T'senri Tia, the Warrior of Light - who's used to hide his sensitive heart and vicious temper behind a goofy mask, burned by rejection by his best friend - joins the expedition into the Crystal Tower to avoid him, and meets a certain historian of red-cyan eyes, who quickly piques his interest.

Meanwhile, ages past - before their world was broken - Ares, the Azem of the Convocation of Fourteen, on the day of his anniversary sets off to look for his younger brother, Hades, in Elpis - and stumbles upon a cat-like creature wearing his face. Hearing of the fate awaiting his brother, he and his husband decide to do everything to change the future.

The fated meeting, destined parting, and immortals scheming in the background as the past and the future collide.

*
Explicit m/m content and heavy cannon divergence.
Crystal Tower, Shadowbringers, and Endwalker spoilers.


Chapter 1

Hiho :3

FINALLY updated the summary, and for clarity, added the short cuts from the previous one-shots, enjoy :3


G'raha Tia prided himself on being observant – even if he didn't really have much experience interacting with his peers. Not by choice, but his freaky eyes and reputation around the Old Sharlayan… Yeah, they signed his fate long before he grew big enough to understand why the students and professors seemed uncomfortable around him.

He was twenty-four when he arrived in Eorzea, beyond excited at the mystery of the Crystal Tower – glad to finally put his fascination with Allagan Empire to use. Even if the engineers around their camp on the edge of Mor Dhona quickly caught on to the scholars' attitude and weren't shy with expressing their disdain for G'raha's 'eccentric' behavior. With years of experience in that, he hid his hurt behind the usual mask of rash, dramatic attitude – focusing on his studies of the ancient tomes to further their goals instead of paying attention to others.

That is until the Warrior of Light arrived.

At first, watching the unusually tall Seeker through the thick foliage in Urth's Gift, he seemed… almost unreal. Extremely handsome, with inky-black hair and almost too-bright icy blue eyes surrounded by the thick veil of long, jet-black lashes, he carried himself with an air of confidence that brought in G'raha's head the thoughts of the heroes of legends he was so fond of reading. Later, watching him fight the Ixal with the grace of the lethal dancer, swinging his sword and bashing the unfortunate bird-people with his shield – only solidified that idea.

Maybe that was what led him to make a fool of himself, jumping off from that scaffolding and pretending more confidence than he ever really felt. But the sparks of amusement in those icy eyes and the kind of goofy grin he was welcomed with somehow made it… worth it.

T'senri Tia, the Warrior of Light, seemed like many, many things – yet he didn't seem disturbed by his eyes or 'eccentricities'.

He spent the rest of the day stumbling around the camp and pestering the natives of Eorzea for anything he could learn of their Champion – involuntarily instantly fascinated with the man.

Which was strange, really. He never before found himself interested in another male – so he put his… interest up to his fascination with the idea of the Warrior. He was an alive example of the heroes he only ever read about, after all!

But as the reluctant engineers spun the stories of his great many deeds and feats of bravery, for some reason he grew bothered that no one seemed to know… more than the man's title and bound to it fame. And as his inborn curiosity wouldn't leave him alone, he decided to go to the source – and break through his uncertainty to ask the man himself.

What could it hurt, really?

Or so he thought until in the late evening he finally dared to leave his tent to look for the Warrior – quickly finding him sitting by one of the campfires with his sword in hand – but before he approached him, the sight of the expression in the icy-blue eyes made him hesitate.

G'raha once as a kit – maybe ten at most then – stumbled upon a hurt nagxian kitten while traversing the corners of the Tranquility. He knew then that the Students who took care of him, didn't tolerate pets around their compound, but anyway he carefully stuffed the kitten under his shirt and sneaked him inside his room. He nursed him back to health, learning everything he could about his needs from the books and sneaking behind the Students' backs. Not that it was difficult, as unsure as they seemingly were what to do with the Seekers' kit they were saddled with, they left him alone – caring only about his basic needs and not much else.

