The ground shifts from green grasses to gritty sands marked with countless footprints leading up to a long wooden bridge. Before the bridge stands a coop of chocobos and two of the garif people. Their faces are obscured with bird-like masks, bodies covered in colorful tribal clothing, fitted and ornate. Vaan rushes ahead, skidding to a stop when one of the guards blocks his path.
"Who are you? This is garif land. No place for hume-children to play at games." His accent is thick, his voice deep. Another garif comes up behind us, passing by to approach to guard.
"They are wayfarers. They bring no harm." He comes to stop just in front of me, the massive horns spanning the top of his head obscuring my view. "I saw them cross the Ozmone Plain. They are warriors of great distinction. The fiends of the plains troubled them not at all."
"You ventured upon the plains alone, War-chief? Again?" Chief, huh? The chief turns to Vaan.
"What business have you with the garif?" Vaan glances nervously toward Ashe, opening his mouth to speak. The chief cuts him off with a wave of his hand. "Let them pass. The responsibility will be mine."
"If it is your wish, War-chief," the guard replies, stepping aside to clear the bridge. "Then you may pass. These days see many humes wandering through our lands."
"I have not made introductions," the chief calls out as we follow him. I scan the village, noticing the sharp peaks of burlap tents and the smoke of dozens of bonfires. "I am Supinelu, War-chief of this village. We garif have been friends to all since long ago; however, lately the hume world is in much turmoil. We must protect our village, and our people." He looks over our entire group of seven. "As War-chief, and protector of our village, I ask you: why have you come to this land?"
"We need to talk to someone about some nethicite," Vaan explains as simply as he can.
"Hmm… I see. So you too have come to ask about the nethicite. You must speak with the elders. Though our masks may make it difficult for you to tell us apart, walk through the village and look with your eyes, listen with your ears. This will show you the way."
With that, he turns on his heels and leaves us on our own. Sighing, I turn to Ashe and cross my arms, waiting. I'm used to following someone's lead, of course, with Dern. However, this near absolute rule… it may just be for someone who's not me. Then again, I don't care about the politics of the world at all. For all I care, Archades could overtake everything. As long as I find my treasure and Vayne Solidor dies, I'll be fairly well off.
"We'll do as he says," Ashe nods, looking around the gentle slopes of the desert camp. "Why don't we split off and learn what we can?"
"Excuse me," I pipe up, Fran watching closely as I step forward, extending an arm dramatically toward the village. "But if I know anything about these types, the man with which we wish to speak is at the very top of the tallest peak, overlooking all of the village."
"How do you know?"
"Seems logical, does it not?" I raise an eyebrow, dropping my arm back to my side. "What've I done to mislead you so far, Dearest?" Ashe frowns, walking past me irritably.
"You associate yourself with Vayne of House Solidor. I would be wise to avoid trust in you."
"You had me lead you here," I point out.
"You stayed in front so I could keep my eye on you. If you were leading us into a trap, I'm sure Fran would let us know."
I scowl at her back, watching the others walk past. Balthier's smug smile nearly makes me drive my spear through his smirking face. Instead, I turn away from the evening sun and trail behind them slowly. The garif watch as we pass, curious but accustomed to visitors. We're stopped yet again at the next bridge.
"You have not yet learned what you must?" The War-chief says, earning the gazes of the bridge guards. "Yes… it is true. The Great-chief may know something that would aid you. Yet arranging an audience may be quite difficult." Ashe shakes her head, stepping forth.
"I must learn more about the nethicite," she protests. "I cannot turn back now. Please, tell your Great-chief that I am of the royal line of Dalmasca, a direct descendant of the Dynast-King Raithwall." We might as well scream it to the skies. Vayne may just come pick her off for me. "If the garif have passed down knowledge of the Stones, they must know of the nethicite that the Dynast-King once held."
"Do you have proof of your heritage?" the chief asks with no hesitation.
"I…" Ashe's face falls. "I do not."
"Hm…" The War-chief shakes his head. "I have looked into your eyes and seen that you speak the truth, hume-child. I give you my trust. The Great-chief is ahead, across this bridge."
