Chapter Text
Doga was always torn about the view from the very top of the Crystal Tower.
On one hand, even a simple clone like himself could appreciate how utterly spectacular the sight of Mor Dhona spread out from such a height was. The iridescent mist coiling through the air like curious serpents poking their wispy noses into the affairs of mankind. The way the sun's light would make the facets of the crystal gleam, and split itself into a rainbow of colors against the prism of the Tower walls. The almost-pleasant eeriness of seeing the silhouette of Midgardsormr's form wrapped around the rotting Garlean airship... sometimes Doga could almost swear he feels like the dragon's long-dead gaze is on the Tower, watching the bastion of his kindred's once mortal foes.
And yet on the other... everything about the view is wrong in a way that curls up his spine like the icy fingers of dead men. It makes his second-hand memories from the real Doga stir and wriggle through his mind like maggots. There should be a city sprawled out below, neon and glittering in the morning light, not a ragged encampment of scholars. Allagan pleasure craft should be circling in the distance filled with revelers gazing on the wonder of the Tower. Below should be the estates of the real Doga's family, the thought of which raises a false feeling of longing in his heart. The Crystal Tower is out of place here. A relic of a long dead age that has no right existing anymore now that its purpose has passed.
Much like him.
He doesn't turn when he hears footsteps behind him. There is only one man he expects to follow him up here, and sure enough, G'raha Tia comes to sit beside him in the morning air.
Doga finds his voice first, though it sounds piteously strained in the morning air, "So is it done then?"
"I have escorted Elise from the tower, all know she is not to be allowed access again. I have passed her name along to the rest of the scholarly community that studies Allag, I do not think she will find much welcome elsewhere." Doga can feel the man gently rest a hand upon his shoulder, and he courteously tries not to flinch at the well-intended contact, "I am so sorry. It was monstrous for her to manipulate you like that. You came here to find some closure to your past, and she had no right to try and play at a false romance as a pretext to study you."
Doga reminds himself that his grief at the memories of her lies is just an illusion. An aberration that one such as himself really shouldn't expect to feel. And yet he cannot bring himself to turn to face G'raha lest the man see that folly in his eyes, even if it could be read as rudeness. "Tools do not look for closure. I simply came to find a purpose now that the one I was made for is irrelevant. It was..." He has to pause to force in a breath, why is his chest so tight? "It was foolish of me to forget that. She simply had a different purpose in mind for me then that which I sought. Perhaps I should not have rejected such a new purpose, she made it clear she would treat me well if I cooperated. And yet, I had no wish to help Elise find a way to make copies of people. Let Unei and I be the last representations of that particular Allagan art."
"I... Doga... no... that isn't..."
He cuts off G'raha's protestations, at last meeting the man's crimson gaze with his own. "I understand it is easy for you to forget, G'raha. I am a created thing. I exist to project the will of my progenitor into an age he would not live to see. To stop Emperor Xande from ending the world upon reawakening. I have served that purpose. I have even succeeded in that task, despite the odds. I am... not my sister, who has somehow found a way to exist outside of our design. I know not whether to envy or pity her for being able to forget our nature. To find solace in the company of ones who would call her friend or lover. To perhaps even rise above her origin in a way I cannot fathom. But I am not cruel enough to remain at her side as a reminder of what we are. When Grue spoke of their desire to journey briefly back to the Thirteenth to attend to matters there, I knew I could not follow."
He watches the miqo'te's shoulder's slump the more he speaks, ears slowly flattening to lie back along G'raha's skull. "The sins of Allag are many, Doga, and one of the worst of those was how it treated the people under its control. It could be a comfortable life to be a citizen under its aegis, but to be one of those seen as mere chattel? Its cruelties knew no bounds to ones such as them. The Empire is dead, do not let the collar it tried to put upon you weigh you down in this new age."
"It is the root of all of what I am, G'raha. There is no escaping that."