Once the kitten, Azem, as he named him – from the patron goddess he read that his people worshipped – grew to his full size, G'raha reluctantly released him back into the Tranquility – making sure to visit him and when he could bring along snacks. For years, whenever the weather allowed, he would study his books in his corner of the park, and more often than not, Azem would find him, curl in his lap and graciously accept the tribute in form of his favorite snacks, then allow him to pet his soft fur as he read, falling asleep with near-deafening purrs.

G'raha was an adult by then, his endless loneliness soothed by friendship with Krile, but one day when he arrived at his spot and settled against the tree and his feline friend didn't show up, or any of the following days… he cried like a kit. He didn't know what happened, but the certainty that his best friend was gone broke his heart.

And now, the distinctive hint of hurt in the icy-blue eyes of the Warrior as he stared with unseeing eyes at the flaring flames in front of him… brought back the image of Azem, on the day he found him and that made his heart ache. Also made him certain that there was more behind the easy-going attitude of the Champion that he showed to the world. And despite his uncertainty and inexperience in dealing with his peers… and the hesitation to dare to approach someone so… perfect, it made him determined to become his friend.


"I've heard many, many stories about you, Warrior," the sudden words of the lively Seeker of the Sun he was introduced to today, shook T'senri out of his reverie, and he hoped the man didn't notice the slight shaking of his fingers while he carefully pretended that he wasn't lost in thoughts while the eccentric historian dropped to seat next to him by the campfire. He looked toward him, faking a goofy grin that fooled so many and almost blinked with surprise when mismatched, red-cyan, eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

"Did you, now?" he hummed, going back to carefully sharpening his sword, bracing the blade against one of the stones forming the circle around the fire. He focused his icy-blue eyes on the movement of his hand, taking comfort in the familiar activity.

"Obviously," the man, G'raha Tia, scoffed with a hint of humor in his low, soothing voice, bracing his bracers-enclosed elbows on his knees as his gaze seemed to burn the back of T'senri's neck. "The mighty hero, Warrior of Light, is the water for the mill of rumors around this camp, as well as outside of it."

"You're a poor historian if you indulge in rumors, G'raha Tia," he chuckled, hoping to discourage the man from talking to him as he paired that with a narrowed, icy stare. But as his usual luck would have it, the older Seeker just grinned easily, his mismatched eyes lighting up with amusement.

"Spoken word is an important source of history," he hummed, raising his dark-red eyebrows slightly. "Believing everything one's hear… ah, that's another matter entirely. I was quite hoping you would indulge my curiosity, Warrior."

T'senri schooled his features into the too-familiar mask of his title, letting his mouth tilt into a polite smile as he focused on his sword again, ignoring the man's inquiring, amused stare.

"Ask your questions, historian," he chuckled, even as his throat tightened slightly and he barely stopped his long, inky-black tail from flicking with agitation. "Maybe I'll even answer them…" he trailed off, pretending boredom and hoping he managed to keep his ears in a carefully neutral position.

He hated this part of meeting new people. The questions about his fights with the Empire and the Primals. None of them were even aware of what painful memories those stirred. The excitement about his victories while his mistakes and failures had torn the bits and pieces of his soul. He leaned his head down slightly, letting his longish black hair fall around his face and shade his expression from the curios scholar, hoping his inquiries won't stir the nightmares to torment his mind after he'll reluctantly lay his head down later. Yet knowing that it was a pointless wish – aware they always waited for him anyway.

"How old are you, actually?" the historian's question had him blink with surprise, raising his eyebrows slightly as his gaze moved to crash again with the mismatched, vertically slit eyes.

"Twenty-two," he heard himself say before he even could think of it and hoping the weak light will cover his slight blush when G'raha grinned at him again, clearly pleased with his surprise. Hoping… yet knowing that with his pale carnation and their feline eyes… it was pointless. He could only, again, hope that the historian will assume that it was caused by the heat exhuming from the campfire.

"Ah," the man hummed with amusement, grabbing one of the sticks laying nearby and poking the fire until the sea of sparks flew into the nighttime air above them. "So you're two years younger than me," he chuckled, dropping the stick as he sent him another curious look. "Did you grow up in the city, or in a tribe?"

