Through Ruin Or Redemption【Closed】

[Roen]

“Helpful,” she shot back bitterly. “I never asked for such an aid. And just how is it supposed to help me? How am I to reconcile for what I did? I know people died. Do you think I have forgotten about the people that died under your orders? Those deaths that I was complicit in? Do you think it no longer weighs on my soul? I know I lost people. I ran away from that red moon, I fled for my life from what happened at Carteneau. I am still not certain how I lived when so many others died. And then… and then I lost you.” She spun away, hating that familiar heartache that robbed her of her breath. Her voice had risen and her hands trembled by her side.

 

“No, I killed you,” she spat out, turning back to him. “I drove a blade through your heart because I was convinced that you wanted nothing but more blood to get your way. You screamed at me saying the same thing! Begging me to do what I must do! I was not going to let someone else stop you when it should have been me all along!”

 

She was screaming at him. At this man whom she reached out for so many times in her dreams and nightmares. For him to stay a bit longer, for him to understand. Now that he was standing in front of her, pulled by her memory from the lifestream itself, perhaps the closest thing she would ever get in terms of speaking to him again… she was pouring out all of her anger and regret at his ghost.

 

“I… could not bring you to my side. I tried. I thought I did all that I could. You even… you even wanted to. Why could you not tell me that? Why did that have to be in a letter after you died?” She stepped toward the figure, away from that damned mirror. Her voice had lowered to a hoarse murmur. “And still I could not save you.” Her face twisted in pain. “So I killed you instead.”

 

The paladin’s head hung low and her shoulders shook with silent sobs. She reached down with her hand to linger near his that held the amethyst. “So tell me. How am I supposed to reconcile that?” she croaked. “I do not need that mirror to see. My choices led to so many losses. I hoped, after that red moon, that my new path in life would be my way to repay for my mistakes.” She slowly shook her head. “But it only led to more regrets.”

 

Roen stared at the amethyst in his hand. She had not taken it back. “I do not wish for any more regrets. Losing you… it nearly killed me. It took all that I had. I cannot do that again.” Her finger lightly brushed it as if wanting to hear its chime once more. “And yet… I no longer wish to feel so lost.”

 

She breathed out a long sigh. “I cannot go back. But trying to move forward, it still feels like running away.” She looked back at him, her eyes imploring. “So what am I supposed to do?”

[Nero]

The silhouette stared. “Very rarely do people know to ask for the aid that they truly require,” he said neutrally. “Let this go.” He held the amethyst up, the deep purple colour having nearly turned completely black. Barely perceptible colours swirled within.

 

“Do you know why you feel lost? Because you are obsessed with being a saviour. A hero. Time and time again. You were going to save your father from his madness. You were going to save the Deneiths. You were going to become a Sultansworn to save those in need. You were going to save your brother. You were going to save Ul’dah. You were going to save me. Only this time, you have nothing to save. Nothing to be martyred for. You are not a saviour or a hero. And the reason why those thoughts pain you so is because somewhere, some part of you thinks you should be. That is why you feel like you are a failure. ‘I should be a saviour, but I did not save anyone.’”

 

The silhouette glanced towards the hall of gears. “Your obsession. It led to your regrets, your doubts, your fears. Your regrets that you could not save anyone. Your doubts that you could ever accept yourself as anything less than a saviour. Your fears that you condemned people rather than saved them. Everything here, tied with saving."

 

"So stop accepting responsibility. Acknowledge that there is no guilt that is yours. You can mourn the outcome, you can feel sorrow, feeling regret and guilt...that is arrogance. Like when you tried to break the mirror. You believed you could save me when I was wholly intent on self-destruction. You believed that you had the power, that you not only could have saved me, but should have.”

 

“That is how you move on. That is how you find yourself again. You accept that my death was mine alone. You accept that the fates of your mother and father are theirs alone. The fate of your brother is his own. You accept that Khadai’s fate and the fates of their people are their own. You are responsible for nothing but yourself. Mourn, weep, lament. You can do all of these things while accepting that their salvation and their damnation belongs to them and them alone.”

 

“You feel as if you should have prevented the death of the Yoyorano household, but you never could have prevented it. You feel as if you should have prevented me from going on the path I went down, but you could have never have prevented it. For one reason or another, you are mortal, and your power is limited. Accept that you did the best you could under the circumstances, and let go of all else.”

[Roen]

Roen trembled at hearing those words. He was releasing her from any blame for his death. Her knees felt weak and her vision blurred as tears began to well in her eyes. Only now had she realized how long she had ached to hear those words, and yet how much she had refused to even consider forgiveness. The weight of guilt that was always there pressing upon her soul was like a constant invisible vise, and now that it threatened to fall away, she felt like she would fall apart in its absence. But even as a part of her wanted to accept his absolution, another wanted to refuse it with all her might.

 

She did not want forgiveness. Would that make the void in her heart that his absence had left behind eventually fade away? She longed for it and rejected at the same time. She did not want to admit that the pain reminded her why she loved him. It was because of his laughter, those rare glimpses of peace and genuine warmth, and those precious fleeting moments of closeness that his death hurt her so. In allowing his forgiveness, she was allowing to forgive herself, and that frightened her most of all. She feared that she would forget why her regret was so profound. For all the goodness that he hid within him, what if no one else remembered him? Or remembered him for only his anger and want of vengeance? Would that not be the most grievous wrong she would do against him?

 

Yet she also yearned for mending of her own heart.

 

Once more her head lowered, her expression pained as she felt the pull from both sides. Could she forgive herself? Could she let go of her need to save others? The paladin found herself shaking her head, no. If she could not save anyone, if she could not do all she could to help those in need, than what was her purpose?

 

But that was not what he was telling her to do. He was telling her to surrender the guilt in losing those that she tried to save.

 

Roen still wanted to protest. She wanted to jab her finger against his chest and make him confess that he too wanted to save the people of Ul’dah. That he accepted the responsibility for their salvation, that he took it upon himself to dedicate all that was his life to that purpose. Would he have been so willing to accept the consequences of his failure?

 

Only, that anger quickly evaporated when she was reminded of where his obsessions led him.

 

Now she just found herself staring at the figure of a man she would have given anything to see again a year ago. How many moons did she lament all the words of resentment in Aleport? How many nights has she wished that they had said something else? Anything else?

 

“What is a measure of a life’s worth?” The paladin let out a long sigh, her tone turning wistful. “You asked me that long ago. Have you found the answer?”

[Nero]

“The answer is that you cannot begin to ‘measure’ any life but your own... and even then, all too often you will fail to see what others see in you.” The silhouette turned the gem in his hands, sending beams of myriad light refracting through the chamber, even as the inky blackness within the gem threatened to swallow it.

 

He cracked a sad smile at her. “Now you’re the one going to extremes. I can tell; I know that expression on your face. You can still save people. I believe that that is, perhaps, just a part of who you are. But you cannot save everyone--especially from themselves--and you must accept that sometimes your best simply is not enough. Do not carry that guilt with you, and do not expect yourself to be able to produce the same salvation as the gods. Do not feel that your purpose need be summarised in a single word. Life is far too complex, with too many nuances and paths to take for you to resign yourself to a single, all-defining purpose. Very few of us, even your Khadai, are ever blessed with such certainty: teach yourself not to expect it.”

 

The silhouette exhaled, though no breath was being emitted from his face. The shadows that comprise of his body gradually began to creep up his neck. “I hope you understand all that I’ve told you. It would be a shame if I was brought here to have my very intelligent insights fall on deaf ears.” A characteristic smirk split across his face.

 

“Do you know yourself? Are you willing to abandon your guilt and your arrogance? Can you accept that your fears come from your ego, your ambition to save? Can you accept that your doubts are simply a result of the world acting as it is?” He gestured towards the mirror. “Have you understood all that has happened, and all that will happen?”

[Roen]

“I think a part of me has always known,” Roen murmured softly. “It… is my coping mechanism, of sort. I lost my mother. I was losing my father, so I thought if I showed him my worth, he would come back to me. And when I discovered I had a brother, when I thought I was all alone here in Eorzea, saving him meant that I had another chance to save my family. It is how I made sense of the loneliness and the loss. That drive is what would guide me back into the light.”

 

The paladin studied the figure, as if she was trying to memorize every detail of him. Her breath caught every time she recognized even the briefest glimpse of the vibrant man he used to be. His smiles, even upon his ghostly face, still made her tremble.

 

“You saved me,” she confessed with a bow of her head. “Did you know that? When I met you, I had just…” She paused, starting over again. “I needed to believe in something. Someone. I needed to do something that banished the paralyzing helplessness that I felt at my core. I needed to know that I could make a difference again.” Her grey eyes rose to come to rest upon his face fully, this time without trepidation. “You saved me. In your own way. I never did get a chance to tell you that before.”

 

She stepped closer to him, her movements slowed and careful as if a wrong gesture would scatter the shadows that somehow held him whole. Her hand shed her gauntlet as it rose to hover near his cheek, and her fingers trembled. She canted her head as she traced his jawline, before she closed her hand into a fist to still their shaking. Grief flitted across her face, but she subdued them with a firm press of her lips.