"My ancestors were the slaves of Allag, Doga. Like you and your sister, one of them was branded with a purpose to carry forth over the centuries through his blood. Until that purpose came to me, and I lifted it up to bear it upon my own back. But that was by my own will. Does that heritage make me a slave in your eyes?"
He cannot keep the horror out of his voice, "Never. You not only held up the purpose of your blood, but took on more than we ever asked you for. More than we should have ever asked of you. If not for you, the world would have fallen to fates even beyond Xande's whims. How could you possibly say such a thing? If you but asked it of me, from the weight of your deeds alone, I would kneel down to serve a gentle master such as you with a glad heart. The Empire would have been blessed to have one such as you sat upon its throne."
"And so if I told you, with the authority you would place upon me without a second thought, that I see you as equal to any man born? That you are as worthy as all people are to kind days, a warm hearth, and beloved company? If I declared it, would you accept it then?"
"I would try, if it were commanded of me."
It twists at something within Doga when he sees G'raha's shoulders slump further down at those words. "I have no wish to command how you think. How you feel, Doga. I just want to help you see you as I do." The man straightens up, and turns that achingly familiar crimson gaze fully upon him. "Perhaps it would help if you saw how others born in the heart of Allag have grown over the ages. Some Ixali communities have been asking for access to the records the Crystal Tower has of their ancestors, the Iskalions. Some have asked so as to understand their heritage better. Others are interested in learning if some of the flaws in their genetics can be repaired, or at least ensure that it will cause them no further woes in the future. They have asked for a representative to hear their petition, and to put together a proposal for exactly what would be gifted to them. Would you be interested in this task?"
"I am surprised you are not going yourself, it sounds like something you once were known for. I suppose you so rarely ever leave this place..." A thought sticks in Doga's mind, an almost heretical notion digging its roots in and spreading its leaves. G'raha doesn't really leave this place, does he? Not anymore. Even when the Warrior of Light had come to call recently, the man had tried and failed to get the Tower's keeper to go on a jaunt with him. The hypocrisy of it all, trying to convince Doga to find more to live for than duty, when G'raha is letting himself sink deeper and deeper into the role of guarding the relics of a long dead age that had been unfairly thrust upon him.
The idea gnaws at Doga, making him look back at all their interactions in the past few months. The way the man would always put others first, even to his own detriment. Self-sacrificing even when unnecessary.
The Tower's keeper needed a keeper. And he so very much craves a purpose.
Something restless in him settles for the first time in months. Doga smiles and can even feel it reach his eyes. This will have to be aimed carefully, but he has the real Doga's memories of court politics to pull upon for this well intended manipulation. "Yes, I would be interested in the task you offer. Perhaps it would help me. But... I am still so new to this age and its people." He reaches out and tentatively touches G'raha's hand with his fingertips. "Would you come with me?"
*****
As Olivia passes back into the city proper, she has to admit it feels unsettling to be returning home from a mission without Mirror shadowing her steps. She had performed numerous dangerous monster extermination missions without any issue before she had met the platinum dragon. But now, even with support of the Werlyt guard, she feels exposed working without him at her back.
He rarely even gets involved in the fight itself, preferring a more passive role as lookout or scout. And occasionally as artillery. This preference still shocks most of the guards who work with her. They expect dragons to be 'fearsome' and to relish a good scrap. She knows part of Mirror's aversion to violence is due to what those Allagan scientists... those monsters... did to him. And she'd like to see him recover from that. But she will confess she also adores her companion's gentleness, and wouldn't want that part of him to ever change. One would think he would have come out of that lab hating people. But no, he adores people of all shapes and sizes. Even children, which seems so utterly bizarre to Olivia. She has no patience for most children. They are loud, aggravating, sticky, and have no concept of personal boundaries... her sister Allie is a saint for working with that orphanage. Mirror though, the few times Allie has taken Mirror over with her to meet the orphans, he ends up sprawled out in the playground with toddlers clambering over his shiny hide in games of king-of-the-hill with those sticky hands of theirs.