T'senri blinked slowly, furrowing his dark eyebrows with a hint of confusion as he lifted his hand to brush his hair back – maybe a bit of a habit as watched the man with a… new interest. Other than his friends, the Scions, no one ever asked him about that. People wanted to know how hot the flames of the Lord of Inferno were, how facing Titan or Garuda felt, or to hear the first-account story of his clash with the van Belsar and his men.

People he met cared only about the Warrior of Light, a brave and fierce protector. Not about T'senri Tia, the man behind the title.

"The tribe," he said slowly, watching another easy grin tilt the historian's full lips. He blinked again, then dropped his gaze to the fire, clearing his throat slightly as he went back to his menial task, hoping the man doesn't notice another treacherous blush. Twelve, but he hated the fact that no matter how much time he spent in the sun, he just couldn't tan to cover his pale carnation and too embarrassing blushes. Seven hells, he was the Champion of Eorzea!

But interest in him, always made him so… uncertain. No one ever cared about 'T'senri'… or what he wanted. Others always had ideas and expectations about how should he behave or what he should want…

"Oh?" G'raha's low voice sounded intrigued, as he, stretched out and crossed his legs at his ankles next to the fire, bracing his arms behind him. "Why did you leave? You weren't interested in the title of the Nunh? With your physique… it's hard to imagine someone could last through your challenge…" he trailed off with surprise on his handsome face when T'senri's eyes widened impossibly, and another blush, so much hotter than before hit his face.

Gods, he shouldn't react like that! He was tall for a Miqo'te, head taller than the historian, and muscular from the years of strife and near-constant fighting. He knew that females found him attractive, always fawning over his bright blue eyes and inky-black hair and handsome, if maybe a bit too sharp features. It was part of the reason why he chose to leave his tribe, despite… everything.

"I was… not interested," he said slowly, watching the flames and biting his lower lip with uncertainty. G'raha probably didn't really care, but… "They kept pushing me, ever since I passed puberty… The females I grew up with, even my sisters and half-sisters… all wanted me to challenge our sire when the time comes. But I couldn't…" he choked, blinking rapidly as all the blood drained from his face.

"Why…?" the man asked carefully, his voice suggesting he wouldn't mind if T'senri chose not to answer, and maybe because of that… the words he had never said to anyone, but one other person slipped his lips involuntarily.

"I've never found females… attractive," he whispered, then swallowed thickly and lowered his gaze shamefully.

It was the greatest shame of his life. He and the boys he grew up with, all were raised with the sole expectation of one day fighting their father and brothers for the privilege of becoming the breeding male for their tribe or leaving to start their own tribes or expanding the lands of their 'family'.

The females around him adored his eyes and physique, day in and out inquiring and spurring him on to swear he'll fight their sire for the title. Some wouldn't even bother waiting – trying to lure him into their bedrolls, or crawl into his despite the fact he shared the tent with other boys his age. Finally at seventeen, nearing the time of the final decision, he sneaked out of the camp in the middle of the night like a thief and never looked back.

He was too ashamed to admit that he found the idea of breeding with them… disgusting. That his skin crawled at their more or less shameless advances. That he… Azeyma, that he found the bodies of his playmates much more… intriguing.

He never acted upon it, Twelve preserve!

And now… He swallowed audibly and closed his eyes with a painful grimace. The only time he dared to shyly express his interest – despite everything, breaking through his… inhibitions, to ask the man he had a helpless crush on for years if he could ever return his feelings… blew up in his face spectacularly.

Thancred was kind, he had to admit. He didn't laugh or scorn him… instead delicately explaining through he was flattered, he didn't share his… tendencies. And T'senri knew that… he spent years watching his best friend chasing the skirts before the whole hell with Lahabrea went down… But somehow, he still fooled himself into believing…

"I see," the young historian hummed with consideration, and T'senri blinked as if woken up from a dream – then flustered impossibly, his hands shaking as he curled into himself with shame. Gods, he barely knew the man! He shouldn't… Oh, Twelve, he could already imagine the rumors after this slip of sanity… But he more than deserved it! Falling apart like that and flapping his big mouth, just because he felt… unwanted and vulnerable after that talk.

