Anthea

“You are a fool.” The puppy looked up at her, its harmless expression betraying the depravity of the demon within. “That you would trade something so precious, so willingly.”

“It is all I have left,” said the Witch. “And I am not willing… the gods know I am not willing.”

Shadow considered her for a while before relenting with a sigh, “My happiness for yours, Anthea Moonglove? Are you quite sure, child? Never in a millenia had I even dared to dream…”

She put a finger to her lips shaking her head before scooping the puppy up into her arms. “I am still Ka`ada for a few more bells. I am the voice of my people, and my word is law.”

The puppy nuzzled her gently and with a soft whine. “As you will, my Ka`ada.”

—

Anthea had been quiet and contemplative all day, she didn't eat or rest and seemed completely absorbed in staring blankly into the horizon or quietly sobbing when she thought Deryk wasn't paying attention. It was hard to get one by him, though. He knew that she was upset and his brows were furrowed as he had attempted to keep himself occupied--he hadn't wanted to pry.

Just before dinner, she asked him to accompany her without giving any notion about where or why. He agreed, of course, although there was so much concern writ upon his face. She led him by the hand through an odd book that sat in the very center of the large bookshelf and he could feel her trembling; her touch was uncharacteristically cold.

They walked this way in silence for a while before emerging into a small clearing of stark white dandelions; they had come to the Twelveswood by her magic. The silence was deafening and the melancholy thick. He watched her, reluctant to release her hand at first, though he did relent after a moment. She moved forward timidly. 

The dandelions swayed gently in the breeze, mimicking the rocking of the sea. Strangely, her form seemed to flicker, as if she was merely superimposed over an image of the Twelveswood; as if she didn’t really exist. Had Deryk not been watching her so intently, he might not have even noticed.

"Deryk... I... I'm not even sure where to begin. But I have a proposal for you. You must promise that you will hear everything I have to say..." She finally turned to look at him with tears in her eyes. "Can you promise me that?"

"You can speak plainly with me--you know I'll listen, I always do."

She nodded slowly, "I know. I... well, I have a solution to many issues that I've been thinking about for a long while." She hesitated, silence filling the space. "...I want to go to the Aetherial Sea. Deryk, I think it's time for me to... to..." Her gaze fell down to her feet as the tears came faster. "I think it's time for me to… go."

There was a shocked silence. Deryk’s fingers twitched before he tucked his thumbs into his hands and curled his fingers over them, squeezing them tightly as his gaze turned downward too. "...a mortal's life is already so fleeting. Why...why would you shorten it further?" There's a crack in his voice with the pause and repeated words. "Is this the best solution...or one of the ones you found that could work faster...or easier?"

"I promise it is. I've poured through tomes and consulted with my Elder, and Shadow…” She’d rehearsed this part so many times in the past few bells but still seemed much too eager to simply explain it all away. “I could finally release the Lady into the Sea, and the Silent Man would walk with her. The Ya`ani would be able to govern themselves for the first time in their history. Minerva's mother would be free from my curse as it would be undone..."

She hesitates for a second time, noticing his posture. 

"And most importantly. You would be free to travel again, to live as you please. To… love as you please." Her voice cracks, apparently she'd been harboring these feelings for a long time. "I know you feel stifled here. Contained. Imprisoned, even. I know it is in your very nature to wander. I can't help but imagine the agony that is being chained to one place... and one person..."

"I...I would be free? ...what?" His gaze shifts in her direction, though his head is slow to lift. "I feel what? ...that's not even close to anything I feel. I choose to be here--do you truly think I'd stay if I didn't want to?"  Eventually he does look at her, his expression a mixture of pain and confusion. "I...want to be here--I want to be with you. I want to love you..."

She is stunned by his admission, her eyes widening as he speaks. "D-Deryk..." She sits, hugging her knees to her chest, and speaks quietly. "I didn't realize that this might cause you so much pain. I had hoped you might be relieved." The words came out of her mouth heavy and viscous, they didn't seem quite right.

"Why would I be relieved? I... I understand what it is like to feel the desire to return once one's duty is done.. that was ever the way of my people... but your life is so short.." Another pause as he takes a breath; turning to look away again as he squeezes his thumbs a bit tighter to try and ease the trembling in his hands. "This...doesn't make sense to me... make it make sense..”

"I've convinced myself that I can help many people by leaving, Deryk." She pulls her legs in tighter to her body, "But seeing you like this... I don't want to cause you so much pain."

The wind blew through the dandelions as the pair’s words soaked into the earth around them like fresh rain. It was a while before Deryk spoke again.

"I am one... I should not be put above the many. My entire existence was to be in service of the many... so I do not get to be selfish.  However, you must...must understand something.."

He sighed, stepping over to sit behind her, his lower back lightly touching up against hers.

"There is no coming back from this.. not as you are.. Your soul will be cleansed of its memories in the Sea and eventually it will be born anew, but it will not be you.” He takes in a deep breath and holds it for a second.

His voice is shaking as he draws his own legs up into a position similar to hers. "And I am unconvinced.. The elder I can trust, but Shadow...is still him--a being you warned me not to trust.. a trickster after only what he wants... And we are not infallible.. so I am not convinced yet that this is the correct course..."

She slouched a bit at this. In her heart of hearts, had she truly thought that convincing him would be easy? Was she even fully convinced herself? "I don't know what is right, Deryk. I'm not sure I ever have. I only know that I can help people, and I've always believed that to be my purpose in this life. However…” She paused slightly before continuing, “I don't believe myself to be a god, so generously bequeathing the realm with my energy... I think I've earned this destruction. I feel I must atone for my magic and the decisions I've made."

