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You remember your Father holding your hand as you walked across Sharlayan’s flagstones. You weren’t used to Old Sharlayan yet, even after four years of the place, so Father and Mother made sure to watch you and your younger siblings carefully where you went. You sometimes missed Dravania, with the funny little creatures with their masks running outside your window sometimes, yelling things like “Shokho Shok! Gobbieboom!” and the winged, scaly creatures that flew in the sky that were silent, but Old Sharlayan had many more people your age, and all of Mother’s friends told you that your glasses were cute and poked your nose, so it wasn’t all bad. 

Today, though, you weren’t with Mother’s friends, and Alphinaud and Alisaie weren’t with you either. Today, Father was home, and he was going to go take you to the Studium. This was very exciting to you. Grandpa studied at the Studium, and Father went to the Studium too, and they did a great job. Now, Old Sharlayan lets them do important things. That’s why Grandpa and Father weren’t ever home; they were off doing important things and you always wanted to do important things too. You really wanted to go out in the world and study all of its wonderful things, and maybe learn how to do magic like the magic you saw Father doing once with the flying arms when he thought you weren’t looking. So it was very important that you followed Father close, so he could show you around everywhere, so he’d let you go to the Studium. 

You were very excited to visit today in particular, too. Mother laughed and said Mr. Montichaigne was going to be there, and you knew Mr. Montichaigne. Mr. Montichaigne was Grandpa’s friend, and he was very nice. He visited once when you were smaller, and asked you and Alphinaud and Alisaie everything about what you three had been up to. You and your siblings all scrambled over one another to answer him, and he listened to everything as if he was just as excited as you were. Then, he gave you all fancy costume cloaks and toy swords, and said that someday, if you studied very hard, he could teach you all about real swords if you wanted. You wanted to be a wizard when you got older, because wizards are the coolest. He just laughed and said he could teach you that too. Now you were old enough to start learning about wizards (but nobody your age called them wizards anymore, you knew better and they were obviously mages ) and you hoped Mr. Montichaigne would keep his promise.

You looked up at your Father (whose hand you were still holding, because you were told to do so), hoping he was just as excited. He was walking quickly, and he had his usual frown on his face, so you figured it just wasn’t an “excitement” sort of day for Father. He did say he was going to be busy. Mother said not to worry over it, that he was running himself ragged over some situation in “Eorzea”, but Grandpa was sneaky and when he visited last, he told you and your siblings that there was a war going on. He had a twinkle in his glowing white eyes when he said it, which told you that you couldn’t tell anyone. He said that there were some bad people who wanted to conquer all of the lands, and that the Forum wasn’t going to do anything, but that he was, and that he would do it to keep you and Alphinaud and Alisaie safe. He then made you swear that you’d wait until you were older and stronger to choose whether you wanted to get involved or not. You swore you would wait, but you couldn’t help thinking that you also wanted to help now, so you could keep Alphinaud and Alisaie and everyone in Old Sharlayan and even “Eorzea” safe too. You weren’t going to tell Father this one, either. Father didn’t like the idea of going to “Eorzea” to keep Alphinaud and Alisaie safe. He thought the best way to keep them safe would be to keep them here forever.

Going to “Eorzea” was for later, though. Right then, Father was tugging on your hand gently to let you know that you were close. “Hurry along, Aldritch,” he called to you. “We really must arrive apace. I know how excited you are, and you must be in your head, but I’ve not got the time to dawdle here all day. I’ve got responsibilities, and your mother will miss you ere long.” He pointed ahead of him, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “Look, we’re right about there regardless. And, oh, look there, I think I can see Montichaigne there already. Why don’t you run along and go say hello?”

You nodded, and let go of his hand to run ahead. Sure enough, there was Mr. Montichaigne! He was there, and he smiled when he saw you running towards him. You liked Mr. Montichaigne’s smiles, they made his face all crinkly like a tissue. “Mr. Montichaigne!” You yelled this, unaware of how loud you were being.  “You kept your promise to show me around the Studium when I got bigger!”

“Hello there, youngster! Yes I did,” he replied. “It’s not every day that one of Loiusoix’s grandchildren gets old enough to start studying, although, you’re still quite young yet, aren’t you?”

“Aldritch will not be beginning his studies until he reaches his 11th nameday,” Father explained smoothly. “We simply feel that he’s old enough to start getting used to his future campus now. He and the twins will all be studying in these hallowed halls eventually, so we decided, why not take a tour?”

“I see. Well, it would be absolutely within your philosophy to encourage the kids to start thinking about their futures as soon as possible,” Mr. Montichaigne remarked. You don’t know why, but his words felt a little angry. He smiled down at you, though, so it couldn’t be that bad. “Well, then! Young Aldritch, why don’t we go take a little tour? As it so happens, there’s another girl here today touring as well, so maybe you could go say hi to her?”

You looked at Mr. Montichaigne in confusion. “Why?” you asked. You never really talked to the other kids outside of when you and Mother went to go see her friends, and even then, they weren’t much for conversation.

“Well, you don’t have to go say hi to her, of course. But wouldn’t it make the tour a little more fun if you could talk to each other about the things you see, and know you’ll have a friend when you both start your studies?”

Well, Mr. Montichaigne did make a point. You still felt a bit upset about the matter, but when the girl he mentioned, who was shorter than you, wandered around the corner and shyly waved at you, your nerves calmed a bit. Mr. Montichaigne seemed pleased to see her, too, and if Mr. Montichaigne liked her, she couldn’t be all that bad.

“Ah, Krile!” “Krile” must have been her name, then. She had mousy brown hair hidden under a coeurl-eared jacket and green eyes, and she was paler than you and Father. She was one of the short people that Grandpa said were called “Lalafell”, which definitely made her look older, but Mr. Montichaigne said she hadn’t started her studies yet, so you figured she was probably around your age. Krile looked up at Mr. Montichaigne when he called her name. “You wouldn’t mind another person joining us on our little tour, would you?”

“No, sir, that won’t be a problem,” she replied, not unkindly. 

“Good.” He seemed pleased with the answer. “Krile, this is Aldritch Leveilleur, Louisoix Leveilleur’s oldest grandson. Aldritch, this is Krile Mayer Baldesion. She’s Galuf Baldesion’s girl, and she’s 12 years to her nameday this summer. I know you both are interested in studying aether and its applications in the mystic arts, so I suppose you’ll have much to talk about.”

“Hello, Aldritch,” Krile greeted with a small curtsy. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“H-hi,” you stuttered back. You tried to give a more enthusiastic wave, but you were a bit nervous, and you could only really manage a sloppy gesture before giving up and falling silently behind Father as Mr. Montichaigne began his tour.

Mr. Montichaigne had many things to say about each of the rooms that he showed you, but you couldn’t help your awe of each beautiful, polished wooden desk, neat blackboard and sweeping lecture hall taking away your awareness of his lecture. There were so many books that you’d get to read, desks that you’d get to sit in, and blackboard diagrams that you’d get to absorb that everything Mr. Montichaigne said went in one ear and out the other as you bounced in excitement in the doorway of each room. You barely noticed Father looking at you with some kind of amused expression as you and the Krile girl followed Mr. Montichaigne around the Studium. 

“Alright,” Mr. Montichaigne finished, as your little tour group returned to the main hall of the Studium. “I’m certain you both have been to the Archives before, so a proper tour of that will have to wait for another day. Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir!” Krile replied.

“We get to go to all of these places?” You couldn’t help it, it was all so pretty. “It’s so cool…”

Mr. Montichaigne chuckled. “Yes, Aldritch. You get to go to all of these places. Anything else?”

“No…”

“That’s excellent. I’m glad you’re excited! Now, if that’s ok with you,” Mr. Montichaigne began, “could I go talk to your father for a bit? We won’t be long. Krile, you’re free to go, but if you and Aldritch want to hang out while he waits, that’s alright too. Fourchenault, why don’t we go into the other room for a bit?”

Father nodded, and he and Mr. Montichaigne went into one of the classrooms before you could even respond, shutting the door behind them. That left you alone with Krile, who waved reassuringly at you. You ducked your head in embarrassment. You expected to be sitting there in silence until Father came back, but after a second, Krile started to speak.

“You’re interested in aether, right?” she started.

Of course you were interested in aether! You couldn’t become a mage if you didn’t know anything about aether. “Y-yeah,” you replied. Curses! Why was talking this hard? “There are six kinds of aether; fire aether, water aether, wind aether, ice aether-”

“I know about the aether types, silly.” Krile laughed, and you suddenly felt very foolish. You didn’t know if she knew that, and you thought she might have liked to know. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“Nono, don’t worry, it’s fine. You’re just very excited, right?” Her eyes glinted out of her coeurl-shaped coat’s hood. “Well, I have a secret. You can’t tell Montichaigne, right? My grandfather gave me this coat because I have a secret power.”

Secret powers? Now you were very interested. “What kind of powers? Are you a wizard? I won’t tell anyone if you’re a wizard.”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Krile said happily. “It’s even cooler. I can see things other people can’t, like invisible people and memories. If you want, I can see your memories, as if I experienced them. Come on, think of something! We can hold hands, if you want!”

“Are you sure? What if you see something embarrassing?” You were worried she’d see the one time that you fell face-first into the canal three weeks ago while reading, and Mother had to come pull you out. That wound still stung. Krile seemed nice, but you didn’t want her to know that you did that if her seeing power was real.

Krile waved that suggestion off. “If you focus hard on a specific memory, I’ll see only that one, so you’ll choose what I see. If it makes you feel better, I’ll think of a memory too!”

“Ok, fine.” You extended your hand to her, mustering up the memory of your 8th nameday party. It was a very good nameday party, and Alphinaud got cake everywhere. “So do I just give you my hand?”

“Yes, give it here!”

You gave Krile your hand, and sat there awkwardly. Or, at the very least, that’s what should’ve happened, and that’s what you would tell your father when he asked. What really happened was this: suddenly, you felt a ringing in your head, and both you and Krile stumbled back. And then you saw it: a memory, that wasn’t yours.

“You may think this gift is a burden,” a gruff, elderly Hyur said, putting his hands on Krile’s shoulders, “but this is where you, despite your sight, are blind. This gift is a strength, Krile. Your gift will allow you to see into people’s hearts, to know them as they truly are, and that is precious. To know mankind is precious strength.”

When your vision cleared, Krile was looking at you with wide, owlish eyes. “You saw it too, didn’t you?”

“I saw… a person? An old person? Was that-”

“Think about what I said, Fourchenault.” The voices of Mr. Montichaigne and Father suddenly echoed down the hall, and you and Krile both jumped and hurried back into your places. “No descendant of Louisoix would suffer so in a gilded cage.” Mr. Montichaigne’s voice seemed friendly enough, but you could tell he was unhappy with Father based on the words he was saying. 

“And no father wants to see their child poisoned by dreams of wartime,” Father replied, voice cold. “My father may respect you, but it ultimately comes to me to decide what is best for my children, Montichaigne.” You waited for Father to round the corner, trying to make sure he didn’t realize you and Krile were listening. “Ah, Aldritch. It seems our conversations have concluded. We will be going now. Say goodbye to your friend.”

You looked at Krile unhappily. “Goodbye, Krile. I hope I get to study with you.”

“Goodbye, Aldritch! It was very nice talking with you,” she replied in kind. As you turned away, taking Father’s hand again, she waved.

“Oh, and Aldritch?”

“Yes?”

“That fall in the canal looked unpleasant. I hope your book didn’t get ruined.”

Oh no! She saw it! “Goodbye, I’m going now, goodbye Krile!” you shouted, speeding ahead of your confused father. He kept pace with you, if only to uphold his previous claim of being on a time limit, but still walked slowly enough that you were yanking his hand as you went. 

“My goodness, Aldritch, what has gotten into you?” Father hummed. “Was the girl really that mean? You seemed to get along.”

You looked back at Father, who was smiling down at you as you sped on ahead. “She was nice,” you replied miserably. “I just embarrassed myself, is all.”

“Oh, don’t you worry yourself,” he replied fondly. “She seemed quite pleasant and glad to have met you. I doubt you could have done anything too terribly unbecoming if she was that taken with you.”

“She saw my most embarrassing moment with her magic wizard powers, Father!” you whined. 

“My son, everyone saw that,” he replied with a chuckle. “You nearly washed up in the Peristyle for how far the river took you. You can tell me more about your new friend’s magic wizard powers some other time, though. We’re nearly home, and your mother, brother and sister will be burning with questions over today’s little adventure.”

He was right. You could see the stone bridge that marked the end of your typical roaming grounds up ahead, and your excitable younger siblings were already waving excitedly from their side of the grounds, two heads full of fluffy white hair tilted up at you.

“Al’ritch! Al’ritch!” Alphinaud yelled. “What was the Stu’ium like?? Tell us!!”

“Were there any friendly people there?? Did they make you take a test? ” Alisaie chorused. “Was it a hard test? Did you fail? ”

“Al’ritch wouldn’t fail!” Alphinaud insisted. “He’s smart. ”

“What if he got scared, though, and messed up?? Then he could fail.”

You could see Mother coming up the walk behind them, making a small tsk to chide them. “Your brother didn’t have to take any tests, my dears. Aldritch! How was your tour? Did you have fun?”

Father nodded at you to let you know you could run off. You did, then, and your little siblings caught you in a hug that you enthusiastically returned. “Mother!! The tour was very fun, but oh, I embarrassed myself. The Studium was so big!”

“You’ll have to tell me and your siblings all about it, won’t you then?” Mother sat down on the bridge next to where you, Alphinaud and Alisaie were already sitting. “Come now. What was the most interesting thing you saw today?”

“Oh, it had to be the Searcher’s Meet! There were so many Gleaners there, sharing all sorts of things they found! There was this coeurl-like creature with a balloon on its head and leathery wings…”

The rain landed on your face in fat droplets, clouding your glasses and obscuring your vision as they went. You did not care, however, Father’s words ringing in your ears as you went. You clenched your fists in rage as the words washed back up into your muddled memory.

It had been a fairly nice evening before that, really. You’d been enjoying one of the house help’s cooking with Mother and Father while Alisaie and Alphinaud had been overnight at a friend’s, when the topic of Grandfather had come up. 

