#ffxivwrite2024

Her hands trembled. And not just that, but her shoulders, jaws, and feet, too. Even with the fire burning in front of her, her teeth chattered, and she pulled her coat tightly around herself. She’d forgotten how frigid Garlemald nights were. 

Not that she’d bothered to remember. 

But just as she had grown to accept that her missing memories would not define who she was, she’d met Zenos. Crossed blades with him even. The slight widening of his eyes had been the only indication that that had not been their first meeting. Then of course his scornful smirk had followed. 

Kasia folded into herself and rested her chin on the crook between her knees. 

Camp Broken Glass was not what it was called when she still lived in this frozen land. Laterum had been its name, if memory served. The village used to be a checkpoint for travelers before they reached the Capitol. Kasia remembered being stationed here, though her memory was still fuzzy at best. Cid had explained it might be due to the Slave Crown they’d made her wear—“they” being the Garlemald Royal Family. Apparently the Emperor had once commissioned the Magitek Academy to design a mind-controlling device. Kasia had a vague recollection of the headpiece—more a circlet than a crown, with cold stainless metal and no adornments whatsoever. One could not have guessed it had the ability to repress any sort of inner will or thoughts. 

A mere puppet. Zenos had mocked her so. 

Fire flickered in the wind. Hushed murmurs followed each person that came, the soft crunch of snow under their boots lulling the anxious beating of her heart. A few yalms away, the Cook stirred his pot beneath a tent, and a couple soldiers handed out bowls to any who approached. Kasia kept away, sitting on a log by the fire unprotected from the elements. The scent of the stew had made her stomach turn.

Kasia didn’t know how much time had passed when the sound of familiar footsteps reached her ears. She looked up. Zorig was standing over her. 

His black scales, dark hair, and equally dark cloak blended him well with the darkness. If not for the firelight dancing on his brown face, or the pair of golden limbal rings that shone in his eyes, stark against the night, Kasia might not have noticed him. An exaggeration, for sure. 

A small smile broke across Zorig’s face, stretching his thin, chapped lips all the way to where his scales adorned his jawline. He didn’t look freezing at all! The big Xaela stood with his arms slightly apart to make way for the thick-layered cloak Tataru had provided him with—provided all of them with. Kasia’s own winter cloak had been a gift from Tataru, yet why was it that she couldn’t stop herself from shaking while he just stood there like he could brave the cold even if he had his clothes off?

Kasia harrumphed and dropped her gaze back to the blasted fire that she could hardly feel. Shouldn’t someone pour ceruleum on it? Make it blaze brighter, higher, hotter—enough to burn away the frost and drive the shadows far that people from malms away could see where the camp was. There was a lake full of the flammable stuff nearby with warehouses chockful of tanks. But instead she had to endure the quake in her jaws, the locking in her knees, and her frozen bum glued to this Twelve-forsaken log. 

Wordlessly, Zorig took a seat next to her and asked the Cook for a bowl of stew. Kasia made a point not to look, not to smell the chicken and the pepper. 

But then the smell was next to her, and from the corner of her eyes, she could see steam wafting off the bowl in Zorig’s hand. He grabbed a spoonful of it, then blew on it. Her stomach inadvertently churned.

He stopped, and looked at her. “You okay?”

Kasia nodded. “I’m fine.” Her voice came out in a croak—her throat had dried from the overexposure of icy winds. She cleared it away but the itch remained. 

“Here.” Zorig brought the spoon and the bowl to Kasia’s mouth, but the presence of such strong scents made her stomach flip. She pushed the bowl away. “It’ll warm you up!” Zorig pressed. 

“I’m fine, Zorig!” Kasia hissed while keeping her face turned. Bile rose to her mouth and she had trouble swallowing it down. “I’m fine, just… no stew. Please.”

Her shoulders shook. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and the harsh, unrelenting cold only pushed her teeth to chatter more fiercely. Kasia drew Tataru’s cloak tighter around herself, but it could not shield her from the weather. She bent forward, mouth agape to draw in more air, more oxygen. But the air was thin. Her chest constricted. 

Somewhere to her right, Zorig called her name. His usual sunny voice seemed to be laced with concern, but Kasia could not hear it, could not make sense of any words being uttered. In a span of seconds, the world had gone muted. A high-pitched ringing replaced all sounds in her vicinity.

