"There." You carefully peek around the chilled bark of a tree at the forms of a fake Inquisitor escorting a young lord eastward, away from Whitebrim.
"So they are. We should move anon." The female knight hidden behind another trunk is clearly nervous. Understandable, when her childhood friend was at stake.
"Hold, Haurchefant. We must be sure." Her black-feathered steed paced impatiently, mirroring the emotions of its rider. The knight she knew had never mentioned that the flying bird he'd gifted to the summoner was his own personal, hand raised chocobo.
Of course he wouldn't think twice of such an act.
You were fairly sure he'd have gladly given his own life, had you asked for it. Hells, he did so when you hadn't, after all. You could probably have taken the attack and kept going without much issue.
But he simply wasn't willing to risk it. His life before yours, at any cost.
The cost, in the end, was that of an entire world- or what was left of one, anyroad. Mayhaps he'd be disappointed if he knew. Even angry.
Nay, the mere thought was preposterous. The besotted fool would blame himself first a million times, reasoning that none of it would have happened had he not caused you such grief. You shake your head.
Such idle thoughts availed you little. The past was the past, and you should focus on this Haurchefant. For those you can yet save. A signal from your linkpearl calls for your attention.
"Cid here. I have them in sight." You gently touch the device fitted snugly to one of your horns, giving it the inkling of aether required for its function.
"Understood. Moving ahead." A small nod is all that the silver haired woman needs to come out of hiding and climb atop her mount. You do the same, Nugget chirping with anticipation before both chocobos take to the sky.
"Take care, Lord Haurchefant. Your accusation is an incredibly damning one. The word of a single lowly guard is not enough to convince me that Guillaime is a heretic in disguise." Inquisitor Blaisie crossed her arms with a stern expression. It affected the knight little.
"That it may be, the word of Ser Prunilla warrants further investigation. My knights are trusted, Inquisitor, and such confession is not made lightly. I will send a search party immed-" Drillemont's argument was interrupted by one of Nugg's patented hot landings, the lifeless body of an extra passenger haphazardly falling into an unceremonious pile at his feet.
A corpse unarguably belonging to an Inquisitor that seemed to be still very much alive, were all the dead innocents to say aught about it.
"-I see that will not be necessary." The older Lord's face tightened in anger at the confirmation that he'd been played for a fool. You wasted no time in dismounting and handing Blaisie the bloody encyclical the corpse held at the bottom of the ravine, undeniable proof that the man currently taking Francel to Witchdrop was a heretic.
"The body was, rather literally, at your back door- Give or take a few yalms of height. I presume official documents are a lost formality in the Inquisition nowadays?"
Your tone is a mite more nonchalant than it needs be, but the fact that you hadn't simply blasted the fake official to dust and let the knife-ears sort it out instead of going along with the charade had taken a fair amount of patience.
Your own mind startles you for a second. Such a line of thought was unlike you, even when dooming an entire timeline to oblivion. You tell yourself 'tis merely mounting stress.
It'd better be.
"Mind your words, Dravanian! Had you turned anything less as proof, I'd have declared you a here-" The lecture was cut short by Haurchefant's voice overpowering hers.
"Quite, Inquisitor. Undoubtedly. But I'm afraid I have a friend to save and you have an impostor to catch. Racism must needs wait."
Within the minute, three chocobos cut through the icy winds of Coerthas, carrying an unlikely party of two lords, a time-displaced Au Ra, and a fuming member of the most feared group within the Halonic Church.
You reached for your linkpearl once more. "How long do we have?"
"Not long enough I fear." Alphinaud's voice came as a whisper, white tufts of hair camouflaging against the mound of snow he hid behind. "They are about to reach the ravine."
"Very well, intercept them. Buy me time." Two taps of her fingers were all her loyal bird needed to enter a steep dive, trading altitude for speed. Treetops skimmed just below Nugget's claws, snow being displaced off of the hardy leaves in his wake.