Even with Deryk right behind her she didn't budge. She did, however, steal a look at her forearm from which the Man's book of contracts was once sealed. How many souls had sacrificed and bled and died in service to her magic? How many curses had she cast? How many lives had she ruined? How many cried out, even in death? She had no way of knowing. In her mind Anthea was unraveling, and pulling her knees to her chest was all she could do to try and hold herself together. 

He was beside himself. "...earned this..--what? How could you possibly?" Deryk furrowed his brows, twisting his body to look over his shoulder at her. He sighed and shifted, turning around more fully so that he could wrap his arms around her and pull her into his lap. "...I can't begin to understand any of this..." he sighs, daring to rest his chin upon her shoulder.

She hesitates at first but leans into him, pressing her face against his and nuzzling him gently. He always smelled of spring, and of dewy flowers. His embrace was as the rising sun, warm and full. "I feel like an abomination next to you. Like a sin against the realm and its makers. I inherited power and used it how I saw fit, I would not argue if someone called me selfish. I know you see me in such a soft, lovely light. Perhaps you're the only one..." She smiled a bit at that, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "...but I just don't see how I can remain here and come to terms with all I've done. Especially not when so many can find peace if I simply left."

"You say how many would benefit from you going...but what about those who benefit from you staying? Minerva, Fota, Sol, Corvan, Atreus...me? ...I beg you to consider us again."

"Of course I have, Deryk. Of course I've considered you, especially you." She whispers this, relaxing tenderly into him. "And yet, I find myself at a crossroads... Please, tell me what to do." She looks up at him with a pensive, serious expression.

"Tell you..? I can't... I could not possibly. I can only tell you that there's still so much of the Star out there that I wanted to see with you.” He presses his lips together, amber eyes moving to look off to the side, though he brings a hand up to ball a fist and rub at them, brushing away the wetness before it could threaten to grow further into tears. “...I don't want to be left behind again, but I cannot tell you what to do." 

She nods, then tenderly brushes the tears from his face before planting a final, gentle kiss on his forehead. "Wish me luck, my love."

"I..." He paused.

A strong, warm breeze swept through the clearing, plucking the seeds from the dandelions and swirling them for only a moment, obscuring the entire scene. 

He could see her face, heavy with sadness, but smiling gently. She closed her eyes and he his, and when he opened them again, she was gone. 

Quiet filled the space as the breeze departed and with it, his Anthea. He could feel it deep within himself. 

She was well and truly gone.

The lights in the room flickered violently before going out completely. An unnaturally thick darkness seemed to emanate from the center of the circle of runic symbols on the floor. 

All was silent until a small but cold voice pierced the quiet and blinding darkness both. “Who are you to summon me here?”

“I’m but a humble man, of course.” Jeavicus Stormborn leaned smugly against the wall of his apartment, confident that his summoning magic had indeed worked as intended.

“I would know what you want. Why have you called me?” The lights flickered back on but the center of the room still seemed oddly shrouded in shadow. In the midst of the strange fog stood a dark-skinned woman with hair as black as the night sky and a stern expression. “Speak quickly, or die.”

The man chuckled, “Slow down, beautiful. Try not to excite me too much at our first meeting…”

The woman walked forward slowly, pressing her palm against what seemed like thin air, it held fast like an invisible wall. “I’m not sure you heard me correctly,” came the woman.

With a powerful shockwave that shattered the windows of the apartment, Anthea forced her hand through the invisible barrier of the circle. In an instant, she had rushed forward, pinning the Miqo’te against the wall with her left forearm; she pressed a keen stone spike against his neck. 

“...I said to speak quickly, and I do hate repeating myself. Why. Am. I. Here.” She spoke softly, menacingly as she pushed the spike forward just an ilm, beginning to draw blood.

Suddenly, Jeavicus’ eyes rolled back as horns began to emerge from his head, curling around themselves as they grew. When he looked back at her, his eyes were different, ancient… dark. They held her gaze, threatening to pull her into the void forever. 

Anthea gasped in shock and in the blink of an eye she was… gone.

The apartment had been completely destroyed and was pitch black once again as the strange fog began to clear. However, those who witnessed the events of that night from outside of the building would swear they heard a deep, haunting howl that echoed throughout the Twelveswood for malms. 

Once upon a time there was a very wealthy man whose lover fell ill quite suddenly, and so he sought the help of a witch that lived nearby. The man begged for potions and poultices claiming to have had no money at all to pay her. Although he was a wealthy man, you see, he wore rags and dirty, tattered clothes to visit the witch; and she took his word as truth. She told him that the cure must be administered over the course of three suns and hastily he agreed to come back each day to pick up the next dose.  “And, when will I receive payment?” The witch asked.  “I shall bring it to you tomorrow,” he said with a confident grin. When he returned home there was a strange black bird with piercing red eyes sitting atop the roof of his house. He tried to scare the bird away but no matter how he gestured it just continued to stare at him. Relenting, he entered his home. He administered the potion to great effect. His partner who had been bedridden for days could suddenly sit up and speak, although very quietly. “I feel so much better, please be sure to pay the apothecary for this mixture,” she gestured to a large chest filled to the brim with gil. “We have more than enough.” “No,” said the man, his greed taking hold, “We need not pay, that witch is no apothecary.” The next day, he returned to the witch’s house for the next potion, she had had it ready and humbly offered it to the man before asking, “And? Have you brought my payment today?” “We’ve fallen upon such hard times. Please allow me to pay you tomorrow.” The witch nodded with a slight smile. “Of course.” Upon returning home the man saw a small gathering of the queer, black birds on his rooftop. Again he tried to shoo them away and again they did not budge. He lobbed a rock at one of the birds, killing it with the force of the hit. The remaining birds did not even flinch, they only watched the man enter his home more frustrated than the day before.  The man administered the second curative to even greater effect. Not only could his beloved stand and eat as normal, she also laughed and began to sing again.  “It is a miracle! I feel so much stronger. Thank you, my love. Now, please, pay for this medicine. We owe at least some coin in exchange for my good health.” The man smirked, he only needed one more potion. He returned to the witch’s hut the next day to find an empty plot. It was just a small patch of wild grass, as if a house had never even stood here. The man looked bewildered until he saw a small glint in the grass… it was a bottle, the third potion. Next to it was a small basket with a note that read, “Place your payment here.” “HA!” the man exclaimed, kicking the basket over and snatching the bottle. He ran home laughing gleefully. When he arrived, he was surprised to see that his entire roof, yard, and garden were all covered in those small, black birds. Each pair of beady red eyes was fixed on him, watching his every move. He kicked the birds out of the way, cursing every step until he reached the front door. Again, the birds only watched silently. When he greeted his wife he saw that she was frightened. “Dearest, what is happening? Where have these birds come from? Why do they settle only on our land?” The man soothed his lover and offered her the third and final potion. “This will restore your health completely, and then we shall leave this place and live in an even grander estate.” The woman drank the potion and immediately her eyes rolled back, her skin became pallid and taut, her head lolled lifelessly to the side as she collapsed to the floor. In mere moments, she was dead. The man was mortified, and enraged he burst out of the front door to find that all of the birds had vanished completely.  Instead there sat only a small basket on his doorstep with a note that read:  ‘Your payment has been received.’ The end. 

