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Jancis · **03-31-2015, 02:24 PM**

Jancis sat there, hand still by the delicate desert, and she watched Franz as he got up, built up the careful walls, and bid her goodnight.

She made no move and gave no reply. Her eyes intently watching him until he escaped from view.

Pride. The more Jancis thought of that word, the more she felt it was a toxin. That was a subject she knew a great deal of; it was one of her 'uses'. In her veins flowed the blood that had experienced countless exposures to various sorts of poisons and venom. Some exposures were smaller than others, the suffering longer and deeper. She had suffered with purpose; she had built up immunity and resilience to the chemicals that would ravage the body. And in her quarters in the Mist were vials of plasma saved, rows of antidotes made from them.

And here, she had suffered from the toxin of pride.Â

The small ones... the proud removed tournament fighters from the Grindstone that hobbled off with wounds untreated despite their agreements for the sport competition, treating the affair as if it was a dramatic warrior novel as them and their soul was beaten by the waves upon a mighty rock to hone their morals and ideals.

â€œAll men make mistakes, but a good man yields when he knows his course is wrong, and repairs the evil. The only crime is pride.â€Â

The large ones... the people she would never see again that had gone on without her. Her First Mate that kept such peril and fear within until it burnt her form and took her life. Her Dearest... with his warm smile and ruby eyes... who didn't take her with him. The pride that overwhelmed trust and made the illusion of worry; made the illusion of value and left her behind.

â€œIt is better to lose your pride with someone you love rather than to lose that someone you love with your useless pride.â€Â

She sat there, quietly finished what remained and cleaned up. The gloaming was gone and the night was full making the way back to the inn. She sat for a couple bells there, thinking and waiting for the herald to call the hour twice. Bit by bit, exposure by exposure, the different kind of resilience built up. She was, after-all, an antidote.

As the last call for the new bell came, she stood up and walked across to the door to Franz's room, the back of her knuckles knocking on the door. Her voice was steady, a nurse-like kindness saturating its tone.

â€œWe are rarely proud when we are alone, Franz."

**Unnamed Mercenary** · **04-01-2015, 04:08 PM**

As he closed the door to his room, Franz nearly fell to the floor. What was he honestly doing at the inn? Why had he decided to leave so suddenly? Decided to speak words about pride? Decided to say something he knew would cause concern?

Pride.

I donâ€™t have pride. Not anymore. Not since I was left to die in Eorzea.

Was it truly â€œprideâ€ that had prompted him to leave? The feeling that he should should not have shown any weakness? Should not have ever found himself in trouble? Should not have needed anotherâ€™s help? It ate away at him. Why did it matter so much what Jancis thought of him?

Iâ€™m not some hero either.

Franz picked himself up from the floor. It was no place to sleep and he knew that. As he removed the various added layers of clothing until just smallclothes, pants, and a shirt remained, he made his way to the bed. An odd feeling rushed over him and he realized just how restricting it was to wear clothing with such tight clasps, others needed to be pulled tight or tied with a knot. The way it felt as if it dug into his skin. He knew it was not the case, but the longer he sat at the table, it became suffocating. But was it the conversation or the clothes that had really caused discomfort?

Each attempt Jancis had made to raise him up made him retreat further and further. Overbearing? Unwanted? No, undeserved. There within was the problem. A difference in beliefs. He believed to be nothing more than the broken man who had lived with a facade for a short time. A man who had awoke in the desert, left to die, and had made something of himself. Undeniably wrong. Garlean. Foreign. He did not belong in this country. Homesick. How could he even be homesick? He couldnâ€™t answer anything about Garlemald. Sure, there there facts he could say. Or places he could describe. But what of those truly mattered? Could he speak about where he grew up? No. Where he lived? No. The people he knew? No. On the bed lay a man who knew not himself. Or rather, he couldnâ€™t.

