chronoThread

Endwalker Spoilers.

Seventh Astral Era

Ishgard, Steps of Faith

Second Dawn of the Final Days

A child of Ishgard sits atop a pile of rubble, surrounded by their fallen brothers and sisters in arms. Only one other companion yet breathes - an almost identical figure were it not for the fox mask, ears, and nine tails that they had sported. The figure stands behind the purple-haired Ishgardian, applying ointment and some bandages.

“You know we’re stuck together now, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“And you’re not bothered by that?

“Do I really have a choice to not be bothered?”

“Ahaha! I guess not. But I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Oh, you’re being polite now? You? The noisy little prick who takes every opportunity to fuck with me?”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I don’t take every opportunity, just…most of them.”

“And that’s better…how?”

“Simple. The breaks lull you into a false sense of security so it’s funnier when I fuck with you again. Ahahaha-ARGH! Hey, be careful! That’s an open wound…”

“Really should have known better than to provoke the person providing you with medical care.”

“You have a horrible bedside manner, you know that?”

“Oh grow up and suck it up. We’ve been through worse.” “Mmmh…worse, really? Our countrymen turn into eldritch beasts and start tearing the populace apart, and you think we’ve been through worse?”

“Your countrymen. And yes, ruining your father’s garden.” “Our countrymen, you’re one of us now. And…point taken.”

The masked figure finishes their work, securing some surgical gauze against the Ishgardian’s side. Some screaming is heard from the Gates of Judgment as droves of Coerthan citizens accompanied by remnants of a few scattered guard remnants desperately attempt to keep the citizens together, all the while driving several blasphemies back. The Ishgardian sighs, picking up their twin katanas before rising once more.

“Tell me straight doc, how bad is it?”

“Manageable for what we’re about to do. You’ll live.”

“That’s what I thought, but I thought a second opinion would be prudent.” “Finally, showing a little sense in that lust-addled brain of yours, Gale?”

“I have my moments Zephyr~”

“I really wish you had more moments like that.”

“Then I’d just be you, wouldn’t I?”

“Good. Means I’d have to worry less.” “Awww, you’re worried?”

“I’m worried for myself. If you die, I die. Remember?”

“Sure sure, keep pretending that’s why you worry.”

“Has anyone ever told you how insufferable you are?”

“Every day of my life~”

The Ishgardian takes a deep breath. There’s blood already on several parts of their body - some theirs, most from their fallen comrades. The gash that had just been recently treated went wide, but thankfully not deep. Another scar to add to the collection, should they survive today. A reminder to honor the sacrifices that the many knights of House Amante had made today. Several dead at their feet, many more injured and carted away - much to their protestations. They wondered if their most devoted knight was recovering well. Dior was most likely begging to be on the field with them again…they just had to go shielding Gale a second time. That was two that they owed Dior now.

The crowd manages to reach the halfway point of the bridge - where Ishgard’s most prodigal child had decided to make their stand. Whether they saw the masked figure bleeding dark aether or not was no longer important to them. Someone was watching over, that was all that mattered. Zephyr raises their own blades, standing next to the errant heir Amante.

“One stride left, Gale.”

“Two strides right, Zephyr.”

“Mmh. Good kill. Two strokes on my end, and this looks just like the fodder too. Am I getting slow?”

“No, you’re doing fine. They’re tougher than they look. What a pain.”

“At least they’re still big, right?” “Worse when they’re small, you’ve got a way smaller margin of error.”

“You know, you still haven’t answered my question.”

“This again? Is this really the time? When we’re fighting for our lives?”

“This-tssyaaa!-is the perfect time! Considering nothing is guaranteed, it might be prudent to get some things off our chests.”

“I think we should focus on the matter at hand.” “Well I think we should air it out before things actually start to get difficult!”

The two swordsmen enter a state of battle flow. Like a pair of ballerinas they dance across the field, felling creatures left and right in perfect sync. When Gale turns, so does Zephyr. When Zephyr strikes, so does Gale. The duo steals the show, outmaneuvering and outpacing the blasphemies at every turn, cutting a path for the poor souls trying to seek refuge from the oncoming storm. Every now and then one of Zephyr’s tails picks a stray spear off the ground and hurls it towards an opponent - only for Gale to kick off of the weapons haft and propel themself one of the creatures that dared to take to the skies, driving the polearm deeper into their opponent’s skull in the process.

“You are reckless Gale.”

“And you are enabling it. Answer the question?”

“Will you value your life while you fight if I do?”

“Yes.”

“No, I’m not bothered. In truth, you are amusing.”

“Aha! So you do like me!”

“You’re putting words in my mouth. You are simply just a very good distraction for my entertainment.”

“Mmhm, sure. I believe you, you-oh.”

The ground shakes. A larger figure appears from the Gates of Judgment, the size of a great wyrm. Only…wrong. With several heads that held several eyes, hand-like wings grasping at the sky, and a giant, gaping maw where their chest cavity was supposed to be. The creature roars, revealing the many teeth that lay inside its chest as the world shook once more from the sheer might of its cries. The swordsmen rush the creature down, knowing that must be done, but at the last second the blasphemy channels a blast of energy from its mouth that lands at Gale’s and Zephyr’s feet sending the pair careening backwards into a pile of rubble. Gale rubs their head as they attempt to reorient themself, before getting up once more.

“Ngg…shit. My head…just had to be the size of a fucking house huh?”

“Your head? Fuck…my head too. Sometimes I hate sharing a body with you.” 

“That wasn’t my fault this time! Look, if you have a complaint, bring it up after this. You’ll thank this body after we’re through."

“...Gale, we’re probably going to die on this bridge. You know that, right?” “No actually, I don’t. I don’t plan on dying here, and neither do you. But if you’re so worried, you can always leave me here! If I’m simply a fun amusement, I don’t think dying constitutes good entertainment anyway.”

“You know I physically can’t leave you.”

“Oh really? Cry me a river then. Maybe it’ll freeze over fast enough so that thing can slip over it and fall off the side of the bridge.”

The horrid amalgamation rears its many heads and stretches its grotesque wings. One step after the other, it approaches the two battered swordsmen - the last line of defense before the monstrosity reaches the city proper. Then, it’d be all up to whatever defenses the temple knights managed to muster while they set off on this fool’s errand. Hopefully, they bought Ishgard enough time to make a difference.

“And I wouldn’t want to leave you either!”

“Right. Because you-”

“-yes I care! That's why I always tell you to be careful. It’s why I always scold you when you act so damn reckless all the time, why I constantly remind you to get enough sleep and begrudgingly tell you to go meet with your friends under the guise that I am annoyed with all of your banter. I like your banter! But I like it more when you’re not sulking all the time and replaying trauma in your mind!”

“...Zephyr I-”

“I only have little snippets. Tiny little pieces of who I was before, of my humanity. And I didn’t care about the even less that I had when I was drifting from host to host for the longest time. But when I’m with you, when I get to see you live your life and enjoy the world? Enjoy company? I feel like I’m getting back something that I lost a long, long time ago. And I hated it at first! I hated being able to feel things again because it made everything so fucking difficult. You were a meal ticket! Nothing more, nothing less! And now here I am caring about some mortal who can’t be bothered to care for themself half the time.”

A dreadful feeling fills the air. A low, rumbling noise emanates from the creature’s chest-maw, and malevolent light begins to coalesce at the center of it. The dragon-blasphemy channels what could only be described as malice itself. Too large - too much to get out of the way in time. Indeed, it was as if it meant to obliterate the very bridge - no - the city itself.

“It’s why it hurts me when you put yourself down and consign yourself to your sheets for the day. No, Gale. I can’t leave you. And even if I could? I wouldn’t! Because you know what? I’d rather die here with you than live one more miserable moment of a voidsent’s existence, constantly paranoid, never being able to trust another person for fear of being consumed! It’s a wretched life, and I would rather die here with purpose. You are my only friend, my only family in this world Gale, and I did not know that I needed that so badly until you irritated me into loving you. So with whatever little time we have left, do not imply that I would leave you. I’ve lost everything once already. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Gale is left speechless. All they can do is look up at the creature - their doom - and dig their heels into the stone bricks that carried their people home for centuries on end. In defiance of fate. Always in defiance of fate.