------------------------------

Faeron sat back, his eyes going wide.

“Moogle, you’ll frighten him,” Sion brought a basket of fresh croissants from the kitchen with a smile.

Anthea giggled, “Are you frightened Faeron?” She looked to the Viera curiously.

He shook his head no at first but as he did so it morphed into a small nod. ‘Yes,’ he signed.

“Oh, come here.” She pulled him close, placing his head carefully in her lap. “You have nothing to be frightened of, you're a very strong, and good boy." She smoothed his hair gently and booped his nose with a small smile. "Good boys like you have nothing to fear. Did you learn anything from the story?”

Her nephew nodded, ‘Birds are scary’ he signed. 

Anthea looked at Sion and all three of them erupted in laughter. They spent the night eating and telling stories and when they were finished Anthea walked Faeron back to the city. 

“Tell Mom I said hello. I think about you both often.” She kissed the boy on the forehead before placing a small paper box into his hands. “These are for you to share, of course.”

Faeron nodded and ran to meet Juray at the Bismarck. It must have been a trick of the light, but he could have swore, for just an instant, that he saw a small black bird flying just above him. And when he looked back, Aunt Anthea was gone.

((This work does not belong to me and is shared with the permission of the writer ♥))

"Must be pretty valuable cargo if you're going through all this trouble, Mormoto." Agon regarded the Lalafellan merchant, both were seated in a secluded café within the heart of Ul'dah. The place was dimly lit with candles scattered about here and there and several sconces along the walls. Tea was on the table along with some small snacks, not to mention a plethora of documents that Agon had given the merchant who was selling something that was... well... illegal, so Agon suspected.

Of course, plenty of illegal dealings happened every day in Ul'dah. It wasn't exactly known for its niceties in the merchant world. It was cutthroat, and only the most conniving could really make it big. Not to say that all merchants were bad, certainly not. It’s just that Agon didn't particularly find this sort of work agreeable to him, it made him uneasy. Despite this, he was one of the more well-regarded arbitrators in the city.

Arbitrators in the merchant world are complicated. They serve as a medium, a third party to ensure trade went smoothly and fairly. If things went wrong, well, Agon was equipped to handle himself and often escort the innocent side away from the deal. That didn't happen often though, both parties had to agree on the Arbitrator, often a sign of good faith in barters to ensure one wasn’t going to be scammed. It also required somewhat of a reputation.

"That it is. You've already contacted the buyer?" Mormoto asked from his seat. A guard or two stood several feet away, giving the two privacies within the den, but were close enough to at least attempt to save the poor Lalafell if for some reason Agon decided to cut him down right there. Free paladins were unpredictable and often hard to read compared to those sworn to the Sultanate.

"I have. He didn't say what it was he was buying exactly. As you and Lord Nanelo's Arbitrator in this deal I suppose it isn't required for me to know."

Mormoto chuckled and grinned devilishly for a moment. "But you want to." Agon just eyed him. "Well too bad! You’ll see when the exchange happens, Arbitrator."

Agon took the moment to finish off his tea then stood from his chair. A hand came down onto his sword for a moment and the merchant flinched in response. Before he could call for his guards Agon just smiled and thanked the merchant lord for the tea then made his way out of the den between the two guards.

The bazaar outside bustled with merchants, travelers, and more. Agon stepped into the crowd and waded through. He was familiar with these streets and stood tall as he walked amongst the people. It was impressive anyone was able to move about at all. Street venders shouted out deals and haggled with patrons at their stands, others played music for spare gil, and others waded on. Agon drifted along towards one wall of the corridor-like merchant area toward a much more refined stall. This one had several Brass Blade guards stationed, too. It was the official tax office of the Sultanate. The Viera made his way over towards one of the attendants and handed her a bundle of paperwork.

“Ah! Another one, Agon? Trying to finish up early this year?” The attendant, an older Hyur woman asked.

“I might be! This job is getting awfully old, miss Shyra.”

“I’ll get these stamped. Take care out there now, you hear?” Shyra beckoned out as Agon started to make his way off already.

As Agon slipped away he managed to get himself into a much less traveled alleyway. The hustle and bustle of the city of Ul’dah still could be heard of course, but he found himself looking out from the shaded alleyway out into the unshaded street beyond still bustling with people. He pressed his back to the stone wall next to him as he looked out at the street and then into the interior of the alleyway to ensure he was alone. His digits raked back through his hair as he leaned the back of his head against the wall.

