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therisingphoenixden · 2 years

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Prompt #25: His Answer

Prompt: Free day! (Patterns)

Characters: Primarily focused on the shade of Hythlodaeus and his thoughts as he observes the following: Berude Eijinn (WoL), Thancred Waters, Urianger Augurelt, Alpinaud Leveilleur, Alisaie Leveilleur, Y’shtola Rhule, Crystal Exarch. Also mentions of Thalia (named Azem), and Emet-Selch.

Content Warnings: Have I said “Shadowbringers spoilers ahoy” often enough in the past 25-ish days yet? I think I have? But yeah, Shadowbringers spoilers ahoy.

Author’s Notes: This was born from an idea posited by a friend the night I took the screenshot of Ru, Urianger, and Thancred at Dawn Throne and it just would not leave me alone. It gets a bit weird and philosophical under the cut. Also, did not plan on this being Ancients Weekend, but it’s Ancients Weekend! If you need a pick-me-up from last night, this is it! Basically everything I’ve written within the past 24 hours or so has been fueled by too little sleep and far too much caffeine.

It was interesting to believe that those souls that were sundered sought out patterns that evoked the familiar. Hythlodaeus, or at least the created shade of the man, sat in quiet contemplation and watched the Warrior of Darkness, the bearer of dearest Thalia’s soul, converse with her companions from a comfortable distance.

It seemed Emet-Selch’s momentary lapse into lonely nostalgia when it came to the creation of this particular shade had imbued it with more than the self-awareness his fellow shades lacked.

He had been granted the real Hythlodaeus’ ability to see the color of souls as well.

He watched the au ra who bore Thalia’s soul intently. No longer was it nearly suffocated by the primordial Light intent on snuffing out her brilliance, nor was it as faded as it was during their first encounter. Instead, it shone brighter, like the rising sun shimmering off of dark clouds that heralded a stormy day ahead. She almost glowed with the brightness of it, his new-old friend.

The first to approach her was the man in a long white coat, the one whom his creator had blithely called the “Vessel.” The Shade found himself puzzled by this man. Aetherically, he was a blank, as if his connection to the aether around him had been severed.

What truly alarmed the Shade was the color of the man’s soul. It was lighter in color than the real Hythlodaeus’ soul, but it was a shockingly similar shade of sky blue that faded to a soft lilac at the fringes. Both souls flared brightly as the Vessel swept Thalia’s soulbearer up into a tight, if stiff hug.

The Vessel appeared injured from their battles. What little the Shade’s creator had permitted him to witness of their final test showed that the Vessel was the sort who threw himself in front of the group, taking the brunt of the damage to protect the others. An image of Emet-Selch snapping his fingers, his robe replaced with armor and greatsword in hand entered the Shade’s mind. Curious…

The second to approach her was the “Secret Keeper,” according to his creator. His soul was a curious one - deep indigo with flecks of gold and streaked through with swirling clouds of stardust in a multitude of colors. So similar to Hades’ soul, but brighter and far more color held within. The tall elezen gave the Vessel a firm pat on the shoulder before he, too, took Thalia’s soulbearer into his arms. The Shade watched as the three souls flared to their brightest when together.

The Secret Keeper had also been an interesting one to watch in battle. He kept his allies on their feet in between flinging spells at the creatures as they wound their way through the phantasmal Final Days. The real Hythlodaeus was no great sorcerer, but he did contribute with bow and arrow in a similar manner to the Secret Keeper’s cards and spells when called.

Interesting… The Shade knew that neither Hythlodaeus nor Emet-Selch had been sundered, although he was unsure how. Yet here they were, proof that patterns could repeat in the grand weave. That these souls, so different in many ways from the two Thalia loved dearly, yet so similar in others, would be drawn to each other…perhaps Thalia’s soul sought out familiar, yet altogether unfamiliar souls to those she had once known. And these particular souls were drawn to her. Was it born of recognition that this particular pairing of souls, of sunrise fading to dusk, belonged together?

Was his point of view too clinical?

He had watched as a wandering pack of phantasmal beasts were drawn to Thalia’s soulbearer, attempting to rend her with tooth and claw.

They had nearly succeeded in finishing her off, if not for the Vessel charging forth with an enraged roar. His strange weapon fired aetherically-charged projectiles at them to grab their attention while the Secret Keeper wrapped her in a shield of stars. The tall elezen had poured every spare bit of magick within him to close her wounds, fear etched onto his face until she was back on her feet.

Perhaps the answer was simpler than the universe demanding patterns, or the deep longing of sundered souls. Perhaps it was…

The Shade was disturbed from his thoughts as, one by one, each of her Soulbearer’s companions stepped forward.

The elezen twins - a rosy red hue for the young woman and a tranquil sea green for the young man, each with flecks of each other’s colors permeating their souls.

The miqo’te woman - an almost mossy brown that evoked images of tome coverss with streaks of deep violet.

The young reflection - a bright, sunny yellow streaked with crystalline blue.

The Exarch, who was more crystal than miqo’te by now - the same crystalline blue, slightly tinged with the tarnished bronze of a long-dead empire, yet embers of the poppy orange and spring grass green of his true soul shone through.

All were soul colors the Shade could somehow recall to a degree, though he could not place names to them. Each soul flared as they approached Thalia’s soulbearer, the Vessel, and the Secret Keeper, as they embraced and cheered, but none shone as brightly as those three together.

Their battle had been won, he realized. He could no longer feel his creator’s presence within this illusionary city. It would all fade away eventually. Not quickly, such was the vastness of Emet-Selch’s aether and his strength as a spellcaster.

No.

