It was almost dawn, and the biggest port of Eorzea was bustling with activity. Limsa Lominsa, the City of Sails, is slowly waking up. Everywhere you look, stalls are being opened and wares are being hawked, the early fishing ships are returning home and the ever present children are playing around and running about.
Well, most of the children are.
In a small patch of grass in Mist, the residential district of the great port-city, a group of bright eyed children are beginning to gather. There was a tree in the middle of them, and under its crown of leaves is my carpet. There were children of all races and ages around the tree when I arrived. I brought nothing but a small hunting knife and a linkpearl, and wore an immaculate white cowl.
As I approached my favorite tree, several of my "audience" ran up to me with happy smiles and greetings.
"G'morning Lady!" said a young boy. His parents were of Maelstrom's Command, as I was. The then-young couple were there when the Candlekeep Quay was besieged by a host of thanalan mites. One of the arcane assessors who was stuck at Candlekeep sang about the couple's valor for weeks afterwards. I thought about telling the boy's parent's story as I waved back, but maybe at a later time.
Near my small carpet, I noticed a shy girl- nay, a budding teen. She was one of the first here, for she's at one of coveted spots near me, but she avoids my gaze. I know of her mother, a Lancer of the Order. Alone in the shroud, she hunted a particularly aggressive scarred antelope, armed only with her trusty lance and a sparhawk egg soup as bait. A fine story, but not for today.
Several children tried to give me trinkets- of course I refused, but some are really adamant. A boy tried to give me a pair of expertly crafted cactuar earrings. I know of his dad- it seems that the thaumaturge is taking up goldsmithing as a hobby, and is apparently teaching his child too. The old veteran once tried to ambush a troop of Amalj'aa near Uldah, and ended up almost being sacrificed to the Lord of the Inferno himself! But he was not alone at the time- four of my colleagues, four of the Scions was at hand. Master Thancred himself, a veteran of Cartenau, was nearby. Ifrit was slain that night, and the Flames of Ul'dah took care of the rest. But as I refuse the child's trinket, I also refuse to recount his father's story- at least, not now.
I knelt upon my Ul'dahn carpet under the shade of the tree, and the children grew quiet. I have been doing this for half a year now, and they know that I will not speak unless everyone can hear. Soon, only the early breeze and the echo of the hawkers can be heard. I took a deep breath, and begun to speak in clear voice:
"The Scions of the Seventh Dawn…"