Kasia fell off her log and dropped to the ground. Frost seeped to her hands and knees. Her heart thundered. Brown arms held her back, and then the bile came out in a burst of yellow and green. 

Then she saw fire—a conflagration so bright and so high, it drowned out all the scream before they reached her. A hand rested on her shoulder. When she turned, she found herself in a splendid obsidian hall with a single throne on a dais. A man, even in his old age, stood imposing and intimidating. It sent a quake deep in her core which she dared not show. A once-burgundy hair which had turned gray over the years; his golden gaze which could see through everything; he spoke, reaching a hand to her forehead. Kasia screamed. 

Burn.

Pain seared her mind. 

Kill everything.

Her muscles spasmed. She could not think, could not see.

Rain destruction on this wretched world.

Ice surged through her veins. Kasia held out her hands, and it burst out in spirals of frost and snow that coated the black marble floor and columns. Cold hands cupped her cheeks. Had she retained her senses, she would have recoiled. 

“Good girl,” the velvety voice had murmured. 

Kasia jerked. 

Gasps. 

Shouts. 

Her name. 

Kasia. Kasia? Kasia!

Kasia blinked. Another hand, a different one, warm and familiar, held her face. A pair of heterochromatic eyes—green and hazel—pierced the fogginess of her mind.

“Nayra.” A whisper, almost soundless. Kasia heaved a breath and closed her eyes. She heard similar sighs of relief around her. 

“She’s back,” Nayra said quietly. 

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know what—”

“Sshhh.” Nayra pushed Kasia back down when she attempted to rise. A bed. A cot, more likely. Kasia tried to blink the haziness away but she couldn’t quite focus her eyes. She noted the wooden construction, though: the walls, the beams, and the ceiling. When she turned her head sideways, she spotted the screens the Contingent used in their infirmary. 

“You’ve been out for a bell or so.” A clinical voice drifted to her ears. Y’shtola was standing next to Nayra. “Minor exhaustion,” she went on. “And hypothermia. We’ve warmed you up as best we can.” Her unseeing eyes spoke knowingly, though she didn’t say it aloud. It was no secret that Kasia had been a conscript. The Scions had known it ever since she regained her memories. Sensing her gratefulness, Y’shtola nodded to herself and patted her leg. “Get some rest.” Then she left the makeshift room. 

Kasia met Nayra’s eyes. The Warrior of Light made no effort to hide her worry, swimming as it was in her gaze as it always did. But she didn’t voice it, and for the next several moments, they stared at each other, neither attempting to break the silence. 

Kasia was the first who fell to the pressure. “I’m not staying back, Nayra.”

Nayra sighed, her mouth pressed into a wry smile. “I knew you’d say that.”

“This is my problem. I’m not running away.”

“I know. And I commend you for it. But there is a thin line that separates being brave and being foolhardy. You told me that yourself, remember?” 

Kasia pursed her lips. “It’s not the same. You were running off to gods-knew-where without a care to your well-being. I’m—”

“Also running off to the heart of the Empire which had carved such deep scars in you,” Nayra finished for her. She smiled, gentle. Kasia turned away. She hated that smile. It always made her feel like Nayra could see through everything. Nayra stroked her head. “I will not stop you if that is what you wish, but I will implore you not to tempt your limits. Even the mere sight of the Capitol’s distant spires had elicited such a reaction from you. Don’t think I don’t know why you stepped out of the meeting earlier.”

Kasia bit her lip. 

Nayra paused. “I don’t want to force your help if it brings out fresh trauma from your heart.”

“I know,” Kasia murmured. “But I can’t let you go alone, Nayra. I want to help. I know the city inside out. I know the Palace like the back of my hand. Even… Even if everything is still a bit fuzzy, I know I’ll recognize everything once I see them.”

Nayra didn’t say anything for a while. Then she patted Kasia’s head. “The Operation isn’t until a while yet. We’re still taking stock of everything. Get some rest.” She rose to her feet. Her parting smile was her usual warm and reassuring grin, but Kasia knew Nayra hadn’t quite agreed with her. 

Kasia slept for a short while after that. She woke up to the sound of familiar footsteps now quietly thudding against wood. Peeling open her eyes, she saw Zorig approach her bed. He stopped mid-step when he noticed her stare. 

“Sorry. I might’ve scared you earlier,” she said. 

