01—What Makes a Hero?
"You're insane, old man."
"One might think you were being rude to your elder."
Two men, one youthful and scowling, the other seasoned and smirking, bicker lightly back and forth, each sizing up the other, warmed by the noonday sun as the briny scent of the Rhotano Sea carries across the deck. Two men, two voices, one young, both in cadence and content of words, and one old, grizzled, and wizened. The older of the two, wearing a dark suit and dress cape, with a head of rough-cut, ashen-gray hair, full beard and stirring red eyes, focuses his stare on the chair opposite him.
Or rather, at the top of the head of the young man seated, slouching in said chair, arms folded, and head turned to one side. A young man dressed in varying shades of red leather, with child-like features, rounded, protruding ears, and a stature smaller than most children past the age of ten.
A young man whose bright green eyes have seen more in their time than his youthful form and appearance could even suggest.
The deck sits bounded by a guardrail, protecting what few unruly or inebriated guests the Bismarck might entertain from plummeting into and tasting the brine for themselves. A taste that would differ little from any of the other bodies of water covering much of the surface of the world of Hydaelyn.
The two men sit, partially shaded by the red cloth canopy suspended high over the Bismarck's outdoor eating area at one of the nine tables, each seated to capacity this mid-day. Unsurprisingly, given the Bismark's reputation for being the finest dining establishment on the continent of Eorzea.
The younger of the two rocks in his chair, wearing a frustrated frown as he attempts to gain a better view. Failing that, he stands in his seat, planting his feet firmly in the cushion and folding his arms as he locks eyes with the man seated across from him, forming a snappy retort in his mind.
Their conversation to this point had been brief and unfruitful. The older man had come with a request, and been little more than vague and cryptic, and the younger man had listened as patiently as he could, until finally, not aided by his disadvantaged vantage point, his patience had worn thin, giving way to frustration.
His retort remains unspoken as his attention is stolen by a passing server, dressed in polished black shoes, dark dress slacks, and a long-sleeved red dress shirt.
Oh, thank every god.
He turns toward the server and, with a sweeping wave, flags him down. The server arches his brow, then nods and approaches.
"Something I can do for you, sir?"
"Yeah, sorry. Would it be possible for me to get a taller chair? Or something?"
The server eyes him in his full reds. Boots and gloves, jacket and pants, cape and mantle. He then goes a light shade of red himself, concealing his face behind the empty tray held in his hands.
"Of course, good sir, and my apologies. Our chairs are fitted for the average Lalafell. I'll rectify this oversight immediately."
The young man shows an awkward grin to the server as he runs his hand across the back of his head, where his glove passes roughly over his dark-brown head-fuzz.
"I know, it's fine. Don't worry about it. But please."
The server nods, bows, and scurries off.
"And thank you!" he shouts at his back with a light bounce.
He turns his feet and his stare toward the older man now, whose face bears the same smirk from before. A smirk which strips him of his own light-hearted smile, forcing it down into another vexed frown.
"Sorry about that. Now what was it you were saying? Something about me talking down?"
The man laughs in response.
"You must've misheard. I said one might think you were being rude to your elder. I doubt you could talk down to anyone."
He gives an audible huff as he turns his head.
Tch. I'll ignore that.
"Same difference," he mutters, eyeing the man from the side. "And what does that even mean? How old do you think I am, anyroad?"
"Your age is irrelevant to your apparent age, young man."
"Fine, fair point. Not my fault we all look like this."
The server returns with a chair a few ilms taller, setting it down beside the table. The younger of the two's expression again lifts in a light smile, his irritation softening as he moves to hop down.
Softening, until his attempted dismount is thwarted by his darker red cape, which catches under his boot. Stumbling, he thrusts his hand out, catching the edge of the table and steadying himself. He hops down from the chair, muttering quietly as the server brushes the seat off before pulling the chair aside and replacing it with the taller of the two.
"Thanks for that," he says, reddening as he checks his cape over.
The server again nods, gives one final bow, and departs with the shorter chair in tow.
He straightens his cape and mantle, showing a light smile as he finds no harm has come to the former. As he prepares to reseat himself, he pauses, distracted by the scent wafting in from the kitchen by a cooling cross breeze.
Pizza smells good today. No surprise there. They and the guild taught me everything I know about that sort of thing, so I should know.
He shakes his head, clearing it, and hops up into the chair, scooting it forward and bringing himself to just under eye level with the older gentleman.
"But you should know I only look this young. I'm as fully fledged an adventurer as they come. And back to what you were saying, or rather, what you haven't been saying, which I'm guessing is a lot. I've never even heard of this 'Earth' continent, and all you've said is that it's 'far away', that you'd 'like me to go there', and you haven't even said why." He folds his arms as he stares across the table. "So, are you going to tell me anything else? Or did I just pester that server for nothing?"
