Papalymo knows Yda. He knows that her knees are scabbed and scarred. She's broken her knuckles four times. Her favorite color is red (—like the fire, like the sun, like the blood in her veins and like the statues of rock she prayed to). She doesn't drink because it reminds her of Ala Mhigo. Papalymo knows exactly what her eyes look like and when she has them twisted shut. She's hiding scars with gloves and high boots and her mask is both physical and metaphorical. Yda is running — still.
But Papalymo doesn't know what she's running from and he won't ask. He's never had to ask because he always just knew. And he won't take to asking now.
Yda is not innocent. She is a wildfire — unpredictable, dangerous. She learned to throw punches before she could even walk. She was born to fight and born to win. Her knees are marred not only because of her fights but because she would spend nights on her knees, praying. And Rhalgr give to her the blood of her enemies and Rhalgr give her courage.
And Papalymo still remembers what she said all those years ago: "I feel like I'm abandoning them, you know, like I'm running away and turning my back. But I am no use to them as I am now."
Yda was always one for ritual and promises. "I'll join this 'Cirlce of Knowing' on one condition."
He remembers being hesitant, distrusting and she reaches for his hand. He allows her to take it and it surprised him someone so young could have such a rough touch. Yda was never soft. Her hands are stained with blood and duty, even when she is young and bright. (—He misses her smile, back when it wasn't forced and her eyes weren't distant.)
She presses her blade to her own palm first. He watches as she drips the blood into his palm. Its hot and red like a fire. Her voice startles him, "Rhalgr accept our blood-word. I will be back."
Papalymo can't help but gasp when the blade cuts into his hand next. It's a surprise and his vision blurs. Their blood mixes and its a feeling he will never forget. A feeling of heat and rage and power. Yda holds him up.
"Rhalgr go with us."
Papalymo swallows, "Rhalgr go with us," he repeats, shakily.
They are bound to each other and bound to Rhalgr and the land. A city stretching out behind them. The King of Ruin would win and Yda would miss the burn of the cinnamon ale. Chocobos don't smell like Griffins. But they leave it behind and Yda does not once look back.
Not until they are both running and the Crystal Braves are right on their heels. Yda looks back then.
"Do you smell that?" Yda pauses in the streets of Ul'dah. They can hear the commotion behind them.
"We are attempting to avoid death! Stop thinking with you're stomach!"
"It's Ala Mhigan ale."
Papalymo will never admit that Yda's stomach saved them that day. They took a sharp turn, tossed their linkpearls and the Ala Mhigan refugees are more than willing to help them escape the city.
Sand is hard to run on but when they make it to Little Ala Mhigo, Yda finally takes a drink for the first time in years. She grows distant, though, and Papalymo helps her blend in and stay away from people she may know. They grow apart but at night Yda takes his hand and traces the scar on his palm.
Yda stays stationary for an unusual amount of time. Until—
She looked up to her father, Papalymo discovers, even when she won't speak but he knows the way she flinches when Gundobald speaks. Yda stammers and stutters and in the end, just like Papalymo knows, Yda runs.
The thing about Yda is that she will never turn down a fight and that you would never expect Yda to be a coward but Papalymo finds her begging her God for courage and strength and she wants to go home so badly that it hurts Papalymo's chest.
He straightens his shoulders and grits his teeth.
"We're returning to Mor Dhona, Yda."
Her fingers linger against the God-Stone and her knees ache.
"You'll help me, won't you, Papalymo?"
He wants to reach out to her but he doesn't. He hesitates but then whispers, "Yes, of course." He won't tell her what he plans. Not yet. She is hurting and she is desperate. He is too. But Yda has always been stronger than him.
Yda is hauntingly silent then but she does express her intent to return. Papalymo doesn't speak when she does. Everyone knows he will follow her. Yda has always been the leader, didn't they know? Papalymo watches her settle down into a seat and he knows she's closed her eyes. He approaches the Warrior of Light.
And Tupsimati feels so strange and so right and so powerful in his hands. But he would help Yda, of course he would.
Sometimes Papalymo catches her dancing and that is when he remembers that like lightning strikes and starts a blaze, Rhalgr is the storm and Yda is the fire.
He is trying to contain the storm in her blood and it won't last forever. She will see her people free. Papalymo doesn't know what he will do if she realizes that her home is already gone and not every Ala Mhigan wishes for her to be a savior.