A/N: I just need you all to know that I will be using a Miqo'te Seeker name here although my descriptions are of my WoL. Why I am not using my WoL's name may or may not be due to the fact that his name is very stupid, so um… you can imagine how the immersion in this narrative may be disrupted should I use my sweet Miqo's real name ;)

stars bear witness

Every face in the room is familiar to him, but know their names, he does not. Perhaps this shall work to my favour, he thinks distantly, expression bland as he repeats for the nth time that no, he does not remember anything; no, he knows not of the reasons behind the shared looks of ire and distress, the comprehension of their emotions taken in with cool, cold intellectual disinterest. He feels nothing, merely an observer as they speak in his midst. Their voices are harrowed and low as they continue to interrogate him anyways.

Upon his awakening, the Warrior of Light had gone forth and summoned the others, bringing him now before a council of watchful eyes. Unfortunately, no one seems to trust him; the young Elezen girl whose voice he recalls glares at him with a gusto that is almost impressive, in all honesty. To his surprise, she is not alone, accompanied by a blue-robed, slightly more masculine doppelganger.

Thankfully, he is spared a modicum of the scrutiny as the conversation develops. He knows not as to why his body is here and not at the far reaches of Ultima Thule where the Warrior of Light had left him to his eternal rest. One minute, the thrill of battle had died, leaving naught but a feeling of euphoric contentment which he had never before experienced; the Eorzean champion had gasped for air, that sound of laboured breathing flooding his veins with warmth and echoing in his mind louder and louder as his own heartbeat began to fade; the world had drifted away, his body too broken and shattered to allow for any form of escape. He had been happy with that.

And then, he was back in Garlemald.

There is no lie in his tale aside from his memories of self and sire, of his former goals and battles. Their questions, so fervently searching for what he seeks in returning to Eorzea, mean nothing to him, for there is nothing to understand. He had not chosen this. And this, he realises with a lick of faint satisfaction as terrified, angry eyes grow bitter and hollow and resentful, is something which the group slowly begins to believe, too.

He pays that anger no mind. It means nothing to him. To be so near the Warrior of Light, however… Zenos' mind focuses upon every sigh, every breath, every twitch of the Miqo'te's tail as the Eorzean champion continues to watch his comrades deliberate. With this man's presence, he does not feel the biting chill of Ilsabard. Yet, what remains in its stead is baffling, nameless- the same instant fervour which had haunted every interaction with the man previously has disappeared as leaving, leaving naught but this queer warmth. He knows not what to make of it all.

In the face of all of this, Zenos allows himself to indulge a bit, his eyes returning again and again to the man standing at the right of his own chair. The Warrior of Light remains within arm's reach, one hand upon the back of Zenos' chair. Distantly, all he can do is note just how much smaller that hand is compared to his own Garlean might. 'Twas that hand that struck me down twice, the voice in his heart murmurs softly, the very words sparking shivers of delight rampant up and down his spine. It takes everything he has not to let out the sighs of delight which long to release forth from his lips at the mere memory.

Has he ever known a purer bliss than when fighting against the other?

At last, the meeting seems to come to a close. The Elezen girl snarls out, "I can not believe that you think he should stay here."

"We can hardly allow him to go back to Garlemald proper," a Hyur man says soberly in a shaking voice, his eyes glinting, wet and haunted. Based on the presence of a third eye marking upon his forehead, it is clear that it is a Garlean who speaks with such fearful animosity in his heart. "The people would crumble. They've barely built up some level of morale now that everything is finally settling down."

Zenos regards him coldly. He understands what is being said, of course- logically, his people should fear him, the utter weaklings they are- but it bothers him not.

One of the Eorzean champion's primary companions, the Hyur with pale hair, releases a long, weary sigh. "Look," the tenor murmurs pragmatically as he steps forward, "he's not going anywhere. Not without supervision. I'm sure we can all agree to that-"

"There is no way that you are suggesting that anyone should be left to 'supervise' him!" the Elezen girl cries, face twisted in disgust. "Who here could even-"

"Alisaie, just wait-" her twin murmurs.

Alisaie does not reply, merely pointing an accusatory finger at the Hyur who had spoken. "Thancred, I know you know the only way to deal with this." Without hesitation, the rapier which had hung upon her hip sits firmly within an outstretched hand, poised at the ready and aimed straight for Zenos' own heart. "We can't let him-"

"Alisaie!" Her twin grabs onto her arm, but she shakes him off, her magical focus sparking and glowing as it begins to channel aether in her non-dominant hand. He insists, crying out, "Step down, sister-"

She barks back, "Oh, you shut up, Alphinaud-"

Although he watches the entire affair with only the faintest flutter of amusement in his heart, his breath is stolen in a heartbeat as the figure by his side finally speaks up, stepping forward into the centre of the circle. "He said he doesn't remember," the Warrior of Light murmurs.

To Zenos' surprise, Alisaie recoils as if she has been physically struck. "B-but he- but you-"

And the champion's eyes fill with unshed, exhausted tears to mirror her own, but never does one spill forth upon umber skin. "Yes," he says. To what, Zenos knows not.

For the first time in what feels like a millenia, the Miqo'te steps forward and turns to look squarely at Zenos, leaving the man no time to react as he announces, "When I fought him at the edge of Ultima Thule… I think he understood what had come to pass. What he did."

Zenos fights back the urge to shake his head. He does not understand. All he knows is what he had felt- peace.

Another one of the Miqo'te's comrades steps forward, the tall, gangly Elezen man placing a hand upon the pale-haired Hyur's shoulder. With a sombre sigh, he offers lowly, "Perhaps… perhaps this, too, is Hydaelyn's wish. To see him back here, upon this star."

Alisaie scoffs in pure disgust. "Urianger, you cannot possibly mean-"

"Is he not one of her children, too?"

There is silence.

"Or," the Warrior of Light adds, "perhaps it was the dynamis that gave him a second chance."

The Garlean on the opposite side of the room shudders, stepping back until he has the stone wall behind him as a support. Leaning heavily against it, the man whispers, "Second chances? You're telling me that of everyone in the world, the one who is gifted a second chance is-"

"Jullus…" Alphinaud sighs, moving away from his sister in favour of holding the Hyur's shoulder in comforting solidarity.

The air in the room falls silent in a heartbeat, suddenly leaving naught but the icy chill, defeat and weariness plaguing each person's gaze as they turn away from Zenos. Seeing this, he pauses, debating on whether it is time to speak- but what could he say? What in the world would give him what he wanted?

…what… what do I even want?

The answer comes swift and true, but not from his own lips.

Alisaie sees it coming, but as she reaches out towards the Warrior of Light, it is already too late.

"I'll do it. He can come with me."

With… you?

The Miqo'te's words are magic, headying and light, the power they instil within Zenos' heart enough to make his head spin. There is nothing else which matters suddenly- not Jullus' cries of shock, nor Alphinaud and Thancred's united disagreement. The others in the room bicker amongst themselves immediately, leaving Urianger to place his hands gravely upon Alisaie's trembling shoulders, the young woman staring at the Warrior of Light in heartbroken disbelief.

The man at the centre of it all merely turns around, looking down at Zenos still seated upon his chair. "Does that work for you?" he asks slowly, warm brown skin slightly pale underneath the cool light reflecting off the snow-covered ground outside the window.

"...yes."

And that, unlike everything else he has spoken, is the unequivocal truth.