#ffxiv Buried Memory

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

[Aymeric, O'ravi, and Artoirel discussing the vision O'ravi had of Profane Fafnir's origin]

Aymeric: The Heavens' Ward took up arms against us and Ishgard. By their hand were we robbed of one of our finest knights and a dear friend. Even so, I would not wish such a terrible fate upon them.

O'ravi, without missing a beat: I would.

Aymeric:

Artoirel:

O'ravi:

Aymeric and Artoirel, exchanging glances:

O'ravi: [clears throat] My apologies- Continue.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 9 Lend an Ear

The Emperor of Garlemald was meant to be the most powerful man in the world.

It was instead poor comedy, of the kind his grandfather used to watch with such glee—the more subversive and borderline treasonous, the better.

Now Varis understood why.

His very much alive—for some meaning of the word—grandfather swanned around the palace now, stepping out of the shadows to taunt and lecture Varis. He never thought he would prefer the days when the old man ignored him, trying to deny his existence because he was no more than a memory of his dead father.

Another eldritch manipulator wore the body of Varis’s son. The monster’s death was no real loss, and Varis acknowledged the role he had played in Zenos’s development—but that boy had been wrong from the start. Perhaps due to the tainted influence of their bloodline.

And where did that leave Varis?

A pawn who had been made aware of his nature by ancient beings who used his name, his throne, his people, in their games.

There had to be something he could do. He was the Emperor. He had fought tooth and nail, wresting the crown from his uncle and cousin in order to continue the path to glory and greatness, to conquer those realms that had eluded his grandfather’s grasp and bring the light of civilization to the savages who had defied them.

He had wanted to prove himself better, prove that Solus had been wrong about Varis. But Solus zos Galvus had been a mirage, and Emet-Selch’s plans for Garlemald were far more insidious.

Every servant was a potential spy. Every soldier and guard as well. The walls had ears and eyes, and a hundred masters to report to. These had been facts of life for as long as Varis could remember, but now the webs were not obstacles to be navigated, weapons to command.

They were cocoons, and he the fly caught in the spider’s web. The more he struggled, the tighter the binding.

Gaius was gone; he had been Solus’s loyal hound, but the man’s honor and dedication to the role of Emperor itself, the mentorship he had granted Varis years ago, might have made him an ally, had his own ambition not been tangled in Ascian schemes and lost to the Eorzean Champion’s hand.

Regula...that loss still stung. He had fought beside the Black Wolf’s killer, sacrificing himself in favor of an Echo-bearer and his soldiers. Damn the honorable fool. Varis had been aware of Regula’s carefully-concealed sentimentality, his morals and honor, his drive to prove himself as much as Varis—it was a reason they had become true friends as young men, despite the disparity of their births.

He walked across grand courtyards, along ostentatious promenades, to the severe edifice of the family mausoleum. The people whispered of their Emperor’s respectful devotion due to the frequency of the visits.

It was where he went to get away from his shadowy puppet masters.

He ignored the grand central chamber, the crypt where his grandparents’ bodies were entombed. It was difficult to dismiss the idle thread of thought about the real Solus Galvus. Had he been dead when Emet-Selch occupied his form? Had he been alive but buried beneath the Ascian’s persona?

(Would he have loved Varis as a grandfather should?)

He shoved the speculation aside as always, continuing along the chambers shaped like the omnipresent chain links to where his parents and wife lay. He barely remembered his father, but his mother had always stood with him, even arguing with his grandfather on Varis’s behalf, and aiding him in his bid for the throne until the day she died.

She had found and arranged his marriage to Carosa. The demands of royalty, and their son’s...behavior had strained the relationship, but they had persevered, and her loss was one of the few times in his adulthood that he had allowed himself tears. His mother’s death had been another.

He stood in the chill of the mausoleum and imagined their faces, warmer than the stone likenesses, ever willing to listen and then aid in planning a course of action. So many of the servants within the palace and among the high houses had been their spies, and he had lost those networks on losing them.

Gaius. Regula. Mother. Carosa. The few he could have relied upon, could have trusted. All gone.

He said nothing of his troubles and frustration. The dead could not hear, while even these walls might, and he still had to maintain the charade of implacable Emperor. But allowing his roiling thoughts to run rampant here, in sight of their memorials, was soothing in a way he could not justify. It simply was.

He turned to begin his slow return to the palace. He stopped. Someone else had entered the mausoleum, intruded upon his solitude. Varis strode into the central chamber. If it was one of the Ascians daring to infringe upon this space—well, he could inconvenience them with a bullet again.

He stopped short as the lightly armored figure turned to regard him. Brunette instead of blond, but the features were similar enough to his own, and as strained as ever. “Forgive me for the intrusion, Your Radiance,” Nerva said, bowing low. “I was hoping to find you here.”

“What do you want?”

His cousin straightened. “To serve my Emperor, for the glory of Garlemald, as ever.”

Varis snorted derisively. If only Nerva had an inkling of how hollow that “glory” was.

“I know,” Nerva said, hands raised in supplication, misunderstanding Varis’s reaction. “My father fought you for the crown. But you won, and he lies dying for his trouble. We can, and should, put that behind us, for the good of our people.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“A fair question. Mayhap you shouldn’t, given Father’s scheming. But,” Nerva let out a breath, and with a slight shift, the demeanor of the Senator was gone. “Cousin, there are strange rumors about. And some lick of fondness from our childhoods remains enough that I am...concerned.”

Varis glowered.

Nerva shook his head, smiling thinly. “Of course, you can take care of yourself, and always have but...The things being said about your son. Some rather ridiculous ones about Grandfather’s shade haunting the palace. All while provinces secede unhindered and many of our troops stand stalled on Eorzea’s benighted doorstep. Varis—”

“None of it is your concern.” He walked forward again, tromping past Nerva. Who grabbed his arm.

Soldier’s instinct had him grip the offending limb, twist, spin, and Nerva grunted as he hit the wall, pinned by Varis. “You arrogant arse,” Nerva gasped. “I’m offering my aid—”

“It is none of your concern,” Varis growled. “The throne is mine, its troubles are mine.” He then looked Nerva in the eye. “You should leave,” he said, softly. “Take your father, your household, your loyal arms, and go.”

Nerva stared at him, then narrowed his own eyes. “You know I cannot do that. No more than you could. We are of House Galvus, and have our duty.”

If only Nerva knew what that truly meant. For a wild moment, Varis entertained the idea of telling him the truth, of confiding in his cousin, and urging him again to leave. Or keeping him as an ally.

Neither outcome was likely, and the second...Once, it might have been reasonable. But not since the civil war.

