Authors note:

This chapter is a bit shorter than usual since it fits the best with what I had in mind, but worry not. The following chapter won't be too far behind.

As always hope you enjoy.

The writhing, twitching mass of a creature akin to something risen from his darkest nightmares crumples to the ground, the slithering slimy tentacles still smoldering from a well-placed, desperate fueled katon.

Y'sato remains standing, panting. Putrid, green foul-smelling blood is all over his gloved hands, streaking his hair, slicking his daggers, both held in a white-knuckled, trembling grip in front of him. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, static jolts sparking across his nerves. Fear heats his skin and for a moment all he is aware of is the panicked rush of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

But he doesn't linger. With a shaky breath, his eyes immediately seek out his companion, the one he unleashed this whirling fiery inferno for in the first place. The sight of him has his heart lodge in his throat, his mouth dry.

G'raha lies before him on the sodden ground. His back arches, tail thumping uselessly into the ground in erratic movements, arms and legs jerking. His neck cranes back, squishing his ears into the mud. He is completely seizing up, frothing at the mouth, eyes rolled back. The sounds he makes, choking, gasping sounds like he can't get enough air has Y'sato frantic.

"Raha!"

He has no care where his daggers land as he recklessly tosses them aside, already rushing over to his ailing friend. The short sprint feels like it stretches for minutes, for malms. Time itself ceases to turn until he drops to his knees by his side, gathering his jerking body into his arms. G'raha doesn't respond to his touch, nor looks at him, all of his muscles tensing up, convulsing. It is an immense effort just to keep him secure in his arms.

Y'sato's tail lashes, all hairs standing on end. The morbol that now lies dead in a charred heap, it hit G'raha with its vile poison breath and point blank at that. He is usually good at keeping his cool under pressure, but this. Y'sato, he has seen this before, with a band of adventures back in the Aurum Vale several moons ago when he was still relatively fresh in adventuring. Good people he could not save...He barely managed to escape with his own life intact. Even now he hears them, the choking, ragged gasping for breaths that would not enter their convulsing bodies...

The terror he feels seeing and hearing G'raha suffer that same fate rattles his nerves, the ice-cold gripping dread threatening to override all reason, but he clings on to his fraying composure with everything he got. He knows if he does nothing his friend will-

Stay calm. Stay surfaced. I-I got this. I got this!

He scrambles, digging through his pockets for any sort of healing item, anything. His fingers close around a vial. An antidote. A common item, but potent. Hope flares in Y'sato's chest. It has to work. It must work!

Without hesitation he bites into the cork, ripping it out. G'raha is growing limp in his grip, eyes drifting shut. His tail gives a final spasmodic jerk, his limbs convulsing weakly. The sight has his heart sink. He knows he has to act fast.

Supporting G'raha's head he with trembling fingers clears out his mouth of any possible vomit or blood. Still trembling he brings the opening of the antidote vial to his friend's lips, trying his utmost to time slipping the purple liquid in with his breathing. G'raha, his breathing is so weak, a low, thin rasping sound, sounding like any will be his last.

A glint of silver in the beaming sunlight reminds Y'sato of a startling fact.

His gorget. It isn't helping.

Holding the vial securely by its opening with his teeth, Y'sato sets to work. The latch of the gorget at the back of G'raha's neck gives away easily, and tossing it aside Y'sato once more holds the vial to his friend's lips. His gorget's removal does nothing to make it easier for him to breathe. His mouth falls open, trying to draw breath, his body fighting to survive.

Fighting to keep his composure Y'sato sees his window and he slips some of the healing liquid into his mouth, immediately following it up by gently starting to massage G'raha's throat, willing him to swallow. He follows the instructions just as Thancred has taught him, in the scenario he would ever need to administer potions to a downed comrade.

"Please." He pleads, blinking in vain against the tears pricking his eyes, his voice a broken whisper, hitching in his throat.

Nothing. G'raha lies just as unresponsive in his arms. Y'sato can't tell if he is still breathing.

Despite himself, a few tears slips free, streaking down his cheeks.

"Please, I can't lose you. Come on, Raha." In desperation he tilts his friend's head back still massaging his throat. Ice-cold dread threatens to drown him, to tear him asunder from within. He has seen death before, knows the signs, knows how fragile life really is. He himself has taken lives out of necessity, accidentally, and yet seeing life being snuffed out before his very eyes...

His ears pinned back he chokes back a sob. "I told you to keep your distance. Why didn't you listen!" His tail lashes in frustration, a couple of his tears falls free, soaks into the red fabric of G'raha's vest. Death looms and he hates it. Hates it with his entire being!

Pain clear in his eyes he cries freely. This is all his fault. His friend only got in range because he feared for him. If only he hadn't faltered in front of the hapalit G'raha he-

Guilt pierces his heart, cold and sharp in his chest. No! He refuses to let him die here. G'raha is the first true friend he has ever had. He can't lose him. Not this soon. Not like this. He won't!

