Hear, feel, think…

By the light of the Crystal Tower -- an Allagan wonder of technology and aether -- Miso’no was doing all of the above, but not at Mother Hydaelyn’s behest. It was simply in her nature to withdraw inward, searching the recesses of her mind for the familiar. 

The hero of the realm was mulling over her first memories after Dalamud; crawling and scraping her way out of the burnt ruins of the crash site… her hair singed off as if the false moon had only just fallen from the sky. But in reality it had been years. Both pale and blue, she and the Tower were unearthed as a consequence of the Seventh Umbral Calamity, with both of their original purposes and places long gone and forgotten.

But the similarities and familiarities ended there. 

The Au’ra ran her hand through her still-short hair, wondering what it might have looked like before. Lost in thought as she was, Miso had not realized the depth of the crease in her brow until two things happened simultaneously: the first was that her head had begun to hurt with the effort that usually accompanied trying to remember anything before awakening in that crater. The second was a gentle clawed finger reaching out to poke her right in the forehead.

It was as if a bubble popped and the curious red-blue gaze of G’raha Tia flooded into view. Lost in her thoughts as she had been, she had not seen nor heard him approach at all. And so she exclaimed, “oh!”
The Mi’qote laughed and tossed back his head in barefaced mirth, showing fangs. Miso found herself, as she often did in these recent days working with him, admiring the ease in which G'raha Tia carried himself. He moved about the world as if he knew his place in it, rarely schooling his words or emotions. She envied that; for she found it painstakingly difficult to open up to others. And now here he was crouched before her, arms loosely balanced on both knees, fingers curled in that curious cat-like manner... approaching her with no hesitance at all. His features shone with plain curiousity, his grin splitting through any awkwardness; one pointy canine protruded in a way that always struck Miso'no as puckish, “Ah! It seems I've interrupted a thought so deep it might rival the oceans! I know the feeling.”

Miso couldn’t help but return his smile, albeit ducking her head in the process, still embarrassed despite no tension on his part that she could tell. “Ah, I’m sorry,” she lightly brushed her forehead with the back of her hand; she could still feel his touch lingering like the tingling of a waking limb, “I didn’t see you there… obviously.”

“The tower often inspires such thoughts in me as well,” the grin sobered on his face, a distant look settling into his features that felt out of place with what she knew of his character thus far. His Allagan eye was troubling him; she could tell by the way he reached up to rub it idly. With catlike grace he spun himself on one foot and flopped down on his arse to gaze towards the gloomy heavens alongside her. It was oddly enough Miso's favourite weather phenomenon, unique to this area.  “My future may well lie inside those crystal walls.”

“Ah," it felt harder than usual to muster the words, which were not her strong suit to begin with. "You think so?"

"I cannot explain it," the man drew up his knees, propping an elbow on each, and grasping his hands together in a circle. He locked his eyes on the spire before them but it was as if he did not see it at all, some inner curtain thrown closed behind his expression. "But the more I learn of the Tower and its history, the more clear the steps I must take next become." 

"Feelings like that can be important," she murmured, unconsciously mirroring his posture by hugging her knees. "More often than not, I find myself simply doing what feels right."

"Really?" genuinely sounding surprised, G'raha's posture opened suddenly. One leg flopped over to rest on the ground, one arm bracing his weight so his body angled towards her. His other arm still propped on one knee, he regarded her with a level of interest she was not used to and a level of philosophizing she was not prepared for, "How does one know what feels right?"

"Oh... I..." a cold sweat beaded on the back of Miso'no's neck. Completely put on the spot. She found herself biting her lip and stammering the only answer that came to mind, "I dunno. I just... hope to leave the world a better place than how I found it I suppose..."

"Do you think," G'raha continued, apparently oblivious to her sweaty inner turmoil, "we can use the Tower to make the world a better place?"