Grandfather had left a few months ago, for good this time. Father’s mood slowly getting worse and worse was the precious only warning sign you had. More than once you had caught your father grumbling and griping about the war, and Grandfather being “foolish and in betrayal of everything Old Sharlayan stood for”, and something about “make-believe final days”, and it was only after someone had commented about “Louisoix’s fall from grace” when you had gone to the Last Stand for dinner had Grandfather made his disappearance. He hadn’t left without warning you, though. He did visit you and your siblings one final time before he disappeared, never to come back.

“ Alphinaud, Alisaie ,” he’d said, to your siblings. “ You may be nigh indistinguishable now, but your personalities, separate and distinct, shine through bright to me. But you are still family. I give these grimoires to you, identical, and hope that they will remind you of the love you have for each other and the love I have for you. You may not have use of them now, but in time, you will know what they are for. ”

“ Gram’pa, ” Alisaie had returned, lip trembling. “ Are you going away for good this time? ”

Alphinaud pouted, rubbing his nose on his long nightgown sleeve. “ I don’ wan’ Gram’pa to leave for good, ” he’d whimpered. “ ‘S not fair. ”

“ Oh, my precious grandchildren, as long as you have me in your heart, I’ll always be here, ” he soothed. “ And I will forever have you in mine. ”

“ Grandfather, ” you offered, “ take me with you. I can help. I want to help. ”

“ Aldritch, didn’t I make you swear to me that you’d wait until you were older? ” Grandfather had chided you, but not without a note of pride in his voice. “ My eldest grandson, loyal as you are, your urge to protect your loved ones and people is a dream I too share. But your dream will not serve you now, when you are young and yet need to grow up and become strong. You can help me most by staying here, and making sure your brother, sister, father and mother are safe and happy. That would be all the help I could ever need, knowing that those you and I love are safe where I left them. You can do that, can’t you? ”

“ I can try, ” you replied, sadly, “ but I can’t promise you anything. Not anymore. The Garleans are coming, aren’t they? ”

Grandfather grimaced and looked off to the side, his pale white eyes downcast, but then eventually, he faced you and nodded. “ You’re right, Aldritch, they are. They’re making their march onto the Eorzean front as we speak. I’m going to meet them on that front, so they can’t then make their march here.”

“ So wouldn’t it be better if I protected them by also stopping them where they are currently?”

Grandfather had sighed, then. His gaze was so piercing, you’d never forget it. Eyes so white, they cut like diamonds. “In a perfect world, we’d all put our everything into putting an end to this invasion. But you are yet young, not even eleven years past your nameday. You are yet a child, Aldritch. Let the adults keep you safe.” He stood up then, regarding all of you with the most love and care you had ever seen him muster for anything, and you knew he would never come back. “ I must be going now, before your father intends to stop me. Goodbye, my precious grandchildren. Aldritch, keep them safe. ”

You never saw your grandfather again after that night. Alphinaud had cried through the night for days afterwards, and Alisaie was silent and brooding. You carried out your Grandfather’s request for the first time, and, when the three of you were alone, you held them close to you, Alphinaud sobbing into your shirt and Alisaie wordlessly clinging to bunches of your hair. It was only when you were alone did you break down into your own melancholic crying, fitfully wiping your own tears off of your round glasses lenses. The very moment anyone called your name, however, you took three deep breaths and schooled your expression into something more friendly.

It was all of this grief that brought on the discussion that had found you in this situation.

“Father,” you had started, casually, “Why did Grandfather leave? Where did he go?”

Your father’s jaw had clenched dangerously at that. Granted, you’d been needling him about the War for quite some time now, but it was for a good reason. The Garleans would not be halted at Eorzea’s borders with nothing save a miracle, and you knew this every time the papers described their horrific war machines. Sure, the Garleans were no mages, but they were technologically advanced beyond measure and cunning enough to employ soldiers from the very lands they sought to acquire. They would head here next. You were sure of it.

“Aldritch,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “I thought I told you to refrain from discussing the Eorzean situation further.”

“Fourchenault,” Mother had sighed in return. “Let him speak on it. He’s a growing boy and needs to be free to express his opinions.”

“Ameliance, this is serious and could cost me my job. He needs to remain silent.”

“You know what would also cost you your job?” you had replied impulsively, tone taking on a nasty, hostile edge. “Being conquered and subjugated by an enemy nation when they inevitably wipe the Eorzeans out like pigs for the slaughter because you and the Forum are too cowardly to do anything about it.”

“Aldritch,” Father had said after an ugly silence. “Return to your room. I will send a hireling to bring your food to you.”

“But you know that, don’t you?” you’d continued. “There’ll be no Forum under Garlean rule. There’ll be the Emperor, that crusty old menace, and then some puppet viceroy who’ll do Garlemald’s dirty work of making all of our lives miserable and killing anyone who dissents. The Bibliothec’s position of reserving knowledge will mean nothing when imperials kill our families, enslave our people and destroy our natural environments with their war machines. ”

“ Aldritch Leveilleur, go to your room right now and I will consider forgiving you and your grandfather for the damage you both have caused my position in my office. ”

“Aldritch, Fourchenault, please, this is getting out of hand.”

“ You won’t have a position in an office when the Garleans kill us all, you coward! At least Grandfather had the fucking guts! Twelve forfend you have enough to fight with your family that you claim to love so much! ”

“Enough,” your father boomed, and you cringed. You stole a glance at your mother; to your horror, she looked to be at the verge of tears. “My father Louisoix was an idealistic fool who perverted the ideals of the founders of our nation, ideals that were created to keep us safe. This perversion of our nation’s values has hampered my ability to keep our nation, people and family safe. Your grandfather’s barbarism may be appealing to warmongers, but this poisonous ideal eschews rationality and is counterproductive to my family’s well-being. I made no attempt to stop him from going, but I will not have his irrational vices poison this well any longer.”

“Grandfather’s ideals aren’t barbaric ,” you spat. “They were brave. You can’t keep running from this. It will stare you straight in the face, and then where will you hide?”

“Rest assured,” your father replied, with a low, satisfied chuckle, “that the Forum has a nigh-infinite number of options in case things go that poorly, none of which you will be privy to under my name any longer.”

“No!” Mother gasped, only to quickly swallow any other sounds she intended to make.

“You may go espouse your grandfather’s barbaric ideals, but you will no longer do it as a son of House Leveilleur. You are henceforth disowned. You might as well follow your grandfather, as you’ve no place here.”

You made the highest effort you could to give Fourchenault your most ireful, snarling defiance, but the sobs your mother made better reflected the sick feeling brewing in your stomach. Still, you held your head high, not kneeling nor bowing to Fourchenault’s ultimatum.

“Fine then,” you replied, ice cold. “I’ll go get my things. I’ll be honored to fight and die for my home in a way you’d never be brave enough to.”

That was an hour before where you found yourself now. Your mother had packed you a bag, and you found yourself holding it close as you walked towards the docks, dark blue coat and white hair billowing in the stormy wind, already soaked through. She’d been besides herself with grief, as had you, and had oh so carefully taken you in her arms one last time. 

“Aldritch,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I can’t promise you anything that you’d find worthwhile. I don’t disagree with your father’s aims, as much as I can’t always see eye to eye with his methods. Someday, I’ll make it up to you. But for now, I’ll walk his path. It’s the only one I know for certain leads somewhere where my husband and children will be safe.”

“But mother,” you had replied, just as soft. “None of you will be safe if nobody does something.”

“They will,” she had said. “They will do something. It won’t be what you like, but it will be something. I’m sorry I can’t tell you, but you need to trust me.”

You sighed. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I can’t.”

She had let go of you, then, a sad smile painted across her face. “I would tell you to be safe, but I can’t stop you from getting into unsafe situations, can I? So all I ask is, stay alive, Aldritch. And do write sometime. I can’t promise your father won’t be upset, and I don’t know how much I can reply, but I will promise to read every. single. one. ”

You felt a lump in your throat. “Ok, Mother,” you croaked. “I will. Promise.”

“That’s my boy.” She hugged you one last time, and you inhaled, trying to commit the comforting smell of your mother’s perfume to memory. “I love you, Aldritch. Please. Stay alive.”

Stay alive, you thought, as your feet splashed in puddles caused by the pouring rain. You squinted through the howling wind and heavy downpour, scanning all the docks for a boat bound south. I have to stay alive. And that means finding Grandfather. Carefully, you walked toward the docks, bag at your side and head held high.

“Name and occupation?” The entry official asked as you approached. She must have been on the night shift and not expecting this downpour, the poor woman, as she was also soaked through to the bone, uniform plastered to her skin.

“Aldritch, none,” you chattered out in reply. “I’m leaving.”

She raised a singular sculpted eyebrow at you. “Surname?”

“I… I don’t have one anymore. I’ve been disowned as of tonight.”

“Figure it out,” she snapped. “Destination?”

“Eorzea.”

“Do you have the gil for fare?”

It was at this point that you silently sent a thank you to your mother for her ministrations with your bag. She’d made sure to show you exactly where she’d put your coinpurse, full of a healthy, but not exorbitant, amount of gil. You wouldn’t want for a while, but she’d earnestly suggested you find work quickly regardless. You fished out a few hundred gil, and showed the entry official the handful. She stared at it, unimpressed, then nodded.

“Whatever. It’s late and storming, so whoever just let their wet cat of a child out on their own, I hope the Twelve strikes them down. Get out.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

You kept walking briskly through the dock, uncaring of the wind and rain. You had nothing to say. You had nothing to say to the captain of the ship you climbed aboard beyond “fare for one”, and you had nothing to say to the crew as you crawled into your tight bunk for a rough night on the water. You had nothing to say at all.

Your first experience with magic was with the Church of Saint Adama Landama.

“That’s it, now, son,” Father Iliud had said, approvingly, as you finished your embalmings. “Perfect work today.”

You had not found your grandfather yet, no matter how hard you had tried. Your boat had docked in Thanalan, and whenever you had asked for “Louisoix Leveilleur”, people had stared at you like you were crazy. The few people that did know the man’s name didn’t know yours, and, unable to provide a surname, most people didn’t believe you when you claimed relations. 

So you had headed to camp Drybone. At first, you tried to find a place to live in Ul’dah, but the sultanate was not keen on refugees, what with the outpouring of them from Ala Mhigo that had arrived in droves when the nation had fallen. When it was discovered that you were unemployed and uneducated, you were promptly invited to leave the city walls by the Brass Blades. In maybe some type of act of pity, one of them mentioned offhandedly that the Church was in need of more pallbearers and the Father had lost a son recently, and so off to the Church you went. Tired, hungry and in clothes run ragged by the elements, the Father had immediately taken pity on you. He had trained you in the ways of Nald’thalic rites, and before too long, you had become an astonishingly adept embalmer. 

In truth, you liked the job, despite the near-constant bodies flooding in from wartime. Corpses did not talk, and corpses did not complain about your lack of conversation. Corpses did not tell you that you were annoying, or talked too much, and corpses did not complain about your opinions. Father Iliud probably thought you were strange, but many times, you found yourself talking to the corpses as you embalmed them, or even singing to them at times. If he did find issues with it, the good Father never brought it up in his glowing reviews of your work.

In return to the present, however, Father Iliud had more to say. “You’ve become rather adept at this, in the handful of years you’ve been with the church,” he noted, proudly. “I think it’s time that you begin an instruction in thaumaturgy. If you’re truly Louisoix’s descendant, you might take a shine to it.”

“Thaumaturgy?” you asked, voice vacant of recognition. “I am sorry, Father, I have never heard of this.” One thing you discovered about Eorzeans is that their literacy rate was rather low. As such, your studies in anything remotely academic had fallen off entirely. Whenever you recalled that, grief churned in your stomach. Two years ago, you were supposed to have begun your studies in the Studium, but now… life had other plans. You had initially felt a bit of unease at the prospect of reading Eorzean language writings and speaking with its inhabitants, but you had quickly discovered that the cat coat girl from the Studium’s gift had additional effects: you suddenly had no issue translating other languages as if they were your first. Regardless of your newfound universal polyglot, you had never heard of thaumaturgy. Grandfather was apparently able to cast some type of conjury, judging by the staff, Tupsimati, that he carried with him, but unless thaumaturgy was something similar, you knew nothing.

Father Iliud took your confusion in stride, however. “What, son, did nobody back in Sharlayan tell you of thaumaturgy? Thaumaturgy is a magical art that uses a staff to call the elements of fire and ice. I am no practicing thaumaturge, but those in the Guild have used the art for centuries to purify the dead and return them to Nald’thal’s embrace. It also has combat applications, but… the guild doesn’t really smile on the prospect.”

Wizards are the coolest, your brain supplied, in a moment of unhelpfulness. The prospect of finally training in a magical art, however, and one possibly considered to be barbaric and heathenous at that, made you wildly excited. Even more so was the concept of a magical art that you could then apply to your work. Thaumaturgy, despite the implications, seemed like something you had to try. “Father Iliud, I must insist that I gain access to a staff to practice this art, especially if it can be used to aid in my work here,” you said breathlessly. “Tell me where to start and I will do it.”

The good Father laughed. “You are every sense in the word Louisoix’s boy, then. Tell you what: I’ll talk to Cocobuki Lolobuki when I soon can, but for tonight, I will give you one of the spare staves we have in the back for emergencies, and we’ll see whether you can call forth some elements without any guidance.”

“Really??” If you were starry-eyed, it was not your fault. You were a boy of thirteen, yet, you were allowed a bit of excitement. “ Thank you, Father!”

“It is no problem at all, my boy. Come.” You followed the good Father behind the pulpit into the confessional, where he retrieved a long staff made from carved wood, aldgoat horn and some gem you were unfamiliar with. The staff wasn’t quite that long in comparison to the good Father, but next to you, it went from the floor to your neck. “This is one of the many staves that can be used to conjure the thaumaturgic arts. They can range from being several feet long to only a few inches. Inevitably, the focus you choose in the end will depend on your own comfort, but for now, let’s see what you can do with this.”

The good Father handed the staff to you, and you took the smooth rod in your hands, reverently, as if holding a priceless artifact. To be fair, to you, it was. 

“To begin, you’ll need proper form and a good stance, my boy, not to just stare at the rod until it catches aflame,” Father Iliud laughed. “Also, I’d prefer we step outside of the chapel, lest we burn it to the foundations.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed, not realizing you had been enraptured. “My apologies.” You bowed and carefully stepped out from the chapel. The sun had fallen, and the stars peeked out from the sky, ready to witness your very first spell. The good Father followed you out as well, and, as instructed, you took the rod into your hand and stood, feet spread far enough apart to provide you with good balance. 