"Easy for her to say." Cid chuckled beside the young Elezen, fitting the last ceruleum cartridge to his compact gunblade 'ere closing the cylinder.
Necessity is the mother of invention, goes the saying. Given how you've just developed a manner to use Garuda-Egi to hasten Nugget's flight even further, it might just have a point.
You can see the debacle taking place in the quickly diminishing distance now, and since weapons are drawn, 'tis unlikely to be going well.
The shouting you can now hear only confirms the precarity of the situation. You can't quite make out the words being said over the cacophony of shouting-
-and when you see Francel's figure disappearing inside the chasm, they don't matter anymore. Shots ring out in the blinding snow, echoing against the hills and causing the fake inquisitor to start casting spells in anger, blood already dripping onto the snow.
In hindsight, the fact that the Cid of your time resorted to simple shortswords instead of a similar aetherochemical device doesn't quite make sense, other than a misplaced desire to distance himself from the empire of his homeland.
Godsdamnit.
Icy winds whip past you while your chocobo dives at full speed towards the ravine. Were you not familiar with how agile your bird is, the quickly approaching ground would be rather concerning- as it is, you simply join him in bringing your limbs as tight to your forms as you're able.
Your neck is strained when he comes to a screaming halt midair once between the walls of ice and rock. The sounds of battle rage on above, but try as you might, you can't see any fresh lordling corpses at the bottom.
"Francel! Shout if you're alive!" You'd truly rather not have to deal with consoling a grieving Haurchefant. A cynical mind would argue that it'd only make for better chances with her.
Broken as you are, your soul is not quite there yet.
The last thing you wish to do is cause her pain. You're all too familiar with the grief of loss to be willing to cause it on the one person you love the most, fast track to her heart or not. It doesn't make you a better person-
-merely a slightly lesser monster.
"Adventurer! Thank the Fury! Below the overhang!" A panicked voice echoes through the rift, spiking your attention. Looking up, you see the son of house Haillenarte holding rather precariously onto the handle of a dagger sunk into the ice in haste.
A small smile of relief washes over your features. "Well, aren't you the resourceful one!" 'Ere long, the young man is safely atop the snow once more, safe and sound. To your surprise, the moment you dismount, Nugget immediately sprints over to the ongoing struggle, rather literally leaping into the battle to help Cid and Alphinaud.
Your heart tightens when the realization that he probably misses the people he knew other than yourself hits. You've effectively forced on him the choice between his master or the remaining scions.
Not that there were many of them left at that point.
In a mere moment, Nuggs has the fake Inquisitor's head firmly buried in the snow under a clawed foot. Muffled, enraged shouting quickly dies off once a sharp talon touches the heretic's neck in silent promise.
A short whistle from you is all that the loyal beast needs to know to let go off his current prey, stepping back to be at your side. You hug his neck affectionately, the large black eyes that focus on you endearingly a drastic change from the merciless pools of murder the bird showed naught but a few seconds ago.
The act earns you a pleased chirp, and a gentle rub of his beak against your horns. You wish there were more that you could do for him, but at least he was happy for now.
The fake inquisitor splutters, attempting to get rid of the snow in his mouth before he sees you, standing nonchalantly with greatsword in shoulder. You quirk an eyebrow when he smiles maniacally.
"Ah, I see! Come, sister! Let us cleanse the world of the taint that is Ishgard together!" His hand is extended in invitation. Yours is struggling to not reach for your face in annoyance.
"Oh for the love of- did Iceheart not deem any of you worthy of being taught elder dragon genealogy at all!?" Your voice raises in indignation. "We come from Tiamat's blood! Not-" Esteem's voice stops you mid-rant.
Let it go. You have more important shite to do.
Your eyes narrow at the dark haired Elezen while your body assumes your usual hanging right stance. "Just drink the flippin' dragon blood, will you?"
His expression sharpens in response, looking towards the heavens in loud prayer.
"Come, my brothers- grant me the strength to smite our enemies!"
A burst of aether envelops his being, the form of a large aevis emerging from within. You step forward.
