Chosen by Light

It had been just over a month since Elior felt the biting Coerthan winds against his face, his heavy armor doing surprisingly little to keep the cold out. He marched into Camp Dragonhead, receiving wary looks from the Ishgardian knights scattered about, just as he had the first day he went there. Yet, he paid them no mind. The warm welcome given to him by Lord Haurchefant had been more than enough to make him feel like he could come and go as he pleased.

A lot had happened in such a short time; a lot had changed. Looking around the camp, he felt like he had entered a pocket of time that had stood still amidst the chaos. While he grappled with the Garlean threat outside, Ishgard continued at its own mysterious pace. It gave Elior a strange sense of unsettling relief. They hid from Eorzea’s problems, but at what cost to themselves?

Perhaps this was a subject to open to the lord when he would meet with him. The title Warrior of Light kept circling in his mind. It was now his responsibility to defend Eorzea, to call upon those who were capable of assistance—the Ishgardians included. The title was a heavy crown, one that felt, at times, utterly misplaced.

Elior approached the Fortemps knight who stood watch in front of Haurchefant’s office, giving the man a short bow. “I would like to speak with Lord Haurchefant, if he is available,” he said. The knight evidently recognized him and nodded, pushing the door open for him to enter.

“My Lord, the Warrior of Light is here to speak with you.”