((A piece of Gogonji Gegenji's story, however small.))
Annunu stood stock-still in the Castrum where she was mostly concealed by the weapons crate, the distinctive pink of her hair hidden by the imperial cap she'd obtained, and two poisoned blades drawn and held in front of her. Guard schedules, materiel stockpile lists, procurement orders, and resupply convoy requests rested in a neat stack, original copies all, in her pouch. She had fulfilled every request Master Oan had made of her, and yet, here she was still in the Castrum, the chance of discovery increased with every passing heartbeat, watching the sealed room buried in the heart of the compound and the men passing forth agitatedly in front of it, aware that an assassin had penetrated their fortress and killed several high-ranking officers for the information she had already acquired.
Why? Why was she still here?
An did not move, not even permitting the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She did not blink or falter. Wounds - some old, some new - peppered her body. She could not expect healing, nor praise, nor comfort, nor even payment, at the end of this mission. Why risk life, spill more blood, to go above and beyond for this person who hated her so?
It was at times like this, moments of absolute stillness, moments that preceded violence, that she remembered her father - or rather, the man that had taken her in after her parents had died. The death of her parents was the faintest memory, one of warm blood and tears, and the Hyur's hand closing on her arm to take her away. Even as a child, she had modeled herself on his behavior. Rational thought, cold assessment, the abjuration of remorse and regret. All with the knowledge that, one day, the ultimate price for mission after mission would be paid, and the duty would fall to the next in line.
Chuta had taught her how to smile and laugh with feeling behind it. Her memories of listening to his stories as a child when he would make his way through her village were her first of laughter, her first of the pain that followed loss. Why she hadn't felt that when her birth parents had died, she still didn't understand - but, a few steps later in her life, he had been the one to drive the lesson home and give her something other than the mission to live for, something other than the path her father laid out for her to walk. From the way her father had smiled, just faintly, the first such smile she remembered from him the day she drove her dagger into his ribs, he understood she walked a different path now, too.
Or maybe he'd smiled because despite Chuta's influence, An had still elected to kill him. And that path had brought her here, to the Castrum, her underclothes soaked in her blood and those of others, after all. An interesting problem.
She had read documents among those she had procured indicating that some sort of experimental barrier magitek had been researched and constructed in this facility. The Imperials were all-too-aware of their inefficiencies with regards to aether use, and the advantage it gave Eorzeans. One remedy that was being researched was a nullifying shield - originally designed to block incoming destructive magics, but if the notes were to be believed, instead functioned more as a nullifying zone. Two prototypes existed. One was within the sealed room before her; the other had been shipped off to Garlemald some time hence for further research. She could do nothing for the one across the seas, but some force compelled her to bring this one to Oan.
It was suicidal, really. She had been here long enough obtaining the information he'd actually requested that the Castrum was on alert, and the guard by the room tripled. Not to mention, even if she pierced those defenses, she had to break into the room, locate the prototype, and spirit herself and the bulky equipment away before being caught. Loaded down with the equipment, she might not be able to get away and in secrecy enough to survive. It was likely Oan might not even care about the technology. It was certain he would hate her the more for its retrieval. And yet...
Hope was not a quality An had ever embraced. Hope was an emotion that skewed the rational consideration of strengths and weaknesses, that clouded judgment. When had she begun to dare hope for the future? Was that Chuta's fault, too? She broke her stillness, just momentarily, to smile.
Then she began her work. This, at least, was familiar. This, at least, was what she knew.
Annunu stood stock-still in the Castrum where she was mostly concealed by the weapons crate, the distinctive pink of her hair hidden by the imperial cap she'd obtained, and two poisoned blades drawn and held in front of her. Guard schedules, materiel stockpile lists, procurement orders, and resupply convoy requests rested in a neat stack, original copies all, in her pouch. She had fulfilled every request Master Oan had made of her, and yet, here she was still in the Castrum, the chance of discovery increased with every passing heartbeat, watching the sealed room buried in the heart of the compound and the men passing forth agitatedly in front of it, aware that an assassin had penetrated their fortress and killed several high-ranking officers for the information she had already acquired.
Why? Why was she still here?
An did not move, not even permitting the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She did not blink or falter. Wounds - some old, some new - peppered her body. She could not expect healing, nor praise, nor comfort, nor even payment, at the end of this mission. Why risk life, spill more blood, to go above and beyond for this person who hated her so?
It was at times like this, moments of absolute stillness, moments that preceded violence, that she remembered her father - or rather, the man that had taken her in after her parents had died. The death of her parents was the faintest memory, one of warm blood and tears, and the Hyur's hand closing on her arm to take her away. Even as a child, she had modeled herself on his behavior. Rational thought, cold assessment, the abjuration of remorse and regret. All with the knowledge that, one day, the ultimate price for mission after mission would be paid, and the duty would fall to the next in line.
Chuta had taught her how to smile and laugh with feeling behind it. Her memories of listening to his stories as a child when he would make his way through her village were her first of laughter, her first of the pain that followed loss. Why she hadn't felt that when her birth parents had died, she still didn't understand - but, a few steps later in her life, he had been the one to drive the lesson home and give her something other than the mission to live for, something other than the path her father laid out for her to walk. From the way her father had smiled, just faintly, the first such smile she remembered from him the day she drove her dagger into his ribs, he understood she walked a different path now, too.
Or maybe he'd smiled because despite Chuta's influence, An had still elected to kill him. And that path had brought her here, to the Castrum, her underclothes soaked in her blood and those of others, after all. An interesting problem.
She had read documents among those she had procured indicating that some sort of experimental barrier magitek had been researched and constructed in this facility. The Imperials were all-too-aware of their inefficiencies with regards to aether use, and the advantage it gave Eorzeans. One remedy that was being researched was a nullifying shield - originally designed to block incoming destructive magics, but if the notes were to be believed, instead functioned more as a nullifying zone. Two prototypes existed. One was within the sealed room before her; the other had been shipped off to Garlemald some time hence for further research. She could do nothing for the one across the seas, but some force compelled her to bring this one to Oan.
It was suicidal, really. She had been here long enough obtaining the information he'd actually requested that the Castrum was on alert, and the guard by the room tripled. Not to mention, even if she pierced those defenses, she had to break into the room, locate the prototype, and spirit herself and the bulky equipment away before being caught. Loaded down with the equipment, she might not be able to get away and in secrecy enough to survive. It was likely Oan might not even care about the technology. It was certain he would hate her the more for its retrieval. And yet...
Hope was not a quality An had ever embraced. Hope was an emotion that skewed the rational consideration of strengths and weaknesses, that clouded judgment. When had she begun to dare hope for the future? Was that Chuta's fault, too? She broke her stillness, just momentarily, to smile.
Then she began her work. This, at least, was familiar. This, at least, was what she knew.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
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