The 'hill' the children like to play on has been getting significantly larger lately, to the point where Mirror was now decidedly larger than most dragons Olivia had been introduced to via Tiamat. Still nothing near the size of the surviving First Brood of course, well other than Azdaja who she had heard was growing like a weed these days but still petite compared to her former size. But it was odd enough that Olivia had spoken at length with Tiamat about the issue. Just in case it could cause a health problem for Mirror in the future. The great wyrm had simply mentioned there had been some unusually large dragons who were not part of the First Brood in the past, including a lineage used by Nidhogg to siege Ishgard back in the day. Tiamat thought the speed at which Mirror was growing may simply be him 'catching up' to the size he should have become due to aether he had absorbed slumbering for so long in Dalamud. Olivia couldn't claim to read dragon body language perfectly, but she would have almost called Tiamat's response almost cagey. Like there was some topic the great wyrm was dancing around. It is perhaps the only time she has felt the great wyrm was not being entirely honest with her.
No matter how much Tiamat has said not to worry about it, Olivia still does. The light-touched dragon had unintentionally fit himself into a category as 'one of hers' in her mind, and thus it was her job to keep him safe and sound.
He and Tiamat were off on one of his lessons right now, the elder wyrm was introducing him to her brother Vrtra as an example of a dragon who thrived within a mortal community. In theory, the original accord she and the elder wyrm had worked out between them had been that he was to stay and learn with Tiamat for most of his days, and only come to Werlyt for visits. But he always found his way back as soon as he could.
Always.
So she shouldn't worry about...
Instinct halts her feet before she even properly becomes aware of it, causing her to come to a sudden halt right at the entrance to her quarters. The shadows in here are too deep, almost warm... her hand starts to reach for her gunblade. And then relaxes when what she is sensing finally catches up to her.
She closes the door behind her, and finds her way to a chair by memory alone. She does not bother to turn on a light, instead she teases. "Normal courtesy is for people to send word they are coming, Grue."
Three green eyes in a near vertical line open up in the darkness, and she can feel the fond smile spread over her face at the sight. It had been far too long. Even Claudius has been worried. But Grue's voice, a soft whisper in the dark, sounds hale and whole. "Forgive me for the trespass, oh fierce one, but urgency overrode my good sense."
"Urgency, or a taste for theatrics?" Olivia was never quite sure if Claudius's growing habit of occasional dramatics was rubbing off on Grue, or if it was simply a path all the shards of Hermes tended to tread when dancing around a tricky situation. Put on a show to distract others from what was actually going on in those clever ticking minds of theirs. Fortunately for both of them, she found the habit endearing. And far more preferable to them stoically shutting down and showing nothing at all.
The voidsent's chuckle seeps through the room. "Well, I do love a good story."
She can feel the smile start to curl around her face, "You really do."
"And it seemed thematically appropriate considering my purpose here this day."
"Oh? I assume your journey to the Thirteenth went well then?"
"As well as could be expected. I have brought you a gift, a source of strength that could also yet be a burden and a curse, as is proper and traditional for gifts from my kind. This is a gift that you do not have to accept."
She leans forwards, closer to those three green eyes. There is always something about Grue's darkness that dampens the noise of the world. It is comforting, like the near-white noise of excited thoughts and theories Claudius produces. Both of them drown out the clamor and let her just be.
"Fair enough. Let me see it then."
Grue holds out an engraved crystal. The dark purple glow of it outlines Grue's clawed hand in the pitch black of the room and slightly outlines their large seated form. It is not the nature of this light to break the darkness, only to slightly define it. "Within this are the ragged remnants of a very old friend of mine. Threadbare and barely conscious after being torn from the belly of a scavenger of my broken world. She has fallen far indeed from her once-great heights. To those of the Source she was known as the Cloud of Darkness. But, once upon a time, I knew her as a fierce mortal general who loved her city and fell protecting it. Then, she was called Vitoria and was the most beloved friend of the mortal I once was. There was a time when I would have done anything for her."
