nosafeharbour

Albi

Albi begins smoking after the events of A Requiem for Heroes, when damage to her aether leaves her unable to cast black magic – it gave her a way to keep in touch with the feelings of smoke and flame that she had grown accustomed to, found familiarity in, and had now lost. (And as someone who at the time was very injured, stressed, and unwell, they did somewhat help with her nerves.)

She smokes an Eorzean-equivalent of simple tobacco – it’s more about the feeling of smoking, than any effect. At first they’re from other people, then stores, then she rolls them herself. She carries them in a small, simple, leather pouch.

She smokes fairly solidly throughout the end of Stormblood and Shadowbringers, and starts to slow down going into Endwalker.

At this point she’s a stress smoker, and a social smoker. She goes through a lot during and after the Final Days, but otherwise just tends to partake when relaxing with people who will smoke with her (in order of likelihood; Nero, Gaius, Cid, Thancred)

She doesn’t carry a lighter, because she lights them with her own magic. She doesn’t hand cast fire magic very often outside of combat, because it’s not something she can control the intensity of safely enough, but a snap of the fingers to light a cigarette is simple enough!

While she may half-heartedly admonish others over the health detriments of smoking (I’m sure that Eorzea has at least some small understandings of long term effects), I think Black Mages are going to be around enough smoke during their careers that smoking is either not going to worsen any damage already being done, or the mitigation of smoke is handled at an aetheric level by a high level caster.

The period of time in which she actually smoked the most was during her recovery in Old Sharlayan, post-Endwalker. Thancred is typically fairly passive/disinterested in her habit, but is the one who get her cigarettes and helps her to over to chainsmoke out the window of her room. Her attending physician is furious at first, before she gives up

Gaius

Cigar smoking was prevalent in higher rungs of the Garlean military, and a common sight during meetings and social events. As a legatus, Gaius would partake often in such scenarios, but not very frequently outside of them.

Cigarettes were mass-produced in Garlemald, and also frequently seen in the military, particularly by the rank-and-file – while Gaius did not tend to carry them, or smoke them often, he would occasionally by way of a desire to keep in touch with his men.

Nero was a chainsmoker during his time in the XIVth Legion, but has reduced his intake as of current day. He is still the one person that Albi knows will never turn her down for a smoke, and has managed to keep up a steady stock of Garlean-make cigarettes. He does not divulge his supply chain.

After the Praetorium, Gaius has sustained not only large swathes of burns across his body, but smoke damage to his lungs. His voice is sometimes a little raspy, and he has a slight cough, but the air of Terncliff is fairly agreeable to him in this regard; his chest gets worse in other locales.

As before, Gaius does not smoke outside of social purposes, and does not carry cigarettes – the only exception to this is when he is in Garlemald post-Endwalker, in which he does carry a small case, and smokes them sparingly. He tends to carry a lighter, regardless.

Albi & Gaius

It’s not generally a known thing that the Warrior of Light smokes, albeit most would not care either way – Gaius discovers it in the period of time between the assaults on the Ruby Weapon and Sapphire Weapon. She’s in an agreeable enough mood that she does offer him a drag, which he takes.

Again, smoking is a social thing for Gaius, but at this point it’s also a little nostalgic, for the old days of the Empire.

He smokes with Albi through association of it with her in particular. At first it’s a rare truce between the two, something to do when they’re not at each other’s throats, but as their walls drop and peace comes to Werlyt, it’s a calm enough way of passing the time.

Gaius and Albi both have a peculiar relationship with the concept of fire – it’s Albi’s livelihood and life, it’s an important symbol to Garleans, but they’ve also been scorned rather badly by it. Albi’s association with it is something that becomes somewhat tantalising and appealing to Gaius, even with all its risks. Watching her in battle, smoking with her, talking about the cremation rites in their respective cultures… it’s all tied in with this feeling.

So yeah, I’m not gonna lie, smoking together with Albi is predominantly just an act of yearning, you know how it is

Albi doesn’t particularly try to discourage Gaius from smoking – she is aware of his lung damage, and while she does come to genuinely care about him, this is one part of his physical health that she figures is a lost cause.

She lets him steal drags from her cigarettes, or just bum one off her entirely. The ones he takes and keeps with him in Garlemald are a mix of ones from her, and Garlean-make ones salvaged from the city proper.

As a final note, drinking together is also something Albi and Gaius enjoy; she ends up bringing him bottles of various wines and spirits during her travels, and they end up with a small mismatched collection of them in Gaius's lodgings in Terncliff.

“Is this appropriate?” Albi asks quietly, one hand gripping the collar of Gaius’s overcoat, the other clenched around the neck of a darkly tinted bottle. It is covered in a thick coating of dust, but the cap has been freshly popped off – the pair had come across the shelled remnants of the bar several weeks previous, but on this bitterly cold evening, had decided to finally nose around to see if anything of note or worth remained.

“I couldn’t say.” Gaius replies back idly, his mouth not moving far from Albi’s neck, even as he speaks the words. “But it’s not as if that has ever been of any concern to us, hm?”

This gets something like a chuckle out of Albi, the fog of her breath visible in the frigid air. She takes another drink from the bottle, the warmth of it settling pleasantly in her chest. Before Gaius can take it for another swig of his own, she moves to grasp his face with her free hand, nails scratching against the stubble of his jaw as she pulls his chin towards her own.

Grief is as heavy on his breath as the whiskey is, unspoken, but there was no need. There were no words that could aptly describe the feeling of standing in the remains of your homeland, no matter how complexly one might feel about the matter — this, Albi knew all too well. But as these things often go, the child outlives the motherland, Gaius now bereft of his forebears as well as his own progeny, his hand partially to blame for both.

Their patrols typically kept them to the perimeters of Camp Broken Glass, or Tertium, but more often than not their duties also led them into the city proper. It was beneficial to get a lay of the land with someone who knew the streets well, she had often thought – but Albi was no fool to think it was anything other than the last dregs of sentiment in Gaius’s heart that swayed their steps, as if there were still some unnatural presence in Garlemald that clawed at the hearts of her sons and daughters.

Her escort had slowed when they had first passed the remnants of the former bar, foundations still standing, but little else. Albi could barely tell it had been a bar at first, until her eyes had fallen upon the shattered receptacles and stools littering the concrete as they stopped. Gaius’s words then had been neatly clipped, clinical, as he told her that he had taken Cid and Nero here for their first drinks when they had come of age. “My father did the same for me. It only felt right.” He concludes with, before striding off again, the crunch of glass and ice under his boots ending the one-sided conversation.

Gaius biting down on her lip drags Albi from her alcohol-tinged reverie, and she jerks her head back with a grimace. The bottle is smoothly retrieved from her hands in the same motion, but its captor makes little effort to move very far from the warmth of where their legs are pressed together, haphazardly perched among crates as they were.

“Eyes sharp, Warrior of Light.” He drawls, the dry use of the epithet as much a sign of his dour mood as anything else. As he takes his sip from the bottle, Albi drifts back to thoughts of him in this bar, nearly two decades previous, two Academy students in tow. She wonders if they had toasted anything for the occasion, if Cid’s father had been absent by the whim of clashing schedules, or the beginnings of something more sinister. She knew nothing of Nero’s family, was aware of little about his life before the military outside of the odd anecdote of his rural upbringing. She didn’t know much more of Gaius himself.

It was neither the time nor place to be asking such personal questions, here and now, but it was not unlike them to spend warmer evenings talking at length of this and that. It was how Albi had come to learn more of Midas than she had ever heard from the mouth of his son, Gaius’s eyes crinkling with both fondness and regret as he told her of the man he had been, once upon a time. Albi wondered if Cid had been apprised of a great deal of the tales she had heard from him, aware that they would have died with Gaius had they not been quietly shared in the dark of their lodgings, in empty bars, when shuffling through the capitol’s remains.

They sit there for a little while longer – the bottle is wordlessly knocked back against Albi’s knee, the last sip saved, an offering of the last measure. Now empty, it is not discarded among its brethren on the ground, but instead delicately placed on the crate they had sat upon, as if it were the counter of the bar many years previous, at closing time. As if this were the gentler end to a gentler evening, some lifetime ago.

“Who’s that guest the Warrior of Light is entertaining? The large fellow.”

“The Garlean?” Dickon replies nonchalantly, not looking up from where he is wiping down the counter.

“Oh, is he?” His employee shuffles him past to lean over, devoid of grace and distracted from work, and peers over at the far table. “Ah, so he is. I don’t have my spectacles on.”

“Aye. He visits every so often, on business. Assisting with the refugees, from what I hear.” Dickon gives up on keeping his counter spotless in such lively company and instead now picks up a glass from the rack, drying it with the rag hung from his apron. “Though I doubt that’s his only business.”

“… What do you mean?” 

“I hear,” the clean glass is put down, soon replaced by a handful of drying cutlery, “he has eyes for the Warrior of Light.”

“What, all three of them? Come off it, boss.”

“I’m serious! The two of them come here for coffee every time the gent is in town. And it’s always just the two of them, nary a third party in sight.” Dickon punctuates the statement with the jab of a spoon, acting as if he were not the proprietor of a café, but one of the scholars they fed, reaching a breakthrough.

“He must know he’s barking up the wrong tree, surely?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure…” The two pause, pointedly trying not to stare. The Last Stand is fairly quiet at this time, no orders to be prepped at current, just a steadily shrinking list of small tasks and busywork before evening dinner service begins. The lull means that the voices of patrons were easy to pick out, and the two share a glance at the sound of Albi’s laughter ringing out across the decking. If the nosier of the gawking pair were wearing their glasses, perhaps they’d spot a smile upon her companion’s countenance.

“I’m not getting involved.” Dickon suddenly composes himself, the dishrag now pointing accusingly at his employee. “And I’m not pushing it further. If gossip spreads from here, it will reflect poorly on business. I appreciate my good standings with the Scions, thank you very much.”

Albi falls back, though not ungently, the soft grass of the bank cushioning aching limbs and a sore back. It was blissfully quiet, a calm only broken up by the rustling of the breeze through the foliage, and the distant crashing of waves — that is, until a certain visitor winds his way up the hill towards her, almost as if he could sense the carefully arranged peace that was begging to be interrupted.

