Chapter Text
Though she’d convinced Galbana Lily of her plan—to sit back and observe, waiting for Venat to make her appearance—Ascilia found herself captivated. With naught more than a whispered word to her beloved, she’d scurried down to Sapphire Avenue, where the beginnings of the parade would unfold. Excitement and trepidation, longing and regret— these feelings and many more grew in equal measure within her as she quietly watched, drowning herself in memories of a bygone time.
Having been born under the Imperial occupation of Ala Mhigo, this had been her first chance to ever see a parade. And though one hundred and eighteen years had passed for her, as she listened to the cheering crowd of onlookers and watched as dazzling confetti rained down from above, she couldn’t help but feel swept back into the days of her youth.
This was the power of her beloved’s Echo. The power to bring life to one’s memories, forming perfect recreations of fleeting moments in time. From the merchants feverishly hawking their wares to the Chocobos carting the parade float towards the gates of Ruby Road, everything seemed flawlessly perfect.
Even the goobbue, bound high atop the float.
That it crippled her father in its mad rampage was not the creature’s fault. Ascilia had long accepted this truth. But none knew for sure what exactly had driven it mad to begin with. Was it the horn that sounded the moment prior to its bindings malfunctioning? Her mother, F’lhaminn, had once told her it was merely meant to put the goobbue under a hypnotic trance. Was it the bindings themselves then, or the beast’s Elezen handler—an Ala Mhigan thaumaturge by the name of Corguevais?
Perhaps that was the case, she mused. Corguevais had turned up dead in Gyr Abania years later, his life taken in a skirmish between the Resistance and the occupation forces of Garlemald. But on that day, had he not reacted with surprise at the goobbue’s restraints breaking? And in the days to come beyond the parade, had he not routinely demonstrated himself to be a man of strong moral character?
Well, not routinely. The last they’d met, he’d unleashed a pack of coblyns upon her with the selfsame horn that started this mess.
“Come and get your flowers!” sang a fondly familiar voice, dragging her out from her thoughts and back to the parade itself. A fair distance ahead of the float, just before the gates to Ruby Road, a Miqo'te in a breezy pink blouse was passing out red and white flowers from a large bouquet-filled basket. “Flowers for all! Enjoy the festivities!”
Her contemplative grimace swiftly gave way to a warm smile. That was F’lhaminn Qesh—the Songstress of Ul’dah, and the woman she’d come to love as her mother. And not more than a few fulms away, approaching one nervous step at a time, was little Ascilia, her own past self. She’d wandered off without her father for a moment, drawn towards the parade. And as much as she’d wanted a flower, the poor girl couldn’t work up the courage to ask for one.
A fair distance behind both she spied her old friend, Chel, looking on in awe at everything around her. She’d only been sixteen summers old at the time, and just like herself this had been her first time in a city beyond her distant homeland. Beyond her was the familiar face of Thancred, his eyes fixated upon Lhaminn, and…
“What kept you?” came a voice from out of her sight.
Turning about she caught sight of F'lhaminn’s fiancé, Niellefresne. The Elezen’s words were not directed at her mother, but at the rest of their conspiratorial companions. With an affirming wave of his hand, a Reogadyn man approached their little gathering of souls. This was Greinfarr, a gladiator and longtime friend of her mother. Accompanying him was the final pair of accomplices—Popokkuli and Seserukka, Lalafellin twins and senior members of the Miner’s Guild.
“The parade has already begun,” Niellefresne sternly told them. “Make ready. Now.”
“You got it, boss,” Greinfarr nodded. “Leave it to me! I won’t let nothing go wrong!”
Before he could take more than a single step, F’lhaminn slipped a white flower beneath his chin, beaming a bright grin at him.
“Take it,” Niellefresne instructed him, snatching an identical flower from the basket. “As a precaution.”
“Oh, I, uh…” As he stammered and stuttered, Greinfarr gingerly took the flower between his fingers.
With a flourish of his wrist, Niellefresne slipped his own flower into his vest. Then he began to hurry away. “Let us go.”
Exchanging an awkward smile with F’lhaminn, Greinfarr hurried off as well, with the Lalafellin twins following closely behind him. Thus was Ascilia left alone with her mother once more—well, alone and beside herself, she mused. Watching as her mother took notice of her younger self, she couldn’t help but smile as F’lhaminn slipped a flower beneath the badge of young Ascilia’s cap.
“For me? Really?” young Ascilia gasped, a bright and cheerful grin growing on her face as she reached for the flower. “Thank you!”
“Pretty, aren’t they?” F’lhaminn responded. Removing the basket from her shoulder, she presented it to the young girl with a smile of her own. “Now be a sweetling and make sure everybody gets one, alright?”
Warmth flooded through Ascilia’s cheeks as her younger self accepted the basket with glee. Lily’s Echo had preserved practically every detail, from the sights and sounds to the very sensations she’d felt that day. It was difficult not to be overwhelmed and she found herself looming over the unaware girl, reaching out to her.
If she just slipped into the role of this phantom, she could experience these joys first hand once again. The parade, Lhaminn’s kindness, passing out the flowers… every wonderful memory of this day.
And all the heartache as well, whispered a stern, friendly voice in her heart. If happiness is what you seek, look instead to your future.
Her breath froze in her throat as she came to a halt, her hand barely an ilm away from her younger self’s shoulder. “I-I…”
“I will!” young Ascilia beamed.
