#kiwisffxivwrite2020

The woman on his lap hums, shifting ever so gently to turn her head up and poke the tip of his pointed nose with the supple pad of her finger tip.

"I think I of all people should know if that saying is true or not, Alphinaud." There's a hint of red mischief glimmering in the midst of tranquil violet in her eyes, but he's long learned to not think any differently of her regardless what hue her eyes shone. "I'm an astrologer. The constellations are meant for divining the future."

"Ah, yes. And you are also, among other things, a non-padjali white mage. AND the most dangerous sorceress I've ever had the fortune to meet." Alphinaud's grin widens, and he reflects the mischief in her eyes twicefold as he dips his head down to nudge his head against hers in a manner that reminded her starkly of a needy puppy. "Need I mention an accomplished artisan?"

Sometimes Alphinaud found the mood to tease her - listing the many and more talents she possessed that he'd looked up to as she'd scurry away and shrink herself into a flustered, blushing mess. It had been his foolproof way of eliciting that adorable reaction out of his eternally bonded, and a way to help her curb with her less than ideal self-esteem both.

"Oh, and your singing of course.. how could I forget the voice of the most captivating songbird in all of Eorzea?"

"A-alphinauddd pleaseee..." Darling Warrior of Light is thoroughly flushed in the face now, and she's resorted to burying herself into his chest to hide her embarrassment while he it was all he could but to laugh heartily, and the boyish glee in his voice that rose in volume stirs at her pounding heart even more.

There were many things he loved about his lady, the woman he'd been so blessed to reunite with - so utterly undeserving of her gaze as he was. Even their past lives aside, he was a flawed man who so nearly saw the last grains of sands that was his second chance slip through his fingers and wash away into the sea of souls for good. If Illya had not been courted by a taller, darker, stronger and more gifted person, fate surely would have stolen her light from him. 

She bloomed like a rose, beautiful yet laced with thorns. Her spirit was like the ocean, tranquil and still on a calm night, yet her might amidst a midnight storm was dangerous and unparalleled. And more than anything, he saw an angel in her, selfless and ever boundless in her blessings to others. 

And in the midst of reflecting back on her many deeds, a finger gently tracing the discolored scars that lined her skin across her collar bone and shoulder, he wondered silently with some amount of melancholy what exactly the world has done in return for their savior. Certainly not enough - not even close.. and he, of all people, has the most to repay her for, a debt he owes her across the span of countless stars.

If she could wish upon a shooting star - just what kind of deepest desires did her heart hold?

“Make a wish, Illya.” Alphinaud whispers, as he leans back against the headboard of the bed and moves his hand to gently clasp hers. His wife moves back ever so slightly to look at him with wide, curious eyes. 

“A wish?”

“Aye.. if you could have any wish in the world granted, what would it be?”

The lalafell pauses, pursing her lips as she thought in silence, and glances out the window upon the myriad of glittering stars. She contemplates for a moment, before furrowing her brows and looking back up at the elezen.

“I would wish for eternal world peace.” 

Oh, typical. The answer had entirely been predictable, but Alphinaud was no less disappointed after hearing it. Ever the sacrificial hero, a girl who would sooner give her life than to forsake the world even in an imaginary scenario. 

But it was odd to hear that whilst she wore her dainty little night gown, feet in woolen slippers and her body held close in the safety of his arms. The room was warmly lit by a mixture of golden light fixtures and glowing pink lily lamps, the scent of lavender and chamomile drifting through the air. And atop their bedside table left a pair of matching aetheryte rings, and a silver locket bearing a glowing amethyst gemstone whose shine was only second to Illya’s eyes. 

This was their home - their safe haven.. a place he made doubly sure would keep them safe, and most importantly - make Illya feel at ease.

He didn’t want to hear the wishes of the Warrior of Light - the front of a hero she has to wear every waking moment of her life and the bravery she’s proven many times over to already possess. He wanted to hear the wishes of Illya Skawi - the woman whose smile he swore to preserve for the rest of eternity. 

“That’s.. very valiant. But I want to hear your own wish.. a wish you have for yourself.”

Illya tilts her head with a slight frown.

“Wishing something for myself when the world is ever in desperate need somehow.. isn’t that selfish?”

“Illya.. I think you’ve earned every right to be selfish. You more than any other person in the world.” His hand raises to gently nudge her chin up, and he tilts his own head down to plant a gentle kiss upon her forehead before exhaling heavily. His breath tickles her, and he smiles at her singsong giggle. 

“But for the sake of easing your constant need for philanthropy.. Let’s say your wish for world peace comes true. What then?”

Her silence is lengthier this time as she contemplates his question, turning to obscure her eyes beneath the shadow of her bangs as she rummaged through a hundred different thoughts in her mind at once, searching for any glimpses of selfishness she has had to bury under a mountain of responsibilities. 

She finally thinks of one - a simple and basic wish.. but one she never dared hoped she could attain so many summers ago. And that fear still lingers even in the present, for as ideal of a scenario as Alphinaud proposed, she and he knew that the world will never truly be at peace for long. 

But the world was ever wanting for heroes such as they, fighting through as many presents of chaos as it takes - hoping and wishing for a happier, brighter future - much like her own selfish desire.

“I wish we’ll be together forever..” Her voice is soft, sheepish from her embarrassing words, and she presses her face against his neck as she murmurs her remaining words against the warmth of his skin. “To be happy.. and.. for you to be as well.”

It takes a good amount of his will for Alphinaud to not crush her in a tight embrace then and there, and he so nearly does as his arms circle around her waist to pull her closer. His eyes blur for a moment, lips parting in an effort to speak against his speechlessness at her pure, honest wish. But he fights against his own habit of speaking excessively to let the peaceful silence hang in the air, and only when Illya finally looks up at him in a silent request for a response does he finally reply in a whisper.

“Of course we will be... I’ll make sure of that.”

Illya beams up at him, her effervescent smile stealing his breath away again, and Alphinaud finds the corners of his lips curling upwards in turn.

“And what of you? What would your wish be, Alphinaud? In the event of um... world peace, that is.”

“Me?” 

The man hums, narrowing his eyes for a moment.. but it doesn’t take long for him to grin brightly once more, before slipping his hand down to rest against Illya’s tummy. 

Alphinaud had thought little of this heartburn when it first manifested, and naively brushed off the remarks Ysayle and Estinien would make as the group huddled around a crackling fireplace. His eyes had lingered upon her, curled up over a timeworn tarp as the chilly dravanian wind made her bangs lightly sway. She’d clutched tightly onto a fire aspected crystal upon her chest, but he finds the furrowing of his brows not to be a consequence of envy over her source of warmth, but worry. 

“Fancy the Warrior of Light, do you?”

Estinien was the first ever to realize - even when he himself had been terribly oblivious to the incessant throbbing of his chest. And when the young elezen dared to express his denial, words spoken carelessly in a feeble stammer, Ysayle could not help but to chime in with her own words.

