The press of bodies came from all around. A mass of endless people moving at pace, steady, blurry forms marching on and on without cease; a mad palette of colours and shades too indistinct to see clearly. Unable to keep up, Miso’no felt herself being jostled, as if none saw her as they went to and fro, from nothingness to nowhere. She felt as a fish trying to swim up-stream, except no matter which direction she picked, the crowd impeded her.

Occasionally she plucked a sleeve here, or a shoulder there, trying to catch the glimpse of a familiar face. But none so much as spaced a hazy glance in her direction.

It was the snap of fingers that drew Miso’s attention, her heart leaping in her chest as she whipped around towards the sudden noise above the din of shuffling feet. Piercing yellow eyes met her own across the throng as if time stopped for them and them alone. Emet.

The Warrior of Light tried to move in his direction, but as soon as she did he was gone. She caught another glance of him out of the corner of her eye, all furs and reddish hair, but as soon as she looked properly…gone again. Everywhere she looked she saw impressions, after-images of the Ascian, his features in various states of laughing mockery… but each time he melted away into the multitudes, as if she had imagined the whole thing.

The crowd gave one final shove and Miso fell…

… jolted awake in her bed in the Crystarium.

Miso squinted her pale, crystal-white eyes into the everlasting light flooding her room; a thing that happened day and night once more, thanks to her. Despite drawing the curtains, they stood open, flapping gentle to the rhythm of Binx’s playful swatting. Groaning she pressed both palms into her eyes, the reality of her situation flooding back to her.

“The cat has the right of it,” said Ardbert’s voice suddenly, “you can’t just waste away in eternal slumber.’

“Fine, fine, I’m up. I’m up,” she retorted, whipping away the covers.

“You will have to face your friends eventually, you know.”

“I know…”

“You have to talk to Y’shtola eventually too– hey!” The translucent form of Ardbert flinched as a pillow flew directly threw him, launched by Miso’s own hand. “I may not feel that, but I do have feelings. And if you don’t care about mine, you should at least care about hers.”

Though not usually one for brooding, Miso had been doing a lot of it. Now was no exception. The thought of facing Shtola in her current state felt worse than death. The only thing keeping her from acting on those dark thoughts was the light inside her might destroy this world and usher in the next calamity. With Ardbert standing there, having sacrificed his life to stop the flood, it seemed disrespectful to even consider it.

Having thoroughly shamed herself, she muttered in a sombre tone, “Sorry. You’re right.”

“Eh, it’s alright. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling,” a rueful smirk quirked the corner of his lips, “well… maybe I can a little.”

She knew he was trying to comfort her, and in some logical part of her brain Miso appreciated what he was trying to do, but she did not feel deserving of comfort. But Ardbert did not deserve that level of rejection, no matter how poorly she was feeling. So she mustered a small smile and just said, “I suppose you do…Thank you, Ardbert,” a beat, “I’ll… go see ‘Shtola.”

“I believe she’s doing research in the Cabinet of Curiosity,” he offered with a nod and left her to dress. Miso’no put on her simple black and white robes and wandered out into the lobby of the Pendants, her feet feeling heavy as lead. She felt like a phantom, haunting those halls… not like Ardbert, but a more threatening sort. Though many still saw her as the Warrior of Darkness–a champion who brought them night for the first time in a hundred years–she now brought about that which they feared most. 

For every person to greet her with empathy and encouragement, others she thought she could hear whispering behind their hands: Sineater.

Crowds drifted by here and there, reminiscent of Miso’s troubled dreams. For a moment she thought she saw a set of golden eyes, but– no, she shook the feeling away. She was just seeing things. She had nothing the Ascian wanted now. Not anymore.

Madness, indeed.

Reaching the heavy doors to the Cabinet of Curiosity, she hesitated. Her hands did not shake so facing down Primals, nor Ultima, not even Zenos, or the Wardens. But thinking of looking into Y’shtola’s eyes and seeing the barrier between them now… it was unbearable.

But she could not return to her room where Ardbert was surely waiting, judgingly, without at least an attempt and so, she pushed open the doors into the dim, dust filled air of the library. 

The scent of aged cellulose and lignin, a scent not unlike vanilla, rose to greet her. ‘Shtola often smelled very faintly of it. It made her heart lurch terribly, filled with reminder on levels both pleasant and painful. Warm furs and entwined tails… never again.

For a mercy, the library was mostly vacant, but being massive it took some wandering to find the woman she loved pouring over books on the topmost level. Her upper brow faintly glistened with the intensity of her focus and the heat of the everlasting light pouring in through the stained glass dome. Miso nigh froze at the sight of her, throat suddenly closed up with some emotion she could not name. A mocking voice in her head said, she’s looking at you differently now, isn’t she?

As if to dislodge the voice from her skull, Miso shook her head, as one might shoo a fly.

Unsure if it was the movement or some noise she made, Y’shtola became aware of her presence and looked up. Her features softened a moment and then, to Miso’s dismay, changed slightly. Not that ‘Shtola was unhappy to see her, but the reminder of what she had become suddenly lay between them like an ugly, obvious wound. 

Miso wondered if the Light of the Wardens was so bright to her, so all-consuming, perhaps it hurt her aether-seeing eyes. Whatever it was, it was different now.

“Sleep well?” ‘Shtola finally offered with the hint of a sad smile.

“No, not really,” she admitted, clearing her throat to immediately change the topic, “Any luck?”

“Not yet I’m afraid, but this is all somewhat… unprecedented.”

Was it to be all business between them now? Miso closed her eyes against the tightening in her chest and said, “I see.” 

Y’shtola rose, mistaking her tone for dismay at her condition, and reached forward with the intention of taking her hands, “Miso… we’ll find a way.”