A muscle twitched along his jawline. A smile? A laugh? Or maybe he’d meant it as a frown. In the end, he remained expressionless, but the gleam of his golden limbal rings illuminated the disquiet creases on his forehead and slight downturn of his brows. Poker faces were never his forte. 

Kasia let out a breathless chuckle. “I’m fine, Zorig. Really.” He made no movement. Kasia sighed in resignation. She pushed herself to a sitting position, made to say, “See?” but Zorig was already there with his arm on her back before she could finish sitting up. 

“Careful,” he said, firm, and rather reproachful. “You just woke up. Don’t push yourself.”

A strong hand supported her, gently propping her up. Then he set a plate with a steaming loaf of bread at the edge of the cot, and pulled her blanket around herself. Her coat was draped over a chair. He reached for it and threw it around her shoulders. Tucking her. Keeping her warm. 

Heat rose to her cheeks. “I–I can do it myself!” she blurted, snatching the rim of her coat from his fingers. 

Zorig scowled. “Last time you said that you passed out in the middle of the snow.” 

“It was cold! And the stew made me barf!”

Guilt flickered across his brown eyes. 

“Hey—” Kasia began, realizing her mistake. “No, I didn’t—it wasn’t your fault.”

“Should’ve said you weren’t up for stew.”

“I did.”

“After I had the Cook brought me some.”

Kasia frowned. “Well I didn’t ask you to feed me.”

“I was worried, okay?” Zorig glared at her. “You left suddenly in the middle of a meeting. Then I found you in the cold. Alone. With some measly bread.” He paused, then looked away. “I didn’t want you to freeze to death.”

Kasia swallowed her embarrassment. “I was by the fire.”

“Which was ten fulms away. No wonder your hands were freezing.”

There was no light near Kasia’s bed; the only illumination came from the main hall beyond the white screens. Despite the dimness, however, she could see the anguish twisting Zorig’s countenance as clear as if the sun was shining down on them. And he was the sun. Always. Positive; encouraging; resilient. During the short years she had known him, Kasia could count on one hand how many times she had seen it cloud over—which it now did… for her. 

A lump formed in her throat, and her chest felt unusually tight. She cleared her throat, averted her gaze. It fell on the steaming bread at the edge of her bed. 

“Is that for me?” she asked. 

Zorig followed her eyes. “Ah, yeah. I had the Cook steam one for you.” He brought the plate to help lap. Kasia tested the surface with her hands and found it steaming hot. She hissed in pain. Zorig chuckled. “Let me,” he said, then broke the bread so easily as though the heat didn’t sting his fingers. He held one half for her, and Kasia tentatively accepted it.

It was still hot to the touch. She blew on it, then blew on her hands, juggling it between her palms until it was cool enough to bite. Warmth spread from her tongue to her entire body the moment she swallowed. 

“Is it good?” Zorig asked. 

Kasia beamed. “The best.”

A lone figure stood atop a wide-open plateau in the wilds of Eitherys, her powerful yet dismayed sky-blue gaze locking on the towering bird gliding toward her. Her robe whipped about her in the rising wind. One look at her and people would assume she was a mere traveler, but the hooded cloak and leather boots hid the glimmer of light armor underneath. 

Her name was Leirion, and she was a researcher of Amaurot. A former researcher now, though. She was once part of Akadaemia Anyder’s faculty members before her renowned skills as a beastmaster attracted the attention of the then-chief overseer of Elpis. Now, she had stepped into the shoes of her former master, holder of the fourteenth seat of the Convocation: Azem. 

As Azem, it was her job to be the counselor of the people. If Elidibus was to be the Convocation’s advisor and spokesperson, one to represent their laws and beliefs, then Azem would be the one to bridge them with the people of the wider world—one to listen and advise and bring about a collection of aspirations back to their congregations. As such, she was often away, moons at a time. It might even be said that she felt more at home in her travels than she had ever felt in the stifling metropolis city of Amaurot. But returned, she must, to bring the good and bad news. Thankfully there was more good news than bad this time. She hoped that might allay any tongue-lashing Lahabrea surely had for her. 

The bird landed beside her, and the resulting gust of wind propelled Leirion’s hood to fall off. Auburn-brown hair tumbled out, half tied in a bun halfway up her head. She reached up to keep the stray strands away from her face.