“These skies must seem rather plain, compared to your recent expeditions.” Gaius’s head pops into view, peering down at her. He is blocking part of her view, but also the sun, casting a shadow over her eyes that is a satisfactory enough trade-off. He makes a rather dashing sun shade.

She thinks of the burning red skies across Ilsabard, stars streaming from the heavens, of the expanse of space yawning hungrily, settling a solid weight not unlike a black hole in her gut. The soft blue skies of Terncliff were steadfast, stubbornly untouched, even by clouds. A deep, perfect blue.

“Not at all. I rather missed it here, actually.” Albi flicks her eyes to address him, before lazily returning her gaze to the firmament. It was her first proper visit to Terncliff since the culmination of her months of bedrest, and the months of ordeals that preceded it; Gaius had in fact made his way to Old Sharlayan – on matters of import relating to the movement and settling of refugees, and nothing more – well before Albi had been fit to make the journey out to Werlyt in return. She had sent letters to and fro, but it was no replacement for the warm southerly breeze against her skin, a welcome reprieve after its more frigid counterpart in the Northern Empty.

Their reunion had not been a peaceable one. But Albi found herself glad that it was handled elsewhere, simply another grievance that Old Sharlayan bore upon its foundations, and would not mar her time spent here. Terncliff had seen enough of their resentments, over the years.

Gaius frowns down at Albi for a few moments, evidently unsure of whether to leave her to her own devices, half a malm out of town, worn and weary as she still was. Some misplaced sense of responsibility must win out, Albi thinks, as she watches him slowly sink down to sit next to her; he does not spare her another glance, and faces out to sea, back rigid. Albi can’t make out the look on his face, down from where her head yet rests in the grass, can’t decide if she appreciates the company, or would be happier to see him sod off.

Neither inclination wins out, ultimately – Albi shuffles upright, squinting against the sun, and as if the motion expended the very last dregs of her energy, slumps sideways against Gaius’s shoulder. He remains motionless, as if the act went unnoticed. Albi heaves a great sigh, as if the weight of the world had been removed from her shoulders, the air finally permitted to escape from her lungs, but they otherwise remain silent.

A hand gingerly reaches up to brush at a lock of Gaius’s hair, mussed from the sea breeze, that hangs over his forehead. There are a fair few strands of grey mixed in with the brown, which Albi aimlessly twirls around her fingers. “Your hair is getting long again.” She muses, matter of factly.

Gaius hums in agreement. “And a damn sight greyer, thanks to someone.” He replies, not moving his head away from her touch. While Albi is leaning up against his side, she is doing little to hide how much of her posture is carefully held so as not to jostle her still recovering injuries, stiff and ill at ease. “How are you fairing?” He follows up. There is no real kindness to his tone, but he knows the sternness of his voice betrays his concern just as well, as it often does.

The hand at his forehead stills, but does not move away. “I’ll live.” Albi replies with a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The day is beginning to cool in the late afternoon as Thancred meanders into the Quicksand, sweat prickling at the nape of his neck. The establishment is entertaining a dwindling crowd at this hour — the patrons who had been taking shelter from the worst of the midday heat have begun to trickle out, and the evening rush as workers wrap up for the day and come to spend their earnings has yet to start. It was a decent enough time to mingle, he supposed.

It only takes Thancred a few heartbeats to scan the hall and ascertain anything he needs to be aware of, which ends up being very little. He recognises and nods at a pair of workers from the Miners’ Guild, spots a merchant with a familiar face whose name escapes him. Little of interest. All the more of an excuse to follow this selfish little avenue of inquiry, he thinks, striding over and leaning himself against Momodi’s counter.

He waits for her to notice him before he speaks, which she does not. He continues on, regardless.

“That girl, the Au Ra… do you know who she is?”

Momodi does not pause in her writing, and does not look up to Thancred as she replies. “Mayhaps I do.” With a deft hand, she dips her quill in her ink pot, and resumes her quick yet precise scribbling with nary a pause. There weren’t enough fresh Au Ra faces in their fair city to cast any doubt as to whom he referred. ”Mayhaps not. What’s it to you, loverboy?”

Thancred scoffs, and Momodi finally looks up to see him shrug. “Oh, ‘tis nothing like that. I just find myself worried, is all.” He remarks, and Momodi finds herself surprised at something approaching sincerity in his words. It was a tone he typically reserved for hushed voices, for talks of Minfilia or F’lhaminn, not whatever this new flight of fancy was. She didn’t much like it.

Quill tapping lightly against her ledger, writing now  paused, Momodi quirks an eyebrow. “Worried? I know her well enough that your concern is misplaced, I can tell you that much.”

Ah, there it is. “Hmm. Fair enough, my lady.” Thancred hums thoughtfully, noting the hint of familiarity beneath the scathing tone in Momodi’s voice. It was something, a single thread. He looked forward to prying more from Momodi, from Ul’dah herself, to weave into a complete image of this curious girl of his.

If this is the end, Albi thinks, it would be enough. As long as her foe greeted death alongside her, it would be a fine cost to pay.

Merely standing upright on the makeshift platform upon which she now sailed through the stars was a struggle, in its own right—as Shinryu streaked through the cosmos, holding fast against the rushing of aether felt akin to a feeble attempt to stand tall in the crashing of shoulder high waves. Eons blurred past, the distant impressions of planets, worlds, the confluence of all that was and would be; but the stars had ever bent to Albi’s whim, and a lack of aether upon which to draw from was now the least of her concerns. The Scions safely back aboard the Ragnarok, and the distance between them rapidly widening, she had no concerns of collateral. It would be enough.

It was strange, to feel comfort at how far away the Scions were to her, now. Her heart felt calm. It was almost as if the smothering, deep sea pressure of her recent grief had finally absolved her of any feeling at all.

“You will never reach it.” The Endsinger cries with a sweep of its wings, aether twisting and converging unnaturally around the motion, as if rotting. The air was thick with it. “Will never reach the deliverance you seek.”

Albi needn’t grace them with a response, and so she does not. There isn't time. She raises her staff, evens her breathing. There would only be one attempt at this.

“Even stars must die.”

She isn’t sure if an incantation is necessary—it certainly hadn’t been when on the receiving end of comparable assaults, amongst the cinders of the Ghimlyt Dark, or within imperial castri. She had never been one to rely on recitation when casting magicks before, so to begin now feels trite. But the words find themselves rising amongst the din of crashing comets and flames, all the same.

From the deepest pit of the seven hells,

Inhale.

to the very pinnacle of the heavens,

Exhale.

the world shall tremble.

—————————————————————————————————

The Endsinger falls. By some miracle, Albi does not. The sole remaining member of the choir clutches Albi’s hand, trembling as she speaks her final testimony. Their song ends with neither bang nor whimper. It is hard to hear much of anything, truth be told, or focus on that final arc as the starbird pivots and soars towards the horizon; Albi’s thoughts are coming through in short, strange bursts, limbs feeling distant and strange. There is a growing drumming within her skull that is drowning out all else.

All else, with one exception. Albi yet rises for the encore. In hindsight it may have seemed foolish to entertain Zenos’s proposition, a decision that could perhaps be attributed to a lack of clarity or clearness of mind. But the drumming dims just long enough for Albi to know what she must do. If she would not make it home, if this was the price she was paying, she could pull another down with her. Putting Zenos down felt like a fitting enough bookend to it all, a holy duty that fills her with one last surge of foolish, divine righteousness.

—————————————————————————————————

She expected to be at peace, thoughts quietened and burdens laid to rest at close of day, but as Albi gazes upon the dizzying firmament above and waits for the end, she finds herself thinking of home.

Her thoughts had been filled with memories of Ul’dah’s markets, back when she had been slipping in and out of delirium in Norvrandt, Light seeping into her marrow. The way the banners of the Sapphire Avenue Exchange shifted in the breeze, carefree and unconcerned with the bustle of the traders below. She had never seen such a shade of green as borne by those tapestries, before or since. She had been resolved to die then too, her only regret not being able to walk those streets with Thancred once more, feel the warmth of the Thanalan sun on their backs. To die a world away from home, lost at sea. But it had been enough.

Now, further away from home by several measures more, Albi thinks of Danann. She had never mustered up the courage to take the boat trip back out to the isle, short as the journey would have been from Old Sharlayan. It was cowardly of her, this she knew—she had strode down to Scholar’s Harbor on more than one occasion with every intention of flagging down a shiphand to take her there, but every time her steps had faltered. Here, at the end of all things, she laments not finding out what had happened to her people, her house, the old school building, if any of it still stood.

Albi thinks of Terncliff, of its cobbled streets. They had all been labouring under blue skies, last she had been there, rebuilding portions of the brickwork that had fallen to disrepair. Albi thinks of Vesper Bay, and the few remaining Scions who had chosen to keep vigil in The Waking Sands. The warmth of the ceruleum lamps used by the Ironworks in their workshops. She hadn’t visited either in far too long. Why was all of this coming to mind, now? Against her wishes, it was regret that met her here like an old friend, not peace. Whatever brazen confidence had spurred Albi onwards to this point had bled out with the rest of her, and she lay there, feeling frightened and small. The time she had been afforded, it hadn’t been enough. She wanted to live. She wanted to—

Inhale.

Exhale.

Albi isn’t sure where she’s going.

In a grand, melodramatic sense, of course – currently, she is winding her way through the Bayside Bevy markets as the sun is rapidly setting, clutching two wrapped parcels to her chest. The markets are teeming at this hour as some stall owners pack down for the evening, and others set up shop for night time browsing; Albi shuffles carefully around the bustle of the crowds, the patrons left hemming and hawing at close-of-day deals, the growing groups of those heading towards eateries for their late repast.

Her destination, at this time, is a quieter spot near the For’ard Cabins, a small jetty that overlooks the coast. The area is comparatively quiet at this hour, aside from a lone figure sat on the decking, facing out to sea. Beside him is a white overcoat, folded over once, but not neatly.