 

“All the things you said, my need to save others... perhaps even my need to be a martyr,” Roen added with a quiet snort. “It had not chained me. It had not crippled me. At least, not until I lost you.” A sad smile emerged. “In trying so hard to fix you, I broke myself.”

 

“I do know myself. Perhaps it is time I accepted it.” She inhaled deeply and glanced at the mirror from the corner of her eyes. “I do not know what may come, or if I will even understand it.” She breathed out slowly, a calm settling onto her frame. “But… I am ready for what comes next.”

 

The blazing light of the mirror called to her, and Roen knew what she had to do next. But she could not move. Her hand had dropped to her side, and her feet remained rooted where she stood. She did not want to move. She glanced once more at the man, her eyes filled with sorrow.

 

“Will I see you again?”

[Nero]

He smiled sadly. “Someday,” he spoke softly. “But not in this time. Not in this life.” A deep breath--as deep a breath as a shadow could make--and an exhale.

 

The silhouette stepped forward to the mirror, touching it with a ghostly hand. The mirror expanded into a doorway, a shimmering cascade of rainbows being emitted from it. His form shimmered in the wake of such brilliant light.

 

He turned to face her, a soft smile crossing his expression, his back to the luminescent doorway. His form wavered, the shadows comprising it gradually drifting away into nothingness. “Promise me that you’ll return to Ul’dah, one day. That you won’t hold onto me forever. That you’ll do what I was unable to...and let go. If you can do that, then that will be enough for both of us.”

 

His evaporating silhouette seemed to tremble. “I am sorry that we did not have more time to say what we wanted to say. It was...difficult enough for what fragments of me are present to be taken from the lifestream. My departure is long overdue. I am tired, so tired, and the cycle has a place waiting for me. One way or another, this will be our last goodbye, for certain. No more secret letters or lost, fragmented souls. It is...time for me to rest.”

 

Nero reached a hand forward in a weak wave. “Goodbye, Roen. Fare you well, and may you be blessed with the strength to defend all that you wish to.”

 

And he was gone.

[Roen]

No more tears.

 

Roen continued to stare at the luminescent mirror, even as all traces of him vanished into that blinding light. Her eyes darted from one edge to the other, as if to try and imagine some lingering trace of a shadow of that framed his silhouette. Her form remained frozen still, and her fingers dug into her palm so forcibly that it threatened to draw blood.

 

She did not know for how long she stood, motionless, until the sounds of her stuttered breaths broke the silence.

It is time.

 

The mirror shimmered in front of her still. Its light was both burning yet beckoning. A step, then another. The paladin approached the otherworldly glass with a heavy gait, her grey eyes turning silvery as she neared that white light. When she reached out with her hand, she could see her own silhouette almost fading into the light itself, all shadows fleeing from its brilliance.

 

Let go.

 

Her fingertips then her palm came to rest against the glass, just where Nero had touched it. The light rippled from her caress, pearly rings expanding to the edges. And then, she pushed through.

“All shall be well if you believe it to be so.”

[Nero]

The air was permeated in frost. The floor had transformed into the surface of an icy lake. A cold, damp wind threatened to cut at the skin, accompanied by the mild scent of salt. High above, a single white moon among a tapestry of starlight gleamed, the surface of the lake reflecting the sky above in perfect clarity.

 

She has passed your test, intoned a voice. It was not the harsh, commanding voice of the chambers, but it was soft, rhythmic, and comforting, like gentle sea waves splashing upon sand. It could almost be called feminine in tone, but the timbre of the voice did not seem to be able to be assigned a gender in the traditional sense. The voice echoed lightly, seeming to come from the moon shining high in the sky. Does she not deserve to know?

 

HER WISH TO SEE HIM WAS STRONG. TOO STRONG. THE TRIALS REMAIN INCOMPLETE. The authoritative, compelling voice of earlier resounded. The icy surface of the lake trembled; the image of the reflected moon seemed to shudder with disdain.

 

And yet you allowed passage regardless. The moon in the sky shimmered, as if in contemplation. Speak your mind, and we shall answer.

[Roen]

Roen’s eyes widened. She did not know what she had expected, but certainly not this. Whatever was responsible for this place was actually willing to engage her. She had so many questions, her spinning thoughts were almost dizzying in their disorder.

 

“Who are you?” Roen asked quietly. “And… what is this place?”

 

The nature of this place and our identities are one and the same. This place was constructed by peoples from a time long past. Through artful magicks and fervent faith did they weave a temple that they believed could peer into the realm of the gods themselves. In a manner of speaking, we would be those gods. The voice sounded forlorn and sad.

 

NAMES ARE MEANINGLESS. DUTY IS ALL THAT REMAINS. The second voice was strong and resolute.

 

“And what duty is what?”

 

To banish what should be forgotten.

 

AND TO PRESERVE THAT WHICH SHOULD NOT.

 

Roen took a step forward, though she knew not from whence the voices came. Her eyes went to the moon above then to the reflected image below. “And how do you do this? What should be preserved? What should be forgotten?”

 

Aether is the memory of the world. So do we take it within, and preserve what once was. All that you have seen once existed among the realm of men, and so do we keep it safe lest it be lost. Great works and wonders. Achievements and success. Mistakes and sorrow.

 

THE MINDS OF MORTALS BE FRAGILE THINGS, BUT OFT TIMES NOT FRAGILE ENOUGH. MYSTERIES ARE FLAME, AND TRUTH BURNS. TO PROTECT MAN FROM THE INFERNO IS TO HAVE NEED TO SNUFF THE FLAME FOREVER. WHAT YOU SEEK FROM THIS PLACE IS ONE SUCH FLAME.

 

Roen frowned. “Perhaps we are worthy of the truth. If we are not fragile enough, perhaps there is tenacity and strength that will allow us to endure such things. Is that not why you test others through these trials?”

 

When they did not answer, she lifted her chin and looked up to the moon above. “Will you give me what I seek?”

 

We cannot.

 

NOR SHALL WE. IT SHOULD REMAIN FORGOTTEN. The image of the moon on the frozen lake surface seemed to shake with indignation.

 

The paladin’s expression soured with that answer. “Then what was the trial for?” Her fist tightened, but she paused and exhaled, calming her tone. She looked back up at the moon imploringly. “You said it is your duty to preserve what should not be lost. But what good is preservation if those of the living cannot learn from it? Should we not gain even a glimpse of those truths, if there is a chance to grow? Or what if it meant the survival of an entire civilization? Like those that have come to learn of such places as this?”

 

IN ALL OF THESE MILLENNIA, MORTALS HAVE NOT CHANGED. She could almost hear the moon snort in derision.

 

Some things that are forgotten must never be remembered. Not merely for those who forget, but for the world as well. You need only to look at the civilizations of man as they are today for assurance of that fact. What you seek is an old power long forgotten by most. Time has finished much of what we started, but bequeathing it to you would be to undo the costly work.

 

MORE ARE PUT INTO HARM’S WAY BY WHAT YOU SEEK BEING ALLOWED TO RETURN TO THE WORLD.

 

Providing but a glimpse of truth’s flame can cause all to come crashing down. Though it may save many, its existence, even its memory may condemn even more.

 

That made her pause. The impatience and the exasperation that was ignited just moments before was quickly extinguished. Her brow furrowed in thought.

 

“Then there must be other options,” Roen pondered out loud. “Surely through all the eras and the knowledge that you have collected, you must know another answer.” She took a step forward, her hands held out openly next to her. “I know not the exact nature of what it is these people seek. But I have come to learn of them through one man. And what I know of him, he too would not wish to condemn the rest for the sake of the few. And yet, the answer simply cannot end with no hope. There must be another path.”

 

There exists one such path, yes.

 

THOUGH IT REMAINS TO BE SEEN IF YOU HAVE THE STRENGTH OF WILL TO CARRY IT OUT.

 

Should you wish it, we are capable of exerting our influence within this space, and may selectively partake of your aether.

 

YOUR MEMORIES OF THIS PLACE, AND HIS MEMORIES OF WHY HE SOUGHT US WILL VANISH, TO BE PRESERVED BY US HERE FOR ETERNITY.

 

And the turmoil will disappear with them.

 

Roen blinked. “He will… forget?” She slowly shook her head, as if to immediately dismiss their proposal. It was not acceptable. “But… then what will become of his people?”

 

Civilizations are meant to ebb and flow like the tides. It is no injustice if it is their time to ebb.

 

“You may know that. But I do not. All people have the right to fight for their own survival!” She threw her hand to the side as if to gesture to an invisible figure standing there. “Khadai was sent on this perilous journey to seek you out! And for what? For you to offer to simply make him forget his home and his purpose?”

 

The paladin shook her head again, stepping back now from the moon and the reflection, even though it was all encompassing in this mysterious place. “There must be another answer. Has he passed your trials? Surely he seeks the same thing I do. He will not accept this.”