Somewhere within the husk he had become, Jancis had thought she must have seen some good. He didnâ€™t â€œprotectâ€ a rat from the slime. she had asked for it and he had complied. He didnâ€™t volunteer his time to help Natalie or Kage with their issues. He complied with the rules of the house in which he lived. In fact, he had conspired with enemies of Ulâ€™dah perhaps more than he had defended it. Terrorists. Jinâ€™li. Others. If the coin was good, it didnâ€™t matter. That had been his life until the past year. What â€œheroâ€ was content with seeing the city fall? What â€œheroâ€ was stuck between waiting for Eorzea to fix its own problems? Or to simply fall to Garlean rule? What did Jancis see that made her believe that the actions he did were for anything but his own benefit?

As â€œFranzâ€, he had made the effort to act nicer. Feign caring. Be social enough to even make a friend or two. But did they truly know him? Did they accept him as the person he was? Could they? None of the people knew what he had done to survive in the desert. How he had dragged himself off the streets of the city once arriving just Â to earn barely enough gil to survive. How once word of the â€œUnnamed Mercenaryâ€ had spread, he had finally accumulated enough money to rent a bed to sleep on. Food to eat. They only know â€˜Franzâ€™. A name that isnâ€™t even mine. How were they to judge if he was a â€œheroâ€? Or if he was a â€œgood personâ€. How could they know him if he didnâ€™t know himself?

Iâ€™ve made plenty of mistakes. Is that not how I found myself in this situation?

It was painful just to think about it.But what good did it do him to dwell on it? To keep thinking about his failures? To wallow in pity. None. Instead he continued to do so anyways.

For nearly a bell after, he lay on the bed staring out the window as if some caged animal. but he was the one who had built up the walls, stopped talking to others, secluded himself. I wonder if she even sees the same stars in Garlemald.

As exhaustion washed over him, he could feel himself sinking into slumber. Sight and sound beginning to blur as he drifted off on the bed. He was nearly asleep when he heard the knock.

Quote:â€œWe are rarely proud when we are alone, Franz."

All that could be heard from between the door was a startled sound as he jerked up from the bed, hitting the floor.

Jancis · **04-02-2015, 02:12 PM**

Jancis dropped her hand, eyes steadily looking at the door. Instinctively her hand went for the door handle.

And it worked. The gust of air that came in from the door swinging was noticable, wrinkling the unheaved sheets as it passed, as Jancis let herself in. Closing the door behind, her steps were sure as she approached him.

Her eyes adjusted to the dimmer room in the time it took to close the distance. Taking all she saw, there was no hesitation in her step. Kneeling down and sinking down to his level, her hands were quick to help him sit up, taking his elbow and shoulder. He was certainly a much larger man, and she had to use her form to assist in that offer to get him back upright.

Reaching up to the bed, she pulled on the top blanket, ruining what was made of the bed, and dragged it around Franz's shoulders. There was a bit of fussing as it bundled around him. Finally, after that, she looked him in the eye.

She hadn't the idea of all the chaotic thoughts that passed through his mind for the past couple hours. The beratement he was giving himself. The conflicting feelings that cycled around to the same conclusion; a worthless hunk of man passively hoping to be done, for the ultimate solution to any problem. The isolation that was easier to accept than failing once more.

He had been right. Jancis sat there in front of him on the floor, tucking blankets around the man, taking him for the face value of whatever he had shown her. Blissfully ignorant of the flaws and horrors in his mind.

Why wouldn't she? In her mind, she felt related to him. A person lost from another place building up life and experiences. A man that had lost his own. She knew he was Garlean; he'd shown her his face without any illusion to it. Confessed his fear of harming her and the grief he felt to the other man that... that was a part of him? Was it two men she looked at? Even if that was the case, the soul of the man had given for what he believed a worthy cause. Franz. And every action since then had been with little reward.

The urge to support was intense; and her own mind was in disagreement. She also had thoughts about how much the man in front of her deserved. To help him piece together his memory. To figure out more about his wife and child and return to them.

