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Bound by Faith

CHAPTER ONE: PHILIA

Chapter Rating: Teen (full story is rated Explicit) Pairing: Aureia Malathar (WoL)/Thancred Waters Major Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Thancred Waters, Urianger Augurelt, Ryne Minor Characters: Y'shtola Rhul, Alisaie Leveilleur, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Cyella Chapter Words: 5,393 Notes: Set post-5.0., spoilers for Shadowbringers base. Summary: With their enemies defeated and the First saved, the Crystarium is alive with celebration. Despite the joy around her, Aureia is uncertain about the next steps to take. So is Thancred, for that matter. The puzzle of their lives has sat incomplete for years, but finally this last, precious piece may be able to slide into place. Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 Read on AO3

By the time evening falls, the celebrations have been well under way for many bells. The Wandering Stairs—scrubbed sparkling clean and bedecked with flower garlands and candles for the occasion—serves as the centre of the festivities under Glynard’s keen eye. A raised stage has been erected below at the foot of the terraced steps, providing ample space for musicians and dancers to perform. The crowd flows as freely as the wine and ale, passing through the tavern with ease. Clusters of friends, families, and strangers gather together to listen to the musicians play and watch the dancers dance.

Aureia watches it all from her spot overlooking the lawn, unable to contain her joy. It’s strange how many familiar faces there are in the crowd, how many people she knows if not by name, then certainly by sight. This unyielding sense of community never fails to take her breath away. Not only is the whole of the Crystarium present, but the Quadrivium is dotted with guests from Lakelands villages and visitors from the Greatwood to Amh Araeng and beyond. Even the pixies are well-represented, soaring through the air on their butterfly wings, their mischievous glee ringing bright and playful above the chorus of merriment.

“There you are!” a familiar voice calls behind her. “I was wondering where you had run off to—”

Aureia glances over her shoulder. The twins push their way through the crowd, Alisaie in the lead, cheeks flushed and blue eyes shining brighter than usual. Alphinaud trails a step behind, huffing with exertion to keep up with her vigorous pace. Like many others attending the festivities, the twins wear flowers in their hair—blue in his, pink in hers. The garlands have Ryne’s mark all over them.

“Well, we were wondering,” Alphinaud corrects as they draw to a stop. “We were concerned that—”

“Oh, hush, Alphinaud,” Alisaie interrupts, elbowing him in the shoulder. “It had occurred to us that you may have found yourself mobbed by a number of your not inconsiderable admirers. We were prepared to mount a rescue if need be, but I see you’ve found a moment of peace.”

Aureia pauses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Despite the spirit of the young woman’s words, she has a feeling this is not the true reason the twins came to find her. “Thank you,” she says. “If I find myself in need of rescue, you’ll be the first to know.”

Alphinaud laughs and folds his arms, surveying the bustling grounds. “’Tis a remarkable evening,” he ventures. “That so many have come together is… I don’t think there are words to describe it.”

“You already have,” Alisaie says soberly. “Remarkable. What we’ve done here, what we succeeded in doing… We saved a world, Alphinaud. But it wasn’t just us. It was everyone. They all had a hand in it, no matter how small, and that alone…”

He glances at her. “Didn’t think you were one to be weepy, Alisaie—”

“I’m not crying, I’m not! If anyone is prone to cry, it’s you!” She sniffles and presses the back of her hand to her nose, exhaling a long breath. “If only Tesleen had been here to see this. I think she would have been… she would have…”

Alphinaud touches her shoulder. “Those we have lost are never forgotten. The best we can do now is to take comfort in each other and live. Tonight is truly a testament to that.”

“When did you get so insightful?” she says indignantly and lowers her hand.

He chuckles. “Perhaps I always have been—or at least after I got over my flights of fancy. Or at least that’s what Mother says.”

Alisaie pauses, chewing her lower lip. The twins haven’t spoken much of their parents, and especially not since their entrapment here on the First. That Alphinaud mentions their mother now is not insignificant. How much do they miss her? How painful is it to be cut off so thoroughly from their family, unable to send even a simple letter, let alone explain the circumstances they have landed themselves in?

