[[ Past Lives - Sleep Token ]]

Much like the quiet before the storm, the bustling settlement of Revenant’s Toll seemed to be enjoying a rare moment of peace.

With the Garlean Empire in internal turmoil over the death of its Emperor, the frontlines were temporarily quiet. The Scions of the Seventh Dawn had returned from some mysterious mission, hale and whole. And the Warrior of Light was once again spotted frequently running to and fro in the highest of spirits and – gossips would whisper – never without the company of a very specific new Scion.

Bathed in the gloam of the peculiar aetheric weather, the stone spires took on a purplish cast, reaching towards the oil-slick rainbow heavens. ‘Twas evening and so much of the busy business for the day was done save for supping and sipping. In particular, two hungry bellies wandered through the gates in search of such sustenance, having just returned from the Crystal Tower to ensure the newly-placed wards were holding against any potential unwanted visitors. They laughed and chatted as if they were the only two left in the world, for they were so engrossed in one another’s company that a rainbow chocobo could have walked by and neither would have noticed. It was as if the other person’s mere presence were water to parched lips in the Ul’dahn desert. 

The two figures – contrasting in red and blue respectively – wandered arm-in-arm along the cobblestones streets, awashed in the plum tones of the sky.

“Gods, I’m famished,” Miqo’te man with the reddish hair and the easy demeanor said, “The Seventh Heaven or Rowena’s do you think?”
The blueish Au Ra wrinkled her nose – somehow making it look effortlessly charming – and retorted as if the answer should be obvious, “Rowena’s I should think.”

“Ah,” he grinned in amusement, “not keen on the Heaven’s swill since–?”

“I should rather not talk about it, Raha.”

The gentle echoes of their laughter followed them all the way to Rowena’s sitting area by the kitchens. The scent of food set both their bellies to rumbling. 

“Is it odd adjusting to needing to sleep again?” wondered Miso’no aloud. 

“Odder still adjusting to overlapping memories of one of me who slept for years while the other hadn’t for decades,” G’raha Tia replied thoughtfully, “I feel both weary of sleep yet eager for these moments of rest.”

Before she could speak, an Au Ra waitress approached, “Pardon me for interrupting, but what can I get for yo– oh! It’s you!” 

Miso’no smiled indulgently – if not a little embarrassed – turning her head towards the woman; it was not uncommon for her to encounter the occasional star-struck reaction when others recognized the famed Warrior of Light, but she would never get used to it. She met the waitress’ eyes and found herself stunned into a shocked whisper as she recognized the woman in turn, “... Chiyo!”

“It’s so good to see you, you’re looking so well! Oh… do not worry, I know exactly what to bring!” Before either could respond, Chiyo the waitress vanished back through the swinging kitchen doors, leaving an air of excitement left in her wake.

Miso turned back to G’raha, who appraised her with raised brows, “Friend of yours?”

“Ah, sort of,” she said, fiddling with the silverware on the table, “I suppose in a way she’s… the first person I’ve ever known.”

They did not have long to wait; before the Miqo’te could inquire further the doors of the kitchens swung back open and Chiyo reappeared balancing two steaming bowls on a round platter. The familiar smell of her namesake reached the Warrior of Light’s senses, putting her in mind of a time that felt so long ago. Miso’no muttered in quiet awe, swept up in the memory, as the bowl of hot miso soup was placed before her, “You remembered…” 

“One could hardly forget! Fellow Au Ra were rather rare back then, you understand,” Chiyo placed the other bowl in front of G’raha with careful grace, then held the platter by her skirts. “Imagine my surprise when this one appeared,” she gave G’raha a wry smile and a wink, “naked as her nameday, except that she did not have one! A name, or a day, I mean…”

“Chiyo!” Miso’no stifled a laugh with her hand.

“Well, I could not very well have left you like that! Lucky for you I was on my way back from the singing shards with laundry I had washed in the lake. I just so happened to have some cloth to shield you from the elements.”

“You were great with child, I remember…” Miso’no reminisced fondly, smiling into her soup.

“With twins!” Chiyo laughed, “Another stroke of luck for you, for I had much clothing that no longer fit and you were wasting away! I had thought your sorry state was from thirst and hunger, so I asked this one what she would like to eat and she said…”
“Miso soup,” Miso’no finished with a faint smile, closing pale white eyes. “It was the first thing that came to mind… back then, then not much came to mind at all.”

“A blank slate, you were! My sweet little girl, Hina, did not know better and thought it was your name…’Miso’. I suppose it stuck.”

“That it did,” Miso’no agreed, opening her eyes to gaze fondly at the Au Ra woman.

“Imagine my surprise,” Chiyo continued, elbowing G’raha Tia with the ease of someone accustomed to dealing with strangers as if they were old friends. “When that skinny, confused woman I found on the road turned out to be the Warrior of Light! Why, you helped with all manner of chores trying to repay me… though it was hardly necessary.”

“How are the children, Chiyo? I shall have to visit sometime soon.”
“You shall! They are growing like weeds! I daresay the twins will tower over you soon.”

“Not a difficult task I am told,” Miso sighed, casting an impish grin across the table at her dining companion. Her expression softened as she turned her gaze back to the waitress. Rising to her feet she embraced Chiyo warmly, “I feel as though I’ve thanked you a million times. But let me thank you at least once more.”

“‘Twas nothing! I recall you seemed… familiar at first. I suppose… you put me in mind of my little sister,” Chiyo smiled affectionately and smoothed her skirts, back to business, “Can I get you anything else?”

“Oh, um…” G’raha interrupted, graciously getting to his feet, “Some sandwiches, perhaps? I fear I will need more than soup this evening to tame this hunger. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am G’raha Tia, one of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

“You keep good company, sir,” she replied, bobbing a curtsy, “I shall bring sandwiches right away!”

The sandwiches arrived with considerably less nostalgia, but no less delicious. G’raha ate with gusto; famished as he was, there was precious little time for words. Miso’no was ever comfortable with silence, she eyed the red-headed man over the rim of her soup bowl as she drank, concealing a smile. 

“What,” he asked, the word muffled, his mouth was full of sandwich, “do I have something on my face?”

Unable to contain her laughter, Miso sputtered her soup and set both to laughing. “No, no… I was thinking of the time you sent me sandwiches, back in Novrandt.”

“Ahhh… feeling nostalgic now, are you?” 

“I suppose I am… it’s not every day you run into the person who basically named you.”

“I never knew the full story… nor how delicious your namesake is. But if Miso is your given name, what of your surname?”

“Oh, it’s… a bit silly…”

“Well, now I am even more curious,” G’raha grinned in a manner that she knew well; he would not be letting this one go. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on linked fingers. “Tell me.”

“Well,” she sighed, admitting defeat, “in the language where Chiyo is from, ‘Tsuki’ means the moon, and ‘no’ essentially means ‘of’. She thought since I awoke in the ruins of the false moon that… ‘Miso of the Moon’ felt apt.”

Ruby eyes sparkled in her direction, the man across from her saying nothing at first. She felt strangely self-conscious. “Technically,” she continued, clearing her throat, “if it were in the traditional style of the language, it should be Miso Tsuki’no… but I thought perhaps in the Western style it might be a little less obvious I was named after soup.”

The man barked a surprised laugh, slapping the table, “Oh I do not think it so bad,” he sighed the last of his mirth, easing back into his chair. He dropped his voice low and eyed her over the rim of his cup, words echoing softly within it: “... you could be named something silly like Zodiark.”

Their laughter continued as they finished the rest of their meal. When they were done they both sat back with sated sighs. Chiyo came to clear their plates, but before departing her and Miso’no shared another quick embrace – foreheads pressed together as they exchanged goodbyes and well-wishes. She returned to G’raha’s side and smiled at him. Her eye caught something in the set of his jaw that gave her pause, “What is it?”

“I did not know that the ruins of which you spoke of were here, so close to the Rising Stones,” he said with a thoughtful expression, “There are several crash sites for Dalamud as you well know.”

“Yes, well.. I suppose we never had time to go into details before now,” she admitted, a bit off balance, “what does it matter?”

“It matters because we are here and so are those ruins. Have you ever thought about going back there?”

Miso shook her head, “no… well. We explored several of the shards of Dalamud all over Eorzea, to ensure Bahamut would not return. But the ones here in Mor Dhona were inaccessible, so… we never went near the wreckage. At least not close to where I awoke.”

“Tomorrow,” G’raha took both her hands, his resolve hardening his gaze to shine like rubies, “we should go and see if there’s anything to find.”