So she sat in front of him, not smiling and not frowning. Just looking at Franz in the dim room, her eyes and attention his for the next reaction, the next rejection, whatever he decided to try.

**Unnamed Mercenary** · **04-02-2015, 07:48 PM**

Franz had little to no time to react as he felt the hard wooden floor of the inn room. Not a single moment to even dissuade her from entering.

Youâ€™re fine.

Only the light of the stars and any surrounding outside lamps were there to illuminate the darker room. A dull, throbbing pain had settled onto the arm and leg to hit the floor first.

Youâ€™re fine.

The insufferable embarrassment of being propped up against the bed. Of having the blanket pulled and twisted around him. Had he forgotten to lock the door? Before the blanket had been wrapped and further, a single groggy statement. â€œI-...Iâ€™m fine. Really. Was not that far a fall. Only startled.â€

There was a consideration to reapply the glamor he used to â€œblend inâ€, but the door was closed and it was the late evening. And she already knows Iâ€™m Garlean. Staring back in about as natural an appearance as one from Garlemald could was the gaze of a man with three eyes. Defeated. Tired. Â He felt his legs going asleep from the odd position he was sitting. Great. She likely will want an explanation.

But the only words he could mutter were of no use. â€œIâ€™m fine.â€ â€œYou needednâ€™t worry.â€ â€œIt was just a minor fall from being startled.â€ Excuse after excuse. He was really only lying to himself at this point. â€œPleaseâ€¦â€.

He made an effort to to stand, just barely making it half up before falling onto the bed. Pathetic. There was nothing else he could do. â€œPathetic. There is really nothing more to describe my state.â€

â€œItâ€™s just too much. I canâ€™t handle it any longer.â€

Thoughts coming out in spoken words.

â€œI...I donâ€™t know what to do. I havenâ€™t. Not for such a long time.â€ A hopeless smile spread across his face. Regret? Defeat? Acceptance? Perhaps just broken. â€œWhat more is there to do? Iâ€™ve already failed so many things. Couldnâ€™t even keep myself together. Couldnâ€™t fix what was broken.â€

â€œ...broken.â€

â€œ...â€

â€œThatâ€™s really all thatâ€™s left. Rejects of the person I was. The memories of a man I never even knew. Itâ€¦â€

â€œIt hurts.â€

â€œEverything just hurts, and thereâ€™s nothing I can do to fix it.â€ Â Tears rolled down the sides of his face.

â€œI wonâ€™t see them again. I...canâ€™t even remember some of their faces. Nothing of who I was. Who I became. Itâ€™s too much.â€

He had continued to lie to himself. To others. It didnâ€™t get very far.

Franz just stayed on the bed, whatever position heâ€™d fallen in. Muttering. Admitting his own lack of control over what he thought would be the most basic of things. Personal insecurities. Everything.

What was there to hide? Past jobs as a mercenary? Having to take any job just to survive? A miasma of self-loathe. He was no better than a murderer, having killed people while in the Garlean Army. He was no better than a thief, having stolen away the life of Frhanz Kirche, even if unknowingly. An awful husband. A worse father. He couldnâ€™t even be a proper friend.

What was left? A man full of fragmented pieces of himself, desperately trying to put them back together. Only, he didnâ€™t have all the pieces. And pieces of someone else had been mixed in. How had he expected to put his life back together?

Jancis · **04-03-2015, 04:12 PM**

â€œIt hurts.â€

The torrent of emotions came, like an overbearing dam finally being torn apart by the river behind it, flooding the valley below.

There in the dark with the residue of light she saw him, tears and all, just as he was. Broken, pathetic, plain faced, and as ugly as anyone could let themselves been seen.

Honest.

Overwhelmingly honest. Tears came down her cheeks as she listened and took in everything. She had no concept of how much time had passed as he went on and on, purging the secrets and thoughts from within. She took every one of them; listening on and on as the words poured out, ravaged by the feeling of empathy as the pain was re-lived.

