𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘'𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐃 .

Private and selective G’raha Tia from Final Fantasy XIV. As portrayed by Castle.  /   Ask. Rules. About.   /  Please like / reblog if you’re interested in interacting! :) I’d love to check you all out!

yes triple triad and uwu killed me

without a warning, cora lifts a hand up to raha’s forehead, moving a strand of red hair from his face, carefully tucking it behind his ear. & even as she moves her hand back, she says nothing; simply smiles at him, encouraging him to continue talking as he did before.

​                                                   𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝  /  𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

These walls were accustom to the echoing reverb of his voice by this point. Even without proper knowledge of the topic at hand there were always speculations, theories, remnants and bits of the seldom knowledge he does know (typically from the plethora of books he has read, from the voices he’d eavesdrop upon) that he was eager to share, regardless of the fruitfulness — and who really knows what exactly could incite a burning lightbulb in ones head had he said just the right thing and just the sliver of that domino effect falling perfectly into place was thrilling enough for him. It’d take one hell of a force to really deter him whenever he went on about anything and everything all at once, so it comes as a complete shock to him when a hand so thoughtlessly brushes his hair back. His words trail off quieter, and quieter until they were nothing short of stutters — and all he can do is blink, his mouth parted. G’raha mouths the soundless implication that he was trying to find words still left in the air, yet nothing came from it. 

That sharp twinge of guilt still rung its chorus within the stirs of his chest, and in that moment he scarcely found the courage to meet her eyes, to be looked at and perceived as a window laid bare in humiliation and remorse. Still, it read plainly all over him  — the meek hunch of his back, his still warm with flesh hand wringing out the crystal in his other wrist, his ears now freely perched were limp. The Exar-- G’raha Tia, read like an open book.

He sighs the worry and feels that weight turn to air and he’s convinced it alleviates him, even if nothing had really changed. It was how pained she looked when his failed plan left him beaten and battered, alive, his presentation of self-sacrifice all for naught and now he’s left with the consequence and the stinging memory of her distress. He blinks the image away and finally clears his throat of the boulder that lodged his words from coming free.

Patience is what keeps Jahliqai at the infirmary bedside the few moons – silent, and beside himself with worry. It shows in the furrow of his brow – the way he gazes out the window to watch the sun rise or set… It’s subtle to those who know little of him, yet all the more apparent to those who do. But now, G’raha is awake – speaking of tomes and archives he’d poured over time and time again. It fills the silence Jahliqai brings with him, and today the energy within the once Exarch is almost infectious. Today, the furrow of Jahliqai’s brow is no longer there, and in the pause between ramblings, he cannot stop himself from chasing that quiet away too.

     “ You seem to be doing much better. “ (The cold body that clung to his back / the lull of dreaming eyes struggling in the wake of reality––) Jahliqai’s eye slips shut, and he hums to himself.

     “ …That’s good. “

There were several things that made this journey one of the hardest he has faced thus far. Long had he had seen through the eyes of his youth and long had he had felt what it meant to truly live as himself once more — a near century spent living as an extension of the Crystal Tower. He had forgotten what simple things had felt like, like the gnawing hunger that weighed like a bag of gravel in his stomach. Spending his energy in such simple ways was a newfound problem that had ceased to be an issue once he had sold himself to being a martyr of hope.

It was the company spent with others that made it all worth it. For a while he was bed bound until his muscles regained their strength, and amidst mountains of books and meals to tide his ever needing hunger, he found the most pleasant way to pass the time was to chat with a long admired friend.

“ Yes.. By each passing day. ”  He sits in his bed, sat upright, hands politely in his lap, a plate of fully finished food with nothing but the scraps of crumbs riddling the glass near his bedside. “ The coalescence of aether has become more stable — whilst my memories remain intact, my physical self has yet to fully accept me as ... me. ” He sounds as distant as those words sounded. G’raha regains himself. “ Not to worry, though. I’m sure with just a few more days of Tataru and Krile’s tutelage, i’ll be much and more capable of sustaining on my own. For now, however... ” He smiles at Jahliqai, “ I might need your assistance with grabbing that book right over there, labeled ‘ The Strings of Aether ’. ” Thus he points directly at the gold-trimmed book on the shelf nearby.

" What you did, then, " comes the awed whisper – tinged with a sliver of regret while lifted by the initial admiration, " for those people... " A breath, as he recalls the sweep of panic – festered from the fear that had gripped their hearts. The loss, the overwhelming grief – the bleeding of hearts that poured in rivers. And then: the singular voice. The beacon. Hope made manifest... Jahliqai's breath sighs out much in the same manner as it had in that defining moment: a breath of relief, that they still could hold fast, and heed to despair while confronting it in that same vein. " ...I can't thank you enough. "

​                                                   𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝  /  𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

He remembers. He remembers how ash and flame dominated the air. He remembers the screams, the steel, the thunder of trees plummeting to the ground and the snaps and crunching of bone and wood alike. He remembers it all too well because this wasn’t the first time. Where beasts of darkened malice bare their red-webbed fangs, he sees naught but white brilliance and blinding light in that mirror of familiarity — and thus did that familiarity serve him well; For it was hope in the midst of darkest despair that G’raha will forever triumph.