“Oh… Raha, I don’t know,” she said uneasily, the suggestion setting the meal in her stomach to turn sour. She was not sure why she’d always had a reluctance with that place, especially given her desire to restore her missing memories, a desire which felt like a constant nagging in her ear. Miso was finally beginning to be at peace with her present; she’d recently resolved to not dwell on what she lacked. And dwelling on it now gave her that unbalanced feeling, like when she tried too hard to remember. It was like darkness threatened to swallow her. “It’s just… we just got back… I just got you back…”

“Your soul’s past may extend as far back as ancient Amaurot,” he went on, giving her hands an encouraging squeeze, “But your most recent memories, the ones from this lifetime, are yet missing! Surely you had a past here, in this life, in the Source… a past, a life… before the most recent Calamity. Is that not what you’ve sought all these years?”

Emotions lacking names crept up her throat, intent on strangling her, and Miso’no pulled away – though it tore at her heart to do so. All she could manage was a shake of her head. 

“But…” sounding dejected, G’raha withdrew as if to respect the distance she established and it stung even though it was her own fault, “I thought… not being able to remember who you were… it’s always haunted you. What if simply going back there…”

“It is not that simple,” Miso’no retorted. “Don’t you think I’ve tried focusing on things that seem familiar? Don’t you think I’ve tried to remember?”

“But you haven’t tried going back to where it might have happened…”

Miso spun on a heel, closing the distance in a snap. She felt angry now and it felt awful to be angry at Raha. But later she might realize her anger was more for herself than for him. “No I haven’t! But I have tried many things. There’s no guarantee we will find anything, there’s no guarantee I will remember anything. Very likely I will only give myself a very bad headache, as I have all the times before when I’ve tried such things!”

“I only…” he visibly swallowed, the bravado of G’raha Tia giving way to the sheepish, reserved nature of the Crystal Exarch. “I only thought… there could be something that we might learn, something that might help…”

“And what if it cannot be helped, G’raha?” she asked quietly, not softening but lowering her voice to a forceful whisper. The anger smouldered now, rather than burned, much like the tears in her eyes she refused to let fall. “Would this false hope not be cruel?”

The darkness of night had begun to close around the pair like a fist, the stillness becoming stifling. 

G’raha – who was never as comfortable with silence as she – broke it first, wringing his hands together like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them, “I… I confess I am struggling to comprehend, please Miso… help me understand.” His tail curled around himself, a self-conscious habit; fidgety hands grasped at it for lack of anything more productive to do with them. Or maybe because he wished to reach for her but thought better of it. “I know better than most the things you’ve faced… Monsters, Primals, Magitek weapons built to fell Eikons, Ascians sundered and unsundered, Zenos… Not to mention, you’ve captured the heart of Y’shtola who may be the scariest person I’ve ever known.” He shook his head, reddish hair swaying, almost purple in the gloom, “But of all things… this you fear?”

“I know this may surprise you, G’raha, but I am not perfect,” Miso sighed, throwing her arms to her sides in exasperation. Immediately she regretted her words, for she saw the sting in the poor man’s ruby gaze; it felt like she’d kicked a puppy. In fact, kicking a puppy might have felt slightly less terrible. Suddenly overwhelmed by a maelstrom of conflicting feelings, the Warrior of Light felt wholly unworthy to be in such good and kind company.

“I had just… just begun to…” She began, but the words died on her tongue.

Instead of literally anything productive, she briskly turned tail and fled.

“Miso’no, wait–” stung though he was, G’raha Tia’s first impulse was, as ever, to follow her. But a gentle tink tink by his feet – like glass on stones – pricked his keen ears and drew his gaze downward. There on the ground lay a crystal the colour of sunshine, not unlike a soul stone. Etched on its surface, a sun-like sigil… not like any soul sigil he’d seen before. Reaching down to pick it up, he found it felt warm… and familiar. 

Miso’no must have dropped it in her haste, he thought, I ought to return it, but… later.

Pocketing the stone, the Scion sighed aloud to no one, ears flattened in dismay, “a fine mess I’ve made of a fine evening…”

Hands in pockets, feet kicking the occasional rock as he went, G’raha Tia turned in the opposite direction; in search of a soft bed despite sleep being the last thing on his mind.

The same could, unfortunately, be said of the Warrior of Light.

The purplish gloam of Mor Dhona mixed with the eerie molten glow of the dome-like structure in the distance; a half-popped bubble of corrupted aether crystal, wrapping around a fallen shard of Dalamud. Between the two aetheric anomalies, the wilds surrounding Revenant’s Toll never truly felt dark even in the middle of the night. Oddly beautiful, thought G’raha Tia as he observed the phenomena. Sleep eluded the ever-eager Scion, and yet he would go no closer to the crash site, opting to only inspect from afar.

The wilds were quiet save for the gentle rustling of the wind through what little flora still managed to survive in the area. The aetheric imbalance did not lend itself to life flourishing easily. 

Much of the ground was crystallized from the incident, setting G’raha’s fingers to unconscious twitching – a phantom sensation in his right arm of flesh once turned crystalline. Azure crystals sprung up all around him, giving way slowly to the angry red crystals surrounding the Allegan shard. He had explored to the south first, where the previous settlement had been laid to waste; locals had said the aetheryte itself had become corrupt and demolished all they had originally built. The current settlement had to be rebuilt from the ground up. All this and more he’d already learned from his extensive reading on the subject, but he did enjoy speaking to those who lived it and seeing it with his own eyes; sometimes it filled in gaps which the written word lacked.

Such observations often soothed his troubled mind, but not this time. As he ran his gaze over the landscape, the red crystals gave the sense as though the land itself were irate. Within his pocket, dextrous fingers played over the sun-marked crystal like a worry stone; the one Miso’no had dropped in her haste to… get away from him. 

Well, perhaps not to get away from him exactly, but she clearly meant to get away from something, G’raha thought.

As much as he’d hoped that staring at the accursed dome before him might reveal some hidden truth, might speak to some knowledge of the Allegans he had tucked away in the recesses of his mind and blood… all was silent. 

Except for the sudden snap of a dry twig.

Ears flicking back in alarm towards the sound, G’raha flipped onto all fours in the brush, poised and listening. To his surprise he found himself staring at a familiar pair of boots, much closer than he’d anticipated. He drew his eyes slowly up the length of her and…

“Really, Raha,” said the Warrior of Light with a grin twinging at the corners of her lips, “you needn’t grovel.”

“I wasn’t… I didn’t…” he sputtered, red as dalamud, his gaze crashing down to stare at the earth in front of him instead,  “I was just…”

Miso of the Moon knelt before him, laughing softly. He noted then she moved as if carrying something on her back. “I’m only teasing!”

A sigh escaped him halfway between exasperation and relief; he flopped back onto his arse, patting the dirt from the lengths of his pants. G’raha Tia met her eyes sheepishly through the curtain of his hair and saw her wearing a similar expression. He ventured to do a little teasing of his own: “One might assume you’d been talking with Y’shtola armed with humour like that…”

“Oh, I have,” the woman exhaled, her eyes sliding away across the ground towards the unsettling glow of the crash site. “She yelled at me when I told her what happened…”

“She didn’t!”

“She did,” Miso’no laughed, and then straightened her spine and did her best Y’shtola impression, “‘Miso’no Tsuki that poor boy worships you and the ground you walk upon!’”

“Boy?” He groaned aloud, pressing the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, cheeks still rosy with embarrassment, “she did not say that.”

“I may not have your memory, Raha but I assure you she said that verbatim,” she patted his knee gently, setting the hairs on his tail to stand on end as if the air were suddenly electric. She continued her impression, “‘You’d best march right out that door and apologize to him this instant or I shall make you sleep upon the floorboards!’”

“Miso, please, I have tears in my eyes,” the man’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, but his hands fell away from his face, revealing a smile between flushed cheeks. “Would she truly have made you sleep on the floor?”

“Shtola doesn’t make idle threats,” Miso said with an edge of wickedness she did not explain, for her features softened quickly as she held his gaze with her own. “Raha, I am sorry. Truly.”

“Ah…” he reached out and placed his hand on hers. “There’s no need. I fear I get… overzealous, at times. Your past is not a historical secret for me to unearth.”

“So… you didn’t…” Miso blinked in surprise, glancing off towards the crash site.

“No… of course not. It seemed… disrespectful to go against your wishes. ‘Tis not my place.” 

“Then why did you come here?”

“Well I’m still incorrigibly curious,” G’raha Tia leaned in with a whisper, flashing a rogueish grin. “Which reminds me, what have you brought there?” He asked, plucking at the straps over her shoulders. Miso swung one off and tossed it at him; a camping pack.

“A peace offering,” she smiled, “We’re going on an adventure.”

Ruby eyes glimmered like the gemstones themselves, widening with childlike wonder. “Truly? So we’re–” This time it was his eyes that drifted towards the giant dome behind him.