Before the older man can answer, another server approaches from behind, his dark shoes clicking against the deck. He sets on the table a plate of steaming chicken fettuccine and a tall glass of cold water, along with a set of cutlery wrapped in a decorative cloth napkin.
"Will there be anything else?"
The younger man looks the plate over, then shakes his head.
"No, this is good for now. Thanks."
The server bows, then departs.
"Right. And before I forget, thanks for that," he says, gesturing over the plate of food.
The red leather of his gloves gives a light squeak as he claps his hands respectfully before the meal. He then removes the fine cutlery from the napkin and sets them down upon its finely embroidered cloth. The older man only gives a curt, silent nod.
"So, like I was saying, were you going to be saying anything else, or is this just a free meal?"
"I was thinking you'd prefer to enjoy it before we started."
"Think again, old man. I can listen while I eat."
He lifts his fork, and as he does, the scent of sweet cream and mint reaches up from the plate, tickling his nose and causing his stomach to rumble softly.
"Fair enough. For a start, we might get our introductions out of the way," the older man says, bowing lightly in his seat. "You may address me as 'Watcher'."
"Weird name. And weird timing for introductions, old m—er, Mr. Watcher." He stabs a chunk of chicken and some noodles, dragging both through the cream on the plate. "Taiasu. Taiasu Taruko. Pleased to meat you."
He stuffs the fork into his mouth, drawing it back clean, smiling and inhaling deeply through his nose, savoring as the aromatic mint and cream permeates and coats his palette, the mint highlighting the sweetness of the cream, and both well complimenting the tender piece of chicken.
"Yes, well, I was aware of your name. Our acquaintance did at least mention that much," Watcher, as he's named himself, says, resting his arms on the table.
"They also mentioned you're regarded as something of a hero."
Taiasu drops his gaze to the table's surface.
Hero…
The word stings, sapping some of the flavor, and he winces. The sip of chilled water he uses to wash his bite down does little to dull the edge.
"Sounds like our 'mutual acquaintance' is ill-informed. I think I might like to know who this person is."
"I apologize, but I'm afraid that part of the arrangement for this meeting taking place was that they remain strictly anonymous."
Taiasu sets the cup down, revealing a hard frown.
"Convenient."
"Your reaction puzzles me. You seem to bristle against the title."
"Nope. Nothing to bristle against. Just not a hero."
Watcher smirks at his denial. "Well, I believe that's a matter of opinion. Beyond the shining recommendation of our contact, I've heard something of your deeds from others, and—"
"—AND THEY'RE WRONG!"
Taiasu slams the table, causing it to shake. He grimaces as faces of friends and loved one's flash through his mind. His eyes snap around to the tables, and to the faces and eyes of the people sitting at them, many of which turn in his direction.
Damn it.
He draws his eyes closed, forcing the flashing images away with a deep, inward breath. Letting the breath out releases some of the tension in his expression, allowing his creased brow to ease, and his clenched jaw to relax.
"Sorry…"
His soft-spoken apology carries just far enough to be heard by those to whom it was directed, and the discomforted quiet that had spread quickly dissipates as the surrounding patrons return to their tables, their food and their conversations.
"That is quite a reaction," Watcher says. "Why do you insist so strongly?"
"For a lot of reasons."
He grimaces again as the faces threaten to return to his mind, his expression weighed down by a heavy frown which pulls his gaze to the table's surface, betraying his effort to force himself, his mind, to remain here, in the present. To not get pulled back to those places, those times, those events.
Again.
"I never wanted to be one. And I've never worked alone. When you call me a hero, you're discounting their efforts. You're saying they don't matter. You're…" He struggles for the words. "You're spitting on their sacrifices! The sacrifices of those who lived, and…"
His words catch in his throat as his eyes grow misty.
"Those who lived, and those who didn't. If I were a hero like you, like they, like everyone says, I should've…" He clenches his teeth. "Nobody would've died, right? If it were true, I should… could… I would have saved everyone! But people did die!"
Again, he slams the table, shaking his plate and cup, and causing some of the water to spill to the table's surface. This time, he ignores the attention turned toward him from the people eating at the nearby tables.
"They still die! The cost is too heavy! All those 'victories'…" He pulls in a shuddering breath, trying to ground himself. "I'll be paying for some long after I've returned what I've borrowed from the life stream. And I never cared for the title. I didn't get into this for accolades or adulation. I just wanted to help people."
Watcher nods, frowning thoughtfully.
"Heroes always carry a heavy burden."
Taiasu's expression hardens.
"Yeah, and I already told you, I'm not one. You've misunderstood what I am. I thought you came seeking the help of an adventurer. If you came looking for a hero, you'd better look someplace else."
He scans his plate and skewers another bite, bringing it to his mouth.