It would start slowly - a few shades here, a building there. As he was…special and tied so closely to his creator, the shade of Hythlodaeus wondered how long he would linger as the illusion began to fade and show Aumarot as it truly was - naught but broken stone and twisted metal ruins.

Still, the Shade was also a reflection of the man who once lived and loved, and it had always been Hythlodaeus' purpose to help his loves find theirs. Fitting that his shade was able to do what his long-dead counterpart could not.

Emet-Selch, his dear, beloved Hades, had found the peace he sought after millennia of carrying the burdens of his lost people, and Thalia’s soulbearer had found a way to save this reflection in a way the real Thalia had not for their unsundered world.

For the Shade, that was enough.

And therein, the Shade found the answer to his questions regarding those three beautiful souls.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #shade of hythlodaeus #berude eijinn #thancred waters #urianger augurelt #alphinaud leveilleur #alisaie leveilleur #y'shtola rhul #crystal exarch

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ilikeyoshi · 3 years

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TWO WEEKS UNTIL ENDWALKER CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???? I'M SO EXCITED I WANT Y'SHTOLA LORE AND L'AIHA LORE AND LORE!!!!! ANSWERS!!!!! TELL ME!!!!!!!!!!!

anyway l'aiha's been haunted by That Woman for months so she and y'shtola have a heart to heart about all the weird shit l'aiha's been discovering since 5.3

spoilers up to the end of 5.55! 1,150 words :3c

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"You come here a lot lately."

L'aiha didn't startle to Y'shtola's voice, how used to it she'd become since those harrowing, distant days in Norvrandt. She merely continued to stare out into Silvertear Lake, where the Keeper and Agrius yet sat intertwined, towering out of the aether-dyed waters.

Y'shtola settled into a sit next to her, adjusting until her skirts kept the grass from irritating her skin. To her, Mor Dhona must have been a migraine of a place; so much aether, it would render her special sight useless. L'aiha could see her walking cane set beside her from the corner of one golden eye.

"To what end, I wonder?" Y'shtola continued musing to herself. "Are you waiting for the Keeper to stir again, after his sacrifice during the Omega crisis? Or perhaps something else draws you to this place?"

L'aiha didn't know how to answer. She couldn't explain the brief sighting of a woman most ephemeral, most otherworldly yet heart-deep familiar, whose visage L'aiha had not seen since their fleeting encounter, here on the edge of the lake.

Was she losing her mind? Could it have been another one of her Shards? Or the phantom of Azem herself? The possibilities seemed endless, but one thing was certain: she knew this specter...

Y'shtola recognized her silence for deep thought, and merely crossed her hands in her lap. Silently they sat together, watching the sun set on the far side of Silvertear. Behind them, only the brightest of stars began to waken, but soon the sky would be sparkling with them.

"I wish I knew who I was," L'aiha at last mumbled. "Almost thirty suns of my life, lost to an abyss I cannot disperse. Who was she, the woman I used to be? What was she like?"

Y'shtola could hear the hurt in her voice. For nine long years the question had plagued L'aiha, and for nine years she'd gotten barely a glimpse of what had come before. All they knew was granted by the mercy of her Echo.

All they knew was that she seemed to have died in Louisoix Leveilleur's arms.

"Do you hope to find answers in Sharlayan?" Y'shtola asked.

"I do," L'aiha said, and reached up to rub her hand across the side of her neck. "From the moment you told me what these tattoos are, I have longed to reach Sharlayan's shores. Surely, I thought, the answers I seek must be hidden there, in that vaulted nation.

"Yet when I arrived with Krile..." Her hand fell back to the knees she'd long perched herself against. "I was just met with more resistance. The tattoos, my affiliation to the Scions and my unfamiliarity to the Forum outed me at once as one of Master Louisoix's followers, and for that I was spurned at every turn, never able to so much as ask my questions."

"Yet you speak of wishing to find your answers in the present tense," Y'shtola gently reminded. "So you have not given up."

"I cannot," L'aiha said. "Finally, after four years of knowing it was in Sharlayan my past hid, I have the opportunity to find her. That woman I was before the Calamity. I cannot give up on her now, when I am so close—when our path must take us through Sharlayan, if we are to stop Fandaniel."

Y'shtola reached out, gently squeezing L'aiha's hand in her own. "We will find her together," she said. "As soon as Krile carves the way for us, I will ever be at your side, until you have the answers you have sought for so long."

L'aiha squeezed her fingers in turn, far lighter in touch given her ever clouded mind. Never did her eyes leave the edge of the lake, where even now she could faintly make out the outline of the stranger she briefly met her months ago.

"I saw someone," she said, a long-hidden truth she ached to release. "That day we checked the aether in this soil. I saw a woman."

Y'shtola grew curious. Her blind eyes turned to the same place as L'aiha's, though she daren't activate her sight, lest the dense energies of Mor Dhona blind her anew. "A woman?"

"I do not know who she was," L'aiha said. "But I think... I think she knows who I was."

"Before?"

"Yes." L'aiha's grip tightened slightly; afraid and resolved. "I have hoped she would appear to me again, but she has not. She seemed... weak. And like she needed help."

"You have never mentioned her before," Y'shtola said, faint worry edging her voice.

"I am still not completely sure she was real," L'aiha admitted. "But I cannot shake the thought of her. She... knows something. About me, or the towers, or..."

She sighed, never finishing the thought. Y'shtola leaned to rest her head on the mage's shoulder, and in turn, L'aiha laid her cheek in Y'shtola's hair.

"Twas not the Echo?" she asked, and felt L'aiha but faintly shake her head no. "How curious, yet not unheard of. Do you think she too awaits you in Sharlayan?"