“No… not the wreckage,” twin white strands of hair swished charmingly side to side as she shook her head, “I’m... not ready. But… I will say where we are going was the first place where… a feeling of familiarity first truly hit me the hardest.”

Grinning from ear to ear, G’raha’s tail flicked side to side with great interest, eyebrows disappearing into his bangs. “Oh really? And where, pray tell, would that be?”

    “The Azim Steppe…” muttered G’raha Tia softly.

Side by side once more upon a great precipice, the wind whipped around the pair, for it was wide and flat and high in the Towering Still with not much to divert the wind. ‘Twas still night when they arrived by aetheryte and the view was stunningly clear. The moon waxed nearly full so it was easy to see by. The stars could be seen better here than anywhere Miso’no had ever been before… short of the view of the Star and the great expanse itself in Emet’s re-enactment of his Final Days. 

   Almost instantaneously, she felt a sense of peace settle around her like a protective shawl, despite the cold.

“Over there,  you can see the Azim Khaal… the Dawn Throne. Oh, and there is Nhamaah’s Retreat, where the Dotharl reside. If you think Y’shtola is scary, I should introduce you to their leader, Sadu…” 

“Azim…” the other Scion breathed, exuding the awe he felt, “and Urianger truly thinks this Azim may be linked to the Azem from ancient times?”

“The Fourteenth seat, yes,” Miso’no’s eyes carried a distant expression, but G’raha noted the way she moved as if she felt lighter here. As if the past did not weigh on her with as much gravity as before. “The one who wandered, the one charged with learning of the world at large. The one who defected before the summoning of Zodiark. The one who… Emet must have seen when Ardbert’s soul rejoined my own before he fell.”

Wordlessly, G’raha slipped his hand around her own, giving a gentle squeeze.

“At the time, I had wondered if maybe feeling familiar here maybe meant my parents were of this place. I felt a great connection to the story of Azim and Nhaama… the two lovers who were as the sun and moon, destined to always be apart.” Miso’no squeezed back,  “Now… now I suppose it may be for a different reason.” 

“It’s… incredible,” the Miqo’te muttered in awe.

“The feeling of familiarity I had, even before knowing about Azem?”

“No! Well, yes that too, but… I meant this place.” He gestured around to the plains below, splashed in starlight, “I can see already why you love it so. Nothing I’ve read in books did it any justice. It’s simply breathtaking.”

The smile Miso awarded him was nothing short of incandescent, for the warmth that radiated from her felt like a beam of sunlight to behold. It was impossible not to return it with a smile of his own and the pair settled in a little closer, wrapping arms around one another in silent accord. “I agree,” Miso’no sighed contentedly, relieved the conflict of the previous day appeared to be behind them. “Having seen a good amount of this world, not to mention another world entirely, there are precious few places that have stirred such feelings in me.” 

“Well, I would like to see them all… ah, that is to say… I mean if… if you want to…”

“Hmmm, I shall think on it,” she purred; a mannerism she’d picked up from Shtola which seemed to have the desired effect of causing a charming blush to rise in Raha’s cheeks. She then proceeded to wriggle her way around until she was standing before him, both arms firmly around his waist. ‘Twould be like a bear hug, were he not so much taller than her. Pearlescent eyes glimmered up at him mischievously, as if setting a challenge. It was rather charming that – despite all they’d been through – the somewhat arrogant historian she’d met so long ago gave way to the easily abashed, humble manner of the Crystal Exarch with the slightest teasing. The way these two sides of him enmeshed before her very eyes was endlessly amusing. Feigning a sigh, Miso’no began slowly untangling herself from him, “But for now we should focus on setting up camp.”

“Oh, is that what we should be focusing on,” he said, a low timbre sneaking into his voice, rising to meet the challenge. He settled his arms around her in turn, pulling her back close and holding tight, with clear intent to not let go. “What if I’m not finished enjoying the view?”

Miso smiled inwardly at her triumph, not that she’d give him the satisfaction of knowing that yet. The challenge had been set, but terms had not yet been dictated. Her arms were still loosely around G’raha’s waist, pinned there by his embrace. She narrowed her eyes in thought, trying to determine the best way to rile him. But she did not expect him to beat her to the proverbial punch. 

“Ah, I know,” he loosened his grip somewhat to reach into his pocket, pulling out something she could not see, for whatever the object was, it remained hidden within his palm. Curiousity tugged at her as she watched him lift his fist high in the air above her. Now it was G’raha’s turn to gaze at her with a vexatious glimmer, two red eyes like distant dying stars in the night, “You will let me admire this breathtaking view for as long as I desire and I… will return this treasure I have in my hand. It belongs to you, I believe.”  

The tables thus turned, Miso’no gawked in surprise, then shrewdly narrowed her eyes. She grabbed at his waist, tugging his belt accusingly, “You bluff. There’s nothing in your hand.”

“Is there not?” he said mildly, lifting both brows. G’raha, with a dextrous flourish, revealed Azem’s crystal like a tiny sun between his fingers. “What’s this then?”

“You cad!”  Miso’s jaw dropped properly now; without thinking she quickly grabbed at his arm, tugging at his sleeve in an attempt to dislodge the orange gemstone. “Give it back!”

“Ah ah ah,” he waggled his free hand at her which she tried to swat at, “not so fast!”

With another flourish, the crystal vanished from the Scion’s raised fingers. Some slight of hand, no doubt. “Oh you absolute villain…” Miso couldn’t help but laugh, though she did not loosen her grasp on him; her prize can’t have gone far. She dropped her voice to a dangerous hiss, “Don’t you know what I do to villains?” 

“I might have done some reading on the subject,” he caught one of her wrists with the newfound deftness of his younger body, smiling in that same mild manner. A taunt. A dare. “But perhaps a more hands-on approach would be more enlightening.”

“I could not agree more,” agreed the Warrior of Light, dropping her voice soft and low; momentarily she ceased all struggle and merely held the man’s gaze. Since it ran contrary to the intensity of her threat, he blinked at her in confusion and that was all she needed. She swept out one booted foot, knocking him off balance. G’raha let out a surprised noise but held her arm fast; had he let her go he most assuredly would have regained his footing but… that would have been no fun. The pair toppled over in a tangle, but Miso landed on top, as she intended. Feeling triumphant, she began pulling at his shirt, his scarf, searching for secret pockets, “I have you now!”

“Do you?” G’raha exhaled, half- winded from hitting the hard ground back first and half from laughter. He raised his arm – still holding Miso’s wrist firmly in his grasp – and hooked a leg around her own; the leg holding most of her weight. A well-timed push and simultaneous pull stole from Miso her purchase on the ground and off they rolled off into the dirt. 

Laughter rang across the cliffs above and below them as they went.

Very soon a trail of clothing followed in their wake; a scarf, a boot, a short red robe. “Where is it?” Miso’s breathless voice rang out, a fair distance from where they began. A belt flopped on the ground, joining all the rest. She’d regained control (whether by her design or his own remained to be seen) and had checked both pants pockets, but one troublesome shirt remained. “You’re running out of places to hide, G’raha Tia!”

“Mercy!” he managed to gasp, panting in between uncontrollable laughter, reaching for her as he lay on his back with her straddling his waist, “Mercy, oh famed Warrior of Light!”

“Oh it’s far too late for that,” and swatted his hands away, grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt and yanking until it came free over his head. But no crystal. She groaned in defeat, “Ugh, I give up! Where could you possibly have–”

Propping himself on one elbow, G’raha Tia reached up towards Miso’no, a suddenly tender expression painted on his features. He raised himself up off the ground as much as he could given the situation and reached to cup her face gently. As he pulled her close, their lips brushed ever so gently. She thought he might deepen the kiss but instead he brushed delicately past her cheek and entwined his fingers into her hair. Before she could speak, he plucked the stone from the empty space below her horn, as if out of thin air, and held it before her. His smile deepened into a more roguish grin, “does this mean I win?”

Sighing, the Warrior of Light idly touched the place where G’raha had pulled Azem’s crystal from, but felt nothing out of the ordinary. He was not like to reveal his tricks either. Miso snatched the stone from him with a laugh, “I fear we both lose. There’s not much time to admire the view before sunrise.”

“Well,” Raha cleared his throat, cheeks suddenly flushed from more than just exertion. His eyes swept from where she sat at his waist up to her face, where he met her gaze and held it, “I am seeing plenty to admire from my point of view…”

“You are a villain,” she laughed again, gently shoving him back to the ground with one hand. Tucking Azem’s crystal back into her robes, she lowered herself to join him. More clothes would join the pile as the sun slowly inched towards the horizon, chasing away the stars one by one. Before night vanished entirely in favour of day, the pair spied a single shooting star.

They made a wish.

[[ The End - JPOLND ]]

A single streak of light cut across the infinite darkness of everlasting night. 