 “It is true that you do seem oddly drawn to her.”

It will never feel odd to remember the way upon which Estinien and Ysayle first shared their first moment of comradery over their shared beliefs in feelings Alphinaud had not even realized he possessed, and even more strange would be the echoes of those sentiments from every corner of his life from then on.

“Have you not told her how you feel, Master Alphinaud?” 

Even bedridden as he was, it did not stop the patient from beaming enthusiastically up at his flushed visitor. And had it not been for the unspoken etiquette of keeping silence within an infirmary, he would have certainly proclaimed his lack of intent. It’s evident no near death experience would stop Haurchefant from exerting his own pressure onto his flustered, inexperienced junior.

That perhaps was for the better, for a pair of mismatched eyes parked permanently by the knight’s side glared such daggers Alphinaud believed for a moment it’d split his skull apart. 

“I don’t understand why you won’t just tell her! What happens if — s-something happens? And then you’ll never get to tell her at all — “

The absurdity of Laurelis’ spontaneous fountain of tears had done wonders, at least in the way of causing Alphinaud to feel an insurmountable amount of guilt. He had not come to be lectured, nor did he expect to leave the infirmary actually having the ridiculous notion of considering their words seriously. And yet he did, and unwillingly took the almost tragic way his friends’ romance had nearly ended as example for his need for urgency. 

Nidhogg’s death taught him to self-reflect, beyond crippling guilt he’d have to drown out with a swig of piping hot tea, that is. And beyond the specks of red that left a painful trail of memories amongst a sea of snow white. 

But there was always a tender violet hue, a glistening of lavender and mauve stars that shone up and reflected within their crystalline glow his hopes and dreams in life so brightly that he was always momentarily blinded from his shortcomings. And that songbird voice always called his name so sweetly, so innocently. He never knew when he’d started becoming reliant on that euphony to push himself further, to become more than he already was.

He’s come to accept his worsening heart condition, and yet could not help but wonder if it was fine to let it fester in her presence. Perhaps he’d let himself heal with ignorance, a cold shoulder, and ridiculous beliefs that someone of her talent and status could never understand or feel the same as him.

Alisaie would have none of that. Her voice and words, even to this day, remain the loudest and most grating of them all.

“I caught you staring at her! You aren’t fooling anyone, you know. Well, except for her.. How in the twelve are you two so bloody stupid?!”

Dearest sister always claimed to not be as good with words as he was. Quicker to draw the blade than she was a quill, she was. But she’s spoken a million words more than he about his feelings, echoed his heartbeat as if it had been completely unrestrained. She saw no point in his need for secrecy, and it always felt as if she’d pressure everyone else they knew into saying the same.

“You two are always staring at each other like a married couple, aren’t you? Nobody would ever believe the pair of you aren’t an item.”

He prays desperately whenever Elletha is present to hover around beside them, believing if anyone were to tell the cause of his unstable heart the truth of his feelings. 

“Do ya plan on keeping her in the dark forever??”

Even a certain dragoon, a woman whose motto had been to thrust her spear quicker than she was to stop and think had begun to pressure him, looming over his left shoulder like a dark cloud as Alisaie pressed over his right. They’d formed a formidable team indeed, passing snide remarks if they caught his gaze lingering upon the back of silken long white hair for even a second too long. 

Yet like the lovesick fool he was, he could not bring himself to swear off looking at her, or thinking of her for that matter. He was certain he’d die from the palpitations of his wayward heart, regardless of the words his friends, and his own conscious would spout out at him. 

What was more painful? He’d asked himself.. Tearing apart the trust and friendship he’d painstakingly built with the most wonderful woman alive, a woman he’d hurt and mistreated once so many shameful summers ago.. or to swallow his heart whole and let himself stew in this aching sensation, hearing nothing but ‘what ifs’ clog every corner of his mind. 

“If you wait too long, Alphinaud.. you may one day be too late to regret it.”

Tataru was always more sensible than he, despite what his qualifications would have one believe. She’d been telling him these very words in too many different rhymes and rhythms than he could count, worried more about the state of his basically nonexistent romantic status than she had been even her own. The secretary was pushy, almost as much so as his sister had been.

And yet she also understood him, stood by him as long as the Warrior of Light had. She’d watched his transformation, the metamorphosis of what was once the slight skip of his heartbeat into an unbearable, terminal and crippling enamor. And she’s seen what a broken heart looked like, saw what men and women wreaked with guilt became, and heard their helpless cries that always echoed their regrets of being too late.

Alphinaud had nearly became that man, he was certain of that when he’d arrived to the House of the Fierce only to find the Warrior of Light missing and heard of her plans to confront the Imperial Legatus. 

He had thought his days of taking her strength and willpower for granted over, two whole summers over. Ravana, Bismarck and Niddhogg had not taught him a single thing, nor did the warnings of his friends that rang louder in his ear than ever before. And he was going to pay for it with the death of his heart he could have prevented had he just spoken. 

He knew not how many second chances fate would grant him, pleaded woefully despite knowing his lack of a right to. But he continued to pray anyway, and he swore upon the words he was told by everyone his life, past, present and future that he’d craft words of his own for once. What good was a diplomat who could not speak? What good were words when they were left unspoken?

The Warrior of Light survived. Barely, but she survived and escaped. The dark gash over her collar bone still haunts him to this day, a reminder of when he’d nearly lost everything. But it was also a reminder of the first words he’d spoken from his heart to her, ones that allowed him to witness the swirling of those violet nebulas before him closer than ever, and to hear his favorite melody whisper her own words of sugar into his ear. 

Yanxia was hardly the most scenic place for a confession. Had Alphinaud the choice, he would have most certainly chosen somewhere more picturesque, presented the girl with a large bouquet of her favorite floral arrangement, dressed to the nines and with eyes that weren’t clearly bloodshot from his earlier shedding of tears. 

He’d at the very least prepared a script, mentally written and rewritten his lengthy prose addressed to her so many times over he’d memorized what he wanted to say word for word.

But he’s left transfixed as he stares at her, and sees his future staring right back at him. Alphinaud is left speechless once more, like the foolish, failure of a negotiator he is. And all he can think of saying is what the little cracks of his heart has wanted to say for so, so long now.

There was nothing glamorous or poetic about his last moments or the way he’d laid among the rubble and bodies of fellow faceless shadows that dissipated into ash that fluttered away with the wind.. nor was the thoughts that plagued his mind just as he slipped away anything merciful upon a dying man.

Beautiful and effervescent. But not merciful.

He’d remembered her - his very essence and soul, frail and weak as it may be, thought of her even beyond death.. because curse the fool he was for refusing to admit that he loved her more than anything else in existence. 

How could he not have realized when all he could think of was memories of her?