Varis shoved away from Nerva, turned, and walked out. As much as he wanted an ear to hear his troubles, to offer advice and aid, he couldn’t trust his cousin—nor did Varis want him entangled in the Ascian schemes. Nerva and Titus had managed to escape the worst by failing to win the throne. This was the closest he could come to protecting what remained of their family.

The confidantes Varis wished for were long gone. This was his burden, and the price of his victory.

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #27 - Memory

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #27 - Memory

Note: Briar visits his mother's resting place.

Trigger warning: Mentions of death of a parent (mother) and grief.

Briar ran slim fingers gently over the trunk of the willow tree. It was his mother's tree, as he had always thought of it. As his mother, Saule, had told him, the willow had been there since before Briar's grandparents even built the cottage. Nonetheless, it was Saule's tree.

Although the memories had faded with time, many of the ones he held closest to his heart were of sitting under this very tree with his mother. When she had passed one cold winter, Briar had spent hours digging under it to bury her there. He couldn't think of a place better for her to rest than under her favourite tree.

When the red moon had fallen and torn the skies apart, it was between the roots of the old willow a young Briar had curled up, trying to hide from the chaos around him. It was both a blessing and a miracle that the fires had not touched the old willow. Some part of Briar was sure it was his mother's spirit protecting both him and her beloved tree...

Perhaps that was a foolish thought, but it gave him some comfort.

Since his mother's death, Briar had always done his best to tend the tree lovingly. He didn't protest the creatures that lived in it, of course, for it was their home too. But he made sure that no vines choked it and that the roots were well cared for. If a branch was damaged, he would mend or remove it as best for the tree. If a tree could be loved, Saule's willow was by her son.

It was a place of memories, both bittersweet and comforting.

Today, he sought it for comfort. Out of habit, he brushed a hand over the tree, sending a small thread of aether to curl around it, touching the tree's essence. The half-Elezen smiled as he felt the familiar, old but strong energy of the tree. It reassured him that the willow was doing well. He stroked the trunk and shifted to the side, sliding down to sit on one of the thick, visible roots so he could rest his head against the tree.

Briar grimaced, rubbing a hand on his scarred throat. Strangely, it was moments like this that he most resented being forced into silence. It hurt that he could no longer speak to his mother for comfort the way he once had...

He looked down, feeling the prickle of tears both angry and sad, fighting them back as they were useless in the moment. His gaze fell on the warm soil between the roots and he brushed a hand over it, pausing suddenly. For a long moment, Briar was still before he wiped his palm to clear away some of the fallen leaves as the seasons turned.

With a light touch, he wrote in the soil, tapered fingers drawing letters into the welcoming earth. Hello, Maman. I miss you. He rested his hand on the earth where his mother rested and leaned against the tree, eyes sliding shut as the tears finally fell.

[voidsentprinces]

I think the reason FFXIV didn't click with me until Shadowbringers is because, before, even with Nidhogg. All of them. Every. Single. One. Was a Cartoon Morning Villain of the Week. Ifrit, Titan, Garuda, Gaius. All Villains of the Week. No real attachment to them. They're just doing bad things and need to be stopped. Nero has his own grudge and Livia is the only real one we want to kill cause of the massacre at the Waking Sands. After that we get Lahabrea, who just like Gaius van Kobra Kommander. Monologues at us and banish him from Thancred who, at that point in the story for me at least, was just a background extra. We had one side adventure which was just a stupid version of spy vs spy and then he's out after Ifrit and possessed after Titan. Livia invades our HQ and runs off with half of our allies and causes bodies we literally help bury. After her its just the weirdly naive commander of the Garleans trusting, the true super villain of the day. We already put the smack down on Nabriales before he even technically kills Moenbryda. So that's written off.

Heavensward has a similar problem. There is Nidhogg and Thordan who have to be stopped sure. But with Teledji Adeleji dead, Ilberd is our main concern and he keeps slipping the net and the main expansion MSQ just sort of brushes him under the rug. The only thing left to us is Zephirin who is a side villain at best in the Knights of the Round. Igeyohrm hasn't had the traction or the necessary means to be our main goal and Lahabrea coming back is just Team Rocket returning to try and capture our metaphorical pikachu. They're both there for the climax but not really the point of the episode. And between them and Elidibus being the only other living Ascian still around. Whose only real appeal is he can activate light mode on his robe. We have no real reason to care. Warriors of Darkness are out. And we only really care about Nidhogg cause he keeps interrupting our peace talks and is running around with our acrophilic brooding dragoon elf boy. Ysayle sacrifices herself to Garlemald. So we now have a reason to pick a fight with Varis in the future but thats far off. We push back Hydrus who proceeds to disappear off the face of Etheirys to die in a side quest series the MSQ doesn't point to.

And we finally come face to face with Ilberd to chase the Bahamut equivalent Shinryu into Ala Mhigo. Then Zenos shows up as the narrative speed bump. Yda gets her legal name changed to Lyse for the most out of left field character decision ever but whatever. Papalymo is dead trying to stop Shinryu. So that's a little more reason to hunt it down in his memory. Fordola is back being our Gaius. All posturing and puffing up her chest while we floor her every meeting. Yotsuyu isn't really a fighter and her henchman is just a goon we trounce. Really the Red Kojin pose the biggest issue in the Doma Arc. Cause Zenos and everyone but Fordola pretty much sit around and do nothing while we progress. And then they stretch out the last half of Ala Mhigo for waaaay too long. To fight Zenos who aforementioned barely did anything this expansion but sit around and monologue at us. Really good monologues and fun to watch like a 6 year old with a katana and a 10-liter of Coca-Cola. And then he possesses Shinryu and its over. We then spin our wheels in place as the MSQ tries to figure out what to do with Fordola and an amnesiac Yotsuyu. Neither which conclude nicely. Then it meanders over here. Meanders over there. Can't do Varis becoming Emperor to raise the stakes again. So lets bring Solus back as THE FOUNDING EMPEROR. Who is also an Ascian just to push that boat out. Asahi is dead so any hate sink we had is meh. Varis is still safe behind locked doors and Elidibus is running around in aforemention 10-liter coca-cola kid's body. But not really investing.