Giving an affirming nod and a wave goodbye, F’lhaminn hurried away, joining the parade. Leaping and flipping, she took her place upon the coach at the head of the parade. The crowd of onlookers cheered at the sight, confetti raining down like snow as she bedazzled them with her felicitous footwork. For a moment Ascilia watched on as well, letting the bittersweet taste of the moment linger. Then she turned away. ‘Twould be better, she felt, if she spent this time waiting alongside Lily. After all, it wasn’t as if she could change what was fated to come. The voice was right—she’d long made her peace with this past. To seek to relive it now could only bring her needless pain.
How uncharacteristic of it, though, to suggest such a thing. And for that matter, she was certain that wasn’t her own voice...
***
Galbana Lily was staring up at the sky by the time Ascilia reunited with her. Though she’d been the one to suggest staking out the parade from the Quicksand’s entrance, Ascilia hadn’t been entirely honest with her reason why. It was true that the goobbue could be seen from here—Thancred had told her as much while relaying the story one day, and Lily surely wouldn’t have agreed to stay here if it wouldn’t. But her true reason for making that suggestion hardly needed to be said aloud. Even if their souls weren’t presently bonded together, Lily’s curse was self-evident. The very act of pushing herself to action was a dagger at her throat.
“Had your fill of the parade?” asked Lily as Ascilia hugged her arm. “Or did you just miss my company that badly?”
“It seems I can’t hide anything from you, now can I?” Ascilia replied. Drawing her beloved into a soft embrace, she nuzzled herself into the warmth of her bosom. “I just needed a… reminder. The past belongs in the past, and I…” Trailing off, Ascilia tried to muster up the strength to say what she wanted to feel. But her doubts had already begun to return. Clearing her throat, she instead sought a change of topic.” Has Venat graced you with her presence yet?”
“... Not yet,” Lily answered, wrapping her arm around Ascilia’s shoulders and hugging her tight. “Seems you were right—she won’t show ‘until the time is right’.” Though her long white hair flung about as she shook her head and sighed in ostentatious dismay, as Ascilia peered up she caught the faint traces of a smile adorning her face. “Gods, what is it with would-be heroes taking their sweet bloody time?”
“Now would that be a slight against many of our erstwhile allies, love, or would you happen to be speaking from personal experience?” With a quiet snicker, Ascilia moved to lean against the railing, taking care to keep a grip on her beloved’s arm even as she turned her attention to Sapphire Avenue’s gateway. “The music’s getting louder. They should be here any moment now. Remember, once we hear the horn we’re to—”
Her thoughts were scattered at the sound of the horn piercing the air. Within moments she heard the parade float crumple and crack, the panicked warking of the chocobo that had been pulling it, and the screams of terror from the crowd of fleeing onlookers. Steeling herself for what would ensue, she felt a sudden absence in the space beside her.
Lily had slipped from her grasp, vaulting over the railing to the street below.
“Lily, no!” she shouted, gritting her teeth as she hurried down after her. “You mustn't exert yourself!”
But her beloved paid no heed to her warning as she rushed away. Following after her, Ascilia heard the crunch of the float slamming down before a gateway. The goobbue had tossed the thing at its new provocateurs, Thancred and Chel, before chasing after them as they fled towards the Quicksand.
Behind it stood Niellefresne, chaser hammer in hand and a mix of fear and resolve in his eyes. That he’d joined the fray at all would’ve been a shock to Ascilia, had F’lhaminn not told her of his involvement in the weeks after the fact. But seeing him stand there, his chest heaving and legs practically bolted to the pavement, she knew there was naught he’d been able to do.
A violet aura erupted from within Lily as she charged the beast, bare hands clenched like bestial claws as she lept into the air. And just as suddenly as it had appeared the aura was snuffed out, replaced with the glow of the dark runes bound and burned into her skin. Collapsing before Thancred and Chel as they drew their respective knives, she let out a shrill gasp.
“Godsdamnit!” she cried, clutching her ribs as she doubled over. “It feels like I’m being torn apart!”
Kneeling down beside her, Ascilia reached out with one hand and began to channel her own aether into her beloved. There was no quieting the fury of her bindings, wrapped tightly round her like coiling ivy and digging deep into her as thorns, and to try would no doubt only succeed in harming Lily further. And so she instead poured herself into the bloody cracks, that she might soothe the pain instead.
Before her the goobbue let out a fearsome roar as it charged Thancred. He and Chel responded in kind, dodging and weaving through its powerful but clumsy swipes even as they bit it with their blades. Though Chel scarcely accomplished more than scratching its tough leathery hide, Thancred was far more successful, scoring and gouging the goobbue’s flesh until it collapsed in a heap upon the street.
It would get back up in a matter of seconds, Ascilia knew. Though it would mean delaying their reunion with Venat, she had no choice but to slow the flow of time within this dream that she might tend to Lily’s needs.
“What in the hells were you thinking!?” Ascilia hissed, though the answer came to her before her beloved so much as uttered a word. Lily’s shame burned within them both hotter than the sun itself, and with it was an all too familiar answer. “You can’t just… this is only a dream, Lily. Protecting those present at the expense of yourself will only get you killed.”
“I know,” Lily whispered back, lowering her head. “I just… the thought of letting you… I…” As Thancred and Chel sheathed their weapons, Lily morosely met her gaze. “Go ahead without me. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
Silently Ascilia refused, instead slipping one hand beneath Lily’s legs and the other behind her back. As she carefully stood up and felt her beloved wrap her arms around her shoulders, a mirthful grin stretched across her face. And so, though it was hardly the time, she couldn’t help but tease her a little. “For someone so eager to be left behind, you certainly are clinging to me rather tightly, kitten.”