From the endless field of flowers she’d conjured with an effortless twirl under the morning sun, fluttering the hem of her sun dress as she left little lilies blooming at the bottom of her feet with each step she took. Or the dazzling starlights that sprung forth from her gentle palms that flew and made their home in the dark sky, before bursting into an aurora of colors that blew the clouds away. And even when she’d laid to rest, fallen asleep on her chair beside him in that familiar, dusty library, her visage was a comfort to him, the perfect lamplight he had for comfort.. despite his blaming her for the very reasons for his own struggles.

His own hands and feather pen were a hazy memory, as were his accomplishments, if he even had any in life. But he remembers her shape most vividly. 

Whose thoughts were these? Whose memories possessed him?

What was his name?

A....Ap.... Apo....

No, that wasn’t right. And no matter how hard the man tried to focus his thoughts on the letters of his name, the splotches of ink only served to deepen this sickening, soul crushing guilt.

He didn’t deserve a name. He didn’t deserve to remember. He can’t even understand why, but he just knows that his soul was one of a tainted, murky color.

The wandering soul looks up, and he sees a figure that brings clarity to his vision. 

He remembers her name clear as crystal, better than he had memorized the words upon his tomes. He’d spent a fraction of his time alive looking at her compared to his studies.. and yet it was her who’d been imprinted into his mind after all.

Azem. The shepherd. Mother of Life. Flora. She was called many different things by many different people. But all he could think to call her was Chloris.

And he sees ahead, the lone blossom in an endless plane of white snow that was her eyes obscured from his view under the blinds of her bangs. There is blood in his veins for but a moment, and he almost remembers how to breath, as if she were the ocean wind that he needed to remind him. But she turns, and before he could even think, she’s running towards a future he will never be a part of, taking what little shattered pieces of his heart he had left to remember himself with her. His hand raises up by instinct, grasping helplessly as she begins to drift further and further from his reach.

Don’t go.

I have so many things I still want to say, so many things I have to tell you. 

I still need to apologize. 

Even if you will never forgive me, even if you hate me for all eternity. I just want you to hear what I have to say. 

And I promise to be honest this time. I promise. I promise.

Don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go--

He’s blinded by the lights. Despite his own sobs, the room is unbearably quiet, and he sinks into a puddle left by droplets of his own tears.

There is no place for him, nowhere to call home. 

Nowhere he will ever see her again.

-------------------------------------------------------

His head throbs as he opens his eyes only to be blinded by the light of the chandelier. For a moment he feels as if he’s underwater, listening to the distant muffled sounds and voices that surround him. 

When he finally regains his bearings, and notes the dreary tiles that made up the ceiling, he forces himself to focus on a strangely familiar voice, one that fills him with an inexplicably great amount of regret.. yet relief.

“A-are you okay?? Can you hear me?”

A pair of vibrant violet blossoms stare down at him, and it feels as if they are the very first colors he’s ever seen in this world. And though the expression she wore upon her face was one of worry, it was like a breathe of life on his heavy body. Looking upon her... hearing her voice... it was like the arrival of spring itself.

“Oh thank the twelve... you’re okay. You’ll be okay.” He feels a gloved hand clasping over his, and his accursed being is blessed with the sight of her utterly radiant smile. “I managed to stabilize your aether and charge you with some of my own mana, but you may still feel a little dizziness, so please take some time to rest.”

 “Illya, could I get your help with Alisaie, please?” Krile calls out, and the lalafellin with pure white hair responds back without hesitation. She was ever enthusiastic to help others, far too enthusiastic for her own good. Even if it meant sacrificing every drop of her blood to restore the wounds of others, even if it meant stomping her own light that burned within her, she’d throw aside all concepts of her own worth aside to save others. 

She’d saved him, of all people.. who did nothing but struggle as she fished him out of the depths of the ocean. Again and again.

“Yes, right away.”

She turns on her heels to leave, and he instantly feels bile rise up his throat. He sees that dream flash in his eyes and cloud all in his path, and all he can see is that blinding light again, and the wavering visage of her back turned to him.

Don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t--

“A-Alphinaud??” 

It’d be odd to say a supernatural force drove him, but that was the best way he could explain the un-fightable urge he had to throw himself forward, trapping her in his arms and pulling the girl back against his chest. It felt like a compulsion - like every inch of his being had been begging him to catch her.. He doesn’t think to resist himself, and allows the shackles that has kept his limbs bound for god knows how long to finally break apart. 

The god of knowledge, enthralled by the embodiment of life and hope, has all but thrown his self-restraint and logic to the wind in favor of restoring his shattered heart.

He knows without a shadow of a doubt that his very soul has been searching for her, waiting for her for as long as all the stars in the sky were given birth and burst into dust, perhaps even longer than the sun and moon have collectively hung in the sky. 

He’s waited, and he’s finally found home, right where she is closest to him.

“P-please- Don’t.... don’t go.” He wonders if this begging voice of his were his own, but when he feels the pounding of his own heart against his chest, he knows with certainty that this desire was genuine. 

He remembers a name - they called her by many, both in this life and the last. But the one she had been granted by birth twenty four summers ago was his favorite. 

“Illya.. Illya.. Please..”

He feels her hand clasp over his again, and his crippling fear of being left behind is washed away with her melodious voice.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He’d begged for a second chance somewhere in a distant past. But he’s instead been given many, many chances that he rightfully did not deserve. And as merciful a soul as she was, he has no intentions of ever misusing her kindness. He doesn’t have the strength to. Not again.

She sinks back against him and sits upon the bed, letting the side of her head rest against his own, though quickly shooting an apologetic glance up at Krile, who can only shrug her shoulders with a wry smile. 

Alisaie’s words of derision go ignored, as do the lengthy stares of the other scions.

It matters naught to him, not anymore. 

The champion and hero in question flushes, a hue of pink rising up to dust her cheeks and the tips of her ears as she hides her bespangled violet eyes beneath the shadow of pure white bangs. 

“P-please! N-None of that! This isn’t about me right now!” 

But her piss poor attempt to hide her emotions are fruitless - in front of the ones she has spent what feels to be her entire eventful life with, and the lalafellin’s embarrassed state has evidently given the others some amount of amusement, from Alphinaud’s stifled laughter to Alisaie’s smirk - though the latter was quickly wiped away as the feistier of the twins turns her attention to the vista before them. 

“Well whatever it is he dragged us here for, I don’t really mind.” Alisaie’s amiable mood seems to catch the man in question off guard, who widens his eyes at the awestruck expression upon her face. “At least the view’s pretty.”

Pretty would be a sore understatement, really... and there wasn’t a single scion who would think to disagree.

Together, their eyes raised heavensward, where a tower of crystal stood amongst the stars and the full moon in all its radiant glory. 

For a moment there was silence as the scions lined themselves up to look upon that beacon of light - and from within the intense lapis glow of the crystal’s shine they saw glimmers of the past; a past that felt both so distant away, yet vivid in their minds all the same. 