And her view of him did change. The drawings children had made of him morphed into a dramatic detailed scope of a man, colors of ink blurring and mixing into blackness before washing away in years of unshed tears to nothingness. soaking into paper to create a new grayish slate with all of the tales becoming part of it; the canvas fresh to add more to.

She let the satchel she had been so careful about slide to the floor. The contents inside were useless right now. The creams to help with his aches and sensitivity, the crystals attuned to help regulate and revitalize, her notes on contacts in Ul'dah and letters to present to old colleagues on her behalf. It was all pointless right now.

It was quiet, still dark. Jancis' legs were sore and asleep from her static position for so long. The floor creaked as she moved, standing and taking the pillow on the bed. She sat where it had been, her back against the wall. Putting the fluff in front of her, she grabbed Franz. Expecting him to be limp from such an emotional upheaval, she used that to gather him enough to sort him out on the bed. Face in the pillow against her leg, blanket down so just his toes peered out. Acting like a husband pillow, she kept her arm up over the man's side and held him lightly.

Her mind raced with thoughts as she did. That the missing memories and pieces would be found or replaced. That Nymeia would have left him had he been worthless. The tide of emotion was ebbing and she was left fatigued afterwards. He didn't need the emotion suppressed right now, her mind lingered.. dropping the encouraging thoughts previously thought to bring to speech. They both needed to experience the raw feelings.

So she sat there holding Franz as she closed her eyes, head dropping down to hang, as soft words finally came from her.

"Being strong is damn exhausting."

**Unnamed Mercenary** · **04-09-2015, 12:19 AM**

After the flood of words he had so desperately tried to keep inside, it was comforting to have let them go, as if they had been washed away from him. Tension from silence. To not cause worry. To appear strong. But it had gotten him nowhere. Done nothing to help his situation. If anything, it only pushed his worries onto others.

There was no strength left to resist trying to further push himself away. There was an attempt to wipe some of the tears from his likely bloodshot eyes. Perhaps he would simply keep them closed instead. Seeing Jancisâ€™ expression could possibly send him over again.

What would she think of him now?

It was exhausting holding onto all of those feelings. It was exhausting to voice them. Franz could not push himself away, even if Jancisâ€™ touch felt uncomfortable. How could he? She had stayed. Listened. Wanted to understand.Sheâ€™s certainly gotten that. But how will she react? It was a frightening thought. There was so much he had spoken about. Any number of things that could not only bring her trouble, but cause endless trouble for himself.

Murder. Thievery. Abandonment.

Just to think of a few.

Of course he was aware that some of them may have been outside his control. Part of being a mercenary meant he would take any job, regardless the suitor and regardless the task. It meant surviving.But a lack of malice or ill intention does not make a bad action any less regrettable.

Only when the room became completely silent did he break the silence with a response to her words.

â€œI believe you would know better than I in that regard.â€

And with those final words, consciousness drifted away once again and he felt himself easing into the embrace of sleep in a child-like manner. Pride was of little concern after everything else he had said.Had I always been this frail?

--

In his dreams, small fragments of the past found their way back into the seams holding his soul together. Indistinct voices and scenery. Garlemald. A little girl looking up and smiling at him.She has her motherâ€™s eyes. The girl running away, laughing. Playing.

In another scene, he was in another room. A kitchen? Pots and pans on a large stove. An oven, baking.Will there be enough patrons today? How long can we stay open like this? A magitek timer buzzing.Prepare the next batch.

Then he was in an unfamiliar building. Sterile. Bright. An announcement that all participants would be allowed to opt out.That was a lie. We knew we were never going to be able to leave the moment we stepped in. A white-haired woman with glasses talked about the betterment of the Empire. How they would be making a difference.Her eyes seemed so cold.

The final dream was perhaps the strangest. Warm. No, hot. Burning. He and others had been sent somewhere. Flames danced around his line of sight. A large beast drew near.The units had never been designed to hold that much aether. They....I....I watched as they all burned. All of them. He'd seen the create breath flames onto the group, magitek failing. Overloading. Broken.Burning. Everything had been burning.

