stars bear witness

While he is not one to be cowed by anyone, the deadened air of the Au Ra man standing before them raises the hairs upon the back of Zenos' neck. Red eyes glimmer darkly, although the other's countenance never appears anything more than impassive as he gazes at Zenos' towering figure behind the approaching Miqo'te. The stranger's silhouette strikes a regal figure, to be sure- poised against the backdrop of the palace atop the highest point of the city, there is little that can be doubted on the man's position.

Power means nothing to Zenos, and thus, he stares back. He had tasted all the power of the Eorzean's mother goddess, and still he had been bested. A mere government official, as it seemed this man was, could never cow him.

Still, no one can remain unswayed by the Warrior of Light, it seems. That deadpan stare softens as he holds out his arms for the Miqo'te, full lips curving upwards. "My friend," he calls in a gentle, Thavnarian-accented baritone, "it is good to see you. However," and those eyes turn back to Zenos, far too knowing for the blond's liking, "you bring with you a danger to my people."

The Eorzean champion spares no time for hesitation, stating simply, "Varshahn, it's good to see you. This is Zen." Lowering his voice slightly, he adds, "He has no memories of who he is, nor his role to play."

Varshahn's eyes grow wide, flitting back to Zenos for a moment before running back to the Miqo'te. "You… are certain of this?"

Zenos steps forward just in time to see the pained doubt in the Miqo'te's own emerald eyes before he masks it once more. "Yes," the shorter man murmurs. "And either way, I'm keeping him as my ward for now."

"...very well. I am the sartrap of Radz-at-Han, Varshahn." With a bow to Zenos not an inch lower than necessary, the Au Ra straightens up once more and looks back to the Miqo'té. "I understand you are the sole person who has bested him," Varshahn sighs, voice soft but by no means low enough to avoid Zenos' ears, "but are you sure?"

"I have no intention to bring harm to him," Zenos interjects, crossing his arms across his chest. "Despite whatever you may seem to believe."

"With your memories or no, your definition of 'harm' is to be… doubted," is the Au Ra's even reply, his expression sage and far too aware for Zenos' liking.

Still, it seems there shall be no conflict here. To the Warrior of Light, Varshahn extends a hand, grabbing hold of the shorter man's shoulder and squeezing lightly. "But if this is what you desire, then I shall hold you to your word."

Gratitude shines in the Miqo'te's face, his ears perking up in relief. "Thank you," he says ruefully. Then, he reaches into one of his packs and extracts a sheaf of parchment, handing it over. "This is from Camp Broken Glass- current reports."

Immediately, Varshahn's dark olive skin seems to brighten with joy. "You needn't have brought it yourself," the man scolds evenly, "but I do appreciate it."

As the two men begin to look over the reports and discuss the relief aid efforts up north in Garlemald, Zenos takes the time to simply look over Varshahn. He is an unassuming man, his blue-green tinged hair falling over dark red eyes. His Au Ra horns and markings are nothing of note to Zenos, and his traditional Thavnarian garb resembles that of everyone else he has witnessed walking through the roads of Radz-at-Han. Yet, there is something strangely familiar, yet abnormal, about the man's aether; however, no matter how much Zenos pulls within the depths of his core, he cannot seem to pull out any ability to examine Varshahn's being-

He freezes. Gooseflesh rises underneath his garments all along his body, a true chill overcoming him suddenly as he reaches into the wellspring of his powers… only to find it empty. His hand opens reflexively before him, and to his horror, his fingers tremble without any voidsent magic or artificial Echo to fuel his desires at whim. Did… did my resurrection sap me of what little remained within the edges of the world? he wonders, sweat beading upon his brow underneath the hood of his cloak. Do I truly have nothing left?

"Zen?"

The confusion in the Warrior of Light's voice causes Zenos to snatch his hand back, body tense, one hand flying to his back where his scythe had once hung. Naught but empty space remains, however, and so he scrabbles momentarily before refocusing upon the Miqo'te's wary concern. "...yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"As well as can be." He clears his throat, then looks sidelong at Varshahn, the sartrap's gaze just as silently accusatory as before. "The air here suits me not, it seems."

The Eorzean shrugs, a wan smile upon his lips. "Well, we'll be heading down to Yedlihmad now," he says in assurance. "Limsa awaits."

"Before you go," the Au Ra interrupts, "I must verify something." Then, before neither the Miqo'te nor Zenos can respond, Varshahn steps forward, holding out a hand to manipulate the aether around Zenos. Long lashes flutter as his eyes close for a few moments. The sudden examination takes no time at all; after a few deep breaths, it seems he is satisfied. "Alright. I understand."

The Eorzean frowns, tilting his head to the side in confusion. Varshahn shrugs. "I am wont to worry about my comrades, especially when they are guests in my home," he explains vaguely, "but it seems that the taint of the voidsent lingers here no longer."

With wide eyes, the Miqo'te turns to Zenos. "You… don't feel any power from the voidsent? Truly?"

Biting back his irritation, the blond instead merely sighs and attempts ignorance. "Is… there a reason for a voidsent, of all things, to be associated with this place? Or, associated to I?"

Although the sartrap and the Miqo'te exchange incredulous looks, there is a tinge of happiness in the latter's voice as he murmurs, "No. it's alright. We should head out to the docks."

"I would be happy to supply an airship if passage is what you require," Varshahn offers.

"It's alright. Besides, I'd like to check in on my friends in town before we leave Thavnair," the Warrior of Light replies.

For the first time in their meeting, Varshahn truly smiles. "You are truly a friend to my people. Thank you, Warrior."

And with that, the exchange is done. Once the satrap has returned into the palace, the Miqo'te readjusts his packs and spear, then gestures to the road down the hill towards the centre pavilions of the city. "Let us be off."

"Alright," Zenos replies, but his thoughts remain miles away. If he has lost his aether, his voidsent, his primal, and his artificial Echo… what is left?

For the first time in what feels like an age, Zenos almost feels frightened.