Change will come, oh, change will come.
I will never believe in anything again.

-(Coffee's for Closers) by Fall Out Boy

Mount Vesuvius is best known for its eruption in AD 79 that led to the burying and destruction of the Roman cities of Pompeii, Herculaneum and several other settlements.

Because Yda and Papalymo are missing, because Garleans are suddenly withdrawing, because Minfilia is crying and because Thancred can still be saved. These are the reasons Y'shtola seeks answers. She has a duty and that is what the marks on her neck stand for. Y'shtola is willing to give it all to fulfill that duty, as an Archon and as a Scion.

It is early morning and the air is wet even in the endless sands of the desert. There was a terrible storm last night and it had kept Y'shtola awake. Now, the air is left humid and there is choices that must be made. Y'shtola and Minfilia have not heard from Yda or Papalymo in over a week. Minfilia's sobs have become background noise. She tries to hide them and be strong but Minfilia can only do so much when everything she has made is falling apart. She feel it is her fault that Yda and Papalymo are gone. She feels she has failed. She asks the Mother Crystal for answers, begging and sobbing but there is only silence. It is too much but no one thinks less of her, nor will they ever.

Y'shtola is trying to understand the reports. Her eyes are tired and she has not slept well for days. She has been plagued with nightmares. She can't bare to lose anyone. But there is a flash of hope with the newest news. She only hopes it is worth what Papalymo and Yda did. Her gut twists when she thinks about Papalymo's stormy eyes but yet, now, she thanks him for doing what he had to. She will live by his example.

But for now, the focus is on the present. The Garleans are pulling back — the war is over. For now; until the power struggle within the Empire resolves itself and they return to their endeavors. There is room to breathe, at least. The news does little to help Minfilia because they both know that they still have too many threats to face and there is only two of them left. Minfila isn't even a true Archon — it is not her job to protect, but instead to help. Y'shtola brings the reports to Minfilia and it is only then that she stops crying. There is a long silence and then she smooths her hands over the papers. With at least one threat taken off the table, they can concentrate on the others. The Primals and...the Ascians. It leaves her throat thick but Minfilia is strong and even through the pain she knows that something must be done.

"Is there a chance that Thancred may yet be saved?"

Y'shtola shifts her weight. She won't admit it but she has been thinking of a solution. She gives a curt nod, "I believe I may be able to help him."

"How?"

Y'shtola looks away. She remembers Papalymo and the storm brewing behind his eyes. She thinks of how the Blessing of Light gives freedom of Enthrallment — only because, in all honesty, the Echo is its own form of Enthrallment. People with the Echo are already owned. Crystals of Darkness that the Ascians use are not much different. The Primals are a threat, but the Primals are also an answer. Papalymo found this out. Y'shtola doesn't yet know if it is worth the losses, but she is willing to try anything.

""Tis not something you would approve of," Y'shtola says. She can't look at Minfilia but there chances she has to take — is willing to take — for the greater good. Without the Warrior of Light, they all have to make sacrifices but Y'shtola will take as many as she can so Minfilia doesn't have to. And someday, Minfilia will smile again.

Minfilia takes her in. Her eyes settle on the tattoo on her neck and it is a final reminder of what they agreed to as Archons. They knew they would have to make hard choices when they accepted the position. Minfilia lowers her eyes, "Very well... I do not want to hear it. Just...do what needs to be done. For Thancred, for Yda and Papalymo, for Eorzea."

It will not be easy. The plan itself is not near foolproof and Y'shtola hates taking blind risks, but it had to work. There was no other way. Her gut is tried into knots but she cannot let it stop her. They will need Thancred to continue to protect Eorzea and to do that they must free him from the Ascian's grip. Y'shtola thinks she knows a way, but it is risky. She does not want to think about what will happen if she is to fail. But as it is right now, Eorzea is doomed anyway. She must at least try.

It is a feeling that has made its home in her chest, clinging to her ribs and grabbing her heart. It would work out in the end. Only because it had to.