"I'm only good for killing, though," he heard his own, choked voice as if through the fog, his lips moving outside of his will as his eyes squeezed shut almost painfully. "Monsters, soldiers, Primals… They point me at what needs slaying, and I do because I'm good at it… Because it's all I'm good for… the Weapon of Light, really…"

He didn't hear him move, but suddenly a muscular arm wrapped around his waist delicately and a head rested against his shoulder, an almost too-warm body offering surprising comfort against his side.

He blinked again, feeling a furious blush of mortification spill over his face, but G'raha didn't comment, didn't offer empty words… only his insane heat sank into T'senri's skin through his shirt, slowly forcing his taut muscles to relax and despite himself… he turned involuntarily, resting his cheek against the crown of red hair and closed his eyes, accepting the silent solace the historian was offering.

He joined this expedition aiming to discover the secrets of the Crystal Tower to avoid his… best friend until he could look into his handsome face without the ache in his chest. So he wouldn't ruin their friendship with his senseless pining.

But, maybe… it offered more than a distraction.


T'senri was nervous.

Nervous and confused, and he didn't really deal well with feelings like that. So he did what he has always done in situations like that – he hid behind his mask.

As barely more than a kit he quickly learned that if he faked cheer – people around him were less likely to notice and pester him about what was wrong. So he would school his features in a goofy grin and pretend everything was all right in the world – and the more bothered he felt, the snarkier he got – figuring that if he annoys his peers, they'll leave him alone.

Back in his tribe's camp, it worked wonders – by the age of fifteen he had a reputation as the happy-go-lucky idiot, and until the unfortunate turn of events after he hit puberty at sixteen and the females would start to pester him something fierce – he felt comfortable with his mask.

He hated the attention, the nagging, and especially when he would wake up in the middle of the night to one of his 'friends' as he thought, trying to climb into his bedroll. The boys he grew up and shared the tent with didn't even bother to hide their jealousy – ribbing and making jokes that made his skin crawl, but again, his mask came in handy.

Then, after he finally gave up and left the camp… his luck struck again – and Hydealyn picked him of all people for her Champion… and it only went downhill from there.

One bright point he used to see was that it led him to meet Thancred – very soon after arriving in Ul'dah and signing into Gladiators Guild nearly off the gate. Training with the other boys came in handy, not to mention his unusual height and build – it gave him an edge few could claim, especially between Miqo'te fighters.

Discovering he had Echo… and soon after being invited to join the Scions of the Seventh Dawn… was neat. He and Thancred hit it off beautifully right of the start and he… enjoyed having a goal. Extremely protective by nature – he was glad to have an outlet in the form of traveling around the city-states and helping whomever he could under the banner of the Scions.

Later in the outcome of the ambush by Amala'jaa facing Ifrit and discovering that what he thought was a dream on the road meant he was immune to the tempering of the Primals… ruined everything.

He fought the fiery lizard with raging determination to save the soldiers who got caught in the trap alongside him – and his gut burned when he won and was faced with the fact that any way they'll be put to death – tempered as they became by the Primal.

Feeling like he failed… because if he didn't just stand there like a moron that he was but slew the priest before he could act… maybe he could have saved them.

When van Belsar's men raided the Waking Sands during his absence – he lost his mind. To have his home… his nest destroyed like that – so many of his friends slain, forcing him to take care of their bodies… broke something inside him. With them, he buried a piece of himself – then went after van Belsar and his men with vengeance. He murdered them with relish – and paid back the general in full by razing his home to the ground – not that he didn't help it along, trusting an Ascian.

Lahabrea possessing Thancred – was a slap in the face he could never forgive or forget. Using his best friend – more than that – taught T'senri a lesson he would never forget. Ascians since then we're his prey of choice – and he swore he will wipe out all of them – even if it'll take the rest of his life.

They were responsible for everything in his life that went wrong - starting with goading Amala'jaa into summoning Ifrit and ending with guilt-ridden Thancred avoiding him at all costs – until T'senri snapped and had the great idea to let go of his inhibitions and have a talk with his… friend that blew up in his face.