 

You may believe it to be so, but his soul is one that is plagued by memory. You know not of how much he would suffer if he knew that which should be lost, of the further discord that would be brought to the people he wishes to save. Would you willingly inflict such harm upon him? If we are permitted to take his memory of this place and his goal, of the heritage that burdens him so, he will be at peace. Is the peace of one worth naught?

 

The moon on the lake rumbled. CONSIDER ALL THE SOULS YOU HAVE SEEN.

 

Consider your mother, whose memory of your father’s machinations eventually spelled her death.

 

CONSIDER THE SMUGGLER WHO WAS SO TORMENTED BY THE SUFFERING OF HIS PAST, AND THE ATROCITIES HE WOULD COMMIT TO BRING JUSTICE TO A MEMORY.

 

Consider the kinslayer who turned to murder to defend her nation, split between her guilt and her righteousness.

 

CONSIDER THE LOYAL SERVANT WHOSE PLACE IN THIS WORLD WAS LOST WITH THE VESSEL OF HIS MASTERS, WILLING TO BREACH THE DOMAIN OF THE GODS TO RETURN THEM.

 

Consider your brother, constantly torn between deciding to hate and deciding to heal.

 

CONSIDER THE KNIGHT WHOSE LOVE WAS REWARDED WITH A SINGLE COLD BLADE.

 

They could be free from their burdens… as you could be free from your own that brought you to Coerthas, if only one could forget. How free from pain, guilt, and regret you would be if you allow us to take the scars from you.

[Roen]

Roen stood stunned in silence. She stared into the darkness that coiled and unfurled all around her, save for the glow of the two moons above and below. Faces of friends and loved ones rose before her mind’s eye one by one, as she recalled their times of anguish and regret. They all bore wounds behind their expressions--scars that the paladin had been entrusted with or discovered. But here, she could see those cuts splitting open again to bleed fresh and anew. Their faces twisted with agony before the visions faded away like a mist.

 

The paladin laid a hand over her abdomen, calming the churning of doubts she felt within.

 

"If you had asked me this a year ago... I would have accepted, nay, begged for you to take away my memories. Or if it was even possible, take away his memories. His torment.” Roen trembled with that confession.

 

“Perhaps if Nero had only let go of his own past, even if it was through your unnatural influence… maybe he could have been happy. Could he have found some peace and joy in this lifetime? Did he not deserve such a thing?” Her voice nearly faltered, and she had to swallow the lump that rose in her throat.

 

“You ask me to consider his soul. How would I be able to refuse such an offer? Knowing what I know, how his life comes to an end, I would be a fool not to accept it. This second chance. But that is not what you are offering. You can only give me a glimpse of the man, fragments of his soul pulled from the lifestream.” She smiled sadly. “And for that, you have my gratitude. Even with what little time we had… I came to realize that letting go, freeing myself from this guilt… is my responsibility. It is not yours.

 

“I do remember my own despair that brought me to Coerthas. How desperate I was to flee from it. Now, I do not want to forget. Perhaps a part of me will always hold onto some of that pain... I cannot forgot. I will not forget who he was. There was a goodness that was in him, a passion that few others are like to possess, and a want for suffering to end. It was because of that goodness that he was so tormented by his past. I do not want to forget any of these things about him, even though it is because of these memories, that his death pains me so.”

 

She shook her head slowly. “Still. I do not want to forget. To take away those memories would be to forget his ideals.” Like the stone markers littering a forgotten graveyard. A familiar voice rumbled through her thoughts unbidden. “But… I can forgive,” she murmured softly.

 

“You say that this reality--that you cannot save his people--would bring Khadai undue suffering and pain. Are you warning me that such woe would mar his soul irreparably?”

 

She inhaled deeply, her chest lifting as she gathered herself. Her tilted her chin up, her grey eyes looking to the bright moon above.

 

“I do not believe,” she said defiantly. “I do not believe the truth would forever damn him as it did Nero. You dismiss the mortals of being unable to grow, of being too weak and yet too curious. I believe Khadai to be much more.” She narrowed her eyes. “You may peer into his aether and see his memories, but do you see his strength? His optimism?”

 

She took a step forward, her hands open and held at her sides. “Even the Kinslayer, she bears her scars with unwavering fortitude. Despite the darkness of her past, or because of it, she forges onward tenacious as ever. And in living through those choices, she is the woman she is today. That is the only woman I know, and one I have come to accept, trust, and call friend.”

 

“Even those who seem weak to you, or broken, they all rose again. My brother, Coatleque and Gideon… they have all survived so much violence and sorrow. And yet they still stand, and live. And move forward. And someday… their scars may only carry the echos of pain.”

 

An arrow’s echo cannot hurt you. That familiar voice rumbled again, and this time, it instilled in her a breath of courage.

 

“It is what makes us mortal; these wounds that hurt us, these scars that mold us. Many of us will falter, and some of us… will succumb. But I… I must believe, that it is a choice that has to be given to each one of us. No one has the right to take that choice away. No one should be arrogant enough to presume they have the power to choose someone else’s path.”

 

Roen dipped her head slightly, a shadow of remorse flitting across her features. “That is a lesson that I have come to learn, that I now impart onto you. So nay. I will not try and make that choice for another. Khadai has the right to know the truth, and the right to choose his path.”

 

She gazed upon the reflection of the moon beneath her feet. It rippled and so did her own reflection.

 

“But I will be there for him in however way I can.” She stared at the frozen image before lifting her eyes back to the luminescence above. “He should know the truth. After all that he has risked and endured to find the answer… he deserves to know.”

 

She set her jaw, and there was no doubt in her voice. “I will not take that away from him. And you cannot either.”

[Nero]

There was a pause.

 

Yet, do these lessons learned enrich their lives? Do these lessons free them from their burdens, or merely chain them with more?

 

MEMORY IS AN IMAGE CREATED TO MAKE SENSE OF THE PAST. IT CARRIES NO TRUTH OR MEANING BUT WHAT IS ASCRIBED. AND YET, MORTALS MEASURE THE WORTH OF THEIR LIVES IN MEMORY. THEY ALLOW MEMORY TO GOVERN EVERY THOUGHT, TO INFORM EVERY CHOICE, TO FUEL PASSION AND EMPATHY, TO CREATE HATRED AND OBSESSION.

 

Rare is the occurrence where memory is something other than a shackle. For some, the pain is buried deeper than mere memory. But for many, the memory is all that remains of their suffering.

 

MANY GAIN SUCH BURDENS THROUGH NO FAULT OF THEIR OWN. OTHERS ACT TO REDEEM THEMSELVES ONLY TO FIND THAT THEIR MEMORY WILL GRANT NO CLEMENCY.

 

Memory may be considered a suitable punishment for injustices, but for those who have made amends, or who were born with the burdens of others, should they not be freed?

 

Another pause.

 

YOU ARE CORRECT ABOUT ONE THING: THIS IS HIS CHOICE TO MAKE, AND SO WE SHALL POSE THE QUESTIONS TO HIM.

 

All he had seen was a flash of white. The Au Ra blinked, his hands attempting to shield his vision from light that was not there. He had appeared from behind the paladin, and as soon as he saw the landscape, he understood. “It appears that we finally share the same space,” he murmured, glancing up at the moon above and the moon reflected on the surface of the icy lake below. The Xaela found his emerald gaze drawn to the paladin, and he coughed. “Questions later,” he said softly, striding up to stand beside her before staring at the moon.

 

What say you, seeker? Your people seek immortality of the truest form. To create a legacy spanning the lifespan of time itself.

 

“Yes,” Kasrjin responded almost immediately. “That is what we wish.” He still felt groggy from his experiences, from the Correspondence. It took all of his willpower to keep his balance.

 

YOU SEEK ALONGSIDE ONE WHO IS IGNORANT OF HISTORY, IGNORANT OF THE STRIFE AND DESTRUCTION THAT AN IMMORTAL HISTORY CAN BRING.

 

Consider the Allagans. If the latter had remained fully forgotten, lost to all souls forever, how many would have been spared? The moon in the sky shimmers, as if...shifting its gaze between the paladin and the Au Ra. All would have been spared the invasion. All would have been spared Carteneau, your Calamity. More still would be spared every atrocity that the Allagans had committed to history.

 

Kasrjin pursed his lips, doing his best to maintain an appearance of steady confidence, though his disorientation shown through rather clearly. “You assume that the nature of the black ones would not have lead them to invade at all. The invasion of Othard and Eorzea would have been fragmented into a thousand smaller acts of war, that is all. The Xaela have waged such wars for millennia amongst our own tribes, and it is the memory of pain and loss that prevents us from taking up arms against each other once again.”

 

YOU SPEAK AS IF HISTORY WERE A GUIDE, YET TIME HAS PROVED THAT IT DOES NOT PROVIDE A GOOD EXAMPLE.

 

He stood a little taller, a little straighter. The words flowing from his lips were both his and not his; the reasoning and the logic was there, but it seemed as if someone else spoke through him now. “History is not a moral force; it is only a set of facts that show us where we came. The reason why history is so rarely serves as a guide is only because it is forgotten, erased, or changed. Each culture builds upon the bones of the ones that came before it. Many only look up to where they would go, and never down at the foundations that bear them. Others step forward, not knowing that the foundations beneath them threaten to crumble. They could save themselves...if only they had their history.” Kasrjin’s tone was resolute, staring fiercely at the pale white thing in the sky above them.