"Maybe," L'aiha said. "I'm... not sure."

"Well. If she deigned to appear to you once, I can only assume she will again, should you stray too far from finding her on your own. Such is the way of persistent phantoms."

"What if it was Azem?"

That gave Y'shtola pause. "An interesting development, if so. You have been feeling more Shards stir within, is that right?"

"Khalid and Kyoko," L'aiha said. "And Ardbert, of course. There should be... five more. Seven Rejoinings, right?"

"Indeed," Y'shtola said. "Could this specter not be one of those Shards?"

"It did not feel the same," L'aiha explained. "And I only see Khalid and Kyoko in my dreams. They are... fainter than Ardbert—I think because I was not conscious to my Rejoining of them like I was him?"

"A promising hypothesis," Y'shtola agreed. "You have been studying with Urianger and Estinien?"

"The Shards practice similar arts to the astrologians and dragoons," L'aiha said. "I thought perhaps if I practiced those arts too, I could strengthen the bond."

"And?"

"It is... slow-going." L'aiha sighed. "But I have these... dreams, sometimes. Of worlds I do not recognize, entombed in ice, scorched by lightning... Just like the worlds Khalid and Kyoko came from.

"Yet I have not seen any such things regarding the visage I met here at the lake," she said, put out.

Y'shtola considered the pieces for a long time. "You continue to be a mystery of our age, L'aiha Kh."

"I wish I was not," L'aiha laughed dryly.

Y'shtola squeezed her hand again. "Fortunately, you are surrounded by friends who like nothing more than a mystery. We will unravel it yet."

L'aiha sighed again, but this time the tension in her muscles seemed as if to drain out of her. "I hope Krile finds us a way back to Sharlayan soon."

"I do too, Aiha," Y'shtola soothed. "I do too."

#yoshi talks #yoshi's arts #l'aiha #y'shtola rhul #wol x y'shtola #final fantasy

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astralartefact · 3 years

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Thinking about YoRHa: Dark Apocalypse... FFXIV's best quest line some unrelated ew theorizing below

just so I can say I predicted it if I'm right:

The second EW trial is going to be Amaterasu as Fandaniel's true form. It has to be a name that we could recognize and figure its deal out and Fandaniel -> Asahi -> Yotsuyu's sibling -> Tsukuyomi's sibling is right there. And I just want FFXIV to have an Amaterasu q_q

There's so much sun symbolism* going around too that it's almost weird that we haven't talked about the sun much "lore wise" and knowing the name alone Amaterasu would kind of highlight that, which is another reason why they might not want you to know it already. (Also, and this isn't exclusive to her, but they also didn't show Tsukuyomi's name before release)

*notable sun symbolism includes - Azem - the moon and the sun are a pair, moonlight is just reflected sunlight - The sun is a notable part of ew's loading screen - The expansions represent times of day, which is just the position of the sun - The EW Amano artwork revolves around the sun, not the planet (the 'moon' in zodiarc's hand is actually the planet, you can see another orb below it that casts another shadow, they also said that the poster gets another meaning after playing the story which could be that)

and if i'm already here:

I think Pandaemonium is going to be a way to make us fight the real forms of the rest of the ascians. I already theorized this before the Live Letter, but then they also revealed that the first tier is called Asphodelus, which is a plant linked to the greek underworld and who better to fight than dead ascians! The Asphodel Meadow was also where ordinary people went after they died, so it could represent a "lower tier" of ascians and then we move on to higher tiers in the next raid wings. (Also Asphodelus is called Affodill in german, which sounds really funny)

///update!!!/// I think the nautilus spirals seen in the tower of zot dungeon and old sharlayan might be symbols representing the heart of sabik? i rewatched a uwu clear which made me remember that during the last phase these thingies at the side rise up and charge energy. i always wondered what those were about, but then i saw that they also had spirals on them (at least most of them, a few look like elidibus's sigil) (which makes sense, elidibus -> ophiuchus -> sabik is a star in ophiuchus) (but only the second brightest, after rasalhague) and since ultima weapon's core is the heart of sabik~~~

#yorha dark apocalypse #ffxiv #people that use end instead of ew are weak #i don't see you using hew...#also no i don't think y:da is ever going to 'continue'#the whole point of the ending is that it isn't calm down

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dholwrites · 4 years

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Thinking about Hades who is not only the god of death but also of darkness, he could be considered a counter to Azem who represent the sun and light. Where there is light, there will be darkness. The darkest skies will reveal the brightest stars. In Shadowbringers, we discover that what we must do is to find a balance of both parts. One there it would bring out the beauty of both sides.

Perhaps it is written in destiny that Hades and Azem would be drawn to each other, from the beginning and for the rest of eternity.

#Is this a spoiler?#idk #sleepy posts #chit chat #emet selch

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caladhel-iarian · 4 years

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Some Things Never Change

The door nearly flew off its hinges as it sailed inward and bounced off the wall.

His face blank, he lifted his head and watched A’khore sweep into the room, a force of nature in a Miqo’te skin. One foot kicked the door shut behind her, oblivious to the crash that echoed down the hall outside. One hand dropped a sword larger than she was; it hit the floor with a loud clang that had her roommate hunching his shoulders as if they could protect his ears from her auditory violence. Her other hand shoved her staff in the direction of the wall, unconcerned with where or how it landed.

Why would she care about her staff, her sword, her bag of souvenirs and treats when she only had eyes for him?

Crossing their Pendants room as fast as she could manage without tripping herself, she flopped down in the armchair she’d dragged over to the balcony prior to her departure. Her grateful sigh sent her wild bangs airborne for a brief moment and she rested her elbow on one of the chair’s arms, propping her chin in her hand.