Family…

Aureia casts an eye across the Quadrivium and warmth floods her chest. It’s easy to spot Ryne in the crowd as she flits from group to group. Her fathomless joy is infectious, bringing a smile to everyone around her. As for the others, they have scattered around the Wandering Stairs ever since the festivities began in earnest. She hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Y’shtola or G’raha, but Urianger appeared not that long ago in the company of pixies, politely chiding them for performing trickery on unsuspecting guests. And Thancred…

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She spots him easily at the back of the tavern, leaning against the wall with his arms folded in his customary manner. It seems some things never change. Even a world away, even in this moment of peace and merriment, he still lingers on the fringes, keeping a watchful eye over those he loves.

“…that certainly sounds like Mother, though I don’t recall a time when she ever said that. Is there something I missed? When did that happen?”

“In a letter! Before I left for Garlemald—”

“Before you left? And it slipped your mind until now to tell me she wrote?”

“Alisaie, please—”

“Are you my brother or not?”

Aureia muffles her laughter, hiding her grin as the twins devolve into one of their familiar arguments. Family has been weighing on her mind of late. For years, the word has only brought her grief and strife. But now it has begun to shift, changing in ways that are both exhilarating and terrifying. She and the Scions—her friends, the dearest people in the world to her—are bound together through something deeper than friendship.

“Alphinaud!”

Ryne’s voice cuts through the din as she clatters up the steps from the lawn. She skids to a stop beside them, out of breath and beaming, and brushes hair out of her face.

“The band will be changing soon,” she says, tugging . “Come dance with me!”

“I—” Alphinaud’s eyes widen, tripping over his words in protest. “Well, see—”

Ryne pulls the ribbon tight. “Come on! I’m more than happy to teach you the steps. And besides, you said you would!”

“Yes, Alphinaud,” Alisaie echoes, an amused smile on her face. “You said you would.”

“I—what—Alisaie, please—”

She flashes him a grin and folds her arms, cocking her head towards the lawn. He follows her gaze, noting the gathered group of musicians and clusters of eagerly waiting dancers. His shoulders sag and he lets out a long sigh. He was never going to win this argument.

Ryne smiles and pats him on the arm. “There,” she says. “I knew you’d come round to it. It will be fun, I promise.”

“I don’t suppose anyone else is joining us?” he asks hopefully. “Urianger or Thancred, perhaps…?”

She laughs. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare ask if I were you,” she says lightly and links her arm through his. “Though I can imagine the look on his face if you did! He would maybe acquiesce if it’s Aureia who asks, but for you…? Now enough stalling, we’ll be late!”

Beaming at Aureia and Alisaie, she tugs on his arm and drags him into the crowd, catapulting them down the stairs and across the lawn. Alisaie catches Aureia’s eye, grinning from ear to ear. Together, they watch them go and settle into comfortable silence.

Aureia relaxes and rests her elbows on the balustrade, feeling oddly contemplative. The changes in Ryne have been remarkable ever since their triumph over Hades. The differences have been there since that day in Amh Araeng, but there’s something so precious about these days that have come after their enemy’s defeat. Ryne has had so little opportunity to be a normal girl. To see her embrace these small, everyday delights—dances, friends, meals shared with loved ones—brings Aureia more joy than she can articulate.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Alisaie says after a moment. “This moment of peace. It doesn’t feel real. It’s something we’ve dreamt of more times than we can count, and now it’s here… I can’t shake this feeling there is something we’ve forgotten. That some imminent crisis is going to raise its ugly head and undo everything we’ve fought so hard to achieve.”

“I know,” Aureia replies. “The thought has occurred to me, too. I don’t doubt we will ever be free of one crisis or another.”

“And that’s the problem, is it not? I dislike feeling this unsettled. It’s hardly fair after everything we’ve been through. I have this unrelenting need to do something, Aureia, as if taking a moment for myself is never enough. I’m not like Alphinaud. I can’t slip so freely into rest and respite. For all his complaints, I know he prefers the quiet. Not that I wish desperate times on anyone, that’s not what I mean, but there is a restlessness in me that needs to do something. And perhaps it’s easier to placate it with thoughts of what could go wrong in the future, rather than accepting that nothing has in the present.”

She lets out a long sigh and shakes her head. “Bah. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to become so introspective, not on a night like this. You certainly don’t need to be weighed down by my useless thoughts.”

“They’re not useless, Alisaie. If anything, I share them. When you have achieved that singular goal you spent years pursuing, how do you come to terms with that? I don’t know if there is an answer.”

Alisaie catches her eye. “Perhaps the answer is stabbing something with my rapier,” she says with a straight face.

Aureia snorts with laughter. “True. That has worked for me more times than I’d like to admit.”