But Y'shtola would be lying if she said she isn't afraid. Y'shtola is terrified, but she is a Scion and so she sets out. Alone with nothing but her wand and her bag. The sand is damp under her shoes and it makes the travel hard. She ends up renting a chocobo to take her as far as it can and in the end she ends up in Little Ala Mhigo. The air has died out but it would be night soon and the chill in the air has begun to set in. Y'shtola hurries so that she is not stuck out in the cold. The rock walls of Little Ala Mhigo are still warm to the touch but the fires within draw her in. They give her strange looks when she arrive and may of their eyes fall to the tattoos on her neck. She has grown accustomed to the stares. There are no other marks like the Archon marks but most by now know what they mean.

They allow her to stay for the night and she sets out her sleeping cot in a corner of the encampment. She feels bad because it could hardly be called a city. She knows how much Ala Mhigo meant to Yda and Papalymo and it hurts her. She misses them. She misses Thancred. She can't sleep because she doesn't want to dream so she just thinks. A few times a dirty child comes to talk to her before being ushered away by the adults. She watches mostly, while munching on the rations she packed. Her appetite has left her. Y'shtola vows to herself that when everything was said and done she would see Ala Mhigo freed.

The Ala Mhigans do not like her asking about the Amalj'aa. She is an outsider and the beastmen are their problem. She learns quickly that they do not respect outsiders, even Archons because after all when have they ever helped them? Most of her information has to be acquired by trade and she is left with every little food or supplies after. After over a day of work, Y'shtola is left with very little to show. She has learned that the Amalj'aa are extremely aggressive and have been since the Garleans began to pull back. The Ala Mhigans are angry. They wanted to use this time to try and take back their home, but the beast tribe is stopping any sort of advancement they try. The Amalj'aa have taken to raiding supply caches and caravans. They take whatever crystals they can get their hands on, but they also take hostages. Y'shtola offers what she can in the form of reassurance, but she cannot make any promises. They do not want to hear it anyway.

The thought of it makes Y'shtola sick but she knows that no matter how violent, the beast tribes do what they have to survive and that thought alone is what allows her to keep going. Because in the end, the beastmen and her are not so different.

The Amalj'aa have always been aggressive and ruthless but their current movements seem more out of desperation than just hostility. They are scrounging up any and all crystals they can find and the kidnapping was more than just trying to build their numbers by Tempering. The actions of the Amalj'aa have given Y'shtola a brief insight though, and it is enough to get started. Although it is obvious Ifrit has been summoned, he seems to be very weak. The Amalj'aa are panicking while trying to keep Ifrit in this plane. Y'shtola has a feeling it has something to do with the Garleans, and thus Yda and Papalymo. And so she seeks resolution, straight from the Primal's mouth if need be.

At that point, Y'shtola reaches the parts of her plan that aren't as fleshed out as the rest. She get enough information to pinpoint where the greatest concentration of Amalj'aa are and can infer that Ifrit is probably there also. She contemplates setting a trap — posing as an innocent in a caravan but decides that would take too much time. Time is running short for everyone and so Y'shtola sets off into the desert.

She leaves in the evening when the sun is just starting to cool. None of the Ala Mhigans bid her farewell but she leaves a good amount of gil with them when she has to restock her supplies. She keeps her face smooth and calm but as she sees Zahar'ak start to dawn in the distance her pulse starts to become fast. She takes a deep breath to steady herself and can see Amalj'aa already showing an interest in her from the distance. She does not allow herself to portray any emotions as she draws closer to the stronghold. Y'shtola stands straight and tall. The Amalj'aa do not attack but they do eventually surround her. Her fingers twitch against the wood of her wand. They do not attack.

"Do not come any farther," one of them growls. "You have no business here."

"I have traveled far to meet with your God."

A murmur raises up and many of the beastmen exchange looks. The one who spoke brings his hand up and the rest fall silent.

"You do not deserve to gaze upon the Lord of the Inferno."

Another speaks meekly, "Her neck."

"I see them," the first snaps. Y'shtola narrows her eyes. He is larger than the rest and wears elegant jewelry and scraps of armor. A sage.