But then...THEN Shadowbringers comes along and goes, "These Cartoon Villains, these tissue thin, monologuing, evil for the sake of evil? These schemers scheming as a C-Class Akatsuki and an F-Class Organization XIII? HERE IS THEIR STORY! THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD CARE!" And then Solus enters the scene and endears to us. Cause he isn't acting like Igeyohrm, Lahabrea, Elidibus, or Nabriales. He isn't running around going, "MWHAHAHA I AM EVIL! AND I WILL RESURRECT MY DARK GOD! MWHAHA" He is like, "Look a long time ago...my world...my home was destroyed. Hydaelyn and Zodiark were born from that destruction. And everything changed. Everything important changed to me and the only way I get to see my friends is to sacrifice you and yours on a pyre of my own making" and I am like, "Well we just stomped Vauthry as the villain of week, THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME" and Ardbert our stapled on companion for the expansion is like, "Man, back in my day. These places. Man you would not believe the trouble me and my friends went through here." And then the only way to progress the MSQ is to RELIVE one of his friends ADVENTURERS AND TRAGIDES to even get to Amaurot in the first place. And connect with Ardbert. Seeing his rag tag group of buds before they were the villains we knew them as in Heavensward. Share in their stories and struggles. Keep them in our hearts. And have them fresh in our memory as a reason to resist Emet-Selch. Who fights us and fights us and fights us. Until he entrusts us with the memories of his people. Then Elidibus hops down and pretends to be the villain of the week. Only to also grab us by the throat to be like, "I will never apologize. Though I did not remember why I do this. I must do this. For my brothers. For my friends. For Lahabrea, Igeyorhm, Nabriales, and Emet-Selch. They were your enemies. But they were my friends, my peers, my BROTHERS! I WILL GRANT YOU NO QUARTER! AND EXPECT NONE FROM YOU!" and when the dust clears, he succumbs and can only think of those he swore an oath to.

THAT is what Shadowbringers is all about. It took this, "Here's some bad guys." That every expansion had before and then after we defeat the bad guy of the week. It pulls the covers off like, "YOU FOOL! TIME TO SHANK YOU IN THE GUT! AND MAKE YOU FEEL FOR YOUR ENEMY! YES THESE CARDBOARD CUT OUTS ACTUALLY HAD FRIENDS AND FAMILY! AND YOU HAVE A REASON TO FIGHT! THIS ISNT SOMEONE ELSES WAR OR COUNTRY OR PEOPLE! THESE ARE ALL YOURS NOW! These are your people who call you the Warrior of Darkness, who you fight for, who you sacrifice you and your friends with and you've wandered their lands, fought for their people, dethroned their tyrants and mad kings. You are INVESTED in these bonds. AND the Ascians are here to pit that bond you've built from every other expansion here and before. To TEST you!"

And I love it. I really do. To me A Realm Reborn, Heavensward, and Stormblood were all. Just fights to the sake of fights. With the bare minimum to invest us. But Shadowbringers is like, no. No. We'll make you care by bringing your allies here. We will make you walk the Crystarium and learn of its functions and how they survive. We will show you the difference in their grief, our grief, Ardbert's grief. We will make you fight inch by inch to get to the top of Mt. Gulg only to collapse, fall, and become the source of their grief. And only then. ONLY THEN! Will you be able to truly face Emet-Selch. Walk through the shades of the past and know. Know in your heart of hearts what you do here matters to everyone. Not just back home, but here as well.

And I love it for it. I wasn't really invested in fighting for Eorzea. I was just a schmuck delving into dungeons and getting gold. I didn't really care for Ishgard. It was very prim and proper and I wanted to shove a spear up most their asses anyway. Outside of Haurchefant and Ysayle, I wasn't super invested. Warrior of Darkness felt like a "You but evil" story line. Ilberd was more an annoyance than anything else really and with Nanamo awakened. Raubahn had more beef with him than us at that point. Zenos was just annoying in suppose to lose fights and then sitting around doing nothing 95% of the entire expansion. 80% of which we spend in Doma. Who only show up at the last 0.001% of the expansion after we've basically taken Ala Mhigo by storm. And Conrad who I wasn't invested in or really cared about dies and ascends Lyse to leader of the Revolution which...wasn't well handles tbh. And Shadowbringers is like, "We've kidnapped your friends to force you to experience this alien world with them. And struggle along the way until you're ready for the bigger picture." And it was AWESOME and I LOVED it.

But that's just me.

Endwalker then was like, "Alright here's a victory lap for the awesomeness of Shadowbringers winning at everything" and Dawntrail is like, "NEW ARC" so I am sitting here like, "Alright lets see where the fuck we're going this time cause if we end up with another Shadowbringers scenario in 3 expansions, I am going to be fist pumping the air."

[retrace-104]

ffxiv 7.2 msq spoilers

very moved by this patch... sphene's sheer respect for life being shown in her rage at calyx's cold utilization of zelenia's memory ; as well as her clear understanding of him, what drives him, and what he struggled with...

the odds them truly being close or anything of the sort is deeply, deeply unlikely, I truly believe that her knowledge and understanding toward him is born of her own deep connection to her people, and her love of the lives that she was meant to take care of.

I wonder if she ever felt a kinship with him... if he was ill enough that he found himself nurturing a desperate determination and desire to live, endure, in any manner possible, even should it be perversion of the gift, blessing, miracle of life, for anger at how little his casted lot in life would have allowed him to partake in such a blessing, then I find it hard to imagine that he could exist like the average person could...

like as not, he would have struggled to move, been bedridden oft, exhausted oft, unable to stand oft... he would not have been able to walk, and run, and so much more.

lightning aspected sickness left the sufferer disabled to the point of struggling to speak, and sphene herself had to suffer such at the end of her life... In those moments, where she couldn't stand, walk, or run, did she feel kinship with him?

her understanding of him would've had its seeds planted long before she fell ill, she like as not saw him as he worked determinedly, and lived alongside him even were it brief, did he speak to her, did she speak to him, did she simply study him wordlessly? is he indifferent to her understanding, or does he accept it?

as those seeds of understanding grew, the tree of life that sprouts from them would have finished growing as sphene drew her last breath, a tree born of her understanding of calyx as he lived, while he still breathed, was of weak flesh, was of decay and rot and cough.

the endless calyx and her understanding of him will be born of the selfsame seeds, but the tree that sprouts will not be the same.

I wonder with all my heart if he always spoke the way he does now, if his gaze was as empty or dead as it is now, while he lived, and breathed.

or did he writhe in pain, in rage at that pain, in agony and despair at a body weak, a body decaying, feeling it die all around him?

he is a mirror to kuja, who carried in him a rage as strong as a tempest surging at his short life, his curse of death, born to die and be weak. and yet calyx is not so, he does not carry the searing hot seething rage of kuja, he is cold, calculating, strict, like garland, garland, who gave birth to kuja. calyx is a cold winter's night, not one of snow, just cold, freezing cold and dark.