Mormoto was up to something, and it bothered Agon dearly… Even now he felt a knot in his stomach over what this trade deal was. Agon looked back out at the street and just watched the people as they passed.

Then suddenly, a dark-haired and dark-skinned Hyur woman walked by. She seemed… oddly familiar. Although, her hair seemed awfully different from Anthea’s… Then the girl looked over briefly in his direction and he saw her eyes. Agon’s ears suddenly perked as he continued to watch the woman. That’s Anthea! What in damnation was Anthea of the Twelveswood doing in Ul’dah?

“Hey! Watch it idiot!” Some thuggish character shouted as Agon suddenly pushed aside several people within the sea of people he had to cross to get to Anthea. Others shouted at Agon as they got bumped into as he lightly pressed or tapped to get through. Once he crossed to the other side, she was gone.

“Where did you…” A tap came at the back of Agon’s shoulder, and he spun around with perked ears. “A-Anthea?”

“Agon!” Anthea shouted and pressed into him; arms wrapped about his shoulders for an embrace.

Agon stood dumbfounded but finally wrapped his arms around her to hug. “Anthea, what in the void are you doing here? I never thought I’d ever see you in Ul’dah of all places.”

“Well, you know… Sometimes you must travel for supplies,” she smiled up him. "There are a few things I needed that can only be found here in the city: rare herbs, spices..."

Agon shrugged, he didn’t know much about all that, but what he did know was that the two were here now. “Your hair is short now. It suits you. I like it.”

Anthea smiled up at Agon again and patted his chest. “You’re looking as handsome as always.” This elicited a snort from Agon as he turned to walk with Anthea.

“I’m working right now. Merchants. I suspect one of them is trying to sell people, the other trying to buy them. Neither of them are willing to tell me what they’re trading.”

Anthea looked over the treasures and precious heirlooms that Willow and Vargas Miguelle had brought to her grove only bells ago. The way they had blankly left their belongings and trudged off into the deepest parts of the Black Shroud was a telltale sign of a powerful curse. The ritual had succeeded, it seemed, and all that was left was to disperse the heirlooms into the Ul’dahn markets and split the proceeds. 

One tenth would go to herself to purchase a small homestead in Vylbrand, one tenth would go to her dear friend Fota and her mother, and the remainder would be returned to Minerva. The heiress would never have to work another day in her life. It seemed arrogant to make such decisions about gil that didn’t even belong to her, but there was no way that Anthea could explain all of this to her best friend in a way that would make sense. 

She shook her head briskly, having unconsciously floated onto the idea of donating the money to charity, and began to rifle through the packages of goods. Gold, silver, precious gem-inlaid jewelry, fine clothing, and… a trade ledger? Anthea reached into the bottom of the first package, but as soon as her finger brushed the parchment a powerful energy rocketed through her body. 

In the span of mere moments the witch saw the bustling streets of Ul’dah, a poorly lit alleyway, the movement of soft, pale hair, and a discerning eye that was so familiar… so cozy. A shining sword and shield and finally, far away, a young Hyur with short hair and a missing leg, sobbing.

“My ritual is complete. I don’t owe her anything,” she tried to assert to herself. 

It was no good. 

She took up the bundled appendage and the packages and sacks of treasures, loading them into a small wooden wagon. She’d have to take the trip to Ul’dah on foot. Anthea knew she’d need a few necessities before this was all over, one of them being a handsome Viera that she hadn’t seen in a long while. As she began her journey, she wondered what he’d think of her after all this time…

“Y-you cut your hair…” the Hyur paused, taking a look at Anthea. “It’s different, but in a good way.” Anthea blushed in spite of herself, “It’s just hair, Sion.” “And these markings, what do they mean?” He lifted her chin gently and traced the lines on her face with his thumb. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling... she had so much to explain.

Tears formed quickly as Anthea watched the corners of the envelopes singe and curl inwards before being engulfed wholly by the flames of the small bonfire. They had been unopened. Although she could probably guess that he wanted to tell her about his travels, or new recipes he had learned, how he constantly fusses over his favorite gloves, or how her friends missed her so; Anthea would never know what Sion had actually written to her.

As the last of the letters was reduced to ash, she felt a sharp, crushing pull, like the grip of a hawk, around her heart. She cried out in pain, the tears flowing freely now. Burning her lover’s letters was symbolic, but the price she would pay for her ritual was very real. She turned sharply and felt the hawk’s talon take a chunk of her heart as it departed the grove. “Sion!” She cried loudly, wrapping her arms around her chest and sinking to the ground. It wasn’t completely gone, but what was left of her love for him was raw, bloody, and burning.

The witch steadied herself as quickly as she could, pushing up onto her knees while still trembling. 

She didn’t have time to wallow, there was work to be done. 

Anthea took a few deep breaths, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands and willfully ignoring the searing pain in her chest. After a moment, she lit the candles on the altar and placed the incense into the bonfire. She took the lock of hair she’d cut and tossed it into the bonfire with a sneer… it was pure providence that she came upon that hair at all.

She looked deeply into the flames, calming her mind and half-closing her eyes. A plume of black smoke billowed forth from the bonfire, rising up into the canopy before moving back toward the slaver camp she had come from only a few bells ago. A nightmare given form, it snaked its way through the trees toward its sleeping prey. 

But there was one more thing… one more crucial thing she had to give up in order to complete the magic. In order to take, one must give, afterall. Her eyebrows furrowed as she brought to mind the precious memories of her grandmother braiding her hair and humming gently. Her grandmother never hurt her, and her fingers glided through Anthea’s curly hair as if it were just a softly bubbling stream. She’d close her eyes, listening carefully, and after years of practice, young Anthea was even able to hum along.