“Very good,” the good Father remarked. “Now, envision your body as an aetherial well. Your body, as all bodies are, is composed of aether, the very same aether that makes up all things.”

So you did. Truth be told, this was a truth you knew from your studies in your youth, but the exercise served you more purpose than the good Father intended: a form of mindfulness to become aware of the flow of your body’s aether. You could feel it, if you focused hard enough: the flow, almost akin to the blood in your veins.  And as you did this, the very tip of your staff began to glow a purplish-black light, a light the good Father immediately identified.

“ Excellent work, Aldritch! That’s exactly what you’re looking for. You’re on the right track,” he praised. “Now, take that wellspring of aether, and pull forth astral fire. Aim for that bush there, if you will.”

In the midst of your envisionings of astral-aspected fire aether, you lazily regarded the bush. The tip of your staff flared, and you watched a small little glob of fire launch itself at the bush, setting the thing aflame. Within seconds, the little tumbleweed of a bush disintegrated in ash, and you felt nothing but a rush of pure joy. This was not the only thing you experienced, however; to your surprise, a little ball of fire was swirling around you like a lightning bug, bobbing up and down merrily. 

“Twelve forfend, that was masterful, Aldritch!” the good Father exclaimed, clapping you on the back with a firm hand. “I daresay you’ve got a career in the thaumaturgic arts, if you so wish to have one. You could make adventuring money with skills like those, although I would not recommend informing Cocobuki of my suggestion. He’d excommunicate me.”

The rush of power and accomplishment you had felt when that fire had erupted from the horn staff was intoxicating. You also would daresay you had a career in the thaumaturgic arts. Best not tell Fourchenault about this new development, you thought sardonically. He’d piss himself. 

Inevitably, Cocobuki’s misgivings towards war would not prevent you from seeing combat. In due time, your fifteenth nameday came and passed, and with it came the Seventh Umbral Calamity; the inevitable tides of war finally spilled into greater Eorzea, and with it came an indescribably massive amount of bloodshed. As the war waged on in the Carteneau flats, for the first time in nearly half an epoch, you finally got news regarding your Grandfather.

His little company of heroes, which had built itself from the roots up in Gridania, had joined the war front in Carteneau, trying to prevent the lesser moon from crashing its way into the surface of the star. So you grabbed your longpole and, with only a fleeting apology to the good Father, made the arduous trek to the flats on foot. However, you had not even made it out of Mor Dhona before the fighting had reached you. 

Not that this was an issue. You spent two long years under the encouragement of the good Father and the testy temperament of Guildmaster Cocobuki, and at this point, you would daresay you were a force to be reckoned with. You had even been talking with some of the vigil-keepers in Milvaneth Sacrarium, getting some of their sage… advice. (Turns out, Cocobuki was keeping some secrets from you, and the historical well that thaumaturgy arose from was much deeper than anticipated. The scholar in you reveled in this.) Some Garlean troops would be no match for you.

Garlean machines were another thing entirely.

You were surrounded pretty quickly.

“Ahaha!” the Centurion in charge of the unit had exclaimed. “Eorzean savage! Did you really think your witch-fire would do anything to magitek? You may have disposed of my men, and your allies may remain standing, but you are no match for the technological prowess of Garlemald!” You felt the man was a little unhinged, but then yet again, a wall of Magitek Reapers stood between you and the other Eorzean fighters on field, with their red, yellow and black uniforms. There were even some fellows in chainmail coifs, who were elezen just like you, but none of that mattered because you were going to die.

“I am no savage,” you replied evenly, deliberately speaking his own mother tongue,  “and I am not dead. As long as I remain able to speak, your machines remain able to die.”

The centurion squinted at you, bulbous face contorted in examination. “You’re rather snarky for a little witch-mage, aren’t you?” the enemy sneered, posturing himself over you so he, too, became part of the wall. “You’re not even a man, yet, are you! I know your freakish long-limbed types! You’re just a boy! Only the kids are that short. What’s a child out on the battlefield with a big stick talking back to me? Does your mother not want you?” 

“My mother is irrelevant to the discussion. What was it about magitek and killing me again?”

Realization dawned on the man’s knobby little face. “Oh right, yes, that.” As if possessed, one of the reapers marched forwards, slamming its foot down on you and pushing your back into the dirt. You yelled in pain as the Reaper’s sharp, steel foot dug into your soft cheek, and you could feel your own warm, sticky blood pooling over your lips. “About that, I think I’ll take my time with you. I heard a little rumor that mages in distress will boil their own bodies from the inside out. I want to see that in person.”

Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you struggled fruitlessly against the machine on top of you. No luck, though you suppose you were lucky that the thing did not break your spine on impact. Lalai from the Sacrarium had warned against the very thing the centurion wanted to see: aetherial burnout. Apparently, for a thaumaturge turned to the black arts, it was very lethal. Well, you suppose, there was one of two ways this could go; either this magitek reaper could crush you to death, or you could boil yourself alive.

As your mind seized control of the aether around you, you decided on boiling. Except what you made wasn’t fire, and what you felt was not burns. Your vision suddenly overflowed with black, and all you heard was the centurion’s scratchy voice contorted with agony and machinery screeching as the pressure on your chest and face suddenly lifted. This did not cure your exhaustion, which devastated you in waves as you sunk into the earth, one eye seeing your own blood on your nose and the other seeing nothing at all but little wisps of aether floating about in the air. Even as the centurion’s moans faded into gurgles and then into silence and the battle raged around you, you still opted to lie there, hoping that the next imperial who crossed your path mistook you for a corpse.

Hear… Feel… Think…

When next you awoke, it was to another soldier wiping down your forehead with a wet cloth, the battlefield long silent. You shifted your head to let your good eye, vision still blurry, take him in. The boy was not much older than you, maybe a year or two at most, sword sheathed on his hip and a shield balancing haphazardly against his side, long abandoned. To your relief, this young man was not wearing any Garlean standard, so you figured the chances of him allowing your freedom and survival were non-zero. His handsome face was pale and scarred, and his dark hair fell around his face in loose waves. When he noticed you looking at him, he smiled, cheeks going pink.

“The rest of them thought you were dead, yknow, but I was certain you weren’t,” he remarked plainly. “No mortal injuries, I said. Seems I was right.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he shushed you quietly. “Nono, no need to speak. It’ll be hard for a while, if this is your first rodeo with battlefield unconsciousness. Aside from the new scars you’ll be sporting after this, you look as smooth as a newborn. This had to have been your first time. Not to mention all of you elezen are terribly short before you hit adulthood. Kids in battles like us are exceptions, not the status quo.”

The irony of being pleased that the Eorzeans didn’t employ child soldiers while being a child soldier yourself was not lost on you, and you chuckled dryly as this mystery boy continued to clean up your face. After some time, though, he seemed satisfied, and folded his rag. “Well, I got all the blood off of your face. As for the… black goop, I’m not really an expert on magical mishaps, and it’s not going away any time soon, so I suppose that’ll be an issue for a chirurgeon later.”

“Black… goop?” you groaned. “Where…?”

The young man went pink again. “You have a nice voice, if a little groggy,” he remarked. “Your eye is where the goop is coming from. Can you sit?”

“My eye…?” Your bad eye’s vision was coming back slowly, but you could, upon a bit of reflection, still feel something pouring down your face from that spot. You put a hand to your cheek, and did a double-take when it came away stained as if covered in black ink. You made to sit, needing to see what became of your left eye, and as you did so, the boy offered you his support. You let him help you into a sitting position and scoot you over to the water’s edge so you could see your reflection. 

What you saw was barely a fraction of the self you once knew. Your right half of your face had been cut so deeply that you knew this jagged line would scar permanently, crusted with blood and digging into your cheek, causing it to look slightly sunken in. The left half, although unblemished, was worse somehow. A thick, black, aetherial substance had taken to pouring out of your eye socket, and your left eye’s iris had gone from its usual yellow to pitch black.

You were suddenly overtaken by a recollection of your grandfather’s eyes, pale white, shining in the gloom of your bedroom on the night that he had left you five years ago. Your lips quirked at the irony of the grandchild of white magic-practicing Louisoix Leveilleur being corrupted by the black arts. The irony continued to grow in hilarity until you couldn’t help it, and let out a bark-like, painful laugh into the wilds of Mor Dhona, your newfound companion looking at you in concern.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, a frown creasing his forehead. “I know sometimes the shock can get to people, when they’re injured like this. When my face first got messed up, I know I certainly didn’t feel right for a while.”

“Ahahah, hah, hah…” Your laughter trailed off until only a silence remained, interrupted only by birdcalls. “I am fine. Can you tell me what happened to Louisoix Leveilleur, please?”

The boy grimaced. “Well, if you are looking for him, you were out cold a little too long. The lesser moon fell, you see, and Louisoix stopped it. But he disappeared to do so. Most likely, he’s just dead.”

he’s just dead.

You wished, at that moment, you were just dead. The laughter continued again, unbridled, but this time, real tears emerged to join the dark aether-tinged tears on your face. Your friend watched you, solemnly, as if he had seen this happen to a thousand men; and judging by the state of his face and body, he probably had. It felt like an eternity where nothing mattered except you, the boy, and the death of your beloved Grandfather, as you laughed and screamed and howled into the unforgiving, silent wilds. 

Eventually, you did find some calm in that wellspring of grief that had sprouted up in you. You jammed your rickety horn staff into the earth as a makeshift cane, the boy eagerly helping you to your feet with a steady, guiding hand. 

“Do you have a place to return to?” the boy asked, seeming a bit eager. “If you don’t have anyone to come get you, I can always escort you back.” You watched, mesmerized, as the left side of your vision erupted in blueish waves accompanied by whimsical little lavender flecks, dancing about him, in a way that felt to you like restrained excitement. Bemused, you covered your right eye with your hand, and discovered that these wondrous little visual effects were being provided to you by your now-cursed left eye in lieu of the sharper vision of your right. You did not have time to puzzle over that now, however, as your new companion aimed to return you safely home.

“The Church, in Drybone,” you said, voice hoarse from exertion. “I am Aldritch.”

He smiled back at you as you both began to walk slowly south. “That’s a lovely name. I’m Eowyn. Eowyn Lane.”

It was, perhaps, the sunniest day in Coerthas that you had seen in quite some time when you got married. You were 19 years to your nameday, and Eowyn was 20, and you could not have been more overjoyed to have joined his family after almost ten years of hearing nothing from yours.

You had written to your mother, like you promised, at the start. At the very beginning, whenever you had paper and a pen, you wrote her. Three letters a week left Drybone, got piled into a courier’s bag and shipped off to Old Sharlayan in your nervous, angular script, hurried descriptions of your new life and all of its joys and tragedies. 

You never got a single letter in return. It stung. You knew what your mother told you, that replies would not be a thing so easily granted. Even worse was the fact that you had no surname, nor no address, and so any letters addressed to Aldritch Leveilleur would get lost in transit. However, knowing that your mother had no words for you, that your sister and brother had no words for you… was painful, more than anything else in the world. 

So, you started to send fewer letters. By the time you were thirteen, you sent only one letter every few weeks. When you were sixteen, it was once every six moons. You waited until you were seventeen to send one last letter, informing your mother and siblings that Louisoix Leveilleur was dead, and never sent anything again. Even then, you got no response. It was then that you knew that when Louisoix Leveilleur had died, on the Carteneau Flats, four years ago, Aldritch Leveilleur had died with him. The only thing that remained was Brother Aldritch, embalmer of the dead, priest of Nald’Thal, scarred and beholden to a cursed left eye. Aldritch, in your robes and cowl, who carved out new staves for your art in your spare time.

It was that void that Eowyn Lane, the sprightly, scarred Hyur that had rescued you that day in Mor Dhona, had filled. He had come to visit you often initially, especially in those first few days, when you were unwell and dealing with your new duplicate vision and all of the headaches it brought. Father Iliud, despite your concerns that he would be unhappy with visitors, was actually quite grateful for Eowyn’s unusual presence, as his age made it difficult to tend to you while you were ailing. In addition, Dalamud’s fall brought with it another visitor: a gravely injured, safety goggles-clad white-haired man with tumultuous, raging aether who had forgotten his own name who Iliud immediately felt needed succor. So it was Eowyn’s presence at your bedside four nights a week that you grew used to as he redressed your wounds and told you stories of the fallout of Carteneau. 

“They called it the Seventh Umbral Calamity,” he had informed you politely, as you had sat in your bed, drinking soup. Across the sickbay, you could see the nameless man, still unconscious, as Father Iliud tended to him carefully. “When Legatus Darnus died, most of the Garleans in Carteneau retreated for the time being. This didn’t stop the moon from falling, though. That’s where Louisoix disappeared.”

You both knew he was dead, but he had taken to saying disappeared to ease your feelings of distress on it. You privately thought Eowyn was the nicest person you had met. 

“Apparently, the moon scattered everywhere, ” he continued with a hushed voice. “They’re in Agelyss Wise, the Burning Wall, The Nail… The remaining Garleans in Eorzea for the time being are all surrounding them like flies. I heard reports of a Castrum being constructed around one.”

“You do not say…?” you responded carefully. “Is no one intercepting this structure’s construction?”

“Not that I know of, but I do not get a lot of news about Limsa Lominsa’s military movements from my usual perch in Ishgard.” Eowyn shook his head, clearly upset. “In my opinion, they should be getting rid of it now, but they haven’t moved on it. By the time it’s built, it’ll be too late to stop.”

My opinion as well, you wanted to say, but you opted for a hum of confirmation instead. The woes of the Eorzean cities were really bureaucratic things. Your grandfather worked alone, and for some time, you will too. 

Eowyn let out a cold laugh at that. “Ishgard isn’t doing much else, either. They’re busy killing dragons and getting me to do it, as if they don’t know exactly what I am. What kind of creature’s blood runs in me. The dragons themselves are also unconcerned. I’m patiently waiting for the day that Garlemald marches right in on us, and we’re so busy tearing each other’s throats out that they get exactly what they want.”

This was not a story you were familiar with. “What is Ishgard like, exactly? Tell me about it. I have never been.”

Eowyn made a small click sound with his tongue. “An elezen who’s never been to Ishgard. Are you Gridanian?”