7.5 is gonna have you bury the living memory of a young boy that was determined to live because he mourned his disabled body and early death. a death that he wound up bringing onto himself, in the end.

his being an endless is suicide to who he lived as, his true soul had him quite literally kill himself. and now you stand haunted by his ghost coldly treating you like a bug to be studied while he plays dolls.

[sir-adamus]

okay i had this whole thing wrong, i thought the Machine Lifeform rocket from the end of Automata just somehow wound up in the FFXIV universe and crash-landed on the First

actually playing the Dark Apocalypse raids and reading through flavour text i can say with reasonable certainty that that ain't what happened

the ship buried beneath the recreation of the Bunker is explicitly labeled as the Alien Ship, suggesting it's a recreation of the Alien Ship that was buried under the city in Automata

we're never really given a timeline for how long any of these recreated locations (the ship, the bunker or the factory) have been there, however it's implied to have been really recent (especially as the Machine Lifeform tech can build incredibly quickly, as we saw with the Tower in Automata) and the Seed of Destruction is the core of all this

Konogg found it after a landslide killed Anogg, just at the bottom of an underground chasm, but by the present it's within that buried Alien Ship. we also know it's not a real Seed of Destruction - yes it looks like one, same texture, Angelic script appearing on it when it activates, but a) the Angelic script appears more as a screen projection that glowing inscriptions like in Drakengard and b) i read ahead at Konogg's messages post-final raid in the Portable Archive, and those reveal that the purpose of the 'white spheres' is to duplicate Machine Lifeforms for invasion of other worlds (and 2B and 9S backed up their consciousnesses into them to try and prevent this)

so the Seed was shot out into the multiverse and happened to arrive on the First, lying dormant until Konogg found it and accidentally activated it, recreating Anogg from his memories before going to work, recreating both machine lifeforms and android data (as well as systems and the data stored on them, like 21O's backup consciousness)

the Seeds looking almost identical to the real Seeds of Destruction from Drakengard is a little odd, but the NieR timeline shows that the androids of Earth have some measure of understanding of the world that the Red Dragon (Angelus) and the White Giant (the Grotesquerie Queen) came from (and Accord's organisation has a comprehensive record given their time traveling), so it wouldn't be unsurprising that the Machine network somehow got hold of this information and based these spheres off the Seeds (and given that the Logic Virus is implied to be an extension of the Red Eyes that would infect humans, that this ultimately leads to a Grotesquerie being born isn't unsurprising, the Watchers just exerting their will through new means)

this does of course raise a few questions. 1) what timeline does this happen in? an alternate branch to the main Automata, which would explain why 2B still thinks Command is active if her copied data comes from a timeline where this happened pre-End of YoRHa? or was the copied consciousness data into the spheres from earlier backups because 2B and 9S were unable or didn't have the time to prepare up-to-date backups in a post-End of YoRHa world? and 2) what other universes did these Seeds get sent to, and how badly did it end for them?

[yuri-is-online]

Since we’re talking about Idia now, I want to talk about the Phantom Ortho scene from the new update. What’s your thoughts on the scene? Personally, I think it was part of the dream rather than Idia actually talking to the dead Ortho.

I’ve got a couple of reasons for this. First, Idia was being dragged down by the darkness associated with the dream realm. He’s still physically in NRC. And it’s not that strange to think that this is another deeper level of the dream realm. It’s also been established that the dream’s purpose is keep the dreamers there, so changing its method now that the original method of acting as though the tragedy didn’t happen no longer works wouldn’t be out of place in my opinion. Our Ortho showing up shattered the illusion, dredging up buried memories even if Idia was still holding up some form of denial.

Second, it’s more fitting for his character arc for it to be just a dream. Choosing to neither stay in the Underworld with Phantom Ortho or stay in the dream with the RSA Ortho solidifies Idia’s commitment to no longer wallow in the guilt of the tragedy and to allow himself to move forward. He’s rejecting both pretending it didn’t happen and continuing to punish himself by allowing himself to be dragged down by his mistakes. I feel that takes away from the moment a little if it’s dead Ortho giving him another kick in rear to not be swallowed by guilt.

Sorry if this is incoherent and rambly, I’m still soaking in Idia freaking out over his mom searching his computer. What did he have on there???

-🦐

>I’m still soaking in Idia freaking out over his mom searching his computer. What did he have on there???

Top teir weeabo shit and commissions of his ocs. But tbh it could have been literally anything, I would freak about my mom going through my pc now and it's mostly just art refs.

I'm glad you are back shrimp annon, I was wondering about your thoughts. I have two distinct threads of thought on it if that makes sense? The first is about whether or not it was a dream and the second is about the darkness. Also um... have any of you played critically acclaimed MMORPG Final Fantasy XIV? With a free trial now on xbox? Because the best way I can think to explain why spoils something from Shadowbringers...

Was Phantom Ortho Real or Not?

I have no idea. Genuinely. I personally think that this was a part of the dream so no, I don't think that Phantom Ortho is the same as the one we fight in Chapter Six, but does that make him less real? There is a reality where he could be the same I suppose? The idea of your soul leaving your body when you dream is a concept that's decently common in mythology, so it is possible that Idia astral projected into the Underworld?

Malleus specifically says Idia will "be swallowed by the abyss" so there is a chance I guess that he gets sent to take a nap in the Underworld while Malleus re-writes the spell? But! Malleus is the "ruler of the abyss" while Idia is "the ruler of the underworld." They don't share a title so it makes sense for the Abyss to be it's own place separate from the underworld. And yet the underworld is where Phantoms come from... so just what the hell is the abyss?

Now it is time for me to do a bit of spoiling for FFXIV so uh. I'll toss it under the cut.

To give some brief context for what I am about to show you, at the very end of Shadowbringers, due to various reasons we will not get into here, you find yourself in a projection of a city the villain has created based off of his memories. Said city is populated by Phantoms, all of whom do not realize they are magical projections, except for one:

"...[he] allowed a few stray thoughts to distract him while he was recreating me... '[he] would surely realize the truth.'" I think that's more or less what happened with Idia's dream

Malleus's magic allows the illusion to take place, but it is based off of Idia's memories. While being in denial about Ortho's death, and not wanting to process the trauma, his mind would know that Phantom Ortho would realize the truth. The phantom Hythlodaeus isn't real, but he might as well be from how he acts. The same seems true of Phantom Ortho, Idia wasn't confronting the literal Phantom so much as he was a manifestation of his own memories and guilt, the stray thought that "Ortho would surely realize the truth." Would be enough to make that happen.

In a sense you could say that this Phantom Ortho is still real as it is more or less just Idia fighting his own overblot phantom, which we know to be born of magic and extreme emotion, but I don't think he fought his brother's soul exactly. The affirmation of their promise probably reached Phantom Ortho in the Underworld though, even if he wasn't physically there to hear it.

