#dail'a

“I have many unanswered questions. I suppose, at this point, few of them really matter. Tonight, I go to face a trio of men, Immortals of Thavnair, that wish me dead. I have no choice in this. I will either be endlessly hunted, or I will challenge them to a duel of honour. If I win, they leave me be and forget I ever crossed their path. If I lose... my life is forfeit.

I am the only daughter of Ceta and Edoh’a of the Naras clan, both Keepers of the Moon. I, myself, was once one such miqo’te. I departed my clan at the age of sixteen, not wanted or suited for life among my peers due to my unique and troublesome disposition, despite my talents.

I have spent much of my life wandering, searching for meaning. I have been a conjurer, an arcanist, a Blue Mage, and a shinobi. I write this now as the latter. I am survived by my parents, by my cousin, Dail’a, by my cat, Finn, and by my teacher and most cherished friend, Kaori, among many others.

To my parents, I am sorry. I tried my very best to be everything you saw in me. I wanted to be the perfect daughter. I failed you both. I know you love me all the same, and I am sorry to speak so poorly of myself before I go to my death. Know, though, that I love you both and wish that I were at least able to say goodbye.

To Dail’a, I wish I had gotten to spend more time with you. You have brought out both the best and the worst in me over the years, but most of all, you have helped me where few others would or could. Thank you. I wish I knew what that haunted silence was when we spoke of the Calamity. I suppose I will never know, now, but I hope that it is something from which you can move on in time.

To Finn, I know nothing I write will truly be understood, but I love you as I would my own child. I am sorry to leave you and wish I didn’t have to. I hope Dail’a takes good care of you. I know he loves you, too. You’re his little buddy. Be good for him.

To Kaori, I truly am not sure what to say. All the words that I could never actually speak are more or less worthless now. I know that what we meant to one another was beyond typical bonds, but this is my last and only chance to say it, so I will write it here: I love you. Maybe it isn’t "love” as it’s commonly understood, and I doubt it’s the kind one would expect when hearing this, but you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and the only person for whom I’ve ever felt this strongly. You’ve done so much for me, and I there has been so much I wanted to do for you. Please take care of yourself. I am sorry I couldn’t get to see our village - our home - to its rebirth, but I know you can get it there. Please don’t give up. You know I wouldn’t, nor would I ever want you to. I want you to be happy, whatever it takes.

To everyone else, all I can really say is thank you. You’ve all tolerated me, befriended me, shown me patience and understanding, given me more chances than I could have deserved in a thousand lifetimes, and opened up so many doors for me. I’m sorry that I’ve let you all down. I wanted to be something great, even if it was just for myself. I’m sorry to have wasted the chances I was given. I hope you can all move on and forget me soon enough. I know it’ll be better that way. I’m sure no one will miss my constant stuttering, rambling, panicky nonsense or my penchant for losing my mind entirely when I get stressed. I am sorry to have tested the patience of those around and close to me time and time again with my problems. I tried to be better. I tried so hard.

I have a lot of questions yet, and some regrets, as well. Perhaps, one day, someone may find the answers I sought. I never quite figured out the nature of my extraordinary sense for aether. I regret not having learned to control it or keep it from controlling me. I never found out what had happened to me in the year or more after the Calamity, though I don’t know if I ever could have learned that. I never quite found out the name of the Raen girl with the single horn, and I regret never getting to meet her. I wish I’d have never let my nerves get the best of me those times we ran into one another, but if I am dead, then it’s probably for the best. I regret never getting to settle the score between myself and Maximillian Crawford. I hope he gets his just desserts for all the wrongs he’s done to people like me.

I owe a lot of my good material fortune to the Crawford brothers and having been in their employ. Though we didn’t always see eye-to-eye, Anthony was a very good employer. I will always, however, hate Maximillian for his constant torment, both physical and emotional. All the same, what I leave behind is, to my knowledge, not insignificant.

All of my money - gil or otherwise - is to go to Kaori. My notebooks are to be burned. Finn will go into Dail’a’s care. All other possessions can be discussed between my parents, Dail’a, and Kaori. Any insurance payments on behalf of the Crawfords can be made to Kaori.

