Originally posted on Ao3 - 2021-08-06

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That night I made the conscious decision to follow this man, a person I had known for only a brief time and whom I had difficulty trusting despite his openness and perceived kindness, and even if it was only for a short time, I knew that it would be a decision that would potentially prove useful. Though, exactly how useful it would prove was yet to be seen.

We were quick to move onward from that location, cutting through some thicker patches of woods while using the moon's position to determine which direction to go in, and although I was unfamiliar with the general area, this man seemed to know his way around like that of a old trapper familiar with hunting grounds, only stopping on occasion to regain his bearings. Even when the clouds blocked out the moon, the man seemed to know where he was going, never once considering making and lighting a torch and even rejecting it with a smile the one time I did ask.

After some time of hiking, we found ourselves at the edge of the main road much to my surprise, but after looking both ways to see for anyone and checking for other nearby camps with their fires lit, we continued across, him still leading the way. It was only after some more hiking that we finally stopped and prepared for rest, or rather what rest one could get after staying up so late given the angle of the moon in the sky.

I did the usual thing every warrior did, removing my blade and sitting to lean against it, but soon after, I watched the man to see what he'd do.

He turned himself slightly and removed his sword and scabbard from his waist, being somewhat slow to do so unlike earlier that evening, but once he had it free, he took the scabbard in hand and sat down, seating himself just in front of me a few paces away. Once he was seated, he then took the scabbard in both hands and set it on the ground off center from where he sat with its handle pointing rightward. He then went and did the same with his knife, though remaining seated during its removal.

He soon quickly noticed that I was watching him intently, his movements stopping and the knife being held in both his hands.

"You're staring," he said with a sort of awkward smile, his eyes refusing to meet my own and only looking to the ground before him. I didn't respond; although I can't quite remember the reason why, it was likely to test to see if he'd lunge at me or some other surprise action. After a moment of awkward silence, he frowned, his eyes finally meeting mine, and with this his hands fell slowly to his lap.

"Look," he continued. "I understand that you don't really trust me too much despite what we've just gotten away from. I also understand that, to you, there's probably no point in talking or trying to become friends given that we're only traveling to the next town. But, I feel it's best that we at least talk to each other. Otherwise, things would get... more uncomfortable for both of us, yes?"

Although I didn't initially have a problem with my treatment of him before, him saying this just then made me realize how harsh it truly was. This realization in combination with my own brief reflection of my very own situation, caused me to feel some degree of disappointment in myself. Even though I had every right not to trust him, the degree with which I was cold or standoffish alone was enough to make me feel bad. With a sigh and further reflection, I replied.

"Sure. I'm open to talk."

He smiled, then moving to place the knife down next to the sword.

"What about an introduction?"

"Why? You..." I was quick to dismiss him, sadly reverting to that cold nature from before, though this would only last briefly as I soon caught myself, looking away as soon as I began to hear my own words. "...probably already know who I am."

"No?"

His response caught me by surprise, seeing a look of mild confusion on him. "What?"

"Other than meeting you earlier, I don't."

"You... don't know?" My confusion was palpable.

"Should I?" He chuckled slightly.

"You... It..." I struggled to form a sentence, but in seeing that this man was completely unaware of who I was in relation to the Purge of the Awakened and knowing that he was willing to give me a chance earlier, I decided it was best he didn't know, or at the very least not know everything. "Nevermind. Miria. My name's Miria."

"Ah," he replied, but soon a thoughtful expression appeared. "Now that you mention it, your name does sounds a little familiar. Huh, I must have heard it in passing at some point."

"What about you?" I asked. It was indeed perhaps a little strange that I didn't get his name before. Even as I write this, I wonder why this information never came up sooner, but regardless, I had to ask.

"I'm..." He stopped himself briefly, almost as if he realized he about to give something precious away. This heightened my focus as I wanted to know what or why he was hesitating and moreover if he was going to lie to me about his identity. After a moment of silent hesitation, he spoke again. "People call me Toulouse."

"Really?" I scoffed upon hearing this. "Toulouse? As in the region?"