She already knows, but asks nonetheless. "That is the name of the voidsent Xande made a pact with, isn't it? You know that I am..."
"His reincarnation? Yes. As Claudius learnt much from me within the crystal of Fandaniel, I learned of him." Grue sighs very quietly, and continues, "Vitoria does not stir at my voice anymore. So much of her faded as she became more and more consumed with the ubiquitous hunger of our kind. And much of what remained was lost upon her more recent fall. But the pact she once held, even one broken by death and blood, leaves a mark. And the fact that a pact of that strength could be formed between her and Xande makes me think that she is to you, as Claudius is to me. Once part of an older whole from when the worlds were one. The best I can offer her on my own is a breaking of her wheel, to let her end in this land death has not forgotten, where the great sea may wash away her scars and let her be born anew. Perhaps that would be a kindness. But I find myself unable to strike her down. Not when even a thin hope remains that she could reclaim self-hood as I did."
Olivia understands. This is no gift, this is a broken hearted request for a boon. And imposing on her makes Grue uneasy, so of course they are dancing around the topic. "You think if I made a pact with what was left of her, it might give her a path forward."
"Yes. You remind me greatly of who she once was. And a reminder could be good for her. I know there are risks if you accept. Both for her and you. She may one day try to devour you as some voidsent do their partners, though she never tried such a thing with Xande, and I do not think you would easily be overcome. And, unintentionally, you may end up doing something similar to her. She is such a frail thing right now, it would not take much for her to slot into the grooves of your own soul. It could even be something she decides to want, a final end by becoming something new with you. I have found you possible tutors, strays who fled Garlemald long ago who used to practice the art involving such pacts. I have done some favors for their leader, healing that no other could offer her. She would train you if I asked. Such a pact could be... useful to you? Perhaps? I..."
As that sweet soft voice starts to break, she reaches out with both hands and wraps them about Grue's and the crystal. "Would you like me to see if I can save your friend, Grue?"
"Please. Know that even if you try, and fail, I will owe you a great debt. One that I may never be able to repay"
"You are my friend Grue, there would be no debt. Not for something like this."
Not for one of her own.
Olivia cares for those who are hers.
*****
Unei has to confess, there is something overwhelmingly satisfying at looking over a garden plot of medicinal herbs you had planted yourself, thriving in the morning sunshine. Grue had helped her plant it before they had left for the Thirteenth, and their neighbors had helped care for them until the pair of them had returned to the Source. Grue had spent months researching the equivalents of herbs they had utilized as a mortal of their world, and planning this garden out ilm by ilm. They had shown her how some plants grow better together. Which ones ward off pests. And exactly why the mint plant Claudius passed on from a former Ascian should never be planted directly in the soil. (Unless all you wanted was mint in your garden, forever). They had taught her that not every ailment was best served by magical healing, and that sometimes, especially in times of strife, a healer needs alternatives on hand.
She spies one of the neighbors, a young tonberry in a sundress, in the distance and waves. She gathers that most people would consider the once-cursed survivors of Nym to be a dangerous community to settle with. But these days the rancor was mostly settled, and, most importantly, they were quite accepting of one like Grue. Even if their original curse was cast through a voidsent, they mostly blamed another long dead city-state for that particular woe. To them, Grue was just another afflicted individual. And one passionate about a similar healing art to the one many of them had once practiced as unchanged men and women. Even with treatments available for the curse that changed the tonberries, it didn't work for all, not yet. She and Grue had been working to contribute to that research. And... not all wanted to change. Especially those born to the later generations who had never been anything but a tonberry.
Unei had never imagined ever having a place to make her own. How could she have, created to serve a greater purpose as she had been? Destined to die with her brother in the darkness. But now she was free! Free to be as much or as little as she wants to be. And right now she thinks she might learn to love this once-drowned city, filled with a people left over from long dead civilization, just like she was.
