With a slow, deep breath, Jote took in the life of the forest. Exhaling, her consciousness rose above her physical body and drifted like a breeze, every bit a part of the forest's mellow vibrancy. Every wisp, creak, and shiver held meaning—one only the Viera, a race of forest-dwellers, could decipher. A skill which took decades to master, this meditative technique allowed Viera access to the Green Word: the Wood's living consciousness.
At least, that is what Humes and young Viera are told. More precisely, the Wood does not speak directly with its children, but abstractly: in feelings, sensations, and visions. With practice and discipline, Viera learn to read the Green Word, entering into a deep kinship with their home: a kinship which eventually becomes their life. While all Viera possess the innate ability to hear the Wood, the ability to talk back to the Wood, evades even the most mastered intercessors. Though their ancestors all possessed such abilities, a select few Viera retained this ability almost entirely absent in the recent generations.
…with one notable exception, Jote thought to herself. This lapse was all it took to break her concentration, dissipating her focus and snapping her back to the present. She stood alone at the center of the village, where in a few hours she would lead daily meditation. She sighed, embarrassed and frustrated at her error, even though no others were present. While their keen senses enabled them to navigate even the most heavy darkness, few Viera outside the patrolling wood-warders had any reason to go out at night. Jote, however, found the hours before dawn best for deep meditation. She let the distractions fall away, and began her meditation anew.
The Wood held a distant secret which Jote could not interpret. While the youngest of the Viera intercessors, Jote's meditative abilities set her apart from her peers. She predicted weather patterns, located village members anywhere in the jungle, and even communed with plant and animal life. Despite increased hours spent in meditation, however, Jote could not permeate the Wood's deepest consciousness. She consulted her fellow elders, but none gave an answer beyond: "in time, you will find what you seek." The Elders either had good reason for keeping this message a secret or—more likely—could not interpret it themselves, and chose to ignore it.
Jote again brought her breaths in sync with the subtle ebb and flow of the Wood as she had done so many times in the past. The Wood's presence resonated within her, and her mind stretched to the forest's furthest reaches. Again, she felt a vague unease, like an afterthought. She tried opening her consciousness further, but her impatience worked against her and the Wood pulled away. Realizing her error, she took another deep breath, opening every conduit of her being to her environment. Perhaps if I…
"JOTE!"
Mjrn's outburst pierced her concentration like a spear, leaving Jote gasping for breath. Mjrn stood directly in front of Jote, having shouted at her from hardly a foot away. Accustomed to her young sister's interruptions, Jote did her best to suppress her irritation. "Yes, Mjrn?" she asked, gathering herself.
"I am concerned about Fran."
"Concerned," Jote repeated. If not for her discipline, Jote could have snickered. There was little about their sister Fran that was not concerning. Fran's arrogance with the elders, aloofness with her peers, and condescending manner as an instructor were some of several ways Fran's abrasive manner brought unease to those around her. This was not to say Mjrn's concern was unfounded, but Jote assumed Fran's more troubling behavior had gone largely unnoticed to most who did not know her as she herself did. Again, she had underestimated her younger sister.
"I worry for her, "Mjrn continued. "She has been...quiet."
"Fran's solitude is hardly unusual."
Mjrn tightened her lips in indignation. "Jote, you surely must notice her manner. She meditates for days. I speak to her, and she does not respond. She does not eat or drink. At times I'm not sure she breathes." Jote's pause validated Mjrn's concerns. Jote recognized this, and relented.
"I will speak to Fran," Jote said, abruptly turning to leave.
"Sister." Mjrn said, grasping Jote again by the hand.
"Yes?"
"She cried. Fran cried."
Jote studied Mjrn, who wore a look of distress so heavy her young face should not have been capable. "I will see to Fran, Mjrn. Be at peace, sister."
When Mjrn remained, Jote dismissed her with a stern look, which Mjrn returned with a touch of youthful defiance, before departing. In all her years as an instructor of meditation, it never ceased to amaze her how young Viera behaved so much like Humes: impulsive, loud, and tactless. Perhaps if Humes lived as long as Viera, they too would outgrow such behavior. While Mjrn's defiance concerned Jote, she did not fear Mjrn would leave the Wood. Though Mjrn lacked the natural talent and drive of her sisters, she was still a gifted intercessor and salve-maker. She also had taken an interest in caring for Viera newborns, where she could best channel her gift for empathy.
Jote sought and found Fran at her usual location, the furthest corner of the village, as deep as one could get into the Wood and remain on the path. Fran held her arms partially extended, as if blindfolded and reaching for a steady surface. Leaves and twigs danced and fluttered about her as she communed deeply with the Wood. Jote approached slowly, though she knew in this state, a gunshot would not disturb her. Jote waited for several minutes before Fran spoke aloud.
"Jote," Fran acknowledged her sister, though spoke more to herself.
"Mjrn is distressed."
"She came to me as well."
"It is you she is concerned with."
"I was in communion," Fran said, not turning away from the forest. "She should understand this."
"Yes, she said as much. You are with the Wood much lately."
"I have a lot to share."
Jote's lips tightened. While she admired her sister's deep kinship with the Wood, she also envied her. Only twenty years separated Fran and Jote, and their relationship could be one of rivals if not for how Fran so effortlessly outpaced her older sister, as well as their peers. Where Jote was gifted, Fran's talents surpassed prodigious. Intelligent and intense, Fran earned title "Master of Weapons" at forty, thirty years sooner than any Viera in recent history. A prodigy hunter, weaponsmith, and strategist, Chief Elder Devra entrusted Fran with extended reconnaissance missions in the Golmore Jungle—months on end—where she monitored Hume activity and movement at the outskirts.