Why does he think I would know? Miso can certainly boast doing her part in saving the world by felling Primals and halting the Empire's foul plans to misuse such magical technologies. Many of which were Allagan in origin as well. The forehead crease had returned in earnest and her head hurt anew, but this time for non-amnesia related reasons. "I don't know. I suppose almost anything could be used for good... or for evil." It was something she often worried applied to herself and her strange Echo-related abilities. Perhaps if she answered a question with a question, he would be forced to answer for once. "Surely that depends on how it's used?"

That grin of his was back, a shrewd spark in his blue eye (the red one, as it often was, remained obscured somewhat by his hair), "Ahhhh... how right you are, Miso'no Tsuki. A very wise perspective." G'raha pointed towards the hazy blue glow of the crystalline citadel looming before them, "The Allagans once saw the Tower as a beacon of hope. Unfortunately, we also know the Tower has been used to enact unfathomable destruction. In the wrong hands, it could again usher in yet another Calamity." He sighed, his dilemma becoming more clear, "It is my wish that it can be used for good once more. That it can be a symbol of hope again one day."

"Well," offered Miso, slowly finding her footing in the conversation under the warmth of G'raha's praise and the direction of conversation diverted safely away from her, "I supposed to that end I will do all I can to help you." Glancing in G’raha’s direction, she pushed up her glasses with the back of her hand and found him watching her intently, a slow smile spreading across his face. 

"I will hold you to that, Warrior of Light," he said in a tone she thought held an edge of teasing, propping his head upon a loosely curled fist. Miso felt the cold flush of gooseflesh raising again on her arms and nape under the appraising look he bestowed upon her now. She could not quite place its meaning. "What about you?"

"W-what? What about me?"

"The Tower," he said, with a tone that said obviously. "What about the Tower inspired such impressive brooding?" 

"Oh... r-right," pushing up her glasses again, she paused, more to gather herself rather than to decide what to say. "My past, I suppose."

"Oh?" reddish brows shot up into the shadows of his hair as G'raha reclined, propping himself on one elbow to listen with that intensely focused expression returning despite his casual demeanor. "Well, I do specialize in the past,” he began, rather proudly, “I am a historian after all. Perhaps with my vast knowledge of the events of our forebears I have some knowledge of your ancestors. Do you think to trace them back to ancient Allag?”

"No... I mean-- I don't know." She sighed, unsure how to redirect to other matters at this point. “I’m not exactly sure you could help me with my… personal history.” 

“Why not? All history is made up of the actions of everyday individuals, is it not?”

“Yes but," she wrinkled her nose in consternation. They were getting dangerously close to the topic she'd much preferred to avoid.  "I don’t think I was anyone… special or anything. Not in the historical sense.”

“What do you mean ‘was’?” A pause. “what do you mean not special?” 

Startled, Miso put a hand to her chest as G’raha Tia sat up suddenly, like a man might wake from a nightmare. By the Twelve, he was a bit dramatic, she thought. “I just mean… I haven’t been able to find a single person since the Calamity who knows who I am.” Miso tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Not an old friend, nor a relative, not even an acquaintance. It's as if I never existed."

"Surely..." his eyes slid across the ground, distant with the thought of possible explanations. His voice held an uncertain note, "There has to be someone who remembers you?"

"I don't even remember who I was." 

And there it was, the painful truth.

Cold sweat trickled down to the small of her back. Oh you poor thing, Miso thought bitterly. Who are you if there isn't anyone, not even yourself, who remembers you? Nothing. No one. Full ready she was for the typical murmurings of pity, empty apologies (what did they ever have to apologize for anyways?) and the awkward derailment to other, less troubling topics. 

“Hmm,” the Mi’qote mused aloud, red ears twitching as he closed his mismatched eyes in thought, placing both palms on the ground behind him and reclining once more. He opened them after a moment. “So you don’t remember anything before the 7th Umbral Calamity?”

“Nothing at all,” she blinked, "Why?"

“Your name?”

“G'raha, I’m not even sure if it is my name…”

“By the twelve…” he exclaimed softly, peeking at her beneath side-swept bangs. “I had no idea. It’s not as if lost memories before or during the Calamity are unheard of. Many have forgotten people or events. I have not yet heard of someone who does not remember anything at all, and especially not someone allegedly who no one remembers. That must be...” he shook his head, ears pressed back against his hair in dismay. "Miso'no, I cannot even fathom how difficult that must be."