Then another, hot and angry, followed it. Then another, and another, until it seemed as though it were raining stars. This was not a passing shooting star in the sky, but the beginning of the end. It seemed wrong that a thing of such beauty could become such an ill omen. An omen that filled the hearts of all people with an eerie sense of dread and fear, even though they did not truly grasp its meaning.

Floating somewhere in that dark expanse, Miso’no was reliving this particular omen almost nightly since witnessing it in Emet’s re-enactment of the Final Days of Amaurot. But ever since she revisited the Ronkan Ruins with Y’shtola, where she had a peculiar experience with the Echo … the dream had changed. The Echo had shown her a memory that had not been a memory, but a more urgent version of Emet-Selch’s dying plea, uttered in increasing intensity: Remember us… remember… remember!

 This strange Echo memory had invaded her dreams. Tonight was no exception. And night by night, the dream progressed just a little bit further. 

Once more, the Final Days threatened the dark expanse above her, as it always did. When first the dreams began, she’d only heard murmurings of a familiar voice from somewhere in the distance, growing increasingly more dire. Then unseen hands grasped at her out of the blackness, grabbing at her hands, her wrists, her waist. Eventually, the voice drew closer, hot breath hissing down the side of her neck, raising the sensitive hairs on her nape. Soon she felt fingers running through her hair, down her arms, across her belly. “Remember, remember,” she would hear from everywhere and nowhere; a deep and urgent growl, punctuated by a dark mouth pressing against her collarbones, her neck, her jawline…

The unseen presence felt closer and more urgent than ever – heavy, looming but impossible to look at clearly; there but not there. The familiar weight of him pressed upon her until she gasped for air, almost oppressive. 

The whisperings began in earnest: remember us… She felt those familiar hands, the texture of gloves on her skin, cupping her face, rough and tender in equal measure. Hands that knew her… touches that explored her body with a knowing confidence. 

Remember… the voice urged again in a tone that matched the press of his mouth, inching ever closer to her lips. Miso’no tried, in turn, to explore with her hands, trying to get a purchase on her shadowy visitor; hands sometimes sliding across smooth, cool skin and sometimes tangled in thick heavy robes. But, ever in control, those strong hands would grasp at hers, intertwining fingers or pinning wrists.

“Emet,” she gasped, “Wait…”

“Remember…” the voice rumbled as if finally there, resonant even at a whisper, a moment before the feel of lips pressed against hers. 

Miso’no felt all that lay unsaid between them in every touch, in every sigh, in the way he finally relented and allowed her to reach for him with arms and hands and fingers, seeking out the familiar nooks and crannies in his form.

Just when she seemed on the edge of finding that which she sought, a clattering noise – loud as a gong in the din – popped her concentration like a bubble. 

The dark presence vanished as if a candle had been snuffed out and she felt the sudden absence of it as keen as the cold of a Coerthus winter. 

The glow of Azem’s constellation crystal pried at her vision. She squinted into its light as her eyes adjusted to see it laying on the hard, harsh ground beside her.

Gently swaying grass swam into view; the smells and sensations of the Azim Steppe came into sharp focus; the sun was almost at its zenith, gleaming brightly through the hole at the top of the abandoned yurt they’d taken shelter in. Azem’s crystal lay between her and G’raha who, for a mercy, still slumbered. Snatching the crystal with newfound resentment, Miso’no rolled onto her back, sweat dripping from her brow. She was drenched. 

The Warrior of Light withdrew with all the grace and stealth afforded to her – taking a quick moment to appreciate the gentle set of Raha’s features as he slept – before slipping out of the yurt, seeking to wash away the remnants of her dream in the cool river.

“Why do you even feel bad,” she chastised herself, shivering as the icy water splashed over her, “it is not as though you can control your dreams…” Miso’no stared at her distorted reflection in the flowing water, her rippling image mirroring the emotions warring within. Sometimes there was a strange disassociation with the person she saw, conflicting with some vague notion of a person she was; a person whom she cannot even remember, a person whom the dearly departed Emet-Selch would apparently not soon let her forget. Nor would he let her forget the promise she’d made. With a flick of her tail she splashed the reflection away, uttering, “why can’t you leave me be?”

“Oh, sorry…” came a voice from the tent, “I did not mean to intrude upon your conversation with the river…” Turning with a jolt, Miso’no saw G’raha standing there with a grin painted on his face, his arms crossed, and his hair liberated from its braid – thoroughly dishevelled. 

“We were finished anyhow,” she supposed, unable to keep herself from smiling. She patted the grass next to her by the shore, “Sleep well?”

“As a matter of fact I did,” he said, slipping his feet into the river, the man reclined back on his hands with a contented sigh. “You?”

“Well enough,” was all Miso could manage. She was quite possibly a worse liar than Raha, so it was easier to not stray far from the truth. She felt rested… physically. 

“I see how it is. You’ll tell your dreams to the river but not to me?” he said with a gentle jab of an elbow to her ribs. 

Miso covered a restrained laugh with her hand in response – hopefully hiding her subsequent flushed expression. Humour often diffused difficult topics between them but… she was not entirely sure her current dreams would be a topic he’d be happy to hear. Even if their activities of the previous night were of a… similar nature. 

“You heard that, did you?” she winced, hoping he would only think her embarrassed at being caught talking to herself. 

“Only a little,” he said, a little more gently. “You do not have to speak of it if you do not wish to, Miso–oh good gods, did I do that?” G’raha was at her side in an instant, gently pushing up the silky fabric of her sleeping shift by her thighs, thumb tracing bruises patterned like finger prints, as if hands had gripped them too strongly. Miso’s eyes widened a fraction… surely the dream had not left physical marks. He hissed under his breath, a self-reprimanding tone “Was I that rough…”

“Oh Raha…” In what she hoped was a smooth gesture, Miso’no ran her hands down her thighs, brushing the hem of her shift back into place and placing her hands on his with an encouraging squeeze. She feared the marks in question might be… suspiciously larger than G’raha’s own hands. “We wrestled more than a little before we went to bed, remember? Even so, I do not mind, truly.”

“Truly?”

“Shtola leaves her fair share of marks, I assure you,” Miso said mildly.

“What–”

Whatever might have transpired was interrupted by a shriek of utter terror. “HELP!” a voice cried out, echoing across the plains. “HELP ME, PLEASE!”

The pair locked eyes, all troublesome thoughts evaporating in favour of an apparent crisis. They sprang to their feet, hands racing for clothes and boots and job stones. 

It was instinctive for many to run from danger; a rare few run towards it. Having set up camp below the cliffs of the Towering Still where they arrived, Miso’no and G’raha found the trouble not far off. A woman cowering against the rocks, her cloak thrown over herself protectively… was she clutching a babe? They did not have time to check, for the monstrosity that loomed over her was inching perilously close. 

“Gods forfend… what is that?” gasped G’raha, brandishing his Paladin’s sword and shield. A giant maw yawned like a cave opening; jaws snapped like the crack of a whip and noxious fumes permeated their nostrils. The entire grotesque…thing lurched within writhing vines and leaves and warped yellow flowers. “It’s as though it gorged itself on aether, and has grown twisted with it. Look at how the land here…”

“We can worry about that after we kill it, Raha…” Miso urged, Sage’s nouliths poised to harm and heal in equal measure. “We must draw its attention…” 

“Ah… leave that to me,” he grinned. With an impressive wind-up, G’raha lobbed his shield which struck the great beast with a hollow THONK! before it returned to his grasp like a boomerang. Lumbering and awkward, the foul thing began to turn away from the woman; its mouth bubbled angrily with a vile purple sludge as a growl rose deep in its throat. Belying the slowness of its gait, its vines whipped out lighting fast, swatting at the Scion like a fly. He barely raised his shield in time with a grunt of effort, but the force knocked him backwards, boots skidding across the rocks and sparse grass.  

“Raha!” Miso shouted in alarm. 

“I’m fine! Take care, it's faster than it looks!”

“Let’s try splitting its focus, the vines are fast but the creature itself is slow… I’ll take the flank!” Miso began circling, focusing her energies to form a link between herself and G’raha, so that her attacks against the creature would keep him healthy. She felt the beat of his heart within her own breast, monitoring his condition.

Thus prepared, they began their attacks in earnest. 

One strike after another; they coordinated with near silent understanding. A hand gesture here, a nod there, one word warnings. G’raha struck with powerful blows, blocking the vines with much more ease now that he had a good measure of their force (and a little help from Miso’s shields). Miso herself deftly avoided the occasional swat from the vines on the flank, striking with precision over raw power. They made for a formidable team.

The twisted creature began to slow, spinning and bubbling at the mouth as if disoriented. Both paused momentarily, trying to assess whether it was in the thralls of death or simply recuperating. 