“Ah, there you are! I was beginning to wonder.” Thancred turns with a smile, gratefully accepting one of the wrapped packages as Albi wordlessly hands it over to him. The waft of grilled meat had given her an appetite as she had headed this way, and she had been aware that her delayed arrival had likely spurred on Thancred’s, too. “I started to grow wary that you had been walked over by a particularly large Mamool Ja while navigating the city,” Thancred takes a bite of his arepa, wasting no time, “or perhaps whisked away on some other world saving endeavour.”

Albi scoffs, unwrapping hers with a little less urgency. “Hardly.” She leaves it at that, unwilling to divulge that the bustle of patrons that were two or three-times her size had indeed, at least partially, been part of the hold up.

Little more is said between them as they eat. Sharing an evening meal by the docks was a commonplace thing between the two, and to do so in such far flung lands brought a sense of comfort and familiarity that Albi was grateful for. Back in Eorzea, what now feels like worlds and lifetimes ago, they would sit by the docks in Limsa Lominsa with similar fare from the markets – Thancred would spare little time between mouthfuls to point out people and places, quirks and tales of the streets he knew like the back of his hand, little morsels of information about the ships turning in the bay, and those who worked on them. Back then, Albi was rather more reticent, and this was a thinly veiled attempt to either keep conversation flowing, or to bring her out of her shell. She wasn’t too sure, even now, if her quiet demeanour was a point of awkwardness, or something more akin to a compelling project for Thancred to work on. Regardless, those times had long passed, and the silence between them now was companionable and peaceful.

That is, until Thancred tilts his head towards Albi. He at least serves her a kindness, and finishes his mouthful before he speaks up. “I know that look. What is it?”

The sudden intrusion into her reminiscence startles her, as does Thancred’s frankness. She had been watching the ships in the distance – unable to come closer due to the reefs surrounding Tuliyollal, instead sending their cargo ahead on smaller dinghies – food unwrapped but untouched in her hands. Her thoughts had begun to wander, thinking about the ships docked in Scholar’s Harbor in Old Sharlayan, the flurry of trading boats in Kugane, the crashed wreckages of similar vessels thrown against the rocks surrounding Eulmore. Albi knows what has been heavy on her mind as of late, but it was as if the circumstances of their meal had turned her back into the withdrawn girl perched above the bay of Limsa Lominsa, unsure of what to say.

“It’s nothing of import.” Albi acquiesces. When Thancred does not return to his food, and continues to watch her with a wary gaze, she is again reminded of those early days in Eorzea, when he would coax conversation from her. It endears and frustrates her in equal measure.

It had been several weeks since the culmination of the Rite of Succession, and dealings with Alexandria. Tuliyollal was still in the midst of rebuilding, but the spirits of her citizens had been healing well, with most returning to their daily lives with aplomb. The Scions, for their part, had been ambling around the city providing assistance, and resting in equal measure. Some had begun to disperse, or at the very least had begun deliberations on where they would head next – Estinien was content to roam without a singular destination in mind, while others had more concrete plans, or intended to stay in Tural indefinitely.

It felt foolish to Albi that it was these periods of peace that left her feeling so listless, when a quiet life was all she had truly desired, but it gave her thoughts time to wander and simmer in an unpleasant fashion. She felt aimless, unsure of her purpose or desires, a sluggish feeling that had been following her in the many moons since the Final Days had been averted.

“I’ve just been thinking about what I’m doing, after this.” Albi finally lets on, aware of how rote and lacklustre the sentiment sounds when spoken aloud. “You know me, always fretting about something.” She finally takes a bite of her arepa, wanting both to assuage concern, and have an excuse to stop speaking. Thancred makes an “ah” sound, and leans back, a thoughtful expression on his face, as if Albi’s ruminations were infectious.

He mulls the words over, but speaks sincerely. “You’re very welcome to come along with me and Urianger, wherever we may end up.” He joins her in taking a bite, but chews slowly this time, with deliberation. “Mayhaps you would benefit from not having a destination in mind? Relax those shoulders, take it easier for once.”

Albi resists the urge to sit up a little straighter, unsure if the remark was intended to be a jab at her posture. “No, no… I fear the tedium of not having a project would get to me.” She bemoans, though ends with a smile. “As much as I would love to accompany you. Can I not persuade you to come along with the Students of Baldesion, instead?”

Thancred laughs, the sound ringing out across their empty corner of the pier. “You drive a hard bargain.” He returns her smile with one of his own. “You and Krile are best left to focus on the Students. But should you ever need a blade at your side for some expedition or another, or simply someone to steer you scholarly types away from the books for a spell, you know who to call on.”

It's beautiful. I've looked at this for 24 hours now

Holy shit, all this Werlyt lore… Gaius was viceroy of Werlyt for TWENTY YEARS?? In-game it sounded like he led the invasion during the epidemic 10 years ago, when you see him adopt the Raen kids, but otherwise wasn’t too deeply involved... but it was under Garlean control since the very start of the Empire? Gaius came into the picture midway through, after it briefly rebelled.

"A young Gaius van Baelsar" capturing Werlyt when he was 30... I guess him being legatus in his thirties makes complete sense with the timeframe of Ala Mhigo, but having it spelled out so plainly… wow

Thinking about the memory of Gaius in the Emerald Weapon trial being a 30 year old is so funny. You jumped-up little shit

It’s hard to pin down dates because everything is measured in years after Werlyt was taken, without it ever giving a starting date, but you can work backwards… the rebellion 30 years post conquering + 20 years of Gaius as viceroy + 5 years before ARR when Gaius begins advance on Eorzea in 1.0 = 55 years ago. The Empire is also 55 years old, which lines up:

Between 55 and 455 years ago: Werlyt is founded (happens after Gyr Abania is unified, but Werlyt is still described as “newly formed” when it was conquered, so definitely closer on the scale to 55)

55 years ago: Werlyt falls under the Empire

25 years ago: While the Empire is stretched thin conquering the Far East, the Werlytians stage a revolt and retake the province. Gaius comes in to quell it, and becomes viceroy after the previous one is killed (Gaius is 31 yrs old) (This is also the year Doma is conquered, so that also lines up)

20 years ago: Ala Mhigo is conquered, Gaius is also made viceroy there

15 years ago: Gaius’s fuckup at the Battle of Silvertear, and when he starts to lose favour in Garlemald

10 years ago: The epidemic, when the Raen kids are orphaned

5 years ago: Gaius leaves for the invasion of Eorzea (1.0), which eventually leaves Valens as viceroy after the events at the Praetorium

Did the epidemic happen under his watch? The flashback of him first reaching out to Allie and Alfonse makes sense to be 10 years ago, but the energy of that scene was very much “arriving to a situation” and not that… it was already under his jurisdiction…

I don’t know how I feel about the change of context here, at least in my understanding of it. It honestly feels a bit of a shock that Werlyt has been under the Empire for 50 years? They never stated any specific years, but I always read it as a decade or so? Long enough for it to become their new lives, short enough that people still remember life before. Gaius coming in to “save” Werlyt from the epidemic by way of conquering it was this mixed bag that ultimately did build towards his character thesis of “good intentions stuck in a bad system”. To think the epidemic technically happened under his watch is new and strange, I dunno. I need to replay it with this in mind to see if it checks out

Especially with that one post-Emerald scene where Gaius is all “Things were shit in MY legion? But I ran a tight ship” lmao… I know a lot of people take the piss out of that scene thinking that he was only discovering racism for the first time in his life (he literally has scenes in ARR about stamping out discrimination in his Legion), but I always read it as his ego meaning he believed that his influence and word over his Legion was immovable, that nobody would behave that way because he told them not to. It complements his view that he always thought he was doing good, but not yet having had the blinders of being a cog in the fascist system removed. These things will always still happen. It would be good to see that scene again, with all this context of the epidemic happening during his time as viceroy... If the times are all correct, I feel like him being stretched thin between Ala Mhigo and Werlyt is a part of this

The “all the good Gaius had achieved” line in regards to him building up Werlyt as viceroy makes me wince, while I do like engaging with Gaius having good intentions, just talking about all the good he did and not the fact it was still a conquered territory + the epidemic? Even I’m balking at that, and I’m a Gaius enjoyer. Slow down here. I’m looking at the artwork of destroyed Werlyt from when he re-conquered it right below this paragraph LOL

The Raen of Werlyt migrating there directly from Corvos, to the point that their religion and food is still Corvosi-inspired... seeing it spelled out so plainly after this incredibly fleeting and brief image from FanFest... wow. I get to feel even more insane over Corvos, now

Really curious about the timeframes, still. If Raen only arrived in Werlyt a little over 50 years ago, in one fell swoop they have turned Albi's Welytian grandmother into a Corvosi grandmother

Werlyt religion being polytheistic, seemingly a fusion of the Twelve and Corvosi religion… I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT CORVOS…

I love the kind of demographics you get from these books:

Werlyt currently undergoing negotiations with Ul’dah for ceruleum, so they can continue mining… Gaius overseeing said negotiations in Ul’dah, Ul’dah is Albi’s turf... Thinking about them in Ul’dah together. It’s actually so fun thinking about Gaius visiting so many Eorzean city states as an envoy. He’s helping, but also he’s keeping his god damn head down (or in a chicken suit)

Werlyt’s main food being stewed dishes is just another thing that lines up with what I imagined, mostly just because it’s what I figured Albi and Gaius would eat a lot (both from cold places, they both know how to cook simple stuff but aren’t master culinarians)

Cheese being a major export to Garlemald, and there being a major cheese presence in Garlemald already (via Ovibos milk, so native to Garlemald itself and not all imported)... cheese lore

There’s way too much dairy talk in here, “dairy enthusiasts” pleeeeasseeee stop making my favourite place like this when I’m lactose intolerent

After The Sorrow of Werlyt says that Terncliff is too high above the ocean to fish, but then Tataru’s Grand Endeavour had orphans collecting seashells, I was so confused on whether or not Werlyt has beaches or not. I’m glad they clarified that there are a few harbours amongst the cliffs.

All of this geography and agriculture lore is neat just in that it’s showing that Werlyt is really quite big. You never really get a full sense of scale in-game, between Terncliff and what we see of the main Werlyt town (?) during Emerald trial/post-Diamond

We have three Werlytian surnames – Hunte, Souther, and Horne!