"Hero or adventurer, whatever you choose to call yourself, you did agree to meet with me. Certainly you must have some measure of curiosity welling up within that slight frame of yours."
Still staring at the table, he drops his fork, where it clatters against his plate.
Damn it. He's right. Someone finds out about me and asks for me by name. Of course I'd be curious, even if only a little.
He washes the bite down and lifts his stare.
"Fine. You've got until this plate's clean, old man."
Watcher nods and smiles.
"So if not to be a hero, why did you get into this line of work?"
Taiasu's color blanches as Watcher's question evokes images of a tremendous and terrifying dragon, the Dreadwyrm Bahamut. Images that sear in his mind. The dragon, the calamity, the catastrophic devastation it wrought, which spread across the continent and the world. The enormous toll it took in destruction and loss of life, two such losses standing out among the rest in his mind.
Two small and fallen forms, charred beyond recognition.
He shakes the images from his mind, forcing himself into the present.
To the here and now.
No. None of that. Not right now. Everyone suffered from that. Still suffers from it. It wasn't even the real reason. It was just a catalyst.
He regains his color, his eyes regain their focus, and he returns Watcher's stare.
"I said already. Helping people. And I've always loved exploring, and making friends, so it just seemed a good fit." He smirks. "Getting a rest is nice, though. I'd been hoping for some before this."
"Yet you came anyway."
Taiasu shrugs. "Curiosity, like you said. Besides." He taps the plate with his fork. "You were buying, and it's only polite…?"
Anyway? That's a strange expression.
His voice trails at the thought for a moment before he dismisses it with another casual shrug. He takes another bite from his plate, and chews it thoroughly and thoughtfully as he casts his gaze over the guard rail toward the sea and the boats moored at the docks. After a few seconds, he returns his gaze to meet Watcher's.
"So what is it you want me to do in this faraway place? This 'Earth'?"
"Nothing you wouldn't have done if you'd found yourself there under any other circumstances, I assure you."
Taiasu wrinkles his face at the evasive statement.
"Okay? Care to elaborate?"
"Well, what is it you do, Mr. Adventurer?"
"What do I do? What all adventurers do, right? Help people, find stuff, and occasionally, well, more often than I'd care for, fight things. Usually a smile, thanks, and maybe some coin as a reward, and that's always been enough."
He reminisces for a moment, showing a brief smile before a disconcerting thought forcefully interjects.
This guy. He seems to know a lot about me, but just how much? Only what I've done here? Does he know about my time on the First?
He sighs, fiddling with his fingers.
"There's the other stuff too, of course. Helping in a much bigger way has its shine. After all, if Hydaelyn gets destroyed, all my friends go with it. But if all you're doing is saving the world, the little guy gets overlooked, and I can appreciate something about being the little guy."
He smirks, his feet dangling from his chair.
"After all, the world's always doomed."
A light chuckle slips out as he amuses himself with his grim jest.
"The simplest answer is that you can expect to be doing more of the same. But let us continue the discussion, yes? I believe I was questioning you, and while I'm told your skills are up to the task, I wonder about your knowledge. Tell me, what do you know of aether?"
His brief smile fades, pressing into a line as he spears some more from his plate.
"About as much as most, I'd think." His fork, laden with his next bite, draws in his stare. "It's everywhere and needed for everything. Magic, life, the flashier things we adventurers do, and it comes in varying forms, the most common being crystals, and I'm never lacking for those." He strips his fork clean. "Too much is a bad thing. For most people, anyway, and it's safest when balanced. Unaspected, I think that's called."
Watcher frowns. "Most people would swallow before talking. But yes, that matches well with what I've heard. And you said you have many crystals?"
He nods, then finishes his bite, and wipes his mouth clean with the cloth napkin.
"Every adventurer does. I don't know where they come from half the time."
"And the three tiers?"
"Right. Clusters are the densest, your standard crystals are half as dense."
He reaches into his pack, and a soft blue light shines from inside as he pulls from it a small, round, aqueous colored crystal. The light quickly fades, overwhelmed by that of the afternoon sun.
"Then shards like this are the weakest. Takes twenty five to match a standard crystal." He returns the shard to his pack, then looks up at the old man. "Why are you asking me this stuff?"
"Just making certain you know what's what. Now tell me, what do you know of the Echo?"
Taiasu twitches lightly.
Wait, does he—no, I can't say for sure. Just play it cool, stupid.
His mouth turns up halfway in a smirk. "The Echo? Why would you even be asking me about that? You'd be better off going to the Sharlayan Institute."
"Yes, I'm aware of them and their study of it, but I'm not interviewing them to find out what they know," Watcher says, wearing his own light smirk. "I'm asking you because I want to know what you know of it."
