#ahlis ildilayan

Synnove stared with narrow, suspicious eyes at the letter from the Chair of the Department of Arcanima from the University of Radz-at-Han’s College of Mathematics, drumming her fingers on her desk for long moments as she mentally flicked through a list of possibilities. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and scowled, snatching up the other letter, popping the wax seal, and unfolding it.

My dearest Mistress Greywolfe—

Synnove dropped the parchment, recoiling with a disgusted shriek. Galette HISSED, rising to a crouch as she bared her teeth and bristled her fur, tails lashing.

She knew that handwriting, knew that deep blue ink, knew that absolutely repulsive cologne that wafted into her face.

The first letter was in her hand in an instant, wax seal ripped off and parchment unfolded.

I promise, Synnove, the other letter is worth soiling your fingers and eyes.

Synnove ground her teeth, rage roiling through her, but she took a deep breath through her nose for a five count. Held it for another five count. Let it out with a final five count.

“Thaisie, you are going to owe me so much alcohol,” she muttered under her breath. She set down Thaisie’s letter and reached up to pet Galette, soothing them both for a few moments. Then, she picked up one of the half-sticks of graphite from the pile in the corner of her desk, and used it to poke the other letter flat, sneering as she did. Once that was done, she threw the graphite into her trash bin.

Finally, with a grimace, she leaned over her desk to read the letter from Bahram Zarir.

Synnove sat back after the first flowery paragraph and exchanged a confused look with Galette. “Did he actually…?”

I think so? Galette chittered, ears flat against her head.

They leaned forward again to read the next paragraph.

“…Ah. Never mind. He still, in fact, has his head shoved up his ass so far that the apple on his throat is actually his nose. Good gods, how as he gone this long without developing critical thinking skills, or the ability to remember what he wrote in a previous paragraph?”

She continued reading, occasionally muttering comments such as, “My gods, you absolutely disgusting piece of worm-ridden filth,” to which Galette snickered. Finally, she reached the end of the letter, and slid back into her chair.

And started giggling.

It evolved into a full body guffaw, rising from deep in her belly, and Synnove bent over as she howled with laughter, for so hard and so long it became silent heaving that shook her whole body. Galette sighed and rolled her eyes, holding on as her perch pitched to and fro. As Synnove finally calmed again, she brushed tears from her eyes.

“Oh, my gods, that was hilarious,” she wheezed. “Gods, I only hope I’m there on the day his hubris gets his sorry plagiarizing ass killed so I can laugh him all the way to the Hell of Water. What a cunt.”

Still chortling and catching her breath, Synnove carefully picked up Bahram Zarir’s letter with the very tip of her thumb and forefinger, and dumped it in the trash.

“Please remind me to get Ivar to burn that later,” she said, wiping her hand on her pants.

Yes, Mama!

Then, finally, she picked up Thaisie’s letter to read.

He really is such a prick, isn’t he? It’s a wonder he hasn’t become a victim of Thavnairian politics, but then he’s probably too thick to be a credible threat to any of his relatives or their myriad enemies. Just a shame we got stuck with him. I’m fairly certain the dean was dreaming about defenestrating him and a few other of the legacy children during the last open thesis read.

In any event, I thought you might enjoy the attached to make up for the toad’s sorry attempt at civility: a copy of the abstract for Master Zarir’s latest article. It’s still technically in peer review, but you’re a peer, as dirty as that no doubt makes you feel. Do what you will with this.

Also, yes, I know, I owe you alcohol. I already have a nice bottle of arak picked out for the next time Thubyrgeim allows you off your leash, or I’m able to attend a Lominsan conference.

Kisses!

Thaisie

“You’re such an asshole, Thaisie,” Synnove said fondly, shuffling the parchment to the second page. Zarir’s greatest weakness as a researcher was that frequently, he did have original ideas…but was frankly terrible at the execution and he outright stole others’ work in bits and pieces and tried to make a whole from it that fell apart if one breathed on it too hard. So, what trash was he on about now?

She read the abstract once. Blinked. Read it again, slower this time, than gave it a third pass.

Synnove set the parchment down flat on her desk, mind racing.

Zarir’s article was in peer review, and therefore it wasn’t public knowledge or in open circulation; the only individuals with copies would be Zarir, the reviewers, and Thaisie. He wouldn’t be able to add anything, with how the University handled its legacies’ attempts at academia, the peer review was mostly for show and the article would be published in the latest issue of their mathematics journal. There would be no turnaround time for Zarir.

And there was no way for anyone else to possibly know what he was publishing. Further, it was incredibly common for academics to hit on similar ideas and develop them in parallel without knowing until the other was published.

Zarir’s idea was similar to that of someone else’s here at the Gate. Oh, not hugely similar, but enough for the mainstays in the field to have a solid guess of which articles either had been reading and drawing inspiration from. But Ahlis had gone off in a completely different direction and what was more, her math was sound, the research actually done rather than theorized, and with a high chance of her succeeding and creating a new breakthrough in arcanima. And Ahlis’s work was ready for presentation at the upcoming research symposium. At which a few of the Hannish—not Zarir, if only because the dean didn’t want to deal with the political fallout of letting him set foot in Limsa Lominsa and the resulting murder—from the University would be attending.