The guards clear the path and suddenly we can see the towering, ornate tents of the chief in the distance. I hide a smile. Right all along, wasn't I? We follow the path upward, keeping close as even more garif elders and chiefs eye us. Vaan's arm brushes mine; ignore the closeness and draw even tighter to this group. Something about this place… It reminds me of Mount Bur-Omisace. It makes me sick. The touch of the present is a welcome passage out of the past.
We draw close to the tent, two guards parting the way for us. Surrounded by a rough, tall wooden fence built of tree trunks, the tent towers high above the rest. The Great-chief waits for us, his adornments much paler than those of the rest of the garif, no doubt to reveal his age. His mask is light blue, and when he turns to us, its smooth surface reflects the golden light of the evening sun.
"I am Ashelia B'nargin of Dalmasca," Ashe says calmly, bowing. "I have come to you that you may provide us with answers about this nethicite—a relic of the Dynast-King known as the Dawn Shard."
"Give it here," the chief replies, stretching out a pale hand. His nails are navy blue, pointed like claws. I keep my distance across the fire warily. The chief takes the Dawn Shard into his hand, turning the silver and amethyst orb over in his palms. "This nethicite—you have used it."
"It was not I who used it," Ashe shakes her head, her hands clutching each other tightly. "Indeed I had hopes you could show me how. Thus I've come."
"Hm…" The garif glances up at her, his voice full of disappointment. "You do not know the workings of the Stone. Then we are no different." A worthless venture?
"What?"
"In ages past, the gods made a gift of nethicite to my people. But the manner of its use eluded us. Displeased by our failure, the gods took back their Stones. They chose instead to give them to a hume king. Called the Dynast-King, he used the nethicite's power to bring peace to a troubled time. It is a curious thing. Though the blood of King Raithwall flow through your veins, you cannot wield nethicite."
"Cannot wield it?" Ashe repeats, bewildered. "So then, am I to understand you can't tell me how to use the Stone?" That is what he said, isn't it?
"Though it shame me so to admit. Here before me stands a descendant of the Dynast-King himself… and I can accord her no help at all." He stares down at the nethicite in his hand. "Still, even if you knew how to use the nethicite, you would find it of small avail." He hands it back over to Ashe. "The Mist collected in the Stone over ages past is lost, and with it the Stone's power." That's why Fran was in such pain on the ship… They were doing something to test the Stone's power.
"It will be your posterity who wield the Stone in ages yet to come." Ashe's face falls and she stares wistfully at the Dawn Shard. The garif chief shakes his head. "This Stone is devoid of power. Empty, yet full of thirst. A terrible longing to drink the world dry. The power of men and of magick. Of good, and of evil. It is often those who desire nethicite whom the nethicite itself desires."
The sound of footsteps in the sand shakes us from our disappointed stupor. I turn to face the entrance of the fence to the Great-chief's tent, my heart skipping a beat. Larsa stands before us, neat and pristine as ever, with his sword close to his side and a smile pressed onto his fair face.
"Larsa?" Penelo speaks, bewildered, her face lighting up. Vaan groans, rolling his eyes.
"I beg your pardon, but I must speak with you all immediately."
"Go, then," the chief nods, motioning for us to leave his presence. We filter out of the small area, watching the boy pace the sands.
"Lady Ashe, I urge you: take you leave for Bur-Omisace as soon as you can."
"Mount Bur-Omisace?" Ashe repeats. A wave of nausea washes over me at the mere mention of that wretched haven's name.
"Yes," Larsa nods. "I was going to wait for my escort to return, but meeting you here has presented a great opportunity." He paces straight up to Ashe, tilting his head back to look up at her. His familiar accent is music to my ears. Balthier watches him warily, thumbs tucked in his belt loops as always. "This terrible war can be stopped, but I will need your help to do so."
"A war?" Ashe nearly whispers.
"You know the Marquis Ondore leads a group of insurgents—your pardon, he leads a large resistance against the Empire. Lady Ashe, neither of our countries can afford this now. The Rozzarian Empire would stir. They would aid the Resistance and use this aid as a pretext to declare war on Archadia, and Archadia would have no choice but to answer."
"And from there it would all come tumbling down," I muse absent mindedly, arms crossed and eyes locked on the sand. Politics truly are very messy. Larsa nods, looking earnestly at the princess.
