Chapter Text
Crimson eyes slowly opened after sensation began returning- the awful truths no less distant now, but feeling himself laying down helped. They had all died so soon after, what had they been fighting for? He had hoped that they would live long lives, that she could find someone to- Slowly he sat up, again stopping his mind from following that train of thought, a thick, heavy blanket sliding down his chest- he blinked and more of his surroundings came into focus. He was on a cot in a tent that had seen better days, but as many-times-mended as the fabric was it seemed in good repair. There was a steaming mug on the chest beside him, he assumed someone had been keeping watch- and he put a hand over his face as his ears flattened in dismay. He had passed out like a fainting maiden at the news- reasonably, it had been one too many shocks in short succession but still…
It was too much. It had only been hours since he had last seen all of them, and yet now, he was surrounded by the fruit of their works- and a world-killing Calamity and hundreds of years later. He could hear snatches of conversation outside the tent- and then heavy steps as Biggs came in. His tail curled under the blanket beside him unhappily, as he looked up at the giant roegadyn, crimson eyes dismayed and dark. A brief, sympathetic smile as Biggs offered G’raha a large steaming mug of what smelled like hot chocolate.
“Ah, good, you’re awake again. I’m sorry, but we did carry you back to camp, we didn't want to leave you there, even if of all of us you’d be safe enough in the Tower. Lizbet has some stew on, we can talk over what has become of the world while you get something warm in you.”
He nodded, and sat up to take the mug, one hand going to his head- which hurt now that he was paying attention to it, he didn’t think he fell on it in the Tower… Listening, as Biggs told the story, it… was a lot to take in, all at once. So much time had passed- so much had changed, had happened. So much work had already been done toward an end he was ot sure he could properly fathom.
“So you are positive, that this world is the Source of all of the others… and that it is other worlds crashing in to it that have caused the various Calamities that have struck this world near-asunder each time, causing each Umbral age?”
Biggs nodded, “Aye. And it took Cid to the end of his life, to figure out the theories for the time travel, and how we might be able to fix this mess that our world has become. ...there is a way, we think, that using the Tower that you are the keeper of, we can forge a crossroads, and somehow, manage a way to make the future we live in now, a way to stop the Calamity that is still killing our world by inches, and make it so it will never come to pass. We may have solved the problem with Black Rose but its mark is still deep and still draining the very life of the world.”
G’raha shook his head, ears low. “So you would send the Tower- and me with it- to the First and through time, to somehow stop that calamity from ever occurring by stopping whatever occurred there. It certainly is capable of storing the energy required for the transfer- utilizing an unimaginably vast amount of aether is what it was built to do, after all…”
Biggs put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed, gently. “You don’t have to decide right now, lad. Though we all have a lot of hope riding on this, not a one of us would blame you for turning us down, since if we can manage to succeed, you’ll stop existing as much as we will. But mankind, for this world, it’s finished. It’d be by us changing the past, that we can even begin to make things better. ...Get to know the world you’re living in now, though it might be a bit of a shock until you're used to what’s different. We’ll bring you what books we have around camp, and I can get a few folks to go with you wherever you’d like to see for yourself- though not all of the aetherytes that used to work back in the day still do.”
Not all the Aetherytes still worked? How was that even still possible, they were giant crystals directly linked into- oh. He looked up at Biggs with a wan smile. “I believe I should probably learn what I can, then. I’ll admit I had hoped this would be a better age, and that I’d be hearing stories yet of my friends.”
Biggs actually smiled. “Well, some stories you’ll still hear. The ones told far and wide may not be about the Ironworks’ founder, but a favorite around every campfire the world over near as we can tell, are still the ones about the silver-eyed Warrior of Light and how she never, never backed down when she was needed. When you feel up for it, we tend to keep a fire going later than we should in the evenings retelling our favorites."
The large man left with a wave, and G’raha stared after him, not entirely sure once again he had heard everything correctly. One ear flicked, disbelief writing itself across his face slowly as at least some of that he had been told sank in. They- history- she was remembered and he suspected it was as a light of hope. He had told her history would remember her, the shy silver eyed lady who hid the most beautiful parts of herself- maybe that meant she finally let the world see her. G'raha shook his head, and ran fingers through his hair- snagging at the braid as he wriggled his ears in relief not having realized how stiff they had gotten from the years passing that he was unaware of. Standing, the archer stepped out of the tent and headed for the campfire.
