Pumpkin Mage

She headed to the summit. Her heart weighed heavy. "I lied to him..I hope he'll forgive me."

Mizuki knew what must be done. The aetheric imbalance needed to be fixed. Her knowledge of aether manipulation was great.

Admittedly she did not want to take such drastic measure but what other choice did she have?

She had finally found love and a family and somewhere to call home and she was about to throw herself into danger to protect what she had. She had to.

"Forgive me Aymeric- I do this to protect you and all I hold dear. May next we meet, you'll still love me..."

"Aymeric...let my soul return to you someday."

Taking in one last look of the scene before her, stealing her heart and resolve.

She began her spell. To use herself as a catalyst to channel aether from the leylines and redirect it to the Ishgard leylines. This should fix the imbalance, they had done something similar in the First.

As the aether rushed through her, Mizuki grimaced from the pain.

It burns....

It hurts...

It felt like she were being pulled apart piece by piece.

I must continue...

It hurts so much...

Aymeric...I'm sorry. I love you so dearly.

The last surge of aether washed through her taking away the last parts of Mizuki.

A torn and tattered hat remained on the summit.

-

Back in Ishgard the storms slowly began to calm and finally the sun broke free from behind the clouds and a glimmer of hope return to the people of Ishgard.

You look away, embarrassed.  Lean over the edge of the boat. The water here is impossibly clear and you can see the smooth pebbles at the bottom. Schools of fish drift by, and minerals and rocks glint in the afternoon light. You spot and identify several useful water plants before the flow of water begins to make you dizzy. 

You could not bear to catch the ferryman’s eye again. Your stomach clenching at the mere idea. Thankfully, the ferry is full. Farmhands lean against one another, hats pulled low as they doze. Their hands are weathered with dirt packed under the nails, in the knuckles. They breathe in sync. A trio of adventurers in the front have a map out; they’ve been arguing in hushed voices since boarding. They talk over each other in familiar patterns. A child leans over the edge of the boat, their mother’s fingers clutching the back of their tunic. She points out a turtle sunning itself on a rock. Their laughs match.

A sharp, green shoot of yearning sprouts along your rib, pierces the soft muscle of your heart. 

Your pack rests solidly against your legs. A short but effective wall between the seat you claimed and the rest of the passengers. It isn’t personal, you try to say with your expression, you just need your space. 

The ferryman’s hands pull the rudder and the boat responds in a graceful, slowing turn. It comes to a stop with a gentle bump against the dock. There is a chorus of rough laughter from the bow and as you watch the adventurers clap each other on the back, share long-lived grins. They’ve had that argument before and they’ll have it at least twice more before it’s done. The mother and her child are the first ones off, carefully aided by dockworkers. The child squeals with laughter as a worker pulls a flower from behind their ear. You rub at your chest. Falling in behind the farmhands you shoulder your pack. You will lose your fellow passengers soon -- to the crowd and to their paths. You don’t know their names and only some of their faces yet still you grieve these minuscule relationships.

Laughter and song pour out onto the street from an open door. An tavern, bustling and busy in the middle of the day, bards reciting old favorites. From the street you glimpse skirts flaring in the steps of a spirited dance; flowers blooming with each turn. It would be easy enough to slip inside, find a corner to claim, build more tiny relationships between strangers.

The letter you carry -- carefully folded in your chest pocket -- is time-sensitive. And the address it bids you travel to is far from this harbor town. Isolated. You linger. You could delay your trip for a day, perhaps two.