“Then I guess that means that dying isn’t on the table today.”

“Gale it’s-”

“Useless? Sure, maybe. Maybe we’re going to die here anyway. But isn’t it better to try, to go kicking and screaming, to refuse our last meal? If we are going to do anything together then I want to resist together. I was born with a death sentence Zephyr. I wasn’t going to last another year before I met you. But I kept trying - I kept going on because I believed it was worth trying. And now I’m here, over half a decade later, and with almost another decade left. More if I find a cure. And it was tiring. It was painful, I cried so many nights because of how much it hurt to just exist. To have moments I couldn’t control my body. Moments where the pain was searing, where I felt like I was on fire and that my soul was to be branded with nothing but suffering. I wanted to give up so…so badly so many times. But I had people who I loved counting on me. So I grit my teeth and I kept going. In spite of the world.”

Gale takes a step forward, towards the blasphemy.

“So I’m going to keep living. In pure spite of this thing, to protect the people that I love. And if I die? Fine. I’ll make it a good death. I’ll make it mean something. I’ll burn so bright that the sight of my damaged soul is etched into the stars for all eternity. And I want to do that with you, Zephyr. So…please. Fight with me. One last time?”

The energies that the creature had collected reach critical mass. And as it flaps its wings and takes to the sky, and coils its warped body back as it reels to strike, Zephyr removes their mask and steps forward. A familiar face reveals itself underneath. A face Zephyr had forgotten. 

A face that Gale sees every morning in the mirror.

“One last time. With you, Gale.”

The pair dash forward together. Wind in their step and with a blast of levin, the duo kick off from the ground and make one final charge towards the maw - the belly of the beast - to try and save their homeland. With grim resolve, they welcome their end.

The sound of what seems to be a cannon resonates far across the bridge, and an arrow streaks through the air and buries itself in the light that the monster had channeled. The malevolent energies explode in the creature’s chest mouth, and it roars in pain and anger at this interference. In a berserk rage its many heads flail about, snapping and swiping at the two airborne swordsmen who fend them off as best they can. One of its many-eyed skulls is undaunted by their resistance and swings at the two like a bat, aiming to swat them off the bridge into the cruel embrace of the void. 

Yet a javelin soars through the air - brilliant and ornate, a wolf’s head decorated close to its tip. The weapon sinks into the blasphemy’s head, before exploding - then flying in reverse, disappearing behind the two warriors. As the Child of Halone and Child of the Void land onto the ground once more, they retreat backwards quickly. To where Halone herself seemed to have intervened from.

The pair look back, and see several familiar faces.

“Most troublesome damn sibling I’ve ever had. Next time you’re off to do a heroic sacrifice Gale, do us all a fucking favor? Call me so I can kill you first and save us the trouble?”

“Ignore your sister. But she’s right Gale. Be nicer to yourself - I don’t want to only have a spear to remember my best friend by.”

“In the name of the Fury milord, I know you like to show off, but is this not a bit much?”

Gale presses their lips together, forming a thin line on their face. Zephyr looks at them, canting their head to the side, nine tails swishing slowly in concern. Then Gale begins to laugh, and Zephyr’s ears twitch at the sound. Then they begin to laugh too - a scene that perplexes the three standing behind them. More figures come pouring out from the Arc of the Worthy. All armed. All ready to fight.

“How very like us then. To put it all on ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself. You’re insufferable.”

“ Yes, and whose face are you wearing right now?”

“Shut up. I didn’t know.”

“Well now you know where you get it from. So. I suppose you know what I am thinking…?”

There is a long pause before Zephyr speaks.

“Apple pie after we mop the floor with this son of a bitch?”

Hi there, I’m Gale. I feel like there’s a joke to be made there about a socially awkward wizard, but I wouldn’t know! I’m not a mage.

Anyway, I get a lot of questions and rumors about me - you know how Ishgardian politics go, nasty business - and for the adoring fans and vehement detractors alike, I thought I’d compile a small list of answers to those! Consider it a little thank you for paying attention to lil’ old me.

So! Without further ado, let’s play a little twenty questions - give or take twenty anyway. A little Q and A as they’d like to call it.

Q: Is your name actually Gale? Like, was it your given name, or your chosen name? Seems a little on the nose with your speed obsession.

A: My given and chosen name is absolutely Gale, Galenaire de Amante as I’ve introduced many times before! Technically two answers for one question, but yes it is a little bit on the nose isn’t it? Some would think it was fated, some would think I grew into it. In the end, does it really matter?

Q: Are you actually Ishgardian? You never say the funny crow-saint words or speak with an accent.

A: Ugh…it’s croissant, like…kwah-sohn! Yes I am Ishgardian! Not all of us have an accent you know - actually no, we all have an accent. You included! My natural one just happens to not sound typically Ishgardian. Or at the very least, the one you hear anyway.

Q: So…are you a boy, a girl? Do we address you as ser or madame or…

A: Yes! Next question!

Q: So you’re a noble then, from what I can tell? If so, follow-up question: What exactly does your house specialize in?

A: That I am, a minor noble house, but yes a noble house all the same. I tend not to put too much stock in the title but it’s there. As for specializations…specializing? House Amante doesn’t really excel in anything other than excelling. We have a very varied set of personalities here and they all do different things. You can expect that whatever an Amante does though, they’ll do it well regardless of the field.

Q: I don’t see many House Amante knights, why is that?

A: Without the complex political explanations? It’s because we don’t have many. House Amante - if nothing else - is very particular about quality over quantity. We don’t have many knights because our training regimen is brutal. Nine out of ten aspirants drop out of the program…though I will note there is no shame in that. We expect every knight to be the equal of five men on the field at the minimum - though ideally they’re worth ten. We spare no expense for their equipment either, and many of the assignments that our knights get sent on are usually rather precarious. It’s not an easy life, but each person is forged in struggle and tempered in battle.

Q: You’ve been shown to be a half-decent swordsman. Where’d you pick the skills up?

A: Excuse me, I resent half-decent! I am an excellent swordsman and duelist, one of the finest this land has ever seen! Our standards do not only apply to our knights you know - I take my training very seriously. As for where? Partly my father, Hayate, who still manages to scare me with his skills to this day. Though I am also largely self-taught. My father laid the foundations but I carved my own style - my own path.

Q: I um…I think you’re really pretty. 

A: That’s not a question, but thank you! Buy me dinner some time? Maybe I’ll buy you dinner instead ;)

Q: Favorite food?

A: Apples. Or anything apple adjacent. Apple pie, apple fritters, apple cider, apple…okay I need to stop. You get the idea. I really, really like apples.

Q: Who are you into! Same gender, opposite gender, all of them…which one!

A: All of them! I don’t discriminate, the heart wants what the heart wants! And I tend to want a lot~

Q: So that means I have a chance at being your one and only?

A: I am a free spirit and I go where the winds take me! Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Being my dearly beloved? Certainly. Being my only though, not likely. Too much space in this heart of mine for just one person. But! Know that I have no less love for the people who I make that space for.

Q: So what do you stand for, really? What do you fight for? Why does Gale Amante carry those swords and swing them around?

A: A better future. Mine and my loved ones’ most of all - I’m selfish and a hedonist and I will be completely transparent about that! It just so happens that a better future for my loved ones is aligned with a better Ishgard, so that’s where a lot of my efforts go.

Q: Are you okay?

A: Nope! Never been a day in my life. And neither have you~

Q: Is the purple hair natural?

A: All natural baby. And the eyes too. I’m very proud of the color palette I have going on!

Whew, I got as many as I could but I gotta admit, I’ve had so many things asked that it would take ages to get through all of them. Feel free to keep sending though, I’ll gladly-

Crash

Gale's Life Goals:

It’s always the same setting.

“...n…gh…”

A long plain is laid out before you, a dense sheet of white blanketing the flatlands, no roads or trees in sight. It is nothing but ground, then suddenly a sharp dip down - an edge, a steep and merciless drop. You stand at the other edge…you always stand on the other edge. 