"I! Am! Reb-"
His monologuing ceases rather anticlimactically when the sound of composite metal slamming against hardened scale echoes through the valley.
The aether holding his draconic form together dissipates, revealing an unconscious man with a blunt force wound on the side of his head, fallen into a heap on the snow. Cid, who had been standing behind you with gunblade drawn the whole time, sets the striker of the weapon forward gently.
"Well. That went better than expected."
Alphinaud looked at you pensively, before shrugging. "And with an uncharacteristic lack of gloating to boot. I shall take it gladly."
'Ere you can think of the implications of that phrase, the delayed trio arrives, with Haurchefant spreading her arms in joy the moment her mount has stopped.
"Magnificent execution, friend! Thanks to you, no more lives needs be lost to this farce!"
Drillemont, for his part, bowed in gratefulness. "While I am not overly familiar with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, your services on this matter have earned you the trust of House Durendaire. If there is aught that we can offer for assistance in your matters here in Coerthas, you need but ask."
Alphinaud's face lit up at the offer. "Truthfully, we are here in search of a certain airship-"
For the first time, a faint smile graces your features while working on a meal. Tomatoes, onions and garlic cloves are temporarily reduced to their base components under your careful aetheric guidance, gently weaving their flavours together until the glow of your magic dissipates, revealing-
-a bowl of tomato sauce. Exceedingly tasteful tomato sauce, granted.
"Fury take me, that is simply unfair." Medguistl argues in mild astonishment, working several large pots containing what will soon be supper for the brunt of the camp's occupants. While Lord Drillemont had acquiesced to the request for an expedition of the Stone Vigil, protocol demanded that the news were first delivered to Ishgard before such an undertaking could be started- giving you another night at Dragonhead.
Needless to say, not a single complaint would come from your lips.
This time, flour, water and salt come together under your watchful eye. "I could teach you this method of cooking, if you so wish. 'Tis the least I can do for allowing me to usurp you in making Haurche's food this one time." The fact that a genuine smile feels foreign to you is a damning sign of the last few years.
Last several years.
Fair enough, last decade.
For as much as you'd lost the concept of time, you're fairly sure it hasn't been two decades. Esteem's sad, pitying smile inside your soul is not exactly heartening. Well that's what the time travel is for, is it not?
The head cook of Camp Dragonhead deems to ignore the fresh vermicelli coming into being beside her, regarding you with a knowing expression instead. "Nay, it might be fancy but bulk it serves not." She closes the flame vent under one of the myriad pans almost all the way, letting it simmer.
"Besides, I am just happy to know that boneheaded woman has found someone suitable at last." Medguistl leans towards you, still somehow keeping track of her terrifyingly vast stove. "She might not show it, but her heart has always been looking for someone. A very certain someone. And a cook can tell when the main ingredient someone is using happens to be love."
A wink seals her display of knowledge, leading to your cheeks feeling a tad warm.
Reaching over at one of her racks of utensils, the Hyur woman picks a needlessly large knife, calmly refining the edge for a moment with a small whetstone 'ere slicing an entire Dodo in half, without looking. "I'm sure whoever gets to be the lucky suitor will do their utmost to make her happy. Don't you think so?"
Quite how a five-fulm-nothing chef managed to make the slayer of Chaos dry swallow in fear was something that scholars would fruitlessly question for eons. Looking deep within yourself for assistance, the visage of Esteem nodding nervously was all that you got.
Taking her advice, you did the same.
Time flew by easily while you busied yourself with making a somewhat bastardized version of a riviera lunch, complete with the Bismarck's famous finger sandwiches and extra meat. 'Twas not the most complex meal you've ever made, but definitely a good mix of flavours and heartiness.
By the time you'd finished, the dining hall by the kitchens was already bursting with activity, with Haurchefant herself not present, as was often the case. Thanking Medguistl for her kindness, you make your way to the main hall with two dinners, where the local lord would doubtlessly be, fighting off piles upon piles of paperwork.