"It's a bit of a long story," he said with embarrassment. He ran his hand through his hair as he looked towards the ground, chuckling out nervously as he wasn't expecting my reaction to him giving his name. He then took the moment to regain his composure, breathing in softly as it took place. "But, uhh... yes, it's true."

Suspicious, I though then. Indeed it was. Coming across a man who appears out of nowhere, whom claims to want to help you, whom nearly gets himself killed in a situation that he put himself in, whom you then promptly save, and whom doesn't wish to disclose his name all does seem rather suspicious. But at the time and despite this suspicion, I didn't press further.

"Alright, Toulouse. What about that accent of yours? Where are you from?"

He was clearly taken aback a little when I asked him that question, almost as if he wasn't sure if I was teasing him or if I was genuinely asking a rather probing question. But, he was quick to respond with his own question, though the grin he had on him made me question whether he was throwing it back at me to tease me as well.

"That's a rather personal question, isn't it?"

I apologized softly when he asked this. Of course looking back, it was obvious he was trying to tease, but when it happened, I felt a little guilty for calling him out on what I quickly thought was a sensitive question, especially given my previous realizations on my treatment of him.

"It's alright," he said with a smile, then continuing. "I'm originally from the South, the port town of Navis specifically."

"Navis?" Even now, I'm surprised I remember that name. As he said, it was an old port town in the South, though this would be a grave understatement as it was both the second largest and most southern city there was at the time and one of the few locations that the Organization allowed to exist in its given state during their tenure, eventually amassing over a hundred-thousand inhabitants and a mass of wealth in the process. Despite this knowledge and my initial surprise and thoughts on his referring to it as a mere town, I continued. "That's quite far south."

"It is," he said. He then looked down briefly, almost as if he was reflecting on the past. "My journey since I left there has... taken me to many places. Besides, one can only take so much of the sea."

He looked up as he said those final words, a smile appearing yet again, though this one was clearly different. It almost looked as if there was pain there, as if he was thinking of good times long since lost, and this immediately resonated with my own experiences, not only recently but from before the Northern Campaign as well. That feeling of melancholic nostalgia was something I had felt before, but despite feeling what he likely was, I knew I had to keep it hidden in front of him, given that we had only just introduced ourselves.

"Maybe," I replied.


That night I was left thinking of what had unfolded thus far and where I was headed, from the family's safety to how I nearly killed this man, and even how I was going to get out of the region once I got to Urek and defeated the awakened being. All the while, I found myself briefly watching Toulouse as he slept throughout, him opting to sleeping on his back with one hand behind his head and another situated close by the two weapons. But as I continued to think in my exhausted state, I soon found my eyes become heavier and heavier until I finally fell asleep.

Since the night of that attack and just as I did years ago following the Northern Campaign, whenever I slept, I found myself dreaming of the same things. I saw terrible events that took place years prior unfold before me once more with people I hadn't seen alive in years living on in these dreamscapes, and with this, I found myself questioning my very decisions and choices during those events. It was as if I was trying to break down each of those moments and determine where things went wrong despite knowing and reasoning to the same conclusions previously. But, given how little I was sleeping recently, these dreams were vivid and brief, lasting only until sunrise with my memories of them staying with me through the morning like the dull glow of a cooling metal bar being formed by a blacksmith.

But, unlike so many mornings before, this one was perhaps a little different.

I was awoken to the sensation of something tapping my arm, a sensation that snapped me out of whatever dream I was having then and into partial waking. My eyes opened, the warm light of the sunrise that passed through the trees striking them at a sharp angle and causing me to squint, and as I sensed something looming beside me, I turned and looked up. There, standing before me, was Toulouse, a smile upon his face.

"Hey," he said softly. It was clear that he had been awake for sometime then. "It's time to go."

I nodded in response, slowly got to my feet, and stretched a little, the action being only brief as I didn't want to hold him up. In turning to him once more, I saw that he had turned to watch the glow of the sun grow brighter as it slowly rose through the tree line, the thin mist that enveloped the forest the night before bringing out god rays that pieced through its darkest sections. This combined with the sounds of the forest brought life to everything, and it was something I would've enjoyed more if I had gotten more substantial sleep the night before. Well, that and if I wasn't on the run.