What is the Darkness?

So if I recall correctly, the darkness also swallows Lilia in the previous update, which is where we get the flashback about how he found Silver. It seems like the darkness draws out what we could call a person's defining character moment? For Lilia that's traveling the world and realizing he doesn't hate humans, for Idia it's the death of his brother and his overblot. If I had to guess I would say it's because the dream needs to reset its narrative? So it needs to put the person back in the mindset of focusing on what they value or what needs "fixed."

The exact involvement Malleus has in giving out dreams isn't clear either, but I think they seem to need to be set in Twisted Wonderland, and tend towards being basic at first but then probably get more detailed the further the person falls into sleep and the more data can be taken from the abyss. It is also clear that some level of outside interference is needed to disrupt the dream weaving, kind of like you need to interrupt the dreamer's train of thought.

Since I am also rambling-

Yuu and Grim are physically present in the same dream, they both risk falling into the abyss... and neither gets a dream that they mistake for reality. Unless they did and we weren't actually physically present in Mickey's dream at all? What would have happened if they had fallen into the abyss?

Does Yuu and Grim sharing a dream imply they share a soul? If so how and why?

I need to go to sleep but tl;dr, shrimp friend I don't think you're off base saying you don't think that was the real Phantom and I want to know what the abyss is, k please thanks.

[summer-braeniharzwyn]

FFXIV Write Day 2- Horizon

I uh. Don't like this one very much. It feels very rushed because it was. Hmmm. Ah well! I finished it, that's what matters.

The sunrise looked different on the Steppe. It had been years since Nagenawa had last seen the sky here, far away from home on another part of the star. Sure, the sunrise was pretty in Eorzea, but it was nothing like it is back on his homestead. The fresh dew on the grass, the horses swishing their tails to the slow rhythm of the morning, the sounds of his family rising from their slumber. Memories flood back, and he’s overwhelmed by the feeling, burying his face in his leather-gloved hands. Tears leak from his eyes in a deluge, and he barely held back the heavy sobs that threaten to emerge from his throat. It had been so long, so far away from home, he wondered when, or if, he’d ever come back. But that doesn’t matter, because he’s here now, and his family is safe.

“Crying first thing in the morning, huh kid?” Nagenawa heard from behind him. He turned, and through his blurry vision, he saw his older brother, Takara. His eyebrows were raised, but he wore a smile on his face. It’s the look he always had whenever Nagenawa found himself crying over something small, insignificant. The familiarity of it sent another wave of tears.

“I- I m-missed you all-” Nagenawa cried, “I missed all of this.”

Takara looked at him for a moment, then slung an arm around Nagenawa’s shoulder. “We missed you too,” he said, voice gentle. “But that won’t get you out of doing morning chores, got it? You may be some special hero over in Eorzea, but here, you’re a part of the Bakurou clan. Plus, the sooner you finish, the sooner you get to train with your friends for the Nadaam.”

Nagenawa sniffled, nodding. Takara laughs.

“No need to look so serious. We’ve never had much luck in the Nadaam before, but I think you got it this year, especially with that fancy gunblade of yours.”

“You think so?” Nagenawa asks, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.

“I do. All of us do,” Takara said, making a grand sweeping gesture to the rest of their family, emerging from their yurts. “So tell your friends to help out feeding the horses, and then you can prove us right.”

Nagenawa grinned, eyes now dry. His brother always had a special talent for making his younger siblings feel better.

Suddenly, the both of them felt a slap on their backs. Rukia squeezed between the two of them, and signed, What are you two scheming?

Takara rolled his eyes, while Nagenawa frantically signed, Nothing, we promise!

Garo laughs from where he’s tending to a young foal, shouting out and signing, “You know Nagenawa can’t keep a secret for anything.”

Nagenawa huffs, folding his arms over his chest. It wasn’t fair being teased by his younger siblings. He’s supposed to have that privilege, being the second oldest, but he doesn’t have the heart to say anything even remotely inflammatory. He’d tried before, and always felt terrible after.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Umika sidestepping around the perimeter of their camp, eyes fixated on where Hien, Lyse, and Yugiri are chatting together. Once she reached what she deemed to be an acceptable distance, she bolted straight to the rest of her older siblings, arms wrapped around Nagenawa’s legs.

Nagenawa leaned down to pet the top of her head, hair tied up in its usual braid. “Something the matter, little one?”

Umika glanced over to the strangers once again, before cupping her hand over Nagenawa’s horn. “Are they nice?” she asked in a whisper.

Nagenawa smiled softly. “They are. Promise.”

Umika considers his appraisal of these interlopers, and nods. Making her way back to their mother, she still keeps a fair distance, but is no longer outright running away.

The only one he has yet to see is Daisuke, but according to his family, he’d been keeping to himself recently. Nagenawa hoped to see him sometime that morning, but knowing how headstrong his youngest brother is, it wasn’t very likely.

He missed this. Out of everything, from the sky, to the vast fields, his family was what he missed the most. He loved them with all his heart, and he hoped that once this journey is over, he would be able to spend the rest of his life here, with them. That was what mattered the most.

[promised-meadow]

Ref of FFXIV Amy. With no clothes, so you can see the scales. And a little backstory blurb

The Text bc it's kinda small:

A vessel crafted from Ratatoskr's remains by the Great Wyrm Midgardsormr, to house the soul and Aether of a young Ishgardian soldier put to death for staying her blade in combat with the Dread Wyrm Nidhogg. Born a bastard of an unknown Lord, Amelie was promised a place in her birth house's manor if she successfully felled the Dread Wyrm Nidhogg. When faced with the dragon however, Amelie, for reasons unknown, refused to deal the killing blow. She was subsequently put to trial at Witchdrop, an event which resulted in her untimely demise. As she had spared a child of his second brood, Midgardsormr saw the kindness of the late Ratatoskr in Amelie, and crafted her a vessel from Ratatoskr's remains. Upon rebirth, Amelie remembered very little of her previous life, though her soul held onto the sadness and anger she felt towards Ishgard. After Midgardsormr placed her in Nidhogg's care, the Dread Wyrm's thirst for vengeance awoke her buried memories, and the two razed Ishgard. Having grown tired of the young dragon, Nidhogg subsequently left her with Hraesvelgr, who raised her amongst the moogles of Moghome.