I can't!

Resolved he looks to him, redoubling his efforts. "I can't lose you. Not you too. I can't- Come on, breathe!" In a last desperate attempt refusing to give up, he shifts his friend's head again, and he feels it under his fingertips, the reflexive swallowing motion. Clear as day. The feel of it, of there still being life in him has immense relief flood his chest. Seizing the moment Y'sato prepares to feed him more of the antidote. There is hope yet.

Slowly, painstakingly he manages to feed him most of the vial's contents, and yet G'raha doesn't stir. His breathing is so weak, barely there, a thin rasp in his throat. The antidote. Despite its potency in clearing most toxins, morbol toxins are something else Y'sato well knows. At most, he has bought his friend time. Precious time. He cannot waste it.

The Toll. He needs to get him to the Toll.

He looks down at him, gathering him up in his still-shaky arms. G'raha is completely limp in his grip, unresponsive and he looks so pale, parted lips turning blue at the edges. Y'sato's stomach sinks from the sight, a cold chill coursing through his heated skin, but he steels his resolve. He is G'raha's only hope.

"Just hold on for a little longer. I got you."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Y'shtola!"

His desperate voice calls out, echoing against dimly lit cold stone walls. The Rising Stones. It felt natural to seek out the headquarters of his order, to seek out her, not really knowing anyone else in the Toll he trusts who got a healer's touch. He can but pray she is in, and not out on a mission.

G'raha, he is getting steadily worse. He is still held securely in Y'sato's arms, all limp, head hanging limply, tilted back. His lips, they have turned blue...

Without hesitation Y'sato marches in, nearly stumbling on his feet, doing nothing to hide the fear in his eyes, the agitated lashing of his tail, the telling pin of his ears. Both he and G'raha both reek of morbol, but Y'sato doesn't care. His friend, he is dying in his arms. He is so frazzled and overwrought he doesn't pay any heed to Tataru's alarmed voice, noe to the domans looking on with wide apprehensive eyes.

Finally, he spots her, Y'shtola, her strides hurried to meet him upon his approach. She needs but take one look at the fellow Archon lying unconscious in his arms to understand he is in dire straits, alarm writ clear on her face and Y'sato knows he doesn't need to explain what happened, but he feels compelled to voice his fears regardless.

"We were attacked by a morbol. He-he can't breathe. Please help him." Y'sato's voice sounds so small, broken. G'raha he- Y'sato only wanted to take him on an another adventure, to amend for the one they had to cut short at the Singing Shards. He just wanted to show him something he found in the Tangle. The morbol- he should have known- they should have fled while they had the chance, but he thought he could handle it. He thought he was ready. He thought he could keep him safe.

This is my fault!

"Quick. Follow me."

Y'sthola's alarmed yet calm voice snaps him out of his dark thought spiral. He doesn't hesitate. He falls into step behind her as she pushes the door open to their infirmary known as Dawn's Respite. Tataru follows on their heels, her voice still alarmed, but Y'sato isn't paying attention. All he knows is his friend isn't breathing and-

He clings to him tighter.

Raha...I'm so sorry.

"Tataru go collect our most potent Elixir. Also, call for Urianger. I might need assistance."

"Y-yes!"

He hardly registers Y'shtola barking commands to Tataru, his feet carrying G'raha over to the assigned bed as if on their own accord. As gently as his trembling will allow he lowers him into it. He is still just as limp, lifeless. From what Y'sato can tell it might already be too late...

He bites back on the sob threatening to spill free. It is too soon to give up hope just yet he reminds himself. He acted as fast as he could. Surely it has to amount to something. It must.

Y'shtola doesn't hesitate getting to work, her hands already weaving potent healing magicks where she holds them above G'raha's chest, her eyes closed in deep concentration, brows furrowed.

"He-he stopped breathing just as I arrived to the Toll using the Aetheryte." Y'sato fills in, trying not to sound as fearful as he is, but it falls short. His voice. It is still so small. Despite himself his tail falters, curling low between his legs.

His eyes. Try as he might he can't tear them from G'raha's face.

I took you to the Tangle. Knew about the dangers, and yet I thought I could- I wasn't fast enough. Not strong enough!

Such guilt sparks to life in his chest, the unforgiving weight enough to squeeze the very breath from his lungs in a harsh exhale. If Y'sthola can't save him, his friend's blood is on his hands. In response his hands tighten into trembling fists at his sides with enough force to make the leather creak, he himself trembling. He pleads to the gods. To anyone who will listen to a fool such as he.

Please, Raha. Don't leave me... Don't take him from me.