All three heads whipped around as the cowering woman screamed, “GREAT VOCHU SPARE ME!” Which instantly drew the creature’s attention, clearly more content to devour an unmoving target that did not fight back. It began to turn back toward her; the vile purple liquid burbling out between jagged teeth as the great maw yawned threateningly. 

“No…” Miso moved instinctively and without thought. She raised her nouliths and slid between the monster and the woman, boxing them both within a shield of aether… but it was spread thinner to accommodate two people. Vochu let out a great burp and the noxious substance sprayed out towards them. A frightening sizzle ate away at the shield alarmingly fast! It won’t hold… I have to move her… now!

Fully prepared was the Warrior of Life to put her body on the line, already turning to shield the woman with her lithe frame in the split second it would take to throw them both out of the full brunt of the acid rain when the shield evaporated. But G’raha was there first; he raised his shield in the same moment that Miso’s fell and – like a great butterfly – wings of light unfurled all around them protectively. Grass and other flora hissed around them as it burned, save for that within the cone of the Scion’s aegis. 

Miso took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief as the last drop of acid hissed nearby then announced: “hells to this,” and leapt into the air. Weaving a complex gesture in the air with her hands, she drove all four nouliths together, wedging them forcefully between the foul thing’s eyes.

It shuddered violently; giving a great, stinking, bubbling sigh… and fell still. 

The Warrior of Light landed softly before the creature, giving a silent prayer that it might be at peace, along with the land it tormented. Then she blew out her breath in awe and relief, “The timing on that shield was incredible, Raha… you have to teach me that trick someday.”

“Are you alright?” G’raha rushed to her side, apprising her carefully. He plucked at her robes, where a few drips of acid had burned clear through her garb to the flesh, “Twelve forfend, that was vile stuff.” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’ve had worse…” she waved off his fussing with a grin. It only burned a little. “Perhaps we should check on that poor woman–”

A piercing, crazed laugh rang through the air, echoing off the cliffside – from the poor woman in question.

Caught off-guard, the pair whirled towards the laughter. A familiar woman’s voice growled triumphantly from beneath the cowl, “Ahhh I knew I tasted the presence of a worthy adversary on the morning air! But I did not imagine there would be two!” 

“Oh no…” groaned Miso’no.

“Oh no?” asked G’raha.

“Oh yes!” proclaimed Sadu. 

Whipping the cloak from her shoulders, poised on all fours as if ready to strike, Sadu of the Dotharl revealed herself. Brilliant white teeth flashed ferociously against her dark features as she readied her staff. “Foolish to think you could set foot on Nhaama’s doorstep without a rematch, Miso’no Tsuki! But who is this…” The Dotharl leader rose up to her full height and stalked over to circle the Miqo’te man appraisingly. “Hmmm… curious. Youthful though you seem, you are possessed of an old soul…”

“Um… it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, ah…?” G’raha raised his eyebrows at Miso’no.

“Sadu. G’raha Tia of the Scions.” Miso nodded briskly between them both,  “Raha… Sadu.”

Recognition dawned on the face of the old, young man; a face being put to a name he’d previously only known from a book, no doubt. A resigned expression settled over his features in turn and he muttered to Miso, “So that means we’re going to have to…”

“Yep.”

“And there’s no getting out of it?”

“‘Fraid not.”

“Come G’raha Tia, Scion of the Seventh Dawn! Come Miso’no, Warrior of Light and Champion of the Khan!” Sadu exclaimed with an exuberance for battle that certainly would seem odd to those outside the Steppe. “Let us dance so that our souls may burn bright!”

As the (mostly) friendly battle raged on, Sadu’s laughter – along with the clashing sounds of weapons and magicks both – would echo for malms around. 

With their adventure coming full circle, the pair once more found themselves wandering through the crystal jungle of Mor Dhona. Just as that day, the purple gloam once again danced in the dwindling light of evening. Unlike last time, however, both nursed aching, tired bodies – though their laughter echoed through the air all the same. 

“A people who do not fear death,” G’raha Tia sighed, rubbing one shoulder. Sadu’s parry was fierce indeed. “When one believes they will be reborn if they die fighting fiercely… ‘tis a fearsome thing to behold. I should like to know more about their concept of the soul, and how they can tell when someone has been reborn.”

“They say it's in the eyes,” Miso’no replied; she was not one to outwardly show her aches and pains. Though she likely fared a good deal better against Sadu than Raha, for she was wise to the Dotharl’s tricks. “Ascians and Amaurotines seem to be able to see the very colour of the soul itself, and if it's familiar to them. I wonder if it's a similar principle but maybe… more of a feeling.” 

“Aetheric vibrations?”

“Mayhap… but I mean more like the feeling of familiarity.”

“What’s more curious is the timeframe… that such a rebirth should reliably happen within a year. That the soul would be reborn with such frequent proximity that they would so consistently be reborn into their Tribe, that is something worth studying I should think.”

“They have also said that should the birthing rate be low, that a soul may be reborn into another Xaela tribe. Perhaps souls being reborn in proximity to things familiar to their previous life is not uncommon, just… the rest of us aren’t as attuned to looking for it.”

G’raha quirked a brow at her from beneath errant red bangs, a grin touching his lips. Miso had come to know this look as one he gives her when she says something clever enough to catch him off guard, “Which begs the question… can such a thing be taught and learned?”

“Y’shtola would be very good at it, I should think, if it could be taught,” Miso murmured, remembering with a small pang of the sadness she had felt when Shtola had not recognized her in the First, all because her aether had been so tainted by taking on the light of the Wardens. “She already keenly sees the unique differences of a person’s aether… and when it changes. Though I suppose the soul is aether of a different sort.” 

“Speaking of aether, mine is in dire need of replenishment…” the newly appointed Scion admitted with an abashed tone. Miso could hear his stomach rumbling and smiled.

“Maybe Chiyo is working again…” she sighed wistfully.

Passing by the massive, molten bubble surrounding the shard of Dalamud on their way to Revenant’s Toll, the pair both paused in hesitation, slowing their pace to a halt. G’raha, keenly aware of how he’d pushed the subject last time, opted to say nothing. 

“In all my travels, to all the places I’ve been to, even in other worlds… out of all the people I’ve met, not a single person has looked into my eyes and recognized me.”

“Except Emet-Selch,” Raha said, with no small amount of bitterness.

“Emet recognized a version of me from a long time ago,” Miso shook her head, “That’s not really… me… is it?”

“The Dotharl would disagree, would they not?” he shrugged, “They see a reborn person as their friend, their loved one, their family all the same. Even if they are reborn as a different gender.” Pausing, he reached out and took her hand gently in his. “What matters most, I think, is how you see it… do you fear knowing who you were would change who you are? Do you think not knowing has helped you become who you are today?”

“I… don’t know,” a small wrinkle formed between her brows, “I don’t think I will know until I know… one way or the other.”

“Ah… and that’s the scary bit, isn’t it?” Raha said, doing that thing where he looks at her and his features seem to go all soft, his ruby red gaze smoldering like hot coals after a fire. “You fear you won’t know how it might change you, and therefore… how it might change your relationships with those you love...”

“I know how to live with this… that my entire existence only goes as far back as when I awoke in that crater. I used to keenly feel that loss… like I was missing something others had, something they treasured greatly. I’ve come to learn… that I like the life I have now. Slowly but surely my experiences have shaped me, for good or ill…” Miso bit her bottom lip, an anxious habit not unlike G’raha’s nervous hands. “Surely the memories I’ve made since then matter just as much? I... don’t want to lose that.”

“Miso’no, I cannot speak for everyone, but no matter what happens…” he emphasized the following words with a firm squeeze of his hand on hers, “No matter what you may learn about yourself or not: you will not lose me.”

A single tear fell, before she knew the feelings were threatening to overwhelm her; she pressed her palm to her cheek and wiped it away, “Thank you, Raha.” 

With a shrewd glance towards her, then to the Allegan ruins before them, G’raha Tia asked with a sharp-toothed grin, “So does that mean we’re going to explore the crash site?”

A laugh escaped her, much the same way the tear did, before she could stop it, “No! Not today at least. We promised Alisaie on the morrow that we would help her find a way to cure Ga Bu, remember?” 

“Ah… well,” he sighed, features settling into a warm smile, happy for his humour to have the desired effect. “We both know it’s impossible to keep Alisaie waiting…”

“To think… how things might change if we truly can cure tempering like we did with those infected by the sin eaters in the First? Imagine, if we no longer needed to fear tempering as we do now…” She wondered aloud, as they continued on their way back home, wandering away from the place that she, strangely, considered to be her birthplace. 

One day, she thought, she may very well return here to face her origins despite her fears.

But not today.   

        It seemed an age had passed since those carefree days.