Regardless of my being in a partial haze of exhaustion, I grabbed my blade, sheathed it, and said, "Let's go," to which he simply nodded. We soon left, heading back to the main road and traveling east towards the next town.

We traveled for quite some time before we said anything else to each other, something that reminded me of my days as a warrior for the Organization, giving me more time to reflect on things as they were. This silence would soon be broken by Toulouse, though, initially with a few words regarding our direction, then some light small talk, until finally, and admittedly with some coaxing from him, a proper conversation on various things. Mind you this series of transitions into conversation took quite a while until mid-morning, and as much as I would love to go into details, my memory of what was discussed is fractured and faint from the past ninety years. But, I do remember a particular part of it near late morning as we were closing in on the town, albeit with the town itself still being obscured by a hill and woods.

"You mentioned you were headed East. Where specifically?" he asked, then adding, "After we part ways, I mean."

"Urek," I replied. "I have some business out there."

"Urek? Well, that's certainly a coincidence. I'm headed there too."

"Really?"

"Yes," he responded with a smile, looking down to ensure he wasn't about to trip over a stone that I picked up on just moments before. He then continued; "I have a few friends out there that I wanted to check up on. Given what's unfolding with all the disappearances and things, I need to be sure they're at least safe. But, I need to head north of Ferrus first, there's an old mercenary friend out there I need to meet with before continuing to the city."

"Old mercenary friend?" I asked. The phrase piqued my interest, and in turning to him, I saw that he, too, realized what he had just said. He immediately appeared uncomfortable with the situation before him, but despite this, I wanted to know more. "You were a mercenary?"

"I... shouldn't have said that." He placed his left hand on the back of his neck and turned a little away as he said this, his voice softer than before.

"Why?" I asked. Although this new information was somewhat of a surprise to me, it would explain his words from the night before regarding him knowing some people who could help me. But, it was curious that he would be nervous about mentioning it.

"I mean, it's a bit... you know, it's the..." He was now very embarrassed with himself, his hesitation being a tell-tale sign of this, and as he spoke, his accent began to make an appearance again, allowing me for the first time to pick up on its origin of Navis. I was admittedly amused by his reaction, smiling to myself as I watched him try to explain things to me, but I digress. He finally spit out what he intended to say. "It just doesn't sounds like a good thing to mention to anyone."

I had to laugh at how he said this, sounding like a bashful child despite his overall weathered appearance and especially given that he was a former mercenary, a kind of individual whom would've seen a great deal of action. He clearly was taken by surprise by my response, but soon turned away again out of embarrassment, sighing as he did.

"Really now," I said as my laughing began to subside.

"Well, I mean, most mercenaries aren't the most savory of types," he explained. "You know, the flaunting their money, the womanizing, the drunken stories? I never really liked that kind of stuff. Besides, that was while ago."

"How far back?" I turned and asked him, still smiling.

Upon asking this, he did a double-take, looking to me, then away, then back to me again this time with slightly furrowed brows. This was soon followed up with a suspicious little squint. Then he said, "I'm not answering that," to which I shook my head, turning back to the horizon once more.

As my eyes met the distance, I soon noticed something odd about the trees there, leaves gone and darker shadows cast about them than what I was used to, but as we continued walking towards them, I soon realized what I was seeing.

"What?" Toulouse sort of whispered.

As was now obvious, the trees were blackened and bare of any leaves, their charred surface signifying a fire had roared through there at some point. Neither of us expected this nor did I know what to make of this information initially.

"A fire? When did this happen?" I asked as we came to a stop.

"It looks recent," Toulouse replied. He then ran up to a tree to observe it more closely, looking it up and down and running his fingers across the burnt bark of the trunk. The bark flaked off with little effort. "The wood is still freshly charred."

When he turned back to me, I immediately saw its ramifications.

"The town," I said lowly.

"Ferrus," he agreed.

