Chapter 3: A Knight's Calling

They nearly had him. After kicking every butt that had thrown itself in the way during their siege of the Vault, they had barely managed to catch up with the Archbishop before he could set foot onto the awaiting airship. Not that it made the relief any less bitter; if they did not act fast, they would lose him.

Aymeric, injured but on his feet, staggered out past him, Haurchefant, and Alphinaud, leaving Lucia and Estinien to stand with them. Aymeric's words and eyes were for the Archbishop alone yet it all fell on deaf ears. He wasn't sure if it was movement or Haurchefant's intent but he met Haurchefant's gaze and knew immediately they were of the same mind: risk or no, they had to stop the Archbishop from leaving.

They ran for it.

They shouldn't have ran for it.

It was Haurchefant shouting his name, telling him to look out, that warned him of the incoming danger, not his own instinct or skill. His footfall staggered, slowing as he widened his awareness in order to find the danger - to figure out how to react - but Haurchefant was already upon him, a hand fisting the shoulder of his coat and yanking him off balance, forcing him to take a knee in Haurchefant's shadow. A bolt of aether slammed into the raised shield, sparking and sizzling against the steel yet the shield held. For a breath, he believed Haurchefant was going to be able to deflect the attack.

In the next, the sound of renting metal filled the air and the steel gave.

Brilliant aether darkened the rest of the world even as his gaze never left Haurchefant's back. The man was barely more than an outline against an even darker backdrop, the bolt of aether making most of the chain mail in view glitter as if made of crystals. Vaguely he registered heat blooming in his right shoulder as Haurchefant started to move oddly.

It wasn't until Haurchefant was splayed on his back that the mere seconds came crashing down on Echo'a's awareness.

The realization spurred him into action, a shout or cry tearing itself from his throat involuntarily as he surged forward. His hands shook terribly as he held them over the wound; he fought against the desire to put pressure on it knowing doing so would be absolutely useless if he didn't heal some of it - any of it - first. He was so focused on repairing the damage - that should have been his to suffer - that he failed to notice anyone else arriving until Alphinaud's hand joined his own, illuminated by the other's own healing magics, and it was like someone had flipped a switch. Every single body now huddled around the prone Haurchefant, their very presence grated on his awareness and seemed to skitter across his skin to the point that he wanted to claw his way out of it.

Except, no, that wasn't right; it wasn't their presence he was feeling, but the shed of unused aether. But that would mean-

"It's no good," Alphinaud uttered beside him. No. It had to work. "The wound is too deep." It was fine. They could fix it. They just- "It refuses to mend."

The roaring of his own thoughts became a deafening silence.

Alphinaud's words were true. Even without the others bouncing back his own aether, he could feel it simply passing through Haurchefant, unable to mend what wasn't there anymore.

Alphinaud ceased his healing and withdrew but he couldn't bring himself to follow suit. If he stopped, Haurchefant would die. If he stopped-

Alphinaud's arm cut across his line of sight before it pressed into his arms, pushing at him until his hands had fallen away from Haurchefant completely. Only then did he stop. Only then did he allow himself to see the reality before him.

That arm was the only reason he remained upright, his entire body trembling in grief and rage and exertion - or was it pain - as his hands gripped at Alphinaud's arm out of reflex.

"You…" His gaze came up immediately. Aymeric had propped Haurchefant up and he found himself meeting the dying man's gaze. The relief he saw in that pained expression only hurt more. "You are unharmed? F-Forgive me...I could not bear the thought of...of…"

Haurchefant raised his hand, reaching. Alphinaud's arm moved out of the way as Echo'a clasped Haurchefant's hand in both of his own. He shook his head, both in response to Haurchefant's words and to try and get his own moving. There was nothing to forgive. If there was, it should be him asking for it for having forced Haurchefant to take the blow meant for him, for not having been aware enough to handle the attack himself for not even being skilled enough to heal the injury sustained in his place. Words - too many words - swarmed at the back of his throat and not a single one was going to make it over his tongue in time.

"Oh, don't look at me so," Haurchefant encouraged, his words growing more and more breathy as he spoke. "A smile better suits a hero."

It was frighteningly easy to meet Haurchefant's gaze and offer the semblance of a smile. It was enough, though, for Haurchefant's face filled with joy for a brief moment before it went lax with the rest of his body.

Had he not been choked by tears and words, he probably would have followed through with the sudden desire to scream. Instead, he lowered his head and fought to keep his emotions in check, begging whatever god would listen that Haurchefant's soul at least made it safely to the Aetherial Sea. He managed to keep his breathing steady but countless tears splattered against the stone beneath him. Alphinaud's hand found his and gave it a squeeze; he turned his hand over and clung back.

What good was being a White Mage if he couldn't save the souls that deserved it the most?

When they realized he had also been injured in the attack, his wound had already stopped bleeding. The point of the bolt had buried itself into his right shoulder an ilm or so under his collar bone. It left behind a crater for a scar big enough for him to seat the pad of his thumb in once it was properly healed, though the pain lingered for a long while after.

Time kept moving and a moment of reprieve never came. With Ishgard still far from anything resembling stability, there was no end to the list of demands asked of the Warrior of Light. He gave himself over to doing what was expected of the Warrior of Light, letting it all drown out the grief until he could barely feel it anymore.

There would be moments where it would surprise him. Little things - unrelated things - would suddenly have him choking on tears or unable to breathe and he did his best to keep it all hidden from the others. It would not take long for someone to notice, though, not when all he went out as was Summoner, Dragoon, or Machinist. Never White Mage. He couldn't even look at the soul crystal let alone try and don the gear again without tears surging through his chest dragging with a scream he would never release.

He should have remembered his biggest tell wasn't the job he held.

Aymeric pressed a small roll into his hand, asking in a low voice, "How are you holding up, Echo'a?"

The room was empty save for the two of them. Lucia had stepped out upon his arrival and he hadn't thought much of it at the time. Now, though, he couldn't help but think it had been on purpose. He kept the small roll cupped in his palm as he answered simply, "Well enough."

Aymeric's expression fell. "I had hoped Lord Haurchefant had been exaggerating when he had spoken of your inability to eat upon your arrival in Ishgard, yet I have seen the proof with my very eyes since his passing." Aymeric's hand was uncomfortably heavy on his shoulder. "Is there truly naught I can do to help?"

He should have started crying then. Had he not been so detached from everything - so numb - he probably would have. Instead, he offered a weak smile. "Unfortunately, not even Haurchefant could do much to help me in those first few days." He covered Aymeric's wrist with his free hand. "Truly, though, you have done enough by simply caring. I will be fine with a bit more time." Was leaving it arbitrary count as lying?

Aymeric's hand moved to the side of his neck high enough that Aymeric's thumb rubbed against the hinge of Echo'a's jaw, a gesture he was sure was meant to comfort. He pressed back into it, grateful - desperate - for it in a way that made him immediately regret the motion. He buried that regret too when Aymeric's expression lost some of the pain it held. "My door is always open should you ever want for company."

He nodded, the hollowness in his chest shifting but refusing to ease. It certainly wasn't enough to make him feel any less numb but it did help to return some semblance of a meager appetite.