stars bear witness

Why he pretends to remain in slumber whilst harried voices argue over his bedside, he does not know. It is instinct, he supposes- a primal desire to remain still, to avoid danger for now. There is naught but disgust and hatred in the pained whispers passed around the room, slightly muffled by the thin paper folding screen he had witnessed through a quick peek from under thick lashes. He stays silent, allowing his drifting consciousness to search for the one voice which can ground him at last whilst he takes inventory of his body; while he still feels stiff, the burden of living feels gone from his flesh. No longer does every breath ache. They healed me.

Something glimmers deeply in his gut at the thought. The Warrior of Light, despite everything that has occurred, healed him. Idly, he wonders whether the man had healed Zenos using his own aether.

He is warm at the mere thought. Why, he knows not.

The voice for which he searches finally surfaces. "He didn't seem to recognize me," the Warrior of Light murmurs, his voice sombre and confused.

A chorus of dissenting voices arises. From the chaos, Zenos manages to pick out one which he actually recognizes; the young Elezen girl who had rebuked him once upon a time spits denial and horror as she tries to make sense of the situation, the other speakers echoing her sentiments. "Well, he can't possibly stay here," she cries. "Whatever is going on, what'll Jullus and the others think if they see him?"

"But what if it is found that we are harbouring him?" an older male voice chimes in, weary yet sensible. "The people must not know about his presence."

"His send-off was one of sacrifice," another states, "was it not?"

The Eorzean champion sighs, his unique timbre catching Zenos' attention immediately. "Indeed. I had thought he passed after we defeated Meteion."

The Elezen girl groans, disbelief and disgust palpable through the screen. "One would think that fighting at the edge of the universe was enough to disappear…"

With another sigh, the Warrior of Light murmurs, "I'll stand watch."

Immediately, another round of cries, this time of pure concern, arise from the frantic group. The Miqo'te does not budge, however, merely laughing softly. Yet, there is a definite edge of discomfort as he murmurs, "He claims to not remember. I should be safe."

"But he hurt you," the Elezen girl protests, suddenly soft, her bravado drained away in an instant. "Surely you don't-"

"And I defeated him in the end," he replies just as gently. "If anyone should stand guard, 'tis I."

Although she continues to protest, his words seem to ring true, and soon enough, the creak of the door and the slow, weighty footsteps of the ensemble trudging away. Soon enough, a single set of footsteps echo in the room, taking post just upon the other side of the screen.

Zenos does not shift, does not stir. Instead, he ponders, wonders, twists the words spoken by the Elezen girl over and over again in his mind.

'But he hurt you.'

Yes, I hurt him. I broke him again and again, as he did me. Is… is that not what it means to live?

He knows not. Finally, the words spoken by the ethereal voice upon his earlier awakening flit across his heart once more. Does he not know what it truly means to 'live'?

What is he even doing back in Garlemald?

There are too many questions and not enough answers. However, he does receive one new input, one new interaction; it takes all of his strength to remain still, keeping his breath even as the screen opens for a moment, a familiar figure stepping around it so as to not wake him. He shudders internally, his stomach twisting in a kind of anxious anticipation the likes of which he has never experienced as a shadow falls upon his eyelids.

The Warrior of Light stands by his bedside. "What do we do with you now?" the Miqo'te whispers.

Zenos is a man of rationale, of intellect, of power. He knows control beyond measure. Yet, he cannot stop his eyes from slowly creeping open, his slumbering façade falling to nothing. "What do you want to do?" he asks softly, pushing himself up on the cot on which he lays, his long blond hair falling across his eyes.

Through his hair, the dark-skinned Miqo'te's visage seems almost shrouded in a golden glow. That glow does not diminish the man's palpable fright when he locks eyes with Zenos at last, though.

"We… don't know," the Eorzean champion whispers. "You truly don't remember who you are?"

Zenos thinks calmly, calculating. He does not know what his next goal could possibly be; since his youth, he has searched for naught but a true opponent. And he had found it in the Warrior of Light. He had finally been content.

And now, he is here. "No," he says firmly, not a shadow of a lie in his eyes.

Then, his breath catches, heart twisting strangely as the other man winces. Zenos recognizes the emotion in the Miqo'te's eyes, but why it appears, he does not know.

"You… are grieving."

"Yes," the Warrior of Light says softly.

"...Why?"

The other man's eyes mist over, lips curling in agonised, bitter resentment. "You… would not understand."

With that, he leaves. The sound of his lance settling against the exterior of the door proves that the man has not abandoned his post, simply leaving Zenos to his own devices- leaving the blond to clutch his chest, lay back down, and ponder why those welling tears only widen the hollow in his chest.