“...stening…me…?”

Behind you, jagged towers and peaks, Ishgardian in design, pierce the clouds - clouds that do not dare to even dream to reach the mountain you stand atop. Beneath you they look so small, insignificant compared to the ground you stand on. There are no other mountains, no hills that even consider keeping yours company. Yours is a solitary spire, and the daring monuments of your homeland stare at it in silence. In judgement. Never will they see the horrors wrought atop it - they stand too far and too low - but they will stand there all the same and moralize, and demonize, and idolize every drop of blood that will never stain their pure, white gloves. Even the snow, to its credit, often runs red.

And above you? Above you the heavens howl, and bite, and roar. Lightning flashes across the sky, onto the plains, and every flash is accompanied by a crack in the air - thunder makes its appearance announced and heralded no matter the day, no matter the place. The winds whistle and push - no, they rage - as snow is tossed across the air every which way you could imagine. But it isn’t enough to obscure the scene atop the mountain. It is never enough to obscure the scene. 

And somehow, impossibly so, it rains as it snows. The snow refuses to fall, caught in the wind’s serrated embrace. But the rain is not so easily swayed. The downpour is torrential, every droplet that splashes across your skin is stinging. Freezing. And in the darkness of the night, only the constant ghosts of levin painting the sky serve as a candle to your arduous journey towards the center of the plains. Levin and…

“I said enough!!! Jeez, you’re so stubborn. Same setting, blah blah blah…you ever try just sleeping better?”

The storm dissipates. The skies clear, and while it is still dark, the stars and the moon seem to grace you this fine evening. The mountain is still. There is no fighting, there are no bodies. No scent of iron and soot in the air, no cries of pain and death and suffering. It is peaceful, it is quiet. It is you, standing on this lonely mountain alone.

“Oi, what am I to you, chopped liver? I am right here! ‘Standing on this lonely mountain alone’ - where did all your manners go?!”

…you and that voice. The voice of a child. A child that stands right in front of you. Long, purple hair, piercing amber eyes, their arms folded together. They tap their foot repeatedly, giving you a withering look. They look…familiar. They look just like…

“Like you? Once upon a time yeah, but you cut your hair! I mean…it doesn’t look bad I guess, but you used to grow it out all the time. No one’s allowed to touch it or cut it, except for-”

“-one inch trims to keep it neat, and to prevent split ends. And always remember to use the proper product and always take care of your hair, use conditioner if you can. If you look good, you’ll feel good too.”

You laugh, and so does the kid before you. You shake your head and grin at the figure, and they grin at you in turn. Their stance softens, and one of their hands moves down to their hip, the other plucks a bottle of apple cider out from thin air. Non-alcoholic, of course. Your little friend pops it open and takes a sip of it, before conjuring another bottle and passing it to you. You move your left arm forward to take it from them…or you try to anyway. You form the thought, you will it to move, but it does not budge. The child looks at you with a frown, placing their bottle down in the air - where a table appears to hold it. Gracefully, they procure a mirror and hold it out to you. You look…

“A little haggard, sorry. Um…I guess you forgot to follow your own advice huh?”

Haggard is the right word. Your hair is pale and messy. The bags under your eyes run deeper than they ever have before, and the look on your face is…exhausted. To put it kindly.

“Hey, for what it’s worth? It’s a good color. Really! But you haven’t really been taking good care of yourself lately, you know. I know times are tough, but you’re the one always telling others to take care of themselves. So take your own advice some time, okay?”

They scratch the back of their head, looking a little embarrassed.

“Sorry. I went on about manners, but I didn’t introduce myself, did I? Galenaire de Amante, it’s a real pleasure to meet you! Or um, I guess Galenaire’s de Amante’s Hope. And since you’re Gale, I guess that just makes me Hope to you, huh?”

Hope holds their hand out for you - you have to take a knee in order to give them a handshake. They laugh, a little sparkle in their eyes as they do so.

“We really get this tall, huh? It’s crazy to think about when you’re used to being a munchkin like this. I’m not complaining though, having a little height is nice. Okay, maybe it’s real nice. Anyway…do you mind following me?”

Hope turns around, towards the middle of the mountain, and holds their hand up again. Presumably this time, so you can hold onto it and they can lead you somewhere. Of course, naturally you do so. How could you not acquiesce to the requests of such an adorable little creature?

The child smiles, happily nodding their head as they lead you through the snowy fields. Strangely enough, something comes into your vision. Something familiar to you, and unfamiliar to this place. 

It’s home. The house of House Amante.

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

Hope leads you in. And it’s…it’s…

“Like it used to be, huh? Yeah, I know, right? Take your time, it’s um…it might be a lot to take in right now.”

It is. It’s…hard for you to look at all them, but they’re all here. Friends, family, loved ones you’d lost over the years. All of them. Smiling, laughing, sitting around the fire and making merry. It’s a sight you haven’t seen in a long, long time. A sight that you never thought you’d see again…not even in your wildest dreams.

It’s almost too much to bear. You feel tears begin to well up in your eyes, that stinging-numbing feeling in your chest begins to surface - that feeling you lock away every morning before it drowns you in emotion and pulls you back into the sheets of your bed to waste the rest of the day away.

But you’re broken from your trance. By a little hand that pulls at the hem of your dress. Hope looks at you with concern. With kind eyes, and a warm, sad smile. They pull your hand away, leading you down the hall to a quiet room. To your room, in fact.

“Hey…take your time, okay? Memories can be painful. In fact, I know they’re painful for you. So…take a breath. I can do your hair for you while you do that! Here, sit…sit! If you look better, maybe you’ll feel better about seeing them!”

“I don’t want to see them.”

Hope clicks their tongue - the same way you would - in a very irritated fashion even as you sit down on the edge of your bed. The little ‘you’ scampers around the side and climbs up the edge, taking a seat behind you and immediately getting to work on your ghastly tangle you call hair.

“Bullshit.”

When the hells were you such a potty-no wait, that checks out. You’re a pottymouth. You narrow your eyes as you look over your shoulder, giving Hope an irritated look.

“You heard me. I’m calling bullshit. Gale…I know you. I know everything you love, everything you hate. And you’ve got really few things you love, and really few things you hate. You love your family and your friends, and you love clothes. You hate betrayal, and you really…really hate yourself.”

That feeling in your chest was indicative of that. Wasn’t it?

“But you don’t…really hate yourself. Do you? I mean, you try to take care of yourself, and you reach out and make friends. Even with all the bad stuff that’s happened to you. I don’t think that’s what a person who hates themself does. I don’t think you really know yourself.”

“So what do you think then, Hope? Because I’m ready to give up on ever having a normal, peaceful life. I’m never going to be able to go back to it after everything. After losing them. After failing them so, so…”

“See? That’s what I mean. You don’t really hate yourself. But you miss them. You feel like you failed them. And you wish you could see them again, and that they’d scream at you and tell them that you failed them because you want to hear it from someone else. Because it needs to be real. But now that you see them all happy and smiling…it’s hard, right? Because it’s scary to think that…maybe you shouldn’t be hated? It’s scarier because deep down, you’re always hoping you should be loved instead. And you don’t really think you deserve it.”

Hope lets go of your hair, then they scoot over to your side

“All done. I’m not…saying you should go now. But you should go sometime and see them, talk to them.

Now that you get a good look at the kid, they really are your spitting image. But…they’re dirty. There’s soot or muck on their face, their hair is all tangled - with ice and thorns sticking poking through the fuzz. Lots of dust and rocks on their clothes, like they were buried under rubble. And yet, there’s still a smile on their face. An encouraging, loving, hopeful smile. You begin to sift through their hair, plucking the thorns out. Even if it hurts. Even if it cuts you and makes your fingers bleed.

“Hehe…thanks Gale. I don’t remember the last time you decided to um…take care of me. But I don’t hate you! I know it’s not on purpose, I know you’re just trying to protect your heart. But maybe the way you’ve been going about it is all wrong. I can help you, you know, don’t need to bury me under all the ice and the stone and the thorns. You can…be hopeful. And you can look back at your memories and smile too. You just need to be willing to try.”

