#zeema

Upon sitting down behind her desk, Sigrid removed her boots and set them to the side. After taking the helm for the entirety of their ten-bell air battle with scarcely a single moment of relief, her feet ached on behalf of the rest of her. She would likely feel that exertion in full the next day; for the time being, she propped her legs up onto the desk and hoped the elevation would avert the worst of it.

"Captain," said Zeema, in the exact timbre she reserved for crises, though the Garleans had all been thoroughly routed before the sun had set. "I would like to inform you of my intent to resign. When next we touch down, be it in Ul'dah or Limsa, I'll be taking my leave of the Merlose."

Sigrid took in her first mate. Zeema betrayed not a single onze of anxiety; she never had in all the time Sigrid had known her. If anything, she tended to mask her true feelings, whatever they were, with anger. But there was no rage either, righteous or otherwise.

Zeema was tired. As were they all.

"Very well," said Sigrid. "I am sorry to hear it, but I wish you the best. I'll see to it that there's a celebration before we reach our next hangar. And know, of course, that you're always welcome-"

"That's it?!"

The interruption took Sigrid aback: she could not recall a single instance across all their time together in which Zeema had ever cut her off. She had shouted, certainly; she had cursed and sworn and expressed herself in ways all too befitting a sky pirate. But she had always respected Sigrid enough to let her say her piece.

"Twelve years, Captain," Zeema seethed. "Twelve years I've been aboard this ship, spilled my blood and sweat upon its deck. In all that time, you've been a friend and a mentor to me. And you have nothing to say except to wish me the best?!"

This level of sentiment, too, was unusual. "Is there something you would rather have me say?" she asked. "I have valued your service and your friendship, and I wish you the same success no matter where the wind may take you next."

Zeema let out a single harsh laugh, more of disbelief than any real amusement. "Captain," she said, and paused as her words failed her. She took a moment to compose herself by flexing out her hands at her sides. "Your leadership has changed. You have changed."

Sigrid narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

"The Calamity knocked half the pirate ships of out of Abalathia's skies and opened up an entire floating continent besides. We haven't so much as breathed in its direction in more than a year, because we're too busy picking fights with every single Garlean airship that gets within a hundred malms of us."

"We've made just as much from plundering imperial ships as we would have from exploring unstable islands, if not more. And the Garleans have appropriated countless relics that would not be found in places that have never been habitable."

"But it's not about the relics for you anymore, is it?" Zeema argued. "I've seen the look you've been getting every time one of those bastards shows up on our radar. You're eager to take them down."

"Zeema, we are at war."

Zeema brought her fist down upon Sigrid's desk, right next to where her feet reclined, with enough force to set her instruments to clattering. "A war I never signed up for!"

At that, Sigrid withdrew her legs, unable to keep a wince from rising to her face as her knees bent stiffly.

"There are things I will never presume to know or ask of you," Zeema continued. Her face and voice were softer, as if her blow had relieved her of her pent-up anger. "Even after all this time, even after everything."

"After everything," Sigrid echoed. Two words to encompass the weight of twelve years.

"But for this, if I'm to leave this ship with a clear head and a light heart, I need to know. Is it because you hailed from Ala Mhigo once? Is it because of what they did to your contact - the Paling?"

The soubriquet took her aback to such an extent that her heart began to pound. Somehow the invocation of that name was more shocking even than Zeema's intention to leave, or than her underlying frustration.

"Who was she?" said Zeema, and now her voice was all but gentle. "Sigrid, it's been more than five years. You haven't spoken a word of her to anyone."

"She was-" Sigrid let out a sharp breath and cast her gaze around the room helplessly as her eyes filled with tears. "Her name was Élodie. She saved my life in Ala Mhigo, and I swore I would repay the favor."

Zeema looked at her with unabashed pity, the way someone might look at something deeply wretched. If there was any comfort to be had, it was that her first mate had clearly not set out to bring her to weeping at the onset of their conversation. Still, she neither interrupted nor turned away.

"She was family. The closest thing in this blasted world I'll ever have to a daughter. And the Garleans, they-" She cleared her throat, even with her eyes welling over. "-they kidnapped her from her hideout. They destroyed her life's work - medicines and abortifacients. They tortured her for four days in the palace dungeons. And when she died, they threw her body into the only clean water source in her neighborhood. They made her into their message."

Zeema nodded solemnly. "I..." She paused, then reconsidered whatever apology or condolence she had been about to give. "I understand."

"Wherever it is you go," said Sigrid at length, "know that you go with my blessing."

"I expect others in the crew will follow me."

"I expect you're right. The same holds true for them, but for you most of all."