“I’m glad you’re here, Your Majesty,” she said, eyes sparkling like sapphires in sunlight despite the bags beneath them. He marveled at her energy when every line in her body screamed exhaustion and he cocked his head, arching a brow.

Instead of harassing him and stroking his head the same way she caressed a parrot, she ought to be crawling into bed and sleeping for the next three years. Fool she might be, but even fools deserved some rest and he--

“Have I got a story for you. Even the Emperor himself would listen if he were here. And he never listens... ah... listened to anyone.”

He froze, his eyes narrowed on the woman who offered him a lazy smile overshadowed by grief. Was she blind? Here he sat, right in front of her, and she mocked him! And had this idiot just misinterpreted his steady glare as an invitation to elaborate rather than the censure he meant it to be?

“Yes,” she responded before he could even gather his breath to chastise her and he blinked, head drawing back into his neck in his confusion.

Great. Now she was putting words in his mouth and answering questions he never voiced. He didn’t even want to consider the implications of--

“Yes,” A’khore repeated, furrowing her brow and dropping her voice. Her tone was pure absinthe as she pinched the bridge of her nose and attempted to mimic his usual irritation with her. The expression made her look vaguely constipated, he decided, unwilling to admit that she’d nailed his mannerisms and biting wit. “Please do tell me all about how you almost got yourself killed this time, Hero. I’m sure it is a fascinating tale.”

He gawked at her. When had she developed the ability to read minds? He knew the Echo gave her visions of people’s pasts and snippets of her own memories from previous lives, but did it also reveal others’ thoughts to her? The stupid creature took the words right out of his mouth. And if she could hear his thoughts, did that mean she heard him when she entered the room? Did she realize how much he had missed her? Had she heard him wondering about her well-being, fussing over her safe return, cursing himself for staying behind while she skipped off to save the world for the billionth time?

More importantly, did she recognize him, truly? Was she simply making fun of him?

Most importantly: was he too obvious in the way he edged closer to her, shuffling another inch in her direction each time he thought she wasn’t looking? Was he too obvious when he leaned into her caress?

Shit.

“Okay!” she chirped. “Willing” audience secured, her face lit up as though the sun rose and set across it and Emet-Selch stifled the urge to shield his eyes. Azem had ever been the brightest star in his sky and even Sundered, she still threatened to blind him.

“So there I was,” A’khore began and her hands molded the air, illustrating her words for him, “running up the steps of the Crystal Tower and there are so many steps, more steps than the mountain shrines in Othard if you can believe that. I was running up the steps with G’raha and Anka right behind me and... Oh. Wait. You don’t know what Othard is. Right. So Othard is a nation from my homeland and...”

The shoebill released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and ruffled his feathers, settling into his perch to listen to her tale with hooded eyes and a mingled sense of relief and despair so massive it damn near crushed him.

No, he thought, basking in the warmth of her soul. Still as oblivious as ever.

#character writing #my WoL #Emet-Selch #FFXIV #FF14 #Rat Grandpa

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shardweavers · 3 years

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Chapter Fourteen - The Way Forwards

Shoto’s hands paused as she came to the end stages of folding her clothes for travel, her eyes drawn down towards the end of the bed where her big brown pack sat, already half-full…

It seemed impossible that it had only been this morning that the place was half-destroyed, scarred by combat like the war zones of Ala Mhigo. And yet it was spotless, now; everything restored to its proper place, not a sign of damage. She’d expected to have to go to the Crystalline Mean and recruit a whole team of people for repairs, but it seemed their local Ascian had had other ideas; he’d actually come to find her as she was heading there, and indicated that she should instead return to her quarters.

And so she had, and found them in this spotless condition! Shoto had wanted to thank Emet-Selch, but he’d sauntered off before she could speak a word, leaving her flummoxed--she’d taken up packing to occupy her scattered thoughts. He’d soon be back from wherever he’d been headed to, she reasoned; it was he who’d been insistent on joining the party, in the name of “keeping them out of trouble.” Ha! As though he wasn’t the cause of it!

She felt a brief flare of amusement, but it was rapidly chased away by recriminations that made her sigh, ceasing to fold the clothes and putting her chin against her fist. Everything that emotionally surrounded the Ascian was so Twelve-damned complicated.

It didn’t help that the idea of traveling with him brought up memories of the first time he’d accompanied them around Norvrandt--the odd intimacy she’d felt with him, even then, the closeness. The fury at his betrayal, a betrayal that hurt her so much more than it seemed to affect any of her friends and compatriots. And then, that moment, in the ashes of Amaurot at the bottom of the sea--

“Remember us. Remember that we once lived.”

Just thinking about it made tears come to her eyes, and she only half-understood why, even now.

Because I’m like her, like Azem…

...Every time she thought that, it felt like she was so close to a memory and yet so far, like she had a puzzle in her mind very nearly solved, but the last piece was missing and no amount of scrounging could find it. It was maddening.

Bah. Now’s not the time, the others will be waiting for me. She finished cramming everything into the pack and fastened it up, buckling the straps that held it shut tight, then hoisted it onto her back and headed out of the room. Just outside, Sumire was leaning against a railing; when the Dragoon saw her, his ears flicked to alertness, and heterochromatic eyes met hers.

Shoto had to admit, she was a little surprised. “Hey! Is it just you, or is Yuki about…?”

“She’s not,” Sumire sighed, and the intense regret in his voice, the lilt of sadness, only served to increase Shoto’s level of flummoxed-ness. If she had previously been at “the moogles of Ishgard want a diplomatic liaison to the Twelveswood,” she was now at “the moogles of Ishgard want a diplomatic liaison with Feo Uhl, and it has to be a kobold for some reason.”