The little child you suddenly throws their arms around your midsection, burying their face in your stomach.

“Just…remember. Remember that I’m always here for you, okay? And that I’ll never hate you, and that I just want the best for you. Because you deserve better. Always. This is your mountain, but it’s mine too. You’re not alone.”

And how could you not embrace the lovable bundle of joy beneath you? It goes against everything you stand for to let a child feel unloved. It’s repulsive. They all deserve to be loved and protected. They all deserve a better, and brighter future. 

“And that means you too, idiot. You deserve all of that.”

The voice doesn’t come from you. And it doesn’t come from Hope. Your eyes shift to the door, and a figure stands at the entrance. A familiar one, one that fills your heart with warmth and joy. Messy red hair, freckles, and amber eyes. There’s an amused look on her face.

“They’re servin’ apple pie, love. You keep pissin’ about, they’re bound t’ run out!”

Immediately, Hope leaps out of your embrace - much to your surprise - and sprints to the doorway, excitedly hopping about. Notably, the dirt seemed to have disappeared from them. Celica laughs at this, and begins to ruffle Hope’s hair nonstop, much to their chagrin.

“Oi, oi! Stop stop, Gale just fixed that!!! I haven’t had neat hair in years, don’t ruin it now! And you’re keeping me from the pie!!!”

“Your fault for bein’ so damn adorable! Fine, I’ll get you t’ your pie real quick-like…like this!”

She scoops Hope off their feet and places them on her shoulders. You can’t help but laugh in turn, shaking your head at the sight. You’re laughing, they’re laughing, and that weight in your chest…seems to disappear. Celica looks at you, then jerks her head to point at the hallway.

“Don’t keep us waitin’ Gale. ‘else your cousin might spill all your embarrassin’ stories without you t’ defend yourself.”

She leaves with Hope in tow, and you wave them goodbye. After a few moments, you stand and walk towards your mirror.

Nearly there.

You’re out of breath. But you’re nearly there. Damn crew botched that job - carriage robberies are baby’s first steps. Fucking jumpy greenhorns…you should probably make a mental note not to give the newbies guns. Then again? Not your crew, not your fault. Yeah…that’s right. You’re clever, and you’re fucking sensible. This wasn’t on you.

Lucky you’re so smart too - making off with the chest while those idiots were killing each other. No one saw you either…yeah, no one saw you! You can catch a ship over at Vesper Bay, find a buyer, and be set for life. Right, just like you planned. Use them to distract all the guards and make off with the treasure alone, no splits. Couldn’t have planned it better - maybe you should get another crew! And some more greenhorns to uh…mentor. Hehe…

Then you hear it. A loud bang - a boom even. Like a cannon. That’s not good, were they fighting at Vesper Bay? Who fires on a port like that? And…why was it from the opposite direction of the port? And why was there a sharp hissing

Thwack.

An arrow lands at your feet. An obscenely large one at that. And it was…glowing? Uh oh, that probably means you should-

Kabwoom!

——————————————————————————————————

A red-haired elezen with a tricorne stands atop one of Thanalan’s many hills, enjoying the desert wind and the smell of fresh - if not sandy - air. She takes a deep breath, before sighing in satisfaction, smiling to herself at what a beautiful day this was. With a muscular, tattooed arm, she removes her hat, tossing it on the little grass that had decided to grow atop the dirt. She picks up a metal tumbler labeled “Ishgard’s #1 Archer” and unscrews the lid, taking a sip of her very refreshing iced coffee. 

She squints as she sees something - someone running, and sorely in need of a breath. She cants her head, curious as to what the figure was doing as they decided to take a very quick break, leaning against a rock.

It was at this point that her linkpearl went off.

“Hell~o you’re hailing Salem’s Sexy Services, you’re speaking to Salem. How can I fuck up your day?”

“Hm? Oh Shizuka, hey! Yeah I’m in the area, taking a nice day off from an~y sort of work though, so if you need something done - sorry this is a scheduling session only.”

“Did I see…oh yeah, just saw em actually. They’re catching their breath by the road right now, think they’re headed to Vesper Bay? Oh no shit, stole something from a convoy? That’s fucking whack. Anyway, not my pro-okay hey look, I said today’s my day off right? That means no work! Look, you want me to do anything, you pay triple like everyone else has to. I can’t make exceptions Snow, it’s bad business! Oh, looks like they’re moving again. A hundred yalms, hundred ten, hundred twenty…you know I’ve only got limited range right? By the time they get to two hundred it’s out of my-oi are you…”

“...argh, okay okay! Jeez I can see the puppy dog eyes burned into my brain from here. Okay okay, it’s important to you. I’ll take care of it yeah? So don’t…don’t cry, it’s for the kids I get it, I’m taking it seriously. Okay bye, you need to let me focus, one second."

The woman named Salem pinches the bridge of her nose before taking the obscenely large eastern styled bow she had lovingly left on a mat on the ground, before nocking an arrow. She takes aim…hundred and eighty, hundred and nighty, two hundred yalms…

The tips of her fingers ignite as she pulls back the drawstring, grinning as she points the arrow ahead of her target. Two hundred was a lie, a negotiating tactic. Two hundred was basic. Baby’s first steps.

Salem looses the arrow, an explosion helping propel the arrow from her drawstring, before she sets her bow down, not even bothering to check her mark. She takes a long sip from her tumbler, before calling Shizuka back.

Hi there! Yes, you. You’ve probably been following for a bit now. I hope you’re okay? It gets a little depressing here sometimes - pretty often honestly. I suppose it comes with the job…not an easy one, but someone’s gotta do it right?

…hey hey! Don’t ruffle my hair, or call me kiddo! You know how much work I put into keeping it all neat and pretty? I put a lot of thought and effort into my appearance you know! Purple isn’t always easy to work into an outfit.

Huh? Who am I? Oh…I’m Hope. Gale’s Hope.

Yeah yeah I hear you, hard to believe that isn’t a hopeless case right? You’ve been following for almost a moon now I bet, seeing inside and outside and everywhere about Gale. Probably think you know them well by now. Maybe. Maybe! But uh…maybe not well enough? A moon’s not a lot of time to know Gale and just…just know that…

Look. I get it. They’re melancholic. And violent. And vengeful and…pretty unhinged, yeah. And they’ve got a lot of problems. But they’re trying. Little by little. They gotta deal with the…everything. All the heartache and the fighting and the thing with their condition…like yeesh! How do you even navigate through all that? And the whole “Power is a tool and amoral in nature.” and “I’ll leave the long term planning to everyone else and focus on what I can do now.” and the “Which one of you jesters spilled wine on my dress?!” and…and…

Where was I?

Right…right! Hope! Um…yeah, they’re all of those things, sure. But there’s a hopeful heart in there, you know? It’s buried under all the layers - they like to do that, keep their heart of heart under wraps. But it’s there I swear. And it gets mired in all the filth and the grime of the world, and often they muck it up all by themself to try and convince them it’s not there. But at the end of the day?

I’m here.

And I’ll always be here. Gale’s Hope. Yeah I’m tiny compared to them, compared to you. But I’m here. And no matter how hard it gets, no matter how muddy the road gets, no matter how bloody the path is, and no matter how stormy the skies are? I’ll be there for Gale, now and forever. 

So if you’re worried about them? About what’s going to happen? Don’t be. They’re in good hands, and I’m not going anywhere. It’s my job after all. And us Amantes…we take our jobs real serious like. And I’m not Gale’s Hope Amante for nothing! Eugh. I hope I can figure a better name out than that…

…. …. .. ..

No no no…busy busy. No time for that.

Time for what? For that of course, you know what it is, I mean you’re…you. No time for that. There’s so much to do, so many threads to follow. So many loose ends to tie up, I have a duty to fulfill after all. Still have to take care of my mother, and follow up on the other houses. And I need to give Gale my notes, the web goes further than we thought. And I need to figure out the specifics of the wedding this spring-oh Fury my dress! Gale cannot see that, not supposed to see it before it and…Twelve they are going to nitpick every detail at the altar aren’t they? And I need to feed…I need to…

….. 