 

“We have endured. We have used history not as the prison or the cage that you fear, but as the guide it should be, and we are the better for it. We refuse to be cut off from our history. We are not Ishgard, doomed by mortality to forget the lessons of our forebears. We are not the dragons, doomed by our nature to be subject to the tyranny of memory that you fear so much. You may criticise our short lives and small-mindedness...but do not deny history’s intrinsic value.”

 

Yet those who have severed ties from their history were free to choose their own path.

 

“That path goes in circles. You need only look at Ishgard for that. Dispelling the memories might have saved some from the pain of conflict, but conflict is an inexorable part of progress. Peace in ignorance is not worth keeping.” He held his hand forward. “Surrender the keystone.”

 

YOU WOULD STILL SEEK IT, KNOWING WHAT YOU KNOW? YOU WOULD RETURN IT TO HER KNOWING OF HER BETRAYAL?

 

Your memory remains a burden to you. It is pain with no purpose. You cannot hide it from us.

 

“I concede that, yes,” Kasrjin said very softly. “But who I am, as I am now, my pain is meaningless. Happiness is meaningless. Memory is meaningless. Duty is what has called me here, and duty is what will compel me further regardless.”

 

There was a silent pause.

 

You will not be persuaded from your path?

 

“No,” Kasrjin said as firmly as he could.

 

There was another long pause.

 

You accept this, knowing the consequences. Know you that mortals will pay the price for what you ask, though it may not be hundreds or thousands of years until they are called upon to do so.

 

DO NOT SAY WE DID NOT WARN YOU.

 

A flash of light blinded them, the sounds and sights of the frozen lake and the moons melting away. The white vista seemed to stretch forever, entire years being condensed into seconds.

 

Black began to fill his vision. Then grey. His sensations returned, feeling cold, rough rock beneath him. The howl of wind echoing in front of the cave entrance. He was on his back; Kasrjin sat up, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the darkness.

 

A cave. They were back in the cave, and the throb of the Correspondence did not resound in his head. In his hand was a small hemisphere, carved of polished black granite. And inscribed on the inside was…

 

Kasrjin did not need to look at the burning runes and feel the heat behind his eyes to determine that it was a character of the Correspondence. He quickly stuffed it away in his pack that was nestled nearby--it must have been abandoned when they went through--lest it harm Roen, who was laying down beside him. He shook her.

 

“Have you awoken?”

[Roen]

Roen stirred at the familiar voice. She first felt the chill of the stone pressing against her cheek and her thoughts swam in murkiness. When she felt a hand upon her shoulder, her eyes blinked open and the distant light from the cavern entrance began to chase away the darkness.

 

“Where…?” she groaned as she sat up, her eyes squinting to try and focus in the dim light. Her disorientation left her feeling like she was wading through thick honey. “Ah. We are out of the…” She paused. “Whatever place that was.”

 

It took her another moment as the haze of unconsciousness began to dissipate and memories began to coalesce. Her eyes widened as she spun to Khadai. “Are you alright?”

 

The Au Ra nodded slowly. “We found what we came for, at the least.” He patted the pack next to him before glancing back at her. “And yourself? I cannot imagine that the experience was overly pleasant. The places that deal in such large amounts of aether rarely are.”

 

The paladin blinked, as if she was trying to remember and process all that had happened. There was a distant ache in the back of her head and her stomach roiled with a hint of nausea. Her face twisted in pain for a moment, but she was quick to shake her thoughts loose, focusing on something more immediate at hand.

 

“I am unhurt,” she coughed. Her eyes scanned over Khadai again, this time with critical scrutiny. “And did you get what you were looking for? What was it that they bequeathed on to you? Who were they? What were they?” She stopped herself with a sigh before more questions came tumbling forth. She laid her hand upon her forehead with a bewildered expression. “I have so many questions.”

 

Khadai patted his pack again. “This is a keystone, I presume. It contains instructions for how to keep aether from leaking from our temple. And if the aether is fully contained, then it can continue its function.” He sighed. “There is no way to know for certain until I’ve returned it to my people, but at the least, it is something. As for them,” the Xaela glanced towards the unmoving stone wall they presumably emerged from. “They claimed to be gods. Whether that’s true or not, I do not know. Perhaps they were simply what your people call primals; there was certainly sufficient aether to materialize whatever they wanted within… that place. Or perhaps they were truly gods. I suspect that their true nature is one of many things that mortals are not meant to know.”

 

Roen nodded as she reached for her waterskin. Something about that place, it left a lingering salty dryness that chafed her throat. She let out a long exhale after a few gulps of water. It seemed they were out of immediate danger, at least for now. Her thoughts still spun with all that she had seen and heard.

 

“Your people. They seek immortality?” She studied the Xaela curiously.

[Nero]

“In a manner of speaking," Kasrjin grunted. The experience had been draining, both mentally and physically, though there was no indication that they had moved anywhere or truly been transported to so alien a place. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, attempting to clear some of the fogginess from his vision as he spoke. "It is not so unusual a goal; all civilisations seek to create an enduring legacy, but inevitably all civilisations find their end, more often than not through their own fault. The lives and societies of mortals are defined by cycles. I do not believe it to be so bold that a society seeks to place itself as the exception to that cycle.” Kasrjin too drank from his waterskin, sitting on a rock to rest.

 

"Whether or not they will succeed, and what methods they are willing to take to do so are completely different matters all together."

 

“But… they warned me.” Roen frowned. “They warned me before you were summoned that what you were seeking, while it may save your people, it would bring ruin to many more. That even the very memory of its existence would have a detrimental effect for the rest of the world.” The paladin’s expression was equal part confusion and apprehension. “And yet, they gave you no such portent. You asked, and they acquiesced. ...Why?”

 

Kasrjin gave a small, weak smile. “There was much of our conversation that you did not see. Much as there was much of your conversation that I did not see. I did receive a similar warning, though I know not its true nature.” He exhaled. “Consider that someone--or something--built both this place and the temple of my people, and yet whatever peoples did so no longer exist. That in itself is warning enough. Perhaps in the future I will come to regret not heeding that warning, or perhaps such calamity takes place so far into the future that death has absolved me.”

 

The Xaela stood to stretch. “Perhaps part of what makes us mortal is that we do not know. Our perception of time is limited.”

 

The paladin watched, her expression turning pensive. “Mm,” she hummed quietly in reply, directing her attention to her armor and equipment. It was a routine learned by rote, checking to see if there had been any damage or loss. It filled the small pause of silence that fell between them, before she swallowed and spoke again.

 

“They also spoke of a betrayal,” she murmured softly. ”Both the dragon and these entities. And it was directed at you.” She peered back up at Khadai. “What do they speak of?”

 

His face twitched as if he were suppressing a wince. “I prefer not to say. I am sure that place showed you things you do not wish to reveal either. It is enough to say that someone close to me is responsible for doing harm where I expected none.” Kasrjin absentmindedly patted the bag where the keystone slept, glancing at the stone wall. His emerald eyes glimmered in the darkness. “In any case, I expect we will not be permitted to return within our lifetimes. Perhaps that is for the better. One must wonder who was capable of such a fearsome construct, and what fate befell them and those who stumbled upon their works.”

 

Roen blinked, and quickly blanked her expression. “Right. Apologies.” She cleared her throat, her voice turning analytical. “I did not mean to pry.”

 

She turned back to her equipment with increased vigor, her movements quickening. Once she was certain all things were as they should be, she stood. “I guess we are done here then. Should we go?”

[Roen]

They had an uneventful descent on the mountain side, and for that Roen was relieved. The sun had given way to night, and she was not sure how many bells they had spent in that place called Ehs Daih. The two kept to themselves for the most of the trek down, only exchanging short words and grunts during the climb. When they reached the bottom, a blow of the whistle returned their faithful mounts to their side in less than bell. Goldwind nuzzled the paladin with affection, his dark eyes round with curiosity. Perhaps the bird could sense that something had changed about her.

 

Khadai chose a small clearing surrounded by a copse of trees for their campsite. The bandersnatch that roamed nearby still kept to their distance as they had before, giving the two wearied travelers some respite. Perhaps it was their prior encounter with the dragon, or the events of the Ehs Daih that preoccupied their minds, but neither the paladin nor the Au Ra seemed as uneasy about an attack from above. At least, not this eve.

 

Roen laid upon her bedroll and stared up at the sky, the black canvas now littered with countless glittering stars. One radiant moon outshined them all, and the paladin could not help but take comfort in seeing that it was still full and serene in its celestial throne. She could still picture the flat hungry moon pressed against the bloody sky, or the eerily distant moon that was mirrored upon an icy ground beneath her feet. Even now, their unworldly voices echoed in the distant corners of her mind.