I will miss you all. Please try to move on. Don’t avenge me. Don’t start a war over me. Please forget about me. I’m not worth your grief anymore. I proably never was in the first place.

~Hali”

With a ragged sniffle, a sleeve came up to wipe at her eyes. Daylight was breaking over the Rasen Kaikyo and peeking through the trees surrounding the village. She hadn’t slept all night. Instead, she had accumulated a wastebasket full of crumpled up goodbye letters which had begun overflowing onto the floor of her room. She would need to burn them all before she left.

Sniffling again as she read the letter over and cried softly to herself in anxiety, she tried to keep her breathing steady. Her mind wouldn’t allow it. Two teardrops impacted the letter, fortunately, in a margin, before she folded it and sealed it in an envelope with wax and a small length of twine, tied into a bow before leaving it on her desk in her room in plain view.

She sat back at her desk and, finally, just allowed herself to cry. The sun was up properly by the time she was done, having gone to her bed to curl up, alone. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep, the exhaustion from stress, fear, and impending doom eventually overtaxing her.

Her dreams were wracked with anxious nightmares of malm-high tsunamis everywhere she turned, arcing ominously over her head. Should she escape one, another would come, wiping out the islands beaches until she, peering out of the window in her room, gazed fearfully up at one last massive wave. As it descended with a deafening silence, she felt its weight crush every last bone, forcibly eject the air from her lungs, and send her spinning into the lightless oblivion under the sea.

She woke up and found herself screaming in terror. Her dreams, though they were no longer haunted by the Immortals’ “beast within” which fuelled her magic previously, were still twisted into terrors by her anxiety. Pulling herself from her bed’s comforts, she staggered, shaking, toward her teapot to begin heating it. Some minutes later, she poured herself another cup of lavender tea.

It was nearly a bell later by the time she realised she’d slept most of the day away; it was a mere three bells before the duel with Varajahl, Habraheem, and Ghayaraan. The Immortals would be waiting for her, she knew, and with them, an audience of people to, at best, support her, or at worst, watch her die.

After she had finally calmed herself, she set to sitting cross-legged before her window, staring out into the trees as she focused, lavender incense lit to either side of her to keep her calm and focused. After several long breaths, she made four hand signs, one quickly after the other: Hogo, Shonin, Fuwa, Tsuihou. Protection, Witness, Discord, Banish. These four mudra were not a typical for shinobi, meant more for onmyoji priests. However, she had needed to learn it quickly during a venture. A stroke of curiosity led her to discover that it could not only seal and purify evil, but the “beast” as well. Her morning routine had come to include this ritual, and she held the mudra that executed the jutsu, holding the power within her and directing it further inward.

When she first began doing it, out of curiosity and desperation more than anything, the “beast” had screamed. It tore at her mind and soul in retaliation and sent her into fits of existential agony. As time went on, however, she got better at the jutsu itself and the beast weakened. By that afternoon, some weeks later, she had suppressed it almost entirely, her soul mending where the awful presence was once absent. It would take some team before she could fully heal something so intangible and important, but it would be worth it.

As she held the jutsu, she felt her own aether shimmer and contort as it was scoured of evil presence. There was no screaming, no pain, no existential agony. The “beast” had been starved and subdued for so long, it was barely noticeable any longer. Even Varajahl had mentioned that at that rate, it would likely die out completely. Though it left an odd vacancy within her, she had begun to feel better and more herself day by day.

By the time she was dressed and ready to leave, it was just two bells before the duel. The sun was already setting, and she had little time for a potential last meal. She stopped in Kugane for a bite to eat, though it was light, and then moved on to the Ruby Sea for warm-up exercises. It was there, on that islet where she had spent so much time training to make herself better, that she remained until the last half-bell remained, and she left her training ground behind her.

Hali nodded as she regarded her cousin, spread out across her couch in the laziest fashion one could comprehend, a big grin on his face from the story he’d just been told. If there was one person in the world she figured she could trust, it was Dail’a Naras. He might have been an idiot - and a reckless one, at that - but there was no denying the man’s heart of gold, especially when it came to his cousin.

She had regaled him with the story of her disappearances, her sudden, drastic improvements, her constant training and determined drive to improve herself, and even of the new persona which she’d assumed. He hung on her every word like a child, enraptured by tales of great adventure.