“I remember I lost someone, but other than that I don’t remember anything about him,” Miso sighed and relaxed into a reclined position, mirroring G’raha once more. It always calmed her somewhat to do so. “Sometimes things seem… like they might be familiar. But the feeling fades quickly. I can never be sure if it means anything.” 

Without a word, G'raha Tia reached out a hand and placed it on top of hers. Such a simple thing that meant more than she could possibly describe.

The two sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the wind whistle over the expanse below the platform where they sat. The Crystal Tower gleamed in the iridescent gloam of the aetheric mist, as mysterious and shrouded as Miso’s past. 

“... You know I crawled out of the wreckage where Dalamud fell?” Miso admittedly suddenly, surprising even herself. 

G’raha propped himself onto one elbow to face her, shock writ plainly on his face. He openly gawked, “you survived that?” 

“It is stranger than that I’m afraid,” Miso’no laid fully back on the hard ground; her glasses fell up into her spikey white hair with the motion. Rubbing her palms into closed eyelids, she reminisced with no small amount of embarrassment. “It was years later. Yet I arose from the site as if the Calamity had just happened… with my hair fully burned away and no clothes. I assumed they burned too.” Miso dared to peak through her fingers; G’raha was very pointedly looking away from her and had, quite charmingly, blushed as red as his hair. “G’raha, I’m not naked now you know.”

"Well... obviously," the man fairly sputtered his response, "but I just thought… I didn’t… I didn’t want you to think I was… you know…” he took a deep breath, gestured vaguely with his hands out in front of him and muttered very quietly, “... picturing it.”

Miso’s hands found her mouth, stifling a laugh. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he might try. “I... it didn't occur to me that you might.”

“Miss Tsuki, I cannot tell if you are that naive or,” something burned behind his eyes again that made her shiver, "you simply are that oblivious to the effect you have on people."

It was Miso’s turn to blush as bright as G’raha’s hair (though a fair more blue-ish tinged, given her complexion). She sat up lightning-quick, pulling her hand away from him as if it burned. Her glasses sliding off the top of her head in the process and gently click-clacked along the stones of the platform. She narrowed her crystal-quartz gaze then, unsure whether or not she should be offended, “What does that mean?”

“It means…” he said, picking up her glasses and staring into the reflection momentarily with the ghost of a smirk, “you do not seem to notice how truly special you are, Miso’no.”

She did not know what to say to that; so, true to her character, she said nothing... but she found she could not hold the heat in his gaze any longer, and opted to stare at the ground instead. 

“I know what it is to remember things that are not mine to remember, as you do with your Echo,” he said, still turning her glasses over in his hands carefully as he spoke, “I also know what it is to feel like there is so much I should remember but don’t…”

Miso inhaled gently in realization, “Your eye…” 

“Yes,” he replied, closing the eyes in question. His hands fell into his lap, still holding her silver spectacles between gentle fingertips. “It must be truly strange indeed to see the memories of others, while never remembering your own.” He raised one hand, almost unconsciously, to cover the ruby red of his right eye. “I may have a small inkling, but truly I cannot imagine. Though the memories of this eye plague me, I at least know my own history, own past… my family.”

Lacking the words, Miso reached out to bridge the gap between them. She put her hand on G’raha’s raised one -- the one hiding his Allagan eye -- and gently moved it away until he blinked at her with both eyes unobscured; one as red as blood, the other blue as sky. She took his hand in both of hers, drawing lightly on his palm with a fingertip, “I would like to hear about your history someday. Even if I can’t remember mine. I think…” she looked up and locked eyes with him, trying to mirror the intensity of the interest he had shown her when asking about her past, “it would be nice to hear what it’s like.”

“Really…?” he seemed surprised, “You would like that?”

“I would like it very much,” she agreed.

“Miso’no, here I am doing my damndest to sympathize with your plight,” he shook his head, chuckling softly, “and you would rather hear about me?”