You shook your head in dissent. “I have never been to Gridania.” You never told him about where you were from, nor had you told him about your relationship to Louisoix. For the time being, you felt averse to trying to convince yet another incredulous Eorzean that you were of his kin. Especially now, with your pitch-black left eye proving exactly how much you weren’t like him.

“An off-continenter then? Huh.” He regarded you with scrutiny. “Where are you from, exactly?”

“...Old Sharlayan,” you answered, after some hesitation. You felt the initial urge to lie and say Thavnair, or somewhere adjacent, but the eagerness in his face and the help he had been giving you out of his own time clock made you trust him just enough. “I have been on the continent for just around five years.”

He laughed. “Of course it had to be Sharlayan. You’re so posh, honestly. And you speak perfect Eorzean, too. Are you here on a study trip?”

“...No. I’ve been disowned.”

“Oh.”

There was a sticky silence, only punctuated by a groan from the nameless man in Iliud’s charge. After a few seconds, though, Eowyn scratched at his dark, curly hair in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have poked at that. If it makes you feel better, though, you’re always welcome in my family if you’re looking for some.”

You felt heat bloom in your cheeks. There was an emotion, there, that you were feeling, buried under currents of disbelief, that you could vaguely identify as bashful. Here was this boy, not much older than you, who traveled for days by chocoboback to tend to your injuries, who was now offering you a place in his home. So painfully casual about it, too, that it made you want to slap him and ask him why. “Oh, I could never take your hospitality like that,” you responded instead. “I am already doing so over my means.”

“But I’m offering,” he insisted. “You’re constantly on my mind. I don’t know why.”

“You are incorrigible.” You chuckled at him, this ridiculous, passionate boy. “I do not get you.”

“That’s alright. It’s a little more peaceful now, since the Garleans turned tail and fled. We have time for us to figure each other out. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

You were quiet for a second. Then, “It is alright with me.”

“It’s alright with me too.”

If your face was not burning red before, it was now. You stared awkwardly at the wooden floorboards from your position on the thin mattress where you rested, hoping to the Twelve above that you had not just completely blown this. If you turned to look at Eowyn, he would have most likely been red-faced too as he sat in his chair. Even without directly looking at him, your left eye watched his aether flicker with emotion, wisps of fitful pink jumping about him. 

After a second, he laughed nervously. “Ishgard!! You asked about Ishgard. Yes you did. Well, if you’re not from around, it’s not surprising you haven’t visited. You need permission from one of the Four High Houses to get in, what with the concerns about draconic heresy going on right now. And god forbid you claim you’re from Dravania, that’s instant grounds for exile as per the Holy See’s mandate.”

Dravania was a name you vaguely remember. “Is… Dravania a bad place to be from?”

Eowyn doubled over in laughter. “Halone’s spear, no it is not. That’s just where the dragons live, and war is war. Have you ever seen a dragon?”

You strained at the boundaries of your memory. “Are… dragons big, flying lizards?”

Your friend looked at you in shock. “Yes, actually. Did you read about them in a book or something?”

“No. I saw one once, when I was very young.”

“Huh. Well, Aldritch of Drybone, you have yet to keep surprising me. Well, I can still surprise you yet. You see, I am a dragon. Sort of.”

You sized Eowyn up. He was not a giant flying lizard. “No, you are a Hyur. Dragons are lizards.”

“Ah, maybe so, but my great-grandfather is a dragon. Even my dad has scales, although he’s definitely more bipedal and hairy. You’re welcome to meet my father to verify that. In the meantime, all I have for you is a neat party trick of mine. Watch, watch.” And with that, Eowyn opened his mouth only for you to watch as his teeth elongated into sharp, dangerous points, a rumble building in his throat like the beginnings of a beast’s roar. The teeth stayed that way for only a few seconds of your awe-struck observation before thinning back down into a Hyur’s usual, flat-tipped teeth.

“Huh,” you remarked. “That is… unquestionably lizardlike.” 

“Yes, and very much to my own suffering. Our House is disgraced. Same thing happened to Saint Shiva when the Holy See started its inquisition, although we’re no saints.” Eowyn scoffed at this. “As a man, and not a dragon, I still remain a knight of Ishgard. As a descendant of a dragon, I think the war is fucking moronic and the Holy See is even more so. Please don’t tell anyone in Ishgard I said that, or I might be executed.”

Executed was a heavy word. You had been disowned, but you were still alive. Maybe you still had things to learn about Eorzeans. “Is… everywhere on this continent like this?”

“Oh, by Halone, no,” Eowyn laughed. “Well… Gridania is notoriously prejudiced against Duskwight elezen and Keepers of the Moon miqo’te, and Ul’dah is viciously capitalist, and Limsa Lominsa has an astronomical piracy rate, and then there’s the whole issue with the beast tribes, but the religious fervour isn’t this intense everywhere else and as a Wildwood, you won’t see much pushback. Well, with that cursed eye, you might. I don’t exactly know what magic you were practicing, but it’s probably illegal in the Shroud. Maybe keep your head down in Seedseer territory.”

“It was just thaumaturgy, though. It is practiced in Ul’dah publicly.” Even though the words came out of your mouth, you knew it was not just thaumaturgy. There was something else going on, and you needed answers. 

“Thaumaturgy doesn’t burn out all the color in someone’s eyes.” Oh, and then there was Eowyn’s astute observation. “I know thaumaturges.”

“...this conversation is over,” you mumbled, turning onto your side, unwilling to discuss your crimes further. “I am going to bed. No more heretical magic discussions for you.”

“Oh, but Aldritch!”

Even after that night, and long after you had recovered and learned to live with your new astral eye, Eowyn continued to visit you. Iliud, and eventually also the nameless man when he awoke (who Iliud dubbed “Marques” until the day his name was something he recalled), would occasionally disturb you from your embalmings to let you know he had arrived. 

Eowyn was a welcome presence in your life. He became a near-constant presence as the two of you underwent the awkward transition from boys to men. Even more awkward for you, as you quickly discovered soon after your eighteenth nameday that your height was rapidly increasing. Where once you stood shorter than him, you were quickly matching Eowyn’s height. You had also grown to tower over Iliud and Marques. Much of your clothing was lost; what seams preserved under the advent of your growth spurt held together pants whose hems fell comically too short and shirts that rode up to expose your navel. 

During this awkward time, Eowyn’s face grew older and sharper as your presence in the Church waned steadily. Those days spent embalming were replaced with Eowyn smuggling you over the wall of the Firmament and into his familial home beyond Ishgard’s gates. From behind walls and on top of roofs, Eowyn introduced you to his home in all of its pristine, frozen glory. He pointed out the Knights Twelve of the Heavens’ Ward ( “And there’s Ser Grinnaux de Dzemael, the great lump. There is only air and cobwebs in his skull, rather than brains, and he lusts for blood more than he does for a lover. That’s not surprising, though, the whole Heavens’ Ward is celibate.” ), the heads of each of the four High Houses ( “Charlemend de Durendaire has been despondent after Dusk Vigil’s destruction. A shell of a man, now, that one. You would think House Durendaire has more things to think about than war, but it seems not.” ), and the new young Lord Commander of the Knights most Heavenly ( “If I were a maiden of great familial influence, I would hope to be married into House Borel. Aymeric crawled his way into that spot from nothing and I very much respect him for it. Ah, but alas, my heart’s attentions point elsewhere.” ). The Lord Commander you and Eowyn spent quite some time ogling before you both discovered he was ten years your senior and your hopes were dashed. You did not tell him this, but you also were ogling Eowyn as well, memorizing the joyful glint of his stone grey eyes and the curve of his lips, pink with cold, to memory.

On those nights, you would return home to the Church, per fashion, and Iliud and Marques would ask you how your outing was with a knowing look in their eyes, and when, one night, you hurriedly confessed a feeling that had been growing in your heart, they had the decency to feign surprise.

Naturally, you told Eowyn immediately. When next you snuck into Ishgard, you held hands the whole way.

House Lane was a small house, but very tight-knight. Eowyn’s little family was once larger, but now, all that remained was him and his father, Donal. Donal Lane was a man with a very stern and scaly exterior, both literally and metaphorically. Donal was taller than Eowyn by five inches exactly and his dark hair, shot through with streaks of grey, curled around wicked-looking dragon horns that sprouted out of the old man’s skull. His forehead sported perpetual creases and scars, and you could see hard lines around his set mouth hiding behind his thick facial hair. 

When you had first been introduced by Eowyn, Donal regarded you with judgment in his slit-pupiled, green eyes. But after some time of mutual examination from both him and you, his eyes creased as he broke into a quiet smile. He shook your hand firmly, and then, without warning, pulled you into a firm hug. From that point onwards, you realized that Donal was quiet, but warm. You wondered if this was not caused somewhat by House Lane’s ostracization due to their heritage.

Eowyn told you later about Donal, and his house. It was the coupling of Cadlah de Lane, a Hyur woman, and the dragon Havardr that spawned the Lane line as it was, a coupling that was immensely disgraceful and done in secret. Cadlah hoped to escape a pressing arrangement, and her bond with Havardr was long bloomed. Havardr honored her request for a child, but inevitably knew, like Hraesvelgr before him, that he would long outlive her. He bid Cadlah return to Ishgard, which she did, and the house fell from favor. The Lane House had lived in squalor since. Men who looked like Eowyn’s grandfather, a man whose body was entirely scaled and hairless, were unheard of. Men who looked like Donal were more common, but not descended from dragons like Donal was, and his fleeting attempts to connect with them were short-lived. Donal’s wife and Eowyn’s mother passed away from illness and malnutrition when Eowyn was small, and Donal had really never been happy since. 

Cadlah had, when her son became grown, encouraged Havardr to test young Alasdair’s resolve, and his ability to defend mankind despite his draconic parentage. So Havardr, with the aid of his brood, created a trial by combat for Alasdair, who, with fire and sword, blazed through it, scarred but determined. Alasdair then called upon his father then, when Donal aged, to repeat the same trial. Donal, too, with wicked steel, burnt through that which would challenge his resolve. Donal called forth his grandfather to test Eowyn, too, and the evidence of that trial was painted across his face in the wicked claw-shaped scars that now permanently altered his appearance. You had initially flinched at the prospect, but the love that Eowyn spoke in regards to his father told you that Eowyn felt no hard feelings on the matter.

Donal had no intentions to repeat the Lane trial by fire on you, either. To you, he was exceptionally accommodating, and you felt the intention that he was grateful that Eowyn had found a companion outside of the stony walls of the city. When he became aware of your romantic relations with Eowyn, he was even more pleased. He oft asked of your past and what fortune befell you, and when you finally decided to tell Eowyn of your past in Sharlayan, Donal was present too, and the two Lane men were nothing but patient and attentive as you quietly spoke of your Grandfather’s great sacrifice and the resulting fallout between you and your father. 

“If it helps, any,” Eowyn had said, chuckling, “your first thought being to ask for your grandfather may have given it away that your relationship with Louisoix wasn’t typical. I was wondering offhandedly if you were a nephew of some type.”

“Grandfather had no siblings that I was aware of,” you clarified.

“Oh, but Aldritch,” Donal had commented. “Word is Louisoix only has two grandchildren, not three. Your disownment might have contributed to these rumors.”

Your blood ran cold and your hands balled into fists at the words. Word is Louisoix only has two grandchildren. 

Well. It seems you had an answer as to whether anyone was thinking of you at home. “It appears that Fourchenault might have gotten some work done,” you seethed, looking down at the ground, heartbeat thumping loudly enough that you could hear it against your eardrums. “I wonder exactly why he thought it was appropriate to pretend that I do not exist. ”

“Well, boy, you’re always welcome at my table,” Donal reassured you. Then, he winked. “I’m certain that son of mine hopes to invite you into our home in more ways than one.”

You stole a look at Eowyn. That incorrigible man of yours had gone stock still, a pretty blush painted over his handsome face. But his expression wasn’t one of bashful embarrassment, but rather of steely determination. 

Donal smiled appreciatively at his son. “I know that look. That is House Lane resolve.” He nodded, once. “Go on, boy. Speak your piece. My blessing remains as I told you it did.”

“Aldritch,” Eowyn began, looking straight at you. “We’ve known each other for, what, three, four years now? We’ve been entangled like vines for that entire time, and I do not know how you feel, but I have enjoyed every second. And I for one would like to stay entangled for the rest of our lives.”

You felt your cheeks burn, and you fought the urge to cover your face like a blushing damsel. “Eowyn,” you stuttered out. “You’re too kind.”

“It’s not just kindness!” he insisted in that way, that headstrong, reckless way, that was what made you fall for him so hard. “It’s love! Love for you, and all of your quirks. Love for your steadfast, unflinching resolve to defend those you love. Love for your calmness and quietness, and love for your ever-present outpouring of facts about aether when you think nobody is listening. Love for the Echoes I feel in your soul.”

“You heard it too, didn’t you,” you breathed.

Eowyn may not have heard you, as he kept going. “And because I love you, it is no kindness. It is a necessity. And I now, out of the necessity that my heart feels to provide for you, offer you, in the face of Fourchenault Leveilleur’s rejection, acceptance. I accept you as one of my own, and I offer to you myself, my life, and my name. Aldritch, I am asking you to marry me.”

This incorrigible man. This man, who, at the very brink, became more family than you could have ever imagined. More than one night had fallen where that name had passed from your lips as you stared up at the wooden ceiling from your cot in Drybone. More than once had you thought of what it may be like to grow old with him. So when the choice was presented to you, it was not a choice at all, but something you knew you wanted from the very beginning, as if your very souls were linked.

“Of course.”

That summer day, you became part of his family. Eorzean weddings were like nothing you had ever experienced before. Although the only people present at the ceremony were a few friends between the two of you, the whole thing was lovely and quietly elegant. Eowyn had made a joke about riding through the altar on a gondola, but when your eyes had sparkled a little too long, he immediately shot it down. Regardless of the lack of gondola, it was still a beautiful ceremony. 

You had gotten permission to enter Ishgard for the wedding, as the Holy See could not deny the chance to ordain a marriage under Halonic doctrine. Although the day was still quite chilly, it was warm enough that the sunshine streamed through the stained glass of the small chapel the ceremony had taken place in. The Temple Knights stood solemnly around the edges of the church, but you had heard from Eowyn that a few of the House Fortemps knights had taken great care in helping set up the white flowers that now hung from the walls along streams of ribbon. 