Severa Souther and Valdeaulin Ganathain… I care them. Severa is only 23, bless her heart. Valdeaulin being 48 is just exactly what I’d assumed/hoped.

The leader of the interim government is Talbot Hunte. Have we seen him..? I’m picturing the Revolutionary Commander in my mind when I read that, but I don't think he was ever named

All of these Werlytian names (surnames, and Hyur first names) have a Germanic feel, while Severa and the Raen kids have Latin-based names. The Raen in Werlyt originate from Corvos, so I am hoping it’s because they are sticking to Corvos being the root of the Latin-based Garlean language, as it should be? Severa had a Garlean parent? Hmm

Bereft at the casual mention of “the bravery of the Baelsars and the Warrior of Light”… THE BAELSARS

Kind of sad they straight-coded Milisandia by giving her a crush on Alfonse. That lizard was one of the gay ones :/

I think Gaius is possibly the first character to get a second Encyclopedia Eorzea entry. I was hoping he would, but had low expectations bc they've never given any other recurring characters new entries... but they did this, for me

“... and though his quest for vengeance would claim the masks of Altima and Deudalaphon, the hunt for Ascians was quickly set aside when he learned of the Empire’s plans to produce the noxious weapon Black Rose” – Black Rose is important and thematic, but seeing the Ascian plot dropped so abruptly even in this book is breaking my heart all over again LMAO

So extremely cool that there are 6 pages just about the Ultima Weapons!! Including the Allagan iterations, the original ARR project, and the second project during Werlyt

I do like the line “According to the testimony of Gaius Baelsar…” in the section about the Ultima Weapon, about how Lahabrea guided them to it. Gaius sat and gave testimony to the Alliance about a lot of things, huh!

I also like the confirmation that Proto-Ultima is the last iteration the Allagans made, and that all the visuals of the Ultima Weapon are magitek and Garlean-made. It’s hard to tell, since the earlier Ultima Warrior has them too, but the fact that Ultima Weapon’s horns look like Gaius’s helmet means it was done on purpose… kinda moe. Nero trying to impress his legatus

Interesting that the Heart of Sabik is mentioned so clearly, and that Valens knew he couldn’t recreate it… but still acquired a piece of Ivalician auracite to base the Oversoul system on. Reading this all post-Pandaemonium is enlightening

Seems that the “third eye” looking chestpiece on the cuirass of legatus armour is the synthetic auracite they used for the same purpose as soul crystals! Having a visual on that is neat

“Albi, if I may… ere we depart.”

She swivels on her heel, absently, gaze still transfixed for a moment upon the towering figure of the Talos before them, Mt. Gulg firm in its grasp. Their goal was in sight, the path they had toiled over stretching upwards unto the heavens. It was now or never— wandering thoughts soon stop dead in their tracks, however, as upon her turn, she is faced with Thancred lowering himself down to one knee before her.

“I realise time is of the essence, but…” He says, a hand producing something from a pocket inside his jacket. It is small, and its dull surface gives it no particular sheen, no grand glint in the light, but the pair had spent enough time searching for any traces of the mineral for Albi to not immediately recognise it as leonine. Thancred holds it aloft towards her, face betraying no small amount of nervousness.

“I realise, as of late, I had let myself become preoccupied with matters of the past.” He begins, voice unwavering, his words seemingly practiced. “Little had I let myself think instead of the future, and those I hold dearest. Pray, let me spend that future beside you, striving to make up for lost time.”

He returns Albi’s speechless expression with a sheepish smile. “I only regret that I hadn’t the chance to put it on a ring.”

It is then that Albi can't help but let out a quiet, panicked laugh, life returning to hands frozen as she begins a frantic scramble to the pouch hung at her waist. Shaking hands struggle with the clasp at first, but she quickly finds and grasps two gold bands, the rings threatening to leave an indent in her palm from the tightness of her grip. Taking a breath to steady herself, she joins him in throwing herself into the deep end.

“I made these, back home, after you left us. I knew full well the opportunity to give this to you may never arise, but…” Albi attempts in a voice she prays sounds calm and composed, unfurling her hand to produce a ring before Thancred. It is simple in design, with none of the detail or high polish he knows she is capable of, but nevertheless he still immediately recognises the work as her own. “Glad am I to be so pleasantly surprised.”

It is Thancred’s turn to look dumbfounded, his arm drooping as he stares at the ring being offered to him in return. “You carried those with you, all this time? All this way?” He asks in an uncharacteristically small voice.

“Of course, you daft sod.” Albi replies, attempting to keep the quiver out of her voice, moisture prickling at her eyes. She closes the gap between them, silently swearing under her breath that with all her power, it will be the last time she need do so.

—————————————————————————————————

It was certainly not the first time Albi had picked up a jewellers toolkit since leaving home; but she still avoided doing so if it involved carrying out any metalwork for herself, on some manner of self-inflicted principle. It was simple enough — she did not deserve it. The warding adornments and fixings she had made for her various robes over the years did not count, for those were necessities for the protection of others, equipping herself with the tools needed to become a weapon.

The crafting of the rings themselves, the act circling closest to some selfish indulgence, were likewise not done with herself in mind. They were for him, of this she tried to convince herself, despite knowing he would never see them, be it by unfortunate ending or by choice. And yet, here she was, one down, the pair split. She rolls the other ring — her ring — between her thumb and forefinger of her left hand, the lapidary hammer in her right gently tapping away to the same drum as her heartbeat. The piece of leonine sat on the table in front of her. This was a selfish act, was it not? To affix this to her ring, for herself.

The Crystalline Mean had happily agreed to lend her their tools, and even their grinding wheel, in order to shape the stone before its attachment. The gold of the band had been shaped by her hand already, implementing a bezel into the design was simple enough work, carried out on hundreds of rings during her days at the Goldsmiths’ Guild, but the leonine is what caused her to pause.

Was this for her? Did this break her carefully maintained rules about what she allowed of herself? Or was this for Thancred, truly, a permitted act. The deliberation had sat heavy on her mind, even when the initial decision to implement the leonine into the ring’s design had been simple, easy, immediate. Would it sit easier in her heart if she allowed someone else to do this? There were plenty of talented artisans here in the Crystarium, after all. No, no, it had to be her.

Albi slips the ring back onto her finger (noticing it still sits a little looser than it had when she had made it, a year ago; she makes a note to adjust it), but swipes the leonine up from the table in a quick motion, before her body has the chance to catch up with her fretting. It had to be her. This wasn’t for own benefit, but it wasn’t exactly for Thancred’s, either – like the aetherically conductive goldwork she wore into battle, its appearance was secondary to what it represented, bigger than herself. The precious metals from the Source, the leonine itself from the deep mines of Amh Araeng, their joining only possible through the same blood, sweat, and tears that took them to the very heavens of Mt. Gulg.

The night, indistinct as it may feel against the gloom that persists in the capital’s skies even during daylight hours, settles over Garlemald’s streets as if another blanket of snow in itself. The temperature plummets even further with the dark, a particular that was reconciled in the past through the use of ceruleum lamps and heaters in the street, during the city’s better days; those days were long gone, their mechanisms either left in wreckages, or taken to be repurposed elsewhere.

It did not take one long to learn that the setting of the sun marked the sign to retreat to shelter. Albi could deal with sharper temperatures and disagreeable weather with grace, growing up in the Northern seas as she had, but she was not so foolish as to risk frostbite as the hour grew late. So upon remarking at the lateness of the hour, she made her farewells to those in Senatus she had been holding discussions with, wearing the face of a mediator as a well worn mask.

She could scarcely tolerate a fair few of the inhabitants there, their distaste for her so thinly veiled that she would rather they were blunt with it, a weapon she could deflect far easier than having to resort to her rote stream of pleasantries. She took extra effort in them today, however, so as to better draw attention away from the small stack of books she had decided to pilfer from one of the hall’s dilapidated shelves. The small thrill of the action sat as a weight in her satchel as she left, despite knowing their absence was unlikely to even be noticed. They would join a growing pile, primarily consisting of literature salvaged from the ruins of the city. What she would do with them once she had cleaned and restored them, of this she was not yet sure; they would surely find a home in Old Sharlayan’s libraries for preservation, if required, yet she felt some strange modicum of guilt for removing them from Garlemald, and what remained of its peoples. It was a deliberation she was avoiding for the time being, content to shuffle them away into safekeeping between Camp Broken Glass and Tertium, pages to be swabbed and binding to be re-stitched when the time afforded her – regardless of their final destination, they were better kept by man than left in the streets among the rubble. The books she rescued from Senatus in a fit of frivolity today, well, they would simply have a better home in Tertium, where they may actually be read.

The journey back to the latter was largely uneventful. The morning’s patrol had cleared the road of stray machines and wandering beasts, and very few had returned with dusk to slow down Albi’s trek between shelters. The path she took had become well worn to her, between diplomatic trips such as the one she had taken today, and joining patrols in their regular sweeps through the city. At one point, not so long ago, she could not stomach even a short sojourn through the capital on her own, but time and necessity had thawed the icy grip of fear from her heart as much as it had for others who had toiled away in the shadow of the Tower of Babil, and she was now content to shuffle from point A to point B without supervision.

Nevertheless, when she ducks her head into the tunnel leaning down to Tertium some half a bell later, it is Gaius who Albi finds waiting for her there, not far from the entrance. She does not slow her gait, and Gaius does not make any motion of greeting, but simply falls into step with her as they make their way down to the main hallway and platforms. This too, had become an oft walked path for them both.

Albi dips away into a train carriage, nodding to the guards at the front of camp on her way, Gaius still wordlessly in step alongside her – despite how reluctant he had been in visiting Garlemald after all here was said and done in the aftermath of the Final Days, Albi had since become rather accustomed to his presence at her heel. She sets her bag and weapon down with an exhale and a roll of her shoulders, shuffling towards the ceruleum heater positioned near the centre of the aisle. She doesn’t turn it on — while her talks had predominantly centred around the distribution of ceruleum, to burn any of their supply simply for  the sake of one or two people was still an excessive waste — but puts her hands against it regardless, hoping for any small residuals of warmth from earlier use.