It almost felt like a dream - their adventures in the First, and though they had all just barely recovered from their taxing soul transfer, the scions felt a burst of renewed energy as they reflected upon those memories while their eyes are so nearly blinded by the everlasting light of the crystal tower.

Illya sits herself upon the railing, and from her sling bag she fishes out a jar of oddly familiar cookies, holding them out to Thancred with a smile upon her face. 

“Coffee biscuits baked by Ryne! She said it may taste a little different from the one you’re used to, though. She wanted us to enjoy some while we gathered tonight.” With a raised eyebrow, the man in white takes the jar, eyeing the unevenly browned biscuits through the glass with suspicion, though it wasn’t exactly the biscuits questionable appearance that caused him reservation. 

“Gathered tonight you say? Is this some kind of special occasion?” Thancred asks, and frowns when the lalafell merely shrugs her shoulders, eyes glistening with a well-rehearsed faked expression of ignorance. “So I take that you know what G’raha’s up to.”

She peers up to glance at the miqo’te man beside her who stares down at her in return, and after a moment of contemplative silence, their lips turn upwards into a cheeky grin that causes Thancred’s eyes to almost roll out of his own skull.

“Aha- speaking of what I’m up to.” Vivid red eyes light up at the sight of a distant gleam, and with a raised finger he confidently points up to the shimmering sky. “I believe it’s just begun!”

Upon the darkened night sky, they begin to witness a spectacular shower of lights, falling from the heavens before splaying apart. Like the descent of cosmos, they paint streaks of gold glitters across the backdrop of the cloudless darkness, forming an array of fleeting constellations.  Luminous sheets of blue and purple auroras rise, and their combined radiance fills the hearts of the scions with a veneration and awe that they could not find words to describe. And amidst the astral plane, the crystal tower is right at home, its light shining ever brighter as if taking in the prayers of the hopes and dreams that had been wished upon the falling stars. 

Reflected in their eyes, they momentarily saw fire and ash, and they could almost hear whispers of the past and voices muffled by water. 

It was a star shower not unlike the one they’d witnessed in the First, one that was understandably a sore point of memory for most of the scions present.

“You took us all here.. to see a star shower? After everything that happened?” Thancred asks, tilting his head inquistively, though his eyes never once leaves the spectacle in the sky. 

“I thought it fitting.” With a serene smile, one of an ease that he has not known for the past hundred years, G’raha murmurs, and he takes in a deep breath to calm his hummingbird heart. “So that we’ll remember what we once were.” 

Termination was no pretty sight, and it filled him with no more trepidation than any of the other scions. The sight before them was one of a memory of pain, a reflection of world’s end, and what could have been crippling failure.

But the illusion of no tomorrow was broken, as did the shackles that had kept him prisoner of his own duty. And his heart soars a hundredfold as he closes his eyes for but a moment, and recalls the way he and the Warrior of Darkness fought and cried out against fate with one voice until the very end - until the arrival of another clear blue sky.

And from within crystal, he can finally look back on his reflection with a fondness in his heart, and watch the shower of stars as a symbol of future’s arrival - a future that will ever keep coming so long as they held on to hope. 

“Emet-Selch had once said that we were incomplete - that our souls, sundered and broken as they are, hold no worth in the world.” Alphinaud reflects, leaning forward and resting his arms against the railing with a smile. He lifts a gloved hand, drawing invisible lines across the sky as if connecting the fading trails left behind by the stars. 

“But he forgot that our worth laid not in the weight of our souls, but of the legacy we leave behind. Our souls may splinter and fray.. but they will never truly disappear as long as we fight to live. And through that, the light of a thousand fractured stars is still enough to birth a sun.” 

Like scattered moon dust, the stars continued to hang in the air proudly, and they will ever continue to do so like jewels of the night sky until morning light comes to greet a new day. Their reflection slowly fades into the dark as the falling stars slow and vanish - but as the light of their souls persists, so too will their memories live on, waiting to be relived another day in their dreams.

And upon a mountain of pained memories, there laid a hope for a brighter tomorrow that has not yet died. If even the end of days was not enough to extinguish their light, then what could?

“Ugh.. there he goes again being all pretentious and poetic.” Alisaie groans, folding her arms across her chest as her brother shrugs. “Besides.. isn’t that not fitting at all.. given the Warrior of Darkness and everything..”

“T’was just a metaphor, dear sister. Though I suppose I should be more careful with my vocabulary seeing how some people are too slow to understand.”

The young man’s collar was promptly grabbed, and Alphinaud nearly suffocates helplessly against Alisaie’s death grip as she shakes him violently. Illya lets out a melodic laugh, one that echoes in the air to accompany the soft whispers of the wind. When Alphinaud’s face has been sufficiently paled, Alisaie finally releases him to cough, puffing her chest out with a huff.

“So are we done here? I got places to be, thieves to chase, you know.” 

“I concur, Krile and Tataru have need for my assistance with something and I think I’ve kept them waiting long enough.” Y’shtola, despite the sternness in her tone of voice, flashes an uncharacteristically gentle smile. 

“Well, if everyone’s dispersing I guess I will too.” With a stretch and a grunt, Thancred raises the jar of coffee biscuits up. “I’ll leave these in the Rising Stones for anyone who wants some.” 

If G’raha had been attempting to hide his disappointment, he truly did a poor job at it, as his ears flatten against the top of his head and his lips forms into a pout for but a moment. 

“I had hoped that we’d get to linger a little while longer but-”

The Warrior of Light swivels around, and grabs onto Alphinaud’s hand before hopping off the railing, and from beneath the bangs of her hair that shone with an ever transcending radiance, he catches glimpses in the vibrant lavender hues of her eyes a promise - a promise of an adventure, a future, and a wish he’d kept locked in his heart for so long until recently. 

“Don’t worry. We may scatter now.. but..” Illya’s smile is one of a tranquil, reassuring gentleness, as her long hair sways gently like waves among the starry night breeze. G’raha shivers as the wind howls and blows away any ponze of lingering doubts away for good, and he finds himself mirroring the renewed expression of joy she wore upon her face. 

---------------------------------

The peculiarity of Illya’s dreams have grown increasingly more vivid and strange lately. No longer did she find herself jolting up in the middle of the night in cold sweat, but she wouldn’t exactly describe those dreams to be pleasant either.

Thought provoking would be an apt way of describing them - dreams that would leave the young woman sitting up on the bed, eyes dazed as they stared up onto the ceiling in solemn contemplation. Accompanied by a tinge of regret at her prematurely waking up before she could fully comprehend the meaning behind her dreams, there would be confusion, awe.. and a strange melancholy that hasn’t washed away since Emet-Selch’s passing.

Or perhaps that melancholy has always been present within her. She just hadn’t realized it until recently.