The good Father had told you that Eorzeans exchanged wedding bands, not too dissimilar to the golden band that oft sat on Fourchenault’s finger, but when you and Eowyn were wed, your now-husband laughed and pulled out a sword, and you did the same. These blades, you knew, were hand-forged. Eowyn was adept enough in the forge to make his own, but you and Donal had made yours together, Eowyn’s older father guiding your hand as you forged this blade. Today, you would exchange these blades in lieu of rings. Rings were useless when after today you would bear his surname where once you had none.

Blades were a promise to keep. A promise to protect. In unison, you both raised your blades to the soft skin of your hands, bloodletting to consecrate these blades. You took the blade’s hilt in your bleeding palm, letting your blood and aether infuse with it. You approached him, and he approached you as well, similarly holding his blade. He was absolutely radiant, smiling bright and visible even underneath the thin white veil that covered your face. He was still smiling as he brought his free hand to brush the veil from your face gently, nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“You made a beautiful sword,” he whispered. “Not quite as beautiful as you, though.”

You chuckled. “That is so cheesy. You are also lovely.”

He really quite was, in your opinion. His scars really did make his face all the more handsome, and sung sonnets about his dedication and perseverance. He was wearing a beautiful silver circlet, embedded with little sapphires, which shone in the sun’s light. His dark, curled hair was pushed out of his face and braided, tied neatly behind his head as if completing the crownlet all the way around his head. His black tunic was clean and trim with ornate patterns embroidered in silver around the neckline, shoulders and hem, and white sleeves poked out and went on to cover his wrists. This tunic did nothing to hide his built body, and his firm arms looked particularly muscular under the thin white woven wool covering them. His silver eyes twinkled in amusement as you regarded them, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was aware of your admirations, and loved all of it.

“Aldritch,” he breathed. “With this sword, I swear to protect you. I swear to protect the things we cherish. With my blood and aether I paint a promise of love, of loyalty, of light and life. With my life, I swear unto you joy, covenant and family. This I swear, with love.”

You smiled at this. “Eowyn, with this sword, I swear to protect you. I swear to protect all beloved things. With my blood and aether I solidify my vows of love, of honor, of hearth and home. With my love, I promise you companionship, virtue and humor. This, I swear, with love.”

Your swords changed hands. He had made you a lighter blade than the one you had made him, with a long, thin edge and an ornate, gilded handle. He rightfully knew that to you, this sword would act not as your main arm, but as an accent to your mantle, but the sentiment remained the same, even if your true calling was in the staff. He’d made it beautiful as such. The blade you’d made him was heavier, but still easily mobile in one hand. You would not be surprised if someday, he would need it repaired. 

“I loved you since the day that I met you,” he admitted, quietly, in the sunlight. “I saw you on the ground there, eyes listlessly watching the fall, and I thought, ‘Halone, I want to know everything that is going on in that boy’s head.’ I wanted to know what had brought someone like you all the way out to the flats with naught but a staff and sheer grit enough to stay breathing after everything. I know now that it is love.”

“You were a welcome addition to my life.” You did not lie when you said this. “I was oft lonely and felt like an isolated existence. It only would have gotten worse without your succor. You were light where I was darkness. I would have fallen into the abyss had I not been drawn to you.”

“You are yet an abyss from which springs forth warmth, life and love. I would love to fall in with you.”

“Maybe you already have.”

He kissed your hand, then. “I hope so.”

Your makeshift vows did have to end, sometime. “Eowyn Lane,” the priest asked. “Do you take this man to have, to hold, to cherish and love until the Fury takes you?”

“I do, may the Fury strike me down if I lie,” Eowyn responded unflinchingly.

There was a pause to wait for divine retribution. When none came, the clergyman continued, satisfied.

“Aldritch of Drybone. Do you take this man to have, to hold, to cherish and love until the Fury takes you?”

“I do.” And may Nald’thal take me on any waver in resolve.

Regardless of your lack of petition for divine judgment from the Fury, the clergyman still waited. When neither Halone nor Nald’thal found issue with your offerance, the priest nodded.

“Then from now until death, I pronounce you wed. You may kiss.”

And as Eowyn kissed you, soft lips to yours, hearts singing as one, you were reborn as Aldritch Lane.

Hear. Feel. Think.

Those words rang out again, bolder now, in your mind, and you sat up, breathing hard, in your bed. You were not the only one who was awake, though. Eowyn had already sat up, staring at you with lamp-like, wide eyes.

“She’s called out to you again, hasn’t she?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Yes she has.”

“I heard her too,” he admitted. “Did you see it as well?”

“I did.”

You were 20 years to your nameday, and Eowyn was 21, when you both were roused from your sleep by something you could only acknowledge as the Mothercrystal. It loomed imperiously in your minds’ eyes, calling to you, and you knew that you could not stay here any longer. The peace would hold no longer.

You had both packed your things and readied your coats some time ago, a feeling building in the back of your mind that Eowyn had shared. You had let Donal know of your plans, and he had only sighed, knowing the inevitable would not be forestalled by him. He had simply told you two to visit, and that demand, Eowyn had easily conceded to. Tonight, you would have to say goodbye to him.

“If we hurry,” Eowyn had said, as you both quickly made to sling coats on and grab bags and weaponry, “we can catch the next carriage before it departs. There’s a traveling carriageman bound south for Ul’dah. We should get a spot of their affairs first before we go anywhere else, what with how big the city is. Maybe we can get answers there.”

“I do not mind.” You agreed on that. Ul’dah was not a spot for new residents, but its sheer size would be useful. Crashing at an inn would not be as hard, particularly so if you began doing dungeon runs. The prospect was impossible solo, but with Eowyn’s sword and board and your war magic, you might have a chance. “I have been in Ul’dah on occasion. The Quicksand should be our first place to go. Momodi has a kind reputation and was not unpleasant to me when I arrived some 9 years ago.”

You rushed out into the hallway, Eowyn hot on your heels. Donal was already waiting by the fireplace, watching the embers flicker. He did not look up at you, but he nodded. “Be careful, boys,” he admonished. “I don’t claim to know what force drives you, but I will hunt whatever it is to the death if it causes you to turn up dead. And do visit.”

“I will, Da,” Eowyn reassured him, only stopping to give his father a light hug. “Take care, and please, don’t stay cooped up in here all the time.”

You both quickly left the house soon after. Sure enough, right at the Steps of Faith, the chocobo-drawn carriage was quite quickly pulling in to pick up new passengers. You both sprinted towards it, huffing for breath, and the Lalafellin carriage driver raised an eyebrow at you.

“Gil for fare?”

“Here,” Eowyn choked, holding out a handful of gil. The carriage driver took it without a second thought. 

“Get in the back.”

So you both did. There were only three passengers bound for Ul’dah in the carriage. One was an elderly Hyur man in traditional Ul’dahn garb. He was visibly shivering in Ishgard’s cold night, and you wondered where exactly he was coming from if he was unprepared for the weather. The other two passengers were a pair of Elezen twins, likely in their mid-teens, who were much better dressed, white hair pulled up behind their heads with neat silver hairpieces. You shuffled into the back of the carriage across from all three passengers, unceremoniously dumping bags down and leaning weapons against the carriage walls before settling in with a pair of simultaneous sighs.

The old man regarded you both with interest. “Ah, a young couple! First time goin’ to Ul’dah?” he asked, seemingly interested in you and Eowyn’s situation.

“I have been to Ul’dah before,” you explained, “a long time ago. My husband here has not.”

“Married! Why, I didn’t expect that. Congratulations! Well, if you’re unfamiliar with the way about things, do you want a little tour?”

Eowyn smiled graciously at the man. “Sure, that’d be lovely.”

“It’s not every day youngsters agree to listen to me prattle on. These two,” he said, gesturing to the twins, “aren’t really much for talkin’. My name is Brendt.”

“Hello, Brendt,” you offered. “Aldritch Lane.”

“Eowyn Lane,” your husband mirrored.

“Well, Aldritch, Eowyn, what could possibly be bringin’ folks like you down to Ul’dah?”

You looked at Eowyn, who had the good graces to be sheepish. You had not really settled on a cover story yet. “We are going to adventure,” you decided. “It is good money, for which we lack.”

“Well, adventurin’ is certainly the lucrative trade, ain’t it?” Brendt supplied. “Lucrative until you’re dead, that is. Keep your necks down, and ware the Syndicate, and you’ll do alright.”

“The Syndicate?” Eowyn asked. “What’s the Syndicate?”

“Ah, right, you’ve never been. The Ul Dynasty rules Ul’dah in name, but the Syndicate’s where power’s really held. They’re the rich folk,” Brendt explained, and you watched Eowyn’s expression predictably sour. “Syndicate’s split down the middle. Monetarists want to eschew the Sultanate entirely, but the Royalists like the tradition. ‘Course, the Amalj’aa don’t care about any of that nonsense. They’re the beastmen who live around Thanalan. That’s where the fight is right now. Them, and the Garleans.”

“Sounds… lovely.” You knew a little of the Amalj’aa from when you last lived in Drybone. They were intelligent people, but the folks of Drybone often ended up on the tail-end of their spears due to territorial disputes. You wondered what exactly could be fueling the dispute: aggression from the Amalj’aa, or an attempt to steal more territory?

“Ul’dah’s a lovely place besides that. The architecture is really somethin’ else, and for a peddler like meself, the city runs gold straight into my pockets. ‘Sides, if you’re lookin’ for adventurin’ help, the guilds are like nowhere else in Eorzea. I really do hope you two enjoy it.”

“We will try, thank you, mister Brendt,” Eowyn responded, but his voice had lost its usual color. You knew he felt not too dissimilarly to you; you were heading the right way, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

The rest of the ride was rather quiet and uneventful, not helped by the twin Elezens sitting across from you. You could not help but feel a twinge of familiarity when you looked at them, cozying up next to each other. You had a vague recollection of Alphinaud and Alisaie when you all were small, your two siblings crying into your shirt when your grandfather had left. These strange Elezen kids did look quite like them, if only superficially. You could not know how your siblings looked now, though. It had been over ten years since you last saw them.

Regardless of how familiar these elezen kids looked, they stayed silent, only ever noting their presence by one of them occasionally staring at you in open bewilderment before leaning back down in their seats to nap. Brendt occasionally had more stories to tell you about the rest of Eorzea, but in time, he, too, tired of stories, and fell into an uneasy sleep as the night got colder. Eventually, Eowyn also fell asleep, soft hair resting on your shoulder as he snored away. That left only you and the twins in the back awake, the twins trading off naps as you watched the landscapes slowly change out the side of the carriage.

It was only several bells later, while the carriage was trundling through the deserts of Thanalan, that one spoke.

“Hey, you,” the one with a red tie in their hair and reddish aether tones said. “Do I… know you from somewhere?”

“I do not believe so,” you replied, honestly, because you had never seen this kid in your life.

“What’s your name?” the kid asked, unflinchingly.

“Aldritch,” you replied. “Aldritch Lane.”

“Oh,” the kid said. “I don’t know anyone with that name. Sorry for the bother, sir.”

And with that, the kid went silent.

Neither of them said anything else to you, even when the carriage docked, and all five of you piled out of the carriage to stand in front of the city gates. As Brendt rambled to the carriage driver, you watched as both of them trailed off towards the city’s interior, staring at you openly as they left. Even long after they had left, Eowyn accompanying you as you walked listlessly around Ul’dah, you could not shake the feeling that something was missing.

It was after you and Eowyn had returned to the Waking Sands after defeating Ifrit, bloodied but alive, that you got your answers.

“Go, pray see to the remembrance ceremonies, you two,” Minfilia had instructed. “It should guide your choice of Grand Company well.”

You did not know how to feel about Minfilia, particularly so due to Tupsimati hanging in a glass case, broken, behind her desk. Grandfather knew her, your brain supplied unhelpfully. Either that, or she killed him and took his staff, but considering this girl could not defend herself even if her life depended on it, there is no shot in the seven hells that she killed him. Grandfather knew her. She tested Eowyn’s patience, you knew, as when she sent you two to errands oft for the Scions, he would grumble many things about her under his breath. These things, mostly revolving around her combat incompetence, were things you honestly agreed with. It was only her gift with the Echo that granted her leadership over the Scions, but what use was the Echo in one’s attempts to lead men into war? But Minfilia was kind, and had a long and storied personal history with the Scions, and so you could not disagree with her spot as the organization’s heart.

“Oh, and Aldritch,” she called. “Could I have a word?”

Eowyn sighed, raised his hands, and walked out. “I’ll wait outside.” 

It was only after the door to the Solar clicked shut behind Eowyn that she did speak. “Aldritch, what exactly was your relationship to Louisoix? I know there was one. I’m saying this because you’ve been a bit off-putting every single time you’ve seen the staff.”

You flinched. Were you really that obvious? “Tell me how you came into possession of Tupsimati and I will consider telling you,” you replied evenly. 

Minfilia paused, then chuckled. “Oh! Oh, Hydaelyn, oh, my apologies dearly. I didn’t kill him for that staff, in case you were assuming.” She looked up at the staff wistfully, then. “You see, Kan-E-Senna, the Elder Seedseer of Gridania, retrieved it for me from the impact site. We were friends. His loss meant much to me.”

Tupsimati hung over your heads, umbral aether flickering yet around its tip, punctuating those words. If anyone deserved to have the staff, you figured, it was those who fought beside him. 

“I believe your story,” you admitted. “Louisoix Leveilleur was my grandfather.”

“ Oh, ” Minfilia replied, dumbstruck. “I… I’m so sorry.”

“It is alright. I have been aware of his passing.”

“No,” she continued. “Not about his death, although that too must have hurt dearly. He told me about you in passing, once. I heard about your father. Alphinaud and Alisaie have been around. They don’t even remember your name.”

“You have… seen them?” You could scarcely believe it. “You have seen them recently? Minfilia… I have not seen them in ten years. ”

“They’ve seen you, Aldritch. They were the ones who made me aware of the presence of you and Eowyn in Ul’dah, though they didn’t recognize you.”

“Oh, gods! The carriage! That was-”

Your head spun, and so did the room. Blood rushed into your ears violently, smothering all other sounds that you heard. You could see your own aether, black as pitch, writhing around you, and you could feel Minfilia’s comforting hand on your shoulder, but panic and desperation killed any other things you were supposed to know of.