Quite how a forward camp generated that much administratorial work would forever be a mystery to you.
Back at the frontlines of sustenance, the head cook deemed to finally take a bite out of the extra sandwich you'd made for her, as a gesture of appreciation. A small iota of pride arose inside you when you heard the kitchen's door swinging open just after you entered your destination.
"Disregard what I said earlier, you're teaching me this!"
"My apologies friend, but have I heard you quite correctly? Meddy actually allowed you to use part of her kitchen?" The raised eyebrows that coloured the face of the silver-haired woman did not stop her from resuming scarfing down the meal as soon as she'd finished speaking.
'Twas a good thing that you'd also bribed Corentiaux with a tactical sandwich for him to take the rest of his meal in the kitchen. It meant no one else got to see your embarrassingly enthralled smile at Haurche's unabashed enjoyment of your cooking.
Or the fact that your tail simply refused to sit still.
You'd never gotten the chance to experience this happiness, of having a lover approve of something you'd made, even in the before times. Only tremendous willpower stopped you from sighing wistfully.
Just.
Eventually, your mind, addled in endorphins as it was, finished processing the question your suitor had actually asked.
"I will admit, some parlaying was necessary, but a woman has her methods." You decided to actually take a bite out of your food, out of a necessity to finish it rather than actual desire to eat, if anything.
"She seems to care greatly for your well being." You could see Haurchefant's expression soften immediately, a small smile gracing her unfairly dashing features.
"Aye, she's-" A moment passed while the Knight played with the pasta in her plate, searching for the correct words. "-the closest thing I have to a mother, I guess."
Your eyebrows raise mildly in surprise. You have no recollection of such being the case before.
"Pray tell, how so? I'd imagine your real mother would be rather proud of her daughter being the leader of a camp, no?"
You felt a measure of guilt from such a probing question, but you had to know. Perhaps the stories did not quite line up, and relying on incorrect information was the most dangerous thing one could do.
Plus, truth be told, you simply enjoyed hearing her voice.
She shook her head. "My birth mother passed away when I was very young. As you've probably gathered, even though this is a House Fortemps camp, my last name is Greystone." The implication was not necessarily hard to understand, even for someone not as chronologically experienced as you. You nod for the woman to continue.
"Even though the marriage was one of convenience, Lady Fortemps was not exactly happy with- well, my existence, as you can guess." Despite the somber matter, a small lopsided grin sneaks into her visage.
"Father was rather adamant about treating me as a trueborn, however. My name was the only concession he made, if only to avoid the witch from making the downfall of House Fortemps her mission in life."
You smile in mirth; Haurche was considerably more open about her past it seemed. It suited you just fine, learning about the Elezen was something that warmed your soul unexpectedly well. For how intense the feelings were between you and Haurchefant, he was always very reluctant in sharing aught of his life before the fateful day of your meeting.
On the one hand, you understood. What little glimpses you got of it were not necessarily happy, and digging through painful memories was not something you were wont to do for curiosity's sake.
Still, the contrast was somewhat glaring, and part of you had to admit you preferred this newfangled concept of 'learning of your lover's past'. It felt- closer, in a sense. More honest, almost.
"Anyroad, I digress." The silver haired knight smiled sheepishly, realizing she'd nearly gone on a rant about her father's wife. Not that it'd be the first time; or likely the last.
"Meddy more or less adopted herself as my mother figure while I was growing up in the manor. Caring for my health and education, making sure I ate and dressed properly, stopping me from getting into too many fights, the like."
A wistful sigh escaped the Elezen's lips, a genuine smile colouring her features and doing obscene things to your heart. For once, Esteem cannot find it in herself to mock you for it.
"Mind you, Father did what he could. I do not bemoan him for it at all, he taught me how to be a Lord. But she taught me how to be myself, especially once my condition reared its head."
"She was a cook at Fortemps manor before coming here, I presume?" For the first time, you are able to actually taste something you've made. Oh, you'd eaten your own cooking before, to be sure- but until now, all the flavours were muted, gray. Much like your own soul felt.