.. .. …. … … .. ..

. .. …..  ….. . ..

… … …. .. ….. .. … ..

What? No…don’t be ridiculous. I’m still here, aren’t I? True enough I’ve always been prone to injury but…I always bounce back quickly. It’s why I’ve always been so successful on the field. Easy to break, but quick to put back together you know? Pull me out of one battlefield, give me my sword and shield back and stick me into another one, ready to do Halone’s will. And I am ready, I am willing and I am able to do that. I’m useful, truly! I can do good, I am doing good. There are yet lives to save and…

……  … … ……. ….. .. … …..  … ….. …. … ….

…    ….. …. … …. .. ….. …….

… ….. … … .. .. … …….?

But I…I can’t. I’ve made a mess of things. I’ve left it all unfinished. What about Gale?! I can’t leave them! I’ve made a mess of their life and I’ve caused them so…so much trouble. Gods…I’ve made them more miserable than even the Holy See has. What have I done? What have I done?! And now I…now you’re telling me to leave them? After all I’ve done? The least I can do is stick around so they can yell at me! The least I can do is answer for everything that I’ve done! They deserve the time to scream, to shout, to punch and kick and hate me! 

I…I can’t be dying. I can’t. I have to be there for them. Whatever happens. To the bitter end. I made them promise! And I…I wouldn’t make them promise anything I wouldn’t do. So that means I have to do it, it’s a knight’s oath. I don’t break my oaths I…

……  …. ….  … …. …. …. ….. … …. …..

… …    .. .. … …

… … …… …. ….

.. … …… …

I…I’m afraid.

For Gale. How are they going to make it without me? There are so many out there…scavengers swarming, waiting to make carrion out of them. I won’t be around to protect them anymore. I can’t clear their path. I can’t be their shield. 

I can’t be their comfort.

.. … ….. ….?

What? Of course! More than anyone else in the world.

…. …. …. .. ….

…. …….. … ….. …

…I’m sorry Gale. I wanted to grow old with you. Fight and die alongside you. Forever be frustrated with you. Loved you, kissed you. Protected you.

……. ….. ….. …… ….?

….. …. … … ……… …..

I…I suppose you’re right. Then…maybe I can smile. And be happy.

I think…I won’t be so busy anymore from here on out.

Can you please just give me a few more moments. So I can say goodbye?

Of course. I’ll give you as long as you need.

——————————————————————————————————

“...cien”

“Lu…en”

“Lucien!”

I feel something warm on my skin, on my stomach. Was that…a sword? Two? Why wasn’t it painful?

“Hey…hey! Wake up, stay with me sweetheart, okay? You…you lost a lot of blood but I have some potions left. Just stay awake. Because…b-because um…s-s-sideffects if y-you’re asleep. Y-yeah!”

It’s cold. I never really liked the cold here Coerthas. In Ishgard. 

A little warm on my face…what’s that on my cheeks?

…oh. Gale. Crying? I can’t have that.

“Is…that…you, Gale?”

“Ah…uh, y-yes! Yes it’s me Lucien. I’m here, I-I’m here!”

“Can you…come closer? Finding it…difficult. To be loud.”

“N-nonsense, Lucien y-you should really rest hahaha…i-it’s for your own good, recovery. So don’t worry, I-I’ll take care of everything you just rest a-and keep your eyes-”

“Gale.”

I hate cutting them off. But they talk too much sometimes. I want to hear them, but they always get up in their own head. Especially when it comes to goodbyes. They hate goodbyes.

“...yeah. Lucien. I’m here.”

“Good…good. Listen, for me…please?”

Ah…that’s better, I can see them. Did I take a dive in the snow? So…cold. But I guess…it’s not so bad when they lean in to kiss me like that. Their kiss is warm, and their embrace. Always so warm…

“I’ve gotten…many things wrong. In my life.”

“But here, at…at the end…”

“It’s not the-”

“Here…Gale. At the end…with…you?”

“I’ve never been so…happy…”

“To be wrong…about my purpose…”

“And to be right…about you…”

I raise my hand and hold their cheek, and I give them a smile. How happy I am to know…that they’re okay. I don’t remember my arm being so heavy.

“Learn…to smile again. No more tears.”

“I always loved seeing you smile."

I feel their hand on mine. I…

CANTO IV: I walked thousands of miles and to the ends of the earth…

Am I…alive?

What was the last thing that…ah, right. 

They ran us through. 

……………….

Looks like I still have an out. Yeah, look at that. A chance to slip away.

But they’re still there, cradling us. I…wonder. 

I was Lucien’s shadow.

Now that I look at them closer, not a very appetizing looking meal. Full of memories for certain but the aether it’s…

Wrong. Damaged. No. Damaged presumes that something caused this, that this is an injury. It looks…and it smells…what is the word? 

Natural. Pre-existing. It did not become, it just is. 

Strange then, that we lost to this one. This purple haired upstart. The blonde had promise, much promise and yet…we lost. I lost my bet. How is it that a half-stitched, patchwork job of a life managed to unravel my host? They were practically unravelling at the seams.

…ah. I see. That gives me an idea.

CANTO V: …and yet as I turned, I found that I could not shake my shadow.

I will spare you the evocative details, for I tire. I will instead tell you what happened.

I escaped from Lucien’s body. The purple one - the one he always called beloved…or Gale - drew steel as they saw me. And they took a flask to their lips and drank. I think it was for the pain - the gash we left in their side would have been very painful to a person. Then, with a horrific scream they rushed me. And I dodged, and I parried, and I struck. But no matter what I did, I could not gain ground, I could not win. Their katanas against mine. Me! And yet somehow I could not win. Nor could I lose.

So I proposed a deal. That I was to be their shadow, and in exchange they could live. I would teach them to live, to be more thread to hold their patchwork pieces together. And I proposed that I be given control every now and then, I would not do anything drastic.

This was a lie of course. I was going to devour them.

Yet, curiously enough, I could not win my duel. Not in blades, not in words. I knew they were dying. They knew I was dying. And they knew I didn’t want to fade away. So they made the same deal, but under their rules. No control for me, not unless it was an emergency. No devouring what was off limits, and boy did they list down what was off limits. 

What was a fiend to do? Even we need to eat.

So I snaked past them, into the darkness, into their shadow. Misconception, I did not enter their shadow. I became it. I could - I would play along for now. For a long time perhaps, it might be entertaining. I was promised the world, sights, and memories by the blonde. Maybe this one - this Gale - could do better.

CANTO I: My Dearest Gale.

“Gale. I want you to promise me something.”

“That no matter what happens…”

“You will always be with me. Until the bitter end.”

——————————————————————————————————

It was snowing.

Why was it always snowing? Whenever something happens, it’s always snowing.

Was it a gift? So I would always know when to brace myself?

Or was it a curse? So I would always know when to brace myself?

Every gift that has been given to me has also been a curse.

And I wonder sometimes…

Is my life a gift? Or is it a curse?

How cruel then that I was never given the opportunity to brace myself.

——————————————————————————————————

CANTO II: My Dearest, Gale.

There he stood. In the middle of the snowfields - away from the city, away from the households that dotted Coerthas. He was alone, like he had always been. His pale gold hair flowed gently in the breeze, light bouncing off the surface of his shield and into the ground. He was in his armor - red, black, and gold - his back turned to me. Unceasingly his gaze was fixed upon a pillar, unmoving, unspeaking, unflinching. Though I suppose gaze was incorrect as his eyes were shut - his reflection told me as much. 

“Gale. I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

Lucien.

Of course, he knew I was here. The only one who could ever tell if I had arrived or if I had left. If I was present or if I was absent. Preternatural - but then again - so was the rest of our relationship. There were two possibilities of him being here. Two possibilities and I could not accept one. Only the other.

“I’m late, aren’t I? Or you’re early. Well the important part is that we’re both here. So why don’t we get this show on the road and find out where-”

“Stop.”