"What do you know of these marks?" She asks, her hand now completely wrapped around her wand but she keeps it at her side, unsheathed. The Amalj'aa sage says nothing, just snarls. Y'shtola takes a step forward. "I am not here to play games. I wish to have a conversation with Ifrit. I will not harm him," then, as an afterthought, "You have my word."

The Sage grits his teeth and looks like he might attack. He is able to calm him self by exhaling sharply out of his nose.

"The only reason you still stand, small one, is because of your neck. Remember that," he spits but the circle of beastmen around her splits so that he may walk away. He turns and she follows.

The Amalj'aa escort her closely and she can feel the warmth radiate from their skin as they walk on all sides of her. She grimaces. Y'shtola cannot see where they are taking her over their towering bodies and she has to walk fast to keep up with their pace. They do not travel for very long but she can see the tall rock walls open up into a clearing. The stars have come out and they are bright and clear above them.

Y'shtola can't help her stomach from twisting when the Amalj'aa kneels in front of her. She has spent her whole life learning about the Primals and how to defeat them. It is her job to stop this from happening but now she is frozen in place watching it — enabling it. She swallows and wants to close her eyes but doesn't. In the end, she guesses, there are other ways of dealing with the Primal threat than just defeating them over and over. Maybe, just maybe, this will be more permanent in the end. Her only hope is that she is not making a mistake; that she is not failing in her duty.

She wants to make Louisoix happy. Proud. She hopes this is the right path.

Y'shtola finds herself holding her breath as the Amalj'aa pray. First one, and then another until they are all kneeling and chanting. Their words are hard to understand and truthfully she doesn't even want to know what they are saying. She knows what they are doing and that is enough. The air becomes hot when it should be cold in the night and the sand nearly burns her feet through her shoes. The ground quivers and then there is blinding flash as a pillar of fire erupts in the center of the clearing. The Amalj'aa cheer — growling and shouting in a way that its not even words.

Ifrit stretches out his body in front of them. He looks sickly and weak but the sight of him still makes Y'shtola weak in the knees. His aura is overwhelming and she feels sick. It feels wrong, a tainted mixture of aether. Everything is wrong. She wants to draw her weapon. She wants to fight.

"Archon." His voice rumbles and his eyes focus on her neck. She can't find her legs and she won't —can't look at him. His voice makes her stomach lurch.

"You know of what I am?" Y'shtola finds her voice even though her throat is dry. Her voice is surprisingly even despite her shaken emotional state.

"They too had those same marks."

Y'shtola snaps her head up and then her wand is drawn.

"They? You've seen my friends? What have you done to them?! I swear by the the Twelve if you've hurt them!" Y'shtola is shouting as she lurches forward and the Amalj'aa have to hold her back. She falls to her knees, shaking. She wants so badly to know of Papalymo's and Yda's fates. She feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She wants answers but Ifrit will not give them. Not yet, at least. She has not earned them.

Ifrit laughs deep in his throat, nearly a growl, "Hardly," He sweeps his followers to the side and they stumble away. "Leave us. She will not harm me," His voice booms and the beastmen scatter. Ifrit towers over Y'shtola and his talon curls under her chin. His claws are burning hot but she can't pull away. "I will allow you to speak, only because of the actions of...your friends, as you called them, but you should speak fast."

"And after I assist you? What do I get in return?"

Y'shtola grits her teeth. She knew she would have to give him something and so she had planned for this but it still made he sick, "You free him and I will allow myself to be your vessel."

"And if I take you now?"

"I will smite you down where you stand, beast."

Ifrit laughs, amused.

And in the end, the pact is made: Ifrit would help her free Thancred. They seal it with a rune, burned into the palm of Y'shtola's hand as a twisted, raised scar. She couldn't look at it. Really, neither knew what it would take the free Thancred but Y'shtola hopes a powerful enough burst of energy from a Primal would be efficient enough to break the hold — if not shatter the Crystal outright.

Ifrit disappears in the same flash of fire he come in and the Amalj'aa allow Y'shtola to leave. The give her strange looks and sneers — some even shout curses but they keep their distance. She is shaken and stumbles awkwardly a few times but she makes it back to Little Ala Mhigo before the night is over. She can't bring herself to return to the inner walls of the town so instead she makes camp in between two rocks near the settlement. She builds a fire and they keep the heat in well enough. She can't bring herself to face anyone right now. She feels dirty, tainted and she wonders if Papalymo had felt the same.