"Hey there!" a voice rang out. Upon hearing this voice, both Toulouse and I turned to see a smiling man driving a wagon headed down the road away from the town, and in realizing this, I quickly placed my hood up over my head, though no doubt he probably saw my face by then. Despite this, he continued as if he didn't see my suspicious action. "I think you're headed in the wrong direction!"

Toulouse and I jogged up to his wagon, it slowing to a stop as we approached so that he could speak to us. I noticed the wagon was full of items, signifying that he was a trader or had salvaged off what materials he could find from whatever charred remains there were of the town.

"You know what happened here?" Toulouse asked, coming to a stop beside this man's cart and ox, as did I shortly behind.

"There was a fire at Ferrus a few days ago," he responded. "Apparently it engulfed all but a small portion of the town and killed most of its inhabitants. It spread a bit, but the rain put it out before it could spread any further."

"How many are remaining?"

The man scratched his moustache to think, though this was very brief. "Only a dozen or so. Not much left."

"What about the local blacksmith? Did he survive?" This question piqued my curiosity, but I dared not ask about it given shifting priorities from learning the town might have some survivors left. More than likely, he must have known of someone there personally given the way in which he asked this, but regardless, I listened as the other man continued.

"Yeah, he survived. He's trying to get rid of everything before he leaves. Why? You know him?" Toulouse didn't stick around to answer those questions, signaling to me to follow him as we began to take off towards the town. The man appeared concerned with this action. "Hey, wait!"

"Thank you!" Toulouse said as he turned around briefly. "Take care of yourself!"

"Uh... likewise, friend!" was all the man could say in his confusion. Following this exchange not much else was said between us, Toulouse focused on getting to the next town to find this blacksmith of his as I followed close behind.


As we continued deeper into the burnt forest, I quickly came to see how devastated the landscape was, the smell of charred wood and ash almost choking depending on which direction the wind blew, and wet ash piles dotted the landscape like the snow banks I saw back when I was in Alphonse, the breeze slowly blowing the lighter, dryer ash off in a continuous stream of dust. The trees themselves looked strangely similar to normal trees despite what had occurred, but this was off-put by the obvious signs of the fire like the lack of leaves and most branches and the blackened, brittle bark. Further more, what bushes were left were completely bare of leaves, mere shadows of their typical green selves, though this wasn't helped either as some where still smoldering, streams of smoke emanating from them and the ground surrounding.

With this was the smoky haze created by smoldering remains, coloring the sky in a shade of orange that I never thought possible until then, with this shade causing the sun to even take on a reddish color. What worsened the whole setting was how quiet and lifeless the forest was at this point, the fires having scared away any birds, deer, and other animals that lived within it, each step Toulouse and I took being the only sounds I could hear aside from creaking of the trees.

We continued down this road, having passed by a few other travelers, all heading away from the town with many holding bags of items or weapons as if they had just secured them from the destruction. I thought for a moment that I heard a scoff from Toulouse, but even back then I wasn't sure given our pace towards the town and the sounds of the burnt forest around us. Eventually, we were close enough to see glimpses of the town, or rather what remained of it.

The town had become almost completely leveled in the fire, piles of rubble and ash in place of where the buildings clearly stood save for a few damaged and charred buildings that somehow survived partially. The smell of ash and soot still filled the air just as it did in the forest, though this was also mixed with the smell of lye as what rain water that had not runoff into the forest had mixed with the ash as well. What items left behind other than ash piles and blackened stone were splinters of wood and shattered glass, some of which found itself in the streets before us, the now-muddied glass shards glistening in the sunlight.

I remember entering the town in a slow pace with Toulouse, a look of mild despair on him as he observed the devastation firsthand; I can only imagine what was going through his mind then, even now as I write this. In that slow pace, I took the moment to observe the destruction more carefully, approaching the rubble to see what items remained. In this building was the remains of a living area, a pile of wood splinters covering what I could only assume was a chair and table, and the kitchen area, which was signified by the crushed pot situated by what looked like the remains of a doorway, was completely caved in, blocked by both stone and charred splintering wood.

"I knew the woman who lived there," he said, causing me to turn to see him looking from a distance. Then, as he turned to look at the other buildings, he continued. "In fact, I knew a lot of the people here."