The confusion showed on her face readily enough that Sumire practically leapt to attention, waving off her concern with both hands. “Er, that is to say, she’s not ready yet! She’s still getting ready! She went for a walk to clear her head, and refocus, after that business this morning, with the Ascian, and the fight, and such!”

Shoto was absolutely certain that there was more to this; she was so certain she would’ve bet an exorbitant amount of gil, but her Scholar’s intuition said to leave well enough alone, at least for now. “Well, that’s alright, then. Um, do you want to wait for her? I can meet you both at the Exarch’s Gate when she is ready, there’s no rush.” Sumire flushed. “I-I promise, we’ll be right behind you, just…” Shoto smiled and shook her head. “Like I said, no rush.”

* * *

Where Hades had gotten to was a tall tree near the gate of the Crystarium, where he sat beneath a curtain of lavender-colored leaves, his back nestled against the trunk quite comfortably, to the point the Ascian might be tempted to doze off.

He was certain the Warriors would find him soon enough; their suspicious natures wouldn’t let him go unsupervised for long, of course. Let them hurry to bundle up their things; it gave him time for contemplation, time alone with his thoughts, that he sorely needed.

First, and paramount, he had to process how far and how fast this...eighth Rejoining was coming along, for them. Every single one of them was taking to their shards with a speed and natural attachment that shouldn’t have been possible. It should’ve required a monumental effort, the fuel that a Calamity brought; everything the Ascians had learned said as much.

...How were they this far along, simply by linking themselves to the ghosts of this land’s heroes?

By Zodiark, they were using creation magic! He’d managed to keep himself calm and collected while dealing with them because he didn’t want to show his shock. His fellow Paragons of the Red, all members of the Convocation, had taken years to regain that power…!

Second, of course, there was--once again--the issue of her.

...Of Shoto, he mentally corrected himself.

...It felt strange, didn’t it? To call her by her name?

For so long, he’d thought of her as just Warrior of Light , as that Warrior of Light, their leader, the prime amongst them with the soul that shone the brightest and with a troublingly familiar golden color. The Hero.

She’d told him her name, then, of course, but…It hadn’t seemed important, at the time.

Indeed, the familiar color of her soul made her company, frankly, difficult, because when he looked, and he couldn’t stop from looking, he remembered what he’d lost. He ceased to be here, on the First, and he was in Amaurot again. It was the Final Days, again, and he was desperately promising Persephone-- I’ll protect you. Always.

His last oath. His greatest failure.

Being around her cut his soul to the metaphysical bone, back then. Just short conversations had made him feel a combination of longing and hatred so intense he thought he’d go mad. The moment he had an opportunity to betray her, to taunt her, to assume the role of the villain, had almost been a relief.

...So…

Why was it so different now? Her presence now was...almost friendly. Comforting. The glow of her soul was like a familiar lamp, a lantern that imitated the sun, but not to mock; rather to pay homage. He’d been telling himself it was gratitude for her selfless acts on his behalf, but…

He’d lived a thousand years and more, witnessed eras rise and fall. This wasn’t something so simple. He was Emet-Selch, the Angel of Truth, with all that that implied; he could not be deceived, even by himself. There was something deeper, some root to their connection. It would be so simple if I believed she was…

But that’s ridiculous. I’d know, he reasoned with himself. His beloved, his Azem, would have known better than to trust in the world-shattering Mother, ever--not that he judged Shoto for it, necessarily. And wasn’t that proof she was a different person? Moreover, if he’d antagonized Persephone the way he’d antagonized Shoto, he could never forgive himself. Obviously.

...It was still so strange, though.

How soul-wrenching it had been to walk beside her before, and how nice it seemed now. It was almost freeing to even think her name-- Shoto. Shoto. Shoto.

A response came back to him, confused and rather harried. “Emet-Selch…?”

The Ascian leapt up and almost hit his head on a low-hanging tree branch.

Zodiark’s actual wings of shadow damn it, how had he forgotten--if he could hear her thoughts, she could hear his!

“Is something wrong?” he felt her think, and he hastily shook his head, pushing his bangs out of his face and straightening his garments.

“No! Nothing’s amiss, good hero! I am completely fine! I was...extremely...bored.” He tried to radiate the appropriate level of detachedness. “Had you and yours taken any longer, I might’ve fallen asleep against this tree.”

Exasperation radiated from her, but there was an odd warmth to it, like he could feel her roll her eyes. It was…kind of cute.

...He managed to shield this thought from her and also to drop it down a metaphorical abyss forever.

“Well, we’re here now. Look to your right.”

And there, indeed, she was, radiating that warm yellow-orange color off her, her soul dancing like tamed fire; he couldn’t help but smile as she approached, though he let it slip to his usual smirk as her companions followed close behind--the Dragoon and the Summoner. The Viera folded her arms and her lips curled into a small frown as she saw him. “I’m surprised,” Yuki grumbled. “I would’ve thought you’d dismiss yourself and teleport away to Eulmore to do whatever it is you want there, by now.”

“My dear,” Hades replied breezily, “I have no need to deceive any of you, as I thought you understood. I said my intention was to travel with you, and keep your leader here from any...reckless acts, and so I’m going to do that.”

The Viera gave an angry “hmph!” and looked away; the Ascian merely hefted his bag with a shrug. Shoto blinked as she realized he wasn’t wearing his normal, regal attire of a Garlean Emperor, but rather a long, black robe appropriate for a mage of rank, with metallic trim that put one in the mind of dark steel rather than silver; it had two pauldrons that were practically an afterthought, white-gold utility belts that held a variety of small items, and a massive cowl that looked like a gigantic religious collar when it was down, trimmed with fur.