“Were your discussions fruitful?” Gaius begins after Albi continues to stand there for several heartbeats. She truly cannot tell if the heater had even been used today, or if the metal of its casing was simply less freezing than the air outside. Either way, with a wiggle of her fingers, feeling begins to seep back into her hands.

“Fruitful enough.” Albi replies with a thoughtful tilt of her head, her earrings lightly jangling against the base of her horns from the motion. “I arranged the next sennight of supply exchanges, and even broached the topic of the expanded trade deals.” She huffs a short sigh, pleased to at least not see her breath misting in the air; this carriage had been heated at some point, today. “The representative on duty was the one that is always terribly displeased to see me, however, so I did not get very far.” Albi shoots a glance in Gaius’s direction. “I do wish you would show your face there. They would have little recourse but to take you more seriously.”

“I would prefer to continue avoiding any encounters with the interim senate.” Gaius replies with a light shrug, putting on a fine air of thoughtful placidity. “I am far more likely to be recognised by bureaucrats than I am by the refugees here.” He continues, though a grimace begins to creep its way across his face, the worn lines around his frown appearing sharper than usual in the dim glow of the carriage underlights. “And regretfully, I fear I may be unable to hold my tongue in such company. I am a man of the military, not a politician.”

“Hm.” Albi hums, thoughtfully. “You’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise.” She remarks under her breath, mostly to herself. “Are you quite sure? You may speak and hear of practical topics, given your current role in Werlyt’s government.”

Gaius shakes his head. “I would rather discuss such matters with those I share some modicum of common ground with. Lucia and Maxima are better suited for such.”

“Would that I could be so fortuitous as to have a choice in such things.” Albi laments, though with no real bite to the complaint, her words directed more to the emptiness of the carriage than to anyone in particular. Playing the role of liaison had been a part of her days for many moons now, and it was fewer days and far between that she encountered such irritants. She could not complain. Nevertheless, eager to move on from the topic that had already thus preoccupied her entire day, Albi remembers the satchel she had so unceremoniously discarded in her beeline for for warmth, and goes to collect it.

From out of it Albi retrieves two books, and a folded up newspaper. The paper itself contained little of note; no grand events or news, no deaths or births of anybody that would be remembered past its pages. As such, it had been left by the wayside of various crates and containers, it’s future likely little more than to be used as a doorstop. Upon picking it up, and skimming through it, Albi had however found herself oddly drawn to it’s contents – a strange echo of a normal and uneventful day in Garlemald, a place that would most certainly never know a normal or uneventful day again. It had ended up slipped into her bag.

The books were of more immediate interest. One covered the flora and fauna of the Eblan Rime, something that was certain to be of use to Camp Broken Glass, who were certainly doing far more to cull beasts and hunt for food than those in Senatus were. Negotiating with the guards there to please assist their comrades posted elsewhere throughout the city in patrols and foraging expeditions had been under Albi’s jurisdiction, so rescuing the book from those who were clearly not using it had been partially fueled by spite, of this she could not deny.

The last book was a frivolous and impulsive acquisition, scurried away into her bag alongside the wildlife handbook with only a brief glance at its cover. It was some sort of novel, or perhaps some other compilation of prose, it’s title once embossed in a gold foil that had since been worn away by time. Albi squints at the lettering, her grasp on old Garlean improving, but not enough to parse the title, and likely not even its contents.

“I see you have been rescuing more materiel while on your expeditions.” Gaius remarks, not looking up from where he had settled after fussing over Albi, in order to fuss over her gear in her place. Her magitek staff was neatly laid out on the makeshift desk in front of him, his weapon maintenance kit unfolded next to it; his hand was raised, hovered over the tools, seemingly paused in indecision over which he required first. Albi represses a smile at the sight and comment both.

She turns the book of nondescript literature over in her hands, flicks open the cover to flip through its pages – it is indeed written in old Garlean, the meaning of its words passing her by. She almost feels guilt for taking this from those who may in fact be able to read it, but she knows that there are those here in Tertium who also know this old language, dying as it may be in the wild. In that moment, delivering some curio to the remaining refugees here feels just as important as the delivery of information she would have to report on later, and she tucks the book away again, content.

Okay, for context on all of my Isle of Haam thoughts;

I decided back during Heavensward about where my WoL is from: all I vaguely knew before then was that I wanted her to be from a mountainous area, and not be native to Eorzea. I’d been curious about Sharlayan, and the possibility of Albi coming from there came to me once I reached the Dravanian Hinterlands and had the geography and architecture tick every box for me. I had been mulling over an Irish-inspired heritage for Albi for personal reasons, and it clicked into place once I did the Mhach raids — she could be a descendant of the Mhachi, and I could link Sharlayan by having her come from one of the smaller Sharlayan isles. She’s close enough to have that link to Old Sharlayan, but having my own little original island meant I could carve out my little bit of worldbuilding, a group of settlers who left Eorzea for the Northern Empty along with those who founded Old Sharlayan, but slightly splintered in a way where the Irish-based language survived on from Mhach. I’ve had the Isle of Danann ever since!

Judging by geography, and learning of Sharlayan’s attitude to the outside world, my little isle basically ended up being the Irish equivalent to Sharlayan’s UK... both in climate, and political relations, lmao. Related enough to be grouped together, but still othered by Old Sharlayan. Using the Celtic isles as inspiration for both language and climate was really perfect in the end, and places like the Isle of Skye became direct inspiration for Albi’s home. I opted for an isle north of the main Old Sharlayan isle for Danann, because I wanted to lean more into the cold, mountainous vibe. I had assumed and hoped that Old Sharlayan’s geography and climate would be comparable to the Celtic isles and places like Iceland, so seeing the fir trees, Icelandic recipes, references to Celtic isle birds, and seeing it snow in Old Sharlayan once we got there in Endwalker had me super emotional in ways I felt silly about, but hey, it’s cool to have stuff validated!

I knew we’d never get any focus on the surrounding Sharlayan isles; getting to actually go to the Isle of Val via Eureka was really special to me, and going to Old Sharlayan itself was equally special! They were close enough.

So anyway when the 6.4 dungeon ended up being the Isle of Haam, the one named isle north of Old Sharlayan I was in complete and utter disbelief. The only reason I hadn’t picked that specific isle for Albi’s home and made my own was just in the weird slim chance that it ever got lore... but I was thinking like... maybe a mention in an Encyclopedia, not a physical location we’d actually go to

I wanna attribute it to having had a very emotionally tough few weeks preceding the patch, but when I loaded into the Aetherfont and heard the music, I just burst into tears LMAO the opening guitar just got me, okay. Turns out having spent 5 years pouring my heart into a specific part of Albi, her home and her attachment to it, and then practically getting to go there?? Wildest dream come true.

Also, the music is called Starsbreath? Hello?? I’m getting emotional just thinking about it again, don’t look at me

These cliffs that look like they slope upward that you see as you come into the dungeon, they’re so reminiscent of one of my irl inspirations... :’) Photo I took myself!!

I joked on Twitter when we first found out about the dungeon’s setting that they should give me Thancred back for just one patch, because Albi needed her emotional support tank for visiting the Isle of Haam. So I... wh... they heard me... Thancred’s involvement in patch was so cute and silly. It would be easy to be disappointed in how slim it was, but my expectations were low, so just having him called in as a therapy dog to our latest unsocialised cat was very charming. He isn’t just Albi’s emotional support tank, he’s everyone’s emotional support tank

Thanks, babe!

Anyway back to the Isle of Haam

Heatherback... heather... heather is really important to Albi/Albicred/me via Scottish folklore and it generally being a flower that’s very common in the places I care about, so this just got me even more, man. I deadass spent this entire dungeon in some level of tears

Just... literally the spitting image of where I’ve always pictured for Albi to hail from. She might not be from the Isle of Haam itself, but you can surely see the Isle of Danann from it, with how close it must be. The only thing I am laughing at is that I didn’t quite realise an isle that far north would be surrounded by ice floes and polar bears?? LMAO I guess Haam is more Icelandic leaning... maybe Danann isn’t quite as far north...

The mountains/winding stream through the valley you can see in the distance... :)

The trees and the foxgloves... they’re just perfect...

The gear all being called distance gear is very cute. And it’s mostly black and gold! The green accents on some stuff might have to grow on me, but I think these are all glams I’m willing to sweep into canon Albi outfits. Outfits from home... ish!

As for why we’re there, and the Isle of Haam’s place in the story... it’s interesting that this island was acquired by Old Sharlayan for research purposes, and the Isle of Val was also bought by Galuf Baldesion for similar reasons. It seems that none of these isles asides from the main one are inhabited? Not that I care, for my isle is seperate enough in both it’s own place in the archipelego, it’s culture, etc. but it’s an interesting thing to note.

The Isle of Haam originally being the source of aether that was going to take the Ragnarok to the moon is fascinating! I like it more than the MacGuffin of “we’re going to summon all the Primals but make them good guys just to fulfill the abandoned plot thread from the 1.0 intro”... lol... this would have been a nice MSQ dungeon, if we got the fabled two expansion finale where we had more time in each area.

I need to work out how Albi feels about all of this. Despite the island being used only for good, and to save humanity, I think she would still narrow her eyes at the Forum’s intents to use it’s resources for gain. She still holds a grudge at how flippantly Old Sharlayan views the isles around it, particularly when one of the reasons the Isle of Danann did not do well after the Calamity was Old Sharlayan offering aide too little and too late. She’s mellowed down a little in Endwalker about her views on the motherland and the Forum, but it’s still easy to raise her hackles on such matters.

Since the Isle of Haam is certainly the closest isle to Danann, I wonder if the two had any connections? Not that Albi ever went there, but the aether crystal caves were gorgeous... maybe some people did visit Haam in order to collect crystals to use in jewellery making. Perhaps it was a known spot.