Synnove smiled, slow and deliberate and sharklike, a dark chuckle rising in her throat, as she reached for a piece of fresh parchment and a graphite stick. She was quite thankful now that she hadn’t replied to Ahlis’s note just yet.

Ahlis,

I think you are more than ready! You’ve done your due diligence, even surpassed it, in laying your foundation. I still cannot find flaws in the theorems and equations you’ve laid out—your mathematics might need the occasional proofing, but your grasp of the principles is superb, and we’ve all needed a second set of eyes on our work when we’ve looked at the numbers for too long.

You are an excellent arcanist, Ahlis. As intimidating as it is to present research, the symposium presents a wonderful opportunity to receive feedback and collaborate on further avenues to explore your hypothesis. And, if word on the grapevine is true, I have no doubt your work will be leaving certain members of our community absolutely green with envy.

Give ‘em hell!

-Synnove

She signed with a flourish and folded the letter into neat thirds, wrote Ahlis’s name on it, and bound it with some of the leftover twine from Thaisie’s packet. “Amandina, Roksana,” she called out as she tied off the string, “would you like to run an errand for me?”

The twins poked their heads over the edge of their basket, the picture book they had been carefully pawing through forgotten. Their ears stood straight up, noses twitching in excitement—and then they were tumbling out of the basket and darting right for Synnove’s desk. Oh oh oh yes yes yes! they peeped excitedly. Errand errand errand we can do it!

The carbunclets skidded to a halt at their mama’s feet and looked up at her with huge eyes, their mass of tails shaking with excitement. Galette huffed, exasperated as always with their endless amounts of energy, but didn’t otherwise say anything as Synnove leaned over with the letter in hand.

“Do you remember where the Gate’s mailroom is?” she said, solemn.

Yeah!

The arcanist held out the letter, and Amandina very carefully accepted it, clamping down with her teeth to hold it firmly.

“Bring this down to the mailroom,” Synnove said, “and give it to Coster, and only Coster. He’ll make sure it’s delivered to its intended recipient! And then, once you’re done, come right back here, all right?”

Okay, Mommy! warbled Amandina, a determined set to her face.

We’ll be right back! said Roksana with a peppy chirp.

Then, rather than turn and trundle towards the door to her office, as Synnove thought they would, Roksana took one of Amandina’s ears into her mouth, and with a pop! of displaced air they were…gone.

Dead silence, as arcanist and carbuncle both stared, jaws hanging open, at the space the twins had been in just a few moments before.

“When did they learn to do that?” Synnove said, faint and bewildered.

I dunno. Galette tilted her head. Can I learn how to do that?

“Absolutely not, you’ll use it to break into the coldbox for my pies.”

Ahlis squinted at Serella’s back in blatant suspicion as they made their way through the Shroud. To anyone who didn’t know the duo, there would be no cause for such mannerisms, certainly not when they were doing naught more than walking down a well worn road in relative, companionable silence, but Ahlis knew, despite Serella’s insistence to the contrary, that something was bothering the Paladin, and deeply so.

Serella hadn’t said a single pun. Not once. Not since they met in Carline Canopy and left in search of their hunt mark, certainly not now that they were coming to the Honey Yard to collect their pay.

Not to say she had been cold, far from it, but what warmth Serella had offered Ahlis in conversation had been surface level. A far cry from her typical almost-too-chummy mannerisms. Prodding, even tactless prodding, hadn’t inspired much more than a tepid, “Oh, I can’t be annoying you all the time, Firefly.”

Ahlis’ eyes narrowed further yet, pondering on what had caused the change in her companion.

She wasn’t left to wonder for long. They met with the farmer that put out the bounty, a local who worked with the beekeepers. Though he handed Ahlis their pay, it was Serella he couldn’t stop looking at, scrutinizing her as if he knew her. Ahlis wondered how; the man looked twenty years their senior, give or take.

She pondered further how the Paladin doggedly avoided his searching eyes, how she stayed some paces away.

“...Ellie? Little Ellie?” The man finally called out.

Serella flinched.

“It is you! My, how you’ve grown!” He brushed past Ahlis to move closer. Serella angled herself some few ilms further away. “And into a fine swordswoman, no less! I’d thought you lost when the village-”

“Uthen and I made it fine.” She managed, and Ahlis had never heard her sound so tense.

If the farmer had noticed, he seemed not to care. “Boy, we sure could have used such skills back then! You might have singlehandedly saved that godsforsaken place!”

“Unlikely. I was but eight summers.” Serella replied thickly.

“Oh, sure, sure, but you know what I mean.” The man dismissed. “Mighty fine shame what happened to you folk. Had some good people to trade with what came from there, back in the day. If it weren’t for that fool of a father you had-”

Tyrfing cut through the air so sharply it whistled when the Paladin drew it, the glinting edge of it against the man’s throat. Where she had been drawn away from herself she was now pulled taut as a bowstring, her pose sturdy as a mountain. Ahlis’ hand instinctively reached to her back for her staff but had to stop herself, shocked that Serella had drawn her blade for something that was not, inherently, a threat.