“Stop wasting time,” Lily sighed, resting her head against Ascilia’s shoulder. “Our guest is waiting.”
Without further ado, Ascilia resumed the flow of time. Then, watching as Thancred breathed a sigh of relief, she braced herself for what would come to pass.
“Damned thing seemed rather taken with me,” he said, flashing an empty grin at Chel. “Any idea why that might be?”
Chel gave him an odd look in return, her voice cracking as she replied. “A-Are you speaking to me?”
Before Thancred could give her a response, however, the goobbue stirred once more. Rising to its feet, it let out a pained roar before turning aside and fleeing back down Sapphire Avenue. The screams of those who yet lingered in the streets erupted once more, only driving the sorry creature’s fear and fury further.
“Ah, and now our guest requests an encore,” Thancred wryly declared before rushing after it. “Come on!”
“Gods grant me strength,” Chel muttered under her breath, following suit.
As she hurried along after them, carrying her Lily in her arms, Ascilia caught sight of her mother and Niellefresne. They and their allies were also giving chase—but they, Thancred, and Chel would all be too late to stop the beast’s rampage. And so would she be late to witness it, if she did not pick up the pace. Crouching down for a moment, she suddenly lept to the top of a nearby building, dashing across rooftop after rooftop until they reached their destination.
“Here we are, love!” she panted, stopping to set Lily down that she might catch her breath.
“You could’ve just stopped time again,” Lily groaned as she stood up, leaning over the parapet. Beneath them was the intersection the goobbue would meet its end at. The intersection where young Ascilia had been passing out flowers. Just then the rooftop beneath them began to tremble, and a loud grinding noise filled the air—the goobbue, in its panicked flailing, was demolishing the wall of a nearby building. “Oh, gods. Brace yourself!”
“Relax,” Ascilia responded, resting a hand on Lily’s shoulder. “We’ll be safe.”
Spying her younger self below, Ascilia recalled the incident from her own perspective. In the city of Ala Mhigo her father Warburton had warned her again and again to stay by his side while they were out and about. Their fellow countrymen wouldn’t think twice about hurting the child of a collaborator—his status as a double agent was a closely guarded secret, after all, and by all other appearances he was a model bootlicker for the Imperial occupation. And Gaius van Baelsar’s men, though allegedly there to keep the peace, had never failed to look the other way when the locals furiously turned on one of their own. Nor were their hands clean when it came to treating the citizenry with dignity, for that matter—often children like her would go missing, never to be seen again.
In the event that she was separated from him, he taught as much as he could about how to protect herself. Where she could hide, and whom she could trust. By the time they’d left for Ul’dah, many of the streets and alleys of Ala Mhigo were as known to her as the backs of her hands.
But this wasn’t Ala Mhigo. And though her father was but a dozen yalms away, calling to her even as he hurriedly closed the gap between them, she couldn’t hear him. Not over the screams, the shouting of the crowds as they sought shelter of their own, and the furious footfalls of the goobbue. Nor could she have budged even if she did hear him. Everything about this moment had been too sudden, too bewildering. Too terrifying.
At long last the goobbue rounded the corner, charging straight towards the young girl. It closed the distance yalm by yalm with every step, arms whipping wildly through the air with enough force to tear whole trees from the ground. And young Ascilia, her heart full of fear, was frozen in place. Before long, it was only a hair’s breadth away from her.
Then a ray of light erupted from the intersection, shining so brightly that all the world seemed dark by comparison. The din of the stampeding crowd became muted, as if silenced by some otherworldly force. In the intersection below she could hear the sound of a blade cutting through flesh. And as the light faded and she at last caught sight of what had happened, her heart soared with equal parts delight and relief.
There before them laid the body of the goobbue, cut down by the sword of a towering, angelic figure. All eyes were upon Her as She took a deep breath, Her form shining resplendent in the light of the midday sun. Dispersing Her weapon with a flick of Her wrist, She turned about and kneeled before the young Ascilia and her father with a loving smile and a gentle look in her eyes.
“Be not afeard, my children,” Hydaelyn soothed. “Thou art safe now.”
“... Wow,” said Lily, looking half-bewildered and half-starstruck as she stared at their Mother. “I thought she’d show up in the flesh.”
“Mayhap she felt the need to dress for the part?” Ascilia mused.
“Who—What are you?” Warburton croaked, pulling the young girl away. “A-Are you a… a primal?”
“I am Hydaelyn, All made one,” She answered, shaking Her head. “The very will of our star, called by thy daughter that I might safeguard thee and thine. Know that I will not—canst not—take of thee thy will and wit.” She then glanced up and away, Her gaze meeting the real Ascilia’s. “... If mine account is not enough to still thy worry, then I bid thee flee. Go, my child, and walk free.”
From behind her father, the young Ascilia glanced down at the basket of flowers. It had been crushed by her father as he’d tackled her to the ground, the petals scattering upon the wind. She then turned to look at Hydaelyn, her eyes quivering with tears.