“Soun’s like a’ells a lo’o’fun, y’ask me,” he drawled, tucking the sunglasses into his shirt for the time being, “But y’know, I’m a mite chafed. Ye’re runnin’bout in’e darkmans again, what like we used to, an’ ye didn’t bring me?”

“S-sorry,” the miqo’te-turned-Au-Ra muttered with a smirk, sitting at her desk as she perused her ill-gotten gains from not one, but two forays into that hideous chocobo house. She’d added another book - an adventure novel - to her collection, as well as a large canister of moko and a new Edda Blackbosom doll. Though she already had one, another was welcome.

“Ain’t nothin’,” Dail’a rumbled with a lazy wave of his hand, “but. Nex’time ye go out lookin’ to cloy summat, bring me aboard, why don’tche?”

Hali paused and gave the tattooed miqo’te a wry grin, snickering as she prodded him with a teasing tone, “I-I, uh, thought you’d given that u-up? All on th-the up-and-up now? P-playing the, uh, big damn hero?”

A snort said the Keeper of the Moon thought otherwise, his response no more than a long, drawn-out, “Naaaaaaahhh,” that set Hali to giggling.

“Well,” she started, asking with a wicked grin, “W-wanna go see if, uh, we can find a-any places with... s-some... uh, really good s-stuff? I, uh... I think that’s it for the stupid ch- uh, chocobo... house... thing. F-for now. Anyroad.”

“Y’feckin’ be’I do!” Dail’a laughed, swinging his legs off of the couch and hopping to his feet. The sunglasses were pulled free and donned; even at night, his eyes were incredibly sensitive to the lights and lamps that lit many of the more populated areas.

“Actually,” he said, pausing to think, “Y’keen on tryin’ yer fams at’is place in the ‘Beds? Big paissa’ouse. Ugly as sin, stares its soulless-like glazes right up at me window. Been meanin’ to’ave a lil’ rum fun wivvit, but Kalya ain’t much keen on it. So I ain’t done it. Yet.”

Hali’s face contorted into a look of exaggerated horror and disgust and she gurgled a noise in response to the description that sounded quite akin to gargling gravel. She nodded in affirmation at the invitation, however.

“Now ‘at’s me cousin,” he chuckled in return, “Getcher bea’er cases back on. I’ll letche piggyback off o’me to Lily’ills. Ain’t far from’ere, ‘en.”

With a nod, Hali gave a soft affirmation of, “Uh, r-right!” Within moments, she was dressed again and ready to go.

It was a quick jaunt over to the Lily Hills apartments in Gridania’s Lavender Beds. Dail’a lived there with his partner, R’kalya. Hali hadn’t met her, but figured she had to at least be somewhat sane and/or responsible if they had an apartment together.

From where they stood, their objective was clear, just across the bridge over the river and down the hill to the left: a decent-sized house, not nearly as big as the chocobo house, but large enough that it was eye-catching, especially given the large paissa bust on the roof, its wide, soulless stare peering unrelentingly at the apartment complex.

“Yikes,” Hali muttered, “Th-that thing is... a lot, uh... worse... than I-I-I’d, uh, i-imagined.” She wasn’t, in actuality, that bothered by it, but that made it no less abominably hideous. The spite began to well inside of her. Such hubris had to be punished. It was a crime against her eyes and she would mete out the-

Dail’a was already on the other side of the bridge, working his way down the hill. He’d always been ridiculously fast. She knew that, while she was fairly agile, herself, she’d never match him. The way he moved sometimes was almost unreal.

Once they reached the house, they motioned silently to one another to communicate. The Keeper turned his gaze to her from behind those sunglasses of his, then motioned with a hand for her to scout out around the right side of the darkened, silent building. He went right. They met around the back moments later, both shrugging to the other. Windows were locked and the only way in was in the front, thanks to typical Eorzean architecture. At least, she thought, it was predictable.

Removing her lockpicks, the dexterous Au Ra quickly set to work in opening the doors while Dail’a played lookout. With a soft click, the lock turned, and they began to head in.