With a quick flick of her wrist, her first braid fell to the earth, like a viper that had fallen from a tree. She gripped the stone spike tightly as her hand moved to the other braid, and in a blink, it too fell. Anthea quickly snatched up her braids and tossed them into the bonfire as well. The fire hummed briefly before receding, the grove becoming silent. It seemed like her sacrifice was accepted.

Anthea needed something more from Ina, and she’d give her heart and her memories tenfold if need be.

Anthea heard the wailing in the shifting of the canopy leaves. She put the river stones she had gathered into a small pile atop the large stump in the center of her grove. She then placed her palm on an old elm and was whisked into the center of the village.

She carefully approached a gathering of people and they made way for her, allowing her to step through the crowd. They were crying.

“Nanka`ada! Nanka`ada Ku!” Y’ra’s seasoned voice carried itself through the throng of villagers. ‘The witch,’ she said in Ya`ani, ‘The witch approaches.’

Anthea moved to the center of the circle as it parted to see a young man crumpled to the floor, covered in his own blood. Dead. “What is the meaning of this? Elder, what has happened?”

The woman simply stared at the boy, shaking her head. The tassels hanging from her headdress shimmered in the light of the rising moon.

“What can I do, Elder? There must be something.” Anthea looked to Elder Y’ra for guidance, the village looked with her.

The old woman nodded gently, and hesitated for only a moment before submerging her hand into the boy’s chest, covering it in blood. The surrounding villagers went silent, watching her every motion. She then hobbled over to Anthea and painted the blood over the girl’s eyes gently, first the right, then the left.

Anthea closed her eyes but refrained from moving. The blood was still warm. Once she was finished, the Elder took a step back and Anthea opened her eyes. The blood had already begun to sting her, tinging her vision with crimson. She looked down at her Elder who was simply pointing upwards. Anthea looked up to see the full moon shining directly above her and the bright white light that shown down became blood red.

She felt the serrated blade of an axe open her chest as if it had actually happened to her. Anthea gasped in shock and saw clearly the face of the young man’s murderer. In fact, she smelled him. He was here, in the Shroud. 

The witch vanished and stepped out of the shadows and right in front of a large man, dressed in shabby leather; he was drunk and singing out of tune. He had stepped away from his comrades momentarily to relieve himself. 

In one swift motion, Anthea pulled a stone spike from her belt and ran it across his throat; she made a neat, long slice that left the man gurgling and gasping for air. She followed through with her arm swinging in a low arc and flipped the spike in her hand, driving it into the side of his neck. The noises stopped, and the murderer’s body collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. Allowing the body to fall, she removed her spike with a jerk of her wrist and wiped it on his tunic before returning it to her belt. 

Anthea stopped by the camp to find slavers and enslaved alike sleeping soundly. She knew she had smelled a rat, Ina lay shivering and huddled in the back of a wagon, restless but not completely asleep. Her feet and hands were bound as were the others that also lay still in the cart. The witch unsheathed her spike for a second time and took a small lock of Ina’s hair before rejoining the shadows and traveling back to the village. It was time to begin her plot in earnest.

Wind moved gently through the leaves of the trees, filling the village with a soft rustling. Anthea looked skyward, humming to herself with a smile.

But something made her stop.

She focused more intently and heard a single, errant whisper moving amidst the treetops. 

‘One who has healed you…’ a tiny voice, carried by the breeze, alighted on her ear like a butterfly.

Anthea knew instantly who had entered the Twelveswood. She placed her palm on a nearby tree and closed her eyes. In an instant, her feet found the tall grasses of an overlook; her hand pressed firmly against a completely different tree. Opening her eyes, she peered down to see a tall, elegantly dressed Elezen man deftly picking small samples of herbs and flowers from the bushes below. With his back turned to her, it was clear he hadn’t noticed her presence.

“One who has healed me… the good doctor, of course.” Anthea whispered these words to herself, a small smile formed as she hid more neatly behind the tree. She wanted to just observe him this time.

Corvan seemed to be moving quite nimbly, his sharp eyes knew exactly what to look for. Quantity, color, weight, defects; all were accounted for in mere heartbeats. But before moving to a new bush, he stopped to sort of… wiggle… awkwardly. Or… or perhaps he was bowing???

Anthea stifled a giggle as she recognized what was happening. He was trying to thank the forest, he was honoring the Old Ways. 

He bent down to leave a small flower as a gift but stopped short and turned toward her tree with a creased eyebrow. 

She’d made too much noise. 

Anthea stepped back quickly, pressing her back against the cool bark of the tree. Had she been spotted?

She closed her eyes, trying not to laugh again. “Protect him. Guide him, O spirits. Return to him the kindness he has given to me, as is nature’s way.”

In the blink of an eye, the witch was gone, and the soft rustling of the wind in the leaves permeated the forest air once more. 

Corvan moved uphill to investigate the tree but found nothing and no one at all, only a light scent that was vaguely familiar somehow. “Curious…” he mused to himself before returning dutifully to his work. 

Anthea pressed her palm through the gently tumbling waters and onto the smooth, moss-covered stone just behind it. She closed her eyes and quieted her mind. The paint on her face radiated a warmth that made her smile and blush. She hadn’t quite gotten used to using the Door just yet.

What was once solid simply vanished and gave way to the Witch’s hand. Anthea stepped through the waterfall slowly, allowing the sacred waters to douse her hair and clothes.

On the other side, she was greeted by a chorus of soft hums; hundreds of different notes that came together in a harmony that Anthea had never heard before. She blinked her eyes open to see that the humming sounded amongst a sea of smiles, many had come to greet her at the Door. 