Rolling back to the actual story. Thancred coming in to teach Zero about Trust, only to go “I learned how to love and trust people through this one” while nodding at WoL and then leaving is both incredibly funny and incredibly sweet

Thancred’s Unending Codex entry... I know this is about him thinking of Ryne, which is very sweet, so I don’t wanna make this about myself, but when I have a star-themed WoL I’m reading this like... :) Ah... ahaha... Thancred having a fondness for stargazing through Albi is something I’ve had for them since like 2017, particularly as something to connect him to her when they’re apart. That can still be an element here! Fellas, what if your character arc was about coming to terms with being parted with the ones you love, and finding peace with that distance. He looks up at the stars and thinks of Minfilia, and Albi, and Ryne.

I dunno how I feel about the Garlemald section. I think Garlemald sections in EW patches will just always hurt a little bit, for me, because I’ll never be able to stop thinking about what this zone could have been like with proper pacing and involved characters.

But I really like Senatus! They gave me a bourgeoisie Tertrium! Again, a little sad that this means they’ll never actually use the government building next door, but it is very neat to see where an interim government is being run out of, and the differences between there and Tertium. It does have this interesting war bunker vibe.

Similarly to the Tataru’s Grand Endeavour quest, I think while I didn’t massively care for any of the story elements here, it gave me lots of nice little morsels for my own little character stuff. Albi has been spending some time collecting books from ruined houses and buildings in Garlemald, restoring them in her free time and collecting them together in Tertium or Camp Broken Glass. I had in mind that some Garleans would not want her to meddle, but she has the same goal in mind of trying to preserve some of the everyday life and culture of Garlemald, be it good or bad elements of it. Seeing all the books in Senatus, I think it gives another facet to all of that... wanting to ensure books are taken care of and in the hands of the people, and how some might feel about that? P: This all spanned from the mention of Garlean poetry in Jullus’s short story, and wanting Albi to get some bearings with Garlean as a language. MSQ and Tataru quest just gave me Albi book lore...

Speaking of Jullus, him and Zero were the one part of this arc that I adored. I have a lot of feelings over it being Zenos that treated Zero so badly, but another Garlean that helped her in the end - I have no idea what the game intended when it made our WoL think about Zenos at the end of that scene, but in my eyes that was also the sentiment on Albi’s mind.

I’m still half checked out on the main MSQ story in the Endwalker patches, but 6.4 did make me really like Golbez. I thought he was cool in a “big man good” way before, and liked his voice acting, but whew his voice acting in the trial is really good. His backstory with his friend is neat - I’ve been holding back on developing my loose ideas for Albi’s shard from the Thirteenth just in case they pulled Zero, or maybe even Golbez being our shard, but I think if it’s going to be anybody then I’m placing my bets on Golbez’s friend. The fact they’re a mage, dressed in black, who is respectful of the dead... I like it.

So yeah, it was kinda mid, but I’m so focused on the few crumbs I did enjoy that I can attempt to happily ignore everything else... LOL I’m more annoyed this will make people roll their eyes over Werlyt more than being personally disappointed, ya feel. The redemption arc in the eyes of the public did not happen. Oh well.

Albael still real. That’s still my seaside malewife. That’s good.

Giggles and kicks my feet

Oh my god, they were sisters-in-arms. As sad as I am that Tataru herself was not involved, maybe it’s for the best. Mehdjina should continue to live in ignorance

:)

I was wondering if Gaius would talk in such a way that this is the first time you meet him post-Endwalker, I’m glad it wasn’t! He greets you so casually. I don’t have to change anything I’ve been thinking about for them post-EW. This is just a fun weekend visit (they’re not about to have a fun weekend)

Uhhh so I just really hate all the fake Valens stuff, it just cheapened Werlyt and the only actually good Valens scene (the one where he’s killed). Werlyt was already a cringe caricature of MSQ characters, and this felt like a cringe caricature of Werlyt... LOL

MY HOPES... WERE RAISED... I WISH IT HAD CRASHED IN GARLEMALD... all the previous Tataru quests had a walking section with the main NPC(s) in an area seperate to their main one, so I was foolishly hoping for something like the Lochs or even Garlemald. I certainly was a fool

He is either saying this purely sarcastically to Albi, and/or making excuses bc he just really does not want to do it. There is no world where Albi is better than piloting than Gaius, but it’s funny to pretend. He’s being petty

I am immediately soothed by mecha anime cockpit scenes. I’m glad I had my Werlyt pilot glam on a plate from an art party a few weeks ago

I have been waiting, praying, and ultimately gave up on Gaius and Nero reunion scene since 2019. Oh my god. Everybody shut up, this is my everything

Half the reason I wanted to see it/was sad that it had assumedly happened off-screen was because I wanted to know what Nero would call him... in ARR it is just “Lord Baelsar”;

My, how long has it been, Lord Baelsar?

I had to stand up and pace around for 5 mins at this line LMAO

Gaius going “ah, so the rumours were true that you survived” is so funny. The “rumours” are just Cid and Albi mentioning him casually, Gaius just practiced this dramatic moment in the mirror for too long to not still go along with it when they do finally get to talk. Nero built the damn Mark II we’re chasing, did they simply not brush shoulders during Werlyt? This is so funny.

And then Nero just... I merely use my talents to save Cid from his own idiocy. And now, I am here to do the same for you. I love it so much

Nero dryly calling Albi hero or adventurer is still a charm point that I enjoy

Kind of wished I had failed the (cringe-ass) Werlyt rhythm game now just to see what he’d say instead of this... I’m still not convinced Albi is a good pilot, but she is a good marksman at least!

My mecha anime brain cell activated. I don’t care about things such as “quality” or “good writing”, I only care for Sonic vs. Shadow with robots

bbbbbbbbbb really do not care for this scene, but I do appreciate how much Gaius no longer cares for monologues and just attacked this guy.

A shame, really

I just like it when they are on screen

DID YOU... FORGET THE TIME WHEN YOUR LEGION KIDNAPPED TATARU... it was all very much spearheaded by Livia rather than Gaius, but... lmao. You’d best hope you never meet her, bud (shame they did not, would have been funny)

Mister Gaius...

Avilina being compared to Nero multiple times in this quest was cute, I forgot that they worked together. One of the engineers post-quest remarking that since she refuses to wear the Ironworks uniform, maybe she’d be content with a red version like Nero, too... they are two peas in a pod

Allie... cute!! You had to assume Terncliff had an orphanage, but I liked the confirmation/discussion

This is. So funny. He looks so awkward. I guess it is cute that Albi went to ask a favour from Ishgardian portrait friend at least

Cute...

I just cannot get over how awkward Gaius looks. He is so funny to me

:)

This lines up with Cid mentioning in EW that Gaius is terrible with words when he’s trying to be heartfelt. Charm point

When the whole squad don’t know a damn thing

I was wondering what the memento for the main Tataru quest would be... the main reason I like this overall questline is because Albi is a goldsmith who has a lot of sentiment tied up with jewellery. So not only would Albi be so down for helping with Tataru’s necklace, something from Werlyt in there is cute. Rose shells... it’s always roses... ah ah ahhhh (looked up to see if rose shells are a thing, they are not, they picked rose on purpose here)

I gotta let this marinate. Had no idea Werlyt even had beaches since they make such note of the cliffs being too high above the water to have any benefit from the ocean. See, this is where I’m getting my food

Was glad to see Severa and Val back on the overworld post-quest, but man, I’m so disappointed they weren’t even present. I’m just reminded how much my investment in Werlyt was always hinging on Gaius’s MSQ era... I miss Team Shadowhunter, I do wish Nero was here in-person and not just phoned in, etc.

I care deeply about Allie and the Raen, but mainly in scope of them being Raen and relating to Albi, not as much in relation to Gaius, if that makes sense? So this quest being just weird Valens and then only the briefest Raen kids moment was like. Okay.

Was sagely nodding after speaking to everyone else... heading back down to the lookout to see if Gaius was trapped in aimlessly staring at nothing for the rest of his days-- oh my god

Shut the fuck up. This is so cute. Immediately burst out laughing at having a really stupid 4am tweet made canon

THIS IS SO HYPER-SPECIFIC. Albi manspread confirmed just because I liked this new /sit idle they added last patch

And the book... just grabs this from my WIP notes, but post-EW Albi has been doing a lot of book collecting/restoring. I’ve had “Gaius reading the assorted books Albi leaves in his apartment” as a whole thing for like a year now. [shoves the rest of the quest out of the way] They Did This For Me

I’m so glad they gave him such a charming afk spot/animation. I can just sit next to this guy

In closing: Quest was not as good as I hoped (I wanted the same comedy-tint as other Tataru quests, having Nero/Sev/Val sort of there but not really just made me miss their absence more, Gaius still does not even acknowledge what we did on his behalf in Garlemald) to the point I’m pretty :/ about the Valens stuff, but... I’m too Gaiuspilled to let it bother me too much. Just like in EW, he wasn’t personally badly written/out of character, and I got enough little crumbs for my own content, that it’s fine that there wasn’t much actual food. I can cook.

One last thing actually: I assumed Nero was in Werlyt, albeit it behind the scenes, because of the “we found someone who knew enough about Allagan warmachina to build us a second G-Warrior, even if he was overly adamant about it being red” line post-Werlyt when you go look at the Mark II in the hangar. He says he’d hate for the Mark II to be destroyed in this quest + called it scarlet in a very endearing way that confirms that for me, but when you go look at it in the hangar again after this quest, it has some new dialogue. Mentions that it came back safely, albeit it with a few new scrapes, but I think that line replaced the “guy who made it demanded it be red” line which was the real Nero giveaway? I’ll have to go back through old screenshots, hmm

Anyway

It is Lyse who first attempts to teach Albi how to throw a punch.

That is to say, at the time, it was Yda. Albi had been with the Scions only a few moons, but her skills in thaumaturgy had progressed by leaps and bounds, even in such a short span of time. She had started spending more time in The Waking Sands than in Ul’dah proper, their headquarters beginning to settle as a place of refuge and respite. Being alongside so many capable adventurers and mercenaries for more than a glancing moment had helped Albi grow somewhat in confidence, but it was a slow and steady thing.