“Then perhaps let’s say you owe me a sparring match. We have to work out this restlessness somehow—and I have yet to beat you. You know it is within my personal goals to best you someday. There can only be one true red mage amongst the Scions.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They exchange grins.

Alisaie pauses, the smile fading. “Do try to enjoy yourself tonight, yes?” she says seriously, gripping her hands. “If anyone deserves a time to rest, it’s you. It’s more than earned.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aureia replies, squeezing tight.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Alisaie smiles. Content with her answer, she bids farewell and disappears into the crowd, searching for her brother. Aureia lets out a little sigh and turns, abandoning her place overlooking the lawn. The conversation has left her oddly contemplative and her mouth is dry. She could use something to drink.

A burst of raucous giggling cuts through the tavern. Not far away, a familiar quartet occupies a large, round table, its surface littered the remains of several meals and more drinks than Aureia can count. Giott perches on the edge, grinning from ear to ear. She loudly guffaws some sordid tale while balancing a half-empty tankard in one hand. Lue-Reeq pushes his chair back and braces his hands against his knees, bowled over as he sobs with laughter. Granson sits with his arms folded, a smile cracking even his serious face. Cerigg chuckles and shakes his head, lounging with his feet up on the table, wine in hand. He glances across the tavern to where Taynor sits with a gaggle of Crystarium youths, keeping a watchful eye over both his companions and his young partner.

The four most unlikely of friends, brought together by their hunt for the Cardinal Virtues, and Aureia herself.

Granson catches her eye and raises a hand in welcome. Cerigg grins and nods, tipping his glass to her. Noticing their movement, Lue-Reeq follows suit and his eyes light up as he spots her, his tail curling upwards with excitement. Giott snorts on her ale and she raises her tankard high, bellowing Aureia’s name at the top of her lungs. Uncertain whether she wants to involve herself in the hunters’—well, more specifically, Giott’s—antics, Aureia waves in return and ducks out of the line of sight, heading for the bar.

Glynard’s staff is kept more than busy. The man himself swims above it all, barking orders and rushing to and fro. Despite his overworked state and the sweat shining on his brow, even he can’t contain the largest of smiles. Not wanting to trouble him, Aureia sidesteps the crowd and slips around to the side.

Behind the bar, Cyella methodically cleans an unending supply of used glasses. The tall, pale-haired elf seems quieter than usual, her grim expression out of place with the high spirits surrounding her.

“Now there’s a surprise,” she says, eyeing Aureia as she approaches. “I didn’t expect to see you of all people alone, Mistress Malathar. Not enjoying your evening?”

Aureia folds her hands on the bar. “No, I am. But between you and me, I’ve never been one to be at the centre of attention.”

“I can understand that.” The barmaid twists her rag round and round, polishing the edges of a glass. “If I may—from the little I’ve witnessed of you and your friends, you have others who are more than capable of doing that for you. The little lordling and his sister come to mind.”

Aureia cocks her head, brows drawn together. “I don’t think Alphinaud has ever described himself as a lordling. An artist, perhaps, but never—”

“Please, Mistress. I’ve been waiting tables longer than you would believe and even the greenest barmaid would see the lad was raised in luxury from the airs he puts on. I do not say this as an insult, merely an observation. He has an infectious charm. It’s easy to see why so many gravitate to him.”

She shoots Aureia a sideways glance, gauging her reaction, and twists the rag between her fingers. “You know that you and yours are the centre of everyday gossip, yes? The company you keep is strange and varied. Perplexing, even, to an outsider’s eye. An unlikely assortment of ragtag men and women who seem to have little to do with each other. But I can see the bonds between you are forged in love and tempered by trust. Whatever flaws you as individuals have are counteracted by each other’s virtues. And you are made all the stronger for it.”

Setting the rag aside, Cyella places a clean glass on the counter and reaches for a decanter. Aureia catches her eye and gestures sharply, shaking her head. The message is clear.

“It may be the same one day for the hunters there,” Cyella continues, nodding at the little band as she puts the decanter away. Giott has fully committed to standing on the table, Lue-Reeq’s head is in his hands, Granson’s unbreakable stoicism has finally cracked, and Cerigg remains exactly as he was. “They answered the call to the hunt for their own reasons, and through it found friendships that may very well last a lifetime. There is unconditional understanding there after the trails they have faced. No one can understand it as well as each other, save perhaps you.”