"-and she came back after defeating the Lord of the Whorl, the giant serpent primal Leviathan- with nary a scratch to show. The sahagin tugged her boat back to shore and she stood tall and fair, unbowed from fighting the largest terror ever known to the seas."
Lizbet was telling the tale, striking a heroic pose, nothing like the Warrior G'raha had known, but clearly a storied and inspiring figure. A small smile as he approached the group, sitting down at the edge of the firelight on a broken and worn smooth chunk of crystal and listened. His tail curled behind him and he sipped the hot chocolate that had been handed to him when he had emerged from the tent. As absorbed as he was with the stories, what fascinated him.the most were the reactions to them. Admittedly he could not really let himself register the years they implied but the expressionism people's faces as these old tales were spun were as avid and enthralled as if the stories were new. As weary and careworn as many of them seemed, the hope they drew from stories of the Warrior of Light was amazing.
They shared several stories that evening- all of them of a woman he barely recognized- save this: she gave of herself without hesitation. The courage of the woman who stood alone in the face of Nidhogg that had all of the faces around the fire lit with the hope that that bravery inspired, and the tenacity of the one who stood alone against the madman Zenos. Biggs shared his favorite- passed down through his family from a scion named Tataru, who once had tried to do different adventuring roles, and even when she failed to accomplish them successfully, the Warrior comforted her, and encouraged her to continue to hone the skills she already had- since not everyone could manage being the secretary of such a spread out group. That story of small kindness was like the shy woman he had known- but it was also perhaps the only tale spun that evening that had her familiar quiet nature. Not that the other tales told of a boisterous or outlandish person but they did not tell of a person either, instead she was impossibly virtuous and larger-than-life.
G’raha had not realized he was noticed, as he watched, and it was noticed that he was on the edge of the crowd. When the group broke up, talking of hope and of their next planned foray into the Tower to find and figure some of its technologies, he sighed, stood, and nearly ran face first into Biggs as he turned around to go back to the tent he had woken in. With a blink and a less than dignified startled yelp he stopped, and looked up at the large roegadyn, ears tucked back in alarm.
“Sorry lad! Is it even proper to call you lad? How old are you supposed to be anyhow? Anyway! ...You saw what makes our days livable, you did. Every story's been told a few dozen hundred times to be sure, but it don't make a difference. The lads each have their favorite and they're the ones we hear the most. Go get some sleep- I know we just woke you up but the medic of my crew believes real rest and not more stasis will do your body good and let it normalize again. This tent's yours until we get another together, and we will be using what you know to do what we can to keep moving forward. Whatever you decide, we can't let the little hope we yet can claim vanish and if you do choose to work with us? Well, we'll be glad for the head start. Rest up and see you in the morning!"
G’raha nodded, as the large man laughed, and clapped him on the back of the shoulder. “Take a moment or two, I’ll see to it the lads mostly leave you alone and give you time and space to grieve what aught has happened- I’ve taken the advice of an old journal often enough, I may as well keep doing so. That reminds me, I’ll leave Cid’s memoirs for you in the tent tomorrow, it may help you understand a bit of the world and why we’re doing what we’re doing these days. See that tent over there?”
Biggs III poinited off to one side, where a tent made of a different color fabric than the rest, a lighter almost white instead of the darker browns of the rest. “That’s where you can find what food we have- most of it is travel set, and Lizbet pulls double duty for us, she;s cook and medic, so she can help you find something you can eat when you wake.”
Another nod, and G’raha stuttered- “Ah- th-thank you this has been quite the experience. It was the end of a full day when I closed the doors- it… still feels like that same day, to me now. So pardon, this is…. A lot to process and to take in. But… thank you, for the understanding and care.”
Biggs nodded, and left. G’raha sat down, and considered the collection of tales he had heard- and tears began to fill his crimson eyes as he buried his face in his hands, and bend over, tail curling tightly around him. It was… almost too much for him to bear. She was dead- he knew the gentle woman would be but it was still difficult to accept. None of the stories seemed to have mentioned anyone in her life- no, she was larger than life indeed, a shining beacon of hope like he had known she would be. Gods it was what he had wished for…
Wasn’t it?