 

The paladin let out a long breath. Even as they scaled down the mountain, all that had happened in that place replayed themselves in her mind. In the cave, her mind was awhirl with too many thoughts and emotions. Now, she had been able to settle some of that turmoil that roiled within, and only a few questions burned in her mind.

 

“Are you happy?” She finally broke the silence with a quiet inquiry, her grey eyes studying the stars above. “You have finally found what you came for. Now you can return home.”

[Nero]

“That should be a simple question, should it not?” Kasrjin said wryly. Karadwyr chirped tersely, as if in agreement. He patted the bag where he had placed the keystone. “I should be. Yet in the end, it is only duty that compels me to return this.” He saw flashes of the scenery every time he closed his eyes, every time he blinked: a pitch black stone altar, the chains being wrapped around his chest, the burning characters of the Correspondence carved into the ceiling above.

 

His hand was held over the keystone. A hemisphere was an odd shape, and there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind, one he dare not indulge. What if this wasn’t truly what was needed? What if it was incomplete? It would be back to square one, and Ehs Daih would not permit them again.

 

Questions upon questions. Memory upon memory. It still gave him a headache just to think about it.

 

“Yes, I can return home, but I am unsure if I will be able to find my place among them again,” he murmured more to himself than to Roen. He tilted his head towards her. “Why did you come with me?”

 

That made the paladin turn where she laid. She propped one cheek against her hand as she eyed the Au Ra who was seated against a trunk of a tree, at his ever vigilant station. She wore an open frown at his last revelation, but it slowly twisted into an expression of careful consideration.

 

“Many reasons,” she admitted. “I… I was hiding, in Coerthas, when I found you and Edda. I had no direction… no purpose, really. Then in helping both of you, it felt like there was some semblance of a choice that I can make for myself. Rather than trying to drown my suns with tasks that were assigned to me, I saw that I could choose to help you both.”

 

Roen took a deep breath in. “Then… as I got to know you…” Her voice quieted to a murmur. “I came to trust you and admire you. There were many things about you that I found… endearing.” She turned onto her back again, diverting her gaze to the heavens above.

 

“Sometimes, some things just feel like the right thing to do. When your instincts, your mind, and your heart tell you that it is the right path to choose.” She stared up at the moon above. “And... that was you. I had not felt such a pull in a long time.”

 

There was a pause. “Surely, you have felt something like that before.”

 

“I admit that I have not,” Kasrjin said. “Or if I did...I do not remember it.” He did not know how to express it. The right path? He was Khadai because his of his aptitude and inclinations. It wasn’t a “right path” or a purpose, it was a responsibility and a duty. A function. “Perhaps there was a time where mind and purpose were singular, but...rare for people to feel satisfied in such a rigidly locked path.” Was it? He did not truly know. Kasrjin knew he was apt to parrot the wisdom of the Tsenkhai, but for the first time he found himself in doubt.

 

“I have never had such certainty direct my actions,” the Xaela said, looking up at the veil of the night sky. “It has always been practicality, or instinct, or the command of a superior.” His emerald gaze directed themselves at her. “Though, I do not regret the effects of our virtues on you. I believe it has improved you for the better.”

 

He sighed, the cool air revealing his breath as a tenuous puff. “I do not know if I will be able to stay among my people if--when I return, or even if I should. At the least, I am provided with some measure of comfort that a familiar face will be available if circumstances demand that I reside in Eorzea.”

[Roen]

Roen held her breath for an instant.

 

Her eyes had been affixed to the stars while she listened to him. She had felt somewhat awkward in revealing as much as she did to Khadai; she herself was not aware why she was so motivated, until she thought about how to answer him. She thought perhaps it was the lingering memories of the Ehs Daih that compelled her to be so forthright, although she did not dare meet his gaze for the fear that he would answer her with a baffled expression.

 

His reaction was absent to say the least, his usual unflappable outlook firmly in place. Roen was relieved for it, it made it easy to dismiss her own inner quandary on the matter.

 

Although now that he was openly pondering on the uncertainty of his future… the paladin was caught speechless. She had been preparing herself for his eventual departure. In the beginning, it had been a certain thing; she had agreed to aid him so that he could return home. But as moons passed and their trust in each other grew, a part of her lamented the inevitable coming of the sun when he would indeed depart Eorzea.

 

But now, that possibility was put to question… and Roen found herself staring even harder at the night sky. Slowly she frowned.

 

“What do you mean?” She turned back to him, propping herself by an elbow. Her expression had tightened with concern. “Why do you no longer have a place amongst your people? Or doubt that you should return at all?”

 

Khadai took a deep breath in, and there was hesitation that crossed his face. It was after some moment of consideration that he quietly answered her.

 

“I was Tsenkhai, once. Capable of interpreting the Correspondence.” His deep green eyes looked to the small fire pit in front of them, where a tiny ember struggled to provide what warmth it could among some burning twigs. “I was… someone else back then. He was betrayed by someone close to him, who sacrificed him to cover their own crimes. As punishment, the Tsenkhai allowed the temple to consume his aether so that he could never return to the lifestream. And in his soulless vessel they placed… me.” Khadai held up his hand. “That is what I was shown in Ehs Daih. Some of his knowledge remains with me, which is how I may explain things I should not or could not know.”

 

Roen stared at him in disbelief. He only answered her bewilderment with a long sigh.“It causes one to think. Perhaps I should be doubting it, or perhaps not. Either way… if my people remember the crimes of my vessel, perhaps they will reject me. If I cannot agree with their verdict, perhaps I will reject them. It is not a simple situation.”

 

“Your body… is not yours,” Roen said slowly. She stared at the empty space in between her and Khadai, her brow furrowed as she tried to understand the concept. “It was not yours. But it was given to you.” There was a pause as she tried to organize yet another flurry of questions that rose in her mind.

 

“So is that what they meant? When they said your pain held no purpose? Is that because the burden you bear is that of another?” She felt a sudden shiver run through her spine, although the cooling night air had nothing to do with it. “This Tsenkhai, your predecessor... he is never to be allowed to return to the lifestream.” She could not hide her feeling of dismay and horror. “What did he do that he deserved no peace even in death?”

 

“Perhaps they felt that I would be better off if I did not know. Perhaps they were right.” Khadai poked at the dying fire with the toe of his boot. “I had… heard about this. Sometimes, Ka--our temple would store the souls of individuals who are ill or mortally wounded within itself. I must have been one such individual at one point to be reintroduced into this vessel. I am certain my memories are my own, but some are naturally lost as a result of the process.”

 

The Xaela held his hand out in front of him, flexing the fingers in re-examination. “Our temple takes small fragments of our souls, in a process called the forfeiture. Doing so allows us to be linked to one another in a small way, with the temple as a common conduit. We may know when others are in danger or where we should return to for a gathering. At times, pieces of memories or dangerous habits or inclinations will be taken as well… pieces of individuality that may threaten the whole. I remember undergoing the forfeiture again once I awoke… I can only imagine that some of the Tsenkhai were making sure that none of him was left once they were finished.”

 

Roen’s face slowly twisted with unease as she listened to him. She chewed her lower lip in contemplation, to try and understand all that Khadai was sharing about his culture. While some of it seemed incredible and astonishing, other details brought a cautionary warning to mind.

 

Roen could not help but immediately suspect that these Tsenkhai may have been given too much power. They seemed to decide the fates of the others at will, even determining another soul’s afterlife. She was familiar enough with the rumors of Garlemald conscripting those who resisted their authority; and while she never gave the thread of similarity between the Empire and the strict organization of Khadai’s people much thought before, now she wondered how much of that comparison held true. Learning that the Tsenkhai were allowed to pluck apart someone’s essence at their discretion did not sit well with her.

 

But she knew that there was so much more she did not know about his people. He told her that his people shared truths with each other; they had the ability to communicate with each other without words. Such intimate connections of the mind would allow for misuse of power and authority to be rooted out, did it not? For her to immediately suspect a civilization she did not know, would make her no different from the Eorzeans that would blanketly judge all people of Garlemald.

 

Roen sat up straight, pulling on her bedroll to wrap it around her shoulders to further ward off the cold. “But you said you have some memories that are his. That you know what you should not know. So some of him was left behind.” She canted her head, eyeing him worriedly. “Does it burden you?”

[Nero]

“I...am not sure,” Kasrjin said apprehensively, adjusting himself amidst the branches making up his seat. “My mind is my own, for the most part. It is only in select circumstances that I am capable of accessing what is left of his knowledge. It is mostly fragments, or minor details. Things that are of no use to someone who does not already know how to use them. I worry that some of this knowledge should be things that are lost. What harm do I bring by recalling them?”

 

He find himself cold, suddenly--and it startled him. He was used to living on a glacier, in mountains, on the snowy fields of tundra. The cold of Eorzea was brisk but nothing unfamiliar. For some reason, it was only now that he felt cold to a point that made the environment feel unwelcoming, inhospitable. He should have been well adjusted to low temperatures...but what was it about it? The sensation was, in an appropriate word, chilling.