Aureia presses her lips together, her heart clenched. This isn’t the first time someone has remarked on the way she changes those who cross her path. But giving too much weight to the way she has impacted others’ lives has always made her uncomfortable. She’s not important. She never has been. She is simply trying to do her best in the circumstances she has fallen into.

Cyella notes her expression. With a little hum, she fills the glass with lemon water and pushes it in front of her. “I knew a band much like them once. Or perhaps more like yours. Strangers encountered through circumstance and fate, eventually to become friends bound by faith.”

Aureia takes a sip, the tart taste lingering on her tongue. Though she has no doubt that Glynard has broken into his best vintages for this, she has no desire to fuzz her mind with drink tonight. She’s made too many poor decisions in her life thanks to it. “What became of them?” she asks, though she feels as though she already knows the answer. Even the strongest of friendships may not be enough to endure unfathomable hardship, and the First has seen hardships beyond comprehension.

A faint smile plays across the barmaid’s lips. “It would be a familiar story, in part, to you, but now is not the time. There are happier things to consider the midst of these festivities than tragic tales from eras gone by. You saved the world. That is cause for celebration.”

“I suppose so, though I admit I am at a loss,” Aureia replies, absently rubbing a thumb against the edge of her glass. “How does one go about celebrating the saving of a world?”

The smile fades. “You would know more about that than I. Congratulations, Warrior of Darkness. Be proud. Be happy. You have achieved more in your short time here than many have in a lifetime, and the gravity of that is not an easy weight to bear. Look to your friends and hold them close. For there may be an ending to everything, but that day has not yet come. Not yet.”

With a final, significant look, Cyella tips her head in farewell, smooths down her apron in a business-like manner, and strides away to assist Glynard with the next round of tipsy patrons. Aureia sips at her drink, mulling over her words, and departs the bar. She meanders without purpose, smiling in greeting at those she passes, until she spots two familiar faces at the base of the stairs.

“…and respectfully, I disagree. Even Urianger would say the same.”

“And yet, Urianger is not here. You cannot make an argument on his behalf—”

Y’shtola’s ears prick up as Aureia descends the steps. “As scintillating as I find this discussion, Moren, perhaps it should be saved for another day,” she says, swilling her glass of wine.

He raises an eyebrow. “Of course,” he replies smoothly. “I am happy to give you time to reconsider your stance, Master Matoya.”

“There is nothing to reconsider. I will win this.”

Moren throws back his head and laughs. Giving her a respectful bow, he nods to Aureia and departs across the Quadrivium.

“What was that about?” she asks as she descends the final step.

“Oh, nothing,” Y’shtola answers, her tail swishing back and forth. “A little friendly conversation, that is all. I swear that man has more of a backbone than he lets on at first glance, he would destroy half the Forum with the way he debates. Admittedly, it wasn’t as quite an entertaining endeavour as when we first started. I am rather irked at being backed into a corner. Mayhap I should consider it a… personal… flaw? Both Thancred and Urianger would say it is good for me to lose an argument once in a while.”

“True,” Aureia replies, straight-faced. “We all have to stay humble.”

Y’shtola stares at her, eyes wide with surprise—and snorts with laughter, pressing the back of her hand to mouth to hide her smile. Aureia grins. Letting the moment pass, the pair fall into comfortable silence, sipping on their drinks as they watch the Quadrivium.

“And what of you?” the sorceress says after a moment. “I have scarcely seen you tonight.” Her silvery eyes linger on Aureia’s colour-sapped hair, one of the few remaining remnants of the light sickness that nearly consumed her. Though the sickness has passed, the light has left its mark. Only time will tell if the change is permanent. “I must say I’m impressed. One would think the Warrior of Darkness would have been pulled to the centre of attention with little opportunity to leave.”

Aureia takes a drink. A little ways away, G’raha stands in the centre of a small gathering, Lyna hovering protectively at his shoulder. Though he has mostly recovered from his ordeal, his face still bears cuts and bruises from his ordeal. His ears twitch, his expression flitting between unbridled joy and complete and utter shock. For years—decades, truly—his identity had been masked. To be amongst his people now so openly, no longer their benevolent but aloof saviour shrouded in the mystery…

It is a change no one saw coming, least of all the man himself.

“Oh, but don’t you see?” she says lightly. “The Warrior of Darkness is nothing compared to the Crystal Exarch. I think G’raha may need your support more than me. Now his people have seen his face he will never know peace.”