She had begun to think her brother would never find such peace for himself. When he split off from them to return to the Crystal Tower, she had feared for his well being. There had been a stack of letters waiting for her and Grue when they returned home, and the first few almost saw both of them racing to Doga's side. But the last few had been so very hopeful in tone. The very latest even included pages of sketches from his time visiting an Ixali community, and a breathtaking portrait of G'raha Tia.
At the very end of the garden there is a little memorial that she and Grue had built. Grue had told her the story of the final days of Anya, Tara, and Vitoria, and it had seemed only right to lay something out for them. Even if two of those lost still lingered on in another form. But does anyone with a soul ever quite leave, no matter how they passed on? It still seemed right to remember what had come before.
Grue had shown her Anya's face once, when Unei had been finally brave enough to ask. The face had been so very kind, her remaining eye the same hue as Grue's, filled with a look that spoke of still looking for hope in the darkness. Whether someone should consider Grue and Anya the same or a different person was no question for a clone to really ponder. But she could clearly see they had sprung from the same merciful roots.
Her feet follow the white stone-lined path through the garden back into the house. The distant sound of the kettle's song echoes through the house, leading her to suspect that Grue's visitors must have just arrived. It will be good for them to have a distraction, Grue has spent the last few days frustrated at not being able to assist her more around the house, despite her reminding them several times that their 'job' right now was to recover. They had gone straight from their stop in Werlyt to Claudius's lab, where some of the initial few souls had been carefully extracted by Claudius and released to return to the aetherial sea. The voidsent was supposed to be resting and taking in copious amounts of aether to replace what they had just lost. After catching them trying to weed the new garden the first morning back home, she had had to shoo them back into the house. They had finally agreed to a compromise, after much pestering from her, that Grue could indulge in research, but nothing else until they were properly recovered.
One lesson that she has learned the hard way from dealing with Grue is that sometimes healers were the utter worst patients.
Knowing Grue's habits well, they probably have set out refreshments for their guests, but probably are neglecting to feed their own needs during the visit. They even figured out several months ago how to consistently eat and gain nourishment from corporeal foodstuffs instead of only more pure forms of aether. But, the silly dear is overly worried about others finding the sight of food and drink disappearing into a shadowy visage uncanny, and tends to abstain when in front of anyone but her when in their real form. A tolerable quirk in normal times, but verging on folly while they are in recovery. Unei puts together a second tray and pockets a bottle of aether. Once Grue gets distracted by technical conversation, it isn't hard to just put food directly in their hands, that they will then distractedly consume.
Sure enough, she finds Grue in the sitting room, a small plate of barely touched pastries on the table. She had expected one guest, Setoto Seto, formerly a tonberry and the first of the community cured a couple decades ago. The three of them had been collaborating to understand the differences between the Source's art of the Scholar, and what had once existed on the Thirteenth. The woman had been fascinated by some of the possibilities Grue's branch of the art offered, and had been assisting Grue in a very personal project. A restoration of part of the scholar's art lost to Grue so very long ago.
The second guest is a surprise, she had not realized Meteion meant to call upon the pair of them so soon. The blue-feathered woman had been there with Claudius and Grue while the former had worked tirelessly to help extract an initial handful of souls from Grue's aether.
Grue pauses in an explanation when she comes in, and provides a soft greeting. She can tell from how their eyes shift they are smiling at her, and she can feel herself beaming a smile of her own back at them. The moment passes, and the topic is picked back up again as she settles the second tray down and takes a seat.
"So, would it trouble you, Meteion, if I used this form for the familiar? I had long thought of attempting one like this in my centuries within the void, but that was before I met you. I could certainly see the likeness being an uncomfortable thing for you, amongst other things. My plans can change!"
"What would she be like?"