As she sat up on her bed and pushed the bangs of her hair away from her eyes, she’d glanced out the window upon the still dark morning sky, though obscured naught by a single black cloud. And in the horizon, she sees the light in the dark - the crystal tower. A living beacon that served as proof of all that she’s been through - all that they’ve been through.

Her dream had been of Ardbert, this time.. of the familiarity that was his company, and the warmth his soul brought to her as they reunited as one.

-------------------------

“I’ve always wondered, Illya..” 

“Wondered...? About what?” 

The starry night sky that hung above Lakeland wasn’t quite enough comfort for Ardbert to be able to allow himself to rest for the night - not that he would truly be able to. He’d all but forgotten the concept of being hungry and tired since he’d become a wandering spirit. But the point still stood that something bothered him enough to feel the need to speak and keep his only companion from getting the rest she well deserved.

He’d gazed out the window, before turning back to walk to her bedside, and Illya props herself up onto her elbows as courtesy when he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Why is it that you feel so familiar to me?”

Illya’s eyes widen at the suddenness of his question, and though Ardbert was quick to chuckle and attempt to shake his thoughts off, she let out a hum in response.

“It may seem strange.. but I’ve always felt the same way too.”

The man glances back, and even in the absence of a lamplight, she could see his lips pulled agape in surprise. 

“Really? You do?”

“Well.. not exactly in the same way you would think of an old friend.” The twelve knows that they most definitely hadn’t met on good terms, even if it had been a matter of circumstances and misunderstandings. “But it’s more like.. I don’t feel uneasy around you.”

“Well, I would hope you didn’t! You’re the only person I have to talk to, you know.” Ardbert jests with a playful smile, and Illya’s brows furrow with a puff of her cheeks.

“T-that’s not what I meant.” 

Illya didn’t exactly enjoy being teased, not by Ardbert and his boisterous laughter, no less.. But it was a welcome respite from the perils of the life she’s committed herself to, life as the Warrior of Darkness. 

“Nah, I get you.” She hears him huff. Raising a hand up, Ardbert let his palm rest against the top of head, or at least where he believed his hand would be had he a corporeal form. There’s a tinge of regret and sadness when she fails to feel the weight of his hand upon her head, but she manages to smile nonetheless at the comfort his words brought. “It’s the familiarity of something beyond what we understand.. beyond what we can explain. Just as I wonder if there is yet a place for me in this world, perhaps there is a reason behind our meeting.”

Had that not been the very same words he’d said to her before? That fate must have surely pulled them together and entwined their stories, when they of two separate worlds were never meant to meet in the first place. That if there is a reason why he’d endured for as long as he has, it must be a reason that was worth fighting for too. 

But he utters those words to her now not with contempt or doubt, but with a sincerity that she believes in and returns in a hundred folds. 

“It’s weird how well we understand each other.” Illya murmurs, and she can still remember the chuckle Ardbert had let out.

“Really? It feels right to me.”

---------------------------------------

She couldn’t quite understand Hythlodaeus’ words when she’d heard them, when Ardbert had been present beside her to hear of the ancient being’s speak of their souls.

“In our time, the two of you were one.”

And if she had to be honest, she still cannot claim to fully understand what it was that man.. that being who had called her a friend had wanted her to realize. Hythlodaeus felt familiar - just as Ardbert had.. just as the city of Amaurot had.. and it brought her no small amount of trepidation and fear right until her confrontation with Emet-Selch. 

Hades.. even as he stood opposed to her, felt familiar. The darkness and cries of his people felt so familiar that it shook her to her core. And it’d frightened her, almost to the point of inaction.

“Take it. We fight as one.” 

Ardbert knew. She’d realized that the moment he took the axe upon his back and held it out to her. His words were almost a mirror of Hythlodaeus, and in his final moments he’d looked at her with a familiarity that spoke of an unending love and hope.. one that resided within the core of who she was. Within his eyes, she saw the world he did.. and when his soul had merged with hers, it felt as if every emotion, every little joy, sadness and pain Ardbert had endured on his journey had become a part of her.

His strength was her own to wield, and it was he who gave her the courage to confront that familiarity headlong. 

She never did get to ask him after what it was that he meant, was robbed of the chance to even say goodbye as his consciousness faded and bled into her soul. 

But she didn’t have to. 

-------------------------------

Azem’s crystal sat on her bedside table, still emitting its faint orange hue and warmth that Illya could only describe as being nostalgic and melancholic. She takes her time to rise from the bed and get herself dressed, ridding the tangles in her hair with deliberately slow strokes with a brush. 

Illya looks upon her reflection in the mirror, of the woman she can scarce recognize, and yet a visage that feels familiar and right all the same. And within her own eyes, she finds the courage to finally reach out and grab Azem’s crystal... her crystal, and tucks it safely away into her breast pocket, where it would sit closest to her heart. 

Dawn arrives and bathes Eorzea in a warm orange glow. The day is greeted by the rising of the sun above the horizon, its rays of light peeking up as if to tease her, to urge her to action. And soon, the stars will fade, as will the life and memories she’d left behind.

Were Ardbert here, would he have chosen the same?

Illya berates herself for the foolish question, daring herself to step outside with a confident smile upon her face. She already knows his answer, because it has and always will be the same as hers.

Of course he’d be left on read, as was common when texting Estinien.. sometimes at the most egregious of times. This in particular would be one of the absolute worst examples of Estinien’s utter lack of prudence. No matter how many times Alphinaud would dial his friend’s number, the unanswered ringing would only cause his nerves to spike.

Within the campus grounds he was a well respected figure who possessed more authority than any of the other students of his cohort.. and yet outside of it, he’d always be reduced to being something of a pushover, one who couldn’t help but to allow himself to be pulled by the whims of his friends. 

He could only pray that whatever it was Estinien’s decided to drag him into this time, it wouldn’t take too much of his precious saturday rest.

-------------------

“You want Haurchefant to teach us how to take instagram photos??” Alphinaud’s voice raises in pitch, nothing short of bewildered by Estinien’s request to their mutual friend as he stepped inside of the house. “I never took you to be the type who cared about that-”

“It’s not for me.” With a low grunt, Estinien mutters between grit teeth before settling himself onto the couch with a burdened thud. “It’s for Totomi.”

In an instant, it all made sense, and Alphinaud has to withhold himself from letting out an audible chuckle. It’s no surprise that an outgoing girl from the drama club who has a penchant for the extravagant and flare would like to post photos online for her following to see. Though Alphinaud himself wasn’t exactly an expert on the matter - his own instagram profile was only ever updated semi-regularly with ordinary photos of classmates and student council activities, he was at least aware that there were others who practically lived their entire lives on that app.

“Ah! You wish to learn how to take better pictures for your beloved! How wonderful!”

Haurchefant’s jovial tone elicits a grimace from Estinien, whose grip on his phone only tightens.

“I’m just sick of her asking me to constantly retake shots. I’d rather not have to stand in the middle of the street for ten minutes just to take a single picture of her in front of a brick wall.”