And so my footsteps stop. And he turns around slowly and he opens his eyes. And they’re cold. And dead. Those swirling amethyst eyes of his were like…a vortex. A maelstrom that sucked the light and life out from the world around us. A freezing pit that drew what little heat there was from the air and left me chilled to the bone.

I could not accept one.

“You aren’t stupid, you’re playing stupid. You know why we are here.” He takes one step forward. My heart beats once. “You have always been perfectly…infuriatingly brilliant. Too smart for your own good, too clever for the court. You and your whole family. Even when you are cornered the walls themselves seem to reshape in your favor.” He draws his sword. He draws it, and he quietly points it at me.

“You have a funny sense of humor. I enjoy our duels Lucien, but this isn’t the time. With the info we found this is where we should start searching for-” 

I don’t get to finish my sentence. Lucien’s blade cuts through the air and a wave of water rushes across the field, slicing the snow at my feet to reveal the dirt buried underneath. All of a sudden, it became much harder to breathe.

“You’re here to tie up loose ends. To snip every last thread. To kill every last person who was responsible for the deaths of your family and of mine. And I’m the only one here. Put two and two together, you’re better than that.” 

I didn’t need permission to do that. I’d put two and two together long ago. But I wanted to hear it from him. I wanted to look him in the eye and hear him say it and I…

I didn’t like it. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be feeling. A combination of my blood boiling and icing over like…a frozen spring? No - like freezing flame. It was a storm of frost and flame roiling within my veins, racing back to my heart in a struggle to wrest control over my emotions. To scream, or to cry. I felt like doing both. I drew both blades.

“Why.”

It was the only thing I could ask. I swallowed, and it went down hard. I felt my throat tighten, I felt my face flatten into steel. I felt everything except grief leave my body.

“Because your family, my family…we’re all heretics. We are all blights on this land, and the only way we can atone and be welcomed back in Halone’s embrace is if we die in her service. We were all stained. Someone needs to clean it up.”

“That…wasn’t for you to decide. That wasn’t for you to decide! They weren’t perfect but they were good, loving people. They welcomed you, with open arms they took you in. They…you…they loved you. Like a son, a grandson, a brother. I love you. So what if we stray from the Church’s path? The Church was lost! We were all lost! I thought…I thought you of all people would see that.

“Then you were a fool. You all were. There is nothing that I will not do to see that justice is served. To anyone and to everyone. I will…purge our country of the rot that has infested it. One person at a time. By any means necessary.”

I grit my teeth. And I lower my stance. And narrow my eyes, and I…seal my heart. In a wall of flaming frost. Isolated, and alone. Just as it should be.

A deep, unfathomable darkness takes hold of Lucien, an unending void of shadow seeps from his form and envelopes him. A helmet grows from his circlet and obscures his face, and his blade is shrouded in a horrible current of water the color of the abyss. A second sword appears next to his shield, and a second shield appears next to his sword - held by ghostly limbs. 

A voidsent.

He barely gives me time to think about it as he rushes towards me and I to him. Lucien slashes one sword and I parry it away, but just as soon as he does that another comes from the opposite direction. Again I swat it away but one of his shields comes crashing into my stomach and throwing me back. I gasp for breath as the wind is knocked out of me and Lucien rushes me down again. It takes every last bit of strength I have to pull myself together and roll to my left, narrowly avoiding a ravenous pillar of aether land right where my head just was. 

“I’ve never been able to beat you in a fair fight, so I am not leaving any chances. If you don’t get your head into this duel and give me the respect I deserve then I will take your head myself. You will die just like your family did.”

I don’t know how loudly I shrieked, but it must have been loud because my throat was crying out in protest afterward. I channel a blast of lightning from one of my swords right at him, which is eaten by the waters that wreath his own. I take advantage of the moment to dash towards him, covering my approach with another bolt of levin which he absorbs with one of his shields. I aim for his throat and for his ribs from opposing directions, which he blocks with his arsenal. The screeching of metal grinding against metal filling the air. 

As our weapons clash momentarily, I allow my arms to go slack, and he loses his balance for a moment as I dart behind him. I sweep a leg under his and he trips and falls to the ground. With a yell I thrust my katana towards Lucien - only for him to bring his shield to bear and knock my strike away. Continue to hack away at the man on the ground, only for him to block and parry every blow with all four of the limbs he had readied. Our fight is savage and wild, much unlike the grace and care of our dances.

I get sloppy. I get carried away. I put too much in my swing and he rolls to the side, cutting horizontally slicing deep into my side. Blood splashes across the snow, but I feel nothing. Adrenaline perhaps. I don’t know. I don’t think I really felt anything since going into this duel. Anger, grief. But it’s all hollowed out.

Again I run at him. I quicken my pace, I change my tactics. I dip in and out of his reach as he attempts to catch me with water and shadow, slicing the snow at my feet. Sometimes behind me, sometimes in front of me, but he never hits me again as I make little nicks on his legs, his arms, his hands. Slow him down while I speed up, ignoring whatever pain was in my side. I see my blood flow into the spaces where the snow had been displaced. Dark red.

It’s a haze to me. Whenever I fight like this. Like a wild animal, when I let my instincts take hold. It’s all just shapes that I need to get rid of, movement that I need to stop. 

Then I see it, the opening. He charges…something. I can see it, feel it. Aether coalescing between all four of his armaments. So I run. Faster than I’d ever run before. A torrent of shadow and water mix and grow and grow and grow, but I don’t care. With a deep breath, I leap forward with both of my blades outstretched.

There is a sickening sound of flesh tearing, bones breaking. And the crunch of snow as we both fall to the ground.

——————————————————————————————————

CANTO III: My Dearest…Gale.

“Gale. I…I want you to promise me something.”

“That…no matter…what has happened…

“You will stay…with me. Until…the bitter end…”

My Dearest Gale. In another life I would have loved to grow old with you.

My Dearest, Gale. In another life, I would have loved to be forever frustrated by you.

My Dearest…Gale. In this life? I am glad to die beside you.

“Galenaire de Amante, it’s a real pleasure to meet you. Hey! Don’t ruffle my hair because I’m small…”

“Galenaire de Amante, a pleasure to meet you. Huh? Young master or young mistress? Hummm…does it matter?”

“Galenaire de Amante, a pleasure. My friends call me Gale for short. Hm? I disagree, I don’t think this is too immodest for a lady. Besides, who said I was a lady?” 

“Galenaire de Amante, a pleasure~ I do prefer Gale, though. What was tha…ah. I see. Those are some grievous accusations about my family. By the way, shall I report to the Holy See that you were sighted crossing into Dravania the other week, day after the blizzard? What was that? Oh no, it was an associate of House Durendaire that witnessed it actually. Oh…but I’m sure The Tribunal will give you a fair hearing, your words against House Durendaire’s.“

“Galenaire de Amante, a pleasure~ Please, call me Gale though. No, I don’t think I care very much for your advice actually, I’ll decide what I say and how I say it. Unless of course, you fix your horrible fashion sense - you’re dressed like a half shaven chocobo that got drenched in tar and ran halfway through the Coerthan snowfields before tripping over and falling into a pile of dragon dung.”

To whoever's been following my saga, hi there! Firstly, I want to say I appreciate you, it's heartwarming that people think my writing is worth reading so for that I humbly thank you <33333

CW: very light mentions of transphobia, otherwise this is a very soft, warm piece.

If you'd like to hear some warmth as you read, click here.

Some music to keep you company on this journey.

It’s always the same setting.

A long plain is laid out before you, a dense sheet of white blanketing the flatlands, no roads or trees in sight. It is nothing but ground, then suddenly a sharp dip down - an edge, a steep and merciless drop. You stand at the other edge…you always stand on the other edge. 