"Ahh, very simple at first. She wouldn't be... anything like you other than a similarity of form of course. Though older companions of Scholars have, on occasion, to grow beyond their nature. I would watch for that of course, if the spark of something more developed. If it did, I would certainly encourage it. My healing is such a crippled thing right now without a companion to act as a focus, the scholars here call their little friends fairies, a difference between those who practiced my original art. I had accepted the loss of capacity with my changed nature, but with Setoto's and Unei's help, I think I have found a way around it. I could utilize a form more like the Scholar's of the Source, but..."
"But it is a form you remember loving in many lifetimes. In both the dreams of Hermes and... Anya's familiar was blue, was she not?"
"Yes, but my plans were to make this little lady green. A fresh start, the color of life and verdant growing things that I have rediscovered on this world."
Meteion smiles at Grue and Unei feels something in her relax at the other's acceptance of the idea. Grue wanted this one to be a tribute to Anya's lost friend so badly. But they would drop the concept if it bothered Meteion. "I don't mind at all, but it was very kind of you to ask. I would like to meet her, when you are done. And when your little friend is ready to meet others, of course."
Things slowly wind down into idle pleasant conversation after that. Grue does not in fact notice when Unei carefully places an aether-rich scone in their hand, instead they absentmindedly eat it a few moments later. By the time she has fed Grue three different pastries she herself notices that Meteion is watching the whole thing with a bemused smile.
In the end, Grue has to admit to fatigue and retires to rest. Setoto takes her leave, but Meteion... lingers at the doorway. Hesitant. Jumping to the most obvious conclusion, Unei tries to reassure her, "Grue is already doing fine after the extraction. Yes they'd be doing better if they rested as much as they should be, but at most they'll be back to normal in a few weeks. They are already talking about scheduling another session in a few months to free more souls from themselves."
"Hermes would do that too. Push himself when the wise course would be to recover. He always took such care for creations and those who worked under him, but so little for himself. But that isn't why I lingered, I know they will be alright."
"Then, why?"
Meteion smiles at her, a soft thing full of fond indulgence, "To talk with you of course. Grue has gained much wisdom that I think Hermes could have so desperately used. They read and understand people so much better than he ever did, and it fills my heart with joy to see it. But, they still retain one blindspot in common with their predecessor. A difficulty in seeing the depth of care others might feel for them. A habit of assuming something they would wish for in another is not really there."
Her heart anxiously flutters, and she tries to deflect, "I am not sure what you mean?"
"I work very hard not to listen in to what people are feeling. Not without permission or at least reasonable cause. But some things can be 'loud' for lack of a better term, such that I cannot quite help but overhear. And to be honest, there are some things can be clearly perceived even if one isn't an entelechy. In light of that, you should consider telling Grue the depths of your own feelings. I think that you might be pleasantly surprised at what you learn in return. Be well, and be true to yourself Unei once-of-Allag. Life is far too short and precious to not be bold sometimes."
As she watches the blue bird wing her way through the sky, Unei takes a slow breath in and then lets it out.
And decides to be bold.
*****
Upon hearing of the dragon's return, her feet lead her to the converted warehouse that Mirror lairs in, at least when in Werlyt, these days. It is not terribly large, the size of a smallish barn, but already she is wondering how much longer the dragon will comfortably fit within. If he gets another growth spurt, there is not another, larger, building that is reasonably close to her own dwelling. Perhaps she will have to move.
The platinum-scaled dragon stirs as she enters, raising his head with a welcoming rumble. She can see her own distorted reflection in his scales right before she rests the crown of her head against his snout in greeting.
She asks, of course, how his latest journey went and of what did the elder dragon teach him this time. "Tiamat asked me if I wished to learn some of the magics that our kind once used. Not something used directly for battle, mind. Apparently once, before he died in the war, before the Primal made in his image rose as a thing of grief and rage, Bahamut was known for not just his wisdom, but also healing. It was a rare art for my kind. Lost when all of his students perished with him during the war against Allag. But she remembers. Pieces of it at least. Remembers how he could issue forth breath that would mend flesh rather than tear it asunder. She thinks I might be a good fit for it, for some reason."
