A Limsan Sunrise
Her blue eyes looked out toward the horizon, savoring the orange, pink, and violet hues summoned across the distant sea by the rise of that day's sun. Though the evening had been late, Aya never liked to miss a chance to catch a Limsan sunrise. Eyes that could have strained with tired fatigue, instead reveled in the sight.
The balcony made for the perfect vantage point: high above the inner waters of the port, above a quay that hummed with activity below. She glanced down at the sailors and longshoreman loading a trade ship for its next voyage.  For what distant shore was it bound? The opportunities seemed endless. A soft smile crept upon an expression both serious and reflective. She took a moment to take the last sip of hot coffee, the aroma and taste of Ul'dah upon her lips.
As she set the cup back down she glanced upward again, the smile softening as she took in the sight of the distant sea. She drew his pipe to her lips; with a couple of puffs she released the fragrant, wispy smoke into the air. It was his balcony, afterall, where she lounged in the early morning. His silk robe she wore, strained taut by a figure it was not designed to contain. It was his guest room in which she had spent the night, like most nights she found herself in the distant port city.
It was the Harbinger's Tavern night that so often drew her here. Always a pleasure--she reveled in every eve she could make. They were a moment away from Ul'dah, a moment of enjoyment, a moment of pleasure away from daily travails. Lady Covington and Val, her beau, always offered far more hospitality than Aya had ever deserved. She welcomed it without hesitation.
She drew from the pipe, pulling the long, dark, lipstick stained stem from her lips she released a ring of smoke, holding its form as it rose, before slowly dissipating. "Things never stop changing..." she thought to herself. The conversation of the evening before had only served to remind her: surrounded by old friends, and new friends, she could not help but notice how life seemed to change so quickly. Raik had talked of one man's life lost, and another's in shambles, both acquaintances of hers who would never be the same as she had last seen them. While the Dubious Duskwight's life had turned upside down over the past week. Whatever the real source of his new found wealth, he had not put it to use for liberation, but instead double-downed on responsibilities that seemed to grow faster than he imagined they could.
She recalled the furrow of his brow, the look of tired, almost withdrawn concern. How different it was from the look of the friendly, if eccentric, fellow she had first met moons ago. Where destitution had made him jovial and pleasant, if desperate, success now made him seem worn, and frayed around the edges.Â
She tapped the bowl of his pipe against the arm of his chair, checking for the sign of embers still burning. "How long has it been?" Every week she returned to the flat, hoping to find him, or at least some sign he had been there. But every week it was obvious: no one had entered the rooms since she had last left. It was disappointment; and left her with a certain sense of loneliness that she could not quite pin down.
The breath of sea-air transported her in time, reminding her of a a childhood touched by the city. In that moment it all seemed so relevant, so close, as if she could reach out and live it again. The very streets upon which she had first grown up, where family became loyalty, and friends, allies.
What of that pirate woman from the night before? Maybe it was the taste of Ishgardian vodka, but the conversation had only served to remind her of bitter memories. The blithe manner in which she spoke of her "work", the notes of celebration of successful pillage--it was exactly what Aya disliked most about Limsa, and the people who called the city home. They could always offer rationalization: "it is our way of life", "we only take from those who deserve it", "its just the way the world is", but each sounded more of an excuse than the last. In the end, it was always the same: the strong take from the weak. A vicious cycle she had seen repeated again, and again through her young life.
She drew in once more, shaping this time a pair of rings rising together. Her breath productive, if exasperated. The woman had been having such fun, and who was a silly barmaid to dampen it with a dose of reality? She allowed her thoughts to escape again, crossing her legs as she set them upon the balcony's railing. Lounging beneath the sun as it rose higher into the sky, feeling the warmth of its rays against her skin.
The evening's finale had been something to remember: out upon the beach, a bit of sparring between Berrod and Val. It was not so much a contest, as if the highlander being something of a living statue weren't enough, his martial skill, and talent in channeling aether were to be put on full display not to pummel, but to test. Val could not help but seem outmatched: the smaller Miqo'te was a man who could own the streets with fist and bottle, but it was was obvious who was schooling whom.
She smiled softly as she remembered the unfolding scene: there was a trepidation in Val's step, but a revelry in the opportunity. Berrod had avoided his early attempts to connect, drawing on the very power of the elements, and daring Val to do the same. He thrust the Miqo'te into a desperate position, moving fast, with a determination for victory if Val did not stop him. But the opening in his defense was intentional: he would give the student the opportunity, but the student would have to seize it on his own.
When the ocean moved at Val's command, the sand-covered highlander went down in an undignified heap. Val had been pushed to the edge, and had found the will. For Berrod, it was success in defeat. The thrill of that moment rushed through her as she recalled the almost child-like look that had come across the tough's features in that moment of success. She had been so happy for him, and never more fond of both.Â
She let out a soft laugh, the smile reappearing on her lips as she drew on the pipe one last time. There was an airship ticket, waiting to bear her back to Ul'dah for another night's work in the hustle-and-bustle of the Jewel of the Desert. She had to leave soon if she were to catch it.
Maybe next time he would be here.