--

As he had slept, a peaceful expression could have been seen on his face. Fond memories. Simpler times that he had enjoyed. But happiness was something the man was accustomed to being deprived of. Slowly, the content expression worsened, becoming almost pained. The last dream eventually became too much, jolting him awake, sweating. Reliving the sensation of burning from the inside out. It was an unbearable pain that spread to even the tips of his fingers and toes. A muffled sound of pain despite wanting to cry out. Instead, he only grit his teeth with clenched fists until the pain faded. He dare not open his eyes for fear of what he would see.

Jancis · **04-10-2015, 01:22 PM**

â€œI believe you would know better than I in that regard.â€

The quiet words refreshed the tears in her eyes. Her eyes hung down looking at Franz, shadows hiding most of his face, as she waited. She realized after awhile he had slipped off to sleep when his body became heavier against her and there was a strange serene awkwardness.

Man she looked up to she was now looking down at. She wasn't blinded by stories; she was sure there were pains and normal misgivings and flaws. The overload of emotion was immense and it hurt. She cried, her throat closing and choking up as she let it consume her and exhaust her heart.

She was a healer, her mind going into some background noise of book quotes and lessons taught to her. The grief in his tone. The focus utterly on his failures. Something hummed in her mind that surely some of the details were expanded beyond the reality of what happened (even if it became his reality in mind) and obsessed over.

It was a small throbbing comfort as she fought the depression of the night. Franz slept. Crushing his head with a rock was not the right option; but there was a lot of work to do.

Jin'li had used him, the monster's name came to her mind as she drifted between consciousness and sleep, and came back for some reason to him. To use him again? Justice had a different meaning to Jancis than city laws, something more primal pulsed. She'd help him with finding solace and penance; to repay the ones that remained and were wronged. To protect others from others who would repeat such grief.

She slept. It was an aware sleep like a soldier would. She felt his subtle shift, opening her eyes to realize it was just dawn. She could see more of him now from the window's light and the tight expression and feign of sleep.

Her face was still tear-streaked, quite a wreck of sniffling and whatnot from hours before. Try as she did, her voice was still broken and hoarse even in its soft tone.

"It is dawn. You can sleep more if you want to. I cannot anymore."

She had more to say, but she waited instead.

**Unnamed Mercenary** · **04-10-2015, 06:30 PM**

At the sound of her voice, Franz stirred on the bed, rubbing his eyes.

â€œNo, it would be best that I get up as well.â€

The phantom pains of his dreams had left, leaving him in a much better state than the previous night. He rose from the bed, turning his back to her. Raising a hand to his forehead, he reapplied a simple glamour to hide the undeniable marker of Garlean blood.

Taking a calm, deep, breath, he turned to face her. A small, heartfelt smile crept onto his face. Eyes that didnâ€™t nearly look as sad as before.

â€œThank you. For listening.â€

He eyed her expression. The dried tears. Coarse voice. Youâ€™re the one responsible for that. Franz would have to rectify that.

Opening a small window in the room to let in some fresh air and light, he sat down at a table in the room. He would wait for her words now.

Jancis · **04-12-2015, 05:24 PM**

The corner of her mouth tugged as she mimicked the expression, the look on his face the reward for a hard night.

"You are welcome." She replied, her voice sincere despite its throaty tone. There wasn't regret or built up politeness muddled. She barged in and pushed herself to be welcomed into his grief and he ended up thanking her for it.

Jancis didn't move, any limb a token resistance to moving as he shifted and stood up. She sat still as she listened to the morning birds, the faint sound of the day's business starting in the small shroud market hub. There was a serene peace for a few minutes until she shuffled and sat on the edge of the bed with her feet on the floor.

"It is more clear now why Jin'li has decided to target you. We have much to do."