[sunkeeperxiv]

FFXIV Write 19 - Taken

Timeline - post-5.0/ShB

Lyna muses on the Exarch and the Warrior of Darkness

The Crystal Exarch had long maintained an air of mystery about him, and the people of the Crystarium had long respected that mystery. They had accepted the hood that kept their leader faceless, and the robes that had kept him indistinct. They had accepted his word that his homeland was far from Norvrandt without demand for further details, even extending that pointed lack of curiosity to his guests from that same land. Over long years and decades, the Exarch had come to seem more a part of the Crystarium to many of them than he did a typical person. He had been as steady and reassuring a pillar of their home as were the barriers, or the streets, or the crystal spire that rose high above the forests of Lakeland. One might have thought he had been born - or created - a part of it.

Now, though, that facade had fallen. Many in the Crystarium would point to the night he had returned to them with his hood lowered, revealing to them a kind, soft face and the attentive ears of a Mystel. Lyna, however, had noticed the cracks earlier than that. She had seen them the day she had refused entry to another, darker-haired Mystel at the gate, only to have the Exarch run up to her and introduce the stranger as his guest.

She had seen the Exarch run before, although only in times of great urgency and importance. She had never seen him flustered, however, and the stranger’s presence had flustered him. Of course, that stranger had been the Warrior of Darkness, and surely even then the Exarch had known what he would achieve. Most would be satisfied with that explanation.

Most had not seen the Warrior of Darkness when the Exarch had appeared, no less affected than the Exarch had been by him. She had spent hours puzzling over his reaction, but she suspected she would have seen much the same look on his face if she’d plunged one of her chakrams into his belly. And later, when the Exarch had arrived at the Crystarium without his hood, he had hesitated, only for the Warrior to reach out and grasp his shoulder. The Exarch had looked to the Warrior for guidance before he had walked forward to greet the Crystarium with his face bared for all to see.

It was obvious to Lyna, at least, if not to everyone. Always, the Exarch had seen the hero that their guest would become. And always, the Warrior had seen something — someone — in the Exarch that no-one else in the Crystarium was privy to.

She would not deny a degree of jealousy. The Crystal Exarch had taken a significant hand in raising her. She remembered sitting on his lap as he had told her stories of a world not buried under the ever present blanket of the Light, or of a hero who could overcome any obstacle, and inspired others to do the same, even after nothing was left of him but memory. She had looked up at him as he talked and caught the barest glimpse of his crimson eyes, the warmth of admiration shining within them. It had been her secret to keep, a link between them that she rarely acknowledged, but kept close to her heart.

Now, all could see those eyes, and the warmth in them when he turned his gaze to the Warrior. The people of the Crystarium treated him the same as they ever had — his veil of mystery was not entirely broken with the fall of his cowl — but for the first time, there were whispers about the city. Whispers that the Exarch seemed quite taken with the Warrior of Darkness. Speculation that in saving the First, the Warrior had won the Exarch’s heart.

Lyna had the memory of those crimson eyes, however. She remembered the warmth that had lain within them for long years and knew that, if anything, the Exarch had called the Warrior there because of it. His love had preceded the First’s salvation. Enabled it, even. And if she held any disappointment that that sight was no longer only hers to cherish, she only had to look to the Warrior herself, and see that same warmth in his eyes when he looked at their Exarch where once she had only found cool determination.

Seeing what they could now share brought her more joy than the secret she had kept ever could.

[nyxvaledoeswriting]

All the questions lol

Phew, okay, I can do this lol. Thank you for the ask, I'm so excited to answer everything hehe.

Character Name(s): Nyx Vale | Senryo Yatsugiri | Cocobi Cobibi | Micah Anderfels | Penelope Vale

Data Center: Aether, Adamantoise.

Favorite Class: Tie between white mage & sage. Love my healers

Favorite Expansion: Endwalker, then shadowbringers. I have a slight obsession with the Ascians.

Favorite Scion: G'raha Tia and Alisaie

Current Glam:

Favorite Dye: Dalamud Red

Biggest Accomplishment: Completed the savage for the first DT trial with my FC. I was super proud.

Favorite Song: What Angel Wakes Me & Papaya

Best Zone: Elpis, hands-down.

Favorite City-State: Does Foundation count? If not, probs Gridania

Best Dungeon: Vanaspati or Vanguard. Love them both for very different reasons lol

Crafting or Gathering: Gathering, it's so much easier ;o;

Favorite Raid: Any of the Nier ones were great. I like the one where you can get hit by buildings and trains lol

Best Memory: Going into Elpis for the first time and getting the beginning cutscene. I was just so excited.

Favorite Primal: Bismarck. Him deserved better.

Which patch did I start in: 6.2: Buried Memories. I remember the guy who wanted me to start playing showing off the Fell Court of Troia.

Current FC: The Rising Chorus.

Favorite Villain: I guess Emet-Selch counts. But if not, Hermes.

Favorite Limit Break: Reaper, though pictomancer's LB3 is super cool.

Starting Class: White mage. Stuck with her all the way to DT and we will go on.

AFK Spot: The yard of my FC. We have nice benches and the kiddie pool.

How Much Gil do I have: 3,711,497. I sold a orchestral roll for like 3mil a few weeks ago.

Do I Raid the Current Tier: Yessir

Favorite Minion: The Gold Whisker, Clockwork Solus, and Sewer Skink

Favorite Mount: Island Alligator and Model O

Favorite Relic: The manderville ones are so pretty

Which class would I want to see added next: I'm not up-to-date on lore, so I have no opinion. Though I was told their are a lot of colors of mages like black mage, red mage, and white mage. Maybe another color??

One Feature/Content I'd want added to the game: I'm happy the way FFXIV is rn tbh.

[aerialsquid]

FFXIV Write Day 6: Halycon

(Continuation from here.)

----------------

There were times, sometimes moments and sometimes hours, when Akitsu was simply Not There. He would go about his daily tasks, scrubbing and sewing and carrying for the wretched Garleans like he was just another magitek drone, speaking when spoken to. Lights were on, nobody was home. Akitsu would only know it had happened once he'd returned and found the entire day was missing from his memory.

It wasn't really supernatural. He knew that, truly. But to his mind he referred to it as a spirit possession, as if to put the consequences of his actions off onto another party. "That wasn't me, that was the kitsune taking me for a drive", he would think, when he returned.

But his mind was well and whole when he grabbed the stolen child by the wrist, nails scratching at her forehead as he snatched the little false third eye from her face.

How dare they poison her so badly she would call a Garlean 'Papa', that she would dress like them and put that demonic mark upon her own face. How dare she. How dare they.

"Do not touch my daughter!"

Like a bolt of lightning, the blondeGarlean who owned her was abruptly between him and the child, whose eyes were beginning to well with silent tears. He pushed Akitsu back, arms around her, her tiny fingers clinging to his shirt.