“And you thought to ask Haurchefant...why?” Alphinaud asks with an inquisitive tilt of his head.

“You seriously don’t know??”

“Know what?”

“Haurchefant is called the god of instagram boyfriends.. or some dumb shit like that.” 

“Uh... what?” He’s heard of instagram. He’s heard of instagram models... but what in twelves name was an instagram boyfriend?

Haurchefant’s shoulders pull back in pride upon hearing that indirect praise, however, evidently more than a little pleased that his reputation and ‘fame’.. if it could be considered that, was beginning to spread by word of mouth.

“I’m so truly flattered that you would think so highly of me!” With a raise of both his arms, Haurchefant grins. Estinien rolls his eyes and mutters ‘i wasn’t praising you’ beneath his breath. “Indeed! I will admit to be at least well experienced in the art of taking instagram pictures for my beloved!”

“Laurelis? Pardon me for asking.. I’m not surprised that she has an instagram account.. but what makes you so special?”

Right on cue, Haurchefant raises up the screen of his phone, proudly displaying the profile of the ever familiar pink-haired miqo’te. Admittedly, Alphinaud didn’t know very much about Laurelis. What little he did know was only informed to him by her best friend, who just so happened to be the very same young lady he was dating. And from the few times they’ve spoken, he could see the miqo’te as being quite an instagram addict too - as most extroverted types typically are.

Upon seeing the numbers listed on the profile, however, Alphinaud’s eyes very nearly pop out of his sockets.

“Over five thousand followers?!” That’s more than the entire student body and staff members of Eorzea academy combined. The twelve knows it will take an eternity for Alphinaud himself to see that amount of followers on his account. 

“My dear is something of a minor celebrity! And I take great pride in knowing that I was able to play a small part in helping her take the pristine, ‘aesthetically pleasing’ shots as they say that she is known for today!”

“Good for you.” If estinien’s eyes could roll any harder they’d roll to the back of his skull. 

“Ah, but what of you, Alphinaud? Are you here to learn how to take better photos for Illya?”

The shorter elezen widens his eyes in surprise, not having expected to have a question directed straight at him, but he is quick to shake his head in response. As far as he was aware, Illya wasn’t exactly more instagram savvy than he himself was. She did have an account, one he naturally followed, but it would only ever be updated once every several days - and rarely with actual photographs of herself. Food, plant life and animals made up the majority of her profile’s portfolio, not that Alphinaud ever failed to double tap on any of her pictures, no matter how menial they seemed. 

Though, he supposes she could be considered slightly internet famous as well - just not at all in the same way her best friend was. He hears that her gardening blog has just reached a 2 thousand subscriber milestone, recently.. which he imagines to be quite a feat especially considering it was by all accounts quite literally a website filled with nothing but gardening tips, tutorials and floral arrangement pictures.

“Not exactly. Estinien forced-” he nearly continues to speak, but the low grunt emitted from the couch causes Alphinaud to swallow his words “-encouraged me to come along for the lesson. He said it’d be....livelier with the three of us.”

“Well, there certainly is no harm in more company! Regardless of your reasons for being here, I’m sure the things you’ll learn today will help you and Illya in the future!” 

Haurchefant moves over to the couch, tapping on Estinien’s shoulder who could only let out a groan in annoyance.

“Now then.. shall we get on with the lesson?”

-----------------------------

“Now, let’s do some practice shots! Say that I have asked you to take an OOTD picture!” 

“The hell’s OOTD.”

“Ah, outfit of the day, my friend! Now let’s have you take a picture of me and I shall give you my candid feedback! Starting with you, Alphinaud!”

The shortest of the trio thinks to protest for a moment, but quickly presses his lips together and reluctantly holds his phone up to snap a photo of his taller peer, who has already taken station by the window and posed for the camera.

“Ah a perfectly serviceable photo, my friend! But it has one critical, devastating flaw.”

“I-It’s that serious?? What is it?”

Haurchefant points to the bottom of the picture where his legs were cut off and shakes his head.

“You must never, ever cut off the feet in a full body shot, especially for an outfit of the day picture! This is one of the most common pitfalls of instagram boyfriends!” With an exaggerated wave, he gestures to his boots. “Remember! The shoes are part of the outfit!”

The sheer enthusiasm of Haurchefant’s loud proclamation only gives Alphinaud further whiplash when he turns to look at Estinien, whose face has darkened with the deepest frown he’s seen his friend wear in a long while. 

“It’s just shoes... why the hell does it matter?”

He’s more than a little disgruntled as he recalled the way Totomi had asked him to take a photo of her new wool sweater and jeans, and her numerous loud demands for him to retake the shot with her bright red sneakers in frame. It wasn’t even a new pair - but one she’s worn for years...unable to appreciate the effort she’d went into making sure her entire wardrobe was perfectly color coordinated.

“Grumble all you wish, friend, but these are things of great importance in the eyes of our ladies! Now, repeat after me! The shoes are part of the outfit!”

“T-the shoes are part of the outfit...” Alphinaud mutters, as Estinien grumbles even further. His uncooperative behavior only causes Haurchefant to grow more pushy.

“Louder! With more gusto! THE SHOES ARE PART OF THE OUTFIT!”

“Nobody gives a damn about your shoes!”

No wonder Totomi has to nag him to retake her photos...

-----------------------------

“The angle you take the photo can either turn the picture into a stunning piece of work, or an unaesthetic disaster! Please Alphinaud my friend, demonstrate by taking a photo of Estinien sitting on this chair.”

Alphinaud has never held his phone in his hands for as long as he has on this day, so much that he can practically feel the heat from its overuse start to scald his palms and fingers. And yet he dares not to argue, and instead quickly snaps a photo of Estinien as instructed, who looks just as unamused and tired as he was, if not even more so. 

“Splendid, Alphinaud! The focus is just right! However, you would have done better were you to have taken the photo at a higher angle.”

“What difference would that have made?”

“A high-angled photo slims down the face, while a low-angled picture elongates the legs! Indeed, it may seem surprising, but such small, subtle differences in even the height at which you hold your camera could make all the difference in the world!” One would assume they were listening to a professional photographer speak from the way Haurchefant lectured them about the intricacies and importance of camera placement in taking instagram photographs.. and Alphinaud wasn’t sure if he was more exasperated or amazed. “Now, take a photo of Alphinaud and show me your fine work, Estinien!”

With yet another roll of his eyes, and a barely audible grumble, Estinien steps forward and holds up his phone, towering over his seated friend and quickly snaps a photo.

------------------------

“Now, we shall practice taking pictures of one another within an imaginary scenario.” The cups of coffee and plates of biscuit Haurchefant had fetched from the kitchen were gently placed upon the dining table, before he steps back and gestures towards Alphinaud. “Say your lady and you are on a date, and she asks you to take a photo of her at the table.”

 “Um.. well, something like this?”