“Th-thank you, for saving us,” she stammered. “Thank you, Miss Hydaelyn…”
As the survivors of today’s events began to disperse, whispering amongst themselves over the intervention of this godlike being, Ascilia was beside herself in bemusem*nt. “You’d think, what with this being a recreation of past events, that everything would grind to a halt the moment it went off the rails…”
“In my experience, it never does,” Lily remarked, wincing as she rubbed at the runes on her neck. “Though admittedly, I’ve never knocked these events this far off course. But I get the feeling your father and, er, you… they’ll vanish once they’re out of sight.”
“Mh, I’ll take your word for it.” With a delighted grin, Ascilia leaned over the parapet and waved. “‘Tis good to see you again, Venat!”
“The pleasure is all mine, my brave little sparks,” Hydaelyn replied, rising to Her feet. At Her full height she stood eye level to the pair. Raising Her hands, She offered Her open palms to them. “Thy dream is rather more convoluted than I dared imagine, Galbana Lily. Might ye imagine a more private locale for us to reconvene? Mayhap the shadow of the Mothercrystal wouldst suffice?”
“I’m not much of a lucid dreamer, sorry,” Lily admitted as she crawled into Hydaelyn’s cupped hands. “... Do you have to stay like this the whole time? It’s… more intimidating than usual right now. For reasons we’ll get to soon.”
“If thou desire, I shalt assume a more pleasing form anon,” Hydaelyn promised. As Ascilia joined Lily within Her grasp, She drew Her hands close to Her heart, the warmth of Her body flowing into them both. “Though if my demesne is not available, might I trouble thee for a more suitable location?”
“I’ve one in mind,” Ascilia answered, resting her head against their Mother’s chest. “‘Tis rather close by, in fact. Would you care for a drink?”
***
Not long after the three of them entered the Quicksand, taking their seats at a table near the center. After calling over a waitress and making their order, Ascilia began to explain to their guest all that had happened today, leaving Lily to stew in her thoughts. She would’ve liked to tell some part of it herself, of course, but it was better this way. Her own mind still lingered on unanswered questions and an uncertain future.
Why was this dream, of a tragedy far in her beloved Ascilia’s past, so vivid within her mind? Who was this Hrothgar girl, Chel, and why in this dream was hers the perspective Lily experienced? Could their guest truly help them remove the binding curse Alastor had laid upon her? If not, could it even be removed, or would she forever remain as meek and helpless as she felt tonight?
Glancing over at their guest, Lily tried to get a sense of her thoughts. Instead, she merely found herself bewildered as the woman flashed her a warm smile. Having relinquished the form of Hydaelyn that she might join them within the Quicksand, Venat had donned an unusual ensemble of clothes: A white linen bush jacket, unbuttoned at the top, exposing a black undershirt. Denim pants with a number of large pockets. Leather boots and fingerless gloves, with a soft green neckerchief and—most perplexingly—a wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with numerous flowers to complete the outfit.
Between that and the backpack she’d set down upon the table, Venat seemed poised and ready for one of two things—an adventure, or a vacation. Perhaps both, Lily mused. Though where a soul consigned to the aetherial sea could find either was beyond her.
“... And though we four succeeded, we did not see the day’s venture unscathed,” Ascilia concluded at last, gesturing to Lily. “A curse was placed upon my beloved Lily by the voidsent leader—one that restrains and consumes her aether, harming her in the process.”
“That’s why we called for you,” Lily added, snapping to attention. “Ascilia and I believe the curse’s origins lie with the Ascians.”
As the waitress returned with their drinks, setting them down upon the table, Venat shook her head. “First thing’s first. Allow me to congratulate you on making the choice to carry on your journey through life as one. Would that I had more resplendent gifts than grains of truth to give.”
Ascilia frowned. “Then you can’t remove her curse?”
“Were I still the goddess Hydaelyn, or if either of you still possessed the full might of your respective blessings, it would be no trouble to unmake such magicks,” Venat clarified, taking a sip from her wine. “... My, what a curious taste this wine has. Lily, how long ago was it that you swore off such beverages?”
“About fifteen years,” Said Lily, arching her brow in confusion. “Why… oh. I wouldn’t know what Ul’dahn wine tastes like.”
“I, on the other hand…” As she trailed off, Ascilia took a tentative sip of her own wine, her lips curling into a smile. “Well, ‘tis not any vintage I’m familiar with specifically, but it does have the taste of a Lominsan wine.”
“Does it now?”
Peering into her own glass, Lily caught sight of her own reflection. Her eyes looking back up at her, pupils darker than the night sky, the light of her irises swirling about them like the horizon's edge. Tumbling, turning into the depths...
She took a whiff, savoring the scent, and shuddered. “... Bacchus wine. The grapes it was made from were thought to be extinct, but a fellow countryman of mine discovered bacchus vines and leaves growing on the backs of goobbues. By chance and circ*mstance, the legacy of that wine continues.”
“I remember reading about that in Shtola’s report,” said Ascilia, snickering. “Heavens, the Company of Heroes really did give you the runaround back then, didn’t they? Had they not, you might have…” Then, glancing down into her own drink, she suddenly sighed. “Ah. All the lives lost in the hour of your triumph over Titan—you associate your memories of Bacchus wine with tragedy and loss, don’t you?”
“I think you might be reading too much into it,” Lily replied, twirling her finger in her glass. “We’re getting off topic. Venat, can you help us or not?"
With a beleaguered sigh, Venat set down her glass and began digging around in her pack. “Worry not, I can help you. But ere I offer you the means to free yourselves from these burdens of yours, I would first share with you a history lesson. Know you the origin of the Thirteenth’s demise? Of the Flood which consumed death itself alongside light?”