"Fine, fair enough. Again." He breathes a light sigh. "But not a lot. Minfillia Warde—"
Minfillia…
He stops mid-sentence, her name catching on his lips. A name he'd learned when they'd first met, belonging to a beautiful young woman whose sky-blue eyes were filled with fire and zeal. A woman driven to fight and sacrifice for a better world.
The leather of his gloves groans and creaks in protest, his hands clenching so tightly they shake. Hands that couldn't save her from her fate. Hands which hold him responsible for what happened to her.
And many others.
Gods damn it, now is not the time for this—!
Tears threaten, and he squeezes his eyes closed, wiping at them with his thumb and forefinger, leaving the red leather shining and damp. Finally, violently, he shakes his head, forcing himself from his mind and into the present as he snaps his eyes open.
"The former leader of the Scions of the Seventh dawn was said to have had one. I've heard it varies in form and function from person to person, even so far as to allow some to transcend death." He shakes as the memory of a fish person getting blasted flashes through his mind.
"I saw this Sahagin priest use it to move his… essence? Whatever it was, he used it to move into another nearby Sahagin after he'd been gunned down."
"Interesting. And do you know the threads of commonality?"
"Huh?" Taiasu leans his head. "Threads of what, now?"
Watcher sighs, brings his hand up, and kneads his forehead. "You said it differs from person to person. Do you know what they have in common?"
"Oh, that. Yeah, I'm aware. Just use smaller words next time. Each one can resonate with a person's soul. When that happens, it shows the bearer some event in that person's life. From their past. Hells know when it will resonate, with whom, why, or what it will show when it does. It guards against primal influences, so anyone who has it can't be tempered into a willing slave, and it allows for a perfect comprehension of every language, spoken, written, modern and dead."
He holds his hand up, counting each benefit off on his fingers, and Watcher nods again, though his face holds a sly yet enormous grin.
"Yes, that also matches well with what I've heard. Though I have to say—" Somehow, impossibly, his grin broadens. "—I wasn't aware Lalafell were fluent in Mooglespeak."
Taiasu frowns sharply.
There it is. Damn it. I couldn't even tell he switched languages.
"So you knew. Why the farce?"
Watcher laughs. "From what I've heard, you wouldn't be the sort to just come right out and say it. I don't think it was worth it though." His wide grin recedes. "Do you have any idea what it took to learn this stupid language? Those creatures, I can't imagine how anyone would have teeth left after dealing with them. I could feel them about to fall out each time I had to practice."
"Yeah, they're naturals at playing up the whole adorable angle," Taiasu says, frowning, then sighing. "But fine, you got me. I have it. I have that stupid 'gift', though it doesn't much feel like one most of the time." He raises his hand, rubbing his forehead. "I mean, hearing a person speak of their past is one thing, but seeing it, living it, there's nothing to compare with that. And I'm none too fond of the headache that always comes with it."
Again, he directs his stare from his plate to the old man, catching his nod. As he does, a familiar, yet frustrating sensation creeps over him, starting in his head and working its way out from there. A slight, stabbing pain that will only grow, ending with him feeling like he's floating, ejected from his own body.
His eyes wince shut.
Why now, of all times?
He clutches his head as his faculties are overridden, the sights, sounds and smells of the Bismarck getting stripped away.
It happens every time the Echo resonates with someone.
Except this time. Emptiness takes the place of the eating area his mind has just left. He finds himself, his mind floating in an empty void, surrounded by nothing.
Nothing to see, and nothing to hear.
O… kay? What's happening here?
In the distance, on the horizon, a faded, hazy backdrop, like a night sky behind a thick layer of clouds, with no stars offering their light. It holds its distance as he attempts to move toward it, an uncomfortable amount of time passing as he does so.
No. This is wrong. This isn't normal.
He'd have shaken his head if it were present here.
Okay, that's stupid. This is never 'normal', but even for this, it's… Even the silence is deafening.
Moments pass at length in the void, his heart hammering in his chest as his breaths come short and strained, his body aware of something his mind couldn't possibly know, yet also refusing to divulge what that something is.
What the hells is happening here? It's taken time before, but not like this. Never this long!
Nothingness dominates.
N-no—! This is wrong! Completely—!
The darkness of the void fades as his mind returns to his body, the Echo yielding its control over his senses back to him. Darkness trades for the light of the sun, which has begun its descent from its high noon position. Silence exchanges for the indifferent, oblivious conversations held by the patrons at the surrounding tables.
That… happened?
A bead of sweat runs down his neck as he stares at his hand, which gives a slight shake. Leather squeaks against leather as he presses it into his chest, which houses his slamming heart, just now coming to rest, and his lungs which resume taking in air at a more normal rate.
Yeah, it definitely happened. But what does that mean? It's always shown something. Sure, it didn't always make sense, but there's always been something, right? So what happened this time? Why didn't it show me anything when it tried to resonate with this—!
Before he's even aware, his hand has already moved to the hilt of his blade.