“Welcome back, child of the Moon,” Elder Y’ra’s voice could be heard plainly, as if resting just atop the hum of the village. 

“Have you said all of your goodbyes, sister?” It was Oona, who’s kind face stepped forward. He extended his hand to her and she took it, “We’ve prepared a feast tonight, a ‘Welcoming Home’ one could say.” He chuckled bashfully and led her gently through the crowd of dark-skinned Hyur and Viera. 

The notes of the chorus rose to wrap Anthea as if in a blanket of sound. She allowed herself to be led forward and smiled as best as she could to the many faces smiling back at her. 

A small note would be attached to the advertisement for the Garden's opening this week. It reads:

Anthea burst through the front door of the cafe and slammed it shut behind her, heaving. Tears streamed down her face and her breaths were ragged. She couldn’t just sit and admit all that she was feeling to Sol and Violetta, she refused to be more of a burden than she already was.

Asking Violetta to use divination magicks on her behalf was selfish, and she never should have suggested such a thing. Anthea, more than anyone else, should understand how precious a gift it is. 

As she stepped out into the evening air, she heard it as she never had before. 

The Silence.

Just Silence. 

Her lip trembled as she rounded the corner of the building and approached the hydrangea bush that grew from a cutting that she had taken when her grandmother was still alive. The blossoms swayed silently in the breezes, but not at all in the way that they used to. They didn’t mock her for having a stained apron, or ask where her smile had gone, or offer her shade and comfort.

Her entire world had been thrown on its head. How would she know what her flowers needed? How would she tell if they were sick? Or didn’t get along with the plants around them? Would they allow themselves to be picked and made into salves and poultices? Would they even recognize who she was anymore?

With her magic completely transferred to Sol, the night air seemed so cold and so… lonely. She hugged herself as tears continued to fall onto the now-silent grass beneath her feet. 

Anthea Moonglove trudged home slowly in the Silence. She tried to hum Sol’s song, but the melody continued to escape her. She sobbed quietly, instead. 

Upon arriving at her apartment, she was surprised to see that a small parcel had been delivered to her doorstep. She opened it carefully and with tear-stained eyes.

“Stay safe, please.” Anthea turned to her friends. They had almost reached the clearing where the ritual was to take place. Sol and Anthea would head to the center, F’nuri would scout the eastern edge since he was fleet-footed and knew the forests well, and Sion and Atreus would work their way around the clearing to the north and west until they met up with F’nuri. 

F’nuri nodded before taking his spear from his back and leaping up into the branches of a tall tree, his blue eye already burning eagerly.

Sion kissed Anthea on the cheek before nodding to Atreus. The two moved off together. 

Sol and Anthea walked carefully along the path, the sounds of the birds and rustling foliage encapsulating them.

F’nuri was the first to spot movement from the treetops. He saw the shape of a hobbled old woman moving quickly toward the clearing.

“You wasteth your focus, F’nuri. Look deeper. It is but a deception.” It was the voice of his inner dragon.

Upon closer inspection with his other eye, he could indeed see that just like the ‘Anthea’ from the forest, there was no one there. Which meant only one thing, Bertha was aware of their presence and already trying to lead them astray. He was about to move to the clearing to warn Anthea and Sol when Verdandi spoke to him again.

“There, she moveth amongst the brush, F’nuri.”

Sure enough, he spotted the real Bertha hobbling slowly clear across from where the illusion had been. He leapt silently through the treetops in pursuit of her. 

The moon rose menacingly over the clearing as Sol and Anthea finished placing the various flowers in a circle as described in the journal. The tall mossy stone sat between the two and they knelt on either side of it, joining hands.

“Anthea,” Sol began quietly, “if anything goes wrong, I’m stopping the ritual. Do you understand me? It won’t go on.”

The woman nodded at him, tears already building in her eyes, “I wouldn’t expect anything less, love. But if you never let me go, I know we’ll succeed.”

Sol nodded in reply before closing his eyes. Anthea followed suit.

The moon appeared in earnest, and gently began to douse the clearing with its blessing. 

Atreus and Sion had only been moving clockwise around the clearing for a short while before Atreus spotted a small, elderly woman quickly making her way westward.

“There she is!” they roared and charged after her.

“Atreus, no!” Sion called, he had just seen a shadow moving in the opposite direction and elected to follow it instead. He shook his head and took off after the shadow, drawing his katana.

“Are you sure this’ll work?” came a voice from behind Anthea, it was F’nuri. “I’ve scouted half a malm in every direction and there’s no sign of anyone else. Perhaps Bertha’s just given up.”

Anthea shook her head and breathed deeply, she began to chant the words in a whisper, “Spirits of Nature, elements around me…”

F’nuri seemed to dissipate behind her and was replaced with another voice. “Moogle, this is crazy. Let’s just go home. We shouldn’t be out here in the mud…”

She would not be deterred, “...bless us as we move from day into night, and keep our company as we humbly come before you…” 

“You are foolish, cousin.” The voice had changed, it was Acantha’s. “You think that your magic is stronger than hers? My mother has cultivated her magic for over a hundred summers! You barely know anything about yours!”

Anthea tightened her grip, squeezing Sol’s hands while continuing, barely maintaining focus. “...We ask that you give your gifts to the deserving. We return that which you see fit to take from us…”

Sion followed the shadow swiftly, his training was evident in how easily he navigated the underbrush, sword low and ready. The shadow seemed to catch sight of him and moved further south. Sion quickly circled around to head it off and found himself face to face with an elderly woman with dark skin and the same strange face markings as Acantha. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead and she looked at him with a confused expression.