“Unukalhai told me years ago,” Lily answered, licking her finger dry. Emotions flooded down upon her like stars from on high. Having never tasted Bacchus wine before, it came as something of a shock to her that she found its bittersweet taste nostalgic. That Venat and Ascilia were contributing their own memories in this union of souls did little to change that—some part of her had to have known this wine’s taste and texture even before they’d entered her dream. “... Their heroes used auracite—or memoria—to seal away primals, only to gorge themselves on the would-be gods’ aether.”
“According to Garmr, the proliferation of this art led to naught but tragedy,” Ascilia added, frowning. “Ordinarily I would lay the blame for such a turn of events at our erstwhile adversaries, the Ascians. But Garmr was the one who granted me the power to craft memoria, and in both shape and stance she bore more than a passing resemblance to two familiar faces.”
At this, Lily perked up her head. Her thoughts on the wine would have to wait. “Wait, are you suggesting that—”
“I am the one responsible,” claimed Venat, downing the last drops of wine from her glass before setting it down. With a quick scan of their faces, she gave a wry grin. “Don’t look so surprised, my children. Even for all my wisdom and experience, I can make mistakes too.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” said Ascilia. “But why grant such power in the first place?”
“If I’m to answer that question, we’ll need to go back even further.” Reaching into her pack, Venat produced two small figurines shaped like elemental sprites, one white and one black. Placing them on the table, she tapped the black one, causing it to split into fourteen copies of itself. “When I as Hydaelyn sundered our star and Zodiark, what you know as the Source and its Reflections were in complete disarray. Half of all the star’s aether dissipated, becoming a yawning void where no law—deifacted or natural—would ever hold sway again. To prevent what remained from meeting the same fate… even as I sealed Zodiark within my moon, I created twelve pillars to stabilize the shards of Etheirys.”
“... Twelve?” asked Lily, furrowing her brow. “Emet-Selch mentioned the ‘true identities of The Twelve’ before returning to the aetherial sea. Are they your creations?”
With a soft chuckle, Venat shook her head. “Do you think I would give away something that intriguing as mere exposition? If you so eagerly wish to see the myths of the realm laid bare, pray seek them out yourselves, hm hm.”
“Not quite a yes or a no,” Ascilia surmised. “Would I be remiss to believe this act of creation left you drained of aether?”
“You would be correct,” said Venat, nodding sagely. “As Hydaelyn I had hoped to be to this world what the Convocation of Fourteen was to my own kind. But with all but my most vital reserves exhausted, I had no choice but to consign myself to the aetherial sea for a time.” Pausing, her gaze fell upon Lily’s glass, largely untouched save for droplets of wine that had fallen from her fingertips. For a moment it seemed as if she was about to comment, but instead she returned to her story. “Nigh upon two millennia after the Sundering, I awoke to the presence of a rising darkness upon the Thirteenth Reflection of Etheirys. A cursory study revealed the reason: The people of that far flung star were bequeathed the means of primal summoning, that they might wage war with one another. Thus began the century-long conflict known as the Contramemoria.”
“And so you called out to all who might hear you…” Lily began, only to trail off as a distant memory resurfaced.
The chill of the howling Coerthan winds nipped her cheek, and the shrill, piercing laughter of the Ixali’s goddess echoed in her heart. With them both came her voice, her words. The empty threats of tempering and dominance. Only, as the room seemed to spin, and the floor seemed to fall away from her feet, they didn’t seem so empty anymore.
There was a reason she remembered that day, however. And she wasn’t about to let her worries make her forget. “... I… when Garuda… she tried to temper me, but failed, and then a crystal popped out of her. Primals aren’t—they don’t have souls, but what’s a soul if not aether?”
“Are you feeling alright, love?” asked Ascilia, standing up from her chair and placing her hand on Lily’s shoulder. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine,” Lily fired back, only to immediately regret doing so as she felt and heard her voice crack. “I’m just… When I fought her, Garuda was so… adamant on making me hers. She, and Ifrit, and Ravana and Lakshmi and…” Trailing off once more, she looked up from her knees, peering defeatedly at Venat. “... I know it’s not fair to blame you. But if another primal pulled a stunt like the one she did, I don’t think I could resist now.”
With a beleaguered sigh, Venat began to rummage through her pack once more. “What happened within the annals of a different history aside, I’m hardly exempt from such interference. Do you recall the first day you set foot on Eorzean soil? When, having only just awakened to your Echo in this city, your mind cast itself back into the memory of this very day?”
“... I came to Eorzea by way of Gridania,” Lily rebuked, furrowing her brow. “And no, I don’t remember ever seeing this day outside of my dreams.”
Producing a small crystal brimming with umbral light from her pack, Venat flashed an odd smile. “Would you like to?”
“Hold a moment,” said Ascilia, eyeing the crystal and Venat warily. “Are you suggesting you altered Lily’s memories?”
“I’ve altered the memories of a great many people,” Venat clarified, motioning to Ascilia. “As did your mentor, the late Louisoix, when he called upon the Twelve in the wake of Dalamud’s fall.” Standing up, she moved to her side, handing the crystal to her. And as Ascilia peered into the crystal's depths, concern writ plain upon her face, Venat returned her attention to Lily. “I would have the both of you walk the same path—the selfsame path that once brought ruin unto the Thirteenth.”
“You would have us summon a primal!?” Ascilia objected, clutching the crystal tight in her hand. “But Lily is in no condition to fight!”