'Tis a minor miracle you became as proficient in the art as you did.
Haurchefant laughed conspiratorially. "Ohoho, not merely a cook, my friend. The cook. The kitchens were her realm, and her realm alone. 'Twas the one place where the witch dared not step foot in; which meant 'ere long I learned to take shelter there when that woman was in a particularly foul mood."
The pride beaming off of the knight at recounting her childhood escapades is almost palpable- and equally endearing.
A shrug marked the approaching end to the tale. "One thing led to another, and when I was given command of Dragonhead, Meddy decided she'd come with me. Much like Corentiaux did, come to think of it."
Her hand fished for something underneath the collar of the gambeson which stood underneath her chainmail. A diminutive toy cane, no longer than a finger, carefully placed in a necklace.
"This is the first gift she's ever given me. Apparently, watching me lead Artoriel and Emmanellain- my brothers -around, reminded her of a shepherd." She chuckled at the memory, eliciting another smile out of you. This woman certainly was different from the Haurchefant you remember, in many and more a way.
And gods forbid, if things kept going as they were, somehow even more precious.
The noise of countless rings of steel quickly rearranging themselves once their owner physically recoiled back broke you out of the mild affection daze, icy blue eyes wide at the sight of the clock on a nearby wall.
"Fury take me, just how long did I babble on about myself? I was supposed to be reserving time for what you had to tell me! Fool of an Elezen!"
Oh, right. That. You'd yet to reveal to her all of that.
It'd certainly explain the distinct feeling that a large amount of dread about the near future had gone missing in the last few hours. No matter, 'twas back with all of the vengeances now. Deep within your soul, Esteem shrugged, mouthing a response.
'We tried.'
"My deepest apologies. Would my quarters suffice? We shan't be interrupted there." A sheepish Haurchefant offered, setting her empty plate aside. Steeling yourself for the trial ahead, you pick up the pixie apple that was meant to be your dessert and follow the taller woman down the corridors at the back of the main hall.
You can take the timeline out of the wildly tense situations-
-but not the tense situations out of the timelines, as you found yourself pacing back and forth in front of the Lord's bed under her confused gaze.
"How in gehenna am I even supposed to begin to explain this whole mess."
Your self-muttering is interrupted by Esteem deftly plucking the forgotten fruit from your hand 'ere sitting besides an even more confused young knight; reveling in the look of annoyance she earns from you in said act.
"Perhaps from the beginning?" Haurche offers in an attempt to help. The fragment of your psyche given form preempts your answer.
"Normally a fair point, this time would mean we'd be here 'til next fortnight. Why don't you give the lass a crash course in the basic knowledge to explain how we even got here in the first place, and work from there?"
You absentmindedly point at the armoured figure, nodding. "Aye, good idea." A rough sequence of events planned, you turn to face the ever more befuddled woman. "What do you know of Time Magicks?"
"I-" A rueful smile dies on the Elezen's bewitching face when she realizes you're being entirely serious. "Not much, I'm afraid. Only the fairy tales of my youth, forgotten spells able to bring youth to the elderly and the like."
"Good enough. Now, there are two types of time magicks. The first, and easiest, is to move time through a subject."
Your finger draws an aetherial line in the air while your other hand manipulates the ambient aether to yank the apple off of Esteem's mouth without a second thought, causing a cuss which you do not deem to legitimize by listening to.
"Both forwards-" You move the fruit towards one end of the thread, focusing your aether to warp existence within it. Haurchefant's eyes widen at the sight of the visual example withering before her very sight, drying and darkening within seconds.
"-and backwards." Your hand brings the remains of the apple towards the other end of the thread, reverting the very flow of time to bring it back to suppleness, and further into its juvenile, green form. Even the bite taken from it by the dark apparition reforms, much to her further chagrin.
A stunned expression is your only answer for a few seconds until the Elezen manages to find her words. "How- where-" She sighs, shaking her head. "I am going to have my world turned on its hind legs many more a time tonight, won't I?"