 

In contrast to the shadow of consternation that befell his expression, Roen looked relieved, her gaze softening. “As you said, these fragments of knowledge would be of no use to someone who does not know how to use them. And you are not he. Besides, you and no one else is privy to them, yes? I am not worried. You are one of the most truthful and capable person I know.” She canted her head in his direction, as if to draw his gaze to her. “I believe you will know how to exercise caution with whatever knowledge you gain.”

 

The paladin shed her bedroll and rose from where she sat, walking to where Goldwind lay curled on the ground. She rummaged through her pile of supplies next to her saddle bag to retrieve a roll of fabric. As she rounded the small fire to approach Khadai, she unfurled the bundle into reveal a thick winter cloak. She bent over him and gingerly draped it over his form, quirking an amused smile at the cloak's near-inadequate ability to cover him.

 

She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, leveling her eyes with his. “You have offered me counsel, many times over in the past year. Each time I have found some measure of solace from those conversations. I hope to repay in kind what comfort you have lent me for the past many moons.” Her expression warmed. “If you do stay here in Eorzea, know that you have at least one person you can count on. Nay, two, since I know Edda will also aid you if you only ask.” She grinned, holding up fingers one by one. “Or three or four. Even in Ishgard, you have acquaintances you can call upon. I know Ser Heuloix and Lady Dufresne are good people.”

 

Kasrjin gave her a weak smile for her efforts. “I will keep that in mind. Still, if it is all the same, I would prefer not to lose my place among my people. I have learned much about the Western continent since coming here. Despite that there are virtues and vices both...I would prefer not to imagine the difficulties of integrating, such as I am.”

 

The real question now was making certain that the keystone was what Kasrjin thought it was. Communing with the Correspondence was always dangerous in its own way...but that would be a task for another time. “What will you do now? The task is done, for the most part,” he asked the paladin, tilting his gaze at her.

 

Roen took a deep breath in. “I honestly do not know,” she admitted. “There are people I have not spoken to in sometime. A few matters that I should check in on as well. Perhaps after this, I may just seek them out.”

 

The paladin rose and dusted herself off, before settling back into her bedroll. The temperature had dropped considerably once the darkness fell. “There is also the matter of my wards that I have done great disservice to. I would be surprised if they still considered me their tutor. I suppose it is time that I try and find my own place among my people,” Roen snorted softly. She laid down again, this time tightly wrapping the covers around her. Only her head peeking out of the thick roll of fabric, she regarded the Au Ra. “And your plans?”

 

“One day at a time,” Kasrjin said in a way that could almost be called amused if not for his subdued tone. He adjusted himself against some rocks, manoeuvring the blanket around himself. “We should rest. It has...been a long day. Rest well, Roen.”

[Roen]

To anyone else looking at him, Reese was the happiest thief ever.

 

Only he would also be the worst thief ever, since his mission was to deliver a gift rather than steal something from the household. And yet stealth was a must, for his was a surprise gift--one that Launce was meant to find in his study upon his return from the House of Lords--and so Reese had snuck into his friend’s home with a spare key that he had been given. It was almost comical, he mused, how he tiptoed through the halls with the wrapped box in hand, taking care to avoid the rooms near where he knew the servants quarters to be. Oddly enough, they too did not seem to be busying about the manse this afternoon.

 

All the more fortuitous! Surely, Nymeia was smiling upon him this sun.

 

But the smile upon his well-trimmed features lingered not just because of the anticipation of gift giving. Reese was not even certain how the stuffed tonberry doll would even be received, it was a plushy thing that wielded a dagger, after all! But the Midlander knew Launce to be the type that marveled at such foreign oddities, and would also appreciate the inherent irony in something that seemed so harmless and yet wielded a murderous weapon at the same time.

 

How utterly Eorzean!

 

While the thought of imagining the perplexed expression on Launce’s face did please him, in truth it was another juicy bit of gossip that had Reese bouncing in his steps. It was no secret to his friends that he had an expansive and fond regard for all things scandalous. He followed all of the printed newspapers and gossip publications with a dedication that rivaled any religious zealot in Ishgard. Perhaps it was due to the unbending rule of the Elementals and the too-tranquil ways of life in the Black Shroud that Reese needed a diversion in following any grapevine in print.

 

So it was to his most delightful surprise that he happened upon a person who was at the center of his most favorite tale. While strolling through the Jeweled Crozier to make his rounds with the merchants there, he ran into a woman he would recognize anywhere: Ser Coatleque Crofte. She looked just as she did in the Bronco Grease advertisement except... perhaps clothed to a far greater degree. He found her somehow more beautiful in full armor. She was one of the central heroines in the up-and-coming play Between The Sea And Sand, a production that if one was in the know, they knew it was based on real political events in Ul’dah. Oh how he had followed the news of every detail that surrounded that sordid saga! Reese owned every publication written by Spahro Llorn (his favorite writer ever) and knew that it was in thanks to her investigative and fearless journalism that such a romantic and infamous story had been brought to light.

 

Reese’s mind still buzzed with the events that followed his meeting with Ser Crofte. He was still chipper over the fact that he treated her to tea, but he also promised her that he would help her find her one true love, Jameson Taeros. The woman seemed distressed and preoccupied about the Monetarist’s disappearance, so of course Reese would lend his support to his favorite heroine! But moons had passed without any success on his part. Surely a notorious entrepreneur like Lord Taeros could not just disappear off the face of Eorzea without some trail! Then, on one of his business ventures back in the Black Shroud, he happened upon the very noble himself, sound asleep within one of the little known brothels. Reese almost did not recognize the man. His complexion was more sallow than he had imagined, and his chin was capped by a poorly maintained beard. But Reese’s keen eyes recognized him nonetheless, he was a man that everyone loved to hate.

 

Reese had returned to Ishgard to seek out Ser Crofte immediately thereafter, but the Sultansworn was no longer anywhere to be found. Still, the fact that he was now directly helping someone whom he had long admired from afar, it had put a bounce in his steps that would go on for suns.

 

The fortunes have been smiling upon me, the Midlander grinned to himself. But just as he was about to reach for the door that led to Launce’s study, he heard muted voices within.

 

Reese froze. Launce was not supposed to have returned from his House of Lords gathering just yet. Although the Midlander had to admit that he was clueless as to knowing how long such meetings were supposed to last. But knowing his friend, Launce was prone to stay long after, making more acquaintances amongst the circle of nobles. The Elezen had acquired a seat in the House of Lords, but he also had allies within the House of Commons through his history of charitable work and championing the poor’s cause. And while Launce seemed comfortable in his network of allies, this was still a new and fluid body of government, Reese knew. The Midlander knew that Launce would never say so, a public association with an outsider in the eyes of the two new Houses of government may not be strategically advantageous to one seeking influence.

 

Reese lingered near the door, trying not to make any sound to alert those inside. Where would he hide the tonberry? Should he just come back later and exit the premises the same way he had entered?

 

Or should he just leave the wrapped gift with a retainer for the house?

 

The barest touch of his fingertip to the door knob slid the door open by a sliver; the lock to the study had been troublesome for a fortnight now. And as the air within was given a breath from the hallway, clearer conversation started to filter through.

 

“Aurelieaux states that Miss Reeves’ research with the Au Ra is nearly complete.” It was a female voice that Reese recognized. He had made acquaintance with Miss Isene Daumois a few moons back, she was a cool woman whose sharp tongue seemed intolerant of any ineptitude. But her tone seemed very deferential and muted in her current discussion. “She requires only a few more subjects, but we have many who are eager to accommodate her wishes.”

 

A laughter sounded from within, and it was one that Reese recognized with ease. “Getting what tidbits you can from her assistant are you?” Launce seemed amused. “Why not simply ask the woman herself?”

 

“Miss Reeves prefers to share her findings with no one else but the Marquis, or yourself, my lord.”

 

“Ah, yes. She is quite a private woman. All the better to keep such things as these as discreet as possible, hm?” A pause. “But obtaining what she needs will not be a problem?”

 

“With the Dragonsong War at an end, many who were solely trained for battle find themselves restless. And some mercenaries who also answered the call for aid and now have nowhere else to go; they are hungry for work.”

 

“Ah yes. We were brought up to live in times of war, to survive conflict, and kill dragonkind for a thousand years.” Launce sighed, his tone turning pensive. “Now entering the time of peace, the soldiers who dreamed of glory find that they no longer have a purpose or worth. A shame.” He tsked, but his tone brightened quickly. “I am glad we can be of service in giving them a new objective.”

 

“And filling their coffers,” the Elezen woman inserted. “I have the latest estimates on this winter’s contributions. Despite the former Lord Commander’s edicts, the support for the cause has not diminished. While some have turned more wary in fear of retribution, many others who believe in path to redemption have become even more fervent in their support.”

 

Reese’s ears were starting to burn, he knew he should not be privy to this exchange. But the hint of secrecy and maybe even a conspiracy intrigued him so! Even so, Launce was a trusted friend, his only friend in the city, so the Midlander chided himself silently for listening as long as he did. He reached for the doorknob carefully, even holding his breath as he tugged the door closed as noiselessly as possible.