“Don’t touch me,” Miso’no gasped, flinching away from her beloved’s hands. Terror held her heart in an icy grip, “P-please… we don’t know if it’s safe to–”

Staring down at her hands–pale blue and shaking–Miso turned away, seeing visions of ‘Shtola’s beautiful face warping, crunching, changing… black tears and white feathered cocoons, her love slowly, brutally, painfully becoming a mindless Sineater. Who knows how she might spread the seed that might infect those around her? She didn’t dare risk it and now she deeply regretted coming here. Better Y’shtola think her cold and unfeeling than turning her into one of those things just because she has some pitiful desire for physical comfort.

“My dear heart,” ‘Shtola’s voice held a softly chiding note, coupled with a sad chuckle. “Is that what troubles you so?”

Miso’no released a shuddering sigh, running her hands down her own arms, trying to let go of the terrifying vision of ‘Shtola becoming what she was: a monster. Though her beloved could not see her as others did, the depth to which she could see Miso could not bear to face in that moment. “... Does it not trouble you?”

There were gentle swish, swish sounds of ‘Shtola pacing in her gentle way behind her, she could nigh picture her arms crossed before her, cradling her chin gently in one hand in thought, “Oh it troubles me… it troubles me greatly. Though not for the reasons it seems you expect.” A pause. The swishing stopped. “I do not fear you, Miso’no. I fear for you.”

Tears came unbidden. The world blurred much like her dream, swimming and swaying before her as they spilled, surprisingly warm on her cheeks. Her world became naught but crystalline, rainbow light. Is this how ‘Shtola sees the world, she wondered?

“I fear me,” she choked out at last, her shoulders shaking with the kind of gentle laughter that skirts on the edge of the deepest sadness. “If I am still myself, there is a good chance I won’t be for long. And you’ve known… for a while that I am different. I have not been safe the moment I took on the Light of the first Warden. I am… not the same Miso you loved in the Source…” Miso turned then, lifting her pale eyes to meet ‘Shtola’s, “... am I.”

It was a statement more than a question and it hung in the air as if time stopped. Silence settled between them like the chilly condensation of nighttime.

It did not need an answer; they both knew where the truth lay, uncomfortable and awkward between them. Miso’no’s tears yet glistened on her cheeks but there was a devastating resolve to her posture, watching Y’shtola’s ears twitched with uncertainty; not like her at all and then her gaze slid away in silent thought. 

“We will find a way to fix this, Miso,” her beloved said finally, in her soft, certain way; she idly turned the page of a dusty old tome on the table next to her, almost in hopes she could find the answer right then. “Just give it time.”

“Time!” Miso threw up her hands in exasperation,  “My existence dooms this world, Y’shtola! I shouldn’t even be here, in the Crystarium… What if I draw Sineaters to me, like the other Lightwardens do! It may be even worse with me, being a Lightwarden four times over! What if people here start turning because of my presence? We may not have the luxury of time…”

Far below someone hissed a harsh, “SHHH!” and it was then Miso realized she had raised her voice and her body deflated a little in shame.

Perhaps she had spent too much time with Emet, but she continued her diatribe; quieter, but no less forceful. She met ‘Shtola’s eyes, putting a silent plea in hers she knew her beloved would never accept. “The Crystal Exarch,” her voice caught, not able to bring herself to say his actual name, “laboured here for 100 years and only found one option!”

Y’shtola listened with a patience she did not deserve, there was no sass in her now, nor comforting words; her brow creased with a powerfully suppressed emotion that she could not initially place. Miso finally saw passed her own wretched feelings in time to watch the weight, and implications, of her words hit her beloved like Dalamud. Regret hit her nearly twice as hard and she truly wished the Void would open up and swallow her right then.

Dark lashes fluttered over pale eyes, the dark blue of her eyelids holding back the flood mounting within; she did not even deserve to look at ‘Shtola. Miso whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Skirts swished along the floor, moving closer. Miso took a step back and the swishing stopped a safe distance away, respecting her space (regardless of how much Miso wanted her to close it). Suddenly she felt something tap her shoulder and rest there; her eyes fluttered open and saw Y’shtola standing there, gently patting Miso on the shoulder with her staff. She smiled her slight, sadness tinged smile. 

“So like you to worry about the plight of the world over your own demise,” her beloved chided gently, meeting her gaze with eyes that saw more than she’d ever let on, “I will take that option into consideration, but only as the very last option. And I mean last option.” She prodded Miso’s shoulder as if to emphasize her words, “I will personally beg Emet-Selch on hands and knees to help you before even thinking about it as a possibility. Am I understood?”

Though she didn’t think it possible in her current emotional state, Miso nigh flushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. 

Without thinking, she immediately said, “Yes, mother…” And her lips twitched unbidden into a faint smile and she hid her gaze beneath the whiteness of her bangs. 

“Good,” said Y’shtola in a satisfied tone. Miso thought she could hear a nod of approval as she stared, very intently, at the floor. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should return to researching at least ten more suitable options than throwing yourself into the Void itself. Oh, and if you see Urianger, I give you leave to give him a thorough verbal thrashing for what he kept from you.”

Lifting her eyes for one last look, Miso met the warm yet mischievous smile of her beloved ‘Shtola. Despite everything, she did feel somewhat… lighter. Hm, maybe that is the wrong word for it. Her spirit, if she still had one, felt lifted.

“If I am indeed still capable,” Miso said as she turned to go back down the stairs, “I do love you.”

Without looking up from her tomes (Miso was never quite sure how reading worked with her), her beloved smiled and answered a-matter-of-factly, “I know.”

Miso took her leave and allowed herself herself a modicum of hope. 

If not for herself, then at least… for Y’shtola.