Alphinaud holds his phone up to Haurchefant, whose smile falters for but a brief moment.

“Oh dear, my friend.. Did you not notice the misplaced broom in the background?” He leans down and taps on the side of the photograph, where sure enough a blurry and seemingly innocuous broom stood just on the edge of the frame. It seemed harmless enough to him, and yet that mistake seemed enough to cause even Haurchefant, whose joyous demeanor never seemed to be breakable, to slump his shoulders. “The secret to success is a keen eye and attention to detail, my friend.”

For the first time in three hours, Estinien lets out a smirk and a chuckle. It seems the only way he’d get any enjoyment out of this little photo taking lesson is to see Alphinaud be told off and dejected.

“You suck at this, don’t you?”

Alphinaud’s shoulders rise and fall with a nonchalant shrug.

“Pardon, but at least my photographs are in focus.” 

“You wanna say that a little louder again, punk?”

“Now, now! Let us not fight! We are brothers in arms, and there is still much and more to learn! For our next lesson, I shall teach you how to take pictures of food and drinks!”

-----------------------

Alphinaud’s phone battery has never once died on him in his life. Even with his normally liberal use of his applications such as the notepad, calculators and on the rare occasions, prolonged social media use, he’s never used his phone enough in a single day for the battery to ever run out.

That day had certainly been the first.. and it was also at the end of that saturday, upon watching the light and life from his smart phone die out on him, that Haurchefant urged him to get a portable charger... among other things such as a selfie stick. He’d even downloaded one of those photo editing applications, one that he has still yet to fully figure his way around. 

If there was anything he’d learn on that fateful day, and thought to himself as he walked home under the hues of the setting sun that evening, it was that taking instagram pictures was seriously not a joke.

And here he was on a date with the gardening club president a mere week later.. and a far changed... and scarred man.

“Is something wrong, Alphinaud?”

Illya had caught him staring at a brick wall with a piece of particularly ‘aesthetic’ looking graffiti, and for a moment his head had been filled with naught by red blaring sirens and a words that repeatedly chanted ‘photo op’ in his head. It was only by the grace of her voice, and a slight tug of her hand in his that his attention would be pulled away, a forced smile upon his expression.

“Oh, forgive me. I was just.. distracted.”

Illya has never asked him to take a photo of her, much less stopped their date dead in its tracks in order to take a picture for her social media. She never was the type who cared much for arbitrary internet fame and followers.. and he thought he had been as well. 

T’would seem however, that he’s taken Haurchefant’s advice to heart, a little too much for his own good.. and he’s certainly far more attentive of his surroundings and much to his own horror, of the outfits that the people around him wore. One thing he hadn’t exactly counted on however... was an interest being ignited within him, an urge to take photos at golden opportunities in life when he would have otherwise thought it too mundane to capture before his lesson with Haurchefant and Estinien.

And as he stands stock still with a phone in his hands, his adorable and well dressed girlfriend by his side.. and an incredibly aesthetically pleasing looking brick wall.. And the motto of the instagram boyfriends club Haurchefant had asked him to repeat like a mantra that day echoed incessantly in his ears.

‘Her likes are your likes’

The eyes of the camera were to be treated like a gods’.. and if they thought their girlfriends beautiful, what better way to express that love than to capture that beauty on camera and share it for the world to see?

She hated for them to see this side of her - her shadow, her inner beast and stubborn to no end tormentor. She hated the color red on herself - hated the way her eyes would burn in their sockets as they changed from a warm glowing amethyst.. full of hope, vigor and life.. to one of a dark crimson that held nothing but disdain for the world. And she hated, with every fiber of her being, the way her other side would speak to them.. as if they were strangers no more deserving of attention as an insect on the side of a dirt road, when it was she who was worth nothing - worthless to even save herself, let alone the world she has been entrusted to. 

Illya hated Esteem more than anything else she could ever loathe in the world combined - because she knew it to be the perfect reflection of herself. 

Amidst the dark of the night, away from the judging eyes of her friends and found family who she feared of scaring away, she wielded her broad sword with a brutal, yet uncannily elegant stance. And Sidurgu had been among the first besides the lie that was Fray Myste to point that out. 

He’d commented with much awe, and yet to the utter dismay and horror of the Warrior of Light herself of the way she harnessed and tapped into the shadows so naturally, and fought so mercilessly upon the battlefield that it’d been akin to watching her perform a grim, but beautiful dance. Even among torn flesh and blood, regardless whether it was that of her enemy or her own, the shadow in her soul flourished most when she, no matter how temporarily, accepted it as a part of herself. 

But she never wanted to be a dark knight, never wanted to be in possession of Fray Myste’s soul crystal. And to this very day, she laments ever allowing her own naivety and kindness, the very thing Fray constantly mocked her for, to lead her to his lifeless body in the brume. 

What cruel irony was it then, that the only way she could save the First right now, bring back the night to the scorching sky above - was to finally embrace the dark within herself. 

It’s the longest she’s used her broad sword, the warmest she’s ever felt the scarlet soul crystal within her breast pocket, and the most she’s seem the scions look at her with a wariness that only served to tear her consciousness apart.

Esteem ever lacked in tact when it came to both fighting and speaking, though Illya would arguably prefer if she’d done the latter way less. And the extent of Esteem’s hostility towards her own allies would only occur to her when Alphinaud, of all people, had asked her if that was naught she or the others could do about the heinous, disgusting creature that possessed her body. 

And in that moment, she’d felt a gut wrenching anguish, one that she has foolishly allowed to fester over the course of the past few weeks as they carried on their mission to wipe out the lightwardens of Norvrandt. 

He’ll never accept you.

Sineaters stood no match against the abyss she spewed forth from palm of her hand and the slash of her sword. But she also stood no match against her own fragile mental fortitude, and in all her weakness, allowed herself to call his name - to ask him, against her better judgement. 

She’d hoped fruitlessly with each lightwarden she slayed that the light she absorbed would cleanse her soul, even when she knew better than anyone else that light can never exist without dark. 

Even if it destroyed who you were, even if it meant losing what made you whole, you would deny me?

If that’s what it took for them to accept me - for him to accept me.

Oh how she longed to rip herself apart, tear open her heart and crush it betwixt her already bloody, dirty hands.  It wouldn’t be the first time her blood would be drawn by her own blade or nails, and she feared that as long as she kept living this selfish, ignorant life, she would never see a last. And how many times has she wondered just how much brighter the world would be if she were to not exist? How many times would she have to endure having her heart carved and split apart?

If it can stop the hurt, she would. If it would stop herself from being so ugly, so utterly and completely irredeemable as a person. 