 

He remained frozen by the portal for another ten seconds, until he heard no movement or pause from within. Confident that he had left the two within undisturbed, Reese exhaled and straightened. But when he turned, he let out a yelp as he saw another woman standing just behind him.

 

“Mi... Miss Reeves!” The Midlander squeaked, although he managed to keep his voice just above a whisper. He had come to clutch the gift to his chest. “You startled me, dear lady!” When the slight raven-haired woman only continued to stare, Reese let out a nervous laughter. “Ah, you are probably wondering what I am doing here. Yes, well. You see, I brought my friend a gift, a surprise gift! But he seems preoccupied so I was going to return later…”

 

Josette Reeves only canted her head, those dark violet eyes of hers boring into the man. Reese loosened his collar.

 

“And I was so excited to tell him about the latest gossip that I have learned! But I didn’t want to disturb him so…”

 

“Mister Templeton,” Josette injected calmly. “Lord Jeaumis will not be detained long. You can accompany me to the sunroom, where you can wait for him.” She turned for the hallway, as if expecting him to follow.

 

Her reserved mannerisms had always unnerved Reese in their previous encounters, even though the woman had never raised her voice to him. Still, he felt judgement in her still posture. So he prattled on anxiously as he fell in step behind her down the hallway.

 

“So are you an aficionado of Ul’dan politics, Miss Reeves? Why, I have just come upon some delectable tale of coincidences…”

[Nero]

Their descent from Dravania had been quiet for the most part. With the remarkable ease of the whistles, both Karadwyr and Goldwind found them rather promptly after the Hyur and the Au Ra had left the cave, and they scaled down the mountain with little fanfare and no harassment from the Dravanians. Kasrjin expected that the experience had left both of them with much introspection to do; there was very little conversation, even as they passed again through Tailfeather. There was no sign of the Ishgardian war party that had preceded them, much to his relief.

 

Kasrjin constantly patted the bag where the keystone. While his face would not openly express his anxiety, it was clear that some part of him was wrestling with the fact that this was the object he was apparently seeking combined with the uncertainty that it was truly the solution to Kaarad-El's...problem. He was about to recall what was revealed to him in Ehs Daih, but his mind almost reflexively banished the imagery before it could reform from his memories.

 

Pain without purpose, indeed.

 

Their journey was marred by little incident until they reached the snows of Coerthas.

 

He had seen it in the distance but was unsure of what it was at first. It was only as they approached that Kasrjin's frown deepened. Abruptly, he pulled Karadwyr into a stop, swinging his leg off of the bird and breaking into a measured, loping run. The large, wooden stake had bent slightly in the wind and yet was sufficiently buried into the frozen soil to keep from completely toppling over. A corpse was perched atop it, another grisly trophy like the others they had seem resembling this. Yet what caught Kasrjin's eye wasn't the display itself, but the body that comprised it.

 

The dead Xaela atop the stake had been impaled through the back, his arms and legs frozen from the ice and rigor mortis. The steppe tiger furs and leathers that comprised of the corpse's clothing had been left on the cadaver, indicating that it was not a random act of looting but a measured, deliberate murder. Kasrjin's boot impacted against something buried against the base of the stake; a spear, snapped in two. The Xaela's eyes were milky and glazed over with the veil of death. White, unkempt hair that shocked itself from the body's head gave way to a face that seemed as if it had been used to smiling.

 

Kasrjin wordlessly pulled the stake and the body closer to the ground, inspecting every detail; personal effects, the marks on the haft of the spear, the paint around the eyes.

 

"Kaizhan," he breathed under his breath.

 

It was undoubtedly Kasrjin's younger protege. Scratches on the shattered spear haft to indicate successful battles, the tiger tooth around his neck, the white hair, and the markings on his face. Within a hidden pouch in the sleeve, there as a piece of nondescript obsidian with Alaqu's name on it, inscribed in Kasrjin's language.

 

Grief was not something that the Khadai experienced, and was a sentiment that had been rapidly bred out of them. Yet grief and sorrow were not the same thing, and it was the latter that fuelled Kasrjin's gesture of closing the dead Xaela's eyelids. "You did well to make it this far," Kasrjin murmured to the body, moving his hands to take whatever personal or practical effects that Kaizhan--and his killers--had left on the body. The question, however, was when this had taken place. The frozen climate of Coerthas made gauging the state of the body nearly impossible. Was Kaizhan here before they had arrived with his killing having just happened now, or had he just made it here only to be caught by unfortunate circumstances?

 

The Ishgardian war band. Had they passed through here? They had done well in covering their tracks if they had, aided by the snow and weather. Kasrjin knelt down, inspecting the stake for any clues as Karadwyr shuffled up to him with unease. Kasrjin inspected the body again, noticing that there was a severed belt laying across Kaizhan's chest. His killers had taken something from him that was not his currency, his weapon, or any other trinkets he had on his body. There was...a bag? Something had been attached to a belt across his back or chest that had been taken.

 

But what? And why?

[Roen]

Khadai knew him.

 

Roen remained standing next to Goldwind after dismounting, both she and her mount silently watching the Au Ra warrior tend to the body that had been fixed to the wooden stake. Her bird’s top feathers had flattened, and the chocobo lowered his head, a low trill fluttering in his throat. It was as if he too sensed the sorrow that had settled around the Xaela.

 

The paladin’s mood had immediately darkened as when they came upon the scene, recognizing the unfortunately display. Her revulsion quickly turned to surprise however, when she watched Khadai rush to the body’s side, something he had not done before with any of the other remains. Then the quiet words that he spoke that sounded like a wistful farewell, and watching him carefully, even gently handle the body…

 

It made her angry.

 

All the others had been just as horrific: the speared female and then the beheaded skull with the horns smashed… it told well the gruesome tale of this insidious but pervading violence against the Au Ra. The first suspicion was that they were all murdered because of their likeness to Dravanians. The Ishgardian prejudice against outsiders was well known, and even honorable knights like Ser Heuloix admitted to the history of violence against the Au Ra in the name of the Thousand Year War. Roen had brought what she had found to Ser Tournes’ attention, hoping the Knight Captain would follow up with some kind of an investigation. She heard something about an Inquisitor being alerted to the matter, but the efforts of the war quickly diminished the importance of such crimes in the face of an entire country being threatened.

 

Was it because she still viewed these Au Ra as strangers that it too became forgotten in her own mind? Did she convince herself that Ser Valencourt, a popular and well-known Dragoon, denouncing such an act as barbaric, that such crimes would be rooted out and stopped by the Holy See? Or had she pushed it aside as she continued to nurse her own wounds, convincing herself that the world’s problems were no longer hers?

 

She bled no longer. Instead others were dying in the snow, murdered by unknown assailants with darkness in their hearts.

 

The snow crunched softly beneath her armored feet as she approached Khadai. The paladin placed her hand upon his shoulder and said nothing for a moment, giving only a small squeeze. When she withdrew her hand, a small frown had lent a crease to her brow. She knelt by the body, her eyes roaming over the details of the corpse and the scene carefully.

 

As she had discovered in another similar scene, this wooden stake also had letters carved upon it. Where there is fear, we carry light. It was a phrase that rang more familiar to her than the other, but they all seemed to hold some kind of a religious context.

 

She exhaled, her breath whisked away by the northern winds. The grudgingly familiar cold of Coerthas was starting to seep beneath her armor and chill her core.

 

“This cannot continue,” she said quietly, firmly. Her gaze drifted to the snow around them and into the distance toward the city proper. Her mind was already making a list of people she needed to contact, and questions that needed to be asked.

 

But first... here remained the body of someone from Khadai’s past. She turned back to him, her expression softening.

 

“What do you wish to do?”

[Nero]

Kasrjin had finished rifling through the corpse's belongings. A pouch of currency and rotten and frozen provisions proved that this wasn't a random act of banditry or scavenging. The Xaela folded his arms, deciding to pocket only the obsidian trinket. "Leave the body," he said solemnly. "It is merely a shell that had housed the person I once knew. There is no point in tending to it." A part of him recalled the conversation he and Roen had had--one of their first long dialogues--at the graveyard, with the Au Ra questioning the practicality of tending to dead bodies.

 

Nonetheless, he knelt down even in the snow and wind to examine the body for what he could, placing his gloved hands on joints and limbs. They had broken Kaizhan's wrists in order to prevent him from grasping weapons. Pale, grooved wrinkles near his knees indicated where they had bound him. There was no other fatal wound on his person, which indicates that Kaizhan's execution was as agonizing as it appeared; at the least, there was some comfort in the fact that Kaizhan likely died of exposure before he had died of bleeding out from the stake.

 

"Whoever killed him took something from him," Kasrjin spoke softly. He subconsciously patted the bag around his waist holding the keystone. Was there a relation? There was an Ishgardian war party in Dravania that had attacked the dragons. Was that a random excursion, or was there perhaps a more measured purpose behind it? It was too far of a leap to make right now, and it was even farther to assume that Kaizhan and the mission they shared had anything to do with it...for now. "I must verify the cause of his death, and what he had found before he was slain. I do not wish to leave loose ends of this nature. I will return to Ishgard."