Akitsu let his shoulders fall back, returning to a formal at-attention pose. (Fuck Fuck fuck fuck he was going to get punished. Fuck. And how would he take care of her now, he'd kept it together so well before, the bastard wouldn't let him near her now–)

"What in the hells is wrong with you?" It was a question, not a command, and Akitsu stared at the medicus until he realized he was actually supposed to respond.

"I - she was making a mess of her food–"

"Yes, she's a child, they do that!" He put Akitsu in mind of a tiny dog, ready to fight something twice its size with no mind it would lose. The child had her face pressed against the Garlean's shoulders, tiny wide eyes staring in fear at him. It shouldn't be him she feared. It should be the man she clung to. The man who dared to claim she was his.

"What gives you the right to tell my daughter she's less than–"

"She's not your daughter, she's a war trophy!" Akitsu wished he could blame the kitsune for the words that fell out of his mouth. Wished he could be elsewhere until the rage wasn't dragging him forward, until the consequences of his actions had passed him by.

The Garlean's jaw hung open. Akitsu expected a shout, a slap, maybe even a blow, and with his stomach sinking into his feet he still found himself continuing to speak.

"She looks nothing like you. Everyone can tell. You stole her. Don't…don't pretend it's otherwise." Akitsu hoped his fear didn't reach his face. It had been years since a Garlean had the privilege of seeing him afraid.

The Garlean took a step back, looking up warily at him, taking a long breath with his nose buried in the child's hair.

[pyroraptordraws]

Disclaimer: I know sliver didn’t create saint etc., but honestly, it’s a fun headcanon.

Transcript:

SoS: Of all my miscalculations… to think that you would be my undoing. that you would even be capable of defying me…

SoS: Ah, is there more you would say to me?

SoS: Or have you decided to return to your dear mother’s side? Have you decided to bring ascension to me?

Saint: Apologies, but I am only the dregs of your memory. I can do naught but watch as the solution you wrought collapses, burying you under its weight.

SoS: How disappointing… Truly, useless to the last.

Saint: And who made me that way?

Comic is based on an idea that Saint is going through the WHOLE cycle over and over again from his creation to the Saint campaign. But this is essentially him breaking out of that loop by refusing to ascend Sliver.

Dialogue is from FFXIV so I will tag this as spoilers for that.

[sparklecryptid]

so it occurred to me how well "Return to Oblivion" from FFXIV fits Dan Heng. thoughts?

It’s about an endless cycle of death and rebirth and the violence that begets it. It’s about your former incarnation growing weary of the cycle of the memories of the stagnation that plagues them all. It’s about him committing an unforgivable sin and the consequences echoing centuries down the line. It’s about being forced to accept what has been done and the part of you that has been buried and drowned because you forgot that you were born of the ocean and from the ocean you will rise again (and again and again-) it’s about acknowledging the power and the consequence of sin are yours to bear it’s about acceptance of who you are after spending so long running.

Falling too far for the fear to escape me a voice from the past screaming there is no end a slave to my fight am I doomed to repeat this again and again and again?

It’s about blazing a path of your own anyway. You are not him. You are yourself. The echoes of a past that is not yours will not cease their haunting but you can chose your own future.

Anyway yeah it fits him good I like it

[carrefxur]

Day 27: Memory (FFXIV Writing Challenge 2024).

"Hm…three--no, two seconds of watering." The can tips over, the count spoken aloud. "One…two!" The stream ceases, droplets falling off the leaves into the dirt. "Alright, that's the last of them…I think that's--" Rowan checks the note she had written for all the tasks, frowning at the last item. "Oh, right…Marigold."

She utters the name with complete disdain, dreading the inevitable conflict between a tired hyur and the ball of energy. Alright, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration; she had bought a nice premium cut of fish a few days prior just for this occasion. It would be pretty easy to satiate the beast's hunger.

The Ishgardian makes her way over to the fridge, dumping the fresh carp into a bowl. She places the bowl on the table, clanging on it with a stray wooden spoon several times. The call of the beast to emerge from its lair and sup upon its prey. The pitter-patter announncing the ferocious charge echoes throughout the otherwise empty halls of the cabin, and before Rowan knows it, the fearsome ferret buries its head into the bowl, scarfing down the raw fish. Rowan places an elbow on the table, propping up her tilted head with a hand.

"You know Mari, you remind me of myself sometimes. My mother used to scold me the way I'd run up and down the hallways for what seemed like hours on end. She swore I was the fastest woman alive when that dinner bell rang." She chuckles, scritching behind Marigold's ears while she eats. "Don't think that lesson ever stuck with me sadly. At least her sense of duty did. Thought I was going to dread doing house chores today, but it's not so bad. So long as I've got my trusty note here, my memory will never fail me."

Rowan taps two fingers to her temple, a lopsided grin aimed at the ferret who is licking her chops clean. Marigold tilts her head quizically for a moment, then moves to Rowan's shoulders, wrapping herself around the midlander's neck in a warm and fuzzy embrace. Rowan pats her gently a few times, smiling in spite of their on-and-off "feud".

"Thanks for listening to my ramblings, Mari."

[axratsffxivwrite]

FFXIV Write Day 27 - Memory

Dreams and memories had a funny way of intertwining with one another.

Especially the memories one would rather leave buried and forgotten.

Marsil was on the march. Snow crunched under heel. Garlemald was cold, so damn cold, but he trekked on. A horrid scream echoed in his mind. He had to burn this world, burn it to the ground alongside everyone who had ever called it home.

He did not want this.

He had to do this.

The magitek was rampaging, but rampaging was good. He herded them like beasts, isolated the outpost he knew. A woman lay bleeding on the ground. He raised his blade to finish her off. Imedia screamed at him. A gunshot grazed him.

He fixed his eyes on the shooter, elsewhere, another block, another street away. He raised his gunblade and fired.

He felt a horrified chill course through his veins as the body hit the ground. He fired again, just to be sure they were dead.

"Marsil? Marsil!"

He turned. He was somewhere else, perched atop the ruined rubble of Garlemald, staring down at Viola. She clutched her side, blood pouring from the wound at an illogical rate. She was dying, surely. She tried to say something, but he couldn't make it out.

Fear rose in his chest. He wanted to save her. He needed to kill her.

He raised his gunblade and droned on, "the world… must… burn."

"Marsil!"

Something grasped his shoulder and shook him. A cry rose unbidden from his throat as he shot upright, gasping for air, grasping for the nearest— arm?