"I'm sorry," was all I could say.

"Don't be," he replied, sighing as he continued. "Besides, you had no way of knowing that. Come on."

We continued our walk towards the center of town, passing by more ruins and rubble as we did so. Although it all looked the same on the outside, I couldn't help but think of the lives lost or ruined from the disaster. Each house was home, each room filled with memories, each item having a story, and yet the fire that engulfed this town blew it all away like the wind during a snowstorm.

Seeing the state of these buildings reminded me of my time in the North, of both the immediate and the long-term after-effects of the failed Campaign there. It crushed me when I saw and experienced it the first time, but even after all these years, whenever I see ruins, all I could think of was that time there, having to see and forage through those ruins and survive for seven long years.

Despite this, I continued on, just as I did during those seven years, only this time I thankfully didn't have to stay here very long.

Soon, we arrived at the fabled blacksmith that Toulouse was so keen on going to. It was a small structure with likely enough room to snuggly fit a family of three, and although the building was partially burned with several holes present in the roof from the fire, it was surprisingly still intact to a minimum degree, with even a few flowers still present in a planter set at the windowsill of one of the windows. It was clear it was built a long while prior as well, perhaps several decades given the worn and discolored exterior.

At the back of the building was a wide alleyway and a cart placed within it, the cart covered by a draped canvas to protect its contents from the elements, but what I picked up on was the strange absence of a horse or ox to pull this cart, something that I nearly asked Toulouse about. But, given his current state and the fact there were others around still either packing their things to leave and mourning the dead, I chose to keep quiet.

Passing by the side of the building revealed the front work area of this blacksmith, a simple area usually constructed with packed dirt, a few simple tables, and various smithing implements. But, unlike a typical blacksmith, many of this smith's items were missing, which I assumed were sold to passersby as a means to pay for the cart out back. What did remain was a humble anvil, a single table, the furnace that was constructed into the house itself, and a few miscellaneous weapons on display.

There, with his back turned away, was the blacksmith, adding the final touches to a knife in hand.

Toulouse and I approached him slowly until we were standing just behind the only table there, and for a brief moment, he said nothing, perhaps hesitating to speak out of nervousness, but eventually, after watching him work for sometime without noticing we were standing there, Toulouse finally spoke.

"Hey," was all he said.

"Bit busy here," the blacksmith said with a lower tone, clearly focused in his work. His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it as this was unfolding.

"Have some time to chat?" Toulouse asked.

"Hold on a moment," he replied, aggravation in his voice. "I said I was busy."

Toulouse was visibly taken aback by the response, but after a moment and a sigh, a smile appeared on his face almost as if he was glad to hear the man's aggravation, just as an old friend would upon hearing someone speak in the same way they once heard years prior.

"Well, that's no way to greet an old friend, Bertrand," he said. The name immediately stood out to me as familiar, more so than this man's voice.

Upon hearing Toulouse say this, this man's head suddenly popped up, his attention pulled from the knife he was working on, in a way that was reminiscent of a dog surprised to be hearing his owner nearby. He stood still in that spot for a moment, lost in thought or reflection, but eventually he turned quickly to face the voice who spoke his name, a look of happy surprise present all over him.

"Toulouse?" he asked, his voice somewhat low, though this would quickly change a characteristic and familiar booming voice after a nod from the man beside me. "By the goddesses, it is you!"

He immediately stopped his work and walked quickly towards us, so excitedly in fact as to near trip on his boot as he did, forcing me to hold in a chuckle as he did. He recovered quickly, and as he got closer, he moved in to shake Toulouse's hand, to which he complied. It was a vehement whirlwind of a handshake, causing me to worry for the other's arm falling off given the apparent strength of the blacksmith, but after a moment of shaking, he stopped and patted his shoulder.

"I haven't seen you in nearly seven years!" he exclaimed as he shook his hand. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

By this point, Toulouse was grinning ear-to-ear. "I just happened to be in the area and thought I'd stop by to see how you were doing."

"Well, that's mighty fine of you," he replied, he then turned to me, continuing. "And who's this lovely-"

That's when we both fully recognized each other.