You can't help but grimace at the upcoming death of Haurche's innocency, nodding in agreement. "I am afraid so. As for your other questions, a mammet was my teacher. 'Tis a long, long tale." You take a deep breath to refocus, returning the apple to its 'normal' time.
"Anyroad, the other type of time magick involves moving a subject through time."
You again exemplify by using the fruit, this time removing it from the virtual timeline altogether and placing it back at the 'future' end.
"This is vastly more aether intensive, if aught because you are altering the flow of time of the entirety of creation around a single subject. Still, moving towards the future is relatively simple. The main issue is when you attempt to move towards the past."
As soon as the apple touches the aetherial line near the start, the rest of the thread unravels.
"Suppose you were able to go back in time and, say, spend time with your mother." Haurchefant's attention perks up further at that notion. "That'd likely mean you wouldn't miss her to the point of going back in time, which would mean you wouldn't do so, which would mean you'd go back to meet her again-"
You stop the circular train of thought, removing the offending food item from the displaced line. It slowly reforms.
"'Tis a paradox. Normally, it'd mean time travel to the past is impossible, were it not for one thing."
A theatrical wave of your arm shrinks the visualization of a line of time, revealing millions upon millions more existing in parallel. Truly a countless amount, weaving a tapestry of existence itself.
"Multiverse theo-"
"Eh. Not really a theory anymore, is it?" Esteem produces another apple out of thin air, taking another bite nonchalantly. Still, she had a point.
"True. Multiverse law, at this point." You concede, sighing. To her credit, the silver haired woman's eyes have not yet glazed over, still attempting to absorb what you are saying.
"Anyroad, ever since the very creation of our universe-" You flick your hand towards the 'past', eventually reaching the single point where all threads merge. "Every single time there is any possibility of fate taking two or more different paths, new lines in time are created to accommodate such divergences."
Another flick, to focus on two lines so close they all but touched.
"Something as minor as the colour of a single flower in a mountaintop."
Off in the distance, a solitary thread charted its own path.
"To a world we wouldn't even recognize."
You look at Harche expectantly, letting her digest the deluge of knowledge you've assaulted her with. Eventually, she nods to herself before meeting your eyes.
"'Twould be a gross understatement to say this wasn't enlightening, yet I don't quite follow what the connection is with time magicks. But my mind currently resembles a bowl of soup, so forgive me if I'm missing the obvious."
You smile at the woman. "Not at all, this last part has only been discovered through experimentation very recently." To say the least, you can just about hear Esteem say through her expression.
"It turns out, while you cannot change your own past-" A quick snap of your fingers brings the aetherial visualization to the end of a fraying, nigh cut thread. A single dot of light leaves it, traveling back until it eventually lands on another, much stronger line.
"-you still can move into another's." Slowly, the aether used for the glamours in your explanation fades away, leaving a weary Au Ra and a mentally exhausted Elezen staring at eachother. Silence fills the room like a smothering miasma until Haurche finally gives voice to the Mammoth in the room.
"By the goddess; so you-" Her voice dies off before the sentence is finished. It doesn't have to be, after all.
A deep breath escapes your lips before your eyes lower on their own. You know she's not disappointed in you- hells, you're not quite sure that soul has the capability to be.
Not that she needs to- looking back on it with a somewhat clearer mind, you are disappointed enough in yourself for the both of you. But still, 'twas your decision to make.
And if necessary, you'd make it again.
"Aye."
"As she should have. How many times have we sacrificed it all to save that world? Dozens? Hundreds?" Esteem interjected, bouncing her argument off of the silver haired woman so it may reach the rest of her own self better. "We more than earned our own happiness."
"But to leave everything behind as such- pray tell me, friend. Why was said happiness not possib-" A small grunt of pain stopped Haurchefant's question, a calloused hand coming up to her temple in a movement you're all too familiar with.