...It was simplistic, but it fit him; in fact, he looked quite good in it, a thought the Ascian caught and allowed himself a slightly saucy smirk to. “I do hope my new attire is appropriate? I felt that traipsing about looking the part of Imperator might be a little gauche, given our destination and the Leveilleur boy’s delicate sensibilities.” Shoto couldn’t help but blush. “It’s, it’s nice. It’s quite appropriate, yes, and probably better than explaining the glory of Garlemald to everyone you meet.” “Dear hero, that would get boring for me, too! I’d mix it up,” he teased. “I’d talk about the glory of Allag, too, and there’s a lot more material there.”

...This conversation had deepened Yuki’s frown to a “seething” level, which Sumire took notice of and loudly cleared his throat, interrupting. “While we’re on the road,” he put in, “I...I know it’s early days, but I’m still curious about the basic concepts of this...Creation Magic.”

Emet-Selch gave the Dragoon a mildly nonplussed look, shrugging.

“It is, as I tried to emphasize before, chiefly a matter of focus and will. You have to hold the image and the structure in your mind’s eye, consistently, and channel the aether towards the end of willing it into being--not requesting it to be, willing it to be.” He lifted one hand, clasping it into a fist, and paused for a moment, a shadowy aura swirling around him as he concentrated visibly; when he unfurled his fingers, a small white blossom was in his palm, which blew away into petals in a breeze.

Sumire cocked his head to the side, nodding and biting his lip, unsure quite how to respond; Yuki, for her part, half-audibly scoffed.

So it’s just that simple, huh?

Fine. She could do that much, the Summoner reasoned; closing her eyes, she called her own aether around her, the world seeming to flex and seethe with its glowing aura. She cupped her hands and stood there.

...And stood there.

...Her brow furrowed tighter and her grimace deepened.

What am I thinking…?

This is just...just childish nonsense! It’s the Ascian’s version of a prank! It’s foolishness!

Her concentration finally broke and she dismissed her aether when she heard the Paragon chuckle, her expression furious. “Th-this is ridiculous! I didn’t feel even the slightest ripple of actual magic, you--!”

Hades couldn’t help his smirk, though he did try to cover it, to his credit. “Well, I did say it was chiefly about those virtues, my good Viera--it also has to do with the center of one’s focus, with what feels most natural to you. A sort of creative paradigm or talent, unique to you and connected to your soul; in Amaurot it was something everyone came to by intuition. Alas, less so in these shattered worlds.”

Sumire’s ears flicked; he remained silent, but he looked even more thoughtful than before; this much was actually a familiar concept to him, a legitimate one. He’d had to learn how to use the aether to “see” with his right eye, after the Dravanian attack on his home--it wasn’t something you could force, you had to naturally let the aether flow into the eye and follow what it sensed. At first, the sensation had been totally alien, but once he learned to relax and incorporate it, it was second nature.

...So everyone had a separate focus, then? I wonder what mine would even be …

Concentrating on the idea for more than a moment, though, nearly made him nod off where he was standing, a huge wave of sudden tiredness washing over his body. He shook his head violently, even as another breeze blew over the group.

Better consider that later.

Shoto, finally, who’d been absorbing the conversation herself, had also closed her eyes, but the Scholar was recalling the moment of an errant flower’s arrival in the vase. How it had looked, how it had smelled, the shape of its blossom and its stem. She imagined its rootwork...the bright red of the petals, so vibrant, like flame. The softness of its round leaves…

She felt the sudden urge to flick her wrist outward, and didn’t stop herself, caught up in the moment and remembering in the back of her mind what Hades had just said about the focus coming naturally…

Her aether swirled, spiked, crackled. She heard her fairies shout tinny alarums as her eyes opened…

A flower’s thin stem had burst from the earth in front of her, with familiar flame-red petals, still emitting a golden wisp of aether. As her concentration broke, it dissipated, but it left all four of them staring in awe, before Emet-Selch’s face became a genuine smile, applauding.

“You see? Not a completed creation, not solidly anchored, but a fine attempt! Well done, my dear.” Shoto’s cheeks burned in a blush, but she couldn’t help her own small smile of pride, and Sumire looked impressed, applauding a little himself; Yuki crossed her arms and bit her lip, turning away slightly, though she too looked almost amazed.

“Th-thanks,” Shoto said. “I feel a little...light-headed, though…”

“Keep in mind that it does draw on your aether, though,” Emet-Selch reminded her, not unkindly. “And as yours is already depleted, further practice should, potentially, wait...but for a first conscious attempt, it was quite impressive. Why, we’ll be progressing to advanced lessons in no time.”

Shoto’s cheeks got even redder, and yet...her smile didn’t leave, and something in her felt warm at the praise. “B-be that as it may, we’ll have to explain those lessons to Alphinaud before long. Let’s get going, it’s nearly midday!”

* * *

Nearly a bell passed in silence as the group made their way towards Sullen.

Emet-Selch had ended up in the lead of the party, entirely by accident; perhaps it was some quirk of Ascian bodies, as the Angel of Truth seemed not to tire at all with each yalm, and his strides were quite long. Behind him followed Sumire, whose training under the watchful eye of the Holy See had served him well athletically...and then was Shoto, who was valiantly trying to keep up, despite being visibly drained. Yuki brought up the rear, mostly to keep watch over her struggling friend...and also due to her own foul mood, expressed in haphazard kicks to the ground as she went, errant stones tumbling into the Lakeland weeds.