Behind you, jagged towers and peaks, Ishgardian in design, pierce the clouds - clouds that do not dare to even dream to reach the mountain you stand atop. Beneath you they look so small, insignificant compared to the ground you stand on. There are no other mountains, no hills that even consider keeping yours company. Yours is a solitary spire, and the daring monuments of your homeland stare at it in silence. In judgement. Never will they see the horrors wrought atop it - they stand too far and too low - but they will stand there all the same and moralize, and demonize, and idolize every drop of blood that will never stain their pure, white gloves. Even the snow, to its credit, often runs red.

And above you? Above you the heavens howl, and bite, and roar. Lightning flashes across the sky, onto the plains, and every flash is accompanied by a crack in the air - thunder makes its appearance announced and heralded no matter the day, no matter the place. The winds whistle and push - no, they rage - as snow is tossed across the air every which way you could imagine. But it isn’t enough to obscure the scene atop the mountain. It is never enough to obscure the scene. 

And somehow, impossibly so, it rains as it snows. The snow refuses to fall, caught in the wind’s serrated embrace. But the rain is not so easily swayed. The downpour is torrential, every droplet that splashes across your skin is stinging. Freezing. And in the darkness of the night, only the constant ghosts of levin painting the sky serve as a candle to your arduous journey towards the center of the plains. Levin and…

Dragonfire.

Snow and ice crunch under your boot, your twin swords sitting quietly on your waist. The air smells of iron, and soot. It smells acrid - of charred flesh and…pleasant almost. Of a freshly roasted spit. It would have been pitch black, but all the lightning streaking the sky and the sea of flames melting the snow which constantly freezes over once more is…more than enough. You can see it all. The sounds of battle. Steel on steel on keratin. Horrible, sickening sounds of bones snapping and talons tearing through flesh. Roars of great wyrms, battlecries of even greater warriors. Sometimes, you hear a familiar voice, see a familiar face. Always, it is drowned out by fire, by steel.

But you carry on. This mountain is violent, it is tragic, and it is repugnant and entrancing and it is maddening and-

It is your mountain all the same. Your mountain, their mountain. A mountain you had all scaled, with a path that you yet need to walk.

Over the years you’ve found that attempting to change any outcome here was futile. Save a life fated to be lost, and the mountain finds a way to smother it all the same. Take a life destined to swell into a putrid, revolting tumor…it will grow into a cancer either way. You are never fast enough to change anything here. They are all shades with a destiny that you cannot fight. Your blades were never good at cutting ghosts down anyway.

The few things you can fight are minor obstacles on your way forward. A squad of soldiers here, a dragon there. They charge you, hissing and leering and mocking your every pitiful movement. It used to weigh heavier on you - the accusations for your actions, for your crimes. Their blows used to knock you to the side, leaving you helpless for a sword to run you through, or flames to burn you to ash. Over the years, it’s all become numb. Light. Being rid of them was like sweeping ants into a drain - an afterthought. Nothing would deter you from the path.

Then, like every night before, you see them. In a clearing opposite of you, the violence of the battle subdued behind an invisible wall. A line that none would dare cross.

Your fate, your destiny. Tall. Muscular but not bulging. Athletic. A face with sharp features but soft skin, prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes. Two swords at the waist - always two swords - well-kept hair the color of nightshade…and eyes of intense, soul-piercing amber. A figure that seemed as if they had been sculpted by the very gods of this land.

It's you. Staring directly at you. Alone on the mountain, it is only you.

You draw steel, and so do you. Your footsteps quicken, a walk turns to a jog turns to a sprint. Your bladestrokes are masterful artistry, your inspiration, this cursed mountain. Your canvas? You. Always you. A portrait always fading yet always painting, desperately trying to finish a piece that disappears as quickly as it is painted. You plant your foot firmly on the ground and dart right with blinding speed, twisting your arm to swing your katana towards your neck. But you’re too fast, and your blade catches your blow perfectly as steel comes flying towards your head.

And yet even caught by surprise, you’re too fast. You duck, and slash at your feet - which you respond to by jumping and stabbing down towards your exposed back. Barely you evade it, rolling to your side and kicking off of the frigid snow to land gracefully on your feet once more. Your blades spark and crackle as levin brings steel to life and you cry to Halone to give you strength as you blast you with a violent, unstable stream of lightning. You raise your blades to meet this blast, gritting your teeth as you dig your heels into the ground and hearing the shifting of snow and the shattering of ice as you are pushed back from the sheer force of the attack you had fired at you. As the stream finally dies out, you stretch your blades left and right, in opposite directions, redirecting the energy sent your way as anything and everything in your path is vaporized cruelly - swiftly.

The next few hours are a blur. You dodge, you lunge, you strike, and you parry. And every effort of yours is met with equal skill, equal force, equal ferocity by you. You feel yourself wearier with every motion, as does the mountain. Dragonfire turns to embers, the singing of steel becomes muted whimpers, and the only thing that continues to rage on is the ever-present storm above you. Around you. Within you.

You stop, and so do you. You sheathe your swords and take several steps back. Ever so slightly you bend as you place your hands on the hilts of your swords. You recognize this stance; you close your eyes and nod at you. A silent, grim understanding of this gesture, of the only way this could end. You open your eyes, resolve etched into your features.

You run. And you run, and you run, and you run. You run towards you, and as you come close enough to kiss your features, you draw your blades and release your breath, resigned to whatever the mountain has in store for you.

You stand there, inches away from your eternal rival, back turned. For a moment, you feel nothing. Then searing pain in your side…you had won it seemed. And yet even as your knees begin to weaken, you hear a thud behind you. You had fallen. Blood drips from where you had been struck…yet it also seeps from your blades. You fall to the ground.

The snow is freezing, and you have naught the strength to stand. The battle had died before you did, dragons and men long dead, pure white now painted a morbid stench of crimson. 

You will die with only yourself on this mountain.

But…

You will not die alone.

You drag your aching form, even as your vision blurs and you can no longer recognize where the pain comes from your body. You cannot die alone. You will not die alone. You crawl towards you - the other you - their face despondent and broken. You refuse to let them die alone on this mountain, on your mountain. With every last drop of strength in your blessed cursed body you fight death itself off as you reach their body. 

It is cold on this mountain. But for just a moment, perhaps you may find warmth in yourself. In the moments between the fighting, a little warmth to lift the chill deep in your heart.

You look the other Gale in the eye. You’ve never spoken a word to them, but they understand as you press your foreheads against each other and close your eyes. You have lost everything once before…but in this moment, at least, you are reunited with yourself.

“And you’re certain this is where he is?”

“Positive. Remember the party we were at the other week?”

“Mmm…I think I might. I do remember you were very clingy after I left you-”

“Alright you insufferable know-it-all, you’re clever, we get it.”

“Ahahaha! I do so love it when you fluster like that. But yes I do remember.”

“Right, well. Fortunately for you, I used that as leverage. On good authority that we’ll find the man holed up in there.”

“Not very glamorous for ‘a true highborn heir’, no?”

“The only thing he’s a true heir to is his father’s ‘highborn’ forehead.”

Gale covers their mouth with a hand, struggling not to burst into laughter. The duo continue through the snows of Coerthas, a wry smile spreading across Lucien’s face, clearly satisfied at the reaction they had drawn out from their betrothed. The knight rolls their head around, giving their neck a good stretch in the process. “Well you’d better be right. I don’t break out the nice outfits unless it’s for special occasions you know. You’d better not have made me put this on for nothing!”

Exasperated, the heir Charny sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are impossible, you know that? Only you’d be able to joke like that at a time like this.” The heir Amante responds in kind with a laugh. “Oh you act like that, but you love my adorable little antics, don’t you?” The knight rolls his eyes…but the grin on his face betrays his facade. “You are impossible to argue with.

The pair come up to an old, dilapidated building. There didn’t seem to be anyone outside, and upon entering, even the main floor was empty. The scent of trap permeated the air, a stench that, ironically, smelled of nothing. Which was the most suspicious part. This was an old building, why was it devoid of the smell of mold or rotten wood? It didn’t make sense.

“Gale, if I die here-”

“I know, I know. Remains to be buried in that nice spot with the flowers.”

“Right. Not that I plan to but-”

“Just save me a spot next to you too. You’re not getting off that easy.”