"Lady Ashe, let us go to Bur-Omisace. With the blessing of His Grace the Gran Kiltias Anastasis you may rightly wear your crown, and declare the restoration of the Kingdom of Dalmasca. As queen, you can call for peace between the Empire and Dalmasca and stop Marquis Ondore." He really does have all this plotted out. I fight a smile. He's always had it figured out, the snotty brat. Ashe's eyes flash with sudden anger.
"For peace?!" she demands. "How dare you say that! The Empire attacked us, stole all we hold dead and you would have me save them from war?"
"Dalmasca would be the battlefield!" Larsa protests. "What if nethicite were used on Rabanastre? You know my brother would do this!" Ashe's eyes fall to the ground, Larsa sighing. "Forgive me, I presumed overmuch. I could think of no other way to avoid bloodshed. If you cannot trust me, then please, take me as your hostage.
I roll off my mat and leave the tent as quietly as possible, so as not to wake Penelo or Basch. The sand is welcome under my boots and the night breeze is as sweet as any treat from an Archadian bakery. Taking a deep breath, I walk out to the edge of the lower level of tents, leaning against the wooden stakes tied to make a simple railing. The moon and the glow of a dying fire are my only sources of light. It's enough. I know who it is that approaches before I look.
"I see you stayed with them."
"Are you surprised?" I ask, turning my eyes to the glittering stars overhead.
"Yes, actually." Larsa comes and leans against the rail beside me, turning his youthful face upward to smile at me. "You do have a tendency to run."
"It's an enjoyable pastime," I shrug, looking down into the valleys below. "Do you… really think Ashe will accept your offer?"
"I can only hope," Larsa sighs. "I only wish I knew more convicting words."
"You did just fine," I laugh reaching a hand out to ruffle his dark his hair. "She'll have to reconsider it, the way you presented it all."
"It's an honest depiction," he shakes his head. "You know Vayne would do such a thing."
"I know," I mutter, turning away from the boy. There's a long silence before Larsa speaks tentatively.
"It seems much less of a coincidence now that the Fates pushed us together once more in these times, Sister." I cringe at the title, wanting so desperately to keep the past buried in the garbage heap I left it in. "With all the running you do, I feared I might never see you again."
"I would never do that to you," I reply sharply, shaking my head. "You think I could leave you alone with Vayne for all that long?"
"But you did." His words are not accusing but matter-of-fact, innocent. "I have seen far less horror than you, 'tis true, but some things I have witnessed from our dear brother at this point…" Larsa shakes his head. "I've seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime."
"Your loyalties still lie with him?"
"My loyalties lie with Arcadia. I care deeply for him, yes, but his careless actions are beginning to create a chaos Ivalice simply cannot bear."
"Beginning," I repeat with a bitter laugh. "Larsa, he's been doing this since—"
"Since Gregor and Beldroth, I know," he cuts me off. "They were the dearest of our brothers to you and Vayne cut them down for power. I know the story well. You told it all the time, swore your revenge as a bedtime lullaby." He takes hold of my wrist. "Shera, I beg of you, don't leave the side of Lady Ashe until this has been seen through. Be my advocate when I'm taken back."
"I can't promise anything."
"Promise me that you'll try." I don't say anything and he squeezes my hand, his voice falling into a boyish and pleading tone that he rarely slips into. "Father would want to see his only daughter again soon, don't you think?"
"I'm not going back."
"He never did you any wrong!"
"He lets Vayne run rampant and hammer complete insanity into the world," I snap, wrenching my hand free. "I apologize, Larsa, but you cannot keep hoping we'll be a big, happy family someday. I won't return, not ever. The only reason I still breathe is to end Vayne; admitting he's my own brother doesn't shame me, it tears an untamable bloodlust into my chest that I can't resist." I shake my head, taking a deep breath. "It'd be best if you continued to pretend I'm nothing but an associate to you."
"Of course," Larsa replies, his voice weaker than before. Sighing, I step forward and wrap my arms around the boy, clutching him to my chest. One of the only people I have left… I can't push him out now.
"I worry for you, you know. Get some rest, Larsa."
"I'll do my best," he nods, pulling away to smile up at me. "Goodnight, Shera."
"It's Shae, remember?"
"Sometimes, I prefer the princess over the pirate."
UNSHAEKABLE PLAYLIST IS UP, YA'LL!
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