The house was dark, much to their expectations. There was no hall that suggested a Free Company. A private owner would be that much more amusing to rob. Each of the pair set off in different directions, Dail’a to the upstairs, Hali examining the main level.

The main level was quaint enough, but definitely belonging to a person of some wealth. Her first stop was a little library nook by the living area. Gloved hands picked through books cautiously as titles caught her eye in the dim light of the moon filtering in through the windows and canopy above the house. The kitchen would be her next stop. She had half a mind to see what the ice box held, and, perhaps, to help empty it. She and Dail’a were both, classically, very heavy eaters, and she had been hungry for a few bells.

Dail’a, meanwhile, brazenly, yet quietly, intruded upon the bedroom. In a large, ornate bed, an Elezen man, looking to be of Wildwood descent, snored loudly. With the door to the room open, Hali could hear him, as well. That gave them both a means of determining the man’s state, which was helpful. The mischievous miqo’te began to rifle through the desk across the room from the bed, carefully leafing through paperwork, picking through the contents of drawers, and even peeking under the furniture for valuables. Anything that looked expensive was going to be his, of course, but he also wanted something else. Charcoal would be ideal, he thought to himself, but maybe he could find something close.

Eventually, the two met in the kitchen, Dail’a setting down a small satchel of pilfered things. He hadn’t gotten much, but he had, thus far, bagged a couple expensive-looking potions, a golden fobwatch, and several smaller baubles, including a couple rings and a pearl necklace, still in its box. Hali took pleasure at the implication of the necklace. Perhaps the paissa-house-man was looking to court someone. That she was ruining something that had been causing her such grief made her feel better, though in a bit of a guilty way.

Dail’a seemed every bit as peckish as his cousin, and made his way immediately to the ice box and pantry, both of which were stocked with all manner of cured meats, fresh produce, and more. Shooting a grin to Hali, he tossed a bag of jerky to her and pointed down, toward the basement. He began loading a larger sack with food.

Hali proceeded, following the miqo’te man’s instruction, down the stairs and into the basement. It was nothing special, she thought. A pool table sat in the middle, a mini-bar across the room from the stairs. She picked out a few bottles of liqueur, stashing them with the few books she had found, and continued around. Not long into her search, Dail’a joined her again, though, as he descended, the stairs creaked ominously, the faint snoring from above stopping. Both would-be thieves froze and time began to dilate around them. Dail’a looked calm, but Hali’s heart threatened to beat from her chest and run if she didn’t start.

The snoring resumed, and the cousins heaved a sigh of relief before Dail’a stole his way into a sideroom, exiting with a bucket of green paint and a massive grin on his face. Hali knew, immediately, what the order of the night truly was: he sought to deface the paissa house with its owner’s own possessions. With a nod and a thumbs-up to Hali, he motioned that he was ready go, and she nodded her own affirmation.

They made their way outside, Hali locking the door behind them after they made sure they covered their tracks, and slipped around to the back of the house again. Dail’a passed her a glance, then held out the bucket. For all his speed and agility, he was never much good at climbing without aid, as she had become. She sighed, then nodded.

The bucket’s handle was passed over her arm, held in her elbow, and she began to pick out parts of the house that would make scaling it easier, especially with paint. Eventually, she picked out a path, climbing up a few decorative knotholes in one of the wooden pillars at the house’s corner. From there, it was a short hop to an upper-floor window. Peering in, she found herself staring down upon the source of the snoring, and was glad that she could watch him continue to do so. Making her way up, she slipped the bucket of paint off of her arm and gently nudged it up and onto the roof, around the overhang before swinging out and getting a leg up, herself.

The next part was the easiest: with the edge of a throwing knife, she pried the lid of the bucket open before walking up to the apex of the roof and approaching the dread paissa. It stared directly away from her, unblinking in its vigil of the Lily Hills apartment building. That, however, did not last long. With a few strategic steps, she perched atop its head and poured lime green paint down its face, covering its eyes entirely. With a malicious giggle, she left the bucket upside-down atop its head like some kind of crown before making her way back down to Dail’a, who, too, was laughing, admiring their handiwork. With a wave up toward his apartment, they fled, two large satchels full of pilfered possessions and expressions of gleeful victory.