She slipped off the bed and retrieved the satchel, putting it on the table in front of Franz. Standing next to him, she pulled the roll of papers from it, letters bundled to the those she knew in Ul'dah. She sorted it through it, pulling out one in particular.

"This man here is Sir Kahn'a Od'hilkas. He saved my life from the onslaught that Jin'li brought to ravage the city. Lady Crofte knows he is more of a, ah, tactics man of the Immortal Flames. And he has other more useful contacts. Might have run into him and not even realized it."

She flipped through some other names, briefly mentioning them, but implying that they've all worked for one another in the past. The satchel was for him and she left it there as such. "Lady Edda will hopefully be returning soon from her father's estate. With her supplies and abilities, we will be able to rebuild more."

"Everyone deserves to have their second chances, Franz. Atonement. Or perhaps it is only a matter of perspective?"Â she asked, looking down on his face. "I have done plenty wrong in my Turns; shall likely commit more. It does not negate my efforts to want to do better, however. It is a job for more than one person to accomplish."

**Unnamed Mercenary** · **04-14-2015, 06:05 PM**

Somehow, the thought of Jinâ€™liâ€™s plans seemed more distant than it had previously. The grave nature to it, unaffecting. Hearing Jancis talk about it more, it because evident she must not have grasped his original connection to the deranged miqoâ€™te.

â€œOf course Jinâ€™li wanted to target me. He wanted my help. Employment. There was not much time to notice his...displeasure at my rejection.â€

He watched casually as she got up. Picked up the satchel. Lightly dropped it on the table. And what is supposed to be in here? It was answered nearly immediately.

Jancis had pulled out a familiar face. Using a name that was familiar to her, but not to him. Kahnâ€™a. So thatâ€™s his name. It made sense. Kahnâ€™a had been at the first of Jinâ€™liâ€™s deaths he witnessed. He knew Melkire. And was associated with another person he had been asked to keep an eye on. Connections.

â€œIâ€™m well aware of who he is. But the name...that is useful.â€

The other names of people did not seem to catch his eye.

When Edda was once again mentioned, the words stung. The amount of verbal vitriol that Edda seemed to have only sought to make it more apparent of her feelings towards him. A lack of approval. A complete lack of desire to be around. An act. Of course all of it is an act. Unless she actually lied to herself until believing it. Then there was was case of her ring. How it had been conveyed that he should simply sell it for wealth. Benefit from the objectâ€™s misfortune of becoming â€œhisâ€. He was told it was a treasured item. And a treasured item belongs with the person who can treasure it. He would ensure trying to return it at the next time they would meet.

Perspective. Second chances.

But how many times can one really have multiple â€˜second chancesâ€™?

â€œThatâ€™s what I keep telling myself.â€ He could feel his tone going flat. The words didnâ€™t seem to carry as much meaning as heâ€™d been hoping.

â€œIn any case, Iâ€™ve made a complete mess of this entire thing,â€ he said, almost chuckling. The laughter trying to hide his other feelings. Keep the mood lighter. There was nothing left to hide about his worries. Sheâ€™d already been told them in his pitiful state. One must rise up from their lower points.

â€œPerhaps we should freshen up and start the day?â€ A light smile. â€œI shouldn't keep you any longer.â€ She was right, and he knew it. In his attempts to handle everything himself, he had only broken under the pressure.

But that man had gone to sleep for his final day and a new one had awoken. The same for what would perhaps be many days, as pieces of his past would surface, the more painful memories, drifting away.

Jancis · **04-15-2015, 09:16 PM**

Jancis looked down at Franz, considering him through the swings in mood, the gruff answer at the obvious, her failure to bring about any real useful light.

"Would I could wipe away such pain with words. To clean up this mess; Thaliak knows there would be no hesitation." After such a night she wasn't going to let her scratchy productive tone go. "Clearly it is more than employment; that poison builds shadows. I seen only half of you and that is not enough. He believes you a common tool to be used. Even with the good in your heart, there is much to do; believe in your own words." She failed to apologize for her blunt demand.