Lowering her head, Lily fell into an uncomfortable silence. Ascilia had the right of it—in her current state she was a liability in a fight against any combatant, to say nothing of a primal. Yet that bit of rationality did little to alleviate how small it made her feel. How helpless she’d become. But what choice did she have, if letting this curse control her life was the alternative?
“How would summoning a primal help?” she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
“What you need is a source of power equal to the task as your blessings once were,” said Venat, placing a hand upon her shoulder. “With the power of a memoriate, Ascilia will be able to capture the primal’s energies and fashion a crystal—this will become the basis for her new blessing, and the means by which she will remove your curse.” As if sensing that they still had reservations, she sighed and shook her head. “Pray do not mistake my confidence for blind arrogance. Defeating and containing a primal’s energies is not without tremendous risk, but with the ritual I’ve provided the primal you fashion will be disinclined to temper you. The resilience of your souls and strength of your Echoes should be enough to weather its influence.”
“I did not choose to come back just to lose my—” Ascilia began, her eyes widening as she cut herself short. Squeezing the crystal, she lowered her head and raised it to her heart. “... Ever have I relied upon you, my pillar of strength. But it is not for your sake alone that I ask you to stay behind. Just this once, let me prove to myself that this life wasn’t a mistake—that I am meant to live.”
At this, Lily felt her heart sink. But between her curse and her beloved’s wishes, what use was there in arguing? And so she gave a soft smile and a nod. “Take the stone of Azem with you, at least,” she suggested. “Even if I can’t help you, I’m sure one of our allies can.” As Ascilia returned the smile with one of her own, Lily turned her attention to Venat and cleared her throat. “Let’s say I believe you about my memories. I have to assume you took them away for a reason—so let’s hear it.”
“Perhaps I should hear this as well,” said Ascilia, her gaze lingering on the crystal. “If the Leveilleurs’ report was correct, Louisoix banished the heroes of Carteneau into the future and sealed our memories of their existence to protect them. ‘Tis no coincidence that you drew a parallel between yourself and him.”
“An impeccable deduction, if nothing else,” Venat conceded. “But I must insist you study that crystal first. It is a piece of myself—were you to awaken prematurely, it would disappear alongside me.” Then, turning away and heading towards the Quicksand’s back exit, she pushed open the doors. Beyond them was not an alleyway, as expected, but a barren, rocky landscape Lily had known time and again. “Once you are finished, follow me unto the night of Dalamud’s fall—the night you nearly died at Carteneau, my brave little spark.”
***
It was the morning after in Thavnair when Y’shtola arrived at the Great Work’s aetheryte. Her meeting with Cid at Rhalgr’s Reach had proven a wise choice, but by his estimates it would take several moons to construct and test the protective casings he’d suggested. With that in mind and after a good night’s rest, it seemed prudent to return to Nidhana’s side and observe her progress in crafting a mock Atomos.
Sunlight glinting off the edge of the cliffs above helped to illuminate the uncertain landscape before her. But as she drew closer to her destination, the brilliant light gave way to indistinct colorless shadow, and so she had no choice but to rely upon her aethersight. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have been so hesitant to make use of it, her mentor’s warnings notwithstanding, but ere she departed from Rhalgr’s Reach she’d received a message via her linkpearl from Ascilia. She hadn’t said precisely what she was up to, only that she and an Archon by the name of Mikoto may have need of her.
But even without her eyes, the weight of certain souls was simply unmistakable. Such was the case as she entered Nidhana’s workshop, drawn towards the presence of a greatwyrm’s eye even as its gaze drew towards her. “What fortuitous timing, Varshahn. Ascilia is a guest at the satrap’s palace—would she happen to have spoken of her plans for the day?”
“The night before, she made a request of Ahewann and the satrap,” Vrta began, drawing closer to her. “Today she and Mikoto Jinba, another Sharlayan Archon, make for the summit of Khadga. I believe they are in search of potent sources of aether and precious gemstones.”
“Aether and gemstones…?” Tilting her head to the side, Y’shtola tried to make sense of this revelation. It seemed unlikely to be tied into their exploration of the Void. But with the warning Ascilia had given her, there had to be some greater meaning to it all. “... And you say she made a request of Ahewann? Then he has awakened at last?”
“Indeed.” Pulling her aside, Vrtra glanced back at Nidhana. “To all but a select few, it would seem that he made a miraculous recovery in the dead of night. And in truth, the circ*mstances were quite so.”
Y’shtola arched her brow. “And those would be?”
“Five voidsent had possessed him in the hopes of making his body their new vessel, but they were exorcised by a company of adventurers using the Echo—Ascilia, Mikoto, Lily, and her sister Rubedo.” There was a slight shift in Vrtra’s presence, as if his aether had been rendered volatile. It wasn’t hard to see why once he continued, his words drenched in self-loathing. “The voidsent in question had hidden within this vessel, and in my haste I failed to notice their presence. I failed to protect the people of Thavnair, my people, from the threat of the Void…”
“... You are not the only one to blame for this,” Y’shtola assured him, her mind racing to process the information given even as she considered her words. “But we have both learned a lesson from this endeavor. Rather than continue to dwell on past mistakes, I believe it would be best to count our blessings and look towards the future.”
“Ahewann felt the same,” Vrtra sighed. “I’ve much and more to say on such matters, but you did not come here to counsel me.” Turning aside, he cupped a hand and softly shouted. “Nidhana! The Archon Y’shtola has returned!”
