Chapter 3 – About us: Greed
Aether's thoughts about Navia
It's a hunger I didn't know I could feel. Something deep, insistent—like a flame that keeps growing no matter how much you try to contain it. It's strange to think of it like that, but there's no other way to describe it. The more time I spend with her, the more I want. Not just to be near her, but to be everything to her.
I used to believe I was above such desires. That I could live detached, focused on the mission, on the endless search for Lumine. But then she came into my life, so full of fire and grace, and suddenly, what I had wasn't enough. I wanted more—more of her smiles, more of her laughter, more of the way she makes me feel like I belong.
And that's the thing, isn't it? It's not just wanting to be with her, but wanting all of her attention, her love. I know it's selfish, this greed that's been building inside me. After all, she has her own world to tend to—her responsibilities in Fontaine, the legacy of her family, the people who look to her for guidance. But every time she steps away, a part of me aches to pull her back, to claim more of her time, more of her heart.
I hate this feeling. This gnawing, desperate need to have her completely, to be the one thing she thinks of when she wakes and the last thing on her mind before she sleeps. I know it's wrong. I've never been one to demand more than what's freely given. But with her… I can't help it.
And yet, when I see her—truly see her—working so hard, giving herself to everyone around her, I realize something important. This isn't about taking. It's about sharing. She's not mine to keep; she's someone to cherish, to protect, to support. And in loving her, I can't allow greed to taint what we have. I need to trust her, to let her give what she can, and be content in the knowledge that she chooses me, again and again.
Maybe that's what love is—learning that wanting more doesn't mean taking more. It means knowing when enough is everything.
Navia's thoughts about Aether
It's never been in my nature to be satisfied with just enough. I've always wanted more—for my family, for Spina di Rosula, for the people who rely on me. And now, with him, I feel that same desire, the same hunger for something deeper, something I can't quite put into words.
It's strange. Before him, I was content to give pieces of myself to the city, to my father's legacy, to my duties. But now, it feels like there's a part of me that wants to give it all—to him. And yet, I can't. I can't abandon everything else just because my heart tells me to. I can't let go of who I am, of the promises I've made, the responsibilities I carry. But still, a part of me wants to.
There's a greed in me, a quiet, persistent voice that whispers, "What if you could have it all?" What if I could be Navia, leader of Spina di Rosula, and Navia, the woman who belongs solely to him? But it's impossible, isn't it? You can't give all of yourself to two different worlds and expect them both to thrive. So I try to balance it—try to be everything to everyone, even though it's tearing at the edges of my soul.
The truth is, I want more from him, too. I want his attention, his time, his heart in ways I know he can't always give. I want to be the one thing that grounds him in this world, the anchor that keeps him from drifting away in his endless quest. And sometimes, when I see that distant look in his eyes, I wonder if I'm enough. If what we have is enough to keep him here, with me.
But then, in those quiet moments—when the world fades away and it's just the two of us—he looks at me. Really looks at me. And in those eyes, I see a reflection of everything I've ever wanted. A love that's patient, steady, but most of all, real.
Maybe it's okay to be greedy sometimes. Maybe wanting more of him, more of us, isn't a flaw, but a testament to how deeply I care. Because even if I can't have all of him, or all of myself, in every moment, I can hold on to the pieces we've chosen to give. And in the end, that's enough.