “Franz†was good enough. It was what people knew him by these days. Not just “the Unnamed Mercenary who always wears a mask to hide his face.†He’d begun to smile again.
Then it happened. A recent visit to the Black Shroud. What should have been a peaceful day, spent lightly observing Castrum Oriens, became a plea for help. To spare a life nearly lost. He’d heavily considered just leaving. It was the Keeper after all. Would he not be doing Eorzea a favor by letting the creature perish?
But it wasn’t just the Keeper that day. The creature that lurked within him had taken over, moving it like a puppet. It asked. Pleaded, even, to have the life of its host saved. Franz could not comprehend it. It, a creature of the void, wanted a live host. Nothing in any of the studies he had acquired spoke of anything quite like it. Naturally, he made an ass of himself and taunted it, unaware of how much more power it could be while unrestricted.
There hadn’t even been time to react. To recoil from the pain. What the Keeper may have been sufficient at, the voidsent was much better at. He had managed to fend off its first attempt to suck away his life. An act of desperation. Franz had declined its offer to save the host. He had been specifically selected for the task. And Franz wanted nothing to do with it. He asked only a single question to the puppeteering voidsent.
“Why should I help you?â€
A simple enough question, he thought. There could be any number of answers.
Franz received none. Instead, he was convinced by another. Apparently the Matron of the Keeper host. He wasn’t sure why.
Even after the fact, the question had stayed unanswered. He continued on his path. The cottage was in sight. He was close. He could rest soon. Try to recuperate. A quick look at his hands and arms had shown his glamour was fading. The injuries begging to show through. Cuts. Bruises. Parts of him that felt as if somewhere were missing. As if he would break apart if any stress were put on him. But I’d been fine just a few bells earlier. And he had. He’d strolled through the Lavender Beds. Seen Kage again. It had been peaceful. Pleasant. Perhaps lifting up the Lalafell had been too much, but the two girls had laughed at it. Even cheered when he did so with just a single hand. It was behind him at this point, feet dragging on.
Flashbacks of the event leading up to his state continued to play in his mind. The Keeper Matron had beegest to save the life of the boy. He accepted. Told them to wait near the Hawthorne Hut, where he was bring the boy afterwards.
It never quite happened that way.
He had cast away his own safety in the endeavor. When his aether reserves emptied out, to turned to using himself. Sacrificed his blood and body, directly converting it to aether to finish the spell. The voidsent had been forced to endure all of it. Of the pain associated with regrowing so much flesh. But the stab and gunshot wounds inflicted on the Keeper’s body had vanished. And with it, Franz had found himself in the state he was in now. And he had further stolen from himself to heal at the Grindstone, a glamour hiding the damages he’d sustained for making such a decision.
He could see the details of the door. It would only be a few more fulms until he was there.
But Franz wouldn’t make it. Instead, he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. For anything really. His vision blurred. He lost the sensation of touch. I don’t want the pain of dying once more. It was already too much! The thoughts screamed in his head as he fell towards the ground, unconscious before he could ever feel the drop.