She had never been possessed of much upper body strength, or lower body strength, for that matter – her tail barely held enough tension in it to swat a fly, the weight of her rod something that still more often than not left her with an aching arm at close of day. So when Yda announces out loud with gusto that she is going to impart upon her the knowledge of self defense, it is two heads that swivel to face her in bewilderment.

Papalymo’s face twitches into a frown, a long suffering look in his eye that betrays the fact he had been through these motions before. Albi’s eyebrows remain halfway up her forehead.

You can’t rely on magic alone Yda goes on to explain, which finally causes Papalymo to roll his eyes. The concern was not without precedent; Thancred had also expressed similar worries, and had offered to teach Albi how to use a knife in self defense. The thought was not without merit. She had been lucky thus far that she had been able to rely on magic, or else a swift escape or timely assist, But it was luck nonetheless. There was no guarantee her days would carry on as such, that she wouldn’t be cornered by some menace with a blade when without her own form of armaments.

Papalymo had been the one to scoff at such a thought, and had given his best reassurances that she would be fine, that he had made it through two of her lifetimes with nary a scratch, and it was thanks to thaumaturgy alone. His guidance had proven to be the biggest fire behind her recent improvements in such, and while she still attempts to carefully copy Yda’s stances, and later learns a proper grip on a knife, Albi trusts his confidence above all.

Mercifully, Albi’s luck does last. She scrapes by without finding herself in a position where close combat is called for. She keeps foes at least a rods measure away, learns simple hand casting for times when her weapon is out of reach by an even further degree, mixes a blend of nail lacquer containing a trace element of aethersand to help facilitate them. The Black Wolf falls, the Dragonsong War comes and goes, the arcane twists to her needs. She stands high upon the parapets of Baelsar’s very wall, and watches as her mentor twists his own aether for his own arcane demands. Yda’s screams follow them away from the scene, Papalymo does not.

The next time Albi finds herself facing down an enemy whose weapon is at risk of gliding too close to her skin, it does. Zenos yae Galvus near guts her with the flippant care that one would gut a fish, a confident and quick motion Thancred shows her one afternoon with a pocket knife at the docks of Vesper Bay. It is not the water of the bay that is stained red this time, but the dust and grit of Rhalgr’s Reach, blood smeared across it. Lyse presses her hand against the wound, panicked, words that Albi could not decipher spilling from her mouth like a mantra, like the way the fish in Thancred’s hands had. The world turns, spins, off-kilter, and all Albi can think of is Papalymo’s steadfast faith in thaumaturgy being enough.

Her wound is not easy to treat, and it takes precious weeks that they do not have to spare before Albi can even stand unaided. Her attire was in tatters alongside her dignity, but the ember of determination in the face of such an ordeal yet flickered away in defiance. Alongside the handful of artisans in Rhalgr’s Reach, she crafts new robes, and adornments to grace them, jewellery woven with wards for protection and safety bestowed upon her by the Ananta.

The flames of her black magic burn brighter, as does her resolve. An anger sits in the pit of her stomach, held in only by the stitches that kept her insides in place, her torso in one piece. The metal of her rod gave it a solid weight, which now sat proudly on her back and more easily in her hands. While the wound gave her a new kind of frailty, her body had grown stronger, so by the next time Lyse offers to teach her how to throw a punch, a revolution later, Albi takes up the challenge with confidence.

“It’s Albi’s nameday tomorrow.” Cid points out matter of factly.

The two of them are sat at opposite ends of a makeshift desk within the hangar at Terncliff. Between them are varying sheafs and stacks of papers — reports sent both to and from the Alliance, old town records of conscripts and citizens, Ironworks ledgers — of which most of their daylight hours had been spent steadily working through and organising. They had said little to each other aside from what was necessary for business, so the remark from Cid strikes Gaius as out of place.

Gaius hums in acknowledgment of having heard the statement, but says no more. Though he would be unable to elaborate on the feeling, he thinks that it suits Albi, to have been born at the end of the year during the cooler months. Despite her warmth in demeanour and battlefield prowess both, she gives the impression of someone forged in the cold. He lets the thought drift off as easily as it had arrived, returning his attention to the supplies list in front of him.

It’s only when he feels eyes on him does Gaius look up, finding Cid’s gaze locked firmly on him. It was hard to ascertain the expression on his face, but jovial it was not. Gaius’s face instinctively frowns slightly in response, defining well worn paths of wear on the lines of his face.

“Yes? Why are you telling me this?” He asks.

“Because,” Cid responds, tone kept purposefully devoid of whatever emotion caused him to bring this up. “I’d expect you to do something nice for her.”

Gaius can’t help but raise an eyebrow, choosing again to refrain from a reply in hopes of further elaboration. Cid takes the bait, and half heartedly shrugs with one shoulder. “Take her to dinner or something.”

“Take her to dinner..?” Gaius parrots back, the unexpectedness of the notion catching him off guard, making him sound somewhat dumbfounded. “What exactly do you think we are?”

Cid breaks his stare simply to roll his eyes, feeling more in this moment like he was talking to an oblivious father than he could ever recall. Considering the man in question, the feeling was almost comforting in its normalcy. “I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t wish to know. But gods know you’ve given her enough grief. Give her a nice surprise instead of a dreadful one, for once.”

Gaius bites down on wanting to comment on Cid’s exasperated use of “gods” — it was a habit he’d heard several ex-Imperials pick up during their time in Eorzea, and he dreaded the thought of one day becoming susceptible to it, too — and mulls the thought over. He had shared many evening meals with Albi. Rations and simple fare cooked by campfire while on the road, foods bought from vendors and taken back to their rooms, warm meals at the Terncliff inn. But he was not so much of a fool to misunderstand Cid’s intent, nor disagree with the point he raised.

“I’m not sure if she’d welcome such an offer from me. You, or even Nero, would be better suited for such.” He settles with, his eyes returning to his papers, though not focusing on the words.

It’s Cid’s turn to hum in thoughtful acknowledgement. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” He remarks, tone lighter than before. Gaius isn’t sure what to make of it, and feels grateful when Cid continues, not waiting for a reply. “Just offer to take her for a meal at the inn. She’ll appreciate the sentiment.”

It strikes Gaius then that Cid knows Albi — truly knows Albi. He is aware of the closeness of their friendship. Despite the closeness Gaius likewise shares with her, it is more often than not a mockery of intimacy. A warmth in her bed and a blade at her side did not make him a companion in the same manner; he doesn’t know her tastes, or how she’d react to such a proposition. But he trusts Cid’s judgement, and thinks that maybe he would like to spend the time with her, away from the pretenses of their duties.

She has chipped and worn away at him over the passing moons, in return for the gouges he had taken out of her hide in years previous. The sediment of it clung to them both, grit and weariness, and to frame it with exchanges of goodwill now, rather than violence, was a new and foreign language to them all.

“You. Why are you awake?”

It is posed less as a question, and more as a demand. Albi stops in her tracks, only a few steps into the room, face crinkled from the grogginess of sleep and confusion at being accosted.

“I… I needed to use the restroom?” She mumbles in reply. Her attire is unflattering, an oversized shirt – not her own, but Albi had rather forgotten from whom it had been originally borrowed from –  buttoned loosely and at a skew over her undergarments, it’s hem hanging near her knees. Her hair often refused to be tamed, its short length a thing of necessity rather than choice, but the angles it found itself in now were positively comical. None of these things bring her any discomfort at current however, not only due to to the late hour, but also due to present company. “And why are you still up, Nero?”

“I needn’t explain myself, these schematics are hardly going to finish themselves.” Nero dryly replies, barely even addressing the question, returning his eye to the sheafs of paper spread across the bench he was sat at. While Garlond Ironworks were possessed of workshops all throughout the realm, in recent months the team’s Chief and chief entourage had found themselves sequestered away in Rhalgr’s Reach more often than not; the space they had been afforded here years previous had somewhat superseded their smaller studio in Revenant’s Toll, and likewise no longer residing in The Rising Stones herself, Albi had also found herself winding back through The Fringes to spend time alongside them.

The fact that Nero had also paused his flights of fancy long enough to remain for longer than a handful of days surprised Cid and Albi in equal measure, and while she would never hear as much from the man himself, she knew Cid was grateful for it too. Their workload did not simply or graciously pause while their attentions were elsewhere, skyward, thoughts preoccupied by starships and engines and the end of all things. The normalcy of paperwork was a relief by comparison, but relief did not lessen the gathering stacks of it.

Albi, for her part, had spent her time in the Reach running simple errands. The technicalities of machinery and the specifics of scientific documents were beyond her, but those who called Rhalgr’s Reach home – the Ala Mhigan Resistance and Ironworks crew both – were never short of tasks that were in want of an adventurer, and the simple work filled her days with a perfect level of monotony and movement both. Albi was still in need of rest, but found her mood turning dour if she remained idle for too long.

The latter was proving to be a pertinent issue tonight, sleep coming in short, fitful bursts. Months had passed since their return from the edge of the universe, a majority of which she had spent bedbound and miserable – but even returning to her feet and walking wellworn paths in hope of finding normalcy and peace had come with mixed success. The expanse of the stars above Gyr Abania now no longer brought her comfort, but felt dizzying and inordinate, a looming presence even when the sun was shining. Streaks of galaxies were smeared behind her eyelids, through her dreams, across her cheeks——

Albi blinks, doesn’t realise for how long she must have been stood their awkwardly, until Nero makes a show of rolling his eyes – a motion he is not wont to make, considering how his eyes are typically hidden from view, but she notices that at this late hour he is not wearing his glasses – and shifting a box of tools from the stool next to him onto the floor. It’s a wordless invite, one that does not need to be stated to someone who often perches alongside their projects to watch with interest without one, but it is one that Albi finds herself grateful for nonetheless.

She heaves a great sigh, shuffles to the stool in a silent acceptance, and tries to imagine that she could also effortlessly slide the weight she carried onto the floor of their workshop.

Nero continues to work in silence for a short while, alternating between quick, messy scribbles on some pages, and precise lines on others. The two of them slip into an odd sort of calm, the night quiet asides from the distant rushing of water from the center of camp, and the sound of pencil to paper. Albi finds both to be soothing, a sensation she did not often feel around present company. As if sensing the feeling, Nero breaks the silence.