She can't seem to sleep, the rune burns and aches for hours but that is the last thing on her mind. She pulls her knees up to her chest and stares at her map. She doesn't know where Thancred would be but there are several marks on the map. She a sweat has broken out across her skin and even in the cold night, her body is on fire. She grows dizzy and can no longer pay attention to the map. She closes her eyes when her vision blurs and her body feels heavy. It is then that, finally, Y'shtola sleeps.

She dreams and it is a fever induced vision of the blue fog of Northern Thanalan and in the distance she can see a body picking at the rubble where she thought Castrum Meridianum once stood. It is a male but the dream does not allow her to focus. Everything is shaky and she tries to will herself to focus on the hood figure. When it turns to look at her, everything goes black. Y'shtola awakes with a jerk but and she finds herself vomiting.

The visions given to her are not kind but at least it is a start.

She washes her face and packs her bags. The sun is just barely rising as she leaves Little Ala Mhigo behind her. She teleports as close to Northern Thanalan as she can but many of the atherytes have been shattered before the Garleans pulled out. It still takes her two days to arrive at Camp Bluefog. The camp has been abandoned and the remains of the Castrum speak of a powerful battle she never realized even happened. She pokes around the scattered debris and wonders how anyone could survive whatever happened here — she tries not to think of the fact that maybe, just maybe, no one did. Because right now she can't deal with the thought of having lost Papalymo and Yda. That is simply not an option. They did survive and she will find them. Just not now.

But she does keep her eyes open for bodies that look familiar. She finds none as she approaches the epicenter of the explosion. It appears to have been picked apart, as if someone was looking for something. She is tense and the air here feels wrong. She kneels down to touch a strange, twisted piece of black steel. There is an energy about it and she grimaces. It feel warm, warmer even than the desert sun. The hairs on the back of her neck stands up; she holds her breath.

There is someone behind her. She cannot move. The presence is nothing. Literally. It feels like a void but somewhere there, she can feel something familiar.

"Thancred?" she asks with a clenched jaw. She doesn't try to turn. There is no response but she can feel it closer. Her chest tightens. She closes her eyes.

Y'shtola has always had a strong connection to the Aether. Her ability to sense it was what drew the Circle of Knowing to her. She was given her place among the Archons because of it, but she earned her keep. She could see and feel Aether in a way most needed goggles for, and although she still need her goggles for faint remnants, she needed to use them rarely compared to other Archons.

And that is what saved her life.

Y'shtola steadies herself; her fingers dig into the sand. Then, all at once, she is a blur of moment as she dodges to the side. A powerful blast of void magic explodes where she had been just moments ago. It kicks up sand and debris and she throws up a shield to repel the next attack. She faces her assailant as he casts another spell. The shadow orb ricochets off of her shield and it lands next to the hooded Ascian, detonating and casting up more rubble. He uses his arm to protect his face, but the force of it blows off his hood. Leaving Y'shtola to take in his white hair and the Archon marks on his neck.

She grits her teeth.

Y'shtola would be lying if she said she hadn't expected to have to fight Thancred in order to free him, but truthfully she was hoping it didn't come to that. The idea of having to fight — truly fight — her comrade left a sour taste in the back of throat. She knew Thancred well; having sparred with him often (not as much as Yda. Yda was always the one to beg any and all for a good spar). But this...this was much different than a spar. This was life or death and in the end, if she were to fail, if her plan were to not be enough, Y'shtola would be forced to kill Thancred. She knew this. And yet she hesitated, a sign of weakness she hadn't yet had time to deal with.

"It is past time your light was extinguished...Y'shtola."

And hearing him say her name in a voice that was not his but yet, still, somewhere in there, his made her falter. The ground around her grows dark and her shield shudders. She tries to keep it up but the black pitch starts to crawl up the sides of her bubble and soon it shatters under the weight of it. She snarls, drawing her wand. The darkness grips at her and it is cold. She tries to pull away but finds herself stuck. It is like claws digging into her skin and they reach up towards her lungs, attempting to drag her down. She feels her feel sinking beneath the shadows like tar pulling her down. She meets the eyes of Lahabrea and for a moment she swears she sees a flash of Thancred on his face — a flash of regret and pity.