“Sion,” the woman croaked, out of breath, “Put that sword down, you buffoon. You have no idea what’s happening back there. You need to let me get to the clearing, I can fix all of this if you just let me go.”

Sion held his katana up to her throat. “I wouldn't let you set foot within a thousand yalms of Anthea, hag.”

“Hag?! Sion, what are you talking about? It’s me, you fool!” The old woman shouted while seeming to plead with him.

The samurai sheathed his blade only to release it once more in a flurry of slashes impossible to track with normal eyesight. When he sheathed it a final time, the old woman lay dead on the forest floor. 

Sion moved forward to whisper a short prayer for her and before his very eyes, her wrinkles vanished and her face contorted and then stretched, a youthful woman’s visage emerged and who he had thought was Bertha was actually… Acantha. The young witch’s body was strewn on the ground, covered in her own blood. 

Sion gasped sharply, immediately moving to check the woman’s vitals. She was well and truly dead by his hand. "This was not part of the plan...dammit, Acantha!" Sion propped her body gently against a tree before moving back toward the clearing. He had to warn the others.

Atreus kept up with Bertha easily, dodging between the trees with grace and speed. Various jobs they had taken gave the Hrothgar more than enough training to keep pace with her. 

They followed her first away from the clearing and then noticed her circling back. She was quick for an old woman, she was quick for anyone.

Atreus used their claws to quickly get the top of a thick elm. They watched Bertha move back toward the clearing before she pulled something small out the cloak she was wearing. She tossed the item hard and it went whizzing through the air… directly at an unaware Sol.

“SUNSHINE!” Atreus roared, leaping from the tree and bounding into the clearing. 

“ANTHEA!” he yelled upon reaching the two, “ANTHEA! IT’S SOL! HE’S BEEN INJURED!”

They were too late. The bodies of Anthea and Sol lay limp right next to the moss-covered stone in the middle.

They moved to their dead lover, lifting his head tenderly, “No, no, no, NO!!! Not like this, please!!! Give him back!!!”

"Wha-!?" The corpse replied, "Darling, what’s wrong?” Sol opened his eyes and looked up at his partner confused. 

Atreus blinked. 

Sol was fine. 

He and Anthea were still sitting upright, hands joined. Her eyes were closed as she whispered feverishly. 

“I'm fine-!” Sol was quick to try and assure his lover, “it was probably an illusion! You must be calm or you'll break-”

Anthea’s hands slipped out of Sol’s and she fell backward into the dirt behind her, unconscious. 

"ANTHEA-!" Sol clambored around the stone quickly, checking her vital signs and already beginning to channel healing magicks. “Atreus, go find Sion!  I need to help Anthea!"

“ANTHEA!” the voice had shifted yet again, this time belonging to Atreus, “ANTHEA! IT’S SOL! HE’S BEEN INJURED!” 

She felt Sol’s hands slip from her own and she opened her eyes, hoping to find that familiar pair of sky blue eyes looking back at her. 

Instead, she saw white, like a textureless canvas. Just white, rolling on and on for as far as she could see. The forest, the stone, her Sol, everything was gone and replaced with… nothing.

“You really thought you could take power from me?” 

“Bertha! Bertha… where are we? Where is Sol? What have you done?” Anthea’s voice seemed to echo endlessly as if the nothingness of this realm stretched on forever. The empty space drank her voice as it faded into a painful silence. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” her voice cracked the silence like a whip, filling Anthea’s ears and mind both. “Your little lion cub yet lives, along with his lion cub, your boy toy, and your pet cat.” She seemed to snarl at the last word. “They’ll make a fine stew. I look forward to the blend of unique flavors. I always did have a more… refined palette, afterall.”

Anthea dropped to her knees, “We’ve failed, then… it’s over.”

“Yes, and now all of your friends will die, because of you. See what selfishness brings you, girl? Had you come to me on your own, they all would have been spared. And yet here you are… fighting like a tiny wavekin against the onslaught of a rushing river. You shall be tossed out to sea once I have what’s mine, what Vione TOOK from me!”

Anthea suddenly felt a pull on her heart from all directions at once. She gasped in pain as the intensity increased, it felt like hundreds of hooks on fishing lines had snagged her chest and were being reeled in with more and more force. She cried out, breathing hard. “Stop! Please!”

The cackling once again filled the air, echoing around her as her heart threatened to explode from her chest. Anthea couldn’t help but think of her dear friends, the ones she had led here, the ones who willingly followed her to their deaths.

“I remember you, miss.” 

The faintest voice cut through the pain. Anthea felt a moment of relief and looked up in surprise, but couldn’t find a speaker. 

“You stayed with us in the forest, when we were scared. This is no place for you, miss.”

She felt a gentle tug on her hand, as if someone else was trying to grasp it, someone with smaller hands. She turned her palm upward and felt a tiny hand wrap itself around one of her fingers. It pulled her gently and she stood, the invisible hand then led her forward, and her feet followed.

“We think of you often, miss,” came the invisible voice, “Come this way.”

The pain in her heart ceased altogether and as she walked forward the white nothingness faded to black, then gray, then green. 

Anthea looked up into the eyes of her lover, with Sol just beside him. Their images were blurred by the tears in her eyes but she knew them. She knew them. 

“Anthea!” Sion wrapped her in his arms, and pulled her up into a sitting position to lean on his chest. “"Moogle!" There was a long pause as tears streamed down his cheeks, cutting the dirt and sweat on his face. "Do not go far from me… I don't know what would have happened if I lost you." He pulled her closer and his voice dropped to a whisper, "Do not go far from me...you don't need me...b-but I need you." His eyes were closed at this point, tears still forming in the corners of them, "Do not go far from me.”

The woman could barely nod, she leaned into Sion’s embrace with as wide of a smile as she could muster.