"My name is upon these letters should you decide to approach him or any of these others. Shall not just be you anymore, Franz. I give you what I have been given by them; my word and their trust goes with you. It will have to make due until your own reputation and worth is uncovered and seen."

She moved to the door at his smile, once again her mouth tugging to return it. Leaving the satchel and all there. "There is also a linkpearl within. I am but a word away."

Carefully opening the door she so swiftly swung the night before, she slipped through the gap and shut it as quietly as possible.

**Unnamed Mercenary** · **04-19-2015, 01:06 PM**

Jancis was right. It wasnâ€™t something he had particularly doubted, but it was an odd concept. He wondered briefly on which things she had decided were most important as he had blathered out his every fault and worry like a child. It was unbecoming nevertheless. He couldnâ€™t continue to let himself be seen that way.

He waited a few minutes after the door had been closed before inspecting the other items in the satchel. The pictures. Various little ointments for pain. Local remedies. A smaller container of some aspected crystals.

What were these supposed to be for?

He would return to Ulâ€™dah. Many of the people important to him were there. A smile on his face, he packed what was needed and departed for Gridania. He had time for an airship ride.

-- A few days later --

He had seen her twice. Edda. They had spoken. He had made a fool of himself time and time again. Her ring. Her feelings. The more he had tried to convince the girl of her own worth, the more he saw it hurt her.

But he continued. The ring that had been lost, found. Broken, repaired. They had met up again and talked again. Only words. Iâ€™ll hold onto the ring. Keep it safe. Thatâ€™s what she had wanted.

Edda had asked him not to leave.

I can stay in Ulâ€™dah for the time being.

It was as simple as that.

-- One day before the Grindstone --

He had taken stay at the Hourglass again. His favorite room. The one with a bed that could be moved outside to see the stars in the sky.

It was peaceful that way. On warm nights, he would sleep under the stars, wondering if Lydia saw the same.

He missed her with every onze of his being. And their daughter. What was her name? He couldnâ€™t remember. And it pained him. So many nights had already been spent depairing over it. I need to be strong. I will see them again.

He had brought the satchel Jancis had left in the Float. None of the resources used yet. The pain was getting better on its own. Slowly. What had sore to the touch and uncomfortable only felt numb. Painless, but not fine. But not feeling anything was better than the feeling of being suffocated in his own skin. It was manageable. He only needed to ensure that he would not cause pain to others now.

Itâ€™s difficult.

Opening the satchel, he took out a small container holding some crystals. Each aspect, brightly colored.

Setting the container onto the table, he was reminded of past memories of crystals. What had happened long ago with a group of people lost in a haze of the past. Of when he had no control of his own aether, and it would render as crystallization of the area surrounding him. Of some of the things the Elezen had done, using the crystals as various catalysts for alchemical purposes. Iâ€™d have possibly died if it werenâ€™t for that aetherial blocker he had madeâ€¦

There was a slight newfound curiosity in the objects. Franz knew that they were commonly used in crafting as catalysts and in substitute for supplies on occasion. It made enough sense that the proper amount of water and fire crystals could make a pot of tea. And much faster than putting a pot to boil.

Opening the container, he pulled out a small, finger-sized fire crystal. Holding it with two fingers, he admired the small, compacted, form of energy. It was a nice sight to behold. So much that he had failed to notice how the red hue started to fade in grip. How the energy it should have been giving off was gone. Thatâ€™s odd.

I donâ€™t recall them losing their hue under normal use.

Noticing the drained hue of a deaspected, dead, crystal, he picked up another. A wind crystal. Green. Saw it fade to a pale grey. Nothing of use for its former properties. He wouldnâ€™t know about it himself. That the cost of his actions was being paid for by the surrounding aether. That the experiments that had been done on him had not left with death. That he was consuming more aether than before, in an unknown effort to repair the damage he could not.

He left for the Grindstone, smiling, once again. I can help people there. Isnâ€™t that good enough for now?

/lastpost

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