“ Aldritch! Aldritch, it is ok… take deep breaths…”

“They were right there… why?? Why are they here? Did Fourchenault banish them too? Gods… Twelve… Hydaelyn… Gods above…”

“Aldritch!!”

You could hear your husband’s concerned voice as the door slammed loudly, causing you to flinch and retract back into yourself further. Yet more comforting hands made contact with your back, and, knowing the owner of them, you sunk into his comforting touch. 

“What in the seven hells did you DO?! Look at him!! Why is he upset?”

“I’m sorry, Eowyn! I told him about his siblings-”

“His siblings are HERE and you did not think to tell us until now??”

“I did not want to alarm you! Regardless, they do not recognize him! This will be stressful for all of them!”

“I… fine. But it remains up to Aldritch to decide what he does next.”

“I will not tell them,” you said, voice tired and wan. “Not yet. Not now.”

Eowyn and Minfilia looked at you incredulously.

“Aldritch, are you sure about this?” she asked. “What of your relationship with them?”

“Why?? Don’t you miss them at all?” Eowyn continued.

“I… cannot,” you mumbled, squeezing and unsqueezing your hands, watching your astral-attuned aether course and flow over your knuckles. “I made the choice to spur on Fourchenault and push him over the edge.”

“You were ten, ” Eowyn hissed. “He was an adult. He chose to do this to you. This was not your fault.”

“Regardless,” you continued, punctuating this with a sigh. “I did play my part, and I did leave them. Now, their missing memories are my sin to bear, and my punishment to see. Any undue trauma my brother and sister will experience upon the revelation that their entire lives were a lie will be my own fault. I will keep my peace and bear my smiles, and someday, when our affairs are less tumultuous, I will tell them the truth.”

“I don’t agree with your methods,” Eowyn admitted, “but I will not make your choice for you.”

“And I will keep your secret.” Minfilia also frowned, but she was resolved. “This I swear to you.”

“Thank you,” you said, and meant it.

It was this newfound knowledge of your sibling’s whereabouts that kept you going. It was knowing that you could not hug your siblings when next you saw them at Raubahn’s address, Eowyn looking at you with pity-filled eyes, that kept you going. It was hearing Alphinaud’s chipper greetings and thinking, wow, they’d gotten so tall in my absence, that kept you going. 

It was hearing Alphinaud’s declaration to keep all of the peoples of Eorzea safe, so closely mirroring your own determination against your father’s inert philosophy, that caused you to follow Lalai and Ququruka into the bowels of black magic, returning triumphant with a crystal as solid as your resolve and new, more destructive magical prowess. It was knowing that someday, a peaceful Eorzea would reunite your wayward siblings, that drove you and Eowyn into your assault on Castrum Meridianum, ripping through imperial after imperial with the cursed astral flames that erupted from your longstaff, now more deadly and terrifying than ever before. It was hope in that promise that made you confront the Black Wolf, Eowyn ever stalwart at your side, sword that you made with your own two hands shining with his oath to protect.

It was love for your family that made you face death to destroy the Ultima Weapon.

It was your hopes for the future that fueled the magic that released Thancred from Lahabrea’s grasp.

It was love that carried you home.

“My ally, the most Honored Warrior of Light, Aldritch, mayest I haveth a word?” Urianger asked you as Eowyn chatted away with Thancred about Ifrit in the distance. “I has’t cometh across information. It revolveth around Dalamud. The fair Minfilia informed me yond thee mayest have a stake.”

Dalamud was not a name you wished to remember now, what with the triumphant feeling you were currently indulging in after the declaration of the Seventh Astral Era. It only brought memories of sorrow, and death. But you acquiesced, anyways, because any information was good information. “‘Lo, Urianger,” you replied, warily. “I do. Regale me.”

Urianger smiled. “This is exactly wherefore I trusteth thee so, Aldritch. A friend shall beest waiting for thee at Wineport, to giveth thee all the information thee needeth. Godspeed and fair travels to thee.”

You decided you would make haste, then. But before that, you wandered over to Eowyn to give him a kiss and a goodbye. As you gave him a peck on his cheek, he smiled and turned around to you.

“Have plans, do you?” he asked mildly. “Tell me about them.”

“Urianger’s sending me on an investigation around Dalamud,” you informed him. “He has someone waiting for me in Wineport. Are you wanting to come with, or…?”

Eowyn frowned. “Normally I’d be loathe to have you run off on your own,” he murmured. “But you need to, don’t you? This is personal.”

He was right. Unlike your usual pursuits, where you were attached by the hip, you felt a strange trepidation about the concept of bringing Eowyn along. This was the thing that killed Grandfather. You needed to do this alone. “I think I need to, too.” 

“Alright,” Eowyn replied, smiling. “I’ll let you run off, then. Just make sure you ask me for help if you need anything, okay? I’ll be a linkpearl away.”

“I promise I’ll call if I’m in danger.” You leaned over to give him another kiss, which he vicariously returned. “I love you, dear.”

“I love you too,” he replied. “You go have fun.”

The trip to Wineport was one without incident, made much more leisurely by you finally gaining permission by the city-states to use air travel. Eowyn had surprised you when you had both discovered this with a few dragon friends who were willing to aid you both for the time being, though they did ardently complain to Eowyn that they were not free airships, and that at some point they would start charging gil. You privately agreed with their methods and would pay them if they asked.

The dragon who flew you this time was named Viir, and he picked you up at Costa del Sol when you teleported in. Viir was a chatterbox, and had a lot to say to you. 

“... And then, Nidhogg has the gall to roar, as if we were not all having a lovely afternoon and did NOT want to be interrupted by the wyrm’s bleeding complaints! I am not part of the big scaly bastard’s ‘horde’ anyways, so I was not beholden to him, because Hraesvelgr has more sense anyways, but Draugh and Draak immediately left as if they were hatchlings following after their broodmother. A dragon cannot keep any DAMNED friends on this star. Living quality has gone SO down since Midgardsormr died. Anyways, they just…”

As illuminating as draconic complaints were, you inevitably tuned it all out. You needed some space in your awareness to process whatever Dalamud had waiting for you, and this dragon’s life story would not allow that. So you allowed Viir to chatter away about the “horde” while you idly relaxed on his back, pretending to listen. 

“ ...and I say, ‘fuck this stupid war, these mortals will not get it!! There is no point in killing them all, I literally have friends there!’ Oh wait, look at that, there is your stop. Tell Eowyn I say hi, wontcha?”

You stepped off Viir’s back and waved politely as he ascended, only to turn your attention to the ground. There, waiting for you, was Alisaie.

“Oh, Urianger did get my missive, then,” she said casually. “Hello, Aldritch! I apologise for our first meeting in the carriage. I didn’t mean to pose such an awkward question.”

That was not our first meeting, your thoughts cried, but your face remained impassive and neutrally friendly. “No worries, Alisaie. It would be natural in your situation. Alphinaud had many an awkward question when we traveled together, and I bet my boots he will have many more to come.” Your voice remained calm, even as it had the urge to shake with emotion. “So, what Dalamud lore have you got for me?”

“That’s the fun part,” she said, excitement creeping into her voice. “Turns out, the Garleans have a castrum on a shard, and it goes down farther than we thought.”

Abandon this quest, Alisaie, Aldritch. I will not forgive further sabotage of the coils.

You and Alisaie watched in stunned silence as he disappeared from you, right before your eyes. Your beloved grandfather, who had just taken it upon himself to threaten your baby sister’s life. Your grandfather, who watched you both with cold recognition before declaring himself to be a thrall of Bahamut itself. 

Your grandfather, who was supposed to be dead.

You wanted to be sick. You remembered your grandfather, more clearly than she. You remembered his kind and encouraging words. He was so ever-present, beloved, before he left you. He and you both watched with joy when your little siblings first took steps. Alphinaud learned to say “ Gram’pa ” before he could say “ Al’ritch ”. You also remember that promise he made you make, the promise to protect them. Protect Alphinaud and Alisaie in Grandfather’s stead, for he could not. Now Grandfather was going back on that promise.

And he lied.

The tempered Nael deus Darnus’s aether was sickly. It was pungent and befouled with Bahamut’s aether, so much so that when eventually, this aether overtook him, he transformed into a foul and draconic beast. Darnus had no aether left of his own, for how Bahamut had corrupted his. 

But Grandfather’s?

Grandfather’s was his own. Blindingly white, and yet, his own.

So why? Why did he lie?

“That light, in Grandfather’s eyes…” Alisaie whispered. “He is not himself. He has suffered the same fate as Nael.” His lie served its purpose true. Alisaie believed it. After everything, she still believed it. “My grandsire is no more. No matter how much he may appeal to my sensitivities by calling out my name, this phantom will not trick me. He must be expunged. I will not rest until I free him from Bahamut’s tyranny.”

You watched, helpless, as Alisaie slammed her fist down on the Second Coil’s terminal. “ YOU HEAR ME, BAHAMUT? I WILL NOT REST!!”

“Alisaie,” you murmured, consoling. “It’s time to turn off the coil.”

“Ah, right.” Your words broke her out of her thoughts, and she quickly punched the keys to disable the coil. Sure as rain, the stream of light reconstructing Bahamut quickly petered out. “Let’s go, Aldritch.”

You both quickly ascended back up through the elevators, and in due time, you got your first breaths of fresh air. This did not do anything for Alisaie’s mood, however, as despite your freedom for the time being, she walked only a few steps to watch the greater moon pass through the sky, a troubled expression on her face.

You made only a few steps towards her before she spoke. “...so he was alive,” she whispered. “He was alive this whole time.”

You had nothing to say. She was already mirroring all of your blurry thoughts in her pained words.

“He remembered me. Maybe that is what stopped him from killing me like he killed Nael,” she wondered aloud. “Maybe so. Maybe there was some love left. Is there any love left for the tempered?”

You wondered the same thing. You also wondered why, knowing that he wasn’t tempered, why Grandfather even bothered with this charade at all. Was it love?

Why even bother at all?

“But that makes me curious about something,” Alisaie continued, voice shaking, looking towards you with sheer terror in her big blue eyes. “That makes me wonder something else.”

“...Alisaie?” you started. “Are you alright?”

“ Why did he remember your name, too?”

“ Alphinaud!! It was you helping Urianger!” Alisaie yelled.

Your little brother stood there triumphantly, hands on his hips. For good reason, too, considering he had just gotten you an in-ticket into the Final Coil. “Why, who else could it have been?” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Lest you worry, I’ve no intention of making this public. I’d also prefer to avoid causing panic. But given the stakes- namely, the survival of the realm- you must be willing to accept any help, no?”

Alisaie crossed her arms, and you shook your head in disbelief. 

“At the very least, do not be cross with Urianger," Alphinaud added. "I’m the one who bid him stay silent.”

Alisaie shot daggers at Urianger, who looked down on her with an inscrutable expression on his face. This seemed to anger her more. “We will speak later,” she muttered. 

Urianger had the good graces to look intimidated, but said nothing further to challenge her. “Pray forgive me, my lady, but knowing your intent, I felt it wise to inform Master Alphinaud. Though your Grandsire hath become Bahamut’s thrall, his noble blood runneth through both of your veins, and if he needs be strucketh down-”

“ Exactly this! ” Alisaie exclaimed, directing her fury at Alphinaud. “I mean to strike down Grandfather! And when I have done so, I will banish that foul wyrm back to the aether! Nothing you say shall sway my course! I will protect Eorzea, and I will uphold Grandfather’s legacy! ”

Alphinaud pinched his brow. “You claim to understand Grandfather’s legacy… your actions are still on borrowed resolve.”

“ Borrowed resolve? What does that have to do with anything?!”

“Enough,” you said, quietly, voice full of wrath. “You can be at each other’s throats later. Alphinaud, did you come here to come with, or did you come here to be at Alisaie’s neck?”

Alphinaud and Alisaie both went quiet at that, staring at you with wide, wary eyes. You returned their gazes dispassionately, challenging them to continue further. What misfortune that your siblings had started a rivalry while you were gone, but you would not keelhaul to their urges to fight. Not now, while Grandfather sat trapped in the bowels of Dalamud, withering away under Bahamut’s gaze. 

You had not told Alisaie why he said your name. When she asked, you had lied, saying that Grandfather must have heard it while the rumors floated through Dalamud. It would be natural that Louisoix would come to know the name of the man who the realm exhorted as its savior, the Warrior of Light. She had raised an eyebrow at that, but she must have believed it, for she never pressed on further. Maybe it was easier for her to believe than anything else.

Alphinaud, who still remained blissfully ignorant, did eventually answer your question. “I am sorry, my friend. I will come with. Alisaie, know I will provide no aid in your attempts to kill Grandfather, but I will, as the duty that my name bears me, be present for his final moments.”

“Very well,” Alisaie replied, voice more even, “but I call the shots.”

“Very well then. Let us be off.”

The trip was a safe one, and the twins trailed behind you as you blew all of the defenses to smithereens in an instant. Combat had grown fun to you in time, in a wicked, foul way. There were many thrill-seeking things in the world. Riding on a dragon’s back, chasing your husband’s deep, passionate kisses, riding on a barge over wicked waves… but combat was another thing entirely. The artful dance of footwork you and Eowyn did around each other, an enemy’s cruel claws slamming against Eowyn’s shield as you readied your next destructive force, Eowyn laughing in delight as an enemy crumbled before you, was the substance of your sweetest dreams. Fighting alone was more bittersweet, but it still remained grimly satisfying watching the creature that intended to tear you and your siblings limb from limb howl in sweet agony as it melted before your fire. 

You tried not to be sick on the floor when you saw the dragons. You tried not to think of Donal, Eowyn or even more distant friends like Viir ensnared in the glass stasis chambers. But when you did throw up then, to the panicked cries of Alphinaud and Alisaie, you could not blame yourself.

“By the Twelve, Aldritch!” Alphinaud had exclaimed, rubbing your back gently. “Pray tell, did you overexert yourself?”

You laughed wearily, before retching again. “N-no, ‘phinaud,” you said, struggling to get words out. “‘f I was overexerted, m’ eye would be dripping all sorts ‘f fun fluids. Just… thinkin.”

“He is right, Alphinaud,” Alisaie chided. “Do the Allagans show no limits to their cruelty?”

“My husband…” you wheezed. “My beloved could ‘ve been in one of those… My beloved’s father could have been ‘n one of those…”

Alphinaud cocked an eyebrow at you. “‘Lest we forget, these dragons summoned a primal that aimed to destroy all life as we know it.”

