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Ifan gazed up at Menphina in her majesty as he had done ten thousand times before, and smiled as he marveled at her sheen radiance. Yet on this occasion, he was rewarded with a smile in turn. For it was the goddess herself who was visible before him, rather than a scarred and houndless silver wanderer of changeful shape: the Lover in her splendor, instead of a mere lover’s moon.
“...May I ask you something, my lady?” he requested.
“But of course, my child,” Menphina answered, her tone a silver tinkling of frost-touched bells. “I shall do my utmost to answer you candidly.”
The Warrior of Light widened his smile, but it was more to mask his hesitation. His hands hung loosely at his sides as he continued to gaze up at the goddess. “You said you heard every prayer, aye?” he asked. “No matter how small, or distant?”
Menphina nodded gracefully in answer. “That is so,” she said. “Bound to nonintervention we may be, yet our children ever have our ears.” Though her voice had hardly changed, there was a sympathetic mournfulness within her tone that seemed to tell she knew why he’d asked such a question.
Ifan paused again, and this time his lips pinched in a sheepish look. “...You must have heard some pretty nasty things,” he speculated, in an off-handed tone.
“Indeed,” she answered, with a small laugh. “To varying levels of vulgarity.”
Though the magician chuckled along with her, his face grew somewhat grave. Ifan’s mouth twisted, and he looked off to the side as his right hand went to his wrist to try and stop himself from fidgeting.
After a short silence, he nodded slowly. “Suppose that means you’ve heard my prayers too, then,” he mused, all humor fading from his face.
The sheen moons of her unpupiled irises remained affixed on him. Menphina’s face finally shifted from amused serenity to sadness; an uneasy night, after a bloody day. “...I have, my child,” she answered, in a soft voice.
Ifan let out a breath and let his gaze fall to the ground. A mirthless laugh escaped him, and he wet his lips and nodded again without looking up. “Well…” he said, in a resigned voice. “I asked you to judge me kindly, and here I am. So… judge away.”
Menphina gazed at Ifan carefully, her face still sad but redolent with firm resolve. Her eyes went to the pained expression on his face, a reflex from the memories of having cried so much his eyes had started stinging. She glanced at his throat, where he kept swallowing, and at his hands which trembled lightly where they hung down by his sides.
Though he said nothing, his voice was still as clear to hear as those dark moments by the altar Ifan always set up in his inn rooms, where he’d pray each morning and each night.
Fairest goddess, wandering the night… In your name, I bare my heart. Judge me kindly for my sins. I ask no forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. Just… take care of them, please? The men I love… the men I hurt… Give them happiness. Give them peace.
The goddess closed her eyes. And, after a long silence, she gave a single nod.
“I judge you to be human, Ifan,” she pronounced. Menphina then opened her eyes, and gave the Warrior of Light a gentle smile.
Ifan, however, inhaled sharply as he looked back up at her. His eyebrows fell at the ends, and his face became beseeching. “What kind of human?” he asked, “The sort that-” The magician cut himself off, however, and took in a shaky breath before shaking his head.
“...I sleep around too much,” he confessed. “I fall in love too quickly, and it messes everything up. Things might feel better after Ultima Thule, but…” Again, he shook his head and closed his eyes as he struggled to put thought into words.
Menphina tilted her head sympathetically with a quiet smile. “Take your time, dear,” she said, and gave the man the time he needed to wade through the mess of feelings in his head and heart.
Ifan paced himself. He focused first on steadying his breathing, before working up the courage to admit to one of the Twelve themselves the truest feelings of his heart.
It was easier than he expected, but not surprising: he’d already been doing it for his entire life.
“It frightens me that I have the capacity to do that sort of thing at all,” Ifan said, quietly. “To treat people as badly as I did. It… it feels like if I forgive myself for anything, I-” His eyes were closed, and he took in a pained gasp as if afraid to even finish what he wished to say.
Menphina waited for a little while, before she intervened on his behalf.
“You may err again, yes?” she supplied, gently. “That is your fear?”
The magician grimaced, but nodded before exhaling. “...Aye.”
The goddess hummed as she considered what to say, and her smile became more thoughtful and sedate. At length, it widened again, and she gave Ifan another graceful nod.
“You have no need of my permission to forgive yourself, my son,” Menphina said. “Yet it is yours, if it would ease your burden. Wholeheartedly.”
Ifan’s lips parted. He stared, then swallowed before smiling at the goddess with a faint wetness in his wine-dark eyes. “...Thank you, my lady. I’m truly grateful.”
Menphina’s smile widened yet further, and she canted her head down towards him to give him a pointed look. “As am I, for having had the opportunity to speak with you in person,” she said, with that same brightness she had used when greeting him for the first time. Then her voice took on a softer, more reassuring quality. “Be at ease, Ifan… Truly wicked people have no fear of wickedness. Thus, how could you be so?”
The Warrior of Light lowered his chin, and his smile faded as his lips pursed into a fearful, disbelieving frown. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, with a faint hint of desperation in his voice.
“I judge you to be a kind man, my child,” the goddess answered. Then she glanced in the direction of the entrance to the Omphalos, where G’raha and the others were engrossed in conversation. “And one in sore need of company from his friends, and from his love, as well,” she finished, with a knowing smile.
Ifan looked over his shoulder, and his frown began to fade at the visual reminder that he wasn’t alone.
“...Aye,” he agreed, before a small and amused breath left his nostrils. He smiled, and stood upright again as he looked back at the goddess. “I think you’re right, my lady.”
Menphina gave a mirthful hum, and nodded once again. She continued gazing at the Warrior of Light, watching him stand where he was… not yet turning to leave.
Ifan kept on looking back up at her. And, after a short silence, his smile faded by half again.
“It can’t be easy,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Listening to all that heartbreak.”
The goddess gave no answer. Nor did her countenance change: she was still smiling. Yet Ifan got the distinct sense it wasn’t an expression of her choosing, but one of necessity for her own sanity.
Smiles better suited gods as well, it seemed.
Ifan let out another breath and nodded at her, doing his best not to feel foolish by trying to offer sympathy towards one of the Twelve. “I don’t have a right to speak for everyone on Etheirys, but… Thank you,” he said, with pure gratitude. “For all you’ve done for me, for us. Even if it’s just listening.”
Menphina blinked, and then her smile took on a thankful lightness. Without a word, she floated down towards the Warrior of Light, leaned forward, and pressed an oversized but gentle kiss to the right side of his face.
The magician went totally still, as if frozen in ice, but his face was burning ruddy bronze when Menphina drew back and her lips left his cheek. He swallowed, and pouted up at her with an expression that elicited a clear, silvery laugh.
“You have my gratitude in turn, my child,” she said, equally as gratefully. “Our faith in you, in all our children, has proven out; you exceeded expectation, and have done what others only dreamed. That the star lives, and loves, is living proof of how our trust in you has been rewarded. Thus do I have faith that you will continue to exceed that which you expect of yourself.”
She then gestured with her armored hand to indicate all that surrounded them. Not merely the Phantom Realm, nor even all Eorzea, but what she and those who came before the world was sundered had called ‘oikoumene’; the habitable world. A world known to its inhabitants, but unknowable in its totality. The place where love and stories live.
Then Menphina gestured to the Warrior of Light; to his scarred chest, and to the heart which still beat fiercely in it.
“Follow the moonlight, Ifan,” she said, as her face took on a warmth which rivaled Azeyma. “Fear not what you find, and go with grace.”