Exceeding even her skill as a hunter, from an early age Fran exhibited an empathy with the Wood rivalling even the most experienced intercessors. Fran's gift brought her instant favor with the Elders, as no other Viera were capable of such high level communion. Unsatisfied with mere intercession, Fran's deep level of communion yielded increasingly specific reports warning of impending changes in the fabric of Ivalice. The Elders labeled Fran's reports "distant, and wild speculation," and shunned her as an intercessor. Fran still held the Master of Weapons title, and both she and Jote still remained apprentice candidates to join the Elders.
Where Jote embraced her peers and protégés, Fran's cold exterior thawed only slightly in the presence of the Elders and her two sisters. In fact, Fran bore Mjrn's unbridled emotion with patience no other Viera seemed capable of. Fran's patience with Mjrn as well as Mjrn's respect for Fran offered Jote some consolation, as she grew increasingly concerned for both of their behavior as of late.
"Elder Devra speaks of succession," Jote said. When Fran gave no indication of continuing the conversation, she pressed. "Does this matter not interest you?"
"It does not."
"You must realize you will likely one day lead our council of Elders." Jote had never before said this aloud, and upon admitting it, felt her ears warm with jealousy.
"While unlikely, this upsets you."
Jote's expression hardened, as she fought to suppress her annoyance with her sister's flippancy. "You know I want nothing more than to one day lead the Viera. I have dedicated every waking moment to our words and laws, yet they will pass me over because I—I am not like you." Jote clenched her eyes and fists in frustration. "I cannot sense the Wood like you. No one can."
Fran turned to Jote, her eyes subtly betraying her flat exterior. "I have no desire to join the Elders, Jote. Nor do I intend to join them."
"You would refuse them when they call you?"
"As you say, I have deep kinship with the Wood. The Elders want my talents, but they will not heed my warnings of the danger looming outside our borders." Fran glanced in the direction of the Chamber of Elders before leaning in closer and continuing. "We are not the only ones who sense the unease in the Wood. The Elders know of this, yet they will not act."
"And what would you do, if you would not join?" Jote asked, but she already knew the end of this conversation. She knew how much time her sister had spent isolated from the village, sharpening arrows and daggers late at night, as well as the near-inaudible impact of tears on the ground. Fran knew these intercessions with the Wood would be her last. With both of them aware of the unspoken message, Jote let her head fall slightly, not looking Fran in the eyes as she spoke. "Viera do not concern themselves with the outside."
"There are affairs outside the Wood that should concern us. Even the Wood feels anxiety."
"I have not felt this."
"You may not recognize it, but you know it is there." Fran rose, approaching Jote until a whisper's length separated them. "We are not so different, you and I. Your skill is not inferior, but misdirected. What you seek transcends our Wood, to all of Ivalice."
Of course. Ivalice. Jote listened to only the Wood, which gave her fragments, pieces of the message she sought. The unease she felt came from Ivalice as a whole. The idea of listening beyond their borders had never occurred to her, and she wondered if the Elders knew of this.
"Fran, this threat cannot yet be so great our Wood also despairs."
"The Wood does not despair for Ivalice. The Wood cares for its own. I tell you this, because you have the discipline to disregard what does not immediately concern us, and the courage to protect our Village when it does. You have prepared, and you will be Chief Elder. You must be, because though you and I will never agree, you understand."
Far within herself, Jote saw herself embracing her sister tightly, begging her to remain among them. The innermost core of her being crumbled at the idea of losing Fran—both as Viera and as family. For a moment, Jote let these feelings rage within her, before decisively squelching them. She raised her head and looked Fran in the eyes.
"Be well, sister."
That evening, with bow in hand and a small satchel of supplies, Fran emerged from her quarters. She walked through a large group of meditating Viera, heading directly for the passage into the Golmore Jungle. If Fran wished, she could have departed during the night without incident, but this would not have gotten the attention of the Elders who, led by Elder Devra, congregated near the entrance to the Feywood, blocking the exit. As expected, Devra and her assembly did not budge. Fran waited patiently before Devra finally spoke.
"I know your intention, Fran. I do not grant you leave from the Wood."
"I did not expect such."
"What do you intend to accomplish by abandoning your people and village?"
"Viera do not concern themselves with the outside."
"By rejecting village, you reject Wood. How can you, with such a gift, turn your back on she who has chosen you? She who has nursed you? She who has nurtured you? How can you conceive such betrayal?"
"The Viera may begin as part of the Wood," Fran said, her voice calm. "But it is not the only end we may choose."
The Elder was not finished. "Any Viera who leave the Wood, are no longer Viera. You would choose that end?"
Knowing the Elders would not raise a hand against her, Fran moved through the gathered Viera. After passing Devra, she answered. "I would not, but it has chosen me."
"Fran! Where are you going?" Mjrn shouted at her sister from a distance.
Fran turned to her sister, meeting her eyes, but saying nothing. Mjrn, at first confused, fell to her knees with grief. "Be well, Mjrn." Fran said softly, as Mjrn dropped to her knees. Fran allowed herself a glance at her other sister, who did not look back, before striding out of the Euryt Village and into the Golmore Jungle.