A respite of perhaps a week or so before duty and dread called; the Scions embarked on a mission that resulted in the miraculous curing of the tempered. They’d barely had time to celebrate such a wondrous victory before Ascians threw their world into chaos unlike any they had yet seen. They had saved one world only to find their own now under threat. And a threat to one was a threat to all.

Since returning from her adventure with G’raha, Miso’no had embarked on a sea voyage, attempted espionage in a faraway land, was the subject of an experimental aetheryte trip, and lead the felling of an infernal tower that tempered people en masse at the behest of a dragon. 

And, at the helm of it all: a suicidal Ascian and her homicidal “friend” seeking to recreate the ecstasy of their last battle… by ushering in an apocalypse.

Just great… thought the Warrior of Light, releasing the thought in an audible sigh. Booted feet stood on Eorzean soil once more; brief though it was, they had some time waiting for the various leaders of Eorzea to decide how they wanted to proceed with felling the other towers scattered throughout their lands. 

Miso hated waiting. She could nigh feel the star beneath her feet crying out in agony as the towers siphoned aether from it and those who dwelled upon it. 

A different spire stood nearby; the Crystal Tower, gleaming in the cool, foggy air. A beacon of hope instead of dread and fear. But the Tower was not her destination this day… not that she could access it without G’raha Tia at her side. Miso thought to occupy her time by facing a challenge slightly less terrifying than the impending doom: her past. 

And so she turned towards her true target.

In contrast to the glimmering brightness of that ancient peak was the ominous red glow of a fallen shard of Dalamud. Captured in a crystal bubble frozen in time, the dome peaked over the horizon like a desert sun. Corrupt red aether crystals spread out from the area like a rash.

“Well,” she sighed aloud to no one, “I suppose I’ve stalled enough. I hope Raha will forgive me.”

“For what?” said the man himself, his voice suddenly behind her, earning him a rare flinch of surprise from the Champion of Eorzea. She spun to face him, likely looking as guilty as she felt. His warm smile did nothing to ease the growing pit in her stomach. 

“S…sorry,” she muttered sheepishly. She wasn’t sure what else to say.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” G’raha Tia chuckled low in his throat, stepping forward to stand at her side. He grasped her hand and gazed at the Allagan shard in the distance. “You needn’t face this alone… but I will honour that wish if you choose it.”

“I…” Miso felt her hand in his grip, grounding her. Even so, her voice sounded small, even to her. It reminded her of how little she spoke when she first awoke here. When she did speak, it was uncertain and quiet. “... Stay, please.”

“Wonderful,” came another voice, soft as silk but sharp as a blade. Even without looking, Miso could hear the wry smile in it. “Did I not tell you, G’raha? She’s not like to accept help unless foisted upon her.”

“Shtola…” Tears stung Miso’s eyes, overcome with emotion, as the Miqo’te woman joined them on her other side, skirts swishing gently against the rocky ground. She stopped with a definitive clunk of her staff.

“Ah yes, well! Right you are, as always, Y’shtola,” he remarked with mild chagrin, lips twinging into a grin. Since his return, he had ever been a little intimidated by Shtola, fearing she’d not yet forgiven him for this deception as the Crystal Exarch. She, in turn, did not dissuade him of this fear, largely because she found it amusing. Clearing his throat, G’raha ventured to turn to the task at hand: “As we are all here, and given we do not know what might happen, if anything… how do we want to proceed?”

“Miso’no, perhaps you can lead us to the place you remember first waking?” suggested Y’shtola, raising one hand to tap her chin thoughtfully as she often did. “We cannot know what might have caused Miso’no’s amnesia. Any clues might be long gone, but it’s a start. What do you think?”

“I think…” Miso replied, drawing in a deep breath, “That I have no idea.”

“Your hands are trembling,” G’raha said softly, “Are you quite sure…”

Dropping her gaze to the crystalline ground, Miso’no drew her brows together in a conflicted frown, “We might not get another chance… if things go bad.” Shaking her head, she set her jaw in a determined expression. “We might learn nothing, but I have to try.”

“Well,” Shtola was not one for open affection, particularly not in front of others, but Miso appreciated the way she stood close, so their sides were just touching. “Perhaps we can make our way, and decide from there.”

Miso’no nodded. 

And so, the trio began making their way towards the red shard.

“I have been wondering,” Miso said aloud as they walked, “Since the lecture in Sharlayan with Montichaigne… about souls and memories and how aether can be used to blot out memories upon the soul.”

“I daresay we have all been thinking of you since that little talk…” said Shtola with a gentle laugh, “While it doesn’t explain waking so long after the Calamity, nor how you got here, the surge of aether from Dalamud may very well be the culprit. It may not be so mysterious.”

“Y’shtola… your eyesight, if… if you do not mind me asking,” Raha began, a little flustered as if uncertain if it were a sensitive subject. “This was a side effect from being adrift on the Lifestream for an extended period, is it not?”

“It is, yes. Why?”

G’raha sighed a little, as if relieved she was not offended by the question, he continued with considerably more confidence, “Perhaps somehow, during the Calamity… Miso’no was cast into the Lifestream? There was no shortage of those who disappeared during the battle of Carteneau… Many are likely dead, but as you well know, the Warriors of Light from that time simply vanished.”

Inclining her head, the other Scion replied, “Yes, and no one seems to remember who they were. Not their likeness, nor their names, nor anything about them.”

“Kan-E-Senna once said that I reminded her of them… the Warriors of Light…” Miso muttered quietly, “I… thought at the time the comparison was simply high praise. It was similar with those who thought they recognized me, but such moments were always fleeting. If they had memories of me, even an inkling, it did not last.”

“If it were only your memories, this would not be such a quandary…” G’raha Tia said with an equal mixture of awe and bewilderment, “But truly it would seem as if no one remembers you in turn. I am reluctant to believe it was simply the surplus of aether during the Calamity that caused this. How would that affect the memories of everyone on this Star who may have known you?”

“Which would suggest… that this was done a’purpose.” Y’shtola said, more a statement than a question.

“Precisely. But… by whom?”

A hushed silence fell over all three, Miso most of all retreating into herself, lost in thought. Who would go through such trouble to do such a thing, and why? So often she had assumed that the Calamity had stolen her past from her, since many had lost their memories, or even parts of their memories. 

So many forgot the events of the Calamity, and almost none at all remembered the battle between Louisoix and Bahamut aside from a vague notion of events… which none but she and the twins knew was done a’purpose.

If this was only a byproduct of that, why was her situation so strange?

“There is one thing I remember,” Miso’no blurted out, surprising even herself. Both her loved ones stopped dead in their tracks to gawk at her as if she’d just sprouted Ardbert’s head upon her shoulders. 

‘Twas something she’d not told anyone. Her own little secret. She never meant to hide it exactly, but for some reason she feared if she’d said it out loud that the memory might pop out of existence like a fragile bubble. But based on the looks she was receiving, there was no putting the cat back in the bag. She hesitated nonetheless, grasping at her tail in a nervous habit she’d picked up from Raha… because to say it outloud it almost sounded silly now that she was doing it. “It’s.. not much really, which is why I never said anything. I just remember… that I had a friend… who I lost. But… that is all I know. It’s… just the feeling that I lost him.”

Given the nature of both her beloveds, this set off quite the barrage of questions and comments:

“You remember nothing else about him?”

“You recall no details whatsoever?”

“Strange how you should recall his gender…”

“Could he be a family member perhaps? Are you certain he was a friend?”

“And you believe you lost him during the Calamity?”

“Have you ever looked for him? It is possible that the feeling of loss was not death…”

Grabbing both their hands, Miso shook her head and spoke softly, unable to hide the sadness that creeped into her voice, threatening to break it, “I had always assumed it was the Calamity… but, I don’t know truly. I just thought… he died.” Her gaze dropped low. “And so… it never occurred to me to look for him. So many were lost during the Calamity, and… I don’t even know his name. How would I even begin looking?”

They all shared a moment of solemn contemplation, the reality of the situation quelling the questions.

“Well…” Raha ventured after a while, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze. “We shall do all we can to help you look after–”

“Ah hah!” came an accusatory voice from a nearby cluster of crystals. “I told you they were on some secret quest without us!”

Two of the three nearly leapt out of their skin; Y’shtola did not even flinch. “Ah,” she purred with a self-satisfied smirk, “Perhaps I should have mentioned sooner we were being followed? And here I thought you’d both have noticed… especially with how loud they were whispering...”

The angry clip-clop of pointed boots stomped out from behind her rocky hiding place, shrugging her red coat more securely about her shoulders as if it had fallen askew from a more diplomatic hand attempting to stop her (as if one could). Alisaie stormed into view, her white pony-tail tossed carelessly behind her, flicking with annoyance in much the same way as Miso’no’s own tail. Stumbling after her came her twin; a near carbon-copy if not for the cool demeanor and manner of dress betraying the vast differences between the two.