“That is one mighty bird.” A voice spoke behind her. Venat stepped forward beside her, eyes marveling at the gleaming gold that painted each of the bird’s feathers. As though noticing the stares, the bird reached up its long neck and ruffled its wings. Sunlight glinted off the plumes. Venat beamed, then held out her hand to stroke its side. “Is this not the creature said to make its nest off to the western seas? I heard the storms it manifests could wreck ships asunder. How ever did you manage to tame the beast?”

Leirion smiled wryly. She patted the bird’s neck. “She was only protecting her eggs. The moment I assured her I would not let harm come to her island, she stopped causing chaos to the sailors. Of course, I had to make a trade with the villagers in exchange. They had been plundering the island for their lack of resources, after all. Had to make a… well, a few adjustments to my plan to fulfill everyone’s needs.”

“Hmmm.” 

Venat cast her a sidelong glance, and Leirion felt a twinge of guilt, though to be fair, there was nothing else she could do. She couldn’t have gone to report to Amaurot and then back again. Who knew what would happen in the time she was away? Another occupational hazard of the Seat of Azem, she would say, one the rest of the Convocation members had likely—probably—gotten used to since before she came into office. Venat surely had done something worse than this silly thing. 

“I predict another earful from Emet-Selch is coming,” Venat added a moment later. 

That made Leirion flinch. “Nothing I’m not used to,” she mumbled. 

Venat giggled. “Well, for one, I am curious what you plan with the bird. Have you made her your traveling companion, perchance?”

“Well, yes!” Leirion’s face brightened. “You see, I’ve tried and failed to create a concept that would allow air travel, yes? Land travel—we have a multitude of those, and I have contributed a handful of them myself, being travelers that we are. Teleportations are too risky in the wilderness and I am tired of wasting weeks and moons on foot just to reach my destination. Not to mention what might happen in the time it takes to get there! And Lahabrea had the gall to berate me for being late when he never even stepped foot outside of that gods-damned city.”

Venat giggled again. Leirion wondered how much Lahabrea had berated her for it. 

“But with air travel,” she went on, “what might take weeks could be shortened to days, or even bells. Of course it will depend on how fast the creation could carry you, but Halcyon here has promised me she is able to fly me back to Amaurot in less than a day.”

“Halcyon?”

“Her name,” Leirion replied with a beam. 

“I see.” Venat didn’t question her. 

It was well-known that beastmasters were particularly fluent in the language of beasts. The most proficient ones could even talk to them and hear their voices in return. Leirion’s skill had been one of the best in the Akadaemia. So yes, the bird herself had told Leirion of her name, and offered to bring her to the towering city herself after Leirion had fulfilled her promise of protecting both her island and her eggs. Now the eggs had hatched and the chicks had learned to fend for themselves. Halcyon had deemed it a suitable time to leave with Leirion for a short while, though she would later return to her nest once her task was complete. 

You need but whistle, and I shall come to your side, said the bird before Leirion departed the island a week prior to tend to her other tasks. 

But late yesterday evening, she’d received notice from the Convocation of the next congregation taking place in a few days. Venat, who coincidentally had been nearby, had come to offer her assistance when she called. 

“Forgive me, master,” Leirion said. “I keep troubling you with all my inconveniences.” 

But Venat only smiled. “I ceased to be your master the moment you took up my former office a century ago.”

Leirion responded with a matching grin. “But you’ll always be my master to me.” 

She looked at Halcyon then, and nodded her head. The bird lowered her back, allowing Leirion passage to her seat near the base of the bird’s neck. Halcyon then rose to her full height. Leirion had to hold onto the feathers tight to keep herself from falling. Truth be told, she had never flown on a bird before, let alone one as big as Halcyon. When the bird spread her wings to their full length, the span of them might be comparable to half the height of Ktisis Hyperboreia. But still, her heart fluttered at the thought of flying, the image of pastures and mountains passing by beneath her crossing her giddy mind. 

The congregation would not be until a few days. She had promised Venat she would return here immediately after it concluded. But before that, she should have some time to spare to call for Hermes and have him help her analyze Halcyon’s specifications to better create a concept that would match her. Who better to concoct a flying concept than the master of avian creations himself? Besides, she couldn’t wait to show Halcyon off to him. Mayhap he would be as starry-eyed as she had been when she first laid eyes on these golden plumes. 

Leirion dropped her gaze to Venat, who was seeing her off from the ground. 

“I’ll be back soon,” she called over the distance. Venat only raised her arm in farewell. 

With a pat and a whisper through the mental link Leirion had forged with the bird, Halcyon flapped its wings and took off.