The Viera kept her eyes on the two men in front of them...well, the man and the Ascian. She was glad that Sumire hadn’t inquired further into her...admitted overreaction from earlier, and that he seemed to be his usual self. That was good. They could put all that silliness behind them, where it belonged, and where it would definitely never bother her again, no sir.

...Never. Bother. Her. Again.

Her eyes on Emet-Selch, of course, were for totally separate reasons involving her completely justified suspicion. He was nothing but trouble, and that little...light show with the flowers had only solidified that notion. She knew he was up to something. She couldn’t figure it out with the evidence she had now, but she knew it in her bones.

So she’d watch, and wait, and when he slipped up she’d call down the wrath of every elemental force she knew a name for on his head.

Her general seething was interrupted as Shoto nearly tripped over a larger-than-usual rock and swayed under the weight of her pack, grimacing and trying to re-hoist it with obvious difficulty, but it looked like without help she’d fall over. She was valiantly attempting to stay balanced when Sumire almost leapt back to her, gently taking the pack in his hands.

“Shoto? If you'd like, I could help carry your pack for now?”

A sad, half-smile appeared on her face, she was not about to argue, as she knew her strength was waning. She really had taken too much of a risk with her aether; she felt so drained, so weary.

Emet-Selch had stopped as Shoto almost tripped, too--he looked like he’d been going to render aid, but Sumire had got to her side first, and so the Ascian simply observed with crossed arms and a carefully neutral expression, trying to focus on her aetheric levels and making sure they were still safe. For the moment, they seemed so.

As Sumire hoisted the pack, a small piece of dark fabric fell from it; caught by the wind, it nearly fluttered off to become lost in Lakeland, but Yuki saw it and snatched it out of the air before this could occur. Neither of the Miqo’te seemed to notice.

Yuki looked curiously over the fabric. It had originally been quite richly woven, made of some rarefied fabric, but it had become a little threadbare; Shoto must’ve kept it with her throughout her travels. A keepsake of some kind?

She tilted her head as she examined the image on it; the sigil of a crimson unicorn’s head, lined with gold, surmounting some sort of laurel wreath, it looked like, in the same colors. It looked like the heraldry of some noble family...a High House of Ishgard, perhaps? She vaguely remembered a familiar description from one of Sumire’s tales. She shoved it into her pocket; this had to be returned to Shoto at the earliest possible opportunity.

* * *

They had nearly made it to the Source’s edge, and the docks of the Weed were within sight, when Yuki got her opportunity; Shoto, even without her burden, had paused in the middle of the road, bent over, her hands on her knees and her breathing labored.

Sumire looked back at their friend with concern, and Hades practically went over to hover at her side.

“Perhaps... we should... take a short break...?” the Dragoon ventured.

“I’m sorry.” Shoto huffed before she found a spot to sit; atop a nearby rock. Yuki sat down beside her, biting her lip.

“Are you sure you're alright? We could've waited in the Crystarium for at least another day.” The Scholar simply shook her head, “No, I'll not hold us back.”

“Shoto…” Yuki sighed and shook her head, but she supposed there was no point now. “Alright. Oh, though, before I forget any longer, this is yours--it fell from your pack when Sumire was picking it up.” Her eyes met Shoto’s as she pulled the fabric out and laid it in the Scholar’s hand. “It looked as though it might be important…?”

Shoto gasped audibly when she saw what it was, and quickly took the fabric, holding it to her chest as she closed her eyes tightly; Emet-Selch blinked as he felt the swirl of emotions the keepsake raised in her, the sudden wave of feeling enough to even bowl over the Ascian, emotionally speaking. Longing...nostalgia...grief...It was almost an echo of when he thought too hard about Persephone.

“...Thank you,” Shoto managed after a moment. “If I lost this, I’d never have forgiven myself...I’ll be more careful from now on.”

Though he wanted to comfort her, the keepsake piqued the Ascian’s curiosity to a point that he almost craned his neck to see the item, like the shoebill he’d disguised himself as. “What is it, exactly? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

Shoto’s smile in reply was sad enough he almost regretted the question. “Ah. It was a memento from a dear friend of mine...One I’ve not forgotten.” She unfurled the fabric almost shyly, letting them see. Though Yuki looked no wiser, Emet-Selch’s eyes went a little wide in recognition, and Sumire actually gasped himself.

“That’s a High House’s symbol,” the Dragoon said. “If I remember...House Fortemps’, isn’t it?”

Shoto nodded, silently.

Yuki blinked and looked to the Dragoon with a light smile. “Well, that’s wonderful, isn’t it? Maybe we can go visit them, soon, and you and Sumire can make introductions.”

“W-well, hold on, I’d need introducing too! I never knew you were a friend of--,” Sumire began, but then his voice died, along with Yuki’s smile, as they saw the tears in the corners of Shoto’s eyes.

“Heh. ...I...I think he would’ve liked that, but…”

Yuki bit her lip as the realization overtook her. It wasn’t that Shoto hadn’t seen this friend in some time; rather, if they visited, all they’d be visiting was a gravestone.

“...I’m sorry,” she said, laying a gentle hand on Shoto’s shoulder.

“You couldn’t have known,” the Scholar said, shaking her head, but Emet-Selch interrupted with a soft question.

“...What was his name?”

Shoto blinked, surprised at the identity of the questioner. “...Haurchefant. Haurchefant Greystone, of House Fortemps.”

Sumire gave a slightly sad smile of his own. “Ah. Lord Haurchefant of the Silver Fuller...I met him, once, I think. He was...larger than life, I recall.”