Y’shtola chuckles and raps a finger against her glass, her tail uncurling. “Mayhap he deserves it. Twelve know he has had little opportunity for anything amounting to normalcy—”

G’raha glances through the crowd and catches Aureia’s eye, a silent request for a timely rescue. She grins and raises a hand, declining him with a small wave.

“—as have you, my friend.”

Aureia freezes, caught off guard by the tone. “I’ll be fine,” she says, folding her arms. “Truly.”

Y’shtola purses her lips, silver eyes narrowed. Once again, she is lingering on her hair. “And in my heart, I want nothing more than to believe you,” she says. “You know yourself best of all. I have placed my faith in you time and again, and I trust you to know your own limits. But even so, I cannot deny that my eyes see more clearly than my heart. Your aether may have stabilized, but it is compromised. Distorted into something new, something we have not seen before. And I cannot bring myself to ignore it—and I suspect Ryne would say the same.”

“Y’shtola—”

“Please, if I may finish? If anyone can overcome this, it is you. There is no doubt in my mind that you can and you will. But I bid you, please, take care. You need rest. There is healing to be done. And I do not speak only of your aether.”

Aureia’s brows draw together. Though she knows it comes from a heartfelt place, she cannot help feel like she is being scolded. “What is this about, Shtola?” she asks.

“That you, my friend, have the very appalling habit of pushing yourself beyond your limits. Scarcely have you felled one enemy before you set your eyes on the next. But you cannot always move so quickly from one obstacle to another lest you wear yourself thin. I know this all too well; I fear I am very much the same. Even now, in the midst of these celebrations, I cannot stop myself from pondering what the future holds or the next steps we must take. There are problems we have swept under the rug for the time being, but sooner or later, they will demand an answer.”

“…did you really just advise me to rest while admitting you will not do so yourself?”

Y’shtola chuckles hesitantly and swills her wine, watching the deep red liquid swirl around her glass. “What can I say? Do not follow in my footsteps, I am but a poor example.” A grim expression settles across her face, and she takes a long drink. “These festivities are not confined to the Crystarium, but span the whole of Norvrandt. And on a night like this, my mind turns to Slitherbough and the Night’s Blessed. They have been my home for these intervening years, and I know all too well there will come a time when we must return to whence we came.”

“I know.” Aureia’s fingers tighten on her glass. A strange lump forms in her throat. “It’s not something I’m keen to think about.”

Y’shtola raises an eyebrow.

Her stomach twists and she flushes. “You said Slitherbough has been your home these past few years,” she says quickly, desperate to explain herself. “When I think of home, there’s not one place on the Source that calls to me that way. I’ve been displaced since I left Garlemald. I once thought to call Ul’dah my home and you know how that ended. The Rising Stones is our base of operations, but I wouldn’t think to call that a home. I have an apartment in Shirogane, but I haven’t been back since we left Othard—”

“You have an apartment? This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“Ah… It was supposed to be a secret. Tataru knows, but I needed her help with a landlord who was a little too eager to upsell to a foreigner.”

“I can imagine how that went.”

“He dropped the price after a single meeting.”

“A wise decision. Mayhap there is a modicum of intelligence left in landlords after all.”

Aureia snorts. She casts a sideways glance at her friend, catching a glimmer of deadpan amusement in her eye. “I can’t imagine what kind of disaster it must be now,” she continues. “It was little more than a bare room to begin with and I filled it with potted plants to satisfy a measly attempt at gardening. Either they’ve taken it over entirely or they’re all dead.”

“If Tataru knows of its existence, I am quite certain she has sent someone to handle the upkeep in your absence whether you like it or not.��

“Perhaps, but that’s besides the point! I brought this up to say that when I think of home, the Crystarium is the place that comes to mind. I love this city and its people, Shtola. And Ryne is here. I don’t know if I will ever be prepared to say goodbye, though I know we must someday soon. And so I haven’t given it much thought—at first because there was no time, and then later because I didn’t want to.”

Y’shtola regards her carefully. “And I have given it too much. Of the six of us, you are unique in your circumstances. You are here physically, united in body, mind, and soul. You alone can traverse the rift between Source and shard, visit either world whenever you so please. Not so for the rest of us.”

Aureia’s mouth tightens. “I haven’t forgotten the circumstances that brought you here, believe me,” she says grimly, raising her glass to her lips. She swallows a mouthful, the tart lemon water going bitter on her tongue.