“Well, what is it then? Your base needs are not the only think keeping you up at this hour, I can tell that much.” He asks, without looking up from his work. Albi scoffs, not sure whether to appreciate the brevity of it or not.

“I simply feel… off.” Albi bemoans, leaning back on the stool, feeling distinctly displeased with her inability to find a word that accurately captured her feelings. It was as if her head were stuffed with cotton, or her heart had been left to sink to the bottom of a lake, the pressure beginning to warp it. Maybe throwing the whole lot into Silvertear would alleviate her ailments, she finds herself pondering.

Nero, uncharacteristically, does not immediately offer a quip in return. Albi wonders if she has said too much, limited vocabulary asides, and suddenly feels small and childish about it. But Nero simply picks up the small wrench his fingers had been absentmindedly fiddling with on his work bench, turns, and gently taps it against Albi’s forehead. The motion startles her, but she suppresses a flinch.

“Would that I could just fix whatever is wrong with you, hero, but whatever makes you tick is one of the few things outside my scope of expertise.” He quips.

A smile threatens to creep onto Albi’s face, despite herself. “To think there are feats even you are incapable of. I hope you find it humbling.”

“You know I don’t.” He huffs in return.

They return to an easy silence. At this distance, Albi can see the deep lines under his eyes, and wonders if they are a feature she also carries on her own. His irises bear a subtle glassy sheen, an after-effect of his time spent in the void so many years previous; it was something he kept hidden both from the sight and knowledge of most, his tinted glasses serving to shield his now sensitive eyes, as well as his ego from any questions. It would make sense for him to not be wearing them in the dead of night, for the sake of being able to complete his work, but Albi finds some solace in him finding no need to replace them in her presence.

“Would talking about whatever ails you bring you any peace?” Nero asks, shortly thereafter.

“Oh, and would you listen?” Albi teases.

“Try me, I’m sure I can find something to pique my curiosity within your regaling.”

“I’m sure you would…” Albi rolls the thought about in her head. “But there are simply no words I can use, no matter how messily I string them together, to describe it. What we saw...” Albi surprises herself at how calm and measured she makes herself sound, when the clamour of panic that has her feeling as she does makes her feel off-kilter and unintelligible even to herself.

“I assumed as much, that your experiences out in the depths of the cosmos are what put you in this surly mood.” Nero comments nonchalantly, as if the topic at hand were as casual as the weather, not about the yawning expanse of space. “You had that same far off look in your eye as Garlond oft did.”

“Surly…” Albi repeats the word under her breath to herself, thinking herself a model of poise and grace for not picking at it like an annoyance. It would have only proved his point, and proving Nero correct was always an irritant to avoid. She pivots her bristling to the rest of Nero’s comment; “... Did? How is Cid doing, lately? I regret that I have not spoken at length with him in some time.”

Nero makes a motion that looks as if he is trying to stifle a laugh, an awkward, gangly motion. “That you of all people should be asking me, are you not his drinking buddy? It really does speak to the state of things, if you’ve not gone galivanting in so long.” He scoffs, but his face soon lightens. “Garlond is fine. He saves his fretting for you and the Scions these days, rather than himself. It’s an improvement.”

Albi slowly nods, feeling sheepish. Cid had flittered around Old Sharlayan and her bedside in the wake of their return upon the Ragnarok, staying for as long as he could stay away from other commitments. Her recollection of his worry was murky, as were the first few weeks of her recovery, days and weeks blurring together into a solid lump that still sat in her stomach. They had spoken since, of course, but little more than passing pleasantries, distances of oceans and time making it feel like their ordeals were experienced by other people entirely. She makes a note to catch up with him properly.

“A night of revelry will do you both good, I’m sure. Better than all this,” Nero continues, flapping his hand in the air in a disinterested motion, “moping. If you ask Jessie to allow the team a night off, she’ll certainly take to it better than if any of us did.”

The thought was pleasant, Albi admits to herself. Despite being in Rhalgr’s Reach for almost half a moon now, she had still kept mostly to herself, the placation of friends nearby one she had nonetheless appreciated at a distance. And if others in the Ironworks would also benefit from time to unwind, then all the better. “And would you join us, Nero? Partake in a little revelry yourself?”

“Perish the thought. Watch your tone, little hero, or your overfamiliarity will spook me off again.” He comments, as if his continuing presence was that of a timid beast who could bolt at any moment, and not of a man controlled only by his own whims. His haughty attitude and the notion are both so very him that it shocks a small laugh out of Albi. Nero takes the distraction as some sort of small victory.

Mirth subsided, Albi smooths down the front of her shirt, looking down at her hands in her lap. The sun would be breaking in only a handful of bells, so she truly should attempt to catch what sleep time still afforded her. A strange sort of guilt passes her by, then, having been clumsily comforted by Nero, without offering anything in return.

“I’ll tell you about it, one day. About Ultima Thule.” She looks up to catch his eye. “I just need a little more time, I think.” she ends the sentence lamely, feeling as if she were little more than a child to be coddled, a feeling she decidedly loathes.

Nero makes no show of noticing her discomfort, turning back to his work and shrugging with one shoulder. “Well, time is certainly something we are no longer in short supply of any more, thanks to you. Maybe I’ll even join in with a toast to your victory on that count, should the mood take me.”

She doesn’t even have enough for the boat.

Let alone the cost of travel over land, once she arrived in Eorzea – it would take several days of ride by carriage to reach Ul’dah, which would at least mean accommodation would be an issue she could postpone until she arrived. But then, she’d also need to find somewhere within the city or its outskirts to stay, which was meaningless to dwell on at current, because she doesn’t even have enough for the damn boat.

Albi stands in her small room, staring down at the now meagre feeling pile of coins scattered about her table. There was enough for the small ferry to Old Sharlayan, but not for the main ship to Eorzea. Getting that far before stopping wouldn’t do her any good, either – the Sharlayan lifestyle was not cheap, and was not welcome to outsiders. She’d sooner be thrown into the harbour than to be suffered sleeping on the streets for a night or two, if she even got past the immigration officers. No, Sharlayan could only be a brief stopping point.

The first thing to go is a slim, silver bracelet – it was the first time Albi had ever worked with silver, it’s shape simple, but not without elegance. She had been proud of it, then, and still finds an amateurish charm to it now. While many of Danann’s people ended up specialising in metalworks to some degree, not everyone found themselves with a talent for goldsmithing. Holding it in her hands, up to the light, was the first time that Albi felt like she’d found a knack for something, that this could be her calling.

She gets 554 gil for it.

Next is a pair of earrings she made when she was twelve summers young, delicate swirls of gold inlaid with obsidian. She was told at the time they’d fetch a pretty sum, perhaps to one of the passing merchants who came through Sharlayan with eyes peeled for Danann design. But Albi held onto them, sentiment swaying her heart. In her desperation, years later, she gets 600 gil for the set. The matching necklace she started, but never finished, gets her 200 gil in the cost of its scrap materials.

Her tools, passed down to her by her mentors, go for 2,500 gil for the set. Parting with them feels like giving away a limb, an absence and a betrayal she feels keenly, but she could work hard once she arrived in Ul’dah for a new set. Sentiment was now her enemy, each attachment pinning her down for a day longer than she could scarce tolerate.

Albi pries the fixtures off her boots; though small, and worn, they are made of sturdy metal. She has cord she can use to keep the fastenings closed in their place. 50 gil a piece, which soon adds up. Next comes the gold edging from the sash she kept round her waist, purely ornamental in nature. Once removed from their context they became worthless to the eye, only worth their weight in base metals, and Albi grits her teeth at the way their removal damages the fabric they were affixed to. The weave could always be mended, down the road. Another 75 gil.

Other projects are pawned off; a set of rings that was a commission for a neighbour who was swallowed by the sea during the Calamity, never to be delivered. She was due to be paid 10,000 gil for them, but only receives a tenth of that from the merchant who now shoves them behind a counter without sparing them a second glance. Small, delicate mechanisms that were destined to be used to repair farm equipment, before the earth had cracked open and destroyed them beyond salvage. Albi’s cupboards and drawers are picked clean for anything with value, collected and used as barter for whatever she could earn. Every piece of herself, her history, now only worth as much as its value in gil.

Once everything else has been done away with, all Albi is left with is the jewellery on her body. The delicate chain around her neck is exchanged to pay for a sennights worth of meals, and Albi tries to discard the memory of forging the tiny links along with it, so as to soften the parting. It had been made in the fashion of a small bracelet she had been left as a child by a village elder she could scarcely remember the face of, and that goes with it, as does the last memory of their visage. It would adorn some other babe’s wrist now, she tells herself, one more deserving of it. And if it was melted down to be forged anew, then well, that would be out of her knowledge and out of her hands.

The silver rings around her horns, to Albi’s surprise, do not come off. They had been affixed there when she was a child, for her horns to grow into, this she knew – but the reality of their steadfastness brings her more frustration than relief. They were adorned with a cross-like design of Danann tradition, and thus became a part of her home that she was forced to carry with her, a burden of a reminder of what she was turning her back on.

The last thing left is a matching pair of earrings and rings, delicate silver inlaid with pearl. Albi is stood in her now empty home, bag half-packed, cradling them in her hands. They had belonged to her mother, so she’d been told – she had never known Dehn, and had heard little of the woman from those willing to speak her name. She had worn them til her dying day, to which point they had been passed down to Albi, as was tradition. These were the only evidence that Dehn had ever existed, and Albi had thus worn them, honouring the life and legacy of someone she had never known. Looking down at them now, she wonders again who Dehn might have been. Was she brave? Given the same circumstances, would she have stayed? Fled? Was she talented enough to have paid for travel easily, or did she have to scrape by for the fee of voyage when she first left Danann? Albi was unlikely to ever receive answers to these questions, but the tug of them pulls at her regardless, leaves her arms swaying under the weight of the delicate jewellery in her palm.

She slips the rings back onto her fingers, gently loops the earrings back into the base of her horns, the jangle of the pearls settling back against her scales, where they had always been. They would be her last resort. If she reached Eorzea and could not afford further travel, or reached Ul’dah and had no other recourse.