“He knows, Alphinaud, you great goobbue.”

“Know that I will kill their god if I have to,” you snarled. “Maybe even if I do not have to. But as the spouse of someone whose father still yet bears the horns of a dragon, forgive me for my fear when I regard hundreds of thousands of their kind in perpetual stasis, being forced to live against their will. And to honor them, I will put Bahamut out of its misery.”

You hauled yourself up, using your beautiful handmade moon-shaped longpole as support, and marched onwards, uncaring as to whether your siblings kept pace.

As Alisaie made to reach for the coil, he appeared.

“ Grandfather! ”

Grandfather looked down on all of you, white eyes regarding you with that same empty look, shining red in the levinlight within Dalamud. He looked the same as you remembered him, from when you were small, if not with a fair bit less hair and a few more wrinkles. His tabard was neat and well-ironed, his pauldrons shining, and he still stood as tall and proud as he did before. You never did manage to catch up to him in height, you noticed. He still stood a few ilms over you (although to be fair, before, he stood a few yalms over you, so there was much to be desired.) If you reached out, maybe you could touch his very heart, and he would go back to the days when he was just Grandpa, and he loved all three of you very much.

You could not, though. Everything had changed. You could not fix it.

“No,” Alisaie said. “That man is dead. I will not dishonor his memory by calling you such. You are but a twisted shade- a mad thrall of a primal.”

“You were foolish enough to disregard my warning, children,” he rumbled, looking straight at you when he said so, and Alisaie flinched again, that same terror that you saw from her when you left the Second Coil passing over her features in a rush before disappearing again. “Are you so convinced of your own righteousness?”

You made to prepare more excuses to feed to Alisaie, but Alphinaud interrupted. “‘Twas the righteousness of our path that bid us return. Bahamut threatens everything, and while he does, Eorzea will never be safe. What of the hero who gave his life in defense of it? Would you truly dispute our justice so?”

“My poor, ignorant grandchildren. Your world is shaped by naught but recent conflict. Let me tell you of “justice”,” Grandfather rumbled, and for a second, the way that his voice lilted reminded you of the bedtime stories he would sometimes tell, when he came home from his adventures. You could almost pretend that you were sitting on his lap as he showed you Tupsimati and told you about magic. “It was at the end of the Third Astral Era that the Meracydian Empire suffered invasion at the hands of Allag. To them, no atrocity was too depraved. And so it was that they destroyed everything in their path.”

You had heard this story before, in bits and pieces. Fourchenault had relayed the story to you once. And that’s why primals are dangerous, he had told you, and blissfully, it had left your mind, until you had faced Ifrit for the first time and remembered, vividly and painfully, as Ifrit’s flames scorched your skin. However, when Grandfather spoke, the story ensnared you.

“Desperate for salvation, the dragons prayed to one of the first brood- to Bahamut. Infused by their fervent supplications, Bahamut arose from the abyss of death and took wing as the newborn god of Meracydia.” Grandfather was merciless in his retelling. You could almost hear the screams of dragonkin behind every word. “Yet this great miracle would only serve to further the maniacal designs of their imperial conquerors. The cruel fetters which bind my lord stand as a monument to the Allagan’s hubris and greed.”

He is not your lord, you thought. You know he is not. Tell them the truth! Show them what you hide! But your mouth remained silent and traitorous.

“I once summoned the Twelve in an attempt to forestall the destruction Dalamud’s fall wrought. What then did the dragons do that I did not? Wherefore are they accursed and I exalted? ‘Tis man’s overweening belief in his own primacy that blinds him to the commonness of his condition… and the truth in his tyranny. As long as man is suffered to remain, dragons will never be at peace. Only when the plague of mankind has been expunged shall his children roam free. Then, the world will know true justice.”

“ STOP IT! ” Alisaie howled, covering her ears in distress. “Grandfather would never say such things! His belief that mankind was worth saving never faltered! He had faith- that they could stand together against the darkness seeking to crush them!”

Grandfather sighed. “A false hope. ‘Stand together’?” A scoff found its way in this proclamation. “They would first need to agree on which direction to face. Man cannot find common ground between his own two feet.”

“Preposterous,” Alphinaud spat.

“Take the three of you, for example,” Grandfather laughed. “Alphinaud and Alisaie, even as you are twins with identical histories and upbringings, you cannot fathom each other’s reasonings. You hide your differing agendas behind the convenient banner of Eorzea’s salvation. And although I hoped they would bring you closer, ‘twould seem the twin grimoires I gifted you were a wasted gesture.”

You knew your time was up. “Grandfather, please,” you whispered. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“Even less common ground can you find with Aldritch, who you have conveniently forgotten ever existed. You, who could not find common ground with your father, and, in your desperation, fled, ere becoming a distant, faded memory easily lost to a frightened and confused child. Was your promise that meaningless to you? Seems that you never had an agenda at all.”

“Grandfather…?” Alisaie whispered. “What does that mean? What do you mean, we forgot?”

“...Aldritch?” Alphinaud called, voice full of trepidation.

You stared at your feet, silent.

“You are a smart girl, Alisaie, you always were,” Grandfather chided. “Surely you have realized by now? Is it not convenient that a man who looks just like a younger version of your father appeared in Drybone, with no explanation of his presence? Have you not asked what his maiden name was? Of his parentage? His past? ”

“No, no, no,” Alisaie breathed. “Father said it was a dream. Right? Alphinaud, it was a dream, right? Aldritch? ”

Alphinaud said nothing, hurt painted over his face, blue aether flickering in distress.

“Grandfather,” you said, finally, voice loud but shaky, “enough of the distractions. You are lying, too. This was never about the dragons, was it?” You tried not to cry as your siblings gasped, horrified.

Your grandfather smiled, an empty, hollow thing. “Aldritch. You were always so clever. You knew the whole time. Tell me, was it a hunch, or the eye?”

“...the eye,” you said, after a while, “but I am not so easily blinded by faith. Alphinaud. You could tell, too.”

“I…”

“The truth would never escape an eye that can see life itself.” Aether was flowing around Grandfather now, dangerously, and you knew you only had a few seconds now. You carefully readied your staff, knowing that you had precious little time. “That truth is now the secret behind Eorzea’s rebirth. Come, rend this divine form asunder and claim your answers!”

When he ascended into Phoenix, you held back your scream as you deployed your shield.

“Oh, gods, ” Alisaie wailed, as the great bird hovered above you all, watching, waiting, “I thought… I thought…”

Alphinaud carefully placed his arm around her, then. “It’s hard… It’s so hard to accept. But this is reality, isn’t it? It was all… a lie.”

Alisaie sobbed into Alphinaud’s shirt, and, then, finally, truth bare to the world, you knelt beside them, gently placing an arm around your two younger siblings. Alphinaud startled, for a second, but then, he leaned into your touch, and Alisaie wailed before grasping at your coat with two shaking hands. You held your siblings there, just as you did when Grandfather first left you, shaking with grief, tears pouring down your face and clouding your glasses. 

“Aldritch…” Alphinaud mumbled. “Why does this feel so familiar?”

“I did not want you to know,” you admitted, squeezing your little brother’s shoulder in quiet reassurance. “Not like this. But I have done this, time and time before.”

“You knew! ” Alisaie continued to cry, pounding against your chest, causing you to shake slightly. “You knew, you bastard, and you said nothing! Did you really hate us that much?”

“ No .” That hurt, more than leaving ever did. “I could not tell you. It was my fault. It was always my fault. I could never hate you. I loved you and Mother and Grandfather more than anything else in the world, and that is why I could never tell you.”

Phoenix continued to hover above you, regarding you with something akin to gentle sorrow. But it did not move, and you knew, with utmost certainty, that Grandfather was waiting for you. It seemed that your siblings knew it too, and eventually, Alisaie took a deep, hiccuping breath, affixing Phoenix with a tear-filled gaze. 

“Please,” she said. “For his sake and for ours, all of ours, you must end this.”

You nodded. This you could very well do. “Alphinaud.”

“Aldritch?”

“I am going to make you swear to me, something that Grandfather made me swear to him,” you said, quietly, smiling down at him. “Keep yourselves safe.”

Alphinaud nodded, face solemn. “I will.”

Phoenix’s fall was a beautiful one, you thought serenely, tips of your long white hair still smouldering. The bird had fallen, open-backed, wings folded into itself, still burning bright. It was only when the bird had fallen to earth that it then dispersed, wisps of umbral aether floating off in different ways, and you allowed your knees to buckle as you sunk to the ground. 

“By gods,” Alphinaud exclaimed, as he and Alisaie ran from the place they had been obediently hiding in to reach you. “He is gone.”

“No,” you whispered. “He is still yet here. For a time.”

True to your suspicions, you watched as Phoenix’s aether re-coalesced. But when instead your beloved Grandfather appeared before you, you let your shoulders sag yet further.

“True to form, my dear, sweet grandson,” he said, ruffling your hair with one absent-minded hand. “I am yet here.”

“...Grandfather?” Alisaie asked weakly.

“I must thank you, Aldritch” he said, a smile in his voice. “If it wasn’t for you and your brave, brave siblings, I would still be a thrall yet even now. These last few moments, I can spend as I wish, living as who I was.”

“Forgive me,” you whispered. “Please forgive me for breaking my promise. I did not mean to leave them. I never wanted to. I always wanted to keep them safe.”

“If anything, it is I that should be begging your favor.” You looked up in shock. “I had known what had befallen you, but it did not pass my mind to search for you. Nor did it pass my mind to inform your siblings of your plight. For that, I am deeply sorry.”

Alisaie sniffled, and she and Alphinaud carefully made their way to you, joining you there on the ground. Grandfather did then, too, kneeling next to where you all sat, and you and your siblings quickly latched onto him in a hug. He was cold to the touch, and you knew he did not have long left.

“Grandfather,” Alisaie began. “Can you tell us everything?”

Louisoix Leveilleur smiled. “Then let us start from the beginning. My son Fourchenault and his wife Ameliance had three children. He had two beloved twins, Alphinaud and Alisaie, and, four years prior, one beloved son, Aldritch. Alphinaud, Alisaie and Aldritch did everything together. I had the joy of watching them grow and become three distinct, loving people, who all had beautiful aspirations and goals I could not wait to see come into fruition.”

“But then,” you added, “Louisoix had a dream to protect the whole realm, so that back home, his family could be safe.”

Your grandfather nodded. “And Aldritch heard of this dream, and wanted to share it. This dream would eventually pass into his siblings’ hands. But to follow that dream, I had to sever ties with those I loved most. I made Aldritch promise me to keep you safe in my stead, but that dream burned too bright, and he had to sever those ties too.”

“And so I went to Eorzea to follow you.”

“It was my son’s wish for you two to live a happy, grief-free life,” Grandfather explained. “He decided that the best way to do that was to convince you that it had always been just the two of you. Not constantly missing a big brother you were almost too small to remember. So he tore down your pictures, refrained from speaking your name, and disposed of your belongings. To Old Sharlayan, there were only two Leveilleur children, and when naught of your activities in Eorzea ever reached back to those shores aside from the letters your mother hid from view, the ruse became all the more convincing. By the time your name ever passed over lips again, you were married, of House Lane and not Leveilleur, and that was the end of it.”

“I always wanted to come home.” You squeezed your siblings’ shoulders as you spoke. “That was the thing I wanted most, but could never do.”

“But then what happened to you?” Alisaie asked, then.

“On the night of the Battle of Carteneau, the elder Primal, Bahamut, broke free from his containment in the red moon. In my efforts to contain it, I called upon the Twelve to bind him. But Bahamut would not be contained by such feeble binds. Little choice remained to me; I chose to entrust my hopes to the future, and prepare for my end.”

You recalled the bleary sight you saw in the sky that night, in Mor Dhona, of the Teraflare dissipating in the distance, black ichor pouring out of your ruined eye. 

“As you may have correctly surmised, I did not perish. When Bahamut’s bonds shattered, the sky was suffused with a great cloud of aether. This aether responded to the prayers of the fighters- and my desperate wish for the realm to be saved- and imbued me with the powers of a primal. I became Phoenix, the symbol of rebirth. I rose into the sky and rend his form asunder, showering Eorzea in aether. And such began its rejuvenation.”

You wondered, half-heartedly, if your grandfather’s intervention was what saved your life that night on the flats. The twinkle in his eyes as he spoke, looking pointedly at you, was enough of a response for you. Maybe you did not want the exact details.

“I relinquished my hold, believing my duty done and my return to the earth apt. But I had not accounted for Bahamut’s tenacious will. Even as it teetered on the cusp of oblivion, he reached out to me. Alas, in my fading form, enough of Phoenix’s energy remained, and he dragged me down with him.”

“And such began your thralldom…” Alphinaud mused, voice still shaky.

“It was while the fragments of Dalamud appeared motionless on the surface that they did tunnel into the earth in search of what remained of Bahamut. And in the core, they discovered his heart.” The towering form of Bahamut’s half-baked body stood eerily behind your grandfather, open chest indeed displaying a large, ominous heart. “This is not over yet, my grandchildren. Destroy Bahamut. He cannot be suffered to return to the realm. You know why, don’t you?”

“For the realm,” you whispered, “and the people- man or dragon- within it. Because you love them.”

“Because we love them,” Grandfather reminded you. “It has always been both of us. And now, it is yours.”

“Of course.”

He was fading faster, now. “Pray take your rest, Grandfather,” Alisaie implored, face still buried in Grandfather’s sleeve. “You deserve it.”

“My grandchildren. Although I am no true primal, my gifts, I give to you.” His voice was no more than a whisper. “Live good lives. I am so proud of everything you have done and will do. Take care, Alphinaud, Alisaie, Aldritch.”

And with that, the last of his aether dissipated into nothing, and Phoenix fell.

It was after Bahamut had long been destroyed, and the three of you were kneeling over flowers in the Burning Wall, that your siblings finally broke your silence.

“So,” Alphinaud started, conversationally. “Turns out we did actually have a third sibling after all, and we hadn’t just dreamed all of it.”

“I told Father that our imaginary friend wasn’t imaginary!” Alisaie exclaimed. “I told him!”

“He told you I was an imaginary friend?” You had to say, that was much more benign than what you expected, but also somehow more terrifying. “That is… oddly endearing, yet incredibly sickening. Seems on brand for Fourchenault, though.”