Your eyes widen when the sensation overtakes you as well, the simple but homely bedchamber being replaced by a blood red sunset.
The same one that's been present in your nightmares for gods know how long now.
Bursts of aether myriad and more cover the airship landing your younger self dashes and dodges through below. Near on the entirety of the Heaven's Ward saturate the path in front of you with incantations and abilities alike in the hope of buying enough time for Archbishop Thordan to escape.
In vain, so far. The patterns are clear for you to see, allowing you and your wind aspected Egi to continue your assault at full speed. Naught but a few steps behind, Haurchefant's gallant figure follows you, using your footsteps as guidance to steer clear of the maelstrom of energies.
"Is that- me?" The Elezen Woman's stunned voice rings out besides you, also looking down on the scene. To her right stands Ser Zephyrin, lance of energy at hand. You'd confirm her guess, were you able to. Despite having seen the scene in your mind's eye thousands of times over, to experience it again in such clarity robbed you of any words or actions.
You can but watch helplessly, and experience the maddening grief all over again.
Like fate itself, the bolt of aether flies true towards the version of your self down below. Too busy, too occupied with dodging every other attack to notice it. But he did.
He always does.
"Look out!"
The House Fortemps shield weathers the blow in your place, for a time. Long enough for you to force the corrupt knights to retreat back into the departing airship.
But never long enough for you to pull your bridegroom to safety.
For as consequential as the moment his body is pierced became; to both your life and the fate of your previous world, the happenstance itself is nigh anticlimactic- the sound of steel and chainmail giving way, followed by a body falling listlessly to the ground.
'Tis only the scream of your younger self that breaks through the stupor you find yourself in. Tears roll down your cheeks like that very moment, yet you cannot feel them.
While you cannot see it, you can feel that Haurche stands at your side, just as shocked. Perhaps more.
Even from this distance, the sheer amount of aether being desperately channeled towards futile efforts at keeping the man alive is palpable. This tended to be where your nightmares ended, if for no other reason than you were later told that the sheer exertion of your attempts at healing magicks had rendered you unconscious for many bells afterwards.
Indeed, you could tell that the reserves of aether from your previous self were waning, with no success to show for it. For a moment, the Eternity Ring in your left hand caught the sun brightly enough to shine even through the haze of spellcasting around your forms.
A dark jest from existence itself, perhaps.
Yet soon that light was supplanted by dozens, hundreds more- all coming from within the vault and slowly but inexorably being syphoned into you. Further fuel for a last, desperate attempt to turn back the hands of fate.
"By the Fury, are those-" The Elezen at your side was speechless while trying to understand the scene before her.
"-are those the souls of the recently deceased?"
So they were, caught before they had the chance to rejoin the lifestream, you realized. Sacrificed at the altar of the deepest, purest form of grief for a chance, any chance of having the man you loved back. By now bypassing his actual body and conjoining into a form of pure light atop it.
Dear gods, did you truly attempt to-
"Stop! That won't bring him back! You are creating a primal!"
Alphinaud's desperate plea fell on deaf ears, for you were far past the point of reason, or the point of even being able to hear it. Anything, anything was better than being without him.
Yet, a single Dragoon clad in red was at last able to pierce through the maelstrom of aether keeping the others at bay; the dull sound of metal striking flesh putting an end to the macabre ritual by knocking your form unconscious.
The silence inside Haurche's bedchambers while the memory dissipates is only broken by the sobs and whines coming from you, curled on the ground as you were. Claws dig into the scales of your forearms, tightly wrapped around your knees in an attempt of keeping the world at bay, the pain and grief at bay.
A part of you wonders if you were better off not knowing the truth of that day. Said part's soul wraps herself around you, a blanket of darkness and care.
'Tis a mere shadow of what Esteem wished to be able to do, but perhaps only right for a shadow herself.
You do not notice the form kneeling at your side, but the sensation of long, powerful arms carefully wrapping around you is enough to get through, if barely. But the weary whisper certainly does.
"By the Fury, I'm so sorry."