She curses him and casts a stone spell, just a small one, a distraction. He snarls when it cuts his cheek, drawing blood but then laughs at her attempt. She lets a smirk curl at the corners of her lips. The ground sighs and hisses as sharp rocks jut out all around him. He tries to jump back, but the stones catch his robes, tearing and ripping. The rune on her hand burns and the darkness is still inching its way up her body. Her legs are painfully cold and the shadow claws hook into the flesh of her hips. She can feel the skin peeling back but she doesn't back down. The ground whines and the sand spins around them as the wind picks up.

Y'shtola keeps casting spells — earth spells, air spells, every spell she knows but she is also clutching her fist shut; Y'shtola is also praying to a false God. It is wrong and it makes her want to give up because what if this doesn't work? She feels sick and dizy; her mana is draining rapidly. She hates this; she hates the Primals. The rune on her palm burns but she bites her tongue until she tastes blood. She watches Lahbrea's face fall and she watches the realization dawn.

The shadows gripping her slink back, leaving trails of blood and cuts.

"You do not know the power you are playing with, mortal," The Ascian snarls and attempts to throw her off balance with a orb of darkness. Y'shtola barely gets a shield up in time but he knees are weak. She closes her eyes when she feels the aether twisting and Lahabrea takes a step back. He aims behind her.

The sand under her feet lurches and it is suddenly very hot. She hears the fire pillar explode behind her before she feels the blast of heat. She swallows. Ifrit doesn't move at first as he looks over the Ascian, then, his eyes focus on the mask.

"You did not say we would be fighting a Paragon," he growls to Y'shtola. She doesn't look at him or make any effort to speak. The Lord of the Inferno snorts and then he charges. Lahabrea dodges, barely and the ends of his robes are shredded by Ifrit's talons. He fires out another shadow orb and Ifrit braces himself. He catches the orb in his claws and grunts, the force of it still pushing him back and leaves rivets in the sand. The Primal meets the Ascian's eyes. Ifrit picks up the orb, growling in pain and then throws the twisting darkness back towards Lahabrea. It took him by surprise and this time he isn't fast enough. It knocks him back a few feet, into the rubble. He stands, not bothering to brush himself off. His robes are shredded and barely cling to his body — the mask is starting to crack. He grimaces and raises his hands to the sky. It starts to darken, unnaturally so.

"No more games, primal," the Ascian spits blood.

Ifrit shakes his talons out to try and ease the pain of gripping the void magic before he turns his head slightly to Y'shtola, "I have changed my mind. I want him instead."

Y'shtola swings to face him. She is shocked and hurt. At first she just stares at him dumbfounded and the large lizard-god makes a move towards Lahabrea. "That was not part of the agreement!" She screeches and she casts a spell at him.

A laugh rumbles out of his chest as he deflects the stone with one hand, "You make dealings with a Primal, girl. We needn't be fair."

Ifrit does not leave it up for debate. The sky has darken to a pitch black and his body glows and moves like lava under his skin. Ifrit straightens and slams his tail into the ground. He roars and the clouds part. Y'shtola had forgotten why Primals were feared but now she remembers. An Infernal Nail falls from the dark sky and lights up the ground. The Ascian doesn't even have time to react; he was too concentrated on his own spell. It pins him to the ground and fire plumes erupt around him. Fire covers Ifrit's body and he charges — a blur. Y'shtola has to cover her eyes from the explosion that results when he collides with the Ascian.

There is silence and she hears the sound of glass breaking. When the bright light fades, all that is left is more rubble, strew around and still attempting to settle again, and fire. The fire dies slowly, having nothing to feed it but steel and sand. A body lays the clearing made by the burst. Y'shtola rushes to him. The mask is gone, and there is no sign of the Crystal of Darkness. Thancred lays in tattered robes. She finds a faint pulse and whens he attempts to move him, he opens his eyes.

Red, fiery eyes.