She looked over to Sol whose eyes were also filled with tears, “Thank the Stars...” Atreus stood next to him, holding him tightly.

“Everyone get down! She’s here!” F’nuri’s voice carried itself across the clearing just as a massive ball of flame erupted over the party’s heads. 

Sion tightened his grip on Anthea and turned just in time to block her from the blast, Atreus tried to pull Sol away toward the trees but the white-furred Hrothgar wouldn’t budge. Instead, he lifted his hand into the air and a shimmering barrier appeared above them. The barrier easily absorbed the Black magic and held fast. 

The Shroud flashed brightly with the clash of magic. In that flash a small hobbled figure holding a wooden staff could be seen standing at the opposite side of the clearing.

“Know a little magick, do we?” It was Bertha.

"A lot, actually." Sol growled back.

Anthea tried to sit up hearing Bertha’s voice, “Leave them be, Bertha! If it’s my magic that you want then take it! They have nothing to do with this!” Sion took her hand as the pair stood carefully, protected by Sol’s barrier.

“Oho! It’s much too late for that, now.” Bertha stepped forward into the moonlight to reveal a gaping wound on her side that oozed dark red blood onto her clothing. “Your kitten decided to show his claws, now I must proffer mine own.”

With that, another explosion of Black Magic hit Sol’s shield hard, with full force. His arm buckled a bit from the strain but the shield seemed to hold against the second attack. 

Somehow, F’nuri had snuck around the perimeter of the clearing and dove at Bertha, spear in hand. She simply cackled as the spear melted in F’nuri’s grip and instead wrapped itself around his neck tightly. He fell mid-leap, crying out.

“F’nuri!” Anthea screamed. Sol eyed her menacingly as if to say, ‘DON’T MOVE.’ She wanted to help him but couldn’t risk leaving the safety of Sol’s shield.

Bertha’s dark face and wrinkles began to morph into a wide smile and with a deep-throated laugh, she planted the end of her staff onto F’nuri’s throat. “Vengeance delivers itself unto me, it seems.”

“Vengeance is not written into the laws of our People, Berthala. You, of all of us, should know this.”

Anthea knew who it was before she had even thought to turn and look. Sol, Atreus, and Sion turned in unison, but Anthea was frozen in place.

“These children are not yours to do with as you please.”

The spear around F’nuri’s neck loosened and regained its form, solidifying on the ground next to him. The Miqo’te sat up, retching and gasping for air.

“N-no,” Bertha began, "this cannot be. Y-you…”

Anthea finally turned to see a woman, robed in white, with gentle knots tied into her hair, she held a shepherd’s staff in one hand and was the very face of love and comfort from her childhood. She stared in awe, tears streaming down her face, as the figure moved forward and knelt in front of her, lifting her chin.

“My Thea… you’ve been so strong. And my goodness how you’ve grown.”

“Grandmother…” the word came out in a whisper.

The woman nodded gently before turning back to Bertha. “Come now, Berthala, it is time.”

Bertha dropped to her knees, her head hung low. “If you’ve truly become a Spirit…” There was a long pause. “I was wrong all along, wasn’t I?”

Vione just looked on in silence.

“But what of the tribe, Vivi? What of our people?” Bertha was sobbing, even as she continued to bleed out of the wound on her side. “I cannot leave them defenseless.”

“They do not want for protection, ‘Thala, surely you’ve seen this for yourself?” Vione motioned to Anthea, smiling at her granddaughter. “We will always protect and guide, as your prayers ask.”

Suddenly, right next to Bertha, a small child appeared. She was there, but not at the same time and if you looked too hard, she’d vanish. She knelt next to Bertha offering her hand gently. “Come now miss, it’s time to go. Your daughter waits for you.”

Bertha gasped, looking up and into the child’s eyes. “My ‘Cantha? Is she?”

The girl nodded solemnly, “We mustn't keep her waiting, miss.”

From behind Bertha, even more shimmering children appeared from the brush to help the woman to her feet gently. The little girl took her hand, and in the blink of an eye, they were all gone. F’nuri was left on his own, leaning up against a tree.

Sol finally released his shield and grunted a bit from the exertion. Atreus slid their arm underneath their lover’s and supported his weight easily, giving him a peck on the cheek. Sol let out a relieved sigh and smiled at Atreus gently as he buried his face against their chest.

Vione turned back to Anthea, “It’s time for me to go, ‘Thea. But look at all of these beautiful souls that are gathered here.” She regarded each of them with a kind smile before stopping to gaze at Sion knowingly. She bowed her head slowly and he reciprocated the gesture. “Thank you all for watching over my precious girl. I will, in turn, watch over you as well.”

“G-grandmother,” Anthea began gingerly, “I have so many questions for you…”

Vione smiled widely at this, “Oh, sweet girl. You know exactly where I am and where I will be, always. Before I go, I was asked to give you this.” She held out her hand, in it was a single gladiolus bloom. “This… is for you, Thea.”

Anthea wrapped her grandmother in a tight hug, “Thank you, grandmother. I know just what to do with this.” She took the flower gently, placed it into her pocket, and bowed low and slow. 

Vione smiled brightly before planting a soft kiss on Anthea’s forehead. Then she, too, was gone.

Anthea and Sion rushed to F’nuri to help him up while Atreus shifted more of Sol’s weight onto themselves and began walking with him. Carefully, the party made their way out of the clearing.

((This was such an amazing collaborative effort! Thank you so much to everyone for letting me borrow their characters and for their helpful feedback! I look forward to writing more collaborative pieces (and epic stories!) in the future!

Thank you to the writers of:

Sol Versymn

Sion Thelyss: https://sionthelyss.carrd.co/

F'nuri Tia: https://www.tumblr.com/jurayandfriends-blog