“Alisaie!” he stammered, attempting to calm her with the desperate tone one might use to try to talk down a hurricane or tornado, “I am certain this was not an intentional deception! Perhaps it is merely a… private matter…?” Alphinaud’s pale features flushed, and G’raha’s with him, at his choice of words.

“It’s not like that!” Raha exclaimed, hands splayed before him in an innocent gesture as Alisaie rounded on him with an accusatory finger.

“Alisaie, please…” Miso’no began. “I had meant to come alone, truly…”

“That does not make it any better!”

“Twelve help them all,” Y’shtola sighed delicately, making yet another declaration that stopped all bickering in its tracks. “The rest of you may as well show yourselves and save us further interruptions.”

Hands upraised and a smirk on his lips, Thancred stepped out from a nearby crystal cluster, the tall form of Urianger following suit, looking properly abashed. “You must admit, we were at least quieter than those two,” the shorter man replied in his customary cocky tone, then cleared his throat and added. “You might as well come out too, Dragoon. You can’t hide from Y’shtola anymore than you can hide from Krile…”

A grunt was all that signaled the last of the interlopers, drawing everyone’s gaze heavensward; the Azure Dragoon himself was perched high atop a crystalline spire. One would think a dramatic entrance would be beyond Estinien, who ever acted like being perceived was the worst thing imaginable, but he leapt from his perch and elegantly twisted in the air to land in a hero’s crouch before them. Miso should have figured; wherever the twins were he was never far behind. Not that he would ever admit to that. “What’s all this about then?” grumbled the man in a raspy tone.

All eyes turned to Miso’no; she pursed her lips together, feeling exposed. Her past had always felt like a void she could fall into at any moment and disappear forever. She feared that, somehow, she would drag her friends into whatever that dark place was. She feared it would change her. Feared it would change how they looked at her. And they all looked at her now; looks of concern, looks of curiosity, looks of love and care. Even Estinien, with his brooding, prickly manner, was here because he worried. Somehow despite everything she has done and would do for all those present… she felt so unworthy of such affection, such admiration… such devotion. 

And yet, she feared losing them all even more.

“Everyone… I…” Miso felt her throat close up around the words, unable to continue. 

“Miso…” Alisaie came up to her with a surprisingly gentle tone and took both her hands and squeezed them (a little too tightly), “Whatever it is, we’re all here because we don’t want you to have to go through it alone. Not this time. Not ever again.”

Looking around to the faces of all her friends and loved ones, she could see the same sentiment reflected on each and every one of their features, like mirrors showing her the various sides of herself she had trouble seeing clearly. Someone brave. Someone strong. Someone kind. Someone smart. Someone wise. Someone worth fighting with. Someone worth fighting for. 

Someone worth remembering…

With a nod Miso’no found her voice, and though it shook as she spoke, she told her friends what they were attempting and why. They all knew in some way, shape, or form about her amnesia. But now they knew it all: her fears and her forgotten friend. The feelings of familiarity, memories that felt so close yet so far. The blasted headaches when she would try to remember who she was and where she came from, like something was stopping her. The more she spoke, the lighter she felt and the easier the words came. By the time she was finished, she felt almost light-headed and dizzy from the feeling of her burden lifting. 

They all listened without a word of interruption. Eventually she stopped and looked around to a mixture of solemn wonder.

With a shake of her head and lightly flushed from embarrassment at the secrecy of the whole thing – which felt silly now – she told them, “We do not know if this will work. In all likelihood, nothing at all will happen but… I think I’m ready to at least try.” 

“Well then, nothing to it but press on,” said Thancred with his usual grin, reaching out to ruffle Miso’s hair affectionately– something he did more and more of since Ryne. Especially since having to leave her behind in the First. Everyone shorter than him endured it (even Alisaie) knowing it was his odd way of feeling connected to her still. He hooked an arm around her shoulders, “Shall we?”

All the Scions gathered around their Warrior of Light, winding hands and arms together, walking as one towards the shard of Dalamud where Miso’no Tsuki was born.

The Singing Shards sparkled and crackled in the orange glow, tickling like a static sensation across the Scions’ skin; hair and fur alike standing on end from the charged air. The most important shard, that of Dalamud, stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the crystalline structure that surrounded it. Unaspected, corrupted aether frozen in time.  

“It’s been a while since we’ve been near this place…” Alisaie said softly. “We would have gotten closer if someone had not interrupted us.”

“This entrance to the coils of Bahamut were thoroughly inspected and found to be sealed. But we do not need to get into the fragment in this case.” Alphinaud blinked and looked to Miso’no, “... do we?”

Miso shook her head. No. 

“There are many theories to these crystal formations,” Y’shtola said, ignoring them for more interesting topics. “Some say they are merely from Bahamut’s attacks, striking the land with such a fearsome concentration of aether that it left permanent scars upon the Star. Some say these were pockets of protection left by Hydaelyn, attempting to shield the planet from Bahamut’s ire. Much like the barriers I employ, but much more potent.”

“If I remember correctly, Krile said that Hydaelyn had fallen silent after the Seventh Umbral Calamity, Her voice seldom heard in comparison. I wonder if She employed a considerable amount of aether during that time for some purpose… and has since been recuperating,” G’raha offered, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Or the rejoining did in fact weaken Her considerably, as the Ascians had implied.”

“Perhaps both,” Urianger agreed in a rare moment of brevity.

They stopped just shy of the bubble containing the shard itself. A larger bubble loomed ominously behind it. Miso’no raised her gaze, feeling suddenly shaky upon her feet, despite the firmness of the ground. It was as if her body, or perhaps her soul, was remembering something that her mind could not… and it was screaming at her to run.

“I can’t turn back now,” she rasped, shaking her head. “I want to.”

“Then I suppose we must go deeper inside,” Estinien said gruffly, “It would seem even at this distance somewhat is causing something to stir within you.”

“Are you sure about this?” Raha was in front of her suddenly, forehead pressed to hers, his eyes flicking gently back and forth, searching her own for any sign this was going badly. “I shouldn’t have pressed you…”

“No, Raha… we’re doing this. If not now… when? The world may be ending.”

With a nod, he accepted this with a quick press of his lips to her forehead and stood back, “Very well then. We shall all be right behind you.”

Miso’no Tsuki stepped into the bubble where part of the false moon fell.

All around was awash with an angry orange light. Something about it felt wrong upon her skin, like an itchy sweater. Miso’no focused on the steps of her friends behind her, and kept walking deeper, closer to the shard itself. It stuck out of the corrupted crystals, melted into place. She searched her limited memories for the place where she remembered waking…

Though something in her mind screamed No! Turn back! But her body was on auto-pilot and kept walking. With each step something flickered, licking at her senses. Miso’no could hear screaming, at first distant…but like an approaching storm, thundered closer and closer at her approach. Darkness flickered over her vision – once, then twice, then over and over again – and she was distantly aware that she stumbled. It was dark one moment, then bright the next, like fireworks exploding behind her eyes, overlapping her reality. But she had to keep walking! She could not stop! Was someone shouting her name? What was her name again? 

Hear… Feel… Think…

Suddenly Miso’no slipped and fell.

She landed face-first in the mud; soft, churned earth from foot and rain and fire. Battle noises raged around her, overwhelming her senses… which were recovering slowly from her dazed state. She threw long white hair out of her face… Why was her hair so long? It clung to her face and robes, white robes… unfamiliar to her. She knelt in the mud as footsteps and explosions thundered around her; someone was sounding some kind of retreat. Miso’no turned her face towards the sky, where an angry red sphere hung, filling her heart with dread and fear. “Where…”

“Fall back!!” gruff voices called in the darkness, “Louisoix is sounding the retreat! FALL BACK!”

Miso’no did not recognize any of them. But a distant part of her knew… was this the Battle at Carteneau? Her eyes darted around, squinting through fire falling all around her… the sight of it awakening a fear so deep she started shaking. “The… the final days…?” she said to no one.

The sky above raged on. 

All who were not dead or dying had fled, leaving the battlefield oddly quiet… and Miso’no knelt there alone, unsure of what to do. Or so she thought. Suddenly a voice chuckled nearby, along with a gentle strumming of some instrument, “It does feel like the end of the world, doesn’t it?”

Miso’no gasped, twisting to see a young Miqo’te man, leaning up against a shield sticking out of the mud. He held a lute in his hands and a wide brimmed hat atop his head with an outrageously large plume. Dirty blond hair, with tips lighter than root, fell over bright yellow eyes, which peered out at her with a gentle playfulness that felt out of place amidst all the carnage. Upon closer inspection, she could see something else in those eyes; pain… and resignation. She gasped again, crawling in the mud towards him… his leg was bent in an impossible direction, exposing the bone. 