She can only imagine what such an art would look like, and something hazy rises up in her mind. Of breath rolling over a battlefield, making battered and bruised armies rise anew. (And yet in the end, it wasn't enough...) It feels oddly real for speculation, and the possible source of it makes her feel... unsettled. She pushes the thought aside, a dead man's deeds were pointless to fret over.
Mirror presses the side of his head against her cheek. "I think it made her sad to think of it, of him, Oh-liv. I did not like to see her grieve so. I wish I could wash her ancient cares away. She has been so kind to a strange dragon like me."
"Her grief is born of an old love, Mirror. Where one endures, so does the other. My mother is old in much the same way as Tiamat, and is full of such aches. Sometimes all we can do for them is be a reminder that for all that is lost, there are always new things to find."
The silvered dragon sighs, his breath rustling through Olivia's hair. "I did not mean to turn this to sad thoughts Oh-liv. Not when I am so happy to be home. When I left, we spoke of going for a flight, a hunt, and watching the stars upon my return."
"You are right, no good can come of feeding my melancholy." She runs her hand along Mirror's curving neck, "Let us fly."
*****
Olivia and Mirror take their rest upon a cliffside overlooking the sea. The fruits of their hunt do not take long to prepare between her knives and Mirror's talons. The dragon had happily tucked into the beast's innards as she worked to cook the best parts for the two of them. Mirror may mostly eat raw meat like other dragons, but he has a taste for seasoned human food as well. Especially after a visit to Ishgard where there are several restaurants now that cater to both man and dragon. They will not camp here overnight, it is too exposed to be comfortable even with a dragon to act as a windbreak. And home is not all that far away. But there is something about the waves of the ocean below, and the shine of the stars above that both of them enjoy. And so this spot has long been one of their favorites.
As the meal comes to a close, it is her turn to tell Mirror of what has happened in the months he has been away. She skips a few things, such as dull patrols, and chasing rumors of dangerous beasts that end up having no substance. She lingers for a time on Grue's visit early on, and her travels to meet the teachers Grue had introduced her to in Ul'dah. Touches on her Dad's continued fruitless efforts to convince Cid Garlond to craft her a new weapon that might finally be one that feels right in her hands. And how she personally thinks his effort is futile, that instead she may have to just go and introduce herself to Gaius's lost ward herself and make her own case. And finally, she mentions the strange package from the Warrior of Light.
"Did he make you a weapon Oh-liv? The other dragons say he is a fine craftsman, and has given some of them gifts of his work."
"I wondered that too when the package arrived. We have been exchanging the odd letter or two for a little while now. He offered... Well... He offered to travel with me for a time, to teach me things. The latest missive said he thought he had a trip in mind I would enjoy going on, with a few others."
"Oh? Who?"
"Claudius's sister Meteion, and Perseus's daughter Val."
"I have heard tales of the pilgrim of the stars the Warrior of Light took under his wing. The broods of Coerthas say she has a mighty voice, so she should be a mighty companion as well. But I haven't heard of the other?"
"I actually know her reasonably well. Perseus is one of my Mom's former colleagues, and one of her oldest friends."
"A shadowless one?"
"He is, she is not. When I was a kid, Mom took me along sometimes when she went to visit Uncle Persy. She was... nice I suppose? Val figured out I wasn't interested in playing like her younger brother does and showed me some of the jungles instead. What was safe, what was dangerous, things like that. She seemed a little flighty to me though. When I asked her what path she wanted to pursue upon growing up, she just said she wanted to see 'everything.' I was already making plans for what role I wanted to play for Werlyt, and she just wanted to wander."
The dragon tilts his head at her curiously, "Hnn, but now you are not so sure those plans are for you? So maybe now you wonder if it is so bad to not decide your path so young?"