Gale plants a kiss on Lucien’s cheek, and all the tension in his shoulders seems to dissipate. “I suppose not. Come, we’ll check the basement.”

The duo descends into the bowels of this old, abandoned home. As they reach the bottom and step through the doorway, a crossbow bolt immediately embeds itself on the way next to Gale’s head. “Oh hoh! My kind of party!” The swordsman exclaims, dashing forward to return the favor to the archer. They only stop as they realize that there are half a dozen people circling this room, and a mixture of spells and bolts are flung their way. Lucien charges forward, placing his shield up to block a particularly nasty fireball from hitting Gale. They were surrounded.

“Gale, corkscrew!” Lucien exclaims as he clashes swords with a hooded figure, before kicking them away. Gale dances between two different targets, dueling the figures before Lucien calls for them. The elezen runs directly at Lucien, who holds his shield up. Gale jumps, kicks off of Lucien’s shield, angling a spin as they do so. Cutting several assailants up and sowing chaos into their ranks.

With glee, Gale fights on, laughing at the exertions of their opponents as they dance about the room. “Yes, yes, that’s it! Now I’m your prey, so you’d best start acting like it.” Lucien begrudgingly cracks a smile as they hurl their beloved into a group of would-be assassins. “I think any creature would be hard pressed to hunt you, love. Tankard, by the way.” He says, before getting out of the way of a lunging lancer, before bashing her over the skull with his shield.

“No prey here you guys. No prey but you.”

The pair find themselves back-to-back, with nothing but their swords and the smiles on their faces.

“Okay, ready with my notes, I'm going to write down all the pertinent information while you feed aether.”

“Are you sure we took all the necessary precautions? No steps, no details missed?”

“I’m positive love, I double-triple-checked everything. Now, what attempt are we on?”

“Forty-nine. We got all the ratios correct, the appropriate materials, ingredients? We missed nothing this time around?”

“Attempt forty-nine…yes Silvano, I am a very meticulous person.”

“I just think that-”

“My beloved husband, I know you are nervous. But your hair is going to turn as white as mine if you keep fretting like that.”

“I…we’ve tried so many times already Hayate. What if we never get this right? What if we can never-”

The wolf-masked man places their journal and quill down, then silently, swiftly glides across the floor to meet their husband. The elezen named Silvano looks to his partner, and although his face is steely and calm, deep under that is fear and anxiety, pungent to those who could identify it. Hayate reaches up to Silvano’s hair, running their fingers through it, before whispering to him. “Faith, my love. It is trying, it is difficult. It is disappointing, and it is heartbreaking every time we fail. But I think I would be far more shattered if we gave up now, if we gave up at all. We have nothing to lose, and everything to gain, so…one more time. Please?” 

One of Hayate’s hands instinctively rests on the space just beneath their stomach.

Behind his glasses, Silvano’s eyes are a torrent of roiling emotions. And yet just the slightest lilt in Hayate’s voice was enough to calm even that. The smallest question in their happiness? Unacceptable. Anxiety and fear could take a walk through the lifestream for all he cared. He would not see Hayate a broken man. Not again. Not ever again.

“Go. To your notes.” The elezen pushes his beloved away, raises both his astrolabe and his free hand, aether coalescing at the tips of his fingers. “We will do this right. And if the process is wrong, then we start over. As many times as it takes.”

The hyur does as he is told, and beneath the mask, the wolf’s lips curl into a loving smile. “That’s the man I married. On your leave.”

Silvano does not say a word as he channels every ounce of his strength into his focus. He concentrates hard - as if his life depended on it. As the world itself depended on his efforts and his exertions. He breathes heavy, a bead of sweat dripping down his chin as his gaze is fixed on a container - a glass tank - that he had stared at under these conditions forty-eight times before.

Hayate inhales, and promptly forgets to breathe as his husband releases arcane energies into the container, light filling the room and illuminating the tank, revealing some…vague, twisted shape. The glow swells, filling the entire room as the mage’s breaths turn into grunts turn into screams. He empties his lungs in his exertions, a defiant cry to the world that had denied he and his beloved so much already. They watch him, his every movement, their beloved ball of anxiety transforming into a creature that threatened to split the heavens itself.

The light overwhelms all, a blinding cacophony of colors filling the room. The sound of glass cracking rings out into the air as winds whip wildly, notes being torn from their homes and alchemical equipment threatening to join soon after. Hayate abandons his journal in favor of holding an alembic down, when the tank completely shatters - the remnants of the container flying outwards into the air.

For a few seconds, steeped in magic the glass shards hang suspended in the air. They form a wing, magnificent and multicolored, before they fall to the ground.

The light fades, the wind ceases. Silvano falls to the ground, exhausted…yet all is now quiet and peaceful.

One, and two, and three, and turn.

“On your three. Switch.”

The scent of lavender leaves me. I watch them go, and another falls into my arms. But she doesn’t fit in there the same way they do. The spacing is wrong, the pacing is wrong. The balance is off, and there are no lavenders to greet my senses. There is no amber to meet my gaze. There is no wind - no Gale to still my soul.

It’s only temporary. It was common courtesy to switch partners often in the ballroom, strategically to the tempo of the music. Plan out every step so that at its peaks - at its conclusion? Your steps are intertwined once more. And sure enough, every dance we attended, we shared together. Every motion a calculated action on the battlefield to control the flow of combat - to make sure that you joined forces once more. Whenever you sent your scout out, there was always some anxiety, praying they would come back safe.

And sure enough, there they were. Just on time.

The scout returns. Gale slips into my space once more, with that infuriatingly smug expression of theirs. I would have chided them for manners if it wasn’t so cute. “So…” they began, their fingers gently pressing against my cheeks. Teasing, as always…but soothing. “It appears the house’s eldest daughter is woefully smitten. Classic storybook romance. Oh how sweet!” To the average onlooker, they seemed so genuinely delighted. And yet - I could see through them. Always. Window panes on a clear day. “I’m sensing a but in that sentence. Care to share?” 

“I’ve shared it with you countless times Lucien. Really? Here? In the middle of a crowded room? Mmm, I’ve become a bad influence on you darling~” Infuriating. Infuriating and…welcome. How could I resist that smile? Terrible, devious…and wonderful. “But since you asked so nicely…the betrothed is unfaithful. Normally that does genuinely break my heart to hear. But in this case…”

I raise my brows in surprise, and they nod slowly in response, the widest grin on their face. 

“It means we have leverage.”

I spin them.

“That is correct.”

Then I dip them.

“Which means we can get them off your back.”

“Correct again. Remind me, why haven’t I proposed to you yet?”

And I press my lips against theirs. In this pit of vipers, this sea of serpents, I had only eyes for theirs. Intense and frightening and furious. Halone be damned if we are witnessed! Compared to the dirt we had on half the people here, our reputations were as smooth and sterilized as the average nobleman’s brain. I drink deep, and so do they in turn. I hold Gale in my arms one…two…three seconds. Times three. Then switch.

I break the kiss and lose my fingers in their soft, silky hair. They wrap their arms around my neck, pressing their forehead to mine. My swordsman gazes into my eyes - an amber glow filling my vision and filling my heart. “You are impossible. And brilliant. Maybe if I’m in a good mood I will let you propose to me.”

I hated parties like these. And so did they. Anxiety inducing, and boring. They made me antsy, having to navigate the battlefield that was politics. I wasn’t bad at it, but I could never really feel at home with it. But some things helped..lavenders helped. They were the only things really that did that. The only thing that kept me…

“Hi handsome. Song’s over by the way.” It takes me a moment to process that. I don’t normally take so long to acknowledge something so trivial but- “You’re hopeless, you know that Lucien? Getting so distracted by me~ Don’t worry, I’ve figured it all out. We’ll talk to them tomorrow about all the trouble they’ve caused and discuss…compensation. In exchange for our silence and the trouble we could certainly cause.”

Gale loops their arms around mine, then presses the side of their body close to mind. They lead me off - back to the tables. There were lavenders in the air again, and a little wind to still my soul. For them? I would brave this battlefield any day.