“If you value your life, you’ll stop right there.” She snarled in a voice that practically didn’t sound her own. To Ahlis’ ears, it was too low, too much of a growl, to be the carefree Paladin she had worked alongside. “ My father only ever did what was right. He was a good man- a better man than you ever could be. If you’re too much of a dirt licker to realize what's really the threat to Gridania, you blame me for what happened that day, and no one else.”

The farmer looked near to pissing himself, knees knocking and hands trembling as they were. As quickly as the moment happened it was over, and Serella was sheathing her blade. Contempt was writ plain on her face.

“The Twelveswood bade you forget that place. I suggest you do so.”

Serella left. Ahlis chose not to tarry, and fell into step beside her.

Their silence was less companionable on the way back to the Canopy. Ahlis didn’t know how to begin to break it- and just this once, she felt a flicker of envy for her companion’s knack for talking through tension.

“If he refuses to honor the bounty, I’ll pay you what you’d be out.” Serella spoke up. “Shouldn’t have done that. I’m s-” After a pause, she tried again, “I’m not sorry I did it. But if you get screwed because of it, then I’m sorry for that.”

“I wouldn’t be. And I’m not taking your money.” Ahlis snorted in indignation. “Though you could stand to explain what in the seven hells happened back there.”

A harsh way to offer comfort, or a lead up into that offer, but such was her way, she supposed.

“My childhood village.” Serella said in a detached tone. She never stopped looking out to the road ahead of them. “We took in refugees from Ala Mhigo when I was a kid. The Twelveswood didn’t like that. Ordered us to send them out on their way, regardless of whether doing so would kill ‘em or not.” Her fists, bunched around her pack straps, squeezed so tightly, Ahlis could hear the leather creak. “I begged my Da to plea on their behalf. To let them stay, at least long enough for them to be okay.”

Her voice cracked, and when Ahlis looked up, she was horrified to see unshed tears clinging to Serella’s long lashes.

“Arcbane...”

“He did. They stayed. And the village was destroyed for it.” The tears began to fall in fat rivulets, their path caught and guttered away from her mouth by her scars. “I can’t even show you where it was on a map, because it was decreed to be forgotten. I know where it was, but all that’s there is a clearing, and it was my godsdamned fault-”

Just as the Paladin began to crumple, Ahlis moved in front of her to force her steps to halt. Never had Serella looked so beside herself, eyes wide and glassy, scarred lips quivering with the effort not to cry. It did not suit her, the Black Mage decided.

Softness did not come easily to Ahlis. Even as she took Serella’s face in her hands, she was just shy of rough about it, tugging insistently to pull her back to the present.

“Serella.” Ahlis said forcefully, biting back a wince even as she did. With a harsh sigh, she tried again, “You sweet fool. You said yourself, you were but eight summers old. And you know what was really responsible.”

They wouldn’t dare say it here, lest it invoke Greenwrath. They weren’t that foolish. Not even Serella on her worst days.

“...I blame myself regardless.” Serella sighed, eyes fluttering shut as more tears leaked out. “Logically, I know I shouldn’t. I know that.”

“Fool of a Paladin, going and making yourself care too much.” Ahlis clucked her tongue, even if she smiled in fondness despite herself. “It’s your biggest weakness. And your greatest strength.” She used her thumbs to swipe the last of Serella’s tears away. “May you never lose it.”

Though her eyes were still red and puffy, the Paladin’s lopsided smile was genuine.

“My mighty companion, pretending she doesn’t have the selfsame trait. That she isn’t an inspiration to me.” Serella’s hands came up to cover Ahlis’, still on her face. “May I kiss your palms in thanks, fool of a mage?”

Just this once, Ahlis let the comment slide. With a toss of her head to hide her faint flush, she huffed, “If you must.”

“With your permission, I must.” Serella said with a nod, moving to press a kiss to each of Ahlis’ palms.

The warmth lingered, even after Ahlis took her hands back. She clenched her hands to trap it there a little longer.

“Fool.” Ahlis said again, though whether as an admonishment to Serella or herself, she couldn’t tell anymore.

“Fools together.” Serella said with a nod, scrubbing at the last evidence she had cried at all. “My partner in crime. Let’s get back, yeah? I’m starved.”

“Ever thinking with your stomach, Arcbane.” Ahlis tutted, though they fell back into step with such ease, it was as though they had never stopped at all. “Just like your brother.”

“My appetite is far less prodigious, I assure you.” Serella shuddered. “Though your words have certainly given me food for thought.”

“Oh good, your brain’s been rather starved of it.” Ahlis shot back before she could stop herself.

“Ha! Was that a joke? From Ahlis Ildilayan?! I’m amazed! I’m honored!” Serella gasped.

“An insult! Which is naught new for me, and you of all people should know that!” The Black Mage huffed.

“But that one was actually funny!” Serella roared with laughter at her answering agonized groan.