The soft delicate glow suffusing Y'sthola's palms grows in intensity, a vibrant near blinding light as veils of shimmering gold starts to envelop G'raha's body. His hair starts to shift slightly, moving in tandem with the golden circling arcs. The potency of it, Y'sato can feel it stir his own hair, golden strands swaying gently on the aetherial flow. This thrum of magic. Y'sato isn't magically inclined, especially when it comes to healing, but this spell, he knows it, has witnessed it on rare occasions himself. The spell Y'shtola weaves, is a raise spell.

Please...

Her incantation done, Y'shtola lets it all flow into him. The golden shimmering swirls shine with greater luminosity as they pick up speed, encompassing G'raha in their entirety. The potency of the spell is enough to lift him slightly off the bed, suffusing him with its healing glow. If not for their dire straits Y'sato would almost find himself entranced by the beauty of such magic. The promise of rejuvenation it carries, the aether itself brimming with life.

And then he hears it. A gasp, a ragged intake of breath. It's like music to Y'sato's ears.

"Raha!" He doesn't think, relief flaring in his chest just from hearing him breathe again has him reaching out for him, grabbing onto one of his hands. His hand, it is so cold. He squeezes it, even when his friend doesn't respond, his eyes still closed. The shimmering veils of rejuvenating aether dissipates and with it, lowers G'raha gently back down on the bed. A shiver runs through him, his breathing still much too labored and weak. Nothing but a rasp, a wheezing from the back of his throat. Fear and guilt war for attention within Y'sato's breast. If he stops breathing again he- His tail lashes agitatedly behind him, a dark glint in his eyes.

He swears he will bring the very gods to heel. Hunt them down himself.

Y'sthola pants, clearly out of breath, the casting of such a spell having taken its toll on her reserves of mana, but she is quick to regain her bearings, straightening. "He isn't out of the woods just yet. The toxins, they are still in his system, coursing through his veins."

Y'sato's eyes dart to hers, the bright green of her eyes matching his own and he sees it there, her poorly hidden worry for her fellow colleague. He doesn't know how well the Archons know each other, but judging from her expression she must know G'raha in some capacity.

Before he can thank her, or say anything a door slams open. His ears immediately perk up as he whips around towards the unexpected jarring sound.

"I-I ran as quickly as I could!" Tataru announces as she bursts back into the room. In her tiny hands she holds a vial with precious golden liquid. An Elixir. A rare item, and quite potent. Able to rid a body of any ailments. The sight of it alone has Y'sato's tail start swishing in relief mingled with anticipation. They can do it. They will save him. He was right in bringing G'raha to Y'shtola after all.

"Not a moment too soon. Thank you, Tataru."

There is a look of relief on Tataru's face as she hands Y'shtola the Elixir."I got in touch with Urianger. He should be here any moment now."

Y'sthtola simply nods, wasting no more time with unstopping the vial of Elixir in her hands. Y'sato's attention is back on G'raha. To simply breathe or trying to seemingly being all his friend can focus on, if he's conscious at all. He tilts his head back, instinctively gasping for air that won't enter his lungs. Not fully. It pains Y'sato to see him like this, his heart aching in his chest.

"Raha. I'm here. You will be alright. Just hold on." He squeezes his hand again, hoping G'raha can hear him. He still doesn't respond.

"G'raha? If you can hear me, I need you to drink this." Y'shtola says. She cradles the back of his head, steadying him as she brings the Elixir to his parted lips. If he is conscious, it is hard to tell. Y'sato feels one of his fingers twitch against his gloved hand, but aside from that G'raha still doesn't respond, his eyes closed.

Not disheartened by the distressing display, Y'shtola tips a little of the healing liquid into his mouth. The reaction is immediate. G'raha sputters, coughing, the golden liquid trickling down the corners of his mouth. A whimper escapes him, ears pinning back. The sound. It is heartbreaking.

Unable to stand it Y'sato is about to reach out to run his fingers through his hair, but he catches himself. His gloved hands, they are still caked with morbol blood. His tail lashes with frustration. He can't have that. Comfort. His friend needs comfort.

Without hesitation, he rips off his gloves and reaches out for his friend. He doesn't care if Y'sthola sees him acting like this. G'raha he needs him.

"Raha. I know it tastes foul, and I know you're hurting, but you must drink it. Please." He soothes as he gently runs his hand over G'raha's hair, stroking the soft red strands with calloused fingers. Clumps of drying mud clings to the strands, to the silken fur of his ears, but they of no consequence. Not now.

G'raha's eyes flutter open to his voice, his touch, but they are glassy, unfocused. Still the sight of him finally responding has relief wash over him. G'raha is still weak, but there is no doubt. There is life in those eyes although faint.

Again Y'shtola tries to feed him more of the Elixir, and G'raha finally complies. He drinks it feebly, small mouthfuls at a time.

