Don't listen to your friends
See the despair behind their eyes
Don't listen to your friends
They only care once in a while
- The Draw by Bastille
i.
The hardest part isn't losing the other Archons, losing the Scions, losing Papalymo (-but oh that hurts, it hurts so so so much that her heart stops and her breathing catches in her throat). It isn't even the scattered bodies or the bloodstains. No, the hardest part is that it was all Yda's fault. That feeling alone is enough to devastate her.
When Yda first gets back to the Waking Sands, she knows something is wrong. It is too quiet; too still. She knew she shouldn't have left to alone. She never leaves Papalymo alone (-and he made sure never to leave her either because maybe he was scared of losing her). She moves carefully, a fear settling into the pit of her stomach. She feels sick but the coolness of the basement has kept the smell down and so she does not dry-heave. There are bodies all around the hall on the way to the Solar and the door is thrown open, bent on its hinges. There is a lingering scent of gunpowder and Ceruleum (-Yda knows the smell well and she hates it it takes her back to a time and place she wants so badly to forget).
She picks her way through the mess, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She knows these bodies, each one a friend but she is looking for more specific bodies. She isn't sure she wants to know the answers or the reasons, not until she knows if Papalymo is among the dead. She turns over several lalafell bodies, each time her heart stopping before she tries to wipe her bloody hands on her shorts. She is shaking but finally sets her sights on the dark Solar. She stops to roll over another Lalafell and then check the pulse of a sylph. The feel of tears sting her eyes but she will not, cannot, break yet. There is nothing and so she finally sets her eyes to the Staff hanging carefully behind the desk. She wants to make sure it is okay because it is important but what she sees instead makes her legs give out.
She is rooted in place then. Scrawled over the last reminder of their Teacher, there is writing in blood. A name. Yda's name.
Her heart nearly stops and her knees shake. She falls to the ground and that's when Y'shtola and the Warrior of Light run in. At first they try to rush to Yda, to make sure she's unhurt but then they see the writing. Yda can barely hear them calling to her. They're voices are faint and far away despite being right next to her. Her ears ring loudly and she can't look away from the bloody mess on the wall. There is a silence, tense as they take in the words smeared in blood. Y'shtola reads it aloud quietly, trying to understand exactly what it means. It's Yda's name but it's also Garlean. It makes Y'shtola's blood run cold and she forgets the Warrior of Light is next to her.
"Yda..." Y'shtola whispers, her voice is hoarse but the ringing in Yda's ears is clearing, "Is...that true...?"
Yda can't answer, she just stands. Her legs shake but she doesn't fall. Her shoulders are slumped and she is not proud. She is angry and broken. She tugs off her headpiece and drops it. The mask and the aether meter fall to the ground heavily, the noise echoing around the room so loudly that it makes Y'shtola jump. She turns to look at the only companions that are left with her face bare. There is only one person still alive (-he has to be alive he has to she will not accept the idea he is not) who had seen her face like this. This wasn't the way they were supposed to find out. Y'shtola has to look away when she sees the Garlean third eye.
"Why...didn't you tell us?" And she doesn't know who to trust or what to do. She is upset and hurt. She looks to the Aether goggles now thrown to the ground and picks them up. It is covered in dents and cracks and Y'shtola brushes them off. Her throat is dry. Everything she knew is wrong.
Yda chews at her lip, "It never mattered," then she added to try and defend herself, "Papalymo knew." And Louisoix, of course, but bringing him up now would just be salt in the wound. She looks to the dedication on the wall, now stained with blood and she wants to be sick. How could they do this?
"The Garleans attacked us to get to you, Yda."
And that realization allows despair to settle into the pit of Yda's stomach. This was never supposed to happen. They were never supposed to find her.
When Yda was very young, her father told her she would never be Emperor if she kept getting into fights. But that didn't stop her from picking scuffles with the boys at school. She always won, smiling with bloodstained teeth from a split lip and a black eye. Her best dresses were tore and dirty. Yda had a nasty streak and others would even take bets for her. Her father was always the one who get the call.
'She's got a spark, that one, but you better keep an eye on her, lest she look at overthrowing you' they would tell him but she had one terrible right hook (-but oh didn't they know it was the wife, not the daughter, that he should keep an eye on?). Yda would come home with scrapped knees and bloody knuckles. Her father would scold her, threaten her with her with a fist, but he would never hit her because he knew better. Yda would fight back and Yda would win. In the end, Yda's father was scared of her — of the fire that brewed in her gut and the strength behind her punches. Yda didn't like the Empire, even then and that alone was enough to scare anyone.
Once her father left, though, her mother slipped her extra helping of supper. Her mother didn't like to fight with her husband and usually kept quiet, but when their daughter came into the picture, it drew a wedge between them. Her husband spoiled the sons, training them to be powerful warriors or intelligent scientists. Her mother, though, kept a close eye on Yda and her training. She was hard on her, constantly pushing and Yda resented it (—still resents it).
"Don't let that fire go out because soon you will be as dangerous as Ceruleum," her mother would tell her but Yda didn't want to be dangerous. Yda wanted to be free. Her mother watched Yda grow up and grow away. Yda was never stupid and Yda wanted so much more. She saw her daughter's growing distaste in their homeland and she watched it start to seethe inside of her. She enlisted Yda into the military when she came of age, hoping it would allow her to sate her appetite for adventure and teach her that the Empire is home.
Right before Yda was about to leave to join the Military, her eldest brother cornered her. Her older brother had noticed the hate starting to sprout in her and planned on showing her what they did to people who didn't trust their home. Yda was always their mother's favorite and maybe he was jealous but he wanted to earn approval by taking down the weaker link. But that wasn't Yda. That was never Yda. But, even still, her brother met her eyes and drew is gunblade. Yda flashed him a smirk and before he could even make the first move, she had done a cartwheel behind him. Her legs kicked his own from under him. A shot ran out, the bullet scrapped her face but he fell. He jerked the blade up into her side. It cut into her and she kicked it from his hand. They both heard the sound of his fingers breaking. They stared at each other for a while, Yda holding her bloody side and her bother unable to feel his fingers.
"You will never be emperor," he snarled at her.
Yda laughed, "I don't want to be emperor, I want to be queen."
It was a joke but she spit blood at him, limping back to her room. Her mother found her later and helped her tend to the wound. She didn't ask but Yda knew she already knew. It was silent as the antiseptic stung. The bandages were tight but once the wound was patched up, her mother put brushed Yda's hair from her face. Yda would be leaving tomorrow.
"I don't want to be anything you or dad want me to be. I want to be myself," Yda finally told her mother. She was older, wiser. Yda was excited, patriotic even, to see a side of the Empire she never had before but she still felt her mother deserved an answer (-it wouldn't ease the feeling in the pit of her stomach it wouldn't stop the hate from building up in the back of her throat no no no it would actually spur it).
"You wouldn't be Yda if you followed blindly," her mother said, picking up the first aid kit. It was true. And so Yda left her mother behind; she no longer had any say in what her daughter did.