“We are of twin worlds now, with duties and responsibilities to each. However, in the end we can only choose one. I cannot speak for the others, but I fear that if we ignore the reality of our existence here, the laws of nature will decide for us. Every day I am reminded that my presence here is by virtue of my soul made manifest. A fact that is undoubtedly unsustainable in the long term.”

“You mean to say that your souls cannot last forever if they remain separate from your bodies.”

“Indeed. The discovery of a method to reunite them is now of paramount importance. And my heart aches at the thought—not only for myself, but for us all and especially for Thancred. It is not that I think any of us do not wish to return to the Source, but rather once we are gone, it will be nigh impossible to return. We all have dear ones to whom it will be devastating to permanently say goodbye.”

Aureia lowers her glass, watching her friend closely. There is a strange look in Y’shtola’s face, one she has only seen once—in the Greatwood, after her reckless use of Flow. “Is this about Runar?” she asks.

A hint of a smile touches Y’shtola’s lips. She stares ahead, absently sipping on her wine, draining it to its last dregs. Her eyes burn with the kind of intensity that only arises when struck with the desire to take on a new challenge. “You and Thancred will not always be on the First,” she says, adeptly sidestepping the question. “Have you considered what will become of Ryne when that time comes?”

The question hang in the air and Aureia flushes at the directness. Uncertain how to answer, she scans the Quadrivium again. The music has ended for the time being and the dancers have gone their separate ways. She spots the twins easily—Alphinaud sits on the steps with G’raha, engrossed in conversation, while Alisaie has attracted the attention of a pixie. They circle her head, their colourful wings flashing in the warm lights, giggling at her appalled expression. A little ways away, Ryne sits on the lawn with Moren, enthusiastically telling him one tale or another. When she catches sight of Aureia, her face lights up. She raises a hand and waves, grinning with delight.

Aureia smiles, a joyful ache tugging at heart. Ryne has come so far in the past few moons, accepting her powers and legacy on her own terms and carving out an identity for herself that is no longer controlled by the demands of others. She couldn’t be more proud of her. And though she has not known her for long in the grand scheme of things, there is something powerful that binds them together, something that Aureia has never been able to fully express. She is not merely a mentor or a friend or a guardian, but something that surpasses all three.

“Aureia?” Y’shtola presses.

Aureia pauses. “I… No. Not yet. To be honest, I don’t know if that is something I am ready to contend with.”

“You love her dearly.”

“Yes.”

“Not unlike mother to daughter, if it’s not too bold to say.”

Aureia turns to her, eyes wide, the weight of the realization washing over her. “Nothing escapes your notice, does it,” she says quietly, still taken aback. Distracted, she raises her glass to her lips and drains the remaining water.

Y’shtola lets out a little sigh. “I should apologize. I did not mean to be so forward. And with regards to the points laid bare before, I did not mean to cloud your mind with a matter like this on an eve of celebration.”

“There’s no need to apologize. No matter how much reason we have to celebrate tonight, it does not mean that you can’t be concerned about the future. As you said, I am not in the same circumstances as you, but I think I know something about being terrified of the unknown when your very existence is on the line—”

“I am not terrified. I know we will resolve this conundrum. If G’raha can unlock the secrets of time and space, we can find a method to return our souls to our bodies. No, Aureia, the thought I cannot excise from my mind is the rift between worlds. There must be a way to traverse it without the encumbrances we have faced. There must.” She trails off and shakes her head. “I am sorry, I did not mean to become so contemplative this evening. Thank you, my friend, for indulging these nonsensical thoughts of mine.”

“They’re not nonsensical. I’ll make you a promise right now, Shtola. Someday we will find a way to breach the gap. No matter how long it takes.”

She laughs. “If there is one thing I can count on, it is for you to be as reckless and stubborn as I. Mark me—I will hold you to this promise.”

“I would want nothing less.”

Y’shtola smiles, warmth and affection brightening her face. With a little nod of her head and a swish of her tail, she excuses herself and sets off across the Quadrivium. Aureia raises a hand in farewell and heads up the stairs, returning into the tavern proper.

Not unlike mother to daughter, if it’s not too bold to say.

The words circle her mind with every step she takes. The revelation feels strange, new… and yet it fits. Once again, Y’shtola has shown an uncanny ability to see directly into the heart of the matter and bring it to light. And now she is grappling with it, there is only one person with whom she can discuss it.

Striding purposefully across the tavern, Aureia returns her finished glass to the bar and takes off in search of Thancred.

#ffxiv #srb

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