Lowtown. He was in Lowtown, or, rather, what was left of Lowtown. A candle flickered, casting deep shadows over the room. He was lying on a scrappy mattress atop a makeshift frame made of salvaged wood that served to keep it off the floor. Sweat rolled down his brow, his shoulders shook. Mujika knelt to his right, wearing naught but a pair of loose linen pants, lean muscle on display and his scarred missing eye uncovered. To his left sat Viola, dressed in a gown that did little to hide her curves. He had her arm firmly in his grasp, his hands trembling.

She placed a hand back on Marsil's shoulder. His eyes wandered to her side.

No blood. No wound.

How much of the dream had his mind made up?

How much was memory he had buried deep inside?

Had he shot Viola? Had his subconscious preyed upon his fear of losing her, or on his guilt over the ordeal he had put her through?

What about the bleeding woman, or the shooter?

How many people had he killed against his will? How many murders had he forgotten?

"Shh," she hushed him gently, "breathe, Marsil."

He opened his mouth to speak, but only let out an unintelligible stutter. He grasped at Viola, pulled her close, and clung tightly to her. He buried his face against her collarbone and choked back a quiet, broken sob. She wrapped her arms around him, running gentle, clawed fingers through his hair as she shushed him softly.

Mujika placed a hand on Marsil's back, rubbing gentle circles between his shoulder blades in an effort to calm him down.

"We're here," Mujika murmured softly. "We're here, Marsil."

Yes, they were, but they almost weren't. What if he had killed Viola? What if he had hurt Myrmidia, or Imedia, or… gods, who had he hurt? Imedia and Marina had both refused to say anything on the topic. What had he done?

He heard a thunk nearby, followed by Mujika inviting someone in. The click click click of Kutok's wooden crutch on the stone floor gave him away even before Marsil raised his head.

Kutok's age was beginning to show. His bronze scales had lost much of their luster. His left leg was lame, twisted out at an uncomfortable angle. He had a wooden crutch under his left arm, and a stool in his right hand which he dropped next to the bed and sat upon.

Kutok met Marsil's eyes, the old Bangaa's expression grim and serious as he scrutinized the broken man.

Kutok hissed lowly. "Leave us, you two." He instructed.

Marsil clung to Viola's arm. She nuzzled his hair gently, before carefully peeling off his fingers and pulling his arms away.

"We will be outside." She promised him softly, wiping the tears from his eyes.

He offered a numb nod. Satisfied, though reluctant, Viola slowly extracted herself. Mujika sat up, and together the pair departed.

Marsil took a deep, shaky breath. He braced both hands on the edge of the bed and pushed himself upright to sit at its edge, facing Kutok. The Bangaa offered him an approving nod.

Kutok asked, "Rabanastre or Garlemald?"

Marsil rasped, "narrowed it down that much, did you?"

"I know what it takes to break you."

Marsil averted his gaze, attempting to swallow despite how dry his mouth was. It felt like trying to swallow cotton.

"…Garlemald. I… I saw people dying at my hand, I couldn't… I couldn't stop myself."

Kutok rasped lowly. He plucked a canteen off his belt and offered it out. Marsil took it with trembling hands and greedily sipped, the cool water sending a chill down his throat as he drank. When he offered the canteen back, it was empty, though Kutok seemed entirely unbothered as he placed it back onto his belt.

Kutok turned his gaze back to Marsil.

"You fear what you may have done."

"Aye…" Marsil scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand. "I lost two years of my life to the trance. It's no secret what the tempered were up to, what… what I may have done."

"The loss of memory… can be a mercy, I think."

"The people I hurt deserved to be remembered."

"Perhaps… but remembering will not bring back the dead."

Marsil sucked in a sharp breath. The dead. Who had he killed?

Kutok stared down his scarred snout and tsked softly. "You carry your guilt like lashes given to a condemned man. Such has always been your way. Fierce, like Delima, but gentle, like Adi. You are the best of your forebears, but such does not make the weight easier to carry."

Marsil raised his head to meet Kutok's gaze, "it hurts."

"It always will. Like scars, these things fade with time… but they never disappear completely. If you truly want the truth, I will make Imedia tell you… but I think you only wish to know so you can punish yourself for acts that were out of your control."

Marsil averted his gaze.

Kutok continued, "You think punishment will absolve you of your guilt. As if there is a price you can repay for the suffering inflicted upon others. You disregard the suffering inflicted on yourself. The terrors in your mind, the sleepless nights; are these not punishment enough?"

"How would I know?" Marsil shook his head. "I barely know the crime."

"I think we both know the crime," Kutok rasped lowly, "you are simply not ready to admit it."

Marsil looked down to his hands. Already, details of the dream were starting to fade, but the image of Viola, half-frozen and clutching a gunshot wound remained. Dulled, but present.

"…I never should have left. If I had waited, I could have joined the Ilsabard Contingent. All of this could have been avoided."

"You trap yourself in coulds and shoulds. Retrospection is not a crime, but it is a tool to be used carefully; learn from your mistakes, yes. Do not wallow in them. I will not sit here and waste my breath reminding you that your mind was not your own, that you were a puppet to another power, as much a victim as anyone in that frozen hell… but I pray one day you can forgive yourself for the actions of another."

Marsil grimaced. "I do not feel worthy of anyone's forgiveness, much less my own."

"Yet we give it freely anyway."

Kutok reached out and placed a taloned hand atop Marsil's, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the coarseness of his scales.

"You brought Imedia back to us." Kutok reminded him softly. "You gave Viola and Hekla hope again. Not all was lost. Take heart in what you still have."

Marsil's eyes wandered to the door. "…I need to see her, I need to— I need to know she's okay."

"Breathe." Kutok instructed. "Was she hurt when she left the room?"

He paused. He took a deep breath. He had looked. He had seen no blood, she hadn't flinched when he hugged her…

"…no."

"Then rest assured, she is okay."

Marsil took another deep breath. Of course. She was fine, regardless of the tricks his mind played on him she was okay.

After a moment, he ventured, "…then maybe the rest of the dream was a lie, too."

"It could have been, indeed. You often think the worst of yourself; your dreams are likely to follow."

Marsil let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging heavily. He hung his head, weariness overtaking his panic as his breathing finally began to even out.

Kutok observed him closely. "Better?"

Marsil nodded. "…I… I think so."

"Good."

Kutok rose to one leg, tucking his crutch under his arm once more. He picked up his stool and stood to his full height, looking down at Marsil.

"Try to rest, if you can." He urged. "You have much to do tomorrow."

"…I make no promises."

Kutok offered a disapproving grunt, but nonetheless wished Marsil a good night and turned to depart.

His tail had barely vanished past the threshold before Viola shoved her way back into the room, Mujika not far behind. Marsil's eyes immediately shot to her side again, confirming what he had already known.

She was unhurt. She was safe.

They were all safe.