Raising her head abruptly and looking away from a large alchemickal apparatus, Nidhana greeted Y’shtola with her usual friendly demeanor. Channeling the slightest aether necessary, she caught sight of the arkasodara’s open arms and the warm color of her soul. “Ah, Y’shtola! Come, come! The adjustments are going well, I hope?”
“Someone’s happy to see me,” Y’shtola teased, heading over to Nidhana’s side. “‘Tis a lengthy process, but the end is in sight, yes.”
“That’s wonderful news! I, myself, had some good fortune searching through the satrap’s private records.” Motioning to several tall stacks of documents on a nearby table, she breathlessly continued. “What I found was a transaction log, dated around the same period as when Alzadaal's Legacy was built. It included a purchase list of highly exclusive alchemical components...and I knew I'd discovered the key to making the artificial Atomos.” Pausing to take a breath, she continued once more, her voice peaking with excitement as she drew Y’shtola’s attention to a pair of Arkasodara working nearby. “I then visited the High Crucible to commission the materials. After I'd explained my requirements, I was beset by volunteers insisting I allow them to help with the entire project!”
“The usual reaction to someone forcing open a voidgate is to run for the hills,” Y’shtola remarked. “Hannish academics certainly are a different breed.”
“The alchemists of old were cut from a similar cloth,” Vrtra added, his youthful voice full of admiration. “The unknown held no fear for them─indeed, they were ever eager to seek new knowledge, regardless of the danger.”
“And were you not also fearless─heedless, even─in your determination?” she pointedly asked.
Glancing back at her, Vrtra lowered his head, his bright red eyes gleaming with the light of recollection. “... my sire entered his dormancy before I was hatched. And so it was Azdaja who kept my egg safe and warm. It created a bond between us. Even long after I learned to fend for myself, I rarely strayed from her side.” As he closed his eyes, his tiny shoulders sagged, and for a passing moment he truly seemed the child this vessel appeared to be. “She was my guardian. My sister, my dear companion… and not a single day passes that I do not mourn her absence. No matter how deep the darkness, I would surrender my search. I promised myself the time would come when we would once more take to the skies together. But I am satrap now…”
Before he had finished, Y’shtola had already guessed where this was going. So consumed was he with his duty to Thavnair that Vrtra would not allow himself to hope for anything more. Yet had he not informed her just a moment ago that Ahewann, the previous satrap, had awakened? If he were to assume the throne of Thavnair once again, Vrtra would be free to follow his heart. So obvious was this line of thinking, however, that she found herself hesitant to say anything. For if she had realized this, wouldn’t Vrtra as well?
She did not have the chance to question him further, however, as they were swiftly joined by four Radiants: The Auri commander of the Sakti, Nahbdeen, and five of his subordinates. His voice resounded through the workshop, drawing the attention of all present. “The Radiant Host is here to serve, Your Excellency!”
“Nahbdeen, what is this about…?” asked Vrtra.
“Ser Estinien told us of your predicament,” Nahbdeen informed him, his tone softening ever so slightly in a manner Y’shtola compared to Thancred or Lily speaking with Ryne. “For centuries you have protected Radz-at-Han, never showing your true self. Hiding behind a curtain, and living only in service to the people…” Pausing and glancing aside, he seemed to Y’shtola to be carefully considering his choice of words. “... Your dedication meant more to us than your deceit, and so did we accept you as our rightful ruler. After all that you have sacrificed for this nation, did you imagine we would begrudge you your heart’s desire?”
At this, Vrtra’s eyes widened with surprise, and his lips parted ever so slightly. Clearly he was taken aback by this, Y’shtola thought, though she could not imagine why. Was it truly so surprising that the people whom he loved so much that he was unwilling to bring harm even to their blasphemed remains during the Final Days would love him in turn?
“We survived the Final Days,” Nahbdeen proclaimed, his voice booming with pride as he began to finish his speech. “We are a strong and proud people. We, the Radiant Host, will keep Thavnair safe in your absence!”
But Vrtra merely broke eye contact as he lowered his head. For all the Radiants’ support, he appeared more ashamed of his longing than ever before. “I am grateful for your loyalty, and for your encouragement. And yet—”
“Now you listen to me, Varshahn!” Nahbdeen snapped, grabbing his attention and wrenching him free from his self-pity, much to Y’shtola’s bewilderment. Striding forward, he knelt down before Vrtra and lowered his head, perhaps to make up for the disrespect he’d just shown. “... You are wearing that face, after all.” Then, lifting his head to meet Vrtra’s gaze once more, he once more adopted that selfsame fatherly tone he’d used a moment earlier. “As I have told you before, you are a little brother to us all. And if you are family, then so, too, is your sister.” Rising to his feet, he held a hand to his heart and continued, before clenching his fist and thrusting it aside, as if to dismiss the satrap’s concerns. “We are there for you if you need us. But do not ask us to sit by and watch while you abandon a sibling you have ached to rescue for millennia!”
As Nahbdeen finished his speech and she returned her attention to Vrtra, Y’shtola couldn’t help but note the turbulent fluctuations of his aether. It seemed that the commander’s impassioned words had cut through to him, but some part of her worried it would not be enough. How fortuitous then, she mused, that a half-dozen other souls rushed into the workshop right then and there. And judging from the way Nidhana’s eyes lit up at the sight of them, it seemed clear that these were the colleagues she’d spoken of mere moments ago.