And when he left the Rising Stones with his tail nearly between his legs – curling into himself with shame and disappointment – a stranger with a suspiciously familiar voice approached him and invited him to take a look into the expedition that set the camp at the far edge of Mor Dhona.

He wasn't really interested – not in the expedition, anyway… But that stranger… he couldn't be sure, with the mask and all, and didn't want to make a scene in Revenant Toll – the new headquarters of his people – but he had a raging suspicion it was Nero – one of the people responsible for the massacre of the Waking Sands. And he figured that if he listens to that invitation… he will get a chance to make sure, one way or another. And if it was truly Nero… well, he wouldn't slip away this time.

When to his surprise Cid and his men decided to join as well – he grew almost certain that sooner or later that stranger will show up and that he was right about his identity – remembering the hard-on Nero had for Cid as they broke into the Praetorium.

T'senri didn't care about the expedition or the secrets of the long-dead Empire – but if there was a chance for him to get Nero's head out of this escapade – he didn't mind helping the scholars along… until last night.

Now… yeah, he was nervous and confused – but he also had a new goal in hanging around the expedition into the Crystal Tower.

One very interesting, red-headed reason… who offered his insane heat in silent comfort when T'senri felt… raw and vulnerable. Who seemed more interested in him than his title… spiking his inborn curiosity something fierce.

G'raha Tia seemed… kind. And last night, once he got a hold of himself and pretty much… bolted, almost running toward his tent and hiding inside it like a frightened kit… well, he was embarrassed and even more… confused. And when he dared to leave his tent in the morning the next day… surprised when none seemed to know of his… slip of sanity. No one looked at him funny – or whispered behind his back… so he almost shyly assumed that G'raha didn't… spill anything about what he said to him so… stupidly.

And that was… new. T'senri was used by now to people gossiping and spreading false rumors about him. It cane with fame, as his friends joked. Becoming the Champion of Eorzea… had its toll. And as uncomfortable as he felt hearing people speculate which of his female comrades in Scions he was sleeping with – he could only imagine how much worse it would get if something about his actual… preferences saw the light of the day.

He was too… ashamed about it in the first place to have it… discussed. He could handle the gossip about him and Minfilia, Y'shtola (who seemed to be favorite) or Yda… But having others speculated about his male friends… hit too close home. Thancred's rejection… still burned too much.

And to know G'raha didn't share what he learned from him – made him feel… thankful. Though he still wasn't sure how was he supposed to now face the historian. Will he now think that T'senri was… interested in him? Oh, seven hells… He was handsome, yeah – and those mismatched eyes were quite… pretty… but Twelve, he was burned enough as it is and… just… nope!

He didn't need the… complications in his life. He gave it a shot – got rejected for his trouble, and if his best friend saw his… tendencies as unnatural… Well, Thancred didn't say it that way, but still – for him, it was enough to swear off ever slipping like that again.

He had his mission to accomplish here – find and make Nero pay – and he didn't need the… distraction.

So as he paced near the tent that he found out belonged to the historian – waiting for him to wake up and leave it so he could… ask him to keep their conversation to himself and assure him that what he said didn't mean he was interested in him in the slightest, he was beyond nervous. And that made him grin like an idiot at every passing him scholar and engineer – earning more than a few surprised looks.

"Good morning, Warrior," one of the scholars said, a Hyur female with blond hair and green eyes, clearly misreading his grin for interest as she stopped by him and grinned back.

Oh, fuck…

"Morning…" he murmured, looking over her head and trying not to blush – and make the situation even worse!

"I'm Sienna," she giggled, and when he tossed a quick look at her again – wondering what was so funny? – she fluttered her lashes at him and smiled in a way he already knew too well. His skin crawled and he barely stopped himself from growling and backing away, trying to keep his ears in a neutral position. "We didn't have a chance to be introduced yesterday, but I've heard much about you since arriving in Eorzea."

"Is that so?" he said, keeping on an expression of polite interest on his face as he tried to subtly back away from her. At least it confirmed what he thought – that G'raha didn't… spill anything. "Sorry, miss, but I'm quite busy," he smiled politely, despite really not feeling that. "I've hoped to discuss something with one of your… collages and…"

"Oh, I can help you with whatever you need in their place, I'm sure," she grinned, and he barely bit back a snarl when she lifted her hand and put it against his chest.

