upon the eve of one night, spiralian pleasures still yet to be fully revealed to him, thancred had wandered into one of the island’s more quiet drinking holes. it paired as a library as well as an inn-like establishment, not too far from the koi ponds but far enough that the music of the venue did not disturb the serenity of the fish. he was not in the business of drowning his sorrows, but rather sought a comfort which he felt he deserved. he had responsibilities now, ryne his ward and his intentions to leave spirale by extension must be safe enough for her presence at his side. 

“ something small, if you would barkeep. “ he gestured to the man behind the counter, who poured him a half-pint of bitter. it was a necessity to keep his wits about him, but he also found himself still craving that need for escape. thus the two moral differences waged war within him as he took a heart gulp. the venue was rather small, the walls lined with bookcases and the front entirely glass, passersby peering in and their eyes rolling across the gunbreaker’s figure. there had been a time when he would not have craved the solitude of drinking alone, instead flanked on either side by ul’dah’s hoard of scantily clad mistresses, alas so much had changed, hadn’t it? 

but the visitor continued to wander, weaving past the picnic-laden patches where people had set up their shrine of memory and loss. where people had congregated to celebrate something as frail as a mere handful of years distance. did they consider that true pain? was a year apart so heartbreaking that the world was but a hollow husk of a realm to such creatures? comprehending it seemed extraordinary! 

whilst so many had their heads hung in shame, one stood apart from the rest as he did himself. and thus did emet-selch wander further, eyes glancing across the sea of bowed heads and hands clasped together in prayer. he stood beside the stranger -- a woman, tall with a cape lightly waving at her hips. her gaze was not lost on him, her manner and stance as she stood so apart from the others not quite escaping his notice. it was his job to notice. to observe, after all. and then he spoke and it was soft, despite his usual bravado, though his typical flair was not at all lost in the moment.

it mattered not that the nightmares and daydreams were merely those, just fragments of a past that he wished so hard to disband and release him so that he may eventually live in some brand of inner peace. but the past had always been hard to shake, as if his heart was obsessed with it. perhaps it would always be so. but not everything from the past was painful. not all of it black and miserable, scarlet and sorrowful. some of it was ice white. some of it was almost good. 

he hadn’t been sure, at first, whether or not he was still dreaming. she was dead. estinien had laid garlands to rest in her honour, had spoken a silent prayer that she may only be damning the ears of fools in an unreachable plane. but she walked not as a spectre would float, but as a woman with purpose, as he had always known her to; back straight and keen eyes glancing about as if ready to rival all that she saw, question any mysteries and speak only her truth, plain and simple. in contrast, he remained private ever still. coping, you might say.

he followed her from a distance, up until they reached some part of the world where cherry blossoms fell like pink snowflakes. sentimental scenery did nothing for him, nor did it inspire any heart wrenching poetics within him. if it was indeed a scene for beauty, he knew he would stick out much more apparent than most. although this was a world of peace, it certainly seemed that way, he still donned the armour sharing her name, the striking blue so distant from the crimson-soaked shade she may remember him owning beforehand. the only other new item upon his person remained to be a gift, something he had been tempted to toss aside, but had taken it up to merely dump later. in truth, he had forgotten about it altogether.