"That's it." Y'sato encourages, still smoothing his fingers through his hair. He can tell from the look in G'raha's eyes he isn't quite lucid. They are barely open, just thin slits with a hazy, far-away look. But he drinks the Elixir so it has to amount to something.

He will be fine. He has to be.

He feels him shiver under his touch, brows knitting together. Y'sato scratches him behind one of his ears in response. Anything to comfort him, to tell him he is indeed there right by his side. A low sound escapes from the back of G'raha's throat, him feebly leaning into Y'sato's touch.

"No, rest. Save your strength. You need it." Y'sato says worriedly, his own ears pinned back. G'raha grows even weaker before him, eyes drifting shut. He stops drinking from the Elixir, the vial yet to be emptied. Golden liquid trickles down from the corner of his mouth as he once more goes limp.

Fear grips his chest. Icy and cold. "Raha?"

No response. Y'shtola is quick to put the Elixir aside. With a cloth, she wipes away any remaining Elixir in and around his mouth. He doesn't respond to that either, and the sight has a bolt of fear spark across Y'sato's already frazzled nerves, tearing his fraying composure asunder.

He fails to fully register Y'shtola quickly checking G'raha's pulse, followed by her tilting his head back so he can breathe easier. He fails to register how his tail lashes agitatedly behind him, how his chest heaves for every panicked breath. All he is aware of is the fierce burning in his lungs, and G'raha he still does not move. Does not respond. He was too late. His fate is the same as the poor adventurers he left behind in Aurum Vale. He has lost another friend. He-

A warm hand lands on his shoulder, shaking him firmly.

"Y'sato!"

Her sharp commanding voice cuts through his foggy panicked haze. He blinks, keen eyes coming back into focus to see Y'shtola's eyes on him, she now standing by his side. Her expression softens when his eyes meet hers.

"He merely passed out. That said he is far from stable yet, but I won't give up on him. You have my word."

The sincerity in her voice, the determination shining through her eyes helps steady his frazzled nerves. He can finally breathe.

He almost jumps out of his skin to the sound of heavy wooden doors being pushed open once more, slamming into the stony walls. Ears pinned back he whips around only to see Urianger enter the room, masked as always under his cowl.

"I hear one of our comrades needeth urgent aid." Urianger doesn't waste a moment in walking up to G'raha's side. Despite his eyes being hidden behind his goggles Y'sato doesn't fail to detect the clear alarm he is feeling by the subtle twitch of his mouth when he takes in his colleague's dire state.

"Urianger, and not a moment too soon. He is still suffering from the effects of the toxins. We have no time to waste." Y'sthola turns to Y'sato. "Y'sato I think it best for you to wait outside. The better we will be able to focus, to help him in truth."

Y'sato bristles, not wanting to leave G'raha's side. "But-"

"You have done enough. I well understand your concerns, but myself and Urianger got things well in hand. We are all Archon's and I won't see one of our numbers die. Not on my watch."

The steely determination in her eyes burns into him. On this matter she won't budge, and Y'sato knows the longer he stalls, the longer it will take for her to attend to G'raha properly. He looks down, tail lashing, every hair standing on end. If looks could kill the floor would already be dead under his fierce glare. He knows she has the right of it. This mess. It is all on him.

Do what is best. Do what is best for him. For Raha. I...I would just get underfoot.

He lets out a shaky breath, hands curling into tight trembling fists.

I have already messed it up enough.

It hurts, to feel this useless. His heart lodged in his throat, his fists shaking at his sides he storms out of the room.

"Y'sato wait!"

He hears Tataru call out for him but he does not stop. Doesn't heed anyone calling for him as he heads for the exit. Fear and anger courses within him like a wild torrent, a fierce pounding in his skull. Guilty, he feels so guilty.

He slams the door shut with more force than is necessary in his wake, startling more than a few patrons of the Seventh Heaven, but he doesn't care. All he cares about is his friend who is suffering because of him, who can barely breathe...

The sunlight is blinding against his eyes as he ventures forth into the Toll, doing nothing to ease his building headache, but he still doesn't slow his pace. With no destination, with no precedent, he turns his back on the Rising Stones, on the very Toll itself.

All he wants is to be left alone...

Authors note:

One word. Morbols. Throughout my Final Fantasy history, they ever been my arch nemesis, and now they are Y'sato's too. I have always head cannoned that the signature vile breath of the morbol while awful and debilitating for all races carries another level of debilitation for miqo'te thanks to their keen sense of smell.

Dreadful beings they are, morbols.

(Forgive me my precious boy for putting you through this...)

As for the increase in rating, during the editing process one of the chapters in the later parts of the story took a turn I did not at all initially plan, the characters taking over and as a result, it became a bit too...intimate for a T rating. I hope you will enjoy it when we get there just as much as I did in writing it. Tags have been edited accordingly on AO3 for what awaits on the horizon.

Until then I hope you enjoy everything else I have in store 3