Shoto couldn’t help but giggle. “Y-yes, yes. He was...very extravagant, I’d call it, but in a wonderful way.” A memory of the Elezen’s excited cry upon meeting her at Camp Dragonhead crossed her mind, and she couldn’t help but smile broadly. How she missed him; his excitable nature, his infectious smile, the way he called things “splendid!” that was quintessential to him...

...How he’d gazed at her and her alone, the lilt in his voice when he’d told her how tempting her well-trained body was, resurfaced as well, to the point she had to shake her head violently to clear it.

...Was it her imagination, or had that last thought made Emet-Selch look jealous??

“I think,” the Ascian said with gravity and import, his face smoothly melting back to his more neutral, world-weary affect, but his voice surprisingly kind, “that it’s only natural you treasure his memory. Never regret that, hero.” He cleared his throat. “However, if you truly mean to reach Kholusia before nightfall, perhaps we should make it to the ferry sooner, rather than later.”

Shoto, beet red, nodded and all but sprang up. “Y-yes! Let’s keep going. I’m rested, now, and besides, the boat isn’t far.”

...Something about how fast she sprang up almost made the Ascian feel a bit guilty.

...Surely he hadn’t projected any odd feelings about her...feelings…

Whatever. He could make up for it later!

* * *

It was, indeed, not even half a bell more before they found themselves on the creaking planks of the Weed’s plentiful docks, seeking after the ferry to Kholusia; as they made their way over the first bridge, Shoto noticed a grizzled old Hume who looked to be taking inventory rather than hauling in fish, and waved for his attention. “Ah, excuse me!”

The grizzled old fellow blinked and looked up from his writing, brow wrinkling in confusion at the party of travelers before him; his confused expression only served to pronounce a scar across his nose and left cheek, his dark brown eyes searching them.

“Eh? What business do I have with ye, lass?”

Emet-Selch unconsciously bristled beneath his large cowl, though the hood shrouded his face and hid his scowling expression from the Hume; Shoto, for her part, gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry to bother you, but...we’re seeking a ferry to Kholusia, and we’re hoping you could point us in the right direction.”

The old Hume’s look became more affable, and he nodded. “It’ll be Dadfort ye’re wanting, aye; he sails th’ route ‘twixt here and Stilltide, from time to time.” “Wonderful!” said Shoto brightly. “Can you tell us where to find him?”

“He frequents a li’l tavern on Brick, th’ Drunken Eel. This time o’ day he’ll be out front, probably nursin’ his first pint and still lookin’ for custom. Look fer the big Galdjent with th’ white hair.”

The Scholar bowed in thanks, and the group hurried over the next bridge, departing Weed for Brick and finding, after peering at the signs of several taverns, the Drunken Eel; indeed, under the signpost of the establishment, leaning against a wall, was a massive Galdjent fellow with slate-grey skin and white hair.

Silently, Hades wondered what Shoto planned to do about the gap between Stilltide and Eulmore, a gap that would take them nearly as long as the walk here, and that was if things went well. The Crystarium’s soldiers had done a fine job of keeping most beasts and errant, remaining sin eaters from encroaching on the road, but he knew Kholusia to be much wilder, given its prior ruler’s...proclivities.

“Hello,” Shoto greeted the Galdjent. “We’re looking for Dadfort, are you--”

“Aye, I’m he,” the oversized fellow said, grunting a little as he pushed himself up from the wall. “I suppose your party here is lookin’ for passage?”

“Yes,” said Shoto. “We’re bound for Kholusia. I know you usually only go as far as Stilltide, but we’re hoping to hire you for a trip to Eulmore.”

Ah, so that was what she planned to do about it. Unfortunately, the very name of the city made the Galdjent’s expression darken and his arms crossed. “Nothing doing, then. You want a different vessel, and like as not a different port. I only sail to Stilltide.”

Shoto’s face fell. “But…”

“We might be at peace,” Dadfort said, “and aye, there’s rumors enough that Vauthry’s dead and gone, and the aristos have repented of their ways. And here’s what I say--it’s all sin eater’s dung.” He spat on the docks to his side. “If ye want passage to Stilltide, then I go there and not a yalm further.”

“Is there really no way we might change your mind?” It was Hades who said this, his voice almost a purr. Dadfort’s eyes narrowed, but the Ascian went on smoothly.

“You see, the dear young scholar here is quite frail of body and we know that the Eulmorans haven’t quite cleared up the roads. If you could stop at Eulmore’s docks, for just a moment, it would do us a service we’ll well remember. And you’ll be quite fairly compensated,” he added. A coin pouch was suddenly in Dadfort’s hand, and judging by the big man’s expression, it was quite weighty.

“...I’m not stayin’ a second more than I have to, nor lettin’ ‘em write my ship’s name on no cursed rich man’s roster, y’hear? And I won’t be takin’ ye back. Find other passage to return.”

“Not a problem at all, my good man,” Emet-Selch replied, bowing amiably. Dadfort chewed his lip, but then pocketed the coin pouch and cracked his knuckles, and extended a hand to the Angel of Truth, who shook it firmly.

“Deal’s made, then. Meet me at th’ docks in fifteen. My ship’s th’ Ondo Princess, ye can’t miss her.”

And off he went, leaving the group almost shocked. Shoto looked at him both gratefully and at a loss for words.

“So you’re a businessman, as well as an emperor?” she offered.

Emet-Selch merely laughed, pushing his hair back, and allowed himself a triumphant grin.

“Oh, there’s much you don’t know about me yet, my dear hero.”

_________________________________________________________ Writers’ Note: Hope you enjoy the new chapter and Thank you for your support! We will have a new chapter of “In the Tower’s Reflection” as well!

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