#toragana

((OOC Note: Tora is being retired and I have no plans to rp ‘Borte’ at this time. If this story feels off, it is because I have lost the muse for Tora, but wanted to give her a fitting exit.))

When Badai’s grandmother passed away, Ghoa was adopted by his aunt and uncle. The first thing Badai did was set off for Eorzea. He was going to find the woman he still loved and take her home. Even if they couldn’t live at the Khaa. Even if he had to stay in Eorzea. Anything for her.

When he found her, she was running a cafe and Vault of esoteric and arcane tomes, with two dear friends of hers. And so he stayed in Eorzea. With her. Their first child, a son. Hiron. Their second, a daughter. Borte. 

There was something about Borte. She did her best to mimic the ways of others, but the poor girl was born without a soul. Tora wept and struggled to grapple with the guilt that had come from thinking she had damned her daughter to an empty shell because she had insisted on naming her after her dead sister, but the spirits eventually put her mind to ease. It had not been her fault. Naming didn’t give one a soul, simply confirmed the rebirth of one.

When Borte was fifteen summers, Tora passed away unexpectedly...

The veil between the realm of the living and dead shimmered before the woman. “I know that soul waiting to come to this side.” She said to Nhaama as she peered through the glimmer. “I have waited a very long time.” 

The Dusk Mother nodded. “You have, daughter. But you are not whole and so you must wait.” The woman stared at her, anger and heartbreak in her eyes. “You promised...” She snarled, the sound growing to a raging growl when the goddess laughed. “I did. Perhaps this was not what you expected. When the woman puts her hand through, take it. For one moment, she will know you.” 

“Will it hurt? Being reborn?” The woman asked. “Yes. And sadly, you will carry the memory of the pain, for you are not being born.” Came Nhaama’s reply.

The woman did as the goddess bade and when fingers pressed through, she grabbed it and the veil warped in a bubble. Piercing blue eyes met her own and ebony brows arched in shock. It was the one thing she had begged the Mother for all her life. An exception to the rule of belief. And here, clad in white, the exception stood. 

The Mother continued her work and when Badai rose in the morning to begin the preparations that would honor the life of his mate, he was shocked to find his daughter did not have a soul.

She had two.

Tora and Borte, two women he knew better than anyone, stared back at him. The Dusk Mother had made Borte’s soul whole...by merging it with Tora’s. 

She was burned into his memory, branded on the flesh of his soul, and he held crumpled parchment in his hands as furious eyes stared down the one he had partnered with out of necessity. ["Are. You. With. Child."] He growled. In his hands was Tora's short missive congratulating him on the birth of his son. A son he didn't have. ["I am."] His mate replied, and Badai suddenly perked up, an eerie grin on his face. The female seemed cautious, offering a wary smile.

His memory carried him back to the first time he'd had Tora at the fires of the fertility rites. She had been beautiful, dancing skyclad around the bonfire, those stars and galaxies sparkling, singing a song to his very being. He should have spoken then. He should have taken her a his mate then and there. Neither sought the furs of any other. He burned with regret...and guilt. Any woman in the tribe would have stepped up to take care of Ghoa and his grandmother. But he had done the honorable thing and stayed behind.

In his hands was a mug of tea and he swirled it before draining it. ["I suppose you had better let the father know."] He said solemnly. The vile bitch had the gall to look shocked. ["But you're the father...I've had none but you since I came to your yurt."] She said quietly.

Badai looked up and smirked, then lifted his empty glass. ["You know...one glass of this per day is supposed to render a man's seed useless...and I've drank half a dozen per day since the day you proposed our arrangement."] His smirk only grew as her face drained of color. ["This also renders our arrangement void. I am no mate of yours. Get out of my yurt."]

Later on that night, Badai laid down on his furs, alone, and closed his eyes, smiling as a glowing blue gaze snapped open in the darkness.

She was in the middle of a ritual, the galactic aether swirling around her when lightning cracked the skies. Yet it did not break her concentration as the whispers blew in on winds heralding the coming of angry purple storm clouds. The voices echoed from the realm of the dead as their herald lifted her arms, her spirit a beacon in the dark.

[He will come for you.] One breathed in her horns. She noted the message to pass along to one of the people that had petitioned her to speak to the dead, but then a chill drifted in, the aether shifting, and in the dark, normally glowing blue eyes were ablaze when they opened, the Xaela peering through the veil.

The Steppe...and a yurt next to where a charred circle marred the ground. Odgerel. Another cousin of the Khatun. Brother of the man Tora hated. A hooded figure left the yurt, glancing left, then right...allowing Tora to see black eyes.

["Have you decided to do the job yourself, Odgerel?"] She whispered, and the man on the Steppe looked up as though he had heard her voice. The moon was blocked out by gathering clouds, the distant rumble had surely led him to imagine the sound of the thunder-voiced shaman's words.

[He will avenge me.] Came that voice again and Tora's reaction was visceral, swift. The butt of her staff slammed into the ground, lightning crackling, igniting the aether around her. Had she not properly warded herself, it would have killed her. As it was, she was swathed in flame, her eyes alight with her wrath. The flames died down and Tora stood in the middle of a black circle, wind whipping long ebony hair, onyx scales shimmering with the constellations.

I am so tired. Recovering from the assassin sent by Odgerel is proving to take longer than I believed it should. I’ve developed a cough, either from the fluid that built up in my lungs or perhaps even the Shroud has deemed me unworthy and is seeing fit to cast me out.