Mirror is getting so much sharper at picking nuances of behavior these days. "Maybe? I want to pay Werlyt back for being my home, for accepting me despite having reasons not to. I am just not sure how to best to do that anymore. I might be able to be a good leader. But would I be the kind of one people need? The older I get the more I think my sister Allie would be a better hand at the helm for the future. And would I even be happy in such a role? And yet it itches at me, that I survived the start of my life, when none of the others did. I am strong in combat, far more than most. But I do not want to simply be a weapon in the hands of others. There has to be a purpose I am supposed to fulfill? Maybe I just still need to find it."
"Well, the Warrior is known for solving problems. And he is taking you on a journey, that could help, could it not?"
"Maybe, but I still don't understand what he sent. Here, I was planning on showing you later tonight anyway."
Olivia digs out the large case that had filled most of her backpack, opening it up to reveal a finely carved wooden device with taut strings.
"An instrument?"
"He sent this, a set of diagrams of how to set your fingers, and some basic music. He wrote that if I was going to travel with him, that he would be teaching me new things as well as old. That I already knew of battle, and how to survive in the wilds, but there was more to living than that. I have been practicing. It only seemed proper to try? But I am not very good yet. Maybe not ever. Don't tell Claudius if you see him. I don't want to have him hear it unless I figure it out."
Mirror turns his head to sniff at the instrument, and then turns it further to regard it with one luminous eye. "Will you play it for me?"
"I am really not good at it..."
"I know you don't like it when you are bad at something, but it is okay. I am still very bad at some things too. Please play?"
She looks up at this dragon, who slept alone for thousands of years without light and music, who trusts her so much simply because she was the one who led him out of the darkness. Unknowable guilt tangles with honest affection in her breast.
How could she not play for him?
They are simple songs for a beginner, and still yet she fumbles. He does not ask her to stop. Instead he hums along, filling the air with a low bass note that lends the music an unearned gravity. She can feel it along her spine where her back rests against Mirror's side.
She runs through her entire meager repertoire, and pulls out sheets of music she had not tried yet. More fumblings, but still Mirror contentedly accompanies her. She comes at last to the final tune the Warrior of Light had sent. She hadn't even tried to read her way through it before, and notices a note at the margin of it saying he thinks she'll like this one. She sounds it out slowly, one note at a time. Even with her unsteady fingers, something of the song is achingly familiar. Olivia has heard this one before, a half heard song drifting through the air in the shade of Amaurot. A fragmented melody that winds its way through the streets causing even the shades to fall silent so that they might listen to music lost to ages long past. Somehow the man has woven the fragmented pieces together into a whole simple enough for a beginner, leaving her to wonder if he had made up the gaps via guesswork, or if he remembered the tune.
She had planned on stopping once she had fumbled through all the songs the Warrior had sent her, but she cannot leave this one alone.
Over and over she tries it until her fingers start to ache. The fire starts to burn low, but Mirror tosses fresh wood on the embers and spits out a flicker of light to start the flame anew so she doesn't have to stop. As she gets more of the song right, she can feel a shift in her aether as the ragged wisp of Vitoria at last reacts to something other than bloodshed and manifests to sway to the music at the edge of the fire.
Finally, finally she gets through the whole piece without an error and finishes with a ragged gasp. Her arms are trembling from exhaustion, and her heart is thundering in her chest. And yet that same heart feels strangely light in its cage of bone. There is a wetness on her face, and as it runs down to her lips she can taste the salt.
The voidsent, only just barely visible due to gaps in the smoke, has stilled and watches the pair of them with curiosity. For the first time Olivia has seen, Vitoria seems alert and actually interested in the world beyond simple sustenance and violence.
It is getting late, they should... they should go. But Olivia still takes one last moment to herself, to stare up into the stars. As she rubs her sore fingertips, she is left with the revelation that perhaps the Warrior was right. Maybe there was more to life than a fitting purpose alone?