 

The Au Ra glanced at Roen. "You have helped me obtain what I require. Your obligations are at an end, yet I expect you will insist on your involvement anyway.

[Roen]

Roen answered him with a faint smirk. “Well, at least you will not argue with me on it.”

 

Her brief attempt at levity did not last long as her attention returned to the dead Xaela. He seemed youngish, younger than Khadai. She did her best to subdue her own feelings on the matter, for she did not want to add her own fury to Khadai’s loss. But watching him examine the body as he did, she too noticed the broken wrists, the abrasions that bindings left on his legs, and the lack of other wounds upon him. She clenched her teeth, but an indignant exhale still escaped through flared nostrils. How can people be capable of such cruelty…?

 

Her gaze flickered between the alive and the dead Au Ra. By now, she knew better than to expect an outburst of emotions from Khadai, but still she watched him curiously. His voice seemed slightly muted and he handled the younger Xaela with care, despite the fact that it was “merely a shell.”

 

"Do your people not mourn those who have passed on?" An exchange from a year ago flitted through her memory.

 

“We do. You would not think so if you watched us, though."

 

Roen took a long breath in, calming her own expression. “There were words carved into the wooden stake, when we found the first body. The wooden stake here also have another set of words written upon it. They almost sound like a religious hymn. The words here…” She gestured to the stake. “I recognize them. I have heard them before.” She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Perhaps if I inquired further into it… those in Ishgard would know more. We would have to be careful though, returning to the city. We have been away awhile, but we left with discretion for a reason.”

 

She glanced back down to the body. “What do you think was taken from him?” Her eyes instinctively went to where he had patted his bag. “Was he on the same mission as yours? Do you think he found something as well? And… what you have, is it valuable to anyone else?”

[Nero]

"It is possible," Kasrjin replied, though it was not entirely clear which of her questions he was responding to, if not all of them. "It is clear that they found something on him worth killing him for. Kai--this Khadai may have been young but he was more than a match in combat. They either took him by surprise or with greater numbers. We were both on the same mission here, and so it is possible that he achieved some success as well." The Xaela patted the keystone in his bag again. "As for this...I would ordinarily suspect that it was only useful to those who knew how to use it, and thus no one but the Tsenkhai would be interested in it. If whatever he was carrying is related, then I would be wrong in that count. Not only that, but it is possible that what I carry is not the sole piece of the puzzle."

 

The keystone was a hemisphere; was there another half? More pieces? Did it form a sphere at all or some kind of alien shape that wasn't known to him?

 

"This raises more questions," Kasrjin said before standing up. "And I suspect that many of them may be answered if we find whoever killed him. Caution would be best going forward. It is impossible to tell if this Khadai was deliberately targeted or if it was merely because he was Au Ra." He glanced at Roen. "I do not recognise the phrasing; that would seem to be our only link forward, but I do not believe it would be safe for me in the city. Should you have an idea, I believe it best for you to investigate within the city. I will remain in the outskirts for now and attempt to discern the activities of my kin before his death." He raised an eyebrow. "What do you believe the phrasing to be?"

[Roen]

Roen furrowed her brow, trying to clear the fog that clouded her memories. “It was over a year ago. The Ishgardian unit I was with was dispatched to deal with dragonkin, but instead we came upon heretics.” Her expression twisted into a deeper frown. “They were slated for execution… when an Inquisitor arrived and took them away. It was upon their departure that I heard that phrase.

 

“Where there is fear, we carry light,” she read the words carved into the wood. “I only remembered it because… at the time, I thought it gave a sense of hope to those that were saved. A new beginning. In a time where I thought there was none.” She shook her head.

 

The paladin glanced back up at Khadai as she rose. “Those phrases seem to carry religious connotations. But now I can link them to an Inquisitor that uttered them. I have been to the Cathedral. I have heard the prayers recited there. This is not a common saying. I have not heard it as part of any official sermon. And yet twice words like these have been present as a part of these gruesome executions. I think it may be a private litany of some sort.” She exhaled. “Perhaps if I can track down that Inquisitor from a year ago or anyone else that may know these words, it would lead to something.”

 

Roen paused, peering intently up at the Au Ra. “You say that your friend was more than a match in combat. I hold you in the same regard.” She stepped up to him, narrowing her eyes sternly. “Do not meet with the same fate as he did. Assume that he was just as careful as you are and still they overtook him somehow. You could be targeted as same as he.”

 

The paladin exhaled. She already knew that he had been exercising plenty of caution, and that he was likely fully aware of the danger upon his life ever since their first discovery. He had proved again and again that he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Still, she had to give voice to the sudden sense of apprehension that gripped her heart. “Be careful,” she said softly.

 

Khadai said nothing in return, only giving her a succinct nod.

 

Roen clucked her tongue, bringing Goldwind to her side. Mounting her bird, she regarded the dead Au Ra one last time from her higher vantage point. A thin veil of snow was already starting to collect over the corpse, but it did little to diminish the cruel evidence of his death. It did not feel right leaving him just laying there, but she would respect Khadai’s wishes. He had known the man, after all.

 

With another cluck of her tongue and slight tug of the reins, Goldenwind started into a canter towards Falcon’s Nest. This would be the last Au Ra body she would come across, Roen told herself, if she had anything to say about it.

[Nero]

He had always hated knocking on doors.

 

Which is why Maximilien didn't bother this time. He unceremoniously turned the knob to the Marquis' office and swung the heavy mahogany door open with little grace or finesse. Again the drachen mail was absent, replaced with functional yet considerably more comfortable cotton work clothes. The Elezen held a burlap sack underneath his arm, adjusting it as if its weight was considerably more than its size implied.

 

The Marquis chose not to face him, of course. The mask this time was a full face mask made out of polished ash, its markings imitating the style of the Gridanian Wood Wailers. Maximilien snorted at the choice. Perhaps it was symbolic and the Marquis was seeking to avoid some sin. Not that such a thing mattered to him, of course. "You have what I seek?" The Marquis' voice was sharp and thin, his manner of speaking almost sing-song in nature, accentuating his question with a slight trill. The Marquis was short and stocky, the top of his head barely coming up to Maximilien's shoulder. The white hood he wore obscured most of his features, save for the brilliant green justacorps that adorned his frame.

 

Maximilien stepped forward and dumped the burlap sack onto the Marquis' desk, repressing a snarl. He had no time for games, now.

 

The Marquis turned, unfolding the sack to reveal a polished hemisphere made of smooth black granite. The interior was coloured brightly like a geode; the flat face of the hemisphere was inscribed with carvings that seemed to shift every time the eye attempted to focus on the lines, as if to obscure its appearance. Despite having been in the frozen Coerthas climate, the hemisphere was warm to the touch, and almost seemed to pulse like a still-beating heart. "This is the legacy of the heretics," the Marquis croaked, stroking the rounded surface of the hemisphere.

 

"It is what you requested," Maximilien said tersely, tapping his foot. "About the House--"

 

"How many were lost?" the Marquis murmured, tapping the hemisphere. Maximilien glared at the Marquis at the interruption.

 

"Twenty-nine. Though that seems pointless now, if you have heard anything of recent events." The Elezen clenched his fists.

 

"You are angry," the Marquis said, turning his masked gaze towards the Elezen. Maximilien stiffened briefly.

 

"Peace has been declared," the dragoon practically spat the word. "Nidhogg slain upon the Steps of Faith. The Lord Commander has seized control. The Dragonsong War has ended, and this is only the start." Maximilien began to pace, arms folded and knuckles white behind his back. "Do you know what they call him? The new Azure Dragoon for a new age of peace. The people say that he soared through the heavens upon a white dragon."

 

When the Marquis responded with nought, Maximilien grasped one of the ornate oaken chairs by one of its legs and violently hurled the furniture against the wall, resounding with a tremendous clang. The mahogany door swung open behind him, leading a female Elezen with platinum hair and adorned in full, polished armour to storm into the study, sword in hand. The Marquis gave her a gentle wave, even as she eyed Maximilien with tense suspicion.

 

"We had a deal! And now the war is over. The Order is finished. Our traditions are finished!" Maximilien was shouting now, leading the female Elezen to approach him.

 

"Sir Valencourt," the Marquis whispered, tapping on the hemisphere again. "You need not worry. Ishgard will be free of the shadow of the dragon, and then you may resume your holy war with gusto. Our Lady Alchemist has shown promising results, and now that you have delivered this piece into our hands...I ask only that you endure this humiliation for a while longer."

 

Maximilien grit his teeth. Peace. Peace. And now Ishgard would throw its lot in with the Alliance, forced to contend with such mundane foes as Garleans and beastmen. "I did not take on the drachen for peace," he murmured venomously. "I have tolerated your shadowy dealings and machinations because I believed it would achieve the results I needed. Pray do not give me the perfect reason to bloody my spear so soon into this newfound peace." And with that, he stormed out of the study, brusquely shoving his way past the female knight.

 

The Marquis merely tapped on the stone again.