Oh, Twelve… he hated this type so much. She was pretty, he figured, and more than confident in that fact – instantly assuming that every male around her was interested. He met his share of those – and they were always the most annoying and hard to get rid of. And they always pissed him off the most.

"I don't think that's possible, miss," he let his eyes turn to shards of ice, now backing away from her openly and letting her hand fall down against her side. "So far I know… he's the only historian here specializing in Allagan Empire," that much he remembered from Rammbroes's introduction.

"Ah…" the girl – though she looked older than him – scowled visibly, folding her arms over her chest. "G'raha Tia? You do well to avoid him, Warrior. That boy is bad news – always was."

He frowned, looking at her with confusion.

"Excuse me?" he murmured, resting his hands on his hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I said. He's quite… famous back in Old Sharlayan, where we're from," she smirked quite… unpleasantly, shrugging slightly. "They call him an 'eccentric', but we all – the students – figured that it was a polite way to say 'freak' and not only because of his… creepy red eye. I've heard that he's so… weird even his own tribe didn't want him around!" she giggled, clearly pleased with her own joke… and T'senri's frown grew more pronounced.

"Pardon?" he hesitated, stepping from one foot to the other.

"Oh, it's not a secret back home that he was five when he arrived in there," she said, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Nobody knows why, but some said it's probably because of those eyes – some Seeker friend of mine speculated once that his tribe probably saw it as a sign of bad luck – and got rid of him as soon as they could. Not that I blame them – as he does only cause trouble. I've heard…"

"Enough," he snapped suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. "I'm not interested in… gossip," he drawled through his teeth when she flinched and visibly backed away. "And with whom I chose to talk or interact with… is only up to me and my own judgment. Now, if you excuse me…" he narrowed his eyes, dropped his arms, and walked past her… fuming.

T'senri clenched his jaw so hard his back teeth were almost aching as he neared the tent he was eyeing earlier. What she said… really bothered him for some reason. Last night G'raha seemed… kind. And he did hear someone yesterday call him an 'eccentric', not to mention the way they met – but he didn't put much mind to that. He thought that race about Twelveswood was pretty… funny and the way the older Seeker jumped off that scaffolding – all grins and excitement – seemed hilarious. As rare as it was, his grin was genuine then, and he barely stopped his own tail from whipping with amusement and more than a bit of… interest.

Not that way, Twelve preserve! But just… G'raha seemed fun – and even as upset as he was yesterday over Thancred – he was quite… a bright spot in the otherwise gloomy day. And he could appreciate that.

He still felt that girl's gaze on himself when he stopped at the side of the tent, and he fought to curb in his temper – as surprising as it was. He didn't get easily upset, normally… He fought another frown as he took a deep breath.

"G'raha, are you awake?" he called, trying to keep his voice carefully neutral.

His sensitive ears twitched at the noise coming from the inside of the tent – a thud as if something fell – then the flap was pushed open and a pair of huge, red-cyan eyes peered up at him quite… owlishly from under the red fringe. His hair was a mess, loose and looking as if he ran his fingers through them too much and there was a smudge of ink on his cheek he didn't seem aware of as his jaw slightly… dropped.

Cute, T'senri thought involuntarily as his heart thumped… nervously. Instantly an automatic, goofy grin spread across his face and he saw the mismatched eyes widen even more.

"…Warrior?" the historian murmured, then cleared his throat more than a bit awkwardly, then straightened and stepped outside the tent. "May I help you?"

"Ah, yeah…" he backed away slightly, in thought scrambling to find something to say as he still felt the gaze of the woman. "I was hoping… you could teach a bit more about the goal of this expedition, G'raha."

"Oh… of course!" an instant wide grin appeared on his face and sparks of enthusiasm filled his eyes – and T'senri's stupid heart went simply… insane.

Oh, Twelve preserve… he was interested that way.

He almost whimpered, with effort keeping his mask on his face while the historian with a smile and a polite gesture invited him into his tent.

Gods… he was so fucked.