“Oh my god,” Alisaie breathed. “You don’t even call him Father anymore.”

“No, not at all. The mere thought hurts.”

“Gods, if I see his face again in the next moon or two…”

“Enough, enough! We agreed we would ask questions and not interrupt his answers!!” Alphinaud put his hands on his hips, impatient. “When did you leave, anyways?”

“Oh, it was that one time when you had been staying over at one of Mother’s friend’s houses because you had gotten chummy with her child. I got in a fight with Fourchenault and it ended in me taking a boat to the continent.”

“It was that night? We came home early, too! Alphinaud got sick.” Alisaie looked horrified. “Wasn’t it pouring? Twelve forfend, you could’ve caught death if that was the case!”

“It was. Mother packed me a bag, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the wind and rain, and all of my clothes got soaked through.”

“Four balls of Nald’thal, I ought to slug Father so hard-”

“Alisaie! You mustn’t punch Father! You’d get in trouble!”

“Withhold punching Fourchenault for the time being. I will do it sometime later myself, and if it so appeals to you, you can watch.”

“Twelve forfend, Aldritch! Not you, too!”

You slumped over in the grass, rolling onto your back, your white hair falling into your face. “I want to punch him,” you murmured, lowly. “I think about it often. But it would not undo the pain I caused you, would it? I broke the promise I made to Grandfather all those years ago.”

Alisaie laughed, and joined you in the grass. “No you didn’t. What did you promise him?”

“That I would keep you both safe in his absence.”

“So we’re alive and well, Aldritch. Doesn’t that mean you kept your promise?”

You looked over at your siblings with a start. She was right. Sure, she and Alphinaud were covered in soot, scratches and burns, and you knew all three of you would be seeing a chirurgeon and Eowyn’s worried expressions and lectures for the rest of the evening, but they were alive. They had grown much, into two determined and proud individuals that you were glad were able to touch your life, even after everything. They were alive, happy and smiling with you in the grass, even while mourning your Grandfather. 

“Yeah,” you admitted, breaking into a smile of your own. “I might have.”

Your 21st nameday was a busy day, all things considered. Mother had insisted you come visit, and that you brought all your friends with you, so you, Eowyn, Alphinaud and Alisaie had gathered all of your former traveling companions by irritating them over linkpearl. 

“ It’s not even 4 days to Starlight Celebration, and you want me to come to Old Sharlayan for a Leveilleur birthday bash?” Y’shtola had griped, amusement coloring her voice. “ Oh please. I’ll be at the docks in an hour.”

“I’d love to come,” G’raha had said, much more excitedly. “You’re one of my dearest friends, Aldritch. I would not miss it for the world.”

“I’ll be there,” grunted Estinien. “Dragons’ll fly me. Don’t expect me at the pre-travel meetup. Or do. Who knows.”

“Estinien, you unreliable fucker! ” Alisaie had yelled at him, to no avail. “This is the first nameday I am spending with our brother in ten years and you don’t even have the decency to meet us at the spot?!”

“We’ll be there,” Thancred had reassured her, to your relief. “I’ll get him to come yet.”

“I wouldst beest most excited to attendeth thy esteemed nameday celebration, mine own dearest friend,” Urianger had said.

“I’ll make sure to be there!” Tataru chirped. 

“I’m already there, so I’ll see you then, ” Krile had laughed.

And so that settled it. You would humor Mother, whether you liked it or not. So your merry band of ten (excluding Krile, as she was already in Old Sharlayan) bundled up on a northbound ship, and after a night and a morning on the cold water, you found yourself back in your childhood home for the fourth time in a fortnight, the most recent being when you descended back to Etheirys in the Ragnarok.  

Krile was already waiting, as was Mother, and both women waved joyfully upon seeing your ship dock. All of you piled up on the docks, Mother already coming in for a hug. Every time she saw you, now, she would give you a hug. Reason being, that you had expressly forbade her from apologizing every time you spoke when you had returned for the first time.

“Fourchenault told me he saw you, alive, with Alphinaud and Alisaie in tow, and I knew I had some explaining to do,” she had said as you stood over her in the hallway, looking awkward. She had insisted you were given a cup of tea at the house help’s earliest convenience, and so you were there, holding this steaming hot cup with no intention of drinking any of it. “Your father felt it would be better if they did not know.”

“I know,” you had replied, quiet and hurt. “Grandfather told me.”

“Louisoix? Then is he really-”

“He is dead.” You looked down at the floor, not meeting her gaze. “I killed him, six moons ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“He had been tempered by Bahamut, when the lesser moon fell. He asked me to do it.”

“And the twins?”

“They helped.”

Things were quiet and heavy between you and your mother. “They never told me.”

“It was our secret, at first. Now that the primal threat is all but gone, however, I thought you ought to know. I told them to send a letter, but it seems they did not.”

“To be fair, that is a hard thing, helping your grandfather die.” She regarded you, nothing but sympathy in her gaze. “You have grown into a strong and brave man. My greatest regret was not being there to see any of it.”

“You cannot tell Fourchenault of what I have done, do you understand?” Your voice was gentle, but still low in warning. “He needs not more reasons to consider my presence here to be illegitimately earned.”

“I understand, and again, I am sorry, Aldritch. I mean it. I should have-”

“Mother,” you cut in, voice wary. “Apologies mean nothing to me right now. It has been ten years since I last felt a hug from a parent that was mine. Hug me instead.”

Your mother paused, but after a second, she smiled warmly. “Of course, my dear.” She extended her arms to you, and without hesitation, you fell into your mother’s well-missed embrace.

“Aldritch!” she cried, voice full of warmth. “It has been far too long, my son. How have you been keeping?”

“Mother!” you replied happily. “I have been quite well. The twins, Eowyn and I have been doing some subterranean digs! It’s been quite deadly and dangerous fun!” You accepted the hug you knew was coming your way, relaxing into your mother’s firm grip as you told her all about your escapades. “The Sultana’s been meaning to go do a once-over of Sil’dih, so we went in about five times and got miserably lost each time!”

“My goodness. Nobody’s missing any limbs, are they?”

“Not permanently, anyways,” you replied jokingly. “Limbs are all reattached.”

“Good to hear,” she quipped back. “Alphinaud, Alisaie! How are you, my dears?”

Your mother led your little nameday party around Old Sharlayan, only stopping at the Last Stand to pick up a suspiciously large paper box. “Don’t look inside,” she warned you. “That’s your nameday cake, and I’m hoping it’ll stay a surprise.”

Estinien grunted from the back. “Ma’am, may I look?”

Your mother regarded him with shock, and then smiled. “Why of course you may, Estinien. You’re not the nameday boy, are you? Take a look.”

You glared at Estinien in mock outrage as he smirked at you before he and the others crowded around your mother. She lifted the lid on the paper box, but despite your attempts, you could not see in, Urianger and Estinien easily blocking your view with their combined height. 

“Wow, Mrs. Leveilleur, that’s a beautiful cake,” Eowyn commented.

“Quite! I had it made especially for today,” she replied, pride in her voice. “The frosting art was made special.”

“I’m particularly impressed by the frosting on those flowers,” G’raha commented. “I didn’t know you could make frosting that color. It looks so real.”

“Oh my god, yes, it’s just what they looked like there!” Alisaie looked incredibly enthusiastic. “He’s going to love it.”

“Could we mayhaps head home so I may go see this amazing cake?” you asked lightly.

Everyone whirled around to look at you, mirrored sheepishness on everyone’s faces. “Sorry, Aldritch,” Eowyn said.

“No issue, dear. Estinien, I am going to take your spear for the hour. Come on, hand it over.”

Estinien sighed and handed his spear to you. You then promptly handed it to Thancred, who smiled at you before strapping it on his back. You trusted Thancred to lay down the law. He was the only one of the party who was a father. If Estinien was pouty about the discipline, he tried his hardest not to show it.

“Nameday mischief already coming in red hot, I see,” Thancred laughed.

“Indeed,” you replied, not too unamused yourself.

Mother had decorated the estate quite a bit, immediately evident by the six new potted plants in the yard, complete with ribbons. “I didn’t quite know how to decorate, or what you’d like,” she admitted, “so I just played it by ear.” As it turns out, her “ playing it by ear” was rather successful. She had gone with mostly monochrome decorations, matching your best coat, and true to theme, black and white streamers and ribbons hung from mostly every window and eave on the outside of the house. Even the trees had been strung. Over the doorway, a quilted sign reading Happy 21st Nameday, Aldritch! hung merrily, large black letters announcing the party in an unmistakable print. She had even translated it to Eorzean so all of your friends could read it.

As your group wandered towards the doorway, a very hassled Fourchenault ran outside, carrying a hot glass tray in gloved hands. “Honey, dearest, Ameliance, I know you told me to put the bake in when the timer went off if you were still out, but I may have forgotten to put in half of it. Can you please help?”

Mother rolled her eyes and laughed. “Alright, dear. You all will be fine on your own for a while, right? Drinks are already out on the table. Don’t get into too much trouble, you lot.” 

“Thank you, Ameliance.”  Fourchenault wandered back into the kitchen, Mother hot on his heels. He only ever did turn back to wave at you, sheepishly, once, which you only responded to with an even, empty stare. 

You and your party did take your mother’s advice, and, after Thancred finally returned Estinien’s spear to him, you all wandered into the sitting room. The orchestrion was set out, already playing tunes gently, and your mother had indeed set out a fine metal platter with several ice-cold cups of juice. Without much ado, both Eowyn and Estinien quickly grabbed two glasses and sat down, neither really much for dancing around things, and when that dam broke, everyone else quickly followed suite. Your friends and family each found somewhere comfortable to sit with their glasses of juice, and you found a nice spot to squeeze in between a comfortably lounging Eowyn and a laughing Alisaie on the couch, careful not to spill anything on yourself. You settled in as the conversation kicked up, watching your friends fondly, only ever chiming in when you felt a great burning need to.

You did feel very fond towards them. Your little friend-family group had definitely grown and changed over the moons. There were many people you lost. Minfilia, Moenbryda, Papalymo… they had died, and you had to grieve them, even now. There were also many people who left their ranks too for other horizons, like Lyse, who remained in Ala Mhigo even now, helping to rebuild. Conversely, however, there were many people who joined along the way. Krile had been a surprising but well-met addition to their little group, and Alisaie, G’raha and Estinien had been a welcome addition after weeks and moons of talking with them, befriending them, and rescuing them when things got hairy. Although no longer unified under the banner of Scions, the little group you had come to know and love felt truly like family. It felt even more so that way when they went to the literal ends of the universe and back with you at their side.

“Oh, good!” Your mother had returned to the room, Fourchenault hovering near her, looking quite awkward. Mother had brought with her a tray of snacks. “You’re all out here. Your father hadn’t ruined the bake, after all. Dinner will be out in a few minutes, you all.”

She had goaded Fourchenault into making seasoned and baked olive bread, which was, despite the Leveilleur household’s reliance on house help for their meals, quite good. You had to wonder where she had picked up the recipe, as you savored the crunch of baked bread between your teeth. 

“Mother never cooks quite this often,” Alphinaud informed you, through mouthfuls of bread. “She is trying to win your favor, you know.”

“I am aware,” you replied, but this was not without a smile. “She is doing a great job. I may be convinced to visit again soon despite Fourchenault’s presence.”

Alisaie licked her fingers after wolfing down a second piece of baked bread. “Please do keep convincing her to win your favor, dear brother. This bread is delicious. ”

Estinien stared at all three of you, moon-eyed, crumbs all over his face. “Wait, you mean to tell me she doesn’t normally cook?”

The three of you shared a knowing look, then burst out laughing.

Dinner was a joyful affair, with Alisaie and Alphinaud chattering up a storm about the digsite, G’raha enthusiastically sending his compliments to the chef, Krile and Y’shtola muttering about their newest research project, Estinien stealing seconds while nobody was looking and Eowyn attempting on more than one occasion to feed you spoonfuls of pudding, which you willingly accepted. The lamplight above you was warm and bright, dinner was filling and delicious, and you had everyone you loved nearby you to celebrate. Tataru surprised you halfway through dinner with a quilt she’d hand-embroidered with the pattern of your leylines, and soon enough, everyone was surprising you with birthday gifts. Your arms were laden with new coats, Immortal Flames regalia, leather bags, crystal and Elpis bloom-strung necklaces, a drawing of you and Eowyn that Alphinaud had made, archon loaf and many textbooks on the theory of aetherial manipulation. You wondered how exactly everyone expected you to comfortably carry all of these odds and ends home, but then Eowyn smiled at you and put all of the things in one of the new bags you had gotten, and you felt both incredibly silly and grateful to your spouse at the same time.

However, nothing really did beat the cake. “Make way for the nameday cake! It was made special,” your mother said, voice sing-songy as she carried over the cake. From here, all you could really see was the white frosted edges, but as she put the cake down on the table in front of you, fishing for nameday candles, you could really see why everyone was so delighted by it. The cake was lined in beautiful little frosted Elpis flowers, and somehow, the cake artist had managed to slip little dashes of each and every hue into the mostly white frosted petals, and made it shine and glisten like the flowers themselves did. The shimmer even changed in the light as you moved your head around to examine, and it made the flowers truly life-like. Little miniature fondant versions of you and all of your friends stood proudly in the flower patch, and for a second, it was like you were back there, triumphant, ready to confront the Endsinger and end the Final Days. Written in the blooms in black ink was Happy 21st Nameday, Hero of Etheirys, Aldritch Lane!

If you choked up and cried a little, nobody had the heart to bully you for it.

Blowing out the candles felt like coming home. You got them all in one good, strong breath, and everyone cheered in excitement as you relit and unlit them with casual waves of your hand over their tops. The cake was also delicious, too, and in the back of your mind, a fond memory played of a much smaller Alphinaud taking a plateful of cake and smearing it across the dinner table as you howled with laughter, feet barely touching the floor from your place in your chair.

Today though, your siblings were grown, and they enjoyed their cake while it was still on their plates, and your feet sat planted firmly on the ground beneath them. Grandfather was gone, but his blessings kept your loved ones safe, just like he had wanted. Your mother was older, wiser, and much more involved in your lives, and you had even more little family to crowd around at your side and poke your nose with a frosting-covered finger. Despite everything, though, the feeling of being loved stayed unchanging.