“Oh you’re… you’re badly hurt…” she stammered.

He strummed a beautiful chord with a sigh, “Yep. I’m a goner. You could still run for it though,” he squinted up towards the sky, speaking with a surprising clarity given he was going to die. She followed his gaze up to the sky, and saw something brilliantly white, clashing with the reddish light in the sky. “Hmm. Maybe not. Don’t suppose you’re a healer, are you?”

Miso’no felt her eyes well with tears, she shook her head. If only she were a healer.

The Miqo’te quirked a brow at her, his easy demeanor oddly calming despite fire raining from the sky and explosions shaking the earth in all directions. He continued to strum as he spoke, “Where did you come from? Did you fall out of the sky like Dalamud? You can’t be here on purpose, dressed like that… not fit for battle at all.” He laughed, “S’pose neither am I.” He paused, as if for dramatic effect, strumming a few more chords, “I’m Codex. Codex Vahlda. And you are?”

“I…” with a shock, she realized she did not know. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember… how I got here. I don’t… remember anything…”

The strumming stopped abruptly, and the man named Codex reached out to take her hand in a firm but oddly familiar squeeze. “Hey now… it's alright! Don’t force it… it’ll come back to you in time.” He reclined again, releasing a sigh that may have been masking a grunt of pain. “I’ve heard… that in the aetherial sea, our souls are cleansed by Hydaelyn herself… and it either wipes all our memories clean for us to be reborn, or… reveals everything we might have once forgotten. So… either way I suppose you and I will know soon.”

“Where did you hear that?” 

The man raised and released his shoulders with a strum, “Oh I’ve travelled all around. You hear all sorts of things. Some true, some not. Some fall somewhere in between… songs tell many tales, for those who are wise enough to listen.”

A rising tide of sadness welled up within her; to think of all the songs that might die here with this man she’d only just met. Being a blank slate, she didn’t feel as if much would be lost when she was gone. Even so, Miso’s heart drummed against her chest, a stark contrast to the soothing strings of Codex’s song. Raising a hand to her chest, a solemn acknowledgement of her heart’s rallying cries to survive, she asked him: “Aren’t you… scared?”

“Thall’s balls, of course! But… that’s kinda the excitement of it, isn’t it?” He struck a dramatic chord, “Death’s the next great adventure. No sense stressing over the inevitable.”

“You’re a bit odd, aren’t you?” Miso’no couldn’t help but laugh.

“So I've been told,” the man agreed, closing his eyes briefly. “You know what else is odd? You seem familiar to me somehow… I don’t even know your name but… it feels as though we’ve met before.”

The air around them flashed, the earth rumbling. She saw the man wince in pain and instinctively moved closer, grabbing his arm to steady him, though it was unnecessary given they were already on the ground. Miso’no felt a strong urge to protect him… but how? She had no weapon, no magic to her knowledge… nothing but the robes which were strange to her. She thought she heard a voice echo in her mind… 

No… Not here… not now… that’s too soon…  I must…  

But then it faded.

“Where are you from?” Miso’no asked in a shaky voice, as if the world were not crumbling around them and she was not hearing voices. 

“Gridania… Do you know it?”

“It… it does sound familiar,” her brow furrowed, struggling to think. To remember. “Maybe.”

“You should visit sometime. Lush forests, beautiful beyond compare… peaceful, too.” With a grin, he winked, “They are very kind to their wandering bards there. Love a good tune in the Aetheryte plaza.”

“I’ll have to see it then…” she lied with a faint smile. Explosions raged around them, closer and more forceful with each passing moment. The sky above was growing brighter and brighter, the air almost too hot. Miso’s eyes stung and she could smell singed hair. It seemed so unfair her life was ending… even if she could not remember it. But Codex’s life ending felt even more unfair, and she could do nothing about that either.

“Hey,” Codex said to her, as if sensing her dread. “Could you… pass me my flute? Lute just doesn’t seem right for the occasion. It’s… ah…” he winced, “in my leg pouch there.”

“Oh… this one?” with trembling hands she unbuttoned the thin pouch, revealing a gorgeously carved flute, made of some kind of bone…? Or a milky white crystal perhaps? She could not help but stare in awe for a moment before passing it reverently into the waiting hands of her new – and only – friend.

“Ahhh, that’s the one…” the Miqo’te man sighed appreciatively, taking the flute with great care. He turned it over in lithe, calloused hands, deft fingers handling it with a keenly honed precision. “Made of white auracite… very rare. Not something I tell almost anyone, but you seem like a trustworthy sort.” He winked, “Music has a power to it… and with this flute in particular, well… let’s just say it's extra potent.”

“Will you…” Miso’no closed her eyes as the ground shook once more, rattling her so deeply it felt like her teeth might shake loose. The brightness all around was blinding, the sounds deafening. Her skin hurt and she knew burns were blossoming on her back. But her attention had narrowed to just her… and Codex. She raised her voice to be heard above the din, and squeezed his arm. “Will you play for me?”

“To the very end, my friend.”

Codex lifted the flute to his lips and played. The tune was hauntingly familiar; both uplifting and sad in equal measure. Despite the destruction that rained down upon them, she heard each note so clearly… the sounds resonated deep within, each note ringing in her ears and reverberating through her chest, her heart beating to the tune. Bit by bit, it seemed to etch itself upon her very soul. Miso’no closed her eyes so she could pretend they were somewhere else… anywhere else.

Suddenly, brightness beyond compare pressed against her eyelids, washing her world in red. Miso’no squeezed Codex’s arm, for surely the end was upon them. A wind kicked up, tossing what was left of her hair all around and whipping against her face; her tattered robes floated about as if suddenly weightless… and Miso realized the ground was lifting away, her only tether was Codex’s arm.

The song stopped.

 Alarmed, her eyes flew open, and she met the golden eyes of the Miqo’te man, the entire world was a blue-white blur around them. His eyes were wide, staring with shock and awe. Miso watched his mouth move, but she could not hear him. She clung to his arm, her one connection in the world, her lungs burning as she tried to yell over the roaring wind.
“NO! PLEASE!” but Miso’no’s words were stolen by whatever forces were ripping her away. She was distantly aware of her own screaming, for everything around them was burning. Her hair turned to ash, her skin bubbled and split. She could not hold on. Slowly, agonizingly, she faltered; her hands could no longer grip the fabric that was disintegrating in the heat until the only thing she could grasp was the flute. Unable to even hear her own voice begging him to not let go, she locked eyes with Codex, willing him to see the meaning in her gaze; her tears snatched away like raindrops in a tornado made of fire and light. She watched his expression soften in resignation, his mouth forming words she could not hear. Maybe it was “goodbye” or “I’m sorry”.

Codex let go of the flute and Miso’no’s world was consumed by the light.

And then swallowed by the darkness.

Darkness and the undeniable sting of loss, with naught to distract her from the keen edge of its cold blade. How long did she languish in the dark? Though it was likely only seconds, minutes at most since she’d collapsed at the feet of her friends, it felt like an eternity. Tiny, far away voices floated through the dark, calling to her. A name that seemed unfamiliar at first, far away from this strange version of herself. 

As if some inner eye had opened, crystals reflecting images drifted by in the dark as on some gentle, unseen stream. Faces, voices, people, places… a trickle at first and then a deluge. A veritable flood of memories carried her away towards a new light; warm and familiar.

Hear… feel… think…

That voice… Miso’no knew that voice. Hydaelyn. The same voice she’d heard on the battlefield. It drew her in and cradled her gently in its warm light, ferrying her away to safety. She gave herself to the current gladly, some awareness returning to her as she did. Was that it? Was that all of her past that she could remember? As if hearing her thoughts, the voice spoke again.  

Not yet… someday you may know…  but not yet… I’m sorry, Miso’no.

Miso’no. Miso’no. Miso’no.

That name seemed to echo all around, as if calling to her. Her name.

“Miso’no!”

Beneath the harsh glow of the crystalline dome, shadowed by the shard of Dalamud, the Warrior of Light came back to herself with a gasp. Air rushed into her lungs as sure as her memories flooded back to her mind, with a single new addition:

“Codex…” Miso’no whispered hoarsely as silent tears escaped the corners of her eyes, rolling down her temples and disappearing into her hair. She cleared her throat, trying to raise her voice to the blurry forms of her friends as they swam into view, crowding around her prone form with concern. In her second attempt, her words rang out and echoed within the hollow bubble above them, punctuated by the sobs that racked her body as she realized somehow, impossibly, she was clutching something cold and hard in both hands: a flute carved from white auracite.

“His name was Codex.”

[[ END ]]