Even still, there was something that weighed in his smile. Not once did he meet Jahliqai’s eye. His heart ached. “ ‘Twas only necessary. ” He says, plainly. Through his time on the First, he had learned much of what it meant to lead, to be a beacon unto others, to be the voice of clarity amidst chaos. It was that strength he attuned much out of inspiration of a certain hero he so admired, and in that admiration were he able to find it within himself to take another step and plunge into uncertainty again and again. Were it not for them... His fingers twitch. “ It was thanks... To a certain someone, that I was able to take that stand in the first place. ”

“ . . . And full well am I glad to see you unharmed. ”  And while she is earnestly capable of fending for herself, that instinct to protect, to barrel against the (former) fights favor and rush heedlessly to her aid was thoughtless — and it was that selfsame recklessness that may or may not have made a difference, but he’d like to think so, so that maybe his careless detour to make her assistance was not in vain. 

“You’re so fucking tight.” from estinien. im normal btw 🤨🤨🤨🤨

                                      𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤  /  𝒏𝒔𝒇𝒘

there’s a frigid chill in the air that combats the burning flames that engulf the site before them . the hours have grown late , minutes turned timeless , only the stars’ gaze pouring down on the highlighted features of their faces . taryn’s thoughts wander tirelessly  -  it seems they never stop retracing footsteps & rewriting destiny in their head . they lean their head gently ‘gainst g’raha’s shoulder & they sigh with somewhat of a dramatic flair .

                             ❛   do you think the stars dream of us too ?   ❜

The expanse of the sky had always been so out of reach. The way night had blanketed them was comforting and he often found himself staring above to witness the twinkle of the many lives that live out there — the souls that dance upon an eternal curtain. He couldn’t help but be startled at the abrupt slouch against his shoulder, his ears flick, his eyes widen, his thoughts only momentarily disrupted as he chuckles away the shock into something more soothed. 

“ T’would be remiss to assume otherwise, I’d imagine. ” He smiles. “ Whilst we sit here looking up at the sky, who’s to say whether or not the same could not be said of them looking down at us — or, in plausibility, perhaps it is them who look up to us in that same way... Were that the case then, one may surmount it all to perception. If I had anything to say about it... I’d say yes, I believe so — and for all we know... ” G’raha’s wafted with the scent of firewood. “ They’re no different than we are. ” The flames crackle and snap. The night is silent and the wind is but a fleeting breeze against the warmth bellowing before them. “ Though, only should we traverse those stars should we find ourselves cultivated in answer  — and every now and then... ‘tis best to simply dream. ”

What would he do... Would he commit the irreversible? To etch over the foundations of history into something anew? Or would he traverse unto a road less traveled by and simply buy one? Surely they’re not too expensive, much less hard to come by, however — isn’t there a sense of fulfillment in having earned this delicacy? Is that not where the joy in this comes from? What would one do for a Klondike bar and better yet! What has been done to earn one within ones own hands, he wonders.... And he wonders... How far has one gone to have been given the enrichment of sinking their teeth into this cold delight... And he asks himself, would he have done the same? Surely... Were it within his means to do so .... Or maybe...

He’s thinking too hard about it.

“ Depends on the circumstance, I’d imagine — though scarcely would I really go above and beyond for something so... ”  Minuscule, futile, something that will surely hurt his stomach later. “ Ahem, for entertainment purposes, which I'm sure this is for, and while I am no means an expert in that of parlaying a jest in turn, I think... I’d... ”  Thinking ... Thinking ... Thinking ... “ Perhaps ... Hypothetically, of course, and were I able, I’d allow myself the pleasure of having traversed the spiral of the tower alongside the Warrior of Light — ”    

                                    ❛         𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫                                          becomes him, woven into his flesh,                                             he does not walk in the light of but                                             rather is that very light — and paves                                             the path unto others, by him, by the                                             will of the tower.          ❜

Knowing full well the fruition of his ideals would long be met beyond his lifespan, he has fused with the tower and let itself fissure through the surface of his flesh and beneath it — consuming the entirety of his right hand, swallowing his neck, crevicing his face. It spills over the expanse of his chest and within him, as well as taking his heart.

As his body was meant to meet its natural end long ago, the Crystal Tower kept his body alive, letting his heart beat, letting life flow through him so long as he remains within its reach. The further he journeys from the soul of his borrowed time, he weakens, his body falling underneath the weight of himself, dizzied, feeling the tower lose its grip onto him as his heart struggles to continue.

Living in this grace, he has no need to sleep, no need to eat. It is only when he ventures further and further away does the weight of living beyond his measure catches up to him. He is merely an extension of the towers will and should he trespass beyond its reach, he will likely fall to the trivialities of all that he had sacrificed in the name of a brighter future.