The screeches of the sineaters that her blade plunged into intermingled with the pained grunts of the warrior, as sweat trickled down her brow and caused her hair of moonbeam to stick to the sides of her neck and armor. The stench of purity wafts into her nose and she grimaces with a deep furrowed scowl. After hanging on for as long as she could, she’s beginning to slip again, and she curses beneath her breath before driving the end of the sword into the ground beneath her so hard, it forms cracks in the earth. Her vision’s growing foggy, with the voices of the scions that caught beside her echoing distantly as if she were slipping beneath water.

She can just barely hear Alisaie’s voice of concern, and Ryne’s expression of horror as Illya raises her left hand up to claw at her face, leaving hideous red lines down her eye and cheek. 

Not again. Not again, dammit! Not in front of everyone!

And when Illya dares herself to look up, she sees Alphinaud, crouched in front of her with his hands raised, eyes glazed over with worry that she was sure would twist into hate soon enough.

And the years of her own ability to accept herself, fear of being cast out by the people she loved, and the many many scars of trauma she carried after fighting with no respite for herself for so long finally crashes onto her. Like a wave of self-realization, she finally understands that no matter how much she fought, no matter how much light she’d absorb, there would never be a way to salvage her. 

She didn’t know why she’d decided to break now, and she was sure she had an exceptional talent for holding back herself. But for the first time in a long while, she feels tears pouring down her face from her eyes as they begin to shift in hue. The woman shuffles forward a few steps before collapsing onto her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

“P-Please...please.. don’t look at me.”

And against her expectations, Alphinaud falls too, and embraces her tightly in his arms, pulling her against his chest even as a ruinous shadow begins to seep from her skin, pooling around them and threatening to blind his sight too. 

She hears him whisper in her ear, and it’s her sole salvation against the setting sun and the umbra of the shadowy moonlight. 

The representative of Ishgard stood stock still in the midst of the freezing cold, with bed of hair tied into innocent little braids camouflaged into a sea of white around her. And yet in spite of the foreign colors she wore, Raubahn was all too familiar with her visage. 

A pair of violet jewels, spectacular in their luster, though holding just a tiny glint of danger within them. He’s seen that look in her eyes plenty, and yet it’s the first the threat of her soul piercing gaze has ever been directed at him. And in her hand, a rod made of metal and amethyst, name amply fitting for the diamond in the rough, the hero that held it - for the stardust that was their very own champion of Eorzea. 

Not now, however.. Raubahn had to remind himself, as he pushed the visor of his helmet down and raised his sword. In this very moment, on this very battlefield, she was his enemy, and the enemy of the alliance. And just as he’d sworn upon the sultana’s bedside, with tears that’d nearly spilled so uncharacteristic of his reputation, he would not fail to strike down any who would consider themselves enemies to her - friend or not. 

To his surprise, his foe had struck first, blasting the center of where he’d just been standing not less than a second ago with an unforgiving strike of lightning. The general of flames had dodged, just barely, and felt the full sting of electricity prick at his skin and cause his hair to stand.. and he hadn’t even been hit by her attack at all.

The mage waits not for him to recover, before she detonates a ball of fire upon his person that sends the bull flying across their arena.

He nearly rolls into the ring of flames he’d lit, and the man could do nothing but smile devilishly beneath his helm.

“You’re not the only one who can wield the power of flames. Behold!” 

The bull of Ala Mhigo was quick to pick himself up, and with a raise of his sword he conjured up his own raging flames, an inferno that burned hotter and brighter than the feeble little puff his foe had thrown at him. For his wrath and determination too towered over his foe - the girl he knew to be too softhearted for her own good. 

Illya was kind and gentle, almost too much so.. He’d once wondered of how a lamb could carry the flames of Eorzea as she does, rise to such fame and strength that not even the strongest of the imperials, the Legatus holding the title of the Black Wolf, could hope to match against her might. And though the general has long learned to not belittle the girl for her inconspicuousness, he has always wondered what the secret behind her strength was - what set Illya apart from himself?

She was the tender to his hardy, the white to his black, the gentle moonlight that would never meet his blazing sun. If he was a warrior, forged by the battles that has painted his entire body with enough scars to map the world, then she was a flower that had bloomed upon that very battlefield he fought on.

But flowers who could not accept its need for their own sustenance, a flower who refused to grow thorns.. will not survive for long in a war torn environment. If nothing else, he hopes her defeat will teach her that.

The flame general’s attack causes the girl to step back and stumble, the first Aymeric had seen her done in a while, and watches helplessly as Raubahn charges the girl with his sword swung to his side.

It was all she could do but to physically block his blade with her rod, grimacing as she barely avoids the sharp end of his sword from grazing her head before sprinting away from the man.

“Do you plan on running forever, warrior?! Your weapon is nothing more than a mere stick next to mine!”

Any distance she’d hoped to draw between them was always effortlessly closed, and any time she’d planned on buying to cast her spells to counter his attack was whittled away bit by bit, as was her strength. 

Raubahn was as observant of his enemies as he was strong, he surely must have noticed the lack of resistance as he struck the shaft of her rod. As was necessary for the conjuring of black magic, all of her magic was being imbued into her longstaff, but not herself. 

The wall of flames general Aldynn had summoned was not to damage her, great as her defense against magical damage as she was. It was to throw her off balance so that he might close the gap between them.

“I’ll finish this!”

The bull of Ala Mhigo charges, sword raised high above his head that he swings down towards the lamb, who helplessly raises up her rod. 

Foolish girl, doing that with her weakness will only cause her to crash down beneath his feet.

Metal against metal, steel against steel. The smell of ash fills his nostrils, and all he could hear was the deafening screech of his sword against...

her sword?

“What?”

Stardust has faded. The moon has sunk beneath the horizon, leaving naught but darkness. And from beyond the horizon, a shadow rose. 

How many summers has it last been since he’d had his sword pushed aside so effortlessly like this? He’d been reminded of his bouts with Ilberd, of his time as a calf who could barely even tell a swords’ hilt from its pommel. 

The feeling of fighting a foe he’d dreaded to clash blades with, a foe he knew to be stronger than himself in every way.

It would seem.. he’s underestimated the Warrior of Light again.

“I never knew.. you knew how to wield a great sword.” 

What a sight it was, to see the Lalafellin he’d always known for her dainty little staffs and canes to be carrying a jet black sword that was larger than herself, and to see the lavender glint in her eyes glow an almost ominous red. Illya’s stance was nothing like before, nothing like the stumbling, flustered lamb he’d thought her to be.

“If...If it’s a close fight you want..” Illya’s voice was the only reminder he had of who she was - of the delicate flower he’d watched bloom in his midst. He had just not taken notice of the thorns beneath her roots until it was too late. 

“Don’t blame me... You were the one who forced my hand.”

She didn’t want for it to come to this.. wished with all her might that she needn’t use him. But the unforgiving crystal in her breast pocket whispered to her, reminded her of the disappointment she’d cause her allies were she to fall without even giving it her all. 

And in that, the secret behind the Warrior of Light’s strength.. the crippling fear of failure, of the demon that laid dormant inside her.