“We will succeed in opening the way,” the Arkasodara emphatically declared, a rousing round of agreement and approval sounding from the newly arrived alchemists and those already present. “It is only a matter of time! All you need to do, Your Excellency, is prepare to step through to the other side!”
And then, as if on cue, three more individuals entered the workshop—the familiar two-toned soul of Estinien and a pair of young children she didn’t recognize. One of them, a boy by the look of it, began to speak. “Your Excellency… I wanted to thank you for building the orphanage. It means so much that my sister and I will have a place to be together, safe and happy.”
The other child, who Y’shtola assumed was his sister, spoke up as well. “And we hope that you and your sister can be together again, too!”
Y’shtola shot Estinien a knowing look—one he returned immediately, confirming for her that this gathering of disparate souls was no mere coincidence. More than that, however, it seemed he was waiting for her to deal the finishing blow. At this juncture, there was only one thing she could say that was appropriate for the situation: Words that Lily had shared with her months ago.
It had been the night of their return from the Moon’s illustrious surface. For fear that her encounter with Zodiark had altered her in some capacity, she’d paid a visit to Lily to check on her, to share her worries and the horror of what she’d seen the Viera endure on the First. In return, Lily had offered her own perspective. Viera, she claimed, lived half a century past two. Yet in her duties as the Warrior of Light, it felt as if she had aged several lifetimes. That all that was holding her together anymore was the strength of her will and the depths of her love. For their star, for all they had lost, and for all that she might save.
To protect them all, she would have to take heart. Until the day her duty was fulfilled, and she could at last be herself again.
With slight paraphrasing, Y’shtola offered those very same words to Vrtra. “To protect them well, you must take heart.”
With a soft, inaudible gasp, Vrtra raised his head. “... ‘Take heart, and protect them well.’ Such were the words I once said to our champion. And here I stand, failing to live up to them.” Turning to face her, his brow firm and eyes brimming with determination, he continued. “If my heart is torn, I am fit to protect neither Azdaja, nor Radz-at-Han.”
“I had a feeling that was the case,” Y’shtola noted. “But I believe your heart has settled on a choice now.”
With a quiet, thoughtful nod, Vrtra turned aside to address the gathered crowd. “My people, I have come to a decision. Varshahn will depart Thavnair for a time. My dragon self will remain in the palace, but only to conduct the satrap's most essential duties. While I am focused on controlling this vessel, there may be matters that escape my attention—I rely on you, my trusted friends, to watch over one another until I return.”
“Take care and fair fortune, little brother,” said Nahbdeen, his voice full of admiration. “Many tears would be shed should you come to harm.”
“I would not dare make you cry,” Vrtra replied with a nod.
With a nod of affirmation, Nahbdeen and the Radiants following him left to escort the children Estinien had brought back to the safety of their orphanage. Nidhana and the alchemists she’d recruited got to work as well, leaving only herself, Estinien, and Vrtra to speak with one another.
“You surprise me, Estinien,” Y’shtola began, regarding the man with a sincere smile. “For a lone wolf, you’ve shown an unusual degree of, shall we say, ‘involvement’ in helping Vrtra reach his conclusion.”
“'Twas for the greater good,” Estinien replied, crossing his arms. “The wyrm's thundering sighs were keeping his citizens awake at night, and had travelers believing the palace wracked by some unnatural storm.”
“I am not that loud,” Vrta chuckled. “But what of your own answer, then? You seemed disinclined to venture into the void…”
“When I was one with Nidhogg, his vengeful thoughts were my thoughts,” Estinien began to answer. “His endless rage was mine—as was the soul-chilling grief he nursed for Ratatoskr’s death. “I would not wish such agony upon a foe, let alone a friend and ally. If there is a chance we can spare you that pain, I will follow you.”
“Then I believe that brings our fellowship up to five,” Y’shtola remarked, pleased that everything seemed to be going well thus far. “With our minds settled, all that’s left is to make preparations. First and foremost, we should establish some manner of base camp nearer to the gate itself.”
“One of the palace chambers should serve your needs,” Vrtra nodded. “Once Ascilia has returned from Khadga’s summit, I ask that you reconvene outside Meghaduta.”
“Speaking of Ascilia,” Y’shtola began, circling back to the conversation they had earlier, “You mentioned something she and a few others had saved Ahewann’s life last night. Would you mind going into more detail?”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” said Estinien. “What exactly did I miss…?”
“That is a rather long story, my friends,” Vrtra told them, glancing about. “But if you must know…”
***
And thus I am returned… to this world, bereft of saviors…
Glancing about, she sought to get her bearings.
She was standing—floating—upon a balcony. A castle in the endless expanse that was the Void. Troia.
Why had she come here so many months ago? Try as she might, she couldn’t remember. Between her deceased master and his insatiable greed, she had gathered scarcely little aether to sustain herself. The long and lonesome road that led her back to this place had cost her dearly—memories shattered and scathed, that she might survive.
They would come back to her eventually. One at a time. But first, she needed to find her way home.
Her body—her real one—was missing. Stolen or eaten. Such was the fate of her kind. Eat or be eaten. That wasn’t her way. She remembered that much, at least. But with her soul mangled and misshapen as it was, transfigured into some sort of phantasm, she would not be able to form a new one.
It didn’t matter. She would survive. Somehow.
The emptiness of the Void around her howled, without and within. She would not make it home—not like this.
With scythe in hand, she departed for the castle’s depths. One way or another, she would find a way.
She always did.