“I just thought... well, you spend a lot of time trying to study the world’s history! I should be honoured to be the one who takes the time to learn your history," she ducked her head, concealing a smile and muttered: "... given I lack one of my own for you to fuss over.”

Something softened in the Mi’qote’s dichromatic eyes, she relished watching it dawn on him that Miso was absolutely earnest in her request. Not many had deigned to try and understand her missing memories. To most, it was just one more thing the Calamity took from this world. Something sad but beyond repair. Something that made people far too uncomfortable to think about for them to give more than a few cursory words of comfort before they wanted to move on. There was a point where the pity she would see in people's faces when she told them was worse than the loneliness of not knowing. It was uncomfortable for people to imagine what it was like for her, so she imagined they didn't really try. Not many could understand, not really.

But G’raha could, in his own way. Or at least he tried. That was enough.

“Alright then, Warrior of Light, I will tell you the whole of my story… someday,” he broke the silence with a grin, slipping his hand out of her grip to press his palms into the ground and pop back onto his feet into a catlike crouch before her. “From the most exciting to the excruciatingly boring bits…” He leaned in close with a shrewd glint to his gaze, “on one condition.”

Miso’s eyes widened, “what condition?”

“... You must promise to take me on one of your adventures,” he said in a low, nigh conspiratorial tone of voice.

“G’raha…” her voice tinged with the threat of laughter, “...of course you can, why would you even–”

And then, Miso’s words, thoughts, nay... her entire existence was interrupted as G’raha leaned into her with a playful grin and closed the distance, pressing gentle lips to hers mid-sentence. Pearly white eyes flew open in surprise at the kiss; her first kiss (at least the first that she could remember...) For a moment she panicked; what should she do with her hands? What if she was a bad kisser? But from the initial shock came the warmth of the closeness of him; flooding her senses, filling the anxious parts of her belly. Strong hands closed around the upper parts of her arms, anchoring her to the moment and steadying all the shaky uncertainty of her mind. And so, she closed her eyes, leaning into the sweet simpleness of it, even as her heart felt like a bird trying to escape its cage.

When they parted, G'raha sighed triumphantly, pressing his forehead to hers.... not wanting to part from her entirely so soon. That impish grin played across his lips, “an opportunistic thief steals a kiss from the hero…”

Barely able to gather her thoughts – her heart still hammering inside her chest – Miso simply sat in that moment not, wanting it to end. She did not understand how, or why, but she felt as though she’d been given a very precious gift; not at all like something had been stolen from her. 

“Is that a line from one of your history books?” she wondered aloud, finding her voice a breathless whisper.

“Not yet,” he said enigmatically as he pulled away from their embrace ever so gently. He perched in front of her once more, cocking his head to one side a moment as if he were memorizing something. And then he slid her glasses gently back on her face, leaned back on his haunches and after a moment of consideration said, “Ahhh, that’s better!” Satisfied with that finishing touch, he bounced to his feet and held out both hands to help Miso’no to her feet in one smooth motion. “I suppose we should rest, if we are to face the next challenges within the Tower on the morrow.”

“Rest,” she laughed -- this time in earnest -- accepting his hands as she rose with his aid; still feeling mildly shaky with the afterglow of their kiss. “... what’s that?”

“Well, some of us mere mortals require a little thing called sleep,” he linked his arm with hers and began guiding her back towards the encampment. “...I quite like sleep you know. Hey! You never did explain why you suspect your past might be linked to the Tower!”

“Oh, because we both rose from the ground after the Calamity.”

“Do you suppose the ancient Allagans hid you away as well?” he asked wryly, waggling his brows. "Their secret weapon, perhaps?"

“No… maybe… ugh, I don’t know! I told you I don't know much about them!”

“Well, how lucky for you that you find yourself in the company of such an accomplished historian!” G’raha Tia proclaimed confidently. He began, exuberantly, to explain what he knew of the history of Allag, “The Allagan empire dates as far back as the Third Umbral era…”

A small smile played across Miso’s lips as they walked arm in arm, listening to him ramble on and on...

She might very well be happy to listen to him talk until the end of time.